“The holiest relic of Verenthanes,” Aiden said solemnly. And Sasha realised in a flash that Aiden, like most of the Petrodor Nasi-Keth, was most likely Verenthane. She'd probably offended him, she thought, and chided herself for not minding her tongue. Kessligh had renounced all other faiths in the pursuit of serrin teachings. But for most lowlanders, faith was not so easily cast aside. “I have spoken with serrin, they say Rhillian did not want the star. I think they tell truth, here. We think Rhillian only means to warn the archbishop. Some things the serrin will not take lying down.”
“And what was the archbishop doing with the Shereldin Star? Isn't that…” and she paused, and something cold and worrisome occurred to her. “Isn't that in the possession of the Larosa?”
Again, Aiden nodded, sombrely. “It was. The Larosa have had many wars against the Saalshen Bacosh. They want the Verenthane holy lands back. They want to unite the Bacosh under a single king and throw the serrin out. They swore, two centuries ago, that the Shereldin Star would one day be returned to the holy lands, but only when the serrin are gone.
“The Larosa give the archbishop the star so that all Torovan will unite beneath him and fight with the Larosa.”
“And now the Larosa are here!” Sasha exclaimed. Her heart thumped unpleasantly in her chest. “Someone at the inn said a large group just arrived in Baen-Tar!”
“The last piece in the puzzle,” Kessligh said tiredly. “The armies of the Saalshen Bacosh are formidable. All the remaining Bacosh provinces are uniting under the Larosa. But it's not enough. A Torovan army is useful for numbers, but Torovans have never been noted fighters. What the Larosa want from the archbishop is the loyalty of the Petrodor families, and all their money. Petrodor might not be much in a fight, but they can pay for a huge army, Sasha, of far more than just Torovans. The archbishop will convince them to pay, for the sake of their souls.
“Still, even Torovan and Larosan armies together are insufficient. They need Lenayin. And by the looks of things, they're going to get Lenayin.”
“And I've just been sitting in a large room filled with Goeren-yai warriors who have always insisted that they'll never fight against the serrin!” Sasha replied. “Not even should the king command it!”
She could feel the pieces of the puzzle clicking together. Suddenly, it was all making sense…and what she saw frightened her. All because some stupid Verenthanes couldn't stand the serrin living on what had once been human lands. Now, their intolerance threatened Lenayin with civil uprising and disaster.
“Now you see the scale of it,” said Kessligh, with tired exasperation. “Now you see what I've been telling you all these years. These foreign matters, these things you dismiss as unimportant, can rise up and destroy your world, Sasha. It is all connected. Your father now seeks to align Lenayin with what he sees as the destiny of the Verenthanes. That means supporting their war.”
“Well then we have to stop him!” Sasha exclaimed. “You…you still have influence left with father, you were his Commander of Armies for eighteen years, for heavens’ sake! He listened to you! This Rathynal, we must ride to Baen-Tar and convince him not to join the Larosa!”
“I'm not riding to Baen-Tar,” said Kessligh. “I'll be riding to Petrodor.” Sasha simply stared at him. She could not think of anything to say. “The game has changed, Sasha. Lenayin will march to war, it can't be stopped. What can be saved is the Nasi-Keth. Aiden brings news that the factions have split. Some favour Rhillian; others disagree and seek a path separate from Rhillian's influence.
“Petrodor is the key to stopping this war, Sasha. Without Petrodor's wealth, the war will not happen. And the Nasi-Keth are the key to Petrodor—united, they are the only power in Petrodor capable of restraining the families. I cannot allow them to become divided. They need me now. I cannot wait, or things will be worse.”
Sasha continued staring. She felt as if the very ground had disappeared from under her. Her ears could not believe what they were hearing. “And what about Lenayin?” she breathed, incredulously. “Do all your loyalties to Lenayin just…disappear?”
Kessligh frowned, his jaw tightening. “I have given thirty years of my life to Lenayin. I swore allegiance to your father, yet I never claimed to be anything other than what I am—Nasi-Keth. I cannot ignore that calling any more than your father can ignore the callings of the Verenthane holy fathers from Petrodor. And I won't.”
Tears sprang to Sasha's eyes. Kessligh was Lenay. Of foreign origin, surely…but in many ways, he was Lenayin. The greatest Lenay warrior. And she, his uma. Now, he was casting it all aside, as one might throw aside a peel once the fruit was eaten. She couldn't believe it.
