The men searched but few were the number of wounded. The Morne were ruthless and left no one who fell whole.
The weary men made a crude camp away from the field of battle. With so many dead about no one wished to remain near. They collapsed in their armor and slept soundly, the time for nightmares would come but not this day.
Casius felt their eyes upon him as he walked about the camp. He knew they thought of him as some kind of hero, but he was not. He was merely a man who had been fortunate to survive many perils.
Casius wandered about the battleground and came to Sur’kar’s corpse. He lifted the dried up husk and started to make his way up the scree to the plateau above.
Connell joined him on the slope. “Casius,” Connell said when he guessed where his friend was heading. “The wood above does take intruders lightly.”
“It will suffer me.” Casius answered, moving upward until he stood upon the escarpments rim.
Connell remained where he was, the feeling of dread coming from the old trees holding him at bay. The sensation was far stronger than before and he was wise enough to know that whatever awaited Casius above was not going to allow him entry.
Casius stopped at the tree line and gave Connell a nod of reassurance before stepping into the deep gloom. He found a broad path amid the trunks. He carried his burden deeper into the trees until he came to a small glade. In its center stood a large slab of dark stone, stained with lichen.
He laid Sur’kar’s body upon it and stepped back. The stone glowed dimly, a soft blue light that did little to illuminate the clearing. Sur’kar’s body sank slowly into the rock. Within moments he was completely gone, the stone entombing him. The ground rumbled and the boulder disappeared into the earth. In its place a young sapling sprouted from the dark earth.
Looking up from the new growth Casius was surprised to see a young man looking at him.
He was dressed in a simple robe of linen. His feet were bare and covered with dirt. His hair was cut short and unruly, as if the raven locks had never been combed. He smiled and nodded in greeting his dark eyes filled with mirth.
Although he appeared to be a young man Casius knew he was far from human and much older than he appeared.
“You have strong sight, for a human” The young man said. “Whether it be by Sword, Ring or the touch of Ma’ul that resides in you, I cannot say.”
“I would ask a boon of this forest.” Casius said. “Will the forest ward this body?”
The young man nodded. “The time of my kind is drawing to an end. But as long as this wood stands it shall be guarded. You have the word of a forest lord.”
Casius turned to leave but stopped. “One other?” He asked.
The forest lord stood a little taller and arched an eyebrow in surprise.
“Among the dead lie many Taur Di.” He said looking back towards the field below. “There are too many for us to bear home, would Delin’ tor accept them? They deserve to be interned in the boughs of trees and not in a mound of earth.”
The young man took a moment to consider the question. “The Taur Di are known to us,” He said. “We will honor them as is befitting their service to my brethren.”
Casius smiled in gratitude and was about to speak when the forest lord simply vanished. One moment he was standing in front of him. The next he was simply gone.
Casius left the wood and rejoined Connell on the slope below the plateau.
“Where’s the body?” He asked.
“Where no one will ever find it.” Casius answered. As he slid down the loose scree he slipped and fell onto his back.
Connell pulled him upright. “You need some rest friend.” He said helping him down the slope.
Casius nodded. “I wonder if I will ever feel hale again.”
“In time,” Connell answered leading him to the makeshift encampment.
Casius collapsed and slept, a deep dreamless sleep.
Connell sat nearby watching his friend; D’Yana came and sat at his side.
“He will be scarred.” She stated looking at the burns upon his face.
“Aye,” Connell replied. “As will we all.”
“At least his hair is growing back.” She said noting the bald swath across Casius head was coated with stubble. “Why on earth would it be white?” She wondered noting the color for the first time.
“I am surprised that any of his hair remains dark.” Connell answered. “Given the terrors he’s lived through.”
D’Yana laid her head on Connell’s shoulder and closed her eyes. Within moments she was asleep as well.
Connell remained awake, he dared not move for fear of awakening her. He would simply sit out the night watching over his two companions.
Wet tears rolled down his face as he thought of his father. He was ashamed for leaving his home, and now after having healed the breach between them his father was dead. He fell asleep thinking off all the things he had wanted to tell him.
The sun rose in a glorious display of gold and fiery orange. It was the first day of a new age and the air began to grow warm with its light. The snow melted and the ground grew soggy, the warmth of summer returning at last.
Casius awakened late in the day, well past noon. He was annoyed that no one had roused him.
“We tried.” Connell said in their defense. “But you refused to stir. After several attempts we decided to let you rest.”
Connell led Casius to the battlegrounds. The men were excavating a long trench, preparing a massive grave for the fallen.
“Something odd happened last night.” Connell said as they drew near. “The Taur Di are gone, not a single man remains. The sentries saw or heard nothing in the darkness, but some how they have been taken.”
Casius looked to the overhanging trees on the plateau above. “They are in the forest.” He answered. “The trees have claimed their bodies, and honor their sacrifice.”
Connell followed his gaze and shook his head in amazement.
