The Shining Wyrm

11.1

Jewel did not feel ready to march out again, she had slept poorly despite the leaden exhaustion and the nearly drained embers of her Wyrmfire.

The earth felt tender and agitated everywhere, so she favored to float more than usual. Yet even the wind seemed curdled somehow.

But she was called.

Breakfast was not preceded by the riders needing to tend the Gryphon during feeding.

Now counted only as nine from the thirteen that had set out with them.

Jewel did not focus on the names. As was usual of death in flight there was little of either Gryphon or Rider recognizable or even intact and what could be found of either would be burned in an honorable pyre tomorrow with all the lost riders both on their side and not.

Returned to the air and the stars enemy and ally would be.

All of the fraternity of Gryphon Riders were one in death.

Besides that and the securing of their own dead, be they Knight, Footman or Levy, the rest was left afield.

Stripped of armor and weapons, the naked bodies were scattered among the ruins of Wizard Fire and other stranger wreckage from the battle.

And it was through this Jewel traveled.

As they marched over the torn and warped landscape none of its strangeness impeded their pace. They strode a road of stone pavers drawn up out of the earth that leveled out the hills, sorcerous detritus and fortifications from the day before.

Smoothing and kneading back the twisted and rumpled land to level as if it was dough under the hands of a baker preparing a pie.

Jewel felt a hitch in those stones where they had once been raised as walls.

A subtle resistance to being changed.

They were led by Fizzbunches as he performed the working to ensure easy footing for the entourage.

The stones grumbled and almost seemed like they might hiss and snap at his whispers for a seeming offense.

Which was something new for Jewel.

She’d never imagined stone could actually be angry.

Well more lethargic and grumpy and upset to be asked to do anything right now, but still it was more malice then she had ever felt before from any mineral.

Unsurprisingly, Fizzbunches seemed to ignore it and pressed his whispers on til they complied begrudgingly to his sorcery.

The Cat Wizard marched tail high and face smug as ever. He preened with every step despite the torrent of sorcerous whispers pouring out of him like water from a never ending bucket.

He moved like he thought himself the lord of all the armies of Viznove and Zehkhedge and had conquered this land by his will alone and no other.

Even though he had to cajole and plead and yell silently in places to make some of the timbres and earth move as he wished.

After the smug wizard came the rest of their party.

It was a small showing, many soldiers from the army were already settled into the fortress ahead of them.

Where they did the necessary jobs of securing both grain stores and prisoners that could not wait for the ceremony.

But this party was the official claimant force in the war.

Banners were held high in victory.

Viznove and Zehkhedge most prominent, followed just behind by Rochford and Kliatbatrn.

And then the flag of the house of each lord that had joined battle from either county and the few foreign knights that joined on their side.

Thirty seven riders were needed to make a showing of every house that had contributed to the muster across the vassals of both counts.

Jewel strode at a place of honor just behind Fiebron on his land steed.

It was strange to see the small man astride a horse instead of Cloudspear.

But there were no gryphons for this entourage. Busy as they were in their own postwar feast.

She could see Cloudspear and Zephyrvam freely tearing into the belly of a horse across the twisted and rumpled fields.

The rider was already half devoured, the Gryphons leaving no bones of what they eat.

The rest of the war beasts were scattered in little knots of one or two as their own sociability and preference allowed.

Jewel was led to understand it was mostly mothers or fathers with their now fledged offspring that allowed such.

Siblings amongst gryphons apparently had far less love for one another than Jewel and Alexander did.

She turned her attention back to the entourage, trying to focus on something other than the gray tinged furrows and pits where her own flames had touched the battlefield.

Father for his part rode Midnight Justice. Holding the Rochford Banner proudly.

Jewel had been surprised to discover that Jaksa the Red knew how to ride quite well and joined them to represent the Countess. His horse had a hide and mane almost the same color as his own hair. A crimson so deep it was nearly black.

He had been given the honor of carrying the banner of Viznove and thus rode directly to Fiebron’s left ahead of Jewel.

She was relieved that the Red Wizard had the propriety to perform the honor of banner-bearing in a more wizardly way at least. She had half expected him to hold it like a knight or herald in his hands.

