The Dark-Eyes War

Chapter 2

Tirnya Onjaef had done everything in her power to make certain that the army of Qalsyn reached the Silverwater Wash by this day. It had been her idea to attack the Fal'Borna. She had recognized the spread of the white-hair plague across the Central Plain for what it was: a unique opportunity to win back for the people of Stelpana the lands lost to the Qirsi during the Blood Wars, and to reclaim for her family its ancestral home of Deraqor. She had persuaded her father, Jenoe, a marshal in the Qalsyn army, to use his considerable influence to push for this invasion. And it had also been her idea to propose an alliance with the Mettai, the Eandi sorcerers of the north. This strategy finally convinced His Lordship, Maisaak Tolm, Qalsyn's lord governor, to let them march.

This was to be her war. When at last the armies of Stelpana defeated the Fal'Borna and reestablished the Central Plain as Eandi territory, the lion's share of the glory would be hers as well. She stood on the cusp of history And never in her life had she been so bored.

They'd been camped along this shallow stretch of the wash for two days, awaiting the arrival of the army from Fairlea, the largest city in northern Stelpana. This was one of two armies Stelpana's sovereign had sent to supplement the force that marched from Qalsyn under the command of Tirnya's father. The other army, from the southern city of Waterstone, had arrived the same day as Jenoe's soldiers.

Tirnya had never been patient. Her father still told anyone who would listen the story of the first year she attended Qalsyn's famed Harvest Battle Tournament. She was three years old at the time and already headstrong. Sitting with her mother and hundreds of spectators, waiting for the first match to begin, she had finally grown so irritated that she stood on her seat and screamed as loud as she could, "When is someone going to fight?" Even His Lordship had laughed, though he was a thoroughly humorless man who despised Tirnya's father.

If anything, Tirnya found it harder to wait now than she did when she was young. She prided herself on being punctual, on following orders, and on demanding the same of those under her command. She had little tolerance for those who weren't as conscientious as she.

In this case, though, her own annoyance was the least of her concerns. The Snows were almost upon them. Already, cold winds blew out of the north. In another turn or two, these winds would strengthen and bring with them wicked storms from the lofty peaks of the Border Range. An invasion of Fal'Borna lands held tremendous risks any time of year. The Qirsi rilda hunters were fierce warriors and accomplished sorcerers. Fighting them on the plain during the Snows would have been unthinkable under any other circumstances.

But the plague was striking at the Fal'Borna now. No one knew for certain how long its effects would last. Tirnya and her father couldn't afford to wait for the warmer turns of the Planting. By that time their opportunity would have vanished, and Deraqor might be lost to the Onjaefs for another century. Every day that they waited brought the Snows that much closer, and gave the Fal'Borna another chance to find a cure for this illness that had weakened them. For now, as well, the Fal'Borna didn't know of their plans, or if they did, they hadn't yet had time to gather an army of their own and send it to the Silver-water. That advantage wouldn't last forever.

Jenoe might have been as eager as she to cross the river and begin their march toward Deraqor and the Horn, but he didn't show it. After waiting a few hours the first day they reached the wash, he suggested that they make the most of the delay by using the time to train their soldiers. Hendrid Crish, the marshal of the Waterstone army, agreed, and soon captains from both armies were leading their soldiers in drills.

The Mettai, who had marched with Jenoe's army from their village of Lifarsa near Porcupine Lake, kept to themselves but eyed the soldiers from afar.

Tirnya trained with the rest that first day, but by the middle of the second morning, she had become too agitated to do much more than watch the eastern horizon for signs of the Fairlea army. She left it to her lead riders to train her men. As darkness fell that night she went to speak to her father. She was so angry that she couldn't help raising her voice, even though Marshal Crish was there with Jenoe.

"They're going to make a mess of this, Father!" she said, raking a hand through her long hair. "We can't wait much longer."

Jenoe had merely shrugged. "There's nothing I can do. I'm sure they'll get here before long. Until then, we'll train."

He was right, of course. They couldn't do anything at all. But that only served to make her angrier. She stalked off without saying more, and bedded down before most of her men had finished eating their suppers. She lay huddled in her blankets for a long time before falling asleep, and awoke frequently during the night, thinking each time that she had heard the sounds of an approaching army.

