This is the fortieth chapter of Wealthgiver, an alternate history serial romance about nationalism and cave-Thracians. For the back-of-the-book description and an index of chapters, click here. For the beginning, click here. For the previous chapter, click here.
The Sun sank and the air grew cold. Masses of cloud rolled overhead like the ships of battling empires, beaching themselves on mountain peaks. The mountains, which shaped the clouds and the people who inhabited them. Suspicious, stubborn people, and terrifyingly practical.
"The war," she said, "is over."
Andrei grimaced at her. He stood with his back to the blasted barricade, arms spread as if to hold back the angry crowd. Or as if begging for a priest's knife in his back.
"I wouldn't say so yet, My Mistress," Zülfü stood behind Andrei, looking impatient. "But victory is only a few deaths away. My Master—"
"No massacres," said Andrei. "We will take these men prisoner."
"We surrender," called a someone from the smoke behind…
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