Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four (59 page)

Andreyis was missing, but alive, tending to Yshel who, word was, soon might not be. She'd been too near a hellfire round that exploded, and was burned.

Rhillian was missing; Aisha had been near her at the time, and her description did not sound promising. Of the thousand or so
talmaad
who had followed Rhillian on that mission to cover the retreat of the wall's defenders, barely half had returned.

Errollyn was missing, too. Sasha willed herself to be like stone, and set off uphill, with Yasmyn close behind. She could not grieve now. Errollyn was too good at surviving for her to believe the worst without evidence, and no one had seen him fall. Besides which, she had the conclusion of a battle to wage, and if it went the way things now suggested it would, and Errollyn was dead, she'd be joining him soon enough.

Wait for me, she willed him as she urged her horse uphill past lines of ascending, battle-scarred soldiers and frightened townsfolk. Don't leave for the spirit world before I get there. I'm coming.

At Windy Point, she found Kessligh, Damon, and Jaryd, standing before their horses to survey the scene. Jaryd was credited by some as having saved the retreat. He'd plunged into the first attacking wave of cavalry, then led many to regroup on the far side, and swung back to hit those lead cavalry again. The distraction had forced their attention aside from assaulting the retreating Steel, and bought them enough space to fall back to the outskirts of Jahnd, where cavalry could not follow.

“The night is our only chance,” said Kessligh. Sasha nodded. It was what they'd discussed in Liri, last night upon the hillside. These valleys made a confine. The only thing the Regent's men feared now was the dark, and the serrin who prowled beyond the reaches of their fires. Serrin cavalry could fight at night, their horses trained to trust that their riders could see better than they. In the dark, such riders could kill and not be killed in reply. But first, they had to escape this trap.

“How do we make a hole?” Jaryd wondered, gazing down at the valley. The Regent's forces made a giant circle about Jahnd, and across the mouth of the Ilmerhill Valley. They had occupied the Dhemerhill Valley at first, to drive out opposing forces, but now they'd pulled back and made a great ring of steel across it instead.

“If they'd stayed in the valley,” Sasha observed, “in amongst the buildings, we'd have done well. In the dark we could get in amongst them on the streets, it would be single combat, and Lenayin would kill them. But it seems they've thought of that.”

Kessligh shook his head. “They'll be expecting a final breakout attempt. They'll make us come at them across open ground. Night vision will count for nothing if they know precisely where we are.”

“Lenayin is at half strength,” Damon said tiredly. “We've more than that for a defence, but many are wounded, and not up to an attack.”

“We've enough
talmaad
,” said Kessligh. “Barely. But as Jaryd says, we need to find a hole. If we can get through them…somewhere.” His eyes searched the encircling lines, hungrily. “Look here, they place their catapults too close together. The Steel space them out more—those ammunition wagons can sometimes catch fire, and if one goes up, the flames kill everything within a hundred paces. Those catapults are barely sixty paces apart.”

“Great,” said Damon. “We only need to cut our way through walls of soldiers two hundred deep supported by thousands of archers and all of their ballistas to reach them.”

“We have to punch a hole,” Sasha said solemnly. “It will be nighttime, they'll only see poorly, we can feint them and hope they do not realise our trick.”

“They'll know the first feint is a feint,” Damon muttered, “it's the obvious thing to do in the dark.”

“Then we'll try to make it convincing. But they're not going to just let us through. They know it's our only hope, and they'll be ready for it.”

“This many
talmaad
in the dark,” Kessligh muttered. “If they can just break the lines and escape the encirclement, they can kill without being killed themselves. They'll force the Regent's entire force to squeeze up against our artillery just to escape.”

“Not quite,” said Damon. “They've artillery, they'll use hellfire to light up the night, plant big fires everywhere. The
talmaad
will be visible as though it were daylight.”

“So get the artillery,” Jaryd concluded. “Same plan as before.”

“Only it didn't work last time,” Sasha said solemnly. “I sent a thousand men to try, they got nothing, and more than half didn't come back. This will be much worse.”

