Varg's Worry
“We are Victorious! The Lions of the North have fallen!”
Cheers from the Legion rang out across the land once again as Dez Urbanus repeated these words. It had been a long time since the Legion had a reason to celebrate like this. The victory was a special one to us, for it validated the words spoken by our Council.
“Let the people celebrate. They deserve it.” AvengerRam looked across the sea of people, the memory of the last time a campaign had begun so well. “Our Captain has done well. His strength has returned, and his eye is sharper than ever. His aim has been true, and he has not erred in a long time.”
The smoke from the bonfires drifted past as the others on the Council added their own thoughts.
“A wound that would stop any other has only caused one warrior to fight harder. He is surely one of the fiercest to wear the Horns!”
“Our Reverend fights as he did in his younger days, and his apprentice has only become stronger!”
“The one who stands in the Marshall’s place has proven himself worthy to wear the Horns!”
The words of praise continued as a young one from the Northeast came across the Council. He stood silently, listening to the conversation, until the eyes of all were upon him. The Council grew silent. Dez Urbanus looked at the young man, and addressed him.
“Speak, young one. Tell us of your thoughts. You have my permission.”
The young man cleared his throat, and took a deep breath to calm his nerves.
“Wise ones, I know I am only a newcomer to the Legion, but I have heard your words, and I worry. The people are celebrating like the campaign has been won! Can they not see that we must be cautious? Do they not understand that the fiercest battles are yet to come?”
AvengerRam answered him. “The people know the war is not yet over. They know we must face many obstacles before we can all ourselves champions again.”
“Wise one, I am gladdened to hear this, yet I believe we must anchor ourselves to truth. The Spiralhorns are not yet ready. We have survived a rough campaign in the last year. There was much work to be done to rebuild our army. The work is still not finished. I have told the people that we should all approach each battle with hope, and if a foe should defeat us, they should not despair. I fear they may expect too much, too soon.”
Dez Urbanus looked at the young man and said, “Varg, you are wise to caution the Legion. Soon, the Legion departs for a faraway land filled with cows, and the land smells strongly of cheese. There we shall engage in battle with an army that is legendary. Their battlefield is said to cast a curse upon any foe that enters. In years past, we believed in the curse. We believe in the curse no longer. We shall return victorious!”
“Soon, we shall meet foes who do have the power to defeat us. We know we must be strong, and trust in our General to lead us on the path to victory. We know we shall face defeat in battle. But today is not that day.”
“Join us, Varg. Help us celebrate our victory over the Lions of the North.”
The young man accepted the mug of mead from Dez Urbanus, and raised it in a toast, saying the only words that came to his mind...
“TO VICTORY!”
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