Sasha

by Joel Shepherd

  Sasha could see now that the tight cluster of buildings was no accident of planning—the narrow streets would weave between such buildings, providing no easy avenues for galloping horsemen and plenty of cover for defending archers. There were men standing on some of the roofs, leaning on railings that seemed designed for the purpose, while others stood along the low stone wall that ringed the town. Lenay soldiers did not typically favour archery, but for the defence of Vassyl, it seemed the logical method—northern cavalry armour was rarely more than leather-on-chain, which would blunt longbow fire, but not stop it. And horses, of course, were not armoured at all. And now, as the column drew closer, they passed the first fallen body—a horse, sprawled upon its side, an arrow shaft through its neck. Sasha noted its side continued to rise and fall.

  “Damn,” she muttered and swung in her saddle to call to the nearest man behind…but he had already spotted the animal's plight, and swung off from the column whilst drawing his sword. Sasha averted her eyes from what followed—she'd seen enough killing of late. Besides, there were dead men lying up ahead, and more fallen horses. These men did not wear the dark grey of the Hadryn militia at Perys, but rather the black and silver of Hadryn line troops.

  “The Hadryn Shields,” Kessligh noted as they passed one man, sightless eyes gazing at the sky, a shaft effortlessly puncturing his mailed chest. His surcoat bore the emblem of a silver shield upon black. “Excellent soldiers. Some of Lenayin's best, not like those idiot militia. Their commanders can sometimes let them down, however.”

  The man galloping from the town reached the column's head first, and the forward guard parted to let him through, hands warily on their weapons. Damon halted and Kessligh rode to his left side, Captain Tyrun to the right, as the forward guard held the man's back, and Damon's small Royal Guard contingent clustered close behind. Sasha kept herself in reserve at Kessligh's rear, with Jaryd for company.

  “My Prince,” said the rider, with an accent that was somewhat northern, but mostly familiar. He bowed in the saddle, long, braided hair falling about his face. When he straightened, Sasha saw that his face bore tattoo markings, and his ears shone with many rings. “Good that you have come. The Hadryn make war on us, my Prince. This is an invasion, as surely you can see. We defend the rear way to Halleryn and we have not yet let them pass. But the northern clans are more numerous than we, and we fear that a reinforcement may see our number overwhelmed. You must put an end to this aggression, my Prince.”

  “What the prince must and must not do,” Captain Tyrun said sharply, “is for the prince to decide.” The Goeren-yai rider simply looked at him, head high and eyes proud. The men of these regions were deferential to royalty, but only from politeness…and when they found some personal benefit in it.

  “Lord Krayliss holds Halleryn?” Damon asked the rider.

  “Aye, my Prince. And Lord Usyn Telgar puts Halleryn to siege even now. They have heavy cavalry that Taneryn cannot match in the open. We can only defend what is ours and hope for justice from Baen-Tar.”

  “And how did Rashyd Telgar die?”

  “Some Hadryn priests came to Gessyl, not five folds over yonder,” pointing west toward the Hadryn border. “They disrupted the people's livelihoods, angered the spirits and offended the honour of the women.” Sasha frowned at that. Most Goeren-yai women, though not fighters, could look after their own honour. “They were driven from Gessyl, but invented stories of their mistreatment and of pagan insults to the Verenthane gods. Both Lord Rashyd and Lord Krayliss heard this and rode to Gessyl. Lord Rashyd was upon Taneryn land, my Prince. He invaded our territory, he insulted the people and caused mortal offence to Lord Krayliss. A great lord need not suffer such insults upon his own land. The fight was for honour and my Lord Krayliss proved the most honourable.”

  A new thunder of hooves approached and the Hadryn rider was admitted into the circle before Damon, Kessligh and Tyrun.

  “My Prince,” said the Hadryn man, all in black and silver, with the leather and chain of the vaunted Hadryn Shields cavalry. He bowed in the saddle. “Well that you have come. Have you more forces on the way?”

  “Many,” Damon said flatly. “They arrive shortly. Explain your presence on Taneryn land.”

  “The matter is simple, my Prince,” said the Hadryn cavalryman. “My Great Lord Rashyd Telgar was murdered at the hand of Lord Krayliss of Taneryn. By your father's law, my Prince, the now Great Lord Usyn Telgar, son of Rashyd, may seek revenge. Lord Krayliss has refused to yield to the demands of manly honour. Thus, we seek it from him by other means.”

