Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 1003: New rules(1)

Torghan stared down at the wooden platter that constituted his dinner, fighting a losing battle to keep the mask of diplomatic stoicism from slipping. The meal looked less than the savory banquet he had been used to while in yarzat.

Is this truly the sustenance that once fueled my dreams? he wondered, a bitter irony settling in his gut. I have grown soft. I have been pampered by the silk and spice of the Sun Land until I have forgotten the grit of my own cradle.

He watched the servant, a lithe, trembling girl with eyes like a cornered doe. It was painfully obvious that Korgas had sent her as a secondary course, a peace offering intended to satisfy hungers that mutton could not reach. She set the final vessel on the low table with hands small as leaves

"Tässä on ateriasi," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the hearth as she placed the steaming goat’s milk between the two meager portions of stringy mutton and shriveled berries.

"Kiitos, voit poistua," Torghan commanded, a sharp flick of his wrist dismissing her. He had no intention of sampling the chieftain’s "hospitality," and he certainly wouldn’t allow his brother-in-law to return to Yarzat with a wandering eye. He had enough pride left to protect his sister’s honor, even in this gods-forsaken hut.

The girl hesitated, her gaze darting toward the obsidian giant looming in the corner of the room. Jarza sat like a statue of iron, seemingly oblivious to the subtext of her presence. However, when the scarred Chorsi chieftain leveled a second glare at her, the girl found the necessary motivation to vanish into the night.

As the hide flap of the hut settled, Torghan let out a long, weary sigh.

"I never thought she’d leave. If my vanguard possessed that girl’s sheer perseverance, we’d have taken the fucking fingers in a single afternoon without Punka Sinqa." Torghan muttered. He reached for the wooden ladle, pouring the thick, pungent milk into Jarza’s bowl before serving himself.

Jarza picked up the bowl, wrinkling his nose as the steam hit him. He took a cautious sip and immediately recoiled. "What in the name of all fuck is this? And why is it sour? Did the goat die of spite before they milked it?"

"That is our wine, more or less," Torghan replied dryly, forcing himself to take a long swallow of the fermented liquid. He winced. "I can’t say I missed the taste of curdled piss. As for the girl, the Chieftain sent her to ensure you woke up in a charitable mood. It seems they’ve finally realized that pleasing you is a far more sustainable strategy than trying to bash their skulls against yours."

"Hmph. Usually, I’m just the shadow behind the throne," Jarza grumbled, pushing the bowl away and turning his attention to the mutton. He ripped a strip of meat away with his teeth, chewing with a grimace. "More than not, it’s the Prince they try to hobble with pretty distractions.Not that it works, seems like the prince only has eyes for the princess.

It’s a change of pace to be the one they’re trying to butter up." He paused, looking at Torghan. "Though, she was quite a vista to behold. Why send her away so soon? I’ve spent three months staring at mud and spears; a bit of scenery wouldn’t have killed me."

Torghan leveled an icy look at the Legate. "My sister would find a way to make it fatal, I assure you."

Jarza gave a rare, rumbling chuckle. "Come now, I’m jesting."

"You are not a man known for his jovial spirit, Jarza. Your jests tend to sound like death sentences to the uninitiated."

"Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to crack one," Jarza countered, tossing a gnawed bone into the shadows and reaching for another. He looked at the communal bowl with genuine revulsion. "Is this truly how your people eat? Every day? I suddenly understand why you were so eager to swear your life to Alpheo’s service. I thought you to be shallow then. I really don’t now."

"It’s a luxury," Torghan corrected him, his voice heavy with memory. "You think we eat mutton every night? Even for a Chieftain, a sheep only dies when the winter is so lean the grass turns to glass and the younglings start to starve. This? This is a bribe. They’ve slaughtered a healthy ewe just to see if they can soften the iron in your gut."

"I miss actual butter," Jarza lamented, staring at the shriveled berries.

"I miss bread. I miss pasta and the way the eggs in the Golden Land actually taste like sunshine ,never thought animal shit could taste so good," Torghan admitted, his shoulders slumping. "I was pampered too quickly. I’ve become a man who would gladly die for a well-seasoned plate."

"If only more of the nobles shared your belief," Jarza said, his tone turning serious as the shadow of the coming war returned to his eyes. "Alpheo worries about civil war at every turn, watching for the moment the old blood decides it hates the new ways more than it loves its own survival. The only thing keeping the ceiling from falling in is the Legions and your spears."

Torghan raised his bowl of fermented milk, a grim smile touching his lips. "Then I am happy to be his Grace’s steel. At least the pay includes a better cook than this."

They started a toast with the ugly drink.

Both men winced once they finished the bowl.

’’Say had the tribes not parted, would you really have gone through with it?I mean with the battle.’’

