Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four (7 page)

“We'll see,” said Sasha. “If the Saalshen Bacosh survives this, they'll have had an awful shock. They never thought they'd lose, and for two centuries they were right. Kessligh has argued for a long time that they should have expanded, instead of simply ceding ground and time upon which their enemies can grow stronger. If they see the other side of this, they may well see Kessligh proven right.”

Damon thumped his head back upon Sasha's improvised pillow. “It's all fantasy talk anyhow,” he murmured. “If, when and maybe. We're just two people, dreaming at the stars.”

“From such beginnings do civilisations spring,” said Sasha.

Damon looked at her for a moment. “You really are Nasi-Keth, aren't you?”

“I think I may be,” Sasha said quietly.

A moment later, Damon got up and left, leaving Sasha to gaze at the stars.

“They will not attack tonight,” said Tomli, a small, Saalsi voice at Sasha's side.

Sasha rolled over and looked at him. “Who will not attack?”

“The serrin.” Tomli gazed into the night, his emerald eyes distant. It seemed to Sasha that he was listening to something that only he could hear. “They know you have an
en'vel'ennar
with you.”

“One with
vel'ennar
,” that meant. It was the serrin collective “we.” A consciousness shared by all serrin, and unknown to humans. When Sasha had first learned of it, she had assumed the meaning was figurative or poetic. Serrin were frequently poetic, as was the Saalsi tongue. But experience had taught her to doubt whether the
vel'ennar
was quite that simple.

“Tomli,” she murmured. “Can you hear them?”

Tomli shook his head. “I feel them. They are sad.”

“Because you are sad?” Sasha asked. Tomli nodded.

“And because so many of us are
tuan'sli
.” There was no direct translation in any tongue Sasha knew. “
Tuani
,” Saalsi for “phrase.” Or “words,” but more than words. Elided to “esli,” meaning “to move beyond,” but not physically. To move as thoughts moved. Or as conversations shifted, from one topic to another.

Tuan'sli
…to move beyond words? To shift from the realm of the living to dreams unknown? Serrin had more euphemisms for death, and indeed most things, than Sasha knew in all other tongues.

“They'll have found the graves,” Sasha murmured, mostly to herself. Serrin finding those graves would know what had happened. Though Sasha suspected that somehow, through Tomli, they'd have known anyhow.

It was a mixed formation that plunged toward the Bacosh camp, Rhodaani cavalry in the middle, with serrin
talmaad
on the flanks. Errollyn found little joy in the ride down the wild hillside toward the pocket of wood below, and the camp nestled within. His attention was fixed solely upon the further ridge, where the land rose up above the Bacosh camp.

Errollyn cast a glance across to the head of the formation, where Kessligh crouched low before a charging mass of Rhodaani cavalry. There were nearly a hundred and fifty in all, much to the displeasure of General Geralin, who remained furious at Kessligh for using so much of their precious strength on “needless diversions.” Kessligh's stare seemed also focused upon the far ridge. Kessligh had fought and won entire campaigns in the highlands of Lenayin, and if anyone could judge mountainous terrain, he could.

Below, the pocket of trees grew closer. Errollyn glimpsed tents amidst the trees, and moving horses, and steel. He waved his left arm out, indicating the line he wished the
talmaad
to establish to that side.

With perhaps five hundred human paces to go, horses began crashing through the trees of the camp below. They came pouring out, in their tens and twenties, heavily armoured and in the full colours of armoured house cavalry.

An ambush. The trees had hidden far more men than the camp at first appeared to hold. Kessligh swung away to the right, the formation following him, as though startled. Errollyn followed, his left flank trailing behind, now forming a line-astern, archers firing left across their bodies as they raked across the advancing Bacosh line. Arrows streaked downhill, aiming mainly for horses. Animals fell, and men with them, but the mass was now turning to follow—slower, and hindered by the slope, but determined and furious, yelling and waving swords.

Kessligh's formation rounded the woods and smashed through some riders who had emerged on the far side. Bacosh men were cut tumbling from their horses, whilst others reined back downslope, and more sensibly awaited the strength of their pursuing friends.

