Islana's Story
Jall sat silently, trying to keep his temper under control. Had these been any other people arguing, he wouldn't have bothered, as he had a real skill for making people shut up and listen to him when he wanted. But they weren't anyone else, they were the most powerful men in the world. And they were fighting like children.
He drummed his fingers against the table, trying to force out some of his annoyance and tension that way, wishing he could get up for five minutes, leave the room, head to a practice hall and work the frustration out that way. At least, if he could do that, he'd be doing something productive, instead of listening to this.
Kalin had started translating for Dysis, at least for the time being, which gave him even less of a reason to put up with them. His presence was unnecessary... Well, not in theory; supposedly, he acted as a leader of the Knights, and did not technically have to remain subservient to Kalin. But suddenly changing his policy of listening to the High Priest's recommendations would only put him into the mix as a fourth player with his own agenda, and make him a further blockade to getting an agreement hammered into shape. The Priests' and the Knights' needs were close enough together that he would keep his mouth shut.
"...And I understand that, Majesty," Dysis snarled, "but it doesn't benefit you, either, to have thousands of people show up on the shores, who don't have any skills but manual labor, who don't even speak your language. It leaves my land devastated, it leaves yours overpopulated and without the means of dealing with them. Anyone can see that."
Kalin was translating, so Jall sat back and listened.
"And how long would you have them wait in slavery?" Erra demanded. "Another year—another decade? When is the time right?"
"Not time, but times," Dysis answered. "All I'm suggesting—"
"What you're suggesting is bullshit!"
"It's the only way!"
Jall cleared his throat loudly, and glared at Dysis, then fixed his stare on Erra. They fell silent for a minute. He'd taken that on his as his main roll, since he had no interest in attempting to negotiate himself; he was able to make everyone stop screaming and realize they had to behave. He'd done it to keep Kalin and Erra from each other's throats, and to keep Erra and Dysis from yelling until the went hoarse, like he was now.
Dysis gave him a dirty look. He gestured vaguely with one hand. "...You were saying, Holiness? Politely?"
"I'm not the one who's been impolite," Dysis muttered to himself. Kalin didn't bother to hide a smile at the insult towards Erra, but Dysis did continue with his point then.
Not that it would do any good. Nothing would do any good. It had been a week, and they were still where they started. As the argument began again, still full of raw hatred and unconcealed disdain for the others involved, Jall felt his heart sink. They were trapped like this, and it seemed there was no way out.
[OPENING CREDITS]
Episode 20: Playing Politics
Back and forth, perfect form, and then—an unexpected blow and it all went to hell. Tiernan tried to recover, of course, he was good, just inexperienced... But the bout was lost. He lost his footing eventually, and as he tried to catch his balance a quick move from Ocan scored a kill on his chest, and he gave an undignified yelp of pain. Ocan berated him in a voice just loud enough for Jereh to hear from her vantage point, a bench at the side of the grounds, and sent him to get a drink and start to cool off. It was Cleran's turn now.
Tiernan picked up his waterskin and a towel, and walked to Jereh. "And might I ask your opinion, Lady Knight?" he murmured, then took a long drink.
She gave him an emotionless look. "You overextend and leave your back and right side vulnerable."
"Ocan told me the same thing."
"He killed you that way three times in a row."
"You don't approve, I take it?"
"His action I approve of; yours were stupid. How many times do you have to make that mistake before you correct it?"
"It's just a practice bout."
"Lucky for you. If it was a battlefield, you'd be dead by now."
"Ocan told me that, too."
"He's survived the battlefield," she said, and turned her attention to watching Cleran. Cleran was decent, but only decent; he had a better idea of how to avoid getting killed, but wasn't nearly as good at scoring on his opponent as Tiernan was, and his form was terrible. She waited for the match's predictable ending, and watched emotionlessly as Cleran picked himself out of the dust.
"And your assessment of Cleran?"
"He's good at staying alive. Not good enough. And he doesn't have it in him to kill," she noted.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean he had chances, that was closer to a field match than an honor bout, and Ocan treated it as one. Which meant he got caught up enough in trying to fight Cleran that he wasn't defending himself. They'd both fall on the field; Cleran to Ocan, and Ocan to someone behind him."
