Sasha (58 page)

“Only now she's being married off to foreigners,” Damon muttered. “Maybe Father and Dalryn want us to kill each other.”

“No offence, Damon,” Myklas said with typical matter-of-factness, “but if it ever comes to that, my copper's on Koenyg.”

The rebel column rode onward in the brightening morning, two abreast along the road and sometimes three, then thinning to single file in parts where the forest closed in, or the road climbed steeply to clear a ridge. Sasha noticed that the vanguard appeared to have doubled to as many as ten riders, in addition to several scouts who made brief, random appearances to declare what lay ahead, before galloping off once more. Sasha suspected that the increase was due to Sofy, who now rode several places behind Sasha, at Jaryd's side. Royalty always demanded extra protection in the mind of any loyal officer. Sasha considered sending Sofy further back in the column, but decided against it. Any ambush would likely strike midcolumn or to the rear. The column's lead, shielded by the vanguard and forewarned by ranging scouts, was probably the safest place of all.

Jaryd rode in constant pain, his face pale and grim. He had eaten and drunk, but had not spoken. A soldier who knew healing had cleaned his wounds and rewrapped his bandages. The leg wound was a flesh wound, he'd said, but it was not infected and would heal well enough in time. Sasha wished she had a moment to ride at Jaryd's side and talk to him, but the road required her attention. Besides, she would occasionally hear Sofy's light attempts at conversation, and the stony silence that followed.

For a while, the weather closed in with light rain and a gusting, swirling wind that tore at the treetops and scattered the road with falling leaves and needles. But then, just as Sasha began to fear that the road would become a muddy bog for those further back in the column, the rain ended and sunlight speared through lighter, scattered cloud. Craggy, sheer faces of rock climbed clear of the trees in places, looming above the road. At times, Sasha consulted with Captain Tyrun about possible ambush spots, but the scouts’ reports remained positive, and the residents of one village turned out to greet them with cheers, ten mounted warriors to join the column, and some fresh provisions, which Sasha directed to the men further back. Food, at least, was one thing she would not have to worry about.

Approaching midday, the road was noticeably beginning to climb. Ascending the winding incline of a thickly wooded valley, Tyrun fell back to consult with some of his officers. Shortly, his place was taken by a small, wiry horse, ridden by a pair of children. Daryd and Rysha, Sasha realised with amazement. The Udalyn boy looked up at her—a long way up, from his little dussieh pony—and gave a clenched-fist salute, as might one warrior to another on the road. He looked quite cheerful, loose brown hair falling about his face, his hunting knife worn at one hip like a sword. Rysha's gaze was more serious, yet her posture on the back of her brother's saddle was comfortable, as if she had ridden this way many times before. She still wore the same, mangled yellow flower in her hair, now mostly dead.

“Where in the world did you two come from?” Sasha exclaimed, registering only blank stares from the siblings. “Lieutenant Alyn!” she called to the rider ahead. “Have the children been with us this entire time?”

“Aye, M'Lady,” the Royal Guard lieutenant replied. “Princess Sofy's maid helped them from their palace room. The lad's a good rider and his sister can stay ahorse well at a gallop. I thought it best for them to ride at the front where they have protection, and can possibly give directions when we draw closer to the valley.”

Sasha gazed down at the children. Daryd was marvelling at Peg's glossy black flanks. “Big,” he said, his one Lenay word. And grinned. “Big horse.”

Two words
. He looked very pleased with himself. Sasha found herself smiling. “Big horse,” she agreed. And pointed to their pony. “Little horse.” And repeated that, making big, then little sizes with her hands. Comprehension dawned on Daryd's face.

“Big horse Peglyrion,” he said, pointing to Peg. “Little horse Essey,” pointing to the pony. “My
dasser
horse.” Dass, in Sasha's limited Taasti, meant father. Probably Edu was similar.

“Ah, your father's horse. Father.”

