Joel Shepherd - Tracato

Well. She wondered.

And recalled, suddenly, another part of the tale. She got up gingerly, and walked to the window sill. There on the stone, she found a sprinkling of salt, to ward away witches and other evil things. Errollyn had spoken of travelling to less enlightened parts of Rhodaan, and having salt cast at him by village folk who could ill afford its waste. In the Larosan telling of the tale, of course, the wicked witch was serrin.

Sasha sat back on her bed, rose in hand, and felt suddenly, desperately sad. She wanted to see her sister Sofy once more. She wanted it so badly it hurt.

SASHA STOOD BEFORE HER HORSE IN THE UNDERGROWTH, and gazed across the river. Hills rose to either side in the moonlight, shrouded in forest. Across the moonlit water was Larosa. The enemy. But the ally of her nation, and the current location of its army. She had to get across.

After a moment, a man returned to the small column and signalled that they move further along. All twelve riders remained dismounted, in undergrowth too thick to make for easy riding. Much of the border was like this, farmlands left fallow over two centuries for the forest to reclaim. In some cases, the Rhodaanis had even replanted the trees themselves. It made for easier infiltration across the divide, but small infiltrations were not as worrisome to the Rhodaani Steel as large invasions. Through such forests, it was difficult to move large formations, and since the Steel was purely defensive, the only force troubled by these forests were the invading feudals on the other side.

Infiltrations, too, could work both ways. Rhodaani woodsmen and scouts for the Steel scoured these forests. So did the talmaad , on both sides of the border. The latter in particular made certain that Larosan scouts did not risk the trees lightly, especially at night. Many insisted the forests were haunted, as many Larosan scouts who ventured in, never ventured out.

After a while of picking a tangled path along the riverbank, another halt was indicated. Sasha waited. She glanced at Lord Elot’s grim, bearded face, half-awash in a patch of moonlight, and wondered what it was to betray one’s nation. She’d been accused of that herself, once. Perhaps betrayal meant different things to different people. And perhaps nations, too.

There was a commotion ahead, and some shouts. Men pressed forward, leading their horses. Sasha came finally to a spot amidst the trees where several Rhodaanis surrounded five ragged-looking peasants. Men and boys, the eldest having perhaps thirty summers. Several held sickles as weapons, warding those confronting them. Another held a spear. From their movements, Sasha guessed they had little more than basic weapon skills. Rhodaani militia were granted far better training, and were usually commanded by retired Steel officers.

Lord Elot strode forward, and growled at the men in Larosan. Sasha recognised the tongue well enough, but understood barely a word. Some things, however, she did not need words to understand. There was fear in the peasants’ eyes, yet also defiance. The older man gesticulated grandly as he explained himself, and asked Lord Elot to do the same. And seemed incredulous at the reply.

A brief conversation followed between Lord Elot and another lord. Elot grunted assent to a request, looking disgusted. The other man drew his blade, with several others.

“No,” said Sasha, loudly enough for all to hear. “Let them go.”

“M’Lady, they are Larosan peasants, come to help the Rhodaani Steel. They will report to them, and we shall be known.”

“That was your choice when you chose to come this way,” Sasha replied. “Those in Tracato will figure it out anyway, if they have not already. These men seek only to do the reverse of what you do-to cross the border, and fight for the other side. Let them go.”

“These are our enemies now!” another, younger man protested angrily. He took a step, sword raised.

Sasha put a hand to her hip, where she now wore her blade in unaccustomed position, and half drew from its sheath. “Let them go,” she repeated.

Everyone stopped. Two days ago, she had felt the worst, shivering and aching in fever, and barely able to stay on her horse, or hold down anything she ate. Yesterday, she had come to feel better, her head clear and appetite strong. Today, she had managed some basic taka-dans, in full view of all. All knew the fate of Reynold’s men in the Justiciary, having asked after them. Sasha had told them. None had seemed to disbelieve her.

Now, Lord Elot put hands on his hips and kicked at the dirt. Then gave a rough order, and the men’s swords were sheathed once more. They parted, and the Larosan peasants moved warily forward, staring at Sasha. They inclined heads to her, in thanks.

“Nasi-Keth?” one asked, looking dubiously at the sword on her hip.

Sasha moved her hand from sword to shoulder, where it would normally be were her shoulder not such a mess, and nodded. “Nasi-Keth. Does anyone speak Torovan?”

More wary looks. One nodded. “A little,” he said in that tongue. About them, the Rhodaanis were making to move on once more. “You go…Larosa?”

Sasha nodded. “I am Lenay. I go to my people.” Ah, the man seemed to say, his mouth forming that silent word. “Why do you go to Rhodaan?”

“Some Larosan…” he searched for the right word. “Frighten? Yes, frighten of Rhodaan. Frighten of serrin. But we?” He pointed at his comrades. “We not frighten. We know serrin good. Rhodaani good. Larosan lord, bad. Bad men, they beat us, they kill us. They take our woman. We fight for Rhodaan.”

“You fight with the Steel?” Sasha asked dubiously, looking at their makeshift weapons.

“No,” said the Larosan, a little sheepishly. “Steel great warrior. We not great warrior. But we know Larosan land, Larosan lord, Larosan men, Larosan horses…” he ticked off his fingers, eyebrows raised at her, inviting comprehension.

“Ah,” said Sasha. Not long ago, she would have wished him luck. Now, she only wanted to be with her people. She nodded, and stood aside. The men bowed again, and made their way into the undergrowth.

Soon, at another pause along the riverbank, Lord Elot brought his horse to her side. “The border has long been crossed by the likes of them,” he said darkly. “Some serrin make contact with peasants nearby, and buy their loyalty with medicines and the such.”

It was the same two centuries ago, Sasha knew, across the border between Saalshen and Rhodaan. As the peasants had come to like the serrin better than their own lords, the lords had become more and more fearful. That had led to more hateful speeches against the serrin by the priesthood, and so on, and so forth. Hatred and fear, the two sides of the coin of power.

“Why don’t more Larosan peasants come to Rhodaan?” she asked.

“Like he said, most believe the priesthood,” Elot replied. “Others will not come if they cannot bring their entire families, for those remaining will be treated badly. And in truth, few Rhodaanis encourage contact with Larosa. Some serrin doing so have got into trouble. It makes instability, like the last time, between Rhodaan and Saalshen. Most Rhodaanis want fewer wars, not more. So they leave most Larosan peasants to their superstitions of serrin demons and corrupted souls across the border, in the hope the lords and priests will not get too upset, and start another war.”

“Didn’t work,” Sasha observed. Lord Elot said nothing.

Finally arriving at a suitable location, they crossed the river with no further troubles. By midnight, they had emerged from the forest and were riding across moonlit fields. This is Larosa, Sasha thought, gazing about. At first, it did not look particularly different.