Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four (25 page)

“She wears the mark of the wedded still,” Ysilder observed. “Does she think her marriage survives? Even should the Regent love her and wish revenge on those who have gone against him, there is no point now. Lenayin is gone for him, or at least severely reduced. And his revenge, if properly conducted, would split the Bacosh and thus his alliance, just when his final victory is at hand.”

“She swore an oath,” said Jaryd. Ysilder looked at him—a middle-aged woman, with weary wisdom in her gaze. Jaryd sighed. “Yes, she is that type. All Lenay girls dream of marriage, and the romance of vows. A man has a warrior's honour, a woman has a wife's.”

“No fair swap,” said the serrin.

Jaryd shrugged. “There has been no recognised divorce. A married Lenay woman who does not obey her vows forfeits all honour.”

“You're not
in
Lenayin any longer,” Ysilder said pointedly.

“You go tell her that.”

“No,” said Ysilder. “You.”

Jaryd thought about it, then pushed himself off the sill and toward the front of the temple. Sofy looked exhausted, no longer in her riding clothes but wearing a dress, spirits knew where she'd found it. The royal ring was on her finger, a gaudy emerald the size of an eye. A man had unrolled a parchment map in front of her, and was insisting with a jabbing finger upon some point drawn there. A priest hovered at her side, another man with more maps in rolls and a village head denoted by a fancy frilled collar.

“Sofy,” Jaryd interrupted.

The man with the map raised his hand to ward off the interruption. “…see here,” he was insisting to Sofy's weary gaze, “if we follow this route, it should not take us more than a day off our course, we can rally at the town and collect those from the orphanage and school, and then head for the Ipshaal.”

“We cannot afford to lose a day!” another man protested. “The Elissians will be back, they will know of the major crossings, we're not sure if the boats are available or if the serrin have moved them upstream….”

“There are a hundred and thirty souls in this orphanage,” the man with the map retorted, “primarily children! It is too dangerous for them to travel these roads unguarded! Our column provides protection—we can gather them up and move them in safety!”

“By losing a day for them to regroup,” Jaryd interjected, “which will get us all killed.”

“These are women and children in need!” the man insisted.

“Look around you, I see women and children everywhere. The Elissians will be back many times as strong now they know the nature of this column—”

“You're not in charge here!” the man snapped, turning back to Sofy. “Your Highness…”

“As one of those whose task it is to provide the security you speak of,” Jaryd overrode him loudly, “I have charge of that defence. The women and children in that town can be escorted by others if their need is great, and probably already have been. Now stop bothering the princess with your nonsense.”

“Just because you wear a blade, that does not give you the right to command everyone else!” the man shouted at him. “If you want to be a fucking coward, you go ahead, your violent ways give you no rights here!”

Jaryd punched him in the jaw, and he went down with a clatter. All activity in the temple stopped.

“That's where you're wrong,” said Jaryd.

He turned to Sofy. She was staring up at him, wide-eyed, but only faintly horrified. Jaryd hoped that was progress. “Sofy, what are you doing here?” he asked in Lenay. “Go and get some rest.”

“These people need me,” Sofy said faintly. “Jaryd, I cannot turn my back on them.”

“These people need leadership,” Jaryd retorted. “They need you to do what is good for them, not what will make them happy. This man's happiness will get everyone killed—you can't please them all!”

“The serrin half-castes of Tracato are some of the finest talents in all the civilised world,” Sofy insisted. “They flee from slaughter, and I will help them in my own way. It is how I am, Jaryd. Surely you appreciate that?”

Jaryd gazed at her in despair. She still thought to return to the Regent, and piece things together again. He could see it in her eyes, in the ring she wore. Still the Idys Mark weighed on her forehead, taunting him, a plea to the god of fertility to bless her marriage with child. A plea for the worlds of Lenayin and the Bacosh to come together, and make peaceful union.

If it were not so sad, Jaryd would have laughed.

