Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king
Chapter 590: Life across the sea(2)

Chapter 590: Life across the sea(2)

They crossed the beaten track between the wagons, past piles of crates and bundles wrapped in heavy cloth, until they came to a large tent set apart from the clamor of the dockside camp.

The inside was simple but inviting. A small table sat in the center, weighed down with a spread of food: a wedge of pale cheese, a stack of crusty bread still warm enough to scent the air, a platter of roasted meat glistening with fat, and a pitcher of dark, rich wine sweating in the coastal heat.

Varaku, without so much as a grunt of thanks, seated himself on the thick carpet beside the table, his bulk making the wooden supports of the tent seem to shudder. He tore into the food without ceremony, snapping a chunk of bread in half and shoveling it into his mouth before moving onto the meat, devouring it in great, tearing bites.

Across from him, Sevarim sat more delicately, legs crossed in a careful pose, his smile frozen awkwardly in place as he watched the giant of a man consume half the spread in the span of a few heartbeats.

When at last Varaku swallowed the final morsel, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like a storm passing over a hill, he leaned back slightly, fixing Sevarim with a gaze that could have cracked stone.

“Well,” he said, his voice slow and rough, “start.”

Sevarim let out a breathless chuckle, eager now that the chief’s hunger had been sated. He straightened his tunic, smoothed his hair, and slid effortlessly into the polished cadence of diplomacy, the translator murmuring along in a hasty whisper.

“Of course, great chief,” Sevarim said, voice all honey and bright promise. “As you may have noticed, a great bounty has come ashore with us today — chests heavy with goods, weapons of fine steel, cloth from across the seas, salt as pure as snow… treasures worthy of your strength and your people’s loyalty.”

He spread his hands wide, as if offering the whole ocean itself.

“And, if it pleases you, all of it may go into the hands of your tribe… as soon as you wish.”

His smile was eager now, but there was a tension beneath it — the gleam of a man desperate for the answer to be yes.

Varaku said nothing at first, simply reaching for the pitcher and pouring himself a goblet of wine with a hand the size of a bear’s paw, the rich liquid sloshing dangerously close to the brim.

He drank, his sharp eyes never leaving Sevarim’s hopeful face.

The chief had survived too many winters to think that anything offered so sweetly came without a price.

He set the goblet down with a dull thud, the heavy silver nearly denting the small table. He leaned forward slightly, the shadows cast by the tent’s canvas deepening the creases on his weathered face.

“No more of my people,” he said bluntly, the words thick with the edge of iron.

Across from him, Sevarim smiled with the practiced ease of a man who had rehearsed every outcome in his head a dozen times before stepping into the room. He laced his fingers together atop the table, nodding as if he had expected the chief’s first blow.

“There is no need,” Sevarim said smoothly. “You misunderstand, great chief. This is not like before. This time, no men must be given away, no sons or brothers “He paused, letting the translator whisper the words out before continuing, his smile tightening at the corners ”of yours”.

“This — if you so wish — can be considered a loan.”

The translator’s thick brows drew together. “A loan?” he repeated, the foreign word falling awkwardly from his mouth like a stone from a cliff.

Sevarim chuckled gently, patient as a schoolmaster before a stubborn student.”A loan,” he explained, tapping the air with one finger as if illustrating the idea, “means that you will take the goods now — the weapons, the armors, the tools, everything we brought — without paying anything today. You equip your warriors, you march to your enemies, you conquer.”

The translator struggled to keep pace as Sevarim’s voice quickened, more lively now as he painted the picture.

“And once the war is won,” Sevarim continued, “you will have prisoners — strong men, women, youths captured from the Duskwindai.” He smiled a little wider, teeth flashing. “They will pay the price. You sell them back to us, and the account will be settled. Simple. No burden on your own blood.”

For a moment, the only sound was the distant crash of the sea against the shore.

Varaku picked up his goblet again, his large hand swallowing it whole, and took a slow, deliberate drink, his eyes never leaving Sevarim.

“Tell me,” he rumbled, voice low and steady, “why is your prince giving such armaments now?”

Sevarim, caught mid-reach for his own cup, blinked rapidly — as if those simple words had been a slap.”What?” he said, a little too quickly.

