Petrodor: A Trial of Blood and Steel, Book 2 (19 page)

When they reached the low wall, Sasha leaned against a poplar and considered the rising Backside slope, dotted with light. “See anything?” she murmured to Errollyn.

“Just the same lights along the ridgetop,” he replied. All of the big family houses along the ridgetop were awake, having seen or heard the commotion down in Riverside. Along the riverfront, there was a big fire burning—probably started by Errollyn's little whatever-it-was that he'd thrown into the warehouse roof. She could see several other fires in the near distance. Further west, there were more lights from the river port town of Cuely, a short distance upstream from Riverside. When Riverside erupted, all the neighbours became alarmed. It gave her little comfort to know that she was not alone in having a sleepless night.

“We should go up,” said Liam, tautly, gesturing up the slope. “All this walking around is pointless. We could walk for leagues.”

“The families will guess it was Nasi-Keth that caused the commotion,” said Sasha, shaking her head. “There'll be a big line of them, all along the ridgetop, waiting for us. It's the perfect chance to catch some scattered Nasi-Keth trying to make it over the top to dockside.”

“So where do we go?” said Liam, unimpressed.

“I know a place,” said Sasha.

“And where the hells is that?”

“Let her alone, Liam,” said Yulia, quietly. “She saved our lives.”

“After you got Rodery killed!” Liam hissed. Yulia's young face was stricken. “You're useless! We had to fight twice as hard to make up for you, and it killed Rodery! The first thing we should have done is thrown you in the river…”

“Liam!” Sasha snapped furiously. “You arrogant shit, you're not half the fighter you think you are! It's just as likely
you
got Rodery killed!”

Liam might have swung at her, but Errollyn grabbed him from behind, twisting an arm while locking an elbow about the young man's throat. The hold was effortless and held Liam as helpless as a fly in a spiderweb. He struggled, twice, then held still, breathing heavily.

“The mudfoots killed Rodery,” Sasha told him. “I don't know why they attacked us. Maybe some traitor tipped Symon Steiner off and he told the mudfoots some lies about how we were coming to attack them. Put your blame where it belongs, Liam. Be useful because I've no time for baggage right now, d'you hear?”

“So the warrior princess has herself a pet serrin to do the hard work for her,” Liam spat.

“He's saving your life, idiot,” Sasha retorted. “Don't fight me, Liam. I'm not big enough to box your ears. If there's fighting, all I have is this—” and she patted the hilt of the sword over her shoulder. “And you've seen how I use it.”

Liam blinked at her, finally disconcerted. He looked at the ground. “Let go,” he said. “I said, let go!”

Errollyn let loose his arm, but took a hard grip on Liam's throat. “Pet serrin?” he said, leaning close, staring the young man in the face. His green eyes seemed almost to glow in the dark. Liam grabbed his wrist, but could not dislodge the fingers. Sasha was not surprised—a lifetime of archery had made Errollyn's grip like steel.

“You don't scare me,” said Liam, clearly scared. “Serrin don't kill in cold blood.”

“Doesn't mean I can't break a few bones,” said Errollyn, his voice low with threat. “I'd never killed anyone for just waving a spear in the air before tonight, either. Now you drop your selfish whining and pull yourself together. The night's not over yet and there's a fair walk ahead of us. Can you do that?”

Liam nodded stiffly. Errollyn let him go, with a last, deliberate pat on the
shoulder. Liam had the makings of a strong young man, but Errollyn was all quickness and all muscle.

“Did it work?” said Errollyn in Lenay as they set out across the next field in the dark.

Sasha spared Liam a glance. He walked with his head down and did not look likely to make more trouble. “I think so,” she said. “Did you mean it?”

“I'm not certain,” said Errollyn. “Maybe. If he'd tried to hurt you.”

“I can look after myself.”

Errollyn shrugged. “Even wolves hunt in packs,” he said.

Sasha looked at him sideways. “Are you proposing to be my mate?” she suggested. “Or just commenting on my table manners?”

Errollyn smiled. “I thought you liked wolves?”

Sasha sighed. “I do. But not everyone has the luxury of such a close-knit family.”

“Serrin do.”

“Is that how you describe the serrinim? A pack?”

“Every analogy is fraught. But we share many things amongst ourselves. We hunt together. We raise young together.”

“You don't pair-bond for life,” Sasha objected.

“Some do,” said Errollyn.

“Truly? I've never heard of it.”

“There's much about the serrinim you've never heard.”

“There's much about humans you haven't heard,” Sasha countered.

“I know,” said Errollyn, sombrely. Tiredly. “One day, I'd like to learn more.”

Nearby, some sheep bleated. There was a pen over by the farmhouse. This near to Petrodor, it was not safe to leave livestock unattended in the fields at night. Not with so many hungry Riversiders so near.

“What are you talking about?” asked Yulia in Torovan. Her voice was small in the darkness. She walked close, thumbs in her belt, in obvious distress.

“Oh, just things,” Sasha replied in Torovan. “Serrin things.”

“Lenay sounds so different,” said Yulia, bravely. “My father thinks it's an ugly language, but I think it's pretty.”

“I've had the same argument with Lenays about the Torovan language,” Sasha admitted.

“To say nothing of the Torovan people,” Errollyn remarked. Sasha gave him a wry look.

“Is Lenayin very beautiful?” asked Yulia.

“Oh yes,” said Sasha, wistfully. “It's stunningly beautiful.”

