by Kate Keir
“I know that you and Astarin share more than a love of archery, sweet child,” he said, taking me completely by surprise.
My head snapped up at that, and he had my full attention now as he continued. “I don’t blame you for loving Astarin, Nyssa. He is the best man I know. I have never met anyone who is more of a hero and more devoted to his country and those he loves than him. I don’t envy the position in which you find yourself. But I do know that it is testament to what a special woman you must be for both of those men to love you as they do.”
I didn’t know what to say. I thought I had managed to keep my feelings for Astarin hidden from everyone but myself. I felt tears prickling my eyes as I said, “But what should I do, Bernhardt? How can I say yes to one and no to the other? They both deserve to be loved completely, and I don’t think I could ever decide who to give up.” My voice was pleading. I wanted him to tell me what to do. He had known these men for so much longer than I had, and he had seen so much more of the world. He had to have the right answer. He had to.
“Sweet child, the path that was meant for you, brought you here in the first place. If you hadn’t been so determined to see your brother survive the war, then you would never have met Odyn or Astarin. That very same path will guide you again. Right now, you need only worry about praying to Shyara for their safe return. The rest will happen exactly as it is supposed to happen, Nyssa. That is the way of everything, and it is the way that it will always be.”
I knew that he spoke the truth. “I just wish the path was a little clearer sometimes.” I frowned at him.
He laughed. “I wonder how clear your path was when you posed as your brother and stole away to war, sweet girl.” He winked at me.
I smiled back at him then, a little embarrassed but also feeling a little better too.
“For now, Nyssa, love them both. Love Astarin because he is kind and loyal and brave. Love Odyn because he is fierce and king-like and sometimes a little lost and unsure. Maybe your love will be the one thing powerful enough to bring them both home to us, and after that nothing else will really matter. Not in the same way as the next few days or weeks will matter to you, me, and Ankh Shdaar.”
We both smiled as he finished speaking. “Thank you, Bernhardt.” I meant it. “Thank you for not judging me for loving them both.”
He laughed aloud. “Oh, sweet, sweet girl. How could I judge you for loving them both, when I feel exactly the same way?”
Feeling reassured I turned my attention back to the bow and arrows. “Bernhardt, they are beautiful, thank you.” I lifted the bow and drew the string back, enjoying the balance and the weight in my hands.
“Perhaps it is time you got out of these chambers for a short while, my lady,” he said. “I have asked the lads in the stable to set us some targets out in the gardens. I was thinking that perhaps you could come outside and enjoy the sunshine.”
I hesitated, turning back toward the balcony and looking at the horizon as though I could will them to appear if I wanted for it hard enough.
“No one will blame you for taking some time to try and forget how worried you are, Nyssa,” he coaxed. “Although if you’re afraid that you are getting rusty and might be beaten by an old man, then I suppose I can’t persuade you.” He sighed with a wicked glint in his eye as he reached out for the door handle.
“Rusty?” I laughed in indignation. “Not a chance. Lead the way old man.” With a last look at the balcony, I crossed the room to follow him, really smiling now.
“Thank the Gods for that,” he murmured as I reached the door and leaned out to help him. “I had help from a maid to open these bloody doors. I had no idea if I was going to be able to get back out by myself if you had let me leave without you.” We were both laughing hard now as we pushed open the doors and headed down to the gardens together.
Astarin
They had been fighting Tarnfell’s armies for two weeks now. After the ambush, the forces had clashed almost immediately with a huge initial loss of life for both sides. But since the first encounter, the two sides had pulled back and regrouped before coming together again and again in short bursts of activity. It was not what Astarin or Odyn had planned or hoped for. They had hoped to orchestrate one great fight that would rage on until they had eventually won. However, in light of their position metres below Faryn at the foot of the hill, it was actually a blessing for them to be able to draw back after each skirmish and take some time to catch their breath and plan the next wave of fighting.
