Chapter Text
“Of all of the possible ways in which we could meet, I must admit that this particular scenario would not ever have crossed my mind.”
A man stood, his silhouette casting a shadow across the room. The fire behind him, the sole source of illumination during the ever-dark nights of the Antiarive winter, flickered dimly, its dim radiance reflected by the swords mounted by it-- blades that the man had used time and time again, over years, perhaps even eons.
“That is your biggest mistake. You never expect that which ends up happening.”
He turned to face the firepit.
The other man in the room, who had spoken first, cleared his throat. “Let us not waste time with these petty insults. Let us instead come to an agreement, as we were meant to.”
“Don’t waste time with your frothy language, Knightmare.” The taller man spat. “This is far from the formal meetings and chamber sessions you’re used to. Here, there are no rules-- at least, no rules you would find intuitive.”
Knightmare nodded. “I apologize.”
The taller man simply grunted, sitting down on a chair across from him.
“I understand, Phynn, that you were hoping to secure an alliance with our nation before the fall of mid-winter.”
Phynn nodded. “There are empires at both of our doorsteps. I believe we can find a common enemy for long enough to ally.”
Knightmare felt uneasy. Though he had never met Phynn in person before, he had heard stories from those who had. Providænce Phynn was somewhat of a legend, especially in the political circles of the Far North. Not for his skill at ruling or his militarical might, though he was known for both. What he was truly known for was his strict logicality; he tended only to act based upon logical premises, rather than human ones. This led to awkward conversation, where Phynn would make such blunt statements as the one previous; he assumed that nations would only ally if their leader had something to gain from doing so-- or to lose from abstaining-- and not to protect their people.
Yes, such selfish people existed, Knightmare thought. But only a few, at least in his own Parliament.
“What on earth are you thinking about?” Phynn snapped.
“Ah, nothing. Nothing.” Knightmare stammered. “What ex-”
“You’re kind of a pathetic negotiator, do you know?” Phynn noted-- not spat, as he would. Noted, as a statement of fact. “You must always pay attention to all of your partner’s terms. Otherwise, you will miss out on something important, something that could throw everything you have planned out of balance.”
“Yes, yes, I understand-- now, could you please get to the point?”
Phynn responded, “I was going to discuss the official terms of the alliance. After all, words mean nothing unless you’re bound to them.”
Knightmare nodded. “Shall we do that now?”
Phynn paced over to the window. Outside, the vast wilderness of the north was visible; from here, despite being nearly at sea level, an inhabitant of the house could see for leagues and leagues in every direction, with no forests or hills to block his sight. It was difficult for Knightmare to imagine that, only a two-month trek from their location, loomed the culmination of a terrible empire whose only goal was to annihilate any who stood in its way-- especially Phynn’s Antiaris Faction, and his own Chesian Kingdom.
He wondered what Phynn was thinking as he gazed out the window.
“Right. So, first things first. Military merger?” Phynn queried.
“Undoubtedly. Given the might of the Cascan Empire, we will need to create a cohesive force to stand a chance against them.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, certainly an army acting with a singular goal would be better than two independent ones, would it not?”
Phynn rubbed his temples, still gazing out the window. “Not necessarily. There have been a number of times throughout history where leaving multiple forces independent was the better option.”
Knightmare squinted with doubt. “Such as?”
“The infamous Battle of the Ices, in the Fourth War. My ally and I had separate forces which converged on our enemy when they were traversing a sea of ice. Had we merged our forces, they may have escaped, but splitting allowed us to trap them.”
Knightmare squinted again; he sensed something about this story did not add up. He had studied the Fourth War in his History Court during his preparation for King, and he felt that the events of the battle did not match up with Phynn’s version. He, however, did not interject; one of the many pieces of advice he’d received before this meeting was that when Phynn stated a fact, it was unwise to dispute him.
“But enough about my past. What are our next terms?”
“Um.” Knightmare didn’t say it, but he had failed to plan this far ahead.
