Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

“Fine day, isn’t it?” Jarza’s voice carried easily down the marble hall, deep and steady as the faint clink of his mail hidden beneath silk. The sound was subtle but inescapable, like a coin rattling in a pocket.

Alpheo threw him a sidelong glance, one brow arched.

The Legate of the Primogenia only shrugged, rolling his shoulders in the easy way of a man who had lived too long in armor to shed the habit. “Feels wrong without it. Naked you could say.”

“You never go without it?” Alpheo asked, half-curious, half-incredulous. He could not imagine the man could ever be at ease with it for the whole day.

“Only after a long battle or to get to bed.” Jarza’s chin dipped toward the prince. “You should do the same, I am sure your head would be worth much more than mine for an assassin.You have many enemies after all”

“I’d sooner let my life be forfeit than spend it perpetually uncomfortable. Sitting with chains biting into your arse feels like bedding down on a hill of pebbles. I prefer to sleep, not grind myself to powder.”

That earned them both a low, shared chuckle, it died quickly, but surely as it came it left a trace of warmth in the silence.

Then Jarza’s gaze sharpened, as he took up the mantle of statecraft.

“I see the last of the silver was unceremoniously brought out from the vaults,” he said, tone almost casual but eyes watching keenly.

“Had a project that needed immediate attention,” Alpheo replied evenly, his voice clipped but not evasive.

“Costly enough to drain the coffers bare?” Jarza’s brow rose

Alpheo did not flinch under the stare. “It’s not cheap. And I fear next year I’ll throw more at it. Perhaps even take a loan.”

That gave Jarza pause, a long one. His stride slowed half a beat, surprise visible on his weathered face. “That serious, then? I know very few men with such distaste for borrowing as you do.”

Alpheo’s voice dropped, quiet but ironbound. “It will be fundamental if our worst fears come true.I dislike being in debt but I do recognise the need for it”

Following that, silence fell. The prince did not need to name the fear. They both knew it: the rest of the South, gathering, looming like a thunderhead.

They went close to it last year, luckily, then they had the Boy Emperor of Romelia covering their arse.Next time they would not get so lucky….

The soldiers might have cheered Alpheo as the Son of the War-God in their mania, their faith blind and roaring, but the legates that serve the Son of God, were not so eager to test heaven’s claim.

They wanted their prince alive, not martyred for a lost cause.

Alpheo shifted the subject like a sword-change; he would not linger on the cloud that had just passed over them. Even with the Bastion drawn on his mind like a map to salvation, the numbers still crouched at the edge of his plans. Unpleasant things had a way of mushrooming in if they were given a minute of thought.

“So…what dragged me from my work?” he asked.

He kept his stride even, the palace swallowing their footsteps under its high, empty windows.

Jarza’s jaw worked. He hesitated long enough , before finally letting out a breath that had the sound of someone exhaling before a plunge in deep water. “You’re not going to like it,” he said.

“I sure as hell don’t like conversations that start like that.” He folded his arms behind his back in a patient, almost bored show. “Who?”

“Laedio.”

The name landed with more heat than Alpheo expected to feel. Laedio had been useful,efficient, relentless, the sort of captain of the city guard who kept pockets of rot from spreading into the whole body. He was also, Alpheo knew, soft with whatever made men weak.

“What about him?” Alpheo asked. His voice was even just as he wanted to be and give him the right of doubt, though he suspected the charge already.

It didn’t take long for him to be proven right

“Took another bribe. From a merchant.”

Alpheo felt the old, acid flare of disappointment hitch in his throat. The man had had one warning already. Alpheo had watched him patrol the night and break gangs with the affectionate cruelty of a man who loved order more than men. He had given Laedio the chance to be a clean blade. The blade instead kept tarnishing.

“For what?” Alpheo asked, trying not to let the anger ride the syllables. He had promised consequence last time. He had meant it.

“Put a word in. Favorable terms for a land lease. The merchant greased him. Laedio took it and then got cold feet and came to me. I advised him to come clean to you.”

Alpheo’s hands tightened at his back until the knuckles blanched. “Greedy fucking bastard,” he said, the words a low curse. Jarza didn’t know if the squeeze was for the merchant or for the friend who’d failed them.

“Are you bringing me to him?”

