The statue stood adorned in a giant, purple cloak with golden arrowheads, and had a huge, eight-pointed Verenthane medallion about its neck. Around its great, muscular arms were flower garlands, silk tresses and silver bells. The men on the ropes heaved and yelled, muscles straining, while others moved ahead downslope, directing the way or helping to steer. Several carried great wooden blocks to jam under the wheels and the cart tried to run away. The crowd yelled and threw things. Musicians followed the descent, a colourful, unholy racket of trumpets and drums.
“House Firis!” Errollyn shouted over the noise, grinning. “They look to be struggling a little! The night's young yet, perhaps they went out too hard on the first climb!”
Sasha stared down in wide-eyed amazement. Behind the musicians trailing House Firis, another cart was descending into view between close, roadside walls. What happened if one of them lost control? The thought didn't seem to bother the roadside crowds, many of whom moved alongside their chosen team yelling encouragement. The Endurance would go on all night. Surely not all of these teams would have enough fit men to make the final, dawn climb back up the incline.
The statues, Sasha knew, were of Saint Sadis himself. It had astonished her when she'd first seen them. Her knowledge of Verenthane saints was limited to Saint Ambellion, the man who had brought the faith to Lenayin. He was depicted as an old man in robes, walking in worn sandals with the help of a gnarled staff. Saint Sadis was, by comparison, sexy.
When Saint Sadis had first come from the Bacosh, Petrodor was just a little fishing village ruled by a local duke who lived in a castle atop the incline. Legend had it that Sadis's preaching had insulted the duke, who sentenced Sadis to ten days of the worst labour in Petrodor-hauling carts up and down the slope from the shoreline below. In those ten days, the story went, Sadis had borne incredible loads with tireless determination, and had shown no sign of weakness. Men had asked for the secret of his strength, and had learned that it came from the Verenthane gods. From that inspiration, the Verenthane faith had grown strong in Petrodor. Every Sadisi, men spent one day, and all of the night, hauling laden carts up and down the slopes to commemorate Sadis's efforts, and to demonstrate their own faith-through-endurance to the gods. They'd been going since dawn, and the strain was showing.
“Whose house are we standing on?” Sasha thought to ask.
“Friends,” said Rhillian, with a vague shrug. Despite her usual directness, Rhillian could be as obtuse as any serrin where questions of security were concerned. “I don't see any of the Firis sons present.”
“Busy elsewhere, no doubt,” Errollyn agreed. “The sons are usually the most eager to represent their house. I see a few cousins I recognise, some uncles, lots of minor related houses. No, wait…there's Georgy Firis. At the end of the second rope.”
“Only a grandson,” said Rhillian, with a faint shake of the head. “Not a great commitment from a senior Steiner ally to the Endurance. Evidently they have matters more pressing.”
“More talks?” Sasha asked, frowning. “Even on Sadisi?”
“House Steiner holds a great festival celebration at the Steiner Mansion,” said Rhillian. “Everyone shall be there. Your sisters included.”
Marya and Alythia. It felt strange to be so far from home, and to know that two of her sisters were so near. Marya was wife to Symon Steiner, the eldest son of Patachi Marlen Steiner. Once the patachi died, Marya would be the wife of the most powerful man in Petrodor. There were four children, none of whom Sasha had met. It had been fourteen years, in fact, since she'd last seen Marya. Sometimes she hoped, perhaps forlornly, for a reunion. She doubted that the grand house of Steiner would be pleased at the prospect.
She'd beaten Alythia's wedding train into Petrodor by ten days. The wedding had been five days after that…two weeks ago now. She'd only seen the wedding from a distance. She was not insulted at having been excluded from the invitations. She greatly doubted that House Halmady would have been any more thrilled to see her than House Steiner. And, unlike Marya, Alythia would most likely have shared the sentiment.
By such ties did the greatest trading city in all Rhodia bind itself to the highlands barbarian kingdom. Houses that were not even royal-made noble only by their colossal, garish accumulation of wealth-wedded various princesses of Lenayin in order to ensure the loyalty of their uncivilised neighbours. Sasha had never been one to place much store in the divine rights of noble birth, and yet she still found something about it all distasteful. Well, she thought grimly, watching the men of House Firis straining against their burden, this is one Princess of Lenayin who's not for sale.
“You didn't just invite me up here to watch the parade, did you?” Sasha asked Rhillian, warily. Rhillian gave her a brilliant, faintly dangerous smile.
“Ar'mahler t'eign,” she said, reproachfully. Arnai, meaning “indelicate” or “graceless,” elided to leimahler, meaning “opinion”…but very close to leimas, meaning “view.” And eign from rhe'leign, meaning “future”…but elided to the omnipresent tas, implying the subjective, rather than the objective. Implying, perhaps, that the holder of such an indelicate opinion (suspicion?) was…paranoid? Was not thinking clearly? Had struck close in her suggestion, but not accurately? Or all of the above…or none?
“Ny as'sere sa'toth khan,” Sasha retorted. “Don't play games with me.” Saalsi was poetic, and obtuse, and could be read backward, forward and any combination in between. A language of poets, philosophers and dreamers, for whom the form was often more important than the function. She'd learned it well, by human standards, in her twelve years in the Lenayin wilds with Kessligh. When she was younger, he'd sometimes insisted they spoke nothing but Saalsi for months. But it still confused her at times, to hear those familiar forms upon the lips of serrin. Serrin who used words as a dockside juggler tossed knives, a dazzling play of surprise and misdirection.
“You can often tell who's plotting what just by watching people,” Aisha said cheerfully in Saalsi, gazing down on the road. Aisha was usually cheerful, and had the good manners not to twist her Saalsi into knots that strained a poor human's comprehension. Being half-human herself, she had more sympathy for their shortcomings. “For instance, look…up the road here, at the next cart. That's House Esheron. And here carrying the wheel blocks is Ellot Esheron, Patachi Esheron's brother…only his arm is in a sling, and he appears to be limping, which explains why he's carrying the blocks instead of manning a rope. An accident, or has he been fighting with someone?”
“It's rumoured he and his brother don't get along well,” Errollyn said thoughtfully. “There was that missing Ameryn shipment, and the shortchanging of the moneylenders.”
“Perhaps the moneylenders tried to get even,” Rhillian suggested.
“Or perhaps his wife beat him up again!” Aisha laughed. “She's a fierce one!”
The three serrin continued the commentary as house after house passed with their laden carts down the Corkscrew. Their knowledge of the inner doings of the Petrodor families seemed inexhaustible. But then, the talmaad served Saalshen. It was their business to know, and they had plenty of gold to spend for the knowing.
Sasha's interest increased considerably as the cart of House Halmady came into view. The livery was black and red, the statue of Saint Sadis pointing with one accusing forefinger, eyes intent above a flowing beard. The crowd of followers about the Halmady cart seemed particularly large and vocal. The trailing musicians made a din that could barely be described as music.
“You'd think the second-most powerful house in Petrodor could afford some decent musicians,” Sasha suggested with a wince.