On this, the third day since their arrival at the camp, they woke to dark skies and a heavy, wet snow. Still, Tirnya's father called for the men to train. When they complained, he said, "We may have to fight the Fal'Borna in weather like this. Best we're ready for it."

Again Tirnya kept apart from her men, gazing eastward, shivering within her riding cloak.

"You should train with them."

She turned at the sound of the voice, but quickly looked away.

Enly Thlm. He was Maisaak's son, lord heir of Qalsyn. He was also a captain in the Qalsyn army, just like her. And once, not so very long ago, he had been her lover.

Of all those in her city with whom she had discussed her plans for this invasion, he had argued against it the most vehemently. It was madness to risk a new Blood War, he said. They could never overcome the magic of the Fal'Borna; they were destined to fail. Yet, when His Lordship gave them permission to march, Enly asked that he be allowed to accompany them. He'd claimed that he wished only to help them succeed, but Tirnya suspected that he was driven primarily by his lingering affection for her.

Since leaving Qalsyn she had avoided him as much as possible. He was arrogant and an ass, and she wasn't interested in hearing him argue that they should abandon their mission and return to the city. As for any feelings she might have had for him… That had ended long ago.

"You look cold," he said. "You should join your men. It'll warm you up." "You're not training," she said, still facing east.

"I was. I came to see if perhaps you wanted me to keep you warm." She smirked and shook her head. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I should think."

"Go away, Enly."

"Maybe they're not coming," he said, standing beside her and gazing to the east as well. "They might have decided that this was folly, and that they'd be better off staying in Fairlea."

"The sovereign ordered them to march. They'll be here."

"I wouldn't be so sure. The Ballidynes have a reputation for defying authority and keeping their own counsel."

She looked at him. "Do you know them?"

"I've met Shon, the lord governor, a few times. He's been a guest in my father's palace, and we visited Fairlea several years back." He glanced at her. "If you think I'm an ass, you should meet Shon. He makes my father seem gracious. And the lord heir is even worse." Enly cringed. "Gods, you don't suppose Shon will send him, do you?"

Tirnya grinned. "I hadn't given any thought to who he might send. But if this man bothers you that much, I hope he does."

"It's not funny," he said, scowling. "Gries is condescending, smug, and ambitious to a fault. I was kidding when I said they might not come. They're probably keeping us waiting just to show us that they can, to make it clear to your father that he won't have authority over them. But they'll show up eventually. If they believe there's even the slightest chance that they can improve their standing or add to their treasury, they'll be here. It's true of Shon and doubly so of the son. He'd make a terrible commander, and a dangerous ally.

"He sounds like you."

"He's nothing like me."

Tirnya raised an eyebrow, the smile still on her lips. "Why do I get the feeling that this man-Gries? Is that his name?"

Enly nodded.

"Why do I get the feeling that he's exceedingly good-looking?" He looked away.

Tirnya laughed. "I knew it! I bet he's an excellent swordsman, too."

"He is," Enly said, his voice flat.

"Better than you?" She leaned forward, trying to look him in the eye. "Enly, has he beaten you?"

He turned to face her. "No!" he said. "He did not beat me. We drew blood at the same time. Both of our fathers agreed that we did."

Tirnya stared at him open-mouthed. "He drew blood? Against you? I'll have to ask him how he did that."

"I'm serious, Tirnya. I know you'd do just about anything to make a fool of me, but Gries is… You shouldn't trust him. And if he really is in command of Fairlea's soldiers, you should warn your father to be wary of any counsel he offers. He's reckless."

She rarely saw him this way: earnest, almost pleading with her to take him seriously. Most of the time Enly used his wit and his bravado to conceal his feelings. And though usually her first impulse was to poke fun, this time she felt compelled to reassure him.

"My father's a wise man," she said. "He'll weigh carefully any advice Gries gives him, just as he does the advice he gets from you and me."

Enly nodded, but his lips were pressed thin, his brow creased.

"If you're so concerned about it, you should speak with my father yourself."

He shook his head. "The lord heir of one house can't be overheard speaking ill of his counterpart in a rival family. It would be… unseemly."

"You spoke ill of him to me."

Enly met her gaze, but only briefly. "Yes, I did. And I trust that when you tell your father about our conversation, you'll be discreet."

Tirnya almost made a joke of this, but again she could see that to Enly this was no laughing matter.

"Of course I will," she told him.

He still didn't look mollified.

