Chapter 18
Declarations
Atkynd twisted his wrist, grimacing as his wooden shortsword smacked loudly against Dynar's, though he narrowly managed to parry the elf's blow to the side. Dynar grunted and stepped in with a follow-up thrust, but Atkynd took a quick step back in time with his opponent's movement, and Dynar's blade cut through the air harmlessly. Shifting his weight to his front leg, Atkynd went on the offensive, lashing out with two quick cuts aimed at Dynar's arm. The elf parried the first and caught the second on his blade, pausing to grin before pushing Atkynd back.
The two were sparring on the soft grass behind the palace of Atatar, an open, secluded spot where they could train without interruption. This particular bout had gone on for over four minutes, by Atkynd's estimation, with neither one scoring a decisive blow. Typically, one of them struck the other within the first several seconds of a round, but both had started slow, and were now fighting defensively, each stubbornly trying to avoid taking the final blow.
The pair eyed each other warily as they circled, tentatively jabbing just inside their opponent's range, but not close enough to actually strike the other's body. Atkynd was the one who finally took the initiative, pausing in his circling to feint to his left, and then he darted in. Dynar had been anticipating a feint, however, as Atkynd had started to over-rely on them – something he was realizing the more they fought. Habits were hard to break, however. Thus, he was forced to stop short when the Ayleid simply held up his blade, nearly skewering Atkynd on its blunt point. Atkynd managed to bounce backwards on his toes just as Dynar thrusted at him, and in that moment, the elf over-extended himself. Taking advantage of the sudden opening, Atkynd tapped him on the wrist with the edge of his blade, then darted in to press the tip of his blade against the elf's sternum. Before he could, however, Dynar drew his hand back and knocked the wooden sword out of Atkynd's grip. Atkynd winced, shaking his hand out, while Dynar scowled at him, unimpressed.
"What was that?" he scoffed.
"That was supposed to be a victorious strike in my favor," Atkynd muttered, flexing his fingers to relieve the stinging pain lingering in his hand. "I had intended to disarm you."
Dynar raised an eyebrow, then shook his head. "Even with a real sword, I doubt that blow would have left a cut, much less severed my hand," he replied.
"We're sparring, not fighting on the battlefield," Atkynd protested as he lowered his hand. "I was simply trying to signal what I would have done. I didn't wish to harm you."
"Mm. I appreciate your consideration, but I maintain that the strike was too light," Dynar insisted. "Even if we were using a point system, as I've seen in some competitions between nobles, I would not have counted that as a valid blow. You're correct, we are sparring and there's no need for us to try to injure each other, but were we wearing armor, I would not have even noticed it."
"Would you prefer that we actually fight with armor from now on, then?" Atkynd countered.
"…That may be wise, honestly," Dynar said thoughtfully, looking away as he considered the suggestion. Atkynd frowned as the prince turned to him. "Your swordplay… you said you were taught it in a court, yes?"
"By the same tutors that instructed the princes of the Bjoulsae, yes," Atkynd confirmed slowly, folding his arms over his chest, his tone subtly asking where Dynar was going with this line of questioning.
Dynar nodded. "I believe that we've been sparring long enough for me to provide an assessment. If I may offer my thoughts?"
Atkynd's frown deepened, but he inclined his head, allowing the Ayleid prince to continue.
"The techniques that you were taught are generally impractical for the battlefield," Dynar continued. "You have been trained to focus upon finesse and form, and while accurate attacks are important, yours lack the power necessary to land decisive blows. Even if you were to strike an unarmored part of the opponent's body, I doubt you would do more than break the skin, even with a sharpened blade. You certainly wouldn't sever a limb, or even likely cut a major artery, and whomever you were facing would have more than ample opportunity to take advantage of your weakness."
"Well… I'm so glad to hear those years of study have been an utter waste," Atkynd muttered, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He still bore small, pale scars on his wrists and arms from where his first fencing teachers had struck him during training.
"Forgive me," Dynar said quickly, holding his hand up. "I did not mean to insult you, nor to imply that your training was wasted. There is much to praise about how you wield a blade. Your footwork and distance control are both quite good – when you don't panic or lose your balance – you have quick reflexes, you know how to use your height and reach to your advantage, and most importantly, you fight intelligently. You are a fairly skilled swordsman, and the techniques you have learned could be applied in battle. It's simply a matter of retraining your body so that you also apply the necessary strength to damage your opponents when in actual combat."
"Well… that is why we've been training for the last several days, isn't it?" Atkynd pointed out.
It had been almost two weeks since the rebel army had triumphed over Morahame, and though they had opted not to continue to push north since then, they had certainly not been idle. With Nenalata serving as a buffer, and the other powers in the central Niben still too preoccupied with each other to worry about the upheaval in the southern kingdoms, the Paravant had chosen to spend some time strengthening her forces while she had the opportunity.
After Morhame had been sacked and the inhabitants that had surrendered had been captured, the Paravant had ordered the army to return to Atatar, rather than advancing to Nenalata. Atatar was the most northern city directly under the Paravant's control, and it was near enough to Nenalata that they could rush to their ally's aid if necessary. The city also still needed to be rebuilt, and a new ruler had yet to be decided. Until then, the Paravant had decided to make Atatar her temporary capital.
While Atatar was being rebuilt and fortified, the Paravant had ordered her men to train. Most of her warriors were spending hours in formation, mastering the phalanx. While his centurions oversaw the men, Morihaus was busy devising new strategies to address the shortcomings of the powerful but slow-moving formation. Meanwhile, Pelinal had held true to his promise to personally train Huna – as Atkynd could personally attest to. One day, when Atkynd had walked past a door that was left ajar in one of the rooms in the palace, he was shocked to see the two sparring vigorously, wearing nothing more than thin cloths around their middles. Despite the furious striking of wood on wood, the two had been fighting so close to each other that Atkynd had mistaken it for wrestling, or even dancing at first. He had hurried off before Pelinal had spotted him, and he when he passed by the closed door later, he had pretended not to hear the muffled grunts coming from within the room.
Dynar, meanwhile, had offered to spar with Atkynd when he had noticed Atkynd's swordplay was based on a noble dueling style similar to one he was familiar with. It quickly became apparent, however, that Dynar was the superior fighter, and what had started as sparring had quickly become swordplay lessons instead. Thankfully, the mutual respect the pair had for each other meant that Atkynd did not mind accepting Dynar's corrections, especially since the Ayleid had proved a good tutor. Dynar, in turn, had waved off Atkynd's apologies that he was not yet on par with the prince's skill, insisting that by teaching, he was discovering flaws in his own form and improving as well.
