SASHA SAT ASTRIDE HER HORSE in the middle of the road that wound along the right bank of the Yumynis River. The sky was dull with early twilight, yet somewhere beyond the western mountains, there seemed to be a break in the clouds. Beyond Ymoth, peaks glowed yellow on their far sides, as if silhouetted with light. Low-angled rays fell upon the mouth of the Udalyn Valley ahead, and those craggy slopes seemed to glow.
To either side of the road lay vast fields of grain with pale green stalks and golden heads. They rippled in the light wind, moving swathes of colour in the glow from the further mountains. To her left, the Yumynis flowed wide and gentle, rugged forests encroaching upon its rocky left bank where the foothills came directly down to the river. Poplar and willow continued to line the banks and Sasha wondered if they had been planted long ago by human hand and maintained all this time.
Ahead, majestic upon the riverbank, was an exquisite pagoda of beautiful arches, apparently well maintained. Talleryn symbols climbed the supporting posts, a foreign, strange script whose shapes seemed to repeat through the form of the structure itself. This was a culture enlightened, yet almost lost. This, surely, was worth fighting for.
Behind her, across the fields of grain, stretched the forward rank of an army. Warhorses waited now more calmly than before, greatly tired from the day's exertions. Many nibbled at the grain as they waited. Soon, much of these unharvested fields would be destroyed. A necessary sacrifice, she hoped. To the rear, a new reserve was gathered, and once again Sofy was with them. Sasha had considered leaving her at Ymoth…but again, Ymoth was badly exposed to raids from Hadryn villagers to the east, its garrison held by fewer than a hundred men. Thankfully, Usyn's forces had brought with them plenty of chain and manacles, enough to bind most of the Banneryd who had surrendered. Two new men protected Sofy in the reserve. Where Jaryd was, no one knew.
Peg shifted tiredly beneath her and tossed his head, with somewhat less than his usual vigour. Those men tasked with caring for the horses had managed to get him a drink, some feed, and a very basic wash to remove the dried froth and sweat, but nothing more. She leaned forward now and rubbed his neck.
“I'm sorry,” she told him, to the backward, attentive twist of one ear. “I know you're tired. Just a little more. One more charge, Peglyrion, son of Hyathon the Warrior. Then you can rest.”
There was a gentle rise in the fields ahead. Beyond it, she could hear the distant roll of many hooves, drawing slowly near. Usyn was marching fast, wishing to make camp before the walls of Ymoth prior to nightfall. Surely he'd had scouts enough to tell him that Ymoth had fallen. Jurellyn's latest report had said that his line was much wider than the road, and trampled much of the grain on either side…but still, not a combat-ready formation. Jurellyn's men had killed several Hadryn scouts just recently and it was unlikely Usyn knew of her latest move. In scouts, at least, Sasha knew that her column possessed a clear advantage, both in number and talent. Usyn sacrificed caution for haste and gambled that they wouldn't dare attack the Hadryn heavy horse on open ground. This had to work. Surely it would.
She felt strangely calm, unlike before the previous charge. Fatalistic, perhaps. Maybe that should have worried her—in all the great tales of doomed heroes in battle, all had accepted their fate before the end and faced it without fear. Sasha gazed at the mountains that flanked the valley mouth ahead, all alight in a golden glow, and felt that surely there was something here at work that was not of any merely human plane.
“Are you there?” she thought toward the valley. “The valley of the Udalyn is said to be the home of many great Lenay spirits. Where is my Synnich spirit hiding? They call me the Synnich, but I cannot hear you. Speak to me.”
Riders moved up on her sides—her four surviving vanguard riders from the first charge, plus two new ones. Or no, she realised, looking around—four new ones. There riding up behind, were Errollyn, Terel, Tassi and Aisha. Errollyn stopped at her side. He too gazed at the golden valley beyond. His handsome face was serene.
“You don't need to come, you know,” Sasha told him.