Varaku did not blink. His voice sharpened like a blade honed against stone.”You heard me.”He tapped one thick finger against the table.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“You knew of our march for months. Yet the ships come only now, when our warriors are set to move. Why now, foreigner? Why now?”

A small muscle twitched in Sevarim’s cheek.For the briefest moment, the envoy considered spinning some polite tale — but then he saw something in Varaku’s eyes, something heavy and immovable like a mountain cliff ready to fall.

Perhaps, he thought bitterly, this barbarian wasn’t as thick-headed as Aron had made him out to be.

Sevarim coughed lightly into his fist, smoothing his features into something between apology and diplomacy.”Well…” he said with a thin smile, “it so happens that his grace, the Prince, has just come victorious from a war — three months of hard-fought battles.”He spread his hands theatrically, as if trying to paint the image in the air.”He found himself, shall we say, blessed by the gods of fortune — with more armor, more weapons, and more gear than he knows what to do with. Enough to fill his warehouses until the walls burst.”

Sevarim chuckled lightly, but Varaku’s face remained carved from stone.

“So,” Sevarim went on, “he thought it wiser, far wiser, to put these goods to use… with a friend… rather than let them gather dust in some dark storeroom.”He flashed another strained smile, as if expecting the chieftain to laugh or nod appreciatively.

But no smile came from Varaku.

Instead, a hot flicker of irritation stirred within him — the same kind of irritation he felt when a young warrior stumbled over his shield during drills. Salt. Iron. Armor. Things his people had bled and hungered for, treated by these outsiders as mere clutter clogging up their storerooms.

Yet the storm inside him passed quickly, giving way to a colder, more focused thought.

The war, Sevarim had said. The one fought these last three months.

Varaku’s mind shifted.

He set down his cup again and spoke, voice quieter, but somehow even heavier.”My son,” he said.He leaned in, his black eyes narrowing.”How fares my son?I had not known there had been a war”

Sevarim blinked again, caught off-guard by the sudden change of direction. He shifted in his seat, trying to recall what scraps of information he had been given about the young wolf of the Voghondai.

He cleared his throat and spoke with a touch of ceremony, his voice slipping into a practiced reverence.

“You may be proud to know, Chieftain,” he said, “that your son has distinguished himself splendidly. Twice he led his warriors into battle, and twice he brought them back victorious — and not in some minor skirmishes either, but under the very command of His Grace, the Prince himself.”

He paused, watching Varaku’s stony face for a reaction. Finding none, he pressed onward.

“For his deeds, your son, Sir Torghan —” Sevarim emphasized the title with a slight bow of his head, “— was awarded a knighthood. A rare honor for one not born of the Yarzatian blood, I assure you.”

He allowed himself a smile, seeing the slightest narrowing of Varaku’s eyes — a sure sign that he was listening very, very carefully.

“And that is not all. Your daughter too has been honored. She is to be wed to Lord Jarza, a favored retainer of the Prince — a man of arms, trusted, respected, and with lands of his own. Truly, your house has made itself strong across the sea.”

For a long moment, Varaku said nothing.

He simply sat there, massive hands wrapped around his cup, eyes half-lidded in thought. Then, low and deep from within his chest, there came a hum — like the rumble of distant thunder rolling through a mountain valley.

“Hmm.”

It was not a sound of joy, nor one of anger. It was a sound of acceptance, tempered by caution. For all the sharp bitterness that still lingered in his gut — bitterness at how easily these southerners tossed gold and steel about , and yet a bit of happiness that at least his blood, his flesh, was thriving under this new sun.

At least his people were faring well.

He brought the cup once more to his lips and drank, his black eyes still fixed on Sevarim, who now sat a little straighter, a little more confident, sensing the tide of the meeting shifting his way.

“I see no reason to refuse such an endeavor,” he then said, voice deep and certain. “My warriors will need every sword, every spear, every scrap of steel we can get our hands on. Better our men wear it than your warehouses rot with it.”

He reached forward and tore a hunk of bread, chewing thoughtfully before continuing, “As for the price… we shall decide after we take back the hills. Victors set the terms.”

Across the table, Sevarim clapped his hands together with a loud, sharp sound, the golden rings on his fingers flashing in the lamplight.

