From the lobby, hurried in an officer, bearing a glaive and his distinct armor. “Meyer!” The man called his name, his tone antagonized.
“Ah, Colonel von Eos,” Meyer greeted with cordial intentions, his eyes still fixed on his loot. “How glad I am to finally make your acquaintance—” He did not hear his steps approach him rapidly until he was paces behind him.
A hand grabbed onto his shoulder and the marshal finally turned around, but he was not met by expected friendliness. The same hand pushed him back against a table which rocked when Meyer’s back was struck on its side, knocking over a candle. The faint ember that was near-death toppled and its wax was poured over the floor. A pen rolled off the edge, and Meyer, startled, dropped the monarch’s badge that clinked beside it. Eos’s eyes were red like roses in passiveness, but then, they were red with flaming fury. The colonel pointed his glaive at the grand marshal’s throat yet he did not fight back. Instead, he surrendered, raising his hands as his spine was pressed against the table.
“The bodies outside…” Eos recalled what he saw, his expression neutral, however his soul had been enraged, but the reason for his displeasure was not as straightforward as thought. “You were to convince them, not execute them.”
Turning his eyes down to the blade, its tip cutting into his skin, Meyer glared at Eos with a brow raised. “Might I remind you of your position, colonel.” He provoked.
However, it did not deter the wild Confederate. What Eos saw as he set foot on palace grounds believed it gave him the justification to be righteousness incarnate, even at the cost of his entire plan. “As far as formalities go, you are still Aelon.” Not frowning, the colonel returned with a threat of his own.
The Zhermanner soldiers dropped the corpses and anything that they were ordered to do prior to the intrusion and bore their arms against Eos. Half a century of potential enemies encircled the colonel, pressured to free the marshal. They marched closer and marked their shot, but the Eos trusted his strength. Even as he looked around him, in hostile territory, he ignored their thoughtless gambit that endangered even their marshal whose grin flattened on the realization that perhaps it was wrong of him to have crossed the colonel. The glaive moved treacherously nearer and its hostage leaned back, however far he could.
“What am I to do with corpses?” Eos asked, sowing doubt in the marshal’s mind on whether he was sane. “I cannot hope to bring peace to this land because your hand itched—” Berating, his hands tensed.
“Colonel Eos!” A vibrant roar came from behind, causing many to flinch. “That is no way to treat my host.” His voice grew softer but the air of the man from which it came did not.
The wind wailed and winter invaded the palace. Within it, a moving heat scorched the draft that was walled into the reception. Eos felt his presence grow and knew from his aura alone, who had called his name. He looked over his shoulder and there at the entrance, from the lobby, a great figure and his personal retinue marched towards him. Walking into the light, his face was revealed. Meyer’s expression was one of relief as Eos’s hand released him and his glaive was drawn away in no attempt to hide his actions. The colonel was returned into a mood of servitude and spun himself towards the man, snapping to attention and saluting him as he neared. His superior approached with each step more ominous than the last, dense with threat that had every soldier in the hall flinch. The following which he traveled alongside halted when his hand was raised, and they formed around the hall’s entrance. The only man then and there who could possibly stay this rogue colonel’s hand was another grand marshal, but he was older, wiser, and had strength in his voice unlike his formal counterpart.
As he came by the colonel who held his salute until their shoulders passed, the Confederate marshal stopped and turned his eyes to his side with a scowl. “You have new orders as of present.” Ivan Kolchakov, commander of the Rus armies, brought with him a message.
Eos kept his head held down as a vassal of the man synonymous with the military. His command was absolute and his word was supreme. Casting away his own moralities, the colonel heeded without question.
“March north and aid the Radilovs in the subjugation of the Three Crowns.” Kolchakov directed, turning his eyes forward again and continuing on his way towards Meyer.
With the click of his heels, Eos lifted his head and marched off in a hurry before casting a last glance at the grand marshals who exchanged their words of greeting that he could not hear. Behind his back, the traitor grinned. The colonel could not bear to share the same air as an honorless ally and stormed out of their sight, shoving past the marshal’s retinue despite their willingness to kindly give way. As he journeyed through the doorway and weaved around the corner into the lobby then out into the snow once again, Meyer kept a close eye on the colonel as he adjusted his collar and straightened his jacket. A pair of stirrups rattled and a tempered voice shouted as he mounted his steed. Eos’s band of famed but unseen cavalry rode out, galloping into the night wind forsaking the evil that hid beneath palace roofs.
Certain that his nemesis had gone, the marshal grunted, dissatisfied. “You ought to keep a leash on that boy,” Meyer advised, having felt the brunt of his true nature. “That is no soldier.” Shaking his head in annoyance, he could do little to forget the happening.
His equal sighed, gazing out of the window, his arms crossed. “Unfortunately, the Premier, the Prince-in-Exile, and the Grand Admiral have made it abundantly clear that he retains some of his autonomy.” Kolchakov stared at the moon that cowered away behind the clouds, leaving the ailing candles of the hall to fend off the dark. “He is an asset that we cannot afford to lose to simple things like emotion.”
The Zhermanner seemed to misunderstand as to himself, Eos was but a colonel and was nothing more notable than his rank. “Why so?” Meyer was intrigued.
“You’ll learn.” Kolchakov said with a scoff and certainty in his words.
The moonlight had been reduced to that of a blur and with the heavens asleep, the gods were too delirious to judge their subjects that they had birthed. The remaining corpses were hauled out under the open sky, painting trails and stains of blood that none were bothered enough to clean. Mass graves were dug at the hands of dozens of shovels at work, chipping away at the soil that was bound solid by ice, the sound of the earth being hacked away were like pickaxes striking in a mine. As bodies were heaved into a ditch, both marshals mused. Together, they were joined in alliance, reminded of a history between their peoples, a prospect that they anticipated to replicate for the betterment of their continent.
The Rus grand marshal suddenly turned to the Zhermanner with a change in pace to one of more formal matters. “Aside from that,” Uncrossing his arms, he reached out an open hand, a gesture of good faith. “Welcome to the Confederacy, Marshal Meyer.” His rank as a Confederate soldier was decided.
Pleased enough, Meyer drew a smile and agreed to his offer, thanking him with a bow of his head. They shook hands, their grip tensing as they sealed their treaty. Upon agreement, the marshals noticed that on the table beside them, there was a lonesome parchment which had witnessed history unfold. Wondering why ever it was blank, Kolchakov realized its original purpose. After all, he was the one who suggested the ruse to divide a nation. The grand marshal picked it up with curiosity and turned the page over, seeing the print of the king’s sigil. Deciding that it had fulfilled its purpose, he ripped the page to shreds and cast it over the floor. Its pieces glided, colorless without a word, and landed on ink spilt out of a pen. A smudge seeped through and blackened the emblem of an iron cross.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSX2HswYXJ2
