He indicated to head north, away from the hills, and some serrin followed, others riding up close behind the heavily engaged human cavalry to shoot available targets from their horses, or merely to loose arrows into the middle of Kazeri ranks. Errollyn broke into a gallop, amidst many hundreds of other serrin also racing this way. Ahead was trouble: Kazeri had indeed come around the far flank, and Enoran men here were fighting a desperate defence to hold them away from their comrades’ rear.
Again the talmaad raced in, holding ground and shooting one Kazeri after another where that suited, or darting in close where the fighting was more desperate, abandoning bows for swords at close quarters. Errollyn put an arrow through one Kazeri who was locked in battle with an Enoran, then made a fast right turn to evade two more who came at him in pursuit. One of those fell to an anonymous arrow, and he pulled the blade from over his shoulder, and yanked on the rein to dart behind the second Kazeri rider, who reined up so fast his horse slipped and fell.
Errollyn abandoned him for someone else to deal with, sheathing his sword for the bow once more as immediate targets rapidly became fewer. He realised that the heaviest engagement was moving further away, and spurred after it. One Kazeri target presented himself, but fell to an arrow before he could fire. More made a spirited attack upon a group of Enoran cavalry, but the Enorans were superior, and simply cut them from their mounts with heavy blows and clever horsemanship. The rest, Errollyn realised, were running away. Men were cheering, waving swords in the air in victory. Another man, an officer, interrupted some of those celebrations by standing in his stirrups and yelling.
“Don't cheer! Chase them and kill them! Kill all of them!”
That would be unlikely, Errollyn knew. But men stopped cheering and galloped in pursuit, to try their best to do just that. No one knew why the Kazeri had attacked Enora, save for the predictable guesses of alliances with the new Bacosh Regent. They only knew, by long experience, that the best deterrent from such aggression was to make each episode as painful as possible for the attackers. Few captured Kazeri would see mercy here today.
If he chased hard, possibly he could spend his few remaining arrows on retreating Kazeri backs and bring down several more. Instead, he stopped, and allowed his horse to walk at leisure back across the pasture toward what had been the middle of the fight. He rode past bodies of the dead and dying, looking for surviving wounded from his side to help, and wondering on Sasha's Goeren-yai beliefs. Did she think that the souls of the men he'd killed would return to haunt him? Would they stand in judgement of his own soul when he died? Errollyn looked now across the carpet of dead and shrieking wounded, and missed her more than ever.
Most of the fallen were Kazeri. He dismounted to help stanch the bleeding of a wounded Enoran, then handed him to others as help arrived. Other friendly wounded were being collected, and the dead marked with a sword or lance point down in the turf, for rapid burial. They could not hold here long; the foot soldiers were now more than a day's march away, and the combined armies were split. The Kazeri had been taught their lesson, but could not be pursued. The Regent's army had massive cavalry too, and could race ahead of their own foot soldiers if they chose.
Errollyn found Andreyis ahorse amidst the confusion, and saluted him. Andreyis saluted back with a grin, and galloped to his side. His arm had healed enough for a fight, and now he looked the proper Valhanan cavalryman with mail and a shield—he'd fought on foot to this point for lack of a horse, but Errollyn had thought it daft for a cavalryman of his standard, and found him a spare.
“So much for the rampaging Kazeri hordes,” Andreyis remarked, looking over the carnage and saluting several other Valhanans.
“Fucking fools,” said Errollyn. “I hope their commander survives. If we've killed him, they might put someone in charge who knows what he's doing.”
“How do Kazeri find new leaders anyhow?”
“No idea. It's tragic. I'd always thought the Kazeri an interesting people, but I'd never actually met any before today. To think that some fucking tribe leader should lead them to this in the name of alliance with the Regent…”
“We should take prisoners and learn something about them,” said Andreyis.
“You can do that if you like.” Errollyn found it too depressing to contemplate.
“I will.” Andreyis looked quite certain. Errollyn wondered what he was up to. “To know oneself is to know one's enemy. Surely the opposite also applies.”
Errollyn blinked, realising that Andreyis had spoken that last in Saalsi. “I didn't know you spoke the tongue,” he said in kind.