“Wonderful! Splendid!” he said, his voice syrupy with diplomatic delight. “It brings great joy to my heart to see such swift understanding between allies.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows casually on the table, his tone dropping just a bit lower, conspiratorial almost.

“One thing to make clear, my lord Varaku,” he said, “the weapons, the armors, these are loans, as discussed. However,” he lifted a finger as if presenting some treasure, “the cider, the salts, the oils — all that was brought on the ships — those are gifts. From the generosity of His Grace, the Prince of Yarzat.”

Varaku gave a short grunt of approval “Then thank your prince for me,” he said, voice tinged with a tone that might have been sarcasm or genuine — it was hard to tell with men like Varaku.

Sevarim nodded, smiling thinly as if he hadn’t caught the slight — or was too polite to point it out. He straightened the folds of his fine tunic, clearing his throat as he prepared himself.

“There is,” he said, voice smooth, “one last thing we must discuss.”

Varaku tilted his head slightly, his dark, unreadable eyes boring into the diplomat with the patience of a wolf staring down a lamb.

“And what is that?” he asked, his voice a slow rumble, thick with suspicion.

The tent seemed to grow a little quieter, the distant sounds of the camp — shouting sailors, clinking chains, creaking wood — dimming as the two men stared across the table, a breath away from the next round of negotiations.

Sevarim cleared his throat, his hands smoothing the already impeccable sleeves of his tunic. “As I noted earlier, Lord Varaku,” he began, his tone careful and polished, “His Grace holds great interest in the outcome of your upcoming campaign. While it is true that he cannot send a strong force across the sea— he wishes to lend as much help as he can.”

Varaku said nothing, his face unreadable as stone.

Sevarim pressed forward, “Therefore, he offers to reinforce your army with the troops currently residing in this land.”

Varaku’s eyes narrowed. His mind turned over the idea, weighing its heft like a blade in his hand. It did not sit well with him — outsiders, strangers to their hills and their grudges, marching among his warriors. It would not only be an insult to their pride but a seed of future division. The old men around the fire would whisper that they had not retaken their land by their own hand but by leaning on the strength of the sea-kings. No, it would not do.

“My warriors,” Varaku said, voice cold as mountain winds, “have no need for sea-people to fight their wars. We have our own blades, our own grudges. And we do not share them lightly.”

Sevarim blinked, but smiled still, as if brushing off the refusal like a leaf off his shoulder. “I understand completely,” he said smoothly, tilting his head. “In that case, my lord, may I propose a… lesser measure? Perhaps you would allow an advisor to march with you? A simple observer — one whose experience could, if you find it fit, offer wisdom at a crucial moment.”

Varaku leaned back, the wooden chair groaning under his bulk. He snorted.

“Does your prince think we are bound to fail unless one of his cronies holds our hands?” Varaku rumbled, his glare sharp as a drawn knife.

Sevarim immediately raised both hands in a placating gesture, his words coming quickly. “No, no, Great Chieftain! Nothing of the sort! His Grace merely hopes it may serve as a token of our alliance — a way to deepen cooperation, to ensure success. The captain of the garrison is no mere court fool. He has fought in many wars, partecipated in sieges and counter-sieges. You may find his advice, at times, fruitful to lend an ear to. Or not, should you prefer.”

Varaku drummed his thick fingers against the table, considering. His instincts told him to throw the idea back in Sevarim’s face, to send the outsider packing. But another thought, colder and sharper, whispered caution in his ear: this prince’s favor was not easily gained, and the river of gifts might dry up with one careless insult. Pride was a fine thing, but armor and iron fed a tribe longer than wounded feelings.

After a long silence, Varaku grunted, a sound of reluctant acceptance.

“Very well,” he said. “He may march with us. But he keeps his mouth shut unless spoken to. He oversteps, and I will throw him and his ten bodyguards that he will be allowed in with, into the rivers to feed the fish.”

Sevarim gave a relieved, practiced laugh, bowing his head. “Of course, great Chieftain. Your terms are understood.”

Varaku picked up his cup again, draining the last of the wine. The taste was sweet, but the bitterness lingered in the back of his throat. Everything came at a price, even friendship.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.