Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 1062: Under the blanket(2)

Lord Xanthios’ beard, white and as fluffy as the unruly mane of a sheep, seemed to fill the room as he pulled off his heavy helm and set himself at the table. As he sat, his hand instinctively went to his neck, his fingers brushing the skin as if checking for a wound. For a moment, he reached for the small leather collar box he had worn for most of his life, the one that held the mummified index finger of his brother, only to remember a second too late that he had finally set it aside.

And for good reasons.

"With Lord Xanthios seated at last, we may progress," the Prince said with a thin smile. He took the lead, popping a whole shelled boiled egg into his mouth and following it with a hunk of bread, chewing with the focused energy of a man who knew his time was short.

The others needed no further invitation to dine.

They threw themselves at the spread like starving wolves. Alpheo had been generous with this final meal, and for good reason. This was the end of the luxury. Once they moved into the deep brush, the logistics would turn sour. It was easy to march proudly with their stomach full and warm with a train of supply carts behind you, but it was impossible to hide a thousand men when the rattling of grain wagons revealed your position to every scout for miles.

Tonight, they feasted on honeyed quails, seasoned sausages, and roasted pork; tomorrow, their reality would be peas porridge, rock-hard bread, and a thin pelt for a mattress. Alpheo knew most nobles would grumble at such a sudden drop in status, but his men were built of harder stuff.

"Do we have any word on what those those who wish us ill are up to?" He was the first to bring business to the dining table, his voice muffled by the quail leg he was working on. He held a piece of bread in his other hand like a shield, catching the grease as it fell before bringing it onto his mouth.

"They’ve reached Oizen," the Prince replied, his voice flat and empty of emotion. "They’re currently in the middle of a grand feast. It’s not every day four princes meet in one city; I suppose they feel they owe it to their titles to drink until they can’t see straight."

"Arrogant bastards," Xanthios spat, using a fingernail to dig a piece of bone from between his molars. "They’re taking us softly. They think this is a summer excursion, a little parade to show off their banners. Were they to walk into my lands with that attitude, I’d show them exactly what kind of reception they’ve earned."

"I suppose having those kinds of numbers makes the mind a bit hazy," Shahab added. He was eating only plain bread, claiming a stomach ache had robbed him of his appetite for meat. "Think on it, out of the four of them, only Sorza has actually seen a real war in the last ten years. And we all know how well the ’Crownless Prince’ handles himself under pressure."

he took a slow sip of water as to quench his broken lips. "A prince begging his peers for help is no prince at all. He’s a sovereign who is sovereignless over his own affairs. It’s plain to see that any opinion he offers will be disregarded. They’ll smile at him, sure, but as I said his opinion will be disregarded.Better for us."

"Maybe we ought to send a bard to the Oizenian camp," Jarza offered, a wicked glint in his eye that prompted a round of joyful laughter. "I’m sure he could uplift the mood. We have plenty of songs about Oizen, don’t we? Though I doubt any of them would be to its grace’s liking."

"Aye," Torghan chuckled, "not many men want to hear a chorus about how they ran like rabbits. There isn’t a single verse that sings about how well he fought. All he has to his name is the ’Dip of Apurvio’,and little well that will do to his honour...."

"He’ll be the one at the back of the line," Edric joined in, wiping a stray drop of wine from his chin with his sleeve. "Hiding behind the Habadian’s silk capes, whispering to anyone who will listen about how he used to own the very dirt we’re standing on. It must be a bitter pill, realizing the only way you can get your hall back is to let three other men walk all over it first.

Fear is a natural thing, like the wind or the tide, but cowardice is a choice,we won’t get any trouble for him’’ He spit a piece of bone onto the plate, before giving a small chuckle for a jest he was quick to share ’’ Honestly, I wonder if the man just likes sloppy seconds; perhaps apart from his throne, he’ll offer up his wife for the coalition to share too. He really should trade that crown for a helmet with horns, it would suit him better."

