“But I hear the Ilduuri Steel is strong?” said Kessligh.
Rochan nodded. “Strong, yes. And more friendly to our cause than most Ilduuris—Ilduur society is isolated, but their army is not; we often train with contingents they send to us. They have less artillery—it's hard to use in the mountains. Their cavalry are good, but less so than Rhodaani and Enoran cavalry. Their infantry is the best of us all. Fewer formations, more individually skilled. Longer blades. I warrant they'd give you Lenays a fair contest.”
“Unlikely,” said Sasha. “But good to hear.”
“And no use to us at all if they will not fight,” Rochan finished.
“We must persuade them,” said Kessligh. “Councils are never unanimous. If Ilduur had a king, then likely his mind would already be made, and all our asking would count for nothing. But councils have factions. Probably there will be one faction that will want to help, but is currently outvoted, even if it is only the Steel.”
He looked to Aisha and Petisse for confirmation. Both nodded. Rochan, Sasha noted, was watching Kessligh intently, while seeming not to. Did it rankle the great general that this foreign usurper was slowly winning command? Rochan commanded the Enoran Steel, General Geralin the Rhodaani, and Rhillian the talmaad. But only Kessligh could see the whole picture, and knew how to forge all the distinct forces together into a working defence. From the look on Rochan's face, Sasha thought that he was reluctantly reaching the same conclusion as she.
Now, if she could only corner Damon, and figure out once and for all who commanded the Army of Lenayin.
“We will send a delegation from the front,” said Rhillian. “We can appeal to their emotion. We have seen the crimes that unfold here, and we can foretell what further crimes shall come, to us and to them.”
“Who?” Kessligh asked.
“It must be me,” Rhillian replied. “The Ilduuri have never liked their Bacosh fellows, not those in the Saalshen Bacosh, nor those across the hostile border. They distrust Saalshen too, yet Saalshen at least retains access to Andal, and will be listened to. A senior of the serrinim must lead the delegation. It must be me.”
“Who will command the talmaad?” asked Rochan, with some alarm.
Rhillian levelled a finger at Errollyn. Errollyn stared back at her. Kessligh looked thoughtful. Then he nodded.
“Excellent choice,” he said. Errollyn said nothing.
“Aisha must come too,” said Rhillian. “As a scholar she is invaluable. Kiel's council too I value. And I will need warriors. I think it likely there is more than merely ideological differences holding the Ilduuri back. A general may have taken power over the council, or perhaps some other tyrant. We may need to fight.”
“I'll go,” said Sasha. All looked at her.
“Are you not in command of the Army of Lenayin?” asked Rochan.
“Prince Damon commands the army.” Sasha decided then and there. “He is better trained in large formations than I, many men are. I would do a good job, but others could do better. In the Northern Rebellion, I was surrounded by experienced warriors who did much of the thinking for me and presented me with decisions.”
“I too, even now,” said Rochan. “Your uman as well, I'm certain. Half the skill of good command is choosing able seconds and thirds. Admitting such a thing does not make a commander less capable.”
“Have no fear, General,” Sasha said with a smile, “no one who knows me would accuse me of modesty.” There were more smiles at that. “I merely speak the truth. Where I have true skill and experience is in irregular warfare. And politics. I will be more useful with Rhillian.
“My main purpose with the Army of Lenayin is as figurehead. But men do not need to see me here every day to know I am on their side. Staying here may cause complications, as not all the men of Lenayin love me and my pagan ways. Of Damon, there can be no dispute.”
Damon was watching her, grimly. Like Errollyn, he said nothing.
“She's right,” said Kessligh. “She has talent for command, but her primary strength is alone. She's wasted tied down to a large formation. She can also speak for Lenayin, and the example of an army of foreigners, who now fight to save Saalshen and her friends. She can be persuasive.”
Sasha caught Errollyn looking at her. Reunited for barely a moment, and now she was leaving him. Her look was apologetic. But she could see that he understood. If they were to have any future together, first they would have to win. That was all that mattered now.
