Sasha

by Joel Shepherd

  Tyrun nodded shortly. “He's a strong young man, his body will heal. About the other wounds, time will tell.”

  Sasha stared at the torch-lit, surging mass of horses and did some fast sums in her head. Eleven provinces at Rathynal. Roughly five hundred people per contingent. Half of those were nobles, including ladies and children. The other half soldiers—about two hundred and fifty per contingent. Maybe half of those, from every province but the three northern ones, were Goeren-yai. Which made…maybe nine hundred men? It certainly looked close to a thousand, but it was dark and there was no way to tell for sure. Had every Goeren-yai soldier come? And what of the Baen-Tar garrison companies?

  “All the Falcon Guard have come?” she asked Captain Tyrun.

  “Aye,” said Tyrun. Verenthanes too, that meant. Tyrun was here himself, after all. That was another five hundred.

  “And the Black Hammers, do you know?” she pressed.

  “Uncertain. Captain Akyrman will not come, but many of his Goeren-yai will. Some of those said their Verenthane friends may follow later, once they realise what's happened.”

  “We'll have a straggling tail on this army no matter what we do,” Sasha observed glumly.

  “Aye,” Tyrun agreed. “No helping it. Best hope they ride fast.”

  “Royal Guard?”

  “A few. Perhaps two hundred. Leaving Baen-Tar undefended is a big thing, even lots of Goeren-yai won't do it.”

  Sasha nodded, biting her lip. Say two hundred…and two fifty from the Black Hammers, and five hundred Falcon Guard…She blinked in astonishment. “We're nearly two thousand strong?”

  “Aye,” said Tyrun. “Looks like.” From back toward the tent city, there was more shouting and a chaos of galloping horses, milling men and bewildered officers. A pair of men on horses came across in front, close enough for Sasha to overhear their cries to the column.

  “Where the bloody hell are you lot off to?”

  “Udalyn Valley! Want to come?”

  “To fight for the Udalyn? But I'm Verenthane!”

  “So's he!” Some laughter above the thunder of hooves and jangling harnesses.

  “Yeah, I'm Verenthane!”

  “So why're you going?”

  “My friends are going! What unit you from?”

  “Fyden Wildcats! You?”

  “Yethulyn Bears! You like the Hadryn?”

  “Hells no!”

  “Well, come and have a bloody fight then!”

  The cheers and cajoling continued, the two Verenthanes paralleling the column downhill into the dark.

  Sasha shook her head in disbelief. “Damn it,” she muttered to Tyrun. “I've absolutely no idea what I'm doing.”

  “I'm used to that,” said Tyrun, with the faintest smile beneath his bushy moustache.

  They galloped to the lead of the column, then turned downhill toward the nearest open gate out of a paddock and onto the road. The column followed, a great, creaking, thudding mass of horse and armour, the light of many torches casting crazy shadows across the hillside.

  Before long, several Royal Guardsmen, led by Lieutenant Alyn, cantered past to take the vanguard…one, Sasha saw, flying the royal purple and green. The banners of the Falcon Guard and the Black Hammers were also flying. The dark treeline approached and then enfolded them in the flickering, dancing shadow of firelight on trunks and leaves. From somewhere behind came a haunting blast of trumpet, once, and then again.

  “Ranash,” said Tyrun, his moustache twisting as he considered its import. There followed an answering call with different notes. “And that one is Banneryd. They are forming.”

  “How many do you think?” Sasha asked.

  “The Ranash took a few losses against the Taneryn, but not many. Before, they were two hundred strong. Banneryd are not so many—only a hundred twenty.

  “So few,” Sasha remarked, thinking hard.

  “Banneryd's Great Lord Cyan did not come for Rathynal,” said Tyrun. “Some say he was otherwise preoccupied with the Hadryn…probably that's where the other Banneryd and Ranash soldiers are too. In the Udalyn Valley with the Hadryn.”

  Sasha rubbed her brow. “Why did no one notice Great Lord Cyan's absence until now?” she asked.

  Tyrun shrugged. “Rathynal is just beginning. We thought perhaps he was late.”

  “So we shall have at least three hundred and twenty horsemen chasing us shortly,” Sasha summarised.

