The Isbjørn

Forty-nine

The lawn that had just been abuzz with the voices of party goers had become a potential war zone. The Isbjørn army ran at the surrounding guards with bared teeth, the response was an immediate chatter growls followed. Teeth dropped into those army men who wanted nothing more than a say in who they called king; the same chance for democracy that some of Mankind around the world took for granted.

Pol beat his fist into the glass, looking down over his men as the military feud made the hands of brethren unclean. Never before in known or written history had a military coup drawn into violence and the violence had not been by his order.

"Ne! Ne! What are they doing!" Pol turned desperate eyes on his cousin. "I gave no order of violence!"

Daire was helpless to assist. He had less right to command a rouge army than the king they were deliberately rebelling against. He stared out into the violent scene, weighing the numbers. In no time, the rebel army would tear past the guards. Pol was unsafe in the palace.

"Pol, we have to go." He drew up onto his hind legs and dragged Pol away from the window by the scruff of his neck.

"Ne!" He rolled out of the hold. "I must stop this." His eyes landed on a damaged sculpture depicting a nude man. The arms had been torn off and the face reduced to a single eye amid chipped stone.

Daire saw the look in his eye just before he grabbed the stone piece and threw it at the window. It shattered instantly, smashed glass that was once a window flew out into the night  like a thousand tiny daggers, the light from the moon catching a glint, violently shining off them before plunging to the earth.

Pol cleared away the rest of the shards and leaned out clear to his shoulders, resting his hands on the sill, ignoring the stabbing pain that erupted into his left palm. "My brethren, hear me!"

All at once the fighting ceased, brown eyes turning up to him a reflection.

"Tell me your plight and I will work for you toward a peaceful resolution!" He boomed down into the night. "Send in your leader and we will begin negotiations at once."

There was a murmuring amid the crowd the rose like a single indistinguishable voice on the wind. On the ground, heads turned until Niche was found and prompted forward. It was his simple declaration that had taken them this far. In that moment, he suddenly recognized himself as responsible for the rebellion and all it could become.

Niche broke free from the ranks, standing out from the crowd. Be turned back toward the army in search of one face. Chian could not be lost in the crowd, her bronze hair and stone features stood out both beautiful and fierce amidst the many warriors. Going in against the crown, he would want her at his side.

"Negotiations begin on our terms," Niche called back upward as his companion drew out beside him. "We meet in the throne room, you without your guards and unarmed."

Pol nodded from his perch, a small gesture that was barely distinguishable against the night. He swept away from the window then, moving toward the great room on the other end of the palace. Daire was hard to miss as he followed on his hind legs on his cousin's heals.

"The soldier demanded I come alone," Pol grumbled over his shoudler.

"He demanded you come without guards. I'm not a guard."

It was nice to know one of the two of them were thinking clearly. Pol was forced to allow Daire to tag along in light of his reason, and only with the slightest grudge.

Daire only had second thoughts once he was standing inside the the throne room. There was no telling just how deadly the rebels were. Negotiations could have easily been a trick to get Pol alone and defenceless for a slaughter- in which case Daire would have been glad he came. But Pol was truly the only reason he was there. Despite his great many efforts to convince himself otherwise, years away from his homeland had robbed Daire of his nations pride.