Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four (29 page)

Ilduuri saw themselves as separate. As a single race whose language and customs were more different from their neighbours' than any other of the Bacosh peoples. Even in the good times, when serrin had ruled Ilduur and the Ilduuri had come to see that serrin ways were wise, intermarriage had been frowned upon. Many Ilduuri were friendly, but most simply did not wish to share their lives with the strange and foreign serrin.

Now, many Ilduuri felt that they owed Saalshen nothing. Some even felt slighted, as though the past two centuries had been a terrible endurance of occupation and humiliation, and all its benefits were somehow the miraculous achievements of the Ilduuri themselves. Sasha could not empathise, and felt in no mood to even try. In Ilduur, the people had been shown the most outstanding merit of serrin, and had tossed it aside in favour of the familiar, the safe, and the ordinary.

Sasha paused to look at some knives on sale, and glanced behind her. Was the man in the long jacket following her? She'd acquired some instinct for crowds from Petrodor and Tracato, but she still did not trust that instinct.

She took a side road, to see if he followed her. Ahead, where several streets joined, she heard a commotion. An elderly serrin, walking with a stick, was surrounded by three young men. The young men were taunting him. The old serrin stood with reserve and dignity, and made no effort to defend himself. He tried to walk on, but the men blocked his path and laughed, and knocked the hat off his head.

Sasha did not understand what they called him in Ilduuri, but she did not need to. She was almost pleased, in fact, to have stumbled upon this scene. It suited her mood entirely. Several passing Ilduuri walked on, ignoring the old man's plight.

One of the Ilduuri men snatched the serrin's cane away. He raised it, as though about to hit him with it, expecting the old man to be frightened. The old man simply stood, with weary resignation. The three Ilduuri men laughed.

Sasha headed for the man with the cane. His friend saw her coming and stepped into her path. He leered, predictably, looking her up and down. Sasha punched him in the mouth.

He stumbled, and his friends stared, all frozen in shock. Sasha would rather have had the cane, something swordlike that she could swing. It would be a short fight then. As a brawler, she was more limited, especially with the dress preventing her from kicking. But she could see from the build of these men, from the way they stood and reacted with hesitation and shock, that they were not fighters. She was.

The man with the cane swung it at her. Sasha ducked and drove her shoulder into him, knocking him backwards. His balance gone, she laid into him, left and right fists with no great style, but the ones that connected were painful enough.

The man she'd punched first now kicked at her, a feeble effort, too far out of range. She took the blow, caught his foot, and tried to nail him with a right, only for him to scamper out of range, trip, and fall on his backside. The other two came at her pushing and swinging. Sasha ducked and covered as best she could, took several hits on the body, then blocked and caught one man's arms as Errollyn had taught her, pulling him forward and off balance as she stepped back, and dropped an elbow on his head. It only glanced, but stunned, so she hit him again with a crosswise elbow. He fell, blood pouring.

The last man tackled her down, and they hit the road together, him on top, trying to pin her. Sasha pinned one arm, fighting for leverage, then simply overpowered him, to his utter astonishment. She rolled on top, sat up, then began to beat his head into the road with her fists until he stopped moving.

She got up, and the last man grabbed his bleeding friend and dragged him stumbling away. Sasha examined her knuckles. One was raw and bleeding. She'd hit her head on the road when she'd fallen, and that stung. A bruise to her ribs throbbed. Overall, she felt wonderful.

The elderly serrin man was looking at her with more curiosity than gratitude. Sasha picked up his cane from where it had fallen, and handed it to him.

“Hmm,” said the old man. “Not from around here, are you?” Sasha blinked. He'd spoken in Lenay. Then she realised her hat had fallen off, and her tri-braid was free. She scampered to her hat, beside the groaning man she'd beaten, and put it back on, tucking the tri-braid into place.

“There,” she said cheerfully in Saalsi. “That better?”

The old man sighed. “I think you'd better come with me.”

The old serrin's name was Tershin. He'd been
talmaad
in his day, and had served Saalshen in all the Saalshen Bacosh provinces, as well as Torovan, Telesia, and Lenayin. When his
talmaad
service was ended, he'd returned to Saalshen, had two children with the same serrin woman, then moved to Andal. It had always been the prettiest place he'd been to, he said, and the mother of his children (“wife” had no equivalent word in Saalsi) had accompanied him, and enjoyed the clean air. She was dead now, but Tershin had old serrin friends here, and a few human ones.

