Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four (27 page)

Sasha had barely bedded down in the stables when Arendelle appeared at the fodder pen. At first she thought he'd come to talk to Rhillian, but instead he clambered over the bales and lay down beside her. Sasha turned to look at him, questioningly. Arendelle put a hand on her waist. She wore only her light shirt and pants, her jacket bundled for a pillow, feet bare as she dared to hope she would not need to get up and run in a hurry.

Arendelle wore as little. His hand ran down to her hip as his golden eyes watched her with intent curiosity. There was no hostility to him, and Sasha felt unthreatened. But they had barely spoken on the ride so far, and always Sasha had sensed the tension.

“Why?” she asked him.

Arendelle shrugged. “Interest,” he said. It meant more than that in Saalsi, suggested resolutions to unresolved problems.

“Is this a thing with serrin? To use sex to solve unresolved issues?”

“I seek to solve nothing. Only to learn.” He leaned forward to kiss her. Sasha stopped him. It only took a gentle touch to his chest.

“You've bedded human women before, surely?”

“That is not the issue,” he said obliquely. He slid a hand up to the small of her back. She could have stopped that too, but somehow, that seemed wrong. As though admitting that it could make her succumb if it continued. She held her gaze steady and firm, to show Arendelle it wasn't working.

“You dislike me,” she said flatly. “Yet I'm friends with your friends. Serrin have difficulty holding such contradictions in their heads. You poke at it, as you might poke at a scab.”

“Your looks are nothing like a scab,” he said generously. “What matter my motivation? I can see you are aroused, and with serrin there are no human consequences.”

“I'm aroused because I'm a hot-blooded Lenay warrior gone more than a week without my man,” Sasha retorted. She didn't like Arendelle's answer. He was telling her to shut up and enjoy it, far below the eloquence of most serrin in this circumstance. “Speaking of whom, I'll not betray Errollyn so easily.”

“Serrin barely understand the concept, in sex.”

“Yes, but
I
do.”

“I don't dislike you,” said Arendelle. He said the word with a vaguely serrin distaste. “It is too human a concept. It is because of these confusions that I seek to understand the nature of this thing between us. Between dislike and comradeship. Between hatred and love.”

Sasha blinked. She couldn't quite believe he'd used that last word. Only the serrin had so many words to describe that, and one could not be confident, in tongues other than Saalsi, exactly which they meant. A man loved wine. A man loved his child. A man loved a woman. Each was a very different thing.

Sasha sighed. “Look,” she said, “in another circumstance I'd join you in exploring this conundrum. I would like to be your friend, Arendelle. Can we agree that it need not take fucking to do it?”

Arendelle considered. “Fucking is more fun.”

Sasha stifled a giggle. “Well, yes. But in this circumstance, impractical.”

“Arendelle,” Rhillian called from the other side of a hay bale. “When you've finished pestering Sasha, why don't you come over here?”

Arendelle smiled, got up, and went to Rhillian.

He really didn't like her, Sasha thought a while later, with little choice but to listen to the activity beyond the hay bale. She and Errollyn had rarely missed a day when they were together. In their first weeks, they'd sometimes rarely missed a moment alone. Listening to Rhillian's gasps of pleasure was a new kind of torture. And she laughed at herself, a better alternative than cursing.

Arendelle finished, and left. Rhillian crept over, newly reclothed, and lay at Sasha's back and embraced her.

“I thought you'd finished,” Sasha said jokingly, with no little envy.

“I like to cuddle afterwards,” Rhillian said. “He's gone, you're all that's available.” Sasha laughed. “Errollyn wouldn't mind, you know. I'm sure of it.”

“I would.”

“Humans,” Rhillian sighed, and stroked Sasha's hair.

“Our families are more important,” Sasha explained. “Serrin families are more open. You raise children collectively. You do everything collectively. Humans aren't made for that. Our families must be strong, so we pair-bond, and should not stray.”

“Yet so often do.”

“And are punished for it.”

“Your explanations are so dry, Sasha. Humans think they're so romantic on sexual matters, but in truth you're all so blunt about it. In human stories, great sexual encounters are usually the precursor to some terrible tragedy.”

