Arastyn stared at him, uncomprehendingly. "Goeren-yai? Master Jaryd, you are a Verenthane."
"Aye," said Jaryd, reaching beneath his collar, "well, not anymore." He pulled free his Verenthane star, snapped the silver chain about his neck with a sharp tug, and threw it at Arastyn's feet. "I reject your gods. I reject your law. From this moment, I follow the ancient ways. And I challenge you to mortal combat, Lord Arastyn, for the Great Lordship of Tyree, and the death of my brother and father."
About the room, men stared in disbelief. "You…" Arastyn began, and floundered, speechless.
"You can't do that!" exclaimed Lord Parabys, horrified.
"Good gods, man!" said Lord Kumaryn. "What of your soul?"
"Arastyn took that when he killed my brother," Jaryd snarled. "If the gods shall not allow me my revenge, then I rest my claim with the ancient spirits instead."
Koenyg snorted in profound frustration, and flicked a gloved hand through his hair. "Where's a priest when we need one?" he muttered.
King Torvaal frowned hard at Jaryd. Evidently thinking. When was the last time a Verenthane noble had converted, Sasha wondered past her astonishment? If it had ever happened, she couldn't recall it. Plenty of senior Goeren-yai had converted the other way to please King Soros… but this? She couldn't recall it happening even amongst poor, common Verenthanes.
Lord Arastyn fingered his own neckchain uncomfortably. He seemed a naturally calm and sensible man. A trustworthy man, with an inoffensive, handsome face. Exactly the kind of person, Kessligh insisted in his more cynical moments, from whom one should expect the worst treachery. "Even if such a thing were possible," Arastyn said defensively, "you are still a man of Tyree. You are subject to our laws and punishments."
"And as Goeren-yai," Sasha added, "he is entitled to redeem a slight upon his honour, no matter how high the rank of the man he challenges."
"After his trial," Arastyn said stubbornly.
"Before," Sasha insisted, shaking her head. Nice try, slippery worm. "He can't challenge after you've cut his head off."
"Actually," said Captain Akryd, conversationally, "this is the kind of thing a Goeren-yai man's immediate headman or chieftain should decide. Duels must be conducted according to the proper protocol."
"Pagan madness!" Lord Rydysh snarled, and strode from the cottage with a disgusted wave of his arm. He exited with a slam of the rear door.
"Who would be Master Jaryd's immediate superior?" asked the king, as if Lord Rydysh had never spoken, nor stormed out in rage. "Given his… circumstance?"
"Your Highness!" Lord Parabys exclaimed. "You're not seriously considering allowing this… this..
"I'm not a priest, but I don't see how a man can be instructed by others on what he does or does not believe," said the king, looking at Akryd. "How about your poor bloody daughter?" Sasha nearly asked, but didn't. "Captain Akryd, humour my curiosity."
"Well, Your Highness," said Akryd, "I believe since Master Jaryd is not born into a Goeren-yai community, and has no village headman to speak for him, his senior commander in military matters should suffice for a judgment."
"As the senior military Goeren-yai," Torvaal observed, "that would be you."
"Aye, Highness," said Akryd, somewhat smugly. "It seems a quandary, does it not? One law for Verenthanes, another for Goeren-yai."
"One of the great quandaries of Lenayin," the king agreed. "Especially considering the Goeren-yai have no written law, and will not accept one. There is only tradition."
"One reason, perhaps, why Goeren-yai and Verenthane do not frequently live together," said Akryd. "These squabbles can be confusing."
"And one reason why certain Verenthanes would like nothing better than to see the Goeren-yai destroyed completely," Sasha said darkly, with a stare at the lords.
"There is no solution," said Akryd with a shrug. "Lord Arastyn need not comply with Master Jaryd's demand, yet the opposite is also true. It is the sort of matter on which a king could intervene as judge, Your Highness, but as you have already stated, kings cannot intervene on provincial matters."
"Hmm," said Torvaal. Another man, Sasha knew, might have raved at "pagan madness" just as Lord Rydysh had. But her father was actually considering the problem, no matter how it bothered his Verenthane soul. This was why Kessligh had served the man so unswervingly for nearly twenty years. King Torvaal, cold as stone and about as impassive, was one of the fairest men in Lenayin.
