Tracato

“For everything, there is a time,” said Errollyn. “Not now, Lesthen. Not here, and not in this. A very simple rule was broken, and this man attempted to unbalance everything that you, and all serrin, have worked so hard to create, and that you now laud as a great achievement. We kill him not from vengeance but because to fail to do so will cause all right-minded humans to lose faith in us, or to view us as helplessly weak.”

“And quite rightly too,” Kiel interjected, “should we fail in something so obvious.”

“And what should we become, if we kill this man?” Lesthen looked at Reynold. Reynold watched, with more trepidation now than before. The intelligence was there, in his blue eyes. The charm. At another time, Errollyn might have wondered how it were possible for a man who possessed so many admirable qualities to be so evil. Now, he only remembered the pain of blades and shackles, and the scars on Sasha’s body.

“Should we become like our very worst enemies?” Lesthen continued. “Should we kill any who oppose us? Should we seek the sword before the word? Can truth be found in blood?”

“Yes,” said Errollyn. “The poets write of a mystical balance in nature, yet I grew up in the wilds, and I see nothing like what they describe. Nature’s creatures do not seek harmonious relations, they would all grow to a plague if allowed, and rape all the land. But they don’t, because first, the food runs out, and second, the predators kill them. That is the truth of blood, Lesthen, that we serrin have forgotten. All the way of the world is blood, and the harmonious balance of the poets is nothing more than an equal measure of death. We forgot it for a thousand years and more, and now, the humans remind us. Yet you…you do not thank them for the reminder of a vital truth, but rather cling to unwise myths of the loving mother earth. Mother earth eats her children, Lesthen. So shall we, should we seek to live on this earth much longer?”

Lesthen said nothing. He was considering. About the resh’ulan, many were. Errollyn was surprised. It had been a while since he had stood in a space such as this, and exchanged the idis’iln, the force of reason, with his fellow serrin. For so long he had been exasperated by them, by the hypocrisy of a people so proud of their equanimity, yet so lacking in its practice. Had he misjudged his people? Or rather, had he simply grown?

Reynold cleared his throat. “Might I speak my piece?” he suggested. Lesthen ignored him, considering how to respond to Errollyn’s idis’iln, with one of equal force. Reynold took it for encouragement, and carefully stood. “I have heard often of the justice of the serrin, and I am encouraged, noble serrinim, to see it in practice here today…”

Lesthen made an irritated gesture to another serrin. That man hopped the small moat and struck Reynold to the face. Reynold hit the ground hard, and lay groaning. Not one serrin face, in all those surrounding, displayed any shock nor displeasure.

“Your words are pure poison, Master Reynold,” said Lesthen. “You and your kind suffer from the worst disease of humanity, the willingness to subordinate truth, to lock reason in chains and to rape the objective thought, in order to achieve your objective. Never mind if the objective is just, you have forfeited by your methods any right to speak in the resh’ulan, for now and ever. Your life belongs to us now.”

To the rear of the amphitheatre, some serrin were rising. Errollyn turned, and saw Kessligh walking down the stairs. His eyes were on Reynold, and deadly serious.

“Yuan Kessligh,” said Lesthen. “I welcome you. Perhaps you wish to speak?”

Kessligh appeared to be considering it, as he walked to Errollyn’s side. Errollyn noted that no one had thought to remove his weapons. Kessligh stopped, and looked at Lesthen. Then at Reynold. Everyone waited for him to speak.

Instead, Kessligh stepped across the moat, dropped his staff in favour of his blade, and struck off Reynold’s head where he sat. The body fell, fountaining blood. Kessligh examined his blade, critically, as Reynold’s head rolled on the stone, then stopped. Finding no blemish, or even a stain of blood, so fast had been the strike, Kessligh resheathed the sword. And turned, to confront the entire resh’ulan staring at him, silently.

“What are you doing here?” Kessligh asked, in exasperation. “The purpose of debate is to change opinions. Some humans are not capable of that. In such confrontations, it’s them, or it’s us. I choose us. Now, Rhodaan is under attack, I submit we all have better ways to spend our time than here.”

