Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

The feast rolled on, lively as a river after spring rains. The musicians plucked at their lutes and fiddles, filling the great tent with a warm variety of sound, while the scent of roasted meats, spiced peppered stews, and fresh bread mingled thickly in the air. Laughter, heavy with wine, rose here and there, as nobles slowly got in the air of the celebration

Alpheo, however, had not come just to dine.Leaning back in his chair with the lazy air of a lion full on meat, he turned his head and let his gaze drift across the long table, finally fixing his eyes on a particular sight: Egil.

There, a few seats down, sat the man, stuffing his face with the ferocity of a starving wolf. At that precise moment, Egil was in the middle of conquering an entire chicken leg, grease glistening on his hands and dripping down the side of his face. For a long heartbeat, Egil didn’t notice the princely stare boring into him.

Then he did.

Egil froze, mid-gnaw, the chicken bone still lodged firmly in his grip. His blue eyes flickered to Alpheo’s, and — in a flurry of motion — he dropped the remains of the bird onto his plate, grabbed the nearest linen cloth, and began scrubbing at his greasy mouth and fingers.

Alpheo gave a low, amused hum at the spectacle, drumming his fingers lightly against the table before finally speaking, his voice cutting through the murmur of the feast like a knife through soft bread.”I have some questions,” he said, tone almost casual, “about Ratto.”

Egil, now looking a bit like a guilty child caught stealing sweets, tossed the ruined towel onto the table and leaned back with a wide, greasy grin.

His voice was rich with good humor as he replied,”Ah, of course, of course. You must be fretting about the lad — thrown into my hands like a piglet into the care of a bear.”He chuckled, patting his broad chest with a fist.”Wondering how he’s faring, are you? If I’ve eaten him yet, or if the boy’s gone mad as it said about the Crown’s hound?!”

He laughed again, a booming sound that made the silverware rattle, clearly enjoying the chance to jest — and just as clearly savoring the small, shining moment of attention at the prince’s table.

“I know,” the prince said, his voice lowering just enough to cut through the noise of the feast, “how much weight I put upon your shoulders.”

Egil, wiping the last trace of grease from his beard, gave a theatrical sigh, as if carrying the burden of the world.”Aye, Alph. No one’s got time to jest anymore.”He leaned in a bit, lowering his voice like they were old conspirators sharing a dirty secret.”You want to know how the boy’s faring?”

Alpheo simply nodded, one brow arching.

Egil grinned, wide and full of crooked pride.”Very well, I’d say. Got himself the gut of a real man now, not that scrawny twig you sent me.”He jabbed a thick thumb towards his chest, puffing up.”Killed four men, last battle, or so the boys tell it. Not bad at all! ‘Course,” he added with a gleam in his eye, “I killed dozens myself — but considering he’s not yet seen the hairs on his chest darken proper, I’d call it damned impressive.”

A small smile curled at Alpheo’s lips.”Good to hear,” he said simply.

Egil smirked, leaning even further across the table like a bear nosing for honey.”Mind if I ask something?What’s the plan? You didn’t throw him to me just to let the boy grow muscle swinging a sword. You’ve got something more in that clever little head of yours, I’ll wager.”

Alpheo chuckled under his breath, lifting his goblet of wine and taking a slow sip before answering, letting the suspense stretch just enough.”You presume correctly. But for now,” — he lowered the goblet, his eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction — “he’ll remain part of your unit. Learn the rough way. Bleed a little, tire a lot. Build the scars a man needs.”

Egil’s grin widened, but Alpheo continued, his tone sharpening just slightly, the way a whetstone kisses the edge of a blade.

“In the future, though… I’ll pull him from your ranks. Land him a place where he commands men, leads them into the fray, and learns what it means to carry more than just his own life into battle.”

“Still,” Egil replied, wiping the foam of ale from his lips with the back of his hand, “I don’t quite see why you’ve got so much interest in the lad. Since that day he tried to pickpocket Clio, you just had a sort of interest in him. Not that he minded since he basically followed you everywhere like a puppy.”

Alpheo only hummed, grabbing his cup of cider with a lazy hand and swirling it once before bringing it to his lips. He tilted his head back and emptied it in a long pull, setting the cup down with a heavy clunk.He licked a bit of cider from his lip, then glanced sideways at Egil with a dry smile.

