Joel Shepherd - Haven

“What do they do?” an officer muttered by Sasha's side, as the army assembled.

“I'm not sure,” said Sasha. “I think maybe a ritual.”

“They line us up beneath their ridge,” said another man. “They make us occupy the weaker position. It is submission.”

“If they want us to kneel,” growled the officer, “then this meeting will be bloodier than the last.”

“Patience,” Sasha told them. Another less exhausted moment and she might have smiled, that she should be giving such a reprimand. “They don't even have their artillery set up.”

“How can you tell? We can't see beyond their ridge.”

“I can tell,” Sasha lied. “Just wait.”

It took a long time for the army to assemble. Finally, the last men left the road and found a place in the formation upon the field.

Several men rode forth from the Enoran formation, and came across the grass. Sasha looked around for Damon, but still could not find him. She cursed, and rode out alone. She angled left, across the face of the Lenay formation. Initially she looked for Damon, seeking to wave him out onto the field. Then she realised how bad that would look.

On a sudden inspiration, she reined her horse to a halt before a group of cavalry-Fyden men, she saw, from the features of their faces and the style of their clothes and armour.

“Who here speaks Torovan?” she asked them. A few hands went up. “You,” she said, selecting one man. “Ride with me.”

The man looked baffled. Sasha gestured impatiently, and turned her horse to ride out. The Fyden man followed.

Three Enorans had stopped upon the field. Sasha halted her horse before them, and the Fyden man did likewise, looking very uncertain.

“Sashandra Lenayin,” announced their leader. Sasha recognised him.

“General Rochan,” she said. “We meet again, on a field between our two armies.”

“I had supposed you the least significant of those I met on our last occasion,” said the general. “Now I see I was mistaken.” He was an average-sized man with narrow features and intense, watchful eyes. He had impressed Sasha then. Now, having fought against him, and seen his generalship firsthand, she was still impressed. “My sympathies about your father. Where are your brothers?”

“Prince Damon is here,” she said. “Where, I do not know. It's been a long night. Koenyg and Myklas ride with the Regent still.”

“I see,” said General Rochan. “And your forces of the north?”

“Them too, and most of the nobility, though not all.”

“Well,” said the general. He indicated his two companions. “Here I ride with Formation Captain Petisse and Artillery Captain Mauvenon.”

“You had another,” said Sasha, remembering. “Where is he?”

“Formation Captain Lashel was killed at Shero Valley. Captain Petisse was promoted on the field.”

“My sympathies,” said Sasha, and meant it. “Your men fought with courage and skill. Lenayin was impressed.”

“Our artillery did you great harm,” said Rochan. “We did not expect such ferocity from any army that had run through our barrage. Enora was also impressed.” He shifted his gaze to the Fyden man at Sasha's side. “And who is this?”

“I don't know,” Sasha admitted. Rochan looked puzzled. The Fyden man, scarcely less so. “Warrior. Who are you?”

The Fyden drew himself up in his saddle. “I am Kemrys of Fahd, son of Todyn of Fahd. I am a warrior of the Fahd Clan beyond the Idrys River, and I salute an honoured opponent. There is blood between us.” The introduction seemed as strange to Sasha as to Rochan-Fyden was a long way from her native Valhanan, and the men of Fyden made formal introductions differently.

General Rochan nodded in reply. He frowned at Sasha.

“You wish to know why we are here,” said Sasha, too tired for greater sophistry. “I could tell you, but any words from my mouth would be misleading. We are not like any people you have met, save perhaps for the serrin, in that we are not a people easily led. I could tell you what I think, but at the end of the day, what this common man of Lenayin thinks is of far greater consequence.”

Understanding dawned in the general's eyes. And, perhaps, new respect.

“Kemrys of Fahd,” he said. “You swore an oath to your king that you would ride against the Saalshen Bacosh. Why have you…” But Kemrys was already shaking his head. Rochan stopped, and invited Kemrys to speak.

“My oath was to follow the king into battle,” he said. “I knew nothing about the Saalshen Bacosh. Still don't…except that you fight well, and like serrin.”

“But you have now gone against your king,” Rochan pressed. “Help me to understand.”

“Kings are not born,” said Kemrys. “Kings are made.”

Sasha smiled. She knew the native wisdom of her people. Understanding dawned in the foreign general's eyes, and Sasha felt immensely, overwhelmingly proud.

“You felt he had not earned his kingship?” Rochan pressed.

“King for one day,” said Kemrys, with a sarcastic smile. “Koenyg swings a good blade, but ten men in my village swing a good blade. Ten men in my village cannot be king. Maybe here in the Bacosh, kings are born to rule. In my land, kings have to earn it.”

“You are in Enora now,” said Artillery Captain Mauvenon. “We have no kings-our leaders are chosen by their peers.”

“Aye,” said Kemrys, eyeing him thoughtfully. “A good custom, I think.”

“What proved to you that King Koenyg had not earned his crown?” Rochan asked.

“We heard stories,” said Kemrys. “Lots of talk on the way here from Lenayin. Said the Steel armies were unbeaten, said many things about your victories. Lenays admire victory. Others in eastern provinces said they liked the serrin…. Now we in Fyden haven't met many serrin. But the east insist the serrin fight well, too. So already, we're wondering why we're being asked to fight for an army that's done nothing but lose for two hundred years.

“Then we fight you. Some of us say you don't fight fair, with your fireballs and such. But you won. We never thought we wouldn't win. Not even once. We see the stories are true, and we start listening to all who know those stories.

“So when we come into Rhodaan, the talk all through the column is how the Larosan priests want all the serrin dead, how they're really after Saalshen…and we start really thinking about what we're doing here. I mean, we're Goeren-yai. Or I am, and now that the north and the nobility's gone, I reckon five in six of us are. We'll fight for Lenayin, but not for some crazy Verenthane crusade. And we see the smoke rising from the villages we pass.

“I went with some friends to take a look, just a short gallop from the column. We saw some stuff. Lenays, you know, we like a good fight. What I saw wasn't a good fight. What I saw is the kind of thing that gets a family…um… esseryl etych?”

He looked askance at Sasha.

“A matter of honour,” Sasha translated for the Enorans. “If a warrior commits a dishonourable deed, in some regions they consider the whole family's honour stained. It can last generations.”

“Like killing families,” murmured the general.

“Children,” Kemrys said solemnly. “I saw children.”

“Me too,” said Sasha.

The Enorans seemed moved.

“And you, Sashandra?” said Rochan. “You returned to your people. And now you have split them?”

“No,” said Sasha, shaking her head. “Their heart and soul are with me still, and I with them. That which opposes us now was always the cancer of Lenayin. Now is our chance to defeat it, and remake Lenayin anew.”

“Your brothers Myklas and Koenyg too?”

“Aye,” Sasha said quietly. “But these are also my brothers. All eighteen thousand of them.”