By J. Starke
Lady, three horsemen rode past the towers that morning, as the swelling sun stabbed at my eyes and made my sight unclear. The horses were very dark and the riders very bright. They were armoured in steel, bright as fire, and I could not look upon them for long. But I knew to where they rode, and why. They came from the pass, and they went to the city. War was upon us and we must fight.
I clambered down the turning stair, turning again and again about myself with one hand upon the dry stone, until I came to the level of the ground. There I walked on lifeless earth, where the scattered bones sang to me of their dreams and their loves. Memories and echoes lost in the ages, songs that lifted my heart and cooled the fire in my brain that the cruel sun had put there. There I walked, and came at length to the chamber of your throne. You sat there, arrayed in glorious white with the light of your majesty folded around you, and I knelt and told you what I had seen.
Lady, you sent me out to gather the faithful, out among the scattered bones. There I stood and there I sang. I sang the grave-song, the calling-hymn, the words to draw the sleepers into wakefulness again. Gleeful I watched, as the bones drew together, dancing the dance of the restored, clashing together their ancient swords, drumming on their shields. And when your legions were assembled again I stood at their heart, as their father, and I was overcome with pride.
When once more I faced the murderous gaze of the sun, it was from the fighting-step of a chariot with the gleam of bronze in my eye and an army at my back. We marched toward the pass, and feared no sunlight – for Lady your blessing lay upon us, and made us strong. In our minds we saw ourselves as we had been. The steeds that pulled our chariots were swift and glossy of coat, and from the chariots themselves bright flags spread like streamers in the wind. The common soldiers marched in endless ranks, the sound of their footsteps like thunder.
And here we passed a weathered hill crowned with crumbling stone, and here a lonely ruin. But we saw neither decay nor neglect, but the wonders of our people wrought in shining white stone and vivid plasterwork. Our cities, our palaces, our homes: these lands belonged to us. We had our inheritance.
Lady, we came to the pass at nightfall, and I marvelled at the black mirrors of the mountainside. Here was our border, here our place to stand. Our enemies were as they had always been: the inhuman greenskins of the barbarous lands. In days long gone by we had fought them and pushed them back into the wild, and in later days they were pushed back still further. Now they had nothing, but the desolation and the empty wind. And though we are dead, our children rule our lands, and their strength is in steel and fire: the things the greenskins can never have. Though we have slept, though we do not seek to live again, at times we must still fight. While our children face a greater horror to the north we must hold the lands for them. This duty is ours.
The greenskins massed like a rampaging herd, mindless and worthless, unfit for the attention of warriors. And yet they fought well, in spite of their terror, and as we fell upon them many of our troops were lost. But we fought, to defend our lands for ourselves and for our children, and my spear grew heavy with bodies and the bright wood of my chariot soiled with brighter blood. They could not long oppose us. When I slew their chieftain they were already broken, and victory was ours, as it had always been. But we grew weary of thought and of motion, and when we could no longer stand to stand we collapsed, falling like the slain in battle. We lay beside our conquered foes, finding no distinction between ourselves and them.
Lady, you came to us then, silent, with a veil across your eyes. You moved over the face of the battlefield, and we rose up whole again, eager for your favour. We followed you as we had in life, followed you back through the verdant foothills and the endless plains, back to the towers where our bones will always lie. There we lay and there we lie, disassembled and intermingled, singing your praises though others forget. Long may we remember!
copyright JRT 2007, all rights reserved