Jaguar Feathers [bird][Jaguar][Dancing]

The Alamo, the holiest church in all Texas, where every king who ruled the empire was crowned. For what it was it was humble, the Abbey where the silent monks lived in Houston was both grander and more ornate but the Alamo stood when Texas was first. Saint Bowie and Crockett made their stand against the Katolic Mexa under Amta Anna. While they died, Saint Houston would defeat the Katolic Mexa at San Jacinto creating our great nation.
What happened after is lost to history, something I do not care to know, but what I do know is that Texas was part of the “Confederate States of America” and the “United States of America”, what relation these had I also do not and care not to know.
The Alamo was where my liege would take his crown tomorrow, and tomorrow I will begin a campaign against the Katolic Mexa tribes across the Rio Grande River. A cool spring breeze washes over the hills and onto me giving me a break from the heat of the setting sun. San Antonio for being a city of God is far smaller, far quieter, and thank the Lord above, drier than Houston.
On the walls a pair of guards share a cigar while keeping watch with their rifles while a group of new conscripts are training bayonets over on the parade grounds. My Prince finally emerges from the chapel of the Mission, he’s clad in the armor he and I wore while we were still mere servicemen, like all men who flew the Texan flag must do.
“Churchfolk... For men of God they cannot move with any speed.” He lightheartedly groans.
“Evening my Lord.”
“By Bowie’s brow David, just call me Josh.” He says dismissing any formality.
“Well how did preparations for your coronation go?”
Josh shakes his head “I’ll tell you once we get to the Governor’s palace.”  
	For all Joshua is he is a man of the people, and informal to a point of crudeness. The horse he rides was a gift from a farmer, the clothes he wears made by an apprentice tailor, the food he eats is always local, and the people love him for it. The nobility, well I’ve had to fight off a few would be assassins, but even they know that he dies under “mysterious circumstances' ' they’ll be far worse for wear. Josh and I mount our horses, his horse is almost a foot shorter at the shoulder and yet he still seems to stand taller.
	As we ride we get a wave from the constable and flagged over.
“And what are you two ruffians doing this late at night?” The fat skunk asks.
“That’s no way to address your prince constable.” I bark.
The fat skunk grins. “Impersonating the crown is punishable by death you know.” It leers.
Josh raises a brow “I recall the last constable of this city had his head taken from him for ruffling the feathers for pestering a member of the Clergy, yes?”
The Skunk’s eyes sharpen “And how would a ruffian like you know that?”
Josh leans close to the constable and pulls something out of his pocket. “Take this please, and report to the Governor’s palace tomorrow at sunup.”
This clearly catches the Constable off guard.
I grab my pistol inside my vest, expecting the worst but my fears are quickly relieved once the man’s face drops from ignorant confidence to what seems to be regretful resignation. The rest of the journey is relatively calm, a family of quails waves at us as we pass and a group of pronghorns asks us where they can get a drink to which the prince tells them on what street the pub is on. Other than that the church city is silent, the hymns and chants of the monks and nuns will not resume until tomorrow at sunday mass, the birds stopped singing, and the people are in their homes.
San Antonio was a quiet city, and I think it always has been. At home in Houston the shipyards never shut down and the port never closes, Dallas is an ever working foundry where like the canals of the mythical city of venice, in lieu of water is molten steel that runs in rivers the size of streets, and Paso is a ceaseless fortress, the men always drilling and the maintenance never ends. The only noise here is the winds, the songs, and the clopping of horses, best of all it ends at night.
	The sky illuminates with a million million stars. The green marble of Mars in clear view just above the cross atop the Cathedral of Saint Austin, the largest holy site in the city. It’d be a happier day for me if I knew that tomorrow I would lead the 5th Army across the Rio Grande, the first Texan to do so since the age of the “United States”. I keep a straight face but I can feel the anxiety well up like an oil well. At long last the Governor’s palace’s lights can be seen, at the gate stands a few of Joshua’s guards and a member of The Lord’s Chosen. 
“‘Evening my Prince.” The guards say as they open the metal gate.
Josh responds in kind to the men who seem to be almost ecstatic at the reply.
	We hand our horses off to the stablemaster after dismounting. II stand as stiff as a board, like when the two of us were back in boot camp out near Waco, as I stand before the entrance to the palace.
“Nick…” Josh says hesitating.
“Yes” I snappily reply.
“I get that you hate being around the nobility, look they didn’t, and probably still don’t like me, but to them you’re the marshal of the army, a position they really don’t benefit from holding.” He says.
“My Prince, it doesn’t matter what my post is, I was adopted into your house by our father, and I was raised to protect YOU, these people want to drink your blood. If I could I'd have my men drag them to the gallows to hang till they drop.” I answer.
“Oh I know that brother, that’s why they’re sending you to Mexa, they’re a lot more of you than me.” He says with the smile only an older brother can make. “And please, for all that is holy, just call me Josh, or Joshua, or just brother”
During the dinner I sit to his left, the right reserved for his bride-to-be, Belle, Princess of the Southern Bamans, and daughter to King Robert IV of the same land. I feel the eyes of the nobles on me, with their contemptuous gazes and embittered faux smiles. The dinner is local quail cooked with herbs and basted in garlic butter. A quality meal, and for once the nobles seem content with it, perhaps they know that this lighter meal is a prelude to the day long coronation feast coming tomorrow. 
Belle is fawning over her fiance, but among my brother’s closest circles it is an open secret that while Belle may be madly in love with him, his heart is with his pronghorn mistress who tended to his wounds back during our mandatory military service. I have little doubt though that Josh will be a good husband all things considered.
The meal comes to an end with a local cactus fruit dessert liquor, a fine vintage even the nobles praise the quality of. I look around the table seeing fingers without rings among a good many of the noble’s daughters. The pervasive thought of marriage enters my mind once more, will mine be a tool to unite ruling houses? Secure a forgein alliance? Or will I be given my freedom to wed whom I please? It all doesn’t matter yet, I am still young, and no edict has been made.
