Tracato: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Three (47 page)

“I do not believe you could have done much differently,” Kessligh told her. “Lady Renine and her followers saw the coming war as a chance to retake control of Rhodaan for the feudalists. To place one’s own group above the defence of all Rhodaan is traitorous to say the least, and she got what she deserved. Had you done nothing, the Steel would never have stood for it, and
their
intervention would likely have placed some general in charge with a far less balanced attitude than yours. The Civid Sein were a nasty complication, and as much a failing of the Tol’rhen and supposedly civilised thinking as anything else. Even I did not see the extent of that problem until it was on top of us. You dealt with each problem in turn, and released the Steel in time to confront the Larosans, with the issue at least temporarily settled. I don’t think you did such a bad job.”

Rhillian gave him a sideways look. “And what do you think to do now?”

“Reorganise what’s left of the Nasi-Keth. Try to keep the peace here in your absence. Hope for the best, and plan for the worst. We shall not let Saalshen fall, Rhillian. Serrin civilisation is the greatest asset that we humans possess. We must save it for our own sake, not merely for yours.”

“A man named Deani was of the same opinion in Petrodor,” Rhillian said sadly. “He was killed when Palopy House was attacked. Justice Sinidane thought much the same. We found him in the cells beneath his Justiciary, tortured and dead of shock. Those who hold such opinions do not live for long, in human lands. And now one of you whom I have loved has run away to the other side.”

“Sasha has not stopped caring,” Kessligh said quietly. “She cares too much. She struggles to decide whom she loves more.”

Sasha sat on a wet stone by the roadside, and waited in the rain. After a while, she heard a single set of hooves approaching. Then, about a bend in the road, a small horse came galloping, ridden by a man in a long cloak. Sasha’s horse looked up at the approach, ears pricked. She seemed to accept Sasha’s calm, and was not unduly alarmed.

The small horse stopped before her, stamping and frothing, and the rider pushed wet hair and hood from his eyes. The left side of his face was tattooed, in a perfect dividing line down brow, nose and chin.

“Identify yourself!” the man demanded, in thickly accented Larosan. Those were amongst the few Larosan words Sasha knew—probably it was the same for this man.

“I am as welcome here as you,” Sasha replied in Lenay, and pulled from her cloak a crimson-and-yellow striped flag. It was the flag of the local House of Neishure, whose riders had escorted her to this point in the morning, proclaiming it the most obvious route to approach Rhodaan.

The outrider stared at her more closely. “Who are you? Have you a name?”

“I do,” said Sasha. “But it is not for you.”

“The King of Lenayin rides this way!” snapped the rider. His accent marked him a southerner. Neysh, perhaps. “I’ll have your name!”

“Come and take it from me,” Sasha suggested. Her face remained hidden beneath the hood. The rider peered further, his horse edging closer. Surely he suspected. But his suspicions would make no sense. He glared at her, and tore off up the crossroad, leaving Sasha alone in the falling rain. After a moment of silence, he came galloping back, having checked that reach and not found an ambush. He waited opposite her, looking back up the road. Soon another rider appeared and the first signalled to him. That man signalled back, plunged his horse into the stream, up the far embankment, and into the forest. Checking for ambush there, too. In case she were a lone spotter. Or a distraction of some kind. Or a lure.

Sasha waited. Two more riders came galloping, and talked to the first, who pointed to Sasha, and the crossroad, his words inaudible. Then he galloped on, and the remaining two split, one up the crossroad, the other across the stream and into the forest at Sasha’s back. Again, she was alone.

After a long while, the rain eased to a drizzle. More riders arrived, and she was similarly challenged. She gave them no more than she had the others. One seemed about to take it further, but another persuaded him otherwise, in furious whispers. They galloped on, save one, who retreated as far as the approaching bend, and awaited the column.

Finally, there came the sound of many soft hooves, horses walking. But many horses. A chink and rattle of armour and equipment, and a squeal of leather. The sound hung in the air long past the moment when it seemed that surely the vanguard would appear about the bend.

At last, the vanguard’s banners appeared, colours of royalty, of Lenayin, and of each of the eleven Lenay provinces. There was a Verenthane star, too,
mounted on a pole. Sasha frowned, and thought dark thoughts. The vanguard soldiers were of the provincial companies, Lenayin’s most well equipped soldiers, riding tall on fine horses. Unusually, she saw they all carried shields. Some things, it seemed, were changing.

