by the gods to rule. None in Hadryn dispute it. Prove yourself now, my Lord, and remind them of that choice. The gods’ will cannot so easily be undone.”
Another catapult shot clattered and whistled. Heryd finished his tea, bowed and departed. Usyn watched him go, his fingers clenched tightly about his cup. Victory in battle, the cornerstone of all honour. He'd show that fool Varan. He'd show him the true meaning of victory.
A new presence arrived at his left elbow and he turned to find Father Celys in black robes with his staff in hand.
“My Lord,” said Celys with a bow, a bald man with a thin grey beard. “My Lord, I wondered if I could have a word?”
“Of course, Father,” said Usyn, turning to face him with as much lordly dignity as he could muster. He liked this part—the part where men he had known his whole life, and who had never shown him the respect he deserved, now suddenly had to bow before him and lower their eyes. “How can I help you?”
“Well, my Lord…there is the matter of the pagans’ bodies. It is the custom of the order that even an enemy should receive a proper burial…”
“These are not merely enemies, Father,” Usyn said coldly. “These are pagans. They spit on the rightful gods, as their ancestors spat on them during the Liberation and assisted their enemies. Their souls now descend to the fires of Loth to burn for eternity, and I say good riddance. Burn the bodies. And do it before the walls, so the rest of them can see.”
Father Celys took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Aye, M'Lord.” Usyn regarded him disdainfully. His father had suspected Father Celys of defective moral character for a long time. The Bishop of Hadryn had always been more interested in converting pagans than killing them. “However, if it pleases my Lord, I would request permission to entreaty the pagans behind the wall to save their souls by conversion.”
Usyn snorted. “That is your right, Father—souls are a bishop's prerogative just as lives are a lord's.”
“And should they agree, M'Lord…would you consider a surrender?”
Usyn glared at him, lips pressed thin. His temper boiled. “We hold the Hadryn's most ancient enemies by the throat and you would beg for mercy on their behalf?”
Father Celys ducked his head. “No, M'Lord. But…but one would like to make contingencies, for future plans. When the walls are breached, M'Lord, there will be many more bodies to dispose of, and their souls too will be in question…”
“Burn them,” Usyn said coldly. “Burn them all.”
“Aye, M'Lord. And the prisoners, M'Lord? What of them?”
Usyn raised a thin eyebrow. “Prisoners?”
“The women and children, M'Lord.” Looking up at Usyn hopefully, from beneath lowered brows. “When the holy armies reached Torovan from the Bacosh five centuries ago, they did report a great success at persuasive conversions with the women, without their menfolk there to protect them. The pagan womenfolk are good workers, we could…”
“There shall be no prisoners, Father Celys,” said Usyn Telgar, Lord of Hadryn. “This valley is lacking in firewood, I would guess. Best that you make plans to collect some.”
SASHA WOKE EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, and did her exercises on the floor of Sofy's chambers while her sister slept on, peaceful in the wash of morning sunlight through the windows. The taka-dans woke her, however.
“I'd never thought something so deadly could look so beautiful,” Sofy said from her pillows as Sasha lowered her blade. Sofy gazed with amazement. Sasha performed the last third of the defensive elia-dan, the silver blade flashing in the sunlight, finding the perfect form of foot, wrist and shoulder. Then sheathed the sword over her shoulder in one, smooth motion.
“Da'el she'hiel alas themashel,” Sasha told her.
“Is that Saalsi?” Sofy asked, enchanted. “What does it mean?”
“Literally, ‘the beauty of danger’…only that doesn't translate well, does it? Most Saalsi doesn't. It basically means that all dangerous things are beautiful. But serrin words rarely state things so directly.”
“Oh, I'd love to learn Saalsi,” Sofy sighed, rubbing her eyes. She yawned. “Are you going for a run?”
“Always,” said Sasha, stretching her thighs. “Want to come?”
“You're crazy!” Sofy laughed. “What would people think?”
“I don't know. What would people think?”
“A princess of Lenayin does not run,” Sofy said primly. And yawned again. “Especially not so early.”
“Thank the spirits for that, then,” Sasha said cheerfully. “I'd hate to be mistaken for something I'm not.”
She collected Teriyan and Andreyis from their chambers in the southern guest quarters and walked with them along