Joel Shepherd - Haven

“I take it as seriously as they do,” Jaryd said with amusement. “The ancient ways aren't about reciting this text or that song, it's about heart.” He rapped himself on his armoured chest. “I may not have much, but I have that.”

“So you're happy then?”

“I think I am. I don't miss all of this shit, I can tell you that.” He nodded toward the temporary shrine. Sister Mardola cleared her throat, disapprovingly. She did not understand his words, but she knew a look of contempt when she saw one. Jaryd ignored her. “Sofy, you can't change the world, you know. Some people are shit. You can't make them nice by setting a good example.”

“Jaryd, you Lenay men always think that violence is the only solution to everything. Why don't we try ending hatred with love for a change, instead of always using swords?”

“Because it doesn't work,” said Jaryd, unruffled. “Men don't plough fields because they're violent to the soil, men plough fields because lovingly asking the soils to part does nothing. Besides which, it's not only Lenay men who think so, there's Yasmyn, and Sasha.”

“Both of whom could use a little more feminine sensibility,” Sofy sniffed.

“And where would that have gotten Sasha or the Udalyn against the Hadryn?”

Sofy rolled her eyes. “The serrin agree with me,” she said stubbornly.

“Aye, they did-look where it's gotten them. Backs to the wall and a sword at their throat. They showered these lands with love and your husband repaid them with invasion and slaughter.”

Sofy found herself blinking back angry tears. Jaryd was from that other life, the one now lost to her. It wasn't fair that he should come here and do this to her. She had to make this life work, but he, apparently content in the other, kept crossing that divide and shattering all her carefully constructed dreams.

Jaryd left the Princess Regent's tent in frustration, and made his way back to his camp. Knights stood in full armour about the tent, and would do so all night in shifts. Jaryd did not envy them, just suiting up could take such men an age. The rest of the camp was clatter and activity, and far too many servants and wagons for Jaryd's liking. There was a firm perimeter set against any serrin attack, and they camped in the middle of a wide field so none could sneak up on them. But if the serrin were to attack in force, he did not know if there were enough defenders to stop them, and all these cooks and maids would not help.

His campfire was near the perimeter beside a wagon, where they could shelter if it rained. There sat Jandlys and Asym, and a noble girl in a dress.

She stood up as Jaryd approached, and stuck out her hand. “You must be Jaryd Nyvar. I'm Jeddie. Lady Jelendria Horseth of Tournea, daughter of Lord Horseth, anyhow. I'm pleased to meet you.”

She spoke Torovan, which Jaryd had only just pretended not to know. He shook her hand cautiously, and invited her to resume her seat on a saddle.

“I'm a friend of your Princess Sofy,” Jeddie continued earnestly. “She is quite amazing, isn't she? My father is a grand patron of the arts; he has always wanted to see Tracato, and he was quite taken with Sofy. He is riding with the Regent at the war of course, but I did pester him, and he sent me. He said that the Princess Regent would need a female friend amongst so many men.”

Jeddie was quite young, perhaps Sofy's age. She had a narrow face and a large nose, not especially pretty, and her manner was a little odd. Jaryd had seen one or two girls like this amongst the noble families in his home of Tyree, girls given a good education who, in the absence of real work or responsibilities, had fallen in love with matters of academics or arts. He recalled his own father, the late Great Lord of Tyree, complaining that such girls became unmarriageable and useless, more interested in their passions than in their duties as noble ladies. Proof that women should not be educated at all, he'd said.

“Why were you riding with the army?” Jaryd asked, as Jandlys forked him some bacon from their pan, and passed it over with a hunk of bread.

“My father made rather a large commitment of men to the war,” said Jeddie, matter-of-factly. “The household was weakened, and he wanted his family with him.”

“And you want to help Sofy to save Tracato?” asked Jandlys from around a mouthful of food. Jandlys was even larger than his father, Great Lord Krayliss of Taneryn, had been.

“Well, yes. One does enjoy the arts. One does hear that Tracato is quite the wonder for such things.”

“Because it's filled with serrin, who all the fucking priests here want to kill.” Jaryd threw another log on the fire in exasperation.

Jeddie's eyes were wide. She cleared her throat and looked around for anyone who might hear. “Well, I'm not sure that they want all of them dead….”

“And that's a fact is it?” Jaryd cut her off, incredulously. “You grew up in a nice noble household in…Tournea, did you say?” A timid nod from Jeddie. “Your priests educated you?”

“Some. But also my father, and some masters from the town.”

“Well, that's good, your father seems a good man. And what did the priests teach you of the serrin?”

Jeddie looked at her boots. For a moment there was just the crackling of the fire, and the sounds of the camp. “But there must be some accommodation!” she insisted abruptly, a little desperately. “I mean, there has been so much in Rhodaan that has been successful and good, surely! My father always said so. Surely we can find some way to accommodate the best of Tracato beneath the Regent's rule!”

“You're fucking crazy-you're just like Sofy,” Jaryd sighed. Jeddie cringed, evidently not accustomed to being spoken to in that tone. “Religious people, they're not interested in facts. They already know what's right, and if the facts don't fit, they'll just twist and hammer them until they do. The serrin made this place a success all right, it was such a success it's a huge black eye to the Regent, the priests, everyone from your world. They want it destroyed, that's the only way they can restore the world to the way they think it ought to be.”

Jeddie said nothing.

“Don't you fear him, lassie,” said Jandlys. “If our Sofy's told you anything about her people, she's told you you've nothing to fear from us lot of ruffians, we just talk a bit loud is all.”

“Oh, I know that,” Jeddie said hurriedly, but she gave Jandlys a grateful smile. “I know that I'm safer amongst Lenay warriors than anyone else in Rhodia.”

“That's damn right!” Jandlys agreed. “Yuan Jaryd here just don't like noble Verenthanes, that's all. Old history.”

“I know,” Jeddie said quietly. “You used to be one, but they dissolved your family and murdered your brother.” Jaryd scowled at the fire. “I'm sorry, I did not mean to speak of upsetting things. But Princess Sofy has told me.”

“You know,” said Jaryd, “when I was a noble, many of my fellow nobles thought me an idiot. I wasn't interested in their sophistry, I've never liked to read, and most of the plays and paintings that Sofy finds so fascinating just bore me to tears. I liked to ride and train and play lagand. And drink and chase skirts, I admit. I knew they were frauds, all my noble friends and family; I never got along with them, nor them with me. I was too unsophisticated for them. And then they went and proved me correct.” He took a mouthful of food. “I'm still correct,” he said while chewing, “in my disdain for everything they believe in. I'm quite certain I understand them better than Sofy ever will. Yet Sofy has more intelligence and good wit than I could dream of. And I wonder, why are the most intelligent and educated usually amongst the most stupid?”