Kessligh sat forward on his chair, his expression intense. “Sasha, think!” he demanded. “Of all the serrin teachings I've told you, of all the things you know! Broaden your vision, Sasha! The important thing is to stop this damned war from happening! I can do that! In Petrodor!”
“If civil war takes Lenayin,” Sasha said with difficulty, “countless lives will be lost. Towns like Baerlyn will be destroyed, perhaps Baerlyn itself, and all its people killed. I know enough Lenay history to know what our civil wars look like. You would just abandon them to this fate?”
“Damn fool, you're not listening to me…”
“It'll be too late!” Sasha yelled at him, coming abruptly to her feet. “You go off to play your power games in the alleys of Petrodor…there's trouble brewing here now! You may save the serrin, and you may save the Nasi-Keth, but Lenayin shall be ashes! What were your last thirty years here for, if you just run away when Lenayin needs you most? What were your last twelve years with me for?”
“You are my uma,” Kessligh said simply. The firelight cast his features into rumpled, hard-edged shadow, an animation they could never acquire on their own. “You must come with me to Petrodor.”
Sasha felt something snap. This betrayal was too much. She could have struck him. “Damned if I will!” she yelled. “I promised Krayliss I'd be at Rathynal, and I won't give him free rein in Baen-Tar to cause trouble without me! You go to Petrodor! You go there, and you rot there, with your beloved Nasi-Keth! Me, I'm Lenay, and I'll never abandon my people! Never!”
“BUT DARYD!” RYSHA COMPLAINED. “Mama said we're not allowed beyond the trees!”
Daryd ignored her, as was an elder brother's right, his eyes searching through the forest. Essey's breath plumed in white clouds, brilliant in the golden sunshine that fell through the treetops. Sunlight gleamed on wet trunks and undergrowth, low and bright in the early morning. To the right through the trees rose the Aralya Range—Hadryn lands, and a barrier before the lands of Valhanan. Essey found her way easily enough, nimble hooves picking through the bracken.
“Daryd!” Rysha protested from her seat at his back. “We'll get in trouble!”
“We've picked all the good stuff from the treeline,” Daryd replied. “There'll be more growing along the river.”
“But we'll get lost!”
“How can we get lost?” Daryd asked in exasperation. “The river's just over on the left, the mountains are on the right, how can anyone get lost?”
He'd been feeling very confident of late, ever since he'd bested Salyl Wyden in the Hemys Festival contest. Salyl Wyden had twelve summers and was a bully. He, Daryd, had only ten summers, but he was good with a stanch. The best his age in all Udalyn, his father claimed, with obvious pride. It made Daryd's chest swell to think on it. Perhaps at the Festival of Rass, he could prove it. The Udalyn Valley was long, and many families lived there. Rass was a bigger festival than Hemys and all the valley would attend. Then, surely, he could prove his father's claims. Until then, he would settle for being the best his age in the town of Ymoth beyond the valley mouth. Better than the bully Salyl Wyden, anyhow.
“But Daryd,” Rysha resumed after a thinking pause. Daryd rolled his eyes. “The Hadryn live this way. I don't want to meet any Hadryn.”
“Look Rysha, I told you. Up ahead is Lake Tullamayne. Lake Tul
lamayne lies right up against the Aralya Range. There's no way around it on this side. We have scouts there who spy on the Hadryn in case they come across the fields on the other side of the river. They'd have told us if there were Hadryn here, and there aren't. Okay?”
He had his hunting knife at his side and, for a ten-year-old boy, that was as good as a short sword. Essey was his father's horse, but now that he was ten, Daryd's father allowed him to take her over the southern and eastern fields, looking for the various mushrooms and herbs his mother and aunts used in their cooking and medicines. There were farmers all across the fields who would keep an eye on a boy on his horse, so it was not really as dangerous as Daryd liked to imagine. But riding now into the forest toward the lake that marked the eastern-most boundary of Udalyn lands, he could almost imagine himself a full-fledged warrior, riding proudly upon his steed, his braids flowing down his back and his face bearing the ink-marks of Udalyn manhood.
“Oh look!” said Rysha then, removing one hand from his sides to point. “Butter flowers! Look how big they are…Daryd, I want to pick some, then I can take them home to Mama!”
