of his jaw. He walked slowly forward in heavy boots and a leather vest beneath a cloak of green and black Taneryn colours. Lord Krayliss of Taneryn, the sole Goeren-yai great lord of Lenayin.
“The spirit men all agree there have been omens,” Krayliss continued, his eyes still fixed on Kessligh. The sword that swung from his hip was a monster, although to judge from the breadth of the man's shoulders, Sasha reckoned it might be about the correct size for him. “The sky tonight was red, foretelling of much blood to be shed…or of the coming of a great power. Perhaps that is you, Yuan Kessligh? Or your uma?”
“I am not a man to judge such things, Lord Krayliss,” Kessligh replied, shrewdly. “If you wish a recounting, best that you ask her yourself.”
Krayliss stopped at the forefront of his gathering, assorted village headmen and respected warriors from across Taneryn. Followers of Krayliss, at least. Not all the men of Taneryn could be described as such. But some, facing Hadryn aggression, might rally to his side nonetheless.
“Yuan Cassyl makes a fair observation,” he rumbled, meaty thumbs tucked into his broad leather belt. “Women are not welcome at Goeren-yai councils of war. It is not our way.”
“If my ways are not welcome here,” said Kessligh, “then I shall leave. Do you revoke your previous invitation?” Their stares locked. A contest of wills, the stubborn versus the disciplined. The blunt instrument versus the sharp. A lord never revoked an invitation. Kessligh had drawn the line, somewhat closer to Lord Krayliss's toes than most men would dare.
“Girl!” Krayliss barked then, with a wry twist of his lips. “Come forward! Step where we can see you!”
Sasha cast her cloak away from her left shoulder, exposing the hilt of her sword, and moved quietly to Kessligh's side. It was an effort not to meet Krayliss's eyes, but she kept her gaze demurely on his broad chest, as a good Goeren-yai maiden should among such mighty warriors. Surrounding her, some men stared in displeasure. Others with intent curiosity. And some with mouths smirking in imitation of their lord, as if thinking the matter some huge jest.
“So…” rumbled Krayliss, raking her from head to toe with his gaze. “The girl who was once a princess. Some men still call you that, do they not?”
“The men of Lenayin shall do as they will, my Lord,” Sasha replied, provoking some laughter at that truism. “It is no longer my title, I ceased to be princess when I left Baen-Tar.”
“The bonds of blood are deeper than mere titles, girl,” said Krayliss. Some of the smirking ceased at that utterance. The lord's eyes bore deeper. Sasha's instinct was to meet challenge with challenge. The effort to keep her eyes lowered was enough to bring sweat to her brow. “These tales from Perys. The rider who gave them was young and with little hair between his legs…much like our Master Jaryd here.”
A roar of laughter from the gathered men. Sasha repressed a retort with difficulty. Sometimes, in her love of the Goeren-yai, she forgot why she disliked Lord Krayliss so greatly. Now she remembered.
“I did not slay nine men,” she said tightly.
“Ha,” said one village headman, contemptuously, “as I said. Just as I said.”
“I slew four.”
Deathly silence across the hall. “You witnessed this deed?” Krayliss asked Kessligh.
“Not I,” said Kessligh. “I saw the bodies in the aftermath.”
“I saw it!” called Jaryd to the group, proudly. “I was not ten paces from the last when he fell! All four fell so fast and so close that I had barely yelled warning of the first, when the last had fallen upon his corpse! It was a masterful display and I pity those who were not there to see it! Even as Verenthane, I swear I could see the mark of your spirits in the strokes of her blade!”
Sasha swore beneath her breath, through clenched teeth. Stupid, ignorant, macho young fool. Oh how she was going to kick his backside when they were outside once more…
“You make great claims, young Master,” growled Krayliss, with considerable displeasure. “What does a Verenthane know of such things? On what authority does a follower of the lowlands order claim knowledge of the ancient spirits?”
“I was there, my Lord,” Jaryd retorted with all too little fear. Did he know who he faced? Challenging Lord Krayliss within his own hall was not the same as defeating wooden swords at tournaments. In these parts, men fought to kill, not for games. “I have