Joel Shepherd - Haven

For a moment, there was silence. Sasha's hopes rose.

“Perhaps the greatest warriors were on your side,” Myklas replied. “But not anymore. The Hadryn ride here now.”

There rose a growl of approval from the black horsemen. It rose to a cheer. Some Isfayen smiled, greatly amused by such foolishness. Others spat, or glared.

“So you're a full-fledged Hadryn warrior now?” Sasha asked. “Myk, you weasel your way out of attending temple every chance you get. You can barely recite the First Prayer.”

“This isn't about that,” Myklas retorted. “I've ridden with these men in battle. They are my brothers.”

“Your brothers are fanatics!” Sasha's temper grew short. Myklas was young and often stupid, but she'd never thought him cruel. “Ask them what they tried to do to the Udalyn! Ask them what they will do to serrin children if-spirits forbid-they find any!”

“At least I'm no traitor!”

“Myklas, they're using you! They build you up with kind words, but the Hadryn have always sought the throne for themselves. That's all this is!”

“You underestimate your brother!” said Lord Heryd. “I said that he was the best of us in the Battle of Shero Valley, and I meant it. With little experience, and not yet an older man's strength, he showed himself one of the most formidable warriors on the field. It is to the honour of Hadryn that he rides with us. In a few years, I am certain he shall best even his brother Koenyg.”

Even from this distance, Sasha could see Myklas sitting taller in the saddle to hear Lord Heryd's words.

“Myklas, you ride with murderers!” Sasha shouted.

“Look who's talking!” Myklas retorted. There was laughter from the Hadryn.

“Baby killers!” yelled an Isfayen, which set off a raucous exchange of insults across the water.

Someone splashed into the shallows at Sasha's side. Sasha looked, and found Rhillian. “Baby killers?” Rhillian asked, in mild amazement. “Have you civilised the wild Isfayen into moral paragons?”

Sasha shook her head. “It's not the baby, it's the lack of challenge the baby presents.”

“Oh,” said Rhillian, sadly.

“You're not too far wrong though, it's only been a generation since the Isfayen would happily slaughter entire villages. But Markan's father Faras was a wise man, he sent his children to Baen-Tar for education and he worked with the priests to change the Isfayen notion of honour. Or rather, he narrowed it, to what you see today.”

“I am sad then that Great Lord Faras died by a talmaad arrow.”

“He'd only compliment the archer's accuracy,” Sasha replied.

“Speaking of which,” said Rhillian, “I have some archers. I'll not harm your brother, but I'm fairly sure we could take Lord Heryd.”

“No,” Sasha said quietly. “This moment should be done right. Lenays need their symbolic moments, let's not spoil it.”

The remaining day passed in a blur. Lenay soldiers came across the Pirene in a trickle and then a flood. First came cavalry, and then footsoldiers, formed up in larger groups for defence, with other cavalry holding back to protect them. Some told stories of harassing raids by northern cavalry and some Larosans. But mostly, it seemed that what remained of the Lenay Army, beneath the command of King Koenyg, had ceased to advance. What came on now was the new Lenay Army, and it had no king.

The rains returned, and Sasha rode from group to group, to cheers from some and dull stares from others. Always the instruction was to make for the main road from Shemorane and follow it, for its path followed the Enoran Steel's retreat. News came from messengers that the Army of the Free Bacosh had entered Shemorane, less than a day's march away. Sasha doubted they would pursue, with the ceremonies at the High Temple about to commence, but cavalry elements certainly could. The Regent's army had better than a hundred thousand men, including tens of thousands of horse. The Lenays had to put distance between them, even if it meant marching through the night.

She was talking with some Rayen cavalry when a group of galloping Isfayen caught her eye. There were perhaps twenty, yelling and whooping, swords held high as they raced through the rain. They wheeled toward Sasha's group, and Sasha saw that the main body of men were in fact surrounding a girl, dressed in men's clothes, who was holding aloft not a sword, but something melon-sized and covered in hair. Predictably of the Isfayen, it was a head.

The group galloped past, and Sasha saw that the girl was Yasmyn, her eyes blazing with triumph. It felt wrong to smile at something so uncivilised. But Sasha found herself grinning.

“I almost don't want to ask,” said the Rayen man she'd been talking to, “but whose head was that?”

“Elias Assineth,” Sasha said cheerfully. “Cousin to the Regent.”

“You must have eyes like a serrin to see his face.”

“I didn't,” said Sasha. “But nothing else could make Markan's sister so happy. And Elias was commanding the forces that attacked the Pirene. She must have charged him.”

As the last stragglers broke into a run across the fields so as not to be left behind, Sasha finally returned to the road. There marched the Army of Lenayin, its battle order now a total mess, with provinces mixed together, men from south, west, and east walking or riding toward the south. Sasha rode through the fields beside the road, and at the crest of a hill, gained a sight of the road ahead. The column wound through the deepening gloom, into the heart of Enora. Men of central Tyree and Baen-Tar, of eastern Taneryn and Valhanan, of southern Rayen and Neysh, of eastern Isfayen, Yethulyn, and Fyden. Only the northerners of Ranash, Banneryd, and Hadryn were missing.

Soon she found Damon and a group of nobles on a hillside, watching the army pass. Sasha hugged him, and learned of his battle with Koenyg. He was in pain from his wounded side, yet seemed somehow triumphant. The nobles numbered thirty, from various provinces, and said they knew of as many again who rode elsewhere in the column. It was only a small portion of the total nobility, most of whom had stayed with Koenyg. Many of them watched Sasha warily, as though wondering who was now truly in charge-Damon or his sister. Sasha did not think that a question she was ready to answer.

Again she remounted her horse, and rode for the head of the column. And again she was halted, as someone on a cart amidst marching warriors yelled her name. Sasha peered, as the voice was familiar…and her heart stopped as she saw who it was.

She urged her horse to jump a low wall beside the road, then reined alongside the cart and leaped aboard. She hugged Andreyis, and burst into tears. Andreyis hugged her back, cheerfully, then introduced her to the other wounded men in the cart. Sasha barely took in anything, demanding again and again to know how he was not dead as she'd feared.

He told her, as a serrin girl riding alongside took the reins of Sasha's horse. The girl held the reins of one other horse that Andreyis claimed was now his, a gift from the monks for saving the High Temple. And that was a tale, which he told with relish, his young face alive with an odd combination of enthusiasm and confidence that she could not recall ever having seen in him before. Sasha listened, and every word was acknowledged by the men in the cart. One in particular proclaimed Andreyis a great hero, and that man, to Sasha's amazement was named Hydez, a Hadryn Verenthane. Sasha told him he was now probably the only Hadryn in the column. Hydez replied that his honour demanded he fight at Andreyis's side.

Sasha would happily have spent all evening in the cart, but with the darkness falling, she had to get to the head of the column. First she asked for Tomli, who had been riding with the supply wagons. He'd been safe there, but would be safer here, in the company of warriors. Sasha was not willing to leave him behind with anyone, with the Regent's army still in pursuit. Then she reclaimed her horse from the serrin girl, whose name was Yshel, and had been originally tasked to bring the Lenay prisoners to Shemorane. Now, as events brought the prisoners back into the Lenay Army, she had decided to follow.