Joel Shepherd - Sasha

She saw one man, a Verenthane, with short hair and an eight-pointed medallion upon his chest, kneeling by a fallen comrade. He was weeping. His comrade's long hair fell about the man's legs, the motionless head in his lap, sightless eyes gazing skyward from within a spirit mask of intricate dark curls.

Then Sasha saw a horse she recognised and rode across the slope toward where several soldiers had gathered three wounded so far, and were attempting to aid them. Others carried a fourth even now, an arrow in his stomach, and resisting strangled screams at the pain. Jaryd was assisting as best he could, one-armed. A slim girl in pants and a jacket knelt by another man who was struggling to breathe, a shaft in his chest. She clutched his hand tightly in her own, whilst trying to pour water from a skin into his mouth, waiting for those treating the next man in line to find time to move on.

Without a word, the serrin dismounted and began unstrapping saddlebags for their medicines. "Sofy?" Sasha said hoarsely, still in her saddle. From within the walls of Ymoth, there came now the sounds of battle, cries and clashing steel. The smell of blood was everywhere, and the sweat of horses. Sofy did not look up. "Sofy, I'd rather you weren't here. There could be a counterattack any moment, this is still hostile land and you're right on the field they'll come from."

Sofy looked up. Her face was pale, her brown hair windblown and tangled. Blood specked her cheek. Her eyes, strangled with emotion, also burned with something deeper, and far, far harder than Sasha had ever seen before. "Go and win the war, Sasha," the youngest princess of Lenayin said quietly. Her voice quavered, but only a little. "Go and give orders elsewhere. I'm busy."

"Rysha, you have to stay with Essey! It's dangerous!"

Daryd had left Esey in the grassy enclosure within the walls, now crowded with other horses. Everywhere there were foreign soldiers, shouting orders, mustering horses by the enclosure's stream for a drink, searching for feed. There were clusters of prisoners, stacks of weapons, and armour, and the occasional dead body- although mostly the fighting had not spread this deeply into town.

"I want to see Mama and Papa!" Rysha shouted at him, very upset.

"Rysha, no!" Daryd was so frustrated, and so scared. How could he explain to a little girl? How could he make her see without terrifying her? "Look, there's bad men all through the town, it's not safe for you! Stay here with Essey where there are good men to look after you

…"

"No, no, no!" Rysha yelled, her eyes tearing up. "I want to see Mama and Papa! I'll go without you, I will!"

Daryd knew it was no idle threat-cautious Rysha did not make threats unless she meant it. He gritted his teeth. "Okay… come on."

He took her hand and ducked through the timber fence. The town looked so achingly familiar… and yet so different. Timber houses, and some stone ones, to either side of narrow, paved streets. Many gardens were damaged, fences destroyed, fruit trees stripped of their bounty. Some houses were missing windows… and he saw with shock as they rounded a corner that where Yuan Wenys's house had stood, there now lay a crumbled, charred ruin.

Rysha gasped. "Yuan Wenys is going to be so angry!" Daryd pulled her aside as some soldiers came running up the path. Down some steps, Daryd saw a pair of boots sticking out from the bushes surrounding the house of Yuan Fershyn. He pulled Rysha on quickly, but Rysha spared the body barely a glance. "Daryd, where is Yuan Wenys?"

"I don't know, Rysha." Daryd tried to keep the fear from his voice. "I think he'll be in the valley, Mama and Papa too."

"Why can't they be here?" Rysha protested, as if about to cry once more. "I want to see them now!"

Oh please, please, please don't let them be here, Daryd wished at the spirits, harder than he had ever wished anything before in his life. Please let them have escaped.

The stream that ran through the heart of Ymoth was crowded with soldiers, some walking, some resting, some drinking from waterskins. Daryd wondered why they weren't drinking from the stream like Papa always did when he returned from the training hall across the little bridge. Grasping Rysha's hand more tightly, he half-ran along the streamside, past the front verandahs of familiar wooden houses, past Mrs Karnysh's berry bushes, past the old tree that leaned out over the stream. The swinging rope still dangled above the water. He'd thought he was so brave the first time he'd swung on that rope. But now he realised that he hadn't truly known what bravery was.

And then it was there, their house by the stream bend with a good view over the main wall, and a glimpse of the wide Yumynis beyond. The fruit trees were bare, but the yard seemed intact… Rysha dragged at him, desperately, but he refused to release her hand. There were a pair of soldiers sitting on the verandah, helmets in hand, looking sweaty and tired.

"Mama!" Rysha cried as they leapt the stair and pushed in the front door. "Mama! Papa!" The front room was a mess, the table overturned, chairs broken. Mama's kitchen pots were smashed, the contents of shelves strewn across the floor. Papa's swords were missing from their wall rack, however, and most of the pots and pans were too. Mama and Papa must have taken them, Daryd thought with a surge of unspeakable relief. They must have taken what they could and headed for the valley. The men would have defended the bridge and bought time for the women and children. More warriors would have come from the valley to help-he'd heard his father talking about it with other men before, all the plans they'd made in case of attack. Surely that was where they all were now.

They searched the rest of the house and the rear yard, but found only ransacked rooms and torn vegetable plots. When they returned to the main room, Rysha was in speechless tears. "I told you, Rysha, they've gone to the wall!" Daryd insisted. "They'll be safe there. It's good they're not here, it wasn't safe here."

He looked up, realising the two soldiers had followed them into the main room. One was Goeren-yai, with long hair and tattoos, the other short-haired with a Verenthane medallion. Both looked concerned. The Verenthane asked him a question, indicating the house around them. "This is your house?" he seemed to be asking.

"Aye, this is our house," Daryd replied, helplessly. Had all the other villagers escaped also? All his aunts and uncles, nephews and nieces? Smyt the blacksmith? Agry the farmer's son, who was a bit funny in the head, and his right arm didn't work properly, but who was always cheerful and smiling when Daryd went to market to buy vegetables for Mama's cooking? Old Mrs Calwyn and her many rabbits? He didn't know, he just didn't know…

The two soldiers exchanged grim looks. The Goeren-yai said something else, beckoning Daryd to come. Something in his manner was very serious and his gesture was not that of an adult to a child, but more the invitation of one man to another. The Verenthane soldier came and scooped up Rysha, who cried on his shoulder, having lost all fear of Verenthanes somewhere along the ride, especially after long days in the company of Princess Sofy. Daryd went with the Goeren-yai soldier, who led him from the house, the other man following close behind with Rysha.

They walked downstream, past soldiers and the broken debris that had been the streamside market stall. The stream, Daryd noticed, was red. Men must have died in the water, further uphill. When they reached the main gate in the defensive wall, Daryd could barely recognise it. The training hall, which had stood beside the gate, was a pile of ash and charred timbers. The big trees that had surrounded the hall, and shaded it beneath wide branches on a summer's day, were strangely scarred, the bark torn in a series of half-circular cuts. And there were big iron nails driven into the trunks, with chains dangling from them.