An Angel Called Eternity

The Field Rat's Banquet - Rhema II: Anger, Apathy, Exhaustion

Rhema II: Anger, Apathy, Exhaustion

The Fourteenth Day of the Tenth Moon, 872 AD.
Anaria, Western Teleytaios, Klironomea.

His day began, as all days seemingly did now, with a sleepless night and a frustrating morning.
Okay, maybe sending away one of the only friendly faces in the capital wasn't quite as good an idea as it seemed at first, but could anyone blame him? The councillors needed to die, and there was no way Roma wouldn't find out who committed the act. Where her anger went, retribution followed, this much he knew. Seventh knew it almost as well, and Rhema would be damned if his friend was hurt because of something he'd told them to do.
Rhema had actually been second to come across the murder scene, just after Marshal Crowe had found it. To have seen her so shaken by Seventh's handiwork...
It was a damn funny sight, and the masterpiece in front of him was almost beautiful in its execution.
Before them had been the image he had been dreaming of for years now. Vile men and women clinging to power like parasites, choking to death on their own hubris. Rhema didn't know how Seventh had lured them all here. He didn't care. Some of the worst people he'd ever interacted with lay dead before him. He'd cackled like he hadn't in years.
He moved to dress himself and looked out of the hollow window. The moon hung low in the sky, and in an hour or two the sun would crest the horizon and bathe the palace in light.
It took more out of him than he was willing to admit to leave chambers. He was so tired of this act; he wanted to be at his brothers side, leading men into battle with him, drinking with him at his victory table and storming the walls of disloyal holdfasts alongside him.
He wished he had taken his brother up on his offer when father died.
No. He thought to himself. I made my choice. He had driven himself to destroy his brothers enemies from within, and so that he would do.
He'd done a damn good job of it so far, and his sister seemed to have accidentally helped by appointing her commanders based on loyalty and familiarity rather than competence.
Now a third of his forces were dead or scattered, and most of the nobles in the inner council had choked to death. Hemlock, the physicians said.
His brother's army had, by all accounts, barely suffered a scratch at this point.
He hoped beyond hope that his brother knew the act he was playing, that he wasn't actually opposing him.
If he didn't, then Rhema was a dead man walking.
He missed his brother, and Seventh. He hoped he hadn't made a mistake entrusting Seventh's care to Ser Aenethar. The man was a brilliant combatant, that much was true, but there was something weird about him, and when you looked him in the eyes something was... wrong. Missing. He shook his head. Ser Aenethar is a good knight. Crowe recommended him herself. If she thinks he was right, then he was the right man for the job. If anyone can get them to Lyk, it'll be him.

