The Empress of Xan

I am, by sovereign right, sole and only Empress of the Seven Freeholds of Xan. I hold absolute dominion over everything you see about you. From the eaves of the dark Djinn Forest in the north, to the salty Southern Sea where the Merfolk reign, the land is mine and I rule it. All bow to me, every creature of every Clan.

I am called Calliope, for my beautiful voice; I am of the Folk, and of the Clan of Cat. My mother Ariadne was Empress in Xan before me, and received the crown from her mother before her. Phoebe, daughter of my blood, will reign in my stead when I am gone, with her sister Penelope at her side. We are the Imperial Line of Xan, and there is no other.

Our kind, the Cats, were meant from the beginning to rule beneath the sun. When the Spirit Above breathed out the universe, and set all the Clans of the Folk upon the good green earth, the Clan of Cat was, on that same day, given ascendancy over all the others.

Even the Clan of Man, who in ignorance believe themselves supreme, bow the knee, though they have no part in the affairs of Xan. So it is sung, and so it has been remembered, since the morning of the world.

Xan is a wide and beautiful land, full of magic and song, and home to many diverse living creatures. Beaches of silvery white are lapped by the warm sea in the south, where the Merfolk take the sun. My grandmother’s grandmother gave their Princess Galatea leave to come ashore there, and her descendants still do, though the land is Xan’s.

The Clan of Marmot builds vast underground cities in the gently rising emerald meadows above the shore. Elijah, son of Abijah, High Satrap of the Marmots, holds their land under oath of fealty to the crown. In payment, his folk must come at my call, and drive all serpents from within their Freehold.

The Marmots are all of one family, very ancient, and friends to the Clan of Cat since the founding of the realm. Loyal and brave, their warriors are ever the first to muster to my call.

In the rocky ocher and russet foothills of the Sunset Mountains, the Clan of Goat wards the western marches of Xan against any who would encroach. They are ever watchful of our uneasy border with the belligerent highland Daemons of the mountains. These kinsmen of the Djinn serve their warrior-queen Dione, whose name means “Divine One.”

Many are their incursions upon land that is rightfully Xan’s, but Capriccios, who styles himself “Mayor” of his Freehold, seldom has need of Imperial assistance. Strong and determined are his armies, fleet of foot and sharp of horn, each led by one of his sons. They are well accustomed to fighting in rocky terrain.

Eastward of the Freehold of the Goats lie the Central Moors of Xan, from whose own center rise the sacred stones from which the Empire itself is ruled. The lush holly and heather uplands, surrounding the Imperial Precincts for miles on every side, are today held by the Clan of Hare, whose chief occupations are the spreading of gossip and reproducing themselves in great numbers. They are the most numerous among the subjects of Xan, but of little worth in war, for they are utterly brainless. It is said that the Spirit Above watches over such as they with especial care, and it must be true, else their line would have ended long ago.

The Hares are bordered to the north by the Allied Clans of the Centaurs and Unicorns. These stanch defenders of the crown are volatile and easily affronted, and hold to their personal dignity as the humans do to gold, but have ever been loyal friends to the Clan of Cat.

There is long standing hostility between the Hares and the Northern Allies, born of numerous broken limbs caused to the latter by stepping into the half hidden burrows of the former. They would certainly go to war if I, their Empress, did not exercise a firm paw, coupled with no small amount of tact.

From the territorial markers of the Hares, eastward to the beginning of the human lands, lies a beautiful, dense wood of oak, beech, and ash called Leafy Holm It is a dual Freehold, held jointly by the Dryads and the Clan of Fox. While not formal allies like those of the north, these folk exist in an easy harmony born of their nature.

Their lives and interests do not impinge upon one another, and seldom does trouble come from the lands they share. The Freehold of the Foxes lies upon the green earth beneath the trees, while all the concerns of the Dryad folk, whose Matriarch is the Lady Rowan-Glimmer, are carried out above their heads. It has been a good partnership, for them and for the Empire.

The sky is the Freehold of all the varied Clans of the Birds, from Finch to mighty Hawk. The winged of Xan lay claim to the branches in which they raise their young, and to everything above, as high as the strongest of them is able to fly. Their most treasured possession is their freedom, exercised in three dimensions, and they will defend it even unto death. They have provided couriers and messengers to the Crown since the founding of the Realm.

