Joel Shepherd - Tracato

“You have classes today?” she asked him.

“I promised Ulenshaal Timar I’d take a Saalsi class,” said Errollyn. “After that, I have Aemon to visit.”

“You be careful with Aemon; the Tracato nobility may look very tame but underneath I’m certain they’re no different from elsewhere.”

“I know,” Errollyn said mildly. He slid his hands down her back, then up her bare sides.

“That doesn’t do my stiffness any good at all,” she said, smiling.

“Does wonders for mine,” said Errollyn. Sasha laughed. She threw off the sheets and rolled over.

“Come on then,” she dared him, with her irresistible, mischievous smile. “Wake me up properly.”

After morning training, and a wash, Errollyn walked to the Tol’rhen courtyard to see the camp. There had to be a thousand people, he guessed. Some made tents from wooden frames, others strung ropes between statues upon which to drape canvas, while others slept under carts. Now there were fires, and farm animals gathered amidst piles of hay. Banners hung, several draped over statues-the sickle-and-scythe flag of the Civid Sein.

Tol’rhen Nasi-Keth walked amongst them, handing out food and blankets. A cart was making the rounds, unloading firewood, also supervised by Nasi-Keth. Errollyn saw several youngsters he knew, talking amiably with rough-dressed rural folk. All the rural folk seemed to be armed, some with tools, some with genuine weapons. About the courtyard perimeter, Blackboots were watching, with grim expressions.

By the foot of a grand statue of some famous general, Errollyn spotted Ulenshaal Sevarien and Reynold Hein, in conversation with several Civid Sein men. He walked to them, and wondered what cityfolk would make of these outsiders using their historical statues for tent posts. Sevarien spotted him, and waved him over.

“Master Errollyn!” he boomed. “These are farmers Stefani and Dujane, leaders of our gathering.”

Our gathering? Errollyn wondered to himself.

“Where is your satellite?” asked Reynold, looking around.

“Presently eclipsed in a class of Lenay history,” said Errollyn, flexing a shoulder where Sasha had struck him at training.

“Ah, Sashandra would make an excellent Ulenshaal!” exclaimed Sevarien with a laugh. “It might help the meaningful discussion of Lenay history if she could do so without waving her sword around midlesson, mind you.”

“Sasha believes that history should never be dull,” Errollyn said, shaking his head. “The camp has grown considerably.”

Farmer Stefani nodded. “Soon it will be bigger,” he assured them. He was a large man, with a moustache, and smelled of animals. “We heard what General Zulmaher is doing in Elisse. This cannot be allowed-Elisse cannot become a stronghold for the Rhodaani nobility’s feudalist allies.”

Sevarien beamed, and slapped Stefani’s shoulder. “And nor shall it be allowed. We’ll show those nobility that Rhodaan belongs to the common folk, not the entitled wealthy.”

Reynold excused himself and made off through the crowd.

“What kind of demonstration do you intend?” Errollyn asked. He made his tone conversational, betraying no concern.

“Whatever it takes,” said Stefani, with dour certainty. “The nobility debate in council, how to restore taxation to the landed men. Maldereld made it illegal two hundred years ago, and now they try to bring it back. To remove the power of the Council, and replace it with the money of nobility and their paid men-at-arms.” He glowered in the direction of the Blackboots. “In Enora they’d cut off their heads for daring to suggest it.”

“My friends at the Mahl’rhen are certain it won’t go that far,” Errollyn offered. “They say the debate in council is more about relieving some overburdened nobility from too much taxation, not about granting nobles the power of taxation.”

“Dear Errollyn,” said Sevarien, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You of all people should know better than to place much store in the analysis of the Mahl’rhen. Yours are a gentle people, they do not understand the viciousness and brutality of such folk as the nobility. Only a du’jannah such as yourself can understand.”

Errollyn thought he understood quite well. Exactly what he understood, about gatherings like this one, and some of the Nasi-Keth’s recent infatuation with them, he did not think wise to share.

Sasha was talking to Ulenshaal Martinesse when Reynold appeared at the door. The class had been overflowing, with students standing in alcoves and sitting against the stone walls to fit in. Martinesse had interrupted frequently, and the two women had argued for much of the class, to the delight of onlookers. Sasha had been quite alarmed at just how wrong Martinesse’s interpretations were of the reasons for Verenthanism’s spread through Lenayin. Now the silver-haired lady continued the debate, as perhaps twenty students clustered about to hear.

“Ladies, please excuse me,” Reynold cut in, walking from the doorway. “Ulenshaal, could I borrow Sashandra for a moment? She is much in demand, I know.”

The students looked disappointed. “We shall continue this at lunch,” Martinesse told them.

“Assuredly,” said Sasha.

“Come students!” Martinesse announced, clapping her hands. “I know you have other classes to get to.” They departed, some with a final, appreciative thanks to Sasha.

“Martinesse is an excellent Ulenshaal, yes?” Reynold said.

“She’s very smart,” said Sasha, trying to be polite. That much was true at least, and she hated lying.

“But?”

“I don’t know, some of the people in this place…I mean, they’re very clever, but they have these favourite ideas. And instead of accepting that they’re wrong when evidence proves their favourite ideas silly, they refuse to, and twist all evidence to try to make it fit their opinion.”

“Ah,” said Reynold. “But you cannot deny the passion for ideas in this place.”

“Ideas, yes,” said Sasha. “But ideas are not facts. Any fool can invent a crazy idea and be passionate about it, I don’t see that counts as wisdom.”

Reynold laughed. “Oh, come, surely we’re not that bad?”

“Not all of you, no,” Sasha conceded, stretching. She needed to get outside for a while, and clear her head. “Not most of you. I don’t know… I’m from a land of simple, straightforward people, Reynold; they say what they think and accept facts as they appear obvious. They’re not as sophisticated as anyone here, but I don’t think education and wisdom are necessarily the same thing.”

“Or perhaps you’re just homesick.”

Sasha shrugged, and smiled at him. “A little,” she admitted. “Did you wish to speak to me about something?”

Reynold thought for a moment. “I was wondering of your relationship with Errollyn.”

Sasha gave a puzzled smile. Reynold would not be the first to be curious about that. Hells, she was curious herself. “Yes?”

“Do you foresee marriage?”

Sasha laughed. “To a serrin?”

“It does happen, in Tracato,” Reynold insisted. “Initiated by the serrin themselves.”

“I’d never thought that far. Foresight and planning aren’t my strong points, as Kessligh’s always telling me.”

“So you don’t foresee marriage?”

“Reynold, I honestly couldn’t say.”

“He is very handsome,” Reynold pressed. “Most girls would be jealous of the chance to bed a man like him each night.”

Sasha was amused, but didn’t find the conversation reason enough to stay away from the sunlight. “Yes, well, the many jealous girls of Tracato will just have to deal with it. I have to get outside, I can’t stay inside for long.”