Behind the vanguard rode a contingent of Royal Guard, resplendent in red and gold. The nobility followed, many wearing fine, unfamiliar cloaks over Lenay armour and leathers. The outrider who had waited back now singled out one man from the group, riding alongside while pointing ahead. As the vanguard passed, that man came off the road and stopped before Sasha, several Royal Guards and lords at his back.

The lead rider came before them all, upon a great, roan warhorse. Broad, powerful, and oh-so-familiar. “Do you await anyone in particular?” asked her brother Prince Koenyg with amusement. The lords behind him laughed.

“I don’t know,” Sasha replied. “Are you anyone in particular?”

Koenyg frowned, and opened his mouth to retort. Then paused. And stared. “Is it…?” He edged his warhorse forward several more steps, peering closely.

“Easy Your Highness!” called one of the Royal Guardsmen. “It could be assassins!”

“Sasha?” Koenyg whispered. “Is that Sasha?” Slowly, achingly, Sasha slid off her rock, and pulled back her hood. And looked up at her brother.

Koenyg swung down from his saddle in such a hurry that Sasha’s hand twitched toward the blade within her cloak. But Koenyg made no move for his weapon, strode forward and embraced her. The pain of it nearly made her scream. Koenyg seemed to realise something was wrong, and released her.

“Sasha? Are you hurt?”

“A few cuts,” she gasped, and swallowed hard. “Flesh wounds. I’m fine.”

He seemed about to ask further but stopped. And to Sasha’s further astonishment, he cupped her face in his hands. “Sister,” he said, smiling. “You came back to us! All of Lenayin is united in this quest for the first time in history! This is a great time for healing old wounds, and building a new Lenayin. I’m so pleased you’re here. So pleased.”

He kissed her on the forehead. Sasha was too stunned to speak. She had not expected this at all. Koenyg seemed as she had only rarely seen him before—happy, and content with the world. Riding off to war, at the head of a united Army of Lenayin. It began to come clear in Sasha’s head, precisely what Koenyg saw in this whole adventure. An opportunity to meld together all the fractious regions and beliefs of Lenayin by the only forge all Lenays would respect—the fire of battle. She did not like his methods, but she had to admit, it was certainly a plan. Perhaps it would even work.

“Where is Kessligh?” Koenyg pressed. “I heard that you and he fought to defend Dockside in the War of the King. You must tell me your tales. It’s rare that a sibling should have grander tales of battle to tell than I. And I heard that Alythia had joined you after House Halmady fell…. I suppose you’ve been in Tracato, yes?”

There were more riders passing by, looking curiously to see this dismounted gathering by the roadside. She could hear exclamations, and men calling to others. Soon the news would spread along the column like fire through grass.

Before she could answer Koenyg, more horses arrived and riders leaped off. Damon pressed through those surrounding, and Myklas. Koenyg had to tackle them to restrain them from smothering her. “She’s hurt you fools! Be gentle!”

Damon pushed his elder brother away, fighting off an idiot grin. “Sasha, are you…?”

“I’m all right,” she said, with tears in her eyes. She hugged him, and he replied with gentle pressure. Then Myklas, whose idiot grin was unrestrained. “You’ve grown,” Sasha observed.

“You’ve shrunk,” Myklas retorted, and kissed her roughly.

“Sasha, where have you been?” Damon asked. “Was it Tracato?”

“Aye. Kessligh’s still there.”

“And Alythia?”

“How did she cope living as a pauper on Dockside for half a year?” Myklas asked joyfully. “I would have given anything to see that!” Koenyg cuffed him on the head.

Sasha looked at the sodden grass. She’d almost been hoping for a frosty reception, she realised. From Koenyg at least. Now, they were all together, and almost a family, for the first time in…spirits, she couldn’t think of when. She wanted to enjoy it. Wanted to talk with her brothers and tell all her tales, and listen to theirs, and laugh, and eat and perhaps even down a cup of wine in their presence, where no priest would see her. But it had to be done. It was a duty of blood, that she be here. That they hear it from her own mouth.

“Alythia’s dead,” she said softly. “I saw the body.” For a moment, there was no sound but the great passing of the column. Koenyg looked pale. Damon, aghast. Myklas, disbelieving.

“No!” Myklas insisted. Then he stamped in fury, his eyes spilling. “No! You’re wrong! She’s not dead!”

