Sasha atobas-1

by Joel Shepherd

  Sasha considered him as she blinked sleep from her eyes. Was it her imagination, or did he wear the sword at his hip with greater confidence now? And had he even filled out a little within his jacket?

  Andreyis poured the tea-it was strong, as he knew she liked it. They talked of the men and the horses. It had been another delight to discover that of her beloved horses, only one had been left behind at Ymoth, and that only for a strained hindleg.

  Teriyan had embraced her upon first seeing her after the battles, and had called her a "bloody genius," professing that he'd expected half of them to wind up dead even if things went well. "If you hadn't seen straight through that snotty little bastard, we'd have met them on even terms and lost five times as many men! You saved an incredible number of men, Sasha! We're all damn proud of you, and Kessligh will be too when he hears of it!" Which had made Sasha feel at least a little better, about Dobyn and Tesseryl in particular… but not enough.

  Halfway through tea, the front door opened and Sofy entered, carrying an empty bucket that held gardening tools, her hands smeared in rich, black dirt. "Good morning!" she said brightly, depositing the bucket on the table.

  "Highness," said Andreyis, and bowed.

  "Oh, stop that!" Sofy reprimanded with a slap at his arm. "Sasha, I've already told him that he's like an old friend, but he keeps bowing."

  "It is my honour and privilege," said Andreyis, with a faintly mischievous confidence.

  "I wish you'd bow like that to me occasionally," Sasha offered past her cup.

  "Not bloody likely," Andreyis retorted with a grin. Sasha and Sofy laughed.

  Many had seemed to expect Sofy to trade pants and jacket for her dress and resume princessly ways once some semblance of civilisation had been restored. Certainly any number of young soldiers remained ready and eager to wait upon her every need. And yet Sofy remained in the clothes she'd ridden in, alternating between those and some others she'd borrowed from the cottage, seeming to belong to a boy of younger years. When asked, she'd simply smiled and said, "There will be plenty of time for dresses later, I'm sure."

  Much of the past two days, she'd spent watering and tending to the gardens, accumulating dirt stains on clothes and face, and becoming sweaty in the warm midday sun. Sasha was sure that "happy" hardly described Sofy's mood. But it was equally plain that whatever unhappiness there was, the gardening was a part of the cure.

  Sasha went outside to sit on the wooden bench before the lower garden and survey the scene as she ate some breakfast. Sunlight fell upon the valley's far slope, although this, the eastern side, remained in shadow. Snowcaps upon the further mountains gleamed in the light, and the terraced fields, cottages, orchards and trails along the valley's western side shone in serene, golden detail.

  Across the valley floor below camped her army… if one could call it a camp. There were no tents, of course, although men were sharing empty accommodation on rotating shifts. There were many, many hundreds of horses across the green fields to either side of the Yumynis, and many thousands more back to the south. They were more than seven thousand, now, and more had continued to appear up until the king's arrival last evening. Even now, she could see perhaps three hundred horse to either side of the river, formed and ready, in case of action. At night, that number doubled, and shifts were constantly rotated. But the moon had been full and the Hadryn had not risked such overwhelming odds.

  Further north, the Hadryn camp appeared strangely orderly by contrast, white tents lined in neat rows across the fields. Black banners flew, and catapults stood at intervals along the line, their long arms drooping as the morning shadow crept across the valley floor. Men could be seen exercising and drilling, others moving about the tents, tending to fires and breakfast. Horses grazed on the grass, and opposing formations of infantry and cavalry remained also on permanent watch-their numbers roughly similar to what opposed them. A thousand remaining cavalry, it had been estimated, and another two thousand infantry. Not nearly enough to break through the force that had trapped them.

  Beyond the Hadryn, where the grassy fields turned to rising rock, and the valley sides began to draw together in steep, precipitous sides, a stone wall spanned the valley from side to side, its ends buried into near-vertical cliff. Blue and gold banners hung along the wall, the colours of the Udalyn, and warriors could be seen moving upon the battlements. There was a large single wooden gate on this side of the river, a smaller one upon the far side. Most amazingly of all, the Yumynis River spewed through a narrow cleft in that rock, a roaring spray of white foam. The Udalyn had moved the river, a long time ago. The wall's foundations spanned a dry, rocky depression where the river had evidently once flowed. They must have carved this steep, narrow cut themselves, diverted the waters into it, then built the wall over it. The scale of it amazed her.

