Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Chapter 110: Negotiating a surrender

Two days had passed since the battle, and the fears Maesinius harbored in the aftermath of victory began to feel misplaced and greatly exagerated . His concerns about the enemy regrouping or launching a counterattack had proven unnecessary. In fact, the prince had underestimated the strength of his own position and overestimated the resilience of his adversaries.

While Maesinius and his lords prepared to pursue the remnants of the enemy, an envoy coming from the camp had arrived. The once proud camp of the Messenians was now fractured, its lords divided, and morale broken. Their cavalry had been decimated, their infantry scattered, and their leadership wavering under the pressure of defeat.It seemed that of the 6,400 men that marched less than 4,000 came back, with many deserters preferring during the rout to try their luck away from the battlefield and either trying banditry or simply going back home .

The Messenians had sent an envoy under the pretense of negotiating a ransom for the prisoners that the northern army had captured during the battle, in order to to gauge the invader's attitude regarding a diplomatic solution. 

The prince, Maesinius, was more than happy to comply with the idea of negotiating a ransom. Though the recent victory had been decisive, his mind was already turning toward consolidating the new territories gained and beginning the arduous work of reconstruction. Prolonging the war was not in his interest—he had won what he needed, and he wanted peace to solidify his position. If a diplomatic end could be reached, all the better.

And so, Maesinius granted access to the Messenian envoy the day after speaking about the ransom of the prisoners, keen to appear as imposing and authoritative as possible. He knew the power of perception; the enemy had to see him not as a conqueror, but as an emperor in waiting. Every detail of the meeting was carefully crafted to convey dominance—the gleaming banners of the north rippling in the wind, the prince seated atop a raised platform with his lords surrounding him, their armor polished to a mirror sheen.

Yet, despite his efforts to appear commanding, Maesinius was unaware of the true state of his enemies. He entered the negotiation believing that the Messenians still possessed enough strength to challenge him again, should talks break down. In his mind, they were weakened, but not broken. His thoughts were filled with contingencies, careful plans of what he would need to do if the war reignited—how to deal with the remaining forces of the Messenians, how to rally his own troops for another campaign, and how to prepare for the drawn-out siege he feared would come next. All plans that could be thrown out the window

In reality, the Messenians were far weaker than he realized. Their morale was shattered, their leadership fragmented, and their forces in tatters. But Maesinius, still cautious from years of dealing with such noble houses, overestimated their resolve and underestimated the extent of his own success.

The envoy entered the camp with a cautious, measured stride. His eyes darted from side to side as he passed through rows of silent, stone-faced northerners. They stood like statues, their hard stares fixed on him, some gripping their axes or swords with barely contained hostility. The northerners, tall and broad-shouldered, watched the Messenian envoy as though they were appraising prey. 

The envoy was a wiry man in his middle years, his once-dark hair now streaked with grey. His face bore the signs of a life spent in negotiation rather than battle, with deep lines etched around his mouth and eyes . His clothes were finely cut but travel-worn, a dark green cloak draped over his shoulders, clasped with a silver brooch bearing the sigil of the minor house he belonged to. 

As he approached the prince, the envoy's eyes caught sight of Uther, the giant standing beside Maesinius. For a moment, the envoy faltered, his gaze lingering on the towering figure. His imposing form, all muscle and menace, was hard to ignore. 

After those few seconds of hesitation, the envoy finally turned his attention to Maesinius. The prince sat on a wooden throne, his posture confident but not overly regal. His dark hair was pulled back, his eyes sharp with intelligence and ambition. He wore a fur-lined cloak over his armor, from the wolf's fur he had taken from one of his kill's dead body. There was something about Maesinius that radiated authority, even more than his lords surrounding him. The envoy swallowed and lowered his head in respect, his words measured when he finally spoke.

"Your grace," the envoy began, his voice calm and measured despite the tension in the air. "I come as an emissary from the lords of Messenia to seek terms. We wish to bring an end to this senseless bloodshed and restore peace to the land."

Maesinius leaned back in his seat, a slow smile spreading across his face. His dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he recalled the defiance, now cut short, of Lord Marshall Conte, the man who had rallied the lords against him. "If I remember correctly," the prince began, his tone light but edged with amusement, "your Lord Marshall Conte said that I should prove my birthright through war. I suppose, by your presence here, I've succeeded, haven't I?"

