Book I: Horizon of War — Part 2 of 3

Book 1: Horizon of War

Part 2 of 3

Note: the chapter numbering will differ from the book version.

Previous Part

Chapter 11

A Village by The Lake

Lansius sprinted through the woods until his better judgment stopped him. He surveyed his surroundings and concealed himself. Examining his bag, he realized he had items that could arouse suspicion. A clerk fleeing from war with a sword wouldn’t go unnoticed, and carrying a large sum of gold coins would be unwise. At best, they could be confiscated; at worst, he could be robbed or jailed as a thief.

So, he scanned the area and noticed something gray. Lansius cautiously approached the spot, careful not to lose his bearings. As he got closer, he saw a large, half-buried boulder, which was easy to locate even from a distance—as Miranda had told them, perfect as a landmark but not for hiding. Lansius then spotted an old tree with dark-colored bark behind some shrubs.

He pushed through the surrounding vegetation and reached the tree. Sitting on one of its giant roots, he felt protected by the plants that concealed the spot. Lansius then noticed a gap in the tree roots and cautiously inserted his sword, still in its scabbard, to test its depth while praying he wouldn’t disturb any snakes or spiders inside.

Finding the hole deep enough and undisturbed, he pulled out the sword and dug a small hole for his money pouch. He carefully placed the pouch inside, covered it with dirt, and flattened the surface using the scabbard. He then gathered several stones and plugged the hole, followed by a layer of dried leaves to conceal it further.

Satisfied with his work, Lansius checked his pockets for anything that might raise suspicion and found his purple plants. On a whim, he pulled out his knife and began digging in a clearing near the ancient tree. He planted the purple plants and sprinkled some water on them. Now, he was ready to meet the villagers.

Filled with anticipation and hope, Lansius retraced his steps to the gray boulder and then walked east toward the village beyond vast meadows and a clear, azure blue lake.

After an hour of walking, Lansius spotted an elderly couple in their orchard, staring at him. Lansius waved at them, and they quickly dropped their gardening tools and approached him. “Young man,” they called.

Lansius came to a stop, his heart still racing, as he finally reached them.

“Young man, are you a merchant?” the elderly woman in gray gardening clothes asked.

“Huh?” Lansius blurted, caught off guard by the question.

“He isn't, Martha. Your eyes are deceiving you again,” said the elderly man, thin-faced but sharp-eyed.

“My apologies, I’m not a merchant,” Lansius managed. “May I ask the name of this village?”

They were stunned to hear that. “Are you lost? But Torrea is far from anywhere.”

“I came through the woods,” Lansius said, gesturing toward the forest.

The couple was taken aback. The elderly woman motioned for him to follow her, while the elderly man grasped Lansius’s hand and led him away. “Come with us. The village chief will need to know.”

***

Over two weeks had passed in peaceful monotony. Life in the village of Torrea was much like Bellandia for Lansius—slow and tranquil. The sun blazed on this day, but a cool, pleasant breeze persisted.

Lansius sat on a backyard porch bench as the village chief skillfully cut his hair. The old man with graying hair wielded his large scissors with practiced ease.

“There, now you look the part,” the chief said.

“Gratitude, chief.” Lansius then took a refreshing outdoor bath using water from the well, a quintessential summer activity.

“So, you’re leaving tomorrow?” the chief asked as he swept the porch. That was why Lansius had asked where he might get a haircut. Earlier, the land official had arrived with a travel permit, finally allowing him to leave the village.

“Yes, in the morning,” Lansius confirmed.

“I see...” The old man nodded. “Then I’ll ask my daughter to cook breakfast for you.”

“Gratitude,” Lansius replied with a warm smile.

The chief waved his hand and went inside.

Lansius dried himself with a clean cloth and dressed in his work clothes. Though the summer sun would make him sweat soon enough, he didn’t mind. He retrieved a wicker basket, a hemp sack, and a large, round hat from the shed.

Since he recovered enough, Lansius routinely gathered firewood and wild berries, viewing it as both exercise and a way to contribute as a guest. He strolled leisurely along the path leading to the forest, waving politely to the people he encountered.

Serene and picturesque, Torrea featured fields and terraced farms that had recently turned a subtle shade of yellow, enlivening the landscape. Cicadas chirped, and birds flew freely around the lake, which teemed with life.

As usual, Lansius chatted with the elderly couple he first met in Torrea before excusing himself and heading toward the forest entrance. Ensuring no one followed, he made his way to a gray boulder. His recently purchased second-hand shoes were slightly oversized, but they protected his feet well enough.

Usually, Lansius would head directly to the half-buried boulder where he had hidden a thick piece of wood about the size of a sword. This piece was heavier than a real one, and he often used it for training after gathering firewood. Several trees had low-hanging branches that were perfect for this purpose. While he could have used the blade he had found, he didn’t want anyone to see him in possession of a sword.

However, today was different. Upon catching sight of the gray boulder, Lansius veered right, heading toward the ancient oak tree. Pushing through the surrounding shrubs, he found a comfortable spot on one of its giant roots. The plant with purple leaves he had planted seemed to keep the area insect-free.

Lansius watered the healthy plant using his water pouch, carefully weeding out any other vegetation around it.

Through walking, carrying out small chores, and engaging in occasional training, he felt that he had recovered. He had gained weight, and the blisters on his feet had healed. His left ankle, however, never felt quite the same, but he accepted that there was little he could do to change that.

Birdsong from overhead reminded him of his task. Today, he didn’t need to forage. Instead, he lowered his basket, knelt, and removed dried leaves from between the tree roots. He easily found the stack of firewood he had saved earlier. Afterward, he removed several stones between the roots where he had hidden his sword and money pouch.

Seeing no signs of spiders or snakes, he carefully reached inside and retrieved his arming sword. Even within its scabbard, the sword felt light. Resisting the urge to check the blade, he placed it inside a hemp sack and concealed it in a wicker basket, covering it with firewood.

Next, he dug a little deeper and pulled out his old money pouch. After confirming the contents of gold and silver, he placed it in his trusted bag. Lansius felt guilty for keeping these items a secret. The chief had been kind to him despite his dubious background and circumstances, but he couldn’t risk confiscation.

The sun turned orange and bathed the clouds in gold-colored rays. Lansius packed his gear. His old fear of getting lost in the forest haunted him deeply.

He knew it was a close brush with death. The villagers told him that the river he had followed flowed westward into the Great Forest. If he had gone there, then he would have certainly died. There was no known path through, and it would take weeks to cross it. That is if he survived the rumored foul beasts and monsters that lurked inside.

Lansius looked at the purple plant one last time. Despite its special properties, he had no heart to pluck it for the second time.

He left the plant and oak tree behind. With hurried steps, he returned to the village.

...

Sundown came to the village, and supper was served. The chief finished early as usual and left the two youngsters to clean up.

“I heard you’re leaving,” Amelia, the chief’s daughter, said while cleaning the plates. She was a few years older than him.

“Mm, yeah. While you were away, the land official came by, bringing a travel permit,” Lansius replied while scrubbing the cauldron.

“I see . . .” her reply was unenthusiastic.

The village of Torrea was so remote that it took seven days for the land official to learn about Lansius and to arrange someone to visit. When they finally met, Lansius shocked them with his report of war in Arvena. They forbade him from leaving until they could verify his story. As it turned out, confirming Lansius’s story took another seven days, and an additional three days to find an official bound to Torrea so they could deliver his permit.

“Well, I understand why you want to leave,” Amelia said in between cleaning.

Lansius stopped scrubbing. “How so?”

“This village, there’s nothing in here but old couples and farm life.”

He chuckled, but argued, “That’s not true. Torrea has a lake, and freshwater fish are a delicacy.”

Amelia snorted softly. “Too bad they’re fishy and rot easily. Also, without salt, we can only grill them.”

Lansius laughed. The two had talked about this topic several times. She was a few years older than him, but already a widow. Her much older husband had succumbed to an illness two years ago.

“Honestly, I like staying here. It’s peaceful.”

Amelia paused her work, turned around, and looked at Lansius. “Then stay.” Her tone was serious.

Lansius drew a heavy breath. Even as dense as he was, he knew Amelia wanted him as a brother she never had, or as a substitute for her late husband. Torrea was surrounded by dense forest and lacked any trade routes, causing many young people to seek employment in neighboring villages with more opportunities. This led to a severe shortage of eligible partners for marriage.

“I wish I could,” Lansius said. He had too much guilt to accept such an offer.

Amelia said nothing and quietly returned to cleaning.

Lansius did the same. This was his last day, and he intended to clean as thoroughly as possible. While his hands worked, his mind wandered.

The offer was a tempting one.

If he stayed, then his future would be set. As an educated man, he could apply for a clerical job in the nearest estate. Moreover, the chief’s vast farming land would be his, if he married Amelia. He wouldn’t have to worry about anything. To top the list, Amelia had a sweet side and was dependable.

“I’m going to prepare something for you tomorrow,” she said when they were done.

“Gratitude,” Lansius said politely, and the conversation ended that way.

...

As morning arrived, Lansius enjoyed an early breakfast. He had discarded his moldy gambeson, which was too conspicuous when not on a campaign. Instead, he traded it for a second-hand gray doublet that he confidently wore.

Carefully packing his belongings into a hemp sack fashioned like a duffel bag, he donned a felt hat to cover his hair. Unbeknownst to him, the chief had arranged for a donkey cart.

“I can’t repay your kindness, chief,” Lansius said, touched by the stranger’s generosity.

