I can hear the western wind,

What has it to say?

What happy news and joyful tales

Does it bear us today?

Only silence can I hear,

No laughter in its breath.

The voice has turned to winter’s chill

And carries naught but death.

For out of Arzon’s barren dunes,

The realm of ashen sands,

Came Iron Crown’ed Xeranon

In search of fairer lands.

The son of mighty Gharahdash,

Of Rehdo was he lord.

That fell morn he passed its gates

Bearing lance and sword.

Ahead a host one-thousand strong

Of horses and of men,

All concealed in daemon masks,

He led them onward then.

Flowing mantle round his neck,

His waist, a scarlet belt,

Sable leather gird his legs

‘Neath a shirt of azure felt.

Cross the desert marched the men.

At Tsenith they set sail

Until a vi’lent storm blew them

From the isles of Meraveil.

Thence they turned their fell intent

To Borsul’s verdant height.

But the perils of that mount

Drove them back that night.

Defeated twice, yet boldened thrice,

Was desp’rate Xeranon.

Gazing east, what should he find

But the fields of Celevahn?

O woe to the day when Xeranon found

His sandaled feet on Celevahni ground!

O woe to the women of Gilgith bred!

Weep for your children lying ‘mong the dead!

Across the fields of Celevahn

The flames of Arzon raged.

Great was the calamity

Which Xeranon uncaged.

Women, Men, and children all

Cut down in his attack.

The cold-blooded atrocity

Took all the land aback.

Dismayed was old King Arrodale

When news soon reached his ears

Of Arzon’s wanton pillaging

And of his peoples’ tears.

With all due haste, advisors came

To their monarch’s worried side.

He asked them each what he should do

And sev’rally they replied.

One urged the king to meet Arzon

Upon the battlefield,

To gather all his men for war,

The royal sword to wield.

Another bid him messengers

Send out across the land,

Alerting allies to their plight

And bring them close at hand.

The third of caution calmly spoke,

that there may yet be peace.

That Xeranon might hear their terms

And would his conquest cease.

But Arrodale, in folly great,

Heeded but one vizier:

Silver-toung’ed Ziniodel,

His friend of many a year.

“My lord must tend unto his own,”

Spoke the spine-less snake,

“Safety lies in Gilgith’s walls.

Its fastness sur’ed make.

 Gather all your fighting men

And all the best provender.

Strengthen then the city walls.

We’ll fall to no contender.

Then may Arzon rage away

And flail with all its strength.

They shall break against our walls

And be turned back at length.

Why should we risk your royal blood,

And indeed our treasury,

Just to save some hamlet farms

And conserve the peasantry?”

This advice the king thought best

And very soon decreed

That every archer and every knight

Attend to his great need.

And not a lord, nor duke, nor baron

Dared defy their liege.

Instead they all to Gilgith went

To wait the coming siege.

All the while Arzon came,

Across the hills they swept,

And in the face of coming wrath,

The people moaned and wept.

In vain they looked up to the north

For Arrodale and his knights,

But never a gleam of hope did come

From on those distant heights.

Curse’ed be the coward, King Arrodale!

May his reign fall short and his bloodline fail!

Yellow-hearted, from Arzon did he fly

Leaving lands to burn and his people die.

So it was each passing day

Nearer Gilgith drew

Xeranon’s almighty host.

The list of victims grew.

Those who survived ran on before

The coming Arzon squall

Until they reached the royal burg:

Stately Gilgith’s wall.

Desperate they beat the gate,

“Hurry!  Hurry!  Open wide!

The foe behind us comes!

Oh, please let us inside!”

But Arrodale, in mortal fear,

Kept the doors shut tight.

For well he knew that Xeranon

Would come that very night.

“Flee!  Flee!  Leave at once!” he cried

Atop the parapet

“You shall find no succor here!

No service shall you get!

For Xeranon is fast behind,

Will bring his weight to bare

Right upon these very walls

And ‘gainst this city fair.

If you value life so much

Then better get you hence.

Tis best you elsewhere find yourself

Before the siege commence.

Or if you’d rather give your life

Unto a greater end,

Remain standing where you are

And to this purpose tend:

To fend from us all Arzon’s blows,

Enact a sort of a shield,

Sparing us from meager strikes

Out in the bloody field.

Whate’er you do concerns me not,

For death awaits you all.

You are each in its embrace.

Accept it or forestall.

But here in Gilgith we’ll remain

To weather Arzon’s war.

We shall strive to see it through

And live forevermore!”

Those poor folk there trapped below

Raised up a mournful clamor,

Despairing now that they were caught

‘Tween anvil and the hammer.

Some in madness turned and fled,

Flying hither and yon.

Others turned upon their doom,

facing it head-on.

For marching through the darkest night

Came the Arzon horde.