  “Aye,” Tyrun agreed, as matter-of-fact as a farmer discussing the season's crop. It was a great relief to have such a wise, steady presence at her side. “And certainly more, once the king sends his summons. Neysh will likely respond with full companies, as Great Lord Parabys owes Prince Koenyg his place after family tumults there. And he's not the only one. Prince Koenyg crafts allegiances well. I'd guess he could have nearly a thousand men under arms within two days. Add to that the nobility themselves…perhaps a third are in good condition to fight.”

  “No more than a quarter,” Sasha disagreed, sourly. “Some didn't come equipped and there's little camping gear on their horses. They were expecting lordly accommodation, not a war party. They're also short on armour and half can't fight well anyhow.”

  Tyrun might have smiled in the dancing shadows. “Aye,” was all he said. He seemed a man who reserved judgment, whenever possible. No doubt one learned to reserve one's opinions, faced with the open disapproval of nobles who resented one's humble origins.

  “So maybe five hundred nobles who can fight. But that's two days’ head start for us,” Sasha reasoned.

  “Less,” said Tyrun with certainty. “Prince Koenyg can gather some men on the move.”

  Sasha nodded, thinking hard. Speed was key, that much was obvious. It would be the kind of manoeuvring Kessligh had done so masterfully during the Great War, thirty years before—fast thrusts of mounted warriors across rugged terrain. They were, she knew, awfully large boots to fill.

  “I'd guess, M'Lady,” Tyrun continued, “that the northern units may form a skirmish party, or several skirmish parties, to delay our progress north. Our flanks should be careful and watch for ambush.”

  “If we're too defensive, we'll never get there in time,” Sasha muttered. “The Udalyn's wall is strong, but the Hadryn have siege weapons. That, and I'd like to hit them hard before they have time to prepare for us at the valley mouth. If we're quick, we can trap them inside before they know we're coming.”

  “Aye, M'Lady,” said Tyrun, with the first hint of satisfaction in his tone. Sasha gave him a curious look.

  “Why are you here, Captain? For all I know, this could end with all our necks joining Lord Krayliss on the block. No one would have thought less of you had you declined to ride.”

  “A majority of my men voted to come,” Tyrun said simply. “The Falcon Guard has a tradition of majority votes. So I came.”

  Sasha was surprised. She had expected to hear something about noble causes and compassion for his Goeren-yai brothers.

  “I hope they don't expect further votes in the midst of battle,” she said warily.

  Tyrun shook his head. “That's not how it works, M'Lady. One vote, for any suicidal stupidity, then all must follow orders.”

  “Your own Tyree lords may have your head even if the king doesn't,” Sasha added.

  “Master Jaryd is the Great Lord of Tyree,” Tyrun said flatly.

  “The other lords claim otherwise.”

  “They raise the taxes to pay our wages,” Tyrun said dryly, “and to forge our weapons, tend our horses and upkeep our barracks. Those, they own. Our honour, they do not. When this is over, they can disband the entire company if they wish, but I'd like to see them try and find replacements when word spreads of what they did to Family Nyvar. This is a day of infamy for Tyree, M'Lady. But it shall not be a day of infamy for the Falcon Guard.”

  It was said with the same dry calculation with which Captain Tyrun said everything…and yet, Sasha could not help but think that it was the most impassioned thing she'd yet hea
rd the man say.

  “Well,” she said after a moment, “I'm glad you're here. I'm going to need some assistance, Tyrun. Kessligh taught me much, but…I haven't done this before.”

  “Aye, M'Lady,” said Tyrun.

  To ride at night through any part of Lenayin was no easy thing, for roads were rarely straight and level, and torchlight was of limited service after the setting of the moon. Thankfully there was plenty of oil for the torches and the wind was not too strong to weaken the flame. It swirled, however, cold and occasionally misty, threatening rain.

  These and other thoughts crowded Sasha's mind. Before, on such rides, she could relax in the confidence that Kessligh would make the right decisions, now she worried and fretted. The sensation was most unpleasant, made worse by lack of sleep. How did anyone learn to handle such pressures as effortlessly as Kessligh had managed? She could not imagine.

  Shortly, the road emerged from the forest onto the outlying Baen-Tar farmland, where the land lay relatively flat between rugged hillsides. The stone walls of farmhouses glowed dimly in the passing of many torches, displaying shutters firmly latched against the dark. It seemed unreal to be riding such a path at night. Torchlight did not reach the surrounding hills, merely caressing the lower fringes of their forested slopes. Above, the ridgelines were almost invisible against the black sky, featureless save for moving patches of stars through the cloud.