"Your Highness," Lord Arastyn said stonily, "Master Jaryd must face Tyree Justice. This is imperative. We have enough great lords present for an appeal to be lodged, should you not allow Tyree's rightful justice."
"Any more out of you," Sasha told him, with darkening temper, "and I'll challenge you myself. I am Verenthane and such is my right, since you've made no finding of law or any other of your pointless horseshit against me. Unless you fancy yourself more than an equal to the departed Farys Varan with a blade, I'd suggest you shut your mouth."
"You would require fair cause to challenge the Great Lord of Tyree," Arastyn bit out, with barely restrained frustration and anger. "Your father would have to decide if your challenge was valid, and there is no fair cause that you could offer that would…"
"Fair cause!" Sasha said loudly, placing both hands flat to the table as if preparing to rise. "I am the uma of Kessligh Cronenverdt, the daughter of King Torvaal Lenayin, the saviour of the Udalyn people, and you're making me angry!"
Arastyn swallowed. There were great lords who would have accepted her challenge, not because they were fools, but because they were brave, and honourable, and Lenay. Lord Arastyn, Sasha was sourly noting, seemed to have dubious claims to all three.
"A personal insult seems a very fair cause," Damon offered from the back of the room. He was considering his cup, offhandedly. "You're trying to kill a friend of hers, Lord Arastyn. And a friend of mine. I think you'd best quit while you've still a head on your shoulders."
Arastyn gave a bow. "I must discuss with my fellow Tyree lords," he said. "If I can be excused…" He left without waiting for confirmation, following the path that Lord Rydysh had taken out the back door.
Sasha ran her gaze along the remaining lords. "We're losing them fast this morning," she remarked. "I wonder who shall be next?"
"I have one more term to state," said the king.
"Only one? Name it."
"You yourself shall be banished from Lenayin for the rest of your life."
Sasha gazed at him. Her father's expression held no remorse, and no pity. From Koenyg, she saw cold satisfaction, as if there were at least one good thing to have come from these events. She was not surprised. She knew the trouble that her continued presence in Lenayin would cause the lords, and therefore her father. But it hurt all the same.
"Absolutely not!" Captain Akryd exclaimed. "There can be no question. The men shall not accept."
"The lords call for your head," Torvaal said, looking only at Sasha. "By the king's law, I can pardon the soldiers of a rebellion. But the law demands death for its leader. I offer you mercy."
"No deal!" said Akryd, angrily. "You assume too much, Your Highness! We are the victors in this fight, not you!"
"For how long?" Koenyg retorted, standing grim-faced near his father's side, thick arms folded across his mailed chest. "Every Lenay region or province to rise up against the Cherrovan always won its initial encounters. But once the Cherrovan brought their full weight of force to bear, the uprising was crushed. The throne has not even begun to bring its full weight of force to bear. We had hoped such drastic measures would not prove necessary."
"Oh aye, your mercy and forbearance are well known throughout Lenayin, Prince Koenyg!" Akryd retorted sarcastically. Sasha held up her hand to silence him.
"It's all right, Akryd," she said quietly. "I knew that this would happen. My father has no choice. Maintaining a balance of power in Lenayin is difficult at the best of times. My presence here, having led this rebellion, now threatens that balance."
&nb
sp; "That's the point!" Akryd exclaimed, striding to the side of the table so he could look down on her. "M'Lady, you rode for the Goeren-yai!"
"I rode for Lenayin," Sasha corrected solemnly, looking up at him.
The long-haired, plain-faced Taneryn man shook his head in frustration. "What's the difference? We had to choose a leader, and it was between you and Krayliss! We chose you and now you would abandon us?"
Sasha sighed, tiredly. "Please, Akryd, just… just think. This isn't about us and them. It's about Lenayin. Far more than I stand for the Goeren-yai, I stand for Lenayin. The nobles view a united Goeren-yai as a threat to everything they've worked for. They will attack us. They will attack me, more precisely. I will need protection. All the Goeren-yai flock to my defence, and the next thing you know, that's a civil war. The king has no power without the support of the lords. He must support them, or there is no king in Lenayin. No king in Lenayin, and we're back to where we were beneath the Cherrovan heel, a bloody rabble, and a united kingdom no longer."