"If he wore horns, wouldn’t we just confuse him with the brat from Kakunia?" Xanthios asked, a wolfish grin tugging at his scarred cheeks. He looked energized, his eyes bright at the prospect of finally bathing his steel in Kakunian and Ezvanian blood. ’’Had Agania and Reshania joined the fray,’’ he muttered while looking as though he was denied some great joy ’’I’d happily take my axe on a tour of the entire South. Making it the seventh I’d call it, until it would become tradition for any of my house to do so once in their life.’’

After the laughter Asag took the lead.

"There’s little room for confusion when the answer to both problems is the same," Asag grunted, tearing off a hunk of crust. "A sword through the arse for both of them. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the help on the shit-chair. Their bowels ought to be backed up and hard, eating and drinking in a city like Oizen that’s filled to the brim with vagabonds and fancy thieves.I suppose they’d say it would enhance its tastes seeing peasants starve while stuffing themselves whole."

"Rykio has been through enough on his little travel already, hasn’t he?We have him to thank for that." Jarza commented, scratching his stubbled chin as he looked at the single empty chair at the table. A brief flash of somberness crossed his face. "I would have liked for him to be here, sharing our last proper dinner before the mud becomes our host."

"He is having his own brand of fun out there. He was Egil’s second for a reason; I expected nothing less than a through work from him," Alpheo answered, his voice calm and steady amidst the rowdy banter of his captains.

"When will he link back up with the main host?" Shahab asked, pushing his half-eaten bread away. He leaned back, his face pale from his stomach pains, but his mind remained sharp.

"Soon enough," Alpheo said. "He isn’t quite finished with his little torching yet. There are still a few barns that he needs to set a light to.There are only two hundred of them, give them some time will you?"

"Isn’t the majority of their stores located in Kakunia, though?" Torghan asked, leaning forward over the table. "How much will it really aid us to burn the Crownless Prince’s farmland when the Big Bull is the one with the full granaries?" He didn’t hide his skepticism; he had sided with Rykio’s original opinion that the Hounds should have been unleashed on Kakunian soil first.

Alpheo set his fork down, his eyes scanning the faces of the men who would lead his armies into the fire. "It will all become clear in time. Have some trust in me, Torghan. A statue isn’t built with one swing of the hammer; it is revealed piece by piece, chip by chip."

He took a slow, deliberate bite of a pork pie, savoring the richness before the years of pea porridge began. "Operation Titanfall is a long-term work of art. We won’t see the true results of the sabotage until the gears all lock into place at once. When that clock strikes, the prince will finally realize the foul...’’

As they ate and dialogued , the flap of the command tent suddenly pulled back, letting in a draft of cool night air and the distant, rhythmic sound of people’s voices. Sir Rodry stepped into the light, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, squirming in his armor as if it had suddenly shrunk two sizes too small.

He stood there for a moment, his eyes darting toward the plates of quail and the half-drained goblets, before he cleared his throat. "Your Grace... my lords... there is something I ought to report."

Alpheo didn’t stop chewing. He simply turned his head, his dark eyes fixing on Rodry with a level of focus that made the knight flinch. The rest of the table fell silent, the boisterous banter dying out as they waited for the news. Rodry opened his mouth, but instead of words, he just clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, hesitating as he looked at the green dirt.

Alpheo swallowed his mouthful of pie and set his fork down with a deliberate clack against the plate

"Get on with it, Rodry," Alpheo said, his voice dropping into a thin rasp. "Only two nights ago, I had to listen to you boast loudly, and very drunkenly, about how often you visit the convents to ’pray’ with the nuns. You seemed to have no trouble with your vocabulary then. Do you suddenly find a knot on your tongue now that I’m asking for a simple report?Out with it."

The captains chuckled darkly, but Rodry didn’t join in. He looked like a man who had just swallowed a live wasp. He took a deep breath, his hand twitching toward the hilt of his sword, and looked Alpheo straight in the eye.

"There is no kind way to say this, " Rodry muttered, his voice tight. "And really I don’t even know how to put it into words...so I think I’ll just say it straight....we have a royal visitor among us"