Errollyn smiled, and gave a faint shrug. “We chose to,” he said simply. “We,” Errollyn had said, with complete certainty. Sasha recalled the battle just past. The effortless coordination, the serrin guiding their horses in unison. Tassi distracting one Banneryd's attention, while Aisha killed him from the other side. “And we were appointed by the others. They saw we protected you in the last battle, and wished us to do the same in this one. We accepted the honour.”
“Can you tell each other's thoughts?” Sasha asked, feeling suddenly curious. It seemed a good time to ask. Suddenly, she wished she had asked a great many more questions than she had. Of many people, and many things.
Errollyn spared her a curious, green-eyed glance. “A question of debate, amongst the serrinim,” he conceded. “The vel'ennar is not what you suggest. And yet, in some ways, perhaps it is.” The vel'ennar. Another Saalsi term for which there was no direct translation into any human tongue Sasha was aware of. The “single spirit,” perhaps. Or maybe the “great soul.” Something singular, and yet divided. And so like the serrin, to take seemingly contradictory concepts and twine them together to make a whole.
Sasha snorted in amusement. “I bet I couldn't get a straight answer from a serrin on his deathbed.”
Errollyn's smile spread wide. Stunningly. “The world is not simple,” he said coyly. “To value the chaos is to value life.”
“Difficult people,” Sasha teased.
Errollyn shrugged. “We cannot help but be what we are, any more than humans can.”
“I am glad of it,” Sasha said softly. “The world would be a far poorer place without the serrinim. It has occurred to me very slowly, over the last few days, just what some of these people see in me. The Goeren-yai and the Verenthanes. Tyrun insisted that I was the only person to lead this column. Teriyan too, and others. At first I was angry. I thought surely they could find someone else. But I've thought about it, and I concede I can't think of anyone.”
Errollyn's gaze was intensely curious. His stare held a force that only a serrin could wield. “Why do you think?” he asked.
“To be a leader of both the faiths is difficult, I suppose,” said Sasha. “In this land, with our history. We are a divided land, if not by faith then by language and region. I think I understand better now why Kessligh had such faith in Lenay royalty, and in my father despite his flaws. Royalty is of no particular province, but of all Lenayin, and is, as such, a uniting force, not a dividing one. But then, royalty cannot unite everyone, especially when it is so strongly Verenthane, and does not treat the Goeren-yai fairly.”
“But you are neither Verenthane nor Goeren-yai,” Errollyn completed for her. He turned his gaze to the golden, sunlit mountains, as if drinking in their splendour. “Such was always the intention of the Nasi-Keth. To find a third way. That is you, Sashandra. I am certain Kessligh was aware of this. Perhaps it worried him. He always considered Petrodor and the Bacosh as the centre of all the world's troubles, the questions to which he wished to contribute. He went to Lenayin, in part, to find an uma untainted by Petrodor thinking and prejudices.
“But it seems he could not so easily separate the uma from her own world, and bring her into his. And that is the dilemma of us all, in the end. The dilemma of overlapping worlds. Each of our worlds is unique. Only where they come into contact with the worlds of others do they join, and find points of commonality.”
Sasha frowned at him. “You know much about Kessligh,” she observed.
Errollyn shrugged. “He is a son of the Petrodor docks. His once-neighbours still boast of the little boy who used to play in this yard, or practise swordwork in that alley. People talk of him often, and the latest news of his doings in the barbarian kingdom. They wonder as to his uma. She is reputed to be both wild and beautiful.”
Sasha managed a faint smile. “Well,” she said, with mock elegant decorum. “I suppose one out of two will do.”
“No,” Errollyn replied, also smiling, “you are beautiful too.” Sasha scowled at him. Then smiled more broadly. How easy it was to talk to this serrin. Most serrin were nice, but many remained somewhat aloof, for all their charms. There was nothing aloof about Errollyn. For a serrin, he was blunt, direct and…“Did you dream of this valley?” he asked, before she could complete the thought.
Sasha blinked. “Dream? How can I dream of a place I've never visited?”