The armies resumed their march, with the Army of Lenayin going first on the road, with lighter forces that would not churn the surface for those marching behind. The Lenays were exhausted, and fell out thankfully to camp that evening. As fires were coaxed from damp wood, Sasha watched Kessligh prepare vegetables with some spices for a traditional Lenay raal, and reflected how nice it was that there was no need for sentries tonight.
There was a jostle at the waterside amidst men and horses from various formations, yet from their banter, Sasha sensed the presence of something she had not felt from these men for weeks. It was not quite pride, she thought. The Army of Lenayin had split, its new king abandoned, with most of its lords and the three northern provinces in entirety. It was nothing to feel proud about. Yet there was an uprightness in the men, a confident determination, that had not been present even days before. She puzzled over it as she rubbed down several horses in turn.
When finished, she returned the horses to the nearest muster of animals on a grassy bank, and made her way through the camp. Lenays and Enorans sat together, sharing food and drink, and attempting communication. Sometimes there were serrin there to translate, and sometimes men found a tongue in common (usually Torovan) but often not. Yet somehow, it did not matter. Men gesticulated wildly, and laughed often, as attempts to make oneself understood became as entertaining as the substance of conversation itself. Sasha had often found it so in Lenayin, where barely a third of all peoples spoke the so-called common tongue. Sometimes, friendships between foreigners were easier without words in common, as all that came across was “friend,” expressed in a thousand different ways. These men were so happy, and so relieved to be friends, that it was a great joy just to move amongst them, and listen to their laughter.
At camp with Kessligh, Damon, Errollyn, and Rhillian, she sat and ate. For a while they discussed provisions, roads and weather, the drudgery of command that consumed so much time yet was never retold in the grand campfire tales. Then talk turned to the Ipshaal River.
“The Regent will cross opposite Verlin,” said Rhillian. “Several days’ march downriver from Jahnd, there are marshes between him and it. The Verlin tributary, it flows into the Ipshaal at that point and disappears into a bog. It can be skirted, and will delay his arrival further at Jahnd, yet he will not mind so much.”
“Damn,” Sasha murmured. “I had hopes for a riverbank defence.”
Kessligh nodded. If they could cross the Ipshaal first, and then defend the far bank as the Regent tried to follow, it could be a slaughter. But the bog that Rhillian described would prevent Jahnd's defenders from deploying in force on that portion of the riverbank, while all the Regent needed to do was find a single road to bring him onto firmer ground. Rhillian described a firm bank, with marshlands beginning just beyond. Any force defending that riverbank would be unable to make an orderly retreat across or around the marsh.
“Still tempting,” said Damon. “If he lands directly on the marsh bank itself, or on the edge of it to deprive us of defensive footing, we could deploy off to the side on firm ground, and trap him in the bog.”
“Maybe,” said Kessligh. “Or he could build a large force on the marsh bank, form a bridgehead defended by artillery so we can't get our own artillery close enough to use without losing it, and soon we'll get stuck in a nasty, muddy fight we can't retreat from, and even if we kill him at two or three to each one loss of our own, we still lose.”
“It's horrible terrain,” Rhillian agreed gloomily. “Nasty to assault and nasty to
defend. He'll not be so considerate as to land within range of our artillery, but manoeuvring there is very difficult; he could build up a large force before we can make any position to attack it, and then not do all that much damage even when we do. The positive side is that he'll take weeks longer to land all his forces, and manoeuvre around the marsh to Jahnd. But winter is far away, he's not short of time.”
“And if we put all our forces on the opposite riverbank,” Kessligh added, “he'll just land a big force somewhere else. Boats are fast, and that part of Saalshen is wild, with forests and mountains alongside the marsh. We can't move fast enough to defend it against all the possible places he might land, and though it will make his movement a nightmare too, as Rhillian says, he has time. He'll build up a bridgehead somewhere, and then we still risk being stuck on the wrong side of the marsh when we have to retreat. I'd rather defend from Jahnd, where the terrain all favours us. Presuming we can actually get across the river ourselves,” he added, with a glance at Rhillian
“We can,” said Rhillian with a faint smile. “Just watch.”
