moustache. Sofy looked pale and wide-eyed with the children alongside… and Jaryd, Sasha saw thankfully, stood his horse nearby, ready to grab the rein should some panic strike. Of Teriyan, or Andreyis, she saw no sign.
The battle sounds faded as quickly as they had begun and soon a longhaired Falcon Guard corporal came thundering up the road at speed, several men at his rear. 'Captain, M'Lady!' he announced as he reined to a halt. 'Perhaps twenty horse, Ranash men, we think. They flee, and there is some pursuit, but we must not be delayed. We have four dead, three wounded… of theirs, I am ashamed to report two and one. We are dishonoured.'
'It was always going to be thus,' Tyrun said bluntly. 'They have the advantage in such attacks and numbers count for nothing. Have the wounded head for the last village if they can, with a minimal escort. Have them try to keep off the road, if they can find a trail… the northerners wish to delay us, they cannot waste time on stragglers.'
The corporal nodded. 'I feel the wounded shall reject the escort, sir. They do not wish to drain our force of strength before the valley.'
'As they will.'
'And the wounded Ranash prisoner?' asked the corporal.
'If he cooperates, treat him with honour and send him with our wounded. If he does not, kill him.'
'Aye, Captain.' The corporal saluted, wheeled about and galloped back the way he'd come.
Sofy stared at the captain, with wide-eyed astonishment. 'It is dishonourable for a wartime captive not to cooperate,' Jaryd answered her unasked question, flatly. 'Should he not cooperate, he forgoes honour, and thus deserves none from us.'
Sofy bit her lip and said nothing. Sasha knew exactly what her sister would think of such logic, yet admired her for holding her tongue. Despite the pale face, in fact, she had handled the whole situation far better than Sasha would have expected.
'If I were in their position,' Sasha said to Tyrun, 'I'd try again, perhaps just after we've reformed. Keep us offbalance and slow.'
'Aye,' Tyrun agreed, surveying the surrounding forest. 'But they may not have a choice. They rode hard to make that position and now the terrain works against them-they have to ride twice as hard to make a new position, while we travel in a much straighter line.'
'Even so,' Sasha replied, 'if that was just twenty… and we might have three hundred immediately chasing? We could guess that there are many groups of ambushers. They've broken us up, chased us off the road… if we suffer six or seven of these a day, it will delay us considerably. And they can afford to exhaust their horses-their goals are near-term, simply to buy time for the Hadryn in the valley. We have to retain enough strength to fight once we get there.'
'Aye,' Tyrun agreed once more, sombrely. 'We shall have a three-quarter moon tonight at least, which we did not see last night since we began so late. I'd recommend we use some of it before making camp.'
'We'd best make it a short camp,' Sasha agreed, biting her lip.
Tyrun shrugged. 'As you say, M'Lady, we're no good to the Udalyn if we arrive staggering like the walking dead. Horses especially. We'll ride for several spans of the moon, then camp until dawn. Horses are less resilient than men-if strained greatly, they can break.'
'Duul,' said Daryd, drawing a half-circle in the dirt with his knife. 'Wall,' Sasha had gathered that meant. About the fire, Teriyan, Andreyis and Sofy watched as the markings on the earth increased to form a map of the town of Ymoth. 'Duul as tarachai,' jabbing at where the half-circle ended, and made a wavy line with his knife where the rest of the circle would have been.
'Uncompleted,' Sofy surmised. 'They only have half a wall.'
'Aye, but it's facing the right way-onto the fields,' said Teriyan, firelight turning his long red hair to dancing orange. He pointed with a long stick to the town's unprotected side. 'These are hills, yes?'
Daryd frowned. 'Oh, hold on,' said Sofy, as if searching her memory. 'I know that one… um… fen, that's right. This fen?' With a motion of her hands, outlining a hill.
Daryd nodded vigorously. 'Ennas fen, sa. Fen, fen, fen,' indicating with his knife all the way alongside the dual marks that described the banks of the mighty Yumynis River.
'Can't attack from behind,' Sasha observed. 'We'll have to come along the fields. An open charge.'
'Why would they only have half a wall?' Andreyis wondered.