“A wide and open valley, with a river along the bottom. And a full moon in the sky, lighting all to silver.” Sasha stared at him. He was…he was describing her dream…the dream she'd nearly forgotten, that she'd dismissed each time she'd awoken with it fresh in her memory…Errollyn's bright green eyes burned into her like nothing human. “You asked of the vel'ennar,” he said softly, as the rolling approach of hooves beyond the rise ahead grew louder. “I am du'janah, a special uniqueness among serrin. The vel'ennar and I have a unique relationship. We serrin admire your Goeren-yai for a reason. In this land, we know where to come, and when. The spirits speak. Listen now. Your Synnich calls to you. You are almost home.”
From hidden amongst the wheat further ahead, a signal came. Behind, the shouts of officers echoed across the formation. Swords came out. Sasha stared at Errollyn, small hairs prickling at the back of her neck.
Errollyn rested his bow upon his saddlehorn, and the swords of her vanguard and the other serrin also came out. “You are Goeren-yai, but you do not truly believe,” he said. “Believe now. It is time.”
From behind, there came a cheer, rippling slowly across the front rank. Sasha turned to look and saw Jaryd riding to their fore, both arms free and a sword in his right hand. He seemed to be steering his big chestnut mare with his heels and gentle tugs on the rein alone…but there was no way he could possibly handle the reins while wielding the sword. He'd come out here to die, Sasha realised. And she recalled what she'd said to him, standing by Tyrun's body, and regretted it.
But there was no time for regrets, she realised. By the end of this day, there would be more than enough regret to go around.
Sasha drew her sword. From behind, she could hear the blades coming out, a great, rasping ring. There was no need for a speech now. The battle had been underway since Ymoth. Now, they finished it. A man stood from the grain to the left and held an arm aloft. Sasha raised her blade and then dropped it. Peg snorted as she tapped her heels, and broke into a trot, then a canter. She held to the road, as behind, the great line of horses cut through the fields of grain, approaching the first fence.
They leaped it, and then the ridge ahead was fading and a huge, winding column of horseback warriors appeared, perhaps eight abreast on either side of the road. Black Hadryn banners flew against the golden mountains from which they'd come. Horns sounded and yells from ahead, rearward ranks accelerating to spill across the fields from the road, moving up to broaden the lines.
Sasha thumped Peg hard with her heels and yanked him into the grain—a difficult ride for a dussieh, perhaps, but the heads of the grain barely came past Peg's knees, and all of the column behind her were warhorses. Peg hurtled across the flat ground, the serrin and her vanguard to her sides, as behind, a great wall of charging animals decimated the golden fields beneath their tearing hooves. Sasha held Peg's speed enough to allow the line to catch up, timing the impending collision with a practised eye.
There came another roar as a mass of dussieh erupted from the riverside forest ahead and charged into the Hadryn column. Many of those Hadryn galloping up to the front now turned at this new attack, the great mass wheeling like a flock of birds against the sky. The ambush had been sprung. Still the Hadryn front line did not charge, holding back as more riders poured onto their flanks, widening the line…but now, the charging rebel line began to split, riders following Sasha's path to envelop the Hadryn column about the sides.
At the last moment, the Hadryn charged with a yell, the rebel line now closing directly on Sasha's heels, and overtaking her to either side in places…An arrow whistled past Sasha's ear from behind and skewered a Hadryn's shoulder directly ahead. The impact spun him half-about in the saddle, hauling his horse sideways, colliding with the next horse in line, and making that one rear aside. Sasha raced straight for the gap…and saw in the corner of her vision something dark and lithe racing alongside. It materialised into Tassi, who leaned from her saddle with expert horsemanship to duck the other rider's blow whilst tearing him across the side with her blade.
Horses flashed by on either side, blades clashed, and riders fell in bloody impacts. Lightweight and unarmoured like the serrin, Sasha half fell from the saddle to go beneath one onrushing blow, then came up in time to swing and collect another across his shield, then ducked instinctively below a third as Peg shied away, probably saving her life as her head nearly hit the passing rider's knee.