“Oh, and Sasha,” said Kessligh, remembering something. He reached into a pocket, and pulled out something that might have been a bracelet. He tossed it to her. “En eth'athal. You are free.”
Sasha frowned, and looked at the bracelet. It was an emyl, a traditional Lenay bracelet, to be given by father to daughter when she left home with her new husband. Traditionally it marked the coming of womanhood, while still affirming the ties with her old family, helping her to recall where she was from. Some joked that it was a warning, from father to new in-laws, that if they mistreated his daughter, they would still have him to answer to.
Then Sasha recalled what Kessligh had said. About the fireplace, people were smiling. “Oh, come on,” she exclaimed, “you have to make a bigger effort than that! You can't just cut me loose with a bracelet!”
Everyone laughed. “I got it in Tracato,” said Kessligh. “From a trader who didn't really know what it was, only that it looked pretty.”
Sasha pulled it tight around her wrist. It wrapped well and would not flap about, far better for a swordfighter than a necklace that would bounce around. Sasha had never worn jewellery before in her life.
“It is pretty,” she said. It was made of leather strips, three bands like her tri-braid, and steel rings. And an embedded amulet, of obsidian, shaped like the sun. Nothing fancy, but heavy with meaning. It suited her well. “Thank you.”
She got up and embraced him. She was no longer his uma now, and those thirteen and more years of trial had come to an end.
“I should have done it a while ago,” Kessligh admitted, reading her mind. “But there was never a good time.”
“And ‘growing up’ is always relative with Sasha,” Damon added. Sasha scowled at him.
“This is a curious combination of customs,” Rhillian observed. “A Lenay emyl with the uma'lanin.”
Sasha looked at the bracelet as she lay in bed with Errollyn later that night, her bare arm in the air, lit by orange coals. Around them was forest, with only a few other serrin camps. Privacy, for the two of them, on their one and only night together.
Errollyn held up his own arm, with the armguard marks still about his own wrist, where an archer would always wear it. He had other marks too, deep scars. Sasha's scars were more faded, but a few would never fade completely.
“Look,” she murmured. “Some couples have matching jewellery. We have matching scars.”
“I think perhaps what some call ‘character’ is in reality just a collection of scars,” he replied.
Sasha smiled. “In Isfayen, they say, ‘Never trust a man with no enemies’. In Valhanan, they say, ‘Never trust a man with no scars.’”
“The older I get, the more Lenay I become. How disturbing.”
Sasha buried her head against his shoulder, and they lay together beneath blankets, and listened to the night wind in the trees.
The School of Arts and Music was closer to Sofy's idea of heaven than anything scripture had described. She sat in a great recital hall and listened to the most talented musicians she'd ever seen play the most wonderful compositions she'd ever heard. Her retinue sat about, clustered Tracato nobility, some high-ranking red-coats, even a few Ulenshaals from the Tol'rhen, the great Nasi-Keth centre of learning. Jeddie sat at her side, entranced.
Along the walls stood knights of her Larosan personal guard in full armour, and Blackboots of the local Tracatan militia. She had not wished to attract such a crowd, but her tours of the city were all the talk on the streets, and Tracatan society followed her, literally. She'd toured perhaps half of all the grand buildings and institutions of Tracato, and she'd been here three days. So far, the School of Arts and Music was her favourite.
“What a wonderful concept!” she exclaimed to the Tracatan Premier Chiron, who walked at her side as she reluctantly took her leave. “I had never thought to make a central place for talent in an art such as music.”
“And how is music practised in Lenayin?” Chiron asked politely.
“Well, as a part of life. Music is everywhere in Lenayin, at weddings and dinners and celebrations of all sorts, but it is something passed on from father to son in villages all over Lenayin, not in the one central place.”
Her mind was alive with possibilities. Imagine starting such a school in Lenayin. She should suggest it to Koenyg, he was the one who'd insisted that this war would bring civilisation back to Lenayin. Well, perhaps that civilisation could start here.
