Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 990: Developments(5)
Torghan sat in the firelight warming his hand against the fire. As a boy, these four boundaries had been his entire universe, a fortress against the biting teeth of the mountain winter. Now, with the weight of Yarzat in his bones, they seemed diminished, what had once appeared mountains were now scarcely taller than the meadow grass, fragile and cramped.
It was a peculiar, aching hollow to feel like a ghost in the very rooms that had birthed him.But perhaps that was simply life, for what once was, can easily one day be not.
He averted his gaze from a familiar crack in the timber, a mark that had been there since his first memories, to look upon his eldest brother. The resemblance to their father was striking, yet the man stood with a hesitant, uncertain air.
His brother’s eyes wandered over Torghan, struggling to reconcile the memory of the scrawny, soot-covered kid who had chased herds through the scree with the iron-clad warrior who sat before him now.
The silence grew heavy, and burderning for all. His brother opened his mouth, but the words died in the back of his throat. Finally, he settled for stuttering questions about the West, mundane inquiries about a land that might as well have been the moon.
Torghan answered without haste, his voice dropping so it would not fall in insolence, which the Yarzat lords seemed to find in him whenever he spoke....which they were kind of right. He could not stomach most of them.
He spoke of the Golden Lands beneath the amber kiss of an August sun; he described the riotous bloom of the southern valleys, the rivers that ran deep and wide as inland seas, and the white-stone spires where men slept in towers that touched the clouds.
It was the belief of a man who had found his soul in a foreign cradle.
He was rescued from the suffocating awkwardness of the reunion by the arrival of Jarza.
The door groaned as it opened, and even in a land of rugged mountain men, Jarza’s entrance triggered a sharp, poorly hidden gasp of shock as if a giant had come under their roof. If it were not for the man’s staggering height and the sheer, bull-like mass of his shoulders, it was the overwhelming weight of the steel he wore.
He moved without bother despite being engulfed in a suit of plate that looked as though it had been forged from the side of a mountain and enough to outfit a bull.
Whatever intimidation the five hundred men of the vanguard had caused in the Chorsi Chieftain outside was instantly solidified by the sight of their commander.
A small, sharp voice broke the heavy silence, emerging from the monolithic shadow cast by the Legate. "I present to you Lord Jarza, Legate of the First Legion of Yarzat,Primogenia. He arrives with the blessing of Her Grace, Jasmine Veloni-isha."
The speaker stepped into the firelight, revealing himself to the room. Where there had been awe on Varaku’s face, a sudden, bitter scowl now took root. "Serafim..." the Chieftain spat, the name sounding like an old grudge.
"Great Chieftain Varaku, and the noble Vashen," Serafim said, bowing with a practiced fluidity that ignored the hostility in the room that was directed straight at him. "It is always a singular joy to look upon you both." He spoke in an impeccably fluent mountain dialect, his accent so precise it made even Torghan raise an eyebrow in surprise. Without waiting for an invitation, the envoy took a seat immediately after Jarza had claimed his.
Serafim smoothed his robes and offered the kindest, most predatory smile he could muster. "Now then, if we may address the—"
"I may not know the tongue, but I recognise the cadence.Don’t be in such a hurry to reach the end of the song," Jarza interrupted, his deep voice rolling through the chamber like distant thunder. He leaned back "We are guests in a man’s home. Especially considering that, by the laws of blood and bed, I am family to those in this room."
Jarza turned his gaze upon the Chieftain, the sheer intensity of his stare instilling a profound unsureness in Varaku.
"Is there anything you wish to say, Chieftain, before we begin our work?" Jarza asked. Torghan leaned in, translating the Legate’s words into the rougher tongue of the hills.
Varaku looked up at the man who had wed his daughte. "You are the one," Varaku rumbled, his eyes searching Jarza’s face. "You have bedded my daughter?"
"We are wed by the rites of the Crown," Jarza replied evenly. "And she carries my blood. A child is on the way."
Varaku squinted, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Are you a Thazanie?"
Torghan leaned toward Jarza, whispering quickly that his father had asked if he were an Azanian, hailing from the southern deserts. Jarza gave a short, firm shake of his head.
"Then why is your skin as coal?" Varaku pressed, his voice blunt and devoid of the courtly filters of the West. "Every other man I have seen from this Yarzat of yours is as pale as the moon or the mountain snow. "
Knowing how many local lords in the West were met with violence for questioning Jarza’s origin, Torghan stepped in before the Legate’s patience could fray. He spoke quickly in the Chorsi tongue. "He was not born beneath the Yarzat sun, Father. Nor is he kin of our enemy. He followed the Prince as a warrior from distant lands, carving his place with steel."
