Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four (16 page)

“This place is to study the sky,” said Lesthen. He pointed up at the rim of the circle above them. “The marks there indicate the positions of stars viewed from a certain point on the floor, at different seasons and periods. Knowing such, it is possible to tell precisely the hour, even in the darkest night.

“And these shapes upon the floor are to measure the passage of the sun by observing the movement of its shadow, and to watch the phases of the moon. If I were more knowledgeable on such things, I could tell you more, but alas, I am but a humble ambassador, and with my head full of languages and strange human customs, I have had not the time of life to learn more. And now that I am old, and the end approaches in a manner other than I had wished, I find that I regret it deeply.”

“And why would you wish to know such things?” Sofy asked in amazement. “Certainly all knowledge is valuable, but this does seem a lot of intricate effort.”

“All serrin thinking is obsessed with the
amor'is eden
, the great patterns. The patterns rule everything. Did you know that there are other worlds out there? All circling our sun?”

Sofy blinked at him. Sasha had once told her that the world was round, and that some serrin claimed they could prove it. Sofy had not found that speculation nearly as interesting as her latest book of poetry, and had returned to that instead. A round world sounded vaguely blasphemous.

“Some serrin speculate that there may be clues to the greatest patterns, the
amor'is eden
, to be found in the study of the motion of sun, moon, and stars. Always seeking, are we serrin. Always looking to understand. And yet, so little do we know. If only humans would understand how little
they
know, and embrace the uncertainty with joy instead of fear, things would be different.”

“Do serrin believe in gods?”

Lesthen smiled. “An old serrin joke says that humans believe in gods the way that horses believe in saddles.” He glanced at her. “But perhaps one must be serrin to find that amusing. Serrin believe in higher powers. Humans call those gods, and give them names and personalities. Serrin find this interesting, perhaps quaint. We do not attempt to quantify that which is so far beyond our ability to comprehend. That would be pretence.”

“I had heard that serrin worship knowledge,” said Sofy, “but in a strange way, it seems to me now that perhaps you worship ignorance.”

Lesthen raised his eyebrows, faintly. “Perhaps you understand us as well as your sister. Many serrin say precisely that. We worship ignorance as both our enemy and our friend, for without it, we would have nothing to seek.”

“Master Lesthen, I could learn so much from you. I feel we have a meeting of the minds, your people and myself. I too seek to find a commonality between all things, between my people and yours. We must have points of common similarity that can conquer all this hatred! Will you help me to find them?”

Lesthen looked at her wearily. “My child,” he said, “have you heard of the serrin philosophy of the
lashka'won?”
Sofy shook her head. “The
lashka'won
describes the natural path of the world, left to its own devices, free from human intervention. Many serrin scholars of the
lashka'won
argue over its nature. Some say that the
lashka'won
is brutal, that the natural world is an endless war of living things killing and eating other living things. Sashandra's lover Errollyn is one of those, and in that odd fashion, not so different from archenemy Kiel.

“Others argue that we serrin, and indeed humans, are also of the
lashka'won
, and we love and laugh, and are capable of great affection and justice…as are the animals, in some ways, by some means. They describe an aspiration…I shan't give you the Saalsi name because it shall become too confusing, but the name means ‘to aspire,’ in the sense that the
lashka'won
grants us the potential to aspire to something more than the common brutality of eating and surviving.”

“The gods made us with the grace to aspire to goodness,” said Sofy with a nod. “Verenthanes believe in this philosophy too, Ambassador.”

“Serrin philosophers debate this endlessly,” Lesthen continued. “The first group of the
lashka'won
—and I am of course simplifying here—the first group are of the philosophy that gave birth to the svaalverd, your sister's fighting style. Those who practise the svaalverd understand that certain forces and momentums of the natural world are immutable, and that the greatest power with a sword comes from flowing
with
these natural forces. Strong men with powerful muscles may try to fight against these forces, but as your sister can attest, the power asserted by mere human muscle is nothing beside the power of momentum and balance properly harnessed.

