Chapter 801: Princely conference(2)
The interior of the great tent, where the fate of the Yarzat–Oizen borderlands would be debated, was exactly as Alpheo had pictured it.
Round wooden benches had been arranged in a sweeping half-circle, rising in modest tiers to grant each envoy a view of the center. Opposite one another, on two distinct sides of the space, stood two chairs deliberately placed at the mouth of the entrance and before the exit. It required no great mind to discern which prince was meant to claim which seat.
As Alpheo entered with his aides in tow, the first thing to greet him was not the herald’s cry or the flutter of banners, but the faces. But of the weary faces of the envoys sent by neighboring princes who could not resist inserting themselves into this quarrel.
He had already met most of them in Shaza’s keep in the days prior, plying them with courtesy, veiled words, and careful smiles, each attempt to sound out their intentions. That had been an exercise in disappointment.
Their evasions and vague promises had only confirmed what he already feared: few among them wished to see Yarzat grow stronger even after he threw some concessions.
Yet of all the glances in the room, some merely curious, some edged with unease, one stood apart.
From the far side of the tent, across the benches and the Emperor’s retinue, a single pair of eyes burned into him with a cold, unblinking glare. It was a look Alpheo knew too well, belonging to a man whose name had become tangled with his own through the years since he was but a mercenary.
The corner of Alpheo’s mouth twitched upward into a cheeky smile, and he inclined his head in mock greeting, as though acknowledging an old friend rather than a bitter foe. For his part, he found that occupying a full sixth of the man’s princedom served as introduction enough.
Without breaking stride, Alpheo moved to his appointed chair.
Once each man had taken his place and the murmurs in the tent dwindled to silence, it was the overseer of the proceeding, and host of the august company, who rose first. Shaza pushed himself up from his seat , his gilded robe shimmered faintly in the muted light filtering through the canvas, and with an open gesture of the hand, he summoned the attention of all present.
"My lords and Imperial majesty," he began, his voice deep and steady, "it is my singular honor to host such a gathering as this. Today, beneath one roof, we hold the power to fashion peace, or at least to strike the balance that might give it a chance to endure." His eyes swept the benches, pausing ever so slightly on the Emperor’s retinue before moving on. "If all are prepared, and if no man will voice objection, then let us commence."
No words rose in dissent. The envoys shifted in their seats, hands folded, faces schooled into the masks of diplomats.Thus, with a simple nod from Shaza, the conference was formally opened.
But scarcely had the words fallen from his lips than a figure stirred.
Sorza rose from his seat as he turned toward the prince of Sharjaan.
"If it pleases the assembly," Sorza declared, his tone both respectful and urgent, "I would beg permission to speak first."
"The floor is yours, Prince Sorza," Shaza said at last, conceding the right after barely half a heartbeat of deliberation.
Sorza’s eyes swept the chamber slowly, lingering on each envoy in turn. When they came to Alpheo, they lingered just a moment longer, before he finally began.
"My lords, most honored envoys," he said, projecting his voice so that every syllable carried through the great tent, "first of all, allow me to express my gratitude to you all, for coming here, for lending your noble ears and your noble authority to what I had hoped would be a moment of justice, and a conclusion to an unjust war.
For it is unjust, and make no mistake, it was not my hand that raised the sword first. This war, which has drenched the fields of Oizen in blood, was not of my choosing. It was imposed upon me, upon my people, upon my land."
He spread his hands in a gesture of appeal, turning slightly as he addressed the half-circle of benches.
"Despite the great deads and my father’s death by the Yarzat Prince’s hand, I sought peace. I desired concord, not strife. I extended the olive branch more than once. Indeed, I offered my own hand to bind our houses together in marriage, a union that would have stilled old disputes and secured harmony between Yarzat and Oizen for generations. Yet my offer was spurned. Not only spurned, it was mocked, cast aside, as though peace itself were a bauble to be trifled with."
he gestured toward Alpheo without looking directly at him.
