Free Petrodor: A Trial of Blood and Steel, Book 2 by Joel Shepherd Page B

“Lenay warriors have plenty of swords, but not much else. Lowlands fighting is different than highlands. They'll need shields, helms, heavier armour.”
    “And the Petrodor families will buy all this for Lenayin?” Sasha asked. Armoury on that scale would be horrendously expensive. That the families were willing to spend lives for the cause of a free, Verenthane Bacosh, there was no doubt. But gold?
    It seemed too generous by half.
    “There's a lot of trade between Petrodor and Lenayin,” said Errollyn, shaking his head. “Lots of ways for the families to receive return payment. Probably your father will be sending many large wagon trains down to Petrodor to pay for it all.”
    “Money that should be spent on feeding the poor and keeping the roads open,” Sasha muttered. “One bad flood can wipe out half a province's harvest, and he's wasting gold on chain mail.”
    Footsteps approached, and all about the table looked up. “Now what are you lot muttering about over here in your evil foreign tongues?” said thecheerful barkeeper, dumping a new jug of water on the table. “A recipe for cooking small children, perhaps? So do you fry them? Or boil them in great, steaming pots with lots of onions?”
    “Fuck off, Tongren,” Sasha told him in Lenay with a broad smile. Saalsi had its sophistication, and Torovan its clever turns of phrase, but, for swearing, no tongue beat Lenay.
    Tongren laughed. “Oh ho! The little princess has a foul tongue. Stop scratching the damn arm or it'll swell up all red and nasty-looking, I'm warning you.”
    Sasha looked in surprise at her right hand, which was scratching the tattoo on her left bicep again. She smiled, sheepishly. “It itches.”
    “Of course it bloody itches! It's three days old; it's supposed to itch.” His dark, lively gaze fell to Rhillian. “I don't suppose I could interest the lovely lady Rhillian in an ancient marking of the spirit world? Sasha can tell you my prices are quite reasonable, and my quality unmatched.”
    “I know,” said Rhillian, “she's shown me. But no, I'm afraid not.”
    “Ah, but M'Lady, it's said all across the highlands that the wise folk of Saalshen are as one with the spirits! Have you not felt the tug of the ancient highland ways that have drawn so many of your ancestors into the hills and valleys?”
    “I have,” Rhillian admitted, and flashed him a stunning smile. “But even you, Master Tongren, cannot improve on perfection. No tattoos.”
    “Modesty, thy name is Rhillian,” Errollyn remarked.
    “In the highlands,” said Tongren, with a glinting smile, “we say that perfection is the light, but all light casts a shadow.” He gave a short bow and swaggered back to his rickety bar.
    Rhillian gave Errollyn a sideways stare and remarked something to him in dialect that no one else at the table could possibly understand. Errollyn only grinned. Sasha reflected that if any person had the right to be immodest of her appearance, it was Rhillian. Although Errollyn was surely not far behind…
    To Sasha's undying embarrassment, the day she'd first met Tongren she'd mistaken him for a fellow Lenay. In fact, he was Cherrovan. It was the first time in her life she'd come face to face with the mortal Cherrovan enemy and not had to kill him. Petrodor had many folk of highland origins, Lenay and Cherrovan. Some had come in search of work, others in search of adventure, but most were outcasts of one sort or the other. Highlanders, Lenays and Cherrovans alike, were fiercely tied to the land of their origins and few left willingly. Tongren had never fully explained why he and his family had made the long trek to Petrodor, nor why he showed little enthusiasm for returningto Cherrovan. He did not, he'd said, find the Cherrovan of today very welcoming. Hearing what she'd heard herself, Sasha had some idea what he might mean.
    “You met with Patachi Maerler today?” Kessligh asked Rhillian, returning to Saalsi. Rhillian did not reply