“Don’t get me wrong, lad. You’ve been a great help to me.” The chief pulled an envelope from his coat and handed it to the coachman. “For the baronet.”

The coachman nodded and kept it in his breast pocket.

Lansius smiled with satisfaction. The envelope represented his idea to initiate trade between Torrea and its nearest neighbor. Although Torrea lacked a prized commodity and wouldn’t typically benefit financially from trade, Lansius believed the villagers should barter their harvest for salted meat.

While salted meat was expensive, this trade could help alleviate the village’s salt shortage, which Lansius suspected had caused illness and deaths after the salt mine closed due to a lack of young miners. He also suggested the chief invite people who knew about the smoking process to preserve fish, potentially turning the underappreciated catch into a valuable commodity.

The chief bade him farewell. “Don’t get in trouble again. Visit Torrea if you find yourself nearby.”

“Gratitude, Chief. Until next time.” Lansius carefully loaded the hemp sack and climbed aboard the cart.

The coachman nudged the donkey, and the cart began to roll.

“Visit us when you can,” Amelia called with a wave.

“I will. Take care, Amelia.”

As Torrea fell behind him in the pale morning light, Lansius fixed his eyes on the road ahead and the wider world waiting beyond.

***

Chapter 12

Midlandia

For more than a thousand years, the Imperium stood as the largest human bastion in the Great Continent. Under its reign, the populace had seen unrivaled peace, order, and prosperity. However, its rule gradually fell apart.

The Imperium required vast resources just to maintain its territories. Burdened by an archaic bureaucracy, it consumed more than it could collect in taxes. As the treasury dwindled, the economy was strained and steadily worsened.

Since the turn of the century, the Imperium had found itself unable to maintain its borders. Strategic outposts were deserted; public buildings, roads, and bridges were left to ruin. Yet, the capital continued to siphon more and more wealth, leaving only crumbs for the rest of the populace.

Regions closest to the border suffered the greatest. Neglected, but pressured by harsh tax and labor obligations, many abandoned their birthplaces. All over the continent, there were signs of unrest.

The weakened border triggered a nomadic uprising in the west. To the north, the ever-tenacious northerners had defied the High Court and annexed regions with thinly veiled pretexts.

However, for the Imperium’s elites, it was business as usual. Despite the deterioration, the status quo in the central plains remained unchallenged. Their grand festivals and lavish parties that they threw for all manner of ceremonies continued without interruption.

The summer of the Elven Calendar year 4423 arrived with tidings that shocked the Imperium to its core. Arvena, one of the provinces in the central plain, had fallen.

Ever ambitious, Margrave Gottfried had unified the rebellious northerners and led them across the Great River and into Arvena. His pretext was to stop a feud between a minor lord and Earl Maurice. In the ensuing conflict, Earl Maurice, his descendants, and inner circle went missing, presumably killed, allowing the margrave to occupy Arvena.

A massacre of a member of the High Houses and a blatant takeover of an important region created a crisis. With the army held in the west against the nomads, the Imperium couldn’t risk opening another front. However, everyone knew the margrave had crossed the line. Things wouldn’t be the same anymore.

For the northerners, further conflict was a chance for revenge against their oppressors. For the ordinary folks in the central plains, this was a prelude to disaster.

***

After leaving Torrea, Lansius had been living on the road for two weeks. He rode open carts when they were available at a good price, usually when the cart was half empty. But for the most part, he traveled on foot. As much as he wanted to arrive faster at the eastern part, he knew money might be a problem, so he tried to balance speed and cost.

As was customary, he traveled in a large group with traveling peddlers, seasonal laborers, and people running errands. The group provided protection and the added benefit of someone who could cook in exchange for goods or money. Nonetheless, he was cautious about what he ate. The last thing he wanted was to fall ill due to diarrhea. Without access to medicine, stomachaches were not just an inconvenience but indicators of potentially deadly disease.

Despite resembling a guardsman with his doublet and sword hung on his belt, Lansius took precautions and sewed the gold coins into his doublet, blanket, and the inner part of his bag. He needed protection against thieves who might blend in with the group.

As he traveled, he learned about the province of Midlandia and the northern region’s complex relationship with slavery. The Imperium strictly forbade the enslavement of its own citizens. However, it allowed captured beastmen or nomadic peoples to be sold as slaves, most of whom were taken to the Eastern Kingdoms. Such cases, however, had become exceedingly rare and were said to have scarcely occurred in the past hundred years.

What was truly traded in practice now were unfortunate commoners who had become entangled with the underworld, whether willingly or not, and war captives.

This had come about because of the Imperium’s great decline. For centuries, it had relied more and more on local lords to fight its border wars. In turn, those lords needed other means to fund their campaigns. Many began to secretly dabble in slavery, and Imperial officials turned a blind eye.

The thought filled Lansius with urgency as he worried about the people he had left behind in Riverstead. He had reason to believe that if captives from there were to appear, it would be in the city of Feodosia. But time and money would both be in short supply, for the Eastern Kingdoms were always hungry for more slaves.

Lansius thought about the gold coins. He knew they weren’t his, but if he found Stefi or any of his friends, he would gladly buy their freedom and risk confrontation with Miranda or Sir Ian’s House.

The sliver of hope that he might save someone motivated him to hit the road through the summer sun every morning.

Despite the searing heat, summer traveling was actually the norm, as the ground was firm and solid during the season. However, at midday, travelers needed to seek cover under shade or risk getting heatstroke.

Only after the sun waned did they dare to continue until sundown or until they arrived at a town or village along the way. But that wasn’t much of a problem. Northern Midlandia was bustling with towns and villages surrounded by farmlands and orchards.

These places were busy, large, and industrious. Carts and carriages filled the roads, while the markets were full of traders with their goods and wares.

The towns had shops and workshops that offered all kinds of products. One, in particular, caught Lansius’s attention. After much deliberation, he traded his shoes for new, better-fitting boots. While the soles were hard, they served him well in lessening the heat from the road’s heat from burning through..

With new boots on his feet, he could not help but look forward to the next day’s journey.

Darkness fell, and another day came to an end.

...

The next morning, Lansius walked with a determined stride. It began as a lovely day, but as usual, the sun soon turned merciless. The heat grew so punishing that even the birds fell silent. Lansius traveled alone, as safety was less of a concern on a road crowded with carts and carriages.

Just one more village to go.

Looking back, more than a month had passed since his escape from Riverstead. A growing fear gnawed at him that if his friends had been captured, the slavers might sell them before he arrived. That fear drove him onward at a faster pace, even if it meant traveling alone for the rest of the journey.

In the first town he visited, Lansius had upgraded his hat to a larger one, but the summer sun still burned into his back and tanned his hands and any other exposed skin.

The occasional breeze was his only respite, while the sound of cicadas provided the only distraction from the maddening heat. When the cobbled stone was too hot even for his new boots, he walked on the roadside where the grass was cooler.

As midday approached, the road became less crowded. Most travelers had stopped to rest, but Lansius kept going for another mile.

It was hot, but the walk was quiet and peaceful.

By chance, he heard a loud squabble from a fast-moving carriage coming toward him.

A couple’s quarrel?

He was ready to dismiss it, but the rising voice and the harshness of the tone signaled that something was off.

The coachman suddenly yelled. “No, no, don’t, that’s dangerous, watch out!”

Lansius turned toward the speeding carriage as it swept past him. His eyes widened at the sight of long golden hair fluttering in the wind. Mesmerized, he failed to notice anything else before something struck him square in the face.

“Oof!” Lansius cried as he was thrown backward. He hit the ground hard, the back of his head striking with a thud. The blow nearly knocked him senseless and left him reeling.

Only then did he realize that something heavy had slammed into him. A weak groan slipped from him through the pain. Even with his eyes shut, he could almost see stars spinning. Worse still, a throbbing ache spread through his head, chest, and back.

“Oh, my apologies,” a concerned woman said hastily, though her voice was lovely.

A girl...? From where?

Lansius tried to see, but it was all blurry and painful. The metallic taste grew stronger in his mouth, so he spat into the grass.

“Apologies . . .” She kept apologizing and grabbed Lansius’s hand.

His knees felt powerless, so despite her help, he could only sit on the ground. With head still felt like spinning, he asked, “What happened?”

“You fell pretty hard. Does your head feel all right?”

“Do you see what hit me?”

“Mm . . . more or less.”

“Can you tell me? If it’s a wooden crate or barrel, I might need a bandage.” He gently rubbed his pained head.

“No, you should be all right. I’m not that heavy,” she said, while pulling her straw hat down slightly.

“Y-you fell into me?” Lansius, for the first time, managed to open his eyes and glanced at the lady. He was awestruck by the sweet-looking face, blue azure eyes, and gorgeous golden hair.

“Oh no, you’re in shock,” she said, panicking.

“Eh, no, no. I’m just a little preoccupied,” he said.

“Lemme check.” She moved beside him and checked the back of his head. “There’s no blood—oh, my, what a lovely hair color.”

Lansius was stunned and pulled his hat firmly down over his ears. “Please, it’s all right. I’m fine, my lady,” he added as he just remembered that blond hair usually meant nobility.

She snorted. “Relax. I’m not a noble.” Again, she offered her hand.

Her smile swayed Lansius to take her hand.

She helped him to get up with a smile and whispered, “It’s all right, I saw nothing.”

Lansius flustered a little and nodded quickly. “Anyway, are you okay? I mean, you’re jumping from a running cart.”

“Seems that way . . .” She looked at her left and right side. “Just some light bruises.” She showed him her reddened elbow.

“To get away from a speeding cart with only bruises. That’s remarkable luck.”

