The following day was free from attacks. Sasha allowed herself the luxury of considering familiar lands, and feeling some joy to be back so close to home ground. This was the road to Cryliss, Valhanan's capital, and less than a half day's ride from Baerlyn to the northwest. There was a form to the hills, a certain colour upon exposed upthrusts of granite on the high ridges, a certain pattern to the trees that seemed familiar. Mount Tvay loomed in a much more familiar proportion whenever a rise took them high enough to see, and the northern Marashyn Ranges were more clearly visible through the distant mist. Another day, she thought, and they would be at Cryliss. As close as she would get to home this journey.
At midmorning a scout came galloping toward them with news of an unexpected arrival. A short distance further, on the edge of the forest, she saw four riders ahorse, amidst a large collection of riderless warhorses. The riders’ hoods were thrown back and the steel-blue hair of one gleamed in the slanting sun…another was red-brown, another light blonde, and another dark grey. The serrin had come.
The vanguard passed the clustered horses and Sasha signalled to Captain Tyrun. The call to halt echoed up the length of the column, fading in the distance as the great, rattling, snorting mass came to a stop. The serrin rider with dark grey hair rode forward on a lovely chestnut horse whose breeding Sasha could not immediately identify—a rare thing, for her. He had a long bow, unstrung along the horse's side, and wore a sword at his shoulder in the manner of all his companions.
“Greetings M'Lady Sashandra Lenayin and Captain Tyrun Adysh,” he called, reining up before them. The vanguard, mostly Goeren-yai men, showed little of the caution that would normally be warranted by such an approach through their midst. “My name is Errollyn and I travel with three companions. I have brought you a gift.”
Sasha blinked in astonishment. The serrin—Errollyn—was as wonderfully handsome as one came to expect of serrin. His hair was the thick, dark grey of looming thunderclouds on a bright day, and his eyes were a brilliant, almost luminescent green. His accent was negligible, and his manner as calm as one who knew himself to be among friends.
“How do you know our names?” Tyrun replied, somewhat suspiciously. Sasha gave the captain a wary look…probably he had had less experience with serrin than she. Serrin knew lots of things. “What brings you to this road?”
“You are Captain Tyrun because your helmet crest identifies you as captain and your uniform is of the Falcon Guard, and there is only one of those.” Errollyn's tone suggested either amusement, or sarcasm, or perhaps something else entirely. With serrin, one was never entirely certain. “And if she's not Sashandra Lenayin,” with a nod at Sasha, “then I'm a donkey's backside.”
Sasha grinned. It was an unusual turn of phrase for a serrin. Colloquial, almost. Most serrin could think of far prettier things to say than that. But Errollyn smiled mischievously in reply to her grin. It changed his face, and the effect was very nice indeed.
“This is a pleasant gift,” she said, looking about at the horses. All were saddled and with saddlebags. Her humour faded to see that some bore the obvious markings of Banneryd upon the leather. “Banneryd horses?” she asked the serrin.
“Black Storm, yes,” Errollyn confirmed.
Sasha felt a cold tingle slowly working its way up her spine. “And their riders?”
“Indisposed,” said Errollyn, coolly. His meaning was clear. At Sasha's side, Tyrun's hand made the Verenthane holy sign.
Sasha completed a fast count, arriving at nineteen horses. Even dismounted, the Banneryd Black Storm were formidable soldiers. Four serrin had done this in the night. Serrin, she knew, could see quite well in the dark.
“Which way do you ride, Master Errollyn?” Sasha asked.
Errollyn looked faintly surprised. “With you, of course. If you shall have us.”
Have them? Sasha exchanged looks with Tyrun. Tyrun's expression suggested that he was content to leave the decision up to her.
“Let's get these horses rounded up and brought into the column!” Sasha called. “There will be willing soldiers without horses along the way, our serrin friends have now brought nineteen of them a ride!”
There was a cheer, and a sergeant moved to take charge. “Ride with me, Master Errollyn,” said Sasha, and Errollyn inclined his head gracefully as the vanguard recommenced.
Sasha glanced at Errollyn's companions as they passed—there were two women and a man, all as unearthly strange in appearance as Errollyn. The other man was tall and wore a patterned headband to keep in place hair the colour of rust. The taller of the women had short, steel-blue hair and deep bronze eyes—common colours for serrin, but startlingly strange to any human not familiar with such people. The other woman was little, with midlength blonde hair, cheerful round cheeks and laughing blue eyes. Her eyes were not as shockingly bright as the others and her face possessed fewer of those subtle little angles of cheek and jaw that typically combined, with serrin, to create a strangeness both intimidating and attractive at the same time. Sasha guessed that she might be from the Saalshen Bacosh, where human and serrin blood had mixed in many families.
All three serrin smiled or bowed to her in passing, then slipped into the column behind her where Jaryd, Sofy and Daryd reined back a little to let them in. The thunder of hooves resumed in full, an endless, drumming rhythm, heading north.
“So explain this to me,” Sasha asked curiously. “Why are you here?”
“For the same reason you are here,” Errollyn said plainly. “To save the Udalyn.”
Sasha frowned at him. “You are from Petrodor?” Errollyn nodded. It seemed logical—many serrin served Saalshen in Petrodor. “It's a thirty-day journey to Petrodor in the best weather, I did not know the Udalyn were threatened until a few days ago. Word would have taken a full month to reach you, and another month for you to reach here.”
