Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

”In the end, I said yes,” Alpheo muttered, swallowing down the last figs of the season and chasing it with a sip of watered wine.

It was late morning, the sun already warm, and he and Jarza had taken to a small table near the window edge for a snack. The spread was simple, bread, figs, cheese, but Jarza seemed far less interested in the food than in the thoughts swirling behind Alpheo’s calm face.

”Oh, shit,” Jarza blurted, eyes widening. ”So now we’re allies of the Romelia?” He let out a low whistle before breaking into a laugh. ”Gods, from slaves of the Empire to their allies. What the fuck happened to the world?”

”It happened to host us,” Alpheo quipped dryly, reaching for another fig. ”And now it bears the fruits we choose to give her. Things have been stale these last hundred years. A little chaos was overdue. It’s in times of turmoil that opportunity ripens, and falls into the hands of those willing to catch it.There are years that feels likes week and week that feels like years, this is more of the latter.”

Jarza gave him a sidelong glance, chewing slowly. ”More like you happened,” he said, the words tossed out as if an afterthought, though there was an edge of admiration beneath them. He leaned back, folding his arms. ”Still... I’d never have thought I’d see the day when the proud Romelians came crawling, begging for alliance. Any idea why?” He popped another fig into his mouth, as if the fruit might soften the weight of the question.

Alpheo’s smile thinned, the faintest shadow passing across his brow. ”Well, I can say for certain that whatever their reason, it’s a dire one. There’s no other explanation for such desperation. A Romelian Imperator doesn’t humble himself unless the ground beneath him is shaking.”

He paused, tearing off a piece of bread, chewing slowly, as if weighing whether to speak further. He didn’t like swimming in waters where the depth was hidden. Still, whether he liked it or not, he was already wading in.

”Come now,” Jarza pressed with a grin, setting his cup down. ”No theory at all? You’re telling me you got nothing to navigate this fog? I don’t believe it. Throw me a bone, even if it’s a crooked one.”

Alpheo exhaled, rubbing at his jaw with a finger, the gesture betraying thought more than hesitation. ”If you really want a shot in the dark,” he said at last, ”I’d wager it has something to do with their regency. The old regent is fading, everyone knows it. Once he’s gone, the boy takes the throne. Fifteen summers maybe sixteen by that time, and still untested. That sort of change leaves cracks, and cracks invite pressure.”

Jarza raised his brows, intrigued. ”So you think they fear trouble at home?”

”I think they fear the very thing Romelia has always feared,” Alpheo said at length, ”Romelia itself. Recent events have made that plain enough. Dissent that festers in the shadows, ambition that cuts deeper than steel, blood feuds that refuse to die even after generations. They see us, perhaps, as a second pillar to lean upon should their house begin to sway.” He reached for his cup, swirling the dregs of water before muttering under his breath, ”Too bad for them that they need us as much as we need them.”

He fell silent, as if the thought carried its own bitterness. ”I should have expected things to turn out like this.”

Jarza snorted, leaning back with a laugh that was more bark than mirth. ”Come now, who is the fucker could have expected half the princes we’ve never even traded words with to suddenly swarm together and meddle in our affairs? That’s no ordinary turn of fate, that’s every rat in the cellar deciding at once to gnaw on the same part of the rope.”

Alpheo gave a weary smile, though his eyes did not soften. ”I had long thought such a day would come, Jarza. But not so soon. I had hoped for time, time enough to slowly pry apart our diplomatic stalemate. To loosen their mistrust one knot at a time.” He shook his head. ”Instead, they have beaten me to it, come together first, while we stand isolated, and with only our old masters to turn to.” He spat the last words out like a taste gone foul in his mouth.

He let the silence hang for a moment, then muttered, almost to himself, ”I should have expected it. Taking all of Herculia, and then moving so soon again... it was bold, yes, but perhaps too bold. We never gave them time to forget their fear of us. That fear has united them faster than I ever dreamed.”

Jarza, unbothered, reached for the figs again. ”No use chewing the cud of regrets, Alpheo. The dice have already been thrown, and we’re left with the hand dealt to us. You know as well as I do, we’ve seen shit climb to our toes before. We’ve even felt it rise to our chins.” He bit into the fruit with a grin. ”And yet here we sit, still breathing. We’ll find a way out. We always do.”