"You?"
"Probably."
"Are you really any good, Lady Knight?"
"Good enough that I'm still alive."
He nodded and they watched Cleran and Ocan begin again, fight, and eventually saw the same outcome. "So what do you think of Ocan, then?"
She watched Ocan watch Cleran stand, retrieve his sword, and start again. "He's still alive, too," she said finally.
"High praise, coming from you, I'd assume. Would you care to spar?" he asked, finishing his water and stretching some against the bench.
"No, thank you."
"Afraid?" Tiernan challenged.
"Warrior, I'd have you on the dust in a minute flat," she answered.
"Braggart."
She half-smiled. He figured insulting her or challenging her would cause her to accept his offer, and she knew better. She watched Ocan and Cleran through a third bout, pleased to note that Cleran scored on Ocan more often this time, before it ended with the same results. At least he was warming up, and unlike Tiernan, didn't make the same mistake again.
Ocan and Cleran joined them at the bench, taking long drinks of water. "The Lady Knight doesn't seem terribly impressed by us," Tiernan noted to Cleran.
"I'm not surprised," he answered. "It takes an awful lot to impress her... I was given the understanding that she's quite good."
Jereh ignored them.
"Is this true?" Ocan asked her.
"I'm good enough," she replied.
He tried to look pleased. "Perhaps you'd care for a bout?" he suggested. "These two are hardly challenging; I'm certain your battle experience gives you an edge they lack. I suspect we'd be a much closer match... And it would be beneficial to them, besides, to see what it's like when a Knight and Warrior clash. Prepare them—save their lives some day."
"When in Kaleal's name would I want to do that?" she answered. "If things return to open battle, I certainly wouldn't want to face anyone I'd trained."
"I thought you were confident that things would be settled peacefully?" She narrowed her eyes, and he continued to press. "But then, some Knights don't fight as well as others, or as hard... Even if lives depend on it. Ilyan Kelanister died with almost no resistance."
She grit her teeth together and clenched a fist. She could see what he was doing, he was no more subtle than Tiernan had been, except his remarks hit closer to home. "Ilyan Kelanister's wife was being held at sword point," she snarled.
"True, I suppose. He took death much braver than she did, anyway; she sobbed and begged... Seeing that Kelanister bitch begging was one of the high moments of my life, Knight. Almost as high as seeing the Prince's head roll off his shoulders."
"What kind of man takes pleasure in someone else's pain and death?" she demanded. "Even an enemy's—what sort of man wishes to inflict pain?"
"One who has seen too many friends die." He set down his waterskin. "Well, Jereh, if you're as cowardly as your dead Prince was, very well. Tiernan, it's your turn again."
Tiernan nodded and shot Jereh an apologetic look. Jereh forced her fist to unclench, then, "Tiernan, perhaps I'll take you up on your offer." She realized this was probably a mistake, but also that there was a chance it would get Ocan to stop taunting her with memories of Ilyan's death. If he saw her fight Tiernan, he might be satisfied... And she knew she could beat Tiernan anyway. She was certain of it.
"Of course, Lady Knight," he answered politely. "If you'll excuse me, Ocan...?"
"Of course. Here," he said to Jereh, "you're welcome to use my practice blade."
She accepted it and spent a minute getting used to its weight and feel, slightly larger that she was used to, but no heavier because it was light wood instead of metal. Satisfied, she followed Tiernan into the circle.
He nodded at her that he was ready, and she returned the gesture and fell into a guard stance, waiting, and after a minute of circling each other, Tiernan went on the attack. Jereh met his initial onslaught as though she was on a battlefield, only pulling her return enough to keep from seriously harming Tiernan. The practice blades wouldn't kill, but could inflict damage, and it wasn't Tiernan's fault she was so angry, after all... But she did hit him hard, and he fell from the blow, his eyes wide and stunned.
"I told you," she murmured, and reached down to offer him a hand. He accept gratefully, and stared.