"Actually, the more I think about it, the more I believe you would benefit more if we trained with blunted swords and armor," Dynar remarked, turning over the wooden sword in his hand. "It would be the swiftest way for you to learn how to fight an armored opponent."
"Please note my enthusiasm for that suggestion," Atkynd said drily. "While the Paravant's healers are skilled, I'd rather not tax them more than necessary while there are still wounded to tend to." He glanced down at his hip, where his now-broken sword usually rested, and added, "Besides, this is a moot point, since I no longer have a sword anyways."
"I'm certain we can provide you with a new sword," Dynar chuckled. "It's not as though that was the only blade in the world."
"No… but it was something I brought from my homeland," Atkynd admitted wistfully. "While it was simply a standard blade procured from our armory, I'd carried it for months. Losing it was a bit like losing a companion."
"I understand," Dynar nodded sympathetically. "One does often develop a certain attachment to equipment they've had for some time. Still, perhaps this is a good opportunity to select a blade that better suits you. Perhaps one that's lighter, or more flexible?" he suggested.
"Perhaps." Atkynd murmured, still looking away.
Dynar gave him a thoughtful look, then added in an undertone, "You may benefit from a longer blade as well…." Atkynd frowned, noticing his ponderous expression, but when the Ayleid caught his eye, he waved it off. "Forgive me. Merely thinking aloud."
"Not at all…." Atkynd murmured.
Dynar frowned, noting the distant look in Atkynd's eyes. "What is it? You seem distracted."
Atkynd glanced back at the prince and shook his head. "Forgive me. I've found it increasingly difficult to focus lately. I haven't been sleeping well. Especially since we returned from Morahame."
"…Nightmares?" Dynar asked gently.
"Some," Atkynd admitted. Occasionally, his dreams were plagued by images of the slaves caught under the falling blades in Morahame, of dremora bearing down on him with infernal weapons, of Mehrunes Dagon's voice resounding in his skull. More than once, he had awoken in a cold sweat with his heart hammering in his chest.
"That is understandable," Dynar nodded sympathetically. When Atkynd still didn't meet his eyes, though, his frown deepened. "Is that all that's troubling you, though?"
Atkynd reluctantly met his intense blue gaze, and he let out a soft sigh. "Not entirely. This conversation has simply stirred up memories of my homeland, I suppose."
"Are you feeling nostalgic for it, perhaps?" Dynar suggested.
"A little," Atkynd conceded. "Though my concerns run deeper than that. I have remained in Cyrod far longer than I should have, and I fear that my king may be growing impatient. I… also worry that the aid I have provided the Paravant's rebellion has gone beyond what I can reasonably justify to him. I do not wish to be branded a traitor, especially should news about my exploits here reach him before I can explain myself to him."
"I see," Dynar nodded. "Well, until now, you have had little choice but to remain, considering that the kingdoms in southern Cyrod likely would not have granted you passage out of the realm anyways."
"Yes, but now that they have been pacified, I have little excuse to remain," Atkynd grimaced. Yet whenever he found himself contemplating the journey home, he felt a sense of unease, as though he was leaving a task half-completed. Part of him was anxious to leave the savage land, but another part of him felt compelled to remain, and he had yet to reason why. He was an emissary from the Kingdom of the Bjoulsae, and he had no desire to renounce his allegiance to his king. Still, despite that….
"If you require passage, my offer remains," Dynar reminded him kindly, snapping him out of his musings. "It would be no trouble to arrange a ship for you to return to your homeland."
"I know," Atkynd nodded, managing a faint smile. "Thank you," he added, trying to ignore the twisting in his stomach that the prince's generous offer provoked.
A rumble of thunder interrupted their conversation, and they both turned their attention to the clouds looming overhead. It had been overcast since before dawn, but the weather had remained dry throughout the day. As the first raindrops began to fall, Dynar held his hand out to see how much rain was already falling, then glanced towards the palace.
"I suppose this is a good time to stop for now," Dynar commented.
"Indeed," Atkynd agreed, taking a deep breath, resolving to repress his inner turmoil for now. As he turned and began walking with the prince back into the palace, he added. "I need to speak with the Paravant soon anyways."
"Ah. Regarding her impending judgement?" Dynar asked, his tone turning grim.
Atkynd nodded, his stomach clenching again as they ducked under the ceiling of the palace just as the rain began to fall more steadily. "She did ask to meet around midafternoon, so if she hasn't returned already, she should be here shortly."
"Where is she, anyways?" Dynar asked as he led the way into the armory.
Atkynd smiled faintly as he followed the Ayleid into the room and set the wooden sword on the table, then turned to face the prince, unable to stop himself from chuckling. "If she isn't speaking with Morihaus or Whitestrake, then I'm certain that she's with Pasare," he answered.
When Perrif had informed Morihaus that she wanted her men to train, she had included herself among those that required the most improvement. Initially, the minotaur was aghast at her insistance that she wished to fight alongside her men, and adamantly refused to allow her to join the phalanx with the rest of the men. Even after Perrif had assured him that she would allow Pelinal to protect her, the minotaur had remained stubbornly opposed to her proposal. Eventually, the two had reached a compromise where Morihaus had reluctantly agreed to allow her to train with a bow, though he emphasized that it would only be for self-defense – he was still hesitant to even allow her to join the archers, and it remained an unresolved point of contention between them. Pasare had been selected by Morihaus to serve as Perrif's teacher in the meantime, and since then, the two had spent hours training together. It now seemed that whenever she was not otherwise occupied with directing the rebellion, Perrif was practicing archery almost obsessively.
Dynar slowly shook his head as the two walked out of the armory. "It would seem the general's request that she stay out of the last battle affected her quite a bit, didn't it?" he commented.
"Well, I cannot claim to be the leader of this rebellion if I do not fight alongside my men, can I?" a calm voice addressed the pair from behind, causing them both to jump. Atkynd glanced over his shoulder to see Perrif gazing at them with an amused smile as she approached them, her dark curls slightly damp from the rain. Rather than her usual flowing robes, she wore a simple, short, brown chiton that left her arms and legs bare, with her bow slung over her shoulder and a quiver clutched in her right hand. Pasare walked beside her, dressed in the same manner, though wearing a much brighter, mischievous grin as they stopped a few paces from the men.