“And what is it, do you think, that I am missing?” he asked

Egil scratched at his stubbled jaw, frowning like a man trying to solve a riddle scrawled on a tavern wall. After a moment of very serious thinking — which to anyone watching might have been comical — he threw up his hands.

“I’ve got no bloody idea,” he confessed, chuckling.

Alpheo leaned in, his voice low and yet more than happy to share.”Proper human resources,” he said, tapping a finger lightly against the table.

Egil blinked once, then twice, as if Alpheo had started speaking another language.

“The White Army,” Alpheo continued, tone smooth as oiled steel, “is suffering a great shortness of proper leadership. I …..well, I’m forced to pluck men from the ranks who’ve barely seen two years of proper service, which while they make for good soldiers, makes for poor officers.”

He poured himself another cup, speaking all the while.”And it’s only going to grow worse when I expand the army even further. So,” — he raised his cup in a small toast — “right now, I’m watching if all this time and attention I pour into the boy will bear fruit. If he shapes up well, I’ll have gained a good subordinate.”

He gave a small, self-satisfied shrug.”After all, more than half my victories are thanks to the people I surround myself with. No ruler wins alone.”

Egil, lifting his own mug in response, gave a grin so wide it looked ready to split his face in two.”Ah, Alph, you’re warming this heart of mine. How gracious it is to be noted…,” he said theatrically, before downing the entire mug in one go.

Alpheo chuckled under his breath.” If you get any softer, I might have to have you assigned to as the court’s poet.”

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Egil thudded his mug back onto the table with a snort.”Bah! If that happens, I’ll write ballads so vulgar , they would kill a priest.”

Alpheo laughed outright this time, a clear, sharp sound that cut through the rumble of the feast.

Egil, after a long gulp from his mug, leaned closer “Still,” he said in a more serious tone , wiping the foam from his beard with a sleeve, “why not make use of your wife’s leal vassals? Stuff a few of their sons into the ranks. Get some blood, you can use swinging swords for you.”

Alpheo arched an eyebrow”You think I haven’t considered it?” he said, swirling the cider in his cup lazily. “The reason why we’ve got such a bloody shortage is simple: our sub-centurii and decurii keep dying. Dying in the mud, on the front line.”

He leaned forward, voice dropping to a cool murmur.”And you think any noble worth his lands and silver would give me his son for that? Marching on foot, fighting in the dirt like a common levy? No, Egil. They’ll offer me their boys, aye — but only if I promise them cushioned commander’s seats. They’ll want captains’ cloaks, fancy spurs, command of hundreds… and none of the risk.”

He gave a thin smile, full of the cold amusement of a man who knew the game far too well.”And that’s something I won’t grant unless I know for damn sure that their loyalty lies only with the Crown — not with some sniveling faction plotting in the corridors.”

Egil chuckled, shaking his head.”Trust,” he muttered, “is scarcer than gold these days.”

Alpheo nodded, finishing his cider in one long pull before setting the cup down with a thunk.”True enough. But,” he said, eyes glinting, “I do have half a plan brewing in that regard. Something to… mediate the matter.”

Egil tilted his head, grin spreading like a cat who smelled cream.”Oh? What’s that?” he asked, voice dripping with curiosity.

Alpheo leaned forward slightly, lifting his cup again, the words already on his tongue” Since we have the coin now, I was thi—”

“YOU CURR!”

Bellowed a voice from the far end of the great tent; interrupting him before he could finish.

The music screeched to a halt, plates clattered, and for a moment, the entire world inside the pavilion seemed to freeze. Alpheo was on his feet in an instant, his chair scraping backward with a harsh screech. Around him, the royal guards shifted, their boots thudding as they stepped closer, hands instinctively resting on hilts, ready to form a wall between their prince and any threat.

Alpheo’s sharp gaze darted across the tent, searching—and found it, a great congregation of people at the end where the pardoned lords had been seated.The crowd was growing, lords and knights pushing and murmuring, craning their necks to see the source of the disturbance.

A knot of dread coiled in Alpheo’s gut.

He turned his head swiftly toward where Talek had been seated just a few moments before — the young lord he had been keeping an eye on all evening — and found the seat empty.

His jaw tightened. His fingers curled into a fist so hard the knuckles whitened as he realized he had been had.

“Fuck.”