Having heard him say so blatantly, Arminius lifted his head. “S-Surrender?” Baffled, he stammered.
“Please, allow me to explain.” Rantzau held up a hand, halting him from thinking ill or wrong 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 directly.
Speechless upon hearing of his contradicting points, of 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 on a string from the conversations they had, taking him wherever it aimed. 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 that in order to defend the wolkne to the death, we must sacrifice some fræhædne.” His voice quietened, not wanting anyone other than Arminius to hear him say. “Then whenever we are ready, as a wolk, every man, woman, and child shall pick up arms and lœser 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 spirited, even if that man appeared typically composed, but one word had 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 clearer.” Expecting the lieutenant to have concerned himself with what he once feared as well, Rantzau explained. “At least, for the time being, he intends to make frjedding.” In short, he spelt out their strategy.
But even that did not convince the lieutenant who instinctively mentioned other doubts. “Would the Feds even accept this?” Arminius tried to reason, believing that the mayor had not factored in the rules of war. “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.
Unable to compute his meaning, Arminius stared at the lord whose sight was continuously set on the distance. He seemed not unsure nor sure, but neither did he appear to be troubled. The boy’s education in the histories and politics may have been one thing to have taught him the patterns of the past, but reality was another teacher, perhaps wiser. Yet, when he was answerless without even a breath of critique, Rantzau was more than happy than to give him all the time he needed to think for himself even if their silence was awkward. As the young stood wondering, the older gladly waited. Fidgeting his fingers, Arminius’s slightest movements suddenly stilled, and he was frozen there, debating in his own mind. But no matter how he thought, however much he doubted it, he arrived at the same conclusion and it was that one answer that they had sought.
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.” said Rantzau.
The sun had grown amberish and its light had begun to slightly wane. He subject himself to the brute of the chill of the winter night and slot 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 away 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 begun to set in. It was already the fourteenth hour.
Looking out into the direction of the sea from where the cold air blew, 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 had judged. “If Kolchakov had to garrison ten men in every village, a hundred men in every town, and a thousand in every city, he would have himself and a mule left to face us.” For how he worded the enemy’s trouble, it did not sound like it was an exaggeration.
Arminius turned to Rantzau whose outward gaze was steady and there was a smile on his face and it seemed that the boy had underestimated this man whose humble appearance and compassionate character had suggested to him that he had no courage and was a mere mayor claiming righteousness, knowing nothing about the relations of man and states. He should have known that under this facade was a monster at statecraft.
“Once they have taken the bait and have forgotten this little kingdom…” The mayor revealed the steps to his plot 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, wanting for him to spell out everything there was to his plan.
Chuckling, Rantzau dismissed his indirect praise, addressing the point that the lieutenant had missed, “Inexperience does not subtract away what I had learnt and heard.” The young lord stuck his hands in his pockets, no longer so defensive. “That Léon Carlstadt, skœjkdet as he was, he was more learned than I could ever be.” He reminisced, deeply and bittersweetly.
The lieutenant recognized the name and his energy sprang out. “Julien’s father?” Arminius was able to recall.
“We lived on the same street, Léon and I.” Seeing that it had intrigued the boy, Rantzau told his story for nothing much else was needed to be known yet about his strategy. “He was like an elder brother and a teacher too…”
As his memories began to surface from a film of decade-old rust, 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 but however persevering, only brief scenes of vestiges awarded 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. The snap of gunfire followed soon afterward, delayed by a fraction of a second, that 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.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUxCqq9PtAU
