Haven atobas-4

by Joel Shepherd

  Sasha stood on a rooftop in the sprawl of buildings that was the Ilmerhill Valley part of Jahnd. Gazing across the clusters of roofs and streets that separated her from the mouth of the valley, she could see a wall of infantry moving at speed toward her. Tens of thousands of men in armour, yet their formation was broken, as though they were fleeing. Somehow, it had worked. No one down in this valley, far from lines of communication, knew how it had worked. But all had seen the fireballs that had turned night into the brightest of days, and knew that the attackers had lost the majority of their most feared weapons.

  The infantry that advanced upon them now behaved exactly like men who had talmaad at their rear, in the dark. Their artillery gone, their centre in flames, their backsides peppered with arrows from the night, they retreated to where they had cover. The city in Ilmerhill Valley, where they could hide behind walls, and talmaad could not see them. But where Lenays and Ilduuris could.

  She turned and faced the yard behind. It was an animal yard, leading to a small slaughterhouse. Fitting, she thought darkly. It was crowded with Lenay and Ilduuri infantry. The past hour, they'd been discussing tactics, playing to each others' strengths, here amongst the buildings.

  “Listen!” she yelled at them, and they quietened. “They're coming! We know how many they are, but think! Five thousand talmaad attacked and broke through. You've seen how they shoot. A single talmaad can easily kill ten men in a fight. That's fifty thousand. Our enemies retreat here because they're dying out there, by the thousand. They can't fight what they can't see, and what applies to serrin applies to us here as well.

  “Their only advantage is numbers. But here, we force them to fight man on man, and numbers mean nothing. Like the talmaad, each of you is worth many of them. Forget tactics. Forget clever games. I want from each of you only one thing. I want blood!”

  There was a roar, then fast silence. She had them. “Kill them all! Show them no mercy! You are warriors such as they cannot match without the assistance of numbers, cavalry, and artillery. I want each of you to make a personal tally. I want you to compete with your friends for kills and heads. Remember what they did to our fallen friends! Remember what evil they fight for! Remember what the serrin did to King Leyvaan the Fool and his army, two hundred years ago! They forgot that lesson then! We will teach it to them again!

  “I am Synnich-ahn, the most deadly of the ancient spirits, and I want to drown in their blood!”

  “Blood!” her army roared. “Blood! Blood! Blood!” They punched the air with their swords. Sasha seethed, drinking it in. She meant every word. She wanted to slaughter, this deadly night. She could feel the ancient spirits in her veins, urging her to more than mortal cravings. It was as though the spirits of all the recently departed were driving her, seeking revenge, wanting this fate that had befallen them to befall their enemies as well.

  Aisha saw talmaad cavalry wheeling ahead, though she felt the urge to turn well before she saw the turning. She rushed that way, adjusting her seat upon the saddle, confident her horse could still see in the great glare from behind. The feudal cavalry were closing on big, fast horses, and the serrin line was too disorganised from evading artillery to cut them down in force.

  She ran with the main group of talmaad, heading out to the Dhemerhill River as the light upon trees and fields grew dimmer, and shadows darker. She stopped near the bank of the Dhemerhill, as others stopped about her and looked back. Feudal cavalry were slowing now, though she could not see precisely. They appeared to have closed upon the talmaad's rear ranks, where fighting continued at close range. But now, light from the great fires was fading.

  Hellfire burned fast and hot, and would continue to burn for long periods after the first eruption. But that first eruption was by far the brightest and hottest, and the long fire that followed would be dim by comparison. Human cavalry had chased them all the way out here across the fields with blood on their minds, without a thought as to where the light that allowed them that chase was coming from. Now, moment by moment, that light was fading. The shadows were closing in and human riders slowed in concern, horses protesting at shapes in the dark, at trees and stumps and ditches.

  Not yet, Aisha thought, walking her horse forward. She could feel a new momentum building, an inexorable tug, as with a large boulder beginning to roll from a high slope. Not yet. Noise from the oncoming charge continued to fade, in concert with the light. Now there were cries from the humans, as they realised their mistake. Calls to regroup, to form into lines. But they could not see each other to make that happen. Not yet.

