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UrufuHiken -> RE: The Symphony of War (Book of War short story) (4/7/2010 23:59:59)
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The Symphony of War
A chilling wind whipped to life in the hollow crevices of the Black Spine Mountains. It cut down through the cold, dark grey stone silhouette of the mountain passes and wound its way through the over-grown trees to the mountain base. The wind lost its cooling chill as it flowed over the rolling hills of the mountain base, crossing rivers and stirring oceans of grassy plains. The wind flowed onward, winding itself through the myriad of trees of the Heartwood Forest; wound itself to the beat of the song and dance of the battlefield.
The leaves twirled with the wind, whipping themselves in whirls between fighting men’s feet; twirling themselves around the flight and fletching of many arrows.
The leaves whirled through the visions of First Class Captain General Al’Ren of the rebellion’s army, and Lord Captain Matrem of Andra’s Imperial Foot Soldiers as they stood facing each other, blades bared. Emotionless and cold, the pair stared at each other, unblinking and unmoving, waiting for the other to act.
The wind died down, and only the bittersweet song of steel on steel and chorus of men’s screams of rage and death filled the Fall seasoned copse; the stink of sweat and blood, and the rancid smell of death filled the nostrils of the two men standing there. Still they stood facing each other, unblinking, unmoving; waiting for the other man’s will to finally crack. Again, the wind blew through the trees, cleaning the air and drowning the sounds of battle in its forceful gale, until it again died down and the song and stench of battle was lifted back into the air.
Captain Matrem gave a rueful smile and lowered his blade, resignation apparent on his face.
The Lord Captain was a young man, especially for the standards of his station, but he was one who wore his title deservingly. He had short cut hair except a long tail at the back that hung down to his shoulders and was bound tightly with a leather cord. His overlapping, white mail armor shone with the dignity of his rank, and did nothing to lessen his assassin-like grace. A serpent coiled in dragon’s scales.
His white, red-fringed cloak held the duel crossing swords and golden helmet with the crisscrossing golden cords that marked his rank, and was embroidered with the half-golden sun and silver moon emblem of King Raynor, king of Andra. The Lord Captain was in deep contrast to the Captain General despite their similar ranks.
Captain General Al’Ren wore no rich embroidery, no dignifying shiny armor, and held no emblem of any king. Dressed in plain brown woolen shirt and breeches, with a darker brown coat over plain steel chain mail, and a forest green cloak. The only thing that contrasted with his visibly plain village garb was the sword he held in his hands.
Long, slender, and slightly curving, the blade itself was engraved with strange sinuous symbols of a language long lost. The hilt was plain black with the exception of a silver tree with falling golden blossoms engraved in the length of it. The hand guard was silver and was in the shape of two serpentine dragon’s wrapping around parallel each other, golden talons clutching the hilt and golden fanged maws clinching the other’s tale. The hilt’s silver pommel held the same design in a golden hue.
Despite his dingy garb, Al’Ren stood with as much dignity as the other man. He held the same air of authority, and same serpentine grace. He stood as if he wore cloths just as richly embroidered as the other man, stood so you had to look twice to not believe it.
“So it has come to this.” Matrem said, shaking his head.
“How could it have not?” Al’Ren asked, the same look of resignation touching his weathered face. “It seems as if this has preordained since the beginning, how could we have hoped to escape it with the paths we chose?”
Abruptly, Matrem stiffened, than looked at the other man with a wry smile. “You have grown from the egotistical, short brat you once were since last we spoke.”
Al’Ren mimicked Matrem’s smile. “Of course, it has been seven years since then. You expected me to stay a short forever?”
“It seems I have spoken ahead of myself, you’re no different at all!” The two men shared a small grin but it faded away quickly before Matrem spoke again.
“I suppose you are right though, my brother. It was always just a matter of time, and I suppose we knew that in some small way, even before we parted seven years ago.” Al’Ren’s face had again turned to stone, and he just nodded grimly.