“Yes, but it's the tragedy we find romantic.”

Rhillian snorted. “Don't say those horrible human things, you'll spoil my afterglow.”

The following morning, the air was cool and moist. The trail to Andal rose to a high ridge overlooking the deep cleft cut by the Ipshaal River. Guarding that ridge was a great wall, with towers and a fort, intended as a secondary defence to be occupied by Steel falling back from the perimeter. The party rode with an escort of Steel, and wore borrowed red and black uniform beneath their riding cloaks. Steel frequently gave escort to important travellers, and few passing Ilduuris spared them more than a glance.

Soon they were climbing once more, but slowly this time. Rhillian followed Sasha's advice and stopped often, allowing the animals to graze or drink. Once, upon the crest of a ridge, they gained a perfect view of the mountains directly ahead, high peaks gleaming white in the snow of last night's storm. That was their path, and Sasha thought it much more pleasant without the pursuit of a horde of murderous Kazeri.

But the slow going cost them time, and they stopped for the evening in a little ridge-top village some distance short of where they had hoped to be. Their guides insisted the inn was safe, but the serrin took their meals in their rooms regardless, and did not wander out. Descending the stairs with empty plates, Sasha saw Rulsten and the innkeeper in a corner, talking in hushed tones. Word was there had been Stamentaast through this way just two days before, asking questions.

That night, Sasha shared a room with Yasmyn. Before sleeping, they sat for a while on the balcony and looked up at the silver outlines of mountains bathed in moonlight.

“If we are to die here,” said Yasmyn after a long while, “then it shall be a good place to die.”

Sasha smiled.

The next day was long. They passed through several more towns, a few of them showing signs of surprising wealth for such isolated settlements. In all Ilduur's history, Rulsten explained as they rode, this had been the most hostile border, and wars against one Enoran lord or another had been relatively common. The Enoran lords were now all dead, and their line decisively ended by angry Enoran peasants, but not all Ilduuri had made their peace with the
naach ul tremich stoov
, or “tyrants of the north,” as Enorans had once been known here.

The question of night lodging provoked some debate. Rulsten knew of a village, but Rhillian did not like to risk the Stamentaast's spies. They settled for camping by the trail, in a shallow valley with a small, cold stream. However nice a genuine bed might be, Sasha was glad for the chance to practise taka-dans away from the prying eyes of townsfolk, and to wash away from common stalls.

This night, Arendelle propositioned Yasmyn rather than Sasha. Yasmyn accepted. Afterward, Sasha made a bed at Yasmyn's side, rugged up against the welcome night chill.

“Good?” she asked Yasmyn.

“Interesting,” Yasmyn replied. She looked thoughtful. “My first since the rape.” Sasha nodded. She'd thought as much. “I wanted to know that I still can.”

“And?”

“Yes,” she said, with neither excitement or relief. “That is no surprise. I am Isfayen.”

“I heard a tale once from women in Baerlyn,” said Sasha, “of another woman who had been raped, and had never been able to enjoy lying with a man again.”

“It was bad,” Yasmyn admitted. “But I've seen men die by the sword. I've dealt men wounds that had them screaming as they tried to stuff their guts back into their bodies. I've severed heads, and seen the severed heads of friends. This injury was not the worst I expected to take. Besides which, his head was one of those I severed.”

“I feel sorry for that woman in the tales I heard,” said Sasha. “If I could not take revenge with my blade, I would probably never be able to lie with a man again either.”

“The fate of women is terrible,” Yasmyn agreed. “I think that Rhillian is right, that all human action comes from the need for power. But she thinks it a bad thing. Like you, I think it is the only reason I am sane. Had I not had my revenge, I would be shrivelled and dead inside.”

“We are different people, human and serrin,” Sasha murmured. “The rare ones like Rhillian and Kiel seek power, but do not need it, as humans need it. I'm quite certain Rhillian could find many purposes in life if she could no longer fight, and be happy with that. Probably I could too, but I'd be miserable.”

