Haven atobas-4

by Joel Shepherd

  The party dismounted. Jaryd took the bridle of Sofy's horse, looking warily at the soldiers. He did not need to tell her how little he liked the situation. She saw, and felt it herself, in her bones.

  “Just guard the horses,” she told him in Lenay. “We'll need them if we're to go somewhere fast.” Jaryd nodded. His eyes flicked to Sofy's surrounding knights. They were her protection, supposedly…but if circumstances had changed as word had it, she'd be a fool to believe that would be their only function.

  Sofy indicated to Jeddie, and the two women walked to the temple steps, accompanied by Bacosh knights, armour rattling as they went. Her knights took up station at the entrance to the temple as the women walked on, into the musty air and dull light. Sofy smelled incense, and saw that before the altar a tall chair had been placed like a throne. Upon it sat a very fat man in black robes and a tall hat. In a half-circle before him sat more priests in more chairs, beneath tall stands of scented candles.

  Sofy walked toward them with gathering dread. To the Archbishop's right stood Dafed and several of his favoured lords. The priests all stood as she approached. The Archbishop stood also, with groaning effort. Sofy walked within the half-circle, and curtseyed. All bowed.

  “Princess Sofy,” said Aesol Turen, Archbishop of Larosa. He was the second in authority throughout the Verenthane world, deferring only to the Archbishop of Torovan. With Larosa's recent successes at the head of a conquering army, some rumoured that even that authority may be shifting.

  “Archbishop Turen,” said Sofy. “A pleasure.”

  “We shall sit,” said Turen, and some men brought chairs for Sofy and Jeddie. Jeddie sat further back, while Sofy sat alone before the arc of priests. Dafed looked on, his broad face grim. “I hear interesting tales of your conduct, since your arrival in this city,” the Archbishop continued in Torovan.

  “The Larosan court is filled with interesting tales,” Sofy replied, in Larosan. The priests all glanced at each other, surprised at her fluency. She'd been practising. Larosan was the tongue of all Bacosh noble courts, spoken by all the nobility, regardless of region. In the presence of most Lenays, those nobles would stoop to speak Torovan, the language of trade and the only regional tongue most Lenays would understand-a condescension often granted with a smirk.

  Sofy's mouth was dry, and her heart thumping unpleasantly. It was a risk, to insist upon a less familiar tongue. But she could not allow them to condescend to her here, after the news that she had heard.

  “Indeed,” said the Archbishop. “Today I come bearing most interesting tales. Would you like me to tell them? You have no doubt heard rumour, by now.” His tone was arch, and superior. Yasmyn had hated him on first meeting. Sofy had been more tolerant. Now she found herself conceding to Yasmyn's judgement.

  “I have heard that half of the Army of Lenayin has changed sides,” said Sofy. She pressed her hands firmly together in her lap, lest they should tremble. “My sister leads them.”

  “Changed sides,” pronounced Turen. There was deathly silence in the small temple. Turen smiled unpleasantly. “Turned traitor, one might more correctly say. And rather more than half, I hear.”

  Sofy knew the divisions better than anyone here, save for Jaryd, who remained outside. She could guess the lines upon which the split had occurred. Led by Sasha…so the three northern provinces of Hadryn, Ranash, and Banneryd would have done the precise opposite. The rest would have divided largely on noble lines, the nobility with the northern provinces, the common folk with Sasha. Except (as everything in Lenayin was “except”) for the Taneryn. And possibly even the Isfayen, whose nobility disliked their so-called peers and had grown recently fond of Sasha.

  “Do you have news of my siblings?” Sofy asked, unable to quite keep the fear from her voice.

  “Your brother the king remains loyal,” Turen conceded. “The younger brother too, Myklas. The others, not so much.”

  Sofy let out the small, tight breath she'd been holding. “So they are well?”

  “Quite,” Turen pronounced, curtly. “The last I heard.”