Many other Clans, who do not hold land, are represented among my subjects, and all their names are sung and remembered. Small four legged creatures there are in plenty, as are those who go on many legs. Creatures who make their homes beneath the earth dwell freely here, and those who swim in the brooks and streams that run to the sea.

Tiny they may be, but they are my subjects, and loved by their Empress. When the smallest in Xan is hurt, all are injured, upon the earth and under the sun.

Only the Bats and Serpents are pariahs, and outlawed in Xan. They serve the dark powers of the night, and ever hide themselves and their doings from the sun. My folk have no speech at all with them.

Such is the Empire of Xan, over which I rule as the legitimate heir of my kind, and it is a good land, well worth the long service of my Clan and my family.

The Imperial High Court of Xan meets upon the first day after the new moon, when its light is but a narrow sickle, reaching out its arms from the sun.

The ring of standing stones within which I dwell and issue my judgements, is like the new moon: an interrupted circle. On just one morning in the year, the rays of the rising sun pass through the narrow gap between the largest of its stones and light the flagstone path from its gate to the flat central stone from which the land is ruled. It is from this day that we count our summers.

The Clan of Man have many fanciful tales about the building of our ring of power. They believe the ring was raised by a lost tribe of their own folk, but this is only a myth.

The tall blue stones were not the work of Humans at all, but are altogether magical. They were brought here by the Giants, a Clan who passed from the earth long ages ago, in the deeps of time.

The monument was given by them as tribute to the Empress Chloe, my First Grandmother, soon after the earth was formed. They raised it at the very center of her domain, as both dwelling place and citadel. Though the givers are gone, their gift remains, and by it they are known. So it is sung, and so it has been remembered.

It was just past sunrise on a bright and clear New Moon Morning, in the seventh moon of the seventh summer of my reign, when the greatest threat my Empire had ever faced swept down upon us.

I and my daughters, Phoebe and Penelope, had begun holding High Court at dawn, as is our custom on that day. The Scions of the Twelve Families of the Clan of Cat were seated at the bases of the stones of our Ring, each before the stone which bore that family’s name.

Petitions and matters to be decided that day had been presented, and the Stones of Decision placed at our feet, each perfectly balanced on edge, so that both the white side and the black were visible.

The first matter to come before us was the latest episode of an old and threadbare dispute. We were attempting to mediate yet another of the endless squabbles between the Hares and their contentious neighbors, the Northern Allies.

At my request, Elijah of the Marmots had also come to the center. Because his similar lifestyle allows him a unique view of their world, the wise old Marmot chieftain is sometimes able to make the brainless Hares see sense in these matters. Sometimes.

However, no one has ever been able to get the hot-tempered and mercurial Centaurs to consider any opinion save their own. Even their partners, the aristocratic and elegant Unicorns, do not always understand their ways.

Caleb, son of Abner, the fiery old Centaur Patriarch, had just delivered a long, hot diatribe, in which he detailed all the reasons why no Centaur or Unicorn could ever agree to the well-reasoned compromises which Phoebe had proposed.

Then without another word, he kicked his Stone of Decision white side up, indicating exactly the opposite.

“Accept it without comment,” I said quietly to my daughter. “His harangue was to allow him to save face with his brothers.”

She nodded, and with one delicate paw, turned our own Stone to the white. After several heartbeats’ hesitation, (and a brusque cuff from Elijah), so did Sophocles, son of Socrates, current Governor of the Hares.

“Scions of the Twelve Families, bear witness,” I intoned. “We have an accord. So it will be sung, and so it will be remembered.”

It seemed we were once again to avoid civil war. I had held my breath until the witless Sophocles had finally turned his Stone. He was far too young for the responsibility of his Clan’s Governorship, but that was unavoidable. Being fools one and all, his kind rarely lived to reach advanced age.

“Well done,” I murmured to Phoebe. I had begun allowing my eldest daughter to deal with many of the minor, and some not so minor, issues which came before the Imperial Court.

She had seen two summers of her Walk, and was learning her role very quickly. With a bit more experience to steady her, Phoebe would, in her proper time, make a fine Empress.

Sophocles, and his entire delegation from the Clan of Hare, forthwith and without further ado, hopped away, anxious to get the news to the rest of their kind before they forgot it entirely. I sighed; some of my subjects were destined never to change, nor ever to learn anything new at all.

