Joel Shepherd - Petrodor

She reached instead for the washroom door and pushed inside, fumbling on the cold stones for the water bucket. She dunked her hands and washed her face and eyes, and blinked blearily around in the darkness. The room seemed to lean sideways…she took several steps and her bare foot kicked something familiar. She bent and her hands found…her sword. Not stolen, then, but placed in the washroom. Who would…? Who…?

She swore in Lenay, and heard a distant crash from downstairs. Taking a deep breath, she dashed back through the sleeping chamber, then out the door. The trapdoor to the stairs was open and she ran down fast, the night air chill on her bare skin. Her nudity might have bothered her, were it not for the blade in her hands. The sword gave her more comfort than any number of clothes could have done. Beyond the softness of her own footsteps, she heard a muffled grunt and a harsh whisper of voices.

Sasha reached the base of the stairs by the wall, and slid the sword free, placing its scabbard silently on the pavings. Statues loomed about, poses softly outlined in the dim light from overhead windows. Hands reaching for the stars, clasping in fury, wide open in exclamation, or grand gesture. Stone faces stared, mouths gaped silently, hard eyes watchful in the dark.

Sasha held her blade low, two-handed, and took one careful step after another. Her eyes slowly searched the dark, wide and unfocused as she tried desperately to stop from blinking lest they tear up once more, red and irritable. She stayed close to a row of statues, ready to dive for cover in case of an archer, or to parry hard. Somehow she doubted either eventuality. If they'd wished her dead, surely they'd have slit her throat in bed. But neither was she in a mood for generosity.

She heard movement over by a far wall, something heavy. She took a careful step around a great figure of a winged god, and found a shadow near the leg of another statue had come to life. The shadow was all blackness, save for a pair of luminescent emerald eyes and a motionless silver blade. The eyes were familiar. Sasha stared in disbelief.

“Rhillian?” she whispered.

“Sasha,” came the quiet reply. “Go back to bed.”

Sasha took a deep, quivering breath. When she spoke, there was a painful lump in her throat. “Not without Errollyn.”

“You are a beautiful woman, Sasha. You can have any man you like. But not this one.”

“You…you've gone mad. What in all the hells are you doing?”

“Restitution,” said Rhillian softly. There was something faintly odd in her stance. A slight sideways edge to her position, a barely perceptible backward slant to one shoulder. Her sword was not raised, held only in one hand, but it was bare. Clearly Rhillian was defending something. Perhaps Errollyn had put up more of a fight than expected, and several strong serrin were having difficulty carrying him. Perhaps one had been injured. For the first time in her life, Sasha found herself hoping so.

“Get out of my way,” she demanded. She edged a step forward, then another. Rhillian took in the posture, with the recognition of one who read such things as a scholar might read a text. Sasha's head still swam, and her knees were weak. She would not need clothes to take Rhillian, but balance would be useful. There weren't many opponents she was uncertain against, face to face. Rhillian was one.

“Would you kill me?” Rhillian asked. Her tone was not wounded, as Sasha might have expected. It was bland. Almost cold.

“Kill you? You attacked me!”

“You are still alive.”

“In my culture,” Sasha retorted through gritted teeth, “that makes no difference. You had no right. Now, I do.”

“Ah,” said Rhillian flatly. “Lenay honour. So, go ahead.”

Sasha stared at her. To either side of the winged god's legs there was clear space until the next statue. Sasha stepped left, and Rhillian came across to block her. Still Rhillian did not raise her blade. Sasha moved right, and again Rhillian blocked her path. Somewhere in the dark beyond, serrin were hauling Errollyn, probably unconscious, out onto the dock. Sasha braced herself to feint one way and dash past the other…but that was bare steel in Rhillian's hand. She might dodge Rhillian's grasp, but not her blade. If Rhillian swung, she would have to swing back. Very few svaalverd exchanges ended in disengagement. If strokes were exchanged, most likely one of them would die.

“Damn you, Rhillian!” Sasha shouted. She was trembling. She couldn't do it. She was leaving Errollyn to his fate.

“He is dangerous to us, Sasha,” said Rhillian. “He knows so much about us. The workings of the councils, the likely actions of various people, even the composition of the armies of the Saalshen Bacosh. He has made clear that we cannot trust him. And so, he must be removed.”

“He's with the Nasi-Keth, Rhillian! You think we're the enemies of Saalshen now?”

“We have relied on others for our defences. No longer. The line has been drawn. If Saalshen needs something done, we do it ourselves. The actions of others have disappointed.”

“Horseshit!” Sasha retorted. “Your actions, your choice, Rhillian. Always.”

“We have no choice,” Rhillian said shortly.

“No! You chose!” Sasha levelled her blade furiously. “You could have worked with Kessligh, but you thought you knew better! You could have listened to Errollyn, but you thought you knew better! Now, you make another mistake! Your record is not very good, Rhillian! Don't you think perhaps a wise serrin might learn from this pattern?”

“I can't let you pass,” Rhillian said softly. “I'm sorry, Sasha. You do not understand.”

“That's not a reason, that's an excuse. A childish one at that. As well I might excuse the actions of King Leyvaan, or Patachi Steiner, as a matter of understanding.”

“If you cannot see the difference between my actions and theirs,” Rhillian said, “then truly you are lost.”

In utter frustration, Sasha put her blade on the ground and walked forward. Rhillian tensed, but did not move. Sasha stopped before her, head tilted back to look the taller woman in the eyes. Rhillian's gleaming eyes were narrowed and cautious. For a brief moment, Sasha felt the overwhelming urge to strike her, bare-fisted. Rhillian held her blade off to one side. One swing would end it, and sudden movements on Sasha's part were probably not wise.

“Rhillian, what happened to you?” Sasha touched Rhillian's pale cheek. Rhillian flinched back. Serrin never did that. It was the reaction of the frightened, or the traumatised. The emerald eyes were haunted, distant. “Rhillian…I've seen horrors too. Wars are horrible. People die in their hundreds. You can't…you can't just dismiss an entire species because of one such incident…”

“I saw the thing that will destroy my people,” Rhillian said. “I saw the hatred. I saw…I saw the truth that will accept no other truth. I saw the death of reason, the death of debate, the blind rule of singularity, as all humans pursue their own singularity. Even you.”

“You're wrong.”

“You can't reason with the unreasonable, Sasha,” Rhillian said, this time in Lenay. She looked older, there was a hollowness to her cheeks. “That is the nature of the unreasonable. We tried reason. We've tried it for a long time. Look where it got us.”

“And you think being unreasonable will be an improvement?”

“I don't care if they think me unreasonable. I want them to fear me.”

“I don't fear you,” Sasha said quietly.

“You should.” For the first time, emotion struggled in Rhillian's eyes.

“And should I grow to fear you, and even to hate you, will you then consider your work a great success?”

The cold facade nearly cracked. Rhillian caught it just in time. And struggled, her eyes moist. “If it must be.”