Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

With the total subjugation of Oizen , the grand plans of the Habadian prince had for Yarzat and the South in general , were at the very least , pushed back. Not destroyed, certainly, but thoroughly thwarted.

Nibadur would make a comeback; of that, Alpheo was absolutely sure, as much he was that one day he would take his last breath. What remained a mystery was what allies the crownless prince could still drag into his orbit, or what range of support he could truly count on across the shattered landscape of the South.

It could range from nothing to everything.

The most frustrating thing about humanity was that it was always impossible to gauge. The spectacular fall of Oizen and the sudden coronation of the new King of Yarzat could very well spur a lot of nervous southern princes into desperate action. Conversely, it was just as fair to think that after the bloody debacle at the Bastion, most of them wouldn’t be eager to throw their hands into another meat-grinder of a campaign against the Fox.

It was all or nothing.

Whatever the case, the road ahead was perfectly clear. The strongest weapon Nibadur held in his delicate fingers was his web of alliances. The architect of the league had built his strength on promises. All Alpheo had to do now was systematically break those bonds, piece by bloody piece. Nibadur alone could do very little, whereas a unified Yarzat was capable of so much more.

The King tried to push the lingering thoughts of future campaigns away, desperately wanting to let the quiet of the fragile peace he had just bought with rivers of blood flow over him. He could not. The phantom smell of ash seemed to cling to his nostrils, refusing to wash clean.

Along the path, the lush green of the cut grass shone brilliantly under the winter rays of the sun. If Alpheo were to raise his eyes and follow the eastern sweep of the cobblestones, his gaze would fall directly upon the high walls of the royal gardens. Nearly half a year had passed since he had last walked beneath those trees. It felt like a completely different eternity.

He loosened his grip on the reins, letting his white stallion drop into a gentle, rhythmic trot upon the road. Behind him, his inner circle of captains and trusted friends trailed closely in his wake. With the sole exception of Edric, the entire command was present. The loud-mouthed legate of the Fourth Legion had complained bitterly about missing the grand victory march through the capital, but the reality of rule left no room for sentiment. After Alpheo had personally impressed upon him the critical importance of their station in a newly conquered principality, and how massive a problem banditry had become across the fresh crown lands, Edric had gritted his teeth, settled down, and done his duty.

Edric may have been an insufferable blabbermouth with a dangerous leaning toward the wine bottle, but he was also a fiercely dutiful soldier, the kind of man you could trust to guard your back in a dark alley. Besides, the bitter pill of staying behind had gone down significantly easier once Alpheo promised him a special, wealthy reward waiting for him upon his return.

Of all the legions, the Ardita had actually fared the best in the recent engagements; soon, the recruiters would begin a massive wave across the villages near the capital, bringing the ranks back to full strength.

The small, iron-clad procession moved past the outer barracks, the clatter of their armor the only sharp noise against the soft rustle of the winter wind. Slowly, the massive wrought-iron gates of the inner courtyard loomed ahead, framed by stone walls.

As the King and his son crossed the threshold the guards and the archers stationed along the battlements burst into a synchronous cheer. It wasn’t the frantic, chaotic shouting of the common masses in the streets, but a deep, respectful salute with a note of joy of a war that had not brought its paws on their home.

Banners of the black falcon fluttered from the parapets, casting long, peaceful shadows across the clean flagstones below. There was no mud here, no scent of iron-fused blood, only the crisp, clean scent of cedarwood and frosted stone.

The trot of the horses slowed to a walk as they entered the grand courtyard, the noise of the city fading into a distant, gentle hum behind the thick stone barriers.

At the center of the courtyard rose the majestic marble stairs, pristine and white, leading directly up into the arched sanctuary of the royal palace. Alpheo drew rein, bringing his stallion to a smooth halt at the base of the steps. Two young stable-hands rushed forward with bowed heads, carefully catching the golden bits of the horses.

