Chapter XL - Honor

This chapter was quite difficult to write. I ended up dealing with themes much more mature than I thought I would run into with Zoe and therefore I'm not sure if I'm satisfied with this chapter. Nevertheless, I cannot withhold it forever. :-) Hopefully you enjoy it; just bear in mind that it likely shall be worked on a lot more before it reaches my approval.

~Emily "Firebrand"

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Brysa surveyed the field of battle, her eyes roving the carnage and slaughter as the soldiers ran about, meeting and clashing with other infantrymen, horsemen, or archers. Arrows flew liberally; even across the distance Brysa could distinguish their distinctive hiss as they soared high and then swiftly plummeted to rattle against armor, pierce flesh, or sink deeply into the trampled earth.

It was not yet even midday, and yet she could see the tide of battle had shifted. The Wild Men have not even come, and the Aerilyans triumph on the field, she thought distantly. She felt detached from everything that happened, like she was in a dream. Father did not anticipate their valorous rally after two days of being defeated, or their ingenious scheme of attack—coming from the sides at our men. Now the king’s folly shall prove his downfall.

She continued hazily watching, feeling sick in the pit of her stomach. Things were not going as she predicted. Aerilya was winning. She had contemplated her own death, planned it to the last detail, and given up hope on herself. But never had she envisaged that Elangsia might be completely defeated. Others had presented the idea to her before, but Brysa had discarded it immediately, thinking it madness. Now, she was not so sure.

What would defeat mean for her? What would the Aerilyans do to her, to the remaining Elangsian soldiers, should they completely overcome Elangsia’s forces today? The answer seemed simple: they would all be killed. All would be lost; what courage and honor that might remain in Elangsia would be completely destroyed by the blade of the enemy.

“Alas that I should see this!” she murmured brokenly. My country falls; hope diminishes; and I am left nothing but despair.

The sharp ache in her chest caused her to wonder if her heart was breaking. For despite the evil that ran rampant across Elangsia, Brysa loved her land fiercely. How much different would we have turned out if this war had never begun? she wondered, hearing the distant battle cries and screams of the wounded. They chilled her. The blood of Aerilyans and Elangsians had mingled on the ground these last three days. And really, what differences did the two peoples have? Our blood all runs red; we are fundamentally the same. It is the prejudice and arrogance of a few that governs the fates of many. The future of Elangsia has forever been altered while my father reigned king.

Brysa’s thick hair shone in the light of the sun as the breeze whipped it around her face. The hem of her dark green dress billowed in the wind, rising and falling with the long grass that waved all around her. A long cloak protected her against the chill in the autumn air, and yet she felt as if ice had penetrated to her soul and could never be drawn out or melted.

A flicker of bright cloth caught Brysa’s eye, drawing her gaze toward the cobalt-hued royal pennant as it fluttered atop a long pole in the midst of the chaos of battle. Squinting, Brysa was startled to see it waver—and then begin falling to the ground.

Her heart quivered, and then started rhythmically slamming against her ribs as she inhaled sharply. Looking closer, she saw that a man had chopped the pole asunder with his sword and now threw the banner down in the dust.

Who is he? she inwardly demanded, unable to discern the features of the man from the distance. Her stomach clenched and twisted, and her pulse hammered out of control. No one could have brought down the royal banner unless he penetrated the wall of men-at-arms and trained bodyguards that surrounded it—and the king of Elangsia.

Who brought it down? The questioned pounded through her brain steadily, insistently. Who?

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Zoe grunted as she slashed her sword down and to meet to the attack of an Elangsian soldier. He was brawny but she held the advantage, being on horseback. Relaxing her grip on her sword for a moment, Zoe leaned down, grabbed the dagger Tancred had given her, and promptly buried it in her attacker’s throat. Blood gushed forth like a geyser, and the man quickly fell to the earth. Wiping the bloody blade on her tunic and averting her eyes from the dead man, she sheathed the dagger.

Suddenly a cry rose from behind her, a collective howl of shock that swelled in pitch and volume. “The king! Brastus is dead!”

