Tracato: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Three

by Shepherd, Joel

  She entered the great hall, one of Tracato’s many architectural marvels. There was a commotion at the far end, amidst the usual student bustle. People had gathered in numbers and voices were raised. Sasha strode that way, in a perfect mood for trouble. Hopefully someone would need killing. Someone evil.

  A group of students were booing. Sasha pushed through the crowd and saw a small cluster of well-dressed men in argument with several black-robed Ulenshaals. Very well-dressed men, Sasha corrected herself, eyeing the jewelled sword pommels, the intricate embroidery on their jackets and pants, the feather tufts in wide brimmed hats. Nobility.

  High nobility, she corrected herself further, seeing the woman in the blue gown who accompanied them, with a pair of servants in close attendance. The gown was more understated than some Sasha had seen, yet tasselled and embroidered to an extravagant extent for a journey into territory beyond comfortable noble grounds….

  The beautiful young woman noted Sasha, and her eyes widened. “Sasha!” Sasha’s jaw dropped.

  “’Lyth?”

  Alythia crossed to her with unladylike haste, and embraced her. Sasha hugged her back. Her sister smelled of perfumes beyond Sasha’s experience to describe. Alythia pulled away and grinned at her.

  “I told you I’d come!” she exclaimed, daring Sasha to contradict her.

  She had told her. They’d exchanged letters, a ludicrous contrivance for two sisters living barely a morning’s run away, but it had been the only way for more than two weeks now. Once within the fold of Family Renine, Alythia had vanished. Sasha had worried, and accosted several noble messengers to insist they delivered her concerns into important hands. Finally there had been a letter, in Alythia’s script, insisting she was well, and happy, and of increasingly good fortune. Sasha had not been surprised, but suspicious. Further correspondence had convinced her that Alythia’s words were genuine. They could not meet. Alythia was always “engaged,” and nobility did not visit the Tol’rhen in these times.

  “Dear Lord Elot,” said Alythia, turning back to her group, “you do recall my sister Sashandra?”

  “Indeed,” said Lord Elot, and Sasha recalled the lord from the night of their arrival in Tracato. That had been the last time she’d seen Alythia, until now. “We meet again, Lady Sashandra.”

  Sasha returned his bow. “Lord Elot.”

  “And Master Alfriedo,” said Alythia, taking Sasha’s hand and walking her over. Sasha realised that she was addressing a boy of no more than fourteen—she had overlooked him entirely, his head came barely to Lord Elot’s wide midriff. His young face was very fine and pale, he wore a small sword at his hip, and carried himself with lordly dignity.

  Alfriedo, Alythia had said. This must be Alfriedo Renine. The rightful heir to the long dormant throne of Rhodaan. If one still believed in that nonsense.

  Alythia curtseyed low. “Master Alfriedo, may I introduce my sister, Sashandra.” She presented Sasha’s hand to the boy. Alfriedo, with impeccable etiquette, took Sasha’s hand and kissed it.

  “Dear Lady,” he said, his voice high and clear. His eyes were very blue. Sasha had heard a scandalous rumour that the boy king had serrin blood. Seeing him now, she wondered. “Is it true, as your sister tells me, that you prefer not to be addressed by the royal title of your birth?”

  Sasha gave him a bow of respect, but no more. Behind the boy, several lords’ faces darkened with displeasure. “I do,” she said. “And more to the point, my father disapproves that anyone should use the title.”

  “Perhaps then we should start calling you Princess?” Alfriedo suggested. “It would not do to please the King of Lenayin.” The nobles laughed. The surrounding gathering was largely silent, all shouldering each other to see. “I have come, at your sister’s encouragement, to tour the Tol’rhen. I have always desired to, and now I have the opportunity.”

  Sasha was astonished. So were most of those around them. She spared a quick glance at Alythia, and found her sister’s gaze trained very firmly upon her. Alythia was up to something.

  “I see no reason why that should be a problem,” Sasha recovered herself to say.

  “I can think of several,” said one of the Ulenshaals drily. Garen, Sasha recalled the man’s name. “Feudalism is a disease of the mind; we exorcised it from Rhodaan two centuries ago. Feudalists and their ilk are not welcome in the Tol’rhen.”