Only now, with a new roar, there emerged atop the far ridge a new mass of Bacosh riders, plunging down the boulder-strewn slope to the right. Not merely an ambush, but a trap.

Had Kessligh been right about that slope? Errollyn stared above the heads of the racing Rhodaanis, and watched the descending wall of Bacosh cavalry. Too many rocks, had been Kessligh's opinion.

The Rhodaanis thought now only of speed, and hurtled across the bottom of the valley with the
talmaad
at their rear, determined to pass the base of the rocky slope before the descending Bacosh cavalry did. Behind, Errollyn's
talmaad
spread out, turning to loose arrows at the first pursuing group, making more horses tumble. Errollyn galloped past the foot of the slope just as the cavalry reached the bottom on his right, and made sharp turns to follow them. The first group of pursuers wove across the valley floor to avoid them, and then there was a great, galloping wall of riders behind. They fell back a little in the face of deadly accurate archery from the
talmaad
ahead, but not too far.

Kessligh's formation rounded a bend in the valley, holding to the right of the small stream that emerged from trees to the left…and ahead, Errollyn could see the valley narrowing sharply, with small cliffs and thick trees, impossible for the rapid passage of so many cavalry. The first in their formation could ride into that and escape, but the rest would be held up waiting while the big, heavily armoured formation behind chopped them to pieces.

The Bacosh men roared in triumph, and spread out further for the final charge. They did not at first notice the sudden increase in arrow fire into their front and then their flanks. Until suddenly the smattering of arrow fire increased to a deadly rain, now felling men more often than horses, with the confidence that came with advantage. Errollyn could see the horror on the riders' faces, as they realised that the entire valley was bristling with serrin archers. The Bacosh formation reined to a halt, milling and spinning to face the new threat that poured onto them from the narrow valley's forested hillsides. Errollyn reined up his own formation also, and they turned back to join in the volleys of fire.

Yells and commands echoed off the valley sides, and Bacosh men split their formation to go charging up the slopes, and in amongst the trees on one side, and across the stream and up the far slope on the other. The
talmaad
cavalry positioned and waiting, evaded before them, abandoning the protection of the trees on lighter, more nimble-footed mounts. Heavier Bacosh cavalry chased them, only to find themselves under fire from serrin standing or half seated on tree roots, calmly shooting one man after another off his horse, bodies tumbling back the way they'd come.

Surviving Bacosh cavalry plunged back down from the murderous slopes, and clustered once more on the valley floor, milling in panicked groups. Others chased serrin
talmaad
in circles, the
talmaad
dodging aside like naughty children teasing some slower, dimwitted child. Then bows would twang, and another man would fall, then several at a time.

Suddenly there were too few targets, and any surviving Bacosh cavalry were retreating rapidly up the valley, with more
talmaad
in pursuit. Errollyn found himself alongside a Rhodaani officer, who looked utterly astonished at the ease and speed of the victory. Before him, the valley floor was littered with arrow-spiked bodies, and bewildered, riderless horses.

“Their tactics against us have a little way to improve,” Errollyn said drily.

“They'd best leave playing in hills and valleys to us,” the officer agreed. The Bacosh ambush had at least been a sign of tactical thought, but Kessligh had seen through it in an instant, looked over the surrounding terrain, and seen a possibility for counterambush that the invaders, in their focus on setting up their own, might have missed.

The Rhodaani cavalry were yelling now, saluting Kessligh with swords raised high. He had been playing cat-and-mouse with the forward elements of the advancing Bacosh Army for weeks, with Rhodaani and
talmaad
forces decidedly in the role of mouse. Thus far, the mice were winning, and this was their biggest victory yet.

Errollyn noticed a serrin rider heading for Kessligh, and there were cheers and salutes from the Rhodaanis for her, also. The ambushing force had been hers, here in the valley. As Kessligh's successes grew, so did the numbers of his forces, as others fighting rearguard actions against the advancing Bacosh masses abandoned their own small battles, and came to join his.

