The War Between Renland and Narthania

The young woman sighed wearily, looking about her. It was hard to believe that things had once grown here. It had been a cornfield, but now it was a field of a different sort. Bodies of the dead and dying littered the ground. There was scarcely room to place her feet as she stepped over those she had been unable to save to reach those who still had a hope. She was tired. She had tended to so many already, but she couldn't stop yet. There were still those who needed her. All across the field, young girls like her carried buckets of water and supplies. Everyone who could had come, ready to do their part. No one, regardless of rank or ability, was free from duty. By choice or not, it was everyone's war.

She brushed the back of her hand across her forehead, trying to remove some of the sweat. Instead, she streaked her face with dirt and others' blood. She hated war. She hated it with a passion that she had never felt before, a hatred so consuming she sometimes feared herself for it.

Until this year, she had never hated before.

Until this year, she had never seen war before.

It was ridiculous, this war. Of all the things the young nurse thought worth dying for, the tiny province of Rhysland was not one of them. It was poor country, hard to farm and reluctant to yield more than it had to. The Rhyslanders were a stubborn race, stronger and more obstinate than any the girl had ever met. They had to be. Anyone weaker-willed either gave up or died.

Historically, the province had been shared by the two countries on either side of it. No one could remember a time when it truly belonged to either. Renlanders and Narthanians lived there together, each struggling to survive as best they could and obeying the laws of the country to which they claimed allegiance. It was an odd system, but for the past hundred years it had worked.

Respectfully, the girl had voiced her opinions on the validity of the war. Renland and Narthania had never fought over borders before, so why had they started now? She had been told to mind her place, which she should have expected. The king had decided Rhysland was worth fighting for, and apparently the Lord of Renland had agreed. And here they were, with the countries' youths dying in the mud.

The young woman heard a moan off to her left and she turned, remembering her purpose. She walked towards the sound, carefully stepping over an arm, the carcass of a horse, and a head that was missing its body. She had learned not to think about what she saw after the first time she'd discovered just how much her stomach held at one time and exactly how it felt coming back up.

When she reached the soldier, her breath stopped in her throat. He was one of the enemy, no older than she, and he was as badly wounded as any she'd seen yet. She couldn't see a part of his body that wasn't covered in blood. He looked up at her, his eyes pleading for mercy. His lips were too cracked for him to speak.

Nodding, she knelt beside him. Taking a strip of cloth, she gently wiped the blood and sweat from his mouth. She smiled softly at him, and brought a cup of water to his lips. He drank eagerly –too eagerly, and he began to cough. She waited, and when he had quieted she helped him to drink again. This time she was more careful, and he did not choke. He smiled up at her, contented, and she tried not to cry. He was not the first she'd seen who had no chance, who was too young to die. But the grateful smile on his bruised and bloodied face was a hard sight, and her heart was not hardened yet.

She took his hand gently and held it for a moment before she stood up. The young nurse didn't attempt to bandage his wounds; there were too many, and she would run soon out of cloth. She would have liked to stay by his side as he died, but there were others to help. Always, there were others to help.

The rising sun illumined the field. Not far from her, she could see the commander of the Narthanian forces giving orders to a young soldier. Hesitantly, she made her way towards him. What she was about to do was unquestionably foolish, and probably plainly stupid. But she had to ask.

She stood beside him until he noticed her, unconsciously mimicking the soldiers' position of attention. After a moment he saw her and turned, pausing his conversation with the young corporal. “Yes, milady?” the Captain said politely.

“Captain,” the girl asked, her chin raised so she could look into his eyes as he answered, “why is there an enemy infantryman dying over there?” She was sure he was not the only one, but he was the first she'd seen. It had surprised her.

The officer smiled indulgently, and she saw immediately that his would not be an answer that she would like. “Because our soldiers did their duty on the battlefield, milady.” He regarded her with fond amusement, as if she were a very young daughter who had just asked a child's question. Perhaps in his eyes she had.

She sighed and shook her head. He did not understand. “No, Captain. That is not what I meant. My question was why he is dying alone.”

“The Renlanders have retreated, my lady Elizabeth,” he explained with a tolerant smile.

“So?” she asked impatiently. “The battle's over, Captain. Why have they not come back? Why are they not tending to their wounded?”

“They dare not, milady.”

“I gathered that, sir, but what exactly are they afraid of?” Elizabeth was young yet, and she could not fathom why the enemy army would leave their men to die without a friend by their side. Narthania had sent many to aide their wounded and living alike. She did not understand why Renland had not done the same.

