Wartorn Obliteration

previously. Forty now, at least. Some were in uniform, and those uniforms plainly belonged to disparate militaries.

Out in the space that surrounded the dais was a fantastic company of people. They wore cloaks and gowns that were at once glamorous and cabalistic. They carried themselves with a strange air, circulating only among themselves. They spoke little, watching the proceedings on the stage with an interested wariness. Each had a stick in hand, each stick elaborately carved or jeweled or trimmed with feathers.

Praulth moved down the aisle now, realizing her appearance here was making no impression whatsoever. On the dais the delegates spoke with great animation, but the tone wasn't argumentative this time. Praulth recognized what was happening as she approached. Plans of action were being made, finalized. Troop numbers were being committed. The war now was truly on. The Felk had an enemy. And it was this alliance.

Cultat suddenly mounted the dais from the far side. He was dressed in military regalia, in the red and gold that were the colors of Petgrad's standard. He called for quiet in a voice that didn't order, but that also would brook no defiance.

'Esteemed consuls,' he said, coming to the fore of the dais, 'as you can see, we are stronger now than we were even two watches ago. With every arrival of a fresh delegate, representing a land and a people—be it state or village—we gather against a common foe, one we all have reason to dread. I welcome also to this conference Thinker Praulth, learned war tactician from Febretree. It's my further privilege to receive here the Noble Ministry of Petgrad.'

Cultat swept a hand over the cloaked and gowned apparitions. They murmured amongst themselves, remaining aloof. A few eyes fell on Praulth. She made certain her posture was stiff, expression firm.

No applause or cheers came at this pause in Cultat's speech. The atmosphere was absorbingly serious here in this auditorium. This, Praulth noted, was most definitely a moment of history. War against the Felk was going to be made official. Evidently when the Felk had decamped after several days of inactivity and moved toward Trael, it had convinced these delegates that the intruders from the north had no intention of giving up their plans for full conquest of the Isthmus.

The words that were spoken here today would be chronicled in history texts and read by fascinated scholars a hundredwinter from now. It was a staggering thought. Praulth knew a thousand episodes in history, momentous and pivotal moments; knew these occasions as if she had lived them herself. But she hadn't lived them, none of them. She had read of them and imagined herself there.

This was categorically different. Here she was a living witness. It was remarkable. Yet... it was insufficient. She had to be a participant. More, she wanted her name to be the first one thought of by those future scholars who studied this event.

'Our time is short,' the premier went on, a rumbling inspiring voice, the voice of a great statesman and natural leader. Plainly, though, this wasn't some rehearsed bit of oratory. Cultat was simply saying what needed to be said to get this alliance under way. 'We don't have the luxury of squabbling any longer. The city-state of Trael is about to be captured by the Felk. It may happen within the next watch. Trael has no adequate defenses. They also have no representative here. We have had reliable notice for some time now that Trael would next fall to the Felk. That knowledge, obviously, has done little good. But it could have served. Had we gathered sooner, set aside our petty differences quicker, perhaps we could now be safeguarding Trael from harm. And, not incidently, protecting the as yet unconquered southern half of this Isthmus. We still have the source of that knowledge. A reliable predictor of the Felk's military movements.'

He gestured to Praulth, and she felt more eyes on her. This, she realized, was her moment to speak up. She could interject her own words here, something meaningful, something memorable. A poignant quote to be passed down through the ages. A maxim of her own devising, one that would perhaps seep gradually into common usage but still be attributed to her...

'Since this great conference is taking place here within the borders of Petgrad,' Cultat continued, 'I must ask the endorsement of the Noble Ministry.' The subtle emphasis indicated the premier's displeasure with the formality. Nonetheless, he said without a hint of irony, 'Lauded members of the Ministry of Petgrad, it is self-evident that the greatness of our state rests on your shoulders as well as mine, and that all of you serve the greatness of the Noble State of Petgrad with a humble devotion that cannot be measured by...'

It went on in that vein for a while. Praulth had let her opportunity go past, of course. She hadn't really believed she would interrupt the premier's speech, after all.

Eventually Cultat reached the end of the ceremonious petition. He was asking this oddly appareled Noble Ministry to officially commit Petgrad's military forces to the alliance. What followed was a curious ritual unto itself. The ministry milled and murmured more, circulating among themselves. They tapped their totem sticks together. Cultat's craggy features were somewhat strained as he watched. This was an effort of patience on his part. The other delegates watched the exhibition with expressions ranging from wonder to bafflement.

When the ceremony was done, the premier had the sanction he needed. He then proceeded to call for the formal declarations of all the delegates present.

Praulth watched it happen. She had a role here. Obviously. Hers was a crucial part. This league of free armies, both large and minute, was an impressive assembly. The numbers represented here might indeed be quite substantial, enough perhaps to stand against the Felk—if they were properly directed. That was her role.

But would she be remembered as ardently and vividly as, say, Premier Cultat?

History was occurring here. But that history hadn't yet been written. No documents chronicling the matter could yet have been assembled by eager war scholars. The page was blank.

Praulth, even as she meticulously noted the details of this scene, considered the great war memoirs that had been penned by commanders throughout the ages. Even the least of these, even the most fragmentary and crude journals, were fairly revered by academicians who made warfare's history their study. Imagine, then, a chronicle written by one with insight not only into military strategies, but insight into a war's proper historical context.

Imagine a person writing such a history of this war. A memoir authored by someone aware of each moment's overall significance. This was a war like no other. It deserved to be chronicled as a war never had been before.

'We are now comrades,' Cultat pronounced when the formalities were through, 'united in purpose as in action. We are now truly... the Alliance.'

At last it did bring forth cheers. They were words to remember. Praulth duly noted them.

Later, after the Noble Ministry withdrew from the auditorium, she came up onto the dais and once more explained her plan to recreate the Battle of Torran Flats. It was foregone that Trael was lost. But the Felk army would encamp while the occupation of the city was seen to. If this Alliance could muster its collective forces quickly enough, Praulth's plan could go into effect on the southward prairies outside Trael. Someone mentioned that these were called the Pegwithe Plains.

Of course, Dardas still had to be in command of that army for the scheme to succeed.

The conference lasted into the evening, but before the day's light had even started to wane, wine and spirits appeared and it became a celebration that grew in volume and jubilation. Praulth didn't join in with the gaiety. Instead, she observed.

* * *

She pulled Xink's face tighter against herself, seizing a handful of his long dark hair. Her disinterest in sex had vanished. She put back her head and ground her pelvis at him, thrilling to the warmth of his mouth, the spry movements of his tongue. He, of course, had introduced her to this act, as he had every other sexual deed. She particularly enjoyed this one, even though it left her feeling somewhat guilty—or used to. Before, she had always been concerned that Xink was receiving no stimulation himself while performing so. Now, she took her pleasures shamelessly and didn't waste time worrying about Xink.

Who, after all, was more important—herself or him?

The pleasure was building steadily. He really was quite talented. Groans turned to growls in her throat as he panted and labored between her spread thighs. She was sitting on the foot of their bed. He was kneeling before her.