As it is currently unfinished, feel free to comment any suggestions of what should happen as it goes on.
Kalen ran his thumb along his sword blade. Newly sharpened, newly cleaned, it looked as he had seen it a thousand times, but he knew he would never look at it the same way again. Today, it had shed blood. Of course, that was nothing new for the sword. He stared at his reflection in the blade; it was something new for him, though. Enjoy childhood while you have it, for once you become a man, there is no going back, his father had warned him in years past when he had begged to go with him to battle. He had never fully understood him until now. He was a man now--a warrior. All he had ever wanted to be but all he could think of was those he had killed. He had been taught as long as he could remember that the Fellyrians, with a few rare exceptions, were more beast than man, and yet the pain and fear he had seen in their eyes as he tore his blade out was so, so very human. The last one was the hardest. He had looked so young: beardless, lean, his eyes full of the wonder, fear, and confusion Kalen was sure his own eyes had held--it was that boy's first battle too. Could they really be so very different?
He had promised to tell Syriel every detail of the battle, but now it pained him to even think about it. He could imagine how she would berate him for his cowardice if he told it as he most wanted to. He could not make it sound glorious. They had ambushed and killed some fifty or so warriors and lost only fourteen men. It sounded impressive enough, but the fight itself had been a slaughter. Nearly half of the Fellyrian force was dead before they even drew their weapons. They had been eating their breakfast when they were attacked. Casual conversation and even laughter had betrayed their position and damned them. Kalen could imagine too clearly how they must have felt, what they must have thought, as their killers descended on them. But Syriel would see it differently--as would all who looked on it from a distance.
Syriel was his closest friend, and, though she never said so, he knew that he was her only real friend. She had no shortage of men who wanted rather more than her friendship, but, for that same reasons, she had a definate shortage of female friends. She had laughed at the attention her beauty won until almost three years ago when the King of Elni had asked for her hand in marriage. He was a obese man, more than twice her age, with a greedy, cowardly heart, and she despised him. Her father, Taldyr, the army commander, had refused immediately, despite threats and a ominous promise that, if Syriel did not marry the king, she would never find a husband. From that moment on, much to her father's distress, she had set her heart on a glorious warrior's life and death. Taldyr had taught her the use of weapons and armor, but still he refused to let her march with the army. Kalen knew why: That was how Taldyr had lost his wife--she had been beheaded before his eyes in the heat of battle when Syriel was scarcely more than a baby. He refused to speak of the battles to Syriel, causing her to depend entirely on Kalen for such news. Now, at twenty-one she was almost past the age for marrying, and insisted that she was well past any desire for marriage. With her five years his elder and resigned to an unmarried life, and he but newly discovering a desire for marriage, and both of them having lost their mother, they had a good, solid friendship without the slightest risk of ever becoming anything more than friends.
"Kalen?" Taldyr's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Yes, Captain?"
"Are you well?"
"Yes--yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be? I wasn't hurt--except this and it's nothing." Kalen showed Taldyr the long scratch he had received on the back of the hand from his own mail coat.
"This was your first battle. The first is always the hardest. You go into battle with thoughts and dreams of glory, and find only blood and death."
Kalen paused for a long moment, then spoke, "I feel like a murderer. I killed at least six men. I saw the pain and fear in their eyes and I can only think of the lives I have ended. Perhaps they had wives and children--or parents--waiting and hoping for their safe return. How are they so different from us? Why must we kill them?"
Taldyr looked away. "You are right, Kalen. They are not so very different from us. They are but men like us, with all the same hopes and dreams and fears as any other. If I met one of them alone in the forest, I would not kill him, but this is war. War changes many things. We must fight or let the free world fall to Fellyre. War costs many lives, but to surrender would be a greater evil. Our people would be bought and sold as slaves, and all who worshiped Ithien would die. It is not wrong to grieve for the lives lost in war, both friends and foes, but do not let that grief drive you to condemn those who fight against evil."
"That's the problem. I cannot see those we fight against as evil."
"The Fellyrian people are no more evil in nature than any other men. The evil is Fellyre. The government and religion it seeks to spread would destroy our people."
"So we must kill people we can see to fight that which we can't see?"
"Yes. We fight because we must, Kalen. There is no other way. Zerak is determined to conquer the Selvran Plains, then, doubtless, the mountains and the world." He fell silent for a moment, then continued, "Syriel has asked you to tell her of the battle, I know. What will you tell her?"
"I need tell her nothing if you tell her. You are the commander. You could tell it better than any of us, and she is your daughter. She wants you to tell her. She doesn't understand why you will not talk of the battles."
