Petrodor: A Trial of Blood and Steel, Book 2 (47 page)

He handed the scroll to Father Berin and then swept off down the hall. Muttering, Father Berin removed the seal and undid the scroll. He read the first passage, angrily. The second with growing disquiet. And the rest with cold dread.

“Father?” asked young Father Michelo anxiously from alongside. “What does it say?”

“I am not going to preach this,” Father Berin muttered. He rerolled the scroll with tight, shaking hands. “I will
never
preach the likes of this.” He stuffed the scroll into his robes.

“Father? What does the archbishop instruct?”

“Nothing, boy,” Berin muttered. “Nothing at all. Now go and attend the gods’ work. I need to pray.”

“Oh dear,” said Rhillian, peering over the edge of the rooftop. Below, the dock was a seething mass of people. Some people held large eight-pointed stars on poles, others held small drawings or engravings of saints. They spilled all the way out to the waterfront and onto the piers, blocking all traffic. Strangely, they made less noise now than when their numbers had been fewer. They gazed up at the plain bricks and shutters of the Velo house, and waited.

Sasha sat on one of the small stools upon the flat rooftop, and placed the tray she'd been carrying on the edge of a small, bricked flower garden. She poured herself some water from an earthen jug and drank thirstily. Rhillian took the stool beside her and accepted a bowl of soup. “Mmm. This smells delicious.”

“Mariesa makes great soup,” Sasha agreed, taking her own bowl. “What did you and Kessligh talk about?”

Rhillian shrugged, sipping her soup. “I'm surprised you weren't there.”

“I can't be around for every one of Kessligh's meetings,” said Sasha. “He's in charge, not me. I was shoring up the protection through the back lanes, making sure we're well covered.”

“I would think you might need more than two archers on the roof,” Rhillian suggested. At each corner of the rooftop crouched a single Nasi-Keth archer, his longbow strung and ready. Further along, on adjoining rooftops, were several others—it was all one rooftop, really, here along the dockfront, broken by rows of washing, small rooftop gardens and half-mended boat sails.

“If this lot gets out of hand,” said Sasha, “a few archers won't stop them. We're guarding against family men, not worshippers.”

Rhillian sipped another mouthful, then half stood to peer over the edge once more. It seemed a compulsive act. When she sat again, she looked troubled, almost bewildered. “This artefact,” she said. “This star. It represents the Enoran High Temple?”

Sasha nodded. “Every temple has a star when forged. And every new saint. This one was forged upon the founding of the Enoran High Temple, the oldest in Enora.”

“Itself two hundred and forty years after the revelation on Mount Tristen,” said Rhillian. “Shereldin is a small village in Enora, near Remel. There was a great war there, where the first Bacosh king to follow the
Verenthane faith, met and defeated the last pagan king. This Shereldin Star, this great symbol of peace and virtue, is named after a battlefield. A battlefield not far from the High Temple itself.”

Sasha dunked bread in her soup and chewed. “You know the history far better than I, yet you ask me questions,” she said around her mouthful.

“What I know as facts,” said Rhillian, “and what humans understand as faith, are two completely different things.”

“I know,” said Sasha. In truth, she was more interested in consuming her lunch than entering into another semantical serrin debate over the varying natures of truth.

“Is this star supposed to hold special powers?” Rhillian pressed.

“I suppose,” said Sasha with her mouth full.

“Of what kind?”

“The stars of the saints are supposed to hold those saints’ holy favour, long after their deaths. I don't know what kind of power the founding star of a temple would hold.”

“But people believe they can gain positive energy by being near it?”

Sasha gave an irritated shrug and swallowed. “Rhillian, I make a very poor expert on Verenthanes. I think they're crazy too.”

Rhillian shook her head faintly. “I don't think they're crazy,” she said. “I just try to understand. I mean, look at them all. What are they thinking? What can they possibly expect to gain?”

“You mean they're crazy,” Sasha summarised.

