Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four (2 page)

Even viewed from the head of an invading army, Rhodaan looked beautiful. Sasha rode in the second group of the column. Ahead rode the cluster about her brother Koenyg, King of Lenayin, comprising of several northern great lords, the southern Great Lord of Rayen plus the princes Damon and Myklas. Ahead of them, a short vanguard of Royal Guardsmen in gold and red, flying the royal banners most prominently.

The second group was led by bannermen of Isfayen, Valhanan, and Taneryn. Behind, the respective great lords of those provinces, Markan, Shystan, and Ackryd. Each had several loyal lesser lords for companions. Sasha, for her part, had Markan's sister Yasmyn and Jaryd Nyvar.

Ahead on a bend of road, Sasha spied a scout, waiting as his horse grazed. The man remounted as King Koenyg approached. Koenyg joined him on one side, Prince Damon on the other, while the scout described something up ahead. Koenyg gave orders, and one of the lords peeled away to fetch men from further back in the column. Damon halted his horse until Sasha drew level.

“There's a town,” he explained. Damon had always been the most dour of King Torvaal's children. “By the river ahead.”

“The Larosans didn't burn it, did they?” Jaryd asked darkly.

“No. The scout says it seems an important post for river trade. Best we go and check.”

Sasha detected that he was not making a request. There was something else, then. She nodded.

“I would come,” Great Lord Markan declared.

“No, brother,” said Yasmyn. “The entire noble vanguard does not ride on scouting missions.”

“If the king shall demean himself on scouting missions, why should I not also?” Markan said stubbornly. Yasmyn scowled, and switched tongues to Telochi, the primary native tongue of the Isfayen.

Tempers were short all along the Lenay column. Only in the last few days had Koenyg declared mourning for King Torvaal over. Since then, banners had flown high instead of low, and the white of funereal mourning taken down from the column's head. Moods, however, had not improved.

The Army of Lenayin marched in disgrace. The opening battle of what the Larosans now named The Glorious Crusade, had been fought in two parts. The massed armies of the so-called Free Bacosh, led by the most powerful feudal province of Larosa, had mustered north, before the border of Rhodaan. The Army of Lenayin, with some assistance from Torovan, had mustered south, to assault the border of Rhodaan's neighbour and steadfast ally, Enora. The assault on Enora had been primarily a diversion to keep the Enorans off the Larosan's southern flank. The Enoran Steel, like the Rhodaani Steel, had never been defeated in all its two centuries of warfare, but nonetheless, most hotheaded Lenays had expected to win. Lenayin fancied itself a nation of warriors, and the greatest exponents of the martial arts in all Rhodia. It had been the first time ever that all the disunited and squabbling provinces of Lenayin had fought together as a single army, united for a common cause.

They had been defeated, sent running before their foes, leaving perhaps a third of their number, four of their provincial great lords, and their king dead upon the field. Instead of the great victory to bring glory to Lenayin, there was nothing for Lenayin on this lowlands crusade but unbearable shame.

Now the Army of Lenayin marched in the wake of the victorious Army of Larosa. That rankled all the more, to walk behind a foreign army, allies though they were. All knew well, in the theory of such things, that this victory was as much Lenayin's as Larosa's. Lenayin had engaged the Enoran Steel with only a little advantage in numbers, and fought them harder and bloodier than the Enorans had ever been fought…indeed, if not for the heroism of a last, suicidal charge by serrin
talmaad
of Saalshen, who fought on the Enorans' side, outcomes might well have been different.

Lenayin had retained enough force, and rocked the Enorans back on their heels hard enough, that the Enorans had been unable to make a direct march north to assist their hard-pressed allies in Rhodaan. Without such support, Rhodaan had fallen to the vastly superior numbers of the Larosan Army.

Koenyg rode out from the head of the column behind a cluster of Royal Guards, Damon at his side, and several younger lords as well. Sasha followed with Jaryd and Yasmyn, and no few scowls from the northerners as they passed them. On such short scouting rides, it had been agreed that numbers about the king should be limited, as speed was the greater defence, and too many riders on narrow roads would only get in the way should there be an ambush. The great lords, to Sasha's relief, remained behind.