Errollyn urged his horse forward to join the gathering of commanders. He was in command of those serrin who rode with Kessligh from the beginning. At Kessligh's side now, surveying the scene, was a captain of the Rhodaani cavalry.

And the new serrin arrival, Rhillian.

“One of those knights is Lord Hilsen of Meraine,” said Rhillian with satisfaction, nodding toward the body-strewn valley floor. “A close friend to the Chansul of Meraine. We make the Meraini so angry at us that they throw their senior lords into our pursuit.”

The Chansul ruled all Meraine and, as such, was a contestant for King of all Bacosh. Meraini forces seemed particularly keen on foraging and sending advance parties ahead of the main column, perhaps eager to claim their share of new lands before others arrived. Kessligh's previous, much smaller, successes against them appeared to have caused some anger. Now they had sent a larger force, and lost them.

“The Regent will put a stop to it now,” Kessligh told them. “Or he will try to. I suppose we will learn from this how much command he actually has over the individual provinces of the Free Bacosh.”

“Either way, we've gained some space between our retreating army and their advance,” said the Rhodaani captain. “They are a huge force, and they advance like one. As we enter the hills on the Enoran border, they will be slower still.”

“It's still not enough,” said Kessligh, grimacing slightly as his attention moved onto problems far ahead. “Enora is no place for decisive battles, and with the border now unprotected, there's no telling what uncommitted elements are racing toward us to lay a claim with the new king. We need the Ilduuri to commit, and still we hear nothing.”

“We cannot plan on the Ilduuri coming to our aid,” said Rhillian. “We must plan on defeating Regent Arrosh on our own.”

“Whilst still aiming to increase our forces at every opportunity,” Kessligh added, at once agreeing and disagreeing with her. Rhillian shrugged.

Those serrin travelling with her told that she had been probing the Army of Lenayin, greatly concerned about how the battle would go once those forces arrived in full. Errollyn wondered if that were all there was to it. She looked different now, her white hair short, the long braid that Errollyn had never known her without, missing. Something about the cut was odd, too—it was slightly longer on one side of her face than the other. If there was a story behind it, Rhillian was not telling, and none of her travelling companions professed to know.

A serrin woman interrupted them, to introduce a messenger. Kessligh beckoned the messenger forward, and a serrin lad of no more than sixteen rode to join them.

“I come from Coromen,” he said. Kessligh frowned—Coromen was in the path of the Army of Lenayin's advance, still two days behind the Army of the Bacosh, to hear the latest. “An orphanage was slaughtered there, thirty-two children and their carers.”

Rhillian's hand went to her mouth. “We missed one?” she murmured, aghast.

The lad nodded. “We came across the bodies buried by a roadside. The Bacosh men responsible had been hauling them to the army column, to collect their bounty.” Rhillian's eyes gleamed with tears. It was the nightmare that all
talmaad
had striven the last two centuries to avoid. “But those men, we found killed and left to rot. From the manner of ritual execution, we think it was Isfayen men, of Lenayin. And given the closeness to the head of the Lenay column, it must have been Isfayen lords from the vanguard party—the main body of Isfayen ride too far back in the Lenay column for it to have been them.”

“And they buried the children's bodies?” asked the Rhodaani captain, frowning.

“The Isfayen are not all you've heard,” Kessligh said quietly. “They think warfare is sport, but there is no sport in killing children. People who think otherwise will anger them, and angry Isfayen are uncompromising.”

“Sasha rides with the Isfayen vanguard,” said Errollyn. All looked at him. Kessligh was silent, almost unreadable. And Errollyn found himself swallowing against a sudden tightness in his throat.

“We cannot hope that dreams and wishes shall save us,” said Rhillian. “First we hope for the Ilduuri, now we dream that Sasha may turn her people against this war. She may have had vengeance upon those murderers, but she rides with an army of their allies that makes such slaughter possible. Sasha is my enemy. She is the enemy of us all.”

S
ofy was kneeling before the shrine in her tent, maids daubing her hair and hands with scented oils, when another maid entered to tell her of the new arrivals. Sofy scowled, and gave her reply.