"His father probably won't even send him," Tirnya said. "We're a long way from Fairlea, and as you've told me time and again, marching to war against the Fal'Borna is pretty dangerous."

Enly shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Gries will he leading them. I meant what I said before: He's reckless. He'd risk his life and the lives of his men if it meant a chance to bring glory to House Ballidyne."

"You really hate him, don't you? I've never heard you speak of anyone this way. I think its a good thing I didn't beat you in this year's Harvest Tournament."

"I told you, he didn't beat me! And besides, that has nothing to do with it. I'd hate him even if we'd never fought."

"I find that hard to believe. You Tolms hate to lose at anything. You don't even like it when-"

"There they are."

Tirnya spun to look in the direction Enly was pointing. Far in the distance, cresting a small hill, she saw the army, easily a thousand men strong. They marched under two banners: the blue, white, and green of Stelpana; and a second flag of blue and black that must have been the sigil of House Ballidyne.

"I have to tell Father," she said, hurrying back toward the camp.

"Tirnya!"

She stopped, turned.

"Don't let anyone else hear what I said about Gries."

"I promise," she said, and went in search of her father.

By the time Tirnya found Jenoe, he already knew that the Fairlea army had been spotted. His cheeks were flushed and his face was covered with a fine sheen of sweat, but he was grinning. He enjoyed training, even out here in the middle of nowhere.

"You should have worked with your men," he said as soon as he saw her. "Your watching for them didn't make them get here any sooner."

"Yes, Father."

"You're humoring me," he said with a slight frown.

"Yes, Father."

He laughed.

They started walking to the east edge of the camp, where they would greet the soldiers of Fairlea.

Tirnya was eager to share with Jenoe all that Enly had told her about House Ballidyne, but Stri Balkett and several of Jenoe's other captains were walking just behind them. Instead she asked her father what he knew about the lord governor and his son.

"Not much, really. I met Shon when he came to Qalsyn. You were young at the time-I don't think you'd finished your third four. He struck me as being a rather difficult man," he went on, lowering his voice and glancing hack to see that the captains wouldn't overhear. "I think that he and Maisaak got on quite well, if you follow my meaning."

She smiled. "I think I do. What about his son?"

"The older one, you mean? Gries?"

Tirnya nodded.

"I've never met him. Why?"

She felt her cheeks redden. "No reason. Enly seemed to think that he might be commanding this army."

"He might be at that," Jenoe said, apparently oblivious to her discomfort.

Enly was waiting for them at the east end of camp, and he raised a hand in salute to the marshal.

"Captain," Jenoe said. "Tirnya tells me you expect the lord heir to be at the head of the Fairlea army."

Enly shot Tirnya a quick look, but then nodded to her father. "Yes, sir. I think it's possible."

Jenoe looked out at the approaching army. "It hadn't occurred to me that the lord governor would send him, but I think you're right. That's Gries leading them, isn't it?"

"Yes," Enly said, his tone betraying little. "I believe it is."

The northern army was close enough now that Tirnya could see the man clearly. He was tall and lean, with curly yellow hair and a long, angular face. He wore a simple brown riding cloak over a surcoat of blue and black, and he had a leather baldric slung over his back. Even from this distance, even with the skies dull, Tirnya could see the jeweled hilt of his sword gleaming just above his left shoulder, within easy reach of his right hand. This weapon and his impressive white horse, which he rode with easy grace, were all that marked him as anyone more than a simple army captain.

Tirnya could see immediately why Enly would dislike this man. He was handsome, he looked like someone who had grown accustomed to success, and he didn't appear to lack for confidence. Once more she couldn't help thinking that he and Enly were probably very much alike.

The man riding just behind Ballidyne's lord heir said something that made Gries laugh. He had a good smile; strong, nothing held back. She found it hard to believe that this was the man Enly had described just a short time before. She glanced Enly's way and found that he was already watching her, frowning, probably reading her thoughts. She looked away.

Before long, Gries and his army reached the wash. The Ballidyne captain dismounted, walked to Jenoe, and dropped to one knee. The other captains and lead riders in his army had climbed off their horses as well, and now every man from Fairlea followed Gries's example and knelt before the marshal.

"Well met, Captain," Jenoe said, stepping forward.

"Marshal Onjaef," Gries said in a clear, ringing voice. "The army of Fairlea is here to give whatever aid it can. We are yours to command."