Yasmyn frowned. “But serrin do not have the expectation of fighting that humans do. It is a rare thing for them—they do not fight each other, only us. So there is no need for power, when none amongst them seeks it over others.”

“It should sound wonderful, shouldn't it,” said Sasha. “To live in a world free from violence and pain should be the ideal of all. But I am a Lenay warrior and I honestly think I'd die of boredom.”

Yasmyn grinned. Sasha gave a snort of reluctant laughter and gazed up at the stars.

“The gods and spirits make us who we need to be,” Yasmyn said with certainty. “We are both born to war, so we need to be warriors. Serrin are born to peace, so they need to be peaceful. Neither should feel ashamed of what we are, any more than a wolf should feel shame at killing deer. Wolves are wild, like Lenays.”

“And is that why humans resist serrin attempts to civilise them?” Sasha wondered. “Because we are all wild animals, and cannot accept serrin domestication?”

“Perhaps,” said Yasmyn. “But wild animals live as the spirits intended. I think it is the serrin who are the odd ones. Perhaps they need to change to be more like us.”

“And what if they can't?”

“Then they will die,” Yasmyn said sombrely. “They cannot fight war with peace, any more than they can hunt bear with sticks.”

They lay in silence for a moment. Sasha glanced around her and found Rhillian lying close by, propped on an elbow, watching them. She'd heard every word, and her eyes in the night were bright and hard. Sasha smiled sadly, and rolled to reach for Rhillian's hand. Rhillian grasped it and looked at those fingers, as though considering something of great import. Then she sighed and lay down to sleep.

The next morning, returning from her toilet stop, Sasha sensed movement and spun to find a large, black-striped mountain cat not ten paces from her. It was impossibly beautiful, with big golden eyes and wide whiskers, big paws, and a long tail for balance on the steeper slopes. It stared, even more surprised than she, but not especially alarmed. Sasha stared back, wanting to call others to come and look, but unable to do so lest she scare her visitor away.

Eventually the cat left and Sasha returned to camp and told the others what she'd seen.

Rulsten was astonished. “Black stripes, you say? They're very rare, they steer well clear of people usually. It wasn't frightened?”

“Not frightened at all. I think she knew I wouldn't hurt her.”

“The wild and dangerous spirit attracts the wild and dangerous animals,” Yasmyn said knowingly, “and each knows the other for a friend.”

Rhillian and Kiel looked at each other, expressions unreadable, and said nothing.

By afternoon they found themselves beneath an enormous, towering spire of a mountain.

“Aaldenmoot,” Rulsten named it. “Dragon's Tooth. Thirty people have been known to try to climb it over the centuries. None have succeeded. Half of them died.”

“Why climb it at all?” Kiel wondered. “There's nothing there save a higher view.”

“Ilduuri climb,” said Rulsten with a shrug. “For lookouts, for signals, for manoeuvres by our soldiers to outflank our enemies. Climbing is an art, and any art must be practised.”

Kiel looked unconvinced.

From the valley's end, the trail rose sharply. Soon the party had dismounted to lead the horses, as some stretches of trail became almost as steep as stairs, and the horses progressed reluctantly indeed.

Ahead, the high passes were covered with golden snow. A descent in the evening across a high, barren snowfield brought them to a mountain lake, wide, glassy-still, and impossibly blue. By its bank stood a cabin with a stable, large enough for a party twice their size.

It was empty, placed here for travellers crossing the pass, Rulsten explained. They made themselves at home, and found it warm enough once the fire was crackling with logs from the large supply of firewood that must have been brought up by cart.

No sooner had they eaten, than they heard hooves crunching the snow outside, then a knock at the door. All inside looked at each other and drew weapons. Rulsten gestured them to calm, went to the door, and opened it.

There in the fading twilight stood a man with a flaming torch, cloaked against the oncoming chill of evening. He exchanged Ilduuri greetings with Rulsten, extinguished his torch, and stomped his boots free from snow on the step before entering.

Once inside, he threw off his cloak to reveal the black robes and golden Verenthane medallion of a priest.

