“Do not underestimate a woman’s power to change a man,” said Ariel.
“Ah,” said Aedan with a smile. “I see. Is that what you have done to me?”
“Well, what do you think?”
He paused a moment, considering. “Yes, I think you have. And for the better.”
“I am pleased you think so,” Ariel replied, “but remember that you are much stronger than Derwyn.
And if she can, Laera will change him for the worse.”
On the second day of their journey to Seaharrow, they passed the battlefield where Arwyn had met his defeat, roughly midway between the cities of Dalton and Anuire. In the distance, they could see the Seamist Mountains, where the Army of Anuire had fought the ogres during their failed campaign to find a portal through the Shadow World to Boeruine. Just to the south of the mountain range, still invisible at this distance, was the line of fortifications where Arwyn had established his garrisons to protect the borders of Brosengae. And a bit farther east were the Anuirean garrisons that had been overrun by Arwyn’s army on their way to the battlefield where the war had ended.
Famous battles were usually given names, most often after the place where they had occurred. This one was different. Though the fortifications in the distance and the nearby mountains could have leant their names to the battle, they did not. Michael himself had named this place, this killing ground that was simply a vast and grassy plain-grassy no
longer, for it had been brutally churned up by the two armies that had fought here. When the rains came in late summer, the field would become somewhat more leveled as the gullies overflowed and water pooled and streamed in rivulets across it. The winter snows would cover it, too, and freeze the ground, further changing its appearance.
Eventually, after snowmelt, new shoots of grass would appear next spring. Still, it would be years before all traces of the battle disappeared, wiped out by nature. And even then, the place would bear the name Michael had given it to commemorate those who had died here because of one man’s driving ambition: Sorrow Field.
As they passed the battlefield, the traces of the struggle that had taken place here were still very much in evidence. The mounds where the dead had been buried where they fell dotted the torn-up landscape, and a hush fell over the royal caravan as they passed. Here and there, flowers had been planted on the mounds by relatives who had made the journey to the battle site.
As many of the graves as possible were marked, and some of the families of the soldiers who had fallen had replaced the crude little wooden markers with tombstones carved by the city’s stonemasons.
In many cases, however, it had been impossible to identify the corpses, and there were families who knew only that their loved ones had fallen here, somewhere. For them, Michael had commissioned the carving of a large memorial stone that identified the battlefield and bore a legend telling what had happened here. This memorial, too, was covered with flowers by those who had come out to say their last good-byes to loved ones who lay in unmarked graves.
This was the side of war that was anything but glorious, thought Aedan.
There was glory in winning, heightened by emotions engendered by the act of survival, but glory was always fleeting. Death was permanent.
No one spoke as they went past the battlefield.
And no one spoke for a long time thereafter.
They made camp that night near the abandoned fortifications on the border between Brosengae and Avanil. After the tents had been pitched and everyone had eaten, Aedan went in search of Michael. He found him a short distance from the camp, standing on a wall of an abandoned fort. A detachment of the house guard had accompanied him, for the emperor was not supposed to be left unguarded, but they maintained a discreet distance, giving him some privacy with his thoughts.
As Aedan came up behind him, Michael was staring out into the distance, toward the plains of Brosengae. The sun was setting in the west. It had almost completely disappeared, leaving a fading red-gold light illuminating the evening sky. Michael turned as he heard Aedan coming up behind him.
He looked troubled.
“Is anything wrong, Sire?” Aedan asked him.
“No, I was just thinking,” Michael replied. “About other journeys like this, in the past. Summer Courts of days gone by. One summer in particular.”
“The last one before the war,” said Aedan.
Michael nodded. He smiled suddenly. “I recall I said once that when I became emperor, I would do away with all this business of ‘Your Highness this’
and ‘Your Highness that.” It irritated me that no one ever used my name.”
Aedan smiled. “I remember.”
“Well, I am hereby issuing a long overdue imperial decree. Henceforth, Lord Chancellor, whenever we find ourselves in private moments such as this, you will address me by my name. Not ‘Sire,’ and not I my lord,’
and most definitely not ‘Your Highness.”
But Michael. Simply Michael. I know you can do it, stuffy as you are.
You did it at least once before, in battle on Sorrow Field.”
“Yes, I recall you had given me that special dispensation, though I confess I had not thought about it at the time. The reaction was purely instinctive.”
“Did you feel it, when we rode past the battlefield?”
“I felt many things,” said Aedan. “Not all of which are easily put into words.”
Michael nodded. “I meant the silence. Not our silence as we went by, but the silence of the place itself. The silence of the dead.” He paused. “So very still. Not even the birds singing.