“Dammit,” said Kessligh, jaw clenched. “There
must
be a way.”

E
vening was falling, torchlight flickering upon the walls of the tent. Rhillian lay on her back, her wrists now tied before her instead of above her head. It left her somewhat more free, yet still completely hopeless. Her broken rib made any attempt to sit up agony, and periodically a Lenay warrior would peer through the tent flap, just to be sure.

Now someone entered the tent once more, carrying food. But this was no Lenay man, this was a boy. And not just any boy, Rhillian saw as he kneeled beside her on the grass. It was Alfriedo Renine, her old sparring partner from Tracato.

“I heard it was you,” Alfriedo said, with a faint smile. “I thought you might like some food?”

Rhillian nodded. If it gave her the strength to bite off King Koenyg's nose, it would be worth it. Alfriedo assisted her in sitting up, as she winced in pain, and rested her back against a chest. With the plate on the grass beside her, she could take food two-handed to her mouth without assistance.

“Where have you been fighting?” Rhillian asked as she ate.

“I haven't,” said Alfriedo. “I am here to fly the flag for Rhodaani nobility. Some of my nobles were very keen to join the fighting at first. Since then they have seen its nature, and many have changed their minds.”

Rhillian nodded. “Astonishing that some men still seem to dream of a pleasant war.”

“There are places about the western wall where bodies carpet the ground so thickly, you can walk from the Dhemerhill River to the bottom of the southern slope without touching the ground.”

“Where the Regent's men hit the Army of Lenayin,” said Rhillian. “The first time in this battle Lenayin has been hard-pressed.”

“The Lenays are extraordinary warriors,” said Alfriedo. “The men of Northern Lenayin are unsurpassed as heavy cavalry, and now the foot soldiers of Goeren-yai Lenayin show their superior swordwork against a huge force. Whichever side wins here, the legend of Lenayin shall only grow.”

“They're not all Goeren-yai,” said Rhillian. “Quite a few are Verenthanes, including the prince who leads them.”

Alfriedo nodded. Riding in the rear of a great, advancing army, he had been observing carnage for two days now, and looked as pale as the boy who had always loved to eat ham, but had now been given a blade and told to go and kill the pig himself.

“Your mother never told you it would be like this, did she?” Rhillian asked.

“I did love my city,” Alfriedo said faintly. “I did truly love it, Rhillian. I loved all of it, not just the human parts. My mother told me that I was born to be lord of all of it. She told me that it was my destiny, ordained by the gods. And I thought that was wonderful and good, for my love was pure and true. How could the gods be wrong? How could my mother, and all the noble families, and so many centuries of tradition?”

Rhillian stopped eating, and just watched him. “You thought that the gods had blessed you,” she said quietly. “Now you see that it was a curse.”

“One man can make a great difference, she told me. I was to be that man. And I studied and learned, and I was always very good with books and learning. I have learned many things, Rhillian, but only since I met Kessligh and yourself did I begin to wonder if I had learned any of the right things.”

“Knowledge is not wisdom,” Rhillian agreed. “Acquiring knowledge is easy. Using it wisely is hard.”

“Would you place a peasant boy upon the lordship chair of Rhodaan?” Alfriedo asked her. His big eyes were faintly desperate. As though he sought something from her. “Would he do a better job than I?”

“He might,” Rhillian said. “It depends on the boy. He might know only a little, but he might have judgement. A man with no judgement may know everything, yet understand nothing. What do
you
know, Alfriedo?”

“I know that my cause is flawed.” Alfriedo's voice trembled. “I know that there is no certainty that what comes to replace how Rhodaan was ruled in the past is an improvement.”

“No
certainty
?” Rhillian stared at him. “Is that all?” Alfriedo could not meet her gaze. “They're going to kill my people. All of my people. The Regent will not make Leyvaan's mistakes again, he will be methodical. Perhaps even by the time you are a full-grown man, there will be no Saalshen left, and very nearly no serrin.

