~ The Woodlander ~

by

Robert Nugent

The Woodlander gazed at the shattered knight but said nothing. His mind was racing as his body was shattered. He was bleeding heavily from his own wounds as the life drained from him. The fire that had given false energy during the battle was extinguished. He had never felt so frail. He stumbled through the courtyard with Elamore. So much death! The world splattered red with blood and pain.

A dozen guards came rushing up to the gates, and they were duly sealed off. They were safe this hour. Any men of Loranth that lived still were hobbling back to that country. Crowds of women and children rushed up from the depths to tend to the wounded and to search the faces of the living and the dead for their loved ones. The lord was taken away by two middle-aged women, learned in the craft of healing.

It was insanity once more but of a different kind, and the Woodlander stood amid it all, alone--broken but still living. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind as he gazed upon the world of men with a raised brow. What answers did they have now? It seemed that to sustain life, another’s must be taken. Today they were victorious, but the cost was huge.

Death! Where did they all go when the breaths ceased--above to the clouds or down to the depths of hell? He looked at the young faces that lay still. Men who would never again look upon the green valleys or touch the summer streams. Men who would never again make love to a woman, nor laugh nor sing, nor tell old tales. As he thought all this, the Woodlander collapsed. The weight of his armor had suddenly become too much. His mind and body could no longer take it. So on his back he lay--blinking up at the clear night as groans rang out all around him.

“Anuren,” began a strong voice beside him.

He turned to find the face of Tristan, wearing something between a smile and a wince. He lay propped on another body. Blood ran from a deep slice in his torso, but the knight seemed to have plenty of life left. The Woodlander was delighted to see him.

“Tristan... you live!”

“Yes,” he grunted, “until the next time. We fought as kings today, my pale friend. As kings!”

“I do not feel very well.”

“Yes,” struggled the young knight as he broke into a laugh. “But it will be fine. Look! Here come some excellent ladies to take care of us.”

“I love women,” mumbled the Woodlander as he closed his eyes to the sounds of life and death. He drifted away to the darkness and dreams. He could no longer hear the cries and laughter of bodies coming and going in the swirling victorious night. He felt himself being lifted up. There were only the voices of women, soft and beautiful. And he loved women.