“Don't try to hold up the world, Sofy,” he said. “You're not strong enough. No one is.”

“I may surprise you. The serrin tell us that all the world is connected. We just need to pull the threads tighter.”

“The serrin are about to die. All of them. Words will not save them now.”

Sofy's eyes flicked to the fallen man on the floor. “I cannot be like you, Jaryd. There must be a place for the likes of me in this world you wish to see.”

“You'll never be like me,” said Jaryd. “One Jaryd Nyvar in the world is enough. One Sofy Lenayin is a wonderful thing too. I just wish that she would come out from beneath this burden that she hauls, and show herself to the world once more. The world would brighten, for her to be in it. But lately she serves only others, and never shows her face to any but them. I would like to see her eyes once more, for I recall that her smile was like the sun.”

Sofy's eyes softened and her lip trembled. Jaryd swallowed hard. Then he bowed, and turned and strode from the temple, people parting before him. They whispered together, searching for anyone who spoke Lenay and could tell them what had been said.

General Zulmaher followed the gaolers through dark stone passages beneath the Justiciary. Lantern light moved and swung past the bars on the wall, and prisoners winced in the glare and shaded their eyes. At the general's side, young Alfriedo Renine took wary steps. Behind him, several armed and loyal men.

The gaoler stopped before one barred cage and inserted a key. The door rattled open and light fell upon a young woman within. She looked up from her seat in the corner, her lean face smeared with soot and recent bruises, beneath a tangle of hair.

“That's her,” said Zulmaher. “That's Jelendria.” He walked to her and crouched. “Jelendria. General Zulmaher, we met before.”

“I remember,” said Jeddie. She looked past him to Alfriedo and made an effort to rise. That brought a wince, and a limp. “A twisted ankle,” she answered their concern. “Not serious. I can limp.”

“M'lady, it would not be decorous for a noble lady to limp all the way back up the stairs,” Alfriedo declared with concern. “The general is a strong man, I am certain he can carry you.”

Zulmaher smiled faintly. The boy's mother had been a vain and vengeful fool, but she'd certainly taught him manners.

He carried Jeddie back up the corridor, not as easy a task as the boy made out—she was slim but tall, and her dress entangled his legs.

“I hear you were caught in the Mahl'rhen?” Alfriedo asked her as they walked. Jeddie nodded, drawn and pale. “Is it true that the Archbishop's men destroyed it?”

“I helped some Nasi-Keth and others to save some things, books and the like. A few old serrin were still there. Lesthen, the ambassador. The Archbishop's men killed him when they came.” Her voice trembled. “They're beasts,” she added in a frightened, hateful whisper. “They smashed all the statues and artworks. They killed old serrin on sight. Beasts, the lot of them.”

“I don't understand,” said Alfriedo with concern. “Did you not identify yourself to them as the daughter of Horseth?” Jeddie nodded. The party reached the steps, and began climbing. “Why did they then throw you in the dungeons?”

“We were caught trying to save another load of books. Wonderful things, with the most amazing illustrations. Old histories of the Bacosh and its peoples, written by the serrin some seven centuries ago. They attacked us even though I told them who I was. There were too many of them. Some of us got away, but I was too slow.

“The Lenay man, Jaryd Nyvar's friend Jandlys, he did not abandon me. He fought courageously.” Again her voice trembled. “He killed so many of them I cannot remember their number. Ten at least. They wounded him many times, and still he fought. Were it not for him I would be dead, he killed so many of the first attackers that they retreated, and came back with a senior man who recognised my rank and detained rather than killed me. But by then, Jandlys was dead.”

“It's curious,” Alfriedo said. “I was told that all Bacosh men were civilised, and all around me nodded, yet I have seen that that is a lie. I was told that the Archbishops of Petrodor and Sherdaine were godly and moral people, and religious men about me nodded, yet I now see that was a
great
lie. And I was told that the men of Lenayin were brave and fearsome and honourable, and all about me laughed and scorned. Yet that seems most true of all.”

