Tracato: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Three

by Shepherd, Joel

  “…no Nasi-Keth involvement in this sort of thing!” Kessligh was insisting loudly to a young Nasi-Keth. It was Timoth Salo, a disciple of Reynold’s. He was a blue blood himself, won over to Reynold’s cause, and promoted, Sasha guessed, largely for the significance of his conversion.

  “The Nasi-Keth tires of your neutrality, Kessligh!” Timoth replied with frustration. “Can’t you see what’s happening here? These brave men have come to take the fight directly to the feudalist oppressors, and they deserve our support.”

  Several more young students echoed loud agreement.

  “Kid,” said Kessligh, “you have no idea what you’re doing. This isn’t what the Tol’rhen is for.”

  “It’s exactly what the Tol’rhen is for!” Timoth retorted. “To side with the weak against the powerful, to make right that which is wrong! If not for this, why have a Tol’rhen at all?”

  “You’re not the weak and powerless,” Sasha snapped. All looked at her for the first time. “There’s more Civid Sein than feudalists, and if the Nasi-Keth join it, there’ll be a proper massacre, they won’t scrub the blood off the pavings in Panae Achi for weeks.”

  “If that’s what it takes!” said Timoth, eyes blazing. “Or would you rather that a small group continue to wield power over the majority forever, Princess Sashandra?”

  “No,” said Reynold, before Sasha could escalate things. “No, Kessligh is right. There should be no Nasi-Keth marching on the courthouse today.”

  Timoth gaped at him. “But Reynold…”

  “Do as I say,” Reynold instructed, with a level stare. There was a meaning in that stare Sasha could not guess. Timoth fumed, and stalked off. “Kessligh,” said Reynold, with a faint bow to him, then, “Sasha,” with a small smile.

  Sasha’s hand twitched toward her blade. But no more than that. Reynold turned away, into the crowd, and Sasha hated herself all over again.

  “You should stop the whole thing,” Sasha told Kessligh.

  “I don’t have that much sway with the Civid Sein.”

  “Nor with the Nasi-Keth, it seems,” said Sasha. Kessligh’s look was hard. “You’ve deliberately kept out of it.”

  “Maybe.” Men in the crowd jostled past them. Somewhere, Nasi-Keth were shouting new orders. There were protests. “I recall giving you a lot of lectures, when you were younger. Lectures alone taught you little.”

  “I listened sometimes.”

  “Only after you’d had the substance of my lecture beaten into your thick skull with demonstration,” said Kessligh. “I could lecture these people until I was blue in the face, I’d change very few minds. People need to learn by experience, Sasha. Otherwise, even should they heed my words, they would never entirely believe the truth of them.”

  Sasha recalled a line of Tullamayne. “Men only learn that swords are sharp when a thousand heads lie severed on the ground.”

  Kessligh nodded. “And even then, there remains some dispute. Lessons learned are nothing next to lessons earned.”

  Sasha looked about them, sourly. “You seem less enamoured of your grand learning institution today than last month.”

  Kessligh said nothing. He looked up and around at the statues towering over the courtyard and sighed. “Ideas made these men,” he said. “Ideas carved this stone. I’ve always been a man of ideas.”

  “Ideas without morals are like knowledge without wisdom,” said Sasha. “Any fool can shoot an arrow; it takes morals and wisdom to know what to aim it at.”

  “Is that Tullamayne too?”

  “No,” Sasha said wryly. “That’s just me. But it’s what you taught me.”

  Kessligh smiled at her. That didn’t happen often. “Go and find what route this march intends to take. I’ll find a Blackboots lieutenant and see if there can’t be a force to accompany them. Some feudalists will take this for a provocation.”

  “I don’t know what help the Blackboots would be then,” said Sasha. “But I’ll ask.”

  The people she found in the milling crowd knew little enough, everyone pointed to someone else. She received an evasive answer from one Civid Sein organiser, a pot-bellied pig farmer from the northern border regions, and then Daish emerged from nowhere to grab her arm.

  “Justice Sinidane is here!” he shouted in her ear. “He’s looking for Kessligh!”

  “Sinidane?” Sasha was astonished, and let Daish drag her from the teeming courtyard. “He’s here himself?”

