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Chapter 401: Diplomatic Meeting

How peaceful.

For Corco, it was a guilty thought.

Looking out of the window of Lord Makipura\'s city manor, he saw green once more, now that the white blanket of winter had disappeared. Birds were singing over the lively sound of Rimas City\'s busy streets.

Ever since they had joined the Kingdom of the South, the people of Rimas had benefited immensely. Out of all the many immigrants from various backgrounds who traveled from the two northern kingdoms south to Saniya, most would take the land route. That had always been the case, since the Medalans were just naturally land-bound folk and not well-versed in naval combat, but it had become even more so since the pirates of the Verdant Isles had started fighting each other and turned the sea route between Sinchay and Sachay into a battlefield.

As a result, Rimas - which was the northernmost city of the southern kingdom and the last stop before crossing the Narrows - became an important stop for the commoners who were looking for a new life. Many would stay here for a while, as they recovered from the grueling journey through the central kingdom. They would buy new supplies and gather information on the southern kingdom they planned on making their home, before they would finally move on. In the process, some would even get stuck here. Like this, they created a constant flux of people in the city.

The commoners had brought wealth, liveliness and many new ideas to the old city. It had transformed Rimas from a militant border town on the edge of the \'civilized\' northern kingdoms into a great city full of development potential within a few short years.

Certainly, for Corco it felt good to watch the lives of the people improve under his influence, even though their brothers were fighting and dying on the front lines of Antila right now. The thought comforted the King of the South and relieved him of his guilt, at least for a moment.

Corco sipped his tea and leaned back in his chair. For the first time in over a month, he could once again sit in a warm room, on a comfortable chair befitting of a king, and completely relax. Yet the calm didn’t last long.

Every time he relaxed, Corco had to think back to the fighting going on around Antila, the many citizens who were stuck there, who would die or suffered wounds that would never heal every single day. No doubt, this city had also sent off many sons to fight and die for his cause. Thus, as soon as he had leaned back and before he could truly relax, he straightened his spine and sat upright once more.

Let’s just get this over with, he thought and pushed his contradictory feelings aside. After all, he wasn’t here on vacation. He cleared his mind and sighed, something his host seemed to have misunderstood.

“Not to worry, King. The delegation should be arriving any time now,” Lord Makipura said.

“Sure. He can take his time. I don’t care.”

Since there was no modern transportation, and no instant communication outside of the few radios employed by Saniya’s secret service, meeting someone else wasn’t exactly a precise art in Medala.

Over the years, Corco had sometimes become frustrated by the lack of technology. When he had to wait around, he would sometimes lose his patience and lash out. That hadn’t been the case in a while, especially since he had improved communication in Sachay and lost some of his anger with age. Still, it seemed like rumor had spread among the lords, because Makipura still looked worried, despite the king’s insistence on the contrary.

The lord who had renounced the central kingdom for the south stood there half-bowed and rubbing his hands, with an awkward smile on his face. Ever since the start of the civil war, most of the lords had become a lot more careful around Corco. It proved the respect he had gained after the lightning miracle and cleaning up the traitors, but it came with its draw backs. Not only would it make the lords more careful, and thus less useful, it really made the king uncomfortable as well.

“Look, you don’t have to stand around all day,” Corco tried again, as he had many times since his arrival in Rimas, “Why don’t you just sit and-”

have a tea, he wanted to add, but a knock on the door interrupted him.

“Enter!” Makipura shouted, seemingly eager to have someone else with him in the room in case the dangerous miracle king would lose his temper and shoot lightning from his eyes.

One of Corco’s warriors entered, greeted his king and reported.

“King, the runners of Rimas have just returned. Pachacutec Titu Pluritac, King of the Center, and his delegation will arrive at Rimas within three hours.”

Finally, it was time for the fake brothers to meet once more. It would constitute the first direct meeting between medalan kings in years, and the first chance for Corco to find allies in his home country ever since the start of the Succession War. Finally, the time had come to end his political isolation.

“Let’s go,” he said to Makipura as he stood and put his half-empty tea cup in his warrior’s hands. “Let’s get ready to welcome our guest.”

The meeting between the two kings was arranged in the inner gardens of Lord Makipura’s manor. Since it was a discussion between two equal parties, two seats of equal height and size were prepared, seated across from each other on a short table filled with drinks, fruits and baked goods.

The last part had been Corco’s idea, especially the pastry and the drinks. With their turbulent history, there was a need to ease the atmosphere between the estranged kings, and the king thought that alcohol and sweets would do the trick just fine.

As he stood there waiting for his guest, he mused how he would face his fellow king. There had been many conflicts between them in the past, but now he was asking for an alliance, if only a temporary one.

Really, he wasn’t sure he could see past his fake brother’s - but real uncle’s - childish pride, or his petty self-entitlement. Maybe he would just blow up when he heard some dumb comment from Pacha, like he had in the past. With how immature the young King of the Center had been ever since the start of the Succession War, that seemed quite likely. Though at least Pacha had agreed to come here, which was a good start. Getting to talk was the first step to solving an issue, even if his opposite would be a stubborn bastard, a literal bastard in this case.