They exited the dungeon stairs and came into the Justiciary hall. Beneath the high, grand roof, Elissian soldiers stood guard, as Elissians of higher rank stood upon the pavings and marvelled at the architecture. This place, they had not burned down. There was discussion as to what it should be converted into, now that its original purpose had been abandoned. Zulmaher didn't know what business any Elissians had to debate that—Alfriedo was Lord of Rhodaan, and such decisions were his alone.

A troop of Black Order were striding across the floor, men in black robes and pointed hoods that covered their faces. A priest led them, a tall man with a tall staff, walking fast. Zulmaher placed Jeddie on the ground and supported her as she balanced on her one good foot.

“General,” said the priest, stopping before them. “Who gave you leave to release this prisoner?”

“The decision to detain or not to detain persons lies with my lord of Rhodaan, Alfriedo Renine, surely,” Zulmaher replied. “Do you say that it does not?”

“This person is in league with the serrin!” the priest spat. “She was a member of the Queen Sofy's court!”

“And have you arrested Queen Sofy also?” Zulmaher asked. “Has the Regent given his order that you should do such a thing?”

“We have reports that she is dead.”

“Best not by your hand, sir. To murder the Regent's wife would seem a somewhat significant thing.”

The priest glared. “She was a pagan and she cast her lot with pagans!”

“I have met with the young lady in question,” Alfriedo interjected, “and I am most assured that she is a Verenthane. Indeed, her knowledge of scripture was rather better than mine, and my education has been extensive. If you have killed her, Father, then I shall see that she receives a proper Verenthane burial. And as Lord of Rhodaan, I shall see that those responsible give a full explanation to her bereaved husband, the Regent of the United Bacosh.”

The priest paled and seethed. “I also have reports that there are many wanted individuals now taking refuge within regions of Tracato under your control, Lord Alfriedo,” he said tightly. “I would ask, on the behalf of the Archbishop, that you hand over all such persons to us immediately.”

“As Lord of Rhodaan,” Alfriedo said mildly, “I was not aware that there
were
any regions of Tracato outside of my control.”

“The regions of Reninesenn and its surrounds,” said the priest, through gritted teeth. “Those regions most historically associated with your family's esteemed prescence in this city, my lord.”

“Father, I can assure you that there is no one within Reninesenn and its surrounds today who does not belong there.” He said it with such utter, wide-eyed innocence that Zulmaher nearly laughed.

“If my lord says it, then I'm sure that it must be so,” said the priest, with more than a hint of threat. “But my lord should bear in mind that there are no higher authorities in the new Bacosh than the ancient gods. My Archbishop represents those gods, and they have decreed that all things pagan must be cleansed from these lands, for the good of all souls. No lord can dispute the word of the gods. Not even a Regent.”

He turned and strode away, taking his pointy-headed army with him.

“Well said, my lord,” said Zulmaher, watching them go.

“I am getting tired of being told what to do in my own land,” Alfriedo said crossly. “But it is hard to argue with a priest about the word of the gods, to say nothing of an Archbishop.”

“Ordinary men cannot do so,” Zulmaher agreed. “But another priest?”

They took horses to arrive at Reninesenn in good time. There were a great number of armed men in the streets, many with armour and weapons that were centuries old, family heirlooms not needed for warfare since the creation of the Steel, kept in storage as reminders of old family honour. Men saluted Lord Alfriedo and General Zulmaher as they passed. Zulmaher wondered just how useful they would be in a fight. Some of them had experience in the Steel, but not many.

Jeddie departed with a guard to head for the Ushal Fortress, and noble quarters. The others dismounted before the temple. Already there was a small crowd atop the steps, some now taking a knee as Alfriedo climbed the stairs, a gesture that may have had them in trouble with the city's red-coats just weeks earlier. But no one had seen a red-coat in recent times.