Sasha waited. Two more riders came galloping, and talked to the first, who pointed to Sasha, and the crossroad, his words inaudible. Then he galloped on, and the remaining two split, one up the crossroad, the other across the stream and into the forest at Sasha’s back. Again, she was alone.
After a long while, the rain eased to a drizzle. More riders arrived, and she was similarly challenged. She gave them no more than she had the others. One seemed about to take it further, but another persuaded him otherwise, in furious whispers. They galloped on, save one, who retreated as far as the approaching bend, and awaited the column.
Finally, there came the sound of many soft hooves, horses walking. But many horses. A chink and rattle of armour and equipment, and a squeal of leather. The sound hung in the air long past the moment when it seemed that surely the vanguard would appear about the bend.
At last, the vanguard’s banners appeared, colours of royalty, of Lenayin, and of each of the eleven Lenay provinces. There was a Verenthane star, too, mounted on a pole. Sasha frowned, and thought dark thoughts. The vanguard soldiers were of the provincial companies, Lenayin’s most well equipped soldiers, riding tall on fine horses. Unusually, she saw they all carried shields. Some things, it seemed, were changing.
Behind the vanguard rode a contingent of Royal Guard, resplendent in red and gold. The nobility followed, many wearing fine, unfamiliar cloaks over Lenay armour and leathers. The outrider who had waited back now singled out one man from the group, riding alongside while pointing ahead. As the vanguard passed, that man came off the road and stopped before Sasha, several Royal Guards and lords at his back.
The lead rider came before them all, upon a great, roan warhorse. Broad, powerful, and oh-so-familiar. “Do you await anyone in particular?” asked her brother Prince Koenyg with amusement. The lords behind him laughed.
“I don’t know,” Sasha replied. “Are you anyone in particular?”
Koenyg frowned, and opened his mouth to retort. Then paused. And stared. “Is it…?” He edged his warhorse forward several more steps, peering closely.
“Easy Your Highness!” called one of the Royal Guardsmen. “It could be assassins!”
“Sasha?” Koenyg whispered. “Is that Sasha?” Slowly, achingly, Sasha slid off her rock, and pulled back her hood. And looked up at her brother.
Koenyg swung down from his saddle in such a hurry that Sasha’s hand twitched toward the blade within her cloak. But Koenyg made no move for his weapon, strode forward and embraced her. The pain of it nearly made her scream. Koenyg seemed to realise something was wrong, and released her.
“Sasha? Are you hurt?”
“A few cuts,” she gasped, and swallowed hard. “Flesh wounds. I’m fine.”
He seemed about to ask further but stopped. And to Sasha’s further astonishment, he cupped her face in his hands. “Sister,” he said, smiling. “You came back to us! All of Lenayin is united in this quest for the first time in history! This is a great time for healing old wounds, and building a new Lenayin. I’m so pleased you’re here. So pleased.”
He kissed her on the forehead. Sasha was too stunned to speak. She had not expected this at all. Koenyg seemed as she had only rarely seen him before-happy, and content with the world. Riding off to war, at the head of a united Army of Lenayin. It began to come clear in Sasha’s head, precisely what Koenyg saw in this whole adventure. An opportunity to meld together all the fractious regions and beliefs of Lenayin by the only forge all Lenays would respect-the fire of battle. She did not like his methods, but she had to admit, it was certainly a plan. Perhaps it would even work.
“Where is Kessligh?” Koenyg pressed. “I heard that you and he fought to defend Dockside in the War of the King. You must tell me your tales. It’s rare that a sibling should have grander tales of battle to tell than I. And I heard that Alythia had joined you after House Halmady fell… I suppose you’ve been in Tracato, yes?”
There were more riders passing by, looking curiously to see this dismounted gathering by the roadside. She could hear exclamations, and men calling to others. Soon the news would spread along the column like fire through grass.
Before she could answer Koenyg, more horses arrived and riders leaped off. Damon pressed through those surrounding, and Myklas. Koenyg had to tackle them to restrain them from smothering her. “She’s hurt you fools! Be gentle!”
Damon pushed his elder brother away, fighting off an idiot grin. “Sasha, are you…?”
“I’m all right,” she said, with tears in her eyes. She hugged him, and he replied with gentle pressure. Then Myklas, whose idiot grin was unrestrained. “You’ve grown,” Sasha observed.
“You’ve shrunk,” Myklas retorted, and kissed her roughly.
“Sasha, where have you been?” Damon asked. “Was it Tracato?”
“Aye. Kessligh’s still there.”
“And Alythia?”
“How did she cope living as a pauper on Dockside for half a year?” Myklas asked joyfully. “I would have given anything to see that!” Koenyg cuffed him on the head.
Sasha looked at the sodden grass. She’d almost been hoping for a frosty reception, she realised. From Koenyg at least. Now, they were all together, and almost a family, for the first time in…spirits, she couldn’t think of when. She wanted to enjoy it. Wanted to talk with her brothers and tell all her tales, and listen to theirs, and laugh, and eat and perhaps even down a cup of wine in their presence, where no priest would see her. But it had to be done. It was a duty of blood, that she be here. That they hear it from her own mouth.
“Alythia’s dead,” she said softly. “I saw the body.” For a moment, there was no sound but the great passing of the column. Koenyg looked pale. Damon, aghast. Myklas, disbelieving.
“No!” Myklas insisted. Then he stamped in fury, his eyes spilling. “No! You’re wrong! She’s not dead!”
Koenyg grabbed him, a hard immobilising arm about the younger man’s shoulders. Myklas tried to fight him off, but Damon grabbed him and Myklas collapsed against Damon’s shoulder, sobbing. Sasha’s own tears escaped her, and she was drawn into the four-sided embrace. Her brothers’ arms about her hurt, but that was well. Everything hurt. They grieved together, a small circle of pain by the roadside. And Sasha wondered what it said about her family that pain and war should unite them at last, where so little else had worked.
The siblings took lunch in the same carriage that had carried Sofy from Baen-Tar to Sherdaine. It was a shameful thing for a Lenay prince to travel by carriage, but it was the only way all four could converse together without halting. The king rode further back in the column today. Word was travelling to him of Sasha’s arrival. Sasha did not look forward to that inevitable meeting.
She told her brothers the story from the beginning. Her time in Petrodor, Kessligh’s struggles to unite the Nasi-Keth, her friendship with Rhillian, and the trials that followed. Then Tracato. Koenyg listened grimly to hear of the troubles there. Damon looked wearily resigned. And Myklas, completely impatient with any politics, wishing only to hear of Alythia’s end. When she finished, none of them spoke. The carriage wheels clattered and bounced on the road, jolting Sasha’s wounds. She’d felt altogether more comfortable in a saddle.
“That is quite a tale,” Koenyg said finally. “You and I shall talk some more on affairs in Tracato, and Saalshen’s moves for power there. We shall talk on the Steel’s formations and tactics, also. But I must know…you say the Steel have left Tracato?”