"Boring guard duty again!" Pablek complained.
"Better than a patrol in the high hills, comrade," said Gremnu. "And anyway, I reckon this duty might be a short one. Standing guard at the door of the drill hall should be easy enough."
Pablek shrugged, leading the way as he and Gremnu climbed a narrow spiral stair. It brought them after many winding steps to the upper tier of the fort's great citadel. There, at the end of a wide echoing corridor, they saw the huge doors of the drill hall. Two young recruits, no older than seventeen, stood in silent vigil on either side of the doors.
"Crotho and Amzer," Pablek muttered as he and Gremnu walked along the corridor. "They look suitably bored and weary."
"Stop moaning!" Gremnu replied.
Pablek pointed to a framed painting hanging on the wall near the end of the corridor. "What's that? It wasn't there last week."
Gremnu halted to gaze at the picture. It was a large canvas, sixteen feet square, set in a richly-carved mahogany frame. In vivid colors it depicted with great artistry a scene of deadly combat: a young woman standing alone, wielding a broken sword, her raven hair flying in the breeze. A swirling mob of savage foes surrounded her, but she stood undaunted, piling corpses at her feet as she calmly held back the enemy.
Gremnu peered at the letters deeply engraved into the frame. Pablek, who could neither read nor write, nudged his comrade's shoulder and asked: "What does the inscription say?"
Gremnu stepped back a pace to gain a better view of the picture. "It says The Girl On The Bridge. The date on the canvas is fifty years ago, but there's no clue as to the battle it depicts."
"My guess is that it commemorates the Battle of Falcon River," said Pablek.
"Of course!" said Gremnu, with sudden recognition. "The woman in the picture is the famous warrior Jennet Orshak."
Pablek grinned. "I've heard many legends of her valor, but I did not know she was so beautiful. I wonder what became of her?"
Gremnu shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe she still lives."
"Indeed she does!" said a voice. It was Amzer, the smaller of the recruits guarding the door. He and his companion walked over to join Pablek and Gremnu at the painting. All four stared at it solemnly, almost reverently. For a long time none of them spoke, but eventually Gremnu broke the silence with a wistful sigh.
"She lives still?" he said. "That is good tidings. A girl so lovely and so brave deserves a long life. I wonder where she is now?"
"Did the sergeant not tell you?" said Amzer. "Jennet Orshak is here at the fortress, as a guest of our Captain."
"She arrived last night," Crotho explained. "She sits now in our drill hall, enjoying the adulation of many important folk. Our Captain invited them all here to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the great victory at Falcon River. This fine painting was presented to him by Jennet's daughter, in token of the Orshak family's gratitude for his hospitality."
"Jennet's heroism won the battle," said Amzer, pointing at the picture. "Today the generals are gathered here to honor the memory of her lone defense of the bridge, and to congratulate her on reaching her seventieth birthday."
"We haven't seen her," Crotho added. "I hoped she might come out, but the generals and their cronies are still keeping her busy with endless speeches. I really wanted to wanted to meet her."
"You'd better take up your duty," said Amzer, to Pablek and Gremnu. "We're off to the barracks for some well-earned ale. Guarding the drill hall on a warm evening is thirsty work, comrades!"
Gremnu patted the shoulders of the two departing recruits while he and Pablek took up position on either side of the door. From within they heard a volley of applause as a deep male voice began to speak.
"That sounds like our Captain," Pablek observed, and Gremnu nodded.
The door suddenly opened and a very pretty woman with long black hair stepped out, closing the door quietly behind her. The two guards stood to attention, for they saw on her short blue dress the embroidered emblems of her rank.
"It's too hot and stuffy in there!" she commented, wiping sweat from her brow. She smiled at the young soldiers, both of whom were so tall that they towered over her. "My name is General Orshak," she added.
Gremnu and Pablek clenched their right fists over their hearts in salute, and Gremnu said: "Lady, you seem so young. How can it be....?"
The woman frowned, then gave a kindly laugh, realizing the young man's error. "You mistake me for my mother, the girl in the picture. I am rather less famous! But it is true that I share her likeness, so do not reproach yourself. How old are you, soldier?"
"My comrade and I are both eighteen," Gremnu answered.
