Well, oh boy, oh boy… here we go, Alpheo thought as the prince's gaze darkened, a murderous gleam flickering in his eyes as perhapse he finally decided on his approach.
Whispers from the assembled nobles died out, leaving only the taut silence of expectation of what would be happening next.
Alpheo could feel the heat of that anger bearing down on him, but beneath the storm, he saw the meaninglessness of it . For all his authority, he could not risk striking at his own forces. To undermine their captain, or worse, to punish him, would risk shattering the campaign before it began.
At worst, Alpheo mused with a flicker of humor, I'll be slapped on the wrist for this. And perhaps even that will sting more in words than in deeds.
The prince's voice finally broke the silence, much to Alpheo's glee, as his knees were growing tired of waiting.
"When you ransomed the men… were you aware that what you had done was nothing short of sabotaging us?"
Alpheo allowed the accusation to hang for a breath before answering, his tone calm and respectful on the surface.
"I would not be so reckless as to ransom them and send them back to the field fully armed, Your Grace. Before they were released, all their weapons, armor, and even the only horse they had were seized and redistributed among my men. They returned to their masters with nothing but their shame and the clothes on their backs."
Nobles exchanged glances, some begrudgingly impressed, others visibly appalled at the audacity. Alpheo pressed forward uncaring about their stares. This was to be, after all, only a passing campaign, as by the end of it, he would be out.
And really, he did not care to foster warm relations with passing clients.
"During the siege, I studied their host closely. Most of their soldiers were poorly supplied, barely armored, wielding rusted steel."Though the same thought could be said for their army: "It told me one thing: the prince of Oizen does not have the means to rearm them swiftly. By ransoming them, I deprived him of his best-trained fighters for weeks. And when they do return, it will probably be too late, or they'll be little more than empty hands in a battlefield of iron."
He spread his hands slightly, almost casually.
"In the meantime, their belonging has been turned into new swords and new armor under my company.
My men are better equipped, stronger, readier than they were before. Every ransom I extracted has made your army stronger as well, Your Grace. Their loss has been our gain."
For a moment, the only sound was the faint snap of the tent's fabric in the wind outside. The prince's face remained carved from stone, but in his eyes, Alpheo glimpsed irritation.
He probably really wanted those prisoners, but well, shit happened, and this time he was to get the worst of the deal.
The nobles shifted uneasily. Some nodded at the mercenary captain's logic; others sneered, unwilling to admit that his reasoning was sound. Shahab's lips pressed into a thin line, Robert's eyes narrowed, and Fahil's nervous glance flicked back and forth like a man awaiting an executioner's axe.
At last, the prince spoke
"What has been done cannot be undone," he said, each word slow and deliberate, deciding in the end to just bite the bullet. He paused, searching for the shape of punishment that would not weaken his own authority. "But make no mistake, you went behind my back. You acted as though the captives were yours alone to barter." His tone sharpened "The only way you can repay such a debt is with blood. You and your soldiers shall take the front line in the coming battle. There, we will see if your claims of their strength are truth or mere mercenary boasting."
A hush fell over the tent.
That was basically no punishment at all...it was clear for the prince, for Alpheo, and for all the nobles in there.
After all, weren't they to be put on the front line from the very beginning?
Still, Alpheo bowed deeply, his composure unbroken but demeanor apologetic, as if he had just been whipped for his mistakes.
"As you command, Your Grace. My men and I will meet the enemy head-on, and we shall prove our worth in blood and steel. You will see soon enough that my boasting is not without merit."
When he straightened, his eyes met the prince's for the briefest of moments, a flicker of silent understanding, which was the best outcome out of the situation. Then he turned and strode from the tent, his steps firm and unhurried.
The whispers rose behind him like the hiss of a disturbed nest. "Arrogant cur… reckless… axpendable…" The nobles' voices tangled , their judgment following him out into the blazing sun of the camp.
And he, ever the mercenary, permitted himself a faint smile. The game was dangerous, yes, but so far, he was winning.
As Alpheo was out of the tent, Robert's eyes followed him like a predator tracking its prey. His jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth ached, and for one dangerous heartbeat, he very nearly lunged forward to throttle the insolent mercenary then and there.
