it seemed that memory conspired with shadows to contrive a similarity. Tears wet Jaryd's eyes, then rolled down the inflamed, red wound on his cheek.
At first, none noticed but Sasha and Sofy. Sofy looked anguished, but Sasha shook her head faintly. It would not do for a man in grief to receive comfort from a woman before his peers. Such comfort was for children, not for men, and Sofy seemed to know it. Then the other men noticed, one after another, and conversation faded. Men stared silently into the flames and continued sharpening weapons, or sipping drinks, or mending gear, as they had been before. Jaryd's tears caused no awkwardness, no embarrassment, not even as he struggled to contain the sobs that threatened to rack his body. The officers simply waited, with quiet respect, for the moment of grieving to pass.
Daryd looked wary and concerned, aware that this matter somehow concerned him, yet uncertain of how. As Jaryd breathed more deeply, recovering his control, Daryd knelt before him, pulled his knife from its sheath and offered it to him, hilt first. Jaryd simply gazed, faintly incredulous.
He took Daryd's knife with his good hand and considered the blade. “A Udalyn knife?” he asked, hoarsely. There were decorations on the pommel, Sasha saw in the firelight, intricate spiral patterns.
Daryd seemed to understand. “Udalyn,” he confirmed. “I warrior.” Pointing to himself. “Fight for you.” Sasha was astonished. Either Daryd was a remarkably fast learner, or Sofy a remarkably good teacher. Or both. Perhaps he'd been practising that line all afternoon, awaiting the opportunity.
Jaryd flipped the knife several times, testing its weight. Then handed it back to Daryd. “It's a good knife, warrior Daryd,” he sighed. And ruffled the boy's hair. “But I'll be damned if you're going to fight. You can wait in the back with the princess, and I'll see you delivered safely back to your mother and father. If it's the only good thing to come out of this whole mess, maybe that'll make it worthwhile.”
BY MIDMORNING, THE ATTACKS HAD BEGUN. The first struck midcolumn, from the west this time, causing confusion in the middle ranks. The second, shortly after, hit the rear, creating yet more delays as men doubled back to help and the entire column came to a forced halt for fear of dividing. Sasha was sitting astride, waiting for everyone to reform, when a scout arrived from further ahead, and informed them that he'd found the bodies of a travelling party from a nearby village—six men, all Goeren-yai, all no doubt riding to join the cause. More such were arriving constantly—as many as eight hundred men, the officers now estimated. For sheer strength, the column was in good shape. But now, they lost time. Word would be heading to the Hadryn in the valley as fast as horseback could take it. The more time the young Lord Usyn had to prepare for their arrival, the worse it would be.
Approaching midday, the road arrived at the foot of a gentle incline and began to ascend at an angle. The trees were all pine, tall and widely spaced, with little undergrowth between. Both Sasha and Captain Tyrun exchanged glances as the vanguard peered through the forest shadows and Lieutenant Alyn yelled orders for outriders to fan ahead.
“No choice,” Sasha muttered. “We can't afford to lose time finding a better line.”
“Aye, M'Lady,” Tyrun acknowledged. And yelled to the rear, “Double the vanguard! Riders from the rear and upslope to the flanks! Cover the approach and wait for the entire column to pass!”
Riders thundered past, heading upslope and weaving between trees, their horses finding plenty of room to run upon the broad, brown carpet of needles. Barely had the riders begun to fade amongst the furthest trees when there came the distant yet distinctive buzz of crossbow fire. Yells followed, echoed by Captain Tyrun's and more up and down the column; blades rang out all at once as hooves came thundering in a great mass.
“Stay with her!” Sasha yelled to Jaryd, pointing at her ashen-faced sister and the children alongside, then pounded her heels into Peg's sides, joining others heading upslope at speed. Then she could see them, heavy horse coming line-abreast down through the trees, flashes of black and blue uniform, the colours of Banneryd. It was a cavalry nightmare, heavy horse with the full advantage of height behind them, holding their line in descent with all the proficiency one might expect of northern riders.