“Alfriedo, we
built
Tracato! We made it everything that you love. These men hate ideas. They hate the creative mind. They hate everything that you love about the way Tracato was.”

Alfriedo sat for a very long time, his head down, knees drawn up. For the first time since Rhillian had met him, he looked like a boy, lonely, frightened, and a long way from home. Finally he looked up, eyes red and cheeks tear-streaked. “But I can do nothing,” he said weakly. “I am just a boy.”

“Today, you are Lord of Rhodaan. Within those city walls, Kessligh stands, and observes these lines. What does he see, Alfriedo? And what would he tell you, if he could speak to you once more?”

Jaryd ran down the streets outside Jahnd's defensive walls, his shield raised to ward off the heat from blazing buildings. More hellfire erupted somewhere near, with a great whoosh. Townsfolk ran by carrying wounded, sweating and wincing. Many had cloths and shirts wrapped around their heads against the heat, and to keep flaming embers and smoke from their eyes and lungs.

At an intersection he found Sofy, nearly impossible to recognise in her mail shirt and wrapped headscarf, hurrying from patient to burned patient amidst the smoke.

“Sofy!” He grabbed her arm, and she shook him off. “Sofy, you have to go! One hit on this road and everyone within thirty paces dies!”

“So what?” she yelled at him, eyes determined. “If you want to help me, help me! Otherwise go away!”

Jaryd helped her. Some folks in this part of Jahnd, outside the defensive walls, had been slow to evacuate. No one had expected the collapse of the eastern flank so soon, nor the onslaught of catapult artillery. Many had still been racing to collect families and relatives when the hellfire began falling.

The burns were terrible. Bodies were laid out in rows, treated by fast-working humans and serrin who cut burned cloth away from bodies with blades, often taking chunks of skin with it. There were serrin lotions to be applied, and wet bandages to wrap, but for many there was nothing to be done. Sofy organised hand-drawn carts, and city folk hauling wheelbarrows. Some of those with handcarts were wealthy men and women, clothes scorched and faces blackened, working alongside their more plain comrades. One of those leading the most daring excursions down side streets to find new victims was a well-known merchant, one of the wealthiest men in Jahnd. Now he was coming back, bringing one last column of rescuers up a burning road, yelling encouragement and struggling under the load of a man he carried on his back.

Sofy directed several final wagons to wait for this last load, as flames grew hotter from the south. The wind was shifting, and they had to leave. Down a nearby street, wood facades and masonry crumbled in a roar of erupting sparks.

A hellfire round exploded directly upon the returning rescue party. Sofy, Jaryd, and all fell flat, arms covering their heads. On the road, Jaryd looked up to see the dark shapes of rescuers and their loads flailing amidst the flames. As the fire dimmed, several burning figures emerged, staggered a few steps, then fell.

“Sofy, we have to go!” Jaryd yelled. For once Sofy did not protest. She yelled at everyone to leave, and took her place pushing the most loaded cart. Jaryd joined her, shield slung on his back, as they pushed and bumped over the rough pavings, through choking smoke so thick they had to close their eyes and hope those in front could see the way.

It went on interminably, and then the defensive wall was above them, and they were beneath the main gate. Jaryd nearly fell with exhaustion, but Sofy caught him, led him aside, and made him drink from a waterskin as soldiers and townsfolk rushed about the wagons, carrying wounded away. Jaryd poured water over his head, and rubbed at his face.

“You shouldn't have come after me,” Sofy scolded him. “We're all taking risks; you can't protect yourself, your men, and me all at the same time. Look at you, you've nothing left.”

“I'm okay,” Jaryd murmured, arms on knees. He coughed, throat irritable with smoke. “You're braver than me. I hate fire.”

Sofy sat alongside him and put a hand to his chin. “No,” she said with a smile, “that makes you braver than me.” She kissed him.

Jaryd put an arm about her, and they sat together in the fading light amidst the chaos of the lower defensive wall. Compared to the events of the day, it was a moment of contentment just to be together.

“When we marry,” Sofy remarked, “you'll be a prince of Lenayin.”