"You are good," he admitted.
She shrugged, a gesture of modesty that was entirely false. "I'm alive," she said.
"Can we try that again?"
"If you like."
He nodded and took up his position again, and this time when he attacked did it a bit slower, and with more precision. She struck back more calmly and they fell apart rather than her immediately scoring a kill, though she could have. Instead, she let this bout run longer.
After several minutes, he broke into a smile. "You're playing with me, aren't you, Lady Knight?" he asked.
"Of course."
"Why?"
She met his smile with one of her own, or the closest she ever got to smiling, though it was more amused than her typical smirk. "It's keeping me entertained."
"And I suppose you could kill me at any time," he panted between breathes.
"More or less."
"Then what are you doing instead?"
"Waiting to get bored, or for you to get tired."
"Don't you risk tiring yourself, then?"
"Not especially." She parried a strike from him, and returned; if they'd been using real swords, she'd have severed his shield arm. He yelled in pain and backed off for the moment. "If you notice, I haven't given any ground."
"You haven't taken any, either." He circled her again, and she stepped in a far tighter circle to keep him in her sight.
"I don't need to on this field. And if you keep circling around while I stay still, you will tire yourself out. That just makes my job easier, whenever I feel like doing it."
"Then would you do it already? The suspense is killing me."
"If you insist." And with that, Jereh actually leapt into action, going on the offensive; a moment later, Tiernan fell under her onslaught, but he remained smiling. She offered him a hand up and made her way back to the bench.
"Satisfied?" she hissed at Ocan, not handing the sword back. "Or do you need to see more proof of how well I handle myself?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't bother," she told him frankly. "I'd be trying to test you if the situation was reversed."
"You wouldn't be satisfied until you'd gone a round with me yourself."
"But you'd never agree to it," she said.
"Probably not. But I'm sure you'd continue to press. You do understand the situation, after all."
"I understand that you want to see the extent of my abilities because you don't trust me," she said plainly. "And that, strictly for self-defense, while I'm surrounded by a nation of people who want me dead, it's in my own best interest to keep that knowledge from you."
"And nothing I say can convince you?"
"Naturally not."
"I see." He paused, debating, then without another word took the practice sword from Cleran's hand and attacked. She responded, as he knew she would; she blocked his blow and fell into a defensive stance without thinking. He pressed the attack and she evaded, but didn't counter-strike. Cleran and Tiernan watched, fascinated, as she willingly gave ground and backed into the center of the arena, then gave a very brief attack, ducked backwards, and began to back towards them again.
"I won't stop, you know," Ocan said between heavy breaths. He could tell even without her fighting back full force that she was good, but then, so was he. "Until you score a kill or I do."
And she was left with the choice of allowing him to win or trying to kill him. She might win if she tried, but she'd have to use all of her skill to do it and he'd get what he wanted; she might fail if she tried and he turned out to be better, and she wasn't willing to do that.
And if I lose, I can convince him I'm not as good as I am. That settled it for her, and she deliberately started a sloppy attack. He triumphantly swung in for the kill, and she took the edge of his blade in her exposed side while biting back a yell of pain. She didn't fall, merely stumbled, but dropped the sword and raised her arm in a gesture of surrender. He had won. She'd let him, but he had won.
"Not bad, Lady Knight. I'm sorry to attack you so uncouthly, but—"
"Fuck off." Just because she'd lost on purpose didn't make losing any less annoying. She ignored his offer to shake hands, stalked back to the bench, and took a drink from Tiernan's waterskin.
"Better than you thought?" he asked mildly.
"I wouldn't be too impressed," she told him, staring him in the eye. "After all, if he decides to attack me, you're the one who's supposed to come between us." The smirk returned to her face when Tiernan blanched at the comment.
[EYECATCH]
"This isn't working," Jall sighed. He rested his head on the tips of his fingers, massaging his temples, elbow on the table.
"I know," Kalin answered.
