TBATE: Let The Truth Be Known {Completed}

Chapter 48: Homeward Bound

SYLVIE INDRATH

"Yes, let's begin," my grandmother answers.

The setting is overwhelming. I'm beaten, bloodied, exhausted, and -most importantly- alive. The land around me is fractured, just like its people. The tensions of violence begin to settle only for the tensions of negotiation to begin.

Arthur conjures a circular earthen table and ten chairs for himself, Seris, and the leaders of the Eight Great Clans.

"Sit. We'll discuss our further proceedings," he demands. Asura from every race comply wordlessly as stone chair legs squelch into the blood-soaked earth. "For starters, I refuse any position of leadership anyone will offer me. I wish not only for you to rule yourselves, but to return home and enjoy the life I've fought so hard for."

Grandmother and Aldir's mouths snap shut at his statement, implying they had a suggestion along those lines.

"Understood. What do you wish to do with them?" Aldir asks, gesturing to my father and grandfather.

"They'll be put to death. I see no reason to show them mercy. No amount of time and contemplation will help them see their wrongs. Once a tyrant, always a tyrant," Arthur answers, leaning his elbows on the table and crossing his legs in his chair.

"I- I see. I suppose I have no rebuttal, then," grandmother worriedly mutters.

"On the notion of who else is to be punished, I will spare the Indrath clan, but only those deemed deserving by Myre. It is not my place to assert my judgment there. I trust that you can vet your own people accurately, no?" Arthur questions. His fingers tap gently on the table as the rest of the asura dare not speak.

"Yes. I am capable of doing so," she replies, more resolute this time.

Her demeanor shift is strange. This sense of subservience is unexpected. She's managed to bottle up her pride and simply speak when spoken to. The environment of this table, the sheer atmosphere, is oppressive.

"Good, now to the rest of you all, I'll hear your concerns," Arthur offers.

The clan heads begin to speak at once, creating a cacophony of pride and ego.

The oppression of the air grows exponentially. The foundation of the table cracks, hands raised in protest slam to the sides of their owners, and all speaking ceases.

"One at a time. You would think you could learn. Civility is something you lack. Deference is something you've yet to learn. Pride is something you hang onto by any means necessary. You are leaders in name only at the moment. Until I leave this seat, you own nothing, understand? Humble yourselves," Arthur spits, his ire incredibly evident.

"He's correct, you know," a voice remarks. Seris' horns bob slightly as she chuckles softly. "Are your egos scarred?"

"I'll not hear that from you," gripes the new Lord Aerind.

"You'll do nothing, Lord Aerind. Your fear of Arthur's anger prevents you from doing so. So, while your mouth is snapped shut, I'll go ahead and speak my piece," Seris states. Lord Aerind's mouth not only snaps shut but his eyes narrow and then dart to his lap.

Seris stands and looks over to Arthur who's sitting to her left. "I believe it's sensible to revoke any proprietorship of Alacrya from the Vrirtra. Any of us with above 25% of Vritra blood are to be expatriated to Epheotus to live with those that they cannot bully into compliance. Scythes shall be elevated to Sovereigns and a council of them will be formed in place of the High Sovereign."

She sits back down as Arthur's legs uncross and he rests his head on a closed fist.

"That's doable. How many do you anticipate will be expatriated?" he asks.