Tanya's Vengeance

Tanya had never been fond of mornings though she had long since learned to rise before them.

The stable was quiet in those hours before the camp began to stir. It was one of the few places where she could almost pretend that the world was not full of shouting men, clashing steel, and orders barked by those who thought a title made them wise. The horses made noise of course, but it was a different sort of noise. Their breathing was honest. Their displeasure was simple. A horse did not smile at her with pity in his eyes or call her child when there was blood still drying beneath her nails.

She moved between them with the ease of long habit, checking the straps and hooves, brushing mud from coats that would only be muddied again before the sun reached its highest point. She knew each animal better than she knew most of the men who rode them. Brindle would bite if a hand came too quickly toward his face. Copper favored his left side when the weather turned damp. Saint would stand steady through screams and smoke, but only if someone spoke to him before the fighting began.

Tanya spoke to Saint now, though there was no fighting yet.

“There now,” she muttered, running a hand along the gelding’s neck. “You’ll get your chance soon enough.”

It was not an official thing, her place among them. On the rolls she was listed as horse handler and that was what the officers called her when they were forced to call her anything at all. She was not one of the King’s warriors. She had no proper rank, no proper place at the fires, and no proper right to ride beside them when the horns were sounded.

Yet her saddle was always kept near the front.

The first bell rang while Tanya was cleaning mud from Copper’s hoof.

Every horse in the stable lifted its head.

Tanya did not move at once. She listened, one hand still curled around Copper’s leg, her body gone very still. One bell could mean many things. A patrol returning early. A rider spotted on the far road. A nervous watchman mistaking deer for enemies in the gray light.

She lowered Copper’s hoof carefully back to the straw.

Then came the second bell.

Copper stamped hard, as though he too understood the difference.

Beyond the stable walls the camp burst open with noise. Men shouted over one another. Boots struck frozen ground. Someone cursed loudly enough for the whole yard to hear. Tanya reached for the bridle hanging from the post beside her.

By the third bell, she was already saddling him.

Rayon had once told her that it made the men uneasy to see her so ready when the alarms sounded. Tanya had never understood that. The soldiers sharpened their blades, checked their armor, and told stories of what they would do when the enemy came. Yet when the bells rang, they looked startled, as if war had done something impolite by arriving.

Tanya was not startled.

War had arrived for her years ago and had never truly left.

She threw Copper’s blanket across his back and pulled the saddle after it. The gelding shifted beneath the weight, eager and nervous, his breath steaming in the cold morning air. Around her the other horses had begun to toss their heads and strike at the boards. They could feel the fear of the men before the men themselves had reached the stable yard.

The first of the riders came running in half dressed, his breastplate hanging open and one boot not yet properly tied. He reached for the nearest reins, and Tanya caught his wrist before his fingers could close around them.

“That is not yours.”

The man blinked down at her as if only just realizing she was there. His name was Ferren, though Tanya rarely used names unless there was a reason to. He was one of the newer men, broad shouldered and loud around the fires, but pale now in the gray dawn.

“It’s a horse,” Ferren snapped, more from panic than anger.

Tanya released his wrist and turned back to Copper’s girth. “It is Captain Orro’s horse. And she hates fools.”

As if to prove the point, the mare bared her teeth.

Ferren withdrew his hand quickly.

“Yours is there.” Tanya pointed without looking. “The chestnut with the white nose. If you take the captain’s mare, she’ll throw you before you clear the gate and then he’ll have to decide whether to punish you before or after the enemy kills you.”

Ferren stared at her for one heartbeat longer before he moved.

“Right. Right.”

More men poured into the stable yard after him. Some called for their mounts. Some called for armor they should have already been wearing. One shouted Tanya’s name, another shouted over him, and another cursed at a saddle strap that had tangled itself in his haste. Tanya heard all of it and answered only what needed answering.

She caught one soldier trying to force a bit between a horse’s teeth and pushed his hand lower. “Not that bit. He fights it.”

Another rider swung himself halfway into the saddle before she grabbed the strap beneath his leg. “Your girth is twisted unless you mean to fall off before anyone has the pleasure of killing you.”

A third man, still bleary with sleep, reached for a pack horse.

Tanya stared at him until he noticed. “Leave the pack horse, you idiot, unless you mean to charge the border with blankets.”