“Let me guess. You’ve only been on the throne for a short time.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
Phynn held back a chuckle-- perhaps it was meant to be noticed, perhaps not. “It’s clear you’ve never done any sort of negotiation before. Militarical affairs are but one part of alliance. There’s economic considerations, concerns about shifting political loyalties that are miles and miles deep. Not to mention contingencies, reserve plans, reserves for those reserves. If you assumed this was going to be a few hours and done, then you were gravely mistaken.”
Hours? Knightmare assumed it would take minutes of true negotiations, and that he would be returning to his own kingdom by morning’s breath. He was at least relieved that traveling for weeks through the wintry cold would be worth more than thirty minutes of his time, but that was cold comfort. He would never admit it, but Phynn struck fear into him. He wanted not even to be around him, let alone negotiate with him for days or weeks.
He had an understanding, though, that Phynn wanted to continue the whole ordeal even less than he did. After all, even if Knightmare didn’t want to admit it, he was a new, inexperienced face in the political game.
“But I suppose, given that we may very likely be allying soon, and that you obviously have no idea what you’re doing…”
“That was kind of rude.”
“I’ll be nice, and be straightforward with you this whole time. No tricking, no omitted language, no backstabbing. Mostly because I’m sure you won’t be doing that to me.”
“Um.” Knightmare hesitated. “Thanks, I guess?”
“Alright. Now, without further ado.” Phynn cleared his throat. “Monetary compensation. You’re the one who proposed this alliance, weren’t you?”
“Actually, it wasn’t me. It was the old King.”
“As far as this is concerned, you and the old King, whoever he was, are the same person: the monarch and leader of the Chesian Kingdom.”
Knightmare nodded stiffly. “Well, then, yes. I suppose it was me.”
“Then you’re bound to offer monetary compensation to us, correct?”
“I am?”
Phynn put his head in his hands. “You really are a little… you know what? Let’s come back to that. Let’s figure out what exactly we’re going to be doing here first.”
Knightmare nodded.
“What structure does your infantry division use?”
“Um…” Knightmare struggled to remember. “A Back-Heavy Tzy.”
“Alright. That’s going to need to change. Tzy formations are useless against militaries with tactics such as the Cascan. I suggest changing to a Nmo formation-- for the time being, at least.”
“What good would that do?” Knightmare snapped.
Phynn gave Knightmare a steely gaze. “You are aware that the Cascan use a Linear Dje? If you show up to the battle with a Tzy-- let alone a Back-Heavy Tzy-- they’re going to tear through your front ranks within a half-minute, perhaps less.”
“Fine. I’ll let my generals know to completely upend the training all of our soldiers have ever received over the past twenty-eight years so we can fight an already deadly war using an even more deadly formation, all based on the say-so of one dude living in a cabin two hops from the Northern Circle.”
“I understand you’re being sarcastic, but that’s what you’re going to be doing-- at least, you will if you don’t want to get annihilated by the Cascan. What was your old King doing, anyways, keeping the same formation for thirty years? That’s just asking for trouble.”
Knightmare rolled his eyes. “Yes, whatever. I’ll get on that once I return.”
Truthfully, he was extremely uncertain why he had stood up to Phynn in that way. He was still frightened of the Warlord; perhaps he had gotten fed up with Phynn treating him as though he was a young child. Which, in all fairness, in terms of politics, he was; Knightmare had been a young man when he was crowned King on his nineteenth birthday. But he could still do without the condescending tendencies of Phynn.
Phynn, however, seemed to be fed up as well. “Let’s resume this discussion tomorrow. I think it’s obvious that nothing is going to get done today.”
“Is it? The sun only set an hour ago-- and this far north, that’s not very late at all.”
Phynn shook his head. “Do you really want to continue this discussion? Because I don’t think you’re enjoying this.”
Knightmare paused. Phynn was right, but he didn’t exactly want to say that to his face.
“Alright, then. I’ll be retiring to my room. You can figure something out.” With that, Phynn paced behind the bookcase at the end of the room, turning to walk up a short flight of stairs.
Knightmare sat down on one of the chairs. “This man… he’s going to be the death of me, even more than the Cascan will,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
The irony was not lost on him that it was likely that Phynn was thinking the same thing about him.