12

5

And now for a couple of Meanwhiles.

Meanwhile, at the Royal Palace, King Victor received a late night briefing from his most trusted knight, Sir Neville. He had fought too hard and too long to assume that danger was over while there were still loose ends, specifically, his brother's whereabouts.

"Any word, Sir Neville?"

"None, Your Highness. Since the defeat at Night's Ridge, we've seen neither hide nor hair of Robert or that vile wizard."

"Something isn't right. It's not like Robert to hide away and lick his wounds. And heaven knows what kind of grudge Ivan is holding. My brother won't give up until he's dead, or I am."

"Some say you should have done away with him when you had the chance, just as they said your grandfather should've fed Ivan to that dragon." Neville dared.

"Could have, should have, would have were I not striving to be a merciful king. But look at the chaos I plunged my kingdom into! I hoped to preserve my soul, but instead of punishing one man, I punished an entire country. I do not know if I will ever sleep a night through again."

"Perhaps we should put off the celebrations until we know more."

"No. The people need this. They deserve it. My Queen and I have waited to be reunited with our daughter for too long, as have my brothers and their loved ones. No, we shall repay the people's faith and sacrifice with reason to hope for a lasting stretch of peace. But make no mistake, we shall not let our guards down for a moment."

*****

Meanwhile, deep in the burnt out woods, before Raven's Brook was swallowed by the Innit River, Robert's twelve remaining soldiers sat on felled tree trunks, hunched around a campfire. They were not his best soldiers, your standard brutes and bullies, really, but the best looking of those who'd seen battle. They had all their limbs, all their teeth, and all their hair. The last was more of a bonus than a requirement. They'd been handpicked by Ivan for his turn at the grand plan, but it didn't feel like an honour. How were they supposed to explain what they were doing in that abandoned cottage every night without becoming the laughing stock of the veterans back home? The ones who'd fought in battles the old way. The hard way. Like men. Like one armed, one-eyed, toothless men. A hornet buzzed around the fire, unbothered by the smoke or swatting of the humiliated mercenaries.

"This whole thing ridiculous," one grumbled.

He was quickly hushed by another. "Quiet, idiot. Ivan could be anywhere."

"Or anything," his log mate added.

"This isn't how you win a war!" the first continued, kicking dirt into the fire which sparked in defiance.

"Let's face it. We's already lost the war. This is how we outsmarts them with stragedy."

"Robert will be a king's fool before he's ever king."

The thick shadow of Robert spread over the firelight, oozing menace. The men who saw him first knew he'd heard the insult and went quiet. That hornet finally stopped buzzing too. It landed on a free spot of a log, Ivan's yellow eyes glowing from its head.

"Do go on, Archer," Robert said behind his grousing soldier.

The others leaned as far away from the dead meat as possible.

"Sire, don't listen to him," his friend said uncomfortably. "He's just battle-tired like we's all are. Lost a lot of good men in a short amount of time. Some still owed him money."

"So you feel justified in your complaints?"

"Not me. I still owed most of them money, so all's fair et-cetty-era."