Knightegel: Born of Conflict

Chapter 4: Reflection

In the capital city, the horses of the Peace Order stopped in front of the great hall of Parliament, where one hundred of council members were just as uncertain of the best course of action as Simerta. However, their argument was very different.

"It is out of our hands now," said a council member, "This is no longer ours to decide!" he said with anger. He was in his late fifties, with glaring eyes, filled with regret, and the face of frustration. The Prime minister, clad with robes reminiscent of a catholic leader, watched the discussion from a high podium – a very bland, lofty grimace sculpting his face.

"But Simerta is our land by right," said another, "Is it so bad that our High Master has decided it best to see Streif's work through to the end?" This was a young man in his late twenties. He was eager, passionate, and resolute. "He's getting it done in ways that Salun Streif never could!"

"Calm yourself young man!" said an elder, "He may be giving us what we want, but we do not know why he is truly here, and what he is really after! He never once consulted us; he never included us; he just, showed up with his black guard and started making demands. What happens after Simerta is claimed for Hilithany? Will we still be of any relevance then? Salun Streif came to us, first. He had the blessing of the Maniverst. He had respect for our laws and ways of life; he was a man of Hilithany! But now who is this stranger, proclaiming himself our High Master? How can we be certain that once Simerta is ours, he will not turn against us as well?"

"Shouldn't that be a lesson to us?" said another. He was a young man, alive with fervor in his expression, mostly defined by sharp features and a slicked-back ponytail. He was wearing a vested white shirt – light brown on the vest, and black trousers with leather boots. He had a charisma about him, with his right hand in his pants pocket while he exhorted with the other hand in the air, emphasizing his exposition.

"Have we not yet learned of the manner of wickedness such an unnecessary pursuit of power can attract?" All eyes were on the young man as he spoke. "Look at the mistake Salun Streif made, one that ended his campaign and his life. We do not know where that golden army came from, but whoever they were, they spe-cifically targeted Salun Streif and the Manistrad. Now I can think of no other people to do such a thing, of the few that Streif offended over the years, than those native to Kalte Hand. They were supposedly wiped out. But then, sometime later, an army shows up on our shores with better armor and artillery, especially more powerful cannons. The natives of Kalte Hand were murdered by, cannons. I wonder, that golden army...where did they get the idea from? And why would they have targeted Salun Streif and his armies, strategically, if they were not remnants of the natives of Kalte Hand? And now a new warlord shows up at our door, seeming much more the offender than Streif ever was – more secretive than Streif ever was...and here he is, about to make the same mistake that Streif made – that we made – now with the Simertans, who have mobilized against us. And perhaps I use the term, mistake, incorrectly. This High Master is terribly wise. No one knows who he is or what he is doing. Have you seen the legions of the black guard? They are massive. Right now, we have no way of knowing how prepared he is to execute whatever he's planning to do. But I might bet that based on the way he's handling things, he already has as much control as he needs to get it done. What happens, when war ensues, when Simertans are murdered by Hilithans and Hilithans by Simertans, and the only one remaining is our new, High, Master?

Gentlemen of Hilithany, you know that I have long supported our great nation and most all that it is, since I was a toddler, and that I still do. However, this...this decision that we have made to murder those who simply seek a peaceful existence in the Boldlands, merely for the sake of a territorial dispute, I do not support," He looked into all their eyes very sharply, with a compelling stare, making utterly clear his firm stance. "We have wasted enough years, enough resources, and enough lives, on this foolish endeavor. When will we learn, gentlemen? When will we learn? This man we now call our High Master, is breaking our chain of command entirely. It is supposed to be that the people rule as a unit, with leaders to speak and act on their behalf, with their interests at heart. Parliament – us – and the Prime Minister for government, a military leader for our defense, and the Maniverst to guide our souls on a just path. These three links were intended to be the cornerstones of our way of life; that's what our nation as it is today was founded on. Never were we to allow one man to rule. Never. Prime Minister, what are we even doing here? We aren't relevant anymore; why are we still here?"