Tracato: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Three (17 page)

He found Sasha in the training courtyard, blade in hand and covered in sweat. Spirits, she was beautiful. He watched her for a moment, the shapes her body and blade made in the air. To watch Sasha train was to observe the primal and the civilised, the thinking and the unthought, the beautiful and the ugly, all in one.

She was so human, and in her humanity, described a world he recognised far more intimately than his own people had ever managed.

He saw something else, too.

“Sasha!” he called at a pause in her strokes. She turned to him, and her eyes lit up. Even now, his heart leapt. “Something’s bothering you?”

“How can you tell?” she asked. She was sensitive about her moods.

“You always train when you’re angry.”

“You’ve seen the mob outside?” Errollyn nodded. “Kessligh’s trying to talk to them. I told him he should just tell them to fuck off, but he refuses.”

Errollyn sighed, flexing his sore leg. “Kessligh has great hopes for this civilisation, Sasha. He’s been in the wilds in Lenayin for a long time.”

“What’s wrong with the wilds of Lenayin?” Sasha said indignantly.

“I’m not certain he’s sure what he’s achieved. He comes to a place like this, and he wonders if he could have done more.” Sasha stared at the pavings. Errollyn put his hands on her shoulders. “I’ve offended you.”

“No. No, you’re right. But damn it, he should be able to see where this is going! These people are lunatics, haven’t we all had enough of lunatics after Petrodor?”

Errollyn searched her face. “That’s not all that’s bothering you.”

Sasha’s eyes didn’t quite meet his own. That was
very
unusual. “I’d rather not say.”

Errollyn frowned. He thought about it. Sasha was prickly over her Lenay honour, but could typically deal with such things, sometimes in ways he truly wished she hadn’t. She was embarrassed by little—in that, they were alike. But here, she almost seemed…

He raised his eyebrows. “Some man asked to fuck you?” Sasha aimed a kick at him, and missed on purpose, scowling. Worse than that, then. “Some man
tried
to fuck you.” She looked elsewhere, exasperated. Damn. “Does he live?”

“Yes!” Sasha retorted, angrily.

“Do you still have one of his ears?”

“Errollyn, this isn’t funny!” Errollyn couldn’t help smiling, against his better judgement. The look she gave him nearly made him fear for his safety. “It was Reynold Hein!”

“Oh,” said Errollyn, not especially surprised.

“What do you mean ‘Oh’?” Sasha fumed. “That’s the
one
form of attack I can’t raise a blade against! And if I can’t raise a blade, I’m left with fists, and I can’t beat up a man his size! Or
your
size!” She knocked his hands from her shoulders. Errollyn folded his arms.

“Sasha,” he said calmly, “you know as well as I do that if he’d tried to rape you, you’d have stuck a knife in his throat.”

“It’s not honourable!” Sasha snapped. “He never raised a blade against me!”

Oh, thought Errollyn, realising. That was it. “Well, you can hardly just let him overpower you and take you, can you?”

“Rather than stick a blade in a man not wielding one?” Sasha retorted. “I can’t cut a bare-handed man!”

Errollyn rolled his eyes. “It’s hard living to a code of honour, yes?

“You wouldn’t know, you could have beaten him up.”

“I’m quite sure Reynold Hein would not have been trying to rape
me
.”

“Good spirits,” Sasha muttered, striding back toward the Tol’rhen. “Men!”

Errollyn grabbed her arm. “Don’t use that on me. Of all the men in your life, exactly how many times has this happened?” Sasha stared at him. Then her gaze fell.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Suddenly the anger was gone and she was sombre. Vulnerable, even. “I was scared for a moment, I couldn’t think. That almost never happens. I…I couldn’t think of how I’d explain it to you, or…”

Errollyn shook his head in exasperation. “Sasha, if you know anything about serrin, you know that we don’t place
any
credence in this human notion of female sexual virtue. If he had succeeded, it would make absolutely no—”

“I know, I know.” Sasha held up her hands. “It would make a difference to me, though.”

Errollyn put a hand to her face. “And to him. I’d have killed him. And still may.”

