arm. Sofy feared Yasmyn might do something rash, yet she merely knelt, and recovered Sofy’s fallen robe, and placed it about her princess’s shoulders.
“Let her go,” Balthaar said. He did not look at Sofy. Neither did he call her Princess Regent, or attempt to remind Sir Elias of his duty of respect to one above his station. Sofy wondered if she had ever truly been more than a Lenay barbarian to these people. And if her husband’s seemingly loving gaze had been any more than the fascination of a wealthy man with an enchanting new bauble.
Sir Elias released Sofy’s arm, and Yasmyn helped her to her feet. Sofy felt a rush of shame. Yasmyn had been beaten and raped, yet now stood with dignity and assisted her weak, pathetic princess shakily to her feet. Sofy stood, and put an arm around Yasmyn to offer a support Yasmyn did not seem to need. Hugging her was out of the question. Nothing in Yasmyn’s manner invited it. Sofy knew enough of the Isfayen to know what that meant.
Balthaar said nothing more, nor asked it of Sir Elias. He merely stared, dark and foreboding.
“Her rabid sister killed my brother!”
“One person does you harm, and so you attack others,” Balthaar observed mildly. “Very clever.”
“They’re all the same!”
“And our allies,” said Balthaar, “by allegiance that Family Assineth agreed to. Do you not understand the concept of allegiance, Sir Elias?”
“These allies have done us murder upon our lands!” Elias yelled, spittle flying. “Unless they pay us reparation, this allegiance lies broken! I demand the bitch’s head!”
“By Lenay tradition, and indeed our own,” Balthaar replied, “the lands upon which an army is encamped are to be considered beholden to their own laws. Your brother very foolishly stepped onto the Lenay camp uninvited, and overstepped the bounds of Lenay honour. I have spoken with Prince Koenyg, and all Lenays seem agreed on the matter, even those who have no love of Sashandra Lenayin. So long as the Army of Lenayin abides by its own laws upon their own encampment, no one has any matter to complain about.”
“Your Highness,” Elias tried again, struggling for control, “we are cousins. Our families have strong ties over many long years. In the name of our families, I ask you only for justice. Grant me justice, for my brother. Or I shall be forced to take it.”
“And sever an allegiance that promises to regain us the Saalshen Bacosh?” Balthaar replied, unperturbed. “The archbishops would view it ill. Perhaps you would like to argue the point with them?”
Elias hung his head, teeth grinding in frustration.
“Furthermore.” Balthaar walked slowly forward. “I would advise against any further action against the Lenays. I have spent part of the morning sparring against Prince Koenyg, and I will reluctantly confess that he bested me quite handily…something that you, Sir Elias, have found elusive. They have an even greater love of honourable combat than we, and would challenge any who so grievously insult them until there are none such left alive. Best that you stay off their lands for now. We have other uses for our Lenay allies.”
Elias opened his mouth, then paused, frowning.
Balthaar stopped before him, and put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Prince Koenyg tells me that the Army of Lenayin shall take the southern, Enoran flank. Alone, save for some Torovan reinforcement. Against the Enoran Steel, their numbers should be matched quite evenly.”
Elias stared. “A feint?”
“To keep the Enoran Steel from sweeping onto our flank, yes,” Balthaar confirmed. “The Army of Lenayin has pride at stake, and we learn today all about Lenay pride. They shall not retreat easily, no matter their losses.”
Elias’s eyes registered a dawning realisation. A delight. “One needs four-to-one odds at least against the Steel. They’ll be annihilated!”
Balthaar shrugged. “Prince Koenyg thinks not. We shall see, indeed, to what all the tales of Lenayin’s martial prowess amount.” He shook Elias’s shoulder, affectionately. “Cousin, I grieve for Eskwith. But be at peace, there shall be blood enough for all purposes before this is through. Come, we shall drink to Eskwith’s memory, and of glories in battles to come.”
He escorted Sir Elias and his men from the tent, without a backward glance. There would be no further reprimand, Sofy realised. No punishment to Yasmyn’s attackers. When all had left the tent, she escorted Yasmyn to a chair and eased her into it, so she could better examine her injuries.
“Not blood enough for
The service for Sir Eskwith, Sir Temploi and Sir Ancheve was concluded upon sundown. The evening meal was more lively than Prince Balthaar had expected, however, enlivened by much talk of the terrible fate awaiting the Army of Lenayin at the hands of the Enoran Steel. The Lenays, it was generally agreed, were mindless fools who did not take seriously the many lessons of the Saalshen Bacosh’s military prowess. Such talk was far freer of late, since it had been agreed by all that under the circumstances, the usual joint feast of Lenay and Bacosh lords was probably not a good idea.
As Balthaar trudged back to the royal tent, he wondered what would truly happen if they won. His father was confident that they would, but his father, like his wife, placed far too much faith in the good opinion of the gods. Balthaar knew that all of history’s attempted liberators of the Saalshen Bacosh had believed the gods on their side too, yet defeat had claimed them all the same. Perhaps it was not enough to claim that the gods were on one’s side. Perhaps the gods were waiting for an army, and a future king, to prove himself worthy of their blessing. Balthaar wondered if those who had died at the hands of the Steel were now happily ensconced in the heavens, or had been cast down to Loth, having been found unworthy, whatever their valiant efforts. Were the gods that vindictive? He fervently hoped not.
The matter with Sofy troubled him too. He did not like how Sir Elias had treated her, yet Elias was old family, while Sofy was very new. He thought that he certainly must love her, because she was so very pretty and full of warmth, and so fascinating in her foreign ways and exotic accent. Yet truly, his father was right-an event like this could only serve to show her her place, among the Larosans. He had to make her see that she must abandon her old world entirely, if she were to be truly happy in the new. And he did wish her to be happy, very much so. He would make love to her tonight, he decided, and apologise to her not in words, but in the warmth of his kisses and the lust of his loins. He would make clear to her all that she had to gain, and for so little a sacrifice, indeed, in what she would leave behind.
A man came running, a rattle of armour between the tents, interrupting Balthaar’s thoughts. Balthaar stopped, not recognising the young man but noting that he seemed pale and alarmed. Something had happened.
“Your Highness. Best that you come and see.”
Not far away, a farmhouse had been consumed by the sea of tents, and appropriated for noble use. Torches and lanterns now clustered about one wall near some bushes, where a pair of newly headless bodies lay. Both were knights, in chain and family colours.
“Sir Diarmond and Sir Felesh,” said a man-at-arms, grimly. “Sir Elias found them. No one heard or saw a thing.”
Balthaar stared at the bodies. The wounds were clean and swiftly made, the mark of an expert swordsman. “Elias, you say?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“And where is Sir Elias now?”
“Under guard, by your leave, Your Highness. These two are his friends, I figured whoever did it might be after Sir Elias next.”
“Soldier, your name?”
“Sarno, Your Highness. Alaine Sarno.”
“You’re Tournean?”
“I am, Highness.”
“I shall pass on a commendation to your lord, Alaine Sarno.”
“I thank you, Your Highness.” The man bowed low.
Balthaar strode back to his tent, as the crowd about the bodies continued to gather. Sir Diarmond and Sir Felesh…they had been with Sir Elias in Sofy’s tent this afternoon. They had taken liberties with that pagan Isfayen girl…could that be it? Surely even the mad, bloodcrazed Lenays would not go to such lengths to avenge the honour of a fool like her? Besides, honourable combat was the preferred Lenay method. But yet another duel, in the midst of this deteriorating relationship between Lenays and Bacosh men, would be surely refused by the Lenay king. Certainly his father the regent would refuse it, as was his right, in his camp. Perhaps the murderers knew that. Or
