“Dear girl,” said Sevarien now, past a mouthful of porridge. “You have been here nearly a week. What do you think?”
“Of the Tol’rhen? It’s amazing.”
“Well, obviously,” said Sevarien, impatiently. “Do you think it could be replicated in your homeland?”
Sasha blinked at him. That was quite a thought. “Who would pay for it?”
Sevarien waved his hand. “Details, girl! No one shall pay for it if they are first not sold on the idea! Could it be done?”
Sasha chewed a mouthful, thinking it over. “I think only as a part of a noble education in Baen-Tar.”
“Why?”
“Because the provincial lords all think the Nasi-Keth teach blasphemy. The poor folk aren’t interested in any education that won’t make them extra coin; you’d do better teaching them to improve irrigation or cropping than philosophy or languages…”
“Bah.” Sevarien waved his hand again. “We had the same issue here. The poor stopped their nonsense when they realised what higher status they could attain with a Tol’rhen education.”
Sasha smiled. “There is no higher status in Lenayin,” she said. “If you’re poor, you work with your hands and attain status with hard work and skill with a blade. The only men of letters and law are nobles, and nobility is a matter of birthright, not education.”
“A travesty!” proclaimed Sevarien. “One of the greatest travesties that continues today across Rhodia. If there is one institution that we should all bend our backs to see destroyed, it is nobility. Fancy declaring that any of these lads, however bright and hard working, cannot rise to the same level as some soft-handed lackwit, simply because he had the good fortune to be born into a blue-blooded family.”
“I agree.”
“You know,” said Sevarien, jabbing a spoon at her, “you should attend a Civid Sein gathering.” Sasha repressed a sigh. “Being of noble birth yourself…or no, not noble. Royal! And yet you dress without fancy, and sport calluses on your hands, and ask no favour for the fortune of your birth. You rejected such favour, indeed!”
“She has to go and see Errollyn today,” Daish explained.
“Tomorrow then!” Sevarien declared. “More of the movement enter the city every day; it would be quite something to have someone who has rejected royal heritage address them! Quite something indeed!”
“You don’t really want to have much to do with the Civid Sein, do you?” Daish observed as they walked a paved hallway after breakfast.
“I didn’t reject royal heritage for the reasons they suppose,” Sasha told him.
It was all a big debate, here in Tracato. Two centuries ago, the serrin had innocently supposed that human society might work better on merit. In Enora their vision had worked well, because Enora had slaughtered all its nobility. In Rhodaan, nobility survived, and now regrouped. The Civid Sein were the anti-nobility, formed largely of poor people and farmers, though not entirely. It had a strong leadership core here in the Tol’rhen, and with fears that the Tracatan nobility would rather negotiate with Rhodaan’s feudal enemies than fight, more and more were moving to the city each day. To keep the lords nervous, it seemed.
When she reached the great classroom, it was full to overflowing. All chairs taken, Sasha joined the crowd standing along the walls, and found a place near the front of the chamber, where Kessligh sat with three Ulenshaals, and recounted the history of the Great War. The Rhodaanis knew it only as “The Cherrovan-Lenay War of 827,” which to Sasha’s ear seemed insultingly minor for so grand a conflict.
Kessligh had been telling this history the last two days, having finished his previous lectures on the nature of Lenay society and feudal power. Those had been opinions, but these were events, experienced by Kessligh himself as a young man. The Ulenshaals, and most of the Tol’rhen students, were intrigued to have the man who had made much of that history in their midst, having paid far too little attention, they admitted, to the study of Lenay and other highland histories.
It fascinated Sasha to listen to Kessligh speak. She had heard these stories many times, but in her youthful impatience, she’d always neglected to ask about the details, wanting instead to hear the grand conclusion. Now the Ulenshaals interrupted continuously, probing on this or that point of strategy, or the actions of minor players. Kessligh spoke incisively, without the troubled frown that Sasha recalled from her own discussions with him. Perhaps he found this audience more receptive. Sasha heard details of that time that astonished her-things Kessligh had done, relationships with other warriors that she’d not suspected, incidents of humour she’d never heard. As she listened, she marvelled at her own stupidity, that she’d had such a treasure beneath her own roof for so long, yet had taken it so completely for granted.
The thoroughness of the Tol’rhen’s love of knowledge astonished and delighted her. Knowledge in Lenayin meant stories, told over an ale after a good meal, or crafts passed through families for generations. Here, knowledge was precious, to be treasured, stored and shared around. And to be given across classes, to poor and rich alike, and across races. Such a place could change the world, Sasha realised. And Ulenshaal Sevarien had asked her if such an institution could be replicated in Lenayin. Not a bad idea at all, she reckoned, and began thinking on it more seriously.
What amazed Sasha most about Tracato was that she felt relatively safe walking the streets. They were teeming, like Petrodor had been, with carts and handwagons, mules hauling loads, and cityfolk walking. There were tradesmen of all description, and many whose trade Sasha could not begin to guess at. There were rich folk in palanquins and carriages, patrolling Blackboots, red-coat city administrators, fellow Nasi-Keth and, of course, plenty of serrin.
Most astonishing were the buildings, rising for several storeys to either side of the road. The avenues of Tracato were like little canyons through which rushed rivers of people and commerce. Frequently these avenues opened into courtyards. There were buildings in garish colours, with ornamental designs, turrets and crenelations, grand archways and louvred balconies. The courtyards were also popular with performers and orators, who stood on platforms and denounced the workings of council, or the Justiciary, or indeed the Tol’rhen. Others warned of impending doom and rising oceans, or announced the latest news of the war in Elisse. Elsewhere, beggars lining walls crouched with outstretched hands.
“You have beggars too,” Sasha observed sadly.
“Oh, lots,” replied Daish, who had come with her. “Too many.” He’d wanted to see the Mahl’rhen again…as had six of his friends. Sasha hadn’t intended on leading such a large group to see Errollyn, but the Tol’rhen was like that; its students hung together and loved new experiences.
“It’s just sad to see the wealthiest city in Rhodia has beggars,” she said.
“Ulenshaal Sevarien blames the nobility,” said Daish, pulling a coin from his pocket. “He says they hoard all the wealth and make others work for them. He says they create beggary, and there’d be less if we got rid of them.”
“So there’re no beggars in Enora then?” Sasha said warily.
Daish shrugged. “So Sevarien’s theories aren’t perfect.” He flipped a coin to a beggar, who grasped it with dirty hands.
Soon they turned down a back road away from the avenues, and another world opened up. Household backyards opened onto further courtyards, some homely, others messy, and occasionally squalid. These too bustled with activity: tradesmen hammering, firing, smoking, sawing or tanning. Smells and fumes from the yards assailed the nostrils, and sometimes the eyes, and walking was strictly single file past the bustle of men and women carrying their loads.