Tracato: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Three

by Shepherd, Joel

  “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 grea
t, 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.”

  About nearby pools, conversation was fading. Serrin turned to look. Errollyn walked amongst them, removing an arm from Aisha’s shoulders to hop across a joining stream. Once across, Aisha replaced his arm, defiant in the face of serrin stares.

  Seated half submerged in the warm water, relaxed and disinterested, was Rhillian. Wet robes floated in the water, revealing bare skin on hard muscle. Errollyn could see no new scars, yet she looked changed. Hardened. Her face, when her green eyes found him, seemed to bear a grimmer expression than it could previously show. Although her skin bore as few lines as ever, she now seemed somehow weathered, her brilliant green eyes darkened in shadow.

  Conversation ceased entirely. Rhillian looked at Errollyn.

  “What do you want?”

  “Many things,” said Errollyn. “None of them brings me here.”

  In Saalsi, it was well said, dismissing selfish intentions and claiming broader purposes. Six months ago, Rhillian might have snorted at the clever words. Now, she did not bother even that. Emerald eyes flicked from him to Aisha and back.

  “What does?” she said blandly.

  “I have news of Lady Renine’s intentions,” said Errollyn. “Before I share them, I’d ask more of yours.”

  “Amusing,” said Kiel from his seat from the poolside, “that you feel you have the right to ask.” Errollyn ignored him. Rhillian just looked at him.

  “I’ve not decided,” she said. “General Zulmaher has made allies of our worst enemies in Elisse. They flock to him mostly for fear of us. He promises them retention of feudal powers. Should they use them to retain power in Elisse, they would in turn provide a safe haven for feudalism in Rhodaan. Wealth, marriage prospects, trade, all according to feudal custom, and with no concern for the Rhodaani Council. It would be as though Maldereld had never raised a sword against feudal power in Rhodaani.”

  “You can’t just remove feudalism from Rhodaan, Rhillian,” said Errollyn, his eyes narrowed. Had Rhillian learned nothing from Petrodor? “This cancer cannot be cut from the body, not without removing heart and lungs with it.”

  “Errollyn speaks sense,” said an elderly serrin, seated on a cushioned chair in the wading pool. His skinny shins were half submerged in the water, his long hair white like Rhillian’s, but with age. “Rhodaan is a three-legged stool. The feudalists and the Civid Sein make two legs, the majority uncommitted population the third. Remove one leg, and it shall fall.”

  “Saalshen makes a fourth leg, Lesthen,” said Kiel. “We can hold up any stool.”

  “For a time,” said Lesthen. “For a time, perhaps. But we are not the pillar of foundation in Rhodaan we once were. Human civilisation grows rapidly. Serrin civilisation, slowly. When I was a young man, Saalshen had great power here. Today, our power remains the same, but Rhodaani power has increased tenfold. Today we are small, the strong child whose younger siblings have grown to manhood, while we remain children still.”

  “I’m not planning to remove feudalism,” said Rhillian. “But neither can it be allowed to sabotage Rhodaan from within. What news do you have for me, Errollyn?”

  Errollyn examined her. Dare he tell her? Most serrin would have felt compelled by the vel’ennar to be here. Unlike them, he had a choice. If he granted her this information, it would not be for unreasoned compulsion, but for judgement, and logic. That, at least, was what he told himself. Or did he not truly fantasise that perhaps, one day, he would do something to demonstrate his love of Saalshen, and win them all back to him?

  Maybe he was fooling himself to think that he had a choice. Saalshen’s power here was a reality, as was Rhillian’s control over it. He could not afford to see Family Renine’s plans come to fruition any more than Rhillian could. Even if she chose a poor course of action, surely that was better than the alternative?

  “There has been a courier. Between Lady Renine, and, I suspect, Regent Arosh of Larosa. I do not know how many messages. Perhaps several. Perhaps many, dating back years.”

  There was silence in the chamber. Rhillian stood up. She looked suspicious, though whether at him or the facts he revealed, Errollyn could not guess. “Treachery?” she asked.

  “Assuredly. She may claim she was demanding his immediate surrender, but that is already the Council’s demand. If she believed that, she’d simply support the Council. To go behind their back suggests other intentions.”

  Kiel was smiling more broadly by the moment. “Errollyn. This good turn you do us is most unexpected.”

  “I try to do what is right, Kiel,” Errollyn said coldly. “What is right, and what serves your purposes, are not always the same thing.” He looked at Rhillian. “What shall you do?�
�

  Rhillian was gazing past him. Her emerald eyes were alive with possibility.

  The amphitheatre was a marvel. Sasha sat cross-legged in her spot, midway up the slope, eating grapes and handcakes she’d bought from a vendor, and watched the play with intrigue. Daish, Beled and some other friends from the Tol’rhen sat on the stone seats, sharing food and exchanging murmured critiques of the dialogue. Occasionally Daish would murmur some important point of plot to Sasha, for the play was mostly in Rhodaani, with an occasional smattering of high-class Larosan. The theatre seated perhaps a thousand, mostly wealthy, fine evening clothes aflicker in the light of a hundred torches. The stage below was ringed with fire and lantern, to lend an unearthly texture to the actors’ costumes, beneath a black and starry sky.

  The atmosphere of the theatre amazed her. A thousand people, all gathered together to watch the telling of a story. In Lenayin, tales were told to friends and family by the hearthside, and acting was not a profession respected by the majority of Lenays. Yet here, it seemed a matter of some seriousness. Furthermore, the play was quite intricate, and very recent, in the time of its telling. A commentary on society. Sasha found the concept intriguing, and a little unsettling, especially when so many of the Tol’rhen’s most precocious students insisted upon attending, and knew most of the playwrights’ names, and argued frequently over the merits of each. Culture, in her experience, existed to affirm one’s beliefs and values, not to challenge them.

  A young woman in actor’s guild robes, and a torch in hand, picked her way carefully from the theatre’s steps, and along the ledge past audience members and trays of food. She paused at Sasha’s shoulder, crouching to whisper, “There is a serrin lady to see you, Lady Sashandra,” in Torovan.

  Sasha frowned at her. Errollyn was at the Mahl’rhen, attending to Rhillian’s return from Elisse. Sasha had wanted to attend, but hadn’t been invited. She hadn’t been happy about it, but Errollyn, Kessligh and others who ought to know insisted that Errollyn was safe there, and in all likelihood, the talks would take many days. Knowing how impatient Sasha became with such pontificating, Errollyn had suggested (rather forcefully, to her annoyance) that she go to the theatre with friends instead.