Belle leaves the palace over to the home she is to stay in until her wedding day, grinning with both elation and lust. The nobles leave quickly after returning to the hotel the church lets them rest in. Soon it’s just Josh, his lover, and I. The maids return to their quarters, and the ancient palace falls silent as Josh and his lover exchange their sweet nothings and loving embraces.
“Nick, can you check the way to my chambers for would-be voyeurs?” He asks.
I nod as I walk towards the door. I peer out the door and the only person there is Josh’s personal butler, an older Hawk. “Hey, Mister Aves, you’re dismissed for the evening, go spend the night with your family.” I inform. The man knows about Josh and his lover, but I know Josh would want Mr. Aves to have a good night’s rest before his coronation. With a nod of his beaked head the man silently and gracefully leaves the building his black silk robe flowing behind him like wisps of smoke. 
With the hall cleared I wave for Josh and his lover who hurriedly make it to his sleeping chamber while I remain on watch outside of it. The muffled talking turns to giggling, and from giggling to restrained moans.
I see a pale hand turn from around the corner. A set of green eyes and shining hazel hair. It’s Belle. “Madam you are not allowed be here at this hour.” I aggressively say as I draw my ceremonial sword
She grins a sinful grin. “Oh I know what’s been happening between my Prince Joshua and his pronghorn mistress.” She says still approaching despite the moonlit blade.
“Princess please, don’t do this” I plead.
Her grin deepens “What makes you think I intend to break them apart Lord Marshal Nicholas” She says.
I freeze and hesitate, choosing my next words very carefully. “I am no lord ma’am and I will protect my brother’s honor till death, Princess Belle.” I say raising my sword to her.
Belle just shakes her head. “Nick. I’m fine with their relationship, I just want to be intimate with him too.” She pleads, dropping her assertive stance.
“Fine, but I’ll have to search you for weapons.” I say relenting.
Belle steps forward and strips all but the clothing that keeps her modest and lets me pat her down. Content with my search I open the door to Josh’s chamber.
“Josh, Belle is here for you.” I say
“Send her off, I can’t ruin our engagement!” He shouts frantically.
“Oh she knows, she did before she came, she just wants to make it a party of three.” I explain.
“Oh…” he says as curious as to what I mean
“She-” I can’t finish my statement before Belle pushes me aside and drops her bra. 
“OH!” Josh exclaims as I close the door to keep the three of them’s affairs private and to protect the ladies modesty.
	As I leave I station two of my best men at the ends of the hallway, ensuring no threats make it in. I walk out of the palace and across to the Lord Marshal’s Quarters and War Room. The door creaks slightly as I open it, and the two hundred years of united Texan war trophies line the wall of the entrance. The severed head of the great Moramic Conqueror Latter the Lamanite, his tanned skin still as if today was the day the four kings defeated him and destroyed his army at the Battle of Rockwall where the Dallan Pikes held back the lancer, the Pasan Ranchero Horseman pelted his infantry with with a hail of javelins, while Houstonian Crossbows ripped his mounted archers to shreds, the lancers of Austin, dealt the archers their doom. Latter would slay the kings of Dallas, Paso, and Austin leaving the mortally wounded King of Houston to choose who would lead all of Texas.
	The blade of that man, the First, the Warrior-King, who’s name and birthplace was already forgotten, was crowned at the Alamo, a site all Texans knew, and took his wife from the empty boat. With the star of Dallas, the Red banner of Paso, the white banner of Austin, and blue banner of Houston the Texan flag was made.
	The rest are just trophies, heads of conquerors and conquered who all met their end by the men of our empire, banners and blades, stories but not legends.
I enter my chamber, the bed made and a glass of water prepared, same as every night. I drink the water, lay on my bed, shut my eyes, and sleep with the dream of a better tomorrow on my mind.
	I wake up to a knock on my Door. “Master Nicholas, Prince Joshua would like to speak to you in the conference room of the palace.” The maid says.
I rise from my bed and call to the maid “I’ll be there in a minute. I need to make myself decent.”
I frantically dress myself in my formal wear, thankfully I left my medals and ribbons on making it a whole hell of a lot faster. In my rush I nearly forgot my sword, but the glint of the handguard got caught in the rising sun saving me that bit of shame.
	At my door is one of the women of the church, a clear mother and a silver ring confirms the fact she’s married. “Good Morning sister.” I say to her as I hurriedly walk towards the palace. The Holy Brothers at the door let me in and I find Joshua, his fiance, and his lover waiting for me in the dining hall.
“Morning Brother!” He beams and his lover’s tail shoots up in surprise bringing her dress out a little much to her embarrassment.
“It is good to see you too brother, what have you summoned me for?” I ask.
Joshua seems hesitant to ask me of what he needs. “Brother… I need a favor, last night I was informed that the port of Houston was attacked by the so-called Azzekis, a nation of Parrots and Jaguars from south of the desert.” He explains.
I raise a brow. “I am not an admiral Joshua, I cannot lead the fleet.” I lament.
Joshua looks up with his more regal appearance from a straight back and furrowed brow. “They are marching a half million men towards the Rio Grande. Your expedition will no longer be launching today, It will not be twenty thousand men. It will be two hundred thousand, a fifth of our military to crush these invaders. It begins on my wedding day, in one week.” He commands.
“You will have your prize Brother.” I say feeling the same contempt towards our enemy he does. “Not one will cross the Rio Grande in anything but chains.” You affirm.
“A noble prospect, Lord Marshal.” Belle says in her soft voice.
“He’s not a Lord, Belle.” Joshua’s lover says.
“Really?” Belle hushedly says.
The pronghorn lover just nods.
	Breakfast is simple. Eggs, fried bacon, and traditional Texan style biscuits with butter and jam. A breakfast shared among every person in the Empire, from a farmer outside Dallas, to herder near the Red river. All knew the biscuit, bacon, and the humble egg, and all citizens were free to own chickens, as they were guns, swords, and land. The girls talk about their separate lives while Joshua and I discuss more military matters.
“Need rifles, swords, and polearms for the infantry, I need lancers, dragoons, and pistoleers, and light cannons.” I ask.
