The Song of Death and Glory

The gentle bite of a morning spring wind came over the hill, sending gray banners fluttering like wisps of cloud bound to the earth and yearning to return to the azure sky. On this particular morning, the sun rose with clarity not seen since the autumn, though the residents of Andolens looked upon it with dull eyes, tending to their tasks with mellow movements. These people were of northern descent, so their hair was a mixture of red and pale gold, and their eyes were piercing, especially when contrasted with their pale skin. Some people had come from the south after the last war, tanner and more akin to caramel or light chocolate in skin tone. They had propagated in the city, and though they’d arrived with determination in their gaze, their brown eyes now reflected a tired acceptance, just like the other citizens of the town. 

Andolens had long since been labeled by southerners as the city of peace, or by some the city of craven men, and in the latter regard they were correct; this town had not been at war in over a thousand years, though its fortifications were still strong, with tall walls of wood and stone encompassing the city and two more walls within, protecting a hall fit for a king. Yet there was no king in Andolens; the throne was unoccupied as the lord of their kingdom preferred to sit in his more regal palace at Adinas, the capital city. So upon the seat there now sat an old man whose lineage of bitter sulkers led to the decay of the city’s white stone walls and gilded towers. Soldiers now stood upon uneven battlements, leaning heavily on their spears. This town needed five thousand men to defend it, yet after the fourth bitter king had passed there were but fifteen hundred left. Their weapons were sharp enough to cut through steel, and their stables were full of horses who did not share the fatigued gaze of their masters, but a sickness had long since passed over the city, and none now knew what the days of splendor had been like, or where they had gone. In the gloom of lonely homes there had been rumors of a mental plague sent by the gods to punish the people of Andolens, but the streets were too quiet for speculation; what had once been a lively place where sleeping late was impossible due to the bustle of merchants was now a town where the quiet breeze had more to say than any person, and the cawing of a crow broke the silence like thunder. 

However, there was one heart in the town which hadn’t yet been choked by this plague, and since the messenger had come from the south to warn them about the fall of Adinas had instead been invigorated. He was Prince Henry, son of William, the lord of Andolens whose white hair cloaked blue eyes long since clouded over. Henry’s hair was blond, like his sister Anne’s, and his eyes were likewise blue, yet limpid and powerful, and there were none in the town who could meet his gaze without averting theirs within a few seconds. He had taken his horse, a white-coated beast with a man as golden as his own, many times outside the borders of Andolens, and he had traveled far over the hills and seen the doom the messenger spoke of with his own eyes - an army of unnumbered soldiers marching north in black-steel armor, with siege machines pulled by oxen twice the size of anything Henry had seen before. Their faces were as his own, but under their black helms they were painted blue, sometimes in stripes, other times in brutish swaths, and their eyes were murderous, even through their slogging march. They used emaciated men in meager clothes to carry many of their supplies. It was upon seeing this for the first time that Henry had called a meeting of the town’s council, which included his father at the head of the table. 

“Why have you called us here?” asked David in a tremulous voice which showed his age. 

“Yes, why indeed - we have not had a council meeting in years,” said William. 

“Father, councilmen,” began Henry, his heart racing. “I have called you all here today to discuss our doom.”

“Adinas has fallen, we know this,” said John, a younger man whose eyes were as clouded as William’s. 

“It is what the messenger spoke of, Henry,” said David. “Do you not remember?”

“Oh, don’t blame him,” whispered Mary. “It is difficult to remember things, sometimes.” 

“I did not forget,” said Henry loudly. “But do you not remember the second part of that fatal message?” The council shook their heads, so Henry took a deep breath and continued, “He spoke of an army marching north to lay waste to the kingdom - an army of domination. He said they would be here within six months.” 

“Yes… that does sound familiar,” drawled David. 

“What does this have to do with anything?” asked William. 

Henry’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, father? That message came four months ago! What will we do when the army comes to our gates?”

The council looked at one another as if a silent agreement had already been reached. David cleared his throat and said, “We will capitulate, sir.” 

“Capitulate? I have seen these invaders; they will not let us go about our lives as we do now, in a mundane daze! Their eyes are wild and violent, and they use their fellow man as laborers to haul that which they cannot carry on horseback. We will likewise be put to work in a shameless and grotesque manner, unless we change that fate!” Henry’s speech had little effect on the eyes of his audience. 

