Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

The days drifted by in a tense, expectant calm since the parlay between Alpheo and Ilbert. The offer made by the prince had been accepted in principle, but all that remained was to wait—for Lechlian’s response, for reinforcements, or for the deadline to pass.

It was a quiet siege now, the kind where swords were sheathed, and diplomacy danced its subtle waltz, with soldiers from both sides mostly relaxed knowing that no assault would be made.

This was not unusual in wars of noblemen. Rarely did lords wish to defy invaders to the bitter end, for they understood well the unpredictable savagery of a sword once unleashed at the conclusion of a long siege.

Compromises such as this—a negotiated surrender veiled in loyalty—offered a way to temper devastation while preserving the appearance of honor.

It allowed the invading army to claim their spoils and terms while the defenders salvaged their dignity, avoiding the complete ruin that would came with cities stormed by fire and steel, which usually however did not entail the lord and his family .

The case of Vroghios was a special one, as he effectively had to fight almost to the death, while in most lords would be more than happy to open the gates and surrender if things started looking grimly.

There were no attempts at breakout or resistance. Bricaterun’s defenders waited, as did Alpheo’s army, each side knowing the deadline loomed over them like a shadow.

Inside the dim glow of Alpheo’s command tent, the atmosphere was surprisingly relaxed. The three men sat around a modest wooden table, their cups brimming with cider as Ratto, ever dutiful, hovered nearby holding an ornate urn. Whenever one of their cups ran dry, he would promptly lean forward to refill it, his movements precise and practiced.

’’So what comes now?’’ Asag asked , ’’When the war all done and finished?’’

Alpheo leaned back in his chair, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup as he spoke. ”Well I will become lord of confluendi, and I will get my hand on quite some land , which I will make sure to carve up a piece for each of you. This war,” he began, his voice calm but with an edge of conviction, ”is just the beginning. When it’s done, there’s more to be won than lands and titles. We must build. We must grow.”

Jarza, swirling his cup lazily, raised an eyebrow. ”Grow? You mean planting trees and building farms?” he teased ’’I think we passed that when we became mercenaries, exchanging peace for silver and gold...’’

Alpheo smirked and shook his head. ”Not quite. Bridge and roads, Jarza. A proper aqueduct for the capital, to finally put a stop to that shit-smel in the city. And the navy it’s time that we increase exponentially the armament of the royal fleet to deal with those fuckers on the Sea....’

Asag, who had been quiet until now, took a measured sip before leaning forward, his expression skeptical. ”Ambitious, that is for certain , yet can you afford it?After all shouldn’t war burn coins fast?’’

Ratto silently stepped in, refilling the half empty cup with cider before retreating to his post.

Alpheo raised his own cup high, his eyes gleaming with confidence. ”We can afford it, just a bit of parsimoniousness here and there and we should have enough for them while still having some coins to spare” he declared.

The tent’s flaps rustled violently before flapping open, a gust of cool night air following in their wake. Egil strode in, his tall frame casting a shadow that briefly danced in the flickering light of the lanterns. His piercing gaze swept over the four men inside, pausing briefly on each of them before settling into an unspoken understanding.

Without a word, he dropped into an empty chair at the table, his movements brisk but casual, as if he’d always belonged there. He raised a hand, motioning to Ratto.

”Bring me a cup,” Egil said simply, his voice low and rough, betraying a weariness he hadn’t yet shaken off.

Ratto, ever efficient, stepped forward, pouring the cider with care and offering the cup to Egil, who snatched it up with a curt nod.

Without hesitation, he tipped the cup back, downing the contents in a single gulp before slamming it onto the table and motioning for a refill. Ratto refilled the cup promptly, only to watch as Egil emptied it just as swiftly.

Leaning back in his chair, Egil placed the cup firmly on the table, finally exhaling deeply. ”I think I’ve fallen in love with this cider,” he admitted, his tone as dry as the desert sands but tinged with a smirk.

Asag raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a rare grin. ”We can see that,” he remarked, his voice laced with amusement.

Alpheo swirled his cider lazily in his cup, his dark eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he regarded Egil across the table. ”So, tell me,” he began, his tone calm but expectant. ”Anything new to report?”

Egil set his now-empty cup down with a faint clink, his expression shifting to something more focused. ”Last report came in yesterday,” he said, leaning back slightly in his chair. ”Still no signs of movement from the capital. Nothing that suggests they’re raising another army, at least.” He shrugged, a wry smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. ”Looks like the fucker’s too scared to get his ass whipped twice.”