“Hehe, my friends always called me fortunate. I guess they were right,” she said with the most radiant smile.

Lansius’s heart skipped a beat. He turned his face around and noticed the cart was coming back. “I apologize for minding your business, but why did you jump?”

“Ah, because that jerk lied to me,” she said sharply. “He said it was just a minor detour before heading to Feodosia, but now we’re nearly a city away. He also refused to stop and let me down.”

His eyes lit up. “You were kidnapped?”

***

Chapter 13

Fortuna

Beneath the sweltering summer sun, Lansius found himself in the midst of an unexpected encounter on his way to Feodosia. He had come across a blond stranger who appeared to have been kidnapped, and now she stood her ground, boldly facing the approaching cart that might have been involved in her abduction.

“Do you need help?” Lansius asked as the cart slowed down.

“Nah, I’ll take care of it,” she said confidently and stood firmly.

Lansius watched by her side as the coachman parked his cart. The man immediately rushed to her, and yelled, “Why did you jump like that?”

Lansius deliberately cleared his throat, drawing the coachman’s attention. The man noticed that Lansius looked like a traveling man-at-arms and that his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

“Why are you lying to me? You’re not heading to Feodosia, but away from it,” the lady stated.

“Miss, you’re mistaken. I’m merely taking a slight detour to fetch my goods,” he argued.

“Detour so far in an opposite direction? How absurd. I’m done with your words,” she said firmly.

“But you agreed to pay,” the coachman said, fuming.

“I said I’m done. I’d rather walk,” she replied as she turned around and walked away.

“But, miss, it’s a long way,” the man protested, about to follow her.

Lansius stepped forward and blocked his path. “She has spoken. Please leave.”

The coachman’s face turned sinister. “Don’t interfere. You’ll regret this.”

The tone triggered Lansius, who drew his sword in an instant. He pointed the sharpened steel at the coachman. “Remove yourself,” he said in a low, cold voice that he didn’t know he had.

Shocked, the coachman took a step back. He muttered a few curses under his breath, but turned and walked away.

The lady peeked out from behind Lansius and asked in a much lighter tone, “Were you always this easy to agitate?”

“I-I don’t know . . . It’s actually my first time pulling a sword at someone,” he whispered truthfully and sheathed the sword again.

She grinned mischievously. “I really need to take a better look at your head.”

“Please don’t, I beg you,” he said meekly. His hair was obviously dirty from all the dust and sweat.

The lady giggled. Afterward, the two of them quietly watched the cart until it went out of view.

“Any chance you’re a minor noble?” she asked as they resumed their walk.

“Eh, no. If I were a noble, I wouldn’t travel on foot.”

“Ah, true . . . Too bad neither of us are noble,” she said cheerfully.

Lansius felt something was off about her: She was too casual with a man she had just met. He also noticed that she looked upper class from her attire, not like someone from the villages. Even her straw hat was painted white.

She said she’s not a noble? A bastard? And why is she so friendly? She saw the hair too . . .

Lansius felt uneasy about her friendliness. “Mm, are you sure you want to walk beside me?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” she replied, gracefully holding her straw hat as the wind blew past them.

“I mean, I’m a vagrant. If you need someone to watch over you, I can follow you from behind.”

She giggled. “The heat has gotten to you. Come on, let’s not stay under the midday sun any longer.” She wandered off the road, and Lansius had no choice but to follow her.

Why am I getting lucky with women so suddenly? First Amelia, and now this pretty blonde.

He knew for sure that even in Midlandia, pretty girls were hard to find.

The two of them walked through the grassy area and into a nearby cluster of trees, finding a small grove with several old, withering trees. She sat under the largest one, which unfortunately had only half its branches full of leaves. The sparse shade they provided left Lansius with no good place to sit away from the sun.

“Come sit beside me,” she said, tapping the grassy ground beside her.

Normally, he would shy away from the offer, but the midday sun was relentless, so he gladly accepted. They sat side by side, resting their backs against the old tree.

Without any hesitation, she unlatched her shoulder bag and pulled out a wrapped item. Unwrapping the linen, she revealed a slice of meat pie. She broke it in half and offered a portion to Lansius.

“You don’t have to."

She insisted, so he reluctantly took the pie and gave it a bite.

Mamma mia, this is fantastic!

Lansius hid his reaction to avoid being ridiculed. He then took out the bread he’d bought that morning, broke it in half, and offered it to her.

She smiled but shook her head.

“It’s just plain bread, think nothing of it,” he insisted.

She accepted the rye bread. “Oh, silly me. We haven’t introduced ourselves. My name is Felicity. I’m . . . nobody’s daughter.” She chuckled at her own jest.

“I’m Lansius, also nobody’s son,” he responded, also with a chuckle.

“Call me Felis. Everybody does that.”

“So, Felis, why are you heading to Feodosia?” he asked.

“I work there. Well, it’s more like I live there now. But occasionally, I still need to go home to check on my parents.”

“I see . . .” Lansius wanted to ask about the slave market but hesitated. It wasn’t a topic he wanted to discuss with a newfound friend.

The sun was at its zenith, and there was nothing the two could do but stay under the shade and rest.

As they rested, Lansius noticed that Felis was his complete opposite. She wasn’t shy or timid and trusted others easily. Earlier, she had said she wanted some rest, folded her cloak like a sleeping rug, and just like that, she fell asleep.

I did help her a little, but still . . .

There was no one around but the two of them as far as the eye could see.

How can a lady be so careless like this?

As if to tease him, Felis’s lips parted slightly, and the sight broke Lansius’s train of thought.

A beautiful young woman sleeping so close would have been a powerful temptation to any healthy man. Her chest rose and fell softly with each breath.

Lansius sighed and averted his gaze. The old him might have welcomed something like this, but now he felt only guilt. Slowly, the thought of Stefi returned to him.

He shook his head, trying to drive off the sudden gloom, but the guilt had resurfaced. He felt terrible sitting so casually beside a pretty blonde while Stefi might be enslaved or dead. While the occasional breeze offered some relief, Lansius could do nothing but sit there, downcast.

...

As the midday sun finally waned, the travelers continued on their journey. Felis had awakened, and together with Lansius, they marched eastward. After three hours of walking under the sun, they arrived in the village of Pozna.

“Pozna, I’m back again,” Felis said bitterly. She had been here earlier that morning before the cart fiasco.

“Well, what’s your plan now?” Lansius asked, glancing around the new village.

“I’m going to report that guy first.” Felis stormed toward the stable master.

The old man was grumpy because of the heat, and he grew even more irritable when he heard Felis’s story. “It’s crazy that this happens so often these days.”

“What would have happened if I had been kidnapped?” Felis asked boldly.

“Well . . . they’d have taken you somewhere remote in the next province and assigned you some work. They wouldn’t let you return unless you paid them an exorbitant sum for transport, food, and lodging.”

Felis remained unfazed, while Lansius felt disgusted.

It’s not slavery, but it’s still very much evil.

Felis provided the coachman’s description so the stable master could warn other travelers. She left the place with a satisfied expression.

“I’m guessing we’ll stay the night here?” Lansius asked.

“Yup. As much as I want to return to Feodosia, there’s still half a day’s walk ahead," she answered.

Unfamiliar with the area, Lansius chose to follow Felis’s suggestion. However, she showed no sign of stopping in Pozna. “We’re not staying in Pozna?” he asked as they passed the village limit.

“Oh, there’s a nearby inn I’m used to staying at. If I’m lucky, maybe I can still use my room from last night.” Felis led him toward a large intersection. There on one side stood a two-story building with white plaster, glass windows, and several chimneys. It had an adjacent stable where a carriage and at least two carts were parked.

She entered through the front entrance and effortlessly pushed the mahogany door open. The clean hallway and high ceiling gave the place a classy appearance.

This is so different from the cheap ones . . . I bet they have separate rooms, not a shared floor for everybody.

At this point, Lansius didn’t dare to tell Felis that he used to sleep in the corner of a barn or on people’s porches if he had to.

“Back again so soon, mademoiselle?” a man with a rounded belly, vibrant colored clothing, and a work apron asked Felis from behind the counter.

“Yes, there were some circumstances. My previous room, please, and another one for my friend,” she said to the innkeeper, pulling a silver coin from her purse.

Before Felis handed over the coin, Lansius whispered, “Umm, you know, I can sleep in a servant’s quarters or a warehouse corner. Don’t spend your hard-earned money on me.”

“Don’t worry about it. Take it as gratitude for helping me out. Besides, I enjoyed your company.” Felis gave him a gentle smile.

Hearing praise like that, Lansius couldn’t help but smile.

The innkeeper smiled warmly as he received the silver and produced eight copper as change. “Supper is included.”

A teenage lad guided them to their rooms. Lansius’s small room was furnished with a bed, a window, and a small desk. Compared to Lansius’s usual spartan arrangements, it was luxurious.

It’s also clean . . .

Now alone, Lansius felt the sudden urge to clean himself as not to dirty the place. As expected, he found a water basin on the table and a bucket in the corner. He washed his face first, then his hands. Next, he changed his clothes so as not to look out of place in the establishment.

His doublet wasn’t too dirty, but the tunic underneath was yellowing from sweat. Thus, he pulled his only spare tunic from his hemp sack and put it on.

The clean linen felt good on his skin. The tunic had stitches in several places from when he had ventured deep into the woods. He almost reminisced but pushed the thought away.

Now clean and proper, he sat on the bed and found it comfortable. He leaned back and found bliss. He knew he should wash his clothes. There should be a well near the inn, but after two weeks of rough sleeping, the bed was irresistible.

