Cyprus took his leave. Arranging the search party would be a simple matter. He was however more concerned that their advance would be hampered by the generals decision  to break off from the vanguard of his army and go searching for his wayward son.

He left the tent at a brisk pace and headed towards the make-shift canteen. He would need to ensure that this business with Denmark was resolved quickly and to do that he needed to gather the most capable scouts to send out with the general.

Sweden clenched his fist into a tight ball, pulled back, rotating his fist jauntily in a comical parody of fisticuffs and let loose a wicked right hook that took his adversary clean off his feet. The adversary in question was a short, rotund Poan conscript who had said something unsavoury about Sweden’s mother as he had entered the bustling canteen tent. Sweden was fresh from his scouting mission and was the last person the little Poan should have goaded. The conscript flew almost ten feet back and landed in a crumpled heap at the feet of Cyprus as he ducked into the large tent that served as canteen for the forward cohort. A sudden hush descended over the men who had been observing the  fight, a few bets had been laid but the arrival of the steward meant all bets were off.

“Sweden my boy, why do you play so roughly with the children ?” Cyprus said, stepping gingerly over the prostrate conscript.

“Cyprus old boy, sometimes I forget my own strength.” Sweden responded, rubbing his fist gingerly.

The little Poan scrambled to his feet, white-hot rage screaming in his eyes.

Cyprus pulled his rapier from beneath his cloak as he stepped back towards him and in the same motion pierced his heart with the blade. The diminutive Poan collapsed back, dead before his head hit the ground. Cyprus pulled the blade from his chest and wiped it nonchalantly on the poor fools coat before he spirited it back into the folds of his cloak. He was in no mood for games and he knew that this action would command the attention he desired.

Sweden sighed inwardly, he knew what was coming next. He knew Cyprus well enough to know when he was being pressured by his father. He was also well aware that his brother Denmark had as yet not reported back from his mission.

“Was there really any need for bloodshed?”

“Is there ever?” Cyprus retorted wryly.

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