Flash Points

01 - The Rebel Camp

He had once helped stave off a grueling siege in an isolated mountain town; had once been ambushed by tribesmen in the jungles of Ibestein. He had forded the Helaphas in full flood and scaled the Aghritar range in a howling blizzard. He had encountered numerous bandits, and one night had barely escaped an assassin's blade.

Never once in all that time had he felt more keenly that he was in hostile territory than this moment, in a rebel tent in Breken-Tor, surrounded by guards with only two of his men for escort.

"Well, I'll be damned." Dressed in the same homespun camouflage as his men, General Hans contemplated his visitor with bemusement. "I thought my men must've tapped a keg when they told me who had walked into camp." He dipped his head in an ironic nod. "I'm honored, Your Highness."

Prince Elias, third in line for the Breken-Tor throne, ignored his sarcasm. "General. I'd like a few minutes of your time."

One eyebrow arched. "Certainly." Hans gestured to a seat. "Take as much time as you need. It's been a long winter, and we've been short on entertainment."

Muffled snorts from the guards and a quiver of tension in his men. He knew that Rhys and Mateo thought him mad, and fully expected to die defending him tonight.

Elias swallowed his nerves. "My brothers have negotiated a ceasefire between themselves."

Hans' eyes narrowed. "I know."

"They see you as the bigger threat."

"How flattering."

"They plan to deal with you first, then each other."

"I am not so easy to kill, Your Highness."

"Your guerillas require the aid of the locals; they will not supply you if my brothers rally the nobility against you."

"We can take what they will not give."

For a moment he was afraid he had misjudged the man. Then he saw the uncertainty in the General's eyes. "Then you would be no better than the men you fight."

Silence. "What do you propose then?" A mocking smile. "My surrender?"

Elias steeled himself. "The nobility might remain neutral if you had the support of royal blood as well."

Hans stared, then barked a laugh. "I see. So you want a piece of the pie as well, Your Highness?"

Elias let the derision pass. He couldn't blame the man for thinking thus, not after the bloodshed of the last ten years. "You know that's not true."

"Then why?" Hans challenged, suddenly sounding furious. "Why should you care what happens to Breken-Tor now?"

It took effort, but he held the General's eyes. "I walked away from my duty once..."

"Leaving us to the tender mercies of your brothers," Hans said, irony in every word. "Yes, I recall."

Recalled, and not yet forgiven, if his tone was any indication. "I was trying to prevent civil war."

"Worked out well, didn't it? For you."

This time Elias looked away, shaken by the man's bitterness. It had worked out well for him. Ten years he had spent in voluntary exile, and as hard and dangerous as they were, yet they could not compare to the decade of misery in Breken-Tor. Given the choice by his brothers between civil war or the freedom to roam the world, he had seized the opportunity to explore as his heart desired, and convinced himself that he was being unselfish by forsaking his claim on the throne. And if reports reached him of the hardship back home... well, surely it was not as bad as hearsay rumored.

Not until chance took him close to the border did he have any misgivings, fueled by refugee stories. To reassure himself, he had made a foray into Breken-Tor proper, and had been shocked speechless by the changes in a once-prosperous land.

It wasn't as bad as hearsay rumored; it was worse.

He had seen it in the fallow fields, in the razed villages. In the fearful way commoners watched his escort, and how he had dined one evening on thin gruel because it was all that the inn could offer.

More unpalatable still than this meager fare was the realization of the real reason he had left.

"Do you want me to apologize?" he asked. "I'm sorry. For being young and uncertain. For being afraid of the responsibility and scared of failing. For forgetting your lessons about loyalty and honor and courage."

"We would have followed you, you know. Had you stayed after your father's death, claimed the throne, we would have followed you. We knew who your father wanted for his heir. Damn you, Elias, this war might never have happened if you'd stayed!"

"I know." He forced himself to meet the General's eyes. "I can't give you back what I threw away then, but I can try and save what's left."

A despairing chuckle. "What're you offering that your brothers haven't, Elias? Fame, glory, riches? Every man here has already faced those temptations, and still here we are."

So his brothers had tried and failed to recruit the General. What could he offer, he who had only his sword and a handful of faithful retainers to his name? Elias looked at the battle-hardened man before him, at the breathless attention of the listening guards. And suddenly he knew.

"Peace," he said, and the soft word filled the tent. "I'm not interested in wreaking vengeance or destroying my brothers' armies. Where battles can be avoided and compromise is possible, I will not order needless bloodshed. Breken-Tor has had ten years of war; I am offering you the chance to help me restore peace."

For many minutes there was only silence, and Elias wondered if he had failed after all. Then Hans stood and drew his sword with the ease of an old veteran, ignoring Elias' guards. He contemplated the naked blade a moment, then in one motion knelt and placed it at the prince's feet. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes, and a fragile hope.

"Welcome home, Your Highness."

***

Word count: 997