“Emotion is a fact unto itself,” said Rhillian, fixing her friend with an emerald gaze. No doubt Rhillian intended the gaze to be mild. Somehow, with Rhillian, that intention never entirely translated. Beneath the shadow of her hat, her eyes burned in the shadow. “I may not comprehend the cause of the emotion, but I cannot deny that it exists. Serrin take existence alone as proof of meaning. We seek only to understand, not to ridicule, nor to discredit.”

Rhillian's Saalsi was so much more eloquent than Errollyn's, Sasha reflected, and realised that she'd barely even noticed Rhillian had switched to Saalsi.

“Changes the balance of power somewhat,” Sasha suggested, nodding toward the dock as she ate. “Doesn't it.”

Rhillian shrugged. “A little. Not greatly.” Beyond the docks, the sea shone silver beneath the overcast sky. Behind the high cloud, the sun was not so strong today. Perhaps the long delayed winter was finally on its way.

“You wait to see how the play moves,” Sasha continued, watching her friend warily. “Kessligh has more power now.”

“Does
he
control the star?” Rhillian asked.

“It was granted to him, through me.”

“By a rogue priest.”

“Father Terano Maerler is not so much a rogue. Last I heard, he's still alive.”

“How long will that last, I wonder?” Rhillian murmured, gazing at the silver horizon. “The Steiner alliance have purged their discontents. Perhaps the priesthood is next.”

“If that happens, the checks on Steiner's power will grow even less.”

Rhillian nodded sombrely. “That is why Maerler must be supported. Patachi Maerler is no friend of Saalshen, I am not such a fool as to believe so. But he remains today the only power in Petrodor capable of opposing Patachi Steiner and his friend the archbishop. In human societies, power works. This lesson I have learned in my time amongst you. It troubles a serrin's sensibilities, but slowly we learn to accept the truth. To have influence, amongst humans, one must have true power. The means to kill in large numbers. And so, we learn.”

There was a hole in the back brim of Rhillian's hat. Sasha recalled the crossbow bolt at the Garelo Temple. Rhillian had nearly died saving Yulia. Mercy was the serrin's instinct. Now, she spoke of slaughter.

“Rhillian,” Sasha ventured after a moment, “does it occur to you that perhaps the great powers have been reluctant to push too hard in Petrodor for a reason? I mean…the great houses are split roughly north and south, and that is a logical division, yes? A balance. A symmetry, even.”

“To human eyes, perhaps,” Rhillian said doubtfully. “Myself, I would hesitate to call the balance of terror and ignorance
symmetry
…but I quibble.”

“The provincial dukes have been reluctant to choose sides until now,” Sasha continued. “The balance in Petrodor serves them well. No one patachi has too much power, and the priesthood is neutral between them. Arguments over wealth and power hold no monopoly on one or another man's support. But now, the argument is religion. Faith. And faith can only ever have one side.”

Rhillian stared at her.

“Faith can have many sides,” she said eventually. She looked…disturbed. As though Sasha's words had shaken her. “Many of these people below, they are both Verenthane and Nasi-Keth. In the Saalshen Bacosh, interpretations of the scrolls are very liberal. Belief is not such a simple thing as you describe.”

“To serrin, no.” Sasha matched Rhillian's gaze as best she could. “You're not in Saalshen, Rhillian.”

Rhillian's eyes narrowed and she made an expression as close to a dismissive snort as Sasha had ever seen a serrin make. “You sound like Errollyn.”

“Serrin seek many truths,” Sasha insisted. “Humans seek one. It is our weakness, and our strength. Our diversity ensures that one truth shall never entirely triumph. Serrin have little diversity, yet your very nature ensures you do not need to.”

“We are diverse enough,” Rhillian said quietly.

“Errollyn insists not.”

“The very fact of which surely supports my assertion,” said Rhillian, a little testily.

“And that he's the
only one
who disagrees with you supports Errollyn's,” Sasha said firmly. “Rhillian, from the human perspective, that's just…odd. A little scary, even. I don't understand the
vel'ennar
, Rhillian. Neither what it is, nor how it works. But look at the Nasi-Keth. Or my native Lenays. They split in so many directions over the simplest of things, they are almost too numerous to count. Serrin all move together like a tide. I find that a little frightening, Rhillian. In truth.”