What? A moment followed in which Zoe had no immediate opponent to cross blades with, and she twisted around in her saddle, her bloodied blade dripping, and scanned the field for Elangsia’s tall, distinctive banner.

It was gone. She could not see it anywhere. Is it true, then? she wondered with a spurt of hope. Her forearm throbbed from the cut she had received earlier, but she paid little heed to the pain. Can Brastus have fallen?

It had to be so. The Elangsian troops around her began to waver. They had lost their leader and did not know what to do about it. Turning about-face and squeezing her legs against her horse, Zoe charged back into the heaviest part of the fray, her sword singing and resolve strengthened.

She turned her head left and her eyes widened with surprise. A mace swung toward her, brandished by a mounted Elangsian. Ducking swiftly, she narrowly avoided being swept off her horse. She felt the iron-studded weapon whistle just over her head, warning her of how close she had been to death. Her heart thundered as she straightened and raised her sword to block the next blow.

It came all too soon, and stronger than she anticipated. Her arms involuntarily buckled and the mace swept off her blade with a loud metallic screech, again dangerously close to her face.

Zoe’s chestnut mount staggered at the pressure of the heavy blow, his legs folding without warning. Before she fully knew what was happening, the gelding fell on his side, hooves flailing wildly, and Zoe was thrown to the ground among the churning hooves, metal-shod feet of soldiers, and dead and wounded men.

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“The king is down. The king is down.”

The guard kept repeating the words from his vantage point beside Brysa, as if he could not understand or believe what he was saying.

She understood completely. She simply could not believe it.

The king is down? What does it mean for us? For our country? For the battle?

Her father was dead. Brastus Alustate. The cruel man who had mastered her life—he was gone forever. The thought brought peace to her, but it was an empty peace. The fall of the king meant Elangsia was doomed. Where would the men be without their leader? Never before had Brysa imagined such a scenario. The tyrant had collapsed...and taken an entire nation with him. Her lashes closed, squeezing tight against reality that would not be denied.

“The men,” she whispered hoarsely to the guard, who had run up to her moments after the banner faltered and fell to the earth. He was her only companion. She did not even have two guards anymore, having relinquished her other sentry to the battlefield. “Elangsia’s soldiers. Are they overcome?”

The guard cleared his throat as he stared out at the field. “The battle is too dense. I cannot see who is winning.”

Brysa clenched her hands into fists and opened her eyes. Steeling her nerves, she looked down again on the meadow. Long minutes past, laced with tension. How long would it take for the Elangsians to discover that Brastus had been killed? Rather, how long will it take for the Aerilyans to discover it, Brysa amended. They will rally at this. It is inevitable.

Not five minutes later her inner prediction came true. Her breath caught. “Look,” she breathed with sudden cold horror gripping her. She pointed. “Our troops: they’re fleeing.”

It was as she said. The back lines of Elangsia’s forces had thrown down their arms and were running from the advancing Aerilyan cavalry. Brysa closed her eyes, repulsed, just after seeing the enemy horsemen cut down her countrymen as they reached the edge of the tents in the Elangsian encampment. The already chaotic battle dissolved into a panicked retreat on one side and vicious charge on the other.

“They’re coming this way,” the guard said nervously. “They’ll reach here soon.” He glanced at her, suddenly remembering his responsibility to her. “My lady, we must retreat.”

Cold as stone, Brysa did not reply.

“My lady, please, hear me! You must go. We will fall back before they get here. We will retreat.”

Slowly she turned her head and met his eyes. The cries from the swiftly approaching battle rose in the background. Her hair ruffled in the breeze.

“No,” she said simply.

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Zoe rolled out of the way as a heavy hoof slammed into the turf close to her face. Shaking her head to clear it, she staggered to her feet, readjusting her grip on her sword. She blinked through the sweat that stung her eyes and glanced quickly at her mount. He managed to right himself and with a great heave also regained his feet. Running to him, Zoe hurried to regain the saddle.

