The days following the prisoner's release were fraught with a new kind of tension. It was the anxiety of waiting for an answer, of wondering if the offer of truce would be met with a spear or a handshake. Rex maintained a facade of calm, but every sentry's report, every distant sound, put him on edge.
It was Elara who found him on the fourth day, staring blankly at a schematic for improving the granary's rodent-proofing.
"You're grinding your teeth," she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. The contact was brief, but it was a steadying anchor. "You made the only logical choice. The strong can afford to be magnanimous. You proved your strength. Now you offer a path to peace. It is what a good leader does."
Her faith was a balm, but it couldn't quiet the doubt. Had he been too lenient? Had he shown a fatal softness?
The answer came at noon. Not with an army, but with a single figure walking up the road, one hand holding a white cloth tied to a stick, the other guiding a small, hand-pulled cart. It was Marius.
Rex met him at the gate, his council arrayed behind him. Kaelen's hand rested on her falchion, her expression deeply skeptical. Jean looked on with a stonemason's impartiality. Elara stood calm and observant.
Marius stopped a dozen paces away. He looked older than he had before, the lines on his face deeper. "Lord Rex," he began, his voice carrying without a shout. "I have come for my man."
"And my answer?" Rex replied, his voice equally level.
"The answer is... we are listening." Marius gestured to the cart. "A gesture of good faith. Salt. From stocks we secured early on. A commodity more valuable than gold for preserving food."
It was a significant offering. Salt was irreplaceable.
Rex gave a single nod. Kaelen, with obvious reluctance, went to the cellar and returned with the grizzled prisoner. The man, seeing Marius, straightened his shoulders and walked to his commander's side without a word.
"The truce?" Rex pressed.
"My commander is... pragmatic," Marius said, choosing his words carefully. "He agrees that fighting you and the Brutes simultaneously is poor strategy. He agrees to a defined border—the old Roman road to the north shall be the line. No incursions. No attacks."
"And trade?" Rex asked.
Marius allowed a thin smile. "That is the heart of it, isn't it? We have the quarry. You have the forge and, it seems, a skilled blacksmith." His eyes flicked to Kaelen. "We need tools, hardware, weapon repairs. You need good stone to finish your walls before the deep winter. We propose a monthly market. Neutral ground. The old mill, halfway between our territories."
Rex considered it. It was everything he could have hoped for. A cessation of hostilities and a path to acquiring a critical resource without violence. But he knew the danger. Trust was a weapon that could be turned against you.
"Agreed," Rex said. "But know this, Marius. This truce is built on mutual benefit, not friendship. Betray it, and the war that follows will not end until one of us is ash."
The threat was delivered calmly, a simple statement of fact. Marius's smile vanished, replaced by a look of professional respect. "Understood."
The exchange was made. The prisoner for the cart of salt. Marius turned and left, pulling the empty cart behind him.
As the gate closed, a collective sigh seemed to pass through Avalon. The immediate threat from the most dangerous of their enemies had been neutralized. For now.
Kaelen kicked at the cobblestones. "I don't trust him."
"You're not meant to," Rex said, watching the road until Marius was out of sight. "We've bought time. Time to strengthen our walls with their stone. Time to prepare for the real fight."
"The Brutes," Jean stated.
Rex nodded. With one front temporarily secure, the full, brutal focus of the world's chaos would now come from the east. The truce was not a victory. It was a repositioning of forces. The war for survival was far from over.