Absolute Sovereignty
Chapter 44: Diplomacy

Chapter 44: Diplomacy

Seven days. Seven days since the Crimson Hand had knelt before him, their defiance broken, their loyalty sworn.

Seven days since the clearing outside Silverstream had run red with the blood of bandits and the whispers of the fallen.

Seven days since the Voidwell’s grip had tightened, its hands wrapping around his soul, its whispers echoing in his mind, a constant reminder of the power he wielded and the price he was paying.

The transformation of the Crimson Hand had been swift and brutal.

Under Red’s iron fist, the once-lawless band of criminals had been molded into a semblance of a disciplined fighting force.

Their ragged attire had been replaced with the dark grey uniforms of the Caldrisian army, their mismatched weapons exchanged for standardized swords and spears. They still carried the air of hardened criminals, the scars of their past etched on their faces, but their eyes now held a flicker of something new: purpose. Fear. Respect.

The Crimson Hand, formerly a symbol of chaos and banditry, was now a part of the prince’s growing army, a tool to be wielded against Xarnis.

Red, his loyalty sealed by blood covenant and the unbreakable bond of soul slavery, had embraced his new role with a chilling efficiency.

He had been made General of the new Caldrisian army, his tactical expertise and ruthless pragmatism proving invaluable in organizing and training the influx of Crimson Hand recruits.

The whispers called him traitor, they told him that what he had done was akin to a man serving his father’s killer, but Red paid no heed. He was playing a different game, a higher stake game with his own life at risk.

And so he remained steadfast in his loyalty to the prince, his fate now intertwined with Caldris’s survival.

They sat together in the war room of Vernal Keep, the once-neglected chamber now bustling with activity.

Maps, marked with possible troop movements and strategic locations, were spread across the large oak table. As usual it smelled of ink and parchment, the low murmur of voices, the quiet scratch of quill pens.

Commander Lyra stood beside Kaelen, her presence a silent, watchful force, her eyes glowing with the eerie light of the Voidwell. Garron, his usual jovial nature replaced by a focused intensity, leaned over the table, studying the maps with a critical eye.

"Twenty days," Kaelen said, breaking the silence.

His voice, once laced with a sardonic edge, was now flat and emotionless, a tool for command, for manipulation. It seemed that even his ability to be amused had faded, perhaps from the corruption of his powers.

His tone, a subtle reminder to those present of the limited time they now had left.

"Twenty days until Xarnis marches on our borders." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle upon those present, the limited time a heavy chain on them all.

"And although we’ve made... significant progress," he continued, his gaze sweeping across the faces of his commanders, "we are still far from prepared."

He gestured towards the maps spread across the table.

"The integration of the Crimson Hand has increased our numbers considerably and for that we are most thankful to the new General Red for his services. We now have nearly a thousand men under our command," he said, his voice laced with a hint of grim satisfaction.

"But as we’ve seen... numbers alone are not enough." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "We need strength. True strength. The strength to not only survive, but to conquer." He had seen this before.

The mistakes made. The sacrifices made by others. And with this knowledge now came the very need for more power, so that what had befallen his kingdom, the fires that burned everything he held dear, and the shadows that consumed the land, would never be again.

Commander Lyra spoke, her voice cool and precise.

"Perhaps... a deal with Velarion, Your Highness?" she suggested. "With enough alchemical enchantments, we could significantly enhance the fighting capabilities of our... new recruits. Their brute force combined with Velarion’s magic, at the very least would make them a true force to be reckoned with, even against those warriors of Xarnis.

It would give our soldiers a considerable advantage against Xarnis’s forces. They’ll be able to tank far more than they can and would certainly become more than a small problem for their soldiers." Her eyes met Kaelen’s, a silent question passing between them.

Garron snorted. "I doubt the Velarion queen would be interested in doing business with you, Kael," he said, his voice laced with skepticism. "Not after... well, you know..."

He gestured vaguely towards the empty air, and kaelen could the flashes of Selene’s fallin head, a grim reminder of the prince’s ruthlessness. "She’s not exactly fond of you at the moment."

He had made an enemy of Lysandra and of the entire kingdom. He had sent her closest friend to her death. And for what? For this power, for this chance at survival, he had sacrificed others.

But had he truly made a mistake, or was this something that had to happen regardless? The whispers were quick to answer, telling him again and again that what he was doing was the most correct choice, and there was no need for remorse.

But Lysa would never forgive him. Never forget. He wondered at how she was doing. If she was ready to meet him in battle, if she would gladly put an end to his life. The thought made him feel cold, the whispers urging him forward, telling him to embrace the hatred, to revel in the darkness that surrounded him.

It seemed like every enemy was his fuel to continue.

"We can put aside our... differences, I’m sure," Kaelen said, his voice smooth and even, masking the turmoil within him.

"For mutual benefit, or perhaps for the survival of both our kingdoms. Perhaps now, Lysandra understands that our fate is her fate as well. The Emperor’s actions have not been discreet. And if I can have an understanding of his plots. Then it is not a stretch to say Lysandra does as well. I must test her next move." He steepled his fingers, his gaze distant, his mind already formulating a plan. He needed Velarion’s enchantments. And he would get them, one way or another. Even now.

"Send word to Velarion," he instructed, his voice regaining its sharp edge. "Inform Queen Lysandra that I request an audience."