“Here lies one o’ the chief lessons o’ War, my Prince, for ye will be King one day, Adon willing. Remember this, and remember the object it teaches: War be not a remote game, played by warriors upon a field. It be a grim business, and Men like ye and me die from it. And always left behind are the true victims, the living, those who suffer e’en moreso than the slain: family, friends, lovers.
“And so, ’tis the business o’ Kings to prevent War, if at all possible. And if not, then to limit its ruthless reach.
“Remember this lesson well, my Prince, my future King, and perhaps the day will never come when we gaze down into the dead face o’ our own kith, kindred, friend, beloved-such as Reynor, or Elyn-for Kings ha’e the power to send people to War, and sometimes forget, or don’t e’en consider, that they be living flesh and blood, those they send out to the slaughter.
“And too, let us hope that we will ne’er again ha’e to bring news to loved ones, such as we must carry home wi’ us now.
“But War teaches us one more lesson, and that be this: ye must mourn yer foemen as well, my friends”-Ruric gestured at the slain Naudron-“for as ye ha’e seen, they be but little different from us, if any, and they, too, leave bereft behind, as well as shattered dreams.
“But there be this at the last: Sometimes War be unavoidable, and in those times we must quickly come to grips wi’ it. Ne’er shirk that duty, to wage War when ye must. But always remember the cost o’ it, for it be a price beyond reckoning.”
Ruric fell silent, and gazed upon his three young friends. Now their faces were drawn, somber, the exaltation of victory gone, now that its price was known. The glory of triumph was replaced by a hollow feeling, as if each had been kicked in the pit of the stomach, though no blow had been struck.
As they stood in benumbed silence, Ruric was approached by a village elder. “Sire, what to do with the slain?”
It was Elgo who answered: “Bury them with honor. . the enemy, too.”
“And the wounded prisoners?” The elder addressed Ruric once more. “What of them?”
Again it was Elgo who answered. “See that they are well tended; when they are fit, let them take an oath by all they hold sacred that they will never again raise a hand ’gainst this Kingdom, then set them free on condition that they leave this Land, never again to return. But of those who will not so swear, slay them.”
When at last Elgo’s Warband returned to the castle, it was met by a cheering throng, for Ruric had sent a messenger speeding ahead with the news. But neither Elgo nor Elyn reveled in the praise, for they had been sobered by their experiences. They had ridden to War, their mettle untested; now they returned as battle-forged iron. Still, they had the resilience and spirit of youth, and waved and smiled upon their homecoming, pleased to be back.
At sight of Elyn among the Warband, Mala was enraged, for she had been frantic with the absence of the Princess, and knew not for certain where Elyn had gone, though the indications had been strong as to the Warrior Maiden’s goal.
But as to Mala’s tirades over the next few days, Elyn chose to ignore them, though she had been shaken by the harsh words leveled upon her in private by Ruric for having disobeyed his command.
Concerning the Castleward, the muster had been successful, and the returning campaigners found the walls well guarded, Captain Barda at their head. Even so, after two days of rest for the returning warriors, with Elgo’s praise and twelve coppers each, the temporary warders were sent back to their steads.
One day later, riding alone, Captain Weyth returned to the keep, reporting that the Naudron had run all the way to the border and beyond, never turning again to fight. And the Easton muster had been disbanded thereafter, to make their way back home.
Thirteen days following, in a cold, driving rainstorm, Aranor and his retinue returned to the keep. Lightning stalked across the face of the earth, shattering light blinding the eye, thunder hammering at the ear. The King strode into the entrance hall, puddles of water adrip from his drenched cloak. Waiting for him was Mala.
Within the half hour Elyn and Elgo were summoned into his presence. There the twins found Ruric, Mala, and Gannor, Aranor’s cousin and Hrosmarshal of the Jordreichs.
“I go to sign a compact with Randall and return to find that a War with Bogar not only was begun in my absence, but was won without my need!” A great grin split the features of Aranor. “Well done, my children, well done indeed.
“Elgo, ’twas your plan I hear that set the steel to them and sent them flying home. I am most proud of your conduct.
“But you, Elyn, I am told by Mala”-there was a tension in the air between the King and the spinster that bespoke of hot words lying ’twixt the two-“flew in the face of Ruric’s decision that you remain behind, hence put both heirs to the Line in jeopardy. Daughter, you could have been slain. Have you aught to say?”
A great jagged bolt crashed nearby, flashing white light stabbing through the high stone windows and into the lamp-lit chamber, dispelling all shadow, thunder slapping inward upon the heels of the glare, rattling the dishes of an untouched meal of meat, wine, and bread.
Elyn thought that the afterimage would be burned into her sight forever: her sire’s stern look as he sat before her; Gannor standing to the left behind the King, the Hrosmarshal still clothed in damp riding garb, his yellow beard wet, his blue eyes steely; Ruric at Aranor’s right, awaiting Elyn’s response; Elgo at her own side to the right; and lastly, standing to the King’s immediate left, Mala, triumph in her gaze.
When the shadows returned unto the room, Elyn’s answer came softly: “Sire, had I not gone, your principle heir, Elgo, would now be lying dead, and you would here be mourning his loss instead of putting your daughter through an inquisition.”
A look of amazement crossed Aranor’s features, and he glanced at Elgo.
“’Tis true, Sire,” responded Elgo. “My gizzard would have been split had she not come when she did. Ai! but hers was the first arrow to fly, throat-striking the foe behind me, his bolt loosed afterwards from harmless dead hands.”
“Hai Warrior Maid!” cried Ruric, astounding Elyn by what he said next, for they were words that flew in sharp contrast to those spoken to her in private. “Yet that be not all, Sire, for she took up the chase wi’ us and brought down three more, one by lance and two by saber!”
Now it was Gannor who cried, “Hai Warrior Maid!” the Hrosmarshal’s eyes alit with an inner fire as he smiled her way.
“This then be true, my Daughter?” Aranor raised up from the throne. “You be battle blooded? And saved Elgo, too?”
At Elyn’s simple nod, Aranor stepped down and took her in his arms in a fierce hug. “Then in truth, you do be a Warrior Maid, the first in more than a thousand years.” Aranor was damp, his beard wet, his riding clothes chill to the touch, yet Elyn was never so warmed as she was by that embrace from her sire.
“Surely, Aranor, you cannot mean that she is a true Warrior Maid,” sputtered Mala. “Not with all that that would mean when it comes to choosing a suitable husband for her.”
“By Hèl, Mala”-Aranor released Elyn and spun about to face the spinster-“my daughter is a Warrior Maid! A true Warrior Maid! And I’ll be damned if I’ll let anybody deny her even a single one of the rights deserving to a Warrior Maid!”
Jaw outjutted, fuming, Mala stalked from the throne room, her rage and frustration virtually palpable, her muttering audible. “. . reap what ye have sown. Mark me, Aranor, ye will live to regret this day. After all that I did, ye have. .” In high dudgeon, at last she swept from the chamber, carrying her maledictions with her.
“By Adon,” gritted the King, watching Mala go, “that Woman would put the hackles up on a holy Man. Sleeth’s hoard, I didn’t get more than ten steps into the castle ere she started in on me. Wet, cold, hungry, weary, it mattered not to her. The only thing of any import was your ‘unacceptable behavior,’ Elyn. Damme!”