There was a sudden roar of relief and joy from the assembled armies of the defenders, and Selani and Arakite exchanged congratulations as Ungardt pounded Centaurs on the back, and Sulasians clapped hands with Wikuni and Were-kin.
"General Kang requests that you dispatch troops to catch all the fleeing enemies, Lord General," the Aeradalla said happily. "They're in a full rout!"
Darvon blew out his breath, saying fervent prayers of thanks to Karas. That had come literally in the nick of time. If those undead had had five more minutes-he didn't even want to think about it. "Alright then, let's break up and capture all the enemies running away!" he boomed. "When that's done, it'll be time to celebrate! Lieutenants, take your squads out into the city and capture any enemies you encounter! My dear, if you would be so kind as to go up and tell all your friends to circle over the enemy soldiers, we'd appreciate it. They'll be much easier to find with your help."
"Of course, my Lord General," she smiled sweetly at him, then turned and vaulted into the sky.
"All right then, why are we standing around here?" he called in good-natured ribbing. "We have orders to carry out! Let's go, let's go! A little more, and then we feast and celebrate our victory!"
There was a sudden booming roar from the defending armies just before they broke up and began scouring the streets for the routed enemy, for they all knew that for all intents and purposes, the battle was over.
They had won.
To: Title EoF
Chapter 37
It was a celebration.
It took all the rest of the day and half the night to carry out the bodies of the slain and give them proper burial a few longspans to the south of the city, where no farming was carried out. But after that was done, a task that civilian and soldier alike were committed to accomplishing before the bodies became a health risk to the city, the celebrating began. Every festhall, inn, and tavern was packed with revellers as they celebrated victory over the enemy, celebrated an end to the fighting, or celebrated the memory of the brave men who had fallen protecting Suld. Though many had died-more than they'd expected-the victory made it impossible to feel too somber for the lost, for the intoxicating wine of victory had flushed the survivors. There was a surprisingly small number of fights, most of them being the Ungardt, and they usually only fought one another when they were drunk, so the revelling taking place out in the city was a generally peaceful one.
Of course, not everyone was celebrating. There had been no civilian casualties, but there had been some damage to the eastern quarter of the city, and those who had had homes or businesses damaged during the fighting were not in a partying mood. That problem had been exascerbated after the rout began, as desperate ki'zadun soldiers broke into the empty buildings and tried to hide. The men that went in after them usually weren't very careful about the building, so alot of internal damage was done to the buildings standing as the soldiers fought to drag the prisoners out of their holes. Though they were grateful that the enemy had been repulsed, those unfortunates who had suffered loss in property were still a bit put out with the whole thing, and rightfully so.
But all in all, given the situation they had found themselves in, everyone agreed that it could have been much worse. They had managed to repel the ki'zadun, defeating a force almost twice as large as the defending force, doing it with magic, fortifications, strategy, and not more than a little luck. Stories had already begun to be recanted about the battle, about how the katzh-dashi of Suld rose up and showed the world the power they kept hidden, the power that had made the other orders of magic so fearful of them. Jenna and Tarrin especially became very highly mentioned in those stories, the Were-cat already being somewhat notorious, but the small, young, dark-haired girl, such a pretty and incredibly brave girl, rose up to prove she was the equal of the menacing, infamous Were-cat. She caught the attention and the hearts of many who had seen her fight. Minstrels and bards had already began composing songs about Jenna and her stand against the dark Wizards of the ki'zadun, and they got more and more outrageous with each draft. Several proposals of marriage had been delivered to the Tower gates as well, though most of them had probably been tendered while the hopeful groom was drunk and flushed with the thrill of their victory.
Inside the Tower there was celebration as well, but it was a bit muted. The Tower had lost fifty-three katzh-dashi in the battle, fifty-three out of five hundred and nine. That was one out of ten, killed in the battle. The cost to the katzh-dashi had been very high, but it had been a price they willingly paid, given the alternative. The Council had survived, but Jinna Brent, the Water seat, and Darrian Goldaxe, the Earth seat, had both been wounded in the fight. They were in their rooms, recuperating from the ordeal of being healed, and so were not present at the grand feast held in honor of their victory. The feast was attended by all the kazth-dashi, as well as the visitors and generals that had called the Tower home since arriving to help repel the ki'zadun. Many of the Arakite military command structure was present, as well as all the surviving Aeradalla. A large complement of Selani were present, as well as the new leader of the Centaurs, after their former one was killed during the fighting. Sathon was present, wearing a splendid white robe, as was Audrey the Were-wolf.
But all of them stared at the large table of empty seats near the table of the Council. That was where the Were-cats were to sit, as well as the core of the people close to Tarrin. Those seats were empty, and nobody had seen any of them since they had returned to the Tower.
But they were in the Tower. The Were-cats were gathered in Triana's rooms, where she still recovered from using her magic during the battle. Jesmind and Jasana were there with the others, but Tarrin was not with them. Sarraya was attending Triana, acting as nurse and healer to the Were-cat matron and speeding her recovery along. Keritanima was recuperating in her bed, with Allia, Miranda, Azakar, Dar, Szath, and Dolanna in close attendance. Jenna was resting comfortably in the apartments claimed by his parents, who watched over her in her convalescence. Phandebrass had forgotten about the feast, and was happily scraping up the residue of the destroyed Demons that had been defeated when they penetrated the fence, fully intent to study the horrific substance to better understand how Demonic physiology functioned. Camara Tal was sitting quietly with Jula, who was still unconscious after her own part in the battle, a part that was unknown to the others yet just as important as anything else that had happened.
Tarrin was in the courtyard, a courtyard whose hedges were mysteriously, magically restored from where the Demons had flattened them trying to reach the Goddess' icon. After everything that had happened, he realized he needed a little time alone, quiet, time to think and reflect on it all. He sat on the edge of the fountain, chin in his paw, looking down at the red bricks laid into the ground that surrounded the happily bubbling, gurgling fountain, and he fretted. So much had went on. Almost too much. And he'd only seen about half of the battle. From what he'd heard from others, the fight between Jenna's Circle and the Wizards and Priest of the ki'zadun had been spectacular, more than just invisible strokes and counterstrokes within the Weave. They had traded magical spells on more than one occasion, and some of the effects had been quite explosive. He'd pieced together the chronology of the battle from the stories that the others told him, and realized that they'd only just barely managed to eke out a victory. Had just one thing not happened when it happened, they'd probably still be fighting.
But there was more to it than just the battle. Tarrin was a bit chagrined, in a way, and the reason for it, he was sure, would seem a bit silly to the others. But it was serious to him, because it had caused him to break an oath. He had sworn an oath not to reveal the name of the Goddess, and yet he had done so. The use of the spell of banishment required that the name of the god enacting the banishment be voiced, and Tarrin had been forced to speak the Goddess' name in the middle of an army. He was absolutely sure they'd heard it. It bothered him that he'd broken his word, bothered him a great deal, even though it seemed a trivial worry, or it had been necessary. He still felt very foolish for not thinking of that first, that his incompetence had delayed him from getting rid of the Demoness, and that men had died on her swords because of it. Had he been thinking and realized that he could do the same thing to her that he did to the others, those men would still be alive. It was even more blood on his paws, and was just as bright and glaring as all the other blood.