“Those people argue that whatever we might aspire to become, all civilisation achieves its best results when it does not fight these forces, but rather harnesses them. The second group argue that this is a path to endless war and suffering, because all natural forces are in conflict, and the easy road of conflict is never the best road where the lives of millions are at stake. They argue that the
lashka'won
has granted us alternative paths, as you yourself now argue that a common understanding between peoples can achieve peace between enemies better than war.

“Lately I have found myself wondering what Maldereld thought. She was a great builder, and both sides of this debate have claimed her as their own. Her own thoughts from her writings, however, are unclear. She did indeed find many commonalities between humans and serrin, to build what we have all benefitted from here in Tracato and Rhodaan for the past two hundred years. Yet on the other hand, she did impose that commonality by force, at times ruthlessly.”

Sofy shook her head earnestly. “Lenayin has had so many wars, yet out of those wars we have built common understandings that have not perhaps made a peaceful land, but a more civilised one than existed before. Maldereld did not allow the bloodshed of the past to prevent her from building something wonderful in her present. Our peoples are now at war, yet that does not mean that what must follow shall be tragic for all. We can find a common path, I am certain of it!”

Lesthen walked slowly through a gap in the balustrade and out onto the circular floor, amongst the sculptures that measured the movements of heaven. “For so long in Tracato we serrin have fought the nature of things,” he said sadly. “We forged peace for a time. We did not build armies of our own, because the successes of the Rhodaani, Enoran and Ilduuri Steel gave us an excuse not to. If the nature of the
lashka'won
is war, then we have ignored it, as one who lives in the sea might neglect to learn how to swim. We thought that here, we had an island of peace, yet an island is nothing before the greatest of waves. We presumed to have solved the world. We lived in pretence.”

He turned to look at her, leaning against a man-sized tower that Sofy now recognised as a giant sundial. Its shadow upon the ground touched markings on the tiles, denoting the hour. “I look at you now, young princess, and I see myself until only quite recently. You carry the weight of the world, two halves of the world in fact, and you try to make them fit neatly together by sheer force of will. I wish you luck in your endeavours, but I do not know that my own example can lend you much confidence.”

“What would you have me do?” Sofy asked him, eyes wide in faint desperation. “What would you suggest, as the best for your people and mine?”

Lesthen smiled sadly. “If the first group of the
lashka'won
are correct, then there is no best solution for your people and mine, only for one or the other. To fight the natural way of the world is the path to endless turmoil, yet not to fight it is to give in to the ways of brutality and war. It is for you to choose. This is my philosophy, at the end of my days. It is the philosophy of sadness. And I ask you to forgive me, for pressing it upon you now.”

To Jaryd's surprise, Zulmaher led him to a small temple, nestled amidst a crowd of dockside tenements. Zulmaher led Jaryd up the tight, spiral steps of a belltower, until they emerged in one of the temple's twin spires. On all four sides were arched windows, presenting an excellent view of the harbour. Against the dock were perhaps fifteen tall ships, barely a fraction of the number the berths could take. Jaryd thought it sad that he'd walked what felt like halfway across Rhodia, yet was unable to see Tracato at its finest. All the ships were gone, fearing the consequences of the Rhodaani Steel's defeat.

Seated by one window, with a large book in his lap, was a boy of perhaps fourteen years. He wore lordly clothes, and a short sword rested against the chair in its scabbard. With fine, pale features, large eyes, and longish brown hair, Jaryd thought he nearly passed for a girl. In Lenayin, such a boy would have a miserable childhood.

“Lord Alfriedo,” said Jaryd, with a short bow. Evidently the meeting was here because neither Zulmaher nor Alfriedo thought it wise to invite the likes of Jaryd so publicly to the Ushal Fortress.

“Master Nyvar,” said Alfriedo, and his voice was high like a girl's too. He closed the book, and lifted it with effort onto the side table, atop two other tomes. “Is that the proper form of address? Or is it
yuan?”

“In Torovan, master will do fine.” Jaryd leaned against a wall, so he could see the street. He felt more comfortable that way.

“I have been reading of Lenayin,” said Alfriedo. He spoke in the manner of a very intelligent boy who was accustomed to each interlocutor hanging upon his every word. “It does seem a very fascinating land. A very savage land filled with savage people, and yet you have codes of civility that raise you far above the barbarian.”

