relief. “You're well?” Sasha asked her in concern.
Sofy nodded, attempting composure. From the look on her face, it seemed likely to be the hardest thing she'd ever done. “I'm fine,” she said hoarsely, blinking furiously at the tears in her eyes. “We were well protected.”
“Peglyrion fast!” Daryd remarked, handling his nervous horse steady with skill. He looked shaken, but remarkably calm in spite of it. This was a boy who had seen killing before, Sasha judged. Rysha clung to him tightly, but made no complaint. With her face mostly hidden against her brother's back, it was unlikely she'd seen much.
Sasha faced Jaryd, steadying Peg's head toss and stamp with a reflexive yank as she wheeled him about. Breathing hard yet barely sweating, Peg seemed content enough to obey. “Thank you,” she said to him. “I saw what you did.”
“I did as much as I could with this blasted arm,” Jaryd muttered. He slid his bandaged and splinted left arm back into its sling with a grimace of pain—Sasha guessed he must have taken it out to grab Sofy's reins. Any soldier drilled in cavalry knew that the best chance to survive a downhill rush was to turn into it—the faster the closing speed, the less the attacker's chance of a precise swing. Jaryd had grabbed the reins of Sofy's pony and positioned himself as a shield, unmoving and obvious. Daryd had sensibly placed himself on their far side. Had the Banneryd charge reached him, Jaryd would have been killed…but Sofy and the children, shielded from that first strike, would have quite possibly been saved.
“Sofy could not hope for a better protector.” Sasha touched heels to Peg's flanks and rode to where Tyrun was surveying the scene. She came to Tyrun's side, and the lieutenant he'd been talking with inclined his head in respect. “The honour of Kessligh Cronenverdt rides with you, M'Lady,” he said, and rode off to survey the carnage upslope before she could reply.
“Your friend Teriyan warned me you'd try something stupid like that,” Tyrun said bluntly.
“Like what?” Sasha snorted. “I was trained to fight and that's what I did.”
“In this column,” Tyrun replied, utterly unmoved, “you're far more than just another warrior.”
“Men aren't riding for me,” Sasha retorted. “They're riding to save the Udalyn.”
“M'Lady, the only reason a good Verenthane like me is riding in this column is because you're leading it.” Sasha frowned at him. “You're my guarantee that this will not be the first blow in a Goeren-yai–Verenthane civil war. You're a symbol to both, and you've ties and loyalties on both sides. If you die, this could become exactly what Lord Krayliss would have made it—a slaughter of Verenthanes by angry Goeren-yai, with horrors to follow across all the land. Please think of that the next time you feel the need to take some needless risk to add one more notch to your belt.”
He made sense, Sasha noted. The problem, of course, was that her definition of risk was somewhat different to his. Which was arrogance, obviously…but she couldn't help what she was. And she didn't particularly feel like arguing about it now.
“I'll take it under advisement,” she said.
Another man rode down the hill toward them. “Captain, M'Lady,” said the man as he arrived—a Black Hammers corporal, Sasha saw. “Twenty-three of us, thirteen dead, ten wounded. Only nine of them, five and four. Several of our scouting parties ahead surprised some and report another twenty enemy dead. Plus they'll be running into hostile villagers as they move along the trails, which will end some more of them, or tie them up. There can't be more than two hundred still harassing us.”
“And all of them fanatics,” Tyrun said grimly. “They'll grind their horses’ legs to bloody stubs before they give us any peace.”
“We could divert men to harass them back?” Sasha suggested.
“M'Lady, I'd advise not,” Tyrun replied, “ambush tactics in this country only work when your opponent is much less nimble, and when you know where he's going. They have that edge with us, we don't have it with them. We'd arrive at the mouth of the valley in worse shape than if we simply press on and accept the losses.”
Another horse arrived at a gallop, Teriyan's red hair flying out behind as he pulled up sharply. “That was bloody Tyrblanc in person,” he announced grimly. The blade in his hand was unbloodied. Sasha knew he would be unhappy about that. “I might have had him if he hadn't come through so damn fast. Damn