Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 1045: Slight(6)

Two cloaked men stood like twin monoliths against the crumbling stone of a derelict alleyway. Here, the dampness of the city’s underbelly had bred a thick, slick moss that seemed to consume what little natural light dared to reach the cobbles, enriching the oppressive grey of the stone with a sickly, bruised green.

Total darkness pressed in from all sides, held back only by the guttering, orange flicker of a single torch. The light danced across their heavy cowls, casting shadows where darkness once reined.

"Shoddy work," one of them suddenly intoned. The voice was a tectonic grate, rough as bark, with a thick, phlegmy resonance of a man who had breathed too much swamp muck and gutter smoke.

"Mh?" Ebran grunted, his eyes fixed on the darkness.

"It was shoddy work. What you did out there," the man repeated.His hand’ heel pressing against his nose to scratch it.

He didn’t turn his head; he simply stared into the abyss of the alley. "The Raven made a mistake trusting a butcher like you with a surgeon’s task. You are not up to the mark." 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"Is that envy I hear? Little Croaker finally found his tongue and used it to grow an opinion!" Ebran’s response was a low, mocking trill. He leaned against the damp wall, a smile playing on his lips. "And the first thing he reaches for is spite. Awfully predictable. Just because you were passed over in my favor, there’s no need to sound so hostile. It’s bad for the humors."

"I say what I see. And I am reporting exactly what I saw. Shoddy. Work."

"A foolish mistake from one of your men," Ebran replied trying to not let the man get the best of him "Wasn’t it your job to show those mountain-dogs the ropes? What’s our count, then? One of them put down by our own steel because he couldn’t keep his axe in his belt, and another got intimate axe play with the only man that we could have used? The leader of that band was the only one with the enemy broker’s name in his head, and you let your savages treat him like a plaything." He spat a glob of bile onto the mossy stones. "It was your responsibility, Croaker. Don’t go looking for muck on my boots before you’ve bothered to bathe."

"First rule of leadership," Croaker growled, the torchlight catching the glint of his cold, obsidian eyes. "Everything is your fault."

"And yet," Ebran smirked, his voice dropping into a dangerous purr, "the fact that I was chosen over you should speak volumes to even a thick-skulled Voghondai like yourself."

He saw the subtle jolt of anger and he relished it. It was his favorite game: poking the bear to see if it still had teeth.

"It’s only ShOdDy wOrK if the mission fails," Ebran continued, reaching out to give Croaker’s shoulder a heavy, condescending pat. "I hope the men you’ve brought are made of different paste than the ones we buried today. We’ve placed a wager on this operation, after all. The only thing that distinguishes a triumph from a tragedy is the result." He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming. "You could say I’m an optimist."

"You’re a hopeless fool and a breaker of toys," Croaker snapped, violently shucking Ebran’s hand off his shoulder as if it were a lecherous spider.

"And still," Ebran whispered, "I was chosen."

"Only because everyone else in the Raven’s nest is too terrified of you to put a dagger between your ribs. Too bad that is."

Ebran let out a short, sharp snort that bordered on a laugh. He reached for a pelt-sack hanging at his hip, taking a long, deep pull of bitter cider. He wiped his mouth with the back of a scarred hand and offered the sack to Croaker. The Voghondai didn’t even look at it.

’’Drinking before a job....’’

"Is this the man of iron nerve?The great Second of the Voghondai?You do your tribe dishonor...’’

’’I’ll make your mug dishonor if you don’t take this seriously,’’ Croaker croaked back.

’’You think I don’t?’’

’’Think I am scared of going through with it?Perhaps it will be putting a piece of steel where it should.’’

’’And you would do well to remember I’ve been in his service longer than you’ve had hair on your chin," Ebran said, his playfulness vanishing as he saw the man he put on the roof giving the signal. "If you had truly learned anything from him, you wouldn’t throw a word like ’terror’ around so carelessly. It loses its potency."

"With who?" Croaker asked, his voice low.

"Who else?"

-------------------

"Lucius..."

"It was a success, Your Grace."