They were seated in Jall's office; Jall behind his desk, trying desperately to think of some way to solve the problems as he saw them—and one of them was that he and Kalin saw them differently. Kalin's main problem was Erra; that much was clear. But the actual problem, as far as Jall could see, was the fact that the three negotiators from Kalatsu didn't have a unified front. True, Erra was part of that; Kalin was just as much a part, though. And without a unified position, it was too easy for Dysis to cause those schisms between Kalin and Erra, whenever something was close to being accomplished.
And Dysis was doing it on purpose. Jall was certain of that, now. Not that Jall could blame him; it was a good strategy. He knew his life was in no danger, and was hoping that if things dragged on long enough, the peace would be shaky at best—maybe never put in place at all—and Kalin would just let him go. He'd return home, and being lead by a Prophet his people would be stronger than ever and ready to overturn any sort of decision.
The only way to avoid it was to make the peace solid and real, something Dysis and Cleran couldn't undo. But that meant getting Erra and Kalin to agree.
"I mean it," Jall added.
"I know that." The negotiations had made Kalin, usually the most peaceful person in the world, irritable. After a day spent verbally sparring with Erra—Jall was grateful it was just verbal—he was left snapping at anyone he spoke with.
"Then fix it," Jall said bluntly.
"How? That arrogant ass isn't going to let me fix it."
"Then let him fix it."
"Who, Erra? He'd sooner ally himself with Dysis than with me; any deal he brokered would be disastrous."
"Then what are you going to do?" Jall demanded.
"I don't know." Kalin shook his head a little. "I really don't. This has to be solved—don't think I don't see that, Jall; I know what you think of... Erra's and my situation. But you don't understand. You didn't hear the things he said in the ruins of Kal'Harath."
"You're right, I didn't," Jall answered, then added bluntly, "I was too busy burying my wife, son and granddaughter."
"I know that, too," Kalin answered, "and no one regretted their deaths more than I did."
"No, Kalin. I did," Jall reminded him. "You were a part of the family; you were, Erra was, Ilyan, Alira, Gali—but it was my family. If Ilyan and Alira hadn't been visiting my family—my house—they'd be alive, still. You have no idea what that loss was like."
"Now you sound like Erra."
"Because I'm telling you what he said?" Jall asked. "I didn't have to be there to know what happened. I know Erra, and I know you. Let me guess; you didn't have a family, you'd never had a family, you couldn't even imagine what the losses were like for those of us who had."
"Jall—"
"And he was in a state of fury, and wanted the blood of those responsible. You tried to reason with him; you told him you both wanted the same thing, peace, and that you would bring it, if he'd just trust you—"
"Jall, stop."
"—but he refused you because he was too enraged. He blamed you for the loss. You and the Goddess, and he turned his back on both of you."
"Damn it, Jall!" Kalin half-yelled. "What are you trying to do? Yes, that's what happened; yes, you know us both too well. What are you trying to prove?"
"Just making a point. I do know what happened, and I also know you have to move on. You don't like him. Deal with that. Goddess, Kalin, these are your people you're trying to save. Go talk to Erra. Deal with Kal'Harath. Get it out of the way so you two can figure out what you want from Dysis, so that you can get it."
"Deal with him?" Kalin demanded. "Deal with him how?"
"That's up to you. You're Kaleal's Voice; I'm just a Knight who wants to live to see peace. If you don't do it soon, I'll die of old age, I swear."
"Jall—"
"It's not just for the negotiations, Kalin," Jall interrupted, not really caring what Kalin had to say. "You and Erra were close; closer even than he and I were. Don't you miss him? He's your family, your real family. Don't you want that back?"
Kalin said nothing, then almost shakily, "I have no family because a man in my position can't have a family."
"That's not true, and you know it."
"It is true." He looked up at Jall, desperation creeping in to his voice. "Don't you see, Jall? It has to be true."
"Kalin?" Jall asked, suddenly on guard. Not that he thought Kalin would try and hurt him—that was laughable—or even try and trick him. This was something different. He stared at Kalin, and realized that there was something wrong.
Tiernan escorted her to the library room Cleran had adopted. Ocan, Cleran and Arot were already waiting; Jereh took her seat and Tiernan stood, leaning against the wall next to her. "Are you ready to send word back to Dysis?" Cleran asked, without greeting her.