The captain was frustrated and tempted to respond sharply, but when he looked into her eyes and saw the childish hurt there he began to understand. “My lady,” he said gently, “they fear we would attack them if they returned.”

Elizabeth's eyes widened with horror. “But, Captain, we would never do that!” He didn't respond, simply looked at her with pity. “No,” she breathed inaudibly. Then, louder, “No! Captain, no, we can't! That's cruel. Captain,” she pleaded, “that's too cruel.” And he knew that she wanted him to agree, to say that Renland's fears were unfounded, to let her stay a child a little longer instead of facing more of the horrors that came with a war.

The captain knew this, and he wanted to comfort her as badly as she wanted to be comforted, but she could not remain a child any longer. This was her country, and she could not stay naïve about the ways of the world. Sixteen, going on seventeen, he could not shelter her. “Yes, milady,” he agreed sadly, “but wartime strategy is not kind, and a surprise attack could be enough to win the war.”

Elizabeth looked at him with a mixture of shock and betrayal, as if it were he who had decided upon this course of action. Then a stronger resolve entered the young nurse's heart, and she raised her chin, as if to say, “So be it! I am not a child, I can face this and survive! I am not a tender thing, I do not have to look the other way. I can accept this truth and seek to change it.” But what she actually said was directed at the young corporal standing next to the officer. “Give me your pike.”

He was so startled that his mouth fell open. It would have been comical if she weren't so intent upon her purpose. “What?” he asked, astounded. “My pike?”

“Yes, if you please, your pike. I would like it.”

The young man looked at his captain, then to her, then at his pike. Unsure, he looked back to the captain, who intervened. “My lady, I'm afraid I do not understand. You know he needs his pike to fight... my lady?” He hesitated; used to thinking of the young woman as a child, he was unnerved by this sudden strength and maturity she had found.

“God willing,” Elizabeth said, “he will not need it any more.” She took the weapon from him and turned away without another word. She knew her task and where she was going, although she couldn't say how or why she had so suddenly decided upon this course. But she knew she had to do it. With unexpected clarity, she understood the right thing to do.

Removing her white kerchief from her head and placing it on the ground, she took the long weapon and speared it. Raising it over her shoulder like a tattered banner, she headed west.

“My lady!” the captain called. “Milady Elizabeth! What are you doing?”

“Something that should have been done long ago,” she whispered, seeking courage in her heart and hoping she would not be challenged. God willing, they would let her go. God willing...

“Shall I go after her, sir?” she heard the young soldier ask.

His captain hesitated. “Probably,” he said slowly. “But... Corporal, do not stop her. Do you understand me?”

“But, sir...”

“I know. But if she succeeds... if she succeeds, and God willing she shall, then this war will be over. I can't believe she has a chance, and yet... son, protect her. But if you value your life and the lives of your comrades, do not stop her.”

The young soldier nodded. “Aye, sir.”

He jogged to catch up with the girl. “Milady?” he asked. “Mind some company?”

She looked at him, and he smiled gently. “Is the enemy camp this way?”

“Yes, milady, but it's quite a hike. It'll take you all morning to get there.”

“That's fine,” she said. “So long as I get there.”

He hesitated. “My lady, you know this is a fool's errand, don't you? I can't think of a single more dangerous thing than to walk into the enemy camp alone and unarmed.”

Elizabeth smiled softly, filled with a strange resolve. “I know. But I'm neither alone nor unarmed, Corporal. I have you, and I have a pike.”

He nodded, and they walked in silence.

It was farther than she had thought, Elizabeth realized. The Renlanders had obviously elected to keep their camp a safe distance from the battlegrounds. The Narthanians, with a stronger army, had stayed close. Well, so be it. It would give her a chance to think over exactly what she was doing, she reasoned. Better this way: If this was in fact a foolish mistake, it had best not be a hasty one. It could easily cost the girl her life.

She was, undoubtedly, not minding her place. She had been told frequently—and quite recently, in fact—to do just that. She was not entirely sure why she was disobeying her father and her king, not to mention every other person she knew. She was not entirely sure where she found the courage. But she knew it was necessary. This had to end.

The war had been in progress for two full weeks already. She had seen the wreckage left by eight larger battles and countless skirmishes. She had bandaged hundreds of wounds. Many young men from both sides had died in her arms. And she was tired of it. She had to do something, she had to try, she had to take the risk. It didn't matter if she lost her life, so long as she succeeded. The thought comforted her in a way she hadn't expected, and, cheered, she lifted the kerchief-tipped pike a little higher against her shoulder as she walked.

