"There's still time to flee, Martin!" Anabele Georgique, a Pelagian woman of about 37 who had been with the PNA since she was 19, implored Martin give the order to retreat from their hideout. Scouts had informed the leadership of the PNA that the convoy of IOI vehicles were still about an hour from the old Indiotrovth manor.
"Louic," Martin murmered under his breath, almost silently. He ran his finger up and down the grip of his pistol before turning his attention to Anabele. "Fernand XI didn't flee from Pelagis when the myror and the Eluvatarans reached the gates. He went down with the city. I don't intend to dishonor his memory by retreating from this battle."
"Fernand knew the battle was lost, Martin! The myror were coming from the north, the Eluvatarans the south, and the Prydainians the west! The myror have left three directions open for us, three directions to fall back to!"
"Fall back? Anabele, where would we go? They'll just keep sending more and more men until they get what they want - our heads!"
"We could redoubt to Traval, hide in the forests. Or we could advance on Thanelen - overthrow the mayor and hold onto the peninsula."
"Overthrow the mayor? You're having delusions of grandeur, Anabele." Anabele threw her hands up in the air.
"Martin, you haven't been on the streets in months! You don't know the power we have out there - we could do anything! Cross the border into Letonna - the Neustrians would welcome us with open arms. A new Pelagian Empire, Martin; a new Pelagis on the River Tel! It's in our grasp, but if we stay here we're dead!"
"That's not happening, Anabele. They have Louic on their side. I think he knows our plans before we do."
"Martin, use your head! You told Louic where we'd be. He doesn't know merd - at least nothing more than we tell him!" Martin stood up and walked to the window. It was calm now, with men taking positions at the doorway of the old manor, but he knew time was limited.
"This is where we make our last stand. We had a good run but it's over - we can only take out as many myror as we can before the end."
"Martin, I know you've always wanted to be a martyr but this is stupidity."
"Don't call me stupid, bitch! These are your orders!" Martin took a step towards Anabele. "You swore an oath that you would give your life for this movement and it's time to cash that check!"
"Don't talk to me about cashing checks, Martin! This isn't about your incessant need to die for something; this is about Louic! You can't stand the thought he went soft in prison and turned us in!" Anabele spit on the floor. "Raçe traitre! Good riddance!"
"What did you just call him?" Martin said, stepping forward again. Anabele held her ground.
"Raçe traitre! He's no better than the myror - selling us out for his own benefit. It's sick! But now we can move on knowing he's a spineless traitor and you're holding us back, keeping us here to die with you! Other people betray you, Martin, you need to understand that! If you spent your time living with the myror instead of theorizing you would know that!"
"I will tell you one more time, Anabele - you will stay here and fight with us or I'll lock you in the basement and let the myror find you. I'm sure they won't be kind to a Pelag - a Pelag woman." Anabele stepped forward and swung at Martin's cheek, the sound of the impact - almost like a tenderizing hammer hitting a steak - reverberating through the office. Martin fell and landed on his backside, legs sprawled out before him.
"I have no intention of seeing you run this revolution in the ground, Martin! At least half these men are loyal to me - I'm taking them away from here. You can come with us, or you can die here. As much as it sickens me to know you'll let half these men die so you can wallow in your depression, I'd rather be rid of the lot. Anyone who listens to you is weak - this army can do without them." Anabele walked towards the door as Martin scrambled to his feet.
"Wait, Anabele!" he said.
"What is it?" she replied angrily, turning around to see Martin holding the handgun previously resting on his desk. He fired three times, hitting her in the chest and knocking her back, her body hitting the wall next to the doorjamb with a thump. She slumped to a seating position and Martin stepped forward and shot her in the head.
"Your Majesty, the Imperial Chamberlain is here for your five o'clock." buzzed the elderly woman through the speaker on Fredrika's desk.
"Send him in, please." she replied, leaning back in her chair and throwing an annotated copy of her speech on the desk. She removed her reading glasses and tossed them on top. Gothren entered her office soon after, squeezing by a small cherub on a pedestal that was placed just too closely to the entrance.
"Your Majesty," he said with a rare smirk on his face. Seeing his expression, Fredrika smiled in turn.
"It looks like you have good news for me," she said, trying to hide her eagerness.
"Well, the Pelag was right. It was a tough fight but the IOI took the manor. 26 deaths - 25 on their side. One poor agent caught a bullet through the scrotum - went into his leg and hit the femoral artery. Poor guy," he said, shaking his head.
