Joel Shepherd - Tracato

It seemed to have some effect on Lord Arendt, for he flipped up his visor to regard her face to face. Rhillian’s right hand went to her belt, produced a knife, and threw. It struck Lord Arendt in the eye, and he lurched in the saddle, then toppled to the pavings with an almighty metal crash. His warhorse danced aside, as though with relief. Rhillian had not even seen what Arendt looked like. Within the stable, his knights sat stunned.

“Finish the rest!” Rhillian announced. Arrows flew, and horses shrieked, flailing and wheeling. These wore no barding. The necessity always saddened Rhillian, but with the riders so invulnerable, there was no other choice. It would take a while to finish the knights, once dismounted, but they were painfully slow against unarmoured talmaad , and soon enough the serrin blades would find armour joints, draw blood, and slow the man enough for someone to knock him down and leave him flailing like a tortoise on its back. From there, it was simple knife work.

Once it was done, Rhillian remounted, rode back to the castle bridge, and waited. Soon enough, the first line of Steel infantry crested the hill-the rear rank, as they had begun the day, saved the initial fighting and left fresh to charge into what remained of the Elissian infantry, to prevent any chance of the enemy line re-forming. The green shields of the men were spattered red, as were their short, razor-tipped swords. They showed little emotion as they formed new positions about the town and castle, too well disciplined, and too accustomed to overwhelming victories for that. Most seemed barely out of breath, having run up that slope in full armour and shields.

The second rank-formerly the front rank-came after, in small groups, escorting a truly enormous number of prisoners. Rhillian guessed about five thousand. More than half the entire Rhodaani force, weapons and armour cast aside, some clad in little more than undergarments. They were mustered into great groups on open fields, guarded by lines of Steel infantry and sections of looming Rhodaani cavalry. A surreal sight, like so much in war-a lovely Elissian hilltop, scattered shady trees, paddocks filled with flowers…and five thousand shivering, frightened, defeated men, who should have been home tending their fields, animals and families.

Finally General Zulmaher arrived, with several captains and junior officers, two of whom were bloodstained and explaining recent actions. The retinue halted beside the large elm at the lip of the dry moat, where Rhillian had taken a seat with Gian and Via, to sip water and rest, while their horses grazed. The horses would need water soon, which would mean a trip down the hill, past all the corpses and wounded. Rhillian did not relish the prospect.

Zulmaher dismounted, as Rhillian climbed achingly to her feet. The general smiled, and offered her an embrace. Rhillian accepted-Rhodaani men were like that with each other, so there was no reason to refuse.

“A truly inspired run up the flank,” Zulmaher told her with a hard smile, hands on her shoulders. “You secured their artillery before our lines came within range, and split any chance of a regrouping on their left flank. I did say the talmaad of Saalshen were the finest light cavalry in all Rhodia, and today you proved it for certain.”

Rhillian did not begrudge the man his lack of sweat or blood-in this army, with all its lethal parts, such work was not his function. Zulmaher had done more than his share of sweating and bleeding as a younger man, and needed prove nothing to anyone.

“It was well done,” she said simply. “Everything worked. Most battles are chaotic, but in this army, somehow everything works.” It was as great a compliment as she could imagine, and Zulmaher seemed to take it as such. He knew how difficult a thing it was that she described.

“And where is Arendt?” he asked her expectantly, with a glance to the castle. “Did you find him?”

“We found him,” Rhillian agreed, sadly. “His decoy ran off, expecting us to follow, but there were enough of us to cover all options and then some. I took twenty inside, and found Lord Arendt and ten knights, hoping for a clear escape. They tried to break through, but failed. They were remarkably brave and stubborn. We had no choice but to kill them all.”

“All?” Zulmaher was displeased. He looked to the castle once more, and back again. “You’re certain it was Arendt? Not some decoy?”

“Yes.” Being in command of three thousand of Rhodia’s finest light cavalry, currently spread in a great network across Elisse, gave Rhillian first access to the greatest source of news and gossip in all the land. She knew Lord Arendt’s identifying marks, and she’d had his corpse checked after the fact. “It was him.”

Zulmaher still looked puzzled, his broad forehead creased. He ran a hand through short, helmet-flattened hair. “My information suggested he may have attempted to yield, if defeated on the field. His family in marriage to other northern families had been threatened-apparently he spent many a coin of gratitude in assembling this army, and gaining its command. Had he yielded, he could have used the threat of Rhodaani force to keep his relatives safe.”

Rhillian sighed, and shook her head. “He did not attempt to yield. I couldn’t tell you why, I’m just a poor serrin in the land of the humans. You baffle me.”

Zulmaher took a deep breath, clearly reassessing. He shrugged lightly, and patted Rhillian on the shoulder with a smile. “It isn’t your fault. You and your talmaad fought valiantly, I’ll be certain your names are mentioned in my next report to council.”

Rhillian made a light bow, and Zulmaher strode off toward the castle, his retinue in tow. No doubt to check for himself. Rhillian sank back to the grass with a sigh, and took a swig from her waterskin.

“What if he suspects?” Gian asked. “The general is not a stupid man.”

Rhillian leaned her head back against the tree. “He may well suspect, but he cannot prove. Most of the captains are with me anyhow.”

“The war may take longer now,” Via added, cleaning his blade with a cloth. “Arendt may have convinced other lords to yield as well.”

“Just the problem,” said Rhillian. “The greatest threat to Rhodaan’s defence now lies with the feudalists. They will weaken Rhodaan from within, and strengthen their allegiances to powerful vassals in Elisse, who will do their bidding. The aim of this war was to end the threat to Rhodaan’s northern flank, not to create a new one. It’s worth a few extra days to make sure…and besides, after today, the war is fairly well won. So long as these lords remain our enemies and do not become the friends of Rhodaani feudalists.”

Via made a face. “This was well done,” he said, with a glance toward the battlefield and the clustered prisoners. “ That was not.” With a glance back to the castle.

The dissent did not bother Rhillian. Nor the hint of rebuke. They were serrin, and they shared vel’ennar. She understood him perfectly, and he her. So long as it were so, no serrin needed ever to fear another.

“I know,” she said tiredly. She gazed out at the shallow valley and the drifting mists of smoke that smudged the far horizon. Below, the carnage was thankfully out of sight. But the memory of it burned as bright as any sun. “The things they make me do, Via,” she murmured. “The longer I spend among them, the more I fear what I shall one day become.”

D INNER WAS A PLEASANT ENOUGH AFFAIR, certainly more so than what the vast majority of Lenay soldiery were enjoying, out in the cold and wet. Sofy made occasional conversation with a local lord who spoke only Algrassian and Larosan. Her Larosan, Sofy thought, was no longer terrible. Tonight, it was merely very bad.