  There was some loud agreement from the crowd. Lord Elot looked stonily unsurprised. As though, Sasha thought, he expected this exercise to fail, and was pleased with the prospect.

  “Exactly what kind of intellectual are you?” Sasha asked Garen sharply.

  “The discerning kind,” said Garen, and several in the crowd tittered.

  “You’re a bigot,” she told him.

  Garen’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Can you show me one passage in all written works of serrin philosophy that states that a person with an alternative point of view should be turned away, without engagement?”

  “Feudalism is a plague upon the land!” Garen said angrily. “Everything that held humanity back for centuries was swept away when Maldereld abolished feudal powers in Rhodaan, and now these characters wish to bring it back!”

  “Well, I think that’s a fine argument!” Sasha said grandly. “Make it!” She indicated to the waiting nobles. “You call yourself Nasi-Keth, yet you refuse to debate! What have the serrin taught us if not to advance knowledge through congenial argument?” Garen’s look was sullen. “Show them around your marvellous institution! How ridiculous is it that the highest nobility have rarely seen it with their own eyes. Here’s your chance, show them what they’re missing, or admit that you’re either too feeble an intellect to make your case persuasively, or too cowardly a man to engage your foe upon the field of intellectual battle.”

  There was a silence in the hall. Then, an isolated applause. Another joined it, and another. There was little enthusiasm in it, but no one shouted the applauders down. Ulenshaal Garen took a deep breath, seeing that he’d lost. Lord Elot also looked displeased.

  “Very well,” said Garen. “People, guests, if you will follow me?” He gestured down the hall, and the crowd parted.

  Young Alfriedo paused before following, and looked up at Sasha with respect. “Lady Sashandra. Your sister told me that you were formidable. I see that she has told me only the truth.” He glanced at Alythia, who smiled and bowed her head gracefully.

  “Smart kid?” Sasha suggested.

  “Oh, you have no idea,” said Alythia. “He is a proper little lord, Sasha, smart well beyond his years. More so than most of his elders, I think.”

  They sat at a study table on the balcony overlooking the Tol’rhen library. They had followed the guided tour as far as the library, before taking their leave to talk in private. The touring party had attracted quite a crowd, and were thus far all well mannered. Kessligh’s arrival had ended any further chance of trouble, despite the continued displeasure of several Ulenshaals. The last Sasha had seen, Kessligh and Alfriedo had been engaged in an animated discussion on various points of Tol’rhen learning.

  “What about his mother?” Sasha pressed. “I hear stories.”

  “Oh everyone in this city tells stories,” Alythia scoffed. “Lady Renine is an amazing woman. She’s well educated, she speaks five tongues and knows so much of the history of these lands, yet the Civid Sein speak of her as though she were stupid. She’s the reason Alfriedo has had such a good education. She is a fine mother to her son.”

  “And what of you?” Sasha pressed. “What is your situation with them?”

  “Family Renine have been very kind,” said Alythia, with measured satisfaction. “I have been granted my own quarters, with a staff of five. I am a guest of the noble household.”

  “I can think of several other words for it.”

  “Such as?”

  “Hostage. Bargaining piece.”

  “Sasha, all institutions shall seek power and leverage,” Alyth
ia said impatiently, “including this one. You don’t think the Nasi-Keth seek similar advantage from you and Kessligh?”

  Sasha opened her mouth to retort, then thought of Ulenshaal Sevarien and Reynold Hein, their efforts toward the Civid Sein and their attempts to drag her and Kessligh into it. She looked away in frustration.

  Alythia frowned at her. “Sasha, is something the matter? You seem a little…tense.”

  “I’m all right.” She was actually pleased that Alythia had noticed. “Unwanted male attention,” she admitted.

  Alythia smiled broadly. “Ah,” she said wisely. “You can’t kill them all, can you?” Sasha scowled at her. “It’s someone of status, yes? Someone well regarded within the Nasi-Keth? Difficult when there are no clear lines of good and evil, isn’t it?”

  “I’m glad it amuses you.”