“Don’t,” Sasha said sombrely. “We can’t afford it. Kessligh can’t, Reynold’s too important.”

Errollyn smiled. “When did you get so mature? Not long ago you’d have been demanding the right to split him from nose to groin and devils take the consequences.”

“I know,” Sasha agreed, a smile ghosting upon her lips. “I can barely believe it myself. Now kiss me, because I’ve had that shit’s smell in my mouth all day, and I’d rather yours.”

Errollyn did as she asked. It occurred to him as he did so, that she rarely asked for anything more than this, and his company. It only made him want to give her more.

They walked back to the Tol’rhen, holding hands.

“You didn’t seem very surprised when I said it was Reynold.”

“Powerful men, Sasha. I’ve seen human men relish the thrill.”

“But a man like Reynold could have any number of women.”

“And that’s the point. He only demonstrates his power to himself by conquering the most unlikely. The grander the dragon slain, the greater his glory.”

“Lovely choice of metaphor,” Sasha said, bumping him as they walked. “How did you hurt your leg?”

“Small encounter in a brothel.” Sasha looked at him, eyebrows raised. Errollyn grinned. “Let me tell you about it.”

“Really, Errollyn. I know I’m not as experienced as some women, but a brothel?”

He cuffed her lightly on the head. Sasha returned one of her own, and they scuffled and laughed toward the rising wall of the Tol’rhen.

Errollyn found Reynold at the Great Hall during the evening music recital. Five Tol’rhen students, two Ulenshaals and a pair of serrin were playing pipes, strings and drum in strange combination. Perhaps two hundred people gathered about the hall to hear, across dining tables soon to be filled for dinner.

Reynold sat to one side near the kitchens, munching from a bowl of nuts. His usual friends were seated about the table, discussing politics in low
voices. Reynold seemed more interested in the music, casting the others only an occasional glance. He saw Errollyn coming and smiled.

“Errollyn!” he whispered, with no apparent trepidation. That did not surprise Errollyn either. “What do you think of this composition? Isn’t it wonderful?”

“I like the larger strings,” Errollyn said. “These smaller ones sound like a cat being strangled.” Reynold’s nose, he saw, seemed swollen, with a trace of dried blood at one nostril.

“Ah yes, but the fusion of rhythm and melody. Like the fusion of human and serrin thoughts in one.”

“Are we melody, or are you?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” said Reynold, watching the musicians. “A question for my morning lecture, perhaps?” It was so like the man, Errollyn thought. So determined to demonstrate to all his intellectual fascination in all points of culture.

“Reynold, I need to speak with you,” said Errollyn. He indicated to the kitchens. Reynold nodded, entirely unworried, and went with him. That was expected, too.

Behind the heavy door grand fires blazed, and cooks laboured over benches piled with food. Reynold turned to Errollyn expectantly. Errollyn punched him in the stomach, very hard.

Reynold doubled over, and fell to all fours. Above the shouts and commotion of dinner, cooks turned in astonishment to look.

“The only reason you’re still alive,” Errollyn said calmly, “is that Sasha’s honour precludes her from killing you. She has the honour of a warrior—not of a woman, or you’d be dead. I’m trying to talk her into a new interpretation. If you try it again, you may discover if I’ve succeeded.”

“What did she tell you?” Reynold’s voice sounded odd, beyond the shortness of breath. He was laughing, Errollyn realised. “Not the truth, obviously. I have to say, I was surprised. I’d thought a virile man such as yourself could satisfy even her, but no, she threw herself at me like she hadn’t been fucked in weeks. She was quite upset when I said no. I don’t envy you her temper my friend.”

“I dislike fighting Sasha’s fights for her,” Errollyn continued, unbothered, “but she can be stubborn in her Lenay honour. If she won’t do it, I will. Stay away from her. Or better yet, next time, come at her with a weapon in hand, I dare you.”

“Friend Errollyn,” Reynold sighed, getting one foot carefully beneath him, and making to stand. “I can see why your people have disowned you. Truly, you leap to unfounded conclusions, and you come to violence as your first resort. How you must alarm the gentle serrinim.”

