The Truce - 21. Chapter 21

It had taken over a week, but the full might of Nabius had finally reached their southern destination. Tomacian troops were interspersed with Nabian resistance, and they marched as if they were one army. Fewer and fewer squabbles had occurred between the two nations as time went on, and a record few fights had occurred during the journey to Yago Clarion’s territory. Alex could sense what hung in the air – there was a finality to this march, a strong sense that the fates of too many would be sealed soon. When death hung above them in the air, soldiers did not have appetites for the pettiness of nationalism. They were all in this together, and they knew it.

Alex sighed, sitting up and knocking on the wood of his carriage. He was tired of being carried everywhere, and wanted to stretch his legs for a few minutes. More than that, he felt that he was sending the wrong message. Alexandre was a symbol now, and it would not do to be hoisted around on the backs of others all day. Carl had reassured him that the soldiers would understand due to his injuries, but it was too difficult for Alex to swallow. When the carriage stopped, Alex groaned quietly as he pained himself to open the door. As soon as the wood creaked open, Alexandre was greeted with a glaring Carl that had his arms crossed in front of his chest. He was blocking the way out, and Alex was almost reminded of a stubborn child. It is endearing, I suppose. He’s cute when he gets like this.

“No,” Carl said firmly. “You need to stop pushing it.”

“I’m fine,” Alex said as he waved a hand in the air dismissively. He knew that he was still looking pale, and hoped that Carl wouldn’t notice the sheen of cold sweat on his forehead. “Let me walk a bit. People need to see me up and about.”

“People absolutely do not need to see you walking around. You’re still way too early in the recovery process for this! You shouldn’t have even come down here.”

“You know I need to be here.” Carl frowned harder, if that was possible, and Alex tried not to get annoyed. Whether Alex should leave the capital and try to recover was a topic of recent contention between them, though Alexandre had eventually won the argument. There was no way that Alexandre could afford to stay behind without a massive hit to his credibility, injured or not. Carl had conceded eventually, pending Alexandre’s agreement to be surrounded by a team of medics. That had eventually been argued down to just one, citing the needs of other soldiers on the battlefield, but Alex knew that his husband still wasn’t happy. “Now move.”

“Stay in the transport,” Carl commanded. “We’re only a short way from our tent. You can sit still for that long at least.”

“If we’re only a short ways away, it would be good for me to walk. That’s part of the healing process, you know.”

“Not when you’re in danger of your stomach opening back up it’s not!”

“Just help me down,” Alex said as he began to climb out of the carriage. People were rushing by in all directions at the camp, and despite their business Alex could tell that they were noticing him. They tried to observe inconspicuously, but Alex could tell that there were several eyes on him. He practically fell out of the carriage, but thankfully Carl was there to support him. The taller man could easily support Alexandre’s weight, and one arm around his shoulders and under the arm held the general up straight. He could barely walk, but Carl did a great job of making it look like Alexandre was vertical. Alex was glad that Carl was only wearing leather at the moment, which was much more comfortable than being held up next to plate.

“Stubborn Nabian,” Carl muttered under his breath. Alex smiled, and the pair awkwardly made their way towards their shared quarters.

Once they had arrived, Alex felt completely exhausted. A few couriers were standing outside the main tent, rigid with tension as the two most important figures in the rebellion approached. “Speak,” Alex said to the first one.

I hope I didn’t sound as weak as I feel. He slumped further against Carl, who flexed a little bit as he supported more weight. I’m going to hear it from him tonight. Alexandre pushing the boundaries way too soon was another common source of arguments, but it was really just because of Carl’s concern. The last few days had been emotional, and Carl had cried when he saw Alexandre wake up for the first time in the capital. Alex had been touched, and was still very much so enamored by his husbands behavior. Even amongst the death in the air, he finds a way to make me feel cared for.

The first messenger finished his speech, and Carl gave a reply. Alex hazily realized that he hadn’t listened to a word that had been said, and briefly felt annoyed with himself. It was difficult to focus, but Carl replied and gave what Alexandre assumed would be a reasonable response. When the second began to speak, Alex tried his best to focus. This was a report on current food supply, which was better than expected. Good news. We don’t get much of that these days. Carl dismissed him as well, and they turned to the last of the messengers. This one was dressed differently from the others, and instantly put Alexandre on edge. Her pale skin was covered in tattoos and scars that indicated she came from the provinces, and she simply held out a scroll. It was sealed with a wax emblem, and both men recognized it as Yago’s.

