Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 988: Developments(3)
A small, weary frown creased Basil’s brow. "Why is it that every adult in this palace assumes that because my limbs are short, my eyes must be blind and my ears deaf? Before you scramble for an excuse, Edric. No, no one whispered this in a corridor. No one betrayed a trust. I simply sat with the facts until they aligned. It was not a difficult map to draw."
He turned back to the garden, "Of course, I harbored a sliver of doubt, that perhaps I was wrong. But your face... it provided all the confirmation I need. Truth be told, I did not expect my father to follow through with such a stroke....I... I always believed him a cynic man. This act... it may have left no names in the official record, but it left bloody footprints across the threshold."
Basil tilted his head back, staring up at the shifting clouds. "A royal found quartered, dismembered limb by limb, his head taken as a trophy of spite. Many will point their fingers at the Romelian Emperor, for obvious reason. But just as many will look at the Fox of Yarzat and see the red on his paws. It was sloppy. It was an act of passion, and my father is usually so careful to be passionless when dealing with matter’s of state.It was sloppy...."
Resigned to the fact that his mask of military stoicism had been shattered beyond repair, Edric discarded the pretense. If he couldn’t lie, he would defend.
"He avenged a brother," Edric said, his voice thick with a rough, defensive heat. "The fact that he chose the path of fire instead of the safe road of politics... it doesn’t make him sloppy. It gives him honor. It proves he is still a man and not a statue."
For a long moment, Basil just gazed at him, the emerald of his eyes reflecting the image Edric was trying to display. He nodded slowly, his attention returning to the flowers bordering the path.
"Of course," Basil murmured. "I was merely pointing out how utterly antithetical it was to his nature. I cared for him, too. He was as much a part of my family as a man without shared blood can be.’’ A shadow passed on his face’’ he doted on me...a lot. I shall always remember him fondly.
Seeing my father burn for him... it helps me understand the depth of his devotion. It is warming, in a chilling sort of way, to know he would set the world on fire for those he loves." He looked up, a small, fragile smile touching his lips. "Isn’t it reassuring to know that his position is secondary to his heart?"
Edric let out a long, ragged sigh, the tension leaving his shoulders in a heavy slump. "It wouldn’t have changed a thing, even if he were as cold as you thought. I, and many others, owe a debt of gratitude to your father that can only be paid in service. I would gladly lay down my life for him."
"Just like Egil did?" Basil asked, his voice suddenly small, reaching for the truth of the thing.
Edric nodded grimly. "Just like him. He died a hero’s death. Without his sacrifice, that battle would have been a tomb for all of us.
He has our thanks and in fondness we shall hold his memory.
That is the root of the poison, Basil. Your father knows his friend died to save his life, and he remembers that Egil was against the campaign from the very first hour."
Edric stepped closer, looking straight into the boy’s eyes, seeing the ghost of Alpheo staring back. "It may be hard to fathom the weight of that guilt, and I hope to the Saints you never have the misfortune of feeling it. But if such a shadow ever falls on you, remember not to be too hard on yourself. As for your father... he is a strong man. He will find the road back." He put an hand on the boys shoulder.
Basil shook his head, and took the hand away "Even iron bends if enough weight is applied, Edric. What makes you think my father is exempt from this?"
"Because he is not like any other man I have ever known,"
"I wonder.... despite it all he is still nonetheless a man," Basil countered "He has limits, just like the rest of us. And I believe we are witnessing him transcend one already. He is not just bending; he is shattering. If he is not reached, there will come a moment where the pressure becomes too much. He will simply snap, and there will be no fixing the pieces.
And the mess of it will be all that shall remain of him. I don’t want that Edric. He is my father and I love him...’’
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"How does it feel to be home once more?" Jarza asked, his voice echoing against the humid, steam-slicked marble of the Salthold’s bathhouse. He leaned back, eyes closed, as a servant meticulously scraped a straight razor across his broad chest. The scrape of steel on skin was the only sharp sound in the room. That and of course the deep voice of the general: "You’ve been gone for what, six years?"
"Eight," Torghan corrected. The Chieftain of the Voghondai sat on the opposite bench, the water coaxing the tension from his scarred shoulders. He looked through the rising mist, his eyes distant. "It feels strange, truth be told. I spent nearly a decade poisoning my own memories, remembering this land only for its acrid bitterness. Yet, now that my boots have touched the soil... I find a sudden fondness for my old cradle."
Jarza opened one eye, watching a servant pour a bucket of steaming water over Torghan’s back. "I hope that fondness hasn’t blunted your edge. We aren’t here for a family reunion. We are here to secure the Prince’s interests."
Torghan chuckled, a deep, guttural sound that rumbled through the steam. "Do not fret, Legate. My heart is not so easily swayed. I am a man of Yarzat now, bound by blood and oath. My father is no fool; he will feel the wind shifting and know it blows from the sea. He will welcome our presence, especially when he realizes our aim is to seat him atop a throne from other."
The chieftain’s expression darkened slightly. "He will hope for a clean transition, free of blood. But that choice is no longer his. It rests in the hands of the allied tribes’’
"Give me your counsel, then," Jarza said, sitting up as the servant finished. "We are here to remodel this house, not burn it to the foundations. But if the inhabitants prove stubborn, I am prepared to make cinders of the place and build anew upon the ashes."
Torghan leaned forward, his wet hair clinging to his face. "I have lived in both worlds, Jarza. I know the pulse of Yarzat and the heartbeat of these peaks. In Yarzat, you people are masters of the masquerade. You mask your steel with flowery intent and soft words. Sometimes the mask holds; sometimes you let the blade peek through. You spend weeks on protocols and envoys, trying to broker a peace before a single drop of blood is spilled. There is none of that here."
He spat into the coal, his voice turning cold. "Here, we believe men of long words are merely swindlers trying to hide a dull knife. The only time we speak is to dictate terms to the vanquished. Do not send your envoys to politely ask for hospitality or to discuss the weather. Send them to demand it. When they refuse, and they will, march the First Legion until the earth trembles. Then, ask the question again and see their answers."
Torghan stood, the water cascading off his frame like a mountain waterfall. "State your intent. Display your might. Wait for the answer. If they are sensible, they will see the iron in your hand and find their reason. If they are not, they will perish. I will ensure my father sends his own men ahead of us to whisper the truth: that the head of the Chorsi is aligned with the crown of Yarzat."
Jarza rose to join him, the two men standing like titans in the swirling vapor. The Legate felt the familiar, cold thrill of a campaign beginning to take shape, though for stately reason he hoped he would not.
"Spoken like a man who knows his people," Jarza grunted, reaching for a cup of water to throw on the hot coal. "We leave at dawn. We shall depend on you, brother."
They stood silent in there for quite some time, throwing cold water upon their backs as the steam rose from the coal.They knew not whetever their presence would mean blood and change, or change alone.
Still something was indeed clear for the both of them.
The age of trade had never begun, as it would only come after the hammer struck.
