Sasha (21 page)

“Honour has been satisfied,” Kessligh told them all. His voice was hard, yet calmer than Sasha had heard in many a training session. “The result is clear. Take your losses and leave. Be thankful I ignore the cowardly knife and do not challenge each of you to mortal combat, one at a time, for your complicity.”

Sasha had never seen any array of faces more furious, and more hateful, than those of the Hadryn lords confronting them. Nor, she thought, more scared. They drew back, gathering the bodies of their fallen as they went. Sasha looked over her left shoulder to where Jaryd still stood above the body of the man he'd killed. It was a long way back to have been a Hadryn man…and she realised with shock that the dead man was a Falcon Guard.

Another guardsman knelt to remove the fallen man's helmet…it had a lieutenant's crest and came off to reveal the heavy, round face of Lieutenant Reynan. There was blood in his mouth and his eyes were sightless. Jaryd stood above him, his sword bloody, breath coming in great gasps. The kneeling guardsman stared up in disbelief.

“What did you do?” he said in horror, a hand creeping to the pommel of his sword.

“No,” said another, stepping forward. “I saw it. Reynan would have struck M'Lady Sashandra from behind. He meant to kill her in the confusion.”

Sasha stared at Jaryd. Reynan Pelyn had been brother to Lord Tymeth Pelyn, from one of the most powerful noble families of Tyree.

“I'd thought his manner odd last night and this morning,” Jaryd said hoarsely, as Kessligh and Damon pushed in to see. His eyes met Sasha's. “I asked him what troubled him and he muttered something about “that brat” ruining everything. He never liked you, M'Lady, I thought he was just…just making talk. I was wary, but I never thought he'd…”

“Treachery,” said a guardsman—a Verenthane. “Unbefitting of a Tyree man or a Verenthane. He got what he deserved.”

“Even that horsefly Farys has more honour,” his Goeren-yai comrade agreed. “At least he gave his challenge to her face, not her back.”

“Coward,” agreed a third.

They withdrew from the circle, leaving their former lieutenant alone on the ground, gazing sightlessly at the grey morning sky. Sasha felt lightheaded and shorter, somehow, her posture no longer quite so perfect, all colours and sounds no longer so sharp.

“You saved my life,” she said to Jaryd, determinedly focused on keeping her balance as they walked. She'd seen an honour duel once before where the victor's legs had folded beneath him in the midst of his victory celebration. Now, she knew why.

“I would have done so even were you my enemy,” Jaryd muttered. His normally confident, carefree expression was darkened with fury. “Some things cannot be tolerated, even from family allies.”

“Even so,” Sasha added, determined to give further thanks, but Jaryd cut her off.

“Damn fool, I should have known!” he snarled. “They were plotting, damn them. Now there'll be Loth's ransom to pay.”

The chanting from the Halleryn walls continued, accompanied now by multiple drums, and the piercing shrill of reed pipes. Sasha pushed free of her surrounding company and walked across the open grass before the walls. The cheer erupted louder to a full-fledged roar. She could see a crowd of men atop the walls, fists and swords held aloft. The Goeren-yai. Saluting her as passionately as they'd ever saluted anyone. The tears in her eyes spilled and ran down her cheeks.

She placed the sword down and held both arms aloft, palms outward, then lowered them slowly, requesting silence. Slowly, the volume declined. And then, finally, the morning still returned. An eerie, unreal hush, after the din that had been. Sasha pressed both palms together before her forehead and bowed in thanks and respect. Such triumphalism was not what the situation needed; it had cost far too much already.

A horn sounded by Halleryn's main gate, announcing an imminent departure. The royal party waited and the Hadryn moved their bodies to the stream, where someone had brought a raft to save them the humiliation of the long walk back. Upon the far bank, Hadryn soldiers milled in shock and anger. Even at a glance, Sasha could see much gesticulation, rude hand gestures and raised voices. She hoped that the Falcon Guard, back at their camp, were prepared for any eventuality.

Then, from the main gate, a grand, chestnut warhorse clattered onto the road and turned along the wall toward them. Two more riders flanked their leader, Taneryn banners flying, and Sasha recognised Lord Krayliss astride the leading horse, riding square-shouldered and proud as his men watched on from their wall-top positions.