"And so, when peace was within reach, the man seated before you chose instead the path of fire. He crossed my borders as an invader. His armies poured into my land, and what followed is plain for all to see. My villages put to the torch. My people, humble farmers, merchants, children, driven from their homes. The cries of women dishonored, the wailing of the dispossessed rising to the heavens. This is the legacy of the so-called peace he brings."
Sorza paused for effect, his expression grave as he let his words sink into the silence that followed.
"I tell you plainly, noble lords: no peace can be fashioned with such a man. Not because I lack the will for peace, but because he lacks the heart for it. His ambition is boundless. His thirst for dominion is insatiable. Even now, you will hear him speak sweet words and cloak his designs in reason, but what is reason to a beast? You may feed it meat for a time, but when the meat is gone, it comes again, hungrier than before. Such is his nature. To grant him what he demands today is not to secure peace, it is only to fatten the appetite that will return tomorrow."
He folded his arms behind his back, straightening to his full height, and turned his gaze once more to the envoys.
"If we are truly gathered here in pursuit of peace, then let us not deceive ourselves. Peace is not secured by appeasing ambition, but by curbing it. True stability will come only when his grasping hand is checked, when his hunger is denied. If you wish for the South to rest, if you wish for our people to sleep without the shadow of the torch and sword, then understand this: peace will not be obtained by yielding to the tyrant, but by standing against him."
With that, Sorza inclined his head in a measured bow, as though delivering the end of the meeting rather than plea, and then returned heavily to his seat. His eyes, hard as steel, locked once more on Alpheo, the man who had forced him to this pass, and who, in Sorza’s mind, was the very embodiment of the chaos he decried.
Quite the speech, Alpheo thought to himself, and he almost had to curb the urge to applaud Sorza’s attempt to paint him as a bloodthirsty warmonger, an accusation which, of course, undeniably and irreliastically.... he was not, nor ever could be. A fine performance, all told. But like most performances, it had glossed over certain details that would not survive closer scrutiny.
When Sorza at last sat, the eyes of the tent shifted naturally toward the other side, where Shaza waited with that impenetrable, calculating expression of his. For him, this was but a game of weights on a scale, so long as the mines stayed under Yarzat’s hand, and a share of their bounty under his, the speeches were no more than theater.
For the rest , he did not care.
"With Sorza’s motions concluded," Shaza said, his voice even, "would you like to answer to these accusations, Prince Alpheo? Or do you choose silence as your denial?"
Alpheo inclined his head politely. "I would like to make a response, Your Grace."
He rose, unhurried, smooth as though the whole gathering had been convened purely for his comfort. Following Sorza’s earlier example, he let his gaze wander across the semicircle of envoys, meeting each man’s eyes in turn. When his gaze came upon the young Emperor Mesha, he allowed himself the faintest smile, and was pleased to see, in return, a bearing of calm majesty.
He will come in handy later, Alpheo mused, before turning back to the hall.
"My lords, I, very much like the Prince of Oizen, welcome your noble labors in seeking to end a conflict that has scarred our two lands for more than a decade. It is no small thing, what you do here, and I pray that we may all rise to the worthiness of such an occasion."
He clasped his hands lightly behind his back, posture relaxed, his voice neither defensive nor apologetic.
"Now, I could spend this time, as my counterpart has, painting myself the victim, reminding you all of injustices done to me, of insults given, of the torches raised not by my hand but by his. I could match tale for tale, accusation for accusation, and hope that in the end you find my story more sympathetic than his."
His smile deepened, touched with irony.
"But I will not waste your patience in so fruitless a contest. Stories, after all, are easily dressed. A man can make himself a martyr with a silver tongue and an edited memory, which I, for my part, in no absolute way, of course , am calling his grace one.... The truth, however, ah, the truth requires no embroidery."
He let his gaze slide deliberately toward Sorza, then back to the envoys.
"And so, I will not say my noble opponent lied. That is not my charge. Instead, I will simply suggest that his words, while eloquent, were incomplete. Selective. Crafted to present only the thinnest slice of reality, while leaving the rest conveniently unsaid. Whether this stems from ignorance, or from the temptations of self-interest, I leave to your judgment’’