"I… forgive me, my lady," Dynar said sheepishly. "I did not mean to gossip…."
"You did. Though I don't mind," Perrif replied nonchalantly. Then she let out a soft sigh. "I must admit that Morihaus was correct. Had I joined the men in the previous battle, I would have been a hindrance. I have no martial experience, and the men would have been more concerned with protecting me than defeating Morahame's army. That is why I've been training so ardently these past several days, so as not to be a burden on the men I am supposed to lead. Though… I do also understand Morihaus' desire to minimize the danger I am in," she conceded. "Thus, why I agreed to using this." She shrugged the bow off her shoulder and held it flat in her palms, smiling down at it fondly.
"Quite the wise conclusion, my lady," Dynar praised her.
"You flatter me, Your Highness," Perrif said modestly. Then she turned to Atkynd. "I am pleased that we did not need to track each other down," she said, her expression turning more serious. "Have you finished scribing our decree?"
"I have," Atkynd confirmed, his stomach sinking further as the gravity of what he had written hung over him. "It is ready for you to review whenever you wish."
"Very well," Perrif murmured, looking down for a moment. She rolled her shoulders, seeming to gather her resolve before meeting Atkynd's eyes once again. "We shall meet in the throne room shortly. Please, take some time to clean yourself and change into more formal clothing. If you have transcribed what we discussed, then I believe there is little reason for us to delay any further. If you would bring the scroll with you, I would like to ask you to read it to the court for me. Would you please?"
Atkynd swallowed hard, then nodded as he lowered his eyes and quickly made his way down the hall. He could feel Dynar's gaze on his back as he hurried to his private room, but thankfully the prince didn't ask any questions. If he attended the meeting in the throne room, he would understand soon enough.
Once in his room, Atkynd changed quickly into his formal silver tunic and black pants, both of which had been washed for him after the last battle and no longer bore the stains of his travels. In a strange way, he almost missed its slightly more disheveled appearance – he had almost come to see the marks as battle scars, indicative of what he had accomplished over the past month or so.
After he finished dressing, he walked over to the desk and silently stared down at the papyrus scroll that lay rolled up on his desk next to three scattered reed pens and a small clay bottle of ink. He had spent two days drafting the document, agonizing over whether he should use a certain word or if he should reconsider the phrasing of a sentence. In the end, he had decided to dispense with most of the formalities that the elven scribes in his homeland adored. The decree that he had written for Perrif was succinct and direct, little more than a short statement that dictated her decision about what was to be done with the people of Atatar.
He slowly reached down and picked up the scroll, then turned it over in his hands, regarding it with a grave look on his face. He had never held a piece of paper as heavy as this, he mused. As he thumbed the edges of the papyrus, he felt his stomach roil more violently as he wondered once again if he was overstepping his bounds. He was an emissary in the service of the Kingdom of the Bjoulsae, not the rebellion. Yet, the Paravant had not only asked him to write the decree, but to read it aloud for her as part of her formal judgment. Surely that was a line he shouldn't be crossing. He was certain that his king would be furious if he caught wind that Atkynd was proclaiming sentences on behalf of another ruler.
You simply scribed Perrif's judgement, and now you are doing nothing more than reading it, another part of his mind insisted. She would do so herself, but she is illiterate. You are not, hence why she asked you. This is her decree, not yours. In this instance, you are nothing more than a messenger. Now go deliver the message.
Though he wasn't fully satisfied with his rationalization, it was enough to calm his nerves, at least for now. Scroll in hand, Atkynd exited his room and hurried down the marble hall. To keep his mind off his worries, he mentally recited what he had written as he walked. He was so distracted by his thoughts that he almost didn't see a pair of Nedic workers carrying a bundle of linens walking towards him from the opposite direction. He barely looked up in time to careen around them, and he shouted a hasty apology over his shoulder as the two men glared at him. As he regained his balance, he thought he heard one of them mutter something about elves under his breath. Atkynd decided to ignore the comment.
Turning a corner, he stepped through an archway and emerged into the cavernous throne room of Atatar's palace. Atkynd took a moment to gaze around the refurbished room, noting the changes that had been made since the rebels assumed control of the city. Many of the Welkynd stones that had been used to illuminate the room had been replaced with torches burning along the walls, giving the room a much warmer glow compared to the cold white and green lights of the Ayleids favored, though the brilliant, glowing white stones embedded into the marble walls had not been pried loose. Any decorations bearing Glinferen's sigil for his city had also been removed, giving the room an almost skeletal appearance, as the marble walls and floors shimmered more brightly without rugs and tapestries to offset the otherwise monotone colors. Atkynd also hadn't yet grown accustomed to human warriors guarding the doorways leading into the other rooms of the palace, though he certainly appreciated the fact that they didn't eye him suspiciously as he approached the throne.
Perrif had arrived before him and was already standing in front of the throne. She had changed into a set of flowing red linen robes, with a simple rope belt tied around her middle to keep them closed. Atkynd also noticed that the sleeves only fell to her upper arms, and the hem was cut short above her calves, so that the bronze manacles she wore on her wrists and ankles were visible. The outfit made her seem simultaneously humble and imperious, Atkynd mused. It was fitting for the leader of a slave rebellion.
Pelinal and Morihaus stood on either side of the throne beside her. Morihaus's massive arms were folded over his chest, and he nodded politely to Atkynd as he entered the room. Pelinal, on the other hand, rested the point of his sword on the marble floor and had both hands crossed over the pommel. The knight didn't even acknowledge Atkynd as he approached the queen, though Atkynd felt that was a vast improvement over the open hostility he usually endured.
"Guards? Please retrieve the prisoners," Perrif requested of the armored warriors standing near the exit to the palace. The pair marched down the steps and out of sight, leaving Atkynd standing uneasily in front of Perrif as he nervously rolled the scroll around in his hands. When the guards reappeared, they were clutching the upper arms of a chained Ayleid dressed in a dirty grey chiton – Glinferen, the former king of Atatar.
Behind them, eight more guards escorted Glinferen's nobles, who were in turn were trailed by a small crowd of curious humans. The guards didn't bother to shoo away the humans, though when they reached the threshold of the throne room, they were stopped by the warriors guarding the entrance and made to wait in the entryway. They were, however, permitted to watch through the archway. Meanwhile, the Ayleids were brought before the quartet standing in front of the throne. Glinferen was thrown to his knees before them, and he grunted sharply before raising his head to glare up at his captors.
