Crinan was putting the last touches on the second, more formal, version of his latest communique, the one that was going to the Dumnorix himself, when his chief general, Cousantin, walked in. He looked up only briefly at the general, then returned to his writing.
"What shall we do now, my lord?" Cousantin asked.
"What shall we do? We shall fight, of course. Do you see any other action open to us?" Crinan replied, still distracted.
"Of course. May I see what it is you write, lord?"
This phrase snapped Crinan to attention. "NO!" he shouted, his eyes shining with a fierceness that he rarely displayed. The general, immediately intimidated, left the room posthaste.
Crinan calmed slightly, finally finished writing, and he held his work up to the soft candlelight to review what he had written.
Dumnorix Caethaldius,
When I was but a young man--no more than fifteen--my father died, and I was thrust into the kingship. You were very supportive then, writing often, giving me tips, helping me learn the ropes of my new and most demanding job. But you had other motives. When you suggested an alliance of all the Solists, I jumped at the chance. I desperately wanted you and your noble people on my side.
Then the Nortugese and Nordrikians attacked. I was despairing, for our alliance had caused my people such great grief. Nonetheless, you were confident. You encouraged us to be bold and cooperate; your plans were good, and we achieved victory. We had captured a good part of Hibernia, and the sea was ours.
Though I too rejoiced in our victory, I saw that we still had many problems. The Nortugese had the wherewithal to raise a formidable army quickly, and proper Nortugese/Nordrikian cooperation would have ended our naval supremacy. And of course, the Nordrikian horde was overrunning my country.
Thus, I put forth a plan. In that plan, we would abandon our Hibernian folly and concentrate on the as-yet unweakened Nordrike. Our Hibernian force, with mine and the Iceni's troops, could easily have driven Nordrike back, saving many of Sol's sons from subjugation. We would continue our ambitious naval program, ensuring that our temporary advantage would become permanent.
But no, you had visions, visions of a grand Solist empire spanning the whole of the great ocean. The visions, in short, of a madman. In your delusions of grandeur, you completely ignored the suffering of Sol's children in my realm. "Look to your own defenses," you said, damning Caledonian's solists to subjugation and persecution. You gave us no help, and we fell.
Here I am now, a broken man, a king with no kingdom and precious few people. And all because of your foolishness, your greed, and your callous disregard for Sol's children. Your reign has seen the demise of Solism, and will likely see its ultimate defeat. And it is almost solely your fault.
Crinan mac Mael Coluim, King of the Caledonians
Having finished, he sealed both the letters and called in the messenger. "This one," holding up the one in his left hand, on the nicest parchment available, "goes straight to the Dumnorix himself. This one," holding up the other, "you may give to whomever you please. I care not." With a nod, the messenger took the letters and left.
Crinan picked up the dagger by his side, and he began to finger it. It was very well made, the best he'd ever seen; it would do. He began to think of his ancestors, driven out of Ulaid by the very same Nortugese that had attacked him ten years ago. They fled across the sea, in terror, hoping to find something, somewhere, to settle down. Fortune smiled upon them, and they found Caledonia, his homeland. He, however, had nowhere to flee; the earth had its fill, and anyway, he had no means to get away from the rutheless blockade. For his people, it would end here.
His attention turned to his seal, that of the MacNess clan, still coated with bright red wax. He had seen it, indeed used it, so many times that he often overlooked its significance. He picked up, turning it over and over in his hands a few times, and then gravely, symbolically, tossed it into the fire. He then gripped the dagger, and prepared himself.
Crinan mac Mael Coluim, King of Caledonia, last ruler of the MacNess clan, was twenty-eight years old.
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So, Caledonia's open. Any takers?
