Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Latio felt the heat creep up his neck, a flush of crimson blooming across his cheeks under the weight of the Habadian’s gaze. For a moment, the golden symmetry of Nibadur’s face seemed to scramble his thoughts.

”I—” he stammered, the syllable hanging pathetic and thin in the air.

Silly fool, he cursed himself internally, the bite of his father’s voice echoing in his skull. Do you want to be treated like a child? Were your ears waxed when Father spoke? The shame was a cold splash of water, sobering him instantly. He adjusted his posture, straightening his spine until his breastplate appeared harder than stone. ”I shall be honored to share the field with such a distinguished host.”

”I doubt it will truly come to that,” Nibadur replied smoothly. He realized then that the boy was still standing, with a smile he beckoned Latio to the empty seat at his right.

Latio sank into the velvet, the luxury of the sofa feeling strangely at odds with the talk of slaughter. ”Do you truly think so, Your Grace? Words blooming around speak of the Prince of Yarzat as a man of uncommon aptitude on the field.”

”He is Prince Consort,” the Crownless Prince of Oizen hissed, his voice like dry leaves skittering on stone. He leaned forward, his eyes narrow and bitter. ”And before that, he was but a peasant with a stolen name.”

A peasant who broke your army and sent you begging to Habadia twice over, Latio thought, the retort dancing on the tip of his tongue. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep the silence.

”Please sir Latio” Nibadur said, his tone dripping with a paternal warmth that felt entirely manufactured. ”You are to marry my daughter as soon as she comes of age. We are family now. Call me Father.”

Answering now to the small silver bell that was rung, the heavy doors parted. A servant scurried in, head bowed so low he seemed to be inspecting the floorboards, and moved to swap the half-empty decanters for fresh ones.

”Can you not see our guest sits with empty hands?” Sorza snapped, as he glared at the servant.

Latio had no heart for wine, his stomach was in knots , but he knew better than to refuse a cup when it was offered. He watched the servant’s trembling hands as the dark red liquid swirled into the silver goblet. As the door clicked shut, leaving them in the heavy silence of the powerful, Nibadur leaned back. He draped an arm across the back of the sofa, looking for all the world like a man watching the sunset rather than a man plotting an invasion.

”No one can deny the Fox his cunning,ser .” Nibadur continued, his clear eyes reflecting the candle flames. ”But there is only so much a mind can do when the math is set against it. We march with four men for every one of his. We hold the granaries, the gold, and the divine right of blood. What can a fox do when the forest is on fire and the hounds surround every thicket?”

’’Except of course, squeal?’’ Sorza joked.

Laughter bubbled from the room.

”I presume I should expect no miracles,” Latio said, finding his voice again. ”But I had hoped for a chance to earn my name on the field. To see the ’Horns’ of Kakunia break a line.”

”I fear your hopes are destined to be shunned,” Nibadur said with a theatrical sigh, his expression clouding with a mock sadness. ”There is only so much cunning can do.He will likely wither behind his walls or fly into the night before we even sight his towers.”

”It would have been a spectacle to see Your Grace in your plate, leading the heavy horse! A sight for the chronicles!” Sorza cried out, raising his cup in a fawning toast.

The others followed suit. Latio raised his goblet, but his eyes drifted toward Prince Kaelen. The Ezvanian had the cup to his lips, his chin-overbite partially hidden by the silver rim. As he drank, a faint, muffled murmur escaped his mouth.

Latio wasn’t a betting man, but if he were, he would have staked every silverii in his pocket that the word Kaelen had just whispered was ’Asslicker.’

Latio had to agree.

He looked at Sorza behaving with the frantic subservience of a whipped cur. It was a lesson more valuable than any his tutors had taught him. That, Latio realized, is not how a Prince behaves. He took a slow sip of the wine, the vintage tasting of iron and ash, and promised himself that when his time came, he would never be the man holding another’s stirrup while his own crown lay in the dirt.

Though of course, he recognised that the Crownless Prince did not behave so for a liking of having a foot over his head.

Nibadur turned his gaze back to his future son-in-law, his expression as warm as the light stroke of an artist’s brush. ”I, too, had hoped to witness the valor of the man destined to wed my daughter. It is a pity the Fox is likely to deprive us of the spectacle.”

