A crease divided King Torvaal's dark brows, ever so faintly. 'And how did this come to pass?'
Damon explained. Torvaal listened, with the same faint, dark frown. Sofy felt her heart beating faster.
'The girl had no right to submit to those demands on my behalf,' Torvaal said when Damon had finished. His tone was firm, yet devoid of obvious emotion. As usual. 'She serves the Nasi-Keth. Her privileges as a daughter of Lenayin were renounced twelve years ago. The king is not bound by her word.'
Damon's jaw seemed to tighten, just a little. 'She saved lives, my Lord,' he replied. 'Lord Krayliss admitted to killing Lord Rashyd, though he claims just cause. As such, his was the wrong deed under the king's law, and Lord Usyn Telgar was merely reacting to that wrong deed. Lord Krayliss defied my original demand that he submit to your justice. To enforce your law, my Lord, I saw that I had two options-to join with the Hadryn armies and defeat him by force of arms, or to agree to the terms provided by M'Lady Sashandra. An assault would have cost hundreds of lives on both sides, and perhaps sparked a broader conflict between Taneryn and Hadryn that could have cost thousands. I deemed the second option more sensible… with your blessing, my Lord.'
Koenyg, Sofy saw, appeared somewhat annoyed, although he hid it well. Their father's expression remained unchanged. He considered his son with thoughtful dark eyes, within a face that might have been handsome if it had just once shown the faintest hint of levity. And that thought gave Sofy a familiar, melancholy sadness.
Torvaal nodded. 'You did well, my son,' he said, and Damon seemed to relax a little. 'I will see Lord Krayliss now.'
Koenyg made a gesture to the guards at the end of the hall and, once again, the doors squealed slowly open. Damon and Sofy moved to Koenyg's side as Torvaal ascended the three steps and sat in the simple, wood-carved throne. At the hall's end, a new procession appeared. These men did not walk with the refinement and dignity of Verenthane nobility. They swaggered, with heavy, muscular steps, swords swinging against their legs. Their hair was long, tied with apparently random braids. Gold glinted around necks and along ears and, despite the uniform glow of many lamps, it seemed somehow that the light only came from their right, for all the men's left profiles appeared cast dark into shadow.
At their head strode a huge bear of a man, abristle with wild hair and beard, and a sword so enormous its leather binder squealed as it swung from his belt. His girth was greater than two Damons, Sofy reckoned with amazement, and Damon was a skinny lad no longer. His clothes were all leathers and skins, and his boots were patterned with intricate, beautiful stitching. Only when he and his men drew closer could Sofy see the equally intricate tattoos across the left side of their faces. Not all Goeren-yai men wore the tattoos, Sasha had told her. Those who did began to add the first strands after the Wakening, the Goeren-yai ceremony of manhood.
The Taneryn contingent halted before the dais, staring about them insolently. There were perhaps twenty men in all, Sofy reckoned. She realised then why the guards had seemed on-edge. Disquiet spread throughout the hall, a disbelieving, angry murmur. It grew louder when Lord Krayliss took a step forward and stared directly at the king with no sign of obeisance.
'Kneel before the king!' Koenyg demanded. King Torvaal's expression remained impassive. Krayliss's stare turned to Koenyg… Two dark, burning eyes within a bristling mass of dark hair. The fur coat over his huge shoulders added to the bear-like effect. To the right side of his face lay a long, winding braid, composed of three separate strands bound together.
'Ha!' Krayliss laughed, his voice like a heavy drum at festival. 'The king's heir defends his father's honour!' Within that mass of beard, his lips appeared to twist in humour. 'That is good! Honour should be defended at all costs! Only know this, king's heir-not all men of Lenayin follow the path of honour quite so rigorously as others.'
Lord Krayliss knelt before the dais, and his contingent did likewise. His eyes, however, did not lower. Around him, the angry murmuring continued. Sofy found herself wondering at his accent-it was not unlike the northern accents she had heard, from men of Hadryn, Banneryd and Ranash. In Lenayin, one could never avoid the question of languages when determining a man's loyalties. Some said that the sooner all peoples abandoned their mother tongues and spoke only Lenay, the better. But what would that cost the kingdom, to lose so much of their ancient ways forever? Men like Krayliss would never stand for it. And, quite possibly, women like Sasha too.
'Lord Krayliss,' said the king from his throne. Sofy noted Duke Stefhan and several of his Larosa contingent watching from between the columns. She wondered what they would make of this very Lenay scene. 'My son informs me that you have ridden to Baen-Tar to place yourself within the protection, and the justice, of the king's law. Is this correct?'
