Free Devastating Hate by Markus Heitz Page B

has to hear about my leaving the troops for a few moments of unendingness. I’ll travel in secret. Please! It’ll be some time, anyway, before the scouts return with their reports about Tark Draan. We’d have to wait . . .”
    “Off you go!” Caphalor interrupted. “Go now and see Timanris. Embrace her and see that she is well protected so you never go through what I did.” He placed his hand on his friend’s arm. “You have been given a taste of what it means to lose a loved one. May it never become a reality for you.”
    Carmondai observed the nostàroi closely. They care about each other—true friends, although they are so different.
    “I thank you. I am in your debt. I’ll stay until after the briefing session, then I’ll head off. I’ll go in disguise and keep it quiet.” Sinthoras hurried out.
    Caphalor read Carmondai’s thoughts. “Please do not record that Sinthoras is leaving; not now at any rate. Perhaps in the future, when we have conquered Tark Draan, it will be appropriate to tell of this venture. It would not go down well with the army to know that their general is leaving the field for personal reasons.”
    “Wasn’t he correct about the scouts still having to—?”
    Caphalor broke in and this time it was not a request, but an order. “Why don’t you go and watch the Goldsteel Unit in training? Write what you like about that, but don’t mention Sinthoras’s visit to Dsôn. I want you to regard this as a secret we three share.”
    You are telling me what to do. Again. As if I were just a secretary. Carmondai inclined his head. What would you do if I gave your secret away, I wonder? “As you command, Nostàroi.” He slapped his folder shut and put away his writing implement. One day you will come to see that your authority is merely lent to you and can be removed on a whim. You are an instrument of your rulers’ power, just as I was once. “As there is still time before the meeting I’ll go and change.” He turned, on the point of leaving the hall.
    “If you have some free time in the next few evenings, I’d like to talk to you about Enoïla,” came the milder voice of Caphalor from behind him. “It is right that her memory be preserved for posterity. I would never have been made Nostàroi if it had not been for her. The whole nation should know this. She deserves it.”
    “Gladly.” Carmondai left the hall swiftly and went to his quarters to change his stinking clothing.
    One thing was certain: this campaign was providing everything a successful epic needed.

C HAPTER III
    The Goldsteel Unit of Friends—I had thought they were the stuff of legend.
    But I saw them myself. These warriors were proud and beautiful and splendid. I shall never forget how they looked in their armor, with the light of never-ending love in their eyes.
    One hundred and fifty couples; male and male, female and female. Wonderful and deadly.
    Blessed by the Inextinguishables and bound to each other by the greatest affection and the noblest of feelings, they defied endingness in the belief they would spend eternity in each other’s company.
    And their fighting prowess is without compare.
    Where a sword is wielded by mere strength and pure reason, love is a thousand times more powerful.
    For love will kill to protect love.
    There can be no more formidable incentive.
    Excerpt from the epic poem The Heroes of Tark Draan
    composed by Carmondai, master of word and image
    Tark Draan (Girdlegard), to the southeast of the Gray Mountains,
    4371 st division of unendingness (5199 th solar cycle),
    late summer.
    Morana looked toward the northeast where a vast plain stretched out to the horizon, warm yellow in the evening sunlight, as if gold were the crop to be harvested. There was a large barbarian settlement on the edge of the plain. My quarters for the night. My hunting ground, too.
    She felt uneasy; she was not in her normal protective armor, she hated the elf costume she was forced to wear and she had had to