  A new horse moved up on her right and Sasha recognised Andreyis's face beneath his hood.

  “That was a good speech,” he said, his voice barely carrying above the plodding hooves, creaking harness and sputtering wind. He sounded anxious. “You always said you never liked speeches.”

  “I can assure you I didn't like that one.” She gazed at the distant, dancing shadow of a farmhouse and wondered if its occupants would cheer or curse them, were they roused from their sleep. Then she looked at her old friend in sudden concern. This was a war party and Andreyis had not yet passed the Wakening. “We'll have to find you some mail.”

  “You're not wearing any,” Andreyis retorted.

  “Slows me down. If I lose my speed and balance, I've no advantage left. Safer not to wear any.” It troubled her, Andreyis being there. He was from her peaceful life on the hillside with her horses. Of course he'd always trained for warfare, as all Lenay men did, but she'd never thought to be present when he first put those skills to the test. And she'd certainly never thought to be in command. It scared her worse than anything had scared her so far in this night's young rebellion.

  “Sasha, I'm…I just…wanted to say that I'm sorry.” Andreyis looked even more anxious now. As if concerned, in a way that he rarely had been before, of arousing her temper. “Teriyan said you were angry at him. I knew that he was telling other Goeren-yai about you, but he told me not to say anything, and so did my father…”

  “What did he say?” Sasha asked. “Teriyan, I mean?”

  “He…” Andreyis took a deep breath, and glanced aside. “Folks were curious, Sasha. I mean, I've forgotten the number of times some out-of-towner stopped by the house on some business and wanted to ask me only about you. I always told them I only worked at the ranch, that I didn't know you real well…you know, just to shut them up. But they all gossiped, and that gossip went all across Lenayin.”

  “I know,” Sasha said quietly. “I know they gossiped. I know they wanted a royal Goeren-yai. There was lots of talk that Krystoff was the first. Some said that the spirits had taken him, and turned his heart to the ancient ways. When he died, and I left to live with Kessligh, many felt that spirit had passed on to me. The Taneryn say it's the will of the Synnich. Everyone has their own little legend or prophecy. Doubtless if I die, they'll invent some new one.”

  “Sasha, don't blame Teriyan. He wasn't spying on you, he never told any personal details or anything…”

  “Little enough he knows of my personal life,” Sasha snorted.

  “Aye, well…” Andreyis fidgeted with a handful of rein. “But someone had to talk to them. Goeren-yai from all over Lenayin were fascinated, Sasha. They'd all have turned up on your doorstep if Teriyan and Jaegar hadn't done some talking. It's not easy for them sometimes, you know, having you and Kessligh in town. I mean…I get told all the time, how Baerlyn ceased to be a normal town when you two arrived. Most are pleased, don't get me wrong…but it's just different, that's all.”

  “You didn't talk to any gossip mongers?” Sasha asked him with a firm gaze.

  Andreyis blinked. “And tell them what? That you shave your legs with a hunting knife and candle wax?” Sasha bit back a grin and tried hard to look annoyed. Unsuccessfully, because Andreyis saw and smiled, exasperatedly. “I don't know what these idiots want, Sasha. Teriyan does. They want to know signs, you know…that you can quote some Tullamayne, that you make the spirit sign, that you wear the tri-braid and prefer wine to ale. Some holy folks think they can read the spirits’ will in little things…I don't know, what colour socks you wear. Stupid stuff. Teriyan doesn't like it either, but they tell folks this stuff so Baerlyn doesn't become some damn pilgrimage town for crazy Goeren-yai hoping to catch a glimpse. It keeps them satisfied so they don't have to come and find out for themselves. Which wouldn't have made Prince Koenyg real happy, I'd guess.”

  Sasha breathed a deep, dark breath. “It's honeycomb wax,” she said on an impulse. “Candle wax hurts too much.”

  Andreyis gave a snort of laughter. “Some people think you're a tomboy, but I know better. You're still just a pampered princess underneath, with all your girlie things in your washing stall…”

  “I happen to dislike body hair in the wrong places!” Sasha retorted. “What's wrong with that?”

  “I counted nine different soaps and oils,” Andreyis countered accusingly.

