Sasha (38 page)

“She's the one coming to my defence,” Jaryd retorted, breathlessly. “You're telling me these…these honourless cowards are my true friends, and those who risk their own necks to ride at my side are my enemies?”

Koenyg shook his head in disgust and rose to his feet. “If you don't know the answer to that question, Heir of Nyvar,” he said sourly, “then I fear for not only your future, but your family's.”

The morning was overcast, with a blustery wind that blew grey, misting swirls along the valley's upper slopes. Lord Usyn Telgar, a man of the cold northern heights, did not mind the chill. He sipped hot tea from his tin cup, wrapped in his warmest fur cloak, and observed a sight of pure wonder.

Ten catapults. Great, ungainly wooden contraptions, never before used in Lenay wars. The horses that had hauled them up the length of the valley now grazed somewhere behind the tent forest on the grassy slopes beside the Yumynis River. The catapults now sat in a line across grassy fields on this, the eastern side of the river, swarmed about with labouring men.

Facing the contraptions, a vast, dark stone wall spanned the width of the valley. It stood perhaps the height of five men—too tall for the ladders. More than half of the Hadryn army were cavalry, and not equipped for such obstacles. Thick buttresses reinforced the wall at even intervals, and two huge wooden doors with welded metal binding stood thirty strides from the river's edge on this eastern side. Beneath the wall, the river surged with a roar of foam and spray—the Udalyn had diverted the mighty Yumynis to flow through a narrow channel, above which spanned the wall's arch. It was more ingenuity than Usyn had expected of the pagans. But it would not help them.

A nearby catapult groaned and strained as men hauled the two great wheel-spokes, winding the rope tighter and tighter. Two men carried a heavy rock between them, muscles straining, and placed it into the sling. The release mechanism was checked and men moved away to a safer distance. An officer yelled the order and the firing rope was pulled—the catapult's safety catch released and the rope unwound with a squealing rush, hauling the long arm and sling skyward. Crack! The arm pulled up short, lurching the entire contraption nearly enough to topple it, and the huge rock continued onward, hurtling high and long toward the wall. A distant thud, as it shuddered the great wall doors, adding yet another white, splintered mark in its surface, before joining the growing pile on the earth before the doors.

A man arrived to stand at Usyn's side, a steaming cup in his hand. It was Yuan Heryd, similarly rugged against the cold, with the look of a man newly woken. Heryd had led much of the advance up the valley's length and was surely tired. It had taken a full day longer to sweep to the valley's end than Heryd had expected. Udalyn defences had been surprisingly sophisticated. The valley had many roads and trails that meandered along its steep sides, each successively higher than the last, as the slopes rose up from the broad valley floor. These were well forested, and dotted with cultivated fields, farmhouses, retaining walls, fences and watercourses.

The Udalyn had used all, in their defences. Major forces moving along the flat valley floor had confronted defended barricades blocking the best routes. Even when breached, a straight drive up the valley floor risked a flanking ambush from the height of a neighbouring slope. The valley slopes had had to be cleared at an equal pace, but that going proved even slower, as riders advancing along narrow, winding roads were shot with arrows, pelted with rocks from higher vantages, or unexpectedly ambushed by suicidally brave pagans leaping from cover to hack at horse and rider with indiscriminate abandon.

So ferocious had been their defences that, at times, Usyn had wondered if the Udalyn had made the worst miscalculation of all, and had tried to win the battle outright. The combined Hadryn companies and militia were not the untested rabble of a century ago—trade and exchanges with their lowlands Verenthane brothers had improved the quality of Hadryn horses, weapons, armour, tactics and fighting skills considerably. The Udalyn had discovered this to their loss, with barely a mailshirt or a crossbow between them. Hundreds had fallen, their bodies strewn across the roads and barricades of their precious valley.

But their sacrifice had served its purpose, as the valley cottages and farms had been emptied of both people and livestock by the time the Hadryn army had arrived. All now sheltered behind this, the great Udalyn wall, at the far northern end of the valley. Great walls of sheer rock loomed at the valley's end beyond the wall, broken only by the plummeting roar of the Yumynis Falls. The Udalyn were trapped in there. Getting them out was just a matter of time.

There was a squeal and crack as another catapult fired. “A glorious sight, is it not?” Usyn said to Heryd, his eyes tracking the rock's flight through the air. Thud.

Heryd nodded. “Aye, my Lord. Do you know your father's price for them?”

“Fifteen pieces each,” Usyn said smugly. “Made and transported from Larosa itself. The Bacosh are truly masters of war. It would be a grand thing to campaign there.”

“Aye, it would, for such a holy cause.” Heryd's lips pursed, considering the great doors. “The pagans build well. Doubtless those doors have been reinforced behind. We may splinter the timbers, yet not break through. Worse, we litter our approach with rocks. Men may trample each other in a crush, assaulting such a space under archer fire.”

Usyn stared at the doors, now clearly weakening beneath the catapults’ combined assault. He had not considered Heryd's concerns. It angered him. “Why did you not say so earlier?” he said harshly.

“My apologies, my Lord,” said Heryd. “I was sleeping. The terrain was difficult, I lost a hundred plus men.”

“We are thousands!” Usyn said angrily. “Our friends from Banneryd are riding to assist us in Taneryn, once here they can relieve our forces from Ymoth instead, and then we shall be more. This battle must be won before the southern pagans realise what is happening! I cannot tolerate further delays!”

“Aye, M'Lord,” Heryd agreed. He pointed to a spot further along the wall. “I suggest we divert half the catapults and begin a new point of entry. The stone wall shall take longer, but to guarantee a successful assault, I would like another entry point at least, perhaps two.”