'No,' Krayliss said proudly, looking his king firmly in the eye. Another angry muttering from the crowd. 'I am here on behalf of my people. The ancient people, the last of the true Lenays. It is we who are here to judge your law, King Torvaal. We shall judge it and we shall see if we find it worthy.'
The king raised a hand to forestall the angry words from the crowd. His manner was calm. 'And what expectations do you hold, Lord Krayliss, of my justice?'
Krayliss smiled a dark, unpleasant smile. 'We in Taneryn have had a hundred years experience of the Verenthane kings, King Torvaal. A hundred years of Hadryn attacks. A hundred years of Verenthane cronies and sycophants raised to the nobility of every lordship of Lenayin, to the point where I stand before you as the last remaining Goeren-yai chieftain in Lenayin. I shan't hold my breath for your justice.'
'If you have not cast yourself upon the king's justice,' Koenyg said loudly from Damon's side, 'then Lord Usyn Telgar's claims of vengeance still stand. Are you within the king's justice, Lord Krayliss, or are you not?'
'Aye, you'd like that, wouldn't you?' Krayliss growled at Koenyg. 'An outright invasion of Taneryn by the bloody-handed Hadryn to remove this mischievous Lord Krayliss once and for all? Behold, the heir Prince Koenyg! Not as talented as the great, departed Prince Krystoff, nor half as pretty I might add, but a great friend to the Goeren-yai of Lenayin is he!' His men laughed with raucous, ugly humour. Koenyg fumed. 'March us all off to kill serrin babies in the lowlands, he would! Make us abandon our farms and our families for a good year or more so the Cherrovan can come raiding and the Hadryn can rape our women and steal our livestock with none of us here to do a damn thing about it!'
'That's enough from you!' shouted one noble from the crowd, as others yelled their disapproval, and suddenly the guards were more concerned with containing the observers than guarding the Taneryn. 'Respect the king!' shouted another. Krayliss stood unmoved before the dais and gazed proudly about at the commotion he had caused. From his throne, Torvaal simply watched. The noise began to die, but Krayliss wasn't finished.
'Oh, you think I'm joking, don't you?' he boomed to the hall at large, sweeping them with his shaggy-browed stare. 'You think I'm just giving the prince a jab or two? Then what by the spirits is he doing here?' Krayliss levelled a thick finger at Duke Stefhan. 'Yes, you, you perfumed, limp-wristed wystych!'
Sofy's eyes widened. Sasha had told her that word-it was common to old Valhanan Lerei such as was still spoken in the valleys near Baerlyn and to the Taasti language of Taneryn. It meant sexual self-gratification, Sasha had said. Between friends, it was a joke. In the royal courts of Baen-Tar, it was dangerous provocation.
'Behold,' Krayliss continued with glee, 'a duke of Larosa-the most defeated Bacosh province of the last two centuries! The greatest losers in all Bacosh history!' At the duke's side, several of his men looked on with puzzled concern. Those, Sofy reckoned, could not penetrate Krayliss's thick accent… and just as well. The duke simply stared, dark and cautious beneath his fringe of curls. 'Here in Baen-Tar for Rathynal! Fancy that! Recruiting willing fodder for your armies, are you, Master Duke? Please tell us all, what is the good Prince Koenyg's going price for the life of a poor Goeren-yai farmer these days? Three pieces of copper? Four?
'We in the provinces are not stupid. We know that the king's favour has swung with each heir. Prince Krystoff trained to be Nasi-Keth and loved the Goeren-yai, and so while he lived the king did also… until of course the northerners conspired to have Prince Krystoff killed in combat with the Cherrovan. All so that the good, devout, Verenthane Prince Koenyg could take his place! And now they get their reward! Don't they, Master Koenyg?'
Deathly silence. Sofy could hear the shock. Could feel it emanating from the very stones. She had expected another uproar, but there was nothing. The typical Lenay response to such dastardly accusations was anger. But this… this felt more like fear. Was that it? Were all these Verenthane nobles actu ally scared of Lord Krayliss now that he had vastly, enormously overstepped the mark of no return? Or were they only scared of what he could unleash upon them, and upon the entire kingdom? Sasha had said often that the Goerenyai would never follow him… but what if she was wrong?
Sofy found herself staring at a Royal Guardsman standing alongside Duke Stefhan, his eyes wary, a hand on the hilt of his sword. That man, too, wore the tattoos on the left side of his face and long, braided hair spilled from beneath his gleaming helm. So did nearly half the Royal Guard. What would happen to all the powerful people in this