Wheeling the gelding around, she scanned the field. First, she noticed that all around her Elangsian soldiers were fleeing, running away from the charging Aerilyans. Second, she was shocked to see the mace-wielding knight rushing back at her at a full gallop, his eyes burning in his face that gleamed with sweat. His mace was raised threateningly; Zoe lifted her sword, hastily trying to think of the best position to meet the charging man in.

Just then a javelin flew across the field and skewered the Elangsian knight. Zoe watched with wide eyes as the momentum of the weapon carried the knight right off his horse and unto the ground, the long spear-like weapon quivering in his side. Glancing to her right, she saw Lance seated on his horse, still poised as he had been when he through the javelin. White-faced but resolute, he slowly looked over at her and met her eyes.

Zoe spurred her gelding toward him. “Thank you,” she called, brushing back strands of her hair.

“I would do anything to protect you, Zoe.”

For some reason Lance’s frank words seemed wrong to Zoe, and they disconcerted her. The tide of battle had passed them by and she lowered her sword, avoiding Lance’s unswerving gaze. “Lance...”

“Don’t speak; it’s enough you’re safe.”

She lifted her chin. Still evading Lance’s eyes, she glanced around at the retreating Elangsians. They had reached the edge of the Elangsian war camp. The battle was virtually over. All that remained now was settling terms—if there was anybody left to settle with. Brastus is dead, so who is in command with him gone?

The sunlight poured over the land, seeming too clean and golden for a day so fraught with carnage. Zoe looked past the armies to the hills behind the camp, her eyes roving the hilltops.

Her heart skipped a beat. For sitting atop the foremost hill was a lone sky-blue tent.

Deus’s words rushed back at her, flooding her brain with the simple command: Look to the sky-blue tent, Zoe.

She had not understood when He had given her the command. She still did not understand. But she knew she had to obey. Digging her heels into the gelding’s sides, she began riding back toward the battle without another word.

“Zoe!” Lance sounded surprised and he pulled abreast of her a moment later. “What are you doing?”

“Obeying,” she said simply.

“Don’t go back into that; it’s suicide for you! Stay out here and let the others finish this.”

Glancing over at Lance with narrowed eyes for a second, she called, “If you think I would stay out of this battle because it’s unsafe, you do not know me!”

Determination marked his face and before she could stop him he reached over and grabbed her gelding’s reins, pulling them both to a quick stop. Keeping her seat with an effort, she twisted around and glared at him. “Release me now, Lance.”

“No. I won’t have you killed!”

Though frustration ran hot through her veins, a tiny bit of kindness came as well. She shook her head a little. “I am not your responsibility.”

“I would keep you safe and out of harms way,” he said with a trace of desperation.

“I am not yours to keep. Deus only watches my steps.”

“Deus and Tancred,” Lance spat out.

Shocked, Zoe just stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“Surely you have seen the way the Hunter looks at you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.”

Eyes wide, she shook her head. No. Tancred did not think she was anything special. They were just friends. It was a wonder they were even that, considering she had wanted to kill him when they first met. “Let me go,” she murmured, her voice hoarse. “You’re babbling nonsense. We’re in the middle of a battle, for goodness sakes—this is folly to speak of!”

“Ask him!” yelled Lance. With a violent gesture he released the gelding’s reins. Zoe’s horse shied away at the sudden movement but did not bolt. “Ask Tancred himself. He will tell you he cares for you.”

“Of course he cares, as a friend!” she shouted back. Desperation infused her words. It isn’t true...it cannot be true! He doesn’t like me in that way. He can’t. “We’ve been through life-and-death situations together. The Hunter and I are friends. That’s all.”

Unhappiness shone from Lance’s gray-green eyes as he shook his head. “I wish it were so, but I have long seen the truth.”

“Stop it,” she gasped.

He just smiled, an odd mixture of sadness and bitterness marking his expression. “You’re a rare find among women, Lady Zoe. I envy the man.”

“Stop it!” she yelled angrily. “Stop it, Lance!”

Perturbed and unexpectedly terrified, Zoe gathered up her reins and urged the gelding into a gallop. She had to flee; to get away from Lance and his strange talk. None of it was true. He was spouting lies. It angered her, infuriated her, alarmed her...and yet she could not even articulate why it filled her with such hot emotion.