Maybe I could take a short nap.

...

Felis eventually knocked on the door after half an hour, and the two went downstairs for an early supper. Lansius didn’t dare to leave his belongings in the room, so he brought everything.

They chose a corner table with an open window. Nobody offered them a menu. It wasn’t necessary. The inn would serve their guests a plate of whatever they cooked that day. Anything more, like ale or wine, would cost extra.

“This inn is famous for its roast meat,” Felis said excitedly.

Lansius’s nose agreed. The aroma was rich and savory. “The meat pie we had this afternoon was also good.”

“You liked it? I got the pie from here too. Two slices for a copper.”

“Reasonable price. It’s delicious.” Even as thrifty as he was, he had to admit it was a good deal.

A servant boy brought two cups, a pitcher of water, and a smaller pitcher of ale.

Felis filled their cups with ale. “Let’s toast to a good meeting.”

“Cheers.” The two raised their cups and drank. The ale tasted fruity and malty, with a hint of bitterness.

Oof, this is stronger than what I usually get.

“Ah, need to dilute this, otherwise I’ll be tipsy in no time.” She giggled.

The cool breeze, the inn’s well maintained wooden furniture, and Felicity, who looked like a goddess, made this supper an exceptionally pleasant experience for Lansius.

Outside, the sun had lost its luster, but sundown was still a good one or two hours away.

More people were coming to the inn, and the dining hall was halfway filled. From the look, Lansius guessed the customers were tradespeople, local yeomen, and maybe even a member or two of the lower nobility.

Three more people entered the premise. Two looked like guardsmen, in bright brigandine, while the third was much older, in a fancy, colorful doublet. Lansius thought nothing of them. For travelers, guardsmen equaled safety and protection against bandits.

However, the man in fancy clothing saw Lansius and stood in silence as if struck by something.

It was odd enough that Lansius caught the act out of the corner of his eye. Lansius glanced at him, but dared not to see his face for too long. He didn’t recognize the clean shaven and neatly combed man.

Probably just gawking at Felis.

He calmly asked Felis about the man, but she shook her head.

The man stormed toward Lansius. “It’s you!”

“Y-yes?” Lansius answered, caught off guard and instantly wary. He had caused no trouble in Midlandia, so his first thought was trickery.

“Oi, what’s the fuss?” One of the young guards, who was built like a bear, strode over.

“Anci, this is the man. We found him,” the first man said.

The young guard fixed Lansius with a hard stare, and the smirk curling on his face made Lansius’s stomach tighten.

Oh, shit, what did I do wrong?

His mind raced and recalled an entrapment like this. The group he had been with taught him that the best way out was to challenge them to reveal his name. If they couldn’t name him correctly, then he could rally the other guests to intervene.

Before Lansius could open his mouth, Felis said innocently, “Is there a problem with my friend Lansius?”

Lansius was sweating bullets. Felis, unknowingly, had thrown him straight under the cart.

***

Chapter 14

Binding Chains

The sun was halfway to the west, and the weather had turned pleasant. More travelers showed up in cheap inns around Pozna after a day’s journey. But the better part of the society headed straight to the crossroads where a well-known inn, the Swan, was located.

While most inns offered a communal hall to sleep, the Swan offered cleanliness, separate rooms, and lavish meals. Right now, the atmosphere in the hall was perfect to wind down, with sturdy chairs, excellent ales, and cool, airy halls, made possible by the inn’s high ceiling and multitudes of windows.

Whiffs of rich aroma from the grill complemented the scene, but for Lansius, it just turned into a dilemma. One old man in fancy clothes and his guard had flanked him for reason unknown. He had nowhere to hide, and Felis, unknowingly, had given his identity.

“God-damnit, it’s really you, Lansius,” the old man said, getting chummy with him.

Lansius felt cornered. He was sure this was some sort of trickery.

“My lady, please excuse us,” Anci, the tall and muscular guard, said with trained politeness. Despite his brutish appearance, he was clearly educated.

Can I talk myself out of this?

Before Lansius could try anything, the old man kept arguing. “Lans, it’s me. How could you not recognize me?”

“Apology, but I don’t know you,” Lansius answered, as polite as he could.

The old man chuckled. “It’s me, dammit, it’s Thomas.”

The name struck Lansius. He did a double-take, but the clean shaved and neatly combed person looked so different. Only now he noticed the similarity. His jaw dropped, and his eyes widened unconsciously.

Thomas laughed, watching Lansius’s reaction, and slapped the man’s back.

“Ouch, what’d you do that for?” Lansius winced, but couldn’t resist grinning. He was relieved to see Thomas and also gladdened that nobody actually tried to con him.

Felis chuckled softly while Anci snorted loudly.

Thomas straightened up and adopted a more formal demeanor, turning toward Felis. “Please forgive our behavior, my lady.”

Felis shook her head gently. “No need to apologize. I’m not of noble birth. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.” She dipped her head.

As the second guard approached, he caught the tail end of the exchange and at once slipped into gallant flattery. “Mademoiselle, your blond hair and blue eyes would make even highborn ladies envious.”

Felis smiled at the compliment. “Please, call me Felis.”

Before the second guard could say more, Anci drove an elbow into his side. The man gasped in pain, but managed to answer with a solid punch to the gut.

Thomas shook his head as he watched the two men under his command trade friendly blows. Both were in their twenties and ought to have known better. “Enough, you two,” he said at last, his patience thinning.

They stopped at once, and Thomas gathered himself before asking, “Felis, Lans, would you care to join me at my table for a chat?”

Lansius threw a questioning glance at Felis. She nodded, and the two followed Thomas to a bigger table.

“I’d better introduce us. I’m Thomas, and these are Anci and Hugo. They’re Sir Peter’s squires.” Then he turned to the squires. “Boys, this is Lansius, the clerk I befriended in Riverstead.”

Despite not being introduced, Anci bowed his head to Felis first. Then he gave Lansius a crooked grin and offered his hand. They clasped hands, and Lansius found his grip firm and strong.

Hugo, the leaner of the two squires, followed a moment later and said simply, “Nice to see another Arvenian.”

Once they were all seated, Lansius was the first to ask, “Thomas, how did you get here? Isn’t Arvena occupied?”

“We went the long way round through Tiberia and Elandia,” Thomas explained. “So, what happened to you in the river crossing?”

The talk turned heavy. Though unprepared for it, Lansius told them everything, including what had happened to Theo and Max.

When his grim account finally came to an end, Felis reached over and gently patted his arm.

By the time he finished, Thomas looked older somehow, the lines on his face deeper and the light in his eyes dimmed. He drew a deep breath and said firmly, “Don’t blame yourself.”

At his side, Hugo turned to Anci and said bluntly, “It’s clear the margrave meant to massacre the entire House of Arvena. They even murdered children over little more than rumor.”

Anci scowled. “If only the High Court wasn’t so spineless.”

Finding his chance, Lansius asked about the gossip he had heard on the road. “Is it true the young lord is missing?”

Thomas reluctantly nodded. A servant boy interrupted their discussion as he brought them a pudding, which to Lansius looked like a tart cake.

Without anyone’s objection, Anci took a slice, followed by the others. Lansius only took a small portion, fearing it may contain milk. Meanwhile, Felis took a big chunk and ate merrily by hand. Before long, her fingers were smeared with grease and soft crumbs.

Well, who am I to judge?

The sweet treat changed the mood for the better. Everybody seemed more relaxed and ate happily.

Thomas wiped his eating knife clean and slid it back into its sheath. “You’re lucky to have made it this far safely. The roads and cities here aren’t as safe as Arvena.”

Lansius nodded. “Indeed. Just today, we had a brush with a kidnapping.”

That didn't seem to surprise anyone. Thomas remarked, “Midlandia may look prosperous, but many have been driven into poverty by the growing industries. It’s a good thing you’ve got yourself a sword.”

“I do feel safer with it at my side, but I haven’t train—” He broke off abruptly and blurted out, “Thomas, have you seen Stefi?”

Thomas shook his head. “Sorry, lad. We’ve found a few remnants and survivors, but . . .”

Felis patted Lansius’s arm again, her grubby finger accidentally smearing a bit off pudding on his clean blue tunic.

Despite the stain on his only clean clothes, Lansius appreciated her good intention.

“Boss, there’s still some light outside.” Hugo carried a serious tone.

Thomas nodded. “Mademoiselle, may we ask Lansius out for a bit for a chat?”

The pudding was gone, but they had yet to finish their supper as roasting meat in the fire pit was a lengthy process. Lansius felt something was off, but he trusted Thomas.

Felis cleaned her hands on the yellowing tablecloth and declared, “I’m coming too.”

***

The five of them went into a small wooded area. Anci stood guard at a distance against eavesdropping. Felis seemed to read the situation and stuck with Anci.

Hugo went farther, but he too gave a wide berth for Thomas and Lansius.

“It’s far enough.” Thomas stopped and turned himself to face Lansius. “Lad, you got something from Miranda.”

At the sound of that name, Lansius’s heart began to race. He had known this would happen. “Can I say a few words first?”

Thomas looked at him sharply. “Speak up.”

“I’m going to use it to free Stefi if the slavers got her. If I can’t find her, then I’ll return everything,” he said, trying to sound persuasive.

“No, no . . .” Thomas shook his head in disbelief. “You were entrusted with it. It’s not yours to use.”

Thomas’s flat refusal stirred a flash of bitterness in him. “Give me a chance. I’ll pay it back. I carried it this long. You can’t just appear and take it away.”

