Clovis

Karl shakes his head. "No." he stands, and, reaching into his coat with his good hand, draws forth a small sack of silver from around his neck. He jerks its cord free, and tosses it to the squire. The boy looks surprised as he catches the satchel, and looks at his master, confusedly. "We are done. You have proven your... Innocence. Of the affront to my honor of which you were accused."
Clovis falls to his knees, and making strange gestures, mutters something to his sword, which is planted blade-first in the ground. He stands, sheathing the weapon, and approaches.
"You fought well, my friend. I have fought few of your valor and courage."
"Thank you. Tell me, Christian, what awaits those who die meekly, in your religion?"
"An eternity of peace. A world without sin. A cool light, and white fields."
"...That is not so bad. In my religion, those who drink deep of life, do as they will and regret nothing, and die in battle surrounded by their slain foes, go to Valhalla."
"What is Valhalla?" Clovis asks, genuinely, "I have been to the Holy Land..." he pauses, and his eyes go distant, and for an instant, fearful, "but I have never heard of Valhalla."
"It is an eternity in the house of Thor and Odin. A world of battle, of smoking fires, and willing bodies, where limbs can be hewn, but death will never come again. An eternity in the company of all those who die in this way"
The silence lasts for a long time. Finally, the two, clasp arms (Karl winces), and return to their steeds. Charles and Hilda fume, but lock eyes as they mount their own horses. They will meet again, they know.
As the two pairs prepare to part ways, Clovis speaks.
"My friend," he says, earnestly. Karl turns.
"We have Valhalla too, in our religion." his voice is not joyful. There is a note of realization there.
"Perhaps we will meet there," Karl says, and gestures in farewell.
"I think we shall." Clovis says, turning away. He hides the sorrow in his voice, but not well.
Category:Stories