Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king-Chapter 1035: Oizenian sword(2)

There was only thing that a prince and a servant of another prince could find worthy in him. So really it wasn’t like he was diving down into the deep without light.

Still what was he to do, say no?Of course whatever they were getting him on would be dangerous, no doubt about that, but the payoff? He excepted it to be great.

He shifted his gaze uncomfortably between the two men, feeling like a prize hound being appraised by rival masters. Zayneth Quirsio meanwhile turned his head toward the Prince, his dark-rimmed eyes offering a silent, deferential prompt, inviting the Oizenian sovereign to do the honors of unveiling the plot.

Sorza took the cue, leaning forward until the firelight bathed across the lines of his face. He set the business in motion with a question that sounded more like a trap. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"Tell me, Lord Vasten," Sorza began, his voice silky yet brittle, "what is the consensus among the nobility regarding the peace we were forced to sign with Yarzat? Speak freely; the walls here have been sworn to silence."

Vasten furrowed his brow, his mind racing through a dozen diplomatic evasions. "I... I fear I am not worthy to offer an opinion on matters of statecraft, Your Grace. It is not my place to judge the wisdom of the Crown."

Zayneth let out a sound that was more scoff than not. "It was a humiliation, Lord Vasten. A profound, public emasculation. Let us not insult each other with whatever mask you wish to put over it."

Both men turned to the Habadian, who merely shrugged, his expression one of utter, weary indifference. "There is no use smearing honey over a bitter draught. It was what it was: a slap in the face that favored the Fox in every measure and awarded him with territory and coin for his naked hostility."

A peace that you yourself condoned and fled toward when a certain Emperor voiced his will, Sorza thought with a surge of silent, scorching scorn. But he kept his mask intact, nodding in feigned agreement.

" Is anyone in this room prepared to deny it? Beyond the preservation of our borders, what did Oizen gain? Come now, you are a man of the frontier; you see the reality of it every day. You must have an opinion on the price you paid."

Vasten gouged the air for a neutral path, aware that he was walking a tightrope. "I recognize that we were in a... precarious position, militarily speaking. I understand the necessity of the signature, however unsavory the terms. It was a strategic retreat."

Precarious was a generous euphemism. The Fox had run circles around them. Oizen had fortified every inch of the land border, and Alpheo had simply sailed into their soft underbelly. They had sent a host to crush him, and he had sent them back in pieces. They had tried to trap him in the halls of diplomacy, and he had made them look like petulant children.

They were beaten at every turn.

"My Lord, I must insist on candor," Zayneth said, his voice dropping into that soothing, terrifying lullaby tone. "If we are to truly cooperate, we must adopt a policy of absolute truth between us. It is the only foundation for what comes next."

Vasten caught the word ’cooperate’ and felt a fresh jolt of nerves. He was a vassal; one did not "cooperate" with their sovereign,they were not peers, one obeyed.

"Please," Sorza added, his eyes burning. "Speak truthfully regarding the peace. Or, if you find the broad strokes too tedious, speak to me of that little clause regarding the tax exemptions for Yarzat’s merchant caravans. I believe that is the splinter that has festered most painfully in the hearts of our lords. Has it not?"

Vasten looked at the Prince, searching for a sign of a trap. Sorza gave a slow, encouraging nod.

"It is... a difficult pill to swallow," Vasten finally admitted, his voice gaining a bit of steel as he touched upon a genuine grievance. "To watch the Fox’s gold move through our lands unhindered, while our own merchants are bled dry by the tolls required to maintain the roads those very caravans use... it breeds a certain resentment. My peers feel that we are not merely at peace, but that we are actively subsidizing our own enemy.It doesn’t help that most of those caravans that we are prohibited to tax are carrying prized products, that would carry quite the coin if taxed.

We are losing a fortune over it... and the Fox is making a gain over what we lose."

"Indeed," Zayneth murmured, his silhouette flickering against the hearth like a shadow cast by a dying sun. "Out of every indignity in that scroll, save perhaps for the theft of your iron mines, the exemption of the caravans is the most poisonous. It is a subtle rot. By forcing you to grant them free passage, they made a mockery of the noble right to tax the commoners. They pressed a peace born of naked hostility down your throats, and in doing so, they stripped your lords of their ancestral right to govern their own roads and laws."