Astin Verrier, Heryn’s Valhar, had lost his life in the opening moments of the first fight. He had ridden out with the cavalry at the front of the initial assault, and it was obvious to a veteran like Astarin that he would die. It was also obvious Faryn Tarnfell had planned for the loss of his comrade. If the Heryn and Lerwyn troops were the victors, then it could get messy for Tarnfell if the other Valhar, who controlled half of their army, was still standing. It wouldn’t do to have the loyalty of his men divided and so Astarin was almost certain that the older Valhar had planned Verrier’s demise from the outset. Now the whole of the Heryn and Lerwyn troops belonged solely to him.
The horses of both armies, were mostly either dead, or set loose by both sides. They were too high maintenance for a battle that had been going for so long. Food and sanitation were both becoming issues, and Astarin and Odyn knew that it was only a matter of time before disease struck the field, likely taking more men than the swords or bows could hope to take for themselves. They had to start pushing forward, which was almost impossible on a battle-field that was quite literally a hill to climb every single day for their men.
Astarin was currently in the middle of the latest fray, slicing and cutting at a never-ending onslaught of opponents. So many of the “soldiers” he faced were little more than children. Perhaps fifteen or sixteen years old, and it was like a knife to his heart every time he took their lives. He had no choice, he knew it. If he didn’t kill, he would be killed, but it didn’t ease his conscience any to know it. Faryn Tarnfell had no right to keep sending these boys to war. They were painfully untrained and over half of them were so terrified, they just kept blindly swinging their swords in the hope of getting lucky. They were still dangerous, though, and if the war was to ever end, they had to be stopped.
Astarin had spent the last half hour trying to work his way across the field to a group of men who looked to be very experienced soldiers. They were all dressed in Tarnfell’s colours, and he suspected they were his lieutenants and some of his more capable soldiers. Those men were possibly the same ones who had been present the day his own and Odyn’s families were killed, and Astarin knew he would feel a lot less guilt in taking a few of those lives than the lives of the boys who kept throwing themselves in his path.
As he neared the group, stepping over the bodies of men and horses alike, he knew he was making a rash decision. The sun was beating down now as midday neared, and he had been fighting so hard to break through the crowd, he was beginning to tire. He should have been thinking about pulling back and getting a drink and resting his aching muscles for a while before re-joining the frenzy, he thought. Just as he rocked back on his heel and made ready to turn toward the Rygard camp, a movement to his left caught his eye. As he turned, he watched Faryn Tarnfell thrust his blade through a red and black, armoured soldier’s stomach. Then without hesitation he placed his foot on the man’s thigh and pushed him backward so he could slide his blade clear.
Like the coward he was, Tarnfell had avoided the fighting almost completely and both Astarin and Odyn had been frustrated by their lack of opportunities to take the man down. It was likely, especially with Astin Verrier dead, if they could kill Faryn then they would earn surrender from the remaining men of the northern armies. “Too good a chance to miss.” Astarin murmured to himself as he altered his course and headed straight for the Valhar who had taken so much from him and his brother. Tarnfell caught sight of Astarin almost immediately, and it was clear he knew who he was. He a
ltered his course, heading straight for the blood-spattered General.
“General Astarin Roeseer.” Faryn sneered as they came face-to-face. “Apart from that red-headed, little cunt over there, you are the man I was most looking forward to killing today.” He glanced over to where Odyn was fighting as he spoke and then shifted his sword between his hands and settled in to a “ready” stance.
Astarin smiled and looked the ageing Valhar directly in the eyes. “I’m not here to talk, Tarnfell. I’m here to send you to hell.” Astarin gave the older man no chance to prepare for him and launched himself forward in a flurry of killing strokes.
The other man was old, but he was also experienced and managed to counter every single blow. Not easily but quicker than Astarin would have liked. Breathing heavily, Tarnfell swung his sword upward, just missing the General’s chest as he stepped back to avoid being gutted. With no hesitation, the Valhar lifted and swung his sword again, returning Astarin’s attack with gusto, and driving the General back as he defended himself against the heavy long-sword.
