>>5578936Of course, no attack came on the next day, but another parley. The fires were dead, the enemy camp calm. The Allkhan in his distinctive dress, this time with six escorts. Message unclear. Just out of what was clearly arrow range by the mass of corpses before him. You meet him. Six of your own. Alys, Domlech, Edmund, and three of the remaining knights. All mounted.
The Allkhan, in his gaudy dress, bows his head in a measure of respect. “Lord Campbell. You have acquitted yourself well, better than most could have hoped to.”
You do not return the respect. “Leave our lands, go back to your wastes, and never return. My blade still thirsts for the blood of your clansmen and I find less and less reason to restrain it as time goes on.”
He smiles. “So hostile! But I suppose your reputation is not for nothing, my Lord Campbell. I am no monster. I wish for less bloodshed, not more. I will strike a tent just beyond your arrow line, and beyond the reach of my own troops. Meet me there, tonight. We have much to discuss, I think!”
Alys whispers to you. “Agree, Will, you don't have to follow through, Lady's sake, I could kill the bastard tonight before he arrives if you want.”
You nod, to him and your wife both. “Very well! Tonight then!” Both parties ride behind their respective lines but it is not long before your men observe construction of the aforementioned tent.
Back at the command building you find the others returning along with a new guest, the Lady Beata. You quickly fill them in on what was discussed. There is a flurry of argument and disagreement. Edmund silences it with a stomp heard throughout the room. “Stop! Lord Campbell has given your city a day to live, for that he deserves to speak.” You nod your thanks.
“I want you all to have a say, this is your city, not mine. But I was tasked with ending the disorder here by the Emperor. If that means killing this Allkhan, then I will do that. If there is a better way, I will consider it. Lady Beata, my apologies, I can see you wish to speak, please share.”
The woman twitches nervously at the attention, but gathers herself admirably quickly. “I only want my husband back. The men found no body. My, my, my memory, it is- fragmented, but I think those bastards took him. If they have him, please bring back my Bertrand. Please.” Tears run down the young woman's face. Knowing the abuse she suffered at the hands of the false duke, your inner soul burns.