The flickering warmth of the hearth died an instant death, replaced by a chill that had nothing to do with the mountain air. Jarza’s gaze, previously heavy with the sluggishness of the meal,went ice.

"If they had not parted,then my legion and your warriors would have made a path of their own, carved with the edge of a blade. The Prince’s directives were stripped of all sentiment: we are here to cement an image of absolute power. If that image required the annihilation of a tribe or two to act as the mortar, then so be it. Why the fuss, Torghan? Does the prospect of blood on the grass of your cousins disappoint you?"

Torghan’s jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in his scarred cheek. "Why the fuck does everyone assume I’m a heartbeat away from treason? What? You think I’ve spent eight years in the Golden Land just to suddenly find common cause with men I haven’t seen since I was a boy?Are you of mind that I would condemn my own kin to death just to save a tribe of strangers?"

"I simply wanted to ensure we were reading from the same ledger," Jarza replied, unmoved by the outburst.

"Indeed we are!" Torghan snapped. "If things turn sour tomorrow, you’ll find me in the thick of it. I haven’t bled for Alpheo for half a decade to have my dedication questioned over a bowl of sour milk."

"No need to let your blood boil, brother," Jarza said, though there was a faint, appreciative glint in his eyes.

"I think there was every need," Torghan countered, his voice low and dangerous. "I may have been born Chorsi, but I am Voghondai now. I am the Prince’s steel, first and forever."

Jarza let out a short, dry laugh. "Come now. You think you’re the only one who has had to endure the suspicious glares of the court? Look at me, Torghan. Look at this skin. Do I look like I blend in with the fair-weather lords of Yarzat?"

"Can’t say you do," Torghan admitted, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Did the Prince... did Alpheo ever doubt you?"

"The Prince? Alpheo?" Jarza laughed again, a deep, booming sound that filled the small hut. "Never. I’ve followed that man since we were starving mercenaries eating rats in the gutters . He would trust me with his soul, and I with his.

For Gods’ sake, he handed me the First Legion, the largest hammer in his armory! You have no idea how many times the ’Old Blood’ in their ivory towers tried to poison his mind. They whispered that an Azanian heretic shouldn’t lead a legion and proposed their sons and kin. Bah! I don’t wear this star for its beauty," he said, gesturing to the holy relic pinned to his breastplate. "People will throw filth at you no matter how high you rise. Just know that the Prince takes note of it all, even when he seems to be looking at the birds.If you serve him well and he always has your back."

Torghan went quiet. He took a slow drink from the bowl, the fermented milk no longer tasting quite so bitter.

"Come, the air between us has gone stagnant," Jarza sighed, leaning back against a pile of furs. "Change the topic. How went your little performance today? The grand tour of the pass?"

"You mean strutting about like a cock among hens?" Torghan asked, a touch of self-consciousness returning.

"Aye. That."

"Good enough, I suppose. As much as parading on a dirt road like a piece of decorative furniture can be."

"I don’t understand your melancholy, Torghan! You were meant to be inspiring," Jarza said, giving him an encouraging nod. "His Grace has a profound interest in your cradle’s warriors. We need every able hand we can get, and those men of yours... if I were in your position, I’d be proudly displaying that equipment. Those winged suits and feathered crests, they are more impressive than my own legionaries!Want to make change?"

Torghan snorted.

"We both know those things are not designed for fighting in ranks, Jarza. My warriors are shock troops. We are meant to be the lightning that cleaves a formation apart in a single, terrifying charge. We suffer in a long engagement. The Battle of the Two Eagles taught us that lesson in blood. You can’t hold a shieldwall when you’re wearing three feet of decorative wings that catch the wind and snag on your neighbor’s spear. Those suits are meant to terrify the enemy, not to win a war of attrition."

"Well, they are pretty enough for the eyes," Jarza jested, his white teeth flashing in the firelight.

Torghan didn’t smile. He looked like a man who felt he was being turned into a caricature.

"Oh, stop sulking," Jarza said, his expression softening into a rare moment of nostalgia. "You think you’ve been humiliated? You should have seen me thirteen years ago. When we were still a ragtag company of sellswords, Alpheo decided he needed a ’fearsome captain’ to intimidate the other mercenaries into electing him leader. He made me play the part of a mindless, grunting brute. He’d have me stand behind him, silent and glowering, and whenever someone disagreed with him, he’d just nod at me, and I’d have to roar and smash a table to bits and play the damn fool."

Jarza shook his head, a chuckle escaping him. "If you think parading in feathers is embarrassing, imagine how I felt, gawking like a common fool and acting like I didn’t know which end of a spoon to use, all just to make Alpheo look like the only civilized and reasonable man in the room, that somehow held the leash of the brute. We all play the roles the Prince writes for us, Torghan. At least your role allows you to keep your dignity.

Can’t say I held mine then."