And then, they were clear, and racing along the column's side—the Hadryn were too spaced out, trying to fan across the flanks but leaving huge gaps through their midst in the process. Rebel riders were thundering in much greater numbers, tearing along the roadside, diving between gaps in the ranks, slashing at Hadryn riders who defended valiantly one, two and then three blows with shield and sword, only to fall to the fourth and fifth as they flashed by. Errollyn was suddenly alongside, wheeling his horse back and forth for space, then finding a gap within which to load, draw and fire at startling speed, and send another Hadryn tumbling from the saddle. One came across his front unavoidably—Errollyn tore a short blade from a saddle-sheath, dodged and deflected that man's blow, then simply sheathed the blade and resumed his hunt for targets.
Sasha alerted Peg to the next approaching fence with her customary little tug of rein and tap of stirrups…and again there seemed to be a black shadow racing at her side. She leaped the fence, and the black shadow appeared to swing right, urgently. Sasha followed, cutting behind the flanks of Errollyn's horse…and saw the hidden tree stump amidst the grain flash by to the left, directly where she would have ridden into it. She waved her sword and pointed to alert those behind, who would in turn alert the next.
To the right, one of the vanguard riders clashed a defending Hadryn across the shield, distracting him enough for Terel to hack him blindsided from the saddle. And then they were amongst the dussieh-riders, racing circles around the surviving Hadryn in that part of the line, where desperately outnumbered northerners had had no chance to form up. Sasha raced back toward the road and saw right-flank riders were doing the same upon the other side. The forward half of the Hadryn cavalry were encircled. Back at the roadside, she wheeled about and galloped back the way she'd come.
The Hadryn were now in a mess, and the bodies on the road and in the fields were mostly uniformed in black. Men fought and struggled desperately, some now wounded, as passing rebels hacked them from all sides. Sasha cut a backhand low across one wounded man's side, then crossed another man's front as if meaning to engage him—with his attention drawn and defences raised at her, the next rider behind killed him from the blindside. Riderless horses tore past in crazed panic and Sasha realised that there simply weren't enough Hadryn left along the road to make it worth continuing the charge.
She held up her blade and reined Peg to a halt. Wheeled him about to survey her surroundings—there were many Hadryn riders racing back toward their main column. Many were fanning wide, small figures against the eastward forest, or the western forest that bordered the river, far off across the fields. It was possible, she realised, that quite a lot had escaped that way, realising they'd been overrun.
She stood in her stirrups and waved her sword for attention. “Form up!” she yelled. “Form up!” Then a vanguard rider was alongside with his royal banner, waving it madly. Sasha brought Peg to a trot along the road, as officers yelled, and weapons were waved, and men brought their horses wheeling across the fields, abandoning their pursuit of the fleeing Hadryn to reform the line in her wake. Many now were dussieh-riders, and more were racing away from the main Hadryn column, having no wish to face that counter charge alone. If the middle and rear portions of the Hadryn column had merely come racing to their comrades’ aid, then the Hadryn were finished. If, however, they had shown patience as their comrades were slaughtered, and had taken the time to form a second line, then the battle would be far from over.
Looking about, Sasha saw Errollyn unstringing his bow and sliding it back beneath his leg—the top half bore a deep cut, and clearly would not take the weight of a full draw. He pulled his blade instead. Nearby also were Tassi and Terel. She could not see Aisha, but had no time to worry about that now. Ahead, the remaining riders were clearing—the dussieh-riders toward Sasha's line, the Hadryn back toward the north. There was indeed a Hadryn line forming…yet it was disorganised and chaotic, stretching wide across the fields and fractured in places. It was blocked by wheeling mobs of riders and appeared to be mostly comprised of infantry in the middle. Here was a chance, but it was quickly fading. They had to form up fast. Too long, and the Hadryn defensive line would become an impenetrable wall of armoured men and cavalry, against which her exhausted, lighter cavalry would dash themselves like waves upon a cliff.
She stood in her stirrups and half-turned. “Through the centre!” she yelled. “Get those infantry! Split them down the middle and they'll run like sheep!”