“Fa-ther,” Daryd repeated. “Father.” His eyes were suddenly sad. Fearful. At his back, Rysha gave a whimper and reached forward to take her brother's hand. Daryd clutched it hard. Their family had lived in Ymoth, Sasha recalled, the town before the valley mouth. Krayliss had been right—when the Hadryn attacked, Ymoth would have been the first to fall.

Something growing to one side of the road caught Sasha's eye. Blue ralama flowers, growing in a little clump. She dismounted quickly, picked the flowers, and bounced back up from stirrup to saddle as fast as twelve years on horseback had taught her. She arranged the little bunch of flowers whilst riding with her hands free, as Daryd and Rysha stared in amazement at that feat of horsemanship. When the bunch was tidy, she grasped the saddlehorn in her left hand and leaned far out on one stirrup to present the flowers to Rysha.

Rysha took them, blinking in wonderment. Sasha pointed to her hair, encouragingly. Rysha took out the mangled yellow flower and looked at it sorrowfully. Daryd suggested something to her in Edu. Rysha was displeased and complained. She tucked the dead flower into the front pocket of her coarse weave dress, and considered the ralama flowers more closely. Counted their bright blue petals.

“Verenthane,” she pronounced.

Sasha blinked. Verenthane? And then she recalled the great, eight-pointed patterned windows in the Saint Ambellion Temple. And, of course, the eight-pointed Verenthane stars worn about the neck of every devout follower. Eight petals on a ralama blossom. Lucky in Goeren-yai tradition, but holy for Verenthanes. Another point of commonality between the twin faiths of Lenayin.

“Lucky flower,” she said to Rysha.

“Flower?” Rysha said with a frown. It stood to reason that Rysha understood that word first. But lucky?

“Hmm,” said Sasha, thinking hard. Then it occurred to her. She pointed to Peg, looking at Daryd. “Peglyrion,” she said and pointed to the sky. She dotted the sky with her forefinger to represent stars, like the Peglyrion stars in the sword pommel of Hyathon the Warrior.

“Ah!” said Daryd and told Rysha, “
Esi
.”

“
Esi
,” Sasha repeated. “Stars.”

“Stars,” Daryd echoed. Sasha then pointed up once more at the imaginary stars and made the spirit sign to her forehead. The universal Goeren-yai sign for luck. All Goeren-yai believed that stars were lucky and that the star spirits could bless a person's fortunes if one appealed to them. Daryd grinned his understanding.

“Lucky,” Sasha explained.

“Lucky,” Daryd agreed, nodding vigorously.

“Lucky flowers,” Sasha concluded, pointing again to Rysha's ralama blossoms. Even Rysha smiled this time and marvelled anew at the pretty blue colour. It never ceased to amaze Sasha how people could usually manage to make themselves understood, even with no words in common, with just a little imagination and patience. “Pretty flowers,” she added, deciding to push her luck.

“Pretty?”

“Pretty.” Sasha indicated Peg's flowing, muscular curves and put a hand to her heart, with an expression on her face as if the most handsome man in all the world had just stepped naked into her chambers one evening. Rysha recognised that expression well before her brother and laughed.

“
Gadi!
” she exclaimed. “
Gadi tethlan
‘pretty’! Pretty flowers!” It was the first time Sasha had seen Rysha look happy.

“Pretty Rysha,” Sasha countered.

Rysha blushed shyly. “Pretty Sashandra,” she replied.

Around a bend in the climbing road ahead, a scout emerged at a canter, slowing now to a walk as he sighted the column. Sasha turned in her saddle. “Sofy? Is Sofy riding back there? Tell her to come forward, I've a task for her.”

There was a moment of commotion behind. Someone offered an instruction…“Just tap him lightly with your heels, Highness. Not too hard, he'll understand.”

A second dussieh pony approached and Sasha pulled Peg right to the road verge, where the hill climbed more steeply. There was barely room here for Peg and the two dussieh. Sofy's horse came between Peg and Essey, and Sasha blinked in astonishment.