  Alythia clasped Sasha’s hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you’re finally in my world. I cannot be the blunt instrument all the time that you are, Sasha. Or the sharp one, more correctly. I can’t just fight people who offend me, there is too much etiquette at play, too many conflicting loyalties. If I have been short with you in the past, it is perhaps because you seemed to have so much success taking the easy way out, and fighting. I’ve had to tolerate fools, Sasha, and unwanted advances, and all kinds of demeaning nonsense. You never did, and I envied that.”

  Sasha smiled at her, and grasped her hand tightly in return. They had been enemies for so long, and now, they were friends. It was the discovery of long-lost family.

  “So, how do you see it?” she asked. “What do Family Renine want from you?”

  “It’s difficult to say,” Alythia said. “I’m not entirely certain they are themselves sure. But consider the options from their perspective. First, the Army of Lenayin wins, and marches on Tracato. They have me for a hostage, or at least for a negotiator, perhaps to put in a good word for them with our father.”

  “If you were wed to one of them…” Sasha added, and did not need to complete the sentence.

  “There have been leading questions,” Alythia admitted. “But no firm offers for now. Under Lenay law the marriage would not stand without the king’s first prior approval…”

  “Unlikely,” Sasha agreed.

  “But it bears thinking on. The second option is that the Army of Lenayin loses, in which case they may expect to see members of our family fall.” Sasha nodded grimly. “In that case, there is no telling where I would stand within the succession—”

  “Nowhere, as women cannot sit the throne.”

  “But if wedded, what of my husband?”

  Sasha stared at her for a moment, thinking that over. “No no no,” she said. “I’m not that far gone from noble circles that I don’t know at least the basic rules of succession. Foreign husbands can’t inherit, men have to be true born Lenays. It’s Koenyg, then Wylfred—”

  “Who has taken the oath of brotherhood and cannot stand,” said Alythia.

  “Then Damon and Myklas,” Sasha finished. “You’re older than Damon but he and Myklas still come before you as men…”

  “And if they all fall?” Alythia said sombrely.

  Sasha didn’t like to think about that, but circumstance demanded she must. “I’m not sure anyone knows. Our family’s only sat the throne for a hundred years. The circumstance has never arisen.”

  “This is the point, Sasha. I’m not sure that anyone knows.”

  “But surely…I mean, Great-Grandpa Soros must have written it down?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Alythia, “the rules of succession are set, as you said. But they’re old, Sasha, and untested. You know Lenayin, you know the battle to get the lords to do anything the way it’s supposed to happen. Lenayin today is a vastly different nation than Grandpa Soros thought it would be, a hundred years since the Liberation.”

  Sasha nodded. Alythia made a lot of sense. “If all our family’s men fall, what’s supposed to happen?”

  “Sons of the oldest heir,” said Alythia, “in descending order of course.”

  “Little nephew Dany,” Sasha said distastefully. “A Hadryn inherits the throne.”

  “He’s not actually Hadryn.”

  “His mother is. And if Koenyg were dead, she’d rule his choices, the Archbishop would control his education…”

  “Yes,” Alythia conceded with a shrug. “It would be like the Hadryn acquiring the throne of Lenayin, certainly. Which would upset so many Lenay lords, to say nothing of Lenay people, that likely war would result. Which is why I don’t think the lords would allow it to happen, and Grandpa’s rules of succession be damned.”

  “So who would have an equal competing claim? Surely not a son of yours with some Tracato noble?”

  “Sasha, think about it.” Alythia leaned forward, eyes deadly serious. “What has been the single greatest advantage our family has had in ruling Lenayin the last century? The reason why the lords don’t just get rid of us, as they so easily could?”

  “We don’t get involved in lordly disputes.”

  “Exactly. Baen-Tar is not a true province, and the royal family has no provincial loyalty. We’re independent. The lords abide by Father’s decisions because they know he is impartial. However much they disagree with any decision he makes against them, they’d still rather keep the king on the throne because they know the one to replace him would be a provincial great lord, and that would be intolerable.”

  “Like having a Hadryn on the throne,” Sasha said slowly.

  “Exactly,” said Alythia, knocking the table for emphasis. “Half of Lenayin would rather tear the land apart than see it happen, because they know the chances of impartiality from a Hadryn king are precisely nil. And the Hadryn know the same of them.”

