Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four by Joel Shepherd Page B

said Jeddie.
    “Sasha said the Tracato Nasi-Keth tortured and tried to kill her. In Petrodor half the Nasi-Keth ended up on the wrong side. In the Bacosh much of the education is handled by priests, who peddle the most evil thoughts of all. Give me a farmer's common sense and a woodsman's nose for horseshit any day. Most of the wisest people I know I've met after my so-called downfall, not before.”
    Jeddie's frown had given way to a look of intense curiosity. “So tell me, if you think the princess such a fool, why do you follow her here?”
    “Well, I was ordered to.”
    “Lenay warriors are difficult to order if they feel their honour imperilled,” said Jeddie. “Commanding a Lenay warrior away from the war is no small thing, surely?”
    Jaryd shifted uncomfortably. “She needs protection.”
    “From whom? What could pose her so great a threat?”
    “Herself,” said Jaryd.
    Andreyis walked beside the prisoner train, as had become his practice in the last days. His feet blistered, but that was preferable to the wagon's jolting of bare boards. The road now descended into a shallow valley, within which nestled the largest town Andreyis had yet seen in Enora. A river wound through the valley, and from this shallow height he could see several bridges, and a pair of very tall temple spires. The ground here was wet, and a cold wind blew from the north, bringing rain and low, gusting cloud.
    There was little traffic on the road. At one farmhouse, Andreyis saw a family piling belongings onto several wagons, and lashing them down. Other farmhouses looked deserted. Ahead, Andreyis saw a village courtyard, and some locals gathered to throw rotten food and rocks at the prisoners. Andreyis knew he should probably climb back into the wagon—walking here alongside he might just be beaten to death. Yet he kept walking, boots splashing in the rivulets of water that ran down the paved slope.
    The locals saw him, and aimed their throws. Another was hefting a heavy spade. Suddenly a rider was bearing down on them, and they scattered. From the safety of doorways, they yelled at the rider. The rider, Yshel, just scowled at them.
    Out of the village, she rode on the grass verge beside him. “Best that you get back in the wagon,” she said. “There will be many more like them in town.”
    “I heal faster walking,” Andreyis said stubbornly. “What is this town?”
    “It is Shemorane,” she said. The name was familiar. Andreyis frowned, trying to recall. “The High Temple is here,” said Yshel, seeing his puzzlement.
    “Ah,” said Andreyis. That was in central Enora, he recalled. They'd come that far from the border. Now they were squarely in the middle not only of Enora, but of the Saalshen Bacosh. “I'd thought the temple was atop Mount Tristen?”
    “Mount Tristen is there,” said Yshel, pointing. Across the valley, a lone peak loomed, its upper slopes disappearing into low cloud. “Saint Tristen came down the mountain and showed his followers what the gods had told him, here, by the riverside. That is where the High Temple is built.”
    Those were the twin spires in the town, Andreyis realised. He was in holy lands. Though not Verenthane himself, it raised a chill on the back of his neck.
    “The Army of Larosa will be coming through this way, then,” he suggested.
    “And everyone is leaving,” Yshel confirmed. “Now get back in the wagon, before I have one of the Enoran men come and put you there.”
    Andreyis did as she said.
    “Doin' well what your girlfriend says, then?” suggested Hydez. Of the six Lenays in the wagon he was worst hurt, since Ulemys had died two days earlier.
    “This is Shemorane,” Andreyis told him. Hydez blinked at him. “Where the High Temple is.”
    “You're joking,” Hydez said with suspicion. Hydez had fought with Hadryn forces during the Northern Rebellion. Andreyis thought it quite likely they had passed within armspans of each other during various battles, on opposite