“Lans, it wasn’t given to you.” Thomas refused to listen.

“I almost lost my life in that forest. It was me who saved this money, so whoever owns it, they owe me that much. I didn’t go this far for nothing,” Lansius exclaimed, unintentionally raising his voice. He knew there wasn’t much logic to his argument, but he was at his wit’s end.

The outburst forced Thomas to gesture Lansius to quiet down. “Are you out of your mind? Those guys are Sir Peter’s!”

“What this got to do with Sir Peter?”

Thomas exhaled. “Sir Peter is Sir Ian’s son.”

Lansius took a step back. Only now he realized how Thomas had got his fancy clothing and two squires. “Are you here to help the escaping Arvenians or to hunt me down?”

“It’s not like that . . .” Thomas knitted his brows. “Sir Peter is making a war band, and it needs money.”

Lansius became conflicted, but said stubbornly, “I can’t go to Feodosia empty handed.”

“Lans, the squires will cut you down if you run with the money,” Thomas warned.

Lansius exhaled sharply and glanced around. The wooded area was sparse and had the markings of men: pathways, cut down trees, and no old branches on the ground. He hated the forest, but he knew this was far from that ancient forest. He could survive here easily.

“Don’t.” Thomas read him easily. “You may outrun me, but not the squires.”

Lansius hesitated. Thomas said nothing, giving Lansius time to rethink.

“Help me,” Lansius suddenly pleaded. “There must be another way . . .”

Thomas sighed as if giving up. “Even if I let you—even if I help you. The two of us can’t take them. Maybe I could stall Hugo, but not Anci. That lad is a monster.”

Lansius’s shoulder slumped. Since the first time he saw Anci, his instinct had screamed not to mess with him. He had seen stalwart knights and men-at-arms before, but Anci stood a league apart.

“Look, I understand your cause. And believe me, I don’t want to lose you the way I lost Theo and Max. But there’s no other way.” Thomas’s voice sounded tired and worn.

The mention of the two jolted Lansius, making him pause. Yet, the thought that he might find Stefi and Jan but be unable to free them tormented him. He couldn’t think of another way. His friend’s safety depended on the money he had hid. His muscles tensed, but his mind didn’t know what to do.

Then he realized just how good Thomas’s clothing really was and found a slim opening. “The prize," he began. "Miranda mentioned a prize. You got that nice clothing and certainly more. What would I get?”

Thomas was taken aback. He had not expected that and fell silent in thought. Only after several moments did he exclaim, “Fine. Take the silver.”

Lansius wasn't about to accept it blindly. “It’s only sixteen silver. How am I supposed to free a slave with just that?”

“Ah, fuck it, Lans. I’m not some charity.” Despite Thomas’s harsh words, he reached out for his inner pocket, pulled a money pouch, and fished some coins. He grabbed some and gave it away.

Lansius counted seven silvers. “Much obliged.” He knew it was far from enough, but that was probably the best Thomas could do.

“Ready the gold. I’m calling Hugo.”

“Wait—” Lansius scrambled to open the sewn gold coins in his doublet, blanket, and inner part of the bag.

Thomas watched, his face showing surprise at Lansius’s ingenuity.

“Here.” Lansius showed six gold coins. The amount could buy two cottages, or a well-built two-story house in a friendly neighborhood.

Thomas didn’t take it, but whistled to signal for Hugo.

The laid-back squire, in a light blue brigandine, approached them. He saw what was on Lansius’s hands and received it politely. “On behalf of Sir Peter, I offer you his gratitude.”

The problem seemed to be resolved for Hugo and Thomas, but Lansius still had one concern.

“Umm, can I get a receipt?” he asked.

Hugo and Thomas were dumbfounded by the request, and Thomas couldn't help but be amused. “Well, he’s a clerk. What can I say?”

The two laughed, and Lansius chuckled along.

At last, Hugo offered his right hand to Lansius. “If my signature is good enough, you shall have it.”

Lansius gladly clasped Hugo’s hand.

...

The sun turned orange when Lansius, Thomas, and Hugo headed out from the woods.

“So, tell me about the war band?” Lansius asked.

Hugo bent a low-hanging branch so they could pass easily. “Not much to tell. We got less than a hundred, but mostly too young and without weapons.”

“I see . . .” Lansius paused for a moment. Somehow, though younger, Hugo the squire seemed to carry more authority than Thomas. That made Lansius decide to broach the subject. “Well, call me crazy, but have you ever considered rescuing slaves?”

“Rescue?” Hugo scoffed. “That’s ballsy, but foolish.”

Aware of Lansius’s plight, Thomas filled him in. “The Lord of Midlandia tolerates our presence, but he’ll kick us out if we try anything with the slave trade.”

Lansius reluctantly nodded. He had heard rumors that the Imperium sanctioned the slave trade to appease the two Eastern Kingdoms that grew powerful, but only now did he have an indirect proof.

So, not even the Lord of Midlandia dares to go against the slave trade.

“The local lords are especially jittery about the presence of armed men in their regions,” Thomas commented about themselves.

“But I heard that Midlandia is on our side. Can’t they intervene at all?”

Hugo glanced at Lansius. “Only if it benefits them. This means we need the young lord. As the rightful heir, he could claim Arvena. If we have him, then Midlandia will gladly assist in exchange for a hefty compensation.”

“More likely a debt so large that Arvena could never repay,” Thomas sneered.

“Aye,” Hugo agreed. “This is why we can’t rely on Midlandia too much. With the Imperium like this, certainly Midlandia wants to carve out pieces of Arvena for themselves too.”

“And us as the henchmen.” Thomas swatted an insect that flew too close to his face.

Lansius tasted the hopelessness, but pressed on. “If we found the young lord, would he do something about the Arvenian slaves?”

Hearing the desperation in his voice, Hugo spared him some hope. “Well, they are his subjects. I think he’ll try to free them one way or another.”

Lansius sensed the subtle change in Hugo’s voice, but nodded all the same. Even if it was only false hope, he would cling to it.

They trekked the short distance toward the edge of the wooded area and rejoined Anci and Felis.

“So, what are you two talking about?” she asked.

Hugo looked to Lansius. Felis was still an outsider to all this.

Lansius gave a knowing nod, though a different thought had already taken hold. “She’s from here. Maybe she can help.”

“Help with what?” Felis asked, understandably intrigued.

Hugo hesitated, but Anci gave him a supportive shrug.

“Well, why not,” Hugo said at last. “We’re looking for a noble from Arvena. You may have heard of him, the young Lord Arte. Light brown—”

“Light brown hair, beautiful jawline, charming, and speaks candidly like a bard? And oh, also a scar on his left eyebrow?” Felis sent rapid questions at Hugo.

The men froze, eyes wide.

“Y-you saw him?” Hugo nervously asked.

***

Chapter 15

Northern Hills

Lansius and the three squires could hardly believe what they had just heard. Felicity had perfectly described Lord Arte’s features: light brown hair, a charming demeanor, a beautiful jawline, and a small scar on his left eyebrow. This could only mean that Felis had met Lord Arte.

“Where did you see him?” Hugo inquired cautiously.

Felis’s excitement grew. “I knew it! He’s not just some wandering minstrel. He has a different aura about him.”

“Was he alone?” Anci interjected impatiently.

“He was when I met him," Felis answered. "He introduced himself as Archie, perhaps a disguised name."

“And where and when did this happen?” Hugo inquired.

“Pozna, just yesterday,” Felis replied merrily.

The expressions on Thomas, Hugo, and Anci were a mixture of disbelief and relief. They had searched fruitlessly for weeks, even venturing to Feodosia in the slim hope that Lord Arte might have been captured and sold as a slave without being recognized. Now, it seemed that luck was on their side.

Still harboring some doubt, Thomas inquired, “Did you speak to this Archie?”

“Only by chance. We met at the stable while waiting for our carriages. He introduced himself and made a humorous remark when I asked him a question.”

“Humorous?” Thomas furrowed his brow.

“He said he was going to whore himself out to save his friend,” Felis said with a giggle.

Her answer left Hugo and Thomas dumbfounded. They now had more questions than answers.

At last, Lansius dared to ask, “Where is this Arte heading?”

“North,” Felis replied with certainty, then added, “I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but I fear your friend intentionally headed there to meet with the slavers.”

“Slavers?” Lansius blurted out. “Aren’t they supposed to be in Feodosia?”

“Those are the Imperium-approved ones, Lans. There’s the illegal kind too, you know,” Felis explained, sounding as though she knew the matter well.

“Illegal slavers?” Lansius asked again, thinking he must have misheard.

Felis nodded unenthusiastically. “Unfortunately, there are people who trade slaves within the Imperium.”

Lansius immediately recalled the rumors he had heard on the road. There had indeed been several mentions of such practices.

Noticing the puzzled looks on the other men’s faces, Felis elaborated, “It’s an open secret that, despite the law, many powerful men keep slaves to work on their vast, secluded estates.”

Hugo and Thomas exchanged thoughtful glances. The news did not sit well with them. A group audacious enough to operate against the Imperium’s law would likely be powerful and have ties with the local strongmen. However, their loyalty demanded they attempt to rescue their lord.

Despite their silence, the squires were already considering how many men they could gather before storming the location. They were trained for violence; it was their primary instinct. The idea of trying to negotiate their lord’s release or attempting to purchase his freedom crossed their minds, but their lack of funds, as well as their pride and honor, prevented them from uttering such thoughts.

Quietly, Lansius observed them. He had a different plan. While Lord Arte was his master, he didn’t know him well on a personal level. Moreover, he had other priorities at the moment.