  “He has a palanquin!” Daish explained. Sasha saw the palanquin waiting by the Tol’rhen steps, the strong men who’d carried it resting while Sinidane stood on the third step, and peered at the crowd.

  Sasha ran with Daish.

  “Justice Sinidane!” she shouted to him. The old man saw her.

  “Ah, the lovely barbarian herself!” Sasha did not often smile when someone used that word in front of her, but now she laughed. “Have you seen your wise and courageous uman?”

  Sasha nodded vigorously. “Aye, he’s about this high, grey hair, walks with a limp.”

  Sinidane scowled, but his eyes twinkled. They’d met twice before, at Tol’rhen functions. Sasha guessed he’d once been a skilled hand with the ladies, and liked to demonstrate that he had not entirely forgotten.

  “Dear girl, are you a tease, or a fool?”

  “Must I choose?” And to Daish, “Find Kessligh for me?” Daish nodded and rushed back into the crowd. Sasha climbed the steps to the old man’s side. “Aside from flirting with me, what brings you here, Your Justice?”

  “Oh, things.” Sinidane’s humour faded as he regarded the crowds. “I never tire of this city and its curious sights. Do you know what route they take?”

  “Up High Road, as far as I can make out.”

  “Feudalist territory,” said Sinidane. “But it could be worse, much of it is feudalist territory, around the Justiciary. When I was a young man, I recall dreaming of the day when all Tracato’s lands would be merely lands and not defined by the loyalties of one group or another.”

  “I miss the countryside,” Sasha said sombrely. “When I lived there I had wild, youthful ideals. The longer I stay in cities, the more my ideals choke and die.”

  Sinidane regarded her seriously. “I am sorry for it,” he said. “Youthful idealism can be a curse, but without it, civilisations would perish.”

  “How many have perished because of it, I wonder?” Sasha replied, looking out at the courtyard.

  “Do not despair yet,” said Sinidane. “For as long as the Nasi-Keth have influence over the Civid Sein, I will not give up hope.”

  “Kessligh does not believe the Nasi-Keth in Tracato can be led,” said Sasha. “He says their beliefs are too strong to be swayed by him, and they must learn for themselves.”

  “Reynold Hein, at least, seems an intelligent, reasonable sort,” Sinidane offered.

  “He tried to rape me,” said Sasha. She did not look at him, but she felt his silence, pressing at her side. It was important that he knew. So much more important than her own wounded honour. When she did finally look at him, she saw something in the old man’s eyes that chilled her.

  Fear.

  Kessligh climbed the steps to join them, with clacks of his staff. “Your Justice.”

  “Yuan Kessligh. Or would you prefer Ulenshaal?”

  “The Nasi-Keth will not be marching with them,” said Kessligh, ignoring the question. “Reynold Hein has forbidden it.”

  “That’s something at least,” said Sinidane.

  “Something, yes. Good or bad, I don’t know.”

  Sinidane look at Sasha, then at Kessligh. Wondering, perhaps, if Kessligh knew what Sasha had just told him. Sasha did not know herself. Perhaps Sinidane saw, or guessed.

  “Something I wished to ask you,” said Sinidane, skipping over the issue entirely. “Four of the seven senior justices have been dismissed by Lady Rhillian.”

  “Only four?” Kessligh did not appear particularly surprised. “Generous of her, I hadn’t thought she liked even
three of you.”

  “My own position with the feudalists is now somewhat difficult,” Sinidane explained, “since I helped her to select the four dismissed.”

  At least half of the senior justices, it was common knowledge, and considerably more of the junior ones, were in the pay of the feudalists. Sinidane alone remained beyond reproach. No doubt the two others selected to stay were under Rhillian’s duress…and probably Sinidane had helped to arrange that too. It was a bold move from a stubbornly principled man, who knew where many skeletons were buried.

  “And now you’d like me to suggest men from the Nasi-Keth to fill some of the vacancies,” said Kessligh. Sasha wondered if he and Sinidane had talked of this before. Perhaps not…where else were Sinidane and Rhillian going to find educated scholars of law, with independent hearts, to fill such seats?

  “I’d ask for you yourself,” Sinidane affirmed, “but you’re needed here.”

  “For what good it will do. I will ask some of those best suited, but I can’t promise you anything.”

  “Good enough.”

