Tracato: A Trial of Blood and Steel, Book 3

by Joel Shepherd

  “Of all the strange human concepts I’ve discovered,” Rhillian said sourly, “I believe the one I like least may be ‘nostalgia.’”

  “Worse than ‘war’ or ‘rape’ or ‘pillage’?” Arendelle asked her.

  “Yes,” said Rhillian, “because the one leads to the others so frequently.”

  “So do ‘revolutions,’” Aisha said quietly. “Yet that is what we propose for Elisse.”

  “I know,” Rhillian sighed. “You are Enoran, and you remember your history. But one bloody episode has led to two centuries of relative peace and prosperity, Aisha. Sometimes, the ends do justify the means.”

  “And other times,” said Aisha, “blood is repaid with blood.”

  E RROLLYN AWOKE TO THE SOUNDS OF THE COURTYARD CAMP beyond the windows. It was louder than previous mornings. Cattle were lowing. Hooves clopped on stone. Tent straps rattled, and there were voices, gruff with sleep. He could smell campfires. A rooster crowed.

  “Sounds like the whole damn countryside moved in to town,” Sasha murmured.

  Errollyn knelt up in bed to peer through the shutters. The Tol’rhen courtyard was grey with smoke. Across its stones sprawled many campsites. The number had grown during the night.

  There came a knocking at the door. Sasha groaned. “Go away,” she said, burrowing back into her sheets.

  “Enter!” Errollyn called. The door opened, and a serrin girl of no more than twelve entered. She had white hair, a slender face and pretty grey eyes. She wore pants rather than robes, identifying her as a talmaad in training. However, she wore no blade.

  “Errollyn!” exclaimed the girl, coming to the bedside. “You must attend the Council of Ythemen this day at the lunch hour.”

  “Must I?”

  “Yes.” the girl insisted. She looked familiar, though Errollyn could not recall an introduction. “Ythemen is visiting all the way from Umal’ester’han, and she has much ra’shi!”

  “And what shall Ythemen be doing at the Mahl’rhen today at the lunch hour,” Errollyn asked with amusement, “that shall require my attendance? Juggle flaming balls? Swallow a whole cow? Perform some sexual trick with a candle?”

  Beneath the sheets, Sasha whacked his leg.

  Being serrin, and largely unshockable in such matters, the girl barely blinked. “But Errollyn, she came all the way from—”

  “Umal’ester’han, yes, I know. Girl, have you ever been to Umal’ester’han?” The girl shook her head. “It’s a series of boardwalks atop a muddy bog. You’ll find greater native wisdom here.”

  “Lesthen requires your presence,” said the girl, more sternly.

  “Will Lesthen swallow a cow?” said Errollyn. “I’d turn up to see that.”

  “Spirits forbid he tries the trick with the candle,” Sasha murmured. Errollyn grinned.

  “Girl, I’m busy,” he said. “Try another day.”

  The girl frowned at him. Serrin could never figure him out, whatever their age. Before she could leave, Sasha flung out her hand and grabbed the girl by the jacket. She pulled her closer, and slitted open her eyes.

  “Serrin truly have no concept of privacy, do they?” Sasha said.

  The girl blinked at her. “Should I have waited outside? It was not my intention to cause offence.”

  Sasha sighed. “No. No, of course not. Damn serrin. What’s your name?”

  “Letish.”

  “Letish. In some parts of Tracato, if you rush in on a man and woman abed, you’ll be sorry for it. Be aware.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Letish with a small bow, looking anything but. She was gazing at Sasha with intense curiosity.

  “I’m not offended,” Sasha said with exasperation. “Others might be. Where are your parents?”

  “In Saalshen.”

  “How long since you’ve seen them?”

  “Two years.” As though nothing could be more normal.

  Sasha smiled. “You go home now, and you tell Lesthen to stop pestering Errollyn.” She gave the girl a kiss on the cheek, and burrowed back into her pillow. The girl began to leave, astonished and pleased. Halfway to the door, she dashed back, kissed Sasha on the cheek in kind, then left with a smile. Errollyn saw Sasha was smiling too.

  “You’ve confused her,” said Errollyn. “She thinks that’s some kind of custom now.”