”Oh, I am sure you’ll have your chance soon enough,” Kaelen commented, his voice airy and thin.

Latio caught the edge in the Ezvanian’s tone. He shifted in his seat, the armor clinking softly. ”Does Your Grace hold an opinion differing from that of the Prince of Habadia?” he asked, maintaining a facade of stiff respect. He was trying to forgive the man’s earlier slights as the arrogance of youth, though he knew Kaelen was older than him by years. More importantly, he knew that if diplomacy held, his own future children would be cousins to Kaelen’s heirs. Politics required a long memory and an even longer patience.

”Gods be graced, that would be foolish,” Kaelen answered at once, waving a dismissive hand. ”As my brother said, the Peasant of Yarzat won’t dare so much as show his tail once he sights our vanguard to be the same number of his full host. He knows what is best for him.”

”And what, in your estimation, would be ’best’ for a man in his position?” Latio pressed.

”What else? To surrender. To throw himself upon the mercy of the League and at our feet. I believe my brother would be kind enough to let the man retain his throne, for his sons’ sake, if nothing else.” Kaelen glanced at Nibadur, who gave a slow, imperceptible nod of agreement. ”Though, naturally, he would have to restore the borders to their state prior to the Princess’s ascension. A fair price for continued breathing, I’d say.”

”That would not be prudent!” Sorza blurted out.

The room went still. It was the first time the Crownless Prince had dared to offer a dissenting opinion, and the suddenness of it seemed to startle even him. He gripped his cup with white-knuckled intensity. ”Exile should be the absolute bottom line you consider! So long as that man has any scrap of power, any foothold in the South, he remains a lethal danger to us all.”

Kaelen turned his head slowly, looking at Sorza with an expression of mild, amused pity. ”Do you truly think that a man stripped of his conquests, isolated and humbled, would still pose a risk to you? Is that the level of confidence you have when facing this... peasant?”

”Precisely because I have faced him,” Sorza hissed, his voice trembling with a cocktail of shame and fury, ”I know exactly what he is capable of when the world thinks him beaten!”

”A risk for you, perhaps,” Kaelen shrugged, not even bothering to hide the insult.

Sorza had no retort. He simply drained his cup, the wine acting as a red curtain to hide his humiliation.

Latio, however, was still gnawing on Kaelen’s earlier remark. ”I do not understand, Your Grace,” he said, looking back to the Ezvanian. ”You stated I would ’perhaps have a chance soon.’ If not here on the fields of Yarzat, then where?”

”Yes, I did say that,” Kaelen replied, exhaling through his nose with a sharp huff of boredom. ”But I meant on your own ground, boy. You won’t find glory here; I was speaking of the mess you have back in Kakunia.All that posturing for a madman...”

Latio felt the air in his lungs turn to ice. He did his best not to hurl his silver chalice at the man’s smirking face.

”Was that not the reason you were wed to my niece? Is that not why you are here with your... couple of men?” Kaelen’s eyes flickered toward Nibadur as if looking for a laugh.

”Brother!” Nibadur’s voice didn’t rise, but it grew cold enough to freeze the wine in their cups. It was a command, not a correction. Latio took note of that.

”That is enough. You speak untruths. Our young friend may be leading a thousand swords, but it is from the Kakunian granaries that this entire host shall be sustained. Unless, of course, Ezvania intends to take the burden of logistics upon itself?”

The ”Singing Cock” unpuffed his chest , his face reddening as the crest of his herald. ”I suppose... providing the food and three thousand men of the line would be a heavy task for any house.”

”Then why do you peck at our ally for a contribution you admit you cannot match?” Nibadur asked, his gray eyes fixing on Kaelen until the younger prince looked away.

Kaelen muttered something under his breath. No one heard.

’’I apologise in his stead’’ The prince of Habadia muttered. ’’My brother-in-law was of little fervor for this campaign I admit.As truth be told, he is here only for a request of mine....’’

’’I took no offense...’’ He muttered, though most certainly his tongue would have gladly wagged at the mention of the mad in Kakunia.

They knew little of just how serious that mess truly was. If they were aware, they would not have spoken so.

That madmand was no madman at all.