Tracato

perhaps, when a Lenay was angry enough, proper form ceased to matter.

He pushed through the tent flaps. There was not a maid in sight, only a small table on which dinner could perhaps have been served. Sofy sat in a comfortable chair, a book on her lap, lit by a lantern on another table between two glowing coal braziers. She looked up at him, serenely.

“Dear husband, is something the matter?”

“Where is your Isfayen maid tonight, dearest?”

“She’s not my maid. She is back with her Isfayen family in the Army of Lenayin, I believe. Why do you wonder?”

“Two of Sir Elias’s friends are dead,” said Balthaar. “You met them earlier this afternoon. Their heads are missing.”

“Oh,” said Sofy. She resumed reading her book. “The Isfayen have not played lagand with real heads for years. I hear there will be a game tomorrow, though. Would you like to go and see?”

Sixteen

ERROLLYN ENTERED THE RESH’ULAN, and surveyed the scene. There were serrin present, gathered about the lower stage, which stood alone before rows of amphitheatre seating and surrounded by a small moat. The serrin were asking questions of a man who sat at the centre of the stage, his wrists manacled together.

It was Reynold Hein.

Errollyn walked gingerly down the steps. He no longer hurt like he once did, but efforts to rebuild his strength met resistance from bruised flesh and strained muscle. Lesthen stood by the moat, speaking at length, his long white hair spilling on blue, formal robes. He saw Errollyn and pointed serrin to face him, without breaking sentence. Two serrin rose to confront him, expressions apologetic but firm. Errollyn abandoned his first plan, to draw his blade and strike off Reynold’s head. And he was in no physical condition yet to charge past his people, and execute their prisoner.

Aisha emerged from the group, took his arm, and guided him to a bench. Errollyn counted nearly thirty serrin present, many of the Mahl’rhen’s most prominent remaining names among them.

“It’s a formal etoth’teyen,” he muttered to Aisha as Lesthen droned on, and the two serrin who had opposed him returned to their seats, but kept a careful eye upon him. “Why does he warrant the formalities?”

“It’s the way, Errollyn,” Aisha told him. Her words lacked conviction. Errollyn was not entirely certain why she was still in Tracato. Rhillian had gone, and taken the Steel with her. Aisha had remained, ostensibly because she was Rhillian’s trusted lieutenant and would carry out her preferences, and make certain that the new peace with the feudalists would hold. Also, Errollyn knew, she’d been keeping an eye on him. But others could have performed either task as well.

“It’s not the way,” Errollyn retorted. “We have no way for this, we only use our formalities and debates because that’s all we have.”

“Well the human courts can’t take him,” Aisha said. “We’re all there is for law and order in Tracato right now.”

“Maybe we always were,” said Errollyn.

He stared at Reynold, hoping that certain peasant superstitions were true, and the weight of a hateful stare alone could bring misfortune upon a person. Reynold did not look particularly troubled. He sat serenely, with excellent posture, and listened to Lesthen’s droning-in Saalsi, too, for Reynold spoke excellent Saalsi, like any Nasi-Keth scholar. This was not a man who expected to die, not even given what he’d done. Reynold was a persuasive talker, and could think just like a serrin-round and round in circles. It had taken some time for Errollyn to ride here, after he’d heard, from out on the practice fields. This session had surely been progressing for more than an hour so far.

“Where was he caught?” Errollyn asked. Lesthen was talking about the philosophy of Mereshin, who had been dead fifteen hundred years. Gods help them all.

“Elisse,” said Aisha. “Some Civid Sein went that way, amongst the villages we liberated in the south. They were talking revolution.”

“What did the peasants say?”

“They expressed a preference for bread,” Aisha said drily. “Several heard of a reward and alerted the talmaad.”

“They’ll eat well on that reward,” said Errollyn. “Reynold finally achieves something for the poor.” Aisha gave him a faint smile, and put a hand on his arm.

Lesthen’s recital on the life of Mereshin moved into the phase of Mereshin’s realisations on usden’ehrl, the acceptance of loss, and the uselessness of vengeance. Errollyn wondered if all the serrinim were mad, that he were the only one to find the whole scene utterly preposterous.

“I interrupt,” came a new voice, and Lesthen paused. Not the only one, then. Across the stage, Kiel rose to his feet. “My apologies for the indelicate rupture,” Kiel continued, in florid Saalsi, “yet my point is pressing, and none too far removed. This man has done us a great crime and he should die. If none disagree, and I feel the point is indisputable among reasonable serrin, then we should proceed with the obvious resolution and return to more important matters.”

“I second the learned serrinim!” Errollyn called in reply. Kiel seemed a little surprised at his support and accepted it with a graceful bow.

“Third!” called Aisha. Seven more voices followed in support. Ten, from thirty. Errollyn rolled his eyes to the high ceiling. One of these days, the serrinim would realise that taking necessary action was more important than the pursuit of interesting debates. He only hoped that those serrin who reached that realisation would not be the small, huddled handful remaining after the rest had been slaughtered by foes who cared nothing for clever argument.

“Ten is insufficient,” said Lesthen. “I believe that I continue to hold the floor.”

“Horse shit you do,” Errollyn muttered, and got to his feet. The two serrin opposing him also stood. Errollyn unbuckled his bandoleer, and handed it to them, sword and all. They waited for his knives, too.

“Errollyn,” Lesthen said tiredly, “you do not have the floor. It would interest the impartial debate for you to remain seated, and follow the-”

“I’ve no time for that,” said Errollyn, walking down to the stage side. “None of us has time for that. I am required at training for the new talmaad sent from Saalshen, they have little experience in battle and my presence here may deprive them of the one vital lesson they need to keep them alive. I submit to you that the life of Reynold Hein is not worth the small finger of a serrin talmaad, let alone his life.”

“Much agreed,” said Kiel. It disturbed Errollyn only a little, to have found a point of agreement with Kiel. Kiel seemed to find it amusing.

“Do you then suppose that we should abandon our learned debate?” Lesthen asked. “Abandon the one facet of serrin life that has served us best in all times, our search for truth?”

“You do not offer truth, Lesthen,” said Errollyn, putting a foot upon a raised stone so he could lean on a knee. “You offer procedure.”

“One finds truth by searching. The simple or brief thought is usually wrong, driven by emotion, by desires and wants of the heart. And so we have procedures, to serve as the filter for our thoughts.”

“Lesthen.” Errollyn looked at him, attempting patience. “We stand here in human lands. Some humans may care for our debates, but their society does not function by it. Human society functions by rules. They do not persuade each other as to the wrongness of their ways, they simply kill them, as necessary. We seek now to rule in human lands, yet we do not learn to follow the methods that work.”

“We seek to elevate humanity,” Lesthen replied. “In Tracato, humanity has reached a level of civilisation unmatched elsewhere in all human lands. Do you dispute this achievement?”