Errollyn smiled. Beneath a thick, slightly shaggy fringe, his deep green eyes flickered with amusement. Those eyes seemed to glow, with startling colour, as if with some inner light of their own. He reminded Sasha somehow of a wolf—handsome, broad-shouldered and intelligent…but just a little bit scruffy.
“You are familiar with the tales of Leyvaan the Fool?” he asked her.
“The ones that everyone is familiar with, certainly.”
“When his army invaded Saalshen, two centuries ago, he took us completely by surprise. Many villages were destroyed, their inhabitants slaughtered, because ever naive in the ways of humans, we did not see them coming. Saalshen is vast, more so than Lenayin, and much of its terrain is rugged, with roads that are slow in even good weather. It can take months to spread word from one side to the other. And yet, within a quarter-moon of the invasion, serrin forces from all over Saalshen were massing in the hills beyond the plain. Did you never wonder how they knew where to come?”
Sasha frowned. Beyond the approaching treeline, open fields glowed green in the midmorning sun. “The lay of the land in Saalshen is not well known to any humans, even the Nasi-Keth,” she replied. “Without knowing that, we can't begin to speculate.”
“They knew to come,” said Errollyn, “as I knew to come.”
Sasha waited a moment, before realising there was no more. “And how was that?” she pressed.
Errollyn's smile grew broader. He seemed quite young…although that was frequently deceptive with serrin. “We are serrinim. We know.”
She looked at him for a long moment. The trees ended and they broke into the mottled sunshine of the paddocks. They were riding through green pastures in the shelter of a small valley.
“Right,” said Sasha, blandly. “If you won't tell me how, at least tell me why. Why should the serrinim wish the Udalyn saved?”
Errollyn took a deep breath, his amusement fading. He gazed ahead, past the vanguard, up the length of the lovely green valley. “I never said they did,” he replied. “I wish the Udalyn saved. I and my esvaderlin.”
A group, that meant, in Saalsi. Of some indeterminate significance that doubtless changed depending on the context. Saalsi was by far the least precise and most infuriating language Sasha knew. And also by far the most poetic, subtle and beautiful.
“Why?” Sasha pressed, determined to get at least one straight answer.
Errollyn raised an eyebrow at her. “Why do you wish them saved?”
Sasha snorted. “You know, just once in my life, I'd like to meet a serrin who didn't answer every question with a question.”
Errollyn laughed. “All the world is a question in search of an answer, and in truth, the truest answers are themselves only questions.” Sasha's gaze was decidedly unimpressed. Errollyn repressed another laugh with difficulty. “I apologise. Human humour isn't what it used to be.”
He was teasing her, she realised. “Serrin humour neither,” she retorted with a glare.
Errollyn only seemed to find that more amusing. And he sighed, calming himself with difficulty. “I can't imagine anything more tragic than to lose an entire people,” he said sombrely. “An entire culture. My esvaderlin feel likewise. Aisha loves the writings of Tullamayne…she's the little one with the blonde hair and blue eyes.”
Sasha glanced about in her saddle. The woman with the short blue hair was talking to Sofy, with great animation on both sides. Behind them, little Aisha had introduced herself to Daryd and Rysha, and the conversation there involved many hand signals…although, given the serrin skill with tongues, Sasha would not have been surprised if Aisha spoke fluent Edu by the time they reached the valley. Nearer, the tall man spoke with Jaryd, pointing to irrigation along the valley sides, and asking curious questions that Sasha was uncertain Jaryd would know how to answer. Sociable serrin—in love with words and endlessly fascinated by new things.
“The tall one is Terel,” Errollyn added. “The other woman is Tassi. We all decided to come. We are only four, but we see better than you by night and we fight with the svaalverd. I had thought that all assistance would be welcomed, however small.”
“It is,” Sasha assured him. “You sound disappointed at your numbers.”
“Aye,” said Errollyn, a little tiredly. “I had hoped for more. But the serrinim of Petrodor are hard pressed, with war brewing in the Bacosh and many things afoot. We were forbidden to bring even this many. Yet we came.”
Sasha blinked. “You disobeyed an order not to come?”
“Order,” said Errollyn, as if tasting the word. And shook his head. “Not an order. These concepts don't translate well from our tongue to yours. Rhillian was unhappy, but she did not order. She cannot. I am not within her ra'shi, I have my own. My concerns are not always hers. These three friends followed me, for reasons of their own.”
“This Rhillian,” Sasha ventured. “I've heard she had much ra'shi, amongst the serrinim. Is she your friend?”
“Yes,” said Errollyn. “And no. Her intentions are kind, yet her methods are not approved by all. She is my friend in that I have good feelings for her and she for me. And yet she is not my friend, for we argue and I will not obey her every instruction as many have resolved to do.”
Sasha took a deep breath. Sinking into serrin-thought was like climbing into a hot bath—best done slowly, one bit of skin at a time. “You have ra'shi of your own, then?” she asked.
“Everyone has ra'shi,” Errollyn said vaguely, his eyes upon a little farming cottage ahead. Some figures were running from the valley's far slope toward the cottage, waving. “On this question, mine agrees with my esvaderlin and disagrees with Rhillian's.” He gave her a sideways glance. “You're thinking of human leadership…ra'shi is not the same. Serrin do not appoint themselves leaders, nor is the loyalty of others within an individual's ra'shi, the same as the men in this column might have for you, or for Captain Tyrun. It is more…more a…a mutual consent of those within one ra'shi to appoint one who shall lead, on this matter, and for this time, at least. Does that make sense?”
Sasha grinned. “No.” Errollyn sighed. “But you're serrin. I forgive you.”