She nodded.
"Good; we'll finish today and send you with a letter for him." He glanced over at Tiernan. "Hopefully in time to get you to sunset services."
"Thanks," Tiernan murmured.
Jereh debated asking, then it struck her. She'd very nearly forgotten the date. "The Massacre," she said. "You lost family?"
"My grandfather."
She nodded a little. "I'm sorry," she said shortly.
Cleran gave her an odd look. He could feel what she was feeling; she was genuinely sorry. But not for Tiernan, precisely.
"Why?" Arot demanded snidely. "Since when is a Knight sorry about slaying anyone?"
Cleran expected an equally snide reply from Jereh, but she said nothing, merely folded her arms. Her emotions were even odder now, harder to read; anger, regret, and remorse chief among them.
"Arot," Cleran said firmly. "Leave it alone."
"It just seems... Out of character," Arot continued. "Would a Warrior apologize for Kal'Harath?"
"Yes," Tiernan answered. "I am a Warrior; I regret it. I would never want to put through what I went through when the keep was decimated." He turned his gaze to Jereh. "There's a rumor that no Knight was untouched by Kal'Harath. Did you...?"
"Only friends," she said. "Close friends."
"I'm sorry." And Tiernan was genuinely sorry too—and upon hearing it, Jereh's emotions wrenched once more. Guilt. Sheer, overwhelming guilt.
"Jereh?" Cleran asked. "You look a bit pale. Are you—"
"Can we finish quickly, please?" she interrupted. "I have services of my own to attend."
"Did you lose someone in the Massacre?" Cleran asked. "Friends, maybe?"
"Yes."
Tiernan bowed his head. "You could join our services," he offered. "In the spirit of... making peace."
"I don't think that would be appropriate," she answered, words clipped.
"I was only trying to be nice," he snapped, offended. "The services tonight... Everyone who lost family in the Massacre is kin; I was—"
"No," she spat.
"Fine," Tiernan spat back.
"All right. Can we start?"
After taking a minute to gather his thoughts, Cleran let himself out of his adopted office and glanced around the library. Lisandra sat behind her desk, reading; a few priests were browsing through shelves, and sitting near the back of the room, reading, was Eliz. Again.
He turned and strode out of the room resolutely. He was still exhausted, and though he knew he should attend Sunset Services—as Sun's True Son, it seemed appropriate—but desperately wanted to sleep. He'd only managed a few more hours in the past day, and the more exhausted he became, the harder it was to sort out his thoughts and lock down the emotions he was denying.
Seeing Eliz didn't help any. He thought vaguely of the night he'd first found himself attracted to Islana, in the dungeon cell; he'd thought she was so different than Eliz. Eliz schemed to hurt me, and Islana made no secret of her goal. How could I possibly have thought she cared for me? he berated himself. Maybe they aren't so different; Islana was being subtle after all. I never should have let her so close...
He stepped into the corridor to head to his room; services be damned, he needed to sleep. But then he heard the door close again after him, heard light footsteps behind him, and knew who it was. Nervousness mixed with anticipation flooded the mind of the woman behind him.
"H-holy Son," she murmured, barely audible, trying to keep pace with him.
"Eliz," he replied shortly, not slowing down.
"I... I just wanted to say how glad I was that you and your brother are safe... When I heard you'd been taken, maybe killed... I was so scared for you, Holy Son... Cleran?" She said his name softly, questioningly, not sure if she ought to be so familiar with him... Or at least, sounding as though she was unsure. The longer she spoke, the more confident she became.
He didn't respond to his name; he didn't really want to talk to her, he didn't want them to be on familiar terms.
"Cleran, please, might I have a word with you?"
"Concerning what?" he asked. That took her aback, and he found a surprising satisfaction in it, and continued, "My time is valuable, Eliz; I don't have the time to spare for... Luxuries."
"Luxuries like love?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
"Do... Do you still..." She trailed off.
"No," he answered shortly. "And you never did. Don't talk to me about love."