"You're… you're saying a united Goeren-yai would be bad for Lenayin?" Akryd looked disbelieving. "What were we riding for, if not for that?"
"The Goeren-yai are not united," Sasha said firmly. "Lord Faras is right in that. The west and the south are mostly not with us. They are strangers to us. It's not the right time, Akryd. Now is not the moment to make such a stand."
"When then?" Akryd showed no sign of retreat. His eyes were angry, and he showed no qualm in displaying such disunity before the watching eyes of the Verenthane lords. One of Lord Krayliss's men, Sasha reminded herself. A passionate man, willing to fight, whatever the cost. Reckon that into any future Lenayin, should he or a man like him become the new Great Lord of Taneryn. "When would be the right time, if not now?"
Sasha returned her gaze to her father. "Lenayin marches to war," she said. "War in a foreign land, far from home. Our leaders feel we have allies there. They feel we shall be amongst friends, fighting for the Larosa, and the other, Verenthane Bacosh. I feel otherwise. I believe that our leaders are fools to believe appeals to Verenthane brotherhood, as if a common faith can patch over the profound differences that exist between peoples from far away lands. I believe our Bacosh friends will stab Lenayin in the back at the first opportunity, and leave us to bleed and die. Kingdoms are built in such ventures. Men from all over Lenayin will march and serve side-by-side, as they have never done before in all their long history. I wonder if the leaders of Lenayin shall emerge from such a campaign with the same sense of where Lenayin's future lies as they hold today. Many things can change on the road to war."
The many faces opposing her were wary. Even Koenyg's gaze showed a new, dawning respect, to accompany the anger. She'd been thinking on it, on and off, all the ride north. They could send her away from Lenayin. But they could not stop what she had started.
"I'll not fight our serrin friends in any lowlands war!" Akryd declared. "Should the call come, I'll refuse!"
"No you won't," Sasha said firmly. "You won't because I tell you you won't. Lenayin must stand together, Akryd. Goeren-yai and Verenthane, and all the provinces as one. You will march with the rest, when the call comes. Someone has to keep an eye on our brave and wise leaders. Someone has to make certain they don't sell Lenayin down the river for a handful of coppers and a holy blessing. That someone shall be you."
Understanding dawned on Akryd's face. He stared at her. Then gazed at the lords. And drew himself up, slowly, with a disdainful stare. "Aye, M'Lady," he said coldly. "I understand. We'll watch them. Perhaps it's time, after all, for the Goeren-yai of the south, east and west to all get to know each other better. Perhaps we can come to an understanding."
"You mangy bitch," Koenyg fumed beneath his breath.
Sasha gave him a slow smile. "You worry about your own hide, brother. You can throw me out of Lenayin, but I was heading that way anyhow. In fact, I think we all are."
Fires burned before the Udalyn wall and the sweet night air mingled with woodsmoke and the smell of cooking, laughter, ale and song. Sasha sat beside one particular campfire, a cup of wine in her hand, and watched the celebrations. The Hadryn had left-taking artillery, tents and every last sign of habitation with them. Now, men of the column rejoiced at that, and the news that they would be pardoned their disobedience to the king by the king himself, and that their families would suffer no hardship by their actions.
The Udalyn had emerged from behind their wall for the first time in numbers, amid scenes of wild celebration. Goeren-yai had embraced and, Sasha was pleased to see, her column's Verenthane warriors were also greeted with enthusiasm. Many of the Udalyn seemed astonished, in fact, to see so many Verenthanes in the column's ranks. The Udalyn's Chief Askar was thrilled and humbled to find that so many Lenay Verenthanes would shed their blood for the Udalyn. He did not hate Verenthanes, he said. Only Hadryn.
Sasha watched now as men about neighbouring campfires ate, sang, danced, or attempted broken conversation with Udalyn men, often through a chain of interpreters who made increasingly less sense the more ales they downed. There was much fascination that the Udalyn did not look particularly different from other Goeren-yai. More beads and patterned clothes, per haps, but otherwise they might have been Tyree or Valhanan Goeren-yai to look at. There was more blond hair and red hair, however, and more blue eyes. Goeren-yai they were, but the Udalyn were northerners too.