Anci broke the silence, declaring, “I’ll head north and scout around. There should be only one main road, so we can easily find each other. You can gather men and follow when you’re ready.”

Thomas agreed. “A few simple markings should be easy to spot.”

Hugo nodded. “All right then. Thomas and I will head west to gather our men. You and the clerk should go north.”

Lansius was taken aback by the decision and protested, “I beg your pardon? I must go to Feodosia.”

His response elicited stares from Hugo and Thomas, with only Anci remaining indifferent.

Lansius hurried to explain. “I can't fight. I am dead weight. You have my purse, so let’s part ways here. I need to find my friend in Feodosia before she’s sold to someone else.”

Thomas was the first to look away. He knew Stefi and sympathized with Lansius’s cause.

Meanwhile, Anci snorted, seemingly amused by the turn of events. “There’s no need for him to come along. I can handle it myself.”

Hugo exhaled sharply, understandably offended that a retainer would not put his master’s safety first. Even so, he chose not to press the matter and said, “Let’s return to the inn. We’ll depart at first light tomorrow.”

Before anyone could move, Felis spoke up. “Do you need fighters?”

The men looked at her in puzzlement, unsure whether she meant it or was making light of them.

“You’re not suggesting yourself or your brothers, are you?” Hugo asked carefully.

“Well, I’m part of the package,” Felis answered casually, then added, “I know capable fighters in Feodosia. Men-at-arms looking for contracts.”

It was welcome news to the three of them, who in their present situation could hardly afford to refuse any offer. Even so, Hugo remained doubtful. “I need brave, sturdy men, not boys or old men in armor.”

"Certainly. I’m talking about duelists, watchmen, and thief-takers,” replied Felis.

Only then, Hugo gave a nod and asked, “How many can you find and at what cost?”

Felis smiled brightly. “Well, I might be able to gather nine or ten if I can reach them all, but probably less if you need them quickly. As for the price, let’s discuss that later at the inn.” She paused and glanced at Lansius briefly. “We’ll need to borrow paper and ink, and then Lansius can handle the paperwork for us.”

“Why me?” Lansius was startled by the sudden mention of his name.

Felis gave Lansius a smug look. “I want this contract in writing, and I want a down payment as well.”

Uncertain, Hugo glanced at Thomas, who shrugged but seemed to have no objection.

“All right, we’ll do it your way,” Hugo conceded. With the matter settled, they made their way back to the Swan.

***

Despite their circumstances, the squires found solace in the feast before them. Their table was strewn with empty dishes and empty earthen jugs. Even Thomas and Hugo seemed to be enjoying themselves. The unspoken consensus among them was that they might die in a few days, so they ought to savor life while they could.

The squires knew little about their adversaries, but rumors circulated that the illegal slavers were influential and powerful, with enough sway to undermine the Imperium’s authority. Engaging them in battle would likely be suicidal, which perhaps explained the group’s merriness.

Beneath the soft glow of tallow candles, a wandering minstrel played his stringed instrument. The crowd requested a lively, humorous melody to lift their spirits. Meanwhile, the servers bustled about, providing more ale and food, their work clothes stained from a long day’s labor.

Thomas soon passed out, his head resting on the table. The old man seemed to carry a heavy guilt that he kept to himself, unwilling to share.

The atmosphere grew rowdier when five women entered the inn. Most of the guests became boisterous at the sight of them, with some making bold advances. Hugo was among those flirting, focusing his attention on a woman in a green and white gown, her full lips and long, wavy hair capturing his interest.

Lansius, however, felt hollow and removed from it all. Guilt kept him from taking any pleasure in the festivity, even with the beautiful blonde, Felis, seated beside him.

It did not help that until the night before, his evenings had usually been quiet affairs, filled mostly with wariness over who might be sharing the communal sleeping space.

Noticing his troubled gaze, Felis commented on the newcomers. “Pozna wenches. They’re shy compared to the ones from Feodosia.”

Lansius nodded out of politeness.

Curious at his tepid reaction, Felis leaned in closer. “Don’t you want to join in? I could help you pick a good one.”

Lansius knew she was serious and declined. “Maybe next time.”

Felis snorted and took a sip of her ale. Then she turned to Anci, who sat at the next table, and raised her voice to be heard over the clamor and music. The broad-shouldered man did not hear her, forcing Felis to tap his back gently.

Anci craned his neck and gave her a questioning look.

“Let’s head outside. I need to talk to you about something,” Felis said.

Still enjoying the festivity, Anci furrowed his brow. “About what?”

“About things that’ll involve you too,” she replied cryptically.

After a brief pause, Anci rose to his feet. As he did, Felis motioned for Lansius to follow. The three stepped outside and stopped not far from the entrance, where two large lanterns cast a warm glow. Another swayed gently by the wooden fence along the road, and with the door behind them, the music gave way to the chirping of crickets.

“What do you want to talk about?” Anci asked, guarded, while Lansius remained quiet.

“Well, I want you to talk some sense into your friend here,” she began.

The two men were intrigued.

“What do you mean?” Lansius asked.

“Well, you’re looking for your friend, right? A female fighter,” asked Felis.

“A female squire, yes. Why?”

“Lans, I doubt she’ll make it to Feodosia,” Felis said bluntly.

Lansius was alarmed.

She continued, “I’ve never seen female fighters being sold in Feodosia. They’re in high demand as harem guards in the Eastern Kingdoms, or as bodyguards for the wealthy.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Lansius quickly pointed out. “If they’re in high demand, there should be plenty of them in Feodosia.”

“No, listen,” she insisted. “Female fighters are in demand, but I never see them in Feodosia. From what I’ve heard, someone always buys them first, and it’s not traders from Feodosia.”

Lansius and Anci exchanged glances.

“Who is this someone?” Anci asked.

“It would be a lie if I said I knew for certain, but it’s most likely the same group you’re going up against. Between here and Arvena, I doubt there are two slaver groups operating so close together.”

Lansius could not help but grow suspicious of Felis. Drawing a deep breath, he asked sharply, “You want me to go north?”

Felis nodded. “You might not trust me, but that’s my suggestion. You’ll have a better chance of finding her there than in Feodosia.”

Lansius hesitated before a large, rough hand patted his shoulder.

“The way I see it, if your friend’s not there, then she’ll be in Feodosia. However, if she’s there, then you won’t find her in Feodosia,” Anci said, flashing his predatory grin. “Looks like you’re coming with me, clerk.”

Ignoring him for the moment, Lansius turned to Felis and asked, urgency plain in his voice, “Are you absolutely certain?”

“Without a doubt,” she responded with conviction. “I may not look the part, but I’m well-acquainted.”

Lansius sighed in resignation, but then another thought came to him. “Don’t you need someone to accompany you to Feodosia? Hugo just gave you a down payment, remember?”

Unfazed by the extra silver in her purse, Felis gave a faint smile. “I’ll persuade Thomas to accompany me. He shouldn’t be too difficult. After all, I could easily disappear with all your coins if no one keeps an eye on me,” she teased.

Her voice took on a serious note as she noticed Lansius's reaction. "Even if you go to Feodosia with me, you'll need a proper introduction and then wait for days before receiving a formal invitation from the slavers. It’s not as if you can just have a look around . . . So, what will you do? Will you wait in Feodosia, risking missing her, or will you take a quick detour to ensure that doesn’t happen?"

Anci stifled a laugh, while Lansius gazed wearily at the night sky, uncertain what his decision might lead to. His mind was still struggling to take in everything that had happened in a single day. There had been so many chance meetings and lucky coincidences that astounded him.

It’s as if someone, or something, is pulling the strings . . .

...

The following morning, as the first light of dawn began to spread, the Arvenians, one Midlandian lady, and a foreigner gathered downstairs. As agreed the night before, Thomas would accompany Felis to Feodosia, and so they parted ways at the inn without much ceremony.

As Thomas’s horse-drawn cart rolled east, Hugo, Anci, and Lansius made for the western road toward Pozna. Once there, they headed straight for the stable. Hugo wasted little time and paid a deposit to rent a horse.

After leading it just beyond the stable yard and testing its gait, Hugo turned back to them. “Take care. I’ll meet you in two days.”

“You know my patience. Don’t take too long,” Anci said, and no one could tell whether he meant it in jest or not.

Even so, Hugo laughed heartily. Though his eyes were still reddened from the previous night, the young squire carried himself with easy confidence.

That seemed enough for Anci. He stepped forward, gave the horse a firm pat on the neck, and motioned for Hugo to be off.

Without another word, Hugo turned the horse west and set out at a brisk pace, riding to gather fellow Arvenians and rescue their young lord.

After Hugo’s departure, Lansius followed Anci on foot. They headed north.

And so their plan was set in motion.

***

Midlandia - Rhomelia Border

The hill range separating the two provinces was teeming with birds flying freely. Despite being in the middle of summer, the land remained lush and green, dotted with ponds and marshes in the lowlands.

Lansius and Anci had traveled on foot for a whole day to reach this hill, where they spotted a suspicious manor surrounded by a palisade wall on the adjacent hill. They spent the remaining daylight constructing a crude tent. Neither was skilled in craftsmanship, so the shelter was poorly built.

After a fireless supper, Anci took the first watch in complete darkness. Nothing happened during his watch, so he woke Lansius, and they took turns watching like this until dawn. The night was cold and quiet. Too quiet for Lansius’s taste.

At dawn, as the wind blew, and the fog dissipated, Lansius could see the walled manor house perched on the hill, surrounded by farms and cottages. Even at a glance, he could tell that it was fortified. Aside from the palisade wall, it had guards and even an outer gate.

