Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 813

Chapter 813: Peace of Sharjaan

He had done it.

He had betrayed one of his closest friends for the sake of ambition.

Alpheo’s head turned slowly, his gaze dragging across the hall where the great gathering of envoys and three princes bore witness to the signing of a peace that would end a war lasting more than a decade.

It should have been a triumph. It should have been his greatest moment.So why did it felt as one of his greatest failure?

His eyes found Sorza and Zayneth among the crowd,both staring with thinly veiled hate, their brows drawn tight. They probably thought they had lost, but Alpheo did not feel any sense of triumph.

He had achieved all he set out to do. Every objective, every gamble, every sacrifice, it had brought him here. He had, by every measure of statecraft, won. And yet… what was he now? A prince victorious? Or a man who had gutted his own heart to keep the ruin from his door?

He had destroyed one of the few bonds that had ever been real, genuine, unsullied by politics or power. He had shattered it with his own hands, justified by the thought that he was buying time, sparing his realm from flames, keeping the torch from consuming his child, his wife and his other friends.

Wasn’t a friendship a small price to pay for that?

Yes, a voice hissed. A friendship is a small price. Any ruler worth his salt would say the same.

Pragmatism said yes. Ruthless necessity said yes, they all said yes. Every hardened ruler across the ages would nod and call it lucky that was all that was needed.

But Alpheo knew it was not. Not truly. He had lied to himself for so long, telling himself he could keep it all, his crown, his family, his people, and his friends. Tonight the lie was broken. Tonight he had learned what it cost to choose the throne over the heart.

He was no longer that slave sharing that piece of hard bread with his friend, he was now a monarch.

How long until it happened again? How long until another bond withered in his hands? Until Asag, or Jarza, or Clio, or Laedio bore the same look of betrayal in their eyes that Egil had worn? How long until he fucked it up once more, and was left with nothing but enemies and the cold comfort of his victories?

His gaze drifted, inevitably, helplessly,to Egil.

The horseman stood stiffly at the table, he had not slept that was clear from the black circles around his eyes, Alpheo hadn’t either.

He stared straight ahead, his face carved from stone. His eyes were tired and hollow, stripped of the fire that had once burned there, even as the Emperor of Romelia stood barely some meters right of him. There was no rage left in them, no camaraderie, no jesting spark of the man Alpheo had once shared laughter with by the campfire. Only emptiness.

And in that emptiness, Alpheo understood the truth: he had kept the commander, yes. The warrior, the sword-arm, the loyal hound of war. But he had killed the friend. That part of Egil was gone, strangled by his order.

And it was Alpheo himself who had driven the blade.

His chest tightened painfully.

He had thought himself clever, thought he could be both a ruler and a man. But the truth was plain now: he was neither enough of one nor the other. Just a hollow shell clutching at power with bloodied hands.

He had won, and in winning, he had lost.

A cough jolted him from his reverie. His eyes blinked back to the present, where a scribe stood beside him with expectant patience, the peace parchment laid open before him. The quill trembled in its inkwell, waiting for his hand.

There it was, the prize he had bought with betrayal. The treaty, the salvation of his realm, the shield against the fire.

All it had cost him was one of the few treasures he had once held dear.

A friendship. A brotherhood. A man who had bled and fought and nearly died for him.

Victory tasted like ashes and cinder.

Another cough tried to hurry him.

The sound grated in his skull like a gnat’s whine. For an instant he wanted nothing more than to seize the ink bottle and ram it down the scribe’s throat until the man choked silent. He was here thinking and he was trying to hurry him.

Instead, with a sharp breath through clenched teeth, he forced his hand forward. He took the quill, dipped it, and hovered it above the parchment.

He wanted to be done with it, to blot his name upon the page and bury this moment forever.

But instead he could not help but read.

First Term of the Treaty

-Both crowns shall acknowledge and respect the sovereignty and borders of the other, renouncing all claim to hostile intrusion. No army, spy, or agent of subterfuge shall trespass upon the other’s soil with intent to harm, nor shall either side give shelter or succor to forces that would do so.

Second Term of the Treaty

-Both realms shall forswear violence upon the other’s trade. Caravans bearing the banners of either house shall pass unmolested across land or river, without ambush or obstruction by the prince of either state or any of their sworn lords, save for due cause under law. The Crown of Yarzat, furthermore, pledges never to levy tolls upon the bridges of the Lampoiniois River for caravans of non-Yarzat origin, thereby ensuring free passage of commerce between the realms.

The toll on caravans had been one of the fiercest points of contention, not merely Sorza’s demand, but echoed by nearly every envoy at the table. The Lampionios River carried such immense wealth through its bridges that Yarzat could have fattened its coffers with thousands of Silverii every year, considering that it had become somewhat of a very contended city for merchants . They had feared, rightly, that Alpheo would line his pockets upon the flow of trade.

It was an easy concession to make, considering what he got in return

Third Term of the Treaty

-The Crown of Yarzat shall be lawfully and eternally recognized in its sovereignty over the cities of Tholicea, Myros, and Duresa, together with the de facto acknowledgment of its dominion over Turogontoli, Schom, Freusen, Malshut, and Artalerita.

Fourth Term of the Treaty

-The Prince and Princess of Yarzat swear before the gods, henceforth and without deceit, to initiate no war of aggression against any prince of the South; to refrain from meddling in the stability of their realms; and to seek no alliance, pact, or intrigue with any noble sworn to a foreign crown.

This was his own proposal, and it mattered little to him. His ambitions had already run into the wall of impossibility. There would be no further expansion southward, and if such words soothed the egos of the southern princes, then Alpheo would gladly let them have their comfort.

Especially since, in reality, he did not care about keeping his oaths.

Fifth Term of the Treaty

-The Crown of Oizen shall henceforth release from all levies, tolls, taxes, and customs any caravan bearing the royal banner of Yarzat, whether passing through its towns or through the dominions of those who owe allegiance to it.

This was his prize, the marrow of the treaty. To force another prince to surrender such a rich revenue stream was no small feat.

The price had been steep, he had been forced to release every noble prisoner taken in the war, and to abandon all claims to indemnities for a decade of blood. But it was a price he had gladly paid. Money could be found elsewhere. The foundations of power required more, especially since this term would be a central tool for his internal reforms.

Sixth Term of the Treaty

-The Crown of Yarzat shall, after the completion of three uninterrupted years of peace following the signing of this pact, return to Oizen the crown of its late sovereign prince.

That last condition had been his doing in exchange to give back Shamleik’s crown. He demanded time.

At least three years of sure peace to build, to mend, to prepare. Three years in which he might hope to fortify Yarzat against whatever storms would come after.

He read the words one last time. They felt less like terms of peace than the chiseling of his own epitaph. Still, with a hand that trembled and burned with bitterness, he set his quill to the parchment and signed his name.

The scribe bowed low and swept the document away as though handling some holy relic. Alpheo let the quill fall from his fingers.

He did not know, really none of them did, that all this treaty had done was to plow into the earth with the seeds of a war, far greater, and far more ruinous than the one that just ended.

But for now, all Alpheo did was, was a sigh of relief, at the meek knowledge that at last peace had been brought to his lands.