Arminius lifted his head up in shock. “S-Surrender?” Baffled, he stammered.
“Please, allow me to explain.” Rantzau held up a hand to stop Arminius from thinking poorly of him. “I had received a skræbding from my lord liege, the king, over a week ago.” There were no clues as to why he would reveal this knowledge to Arminius, a lieutenant, but he informed him nonetheless.
Speechlessly wondering how a king would issue an order for surrender before the battle had even come, Arminius could not help but think that he had been led around by a farce. But Rantzau was no liar. He told the plain truth. Nothing false could ever have come out of this honest soul.
Patting his chest, it made a sound that was like the faint rustling of paper, and whatever it was, he kept it stashed away from the light of day. “I was decreed to defend the wolkne to the death, but to realise his wishes, we must sacrifice some freedom.” His voice quietened, for he did not want anyone other than Arminius to hear what he was saying. “Then whenever we are ready, as a wolk, every man, woman, and child shall pick up arms and disease the Rusisk from within.” The quickened pace of how he spoke was telling enough of his conviction.
It seemed befitting of a Danner to be that spirited, even if that man appeared typically composed, but one word caught the boy in a bind. “Whenever?” He repeated. “The war would be over by then.” Arminius warned, having experienced the waves of the horde more than the mayor knew about them.
“I doubted all reason behind my king’s words, but his meaning became clear,” Rantzau explained, having anticipated the lieutenant’s concerns. “At least, for the time being, he intends to make peace.” He spelt out his strategy.
But even that did not convince the lieutenant, who instinctively mentioned his other doubts. “Would the Feds even accept this?” Arminius tried to reason with him, believing that the mayor had not factored in the situation they found themselves in. “They have the leverage.” He worried on.
The young lord somewhat admired the boy lieutenant for his perceptive thoughts, but he chuckled softly, hinting that peace may not be what it seemed. “Can we ever be certain that they have the leverage?” asked the mayor.
Arminius, unable to interpret his words, peered up to the lord, who maintained a steady gaze on the distance. He seemed neither unsure nor sure, but he certainly did not appear to be troubled. The boy’s education may have taught him the patterns of the past, but reality was another teacher, perhaps wiser. When he was answerless, Rantzau was more than happy to give him all the time he needed to think for himself, even if their silence was awkward. Fidgeting his fingers, Arminius’s slightest movements suddenly stilled. He debated with himself, but no matter how he looked at it, however much he doubted it, he arrived at the same conclusion.
Before the lieutenant could speak his answer, the mayor noticed the change in his expression, telling him that he had unwound his intentions. “Precisely that.” Rantzau said.
The sun had grown amberish, and its light had begun to wane. He subjected himself to the brute of the chill of the winter night and slotted himself behind the eye of a church tower. A bronze bell swung, gonging. Its bellowing chime could be heard leagues away. The sound dispatched the clouds, which thinned like bands of flames, extending a helping hand out across the skies to warm the city however long it could, but the evening wind had already begun to set in. It was the fourteenth hour.
Looking out in the direction of the sea, the nobleman squinted to keep the salt out of his eyes. “The only reason that they had accepted Meyer was for the fact that only a Dedskisk can rule Dedskland.” Rantzau judged. “If Kolchakov had to garrison ten men in every village, a hundred men in every town, and a thousand in every city he had conquered, he would have himself and a mule left to face us.” From how he worded the enemy’s predicament, it did not sound like it was an exaggeration.
Arminius turned to Rantzau and found a smile on his face. It seemed that the boy had underestimated this man, whose humble appearance and compassionate character led him to believe that he was merely an average mayor. He should have known that under this facade was a monster at statecraft.
“Once they have taken the bait and have forgotten about this little kingdom…” The mayor revealed the steps to his plot, and that was enough for Arminius to conclude his intent.
Drawing a slight grin, he knew he had been fooled. “And you said you lacked experience?” Arminius challenged him, wanting him to explain every detail of his plan.
Chuckling, Rantzau dismissed his indirect praise, addressing the point that the lieutenant had missed. “Inexperience does not subtract what I had learnt and heard.” The young lord stuck his hands in his pockets, no longer so defensive. “That Léon Carlstadt, timid as he was, was more learnt than I could ever be.” He reminisced, bittersweetly.
The lieutenant recognised his name, and his eyes widened. “Julien’s father?” Arminius was able to recall.
“We lived on the same street, Léon and I.” Noticing the boy’s intrigue, Rantzau began to tell his story, as there was little else that needed to be known about his plot at that moment. “He was like an elder brother and a teacher too…”
As his memories began to surface from a film of decade-old dust, the sun continued its descent, reappearing behind the church. The light soon set onto the surface of townhouses and their red roof tiles. The mayor’s joy of remembering his past was genuine, but it only forced an uneasy feeling onto the boy who could not.
He tried to recall his memories, and he persevered. Only brief scenes gave him a peek into his younger childhood. Before he pained himself any more from stressing his mind, the noble’s sigh distracted him.
The mayor shook his head in shallow sorrow, failing to abandon the days of his carefree past. “En skade dad— (A shame that—)” Drawn into the thought, Rantzau closed his eyes and reverted to his mother tongue.
None had noticed, but the glint of glass sparkled briefly in the far. His head suddenly exploded from within, and fragments of his skull shot outward. A bullet dug through his head and exited, landing in the water of the fountain behind him. The snap of gunfire followed soon afterward, delayed by a fraction of a second, which sent the children screaming. Soldiers cowered for cover, but Arminius could not.
Blood had splattered over half his face turned away from the sight, avoiding the shrapnel of bone and brain that washed over him, and he stumbled backward. The mayor’s lifeless body stiffened, his arms and legs slacked, as if his entire body had lost tension. The force had punched his head back, propelling him into the fountain, and as he sank, he tainted the stone and once clear waters with a dye of thick red blood.
ns216.73.216.189da2
and then Add to home screen.