The Past
General Kawthar spoke quietly, vehemently, his voice sinking into the once impenetrable walls of his fort. Malikai almost couldn’t differentiate when his words began and ended, though it could just as well have been her fatigue rather than the alien speech.
“I can’t understand you,” Lawrence said airily.
He was ignored; in fact, the general raised his voice somewhat to a rather frightening baritone, the impetus of violence. Were his hands and feet not bound it would have seemed negligible, for a moment, that they were already in full possession of the fort.
Besides herself and Lawrence, there was no one else in the room. “We need a translator.”
The other shook his head, grimacing a smile. “No we don’t.” With effort he leaned forward, staring the general in the eye.
The fort was overtaken in a matter of hours, but the paintings on the walls were dribbling with blood and the passages were swollen with bodies. They’d entered the fort under the auspices of a new moon, and immediately went in search of the general and his advisors. Arthur was left by himself for the perilous but ultimately deemed the lesser task of opening the gates for the attack. Even if he failed and they were rid the general, the fort would likely not hold against their assault.
Disguised in the armor of the southern militia, Lawrence and Malikai moved discreetly through the fort, following the very minimal intelligence they had of where the general’s quarters might be located. In the end it was quite easy to figure out. There was a long hall in the depths of the fort where a single room was well-furnished and occupied, lit with oiled lanterns. The trouble was that General Kawthar’s door was completely hidden by the amount of guards placed outside. And they never left, or rotated. The one that left to get supper or relieve himself was the same that returned. Getting into that room quietly would not be possible, yet unless they made certain that none of the guards ran to alert the rest of their men, they’d have no chance at all. From what they could tell, the passage had one opening. The two glanced at each other briefly, considering their odds.
For the tiniest moment, Lawrence looked apologetic. Then it vanished. He gave Malikai a small, valiant nod and drew his sword.
Hours later and the lamps were still burning. Malikai was covered in bruises, her right arm numb, and on her left hand she was certain a finger was broken. It went ignored for the moment because her adrenaline was still high, but it was only years of severe discipline that kept her standing.
She could see that Lawerence fared no better. Sitting on a table with his elbow against the arm of a kingly chair, he had a smile on his face that was a rather impressive attempt at composure. His breathing, though not overly loud, was erratic. Beneath him there was a slowly expanding circle of blood.
When he peered at the general, he gave no sign of injury. “I have taken your fort. It fell much quicker than expected, and I understand that must frustrate you. While I can’t offer sincere condolence, I might propose to shift your perspective, as I’m sure you agree our situations have changed.
“I have your fort. Which is great news, honestly. My king has tasked me with ending this war and I have every intention of doing so. That means we cannot stay and bask in victory, or belabor to negotiate the terms of your surrender. So I will give them to you.
“A lot of your men are dead.” Lawrence paused. The general went quiet. “Though not all. We have your stores of grain, the livestock, the rations. The servants have been locked in the basements and are safe, for now. I have read your battleplans,” he said, gesturing leisurely to the table upon which he sat. “All the weapons have been distributed to our blacksmiths and the last of your brigades are now at the mercy of my advisors.
“Tomorrow I will set forth to Yeve’neyia. By the end of the week I will be standing in the high courts of the palace. Nothing you do can affect that, but you can decide what happens until then.” With great difficulty that he was unable to hide, Lucian leaned away from the general and straightened his posture. “Surrender, and live. You will be confined to this fort until we take the capital. Once our king, high and elated from conquest deems to offer clemency, those that remain will be set free. Your lives will be returned to you.
“Or don’t. We will raze this fort to the ground. And at the end of the week I will have taken the capital.”
General Kawthar looked at him. When he finally spoke it was formal and slightly accented, but Malikai understood him clearly. “The gods will judge you. Death will come ruthlessly, and you will suffer in the end.”
“It that your answer?” Lawrence asked.
For a long while, the room was silent. They waited. The general did not answer for some time, and his face was as ruthless as stone.
Eventually he did speak, low and certain, “Spare the men and servants. Have respect for their loyalty.”
“Good.”
Finally subdued, the general sat rigidly bound to his chair and would not acknowledge them again. Lawrence stood up and made his way into the hall. Eventually Malikai followed. Although the general didn’t look at either of them, she inclined her head before stepping out of his chambers.
“I should have known he was educated in the northern dialects,” she said, closing the door behind her.
The other had propped himself against the wall, his eyes fluttered shut. “Well,” he started, “were he not the main reason that this war has continued for so long, I would have thought him brutish also.”
As she approached, Malikai noticed a break in the armor at his side; beneath it the cloth was drenched through. “How are you?”
“Better,” he breathed, “now that I know tonight will be peaceful.”
She took a space beside him. They both needed medical attention but the appeal to rest was stronger. Upstairs she could hear the boots of their armies searching the fort, and the sound was getting closer. “When the war is over, he will stand trial,” she said. “I don’t believe he’ll be pardoned.”
Lawrence sighed. “True. But it doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “He probably won’t allow himself the humiliation of a trial anyway.”
eight warriors go to war for the Realms, seven come back; they are praised for the battle, endowed with wealth and titles beyond measure, but none of them ever speak of what happened there.
The-Bleu-Bivouac 