Chapter 797: Pre-conference(1)
Organizing a diplomatic conference between two hostile powers was never as simple as sending out two letters with the words, “You had best make peace!”
The very thought was laughable.
No, such endeavors were a maze of plans made over other plans, where every choice, down to the smallest detail, carried weight.
Where the delegates would sit, what banners would hang above the hall, who poured the wine, all of it could be read as a statement, a concession, or an insult. But the greatest question of all, the one that had to be resolved before pens even touched parchment, was where to hold the meeting.
That decision was everything.
Allowing the conference to unfold on the soil of one belligerent was unthinkable, both practically and symbolically. It was not simply a matter of safety, though the risk of assassination or military coercion could never be discounted.
Far worse was the matter of prestige. Two armies still stood locked in the field, and neither commander could be seen bending knee, even indirectly, by walking into the other’s hall. Such a concession, even for the sake of parley, could be twisted into an admission of inferiority, an unbearable stain in a war where reputation was almost as decisive as steel.
Thus, as so many times before in the long and blood-soaked history of the continent, neutral ground had to be found.
And so it was decided that the capital city of the Princedom of Sharjaan, Scidna, would host the gathering. A place accessible to both factions, neutral, and far enough close from the immediate frontlines to be acceptable within the distance, if not ideal.
For Sorza, the choice was tolerable, if not exactly pleasing. The Prince of Sharjaan had once nursed his ambitions on Oizen’s iron mines, dreaming of the wealth and strength they might add to his coffers.
Now that Sorza no longer held the prize, he could swallow the irony of parleying in a city ruled by a man who once coveted what was his, perhaps even some deal could be made in exchange for his support.
For Alpheo, however, the matter was far more delicate.
With the mines now firmly under Yarzat control, the long-standing hostility between Sharjaan and Oizen had shifted inexorably toward Yarzat. Alpheo was suddenly the one standing in the line of fire, the de facto master of the very resource the Sharjaan prince still craved.
Yet where others might have seen only risk, Alpheo saw the glimmer of opportunity.
The situation gave him cards to play, leverage that could be maneuvered into an advantage if handled with care.
The fact that Alpheo was the first to arrive at the appointed meeting place offered him a quiet advantage. It meant he would have time to take the measure of Shaza of Sharjaan, to weigh the prince’s mood and gauge how far he could be able to push him with some concessions.
The second matter for the conference, however, had been thornier: numbers.
No one, not even princes steeped in pride, could pretend to feel secure without a body of armed men at their back. Yet no host could afford to welcome thousands of foreign soldiers through his gates. The debate over escorts had dragged on long enough that, in the end, an agreement was struck: each of the two warring powers, Oizen and Yarzat, would be allowed to bring five hundred men to Scidna, which of course would camp outside. All other princes attending as envoys were to be content with no more than fifty guards.
For Alpheo, however, it posed its own difficulty. Five hundred was a meager number, too small to properly display the breadth of his military strength.
Still, it was not good to bring forth the request to bring his army, so he had to make do.
An important thing was not simply which legion to bring, but how to balance honor, merit, and expectation without slighting any of the three.
Were he to choose according to prestige, the Primigenia should have marched, oldest of Yarzat’s legions. If according to deeds, it should have been Edric’s Ardita, whose valor had been the spine of this campaign.
Yet to exclude Asag’s Aracinea, the heroes of the First Coalition War, would have been a deliberate insult.
And so, compromise was reached. The five hundred allotted places became four hundred and fifty, for fifty were immediately granted to the Crown Hounds. The remainder was divided equally between the three legions. Straws were drawn, soldiers vying for the chance to march at their prince’s side into Sharjaan, while their comrades remained behind to garrison the hard-won lands of Oizen.
Yet even that spectacle was not the true jewel of Alpheo’s entrance.
For among his escort rode another, cloaked in quiet secrecy until the last possible moment: Mesha, the Imperator of Romelia himself. The boy-emperor, still in his fifteenth summer, quietly made his appearance.
Word of this “honored surprise” had reached Sharjaan scarcely a day before Mesha’s advance guard approached the city gates.
As it was an information that was deliberately kept hidden by Alpheo.