Roeseer smiled grimly as the barrage of blows slowed and then stopped. He had waited a long time to face this man and end his life. There would be no guilt attached to this killing, he thought to himself.
He thought of Nyssa in that moment. Once this man was dead she would be safe. She would never have to fear the war and who it may take from her again. He had to make the most of this chance to kill Tarnfell because no matter what happened after, he would never be able to get near her and try to steal her goodness and purity. Both men had paused to catch their breath, standing facing each other. Astarin caught sight of Odyn then. His brother was fighting one of the Heryn soldiers, and as he made the killing blow, he looked directly at Astarin and took in his opponent. His eyes went wide as he saw Faryn.
Roeseer smiled to him and nodded, letting his Valhar know that he had this taken care of. He was in control, and he was about to end the war forever. No one else need die here. They would be going home now. Both of them would be going home to Nyssa, and they could fight it out with each other once they got there.
Odyn, looked worried for a fraction of a second, but when he took in the panting older man and Roeseer’s relaxed smile, he seemed to relax too. He nodded grimly at Astarin and turned, starting to fight his way toward them. Astarin knew Odyn wanted to be present for the moment it happened, or wanted to be the one to do it. He laughed to himself.
Astarin watched Odyn get caught up by a young boy who threw himself in his path and began wildly swinging his sword at him. Turning his attention back to his own opponent, he realised he was just in time as Tarnfell flew toward him with surprising speed, his sword raised for the kill. The General coolly stepped to one side and flicked his own sword out as Faryn passed by him. He sliced open a gash across the older man’s stomach causing him to roar in pain and rage. As the blood began to seep from the wound, Astarin readied himself to finish Tarnfell forever.
Roaring like an enraged bull, Faryn turned toward the General and started toward him. Astarin smiled grimly and lifted his sword. This is it, he thought to himself. But in that moment, Tarnfell changed his mind and instead of lifting his sword and meeting him mid-swing, he kicked his boot into the dirt and sent up dried soil and dust, which blew straight in to Astarin’s eyes. In the short moment of pain and blindness, Astarin dropped his guard and raised his hand to his eyes, trying to clear the dust. The searing pain he felt as the Valhar smashed the hilt of his sword against his cheek sent him to his knees. The last thing he thought of before the darkness was Nyssa, and he vaguely heard Odyn’s voice howling, “Noooooooooo,” across the field.
Odyn
Odyn had found himself back at their camp. He had been fighting and killing since the morning mists had burnt away in the haze of heat that heralded the sun rising. He was stained with the blood of so many men, and he was desperately tired. He knew that all his men were exhausted, and he wished he could do more to help each and every one of them. He and Astarin had tried to arrange waves of attack and defence, so they could rotate periods of rest for every soldier, and it had worked well. But the time back at camp to drink and eat and catch ten minutes of sleep was never enough. It almost tormented them, letting them know what they were missing out on each time they were forced back to the battle.
Belias, one of his lieutenants, entered the coolness of the tent and sat down next to Odyn. He was equally as blood-stained, and he sported a huge gash across his left arm. “How goes the battle Belias? Does your wound need attention?” Odyn asked.
“What this?” Belias smiled and gestured to the tear in his arm. “No, it’s a scratch. I’ve had worse when I’ve been training, lord.”
Odyn laughed, despite his exhaustion. He was lucky to have the army he did. He wouldn’t swap a single man, he thought to himself. If they didn’t win this war, it would be through no fault of theirs.
Belias continued, answering Odyn’s other question. “The battle progresses much the same, I’m afraid. We lose some, they lose some. We are evenly matched and I wonder sometimes if it will come down to the last two men standing my lord.”
That had been Odyn’s fear for the entire fight. Was he going to have to sacrifice every fucking man he had in order to win this thing? He needed Tarnfell dead, but the coward insisted on hiding behind his men at every turn. He had appeared on the field once or twice, obviously trying to boost morale and prove to his men he was a brave leader and was with them all the way. But he was a piece of shit who lingered at the back of the field and hid behind the lives of children. Getting to him was almost impossible.
