Steam rose from the dish placed at the center of the table, roasted mallard on a bed of lush greenery. A bowl of boiled devilfish, eight-legged octopi found in the shallow waters of the bay, was accompanied by the tang of fresh ground fava beans. Only the best wine, aged over a hundred years was brought out to whet the guest’s appetites. It was a lunch fit for a king, but it also acted as the opener, the way to soften the upcoming discussion.
The Archon could easily guess that the journey would have been difficult, undoubtedly, he had received word that they were traveling over land and that was a harsher journey altogether. Travel by sea at the moment was far more dangerous, particularly if one was to attempt to pass through the narrows. The Straits of Merlab were already close enough, with ships able to cross from the tip of the Rustikan peninsula to Syroneika within a day. However, the narrows were even closer, with the coasts of both lands barely half a day’s sail apart.
Recent pirate activity and operations had almost shut down travel through this constrained sea route, with merchants opting to instead circle the island instead. An obvious result being the increase in the price of goods, and the decrease in food supplies available. Yet there was little the League could do, a decade of lacking investment in the navy had left it in disrepair. Phylacus had increased investment in the past year, but decades of neglect would not be filled in such a short period.
It was for this reason that the pirate activity needed to be dealt with, else the situation within the city would only become worse. The problem with that was three-fold, the League was clearly struggling in terms of revenue with the loss in trade, Myrmien which was a member city was actively involved in allowing safe harbor to pirate’s and smugglers, and last was the reason for the pirate’s increased activities. That last reason hinted at a market for the increase in slaves, specifically the information that men, women, the young, and the old were being bought up at ridiculous prices. The primary suspect being the Ociri Republic, that act was not illegal, as they were simply spending their money as they pleased, yet its result was the increased pirate presence, as many flocked to the nearby regions raiding and pillaging to fulfill the Ociri’s hunger for slaves.
Caedyrn would have hoped that he was summoned for his insights and how these issues might be resolved, but after his conversation with Meliochus he knew where this meeting was bound to go. For the meeting itself was anything but private, the visibly aged Mikkos, Archon of the Mercan League sat at the head of the table. Caedyrn sat in the seat of honor to his right, but directly across from him sat another man, the contemptuous sneer upon his lips promised an unfriendly discussion.
“Old friend, it is good to see you again. I would give you a hug like old times, but I am a bit winded at the moment. So, you will have to forgive me… I was hoping for a private conversation, but Councilor Anthemion insisted that he be present for anything affecting the current state of affairs. I hope you understand.” Mikkos was visibly weak, his body shook with each sentence, racked with the occasional hacking cough.
He had grown old, gone was the thin and heavily muscled warrior king. The overhanging gut a stark contrast to the tales and memories of the past, his skin wrinkled and hair greying. Mikkos had appeared to have aged forty years in the last ten. No doubt the result of his position, the stresses of leadership.
“It is fine my Lord; I can tell that you have something important you wish to convey. Otherwise, you would not have called me here knowing the situation on the frontier, and how difficult it is to come in person while the sea lanes effectively closed.” As Caedyrn spoke the servants came around taking the empty plates away.
Taking a sip of his wine, Caedyrn switched his attention from Anthemion to Mikkos. “As I’m sure you and everyone else within the palace has already heard, there was an attempt upon my life within your very walls. What you may not have known was that my compound, the Domus where my people were staying came under attack at the same time. So, I am afraid that these are no mere coincidences. Time is of the essence, so if we may skip the pleasantries and get down to business, that would be appreciated.”
Mikkos put down his fork, pushing aside the barely touched devilfish. His half sunken eyes and sagging flesh was reminiscent of a corpse. More dead than alive, a miracle that he was hanging on even now. “I would like to call you back… to once again serve at my side as chief minister. I was wrong to allow the nobles… the council to push you out. Appeasing them has resulted in the current situation. That was my greatest error.”
Judging by Anthemion’s reaction, he was wholly unaware of this arrangement, showing that the Archon had not been completely usurped by the council. Yet the look of surprise lasted for barely a second, before the councilor put up a false smile. “Of course, there would be some restrictions, and the full council would have to weigh in on such an action. But it could be done. However, there is the issue of the frontier. As chief minister, you would be required to handle the day-to-day minutia of running the state. As the frontier must be defended and can only be managed by one holding a noble title, you would be compensated for your territory with one more valuable, a port nearer to the capital, for easy access.”
Halfway through the councilor’s speech, Caedyrn had stopped really listening, the wine cup pressed against his lips to hide the growing grimace. “You are acting as if I have accepted your arrangement. First, it makes no sense why I would have to give my territory for another just to operate as the Archon’s right hand. Do not take me for a fool who cannot see a thinly veiled attempt at usurping my domain. I assume you intended on placing Hyllos to administer it in my absence, slowly whittling away at my base of support while introducing your own. So that the day I return, I find a city and land turned against me, its innovations stolen by others! I think not.”
Caedyrn placed the cup down onto the table, maintaining his calm demeanor even as those within the room could feel the boiling rage. “What was done is in the past, there is no going back. You all cast me out, gave me a destitute domain, expecting me to fail. Now, when I have succeeded, you all wish to come and take what I have earned. I have shed too much blood and treasure to let another come and take what is mine. The people of the frontier are mine, they are my responsibility, and I promised them a stable life. I must refuse your appointment, as it conflicts with my existing responsibilities… Now that we have that out of the way, is there anything else. Or should I go?”
