Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 807

Chapter 807: Second session(3)

“I think we all prefer if we could proceed with effective steps toward peace,” said Zayneth, the Habadian envoy. His voice carefully measured, though the exhaustion clinging to his features betrayed him.

Most surely dealing with Sorza, was not an easy thing,

considering he has been speaking for less than five minutes and yet he struck his own foot with an hoe.

Sorza meanwhile looked like a man who had just returned from being scolded behind closed doors, his expression heavy , almost like that of a whipped dog.

The envoys nodded in polite agreement as they retook their seats

Alpheo, however, had no intention of letting the moment slip past. He leaned forward in his chair, fingers drumming once against the wood before he spoke.

“I would very much like instead to push for an acceptable explanation for the last actions of Prince Sorza. What has been thrown against me is not some lighthearted remark that can be waved aside. It is a vile accusation, one that should end with a due apology.”

A few heads turned toward Sorza, who flushed under the weight of the stares but said nothing.

Zayneth, clearly irritated by the turn, forced a diplomatic smile. “I believe it would be more efficient to resume this issue at a later time. Gentlemen, we have spent a full day circling insults and grievances, and yet not a single step has been made toward peace. Surely, you must see that further delays only harm all of us.” His voice rose a little, appealing not only to Alpheo but to the other envoys, whose weary nods quickly gave him support.

Alpheo exhaled slowly, shoulders sinking with resignation. He knew when the room was against him. Still, the faintest glimmer of irritation flickered in his eyes as he relented.

“Very well,” he said, almost as though each word cost him. “Let us then address the terms at hand. I have been clear: the recognition of the lands captured during this year’s campaign, along with the formal requisition of those that had been conceded originally to the late Yarzat prince, Arkawatt.”

He leaned back, folding his arms, daring the opposition to respond.

And they did.

“In what way are these terms just?” Sorza burst out before the envoy could, his voice cracked slightly, but his outrage was genuine. “Why should we be forced to relinquish the lands we have taken, while you hold all that you seized against us? Where is the reason in that?”

Alpheo’s lips curved faintly, though his eyes were hard. He gestured over his shoulder, toward the window where banners fluttered beyond. “You can easily find the reason standing behind me. Compare those swords with the few that still stand behind you, and you will discover it quickly enough. The argument is simple, and it is convincing, you are the ones in the unfavorable position and are set to lose more if the war continue.”

The words dropped like stones. Murmurs rippled across the chamber.

“That is—” Sorza began, finally raising his voice, though it trembled with anger.

“—unreasonable,” Zayneth interrupted smoothly, sparing the prince further embarrassment with a sharp glance that silenced him. The Habadian envoy clasped his hands atop the table that had been set on the second session, his voice once again calm but firm. “You cannot hope to claim lands to which you have no legal rights, and then accuse Prince Sorza for holding territories he can at least argue a stronger claim to.”

Alpheo’s chair scraped faintly against the stone floor as he leaned forward, voice clipped and cold. “Those lands were given as dowry to my wife’s father upon his first marriage.”

“A marriage,” Zayneth countered at once, seizing the gap, “that ended in divorce on the grounds of infertility.”

“Still, the lands had already been ceded. Fifteen years of marriage, however childless, are sufficient to make the dowry valid. Fifteen years of holding those towns is sufficient to make the possession legal.” Alpheo shot back

“Legal?” Zayneth’s voice sharpened. “I would say the Oizenian crown has a better claim still. A dowry is not tribute, it is compensation, given so that the husband’s family may care for the wife. Once that bond was dissolved, once her father forced her to take the cloth, the lands should have been returned. They were never yours to keep.”

Alpheo’s eyes narrowed. “If that is the case, then surely the lands should have been given to the monastery that took her in, considering they would had to pay to maintain her. Tell me, envoy, should we force his Grace to make a generous donation for his priestess-aunt?”

The chamber fell quiet. Of course no one had, and no one ever would make such donation, giving land to the church? Good luck with that.

Zayneth cleared his throat, his own composure slipping for just a moment, after all he was there to oppose Alpheo and not make Sorza weaker. “Be that as it may,” he said at last, tone softer, “I believe it is in all our interests to seek a middle road here, rather than cling to extremes that only deepen this quarrel…”

Zayneth cleared his throat, his hands folding atop one another as though to steady himself before stepping into dangerous waters.

