Vol.6, Ch.1, P.12
“This rather baffles, if I’m honest…” I thought aloud. “Londosius deciding now to show some conscience, some restraint? I never knew the realm to be so amenable.”
The room rustled uneasily. Volker nodded with a terse “For true”. Would this were merely Londosius enlightened to its fading fortunes; would this were but a compromise after calmed and cooler heads had prevailed, then we would not be fretting here like sailors under a storm that’d stayed itself asudden. But all of us remembered both too well and recently the wrath of the realm, the fanaticism in its soldiers’ faces. But now imagine: Londosius, deigning to shake the hand of a traitor? To humour conciliation with a centuries-fought foe, albeit indirectly? Preposterous. Utterly preposterous—and daring to an unprecedented degree.
“Then all the more reason to see this for the snare that it is. Or?” a húskarl put in.
“Snare or no, it little-changes the truth at hand: that Londosius moves now as never before,” Lise observed. “For in that ‘snare’, the realmers would place a royal bait and display her plain for us to bite.”
On the nail’s head, as they say. In any case, this was, indeed, naught the kingdom had done ever before nor considered, not to mention with such speed. Put simply, this portended that the minds in Redelberne were growing more desperate… or worse: were far more crafty than we’d imagined.
“I should guess that it is that very ‘bait’ who has proposed this peace.”
But there to temper our consternation was a voice hitherto here unheard. All eyes turned to its master, and there found a figure standing with arms folded. Golden was his hair and fair was his face; and as well, bountiful was his insight into Central’s situation, for which he had been summoned to this council.
“You know the princess, Alf?” Lise asked him.
“I do. We are acquainted, in fact,” he answered. “Pray do not mistake her. Soft she is, yet sharp after her own fashion.”
Alf was not to be doubted here. Once the heir he’d been to the line of now-defunct Isfält: a marquis-house of sterling prestige; stewards of old to the holy mountain Déu Tsellin; and thus dealers once intimate with the magistrates of Redelberne. It was therefore naught so unordinary for Alf to have met Her Highness once or thrice before—indeed, the princess-sovereign herself, young as spring and wise as winter, it was said.
“And withal is she prudent,” Alf continued. “Prudent to a fault, perhaps; Her Highness, you see, is inclined to discretions… ‘pointless’ in a politicker’s eyes.”
Lise cocked her head. “Discretions? Pointless?” she echoed. “How do you mean?”
“This I have heard, Edelfräulein,” Volker said, “that the Princess Serafina overplays not her prerogative; that she abstains from the temptations of tyranny.”
“Well put,” confirmed Alf. “To explain, her king father lays ill, leaving reign and governance in doubtful waters. A firm hand is therefore needed to right the drifting ship. Only, in that capacity has the princess faltered, ever fearful that a firm hand would harden to an iron fist—”
“And so does she over-lessen her grip,” finished Volker, “leaving Londosius to list and languish as now it does.”
To that, Alf nodded. This all rang rather convincingly; for I, too, had once heard whispers of the princess’s distaste for autocracy. “But now: reconciliation with a rebel… and with it, peace with a bitter foe,” Alf spoke on thoughtfully. “For true, I sense now in the princess a new-spurred resolve—if not a rashness.”
“That sore was it? The loss of their mountain?” said Lise, who then looked to me. “And their mareschal Cronheim, not to mention?”
The fall of Déu Tsellin, following close the capitulations of three territories… “sore” was to term it mildly. And that’s to forget the deaths of Juholt and Cronheim, eminences once oh so central to the realm’s military momentum. But as Lise said, the loss of the latter mareschal was especially lamentable to Londosius; so much so, in fact, that his demise was likely more grievous a blow than losing a few fiefdoms. How double-edged having a hero could be; have him die untimely, and all the people, princes and paupers alike, are whipped into a panick. It was then that I recalled Cronheim’s very words:
‘…Buckmann… Hark: I am a blade of Londosius…’
‘…So I see… And…?’
‘…And so am I ill-suffered to strike astray… much less mis-slay the so-called ‘sicarius’… No; for that…’
‘…Would steer this war too deep down another way…’
‘…Precisely…’
A way we were now careering down. His warning had proved wise.