“How many?” Joshua asks.
“How many do we have?” I ask.
“We have around a half-million new model muskets and around a hundred thousand infantry swords.” Joshua answers
“And the horses and guns?” I question.
“I can’t tell you, I’ll send for the Forge Lord and his stock and call upon the Northern and Western Hosts for their horses and riders.” Joshua promises.
“And the nobles?” I ask
“What about them?” Joshua replies.
“Do they know?” I ask.
“Only the Governor-Militant of Paso, the Merchant Guild and the colonels of the river forts.” Joshua responds with a hung head.
“When did you learn of this Joshua?” I demand.
“Just this morning, four minutemen arrived to tell me.” He responds.
“I need to muster our forces, and rally our allies, can any of the Cajun warbands make it to Port Corpus within the week? What of the Apacheans or the Olk? Where is the invading army as of now? Are the Mexa harassing them?” I Question frantically.
“I DON’T KNOW NICK” Joshua shouts, shaking a bit and frantic.
“I’m going to get the Nobles and the Clergy’s Warmaster.” I say with wide eyes and panic in my voice
“Please do. And if any defy you, kill them” He says a hint of anger in his tone as his lovers massage his shoulders.
	As I leave, once again the idea of marriage is forced into my mind. I shake off as I get my horse from the stable master and ride towards the spire of the Cathedral of Saint Austin. The guards stand aside letting me in. “Father, I need to speak with your warmaster.” I request of the Arch Chaplin.
“My child, what war is there to be fought.” He asks with concern on his face.
“The one that’s coming to us. You can sit in on the meeting in the war room but this is not the time nor place. Father.” I say catching myself on the formalities.
“So be it Lord Marshal.” He says waving his hand. “Go, I have a service to give, but rest assured our Warmaster will be in attendance of your meeting my child.” He says almost condescending.
“Thank you father.” I say before I make haste for my horse.
“Godspeed Lord Marshal” The Arch-Chaplin remarks.
	I gallop towards the Noble’s hotel. Startling the maids and butlers and demanding the immediate presence of their masters at the war room at the Governor’s Palace. A handful of private guards protest but one call for my own men silences them in an instant. The nobles are as confused as I am antsy, for one my men are holding their guards at gunpoint, some shout at the soldiers while others at me.
“SILENCE!” I shout over them, shredding my throat from the action. “You are ALL summoned by orders of your Master, Prince Joshua, to report to MY war room immediately. FAILURE TO DO SO will result in being branded a traitor to Texas, her people, the crown, and the church upon which I will be instructed to hunt you and END you. Are. We. Clear?” I command them; many grumble or stare at me in shock. “Good.” I say, still feeling like an animal.
	 I leave with my retinue staying behind to enforce my will as I ride back to my war room through the streets that are now crowded with the people headed to Sunday Service. Quail families with their lines of children in tow, a scattered few horsefolk in little groups, as well as hundreds of Pronghorn and Whitetail headed to their own churches. By the time I’m back to the war room the Warmaster has already read through the documents and has attached incense burners to his sword’s crossguard. I look into the dark, seeing the silhouette of Joshua and his lovers as still as statues. Joshua waves his hand to tell me to ignore him.
“You’ll have the armies of God by your side Lord Marshal” The Warmaster says before giving his head a quick bow.
	Sounds of astonishment ripple throughout the nobles. “Let me see those papers Marshal-Militant.” He quotes my true title from his fat and bulbous neck. “A half million enemy soldiers? Who reported this a Tequi drunk Mexa?” He says before roaring with laughter.
“No, it was the expedition's scouts. Ten separate groups of fifty thousand marching divided.” Chimes in the Warmaster. 
“Can confirm this “Warmaster”” The noble greasily says.
“Oh yes, our own scouts have been claiming similar things for quite some time.” He says in a voice that can best be described as pious.
“And you didn’t inform us nobles.” Another noble snarks at the Warmaster.
“I have read the holy bible more times than you’ve committed sodomy Duke Xander, and it doesn’t read “Tell the nobility of a kingdom an invasion is coming so they may scheme against the Marshal cause they are all too incompotent to lead the army” now does it? If I were Lord Nicholas I myself may lack the saint-like patience to prevent myself from having my guards walk in here and turn the Dragonsfoot woods into a gallow for all of you.” The man says as if the idea of gutting the nobles gave him a sort of high.
“Bold talk for a mere priest in armor.” Another noble leers beginning an uproar of protests and a hail of insults directed to the Church, myself, and the only mortal they answer, referring to his fiance as a harlot and his lover as a common whore. 
The sad part is, none of them know who’s sitting on the throne, his bride to be and is lover by his side with what I can only imagine is the wrath of God himself stirring within him. More and more nobles begin to berate both me and the warmaster, and some more neutral slide to the side of the table waiting in silence while a mere handful side with us joining us on our side. The shouting continues, for what seems like an hour before a bone-chilling voice washes over them.
“Enough.” Joshua says rising from his throne, his already imposing stature magnified by his coronation gown and armor. “All of you who oppose my brother’s, the Lord Marshal's call to arms, who brought you here on MY orders, to fight for ME shall not join us at the feast today, or the coronation at all. You call your future queen a harlot, and the other a whore. My own brother a mere beggar and the Church our LORD himself false? Did my late father not tell you enough of what disobedience and disrespect to the Crown earns you?” He says in cold rage. “All of you who opposed my Brother today, claiming his title illegitimate, and all of you disrespected my family, and moreover the Church shall have their family’s fiefs stripped, and shot with undue haste. You hear my order Lord Marshal Nicholas?” He says in a voice that could make a Cajun swear off liquor and shellfish.
The room is absolutely silent. “Warmaster, I charter you with determining guilt, I pray a servant of God can spare the innocent among their ranks.” His cold fury is still present in the venom of his speech. “Or better still I could cull you all, God will know his own, yes? What do you say Warmaster?” He suggests with anger in his eyes.
“No my Prince, I will determine guilt, after all our savior, Jesus Christ, himself said “Blessed are the Merciful for they shall obtain mercy.”” He says his previously unshaken tone breaking a little.