Seated in the saddle was a girl who looked remarkably like, and yet most unlike, Sasha's younger sister. Sofy wore a sheepskin jacket and a thick, plain undershirt, tucked into a pair of pants secured firmly about her narrow waist with a belt. There were riding gloves on her hands, soft-skin boots on her feet and her shining brown hair was tied in a simple ponytail at the back.

“Where in the world did you get those clothes?” Sasha asked.

“Some of the Tyree soldiers had bought good clothes for their younger brothers in Baen-Tar,” said Sofy, in a very subdued tone. “They were very kind to lend me these.”

Sasha stared for a moment at this most incongruous of sights—a princess of Lenayin with her hair tied back, in pants, jacket and boots, astride a horse in the Lenayin wilds. And she realised, suddenly, what a shock the first sight of
her
in such clothes must have been for her family, on her first return visit to Baen-Tar as Kessligh's uma. And she'd cut her hair short, too. And worn a sword on her back, and other weapons besides.

“Hello!” Sofy said cheerfully to the Udalyn children.

“Hello, Princess Sofy,” said Daryd, echoed by Rysha. So they'd learned who the new arrival was, then. Both children bowed in the saddle.

Sofy laughed. “Oh, aren't you lovely? And Rysha, what pretty flowers. Pretty flowers!” Pointing.

Rysha nodded and smiled. “Pretty flowers,” she agreed.

“Sofy,” said Sasha, eyeing the scout requiring her attention. “I've an important task for you. You'll not be merely a passenger on this ride.”

Sofy nodded nervously. “Yes?”

“Look after the children,” Sasha told her. “See them fed, make sure they don't wander, maybe even learn a little Edu since you're so good with tongues. Can you do that?”

“Yes, of course!” Sofy looked relieved. It wasn't so much a task, Sasha knew, as something she'd have done anyway. But doubtless she was happy to have
some
responsibility. “I'd love to.”

Sasha touched her heels to Peg's sides and rode forward to the scout. Behind, she heard Sofy resuming the conversation with the children.

By the time the scout had departed, the climbing, winding road had arrived at an open shoulder, overlooking the forested valley below. The wind blew briskly, but no longer as cold. Crumpled hills stretched into the distance, the flanks of Mount Tvay barely visible in distant mist. Sunlight splashed golden patches through the clouds, drifting slowly over forested ridges and valleys, interspersed with veils of misting rain. Ahead, the ridge onto which the road ascended fell sharply in a line of ragged cliffs, sheer rock plunging into thick trees below. Above the cliffs, riding the updrafts, an eagle soared.

“Oh, my lords!” Sasha heard Sofy exclaim, and turned in her saddle to see the youngest Princess of Lenayin gazing open-mouthed at the scene, a hand to her chest. “My land is so beautiful!” Her eyes were shining.

“Pretty,” Daryd agreed. “Pretty land.”

As the column took a brief pause along a stream to water the horses, the first trouble broke out. Sasha ran along the forested streamside, dodging about horses and men as they pressed for space between the trees and waterside rushes, several of her vanguard in pursuit. Ahead, she could hear angry yells and threats, at alarming volume, and men along the stream craned their heads to look.

Sasha pushed her way past the last few horses and found two distinct groups of men in confrontation, each gathered behind their respective leaders. Both groups were Goeren-yai, but one was Falcon Guard soldiers and the other was villagers. Each was shouting in a tongue other than Lenay, yet familiar. Blades were not yet drawn, but hands were threatening on the hilts of swords.

Sasha stepped between the loudest, expecting them to stop. The men kept yelling, leaning around the new, inconvenient obstacle, jabbing sharp, accusing fingers. “Shut up!” she yelled at them. The men simply shouted louder, ignoring her. Sasha drew her blade and whistled the edge past one man's nose, then another, sending them stumbling backward. The men of her vanguard half-drew their blades in case of retaliation, but none came, and the shouting paused.