Numerous emotions flashed across Mikkos’s sullen face, chief among them sadness and a bit of resignation. For Anthemion it was much simpler, anger, irritation, and poorly concealed hatred, an analytical mind would notice the discrepancies. Mikkos did not appear enthralled by the ideas spouted by his so-called advisor, a hint as to the true power dynamic within the state as Mikkos’s health waned.
As for Anthemion his hatred had been there since the beginning, no one in their right mind would take the deal offered, a thinly veiled attempt at usurping the newfound wealth of the frontier territories. It was highly likely that Anthemion was a recipient of the Scholar’s anti-corruption investigations in the past, the deep-seated hatred persisting amongst the upper class towards his domain.
Had the Scholar had a successor, someone of his bloodline then they would never have been able to propose such an offer. However, Caedyrn’s lack of sexual pursuits, either male or female was well known, many had tried, and none had succeeded, thwarted by the man’s single-minded pursuit of his work. His death would ensure the domain’s return to royal hands, and any number of false claimants to the frontier lands.
“It’s fine Caedyrn, it was merely a request. You are free to reject such an appointment, but there is another matter of concern.” Mikkos nodded toward one of the guards in the corner, on cue the servants came forward to clear away the remaining dishes. Following that the servants cleared out and the guards brought in a handful of Mercanian commanders, at their head was none other than the golden haired Hyllos, fresh from the road.
“Good afternoon esteemed teacher, it has been a long while since we last saw one another. It is my hope that we can assist one another in our upcoming duties.” The young prince bowed slightly, a show of respect which the Scholar returned with a curt acknowledgment.
“I am afraid young lord that I am not yet sure about what these duties entail, and whether my existing responsibilities allow for any such task.” Caedyrn was careful not to outright reject anything, instead opting to remain uncommitted. He would hear what they had to say, after which point, he would decide exactly how much support he would need to promise.
“A simple task my old friend, one which my son will explain. Go ahead Hyllos, present your plan. I am sure your former teacher will acknowledge the benefits.” Mikkos exuded the image of a proud father, so sure in the intelligence of his prized child. For now, he could use the excuse that Phylacus was bedridden to exclude him, yet it was obvious within the inner court that the crown prince was not favored by his father. For it was the heroic and militant Hyllos who most resembled his father, not the sickly and bookish Phylacus.
“Go on then, no need to wait upon my account.” Receiving both Mikkos and Caedyrn’s acknowledgement, Hyllos went ahead with his presentation, unfurling the local map. It was detailed, indicating landmarks and locations, with the focal point centering around the Capital of Merlabria from which two lines emerged. One red and the other yellow, cheap colored ink to indicate the two armies.
Yellow indicated the decoy force; their purpose was to invade the Althai Federation from the north. This attack was not meant to be successful, but instead to remain at the border and threaten invasion under the guise of securing the divide from additional tribal invasion. The reality was that it would draw attention, force the northern Althaiin lords amid their civil conflicts to remain wary and position their troops in response.
The main force would march under the young Hyllos’s direct command, the main bulk made up of the Merlabrian army, House Mercan’s elite troops. These would be supported by the central lords, cities such as Myrmien which were in the central part of the League. As opposed to the northern cities which would act within the diversionary army.
Their goal was simple, while the Althaiin’s were weakened they would attack through the western wastes directly west of Temrenos and the frontier. Hyllos confidently expected to march his armies through the scattered plains tribes, subjugating them along the way, and striking the small Althaiin town of Ialiri. This town existed upon the crossroads of the northern and southern Althaiin states, a major trading hub for the native tribes of the plains.
Hyllos planned to punch through the tribes, take Ialiri and from there rampage across the disorganized and disunited city-state blocks of the federation. It was a simple, solid plan, one that would work well against the tribes of the north or south. Mercanian phalangites and skirmishers, alongside a squadron or two of companion cavalry would run down any enemy without the mobility to contest them.
What all those present failed to realize was that the western tribes, those who made the wastes their homes were not the same people they had crushed at Sidene. These were people who had been born and bred on horseback, the plains were their home, and they knew it better than anyone else. An army that marched into their lands, especially an infantry heavy force would suffer considerable casualties.
Their homes were not stationary settlements, they moved with the herds, grazing on the ample grass, and living a purely nomadic lifestyle. They would employ hit and run tactics, bleeding out the enemy before delivering the killing blow, and unknown to these men, Temrenosian innovations such as the composite had already found their way into the hands of these tribal hunters. The saddle and stirrup remained a regional secret, but it was only a matter of time until these plains warriors realized the functionality from their occasional trade contacts.
During this time, water, and access to it will be impossible. The wastes are the wastes because there are no bodies of water that run through it until reaching the river upon which Ialiri is built. Only the tribes know where the natural springs and pools exist, oases in a sea of grass, watering holes for the herds to graze and slake their thirst. A closely guarded secret that no native would yield to an invader.
The army would therefore be under constant attack, without a clear line of supply, in a land they were not familiar with, alongside the very real possibility of hunger, heatstroke, and dehydration. Caedyrn could see the problems and it was unlikely any of these men would listen to a word he had to say.
No matter what the Temrenosian’s would not get involved militarily, the Scholar would make that clear. However, even merely providing material support would insure the animosity of the tribes. Once winter had passed at the army marched, Temrenos would need to build up its defenses in anticipation of the coming raids.
