“I’ve always come,” Sasha said coldly, and walked carefully across the roof to the edge, and a short jump to the ground. Damon followed, and she walked with him to their horses. “Why does he always do that?” she asked him plaintively.
“Do what?”
“Make me feel like my entire existence is an affront to him!”
“I heard a compliment,” Damon said drily. “That you rejected.”
“Where’s Myklas?” Sasha asked him, changing the subject.
“He rides with Heryd.”
Sasha did not like the thought of Myklas riding with the northern cavalry. But he was too young for a command, he was a good rider, and the northerners should have at least one royal riding with them.
Jaryd was waiting with the horses, and holding a round, wooden shield. He presented it to Sasha.
“What’s this?”
“And to think they ever called me a dunce,” Jaryd remarked.
“I can’t ride with this,” Sasha snorted. “I’m a girl, it’s too heavy for me.”
“It’s the lightest I could find, and it would barely trouble a fifteen-year-old lad,” Jaryd said impatiently, pressing it onto her.
“Take it or I’ll have you tied to a tree and left in the rear,” Damon told her, mounting quickly.
Sasha scowled, and tried its leather straps. It dragged on her arm, and did horrible things to her balance. She smacked it onto the horse’s saddle, and used that weight as a hold to drag herself up. She spurred off after Damon, Jaryd, several Royal Guards and three of Damon’s selected nobility. To their left, facing southward, the Army of Lenayin was slowly forming up.
“Sasha, I want you to ride with the Isfayen!” Damon shouted above the noise of their passage. “They have the hottest heads of the bunch, and they’re most likely to lose them in a fight! Try to keep them sane!”
“I’ll try,” said Sasha, “but I can’t promise anything!”
Upon the far right flank, the Lenay cavalry were forming. Damon, Jaryd and Sasha rode before the forward line, where vanguards for each Lenay province formed behind long banners that swirled in the gusting wind. A great, stamping, swirling mass of many thousands of horse, stretched across fields, fences and thickets of trees. They formed in provincial groups, nobility and standing company soldiers to the fore. They rode past the Valhanan cavalry, and Sasha glimpsed her old enemy, Great Lord Kumaryn, amidst a crowd of mounted noble riders, armour and leathers polished spotless for the occasion. A little across from the nobility, she spotted the banner of the Valhanan Black Wolves.
Here next were Tyree, behind their green banner. Sasha saw Jaryd give the Great Lord Arastyn and his noble company a burning stare in passing, and saw it returned with equal venom. She’d heard tales of the Tyree nobility’s outrage at Damon’s selection for promotion to his personal company. A little further, and she saw the banner of the Tyree Falcon Guards… Jaryd pulled his sword to salute them, and a huge cheer rose from the guardsmen. Sasha performed her own salute, and the cheer rose to a roar. This part of Lenayin, at least, was hers and Jaryd’s forever.
More cheers greeted them as the line companies, and a few of the nobles, saluted their passing. The line of cavalry seemed to go on forever. Damon and Jaryd rode with her past the royal vanguard, and out along the entire line. And here, squeezed between Lenay horsemen, were the Torovans-rows and rows of tall, muscular horses mounted by warriors in gleaming silver chain and helms. Most of the front row wielded tall steel lances, a forest of spikes against the brightening sky, and they too were arranged behind their provincial flags. Passing the flag of Pazira, Sasha saluted once more, and was received by more cheering. Duke Carlito Renine saluted back.
Riding along the Torovan ranks, Sasha felt her hopes rise. Dear spirits, there were a lot of them. And Carlito was right-while not of Lenay quality on foot, Torovans had long made excellent horsemen. Sasha counted only four Torovan provinces, meaning that Koenyg would be deploying the others on the left flank with the northern cavalry, as the northerners had no complaint riding with foreign Verenthanes, only Lenay pagans. If Lenayin could win this battle, it would be won with cavalry. Gazing out across this great sea of horseflesh and steel, Sasha thought that surely, now, the advantage was with them.
Upon the farthest reach of the flank, they found the Fyden, Yethulyn, and finally, at the very end, the Isfayen. Sasha peeled off to join Great Lord Faras beneath his waving red, green and blue banners, unable to give Damon and Jaryd any more of a farewell than a wave. They waved back, as the Isfayen cheered, and wheeled about at the formation’s far end, to ride back to the royal vanguard. From there, Damon would command the entire right flank cavalry…perhaps fourteen thousand horse. The left flank would have about ten thousand-six Lenay and four Torovan, but those six thousand northerners were rightly reckoned to be worth more, man for man. In the middle, fifteen thousand Lenay infantry, with perhaps two thousand Torovan archers and five thousand Torovan infantry for a reserve.
She had ridden to a rebellion in the north of Lenayin, and thought that an impossibly large force. Beside this, it was nothing.
Great Lord Faras did not object to Sasha taking a place at his immediate side, one of his nobles even moving aside to suggest it. He looked magnificent, long black hair immaculately brushed beneath the ferocious, horned helm, mail armour reflecting the sun, his horse’s mane and bridle tied with many colourful tuffets.
“Why the far flank, Lord Faras?” Sasha asked, though she already knew the answer.
“In the lowlands, who loses the flank, loses the war,” Faras said grimly.
“The Isfayen shall hold this flank.” Sasha wondered whose arm he’d twisted for the honour. Or cut off, more likely. “You have a new shield,” Faras observed. “It does not like you.”
“The feeling’s mutual.”
“There is no shame for a woman not to ride in war like a man,” Faras said confidently. “The glory of the Synnich is on two feet, with no shield. The Isfayen shall protect you.”
“Thanks,” Sasha muttered. And wondered exactly why Damon had told her to ride here, instead of with him. Clearly they had grown attached to her, and she them. But she suspected something more political afoot.
The Enoran Steel sprawled across a rise of fields, making it difficult to discern their number. A single line gleamed silver in the middle, and darker here on the flanks, where horse dominated. In the distance Sasha could hear horns, high and clear. Communications, she reckoned. Surely more convenient than messengers or flags.
“They’re coming,” one of the Isfayen nobles remarked. So soon? Sasha frowned, squinting at the line. Surely enough, it seemed to advance. There was no additional flurry of trumpets, no clashing of swords on shields. The Enorans merely came, in perfect formation. This was not an army that relied on threats or bluster to sow fear. This army relied on reputation and capability alone.
Lenay men began noticing, and yells went up, joined by others, until the challenge grew to an ear-splitting roar. Sasha steadied her nervous mare, flexing her left arm against the unaccustomed weight of shield. Great Lord Faras did not yell with his nobles, he merely watched, his narrowed eyes unreadable.
“Confident,” he surmised, watching the Steel.
“They’ve never lost,” Sasha reminded him.
“Today that changes.”
“They bring their artillery into range. It moves up behind them. We must move now.”
Faras smiled. “You worry like a woman. They are not well rested, they spent all night moving.” The signalman ahead of them raised his flag. “See, your brother’s signal.” Faras raised his sword. The flag fell. Faras lowered his sword, and put heels to his horse.