I turned to Caleb and Elijah, who were both waiting to depart the Imperial Presence in a more dignified manner. “The Empire thanks you, gentle-beings, for your reasonable behavior and cooperation this day. I, your Empress, thank you as well, from the bottom of my heart.”

At this, both Clan leaders bowed deeply, and I added softly, “Please bear my fond greetings to your kinsmen, and all members of your respective Clans. You are dismissed.”

They turned to one another and gave rather curt nods, but before they could leave the Center, a party of Goats came galloping up from the west. Their leader clattered up the path to the center of the Ring at a canter, and fell to his fore-knees before me, quite winded, and unable to speak for nearly a minute. My younger daughter Penelope flirted her tail at him and tittered, but I silenced her with a look.

“I am Castor, son of Capriccios, of the Clan of Goat,” he was finally able to gasp.

“Yes, Castor, you are known to the Throne,” I answered, nodding. “What word from Capriccios?”

“Majesty, the Daemons of Queen Dione are over the western border in force, at the Pass of Seven Springs. Their numbers are greater than we have ever seen! Our line holds for now, but our warriors are taking heavy casualties, and being forced back. Many have already fallen.

“My father bids me say that come what may, we will hold until the sun reaches the zenith, but beyond that he can make no promises.

“The Clan of Goat calls for aid!” he said, in the high pitched voice of his kind. “Capriccios our Mayor asks that the Imperial Armies be mustered at once!”

All of the folk within the Stone Ring were stunned into silence at this declaration.

“The warriors of Capriccios forced back?” Phoebe finally asked tremulously. “How can that be?”

I waved her to silence and gestured permission for Castor to stand in my presence. “Is there more, Son of Capriccios?”

“There is, Majesty,” he nodded, “and it is dire.” The young Goat General hesitated, and then continued, “The minions of Dione must have concluded some manner of alliance with the Satyrs of the Western Isle. Their slingers form both wings of the enemy front line.”

At this the Court erupted into such a clamor that no one could be heard. I shouted, “Silence!”

“Satyrs?” I queried, when speech could be understood once more. “Is your father certain of this? How can they have passed over the sea?”

“That is unknown, Majesty. It may be that they were aided by some Clan of the waters. But my father speaks only truth. Satyrs have joined with the Daemons of Dione, and we have no means to answer the stones they sling. They cut us down before we can approach close enough to wield horn or hoof. We shall all perish this day, if aid does not come soon!”

After less than a heartbeat, grey old Caleb the Centaur rumbled deep in his chest, and shouted, “My archers can answer them! Bid me go to Capriccios’ aid, Empress of the Seven Freeholds!”

“You are so bidden, noble Caleb!” I replied. “Muster your folk as quickly as may be and attack! You are permitted any tactic or order of battle that seems likely to succeed. Go!”

With a roar of assent, he reared on his hind legs and wheeled about, leaping clean over some of the smaller members of the Court, including my daughter Penelope. His party of Centaurs and Unicorns followed him with a great clattering of hooves.

As they galloped away, he seized a brazen horn which was slung by a cord from his shoulder, and blew a long blast that echoed back from the green hills. It was the Horn of the Northern Allies, and its call had ever presaged evil times for the Empire of Xan.

“Clans of the Birds, take wing!” cried Phoebe, as the shock of the morning’s news faded and the leaders of Xan prepared to move. “Carry word to all the warriors of Xan! All those who can run with speed or fly, to the Pass of Seven Springs at once! All others advance as quickly as they are able! To Capriccios with all possible aid!”

Her final words were all but drowned out in a great thunder of wings. Dozens of Doves, Pigeons and others, the Imperial messengers of Xan, sprang into the air with harsh calls and scattered toward the four corners of the land.

“Return to your father as soon as you are able,” I said to the panting Castor, of the Goats. “Say to Capriccios that Caleb of the Northern Allies comes within the hour, and the remainder of us as quickly as we can. Tell him to hold at all costs, for the whole fighting strength of the Empire gathers behind him.”

“Aye, Majesty,” the Goat General replied with a bow, and turned to lead his party back to the west. He was still winded, but his kind are hardy; I knew he was well able to cover the distance to Capriccios’ forces at a full gallop.