  “I take my luxuries where I can get them.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Did Teriyan tell them that too?” Sasha asked, with a lingering sideways look.

  “How could he have? I didn't tell him. Besides, he was trying to protect you from that kind of prying, Sasha. People were going to pry anyway, you being who you are. Teriyan and Jaegar just tried to manage it, that's all.”

  Sasha sighed, heavily. Ahead, the vanguard's torches lit a wavering, ghostly line across the paddocks—a treeline, where the forest closed in once more. “Alythia accused me of trying desperately to fit in where none would willingly accept me,” she said sombrely. And laughed bitterly. “Isn't that just like a sister, to know just where to stick the needle so it hurts the most? I just wanted to fit in, Andrey. I wanted friends and a place to belong. I didn't want to be a burden, or a…a pilgrimage attraction. Just a person, you know?”

  Andreyis smiled at her, with friendly exasperation. “Sasha…you don't understand, do you? Look behind you.” She looked over her shoulder. A vast column of horses, torchlit across the dark, rolling fields. Cloaked and armoured men in their hundreds. “You did fit in. The Goeren-yai are following you, Sasha. Teriyan spread word about you and men liked what they heard. They always have, even in Baerlyn folks think you can walk on clouds…”

  “Don't be ridiculous!” Sasha said incredulously. Thinking of all the ribbings she'd received at the hands of Baerlyn men and women alike, the good-humoured slander, the teasing about her hair and how she showered far more affection on horses than young men, and how all those same young men were too frightened to flirt with her…

  “I'm not being ridiculous!” Andreyis protested. “We don't do hero worship real well, Sasha…Goeren-yai men are proud, they don't bow at the feet of others easily. I'm your friend, Sasha. I've wrestled you down the hillside and rubbed dirt in your hair. But I'm not riding here tonight just because you're my friend. I'm riding here because I'm Goeren-yai and the Goeren-yai need a leader. They've chosen that leader to be you. And I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather follow.”

  Sasha gazed at him, a cold gust of wind threatening to remove the hood from her head. Tears prickled her eyes, and she reached and grasped Andr
eyis's hand with her own. “I don't know if I deserve that trust, Andrey,” she said quietly. “I'm a spoilt, self-centred brat.”

  Andreyis grinned. “Aye, you are.” Sasha laughed. Silly of her to have expected any other reply. “But you care for people. And you don't think yourself better than others, despite your talents. Lord Krayliss did neither. Which is why they follow you, and not him.”

  AT DAWN THEY CAME TO THE VARYSH RIVER, which marked the boundary between Baen-Tar and Valhanan. Water levels were low, typical of late summer, and Sasha rode to the far bank with barely a splash to wet her boots. Soldiers dismounted along both banks to lead their horses over the rocks and gravel of the exposed riverbed to drink.

  Sasha was relieved to find that men had rations, for she had none. Her vanguard shared some bread and fruit with her as she stood and flexed her legs, watching Peg graze amidst the thick bushes that overgrew the riverbank. Birds chorused against the pale overcast sky, as hooves clattered on rock and men conversed in various tongues, weapons and armour clinking as they sat and ate, or briefly washed.

  Finishing her breakfast, Sasha walked to a better vantage on the water's edge. So many men and horses. They lined the river as far as she could see to the upstream and downstream bends. Line company men, Lenayin's best equipped and most fearsome warriors. Not necessarily the best trained, nor even the highest standard, given the lifelong training that even simple farmers received. But these were the men she needed, more than common villagers. These men had horses.

  Still, she reflected, she would have to get someone to count heads, just for certainty, and see if the number came anywhere near the two thousand of her earlier estimation. Lieutenant Alyn and the vanguard had followed her to the water's edge, she saw. They made a rough, informal line, separating her from the surrounding men and horses. It made her uncomfortable, as did many of the looks that came her way from the surrounding, mostly Goeren-yai soldiers. Some gazed in amazement, others in simple curiosity. Yet others were unreadable. Men of Lenayin were not easily impressed, she knew. And Kessligh had told her often that respect, in Lenayin, was no one's birthright. She took some comfort in Andreyis's words the previous night and yet she remained unconvinced. Many of these men needed no convincing of the rightness of their cause, but it would take plenty more than a pretty speech to convince many of them of her, no matter who her uman.