Night Birds' Reign(152)

Then a woman made her way through the army, riding a pure white mare. The woman wore tunic and trousers of silver and gold. She wore no ornaments and no cloak. Her rich, auburn hair, lightly touched with frost, was loose and flowing down her slender shoulders. Her eyes were fixed on the figure of a young man who stood to the forefront of the opposing army. She looked neither to the right nor to the left as she rode past the others. The dark-haired man with the silvery eyes reached out his hand to her as she rode by, but she did not halt and he let her go, slowly lowering his hand.

She rode across the meadow toward the army that stood there with the trees at their backs. The young man detached himself from the army and rode out to meet her. He wore tunic and trousers of black and green. The cuffs of his black leather boots were studded with emeralds. On his head he wore a war helm fashioned like the head of a wolf with emerald eyes, and a torque of emeralds hung around his neck. They faced each other in the center of the field. Although they spoke Achren could not hear them, for the entire vision was unaccompanied by sound.

Suddenly, swift as thought, the man drew back his spear and threw it at the woman. Although she could not hear, Achren saw the dark-haired man cry out. He lifted his hand and the spear shot up into the sky. He gestured again and the spear burst into flames. The woman turned her horse and rejoined the army. Tears rained down her drawn face and she halted before the dark-haired man. She reached out her hand and lightly touched his cheek. He took her hand and pressed a kiss on her palm. Then he released her and turned back toward the field.

He pulled his sword from the belt at his side and raised it high. At that moment lightning flashed and crawled over the blade. The hilt was fashioned like that of an eagle with outstretched wings. The eagle’s eyes were bloodstone and its wings were studded with onyx. Precious jewels of emerald, pearl, sapphire, and opal covered the remainder of the hilt. The dark-haired man cried out what must have been the call to battle, for he ran forward and the rest of his host followed.

The two armies met in the center of the field with a clash that Achren could not hear but could feel, so powerful was it. The battle was fierce and brutal and blood immediately began to soak into the blameless ground. The dark-haired man, with the man in black and opals at his side, cut his way through the melee, making for the man with the wolf’s helmet.

At last the two men met and as they did so the battle halted around them. The man with the wolf’s helmet raised his sword and swiped viciously at the dark-haired older man. Blood spouted from the man’s side and the younger man smiled, although the smile was tinged with latent grief, like a film of spiderwebs over fresh leaves. But the wounded man was strong and he raised his eagle’s sword to strike. But before he could do so, the man in black and opals leapt forward and plunged a dagger into the younger man’s heart. The man in the wolf’s helmet threw back his head in pain. He whipped the dagger from his heart and plunged it into the breast of the man in black. The two men went down, even as the dark-haired man dropped his sword and reached out to cradle them both.

The woman in the swan feather cloak came running heedlessly through the litter of dead bodies that lay across the meadow. She sank down and took the man in black and opals into her arms. The dying man tried to smile, and spoke something, the woman bending low over him to hear his last message. She smiled down at him then and the smile remained fixed on her face until the light fled from the man’s eyes.

She looked over then, at the man in the wolf’s helmet. He was still alive and, as their eyes met, tears began to stream down his face. The woman reached out and gently laid her hand on the young man’s cheek. The lines of rage faded beneath her palm and his face smoothed out as his eyes closed in death.

The woman rose and faced the dark-haired man who clutched his wounded side. He lifted his head and cried out soundlessly to the storm above. And the rains came down, as though trying to wash away the blood, the grief, and the horror of that day.

The scene faded and another took its place. Bonfires were lit to consume the dead, piled together in the center of the field. A cluster of people gathered around a barrow freshly dug on the fringes of the forest. The woman with the pearl torque stood at the foot of the grave, flanked by the dark-haired man and the woman in silver and gold. The three stood silently, beyond tears. At last the woman with the pearl torque loosened herself from her companions and turned to go. She mounted the box of a rough wagon. In the wagon was a body, shrouded in black cloth. The woman lifted her hand to the couple that stood at the foot of the grave, then turned away even as they returned her gesture of farewell.