The Spymaster stepped forward as he placed a single, narrow strip of parchment onto the Prince’s desk, carefully threading it into one of the few vacant spaces not already choked by mountain-high piles of papers or maps.

"The band of outlaws was well-taken care of. Decisively. We secured the primary agents and, through them, the source. We have the name of the hand holding the purse strings."

Alpheo let out a slow, heavy intake of breath. He set his oak-feather quill back into its ink-well with a clinical precision, the scratching of wood on glass the only sound in the room. He rubbed his temples, his eyes bloodshot proof of the lack of sleep.

"I have learned that I can always expect dependable results from you," Alpheo murmured, his voice filled with exhaustion. "No matter which way the winds blow, no matter how dark the hour, the Raven always returns with the carrion I asked for."

The praise was high, but it didn’t stir a single ripple of pride or a hint of a smile on Lucius’s face.

Alpheo sighed, leaning back until his chair groaned under his weight. "Give it to me, then. Who is our architect of provocation?"

"Lord Varien," Lucius replied, his head inclining just a fraction of an inch.

Should the name have rung a bell?

Alpheo’s eyes narrowed, searching the vast library of his memory. "Varien... it’s muffled. Remind me."

"He is the man officially tasked by the Oizenian Prince to ’cleanse’ the frontier of its banditry problem. He commands the border patrols."

"You mean the same Lord Varien that had been on your payroll?"

"The very same."

A short, sharp snort of air escaped Alpheo’s nose,a sound halfway between a laugh and a snarl. "I expected at the very least a modicum of effort from the Crownless Prince. By the gods, he couldn’t even be bothered to pay some men himself? It’s insulting. It’s lazy." He paused, his gaze dropping to the parchment. "How much hard proof did we actually secure? Physical evidence? Something that would hold weight in a court of peers?"

Lucius slowly shook his head.

"Not even a letter? "

"Nothing of the sort. Just a name and a verbal confession. Ebran did not report a single scrap of parchment that could link Varien to the Habadian court or back to his own Prince. All we have is what the man screamed while his mind was being unmade and his body carved up in pieces. Word against word."

"Is there anything else? Any other ’good’ information we might use to salvage this?"

The Spymaster shook his head once more, his expression as flat as a tombstone.

"I’ll be honest with you, Lucius," Alpheo said, his fingers drummed a hollow rhythm on the desk. "I would have preferred something a bit more substantial. It wouldn’t have hurt to have some firm proof, we are grasping straws over here...."

Lucius said nothing. He simply stood there, his stillness an answer in itself.

Alpheo looked up at him, a sudden, tired smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You know, this would be the moment where you’re supposed to tell me that we actually found something. You’re supposed to say, ’Wait, Your Grace, I was merely leaving this for last.’"

The silence stretched. Lucius watched the Prince with a gaze that seemed to peel back layers of skin and bone.

"It is reassuring to know that, even with the world’s weight upon your shoulders, Your Grace is still in the mood to jest."

Alpheo’s smirk widened, though there was no humor in his eyes. ’’Soon you’ll miss when we could still jest. I’d say for the next few months we’ll both be up to our necks with work.’’

A sigh escaped the prince’s mouth.

’’May I ask what you are meaning to do?’’

"What choice do I have? It was taken from us the moment they decided to cast me as the big bad wolf." Alpheo’s index finger began to clack against the wooden table..

tap, tap, tap.

"I have waited a long time for this moment to arrive. I’ve rehearsed the coming storm in my dreams for years. Truth be told, I expected the reality of it to be more... fearful. But sitting here now, it just feels like the next inevitable step in a very long march.Of course I am boiling in anger. But fear?Strangely can’t feel that for now...it’s....underwhelming?"

Suddenly, the tapping stopped. The silence that followed was absolute. Alpheo raised his head, his gaze sharpening until it seemed able to cut through any fog,as if fixing on something only he could see and discern on the horizon.

’’You know friend....I just realized something’’ He swallowed a node down in his throat.Lucius involuntarily straightened his back.

’’We’re going to be working together up close for some time....can’t wait to see your skills. Excited to show off in front of your prince?’’ A smile bloomed on his face..

"...Can hardly wait, Your Grace."