Free Sasha by Joel Shepherd Page A

different had Krystoff lived. Then Lenayin would have had a king both Verenthane and Nasi-Keth, as are so many in Petrodor.”
    “And we have the Hadryn to thank that it didn't happen,” Sasha muttered.
    Kessligh fixed her with a hard stare. “Sasha. What happened to Krystoff is old history. It hurt me as much as it hurt you. But we're riding into this mess now on the king's business, and the king must be impartial. If you feel that will be a problem for you, best that you tell me now.”
    “They killed him,” Sasha said darkly. “Not by their own hands, but nearly.”
    “I know,” said Kessligh. “It changes nothing.”
    “And who are you to be accusing me of partisan loyalties?” Sasha retorted. “Saalshen is losing credit fast with Father, and doubtless the Nasi-Keth with them. And now you come on this ride claiming to act in Father's interests?”
    “I have always been your father's servant,” Kessligh said flatly. “I've fought in his service since I rode to Lenayin thirty years ago.”
    “And should Father act against the Nasi-Keth?” Sasha persisted. “What then?”
    “Then,” said Kessligh, “I shall cross that bridge when I come to it.”

C AMPFIRES LIT SMALL CIRCLES OF LIGHT in the forest, a leaping dance of tree trunks and long, flickering shadows. Men gathered about their fires and cooked, while others tended to horses, or mended worn gear. There was cloud overhead, the wind was gentle from the south, and Sasha knew it would not grow so cold tonight. But she missed the stars, her one great consolation for nights upon the road.
    “There is dispute over Lord Krayliss's ancestry,” Damon said as the regal party ate. Sasha wolfed her meal with her usual appetite—roasted meat on skewers, and a vegetable raal Kessligh had whipped up. Damon, however, seemed to pick at his food. “I've heard it claimed that he's not actually Udalyn at all.”
    To Sasha's surprise, he looked directly at her. As if she, above all others present, would be likely to know. Well, perhaps she would. “His grandmother,” she managed about a hot mouthful, seated upon her saddle with a tin plate balanced in her lap. “So it's said. But the maternal grandmother, not the paternal.”
    Damon frowned. “That's important?”
    “In the old ways, power passes through the paternal line. A maternal grandmother is the weakest claim to ancestry. But then, some have accused Krayliss of overstatement.” To her left, Captain Tyrun repressed a humourless laugh. From across the fire, Jaryd frowned at her above the flames.
    “How important is it?” Damon asked bluntly. “To be Udalyn?”
    “For Krayliss?” Sasha raised her eyebrows. “Very. Spirits know he gains precious little credit among the Goeren-yai from anything else.”
    “To claim ancestry to the chieftain of a dying clan who were once in league with the Cherrovan?” Damon looked dubious.
    Sasha could not resist a glance around to see who else might overhear. But the neighbouring fireplace conversations were too distant, and too jovial, for that to be likely. “People in these parts see it differently,” she said warningly.
    Damon made a dismissive gesture. “I'll never understand it,” he said darkly. “This obsession with the Udalyn. They've barely emerged from their valley for a century, have been little good to anyone, yet Goeren-yai the length and breadth of Lenayin worship their name.” He took a reluctant bite of his meat.
    Sasha glanced at Kessligh, seated to her right. He gazed into the flames as he ate. His eyes were unfocused, as if he saw the ghosts of past memories dancing amongst the coals. “Best perhaps that you tell your brother that story,” he said then, distantly. “We ride squarely into this matter, much unresolved. Best that he understands.”
    Sasha nodded. “I agree. But I think one here might tell it better than I.” She looked across to Captain Tyrun.
    Tyrun looked surprised. “Me, M'Lady? I'm Verenthane, I claim no great wisdom