"I did love you, though," she said mournfully, and if he hadn't been able to feel the lie, he'd have fallen for it. She was too good of an actress. "Your brother... He scared me, Cleran, when he decided I was bad for you he threatened me—and I had to agree to his story or he could have made my family suffer... Hurting you hurt so badly, and when I thought you might have died, I—Cleran, can you ever forgive me?"
"No," he said flatly. "Perhaps I could have, but I know better now; I know when I'm being lied to. It's a skill that comes with the wings and halo. And Eliz, I don't like being lied to. I don't like having my emotions manipulated, I don't like damned scheming women. I won't be broken like that again."
But when he said the words, he wasn't talking to her; he was talking to a woman an ocean away. He tried to lock down the emotion, but his resolve was crumbling; the heartbreak and the rage were too intertwined, he couldn't feel one without the other, and his annoyance at Eliz became his anger at Islana became his love for Islana, and he felt the ache again. The ache for things that were wrong, that he knew were wrong, that could only hurt him, Dysis and Arpiar, but he still felt the longings. And the rage grew stronger, and he couldn't force it down.
"Lying?" Eliz asked.
"Either tell me what you want from me—what you really want from me—or leave me alone," he snapped. "I'm too tired to deal with your attempts to manipulate me, and not stupid enough to believe you again."
"Cleran, I want—" she stopped, then laughed, though it wasn't a laugh with humor in it. "I want power. It's something I can't have, not as a woman, but through you—I'm willing to pay for it. As a woman."
"You're nothing but a common whore."
"I'm ambitious," she corrected. "And people like your brother can't stand ambitious women. Look at his feud with Serissa Alayrin—I could never hope to hold power directly, not like that, he'd be too careful to give it to a mere woman. And even Lady Alayrin became who she is by marrying well."
"You are hardly Lady Alayrin."
"Not yet. Give me thirty years."
"And why are you so desperate for power?" he demanded.
She remained silent, and he finally stopped walking. "I asked you a question," he reminded her. "If you want anything from me, I'll need an answer."
"You won't like it."
"I don't like you very much right now, either."
She smiled a little, wistfully. "Fine," she decided. "I want power because I think your brother can't see what's good for his people any more than Rallan could before him; I want power because I feel it's my duty to try and serve groups who've been neglected, who need to be spoken for."
"I'd remind you that a peace negotiation with Kalatsu is underway."
"And I'd remind you that slaves aren't the only ones being mistreated. You were bastard born; you know what that's like. I'm a well born woman—and yet I'm reduced to being a common whore, just to try and make the world I live in better, as I see it. How is that fair?"
"It's the way things are."
"On Kalatsu, women don't have to fight tooth and nail for every bit of influence they can get," she snarled.
"Kalatsu is an enemy."
"But not everything they do is wrong. Sundancer, I'd trade places with Islana if I could—at least she was doing something. I hate staying out of politics, I hate what politics made me become. I hate that my younger brother will inherit over me so I won't even have a chance."
"And why should I care?"
"I had hoped to make you care—but that clearly isn't going to work." She hesitated, then reached for his hand. "But perhaps an alliance."
"Why would I want to deal with you?"
"Your job is going to make you awfully lonely, as more people grow to hate you. But I will never leave you alone. You'll be welcome to... everything I have to offer."
"I already told you, I won't be manipulated that way." He started walking again, and she began to follow again.
"I'm not trying to manipulate you now. You said you can tell truth from lies; I'm not stupid enough to try and lie to you again. I'm offering you a service is all... And all I'm asking in return is that you let it be known that we're together. That's enough influence for me to work with."
"What influence is that?"
"Being close to someone in power is almost as good as being in power. I thought you'd know that much."
"I will not give you any power, Eliz. No influence over me, no say in my decisions, no title or wealth. Nothing."
"All I ask is to be the girl on your arm when you're in public."
"I'll think about it." He started walking again.
"Holy Son—" she started, the paused. "I really do want to help. I want what's best for Arpiar."
He waved at her from over his shoulder and continued to his room. He had a lot to think about.
[CLOSING CREDITS]