It was nearing midday when the two finally reached the enemy camp. The red sky of the cool, dewy morning had given way to a harshly blue sky dominated by a burning sun. Grey storm-clouds threatened mutiny on the northern horizon, but the relieving rain had not yet reached Rhysland. The breeze helped some, but still Elizabeth and her soldier were breathing heavily when they reached the top of the hill that looked down upon Renland's army.

Stiff white tents stretched in every direction, their canvas walls billowing and crackling in the wind. One tent stood taller than the others, located in the center of the line of officer's quarters. Ornamented with the bloodred stag of the crest of Renland, two guards flanked its entrance. A sentry paced rigidly in front of it along the eastern border of the camp.

Elizabeth looked at her soldier. “You can go back now,” she said gently. “You have done more than your duty, Corporal.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Better to die on a Renlander spear here than on the battlefield. At least here we can do some good, if they let us.”

Her face glowed with warmth at his stalwart support. “Thank you,” she told him softly. Then, hiking the pike higher above her head, she walked on.

“Think they see it?” she muttered as the sentry came to a standstill, and the two weary guards snapped to attention.

“I'm sure they do, milady,” he said, half wry and half respectful. “However I'm afraid they may not understand why.”

She returned his grin, surprised to find herself completely unafraid. She had been sure that fear would eventually come. Never had she been more thankful to be wrong. “Shall we?” she asked, mimicking the gallant air of a dancer at a ball. Her corporal nodded, amused by her tone, and slowly they approached the camp side-by-side.

The sentry looked at them, confused, and motioned for them to wait. Elizabeth sighed, impatient. Now that she had come, she didn't want to wait any longer. If she was going to lose her freedom or her head for this rash move, so be it, but she'd rather not have to wait for the pleasure.

Elizabeth could see the sentry shouting something desperate to the men inside the royal tent, but she couldn't hear what he was saying. Finally, he nodded to the two unexpected visitors, who drew nearer.

“You may present yourselves,” the sentry said in a pompous, formal voice as he stood at an exaggerated, nervous form of attention. It irritated Elizabeth, although she couldn't have said why.

“We are representatives of the royal house of Narthania,” Elizabeth said smoothly, equally formal. Her soldier looked at her in slight surprise, but true to training he said nothing.

“Are you unarmed?”

Irritated, Elizabeth fixed him with a glare she usually reserved for the unbelievably irritating and incredibly stupid. “I'm carrying a pike,” she said. “No, of course I'm not armed. Why would you ever think that?” Rolling her eyes, she handed it to him. “Here.”

He was visibly taken aback. A small bead of sweat dripped past his eyebrow, and he turned nervously to the corporal. “And yourself? Are you unarmed?”

The soldier's lips quirked, but with effort he resisted the urge to smile. Amusing as it was, this was no time for laughter. He was a soldier, and he was on duty. “Yes.”

“Please give me your weapons.”

“Wait,” Elizabeth said, placing her hand on his arm. “No. Keep your weapons, but stay here. Do not under any circumstances use your weapons, unless a life is in danger, and even then defend if you can. Do you understand?”

The corporal wanted to say no, he didn't, he was completely perplexed. But his training answered for him. “Yes, milady.”

She smiled, grateful. “Thank you. You are free to go at any time, and I'm thankful for your assistance this morning.”

He shook his head. “I'll be here, my lady.”

She nodded. “Thank you. May I enter?”

The sentry nodded, and she pushed aside the canvas door as she went inside the tent. She was surprised by what she saw. Ten men, gathered around an oval table filled with maps: the Renlander war council. They had been watching the door, waiting for her entrance. All were obviously on their guard.

Holding up her hands, Elizabeth spoke. “I am not here to fight anyone. I left my pike at the door.”

A tall man laughed. He was tall, with short, dark hair and bluest eyes. He was not particularly handsome, but he commanded attention. His smiling glance made Elizabeth furious. “You laugh?” she demanded. “I come under a banner of peace, risking my neck, and you laugh at me?”

The man sobered immediately, bowing his head in a silent apology. “Gentlemen, please leave us,” he said quietly. His council regarded him in shock, protesting like unwilling geese.

“Sir?”

“Lord Randolph?”

“My lord?”

“Go,” the Lord of Renland repeated firmly. To Elizabeth's relief, they obeyed. Then Lord Randolph turned to her. “What is it that the representative of Narthania wishes to tell me?” he asked formally, respectfully.

“Go tend to your wounded,” Elizabeth said, her voice suddenly rasping against her throat. Perhaps the fear had come at last.

