Chapter 1357: New beginnings (1)

Alpheo watched silently as Lucius smoothed the page, noting that his spymaster wore a heavy, midnight-dark woolen cloak even in the barely hinting cold of late afternoon.

The crisp, dry sound of parchment rustling against the dark oak table broke the quiet of the royal solar.

More dark news, the King assumed with a heavy breath.

Alpheo reached across the timber, took hold of the report, and quickly skimmed the dense, neat cipher. Halfway down the page, his brow furrowed, his dark eyes pausing over a series of unexpected names and coastal ports. He looked up, the usual grim expectation fading into mild surprise.

Not the usual squabbles, then.

He met the striking blue eyes of his spymaster, reading the unvoiced question hanging between them.

"A larger royal budget allowed me to expand the reach of our nest," Lucius explained smoothly, "I deemed it worthwhile to fly a few of my ravens across the great sea. Extremely interesting developments are taking place in the sands of Azania."

"Have they built a proper roost over there?" Alpheo asked, leaning back into his high-backed carved chair.

"They will soon, I do hope that along with them, there will be some in the heart of the Grand Call, if we are lucky," Lucius replied, a faint, cold smile touching his thin lips. "Though for an enterprise of that size, we will require a great deal more hay to keep them warm.It is too wet over there."

Alpheo gave a single, firm nod. A monarch had to learn from his past blunders, else he was cursed to repeat them until his crown rolled in the dirt. The bloody disasters of the War of the Bloody Penny had hammered that lesson into his bones. Back then, he had been blind and powerless against the shifting currents of the river; he had sworn a solemn oath to himself that no foreign fleet or rogue prince would ever catch him with his pants down ever again.

Of course he was in no hurry to invite another war. One more grand campaign right now could thoroughly undo everything he had bled to build. Far better to gently weave the thread away from a man’s hand, Alpheo thought, than try to hack it off with a rusty knife once the rope is already around your neck.

"What do your ravens say about the Red Angel?" the King asked, setting the parchment down. The pirate admiral was rapidly carving a terrifying name for himself across the southern seas. "Last I heard, the bastard had finished plundering Khairo and had one foot already out of the desert sands."

"Your Grace heard wrong," Lucius countered softly. "He is to stay’’

Alpheo blinked. "Staying? To do what?"

"He fancy himself a conqueror, it would seem."

The King stared at his spymaster as if the man had suddenly lost his mind. "Conquer? With what? A few thousand sea-scum and iron-shod cutthroats against an empire of ten million souls? That isn’t ambition, Lucius. That is raving madness."

"Madness or not, Your Grace, the admiral sails from victory to victory, both on the breaking surf and on dry land,he is unstoppable" Lucius said, crossing his dark-sleeved arms inside his heavy cloak. "The Azanians were already tearing themselves apart in a bitter civil war, spluttered into half a dozen bleeding factions.

’’Factions?’’

’’Do you know how many sultans have taken the golden throne in the last three years alone?"

"three?" Alpheo ventured, searching his memory.

"Could be six, could be four or five , Your Majesty, they rise and wither as fast as autumn wheat under a scythe. The sea-rats are as cunning as they are bloodthirsty, none can deny it. They have been playing sultan against sultan, striking at the exhausted victor, and then casually swallowing the lands of the loser.

Meanwhile, south of Khairo, the sand-lords have their own nightmares to contend with, fighting for their lives against the horse-tribes that migrated from the Great Waste. Whether those sand-princes are still holding their walls or have all bowed down to kiss the stallions’ hooves, it is hard to tell. Only fractured rumors reach the coast, and separating truth from tavern lies is a wretched task."

"It seems the stars are shining brightly for the pirates," Alpheo said, his tone turning dark and sullen.

The last thing Yarzat needed was a united, iron-fisted pirate kindgom capable of striking at his southern flanks whenever the mood struck them. Common logic dictated that conquering the vast, burning sands was a fool’s errand. And yet, this Red Angel seemed to ride one impossible victory into the next.

"It depends entirely on which side of the harbor you stand, Your Grace," Lucius observed. "Among the common oarsmen and the gutter-rats, the man is worshiped as a hero of old, songs of his deeds reach taverns every year and more people raise toasts in his name. As much as Your Grace is beloved by your own loyal subjects, so he is."

