Page 106 of The War of Four Winters

"And I shall draft additional copies for Savarran records," Tariq added with surprising formality. "As their uncle, I must ensure their status is recognized beyond elven lands." He winked at the boys. "Princes of House Starfall and honorary princes of Savarra. You'll have your choice of kingdoms to scandalize when you're older."

Leif tugged at my sleeve, his expression troubled. "Do we have to stay behind?" he asked. "While you go to fight?"

I knelt before him, meeting his eyes directly. "Yes," I said, refusing to soften the truth. "The battlefield is no place for you, no matter how brave you are—and you are among the bravest I've ever known."

His jaw tightened. "But we could help. We're small, we could carry messages or—"

"You help most by staying safe," Ruith interrupted gently, joining us. "Every warrior fights better knowing those they love are protected. Knowing you're here, waiting for our return, gives us strength."

Torsten appeared at Leif's shoulder, unusually serious. "We'll take care of each other," he promised. "Like always."

"Like always," I agreed, my throat tight. "That's what family does."

"I've assigned my most trusted sailors to guard these chambers," Yisra informed us. "Men who would die before allowing harm to come to your sons."

"And I'll remain with them when not needed at the command post," Taelyn added, her hand finding Yisra's.

“They could ask for no better defenders,” I acknowledged with a dip of my head. I had seen Taelyn fight before, and she was a skilled warrior.

TwilightdescendedovertheCraiggybottom compound, turning the sky to deepening indigo as torches flared to life along the walls. A solemn procession wound through the central courtyard toward a stone platform that had been hastily prepared for the funeral rites. Four Wolfheart warriors carried Lord Klaus's body on a simple wooden bier, his armor cleaned of tunnel grime and arranged with care, his silver-white hair combed in the traditional braids of his clan. The warriors who had recovered his body from the tunnels had performed this task with reverence, despite the dangers they'd faced from Tarathiel's patrols.

Behind the bier walked Taelyn, her storm-gray eyes—so like her father's—dry but hollow with grief. She wore the ceremonial black and silver of Wolfheart mourning, her usual elaborate braids replaced by a single tight plait woven with silver wire. At her side walked Captain Yisra, close enough that their shoulders occasionally brushed, offering silent support.

I stood with Ruith and our newly formalized sons, watching as the procession passed. Leif's small hand found mine, squeezing with surprising strength as he whispered, "Why do they have to cut off his head?"

"In elven tradition," Ruith explained softly, kneeling beside the boys, "the head contains the soul's wisdom, while the body holds its strength. To separate them in death ensures both parts return properly to the elements—the mind to the stars above, the body to the earth below."

Torsten's eyes widened. "Does it hurt?"

"No," I assured him, my hand resting on his shoulder. "Lord Klaus's spirit has already departed. This is just a way to honor his memory, to help his soul find peace."

The bier reached the platform where three priests waited, their robes bearing the spiral patterns of those who tended to the dead. Ancient tradition held that only those who had survived three seasons of mourning could wear such patterns, having proven their souls strong enough to witness grief without breaking.

"We should join the procession," Ruith murmured. "She shouldn't face this alone."

We moved forward, taking our place behind Captain Yisra. The boys followed, unusually subdued as they sensed the gravity of the moment. All around us, the compound had fallen silent. Commerce and preparations for battle had been temporarily suspended as elves of every clan gathered to witness the funeral of a hero.

"Hear us, ancient ones," the priest said, his voice carrying despite its softer tone. "We return to you Klaus of House Wolfheart, hero of the northern campaigns, defender of the Assembly, father to Queen Taelyn, faithful ally to the true king."

The formal recitation of Klaus's titles and deeds followed, each carefully enunciated to ensure the ancestors would recognize him when his spirit joined them among the stars. Throughout, Taelyn stood without wavering, her spine straight as a blade despite the weight she carried.

When the priests finished their chant, they turned to her, extending the ceremonial sword reserved for this most solemn duty. The blade was a curved length of steel that caught the torchlight with an almost hungry gleam, its hilt wrapped in leather worn smooth by generations of grieving hands, heavy enough to sever bone with a single stroke.

Taelyn stepped forward, accepting the blade with a formal bow. For the first time, her composure wavered slightly as she approached her father's body. Captain Yisra moved as if to follow her, then stopped, respecting the tradition that dictated this final act must be performed alone.

Taelyn looked down at her father's face for a long moment. Then she spoke, her voice clear and steady despite the emotion it carried: "Father, I send your wisdom to the stars and your strength to the earth. May the ancestors welcome you among them, brave warrior, wise counselor, beloved father."

She positioned the sword at her father's neck, her hands steady as she performed the ritual cut with swift precision. The blade sliced through with a single powerful stroke—no hesitation, no wavering—a warrior's daughter to the end. The priests moved forward immediately, receiving Klaus' head with reverent hands. They wrapped it in silk embroidered with silver thread, preparing it for the separate burial that would follow.

As the priests carried Klaus's head to the smaller stone altar prepared for it, the remaining warriors covered his body with fragrant oils and herbs, wrapping it in a shroud of Wolfheart blue. Throughout these preparations, Captain Yisra never moved from her position at Taelyn's side.

When the preparations were complete, the elder priest approached Taelyn once more, extending a torch. "The light to guide him home," he said softly.

She took the torch, standing at the edge of the pyre where her father's body now rested. The assembled clans had formed a circle around the platform, each holding small silver bells that would ring to guide Klaus's spirit upward when the flames began their work.

Taelyn raised her voice, addressing not just the gathered witnesses but the stars themselves: "Lord Klaus Wolfheart died as he lived—with honor, protecting those he called family. He died so that hope might live. So that the vision of a better world might continue. So that his grandchildren might never know the war that robbed him of his sons…That took my brothers. Honor his memory.”

With those words, she lowered the torch to the pyre. Flames caught quickly, rising in a bright curtain around Klaus's shrouded form. The silver bells began to ring, their sweet tones rising above the crackle of fire, calling his spirit upward toward the stars now visible in the deepening night.

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