Chapter 774: The city on the lake(3)

A small pavilion had been raised on the open ground between the half-built camp and the city walls.

The first rider had carried Lord Avar’s request for a parley, a request Alpheo had readily accepted. If the matter could be resolved without bloodshed, so much the better; it would free precious time for the next stage of his plan to bind his new conquests to his homeland.

Currently Alpheo sat in the shade beneath the pavilion’s canvas, a low table before him set with a flask of wine and several cups, it wasn’t anything elaborate but the wine was cold enough to provide some coolness from the air heavy with the dry heat of high summer.

“He’s coming,” Jarza murmured.

Alpheo’s gaze followed his friend’s to a banner emerging from the city gate, the colors snapping in the breeze.

Six riders approached, one riding in the center, the others spaced like a loose guard around him. They drew nearer at a steady pace, dust curling up from their horses’ hooves, until they were scarcely a dozen steps away. There, they dismounted in unison and closed the remaining distance on foot.

Lord Avar was a man in his late forties, his build lean but unsoftened by age, with the straight-backed posture of one accustomed to the saddle.

His hair was thick and black , combed back from a broad, weather-lined brow.

A neatly kept beard framed his square jaw, the dark strands threaded with the same gray. His skin was sun-browned, the sort earned from years spent outdoors rather than in a hall, and his eyes took in every detail of the pavilion without lingering long on any one thing.

Lord Avar stopped and dismounted just short of the pavilion’s edge, his boots pressing into the dry grass with a faint crunch. For a long heartbeat, neither man spoke, each seemed intent on letting the other break the silence first.

Alpheo rose from his seat, stepping forward just enough to meet him in the open space between the table and the riders holding their horses behind.

He gave a small, measured inclination of the head as he decided to be the one to commence.

“My lord,” Alpheo said, his voice carrying easily through the still summer air, “It is an honor to know you.”

Avar’s eyes fixed on him, hard and unblinking. “For me I could have made without this meeting, but I honor necessity, nothing more,” he replied, his tone steady. “You camp at my doorstep with an army. I do not like that. But before blood is shed, I would take the measure of the man who threatens my walls. I would prefer it not come to killing, though the choice may not be mine.”

Alpheo allowed himself the faintest of smiles. “On that point, we agree. I would rather it not start at all. Please, sit. Hear me out. There may be another way yet.”

Avar’s gaze slid to the wine on the table, then back to Alpheo, his eyes weighing the courtesy for any hidden edge. “Indeed there is,” he said. “You could turn your army from my lands. You alone hold the power to prevent bloodshed, and you could do it this very moment if you wished.”

Alpheo poured two cups of wine, pushing one across as Avar took the offered seat. “As you’ve spoken plainly, I will do the same. We both know the prince you served has been defeated, shattered and scattered. Your walls are strong, but no help is coming. I can take this city. I’d rather not waste the men to do it. Yield, and your lands and title remain secure under my protection. Resist, and…” He let the words trail off, the rest hanging unspoken between them like a poised blade.

Avar took the cup but didn’t drink. “And if I yield,” he asked, “you will not string me up as a traitor to the crown I once served?”

“I’m offering you a place in the order to come,” Alpheo replied evenly, “not a grave in the one that’s crumbling.”

Avar’s expression didn’t soften. “Then I have an offer for you. Leave my city untouched, and I will pay you nine thousand silverii. You’ve won great victories already in this campaign, take the easy coin, and don’t test your luck further.I am sure your lords will be more than happy to get the coin without doing anything for it”

“I could take that and far more once the city falls,” Alpheo countered.

“If,” Avar said sharply.

“Not if—when,” Alpheo returned. “Do not gamble away the land your ancestors kept for you. You’ve seen the mettle of the prince you serve, do you truly believe any aid will come?”

Avar said nothing. So Alpheo pressed on. “There is no honor in dying for a man who abandoned his followers at the first sign of danger. Kneel to me. Stand on the victor’s side. A man who knows how to command soldiers has no reason to throw himself into a hopeless cause. There is more to gain at my table than there is dying behind your walls.”

