Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

In a secluded chamber within the royal palace of Vinnacovi, the bastard son of the Great Bull sat perched upon a cushioned chair. Beside him, his father loomed whose royal girth and sheer presence transformed his seat into something more akin to a velvet sofa than a simple chair.

”Is it truly wise to entangle ourselves in matters that do not concern us, Father?” Latio asked,as he turned to his father. ”One would think that to pull a weed from one’s own garden, a man shouldn’t be staring over the fence at another’s.”

”Stop thinking with such narrow margins,” the Great Bull rumbled, his voice a deep bass that seemed to vibrate the floorboards. ”There is always more than one path to a single horizon. You can break a kingdom on the field through blood and iron, or you can simply whisper to the right man to slide a knife into the King’s ribs.The end the same , the mean is different.

There are direct roads, and there are ghosts’ paths.”

”I fail to see the logic in rubbing elbows with foreigners whose ambitions are not our own,” Latio countered, his jaw set. ”Yarzat has offered us no offense, and we have no reason to hold them in contempt. We have far more pressing business at our own borders than to serve as the muscle for the whims of the Habadian High Spires. I would dare say the latter to be more dangerous than the first for us.”

Lavus let out a long, heavy sigh, shaking his head. In his eyes, Latio saw the flickering coldness of disappointment. ”I am weary of feeding you every answer, boy. Our guest arrives at a moment’s notice. Use your own mind to extrapolate the truth from the air between us.”

He shifted his weight, the wood of the chair groaning under his bulk. ”I suspect this will be less a conversation and more a negotiation. I already know the shape of what they desire from us; the real question is whether we can find a prize in this mud that serves our own ends. It is true Yarzat has not crossed us, but—” Lavus suddenly winced, his face contorting into from a sharp pain.

”The hand, Father? Or is it the foot?” Latio was on his feet instantly, his doubt forgotten by his genuine worry. ”Are you all right? Shall I summon the physicians?”

The scolding words Lavus had prepared died in his throat. How could he remain angry with a son whose heart was so embarrassingly soft? He waved a dismissive, heavy hand, the pain subsiding into a dull throb, which was now more bearable.

A sharp, rhythmic knock rapped against the heavy oak door.

The wolf was at the gate.

”Sharpen your ears,” the Great Bull commanded, settling his massive frame and assuming the stony posture of a monarch. ”You may offer your input, but keep your tongue behind your teeth regarding insults. There may be a golden opportunity hidden in their speech. Just remember: there is always another path that leads to the same destination as our current road. Sometimes, the long way around is the one to the right destination, even though the end result may seem another.”

The door swung wide the moment the Prince of Kakunia granted his leave.

”The envoy of His Grace, Nibadur HighSpire, bows before the Prince of Kakunia,” the man announced. He bent low, his forehead nearly brushing his knees as if he were deeply interested in the specific weave of the carpet beneath his boots.

”We are honored to host the voice of so distinguished a man,” Lavus rumbled, his voice thick with a jovial warmth that sat on his face as naturally as a mask. ”Please, take your seat. Partake in the fruits of our hospitality; my cellars are never closed to friends.”

Latio watched his father play the part of the easy, indulgent glutton and felt a familiar spark of resentment. He had been told countless times that the ’Fat Prince’ persona was the most effective weapon in Lavus’s arsenal, but it didn’t make the performance any easier to stomach.

His gaze drifted to the envoy, and a sudden, sense of unease curdled in his gut. There was nothing outwardly threatening about the man; he was scrawny, with arms half the girth of Latio’s own, and he carried an air of curated smallness. His black hair was oiled back so tightly it looked like a second skin, and the heavy bags beneath his eyes suggested a man who had forgotten the taste of sleep.

Is this truly the best Nibadur can send? Latio wondered. Or is he merely the only one left after a dozen other missions were dispatched to our neighbors? He found himself dwelling on the outcome of those other meetings. Was the entire South being woven into a single web while he sat here watching an exhausted clerk?Was it complete?Had it failed?How important were they in the HighSpire’s plan?