'Krayliss said the Udalyn only moved back into Ymoth recently,' said Sasha. 'It must have lain abandoned for nearly a century, too far from the valley to be safe for the Udalyn, but too close to the Udalyn to be safe for Hadryn to occupy. The lands there are fertile, it must have been tempting. But now, it seems they could not defend it.'
They gazed at Daryd's little map in the firelight. About them was a much grimmer camp than Sasha had seen before. Men made no laughter and song about their fires and little conversation. Mostly they ate, or tended to kit or weapons, or saw to their horses, now haltered to trees in small groups wherever wild grass grew. All had drunk at the last stream crossed, and now the camp lay strewn along a winding ridgeline, easily defensible from either end, and most certainly from the steep slopes to either side.
After some further discussion, Sofy excused herself to go and sit at the neighbouring fire where Jaryd sat with his leg stretched out with Captain Tyrun and some other senior officers. Sasha saw her sit beside Jaryd, who barely registered her arrival. Sofy had been talking to Jaryd on and off along the ride, and Jaryd, unable to wield a sword and hold the reins at the same time, and thus unable to fight from the front of the Falcon Guard, had seemed to appoint himself her protector. Daryd then excused himself to go and check on Essey, whom he was clearly very attached to. Rysha remained behind, content to gaze into the fire with her big brown eyes, wrapped in a man's cloak a good four times too large. Sofy, Sasha noted, was walking somewhat gingerly. Her saddle-soreness was surely terrible, Sofy had only sat ahorse a handful of times before in her life. But she did not complain.
'Ah, you'll have to be faster than that, lad,' said Teriyan to Andreyis, eyeing Jaryd and Sofy. 'That blue-blood boy, he's a slick one. Have the ladies eating out of his hand in no time… you'll have to make your move faster if a skinny village lad's to have any chance at all…'
'Shut up,' Andreyis told him in irritation, staring into the fire. Teriyan raised his eyebrows in characteristic mirth. 'She's a Verenthane princess, I wasn't thinking that at all.'
Sasha repressed a smile. 'Ah aye,' Teriyan said slyly, 'I'm sure that fleeting vision of a crown on your head at the grand wedding never even happened, not for a moment…
Andreyis glared at him. 'Teriyan,' Sasha reprimanded. 'Leave him alone.'
Teriyan chortled. Rysha was humming the notes to a song, uncomprehending of the conversation. She looked exhausted, her eyelids flickering. Sasha recalled the comb she'd put into her pocket with forethought. She brought it out and gestured to Rysha. Rysha came without question, gathering her enormous cloak so as not to trip, and sat crosslegged before Sasha. It pleased her that the little girl with whom she could barely communicate, and who had every reason to be frightened of foreigners, showed such complete trust.
'I hope they're worth it,' Andreyis said glumly. Broke a twig and tossed it on the flames. 'The Udalyn, I mean.'
Sasha frowned at him. 'Do you doubt it?' she asked, taking the ralama flowers from Rysha's hair and handing them to her.
'Well, no one's ever met one, have they?' Her young friend seemed suddenly gloomy, gazing at the fire. 'An adult, anyhow. What if they're all bastards?'
'You think bastards could have raised a little girl like Rysha? Or a boy like Daryd?'
Andreyis shrugged. 'I don't know. Maybe. Half of Baerlyn thinks my father's a bastard, but I turned out okay.' And, 'Don't say anything,' when he saw the cheap shot forming on her lips.
'All of the stories about the Udalyn suggest otherwise,' Sasha said firmly. Freed from its three wooden pins, Rysha's brown hair fell in folded tangles. The comb was deer bone, finely carved and strong. Rysha winced as it caught at a tangle, still humming softly. 'They've an eye for fine craftsmanship and a love of green things. Tharyn Askar was not only a great warrior, it's said he grew sunflowers.'
'Oh aye, that's a real recommendation,' Andreyis replied, poking the coals with another stick. 'They're just stories, anyhow. Old Cranyk tells stories of the scores of Cherrovan warriors he's slain, and the great size of the bucks he's hunted…'
'To say nothing of the size of his cock,' Teriyan added.
Andreyis nodded sagely. 'Exactly. A shrivelled little thing, I'm sure. Who can tell which stories are true?
