“Feeling's not mutual,” said Damon. “I challenge. This dawn, with blades.”
Koenyg smirked. “Nice. Offer a challenge you know I cannot accept for tactical reasons, to make me look cowardly when I refuse. You're desperate. No one here cares for your silly plots. And no one here believes you could beat me even were there five of you. I lose no face because I have nothing to prove to you, little brother. Nothing.”
“Nothing save honour,” said Damon.
Koenyg stared. Damon stared back. Hold firm, Sasha willed Damon. Damon had truly stood up to Koenyg just once, in all his life, when he had led what remained of the Army of Lenayin away from the northerners and nobles remaining loyal to Koenyg. But Koenyg had won that contest of swords also, and Damon had only survived by Koenyg's mercy.
“Be careful what you wish for, little brother,” Koenyg murmured.
“Tymorain is a stupid tradition anyhow,” Damon replied. “Swords at dawn is no way to select a leader of nations. The men I lead required me to challenge, for formality's sake. But when deciding the leader of nations, outcomes of leadership matter more.”
“You're leading your army to its death. The cream of pagan Lenayin shall die with it. Verenthane Lenayin shall emerge victorious, and our strength in Lenayin shall be doubled when we return with our Verenthane allies.”
“You'd lead a new Verenthane invasion of Lenayin?” Sasha asked in disbelief. “Hold the Goeren-yai at swordpoint? Convert or die?”
“I didn't want to do it this way, Sasha, but this is what you have forced me to. The faith is the future of humanity in Rhodia, and your pagan ways shall fade, as pagan ways always do, Lenayin's and the serrin's.”
“I'm going to fucking kill you,” said Sasha, and meant it. “I may not enjoy it, but I'm going to do it.”
Koenyg snorted. “You and what army?” His nobles laughed.
“Don't you wave your cock at me,” Sasha said coldly. “There may be only a handful in Lenayin you can't best with a blade, but I'm one of them. You inherited your army. I won mine. You show respect or I will fucking kill you right now, and there's not a damn thing any of you can do to stop me.”
At her side, Errollyn flexed his bowstring. There was no arrow against it yet, but that could change in the blink of an eye. Behind them were more talmaad.
“This is a truce,” Koenyg said flatly. “You are not so dishonourable as to kill blood relatives with cowardly arrows beneath a truce.”
“I command respect, by the ancient codes that you and your poorly bred ilk have forgotten,” Sasha snarled. “I am Synnich-ahn, and you are not my equal.” She rode a little closer, daring him with her eyes. “Or do you dispute it? Do you think you can take me?”
Koenyg said nothing, watching her coldly.
“This is a field of truce, not a field of challenge!” a lord said angrily. “Cease this posturing!”
“What does a man with no honour know of truce?” Sasha spat. “What does a man who sides with the murderers of small children have to say of honour? What do you do with serrin prisoners even now, brother? Treat them kindly? Treat them with honour?” Koenyg stared past her, stonily. “You offer us a safe surrender, but that's a farce too, isn't it? Tell me, if I surrendered to you, would you stick the knife in yourself? And would you stick your cock in first? I bet you would, you're just that kind of man, aren't you?”
Koenyg nearly went for his blade.
“Come on!” Sasha yelled at him. “Come on, you coward, let's do it! Right here, right now, let's make a circle where I can fucking end your miserable life!”
“Sasha, no!” came a desperate cry from behind. “Stop this now! I'll not let you pick a fight!”
“He's picked every fight he could since he was a boy,” Sasha retorted. “I've only refrained from challenge for politics and manners, and both are now used up.”
But Koenyg was ignoring her, staring past her shoulder to the voice behind. “Sofy?” he asked.
Sofy edged forward. She threw back her hood, and torchlight caught her face. “Brothers,” she said.
“Good gods!” Myklas exclaimed with youthful enthusiasm. “Where have you been? We've had reports that Elissians and the Archbishop of Sherdaine plotted to kill you, and other reports that you plotted against the Regent….”
“It was Archbishop Turen and the Elissians,” said Sofy. “I wanted to preserve the riches of Tracato for the Regent's rule. The Archbishop wished to cleanse Tracato of all serrin influence. I voiced my disapproval, and he tried to have me killed.”
“And when did this happen?” Koenyg asked drily. “Perhaps directly after Sasha and Damon turned traitor and betrayed all semblance of honour?”
Sofy nodded. “It was directly after the defection of their followers from your command, yes.”
“This is your fault!” Koenyg declared, pointing a finger at Sasha. “An army like that which the Regent maintains is a mass of competing interests, yet you unbalanced the entire formation! You set those of the Regent's allies who never wished to see this union with Lenayin directly at Sofy's throat, and look what fortune that she is still alive! Sofy, I had no idea, I was worried. Please allow me to return you to your husband.”
“No,” Sofy said calmly. “I stand with Damon and Sasha.”
“No!” Myklas shouted, in sudden anger. “No, I won't allow it! Sofy, we're your brothers….”
“As is Damon.”
“And he's a traitor! He betrayed you!”
Sofy looked at him sadly. “Dear Myklas. I love you dearly, my sweet brother, but you are a child. You have bonded with the men you fight alongside, as young men will in battle. Do you not think that the Cherrovan who invaded Lenayin felt the same for their comrades? Such bonds do not make men right, and they do not improve the cause for which they fight.
“Koenyg believes that the Verenthane civilisation for which my husband fights will make Lenayin strong. I believe that he may be right. But I can now see that it will only do so by killing every good and noble thing in Rhodia that will not conform to its strictest rule. I saw those things burn in Tracato. I've seen them die in the villages across Enora and Rhodaan. I now see you, dear brothers, trying to destroy them here in Jahnd, and doubtless beyond into Saalshen after that.”
“But we're not going to…” Myklas began.
“Ask him,” said Sofy, pointing at Koenyg, and then pointing again at Great Lord Heryd. “Ask him as well. The strength of their faith is its unity. Its solidity of purpose. Serrin will destroy that solidity, as is their nature, by asking too many questions. The serrin perhaps have not realised this-they are innocent and do not mean to destroy anything. They do not realise how dangerous the asking of inconvenient questions can be for men whose belief will accept no disagreement. But the only serrin who does not ask questions is a dead serrin. The Archbishops know this, and, dear Myklas, the men you ride with know it too.”
Myklas looked at Koenyg, frowning. Koenyg did not look at him.
“Sofy,” he said, “you are lawfully married, before the gods themselves. You shall shame all Lenayin should you now choose to fight against your husband.”
Sofy looked him calmly in the eye. “Lenayin fights with me,” she said. “True Lenayin. I do not know what you are, but you are an imposter upon my land. And my husband, and all who follow him, shall always be its enemies.”
Sasha walked through her army's camp behind the western wall. Men sat by their fires and talked, or repaired damaged gear, or prepared to sleep. Most did not wear armour, not fearing a sudden attack in the night. Any force that included the talmaad would own the night, and the Regent's men knew it.
She exchanged greetings and words of encouragement as she walked to the small town where the Ilmerhill and Dhemerhill Rivers converged. Here Sofy had arranged a hub of wagons moving supplies and wounded. Upon the spit of land between converging rivers there was a grand house of several storeys, and a garden. Spilling onto the garden were many talmaad, Ilduuris, and Lenays who had heard a rumour that good food could be found here.