Plunging into the battle again, Zoe cut her way through the mass of fleeing Elangsians with relative ease, fueled by her conflicting emotions. She struggled to focus on her mission while her brain was still plagued with Lance’s confusing words. Her prayers were disjointed and frantic: Deus, guide me, focus me. Oh, Abba, please help me!

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“My lady?” gasped Brysa’s guard. “You...cannot mean to stay.”

“I do,” she said curtly. “I will not flee like a rabbit before hounds.”

Her guard’s face was ashen as he fell silent for a moment.

Brysa’s midsection tightened. I won’t flee, she thought to herself, the feeling of utter detachment sweeping over her again. But I will deny them the pleasure of slaughtering the princess of Elangsia. Slowly, almost involuntarily, her hand slipped to her pocket. Her fingers caressed the bag of poison.

She felt dizzy and swallowed hard. As if in a dream, her mother’s words floated back to her.

“If Elangsia were to be destroyed by the cursed Aerilyans, which we all pray will never happen...if that terrible strait were reached, I command you as my daughter to take this poison and die a death worthy of Elangsia’s royalty.... You come from the line of kings, and to take your life before the Aerilyans violate and humiliate you is your duty! Do you understand?

At the time Brysa had been so sure that would never happen. Elangsia was too strong; Aerilya might be brave, but they would never overpower the might of Elangsia. She had planned to use it in defiance of her father as soon as the Wild Men arrived. But the Wild Men were not here, and as she watched, Elangsian soldiers were throwing down their weapons, surrendering, or fleeing for their lives.

Brysa stared blankly, her mind whirling. Her mother had mentioned duty. Brysa’s duty. What was that anymore? What had it ever been? What was honor, loyalty, bravery? Who was right in this epic conflict between countries? Did Elangsia or Aerilya uphold the banner of justice?

“My lady, they are barbarians! They will slay us all where we stand!” Her guard had resorted to pleading with her now.

Brysa turned her head toward him. “Go,” she commanded softly.

His babbling ceased for a moment and he stared blankly at her. “My lady?” he ventured to ask.

“Go,” she repeated, her voice slow. “Run. You’re right; they will slay you if you stay. Ready your horse and go.”

“I...I won’t leave without you,” the guard said, his voice unsteady. “I cannot abandon you, Lady Brysa.”

“Then I order you as your princess to leave me now and flee for your life!” Brysa commanded harshly. “Go!”

Trembling with indecision, the guard hesitantly took a step backward. Meeting his wavering gray gaze with her icy blue one, Brysa drew herself up to her full height. “Dare you to disobey me?”

He needed no other encouragement. Pivoting around, he raced down into the nearest section of the encampment to obtain a spare horse. Brysa took one last look of the field—half of the battle had carried from the meadow into the Elangsian camp by then—and then turned away. She walked slowly but with purpose to her tent. Her hand, still in her pocket, clenched the pouch full of enacoi root.

It was time.

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Zoe pulled the sweat-lathered gelding to a stop and leapt off his back. Patting him quickly on the neck, she sprinted forward, drawing Tancred’s dagger as she went. Whipping around the corner of one of the largest tents, she came face-to-face with a wide-eyed, terror-stricken man. He was dressed in the garb of one of the royal guards. Why was he not stationed with Brastus’s contingent?

Seizing him by front of his royal blue tunic, she laid her blade to his jugular before he could do anything. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“G-getting a horse,” he stammered out.

“Why? Where are you going?”

“I was ordered to f-flee!”

“A likely story,” she replied without pause. “What commander would order a soldier off the field of battle? You’re deserting.”

“I was ordered!”

“By whom?”

“Crown Princess Brysa Alustate! I swear...” he gulped convulsively, “I swear it!”

Zoe stopped cold. Her hold on the man’s tunic loosened and she released him. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground. “The princess?” asked Zoe in a voice hardly louder than a whisper. “What do you mean?”