“Tell me about it,” said Yulia, with faint desperation.

“Maybe later,” said Sasha, squeezing the girl's shoulder. “There's a road approaching. Be on your guard, we're a long way from safe yet.”

The grand gardens of Pazira House were surrounded by a stone wall, but here, away from the treachery of Petrodor, the walls were not rowed with spikes, nor guarded by watchposts. Errollyn ran first across the road and took position at the base of the wall. Sasha followed, placed her foot into Errollyn's cupped hands and was propelled upward. She lay flat atop the wall for a moment, searching the ground below in the dark, and then jumped, landing on soft grass.

Yulia came second, and fell heavily as she landed. Sasha helped her up, but the girl refused attention. Liam and Errollyn followed.

Ahead, its outer walls lit with lamps, stood Pazira House, a grand mansion of three floors and several turrets. The turrets, Sasha had gathered, were only ornamental—this was a house for living, not a castle for defending. All of the Torovan dukes owned such properties about Petrodor.

Sasha took a stone from the garden and followed Errollyn between tall, trimmed hedges. Beneath the branches of some tall trees, Errollyn gestured them flat, and Sasha pressed herself against a tree trunk. She heard a dog bark somewhere across the gardens, but the wind was blowing into their faces and the dogs would not smell them. Not immediately, anyhow.

Errollyn gestured them up once more and they moved into a maze of waist-high hedges. They stayed low and finally arrived at a wide courtyard with a long, rectangular lake. The house loomed nearer, its outer lights reflected in the dark water between lilies. Sasha could see guards by the main doors, with still more patrolling the perimeter. Soft footsteps approached alongside the lake.

Sasha peered about the hedge and saw a guard in armour with the obligatory broad-brimmed hat, the Pazira maroon and gold colours barely discernible in the gloom.

The guard strolled past them, oblivious. Sasha hefted the stone in her hand, measured the throw, then lobbed. It sailed past the guard's hat and splashed in the water. He spun. Then spun again, searching the night, a hand on his sword hilt.

“The duke prefers mint tea!” Sasha hissed at him. The guard spun a third time, finally facing the right way. But relaxing somewhat, to hear the password. Sasha stood up and he came over cautiously.

“What do you want?” the guard hissed back.

“To see the duke.”

“He's abed.”

“I'll make it worth his while.”

Errollyn, Liam and Yulia were held in the vestibule while Sasha advanced alone down the main hall with two guards. Candles lit the checker-tiled floor—the household was roused if the candles were lit, Sasha realised with little surprise. Riverside was burning and everyone was on guard.

Sasha and the guards waited at the hallway staircase as servants hurried past. The guards’ swords were sheathed and they did not seem particularly afraid of her. Wary, perhaps, but she'd not been a complete stranger to these grounds over the past few weeks.

Finally Duke Alexanda Rochel thumped down the stairs in a thin maroon robe and eyed Sasha with displeasure.

“Damn fool of a girl,” he rumbled. “What have you and your crazy uman gone and done now, set half of Riverside ablaze?” His white hair was rumpled, his eyes bleary.

“We were betrayed,” said Sasha, hooking her thumbs into her belt. “Someone told the mudfoots we were coming and that we meant to do them harm. Lies, of course.”

“The only part that wasn't,” the Duke of Pazira snorted, reaching the bottom and stopping before her. He fixed her with a beady eye. “Did it ever occur to you that not everyone in Petrodor views the Nasi-Keth as the source of all moral rectitude and goodness? You declare yourselves the saviours of the poor while ignoring the simple human truth that not everyone wishes to be saved. You of all people, Sashandra of the Goeren-yai, should know that.”

His stare was knowing. Sasha drew a deep breath. “I've information for you,” she said. “The doings of Symon Steiner. I think you'll find them—”

Duke Rochel made an irritated face and waved his hand. “You don't have to play favours with me, girl, you know damn well I'm still in your debt.”

Sasha blinked at him. “And on my side, too, I'd hoped,” she ventured.

“Damn fool,” Rochel muttered. “How did you ever rise so high with so little wits?”

Soon enough Sasha and Errollyn were seated on a sofa before some open windows on the mansion's first floor. The cool night breeze was a welcome relief from the stuffiness of the house. Sasha grimaced as Errollyn washed the wound on her forearm. It was shallow, but it hurt.

“So explain to me this relationship,” said Errollyn as he worked. A servant hurried across the central carpet, placed steaming cups on the table, and departed once more. “Sasha never has. Or at least, not to me.”

“I'm very pleased to hear it,” said Rochel darkly from a sofa opposite. He sipped at his tea. His eyebrows were as bushy and wild as his hair, and he had the habit of raising just one, beneath which to fix a suspicious stare. “Perhaps six years ago now…is it six?”

“Six,” Sasha agreed, reaching for her tea with her free arm.

“Six years ago, I had some trouble with the villagers of eastern Valhanan in Lenayin. There was a dispute over land boundaries with the earls of western Pazira, some silly nonsense that goes back at least five hundred years. Word spread to the great warrior Kessligh Cronenverdt, who rode from Baerlyn with his skinny, cantankerous fourteen-year-old uma at his side. The Lenays were very angry and I'm quite sure they would have attacked, as Lenays are wont to do at the slightest provocation—” Sasha snorted, “had Kessligh not persuaded them otherwise. And made quite certain I knew about it. That man's a devil in negotiations.”