And riding fore the ashen ranks

Was its dreadful lord.

What terror fell on Celevahni folk

That drove them mad, insanity provoke.

The flames of Arzon exacted their toll,

Melting sense from mind and courage from soul.

The Lord of Rehdo stood before

The Celevanhi throng.

To Gilgith’s wall his challenge rose

with spear tip, eight feet long.

“Mark, you men of Gilgith, Mark!

Pay heed to what I say!

For know that doom and destruction

Has come for you today.

How pitifully fat and weak

Off verdant fields you’ve grown.

Yet have I grown stronger still

From endless trials I’ve known.

From Arzon’s silver dunes I hail,

From Rehdo’s gates I came.

The lineage of Gharadash,

Xeranon is my name.

Even from my mother’s womb

Was I untimely ripped

And upon that curse’ed day

Of rightful station stripped.

From that day on have I lived

In circumstances mean.

Yet my common, base milieu

But made my sword more keen.

From the barren desert wastes

To Rehdo’s greatest height

Fought I with those who wrong’ed me

To claim my true birthright.

With traitors’ blood upon my head

Was I crowned “king of kings”.

And in a dream was it made known

I was meant for greater things.

In that dream I stood before

The Sun God’s radiant throne.

And in his glorious, blinding light

My future was foreshown.

He instilled within my breast

His searing, cleansing fire

To spread across this pagan world

And fuel its funeral pyre.

Tis I who would reclaim these lands

For the Sun God’s chosen folk

Driving out its false tenants,

Your paltry claims revoke.

I’ll cleanse your stain on Celevahn

As I burn and smelt it pure.

I will not rest til Gilgith’s walls

Lie buried in manure.

Now utter what vain prayers you may

Weep and gnash your teeth;

For as long live Celevahn

My sword shant rest in sheath.”

The final word of challenge spoke

Was all defense undone.

Knight and peasant ran to hide

Til none dared stand but one.

What was their name and from whence did they hail?

What held them resolute where others quail?

What twists of fate bore that lonely soul on

Before the awful wrath of Xeranon?

At first the Lord of Rehdo

Did not this figure see,

So small in form and stature,

Not even five foot three.

Cloth’ed all in sullied rags

Reaching hardly to her knees.

Her dusty hair, like wild wheat,

Writh’ed freely in the breeze.

A rusty woodsman’s ax she kept

In tightly clench’ed fist.

Her eyes enflamed in darting glare,

A defiant challenge hissed.

“By all means, keep coming on

If it is death you seek.”

Xeranon looked down upon

The one who dared to speak.

“What is your name, urchin filth,

and from whence you hail?

Your soul shall be the first

I rip from mortal veil.”

Then said the woman in reply,

“Why should I give my name?

Your weapons hold no fear for me

Though they may break and maim.

Or do you think that you alone

Have suffered through your life?

That you alone can hold the claim

To every toil and strife?

Think you that entitles you

To all our lives and land?

That we owe you everything,

O lord of silver sand?

Is that what right you have to back

Your bloody, wild wish

To stake your claim on Celvahn?

How simply childish.

Listen well, Rehdo’s Lord,

Be shaken to your core.

All that you have suffer’ed

I’ve suffered ten times more.

Never had I mother known.

From womb was I left to die

Alone in the southern woods,

No one to hear my cry.

Until the woodsmen took me in,

Restored my meager health.

They raised me as best they could

Despite their lack of wealth.

Long I labored in the wood,

My axe to hardy trees,

Providing harsh-demanded logs;

So seldom had I ease.

Few days of comfort lived

In the dark forest

Where my strength and wit were put

Ever to mortal test.

Where bear and wolf were often loose

And bloody madmen rife,

Hid in shadows in the brush

To claim my very life.

How often did I wake to see

Some dreadful nightmare sight?

To find an old, beloved friend

All ripped up in the night?

Few friends had I that liv’ed long

But many that fell ill

To those common, deadly plagues

That so often kill.

And with those same maladies

Was my body often racked,

Left to suffer miserably

For medicine we lacked.

Never had I men to command

Nor title to redeem,

As I toiled ‘mong the trees,

No better life to dream.

But I will not bemoan my lot

Nor of my days repent,

For though I had scant more than aught

At least I was content.

But now those woods are dead and gone,

To memories they turn

After you and all your wild men

Set each one to burn.

What little shreds that once were mine

You’ve laid a greedy claim.

And now on top of everything

You still demand my name.

But this last scrap I freely give:

I bid you mark it well,

Remember Lithrene I am called

As I send you back to Hell.”

At the woman’s haughty words

Xeranon cruelly scoffed.

Around he turned his darkling steed,

And held his spear aloft.

With a flourish for his men,

He wheeled round the green.

Then at once he spurred his horse

To charge at lone Lithrene.