“Good.” Is all Joshua says before returning to his throne.
As he sits down a storm of Joshua’s personal guards storm the room and drag out the nobles. I can see the contempt for the nobles on his shadow laden face, for a hero of the people, he had now made an enemy out of the nobility until the day he dies. “A cowardly lot of decadent degenerates.” He growls before standing up once more.
The Warmaster has his champions help determine guilt, a brand to the forehead of a flipped cross would be the end of their mockery of a trial. The innocent among their ranks were tasked with choosing a virtuous heir to choose from the persecuted’s houses, if none could be found their family’s former fiefs would become crown land while my supporters and defenders got vast new fiefs. The first noble to protest my appointment was a fat mass claiming to be a boar, he had his mouth sewn shut and his hands severed before being ordered to return to the city he ruled in chains and his life would be decided by his subjects. Another one was a prideful spoonbill, who had their beak cut off with a pair of shears and their feathers plucked.
 While a handful of others were given strange punishments from either the Church or Joshua the lion’s share of the families had land stripped from them and the heads of said families hung, shot, or burned. Of the families that remained unscathed or had openly defied the mass of nobles were granted new titles, or just left untouched. Though one family, the Valks, had the order of a full purge issued. One of the family’s guards tried to save him but for his efforts was castrated and was forced to run the gauntlet before he was shot by the warmaster as an act of mercy. 
The massacre of the nation’s nobility lasted until noon, upon which the church going crowns amassed around the fence of the governor’s palace and cheered as each of their heads became detached from their bodies. Once the last noble the Warmaster deemed a traitor was about to be executed Joshua spared him, letting him keep his remaining fiefs and returning home alive. As the Finch thanked Joshua for sparing him and for his “great mercy” Joshua would quote the scripture once more “Blessed are those poor in spirit, for their kingdom is heaven.” He says, still obviously infuriated.
“NOW MY PEOPLE ARE YOU READY FOR ME BE CROWNED YOUR KING!” He calls to the crowd of thousands who erupt in cheering. “WONDERFUL!” He takes off his robe so as to not have it dirtied with the blood of his purge, wearing only his polished armor. The people cheer as he mounts his horse and begins to trot towards the Alamo. Upon arrival the Arch-Chaplin, Warmaster, Belle, Joshua’s lover, and myself stand by his side.
A lengthy sermon signals the start of the ceremony, then a series of blessings and prayers are given, and the crown is placed by the Arch-Chaplin into Joshua’s warhelm. Once Joshua rises from his knees to his feet, now a King, no, an Emperor.
The crowd of his subjects roar with cheer, and bread and cheese is delivered to them while I make my way to my where Joshua is dining. It is a hall of food fit for all of the nobility of yesterday, but Joshua waves his servants to eat with him. “You free people, equal in my eyes, sit, and feast as I would, drink as I would.” He asks of them and all come to sit along the great benches. A lovely green parakeet, with a well kept coat and and a lovely red beak, it didn’t matter than her shape was a tad plain as I flirted with her, or maybe that was the tequila talking. 
	At some point the sheer amount of alcohol, tobacco, and food in my system takes my mind and after sunset I can’t remember what happened the rest of the night.
	I wake up at my chamber in the barracks, beside me is the green parakeet from the feast still dressed. The sunrise is almost blinding when paired with the throbbing headache in the front of my head. “How in the sam hell did I get here?” I groan, putting a hand to my head. The noise wakes the Parakeet who asks “How did I get here? Where am I?”
“You’re at the barracks but we got here I have no idea.” I say wincing at the pain in my head.
“L-l-lord M-Mar-Marshal?” She panically says.
“I’m still technically Marshal-Militant.” I say refusing the title.
“Oh.” She whispers. “Well what happened last night.” She asks.
I wince again “Between the liquor, smoke, and food, I have no idea after sunset.” I say trying to remain professional.
The Parakeet shoves her hand into her pants as if to feel for something. She then sighs. “Looks like you're a better man than my late master.” She says with a faint smile.
“Who was your master?” I ask.
“Duke Stephen of Lubbock.” She says as if he’s in the room.
“Never heard of him.” I say flatly.
“You shot him.” She protests.
“I’m sorry miss, but I killed a fair few nobles yesterday.” I retort.
“Oh it wasn’t yesterday Lord Nicholas.” She comments.
“When was it then?” I asked curiously.
“You killed him three years ago, when you were first given your post.” She says.
“The Traitor?” I ask.
“Of course, who else.” She responds.
	I remember that day. We marched him out in chains. He was an older man, white in the beard but not yet the head. I boasted that if he couldn’t even beat a peasant in his own eyes how could he hope to beat the King, much less his son. He snapped at me calling me a list of things, and the people put their thumbs down on his life as I pulled back the hammer of my pistol. A click and a boom beget a cheer of bloodthirsty peasants, and so began my days as a reluctant member of Joshua’s populists. Its a regretful day really, the man wasn’t a debaucherous person, nor excessively harsh, he simply disagreed with the then king and was killed for it.
“You alright Lord Marshal?” The parakeet woman asks.
“I’m fine, just tell me the sins of your late master.” I ask, needing to sooth my guilty conscience.
The woman’s feathers shake a bit and she grabs her elbow before speaking. “He did nothing to me, but my mother was his favorite plaything.” She says reluctantly.
I can feel my brow furrow. “Where was your father?” I ask.
“Never met him, Master Unich told me he was a debtor and worked in his mines near Waco.” She says ashamed.
“Now tell me miss, what did you mean by ‘plaything’” I ask, a tad harsher than I intend.
She freezes again. “She was both a mistress and an outlet to release his rage.” she says refusing to look me in the eye. “I don’t know what that entailed, so don’t bother asking…”
I take a deep breath making sure to choose my words carefully. “If you feel like I’ve violated your honor name your request.” I take another deep breath “If not-”
“You didn’t.” She says snappily.
I raise an eyebrow. “You do realize that was an opening right?” I assert.