  Several Udalyn warriors had climbed across the steep cliffs and around the wall by moonlight to tell those who could understand their broken Taasti that there were caves at the valley's end. Thousands of people were hiding there, having left their land before the advancing Hadryn wave, driving most of their livestock before them. Food for people and animals was constantly stockpiled in those caves, and the Udalyn were a long way from hungry yet.

  The wall was another matter, cracked and crumbling beneath the constant pounding of Hadryn artillery. In several places, the wall had collapsed entirely. The Hadryn had made four breaches, the Udalyn said, and then tried an attack. Even with four separate points of attack, their men had taken heavy casualties from arrowfire as they'd scrambled up the unstable mounds of stone, and had then met ferocious resistance at the top. The Hadryn had dismantled houses and fence walls in their thirst for ammunition, and many of their catapults had required repair. From her seat, Sasha could see new, developing breaches in the wall, where the sheer face was crumbling and leaning, and artillery stones were piled high at the base. Another two days, perhaps, and there would have been seven breaches. The Hadryn had been making more ladders too, using wood from the forests around Ymoth.

  Even the most confident Udalyn had admitted that would have been the end. They had been somewhat surprised to be rescued. Like Lord Krayliss, it seemed that they too had lost all faith in the mercy of Verenthane kings. Sasha wondered if despite their isolation, they'd somehow managed to know something others had not.

  Sofy joined her on the bench with a cup of water, but no food. "You've eaten?" Sasha asked her about a mouthful.

  "It's late," Sofy said with mild amusement. "You keep missing breakfast."

  Sasha restrained another yawn, and stretched her legs. "I haven't slept this well in years," she conceded.

  "Father will ask about me," Sofy said then. Gazing out across the Udalyn wall, and the opposing armies. The sound of drums drifted on the golden air. The Udalyn messengers had been disappointed that she refused to countenance wiping out those Hadryn who remained. They'd offered to coordinate an attack, pouring from their gate into the Hadryn's rear as Sasha attacked from the front. From the sound of the drumming, however, it did not seem as if they'd allowed their disappointment to get in the way of a good celebration. "He'll want to ask about the marriage."

  Sasha chewed for a moment as the porridge seemed to lose its taste in her mouth. "What do you want me to say?" she asked.

  Sofy sighed, and adjusted her ponytail. It seemed to Sasha that she might have even had it cut a little. Barely seven days ago, such a decision would have been monumental. "Say that I'll do it," Sofy said quietly. "Say that I'll marry that bastard. If it's what Father and Koenyg have truly decided."

  Sasha said nothing. She wanted to protest. Badly. But then… She placed a hand on Sofy's arm and gazed at her closely. "Are you certain? I have some bargaining power here, Sofy. We have much of the Hadryn army trapped, Father's most loyal supporters. Several of his closest northern lords also. Father and Koenyg will need such men if they wish to join the war in the lowlands."

  Sofy met her gaze, in sombre earnest. "I know," she replied. "I
know you have bargaining power, Sasha. And that's just why you can't waste it on me. I've… I've been doing a lot of thinking. This is just…" and she waved a hand at the view before them. "The things that I've seen in the last few days just make everything look different to what it did before. I mean, when I heard the word "marriage"… my head was so full of all the things Alythia has been fretting about, wedding preparations and ceremonies and whether or not she'd like her in-laws.

  "But it's so much more than that, isn't it?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Seriously, I can't believe I've been so selfish. All these men who live and die by the decisions people like us make. All of their families, deprived of fathers, brothers and sons. You've led a rebellion, Sasha. You've trapped the Hadryn, but now Father's forces have us trapped. You'll need all your bargaining power to gain clemency for these men, for the sake of their families. You'll need it to ensure the Udalyn are safer in future. Lenayin cannot remain so divided, or all this bloodshed will be just the beginning, won't it?