"But we won? We captured the manor - and everyone in it?"
"That's correct," he replied. Fredrika shrieked for joy. "One of the Pelags lead us to this upstairs office that he said had their leader in it - he killed himself during the battle. I guess he murdered his second-in-command and couldn't take it."
"Bastard," Fredrika said. "I wanted to see him hang."
"I suppose some people just escape justice," he replied. "Pity though it is." Fredrika, smiling ear to ear, hopped several times.
"Oh, this is incredible! So this is it! I had no idea it'd be this... easy." she said excitedly.
"Well I wouldn't say it's all over, ma'am. There are still other sects hiding out - and if we don't resolve the problems plaguing the Pelagians another group like the PNA will surely take its place."
"Oh, that's a problem for another day! Besides, I'm sure the men you captured will talk."
"Well, that's what we hope, ma'am."
"I think Peté has a humidor in his office downstairs. I'll have someone get us two cigars. Oh, and champagne! This day is simply glorious!" Slipping for the second time this day, she couldn't help but say glorioos.
"Well, work is hardly from over, ma'am." Gothren began, trying to calm her mania. "How's your speech coming?"
"Oh, my speech!" she said, returning to her desk. Picking up the paper and her reading glasses, she leaned back in her chair and put her feet up. "It's coming along. I think 'cica rushed a little bit, but I worked out the worst parts. Oh, I'll have to add a part about this momentous news! Does the press know?"
"Not yet, but they will soon. A few local newspapers saw the convoy."
"Well, keep them away as long as possible. I want to be the first to tell my - the - nation. 'Fellow Myrorians, I have news of a great victory for our people and nation.'" she said, giving the last sentence a particularly royal inflection.
"Perhaps it'd be best not to gloat, ma'am. The Pelagian population probably needs consoling."
"Oh yes," she said sarcastically. "I feel so bad for those Pelagians - losing the terrorist insurgents they knew and loved."
"Well it's not about them losing their terrorist insurgents, ma'am, it's about them losing the only outlet for communication they had with the government." Gothren said, slightly uneasily. Pelagians and outlanders were two subjects it was risky to breach with the queen.
"Communication? You call bombs communication?"
"Well, it is a method of communication. They could have chosen better ones, but regardless it's probably best not to gloat over making them silent. Perhaps you could make ways for the Pelagians to air grievances - they don't have Houses to represent them, of course. Or perhaps you could encourage His Majesty to do it once he returns."
"Don't remind me, Gothren! I don't know how much longer I have - he could be back tomorrow, for all I know."
"Forgive me, ma'am." he said, deadpan. "What do you plan to do with the Pelag who tipped us off?"
"I told you, Gothren - let him go. The Pelagians can do whatever they want with him. I don't owe him anything. His help was useful, but he's not useful anymore and it doesn't make up for the... terrible things he's done."
"I understand, ma'am, but you promised him protection."
"Promises don't mean anything. Marith promised me a year ago that when she got married Mehra - " the queen shuddered momentarily - "wouldn't be there. But now she's a bridesmaid! Oh, or my teacher at the Lycée - he promised the Board that he wasn't holding parties at his house off-hours - but the entire junior and senior classes must have been there. Or my husband, he promised..." Fredrika trailed off for a moment.
"But anyway," she continued, "Promises don't mean anything. I won't waste tax dollars on that skeezeball." She took her feet off the desk and leaned into her buzzer. "Please have someone get the Chamberlain and I a cigar each,"
"What kind, ma'am?" creaked the elderly woman on the other end.
"I don't care. A kind for celebrating."
"I'll have them surprise you, Your Majesty." she said.
"Great secretary," Fredrika said to Gothren. "No nonsense."
"Yes, she is a good secretary," Gothren said, trying to steer the queen back to the topic at hand. "But it's dangerous, politically I mean, to start breaking promises."
"Oh, will you lay off it, Gothren? What political clout am I going to hold once my husband comes back anyway? It'll be just like it was before he left - all the newspapers talking. 'The Empeuress was at this party', 'The Empeuress wore this gown', 'Is the Empeuress pregnant again'? Such nonsense. Just allow me this one luxury, Gothren."
"I'm just saying," he said, taking a deep breath. "Look at it from Louic's shoes. His Majesty took the throne from you after promising not to - you promised this man his life." Fredrika was silent for a moment.
"People die all the time," she said, slightly unsure.