  “Your Justice, how is my sister?” Sasha asked.

  “Dear girl,” he said, “I’m afraid I cannot know. We justices are not to be directly involved in the affairs of prisoners in the Justiciary.”

  “I know that.” Sasha scuffed at the steps with a boot, frustrated. “Just make sure she’s looked after. You can at least ask someone to see to that.”

  “The Justiciary is independent, dear girl,” said Justice Sinidane, sadly. “Would that I could intervene.”

  “You’ll find that you can.” Sasha gave him a deadly stare.

  “Sasha,” Kessligh warned her.

  Sasha waved a hand in angry frustration, and strode back to the crowd.

  News of the fighting arrived in the late afternoon, as Sasha struggled to take her class of Rhodaani youngsters through the works of Tullamayne in the Lenay tongue.

  “Wait here!” she told them, jumping off her podium and snatching her sword. Out in the hall, many were running, shouts echoing off the high ceiling. In snatches of Rhodaani, and distant Torovan, she heard “High Road,” and “Justiciary,” several times. A fair run then.

  She turned back to grab her waterskin, and found her way blocked by eager boys ignoring her instruction. “Where the crap are you lot going?” she asked them, pushing through to her podium. “You’re not going outside.”

  “But, M’Lady!” Willem protested. Several more ignored her, and ran out into the hall. Others followed.

  “Hey!” Sasha yelled, returning with her skin. “All right, get out, see what you can do and obey your seniors!”

  They ran before her, all boys, for no Rhodaani girl thought the Lenay tongue a suitably feminine subject. Sometimes Sasha wondered if she were the only sane human woman in the world, or the least.

  She ran from the hall, dodging traffic, and paused at the broad atrium to join the gathering who were filling waterskins at the basin.

  “Sasha!” called Daish from nearby. “I hear there’s fighting!” He looked excited at the prospect. She saw Reynold Hein nearby, with several Civid Sein friends, and scowled.

  Errollyn came running, bow in hand but with no water. “Borrow mine,” said Sasha. “Let’s go.”

  They ran down the marble stairs. Sasha had no idea how the Tol’rhen remained so cool, for the air was stifling, despite the shade between buildings. The streets remained quieter than usual, a few clattering carts, some servants on errands, a running messenger. Elesther Road ran through the city and away from the bustling back alleys and courtyards of neighbouring districts. Working class folk did not venture so much here.

  “Is it the march?” Errollyn asked as they ran.

  “What the hells do you think?” Sasha snapped. “Of course it’s the fucking march, they were spoiling for a fight from the moment they left. Reynold set this up.”

  Errollyn said nothing. Sasha knew she should not have snarled at him, but damned if she’d apologise. If Errollyn had kept his mouth shut, Rhillian might not have moved to take over the city at all.

  “Spirits know what Rhillian thinks she’s up to, giving the Civid Sein free rein like this,” she muttered. “The marchers were all shouting for Civid Sein friendly justiciars to replace the ones Rhillian dismissed, and if she gives in, the Civid Sein will control the Justiciary…what the hells was she thinking?”

  As fit as she was, Sasha was not accustomed to running in such heat, and as she and Errollyn reached the first of the Civid Sein column, she was dripping sweat and gasping. A crowd of men swarmed on the road, most retreating, many terrified. Some carried wounded, others tended to those who had collapsed by the side of the road, unable to run further. Sasha had seen victory and defeat on the battlefield, and this looked like defeat.

  They passed carts piled with bodies, dripping streams of blood onto the cobbles. Some Civid Sein were crying, others rallying their comrades to rush back to the battle. But there was no momentum for it, and Sasha ran past without bothering to counsel them otherwise.

  Errollyn led them onto High Road, a right turn upslope, following the trail of the rout. Sasha paused to drain some water, then resumed, finding her second wind on the toughest part of the run. Other Nasi-Keth were ahead of them now, as Errollyn held back to wait for her.

  About a bend, and here rose the great Merley Inn, overlooking the Justiciary and Ushal Fortress both from atop a high hill. It was perhaps the highest point in Tracato, and a cool wind blew off the sea that chilled her sweat—a beautiful scene, were it not for all the blood.

