“Where is the Captain?” Sarengerel asked.
“He said he was going to survey the enemy line one last time,” Galbrey said. “He’d be at the hill. I’ll take you there.”
Sarengerel nodded and together they left the busy camp and took horses toward the crest of the hill. Delger was in the distance, mounted on Khajee the spotted palfrey. He was alone, looking down into the Fields of Gan-Gaidhill that lay north of New Hearth.
“How long have you served in the army?” Sarengerel asked as they rode. “The Captain seems to place a lot of trust in you.”
“Just two years,” Galbrey said. “My twin brother Ganfrey has a real affinity for it. He’s served the governors for five, but he’s bounced around. He’s with the governor of Jorgenhem now. I’ve always stayed here, in the Kingsfelt. He’s a real knight.”
“One day you may be one too.”
They arrived to the top of the hill where their horses stood by Delger’s side. The late afternoon sun was behind them, casting a direct light onto the Isnumurti formations, making it difficult for the enemy to see them against the glare of the sun. Sarengerel scanned for the grey beasts. Elephants, Menquist had called them. They were gentle animals bred in the jungle country, but through Isnumurti cruelty they were tortured and conditioned into war beasts. There were seven of them, as they were not hard to find.
The number of Isnumurti seemed to have grown. More of them must have arrived through the forest, as they now seemed to be closer to fifteen thousand. Sarengerel had never seen an army with such numbers in one place. He was one of the seven generals of Neredun, and King Burulgi had a force of twenty thousand Field Riders. Still, Sarengerel had never seen them all together. They were scattered across the various territories, and Sarengerel had only seen at most five thousand riders congregated at the capital.
"Almighty Fargod," Delger said with his eyes closed in soft prayer, "I dare not selfishly ask you for victory, for all men, saint or sinner, are equal in your eyes and neither are favored. I dare not ask for glory, for only courage for our own actions can grant us that. I am only asking you to let me ride well today with those that ride beside me, so when my day has ended, I did all I was meant to do."
"It is nearly time, Captain," Galbrey whispered.
Delger opened his eyes and kept a fixed gaze at the enemy camp. “Galbrey, I am happy you are riding with me today. I'm sorry we did not have a chance to get your brother to join us in the spearhead. Perhaps it is better for him.”
“It is my honor to be here, Captain," Galbrey said. “As for Ganfrey, let's just win this battle and go get him for next time.”
Delger smiled and turned to Sarengerel. “My lord, no matter what fate the Fargod issues us today, I am thankful you saved my life, if only to breathe one more battle breath."
“I am no lord, just a soldier,” Sarengerel replied. “You sound like you are making peace. Make peace after the battle. For Neredunians, the Field God is honored when the hooves hit the field for battle. The Field God is always thirsty, they say. And the only way to quench his thirst is spilling the blood of your enemy upon the ground.”
"That is what they say?" Delger asked. "And what do you say? What do you believe?”
“Our Field God, your Fargod, I think they are two names of the same idea, split a long time ago when the ancient peoples split and formed these lands,” Sarengerel said. “Neredunians are a very religious, very superstitious people. But the gods are not as far as you think, Captain. They walk among us. Their blood runs through some of us. They have a hand in getting us to spill each other’s blood. They quench their thirst not through blood, but through the tears of our children, mourning the loss of their mothers and fathers.”
“Gods among men?”
“You would be surprised,” Sarengerel said. “Let us return to camp.”
They turned their horses and descended the hill toward the camp. There were makeshift tents and wagons of supplies, and it resembled much more like a war camp than in their last battle at New Hearth.
"Before we begin the fight, I will gather around my Field Riders and we will mark the story of this battle upon our bodies," Sarengerel said as they trotted through camp. "Neredunians believe that when we die, we enter that eternal field where the servants of the gods will read the markings upon our body and sing the stories for all the ancestors waiting to greet us. Neredunians are perhaps the most god-fearing folk you will ever meet. You see, it doesn't matter what I say, or what I believe. My field riders believe in me, and they need me to believe in the glorious afterlife, because through me, I can give that to them. That is our charge as leaders. We cannot weaken the faith of those who follow us."
