Joel Shepherd - Sasha

"Name your terms," Torvaal said suddenly. Sasha stared at him, completely off-guard. Blinked, trying to gather her thoughts. Behind their king, the lords were seething, but they dared not interrupt once the king had made his request. She had to get this right.

"Safe passage for all these men," she said finally. "Reinstatement of all those who may have lost title, rank or pay-with no punishments." Torvaal simply listened, his black-gloved fingers interlaced on the tabletop. "The Udalyn shall be granted royal protection. Royal soldiers shall hold open the Udalyn pass into Valhanan. The Udalyn shall be allowed to trade, to move back and forth, and to become a part of broader Lenayin. Royal soldiers shall ensure the safety of any moving along the pass."

"Impossible!" Lord Rydysh snapped. "The Hadryn shall never agree! Royal soldiers on Hadryn soil is a violation of the sanctity of lords' rights, an insult to Hadryn pride, and is against the letter of the king's law as written by King Soros!"

"King Soros is dead," Sasha replied, looking only at her father. "King Torvaal rules now." Perhaps there was a flicker of response in her father's dark eyes. Or maybe she imagined it. It was unclear why the Hadryn had not sent a representative to these talks. Perhaps, with Usyn dead, they had not reached agreement on who led them. Or they found the prospect of talks with their female vanquisher too shameful to bear. Even so, Sasha suspected something more was at play. Where matters of power were in question between lords, it was always safest to assume intrigue.

"Continue," her father said simply.

"No additional powers shall be granted to the great lords, nor to the nobility in general-no new taxes, no new rules of justice, no more authority over the priesthood, nothing." There were, predictably, cries of outrage. Sasha ignored them. So, for the moment, did the king.

"Continue," said Torvaal, once the outbursts had faded. Could it be that there was a faintly different expression now upon his face? It seemed to Sasha that there was… perhaps a wry acknowledgement of a common exasperation between them-the lords. And, just maybe, a hint of

… no, not pride. Respect. An acknowledgement that perhaps father and daughter, as little as they knew each other, were alike in one respect-in stubbornness, and determination, and an utter disdain for the disapproval of others.

"The Taneryn shall be free to choose their own succession to Lord Krayliss," Sasha continued. "I understand from Captain Akryd that Krayliss's eldest son now claims the title of great lord, but under the ancient ways, such claims can be challenged. I understand that none of Krayliss's sons are particularly respected in Taneryn, and a challenge may be forthcoming. Whatever the result, the Verenthane great lords, and the king, should respect the result."

"The ancient ways have never truly recognised great lords, however Krayliss styled himself," Torvaal stated, with grim curiosity. "How can the laws of the ancient ways determine the outcome of a modern, and some would claim Verenthane, invention?"

Sasha blinked at him. It was the question of a knowledgeable man. She was astonished. And, just as quickly, she doubted herself. How well did she know her father truly? And how often had Kessligh insisted, against her own disbelief, that all through Krystoff's life, King Torvaal had been a fair and just man with the Goeren-yai? Things had only changed when Krystoff had died, he'd told her. When the sheer weight of protest from Lenayin's Verenthane leaders had shifted the path of the future, and convinced the king that his previous vision for the kingdom had been ungodly after all. Her father's knowledge of the ancient ways was not dead, it seemed. Merely dormant.

"The ancient ways are flexible," Captain Akryd spoke up. "Taneryn has its own Rathynals, where chiefs and village seniors gather to discuss matters of the province. We shall arrange another. The old ways accept much that is new, Your Highness, even if Lord Krayliss did not. Not all in Taneryn are like him."

"Might you stand for the Great Lordship of Taneryn yourself, Captain Akryd?" the king asked shrewdly. "Lord Krayliss spoke often of saving the Udalyn, but it is you who stand here today."

Sasha resisted the urge to turn around and look. Behind, she heard a creak of mail and leather as Akryd shrugged. "Perhaps," he answered.

Torvaal considered him with narrowed eyes. Pressed his lips thin and gazed out of the cottage windows across the sunlit expanse of valley. "It is beautiful here," he conceded. "The Udalyn have cared for their valley for many centuries. It seems that the gods have plans for this to continue."

"Your Highness!" Lord Rydysh exclaimed angrily. "The gods put men in the world to do their bidding and fight their battles! One does not simply give up the battle as lost because of setbacks! At least we must demand that the Udalyn convert! This is Verenthane land, surrounded by Verenthane peoples! To ask the two to continue to coexist would be folly!"

"They do everywhere else in Lenayin," the king said mildly. "Why not here?"

"This is the north!" Lord Rydysh seethed. "We value our independence. These lands are ours. We do things our way, Your Highness. King Soros decreed that it would be so."

"King Soros is dead," said the king. "I rule now." Lord Rydysh glared at him, grinding his teeth. Koenyg looked uncomfortable and uncertain. For twelve years, the powerful men of Lenayin had taken the king's lack of involvement in such matters for granted.

Watching him, Sasha felt her heart thumping with a new, hopeful urgency. Dared she hope? Dared anyone hope that the old king had finally returned?

"The Hadryn have been defeated on their home soil, Lord Rydysh," Torvaal said. "The gods have chosen. The victor is clear."

King Torvaal turned to Sasha. "Your terms are acceptable." There was a deathly stillness. Sasha could see the lords thinking furiously. She wondered how long any decree, even the king's, could survive against all the forces pushing the other way.

"I, however," Torvaal continued, "have terms of my own."

Sasha nodded. "Name them."

"All men who rode on this adventure shall once again declare their fealty to the throne, upon their honour. Only then shall they receive their pardon."

"Of course," Sasha agreed. "They never left your service, Father. They fight unjust lords and bigotry, not the king."

"It gives me little comfort to preside as a neutral over a Lenay civil war," Torvaal said somewhat testily. "Sofy shall return to me, and quickly."

"Aye," said Sasha. "She will when she's ready." Her father's stare darkened at that. "Father, this is her first breath of freedom in eighteen years! Give the girl a little time."

"Two days," Torvaal said firmly. "She keeps the company of rough men and soldiers. People will talk. It will not do."

"She tends our wounded," Sasha corrected, dryly. "She assists those in need."

"Two days," Torvaal repeated.

Sasha sighed. "Aye, Your Highness."

"Master Jaryd shall present himself to his Tyree lords for judgment."

"Not a bloody chance," Sasha said grimly.

"Sashandra," said her father, with the beginnings of temper, "the powers of a king in Lenayin are limited. The lords rule within their provinces, up to the point where those rights come into conflict with the king's law. A king has no say in a fight between provincial lords. This is an internal matter for Tyree. It must be settled."

"What's to settle?" Sasha retorted, glaring at Lord Arastyn standing over by a window. "Family Nyvar is no more. You are Great Lord of Tyree now, Arastyn. Why do you need Jaryd?"

"Tyree law is Tyree law," Arastyn said stonily. "It is immutable."

"Aye, well we're not in Tyree!" Sasha snapped. "I have seven thousand under my command, and I make the rules for men beneath my command. You want him, you come and get him."