That put Avar into thought. For a long moment, he said nothing, his gaze fixed somewhere past Alpheo’s shoulder.And fr the Prince’s case, for the briefest instant, allowed himself to believe he had won him over.

An hope that came soaring at the lord’s next words

“I have an offer for you, then,” Avar said at last. “I will bend the knee, and serve you faithfully, if you honor me with something in return.”

We are making progress, Alpheo thought, pleasantly, before replying, “I suppose I should hear the request first.”

Avar’s lips twitched “A small boon, in exchange for my oath.Quite an easy one if I can say so.

I would beg your Grace to lay the corpse of my brother’s killer at my feet, and I in exchange will raise my warriors for you. I will pay your taxes. I will call you my liege. All of this for one man’s head”

The words came too easily, and Alpheo did not like that. “May I know who this man is? It would aid me in making my decision.”

“He is behind you as we speak, Your Grace,” Avar said, pointing past Alpheo’s shoulder toward Egil.

Alpheo exhaled slowly through his nose.

Apparently, his quarrel with the crown pales beside this.

“Give me his head,” Avar continued, “and I will bend my knee right now and even kiss your ring.”

Alpheo turned back to him, his voice hardening. “That will not happen. I will not murder one of my own men to purchase your loyalty. What happened to your brother was an unfortunate accident, one of countless in war, where men die and the earth drinks their blood whether we wish it or not. Tell me, my lord, what man should be condemned for defending his home with every means at his disposal?”

“I won’t engage in philosophical comforts,” Avar cut in, his tone flat. “You have my offer. Give me my brother’s killer, and you have my city and my sword. Refuse, and you will have nothing.”

Alpheo’s gaze narrowed. “Then remember these words, my lord, remember them when fire rains down upon your home and your people scream beneath the stone. Remind yourself, in that hour, that you had your way out.”

Avar’s expression didn’t shift at the threat, but his voice came low and even. “Then you, Your Grace, should remember my offer, when your army lies dying at my feet.”

He took a step back, adjusting the sword at his hip. “I will yearn for the day I see one of your banners atop my wall… if only to tear it down myself.”

He turned as if to leave, but paused for one last barb over his shoulder. “Pray that your men fear you more than they fear my gates. The walls of my city, after all, cast a longer shadow than any made by any small man like you.”

Without waiting for a reply, he strode back to his horse, dry grass crunching under his boots.

His retinue fell in behind him, and together they rode toward the looming gates, which began to close the moment they crossed within.

An uneasy silence settled over the pavilion in his wake. Perhaps feeling himself the cause of the sour turn, Egil shifted beside the table and muttered, “What a face on that one, eh? Demanding my head… good thing you didn’t hand it over, Alph.”

“We still have time to correct that oversight,” Jarza said dryly, not even bothering to look at him.

Egil chuckled, though it sounded a shade too forced. “Come now, you’ve a softer heart than that when it comes to your friends.”

Before Jarza could reply, Alpheo cut in. “Jarza.” his tone made it clear he was in no mood for hest.

The man turned toward his prince, meeting the cool focus in his eyes.

“Tell Pontus to hasten the preparations. I want my banner flying over that city, and for him to be on his knees beneath it, watching it rise.

Either that or I want him dead.”

As the words rolled on the air, Egil shifted his weight, his earlier bravado dimming under the lingering tension.

He scratched at the back of his neck, eyes flicking anywhere but at Alpheo. “Look… I didn’t mean for things to sour like that. If my being here’s made matters worse, then, my apologies, Alph.”

Alpheo regarded him for a long moment, his voice calm but edged with finality when he spoke. “At the end of the day, I am your superior. That means every victory you win, I claim as mine, and every mistake you make, I carry as well.

In this case…” His gaze drifted toward the city gates, now sealed shut, irritation passed through his face at the sight of it “…I carry the sour end of it. I knew such a moment would come, take no remorse in any actions you took.

If you have time to waste, use it to look forward instead of back.

Gods only knows how far you will have to go to look at all of them.”