A Hard Truth
By Neal G.
Nam'tur and Kah'mak stared blankly back upon Lith’we, whose caring eyes now seemed to overflow with tears. ''It seems now that such needs for the preservation of unity are so dire that now the bravest of men are thrown at the enemy like dust in a mighty wind,'' he said slowly as he looked off into the candlelight.
''But where will the hearts of these men go?'' Kah'mak asked as his tone turned grave. No one answered, for they all knew the fate of this army. To death they would fly, their names written in tombs that later could be trashed and looted. No, only the thieves would remember the men who died to save the lives of Diranmas.
''Where is the horn call, Unity?'' Lith'we asked at last. ''Where is this army of peace? What lords squabble and feud while young boys die upon spear tips?''
''Come now Lith'we, for what glory our country once had is now lost in blood and fire.'' Nam'tur said as he went to his friend. ''Only time will clean the sword of justice.''
''Justice? Justice! Ha! I remember when I created the swords you speak of, when my hammer fell ringing in my dark and forgotten house and I know that justice is not in the blade of that sword but in the hands of the one who bears the truth.''
''Then who will bear such truth, ''Lith'we?'' asked Kah'mak. ''Would you?''