Arms-Commander

LXXXIII

As the lower edge of the sun, tinged slightly orange, touched the edge of the roofs of Carpa, the first squad of Lornian armsmen escorted Lord Deolyn’s still form, carried shoulder high by six armsmen, from the foyer of the villa out through the portico and along the paved lane toward the east tower. Shortly thereafter, the second squad appeared with Lord Gethen, then third squad with Nesslek’s body.

With measured steps, they made their way past the tower and up the path to the top of the hill. All the remaining armsmen and guards were drawn up in formation around the pyre on the hilltop. In a line forward of those bearing arms were Maeldyn, Spalkyn, Saryn, and Zeldyan.

When all three forms were in place, with Nesslek in the center, and the Lornian armsmen back in formation, Lord Maeldyn stepped forward, then turned to face the Lady Regent and the others.

“From chaos, order brings life, and in the end, from that life, chaos leads us all to death,” began the stern-faced lord. “Some deaths are timely and come with order. Some are most untimely and disorderly. So it has been with the three men before us. All of them lived honorable lives that were too short; but for one of them, that life was far, far, too short.” Maeldyn paused for a moment before resuming.

“Each of these men had characteristics worthy of emulation. Lord Deolyn was fiercely loyal to honor and to doing what was right, regardless of the cost to himself. Lord Gethen was a good leader, and more than that, a wise man who looked to do good for all of Lornth, and not just for his own holding or personal gain, and who had already lost many of those whom he loved and who loved him because those who embody chaos could not abide such good. Young Lord Nesslek came from a most noble heritage and stood with others far older against those forces of chaos.

“We will miss them, and we will miss what they brought to Lornth and life.” Maeldyn stepped back.

Spalkyn stepped forward and, like Maeldyn, turned to face those who waited. “From chaos we came and unto chaos we go. From dull clay is spirit sparked into the flame that is life, and that flame burns our course over the years that we have. In the end is chaos, leaving no sign of where we once stood. All that remains is the memory of what we have been, what we have done, and how well we have loved. May these flames burn those memories into all of us, and may our acts carry on those memories, and so to the end of time.”

One of the Lornian squad leaders strode forth and handed a burning pitch torch to Spalkyn, who stood…waiting.

Slowly, Zeldyan stepped forward. She took the torch from the heavyset lord and walked deliberately to the foot of the pyre, where she laid the torch across an oil-soaked plank, then straightened.

After a long moment, she turned and walked gravely back to stand beside Saryn and the two lords.

Saryn stood beside Zeldyan, watching as the flames rose, consuming the wood and the bodies upon them…consuming as well the hopes of a woman for her son, the hopes of a regent for a reign of peace and prosperity.

Is this all that Ryba foresaw? The endless battles between chauvinistic lord-holders? A land where respect and restraint occur only at the point of a blade? Where the only way a woman can obtain anything close to respect is by being able to kill greater and greater numbers of men? Isn’t something better possible? If it is, is there any other way to accomplish it besides more violence and killing?

Standing before the heat of the raging flames, Saryn couldn’t help but ask the last question again.