Tracato: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Three (25 page)

“One does not complain,” Kiel said mildly. “One merely observes.”

“One might have thought you’d seen enough blood,” Rhillian said, with an edge.

“Blood does not interest me,” said Kiel. “Only survival.”

“Survival lies in a stable Rhodaan and a stable Elisse. You also served, Kiel.”

“
Mes’a rhan
,” said Kiel with a faint smile. He put a hand to his heart and bowed. “I am convinced.”

Rhillian snorted. Somehow, with Kiel, the smile never quite reached those pale grey eyes. She had not invited him to the war because she distrusted his methods. Kiel, of course, knew so. One knew such things, between serrin, where humans might keep secrets, or suspicions.

Not all the crowd seemed pleased to see General Zulmaher, Rhillian noted. They applauded stoically, as one must, if one was Rhodaani and confronted with the victorious Rhodaani Steel. Without the Steel, free Rhodaan was finished, and most Rhodaanis knew it. But there were grim stares at the general, riding erect in full colours and armour, save the helmet.

The serrin were received very differently. Some Tracatans gasped, pointed or cried out. Women in particular gave exclamations, and hoisted their little girls up to a seeing vantage. Rhillian smiled and waved back often, to enthusiastic reply. She wore her snow-white hair loose down her back, carefully washed and brushed of all the war’s tangles. Her best jacket and riding pants, too, washed and pressed, and she even wore a silver chain with an emerald pendant for her neck. The pendant matched her eyes, brilliant green, particularly on a day like today when the sun would strike the jewel, and burn like green fire.

“The white one!” she heard them call. That, or “The white lady!” Rhillian supposed it was a vast improvement on “The White Death,” as she’d been known by many in Petrodor. General Zulmaher, they had all seen before, but Rhillian’s presence in Tracato was much more rare. They seemed intrigued.

“Unfair,” Aisha declared. “I made at least as much effort to be well presented, yet they are not staring at me.”

Rhillian smiled at her. “You look beautiful,” she assured her friend, and it was true. Aisha wore an
in’sae
jacket, a serrin riding top of patterned green and brown, her leather riding boots were newly polished, and her mare gleamed as though she’d been polished too.

“I know,” Aisha replied. “Yet even so, they stare as though I were a lump of coal beside a diamond. Which I fear is true.”

“They stare because we are strange,” said Kiel. “Humans are obsessed with uniformity. They strive for sameness, like wolves to the pack. Strangeness excites their senses, sometimes to pleasure, other times to fear.”

“A double-edged sword, as are all things,” Aisha declared.

“Perhaps,” said Kiel. “But even in love and pleasure, humans are moved
by fear. Fear is the constant emotion. The foundation to all. It is never absent.”

Rhillian’s eyes strayed to a mother holding her daughter in the crowd. The little girl was staring, eyes wide, mesmerised yet uncertain. What would a child choose? To fear the stranger with the strange looks? Or to love her? Surely it depended on what she was told. In Rhodaan, children were told good of serrin. Enora and Ilduur too, for the most part. Yet the Saalshen Bacosh was small, compared to what lay beyond.

“What is
our
foundation then, Kiel?” Rhillian asked. “The foundation to all in serrin thought?”

“Reason,” said Kiel, without hesitation.

“There was once a man who reasoned that he knew the reason of reason. And, once reasoned, found it unreasonable.”

“I had not heard that,” Kiel admitted. “
Eternis?
”

“No. It’s Lenay.” Her smile faded. “Sasha told it to me, in Petrodor. She never believed in serrin reason.”

“It showed,” Kiel said drily.

“She never believed in serrin infallibility,” Aisha reminded them both. “Best that we follow her example, in that.”

“Aye,” Rhillian said. Not infallible, no. Merely determined.

They rode into the city, where the buildings loomed tall and grand, like little else in all human or serrin lands. Great façades of arches and columns, and courtyards flanked by statues, watching like sentinels, mythical beasts and great Rhodaani heroes alike. Here, before the House of Justice, stood upon a pedestal the statue of a serrin woman, dressed in the formal robes of a Grand Justiciar. She held a book of law under one arm and raised a sword to the heavens with another, her hair free and loose as a true justiciar would never wear it.

