Tracato

by Joel Shepherd

  “Yes something bothers me,” Sofy declared. “I am a newly wedded woman, and I have not been attended by my husband all day. If he shall not attend to me, then I shall attend to him,” she said, and left.

  Knights scrambled from the table to pursue her, as the ladies looked at each other, astonished at the ill-decorum of it all.

  “And where have you been all morning?” Sofy asked Yasmyn.

  “Saving a marriage,” Yasmyn said grimly. “It is not well that your husband should ignore you all day. If he were my husband, and he were in the wrong, I would strike him.”

  “And if you were in the wrong?”

  “Suck him.” Sofy blinked. “If you will not fuck him, you may consider it.”

  “Good lords, Yasmyn,” Sofy muttered. “I’ve never had a friend quite so exasperating as you. Not even Sasha.”

  “I say what needs to be said.”

  The guards at the study doors did not prevent the princess regent from entering. Within, she found a room of tables, shelves and books, lit only by some narrow windows overlooking the tournament. There was nothing of calm discussion within, but rather a collection of lords in raiments and house colours, seated or standing in various small groups, arguing with animation. They barely looked at Sofy as she entered, Yasmyn at her side, and searched for her husband.

  Balthaar sat at the table’s end, head in hands, as several lords shouted and pointed fingers across him. He saw Sofy, and straightened, astonished. He climbed to his feet.

  “My sweet,” he said, taking her hands and kissing them. “You must forgive me, I have been a dreadful husband. Trust me that I should have rather been at your side than here, yet my duties have forbidden it.”

  Balthaar loved to ride, hunt and tourney. The study was gloomy, and he had looked bored as sin when Sofy entered. Her heart softened. “And what is this?” she asked.

  “We discuss the order of battle. There is so much history in this room, families and feuds and old wars. There is great honour to marching one’s standard at the vanguard of war. We contest for a place of prestige upon the field, and seek not to march upon the flank of some old foe. I fear it could take all day, and perhaps much of tomorrow.” He kissed her hand once more. “Go back to the tourney, my sweet. This is not a matter for you.”

  “On the contrary,” Sofy insisted. “I have heard little else besides such matters on the ride to Larosa. Lenayin knows as much of petty bloodfeuds as the Bacosh, I fear, yet we have seen them all resolved to this point. I am certain I can help.”

  “Your father and brother allowed your assistance to mediate between the Lenay provinces?”

  “But of course,” said Sofy. Koenyg was not so hard headed as to ignore his youngest sister’s persuasive powers. He had coached her, of course, but where offers of possible marriages and royal gifts were concerned to seal an agreement, all knew that such things were far more readily accepted from her mouth than her brothers’ or father’s. And she recalled Myklas saying with affection, after she had persuaded Lord Iraskyn of Yethulyn to allow his son’s standing unit, the Silver Eagles, to hold a rather less glamorous position on the inside flank, that he had no idea how they would run the kingdom without her. “Please, Balthaar, let me help,” she continued. “It does not look good for the new princess regent to wander the tourney without her husband. I may not be able to wield a sword in our partnership, but I can certainly use my tongue.”

  Balthaar smiled at her. “One notices. As you will, then. Here, I shall fill you in on the details.”

  She had most of it resolved by midafternoon. Balthaar was not the only man impressed. All kissed her hand upon departing, and many bowed low. Sofy wondered how any of these fools, in the Bacosh or Lenayin, got anything done without her. Men blustered, made threats and were easily upset. She soothed their egos, made gentle flattery, and found the happy turn of every dark assignment. When that did not work, she bribed, but not crudely. Whatever the worst opinions of commonfolk and gossips, most noblemen in her experience did not desire simply wealth and power-it was rather status, and respect, that drove their craving for gold.

  Following the night’s banquet, Balthaar joined Sofy in their chambers, and dismissed the maids. He clasped her hands as they stood warm before the crackling fireplace, and Sofy’s heart beat faster.

  “You are not certain of this war,” he said to her, softly. “Why then did you help today?”

  For a long moment, Sofy did not know what to say. “The Bacosh is a grand place,” she said at last. “I am the princess regent. I should try to do good while I have the opportunity. I see Lenays and Larosans sharing each other’s cultures, forging friendships. Surely it cannot be a bad thing.”

