Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four (42 page)

“I'll tell you when I know what's going on,” she said harriedly, and was stopped immediately by a Steel lieutenant, stating that Generals Geralin and Rochan of the Rhodaani and Enoran Steel required to meet with her at the earliest.

“I'll send Captain Arken instead,” she said, heading back upstairs to inquire after Damon's whereabouts.

“The generals were quite insistent that it should be you,” said the pursuing lieutenant.

“I'll tell Captain Arken to talk in a high-pitched voice,” she retorted, climbing stairs. “I will attend to the generals as soon as I'm able.”

In her chambers she found several men in robes, attended by her servants, who told her that it was customary that a service should be held for newly arrived guests, and that the Ilduuris should be received in Jahnd with offerings to the gods, and blessings from the monks. Those were the holy men of the Taanist faith in eastern Ilduur, the native faith to many of the Ilduuri Steel; in addition to the Verenthanes, Sasha hadn't realised that faith was well established here in Jahnd.

She delegated to Captain Arken, and asked a servant to send a messenger to inform him to arrange it all. She would have to attend personally, of course. Sasha gritted her teeth and smiled.

Far too much time had elapsed when she finally left to meet Damon. Yasmyn now walked with her, having come to inform her that Lenayin's leaders had arrived to hold a rathynal in nearby gardens. She walked downstairs from her chambers and across a courtyard, all of which seemed very regal for city like Jahnd. She'd have thought that a people fleeing the persecution of feudalists would not style themselves as nobles in their new land.

These grand buildings clustered upon the peak of what the locals called Mount Jahndi, and were thronged with Steel officers, other uniformed soldiers Sasha took for local city guard,
talmaad
, and well-dressed officials and servants, all scurrying back and forth between various meetings and functions. Sasha walked with two Ilduuri guards, two local messengers in case of the need for rapid communications, Yasmyn, and, now running in pursuit across the courtyard, Daish.

“Compliments of Kessligh,” he said, recovering his breath. “He wants us to have a liaison. That's me.”

“Excellent,” said Sasha, and meant it. Kessligh would need good communication with each of his commanders, and that communication would best be conveyed by messengers who understood what was being said. Daish had strong knowledge of battlefield tactics, and personal friendships with both her and Kessligh. Words lost in translation, in the height of battle, could cost everything. “How's your injury?”

“Good,” said Daish. “There are excellent hills here for running. Care to join me?”

“I'd love to, but I'm beginning to realise why Kessligh said being Lenayin's Commander of Armies reminded him more of a prison than a profession.” She had gotten off her horse and run every day on the trip from Ilduur, joined by Daish and some others, always uphill. The infantry had loved to see it. “Where's Aisha?”

“With Rhillian, meeting local
talmaad.
Explaining what happened to Kiel and Arendelle, no doubt.”

“Interesting meeting,” Yasmyn said drily. “The gardens are just up these steps and beyond.”

They climbed stairs between buildings, then emerged onto lovely green gardens. A narrow path took them through cultivated lawns divided by banks of flowers and ornamental trees, and over a little footbridge across a rocky stream and a pool filled with fish. Ahead were shade trees, where Sasha could see many people gathered, most with long hair in Lenay-style leathers.

“Nice place for a meeting, at least,” she said, relieved to be outside. To the right, there was a tremendous view across the valleys, with a faint glimpse of the Ipshaal River in the distance. All Lenays would agree this a far superior place for a rathynal than some chamber.

Men stood aside as they approached, forming a wide circle with a space now for Sasha on one side. On the other was Damon. He looked well, dressed closer to battlefield garb than most lowlanders would, as were they all, save for the absence of mail. Surrounding him, Sasha recognised a number of his lordly friends—mostly young men, amongst the few nobility who had not remained with Koenyg. Most of those now had family on the other side. Sasha admired their bravery, and their loyalty to Damon, yet did not think that their circumstance made them reliable.

She stopped at her place in the circle and exchanged the formal greeting for such a gathering, with a fist raised to all in salute. The others returned it. Across the circle, Damon did too, somewhat warily.

She broke the circle and strode to him for an embrace. Damon returned it. There was a murmuring of men about the circle, whether in consternation or approval, or something else, she could not tell. And did not particularly care.

“I'll
never
be Queen of Lenayin,” she murmured against his shoulder, low enough that others could not hear. “I told Markan that if he tries to make a conflict between us, I'll kill him first.”

Damon squeezed her harder. When she pulled back to look at him, he wore a smile of wan relief. Sasha grinned crookedly and gave him a light whack on the cheek, for reprimand that he could ever have doubted her.