The riders left the road and approached across the grass, halting before the royal party. Krayliss swung his heavy weight from the saddle, rearranging his cloak about the enormous sword at his hip. His dark eyes peered from beneath thick black brows, his expression unreadable behind the profuse black beard. He inclined his head to Damon and then again, more deeply, to Kessligh at Damon's right hand. He had watched proceedings from the wall, it was very clear. Sasha was only a little surprised when the gaze then swung and fixed upon her.

Lord Krayliss strode toward her, a hand upon the massive hilt of his sword, and knelt to one knee, his head bowed. Sasha blinked.
That
was unexpected. It brought her no joy, and even less when Krayliss lifted his gaze and beheld her from that position. There was calculation in his eyes. This was a display for his men. A cold dread replaced the general unease in the pit of her stomach. This just got worse and worse.

“Princess Sashandra!” he announced, in a loud, ponderous tone. That bass voice would surely carry to the nearest positions atop the nearby walls. “I had doubted, but today we have seen for our own eyes. The Synnich is your guide. You are the one who has been chosen. Forgive my short-sightedness.”

“I do not claim the guidance,” Sasha said softly. “I have not been chosen for anything.”

“I concede to the authority of the Synnich!” Krayliss announced, ignoring her statement entirely. “I shall leave this place and ride to Baen-Tar where I shall await the judgment of the king on this dispute! The armies of the king shall remain behind, and see that the Hadryn are escorted from the lands of Taneryn! They state that their quarrel is with me alone, not with Taneryn, and so we shall see them prove it! I shall do all of this on one condition! That the Princess Sashandra Lenayin shall give me her word, the word of one guided by the Synnich itself, that she shall ensure all fairness and impartiality upon my trial before the king, and that she shall guarantee that the good people of Taneryn are not made to suffer at anyone's hand! I ask the Princess of Lenayin, does she grant me her word?”

Sasha took a deep breath. The lake beyond the Halleryn walls was serenely beautiful as yellow flushed the eastern sky atop the hills. Above, the looming presence of Mount Halleryn looked down. The chill air smelled sharp and fresh.

“I give my word,” she said with as firm a voice as she could muster. Whatever Krayliss's intentions, she knew that she had no choice. To end it here, to separate the warring sides before the bloodshed could escalate into terrible proportions…surely it was worth her word? What was a simple word against the lives of hundreds? Perhaps thousands?

And yet she knew with dread certainty, as Krayliss grasped her hand in his and placed it to his lips, that that word would cost her. In Lenayin, the price of honour was never slight.

Krayliss regained his feet and turned to Damon and Kessligh. “I shall make preparations to ride immediately. What are your plans?”

“I shall await the arrival of further forces,” Damon announced. “They should arrive shortly. That will free myself and a suitable escort to ride with you back to Baen-Tar. After witnessing your departure, the Hadryn forces have no reason to remain on Taneryn lands. The royal forces will supervise their departure. Master Jaryd and Captain Tyrun of the Falcon Guard shall command that effort.”

“Acceptable,” Krayliss said shortly. “Yuan Kessligh?”

“My uma and I shall attend Rathynal in Baen-Tar,” said Kessligh. “First, we shall return to Baerlyn. I am expecting an important visitor.”

Sasha shot Kessligh a look. It was the first she'd heard of any visitor. She didn't like the sound of that at all.

“I have your uma's word, Yuan Kessligh,” Krayliss rumbled warningly. “I expect her presence at my hearing.”

“And you shall have it, Lord Krayliss,” Kessligh replied. “She shall be at Baen-Tar before the beginning of Rathynal. It shall be understood by all that no hearing should begin before her arrival. On that, you have
my
word.”

S
OFY STRODE QUICKLY
down the stone corridor to the king's chambers, her maid Anyse at her side. “Oh, I hope I'm not late,” she worried, brushing hastily at her hair. “Is my hair tangled?”

“It's lovely, Highness,” said Anyse, always diplomatic. “Just…here.” She pulled a brush from an apron pocket and Sofy stood still long enough for her to pull the brush through quickly. It caught several times.