He shuddered in his position at her feet. “She ordered me to go. I didn’t want to leave her but she commanded—”

“She’s here? Where?” Zoe crouched by him and grabbed his doublet with both hands this time. The sharp blade of the dagger waved close to his cheek, a fact he was more than aware of. “Speak, man!”

“In the tent, up there!”

Dropping him like a hot coal, Zoe spun around and began running up the hill. Everything was beginning to become clear. Brysa was there; there was no telling what the princess would do when she realized that the Elangsians were defeated. Keeping up the swift pace, Zoe prayed she was not too late.

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Enclosed by the four silken walls of her tent, Brysa stopped and withdrew the pouch from her pocket. The smooth brown leather bag looked malevolent in her eyes, despite its small size and normal appearance. Brysa’s long slender fingers slowly pulled the cords that kept the bag tightly shut, keeping the crushed enacoi root safely within.

All she had to do was pour it into a goblet of wine and all her troubles would be ended. Life would be over and she would not have to submit to the humiliation of defeat, nor the gloating of her enemies as they tore apart her countrymen and her honor. It was so simple, so easy...

So cowardly.

Her lips twisted as she upturned the bag and dumped the enacoi root unto the ground. No remorse filled her as she watched the powdery cloud of poison coat the trampled grass and dirt that formed the floor of her tent.

“I will not be a coward like you, Mother,” she murmured in a voice laced with steel. “I will bear myself with the honor and dignity that befits the royalty of Elangsia—characteristics you and Father have long scorned.”

Flinging the pouch to the ground, Brysa ground it into the dirt with the heel of her slipper. Then, pivoting to her right, she walked toward a mound of silken cushions that was piled in the corner and crouched beside them. Sliding her hand beneath them, her fingers met cool metal and she drew out a small, gleaming dagger. Jewels encrusted its golden hilt, which was fashioned to fit a woman’s smaller hand. On a whim before leaving Ruma she had hidden the dagger in her belongings to take with her to the battlefield.

Long ago Brysa had found and claimed the dagger for herself from one of the many royal armories. It had been made for her great-grandmother, Queen Brysandor, whom Brysa had been named for. Ballads had been written and sung by minstrels, telling of Brysandor’s single-handed defense of Ruma when faced with a terrible enemy during the ancient wars—while her husband, King Muireach, safeguarded the outer borders of Elangsia. Queen Brysandor’s defense of Ruma had been successful...and ultimately won the war.

Brysandor had also been a devout follower of the god that Rebekka, the Aerilyan slave, always spoke of to Brysa—Deus. Had Brysandor’s faith in Deus helped her in her time of need? What had persuaded the queen of old to stand against injustice and strike out with the strength of a lioness for the Elangsian people?

Brysa had always loved the story of Brysandor, but her affection for the gracious and fierce queen was not encouraged by her parents. “Chivalry is something for midnight tales and times of yore, Brysa. This is an era of power and domination.” Her father had said it so many times with the same derisive tone that Brysa could repeat it with identical inflection in her own voice.

Her parents had also said that Deus was not real and religion was for the weak. Now, Brysa was not so sure she believed them. Closing her eyes, she licked her lips. The sound of the battle rang ever louder in the background, giving urgency to her prayer.

“Deus, god of Brysandor, Zoe, Rebekka, and so many others,” whispered Brysa, “long I’ve doubted You. If you’re there...show Yourself, please. I beg this of You.” Yearning echoed in her tone and flowed through her veins as she strained to hear Him, feel Him, and understand what He wanted of her. “Help me to believe, Almighty One.”

Not sure exactly what she was doing, Brysa sank to her knees. Please, Deus. I give it all up to You.

Unearthly silence fell. Brysa could not hear the battle cries anymore. Quivering slightly with anticipation, she waited.

Suddenly a feeling of warmth swept through the tent like a summer breeze. It enveloped Brysa, swaddling her with love. She gasped softly at the powerful sensation and felt hot, salty tears trickling down her cheeks. Deus...Deus....

I’m here, Daughter. Feel my love for you.

“I’m sorry for my doubt and unbelief. Forgive me, Deus.” Bowing her head, she silently added, Lord of my heart.

