“I don’t think anyone will be stupid enough to try to assist Algen by sea,” said Dhael. They spoke Torovan, and Dhael’s accent was lovely-all soft Larosan vowels and lilting consonants. Rhodaan retained its own native tongue, but Larosan was the tongue of nobility and civility in most Bacosh cities. Of all the Bacosh kings, Larosa had supplied approximately half, over the endless, bloody centuries. Most Bacosh nobility traced their lineage back to Larosa at some point. So much conquest had its rewards.
Now, a new Larosan ruler had proclaimed himself regent of the Bacosh. He would no doubt have claimed himself king, had Verenthane nobility not declared that title forbidden…until the one who would claim it had retaken the Saalshen Bacosh from the serrin, and reestablished human dominion there. Regent Arrosh was massing an army in Larosa, by far the largest yet assembled for such an assault. Kessligh and Sasha had hoped to stymie such a development from Petrodor, but Petrodor’s conflicts had only seen the emergence of a new king of Torovan, as there had never been a king of Torovan in seven hundred years. Torovan was marching. The united Bacosh was marching. The Army of Lenayin was marching. And the Rhodaani, unwilling to be threatened on two fronts simultaneously, had struck first-into Elisse.
“Might some of the Elissian nobility try to escape across the sea?” Sasha wondered. “They’ve allies in Algrasse.”
“Perhaps, from further along the coast,” Dhael conceded. “But they’ll not risk Saalshen’s navy nearer the ports. I hear many of the Elissian nobility fled in advance of the Steel, even as they were exhorting their armies to stand fast and fight. They heard talk from across the border, Rhodaanis muttering that they should not repeat in Elisse the same mistake the serrin made in Rhodaan.”
“Leaving the nobility alive?” Sasha guessed his meaning.
Dhael nodded. “They say Saalshen was too kindhearted two hundred years ago. If they’d put all Rhodaani nobility to the sword then, as was done in Enora, Rhodaan would be much more stable now.”
“It wasn’t kindheartedness,” Kessligh replied. “They just didn’t see the point. The serrin consider no conflict resolved until the opponent has been convinced of his own wrongness. To kill a person to win an argument is not only abhorrent to them, most serrin believe it only loses you the argument, or postpones it to a later date.”
“That didn’t seem to bother them in Enora,” Sasha remarked.
“Serrin killed very few in Enora,” said Kessligh, “and mostly only those who would not put down their arms. The killing there was done by the peasants and townsfolk. Lord Gilis of Enora was a brutal man, and the Enoran peasantry had long been the most friendly to Saalshen. They were closest to the Ipshaal, and many knew friends or family who had slipped across the river, and could testify to the kindness of the serrinim.
“When Saalshen’s warriors came to Enora instead of the returning armies of Leyvaan, the peasants were thrilled. They rose up in a force too powerful for Saalshen to control, and Saalshen did not wish to offend their new friends and rob them of their new-found liberty. But the mobs killed every noble they could find, man, woman and child.”
“And a good thing too,” Dhael sighed. “They erased every claimant to the Enoran throne. Now, Enora is at peace. Rhodaan, however, is always crazy.”
Sasha had heard as much. Enora was the site of the Enoran Grand Temple, holiest of the Verenthane holy sites, and the greatest single cause of the current troubles. But Enora itself was peaceful and secure, with villagers and townsfolk volunteering to form the impassable barrier of the Enoran Steel-one-third of the greatest fighting army ever known to humanity.
Rhodaan, however, was even more powerful. It had ports, ships and trade. Thus, Rhodaan had gold, and lots of it. The Rhodaani also had competing factions, powerful old families clinging to old loyalties from before the coming of the serrin, and a tendency to solve such disputes through force that continued to exasperate their more peaceful serrin friends.
“This was a smart move, though,” said Sasha. “If they’d waited until the regent had mustered all forces on Rhodaan’s doorstep, they’d never have had the strength to defend the Elissian flank. Best to deal with Elisse first, and get it out of the way.”
“No,” said Dhael, shaking his head. “It’s a terrible decision.”
“Terrible?”
“When the serrin came to Rhodaan,” said Dhael, “my ancestors hoped that it was a new dawn. The serrin do not like war, and never engage in it by choice. Many of us have striven to make Rhodaan a place that will never resort to war. Least of all a war of aggression like this one.”
“Aggression?” Sasha stared at him. “Regent Arrosh gathers the largest army ever seen in the Bacosh to assault you and your allies and Lord Arshenen of Elisse declares his support for them, and yet you claim this defensive action is a war of aggression?”
Dhael shrugged. “We attacked them. We crossed their border and invaded their lands, attacked their armies…”
“Semantics,” Sasha snorted.
“You are Lenay, and Lenays like war,” Dhael sighed. “Alas, even the grace of Saalshen has not swayed enough of my people from their love of bloodshed.”
“Nor their will to defend themselves,” Sasha retorted. “What you describe is suicide. How can you claim to love your people if you will not fight to defend them?”
“I love my people and I serve their interests,” Dhael said shortly. “I was elected to the Council by my peers. It is not for you to question whether or not I love my people.”
He got up, steadying himself as he found his balance, and departed. Kessligh shook his head. “I can’t believe I brought you on a mission of diplomacy.”
“He’s supposed to be schooled in the learned tradition of serrin debate,” said Sasha. “That means he’s not supposed to walk off in a huff when I make a strong point.”
“I’m quite sure you could walk into a Council of the most gentle and wise serrin thinkers,” Kessligh said drily, “and have them all baying for your blood within the hour.”
Sasha grinned. “You say the sweetest things.” She rested her head briefly against his shoulder. Kessligh snorted. She was enjoying being more affectionate to Kessligh these days. In so many ways, he’d been her truest father, much more so than her blood father, King Torvaal of Lenayin. Their relationship had been turbulent, as the master swordsman had attempted to whip the wild brat tomboy into a passable swordsman and Nasi-Keth uma. He’d been the one man whose approval she’d truly craved, while at the same time resenting the power that gave him.
Lately, though, the resentment had faded. Much of the wisdom she’d questioned at the time had turned out to be wise after all, and while she continued to disagree with his outlook on many things, she had gained a new-found respect for the reasoning behind his views. He no longer intimidated her like he once had, which was partly because she had grown, and partly because they had reached a deeper understanding. She was a woman now, and a blooded warrior, a person to be feared by her enemies. And she knew now for certain that Kessligh loved her, however gruffly he might express it. He might have difficulty showing his feelings, but that did not mean she should.
“Dhael is an idealist,” said Kessligh. “He knows serrin teachings well. He believes that if followed, humanity can become a peaceful race, like the serrin.”
“I doubt it. Serrin are just different, they don’t think as we do. If humanity is to find peace, we must find our own path to do so.”
Kessligh shrugged. “Even so, it is important to understand his position. There are many like him, in the Saalshen Bacosh. The Bacosh has had so much war, and people look for solutions.”
“Utopias,” Sasha corrected.
“Some might say Saalshen itself is a utopia,” Kessligh replied.