Joel Shepherd - Haven

A hellfire round exploded directly upon the returning rescue party. Sofy, Jaryd, and all fell flat, arms covering their heads. On the road, Jaryd looked up to see the dark shapes of rescuers and their loads flailing amidst the flames. As the fire dimmed, several burning figures emerged, staggered a few steps, then fell.

“Sofy, we have to go!” Jaryd yelled. For once Sofy did not protest. She yelled at everyone to leave, and took her place pushing the most loaded cart. Jaryd joined her, shield slung on his back, as they pushed and bumped over the rough pavings, through choking smoke so thick they had to close their eyes and hope those in front could see the way.

It went on interminably, and then the defensive wall was above them, and they were beneath the main gate. Jaryd nearly fell with exhaustion, but Sofy caught him, led him aside, and made him drink from a waterskin as soldiers and townsfolk rushed about the wagons, carrying wounded away. Jaryd poured water over his head, and rubbed at his face.

“You shouldn't have come after me,” Sofy scolded him. “We're all taking risks; you can't protect yourself, your men, and me all at the same time. Look at you, you've nothing left.”

“I'm okay,” Jaryd murmured, arms on knees. He coughed, throat irritable with smoke. “You're braver than me. I hate fire.”

Sofy sat alongside him and put a hand to his chin. “No,” she said with a smile, “that makes you braver than me.” She kissed him.

Jaryd put an arm about her, and they sat together in the fading light amidst the chaos of the lower defensive wall. Compared to the events of the day, it was a moment of contentment just to be together.

“When we marry,” Sofy remarked, “you'll be a prince of Lenayin.”

“Your husband's not dead yet.”

“The night is young.”

“Aye,” said Jaryd, “that it is.”

Damon trotted his horse down Jahnd's main street. It was crowded with cavalry, tired men on tired horses, battered and grim. He stopped often, exchanging salutes with officers, lords and others he recognised. Here on the higher slope, he found Jaryd, leading the last third of the horsemen assembled.

They clasped hands. “I hear you rescued my sister again,” Damon quipped.

Jaryd shook his head. “She rescued a bunch of townsfolk from death, I only helped. She was doing well without me.”

“She's a good girl,” Damon said sadly. “If I could find another girl as good, I'd marry her.”

Jaryd smiled wryly. “Prince Damon, it's been an honour.”

“The honour is mine.”

Damon continued downhill, past the assembled thousands. Their numbers were well down, less than their original total. It still made a very large force of horsemen, but it was nothing compared to what lay beyond the gate. Jaryd would lead the last group out, the ones who, if desperate plans went anything according to form, would try to hit the enemy artillery, some of which had been captured just earlier that day. But for that to work, the first wave had to succeed.

In the middle of the formation were the serrin. They would follow the formation's spear as it tried to punch a hole in the enemy lines. Talmaad were not armed for such a thing, and their horses were light. The point of the spear had to break through the line, and once through, good things could happen. Jaryd exchanged salutes with the serrin man who had been appointed talmaad leader. He hoped the man was as competent as Errollyn had been. And he thought of Sasha, and how pained her heart must be right now.

Down on the lower slopes of Jahnd were arrayed the heavy cavalry-Rhodaani, Enoran, and Lenay. These were big horses, some Steel cavalry with lances, most with sword and shield. At the very base of the slope, before the wall, were the meanest cavalry of all, some Steel, and others Lenay. Leading them was Great Lord Markan, his black shield battered with more strikes than could be counted, and with notches in his blade that even constant sharpening could not hide. He bore several wounds, his armour torn in places, his face tight with pain. Yet somehow, he looked happy.

“Command is yours,” he said with a salute. “King Damon.”

Damon smiled. “My brother will protest.” Markan spat, to show what he cared for Koenyg's opinion. “You know,” said Damon, “it will be nice to be king for just one evening. The shortest reign in Lenay history.”

“And the most glorious.”

They both knew what would happen. They would charge the artillery, which was not so silly on horseback. What was silly was charging the wall of infantry, backed by cavalry and archers, that now surrounded Jahnd. If Sasha's earlier estimation had been right, the Regent had begun the fight with close to one hundred and eighty thousand men and cavalry. The defence had been truly magnificent, and whittled them down to a little less than half of that. Which left-Kessligh estimated to look at them-eighty-five thousand. All cavalry forces combined, here along Jahnd's main road, made barely ten thousand. They would probably break the line briefly, but then the line would close, half the attacking column would be cut off, the other half pursued by the cavalry behind the defensive line, vastly outnumbered, and killed. And that would be that. But they had to try, because there were no other options left.

Far above and behind, the upper wall of Jahnd was under attack from infantry and artillery that had climbed the hills behind the city. The grand buildings atop the slope were burning, while the southern wall was assaulted by enough infantry to keep significant Enoran and Rhodaani Steel troops occupied.

That left Lenayin and Ilduur to advance out into the Ilmerhill Valley at night, within the cover of the valley's city sprawl. It was cover from which to attack, as none of the Regent's forces were foolish enough to occupy that part of the city at night, where serrin could pick them off and Lenay swordsman outclass them up close. But it was a good place for a trap if the plan worked, and a good start for a futile last charge if it did not. Sasha led them, commanding Ilduuri and Lenay soldiers on foot. She was more use on foot than on a horse, she said so herself. Damon hoped that when it all failed, she might retreat up the Ilmerhill and escape back to Ilduur the way she'd come in. But if the Regent won, there would be nowhere any of them could hide in the long run. And knowing Sasha, he knew there was no way she'd run.

“Well,” said Damon. “No speeches. We all know why we're here.”

“If we all die tonight,” said a Rhodaani man, “it will still have been worth it.”

“Still?” said Markan, eyes blazing. “I would have ridden across the known world in search of such a death.”

Alfriedo sat upon his horse at his place in the line. The Rhodaanis were on the left flank, facing Jahnd, and up against the hills. Flanks were usually reserved for the best forces, but this flank was against a steep slope, and was not a direct line from Jahnd's main gate. Behind them was a patch of scattered forest, and behind that, the Dhemerhill River. It was not likely that any attacking force would come galloping this way.

He walked his horse to the side of a group of Torovan nobles, also ahorse. The nobles looked across to him, and General Zulmaher at his side. They nodded. Their leader, Duke Carlito Rochel, brought his horse across to stand beside the Lord of Rhodaan.

“It seems we are expecting an attack,” said Alfriedo. All the army stood ready, a huge force of men, shields in place, making a great wall, flames from the city reflecting in polished shields and helms.

“Yes,” said Carlito, drily. “And it seems that we have been relegated to the side, we Pazira and our fellow outcasts.” His noble companions smirked without humour. Members of the Rochel clan, Alfriedo guessed, and their allies.