Victory

The armored boots of two warriors were planted feet from the edge of a cliff as they overlooked the land and saw a great black cloud sweep over hill and dale. The Earth was littered with the bodies of the dead as far as the eye could see, and wolves and ravens came to take the souls of the slain to the halls of the gods. The Sun was beginning her descent into the Underworld, and firey light shot up from underneath the Earth and accross the sky as she pierced the horizon.

“How many of ours were killed?”

“At least a few hundred.”

“That’s barely a victory.”

“Our people are safe in their houses and the slain go to the halls of the gods, never having to concern themselves with journeying accross the Abyss, except maybe after their next life or so. I’d call that a victory.”

Just hours ago, the Sun shone brightly and golden rays shimmered accross the edges of swords, the tips of spears, the faces of shields; their weapons flashed and gleamed as if with the glory of battle rather than the Sun’s rays. The warriors marched in the neatest rows, at tempo, the Choskch troops from the north and Leuaniea from the south. War drums pounded steadily, their beating echoing through the hills like thunder. The order of it all could scarcely be matched — but it soon plummeted into chaos, blood pumping through the warriors’ veins, the heat and ecstacy of battle like a frenzied dance, the clashes of weapons and the cries of men the melody of the music that the war drums kept the beat to. Jörchde stood at the front of the battlefield in shimmering silver plate, the Sun’s rays gleaming off the pearl-white wings on her helmet and her dark steel broadsword; she fell forward onto the enemy with the force of mountain giant, her weapon raised over her, and she lopped off the heads of five men in one swing of her sword. Her spirit burned and feisted within her like a raging flame, and every blow deflected off her plate as if some magic made her invincible. Men of great might followed close behind her, and they tore the enemy’s forces asunder. Even lesser men fought with a primal fierceness kindled within them so that the Leuanieans were hardly a match. The red-blooded warriors scarcely noticed when their blood ran red down their sides and soon every Leuaniean who was still alive and could run ran away into the distance.

Soon riders on horses with trumpets rode from the battlefield, horns raised. They galloped from village to village, piping away the victory-call. Victory! Victory! All the peasants in all the nearby villages came out of their cottages and sang and danced the night away, kindling bonfires and roasting boars on spits. Men and horses pranced together all throughout Qrainespfuhr.

The black cloud loomed in the distance — it rolled in from distant hills so one could scarcely see it move. Those red-blooded warriors who pranced with unearthly liveliness accross the battlefield hours ago now lay unearthily still, their blood brown as dung and their rotting corpses stinking all the way to Heaven.

“Doesn’t it have a certain beauty to it?”

“Beauty?”

“It’s so peaceful.”

“It’s desolate.”

“There is no peace like desolation.”

There was a brief pause.

“You dance in the frenzy of war, in the midst of death, and then the rest after is like nothing else on the Earth – a little death. Then your spirit rises in the next battle. It is as if you only rise higher and higher with each battle and after–battle, never coming down. And to really die in battle – you never could come down.”

“Hey, isn’t there a parade tonight?”

“Why, yes.”

“We should go join it.”

“Yes. We ought to head down now.”

They turned around and scuttled down the cliff.

“We’re going to have to walk through all the bodies to get to town.”

“I don’t mind.”

They plodded their way through the swamp of corpses, the first one looking down at each one.

“Ah, Kreetih. He was a great fellow. It’s an utter shame he had to die. Few men could fight like him, few had as noble a character…” He made a kissing gesture towards Kreetih’s corpse.

“The gods could hardly ask for a better man to join them. It is said he has slain a dragon, but he always denied it. It probably would be quite the hassle to be known as ‘the dragonslayer’ everywhere you went, never being able to even walk into an inn without being greeted by cheering and fanfare, but one should at least have some pride in one’s accomplishments.”

They marched on.

“Hey, that man looks familiar.” He leaned over to look closer at the corpse that lay on its stomach, face down, “but I can’t quite place who it is.”

“No… That looks like you.”

The first pointed next to the body.

“That looks like you.”

“Well, if we turn them over we’ll see who they really are.”

He reached out to turn the body over and his hand sank into it. At that moment they were overtaken from behind by the howling of wolves and the screeching of ravens.