Andreyis shrugged. “Kessligh and Sasha were always speaking it, I learned some. I was never as good as Sasha, though. I was embarrassed to speak it with her, my accent is terrible.”
“No, it's not,” said Errollyn, and meant it. A serrin rider approached at a gallop, bow in hand, and reined to Andreyis's side. It was a girl, with wild red hair. Errollyn recalled her name, Yshel. She looked delighted to see Andreyis, and he her. They embraced. Ah, thought Errollyn. “You two, talk to some prisoners. Find out more about the Kazeri, why they're here, who's in charge, what the Regent promised them. If you need translators, ask around, there's bound to be serrin who speak Kazeri.”
Andreyis and Yshel nodded, and Errollyn trotted on up the slope toward where he could see command banners forming. Partway up the hill, he found Kessligh, Damon and other commanders gathered by some banners. Kessligh saluted him grimly.
“It is against all natural laws,” Kessligh stated, “for a cavalry engagement to unfold that closely to the original plan. We have been lucky, but the luck was planned.”
“The formations work well,” Errollyn replied, unstringing his bow to save the wood. “Luck can't be made, but it can be channelled.”
The alternate formations of serrin and human cavalry had been his idea. Human cavalry was more suited to close contact, while serrin were superior at range. It had made sense to combine the two in a manner that negated each weakness with the other's strength. Actually making it work had been Damon's influence, him knowing far more about the fixed formations and principles of human cavalry than any serrin's more fluid notion.
Manoeuvring the army into this position in the first place, choosing the ground, and luring the Kazeri to follow them in, had been all Kessligh's doing. The man read landscapes the way Aisha read foreign tongues—with an almost unnatural and spine-chilling fluency. Kessligh gazed across his chosen fields now, eyes narrowed. “I think we got over a quarter of them,” he said matter-of-factly. “That was damn near thirty thousand total, though, so there's at least twenty thousand left, probably more.”
“I think we gained a few thousand new horses,” Errollyn replied. “There are easily more than a few thousand good Lenay horsemen without, so our cavalry have actually increased—we can't have lost more than a few hundred.”
“And our foot soldiers decrease in the process,” said Kessligh. “Don't disregard them; cavalry are more valuable now, but not where we're headed. If we're to cross the Ipshaal, I'm not even certain how many horses we can take with us. The Ipshaal is wide, and there are no bridges.”
“That was you on the right flank?” Errollyn asked Damon.
Damon nodded, wiping a sweaty brow. “I nearly wasn't fast enough, they just came on like a river around that flank.”
“But you were fast enough. That was expertly done, to deploy that line so cleanly.”
Damon looked unconvinced. Errollyn did not like that. Perhaps it was that his two brothers remained on the other side. Or perhaps Damon was just being as Sasha had always described him—cynical, put-upon, never finding things quite as perfect or proper as they ought to be. There was, Errollyn had to concede, quite a lot about the present situation that might lead a man to find it so.
“They thought they were a match for us man-to-man,” said Damon. “They'll not make that mistake again.”
“No,” Kessligh agreed. “Unless they're completely stupid, they'll make themselves a
part of the Army of the Bacosh from now on, and join their forces to the whole. We've not seen the last of the Kazeri…and with them, the Army of the Bacosh regains a large part of what they lost when the Army of Lenayin left.”
“No,” said Errollyn. “We just proved that thirty thousand Kazeri aren't worth even a portion of the Army of Lenayin.”
“Thirty thousand Kazeri poorly led,” Kessligh corrected. “If I were Balthaar Arrosh, I'd put Koenyg in charge of the Kazeri from now, as most of Koenyg's force is cavalry.”
“Koenyg won't know what to do with them,” Damon snorted. “He'll have even less respect for them than we do.”
“Then perhaps he'll spend their lives callously,” said Kessligh. “But a callous spending can still buy great value. Koenyg will know how. I know him, as you do.”
Damon bit his lip and looked grim.
“The Kazeri may not wear it,” said Errollyn. “They'll have their own factions and leaders, and pride in who leads and why. Like you said, we must reach Jahnd first—cavalry will then be less important than foot soldiers, and twenty thousand surviving Kazeri won't make too much difference either way.”
