“We do not go to hunt,” she repeated. “But to claim our casualties. We go to lay to rest those the Red-Ships have stolen from us. The Red-Ships have taken the hearts of the Forged ones, and left their bodies to stalk us. Nonetheless, those we put down today are of the Six Duchies. Our own.
“My soldiers, I ask of you that no arrow be loosed today, no blow struck save for a clean kill. I know you skilled enough to do this. We have all suffered enough. Let each death today be as brief and merciful as we can manage, for all our sakes. Let us clench our jaws, and remove that which infects us, with as much resolve and regret as if we severed a maimed limb from a body. For such is what we do. Not vengeance, my people, but surgery, to be followed by a healing. Do as I say, now.”
For some few minutes she stood still and looked down at us all. As in a dream, folk began to move. Hunters removed feathers and ribbons, tokens and jewelry from their garments and handed them to pages. The mood of merriment and boasting had evaporated. She had stripped that protection away, forced all to consider truly what they were about to do. No one relished it. All were poised, waiting to hear what she would say next. Kettricken kept her absolute silence and stillness, so that each eye was perforce drawn back to her. When she saw she had the attention of all, she spoke again.
“Good,” she praised us quietly. “And now heed my words well. I desire horse-drawn litters, or wagons … whatever you of the stable judge best. Pad them well with straw. No body of our folk will be left to feed foxes or be pecked by crows. They will be brought back here, names noted if known, and prepared for the pyre that is the honor of those fallen in battle. If families be known and be near, they shall be summoned to the mourning. To those who live far, word will be sent, and the honors due those who have lost their blood kin as soldiers.” Tears ran unchecked, untouched down her cheeks. They glinted in the early-winter sunlight like diamonds. Her voice thickened as she turned to command another group. “My cooks and serving folk! Set all tables in the Great Hall and prepare a funeral feast. Set the Lesser Hall with water and herbs and clean garments that we may prepare the bodies of our folk for burning. All others, leave your ordinary duties. Fetch wood and build a pyre. We shall return, to burn our dead and mourn them.” She gazed about, meeting every eye. Something in her face set. She drew the sword from her belt and pointed it aloft in an oath. “When we have done with our grieving, we shall make ready to avenge them! Those who have taken our folk shall know our wrath!” Slowly she lowered her blade, sheathed it cleanly. Again her eyes commanded us. “And now we ride, my folk!”