The following morning, the farmhouses upon the trail were all deserted, livestock let out to graze on the thickest pasture in the hopes that the troubles would pass them over. The trail descended along a broken, jagged cleft in the hills, toward a lake below. It shone vast and silver beneath the overcast sky, like flashes of precious metal through the pines. Beyond the far, northern shore rose genuine mountains, whose highest peaks bore white caps of snow.
Part way down the slope toward the lake, the column encountered the senior scout Jurellyn, scanning the clear view of the lakeside below.
“Vassyl,” he said as Sasha, Kessligh, Damon, Captain Tyrun and Jaryd gathered about. Jurellyn's finger indicated the near side of the lake, mostly obscured by trees. “They're under attack, almost certainly. One of my lads is down closer, he heard trumpets and massed horse. The town's not afire though, so the defenders may yet hold the day.”
“This trail is guarded?” Damon asked, frowning as he considered the scene. Sasha doubted he was admiring the beauty of the alpine lake, nor the majesty of the mountains beyond.
“Aye,” said Jurellyn. He was chewing on a grass stem, Sasha saw. His manner, as roughened and weathered as his face and hair, was as informal as she'd ever seen a common man dare with royalty. Lenayin was full of such men—foresters, hunters, wild men, as they were commonly known. Some were recruited to arms, as scouts. The basic notions of civilisation, like manners, were often strange to them. Wise commanders tolerated the indifference, and reaped the benefits. “No knowing by who. I'd guess perhaps the locals, knowing this terrain better.” He removed the grass stem, and spat. “I'll tell you this—there's not much room for massed cavalry down there on the lakeside. It's not a walled town, but they've got archers. It might not matter.”
Kessligh pursed his lips as he considered. “You're right, old friend,” he said. “That's a narrow lakeside bank, just a few fields and farm walls. Vassyl blocks the way around the lake entirely for cavalry. Attacking Hadryn might try to sneak some infantry around along the high slope, but that'll leave them isolated against Taneryn cavalry between Vassyl and the pass yonder.”
His finger drew across to the right, where Sasha's eyes followed the lake's distant shore beneath the mountains. There was the back route to Halleryn. It ended beneath the tallest peak opposite—Mount Halleryn. Directly below, she could clearly make out the dark cluster that was Halleryn town. And if she was not imagining things, she thought she could make out a dark smudge within that open, green valley. Those would be soldiers. An army, encamped before Halleryn's walls.
“The Hadryn have no business even being in Taneryn,” Sasha muttered. “It's an invasion.”
“Usyn Telgar may claim good cause,” said Damon. Sasha stared at him. “His father was murdered. He may claim justice.”
“This,” Sasha retorted, “is not justice.”
“We don't know what this is, just yet,” Damon replied, his expression dark. There was greater force and certainty in his manner than Sasha had expected. “We shall go down and find out. We shall enforce a truce and interrogate the commanders.”
“We are but eighty men, Highness,” Captain Tyrun reminded him.
“Not once the other companies arrive.”
“They may be days.” Tyrun's manner was calm, merely reminding his prince of the facts, not advocating or arguing.
“Then we shan't tell them that,” Damon said simply. “Shall we?”
He looked around, seeking disagreement, and appeared mildly surprised when he did not find any.