The man flushed and stumbled toward his proper mount.

Across the yard, Saint began tossing his head as two horses were led past him too quickly. Tanya turned sharply toward the sound. “Saint first. He’ll panic if you bring the others past him.”

No one argued. That was perhaps the strangest thing about such moments. When the fires were low and the cups were full, the men remembered that Tanya had no rank. When the bells rang, they forgot it very quickly.

Her voice did not rise. It rarely needed to. There was something about the way Tanya spoke in moments like that which made men listen even when they later claimed they had not taken orders from her. Perhaps it was because she never wasted words. Perhaps it was because she looked more at home among panicked horses and clattering steel than she ever did sitting beside a cooking fire.

Or perhaps they all remembered, whether they admitted it or not, what happened when Tanya reached a battlefield.

Rayon came into the yard just as she finished tightening Copper’s girth. He was fastening his sword belt as he walked, his dark hair still damp from a rushed splash of water. He was older now than he had been when he first found her among the ashes of her village, though Tanya had never been sure exactly how much older. Age was something she noticed more in others than in herself. His shoulders were broader than most, his expression sharper, and even in haste the men made room for him.

He stopped when he saw Copper saddled.

For a brief moment Rayon’s face held the look Tanya disliked most. Not pity. He had learned better than that. This was something heavier and more troublesome, a worry that belonged to people who thought they had some right to keep another person alive.

“Tanya.” Rayon said.

She reached for the sword hanging from the post beside Copper’s stall.

Rayon’s mouth tightened. “You are to stay with the reserve until ordered otherwise.”

Tanya looked at him.

They had this argument often enough that neither of them needed to say much of it aloud. She was the horse handler. She was not enlisted. She was not ranked. She was not meant to be in the first line, no matter how many times the first line had been grateful to find her there. Rayon knew all of that better than anyone, for he was the one who had arranged the lie that allowed her to travel with them at all.

“The bells rang three times,” Tanya replied.

“I heard them,” Rayon said. His voice remained calm, but his hand had closed around Copper’s reins more tightly than was necessary.

Tanya looked toward the stable doors. “Then it is not a patrol.”

Rayon did not answer at once. Beyond the stable doors, the camp was already tearing itself awake. Men ran past with swords in hand and armor half buckled. The third bell had stopped, but its echo seemed to remain in the bones of everything.

“No,” Rayon admitted.

Tanya slid the sword into the sheath at her side. “Not a warning.”

Rayon’s eyes flicked toward the open yard, toward the smoke that had begun to stain the morning air. “No.”

Tanya’s stomach tightened. “Then the village is burning.”

That time Rayon had no answer for her.

For a moment Tanya thought he might forbid her more firmly. He had tried, at times, to place rules around her as if she were a girl who might someday grow into gentleness if only she were kept from sharp things long enough. Those attempts had ended badly for everyone, especially the rules.

Rayon sighed through his nose, a quiet surrender that would not have sounded like surrender to anyone who did not know him.

“Stay near me.”

Tanya gave him the same answer she always gave. “I never do.”

“I know.” There was almost a smile in his voice, though his face remained grim.

Rayon reached out as if he meant to touch her shoulder, then thought better of it and took better purchase on Copper’s reins instead, holding the horse steady while Tanya mounted.

That was the way of things between them. Rayon did not embrace her. Tanya would not have allowed it. He did not tell her to be careful. She would have hated that more. Instead he checked the buckle beneath her knee, tugged once to make certain it held, and stepped back.

“Do not chase glory.”

Tanya settled into the saddle and looked down at him. “I have no use for glory.”

“No.” Rayon’s gaze rested briefly on the sword at her side. “Only blood.”

Tanya did not deny it.

Captain Orro rode past them then, already armored, his gray mare dancing beneath him with impatience. He was not a gentle man, but Tanya had never considered gentleness a useful quality in a commander. He was stern, practical, and hard to impress. That made the respect he gave worth more than the soft words of men who praised everyone until the fighting began.

His eyes moved over Tanya, over Copper, over the sword at her hip. If Captain Orro disapproved, he had long since stopped saying so where anyone could hear.

“Rayon,” Captain Orro called. “Take the second line to the bridge.”