“Oh damn,” Sofy fretted, “it's been doing that a lot lately, hasn't it?”

“Not at all, Highness. You have the loveliest hair in Baen-Tar, but it's no wonder you get tangles when you never slow down.”

“Slow down?” Sofy exclaimed. “Alythia's wedding is less than a month away, Rathynal will be here shortly and every provincial lord and his entourage will be arriving, all demanding entertainments, decorative quarters—and gods forbid anyone should find themselves bored or in disagreement with my program…oh hells, how did I end up with so many responsibilities?”

Anyse fought back a smile. “You volunteered,” she said succinctly.

Sofy gazed at her in despair. “I did, didn't I? Heavens, I'm such a fool.”

“Nonsense, you're simply too kindhearted and intelligent for your own good, that's all.”

Sofy brushed her long hair with a hand, then grasped Anyse by the arm and pulled her on down the hall. “I wonder what father wants me for. Perhaps I'll be able to get out of it soon, then I can get back to rehearsal…oh! Could you rush back and tell Alythia I'll be late? She insists she needs my help to decorate her wedding shawl…my fingers will be raw to the bone from needlework at the end of this, I'm sure of it!”

“I'll tell her, Highness,” Anyse reassured her. “And your gown for the banquet tonight? Shall you leave some time for a fitting?”

“Oh drat!” Sofy said crossly, drawing an amused looked from a tall Royal Guardsman as he stood at attention. “I knew I'd forgotten something…look, could you just arrange the green-and-blue one with the curl pattern? I'd thought since it is a foreign reception and green and blue is not so far from Lenay purple and green, is it?”

“Quite adequate, Highness.”

“And stop calling me that!”

“In the royal quarters, certainly not, Highness.”

They stopped before the grand twin doors to the king's chambers, panelled white and inlaid with gold, unlike the plain dark wood of most of the Baen-Tar Palace. Sofy took a deep breath, wondering at her nerves. It had been days since she'd last seen her father, or Koenyg, for that matter. Lately, they'd both been spending much time in closed chambers with advisors and, some said, the holy fathers of the Saint Ambellion Temple. There was serious trouble in the north with that prize fool Lord Krayliss, they said, and now, a foreign delegation had arrived. She had far too much on her plate to be concerned about the issues that troubled the family's menfolk, but meeting her father was never a lighthearted affair.

Anyse adjusted the silver Verenthane star against her princess's chest. “There. Your Highness is looking forward to M'Lady Sashandra's visit for Rathynal?”

Sofy grinned at her and spun a pirouette. “Sasha's coming to stay!” she sang happily. “I hope she stays a week! No, I hope she stays a year! Maybe I'll…” and she slapped a hand to her mouth, horrified. “Oh no, where are my wits? I'm late already!”

She readjusted her hair and dress in a hurry, with Anyse's mirthful help. Took another deep breath, made a face at Anyse when the older woman could barely refrain from laughing at her overexciteable charge, and pushed through the wide white doors.

The doors opened onto the reception, a grand, rectangular room of dark stone and decorative wall hangings. Upon the wide carpet stood many men, sipping from glasses whilst immersed in conversation, as musicians played the reed pipe and gitar in one corner. Sofy blinked in astonishment—many of them were clearly not Lenay men, for no Lenay man, Goeren-yai or Verenthane, would have been caught dead in the outfits they were wearing. Their boots were high and polished, their leggings tight and their beaded tunics were fitted tight about the torso, yet flared puffily at the shoulders. Cuffs enveloped their hands in explosions of embroidered white lace, offsetting the predominance of darker, richer colours. Many men had curls in their hair and the hint of perfume scented the air, stronger than Sofy's own. They stood in conversation with various palace officials and some officers.

Then she saw Koenyg, excusing himself from one conversation and striding to her side. His calm expression darkened to a scowl when no one could see. “Where have you been?” whispered the heir of Lenayin. Sofy's elder brother was a broad, solid man, with none of the lean elegance of his foreign guests. His wide-sleeved jacket was made of luxuriantly soft skins with a leather tunic beneath, displaying none of the decoration of the foreigners. But then, it had never been the way of Lenay men to preen and prance like mating birds.