  “Perhaps it should be,” said Sasha. “It never hurts to be nice.” She closed her eyes. “I’m always nice to serrin, I can’t help it. Maybe too nice.”

  “I’d never say that,” said Errollyn. Sasha kicked him beneath the sheets, but gently.

  Errollyn got up, stretched briefly and wrapped himself in a robe to visit the privy. The Mahl’rhen had been trying to lure him back since his arrival. Word had spread from Rhillian, on her passing through, of his odd behaviour in Petrodor. “Traitorous” was not a word serrin would naturally use. But he had them alarmed. Rather than deal with the problem directly, serrin did what they always did—they talked. Endless talking, endless councils, endless lectures and halfhearted attempts to understand. He’d given up trying by the end of the first day. Now, they sent messengers pleading with him to return to the fold.

  Sasha appeared to have gone back to sleep. Errollyn stood and looked at her for a long moment. There was something vaguely wild and untamed in the muscles of her arms and shoulders, the way she sprawled on the mattress, the way her hair stuck up against the pillow. The sight of it set free something wild and untamed in him, too.

  He crawled overher, and sat straddling upon her backside. Then he dug his fingers into her shoulders and neck, just the way she liked. Sasha smiled and winced. She worked hard at those muscles, perhaps harder than a man needed to. After some bad strains she could barely turn her head.

  “You have classes today?” she asked him.

  “I promised Ulenshaal Timar I’d take a Saalsi class,” said Errollyn. “After that, I have Aemon to visit.”

  “You be careful with Aemon; the Tracato nobility may look very tame but underneath I’m certain they’re no different from elsewhere.”

  “I know,” Errollyn said mildly. He slid his hands down her back, then up her bare sides.

  “That doesn’t do my stiffness any good at all,” she said, smiling.

  “Does wonders for mine,” said Errollyn. Sasha laughed. She threw off the sheets and rolled over.

  “Come on then,” she dared him, with her irresistible, mischievous smile. “Wake me up properly.”

  After morning training, and a wash, Errollyn walked to the Tol’rhen courtyard to see the camp. There had to be a thousand people, he guessed. Some made tents from wooden frames, others strung ropes between statues upon which to drape canvas, while others slept under carts. Now there were fires, and farm animals gathered amidst piles of hay. Banners hung, several draped over statues—the sickle-and-scythe flag of the Civid Sein.

  Tol’rhen Nasi-Keth walked amongst them, handing out food and blankets. A cart was making the rounds, unloading firewood, also supervised by Nasi-Keth. Errollyn saw several youngsters he knew, talking amiably with rough-dressed rural folk. All the rural folk seemed to be armed, some with tools, some with genuine weapons. About the courtyard perimeter, Blackboots were watching, with grim expressions.

  By the foot of a grand statue of some famous general, Errollyn spotted Ulenshaal Sevarien and Reynold Hein, in conversation with several Civid Sein men. He walked to them, and wondered what cityfolk would make of these outsiders using their historical statues for tent posts. Sevarien spotted him, and waved him over.

  “Master Errollyn!” he boomed. “These are farmers Stefani and Dujane, leaders of our gathering.”

  Our gathering? Errollyn wondered to himself.

  “Where is your satellite?” asked Reynold, looking around.

  “Presently eclipsed in a class of Lenay history,” said Errollyn, flexing a shoulder where Sasha had struck him at training.

  “Ah, Sashandra would make an excellent Ulenshaal!” exclaimed Sevarien with a laugh. “
It might help the meaningful discussion of Lenay history if she could do so without waving her sword around midlesson, mind you.”

  “Sasha believes that history should never be dull,” Errollyn said, shaking his head. “The camp has grown considerably.”

  Farmer Stefani nodded. “Soon it will be bigger,” he assured them. He was a large man, with a moustache, and smelled of animy N “We heard what General Zulmaher is doing in Elisse. This cannot be allowed—Elisse cannot become a stronghold for the Rhodaani nobility’s feudalist allies.”

  Sevarien beamed, and slapped Stefani’s shoulder. “And nor shall it be allowed. We’ll show those nobility that Rhodaan belongs to the common folk, not the entitled wealthy.”

  Reynold excused himself and made off through the crowd.

  “What kind of demonstration do you intend?” Errollyn asked. He made his tone conversational, betraying no concern.