“So this is it,” Carl remarked as he used his free hand to take the letter.

“Yes,” Alex whispered. The pair had sent one final plea, one last attempt to reconcile with Yago Clarion when they had first arrived and set up camp. They were now just outside his mountain fortress with all of the troops they could muster, their strength eminent and on display. The plea had been simple – Yago should disengage, and simply endorse the peace between Tomacia and Nabius. Alex had asked him to call off the fighting, if nothing but for the sake of family.

When Carl opened the seal and unrolled the paper, a single word was scrawled on the middle of the sheet for them to see plainly.

No.

The courier was fast, but Alex was still faster. Her hand darted out with a shiv that she must have concealed in an excellent hiding space, and went straight for Carl’s neck. Alexandre’s hands shot out and caught her at the risk, stopping the small blade from coming near Carl. In letting go of his support, he fell to the ground and dragged the messenger down with him. She then began to press the knife towards him, but he resisted as best as he could. He was completely sapped, but luckily didn’t have to fight back for long. Strong hands gripped the woman at the back of the neck and at her waist, and Carl lifted her into the air over his head. Away from Alex, he threw her back to the ground with enough force to probably break her back. An instant later, a spear lodged itself in her throat and she was down. Alex thought it may have been Eamon, but he couldn’t really see.

As Alexandre’s vision began to blur, he felt Carl’s arms wrap around his shoulder and behind his knees. He was lifted up off the ground, and leaned his head into Carl’s chest. Carl was breathing heavily, and Alexandre knew that it was out of anger.

War it is.

***

The fighting broke out not long after the attempt on Prince Cathcart’s life. Carl knew that Yago probably hadn’t really sent an assassin, but rather the attempt had come from the messenger herself. Carl didn’t know for sure what kind of subjects Yago had ruled over and raised, but he was certain that this was one territory where the absolute worst traits of Nabians were glorified. The fact that the messenger was from the provinces didn’t matter either. General Clarion was known for having integrated as many of the tribespeople as possible, and maintaining strong relationships with them. Passes through the mountains in Yago’s lands were one of the few ways to reach the provinces without going all the way around, so it made sense that a large portion of the population came from there. It was also apparent from the composition of Yago’s armies – of the troops deployed, it was estimated that a third were of provincial descent rather than Nabian.

Carl thought about Alex, who had passed out after the incident. He’s still so weak, so fragile. He had remained asleep for the few hours between when they had first received Yago’s reply and when the first lines had engaged, and Carl had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach over it.

He’s fine, he told himself. It was true that Alex had made it through the worst of things, but he was still at great risk of infection, or reopening his wounds. If we make it through all of this just for him to pass of an infection… Carl shook his head, trying to dispel himself of thoughts like that. It was difficult to do, but gave Carl a strong motivation to fight. He needed to protect his partner – protect his life, and love. He hadn’t taken a shift on the front lines yet, but it would becoming soon. Much like Alexandre made sure people saw him exhibiting strength around camp, Carl needed to exhibit strength in the battlefield.

But I can’t push myself as hard as he does. Carl could get sloppy when he was too fired up, and he couldn’t afford that at the moment. Were the Cathcart Prince to fall at the same time as General Di Coteau being injured… he didn’t want to think of the repercussions that might have. No, he would push forward and strong, but he would need to be careful.

As Carl made his way on horseback towards the easternmost group, he saw provincial tribesmen on both sides of the battle. Ysabel’s armies had arrived, but she herself hadn’t. At first, Carl and other leading officers had been worried that the tribes would refuse to fight against each other. Technically, that was true – but the overall spirit of the idea had been entirely wrong.

While the tribespeople avoided fighting each other, they did tear through the other Nabians with a speed and ferocity that was astounding. The way they ripped through enemies and seemed to be faster, stronger, and better equipped to do damage was absurd to the prince. He watched a group engage now, and was disturbed to see just how much damage one tribesman could do if they got on a roll. It reminds me of the Di Coteau demon. Carl had seen Ysabel fight before, and the sporadic movements that she used in tandem with her Nabian training seemed to be on par with what those on the field were doing now. The similarity was unnerving, and Carl was just glad that they had a few of these people on their side.

