Another Ceremony, Another Perspective
It was shortly before sunrise, and I closed my eyes, deepening the comfort of darkness. Justice had reluctantly left the pyre an hour ago, but I knew better than to leave it alone, even then. He’s probably dead, but there’s no sense in taking chances. After all, death is no bar to being a pain in the ass.
Nonetheless, Edriss’s corpse was good to us, that night. No sudden rise of the chest, not even the stirring of an errant shadow. I should have slept. Oh well—plenty of time to sleep when you’re dead. Or not. Most of the dead I know are more active than the living. At least until you cut them into smaller, less-active pieces.
I squinted. The sun slowly rose, chasing away most of the shadows that had been my sanctuary during the night’s long watch. I moved back, under the overhang, and deeper into the shadows. Part of me felt…wrong, hiding from my friends. But the shadows are safe, and often the best place to hide a monster like me. I remained unseen, even in what was to come.
There was no music, no pipes. No dull, keening chant. But there was no doubt that this was a funeral procession. Priests that had days ago fled the wreckage of homes that they had doubtlessly known for most of their lives now slowly marched to the solitary wooden bier that stood in the center of Hyrwl. Duke Greyclaw and Inelliron—the regent—walked side by side. By necessity, he was in on everything. Did I trust him? Absolutely not. Was it my decision to make? Unfortunately, no.
Me? I was glad to see the bastard burn. But we had to maintain certain perceptions. The body lying there was supposed to be a hero. The body lying there was supposed to be the rightful Baron, a man who had died from wounds taken while fighting an imposter. Of course, none of that was exactly true. This was the rightful Baron, but he was no hero.
Justice and L’Aurel followed, at the back of the procession. The rest of us were to maintain our distance—we didn’t want to get caught in the same game of perception that the Duke was so gleefully playing in. By the time the sun had silhouetted the bier, the procession had stopped. To say that a crowd had gathered was an understatement. This was as close as most people ever got to the pomp and ceremony of the high-born. Well, they were up to their @sses in it, now.
The crowd was silent…or at least as silent as a crowd can be. The solemnity of the occasion was enough to keep all but a few of the smaller yaps firmly shut. I was angry—so angry I could have screamed. We had just done this, although the last time it had been for someone who deserved it. My teeth ground against each other as I thought of the honor we were giving to this bastard—elevating him to the same status as the Woodshadow. Spend you’re whole life fighting, and you too can be remembered among the ranks of villainous bastards like Edriss Kiva.
After a moment of silence, one of the priests stepped forward, out of the semicircle. Old, wrinkled, her skin was paper-thin, almost transparent with age. Stark white hair was tied behind the pointed ears of her people, but she spoke with a voice that was used to filling spaces. “We are gathered here to guide Edriss Kiva, once Baron, Lord of Hyrwl, to the everlasting embrace of the Light. Though flesh is ash, the soul is Light. Through flame, we free the Light and return the flesh to ash.”
She raised her hands high above her head, saying, “Baron Kiva has helped us from the shadow that overtook our homes, and through his actions, we have found new strength, and a new place to call home. For these things alone, the Light has guaranteed him a place at the side of His throne, at the right hand of heroes.” I almost laughed.
Her hands fell, and as they did, the semicircle closed, priests igniting their hands, Justice, L’Aurel, Inelliron, and the Duke solemnly carrying torches forward. I saw the flames before I saw the body, reaching skyward, and then blending in with the still-rising sun. The body blackened, sending it’s acrid, sour smell outward in all directions. I loosened my bowstring, but didn’t drop the bow. Never trust the dead.
The elf woman spoke once more. “As these flames reach toward heaven, so goes the soul of this hero!” As she finished, the uneasy silence broke in the crowd. I heard sobs—wailing refugees. They were actually crying for that bastard! Well, they were crying for what they thought that bastard was. I suppose that’s not quite the same thing.
Before I could grind my teeth down to nothing, the Duke put a stop to the crying. Thank the Light! Stepping forward, his dark features even darker in contrast with the roaring flames behind him, he shouted, “The loss of Baron Kiva will be keenly felt! Yet, before he died, he shared a great secret with me! Baron Kiva came here to take the seat, but not to hold it!”
This was just like he had rehearsed last night. In his private quarters. You never really know who you can trust.
“This Barony was held in trust for nearly a millennium, awaiting the return of the blood of the Woodshadow. That blood has returned, and stands among us even now! Though two heroes have fallen in as many days, there are many heroes that remain! One of your saviors has carried a secret, her grandfather’s trust, for all of her life…and now, in your time of need, she has returned to take her grandfather’s abandoned throne!”
I heard murmurs in the crowd, then. Confusion. Who was he talking about?
I knew. We all did—we had carefully constructed each lie, shrouding them in truth. I shudder to think that the sages will never know the truth, but necessity is a powerful thing. We did what we had to do.
“L’Aurel, one of our saviors, is the reason that Baron Kiva hurried from Crisoth. L’Aurel Woodshadow, true Baroness of Hyrwl.” I saw nods, smiles. I even heard a few cheers, probably from those few people who had already forgotten what was burning behind the Duke.
He continued, “L’Aurel Woodshadow has come to take the barony, L’Aurel Wooshadow has come to lead us to victory, safety, with all the blessings of the true Throne of the Falcon Kingdom!” That last was splitting hairs. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but a good portion of it was based on a guess. The night before, we had decided that Jaine Rhynn would have been happy to have one of the King’s baronies under our control. As long as that was true, we could lay a claim to the blessing of the throne, even if we were pretty sure that Tain would be screaming his head off when he heard. Oh well. He’ll probably live. The ones you wish wouldn’t always do.
They bought it, and then they cheered until Edriss was no more than the ash that the old priests are always telling us we really are. Then, they went back to life, back to building a city in the wilderness, and praying for safety from the dark army that had taken their homes. I was doing my part to help them. We all were. Light forgive us for what we do.
As the crowd scattered, I dropped from my perch, and hugged the shadows all the way out of town. I skirted the camp, watching, waiting for trouble. That was when I felt it. A cold, wet nose, pressing itself onto the back of my neck. Hot breath, with the stench of old meat almost overwhelming me.
I turned, slowly, trying not to startle the beast. I expected to see something much smaller…but infinitely less friendly. It was Greylocke, the beast that had guarded Link’s stronghold. The wolf was enormous—big as a horse, and a big horse at that. The hot breath escaped from between ivory, dagger-sharp teeth.
A little hesitantly, I gave the Direwolf a pat on the head, and tried to go back to watching, guarding. The damned thing knocked me over, onto my face. By the time I got up, it had a bone in its mouth (easily 2 feet long—I don’t know what it had killed, but it was even bigger than the wolf), and its tail was wagging.
I kept trying to go back to watching, but Greylocke was insistent. Fetch it was, until the sun set behind the trees.