  Sofy tried to think. What could have caused such a calamity? She knew that Sasha had been unhappy, as many Lenays had been unhappy. And she wasn't completely naive, she knew that her husband had been shielding her from the worst atrocities of the invasion. Lenayin had suffered greatly in battle, she had lost her own father, and Lenay morale had suffered…but in Lenayin, honour was all, and honourable behaviour, as Sofy understood it, did not entail changing sides in the middle of a war. Sasha's more extreme flights of emotion did not surprise her at all…but for the Army of Lenayin to follow her in such numbers…

  What had happened to make them hate their new allies so much? Seated here before the circle, Sofy felt the wall of accusing eyes upon her. Beneath those stares, she understood her own danger.

  “We would all here be most intrigued,” Turen said into that silence, “to hear your appraisal of these events. We of the Bacosh had heard many stories of the fearsome warriors of Lenayin, but we had not heard that they were so disloyal.”

  “You still have a considerable portion of the Army of Lenayin with you,” Sofy returned.

  “As I said, rather less than half.”

  “A less-than-half that includes the heavy northern cavalry, always the most formidable portion.” Sofy injected a note of cold reprimand into her voice. She understood very well that here she must fight, or quite possibly die. “Many Lenays fought and died so that my husband's forces could attain their current position. Indeed, our very presence in Tracato has been purchased with the lives of many thousands of Lenay warriors. It is the Verenthane code that one should never show disrespect upon ground stained with the blood of martyrs. I know that you do not mean to sound disrespectful, Archbishop Turen.”

  “The forces of the Free Bacosh won victory over Rhodaan upon Sonnai Plain,” said Dafed, from the Archbishop's right. “I fought upon the Sonnai, and I did not see any Lenays there.”

  There was a muttering of approval from his fellow lords.

  “You fought one Army of the Steel at odds of better than five to one against,” said Sofy. “You barely won. Upon your flank, Lenayin fought another Army of the Steel at odds of one to one, and barely lost. Were Lenayin not upon your flank, you would have faced two armies of the Steel together, and been annihilated like so many of your forebears.” Dafed's lords glared at her.

  “By my calculation,” Sofy continued mercilessly, “if you still possess the strongest formation of the Army of Lenayin within your ranks, then you still possess a force more than twice the value of all the rest of your armies combined.”

  “Ludicrous!” someone exclaimed.

  “Ask the Enoran Steel how it is ludicrous,” Sofy snapped. “All agree they came within a hair of defeat, something your Bacosh Armies have never achieved in two hundred years with many times the force. Lenays do not require odds of five to one to win our victories.”

  If they no longer need me, if they no longer fear me, I'm dead.

  Observing the angry faces around her, the thought formed quite clearly. Most had never liked the alliance. Now they had true cause not to. She was an impediment, as her marriage to Balthaar Arrosh blocked access to that most valuable thing that all others craved-wedlock to the future King of all Bacosh. She had to impress upon them how important she still was, and how deadly her family and allies would be to offend.

  “Now, now,” said Turen, raising a calming hand. “Let us not descend into crude allegations and counter-allegations. I would hear the princess's assessment.”

  Sofy swallowed and calmed herself. “Lenayin is a land only recently united,” she said. “There are many lines of fracture amongst my people. Many of us feared this outcome from the start. My brother the king did advocate this war in part to unite our people, to meld them together in the forge of war. He was counselled of the possibility that it may have an alternative effect. Now it seems those fears are realised.”

  “The pagans have all ab
andoned the cause, then?”

  “It's not a matter of pagans and Verenthanes, Archbishop.”

  “And yet all those who remain loyal are Verenthane.”

  “And noble. That is the primary thing. This is a war about nobility, above all else.”

  “Interesting,” said Turen. “I had thought it a war for the righteous gods against ungodly evil, myself.”

  “Whatever else the serrin have done,” Sofy continued, ignoring the interjection, “they have abolished nobility in these lands. My husband's army seeks to restore it. Nobility is a point of great contention in Lenayin also. All nobility there is Verenthane, save for the Taneryn. I would guess that some, if not most, Verenthane common folk will have joined this rebellion-the dislike of nobility runs deep in Lenayin save in the north, irrespective of faith. Perhaps this campaign has reawakened those old arguments.”

  “It seems the noble families of Lenayin have not earned the love of the people.”

  “Possibly true,” Sofy said coldly. “A fact from which my family remains the exception.”

