Squonk

Sunlight fell silently towards the earth and illuminated the fir trees with a touch of gold on their needles. The clouds were dispersing and the early morning rays emerging from behind the mountains filled the rises and falls of the rolling hills, dusted with a new covering of snow. Yet unmarked, the white snow reflected the suns rays, lighting up the entire forest. The sun was now almost alone on its side of the sky and the blindingly white snow reflected soft morning light into the curtains of the eastern side of the palace. As the light intensified and it penetrated the thin material, the rays fell on a slumbering figure atop a grand bed, made luxuriously warm with a variety of furs. Sleep turned the usually serious face of the woman innocent and relaxed. Her rich dark hair was fanned out on the pillow, tangled from another restless night.
On the mahogany nightstand next to the bed, lay an open letter, its broken crimson seal prominent against the pale manila parchment. The handwriting on the cover of the letter looked to be slow and methodically perfect, so much so that it had obviously been transcribed by an assistant. The beautifully unique signature was far different than the rest of the letter. The strokes were thin and unwieldy and the number of loops were uncountable. It looked to have been hastily signed but the name it read was undoubtedly important.
The sleeper shifted and resettled in the warm sun on the pillow. The sun rose a little higher in the sky and the light fell on the letter. Thrust through the center of the letter and into the table was a gleaming miniature sword of a letter opener.

* * *

It was early morning when Aodh saw the Lady appear at the top of the grand staircase. The staircase was only called grand because it sounded better than large, or giant, although that was what it was. The young general bent into a bow as she swiftly descended the staircase. Standing two stairs above him, Lady Caramia snapped, “Stand up, general.” Aodh obliged, meeting her hawk-like gaze unshakably.
“What was your reasoning behind sending me this,” she held out a letter, “in the middle of the night?” Aodh looked at the letter, noting the rip in the center of it, and looked back at the accusing stare of Caramia.
“Milady, apologies, but I had hoped that you would give me your orders on the matter sooner. If you’ll excuse me for assuming, I thought you would be angry with me if you received the news any later,” the general said, averting his eyes downward for a second, afraid she would punish him for his impudence. Rather, the Lady looked thoughtful and her hard face softened. She knew that Aodh spoke the truth, that the news was horrible at anytime and suddenly realized that she preferred to have known sooner, although it cost her a good nights rest. Caramia gave the young general a small smile. She pushed a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, thinking quickly.
“General, I thank you for your information, but…” she trailed off in fear of offending Aodh, but continued, “I think General Magnus would be more suited to the job of going south. I have not yet decided on a course of action, but I do know that I’ll feel better if you don’t take the assignment.” At his fallen expression, she attempted to console him.
“I am sorry, Aodh. I have given the situation much thought. For now, I want you to tell your men to station themselves near the docks, replacing Magnus’s group.” Caramia paused, thinking of something else to say to him.
“And thank the intelligence for me. This information is invaluable,” she added with finality. Not eager to keep conversing with Aodh and his bruised ego when there was a more pressing matter, she left the hall. Aodh stood there next to the wooden railing, feeling wooden as well. He watched the Lady go and felt like stabbing something as he knew she had done to the letter.

* * *

The advisors room was small and cozy, similar to many of the rooms in the palace, which was built like a large lodge. All in all, it was not very luxurious or elegant, Caramia thought, but it served its purpose, and no one seemed to mind that the palaces in other countries were much fancier. She herself did not mind, the furs on her bed were all she needed, but sometimes she thought an elegant castle should have more interesting people to talk to. Perhaps not, she thought now; her mother had told her that the royalty in other countries were intellectually inferior to those in Ansgar. Caramia had wondered if her mother was simply a victim to nationalism, as most Ansgans were, or if she simply didn’t understand the languages in the countries she visited. When she was angry at her mother, she tended to believe the latter. Now that this ran through her mind, she winced. Lady Muirne had died only three years ago, right after her father. It still hurt to think about them.
Her reverie broken with an abrupt land back in reality, she looked around the room, from the crackling fire, to the old fashioned windowsill, to the cozy leather armchairs draped with mink and fox furs, to the door that was opening. An old man entered the room, closing the intricately carved door quietly. He shuffled over to the armchair across from Caramia. She watched his limping figure, knowing that he didn’t want her help, although it always looked like he needed it. Savio had been wounded in battle twenty years ago, and had since then been the advisor of war strategy, not that he had been needed for those past six years of peace. But now it appeared he had a job again.
“Good morning, milady,” he said in greeting, sitting back in his chair. He noted that she looked worried, thought even through a lifetime of knowing her, he was hard pressed to tell. Caramia straightened against the back of the wooden chair.
“Pray that it stays that way, Savio. Have you heard of the situation yet?”
The old advisor rubbed his hand along a white rabbit fur on the arm of the chair. He took a moment in answering.
“Yes, I ran into Aodh on the way -- must you summon me so early?-- and he explained a little to me. Might I read the letter?” He gestured towards the now crinkled letter in Caramia’s hands. She handed it over with a military obedience that made Savio smile at her now obvious nervousness. In his slow and deep voice, he read it aloud.

Milady,
It has come to my attention via my southern troop that the conflict between two rival villages has finally escalated to physical combat. The large villages of Kunigunde and Gunvor have been feuding for centuries and it was to my amazement that all of a sudden they broke into what they consider to be full-fledged war. My intelligence tells me that the situation is very tense and if the conflict is not at least subdued, it is likely that a civil war could break out. I, personally, do not believe their prediction, but it is my duty to inform you of all problems within the empire. I urge you to send more troops south to deal with the issue.
Your obiedient servant,

General Aodh

Savio dropped the letter into his lap and rubbed his eyes. Caramia looked impatient for him to say something so he waited another minute.
“He didn’t give you much information,” he informed her. The Lady looked back at him questioningly. He explained, “Aodh should have told us more about the conflict and why the intelligence thought it could become a civil war. We should summon him.”
“No. I won’t have that man in here,” Caramia stated adamantly. Savio could not find a reason why she was acting stubbornly but did not press the matter. He said, “There is much about the situation that I need to know in order to make a decision.” The old man looked again at Caramia, whose countenance was serious and impersonal again.
“I don’t think you need to overly concern yourself in military matter, milady. Your place is in politics."