Then she looked about at the circle of faces. “I heard some of you want me to be queen,” she announced to them. Many faces registered shock. There was protocol to be observed, formality in such gatherings. One did not simply dive in head-first. “Who amongst you?”

She gazed about, demanding an answer. All eyes turned to Markan. His arms were folded, his eyes calculating. Back on Sasha's side of the circle, his sister Yasmyn watched on intently.

“These are the oldest Lenay ways,” said Markan. “This is the
brohyl
, the primacy of might. The throne of Lenayin is open to claim for the first time in its history. Noble tradition states that the heir to the throne shall be determined in descending order of birth amongst sons. But as you can see, there are very few nobles here.”

Sasha's eyes narrowed and she folded her arms in reply, walking slowly to the centre of the circle. Markan and Ackryd were the only great lords of Lenay provinces to have joined the defection, and both were respected. Ackryd was a former commander of the Red Swords, a formation of Lenayin's small standing army. But he could not take Markan in a fight, and everyone knew it.

Respect naturally shifted to Markan as the most senior Lenay on this side of the fight, beneath Damon and Sasha. And Markan, being Isfayen, had brought all of the Isfayen's old misgivings of royalty with him. When Sasha's great-grandfather Soros Lenayin had liberated the nation from the Cherrovan, it had been the Isfayen alone who remained unconvinced of his right to rule. They'd had to have the respect beaten into them by an admittedly much larger force before they'd consented to royal rule from Baen-Tar.

Now Markan found himself kingmaker, quite literally. Sasha only recognised about half of the faces of the other men surrounding her—these were not lords, as most of those remained with Koenyg. These were respected warriors, elevated from their status as leaders of towns and villages, with honour earned in recent battle. Sasha's eyes widened a little as she realised what had been happening.

“These men,” she said, turning a slow circle to face all about her. “They are now…what? Honorary great lords of their provinces?”

“For now we call them lord yuans,” Markan confirmed.

“And how were they selected for this honour?”

“Each province held a rathynal of its most senior leaders. There was debate, and the most honoured were nominated. Some provinces held a vote. Others conducted a
tymorain
.”

A ritual combat, that was, with stanches instead of swords. Sasha thought it a stupid way to select leaders in battle—the ability to club someone with a stanch said nothing for their ability to lead large formations in war. But now was not the time for that argument.

“So you believe that this same concept should be applied to determining the true heir between royals?”

Markan nodded. “We do. We have voted.” There was a murmur of assent from those surrounding.

“To what purpose?”

“To determine the true leader of Lenayin,” said Markan.

Sasha nearly laughed. “An Isfayen says so? You who made war upon my great-grandpa because you didn't think Lenayin should have any single leader at all?”

“Isfayen has changed,” said Markan, impassively. “The royal family has been good for Lenayin. The royal family is impartial and favours no province above others. The Isfayen believe in the honour of a fair contest, and we would see this honour continue in Lenayin.”

“Yet now you challenge the method by which that royal family determines its heirs.”

“Your brother Wylfred,” said Markan. “Would you have him lead Lenayin ahead of your brother Damon because he is older?” Sasha frowned. Wylfred barely knew one end of a sword from another. His best chance in battle would be to lecture his enemy to death. “Of course you would not. Of those two, Prince Damon is by far the most worthy.”

“Well, thanks so much,” Damon murmured. Sasha nearly grinned.

“Yet here, Lenayin has two contenders to be heir,” Markan continued. “Of the two, Sashandra Lenayin has shown herself the greater with a blade, and the greater in command. This is no dishonour to Prince Damon—few in Lenayin, if any, could claim otherwise. The
brohyl
in Lenayin is built upon the selection of who is best, not who is next. So should it always be.”

There were growls of strong approval about the circle.

“You're an idiot,” Sasha told him. “You're all idiots. Courageous and honourable idiots, but idiots you remain. This is no time to declare war on the nobility. What you're doing is changing the way Lenayin works. Now that's a nice idea, but not here. This is not that fight. This fight is for Jahnd and for Saalshen, in the belief that their survival will make Lenayin stronger and more prosperous than were they to be destroyed.

“The purpose of a royal family in Lenayin is to make stability. What you seek to do is to make that family unstable. If an heir can be challenged, then nothing is certain. The challenger will also be challenged. And hells, why stop there? There are countless men across Lenayin who could probably rule better than Damon, or I, or Koenyg, or anyone here. What you presume to introduce is a custom by which any of them may feel entitled, by virtue of simply being a good warrior, or having a very large head, to prove himself worthy. How could a king rule, if half the people question aloud whether he is truly the most worthy, and the other half are challenging him in person?”