Koenyg grabbed him, a hard immobilising arm about the younger man’s shoulders. Myklas tried to fight him off, but Damon grabbed him and Myklas collapsed against Damon’s shoulder, sobbing. Sasha’s own tears escaped her, and she was drawn into the four-sided embrace. Her brothers’
arms about her hurt, but that was well. Everything hurt. They grieved together, a small circle of pain by the roadside. And Sasha wondered what it said about her family that pain and war should unite them at last, where so little else had worked.

The siblings took lunch in the same carriage that had carried Sofy from Baen-Tar to Sherdaine. It was a shameful thing for a Lenay prince to travel by carriage, but it was the only way all four could converse together without halting. The king rode further back in the column today. Word was travelling to him of Sasha’s arrival. Sasha did not look forward to that inevitable meeting.

She told her brothers the story from the beginning. Her time in Petrodor, Kessligh’s struggles to unite the Nasi-Keth, her friendship with Rhillian, and the trials that followed. Then Tracato. Koenyg listened grimly to hear of the troubles there. Damon looked wearily resigned. And Myklas, completely impatient with any politics, wishing only to hear of Alythia’s end. When she finished, none of them spoke. The carriage wheels clattered and bounced on the road, jolting Sasha’s wounds. She’d felt altogether more comfortable in a saddle.

“That is quite a tale,” Koenyg said finally. “You and I shall talk some more on affairs in Tracato, and Saalshen’s moves for power there. We shall talk on the Steel’s formations and tactics, also. But I must know…you say the Steel have left Tracato?”

“Those formations that had been fighting in Elisse, yes,” said Sasha. “It has taken me ten days to get here. The Steel moves more slowly, but are remarkably fast for such a heavy formation. They are all in position now, I am certain.”

“And the Enorans?” Koenyg pressed.

“I have not been in Enora, I could not say. But rumour was that the Enorans were quite unnerved by Tracato’s troubles. Some rumours suggested there may have been Enoran formations readying to march into Rhodaan to restore order, should the feudalists grasp control. But even if true, I suspect they too would be in position by now. You’re late.”

“The Torovans are late,” Koenyg corrected. “And weddings between nations take an obscene amount of time. But it’s true, it would have been nice to get here a week earlier.”

“And Ilduur?” Damon asked.

“Ilduur is mountainous,” Sasha replied. “Most Rhodaanis don’t trust them, from feudals to Civid Sein. Ilduur has natural fortifications, there is no way through for any invading army, save through narrow passes that would be death against far lesser forces than the Ilduuri can muster. So the Ilduuri tend to sit in their mountain strongholds and wait. They are sworn by oath to defend their blood brothers of Enora and Rhodaan, but they show little
enthusiasm for it. Their posture is defensive, and they will not launch a flanking thrust to threaten Enora’s attackers, as Enora will and has for Rhodaan.” She looked at Koenyg. “What’s the plan?”

“It was to be a two-pronged attack, against Rhodaan and Enora. But this news of Tracato’s troubles continues to mount, I now think it would best be focused upon the Rhodaanis…if the Rhodaani Steel has been suffering some desertions, and some of their soldiers have been fighting in Elisse, Tracato, and now to the border, they’ll be tired, and perhaps disillusioned. A breakthrough against Rhodaan would seem more likely now than Enora.”

It seemed very hopeful, but Sasha held her tongue. Any advantage against the Steel was a good thing. “So you’ll be thinking a feint against the Enorans?” she asked.

“Perhaps a third of the total force. Or perhaps a quarter made to look like a third, if we think we can get away with it. Enough to hold the Enorans from a flanking sweep, and focus our maximum force upon the Rhodaanis.”

“They’re not that strong, surely!” Myklas scoffed. “Rhodaan and Enora have maybe thirty thousand each, but even with Torovan understrength, we number a hundred and forty. There’s never been an army of this scale in all the history of Rhodia!”

“You’ll need all of them,” Sasha told Koenyg, not bothering to answer her youngest brother. “Focusing strength is good. Even if successful, it will be a close run thing.”

Koenyg nodded, not contesting her assessment. Sasha was relieved at least to see that he had a clear idea of what they were up against.

Koenyg leaned forward, and looked her hard in the eyes. “Sasha. I will not lie to you. You are useful to me, and to this war. You have great standing amongst the central and eastern Goeren-yai, and many of them are still not too keen on the fight. Damon has been attempting to drum some sense into their thick skulls about the need to change their fighting styles, with some limited success. Your own words, from Kessligh’s student, could convince them.