I was proud of my subjects that day; before the sun had moved two paws’ width in the sky, my feathered messengers were winging in from all the four winds with word that the march had begun.

When all had been heard from save the Clan of Hare, I trotted down the path from the center of the Ring. No word at all had come from them.

They might be sorely needed, but I could tarry no longer. In any case, if they did send bird messengers, those could as easily find us on the march as here.

Proud knights of my own Clan of Cat already stood waiting at the Gate of the Stone Ring, each one carried to battle by a snowy white Unicorn. Behind them came rank upon rank of the foot-going, Tabbies and Calicoes, Persians, haughty Siamese, and strong, heavy Manx, long-clawed and as black as the night.

I leapt to my palanquin upon the back of the foremost Unicorn, where my daughter Phoebe awaited me. Looking about, I saw many hundreds of stout Marmots forming up behind us, under Elijah, their Satrap. The old Marmot chieftain had seen many summers, but he was hale and doughty, and I knew he would fight in the front rank of his folk.

Still, I beckoned him up beside us on our palanquin. The Unicorn I rode knelt, to allow Elijah’s short legs to make the leap, and I greeted him as he settled himself at my side. No matter how exalted the sovereign, it is never amiss to seek the counsel of the old and wise, for it is only upon their shoulders that kingdoms and rulers can rise.

“Lead them forth, Ariel,” I said softly to my Unicorn, and with a sharp, high neigh, he began to pace forward. Ariel had been my loyal friend since his days as a colt, and it was fitting now that he should bear me in the vanguard of the Clan of Cat. The legions of Xan were going to war.

For swift hooved folk such as Unicorns and Centaurs, it is an hour’s travel from the Stone Ring to the western border. It would require three, for foot-going Cats and Marmots. We had covered perhaps half the distance when a brilliant blue bird flashed down through the air and alighted on the handrail of my palanquin.

“Evil!” he shrilled from that perch. “Treachery! The battle goes ill! Woe! Tears and mourning!”

“Calm yourself, Messenger,” I admonished him sternly. “That is no way to bring word to your Sovereign. Breathe deeply, and begin again.”

He did so, panting in high little gasps. “Most regal Calliope, Empress of the Seven Freeholds,” he said, after a quick little bird-bow. “I am Macao, of the Folk, and of the Clan of Jay, battle scout for the Northern Allies.

“The archers of Caleb the Centaur have attacked. They loosed volleys of arrows while charging forward, and so threw the enemy’s slingers into disarray. They fled back into the rocks when the Centaurs began to overrun them, and our lines began to stabilize.”

“And?” I prompted. “There must be more, for you to come before me in such a manner, Macao of the Jays.”

“There is, Majesty,” he said, pitching his shrill little voice so that only I and Elijah might hear.

“The armies of Dione have brought forth a great evil! They have a Bandersnatch, most regal Calliope. Capriccios’ forces immediately charged it, while Caleb’s archers attempted to provide cover, but the beast loosed its terrible fire, and wrought carnage among them.

“Capriccios of the Goats is slain, with two of his sons and a great number of his kinsmen. Many Centaurs and Unicorns have also fallen.

“Pollux, son of Capriccios, now leads what remains of the Clan of Goat. Caleb is sorely wounded, but continues fighting in the first rank. Xan has lost its best and finest, Majesty! Woe! Tears and bitter grief!”

“There is no time for that, Macao. Xan will mourn her gallant dead when this battle is won, and the Empire saved.

“Take word back to Caleb that I and my knights are coming at the gallop. The foot-going of the Clan of Cat will follow with all possible speed, together with the Marmots.

“The Clan of Fox will by now have gathered in Leafy Holm, and are coming at a run, less than an hour behind them. Tell Caleb to hold! Go!”

At this, Macao of the Jays leapt into the air once more with the piercing screech that was the battle cry of his kind, and with flashing blue wings flew back to the west.

We could all now see and scent clouds of black, oily smoke rising on the horizon, as the scout sped like a blue arrow toward the fighting. The Bandersnatch would set alight all the bushlands of the Goat Freehold it could reach, adding the danger of fire, and making it difficult to tell friend from foe.

An uneasy murmur of voices began growing among the ranks of my warriors, as the meaning of those clouds struck home. There was no time to speak to them as a ruler should, but I led a stalwart folk; I knew they would remain steadfast, every soul of them, by the qualities and resources the Spirit Above had given their kind.