Surprise widened Lord Randolph's eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Tend to your wounded! Stop letting them die alone.”

He regarded her steadily. “Nothing would please me more, but what assurance do I have that it is safe?”

“None. None, save custody of me. I've delivered myself into your hands; it should give you some power. I'm sure you can negotiate something with my king.” She met his eyes, and was ashamed that her own filled with tears. “This war can't continue, Lord Randolph. It's too cruel. Do whatever you have to with me, but don't let there be another battle. Please, my lord.” She was crying now, tears tumbling out of her eyes and down her cheeks against her will.

Lord Randolph shook his head in astonishment. “You are the most foolish girl I have ever met.” He met her gaze as he spoke, and she was surprised to see sadness reflected in his blue eyes. “You walk into the enemy camp alone and unarmed, turn yourself over to my custody, and tell me to collect my wounded and end the war.” He paused and sighed. “I would if I could, you know.”

“Would what, milord?”

“End it all. I'd give up Rhysland in a heartbeat if I could. It's no benefit to Renland—or Narthania, for that matter.”

“Then why are you and Father fighting over it?” Elizabeth asked. “Why did seventy die this morning alone? Why have hundreds been wounded? What's worth this, Randolph?” She was crying again, to her chagrin.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured, coming forward and taking her in his arms. “Sweet Elizabeth... neither of us meant for this to happen, I hope you know. He tried to tax the Renlanders of Rhysland, God only knows why, and they revolted the way they always do when asked to pay anything to either crown. I sent soldiers in to settle the crowds, with orders not to fire unless fired upon, and the next thing I knew we had a war.”

“He only wanted them to contribute to the repairs for the bridge over the Rhys River,” she murmured unhappily. Then she pulled back, meeting his eyes. “But, Randolph, you're nearly family. How could you and Father let this happen? Why didn't you talk about it?”

Randolph sat down on a hard wooden stool, looking defeated. “I don't know. I suppose we both became used to relying on ministers and officials to negotiate things, and of course they're all perfectly useless. Did you see the nervous twits I call a war council?”

She had to smile. Nodding, she said, “It was rather funny. They couldn't imagine why you would possibly want them out of the tent.” She added, “I don't believe any of them recognized me.”

“Count yourself lucky, girl. You'll walk out of here free, instead of as political prisoner as they would gladly have you.”

“Walk out? Randolph, I can't walk out. I can't go back, knowing that you and Father will let this continue!” She paused, biting her lip. “Do you know why I came?”

“Tell me.” He pointed to the chair beside him, and she sat.

“This morning, after the battle, I insisted on acting as a battlefield nurse with the other girls my age—I always do. It wouldn't be right for me to stay protected from what they have to see.” She ducked her head, remembering just what that it was that she and the other young nurses saw. “I'm used to most of it, now, but sometimes I'll see a wound so grisly it feels as if it hits me in the gut. Today... he was just a boy, Randolph. He was probably younger than I am. He was too badly hurt to even ask for water, and there was nothing that I could do to help him.” She met his eyes, desperately trying to explain but unable to find the words. “Randolph, he was one of yours. No, he didn't die in my arms—none of that emotional fairytale nonsense. He died alone, because I was too busy to stop for him. There were others that needed me. Always, there are more that need me! Randolph, this can't go on.” Nervously she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue before she spoke. When at last she did, her voice was firm and strong. “You have to stop this, Rand. It has to end today.”

He nodded slowly. “You're right,” he murmured. “Elizabeth, you're right.” He sighed. “This has gone too far already. All right, it ends today. I don't know how I've let it continue for so long already.”

“What are you going to do?” She hadn't thought things out this far.

He seemed resolved. “Well, first I'll return you to your father, who I'm sure is furious and worried beyond belief. Then he and I will negotiate something. I don't know what, but something. Something has to happen. You're right, my Elizabeth. This war has to end today.”

They shared a private smile. “Once the war is over, will you come visiting again?” the young woman asked, sincerely hoping he would. They had grown up together as children; now, although he was only two years her superior, he was running a country and she was still being treated like a child. She missed him. He was the only one whose fondness for her was not patronizing, and she enjoyed being treated like an equal as much as she enjoyed his pleasant company.

“I hope so,” he answered softly, looking into her eyes and hoping he read the future there. “Elizabeth, I hope so.”

Together they walked out of the tent, knowing that somehow the war would soon end. Neither knew the way they'd go about peacemaking or exactly how things would turn out, but truly it didn't matter. Both were filled with joy at each other's presence and optimism for what was to come. They were together and the war would end, and that was enough to lift their spirits.