Sasha could not see any life in the fields they passed. She knew this land a little, having lived several months in Tracato during the troubles there, before abandoning everything she'd thought she was serving to return to the only cause she had left—her people, and her nation. Always the farmlands about Tracato had been full of life, farmers working their fields, children playing around the farmhouses, carts and shepherds with their animals on the roads. Now, there were only the birds in the trees. Even the animals were missing from the fields.

Soon the village came into view on the far side of the winding river. It was pretty, as were most Rhodaani villages, its yellow brick and red tile structures standing tall on the bank, making a line of colourful reflection in the gently flowing water. A low stone bridge crossed the river, another scout waiting at its end to signal the way was clear. The Lenays clattered across, banners high. The village had the look of a ghost town.

“At least they didn't burn it,” said Jaryd. Several villages further back along the road had not been so fortunate. Sasha had been surprised at the strength of Jaryd's disgust back then. Jaryd had been a nobleman once, the heir to the Lenay central province of Tyree, no less. A fall from grace had led him to convert from the grand, noble faith of the Verenthanes to the rural paganism of the Goeren-yai. Sasha had thought him largely done with the trappings of nobility, and indeed he seemed quite happy to dress in the rough cloth, leathers, and skins of a Goeren-yai warrior, grow his hair long, and own little besides his horse and sword. But now, he seemed in great distress at the wanton destruction of lovely buildings and works of art in the little courtyards that seemed to occupy the centre of every Rhodaani village.

“It is too pretty to burn,” said Yasmyn. “Even the Larosans must have some standards.” From Yasmyn, such remarks surprised Sasha even more than from Jaryd. Yasmyn was Isfayen, daughter to the Great Lord Faras, slain in the Battle of Shero Valley, as the great conflict against the Enoran Steel was known. She had ridden with the Army of Lenayin as handmaiden to the Princess Sofy, Sasha's sister, now safely wed to the Larosan Regent Balthaar. Her parting from Sofy's service had not been amicable, as Balthaar's men had raped her in retaliation for her attempted defence of her princess.

Yasmyn now wore the red scarf of the
angyvar
—or “the impatience,” in translation from Telochi—with dark markings of ancient symbols, and fading, self-inflicted scars on her cheek. Two gold rings in her left ear indicated some success so far, representing the heads of two of her attackers, delivered to her father as proof of honour restored. Sasha understood that there was still one left.

But Sasha was surprised all the same to hear any concern from Yasmyn for a mere village. The Isfayen were renowned as uncompromising warriors even by the standards of Lenayin. Whatever Yasmyn's hatred for Lenayin's allies in this war, Isfayen honour would not typically allow sympathy for an enemy, even an enemy who fought against Larosans.

As they came upon the far bank, Sasha saw waterwheels slowly churning the river currents. The riders turned onto the main road, past the buildings that flanked the river. The road was narrow between tall stone walls, and hooves made a clattering racket on the cobbles. There were no people in sight, but no destruction either.

“Perhaps they all ran away,” said Jaryd. It seemed likely.

“Perhaps the Larosan raiding parties finally missed a village,” Yasmyn added. That seemed less likely. The Larosans knew Rhodaan well enough, having plenty of Rhodaani spies who had drawn maps for them. They seemed to be hitting every village anywhere near their army's advance, and many that were not near at all.

Sasha did not reply. She knew that she had not been talkative company lately. Much of the time, she simply did not feel like speaking…which, amongst those who knew her before, was regarded with grave concern. Her father King Torvaal had died at Shero Valley, though she had neither known nor loved him well. Far worse, her dear childhood friend Teriyan Tremel had also died, and her even dearer childhood friend Andreyis had never been found in the aftermath. She retained a faint hope that he had been taken prisoner.