Luckily for the peace of the evening, Varaku did not pursue the matter.
"Now then, I believe the pleasantries have been thoroughly exhausted," Serafim declared, beaming a smile that was far too bright for the dim room.He was the only one that seemed pleased with the day.
His eyes flicked to Varaku with the precision of a hawk. "Shall we move on to the pressing business we all think of?"
"We may, Soft-Tongue," Varaku rumbled.
Serafim didn’t so much as flinch at the insult. Jarza, ignorant of the dialect, remained a statue of indifferent iron, while Torghan watched the exchange with a growing curiosity. A dangerous thought drifted through his mind: Does everyone here treat a royal envoy with such casual disdain?
Back in the gilded halls of Yarzat, such an insult would have seen swords cleared from scabbards before the breath had cooled. The lords would have clamored to sail the sea just to put the Chorsi herds to the torch for less. He made a silent vow to address his people’s lack of "courtly manners" before it got them all killed.Or perhaps they would get that in the coming weeks without his intervention...
"I am well aware that the presence of the First Legion brings a certain... weight to the air," Serafim said, his tone defusing and honey-thick. "Gods know, how much they are feared by enemies and delighted by friends.
But I implore you, Chieftain: do not worry. We have been friends since the day our keels first kissed your sand. We were friends when we broke the DuskWindai with you, and we are friends now as we walk your mountain paths. Our presence here is an act of aid, even if it wears a helmet. You will see in due time that this serves only to solidify the Alliance."
"Solidify it? By shitting upon its foundations?" Varaku snapped.
Serafim’s smile crumpled for the briefest of seconds. Beside him, Jarza leaned toward Torghan, listening intently as his brother in law whispered the translation. The Commander of the First gave a slow, rhythmic nod but offered no opinion. This was a war of words; he was content to let the "little fat man" on his right do the skirmishing.
"The Alliance was built on a simple promise," Varaku continued, his voice rising. "If one is attacked, the others rise. We are the head of that pact. What happens to my standing if I allow you to march through our lands, unhindered, to dictate terms to my allies? What happens if they refuse you, and you destroy a tribe that I swore to protect?"
"You were already told what we require from the other chieftains," Serafim said, his eyes darting to Torghan for the barest of moments.
"I was," Torghan confirmed, his voice flat.
"Then you know that what we seek is, for the lion’s part, overwhelmingly favorable to the Chorsi," Serafim pressed, his voice gaining a jagged edge of urgency. "The current terms of your Alliance are too fragile, a house of twigs in a land of storms. We need a leader with teeth to protect both the Alliance’s future and Yarzat’s interests.
What you built after the war is not enough, Varaku. You are still far weaker than the DuskWindai ever were, and I have news: their civil war has ended. Only one brother of what were three remains, and he is a man fueled by the blackest of grudges. How long before he turns his eyes toward revenge? We will support you, of course, but we prefer you to meet that challenge as a giant, not a beggar. Our intervention is not just a suggestion; it is imperative."
Varaku sat stunned, his mouth slightly agape. The logic was a trap. He could see the benefit, he wanted to be strong, he wanted to survive the DuskWindai, but the path they offered required him to betray the very expectations he had fought for with his allies. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢
Serafim saw the hesitation and lunged for the throat of the argument. "The real question is not what we aim for, nor what you will gain. The question is what is asked of you."
"And what would that be?" Varaku asked, suddendly not liking how the room was tilting.
"Nothing extraordinary," Serafim purred. "Simply a blessing of good faith from the Head of the Alliance."
"You wish for me to stand by while you threaten my own allies?"
"I would have you convince them to embrace the inevitable," Serafim corrected, leaning over the table. "They may grumble at the shadow we cast, Chieftain, but with you at our side, their road is clear. It is a path that ends with their tribes intact, rather than exterminated for the insults they laid upon me and as a consequence to the crown, seasons ago. They must learn that while Yarzat’s foundations here are young, our steel is very, very old, and we do not permit our interests to be mocked.
Not by them, nor by you, or anyone for that matter. We come here with gifts, but if spurned, we shall come here with wrath.Many across the sea learnt such lesson, a pity you do not have knowledge of any of that."