“This is nonsense,” said someone else. “We speak only of a contest between family members, not outsiders.”

“So you would set brother against brother?” Sasha asked, rounding on that man incredulously. “Or against sister? My family is strained and crazy enough without the prospect of someday having to break each others' skulls with sticks.

“Furthermore, customs change. The serrin insist linguistic and historical proof exists that the Isfayen people are descended from the Kazeri. Today, they are vastly different from the Kazeri. Even in towns across Lenayin, old men tell of days when customs were different. What you seek to introduce here is not a custom, but an ideal, and over time the rules of custom always bend before the power of ideals. The ideal is equality, which is a nice ideal, and I admit I find it attractive. But a royal family's purpose is not equality, it is stability. I promise you that if you make this precedent of discarding the certainty of a fixed line of succession, you shall indeed introduce a new era of equality to Lenayin—we shall most of us be equally dead, the survivors equally regretful, and our neighbours and enemies equally delighted.”

There were grumblings about the circle, men looking dissatisfied. Sasha glanced at Damon, who nodded, quite impressed.

“You are not queen yet,” said Markan, unmoved. “These matters are not for you to decide, and for us to obey. Lenayin is about to embark on its greatest ever trial of blood and steel. The men of Lenayin who shall write this history, shall also write these laws.”

“You don't own me, Markan,” Sasha said with a deadly stare. “I will not merely go where you direct me.”

“If you presume to be our leader, you will. No leader can rule Lenayin without consent of the ruled.”

“I don't
want
to be queen. It is you who presume to make me your leader, without my consent. So desperate are you to be ruled, free spirit of Isfayen?”

That finally got a reaction, a fire in the big man's eyes. “All men are ruled, higher powers than men have chosen so, and it is beyond the will of men to oppose them. I do have a choice in
who
shall rule. And I shall use it.”

A
cross the Dhemerhill Valley, a wall was rising. Sasha rode before it, observing the rows of sharpened stakes that sprouted from the ground like some evil forest, and the deep trench beyond them. The wall itself was now taller than her as she sat on her horse, but even short ladders would scale it. Her initial optimism to see Jahnd's excellent defensive terrain began to fade.

“It's not very big,” Yasmyn observed at her side. Her messengers were also with her, and Daish, and several Ilduuri captains including Arken. She'd ridden with them all up the Dhemerhill to the Ipshaal River and back. It was a relatively clear path, a fertile valley with lands cleared about the river for crops and irrigation. The valley was wide enough that ten thousand men could stand shoulder-to-shoulder, and though field walls and fences crisscrossed it, those would be dismantled by the advancing army in moments. The Ilduuri captains looked grim, and Sasha shared their sentiment.

She climbed the far valley side until the shallow slope found a road, then followed the road as the slope rose sharply. Upon a crest that made a good lookout, she joined Kessligh, seated ahorse with Lenay, Rhodaani, and Enoran commanders.

“What do you think?” Kessligh asked her.

“I'm hoping they don't know how to use that artillery they captured,” Sasha replied. She spoke Saalsi, which all senior Steel spoke competently. A
talmaad
translated for the Lenays, who nodded grimly.

This lookout stood directly above the wall. To their right, the Dhemerhill Valley was joined by the smaller Ilmerhill Valley. Across the Ilmerhill, upon the opposing slope, was Jahnd, protruding into the Dhemerhill from that intersection of the two valleys.

“How far is our artillery range?” she asked.

“See that mill down by the Ilmerhill River?” Kessligh said, pointing. “If we have catapults on the walls, that's their range.”

“Can't even shoot beyond our own city,” Sasha surmised. “Some of the roads looked good enough for hauling catapults. We probably can't haul them back up the slope, but we could forward-position some out here in the valley, then once this new wall is breached, they fall back within the range of our city-wall catapults.”

“That's the plan,” Kessligh agreed. “We can only fit about a quarter of our artillery on the walls anyhow, and those can be easily avoided. I want to create killing zones where we force them into unavoidable losses.”

“Which is why you're sitting up here.”

“Exactly. There are a couple of crests along this side of the valley with road access from the ridge behind. I want to put a bunch of them along here and force them to take this ridge. My artillery captains tell me these roads aren't quite steep enough to stop us retreating from here down into the Ilmerhill. We'll hold the mouth of the Ilmerhill even after this wall here is breached; there are good natural defences. So we can get artillery from this position down into the Ilmerhill for a new defensive line there.”