And her lover was on the other, Rhodaani, side and the Army of Lenayin now marched toward him. Kessligh Cronenverdt, truly the closest thing she had to a parent, was also on the other side. Fighting against Enora had been one thing, where she knew that neither Kessligh nor Errollyn would be numbered amongst the enemy. Fighting the Rhodaanis would be another matter entirely. There were times at night, as she stared at the stars, when she wondered if she would not rather have fallen at Shero Valley. At other times, she wondered if it would not be too dishonourable to fall still, by her own hand.

Sasha saw the Royal Guards ahead reach for their swords. Then the shock, and the staring. She had suspected it would come, eventually, as they drew deeper into Rhodaan, and encountered villagers who had perhaps, for whatever reason, thought not to run.

The courtyard was a temple courtyard, with a big tree, gnarled and swollen before the temple steps. Hanging from the tree were perhaps twenty corpses. Some had been disembowelled, entrails swinging in glistening tangles. Some were women. Several were children. An older man was tied to the tree, his corpse and much of the trunk feathered with arrows, where soldiers had used him for target practice.

“Get them down,” ordered Koenyg. No one moved. Koenyg stared at one of the young northern lords. The youngster, no more than eighteen, looked offended.

“My king,” he said, with a thick Hadryn accent, “you surely cannot expect such work to fall to me?”

“I expect,” Koenyg said sharply, “that a Lenay man marching to war will follow his king's instruction.” In any land but Lenayin, such a firm tone from the king would have been followed by rapid obedience.

“But my lord!” the youngster protested. “Find me a formation of Rhodaani Steel to charge single-handedly, and I shall gladly do it! But to perform such rank and lowly duties as this, I should be dishonoured before my peers.” His accompanying lordlings nodded their agreement. “Get the guardsmen to do it.”

Koenyg ground his teeth. “They have the distinction of actually being useful,” he growled. Sure enough, the Royal Guardsmen now ringed the courtyard, swords drawn in defence of their king and Prince Damon. “Go then and ride back to the column. Tell them not to ride through the town, tell them on my order to stay to the northern bank, and follow the road there until we can rejoin this road further ahead, perhaps at the next bridge.”

“The road on the northern bank is inferior to this,” another lordling said, doubtful. Koenyg's glare saw him swallow the rest of his protest.

“No,” said Damon, gazing up at the grisly, swinging bodies. “Have them come through the town. It is quicker, and safer. The north bank is better ambush country.”

Koenyg turned on his brother, half-wheeling his horse. “I swear, does no one in this column take my orders? We hold them to the north bank.”

“Something to hide, brother?” Damon suggested.

“Something they need not see,” Koenyg retorted. Their stares locked. Predictably, it was Damon who looked away first. His expression was that of a man who had swallowed something foul and could find no place to spit.

“I'll ride back and find some men to come and clean up this mess,” said Sasha. “I think perhaps fifty of the common cavalry should do it.”

Koenyg turned his glare on her. “Sasha, no! Don't you dare.” Sasha's return stare held none of Damon's uncertainty. Hers held utter unconcern for anything her brother might say. Koenyg opened his mouth to command further, then closed it again in frustration. He knew that she would not listen. He saw that she barely cared if he tried to kill her.

Sasha turned and rode away without awaiting a dismissal. Once away from the clattering road and onto the dirt road beyond the bridge, Yasmyn had questions.

“Why was he upset that you'd ask the common cavalry?” she asked.

“Because it's a mixed mob behind the vanguard that have all mingled and become friendly whatever their province,” Jaryd answered for Sasha. “They roam the length of the column, carrying messages back to their respective provincial commands, and they're the worst gossips in the army. They'll tell the whole column what they saw in the village.”

“Ah,” said Yasmyn, as she understood.

“Some of those Larosans will be held to account for this,” Sasha muttered. “One day they will.”

It was a struggle to find a place to train in the evening. Sasha finally found a spot down by the reeds at the river's edge, where she performed her takadans, and found some interest in the poor footing. A warrior craves a perfect footing, Kessligh had told her often. Deny him that, and your advantage increases.