  "You can't put that at risk for me. When I found out Koenyg's plans I thought it was the worst thing in the world that could possibly happen to me. But now, to think that I might be responsible in some way for more of what I saw on those battlefields…" Sofy shook her head, adamantly. "It's the least I can do, Sasha. If I need to marry someone I dislike to help keep Lenayin whole, it shall be a vastly smaller sacrifice than the alternative. I won't be the first to suffer such a fate. I'll survive."

  Sasha held Sofy's hand, tightly. There was no sign of tears in her sister's eyes. It was clear that she had given this much thought, and had arrived at some kind of peace with it. Past the sadness, Sasha felt a pride so intense she thought she might burst. "Koenyg might have changed his mind, Sofy," she said gently. "Father too. Their plans haven't worked out anything like they'd anticipated."

  Sofy gave a sad smile and shook her head. "You don't know Koenyg or Father as well as I do. These preparations are far advanced. Lenayin would lose face to back out now. In Koenyg's eyes, to lose face is to die. And Father… has not changed his mind on anything since Krystoff died."

  "We can hope," Sasha offered.

  Sofy squeezed her hand tightly. "We can hope," she agreed.

  After breakfast, Sasha rode to the cottage her father's men had selected, further back along the valley. Ahead and to the rear rode the men of her vanguard who had protected her through both battles, and now sat astride with the hard-edged pride of those who had earned great honour and respect amongst their peers. Directly at Sasha's rear rode Jaryd, in the full colours and armour of Commander of the Falcon Guard, and Captain Akryd, likewise resplendent as Captain of the Red Swords.

  It was mid-morning and the sun was threatening to break clear of the ridges above, sunlight now falling golden upon most of the valley floor. Encamped across the valley floor and up either sloping side massed the king's army.

  She gazed across the trees and fields along the terraced slopes as they rode, marvelling at the wide variety of crops, the ingenuity of downhill irrigation ditches and the profusion of trees that kept the soil stable. Here and there were talleryn posts, engraved with the curling script of Edu writings. Colourful flags flew like streamers above long terraces of grain… to keep the birds off, Sasha guessed. And they were beautiful, swirling in the valley breeze. Along fence posts there were windchimes, making gentle music of the breeze.

  Soon the small column of riders came upon a cottage, with many horses tethered by a bend, guarded by soldiers. Flags flapped, the royal flag most prominently of all. The lead rider halted them short of the other horses, and they dismounted.

  Jaryd and Akryd walked with her along the road toward the path that led up to the cottage, as the vanguardsmen remained behind.

  A Verenthane Royal Guard lieutenant stopped the trio at the base of those steps, resplendent in full colours and gleaming helm. "M'Lady," he said, with a very faint bow. "You must surrender your weapons to enter the king's presence."

  Sasha eyed the horses tethered further up the road. They were splendid indeed, and several were of various shades of white or grey, a colour favoured by breeders from the royal stables. "No Lenay commander yet has come to parley between armies without weapons," she replied to the lieutenant.

  "M'Lady, it is the king," the lieutenant replied sternly. "You must disarm."

  Sasha repressed a snort of disgust, and gave a signal to her companions. Together, they turned about and began to walk back to their horses. "M'Lady!" From behind there were footsteps and mutterings of consternation. The three were halfway back to the horses when there came another call from behind. "M'Lady, we have reconsidered!"

  Sasha stopped, turned about, and gave the gathering of soldiers a very displeased look. "Told you it would work," she murmured from the side of her mouth at Jaryd, as they began their walk back.

  "M'Lady is truly insightful," Jaryd muttered. Sasha gave him a worried look. Probably it was not a good idea to have him here. But then, such talks required the presence of the most senior and, with Tyrun dead, that meant Jaryd. Lord or peasant, he was still Commander of the Falcon Guard.

  Sasha allowed Jaryd to take the lead up the stairs. There were flowerpots at the cottage entrance, where several more Royal Guards stood at attention. Several long-stemmed flowers were bent. Sasha stepped across to them, with a disapproving cluck of the tongue at the guardsmen.

  "We are guests in these houses, gentlemen," she said sternly, straightening the flowers. "Kindly look after their property as you would your own. Or else the house spirits will become upset with the mess, and haunt your sleep."

