wood handle and gave it to Tyrun—reward for a tale well told. Tyrun gave a small smile of thanks.
“And now Lord Krayliss attempts to play the Udalyn card once more,” Damon said. His own food remained largely untouched upon his plate. “Why? What is to gain?”
“The Udalyn are the one issue,” Sasha replied, “the one singular thing, upon which all Goeren-yai can agree. They are heroes. They are the very symbol of Goeren-yai pride, courage and the will to survive in the face of advancing foreign religions. Krayliss claims to represent the old ways, and the Udalyn fly that banner far better than he. He dreams of an age long past, before the coming of Verenthanes, when Lenayin was wild and free.”
“And a bloody, barbarian rabble,” said Kessligh, with his usual diplomacy. Sasha knew well enough what Kessligh thought of such romanticism…and of her own undeniable attraction to it.
She shrugged, too wise by now to respond with temper. “Aye,” she said. “Krayliss would bring back those days if he could, the good and the bad. But most Goeren-yai are too smart for that. Lowlands trade is prosperous and many have benefited. So long as Baen-Tar does not attempt to convert them by force or coercion, they care not if the towns all pray to lowlands gods. And so Krayliss grows desperate. He needs the Udalyn. He is the last remaining Goeren-yai lord—although he would style himself as chieftain—and he claims blood ties to Tharyn Askar himself. On such credit does he ask the Goeren-yai of all Lenayin to love him.”
“And now there comes talk of lowlands war,” said Kessligh. There was a note to his voice, and his expression, that Sasha did not like. It suggested a certain exasperation. A dark, brooding disgust. Well…she was disgusted too, by fools like the Rashyds and Kraylisses alike. Yet she doubted if that were the only target of Kessligh's distaste. “To reclaim Verenthane holy lands in the Bacosh, no less. As well invade the moon to reclaim its silver. Bacosh, Torovan, it's all lowlands—Verenthane—and a world away. Folks here aren't interested. And Krayliss seeks an advantage.”
Damon seemed about to reply, but Sasha cut him off. “It's worse than that,” she said with force, somewhat annoyed with her uman for oversimplifying. “Don't you see? Krayliss seeks to turn the entire province of Taneryn down the path of the Udalyn before them. He's killed the Great Lord of Hadryn, that much seems clear. Just as Tharyn Askar, his ancestor, killed Essyn Telgar a century before. He tries to relive old Goeren-yai glories.”
“Taneryn is a province unto itself,” Damon replied, frowning. “The Valley of the Udalyn is entirely within the borders of Hadryn province. Few from outside have even met one of the Udalyn.”
Sasha shrugged. “That only makes the Udalyn legend grow stronger. Damon, Hadryn is powerful. All the northern Verenthane provinces are. Endless battles against Cherrovan incursions, and favourable taxation from Baen-Tar, have made them so. Few other provinces can match them for sheer force of arms, least of all quiet, rustic Taneryn. Most Taneryns know this. For all their bravery, they're not stupid. They won't follow Krayliss to pointless suicide against the armoured cavalry of the north, all for naught but the greater glory of Krayliss himself. They see Krayliss for what he is—a vain, pompous fool, who offers them nothing but rhetoric, poverty and an early grave.
“But that does not mean they will like father's lowlands war any better. And it does not mean they will like having Krayliss removed and a friendly, Verenthane lord appointed by Baen-Tar. Krayliss is a fool, but he is the only Goeren-yai great lord. A people can become desperate, feeling that no one listens to their concerns; that there are none to represent them in the halls of power. If Krayliss gains martyrdom, he could be far more popular in death than he ever managed in life.”
Damon gazed into the fire, considering that. To her left, Sasha saw that Captain Tyrun was considering her with narrowed eyes. Studying her, as if measuring her for something. She found it strangely disconcerting and returned tentative attention to her food. Jaryd said nothing. He seemed little interested in any matter that did not involve tournaments or gossip and offered no opinions.
“Thank you,” Damon said then. “To both of you.” Looking at Sasha, and then at Tyrun. “I shall think on this.”
Kessligh stabbed at the fire once more, raising another cloud of swirling sparks. His expression boded nothing good.