Lord Burcott saw them approach, the old veteran was covered with dirt and wearing only his breeches. “I cannot find a single Taur Di.” He said to Connell.
“They are being cared for.” Casius answered. “The forest of Delin Tor has taken them and they are resting in a place of honor befitting their customs.”
Burcott sighed with relief. “Jehnom would be pleased.”
Casius began to remove his chain hauberk.
“What are you doing?” Connell asked.
“There is work to be done.” Casius answered dropping the grime-encrusted mail onto the ground. “Besides I wont be needing that anymore.”
Connell shook his head. “The Morne are gone but there yet remains Troll’s and Fell hounds about.”
Casius smiled. “I have slain two Ma’ul and Sur’kar himself. Do you really believe that I can’t face a Troll?”
Connell grinned. “I guess not,” He said. “You’re no longer my student are you?”
Casius joined the line of men who were passing along flat stones from the pile of rubble at the escarpments base. The walls of the pit and its floor were being lined with dry set rock.
The bodies of the dead men were wrapped in their cloaks and laid within the trench with weapons upon their chests.
It took the better part of a week to construct the mound. Taller than two men it stood, covered with fresh cut sod from a nearby hillside. The men resting within a mix of all nations, they fought side by side in life and in death they were interred together.
The Morne were gathered and burned. The fires leaving dark scars upon the earth that for many years would never grow grass.
Gaelan swore to rebuild the ruined temple nearby and dedicate it to the memory of those who died here.
On the ninth day following the battle a weary group of men left the hills and out onto the open grasslands. The men moved slowly, marching in loose ranks with the Kings of Kesh and Ao’dan at their head.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was a weary column of less
than two thousand men who reached plain before Cal’Arev. They were battered, not one among their number was without injury.
As they entered the dried lakebed about the city bells began to toll from the buildings. Six Riders appeared on the broad causeway. With lances held high and streaming pennants of scarlet attached just below the steel heads.
The men formed ranks and marched forward with determined strides. The weariness was still upon them but they hid it well.
The riders drew up short of the approaching men. “My Lord.” Their Captain said greeting Gaelan. “Dismount.” He ordered his men. He strode forward and offered Gaelan his mount.
“I have come this far,” Gaelan said refusing the offer. “And I will not ride while these good men must continue afoot.”
The Captain bowed, stepping aside as Gaelan led the column forward. “What news do you bear?” He asked one of the bloody warriors.”
“Sur’kar’s dead and the Morne have been routed.” The man replied without breaking stride.
The Captain stood staring at the men in awe as they marched past, his guards smiling broadly at the news.
“Do we escort them into the city?” One of his men asked.
“Ride ahead, Jebin.” The captain ordered. “Give word to the steward. These men have earned a heroes welcome.”
Jebin saluted and galloped off for the city.
The Captain ordered his men to follow well behind the warriors. “It is their day not ours.” He said.
They reached the ramp leading into the city and a crowd of thousands lined the thoroughfare. Cheers greeted the men, the crowds waving brightly colored clothes from every balcony and window. Even the rooftops were crowded with onlookers.
The city quickly took on the atmosphere of a carnival. Vendors plied their wares from shop windows and Bards performed on every corner. From the Inns along the way serving girls rushed out and handed mugs of ale to the marching men.
The people lining the way to the keep were thin, each bearing the haunted eyes of someone who had seen much death and destruction. And yet they cheered, the grief a mere shadow of what it was.
The people began to shout Gaelan’s name, over and over until the pigeons fled the rooftops to escape the mounting din.
Gaelan swallowed his embarrassment and waved to the crowds as they passed. He looked to the others apologetically.
King Pelatus grinned with amusement. “These are your people. They have felt the blow harder than any others. It is right that they praise you.”
Burcott shouldered his way into the front line. In each of his hands he held a pewter mug. White foam spilled over the tops and splashed on his armor. “Take this.” He said shoving one into Casius’s hand. “I promised you a keg, but this will do for a start.”
Casius hoisted the mug and emptied it in one long swallow. “Lord Fullvie,” He said smacking his lips. “Your taste in ale is impeccable.”
Burcott lifted his mug and drained its contents. “I had to try several varieties out before I found this one.” He said with a soft belch.
Gaelan laughed. “I’m sure you drained every mug offered.”
“Of course, mi lord.” Fullvie answered with feigned surprise. “To do otherwise is to insult the barkeep.” He wiped the foam from his lips with the back of his hand. “I am a member of the Landsmarch after all, we must keep up appearances.”
“For some reason, Burcott.” Gaelan answered sarcastically. “That frightens me more than any Morne horde.”
They reached the main gates to the keep. The berm before the walls had been swept clean; all signs of Goliad’s atrocities had been removed, even the walls had been scrubbed.
Yoladt walked at Casius side his eyes open with astonishment. “How do you tell the Seh’ja’s apart?” He asked.
“People of all casts live together.” Casius informed him.
