Koenyg had to intervene, physically, as Lord Heryd stepped forward quickly, a hand to his hilt.
“Do it,” Sasha invited him. “Draw the blade. I've killed so many of you northern lords. Let's make it one more. See if your gods punish me worse than they did when I killed the others.”
Silence followed in the room. The northerners hated her, but they were no longer stupid enough to challenge her. They knew her to be a hothead, prone to shouting and rash displays of temper. Now, she did not shout. Her words were clipped, firm, and calculated.
Amongst the nobility of Lenayin, it was occurring to Sasha, an unchallengeable duellist possessed a frightening advantage not merely in blades, but in debate as well. One dared not push her too hard, for duelling was the law, and cowardice as fatal as death itself. The men in the room feared not for their lives; they feared for their honour, and that of their families. They feared that here was a girl who could twist them to her will and, if they retaliated in anger, issue a challenge they could not win.
Such a woman could become a queen. A terrible one.
Sasha had no doubt they'd kill her first, honourably or not.
“I will take the boy,” said Koenyg. He came to Sasha. “I will see that he is…”
Sasha drew her sword, and took her opening stance, blade at quarter check behind her head, raised for the strike. Koenyg stopped.
“Any man,” said Sasha, “who attempts to remove this boy from me shall die. Tomorrow, I shall demand before this army that the priests of the Black Order be brought to account for their actions, and their bounty upon the heads of half-castes be withdrawn. Selith'en to tamathy, elish'an so valth'mal rae, y'seth lan as'far.” Evil grows in the dark, while good men lie, and snuff out the light. It was a saying well known in Saalsi. None present understood it, yet the mere fact of Saalsi spoken proudly in this room caused more eyes to widen.
Sasha grasped Tomli's hand and strode from the room, out into the night. Markan followed.
“Well that you bed with the Isfayen tonight,” he said. “Even the great Synnich-ahn cannot defeat foes in her sleep.”
“Very well,” Sasha agreed, following Markan's lead to the Isfayen camp.
“And better still should you bed with me tonight,” Markan added.
Sasha glanced at him in surprise. Then smiled. “I shall be the death of us all, Markan.”
“I know,” said Markan, a gleam in his eye. “It is arousing.”
Sasha sighed, and grasped little Tomli's hand more firmly.
She was awoken that night by a kick at her boot. Her eye flicked that way, unalarmed, despite the sudden grasp of her hand for the knife beneath the bundled cloak she used for a pillow. It was the safe way to wake a warrior, when nerves were on edge in the constant nighttime harassment of the serrin.
A dark figure crouched by her boots, backlit by the orange glow of coals.
“Sasha,” Damon murmured. Sasha turned to look and found Tomli, sleeping soundly alongside. She did not know how he slept. Perhaps it was exhaustion, or shock.
Sasha patted the thin bedroll, and shifted over for Damon. He slid in alongside her, an arm about her shoulders. It was no longer just affection between them, but habit. They had not been close for most of their lives, Sasha and Prince Damon, but lately that had changed. It was nice to have family, that was all. And Sasha thought of her sister Alythia, murdered in Tracato. She embraced her brother, and put her head on his chest.
“I know what you're doing,” Damon said quietly.
“I'm glad one of us does,” said Sasha.
“Don't play the fool with me,” Damon replied, but there was no anger in his words. “This is very dangerous, Sasha. Koenyg will not allow it. Nor will the northerners, nor most of the lords.”
“I know,” said Sasha. What was left of the fire crackled, and about it men snored. The camp seemed calm, and Sasha did not think they had been attacked tonight. “It's this or die, Damon. By my own hand. I can't live with this, and I don't think much of this column can either, once they know what's happening.”
“Koenyg is trying to stop them from learning,” said Damon.
“I know. But the king's power to prevent the men of Lenayin from knowing what they know has always been limited.” Sasha looked up at him. “Can you live with it?”
Damon said nothing for a moment, staring at the stars. Then he shook his head. Sasha guessed his thoughts, and what remained unsaid-however much he hated the situation, he did not know that he could stand up to Koenyg either.
“Sasha,” Damon murmured finally. “What would you have us do?”
“Switch sides,” said Sasha. From Damon's sigh beneath her cheek, she registered his unhappiness.
“It's always that simple with you,” he murmured with exasperation.
“I'm only interested in the destination, Damon. You worry too much for the state of the road.”
“If all you watch is your destination,” said Damon, “you may fail to notice the ravine that has opened between you and it.”
“Build a bridge,” said Sasha.
Damon pinched her ear. Sasha jabbed his ribs.
“It'll tear the Army of Lenayin apart,” said Damon.
Sasha raised herself from his chest and stared at him. “Damon,” she said firmly, “who fucking cares?” Damon gazed at her. Dumbly. “Who would take their side, if all who share our sympathies come with us?”
Damon thought about it. The north. The nobility…or many of them. He nodded, slowly. They were not people Damon wanted on his side any more than Sasha did. But…
“Koenyg,” he said. “And our father's memory. His spirit. This was his war….”
“It was Koenyg's,” Sasha snorted. “Father believed that the fates would show him the way, and the gods watch over us. All the actual decision making he left to Koenyg.”
“The purpose of this war was to unite all of Lenayin within a common cause,” Damon said stubbornly. “We've fought each other for all history, this is the first time we've fought all together, on a foreign campaign….”
“Aye, for the glory of a faith less than half the population shares,” Sasha interrupted. “Damon, you're arguing like Sofy-she always thinks it's better to make peace and bring people together. What about the men who murdered those children? Would you like to make peace with them? Forge a common destiny? Me, I say any common destiny with people like that is a destiny not worth having. I'd rather see their heads on pikes.”
“Or yours on one,” Damon warned.
“Yes,” Sasha agreed, adamantly. “Better that, too.”
“And what of the great Verenthane alliance that would sustain Lenayin for centuries to come?”
“What of it?” Sasha asked. “When did either of us believe in that? That Lenayin needed civilising, needed to become more like the lowlands? Those were always the dreams of men who never liked Lenayin, those whose greatest hope for their homeland was that we should become like someone else.
“Damon, the great hope of lowlands alliance is not the Verenthane faith. It's the serrin, it always was…. This…this land we invade, it's not perfect, but there is so much here that they got right. This is what we should be copying-education, tolerance, the abolition of the special rights of nobility, equal laws for all, the creation of wealth and trade….”
“Wait, wait.” Damon looked at her grimly. “These are the people who tortured you and murdered Alythia, and…”
“Some of them,” Sasha agreed. “Not all.”
“And even little Tomli was abandoned by his mother,” Damon persisted. “Are things so perfect here that…”
“Not perfect, no! But that's the point, Damon, the starting point is that we all must accept that humanity is not perfect, and never will be.”
“Any civilisation inspired by the serrin will never make an empire,” Damon said with certainty. “And only empires are any use to us, in allegiance. We're too far away, otherwise. This war is only worth the price for Lenayin if we gain in trade, or materials, or treaties of common interest. Grand treaties with hermit kingdoms do us naught, we'd do better to invade them ourselves and gain their benefits directly.”