  Suddenly, the urge began to build. Now. Every serrin moved at the same instant. There was no need to move faster than a canter, but suddenly those ahead were filling the night with arrows, and men were screaming. She came across a trail and around some trees, and there they were, feudal cavalry, some knights, some Northern Lenays, milling and ordering and trying to re-form like blind men grasping about in a dark room. Serrin were firing into them on all sides, and they were falling.

  Now they charged, knowing they had to do something other than stand there and die. Riders came toward her, but several did not see the low fence ahead and toppled over it, another horse reared in fright and dumped its rider, and others slowed to a fearful jog. Aisha sighted one whose shield was not properly in play, drew quickly to her chin, and released. She'd wanted the throat, but hit shoulder instead. The man yelled and was hit by a second shaft an instant later, straight through the jaw.

  Holes opened amidst the human lines. Aisha urged her nervous mare into no more than a canter, weaving between some panicked, riderless horses, cautioning the mare to some bushes, then slowing so she did not stumble on rising ground. The mare trusted her. Now she was in amongst the cavalry, where she would be dead in moments during the day. But her enemies stared at her and past her, unable to tell this horseman from the others.

  Aisha smiled, selected a Lenay man barely ten paces to her left, and shot him through the neck. This range suited her well, she thought, quickly drawing another arrow. There was a choice between two Torovans and another Lenay. Common sense chose the Lenay, and she put this shaft through his face. Even Rhillian could have scored kills in here.

  One of the Torovans died to another serrin. The other tried to gallop, and rode headlong into a tree. He fell, and as he lay on the ground, a serrin rode to stand over him and shot him through the chest.

  All about it continued, feudal cavalry now trying to run, attacking friends mistaken for foes, trying to form up. Aisha saw ten Lenay cavalry make a defensive group, unaware that two of their number were actually talmaad. They killed four of the other eight before they were recognised, and simply danced away when the Lenays came after them. One of the last four fell in pursuit, two more fell to other serrin arrows, and Aisha rode quietly up behind the last as he stared about him in panic, and shot him through the back from five paces.

  “Elay esc'tah!” the serrin called to each other in Saalsi, almost laughingly. “We can see!” was perhaps the closest translation in any human tongue. It was a taunt, as serrin rarely taunted, an insult born of fury. The words rose in the air with a lilting high note, and humans ran before those alien, haunting cries.

  Remaining human cavalry galloped, as fast as they dared, back toward their lines. Half the talmaad pursued. The other half ignored them and set off across the Ilmerhill River, to lay into the infantry on that side, before the Ilmerhill Valley mouth.

  Sasha crouched in wait behind the fenceline of a small yard, surrounded by her Ilduuris. She'd chosen for them the eastern part of town nearer the Ilmerhill River, while Lenays took the western side, across the main road. There was no confusing either group with feudal men-at-arms, and Ilduuri were far more suited for this city fighting than Rhodaani or Enoran Steel. Smaller shields and longer swords, and a superior ability to fight alone or in small groups. There would be no great shield walls here, only small ones blocking streets and alleys. And, given the numbers that approached, lots of fast manoeuvr
ing and improvising.

  Those numbers were now running down the main road across the yard. There were shouts, officers directing men to look for enemy, to check for ambush. Many men did not seem to be paying attention, and were more concerned with putting distance between themselves and the pursuing serrin.

  Sasha waited, knowing that a longer wait was better. There would be no signal to attack-the first ambushing force to be discovered would start the fight, and everyone else would join in. She waited longer, as more men and a few horses came crowding along the road. Some now came into the yard, amidst carved masonry in half-finished blocks. Perhaps the first ambusher to be discovered would be her…but these men stopped, exhausted, and gathered together to talk of what they'd seen. They sounded disbelieving, and concerned, but not yet completely terrified. That would change.