  “I hear tales,” continued the Archbishop, “that you are quite taken with these lands. With this city, and its serrin constructions.”

  “There is much knowledge here,” said Sofy. “Things that wise rulers could learn to use, as Lenay rulers learned much from the Torovan Verenthanes who brought us the faith one century ago.”

  “Do you like this city?”

  “I find it has its attractions,” Sofy said cautiously.

  “Myself,” said Turen, “I feel it could be improved.”

  Leaving the temple, Sofy made straight for Jaryd. About the courtyard now, Elissian lords were giving orders to horsemen, who clattered away down adjoining lanes. Something was afoot.

  “They're organising,” said Jaryd, with a nod to the Elissians. “I think the others are coming.” The Elissian Army, he meant. The one that was supposed to remain camped beyond the city limits.

  “I don't like this at all,” said Jeddie, pale with alarm. “What in the world is the Archbishop doing here anyway? I mean, the Army of Lenayin defects and he chooses to deliver the message personally?”

  “My husband did not want the priesthood involved in the fate of Tracato,” said Sofy. “He made it explicit: he does not trust them to make decisions.”

  Jeddie was shaking her head. “He doesn't control the priesthood, Sofy! No one does, they answer to the gods. Until now they've been preoccupied with returning the Shereldin Star to Shemorane, but now they've achieved that, they're free to start reordering these conquered lands as they see fit!”

  “Balthaar had the authority to keep them out of Tracato and send me instead,” Sofy muttered. “But when the Army of Lenayin broke up, that ended. His lords who opposed sending me will have revolted….”

  “Yes,” said Jeddie, breathlessly. She was the daughter of Tournean nobility, she'd lived and breathed these manoeuvrings her entire life. “Balthaar's position itself could be under threat, he has lost face over this….”

  “He's just won the biggest victory in two centuries,” Jaryd disagreed. “He's not about to be weakened now-”

  “Listen,” Jeddie said impatiently, “when a leader of a great army wins a big victory, it is judged to be a verdict of the gods. That's where his new authority comes from. Now who do you think is in charge of issuing that verdict?”

  “The Archbishop,” said Sofy. “He's in a fight with Balthaar over the future of these lands. And now he has a free hand here, and an army of vengeful Elissians to do his bidding.” Now she was scared, in a way that threats to her personal safety had not entirely achieved. “Jaryd, I want you to ride to the Justiciary and find Maldereld's Founding. The original manuscripts, the codes of law, those must be saved.”

  Jaryd shook his head. “No. I swore to protect you-I'm not leaving you alone now that these idiots want your head-”

  “Jaryd, I'm still a Lenay Princess, and I command you to-”

  “You're not!” Jaryd snorted. “You stopped being that when you married that goon.”

  “Then what the hells are you doing here?” She stared at him, shoulders heaving. Jaryd stared back. The answer hung in the air, stark in their silence. Sofy's eyes nearly spilled as she looked at him. She couldn't afford this now, there were so many larger things at stake. “Jaryd, there are documents in the Justiciary that lay the foundations of a better world. A world without these goons, as you call them. They'll want them destroyed, they'll want all of it destroyed. Don't tell me that means nothing to you.”

  Jaryd looked away.

  “Jeddie,” she continued, “get to the Mahl'rhen, see it evacuated, see those few foolish serrin like Lesthen taken out in disguise if you have to.”

  Jeddie nodded and went for her horse. Jaryd indicated to Jandlys, and the huge Taneryn ran to follow. Sofy did not protest since Jandlys was obviously taken with the noble Tournean, and would fight like an animal to protect her.

  Sofy grasped Jaryd's hand. “Jaryd, go. Asym can stay and protect me. Do this for me.”

  “And where will you be?”

  Sofy smiled wanly. “Within the protective army of my husband's knights, what could hurt me?”

  Jaryd arrived to find local men in urgent discussion upon the broad steps of the Justiciary. He dismounted and accosted a local to ask him what this latest commotion was about.

  “Fighting,” said the man, in broken Torovan. “East, east.” He pointed, more northeast than east, in the direction the Elissians would come from. “Local men fight, but they many.”