“Yes…” The sun’s rays suddenly dimmed as clouds got in the sun’s way. ”What are you going to do?” he then asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Alpheo admitted,there was no theater in the confession. “I’ll think of something on the spot. He came clean, so I think relieving him is not right, especially considering just how fucking goot at sniffing rat out he is…perhapse a pay cut?”

They fell into a silence that was not empty so much as loaded.

At the end of the corridor a heavy door loomed. Alpheo paused and looked at Jarza.

He met the prince’s eye and gave a nod.

They moved to the door together.

If Alpheo had expected to find his friend ashamed, head lowered, shoulders slumped like a whipped cur, he was sorely mistaken.

Instead, the first thing he felt was the sharp nudge of a boot to his back, sending him stumbling unceremoniously into the chamber. His boots scraped against the stone floor as he caught himself before sprawling outright face first into the stone pavement.

He did not even bother to look back, getting the situation with a simple gaze.

“So,” he said dryly, brushing the dust from his cloak, “he never took that bribe, did he?”

“Nah,” came the answer, calm and unhurried. “He was as loyal as a beaten hound.”

The heavy sound of iron kissing wood reached his ears as the door swung shut behind him, the echo of the lock turning following soon after.

Alpheo gave a resigned sigh, straightening his doublet and tugging at the folds of his silk sleeve.

He had been had.

“What excuse did they feed you?”The other man in the room asked, his tone flat.

“That Laedio had taken a bribe. You?”

Alpheo’s eyes moved on the man sitting in the shadowed chamber, blonde hair falling in thick waves around his neck, catching the torchlight like strands of molten gold.

It was of course Egil

“Asag told me he had arranged for some ladies to join us,” he continued with a scoff, gesturing at the empty room, “finally thought the man had finally grown the courage to crawl out of his damned shell.”

Alpheo’s lips tugged into a faint smile despite himself as he pulled out a chair opposite to him. “He’s loyal to his wife. That’s no crime, as far as I am concerned; it is a virtue.”

“Nah,” Egil muttered, his hand closing around a carafe on the table. “Not a crime. Just bloody inconvenient.” He poured, but only for himself, ignoring the empty cup that stood near Alpheo’s hand. The amber liquid caught the flickering light before spilling smoothly into his goblet.

He raised it, savoring the aroma before taking a slow, deliberate sip.

“Did you get to see your son?” Alpheo asked, watching him closely and taking the charaffe for himself.

Egil did not answer at once. He swirled the wine, staring into the cup as if it might show him the boy’s face. His jaw tightened, then loosened with a humorless chuckle. “What’s it to you?”

Alpheo leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Nothing much,” he said, voice touched with mock casualness. “Only wanted to see whether you’ve improved since last I saw you. Whether you’re still the same shitty father and equally fucked husband.”

Egil looked up sharply. Alpheo’s smirk deepened, unrepentant.

“I am happy to see,” Alpheo continued, raising a hand as though in a toast to his counterpart’ s faults, “that nothing has changed.”

Alpheo’s jab had barely left his lips when Egil snorted, the sound rough and humorless.

“How are your friends up north?” he drawled, leaning back in his chair, goblet dangling loosely from his fingers. “You know….the ones who used to whip us raw every time we dared to breathe between shifts. They keeping that whip warm?”

“Not particularly. Their regent just died. I sent Sir Aron to deliver my condolences.He was a strong and understandable man….too bad.”

Egil’s face split into a broad, wolfish grin. A genuinely happy one.

“Now that is the best news I’ve had in a week.I would have preferred for the little cunt to drop dea, but beggars can’t be choosers.” He threw back the rest of his cup in one gulp and slammed it down on the table with enough force to rattle the pitcher. Without hesitation, he refilled it to the brim, the dark liquid sloshing against the rim.

“I’d offer a toast,” he said, raising the goblet with mock solemnity before drinking again, “but I don’t reckon you’re in the mood for celebration.” His eyes gleamed with mischief as he lowered the cup. “Shame, really. I would have paid to see you go in Aron’s stead. Your tongue is sharper than his, and those northern bastards’ arses would’ve loved the taste of it.”

He chuckled tilting his head along with his drink. “Just make sure to scrape it clean after you are done.

It would do no good to see a prince go to his business with some brown on his nose…..”