"Reid Senior, rise." The Great Ones sat behind their lowered balcony, Reid before them in soiled clothes and chained at the wrists. The Clarinets stood behind him, Bell silently wiping at her eyes. Clare tried to keep a straight face, but often had to turn away. This all happened so fast, and now the Great Ones had Reid's clarinet. "Do you realize the soberness of this crime?"
"Yes, sir." Jazz clenched his fists, growing more and more angry with each question. The Great Ones presented a stained, torn uniform cord.
"Do you identify this cord as from your uniform?"
"No, sir." A gasp ran throughout the crowd. The guard began to whisper and smile with confusion.
"Whose uniform is it from?" The female asked. Reid looked down a bit, shifting his weight and hesitating even longer to answer. "Reid, are you withholding names from us?" Reid suddenly glanced up but remained silent.
"No, mam."
"Then you do not know where the cord came from, if not your own uniform?" Reid shook his head slightly. "An answer, please."
"No, sir," he quietly replied. Bell turned into Liggy's shoulder. The Head Great One stood and cleared his throat.
"Reid Senior, you have plummeted your friends and family to a war we wished not to enter. Conducting in such foul war play is asking for destruction and death. Because of you, due to lack of opposing evidence, we must now watch our beds each night and our routines each day. In the name of the Bandopian hierarchy, I renounce your Section Leader title and disband you from the war." Reid's head dropped and he fell to his knees. The Clarinets rushed forward, pushing past the band managers to surround him. Angry cries rose up from the crowd, while still factions clapped for masked justice. Reid's hands were free, but it did him no good. A dishonorable discharge from the war was worse than death. Jazz broke from the group and rushed into the Saxophone's camp. Eufo merely watched in disbelief. From the castle window, Sal watched with tears spilling down his face. A conflict of interest had left him grounded to the steel floors. The other drum majors sighed and spit curses at the verdict, but Sal wasn't listening. He only saw his best friend watching his life thrown away. Reid would never march with the band again.
The Shadows finished their breakfast and began packing up for the day's competition. A skinny messenger flew himself across the floor, spouting news of a strong Clarinet leader being banned from contest. The Shadows let out a glorious cheer and began dancing around their fire. Reb and Art smiled cunningly and chuckled at their luck. Harp, a soft-hearted warrior, asked who they might be.
"Reid Senior," the messenger gasped. "Reid Senior, the head Section Leader." Harp drew in a deep breath and stood, ordering that their celebration stop.
"Idiots!" she screamed. "He bleeds too, does he not!" Reb looked up at his younger companion with a distrusting eye.
"Where's your spirit, Harp," he snidely asked. "These are our enemies!"
"These are our brothers," she pleaded, glancing down. "One time or another, we all played together, did we not?"
"Harp," Art asked, changing the subject mildly. "Did you give the Pian guard flags?" Harp immediately glanced down. "You did," he answered, standing. "You also asked that we use their field for practice, didn't you. And did you not suggest we meet the Pians, begging them for water?"
"I can't see my kids thirst and starve!" Harp exclaimed.
"Well, the Pians can," Reb finished. "They were the ones who finished our water source, setting us back a day of practice. I say we attack now while they're down."
"And do what," Harp spat. The Shadows began yelling ideas.
"Burn the fields!"
"Take over their castle!"
"Tear down that hideous band hall!"
"I won't have it!" Harp interrupted. "What you do is without my word, let you all remember that."
"Let's go play," Art ordered. "We attack tonight, what we're doing, I won't know."