Vol.6, Ch.1, P.2
Former Isfält.
There we were, at the foot of Déu Tsellin. Under blankets of brooding clouds, a brisk breeze was blowing. The native mists had long lifted; and the sun, as it westered, sighed in rays of gossamer from the crannied skies. And in that silence so gold and grey did we grieveーwe in our thousands. For being held on this day was a funeral to honour our dearly war-dead, that their souls might be soothed after deceasing upon the slopes and summit of this very mountain.
It was more commonly the case that such ceremonies be carried out in the respective fatherlands of the fallen. And in truth, after a great effort of gathering and booking them, had the remains of ours been already returned to and inhumed in theirs. But it was in the fashion of their official remembrance where we diverged on this day. Indeed, despite being disparate fighters from disparate lands, of disparate creeds and disparate cultures, we had all flocked under a common cause and sought a common victory. Thus did we who so remained see it more mete to gather again upon the embattled grey, and give thought and thanks to the sacrifices of our departed friends.
The sons and daughters of Clans Víly, Gorka, and Reù; the courageous Men of the Cutcrownsーall in their ranks and files looked ahead as Dennis took his place upon a simple stage that’d been erected in the open especially for this occasion. Preceding him had been the three Nafílim jarls with their respective speeches, and as leader of the Cutcrowns, it was now Dennis’ turn to give his words. In guise of grievance was he gravely garbed, and the look borne upon his face was just as sombre.
“At the time, the thought’d cross’d me mind, I confess,” he began, his voice echoing clear and far. “Aye: to run; to go ’ide in the ’ills; to give up.”
And as he spoke, it was apparent to all that his erstwhile suave was subdued. Sad he seemed now, as a stoic moved to open the depths of his heart to those of us so stood aface himーand as well, to those whom he nor any of us would see ever again.
“But so, too, in me mind did the thought o’ ye thousands run,” he continued. “Ye so veil’d by vales north an’ south; but ye who so strain’d an’ strove away just the same. Just the very same… as we. ’E were a queer thing to think about, rightly enough. We all weren’t a-bound by oath or alliance or whatnot, after all. Just timin’. Aye; a bunch o’ upstarts, just ’appenin’ to attack the same bloody mountain at the same bloody time. But at the last, we became… more, I fancy to think. Aye. We became brothersーbrothers in battle.”
None here dared glance away. Eyes and ears, whether Mennish or Nafílim, were all given to Dennis as he spoke.
“An’ that, gladly, were the thought that won through,” he said on. “The thoughtーthe beliefーso answer’d by ye Reù, when ye came up to our rescue, even whilst your ’earts were all so ’urt an’ ’eavy. Or not least when ye Víly an’ ye Gorka charged an’ triumph’d for us at the very mountaintop be’ind me now.”
To think that such words would ever come from the mouth of another Man. The mere idea would’ve been madness but a moon ago. This mountain, this battle, had changed something. Something very deep, indeed.
“I’ve a-lost many a dear friend ’ere on that day,” spoke Dennis more sadly now. “But each an’ ev’ry one o’ ’em, they says to me: ‘Dennis, Dennis. Be blithe. Thou’st more friends now than e’er ’fore, thou dost. Lo! ’ere they be. All a-standin’ with’ee. So cheer’ee up, an’ love ’em as thou ’ast us’.” Turning up to the sky, Dennis closed his eyes and drew a long breath. “Aye. That be what I ’ears. As the wind blows now in me ears, I ’ears ’em all crystal clear.”
Surely was Walter, too, amongst those whom he heard. And if such be the last wish of the hero-wiċċa, then let us honour him and join both hand and heart. This I doubted not was now the thought in all of us.
“An’ you, me friends. Ye ’ears’ee, too, don’t ye? Aye. I trusts ye do,” Dennis said with eyes open again. “Just as I trusts that walkin’ together, we’ll finds’ee someday for certain: the tomorrow what we’ve all been long a-yearnin’ for.”
And with that, Dennis bowed, and a silence followed. But a moment, and there pit-patted a sparse clapping of hands. Looking about, I found amongst the applauders some simmering with discontent still, and some more again with gazes misgiving. But nevertheless, on and on they clapped. Others joined in: a reluctant Reùling here, a nervous Cutcrown there. And as though convinced by them, some more still added their palms to the applause. Were this Man’s words worthy of our woefully lost? Did our leader mourn enough our so-fraught sacrifices? With such doubts on their faces, many more glanced about for answers; and summarily assured, they, too, began to give their hands.
Parara-parara. Slowly the clapping increased. More and more the mountain rang, till in time, all the ceremony was as a thundercloud, rumbling and boiling with applause. Up the mountain the clapping ran; up to the clouds and up to the stars soon to awakeーand up, perhaps, to those who might never again stand with us in these after-days.
∵
Presently, the speeches were concluded. Leaders and delegates filed into a line facing the summit, and at the head, laid down in turn a flourish of flowers in an arrayーwreaths, bouquets, garlands, and all. And thereafter came time for prayer. But being a gathering of different faiths, it’d been agreed upon that proceedings both simple and respectful would serve most metely for this day. And thus did all in attendance stand now in silence, lids closed and hands clasped after their own fashion. Of course, everyone but prayed to whomever they each missed, as none here could so hope to speak to all the countless dead. But that was nothing to grudge. No, nothing at all.
