"Are you there?" she thought toward the valley. "The valley of the Udalyn is said to be the home of many great Lenay spirits. Where is my Synnich spirit hiding? They call me the Synnich, but I cannot hear you. Speak to me."
Riders moved up on her sides-her four surviving vanguard riders from the first charge, plus two new ones. Or no, she realised, looking around-four new ones. There riding up behind, were Errollyn, Terel, Tassi and Aisha. Errollyn stopped at her side. He too gazed at the golden valley beyond. His handsome face was serene.
"You don't need to come, you know," Sasha told him.
Errollyn smiled, and gave a faint shrug. "We chose to," he said simply. "We," Errollyn had said, with complete certainty. Sasha recalled the battle just past. The effortless coordination, the serrin guiding their horses in unison. Tassi distracting one Banneryd's attention, while Aisha killed him from the other side. "And we were appointed by the others. They saw we protected you in the last battle, and wished us to do the same in this one. We accepted the honour."
"Can you tell each other's thoughts?" Sasha asked, feeling suddenly curious. It seemed a good time to ask. Suddenly, she wished she had asked a great many more questions than she had. Of many people, and many things.
Errollyn spared her a curious, green-eyed glance. "A question of debate, amongst the serrinim," he conceded. "The vel'ennar is not what you suggest. And yet, in some ways, perhaps it is." The vel'ennar Another Saalsi term for which there was no direct translation into any human tongue Sasha was aware of. The "single spirit," perhaps. Or maybe the "great soul." Something singular, and yet divided. And so like the serrin, to take seemingly contradictory concepts and twine them together to make a whole.
Sasha snorted in amusement. "I bet I couldn't get a straight answer from a serrin on his deathbed."
Errollyn's smile spread wide. Stunningly. "The world is not simple," he said coyly. "To value the chaos is to value life."
"Difficult people," Sasha teased.
Errollyn shrugged. "We cannot help but be what we are, any more than humans can."
"I am glad of it," Sasha said softly. "The world would be a far poorer place without the serrinim. It has occurred to me very slowly, over the last few days, just what some of these people see in me. The Goeren-yai and the Verenthanes. Tyrun insisted that I was the only person to lead this column. Teriyan too, and others. At first I was angry. I thought surely they could find someone else. But I've thought about it, and I concede I can't think of anyone."
Errollyn's gaze was intensely curious. His stare held a force that only a serrin could wield. "Why do you think?" he asked.
"To be a leader of both the faiths is difficult, I suppose," said Sasha. "In this land, with our history. We are a divided land, if not by faith then by language and region. I think I understand better now why Kessligh had such faith in Lenay royalty, and in my father despite his flaws. Royalty is of no particular province, but of all Lenayin, and is, as such, a uniting force, not a dividing one. But then, royalty cannot unite everyone, especially when it is so strongly Verenthane, and does not treat the Goeren-yai fairly."
"But you are neither Verenthane nor Goeren-yai," Errollyn completed for her. He turned his gaze to the golden, sunlit mountains, as if drinking in their splendour. "Such was always the intention of the Nasi-Keth. To find a third way. That is you, Sashandra. I am certain Kessligh was aware of this. Perhaps it worried him. He always considered Petrodor and the Bacosh as the centre of all the world's troubles, the questions to which he wished to contribute. He went to Lenayin, in part, to find an uma untainted by Petrodor thinking and prejudices.
"But it seems he could not so easily separate the uma from her own world, and bring her into his. And that is the dilemma of us all, in the end. The dilemma of overlapping worlds. Each of our worlds is unique. Only where they come into contact with the worlds of others do they join, and find points of commonality."
Sasha frowned at him. "You know much about Kessligh," she observed.
Errollyn shrugged. "He is a son of the Petrodor docks. His once-neighbours still boast of the little boy who used to play in this yard, or practise swordwork in that alley. People talk of him often, and the latest news of his doings in the barbarian kingdom. They wonder as to his uma. She is reputed to be both wild and beautiful."
Sasha managed a faint smile. "Well," she said, with mock elegant decorum. "I suppose one out of two will do."
"No," Errollyn replied, also smiling, "you are beautiful too." Sasha scowled at him. Then smiled more broadly. How easy it was to talk to this serrin. Most serrin were nice, but many remained somewhat aloof, for all their charms. There was nothing aloof about Errollyn. For a serrin, he was blunt, direct and… "Did you dream of this valley?" he asked, before she could complete the thought.
Sasha blinked. "Dream? How can I dream of a place I've never visited?"
"A wide and open valley, with a river along the bottom. And a full moon in the sky, lighting all to silver." Sasha stared at him. He was
… he was describing her dream… the dream she'd nearly forgotten, that she'd dismissed each time she'd awoken with it fresh in her memory… Errollyn's bright green eyes burned into her like nothing human. "You asked of the vel'ennar," he said softly, as the rolling approach of hooves beyond the rise ahead grew louder. "I am du janah, a special uniqueness among serrin. The vel'ennar and I have a unique relationship. We serrin admire your Goeren-yai for a reason. In this land, we know where to come, and when. The spirits speak. Listen now. Your Synnich calls to you. You are almost home."
From hidden amongst the wheat further ahead, a signal came. Behind, the shouts of officers echoed across the formation. Swords came out. Sasha stared at Errollyn, small hairs prickling at the back of her neck.
Errollyn rested his bow upon his saddlehorn, and the swords of her vanguard and the other serrin also came out. "You are Goeren-yai, but you do not truly believe," he said. "Believe now. It is time."
From behind, there came a cheer, rippling slowly across the front rank. Sasha turned to look and saw Jaryd riding to their fore, both arms free and a sword in his right hand. He seemed to be steering his big chestnut mare with his heels and gentle tugs on the rein alone… but there was no way he could possibly handle the reins while wielding the sword. He'd come out here to die, Sasha realised. And she recalled what she'd said to him, standing by Tyrun's body, and regretted it.
But there was no time for regrets, she realised. By the end of this day, there would be more than enough regret to go around.
Sasha drew her sword. From behind, she could hear the blades coming out, a great, rasping ring. There was no need for a speech now. The battle had been underway since Ymoth. Now, they finished it. A man stood from the grain to the left and held an arm aloft. Sasha raised her blade and then dropped it. Peg snorted as she tapped her heels, and broke into a trot, then a canter. She held to the road, as behind, the great line of horses cut through the fields of grain, approaching the first fence.
They leaped it, and then the ridge ahead was fading and a huge, winding column of horseback warriors appeared, perhaps eight abreast on either side of the road. Black Hadryn banners flew against the golden mountains from which they'd come. Horns sounded and yells from ahead, rear-ward ranks accelerating to spill across the fields from the road, moving up to broaden the lines.
Sasha thumped Peg hard with her heels and yanked him into the graina difficult ride for a dussieh, perhaps, but the heads of the grain barely came past Peg's knees, and all of the column behind her were warhorses. Peg hurtled across the flat ground, the serrin and her vanguard to her sides, as behind, a great wall of charging animals decimated the golden fields beneath their tearing hooves. Sasha held Peg's speed enough to allow the line to catch up, timing the impending collision with a practised eye.