Knife of Rebellion: Battles of Eyenwar, Book 1

Chapter 42- War Games

Where to parlay turned out to be more of a source of contention than was anticipated. What was and was not neutral ground was impossible to determine. Garen's men and the Torranians are refusing to venture outside of the outer wall. The Gricadan rebels, who are the mysterious third force that came to our aid, refuse to come inside the inner wall. Between the two is the middle courtyard littered with bodies of fallen men, stinky and ghastly to the senses. They are being removed and hurried as quickly as they can, but the bloodstains left behind are hardly peaceful.

The solution, it appears, will rely on a tent. The royal Slevetic army brought several large ones with them on campaign. One of the least grisly sections of the outer courtyards has been cleared, and the tent is being assembled. Once that is done, Monika and I shuffle into the tent along with many familiar and unfamiliar faces.

I elected to display my full title to the group in question. My hair has been pulled back to reveal my tattoos, and a special robe I had the castle make me leaves the top half of my back exposed for full dramatic effect. The rest of the garment is draped around my hips and chest, clasped together with a thin chain at the neck.

For Monika, the castle seems to have presented her with an eyepatch made of the best purple silk, as well as a dress that is both simple and elegant. She looks every bit the lady that she did when I first laid eyes upon her in Miriclus, just far more somber and intimidating.

Amazing what magic can do.

The rest of the party consists of a filthy and hastily bandaged Garen, hardly looking to be more than the average soldier, save for the intensity in his eyes. Despite her dirt smeared face and grimy battle clothes, Mirabel stands elegantly and faithfully at his side, quietly holding a glass of water for her betrothed.

To one side of them is Diona and Branon, standing together and looking as battle weary as the King. On the other stand two people, a man and a woman dressed in simple leathers and worn linens. They look vaguely familiar, but I can't quite place at the moment. A tall barrel chested man in mismatched armor stands closest to the door, his hand suspiciously resting on his belt, where a sword use to rest. The last is a man in lavish regalia of the Skevetic empire, an utterly pompous and useless uniform.

Monika enters behind me, and as soon as she does, Mirabel and Branon start at her eye patch, but an audible gasp of pain comes from the unrecognized woman in the corner.

"Monika, what in earth happened?" The small woman rushes forward and wraps Monika in an embrace.

Monika return the affection, "A war injury little sister. We shall speak of it later."

Ah! Yes, Monika's younger sister, who departed from Miraclus before the rest of our party in search of the Gricadan rebels. Along with Finn, Branon's guard friend from Cantabrar.

"We can have family reunions later," interjects a gruff voice, "I want what Gricada was promised."

This must be the leader of the Gricadan rebels. His hygiene leaves much to be desired, but the large man certainly commands attention in a room.

"As Finn and Alida promised you, Duke Hallistead, Gricada's autonomy will be restored, along with a significant amount of restoration support." Garen agrees graciously.

"Don't be forgetting a signed treaty, agreeing to support Gricada should it fall under enemy invasion for the next fifty years." The man rumbles.

Garen purses his mouth, "I'm afraid the best I can do is a promise of supplies if Gricada is under siege."

"And a guarantee that Skevet will never again invade Gricada." Duke Hallistead insists.

Garen appears ready to agree when the general from the royal army of Skevet intercedes.

"You majesty, I must advise you not to agree to this. Much blood has been spilt to squire the lands Skevet now possesses. To give the land back is shameful, but to allow your fangs to be pulled out by the enemy?! That is madness."

Garen glares at the man, a disturbingly icy calm that I would like to believe that I taught him,

"General R'mbar, is it?"

He man makes a sharp bow.

"You are concerned that I will appear weak, is that it?" Garen asks coolly.

The man looks slightly nervous now, but nods his agreement.

Garen continues, "I tend to believe that a man can never look weak so long as he is sure of his decisions, don't you agree?"

General R'mbar doesn't answer.

"That said, a loyal general would never wish to make his king look weak by questioning his leadership in front of company, would he?"

The general pales, and bows his head demurely.

"You may leave, sir." Garen waves his hand towards the door, "you have been dismissed from service. Congratulations General Erikson, you are now in command of the entirety of the Skevetic armed forces."

Branon struggles to keep a smile from his face, then fails. He bows to Garen as R'mbar practically runs from the room.

"Duke Hallistead, I will have you draw up the treaty, along with my future queen, Mirabel Bendithio. Once she is satisfied with the document, I will sign it. Also, I would have you know that I have plans to withdraw most of the troops still in Idrigal. Hopefully in a few years their land will have recovered enough that I can remove influence completely." The new King informs.

As if by some unspoken cue, people begin to file out of the tent and back into the cold. Only Mirabel and the Gicadan Duke remain. I draw my cloak closer around my shoulders and head off in search of the only person I wish to see after all the death I have endured today.

It is strange to realize how much I have changed, as I leave my cousin alone with a stranger. For once, I trust her to take care of herself. I am proud of what she has accomplished today. I have no doubt she will be a wonderful queen.

A queen that will no longer need my protection, and that means it is finally time for me to go home.

I find Cairo in the library, of all places. He is dressed casually, lounging in an arm chair with a book of Midrian fairy tales in his lap.

"I see war has not dampened your spirits." I chuckle.

He looks up, and a smile of undiluted joy breaks across his face.

"I've seen enough warfare to be happy that all of my limbs are still attached."

I hesitantly perch myself on the arm of his chair, careful not to look at him.

"Where are you planning to go now?" I ask quietly.

He doesn't answer me, not with words anyway. Instead, he reaches up and pulls me into his lap. I let him, and soon find my face only inches away from his.

"I suppose you'll be going back to take your place as the new spirit bridge of the Vinícius Caravan?" He asks me.

I find his hand and thread our fingers together, "It is what I've been training for."

"It is a dangerous journey, especially alone." Cairo observes.

"So I have heard."

Cairo sighs, a contented sound, but also one heavy with sadness.

I lean my head into his shoulder, an act I never thought I would feel comfortable doing.

"Come with me." I offer into his shoulder.

A feather-light kiss lands on the top of my curls. Suddenly, the happiness that I was beginning to feel breaks apart, and the grief it was concealing breaks open. Silent tears soak Cairo's shirt, my chest shakes sporadically, violently. Cairo wraps his arms around me and holds tight until the pain has wrung every last drop from me.