Alpheo huffed a short, humorless laugh. ”I suppose you’re right. And Romelia itself may well be the way out.” His gaze drifted across the camp, as if he could already see the eagle’s shadow stretching across the land. The thought unsettled him.

”Our enemies will be far more cautious if they know the eagle, crippled as it may be, flies at our back. A broken eagle is still an eagle... and any rat would think twice before darting beneath its talons.”

For a heartbeat, Alpheo let the thought linger in silence, tasting its weight. It was strange, almost surreal, how the world seemed to place the answer into his hand just as he had begun to despair of finding one. And stranger still that the answer came in the form of those who had once been their masters.

”So you’re the one who actually sat across from the Shepherd himself,” Jarza said ”Any thoughts on the kid?”

Alpheo exhaled through his nose, reaching for another fig before answering. ”He is a boy still, Jarza. I don’t know whether what I saw in him was simply inexperience, or a flaw in his character, but he struck me as... lacking.” He bit down on the fig, chewing slowly, then realized he was speaking rather freely about the ruler of the city of the Three Hills.

Still, the words were not untrue. ”Our new ally, in all his brilliance, allowed himself to ride out alone under the guise of an invitation. No retinue, no counsel, no servant sent ahead to Doria. Had he any sense, he would have at least sent word to his own man.”

Jarza tilted his head. ”So what then? Careless? Or arrogant?”

”Neither. Or perhaps both. I think it was more likely the rashness of youth, maybe he felt hurried, maybe he wanted to prove he could accomplish something without leaning on his elders. Whatever it was, it showed.” Alpheo leaned back, shaking his head slightly. ”Useless to say, his performance left much to be desired.”

Jarza smirked. ”How so?”

”It was plain as day that this was the boy’s first attempt at playing the game alone. He contradicted himself constantly, veering between careful implication and blunt honesty, as though he hadn’t decided what mask to wear. And by the end, he stripped away all subtlety and pointed outright to our current isolation. That is a grave mistake .”

Alpheo raised a finger to punctuate his words. ”You do not draw attention to the weakness of a state you wish to befriend, not unless you hold enough cards in your hand to offset the insult. He should have wrapped his words in silk, hinted, persuaded, allowed me to arrive at the conclusion myself. Instead, he was like a child blurting out what everyone smells but no one names. You don’t tell a man he stepped in shit, you lean close and quietly tell him there’s an unfortunate smell about his boots.”

Jarza barked out a laugh. ”Hells, I like that one. But go on.”

Alpheo’s tone hardened. ”He was too hurried, too indecisive. At first, I thought it was because he wanted to secure our pledge before we had proven our worth and raised our price. But no. What I saw was not calculation, it was fear. Fear that if I said no, he would have nothing left to offer his court but failure. That is why he pressed too far.”

He sipped his wine, his expression cool. ”Had he been my envoy, Jarza, I would have shown him the door and told him to come back after he learned which tongue to use.”

Jarza raised his brows. ”So he’ll make a bad ally then?”

Alpheo shook his head, a sharp smile tugging at his lips. ”I never said that. In fact, it is good for us. Better, even. We don’t need to fear any meteoric rise under him, he doesn’t have the mettle for it, not yet. But neither is he weak enough that we’ll have to constantly save him from collapse. He’s exactly where we need him to be: a ruler dependent enough on us to keep his throne, but not strong enough to make us regret the lifeline.”

Jarza chewed that over, nodding slowly. ”So we keep him breathing?”

”Precisely,” Alpheo said. ”Right now, of the three contenders for Romelia’s throne, Mesha is the weakest. The others command deeper coffers, safer positions , and more unified blades. If we let him drift, he will be swallowed whole. But if we extend the rope, if we keep his crown steady on his hea, then Romelia remains divided, and the boy remains grateful. A weak Romelian is a manageable Romelian, and a manageable Romelian makes for the best kind of ally to allow us to take its place.”

With that Alpheo smirked faintly, meanwhile Jarza reached for another fig only to realise the bowl was empty, left so by the greedy hunger of his friend.