Usyn considered, broodingly. Udys Varan continued to speak ill words of him with the captains and nobles, he was certain of it. The Hadryn Shields were sworn by oath to family Telgar, but their captain was a cousin to the Varans. The bulk of the army were militia, and no less capable for that, as in most of Lenayin…but their allegiances were divided amongst the noble families and their respective towns and regions. He had cousins and uncles amongst those serving, yet they afforded him little comfort. Some spoke angry words of Udys Varan and implied the new Lord of Hadryn weak in not dealing with him more sternly. But the soldiers respected the seasoned Udys, clearly more than the untested heir of Telgar. Usyn felt trapped, and increasingly resentful.

“Deploy the catapults as you see fit,” he said finally. “Should we not also breach the wall on the west of the river?”

“No, M'Lord,” said Heryd. “That would force us to divide our forces to either bank, and the pagans have destroyed the last bridge. The Udalyn have no point of exit on that side, let's keep them bottled up and not expose ourselves to a flanking assault.”

“As you will,” said Usyn, shortly. Heryd sipped at his tea, unruffled by his lord's tempers. Usyn regarded him for a moment. Yuan Heryd Ansyn. Family Ansyn had long been allies of the Telgars. Usyn's mother had been an Ansyn, the sister of Heryd's father. Some suggested Heryd's daughter for a match with Usyn. Usyn disliked the notion—the girl was pallid and spotty. But he wondered what her father thought. “Some of the men say that I am too young to command this effort,” he said now.

Heryd swallowed his tea and shrugged. “None can choose the time of their father's passing,” he said. “Family Telgar have ruled Hadryn since the Liberation. The turn was always yours, my Lord.”

“Our ascension was challenged by some,” Usyn said darkly. “Many Varans feel the great lordship was rightfully theirs and that King Soros made a mistake to grant it to us.”

“Not I, my Lord,” said Heryd, fixing him with a pale blue gaze. A big man, with blond hair beneath his helm and a heavy, honest face. “Family Ansyn has been an ally to Family Telgar since before the Liberation, and always shall be.”

“And Family Varan?” Usyn asked bluntly.

“Family Telgar won the great lordship through valour in battle,” Heryd replied. “Your ancestors slew many of the Cherrovan, and then many more of the traitorous pagans in the cleansing to follow. Clearly your blood was chosen by the gods to rule. None in Hadryn dispute it. Prove yourself now, my Lord, and remind them of that choice. The gods’ will cannot so easily be undone.”

Another catapult shot clattered and whistled. Heryd finished his tea, bowed and departed. Usyn watched him go, his fingers clenched tightly about his cup. Victory in battle, the cornerstone of all honour. He'd show that fool Varan. He'd show him the true meaning of victory.

A new presence arrived at his left elbow and he turned to find Father Celys in black robes with his staff in hand.

“My Lord,” said Celys with a bow, a bald man with a thin grey beard. “My Lord, I wondered if I could have a word?”

“Of course, Father,” said Usyn, turning to face him with as much lordly dignity as he could muster. He liked this part—the part where men he had known his whole life, and who had never shown him the respect he deserved, now suddenly had to bow before him and lower their eyes. “How can I help you?”

“Well, my Lord…there is the matter of the pagans’ bodies. It is the custom of the order that even an enemy should receive a proper burial…”

“These are not merely enemies, Father,” Usyn said coldly. “These are pagans. They spit on the rightful gods, as their ancestors spat on them during the Liberation and assisted their enemies. Their souls now descend to the fires of Loth to burn for eternity, and I say good riddance. Burn the bodies. And do it before the walls, so the rest of them can see.”

Father Celys took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Aye, M'Lord.” Usyn regarded him disdainfully. His father had suspected Father Celys of defective moral character for a long time. The Bishop of Hadryn had always been more interested in converting pagans than killing them. “However, if it pleases my Lord, I would request permission to entreaty the pagans behind the wall to save their souls by conversion.”

Usyn snorted. “That is your right, Father—souls are a bishop's prerogative just as lives are a lord's.”

“And should they agree, M'Lord…would you consider a surrender?”

Usyn glared at him, lips pressed thin. His temper boiled. “We hold the Hadryn's most ancient enemies by the throat and you would beg for mercy on their behalf?”

Father Celys ducked his head. “No, M'Lord. But…but one would like to make contingencies, for future plans. When the walls are breached, M'Lord, there will be many more bodies to dispose of, and their souls too will be in question…”

“Burn them,” Usyn said coldly. “Burn them all.”

“Aye, M'Lord. And the prisoners, M'Lord? What of them?”

Usyn raised a thin eyebrow. “Prisoners?”

“The women and children, M'Lord.” Looking up at Usyn hopefully, from beneath lowered brows. “When the holy armies reached Torovan from the Bacosh five centuries ago, they did report a great success at persuasive conversions with the women, without their menfolk there to protect them. The pagan womenfolk are good workers, we could…”

“There shall be no prisoners, Father Celys,” said Usyn Telgar, Lord of Hadryn. “This valley is lacking in firewood, I would guess. Best that you make plans to collect some.”

S
ASHA WOKE EARLY THE NEXT MORNING
, and did her exercises on the floor of Sofy's chambers while her sister slept on, peaceful in the wash of morning sunlight through the windows. The taka-dans woke her, however.

“I'd never thought something so deadly could look so beautiful,” Sofy said from her pillows as Sasha lowered her blade. Sofy gazed with amazement. Sasha performed the last third of the defensive elia-dan, the silver blade flashing in the sunlight, finding the perfect form of foot, wrist and shoulder. Then sheathed the sword over her shoulder in one, smooth motion.