It was as optimistic a view as he had to offer at that moment.
“At least we're now assured of who's in command,” Damon remarked to Errollyn as they watched Kessligh progress across the hillside, offering commendations and instruction to mounted officers who followed. His hands moved in wide arcs, describing formations of cavalry across the fields, like a lagand captain coaching his team on tactics after a game.
“You could do it,” Errollyn told him.
“I'm not at his level,” Damon scoffed. “No one is. The man's a legend, and it's a title well earned.”
“If Koenyg loses, you're king.” Damon said nothing. “I know it is hard to think on,” Errollyn persisted. “For all that has passed between you, he remains your brother.”
“Don't think I'd regret the victory,” Damon muttered.
“Easy to say,” said Errollyn. “Harder to live with. But I'm not talking about your personal battle. To the men of Lenayin who have followed you this far, you are king now, not Koenyg.”
“They followed Sasha, not me.”
“Sasha told me you were grumpy. Listen to me. It doesn't matter what you feel about what they did or did not do, or what motivates them to do one thing or the other. What matters is how things stand. That is how a king must view things, concerned only with how things are, not how he feels about them, or them about him.
“Kessligh commands this battle, and that is good, because he is the best of us all. With any luck, and if Sasha and Rhillian can convince the Ilduuri to come and fight, we may still win. But if we do, then Lenayin will still need a king. And the men of Lenayin shall either emerge from this trial believing in you, or not.”
“Have you ever seen such peaceful lands as these?” Damon sounded almost wistful. “Before this war, it must have been wonderful. All this prosperity, achieved with no king at all.”
“Lenayin is not Enora,” Errollyn warned. “You still need the fair and independent hand of a higher power there, or else all the regions shall start fighting once more….”
“Oh, I know, I know…” Damon sighed. “But I wonder. If the progression of humanity lies in moving beyond kings, can any king make such progress as to make himself unnecessary, and step down? Could I, had I been on the throne fifty years? Or will that progress always come with war, and the fingertips of royalty clutching to that bloody chair until the bitter end?”
“I don't think this has anything to do with you suddenly doubting the necessity of Lenay kings,” Errollyn said solemnly.
“There's nothing ‘sudden’ about it. I think I've always been like Sasha in some ways, doubting the high virtue of royalty.”
“Or perhaps your cynicism merely infects whatever thing is closest to you.”
Damon stared at him. He seemed about to be angry. Then he smiled faintly. “Perhaps. And perhaps Sasha should do it. Be queen, I mean.”
“If you inflicted that upon her, she'd be very unhappy.”
“It's not supposed to be about what makes her happy, is it?”
“I'd be very unhappy,” Errollyn added. “To say nothing of the majority in Lenayin not yet enlightened enough to accept a woman on the throne, greatest swordsman in Lenayin or otherwise.”
“We go presently to war against most of those,” Damon reminded him. “If we win…” He didn't need to finish the sentence. This holy crusade to unite the Bacosh, and to unite the provinces of Lenayin at the same time, had instead reignited the embers of Lenay conflict that had first flared in the Northern Rebellion beneath Sasha's unwitting leadership. Now those embers made a full-fledged bonfire. This was now a Lenay civil war, where certain old questions would be answered for once and all.
Whichever side won here would undoubtedly return home to continue the victory there. If Koenyg won, nobility would be strengthened and the Goeren-yai attacked, missing much of their best defence lying dead upon these Bacosh fields. If Koenyg lost…well, the course of action then would lie with whomever sat upon the vacant throne of Lenayin.
“Oh, come on,” said Errollyn, as an image occurred to him. “Can you imagine Sasha as Queen of Lenayin? Cooped up for days mediating squabbles between lords and village heads over taxes, marriages, and boundaries? She'd go insane.”
“And I wouldn't?”
“You wouldn't make everyone else suffer to similar degree,” Errollyn said pointedly. “You don't have a temper like a wildcat in a snare.”
“Just like Sasha to be rewarded for her instability,” Damon said. “I don't want to be king. I don't want to shrivel up inside like father did. I don't want to become a tyrant like Koenyg would like to be, if he could ever gain power enough over ordinary Lenays to be so. I'm not made for that kind of power, and it's not made for me.”