He stalked through the palace halls, empty at this hour save for the occasional cook-staff or guard.
Eventually he reached his destination, and entered Marshal Crowe's room without so much as knocking.
"Your Grace."
"Crowe. Im here to answer your questions at last. I have been hiding something from you."
She raised an eyebrow.
"What is it?"
Rhema took a deep breath.
"Okay, so im kind of actually supporting my brother by destroying my sister's supporters from within. Lyk's probably gonna march on the capital soon and I need to make sure it's as bloodless as possible."
Crowe scratched her chin in thought.
"The gates are some of the only defences the capital has that'll pose a threat to your brother. Three and a half inches of full-hard, cold-rolled steel. If you want to avoid either a siege or a bloody assault on the gatehouses, we'll need to ensure that one of the gatehouses remains in control of troops loyal to you, and who will follow your orders."
She thought for a second.
"Hieromonk Auldwyrm and his thousand men are in the northern district, aren't they? Have them occupy the North-Gate, while some of them hold the Inner-Gate leading from the northern district into the city."
Rhema grinned, admittedly somewhat confused. He'd expected questions, or exclamations he was insane, or even just a disappointed glare. Not... this.
"You've taken this... remarkably better than I thought you would."
Crowe shrugged at him, and he could just about detect a hint of a smile on her face.
"It explains a lot about how odd you've been acting. Besides. I promised I'd follow you wherever you'd lead, didn't I?"
He gave a tired smile at that.
"Yeah. Yeah, you did."
"I assume it was you that ordered Seventh to kill the councillors, then?"
He flushed and looked away.
"Yes. You don't think less of me for that, so you?"
She laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Rhema, they're parasites. They kidnapped you and tormented you four years ago to keep power, they rally behind your sister to keep power, and the second they think they can get away with it they'd depose you to gain power. I despise them."
He blinked. It wasn't often she gave a response that emotionally charged. Hell, she barely got emotional at all. She continued.
"Oh, and they blocked me from being made a Marshal-at-Arms based on my gender for years. If it was legal I would've killed them myself."
He gave a small snort of laughter. Not his manic, uncontrolled cackling, but a genuinely happy laugh. Crowe seemed to be able to tell the difference, and she smiled in response.
"Let's get back down to bronze tacks. Having those loyal to you manning the northern district would basically give your brother a clear access route to the city, bypassing most of its defences. By securing the north-gate and inner-gate we can control the flow of men in and out of the area."
She pointed at the areas indicated on a map of the city that Rhema hadn't even noticed was on the table. He moved to have a better look.
"Our next priority after the gatehouses should be securing Last Stander's Street. It's got that name for a reason, and if the Roses hold it they'll have the highest ground in the northern district with both flanks blocked by brick and stone. I don't doubt the violets could beat them, but they'd lose half-a-hundred men for each dozen they killed."
Rhema nodded, doing his best to take it all in. He wished he'd paid more attention to what Crowe and her Lieutenants had been trying to teach him down in Castelos; the place was practically the perfect example of a holdfast designed for siege warfare.
"So gatehouses, then Last Stander's Street. Anything else?"
She nodded.
"Ideally we'd have control over the whole northern district, but in case we don't and only hold our main objectives then the next place to hold should be the Bastard's Run."
Rhema thought to himself a moment.
"Bastard's Run... is that the one avenue with all the ale-houses and breweries? You know, slopes uphill, cobbled road?"
Crowe have what could only be a sigh of exasperation.
"I don't know whether to be happy that you know the area or concerned that you apparently are familiar with the drinking dens there."
"Hey, it's not their fault that the ale-houses are all that's left! The northern district's been so neglected that it's practically all slums and shanty towns up there. The breweries and distilleries are about the only legitimate businesses left for them."
Crowe smiled at him incredulously.
"Hmm. Forgive me, I didn't know you knew of the local industries."
"Don't worry, I'd be surprised as well. Me and Lyk used to sneak down there when he'd come back for the solstice. We'd go to the Last Avenue first in the western district, but the night would always end with us introducing ourselves drunkenly to each tavern and ale-house and proclaiming that drinks were on the crown for solstice."
There was silence for a few moments before Crowe spoke. Her voice was rich with a warmth he had missed in the weeks since Seventh had left.
"You were close to him. It sounds like you two got up to quite a bit of mischief."
"Not just us two. Well, not always. Every now and again Lyk would bring his foster-brother with him, Prince Alekos. He was nice, but he couldn't hold his drink for love nor coin."
Crowe actually snorted at that.
"Three little princelings, sneaking into a soldiers den and getting blind drunk with their people. Now that's something I wish I'd been able to see."
He smiled.
"Actually, I think Alekos is a King now. There was speculation a year or two ago that his father- his birth father, not the Lord that fostered him- had died. That rumour was false, but there was a grain of truth to it, for he was weaker ever after. That rumour seems to have sparked up again, so I wouldn't be surprised if Polaeros has a new king, if not now then soon."
Crowe nodded at him, seemingly trying to get back on track.
"I see. Shall we continue this line of conversation another time and get on with planning?"
He schooled his own features as best he could.
"Certainly. Remember, if anyone walks in, we're planning the defence of the capital."
She nodded and smiled.
"You'll survive this yet, your Grace."