  And with that, she walked inside, satisfied with the disquiet on several faces at that last remark. Even Verenthanes could become superstitious of Goeren-yai spirits, in the land of the Udalyn.

  The house was plain and simple like the many others that dotted the valley. Men stood about a dining table and turned to observe the new entrants. Sasha saw her father, slim and dark in a black cloak against the morning's chill. He wore mail beneath, with leather shoulder guards and heavy boots. Sasha's gaze lingered. She could not recall the last time she'd seen her father in mail, with a sword at his side. A childhood parade, perhaps.

  Koenyg, of course, was similarly attired. A king in waiting. Damon leaned against the far wall, a cup in hand. While the others looked grim, Damon's expression was sour. From his posture and expression, and his place at the back of the room, Sasha guessed that he did not feel himself to be in good company. She hoped he'd been making a pain of himself.

  Of the others, well… here was Great Lord Kumaryn, stiff as a poker. Spirits knew why anyone thought him important enough to include in this gathering. And there was Great Lord Rydysh of Ranash no less. Also present was Lord Arastyn of Tyree… no, Sasha corrected herself, Great Lord Arastyn of Tyree. His handsome gaze, fixed on Jaryd, held a curious, expressionless intensity.

  The last two great lords were Lord Faras of Isfayen and Lord Parabys of Neysh. The south, Sasha thought darkly. The other large piece of the Verenthane puzzle. The south had harboured Verenthanes long before they became popular in the rest of Lenayin.

  "My Lords," Sasha said by way of greeting. She did not, she was surprised to realise, feel particularly anxious. There were nearly seven thousand men under her command. Her forces could be destroyed if attacked, but the catastrophe would not be hers alone. Hers was a position of power. However her father and Koenyg might desire it, she would not grovel or plead. "We are all known to each other, I'm sure. Shall we sit?"

  King Torvaal gazed at her for a long moment. Everyone awaited his command. Koenyg, Sasha noted, seemed to be grinding his teeth. As Commander of Armies, and protector of the realm, surely it grated to be outranked in such a setting. Even by his king. The tension in the air felt different than she'd expected. Men held their tongues and their tempers. They stood with a faintly awkward manner, as if uncertain of their standing. King Torvaal had not needed to ride forth from Baen-Tar and deal with a military matter for quite
some time. Since the Great War, in fact, when he'd been barely more than a lad. No doubt the lords wondered if the king was truly up to the task.

  Well. Sasha wondered herself.

  "Sofy is with you?" Torvaal asked.

  "Concerned, were you?" Sasha nearly remarked, but refrained. "She is," she said instead.

  "Did she discover the wedding plans?" Sombrely.

  Sasha stared at him for a long moment. "You don't sound surprised."

  "It was necessary," said Torvaal, closing his eyes briefly. "It remains nec essary." The eyes opened and fixed on her directly, with more than their usual impassivity. Brooding. "The marriage remains as arranged. It shall proceed because Lenayin requires it. On this point I shall brook no argument."

  "Sofy tells me she no longer objects," Sasha replied. "You make no decisions for her. She goes of her own free will." At the back of the room, Damon stared at his boots. Great Lord Rydysh of Ranash looked severely agitated.

  Torvaal indicated to the table. There were only two chairs set, one on either side. Sasha nodded and stepped to her seat, waiting first for the king to sit. Then sat, directly opposite her father. It occurred to her, looking at him now, that they had never sat together like this before. Krystoff, Koenyg or Damon might have chanced a moment with their father, but the girls did not warrant such attention.

  The old anger resurfaced, cold and hard. Tempered now, by the circumstances, but real enough. He'd ignored her before, all her views, values and opinions. Now, finally, she would not be ignored.

  There was a pitcher of water and two cups on the table. Torvaal took the pitcher himself, and poured into both cups. Raised his cup to his lips, inviting her with his eyes to do likewise. "Don't drink it, M'Lady," said Jaryd from behind. "There's poisons that can be put on the cup, not in the water."

  Torvaal stared up at the young man with genuine anger. "Master Jaryd," he said coldly, "I would never poison my own daughter."