Chapter 202: Chapter#202

"I have sworn to my men, victory will be ours!" Commander Nain was screaming at her, grabbing Rania Stariel's bridle and pulling him to one side.

"Will you truly fight us: Dar and Loisir, el Jien and the Commander, and I? Oh Caja, my dear! Will you fight us?"

"I will!" He was shaking and Rania saw the terror in his handsome face. "I will, I will!"

"Then why is it you are going backwards?"

Caja Nain, who had raided jam out of the provisions tents of all the Quarters in turn in Fourth Sietter with her until they were caught and he was punished and she got off free because she wept when Rania and Loisir's father, their old Commander, tried to discipline her, let go Rania's reins and stared at her from a pinched petrified face. Her face was motionless. He saw a recently healed wound ran across the bridge of her nose. He saw her slanted dark blue eyes staring intently into his. He could not bear those eyes that loved him, and she had been a baby Lieutenant by his side, to look at him so.

He gave a yell and kicked his horse forward, his sword was raised to meet hers.

Her sword flashed up in her hand, her other arm came up, she was holding Challenger only with her knees. Her sword met his with a crash. She stabbed shallowly into his shoulder with her dagger and caught him in her strong embrace as he slid in his saddle. He dropped his sword as he clutched at his shoulder, staring into her slanted blue eyes, his face twisted between agony and sorrow.

"Lie still there," she said to him softly, "Angel of Honour. I know you have been in Hell. Victory will be ours the day and you will be for me through the rest of your life. We will come for you when the battle is done," and she let him slide gently to the ground.

Rania had flung his sword down and dismounted. He was huddled into the flank of his horse, quivering with fear and waiting to be struck down. His cavalrymen were in turmoil behind him, his Lieutenants crying: Sir, sir, what are your orders? My Captain! Sir!

He turned savagely on them and said: "Get back! Call on the Angel of Mercy! I am for Lord Tashka and Lord Clair. My heart was always with them and yet I was true to my Commander and his vow but now I cannot." He stepped up to where Commander Nain lay weeping on the battlefield and stood over him with his hand gripped at his horse's head to hold it still.

They stared at him. Half of them dismounted to stand by him and their Commander, half of them rode wildly forwards into the H'las ranks, leaderless and hopeless. He watched them go to their deaths and bit his lip so hard that it bled.

Tashka trotted her horse to him and laid her scarred right hand on his helmeted head then she was past him and into the battle.

There were other places where men were facing those who had been comrades. Fourth and Tenth Sietter in the red uniform with a black sash across it were slow to engage. The troopers battling with them sometimes fell back saying: I cannot! Sometimes a Fourth or Tenth Sietter man failed to guard himself in his confusion at confronting a friend and was wounded or killed.

The Sietter enemy were ill-prepared and desperate. They knew that behind them was no strong united force of strategic staff and sworn Lord to the region. There had been plots against van Sietter. Some of their officers had been arrested, some hung, others obviously had little heart for the war they had been thrown into.

Tashka struggled through a mass of faces whom she tried desperately not to recognise and then she looked up and saw one she was glad to see and made straight for him.

Commander-Sir Lial Darien and Commander-Lord Tashka el Maien van H'las met in the field of battle with a crash of swords that jarred each of them to the backbone. Tashka's sword was up and stabbing fiercely at Darien. He avoided the blow with a quick jerk on his reins, at the same time his sword came sweeping round in a flashing circle. Tashka ducked down, flung her sword up and it met Darien's on the second sweep round with a violence that nearly threw them both off their horses.

Their horses skittered back. They both urged them forward again, cast a quick look round to ensure that no other soldier was heading for them. Their swords met and pressed, they pushed at each other. Tashka's left hand flew up, her rings, her dagger sparkled light, Darien's dagger was up to meet hers. Two-handed, they pressed each other. They glared into each other's face then Darien's horse, jostled by Challenger, fidgeted. He could not stop pressing. A look of terror crossed his face and then his foot was out the stirrup and he had leapt out the saddle and down the other side of his horse. Tashka's sword bounced off his empty saddle.

He looked hurriedly round, meaning to try and mount and come at Tashka again but she too was dismounting and she came striding, limping at him; a tall terrible figure with wide intense eyes. He saw her limp and his eyes were startled then they narrowed as he brought his sword up again to meet hers.

He had thought that the limp would affect her fighting but the blow with which she struck at him was so perfectly balanced that even while he met it, he marvelled at the beauty of her movement. He was too good to be confused by having misjudged her ability and he struck quickly at her in return. Their swords crashed, skidded apart. She jumped to one side and struck at him. He swung round and met her blow. She stepped back and he followed her, then savagely she stabbed and stepped forward but he had seen it coming, he was back again.

They closed in another close press, pushing weapon to weapon, glaring in each other's face, their daggers darting at each other.