Joel Shepherd - Sasha

"Aisha insists she would wish you to have it," said Errollyn.

"Me? Why? These things are expensive, Errollyn. It should be passed on to her family, and then on to their children…"

"Not so expensive in Saalshen," Errollyn corrected. "Only here. That steelwork is not a technique we share with humans. In Saalshen, it's no rarer than any other blade."

"But even so…"

"You don't understand," Errollyn told her. "Tassi rode all this way because she had some hope that there were old and ancient ways amongst humans that were worth saving. She had hope that humanity itself was worth saving, and that in the saving, there would be good for serrin as much as humans. If the uma of Kessligh Cronenverdt, the greatest Nasi-Keth of Lenayin, does not represent that hope, then no one does. Tassi gave her life for that hope. Allow her blade to continue to serve, even as she cannot."

Sasha gazed at it for a long moment. "If you wish to return it to her family one day," Errollyn added, "you may do so in person. But I suspect they shall tell you exactly what I have."

Sasha undid her own empty scabbard and replaced it with Tassi's. Her shoulder hurt-more wrenched than damaged, she thought. She'd been lucky. Unbelievably lucky, when she recalled her blade breaking. If that had happened a moment earlier, she'd be most likely dead. Serrin steel was not supposed to break. But her blade had been old, she knew. Everything broke sometime.

She found Peg amongst the horses by the riverside, drinking knee-deep in the flowing waters of the Yumynis. He whinnied as she dismounted, and came to the riverbank to greet her. Sasha stroked his nose and hugged his neck. Errollyn had found him wandering, sniffing fallen riders, searching for her. But he had recognised Errollyn and Errollyn's horse, and allowed himself to be led to the riverbank. Sasha took off her boots and waded into the cold water to give him as much of a rubdown as she could, without daring to remove his saddle lest some emergency happen.

Two of her vanguard riders were also present, haggard but desperately apologetic for having lost her in the confusion. Sasha waved their apologies away, commended them on their valour and asked after the missing two. One was dead, she heard, and the other wounded, but expected to live. She could not internalise so much suffering so quickly. She found her mind wandering to thoughts of Kessligh, his reactions when faced with memories of the Great War, and his occasional, unbridgeable distance. All this time, she'd been living with a stranger. Only now was she coming to understand him.

She was leading Peg ashore amidst the mass of riverside activity in the torchlight, when Captain Akryd arrived and embraced her.

"You were right," he said apologetically. She could see his face properly for the first time with his helm removed. It was a homely face, round and ruddy, with only the tracings of spirit symbols about one brow and temple. The face of a farmer, or a husband, or a good father. "Forgive my opposition, M'Lady. We'd have suffered far worse than this had we stayed in Ymoth, with the outcome yet uncertain. This has been a glorious victory, and it is truly yours."

"No," Sasha said quietly. "It's theirs." Nodding to the men about, particularly back to where the wounded and the dead lay.

"Aye, M'Lady. We found Lord Usyn slain on the battlefield. Several senior lords, also. Hadryn is severely wounded, no wonder they retreat in such disorder."

Sasha blinked. Usyn dead. Just like that. She did not know who would be in command now. He had a younger brother, she recalled… but too young to be on this ride. The great Hadryn army was leaderless. "They'll fall back into the valley now," she said quietly. "They'll know we have suffered losses, and will delay. They'll know that Prince Koenyg will ride behind us and they'll hope to hold out long enough for Koenyg to rescue them."

"Aye." Akryd nodded. "They have little other choice. Does M'Lady wish to make camp here?"

Sasha shook her head. "This is too exposed to the rear. The moon rises. We'll ride tonight, force the Hadryn far up the valley. We can rest when we're camped."

Akryd bowed. "I shall make arrangements."

Approaching midnight, and the clouds had cleared. The moon burned in the sky above the Udalyn Valley like a small silver sun. To either side, the valley sides loomed, bathed in moonlight, their broad slopes patched with fields and forest, grain and paddocks. Little cottages watched over their respective lands, some high on the furthest slopes, others nestled on the banks of the river, or hidden amongst folds in the valleyside. The Yumynis flowed broad and straight down the valley centre, flanked by green pasture and fields of grain. Its waters gleamed silver in the moonlight, and the entire majestic valley seemed to wait, and watch, with hushed anticipation.

Sasha rode near the head of the column, along a road that lifted slightly on the sloping right bank of the river, and felt her skin prickle uncontrollably beneath her clothes. The air seemed warm as a gentle southerly breeze blew from behind their backs. She had never been here before, and yet it felt as familiar as the Baerlyn Valley.

She felt herself filled with longing. She wanted to call up Andreyis from the column behind, and talk with him as they once had talked-as children on the hillside by the ranch, eating fruit from one of Madyn's orchards, and talking about horses, or swordwork, or the doings of other Baerlyn children, and how stupid they all were. But Andreyis had survived his first battle with glory, a rider from the rear had told her, and now rode with his comrades as an equal for the first time.

Now she felt more apart from that idyllic childhood world than ever. Kessligh, the towering pillar of those years, had become someone far different than she'd realised. Andreyis was no longer a boy, but a warrior, blooded in battle. Baerlyn had lost Dobyn the drummer, whose wonderful rhythms would no longer fill the Steltsyn Star on a rowdy evening, and Tesseryl the farmer, who would no longer share fresh mountain olive and goat curd with his neighbours. Farmer Lyndan, from whom Kessligh had often bought chickens, had lost a hand-a common enough injury in cavalry exchanges. But he'd been in good spirits, declaring that he and Geldon the baker could now compare stumps, and that chickens required no more than five fingers anyhow. Nothing was as it had been, and there was no going back.

Ahead, Sasha realised that someone was singing. It was a low, gentle voice, barely audible above the plodding of hooves and the shifting of harness. But it was beautiful, and strange, of lilting melody and haunting melancholy. The singer did not seem to wish to bring attention to herself, yet all murmured conversation behind ceased as men listened to the song. It was Aisha, Sasha realised, and her voice was fair indeed.

She seemed to sense, then, that the attention was on her, and sang louder. Clear notes drifted on the moonlit air, high against the soaring valley sides. Sasha could not make out the exact words, but it seemed that she sang of a lost friend, of suffering seen and partaken in, and of beloved lands, family and friends far away. The gentle swaying of Sasha's saddle seemed in time to the ceaseless murmur of the never-ending river, and the vast, beautiful silence of the fields, farms and cottages. She found herself thinking of all the strands in her life that had brought her to this point-of Krystoff and Kessligh, of Torvaal and her mother. And those more recent faces-Sofy, Damon, her friends in Baerlyn, and Andreyis and Lynette in particular. Jaryd. Captain Tyrun. Of friends made upon the road, and then lost forever.

Tears prickled at her eyes. To her side, she saw that Sofy too rode with tears in her eyes. And yet, for all her sadness, she rode with a newfound confidence, straight-backed and certain in the saddle. Whatever the tears, her eyes never stopped wandering as she gazed about at this legendary sight in wonder. Sasha extended a hand down to her. Sofy looked up, clasped her sister's hand, and smiled.