Tracato

Lesthen brings from Saalshen will have little enough experience in battle, and Sasha tells me you’re one of the best horseback fighters she’s seen.”

“I’m out of practice,” said Errollyn. “And by the time I heal, I’ll be out of condition, too.”

“I don’t need you to kill all the enemy single-handedly,” Kessligh said wryly. “But I’d like someone there whose head I can trust.”

“It doesn’t work that way. I may have experience, and that may gain me ra’shi, but to be commander, I must also gain ra’shi for my views. It’s a long time since I’ve been active in such circles, in Tracato.”

“So start,” said Kessligh, an edge to his tone. “Lad, you love Sasha, I understand that. You feel estranged from your own people, I understand that too. But I think you’ve been too much the faithful puppy with Sasha, this past half-year. She’s been your excuse to escape your own people, to throw their narrowness back in their faces. But following Sasha too blindly can be bad for your health, as you’ve discovered.

“Understand I don’t say this out of some feeling of fatherly protectiveness-if Sasha were to have any man, I would rather he be you. But just occasionally, I think it would be good for her if you bossed her around for a change.”

“Serrin don’t boss.”

“So start. You’ve changed a lot in the time you’ve been with her, as she’s also changed. For the better, I think. Now it’s time to use what you’ve learned. Don’t keep running from your people, Errollyn. Confront them. Otherwise, all the path ahead shall be determined by Kiel and Rhillian, and while I trust Rhillian’s heart, I do not trust the influences upon it. She must have alternatives, Errollyn. Alternatives that work. I think you can provide that. If you try.”

He put a gentle hand on an unscarred part of Errollyn’s shoulder. Then he rose, with the aid of his staff.

“And don’t forget to stretch, however much it hurts,” he added. “Just swing your arms and shoulders through full extension. Don’t let the cuts heal too narrow or the scars will restrict you.”

He left, a tapping of cane along the stone path between garden beds. Errollyn sank lower into the water, and watched the dancing reflection of lamplight on the pool’s surface.

The day was too hot, Sasha thought. Or perhaps, the heat was her own. She could not tell any longer, as she dripped sweat beneath her broad-brimmed hat and squinted across the rolling fields to the nearest farmstead. They had been riding for days now. Three, she thought, although it was sometimes difficult to remember. There was only the next stretch of road, across country that would have been pretty were she in any condition to appreciate it, and the swaying backside of the horse in front.

Now the column stopped, and she sipped from a waterskin hung to her saddle. She’d been drinking too much water, and would soon have to pee. It was humiliating, as the only woman of the column, but there it was. Her condition was humiliating. She did not know where she was, nor which turn to take next, nor indeed that she was being taken in the direction she had asked. She only stayed ahorse and tried not to pass out, and hoped that the spirits would guide her to her people once more.

Ahead, Lord Elot was talking with a pair of outriders. Soldiers, Sasha saw, lightly armed and armoured. Men of the Rhodaani Steel but not of the main formations. These rode the trails nearer the border with Larosa and watched for infiltrators. Yesterday they had encountered the first such riders. This was the second time today. Surely the border drew closer.

The soldiers bid good day and came down the column, nodding to each man, and Sasha, in turn. Sasha tipped her hat so that it half hid her face, and neither soldier seemed to notice that she was a woman. She wore pants and jacket too large for her, with a man’s tailoring to hide her figure. So far, she thought, her disguise was good.

A time later, the column ascended a forested hill until it arrived at a castle’s walls. The drawbridge seemed permanently lowered, and the moat dry, overgrown with bracken. Maids and castlehands came running as they entered the grounds, and pulled up the horses before the stables. Sasha managed to dismount herself, yet her legs would have folded had not someone caught her under the armpits. She hurt so much, and her head now spun so she did not know one direction from another. She tried to walk, but that was futile. Someone picked her up and carried her like a helpless child, and she was too exhausted to even feel embarrassed.