"Thank you, Captain. We're honored to march alongside the soldiers of your fine city. Please rise, all of you."

Gries stood and the two men embraced, drawing cheers from every soldier there.

"We number twelve hundred, Marshal," Gries said, his tone crisp. "One hundred or so are mounted; the rest are on foot. My father and I agreed that we'd be better off against the Fal'Borna if we had more bowmen than swordsmen. So we marched with seven hundred archers. That's why we're late in arriving. We already had the bows, but laborers worked night and day to fill our quivers. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

Jenoe smiled. "No apology is necessary, Captain. We're pleased to have you here." He indicated Enly with an open hand. "I believe you know Qalsyn's lord heir, Enly Tolm."

Gries grinned and extended a hand, which Enly took with obvious reluctance. "It's good to see you again, Enly. I'm sure I'll enjoy fighting alongside you a great deal more than I did fighting against you."

"And this is my daughter, Tirnya. She's one of my captains." Gries faced her, still smiling. Gods, he was handsome.

"Captain Onjaef. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Jenoe introduced Ballidyne's lord heir to Stri and the other captains. Gries was every bit as gracious with them as he had been with Tirnya and Enly.

Tirnya caught Enly's eye while this was going on and gave a small shrug, as if to say, I thought you told me he was a monster.

She could see that Enly wanted to say something, probably about how she was too easily taken in by a winning smile and large, deep brown eyes. But in the end he merely shook his head and looked away.

When Jenoe had finished his introductions, he instructed Gries to have his men make camp beside the armies of Qalsyn and Waterstone.

"We're eager to cross the Silverwater and begin our march toward the Horn," the marshal said. "But you and your soldiers have come a long way. We can begin our march westward tomorrow."

"With all due respect, Marshal, that's not necessary."

Jenoe hesitated, eyeing the man doubtfully.

"We've kept you waiting long enough," Gries went on. He glanced at Tirnya and the others. "All of you. It's only midday. Even with the time it will take you and your men to break camp, we can still cross the wash and cover another league before nightfall."

Tirnya caught her father's eye and nodded.

"Very well," the marshal said. "Thank you, Captain Ballidyne." He turned to Waterstone's marshal and the other captains. "You heard him. Let's break camp. I want to be moving as soon as possible."

For the next hour, the camp was like a beehive, teeming with activity. The tents of the two marshals were dismantled and packed away, riding horses were saddled, cart horses were harnessed to the wagons that held provisions, and finally soldiers arrayed themselves in their companies. They were ready to go so quickly that already Tirnya was wondering if before darkness fell they might cover two leagues, rather than one.

Then they commenced their fording of the wash.

This section of the river, known as Enka's Shallows, had been used for crossings by Eandi armies during the Blood Wars. The Silverwater was wider here, and so its waters were slower and relatively shallow. Still, the wash was one of the major waterways of the Southlands; even during the driest turns of the Growing its waters were powerful and treacherous. And with the rains that had fallen recently, its current had strengthened.

Two dozen riders were sent across the wash with heavy rope, which they were to stake to the ground on the far bank. Those on foot would then use the ropes to resist the current as they crossed. But from the start, little went as they had intended. Three of the mounts under those first riders lost their footing and were swept downstream. All three horsemen managed to right their horses before they were lost, but clearly Tirnya and her father had underestimated the difficulty of this crossing. If horses struggled to make it, the foot soldiers would have a terrible time.

Jenoe ordered a dozen more riders across with what remained of their rope. Tirnya was to lead this second group and, after securing her piece of rope to her saddle, she urged Thirus, her sorrel, into the waters. The other riders followed, all of them upstream of Tirnya. The bank of the wash was steep, and no sooner had Thirus plunged into the river than it was up to Tirnya's thighs. The water was frigid, and it tore a gasp from her lungs. How could anyone hope to wade across on foot?

She wanted to shout to her father that they needed to find another way across, even if it meant marching south to N'Kiel's Span, but Thirus had begun to struggle against the current and was having trouble keeping his footing in the soft silt of the riverbed. Twice the beast stumbled and was nearly pulled under, but both times Tirnya managed to right him. She spoke to him, trying to keep him calm, but she could feel him growing more agitated by the moment.