Officers repeated the order, and yells echoed further out toward the flanks. Sasha waited for three repeats, and charged. Peg heaved himself tiredly into a gallop, great limbs now heavy where they had once been sprightly. There was fear in his every sinew, his eyes rolling, his ears far back …and yet he ran straight toward that shield-fronted line that bristled with sharp things that cut, simply because she asked him to. Sasha loved him as much at that moment as she had ever loved anything.
A sudden burst of wind tore across the fields, whipping the grain ahead of the racing line. It howled into the Hadryn, as horses whinnied and reared, and the front ranks of infantry hid their heads behind their shields to keep the swirling debris of hoof-torn grain from their eyes. The Hadryn cavalry tried to charge, uneven and ragged. The infantry stood firm, crouched behind their shields. Suddenly the air was full of whistling arrowfire, men and horses to the flanks and rear falling. The shields raced closer, a wall like any fence, and Peg simply leapt, straight over their heads.
He came down in their midst, men trying to scatter, hooves plowing into bodies as soldiers were flung spinning like tops on all sides, others diving flat for cover…Peg lost balance as he tried to gather, front legs flailing as he hit another several men, Sasha riding the saddle down with a desperate grip. He hit and rolled with incredible force, Sasha felt herself flying, colliding with something hard, then rolling instinctively with arms over her head as the forest of hooves descended upon her with an earth-shaking roar. Hooves struck near, steel met steel, and then flesh, a body falling, spattering her with blood.
She risked a look up as the rear of her formation cut through what infantry remained standing. She could not see Peg—a relief, since he was not lying dead or wounded, but a concern, as she was now more or less alone, and afoot, with enemy all around. She stumbled to her feet, gasping at the pain of her left shoulder. There were bodies lying about, some still moving, limbs broken from impacts, or mail torn by blades. Some were running, trying to reform in small groups, others picking themselves up off the ground, as the battle continued all around.
An infantryman came at her from the side—shield and spear. She saw the unusual combination with disdain, knocking the thrust aside and reversing for the wielder's head. The shield intervened, but her serrin steel cut halfway through the wood, meeting the helm with force enough to knock him over. Her shoulder blazed with pain, but another two were coming at her…a straggling dussieh-rider cut one down from behind, reining about as he realised who was in trouble. Sasha feinted the remaining man, danced back as he slashed at her, took his sword arm on the down stroke, and tore him open with the reverse.
There were horses racing through now, hurdling bodies, Hadryn and rebels in mutual pursuit. Terel came galloping, sending an infantryman spinning with a flashing blade, a Falcon Guardsman riding wide to guard his approach. Sasha switched the blade to her left hand, indicating she wished him on the right—but Terel pointed urgently behind her. She spun and saw a pair of Hadryn cavalrymen charging straight for her.
She feinted left, then dove right across the leader's path, rolling under his whistling blade as he somehow made that backhand reverse with amazing skill…and came to a crouch directly in the second rider's line. She swung, falling backward as blade met blade in defence…the shock nearly tore the weapon from her hands, no sooner falling than Terel met that man in full charge and fairly cut him in half. Sasha stumbled to her feet, her shoulder screaming, the blade strangely light in her hand, which she put down to the jarring numbness of impact…until she realised that her blade had shattered midway from the hilt.
She threw the hilt away as Terel came back, grabbed his hand with her good arm and swung up behind him. He galloped immediately for the rear, heading away from the fighting, swerving to avoid some intervening clashes as Sasha clutched to his middle and fought the urge to try and steer. Dear spirits, she hated being a passenger.
“Where's my horse?” she yelled at Terel. “Where's Peg?” Terel did not bother to reply to a question he had no hope of answering. The guardsman raced protectively to one side and Sasha hunted around for Errollyn, but could not find him. That scared her. No Errollyn, no Aisha. She heard a new round of bloodthirsty yelling and then some of the reserve was charging back the other way—perhaps a hundred horse, and desperate to get into the action.
Terel stopped in the middle of a field of grain, his horse heaving desperately for air. The racket of battle continued behind, but now, there were horns blowing. The Hadryn retreat. They were pulling back.
“They need to stop,” Sasha gasped, realising suddenly that she was shaking all over. “We…we need to tell them! Someone tell them, pull back! We must preserve strength!”