It was Maldereld, Rhillian knew. Elsewhere in the Saalshen Bacosh, humans called her a general, yet in Tracato most recalled her for her contributions to law, in the years of occupation following the fall of King Leyvaan. Rhillian also knew that this particular statue was the third, and little more than ten years old, the previous two statues having been defaced. Not all Rhodaanis liked to be reminded of serrin overlordship, least of all by a woman. Particularly not here, in the wealthy centre, where every building spoke of commerce and power, and the clothes of the common cityfolk were rich indeed.

The crowds here were huge and rapturous without reservation. Blackboots lined the road, and some garrison soldiers in full armour, to hold back the cheering people, many of whom threw flowers or grain. No dark looks for General Zulmaher here, Rhillian noted. The wealthy folk loved their general.

Then they came upon a particularly grand courtyard, pressed against the eastern wall of the Ushal Fortress. A line of soldiers and Blackboots held the crowd back from the courtyard, for within were arrayed the various importances of Tracato—perhaps fifty people, mostly men: ten standing on a great platform and forty seated on a scaffold behind.

The flagbearers turned into the courtyard, followed by Zulmaher and the captains, then Rhillian and her two lieutenants. The marching Steel did not follow, but continued their way up the road, headed to the south edge of Tracato, and the barracks there. There would be barely a night’s rest, before deployment to the western front, to face the invasion threat. No time at all, in truth.

Rhillian followed the officers about the central fountain, trying to keep her mare to a steady formation between Aisha and Kiel. She was not a natural rider, and serrin were not much given to formations anyhow. They all stopped before the platform and waited, while trumpets blew, and the crowd behind cheered some more, and a herald shouted a long announcement in Rhodaani that Rhillian caught only in part—something about glorious victories, and triumph in the name of the gods, and freedom for all humanity. Truly she was an appalling linguist, to not be fluent in Rhodaani. But then, she’d simply had more important matters on which to apply her mind.

More cheering, and then some young men in ceremonial gold came forward to hold the horses’ halters, while the general and his entourage dismounted. The lad holding the halter of Rhillian’s horse looked very nervous, and barely more than fourteen. Rhillian gave him a smile. He swallowed hard, and turned several shades paler.

Zulmaher stepped forward, and Rhillian followed, Aisha and Kiel having enough sense of human protocols to fall in behind. Zulmaher ascended three steps to the platform, where a priest gave him a holy book to place his palm upon, and a ring for him to kneel and kiss. Premier Chiron then placed a garland of leaves on his head, and Zulmaher rose and kissed Chiron on one cheek, and then the other.

Captains Renard and Hauser followed, to more cheering, as Zulmaher completed the circle of importances arrayed across the platform behind, clasping hands and kissing cheeks. Rhillian could not help but reflect how strange it was that Rhodaani men should kiss in public, while in Lenayin, a man could be killed for making the attempt.

Then it was Rhillian’s turn, and the cheering was just as loud when the herald announced her name. That surprised her. The trumpets blew, and the priest hovered with his book and ring, as though in hope. Rhillian granted him a smile, and that was all. Some serrin, on occasion, had touched the book,
and kissed the ring, not wishing to offend, and being serrin, having no strict belief that could in turn be offended. “What was the harm?” they’d asked.

The harm, Rhillian was certain, lay in encouraging human uniformity. In that, Kiel was correct—it was the most dangerous of all human instincts. If Rhodaan wished Saalshen’s friendship, then it must accept Saalshen’s strangeness. To accept such strangeness, without hatred, would surely do them good. Serrin, after all, had been doing the same for humans since humanity had first appeared in Rhodia.

She exchanged kisses with Premier Chiron, an unremarkable man of lesser height than she, balding and dark featured. His eyes held a certain confidence, however, that was neither arrogance nor power lust.

“You and all your
talmaad
have the thanks of all Rhodaan, Mistress Rhillian Resil’dyi,” he told her in Torovan.

Rhillian repressed a wince at the last name. It was rare to meet a human who knew what serrin last names meant. “And the thanks of all Elisse one day, I should hope, Premier Chiron,” she replied.

Chiron smiled grimly. “Quite, quite,” he agreed. “One day I am sure, they shall erect statues in your honour in Vethenel, as we have for your glorious predecessor Maldereld. But for now, you have Tracato. The city is yours, Mistress Resil’dyi.”

Rhillian wondered if the premier might soon regret he’d said that. “I thank you, Premier. Saalshen thanks you for your friendship.”