She heard someone cry out just to the right of her. Another horse had stumbled as well, and its rider wasn't as fortunate as Tirnya had been. The horse went under briefly, broke the surface of the water again, and began to thrash wildly. The rider, a young captain from Waterstone, was unseated.

Tirnya saw him go under, his eyes wide with fear and shock. He thrust his hand up out of the water in a desperate attempt to grab the rope that trailed from Tirnya's saddle, but he missed. At the same time, she leaned back as far as she could and reached for him, brushing his fingers with her own. Again Thirus stumbled, and Tirnya lost her grip on the reins. She heard someone behind her shout her name-Enly, probably. She slipped off the saddle, but managed to grab hold of the pommel before being taken by the waters.

The river was so cold she could barely draw breath, which was the only reason she didn't let go and swim after the young captain. She could see him still, flailing against the current, clearly trying to swim back to the east bank. But the stream was too strong, the water too frigid.

And then she saw something out of the corner of her eye that lifted her heart. A figure on horseback thundered southward along the riverbank after the captain. The horse was white, and she knew without looking that the rider must be Gries. The captain's efforts to swim to safety were growing weaker by the moment. He had to be tiring, and Tirnya didn't expect that he could even remain conscious in water this cold for very long. He was also nearing the end of the shallows. Another hundred fourspans or so, and he'd be lost to swifter waters.

Gries drove his mount hard, but for several moments Tirnya doubted that he could reach the man in time. Yet somehow he did. He drew even with the captain, passed him, and then steered his mount into the water, halting directly in the captain's path. With a great effort the captain raised a hand. Gries grasped at it, lost his grip, reached for him again. And this time he managed to hold on to the man.

Tirnya heard a mighty cheer from the men behind her, and knew a moment of profound relief. The captain had been her responsibility, and she'd nearly lost him. Only a turn before, she had lost two of her men in a skirmish with some road brigands. She had grieved for days afterward, and she still found it difficult not to blame herself for their deaths. Losing this man as well might have been more than she could hear.

Confident that the captain was safe, she tried to haul herself out of the water and back onto Thirus, to whose saddle she still clung. But the cold water had weakened her, too, and her clothes weighed her down. Her arms felt leaden; her legs were growing numb. She tried a second time to climb onto her mount, and this time succeeded in getting her leg over Thirus's back.

Just as she did, she heard splashing behind her. Looking back, she saw that Enly had ridden his bay into the wash.

"What are you doing?" she asked him, breathless from her struggle to get out of the water.

"I was coming to help you."

She pulled herself the rest of the way onto her horse and took hold of the reins again. She was shivering violently, her teeth chattering, but she was safe.

"I'm all right," she said.

"You're freezing." He reached for her reins. "Let me help you to the other bank."

"I don't need help," she told him again, her tone hardening. She exhaled and closed her eyes, then looked at him again. When next she spoke it was in a softer voice. "Thank you. But really, I'm fine."

Enly looked hurt, but he nodded and started back to shore. Tirnya continued on to the other side of the wash and upon reaching it spurred Thirus out of the water and onto solid ground. He was as exhausted as she, but he managed to gain his footing on the steep embankment. The other riders had already reached land and were driving their stakes into the ground and tying off the ropes. Tirnya did so as well.

Then she straightened and gazed back across the river. Gries had just reached the armies again. Those remaining on the opposite bank were cheering both the lord heir and the captain he had saved. Several men helped the young captain off Gries's horse and one threw a blanket around his shoulders. Jenoe was there with the others and he offered Gries his hand. The marshal grinned broadly and said something; no doubt he was complimenting the man on his quick thinking and bravery.

Enly still sat his horse a short distance from them, his britches darkened and dripping. He stared at Gries and the others, but he didn't go near them. After a moment, he gazed in Tirnya's direction. Seeing that she was watching him, he turned his mount and rode away from the water's edge.

With the ropes finally in place, the foot soldiers and the Mettai who were marching with them were able to make their way across the river. It was slow going, and by the time the men and women reached the western bank, they barely had the strength to climb up out of the riverbed and onto the grass of the plain. But no one else was carried downstream by the current, and even the carts bearing their provisions forded the wash without incident. Still, by the time everyone had crossed, the sky had begun to darken. Not that it mattered. No one had the strength to march deeper into Fal'Borna land on this day. They made camp for the night barely a hundred fourspans from where the armies of Qalsyn and Waterstone had slept the night before.