“It is not proper for the Princess Regent to receive a male visitor within her chambers,” announced Sister Mardola from beside the shrine. She sat with a book of scripture upon her lap, paused now in her recital of the verse of Harienne.

“I must see him,” said Sofy, still frowning. “My Lenay family have sent him, he is to be my protection.”

“You have twenty knights of Larosa to your personal guard,” the sister reprimanded. “You have no need of any other.”

“It is the gods' will that one cannot change one's family,” Sofy said firmly. Sister Mardola looked severely displeased. She did that a lot.

Sofy remained kneeling for the rest of the recital, then took a sip of holy water in consecration and was blessed by the Almin Star. The star was then placed about her neck, and she rose and took a black silk shawl in which to receive her guest.

Jaryd was admitted through the front entrance of the tent. He looked up and about in amazement at the sheer size of the interior. Silk drapes divided the living space into sections, drifting in a slight breeze. There were furnishings too, light but expensive, and great rugs for the floor of grass.

Jaryd dressed as a Lenay warrior would, and a high status one at that—a leather jacket over a chain vest. The jacket had thick shoulder guards, his riding gloves bore steel studs, and there were spurs on his boots. His sword was a big Lenay two-hander, and the knife through the front of his belt was nearly the size of an Isfayen darak.

He looked at her now, and stifled a laugh. Sofy folded her arms crossly.

“What?” she snapped.

“No, you look good,” Jaryd managed. “Nice stones.” Meaning the jewellery. “And the, um, other stuff.”

“What the hells was Sasha thinking to send you?” Sofy retorted.

“Damon's idea too, and Koenyg agreed.”

“Aye, couldn't be happier to be rid of you, I'm sure.”

Sister Mardola cleared her throat. “The gentleman will kindly speak in a lowland tongue in my prescence,” she announced. They had of course been speaking Lenay.

Jaryd frowned at the sister. “Who's the old bat?” he asked Sofy in their native tongue.

Sofy rolled her eyes in exasperation. “The gentleman does not speak a lowlands tongue,” she lied. “I will speak with him as we can both understand.”

She gestured impatiently for Jaryd to come and sit on a leather-upholstered chair. Sister Mardola followed, and maids rushed to attend them, and offer drinks, fruit, and biscuits. Jaryd accepted all, hungry as ever, with more disbelieving mirth at all the activity.

“Well, this is a lovely arrangement,” he remarked.

“Will you just stop it?” Sofy retorted. It didn't help that he looked so…well, good, she admitted to herself in frustration. His eyes were alive with unreasonable cheer for these circumstances. Seeing him so carefree, she could feel resentment building. “Why are you here?”

“Because neither Sasha nor Damon feels particularly comfortable with you being here all alone.”

“As you can see,” Sofy said coldly, “I am very far from alone.”

Jaryd glanced about, and sipped his tea. “That's a matter of opinion.”

“Jaryd, I don't know what
you
think you're doing here, but I'm on a very important mission. Tracato is a treasure, and I intend to see it saved. I hear the Lord Alfriedo Renine is being proclaimed the new lord of all Rhodaan and Tracato, and I hear that he is a very intelligent boy. I will negotiate with him and I will find a way to bring him and all of Rhodaan into my husband's fold, with as little damage to all parties as possible.”

Jaryd's expression sobered a little. “And what does Prince Dafed say about this?”

Sofy smoothed the dress in her lap. “Dafed is a warrior,” she said. “He will negotiate military matters. He has little interest in other things.”

She was not pleased that Balthaar's brother Dafed had come too. He was not pleased, either, to be sent away from the advancing army in order to collect this trophy for his brother's new crown. But Tracato was close to Elisse, and the Elissians had not been destroyed as a fighting force in the recent war against Rhodaan. There were alliances to forge, and Dafed was here to forge them, then to lead the Elissians south, to rejoin Balthaar in his advance. Dafed, Sofy was reasonably sure, would not get in her way.

Jaryd shook his head in faint disbelief. “Sofy, your husband's priests want all of this destroyed. You've ridden in the Bacosh column, you've seen what even the common soldiers are doing to Rhodaan….”