“Knights of the Clan of Cat!” I called, making my voice project confidence I wasn’t at all certain I felt. “At the gallop! The rest of you follow as quickly as you can! To war! For Capriccios!”

“Capriccios!” they roared behind me, and many of them hissed and spat in the manner of our kind. “For Capriccios!”

I turned to Elijah of the Marmots, who was in the act of dispatching three Dove messengers to the east. “To Prince Victor of the Clan of Foxes?” I queried.

“Aye, Majesty,” rumbled the old Marmot chieftain. “Three from the Clan of Dove to relay your commands. The followers of Dione will already have evil winged creatures of their own in the sky, and one bird alone might not make it through. The Foxes are a swift folk, and will reach the fighting almost as soon as my own foot-warriors.

“And now, most regal Calliope, Empress of us all, I must leave you. My folk are valiant, but I will not ask them to face Daemons and Bandersnatchi afoot, while I ride upon a high palanquin. Elijah of the Marmots will lead them from their front rank.”

“I understand, dear friend,” I said to him. “Though I would far rather have you beside me, go and do as you must. May the Spirit Above bring you through, safe and victorious!”

“And you as well, Empress of the Seven Freeholds of Xan!” With a wave he leapt to the ground, trotting back toward his own troops. I heard them raise a cheer when he came to his place at their fore, soon echoed by my own Clan of Cat.

“And now run, Ariel!” I commanded my unicorn. “Run while there is something left of Xan to save!”

We held tightly to our palanquin as he reared and gave his high, otherworldly cry, and then we were outrunning the wind, with my Knights thundering in our wake.

Thus borne by the swiftness and endurance of Ariel’s kind, we galloped through the Pass of Seven Springs less than half an hour later, and began to pass the first wounded. Some lay grievously burned, while others were barely able to struggle toward the rear on shattered limbs.

Those who were able raised a cheer when they saw us. “It is the Empress!” they cried. “Calliope of Xan is come, and may havoc take all her enemies! Calliope!”

We had entered the acrid, choking smoke now, and could hear the din of war just ahead: the roars of the Centaurs, the calls of the Goats, snapping bowstrings, sling-stones slapping into flesh, thundering hooves upon the earth. And only a bit farther off, the harsh cries of the Daemons of Dione profaned the air.

There was no doubt as to the location of the Bandersnatch. From the very center of the enemy’s position came deafening blasts of the evil thing’s fire, followed by screams from my own folk.

“The Empress!” a Centaur with a broken bow in his hand cried. “To the Empress! Gather about her! No harm must come to Empress Calliope!”

“No!” I countered. “Rally against the foe! Hold fast against those who would conquer and kill!”

“Majesty!” he shouted with terror in his voice. “Caleb of the Centaurs is slain, and many of his archers with him! Rafael of the Unicorns now leads the Northern Allies. We are falling back beyond the pass!”

“Then I and my Knights will buy the rest of you time to establish a new line there,” I declared. “Knights of the Clan of Cat! Charge the center of the Daemon line! Go!” I sounded the high, wavering battle cry of my Clan and my kind, and they answered me, shrieking, hissing, and spitting defiance at the foe.

Our Unicorns lowered their spiral horns and with shrill cries surged forward at redoubled speed, silver manes and tails streaming behind them in the wind. As they charged into the gibbering enemy to rend and impale, my Knights began to leap from their backs and engage the Daemons, tooth and claw against tooth and claw.

For a little stretch of time Dione’s evil minions fell back in disarray, making a great bend in their line. The screams were awful, as the Bandersnatch spat its evil balefire among us, but we fought on. We slew them and then slew more, and still they came. Some even sprang up on my palanquin, but I and my daughter cut them down as swiftly as they did, and Ariel trampled them under his hooves.

In the end we delayed them considerably, as they slowly regrouped and filled the great gap we had torn in their formation.

I hoped it was enough, for we paid a terrible price for those few minutes. When Cats and Unicorns face the terrible fire of a Bandersnatch, the result is seldom good. No more than half my Knights regrouped about me, as we prepared to fall back after our retreating warriors, and some of them were riding two to the Unicorn.

