An Angel Called Eternity

The Field Rat's Banquet - Rhema III: To Man the Shattered Battlements

Rhema III: To Man the Shattered Battlements

The First Day of the Eleventh Moon, 872 AD.
Anaria, Western Teleytaios, Klironomea.

He sat by himself in an old alehouse next to an open window. The building had been abandoned for some time now; indeed, calling the window 'open' implied that there was something that could close it, but any shutters here had long since been torn apart for firewood. It was a sad thing; he'd been here a few times before, back when it was still open, and he'd quite liked it then. Lyk and Alekos had come here as well, once upon a Summer Solstice. That was a good night. Well, if Alekos remembered any of it he'd probably disagree, seeing as he spent half the night hunched over in a hedgerow. Intelligent as Alekos may have been, he didn't know how to hold his drink at all.

Rhema watched with squinting eyes as the sun rose from the east, gentle birdsong filling his ears and drowning out the morning hubbub below. Crowe would either be preparing for the day downstairs or out meeting with a few of his lieutenants at the moment, having all but taken control of his supporters in his 'absence'. He was thankful for that; she was a better leader than him anyway. She'd had to be, given how rare women reaching her rank were.
Of course, she wasn't exactly thrilled at his withdrawal from public life after leaving the palace. Things were definitely getting more complicated as the days went on, and Crowe was running out of excuses to feed his sister on their refusal to return.
He'd actually heard a woman spreading the fanciful rumour of his untimely death to a few other men as they'd walked down the Bastard's Run, but he'd stayed quiet.
Those rumours were pretty funny, no matter what Crowe said. She always ensured such talk was struck down anyway.
It wasn't difficult to work out how such rumours had come around, of course. He'd hardly been seen in the fortnight since he'd last spoken to his sister. She'd grown more paranoid and easily agitated in that time, and when she was paranoid and agitated she was dangerous.
He'd watched as she sat the throne one day despite his presence in the room, oblivious to the collective shock at such a scandalous act. Even her staunchest supporters appeared to recoil at so brazen a disregard for his own royal authority.
By itself that didn't worry him. He hated the damn throne anyway, and the endless petitions it brought with it.
But the fact that she seemed to genuinely not recognise what she'd done wrong?
That was concerning.
She was the ace when it came to playing with courtly games and niceties. The mere weeks he had been in the capital had drained his patience, but she was able to manoeuvre around court factions with all the grace of their departed mother for years, could read the room as well as their father and followed tradition and the unspoken rules of court better than either of their parents did.
For her to genuinely not recognise the faux-pas she had made?
He'd seen it in her then, not that he was suicidal enough to say it to her face.
She was going the same way as him.
Guess Lyk's the only sane one left in our family now. So long as he didn't react poorly to Seventh's dream-magics.
Not that he was worried about that possibility. Well, not much anyway. Lyk had been studying the occult and mystical for almost three years now, and had always held an interest in the subject to some degree. If Rhema was willing to bet on anyone having an immunity to direct magical contact, it was him.
Well, either him or Master Elikoidi. You didn't get far in the business of shadows and spies without learning a few things you shouldn't.

Thoughts of magic and the occult brought up memories of his own attempts at dream-walking to his brother without the presence of Seventh to guide him. Sure, he might not have gotten it perfect, what with them being thrust into combat and unable to speak to each other, but credit where it was due, he'd been able to get the message to his brother day after day and he knew when Seventh was safely in Lyk's court.
That last bit was more Seventh's quick thinking, he surmised, but still.
The fight in any other circumstances might have been considered fun, after all, it had been a long time since anyone had given him a challenge like that on the training field.
In fact, no, they were still fun even given the circumstances they found themselves in.
He'd won all but one of their bouts in that week, but they were challenging victories, and that was what made them fun.
To train with the destitute sons of dispossessed minor lords and the 'best' that small village levies could offer bored him.
Where was the sport in such one-sided bouts?
No, those duels were boring. That week of true fights?
Angels above, that was fun. He needed to spar properly with his brother after the showing he'd been given the last week.
But even so...
He'd been beheaded by his own brother. That had taken some time to sink in; the emotions he'd felt spike through him as his brother stared down at him, face shrouded in darkness, and let his sword fall.
He'd tried to play it off, both in his dream as his brother raised the blade, and in his waking life when the guards at his door questioned his screaming.
He could play it off and ignore it all he liked, but it had messed with his head quite badly.
Of course he didn't hold his brother to blame for it; he was the one that wandered into his brother's mind, and he was the one that continued to head back there night after night without changing methods purely so he might fight him again and again.
Of course one day he was going to lose, even if Seventh's hadn't intervened when they did. Eventually his brother would learn his fighting style and beat him. That was what Lyk did, after all.
He won.
Maybe not straight away. Maybe not without sacrifice and an almost superhuman amount of effort that Rhema was only just starting to appreciate given the last few weeks, but he always won.
Maybe his brother would fail a few times first. That didn't matter, 'cause all that happened then was that he learned.
And when he learned how to defeat someone, be it in a duel, a battle or even something more mundane and academic?
His victory was that much more total.