A gust of wind howled through the air again, and Matrem raised his head to the sky and breathed deeply, sighing as he gazed passed the many colored leaves of Fall seasoned trees.
For an instant, as the wind gave way, time seemed to stand still. Multi-colored leaves lay suspended in the air, the last clutches of wind holding them still.
No sound. No sound of wind. No sound of battle. No stench of the dead and dying. For Just an instant the world stood still, till at last the leaves began to fall again, and the song of steel filled their ears.
Al’Ren’s face softened. “Mat… I-” he began, but Matrem held his hand up in silence.
“Shall we finish the contest we started all those years ago?” Mat asked, raising his sword. “If I remember correctly, I was winning!” he finished with a slight grin.
Al’Ren shared a slight grin too, as if remembering old times. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Mat.” He said, but Matrem was shaking his head before the other man was even finished.
“This goes beyond us, Ren…” Matrem began but paused, studying his friend’s face. “no…” he said, face hardening. “Al’Ren, First Class Captain General Al’Ren, of the Rebellion’s army. By decree of His Highness, King Raynor of house Del’Marta, anointed by the Creator, I am to take you in, dead or alive. For your crimes, and the Rebellion’s crimes against the King, I am duty bound to see that justice be done, and the rebellion culled. Raise your sword, General, or surrender your forces.”
Abruptly, the grin came back, even if just for an instant as he said “But I know you too well to expect that.”
Al’Ren stood there, silently studying Matrem’s stony face. There was just the hint of sadness now, veiled underneath his steely eyes. Sadly, he raised his sword, feet shifting into an offensive stance. “Then let us end it here,” he said with a melancholic nod, “Where it all began.”
With nothing left to say, the two friends, stone faced and eyes cold, rushed into battle, swords leading as their only battle cry.
******
The blades sang their melancholic tune as they clashed in a fountain of sparks. Al'Ren brought his curved sword to bare, wielding it with deadly grace as he twisted and turned, spun and slashed in a forceful gale against the man he had once called brother; the man he still called brother.
This is the way things were, the product of the choices they had made, choices they could not, and indeed would not take back. In the end, this battle was the only option, and its conclusion the only way to take the next step forward.
The frustration this caused only propelled the Captain General and Lord Captain to greater ferocity.
Matrem stepped back, bringing his sword up in lightning-quick precision as Al'Ren slashed out, and the resounding steel added another sorrowful wail to the symphony of war.
Matrem pushed forward, thrusting out with his long-sword as Al'Ren danced nimbly away. Shuffling forward and pivoting on his feet, Matrem followed through with a spinning, horizontal slash that was deftly parried away by Al'Ren's twirling blade.
Following through with his parry, the Captain General brought his curving blade out then whipped it inward, striking for Matrem's face. Matrem, anticipating such, leaned back on his heals and spun away, using his momentum to put some distance between him and Al'Ren's lightning fast slashes.
Sword up and in a guarding stance, the Lord Captain regarded the man that stood before him with much respect. He was not the un-refined youth who Matrem used to beat down on a daily basis. He was now a brilliant tactitioner who had mastered the art of the sword. And by the look in his eyes, held unshakable resolve, despite any resignations.
Matrem smiled once more, remembering the past and seeing the present for what it was. Looking around him, seeing the men screaming and dying, and bathed in blood, he could only begin to imagine the future. One thing was for certain though, the future's haze would only begin to lift by the closing of this battle.
Looking at his friend, standing in iron resolve and patience, Matrem believed he could see a flash of that future.
Nodding once more, the two man darted forward, blades singing harder then ever before. Al'Ren twisting and darting like a serpent, Matrem flowing like the water, the two men danced again to the sounds of battle; and like the serpent in the water, the raging steel flowed together in perfect harmony.
The wind picked up, and Matrem made a lunge. As Al'Ren darted to the side, Matrem began to come out of his faint, pivoting to deliver the next attack. As the wind and leaves whipped past, so to came his memories of their last battle, where Matrem had delivered the final blow in a similar way.