Jarza, sitting to Alpheo’s right, burst out laughing, his broad shoulders shaking with mirth. He raised his cup high, cider sloshing near the rim. ”To that!” he roared, his booming voice filling the tent as he grinned at Egil. ”May his cowardice keep us well-fed and his troops far away!”

The tent erupted in lighthearted chuckles, the tension of the weeks-long siege briefly forgotten. Even Alpheo allowed himself a faint smile, the flickering lanternlight catching the glint in his eyes.

Alpheo tapped the rim of his cup lightly, the faint sound drawing the attention of the table as the laughter subsided. His expression grew thoughtful, yet tinged with a faint edge of calculation. ”Don’t mistake his stillness for peace,” he began, his tone measured. ”I believe Lechlian would wish for nothing more than to have another go against us. It’s not in man’s nature to let humiliation fester without striking back, if given the opportunity to do so, perhaps he will be crazy enough to try something in the future ”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, his gaze flicking between his companions. ”Still we should be good for some months , raising an army... now, that’s no simple task,” Alpheo continued, his voice carrying a note of confidence. ”On the matter of manpower, he might have no issue. The capital and his lands are teeming with able-bodied men. But organizing them into an army? Equipping them with weapons and armor good enough to give them a fighting chance? That’s a different beast altogether.There is a reason after all why kingdoms need months to raise another army after losing badly in a fight”

Egil nodded slightly, his lips quirking into a half-smile, but he remained quiet, watching as Alpheo elaborated, understanding little of what he was saying.

”And then there’s the matter of his lords,” Alpheo said, his voice dropping a degree, laden with skepticism. ”Many of them returned to their fiefs after the last battle. Exhausted, depleted. I doubt they’re eager to muster their forces again so soon—not unless Lechlian has the coin and persuasion to compel them. And even then, time is his enemy. Raising a proper force under these conditions is a near-impossible feat in such short notice, so it is much more probable that he will stand still , after all a loss of a lord’s domain is not an easy blow to receive, yet certainly one that can live with”

Jarza leaned back in his chair, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his cup. After a moment of contemplation, he asked, his tone casual but carrying the weight of genuine curiosity, ”So, Alpheo, after we’ve subjugated Bricaterun,will we finally be bound home?”

Alpheo, seated at the head of the table, smirked faintly as he swirled the cider in his cup. He took a measured sip before responding, his tone firm and purposeful. ”Not yet. Not while we still have the means to make a greater impact. As it stands, our supplies should last us another month at least. And with that time, I intend for us to do far more than just claim a single city.”

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting with a mix of determination and mischief. ”No, we’ll spend what time remains making sure Lechlian’s hold on his lands is weakened—crippled, even. We’ll take the fight to his private fiefs , riding through the countryside and hitting where it hurts most.”

Egil grinned at the mention of riding, his excitement barely contained. Alpheo caught the expression and added with a wry chuckle, ”We’ll do what Egil loves best—sack and ride, spreading ruin across his lands. Burn his crops, strip his villages, and leave his people trembling at the mere thought of our banners. We’ll create so much devastation that his treasury will bleed as much as his pride.”

Alpheo nodded, a fierce smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ”Yes. A chevauchée so devastating, so unforgettable, that it’ll earn itself a name.’’

Asag furrowed his brow, the word clearly foreign to him. ”Chevauchée?” he repeated, his tone tinged with curiosity. Beside him, Egil and Jarza exchanged equally puzzled glances, their expressions mirroring his confusion

Alpheo chuckled at their bewilderment, leaning back in his chair. ”It’s a style of warfare,” he began, swirling the cider in his cup. ”One that focuses on pillaging and raiding—striking at the heart of an opponent’s strength without necessarily engaging their armies directly. The goal is simple: to weaken the pillars of their rule. Burn their crops, plunder their wealth, leave their lands so desolate that their people begin to question their ability to protect them, causing refugees to turn to bandits and even more devastation..”

Jarza rubbed his chin thoughtfully before repeating the word aloud. ”Chevauchée.” He let it roll off his tongue, his lips curling into a grin. ”It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?’’

Egil’s grin widened, his enthusiasm palpable. ”I’ll drink to that,” he declared, raising his cup high, with the other following suit.