  She said it firmly enough that she nearly believed it. Her instinct had always been to bring people together. She had never liked conflict. Peace between peoples was always good. She could make something good come of it, she was increasingly certain.

  “I would like for many other things to be closer too,” said Balthaar. He kissed her. Sofy thought it rather nice, and let him. He took her to the bed, and began removing her clothes. They made love, and Sofy thought that rather nice too. He seemed rather taken with her, and was ever so gentle. Too gentle, almost, when her own passion took her. As Yasmyn had said, he was a handsome man, and if this were her heaviest royal burden, then it was not a hard one to bear.

  Later, she lay in his arms, and gazed at the fireplace. Now she felt different, as though married life had truly begun. Yasmyn would be pleased, she thought, and found herself smiling. And she’d only thought of Jaryd three or four times.

  Or maybe five.

  Elesther Road was in chaos. The Steel made formations across some alley exits, and cavalry clattered along the cobbles, but the riot continued. Bodies lay unclaimed in the street. Others hung from windows, tied at the neck with rope. The Civid Sein had been this way, and the revenge was spreading.

  Lieutenant Raine rode at Rhillian’s side, in full armour. Country folk watched them pass, roughly dressed and bearing all kind of rustic weapons. They roamed Elesther, near the Tol’rhen, and were working toward the Justiciary, while the Steel tried to keep armed mobs apart, with limited success.

  “There’s too many of them,” Lieutenant Raine said darkly. “Hundreds more are pouring in every day. They make camp in the courtyards, and the homes of fled or murdered nobility. I need only a word, and I shall drive them back to the farms and villages from which they came.”

  “I cannot,” Rhillian said. “Not until the Lady Renine and Alfriedo have been recaptured.” The last was most galling; she had not expected so daring an assault upon the Mahl’rhen itself. Five serrin were dead, a friend amongst them, and the young Lord Alfriedo missing. Still, from the broader perspective, she was not too concerned. “This violence is the work of the feudalists. They were warned of the country folk’s waning patience, and now they see the truth of it.”

  “M’Lady,” said the lieutenant, “I am losing men to desertion. You know the Steel, you know the family that we are. The Steel never desert. Or rarely. But now I have noble-born enlisted and officers alike disappearing to see to their families, and I cannot in all honesty say that I blame them.”

  Rhillian repressed a grimace and looked across the street. A door had been caved in, and several Steel were rounding up looters, beating them with little mercy. Tracato, most civil and orderly of all human cities, was falling apart.

  “Council sits today,” she said. “What think the captains?”

  “Council,” Lieutenant Raine snorted. “That word used to mean something. These men are not elected…”

  “Neither were most of the old Council, in fairness.”

  “But at least there was an appearance,” said Raine. “A pretence, no matter how they bought or bribed their way in. A Council without half its elected members, with all the nobility stripped away and replaced with Civid Sein cronies, is no Council at all worth the name.”

  “Yet the Steel are sworn to obey t
he Council,” Rhillian said. “Will the captains do so? Captain Hauser does not give me a straight answer.”

  Raine’s expression was bleak. His eyes lingered on a body, face down on the cobbles in a pool of dried blood. “I’m a country lad myself,” he said, “but I’d cut these Civid Sein scum down like vermin given the nod. This is not civilisation, M’Lady, this is rule of the mob, and I like it not. Nor do a majority of country folk, I believe, nor a majority of the Steel. I’ll not follow the orders of such people who now comprise the Council. But of course, I cannot speak for the captains.”

  “If not the Council, then who?”

  “M’Lady, I would follow you. I believe most of the dharmi feel the same. The feudalists are traitors, and the Civid Sein are a barbarian lynch mob. You walk the path between, and are not concerned with factions. I believe that is exactly what Rhodaan needs.”

  “Lieutenant, you surprise me. Here I’d thought any expression of solidarity from a human would come with expressions of love and loyalty.”

  “My father once told me that if you filled up all the goodness ever done by the promises of councilmen, philosophers, lords and priests in your left hand, while shitting in your right, the right hand will be full much faster. I’ll follow you precisely because you don’t ask me to love you.”