“But your King has his Castle.” Yoladt reminded him.
Casius nodded. “There are exceptions.” He answered.
The crowd was thicker here and they pressed forward each desiring the chance to see the King.
Otess stood just inside the open gate. Dressed in a simple gray robe he looked more akin to a priest than the regent.
The King’s honor guard was in place, fifty men to a side of the entry. They all wore black tabards, the symbol of mourning and would not change colors until the new King was officially crowned.
Not one of their number was younger than sixty. These were all veterans who had taken up arms in their twilight years to defend the crown.
The gesture touched Gaelan, he walked down the line shaking each man’s hand and thanking him for his service. He nodded to Otess in greeting and took the stair leading to the battlement over the gate.
The crowd roared louder as he appeared over the merlons, the echoing cry of his name spreading throughout the city.
Gaelan raised his hands and waited for the uproar to subside. “People of Trondhiem!” He shouted loudly. “My brothers, the war is over!” He had to wait several minutes for the shouting to subside.
“We have lost many of our friends, our loved ones. They are the true heroes, men who stood their ground despite the odds and gave of themselves so that we may live.” Gaelan paused looking down at the surviving soldiers. “It is their names that should be shouted from the rooftops, not mine.” He paused as the crowd grew silent, their revelry tempered by the losses they all had suffered.
“There are men among us who have shared in our grief. Men who owed Trondhiem no allegiance and yet they came. Men of Kesh, Ao’dan, Ril’Gambor, The Ahmed, The Taur Di, and even a man from an unknown land, Yoladt of the Mahjie. They answered the call to arms and without their valor we would have surely failed.”
The crowd cheered, and Gaelan joined with them. For a moment he was no longer the King, just a grateful citizen of a land saved from the brink of disaster.
Gaelan raised his hand once more. “But if it is heroes you desire.” He said once the din had died down. “The I proclaim Casius Rhaine, Guardian of the realm!” He grabbed Casius’s arm and led him to the edge of the battlement for the crowd to see. “For it is by his hand that Sur’kar was slain!” He shouted.
The crowd exploded with cheers. The rising din reverberating from the keeps walls, the riotous noise changed until it was Casius’s name echoing through the streets.
Casius blushed and looked down at the flagstones beneath his feet.
“What’s wrong?” Burcott asked.
“I’m uncomfortable in crowds.” Casius responded with a slight shrug.
Burcott roared with laughter. “You stood defiant before a Ma’ul and slew the greatest evil this world has ever known, and yet you fear crowds?”
“I did those things because they had to be done.” Casius said defensively.
“Aye,” Burcott said his face becoming serious. “As does this. These people need to heal and rebuild, let them celebrate your deeds and become inspired.”
Casius knew Burcott was right. “But I do not feel like a hero.” He said waving to the crowd.
Burcott nodded and gripped his shoulder. “You would not be one if you did.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
One week after their return to Rodderdam Gaelan was formally crowned King of Trondhiem. The ceremony took place within Galloglass Hall, though the repairs had only just begun. The morning sunlight streaming through the shattered panes warmed the assembled nobles and made Gaelan uncomfortable in his formal robes.
Yoladt left that evening, with a small honor guard provided by Gaelan. He was disappointed with Casius’s refusal to return with him, but he would spread word of Casius’s victory through the Seh’ja’s.
Trondhiem was beginning to recover, but the more remote regions were still dangerous places. Although the Morne had retreated, many dire things yet roamed the wilds, for not all had been destroyed in the war.
Patrols of heavily armed men roamed the countryside seeking to cleanse the land of the evil. It would be many
years until the borderlands were made safe once more.
Gaelan often spent the evening hours walking through the King’s downs. At his father’s grave he would sit in silence, listening to the night calls of owls and crickets. The horrors he had witnessed weighed heavily upon him and it was said that he had lost his youth in that year.
After a few weeks Casius left Trondhiem with Connell and D’Yana. The company was small; only thirty Keshian warriors had survived the combat. Many had died days later, suffering from wounds that had become infected from the foul poisons the Morne used upon their blades.
The nights were still chill, but the grip of winter was gone, new buds dotted the trees and the ground was covered with lush verdant grass. Even a few wildflowers had come into bloom, showing their colors in defiance of the cold.
Casius was amazed at how quickly life was rebounding. In a few more weeks it would be as if the winter had never lingered.
The reception they received at Kesh was staggering. The people had been spared the deprivations of war and their prosperity showed. Red Spire glowed in the darkness. Paper lanterns hung from every window and bronze lanterns shone brightly from the slender towers of the city.
The streets were packed with people and as they made their way to the cities center Casius could hear his name being called out as often as Connell’s.
The gates in the inner wall were open and the park beyond was lit by thousands of lanterns, and filled with a throng of cheering people.
Connell’s mother greeted them warmly, she was a regal figure dressed all in black. New lines etched her face; the grief of losing her husband had scarred her deeply.
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