“We find your need to massacre each other in order to express a diversity of opinion somewhat frightening,” Rhillian said coolly.

Sasha nodded vigorously. “Indeed. Me too. But here, in this city, you've picked the one issue that might unite the people. Faith. North or south, rich or poor, Dockside or Backside or Riverside, they're all Verenthane. Not as many distrust the archbishop as ought to, for he's been held in check for so long by the stalemate of priesthood neutrality. The issue of the day is Saalshen and its occupation of holy sites. The Enoran High Temple, no less. You intervene and support Maerler to maintain a balance. But your very engagement in such a debate only works to the archbishop's advantage. You are serrin. You are pagan. With your presence, your interference, however well-intended, you only prove him right.”

“And your alternative is that we retreat, cease our influence and allow Steiner to win anyway?” Rhillian's stare was disbelieving.

“Rhillian…” Sasha leaned forward, elbows on knees, her soup bowl suspended in one hand. “If Maerler concedes to Steiner's power and gives Steiner command of the Army of Torovan, as the archbishop surely wishes, it would be a negotiated settlement. These are merchants. They would make a deal. Such is the way of power here—threat, violence and bluff, followed by a negotiated deal. But all such deals are temporary, and difficult. Maerler would remain a power and a threat, if Steiner should falter. Patachi Steiner knows this all too well, I think. It would be a nightmare for him. There are worse situations for you, Rhillian. For Saalshen.”

“You have no idea of my nightmares,” Rhillian said quietly. “I see the war reaching Saalshen. I see a slaughter for which none of my tongues have yet devised words to describe.”

“Perhaps you try for too much,” Sasha pleaded. “If you support Maerler now, Steiner may feel he has no choice but to attack. Perhaps some of the dukes will follow him. By forcing the battle, you could destroy one or the other and force a final solution. The balance of power would end, and that would be a tragedy for Saalshen.”

“And if I do nothing, Maerler may back down and Steiner may win, and the Army of Torovan marches to slaughter my people. Are you saying that is now unavoidable?”

Sasha hung her head. “I don't know. Maybe. We tried, Rhillian. But already the balance has shifted too far with the archbishop choosing his side.”

“Perhaps he has not.” Rhillian's voice was calm now. Distant as she contemplated the horizon and the rigging of moored ships. “The priesthood has just now seen one rebellion. Perhaps there will be others.”

Sasha gazed at her with dawning dread. “Rhillian,” she said softly. “Please don't do anything you might regret.”

“There is nothing in this life,” said Rhillian, “that I may choose to do that I might not possibly regret.” She sipped at her soup and glanced sideways at Sasha, the slant of a lovely eyebrow beneath her hat. “Have you bedded with Errollyn yet?”

Sasha blinked at her, caught completely off guard. “Bedded?”

“A strange concept, I know. It happens sometimes between men and women. Surely it never crossed your mind.”

Sasha took a deep breath and straightened, seeking dignity. “I've been rather busy.”

“I wouldn't have thought it would take a whole afternoon.” Rhillian's humour, like her stare, and her swordwork, was utterly merciless. “He insists it was his conscience that led him in this direction. I think perhaps it was his groin.”

Sasha snorted, trying hard not to blush. She was not often prone to embarrassment. “Like I'm such a catch,” she murmured. Rhillian grinned, then nearly laughed outright. Sasha scowled at her. “What?”

“You think yourself unattractive?” Rhillian's entire manner had changed. Now, her eyes shone with fascination. Spirits she was beautiful. Beside her, Sasha felt like a mule beside a purebred desai mare.

“No,” Sasha retorted defensively. “I'm just…different. Like always.”

“To a serrin, there are few combinations more intriguing than dark hair and dark eyes. There is subtlety, you see.” She peered at Sasha's face, searchingly. “You see, the shading, so faint, so varied.” She made a form with one
hand, fingers shifting. “Serrin colours are so obvious, so bright…the shades of human form are such
res'ahl en
, the mystery of the
than'ath rheel
darkness, that shapes the
ash'laan
of…”