Suddenly there were too few targets, and any surviving Bacosh cavalry were retreating rapidly up the valley, with more talmaad in pursuit. Errollyn found himself alongside a Rhodaani officer, who looked utterly astonished at the ease and speed of the victory. Before him, the valley floor was littered with arrow-spiked bodies, and bewildered, riderless horses.
“Their tactics against us have a little way to improve,” Errollyn said drily.
“They'd best leave playing in hills and valleys to us,” the officer agreed. The Bacosh ambush had at least been a sign of tactical thought, but Kessligh had seen through it in an instant, looked over the surrounding terrain, and seen a possibility for counterambush that the invaders, in their focus on setting up their own, might have missed.
The Rhodaani cavalry were yelling now, saluting Kessligh with swords raised high. He had been playing cat-and-mouse with the forward elements of the advancing Bacosh Army for weeks, with Rhodaani and talmaad forces decidedly in the role of mouse. Thus far, the mice were winning, and this was their biggest victory yet.
Errollyn noticed a serrin rider heading for Kessligh, and there were cheers and salutes from the Rhodaanis for her, also. The ambushing force had been hers, here in the valley. As Kessligh's successes grew, so did the numbers of his forces, as others fighting rearguard actions against the advancing Bacosh masses abandoned their own small battles, and came to join his.
Errollyn urged his horse forward to join the gathering of commanders. He was in command of those serrin who rode with Kessligh from the beginning. At Kessligh's side now, surveying the scene, was a captain of the Rhodaani cavalry.
And the new serrin arrival, Rhillian.
“One of those knights is Lord Hilsen of Meraine,” said Rhillian with satisfaction, nodding toward the body-strewn valley floor. “A close friend to the Chansul of Meraine. We make the Meraini so angry at us that they throw their senior lords into our pursuit.”
The Chansul ruled all Meraine and, as such, was a contestant for King of all Bacosh. Meraini forces seemed particularly keen on foraging and sending advance parties ahead of the main column, perhaps eager to claim their share of new lands before others arrived. Kessligh's previous, much smaller, successes against them appeared to have caused some anger. Now they had sent a larger force, and lost them.
“The Regent will put a stop to it now,” Kessligh told them. “Or he will try to. I suppose we will learn from this how much command he actually has over the individual provinces of the Free Bacosh.”
“Either way, we've gained some space between our retreating army and their advance,” said the Rhodaani captain. “They are a huge force, and they advance like one. As we enter the hills on the Enoran border, they will be slower still.”
“It's still not enough,” said Kessligh, grimacing slightly as his attention moved onto problems far ahead. “Enora is no place for decisive battles, and with the border now unprotected, there's no telling what uncommitted elements are racing toward us to lay a claim with the new king. We need the Ilduuri to commit, and still we hear nothing.”
“We cannot plan on the Ilduuri coming to our aid,” said Rhillian. “We must plan on defeating Regent Arrosh on our own.”
“Whilst still aiming to increase our forces at every opportunity,” Kessligh added, at once agreeing and disagreeing with her. Rhillian shrugged.
Those serrin travelling with her told that she had been probing the Army of Lenayin, greatly concerned about how the battle would go once those forces arrived in full. Errollyn wondered if that were all there was to it. She looked different now, her white hair short, the long braid that Errollyn had never known her without, missing. Something about the cut was odd, too-it was slightly longer on one side of her face than the other. If there was a story behind it, Rhillian was not telling, and none of her travelling companions professed to know.
A serrin woman interrupted them, to introduce a messenger. Kessligh beckoned the messenger forward, and a serrin lad of no more than sixteen rode to join them.
“I come from Coromen,” he said. Kessligh frowned-Coromen was in the path of the Army of Lenayin's advance, still two days behind the Army of the Bacosh, to hear the latest. “An orphanage was slaughtered there, thirty-two children and their carers.”
Rhillian's hand went to her mouth. “We missed one?” she murmured, aghast.
The lad nodded. “We came across the bodies buried by a roadside. The Bacosh men responsible had been hauling them to the army column, to collect their bounty.” Rhillian's eyes gleamed with tears. It was the nightmare that all talmaad had striven the last two centuries to avoid. “But those men, we found killed and left to rot. From the manner of ritual execution, we think it was Isfayen men, of Lenayin. And given the closeness to the head of the Lenay column, it must have been Isfayen lords from the vanguard party-the main body of Isfayen ride too far back in the Lenay column for it to have been them.”
“And they buried the children's bodies?” asked the Rhodaani captain, frowning.
“The Isfayen are not all you've heard,” Kessligh said quietly. “They think warfare is sport, but there is no sport in killing children. People who think otherwise will anger them, and angry Isfayen are uncompromising.”
“Sasha rides with the Isfayen vanguard,” said Errollyn. All looked at him. Kessligh was silent, almost unreadable. And Errollyn found himself swallowing against a sudden tightness in his throat.
“We cannot hope that dreams and wishes shall save us,” said Rhillian. “First we hope for the Ilduuri, now we dream that Sasha may turn her people against this war. She may have had vengeance upon those murderers, but she rides with an army of their allies that makes such slaughter possible. Sasha is my enemy. She is the enemy of us all.”
FIVE
Sofy was kneeling before the shrine in her tent, maids daubing her hair and hands with scented oils, when another maid entered to tell her of the new arrivals. Sofy scowled, and gave her reply.
“It is not proper for the Princess Regent to receive a male visitor within her chambers,” announced Sister Mardola from beside the shrine. She sat with a book of scripture upon her lap, paused now in her recital of the verse of Harienne.
“I must see him,” said Sofy, still frowning. “My Lenay family have sent him, he is to be my protection.”
“You have twenty knights of Larosa to your personal guard,” the sister reprimanded. “You have no need of any other.”
“It is the gods' will that one cannot change one's family,” Sofy said firmly. Sister Mardola looked severely displeased. She did that a lot.
Sofy remained kneeling for the rest of the recital, then took a sip of holy water in consecration and was blessed by the Almin Star. The star was then placed about her neck, and she rose and took a black silk shawl in which to receive her guest.
Jaryd was admitted through the front entrance of the tent. He looked up and about in amazement at the sheer size of the interior. Silk drapes divided the living space into sections, drifting in a slight breeze. There were furnishings too, light but expensive, and great rugs for the floor of grass.
Jaryd dressed as a Lenay warrior would, and a high status one at that-a leather jacket over a chain vest. The jacket had thick shoulder guards, his riding gloves bore steel studs, and there were spurs on his boots. His sword was a big Lenay two-hander, and the knife through the front of his belt was nearly the size of an Isfayen darak.
He looked at her now, and stifled a laugh. Sofy folded her arms crossly.
“What?” she snapped.