"But you understand why. Tell her if you want. She does not listen to me any more. All she wants is war. She does not know what it's really like. Tell her, Kalen. Teach her to look on it as you do. Maybe then she will not want it so much."
"I can't change her mind, Captain. You need to let her go to war. Let her see it for herself. That's the only way she'll ever believe it."
"I can't. She's my only family. I cannot risk losing her like I did her mother. Did you know I once had a sister? She and I grew up together after our parents' deaths. We looked out for each other. The king, a young man at that time, wanted her, but she refused him and chose a young man who he despised. The king arranged her husband's death, and she was never the same afterwards. My Ryenna tried to comfort her--they were both with child, so she helped and supported her, but it wasn't enough. Finally, she wandered off into the forest with her unborn child and neither of them were ever seen or heard from again. Then Ryenna died and all I had was Syriel. If she died, I would die. I cannot lose her."
Kalen shook his head, but could think of no reply. He had told Syriel many times: Your father loves you. He just wants to protect you. He's afraid of losing you. She never listened, and he knew he could not make her.
At noon the next day, the army returned to Elni. There was the usual cheers and embraces, the typical short speech from the king they all disdained, but Kalen heard most clearly the weeping of those who looked for their loved ones and did not find them. Only fourteen men lost. It had sounded impressive--like a cause of celebrating--but now he only heard fourteen men. Fourteen families broken. Fourteen. They were not all actually men--three had been women, and he could see two soldiers standing alone and miserable, knowing their wives were no more, wondering if they could have saved them.
"Kalen!" He turned just in time to welcome Syriel's hug. She held him at arms length the way his mother used to. "You're not even hurt! I knew you'd be a good soldier. Come on, tell me all about it."
"You'll hear about it at the victory feast tonight."
"You know how victory speeches go--we lost so many, we killed so many, we're alive, let's drink. I want detail. Tell me, was it exciting? Did you kill any? What does it feel like to be in the heat of battle?"
"It was exciting in a horrible way. I killed about six. It didn't feel at all like what I expected." He replied abruptly. After a pause, he continued. "Your father was right, Syriel. War is terrible thing. I saw more death yesterday than I ever want to see again."
Syriel was silent for a long moment. "My father told you to tell me that, didn't he?" She said at length. "I wish he would stop it. I'm doing nothing here at home. I'm just sitting around and cooking meals and hoping the King doesn't stop by. I feel like I'm stifling! We used to have fun--remember when we used to hunt together and you would teach me to use swords and bows and I taught you to carve wood? But now, with you away with the army, and the king's men stalking around watching my every move, I'm desperate for a getaway. I'd rather be getting hacked to pieces fighting the enemy than just sit around here and rot. Have you ever considered what will become of me if something happens to my father? There would be nothing to protect me from the king."
"Nothing will happen to your father. He's the best swordsman in the Elni--likely in the whole Selvran Plains. And the king isn't about to take you by force. He's unpleasant enough, but he isn't evil."
"Isn't he? He had my uncle hung for marrying a woman he wanted. And he threatened to remove my father from his command if he refused to hand me over. I wouldn't be surprised if he has a man watching me right now. At first he just disgusted me, but now he frightens me. If my father is out of the way, I know he will take me--unless I am in the army. You know the law. Unless a soldier behaves dishonorably, he cannot be removed from the army against his will. My father thinks the army is a danger to me, but it may prove my only protection."
"Have you told your father this?"
"That I think the army is safer than the city? Or that I'm scared of King Dyestan? He knows I'm scared. And of course, he's promised over and over again that the king will only get to me over his dead body. And as for the army, he won't let me even mention it in the same room as him. He keeps saying that it's completely out of the question." She shook her head. "There's no use talking about it. I know my father isn't going to change his mind and I'm not either. Tell me about the battle. If you don't want to talk about your own fighting, tell me about my father."
"He was amazing--he is the best there is, no doubt about it," Kalen began, relieved by the change of topic. "I saw him fighting four men at once--it was like he had eyes everywhere--he could fight over his shoulder behind his back with more skill than a normal soldier can fight someone standing right in front of him. And he doesn't just stick to his sword and shield--he'll use anything. He brought down the Fellyrian general by choking him with his own cloak. No one could get close enough to give him so much as a scratch. Your father is an amazing man, Syriel."
"I don't doubt it. I only wish he would give me the chance to be like him--to wield a sword shield, or even a cloak in defense of the free cities." She ran one hand through her hair then turned to Kalen with a forced smile. "But you can hardly change that. There's no use complaining. We should do something fun now that you're finally back. Do you think your father can spare you for an evening?"
"Well, I'll ask--is he in the house?"
"Yes--and I'm sure he's waiting for you. You'd better go--he'll be thinking you got killed!"
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