“I’m a scholar, Reynold,” said Errollyn. “Like you. I learn my subjects well. I learn how they respond, and what motivates them best. It is my scholarly judgement that if you touch Sasha again, one of us will gut you like a fish.”

He kicked Reynold in the stomach, and the man went down again. Errollyn left him lying there, as cooks rushed to assist. Disconcertingly, despite the obvious pain, Reynold only seemed more amused.

O
N THE HILL ABOVE THE SHALLOW VALLEY
, Rhillian sat ahorse and watched the prelude to battle. From here, behind the Rhodaani Steel’s right flank, she could see nearly everything. A small river ran across the fields below, and in front of her, on the far side of the river, she saw a small castle on a hill. No more than a minor holding—it was held, she’d heard, by a lord named Herol, a bannerman to the northern Lord Arendt. Here, upon the long slope before the castle walls, the Army of Elisse, beneath Lord Arendt commanding, had chosen to make its stand.

The Elissian Army was enormous. Scouting
talmaad
with a better eye for such things estimated their numbers at between twenty-two and twenty-five thousand. They bristled across the hillside. Banners flew, denoting each minor formation’s allegiances in the many colours of feudal heraldry.

Rhillian could see why Arendt had chosen this place to stop running. For one thing, it was barely north of the coastal city of Vethenel, and squarely on a major route of supply. If the Steel took these roads and lands, Vethenel would be blockaded and, more importantly, would no longer be able to resupply the army. Also, most of the lords remaining were of the northern peninsula, and to not make a stand here would be to abandon many castles to incineration. But, mostly, what made this a good place to fight was the terrain.

The Elissian Army occupied a slope, up which the Steel must advance, in heavy armour. The castle made a good vantage, from which the battle could be directed. And at the base of the slope ran the river, which the Steel would need to ford, directly into the teeth of Elissian archers and charging knights. The Rhodaani Steel numbered nine thousand, as the third battalion under Captain Pieron had been the first to encounter the Elissian position here, and send word to the first battalion under General Zulmaher. The fifth battalion under Captain Malisse had not yet arrived, but was known to be two days’ march to the east. Rhillian headed barely more than six hundred of her three thousand
talmaad
in Elisse—the rest were scattered across the lands behind, guarding supply lines, making certain newly sworn lords kept their oaths, gathering supplies and putting down minor revolts.

Surely Lord Arendt was feeling as confident as was possible of any commander, facing an army of the Steel. He had the favour of numbers, by three to one. He had the favour of the land, particularly the river. General Zulmaher was attempting a quick victory, and could not waste days or weeks attempting to outflank the retreating Elissians in manoeuvre after manoeuvre, seeking a more suitable place for battle. Arendt could retreat all the way up the peninsula if he chose, never fighting a decisive battle, and cost the Rhodaani Steel another month at the least. If Zulmaher wished to defeat the Elissian resistance on the field, he had no choice but to do it here.

Trumpets rang across the valley, shouts followed, in unison, and the Rhodaani Steel began its advance. Rhillian could hear the armoured clatter, even from this distance. Six thousand infantry, arranged in three formations of two thousand each. Each two thousand comprised of twenty squares of a hundred, in two lines of ten, one thousand men per line. The formations were precise in their geometry. Rhillian wondered how many of those serrin scholars who insisted that nothing of war could ever be beautiful, had ever seen the Rhodaani Steel in battle.

“Here we are,” said Arendelle, pointing across the river. “The cavalry musters.” The Elissians had been holding back their cavalry, presumably to keep Zulmaher guessing, but there had been little doubt as to Arendt’s intentions. The best Elissian cavalry was heavy, and Rhillian’s guess was that a quarter of these cavalry were knights. Downslope, headlong into the centre of the Rhodaani formation, they could break even a line of the Steel. Flanking would serve no purpose, for the
talmaad
worked on the flanks, on faster horses mounted with serrin archers, who did unfair, unchivalrous things like shooting unarmoured horses from under the knights’ steel backsides.