Then there were new yells in the temple as townsfolk began charging in. The Steel's wall before the steps had failed, the soldiers unprepared to use swords on their own people. Men and women ran in yelling, swarming past Kessligh and his Nasi-Keth and serrin, past Andreyis, then past the dumbfounded soldiers and their wounded captain.
There was no violence, for the people did not attack, but formed a human wall before the flammable pile. Numbers increased in a steady flow, and the soldiers' swords remained in their sheaths. It was over.
Kessligh's people convinced the soldiers to leave, then began removing the demon fire artillery, very carefully. The crowds of common folk cheered and wept. Andreyis went with the other prisoners and sat on the steps to one side.
Soon, Yshel emerged. Spotting him, she walked over and sat by him.
“Nice shot,” said Andreyis, with a smile.
Yshel put a hand on his good arm. “You were brave,” she said.
“I've fought in wars,” Andreyis said sourly. “That was nothing.”
Yshel shook her head, impatiently. “No, that is not what I meant. This clumsy tongue, it does not offer the best translation. I meant not a bravery of the body. Instead, a bravery of the mind. You are not Verenthane. This is not your fight, and these people are your enemies. Yet you took a risk to save something that is not yours.”
Andreyis sighed. “Serrin aren't the only ones to know right from wrong.”
“No,” Yshel said quietly. “Sometimes you know better than us. I would have let them burn it down.”
“You may have been right to. Maybe we did something stupid. But it didn't feel right.”
Behind her, Andreyis saw Kessligh walking over. He climbed to his feet. Kessligh embraced him, and held him for a long time. When they parted, Andreyis saw emotion on his face. And perhaps even…was that a tear? Surely not.
“Good to see you well,” said Kessligh, attempting gruffness. “Very good.”
“No smarter, though,” said Andreyis, with a nod to the temple doors.
“And I'm pleased for it. Destroying the High Temple would have been, for the Enorans, like a mother killing her own child. I don't want to be fighting with a people who think they deserve to lose.” He looked over the group. “So you're my prisoner, then?”
“Looks that way,” Andreyis said glumly.
“You do realise you're on the wrong side?” Coming from Kessligh, the hero of Lenayin, it nearly shocked him.
“I can't fight my own people,” Andreyis said stubbornly.
“You did in the Northern Rebellion.”
“You know what I mean.”
Kessligh nodded. He saw the accusation on Andreyis's face, and on the faces of the other Lenays, sitting here on the steps. And he took a deep breath.
“We all have our burdens,” he said solemnly. “We all must do what we must. I want a full telling from you, but I don't have the time. You'll be taken to the rear soon, wherever the rear is today. I'll make sure people know what you did.”
He clasped Andreyis's shoulder, and departed. In his place stood the serrin archer from the temple. He was certainly the scariest looking serrin Andreyis had ever seen-handsome, with wild hair and green eyes, his bare arms crossed with numerous scars. Yet now, as he looked at Andreyis, he seemed uncertain. Almost shy.
Andreyis realised he looked familiar. “Errollyn!” he exclaimed, recalling the serrin who had ridden to the Northern Rebellion with his friends.
Errollyn put out a hand strong enough to crush most others, but his grip was light, in serrin fashion. “I have you at a disadvantage,” Errollyn apologised. “Sasha's told me everything about you.” He smiled, a rare flash of humour.
“I don't like the sound of that,” Andreyis admitted.
“She loves you dearly. She told me that in truth, she has five brothers. Six, counting Krystoff.”
Andreyis swallowed hard. “I know. It wasn't easy being her brother. I can't imagine how hard it is to be her lover.”
Errollyn smiled sadly. “Hard when she was here. Harder still when she is not. The Army of the Bacosh pauses at Shemorane, and the Army of Lenayin draws closer. They will circle west, and perhaps take the lead in the pursuit of the Steel.”
“The Regent's a coward,” said Andreyis. “After the battle of Shero Valley, there's barely twenty thousand Lenays and some Torovans. The Regent must still command better than a hundred thousand, yet he falls back.”
Errollyn shrugged. “Why waste Bacosh lords in pursuit when he can spend Lenays instead?”
“I hear tell of massacres,” Andreyis said quietly. “Of half-castes murdered. We passed some half-castes on the road, they were frightened.”
“Oh, entire villages,” Errollyn said tiredly. “Half-caste or not. The Regent's lords are claiming land, they need it devoid of people. Rhodaanis and Enorans are too uppity to submit easily to feudal rule, they'll need to kill a lot of them first. And they're doing so.”
To the south, behind Shemorane as the Bacosh and Lenay armies advanced, lay a wide land of rolling hills that the locals called Pirene. It was only when Damon and Sasha's formation of five hundred cavalry emerged from the hills around Shemorane that they discovered a Larosan advance party had beaten them to it.
Sasha, Damon, Markan, Lord Heryd, and Myklas galloped to the rise where a Larosan noble party awaited, surveying the lands below.
At their side, the Lenay party found a choice vantage across the Pirene. Several villages were burning, and horsemen could be seen galloping in groups. Beyond, Sasha observed larger groups of horsemen, a dark swarm against the wet green fields.
“Prince Damon,” he introduced himself. “My sister Sashandra, my brother Myklas, Great Lord Heryd of Hadryn, and Great Lord Markan of Isfayen. We have five hundred horse.”
“Lord Elias Assineth,” said the leader. “Cousin of the Regent.” He wore the full plate armour of a Bacosh knight, with his visor raised. He introduced three other lords, similarly armoured. “We also have five hundred.”
“Lord Elias,” said Markan, with some surprise. “My sister Yasmyn sends her regards. She says your two friends' heads made excellent lagand balls. Yours seems also an agreeable shape.”
“Markan!” Damon warned him. Markan merely looked amused. Elias glared at him, but Sasha knew he had little to fear from Markan. The Great Lord of Isfayen would not steal his sister's revenge from her. “Ignore him, he's Isfayen,” said Damon, as though that explained everything. “What is your purpose here?”
“My cousin the Regent enters Shemorane with the Shereldin Star,” said Elias. “This southern side of Shemorane is open, and the irregular forces of Kessligh Cronenverdt threaten this flank. I intend to make trouble here, and destroy much of these fertile lands to force Cronenverdt to defend it, and thus leave my cousin's ceremonies undisturbed.”
“Should we move fast, we might catch Cronenverdt and encircle him,” added Heryd, with some pleasure at the prospect.
Elias nodded. “The main road from Shemorane lies ahead. Many escaping refugees are upon the road, they were delayed by the rains. If we threaten them, and cut off the road, we may provoke him to do something rash.”
“Little chance of that,” Damon said grimly, surveying the scene.
“I'll take the Isfayen and scout the woods to the north of the river,” said Sasha.
“Wait, Sasha,” said Damon. “I think we should stay together.”
“Markan?” Sasha asked, ignoring her brother.
Markan shrugged. “As good a plan as any,” he agreed. He stood in his stirrups and waved back down the hill. There, a hundred Isfayen riders broke away from the Lenay formation, moving about the side of the hill as Sasha and Markan galloped down to join them.
“What are you thinking?” Markan yelled above the noise of their gallop.
“I'm not!” Sasha replied.
“I'm not going to burn villages and kill unarmed poor folk! There is no honour in it!”