  “Whatever it takes,” said Stefani, with dour certainty. “The nobility debate in council, how to restore taxation to the landed men. Maldereld made it illegal two hundred years ago, and now they try to bring it back. To remove the power of the Council, and replace it with the money of nobility and their paid men-at-arms.” He glowered in the direction of the Blackboots. “In Enora they’d cut off their heads for daring to suggest it.”

  “My friends at the Mahl’rhen are certain it won’t go that far,” Errollyn offered. “They say the debate in council is more about relieving some overburdened nobility from too much taxation, not about granting nobles the power of taxation.”

  “Dear Errollyn,” said Sevarien, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You of all people should know better than to place much store in the analysis of the Mahl’rhen. Yours are a gentle people, they do not understand the viciousness and brutality of such folk as the nobility. Only a du’jannah such as yourself can understand.”

  Errollyn thought he understood quite well. Exactly what he understood, about gatherings like this one, and some of the Nasi-Keth’s recent infatuation with them, he did not think wise to share.

  Sasha was talking to Ulenshaal Martinesse when Reynold appeared at the door. The class had been overflowing, with students standing in alcoves and sitting against the stone walls to fit in. Martinesse had interrupted frequently, and the two women had argued for much of the class, to the delight of onlookers. Sasha had been quite alarmed at just how wrong Martinesse’s interpretations were of the reasons for Verenthanism’s spread through Lenayin. Now the silver-haired lady continued the debate, as perhaps twenty students clustered about to hear.

  “Ladies, please excuse me,” Reynold cut in, walking from the doorway. “Ulenshaal, could I borrow Sashandra for a moment? She is much in demand, I know.”

  The students looked disappointed. “We shall continue this at lunch,” Martinesse told them.

  “Assuredly,” said Sasha.

  “Come students!” Martinesse announced, clapping her hands. “I know you have other classes to get to.” They departed, some with a final, appreciative thanks to Sasha.

  “Martinesse is an excellent Ulenshaal, yes?” Reynold said.

  “She’s very smart,” said Sasha, trying to be polite. That much was true at least, and she hated lying.

  “But?”

  “I don’t know, some of the people in this place…I mean, they’re very clever, but they have these favourite ideas. And instead of accepting that they’re wrong when evidence proves their favourite ideas silly, they refuse to, and twist all evidence to try to make it fit their opinion.”

  “Ah,” said Reynold. “But you cannot deny the passion for ideas in this place.”

  “Ideas, yes,” said Sasha. “But ideas are not facts. Any fool can invent a crazy idea and be passionate about it, I don’t see that counts as wisdom.”

  Reynold laughed. “Oh, come, surely we’re not that bad?”

  “Not all of you, no,” Sasha conceded, stretching. She needed to get outside for a while, and clear her head. “Not most of you. I don’t know…. I’m from a land of simple, straightforward people, Reynold; they say what they think and accept facts as they appear obvious. They’re not as sophisticated as anyone here, but I don’t think education and wisdom are necessarily the same thing.”

  “Or perhaps you’re just homesick.”

  Sasha shrugged, and smiled at him. “A little,” she admitted. “Did you wish to speak to me about something?”

  Reynold thought for a moment. “I was wondering of your relationship with Errollyn.”

  Sasha gave a puzzled smile. Reynold would not be the first to be curious about that. Hells, she was curious herself. “Yes?”

  “Do you foresee marriage?”

  Sasha laughed. “To a serrin?”

  “It does happen, in Tracato,” Reynold insisted. “Initiated by the serrin themselves.”

  “I’d never thought that far. Foresight and planning aren’t my strong points, as Kessligh’s always telling me.”

  “So you don’t foresee marriage?”

  “Reynold, I honestly couldn’t say.”

  “He is very handsome,” Reynold pressed. “Most girls would be jealous of the chance to bed a man like him each night.”

  Sasha was amused, but didn’t find the conversation reason enough to stay away from the sunlight. “Yes, well, the many jealous girls of Tracato will just have to deal with it. I have to get outside, I can’t stay inside for long.”

  She headed for the door, expecting him to walk with her. Reynold stepped backward instead, facing her, partly blocking the way. “I mean, if I were bedding some stunningly beautiful girl,” he continued, “then I might prolong that situation for as long as possible, even if I did not intend to marry her.”