Time is short. Rise up and go, Little One. Your people need you.

Slowly the sensation of His presence began withdrawing from the tent, and Brysa was sorry to feel it go. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered passionately.

Instantly, reassurance flooded her senses. I will never leave you, Brysa. Even when you can’t feel Me, I will be here.

The Voice and Presence faded away, but within Brysa burned a flame of strength that remained from Deus’s touch. Rising to her feet, the princess opened her eyes and wiped away her tears with her right hand. Her gaze skimmed the small dagger that she held in her other smooth, untrained hand.

Her father had fallen on the field and her mother was in Ruma, which left the position of royal authority to Brysa herself. Lifting her head, she murmured, “With Your help, Deus, I will prove to our attackers that there is yet nobleness in Elangsian royalty.”

Clutching Queen Brysandor’s dagger tightly, Brysa turned to exit her tent. She raised her hand to grasp the flap of the door when it parted seemingly of its own accord—and Zoe stumbled through. Shocked by the sudden appearance of the auburn-haired young woman, Brysa jumped back.

“Zoe!”

Zoe was out of breath, sweaty, and streaked with grime and blood. Her gaze dropped to the knife in Brysa’s hands, then flew back up to the princess’s face. Realization flashed through Zoe’s eyes, which blazed with fire that Brysa well remembered.

“Give me the knife,” Zoe said in a low, firm voice. She held out her left hand. In her right was a long dagger with a bloodied edge, and Brysa noted the hilt of a sword that protruded over Zoe’s armored shoulder.

Brysa shook her head, her grip tightening slightly on the hilt and the blade’s gilt leather sheath. “I’m not going to kill myself with it, if that’s what you fear. Look: I disposed of the poison my mother gave me.”

Zoe glanced at the white powder on the ground and the lines around her eyes and mouth relaxed slightly. “But, the knife...?” she motioned to the blade.

“It is the weapon once carried by a valiant Elangsian queen,” Brysa explained quietly. “Today I intend to carry it.”

Zoe lifted her chin, her lips upturning faintly. “You mean to ride out?”

“I will not run away, if that’s what you mean.”

“You know your troops have been overrun?”

“I do.” Brysa firmed her chin and added, “I want to show Aerilya’s king that I can die with honor, if nothing else.”

“Die?” Zoe looked at her curiously. “There is not need for more death. You can, in fact, stop the bloodshed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your troops have no leader; the generals have either fallen or run away. The king is—” Zoe cut herself off suddenly and sent a look toward Brysa.

“The king is dead,” Brysa said brusquely, refusing to think of what the four simple words really meant. “I know. I saw the banner fall.”

“Very well. With no leader, the Elangsian army is disintegrating. Ride out with me. Call order to your men. Then you may negotiate for peace with King Jaeger.”

Brysa stared at Zoe. The emeralds and sapphires decorating Queen Brysandor’s dagger cut into her palms, she was gripping it so tightly. Negotiate for peace and call order to my men? My men? So much was happening at once it was difficult for her to wrap her mind around it.

But now was not the time for second thoughts or wavering. She was the Princess of Elangsia. Deus was her Captain.

I must be strong for my people; and with the Almighty’s help...I will be.

“What are we waiting for, then?” she questioned Zoe, her dark brows arching upward. “Let’s find some horses.”

This time a full smile broke across Zoe’s face. Dipping her head, she said softly, “You are proving your mettle, Brysa.”

The praise was high, especially coming from Zoe. “Thank you, but my courage comes from a source far greater than I.”

Zoe’s gaze snagged hers, her emerald eyes wide. “You speak of Deus?”

“Indeed.”

Silence reigned for a long moment, and then Zoe spoke in a soft voice. “If He backs you, you will go far, my lady. Farther than you ever dreamed.” She smiled faintly. “Let’s go.”

The two of them turned together and hurried out of the tent. Now, despite their differences, the Elangsian princess and the warrior maid were united to one purpose. For their proud hearts had each bowed to the Creator God—and His plans were at last being made clear.