Joel Shepherd - Tracato

He glared about at them all, in genuine anger.

“It’s wise to learn how to cook,” Kessligh fumed, “but a meal prepared over three weeks is inedible! There is wisdom in action! So stop talking, and act!”

He walked up the stairs, between standing serrin who stared at him. Kiel, no habitual friend of Kessligh’s, began to applaud. Several of Kiel’s ra’shi joined him. So did Errollyn, and Aisha. Then some more.

Errollyn followed Kessligh up the stairs, and those applauding followed. It seemed an odd collection of people, Errollyn supposed, within which to finally find consensus with his people. But for now, it was enough.

From upon the crest of a low hill, Sasha sat ahorse and observed the most awesome sight she had ever seen. Across what the locals called Thero Valley assembled the Army of Lenayin. It had been assembling since midmorning, and now the sun drew past midday, and soldiers were still arriving. They filled the valley, a swarm too vast to comprehend. Infantry gathered to the middle, thousands of men from the towns, villages and farms of Lenayin, bristling with swords, with shields to the front. Across the flanks and to the rear clustered cavalry, milling in ragged ranks that had no regard for the thin walls that divided one pasture from another.

A narrow stream twisted across the valley floor, lined with trees. Several small, huddled villages hugged its banks, with little mills and bridges of simple wooden planks. The inhabitants had fled, Sasha heard, upon sighting the first Lenay formations.

The Army of Lenayin’s line was directed up the gentle slope of the valley’s left flank, on the diagonal. There atop the hill was a castle. Before the castle stretched a thick, silver line of steel, glinting like jewellery in the fall of sunlight through broken cloud. The rest of the Enoran Steel lay out of sight over the ridge, but there was no doubt they were there. The Steel of any Saalshen Bacosh province did not divide its forces, relying on maximum numbers to multiply the fighting power of its formations. And to divide one’s forces in the face of any enemy’s superior numbers was folly.

Sasha stared now at the slope that the Army of Lenayin must climb to do battle. The diagonal angle was a complication that such a ragged army as the Lenays, unaccustomed to grand formations, did not need. The better news was that the slope was not steep, but for massed armour like the Steel, any high ground was a huge advantage. Koenyg had the option of moving his forces down the valley to the base of the slope directly opposite the Steel lines and the castle, but that could easily have placed him within reach of the Steel’s artillery, whose range would be extended by the slope to the tune of a hundred paces at least. Koenyg had chosen well, Sasha thought. But the Enorans had chosen better.

Great Lord Faras of Isfayen came galloping to her side at the head of his entourage. “This shall be a battle unlike any in all the history of Lenayin,” he observed. Sasha had expected him to be bursting with excitement, as were all too many of the men she’d observed. Instead, he seemed subdued, as though the scale of what confronted him had reduced him to a state of awe. “Our ancestors shall curse the fates that they lived too soon to see the likes of this. Men shall tell of this for centuries.”

“Best that they tell it well,” Sasha said grimly. “Should we attack straight up that slope, we’re all dead, and our grandchildren will tell only of what fools we were.”

“There is no other place,” Lord Ranas declared from his friend Faras’s side. “North of here is forest, while land to the south is too broken for large formations.”

Faras nodded. “The Enorans move faster than we, the Enoran border is all paved roads and bridges. Look how fast they come forward from their border to counter us here. Should we go south, we could manoeuvre for days attempting to find better ground than this, and would be greeted every time by the Enorans atop another fucking hill. I say we go here. The slope is gentle, and we have flanks for our cavalry.”

They were still on Larosan land, yet barely so. The Enorans doubtless knew this land nearly as well as their own, having scouted it often. This valley was the obvious approach to the border with a large army, and once their serrin scouts had discerned that the Army of Lenayin was indeed headed this way, it would have been a relatively simple thing for the Enorans to use their paved roads to cut across the Lenays’ path, and forward to this point overlooking the valley, thus cutting the route.

“The location is good enough,” said Sasha, “but we should not attack here. We should hold, and make them come to us. Our task is merely to prevent them from advancing into Larosa, and attacking the main force engaging the Rhodaanis to the north.”

Faras frowned. “This is not a strong defensive position. Should they come, they come down the hill.”

“And their artillery comes down the hill with them,” Sasha replied. “I learned in Petrodor that artillery does not fire well on a slope. Perhaps they can move it downslope over there,” and she pointed to the fork in the valley that turned into Enora, “but that will give us an opening where their main force is undefended by artillery. Either way, it is in our advantage to make them move first.”

Sasha was thankful that Koenyg saw matters the same as she. At midafternoon, the army was fully assembled, and growing impatient. A ridge beside a farmhouse had become the royal command post, and Great Lord Faras rode that way to consult, leaving Sasha with the remaining Isfayen nobility. She practised some taka-dans, and wondered just how many serrin talmaad were probing their flanks right now, and testing the strengths of Lenay cavalry.

Lord Faras shared those concerns, and with a party of ten nobility they rode back along the gentle valley slope. Across the valley was thick forest, making any leftward flanking move troublesome. It would be crawling with talmaad , Sasha was prepared to bet. And now, down the valley, came the Torovans, a great snaking army of metal helms and wooden shields. They rode with a glitter and polish that the Army of Lenayin did not, armour sparkling silver, and great, colourful banners flying. Sasha and the Isfayen galloped close, and were greeted with hearty cheers and waves from the cavalry at the front.

“They look very fine!” an Isfayen nobleman remarked above the thunder of hooves.

“Aye,” said Faras, with a twisted smile, “if it made them better warriors, the Isfayen would put feathers in their hats too!”

Upon their return to the main formation, a wild-haired Goeren-yai messenger on a little dussieh came flying to intercept them.

“M’Lady Sashandra,” he called, “you are wanted on the field. Negotiators from Enora have requested your presence for parley.”

It took a while for Sasha to find the centre of the formation. She galloped along the Lenay lines, jumping pasture walls where they obstructed her, dodging about small camps in fields or milling groups of men who did not seem to know where their place was, or did not seem to care. Banners were difficult to spot amidst the enormous crowds.

Finally, to the front of the formation, she saw a small cluster of men on horses beneath a royal banner. She edged her horse through one of the gaps in the line, and rode to the little group. It was Koenyg, she realised, and Damon, and…her father.

The king did not look at her as she approached. Sasha reined up beside Damon, and waited.

“What do they ask?” she asked him in a low voice, above the thunder of hooves, and the roar of many thousands of voices. It would have been too much to expect Lenay warriors to sit quietly and wait. They seethed with anticipation.