At the mont Sorza was a man made of more tremors than flesh.
He moved through the encampnt like a wounded animal, seething with a rage that was rapidly curdling into a cold, paralyzing terror.
He was scared, gods above if he were.
Squires and n-at-arms scrambled to clear his path, ducking away from him.
Overhead, the noble-ring of the camp was a ghost forest of swaying silk. Tents of pristine white and pavillions painted with the proud heraldry of the Southern Great Houses groaned against the wind.
The sky above was the color of a fresh bruise, a heavy, slate-grey that promised naught but rain before the sun could even think of setting. It was the sa grey as the stones of the Bastion, that accursed pile of rock that had broken his spirit and his army in equal asure.
It was cold, eerily so. But it was still but the soft kiss of autumn. When winter was to co it would fuck them hard.
The South may not be known for its snows, but Sorza felt in his very marrow that the Gods, in their infinite spite, would see fit to bring a blizzard that hadn’t been witnessed in decades. For no other reason than to spite him once again.
He cast a look at the siege lines, and for a mont, his breath caught in a choked, bitter sound that might have been a laugh if his throat weren’t so tight. Siege. The word was a mockery. What siege remained? With the supply lines severed, the n on the verge of starvation, and the morale of his lords guttering like a candle in a gale?
He arrived at the center of the camp, before the towering green-and-grey pavilion of the Habadian Prince. Guards in polished plate barred his entrance, their lances crossing with a sharp, tallic clink. A few barked words from Sorza, answered by a muffled command from within, and the way was cleared.
Sorza tore through the silk.
Inside, the air was warm and slled cloyingly of rose water, a beautiful feminine sweetness that should have been in so high-level brothel than amidst the stench of horse dung and damp wool that defined the rest of the camp.
He found the prince of Habadia at a copper basin ticulously washing his hands. White bubbles of Yarzat soap, a luxury Sorza loathed to admit was superior to anything they produced, oozed between the Habadian’s fingers, clinging to his skin like pale, frothy lace.
There had been whispers of the sweating sickness among the common ranks, contained only by the burning the infected and rationing soap to the guards. It had played the most part on that. The fact they were using Yarzat’s tools o safeguard themselves was already humiliating enough.
Washing my life away no doubt, Sorza thought, watching the bubbles slide down Nibadur’s wrists.
The Habadian’s hands would be clean by the end of this morning. Sorza’s, by contrast, would soon be stained a permanent, crimson red with his own blood . He had tethered his fate to this man, and now he was watching the knot unravel in a basin of scented water.
"Your Grace," Nibadur greeted him at last, ticulously drying his fingers with a towel of green silk.
Perhaps it was the hysteria clawing at Sorza’s mind, but the Habadian’s voice sounded chilled, stripped of the fraternal warmth that had fueled their grand alliance only weeks ago.
No,No,No it is that should be wrought with you!
"What is this I am hearing? It’s a lie, isn’t it? A foul rumor whispered by Yarzat spies to rot our spirits?"
Nibadur sighed. "I gather you are speaking of the decision to break camp? The order for my host and my brother’s to begin the march ho?"
"It is a lie. Tell it’s a lie! It was a blunder to let the Kakunian cowards slip away, but you won’t do this to . You can’t do this to . It’s a joke, right? A ruse?"
"I fear not." Nibadur tossed the silk towel aside. Sorza watched it fall, and with it, every hope he had for this campaign and for his life. "This campaign has proven to be a spectacular failure. We have dashed ourselves against those grey stones until we are nothing but a mory of an army. We have hills of rotting bodies as the only proof of our labor."
The Habadian’s blue eyes settled on him, cold and clinical. "The n are dispirited. They are starving. We have but a few weeks of supplies left, barely enough to sustain the march back to our own borders. I apologize for the turn of events, truly, but we have tried everything. Surely even a man of your... vision must admit it was not enough."
No, no, no. The word hamred in Sorza’s skull like a funeral bell.It can’t be. It can’t be. It can’t be.
"Why now? We still have ti! We have the towers now, the recruits from Pardum! Why would you call for a retreat now, you golden-haired coward!" He wanted to fall to his knees and beg, to clutch at Nibadur’s polished greaves, but the look in the other man’s eyes stopped him cold.