The boy's calm stride, the quiet confidence in his bearing, it was salt in a wound that pride would not let heal.
But Robert mastered himself, forcing his hands to remain at his sides. He leaned closer to the prince, voice dropping to a venomous whisper.
"Was it wise, Your Grace? He grows arrogant—far too arrogant. Men like him do not bend; they should only break, else they grow to be too high for their station. "
Arkawatt exhaled heavily, waiting for the nobles to leave the tent before dragging a hand across his brow as if wiping away not just sweat
"We will soon be battling the bastard of Oizen, Robert. I need him now. You saw his men, they are no common swords for hire. They are disciplined, blooded, and hungry, they are going to probably be our best warriors.
And he is right: they have skill, gods; they basically halved the enemy's elite in one week. We need them....to strike at him now, to provoke him, would be madness.
Let him enjoy his pride for the moment. As long as they fight as well as they displayed before our arrival, he can be as arrogant as he wishes."
Despite the prince's words, Robert's eyes still burned , but probably realised his liege was right, he bowed his head slightly, retreating into silence.
Even so, the doubt remained heavy in the air, lingering like smoke after a fire.
And in some quiet, unguarded corner of the prince's own mind, Arkawatt wondered if he was not sowing the seeds of his own ruin.
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As soon as they were outside , Alpheo's lips curved in the faintest smile. "Everything went just as we expected," he murmured.
A collective breath escaped his men, their shoulders easing, their hands loosening from the hilts of blades. The danger, for now, had passed.
Egil broke the silence first, his smirk returning as he leaned against a post, arms crossed."Damn that was harsh....Still, I don't care how much the prince fumes. He can curse, spit, and rage all he likes, he still can't afford to lose us. And he damn well better pay us what we're worth."
Alpheo chuckled softly, the weariness in his eyes tempered away by the spark of amusement. Egil's cynicism was often brash, but it grounded them all in truth.
"True enough," he agreed. "The prince commands banners and nobles, but we're the edge of his blade. Without us, his cause bleeds dry. He knows it. We know it. That's why he tolerates us."
Jarza folded his arms, his tone measured and cautious.
"Maybe.But that won't last forever. They think you overstep,Alph. They'll probably be sharpening their daggers in the dark, waiting for the first chance to strike back as soon as we are no longer useful."
Alpheo gave him a sideways glance, his smile thin but unshaken."I doubt it; even if he may win the battle, it will only be a short reprieve until next summer. If they betray us, no one will come to fight on their side of the banner ever again. He would basically be calling for his own death.
Their whispers can't kill us, and their pride won't win their wars. When the time comes, we'll already be gone, pockets full and hands washed of their politics. Until then, they'll endure us because they have no choice."
At that Jarza nodded reluctantly, but his eyes lingered on the prince's tent, troubled.
Egil, meanwhile, grinned wide."Then I say we drink to that. A full belly, a heavy purse, and nobles gnashing their teeth behind our backs, it's all a man could ask for."
Alpheo's smile widened. "You read my mind, Egil."
With that the men began to disperse, laughter and light banter cutting through the fading tension. Some headed for the taverns, already dreaming of ale and women; others drifted toward the market of the city to spend their coin. A few simply sought the comfort of quiet places to rest their heads.
Asag meanwhile lingered by Alpheo's side, his brow furrowed in thought. "And what about you? What will you be doing while we drink away the prince's glare?"
Alpheo's smile dimmed a fraction, his voice carrying the weight of fatigue. "Sleep. Gods know I've had little of it lately. Tomorrow we march, and I'll need every scrap of strength I can find."
With that, Asag nodded, though he appeared a bit reluctant in departing from Alpheo.
Still with him, the small brotherhood dissolved into the greater chaos of the camp.
For a moment, Alpheo stood alone, gazing back at the great tent looming behind him. He could almost feel the nobles' glares still burning holes through the canvas, could hear the murmurs of their schemes. He drew in a slow breath, squared his shoulders, and turned away.
It was tiring to put up a confident face when he himself did not know what the future had in his pocket for him.
But for tonight, they would drink and laugh and rest. But tomorrow, the battlefield awaited.