“He killed Randel because he suspected Randel, and possibly Patachi Ragini, were dealing with the serrin,” Sasha continued, equally unperturbed. “My sources say the priesthood were possibly involved, they're the ones most upset by senior Petrodor families dealing with the pagan serrin. Randel collected serrin artworks, including some the holy fathers found blasphemous…”
“Sasha,” Marya said sternly, “you've been listening to men with evil tongues, the holy fathers do not go around ordering people killed!”
“Seriously, Marya,” Sasha said tiredly, with the air of a woman suddenly twice her age. “Your father-in-law is building an army to go and fight a war entirely on the behest of the priesthood. It will assuredly kill many, many thousands of people. The priesthood don't order people killed? Do you honestly believe that?”
Marya stared at her for a moment. Gods, how she hated politics. She half spun, a hand to her forehead. Then spun back. “And is that truly why you smuggled a message to meet me here today?” she asked, woundedly. “I mean…seriously, Sasha, what do you want from me?”
“And do you think Symon Steiner would risk his wife and his heir to meet with his sworn enemy in a darkened hut if he didn't see some kind of advantage in it?” Sasha replied. “Or if Patachi Steiner didn't? Marya, we're both being used. People on both sides are looking for some advantage, and perhaps some information.” She stepped forward and took Marya's hands gently. Her eyes were earnest. “I came because I desperately wanted an excuse to see my sister again. This was the first and best excuse I've had. But also, I wanted to tell you what I know. You don't have to believe me…it's hard, I know. But I wanted you to think about what I've told you. That's all. What you choose to do about it…well, that's none of my business.”
“Sasha,” Marya said quietly, “don't pick a fight with Patachi Steiner. Please.”
Sasha's eyes narrowed, head cocked to one side. Fearless, Marya saw despairingly. Of physical danger, at least. This, too, confirmed the memories of the little girl she'd known. “I thought you said he was a good man?”
“Amongst a good man's many duties are the elimination of his enemies,” said Marya, sombrely.
Sasha's gaze was long and level. Studying her.
“Patachi Steiner wants this war,” she replied, finally. “If it concerns you, tell him to stop.”
“Sasha, I'm his daughter-in-law,” said Marya, reproachfully. “I can do no such thing.”
Sasha shrugged. “Then there's not much I can do.”
“You would truly fight?” Marya pressed, with desperation. “Against your own flesh and blood?”
“He's not my flesh and blood,” Sasha said coolly. “You are.”
Dear lords, Marya thought helplessly. She doesn't understand a thing. “Krystoff is too,” she tried. “He's old enough to wield a proper blade in training. He's very good.”
“Marya, what the Larosa want to do in the Bacosh is evil, do you understand me?” Sasha's tone betrayed the first sign of impatience. “Not merely misguided or unfortunate, but evil. The serrin have done nothing but good for the Saalshen Bacosh, and the Larosa would kill them all if they could, right through all of Saalshen. If your father-in-law brings a huge Torovan army to Regent Arrosh's side, along with the army our true father intends to bring him, they might just finish the serrin off once and for all. The serrin are a bright light in this dark world, Marya. I'll not allow that light to die if I can do anything to help it.”
“There are those who say that evil is the human who would fight for the strange folk against her own kind.” Marya refrained from making the holy sign as she spoke. The tri-braid in her sister's hair was not just an innocent decoration back in Lenayin. It was pagan. “It would be a sin, they say.”
“My own kind?” Sasha's stare was incredulous. “What in the world does that mean? I fight for what is right against what is wrong…how do evil slugs like the Regent Arrosh suddenly become imbued with holy virtue simply because they're of ‘my own kind’? As if humans have never fought humans before and called each other evil?”
“Family is always right, Sasha,” said Marya, with a shake of the head. “Family is always good. The betrayal of family is the greatest evil known.”
“Tell that to Patachi Ragini,” Sasha said firmly, a hard light in her dark eyes. “Your father-in-law murdered his son!”
“Oh, Sasha,” Marya sighed, gazing sadly at her little sister. “That's what I'm afraid of.”
Riverside stank. The Nasi-Keth moved quietly along the narrow streets and alleys, trying not to tread on anything foul in the dark. There were no sewers here on the bank of the River Sarna, on the opposite side of the Petrodor Incline. Only streets with small, open channels of running filth on either side. A few streets were cobbled and firm beneath Sasha's boots, but most were just hard earth that would turn to mud in the winter rains.
The only light came from within the dirty hovels that passed for houses. Firelight flickered between broken boards, and from behind soiled curtains of rough cloth that served for doors. The walls were so thin and irregular that Sasha could hear the voices within: the women scolding, the children crying and many folk coughing-a horrid, sickly sound. The accents were coarse, and not all spoke Torovan. Many were outcasts from neighbouring regions, Kessligh had said. Poor, unskilled and desperate, they came to Petrodor with little more than the clothes on their backs, and threw together ramshackle dwellings with whatever scrap they could find.
Here, they worked, begged and stole, eking out a living along the overcrowded river docks in conditions unfit for animals. The Nasi-Keth's latest count put the number of tortured souls in Riverside at more than sixty thousand. They had tried to gain converts here, but the people were mostly of superstitious country stock and clung to Verenthane ritual for comfort. Many called the Nasi-Keth witches, and it was not merely for protection from the families that the Nasi-Keth and serrin carried weapons in Riverside.
Soon the slums gave way to large wooden warehouses. Several Nasi-Keth took positions on the corner, while Aiden led the way down a tight alley alongside an old warehouse. Blades drawn, they came to a halt in the confined, garbage-strewn dark, while Aiden peered about the corner. Then he dashed, and disappeared in the gloom. Kessligh was next, and then Sasha. One look about the corner and she saw that they were directly on the River Dock, with water glinting in the darkness ahead and a great mass of barges and ships tied to piers.
Sasha ran, low and fast to a pile of broken wooden crates, and arrived beside Aiden and Kessligh, crouching on the pavings. “Can you see it?” she whispered, peering above the pile. Along the dock, shadows moved against sporadic firelight and she could make out the shape of a spear, or the point of a helm. Guards protecting the boats and their cargo.
“The fourth warehouse along,” said Kessligh, squinting into the darkness. “But I can't see the guards.”
A fourth set of footsteps arrived behind, and then Errollyn was at Sasha's side. No other serrin had come on this mission, but Errollyn had insisted.
“I see two guards by the Torack warehouse,” he said. “They wear Torack colours and the Torack emblem on their coats.”
“That's them,” Kessligh said grimly. The quarter moon had already been and fled, leaving the night black save for the flickering guard lights. “Can you see any carts? Any sign of transport?”
“No,” said Errollyn. He did not squint into the night-he gazed, eyes wide like an owl. Sasha watched him, faintly disconcerted. “Perhaps all the weapons are still on the boats.”
“They were supposed to start moving them off this afternoon,” said Aiden.