But no, blood in thick strands and threads carried the pole of the flag aloft behind him. Holding it properly higher than even the one for Zhekhedge.

Jewel’s flame was as bright and strong as ever and yet she felt heavier than she had even in the Countess Bathory’s dinner when all of Kaeketeh seemed to plot against her Father’s life.

She had been so drained last night that she had nothing to say to Father, could not even muster words. Even this morning the weight seemed to just sit inside her like she’d swallowed lodestone.

But now, walking the far too freshly cut stones that pretended to be worn, trying to ignore the battlefield and the bodies of men, horse and fragments of gryphon scattered amidst peaceful fields and warped sorcerous refuse she suddenly felt the pressure of it all building up in her throat and grappling her tongue for the words that seemed impossible to contain.

For all the force that they dragged their way out of her, Jewel’s voice was reedier and softer then she had ever spoken before.

“Is war always like this?”

Father is quiet, she can’t see his face behind his ceremonial helm but she can smell the pain he feels and the sadness.

“It can be, but normally there is far less sorcery on either side. Even in the campaigns to the south.”

His back stiffened and she could smell some ease under the sorrow. His voice settled into a familiar tone of lecture.

“Until our arrangement with Lord Sorcerer Fizzbunches there was only one wizard pledged directly to the service of any lord or lady for a thousand miles and that was the Countess Bathory. The others are all either completely independent or have their own arrangements as vassals of the King.”

Jewel nodded, listening intently and looking at his helmed face. It was not strictly speaking why she had asked.

To be honest Jewel could still not feel why the question had burned so fiercely inside her. But to hear her Father speak at all somehow helped with the weight that dragged like it wished to pull her down and bury her beneath the earth and stone.

“Only full musters of the Realm would normally draw any of them from their duties or domains. So in that, no War is not often like this.”

Jewel brought her gaze back to surveying the field of bodies, as far as her eye could see. Blood spilled on grass, man and horse speared, cut, crumpled, crushed.

Gryphon corpses tangled and shattered.

Feathers broken and askew as easily as bone.

Sometimes in single bursts where their fall had been direct.

Other times great gouges as their flight had propelled them on even in death.

As often as not their deaths bringing more of the same to those unfortunate enough to be at their final resting place.

Bodies scattered or torn asunder from the passing or arrival.

The smell of an abattoir was already rising in the morning heat of summer. A butchery of men and horses that smelled far too much like pig for Jewel’s comfort. Especially where it was still charred from Wizard Fire.

Father’s voice rose again.

“But in other ways, yes. This is exactly what war is like, Daughter. But do not fear.”

She turned her gaze back to him where he was turned around to meet her eyes with his own behind his helm.

“You did very well. All the mustered men from Rochford live because of you. Scarred for certain but not even maimed. You guarded them well and true as a martial lady should. And you fulfilled your duty to the orders given with a stalwart nature even Knights thrice over your age have faltered to uphold. I’m proud of you for your bravery and honor.”

And that was true Jewel supposed.

She tried to focus on the good in this, not a single levy or footman lost to battle in war?

By even the greatest ballads and most celebrated lords in the histories that was an astonishing accomplishment.

Yes, Kraok’s horse had been lost, but it was ultimately just a beast.

Jewel nodded hard to that and focused on the good in it.

They had fought in war, She had met the enemy and they had fallen before her.

That was right and good.

Remembering that helped.

But as they approached the fortress that was now claimed for Viznove on a path paved in still grumpily confused stones woken from deep sleep beneath the earth and freshly cut then polished, worn and smoothed by sorcerous whispers she could not seem to shake the terrible sense of weight.

All the histories and ballads said that one should feel exalted to have felled a great many warriors in battle.

But looking at the battlefield that ostensibly only still held the bodies of their foes Jewel could not see much of any difference between them and the people she had grown up with in Rochford.

It did not feel triumphant, just confusing, distressing and sad.

Far worse than she had felt from the felling of the wheat fields.

But that was not what was proper.

So she must be mistaken.

Her Father was Good.

He was Proud of her.

So this must be Right.

Somehow.