The Price of Peace
The sun had just begun to dip below the rooftops of Concordia, bathing the stone walls of the old city in a soft amber hue. Bells from the Tower of Concord chimed the sixth hour, echoing across the marble-lined square where two men sat on a carved bench beneath a row of silverleaf trees.
The older man, Halev, adjusted the woolen shawl draped over his shoulders. A merchant once, retired now. His hands were calloused but steady, his beard trimmed close to a chin that still bore the memory of a stronger jawline. Beside him, Maren, a cobbler in his thirties, finished a sip from his cup of spiced tea and leaned back.
They sat in silence for a while. The marketplace had quieted. Children darted between fountains, their laughter rising and falling like a lullaby. The flags of many nations—Rheine, Viscotia, Zelmani, Velmara—hung limp in the still evening air, their colors dulled by dust and sun but no less proud.
Maren broke the silence first. "Hard to believe this square was once empty. Just pigeons and a few wandering monks. Now look at it."
Halev nodded, his eyes on the tower. "Aye. And not just this square. All of Meridinia's changed."
Maren gave a small laugh. "Changed? It's been reborn. I was barely out of my apprenticeship when the war ended. Didn't understand half of what was happening. Just knew that the rations were thin and the sky never seemed to clear."
"I remember the rations," Halev said, smiling faintly. "Salted barley and hardbread. And praying the taxmen didn't come twice in the same season."
"You were a merchant, weren't you?" Maren asked. "Before the Grand Concord?"
Halev nodded slowly. "Started with a single mule and a wagon. Traded salt from the coast up to the hill passes of Kurhenn. Dangerous roads back then. Bandits, toll lords, rogue soldiers. There were years where I paid more in bribes than I earned in trade."
"But now?"
"Now?" Halev chuckled. "Now I can send a shipment from Rheine to Velmara without even needing an armed escort. There's tariffs, sure, but at least they're standard. Fair, even. King Frederick saw to that."
Maren leaned forward. "You ever meet him? The King?"
"Once. Briefly," Halev said. "Back when they first opened the Concord Market, I was invited as part of a guild delegation. He passed by our booth, asked a few questions about our trade routes, the price of spices. Seemed to know more about shipping than half the merchants I'd trained."
There was admiration in his voice, but also a weariness.
"You believe he made all this possible?" Maren asked.
Halev didn't answer at first. He reached for his walking stick, turning it slowly in his hand.
"He started it. But peace like this," he gestured to the square, to the children, the clean streets, the market stalls, "it takes more than one man. Still, without him, I don't think the war would have ended when it did."
"What was it really like? Back then. When the war was still on?"
Halev's eyes turned distant.
"Viscotia controlled the valleys. Rheine held the highlands. Velmara threatened from the sea, and Zelmani from the desert plains. No one trusted anyone. Every harvest risked being seized. Every road was a gamble. Some of the smaller realms like the Ravel Coast city-states were controlled by Velmara as ports. While others took the opportunity to pillage villages like the kingdoms of Terys and Kurhenn. The Dawn Republic and The Lixumbrian Confederacy suffered the most. They were raided, taxed, conscripted and acted as pawns in the hands of kings and warlords."
Maren nodded. "My uncle served in the Lixumbrian levy. Never came back. My father always said the war never cared who bled for it."
"True," Halev said. "But when Frederick came to power, things began to change. He wasn't a warmonger. He was a strategist. He fought to end the fighting. Not for conquest. That's why the others listened to him at Concordia."
"I heard he even offered the Viscotians land rights and trade terms. After beating them."
"He did," Halev confirmed. "A rare thing. A victor who doesn't humiliate the defeated. The Sultan of Zelmani respected that. So did Queen Elyra of Velmara. She'd lost two brothers in the sea wars. She wanted peace more than anyone."
Maren nodded slowly. "What about the big powers? Viscotia, Velmara, Zelmani, how did they fare in the war?"
Halev took a long sip from his cup. "Viscotia was proud and brutal. Their kings believed themselves heirs to ancient glory. But they overreached. When Rheine struck back in the Fourth Campaign and broke their eastern armies, Viscotia's mountain fortresses became prisons. After the Treaty of Branneth, they had to open their roads and give up two key provinces."
"And Velmara?"
"Ruthless at sea, but pragmatic. Queen Elyra lost more than half her navy in the Battle of Three Coasts. After that, she knew peace was the only path to preserve her throne. She signed the Grand Concord early and used it to dominate the shipping lanes with treaties instead of cannons."
"And Zelmani?"
Halev's expression turned thoughtful. "The desert sultanate was never truly conquered. Too vast. Too mobile. Their riders could appear out of the sands, strike, and vanish before morning. But their people were tired. They fought Rheine for ten years and lost countless sons. The Sultan agreed to peace on the condition that his borders remained untouched and that trade caravans could pass without toll."
"And they stuck to it?"
"So far," Halev said. "But peace there is held together by gold and exhaustion. If either fails, I would not be surprised to see Zelmani blades in the passes again."
They sat in silence once more. A cool breeze drifted across the square, stirring the banners.
Maren stretched his legs, eyes on the sky. "And now we've got new roads. Open markets. Grain in the storehouses. "
The air had grown cooler. Lanterns flickered to life around the square, casting a golden sheen across the cobblestones.
"What about the nobles?" Maren asked at length. "You hear whispers sometimes. That not all of them are happy."
Halev sighed. "They never are. Some of them lost more in peace than they ever lost in war. Land, control, privilege. The Duke of Stronmere, for example. He used to tax three toll bridges and run his own private army. Frederick ended that three thousand year tradition. Turned it into centralized power. Pissed off a lot of old families."
"But he gave power to the cities," Maren said. "And the guilds. The people."
"He did," Halev replied. "He reshaped Rheine's courts, gave the Dawn Republic a permanent embassy in the capital, opened scholarships to students from the Ravel Coast. It's why the Confederacy finally joined the Concord."
Maren rubbed his chin. "Funny. You'd think peace would be easier than war."
"It's not," Halev said quietly. "Peace takes patience. Compromise. Forgiveness. Things most men find harder than swinging a sword."
They sat in silence again, the hush of dusk settling around them.
Finally, Halev stood with a quiet groan. "Come. The bakery should still have honey rolls if we hurry."
Maren rose too, chuckling. "You and your sweets."
"At my age, lad, I've earned them."
As they walked slowly across the square, the banners above them fluttered gently in the evening breeze. The carved stone ring beneath the Tower of Concord shimmered in the fading light, the single word at its center still visible even from a distance.
Peace.