  “Um, sure,” said Sasha, slowing down.

  “But such a relationship could not continue forever,” he continued. “At some point, don’t you think, the flesh might tire of such simple pleasures?”

  He reached for her cheek. Sasha was astonished, but mostly at herself, for being so dense. She was so unaccustomed to being courted. In Lenayin, most men desired a picture of feminine domesticity, and she was certainly not that.

  She took a step back. “Reynold, I’m truly flattered. But Errollyn is more than my bed partner, he’s my best friend. Please understand.” She tried a smile, and hoped that worked. Spirits knew what went on in the minds of men, in such situations.

  “Oh, come, you’re Lenay,” Reynold said easily. “The women of Lenayin are adventurous, surely?”

  “Passionate,” Sasha corrected. “And loyal.”

  “Next you’ll be trying to tell me that Errollyn is the only man you’ve bedded.”

  Sasha opened her mouth to reply in the affirmative, and stopped. None of his damn business anyway. Now she was getting frustrated.

  “Reynold, look. You seem a nice man, but the answer is no. I’d like to go outside now.” She gestured him out of the way. He advanced another step instead.

  “Sashandra, you are an amazingly beautiful woman. I am not an inexperienced man, I am certain you’d not be disappointed.”

  Sasha realised that she was retreating. She stopped, and he drew very close. “Look,” she began angrily, “let me make this very plain for you—”

  Reynold tried to kiss her. Sasha sidestepped quickly. Reynold grinned, and pursued. In desperation Sasha threw a punch at him, and missed. He grabbed her arm and wrestled her close, and suddenly her arms were pinned, and his hands were on her, and there was no leverage at all. She couldn’t reach her knife, let alone her sword, and he was pushing her against a wall—not an enormously large or strong man, but a swordsman all the same, and infuriatingly she’d missed her opening chance. How many times had Kessligh warned her never to let a man get this close? She was a strong girl but against fighting men it was not enough; with her it was blades or nothing.

  He had her off balance against the wall. In a flash of inspiration, she kissed him hard. She could feel his surprise against her body, his momentary flutter of excite
ment and astonishment…he grabbed her and kissed her back harder. That freed her arm, and she grabbed his balls, and squeezed tighter than she’d ever squeezed anything.

  His face contorted, his grip slackened. In sheer fury for the taste of his mouth in hers, she smashed him with her forehead. He fell to his knees, clutching his nose, and Sasha drew her sword in a flash and put it to his neck. She felt unsteady, seeing stars, and her head hurt. That had been stupid. What the hells was she going to do, kill him? This shining intellect of the Tol’rhen, who until now had been nothing but pleasant and civilised? This unarmed man, who had never drawn a blade against her?

  She sheathed the blade, and resisted the temptation to kick Reynold senseless while she had the chance. She strode out into the hallway, putting a hand to her head to check for blood. She found none. Still she couldn’t think straight, and doubted that was the blow to her head.

  Who should she tell? Errollyn would kill him. Or not…but he’d finish what she’d started, and produce a lot moreeigeding. Kessligh would…hells, she had no idea what Kessligh would do. Much of the Tol’rhen would undoubtedly side with Reynold. He was their man, their esteemed leader. She felt unclean. Damn him for doing this to her. What the hells had possessed him? The desperate need of a fuck? Surely not—Reynold was charming, not unattractive, and many women swooned after him. Why her?

  The more she thought about it, the more furious she became. A few more strides down the hallway and she nearly reversed and drew her blade, to do what she should have done in the name of Lenay honour and cut his head off. But it was too late now—Lenay custom dictated that hot blood was fair and just, but now the moment was passed. Damn him.

  She entered the great hall, one of Tracato’s many architectural marvels. There was a commotion at the far end, amidst the usual student bustle. People had gathered in numbers and voices were raised. Sasha strode that way, in a perfect mood for trouble. Hopefully someone would need killing. Someone evil.

  A group of students were booing. Sasha pushed through the crowd and saw a small cluster of well-dressed men in argument with several black-robed Ulenshaals. Very well-dressed men, Sasha corrected herself, eyeing the jewelled sword pommels, the intricate embroidery on their jackets and pants, the feather tufts in wide brimmed hats. Nobility.