  Suddenly there were yells and clashing steel. Men with her echoed it, as all about the roar of thousands of men rose above Jahnd's roofs, and they ran into the yard. Fighting erupted. Sasha stayed where she was, with several Ilduuri, concerned about a countering flank onto this narrow road. Sure enough, within moments, men-at-arms were racing out this way in numbers, getting clear of the crowded main road. Ilduuris ahead sprang from the shadows and attacked.

  Men rushed from the adjoining alley, and Sasha killed one before he saw her, a fast move from a blind side, a lesson learned in Petrodor. Others came at her, and the Ilduuris with her hit them, felling several, and then there were more breaking through, and Ilduuris from the yard falling back, and everything was chaos.

  “This way!” Sasha yelled as horsemen came up the alley, and they fell back down an adjoining alley, then across a closed courtyard, pursuit close behind. In the courtyard Ilduuris made a second ambush as pursuers crashed into that line. Sasha raced ahead and checked the new street, where fighting had not yet reached.

  One of the horsemen rounded the corner just then to cut her off, a knight in gleaming armour, but with visor down at night, how could he see? He charged her, and Sasha darted across the front of his horse so he swung on the wrong side. A cavalryman was with him, and sprinting men-at-arms behind. The cavalryman crashed into Ilduuris emerging from the alley behind, and then Sasha had fully ten men-at-arms coming about the intersection at her, with shield, sword, and spear.

  She danced right again, out into the intersection, as Ilduuris behind engaged. She tore the sword from one man's hand, forced another to defend with his shield, then went low and slashed his leg. His balance failed, his shield dropped, and she removed his head, but another nearly impaled her with a spear as she ducked away, backward down the road.

  Suddenly the spearman fell, an arrow in his side. Sasha took the opportunity to entice another swordsman into attacking, ducked across and split his exposed side. Another man shrieked as an arrow took him, and the others were now spreading out, looking about in fear. Sasha attacked another, and he defended three straight blows, scampering backward past a comrade who did not adjust in time, so she killed him instead.

  But she'd advanced past one more, who circled behind…and fell with a shaft through the neck. Sasha was laughing. She did not know this humour, she had never laughed before to see men die. But there was only one man with such archery in a close melee, and she could feel him with her now.

  One more backed against a wall, hoping the shadows would hide him, and was skewered there by a shaft that pinned his neck to the planks, leaving him gruesomely hanging. The survivors ran, and a last man fell with a shaft through his back.

  Still grinning, Sasha turned and saw a dark shape emerging from the shadows, broad-shouldered and shaggy-haired, a huge bow in hand and a big quiver at his hip. His eyes gleamed green in the dark. He stood before her, and his breath was warm on her lips.

  “Hello, lover,” said Sasha with a smile.

  “You told me to wait for you,” he murmured back. “I did.”

  Sasha stared into those amazing eyes. She had told him to wait for her. She'd thought maybe he was dead at the time. Had he heard her?

  “Where were you?” she asked.

  “I lost my horse. I hid for a day on the far valleyside, cut off. When dark fell, I came back.”

  “And how did you find me?”

  Errollyn smiled, a gleam in the dark. “I have no vel'ennar with other serrin, it's true,” he replied. “But I share it with you.” Sasha felt paralysed. His nearness was intoxicating. But it did not seem as before. She could feel him, somewhere beyond where senses could perceive. “I see you, Synnich-ahn. You are a beacon in the dark. You are hunting for blood this night, and I have answered your call. Let us spill some together, and save our peoples.”

  They returned to the road where her Ilduuris had fought and found them triumphant over both mounted riders. The knight had been pulled from his horse, and now they sat on him to hold him still while another sought to find a gap in his armour, and finish it messily.

  Then they returned to the main fight. Errollyn remained slightly behind, preferring his bow to the sword on his back. He and Sasha fought together, and even in the worst confusion, it was as though they had one mind. Two men attacked them, and while he shot the left, she killed the right. There was no wasted energy, no miscommunication. She was the right hand, and he was the left. Together they made a tally such that the Ilduuri men fighting with them would tell tales of it for generations, and which Lenays would repeat and say proudly that they were there too.