“In my experience,” said Jaryd, “the only barbarians in Lenayin are the nobles. The common folk are far more civil.”

“They say you were once a noble. The heir to Tyree. Only your family's rivals murdered your brother and dissolved your family.”

Jaryd nodded. “My brother was perhaps five years younger than yourself. He was killed in cold blood. I demanded revenge on those responsible, but the king's law would not allow it of a Verenthane. I renounced the faith and became Goeren-yai instead.”

A black-robed priest chose that moment to emerge from the stairway, carrying a tray with tea and cups. He placed it on a small table, with bread, dip, and olive oil, and departed with a smile.

“And did you win your revenge as a Goeren-yai?” Zulmaher asked, pouring tea for them all.

“No,” said Jaryd. “I discovered there were things I cared for even more.”

“Young men believe that what they will or won't do can change the world,” said Zulmaher, handing him a cup. “Older men learn differently.”

“I should like to travel to Lenayin one day,” said Alfriedo, grasping his own cup. “I grow tired of only learning about the world in books. I did greatly enjoy my conversation with your Princess Sofy, though. I have met three sisters of the Lenay royal family, and found them each formidable in different ways.”

“We generals were hoping the girls had inherited all the wits and character,” Zulmaher added wryly. “It seems we hoped in vain.”

Jaryd nodded. “King Koenyg is a warrior, plain and simple. Myklas too, to everyone's surprise.”

“And Prince Damon?”

“The most intelligent of the three,” said Jaryd with certainty. Knowing that Sofy agreed made him even more certain. “Perhaps the most capable, but lacking conviction.”

Alfriedo looked sad, and gazed out at the harbour. Jaryd frowned. And then realised. “You were very close with the Princess Alythia?” he asked the boy.

Alfriedo nodded. “She was with us only a short time. But she became like an older sister. I never had an older sister before. She was…”

He did not complete the sentence. The boy had lost his mother too, in the same disturbance that killed Alythia. Jaryd was struck by how great a burden had fallen upon such slim shoulders.

“I only met her briefly, once or twice when we were all younger,” said Jaryd. “Courtly circles in Baen-Tar. I recall we danced once.”

“She told me much about Lenayin,” Alfriedo said quietly. “Were it not for her, I do not believe I would hold your land in such affection.” He sipped at his tea. “And then there was Kessligh Cronenverdt, I know he is a Torovan by birth but he considers himself a Lenay. I met him three times. He is a very wise man, yet I do not know that I agree with him in even half of what he says. He did give me many ideas for things to read about, however. I have been reading a lot of Rhodaani history, and a lot of serrin books. These books are serrin.”

He indicated the books on the table beside him.

“Lord Alfriedo is wondering how committed you are to your princess's safety,” Zulmaher cut in, as though concerned that his young lord was giving away too much too early. Jaryd looked from one to the other, warily.

“Utterly,” he said.

“Well, I'm very glad to hear that,” said Alfriedo, somewhat drily. “When a Lenay warrior says such things, I can at least be certain I believe him.”

Zulmaher grimaced. “It has been a frustration,” he admitted. “The enemies of Rhodaan's nobility have all deserted the city or gone to ground. It has been as though all dreams were realised…save that of course my Rhodaani Steel has been defeated, a terrible cost for even the hardest of hard-line feudalists to swallow.”

“Not all,” Alfriedo corrected scornfully. He looked angry.

“No, not all.” Zulmaher looked angry too, but hid it better. “Understand, Master Jaryd, that it is a dilemma of the most challenging kind. We nobles did wish for greater restoration of noble rights, but we are patriots too.”

“Not all!” Alfriedo repeated, more angrily still. Zulmaher gave him a reprimanding look, as though from an uncle to an unruly nephew.

“Most
of us are patriots,” Zulmaher resumed. “We wanted more rights, but not at the expense of Rhodaani freedom. Now our army is defeated, and some nobility regard this a terrible defeat, while others rejoice as though our salvation descends upon us from heaven.”