Joel Shepherd - Tracato

The soldiers bid good day and came down the column, nodding to each man, and Sasha, in turn. Sasha tipped her hat so that it half hid her face, and neither soldier seemed to notice that she was a woman. She wore pants and jacket too large for her, with a man’s tailoring to hide her figure. So far, she thought, her disguise was good.

A time later, the column ascended a forested hill until it arrived at a castle’s walls. The drawbridge seemed permanently lowered, and the moat dry, overgrown with bracken. Maids and castlehands came running as they entered the grounds, and pulled up the horses before the stables. Sasha managed to dismount herself, yet her legs would have folded had not someone caught her under the armpits. She hurt so much, and her head now spun so she did not know one direction from another. She tried to walk, but that was futile. Someone picked her up and carried her like a helpless child, and she was too exhausted to even feel embarrassed.

Indoors then, within walls of cool stone, and up narrow stairs that echoed to men’s boots. A room, and then a bed, and she was laid down. Men departed, voices fading, and then women were undressing her. They had the treatments Aisha had given her before she’d left the Mahl’rhen. They were kept in Sasha’s saddlebags, and reapplied at each stop. She’d done this before. But first, she would have to survive a trip to the washroom, and a cold wash.

She awoke some time later in the room, lit now with a single lamp. Beyond the narrow window was darkness, wind in the trees, and insects chirping. Dear spirits, it was wilderness. The air had that smell to it of nearby forest, and the faint, musty scent of farm animals. Despite her pains, Sasha nearly smiled. So long she’d spent in cities, first in Petrodor, now in Tracato. Never again, she promised herself. And finally she did smile, for she knew the promise was a lie.

She heard laughter downstairs, and a snatch of song. A wafting scent of food cooking. Her stomach grumbled. She sighed, took a deep breath, and sat up slowly. Her arms and legs were quite a sight. The cane scars varied from short to long, with colours from pink to purple to deep, wine red. The deeper ones had scabbed over, and the whole mess pulled on her skin whenever she moved. Her stomach, sides and legs were purple and black with bruises. Her burns looked appalling. They scarred over now, with great blisters breaking the crust. Some blisters had burst, and now oozed. She hoped the skin would not heal badly, and restrict her svaalverd in the future.

On that thought, she got up, pressed her hands to a wall, and stretched her naked body upward until the scars began to scream in pain. She held it as long as she dared. Kessligh would tell her. She could hear his voice in her head, instructing her not to slacken off because of a few cuts and burns.

The only clothing in the chamber was a robe. Her fellow travellers, however, had not made the mistake of depriving her of her weapons. She tied the robe, took up her sheathed sword, and left the room. Her bare feet careful on cool stone steps, she descended into a common hall. Men and several women looked up from long tables, now stocked with steaming food. They hailed her, and gestured a seat on a bench. Sasha took it, alongside Lord Elot, and opposite young Torase, who had accompanied her and Errollyn on their rescue of Alythia and Lady Renine. Torase, Sasha had gathered, was Lord Elot’s nephew. Lord Elot, in turn, was cousin-by-marriage of Family Renine.

These family connections had once been all important in Rhodaan. Such ties had compelled men to fight and die. Blood had been the law here. Now, Sasha surveyed the bare stone of the hall, the fireless hearth, and the simple wooden tables and benches, and saw the extent of nobility’s fall. The banners and heralds on the walls seemed faded, and the cold, square stone was nothing like the grand, ornamental architecture of modern Tracato. These people were riding toward the past and would take all of Rhodaan with them if they could. Once, Sasha had considered that a terrible thing. Now, having seen what she’d seen, she wondered.

“Apologies for not waking you,” said Lord Elot, “but you seem to wake yourself when hungry, I’d thought to let you rest.”

Sasha managed a faint, acknowledging smile, putting meat and vegetables onto her plate. A maid came with wine, but Sasha took only water-Rhodaani wine was very good, and she did not think this bout of clearheadedness would last long if she indulged.

“What castle is this?” she asked quietly.

“This is the holding of Family Ciren,” said Lord Elot. “These forested hills were once farmed, with a clear view of surrounding lands. The serrin took them away, when they came. All the family lands. Gave them to the peasants. Now, all that remains is what you see.” He gestured about. “A simple place, yet it is home to some, and hospitable to all friends beneath its roof.”

“We shall win it back,” said Torase defiantly, his young face proud. “The serrin and the peasants do not understand, they think this was merely a system . They do not understand the power of family, and of blood. Family Ciren has ruled these lands for more than fifteen generations. We were enemies with them mostly, in that time, yet we respect their name. Today, we stand with them as brothers, to reclaim what is ours. And reclaim it we shall.”

Sasha could think of nothing but Alythia. How beautiful she’d looked, gracing noble halls much like this. Such halls had been her element, and even those as drab as this one would have brightened with her presence. These were Alythia’s people, in style if not in blood. These men’s enemies had cut off her head, and left it lying on the cold stones of Sasha’s cell, but an arm’s length from her manacled feet. Sasha had once felt sorry for all who suffered beneath feudalist oppression. Now, she could not care.

“How far are we from the border?” she asked.

“Another four days’ ride,” said Lord Elot. “Soldiers here do not seem to be aware that you may be riding this way. Tracato is in confusion, possibly no one has sought to send word. Or if word comes, it should be days behind.”

They meant to fight with the Army of Lenayin, Sasha knew. Or with the Army of Larosa, or whichever would have them. Tracato, to these men, was now under a foreign occupation. The Larosa, they’d decided, were the liberators. And the Army of Lenayin would find its morale much boosted by the return of one princess, and its soldiers much angered by news of the other’s death. Angry Lenays would surely prove more formidable in battle. It was with such motivations that these noble men of Rhodaan now smuggled Sasha toward the border.

Sasha stayed only long enough to eat her meal. Upon returning to her chamber, she found by the lamplight that a red rose had been placed on her bed. For a moment she was puzzled, and sat on the bed, smelling the rose, and wondering why it seemed familiar. And then she recalled…it was a tale her friend Daish of the Tol’rhen had told her, about a castle that had been cursed by a wicked witch. About the castle’s grounds, nothing would grow, all the crops had died and the gardens withered. The peasants had gone hungry, winter had settled upon the land, and all the castle’s noble family had fallen into a deep sleep.

One day, an orphan girl from a neighbouring village had crept into the cursed castle. Wherever the orphan girl went, winter receded, the snows melted, and all the flowers bloomed. The curse was broken, and all knew that this orphan girl was in fact the lost daughter of the land’s king, stolen away by the very same wicked witch who had cast the evil spell. In much of the Bacosh, princesses were frequently represented in illustration by flowers, and presumed blessed with the special powers of fertility. Now, this castle’s maids placed a rose upon Sasha’s bed, and considered her presence a blessing upon the land.