“I did warn them,” he said, as Sasha sat at his table and sipped fragrant tea. “There was not enough debate within the Remischtuul. Maldereld never paid Ilduur the attention she did Rhodaan and Enora, and the Ilduuri will always cling together like mud when threatened. Maldereld no doubt thought that useful, compared to the bickering in other human lands. Serrin value cohesiveness too much; only too late have we learned of its dangers amongst humans.”

“I do wish that everyone today would stop blaming everything on Maldereld,” said Sasha, sipping her tea. “I think she did a wonderful job for the most part. But she was only one woman, and whatever mistakes she made were made by all of those who helped her. She was no tyrant, and serrin make no decisions alone.”

“True,” said Tershin, eyeing her curiously. He placed some fruit and cheese on the table. “My old uman knew Maldereld. He'd met her several times as a boy, when she was an old woman.”

“Truly?” Sasha was impressed. “What was she like?”

“An unusual serrin,” said Tershin, easing himself slowly into his chair. “She loved to ride, even in her old age. She liked to be alone, more than was typical for serrin. She was no great linguist, very unusual for a leading
talmaad.
And she had little patience with the long debates more typical of our people.”

Sasha smiled, thinking of Rhillian. “That sounds like someone I know.”

“Those three boys today. You did not need to beat them up on my account.”

“Who said I did?” Sasha retorted. “I enjoyed it enough just for me.”

“You are Sashandra Lenayin, aren't you.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I might be.”

“It takes no great genius to see it. Though fortunately for you, even many seniors of the Remischtuul will not have heard the name. Only we who care about the world outside have cause to find interest in such names. Why do you not fight with the Army of Lenayin?”

“I do,” said Sasha. “The Army of Lenayin defected. Or most of it did. We fight now with Saalshen.”

Tershin stared at her. They did not know. She had travelled in this direction as fast as any news could, and was the first here to spread the knowledge. To Sasha's surprise, Tershin's eyes filled with tears. He wiped at them.

“Oh, Lenayin,” he sighed. “Such a strange attraction we serrin have for your land. We have never been a warlike people, yet we are all astonished to find that the one land in all Rhodia that understands us best, has the most warlike people imaginable. It is a conundrum that has kept serrin returning to Lenayin for centuries.”

“The north still fights with the Regent,” Sasha added, lest he get too romantic about it.

Tershin made a dismissive gesture. “Hardly surprising—ask three Lenays for their thoughts, and you'll get ten different opinions.”

“Just like serrin,” said Sasha with a smile. “As you said.”

“And so you come here. With friends, I suppose.” Sasha nodded. “To talk the Remischtuul into fighting? It cannot be done, my girl. Their minds are decided, and most of the people agree with them.”

“The Steel don't.”

“And so you must convince the Steel to break with the Remischtuul. To do that, you must discredit the Remischtuul.”

Sasha shrugged, not truly wishing to divulge more detail to an old ex-
talmaad.
Tershin seemed a good man, but Rhillian and Aisha were meeting with many of those more significant Ilduuri serrin. If Tershin was not one of them, then he must have removed himself from that circle on purpose—serrin were too sociable for there to be any other explanation.

“I never told you what I did for a trade, once my
talmaad
days were over,” said Tershin. “I was a moneylender.”

Sasha frowned, and looked about at his house. It was clean and simple, but without the grand view or ornamental expense that she might have guessed of one in that trade.

Tershin smiled. “You have a preconception of the trade. Serrin break the preconception, and this explains our success. We are fair, and charge only a small percentage for ourselves.”

“Don't tell me there are no serrin with expensive tastes. You're not all saints.”

Tershin's smile grew broader. “True, but we share. I have enjoyed the acquisitions of wealthy friends as much as I have enjoyed a few of my own. But listen to me. Humans do not trust each other with money, the powerful in particular, as money amongst humans is power. But they know that money, though valued, does not mean the same thing to serrin. The powerful in Ilduur have often preferred to use serrin moneylenders, and serrin bookkeepers to manage their accounts.”

