Joel Shepherd - Haven

Rochan exchanged looks with his companions. He took a deep breath.

“Well,” he said. “Our armies watch us, and wonder what we say. They fear our parley shall not end well.”

“Few things have of late,” said Sasha, with a faint smile. “Shall we give them a happier tale?”

She dismounted. General Rochan also dismounted. And then, in clear view of both armies, they embraced.

Into the air rose a great cheer. It came first from the Enoran line, Sasha realised with faint astonishment. It had the sound of desperation to it, and wild relief. Of frightened men who had been on the verge of losing everything, who now once again found hope.

There came an answering cheer from the Lenays, and the two armies ran at each other across a field for the second time in a month. Yet this time when they met, all weapons were sheathed, and instead of blows, men of different lands separated by half the world exchanged embraces, handclasps, laughter, and tears.

It took Koenyg a while to compose himself. He took that time on his way into Shemorane, amidst the silent entourage of his remaining vanguard. The northern lords rode proud and defiant, many now holding their Verenthane stars aloft on poles or great banners brought along for the purpose. Until now, most had hidden those symbols, upon Koenyg's command. Goeren-yai in the Army of Lenayin fought for Lenayin, not for some great crusade of the Verenthanes, and Koenyg had not wished them offended to the point of anger. But now, all such concerns were gone, and some of the northern lords, instead of being angered at developments, looked actually quite pleased.

His first response was rage, yet now that he thought about it, Damon was probably right to judge his tempers with contempt. Temper would solve nothing here. In fact, what now resolved before him was opportunity, pure and simple. His father had warned him of this, numerous times. “The Goeren-yai will like this war at first,” he'd said, in one of those conversations they'd dared not share with Damon, and certainly not with Sasha. “They know nothing of the Saalshen Bacosh, save that their king has declared it a land to be conquered. But the eastern Goeren-yai will not like to fight the serrin directly, and in time, their discontent may spread. Lowland honour is not highland honour, and what Bacosh men may find glory in doing will not seem so glorious to many in Lenayin.”

King Torvaal Lenayin had been unsuited to the leadership of Lenayin. He had made a fine start, commanding victory over the Cherrovan invaders in the Great War, with the help of his general, Kessligh Cronenverdt. But that had been a matter of simplicity, Lenayin against the merciless invader. Clearly the gods were on Lenayin's side, and Torvaal had commanded with conviction.

Yet once the Cherrovan were defeated, few things in Lenayin were so clear. Torvaal had attempted to reach out to the Goeren-yai, and to Saalshen, with his Nasi-Keth Commander of Armies training Torvaal's eldest son Krystoff as heir to the Lenay throne. But the lords and the north had fought back, leading to Krystoff's death, Kessligh's resignation, and the departure of Sasha from the royal family. Verenthane power in Lenayin was too entrenched to accept the vision that Torvaal had proposed, and the gods had punished him for it.

Fearful of the gods' anger, Torvaal had spent the rest of his life attempting to appease them, and seeking forgiveness for the mistake that had cost him his heir. He should have known then, Koenyg had long thought, what the correct path was. And yet he had refused. Koenyg often thought that Torvaal's long period of retreat and prayer in temple was not purely about the death of his heir. Nor was it an attempt simply to regain the gods' affection for himself and Lenayin, as many suggested. His father had prayed to the gods to seek their forgiveness for the thing he should have done, and yet could not. The Verenthane faith was the great and growing power of humanity. A good king, a real king, would make clear to the population of Lenayin that such was to be Lenayin's destiny as well. A real king would lead. Yet Torvaal, devout Verenthane that he was, refused.

And now the gods had claimed him too.

Koenyg was determined that he would not repeat his father's mistake. It did not matter that much of the population of Lenayin would not willingly follow. In the new world that loomed, to be divided was to die, and he loved Lenayin too much to see it dismembered by the great new powers that would arise following the Saalshen Bacosh's defeat. King Soros had liberated Lenayin, and brought a degree of unity, but only a small degree. King Torvaal had defended Lenayin, yet in general maintained a status quo.

Now, King Koenyg would unite Lenayin, by whatever means he must. He had hoped that that unity could be achieved in the forge of war, with the willing participation of the Goeren-yai. But now the Goeren-yai refused, and sought to cling to their futile and dying ways. Well, he had known it might come to this one day, when he was king. It had happened earlier than he'd thought, and in a different location. But now, finally, the struggle to unify Lenayin, and make it strong for the challenges to come, had begun. And here in the lowlands, he had the united Army of the Bacosh to support him in his cause.

Shemorane was wet with rain. The Army of the Bacosh was filing through its main road, an endless line of men and horses. Ahead rose the great spires of the High Temple, and as the Lenay party rode toward them, even the hard faces of the northern lords began to soften, their eyes raised to the weeping sky with awe.

They emerged into the temple courtyard, and mounted knights made a cordon before the High Temple's steps, as the common men of the army marched past, kneeling to the priests who stood beside the road to bless them, their eyes also raised to the sky.

Within the knights' cordon, nobility gathered and climbed the stairs, and embraced with joy. There would now be a grand service, Koenyg suspected, for the return of the Shereldin Star. He was pleased at least that he would be present for that.

He left the horses guarded nearby and climbed the wide steps, past watchful Bacosh lords. Within, the High Temple preparations for ceremony were already underway, the hurried deployment of drapery along the walls, and rushing priests with candle holders and prayer shawls. In the middle of the long pews, talking in hushed tones with several lords, Koenyg spotted the Regent Balthaar.

Balthaar turned as he approached.

“So,” said the Regent, somewhat cautiously. He had heard. They all had. Now he expected Koenyg to grovel in humiliation. Koenyg refused. “I hear it is bad.”

Koenyg shrugged. “A pagan rebellion. It is unfortunate. Yet the cream of Verenthane Lenayin remain with me, and are loyal to the cause.”

“More so than ever,” Heryd added from behind, with hard certainty.

Balthaar's eyes flicked to Heryd for a moment, then came back to Koenyg. “You have lost…three-quarters of your strength?”

“At least,” Koenyg agreed.

“An embarrassment.”

“Pagans,” Koenyg repeated. “A dying breed. Their dying shall begin here.”

Balthaar's lips pressed thin. “This could create for me a problem. We outnumber them greatly, yet pagans or not, this betrayal now strengthens the hand against us. You are certain they will fight?”

“Eastern pagans are leading them, they always liked the serrin. They'll fight.”

“And yet you brought them anyway,” observed one of Balthaar's lords, coldly. “Even knowing how dubious was their loyalty.”

“They are Lenay,” Koenyg replied. “That was supposed to be enough. Evidently not.”

“And now the numbers against us grow,” Balthaar continued. “Enora's losses were large, and Rhodaan's even larger, yet with Lenayin to bolster them, to say nothing of those troublesome talmaad , whose numbers will assuredly grow larger as we draw closer to Saalshen, our difficulties increase.”