Joel Shepherd - Tracato

In Lenayin, war was serious, and fought over honour, insult or injury. In the Bacosh, it seemed a matter of formality and procedure, as regular as the seasons. Even now, she learned, many of the tournament’s participant families were technically in a state of war. Bacosh wars did not seem so devastating as Lenay wars, however. Captured knights were ransomed, and while villages frequently swapped sides as feudal territories were rearranged, they were rarely slaughtered outright. Once, Sofy might have thought the Bacosh method more greatly civilised. But now, as she sat and watched the splendid knights charging in their gleaming armour, she wondered if the relative civility of Bacosh wars had caused the Bacosh people to come to love war too much.

There were no Lenays in the joust, Sofy was pleased to see. With no experience at this kind of warfare, it would not have been a good showing for her countrymen. However, there were Lenay-style swordwork contests elsewhere in the tournament grounds, she was told.

After several hours seated, she needed to stretch her legs. When one was princess regent, she discovered, one did not simply go for a stroll. By the time she was free of the stands and walking amidst the crowds, she had an escort of eight knights, a herald, Princess Elora, four ladies-in-waiting, and two servants. The crowds stared as the procession passed, and Elora chatted to her on the endless fascination of the Bacosh nobility-families, weddings, children, lines of succession and who was feuding with whom. Sofy had known it was complicated, but now she was beginning to feel dizzy. For the first time, she found herself wondering what would happen to her new family if the Enoran, Rhodaani and Ilduuri Steel held firm in the battles ahead. Almost certainly, she suspected, the regency would fall, and other families would begin fighting for the title. The boundaries of the Bacosh provinces would shift, and whether she or any of Family Arosh would still be alive at the end of it, she did not know.

The Lenay sword contests, which attracted nearly as large a crowd as the jousts, were held within a series of wide circles fenced for the occasion. Sofy stayed long enough to see several invited Bacosh knights, in padded bandas instead of clamshell armour, soundly defeated in flashing exchanges of wooden blades. Some of her female entourage ceased their excited gushing about the valiance of the knights, and began asking admiring questions of various Lenay warriors. All were astonished to learn that Sofy had no clue as to the identity of most of them, as they were not renowned nobles, but poor farmers or villagers from across Lenayin. Most were greatly discomforted when one such Goeren-yai farmer knocked a genuine noble lord to the ground…and astonished further that the nobleman’s only reply was to grin, and acknowledge his opponent’s superior move. Soon enough there were no more Bacosh knights contesting within the tachadar circles, and Sofy’s contingent began to wonder loudly what was happening back at the jousts.

For lunch, the noble entourage was escorted back to Castle Jacquey, where a long table had been set in a grand hall. Still there was no sign of Balthaar. It took Yasmyn’s approach, as Sofy sat to entree, to solve that mystery.

“He’s in the high study,” Yasmyn said over Sofy’s shoulder in Lenay, as others frowned at the intrusion. “There is a gathering of Bacosh lords there. I think they argue.”

“Over what?”

“These are men who love their tournaments. There is only one thing they love more.” And when Sofy frowned, Yasmyn added, “War,” clearly thinking her princess a little slow.

Sofy put her napkin on the table crossly, and stood up. “Sister dearest,” said Elora in surprise, “does something bother you?”

“Yes something bothers me,” Sofy declared. “I am a newly wedded woman, and I have not been attended by my husband all day. If he shall not attend to me, then I shall attend to him,” she said, and left.

Knights scrambled from the table to pursue her, as the ladies looked at each other, astonished at the ill-decorum of it all.

“And where have you been all morning?” Sofy asked Yasmyn.

“Saving a marriage,” Yasmyn said grimly. “It is not well that your husband should ignore you all day. If he were my husband, and he were in the wrong, I would strike him.”

“And if you were in the wrong?”

“Suck him.” Sofy blinked. “If you will not fuck him, you may consider it.”

“Good lords, Yasmyn,” Sofy muttered. “I’ve never had a friend quite so exasperating as you. Not even Sasha.”

“I say what needs to be said.”

The guards at the study doors did not prevent the princess regent from entering. Within, she found a room of tables, shelves and books, lit only by some narrow windows overlooking the tournament. There was nothing of calm discussion within, but rather a collection of lords in raiments and house colours, seated or standing in various small groups, arguing with animation. They barely looked at Sofy as she entered, Yasmyn at her side, and searched for her husband.

Balthaar sat at the table’s end, head in hands, as several lords shouted and pointed fingers across him. He saw Sofy, and straightened, astonished. He climbed to his feet.

“My sweet,” he said, taking her hands and kissing them. “You must forgive me, I have been a dreadful husband. Trust me that I should have rather been at your side than here, yet my duties have forbidden it.”

Balthaar loved to ride, hunt and tourney. The study was gloomy, and he had looked bored as sin when Sofy entered. Her heart softened. “And what is this?” she asked.

“We discuss the order of battle. There is so much history in this room, families and feuds and old wars. There is great honour to marching one’s standard at the vanguard of war. We contest for a place of prestige upon the field, and seek not to march upon the flank of some old foe. I fear it could take all day, and perhaps much of tomorrow.” He kissed her hand once more. “Go back to the tourney, my sweet. This is not a matter for you.”

“On the contrary,” Sofy insisted. “I have heard little else besides such matters on the ride to Larosa. Lenayin knows as much of petty bloodfeuds as the Bacosh, I fear, yet we have seen them all resolved to this point. I am certain I can help.”

“Your father and brother allowed your assistance to mediate between the Lenay provinces?”

“But of course,” said Sofy. Koenyg was not so hard headed as to ignore his youngest sister’s persuasive powers. He had coached her, of course, but where offers of possible marriages and royal gifts were concerned to seal an agreement, all knew that such things were far more readily accepted from her mouth than her brothers’ or father’s. And she recalled Myklas saying with affection, after she had persuaded Lord Iraskyn of Yethulyn to allow his son’s standing unit, the Silver Eagles, to hold a rather less glamorous position on the inside flank, that he had no idea how they would run the kingdom without her. “Please, Balthaar, let me help,” she continued. “It does not look good for the new princess regent to wander the tourney without her husband. I may not be able to wield a sword in our partnership, but I can certainly use my tongue.”

Balthaar smiled at her. “One notices. As you will, then. Here, I shall fill you in on the details.”

She had most of it resolved by midafternoon. Balthaar was not the only man impressed. All kissed her hand upon departing, and many bowed low. Sofy wondered how any of these fools, in the Bacosh or Lenayin, got anything done without her. Men blustered, made threats and were easily upset. She soothed their egos, made gentle flattery, and found the happy turn of every dark assignment. When that did not work, she bribed, but not crudely. Whatever the worst opinions of commonfolk and gossips, most noblemen in her experience did not desire simply wealth and power-it was rather status, and respect, that drove their craving for gold.