She looks down, her red beak glinting slightly in the sunlight. “Oh I know Lord Nicholas.” She affirms. “I’d like to have you for myself, but I don’t want to drag you down.” She says choking on her last words.
I sit down next to her. “I just realized I don’t even know your name. Would you mind telling me?” I ask trying my best to be comforting.
She turns to you with her yellow eyes shining like brass “My name is Maria.” She says.
“Do you have a family name?” I ask.
She turns away “No. But my friend Duke-Bishop Nicea calls me the title of Pious if that means anything.” She replies hesitantly.
“Then you are Maria Pious, a name I Marshal-Militant, Nicholas adopted into house Texas, grant to you and your descendants.” I draw my sword, and place it on the shoulder of Maria soon to be Pious, “Now, Maria Pious, rise and accept your new name.” 
	Maria rises with a mix of joy and caution and her knees are shaking like a mount of gelatin dessert. “I have bestowed upon thee what only other Marshal-Militant in Texan history has done to the family that raised me, bestow unto the nameless a name.” I say keeping true to the formality of the impromptu ceremony.
	Maria gives me a hug, either out of joy or out of thanks, I don’t know but I understand. “Now, go forth with the name you have been given and strive to make Texas a land of the free where all have names, from the humblest of beggars to wealthiest of Kings.” I continue with my arms up. I can feel a smile creep onto my face, I knew the feeling of finally having a name was almost euphoric but also terrifying. I feel her shake a bit and then I hear an almost silent cry whimper up from my chest.
	I lower my arms, returning her embrace with my left and running right hand through the long, soft feathers on the top of her head. Her beak pokes at my ribs but I don’t really mind. In the minute or so I hold her I remember the matter at hand. The coming war.
I regretfully pulled away, ending one of the few positive physical contact in my life. It stings, as she looks up at me, tear stains on her feathered face. “I’m sorry Maria, but I need to get to work.” I say ashamed. 
She cocks her head. “For what?” I look at her and regret must be in my eyes as she just nods. “Go on, you have a lot more than just one life to deal with.” She says before I leave, her waving a clawed hand.
	That hurt a whole lot more than it should’ve, perhaps I was happy to learn that the one noble who’s death seemed to haunt me, or maybe it was the fact that someone, anyone, besides Joshua looked up to me. Joshua’s been nothing but a good brother, but Joshua being the man who and where he is has always been that issue. I let my issues and all that has been given and taken from me play out in my head as I walk across the parade grounds the throbbing headache of a hangover still ringing behind my eyes. In the yard I see new drillmasters, Warchaplins, and more men than ever before.
	Before I mount my horse I give a special order to protect Miss Maria Pious from the penal forces, upon pain of castration and having the tongue cut out for both every member of the unit and its handler. I can barely ride courtesy of the blinding sun and the headache far from helping, but my faithful stallion can always make up for my failings when it comes to a slow clop like this. The Governor’s Palace is almost blinding as the sun shines off of the white stone and right into my eyes. I dismount in the shade of my personal quarters taking a handful of shallow breaths before tying my horse to his post, a trough of water and a stack of hay will keep him company. After braving what feels like blindness incarnate from the most vile reflective objects called brass door handles.
	My chamber is dark, as normal, dimly lit with oil lamps and the light seeping in from the stained glass windows. Inside are around two dozen or so men, two heavily covered in scars and brands, the foremanner of the Dallas foundries, while the Warmaster of the Church has three in his own retinue of fellow concealed armored men, while the rest appear to a motley crew of logisticians, disciplinarians, and theorists.
	The meeting is productive, to say the least. I find out that within the week most of the material I’ve requisition will be produced, but it would take more than a month to get from the Dallas foundries to the Rio Grande Fort Line, the Church can field thirty thousand men, two-thirds of which are mounted and the other mainly rifles while the Army of the Western Pass can make it to Paso within the day the other corps of the army cannot reach the Rio Grande for immediate deployment. The Houston Marines are too busy fighting the naval conflict to provide men for ground operations and the Apache hosts are on their northern migration and entirely unreachable. I can feel my eyes twitch as one of the logisticians suggests the idea of a faux surrender. 
	By the end of the day I learned that rather than two hundred thousand men, I’ll have barely a hundred and twenty thousand, with a half million more by the end of the month. I need to make it to Fort Corpus, and from there the main forts on the river. Lead from the front, see what’s happening with my own two eyes rather than little wooden men on a wooden table, the way a Marshal is supposed to. Once the supper bells ring I hastily make my way into the palace proper from the hell that is my War Room. 
The moment I enter the dining room Joshua shouts “BROTHER! IT IS GREAT TO SEE YOU!” He cheers but I can see his sizable arms twitching, I look into his eyes seeing a mix of anxiety and unbridled rage.
“I take it you’re dealing with the aftermath of yesterday?” I ask, putting on a warm smile.
Joshua looks at me with a forced smile. “You have no idea Joshua.” He says through the gritted teeth of his forced smile.
“You can drop the smile brother, there are no vile administrators here, only family.” I say trying to calm him down.
Just as I say that his maddened smile twisting into a hateful frown and his eyebrows shift downwards and his eyes reveal the past year of repressed anger that’s been bubbling beneath the surface. “Nobles and their ilk make me want to abdicate and establish a Republic brother.” He growls.
He’s said this before, many, many times before. “Joshua, I know you want the people to be happy, but they love you, if you established one you’d be ruler for life and no say in it.” I retort.
“I know.” He grumbles, staring out over the table like a Colonel over the cowards of his regiment. He takes a deep breath, his considerable size seeming to swell before he exhales.
“Have you drank plenty of water or eaten anything since our lighter breakfast?” I ask, trying to see if that may help.
“I haven’t had a drop of water or crumb of food since sunup” He growls while staring at the setting sun. “And so help me if those damned “representatives” bring food and wine again I will make the “Coronation Day Massacre” as they’re calling it look like a goddamned “Fair and Just trial by peers” with “cruel and unusual” punishments being forbidden for those insults to me. I swear they’re trying to earn favors with me during mobilization but it just makes me want to grab an axe.” He says while clenching his hand. He takes another deep breath and his murderous glare escapes with his exhale.