Indoors then, within walls of cool stone, and up narrow stairs that echoed to men’s boots. A room, and then a bed, and she was laid down. Men departed, voices fading, and then women were undressing her. They had the treatments Aisha had given her before she’d left the Mahl’rhen. They were kept in Sasha’s saddlebags, and reapplied at each stop. She’d done this before. But first, she would have to survive a trip to the washroom, and a cold wash.

She awoke some time later in the room, lit now with a single lamp. Beyond the narrow window was darkness, wind in the trees, and insects chirping. Dear spirits, it was wilderness. The air had that smell to it of nearby forest, and the faint, musty scent of farm animals. Despite her pains, Sasha nearly smiled. So long she’d spent in cities, first in Petrodor, now in Tracato. Never again, she promised herself. And finally she did smile, for she knew the promise was a lie.

She heard laughter downstairs, and a snatch of song. A wafting scent of food cooking. Her stomach grumbled. She sighed, took a deep breath, and sat up slowly. Her arms and legs were quite a sight. The cane scars varied from short to long, with colours from pink to purple to deep, wine red. The deeper ones had scabbed over, and the whole mess pulled on her skin whenever she moved. Her stomach, sides and legs were purple and black with bruises. Her burns looked appalling. They scarred over now, with great blisters breaking the crust. Some blisters had burst, and now oozed. She hoped the skin would not heal badly, and restrict her svaalverd in the future.

On that thought, she got up, pressed her hands to a wall, and stretched her naked body upward until the scars began to scream in pain. She held it as long as she dared. Kessligh would tell her. She could hear his voice in her head, instructing her not to slacken off because of a few cuts and burns.

The only clothing in the chamber was a robe. Her fellow travellers, however, had not made the mistake of depriving her of her weapons. She tied the robe, took up her sheathed sword, and left the room. Her bare feet careful on cool stone steps, she descended into a common hall. Men and several women looked up from long tables, now stocked with steaming food. They hailed her, and gestured a seat on a bench. Sasha took it, alongside Lord Elot, and opposite young Torase, who had accompanied her and Errollyn on their rescue of Alythia and Lady Renine. Torase, Sasha had gathered, was Lord Elot’s nephew. Lord Elot, in turn, was cousin-by-marriage of Family Renine.

These family connections had once been all important in Rhodaan. Such ties had compelled men to fight and die. Blood had been the law here. Now, Sasha surveyed the bare stone of the hall, the fireless hearth, and the simple wooden tables and benches, and saw the extent of nobility’s fall. The banners and heralds on the walls seemed faded, and the cold, square stone was nothing like the grand, ornamental architecture of modern Tracato. These people were riding toward the past and would take all of Rhodaan with them if they could. Once, Sasha had considered that a terrible thing. Now, having seen what she’d seen, she wondered.

“Apologies for not waking you,” said Lord Elot, “but you seem to wake yourself when hungry, I’d thought to let you rest.”

Sasha managed a faint, acknowledging smile, putting meat and vegetables onto her plate. A maid came with wine, but Sasha took only water-Rhodaani wine was very good, and she did not think this bout of clearheadedness would last long if she indulged.

“What castle is this?” she asked quietly.

“This is the holding of Family Ciren,” said Lord Elot. “These forested hills were once farmed, with a clear view of surrounding lands. The serrin took them away, when they came. All the family lands. Gave them to the peasants. Now, all that remains is what you see.” He gestured about. “A simple place, yet it is home to some, and hospitable to all friends beneath its roof.”

“We shall win it back,” said Torase defiantly, his young face proud. “The serrin and the peasants do not understand, they think this was merely a system. They do not understand the power of family, and of blood. Family Ciren has ruled these lands for more than fifteen generations. We were enemies with them mostly, in that time, yet we respect their name. Today, we stand with them as brothers, to reclaim what is ours. And reclaim it we shall.”

Sasha could think of nothing but Alythia. How beautiful she’d looked, gracing noble halls much like this. Such halls had been her element, and even those as drab as this one would have brightened with her presence. These were Alythia’s people, in style if not in blood. These men’s enemies had cut off her head, and left it lying on the cold