  Jaryd ran up the steps and into the huge hall of one of the most impressive buildings in Tracato. It thronged with people, more commotion, and urgent conversation. The Justiciary was the centre of Tracato in many ways. During the troubles, the Civid Sein had overrun it, held Sasha captive here, and tortured her. Alythia, they'd murdered. No doubt Sofy was correct that any new force determined to overrun the city would aim here first.

  Some hurried questions directed him to a senior Justice, talking with a local man Jaryd took to be Nasi-Keth, in a back hallway. “I'm Jaryd Nyvar,” Jaryd interrupted. “I come on Princess Sofy's instructions-she has just had audience with Archbishop Turen, and she fears for the safety of the documents of law.”

  “I tell you, they are coming!” the Nasi-Keth man resumed berating the Justice. “The Elissians are coming, the Archbishop gives them holy sanction to enter the city and lay waste!”

  The Justice stared at Jaryd for a long moment. Jaryd had seen fear before. He'd known it himself, intimately. What he saw in the Justice's eyes was not the fear for personal safety. It was more like the fear he'd known in that moment he'd learned that his fellow nobles had invoked the Sylden Sarach, and declared the dissolution of his family. The fear when an old Baen-Tar groundsman had dared approach to tell him that his little brother was dead.

  It was the fear of a man who saw the one thing he loved more in the world than himself sentenced to death.

  The Justice turned and led them hurriedly up some stairs to a higher hallway. They entered a grand chamber, where clerks sorted piles of parchment and books onto tables. There followed much shouting of instruction in Rhodaani, as Jaryd stood by impatiently and wondered how long it would take the Elissians to fight their way through to this point. Some ordinary Tracatans had fled the city, but most had stayed. Some of those were formerly of the Steel and retained weapons. Others were Nasi-Keth, or Nasi-Keth trained. The Elissians would not find it easy, but they had armour and organisation, and many of those opposing would be older men who had not drilled in a decade or more.

  “We can't take all of this!” Jaryd insisted to the clerks who ran into the chamber from adjoining rooms, carrying yet more piles. Few paid him any attention. Jaryd fumed, and went to the window to listen for sounds of fighting.

  From conversation within the room, he gathered there was a ship in harbour that could take them. Saalshen's navy ruled the waves, and once into the Sharaal Sea, a ship could find safe ha
rbour anywhere along the Saalshen coast. But how long would such cargo be safe, if Saalshen itself were next to fall?

  “This is stupid,” he muttered to himself. Tracato's defenders had little time to prepare, and Elissian cavalry could penetrate faster than they could throw up blockades. They could be here any moment and they could reach Sofy too. Meanwhile he was here, guarding paper.

  He stalked from the chamber and down to the main floor. Outside, he heard yells and hooves clattering. Nasi-Keth archers at the doors were loosing arrows at mounted knights who wheeled across the courtyard, running down some city folk armed only with makeshift weapons.

  “Aim for the horses you fools!” Jaryd yelled at the archers as arrows glanced harmlessly from heavy armour. There were no more than ten knights, he saw-a small raiding party, advancing ahead of the main body, likely to seek the glory of first capture for themselves.

  A horse was struck, and reared, flailing. A knight saw the archers and came charging toward the broad stone steps. Jaryd pushed past to the top step, sword drawn, and dared the knight to come. He did, his horse bounding uncertainly on the steps, the knight's sword readied for a right-handed swing…and Jaryd leaped quickly across the horse's path and half-severed its head with a huge swing.

  The animal collapsed, gushing blood, its rider crashing on the stairs. Nasi-Keth were on him before he could rise, pinning his armoured bulk, stabbing with knives into the gaps between armourplate. Jaryd spun his sword several times in challenge, beckoning the other knights who'd watched to try the same.

  They did, three at once, and this time rearing their horses on the steps, hooves lashing at head height, forcing the defenders back. Jaryd retreated within the doors, but those were large enough to admit even mounted riders, and now there were knights coming into the Justiciary itself, shod hooves sliding on the smooth pavings as they galloped in circles, spreading chaos.

  Stupid fools, Jaryd thought, slipping outside once more through a further door-they were massively outnumbered, and the archers were now shooting at them from the walls, peppering their horses. They'd retreat or die soon enough, and weren't worth his trouble.