Now the Army of Lenayin marched in the wake of the victorious Army of Larosa. That rankled all the more, to walk behind a foreign army, allies though they were. All knew well, in the theory of such things, that this victory was as much Lenayin's as Larosa's. Lenayin had engaged the Enoran Steel with only a little advantage in numbers, and fought them harder and bloodier than the Enorans had ever been fought…indeed, if not for the heroism of a last, suicidal charge by serrin talmaad of Saalshen, who fought on the Enorans' side, outcomes might well have been different.
Lenayin had retained enough force, and rocked the Enorans back on their heels hard enough, that the Enorans had been unable to make a direct march north to assist their hard-pressed allies in Rhodaan. Without such support, Rhodaan had fallen to the vastly superior numbers of the Larosan Army.
Koenyg rode out from the head of the column behind a cluster of Royal Guards, Damon at his side, and several younger lords as well. Sasha followed with Jaryd and Yasmyn, and no few scowls from the northerners as they passed them. On such short scouting rides, it had been agreed that numbers about the king should be limited, as speed was the greater defence, and too many riders on narrow roads would only get in the way should there be an ambush. The great lords, to Sasha's relief, remained behind.
Sasha could not see any life in the fields they passed. She knew this land a little, having lived several months in Tracato during the troubles there, before abandoning everything she'd thought she was serving to return to the only cause she had left-her people, and her nation. Always the farmlands about Tracato had been full of life, farmers working their fields, children playing around the farmhouses, carts and shepherds with their animals on the roads. Now, there were only the birds in the trees. Even the animals were missing from the fields.
Soon the village came into view on the far side of the winding river. It was pretty, as were most Rhodaani villages, its yellow brick and red tile structures standing tall on the bank, making a line of colourful reflection in the gently flowing water. A low stone bridge crossed the river, another scout waiting at its end to signal the way was clear. The Lenays clattered across, banners high. The village had the look of a ghost town.
“At least they didn't burn it,” said Jaryd. Several villages further back along the road had not been so fortunate. Sasha had been surprised at the strength of Jaryd's disgust back then. Jaryd had been a nobleman once, the heir to the Lenay central province of Tyree, no less. A fall from grace had led him to convert from the grand, noble faith of the Verenthanes to the rural paganism of the Goeren-yai. Sasha had thought him largely done with the trappings of nobility, and indeed he seemed quite happy to dress in the rough cloth, leathers, and skins of a Goeren-yai warrior, grow his hair long, and own little besides his horse and sword. But now, he seemed in great distress at the wanton destruction of lovely buildings and works of art in the little courtyards that seemed to occupy the centre of every Rhodaani village.
“It is too pretty to burn,” said Yasmyn. “Even the Larosans must have some standards.” From Yasmyn, such remarks surprised Sasha even more than from Jaryd. Yasmyn was Isfayen, daughter to the Great Lord Faras, slain in the Battle of Shero Valley, as the great conflict against the Enoran Steel was known. She had ridden with the Army of Lenayin as handmaiden to the Princess Sofy, Sasha's sister, now safely wed to the Larosan Regent Balthaar. Her parting from Sofy's service had not been amicable, as Balthaar's men had raped her in retaliation for her attempted defence of her princess.
Yasmyn now wore the red scarf of the angyvar-or “the impatience,” in translation from Telochi-with dark markings of ancient symbols, and fading, self-inflicted scars on her cheek. Two gold rings in her left ear indicated some success so far, representing the heads of two of her attackers, delivered to her father as proof of honour restored. Sasha understood that there was still one left.
But Sasha was surprised all the same to hear any concern from Yasmyn for a mere village. The Isfayen were renowned as uncompromising warriors even by the standards of Lenayin. Whatever Yasmyn's hatred for Lenayin's allies in this war, Isfayen honour would not typically allow sympathy for an enemy, even an enemy who fought against Larosans.
As they came upon the far bank, Sasha saw waterwheels slowly churning the river currents. The riders turned onto the main road, past the buildings that flanked the river. The road was narrow between tall stone walls, and hooves made a clattering racket on the cobbles. There were no people in sight, but no destruction either.
“Perhaps they all ran away,” said Jaryd. It seemed likely.
“Perhaps the Larosan raiding parties finally missed a village,” Yasmyn added. That seemed less likely. The Larosans knew Rhodaan well enough, having plenty of Rhodaani spies who had drawn maps for them. They seemed to be hitting every village anywhere near their army's advance, and many that were not near at all.
Sasha did not reply. She knew that she had not been talkative company lately. Much of the time, she simply did not feel like speaking…which, amongst those who knew her before, was regarded with grave concern. Her father King Torvaal had died at Shero Valley, though she had neither known nor loved him well. Far worse, her dear childhood friend Teriyan Tremel had also died, and her even dearer childhood friend Andreyis had never been found in the aftermath. She retained a faint hope that he had been taken prisoner.
And her lover was on the other, Rhodaani, side and the Army of Lenayin now marched toward him. Kessligh Cronenverdt, truly the closest thing she had to a parent, was also on the other side. Fighting against Enora had been one thing, where she knew that neither Kessligh nor Errollyn would be numbered amongst the enemy. Fighting the Rhodaanis would be another matter entirely. There were times at night, as she stared at the stars, when she wondered if she would not rather have fallen at Shero Valley. At other times, she wondered if it would not be too dishonourable to fall still, by her own hand.
Sasha saw the Royal Guards ahead reach for their swords. Then the shock, and the staring. She had suspected it would come, eventually, as they drew deeper into Rhodaan, and encountered villagers who had perhaps, for whatever reason, thought not to run.
The courtyard was a temple courtyard, with a big tree, gnarled and swollen before the temple steps. Hanging from the tree were perhaps twenty corpses. Some had been disembowelled, entrails swinging in glistening tangles. Some were women. Several were children. An older man was tied to the tree, his corpse and much of the trunk feathered with arrows, where soldiers had used him for target practice.
“Get them down,” ordered Koenyg. No one moved. Koenyg stared at one of the young northern lords. The youngster, no more than eighteen, looked offended.
“My king,” he said, with a thick Hadryn accent, “you surely cannot expect such work to fall to me?”
“I expect,” Koenyg said sharply, “that a Lenay man marching to war will follow his king's instruction.” In any land but Lenayin, such a firm tone from the king would have been followed by rapid obedience.
“But my lord!” the youngster protested. “Find me a formation of Rhodaani Steel to charge single-handedly, and I shall gladly do it! But to perform such rank and lowly duties as this, I should be dishonoured before my peers.” His accompanying lordlings nodded their agreement. “Get the guardsmen to do it.”
Koenyg ground his teeth. “They have the distinction of actually being useful,” he growled. Sure enough, the Royal Guardsmen now ringed the courtyard, swords drawn in defence of their king and Prince Damon. “Go then and ride back to the column. Tell them not to ride through the town, tell them on my order to stay to the northern bank, and follow the road there until we can rejoin this road further ahead, perhaps at the next bridge.”