IC 1358 to 1359: Scheme

THE TOWN OF MANNENBURG.
ADMINISTRATION OF THE HOLY KNIGHTS.
OFFICE OF THE GRANDMASTER.

IC 1358.
A FEW MONTHS PRIOR TO THE BATTLE OF THE ISLAND OF MIN.

Grandmaster Argent, of the Holy Order of Knights, was having a private meeting with one of the Knights' senior commanders, Master Schema.

"And what is it that you so urgently needed to discuss with me?" asked Grandmaster Argent.

Master Schema replied, "This concerns one of the brother knights."

"Who is it?" asked Argent.

Schema began, "Brother Raruba, of the Southern Branch of the Order. Presently assigned to the garrison near the coast of the Draconic Sea."

"I have never heard of him," admitted the Grandmaster. "What is his grade and title?"

Schema answered, "He is a simple Brother. After serving the Order as an auxiliary for three years, he only received the honor of full knighthood about one year ago. Although he is now entitled to bear arms, he is too poor to afford a horse. He presently serves as a spearman in the second rank of his formation."

"And what concern do I have with a member of the rank and file?" said Grandmaster Argent dismissively. "I am a busy man, you know. I am most concerned presently with my contract with the Bellezians." Grandmaster Argent had seen 45 years, most of them on the battlefield. His last few years had been spent managing the logistical and financial aspects of the order. A heavily built man, his hair was now graying. Still, he had enough to still be an imposing figure. "The Serene Republic of Belleza wants control of the island of Min. A strategic waypoint for merchants in the south sea trade. To this end, we must eliminate their rivals from the Attican League. If we complete this mission for them, then I will have enough money to retire from military life. I will purchase land enough to have a respectable estate, and, with luck, the Emperor will grant me the title of Duke. To myself, and to my heirs, in perpetuity."

"Allow me to continue," Master Schema said. "It is precisely that which you said, that this situation could affect."

Argent nodded.

Master Schema continued, "Brother Raruba intends to travel to the Holy City."

Argent interjected, "Well, so good on him. It is praiseworthy for every knight to make a pilgrimage if he is able to."

Master Schema explicated, "He is not only there to receive a blessing. He intends on seeking a personal audience with the Holy Father himself. Concerning matters of not only spiritual, but material importance."

Argent grew more attentive. "Now you have me listening."

"Raruba believes that the Order should play a purely defensive role. Reverting to its original mission, in protecting pious travellers on pilgrimage."

"He is a young idealist. But he will see that the world is more complicated than that."

"Raruba is opposed to your deal with the Bellezians. He claims that it is improper for the religious brothers to involve themselves in the affairs of merchants... and to wage war for profit is a sinful act."

"...Now I am beginning to see the problem we have here."

"You see, sir... If he arranges a meeting with the Holy Father, it would not paint you in the best light."

"The Holy Father does not even know about our deal with the Bellezians. He believes that we are still fighting against heathens in the Eastern Land."

"Depending on how the Holy Father reacts, you could be removed from your position in the Order... That would be the end of your political ambitions. You could even be excommunicated from the Church... A social death sentence."

Argent stood up with seriousness. "Then we need to get rid of this problem. What do you propose?"

Schema answered, "Murder would be too obvious. The knights are vigilant, and to have one die suddenly would attract too much attention." Schema then said with self-confidence, "Instead I propose the following. I will command the marine expeditionary force when it departs for the Draconic Sea. At the first major battle, I will place Brother Raruba on the front line. Then I will order the back line to make a tactical retreat. We will simply leave him there to die on some remote island. He will die a hero, and you will never have to worry about him again. A win-win situation, is it not?"

"An excellent plan," agreed Argent. Laughing heartily. "As expected from one of the best strategists I have known."

Master Schema was not exactly young himself, being now around 35, though he was a good amount younger than Argent. His slick, black hair and goatee were combined with a lean form that relied more on dexterity than might. "Thank you, My Lord," he said with a polite bow.

Grandmaster Argent instructed his subordinate officer, "I entrust you to fulfill the mission for the Bellezians. And make sure that a certain someone does not come back alive."

"Yes, Sir," agreed Schema.

Argent then continued, "You do what is required, and when I retire, I will personally recommend you to succeed me as Grandmaster of the Order."

"I am pleased to hear it, Sir," Schema said with a slight bow, a quiet smile on his lips.

A conspiracy was formed that day.

*

*

*

A FEW MONTHS AFTER THE FORMATION OF THE CONSPIRACY.
IC 1359.

THE ISLAND OF MIN.
THE MORNING AFTER THE BATTLE OF MIN.

The wounded Brother Raruba lay surrounded by his dead comrades. Sacrificed for some unholy purpose. Although, Raruba was as yet unaware of what had truly transpired.

Although Raruba had much to think about, he paused his contemplations, to turn presently to that figure of more immediate concern. The black clad young woman holding rope and a spear. Raruba did not really know what she was doing. Perhaps she was going fishing. But she was not going fishing. At least, not for fish.

The woman, evidently a local resident, walked with self-confident purpose amid the piles of bodies, most dead, some still alive. She was apparently undisturbed by the stench of blood that filled the air along with the salt of sea mist. Turning over bodies with her feet, she checked for signs of life. Raruba saw her approach another wounded knight, a comrade from his company who had fallen some distance away from him. To that knight, the islander offered a choice, her voice stern, as she asked: "Slavery or Death?"

The knight replied, pridefully, even in his dire state: "I am a noble... I will never be a slave..."

Which the black clad girl interpreted as: "Death it is, then." The small girl towering above him, crouched, drew back her spear, and then plunged her spear forward into the man's stomach.

A brief cry of agony was cut short as the weapon's bronze tip reached his heart. As the executioner withdrew her weapon, blood spurted out from the narrow but deep wound.

The girl moved on soon after that, as she continued to inspect other bodies. This was evidently a regular business for her.
"That makes nine today. Is that all?"

Raruba had only been able to watch this gruesome scene. Lying there, when the islander had readied her weapon, Raruba had held his breath.
He struggled internally of whether to ask her for help, or to hide-- to pretend to be already dead, to wait for her to pass by--
Until Raruba sat up, loudly gasping for air.

The islander turned her attention to the sound. Her cloak twisting and fluttering in the wind, as she reoriented her body to a new direction.
And she walked, with the same practiced pace, toward Raruba. "I see that we have a tenth."

Raruba's polearm had fallen somewhere by his side. Raruba's sword... The sheath, he could feel it was there. And yet, somehow, he lacked the strength... Or perhaps lacked the willpower... To draw his weapon.

Raruba could only look upwards as the islander approached him. It was only when she got closer, that Raruba noticed that the one doing this sorry business was rather young. Raruba, himself, had only recently attained his 22nd year. While he was an adult, the older knights had treated him like a child. This girl's round face indicated her relative youth; he estimated she might be 18, 19 perhaps. He wondered for a moment if she might be even younger, given her lack of feminine curves, but then he realized that she was likely just malnourished. As Raruba moved his gaze from her briefly exposed thighs to the ribcage beneath her cloak.

Staring down at him, the grim-faced girl asked the fatal question: "Slavery... Or Death?"
In her one hand, a rope. In her other hand, a spear.
Moments passed in silence. Lacking an answer, the girl raised her weapon. Ready to stab it straight through his heart.