Joel Shepherd - Sasha

"And you went along with it," Damon accused him. "Why keep it secret? Is this how all Lenayin will be ruled from now on? You, Father and Dalryn, making decisions for the kingdom that are so unpopular amongst the people you don't dare even tell them?"

"You speak for the people now?" Koenyg said dangerously. "You sound just like Sasha."

"You Ignored Sasha," Damon jabbed back, a forefinger extended, "and you ignored the Goeren-yai, and they brought all your precious plans crashing down around your ears. Ignore me if you like, and ignore Sofy and ignore all the people you've infuriated-that's your choice. But if this is what you and Father call leadership, I fear for Lenayin, because the kingdom can't take much more of this!"

For a brief moment, Damon thought Koenyg might strike him. One hard fist balled on the reins and his dark eyes blazed with anger. Then he snorted contemptuously and rode his prancing stallion ahead and across, cutting them off. "This is what happens when you spend all your time with girls," Koenyg said to Myklas, loudly enough that the guardsmen and soldiers nearby could hear. "You start to believe that men will love you just by smiling prettily and complimenting their shoes."

He dug in his heels, leapt the adjoining paddock fence and raced across the fields, weaving between abandoned tents as he went, his guardsmen in pursuit.

"I hope he falls and breaks his neck," Damon muttered as he and Myklas continued down the slope toward their father and his entourage.

"No you don't," Myklas replied, watching him with wary eyes. Damon matched his gaze. Whatever Myklas had hoped to see there, he didn't find it. "I hope Sofy comes back soon," Myklas sighed. "Last I saw Alythia, she was screaming that "that mangy bitch Sasha" had ruined her wedding and that her husband would arrive in the midst of this chaos and there wouldn't be a proper reception to greet him. Sofy's the binding that holds this family together, everyone says so. Without her, we'll all kill each other."

"Only now she's being married off to foreigners," Damon muttered. "Maybe Father and Dalryn want us to kill each other."

"No offence, Damon," Myklas said with typical matter-of-factness, "but if it ever comes to that, my copper's on Koenyg."

The rebel column rode onward in the brightening morning, two abreast along the road and sometimes three, then thinning to single file in parts where the forest closed in, or the road climbed steeply to clear a ridge. Sasha noticed that the vanguard appeared to have doubled to as many as ten riders, in addition to several scouts who made brief, random appearances to declare what lay ahead, before galloping off once more. Sasha suspected that the increase was due to Sofy, who now rode several places behind Sasha, at Jaryd's side. Royalty always demanded extra protection in the mind of any loyal officer. Sasha considered sending Sofy further back in the column, but decided against it. Any ambush would likely strike mid-column or to the rear. The column's lead, shielded by the vanguard and forewarned by ranging scouts, was probably the safest place of all.

Jaryd rode in constant pain, his face pale and grim. He had eaten and drunk, but had not spoken. A soldier who knew healing had cleaned his wounds and rewrapped his bandages. The leg wound was a flesh wound, he'd said, but it was not infected and would heal well enough in time. Sasha wished she had a moment to ride at Jaryd's side and talk to him, but the road required her attention. Besides, she would occasionally hear Sofy's light attempts at conversation, and the stony silence that followed.

For a while, the weather closed in with light rain and a gusting, swirling wind that tore at the treetops and scattered the road with falling leaves and needles. But then, just as Sasha began to fear that the road would become a muddy bog for those further back in the column, the rain ended and sunlight speared through lighter, scattered cloud. Craggy, sheer faces of rock climbed clear of the trees in places, looming above the road. At times, Sasha consulted with Captain Tyrun about possible ambush spots, but the scouts' reports remained positive, and the residents of one village turned out to greet them with cheers, ten mounted warriors to join the column, and some fresh provisions, which Sasha directed to the men further back. Food, at least, was one thing she would not have to worry about.

Approaching midday, the road was noticeably beginning to climb. Ascending the winding incline of a thickly wooded valley, Tyrun fell back to consult with some of his officers. Shortly, his place was taken by a small, wiry horse, ridden by a pair of children. Daryd and Rysha, Sasha realised with amazement. The Udalyn boy looked up at her-a long way up, from his little dussieh pony-and gave a clenched-fist salute, as might one warrior to another on the road. He looked quite cheerful, loose brown hair falling about his face, his hunting knife worn at one hip like a sword. Rysha's gaze was more serious, yet her posture on the back of her brother's saddle was comfortable, as if she had ridden this way many times before. She still wore the same, mangled yellow flower in her hair, now mostly dead.

"Where in the world did you two come from?" Sasha exclaimed, regis tering only blank stares from the siblings. "Lieutenant Alyn!" she called to the rider ahead. "Have the children been with us this entire time?"

"Aye, M'Lady," the Royal Guard lieutenant replied. "Princess Sofy's maid helped them from their palace room. The lad's a good rider and his sister can stay ahorse well at a gallop. I thought it best for them to ride at the front where they have protection, and can possibly give directions when we draw closer to the valley."

Sasha gazed down at the children. Daryd was marvelling at Peg's glossy black flanks. "Big," he said, his one Lenay word. And grinned. "Big horse."

Two words. He looked very pleased with himself. Sasha found herself smiling. "Big horse," she agreed. And pointed to their pony. "Little horse." And repeated that, making big, then little sizes with her hands. Comprehension dawned on Daryd's face.

"Big horse Peglyrion," he said, pointing to Peg. "Little horse Essey," pointing to the pony. "My dasser horse." Dass, in Sasha's limited Taasti, meant father. Probably Edu was similar.

"Ah, your father's horse. Father."

"Fa-ther," Daryd repeated. "Father." His eyes were suddenly sad. Fearful. At his back, Rysha gave a whimper and reached forward to take her brother's hand. Daryd clutched it hard. Their family had lived in Ymoth, Sasha recalled, the town before the valley mouth. Krayliss had been right-when the Hadryn attacked, Ymoth would have been the first to fall.

Something growing to one side of the road caught Sasha's eye. Blue ralama flowers, growing in a little clump. She dismounted quickly, picked the flowers, and bounced back up from stirrup to saddle as fast as twelve years on horseback had taught her. She arranged the little bunch of flowers whilst riding with her hands free, as Daryd and Rysha stared in amazement at that feat of horsemanship. When the bunch was tidy, she grasped the saddlehorn in her left hand and leaned far out on one stirrup to present the flowers to Rysha.

Rysha took them, blinking in wonderment. Sasha pointed to her hair, encouragingly. Rysha took out the mangled yellow flower and looked at it sorrowfully. Daryd suggested something to her in Edu. Rysha was displeased and complained. She tucked the dead flower into the front pocket of her coarse-weave dress, and considered the ralama flowers more closely. Counted their bright blue petals.

"Verenthane," she pronounced.

Sasha blinked. Verenthane? And then she recalled the great, eightpointed patterned windows in the Saint Ambellion Temple. And, of course, the eight-pointed Verenthane stars worn about the neck of every devout fol lower. Eight petals on a ralama blossom. Lucky in Goeren-yai tradition, but holy for Verenthanes. Another point of commonality between the twin faiths of Lenayin.