He turned toward the Prince, a sharp, oily smirk playing on his lips in response to Sorza’s visibly irked expression. "Your peers may loathe the Fox for forcing the hand, but make no mistake, Lord Vasten, they are deeply dismayed that the Crown has seen fit to maintain this submission for three long years. Of course, the only reason you honored such a farce was the disparity in strength. A treaty is only as sacred as the sword that can enforce it; without a balance of power, it is merely parchment."

Zayneth stepped away from the fire, the heat having done nothing to soften the chill in his gaze. "Well, I believe you are about to rejoice, Lord Vasten."

Vasten jolted his spine straight, his muscles locking in a reflexive posture of obedience as his name rang out.

"We are reunited tonight to do something about this imbalance," Zayneth continued, his voice dropping into that melodic, hypnotic lullaby. "The time has come for the ’Peace of the Princes’ to be renewed. Wouldn’t you agree?"

"I believe the lords of the realm would find great cause for celebration if the terms were... adjusted," Vasten responded still not realising the part he was to play.

"And they will," Zayneth whispered, the firelight catching the predatory gleam in his dark-rimmed eyes. "For the last three years, while the Fox sat fat and content behind his new walls, we have not been idle. Habadia does not forget, and Habadia does not forgive when one of his friends are slighted. We have been quietly forging the tools necessary to see this treaty remade. We have gathered the steel, we have bought the souls, and we have positioned the pieces. The strength we once lacked is now ours in abundance, many thrones saw the rightenouss in such cause and cast their sword with us"

He stepped into Vasten’s personal space, the scent of expensive spice and old dust clinging to him. "All that we require now, my Lord, is the momentum. A spark to set the dry grass of this peace ablaze."

"I am... at your service," Vasten managed to say, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.What else was he to say?

"I knew you were a man of vision," Zayneth said, his smile widening into something thin and serpentine, the spotlight completely stolen from the prince. "We have spent three years honing the steel, Vasten. We have the tools. We have the numbers. But a war of this magnitude requires more than just sharp blades; it requires a certain... moral theater. It would be a simple matter to merely declare the treaty null and march across the plains.

Simple, yes, but clumsy. It would invite dissent among the wavering houses, and there are always those tiresome voices among the nobility who would bleat about ’honorable conduct’ and ’the sanctity of oaths.’"

Zayneth began to pace the length of the Azanian carpet, his boots not making a sound.

"We could play that hand, certainly. But why endure the headache of justification when there is a much more elegant path? Would it not be infinitely better if the other party gave us the pretext to shatter the peace? If the Fox were the one to cast the first stone, we could move with a righteous fire in our hearts. We would not be invaders; we would be the injured party, rising in defense of our wounded dignity. We would be using the same ’Right of Strength’ that Alpheo invoked when he pressed that humiliating slap onto your faces. Unite the strenght of many princes to a common goal.

Only this time, the strength resides on our side."

He stopped pacing and turned to Vasten, his eyes boring into the Lord’s with a chilling intensity. He watched the realization dawn on Vasten’s face, tracing the moment the man finally understood the depth of the charade he was being asked to perform.

"As far as the world, and the history books, will be concerned, it will be Yarzat who swung first. It will be the Fox who chose treachery over peace. And Oizen?It shall simply be the sword that responds to the betrayal.And the gods of course saw the rignteoussness in that cause."

The Habadian smiled as he saw the dots connecting in the lord’s mind.

Vasten felt a cold sweat prickle at his hairline. He understood the mechanism now.

He knew exactly what pieces they had to touch to throw the ball on the Yarzat’s court, a ball that they would have no choice but to throw back and cause a war., and in doing so, unify Oizen into a single cause, drowning out whatever sorrow the Fox had caused in them against the crown, bringing them under a single banner marching against the Great Enemy once more...

"And that is where I come into play, isn’t that right?" Vasten asked, his voice a hollow echo of its former self , a pricle of fear blooming in him. "I am to be the one who shall organize this and bait Yarzat into action...’’

And also be the one to bear the Fox’s rage.

He looked at the Habadian man, who suddendly appeared to be the owner of the room, wondering if his dealings with the bandits, had not come into light and this was the only reason why he was chosen...whatever the case he did not want to discover it.

He simple lowered his eyes down

"Sharp as a sword, my lord."