The envoy hesitated, his mouth briefly opening as if to speak, then closing again. Silence hung in the air like a thick fog. The prince's words were a trap, and the envoy knew it. If he agreed that Maesinius had succeeded, it would mean acknowledging the prince's legitimacy as the rightful ruler, an admission the lords had been trying to avoid as it would mean they were in all fact rebels. But if he disagreed, it could be taken as an insult, and the last thing a man wanting to surreder wanted was to anger his victors. The envoy was caught between a sword and a noose.

Finally, he chose his words with extreme care. "Your grace," he said, bowing his head slightly, "we seek to resolve this conflict through diplomacy. The lords of Messenia recognize the strength you've demonstrated in battle, and many among them offer their congratulations on your victories, especially the geniality of your strategy. The bloodshed has already proven much; there is no need for further suffering. Surely, you have made your point."

Maesinius studied the envoy for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before letting out a soft sigh. "Very well," he said, his voice taking on a formal tone as he prepared to lay out his terms. "You came seeking terms, and terms you shall have."

He rose from his seat, his cloak of fur and dark fabric rustling as he moved. "Here is what I will demand. All the lords now sitting in their camp will ride here, to this very field, and bend the knee before me. They will swear fealty to me, acknowledging me as their legitimate ruler, just as they should have done before this ill-conceived rebellion. They will pay the proper customs and taxes, and they will aid me in war whenever called upon."

The envoy shifted uncomfortably, sensing that the terms were only beginning.

"As for this... 'little' act of rebellion," Maesinius continued, his voice turning harder, "I shall be magnanimous. For the most part, their lands will remain untouched. Their only punishment shall be a fine of forty thousand silverii, which they must pay over two years alongside each one of them sending one son to me , to be treatead as guest under my hall. Failure to do so, of course, will be dealt with accordingly."

The envoy said nothing until now the terms were rather generous.

"Their titles will not be stripped from them," he said, before a dark gleam returned to his eyes, "with one exception. Lord Conte, the man who so boldly defied me, shall no longer hold the title of High Marshall. He forfeited that honor the moment he rallied the lords in open rebellion against me. His ancestral land will obviously not be touched ."

The envoy bowed deeply once more, his expression a mask of professionalism despite the tension in the air. "Your grace," he said, his voice steady, "I will deliver these terms to my lords and return with their response."

Maesinius nodded, his eyes reflecting the cold satisfaction of a ruler who had achieved his aim. Without a word, he made a dismissive gesture with the back of his hand, a subtle yet clear signal for the envoy to take his leave.

The envoy bowed once more, then turned on his heel and strode out of the tent with a measured pace. As he passed through the rows of silent Northerners, their eyes followed him with disdain.

Once the envoy went out , the northern lords turned toward the prince. Mjorn Breakshield, stepped forward, his brow furrowed with concern. "Your grace," he began, his voice rumbling like distant thunder, "why such generous terms ? Surely we could push our advantage further and demand more?We are the victor , why are we so lenient?"

Maesinius leaned back slightly, contemplating Mjorn's question with an air of calm. "We've just won a battle,not a crushing one Mjorn," he replied, his tone measured yet firm, though his words were wrong. "If we continue this war, the lords will only dig in their heels, raising more taxes to muster new armies. They may be weakened now, but desperation breeds tenacity. If we force them to fight again, they will not be so easily dispatched, especially after the tactics we employed against their cavalry. Not to talk about my other two brothers in the south, every month we pass at war is a month they have to finish their little quarrel and turn their attention to me. Then they will come prepared, and we may not have the element of surprise on our side."

Mjorn's expression softened slightly, the weight of the prince's words sinking in. Maesinius continued, "The longer this war drags on, the worse our situation will become. We cannot afford to bleed our resources dry for a glory that may come at a grave cost, we will not be able to call back for reinforcement .Are you aware of our losses in this single battle?''

Mjorn shook his head ''No your grace''

''Well we lost between dead and wounded more than 700 men. Sure they may not sound as many as my tone may give. But after two more battles?Who will say if we still have an army? A swift resolution now will allow us to consolidate our gains and stabilize the newly acquired territories. It's in our best interest to turn our swords into plowshares, the winter season is coming and we need everything to mitigate the famine that will come, the lands we have conquered will be our new barn for our people...."

The lords nodded in agreement, their concerns successfully shifted from the immediate victory to the practicalities of the future. After all, none forgot what they were in fact fighting for a north that could stand on its own feet.