a defensive line forward of the ranch, we'll have to leave it open to them. Those Cryliss bastards have never liked me or Kessligh, they might just take the opportunity to steal a few horses or damage the house, if there's no one here to see it. You'll be safe enough, they'll never hurt children—”
“I'm not a child!” Andreyis retorted.
“Andrey…” Sasha sighed, positioning the bandoleer comfortably over her shoulder, where the skin was tough beneath its familiar weight, “the mark of a Lenay man is that he defends what's his. This ranch is yours, Andrey, as much as it is mine or Kessligh's. Don't you want to defend it?”
Andreyis looked uncomfortable. “Of course I do, but my family…”
“You think you can do a better job of defending the village than the older men? Would it be a sensible allocation of resources to send one of the more experienced warriors here to watch the horses, while you take his place on the line? Would that make Baerlyn safer?” Andreyis looked at the ground. Sasha gathered up the armfuls of hay she'd pitched and began dumping them into the barrow. “Your time will come, just be patient. Besides, it'll be just you against an army. Sounds like much more fun, wouldn't you say?”
“Me and Lynette,” Andreyis retorted. “She could scratch them to death.”
But he seemed mollified as Sasha wheeled the barrow to the stables. She explained the situation to a wide-eyed Lynette, who had been taking her turn at stablework, and gathered Peg from his grassy field for the ride into town. Lynette helped the Cryliss rider to water and feed, and rubbed down his horse—the dussieh was clearly tired. Sasha suggested he should leave the little mare to rest and borrow one of her own horses instead.
The Cryliss rider politely refused. “She'll be good in just a little while,” he insisted, giving the pony's jaw an affectionate rub as she chewed contentedly on some hay. “She'll run all day on a cup of water and a handful of grass, then do it all again the next. No offence, M'Lady, but I wouldn't trade her for ten of your big brutes, no matter what the lowlanders pay for them.”
Great Lord Kumaryn arrived at Baerlyn as the late afternoon sun hung low over the valley. His host numbered perhaps three hundred, Sasha reckoned, a great, snaking line of thundering hooves and glinting helms. Banners with the stallion on the red and gold of Valhanan flew to the forefront, alongside the howling black wolf on blue of the Black Wolves. The column came across the uphill paddocks beyond the upper treeline, threading between boulders that loomed from the green grass and glowed a dull, iron grey in the light from the lowering sun.
Baerlyn's defensive line spread wide across the uphill end of the Baerlyn Valley, concentrated here before the upslope buildings. All the village's men stood, or sat ahorse, weapons unsheathed and gripped with the casual ease that a smithy might grasp his hammer. Some stood across the fences to either side of the main road, in paddocks emptied of livestock, before rickety wooden barns, shacks, and a pigsty, keeping the line straight. Sasha sat behind the main line on Peg, with Kessligh astride Terjellyn at her side.
Further to the left, the exposed fields about the valley's small stream held the majority of gathered horsemen, warding a flanking move. Amongst them were many men from Yule, perhaps five folds distance to the south, who had arrived just a few moments before.
They conceded Kumaryn the high ground above the valley's end; should an attack come, they would fall back into the village, where the buildings and lanes would remove much of the cavalry's advantage, and strategically placed ropes, pikes and spears would avail the local swordsmen of a surprise. As would some of the more assertive Baerlyn women who had taken up Sasha's suggestion some years ago and learned archery. They waited now by the windows of their houses, ready to put arrows into any passing attacker.
Lord Kumaryn did not line his army across the open ground atop the slope into Baerlyn—such a move would have been almost a declaration of war. Instead, the head of the column approached between wooden fences that hemmed in the leading horses, just as the defenders had intended. Lord Kumaryn wanted to talk, Sasha reckoned…at least for a while. A gaunt-faced man with a large, pinched nose and a white beard held up his hand. The three hundred horse