John raised a tired eyebrow. “What would you have us do, my prince?”

Henry stood silent for a moment, as though the answer was obvious. When no one spoke for him, he said, “I? I would have us fight!” 

A great murmur rose over the table, and many seats were pushed out and pulled back in as people looked at one another with disbelief. William’s puffy eyebrows furrowed. “We have not been troubled about the wars of our kingdom for centuries, son, and we will not be now.” 

“How can you say that, father?” asked Henry incredulously. 

“There will be a time to fight-” began Mary.

“When?” interjected Henry, “When will that be if not in defense of this city? We will not get another chance.”

“You are young, Henry,” said William gruffly. “Do you not think we have seen this invading force already? You are not the only one with a swift steed in this town. We cannot achieve victory in defense.”

Henry paused and looked down, gathering his thoughts. When he raised his head again, his eyes were so bright that none but his father could gaze upon him. Even his hair shone in the sudden afternoon sun which poured through the windows of the hall, and he looked like a crown of liquid gold was running off of his head. “They will be in Brandeis Valley in a fortnight. It is a day and night’s ride from here. We should meet them in open combat.” 

Silence met his words, and the council looked upon William, who gave them a curt nod. The scraping of chairs pierced Henry’s ears, and his father said, “I will not lead my people to a slaughter, Henry.” 

“You’re afraid,” said the prince, his eyes now welling up with passion for his cause. 

“Silence,” said William suddenly. 

“You’re all afraid!” yelled Henry at the departing councilmen, who winced at his anger yet paused to hear him speak. “They will enslave us if they don’t kill us first, and you want to sit and wait for it to happen! This is our home, and it used to be the capital of our kingdom! A lord sat in this hall! The first kings and queens! Lord Michael the First, Queen Adriel… Do you not recall the stories they had of fighting for this land? The blood that was spilled for our sovereignty… Will it now be wasted upon the wishes of craven men unwilling to part with their comfort for even a moment to do what is right?” 

The speech stirred the heart of only one in the hall - Anne, Henry’s sister, who sat in the shaded corner listening to the meeting. The rest of the councilmen simply hung their heads and departed through the great oak doors. Henry turned to confront his father, but he had slipped into his chambers and locked the door. Where else could the prince go but outside into the rapidly falling night, whereupon his hair lost its regality and flowed wildly in the wind, matching the turbulence of his thoughts. His sister watched him as he went into the town center and took out his sword, swinging it through the air and practicing for a fight he knew would never come. 

That meeting happened thirteen days before the cool breeze turned the banners into clouds torn from the sky, and Henry now sat with Anna in the town center, feeling the weather cut through his leather armor and coat. They had grown up apart, as their mother had raised Anne to be a maiden of the royal court rather than a queen, and William had raised Henry to be a king. For many years, Anne had been jealous of Henry’s lessons, and that had driven them further away from one another. On Henry’s 21st nameday, Anne had confessed this to him and he had made it his task from that day onwards to teach her in secret everything he knew she wanted to learn. He had looked at her with such concern as she confessed. Now, she looked at him with the same distress, though not a word had passed between them all morning. 

Suddenly, Henry sat up and said, “When we were little, we used to play with James in this market, do you remember?”

She nodded. “Fever took him six months after my fourteenth nameday.” 

“What happened to this place?” wondered Henry. “Was it always as it is now? Are the stories they told us in hushed whispers just propaganda from old relics who romanticized the past? I cannot imagine King Michael the Second rallying his troops in the keep as the southerners smashed down the gates, holding the city just long enough for the cavalry to come from Adanis.” 

“Or Queen Aasta taking up her husband’s sword after he fell on the interior battlements and fighting off waves of enemies as she knocked down their ladders and pushed outward from the second gate, leading the charge as they drove the southerners back over the hills.” Anne smiled grimly. “I always liked her stories the best.” 

