White Horses - Tales of Camadorn

Many stories tell of shape-changers, those who may have one form and turn into another. Most of the time this is an animal form turning into a human-like form, though they retain certain traits between these transformations. For example, one whose animal form is a stallion will turn into a man, and a mare will turn into a woman. Yet this example is not random, as the subject of today requires first an understanding of the most blessed and benevolent of all the shape-changer folk: the Ildyana.
                 The Ildyana have aided the world many a time, following their fates wherever they are needed, and being perhaps our greatest earthly ally against evil. Their animal forms are that of horses, yet how can such a word as “horse” describe them? They make the most beautiful and mighty of all horses and are unassailable through normal means. That might and beauty is also present in their human-like forms. Their magic also is unlike most of the world, yet it will be illustrated well enough in our story today that I need not describe it.

Long ago, the kingdom of Mradune invaded the country Orthune, which fought against them with the help of their allies from the kingdom of Nalorne. The kingdoms fought fiercely, and the balance of power shifted many times during that war. Yet in the closing days of the war, Mradune seemed invincible, and so despair gripped many hearts.
                 Though in that despair or despite it rose one of the most valiant heroes of the old kingdom of Orthune: Jorold the Swift. He gave battle to Mradune, but he was not enough to stem the tide. Therefore, he sought out an Ildyana to serve as a mount so that his land would be saved. He knew this hope might be vain, but it was all that was left.
                 In the forests, he found what he described as the most beautiful thing he has ever or will ever see. A woman, white in hair and pallor, yet with dark eyes. Graceful she was, and the beauty of her white gown was only surpassed by the beauty of the wearer. Her feet were bare despite the rough ground, yet no dirt or twig could be seen on them or the hem of her dress. It was as if she were separate from the world yet visible. And she asked in a voice like sunlight, “Why have you come to the forest?”
                 The woman’s beauty baffled him and so he could not withhold any truth from her. Jorold said, “I seek an Ildyana so that I may ride into battle without fear and save my country from tyranny.”
                 The woman nodded with a smile. “And is that the only reason?”
                 “Yes,” he said, truthfully. While some mighty seek glory, Jorold had no aspirations towards that. He already had more than enough for himself, and so wished only to save his fellows from the rule of Mradune.
                 A light surrounded the woman then, and when it faded there stood a magnificent white horse. It had no saddle nor was it shod, but a finer horse could not be found in all the stables of the kings. Jorold now knew that he had been speaking to an Ildyana. She said, “My name is Haryain, and it is my fate and my wish to ride for the good of your kings.”
                 So Jorold rode her back to the camp of Orthune’s army, and there it was war. Orthune and Nalorne had been giving battle to Mradune for a day now, and it was now time for the sides to rest before the next battle. The camp was well fortified and well supplied, but it would all be for naught if there were no soldiers to fight. The next day would see fierce battle indeed.
                 In preparation, Haryain was fitted with a saddle. However, she would not bear any bridle nor be shod, for neither was necessary. She would not be housed with horses either, but instead she transformed into a human and had a tent of her own. Yet these accommodations did not keep her from battle.
                 On the second day of battle, Jorold rode out on Haryain, who wore no armor for it was not necessary. They were at the point of every cavalry charge and gave the army of Mradune the most trouble. They forced the enemy towards their camp and it was like that when night fell and the armies withdrew from each other, yet not to their camps. Smaller camps were made and defenses raised to keep their ground on the battlefield. It would be necessary for the third day.
                 On the third day, when Mradune’s cavalry charged, the lines of Orthune and Nalorne were greatly diminished. Men with spear and shield were sent in to secure victory, yet King Uril of Orthune led his cavalry against the side of this force. At King Uril’s side was Jorold the Swift astride Haryain, and they charged valiantly. Though as they charged, arrows fired from Mradune’s line and struck many a man, including King Uril and Jorold the Swift. The charge was broken up, and so Orthune’s men retreated to their back.
                 King Uril was carried back, but he died before he could reach a healer’s touch. An arrow had pierced Jorold’s chest and he fought for life, yet it seemed a losing battle. Haryain carried him back to the walls of the camp, though it did not seem enough. So Haryain placed her hands on Jorold, and when they pulled the arrow out, the wound closed and left naught but a scar and dried blood. There was a cost though.
                 The next day, as they prepared for battle and Haryain transformed into Jorold’s steed, he noticed something. A scar shaped and placed similarly to his own from the arrow wound. He asked, and she responded, “Just as you shall carry your scar for the rest of your life, I shall carry this one. To save you from the wound, I gave it to myself and healed both of them. Let us not speak of this again.”
                 So Jorold prepared to ride out upon Haryain as Mradune closed in. Jorold led the cavalry out through a gate unwatched by enemies and led the crashing of steel against those enemies in front of the camp’s walls. Caught between the hammer and the anvil, Mradune’s army quickly fell apart and they soon surrendered. Thus the war ended with the dissolvement of Mradune’s army.
                 Yet as the sun set on the day of victory, Haryain bade farewell to Jorold. Yet he could not bear to part with her, so asked for her hand in marriage. She said, “It is neither my fate nor my will to do this. Yet know that you are not the last Champion to ride an Ildyana, and there will be one who shall decide the fates of many. Farewell, Jorold, as you are greatly blessed.”
                 So Haryain returned to the wilds, where the Ildyana hide and only come out when they are fated to. Jorold indeed went on to be greatly honored, raise a family, and be at peace, yet he would never forget the most beautiful horse who was also the most woman he’d ever seen. And that, for good or ill, is how it ended.