“So make it into the power that you wish it to be.”
“It doesn't work that way.”
“For men whose dreams entwine with the wild sinews of mountain lands, all is possible.” It was Tullamayne Errollyn quoted. One of those lines that stuck to the memory in any tongue.
“Why is it that serrin quote more Tullamayne than Lenays?” Damon complained.
“Perhaps for the same reason that Lenays are here fighting with us,” Errollyn said with smile.
Sasha reined her horse to the side of the road to gaze back across the foothills. They were not far now from the Ipshaal, and the boundary between Ilduur and Enora. But their pursuers were drawing closer.
Sasha could see them clearly, traversing a fold of hillside across the valley, where the road cleared an exposed shoulder of land. They were alarmingly close, near enough to count individual men and see the glinting decoration on saddle and bridle. But as always in such country, distances were deceiving—the valley between them was steep, and the Kazeri now faced a difficult descent, then a sharp rise up to Sasha's present position. As Sasha watched, the line of riders went on and on.
Their best guess was one hundred. Certainly the Kazeri had some idea who they chased, and to what purpose. Five nights ago they had decided to forgo sleep and cross the gap to the serrin/human camp by starlight, only to meet with serrin ambush and fifteen dead. Several more Kazeri had injured themselves falling from unseen rocks in the increasingly rugged hills…one, Aisha insisted, had tumbled straight off a cliff. They had not tried such a night approach again, and the two groups had camped each night a suitably safe distance apart.
Kiel had argued for a night attack of their own, and had gained Rhillian's permission to scout the Kazeri camp on several nights. But the Kazeri had selected their camps well, atop steep and exposed approaches with no trees for cover. Kiel had manoeuvred upslope and taken two Kazeri guards with arrows, but had then spent much of the remaining night returning to camp, and been exhausted the following day. Rhillian, Kiel, Aisha, and Arendelle made only four serrin in the group, and Rhillian judged that they would exhaust or sa
crifice themselves in continuing such attacks, thus leaving their human companions exposed, and the entire mission in jeopardy. Whatever her preference for aggressive tactics, Sasha had to agree—she stumbled on rough ground even in moonlight and, without sight, her swordwork suffered.
Nearby, Daish was slumped on the grassy verge, looking pale. Aisha kneeled alongside, helping him to drink. Sasha joined them.
“How bad?” she asked in Lenay.
Aisha just shook her head and looked worried. The most recent bandages to Daish's side were red with new blood. Constant riding had not given the wound a chance to properly heal. They could not leave him now—towns in these hills were too isolated and too vulnerable to the Kazeri warband behind. And the townsfolk they'd passed were not friendly anyhow.
“We should reach the Ipshaal by nightfall tomorrow,” said Aisha. “If the border guards let us in. Then we can stop running…but all of this riding isn't doing him any good.”
“Hey,” Daish said weakly. “No mumbling about me in foreign tongues. It makes me think you're saying things you don't want me to hear.”
“We are,” Sasha teased. “There was a girl in the Tol'rhen who claimed she'd slept with you, and you weren't any good. We were discussing whether she spoke the truth.”
Daish managed a smile.
“I think not,” said Aisha, helping him sip more water. “Surely not.”
“What was her name?” Daish asked after the swallow.
“Peala,” said Sasha. “Long hair, always in curls.”
Daish managed a laugh, weakly, so not to hurt his side. “I never touched her. I have more taste.”
He clasped Aisha's hand. Aisha clasped it back and, as Daish closed his eyes to rest, she gave Sasha a worried look.
Yasmyn stood further up, scanning the way ahead. “The horses are struggling,” Sasha told her and Rhillian. “We can't hold this pace much longer.”
“I think our pursuers will try to push the pace,” said Rhillian. “They need to catch us before we reach the Ipshaal.”
“If the border guards let us cross,” Sasha countered. She sipped from her waterskin and swatted at a fly. “It's hot in Kazerak; I reckon Kazeri horses will handle this heat better than ours. If we push this hard for two days, we'll have them falling dead from under us. Hills are one thing, hills and heat together are a killer.”
Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four Page 22