Respect naturally shifted to Markan as the most senior Lenay on this side of the fight, beneath Damon and Sasha. And Markan, being Isfayen, had brought all of the Isfayen's old misgivings of royalty with him. When Sasha's great-grandfather Soros Lenayin had liberated the nation from the Cherrovan, it had been the Isfayen alone who remained unconvinced of his right to rule. They'd had to have the respect beaten into them by an admittedly much larger force before they'd consented to royal rule from Baen-Tar.
Now Markan found himself kingmaker, quite literally. Sasha only recognised about half of the faces of the other men surrounding her-these were not lords, as most of those remained with Koenyg. These were respected warriors, elevated from their status as leaders of towns and villages, with honour earned in recent battle. Sasha's eyes widened a little as she realised what had been happening.
“These men,” she said, turning a slow circle to face all about her. “They are now…what? Honorary great lords of their provinces?”
“For now we call them lord yuans,” Markan confirmed.
“And how were they selected for this honour?”
“Each province held a rathynal of its most senior leaders. There was debate, and the most honoured were nominated. Some provinces held a vote. Others conducted a tymorain.”
A ritual combat, that was, with stanches instead of swords. Sasha thought it a stupid way to select leaders in battle-the ability to club someone with a stanch said nothing for their ability to lead large formations in war. But now was not the time for that argument.
“So you believe that this same concept should be applied to determining the true heir between royals?”
Markan nodded. “We do. We have voted.” There was a murmur of assent from those surrounding.
“To what purpose?”
“To determine the true leader of Lenayin,” said Markan.
Sasha nearly laughed. “An Isfayen says so? You who made war upon my great-grandpa because you didn't think Lenayin should have any single leader at all?”
“Isfayen has changed,” said Markan, impassively. “The royal family has been good for Lenayin. The royal family is impartial and favours no province above others. The Isfayen believe in the honour of a fair contest, and we would see this honour continue in Lenayin.”
“Yet now you challenge the method by which that royal family determines its heirs.”
“Your brother Wylfred,” said Markan. “Would you have him lead Lenayin ahead of your brother Damon because he is older?” Sasha frowned. Wylfred barely knew one end of a sword from another. His best chance in battle would be to lecture his enemy to death. “Of course you would not. Of those two, Prince Damon is by far the most worthy.”
“Well, thanks so much,” Damon murmured. Sasha nearly grinned.
“Yet here, Lenayin has two contenders to be heir,” Markan continued. “Of the two, Sashandra Lenayin has shown herself the greater with a blade, and the greater in command. This is no dishonour to Prince Damon-few in Lenayin, if any, could claim otherwise. The brohyl in Lenayin is built upon the selection of who is best, not who is next. So should it always be.”
There were growls of strong approval about the circle.
“You're an idiot,” Sasha told him. “You're all idiots. Courageous and honourable idiots, but idiots you remain. This is no time to declare war on the nobility. What you're doing is changing the way Lenayin works. Now that's a nice idea, but not here. This is not that fight. This fight is for Jahnd and for Saalshen, in the belief that their survival will make Lenayin stronger and more prosperous than were they to be destroyed.
“The purpose of a royal family in Lenayin is to make stability. What you seek to do is to make that family unstable. If an heir can be challenged, then nothing is certain. The challenger will also be challenged. And hells, why stop there? There are countless men across Lenayin who could probably rule better than Damon, or I, or Koenyg, or anyone here. What you presume to introduce is a custom by which any of them may feel entitled, by virtue of simply being a good warrior, or having a very large head, to prove himself worthy. How could a king rule, if half the people question aloud whether he is truly the most worthy, and the other half are challenging him in person?”
“This is nonsense,” said someone else. “We speak only of a contest between family members, not outsiders.”
“So you would set brother against brother?” Sasha asked, rounding on that man incredulously. “Or against sister? My family is strained and crazy enough without the prospect of someday having to break each others' skulls with sticks.
“Furthermore, customs change. The serrin insist linguistic and historical proof exists that the Isfayen people are descended from the Kazeri. Today, they are vastly different from the Kazeri. Even in towns across Lenayin, old men tell of days when customs were different. What you seek to introduce here is not a custom, but an ideal, and over time the rules of custom always bend before the power of ideals. The ideal is equality, which is a nice ideal, and I admit I find it attractive. But a royal family's purpose is not equality, it is stability. I promise you that if you make this precedent of discarding the certainty of a fixed line of succession, you shall indeed introduce a new era of equality to Lenayin-we shall most of us be equally dead, the survivors equally regretful, and our neighbours and enemies equally delighted.”
There were grumblings about the circle, men looking dissatisfied. Sasha glanced at Damon, who nodded, quite impressed.
“You are not queen yet,” said Markan, unmoved. “These matters are not for you to decide, and for us to obey. Lenayin is about to embark on its greatest ever trial of blood and steel. The men of Lenayin who shall write this history, shall also write these laws.”
“You don't own me, Markan,” Sasha said with a deadly stare. “I will not merely go where you direct me.”
“If you presume to be our leader, you will. No leader can rule Lenayin without consent of the ruled.”
“I don't want to be queen. It is you who presume to make me your leader, without my consent. So desperate are you to be ruled, free spirit of Isfayen?”
That finally got a reaction, a fire in the big man's eyes. “All men are ruled, higher powers than men have chosen so, and it is beyond the will of men to oppose them. I do have a choice in who shall rule. And I shall use it.”
TWENTY
Across the Dhemerhill Valley, a wall was rising. Sasha rode before it, observing the rows of sharpened stakes that sprouted from the ground like some evil forest, and the deep trench beyond them. The wall itself was now taller than her as she sat on her horse, but even short ladders would scale it. Her initial optimism to see Jahnd's excellent defensive terrain began to fade.
“It's not very big,” Yasmyn observed at her side. Her messengers were also with her, and Daish, and several Ilduuri captains including Arken. She'd ridden with them all up the Dhemerhill to the Ipshaal River and back. It was a relatively clear path, a fertile valley with lands cleared about the river for crops and irrigation. The valley was wide enough that ten thousand men could stand shoulder-to-shoulder, and though field walls and fences crisscrossed it, those would be dismantled by the advancing army in moments. The Ilduuri captains looked grim, and Sasha shared their sentiment.
She climbed the far valley side until the shallow slope found a road, then followed the road as the slope rose sharply. Upon a crest that made a good lookout, she joined Kessligh, seated ahorse with Lenay, Rhodaani, and Enoran commanders.