“Thank the gods I spotted you fools before you plunged head first into Andal,” he told them in Torovan, with a thick Ilduuri accent. “A party of serrin and foreigners, traipsing through the land in hope that no one will identify you? Are you mad?”

Rhillian sheathed her blade. “Who are you?”

“I, dear lady, am Father Belgride. I have been following you for two days since a concerned parishioner passed word to me of your presence in my mountains. I can guide you safely into Andal, and give you secure lodging there. Otherwise the Remischtuul will kill you all, as plain as the nose on my face.”

E
rrollyn held his impatience at bay for as long as he could stand. Then, approaching the crest of a hill, he gave in and galloped. Kessligh followed, soon drawing level on the road with an eager smile that Errollyn had never seen him wear before. Damon pursued, and General Rochan, and then the whole command vanguard, galloping away from the main formation like children testing new ponies in a race.

They descended the last hill through forest, catching the odd glimpse of wide waters ahead. That was the Ipshaal, the easternmost border of Enoran lands. Upon the far side was Saalshen. It had been many years since Errollyn had seen Saalshen, yet that was not why he galloped. Scouts ahead had brought word, several days earlier, of something remarkable upon the Ipshaal. Even Kessligh, when he'd been told, had been disbelieving. Now they were close, and all wanted desperately to see for themselves.

They rode through a town to the river edge. There were piers, to which small boats were tied, village folk hauling in nets and tending sails. Beyond lay the vast Ipshaal, perhaps five hundred strides across, deep waters glistening beneath an overcast sky. Upon those waters lay something impossible.

It was a bridge. A new bridge, to be sure, for there had never been a bridge across the Ipshaal in all Errollyn's knowledge of history. So new, in fact, that it was not yet finished. Even as he watched, it grew.

Made of wood, it ended now barely fifty strides from the Enoran bank ahead. Upon that uncompleted end, great machines of timber, gears, pulleys and winches were in motion, swarming with men. They wound great wheels, which lifted large weights above the end of pylons. At a maximum height, those stone weights would release and fall with an almighty thump onto the end of the pylon, driving it deeper into the riverbed. Upon the completed bridge behind them, horses drew carts bearing new pylons, cross-beams, and decking. In all, Errollyn thought he could count at least five hundred men on the bridge, plus seven carts and fourteen horses.

For weeks they had all wondered and worried about the Ipshaal crossing. Now they wondered and worried no more. He looked at Kessligh, and both men laughed. Errollyn had never seen him so enthralled. This man who showed so little emotion in the victory of the forces he commanded now gazed at the growing bridge with the excitement of a small boy who had just seen his first catapult.

General Rochan looked utterly astonished. “That is the most amazing thing I have ever seen.”

“Twelve days,” said Kessligh with amazement. “Twelve days so far, and they've nearly finished.”

A little ahead, Errollyn noticed several boats at the riverbank, and men standing and discussing. He rode to them, and greetings were exchanged. The men were from Jahnd, and very pleased to see them.

“We're going to pave this part of the riverbank,” one explained. “Between here and the village, so your carts and catapults can move freely to the bridge. If we start now, we'll be done in three days, when the bridge is finished.”

“We'll be lucky if the Regent is more than five days behind us,” Kessligh warned them.

“Plenty of time,” said the Jahndi with a grin. “We would have started earlier but we did not know where you were, or if there was even an army left to cross the Ipshaal. We're glad to see we didn't waste all the effort.”

In the midafternoon, a serrin rider came, and halted at the head of the column to speak to Jaryd. Sofy hastened her mount up the road past creaking wagons to hear their conversation.

“Elissians,” Jaryd told her grimly as she arrived. “More than a hundred. They take the more northerly route—they mean to intercept us ahead.”

“How many fighters have you?” the serrin asked.

“Twenty-six,” said Jaryd. “Perhaps another twenty archers we've placed on the rear wagons where they're most use, but they're not accurate like the
talmaad.
How many are you?”

“Twelve,” said the serrin. Jaryd grimaced. “Can you make better time? We can have boats on the river shore when you arrive, but at your current pace the Elissians will get there first.”