  The fighting had ceased, and bodies lay strewn about the courtyard, and along the road. Desperate men loaded wounded onto carts, then ran off to find a surgeon. Two sections of Steel had arrived, and a third was coming from the other direction at a run, ten men in tight formation, shields slung, labouring up the incline in heavy armour.

  Most of the dead and wounded seemed well dressed, tailored shirts and sleek pants now torn and bloodied where they lay. Perhaps twenty dead, Sasha counted, and another twenty wounded…although more had been carried away.

  She looked up at the rooftops, and saw crossbowmen surveying the scene. On the courtyard, more men were gathered, blood spattered and wild eyed, to confront the arriving Nasi-Keth. Feudalists all, and expecting more trouble.

  Sasha strode forward, empty hands raised. They recognised her, and broke into fast, terse conversation amongst themselves. Sasha recognised Lord Elot, long blade in hand, his embroidered tunic slashed about its broad girth. Long hair plastered to a sweaty forehead beneath his bald dome, his eyes proud, his sword bloodied.

  “Lord Elot,” she said in greeting, and several feudalist men moved to her flank.

  “Princess Sashandra,” said Lord Elot. Those men around her paused, and made no more threatening move. Princess, he called her, and the men stopped. It was provocative, yet an offer of friendship all the same.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “This was arranged,” said Lord Elot, and spat. He seemed a man of cool temper, even in battle. Sasha could not help but admire it. “Your boys came right through our territory, shouting slogans of killing young Lord Alfriedo, and raping his mother.”

  “Not my boys.”

  “His,” said Elot, and pointed with his sword. Sasha looked, and saw Reynold, surveying the scene. He did not seem shocked. Sasha felt her blood cool. Reynold had ordered the Nasi-Keth not to attend. The Civid Sein were little more than farmers and villagers, some with experience in the Steel, but not many. Feudalists, however, trained with swords for sport, and Elot’s men were far better armed. Reynold must have known they’d be massacred.

  “You’ve made them angry now,” said Sasha.

  “No doubt the intent,” Elot said bitterly. “The White Lady sits on Council once more, and never mind that half its elected members languish in Justiciary cells. Civid Sein have numbers there now, and tomorrow they vote on the new justices. They’ll be howling, all four appointments shall
be Civid Sein or their cronies, you watch.”

  “All four.” Sasha gulped more water, thinking fast. Seven justices. A majority vote was required to convict. There were clamours for Lady Renine’s trial on treason…if the Civid Sein could muster four of the seven votes, they’d have her head. “Surely not. Justice Sinidane was just now at the Tol’rhen, asking Kessligh for help with the appointments.”

  “He seeks to present the White Lady with an alternative list,” said Elot. “Sinidane is a good man, but Rhillian needs Lady Renine dead; it is the only way to control the mob.”

  “You think she’ll fix the appointments?”

  “I know it,” said Elot. “Princess Sashandra, your sister is charged with complicity in treason. A Lenay king marches upon our northern border. There are far more who want Princess Alythia’s head than Lady Renine’s. Surely you’ve heard the talk?”

  Sasha had heard the talk. Tol’rhen students who liked her had whispered it to her in the hallways, nasty things said by others. Apparently even some students were saying it, echoing what they’d heard demanded out in the courtyard, where angry farmers sharpened their hoes and scythes and called for royal blood. There had been writing on walls, and some effigies found hanging.

  “Some are saying it’s Alythia’s plot, and that she is the one who led Lady Renine into treason.”

  Elot nodded. “I’d watch my back closely if I were you, Princess. If you wish to save your sister, come on your own at dusk to Shemon Square. It is the only way. Betray us you can, but Shemon Square is feudalist territory, and I know you love your sister well.”

  “I will,” Sasha agreed.

  Sasha was waiting in the alley when she heard a soft shuffle behind her, and spun. Errollyn was there, a shadow in the evening gloom.

  “Damn you!” Sasha whispered, as her heart started again. Errollyn looked one way and the other, bow in hand. The air was hot and still, and there was barely a sound. Even here, on the feudalist midslope not far from the docks, people stayed indoors tonight. “I said I’d come alone!”

  “You say a lot of things.”

  “They barely trust me!” Sasha insisted, back to the wall so as not to make a silhouette in the fading light. Errollyn leaned alongside. “They’ll certainly not trust a serrin!”