“Very much so,” Alf answered Lise. “Therefore, I cannot altogether mark this some trap laid by Her Highness. Her quality and circumstance would stop her at the very thought.”
“You may trust this princess, Herr Alf,” returned a húskarl, “but whether just as worthy her subjects may prove, that remains in debate.”
Very fair. And taking the point, Alf gave another nod and conceded, “As it must. For true; Londosius—nay, all the lands of Man are rife with fanatics, be they drunkards off the wine of self-fashioned justice, or those who mistake the meaning of ‘loyalty’.”
Or for that matter: profiteers grown fat from the fruits of war. Verily; if any were to spurn the princess’s will for peace and weave skeins behind her back, it would be that infernal lot. And frightfully enough, that, to me, seemed quite the plausible scenario.
At length, Volker sighed. “…Rolf,” he said. “Our Edelfräulein, I think, is like to insist upon attending—”
“Not ‘insist’,” Lise snapped. “I am!”
“…Thus all the more do I worry,” Volker went on. “At the venue lies in wait some villainy, I suspect. A mere foreboding, mayhaps; but one that seems only to multiply, no matter how I mull it.”
“Agreed,” I answered. “Still, it wouldn’t do to baulk a proffered peace, now would it…”
Albeit we in this chamber were not to decide that. It was the members of the vindarþing that would, once they convened. Regardless, they, too, were likely to settle on the same, I reckoned. Our aim in this war, after all, was the defeat of Londosius, not its utter ruin as its subjects so wished upon us. Indeed, we the Himmel hardly saw our war to be one of conquest, but instead—and above all else—one to end indelibly the centuries-long reaping and raping of the innocent.
Our true foe, therefore, was the present regime of Londosius. Should this “reconciliation” thus be made contingent on the untouched continuance of it, then by no means was any Londosian promise to be trusted. That said, if some constraint on that regime could be agreed upon—as a stipulation, say—then “reconciliation” might not be so nonsensical, after all. In fact, it might even be in the Himmel’s best interests. Whichever the way of it, Londosius’ mind could not be guessed in full till far along this parley, one that seemed now more a necessity than a trap or a trifle.
Still, behind that enemy stood another: the paradigm of Londosius itself, the system that’d so sown the seeds of distorted ideals and doctrines. How best to tackle this, too, must needs be pondered deeply. I wondered then: if realised, might this reconciliation shine some path forward for it? As per the whispers, Her Highness the Princess Serafina was full of grace and fair regard; perhaps she might prove more a cooperator than an opponent?
…Nay. Passing hopeful, perhaps, even for me. All this talk of reconciliation and peace and unprecedented movements seemed to have sent my fancies aflight. Why, to begin with, it was quite unthinkable that Londosius would accept the terms that we planned to proffer. No; the greater possibility here, I wagered, was that malcontents would come out of the woodwork and scheme against this historic exchange.
Letting out a troubled breath, I found my eyes tugged towards the scroll as it sat upon the table. And then, one phrase writ therein jumped at me:
“…Both Parties are permitted to bear Arms…”
Points and blades, to be allowed at a parley for peace? Now there’s another thing unthinkable. But it was hardly to be helped. By now, Londosius knew enough of me to see that absent the sword of soot, this ungraced was as helpless as a hare newborn. On the other hand, were these talks made weaponless as usual, then never would the Himmel risk my attendance. Like as not, the princess herself had prevised this, but desiring strongly to treat with me, had no recourse but to include that clause.
But so was born another rub: that the Londosian side of the table, too, would be armed. I thought on this. Doubtless the princess herself would come shielded by the Praetorian Guards, strong and stringent men each. Then there were her ancillaries to consider, as well, half of whom I expected would hail from the military. Splendid. More minds and motives to add to the mix; minds that would surely be leashing in their animosities at every moment, a labour made dubious by the blades girt at their every belt. And that’s to say little of the talks themselves: differences would arise; tensions might mount… and passions spurred.
Could this parley proceed without incident, all things considered? Without so much as the unleashed shine of a blade, or a wild fencing of words? Doubtful, sadly enough. Bring swords to a table, and all the sitters there would think to wield them. Such was my conclusion, and withal that of everyone else’s there in that heavy-aired chamber.
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