I walk over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Joshua, you’re hungry, thirsty, tired, and annoyed. Do you know when dinner is?” I ask of him.
He turns his head to face me, his anger still behind his eyes. “Probably, dinner will be rather plain but hearty, some grilled bass from the river of this city’s namesake, I had the chef pay the man an extra half houston for the best fish.” He says returning to his usual calm demeanor. “That and some cream corn, a side of summer greens of the chef’s pick, and the local cornbread variety.” He continues.
“No grain bread tonight?” I ask in an attempt to keep his mind away from politics.
He put a hand on his chin. “No, I gave the baker the day off, it is his eldest daughter’s fifth birthday” He recalls. 
“Always were a poor disciplinarian weren’t you brother.” I remark.
“I kept the men zealous and valourous with my own bravery, you Nick, kept your men disciplined with drills, warpriests, pretty ribbons, and a gauntlet for a moment’s thought of cowardice.” He pokes.
I smile. “Well unlike you I cannot make a full grown bull look like a calf, nor can I simply brush off men as if they were mosquitoes.” I say in all the faux-grandior of a court official.
“Don’t start that bullshit…” Joshua snickers.
“Behold, the giant of the Gulf’s grasslands, head and shoulder above his marshal and sizable that not even the church bats an eye at him taking a lover and a wife. One for each of his heads.” I continue in the same way.
I get a chuckle out of Joshua and his spirit seems to lighten. “And here in this room is current heir, a man feared by conscripts, hated by nobles, and loved by church folk, veterans, and from some rumors a newly named Parakeet servant girl from Lubbock.” He boasts back.
I freeze. “You heard about that?” I ask snappily
Joshua gets a maniacal grin across his face. “I know that you’ve had marriage on your mind. Take a lover, I did it, the church won’t bat an eye given you’re standing with them.” He sneers as he raises a hand. His grin falls and he raises his other. “Of course I know you’re a pious man, faithful and virtuous as a saint, and I know that the mere thought of sin makes your blood boil.” He retorts.
I can feel my face twist into a face of confusion and my lip curl, my face must be particularly morbid as Joshua’s face seems to fill with concern. A rare sight to be sure. I swallow my pride and utter words I’m not partial to. “I’ll consider it after this war is won.” I say.
	Joshua gives a nod and whistles. The door to the hall where his sleeping chamber opens and Belle and Joshua’s lover walk out and to their seats to his left and right, his lover to his left. The discussion of war ceases, and the topics turn to policy, Joshua is considering creating a Scholar’s Guild so that he may have power in the sciences and a say education of his magistrates. He talks about it longingly and comes to ask if I plan to do any major reforms to the Army. I explain why I want a different pattern army on each border, why we need Camels and unarmored infantry in the west, mounted men on the Red and Canadian Rivers. Why the swamps of the Cajun tribes are not a place for gunpowder, pikes, or polearms, but thick blades, bows, and javelins, and how the south needs heavy cavalry and foot rifles.
He asks me about pikes, and where I stand on them, to which I answer honestly. They’re outdated, now a soldier can affix a bayonet and defend himself from cavalry, that and the liability of such large, tight knit formations on a battlefield where a canister shot can render the company useless. Joshua nods and asks if I intend to instate such reforms before the “coming troubles” as he calls it.
“I already have in the Army of the Rio Grande reformed to my new standards, the local Rancheros near Paso make great mounted rifles, and the nearby fort-towns give me excellent shooters and fighters.” I state, breaking the casual nature of the conversation rising from my seat in excitement
“Is that why you need cannons?” Asks Joshua’s lover.
“Yes Miss.” I answer before sitting back down.
“Why do you never refer to Katherine by her name?” Belle asks, resting her head on the back of her hand.
I just stare and blink a few times before answering. “Wait. Her name is Katherine?” I say dumbfounded.
Belle starts snickering and Katherine slides her a full Houston. Katherine speaks up “You really didn’t know my name? I’ve been your brother’s lover for the better part of a decade!” She exclaims.
“Miss, for that time half I was out on campaign against whatever border tribe got too rowdy and most of the rest I’ve spent between diplomatic missions, hunting bandits, brigands, and so-called ‘free companies’ of traitors. I haven’t had much time to meet you proper.” I respond.
Belle pipes up next. “Really? You’ve been on every trip to Bama with Joshua.” She says.
“Yes-” I get cut off before I can continue.
“The agreement between your father and mine was that Nicholas would help reform Bama’s lacking military in exchange for your hand.” Joshua states matter of factly.
“That explains why the dowry was only three merchant ships.” Belle grumbles.
“Hey those are nice merchant ships!” Joshua protests.
“What are they? two deckers?” She says flicking her hair behind her ear.
“No. They’re threemasts, I had to have the masts imported from the city of Portland near Scotia.” Joshua protests.
“Seriously?! Isn’t a military reform and some boats enough?” Katherine raises.
“I recommended the threemasts Miss. Their military mainly needed a reform of doctrine and weapon, not troop training and recruitment.” I state.
“Oh. Huh.” Katherine says. “Still three threemasts? That's more than there are in all of the Galap Ports combined.” 
“Yeah I know, Bama for all it is, is not a maritime power despite its abundance of harbors, it needs the boats more than the reform.” Joshua states.
“Oh please, our navy isn’t that weak.” Belle protests.
Joshua turns his head to his human lover. “Are you kidding me? The Beaumont guard fleet could blockade your whole nation alone.” Joshua jokes.
“Seriously?” Katherine asks.
“Definitely.” I reaffirm.
“You seriously think Bama’s navy is that weak?!” Belle exclaims.
Josh and I stare at Belle. “Between a King and the leader of one of the strongest nations in the Americas’ Army. I think we’d know what a strong force is, land or sea.” He says.
	Just as our Texo-Baman naval discussion was coming to a close a group of quail servants came to serve our dinner. Joshua and I know all seven of their names. Victoria, Daisy, Iris, Whitney, Anne, Bonnet, and Lily. They’re from Victoria where their mama, Madame Sabine, Joshua’s old nanny, is from and their father, the late Captain Patrick, from O'donnell and old friend of mine and former mentor, met almost thirty years ago.