Al'Ren saw the faint for what it was, and in a panic darted forward with sword out-thrust. In that single moment, Matrem hesitated.
The blade sliced through his metal armor and thrust into his chest. Al'Ren blinked, and looked at the sword in confusion as blood ran down it's length.
Matrem dropped his sword and his knees went lax, pulling Al'Ren down as he fell. Looking up with clouding eyes into his killers face, Matrem smiled, as if to say 'the future is in your hands now,' before giving his dying breath.
Al'Ren retracted his blade slowly and laid his friend's corpse down gently, using his right hand to close the sightless eyes. Standing up, the Captain General looked around, the song of battle dying away and the screams of pain far fewer. Two men, both officers in his army, were purposefully striding towards him.
Looking down at Matrem's face, he brought forth his sword and plunged it into the ground at his friend's head.
"Your father's... our father's sword should have always belonged to you, brother. It seems that even in the end your skill was greater then mine. I guess I will never have the chance to claim that title away from you."
Turning on his heals, Captain General Al'Ren of the Rebellion's army turned to face his subordinates.
"The battle is won, sir!" said one in a worn out but excited voice.
"A stunning victory!" said the other, enthusiastically fighting past his fatigue.
Al'Ren nodded silently while glancing one last time at his fallen kin before finally moving forward. His subordinates, not knowing what to say, followed behind him like silent guardians.
The battle was over, the chants of victory were floating on the wind, and Al'Ren's leather boots tramped over the blood-soaked grounds and over strewn bodies of the dead. They walked on in silence for some time, the wind falling and rising, and carrying with it the stench of death.
"Sir?" one of the subordinates asked.
"We have won this battle," said Al'Ren, stopping and turning to face his men. "And the war may very well soon follow. But at what cost?"
"At what cost do we overthrow a tyrant king? At what cost do we topple a corrupt monarchy? Will all these men's lives be wasted when out of the ashes of our kingdom comes not a Phoenix, but a Nightmare?"
"Shall all these men's deaths have been in vane if in a few years or even few generations time the reason they fought is forgotten, and another tyrant or tyrants rise to strip us of our freedoms?"
The two men remained silent, faces somber in light of their General's doubts. Finally though, one of them, the youngest, stepped forward.
"Did you not once say that if we do not fight now for our rights for freedom, that we will have surrendered that very thing which makes us human? That if we don't fight now, it will be the generations after ours, our children and our children's children that suffer for it?"
Al'Ren looked at the youth, pondering the words he spoke.
"If we give up now, sir. Then all these lives will truly have been lost in vane."
"But will we ever truly be able to change the world?" Al'Ren asked himself. "Will we ever truly be able to make a difference?"
There was no answer.
The trio heard a ragged groan, and together they turned to look down upon a wounded soldier of the Imperial Order. A wounded and helpless enemy now seeing them for the first time.
Al'Ren's mind went racing back in time, down the dark corridors if his young memory.
He remembered a time where he too had been in a similar situation, a wounded street urchin and petty thief at the mercy of a child no older then he. Where instead of striking with his stick or calling the guards, a young Matrem had held out his hand.
"You're pretty bold child," Said Matrem's father as he stood over the two. "I can't say I hate that. Why not come with us? I'm in need of another good apprentice to teach of the ways of the sword."
Shakily, young Ren had held out his hand, grasping the first true light in his world.
Al'Ren looked down on the wounded man now, shaking in what could be fear or pain, and too tired to fight back.
"Well maybe we can't change the world," said the Captain General. "Maybe mankind will never truly learn that we are responsible for our own actions. But for those of us who had the opportunity and never made that choice, how then could we live with ourselves?"
"No. We may indeed not be able to change the world. But at least we can do the best we can in the time we have been given." Al'Ren held out his hand the wounded soldier, a friendly smile on his face. "At least we can say we did everything we could, and fought for what we believed in."
The man regarded the Captain General's hand weakly before looking up into his smiling face, a smile he had seen once before worn on the Lord Captains face. Shakily, he extended his hand to Al'Ren's and grasped it.
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