Odyn had fought next to his men, hour for hour and minute for minute. He took the same rest breaks as them and killed with the same ferocity. He knew that was why they respected him, and he knew that men who fought out of loyalty rather than fear would have a better chance of keeping heart as the days wore on. “We need Tarnfell,” Odyn growled as he stood and made ready to go back to the fight.
“A few of the men have said they’ve seen him among the fighting today, my lord,” Belias answered. “I’m not sure if they have it right or not though.”
Odyn clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Lieutenant. I’m going to see if I can find him. Meantime, rest and get that arm seen to.” Then, he ducked out of the tent and back into the blazing sun.
He didn’t have to walk far to get back to the fighting. The bodies were piling up, despite the men he had tasked to collect them working at breakneck speed. They had six carts filled with the dead already, the funeral would probably take a whole day at least when they returned to Castle Kytara If they returned, he thought to himself. As soon as he reached the fighting, he found himself drawn back into the battle quickly and easily. He noticed again just how young the boys were that Tarnfell was sending forward to fight. It made a fury rise within him as he wondered how many of these boys carried scars on their backs to mirror his own.
While he fought, his eyes began searching the field. He was looking for Faryn Tarnfell, but he was also looking for Ast. It was a habit that neither of them would ever break. They had fought alongside each other for so long that it was a natural instinct to check from time to time that the other man was okay. Both of them knew that it was only a matter of time until one of them was lost in battle, and it renewed his energy and hope every time he caught sight of that blood-red cloak and the glint of Astarin’s sword doing its deadly work.
A young Tarnfell soldier, who couldn’t have been more than fifteen, came at him then and without even breaking his stride, Odyn lashed out with his fist and broke the boy’s nose. As the blood spurted forward and the boy fell to his knees, Odyn hoped that the lad would have the good sense to stay down and wait for one of his own to collect him and take him back to the camp to get seen to. If so, he might just have a chance of surviving. He knew he should be killing these boys. Anyone was dangerous when they were wielding a sword, especially if they were wearing opposing colours to yours, but he couldn’t bring himse
lf to do it unless he absolutely had to.
A Heryn soldier threw himself at Odyn then and started to give him a little trouble. So, he narrowed his dark eyes and brought his focus back from the field for the time being, concentrating on fighting the man before him. They almost took it in turns to rain blows on each other, but the Heryn soldier was tired and becoming predictable as he began to stumble a little with each blow. Odyn caught sight of Astarin then. His General looked like he was having a good match with his opponent and Odyn was curious to see how it ended. He finished it quickly with the Heryn soldier, running him through in one smooth manoeuvre and then turned to look properly at the man who Ast was fighting.
His eyes widened in shock as he recognised Faryn Tarnfell. He was looking a little older and a lot more rough around the edges than Odyn remembered, but it was him all right. He saw his General watching him. And taking in the worry on Odyn’s face, Astarin smiled reassuringly and nodded to him. Odyn relaxed a little at that. If Ast wasn’t worried then he shouldn’t be either. Although he needed to be there, just in case Astarin’s confidence was misplaced, so he nodded back to his brother and started to make his way toward the two fighting men. Another young lad, intent on getting himself killed, came at Odyn, and he rolled his eyes in frustration. “I have somewhere to be boy,” he growled, hoping to intimidate the child into backing down. It did make the boy pause for a minute as if unsure of the angry confidence presented by the older man.
Then Odyn took in what was happening with Astarin. He watched Tarnfell feint and kick dust up like the coward he was, and as the hilt of his sword crashed against Ast’s jaw, sending him to his knees, Odyn turned toward them both, completely forgetting that the boy was there. It was a mistake he shouldn’t have made, but he couldn’t help himself. He registered his own voice yelling, “Nooooooo,” as he started to fight his way through the crowd. The boy had not forgotten him, however, and with a smile of relief, the youngster raised his sword, bringing it down in a vicious blow that sliced across Odyn Rygard’s back.