The prince had scrambled to arrange a proper welcoming party fit for an emperor, most certainly feeling the implications of what his presence meant.
Alpheo rode at the boy’s side, the reins held loose in his gloved hands, posture easy yet regal.
Above them the banner of Romelia unfurled, borne by one of the clibanarii at the head of the column. The black eagle spread across the purple field, its wings stretched as if to cast a shadow over the very land it had once failed to claim.
Soldiers on the roadside, even minor lords in Sharjaan’s retinue, could not help but watch with a blend of awe and unease.
The emperor was really here.
The approach to Scidna was lined with dust, the road broad enough for the two princes to ride abreast with their escorts fanning behind them. The clibanarii came first, hooves striking the earth like a drumbeat, their bronze helmets and purple plumes shimmering beneath the late sun. Behind them rolled the chosen files of Yarzat’s three legions, shields bright, javelin upright, banners of black and white snapping in the warm breeze.
And at the end of the road, upon a low rise before the city gates, the welcoming party awaited.
Prince Shaza of Sharjaan stood in the forefront, draped in silks too heavy for the still summer heat of early autumn, a thin smile plastered across his round face. Around him clustered his courtiers and captains, their armor lacquered and plumed, their own banners lifted in uneasy defiance against the eagle flying toward them.
As Alpheo and Mesha drew nearer, the musicians struck a fanfare, horns and drums echoing across the plain. The boy-emperor sat tall in his saddle, perhaps too tall to compensate for his height . Alpheo stole a glance at him, the corner of his mouth quirking ever so slightly, finding the hard-trying boy to be now his number one ally….how the world moved.
Dust rose around them as the cavalcade slowed, the banners of Romelia and Yarzat rippling side by side.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” Shaza began, bending low on his horse to the young Emperor before giving a more tempered nod toward the Fox.
“Your Grace, I thank you for honoring Sharjaan with such noble’s venture, and for hosting me and the prince of Yarzat. It is a privilege to make your acquaintance.”
“Your Majesty, the honor is ours entirely,” Shaza continued, raising his head with a smile that was courtly. He allowed a heartbeat of silence, then spoke again.
“When we received news of Your Majesty’s approach, it was to us both a surprise and a delight. Scidna has been readied to host princes and envoys, yet to welcome the son of Romelia himself… that is an honor beyond boundary. May I ask, what purpose draws such august presence to our humble table?”
The words were laced with honey, but the implication was plain enough: You were not expected here, what business brings you?
Mesha, who had already been prepared by Doria, betrayed no hesitation. He straightened proudly in his saddle, letting the eagle standard behind him catch the light of the sun as though it answered for him.
“It is but the noblest of ends that brings me, Prince of Sharjaan: peace.” His voice was clear, resonant, as though he were speaking not to Shaza alone but to the entire land. “I praise you and the princes of the south for conceiving so august a council, and I praise your ambition for setting yourselves to it. When I was informed of your undertaking, and received invitation from one who most earnestly desires to see this war ended, how could the eagle not answer? Should the hope of peace be called, then Romelia must answer its summons.”
He let that linger, before adding, with the faintest shade of rebuke hidden in velvet:”Though I confess, I was perplexed at not having been notified sooner. It would seem, then, that His Grace Alpheo alone was thoughtful enough to extend the invitation to us.”
The prince’s expression remained serene, yet inside he felt his stomach tighten. The Emperor of Romelia, on Yarzat’s side? The thought made the weight of this gathering shift dramatically. ù
Things may have not been as easy as he had thought.
“Your Majesty does me too much credit. I am but a humble host, myself an invitee of this council. If some fault in communication has led to confusion, I beg you to overlook it. May such a troubling misunderstanding be washed away tonight, when I host you both at my table. There, with food and wine, we may begin this council in harmony.”
A graceful offer, but also a probe to see how far in he was in Alpheo’s camp
But Mesha did not take the bait.
“I thank you, Prince of Sharjaan, but I must decline. The road has left me weary, and a headache troubles me. I would seek rest this evening. Yet I am certain His Grace of Yarzat will prove an enlightening companion at your table, and I trust his wisdom shall well honor the eagle’s presence.
For I am sure that you two will have much to speak about.”