OLD SOLDERS

For the Man it was a day of joy. Tomorrow the battle would be joined and the victor would be decided. It could only be Heron, the Master of the Seventh Tribe, who would prevail. How could anyone overcome the power of his strong arm or the sharpness of the Heavenstar Metal that was forged to create the double handed axe he wielded. And when the final foe went down and the field was red with the blood of the Drakmoran Clansmen there would be the plunder of a fallen tribe to divide.

He held his woman and watched as the sea rolled over the sand of the beach below him. It was near the end of the day and a red sun was falling into the vast Northern Ocean. He felt her tremble, thought it might be the chill of the mist, and warped her with his bearskin robe. She smiled up at him.

For the Woman it was a day of sorrow. Her man was an honored warrior, high in the ranks of Heron’s Clansmen, with many valiant wars to brag upon, and many scars to be proud of. But time had slowed him, she could tell. He visited her less often then in previous years and stayed shorter. She had given him three sons, a daughter, and one ghostchild. She feared the coming of a second spirit. And she trembled. When he laid his robe upon her she looked into his eyes and saw darkness.

"Have you lost your love for the sea, Old Woman?"

"No more then I have lost my love for you."

She creased his cheek with a tenderly shaking hand. Smiled.

"This is good." He looked away, an odd thing in such a serious mood. "RU will need all his daemons to pull me from your side."

"Call not that dreaded God." She made the sign of Repentance.

He laughed at her caution.

"Foolish woman. Dravash protects me before a battle. Are you forgetting the years of training you have as the wife of a warrior?"

"I am forgetting only that you are in the hands of the Fates tomorrow, and no Fate is completely happy without a tragic end."

He loosed her and roared the rage of his people.

"Damn it, Woman! Must you ruin another perfect moment?"
She only smiled. Then turned to watch the edge of the sun sink beneath the rolling sea.

He sulked in his rage.

"You see only your glory and the hopes of your own dreams," she said at last. And she smiled when he made an indignant grunt. "I see my life given to chance. Your skills are not the same as you once knew in your youth...Old Man."

"You are grinding stone, Woman!"

She laughed at him. Knowing he was not a violent man off the field.

"And the chaff will make your bread. Love." She pulled his beard. "Save your man-hate for tomorrow. I am your companion, not your enemy."

He grasped her hand with a fire in his eyes she knew was not put there by anger.

"Kalaka, I swear...You press a man to his edge."

She leaned toward him with her passion.

"At the edge your fire burns hottest."

He kissed her and a moment passed in silence. They held hands and caught the last light of the day, much as they had when they were young. But then, with the descending darkness, came a dread that affected them both.

He stood and set his hand upon his sword. Sadly she rose to follow him.

It was a short walk back to the camp. She counted the steps and set them in her memory. He stayed one pace ahead, as was his custom, but she noticed the limp he refused to acknowledge. His back was broad when scaled in armor. Yet her hands had felt the knots in the tired muscles that refused to admit their age.

He turned as they neared the palisade, just as the LookOut called a challenge.

"Don’t wet yourself", he bellowed out. "It’s Anathagus, returning with his wife. But she’s in a foul mood, lad. Perhaps you’d best beware."

The LookOut moved away with a mumbled response.

"I meant to say...."

He stumbled over the words, as though she didn’t know his intent.

"What I meant to say.... Back there.... Before you ruined.... Well.... Before the mood changed.... Was..."

She stopped him with a finger to his lips and a smile upon her own.

"At other times, when I was younger, it was important that I hear the words. When you were not in my arms I feared whose arms you may have found..."

"Kalaka...I..."

"No!" She took his hand and kissed it gently. "This is not then. And now is all we have. I am sure of our love. That is what I mean to say."

"You could have done so much better...."

"And so much worse."

She sat her hands upon her hips and gave him a stare he knew meant a challenge had been issued.

"Do you think no others sought my charms?"

"No....I..."

"And stop your stuttering. You can speak for yourself."

"Now, Kalaka, you’re..."

"Grinding stones.... Yes I know! But you act as though love is a word, or a deed. Do you think our passion is the root of our affection for one another? Or that a kindness or two is all that has ever been expected of you?"

"I have given you more then kindness. Woman!"

"Yes.... And I have borne the pain of your gifts...And the joys.... You fool!"

He flushed. But the look was one of pain.

"Anathagus...."

She stepped into his arms.

"You think of love now, on the edge of this camp.... Or then, on the edge of the sea.... And I have already told you that love lies on the edge of your heart."

"Your riddles are damn maddening", he said. But then he smiled. "Which is why I love you so.... Whatever edges my love may lie on. Now, can we get some rest?"

"If rest is what you want then your older then we thought", she said.

Arm in arm they walked to their hut.