For my part, I had no prayer to give, being faithless as I was. What I instead could offer the fallen, however, was a vow. And so I did just that: closing my eyes, I addressed the spirits of the departed, and vowed never to make vain their lives so untimely lost.
Names and faces flickered through my mind. One after another: my fellows, my braves. You shall all be recompensed, I meditated. Recompensed, remembered, revered. This I swear to you, each and all. And in time, I saw Walter. There he was, gentle in his smile. Had he failed to foil the death of his companion Erika, then doubtless would his Reùlingen brethren have abandoned the battle altogether, consigning the Cutcrowns to the mercy of the 1st and ultimately precipitating our whole and utter defeat. For the hero-wiċċa, then, had I no shortage of thanks to give. And the same could be said of Gunthar, Walter’s ancillary whom I’d met all too briefly at Arbel. Indeed, he was not to be forgotten; for just as Walter had done later for Erika, it had been regaled to me that Gunthar had given himself to deliver Walter at the nick of time. Verily was our victory owed to his valour, and all like deeds and sacrifices on that day, unto the very last stroke.
Hence was the hard lesson learnt: protect what must needs be protected. Preserve every link in the chain, that we may not be severed from tomorrow and on.
To you who have done so and paid for us the greatest price: ye are as to me saviours and friends most dear. And for you I swear to win through. Ever and on, as blood yet runs in my veins. Upon Sword and Soul, this do I swear.
∵
And so was ended the commemoration. A small procession then bore a long table, as well as a set of chairs, and placed them all atop the stage. Hence was the second half of the ceremony to ensue: a treaty-signing, to forge with ink and scroll the binding of our alliance at last.
It might seem strange to now formalise our ties only after the battle. Yet, it was by fighting first that we fighters had found reason for such fellowship. And even stranger still may it seem to commence a treaty-signing in the following of the funeral. But all the more reason, we thought; for what better time for this than as we were, gathered now in the thousands, under the watch of thousands more of our dearly departed.
And afore such a number gazing on, the Nafílim jarls went and took their seats upon the stage: Alban of Clan Víly; Dušan of Clan Gorka; and their counterpart of Clan Reù, the very father of Erika. Joining them was Dennis, leader of the Cutcrowns. Further on, delegates, as well, from the parliaments of Former Ström, Tallien, and Artean came upon the stage. Indeed, they, too, were to sign their names into the treaty.
As for why, well, we’d broached the idea during the very planning: that to let this treaty between the two races be known far and wide, it ought not be solely the Cutcrowns who composed the Mennish side of things, but also as many more Men as may be mete. Thus had we thought to seek out the foresaid parliaments for their participation. But before the requests could ever be quilled, wiser minds had prevailed, and the matter was laid to rest. After all, though left largely to their own devices, the parliaments were, at the end of the day, akin to provincial governments, formed out of what else but Nafílim rule. And that was precisely the rub: to be asked for by their conquerors would have seemed more coercion than request, as it were, and that hardly beseemed the spirit of “alliance”. Hence had we conceded that Dennis’ signature alone would serve for the Mennish hand in the treaty.
But soon thereafter, something peculiar had come about: the heads of parliament themselves had each requested a seat at the ceremony. Of course, we then duly apprised them that they’d be none the worse off were they to stay at home. But in the end, they had insisted, and what had we to do but welcome them warmly.
‘…It’s high time we painted clear an’ bright the true colours on our banner…’ I remembered one member of parliament putting forth. And therein lay the spirit of their insistence: that in signing this treaty, Ström, Tallien, and Artean were declaring their intent never to wilfully return to Londosian rule. And we had Torry and the rest of the Rolanders to thank for that. By their tireless efforts, the parliaments were afforded many of the means needed to keep their lands in good running and their peoples in good living. And that’s not all; as it happens, a most effectiveーand withal the simplestーway to win over the commonfolk is victory upon the battlefield. Needless to say, we had many of that under our belt already. But with Déu Tsellin counted now amongst our accomplishments, more than ever were the commonfolk fain to flock under our flag.
Thus explained the sight afore us now: the three Clans, the Cutcrowns, and the three provinces, coming together in a confederation of Men and Nafílim.
“The Nafílses; they’re a more sensible folk than I gave ’em credit for, if I’m honest.”
“Aye, that they are.”
Such was whispered amongst the parliaments’ envoys nearby, and that made me glad, indeed; for they seemed to have spoken from their hearts, and had not come on this day solely for their own sakes.
One by one, the jarls signed their names into the treaty. Dennis followed suit, as did the heads of parliament after him. And with that, by stroke of quill, the alliance was forged; and coming together, the signatories all shook hands, and we thousands looking on applauded them.
For how long the lustre of Alliance may endure, and how lustrously it may enlimn the pages of Historyーsuch now fell to us decide henceforth. To us who have lived to see this day.
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Thank you for the chapter.
Pretty good for setting the scene.