41 That Magnificent Beard (1/2)
Ever since his arrival in Medala, Corco had been on constant edge. Powered by his self-hypnotic levels of confidence, he had done his best to paper over the cracks, but the ever-increasing pile of bad news had nibbled away at his composure. After the night on Mount Urquna, he had found his missing balance once again, at least for the moment. At last he could focus his mind and plan ahead as they left the mountains and went south, towards the capital at a steady pace.
Even though their attempts to win over the estates along the way had remained unsuccessful, he could handle the predictable rejections much better than before. After all, any time he blew up in some brat's face, it would only hurt his reputation. Plus, the prince was far too caught up in his newest endeavor. For the first time since he had left Arcavia, Corco had restarted his teaching career.
”But would our firm beliefs in the values of our ancestors not bind us together better than anything?” Primus asked.
”That's a nice thought, but your thinking is too shallow, young padawan.” With a raised finger, Corco reprimanded his new student. ”Ideology is the fastest way to unite a people, but you don't consider the flip side of ideological thought. If you believe in something without question, you will be controlled by those who control the belief. Even worse, most ideologies are subjective and open to interpretation. Who interprets the truth? That's not a question any human should be allowed to answer.”
Throughout their journey, the prince had spent his spare time to tutor Primus on some of the finer points of economics, trade and ethics, at least as far as he himself understood them. In the capital there would be conflict everywhere. Corco needed someone who could contradict, and thereby offend, people of high status. If he were to do all the offending himself, he would only make enemies. Meanwhile, his warrior attendants would risk their heads if they ever contradicted a noble in public. As luck would have it, Primus was a high-ranked noble himself and could offend anyone he wanted, at least so long as he stayed within the limits of common etiquette.
”Prince Corco, I understand your concern, but we should still keep to our traditions. We should honor the ancients and keep to their wisdom which has served us for so many generations.”
On the flip-side, the old-fashioned upbringing Primus had received proved a constant hindrance. Quite often, the young master was unwilling to even consider views which were different from the nonsense his elders had taught him.
”'The ancients', is it? Who do you mean by that? The half of our ancestors who came from Arcavia? Like those merchants who have come for our silver? Or the other who came from Chutwa? Bookworms who nag everyone into compliance if they dare have a different opinion from them?”
Despite being subject to another one of Corco's rants, Primus still kept still and listened in earnest.
”Our traditions are already corrupted by both sides, the east and the west. With the way things are going, you won't get the choice to simply stick to our tradition any more. I've been to Arcavia and I can tell you that it's not that impressive. No, what we need is not someone else's tradition, we need to make our own from scratch, one that is unique to us, not derived from the east or the west. That would be a tradition worth defending.”
”But how could we do that, Prince Corco? We cannot simply invent tradition, can we?”
”Why not? If our new ideas are superior, why wouldn't they replace the old ones?”
In response to Corco's bold statement, Primus fell silent. Content with the current result of his lessons, the teacher decided to let his student deliberate by himself for a while. Instead, Corco looked ahead, towards the goal of their journey. After days of travel, they had finally come close to Arguna, the silver city, and the armies which surrounded it.
Since in Medala, political weight had always been equated with military force, all estates had sent their own personal warriors to make their weight felt. A tense atmosphere had engulfed the city, like the calm before the storm. To make sure the capital itself wouldn't suffer in the impending chaos, warriors had been barred from entry into Arguna. As a consequence, temporary camps had sprung up all around the city to house troops from the various factions. Two days ago, just as they had left the mountain pass, a runner of House Petrocilius had reached the caravan and informed them of the position of his family's camp, which was where they had been headed ever since.
Although they were so close to their goal already, of course something would go wrong again. With clear intent to obstruct their path, a group of armed men swaggered onto the road. One of them made a large step forward to announce his leadership of the group and said, ”Your game is up, foreign bandits! How dare you trample on these lands and try to rob its riches!”
It all seemed so familiar. Reminded of the nonsense arrest they had gone through in Porcero, Corco and Fadelio shared a smirk as they suppressed their laughter. All the while the henchman ignored the peculiar atmosphere and kept going.
”As a servant of the great Prince Pluritac, my word shall stand for justice. Thus, you shall have a chance to prove your identity!”
”Yeah, I get it. So you want a fight then? That's fine, let's fight.” Unwilling to waste any more time on the minions, Corco waved off the grandiose speech.
”Huh?”
Since Corco had skipped the predictable steps of 'I am a noble', 'Prove it', 'Here's the proof', 'This proof is fake', 'No it's not' and 'Let's solve this by combat,' the henchman had been left utterly confused.
”You're here to test the strength of my men, right? That's why you're provoking a stargazing brawl?”