“You'll need someone to hold this ridge,” said Sasha. “You can't concede the high ground above the Ilmerhill, even if they can't get catapults up this way. Ilduuris would be ideal.”

“Are they that much better on the hills?”

Sasha smiled. “They climb like mountain goats and their armour and shields are lighter for the purpose. And they read the high terrain excellently, they know which passes need to be defended, and which the enemy is simply wasting his time on.”

“I'd thought to use your Ilduuris on the right flank, too,” said Kessligh. “Which means you'll have to split in two, defending the high-left and high-right flanks.”

Sasha shrugged. “I have good captains, I can delegate. But we'll lose this ridge eventually, and from there we'll certainly lose the Ilmerhill.”

Kessligh nodded. “Yes, but it will cost them dearly.”

Behind the new wall across the Dhemerhill, armies were camped along the valley floor. The Rhodaani, Enoran, and Ilduuri Steel, or what was left of them. And the Army of Lenayin.

“There's one other thing,” said Sasha. “We cannot simply fight this as a defensive action, retreating all the while and making them pay for each step taken. If they have as much artillery as is being said, we can't win that way. We have to try and take out some of that artillery.”

“I know,” said Kessligh. “You've fought against artillery. What do you think they'll do?”

“Well, assuming they're not stupid, and I don't think they are considering artillery has killed so many of them in the past…” She paused, thinking about it, looking from the ridge upon which they stood, to the valley below and back again. “Well, see, they have to take this ridge first. With artillery up here, we can hit them but they can't hit us. The first fight will be here.

“If they want to use their artillery against this wall, they'll have to risk losing it to our artillery on this hill. So it wouldn't surprise me if they simply try to take the wall without their artillery—hit this ridge and the wall simultaneously, but hold their artillery back so they don't lose it. It will cost them a lot more men that way, but better that than lose artillery.”

“If they leave it back by the Ipshaal in safety…” Kessligh said thoughtfully.

Sasha nodded vigorously. “Exactly. We must risk a thrust into their rear to try and get their artillery first. Otherwise, well, I heard the stories of what the Rhodaani Steel did in Elisse to lords who cowered inside defensive positions; half a day and there was nothing left. We won't cave in half a day, but once they've taken this wall, these hills, the Ilmerhill behind us…we'll be stuck in Jahnd, under bombardment, and everything will burn. We won't last three days.”

“Good,” said Kessligh, gazing across the scene, deep in thought. She doubted she'd told him anything he hadn't already thought of. It was more that ideas, like the vegetables he'd taken such time and care over on their ranch in Baerlyn, needed to be nurtured.

Upon the road up the valley side, Sasha saw a new group of horsemen. These moved light, like
talmaad.
One of them was breaking away from the rest, in unreasonable haste. Sasha grinned. It could only be one person.

“He's been amazing,” said Kessligh, with a little irony. “You should know that he has quite a following here now, amongst the
talmaad.
Perhaps to rival Rhillian's.”

“Yes, well, we'll see about that,” Sasha said. “You heard what she did?”

Kessligh nodded. “Extraordinary. Serrin civilisation has always evolved far more slowly than humans, but even so. They did fight and kill each other once, long ago. It seems the instinct is not entirely dead.”

Sasha shook her head. “That's not it.” And to Kessligh's querying look, “I'll explain later.”

“One last thing—Errollyn has struck up quite a friendship with Damon in our ride here.”

“Hmm,” said Sasha. “You've heard about our issues with Damon too.”

Another nod. “Now go to him before he kills his horse coming up that hill.”

Sasha took off back down the road, giving the stallion enough freedom to find his own pace down the hill. She met Errollyn at the first elbow where the road turned back on itself, but the horse did not slow fast enough, so she had to haul him back and around. But Errollyn had leaped off, so she leaped off too, and then she was in his arms. His grip was strong, almost painful, and she clung desperately.

“Hey,” she said, muffled against his shoulder.

“We shouldn't make too much of a scene,” Errollyn suggested. “I mean, I'm
talmaad
leader here, and you're general of the Ilduuri Steel. People are watching.”

“Fuck them,” said Sasha, and kissed him.

There was another wall being built across the Dhemerhill Valley upstream from Jahnd. It was no taller than the other, cutting through paddocks, grain fields and orchard groves like a great grey scar. Facing it, trees were being cut, and farmhouses demolished. Riding along it, Sasha recalled a time when she would have felt excitement at the prospect of the greatest battle in Rhodia for several centuries at least. Now, seeing the destruction for its preparation, and pondering the destruction to come, she felt only sad.