“I believe the most equal course,” he began carefully, letting his eyes sweep across the gathered faces, “would be an exchange of land. His grace Sorza shall relinquish the holdings originally given as dowry to her grace’s father , those lands which your wife , Princess Jasmine, claim by regal right.

In exchange, you will return your current holdings in Oizen, which His Highness Sorza clearly has the stronger claim to. Both of you regain what you believe to be rightfully yours.”

The words fell into the chamber like stones dropped into a pond, sending ripples of murmurs across the envoys’ ranks. For a moment, there was silence, as though everyone awaited Alpheo’s response.

It came swiftly, sharp and negative

“So you would have me relinquish the land I currently hold?” Alpheo said, his voice ringing with disdain, “in exchange for a prize less than half its worth? And not merely in size, but in wealth, for the lands you propose I abandon are richer by far than the scraps you offer in return. Tell me, please what idiocy of a middle ground is this?”

The bluntness made several envoys stiffen, while others fought the urge to smirk.

Zayneth’s face tightened, though he kept his tone level. “It is the arrangement that respects both states’ claims to their ancestral lands.”

“It is a bad arrangement,” Alpheo cut him off coldly, “and one I will not accept.”

The words echoed in the chamber, final and immovable. But before the silence could deepen, another voice, not belonging to any that had spoken before, rose from the far side of the table.

“Then,” said a voice in a measured tone, “how about relinquishing Freusen in exchange, and keeping everything else , contested claims included?”

All eyes turned. Alpheo followed the sound to the envoy from the Prince of Kakunia, who sat with a calm expression, as though he had merely pointed out the obvious.

“The Prince of Habadia supports this decision as well,” Zayneth added quickly, almost tripping over his words to press the advantage.

“So does Oizen,” Sorza finally spoke up, breaking his silence at last.

Alpheo felt the blood rise in his veins.

Freusen.

The name alone carried the taste of iron and victory. To relinquish it now would not only mean abandoning the chief prize of this year’s campaign, but also shattering the foundation upon which his alliance with Sharjaan rested.

Without those mines, he had nothing to fulfill his promise of tribute to Prince Shaza. And if he failed that, he would lose not only Sharjaan’s favor but possibly earn their enmity.

And beyond the politics, beyond the obligations, there was something simpler and fiercer in him: he did not want to give it back what he already ate.

He straightened in his seat, gaze sweeping slowly across the envoys, weighing each of them in turn. Then he spoke, voice deliberate, carrying the conviction of a man setting his own terms.

“I believe I would be far more willing to relinquish the majority of the contested lands , yes, even my legal rights to them ,in exchange only for the city of Tholicea, along with what I currently hold. Effectively, I keep what I have taken, and one city more. In return, I will declare peace between our two nations.”

He leaned forward, his eyes hard and unyielding. “And more than that. On my name, and by those of the gods… I will swear never again to declare war upon any state in the South for the remainder of my rule.”

The effect was immediate.

A rustle swept through the chamber as envoys shifted in their seats, exchanging quick glances. The envoy of the Kakunian prince perked up visibly; his mission, along with the majority of the other, was to prevent Yarzat from growing too powerful, and Alpheo’s oath seemed the perfect chain to bind him.

For in an age where faith ruled and explained everything, an oath was no mere promise. To swear in front of so many witnesses, envoys from every state of the South, meant that breaking it would be political suicide. If Alpheo reneged, the South would unite and descend upon him with righteous fury. It was, in its way, a masterstroke , bold, dangerous, but compelling.

Even Zayneth, though visibly unsettled, could see the logic. Such an oath gave his prince all the excuse he might need to rally the South against Yarzat if they ever broke their word. It was, undeniably, a solution that satisfied almost everyone.

Almost.

For one man, however, it was poison.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!”

The shout cracked like a whip across the chamber. Sorza rose fists clenched, his face flushed red with fury. His eyes darted like blades to Zayneth, his anger so raw it silenced even the whispers. It did not take a genius to understand: Sorza had been promised something, something that Alpheo’s proposal had just stripped from his grasp.

The silence that followed was heavier than stone, and once more they found themselves back at the beginning.

Thus, through Sorza’s final outburst, the peace conference lurched toward its soon to come end , one none had foreseen, and one that would leave a bitter taste in every mouth.

Habadian, Yarzatian, Kakunian, Oizenian, Sharjanian, Resvanian, or Reshanian , none would depart that tent with the taste of honey, but that of mud.

For in the end, the only victor of the council would be the one least expected by all.