Joel Shepherd - Haven

“Not quite,” said Damon. “They've artillery, they'll use hellfire to light up the night, plant big fires everywhere. The talmaad will be visible as though it were daylight.”

“So get the artillery,” Jaryd concluded. “Same plan as before.”

“Only it didn't work last time,” Sasha said solemnly. “I sent a thousand men to try, they got nothing, and more than half didn't come back. This will be much worse.”

“Dammit,” said Kessligh, jaw clenched. “There must be a way.”

Evening was falling, torchlight flickering upon the walls of the tent. Rhillian lay on her back, her wrists now tied before her instead of above her head. It left her somewhat more free, yet still completely hopeless. Her broken rib made any attempt to sit up agony, and periodically a Lenay warrior would peer through the tent flap, just to be sure.

Now someone entered the tent once more, carrying food. But this was no Lenay man, this was a boy. And not just any boy, Rhillian saw as he kneeled beside her on the grass. It was Alfriedo Renine, her old sparring partner from Tracato.

“I heard it was you,” Alfriedo said, with a faint smile. “I thought you might like some food?”

Rhillian nodded. If it gave her the strength to bite off King Koenyg's nose, it would be worth it. Alfriedo assisted her in sitting up, as she winced in pain, and rested her back against a chest. With the plate on the grass beside her, she could take food two-handed to her mouth without assistance.

“Where have you been fighting?” Rhillian asked as she ate.

“I haven't,” said Alfriedo. “I am here to fly the flag for Rhodaani nobility. Some of my nobles were very keen to join the fighting at first. Since then they have seen its nature, and many have changed their minds.”

Rhillian nodded. “Astonishing that some men still seem to dream of a pleasant war.”

“There are places about the western wall where bodies carpet the ground so thickly, you can walk from the Dhemerhill River to the bottom of the southern slope without touching the ground.”

“Where the Regent's men hit the Army of Lenayin,” said Rhillian. “The first time in this battle Lenayin has been hard-pressed.”

“The Lenays are extraordinary warriors,” said Alfriedo. “The men of Northern Lenayin are unsurpassed as heavy cavalry, and now the foot soldiers of Goeren-yai Lenayin show their superior swordwork against a huge force. Whichever side wins here, the legend of Lenayin shall only grow.”

“They're not all Goeren-yai,” said Rhillian. “Quite a few are Verenthanes, including the prince who leads them.”

Alfriedo nodded. Riding in the rear of a great, advancing army, he had been observing carnage for two days now, and looked as pale as the boy who had always loved to eat ham, but had now been given a blade and told to go and kill the pig himself.

“Your mother never told you it would be like this, did she?” Rhillian asked.

“I did love my city,” Alfriedo said faintly. “I did truly love it, Rhillian. I loved all of it, not just the human parts. My mother told me that I was born to be lord of all of it. She told me that it was my destiny, ordained by the gods. And I thought that was wonderful and good, for my love was pure and true. How could the gods be wrong? How could my mother, and all the noble families, and so many centuries of tradition?”

Rhillian stopped eating, and just watched him. “You thought that the gods had blessed you,” she said quietly. “Now you see that it was a curse.”

“One man can make a great difference, she told me. I was to be that man. And I studied and learned, and I was always very good with books and learning. I have learned many things, Rhillian, but only since I met Kessligh and yourself did I begin to wonder if I had learned any of the right things.”

“Knowledge is not wisdom,” Rhillian agreed. “Acquiring knowledge is easy. Using it wisely is hard.”

“Would you place a peasant boy upon the lordship chair of Rhodaan?” Alfriedo asked her. His big eyes were faintly desperate. As though he sought something from her. “Would he do a better job than I?”

“He might,” Rhillian said. “It depends on the boy. He might know only a little, but he might have judgement. A man with no judgement may know everything, yet understand nothing. What do you know, Alfriedo?”

“I know that my cause is flawed.” Alfriedo's voice trembled. “I know that there is no certainty that what comes to replace how Rhodaan was ruled in the past is an improvement.”

“No certainty ?” Rhillian stared at him. “Is that all?” Alfriedo could not meet her gaze. “They're going to kill my people. All of my people. The Regent will not make Leyvaan's mistakes again, he will be methodical. Perhaps even by the time you are a full-grown man, there will be no Saalshen left, and very nearly no serrin.

“Alfriedo, we built Tracato! We made it everything that you love. These men hate ideas. They hate the creative mind. They hate everything that you love about the way Tracato was.”

Alfriedo sat for a very long time, his head down, knees drawn up. For the first time since Rhillian had met him, he looked like a boy, lonely, frightened, and a long way from home. Finally he looked up, eyes red and cheeks tear-streaked. “But I can do nothing,” he said weakly. “I am just a boy.”

“Today, you are Lord of Rhodaan. Within those city walls, Kessligh stands, and observes these lines. What does he see, Alfriedo? And what would he tell you, if he could speak to you once more?”

Jaryd ran down the streets outside Jahnd's defensive walls, his shield raised to ward off the heat from blazing buildings. More hellfire erupted somewhere near, with a great whoosh. Townsfolk ran by carrying wounded, sweating and wincing. Many had cloths and shirts wrapped around their heads against the heat, and to keep flaming embers and smoke from their eyes and lungs.

At an intersection he found Sofy, nearly impossible to recognise in her mail shirt and wrapped headscarf, hurrying from patient to burned patient amidst the smoke.

“Sofy!” He grabbed her arm, and she shook him off. “Sofy, you have to go! One hit on this road and everyone within thirty paces dies!”

“So what?” she yelled at him, eyes determined. “If you want to help me, help me! Otherwise go away!”

Jaryd helped her. Some folks in this part of Jahnd, outside the defensive walls, had been slow to evacuate. No one had expected the collapse of the eastern flank so soon, nor the onslaught of catapult artillery. Many had still been racing to collect families and relatives when the hellfire began falling.

The burns were terrible. Bodies were laid out in rows, treated by fast-working humans and serrin who cut burned cloth away from bodies with blades, often taking chunks of skin with it. There were serrin lotions to be applied, and wet bandages to wrap, but for many there was nothing to be done. Sofy organised hand-drawn carts, and city folk hauling wheelbarrows. Some of those with handcarts were wealthy men and women, clothes scorched and faces blackened, working alongside their more plain comrades. One of those leading the most daring excursions down side streets to find new victims was a well-known merchant, one of the wealthiest men in Jahnd. Now he was coming back, bringing one last column of rescuers up a burning road, yelling encouragement and struggling under the load of a man he carried on his back.

Sofy directed several final wagons to wait for this last load, as flames grew hotter from the south. The wind was shifting, and they had to leave. Down a nearby street, wood facades and masonry crumbled in a roar of erupting sparks.