“It's a day's detour to come through the hills and into the Dhemerhill Valley upstream,” said Errollyn, riding at her side. “We've some ambush ideas along the way, but there's nothing we can do to stop them.”

“I don't like this at all,” Sasha muttered, looking back over the wall at Jahnd, rising high up its hillside. “Once they take this wall, they can hide behind it as we do, on the reverse side. We block our own avenue to a counterattack, and give them cover from our own artillery.”

“Little choice,” said Errollyn. “We must make them fight for position in the valley, and subject them to our artillery on the high slopes. It's our main chance to inflict serious casualties, because once we're forced back to Jahnd and under
their
artillery fire, the casualties will be mostly ours.”

Errollyn took her east, upriver where the valley turned slightly across Jahnd's right flank, making a wider valley floor. Here the river widened, and the fields were open, and more clear of trees. This was cavalry country. Above it, Jahnd's buildings spread beyond its old defensive walls and along the high ridge. Paths led down to the valley from there, steep in parts, but not too steep for an army to climb. This would be Jahnd's right flank.
Her
right flank. It was high ground, which made it Ilduuri ground, plus whatever artillery was put up there. The Regent would have no choice but to capture these ridges, to prevent terrible fire from being rained down upon his forces with impunity.

“If we lose that ridge,” said Errollyn, looking up as they rode, “we lose Jahnd. The city itself is in range from there.”

Sasha shook her head. “If they mostly come down here with cavalry, they'll not be scaling that ridge quickly. That's infantry work, and the infantry will be coming up from the Ipshaal on the other side. That's where I'll be, so this will be your fight—a cavalry fight. And once they come down here, you'll be boxed in with nowhere to run.”

“The only way into the valley is far ahead,” he said, pointing. “We're headed there anyway, I'll show you. I can lead them on a chase down the length of the valley—it's beautiful ambush country.” Sasha bit her lip. “What troubles you?”

“Errollyn,
talmaad
fighting is ‘run away’ fighting. I do not mean that as an insult; the
talmaad
are perhaps the most lethal warriors I've seen, man for man. But mounted archery requires distance from the enemy. You cannot close and fight nose-to-nose as regular cavalry can. And there is no room in this valley to always run away.”

“I know,” Errollyn said simply.

“And this is Saalshen's peril,” Sasha continued with real concern, “because Saalshen has never fought nose-to-nose. Saalshen fights from the shadows and at range. You can inflict terrible losses that way, but you cannot hold ground. The army that attacks you here will hold ground, clear it, and move forward slowly and repeat. You need forces that can hold ground, Errollyn, or Saalshen itself will be lost.”

“I know,” Errollyn repeated. He looked sad. “We have had this discussion too many times before, Sasha. Saalshen wins here, or is lost. As are all my people. We cannot fight this way. We have always refused to learn.”

“Why?” Sasha asked in despair. It was the great question, the one she had puzzled over for most of the last tumultuous year.

“Come,” said Errollyn. “I will show you.”

Tormae was a pretty village at the far end of the Dhemerhill, where the valley began to fade into rolling hills and patchwork forest. She and Errollyn dismounted where a diversion from the river made a small lake, fronted by several timber houses. Each had small paddocks, with a few cows and goats grazing beneath large shade trees. Sasha saw serrin men and women working in nearby vegetable gardens, and thought that the scene was not so different from human villages she had seen.

They left their horses tied to a rail by the lake and walked. She had told the entourage to leave them for a while, so they could have this time alone together. The road here seemed more trees and hedges than houses. Several small bridges crossed streams cutting the road as it wound back and forth between patched sunlight and dappled shade. Birds sang and darted from bushes to treetops, and here and there were serrin walking the road carrying bundles of crops, or odd woven baskets suspended from shoulder slings, filled with vegetables and fruit.

The locals greeted them cheerfully, several exchanging longer words with Errollyn in a dialect Sasha did not understand. Soon Sasha began wondering where the town centre was.

“This is the town centre,” Errollyn answered her. “It's all like this.”

Sasha frowned at him. “No industry? How is wood worked, or tools made, or leather tanned? There needs to be a grouping of people and skills in one location, surely?”

Errollyn shook his head. “You know serrin. We have many skills, we do not specialise. Thus we have no need to cluster.”

Sasha stared about her, pausing as they crossed another small bridge. “You mean, these houses here were…”