by Nova Rose
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Those within the keep never noticed the lone figure wandering through the battlefield. She stepped cautiously making certain not to tread upon anyone. In her heart, Nelyn knew that only the dead littered the canyon. Most had been buried, but some remained. She only cared for one. She had not seen Jarown since the beginning of the battle. The more she walked, the more her heart sank with a cold realization: the man she called father was dead.
Her foot brushed against a solid figure. Delicately, Nelyn looked down. Just the remains of an orc. Crows provided the only life in such a desolate place. Something glinted in the moonlight. Nelyn rushed to it recognizing it immediately. She fell to her knees beside Jarown’s lifeless corpse. His shield rested by his side. Little good it would do him now.
Gently, Nelyn lifted Jarown’s corpse. She cradled it as tears dropped onto his cold skin. No! Anguished cries escaped her as she cradled the remains of her father.
Quieting her emotions, Nelyn did what she had to. She laid Jarown delicately on the sand. Carefully, she placed his sword in his hands resting them upon his chest. With great care, she laid his shield beside him. A warrior’s pose.
Nelyn searched the empty landscape for brush and wood with which to build a pyre. The people of Belyndril burned their dead; they did not place them in empty tombs. She owed him a proper burial. Hours passed as Nelyn gathered the necessary materials to properly send Jarown’s spirit to the afterlife. She skillfully placed the brush around and under Jarown. She made certain that it would burn bright, but slowly. She did not want it to go out before his remains had turned to ash.
“Farewell, father,” she whispered, striking her flint. One strike sent sparks to the dried wood. Instantly, it burst into flames.
Nelyn took a few steps back. She stared at the orange flames as they danced around Jarown. Tears streamed down her face as she could no longer hold in her sorrow. Solemnly, she sang a solemn prayer for her departed father.
Hear my plea, voice of wind
Protect this man at his end.
He faced death with valor;
In thy halls grant him honor.
In flaming fire he becomes ash,
Grant him thy honorary sash,
So the world will know his sacrifice;
And that he stood against vice.
Nelyn’s voice cracked as she broke down into racking sobs, unable to finish the song. Arnin walked up behind her. He had followed her and noticed the burning pyre. With a solid voice, he finished the melody.
To you a great warrior we send.
Take heed, voice of wind.
Nelyn jerked around. She ran into Arnin’s arms. He held her as she wept for the loss of Jarown. They stayed there until the fire burned out, turning into smoldering coals. Nelyn scooped some ash into the palm of her hand. Raising it high above her head, she released it into the wind. The breeze carried the ash away spreading it across the war torn land. Nelyn glanced at Arnin with her puffy eyes before walking back to the keep. He trailed after her in silence.