”My dear boy,” the light, airy tone of his father broke through his trance.

Latio blinked, realizing he had been staring at the guest with the silent intensity of a predator. ”I apologize, Father. I was... lost in thought.”

”Well, that was rather discourteous to our guest,” Lavus chided gently,”He was just posing a question regarding the festivities.”

The envoy straightened, a faint, weary smile touching his lips. ”I merely remarked on the birthday ceremony of your son.Wine flowed like the great rivers and the music could be heard in the next province. Truly, a display of Kakanian prosperity that makes our own courts seem dim by comparison.”

”A trifle, surely,” Lavus laughed, waving a hand as if dismissing a cloud of gnats. ”A man only turns twenty one once, and we indeed love just a reason to forget our troubles. I trust the journey from Habadia didn’t rob you of the energy to enjoy a proper vintage? We may have ended the celebration, but the casks are far from empty.”

”The journey was long, Your Grace, but the prospect of this meeting provided all the spirit I required,” the envoy replied, his voice thin and precise. ”It is a rare pleasure to see fine men in such high spirits. One would almost forget the... tensions that engulfed the throat of the South.”

”I would dare say things have been quiet for some time,” Latio interjected, his voice cutting through the envoy’s careful cadence. ”Has there not been a steady peace between the princes for three years now? Tensions are for the ghosts until truth is made from them; for now we prefer the reality of the harvest.”

”May we reach a decade of such ghosts, then!” the envoy exclaimed, his tired eyes brightening with a false, sickly fervor. ”That is the hope we nursed when we stood as one to intercede between the fires of Oizen and the ambitions of Yarzat. That conference was a masterpiece of collective noble will, a moment where the South proved it had a single, beating heart.”

He paused, the silence stretching thin as his gaze drifted from Latio’s youthful skepticism back to the Great Bull’s mountain of a face.

”Of course,” the envoy continued, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial hum that seemed to chill the wine in Latio’s hand, ”preserving that peace is a far more taxing labor than merely signing the parchment. His Grace Nibadur often remarks that a peace is only as strong as the weakness of the man most tempted to break it.

We all admire the... vigorous nature of Prince Alpheo. It takes a singular spirit to transform a mercenary’s luck into a sovereign’s seat in a mere decade. One cannot help but wonder if such a restless spirit can truly be contained by the simple boundaries we drew for him.It is undeniable that he has been a great storm in our times...”

Lavus hummed, the vibration lost in the thickets of his beard. ”I recall the Prince of Yarzat swearing a sacred oath to uphold that peace. Do we have any tangible reason to doubt a sovereign’s word?”

”I would never dare besmirch the honor of a prince, Your Grace, even one of low birth. That is not my station,” the envoy replied, his hands fluttering like nervous birds. ”To break such a peace would be to spit in the faces of every prince in the South. It would be an insult to the very blood shed to broker it. I am sure Prince Alpheo values his reputation far too much for such an... unworthy attitude. I am certain nothing shall come of it.”

”That is a staggering amount of words for something you claim is not to come,” Latio noted sharply. He felt emboldened; his father remained still, offering no signal to rein in the boy’s tongue.

”You are observant, Lord Latio. Perhaps it was awkward of me to speak so,” the envoy said, dabbing at his brow. ”It is simply that... there have been certain movements of late. Ripples in the water that have troubled the sleep of my liege.”

”And have these ripples taken the shape of steel?” Lavus asked, tilting his cup until the wine caught the light like a pool of blood.

The envoy pressed a hand to his mouth, looking suddenly small and contrite. ”I apologize. I am digressing into shadows. I did not come here to plague your royal mind with the anxieties of my master, Your Grace. Perhaps as your son has noted our worries may merely be the fever dreams of over-cautious men. In truth, we are here for one simple, crystalline reason.”

To have us fight against Yarzat.

”To pursue friendship, of course,” the envoy finished, a thin, polished smile returning to his face. ”And to ensure that the true friends of the South are standing on the same side of the line in some topics we hope won’t come into our time of peace.”