Atkynd glanced over his shoulder at Perrif, who caught his eye and subtly nodded. Atkynd took a long, slow breath to steady himself, and he tried to ignore his churning stomach as he unfurled the scroll. "Glinferen, former king of Atatar," he began, trying to keep his voice steady. "During your reign, you perpetuated crimes against all of Cyrod and her people. You are guilty of torture, mutilation, murder, high treason against your own people-"
"What farce is this?!" Glinferen interrupted, spitting disdainfully. Atkynd paused to raise an eyebrow at the captive Ayleid. "Who are you to pass judgment on me?! You savages dare to humiliate me in my own palace?!"
Atkynd regarded the ranting elf silently. Despite the former king's furious rantings, he was unimpressed. He vividly remembered how Glinferen had been the first to retreat when the battles in the Blackwood and on the Panther River had turned. How he had begged the Paravant's men to save him in the vaults below Morahame. How quickly he had surrendered when he was finally backed into a corner. For all his vitriol, all his sadism, all that Atkynd could see before him was an impotent coward who only maintained pretentions of strength when he was not being threatened.
When the elf once again fell silent, Atkynd continued, "For all these crimes, and many others committed during your reign, we hereby decree the following sentence. You-"
"What? Are you going to kill me?" Glinferen sneered. "You animals-!"
Beside him, one of the guards smacked the Ayleid across the face with the butt end of his spear. The former king's teeth clicked together as his head snapped backwards, and he let out an undignified cry of pain and indignation. Titters erupted from the crowd of humans watching from the entrance, while his nobles looked away uncomfortably. Glinferen opened his mouth to protest, but when the guard raised his spear again, he glared silently instead.
Atkynd took another slow breath as he gazed at the words scrawled across the scroll. He and Perrif had spent hours discussing a fitting punishment for the former king. Execution had been quickly ruled out. They mutually agreed that a swift death was more than Glinferen deserved. A tortuous death might have been more satisfying, as it would have allowed them to inflict the same pain on the king that he had forced others to suffer, but even that would not equal all his crimes. Worse, it would have reflected poorly on the rebellion, as Atkynd had pointed out, and might have driven away potential allies. Though they could dispense justice, they could not afford to act as cruelly as the Ayleids themselves.
With the most obvious option discarded, they had turned their attention to non-lethal punishments. Imprisonment was not viable, as the elven king would surely outlive his human captors, and he would have ample opportunity to foment a rebellion so long as he was kept in his home city. They had also considered humiliating him, such as turning him into a jester, but they quickly realized that all of their ideas were both insufficient and petty. Then, Perrif realized that they had already dealt him the ultimate humiliation by seizing his kingdom and stripping his titles. Thus, they needed only to solidify his fall from power by ensuring that it was permanent, that neither he nor any of his line could ever regain their throne.
When the room had quieted down again, Atkynd raised his voice, his words echoing off the marble walls in the silent hall. "We hereby decree the following sentence," Atkynd repeated, glaring down at the Ayleid. "You and your line are hereby exiled from the land of Cyrod, forbidden from ever setting foot within her boundaries again."
A heavy silence followed Atkynd's pronouncement, his words lingering in the air for a long moment. Then Glinferen let out a mocking, incredulous laugh.
"Is that all?" the former king sneered. "If you wished to take vengeance upon me for my supposed crimes, this is a rather poor way to exact it. Have you no imagination?"
Atkynd rolled up the scroll, looking down at the Ayleid disdainfully. "Since you do not seem to grasp the gravity of this decree, allow me to elaborate," Atkynd said coldly. "Tomorrow, you will be escorted out of Atatar and led in the only direction that you are permitted to travel in – west." He had spoken the Kothringi emissary, Zendren, before they had made their decision, and he had informed them in no uncertain terms that the Barsaebic Ayleids would not permit Glinferen to set foot in Argonia to the east. And with the rest of Cyrod to the north and the sea to the south, there was only one direction they could send the Ayleids.
"West…?" Glinferen repeated, the color starting to drain from his face. "The only thing to the west is the desert. The lands of the cat-men!"
Atkynd resisted the urge to smile as the implications of the sentence began to dawn on Glinferen. "You will be permitted to take only what you can carry with you," he continued. "No beasts of burden will aid you, and you will not be given any carts."
"Only what I can carry?! I cannot survive in the desert, especially with so little food!" Glinferen cried, his bright blue eyes widening.
"You will not be alone," Perrif spoke up from behind Atkynd. "Your nobles share in your crimes, for they were just as vicious as you. Thus, they will be exiled along with you." When Glinferen almost seemed to perk up at this news, she added, "But remember this, king. Ultimately, the acted as they did because their king permitted it, even encouraged it. So, as they followed you this far, they shall follow you still. And when they are traveling through the desert with you, as they suffer from heat and hunger and thirst, with every step they take, they will seethe with the knowledge that it was your hubris, your cruelty, and your cowardice that forever drove them from their homes."
Glinferen stared in disbelief at the rebel leader standing over him in front of his throne. "You… you cannot do this," he sputtered. "You cannot enforce this decree! You do not control Cyrod! Yes… yes, some other king in this land will surely take us in!"
"Our falconers shall ensure that this decree will be sent to all the kingdoms of Cyrod," Atkynd informed him. "Every king in the realm will know of your exile." He paused for a second, then added, "And in truth, I doubt that the other kings in Cyrod have little desire to aid you. Your personal cruelty and depravity are well-known throughout the realm, from Sancre Tor to Veyond. You gleefully proclaimed yourself the leader of the Narfinsel Schism, and it was you who personally led the purge of your fellow Ayleids. Whatever else they may think of you, they know that you have happily turned your blade on your own kind. What king would allow a kinslayer into their midst?"
Glinferen began visibly panicking, glancing around the room, silently pleading for someone to come to his rescue. He tried to push himself to his feet again, but another smack to the back of his head returned him to his knees. "What of the rest of my people?!" he cried. "Yes! Surely there are those still in my city that would see me restored to my throne! Or will you slaughter every Ayleid in Atatar?" he added, sneering at Perrif. "If you slay my people, you will prove yourself no better than I. No Ayleid will dare ally with you!"
"Rest assured, you may keep those still loyal to you close," Perrif responded evenly. "The commoners of Atatar did nothing to stop your excesses either, but so long as they did not own slaves themselves, we shall offer them a choice. Those that are willing to abide by human rule are welcome to remain as citizens of Atatar. Those that cannot, shall join you in exile."