  As Sasha understood it, Usyn Telgar could seek revenge as a son, and as a man. But to do so in the capacity of provincial great lord, by risking all-out war, undermined the authority of the king in Baen-Tar. Here, at this moment, Damon represented the king's authority, but was he prepared to use it.

  “How dare you murdering thieves speak of honour…” the Taneryn man growled, but Damon held a clenched, gloved fist in the air.

  “Insults and posturing shall do nothing to sway my favour,” he said with a dark glare at the Goeren-yai. “I assure you.”

  “My Prince,” said the Hadryn Shield, “these animals do not even allow us a pause within which to reclaim our dead and wounded. We fear some of our wounded may even have been murdered as they lay…”

  “We did no such thing!” the Taneryn shot back, eyes hard with fury. “We gathered the wounded and are tending to them with the best of our care, as the customs dictate. Should the invaders decide to withdraw their presence, we shall return those men to their comrades.”

  “The men of Hadryn shall tolerate no hostage threats!”

  “Enough!” Damon barked. The two men subsided to a simmering, furious silence. The Hadryn was well armoured, armed and elegantly presented astride his huge lowlands charger; whilst the Taneryn was a roughened, rural image in long braids, tattered skins and leathers astride his wiry, half-breed dussieh pony. It turned Sasha's blood cold to see them as such, these two halves of Lenayin, Verenthane and Goeren-yai, with such murderous hatred between them. Pray that it did not spread. Pray to the gods or spirits; whoever would listen.

  “My Prince,” said the Hadryn, after a lingering, boiling silence. “At least, if we are not granted a truce, if your own men could retrieve our fallen comrades? It should not befit anyone's honour to leave them lying here.”

  “The soldiers of Baen-Tar,” Damon said coldly, “are not here to sweep up after your conflicts.” The Hadryn man paled in silent anger. “Soldier,” Damon continued, turning his gaze upon the Taneryn, “upon my request, will you grant a truce for this purpose?”

  The Taneryn thought about it for a moment. There was a command in Damon's tone that Sasha had never heard before. A newfound confidence?

  No. More likely simple fury, Sasha thought. It seemed to affect the Taneryn, for he nodded. “No more than five horses may come,” he said.

  “Upon your honour,” Damon insisted.

  “Upon my honour, we shall not fire.”

  “Go,” said Damon, “carry the message. We shall ride to Halleryn.”

  “My Prince,” protested the Taneryn, “if you would ride the back route along our side of the lake, we can offer you a safe journey to Halleryn…”

  “I shall talk with the new Great Lord of Hadryn first,” Damon said firmly. “He is the one claiming grievance, after all. Have no fear, I shall interview Lord Krayliss in his turn. You are both dismissed.”

  The two men bowed low in their saddles, then reined their mounts about and set off galloping toward their respective camps. The forward guard reformed ahead and Damon pressed after them. Kessligh held to Damon's side and Sasha took the opportunity to move abreast herself and listen to their conversation, above the clustered noise of hooves, jangling harnesses and equipment.

  “Well done,” Kessligh said simply, and Sasha could hear real approval in his voice. From Kessligh, that was rare. Damon seemed to ride a little taller in the saddle, but his expression remai
ned dark.

  “I hate these fools,” he muttered in reply. “Gods how I hate them, Verenthane and Goeren-yai alike. So ready to split each other's skulls with their petty squabbling. I've half a mind to let them at it.”

  “In such conflicts,” Kessligh said calmly, “it's always the villagers that suffer most.”

  Damon let out a sharp breath. “I know. I'm just…angry.” He shook his head, as if to clear it, and gazed out upon the lake. The mountains on the far side made a perfect reflection on the water and it seemed to calm his nerves. “So we shall have at it with young Usyn. I hear he's as much a pain as his father. Sofy says she'd heard he once challenged a courtier to an honour duel for making fun of a new shirt he'd worn. The courtier was found hanging in his bedchambers the following morning, too frightened to partake. Apparently his swordsmanship was nothing close to Usyn's, and everyone knew it.”

  “It's well known they don't fight fair in Hadryn,” Sasha remarked sourly.