But why had Yago allowed Ysabel to take an army from the provinces? The way she tells it, he practically encouraged her to go there. It doesn’t make sense. He shook his head, not understanding why Yago would have helped to supply his own enemy. It could be Ysabel was his sister, but Yago had proved that family meant nothing to him if Alexandre and Talia were anything to go by.

Then again, not a lot about him makes sense. Why not crush us if you had the forces to do so early on? Even now, why send roughly equal amounts of troops to die on the battlefield? It’s almost like he wants as many people to die as possible.

He shook his head again, bringing himself clarity and summoning the focus to fight. Carl had asked himself these questions countless times, and pondering them now wouldn’t give him any answers. He slid the visor down on his helm, which locked into place with a soft click. Drawing his broadsword out of its enormous scabbard, he prepared himself. A blue and gold flag shot up into the air, signalling that it was time for two groups to make a switch. Carl kicked his horse into motion, and rode into battle with murderous intent.

***

Nighttime was normally beautiful in the south at this time of year, but Eamon wasn’t really able to truly enjoy it. The cool evening air was a nice reprieve from the heat of the day, but Eamon felt that it only served to fend off the worst of the camp smells. Not that they were too terrible to begin with, though. Alex runs a tight camp, and Carl is just as keen on order. The worst of the smells come from the battlefield. That’s the part that you’re never prepared for… how bad death stinks.

“Hey,” said a small voice to his right. Eamon had heard that he was being creeped up on a while ago, but let his boyfriend think he had approached stealthily.

“Hey yourself,” he said with a smile. Eamon reached out and pulled Luca into him, planting a big kiss right on his lips. They were out in public, outside of Alexandre and Carl’s tent. Alex was still inside sleeping, and Eamon was posted outside.

“Gods Eamon,” Luca whispered as he backed away slightly and began to smooth out his shirt. “There’s so many people around, and you’re still on duty!” His reprimand wasn’t serious, and Eamon could tell by his voice that he was suppressing a grin.

He’s probably flushing red too. I love when he’s embarrassed. I’d give anything to see it again.

“Don’t be sheepish – everyone knows about us. Besides, there are plenty of guards around, and hardly anyone approaches this tent.”

“Still. We can at least try to be proper.”

“Look who’s harping about decorum now? You weren’t so proper last night in the caravan on the way here. I bet every rider around heard your moans and – “

“SHHHHHHHHHhHH be quiet be quiet,” said Luca frantically as he put a hand over Eamon’s mouth. Eamon broke into a huge grin with the younger man’s hands pressed against his lips, and he gave a quick peck to one of Luca’s palms.

“No need to be embarrassed,” he teased.

“It’s difficult to avoid when you’re with someone who’s so embarrassing,” Luca retorted. Eamon just continued to grin goofily, and Luca sighed.

“How’s he doing?” he asked, turning the conversation to a more serious topic. Eamon knew that he was referring to Alexandre, who was in the tent behind them. Eamon had been assigned to guard duty citing his blindness. He was still quite capable, but the chaos of battle would likely overwhelm his ability to orient himself in relation to others, which would impair his ability to fight. Luca had also preferred this, and had used what authority that he had to keep Eamon close. Because they arrived a few days later than the bulk of the army, it was also easier to fit him in in a less conspicuous role.

“Alright I guess. Pushing too hard still, but alright. He woke up when Carl switched in on the front lines and asked for constant updates, but other than that he’s been resting. Or at least, I hope he’s been resting.”

“I hope so too,” Luca said thoughtfully.

“Did you find anything out yet? About the other thing that I asked you?” Eamon had asked Luca about something that had been bothering him, something that he only noticed because of a heightened sense of smell.

“I did,” Luca said quietly. “It seems you were right. The tribespeople are collecting the bodies from battle again. They’re expending a large amount of their force to recover the corpses.” Eamon sighed.

“I don’t understand. It seems like a lot of work just to hold funerals. General Clarion doesn’t seem like the type to place emphasis on honoring the dead.”

“I agree,” Luca said, “but there’s more.”

“What?”

“They’re collecting the bodies of our soldiers too. They seem indiscriminate – half of the army on the field is just there to retrieve corpses.”