"Then you have condemned us to death!" Glinferen shrieked.
"Not necessarily," Atkynd pointed out, folding his hands behind his back. "As was stated, you shall be exiled to the west. We shall not limit how far west you may travel. Perhaps if you successfully cross the desert, the Bosmer in Valenwood shall take pity on you and your people, and you may find a new life in their jungles." He then held up the scroll, his expression hardening. "However, you and those that accompany you shall never set foot in Cyrod again. That is the Paravant's decree."
"No… you wouldn't dare!" Glinferen shrieked. "The other kings will not stand for this!"
"Guards, kindly return him to the vaults," Perrif called out over his protests. "You will have time to gather your belongings tomorrow."
"Unhand me!" Glinferen snapped, trying to squirm his way out of the guards' grasp. "My people won't stand for this! I'll have my throne! I'll flay you alive! I'll cut out your hearts….!"
The deposed king's rantings faded into the distance as the guards dragged him out of the throne room and back to the underground vaults. Atkynd nervously turned the scroll over in his hands as he uneasily turned to Perrif, his stomach churning.
"General Morihaus," Perrif said, turning to look over her shoulder at the winged minotaur. "Tomorrow morning, please see to the expulsion of Glinferen and his followers from Cyrod. As I said, any commoners who are willing to live under human rule in Atatar are free to remain."
"As you say, my lady," Morihaus said with a bow. Pelinal let out a disapproving snort as he sheathed his sword and stalked off. The knight clearly unsatisfied, having called for a much harsher sentence than mere exile, but he wouldn't go against the word of his lady.
"Thank you, Atkynd," Perrif added, smiling wanly down at him. "Please take the rest of the day for yourself. I shall be retiring to my chambers if you need to speak with me."
"Of course," Atkynd nodded. As Perrif began walking away from the throne, he noticed her hands were shaking slightly and her face was paler than usual. Guilt washed over him as he watched her depart through an archway leading into the back rooms of the palace, and he turned his eyes towards the floor. "But I don't think there'll be anything else for today," he murmured quietly.
"Though the phalanx has more than proven its worth in the last several battles, it has two glaring weaknesses," Morihaus rumbled, his arms folded over his chest as he gazed down at the map spread out across the round marble table before him. Seated around it were Pelinal, Atkynd, Dynar, Perrif, and her five most veteran centurions, who had served as her commanders since the Battle of the Blackwood. "The first is its lack of speed, and the second is its vulnerability on the flanks. These are the two issues around which I've based my new stratagem."
It had been over a week since Glinferen had been exiled from Cyrod. To Atkynd's surprise, his departure had drawn little attention. When he, his nobles, and about a quarter of his people had been escorted out of the city by a full century of warriors, only a handful of humans had lined the streets to watch and jeer at the hated king – mostly those that had suffered under his brutal rule. The rest were far more concerned with what they considered more pressing issues, namely the rebuilding of the city and preparing for the next campaign.
Since then, Atkynd had attended several meetings on various subjects, ranging from establishing new trade lanes along the southern roads to formalizing the terms of their alliance with Nenalata. With each meeting he attended, his sense of anxiety and impropriety grew, and he found himself worrying more frequently over whether he should finally ask to return home.
"Telepe?"
He was also beginning to wonder if the rebellion truly needed his assistance any longer. The secretaries from Arpenia had a better grasp of trade than he did, and he suspected that it was only a matter of time before the Paravant's natural charisma eclipsed his ability to negotiate on her behalf. Though she did still seek his opinion on diplomatic matters, if her own magnetism was sufficient to secure favorable negotiations, there was little else he could teach-
"Telepe!" a raised voice prodded him, snapping him out of his thoughts. He abruptly realized he had been staring off into space, and that every eye was on him. He flushed as he realized that Morihaus had been asking him a question.
"Do you believe my nephew does not deserve your attention, elf?" Pelinal snarled. The centurions coughed or snorted into their hands, struggling to maintain their decorum.
"Forgive me," Atkynd said sheepishly, his ears still burning. "Would you kindly repeat the question, General?"
Morihaus pinned him with his heavy brown gaze for several seconds, and then he slowly rumbled, "My solution for addressing the weakness of the phalanx is to create a unit of horsemen to protect its flanks and provide an element of speed to our tactics. Our ally's cavalry greatly impressed me during the last battle, and I believe that a few centuries of our own cavalry would provide our own forces some much-needed flexibility. Do you believe you can negotiate with the surrounding kingdoms to provide us with horses?"
Atkynd frowned slightly, folding his arms on the table. "Securing the horses may be a touch difficult, as they're a valuable commodity for any kingdom, and thus quite expensive. It is certainly possible, though. However… does it not take a great deal of training to produce adequate cavalrymen? How are you going to create this new unit?"
"We shall draw from our existing ranks," Morihaus explained patiently. "Among our warriors are a few keptu men from the deserts south of Malabal. They tell me that their people are among the greatest riders in Tamriel, and they are familiar with both chariots and horseback riding. They have agreed to teach our own men to ride, so long as they are permitted to lead the first new centuries.
"Equipment shall not pose a problem – the men will continue to wear their bronze armor, and they are already familiar with the spear and sword. We may wish to construct smaller shields so that they can wield their spear in both hands if necessary, and I have also considered providing some with bows or javelins so that they may skirmish our opponents." When Atkynd raised an eyebrow as he considered the difficulty of training mounted archers, Morihaus held up his hand. "Simply ideas that I am considering." He straightened up again, adding, "I believe that our riders should be drawn from the most courageous and independent of our number, those hungriest for glory, who are unafraid to throw themselves into danger. Those that have chafed in the phalanx may find that they excel at fighting as my uncle does – as knights."
"Are you certain impetuousness and disobedience should be rewarded?" Atkynd asked cautiously. "In many armies, the cavalry holds a position of prestige that sees them elevated above the common warrior. By drawing your cavalry from the rashest warriors, are you not indicating that recklessness and selfishness are more favorable traits that discipline and camaraderie?"
"Hm… a fair point," Morihaus conceded. "Recklessness is often confused for courage, and there is a difference between initiative and impulsivity. I shall take your recommendations into consideration. Regardless, do you foresee any difficulties in securing horses for us?"
