after all. Her father's knowledge of the ancient ways was not dead, it seemed. Merely dormant.
“The ancient ways are flexible,” Captain Akryd spoke up. “Taneryn has its own Rathynals, where chiefs and village seniors gather to discuss matters of the province. We shall arrange another. The old ways accept much that is new, Your Highness, even if Lord Krayliss did not. Not all in Taneryn are like him.”
“Might you stand for the Great Lordship of Taneryn yourself, Captain Akryd?” the king asked shrewdly. “Lord Krayliss spoke often of saving the Udalyn, but it is you who stand here today.”
Sasha resisted the urge to turn around and look. Behind, she heard a creak of mail and leather as Akryd shrugged. “Perhaps,” he answered.
Torvaal considered him with narrowed eyes. Pressed his lips thin and gazed out of the cottage windows across the sunlit expanse of valley. “It is beautiful here,” he conceded. “The Udalyn have cared for their valley for many centuries. It seems that the gods have plans for this to continue.”
“Your Highness!” Lord Rydysh exclaimed angrily. “The gods put men in the world to do their bidding and fight their battles! One does not simply give up the battle as lost because of setbacks! At least we must demand that the Udalyn convert! This is Verenthane land, surrounded by Verenthane peoples! To ask the two to continue to coexist would be folly!”
“They do everywhere else in Lenayin,” the king said mildly. “Why not here?”
“This is the north!” Lord Rydysh seethed. “We value our independence. These lands are ours. We do things our way, Your Highness. King Soros decreed that it would be so.”
“King Soros is dead,” said the king. “I rule now.” Lord Rydysh glared at him, grinding his teeth. Koenyg looked uncomfortable and uncertain. For twelve years, the powerful men of Lenayin had taken the king's lack of involvement in such matters for granted.
Watching him, Sasha felt her heart thumping with a new, hopeful urgency. Dared she hope? Dared anyone hope that the old king had finally returned?
“The Hadryn have been defeated on their home soil, Lord Rydysh,” Torvaal said. “The gods have chosen. The victor is clear.”
King Torvaal turned to Sasha. “Your terms are acceptable.” There was a deathly stillness. Sasha could see the lords thinking furiously. She wondered how long any decree, even the king's, could survive against all the forces pushing the other way.
“I, however,” Torvaal continued, “have terms of my own.”
Sasha nodded. “Name them.”
“All men who rode on this adventure shall once again declare their fealty to the throne, upon their honour. Only then shall they receive their pardon.”
“Of course,” Sasha agreed. “They never left your service, Father. They fight unjust lords and bigotry, not the king.”
“It gives me little comfort to preside as a neutral over a Lenay civil war,” Torvaal said somewhat testily. “Sofy shall return to me, and quickly.”
“Aye,” said Sasha. “She will when she's ready.” Her father's stare darkened at that. “Father, this is her first breath of freedom in eighteen years! Give the girl a little time.”
“Two days,” Torvaal said firmly. “She keeps the company of rough men and soldiers. People will talk. It will not do.”
“She tends our wounded,” Sasha corrected, dryly. “She assists those in need.”
“Two days,” Torvaal repeated.
Sasha sighed. “Aye, Your Highness.”
“Master Jaryd shall present himself to his Tyree lords for judgment.”
“Not a bloody chance,” Sasha said grimly.
“Sashandra,” said her father, with the beginnings of temper, “the powers of a king in Lenayin are limited. The lords rule within their provinces, up to the point where those rights come into conflict with the king's law. A king has no say in a fight between provincial lords. This is an internal matter for Tyree. It must be settled.”
“What's to settle?” Sasha retorted, glaring at Lord Arastyn standing over by a window. “Family Nyvar is no more. You are Great Lord of Tyree now, Arastyn. Why do you need Jaryd?”
“Tyree law is Tyree law,” Arastyn said stonily. “It is immutable.”
“Aye, well we're not in Tyree!” Sasha snapped. “I have seven thousand under my command, and I make the rules for men beneath my command. You want him, you come and get him.”
“Your Highness,” Arastyn said to Torvaal, “she is unreasonable.” Torvaal gave him a look that suggested him a fool to have expected anything else.
“Who'll you get to come and take me?” Jaryd said from Sasha's back. His tone was flat, edged with darkness. “The Falcon Guard? They stand with me. You are powerless, Arastyn. A powerless coward. All