Whenever there was a disagreement between two nobles of Medala, one of them could challenge a stargazing brawl, a traditional method to settle disputes without the need for an all-out war. Under the watch of the stars, either the individual lords in question or one hundred man groups of their warriors would fight one another, in combat deadly or otherwise. In most cases, the loser of the brawl would back down from his claim or ostracized by the other Medalan estates.
”So, are we fighting right here?” Corco continued. ”Weapons or fists? Oh, and please do tell which one of my good brothers would throw away warriors like this just to gain some intel.”
As far as Corco was concerned, the entire ploy was far too transparent. The warriors were here to scout out the strength of Corco's one hundred man party by exploiting the old Medalan rules. It was exactly the kind of behavior which annoyed Corco more than anything. However, they couldn't just ignore a hostile troop, for fear of getting into a proper fight, without rules. Unless he wanted an unpredictable mess of a fight, the prince would have to play along. Since a brawl couldn't be avoided either way, he decided to let Dedrick's men crush the nuisance and use the power of his men as a deterrent. To him, it seemed like the best remaining option, although he would have preferred to hide his strength for a while longer. As luck would have it, someone stepped in, just in time to fulfill his wishes.
”Stop! I can vouch for this group.”
Atop the crest of a nearby hill, a group of warriors appeared while Corco had been busy.At the front of the warriors stood the man who had barged into the conversation. Tall and with a magnificent black beard that covered half his face, it was a figure the first prince was more than familiar with. Never had Corco been so glad to see facial hair.
”Uncle!”
”Corco my boy!”
Sonco Cauac Saqartu, the lord of the powerful southern Saqartu estate and Governor of the South greeted his nephew with his signature smile and a warm embrace, in complete breach of etiquette.
”Welcome home, child. I am glad you are back.”
”Thank you. It was quite the journey,” said Corco with a dumb grin on his face.
”I am glad to see you fine my boy, but what on earth happened to your hair?” Sonco replied as his smile transitioned into a worried frown.
”Ah, it's not what you think. I'm just blending in.” The prince tussled his hair. ”Those easterners are pretty hostile if you don't look like them, dress like them and think like them. Though I guess we aren't much different.”
Just like all insular, locally dominant cultures, the Yaku had a strong isolationist streak, especially since the last invasion attempts from the mainland had united the country a century ago. The only reason they were somewhat receptive to foreign ideas was their relative weakness compared to the great powers of the east, west and north.
”The easterners I have met these years were quite civil,” Sonco replied.
”Of course they were. After all, they don't have the numerical advantage here. They can be very helpful to us as long as we don't give them a foothold anywhere.”
”How is the brat? Any trouble?”
Despite how rude he sounded, Sonco's face betrayed his worry.
”You'll be surprised when you meet that son of yours again. Atau has properly grown up and leads the greatest fleet on the east coast. Though beard-wise, he's still got nothing on you.”
Like a drunk at a fancy dinner party, a disharmonious voice disrupted the family reunion.
”Although Lord Saqartu's opinion is respected, the identity of this person is to be questioned. It not something lord can determine by himself! This servant is under strict-”
”That's quite enough,” Sonco barely raised his voice. His face didn't show so much as a hint of anger, but the disturbance still quieted down straight away.
”Beyond this hill sits an entire camp's worth of warriors, ready to challenge your authority here. You are free to try your luck with them. Unfortunately, this Lord does not have the leisure to listen to the words of a blood hound.” Once the baffled minion had been finished off, Sonco turned back to his nephew. ”We should continue this in the camp.”
As they left behind the helpless loudmouth, Corco asked, ”So whose henchmen are these guys anyways? They wouldn't tell me.”
”House Ichilia. Which makes them your youngest brother's followers.”
”Pachacutec, was it? That's a fancy name to take for himself.”
At age sixteen, Medala nobles would hold their maturity rites and give themselves their own names in the process. Beforehand, they would simply carry their father's name and the sequence of their birth, which made every 'Primus' their family's first born and young master Primus to his side most definitely a kid.
”Yes, I thought it was quite presumptuous of him to take a hero's name, but what do I know. He deserves it if he actually manages to usurp the throne as the third-born son. Not to mention, the brat has grown into quite the monster. At seventeen, he is already as tall as his father was and a fierce warrior to boot.”
Corco wanted to wait for a quieter place for this sort of conversation, so he looked around for a change in subject. Luckily, he found one not too far from himself.
”By the way. Uncle, meet Primus Vitus Petrocilius. He is about to take his maturity rites, so his grandfather sent him along to gain some experience. Elder Petrocilius has been very helpful.”
”Young master Primus Vitus Petrocilius greets Lord Saqartu.”