🐘 Anthony. Son of Anticus.

 "Write a story set during a battle."

Anthony stood in the hallway of the king's house, walking around and reading an old document. The dim light of the place changed its intensity every four seconds. From white to orange, from orange to gray. He could not concentrate.

    A Uarinup soldier had given him the terms and conditions of their "special" requests thirteen minutes before; he hasn't finished the examination—the stress started to flood his mind. Anthony went to an oval office steps away by the corridor, sat down over the desk, and bent his knee on top of the other.

    The paper depicted the small logo of the king's company at the top of the page. A real-time clock was embedded next to the image. His gaze whirled ninety degrees to the left. The grey walls of that daunting studio made him feel sick. Meanwhile, the clock advanced thirty more seconds. 

Dear friend, Anthony. Son of Anticus. Leader of the Dulos and Lingos' sultan. Let me be straightforward, we want you to be our ally. Last week we discussed two relevant terms of that proposal. Today, I will ask for more. 

First and foremost, all your lands belong to us.

Second, each private will wear golden masks from now on. 

Third, your entire elephantry will use golden saddlers, too.

Fourth, every disabled mahout, women, and children will work in the "Rucobo Camps."    

I do not desire to think about what would happen if you reject reading them and, of course, accepting them. I believe your subordinates will thank you.

Have a pleasant day.

 

Sincerely, King M.

What is he trying to tell me? There is no reason to start a war. Neither he nor I could win it. If I reject signing, my entire family will die; however, if I sign it, my whole people will be political prisoners, the Silver masks' captain thought. 

    He shook his head, stood up. No, no, Mémalik is not who has the last word; there's still hope. We've got thousands of soldiers more than him. The Dulos people have always been respected for their ferocity and strength. I won't give him the pleasure of slaving us.

    An elegant scrawl accompanied the sheet. King Mémalik's signature was big and delicate. A short text at the footer read: Do your part, and we will do ours. 

   "Golden Soldier, come here, please!"

    "Yes, sultan." said the Uarinup solder located in the hallway. His coat-and-golden armor perfectly combined with his heavy mask. He made a little bow and asked. 

    "How can I help you, my lord?

    "Tell your boss we are not in. I must be leaving now."

    An odd and diabolic smiled appeared in the masked soldier, said: "As you wish, my lord." 

    A battle horn rumbled. 

    Anthony woke up and opened his eyes. They are coming, and they are many, he thought. 

    "My love, that's the Oloro horn; the king's coming with more than one hundred elephants," the sultan's wife murmured.  

    "I know, my dear, we were waiting for them. Call Quinous, tell him we have ten minutes to be ready," he quickly got up from his bed.