“They were inspiring, even the ones about the long winter sieges when she made sure every person was fed before eating her rations. She kept the troops alive until spring came and they burst out of the gates on whatever horses they had, fighting through the melting snow. They suffered heavy losses, but I can only imagine what the horns must have sounded like, ringing in the clear morning air.” Henry sighed and added, “I wonder if it was in those school halls that the sickness invaded our minds. We spent hours learning about the days of splendor, when Andolens had enough gold to line the shields of the guards, but when the capital moved and the gold plated soldiers went with the king, we were left with naught but the sour memories of a time more beautiful than the present…” 

Anne did not reply, but after waiting for the wind to die down she closed her eyes and began to sing, and the moment the tune graced Henry’s ears his mind was taken away from the drab and oppressive spring of now and thrown back into the days of Andonlens’ glory, when the banners were high and mighty even in the winter tempests. Her voice carried like a leaf on the breeze, and soon people lurking in the shadows at the corners of the square came forth in wonder. So clear was her tone that it cut through the blanket of cowardice with ease, and the guards who came to hear her sing stood up straighter and no longer leaned on their spears. 

She spoke in the old tongue, which was only taught to royal families these days, but it mattered not that no one knew of what she sang; the meaning was carried through in the melody. It stabbed through their hopelessness and brought about a sense the citizens of Andolens had not felt in some time: courage. And not just the courage to continue to live for one day, but the courage to look at their fears in the darkness of their own minds and banish them. After a quarter of an hour, Anne stopped singing, opening her eyes and finding tears running down her face. 

There was utter silence in the town center - hundreds of people had come to witness the song, and now that it was over, a great emptiness came over them, but before it could take hold, Henry stood upon a derelict fountain and spoke with a commanding voice brought out by his sister’s music. 

“People of Andolens,” he shouted, “My sister’s melody is not at an end; it lives within all of you as the song of our kin! What she has sung is the old anthem of our people - a story which was told in the dark days when our people lived through winters of many nights where the sun would not dain to arrive til spring! They hadn’t enough food to feed their people, but they had these songs of sorrow and strength to light a fire in their hearts, and the same songs were sung in the days of conquest, when our ancestors gave their lives to defend and grow our country! Yes, Adinas has fallen, but that does not mean hope is lost! 

“We have the chance now to rise above anything our people have done in the last five centuries, since Queen Addilyn rode out to the battle of Newheim River. I know there is fear in your hearts - it is in mine as well, but along with the fear of death is there not also the fear of complacency? The fear of the next generation asking us what we did to fight against the chains of the south, and us having no answer to assuage them. So I ask you now, can we not give those children an answer worthy of remembrance, such that they may make their own songs about us which will tide them through dark times? Broken shields and shattered swords await us in the Valley of Brandeis, but we will fight with the fury of the gods and make the southerners rue the day they marched north!” Henry drew his sword and held it aloft, and he was joined by the soldiers who had pride now etched on their faces. “Men and women of Andolens! If you have a steed, make haste upon it! Travel light, and bring only what you will need for a day and a night’s ride! If you have no weapons, go forth to the armory and take what you need! We will wash upon them like the rays of dawn on a frosted field, and we will meet our end with courage! Keep my sister’s song close at heart, and share its sentiments with any who need it!” 

Thereafter there was such a rush that people were almost trampled trying to escape the town center. Bells rang around the city, and every man and woman who had a horse and was able to carry a sword was soon rallied outside the city walls, while the rest were preparing under Henry’s instruction to make haste towards another city in which they may find refuge. Three thousand fighters they had, and Henry at the head of the column cried, “To glory and to death!”, and he sprang away southward. 

They rode with the speed of the wind for the day and the night, Henry and Anne leading the charge even as the first rays of the sun came over the hills. Soon, they were at the top of the valley, and they saw the southern army like an ocean marching below them. A row of horses they formed upon the crest, silhouetted against the sun, with banners caught high in the wind. Henry blew into his war horn, and hundreds of horns rang out behind him, such that the depth of the noise almost burst the ears of the southerners in the valley, striking fear into their hearts. Before they could react, Henry spurred his horse and led the column down, shouting at the top of his lungs. His soldiers did not flinch; they followed him into battle through waves of arrows, thousands of voices crying out as they broke through the southerners’ lines and began fighting. Though outnumbered, they fought for much of the morning, and the prince blew his horn every hour, hearing fewer and fewer responses through the battle, but fighting harder for it. Soon, tens of thousands of invaders were destroyed, but many more had formed a ring around the northmen. Henry saw his sister fall from an arrow, and soon he was all but alone in a sea of enemies. His sword broke and he fought with what was left above the hilt until his horse was slain beneath him. Henry’s eyes went dark, but he saw the terror in the southerner’s faces even as they raised their blades to kill him, and he smiled, knowing that fear would chase them away from his home.