With a heavy, metallic sigh of his armor, Alpheo dismounted, his boots striking the marble with a solid, echoing thud. He turned, offering a hand to Basil as the boy swung his leg over his saddle, their boots finally coming to rest side-by-side on the threshold of their old domain.

He stepped up the marble steps to the palace, the dusky, oil-minted smell of home nesting in his nostrils like a long-awaited friend.

Beyond the grand threshold, the fierce brotherhood of the campaign finally dissolved into the quiet realities of peace. For more than four months, these men had eaten from the same iron pots and slept under the same rain-soaked canvases. Now, they separated. Each captain and legate turned toward his own quarters, eager to tend to long-neglected business, embrace their own families, and share the bloody, glorious stories they had carried back from the south.

Alpheo looked down at his son, who was nervously fidgeting with his hands, adjusting the heavy clasp of his cloak over and over. The young prince raised his eyes, only to see his father already kneading his temples with a slow, rhythmic pressure.

They both knew exactly what awaited them behind the heavy oak doors of the royal apartments.

”Your Majesty...” a voice called out, smooth as polished silk. Good ol’ Sebastian stepped out from the shadow of the great colonnade, his posture immaculate.

Better him than Jasmine I suppose.

”And Your Grace,” he added, turning toward Basil with a warm, genuine smile that crinkled the edges of his eyes.Clearly he had already got himself comfortable with the new titles.

”You were both deeply missed. Her Majesty, the Queen, is currently awaiting you both in the solar. If you would be so kind as to follow me?”

Queen....what a strange word that was.

”Happy to see you, Sebastian,” Alpheo said, letting out a breath that was half a laugh and half a sigh. ”Doran is a most smart and joyous squire, I’ll give him that, but the lad doesn’t possess a fraction of your qualities. I need my favorite cloaks refitted and half my tunics sewn back together immediately.I had no servants in campaign you see....”

The King had tried to hide the state of his wardrobe by wearing his polished steel armor most of the time, but the needle-like branches and jagged brambles of the deep forests, where they had waged a brutal guerrilla campaign for more than three months, had not been a comforting home for fine fabrics. His camp clothes were currently filled with embarrassing holes. When they had marched, every spare inch of baggage space had been ruthlessly sacrificed to carry grain, salted meats, and dry wood to make their long stay in the wilderness actually survivable.

He could have thrown them away...but the fact was he was kind of attached to them.

”Most certainly, Your Majesty,” Sebastian replied, offering a flawless, deep bow that didn’t disturb a single grey hair on his head.

He also had a nice mustache. Alpheo would have liked a mustache, but he could not grow a beard for all the gold in his coffers.

For a moment Alpheo wondered how he would look with one himself.Would Jasmine like that?Probably not, she preferred him shaven.

He touched his chin. As he wondered if that would calm her.

”I shall tend to the royal tailors immediately. Though, if I may be so bold, Sire... your absence was most certainly noted. These grand halls are simply not the same without your particular... presence. I dare say Her Majesty is of the exact same thought. She has been of a most spectacularly dark humor since the very morning you departed.I fear the days she passed were most dull.”

The old butler tilted his head, a glimmer of affectionate amusement in his eyes. ”You were both deeply missed. Though I suspect the Queen’s joy at your return will be heavily disguised as a lecture. For both of you.”

Alpheo chuckled, casting a wry glance down at his boots. ”Is she pacing, Sebastian?”

”Like a caged leopard, Your Grace,” he said not a hint of smile on his face. ”She has already dismissed two maidservants for arranging the winter lilies incorrectly some days ago, and she asked three times if the scouts had reported any presence of your royal person.”

Basil let out a small, anxious squeak, his green eyes widening. ”Did you tell her about the cart, Sebastian?”

”Heaven forbid, young Prince,” Sebastian said.

The boy sighed in relief.

’’She already knew.’’

The king sighed and exchange a gaze with his equally worried son.Both knowing of the storm that awaited beyond the door, both not desiring to partake in it.

But still, wishes did not make the man.

’’Lead the way then.’’