“We're looking for much more important stuff than butter flowers,” Daryd told her sternly. If only Mama hadn't insisted that he take Rysha with him this morning! He could hardly feel like a true Udalyn warrior with his seven-year-old sister clinging to the back of his saddle, complaining all the way.
“I want to pick some flowers!” Rysha insisted, indignantly. “If you're going to go into the forest, I'm going to pick some flowers! Or I'll tell Papa where you went!”
Daryd scowled. “You're such a pain, Rysha.”
“You're a pain!”
The forest and the undergrowth became thicker, so Daryd steered toward the river. Soon enough, the great Yumynis appeared through the trees, wide and broken with rocks, its level low in the late summer.
Daryd rode along the grassy verge above the riverbank. Below, where erosion bit into the earth, a gravelly, rocky bank ran perhaps fifteen strides until the water's edge. Daryd made the spirit sign to his forehead and, behind him, Rysha did the same. The Yumynis was the lifeblood of the Udalyn. It had sustained them in the Catastrophe, a century before, when the Hadryn had tried to kill them all, and nearly succeeded. It had sustained them in the century since, locked in their valley, surrounded by the vilest of enemies. And it would sustain them in the future, as the Udalyn rebuilt their numbers and their weapons, working for the day when all that had been taken from them would be theirs once more. The great spirit of the Yumynis had given birth to the Udalyn countless centuries before, and now it kept them alive in all their struggles.
Soon Daryd found a grassy meadow and dismounted. While Essey grazed happily upon the grass, her tail swishing, Daryd and Rysha looked for herbs and mushrooms. Which was not such an unmanly thing, he assured himself as he peered beneath a large, mossy log for flashes of telltale colour. The wise ones of Saalshen loved herbs and mushrooms also, it was told, and made magical potions from them. The wise ones had not visited the Udalyn since the Catastrophe, but many stories were told of them still. And their disciple, Yuan Kessligh Cronenverdt, had come to the valley, when he was liberating all the north from the Cherrovan warlord Markield—Daryd's grandfather had told him that story many, many times. Kessligh Cronenverdt fought just like the wise ones, and he was the greatest warrior in all Lenayin. He'd even trained one of the princesses of Lenayin to fight like them too, it was said.
Soon, Daryd's hessian bag held a small weight of herbs and fungi. Absorbed in his searching, he suddenly realised that he did not know where Rysha was. He was about to call, but stopped himself. Not that the forest was unsafe—he'd told Rysha the truth about that—but if he was going to become a great warrior, he needed to learn to think like one.
Feeling pleased with himself for thinking of it, Daryd retraced his steps on sodden undergrowth and mossy roots toward the meadow, where he had last seen Rysha. Rysha could be annoying, but she wasn't stupid. She knew not to wander and was usually far more cautious than Daryd was. Even so, Daryd moved at a crouch, scanning through the trees as he'd seen his father and uncles do on a hunt, a hand on the hilt of his knife.
The forest grew lighter as he approached the meadow…and then, he could hear a new sound, above the calling of birds, and the gentle rushing of the river. A deep, distant sound. Like thunder, only steady, not rising or falling. Daryd had never heard anything like it before in his life.
Still creeping, he made his way to the edge of the meadow and peered out. Essey's head was raised, no longer chewing on the grass. Her ears were pricked, her attention turned toward the river. Beyond the fringe of trees where the meadow opened onto the riverbank, Daryd saw a dark mass moving. Atop the dark mass, sunlight glinted on metal. Occasionally a banner rose, flying as it moved. Horses, he realised in shock. The dark mass was hundreds of horses. And the thunder noise was the sound of all their hooves.
“Daryd!” hissed a voice behind him, and he spun in shock, fumbling for his knife. Rysha stood there, her light brown hair now decorated with a bright yellow butter flower. Daryd's heart restarted, his knees threatened to give way. His fumbling hand had not found the hilt of his knife at all, much to his frustration.
“What?” he demanded angrily. Her big eyes stared across the meadow.
“It's the Hadryn!” she whispered, as if fearful they would overhear. “The Hadryn have come!”
Daryd stared across at the far bank. And then he realised…“Essey!”