Back through the pass we galloped, back to where the folk of Xan were forming a fresh battle line. I very much feared they would be unable to hold their new positon any longer than they had kept the first, for the fresh warriors of Dione, who flooded through the rocky pass after us, were many more than I could count, notwithstanding those we had killed.

I saw a solid line of Cats, Marmots, and Foxes making ready undaunted to attempt exactly that, as we swept toward them on the eastern side of the pass.

In the center, I observed Prince Victor of the Clan of Fox conferring with stout old Elijah of the Marmots. Sparks the Longclaw, the valiant black Manx Warlord of my foot-going Cats, was with them.

Sadly, few were the surviving Goats, Unicorns, and Centaurs who had joined the new line, but those who did muster in the new line were ready to fight again.

Phoebe and I leaped to the ground before the leaders, and I bade Ariel go to the rear and regain his wind as quickly as he might. We were all three exhausted, and spattered with dark, foul smelling Daemon blood.

“Report!” I said to my Clan heads.

“Majesty,” said Elijah, “Perhaps a third of the Goats have survived to join us. They are led by Castor, son of Capriccios. Their command has passed down through three of his brothers to him.

“Slightly more than half the Northern Allies live and are here, under Rafael, son of Uriel, of the Unicorns. No more than a quarter of our Centaur archers are among them. Prince Victor has sent some of his Fox folk stealthily, to gather spent arrows and unbroken bows from the field, so that there are now enough to reequip all who have survived.

“We have three intact legions in our present line: those of Cat, Marmot, and Fox. They are protected from above by three hundred of the Clan of Hawk.

“If the reports of our scouts among the Jays and Larks are to be believed, the forces of Dione, now over the border and facing us, amount to at least double what we now have.”

Elijah of the Marmots bowed then, as immoveable as any chunk of granite his size. He said, “We await your instructions, Empress of the Seven Freeholds.”

“Xan will hold here, or Xan will fall,” I said, as steadily as I could, given what I had already seen that day. "If we are shattered again, as we were west of the pass, the Empire is taken. There will be no fit place for us to regroup once more, and no more of us to make another line.

“Keep our folk arrayed as you have them now: Clan of Cat in the center under the Longclaw, Clan of Fox to their left, and Clan of Marmot on the right. Place the surviving archers on the wings, with Unicorns among them, lest they be overrun.

“No one is to charge forward, save at my express command. Our only chance is as a solid unit, one that refuses to be broken up or overwhelmed.”

I took several deep breaths, and added, “May the Spirit Above keep all of you safe, and grant the victory to Xan this day. The order is no quarter, neither asked nor given, and the cry is ‘Remember Capriccios!’ Go to your places, leaders of the Clans of Xan. I and my daughter Phoebe will fight here, beside our Clan and our kind.”

With that we prepared ourselves to meet whatever might come. The fate of Xan, of our homes and our folk, would be decided that day, before the Pass of Seven Springs. It was a field already hallowed by the blood of our proudest and finest, but I greatly feared that their blood would not be the last to soak its grass.

I took comfort in knowing that my younger daughter Penelope, little more than a kitten, was safe for now. I had left her behind, within the ring of Standing Stones, where no Daemon could pass the spell of those stones to assail her. If I and Phoebe fell today, she would be Empress in her own right, if she could hold some part of Xan, from which to rule.

I saw a blue flash, high above me, and a familiar bird came arrowing down through the air to alight before me. “We meet once more, Macao of the Jays,” I solemnly said to him, as he made his quick little bow. “Do you bring word, brave scout?”

“Great Empress Calliope,” he said in his chirping voice, “I bring report from a height of one thousand wingspans above the Pass of Seven Springs. The eyes of Bird are bright, and we see!”

I nodded, and he continued. “They come, Imperial Majesty. They are pouring through the pass, and forming a line both wide and deep on the nearer side. Satyrs with slings and stones are with them, and the great evil Bandersnatch is at the center, ready to incinerate the grass in our faces!”

“All this is known or has been surmised, Macao of the Jays. Is there more?”

“There is, Majesty, but in truth I do not know what to make of it.”

I twitched my whiskers in a bit of exasperation, and he went on. “There is a strange disturbance in the grass, Great Calliope, between our line and theirs. It is almost as if the grass were water, and there was a wave, washing toward the invaders.”

“It is most likely the wind. In any case, it cannot matter to us.