"Ti? Ti for what? To fail again?"
"No! You weren’t of this mind three days ago! You were still willing to...’’ It all clocked at once ’’you t him’’ He said eyes wide as if he just discovered the truth of the world ’’Didn’t you?" Sorza’s voice rose to a shrill, hysterical pitch. "That morning, you don’t think my scouts saw your retinue leaving? You think a fucking fool? You t with that peasant Fox! You conspired with him! You treacherous, perfidious... snake!"
Sorza’s scream was loud enough to pierce the silk walls and reach the ears of every sentry in the noble-ring. He didn’t care. The world was ending; let them hear the screams and choke on them.
"I will act as if I have not heard such accusations," Nibadur said, his voice dropping an octave. His eyes weren’t just cold anymore; they were winter ice. "I am sure you are... stressed. The strain of the siege has clearly rattled your humors."
"What has he offered you, you bastard? My crown? His daughter for your base-born son? What is the price you asked?"
Nibadur sighed again.No doubt irked he should have to explain himself "If you must know, Alpheo has captured Ser Latio in an ambush. The boy was taken at the Zauern."
"The bastard of Kakunia?"
"Aye, if you must say it so...vulgarly. If I quit Yarzat, the boy is freed and returned to his father. If I do not, the Fox will saw off his head and send it in a box of salt to Kakunia.
His words, not mine." Nibadur leaned in, his shadow looming over the smaller man. "Unless I wish to see Kakunia fall to that lunatic relao who is allied with Yarzat, compromises must be made. In this case, I retreat from this land, and Alpheo releases the key to the Kakunian throne."
Sorza felt a cold void open in his chest. In the light of all, Alpheo was technically the one losing a prize. But in the reality of the dirt and the blood, Nibadur and Alpheo were shaking hands over a deal that left Sorza naked in the cold. They were both fucking him over, and they were doing it with a smile.
Sorza’s gaze dropped to the green floor of the pavilion, his head tilting at a slack angle.
He had lost. Everything. The crowns, the silver, the very dirt of Oizen, it was all dissolving into the rose-scented air of this tent.This beautiful air, this sll....
Seeing the collapse, a flicker of sothing resembling pity, or perhaps just the distaste one feels for a dying pack animal, brushed across Nibadur’s blue eyes.
"I am truly sorry it has co to this" the Habadian said, his voice smoothing over in a soothing tone. "If it is worth anything to you, I am choosing Kakunia only because this siege has already proven a hollow grave. If the walls had cracked, I would have gone all the way to the capital with you. I give you my word, I’ll make sure to co to your aid next—"
"NO! NO! NO!"
The scream ripped out of Sorza’s throat, spraying flecks of spit onto the pristine green silk of Nibadur’s sleeves.
His breath began to hitch.
"You... you don’t get to do this! You don’t get to stand there slling of flowers and tell you’re sorry!" Sorza’s hands flew up and down, clasping open and closed. "You are conspiring with that cunt in Yarzat! ’’He thrusted a finger to the man’s chest ’’You don’t get to fuck in the arse and then look in the eye and say, ’Oh, we both have a dick in our arse, don’t we?’ We don’t! It’s mine! It’s only mine!"
He stepped forward, his face a mottled and bruised red.
"You don’t get to play the good guy! You... you snake! You soulless, golden-haired snake! You conspired with that fucking peasant! That dog! That low-born, dirt-eating, sheep-fucking bitch! You traded my life for a bastard boy! You traded Oizen for a salt-box! You... you... THAT... THAT..."
Sorza’s voice broke into a high-pitched wheeze. His eyes bulged, the whites shot through with sudden, angry red vessels. He reached up, his fingers bunching into claws as he clutched at the silk over his heart, his chest heaving as if he were trying to swallow the very air of the room.
"You... traitor..." he stamred, his knees buckling. "You... p-perfidious..."
His breath hitched one final ti, and then the world suddendly overturned in front of his very eyes.
One heartbeat later, the prince of Oizen had collapsed to the very ground he had seeked for so long to conquer.
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