Sasha had heard the same thing in Rhodaan and Ilduur. “They trust you because they know serrin will not steal, or reveal their secrets to their competitors.”

“And a misguided trust it sometimes is,” said Tershin, “because though we will not sell them to their enemies, neither will most serrin tolerate corruption or theft from those who employ us. It is
fuin'is
, disruptive of the great balance.”

“A
fuin'as tal
,” Sasha agreed. A disharmony.

Tershin smiled at her grasp of the tongue. “But it does mean that we serrin are often wound tightly into the finances of the powerful, in cities like Andal. Even those amongst the powerful who dislike us discover that they like the safe management of their accounts more. As it so happens, my latest employment was to manage the books and accounts of the Steelwrights' Guild.”

Sasha frowned. “Aren't they allied to the Steel itself?”

“Certainly, certainly. They are distrusted within the Remischtuul. Understand that the Remischtuul is comprised of guilds, primarily. It brings them all together, and they discuss, and vote. Now, a little over a month ago, there appeared in the Steelwrights' Guild's books an entry for nearly ten thousand silver talons.” Sasha shook her head, not knowing that currency. “Those are used in Meraine, issued by the Chansul of Meraine himself. My task as keeper of the books was to convert those talons into Ilduuri gold marks—understand that talons are commonly converted in Ilduur, but are prohibited from general exchange.”

“Go very slowly,” Sasha warned him. “Accountancy was never my strong point.”

Tershin leaned forward on the table. His old hands were firm in their gesticulation, and his eyes as intent as those of a much younger man. “The Meraini pay for their trade with Ilduur in talons. Some even use our marks, but of course, trade with any member of the Saalshen Bacosh is supposed to be prohibited….”

“The priesthood would have an offender killed,” said Sasha, understanding that much.

“So, the Meraini learn to be discreet,” Tershin agreed. “They have traded with Ilduur for many centuries, Maldereld's arrival here did not stop it, and the Meraini priesthood keep silent because they receive a tribute.”

“A cut,” Sasha translated.

“Just so. Talons are received and used to purchase Ilduuri goods. Merchants selling those goods accumulate talons, but many of those who sell to Meraine do not buy from Meraine. They will trade talons for marks, with those that do. There is a market price for trade between talons and marks. Too many talons, and the price falls. They're easy to acquire, do you see?”

Sasha nodded. She wasn't quite
that
slow.

“Too few, and the price rises. Now, a sum of ten thousand talons is quite large. So I went to see the men who fix the price of trade. To my astonishment, the price had plummeted, a full fifteen talons for each mark. Typically the price is four or five to a mark. The most I have ever seen it is nine or ten to the mark, and I have lived and worked in Andal for thirty years.”

“Andal is flooded with Meraini talons,” Sasha said slowly. Tershin nodded, with great meaning. “Trade has been good lately?”

“Not that good.”

“So someone in the Remischtuul is receiving wagonloads of talons from Meraine, and paying them out to the guilds.”

“It would seem the only answer.”

“To gain their loyalty?”

“Their silence,” Tershin said grimly. “And those young men that you assaulted, I fear, were sent to me by the Stamentaast, as a reminder to me to keep my mouth shut. The Stamentaast knows all those who work within the trade. Lately, several of those setting the trade of talons and marks have disappeared. Yesterday, a new price was announced. Seven talons to the mark.”

“They're fixing the price?”

“Yes, while the black market is now offering a price of eighteen. The Stamentaast chase the black-marketeers, and the number of disappearances grows larger.”

Sasha exhaled hard. “By helping you, I seem to have put you in greater danger. It's a bad habit of mine, I apologise.”

Tershin smiled. “There is no need. Indeed, you seem to have offered a solution to my problem.” Sasha raised her eyebrows. “The Meraini will not send wagonloads of talons through the mountain passes unaccompanied—Ilduur is relatively peaceful and law abiding, but there are watchful eyes, loose tongues, and common criminals here as anywhere else. Such a large sum, as tribute to the Remischtuul members, will come accompanied by a senior person of Meraine.”

“An ambassador,” Sasha agreed, thinking furiously. “A close relative to the Chansul of Meraine himself, I'd guess. Perhaps a brother.”