“The purpose of the debate, Yuan Kessligh,” said Lesthen, “is not to convince our enemies. It is to convince ourselves. Serrin are not born wise, we must teach ourselves wisdom every day.”

“Wisdom?” Kessligh walked close to Lesthen, and stared at him. “Serrin have had two centuries to prepare for this moment, yet still the main force that defends you is human. Where are Saalshen’s heavy forces? Saalshen makes steel unknown to human methods, and breeds fine horses and horsemen, and engineers projectile weapons of terrible force, and flaming oils that can melt steel and crack stone, but still you will not make your own armies save for the talmaad’s light cavalry! Heavy armies require a change in methods, a change in civilisation, a recruitment of soldiers, a reordering of society. Serrin have refused all this and chosen instead to place their burden upon the shoulders of humans. And why? Because you’re too busy fucking debating!”

He glared about at them all, in genuine anger.

“It’s wise to learn how to cook,” Kessligh fumed, “but a meal prepared over three weeks is inedible! There is wisdom in action! So stop talking, and act!”

He walked up the stairs, between standing serrin who stared at him. Kiel, no habitual friend of Kessligh’s, began to applaud. Several of Kiel’s ra’shi joined him. So did Errollyn, and Aisha. Then some more.

Errollyn followed Kessligh up the stairs, and those applauding followed. It seemed an odd collection of people, Errollyn supposed, within which to finally find consensus with his people. But for now, it was enough.

From upon the crest of a low hill, Sasha sat ahorse and observed the most awesome sight she had ever seen. Across what the locals called Thero Valley assembled the Army of Lenayin. It had been assembling since midmorning, and now the sun drew past midday, and soldiers were still arriving. They filled the valley, a swarm too vast to comprehend. Infantry gathered to the middle, thousands of men from the towns, villages and farms of Lenayin, bristling with swords, with shields to the front. Across the flanks and to the rear clustered cavalry, milling in ragged ranks that had no regard for the thin walls that divided one pasture from another.

A narrow stream twisted across the valley floor, lined with trees. Several small, huddled villages hugged its banks, with little mills and bridges of simple wooden planks. The inhabitants had fled, Sasha heard, upon sighting the first Lenay formations.

The Army of Lenayin’s line was directed up the gentle slope of the valley’s left flank, on the diagonal. There atop the hill was a castle. Before the castle stretched a thick, silver line of steel, glinting like jewellery in the fall of sunlight through broken cloud. The rest of the Enoran Steel lay out of sight over the ridge, but there was no doubt they were there. The Steel of any Saalshen Bacosh province did not divide its forces, relying on maximum numbers to multiply the fighting power of its formations. And to divide one’s forces in the face of any enemy’s superior numbers was folly.

Sasha stared now at the slope that the Army of Lenayin must climb to do battle. The diagonal angle was a complication that such a ragged army as the Lenays, unaccustomed to grand formations, did not need. The better news was that the slope was not steep, but for massed armour like the Steel, any high ground was a huge advantage. Koenyg had the option of moving his forces down the valley to the base of the slope directly opposite the Steel lines and the castle, but that could easily have placed him within reach of the Steel’s artillery, whose range would be extended by the slope to the tune of a hundred paces at least. Koenyg had chosen well, Sasha thought. But the Enorans had chosen better.

Great Lord Faras of Isfayen came galloping to her side at the head of his entourage. “This shall be a battle unlike any in all the history of Lenayin,” he observed. Sasha had expected him to be bursting with excitement, as were all too many of the men she’d observed. Instead, he seemed subdued, as though the scale of what confronted him had reduced him to a state of awe. “Our ancestors shall curse the fates that they lived too soon to see the likes of this. Men shall tell of this for centuries.”

“Best that they tell it well,” Sasha said grimly. “Should we attack straight up that slope, we’re all dead, and our grandchildren will tell only of what fools we were.”

“There is no other place,” Lord Ranas declared from his friend Faras’s side. “North of here is forest, while land to the south is too broken for large formations.”

Faras nodded. “The Enorans move faster than we, the Enoran border is all paved roads and bridges. Look how fast they come forward from their border to counter us here. Should we go south, we could manoeuvre for days