The dinner is just as good as I thought it would be, the servants sitting down to join us, and their cane wielding mother sitting opposite to Madame Sabine at the other end of the table. The tradition of letting servants eat with him during non-political dinners always made the air in the towns and cities lighter. The girls tells us the daily gossip, a lot of emphasis on the Ms. Maria Pious I named in the morning. They all cheered in unison once I confirmed it bobbing their heads all at once with it. I felt a smile on my face again, something rather atypical on the eve of war.
The fish was seared perfectly, and the cornbread was the hearty mealy variety often eaten by the common folk of the nation, the greens are collards and mustards mixed together and topped with some salt and butter. The cream corn is heavenly and knowing the Cook family that makes it I’d expect them to serve nothing less purely out pride. Between the twelve or so palaces the Crown owns Joshua must employ around a thousand men to maintain and tend to them. His legion of servants may be impressive but it’ll be nothing compared to the armies I’ll command come the start of June. The quails eat with perfect manners, the old saying “eating in front of the King” being rather literal. Their mother is plump for a quail and her feathers are starting to grey at the tips. She raises a claw at me “I heard that there’s an army coming to Texas itself. Where do you intend to defeat them, Nick?” She asks.
I tense up but honesty is a virtue and I speak the truth once more. “I can’t defeat them at the Rio Grande. Perhaps at the San Antonio, once I’ve gathered enough men and material. If I’m successful I’ll dispatch mounted rifles to prevent the army from reforming and then gradually push them back across the Rio Grande. If Joshua wishes I could march across the desert to wherever they hail from but I’d rather sail if I could.” I say.
“And I’d like to hear the plan if you fail.” The old quail asks oddly warmly.
“If I am bested I’d issue a reorganization at the San Antonio, once there I’d consolidate the forces I have left and try to deceive the invaders that there’s one large army fleeing them while tempting small detachments of a thousand or less to break off to hunt my harassing infantry and cavalry. Once I’ve whittled them down I’d use the San Antonio river as a defensive line and hopefully deal the killing blow there mainly as a show of force though as I won’t engage if I can’t win.” I explain.
Madame Sabine shakes her head. “You always put so much thought into the things that can go wrong it makes the plans that if things go right look plain.” She says.
“Anyway. Nicholas. I need you to sail to Port Christi, the boat will set sail by midday, your personal retinue will be accompanying you as well as a group of servants Mister Aves will assign.” Joshua informs.
“At whose behest am I needed in Port Christi?” I ask.
“Mine.” Joshua plainly states.
“But who will guard your bedchambers?” I joke. The Quails gasping from the raunchy nature of the jest. 
Joshua’s face flushes red. “And for what reason would I need that?” He says playing dumb.
“Oh no reason I just wanted to make sure my brother slept well, safe and sound from all who would wish him well.” I reply in the same feigning ignorance as he did.
The quail daughters begin to hushedly whisper between themselves, murmurs of “lust” and “intimacy” are at the forefront of their conversation. “Say Joshua. What plans do you have for your brother’s marriage?” Katherine asks speaking over the quail sisters.
Joshua stares at his lover dumbfounded. “Is that my place to decide? He is my brother can’t he choose on his own?” He answers with a cocked head.
Belle puts her palms to her face. “Yes. Yes it is dearest. Your brother over there is the strongest political tool you have to offer. His hand could net you an alliance with just about any nation from the tip of patagonia to the farthest reaches of the Maine.” Belle lessons.
Joshua turns his head to his bride-to-be, a blank look on his face. “Nicholas can’t be that renowned. No offense brother. He’s the Marshal the Armies of Texas, yes, but famed from the north to southern Atlantic coasts? That can’t be right.” He protests.
I frown. I know the reputation I have but I’d rather not embrace it. I’d much rather the reputation of a beyond cunning general who won battles to make Saint Sam look like a bumbling fool. I think I’m a good general, I sure hope I am but I have no other margine to judge myself by, another thing that always irked me. “I know I have a reputation, Belle, but why would it leave the surrounding tribes?” I half-ask half-demand
Katherine looks like she’s about to speak but Belle silences her with a wave. “We Bamans knew about you before we ever met you, so did the peoples of the Peach Plains to our north and so did the Coal Kingdoms in the Appachaians. Your name is known all about old Dixie from what I know.” Belle raises.
“Is that so?” I question. “Well I have to live up to the name in the coming weeks. No?” I declare.
“Does that mean you’re gonna to let the Azzeks just wash over the southern fifth of Texas?” Katherine asks.
“Of course not, I’ll heavily skirmish with them all the way up to the Nueces, once we’re in Central Texas I’ll keep them from the coast with one army and if they move to engage them it’ll be their funeral as the main army won’t be more than a day out. I’ve used this tactic before against the Blackblade Confederacy during my first Olka campaign, worked against mounted troops despite the fact I only had infantry then, so I have no doubt it’ll work against whatever force I'm facing now.” I explain, disheartened by the drift of the conversation squarely on the war.
One of the quail sisters places a hand on my shoulder. “War gotcha bummed don’t it sir?” She says.
I turn to her, my eyes answering for me. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Bonnet says peering over the shoulder of her sister to better look at me.
I chuckle. “Nothing ever gets past your intuition now does it?” I say with an anxious smile.
“Nope” She says all giddy.
Just as she finished the Cooks came out of the kitchen a big pan of something in the couple’s arms. “Bread puddin’ just the way Madame Sabine likes it.” the Misses says.
“The vanilla’s a gift from the Portmaster down in Victoria.” The Mister says.
Joshua looks surprised by this while Katherine and Belle smile deviously. “I didn’t request no dessert Mr. and Mrs. Cook.” He says
“Oh we know, but we also know that a happy wife is a happy life.” The Misses says.
“We figured that since y’all ain’t his wife, I came up with this “A with a happy lover, in kisses you’ll be smothered.” The Mister continues, earning a glare from his wife. “Well I thought it was funny, seems like the Misses didn’t share my inclinations” He continues with a grin.