"Two thousand against fifteen," Delger said. "Will the faith of your men be shaken by those numbers?"
"Neredunians only look for a good death," Sarengerel said. "And what will your men think of those odds?"
"It is a different number that matters to me," Delger said. "Zero. The Winged Spears have never lost a battle."
Delger rode on as Sarengerel steered his horse away toward his own company. Seeing the full assembly of the Winged Spears gave him pause. Over a thousand horses, with riders in scoured half armor and fur cloaks. Each rider carried a lance, a saber, a long dirk and a brown and white buffalo horn. On one side of each horse hung the round shield of the Spears, with blue and white coats bearing a sigil of white falcon with spotted wings spread out while its talons clutched a golden spear. On the other side of the horse were various ranged instruments, such a hand axes, bolas, or clay bottles of oil.
Over the last few weeks Sarengerel had watched the Captain train with his famous cavalry in Caddoc, where the Winged Spears had been waiting for him. While he took pride in how the Neredunian Field Riders rode together, he had seen nothing like the Winged Spears. They moved like starlings in the dusk sky, reforming its shape but always maintaining the same poetic movements and formations. Behind them were another two hundred riders and eight hundred men from Caddock.
Sarengerel climbed off his horse and walked to the campfire that his men had started. "Hananisus," he called, "prepare the ink."
Hananisus retrieved a walnut box from his travel pack. He opened the box of bamboo quills and a ceramic bottle of ink. "General, what is the name of the song for this battle?"
"Embers of the Hearth," he replied. He removed his coat and vest and sat on a log while Hananisus looked for an area on Serengerel's body to add the tattoo. He found a small space on his lower back and began making the marks. As he worked, Sarengerel sang.
Gal ureer ekeldeg
Minii noyon Miramalyek kerin burkhantai khamt yavj baina
Nar bol tuuni bambai yum
Ger bul bol tuuni jad yum
Khoron muu khumuusiin zurkh setgeleer damiuulan
Altan usnii khuuramch burkhan ukharch baina
Gal ureer dusdag
Gal ureer dusdag
The men reached for quills and began marking one another in silence, listening to the song. Hananisus took his goat horn and played a slow piercing tune to the general’s singing. Soon the surrounding Aredunian horsemen stopped and listened also until the song was over.
“What are those words?” Galbrey asked as he walked into the gathering of the Neredunian warriors.
“Old words,” Hananisus said, putting his goat horn down. “Very old words. It means:
The fires start at dawn
Our Lord Miramalec rides with the Field God
The sun is his shield
The family is his spear
Through the heart of the wicked
The golden haired false god retreats
The fires end at dawn
The fires end at dawn”
Galbrey stood beside Hananisus as he continued to mark Sarengerel’s body. “What was the song about?”
"It is the beginning of the ballad of Miramalec, the great the warrior poet who served under King Burulsong," Sarengerel said, leaning forward and staring at the ground. "Miramalec defended our people against the Kiennese warlord, Searc, during the Second Conquest. While the rest of the world fell, Miramalec would not let Searc push through the Southern Marches. He would later come to Aredun's aid and helped your King Edryd to liberty. I sing to remind my men that against overwhelming odds we have endured and still sing about it five hundred years later."
"I know part of the story," Galbrey said, "but just the part about King Edryd. I did not know of Miramalec. Thank you for teaching me. Do you think we will deserve a song when this is over?”
Hananisus rubbed a cloth over the completed tattoo and moved to the next man. Sarengerel rose and started buttoning his vest back on. "I am a general of Burulgi's army, and in most circumstances my army is more than the twenty men you see here. For my people I am also a Song Lord, an honorable title bestowed upon me. This means I teach history and of the ways of our people through song and poetry. We are a musical people driven by love and lyric. Will we deserve a song? Our lives are each a song, and we alone can craft its words and melodies. Whether someone sings about us one day or not does not matter, for if you listen to the lives around us, there are endless songs to be sung to inspire us. Most of the songs we sing are for the Field God, but we save some for ourselves.”
"I hope I do not disappoint you or Captain Delger’s Winged Spears in battle," Galbrey said. "The captain sent me to prepare you, for an hour after dusk we move against the enemy."
