The Letter, Part 2
Gilbetron swept into his private study, securing the door behind him. Morning light was streaming in through the eastern window, casting a saffron glow over his desk.
He pulled the letter out of his pocket and continued to examine it. Noticably absent on the envelope was a city code, suggesting it hadn’t originated from anywhere in his kingdom, though it seemed equally unlikely that it would have come from the deposed Bobolonious camp.
There’s no point in speculating, he mused to himself. You might as well open it and end the suspense.
He sat down at the desk and plucked up a nearby blade, carefully drawing a long slit across the top of the envelope. Once open, he pulled out a narrow booklet. Just looking at it, he couldn’t imagine it contained more than three or four pages. As he unfolded the first of the pages, he noticed the ink faded by long hours in the sun. In other places, the ink bled to the margins, suggesting the letter had come into contact with water in the recent past.
He placed his spectacles over his eyes to help make out the opening words:
“A reminder of contract with Southland.”
He frowned, re-reading the line, trying to make some sense. It didn’t even seem to be addressed to him, or anyone else for that matter. His eyes shifted to the next line.
“The following lays out the terms of your surrender, as agreed upon by Chilldrin Daelyo in the second cycle of the Dynastic Calendar.”
Gilbetron placed the page back down and swiftly stood up, making his way to the door. Opening it, he looked down the corridor for one of the many servants attending the private suite.
“Myra,” he called. A young girl turned to look at him. “Please advice the stables to prepare a horse. I’ll be riding to Lystria by first light tomorrow.”
The young girl hurried out of sight to set the arrangements in motion. Seeing her go, Gilbetron pivoted back into the office, stopping in his tracks when his eyes hit the letter. That damned letter.