  “Oh aye,” remarked Captain Tyrun from the far side of their four-abreast line, “he's a wonderful young fellow, Usyn. Brash, vain and immature. To be expected, if you knew his father.”

  “But not stupid,” Kessligh said calmly, “never think that. His father was smart as all hells.”

  “What do you suggest, Yuan Kessligh?” Damon asked.

  “I have no suggestions,” Kessligh said mildly. “I have every confidence in you, my Prince.”

  And Damon, Sasha noticed, seemed most unhappy with that vote of confidence.

  They rode past the Hadryn lines as preparations were being made to send five riders back to Vassyl for bodies. There were some light tents erected and some heavy skins unfurled on the ground for men to sleep under. Perhaps a hundred men, Sasha reckoned—not enough against the several score archers Vassyl looked to have. Probably Usyn Telgar was keeping most of his cavalry at the walls of Halleryn, to prevent any breakout, and lacked enough strength as yet to send more about the lake. Equally probable that some hot-headed Hadryn Shields commander on this side of the lake had become impatient with waiting, and attempted to take Vassyl with single-handed glory…and predictable consequences. With Vassyl fallen, the rear route into Halleryn would be cut, and any potential Taneryn reinforcement with it. Also, Sasha guessed, it would open a second front against Halleryn's walls.

  Many of the Hadryn men had paused in their routine of tending horses, food and weapons to gaze sullenly at the passing Tyree column. There was little affection in their manner and, above the pounding of hooves, Sasha fancied she heard several cries in a northern tongue…“Go home!” seemed the gist of it. She wondered if the men of Tyree could not be equally justified in yelling the same thing back.

  The ride about the lake was not so long, for the trail across the mountains’ feet was well maintained, with little stone and wood bridges to cross the streams that descended from the peaks; sheer rock faces thrusting clear of the tree-covered lower slopes.

  Eventually, the column passed the last of the mountains and rode from the patchy tree cover into the open, grassy basin of a valley. Directly opposite, upon the lakeshore, loomed Mount Halleryn, with Halleryn town nestled on its lower slope, one wall facing directly onto the water. Encamped about the feet of the Halleryn walls, visible only in patches past intervening clumps of pine and valley floor boulders, was an army. Damon urged the column into a final gallop, and they thundered in formation across waving grasslands and flowers until they could see a line of tents, carts and emerging soldiers ahead. Tent formations were widely spread, suggesting that the Hadryn were present in less strength than they would have liked. Men tended horses, or performed various duties about camp, or sword drills and other exercise on the grass. Sasha guessed that they only appeared spread out because the valley was so wide. There were several thousand men here, at least.

  A small group of riders headed out to greet them and directed them to the lakeshore, where the command was given to dismount. A soldier came forward to collect the horses and a Hadryn Shields captain, in sweeping black and silver cloak and red helmet plume, beckoned them toward the several large tents that had been pitched directly upon the last of the valley's grass, before the broken stones of the lakeshore.

  “Is it wise for her to come?” Damon asked Kessligh, with a dubious glance at Sasha. Sasha held her tongue.

  “The authority of Baen-Tar is absolute,” Kessligh replied. “Make no concessions. If I come, she comes. Do you wish me present?”

  Damon nodded, brusquely. “Let's go.” He removed his helm as they walked, running a gloved hand over flattened hair. Captain Tyrun and Jaryd remained behind, organising horse care and feed. Sasha stretched as she walked, saddlesore and weary.

  Rather than entering either of the large, lakeside tents, the Shields captain led them across the grass beyond. On the right, men were washing clothes and gathering water from the lake. One soldier passed, laden with ten bulging skins, and granting even Damon no more than a curious glance.

  Several men, Sasha saw, were squatted naked in the chill waters, scrubbing themselves. Damon shot her a concerned glance. Sasha snorted. As if she hadn't seen that before.

  Ahead, then, Sasha could see a lone figure on the open, grassy plain. A light breeze caught at his black and silver cloak, revealing a firm, resolute stance as he contemplated the walls of Halleryn before him. They were of old, dark stone, perhaps as tall as five men, with battlements on top. It was not an enormous fortress, but Mount Halleryn blocked assault from one side and the lake from another. A tributary stream from Mount Halleryn had been diverted to run before the walls, spanned by a bridge where it ran into the lake. Over the bridge a trail climbed to the wall's gate—a big metal grille, as tall as two men. No more than a third of the town's wall was suitable for assault and the rear, lakeside trail would require an impossible attack in single file.

