Chương 408: 12.5

Jewel felt Muriel's absence all the stronger as the light of dawn shone upon the funeral pyres. Leo had gathered up the names of the dead and where it was known their villages and any gods relevant to their lives outside the muster. In groups and little knots of mourning the army gave farewell to the lost. Every son and daughter of Viznove that fell had a neighbor or friend who knew them. There had been no wiping out of an entire village's levy dues in the previous day's battle. At least not on their side.

Jewel suspected she had directly slain enough Magarskan slaves to empty Valasect several times over. She stood with herselves, the twins humming the songs of mourning alongside Jewel and Gem's voices. Alongside all the ranks of men, the words different from one village to the next but all united in melody. The Ridgetail's favored gods of winter, war and death across Viznove were all given offerings, the songs to appease them chanted. The names intoned by those that knew them.

She gave them all an hour to remember, to contemplate, and for those without the strength of will to weep, no matter how it might shame them, she gave them the time to say goodbye as she had needed, but then the sun rose higher and it was time to rally the army's spirit again." Sons and Daughters of Viznove, today I stand with you and honor the victorious dead!" Her voice boomed over the murmurs, the wails, the faces who could not muster to hold back the incontinence of tears.

She offered her face, her bearing, the sight of her shining in the morning light as a way to draw all eyes to her, to ensure that those whose grief was too great did not further shame themselves or their witnesses with tears. Even as the waste of the enemy's losses pained her, stung so deeply. The heaven's bindings were clear from up close. The terror stink of men forced to stand and die before her had filled her nostrils so many times she could almost still feel it in her nose. Taste it on her tongue.

Jewel and her daughter-selves were present for the closing moment of the day's mourning as was her place and responsibility as the Lady of War in this army, as was right as their Countess. On her right was March Lord Sergej, his own responsibility as General on Land being fulfilled. To stand and be judged by the men who had seen their brothers, sons and friends die by his and Jewel's commands." They served Viznove and I with honor, loyalty and most of all victory against a foe beyond their number."

Every battle after the quiet goodbyes were given she had stood in this place, the field changed, the landscape different, but after every time they had driven the Magarskans in their infuriating orderly withdrawals she was here the next day. Jewel had stood here and said words like these with March Lord Sergej, and before him with Mathias' chosen general far more times then she wanted. Again and again as she chased the Magarskan army ever further south. Battle after battle. As Grain Turn became Debt's Season.

Her first war had been done in a single battle, and if Murad was not an honorless coward, it would have been the same here. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Yet, he was, and so she was still presiding over the death of her people, of those who worked her lands. Not just her subjects, but men and women which she might have known, faces she had seen and spoken to in her tour, even soldiers she had sparred with, either as her full self or her spawn."

We all mourn our lost brothers and sisters in arms, we burn them and see their spirits freed to the heavens! But this was a great victory that will be sung in legend and song!" Her people's dead were numerous but far worse still was the enemy, whom they had first left to feed the Gryphons after each battle, and then when the flights went with the rest of the army west, for the tilling over of the Hewer of Wheat's working. Her first war was a horrible toll, but fighting Magarska was so much worse.

For Jewel knew them! It had not happened often, but Jewel had caught scents she knew among the dead Magarskans, not by name, but from the teeming crowds that had not so long ago feasted and celebrated her arrival. Now those dancing, joyous people were corpses to be tilled over to grow her army's bread. Terrified men forced to face her by star sent bondage." Take heart, warriors of Viznove, for every brother lost we felled seven!

For every soul claimed by the heavens this day we send him an entourage of magarskans to pave his way!" Men who she had slain either through her own claw, tooth or flame, or by her command. So many thousands died in this one battle, not broken and fleeing, but slain. Was there truly that great a difference between her people and they? Did mere discipline and training hold men firm in the face of wyrmflame and sorcery? No it was the stars!" And I promise you that we will send many more!"

Jewel had walked these lands as a guest and saw their soldiers, well armored and trained, obedient and esteemed. All manner and sizes of men united together like brothers to serve their Princes and King. But how has this been done? What allowed so many to stand against her to their death? It was beyond valor, it was beyond bravery. And having waded through them and choked on their fear and panic billowing up while bodies were forced to obey?

Jewel was certain now and it made her flame want to burn through her chest." Until the betrayer and butcher Murad's is dead, we will bleed ten Magarskan lives for every Viznovian brother or sister lost! I promise this to you children of Viznove!" She was confident, her voice booming, she could see, smell and feel the will of her men fortifying, she could hear the choked sobs drowned out as anger took hold, as wroth and violence tore from throats in answer to her.

Magarska's army was madness, obedience beyond all reason. Even its princes had been all too loyal to Murad and his monstrosity! The servility on display to that traitorous fiend?! She had tasted a binding of the stars upon them and now she had seen its grip on soldiers and levy? Was all of Magarska a slave to one man? It was the only thing that made sense, the horror of the wheeling synchronicity, the terror of frozen bodies braced to die before her." Let not sorrow still your hearts! Let it not stay your blades!

Let their loss burn in your hearts with fury! For you are still with me! And we will make Magarska Pay!" Her army answered her with their own voices, the solemn mourning was over, the pyres burned high, the Hewer of Wheat would be coming soon to clear the field and draw from it the next week's ration in wheat and grazing for the animals.

But even as Jewel felt the hot seething rage and triumph filling the air around her, she thought of Magarska, of all the nobility and commoner alike chained and forced to serve, whether it was just or vile?

With the cooking flesh of her men and women filling the air with their charred scent and the people who had gladly welcomed her as a guest in their homes and villages waiting to be churned and tilled into her afternoon bread she could only stare at the battlefield and the carrion birds who had already descended to feast upon the dead. Was her word's honor worth all this? Was some ephemeral future trust for peace worth this price? Had Jewel been wrong in her judgement of Evren? She had to make this right.