The pair set down the pan at the head between Katherine and Belle, in front of Joshua. Mr. Cook sits next to me and his wife across from him.
	The dessert is perfect, again while not demanded, is expected of the pair given their reputation. Madame Sabine gets up and goes into the kitchen and brings out a bottle of cream liquor, and then she promptly pours a fair bit onto the pudding. Her daughters stare beaks agape. “What? Can’t I have my little secrets?” She coos.
“Can you pass the cream liquor?” I ask.
“You gonna try it?” Katherine asks as Mr. Cook passes me the bottle.
“Why not? I want some to drink too.” I candidly answer before pouring a splash over the pudding.
Joshua raises a hand. “Hit me” he says and I slide the bottle down the table.
	As Joshua pours the liquor I raise a spoonful of the food to my mouth. I mean, it's cream liquor on bread pudding. It's like fresh bread and honey, better together than separate but not life changing. Madame Sabine and the Cooks poke at each other but it's rather tame all things considered.
	Afterwards we exchange pleasantries and return to wherever we go to rest, the Quails to the servants quarters, the Cooks to the village built for the skilled labor of the palace, Joshua, Belle, and Katherine go to his quarters after the others have left and I after everyone is gone, return to my chambers in the starry sky of a San Antonio spring.
	I fall asleep quicker than I expect, just barely cleaning myself with a wet towel before getting into bed. I open my eyes to see the Rockwall so famed in Texas, I look to my arms that are wrapped in thin cloth, I feel my body and head, wicker armor on my body and shoulders while the rest just is covered in cloth. I look over the hills and plains across the ridge, the banner of the Salt Lake waving in blue over the army. Hordes of mounted men dominated by no particular group with Canines, Felids, Birds of every feather and lizards of every color, horses, bison, and boars, all sitting atop their mounts. The humans stick out like sore thumbs, each wearing a red cloak with a great black cross sewn into it.
Just as the enemy comes close enough for the nearby archers to raise their bows I wake up. I look around my sparse chambers, a wardrobe, a few chests and the vanity with the mirror. I grab one of the chests, the clink of my campaign armor inside sounds almost like music. However much I hate war, being on campaign is surprisingly fun, hunting with slings with Rancheros, singing works songs from Dallas with the foremenner, learning what new alcoholic cocktail is popular in Houston, whatever really. I recall the first allied town I retook from some Cajuns, they gave me enough moonshine to bathe in and more offers to a night with their daughter than I had ever thought possible, I felt like a god.
I smile as I pack my things up. A sword for mounted fighting, a halberd for fighting on foot. A carbine for shooting, a pistol for dueling, and a sling for hunting. I pack all the weapons into the chest except for the halberd, that’ll stay with me on the deck. Satisfied with the contents in the chest and after tidying the room I leave into the sparking shy of the early morning.
I take the saddle off my horse, going through the motions of mounting the yolk and carriage in the lamplight of the stable. Content, I begin the trot towards the river of this city’s namesake, the early morning is silent, the only people out are the fire brigades on their usual patrols, a few night ministers policing the streets, and the occasional insomniac or early bird sitting outside their home enjoying a smoke. I play with my pipe in my mouth for a while before putting any tobacco in it. I sit on the chest and tie the reins before grabbing my tobacco tin from my uniform. I light it with a miner’s lantern, a damn near required tool for any self respecting officer and take the reins again.
As I get closer to the river the ruins from ages past become more common, the metal frames of some ancient box-like buildings, the small canyons where roads still run over and through the hills towards the river. By the time I got there the sailors were just barely waking up with a breakfast of liquor and pretzels. Sailors, never a quarter as disciplined as soldiers, but have twice the heart the three times the brave as the average one too.
The boat is enormous, a threemast Galleon with what looks to fifty guns on each side and three swivel batteries uptop. 
The captain is a sizable barred owl, the navy always attracts birds for some reason, the rest of the crew is a small army of nutrias, and an equal number of gulls, a lone heron, and twenty humans. “Aye, you must be the Marshal, the Grand Admiral speaks highly of ya. Como on err… Sir? Lord? Whatcha like to be called?” He says his eyes are still staring at you despite the fact that he’s walking ahead of me.
“Just call me Sir or Nicholas.” I answer.
The owl nods and spins his head back to it’s normal spot almost losing his tricorn in the process. “We’ll leave once the servants and the church's warmaster get here.” He says as one of his sailors leads my horse under the deck. “It’s nice of you to bring a chariot for the men’s sake. As fer da journey, it’ll take a day ta get to the Guatalupe, and another two fore we get ta da Nueces. After that It’ll be one day until you get to where ya need ta and we’ll be sailin’ back up ta da split in the Nueces near Riverton.” The captain explains. “Now get yerself settled, there’s brandy beneath the deck and some jerky if you want something to eat, as fer smoke we got some canni and tobacco, yer pick.” He offers.
“I’m good for now Captain.” I reply.
“You say that now Sir, and you can call me Beaks.” He answers before taking his place at the wheel underneath the shade. 
Under the deck the boat there is three levels aside from the cargo holds in the bottom, according to the Heron, my room will be in the back of the second sleeping deck. I sit down with the heron near the mess on the first deck, him enjoying a mug of beer and I another smoke from my pipe. Soon the Warmaster and his retinue come down, I give him a wave and “Howdy” before continuing down to the third deck. 
Not long after the retinue of servants Mr. Aves attached to me arrives along with my personal guard. Between every servant attached is a lady, and likely a maiden given the presence of rosaries and lack of rings. There are two coyotes, a mantis, an armadillo, and four parakeets. My guards are a pair of human twins from Mertzon, a bison from north of the Canadian, and rattlesnake from Iraan. I look over the maids once more, my eyes hanging on the red beaked parakeet. 
It’s the one from before
Young Miss Maria Pious and she’s wearing a smile to make the Lord in heaven’s heart melt.
Mr. Aves you scoundrel is all that goes through my mind as I finish off the tobacco in my pipe with a long drag.