“Can you kill this child for me?” the prince asked with a smile.
Saelvam gazed down at the child and back at his prince. He frowned.
“If you order me, I must,” the elven warrior replied after a slight hesitation. “But it looks so trusting.”
“You have looked into the heart of honor,” the prince replied. “How do you kill a creature that doesn’t know it’s your enemy?” Eyrmin sighed. “Doubtless it will grow to be no better than the rest of its race, but it’s too young to know or do evil.”
“But it will live to become evil, and no one asked for its trust,” Relcan objected.
“No, one does not ask for trust or hold it out as if it were a piece of fruit,” Eyrmin said, his voice sharp. “If faith in one’s honor is complete, it comes unasked and lays a burden on the receiver.” His gaze, fixed on his second-in-command was sharp and speculating. “We would be nothing as a people without that knowledge.”
“It can’t survive alone,” Relcan said, still pressing for Cald’s death. He had missed or completely ignored the philosophy of the prince’s explanation. “Kill it now if you want to show it mercy. It will starve in the forest if some beast doesn’t get it before nightfall.”
“No, to leave it is to kill it as surely as if we used a sword,” the prince sighed. “Either way we destroy trust, and that is not the path an honorable warrior chooses.”
“Do you mean to shelter it?” Relcan demanded, staring at the prince as if he had lost his mind.
“We will care for it until we can return it to its own kind,” Eyrmin said. “I doubt it will eat much.”
As Cald grew older, learned the language and the meaning of the conversations that took place that day, he never forgot the prince’s signal omission when he offered the elves the honor of taking the child’s life. He had not suggested Relcan do the deed. Even then, Eyrmin had known of the uncompromising attitudes of his royal cousin.
Two
“… And each creature on the field, whether elf, human, dwarf, gnoll, goblin or the nameless deformed beings twisted by Azrai, knew the fate of Aebrynis would be decided that day.”
Cald waited breathlessly for the rest of the tale. He never tired of hearing Prince Eyrmin talk about the battle on Mount Deismaar.
“When dawn lit the sky, the warriors faced each other at the foot of the mountain. Their lines stretched as far as the eye could see. They waited in silence. The stamp of a hoof or the jingle of a horse’s harness caused some to jump, so keyed up were they for the great battle.” Eyrmin stared out into the distance as if he could see the two armies facing each other at the foot of Mount Deismaar.
“Many of our cousin elves stood against us, allied with the evil Azrai, but not the warriors of Sielwode. Though we hated the human encroachers as much as Azrai did, we would not ally with evil to defend our homeland.”
“And the morning breeze blew,” eleven-year-old Cald prompted, his eyes wide. He had heard the story many times before, but the awe of it still raised gooseflesh on his arms. He was accompanying Eyrmin and several elven warriors on a slow walk through the woods. Behind the prince and child, the younger elves, who had not been at the great battle, were listening intently.
Saelvam, who was still young enough to have grown another inch in the last seven years, stumbled over a root. The other elves occasionally teased him, saying his legs and arms were too long. It did sometimes seem as if his hands and feet did not understand how far they were from his body.
“And the morning breeze awoke with the dawn,” Eyrmin continued. “The standards snapped in the clear air, the great flags whipping about as if they were trying to free themselves from their poles and ride the wind, leading the attack. The great flag of the Anuireans waved from a pole that had been set on the ground, and yet three men were hard pressed to hold it. Roele’s personal standard was carried by a man who rode at his side; the red dragon with his golden blade writhed in the wind. The Khinasi with their standard of the sun on the sea were to his left, and facing them were the Vos, with their snarling snow tiger on a field of white.
“Between us and Roele’s army were the few dwarves who had joined the fight. They stood under a banner of crossed axes, while over us flew the Star Stair of Sielwode on a background of sky-blue.” Seeing the child was growing tired of hearing about the banners, Eyrmin moved on.
“The rising sun reflected off the armor of the great warriors, but the metal would gleam no more that day…”
“Because Roele ordered the horns to blow,” Cald said breathlessly.
“The signal for the horns was the dipping of his standard, an obeisance to his gods and a request that they aid him on the field of battle. To the left and to the right of Roele, every standard dipped in an ever widening wave as if each were part of a ripple on a still pool when a stone is thrown in. Though it was not our custom, we dipped our banner to Tallamai and asked the fortunes to guide our arrows.”
“And then the horns blew.”
“And then the horns blew. The challenge echoed down the line, growing stronger and stronger as each company or clan added to the sound. From across the half mile of open space, Azrai’s forces accepted the challenge with horns, drums, and shouts.
“With the blowing of the horns, the two armies started forward. The warhorses screamed their challenges. They rose rearing and cantered in place, held back by their riders so they did not outdistance those who traveled on foot.”
“And you couldn’t see much after that,” Cald said.
“Beneath the feet of the restless horses, the dust rose in roiling clouds that hid part of the field from us. But we had no time to look about, because we were then upon the enemy. The first clash of weapons as the two armies met rang a deafening roar across the slopes of the mountain. We thought no sound could be more terrible, but we would learn otherwise by the end of the day.
“Facing us was a company of man-beasts of Aduria, twisted and given power by the evil god Azrai. We were hard pressed. They stood eight feet tall and carried spears that were longer than ours. Fortunately they seemed to know nothing of bows.
“Our shield bearers went first, and between them the spearmen. Last came the bowmen, shooting over the heads of their companions. We felled so many with our arrows that our ranks shifted and left vulnerable spots as we climbed over mounds of slain bodies. There seemed no end to the beast-men.
“We fought throughout the morning with the sun to our left, into the afternoon as it moved over us, and to our right with the closing of the day.”
“With nothing to eat or drink,” Cald shook his head at the idea of thirst, but his mind was on the battle. Though he wore a practice sword, he left it in its sheath as he hopped about and swung his arm in imaginary slashes and thrusts at the enemies of the tale.
Eyrmin continued as if he were not aware of Cald’s movements.
“Within the first hour of battle, the line had disappeared. Small groups fought up and down the side of the mountain. At times, it seemed we were pushing the forces of Azrai back toward the land bridge. Then their troops would rally, and we would retreat up the mountain. The streams ran red with the blood of the dead and dying, both theirs and ours. The water was unfit to drink.
“Fields of grass and small forests were set afire by the mages of both sides. Many individual battles were abandoned as both friend and foe sprinted away to avoid the flames. Often, as if by some unspoken arrangement, foes met again to fight in safer territory.”
“And then the gods came down,” Cald whispered. He ceased his imaginary battle and stayed close to the prince’s side as Eyrmin picked up with the thread of the child’s thinking.