  Rhillian looked at the young lieutenant for a long moment, then nodded. “I cannot in good conscience even ask you to trust me,” she added. “Most of what I do here, I do not like, and much ill will be done before I am through.”

  “It was falling apart already, with what the feudalists were trying. There was little choice.”

  “I cannot move against the Civid Sein just yet, Lieutenant, whatever horrors they should perform in the meantime. But soon, I promise.”

  In the grand courtyard before the Tol’rhen, usually filled with factional and philosophical debate, there now camped a ragged army. There were many carts, mules and horses, amidst which country folk made makeshift camps. The smoke of cookfires filled the air, and an endless commotion of voices, animals, and from some quarters, shouted speeches.

  Rhillian paused on the Elesther steps with Aisha to survey it all, and the Nasi-Keth who wandered through it, some talking and friendly with the new arrivals, others wary. She then pressed on through the main doors, guarded by Nasi-Keth, and into the dining hall. Here, familiar rowed benches had been rearranged crosswise, and crowded with people-perhaps half Nasi-Keth, and the other half not. At the far end, before the kitchens, a stage had been raised. Even above the roaring of the crowd, Rhillian could hear the booming voice of the speaker, in his black Tol’rhen robes. Only one man in the Tol’rhen possessed such a voice, and could rouse such a ruckus.

  Rhillian made her way down the side of the hall, Lieutenant Raine at her back. “…and I say that we shall do unto them as they have done to us!” Ulenshaal Sevarien was roaring. “For so many centuries, the nobility have been a plague upon Rhodaan! They call it taxation, but in truth, it was theft! They are a gang of robber barons and thieves, and they have stolen wealth, and property, and the hard-earned labour of our sweaty and dirt-stained hands…”

  “Our?” Rhillian wondered sourly. Sevarien’s hands were pink, plump and pale, like the rest of him. She doubted he’d ever pulled a plough, or raised a barn, or milked a cow in his life.

  “We demand that the remaining feudal lands be redistributed amongst those who know and work it best!” A roar from the crowd. “We demand equality!” Another roar. “We demand the abolition of false titles and noble privilege!” Again. “We demand an end to the domination of Council by the wealthy few!”

  “And what are you going to replace it all with, you fucking fool?” Aisha said loudly, above the din. Rhillian spared Aisha a glance, and saw the anger. For all her tongues, Aisha rarely swore. But Aisha was Enoran, and she recalled what form the Enoran purges had taken. Now, she saw them repeated on the streets of Tracato.

  “And we demand the final punishment of those traitors who have plotted and schemed to enrich themselves on the blood and treasure of our great and noble Rhodaani brotherhood!”

  This last, Sevarien delivered with a sweeping gesture, that ended on Rhillian, as she walked toward the stage. Many Civid Sein came to their feet, chanting and yelling. Some Nasi-Keth joined them. On the stage behind Sevarien, the Tol’rhen’s other seniors were seated. Rhillian saw Kessligh, his chin in his hand. His expression was unreadable.

  She climbed the steps, Aisha and Lieutenant Raine waiting below, and raised a hand to acknowledge the shouting. It amazed her that they should cheer for her. Perhaps a human might feel some emotional stirring and some common passion with the crowd. Rhillian stared out across the mob, and felt only an absence. She was serrin, and she had the vel’ennar. This was nothing. When the noise dimmed, she lowered her arm.

  “You have come here for revolution,” she told them. “I see no revolution in the town. I see lawlessness, murder, rape, theft and thuggery. If it continues, I shall send the Steel to this camp, and to all other such camps across the city, and have you all killed. Thank you for your attention, and good day.”

  She gestured to Kessligh, and he rose, in that stunned silence. Boos followed, as they moved from the stage, rising to a crescendo of yells and abuse. The Nasi-Keth drew weapons. Rhillian skipped off the stage amidst a rain of missiles, and walked with Kessligh to the kitchens, which were nearest.

  “You’ll only hold them with threats of violence for so long,” Kessligh told her grimly. “After a while, they’ll call your bluff, and then you’ll really have to do it.”

  “You think I wouldn’t?” Rhillian asked. Aisha and Lieutenant Raine followed them in, Aisha seating herself upon an abandoned cutting bench.

  Kessligh leaned against another bench and exhaled hard. “This is fast spinning out of control. Again. You surely can’t say you’re surprised.”

