Letters from the Banteave Civil War

A letter, as unassuming as the first, scribed on plain paper in a hand whose grace is careless and intimate rather than showy or purposeful.

Kerr—

You said that I need not bother to respond to your most recent letter, and indeed I questioned whether it were enough merely to bear witness to your words. And yet I find my thoughts continuously circling back to what you told me. Perhaps if I put pen to paper I will be able to exorcise them, myself.

Sandoreale is a circling shark. You will have heard by now, no doubt, that my clan has called off our alliance in the wake of their breaking faith with us: no matter who takes the throne, Antyre remains unbowed. We find ourselves aligned now in purpose with both Oake and Dillestoné, though you should not count on this accord to hold. I no more expect Antyre to willingly give up her claim to the throne than for either of your houses to meekly step down—which of course applies as much to Laurence's notion to push for democratic reform as to this contest for the monarchy that is already in progress.

You know my opinion of your beloved's politics. While it's true that his idealism speaks well of his character, to propose so radical a political change on the eve of war would be both reckless and unwisely naive. To propose it immediately after the succession is settled, I fear, would only start another war. I am sure you know this as well as I. And yet, there is no fault that I could possibly find in your loyalty to him, and nor would I wish to.

I can only imagine you are surprised at this, given my vocally held opinions on the relative positions of Oake and Dillestoné, but it is not your houses I speak of now. While Dillestoné may have used you ill in the past, I could no more believe it of Laurence than I could believe him willing to throw himself purposely into battle. For your sake, however, I am sure he would submit himself to all manner of trials. Such care would be worthy of loyalty on its own, but more than that, it is your own love for him that demands it. Devotion is the only appropriate response to such depth of feeling.

I have always thought that loyalty was Oake's greatest strength. It heartens me to see that strength at last aimed true.

As to your concerns for your beloved's life: it is true that he may yet die. We may all yet die. To prepare yourself for that eventuality is, as you say, not fatalism but realism, and under the circumstances only sensible. But recall as well that it is not Death who stalks us now, but her sister War. That distinction may mean little to a lowlander, but to my people it is everything—for War invites us all to stand. There will be death in Banteave, certainly. Perhaps also in Resshe. War will sweep over us all, and her sister will pick her way through the wreckage. But those who keep their feet in her onslaught will walk out the other side, bloodied but alive.

Your task lies not in keeping Laurence from all harm, but in convincing him of this truth: that it is better to be bloodied than dead. No simple feat, I know, against his stubborn idealism—and yet I find myself with the heartfelt wish that you will succeed. And in the case that you do fail: my solemn oath as a warrior of Antyre that I will hold the truth of your efforts in my heart.

Ask your Laurence to write to me. I believe I may have some suggestions for him on the subject of democracy.

Yours,

Idony Antyre

An unassuming letter, sealed with Idony Antyre's personal mark—the stylized five-petalled flower of Antyre embroidery over a Highlander warrior's ceremonial knife—and delivered discreetly to the home of Kerr Oake.

To my lord Kerr Oake—

I know we have not corresponded before, so please forgive my familiarity. I wish first to convey my condolences with regards to Sandoreale's recent actions against your house. I know the general was no close relation of yours, but that seems a cold comfort in light of murder. My brother, though his alliances now are to Antyre, has been distraught. I cannot imagine you fare much better.

We have had our differences, but you are an honourable man, and I know that you have hoped for peace in defiance of the growing signs against it. I know, too, that you must certainly have recognized already that all hope of peace is past. I write now to give you a warning of what is to come.

My house has made formal allegiance to Sandoreale (something of which you are, I am sure, excruciatingly aware). Know that we had no hand in their movements against either your own house or against Dillestoné. That Antyre has made no public move to support Sandoreale, our ostensible allies, has no doubt made this clear already to the heads of your house. I will further tell you this in confidence: my foster mother Cateline Antyre is one of our foremost military commanders, and in private she has been furious. Sandoreale's actions are without honour or sense. Cateline has assured me that our chief no doubt feels the same.

Antyre has also fostered ties to Oake. Our position is such that, at present, you ought not look to us for aid. On that subject I will commit no more to paper.

A second warning, then, this one of a more personal nature: I had occasion recently to dine with Lady Cecily Luneste, the sister of the Resshan ambassador. Do not be fooled by the frivolity of her manner, nor underestimate her cleverness. I rather suspect she has her own designs on our kingdom, independent of the more ordinary politicking one might expect when an ambitious empire sends its diplomats to the shores of a country in turmoil. She presents herself as a restraining hand on her brother's arm, but I cannot help but feel that if she is a hand, she is one that holds a knife.

The future is uncertain. I hope only that the next time we cross blades, it will not be over a field of war.

Yours,

Idony Antyre
Titled Warrior to Clan Antrye