“We have too many on foot,” said Jaryd. “If we abandon them we may save the half that are mounted.”

“We shan't!” Sofy said loudly. “Jaryd, I forbid it.”

“And thus condemn everyone to death,” Jaryd said with temper. “This isn't some contest to see who can think the prettier thoughts, Sofy, this is us trying to make sure that at least some of us survive.”

Sofy stared at him stubbornly, her jaw set.

“We can distract them,” said the serrin. “Perhaps an ambush, we may lure them away, purchase some time.”

“If they're coming after us,” said Jaryd, “it's because they know of this column and have been directed to kill it—they won't be easily distracted.”

“We'll see,” said the serrin. “Make as much pace as you can, keep on this road until you reach the village, the villagers can tell you where the river landing is from there.”

He galloped off. Sofy gazed up to where giant white clouds were looming like mountains in the sky.

“A change comes,” she said.

“Thunder,” said Asym. “The spirits are watching. They come to collect the dead.”

It was raining by the time the first in the column reached the river. They poured down rough tracks through the forest, abandoning wagons as serrin helped them into longboats. More boats were coming, serrin and some humans rowing hard from upriver, where Sofy gathered a fishing village lay.

“You should be on the first ones,” Jaryd told her, shield now on his arm in expectation of the Elissians' arrival.

“I will not,” said Sofy. “We have an entire column behind us and Elissians somewhere near. This could easily become a stampede. Someone of authority needs to stand upon this bank and appeal to order.”

Jaryd gritted his teeth, looking at the passing wagons. People on the wagons were indeed looking at Sofy with some measure of reassurance to calm their fear. Some folks were trying to unload their belongings into the boats, and the serrin were protesting. Sofy rode over to them.

“You cannot take belongings!” she shouted over their argument. “You must abandon them, we need all space on the boats for people!”

Not everyone understood her Torovan, but enough did. People began to do what she said. But other such arguments were breaking out further up the bank, and she rode off to address them. A glance back to Jaryd did not find him. He was tasked with defending the column, he could not be distracted by boats. But Sofy knew that any delays here on the bank would make Jaryd's task impossible, trying to defend an otherwise defenceless column against Elissian cavalry. Thinking of it, she had a stab of guilt at what she had asked him to do.

Grumbles of thunder grew to great booms, and flashes lit the darkening sky. The rain grew heavier, and gusts of wind whipped the surface of the Ipshaal River as the first wave of boats rowed hard toward the far bank, laden with people. The Ipshaal was at least three hundred paces wide at this point; even with every available oarsman straining, it was not a fast trip.

As the crowds built up on the bank, they faced the problem of congestion, hundreds of frightened people queuing for the next boat in the soaking rain, and all those feet, horses, and wagons turning the dampening earth to mud. Sofy rode up and down, ordering wagons aside to make way for new ones, and finding volunteers to ride abandoned wagons back up the road, to collect stragglers and bring them here faster.

Other boats were arriving, smaller fishing craft, piloted by local Rhodaanis. They took as many passengers as they could, more than was safe, and the little boats struggled in the wind and heavy rain out into the river, waters lapping perilously close to their hull rims. Still the crowds grew as more people arrived, trudging in ankle-deep mud through the trees.

A new arrival told her of wagons stuck in the mud where the road entered the forest. Sofy put heels to her horse and rode that way to find the source of the problem—wagons queued twenty deep, with more coming from the further fields. The lead three were completely stuck, whole teams of men pushing at wheels and horses and getting nowhere.

Beyond the thunder, Sofy heard something else. It seemed to be coming from the north, fading now as the wind gusted from a different direction. And then again she heard it. Hooves and yelling. Fighting.

“Leave the wagons!” Sofy yelled at them. “Leave them and run! Run to the river, the Elissians are coming!”

People ran, grabbing children, carrying the elderly, stumbling and falling in terror. From further up the road, others were still moving at a sedate pace, perhaps unhearing of the battle. They had to be warned.