The battle was joined on a flat, grassy valley as the sun reached its zenith. There was a shallow river that divided this valley. The Drakmoran Clansmen occupied the eastern bank of this river. Heron mustered his Warriors on the opposite side. The forces were close to even with about two hundred warriors to a side. The Drakmoran had more archers on the field. Heron’s men were better armored and equipped. Anathagus stood on the right hand side of his leader. His long sword, Justifier, was in one hand and a large shield was in the other. His job would be to protect Heron as they charged the Drakmoran lines. He wore only a breastplate and a horned helm for armor so he would not be weighed down.

There was a pause after the formations had been set. A reverent silence as each man made eye contact with an opponent across the river. Then Heron raised his axe and roared the challenge, the archers of Drakmoran loosed their bolts, and the Warriors of the Seventh Tribe rushed into the river screaming the name of their leader.

Flint arrowheads clanged off metal armor. But some found flesh and a man would go down screaming. Anathagus felt the pounding of arrows on his shield and knew that Heron was being targeted. Then they were across and the arrows stopped. The Drakmoran warriors roared and advanced.

Anathagus cast his shield aside and gripped his sword in both hands. Keeping Heron close, he advanced into the fray. A man in doubled leathers advanced with a long spear in hand. Anathagus cut it in half with a powerful down stroke and laid open a deep gash in the man’s arm with the upstroke. As this opponent retreated two with clubs replaced him. Anathagus took a stroke from one as he lunged to pierce the other through the stomach. Heron’s axe avenged the blow before Anathagus could free his sword. And then there were four upon them.

Anathagus stepped forward, hacking, his mind filled with a red rage. He felt a spearhead pierce his leg, slashed down, and continued to fight with the broken shaft sticking from his leg. He took an arm, laid open a gullet, and there were five more coming to meet him. The Drakmoran warriors were attempting to overwhelm Heron. A bronze sword cut his breastplate but didn’t penetrate.

"Retreat!", Heron called.

Anathagus fell back as support arrived at last. But, somehow, the Drakmoran warriors had turned the odds to their favor. As they formed a shield wall Anathagus noticed that almost half of their force was missing. Not near as many Drakmoran warriors lay on the field of battle as those of Heron did.

The Drakmoran force fell back to reform also. The archers began firing their arrows again. There were not enough shields for proper protection now. Heron was forced to either retire the field or attack. Anathagus knew what the call would be before it was made.

"At them!", Heron roared.

Kalaka sat by the open doorway teaching her daughter to weave. It was getting late in the day. The shadows of the room were growing long and dark. Her mind was wandering; consumed by fears she was trying to deny. When she looked down and saw that she had missed stitched again she put her work down in frustration. Just as she did the village became excited.

"Go warm some broth for your brothers, Kara. I’m stepping outside for a moment."

"Mama!", Kara protested. "I want to go too."

"Do as you were told.", Kalaka replied sternly as she left.

Her fears could no longer be denied as she followed the others to the entrance of the village. Will this be Warriors coming to celebrate victory or to sack and pillage? Either way there will be women who will face the night in loneliness and grief. Kalaka had prayed all day that she would not be one of them. Now she would find out if her prayers had been heard.

The gates of the palisade were open. With no one to defend the walls why shut them. The village gathered in a crowd as, in the distance, the Warriors advanced.

"Can you make them out yet?"… "It’s too far, and dusk too deep."…"Wait, I think I see armor."

Finally they were close enough and a roar went up from the crowd. The Seventh Tribe had been victorious. But it was easy to tell that the victory had been costly. Their rousing yells soon turned to worried mutterings. Kalaka waited in the rear of the crowd.

Those that could walk by themselves helped those that could not. Some pulled field stretchers for the badly wounded. As they entered the gates the pleas of the widows mingled with the cries of joyous wives. From her place, hands clasped tightly in front of her, Kalaka waited.

"Heron!" the crowd roared, tired Warrior and villager alike. "Heron…. Heron!"

As he stepped from the crowd Kalaka met his gaze. There was no smile on his face. He approached her with a tired gait, blood running still from a number of cuts. The look in his eyes brought a chill to her heart.

"Your man is brave.", he said. "He stayed by my side through out the battle. I can think of no other that I would rather have had there."

"And will he have that honor again someday?", Kalaka asked.

"Sadly no…"

Kalaka felt her soul fighting for release from her body.

"But you can take him home and nurse his wounds. And when he is healthy he may sit on my counsel if he so chooses."

Heron stepped aside as a stretcher was brought up. Anathagus lay on it, in poor shape but alive.

"I’m afraid my leg is ruined.", he gasped. "That I’ll keep it is the good news"

"I would love you no less for the loss of a leg.", Kalaka replied as tears ran down her cheek.

Smiling, he closed his eyes.

"I will have the Healers take special care of him,", Heron said. "As he took special care of me."

Kalaka smiled in thanks.

"As a Warrior, he kept his blade honed to a sharp edge solely for your protection, Lord Heron. You are kind to honor him so now that his sword can no longer serve you."

With a parting bow Heron led the crowd to the village center where the victory celebration would commence. Kalaka followed the stretcher-bearers home and made an extra soft bed for her hero.

END