  The man did not turn around as Damon, Kessligh and Sasha approached. The Hadryn Shields captain halted at his side and saluted.

  “My Lord,” he said, “Prince Damon, Kessligh Cronenverdt and Sashandra Lenayin.” No “Princess” or “Highness” from this man. Not even, she suspected, a “M'Lady.”

  Usyn Telgar did not turn to greet them. His hands appeared to be folded upon something before his waist. His sword, Sasha guessed, considering that his scabbard was empty. And her heart beat a little faster, recognising the significance of that gesture. “So Prince Damon,” Usyn said then. A young man's voice, cold and bleak. “I heard that you were coming. With eighty men.”

  “Shortly, more than a thousand,” Damon said curtly.

  Usyn nodded slowly to himself, considering. Still he did not turn around. “And a girl,” he added, with dry irony. His tone did not work Sasha's temper as another man's might. That was hot temper. This anger she felt was cold, dark and menacing. She could enjoy hot anger—the exhilarating burst of temper and retaliation. Of cold anger, there was nothing pleasant to be said.

  “You have ordered Hadryn forces onto Taneryn lands,” Damon said, ignoring the remark. “State your business here.”

  Usyn finally turned. It was a pale, youthful face, framed with the close-trimmed, dark hair of a devout northern Verenthane. An eight-pointed star lay prominently upon his leather vest, and his belt held gold-handled knives and a large, engraved horn. They were the clothes of a soldier in the field, yet to Sasha's eye they seemed too well polished to be the kit of an honest soldier.

  “You would command me, my Prince?” Usyn said coldly. “When Baen-Tar has ignored this Taneryn rabble for so long? Has let them breed upon our borders like rats? Many times we warned of this development and Baen-Tar, in all its wisdom, chose not to act. And now you would seek to impose command? Your timing is lacking, sir.”

  “Baen-Tar has always commanded here,” Damon replied. “Baen-Tar always shall. State your business upon Taneryn lands. I won't ask again.”

  Usyn glared, his nostrils flaring. He hooked both thumbs into his belt, his sword quivering behind him, impaled in the s
oft, grassy earth. No doubt Usyn had thrust his blade into the turf upon first arrival at the walls of Halleryn. It was an old Lenay custom for a man with a grievance to do so before the home of another, the blade remaining until the matter was settled. Some such of the old ways survived even in the north, even as the northerners denied any connection to Goeren-yai. It was “Lenay tradition,” they claimed. Sasha remained unimpressed; the Goeren-yai were Lenay tradition.

  “The townsfolk of Gessyl mistreated some travelling brothers,” said Usyn. “My father rode to their rescue, as the townsfolk knew he would. It was a trap, my Prince. Lord Krayliss lured him there, with the express intent to commit murder.

  “There was talk of insurrection in Gessyl. Townsfolk were agitated about the coming Rathynal, there were claims that they would be made to fight for a lowlands, Verenthane cause. They spoke ill words of the king, my Prince. They spoke of a Verenthane plot against the Goeren-yai. Lord Krayliss led them in this treason. Rocks were thrown. My father charged the crowd to scatter them, but made no attempt to swing on them, merely to prevent them from throwing, as is his right and privilege. Lord Krayliss, also mounted, charged my father from his blind side and killed him with a stroke. I was there. I saw it happen. Any man who claims it different is a liar.”

  “What of Gessyl now?” Damon asked, his expression dark.

  “My men have occupied it and rounded up the most prominent troublemakers…”

  “You shall send a message immediately for them to desist,” Damon said sharply. “Your grievance is with Lord Krayliss. You have no cause against the village folk of Taneryn.”

  The young Telgar appeared to bite back something unpleasant. “My Prince,” he said then, with heavy irony, “if family Lenayin will not enforce its will against acts of subversion aimed at Baen-Tar, then perhaps you should allow us to—”

  “I passed through Perys on the way here,” Damon cut in, with every sign of losing his temper completely. “I saw two score and more innocent villagers slaughtered by raiding Hadryn men…”