The general nodded, her finely-sculpted features softening in a smile. "This is a weary task for two fine young warriors. I relieve you of your duty. Go inside and get yourselves a drink and some food. The ceremony is nearly ended, but there's plenty of fodder left."
"But, lady...," Gremnu stammered. "Our Captain will forbid it."
She shook her head. "I outrank him, so have no fear. Tell him that General Orshak now guards the door, if he questions you."
The two recruits bowed courteously and saluted again, before nervously entering the hall. It was indeed airless and stuffy, and also noisy, for the assembled throng numbered in excess of fifty people. Everyone stood chatting in small groups, while servants in white garments moved among them with trays of food and jugs of wine. Many of the guests wore full military dress, but others appeared to be civilian dignitaries from the border towns. Gremnu recognized at least two mayors and several guildmasters. One of the latter, a portly middle-aged fellow in a green velvet coat, saw the two young soldiers skulking near the door and immediately walked over to them.
"Good evening, Gremnu!" he said, his chubby face broadening in a grin as he poured three glasses of red wine. "Do you remember me?"
Gremnu bowed. "Indeed I do, Guildmaster Bryn. I trust that you've had no more trouble on the highway."
The guildmaster laughed. "Not since you skewered that bandit with a well-aimed spear! My wagons now journey in safety, even after nightfall."
Gremnu nodded, introducing Pablek to the guest and thanking him for the gift of wine. Bryn began speaking again, but noticed that both soldiers were now staring blankly into the throng, their attention drawn to a small woman in a long gown, who flitted gracefully from group to group like a butterfly. Her gown was white as snow and her hair hung down her back in a shimmering cascade of silver. She shared laughter with each group as she spoke briefly to them, and they in turn bowed reverently to her. The military folk greeted her with formal salutes.
Bryn smiled at the transfixed faces of his young companions and sipped his wine quietly until the silver-haired woman vanished into the crowd. As if a spell had been broken, the two teenage soldiers seemed to return suddenly to the present world.
"A very beautiful woman," Bryn observed. "A vision of loveliness, like a bright angel of the heavens."
"Who is she?" Pablek inquired.
"Do you not know?" the guildmaster asked in surprise. "This ceremony is in her honor. She is Jennet Orshak, the Girl on the Bridge."
Gremnu and Pablek looked at each other, and Pablek said: "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
Bryn chuckled quietly. "So say all who meet her. Even now, with her raven hair faded to gray and her face patterned with fine lines, she still draws admiring glances from men of all ages."
Pablek swallowed a mouthful of wine and gave a long sigh. "That gown clings to her sleek body like a white glove. How does a woman of such advanced years preserve such a remarkable figure?"
"Jennet's beauty shines from within," Bryn answered. "Her body is merely the visible form of a pure spirit. And today, as she marks her seventieth year of life, she remains the very essence of loveliness."
Gremnu and Pablek caught each other's glance and shared a smile. No description so poetic was turning in their eager young minds, and Bryn was wise enough to realize it. He laughed with gentle self-mockery at his own words .
"Thus speaks a bumbling old guildmaster!" he said. "Perhaps I should have commented instead on her fine tits and shapely ass?"
The young soldiers shared the joke and supped their wine. Bryn stared at them keenly for a while, his searching eyes making them feel somewhat uneasy. Then, nodding thoughtfully but saying no word, he left them with a half-full jug and wandered off into the throng. In the midst of a circle of generals he found Jennet Orshak, deep in talk about old wars, but with a gentle pull on her arm he took her to one side and began whispering in her ear. She began to giggle, putting her hands to her mouth to conceal her mirth.
"Don't be so silly, Bryn!" she scoffed. "What interest would two handsome boys have in a wrinkled crone? Stop teasing me!"
"I'm not teasing you, Jennet!" he protested. "I mean it. They're drooling over you."
"Fifty years ago, maybe," she retorted. "But not now. I'm just a worn-out sack. And besides, their eyes only followed me because I remind them of their dear old grandmothers back home, who I'm sure they miss terribly."
Bryn stroked his chubby chin and shook his head. "Just suppose you were twenty again. Would you not feel flattered by their staring?"
"I might," Jennet replied.
"And would you be tempted?"