With spare time on his hands and to fight off the cold, Lansius drew a map on the ground using sticks and pebbles, laying out the manor’s defenses.

'It looks like a mini fortress . . . walls on each side, fences, patrols, and checkpoints.'

Attacking such a place would be suicidal.

And knowing the Arvenians, they would try anyway.

⠀

***

Chapter 16

Cold Steel

Midlandia - Rhomelia Border

Lansius had the last watch, staying awake through the cold hours before dawn while Anci slept beneath their crude canvas shelter. As the sun rose and the morning slowly warmed, birdsong and the soft rustle of leaves stirred Anci from his sleep. The shelter was far from ideal, but it had served its purpose through the night.

“Can’t believe we traded the inn for this place,” Anci complained as he munched on yesterday’s bread.

Lansius let out a sharp sigh, thinking of the inn’s comfortable bed. “At least we had the roasted meat,” he said.

“Oh, that finely seasoned, juicy meat,” Anci’s said.

“So tender,” Lansius said, and the two shared a laugh.

Anci pinched an insect crawling over his bread and flicked it away. Then he glanced at Lansius. “Oi, don’t go dozing off on me yet. Anything come out of that manor house?”

“Not a soul,” Lansius said, fighting off the grogginess from the night watch.

Anci grunted. “Not even a donkey taking a piss or something?”

“None. Unless you count birds.”

“You’ve got to learn fast. Only things with cocks or tits count.”

Lansius could not help but snort.

“Speaking of that, what’s your story with that blonde?” Anci changed the subject.

Lansius frowned. "Felis? We barely know each other. Why do you ask?"

Anci stroked his chin. "Well, she's not an ordinary girl, you know."

“What do you mean by that?” Lansius asked, expecting a crude joke rather than any real answer.

"Mm... should I tell you, or should I not?" Anci teased.

"Forget it. I can always ask her myself."

Lansius’s defiance drew a laugh from Anci. Despite the gap in their stations, the two had somehow taken to each other with little trouble. Anci, born Archibald, came from a family that had long served as squires. He told Lansius his grandfather had been a knight, but his father never rose that far. Anci himself had barely made it into Sir Peter’s service, more because of his imposing physique and innate talent with the sword than anything else.

To Lansius, traveling with Anci felt like traveling beside a friendly armed bear. In matters of security, the man was beyond dependable. And unlike other strong men he had met, this squire showed little interest in money, cared little for honor, and had no fondness for formal etiquette. He was easygoing, not the sort to demand respect.

The sun continued to climb, but nobody entered or exited the manor. Nevertheless, the two continued their scouting mission. The area was remote, with only a handful of hamlets within a day's journey, so the road was practically empty, with only the occasional birds flying and circling around.

With Anci taking his turn at watch, Lansius finally ate his cold breakfast and retreated to their canvas shelter. He soon fell asleep while the squire kept watch on the manor.

...

“Oi, oi . . .” called Anci.

Lansius wearily opened his eyes and crouched beside Anci. “What did you find?”

“A carriage.” Anci gestured in its direction.

Lansius turned and crawled to Anci’s side, then looked toward the lone carriage coming up the road, likely bound for the manor, his eyes still blurred from sleep.

“Well?” Anci asked impatiently.

“Well, what?" Lansius frowned. "I don’t think that’s our reinforcement.”

Lansius had expected tens of men and several warhorses, especially considering the six gold coins he had given.

“Not that. That’s one of the slavers, all right.” Anci grinned wickedly.

Lansius squinted, trying to follow Anci’s train of thought. Meanwhile, Anci withdrew deeper inside their shelter and retrieved his broadsword.

"What are you going to do with that?" Lansius blurted out.

“Information gathering,” Anci laughed and strolled out in a relaxed manner.

“By the Ageless,” Lansius muttered as he scrambled to tie his sword to his belt, grabbed his bag, and hurried after him. By the time he caught up, Anci was already standing in the middle of the road, blocking the carriage.

Though the squire was neither the tallest nor the biggest man Lansius had seen, Anci was well built and as intimidating as a beast.

The two horse-drawn carriages stopped as they saw Anci blocking the road. The coachman looked at Anci wearily, and shouted, "What do you want?"

"Just some questions," Anci said while shouldering his broadsword.

"Go on," the coachman replied.

"Do you know anything about slave trade?"

Anci received no further answer. Three men descended from the carriage, weapons in hand. The burliest of them, clad in ring mail, led the assault.

"My, my, so impatient," Anci jeered at them.

Anci stood his ground as one of his attackers lunged at him. Yet at the very last moment, he delivered a slash so swift it was almost invisible. Steel rang out in a sharp, violent clang as the blades crashed. The counter nearly ripped the weapon from the attacker’s hand and threw him off balance. He only just managed to steady himself when Anci followed with another murderous swing, his arms and hands moving with effortless precision despite the heavy sword.

Driven by instinct, the man tried to parry, but he misjudged Anci’s speed. His blade failed even to meet Anci’s. The broadsword struck with a hard metallic crack against his arm and chest. He groaned and fell to the ground. Only a few links of his ring mail had burst, but the force of the blow had broken his upper arm and cracked several ribs, leaving him writhing and gritting his teeth in pain.

Watching the exchange, the remaining two men were both terrified and enraged. They attacked in unison.

Anci parried the slimmer man’s blade aside and stepped back, giving ground as he drew the larger opponent in. Rising to the challenge, the bigger man came on with a heavy slash. Anci blocked it and deliberately let the blades bind, turning the clash into a grapple at sword’s length. From the corner of his eye, he saw the slimmer one readying another attack. Still straining against the larger man’s sword, Anci kept yielding ground and lured him farther forward, until the bigger man’s back cut off his companion’s path.

Confident in his superior strength, the bigger man kept pressing down on Anci’s sword with a smug grin, already preparing a follow-up. But Anci had no interest in wasting his strength, nor in proving it, and certainly none in giving a nobody a fair fight. Drawing on better training, he took a longer step back, upsetting the man’s pressure, then forced the enemy blade downward and drove a hard knee into his groin.

The move came so fast that the bigger man managed only a wide-eyed gasp before pain overtook him and his eyes rolled back.

Without waiting for his last ally to crumple, the slimmer man bared his teeth and launched a desperate attack. Anci met the thrust with a solid parry and knocked it aside. The man followed at once with a slash, but his stance was sloppy and his movements ill-coordinated. Anci’s heavier sword was already singing through the air. The blade struck the slimmer man’s right shoulder, ripping through layers of linen and flesh while hurling him sideways.

The opponent crashed to the ground, and Anci calmly advanced, ready to finish it.

“I yield, I yield!” the slimmer man shrieked as he tried to keep his distance, kicking at the ground while his right arm dangled uselessly. Blood poured from the deep gash, soaking his gambeson red.

Lansius was supposed to be Anci’s support, yet he could only stand there in awe. Three against one had ended so swiftly. And the opponents were not exactly amateurs, with one even bigger than Anci. He was deeply glad the squire stood on his side.

Anci heard the plea and answered as he stood towering over the fallen men, “That is why you should name yourselves first, so I know whether to keep you for ransom or end you in the fight.”

“Money, I have money, take it,” the slimmer man scrambled for his money pouch with his left hand. "J-just let me live—"

A horse's neigh alerted them.

“Stay there,” Anci ordered the fallen men, then turned to Lansius. “Keep them down. I’ll be back soon.” With that, he casually ran after the speeding carriage.

Lansius, with a drawn sword, watched over the man who sat on the ground whimpering from his injury. Lansius pitied the man. “Cut some of your cloth and press it on the wound. That’ll stop the bleeding. Otherwise, you’ll be going cold soon.”

The man nodded in fear and tore some of his cloth to dress the wound.

Meanwhile, Anci chased after the slowing carriage as it climbed the hill. With startling agility, he caught the rear of it, hauled himself up, and within moments sent the coachman flying overboard. The man hit the dirt road and tumbled like a sack of wheat.

The man groaned loudly from the bruises, but Anci was in no generous mood. He seized control of the carriage, turned it around, and drove after the man until he brought it to a stop near Lansius.

As the cart slowed to a halt, the coachman collapsed onto the ground, battered and short of breath, his body already mottled with bruises. He pleaded for mercy. “Please, forgive me. No more harm. No more,” he said breathlessly.

As Lansius drew near, his eyes widened. “I know you,” he blurted at the coachman, then turned to Anci. “He’s the one who tried to kidnap Felicity.”

The fresh accusation sent the coachman into panic. He glanced at Lansius, recognized him, and began to beg. “Please, have mercy. I won’t do it again.”

“Oh, I’ll give you my mercy,” Anci declared as he jumped down from the carriage and held out a bloodied surcoat for Lansius to see.

Lansius recognized the heraldry of a river and a small castle. "Riverstead garrison," he exclaimed.

The coachman trembled with fear as he realized he was dealing with Arvenians.

"Lans, you better climb up. There are kids and women."

Lansius dashed toward the crude-looking carriage and climbed up. Inside, he discovered scattered baskets of clothing, along with three frightened women hugging two children. He didn't recognize any of their faces, but it did not matter. "Don't be afraid," he said. "We'll get you out of here."

***

It was past midday when Anci and Lansius, with help from the women and children, managed to drag the carriage off the road and hide it from sight. All the captured men, whether unconscious or not, were tied up. The big burly man might not survive, but there was little they could do except turn him onto his side so he would not choke on his own blood.