Though when the south gate to the internal garden finally opened and the King of the Center entered together with twelve of his warriors, Corco realized that he may have underestimated his uncle. If nothing else, he had underestimated just how much anyone could change when given enough responsibility and time.

Pacha\'s walk was measured and dignified. Gone was the arrogant swagger of his youth. Now, he looked like someone Corco had to be careful about.

It had been more than three years since the southern king had met his uncle Pachacutec. Back then, they had not spoken a word. They had only seen each other from the distance, across a battlefield not far from their current position. Back then, Pacha had pushed through two armies in an attempt to reach Corco, to cut off his head. Meanwhile, Corco had tried to hide in the crowd so that Herak couldn’t shoot him with his fucking bow. They had only made eye contact for a few seconds, before Corco\'s forces retreated and the battle came to an end.

Thinking back, it had been even longer since they had actually talked face to face. The last time must have been during their controversial duel, the one that ultimately split the empire in three and returned some of Corco’s rightfully owed power to him, against the wishes of the empire’s elders.

For Corco, the duel was now distant past. He was far too busy reshaping his nation and driving the Arcavians off his lands to care about old stories from back then.

Though as he saw his uncle again, he realized that the King of the Center would never in his life forget that duel of theirs. His right arm was carried in a sling, even now still injured from the moment Corco had broken it during their duel, all for a cheap pun. His hair, which Corco had cut off after his victory, was still kept short, even now. And his face had a hardness and bitterness that had replaced his green, self-assured grin of the past.

“Welcome, Brother! I am glad to see you.” That was a lie of course, but appearances had to be upheld between the would-be allies. However, it seemed like his fellow king’s desire to play \'pretend friendship\' was even lower than his own. Pacha’s frown only deepened for a few seconds as he stared at Corco. When the merchant king got ready for his newest customer to just jump him, the young king finally replied.

“The King of the Center greets the King of the South.” Pacha said in a stiff tone, as mechanical as Corco’s new calculators. Clearly, he still held a grudge, after all these years. Or maybe he was just nervous, the little scamp. Either way, Corco simply pretended he hadn’t heard the provocative undertones.

Instead, he sat down and said, "Don\'t be shy, brother. Please, have a seat. I\'ve prepared a welcoming present for you."

While the stock-still Pacha still stood on the other end of the garden, Corco turned to his side, where servants were already standing ready, with trays in their hands. From atop the tray, Corco picked up the mixing glass and put it on the table between the two.

Without a care for his impatient uncle, Corco filled the mixing glass with a few fingers of whiskey, then with steaming coffee, and sugar, and finally he topped the creation with heavy cream, all handed to him by various servants. Only then did he divide the contents of the mixing glass up between two readied mugs.

It was bad form to not prepare an irish coffee right in the glass, but presenting two different glasses right from the start would be rude at best, and could possibly start a new conflict at worst. He didn’t want to be accused of poisoning another king after all.

I just hope the cream won\'t mix into the coffee too much, he thought as he poured the drink into the two glasses and then added some precious cinnamon shavings for effect and smell. At some point during the process, Pacha had sat down without a word, but he just looked at Corco and didn\'t spare the drink even a glance.

“Come on, have a drink," the merchant king tried again, this time looking squarely at Pacha. "I made it myself. It’s got ingredients from three different countries across the world.”

Again, Pacha just stared, sitting in his seat stock-still and observing Corco.

"Really?" Corco asked. This guy didn\'t go brain dead in the meantime, right? "At least try it before you walk out of here," he finally said and picked up his mug.

However, even then, Pacha waited until the southern king had taken a generous swig from his mug, before he sipped a bit himself, mostly out of politeness. Almost immediately, his frown eased.

“Not bad, right?” Corco asked, with a big grin on his face. “You drink a lot of our new whiskey and coffee, and this is the perfect drink for the cold weather. So I knew you’d like it.”

“How?” Immediately, Pacha’s frown returned. Although Corco knew that his answer would upset his opponent, he felt the move was worth the risk. In Corco\'s experience, honesty could often disarm opponents with ease, especially when it came unexpectedly.

Thus, he shrugged his shoulder and said: “Ah, my spies told me what kind of food and drink you like.”

“What!?” The frown turned to anger as Pacha stood with a growl. Corco, meanwhile, just took another sip from his drink.

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you haven’t tried to place any spies around me. Should I guess who it is?” Corco winked. Being open would go a long way here, and honesty had always been Corco’s best method for negotiations. It would cover for his lack of sophistication. Indeed, the merchant king’s casual attitude almost immediately caused the hero king to calm down.

“No need.” Pacha sat back down and took another sip, now much more comfortable in his posture. At last, it looked like the worst of it was over. With Pacha seated and relaxed, they could finally start their proper talks.