“I am on the side of history,” Koenyg repeated. “And history weeps for no man.”
“History sides with no man,” said Rhillian. “It watches from afar, and laughs at his claims of ownership.”
Koenyg shrugged. “I'm winning.” He shifted in his chair to look at her more closely. “If you wish, you could return with me to Lenayin. Learn our ways. Convert to the faith. That would be a novelty, to be sure, perhaps even sufficient to impress the Archbishops.”
“I decline.”
Koenyg raised an eyebrow. “I don't think you realise quite what I'm offering. Most of these men would simply have you killed, and painfully. They think you're evil. I don't. I just think you're in my way.”
“And proud to be so.”
Koenyg smiled. “I'm offering you a chance to show the world of men that your people are not evil. That you can be civilised. That you can embrace the gods, and learn to live as we do. You would be the perfect model of such a display. From there, you could become a spokesperson for your people, and could travel to Torovan and the newly united Bacosh, beneath my banner. But it could only be possible in Lenayin. As I said, here, they'd just kill you. But Lenays do things differently, and find other paths. It is our strength.”
“Ours too,” said Rhillian.
Koenyg nodded. “Then you'll consider it? It is no small offer. The protests I would face from my strongest supporters would be intense. The unholiness of Saalshen has been a core teaching of the Torovan and Bacosh faiths for centuries now.”
“Made more so in recent years for political gain,” Rhillian added.
Koenyg shrugged again. “Perhaps.”
“What you're saying is that you will try to help me save my people, who are about to become defenceless if this battle is lost, by helping us all to convert?”
“Yes,” said Koenyg. “With you as their figurehead and representative, to prove the possibility to the doubters, and backed and protected by the King of Lenayin. Any invasion of Saalshen will take years to organise. Perhaps there were plans for it to happen rapidly after Jahnd's fall, but losses have been too severe here, nearly a half of the Regent's total force has been lost so far, a staggering cost. Saalshen is defenceless without the Steels, and there is no need for mad haste. I think you could have a year at least, perhaps two, within which to make arrangements for your new circumstance in Lenayin.”
“And in return for our mass conversion,” Rhillian continued, “we will be required to abandon our freedom of thought? Our questions? Our philosophies and arts? Our instinct to take human ways and thoughts that we find intriguing, and blend them with our own to find new and interesting expression?”
Koenyg smiled. “Exactly.”
Rhillian met his gaze quite clearly. “I think that my people will tell you that they would rather you killed us all down to the very last child.” Koenyg's smile faded. “Which is where this is most likely headed anyway, in time.”
Koenyg sighed. “I offer you a chance to change that course, yet you spit on it.”
“No,” said Rhillian. “By making such an offer, you spit on us.”
Sasha stood atop the defensive wall and watched Jahnd burn. About her were Ilduuris, worn, exhausted, and battle-stained. These were not her familiar names, for after Arken, Captain Idraalgen was also dead, as were numerous others she had known in Andal. Those remaining stood together and watched a new artillery shot come whistling in, and land a hundred paces from the wall in a bright flash. New fire consumed buildings, adding to the blaze that already burned, and blocked out all view of the Dhemerhill Valley behind choking smoke.
Perhaps that was just as well. The Dhemerhill, and now the adjoining Ilmerhill, was entirely occupied by the Regent's men. They burned all the town adjoining the city walls, to create a clear approach for assault, if it were needed. Given the reports of artillery hauled up the rear, flanking slopes to hit them from behind and above, Sasha did not think it was necessary. This burning was mostly for distraction, and for spite.
“I am sorry, my friends, if I have led you to this,” she said heavily.
A sergeant put a hand on her shoulder guard. “We came willingly,” he said. “And it has been glorious.”
“Aye,” said Sasha. “Yes, it has.”
Now it was late afternoon, and the shadows grew long. Artillery would fire from the high slopes and set the upper end of town afire. Walls would be undefendable and, when cracked with heat, could probably be breached with stone shot from the catapults. They would not last the night if they stayed here.
She left her men to head down the stairs to a street below, where she reclaimed her horse. Yasmyn was there, having acquired a new horse, her old horse dead from a ballista bolt as she'd raced back and forth amidst the carnage of the retreat, attempting to convey orders and warnings from one commander to another. She was grim and blackened with smoke, yet sat proud in the saddle.
Andreyis was missing, but alive, tending to Yshel who, word was, soon might not be. She'd been too near a hellfire round that exploded, and was burned.
Rhillian was missing; Aisha had been near her at the time, and her description did not sound promising. Of the thousand or so talmaad who had followed Rhillian on that mission to cover the retreat of the wall's defenders, barely half had returned.
Errollyn was missing, too. Sasha willed herself to be like stone, and set off uphill, with Yasmyn close behind. She could not grieve now. Errollyn was too good at surviving for her to believe the worst without evidence, and no one had seen him fall. Besides which, she had the conclusion of a battle to wage, and if it went the way things now suggested it would, and Errollyn was dead, she'd be joining him soon enough.
Wait for me, she willed him as she urged her horse uphill past lines of ascending, battle-scarred soldiers and frightened townsfolk. Don't leave for the spirit world before I get there. I'm coming.
At Windy Point, she found Kessligh, Damon, and Jaryd, standing before their horses to survey the scene. Jaryd was credited by some as having saved the retreat. He'd plunged into the first attacking wave of cavalry, then led many to regroup on the far side, and swung back to hit those lead cavalry again. The distraction had forced their attention aside from assaulting the retreating Steel, and bought them enough space to fall back to the outskirts of Jahnd, where cavalry could not follow.
“The night is our only chance,” said Kessligh. Sasha nodded. It was what they'd discussed in Liri, last night upon the hillside. These valleys made a confine. The only thing the Regent's men feared now was the dark, and the serrin who prowled beyond the reaches of their fires. Serrin cavalry could fight at night, their horses trained to trust that their riders could see better than they. In the dark, such riders could kill and not be killed in reply. But first, they had to escape this trap.
“How do we make a hole?” Jaryd wondered, gazing down at the valley. The Regent's forces made a giant circle about Jahnd, and across the mouth of the Ilmerhill Valley. They had occupied the Dhemerhill Valley at first, to drive out opposing forces, but now they'd pulled back and made a great ring of steel across it instead.
“If they'd stayed in the valley,” Sasha observed, “in amongst the buildings, we'd have done well. In the dark we could get in amongst them on the streets, it would be single combat, and Lenayin would kill them. But it seems they've thought of that.”
Kessligh shook his head. “They'll be expecting a final breakout attempt. They'll make us come at them across open ground. Night vision will count for nothing if they know precisely where we are.”
“Lenayin is at half strength,” Damon said tiredly. “We've more than that for a defence, but many are wounded, and not up to an attack.”
“We've enough talmaad,” said Kessligh. “Barely. But as Jaryd says, we need to find a hole. If we can get through them…somewhere.” His eyes searched the encircling lines, hungrily. “Look here, they place their catapults too close together. The Steel space them out more-those ammunition wagons can sometimes catch fire, and if one goes up, the flames kill everything within a hundred paces. Those catapults are barely sixty paces apart.”