“What? Why would they waste so much energy for that?”

“I don’t know.”

“It makes no sense.”

“I know. It really doesn’t.”

***

Talia watched quietly as the last member for the feast was escorted into Yago’s main hall, and seated at the long wooden dining table that had been brought there to fill the space. She was restrained by razor wire, which had already opened raw wounds on her wrists. She had been struggling against chains, but the wire was more difficult to fight. If she moved too suddenly or pulled too hard against her restraints, the metal cord would slice into her skin with ease. Talia suspected it was laced with something, as the cuts she had burned beyond the sting of what a normal cut usually provided. Each time she faltered, it felt like liquid fire had been poured into her veins.

“What is the meaning of this?” an outraged Fran La Croix shouted. She was being pushed in by two of Yago’s guard, restrained behind her back. When she was thrown abruptly into a chair at the table and two men began to tie rope around her torso, she looked aghast. “How dare you?” she said to one of the two tribespeople confining her.

“Ah, General La Croix,” came Yago’s silken voice. The demon inside Talia raged, but she fought against it and managed not to damage herself against her ties. “So nice of you to join us.”

“What are you doing Yago?” shot back La Croix. “This is an outrage.”

“No, dear,” cooed Yago, “I’m sure you’ll understand soon. Tonight is a night of transformation.”

“What do you mean?” the elderly woman asked. “Why am I tied to a chair? I swear, if you mean to execute your allies in this – “

“Relax,” Yago said smoothly. “I intend to do quite the opposite, actually. The people gathered around this table will be reborn, as a matter of fact.”

“Reborn?” asked another voice at the table. “What are you on about? This is a waste of time.” Talia flicked her eyes over to Dmitri Orr, and her blood boiled hot. The last time she had seen him, he had removed one of her fingers.

“Dmitri?” asked Fran La Croix. She looked as if she were about to ask what he was doing there, but instead looked around the table. Talia knew who most of the people seated were, either by looks alone or from personal experience. Gathered there today were the highest officials in all of Nabius – those who were left, anyway. Three Generals were in attendance. Fran La Croix, Dmitri Orr, and Damien Di Coteau had all been ushered to the table, and similarly tied up. Around them were counts and nobles from all over, and Talia had seen them arrive slowly over the course of about an hour. It appeared that General La Croix had just noticed that she was in the presence of the top minds of Nabian leadership, and anger began to build more and more.

“A coup?! You slimy fucking rat!” As she shouted, a lock of her normally tied back white hair fell in front of her face in an undignified way. Talia couldn’t help but notice how old she looked and sounded. “I’m going to – “

“Shut your mouth, Fran,” said Yago with a lazy flick of a gloved hand. Talia caught glimpse of a glint of silver streak through the air before it struck General La Croix in the face, just above the righthand corner of her mouth. The needle there was so small that Talia could barely see it from where she was sitting. It didn’t take long for it’s intended purpose to show, when General La Croix’s angry shouting devolved into incoherent slurring.

A paralytic. When the General made a horrified face and lost most control of her facial muscles, Yago carried on.

“As I was saying,” he said while standing up and moving towards the table, “a rebirth, yes. This is not a coup – I have no interest in your lands or armies. Nor is this a waste of time,” he said with a pointed look at General Orr.

“Then please explain,” General Orr retorted dryly.

Talia had heard the explanation before, but listened more intently this time to see if the delivery would be any different. He is addressing generals, after all. Talia listened, and Yago went into a familiar speech. Of all the ‘transformations’ that she had witnessed, this one seemed to have the most passionate delivery. Yago went on about ancient knowledge from the provincial tribes, and gaining abilities from feasting on ritualized flesh. He commented that he and his sister had risen to the top of the Nabian world by using this technique, but neglected to mention that about half of those who partake in the ritual die from it. Talia would have said something, but she hadn’t had full control of her own mouth and body for days now. She also didn’t really care of the people at the table died, so she preferred to watch and see how they took the news. After a long silence, Orr spoke up again.

“So… your grand plan… is to make us eat a meal?”

Yago raised a finger at some servants, who began setting dishes in front of the guests at the table. “A bit reductionist, but you’re quite right, General.” Orr rolled his eyes, then closed them and appeared to try to calm himself.