  “You think that an outsider, born in Tracato…”

  “As Grandpa Soros was educated in Petrodor,” Alythia agreed, “to the extent that he was practically a Torovan when he ascended to the throne and barely spoke a native tongue…”

  “Oh,” said Sasha.

  “It’s not without precedent in Lenayin,” Alythia concluded. “Most of the great lords would rather see a son of mine, raised in Tracato, ascend to the throne than any son of Koenyg’s.”

  “Wait, there’s Petryna, she’s older than you.”

  “And her son is heir to the Great Lordship of Yethulyn, same problem as with Hadryn. And Marya’s older than us all, but the chances that any in Lenayin would let sons of the new King Marlen of Torovan ascend are unlikely, given it would simply make Lenayin a province of Torovan, beneath the command of King Marlen Steiner.”

  “And a son of Sofy would be beholden to the commands of Larosan nobility,” Sasha added.

  “Besides which, I’m older,” Alythia agreed. “But yes, the very advantage of it being a son of mine, if the Army of Lenayin lost its fight, is that Family Renine are relatively powerless outside of Rhodaan. If the Army of Lenayin had lost, it would certainly suggest the current order here would still stand, which precludes Family Renine from assuming any greater feudal power. Meaning a son of mine would be a true outsider, with no unwanted connections. Perfect for Lenayin.”

  “You’ve thought about this a lot,” Sasha said warily.

  “Aye, well you think about sword fighting, and I think about noble politics. It’s our lot in life.”

  Sasha was unconvinced. She no longer hated Alythia, if she ever truly had, but some of her previous assessments of her sister, she did not doubt. Power drove Alythia. Obsessed her, in every waking moment. It was not necessarily a flaw; as Alythia said, Sasha knew what it was to be obsessive in competitive matters, and that it did not always equate with evil. And yet…

  “Sasha, I’m thinking of Lenayin, as are you,” Alythia said firmly, as though reading her mind. “The armies of the Steel have not been defeated in two hundred years. If Lenayin suffers a catastrophic loss, royal ranks could be decimated, and then Hadryn takes the throne. We need options.”

  “Who would you wed?”

 
; “I haven’t decided. It would take a long time to raise a son to rule, if the great lords agreed to his legitimate claim. There would need to be a caretaker. A regent, of sorts.”

  “All right, this has now become too hypothetical for me. ’Lyth, we have more short-term problems than Lenayin’s succession. What’s General Zulmaher doing in Elisse?”

  “You’re the soldier. You tell me.”

  “Many around here are saying he’s a puppet of the Renines, that he’s more interested in making noble friends in Elisse than destroying feudalism there.”

  Alythia sighed. “Sasha, I am a new guest in the Renine household. I have leverage there, but not yet trust. I know nothing of the Renines’ schemes.”

  “Do you think that there are schemes?”

  “It’s a noble household, of course there are schemes. I know that everyone’s quite alarmed at these Civid Sein fools suddenly pouring into town.”

  “The surest way to rouse the Civid Sein is to set up Elisse as a feudal ally to the north,” Sasha said with certainty. “I don’t know…why do the nobles want to tear down everything that’s been built here? Had you ever imagined a city such as this, before you came here?”

  “It’s very impressive, yes,” Alythia said wryly.

  “It’s the wealth, and the ideas!” Sasha was almost surprised at her own enthusiasm. “I’ve been thinking a lot since I’ve been here, and there are many ideas we could take back to Lenayin. I’d love to see a Tol’rhen like this in Baen-Tar.”

  Alythia smiled indulgently at her younger sister. “You forget yourself, Sasha,” she said. “The Army of Lenayin is marching to burn this place down.”

  “No.” Sasha shook her head. “I can’t believe that. If our army wins, Father would never order all of this destroyed.”

  “He would not wish to, no,” Alythia agreed. “But, Sasha, look at what’s happened here. All these institutions, this learning and invention that impresses you so much, this is the nobility of Rhodia’s worst nightmare. This is a vision of the world without them. What was that old tale, about the king whose death is foretold by the fortune teller, and he orders every fortune teller killed? Why do you think this place has been so endlessly attacked the last two hundred years?”