He ran onto the meadow, grabbed the horse's reins and led her back to the trees, hoping none of the riders would see her through that brief gap in the trees. The Hadryn were headed toward Ymoth. Toward home. Toward Papa, Mama and all the family.
“Quick!” he said to Rysha, “get up!” For once she didn't complain, and he helped her astride before following. “We have to warn Ymoth! That's the entire Hadryn army!” Even now, the column of horses was continuing to pass and showed no sign of stopping. Not hundreds. Thousands.
He urged Essey forward through the trees, but the undergrowth here was thicker than nearer the fields. Immediately, his path was blocked by a large fallen log and he had to go around, only to find that way partially blocked as well. Nimble-footed though she was, Essey made little progress as bushes caught at her legs and roots caused her to stumble. Across the river, the Hadryn were moving far, far faster.
“We're too slow!” he told Rysha desperately, ducking a low branch that clawed at his hair. “We have to ride along the riverbank!”
“But they'll see us!” Rysha protested, her voice filled with fear.
“We have to warn Mama and Papa!” said Daryd. “We have to go faster!” He turned Essey toward the river and the mare wove, stumbled and bounded her way between the trees as best she could. Finally the undergrowth thinned and Essey cleared the last, twisted trees upon the riverbank. The sight took Daryd's breath away. Across the fields on the far side of the Yumynis, a single, endless column of armoured men on horseback was moving at a canter. Even from the far bank of the wide river, the roar of hooves made a sound so loud it was frightening. Banners flew at even spacings along the column, flying colours and symbols that were foreign. Many of the riders were wearing black, a Verenthane colour. Daryd knew little of the Verenthanes, except that some were good, some were bad, and the Hadryn were worst.
He kicked his heels to Essey's sides and she broke into her fastest gallop along the uneven riverbank grass. Rysha clutched him tightly from behind, her face pressed against his back—she had never liked it when he went this fast and the riverbank was not as flat as he would have liked. Essey raced up and down the bumps, at frightening speed, and Daryd simply tried to stay straight in the saddle, unable to crouch as much as he'd like lest he give Rysha nothing to hold onto.
Above the thunder of Essey's hooves, he heard a distant shout, then another. He risked a glance across the river and saw a rider separating from the column, galloping to match him along the opposing bank. That ma
n was looking straight at him, from a hundred strides away, and fear knotted in Daryd's stomach. The Hadryn wore a mail shirt with a coloured vest and jacket over the top, and his head was covered by a pointy steel helm. An arm was waved and another rider joined the first, together they tore ahead along the opposite riverbank. It startled Daryd to see how fast they were—Essey was running at full gallop, yet the two Hadryn horses gained a big lead in no time, disappearing now behind some poplars growing in lines along the riverbank.
Then they reappeared again, leaping down from the high bank to the gravelly riverside and cantering to the water. Daryd's heart nearly stopped again as he realised the horses were going to cross the river. The water level was low this time of year and, for the big horses the Hadryn used, it probably wouldn't be difficult. It hadn't occurred to him. Terror flooded his veins and he cursed himself bitterly—not so much for himself, but for Rysha. He should never have taken a risk with her life. His first and most important role as a big brother was to protect her, and he'd failed, miserably.
The Hadryn horses slowed as they splashed in the shallows, then slowed some more as the water deepened. Essey galloped past them, and then the forest was ending and the wide, open fields of Ymoth's outer lands spread green and shining before them. Ahead a distance was farmer Vayen's cottage, nestled amidst the poplars along the riverbank. Daryd galloped that way, through the open gate of the empty field nearest the forest, casting desperate glances over his shoulder at the pursuers. Both Hadryn horses were swimming now, passing the river's midway point. They were rapidly being left behind. Daryd felt a surge of hope. Maybe they still had a chance.
The next field was filled with sheep, the gates in its low fenceline shut. “Hold on!” he yelled to Rysha and thumped his heels to Essey's sides as he aimed her straight for the low, wooden fence. Essey leaped and then grounded on the far side, quickly regathering her momentum. Sheep scattered in a white, woolly tide. Farmer Vayen's cottage was closer now. Beyond, the Yumynis swept about in a vast, right-hand turn to the north, toward the Udalyn Valley mouth. Just beyond that river bend, invisible now behind the poplars, lay Ymoth, at the base of foothills that rose into mountains beyond. It was still a long way.
Sasha Page 18