“Your husband's not dead yet.”

“The night is young.”

“Aye,” said Jaryd, “that it is.”

Damon trotted his horse down Jahnd's main street. It was crowded with cavalry, tired men on tired horses, battered and grim. He stopped often, exchanging salutes with officers, lords and others he recognised. Here on the higher slope, he found Jaryd, leading the last third of the horsemen assembled.

They clasped hands. “I hear you rescued my sister again,” Damon quipped.

Jaryd shook his head. “She rescued a bunch of townsfolk from death, I only helped. She was doing well without me.”

“She's a good girl,” Damon said sadly. “If I could find another girl as good, I'd marry her.”

Jaryd smiled wryly. “Prince Damon, it's been an honour.”

“The honour is mine.”

Damon continued downhill, past the assembled thousands. Their numbers were well down, less than their original total. It still made a very large force of horsemen, but it was nothing compared to what lay beyond the gate. Jaryd would lead the last group out, the ones who, if desperate plans went anything according to form, would try to hit the enemy artillery, some of which had been captured just earlier that day. But for that to work, the first wave had to succeed.

In the middle of the formation were the serrin. They would follow the formation's spear as it tried to punch a hole in the enemy lines.
Talmaad
were not armed for such a thing, and their horses were light. The point of the spear had to break through the line, and once through, good things could happen. Jaryd exchanged salutes with the serrin man who had been appointed
talmaad
leader. He hoped the man was as competent as Errollyn had been. And he thought of Sasha, and how pained her heart must be right now.

Down on the lower slopes of Jahnd were arrayed the heavy cavalry—Rhodaani, Enoran, and Lenay. These were big horses, some Steel cavalry with lances, most with sword and shield. At the very base of the slope, before the wall, were the meanest cavalry of all, some Steel, and others Lenay. Leading them was Great Lord Markan, his black shield battered with more strikes than could be counted, and with notches in his blade that even constant sharpening could not hide. He bore several wounds, his armour torn in places, his face tight with pain. Yet somehow, he looked happy.

“Command is yours,” he said with a salute. “King Damon.”

Damon smiled. “My brother will protest.” Markan spat, to show what he cared for Koenyg's opinion. “You know,” said Damon, “it will be nice to be king for just one evening. The shortest reign in Lenay history.”

“And the most glorious.”

They both knew what would happen. They would charge the artillery, which was not so silly on horseback. What
was
silly was charging the wall of infantry, backed by cavalry and archers, that now surrounded Jahnd. If Sasha's earlier estimation had been right, the Regent had begun the fight with close to one hundred and eighty thousand men and cavalry. The defence had been truly magnificent, and whittled them down to a little less than half of that. Which left—Kessligh estimated to look at them—eighty-five thousand. All cavalry forces combined, here along Jahnd's main road, made barely ten thousand. They would probably break the line briefly, but then the line would close, half the attacking column would be cut off, the other half pursued by the cavalry behind the defensive line, vastly outnumbered, and killed. And that would be that. But they had to try, because there were no other options left.

Far above and behind, the upper wall of Jahnd was under attack from infantry and artillery that had climbed the hills behind the city. The grand buildings atop the slope were burning, while the southern wall was assaulted by enough infantry to keep significant Enoran and Rhodaani Steel troops occupied.

That left Lenayin and Ilduur to advance out into the Ilmerhill Valley at night, within the cover of the valley's city sprawl. It was cover from which to attack, as none of the Regent's forces were foolish enough to occupy that part of the city at night, where serrin could pick them off and Lenay swordsman outclass them up close. But it was a good place for a trap if the plan worked, and a good start for a futile last charge if it did not. Sasha led them, commanding Ilduuri and Lenay soldiers on foot. She was more use on foot than on a horse, she said so herself. Damon hoped that when it all failed, she might retreat up the Ilmerhill and escape back to Ilduur the way she'd come in. But if the Regent won, there would be nowhere any of them could hide in the long run. And knowing Sasha, he knew there was no way she'd run.