“They appeared quite restrained from what I saw.”

In an instant, Jaryd's good humour vanished. He regarded her with something she had not seen him direct at her before. Not quite contempt, but a distinct lack of respect. Perhaps pity.

“It may look that way from safe within your gilded cage,” he said coolly. “I can assure you otherwise.”

Sofy felt cold. She looked about in distraction, and hugged her shawl closer. And suddenly, in desperation, she came to the edge of her chair. “Oh, Jaryd, I know it's hard! These two peoples, they've been separated by so much hatred and mistrust for so long…but I have to try, Jaryd! I've always been a good peacemaker, I've done it between my siblings, I've sometimes even done it between Lenay lords, and they're no easy mark. Surely I can find some common ground between my husband's new rule, and the old ways of Rhodaan…and possibly Enora and Ilduur too one day!”

Jaryd sighed. He nodded to her jewellery, and the Idys Mark on her forehead. “You observe the Idys too. The old Lenay ways.”

Sofy nodded enthusiastically. “There was some opposition, but I told them that whatever my new title, I am Lenay and I shall practise the old Lenay traditions also. All new Lenay brides observe the Idys, and I shall too.”

The Idys Mark was a dark oval spot on her forehead, in the shape of an eye. The Idys was one of the old spirits, thought to bring fertility and wisdom alike.

“Do you see, Jaryd?” she continued. “I'm trying to bring peoples and customs together. I am Princess Regent of the Bacosh, and I observe their customs, yet I am also a princess of Lenayin. I can show by example that two such different peoples and cultures can exist side by side. And if I can bring that example to Tracato, perhaps I can save that great treasure, and it can enlighten all of the Bacosh and far beyond!”

Jaryd said nothing. Sofy did not think that she had convinced him. But she could see that he was not surprised at her passion, and indeed, wore that familiar look of wry defeat. He knew her so well. Perhaps it would not be a bad thing to have him on this trip after all.

“And how about you?” she asked more kindly. “You've been spending a lot more time amongst the Goeren-yai of late. Do you feel yourself a true Goeren-yai now?”

Jaryd shrugged. “I don't know,” he sighed. “And that's the wonderful thing about it.” Sofy frowned, not understanding. Jaryd smiled. “No one cares. My Goeren-yai comrades, they don't quiz me about my beliefs, they don't threaten to expel me if I don't know all the words to their tales or all the beats to their rhythm. They know me as a warrior and as a man, and that's enough for them.”

“But there are many customs and practices amongst the Goeren-yai,” Sofy pressed. Jaryd could be so naive in his lack of understanding these complexities, and she was suddenly worried. “If you are to call yourself Goeren-yai and be accepted by them, you must take their beliefs and customs seriously, Jaryd….”

“I take it as seriously as they do,” Jaryd said with amusement. “The ancient ways aren't about reciting this text or that song, it's about heart.” He rapped himself on his armoured chest. “I may not have much, but I have that.”

“So you're happy then?”

“I think I am. I don't miss all of this shit, I can tell you that.” He nodded toward the temporary shrine. Sister Mardola cleared her throat, disapprovingly. She did not understand his words, but she knew a look of contempt when she saw one. Jaryd ignored her. “Sofy, you can't change the world, you know. Some people are shit. You can't make them nice by setting a good example.”

“Jaryd, you Lenay men always think that violence is the only solution to everything. Why don't we try ending hatred with love for a change, instead of always using swords?”

“Because it doesn't work,” said Jaryd, unruffled. “Men don't plough fields because they're violent to the soil, men plough fields because lovingly asking the soils to part does nothing. Besides which, it's not only Lenay men who think so, there's Yasmyn, and Sasha.”

“Both of whom could use a little more feminine sensibility,” Sofy sniffed.

“And where would that have gotten Sasha or the Udalyn against the Hadryn?”

Sofy rolled her eyes. “The serrin agree with me,” she said stubbornly.

“Aye, they did—look where it's gotten them. Backs to the wall and a sword at their throat. They showered these lands with love and your husband repaid them with invasion and slaughter.”