"I shall have to consult with the secretaries from Arpenia, and if you have any recommendations, Prince Dynar, I would greatly appreciate your assistance," Atkynd replied. "But… no, aside from that, I believe we can secure a trade."
"The kingdom of Kemen to the north of here is famous for breeding swift, black horses," Dynar mentioned. "If you like, I can speak with my father. I believe he has had dealings with them in the past, and if I recall, they are still on good terms with Nenalata."
"If you would," Atkynd nodded.
"Very good. Let us adjourn for a short while before we discuss the next matter," Perrif cut in. The members of her council began rising to their feet, but as Atkynd pushed himself up, Perrif walked over to him and gently caught him by the sleeve of his tunic. "Would you walk with me?" she asked quietly.
Something in her tone worried Atkynd, but he replied softly, "As you wish."
Perrif smiled and led him away from the room, guiding him out of the palace and onto the back steps overlooking the open clearing where he usually sparred with Dynar. Atkynd watched her take a seat on the stairs, and she motioned for him to join her. Once he settled beside her, she let the silence linger between them for a few moments before speaking to him.
"Is something troubling you?" she asked gently, turning to face him. "This is the third meeting where it has seemed as though your mind is elsewhere."
Atkynd found himself unable to meet her gaze, so he looked up at the sky, replying in what he hoped was an even tone, "There has simply been much to occupy my time recently. Forgive me for my lapse in attention earlier."
Perrif continued to gaze at him, and then she sighed. "For someone so skilled with speech, that was a poor lie," she chided him, though her tone was light. What Atkynd shot her a curious look, she added, "I spoke with Prince Dynar. He mentioned that you have become concerned about how active a role you have taken in my rebellion."
Atkynd grimaced, and he felt a flare of annoyance towards the Ayleid prince, but he quickly replied, "Well… yes, but if you still require my aid-"
Perrif held up a hand, gently smiling up at him. "Please, just a moment. I simply wish to apologize to you." Atkynd's words died in his mouth as she folded her hands in her lap. "I did not intend to place you in a position where you feel you must choose between your loyalty to your kingdom and to us. Nor do I expect you to perform tasks for us that you feel are beyond the scope of what is allowed by your status as an emissary of another land." She sighed again, looking up at the sky once more. "I also do not wish to separate you from your homeland. You've remained in Cyrod for far longer than was expected of you, and for that, I thank you. I fear that I cannot properly express my gratitude for all the aid you have provided us. I truly believe that without your assistance, our rebellion may have died in the Blackwood, even with Morihaus and Pelinal's arrival." Turning back to him, she continued, "Thus, I shall in turn do everything in my power to aid you. First, I would like to ease your mind. You needn't ask my leave if you feel you must return to your kingdom, as I understand that your duty is to your king, not to us. Second, whenever you wish to return, please, simply inform me. I shall arrange for the finest ship available to transport you home, to ensure that your voyage back is as swift, safe, and pleasant for you as possible. It is the least I can do to thank you for all you've done."
Atkynd flushed again, overwhelmed by Perrif's sincerity, and he looked away uncomfortably. While she peered at him curiously, he gathered his thoughts, then replied slowly, "I… sincerely wish to thank you for your own kindness, my la- Perrif," he added, noting the scowl that she shooting him for nearly using a more formal title with her. "And I'm glad to know that I am free to depart whenever I wish. In truth, though, Prince Dynar had already made a similar offer. Yet, I hesitated to accept it then as well."
He shook his head, placing his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. "The source of my restlessness is not merely a desire to return home, but my frustration at failing to understand why I am so reluctant to do so. I am fully aware that my duty is to my kingdom, yet for some reason I feel… compelled to remain here. And I cannot understand why."
"Well… you've been in this land long enough to form attachments with many of us," Perrif pointed out. "Perhaps it's simply a strong bond keeping you here." She shot him a sly smirk, then added, "Is it Tari, perhaps?"
"No. Well… yes, but no," Atkynd corrected himself, ignoring the grin spreading across Perrif's face. "Rather… while I feel that is part of the reason why I have sought to remain here, it is an incomplete answer. It seems to run… deeper than that."
"Can you elaborate?" Perrif asked gently.
Atkynd tilted his head and exhaled slowly, trying to formulate a response. Before he could, however, footsteps approached them from behind, and both Atkynd and Tari turned to see a teenage girl hovering in the archway leading back to the palace.
"Forgive me, my lady, but we have a visitor," the girl announced. "General Morihaus requested your presence. Telepe's as well."
Atkynd and Perrif traded looks, then both pushed themselves up and followed the girl around the palace and through the streets of Atatar. She guided them to the city gates, then shyly motioned to the walls above them, where Morihaus was standing with his arms folded, snorting impatiently. A crowd of humans had gathered on the walls around him and were murmuring nervously to each other. Perrif and Atkynd quickly climbed the stairs and looked down, whereupon they both immediately understood why Morihaus had summoned them.
Standing before the front gates of Atatar were five resplendent figures. Four of the visitors were hulking beings that seemed to be fully encased in bronze, Ayleid-esque armor. Each had a helmet decorated with upward-curved horns, and all carried large, double-headed bronze axes that seemed to glow with a pale, unearthly light. Yet, despite their almost elven appearance, there was something unsettling about them. Atkynd realized that he couldn't make out their faces beyond the shadowed eyeholes of their helmets, and they stood half-crouched, almost bestially. All four figures remained eerily silent as they stared blankly ahead at the walls of the city.
At the head of the small group stood a towering elf clad in full-bodied bronze armor that shined so brilliantly, Atkynd initially mistook it for gold. The pauldrons were stylized with high, sweeping wings traced with the outlines of feathers, evoking celestial imagery. A massive sword, perhaps six feet long, rested in a sheath on the elf's back, and he carried no shield. Around his head he wore an ornate headdress decorated with over a hundred feathers, which seemed to have been woven with his flowing, golden hair. His brilliant blue eyes met the Paravant's, and a slow smile spread across his lips. Atkynd's eyes widened as he suddenly recognized the figure standing before them.
"Greetings to you, leader of these rebel slaves," the elf called up to her, his deep voice booming off the marble walls of Atatar. "I am Umaril Many-Feathers, champion of the White-Gold City and chosen representative of the Council of Elders of the Ayleid Empire. Might I ask that we speak face-to-face, rather than shouting at each other over these walls? I come bearing a message." When Perrif hesitated, shooting Atkynd a cautious glance, he swept his arm around behind him and added, "I swear on my honor that no harm will come to you. These… warriors accompanying me are simply a personal guard to aid me in my journey through the jungle. We have no intention of doing battle with you this day."