Sofy galloped up the road, yelling at all there to run. They ran, some pitifully tired from the hot days of marching. A woman tried to hold up her child for Sofy, begging in Rhodaani for her to take him ahead to the river. Sofy galloped on, cursing this situation, the storm and the Elissians both. Jaryd had told her that she could not save all these people, and she had refused to listen. But now she saw his awful logic.

She turned about and galloped back. Trees cleared to her left, and across fields she saw horses galloping. Astride them were cavalry, no knights but men in mail and leathers, with coloured surcoats. Elissians, at least twenty of them. And more beyond the field, coming up the adjoining road.

Sofy's heart hammered in fear. She spurred her horse to greater speed, and then stopped on an impulse as she passed the woman with her child. She reached for the boy, pushed by his frantic mother over the saddle horn, then set off again with the screaming child in her arms. Rain blinded her, made the reins slippery in her hands, and the boy struggled; she was not an experienced rider, and riding like this was desperately dangerous. But an encounter with the Elissians would be far more deadly.

Elissians fell from their saddles. Sofy risked a quick look as she approached the abandoned wagons and saw serrin riders pursuing on the Elissians' tails. Horses wheeled to meet them, while others raced on, plunging through the trees ahead, heading for the river.

She tore between the first trees, slowing so she wouldn't hit any…and didn't see the running family until it was nearly too late. She hauled on the reins, the horse protested, and the next thing she knew they were falling, and she hugged the child to her chest as the ground rushed up and hit her. Then she was stunned, smelling wet leaves and mud, hands hauling her to her feet before rushing onward.

Her horse was nowhere to be seen, and she was still holding the child, who was screaming, and heavy. Sofy saw a woman sent flying in a collision, a man cut down by a sword. She ran, slipping on leaves and mud, and heard more hooves coming, but with the child she had no hope of defending herself. A horse rushed up, and she expected to die, but it passed and killed a running man beyond, who tried to throw up his hands in defence.

Elissians wheeled through the trees, striking about them. One fell to an arrow, and then there were serrin riders, firing repeatedly. Elissians chased them, and the serrin evaded. Sofy ran, legs and lungs burning, and now her arms and shoulders too, with the child's weight. Battle crashed around her, and arrows flew through the rain. Her boots sank into mud, sucking at her feet. She passed an Elissian cavalryman on the ground, groaning and trying to crawl with an arrow through his side. Nothing mattered but the river, and putting one foot before the other, as fast as possible. She did not remember it being so far away.

Then she could see the bank, a scene of chaos compared to when she'd last seen it. Bodies sprawled in the mud, terrified people scattering, tumbling down the bank as horses galloped past. Fighting milled nearby, defending cavalry exchanging blows with Elissians, but she was too blind with fear and rain to see who was winning.

She hid behind trees as more Elissians galloped by, saw a running family slashed down with swords, children and all, severed limbs falling. Then she ran, clutching the child tightly, across that open ground before the bank, arrows zipping overhead from somewhere, then a booming crash of thunder. Mud at the lip of the bank was calf-deep and bloody amidst the bodies, some of which still moved and shrieked.

Then the drop-off to the water, down which Sofy was about to throw herself with careless desperation…but there she saw mounted Elissians below at the water's edge, chasing unarmed Tracatans into shallow waters now red and floating with bodies. Several more Elissians had dismounted, and were pursuing others into the water, killing without mercy as those mounted riders indicated others who might get away.

They did not know which was the Princess Regent, Sofy realised. Even now, she could see them singling out the women for death. They did not know which was her, and so they killed every woman they could, and everyone else in between.

More arrows zipped in, coming from the river. Serrin boats were approaching, unable to find a place to land, archers firing from middle range at the Elissians on the shore. Swimmers were thrashing into deep water, trying to reach the boats, dragged aboard by the crews.

Sofy heard more hooves, and looked. Three Elissians were galloping at her. A young woman holding a child, she was the only immediate target, but their attention switched as two new horsemen arrived. One was Asym, not bothering to cut, but simply using his shield to bash an opponent from his saddle. The man hit the bank and tumbled down to the water.