Sofy found herself blinking back angry tears. Jaryd was from that other life, the one now lost to her. It wasn't fair that he should come here and do this to her. She had to make
this
life work, but he, apparently content in the other, kept crossing that divide and shattering all her carefully constructed dreams.

Jaryd left the Princess Regent's tent in frustration, and made his way back to his camp. Knights stood in full armour about the tent, and would do so all night in shifts. Jaryd did not envy them, just suiting up could take such men an age. The rest of the camp was clatter and activity, and far too many servants and wagons for Jaryd's liking. There was a firm perimeter set against any serrin attack, and they camped in the middle of a wide field so none could sneak up on them. But if the serrin were to attack in force, he did not know if there were enough defenders to stop them, and all these cooks and maids would not help.

His campfire was near the perimeter beside a wagon, where they could shelter if it rained. There sat Jandlys and Asym, and a noble girl in a dress.

She stood up as Jaryd approached, and stuck out her hand. “You must be Jaryd Nyvar. I'm Jeddie. Lady Jelendria Horseth of Tournea, daughter of Lord Horseth, anyhow. I'm pleased to meet you.”

She spoke Torovan, which Jaryd had only just pretended not to know. He shook her hand cautiously, and invited her to resume her seat on a saddle.

“I'm a friend of your Princess Sofy,” Jeddie continued earnestly. “She is quite amazing, isn't she? My father is a grand patron of the arts; he has always wanted to see Tracato, and he was quite taken with Sofy. He is riding with the Regent at the war of course, but I did pester him, and he sent me. He said that the Princess Regent would need a female friend amongst so many men.”

Jeddie was quite young, perhaps Sofy's age. She had a narrow face and a large nose, not especially pretty, and her manner was a little odd. Jaryd had seen one or two girls like this amongst the noble families in his home of Tyree, girls given a good education who, in the absence of real work or responsibilities, had fallen in love with matters of academics or arts. He recalled his own father, the late Great Lord of Tyree, complaining that such girls became unmarriageable and useless, more interested in their passions than in their duties as noble ladies. Proof that women should not be educated at all, he'd said.

“Why were you riding with the army?” Jaryd asked, as Jandlys forked him some bacon from their pan, and passed it over with a hunk of bread.

“My father made rather a large commitment of men to the war,” said Jeddie, matter-of-factly. “The household was weakened, and he wanted his family with him.”

“And you want to help Sofy to save Tracato?” asked Jandlys from around a mouthful of food. Jandlys was even larger than his father, Great Lord Krayliss of Taneryn, had been.

“Well, yes. One does enjoy the arts. One does hear that Tracato is quite the wonder for such things.”

“Because it's filled with serrin, who all the fucking priests here want to kill.” Jaryd threw another log on the fire in exasperation.

Jeddie's eyes were wide. She cleared her throat and looked around for anyone who might hear. “Well, I'm not sure that they want
all
of them dead….”

“And that's a fact is it?” Jaryd cut her off, incredulously. “You grew up in a nice noble household in…Tournea, did you say?” A timid nod from Jeddie. “Your priests educated you?”

“Some. But also my father, and some masters from the town.”

“Well, that's good, your father seems a good man. And what did the priests teach you of the serrin?”

Jeddie looked at her boots. For a moment there was just the crackling of the fire, and the sounds of the camp. “But there must be some accommodation!” she insisted abruptly, a little desperately. “I mean, there has been so much in Rhodaan that has been successful and good, surely! My father always said so. Surely we can find some way to accommodate the best of Tracato beneath the Regent's rule!”

“You're fucking crazy—you're just like Sofy,” Jaryd sighed. Jeddie cringed, evidently not accustomed to being spoken to in that tone. “Religious people, they're not interested in facts. They already know what's right, and if the facts don't fit, they'll just twist and hammer them until they do. The serrin made this place a success all right, it was such a success it's a huge black eye to the Regent, the priests, everyone from your world. They want it destroyed, that's the only way they can restore the world to the way they think it ought to be.”