“And how do we cross the Ipshaal?” Sasha asked. “Boats could move the army, but it would take many days, and the Regent shall be on our tail again shortly. And I haven't seen any boat that could navigate a river and be large enough to transport catapults.”
“We have a way,” said Rhillian, with a smile in the dark. “Forgive me that I do not tell you. We have not even told the Steel, save for General Rochan. If the Regent knew, I doubt he would allow his priests to delay him so long in Shemorane. He assumes the Ipshaal an impassable barrier to us, and I would rather he stays thus misinformed.”
“A way,” Sasha repeated, thinking hard. Boats, she supposed. Very big boats. The Ipshaal was a very big river, far too wide and strong for any bridge. Surely such large boats were possible. “I look forward to being surprised.”
“You have only seen Tracato,” said Rhillian. “Tracato has its amazements. But Jahnd is something else again.”
Dawn broke upon wet fields and dripping trees. Mist lay across gentle hills, and the night's rain made puddles by the roadside. The light was ghostly, and Sasha felt she was riding in a dreamworld between waking and sleep. In her exhaustion, it did not seem real, what she had led her people to do. Only when the morning cleared, as the sun burned away the mist, did she see a sight that made the previous day real again.
Across a ridgeline of hills, silver ranks of soldiers gleamed in the sun. It was the Enoran Steel. Along the column, men remarked upon sighting them. Some sounded concerned. The last time the men of Lenayin had seen that sight, more than a quarter of them had died.
Sasha looked about for the serrin guides who had accompanied them through the night, and found none. Suddenly, Sasha doubted. Had they been set up? Was this merely a ruse, to lure them all to their deaths? Surely not; the Army of Lenayin was a great asset to a desperate people-not merely a depletion of the enemy's ranks, but a significant increase to their own. But still the doubt remained.
The Steel's formation demanded a reply. Sasha had not seen Damon all night, so she gave the orders herself. Again, none refused her, and word passed loudly down the column.
The army flooded from the road onto the fields opposite the Steel. There was a gentle incline, and it was not a good position. Sasha felt uncomfortable with it, and by the looks several captains, lords, and other seniors gave her, she knew she was not alone. She waited by the road, on what was becoming the far right flank of the army's front line, and watched the lines extend. Bedraggled they were, and tired, and recently humiliated, and even more recently divided and rebelling. Yet still they presented a formidable sight-many thousands of men, and thousands more cavalry, perhaps eighteen thousand by the latest count. They were, man for man, the most fearsome fighting army in Rhodia, and surely even the Steel armies of the Saalshen Bacosh could not dispute it. Sasha looked at the ranks of gleaming steel atop the opposing ridgeline, and thought that surely, beneath those shining helms, Enoran soldiers were also recalling the last time these two armies faced each other, and remembering that familiar chill of fear. Every other army they had faced had been defeated. Most had been routed, and a few, utterly destroyed.
But not this one. This army, out-armoured, out-weaponed, outnumbered when one accounted for the talmaad, and against the most devastating barrage of Enoran artillery, had nearly won.
“What do they do?” an officer muttered by Sasha's side, as the army assembled.
“I'm not sure,” said Sasha. “I think maybe a ritual.”
“They line us up beneath their ridge,” said another man. “They make us occupy the weaker position. It is submission.”
“If they want us to kneel,” growled the officer, “then this meeting will be bloodier than the last.”
“Patience,” Sasha told them. Another less exhausted moment and she might have smiled, that she should be giving such a reprimand. “They don't even have their artillery set up.”
“How can you tell? We can't see beyond their ridge.”
“I can tell,” Sasha lied. “Just wait.”
It took a long time for the army to assemble. Finally, the last men left the road and found a place in the formation upon the field.
Several men rode forth from the Enoran formation, and came across the grass. Sasha looked around for Damon, but still could not find him. She cursed, and rode out alone. She angled left, across the face of the Lenay formation. Initially she looked for Damon, seeking to wave him out onto the field. Then she realised how bad that would look.
On a sudden inspiration, she reined her horse to a halt before a group of cavalry-Fyden men, she saw, from the features of their faces and the style of their clothes and armour.
“Who here speaks Torovan?” she asked them. A few hands went up. “You,” she said, selecting one man. “Ride with me.”
The man looked baffled. Sasha gestured impatiently, and turned her horse to ride out. The Fyden man followed.
Three Enorans had stopped upon the field. Sasha halted her horse before them, and the Fyden man did likewise, looking very uncertain.
“Sashandra Lenayin,” announced their leader. Sasha recognised him.
“General Rochan,” she said. “We meet again, on a field between our two armies.”
“I had supposed you the least significant of those I met on our last occasion,” said the general. “Now I see I was mistaken.” He was an average-sized man with narrow features and intense, watchful eyes. He had impressed Sasha then. Now, having fought against him, and seen his generalship firsthand, she was still impressed. “My sympathies about your father. Where are your brothers?”
“Prince Damon is here,” she said. “Where, I do not know. It's been a long night. Koenyg and Myklas ride with the Regent still.”
“I see,” said General Rochan. “And your forces of the north?”
“Them too, and most of the nobility, though not all.”
“Well,” said the general. He indicated his two companions. “Here I ride with Formation Captain Petisse and Artillery Captain Mauvenon.”
“You had another,” said Sasha, remembering. “Where is he?”
“Formation Captain Lashel was killed at Shero Valley. Captain Petisse was promoted on the field.”
“My sympathies,” said Sasha, and meant it. “Your men fought with courage and skill. Lenayin was impressed.”
“Our artillery did you great harm,” said Rochan. “We did not expect such ferocity from any army that had run through our barrage. Enora was also impressed.” He shifted his gaze to the Fyden man at Sasha's side. “And who is this?”
“I don't know,” Sasha admitted. Rochan looked puzzled. The Fyden man, scarcely less so. “Warrior. Who are you?”
The Fyden drew himself up in his saddle. “I am Kemrys of Fahd, son of Todyn of Fahd. I am a warrior of the Fahd Clan beyond the Idrys River, and I salute an honoured opponent. There is blood between us.” The introduction seemed as strange to Sasha as to Rochan-Fyden was a long way from her native Valhanan, and the men of Fyden made formal introductions differently.
General Rochan nodded in reply. He frowned at Sasha.
“You wish to know why we are here,” said Sasha, too tired for greater sophistry. “I could tell you, but any words from my mouth would be misleading. We are not like any people you have met, save perhaps for the serrin, in that we are not a people easily led. I could tell you what I think, but at the end of the day, what this common man of Lenayin thinks is of far greater consequence.”
Understanding dawned in the general's eyes. And, perhaps, new respect.
“Kemrys of Fahd,” he said. “You swore an oath to your king that you would ride against the Saalshen Bacosh. Why have you…” But Kemrys was already shaking his head. Rochan stopped, and invited Kemrys to speak.