THE HOUSE OF HASSON
By Meredith E. Skye
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
This book is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any semblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Published by Ravensara Press
Copyright © 2003 Ravensara Press
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
Ravensara Press
607 Old Steese Hwy, Ste B-353
Fairbanks, AK 99701
Published in the United States of America
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
Copyright information
The House of Hasson
About Meredith Skye
THE HOUSE OF HASSON
The spaceship hatch opened and Jesh stared out at Kinthaldith. The air was cold, but fresh. Jesh shivered; he had forgotten the cold. He saw mountains in the distance; he saw the valley covered with trees. He knew the name of the mountain and the name of the river that sprang from it. He knew the name of all the nearby lands. Even the weight of the wind felt familiar, the smells of the air. Jesh was home at last--for better or for worse.
Jesh was young, just out of college. His features were unremarkable; his hair, a dusty brown. He wasn't tall. His face was serious and held little expression, as though unused to showing others his emotions. He looked out across the landing area.
Snow covered the ground, but still the people came and gathered around the spaceship. Jesh watched them--a hundred, and more arriving every moment. Most of them were men, dressed in long tunics with bright colors and bulky cloaks. Theirs were a stark contrast to Jesh's tight fitting, synthetic clothes. The crowd had weapons--swords, clubs. Their mood was hostile.
In the eleven years since Prent had quarantined the medieval world from all space contact, his would be the Alliance had allowed.
In the front of the crowd, closest to the hatch, were members of the Kinthaldan Court of Lords. Nearby was the Lawbody and the leading members of the House of Hassonlandith, Jesh’s household. Thirty military men stood at attention, dressed in traditional crimson and gold.
The crowd watched the ship, waiting for Jesh to come out.
Llatt joined him and stared out the door at the group below them. His eyes widened when he saw the numbers that had come to meet them. Llatt was no older than Jesh. They had gone to law school together and had graduated together a year ago.
"You're crazy, Jesh," said Llatt. "I shouldn't have brought you."
"I would have hired a ship."
"Don't go. Nobody expects you to go through with this. It doesn't matter, not to anyone!"
"I am innocent," said Jesh.
"I know," Llatt said softly. "Come back with me. I know a dozen law offices who would hire you--"
"And do what?" Jesh asked stubbornly.
"Would you rather be a slave again?" snapped Llatt--then regretted it. There was an awkward pause.
"I can't stand by and let Prent take over Kinthaldith," said Jesh. "It's my home-world."
"Then come back to Prent. Use your influence there to stop it. The Kinthaldans won't listen to you."
"If I can clear my name on Kinthaldith and regain their trust, I can help them."
"They'll kill you."
Jesh didn't answer. He picked up his bag and rechecked the contents. He looked out the doorway again at the hundreds of people. It would be easy for one of them to kill him. No one on Kinthaldith would care if he died. He had no friends, no real family. Perhaps Llatt was right. Perhaps he shouldn't go.
"Reconsider," urged Llatt.
"No. This time you won't talk me out of it," said Jesh. They stared at each other a moment. "I'm going now." He moved toward the door, but Llatt caught his arm.
"You're a citizen of Prent now, don't forget."
Jesh paused, then spoke in a bitterness that surprised himself as well as Llatt. "That's something I can't forget." He left Llatt and started down the ramp way toward the crowd.
He kept a steady pace--not too slow, not too fast. He didn't want to seem afraid.
A murmur broke through the crowd as he approached. Their stares were all solemn and forbidding. He saw the resentment and hatred in their eyes. The walk took forever until, finally, he arrived in front of the Court of Lords. He stood with the military close on his left and the Hasson on his right.
Near the front of the Hasson stood a lavishly dressed man, not much older than Jesh, with jet-black hair and raven-dark eyes. Jesh guessed that this was Lord Rissertoranth, the heir of the Hasson. This was the one weak point in his plan. Lord Risser had never liked Jesh and, of all the people on Kinthaldith--Risser was the least likely to help him.
Nearby stood Lady Tirethdarra, Lord Demmin’s sister. He was surprised how old she seemed now--just eleven years since he’d seen her. Seeing her face reassured Jesh. He trusted her. She would help him, he was sure. She had never been anything but kind to him. His own mother had died when he was a boy. Somehow he'd always thought of Tireth as a mother to him. Her cousin, Lord Eshlartarral, stood next to her. Another reasonable person.
For a moment, they looked him over, saying nothing. Then a man stepped forward. "Why have you returned, murderer? What do you want from us?"
"Judgment,” said Jesh. “I turn myself over to the Lawbody to be tried for my crimes."
A burst of discussion rippled through the crowd, then a hush. At a sign from the Lords, the soldiers surrounded Jesh. They took his bag and cuffed his hands behind him. The bands they used were cold iron, with a short chain connecting them. The metal pinched his wrists. The soldiers began leading him through the crowd, which had grown loud and boisterous.
Jesh saw the hatch on the ship shut and lock.
"Kill him!" came the cries from the people around him.
"Traitor!"
Fear began to overwhelm Jesh. Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps they would kill him. He felt an urge to get back to the ship.
“You’ll get justice now, Prent-lover!” Someone knocked Jesh to the ground. On his knees Jesh looked back up at the ship and saw the hatch close. Too late now. His hope wavered.
Suddenly Jesh was glad for the presence of the soldiers. They led him through the streets into town. People gathered to look at him as he passed. He felt like he was on display and avoided looking into their faces. At the courthouse, they took him in a side door and locked him up in a small cell.