"I care little of toasts and more of swords. Though I can feel a But..." Alpheo anticipated, catching the sharp drop in the spymaster’s tone.

"But if you were to walk the floor of the Grand Call today, I fear opinions would be violently divided."

"How so?"

Lucius gave a small, indifferent shrug of his dark shoulders. "The same old song, Your Grace. When a single star shines too brightly in the sky, it casts long shadows. Some out of burning envy, others out of pure, shivering fear, are beginning to band together to break him. Rumors are spreading through the taverns that the Red Angel intends to place a crown upon his own head."

"A crown?" Alpheo’s eyes narrowed. He was admittedly rusty on the intricate, chaotic politics of the coastal republic, but he knew one fundamental truth: if there was one thing those lawless sea-rats boasted of until their throats were dry, it was their sacred, bloody freedom. "They tolerate no kings."

"They were happy enough to ride the wake of his flagship when it was the Romelians burning their ports," Lucius said with a dry, bitter chuckle. "Now? You can hear venomous speeches hurled against him at every session of the Call."

"Do his enemies hold a majority in their council?" Alpheo knew it was kind of a parlament, similar to the english one.

The spymaster shook his head. "Not yet. Though I feel compelled to inform you... a year ago, his vocal opponents were a mere dozen bitter captains. Today, they form a formidable block of steel and coin, even if they still lack the votes required to pass their decrees."

"Do you believe there is truth in the rumors?" the King queried, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic pulse against the oak table. He, too, deeply feared the rising star of the Confederation. He supposed every monarch from here to Romelia felt the exact same tightening in their chest. And Alpheo knew the sky was only ever big enough for one sun. "Is he crowning himself?"

"It could be idle tavern poison... or it could be the simple, natural trajectory of a conqueror.I have little way of knowing that."

Alpheo let out a soft, humorless grunt. "Not quite the definitive answer I was hoping for, Lucius."

Though, in truth, it was precisely the answer he had expected. There was always a grain of truth buried beneath the poison.

He wrestled with whether to fear this new power or exploit it. A fractured horde of marauding sea-captains was a bloody nuisance,a plague to be contained with coastal patrols, watchtowers, and fortified fishing hamlets. But a unified kingdom of pirates under a single, brilliant military commander? That was an existential threat, he misliked having his royal navy contending with a unified fleet for control.

Last thing he wished was for a Punic war between him and the Confederation for control over a few isles. Or in this case the Isle, Harmway.

That was a nightmare that could only be solved with oceans of fire and blood.It would only be at his expense to underestimate the man further.

"That is the full extent of what my ravens have brought me so far, Your Majesty," Lucius said, bowing his head slightly.

"Keep feeding them hay and order them to make as many nests as possible," Alpheo commanded, his voice lightly shook now that he knew of the storms rising above the seas. "I want to hear every whisper, every draft of a decree, and every hushed plot hatched in those sea-caves. I would prefer not to lose my sleep over this bastard.

If these pirates truly risk transforming into a kingdom, I want to know exactly who inside the Call is willing to oppose him, and who might be open to accepting a hand to defend their precious ’freedom.’ if truly it comes to blow. We got a fleet no?I say it is time to make use of it.It has little bloody use rotting in Aracina"

There could be only one true King so far south.And he favored to have dry feet.

Lucius bowed his head in a slow, deliberate nod, the heavy dark wool of his cloak rustling softly against the floorboards.

"I will do what I can, Your Grace," the spymaster murmured, his raspy voice slipping like oil into the quiet room. "The ravens will feed, and the Call will be watched."

As the man turned on his heel to slip toward the heavy oak doors, Alpheo leaned back into his carved chair and raised a gauntleted hand.

"On your way out, Lucius... tell the next one waiting in the hall to enter," the King commanded softly.

Lucius gave a final, silent incline of his head and melted into the shadows of the doorway.He knew who it was Left alone in the solar, Alpheo let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to drain the posture from his broad shoulders. He reached across the timber, picked up Lucius’s crisp ciphered reports, and slid them deep into a hidden lockbox beneath the desk, meaning to give it further read later.

A sea kingdom....that was bad news.

He closed the heavy iron lid with a dull, echoing thud.

The world could spin, conquerors could march, and sea-rats could dream of crowns, but in the end, it changed nothing for a king. Old debts always came due, and the line outside his door was long before it could be empty.