Joel Shepherd - Tracato

“I do not hate you,” Sasha replied in Saalsi, her voice straining to make itself heard across the distance. “But my people march to war, and I have seen how the Steel of the Saalshen Bacosh fights. If I do not help them, they may all die.”

“And you shall be their saviour?” Vilan asked sadly. “Dear girl, you are but one warrior, and though you have a gift of tactics and command, this army is not yours to lead. Can you save them all?”

“No,” said Sasha, more firmly. A tear trickled down her cheek. “I shall die with them.”

“And if, by your death, Enora shall fall? And then Rhodaan? And then, left undefended, Saalshen?”

Sasha looked at the ground, and could not speak.

Koenyg broke in, and brought the parley to a conclusion. Riding back to the Lenay lines, he cantered close to her side.

“What did he say?”

“He said we’re all going to die,” Sasha lied.

“And what did you say?”

“I said that’s why I’m here.”

The Army of Lenayin did not attack that afternoon. Instead, it retreated up the other side of the valley, and camped across the slope and the hill crest. The men of Lenayin were not happy, and grumbled about glory delayed, but there were enough wise tactical heads among them to keep the discontent at bay.

Andreyis sat by the campfire and gazed across the valley at the fires on the hill beyond. His boots were off, as had become the habit this long march, to allow hardened feet to breathe. Dinner sat ill in his stomach. About him, clustered men caroused, laughed and sang, but Andreyis felt no urge to join in. He never had, particularly. He thought now of Kessligh and Sasha’s ranch, and the horses, and how he’d loved to spend time there. Mostly, he’d loved the solitude. And the company of some people he genuinely liked, it was true, particularly as two of them were among the most famous people in Lenayin…but solitude, in Andreyis’s life, had been a rare and precious thing. Little enough that he’d been getting here.

Valhanan had marched roughly in the middle of the Lenay column, and now occupied the central position in the Lenay front line. It was not such a bad place to be, Teriyan and other, older men had assured him, as in most mass formation warfare, the flanks were harried hardest, not the centre. But the centre, he’d figured, would be the easiest place for the Enoran artillerymen to aim.

Teriyan returned from hearty conversation with others to plonk himself down at Andreyis’s side. “Pity the sentries tonight,” he said. “They’ll have no sleep with these hills crawling with serrin.”

“How many serrin, do you think?”

“Oh…could be thousands.” Teriyan shrugged. “Sasha said just recently, at training…she said most serrin don’t fight. Don’t know how to fight. Amazing, no? All we see are warriors because those are the ones who travel. And svaalverd’s only a small part of serrin knowledge. Most serrin know more about crafts, medicine, farming and forestry than about warfare.

“But the talmaad ’s still big, and there’ll be a lot of them coming to help. I’d guess there could be close to ten thousand here.”

“That’s a lot,” said Andreyis. “I spoke with men who’d seen those four serrin fight, the ones who came with us to the north. Errollyn, that was the man’s name. And Terel. It was said they fought like demons.”

“Aye,” said Teriyan. “And here, they’ll be fighting for their homes.” He took a deep breath. “Sasha says Terel’s dead. He died in Petrodor. Errollyn’s alive, and the little one, Aisha. Pretty girl she was. Smart as all hells too. Sasha thinks the reason serrin are so smart is their memory. No, she doesn’t think, she’s certain of it. She says Errollyn and Aisha remember conversations she’s had with them word for word, when she can barely recall the topic. That’s why your average serrin knows so much, they just learn much faster. That’s how little Aisha knows seventeen languages. She learns a word once and doesn’t need to repeat it, she just remembers.”

“That’s amazing.” For a while, they both said nothing, but listened to the sound of forty-plus thousand men at camp. Already the air was thick with smoke, from small fires and cooking. “A warrior is not supposed to doubt before a battle,” said Andreyis. “But I can’t help it.”

“Every man feels fear, lad. That’s why they drink, sing and laugh, to drown out the fear.”

“No, it’s not fear. Or at least, it’s not just fear. It’s doubt.” He looked at Teriyan, and saw the big man’s face troubled. This was one of the only men in all Lenayin he’d have dared express such things to. “We should not be fighting serrin. Nor Enorans. I’m certain of it. And I’ll bet Sasha’s certain too.”

“Aye lad.” Teriyan sighed. “She is. But she’s Lenay, and she’s here because her people need her. If we could turn around and walk out now, all our men would have to fight that much harder to cover our absence.”

“I know that,” Andreyis retorted crossly. What Teriyan suggested was dishonourable. Like any Lenay, Andreyis was certain he would rather die. “I’m just saying. We fight for honour. But the cause is dishonourable.”

“The cause is out of our hands. That’s for the king to decide.”

“And since when did any Lenay man listen to him ?”

Teriyan looked at him for a long moment, then shook his head in faint exasperation, but not at Andreyis’s question. At the circumstance.

“I wish Sasha had visited,” Andreyis said quietly. “I know why she can’t, but I wish she had. Tell me some more of her adventures.”

“I’ve already told you all she told me,” Teriyan objected.

“Think of something.”

Sasha had bad dreams. She dreamed of being dragged from Errollyn’s arms, and the bed set on fire, burning sheets scorching her flesh. Of Errollyn screaming, a blade dripping blood, and rattling chains that tore at her wrists. She saw Rhillian, emerald eyes burning with grief and fury, wrestling with a wolf that snarled and snapped at her throat. Kiel fired an arrow, but struck Rhillian instead of the wolf. The wolf retreated to Kiel’s side, and licked his hand. Kiel pulled the shaft from Rhillian’s side, and blood poured out.

The wolf ran away, and Sasha followed, as it ran down familiar palace halls, and through a wood panelled doorway. Sasha recognised a royal bedroom, with grand furnishings and gilt-edged paintings on the walls. From the huge, four-posted bed came squeals and grunts of sexual pleasure and pain. Sasha walked closer, and found that the wolf had become a man, yet still with a long snout and fangs. Beneath him was Sofy, naked legs about his hairy hide, grunting and crying out as he ravaged her, and his claws reaved her flesh.

Then she was running down a city street, struggling for space in the hot air between oppressive walls. Behind her ran a mob, waving clubs and farm tools, howling like crazed animals. She rounded a corner, and found herself trapped before a formation of Steel, shields interlocked. One lofted a spear, and atop it was impaled Alythia’s severed head, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Sasha spun, and the mob behind lofted more spears, each with another head. The one closest was Kessligh’s.

She awoke in an eruption of limbs and blanket, kicking the covering away as she surged to her knees. And knelt there gasping, her heart hammering, her old wounds throbbing like fire. She rubbed at the burns on her ribs, and felt no scab, only the smoothness of new skin. It should not hurt like this. But still it burned, like the fire from her dreams.

About, on the hillside, all was black save the occasional glow of a sentry’s fire. The moon was new, and Sasha thought of serrin eyesight, and if it might be possible that serrin were creeping through the Lenay camp even now. From nearby came the snoring of Isfayen noblemen. They had camped barely a hundred paces from the farmhouse that was the royal command post, with many other senior nobility. Should an order be given, these men wished to be the first to know. Sasha had been offered a bed in the farmhouse, but had refused, saying she preferred the outdoors. In truth, a bed would have been nice. Yet a bed of broken glass would have been preferable to sharing a roof with her father.