Perrif shot Atkynd a wary look. Atkynd chewed on the inside of his cheek as he stared down at the Ayleid, trying to determine whether he was bluffing. From what little he knew of Umiral, the elf was confident to the point of arrogance, and willing to do anything to achieve victory. However, Atkynd also surmised that if he had wanted to fight, he would have either called out Perrif's champion or approached the city with an army.
"I do not believe he's lying," Atkynd said slowly. "However, I would also have your archers keep their bows trained on him."
"Thank you," Perrif murmured. She turned back to Umaril and called down, "I shall speak with you. Allow me a moment to summon my own champion-"
"No," Umaril denied her sharply, his smile vanishing. "I know of your champion. If we meet here, this meeting shall not end peacefully."
"Where is Whitestrake?" Atkynd hissed to Morihaus.
"He is currently speaking with Huna, I believe," Morihaus muttered back. "That is for the better. Many-Feathers is correct in his assertion – if my uncle laid eyes on him, they would undoubtedly engage each other. Hence why I came to the Paravant directly, rather than seeking him out."
"…Should they not duel?" Atkynd asked slowly. Morihaus regarded him with surprise – understandably, since Atkynd usually didn't suggest violent courses of action. Atkynd shrugged and added, "Pragmatically, would it not be wise to defeat their strongest warrior while we have the opportunity?"
Morihaus shook his head. "I know of Umaril Many-Feathers. I suspect that I know him better than you, in fact. He, like my uncle and I, has the blood of the ada flowing through his veins. While I trust that my uncle could defeat him, I fear the damage that would be done to the area, were they to clash here. The duels of mortal men cannot compare to those of the ada – the very earth itself would be damaged. Worse, it is possible the Paravant herself could be caught in their battle and slain. That, I cannot allow. No… so long as Many-Feathers has sworn to stay his blade, she is safest without my uncle accompanying her."
"And if he is lying? If he slays her here?" Atkynd asked slowly.
"Then no power in Aetherius or on Nirn shall prevent my uncle and I from slaughtering every Ayleid in existence," Morihaus asserted. "And I believe Umaril knows this as well. I suspect that he wishes to end this war, not escalate it. Hence why he has come to treat with her directly."
"Very well. Open the gates," Perrif announced suddenly, startling Atkynd. He realized that she had been eavesdropping on their conversation, and had apparently made up her mind. "Morihaus, Atkynd… please accompany me," she requested in a softer voice. "The rest of you, remain alert for treachery," she added, addressing her men on the walls. "Now please, make way."
The men murmured to each other, but the crowd parted to allow the trio to descend the stairs. Atkynd took a slow breath to steady himself as the gates swung open for them, and they stepped past the city walls together, stopping a few feet short of Umaril and his entourage.
Umaril drew himself up to his full height, towering over both Perrif and Atkynd, as his pleasant smile returned to his face. "I'm pleased that we can speak civilly with each other. Many of my people believe that you are little more than savage animals. It took me a great deal of persuasion to convince them that you could be reasoned with."
"You claimed that you had a message to deliver," Perrif said shortly.
"Indeed," Umaril replied, not seeming put-off by her curt response. "On behalf of the Council of Elders of the Ayleid Empire, it is my solemn duty to inform you that we must condemn the damage that you have wrought throughout southern Cyrod. You have inflicted terrible losses to the legitimate kingdoms of the south, and if rumors are correct, have slain no less than three sovereign kings. These are horrific crimes that have shocked and appalled the kings of Cyrod.
"Nevertheless, we understand that you have grievances against us, and your complaints have been noted," Umaril continued, his bright blue eyes lingering on the Paravant's, watching her intently. Atkynd stole a glance at her and saw that she remained impassive, not reacting to his words. "We also recognize that you are young and impetuous, and while we are outraged by these crimes, we are willing to show leniency. Thus, the Council of Elders shall offer you and your followers pardons. Your crimes shall be overlooked this once. In exchange, you must immediately lay down your arms, disband your army, and return to your masters. The cities that you have taken shall henceforth be ruled by the closest relatives of the slain kings, and the status quo of Cyrod shall be restored."
"I see." Perrif folded her hands in front of her, placidly turning towards Atkynd. "I would ask your guidance on this matter," she requested.
Atkynd stared incredulously at Umaril. He knew the Ayleids were arrogant, but the sheer audacity of their request…. "The status quo of Cyrod would be restored?" Atkynd repeated slowly. "And every slave shall be returned to their masters?"
"Naturally," Umaril confirmed with a pleasant smile. "Stolen property must be returned to its rightful owners, after all."
"And would these pardons grant them immunity from any punishment their masters might inflict upon them?" Atkynd countered, folding his arms over his chest.
"The Council of Elders stated that it would grant pardons," Umaril repeated. "However, it cannot dictate how every king rules his domain, much less manages his property."
"In short, in exchange for an unconditional surrender, you are permitting everyone complicit in the rebellion to be condemned to death," Atkynd stated bluntly. "And if your terms are refused?"
"Then this uprising shall face the full might of the Ayleid Empire," Umaril said, his tone almost surprised, as though his response was obvious. "It shall be crushed, and any who dared support it shall suffer just punishments for daring to turn against their rightful masters."
"Thus, your only options are surrender and probable death, or to continue to wage war. A war, I might add, where your opponents have already experienced remarkable success and now not only hold a favorable position, but also enjoy the momentum of a string of victories," Atkynd pointed out. He glanced over at Perrif and added sardonically, "You asked my advice, my lady? Though I may be mistaken, I believe it is not in your best interest to accept the Council of Elders' offer."
Beside her, Morihaus snorted with laughter, though Perrif managed to maintain her composure at his sarcastic assessment. Umaril's smile faded, then he tilted his head, a frown creasing his face. "Forgive me, but you seem familiar," he addressed Atkynd. "You… are the emissary from Malabal who spoke in the Temple of the Ancestors over a month ago, are you not?"
"I am," Atkynd confirmed, folding his hands behind his back.
"Intriguing. I was unaware that you turned against your king," Umaril remarked.
Atkynd's eyes narrowed at the insult. "I have turned against no one," he snapped. "My allegiance is to my king."
"Yet you offer advice to a rebel leader?" Umaril asked, frowning deeply.
"She requested my counsel. I can share my thoughts with her without betraying my kingdom," Atkynd pointed out."