In sport he passed her close nearby,

Weapon scraping past her ear.

Yet she stood still resolute,

Quaking not with fear.

Next pass, he spared her yet again

Striking with spear shaft blunt.

Still she held on to her ground

And did naught more than grunt.

Xeranon did by then

Lose interest in his play.

He drove his horse one final time,

His purpose but to slay.

As the rider thundered near,

Lithrene did not blanch.

Instead she lifted meager arm

To thwart the avalanche.

She hewed his weapon at the tip

Then as hard as at any tree

She deftly drove her rusted ax

In the mount’s expose’ed knee.

The beast shrieked in mortal pain

As weapon made its tear.

The charger toppled to the ground

Throwing rider in the air.

As he hurtled cross the sky

With dismayed wail he cried.

His spear shaft broke beneath his weight;

One end stabbed into his side.

Though a fountain of his blood

Rained upon the field

Xeranon yet drew his sword;

Determined not to yield.

Their weapons clashed in fierce melee,

But Lithrene’s was unfit.

In just one solid, savage blow

The sword through axe blade bit.

She ducked beneath his cleaving blow

And, grabbing spear’s impaling part,

Leaned upon it as a lever,

And thrust it up into his heart.

His mouth agape in noiseless scream,

Lips stained in stream of red,

Her foe collapsed onto the earth

And his spirit quickly fled.

Now shalt all the daughters of Rehdo weep.

Into once-glad hearts shall misery creep.

Their souls will wilt and minds be made aghast

When they will know Xeranon breathed his last.

The hosts of Arzon were dismayed

Yet not a man fell back.

To revenge fallen Xeranon

They marched on to attack.

Lithrene stood there all alone,

Stooping only to lay hold

Of her fallen foe’s dark blade

With its hilt of inlaid gold.

Hyuldis was its given name

From ages now long gone.

Forged from heart of fallen star

Of metal silver shone.

And now that very sword was held

In Celevahni hands.

Nevermore would it return

To Arzon’s ashen lands.

When soldiers saw the sword

By Lithrene held on high

They spoke together, of one voice.

Enrage’ed was their cry.

“Death to the woman of Celevahn,

To the one who killed our lord!

We shall rip her flesh from bone

And reclaim his stolen sword!”

Lithrene would have been lost that day

If not from Gilgith’s wall

Brave-hearted Ciridain witnessed

The Lord of Rehdo’s fall.

And when he saw the woman bold

Alone before the crowd,

He turned around to face his knights

And spoke these words aloud:

“My brothers, Men of Celevahn,

Why stand you all dismayed?

Why cower we within these walls

While foes outside parade?

Our swords should unsheath’ed be,

Our bows with arrows strung.

Instead we sit around aimless,

Our heads asham’ed hung.

While our duties are fulfilled

By a young, untrain’ed maid

Who, at this moment, stands alone

In desperate need of aid

Lest she should fall to Arzon blades;

Her valiance be in vain.

Is it not fit that we should save

the Lord of Rehdo’s bane?

To arms, Celevahn!  To arms!

Let not a moment waste.

Let trumpets sound and drummers beat

As we ride out in haste.

Let the gates be torn asunder

Unleashing our full force.

Then let the archers to the walls

And every knight to horse.

Rest assured the days is ours,

Victory all but won,

So long as we all join in arms

For the sake of Celevahn!”

Lord Ciridain’s words lit a flame

In the breast of all who heard.

Not a man within earshot

Was not to action spurred.

The herald blew resounding blast

Upon his golden horn

That echoed far across the land

As came the shining morn.

At the sound, the hosts of Arzon quailed

And halted their advance.

As their foes were marshaling

They took defensive stance.

Then Gilgith’s gates were opened wide

And all its knights rode through

While from top the parapet

A volley of arrows flew.

They bravely charged the Arzon ranks

With Lithrene in the lead;

Lord Ciridain was close behind

Upon his ivory steed.

Before their awesome, peerless strength

Their enemies could not stand.

Scores on scores were those who fell

By the sword in Lithrene’s hand.

So were the invaders overthrown,

From Celevahn driven out.

Many numbered ‘mong the dead;

Few escaped the rout.

And of those few, none e’er returned

With word of mortal cost

To chill the souls of Arzon’s folk,

To tell of whom they lost.

But in Gilgith rose a cheer

For those who came in glory,

Praising those who won the day

And brought them victory.

“Praises be to Ciridain

Who rode despite our king,

Who valiantly faced the Arzon horde

And did salvation bring!

And greater still we praise the one

Who’s fit to be our queen:

The one who laid low Xeranon,

Our hero named Lithrene!”

To the four winds we offer up this praise

That her song may ring to the end of days.

For such a great hero has never been:

This woman of the south, the Great Lithrene!

Our greatest hero is she, Queen Lithrene!