Joel Shepherd - Haven

Sasha took a moment to stare toward the wall, now flooded with enemy soldiers. There was no river protecting them on that side. But there was the Army of Lenayin. Those men-at-arms who now ran howling toward the waiting lines of Lenays were likely from the rear ranks, with no experience of what had happened to the first forces into the valley, when Lenayin had hit them end on. Now they would learn. But this was a defence, and the Army of Lenayin was not built for defensive actions in the open. In such tight lines there would be no space, and no momentum. Even the Army of Lenayin could not stand such an assault for long. And on the far side of that wall, the Regent's forces would be bringing up his artillery.

Rhillian found herself awake. It was an odd awakening, from a floating, dreamlike state, like swimming underwater, and then the water was gone, yet the floating remained. There were groups of serrin philosophers who would travel to high mountains and meditate for sometimes years on end, in search of that dreamlike otherworld that grew upon the far side of consciousness. Those serrin, upon returning from their meditations, insisted that one could bring back the spiritual essence of that otherworld, once visited, and return it to the real world. Perhaps that was what she felt now, aware that she was awake, yet not entirely conscious. Some serrin speculated that wakefulness and consciousness were two different things. Or, depending upon the tongue being used, perhaps ten different things, requiring a hundred or more different words in combination.

She smiled. She should tell such serrin, if she saw them again, that one did not need to meditate for years to reach a dreamlike state of being. One need only fall off a horse.

She opened her eyes. A blur resolved itself into the confines of a tent. Daylight spilled through an open flap. Nearby, she could hear voices and commotion. But not battle. Merely activity, men and horses, a rattle of harness, a gruff laugh.

A soldier came in and looked at her. That was when she realised that she was lying on the grass, her head level with his boots. He looked down at her. A Lenay, she thought, though short-haired and smooth-faced, unlike the wild men of the Goeren-yai. She was a captive, then. Of the Army of Northern Lenayin.

The soldier left. Rhillian tried moving. Her wrists were bound above her head, and tied to something. Her ankles were similarly bound. She lay stretched and immobile. Breathing hurt-it felt like a broken rib. Probably she'd discover worse if she could move.

Another man entered, broad and powerful in leathers and mail. His left cheek bore a deep cut, recently cleaned, yet he wore it with unconcern. There was blood on his leg, Rhillian saw, as he pulled across a small chair and sat, eating fruit. She did not think the blood was his.

“You're Rhillian,” he said. “The one the Torovans call ‘the white death.’”

She'd been recognised. It was always a danger in battle, with her white hair. Most talmaad did not wear helms as they blocked their vision.

“I'm Koenyg,” he added around his mouthful, and washed it down with a swig of water. “King of Lenayin.”

Rhillian studied him from her place upon the ground. She'd heard him described, yet never seen him face-to-face. He looked like a king. And yet he wore no symbols of status as most kings would. Even the Verenthanes of Northern Lenayin, and those like Koenyg who naturally allied with them, did not hold with the lowlands faith in symbols of status. Koenyg Lenayin was clearly a warrior and a leader, and amongst his people that was all the status he needed.

“Sasha spoke to me of you,” he continued, speaking Torovan. He needn't have bothered, she spoke Lenay quite well. “She spoke highly. Said that you were nearly her equal with a blade. I'm nearly tempted to let you free just to see for myself.”

“Please do.”

Koenyg smiled, and bit another mouthful. “I said nearly. Are you hurt? Would you like some water?” He drank some more. “It's not poisoned, as you can see.”

Rhillian realised that her mouth was very dry. It was tempting to reject his offer for spite, but that made no sense. If she could possibly escape, she would need what health she could muster. She nodded. Koenyg kneeled, placed the skin to her lips, and upended it. He let her drink as long as she needed. Then he resumed his seat and, meeting her eyes with an unworried gaze, drank from the same skin. He did not fear that she would give him some disease. Many of the men he rode with would not do the same. Rhillian gazed at him, not knowing what to make of this man, this brother that Sasha alternately loathed, then grudgingly respected, in turn.

“The battle goes well for us,” he said, without bothering to ask if she wished to know. “They did manage a masterful retreat within the walls of Jahnd; Kessligh's doing, no doubt. But their losses were great. We captured another third of their artillery that they were not fast enough to take with them or destroy in leaving. They move their artillery behind Jahnd's walls, which we cannot bring into range with our own artillery without losing it to theirs. But we are moving catapults up on the eastern flank, to occupy heights above Jahnd. I doubt they'll last until morning.”

Rhillian thought it all sounded quite probable. Koenyg seemed far too direct to be the boasting kind. “And then?” she asked him.

Koenyg shrugged. “Then we return to the Bacosh to consolidate what we've gained. I will return to Lenayin, with the Army of Northern Lenayin. I expect trouble there, when word arrives of what the traitors did. I will bring Bacosh allies with me. We shall set about expanding the Verenthane base of power in Lenayin, which is surely in Regent Balthaar's interest, now he sees how we fight. The pagans have shown that they cannot be trusted with power. They have little interest but personal honour, but the Army of Northern Lenayin fights for a grander civilisation.”

“You will kill two sisters and a brother in this quest.”

“They kill themselves with their choices,” said Koenyg. “I am with history, and history waits for no man, nor weeps for them when they die.”

“And Saalshen?”

Koenyg shook his head. “Not my concern. Perhaps the Regent shall forgive your intrusion into human affairs these past two hundred years, and your desecration of the faith. Perhaps he shall let you all off with a warning. But then, my sister Sofy told me just last night that Verenthane civilisation and serrin civilisation cannot coexist. I think she may be right.”

“And so we all shall die,” Rhillian said quietly. “Thanks to you.”

“I am on the side of history,” Koenyg repeated. “And history weeps for no man.”

“History sides with no man,” said Rhillian. “It watches from afar, and laughs at his claims of ownership.”

Koenyg shrugged. “I'm winning.” He shifted in his chair to look at her more closely. “If you wish, you could return with me to Lenayin. Learn our ways. Convert to the faith. That would be a novelty, to be sure, perhaps even sufficient to impress the Archbishops.”

“I decline.”

Koenyg raised an eyebrow. “I don't think you realise quite what I'm offering. Most of these men would simply have you killed, and painfully. They think you're evil. I don't. I just think you're in my way.”

“And proud to be so.”

Koenyg smiled. “I'm offering you a chance to show the world of men that your people are not evil. That you can be civilised. That you can embrace the gods, and learn to live as we do. You would be the perfect model of such a display. From there, you could become a spokesperson for your people, and could travel to Torovan and the newly united Bacosh, beneath my banner. But it could only be possible in Lenayin. As I said, here, they'd just kill you. But Lenays do things differently, and find other paths. It is our strength.”