“And now we equip our worst enemies with our deadliest weapons,” Rhillian finished. “But it was always going to happen. Things do not stand still upon the western side of the Ipshaal. Saalshen's enemies were always going to learn to use that weaponry one day.”
“You should have invaded them all when you had the chance,” said Sasha.
Rhillian shrugged. “The oldest argument, the oldest regret. Serrin are who we are-we thought that by not invading, we were being kind. And now our kindness will kill us.”
“War is not the worst thing.” Sasha thought of Markan, and Damon. Thought of pending battles, against enemies and friends. “Sometimes it is the lack of war that creates a worse disaster.”
Rhillian looked at her. “What are you going to do about Markan?”
Sasha was not surprised that Rhillian could guess her thoughts; Rhillian knew her well. “I should do what is best for Lenayin,” she replied, without conviction.
“Perhaps a woman to rule Lenayin would be good,” Aisha suggested. “Perhaps it would improve things.”
“Not even for the blink of an eye,” Sasha said sombrely. “Do you believe in that old nonsense of women acting more kindly and gently? This is me we're talking about, Aisha.”
“That is true,” Aisha conceded with a smile.
“The north would rebel,” Sasha added.
“The north rebel anyhow,” said Rhillian. “What difference?”
“Many more would join them. I am a Goeren-yai figure, so the Verenthanes would be threatened. And worse, the methods that Markan seeks to use to elevate me mean that every mad fool in Lenayin who feels slighted that the gods or spirits did not grant him an earlier birth will challenge his brother to battle. I agree that Lenayin needs a means of passing power from one man to another without the endless shedding of blood. I refuse to add to the bloodshed in generations to come.”
A boy of perhaps twelve came running to the bridge from the bakery. Errollyn greeted him, and the boy showed him the bow he was carrying. It looked newly made, and the right height for a boy that age.
“Well, they seem quite adamant, Sasha,” said Aisha. “I do not claim to know Lenayin as well as you, but I know it quite well for a foreigner. There does seem to be a desire for you to lead them, and I do not think they will simply allow you to refuse.”
“You know most peoples quite well, Aisha.” Sasha sighed. “They have superstitions. Some say I am the Synnich. I was Kessligh's uma, I am Goeren-yai, as are three-quarters of this army, and yes, I have achieved some things. Common Lenay folk have always disliked the Lenay nobility because the nobility hold titles that they did not earn. It is not the Lenay way. Now the nobles fight with the Regent, so naturally they strike against the ways of nobility, to elevate me above Damon.”
“You could lose to Damon on purpose,” Rhillian suggested. “In a tymorain.”
“You don't think they'd notice?” Sasha retorted.
“Or you could fight Markan,” said Aisha.
“My ally.” Sasha thought about it, frowning. “I'm not sure what it achieves. Nor if I could beat him at tymorain. I may strike him four out of five exchanges, but he's huge. He only needs to hit me once-he can kill much bigger opponents than me even with a stanch.”
“There is that,” Aisha agreed. “But Sasha, you said you wish to do what is best for Lenayin. These Lenay men have settled upon a stupid custom, and…”
“It's not a stupid custom,” Sasha retorted. “It is the elevation of the most capable, and more nations should follow it. It's just stupid to apply it to royalty.”
Sasha was interrupted by Errollyn, drawing the serrin boy's bow and firing an arrow into a nearby tree. He spoke with the boy, impressed. The boy was pleased.
“It's newly made,” Errollyn explained to her, seeing her watching. “I showed him how to make it a week ago.”
Sasha blinked. “He made it in a week?” Errollyn nodded. Sasha knew serrin bows were far more complex than anything humans used, comprised of several kinds of wood, moulded together in ways that dramatically increased power, accuracy, and range.
“You people are extraordinary,” she murmured.
Rhillian smiled, and grasped her hand. “Many of you people are just as extraordinary. So many of you have come to fight for us foreigners.”
Sasha shook her head. “We do not just fight for you. Everyone wishes to make a better world, and we all believe that the human world would be far better with the serrin still in it. We fight for ourselves.”
TWENTY-ONE
Sasha dreamed a terrible dream.
Then, with a start, she awoke. The first thing she saw was Errollyn's eyes, gazing at her on the pillows from barely a hand's breadth away.
“You dream,” Errollyn said softly.
“I dream of fire,” Sasha whispered. “And of rain.”
“Your people believe that a warrior's spirit guide will visit him before a great battle. Do you also believe?”
“Believe. That word is not the same from your lips and mine, even though we speak the same tongue. Serrin do not believe as humans do.”
“Do you believe?” Errollyn pressed.
Sasha recalled the fire, and the sea of raised spears and swords. Recalled the pouring rain upon the hillsides, quenching the flames. Fire and water, the primary place of spirits. Serrin had taught her to think clearly. Yet whatever else she was, she remained Lenay, and Goeren-yai.
“Yes,” she murmured.
“Perhaps you are the Synnich,” Errollyn suggested, sliding a hand to her waist beneath the sheets.
“No. I'm me.”
“Yet you believe in forces beyond the control of us all.”
“As do you.”
“I may be in the grip of one such force right now,” Errollyn agreed. He kissed her. Sasha kissed him back.
A knock on the door interrupted them. Sasha wrapped a leg about her lover and ignored it. The door opened a crack.
“A thousand pardons, sir and m'lady. There are visitors.”
“Better be good,” Sasha murmured against Errollyn's cheek. “Who?” she called more loudly.
“Your sister,” came the reply.
Sasha's eyes widened. “Sofy?” She scrambled from the bed, found some of her favoured thigh-length woollen underwear and a shirt, and just in time as a slim girl in loose pants and a floppy shirt came tearing into the chambers with no decorum at all, and charged at Sasha with a squeal.
Sasha grabbed her and they tumbled onto the bed. When Sasha let go to look at her, she could scarcely believe her eyes. Sofy's hair was nearly short. Not completely, but now it barely fell past her shoulders, a scandalous cut indeed for a girl who had always worn it halfway down her back. And she had odd braids in it, several to either side of her face, to wild and unpredictable effect. In Sofy's loose travelling clothes, Sasha could see no other sign of jewellery or decoration, save that she smelled lovely, like flowers.
“Good lords!” Sasha exclaimed. “What have you done with yourself? What happened to the Princess Regent?”
“Oh, I have tales!” Sofy explained, with a faint sadness through the joy. “But later. Look at you! You look fit and well, and I see few scars anywhere!” They hugged again. Sofy looked up from the bed to find Errollyn, who had dragged on a pair of pants for modesty. “Errollyn!”
She leaped up and hugged him too, then exclaimed at his remaining scars, a clear but fading tracery across his body. As they talked, Sasha felt an unexpected emotion. When Sofy's attention returned, she was surprised to find Sasha wiping tears.
“Sasha, what's wrong?”
“Everyone's here,” Sasha explained, helplessly. “Everyone I love. Or nearly everyone.”
“But we're going to win, right?” Sofy grasped her hands. “And when we win, how better than all together?”