Poised in Providence - Part 2

The infamous island archers were world-renowned. It was common practice for strong kingdoms to bolster their own troops with kharvan mercenary companies, and for good reason. Their training was vigorous, involving not only the acquisition of swift precise marksmanship, but also immaculate horseback control and maneuverability. The kharvan studied not the enemy, but their armor. They pinpointed the weak areas and trained to hit them without fail. They were a terrifying force to be reckoned with and the exact reason the small island had yet to be stolen from its native people.

“Well done, general.” The Simonese prince smiled at him. He would’ve thought it a pleasant sight had it not been preceded with the taunt. “Simo has trade routes that you desire. You have baubles, at best. And, of course, access to the kharvan.”

“Baubles and kharvan for trade routes, Prince Heiko,” spoke the king, guarded, calculated, as if he sensed danger. “Is a fair deal.”

It was. Cele knew it to be true. Access to the kharvan, forget the other benefits of Ilysian allegiance, was worth Simo fully surrendering their right to the very land of Tyton, forget the measly acquisition of Burkean trade routes.

Still, the general knew it wouldn’t be that easy, not with the snake that sat coiled before him, camouflaged so perfectly as a handsome prince.

“You would find no dispute from me, King Vinecente,” He replied, tilting his head slightly, bright eyes on the Ilysian man. “If your estimations were accurate.”

When the men didn’t probe him on, the prince readily did it himself.

“Your strength - in the matter of the Tyton dispute - comes from Harmona and their kharvan. There is no shame in seeking help from others.”

He let that sink in, before supplementing with, “Us Simonese have done the same, with Burke, as you are well aware. So, allow us to…refigure this, yes? You have Haroma. We have Burke.”

His movements were flourished for effect, but they did not seem overexaggerated or theatrical, and they did the very job they were supposed to.

“You have archers, we have trade routes. And archers. Do you see the problem?”

The prince’s pause allowed Cele to peel his eyes from the boy’s movements and place them back to where they should’ve been all along. His eyes. Eyes held no secrets. And at that moment, Cele saw none.

He had heard the Burkeans were skilled archers, but certainly not the way the kharvan were. Hunting animals was much different than hunting soldiers. Prince Heiko had to have known that.

Vincente sat back, arms crossed. He licked his lips, drawing out the moment.

“Have you ever seen a Haroman archer, Prince Heiko?”

Heiko cocked a brow.

“Vion.” He shot out. “A kingdom which has been dying for Burkean trade routes.”

“I’ve heard.”

“Vion, a kingdom who has never defeated Burke, neither while it was a monarchy nor a republic.” His viridescent eyes landed on the general. “Vion, a nation of horseback soldiers. Haroman archers are skilled indeed. Trained since childhood, they can hit marks whilst riding horseback. Certainly an advantage to an army. Certainly an advantage Simo would want. Should archery styles be created equal.”

The prince exhaled and uncrossed his leg, leaning forward to the men. There was a shift in his disposition, like he was relinquishing a mask and demanding them to do the same.

“The Burkeans, they’re an adaptive people. When the Vionese moved in on their land, they decided they had to be able to pick off the riders.”

Cele breathed, watching the princeling.

“Have you heard of longbows? First created for taking down the massive creatures that haunt Burkean forests. And then reworked to take down the pesky riders of Vion. Longbowmen commence training at the age of eight and once entered into the service of their country, these men can fire three arrows in fifteen seconds.”

It was nothing too impressive, and Cele couldn’t help but almost feel a bit disappointed.

“What makes the kharvan remarkable is their speed and accuracy. Their ability to hit the unarmored neck. But, whether accurate or not, where the arrow lands matters not, should the enemy perish by it. Unprotected vital areas are not easily hit, and if they are to be, proximity is essential, hence the kharvan’s need for mobility. 40 yards is the absolute maximum before a steep decline in efficacy. Proper longbowmen have an effective range of a furlong.”

“Impossible.” Vincente scoffed. “A furlong, you would have me believe? Prince Heiko, I have permitted your capricious statesmanship, bowed to your every whimsical desire, but now this? You wish me to lick the absurd lie from your palm? 220 yards?”

Heiko watched him, as if alarmed by his response, before a sharp rap at the door interrupted the king’s barrage.

Vincente looked over to it with his brow pressed in slight irritation.

“What is it?” He demanded.

“My lord,” The servant called from the other side, knowing the negotiation room was strictly off limits to anyone but those invited by the king. “Riders near the palace. They bear the colors of Simo.”

“Number?” Vincente demanded. The general hoped he was the only one to discern the surprise in his tone.

“No more than five,” the servant replied.

“It seems my brother believes me inadequate.” Heiko smirked, standing.

The king and the general followed suit. As did Baptist.

“It’s an ambassador?” Vincente demanded, brow pressed.

“Yes, an ambassador that will try to sell you this peace treaty.” Said the prince. “I suppose it is time to retire to my room.”

The king frowned, eyes narrowed, and Cele understood him well. This was both odd and improper. And the prince didn’t seem surprised at all.

“You do not wish to sit in while we speak with him?” The king asked.

“I know precisely what will transpire in speech.” Heiko replied. “And what will be lost in silence.”

Heiko turned to Baptist, who seemed just as shocked as the Ilysians.

“Come, Baptist.”

And with that, the king allowed them their leave.

“This is odd.” Said Cele, though he needn’t have even spoken.

“Mm,” Vincente nodded, brow knit. “And planned, it seems.”