"The kings of Cyrod will not see it that way," Umaril warned him. "They will only see another rebel aiding an illegal insurrection. Though… perhaps we might show clemency, given the circumstances. Have you been forced to remain here against your will? Coerced into aiding them?"
"At first," Atkynd admitted. After thinking for a moment, he added coldly. "Though given that my options were either to assist them or be slain by three hostile Ayleid armies in the Blackwood, it's not as though your people gave me a choice."
"A fair point," Umaril conceded, inclining his head. "Nevertheless, there are no longer any enemies to the south, and the Niben is open to you. You could depart this land whenever you wish. So tell me, emissary… why do you remain in Cyrod?"
Atkynd stiffened, his breath catching in his chest. Once again, he was faced with the question of why he was lingering in Cyrod when he was free to leave. Why was he electing to remain in this savage land? Assisting a rebel uprising that had little chance of success? Enduring the insults and threats of a mad knight who would have gladly slain him had his lady not stayed his hand? Suffering through battles, starvation, and the constant threat of death? Logically and pragmatically, he should leave.
Yet, Umaril's message had finally made it clear to Atkynd why he was still here, still helping the rebellion. When the Ayleid had indifferently informed Perrif that he could not – and would not – stop the kings of Cyrod from torturing their slaves upon their return, he had remembered the horrors he had witnessed in Ceya-Tar, in Fanacasecul, in the Blackwood, and especially in Morahame. The Ayleids in those cities were mad, sadistic beings who did not merely abuse their power over their slaves, they gleefully sought to commit the most horrific, cruel atrocities they could imagine. The rebellion Perrif led was the first true chance the slaves had to free themselves from the Ayleids' madness, and if it failed, it would be the last. After what Atkynd had witnessed, he felt that he could not allow the slaves in Cyrod to suffer that fate if he could help them in some way, in any way.
Compassion, he realized. That was why he had stayed this long, and why he still wished to remain. Not because it was his duty, but because he wanted to stay, to help the rebellion. And so long as Perrif wanted his assistance, he would lend it in any way he could.
Atkynd kept his epiphany to himself, however. Instead, he calmly answered Umaril, "So long as the situation remains volatile in Cyrod, it is my duty to remain as an observer on behalf of my king, so that I may properly advise him about which courses of action to take with regards to diplomacy and trade. Suppose I forged a trade deal with a kingdom that no longer existed by the time I returned home. I'd look rather foolish. As this rebellion is the cause of this upheaval, it's also wise to remain at the center of the storm, as it were. If, in the course of my observations, I vocalize my thoughts on a particular situation… well, it's this lady's decision whether or not to heed it. Thus, it is her you should treat with, my lord. Not I."
Umaril tilted his head back slightly, seeming unconvinced, but amused. He turned back to Perrif, folding his arms over his chest. "You have received my ultimatum," he rumbled. "I would have your answer."
Perrif once again folded her hands in front of her as she met Umaril's brilliant gaze. "Thank you for taking the time to come all this way, but I must decline your proposal," Perrif replied, her tone gracious, but her eyes flaring with indignant fury. "We shall never surrender."
"If so, know that you are, in effect, declaring war upon the entire Ayleid Empire," Umaril warned her. "The Ayleid kingdoms of Cyrod will unite against you, and you will not know peace until they are all vanquished."
"If they wish to wage war against us, so be it. If they wish to ally with us, we shall greet them as friends," Perrif responded resolutely. "But I shall not rest until all of humanity has been liberated. And if I must subjugate every other kingdom – if I must become Queen-ut-Cyrod to do so – then I shall."
Umaril's smile faded, and a look of cold fury settled over his face. Atkynd felt his heart racing as his icy blue gaze bore down on them, though Perrif remained stoically calm beside him. "Very well," he said in a dangerously soft voice. "I had hoped we would come to a peaceful resolution, but if you wish to wage a hopeless war, so be it. You have made a powerful enemy this day, Queen of Slaves. I shall remember you, Paravant." He turned to Morihaus, adding with a chuckle. "And of course, it is impossible not to know of you, Breath-of-Kyne. I warn you now – guard her well."
Morihaus slowly unfolded his arms, lowering his horns. "And I warn you – threaten her again and I shall do more than merely 'guard her,' Many-Feathers," the man-bull snorted.
Umaril held his stare for a moment, and then he turned to Atkynd. "As for you, emissary… I shall not forget you either, Atkynd av Aluciel-Sunnagea"
Atkynd glanced over at Perrif, gathering his resolve, and then he met Umaril's eyes. "Telepe," he corrected the Ayleid champion. "My name is Telepe."
Umaril lowered his head slightly, his eyes flashing with surprise and amusement. Then his gaze wandered to the walls of Atatar beyond them. "And of course… he who lies beyond my sight… and that is where he must remain…."
Atkynd frowned in confusion, tilting his head at Umaril's strange pronouncement. The mer shook his head, then raised his hand, beckoning the silent golden warriors to follow him. The quartet turned in unison and trailed him back down the road as Perrif, Morihaus, and Atkynd watched him until he rounded a corner and disappeared from view.
"Those were not idle threats, my lady," Morihaus murmured, just loud enough for Atkynd to hear.
"No," Perrif agreed grimly. "Still, our goal has not changed. We shall still liberate all of Cyrod. We must simply now be aware of the possibility of a more cohesive Ayleid alliance opposing us."
"Then we shall prepare for that eventuality," Morihaus assured her.
"Very good," Perrif nodded. Then she turned to face Atkynd, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across her face, "At any rate, I am pleased that the Kingdom of the Bjoulsae has decided it is in their best interest to allow you to remain with us for a while longer, Telepe."
Atkynd – Telepe – felt his ears starting to burn as even Morihaus began chuckling. He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders… then reluctantly began to sheepishly grin as well. After a moment of consideration, he replied, "As I said, so long as this realm is in chaos, I cannot provide an accurate report to my king. And since you've stated that you intend to unite Cyrod, and we have already established a cordial relationship, it is in my kingdom's best interest to see you succeed. Thus, I shall provide you whatever aid you require… on behalf of my kingdom, of course."
"Of course," Perrif agreed, laughing merrily.
"Well then, let's return to the palace and resume the meeting. We still have much to discuss," Telepe said. Perrif gave him a delighted grin as he turned and strode back into the city with his head held high, his heart feeling much lighter than it had in weeks.