Rayon’s expression sharpened. “They crossed the river?”

“That is the report.” Captain Orro’s jaw tightened as he looked toward the southern road. “Raiders came over the border bridge before dawn. They are in Mill Creek now.”

The name of the village passed through the stable yard like a cold wind. Men who had been fumbling with straps and buckles went still for the briefest moment before moving twice as quickly.

Captain Orro continued, his voice hard enough to cut through the growing noise. “If they are allowed back across the river, they’ll vanish into their own land before we can pursue. Block the bridge. Hold it until I send word or until there are no raiders left to flee.”

Rayon nodded once. “And the first line?”

“With me. We ride straight into the village.”

Captain Orro looked at Tanya again.

“Horse handler.”

The title was spoken dryly enough that several nearby men pretended not to hear it.

Tanya met his gaze.

“See that the horses do not founder before we reach the fight.”

That was the order Captain Orro gave because that was the order he was allowed to give.

Tanya inclined her head. “Yes, Captain.”

No one mentioned that the best way to see to the horses was to ride among them.

The gates opened before the sun had fully cleared the black line of trees beyond the outpost. Cold air swept through the yard, carrying with it the smell of damp earth and distant smoke. At that scent, every thought in Tanya’s head narrowed to a single dark point.

Smoke.

Not from cook fires. Not from wet logs refusing to catch. This was sharper and uglier, mixed with pitch and thatch and fear. It came from the south road, from the low valley where Mill Creek sat too close to the border river and the old stone bridge that crossed it.

The river marked the edge of the King’s land. Everyone in the valley knew that. Children learned it before they learned their letters. On one side stood the farms, mills, and villages sworn to the King. On the other side lay the southern nation, with its watch posts and hungry patrols and raiders who liked to pretend a bridge was not a border when there was something worth stealing beyond it.

The enemy had crossed that bridge.

Now Rayon would ride to close it behind them.

The men smelled the smoke too.

Their shouting changed.

A man could make a great deal of noise before battle. He could laugh too loudly, curse too often, boast of what he would do when his sword met another man’s ribs. But smoke from a village quieted most of that. There were wives in villages. Children. Old men who could not run and young boys who thought themselves brave until a raider showed them what bravery cost.

The King’s warriors rode through the gates in a thunder of hooves.

Tanya rode with them.

She did not look back at the stables as they disappeared behind her. There was nothing for her there once the bells had rung. Her world became the road, the reins, the weight of the sword at her side, and the shape of the men riding ahead of her. Copper’s stride was strong beneath her, eager despite the cold. She kept him close enough to the captain’s line to see what was happening and far enough back that no officer with a fondness for rules could accuse her of leading a charge.

The land beyond the outpost sloped downward into a wide valley where frost still clung stubbornly to the grasses. In gentler times it might have been beautiful. Tanya had never had much patience for beauty. She noticed the things that mattered.

Smoke rose from Mill Creek.

Beyond the village, the river flashed pale beneath the morning light. The bridge still stood across it, narrow and gray and older than the border wars themselves. Dark shapes moved near it, some mounted and some on foot. Tanya could not make out men from horses at that distance, but she knew enough.

Some of the raiders were already thinking of retreat.

Rayon saw it too.

He broke left with the second line, taking the lower road that curved toward the river. His men rode hard, not toward the burning homes, but toward the bridge the raiders would need if they meant to escape back across the border.

Captain Orro did not look after him.

His eyes were fixed on the village.

Then they heard the screaming.

It was distant at first, carried strangely by the cold morning air. A woman’s voice. Then another. Then the rough shouting of men who did not speak with the accent of the King’s soldiers.

Captain Orro drew his sword.

The sound of it leaving the sheath passed backward through the line like a command.

Steel answered steel.

Tanya felt something inside her settle.

There were many things she did not understand and many more she did not care to. She did not understand why people spoke of peace as if it were something that could be held in place by words alone. She did not understand why kings needed borders drawn on maps when any fool could see that men would cross them the moment they thought there was something worth taking on the other side. She did not understand why some lives were protected by banners while others were burned beneath them.

But this she understood.

The river was the border.

The enemy had crossed it.

The village was burning.

Rayon would hold the bridge.

And Tanya, horse handler or not, was close enough to make certain some of the raiders never reached it.