“I'll tell them,” the guardsman said grimly and galloped his poor, frothing horse back toward the fray. Sasha felt Terel's muscles twitch, the reflex to follow.
“Go help him,” she said. “I'll get off.”
“No,” said Terel, putting a hand on her leg. “Stay. I can't leave you here alone.”
They must have been winning, Sasha reckoned, because there were officers backing off and watching the battle with the confidence of soldiers seeing their enemies flee. The guardsman arrived beside those officers and pointed back toward Sasha. One put a horn to his lips and blew the reform. Horns duelled in the darkening sky, and the cries and yells of men also began to change pitch, seeking now to instruct and organise.
Sasha turned in the saddle and surveyed the scene behind. The fields of grain, once soft and level, were now torn and flattened like the coat of some animal ravaged by a terrible disease. Some bodies lay visible, and some horses struggled terribly against a fate they had not deserved. Some men were walking, or limping, searching for comrades, or simply away from where they'd been. Two Goeren-yai guarded a Hadryn rider with wary blades, to the Hadryn's apparent disinterest, as he listened in stunned silence to the trumpets.
The remnants of the reserve were riding across the fields now, dismounting as they found wounded. Sasha tapped Terel on the shoulder and pointed. He reined his horse about with no dissent, and rode that way.
Soon a dussieh-rider came racing toward them, two Falcon Guardsmen on warhorses close behind—one apparently Verenthane, the other clearly Goeren-yai. Sasha blinked as she realised that the owner of that fast-moving little horse was none other than Sofy, her brown hair flying out behind. She slowed and circled to Sasha and Terel's side with remarkable judgment.
“Sasha!” Sofy stared up at her in alarm. “Where's Peg? Are you injured?”
“I fell,” Sasha replied. Her voice was strained and hoarse. She barely recognised it. “There are many missing whom I hope to find again.”
“Terel,” Sofy said urgently, “you'd better come this way.” And she was off again, galloping ahead through the twisted wreckage of grain, men and horses. One of Sofy's guards gave Sasha an apologetic shrug before galloping off in her wake. Terel managed to get his mount to a canter, but seemed not to have the heart for more. They followed Sofy across the corpse-strewn fields where the lead of the Hadryn column had been so totally enveloped and annihilated. They reached a spot near a fence, now far more exposed with the surrounding grain all beaten down.
There, Sofy stopped beside a fallen horse. Alongside knelt Aisha, holding a body in her lap. Terel dismounted quickly and ran to her side. Sasha followed, and her knees gave way as she hit the ground. She rolled and came up covered in wheat chaff, too exhausted to care. She staggered to Aisha's side and found that the body was Tassi, bloody and limp, her strange, bronze eyes gazing sightlessly at the overcast sky. Tears rolled down Aisha's cheeks from her pale blue eyes, and blood trickled from a cut on her temple. Serrin blood was red, Sasha saw, just like a human's. Some Verenthanes rumoured otherwise. Sasha would much rather have remained ignorant of that truth.
Aisha gazed up at her. She looked too young, and too pretty, for such a scene. Like a little girl. Sasha's breath caught in her throat. “Her mother had travelled to Lenayin many times,” the serrin girl said softly, cradling her friend's body. “She fought in the Great War, with Kessligh.”
“Kessligh told me that many serrin did,” Sasha said quietly.
“Not as many as should have,” said Aisha, gazing down at Tassi's lifeless face. “Even then, the serrinim were withdrawing inwards. Tassi thought it a terrible thing. She'd been to Lenayin twice. She loved this place. She did not understand why some amongst us thought the Goeren-yai less important. She feared the serrinim were becoming selfish. Tassi was never selfish.”
“I can see,” Sasha agreed, tears blurring her eyes.
“The serrinim are changing,” Terel said quietly, kneeling at Aisha's side, and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Those of us who still care pick the hardest fights, and our numbers decrease. Now, we are fewer still.”
At Sasha's side, Sofy's gaze was pale and sober. Sasha reached and grasped her sister's hand.