“What a waste of fucking time.” Yago’s face darkened at that, but he said nothing. When General Orr opened his eyes and saw the plate before him, he looked disgusted. “Dear gods,” he breathed. “You’ve gone mad.” Talia couldn’t quite see from where she was, but she assumed that Orr had recognized the dish as human.

“Never been more lucid, actually,” Yago replied.

“Religious cannibalism? Yago, you can’t be serious. Tell me this is a sick practical joke.”

“I’m completely serious,” the general replied. “What you have before you is – “

“An abomination,” Orr cut him off. “Damien, surely you don’t stand for this too?” The Di Coteau general gave a noncommittal shrug, eyes still cast down. He barely seemed to be present at the meal, eyes glazed over and a deep depression coloring his body language.

“You’ll have to forgive Damien,” Yago said. “He’s received some troubling news about his daughter.” Damien fliched, but went back to being quiet. “As I was saying, what you have before you is a specialty dish. It’s not easy for the tribes to have success in preparing such fine sustenance. It sometimes takes multiple bodies to find the right cut that will also imbue power.”

“Yago, this is a monstrosity. I’m not some fucking illiterate savage that lives in the mud and can’t tell right from wrong!” Talia wanted to scoff at that, but remained still while observing. “You’ve lost your mind!”

“No,” Yago said quietly, “this world has lost its mind. Lost its course, really. Perhaps what you need is a demonstration.” Yago beckoned at a servant, who held a ladle of the dish that was set before Fran La Croix up to the General’s mouth. La Croix resisted at first, but the servant’s strong hands on the older woman’s face held her head back, and she was forced to swallow a heaping gulp of whatever the dish was. Some of it splattered around her face and out of her nose while she struggled, but eventually it went down. Two people to either side of her were subjected to the same treatment, and all three were wild-eyed at having been forced into the ritual. While this was happening, Yago continued talking.

“Once you and everyone at this table is turned, the Nabian leadership will be undeniably stronger. You’ll see soon – those who ingest do become stronger. I’m only trying to help you.”

“If you were trying to help, why are we all tied to chairs?” Yago shrugged at that.

“It’s usually best for those who undergo the change to be tied down at first. The effects can be… unpredictable.”

Just then, the three people that had been fed began to react. One man stood up on his legs, holding the chair that he was tied to behind him, and swung it by spinning his entire body in a circle. The legs of the chair hit the nearest servant in the legs, and brought her to her knees. With her at a height disadvantage, he launched himself at her face first and bit at her face and neck. She held him off long enough for two other servants to grab him from behind, and they carried him and his chair out of the room while he thrashed and screamed. Yago smiled at that, and turned his attention to Fran La Croix and the other count beside her. Talia could tell what was coming for them. Both began to violently shake, and pink spittle foamed out of their mouths. It only took a few minutes before they both passed.

“Ah well,” Yago said dismissively as their heads dropped onto the surface of the table. “They were both too old anyway.”

“What… just happened?” General Orr asked, his face in shock. “Did you poison her?”

“No,” Yago said flatly. “Occasionally, that happens. Only the weak die to the disease – the strong are enhanced. Strength, speed, vision, and aggression are dramatically increased in those who undergo the ritual and make it out alive.” Even Damien was now paying attention, and the rest of the nobility seated at the table sat still. The tension in the room was overwhelming, and the air felt thick.

“He looked deranged. He looked – “

“Like the Di Coteau demon, perhaps? Or maybe myself? I know you’ve seen my sister and I both fight before.” Orr looked contemplative at that, and Talia knew that Orr knew Yago was right. She had experienced the transformation herself, and had barely been able to hold the madness off for the past few weeks. A long silence went by, before Damien spoke up. His voice was raw, and grief was written all over his face.

He’s broken. Talia was glad that Jezebel was dead, but still felt a small twinge of pity for her uncle. For all his incompetency, he at least loved his daughter.

“Why now? Why didn’t you bring us this option before?” Orr had spoken again, seeming to get over most of the initial shock. “Even if it is… distasteful.”

“An excellent question,” Yago said with a smile. “You’re quite right – we shouldn’t have waited. But bringing this world a new order took time to orchestrate, and a few third-party groups have caused me delays.”

Third parties?

