"Your Highness!" Lord Rydysh exclaimed angrily. "The gods put men in the world to do their bidding and fight their battles! One does not simply give up the battle as lost because of setbacks! At least we must demand that the Udalyn convert! This is Verenthane land, surrounded by Verenthane peoples! To ask the two to continue to coexist would be folly!"
"They do everywhere else in Lenayin," the king said mildly. "Why not here?"
"This is the north!" Lord Rydysh seethed. "We value our independence. These lands are ours. We do things our way, Your Highness. King Soros decreed that it would be so."
"King Soros is dead," said the king. "I rule now." Lord Rydysh glared at him, grinding his teeth. Koenyg looked uncomfortable and uncertain. For twelve years, the powerful men of Lenayin had taken the king's lack of involvement in such matters for granted.
Watching him, Sasha felt her heart thumping with a new, hopeful urgency. Dared she hope? Dared anyone hope that the old king had finally returned?
"The Hadryn have been defeated on their home soil, Lord Rydysh," Torvaal said. "The gods have chosen. The victor is clear."
King Torvaal turned to Sasha. "Your terms are acceptable." There was a deathly stillness. Sasha could see the lords thinking furiously. She wondered how long any decree, even the king's, could survive against all the forces pushing the other way.
"I, however," Torvaal continued, "have terms of my own."
Sasha nodded. "Name them."
"All men who rode on this adventure shall once again declare their fealty to the throne, upon their honour. Only then shall they receive their pardon."
"Of course," Sasha agreed. "They never left your service, Father. They fight unjust lords and bigotry, not the king."
"It gives me little comfort to preside as a neutral over a Lenay civil war," Torvaal said somewhat testily. "Sofy shall return to me, and quickly."
"Aye," said Sasha. "She will when she's ready." Her father's stare darkened at that. "Father, this is her first breath of freedom in eighteen years! Give the girl a little time."
"Two days," Torvaal said firmly. "She keeps the company of rough men and soldiers. People will talk. It will not do."
"She tends our wounded," Sasha corrected, dryly. "She assists those in need."
"Two days," Torvaal repeated.
Sasha sighed. "Aye, Your Highness."
"Master Jaryd shall present himself to his Tyree lords for judgment."
"Not a bloody chance," Sasha said grimly.
"Sashandra," said her father, with the beginnings of temper, "the powers of a king in Lenayin are limited. The lords rule within their provinces, up to the point where those rights come into conflict with the king's law. A king has no say in a fight between provincial lords. This is an internal matter for Tyree. It must be settled."
"What's to settle?" Sasha retorted, glaring at Lord Arastyn standing over by a window. "Family Nyvar is no more. You are Great Lord of Tyree now, Arastyn. Why do you need Jaryd?"
"Tyree law is Tyree law," Arastyn said stonily. "It is immutable."
"Aye, well we're not in Tyree!" Sasha snapped. "I have seven thousand under my command, and I make the rules for men beneath my command. You want him, you come and get him."
"Your Highness," Arastyn said to Torvaal, "she is unreasonable." Torvaal gave him a look that suggested him a fool to have expected anything else.
"Who'll you get to come and take me?" Jaryd said from Sasha's back. His tone was flat, edged with darkness. "The Falcon Guard? They stand with me. You are powerless, Arastyn. A powerless coward. All the power and wealth of the Tyree nobility, and you're afraid of one man who does not respect your laws.
"Well, damn right I don't respect your laws. I challenge those laws. I challenge you, Arastyn. I challenge you to a duel. If you want me dead, you'll have to kill me yourself."
"Master Jaryd," Arastyn said, with dry contempt, "even a fool like you should know our laws better than to think a landless nothing like you can challenge his superior to a duel."
"Verenthane law, aye," said Jaryd. "But not Goeren-yai."
Arastyn stared at him, uncomprehendingly. "Goeren-yai? Master Jaryd, you are a Verenthane."
"Aye," said Jaryd, reaching beneath his collar, "well, not anymore." He pulled free his Verenthane star, snapped the silver chain about his neck with a sharp tug, and threw it at Arastyn's feet. "I reject your gods. I reject your law. From this moment, I follow the ancient ways. And I challenge you to mortal combat, Lord Arastyn, for the Great Lordship of Tyree, and the death of my brother and father."
About the room, men stared in disbelief. "You…" Arastyn began, and floundered, speechless.
"You can't do that!" exclaimed Lord Parabys, horrified.
"Good gods, man!" said Lord Kumaryn. "What of your soul?"
"Arastyn took that when he killed my brother," Jaryd snarled. "If the gods shall not allow me my revenge, then I rest my claim with the ancient spirits instead."
Koenyg snorted in profound frustration, and flicked a gloved hand through his hair. "Where's a priest when we need one?" he muttered.
King Torvaal frowned hard at Jaryd. Evidently thinking. When was the last time a Verenthane noble had converted, Sasha wondered past her astonishment? If it had ever happened, she couldn't recall it. Plenty of senior Goeren-yai had converted the other way to please King Soros… but this? She couldn't recall it happening even amongst poor, common Verenthanes.
Lord Arastyn fingered his own neckchain uncomfortably. He seemed a naturally calm and sensible man. A trustworthy man, with an inoffensive, handsome face. Exactly the kind of person, Kessligh insisted in his more cynical moments, from whom one should expect the worst treachery. "Even if such a thing were possible," Arastyn said defensively, "you are still a man of Tyree. You are subject to our laws and punishments."
"And as Goeren-yai," Sasha added, "he is entitled to redeem a slight upon his honour, no matter how high the rank of the man he challenges."
"After his trial," Arastyn said stubbornly.
"Before," Sasha insisted, shaking her head. Nice try, slippery worm. "He can't challenge after you've cut his head off."
"Actually," said Captain Akryd, conversationally, "this is the kind of thing a Goeren-yai man's immediate headman or chieftain should decide. Duels must be conducted according to the proper protocol."
"Pagan madness!" Lord Rydysh snarled, and strode from the cottage with a disgusted wave of his arm. He exited with a slam of the rear door.
"Who would be Master Jaryd's immediate superior?" asked the king, as if Lord Rydysh had never spoken, nor stormed out in rage. "Given his… circumstance?"
"Your Highness!" Lord Parabys exclaimed. "You're not seriously considering allowing this… this..
"I'm not a priest, but I don't see how a man can be instructed by others on what he does or does not believe," said the king, looking at Akryd. "How about your poor bloody daughter?" Sasha nearly asked, but didn't. "Captain Akryd, humour my curiosity."
"Well, Your Highness," said Akryd, "I believe since Master Jaryd is not born into a Goeren-yai community, and has no village headman to speak for him, his senior commander in military matters should suffice for a judgment."
"As the senior military Goeren-yai," Torvaal observed, "that would be you."
"Aye, Highness," said Akryd, somewhat smugly. "It seems a quandary, does it not? One law for Verenthanes, another for Goeren-yai."
"One of the great quandaries of Lenayin," the king agreed. "Especially considering the Goeren-yai have no written law, and will not accept one. There is only tradition."
"One reason, perhaps, why Goeren-yai and Verenthane do not frequently live together," said Akryd. "These squabbles can be confusing."
"And one reason why certain Verenthanes would like nothing better than to see the Goeren-yai destroyed completely," Sasha said darkly, with a stare at the lords.