Premier Chiron walked with her to the grand entrance. He was a small man, polite, serious and dour. Sofy thought he had good reason to be dour, given his position. Tracatans still called him “premier”; as head of the Rhodaani Council he had occupied a position equivalent to king, or at least to Lord of Rhodaan. But now Prince Dafed brought word from his brother Balthaar that no councils would be recognised, and all such institutions were disbanded effective immediately.
Dafed held court in the stronghold of Family Renine, the Ushal Fortress. Sofy, however, had declined similar quarters, preferring an offer from the Tol'rhen Ulenshaals to quarter there, in that amazing building. Sasha's descriptions had not done it justice, and from there the rest of Tracato lay at her doorstep. She could not recall having enjoyed herself as much as she had these last three days. Tracato was everything a grand civilisation should surely aspire to be—wealthy, philosophical, diverse, artistic. She could not quite believe that she, the younger princess of a highland kingdom far away, was now the Princess Regent of all of this…and soon, if her husband's victories continued, its queen.
She could make this work. Surely she could.
Jeddie gushed to the premier of the wonders she had seen, as they emerged at the doorstep of the school's main entrance. In the courtyard before the road, crowds of people gathered. Knights and men-at-arms of her entourage held them back from several royal carriages and a large number of saddled horses, but now the people all surged forward, and cheered just to see her. Sofy waved with delight. She had not expected a reception quite this positive—these were conquered people, whose army had not lost a war in two centuries, and now retreated in humiliation to Enora, leaving Tracato defenceless. Yet now they received her as though she were their liberation.
She made her way through the jostling crowds, accepting flowers offered to her by several, waving and smiling at others. Beside the royal carriage, she found Jaryd waiting for her.
“Where have you been?” she asked with a sudden affectation of disdain. She climbed into the carriage. Jaryd followed, and a noble who had been about to join her was forced to look for alternative transport. Jeddie and Premier Chiron did join her, the carriage only big enough for four.
“Around,” said Jaryd, adjusting his sword to fit against the seat. The carriage doors shut, and they clattered off. “Dafed holds council with representatives of the Elissians. I think you should too.”
“Jaryd, I have no time,” Sofy replied, waving to the c
rowds. “There is so much to learn about this city, I am quite content to leave talk of armies and such to Dafed—that was Balthaar's intention in sending him. I am here to think in larger terms, about what will become of Tracato under my husband's rule.”
“Sofy, the Elissians have an army, thousands strong, half a day's march from the city. Many of them want revenge for their most recent defeat, and if they grow upset enough, you won't have a city here.”
“Balthaar will not see this city destroyed,” said Sofy. “That's why he sent me, in full knowledge of my predilections. I mean, what an enormous risk for him, Jaryd. A new wife, from a faraway land distrusted by so many of his advisors, and he grants me a responsibility so large as this. He is making a statement to his allies about how his rule shall be. He admires the power of Tracato, and wishes to learn from it. I shall help him do so.”
“Sofy,” Jaryd tried again, “you're assuming he has more power than he actually does….”
“Please, Jaryd,” Sofy cut him off. “Not in front of our guest.” She glanced to Premier Chiron. “We should not discuss such things so publicly. Please take no offence, Premier.”
“But of course not,” said Chiron, with a slight bow. “And if I may, Your Highness, I see the Elissians not so much as a threat to us but an opportunity. All these people who cheer you, they cheer because they think you will save them from the Elissians. When Tracato heard that the Steel was defeated, many panicked and left. But most stayed, because their lives are here, and because they heard that the Regent would recognise the old feudal rights, thus placing young Lord Alfriedo Renine at the head of Rhodaan. I myself have no difficulty in stepping down from my position, and yielding to Alfriedo, if it is in the best interest of Tracato and Rhodaan.
“But still they feared that some retribution would be in order, now that the Steel was not here to defend them, from the Elissians in particular. And now you have arrived, sent by the Regent himself, and you do not preach revenge or destruction, but respect and love. The people were frightened that you would demand the destruction of so much of their beloved city, yet now you tour the great sites. The Elissian threat will rally the people of Tracato behind you, Your Highness. You are their salvation.”
Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four Page 15