“And now I bid you fly high, Macao of the Clan of Jay. Fly high and see all, and never forget. See and remember the last battle of the Empire of Xan! Tell what you see to all who may come after us!”

With a screech he ascended once more into the air and was gone. We beneath him turned to face those who would kill or enslave us all, as steadfast as rocks in a swift stream.

All of us could see the opposing line now, as overwhelming as Macao had said. Flames and boiling smoke rose at the center, as the Bandersnatch set the land alight. The wind was blowing its fire toward us, and the evil minions of Dione were approaching behind it.

Then something extraordinary happened: the entire front rank of the Daemons went down, kicking and scrambling on the ground. For no apparent reason, they all fell in their orderly rows, and seemed to be having some great difficulty.

Suddenly a monstrous roar and burst of flame erupted in their center, throwing the evil creatures in all directions, like seeds in the wind. Their cries were frantic and piteous.

“The Hares!” I heard old Elijah of the Marmots shout. “Oh, the brainless, ridiculous, glorious fools!” he cried. “It is the Clan of Hare!”

I looked carefully, as a great shout rose among our own folk. I could see them for myself now! It was indeed the Clan of Hare, from whom no one had heard anything at all. The witless creatures had forgotten to inform anyone else of their attack!

They were running in pairs through the grass, directly through the fire and into the enemy lines, each pair pulling cords or nets of woven grass between them, tripping the Daemons and Satyrs, even breaking the limbs of some of them.

And they had managed to trip the Bandersnatch, pitching it into its own balefire! It was consumed by its own evil!

“Advance!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Charge now, while they are in disarray! Forces of Xan forward! All of you! We cannot waste what the Clan of Hare has accomplished. Go! Go Now!”

The armies of the Empire of Xan followed the Hares that awful, glorious day, thundering down upon our foes with tooth, claw, arrow and horn. Those not already taken down by the contrivances of the Hares stumbled over their comrades on the ground, and we slew them until there were no more of the foul creatures left to kill. Our victory over them was total.

Macao of the Jays had been correct after all. There had indeed been a wave in the grass; a wave of living, breathing flesh, a wave that feared nothing. Sophocles’ Hares had run directly through the fire our foes had set to slay us all.

The Empire had been delivered from certain doom, on the field before the Pass of Seven Springs. As is often so, upon the earth and under the sun, deliverance had come from the very folk the rest of us had deemed worthless.

But the Hares of Xan paid an awful price that day for what they gained, for they bought us a victory that would forever be tainted by grief. Of those who had run through the fire to reach their enemies, only a small number lived to return to their Freehold on the moors of Xan.

Their Governor, Sophocles son of Socrates, was not among them. He had fought and perished with his folk, as worthy a leader as had ever lived. His Clan was now headed by his seventh son, a young Hare called Zeno, the eldest surviving member of his family.

The Empire would need at least a generation to replace the numbers we had lost in a single encounter, and the Clan of the Hares would likely never be the same. Their mourning had already begun, upon the high Moors.

It was of some comfort that we would make our recovery in relative safety, for the Daemons of Dione would never be able to threaten us again.

My Clan and my kind, the Cats of Xan, have always been singers. Our songs, sung beneath the moon and stars, are the way we remember, and tell of our past, and how we came to be as we are today. They are also how we grieve for our fallen heroes.

And so, as soon as my family was reunited within the Ring of Standing Stones, which was the beating heart of our land, I called the best of our song makers before me.

Two new songs I, Empress of Xan, decreed to be made and sung. The first would tell of the horrific battle before the Pass of Seven Springs. The other would be called The Lament of Sophocles, wherein we would forever recall the heroes of his Clan who had laid down their lives that day, and saved all the folk of our land.

Our new songs were just beginning to rise up to the sky and the stars, and the Spirit Above, when the warm yellow light of a human lamp flooded the bedroom and woke me.

“Calliope! Here kitty!” came the voice of the one human being I truly love, my companion, Amanda. “Mama’s got your breakfast ready in the kitchen. Come Calliope!”

And so I knew that it had only been a dream, for all the terrible scenes of fighting and horror were already fleeing from my memory, as my awareness returned to the earth that turns beneath the sun.

I hopped down from the bed and trotted to join my human, Amanda. But I knew that a part of me would always remember the time when I had been sole and only Empress, in the beautiful land of Xan.

END