The horsemen flanking the farmhouse were now directly uphill of it, just barely out of range of an upward-firing archer. Instead of charging, they were debating. The archers must be serrin, Rhillian thought, to be attacking so successfully by night. The horsemen were debating whether it was worth charging into that arrowfire, knowing its deadliness.
They were still debating when Rhillian came down on them. They looked about in confusion, assuming first that a horseman must be friendly, then seeing too late that she was neither man, nor Stamentaast. They broke, and Rhillian missed the swing on her left, but connected well to her right, and that man fell from the saddle. Rhillian dodged another, then wheeled while looking over her shoulder-there were five left, all of them coming about to chase her. She took off downslope, toward the farmhouse, keeping herself out of the line of fire. Sure enough, at half range, arrows sped uphill. Behind, a horse stumbled. Riders abandoned their pursuit, one making the mistake of halting completely. An arrow took him through the chest, and the others galloped off, zigzagging madly.
More horses pursued, but these were ridden by bow-wielding serrin. They fired at the fleeing horsemen. Another fell. And that, Rhillian knew, would be that. None of those riders would survive.
She rode down past the farmhouse to see if she could help at the column, but it was all over. The only ones now living were serrin; those with weapons who had set the ambush were helping prisoners from the wagons, cutting their bonds and tending to wounds. Downslope, some prisoners had fallen from the back of wagons trying to flee, and some seemed hurt. There was very little talking, no wailing or sobbing, just some relieved, quiet tears and murmured conversation. Serrin in groups. Rhillian could feel the pull, the force that had led her up this valley to follow the wagons, and now drew her in amongst her people as they needed her.
A familiar figure approached, longish hair and tall, with a bow in hand. Arendelle. Rhillian dismounted and embraced him.
“Who are these talmaad?” Rhillian asked him, as men and women with swords and bows hustled about.
“They came across the eastern border, weeks ago,” said Arendelle. “The border is weak, folks there do not mind serrin, and they know the back trails. They came across the peaks to Andal, moving by night. Along the high trails.”
“It was vel'ehil?”
Arendelle nodded. Serrin did not talk about it much with humans. Sasha had encountered it before, when Errollyn and Aisha had travelled to Lenayin to assist in the rebellion. Rhillian recalled her argument with Errollyn and Aisha then, though it had been Tassi who had invoked vel'ehil.
No serrin truly understood it. Some said it was the sight of the future, but often those who invoked it did not find what they expected to see. Errollyn and Aisha had ridden to Lenayin in the certainty of some troubles, and had arrived in time to join the rebellion led by Sasha. They had only known that some trouble was brewing that could benefit from serrin insight.
Some serrin supposed it might be what the humans called “magic.” Errollyn believed that it was merely a product of the serrin mind, an instinct for approximation, that if enough information was put in, possible outcomes would emerge. Stationed in Petrodor, he and Aisha had followed all information from Lenayin studiously, and with concern. A human might have guessed, from that information, that trouble was brewing. But that supposition, serrin felt as emotion, as the vel'ennar, like a tide.
Rhillian found Aisha where she knew she would-helping others, with little concern for her own cuts and scrapes. Rhillian embraced her with relief, then left her to her work and headed for the farmhouse.
Kiel was there. Talmaad surrounded him, gathered about a central table. A single lamp cast enough light for gathered serrin to read a map spread across the table. They talked of Andal and its neighbourhoods and made plans in dialect, known for precision and numbers.
Kiel was leading the discussion. Rhillian knew she should join them, but something made her pause. The farmhouse was neat and simple. This main room was combined with a kitchen, little jars in racks, and big jars for flour, and rolling pins for bread to be baked in the big, open oven.
Yet the little space seemed somehow wrong. A chair was poorly aligned. There by a kitchen bench a pot was broken, spilled grain and pottery shards swept into a corner. The frame of a doorway was marked by a deep sword cut. On the floor, a spattering of blood. There had been a fight here. But against whom? Where were the farmhouse's occupants? The place looked lived in, but Kiel had commandeered it for ambush against the wagon column. What had he done to the family that lived here?
One door adjoining the main room was shut. Rhillian walked to it.
“Rhillian,” Kiel called from behind. Rhillian stopped and looked over at him. Kiel smiled at her, faintly. “I am glad that you came.”
Rhillian stared at him. For a moment, their eyes locked. Rhillian turned and opened the door. It was dark within, and it took a moment for her eyes to make out the shapes. A bed. Some drawers. A small table, upon which rested an oil lamp. Upon the floor, between beds and table, were tangled bodies. Rhillian counted five. An old man. A younger man and woman. Two children. All human.
Rhillian stood in the doorway for a long moment, taking deep breaths. In the group about the table, no one spoke.
Then Rhillian turned. She looked at Kiel. Kiel made a small shrug. “The house was perfectly situated for ambush,” he said. “We needed it.”
Rhillian just stared. From the expressions of many about the table, it seemed that humans were not the only ones to find her eyes intimidating.
“There was a shortage of rope for bonds,” one explained, “and a shortage of time. The column approached even as we took the house. One human escaping to alert them and the ambush may have failed, and all our Ilduuri comrades lost.”
“Some of Saalshen's Ilduuri comrades are human,” Rhillian said quietly. “Humans in Andal were risking their own lives to shelter serrin children when these prisoners were taken. I saw it-they offered to shelter me, too. How do you know that these would not have done the same?”
“We have saved perhaps two hundred lives here,” Kiel said calmly. “If you join us now, we will save more.”
“Kiel,” Rhillian said slowly, to make certain he understood the gravity of this moment. “Children.”
There was a silence. “It was necessary,” said Kiel, unperturbed. “The Ilduuri have abandoned us, and we owe them nothing.”
“And now what do you plan? To attack Andal directly? And how many friends will that gain Saalshen, now when we need Ilduuri friendship more than ever?”
“You think me unsubtle. We are stripping Stamentaast uniforms from the men outside. We have captured some others. The Stamentaast are unpopular amongst the Ilduuri Steel, yet the Stamentaast know this, and do not dare inflict any atrocity against the Steel directly.
“We will dress the men amongst us as Stamentaast. All here speak fluent Ilduuri, and in the night can pass for Ilduuri men if well disguised. We will head to the steelwrights' district, where there are many Steel-dependent families, and we will inflict such damage as the Ilduuri Steel cannot ignore. The Steel will take revenge against the Stamentaast, thinking they are responsible, as they are responsible for so much else on this night. And with the Steel on the rampage, and the Remischtuul's attack dogs dismembered, there will be nothing to stop the Steel from declaring themselves the new rulers of Ilduur, and marching to the war as is their preference.”
“Damage.” Rhillian felt cold. “What damage?”
“Damage that will invoke a fitting and vengeful reply.”
Rhillian turned, and looked at the atrocity in the bedchamber behind. “You mean to kill more families tonight. Families of our friends, the Ilduuri Steel.”