column came to a stop in clouds of sunlit dust. A young man in lordly clothes rode forward. In one hand, he carried the banner of Family Tathys—a stone tower pierced by a lightning strike.
Verenthane lords and their family emblems, Sasha thought sourly, watching him. Pompous fools. Fancy parading it around lowlands style, as if the very presence of that bloodline should cause men to fall to one knee in reverence.
“Greetings men of Baerlyn!” the young man cried, his voice high and clear. A squire, Sasha recalled such banner carriers were called amongst the lordly classes. Another stupid, imported lowlands word. Goeren-yai and the rural folk of Lenayin were not yet educated in such civilised terminology. Sasha hoped fervently that they would never need to be. “My Great Lord Kumaryn Tathys of Valhanan bids you greetings!”
“Aye, hello!” called one of the Baerlyn men cheerfully, to a roar of laughter from the rest.
The squire swallowed nervously. “As Great Lord of Valhanan, Great Lord Kumaryn has ridden today to Baerlyn to claim his right under law! It has recently come to my Lord's attention that upon the recent ride of the Tyree Falcon Guard into the province of Taneryn…”
“Where's your balls, lad?” yelled another man. Sasha thought it sounded suspiciously like Teriyan. More laughter.
“He left them in Cryliss, by the sound of it!” yelled another.
“Nay, Kumaryn borrowed them!” Raucous howls. This, Sasha thought with a sigh, was quite certainly Teriyan. “Be fair, Kumaryn! Give the lad his balls back, we know you've got no need of them!”
“Into the province of Taneryn,” the squire continued, his high voice wavering. Sasha almost felt sorry for him. “There the Great Lord Kumaryn's dearest relative, the Lieutenant Reynan Pelyn, of the noble Tyree family of Pelyn, and family to Great Lord Kumaryn through his marriage to his sister's cousin…” Groans of derision from the Baerlyners. “…met his end in highly suspicious circumstances! Word from truth-loving men has placed the blame for this callous murder upon the person of Sashandra Lenayin…”
“Fuck off, you two-bit fool!” came a yell with precious little humour in it.
“Nay!” came Teriyan's loud reply. “Even for a fool, he's not worth one-and-five!”
Behind the squire, at the head of Kumaryn's column, Sasha noted many men who had ridden forward to hear. Some were officers of the Black Wolves, others were noble Verenthanes, well-dressed and well-groomed atop their large horses. Several others were Goeren-yai—Cryliss had some Goeren-yai, Sasha knew, largely about the city perimeter. A few Cryliss Goeren-yai were wealthy merchants and traders like their Verenthane comrades, though none had yet accepted a title. Most refused nobility as a concept. Swordwork and honour, not wealth and titles, made the measure of a Goeren-yai man. And Sasha knew some Verenthanes who felt the same.
“And so,” the squire resumed, now utterly flustered, “Great Lord Kumaryn demands by the powers of law vested in him that the Lady Sashandra be handed over to his custody at once, for a trial by the procedures laid out within the king's law!”
The squire finished and backed up his horse. Ironical applause followed him. “Well done, lad!” someone shouted. “Fucking incomprehensible, but well done!”
Jaegar walked forward from the line. Like many in Lenayin, he disdained horses when there was a chance to fight on foot. In rugged, forested Lenayin, that was often. His leather jerkin had no sleeves and he wielded the massive blade in his hand as if it were a twig.
“Lord Kumaryn!” he shouted, in a deep, yet eloquent voice. “I'm very sorry that you've come all this way for nothing! Baerlyn swears its allegiance to the king in Baen-Tar, not to you! You have no authority to apprehend or administer a trial against any man, woman or child of Baerlyn in the name of justice! Justice belongs to the king, not to provincial lords! Goodbye!”
The gaunt-faced, white-bearded man rode forward atop a dappled, grey-white mare. His cloak was red and gold, and he wore a blue shirt and leather vest over chain. Sasha saw the sweat on his brow. He had to have at least fifty summers…didn't the heat bother him? She swatted at a fly…up here about the pig and sheep enclosures, the flies bred something fierce in summer.
“Master Jaegar, I presume?” Kumaryn called down from his horse.
“Yuan Jaegar,” Baerlyn's headman corrected. He planted his swordtip on the road and folded his hands atop the hilt, feet set wide. Kumaryn's blue eyes were cold with disdain and his nose was wrinkled.
“You forget yourself, Yuan Jaegar,” said Kumaryn. He