21The dying she-man spoke no words.
"The child!" she whispers, the only words recurring. A bundle lay in her arms. Her long brown hair fell over her shoulders as she leaned against the tree. Around her there stood, a company of nine he-men.
The company's leader was the emperor of Rhonthelm. Cherbrent was his name. They chanced upon finding her, when the emperor decides a walk, at such odd hours of the night. The others were imperial guards, sworn to protect their emperor wherever he went.
They happened to chance upon the she-man when the emperor's guards heard a commotion. Each drew their swords, enclosing their emperor in the centre to protect him. By Cherbrent's order, they sought for source of the noise.
"Hunters!" one of the guards noted. "They attack a she-man." Another reported.
"Aid her!" Cherbrent commanded.
Once the hunters realized they were found, they retaliated the guards' attacks. Two stood at each side of the emperor, guarding him. Cherbrent had sent another for Rhonthelm's healer. The she-man leaned against a tree, tattered and worn.
None of the hunters survived. Each taken down by the sword. The guards began to clean their sword off the blood of their sworn enemies.
As soon as the healer arrived, he set at once to work, alas to no avail. He could only announce the she-man's death. They had failed to save her life. Each in the company bowed, only slightly nodding their heads, in respect to the she-man.
'Another death', he thought, 'How many must there be?' Cherbrent reeled slightly at this thought. He had been ill with much grief. The only reason he took to walk that night was to heal his broken heart. His own emotions enslaved him when his empress passed on.
Now, another soul has entered Delharlow, within the hours of a day.
The healer noticed a bundle, clutched closely in her arms. Removing the bundle from her clutches, it turned out to be a child. No one had perceived it earlier. It was not odd, as the healer believed, for the child made no noise. It neither cried, nor did it whine. It startled not. The child lay asleep, in tranquil serenity.
"Emperor, the she-man bears a child."
A child? So. The she-man was a mother. Cherbrent's face hardened. No one dared speak. Gray clouds sailed the stygian dome, the pale bright moon hidden. A shadow passed over them.
The child is now an orphan, without parents, without kinsmen. The child is lost. She has no mother. 'My son too, had lost a mother.' Cherbrent thought in his heart.
He remembered, however, his son still had a father.
Cherbrent's gray eyes began to soften. Growing kindness shone in them. He bent down beside the she-an, and lifted the child. The clouds had passed by. The pale face smiled once more. Beneath its soft, timid rays, he beheld the child before the company. The child was pastel yet animate, beneath the rays Pheon - the eye of Opherion in the night.
"You, my child," he said, "reminds me so of a special star, of beauty, and much of peace. I have decided. I shall be your guardian and father. And you shall be my beloved daughter."
To his company, he proclaimed before them, "This child is henceforth my princess!"
He had thought much of the grief he had gone through, and Purence, his wife, his beloved. Though her soul rests not within her body, she would have wanted kindness of him and mercy for those he had perchance passed by.
"What shall you name her, Your Majesty?" asked the healer, who was also his closest friend.
Cherbrent thought for a moment. He smiled as he did. He wanted this child to know she's special. Her name will be her future. She will be a princess of a great kingdom, the greatest among the four kingdoms of Aroedeen.
Slowly, he said, "Her name will be Cherphine."