Sasha (54 page)

“Sashandra Lenayin!” cried a restless voice from the midst of the assembled horsemen. “We were promised Sashandra Lenayin!”

A chorus of loud agreement rose from many others. “Is she present?” yelled another. “If not, we'll ride on Baen-Tar itself to free her!” Another rousing reply, filled with anger. More than five hundred horse stamped, jostled and snorted in the torchlight, feeding off their riders’ mood. Sasha sensed that things might finally be approaching a boil. They'd been patient for so long. They'd watched the Taneryn contingent slaughtered on the lower slopes, and yet done nothing. Now, they felt their time had arrived. The men of the ancient ways would not be denied.

Sasha found Teriyan glaring at her. “Go!” he urged, with a hard nod of his head. Sasha felt as if frozen, unable to move. Real fear gripped her, worse than the fear of bloodthirsty northerners or Cherrovan intent on spilling her blood. Those, she was trained to deal with. This turned her whole world upside down. It was one thing to threaten rebellion, quite another to actually, finally arrive at the moment of partaking.

Kessligh, she thought despairingly, her heart thudding hard against her ribs. He'd been right, once again. She truly hadn't understood where her casual passions might take her. A daughter of Lenayin, riding forth before a rebellious band of Goeren-yai and declaring intentions entirely at odds with her father's will.

Quite unexpectedly, a line from an old serrin verse came to mind. “That was the river. This is the sea.” She'd never seen the sea. The many rivers of Lenayin flowed into it, eventually, on their long, winding journey into the lowlands. A body of water so vast was unimaginable to her. And yet it existed, irrespective of her ignorance. Somewhere out there—vast, deep and blue.

Suddenly, she felt calmer. The destination was out there, whether she knew its nature or not. Surely it existed, just like the sea. It was only she who was uncertain. The destination would take care of itself.

She touched her heels to Peg's sides, urging him to a walk. He broke into a canter instead and she pulled on the reins, slowing her reluctant, impatient friend to a sideways, head-tossing prance. The men's shouts died away, eyes settling upon her, many with frowning curiosity, seeing her for the first time. Spirits knew what they'd expected from the tales spun about her. She pushed the hood from her head to at least offer that much proof. From behind, there came the thunder of yet more horses approaching, swelling their ranks further. Perhaps she should wait for them all to arrive…but then, she might never start.

“Men of Lenayin!” she called. Her voice did not sound right, and she wondered if it carried across all those gathered. And the words themselves were a stale, dull form of address, surely? Although it was certainly better than “fellow Goeren-yai”…and suddenly, new words formed in her head. “Some will say this is a rebellion!” she plowed on, before the inspiration could desert her. “Some will say that we ride against the king! They will say that we seek to set Lenayin at war with itself, and set Verenthane and Goeren-yai at each other's throats! But they will be wrong!

“We ride to save Lenayin from ruin! Lenayin must be saved from the hatred and bigotry of the north, or wherever it should arise! Lord Krayliss offered you a vision of a kingdom of the Goeren-yai, free from Verenthanes, serrin and lowlanders. I offer you no such vision! The Lenayin I offer you is a Lenayin of peace, not of hatred! Even now, there are Verenthane brothers among us who ride not for division, nor for hatred, but for all Lenayin, united together in friendship!

“I welcome my Verenthane brothers! I remind all who ride here that wherever my heart may lie, my blood is Verenthane and I love my family yet! Should any man who ride here tonight do so for hatred, or should he consider all Verenthanes to be the enemy, then I would tell that man that he is not welcome in this party! If he wishes to ride tonight for love—for love of the Udalyn, for love of tolerance and friendship between all Lenays, and for the love of a united Lenayin beneath a single king, then I say come with me, and none of us shall suffer in silence any more! What do you say?”

The answering roar astonished her in its power. Men clenched their fists in the air, or thrust their swords skyward, shouting with visceral passion. Sasha felt a flush of power through her body, chills tingling both hot and cold, her heart pounding in her ears. As if suddenly, in that moment, she could have taken on the combined Hadryn armies single-handedly and won. She fought the urge to grin like an idiot. A girl could get used to this.

“Form up!” she heard a yell as the cheering died…and looked to find Captain Tyrun of the Falcon Guard coming across the line at a canter, raised in his stirrups. “Form up, share the torches. We've distance to cover before the sun rises!”

Sasha set off after him, heading downhill as mounted soldiers wheeled and yelled, finding comrades and superiors in the darkness. She, Tyrun, Andreyis and Teriyan positioned themselves at the fore, watching the confusion and hoping there were not too many injuries before they even began to move.

“Where's Jaryd?” she thought to ask Tyrun.

“I put a few good men with him,” Tyrun replied, surveying the scene with unreadable eyes. “To make sure he stays in the saddle, and to show the rest of the guardsmen that he's here. How do you judge his condition?”

“His body's a mess,” Sasha said shortly. “But that's not the worst of it.”

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 heard 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.