“Ah, Colonel von Eos,” Meyer greeted him with cordial intentions, his eyes still fixed on his loot. “How glad I am to finally make your acquaintance—” He did not hear the sound of footsteps approaching rapidly until they were just a few paces away.
A hand grabbed onto his shoulder, and the marshal finally turned around, but he was not met by friendliness. The same hand pushed him back against the table, which rocked, knocking over the candle. The faint ember that was near death toppled, and its wax poured over the floor. A pen rolled off the edge, and Meyer, startled, dropped the monarch’s badge. Eos’s eyes were usually red like passive roses, but they had turned flame-like. 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 was neutral, but his soul was enraged, and the reason for his displeasure was not as straightforward as one might have 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 his brow raised. “Might I remind you of your position, colonel?” He provoked him.
However, it did not deter the wild Confederate. What Eos saw as he set foot on palace grounds made him believe that 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.” The colonel returned with a threat of his own.
The Zhermanner soldiers dropped the corpses and bore arms against Eos. Half a century of potential enemies encircled the colonel, pressured to free the marshal, marching closer and aiming their shots, but the Eos trusted in 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 realisation 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 about whether he was sane. “I cannot hope to bring peace to this land because your hand itched—” Berating him, his hands tensed.
“Colonel Eos!” A vibrant roar came from behind him, 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 draught. 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 powerful figure and his personal retinue marched towards him.
Walking into the light, his face was revealed. Meyer’s expression became one of relief as Eos’s hand released him and his glaive was drawn away in no attempt to hide his actions. The colonel returned into a mood of servitude and spun towards the man, snapping to attention and saluting him as he neared. His superior approached, each step more ominous than the last, dense with threat that had every soldier in the hall flinch. The following, which he travelled with, halted and formed around the hall’s entrance. The only man present who could stop this rogue colonel was another grand marshal, who was older, wiser, and had a stronger voice than his counterpart.
The marshal passed by the colonel, who held his salute until their shoulders had aligned. “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 before the man synonymous with the military. His command was absolute, and his word was supreme. Casting away his moralities, the colonel heeded him without question.
“March north and aid the Radilovs in the subjugation of the Three Crowns.” Kolchakov directed him, 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 final glance at the grand marshals who exchanged words of greeting. Behind his back, the traitor grinned. The colonel could not bear to share the same air as an honourless ally and stormed out of their sight, shoving past the marshal’s retinue despite their willingness to kindly give way for him. 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. 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 scoffed. “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, Meyer found it difficult to forget the incident.
His equal sighed, gazing out of the window, his arms crossed. “Unfortunately, the Premier, the Grand Prince, 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 because to him, Eos was but a colonel and was nothing more notable than his rank. “Why so?” He became intrigued.
“You’ll learn.” Kolchakov spoke with certainty.
The moonlight had been reduced to that of a blur, and the heavens were asleep. The remaining corpses were hauled out under the open sky, painting trails 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 by ice. The sound of the earth being hacked away was 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 replicating for the betterment of their continent.
The Rus grand marshal suddenly turned to the Zhermanner with a change in pace. “Aside from that.” Uncrossing his arms, he reached out an open hand, a gesture of 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 it was blank, Kolchakov realised its original purpose. The grand marshal picked it up and turned the page over, seeing the print of the king’s sigil. Deciding that it had fulfilled its purpose, he shredded the page and cast it over the floor. Its pieces glided, colourless, without a word and landed on ink spilt out of a pen, which seeped through and blackened the emblem of the Iron Cross.341Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0sCthTa5nn
and then Add to home screen.