“Because they’re poor and downtrodden,” the lieutenant said sarcastically. “I was born as poor and downtrodden as any of this lot, yet I rose to this station because I believe in law, justice and the security of Rhodaan. Ask this lot what they believe in, they’ll give you only complaints.”
Sasha glanced back at the courtyard. The stall owners looked as displeased with the Civid Sein as with the Blackboots, perhaps more. And now, her Nasi-Keth lads were taking sides, perhaps the wrong one.
“I can’t promise I can help much,” Sasha told the lieutenant, “but I can get the boys out of it.”
She walked toward the confusion, beckoning to Daish, who darted between stalls to reach her. “The tall lad is Palis, the younger Torine…who’s the darker one?”
“Alfone,” said Daish.
“Hey!” Sasha yelled. The squabbling was mostly about the Civid Sein’s makeshift tents, which the Blackboots were attempting to take down. No one listened. Nearby was a wagon, doubling as a stall for sacks of grain. Sasha climbed up onto the sacks. “Hey! Palis, Torine and Alfone! Nasi-Keth!”
In amongst it, on the Civid Sein side, the three lads looked up at her.
“You get the hells out of there!” she yelled at them. And when they hesitated, “Now!”
Two of them moved. A third, Palis, stayed where he was, pushing Blackboots away from the tents.
Sasha leaped from the wagon and pushed through the crowd. She came up near Palis and grabbed him by the arm.
“If you won’t use your ears,” she snarled, “I’ll cut them off and grant them to someone in need!” He moved, but several Civid Sein men saw and grabbed him back. Another grabbed Sasha. She twisted, and in the blink of an eye had a knife at the man’s throat. He froze, and the others backed off. The nearby Blackboots also stopped.
“No grabbing!” Sasha insisted.
“You’d draw steel against sons of the soil?” exclaimed a Civid Sein man.
“These are the sons and daughters of the soil!” Sasha retorted, pointing angrily at the stall owners looking on. “They’re the ones who asked for the Blackboots to come, to get you off their damn market so they can make a living!”
“Lies!” shouted the Civid Sein man. “The nobility are scum! They’ve been trying to get rid of us for weeks.” The shouting and shoving along other parts of the line was lessening as attention turned to this new confrontation.
“What makes you think you have the right to camp before the Mahl’rhen gate for weeks anyhow?” Sasha replied. “Harass the serrin, deprive country folk of their livelihood and locals of their peace?”
“We come to appeal to Saalshen!” shouted the man. “To resist the snivelling demands of the nobility! General Zulmaher, even now, marches at the head of our army in Elisse, befriending the noble families there rather than defeating them-”
“Have you talked to the serrin?” Sasha cut him off.
“They don’t talk to us, they’re bought and paid for by the nobility.” There were angry shouts of agreement from other Civid Sein.
“Let me tell you one thing about the serrin, friend!” Sasha said firmly. “No man or woman, ever, has bought and paid for their opinions. I’ll get you in.” The man stared at her. The commotion had nearly stopped. “Don’t just stand there, choose three men from amongst you, and I’ll take you to see someone senior.”
The man still stared at her, not knowing what to say. Sasha clapped her hands impatiently, and he jumped to choose his men. Sasha pointed firmly at the line of Blackboots, indicating that they should stay. They stayed. She turned on her heel and strode back to the Mahl’rhen gate.
“The commotion will stop if they get to speak to someone,” she said to one of the serrin there. “I said I’ll bring three of them inside.”
“Must we?” said the serrin, drily. “Speak to them?”
Sasha was astonished. She’d finally found a group of people the serrinim found too tedious to muster any enthusiasm for debating. They had, she guessed, been putting up with this for years. Decades, even.
“Would you rather have blood spilt on the courtyard?”
The serrin actually appeared to think about it, and be uncertain of the answer. Then he sighed. “Bring your men. I shall select the lucky interlocutor.”
Someone else edged through the wall of armed serrin. It was Errollyn. He came to her side and looked out at the courtyard. “What happened?”
“Civid Sein trouble,” Sasha explained. “I settled them down. I’m escorting three inside for talks.”
Errollyn stared at her. “You!” he said with astonishment. “You broke up a commotion? You’re certain you didn’t cause this?”
Sasha punched at his arm. Errollyn dodged and laughed.
Four
R HILLIAN TORE ACROSS NEWLY PLOUGHED FIELDS, skirted a vegetable patch bordered by several peasant hovels, and leaped a fence. Ahead, the last of the bandits were galloping for the forest. No matter, she thought, leaning low in the saddle. That way was not a good way for them.
She pulled back on the reins to stop the grey mare from charging too far ahead of those riders fanning on her left. To the right, more riders formed their position by looking to her. Another fence, which she jumped, and then they were slowing further to ride amongst the trees.
She allowed the mare her head, weaving between trunks, supplying only a general direction while ducking the branches. The mare was not as large as some lowlands warhorses-she was elur’uhd, a Saalshen breed of stamina and swiftness combined. The talmaad did not fight as humans would, and had little use for animals built like battering rams of muscle and hide. It was dark under the canopy of leaves, and the gloom and speed combined to play tricks on her eyes…but if it was difficult for her, it would be doubly so for the bandits.
Rhillian tore through undergrowth, skirted an impenetrable tangle of roots and brush, and dug in her heels as the mare showed uncertainty, tossing her head. She turned onto what she decided was the straighter course, and heard a scream from ahead. Suddenly there was a horse and rider before her, a brown tunic and hood of smallfolk’s dress over mail, a sword in hand. Left-handed, Rhillian saw, swinging her mare to the left and cutting past his weakside before he could adjust. Her backhand tore through mail on his back, and he fell with a scream, crashing into tree roots.
Now there were more horses ahead, plunging through the trees, rearing, wheeling in desperation. One man held a shield with two arrows in it, even as a third took his companion in the eye. Rhillian reined past another rider, slumped with a shaft in his throat, and galloped toward another yet unfeathered. He saw her and raised his shield and blade to greet her with a cry, and was promptly cut from the saddle by a third rider who flashed past his side. Rhillian paused and circled to look around, but it seemed to be over, the few remaining bandits yielding with desperate cries for mercy, throwing aside their blades. Rhillian did not need to give orders. Her talmaad knew what to do, and closed in on all sides to take prisoners.
She urged the mare to the side of the rider who had flashed by and deprived her of another victim. Aisha sat astride near where the prisoners were being herded and searched for weapons. Her naked blade remained in hand, ready to ride down any others who tried to run or fight. None looked likely to try. Clearly these understood the nature of their opposition, for there was terror in their eyes and cringing obedience in every posture.
“That was a lovely cut,” Rhillian complimented her friend. “Your horsemanship remains superior to mine, despite my practice.”
“City girl,” Aisha said, which explained everything. “You’ll not rid yourself of me that easily.”