  “How many are still with you?” Rhillian asked, ignoring the barb. Kessligh’s stare lingered for a short moment. Unlike most, he never flinched beneath her gaze.

  “Most of those not with the Civid Sein,” he replied, finally. “I have more Nasi-Keth than Sevarien, perhaps twice as many. But he has the country mobs. I suspect I’ll gain even more in this place shortly. There’ve been idealistic youngsters horrified at what they’ve seen, the last few days. Sevarien spins a grand and exciting tale of injustice and vengeful rebellion, but on the streets, it boils down to blood, rape and murder every time. I’ve been telling them so since I first arrived; only now do they see my point.”

  “Even after what Sasha tried, they’ll still follow you?” Rhillian questioned warily. “Even most of those Nasi-Keth who do not love the Civid Sein have little love for the nobility. Very few nobility ever sent their children to study in the Tol’rhen. Sasha helped Lady Renine and Alfriedo escape, and you are not blamed for your uma’s actions?”

  “People here know Sasha,” Kessligh said flatly. “They know she does as she will. I tell them I did not order it, and they believe me, because they know it is the truth. She has little interest in Lady Renine and her son, she was trying to save her sister. Whom you are still proposing to kill.”

  “I have no say in the workings of the Justiciary,” Rhillian replied. Kessligh’s expression was statement enough that he did not believe her. “Do you condemn Sasha’s actions?”

  “Seriously? In truth, she read my mind. Expulsion from Rhodaan was always the superior option for the Renines, and any other troublesome nobles. Sasha’s own father did that to her, you’ll recall. He’s been a fool of late, King Torvaal, but he’s been a wise man too, and sometimes that wisdom still shows. If he’d killed Sasha, all her supporters would have been mad. That makes for unpleasantness. You came here down Elesther Road. You’ve seen what I mean.”

  “I haven’t killed any Renines yet.”

  “And so I wait for it all to get worse when you do,” said Kessligh. “Yes, the Renines and all their allies were stupid. Yes, they are traitors, they collaborated
with the enemies of Rhodaan in the hopes of regaining their old, feudal glory. But if you kill them, you lose the wealth of Tracato, and the only force to oppose the rage of the nobility is the Civid Sein. You need the Steel at the front, Rhillian, Sofy Lenayin’s wedding is happening, and the Army of Lenayin will not rest idle forever. The Steel cannot make a strong front against the Larosans and Lenays while Rhodaan continues to burn at their backs. My advice-if you recapture Lady Renine and Alfriedo, let them go. Send them to Sherdaine, or Petrodor. Exile will remove them from the scene, without so much of the bloodshed.”

  “M’Lady, he’s right,” said Lieutenant Raine. “In truth, the Steel should have left by now. In their heartland, the nobility can defend themselves, the Civid Sein have done much damage about the outskirts, but if we allow the nobles to arm and gather-as we have not been allowing-then the Civid Sein will soon take grave losses, and decide that settlement is best, whatever their talk today of total revolution. But the nobility will not accept a settlement that means the death of the Renines. Send them to exile, it is the best solution.”

  Rhillian gazed at the great ovens, black steel doors swung open, cold and empty. The air smelled of residual soot, and old vegetables. Then she nodded.

  “If I can find them, I will.”

  “Rhillian,” said Kessligh, drawing her full attention. “I understand that Sasha has violated the law, and will remain confined. See that she is not harmed. Nor her sister, nor Errollyn.”

  Rhillian drew a deep breath. “As I said, the Justiciary’s independence is two centuries old. I cannot be seen to tamper, or I will lose much of what support I currently hold, even with the Steel. Rhodaani justice is a matter for the gods. I cannot be seen to overrule their judgement. The priests have been quiet until now, but if I lose the priesthood, we have Petrodor all over again.”

  “I know,” Kessligh said simply. “I merely warn you, for your sake and mine. You know me to be hard, but rational. If something happens to Sasha, I can assure you my rationality shall be tested. You’ll be on the top of my list.” The grip upon his staff, Rhillian noted, was white knuckled. His voice and face betrayed little emotion, yet the man was wound as tightly as a spring. Close as he stood, Rhillian could not help but feel a certain alarm. “Just so you know,” Kessleigh said quietly.