She kissed cheeks and clasped hands with the others—there were councilmen and justiciars, wealthy merchants, senior civil officers, a general, an ambassador each of Enora and Ilduur and, of course, nobility. Some of those with appointed rank were nobility too. Some kissed too wetly, a few from lechery, and a few from that peculiar attitude of Rhodaani men in the presence of attractive women, part fatherliness and part lust.

“You’d make a good statue,” Aisha told her in Haati dialect, so none would be likely to overhear. She took her place at Rhillian’s side, looking amused.

“I’d rather be carved by a Petrodorian,” Rhillian replied.

“Nude?” Rhillian shrugged. Aisha raised her eyebrows. “That would be an interesting addition to a Tracato courtyard.”

“With a great python about my neck,” Rhillian added. “Its tail about my thigh, and stroking it with one hand, like so.”

“They stare at you as though you were a demon,” said Kiel, taking his place on her other side. “If they could only understand what you say, they would be convinced of it.” Rhillian grinned.

The courtyard’s new arrivals were climbing the steps to the platform now, and Rhillian’s smile faded. “I don’t believe it,” she murmured.

Lord Crashuren was first, a pale, tall man with a bald head save for great, grey whiskers. He was the first of the Elissian lords that General Zulmaher had made peace with. He took the knee before Premier Chiron, a palm upon the book, and kissed the priest’s ring. And he remained on one knee, as a junior justiciar held a Tracato city flag at Chiron’s side, a shield in blue and white checkers, and the words in Rhodaani—
Levas dei to mertas.
Live free or die.

Lord Crashuren kissed the flag. Premier Chiron asked for his allegiance, upon his word of honour. Lord Crashuren gave it, on behalf of all the lords of Yertan Province…that was a good chunk of middle Elisse, right up to the outskirts of Vethenel. There was no way the crowd about the courtyard’s far perimeter could hear the words, yet when Crashuren rose, the trumpets sounded, and the crowd all cheered to see Crashuren and Chiron embrace. The Rhodaani leader of the people’s office, selected by the general will of the Rhodaani population, and the feudal tyrant whose peasants Rhillian had found in pitiful condition, half starved despite the fertility of their lands, poorer than dirt, and brutalised by Crashuren’s thugs. Rhillian recalled corpses in the mud of the little village square, a woman and child amongst them. She’d killed the man who’d slain them. She’d have gladly done the same to Crashuren.

On the steps, there were more Elissian lords awaiting their turn.

“I wasn’t told this was going to happen,” Rhillian said in a low voice.

“No surprise,” said Kiel, sounding almost amused. Kiel usually expected the worst from humans. Today, his expectations were met.

Across the platform, at General Zulmaher’s side, Captain Renard gave Rhillian a seething look. Several of the councilmen, too, looked uncomfortable. Rhillian returned Renard’s stare for a long moment, pondering. Her stare moved to the general. Zulmaher stood oblivious, square shouldered and proud, watching as his accomplishments unfolded in all their glory. He did not spare her so much as a glance. Doubtless he knew what she thought. Equally doubtless, he cared not a bit.

The Mahl’rhen smelled of perfume and lavender. Errollyn walked the paths between courtyards, and saw coloured silk scarves blowing in the breeze, and heard windchimes and music. The
talmaad
had returned from Elisse—victorious, though the decoration would have remained even if otherwise. Serrin, not big on grand human ceremony, did enjoy their little celebrations.

In the northern complex, he found the baths. With a squeal of delight, a small, blonde woman leapt to her feet and ran to him bare footed. Aisha hugged him hard, and Errollyn hugged her back.

“Errollyn! Are you well? How is Sasha?”

“We’re both well.” Errollyn pulled back to look at her. There was no visible
scar to the side of her head, beneath her hair. Aisha’s loose robe afforded him the opportunity to examine her shoulder, and then her calf, where injuries he had previously treated seemed well healed.

“That’s the most interest you’ve shown in my body for some time,” Aisha teased. “There was a time you did show more.”

“I’m with Sasha now,” said Errollyn with a grin. “If not restrained by human custom, I assure you I’d take you aside for a good fuck.”

“Oh poor Sasha,” Aisha sighed, hugging him once more. “One day we should really broaden her horizons.”

“She’s human, Aisha. It’s more complicated than that.”

“I know, I know. I’m half human too, I do remember.”