Once the cast had been agreed upon and sides were chosen, the two “armies” retired to draw up their battle lines. The opposing generals formed up their troops and proceeded to inspect them. When they were satisfied, they stood before their warriors and addressed them, exhorting them to bravery in dying for a noble cause. Michael stood before his soldiers and his earnest, high-pitched tones rang out across the field. Aedan, as Raesene, was obliged to do the same, feeling like an utter fool.
When he was sixteen, Aedan had tried appealing to his father, pointing out how ludicrous it was for him to play with children half his age. However, it had been to no avail.
“Son, you must learn to do your duty by your liege,” his father, Lord Tieran, had said.
“But, Father, he is not the emperor yet,” Aedan had protested. “He is a mere child, and a spoiled one at that!”
“Watch your tongue, boy! It is not your place to speak so of the prince.”
“Forgive me, Father,” Aedan had said, sighing with frustration, “I meant no offense, but must I continually suffer the laughter and the taunts of all my friends? Why must I be his nursemaid? It simply isn’t fair!”
“Who told you life was fair, boy?” his father had replied sternly. “When it comes to duty, fairness does not enter into it. One of these days, you shall take my place as lord high chamberlain, and when that time comes, you will have need of all the skills that you are only now starting to learn. A few years from now, you will understand and thank me. Prince Michael does not need for you to be his playmate or his nursemaid, but you need Prince Michael … for your training.”
Now, two years later, Aedan understood just what his father had meant, but understanding did not make his task any easier to bear. His friends no longer taunted him, except to chide him gently on occasion in good humor, for by now they too understood more about duty … and about how difficult the prince could be. The emperor was old and ailing and could not take a hand in Michael’s rearing, even if he had the inclination, and the empress was overly indulgent of her only son. Even Michael’s older sisters gave him a wide berth, a luxury Aedan was denied.
He surveyed his “troops,” standing all abreast in their little metal helms and suits of armor, looking like toy soldiers as they fidgeted in place, anxiously awaiting the attack. Their eyes followed him as he strolled up and down the line of his army, almost a dozen strong, improvising his speech as Prince Raesene.
“All right now, men …” he said, barely able to suppress a chuckle. “The time has come for us to seize the day and destroy the enemy once and for all!”
His young knights cheered the words of their commander, banging their little wooden shields with their blunt wooden swords. The “goblins” snarled, the “gnolls” howled like wolves, the “elves” responded in an ululating chorus, and the “Vos” growled and looked appropriately menacing.
“There he stands!” said Aedan, pointing with his wooden sword. “My brother, Haelyn!” He spat out the word “brother” as if it were a curse. “The favored of the gods! The champion! What monumental arrogance!”
His words were laced with heavy sarcasm, and he was surprised to discover how much he enjoyed saying them. He had never been Raesene before, and it suddenly occurred to him that in this role, he could say things about Prince Haelyn that he would never dare say about Michael.
“Look at him out there, parading before his troops and strutting like a silly peacock! The great and noble Haelyn! All my life I have had to suffer his sanctimonious self-righteousness, his smug superiority, his annoying, squeaky little voice—” He caught himself, realizing that he was getting a bit carried away. “Well, the time for reckoning has come! You gnolls and goblins, today you shall strike a blow for the glory of your people!”
The “humanoids” responded with a chorus of snarls and howls.
“You elves, today you shall savor the sweet taste of revenge!”
The “elves” raised the swords and gave their war cry.
“You Vos, today you prove once and for all which tribe deserves to rule!”
The “Vos” struck their shields with their swords and stamped their feet.
“Today we shall soak the field with the blood of our enemies!” Aedan glanced over his shoulder and saw that Michael was still gesturing expansively and pacing back and forth before his restive troops, giving his long-winded speech. Well, thought Aedan, there was no reason why the “enemy” should wait for him to finish it. He raised his sword.
“For Azrai and for glory!” he shouted. “Charge!”
The young knights gave voice to their battle cries and with weapons held aloft raced toward their opponents. Caught in midgesture, Michael turned with an expression of surprise and saw the “enemy” surging toward him. Without hesitation, he raised his wooden sword and gave the command to charge.
The two armies collided on the slopes of Deismaar, and it was the greatest battle the world had ever seen. They fought from sunrise until sunset, and the air reverberated with the clashing of steel against steel, like countless hammers ringing upon anvils. That sound alone was enough to almost deafen those in the center of the fray, but added to it were the cries of men and beasts, goblins screeching, gnolls howling like the hounds of hell, elves giving voice to their unearthly, ululating war cries, humans yelling, horses neighing, the wounded of all races calling out for aid and moaning, all amid the choking dust raised by countless thousands milling on the field of battle.
Aedan found himself face-to-face with Lady Ariel, a grimly determined girl of twelve with long blonde pigtails hanging out from underneath her helm. Her eyes burned with intensity as she raised her sword and launched herself at him, screeching with all the fury and abandon of a berserker seized with battle lust. Oh, gods, he thought, not Ariel. He back-pedaled from the ferocious assault, taking a rain of blows upon his wooden shield. In her fierce determination to prove herself the equal of the boys, Ariel struck as hard as any of them, and Aedan still had bruises from the last time they had squared off against each other.
With the boys, he could always deliver a carefully controlled whack against the side of a helm to slow them down a bit or “kill” them when they got too carried away, which was almost always, but with little Ariel, he could do little more than block her blows, because he was afraid that even with her armor on, a light blow could hurt her. And he couldn’t simply tap her, because Ariel did not acknowledge such light strokes. Nothing short of a blow that knocked her down would make Ariel admit that she had “died.” The other boys had no such scruples and would bash her hard enough to make Aedan wince, but he was much bigger and much stronger and did not wish to cause her any harm. As if she knew this, she always sought him out when they played war, as if it were a personal vendetta. He did his best to defend himself from this diminutive amazon.
Aedan glanced around the battlefield, searching for Michael and Corwin in the melee. Corwin had been right next to him when they began the charge, but now he was nowhere in sight. He could only risk quick glances, but could not spot him anywhere among the two dozen or so mingling bodies and, worse yet, he could not see Michael, either.
“Ow!” Ariel had scored a telling blow upon his thigh. It stung, and Aedan knew that it would leave a nasty bruise.