Somewhere amidst the crowd, Daryd and Rysha sat by a separate fire, surrounded by parents, siblings and extended family, who pressed them for telling after telling of the things they'd seen-Baen-Tar, the Saint Ambellion Temple, Tyree and Valhanan, King Torvaal and the battles of Ymoth and Yumynis Plain. Sasha had received the impression that were it not for her own presence, the Yuvenar Family might not have believed the tale. She'd been pulled to that fireside by Aisha, who'd thought it something she should see-the Udalyn children back with their family, all of whom seemed to be accounted for. Rysha had sat curled in her mother's lap, and Daryd upon a stone by the fireside. Sasha had seen immediately that their mother would as gladly have clutched Daryd close for the entire night as she did to Rysha, but there was something in Daryd's manner now that forbade it. The men, too, watched and listened to the boy with a quiet, thoughtful respect.
Upon seeing Sasha, Rysha had leaped from her mother's lap with a cry and run to her. Sasha had picked her up, hugged her, then carried her back to the fireside, where she'd given Daryd a more respectful kiss on the cheek. The Udalyn boy had at least had the good grace to blush. Introductions had followed, to the astonishment of all the family when they realised who she was. Aisha, Sasha discovered with incredulity, was now partly fluent in Edu, from her time riding with the children, and these last few days in the valley. Barely a week to learn a new language. Even for serrin, it hardly seemed possible.
Aisha had shrugged. "Well, I know Cherrovan," she'd explained. "Did you know that Cherrovan is actually the root-tongue for much of the northern Lenay tongues? If you know Cherrovan, Lenay and Lisani, you can work out the rest pretty fast."
"You know Lisani too?" Sasha had asked, aghast. Lisani was the most prominent western tongue, named as such for its origins from the great Lisan Empire beyond the western Morovian Mountains. The mountains were nearly impassable, and contact between Lenayin and the unfriendly Lisan was rare.
"Actually," said Aisha, "Lenay Lisani is very different from the actual Lisani of the Lisan Empire. Some serrin scholars speculate it actually came from Kazeri, from Kazerak to the south. Others insist it is entirely indigenous to western Lenayin. I have some ideas of my own, I'd love to travel there in more peaceful times."
"You speak Kazeri too?" Sasha had sighed, resignedly.
"Of course!" Aisha had been scandalised. "How can one speculate as to the origins of Lenay Lisani without knowing Kazeri?"
"How indeed." Sasha had found it a little depressing, in truth, to be confronted by a foreign people who knew far more about Lenayin than she ever would. Terel had told her afterward
that Aisha spoke seventeen languages, not including her native Saalsi dialects. She was now intent on making that eighteen, in the days they had left in the valley.
"That's inhuman," Sasha had made the mistake of remarking.
"Indeed," Terel had replied, with an amused flash of bright red-brown eyes. And Sasha had realised that she'd only stated the obvious.
She'd left Family Yuvenar together at their fireplace, pleased that at least one family had found an entirely happy ending. And had dared to wonder if her own family could ever dream of such a future.
She wondered now, sitting with Sofy and Errollyn by their own little fireplace. Teriyan and Andreyis were off carousing with the rest of the Baerlyn gang. A part of her wanted to be with them, but she knew it would be wrong. She was the leader. She could not favour one group of soldiers with her presence without offending the others.
"Where's Aisha and Terel?" she asked Errollyn, watching the surrounding commotion. There was a lot of music, much of it poorly played, but the dancing was of a higher quality. Udalyn and other Lenay men, having no other means of communication, resorted to songs, dances and friendly contests of strength or knife-throwing. And, of course, that age-old contest of thick-headed men who ought to know better-drinking.
"Terel found an old lady who carves wooden figures in a traditional Udalyn style," said Errollyn. The firelight lit his eyes to a bright, flickering green that was like nothing human. He sat on an old stump, elbows on knees, gazing at the fire with a cup in his hand. "Terel's a master with wood. I believe she's giving him a tour of her cottage, it's just nearby. Aisha is no doubt off talking to every Udalyn she can. Working on her accent."
"I saw her," Sofy said, nodding. The cup in her hand was half-emptythe first cup of wine Sofy had tasted in her life. She looked a little unsteady, but Sasha was not about to stop her sister's one night of rebellion just yet. "She was attracting quite a crowd. All very gentlemanly, I was pleased to see. And plenty of Udalyn women around to make certain their husbands did not wander."
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