“But now, my nephew’s rebellion has given me the perfect chance to remold the world. He supplies me with constant warfare, which in turn supplies the tribe with bodies. They ritualize the meat, and the supply chains I’ve spent years building distribute it. At this rate, it won’t take long for the entire world to be reborn.”

Oh saints. All at once, the pieces fell into place for Talia. That’s the reason he never joined in. Apparently, Orr made the same conclusion as Talia at the same time.

“You never helped the others out because you wanted even matches. Even now, with enough force to overwhelm Alexandre’s armies, you only match their strength. Is that why you’ve refused to help?”

“Maximum carnage,” Yago said with a shrug, “means maximum product.”

“You bastard!” While Orr fumed about that, Talia’s mind thought further out.

If he’s matching fights to get as much tainted food as possible, and plans to distribute it…

“What about the soldiers that have died? You could have spared them!” Orr spat.

“A war can be a nice cull too. Those who don’t survive the rebellion don’t deserve a place in my new world anyway. If they can’t last in a fight, they probably can’t get through the transformation.” All around the table nobles were forced to begin eating. Orr had now begun screaming profanities at Yago.

… the change kills as many as it turns. If everyone’s food supply is tainted… half the population will die.

“The strongest of the strong will rise from the ashes of this time. Surviving the trials of war and then the change will breed only the most powerful Nabius – the most powerful world. We will ascend,” Yago continued, glory in his eyes.

No no no, Talia thought. I have to stop him. She chose this moment to unleash what she had been holding back, and let the last barrier topple.

Kill them all, she told the demon inside.

Her arms wrenched down, freeing her wrists from the razor wire. The skin on her hands had been flayed off by the move, but Talia felt no pain. She darted forward faster than she had ever moved before, and disarmed one of the servants around the table before he had time to react. Wrenching his spear from his hand, she rammed it into his gut and pulled it out just as hard. The spear whipped in the opposite direction in a sweeping arc, opening the neck of the next most near guard. A tribeswoman servant attacked her with a platter, which she blocked with the shaft of her spear. Throwing both improvised weapons to the side, Talia knocked the woman’s hands free and kicked at the inside of her knee. Buckling that, Talia reached out with one hand on either side of her opponent’s face and twisted. This freed her line towards Yago, and she began running. But when she saw Dmitri Orr’s face observing her, her vision went red.

No! Leave him, he doesn’t matter!

But it was too late. The demon had seen its next target, and visions of him beating her and removing her finger with one of the daggers that her father had given her flashed in her mind. She had relinquished control. Against her will, she leapt onto the surface of the table, and began her assault. While Orr was tied up, she grabbed a fork and stuck it into him. Then, she grabbed a glass pitcher, smashed it, and shoved the broken end into him. He screamed, and she continued to jam anything sharp that she could find on the table in him.

Talia knew that she had no time, and tried desperately to redirect the demon’s wrath. She conjured images of her uncle’s abuse to her and her brother during her childhood. She imagined the rapes, the taunting, and the depraved cruelty that she had been subjected to.

Kill.

Her head turned to the side, and she ran down the length of the table straight for Yago, who was standing at it’s head. About half of the way there, she tripped, sprawling onto her front and knocking dinnerware around in a cacophony of clatters. Her legs had stopped working. She saw needles protruding from her skin, and knew that she hadn’t even felt them go in.

“NO!” she screamed in a voice that was half animal. She let out a roar of frustration, and writhed as much as she could while moaning and cursing as her body began to lose it’s feeling.

“You see, Damien?” said Yago, a smirk on his face. “The niece we share has been undergoing her transformation for quite a while. She resisted for an impressively long time, but it looks like she’s coming around. And my, what a show you put on for us Talia.” Talia twitched spastically, despite the paralytic that was coursing through all of her body by now.

Damien Di Coteau, one of the remaining two Generals in Nabius that weren’t with Alexandre, simply stared. Eventually two servants picked Talia up off the table, and began ferrying her back towards her restraints.

Saints this is bad. Alex needs to know! He needs to be warned. But as she reflected on that while she was carried away, she wondered if a warning would even help. How can you win against someone whose whole goal is fighting? If you fight him, you’re essentially handing him victory. If you don’t fight him, he’ll come and slaughter you anyway. How do you win against someone that achieves their goals no matter what you do?