  Lenays and Ilduuris killed until those who were not dead were running for their lives. They ran into the night, and those who reached the Ipshaal began searching for boats. But these nights were filled with serrin, and the lessons of King Leyvaan echoed now as they had not done in two centuries since. All who attacked Saalshen must die, with none to survive to reach their homes, for if fear was all that humanity understood, fear must be Saalshen's final, awful protection.

  The Ipshaal was wide. Beyond it lay Enora, filled with angry Enorans only too happy to assist in exercising Saalshen's final lesson. Perhaps a few, very lucky souls would live to return to the feudal Bacosh, but those could be no more than one for every few thousand who had marched.

  And so the second great feudal army in two hundred years marched into Saalshen with much glory and fanfare, and disappeared with barely a trace. Gods and spirits and higher fates willing, the victors prayed, it would be the last.

  Morning rose across the valleys, grey like dread. Smoke lingered in the air, and singed the nostrils. Damon walked, for he could not bear to make his poor horse take another step, the animal was so spent he would take a week to recover. It was in pasture now, belly full of grass and water, washed clean of sweat and dirt, cuts and bruises treated, and likely fast asleep. Damon wished that a prince of Lenayin might also take such liberties.

  A King of Lenayin.

  He walked across fields of dead. Tullamayne had spoken of such fields in many a tale, and though his tales were always steeped in epic melancholy, that melancholy had never felt quite so epic as this. Humanity lay as refuse upon the ground. Damon had always been like Sofy in that he loved the things that made life good, yet unlike Sofy in that he expected people to do everything opposite to achieving those things. Today, his view of affairs had triumphed over his sister's, yet the thought of it was only bleaker still.

  City folk picked their way through the dead, many with wagons. Friendly wounded were already collected. Now they piled friendly dead, with as much reverence as one could accord a scene of mass slaughter. The enemy dead they ran over with wagons, and occasionally stole a piece of jewellery. The crows were following, and would soon arrive in swarms. Damon did not think there were enough crows in all of Rhodia to consume all this.

  Finally he arrived at a scene. The Ilmerhill River was nearby, bubbling happily away. Great Lord Markan was here, as was Sasha, kneeling by a man who lay on the grass, two serrin arrows through his body.

  Damon stopped beside the man, and looked down upon the dying King of Lenayin. Koenyg looked up, squinti
ng against the overcast sky. And smiled, with bloodied lips.

  “Brother,” he whispered. “You won.”

  “I won a great pile of corpses and many dead friends,” Damon replied. “It's not much of a prize.”

  Koenyg shook his head. “No,” he said, and coughed, weakly. “No. You have won a great victory. Now you must consolidate it.”

  Damon frowned. He looked at Sasha. Her jaw was tight with intense emotion. He had not thought that Sasha would grieve for Koenyg. But now he kneeled, reluctantly, and took his brother's hand.

  “There is no choice now,” Koenyg continued, weakly but with determination. “I do not like this path for Lenayin, but events have fallen your way, not mine. Saalshen must be the foundation of our future. Rebuild it. Rebuild the Saalshen Bacosh. Rebuild Lenayin in its image. Declare war on the north if you must. They will oppose you with every breath. Be steel against them. You have chosen your path, and Lenayin's. Now you must walk it.”

  Damon swallowed hard. “You counsel me to attack your closest allies? The family of your wife and son?”

  “Damon. Brother.” Koenyg's hand tightened with unexpected strength. “All that I have ever done, I have done for Lenayin. I tried to unite a divided land. I thought the north was central, and the rest should be made more like them. I still think it. But that is not to be, and now you must unite Lenayin your way.

  “Let nothing stop you. No weakness, no fecklessness. No elder brother intimidating you, even beyond the grave.” He smiled. Damon struggled to hold his gaze. “Let not even the love of your other siblings stop you from doing what you must for your people. I never did. Not even when it caused me such pain as these arrows can only imagine.”

  It hurt. Damon looked at Sasha, as she wiped at tears. She knew what he meant. Damon did too. They had never been friends, but family was not friendship. Family was family, even in hatred and feud. As leaders of nations, they did not always have the luxury to put each other first.