Just as they finished concealing the carriage with leafy branches, the promised reinforcements appeared in the distance. Hugo led thirty men, most of them still in their teens. They arrived in four horse-drawn carts alongside three warhorses.

Lansius waved them over to their temporary hideout. Once they met, he quickly informed Hugo and the others about what had happened.

Without wasting time, they went to question the coachman, who confessed that he was a smuggler dealing in everything from contraband to slaves. Today, he had been sending a fresh batch of slaves from Arvena.

Realizing his safety depended on cooperation, the coachman-smuggler glossed over his own role in acquiring slaves from Arvena and instead focused on details about the manor complex.

“The Den is fortified. They have lots of men, a hundred if not more,” he said convincingly.

Lansius and the others were surprised. Normally, a knight could muster only himself, his son, and his squire. A baronet, who ranked above a knight, might raise a dozen men or perhaps two. Only a baron could field over a hundred.

Hugo, however, did not let that trouble him. “Why do they need to keep them there?”

The coachman looked like he might snigger at such a question, but Anci had slapped him once, which broke one of his front teeth and made the cheeks swollen. He no longer dared to give a crass answer. “T-the slavers wanted to keep the price high. They kept the slaves there and sold only a few at a time.”

Lansius found it hard to follow and finally asked, “Isn’t the slave trade legal? Why bother with hiding and smuggling?”

The man glanced at him. “The goods sent to Feodosia are the bad batches. Too old, too sick, crippled. They’re only good for the Eastern Kingdoms.” He paused, then reluctantly added, “The young, the healthy, and those with skills command a high price. The purveyor secures them before the Feodosian slavers arrive.”

Hugo narrowed his eyes. “And then sell them to whom?”

The man glanced left and right, before answering meekly, “Anyone with money. The barons, baronets, knights, even rich city folks.”

“In Midlandia?”

He nodded and added, “also Rhomelia, Elandia, Nicopola...”

The smuggler’s answer triggered a murmur amongst the men. Many felt sickened that fellow Imperium subjects bought slaves.

“Lies! No men would take slaves under his household!” One of Hugo’s men shouted from behind, followed by a ruckus of support.

“The Eastern Kingdoms are human too, but they used slaves for everything,” the smuggler countered and unintentionally silenced the place.

“Alright, that’s enough," Hugo commanded the men. Then turned to the Anci, "Get the men out and arrange for scout."

Anci whistled and waved his hand, it was enough to direct the men outside.

Lansius observed that the men obeyed orders readily. Even so, they were only thirty against a hundred. He could not shake the feeling that their chance of victory was slipping away.

As the place and the surrounding area were cleared, Hugo questioned the smuggler again. “Do you know anyone named Archie?”

“I never ask their names. It’s better that way... less guilt,” the man replied without hesitation.

Anci knelt beside the smuggler and whispered, “Try to remember.”

The man nodded fervently, out of fear. Hugo gave him Arte’s description, but the coachman shook his head.

Lansius then asked, “Are you the only one transporting slaves to this Den?”

“Of course not. I’m merely a middleman. They got others as well.” Sensing the opportunity, the man drove his point home. “I think your Archie friend must be with one of them.”

The interrogation gave no concrete evidence about the young Lord’s whereabouts, but stopping wasn’t on the Arvenian's mind.

Hugo checked the knots on the man’s wrist, nodded to Anci, and strolled out to attend his men.

Lansius approached the smuggler. “A female squire with fierce eyes. Have you seen one?”

The man hesitated for a moment. "I recall taking one into the Den, but she never opened her eyes."

Lansius’s heart almost leaped. His voice took on a chilling edge. “What happened to her?”

The coachman swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously between Anci and Lansius. "I don't know. She had a bandage wrapped around her head. The men carried her both in and out. That's all I know."

Lansius let out a weighted sigh and left the coachman behind as a flurry of mixed emotions began to consume him.

It could be her...

Felis’s lead now seemed vindicated. Instead of wandering blindly through Feodosia, Lansius had come to a place where Stefi might truly be within reach.

***

Chapter 17

Sabina Rustica

The Arvenians tried to come up with a plan to strike the manor they now knew as Sabina Rustica. Several ideas were discussed when a horse-drawn carriage appeared on the road up the hill, followed by two canvas-covered carts pulled by pairs of mules. The lookout spotted them and quickly raised the alarm. Anci took several men and went out to investigate. Before long, they recognized Thomas and the golden-haired Felicity. Swiftly descending from their hideout, Anci waved them over and guided them to the camp, where the others were waiting.

To everyone’s surprise, Felis had kept her word and brought several seasoned men, most in their late thirties or early forties. They were duelists, watchmen, and thief-takers, and together they made an intimidating group. Some wore proud mustaches, while others were clean-shaven. Dressed in gambesons and brigandines, they looked ready for battle, and their carts were loaded with poleaxes, swords, helmets, and shields.

Lansius helped himself to a sturdy hunting spear, keeping his sword as a last resort.

Felis introduced the seven hired men-at-arms first, then presented their leader. “This is a special friend of mine, Calub the alchemist, and his assistant, Jardin.”

Calub was a tall, tanned man with short, curly hair, and he wore a milky-white leather coat. He offered a slight bow, followed by Jardin. While Calub had the look of a scholar, the shorter Jardin carried an imposing presence, his beard and muscular arms making him seem like a living dwarven statue.

“Fire grenade.” Anci’s eyes flashed.

Calub heard the remark and smiled. Lansius guessed the two would get along easily.

With the sun already halfway down in the west, they resumed discussion of their battle plan. With Felis’s group, they now had around forty men, but it was still hard to come up with a plan against a fortified compound.

“Palisade walls with almost no gaps. Armed men, patrols, even stables inside. So watch for horsemen,” Anci reported, sketching the compound’s layout in the dirt from memory, based on the drawing Lansius had made earlier.

“From the smuggler, we learned that the compound holds at least a hundred men, possibly more,” Hugo informed the newcomers.

“Looks rough,” the dwarven-looking Jardin commented.

No one spoke for a moment, so Anci took the initiative. “It’s within our strength. I say let’s storm them from two sides.” He used both hands to illustrate a pincer attack.

Lansius refrained from commenting, but he felt it was far too risky. They did not have the numbers, and against a well-defended place, it was near suicide.

Calub shook his head, likely sharing the same concern. “You are numerous, but not in age or experience.”

Hugo nodded, though reluctantly.

“Indeed, many are too young,” old Thomas said of the Arvenians.

Lansius, who had spent more hours than anyone else studying the compound and the surrounding ground, wanted to suggest a different approach, but his background as a mere clerk weighed heavily on him. He even felt he had no right to be there.

Meanwhile, Felis seemed eerily at ease among these men. “We only have five crossbow users, myself included.”

At her words, Hugo looked slightly uncomfortable. Lansius suspected that, like him, Hugo also doubted Felis’s ability, but they could not risk offending her or her associates. They needed as many hands as possible.

“The spear and shield will do just fine,” Anci remarked. “The boys have met the women and children I rescued earlier, so their morale is high.”

No one contested Anci’s words, but the decision lay in Hugo’s hands.

Of the three squires, Thomas was older, but he had only recently become a retainer. Before that, he had been little more than a foot soldier. Anci, on the other hand, was younger and held less authority than Hugo.

“Anci, take Thomas and twenty men. I’ll take another twenty,” Hugo began. “You’ll attack first and draw them out. Keep them occupied while I strike from the west side and stage a rescue.” He then looked at Lansius. “We’ll leave the younger ones in your care. Just wait here. If we need help, we’ll come to you.”

By the Ageless, that’s only a bit better than Anci’s plan.

Lansius glanced at the rest of them, but nobody said a word.

Where in The Art of War does it say that forty men should storm a well-defended compound held by more than a hundred?

Thomas, Felis, and Calub turned their backs, signaling that the discussion was over.

A wave of panic washed over Lansius. His memory was a mes, yet he still felt that his grasp of tactics, sharpened by the countless hours he had spent studying historical battles, gave him insights the others did not have.

Despite the sudden dryness in his mouth, Lansius forced himself to speak. “Do you mind if I share my thoughts on this attack?”

Everyone paused. Calub looked at Lansius and, after a soft snort, asked, “You’re what, a scribe?”

“A clerk,” Lansius corrected, “but I have also studied warfare.”

Hugo and Thomas looked doubtful. Meanwhile, Felis gave him a surprisingly encouraging look, while Calub nodded once to show he was open to hearing him out. However, it was Anci who broke the silence.

“Meh, we’ve heard the slowpoke. Might as well listen to the clerk.”

Lansius knelt and quickly drew a rectangle, a series of lines, and a circle in the dirt with a stick. It was a larger-scale drawing than Anci’s, showing the area around the manor in broader detail. Hugo, Thomas, and Calub were immediately drawn to it and knelt down as well.

“This is our target, the manor on the next hill.” Lansius pointed to the rectangle. “And this is the only road from there leading to us.”

Calub followed the crude map, nodded, and asked, “And what is this circle in the middle?”

“There’s a lake between us and our target, just beside the road,” Lansius explained.

“The lowlands,” Anci remarked from behind.

Lansius continued. “My plan is not to attack them at their strongest point, but to lure them out and fight them at a location of our choosing.”

Old Thomas glanced at Hugo, who was deep in thought.

At last, Hugo asked, “And how do you propose we beat them once they’re out?”

Lansius placed three stones on the map and said, “We’ll bait them here. Then one team will hold them in place while another flanks them from behind.”

The plan began to take shape.

Calub was the first to speak. “My men and I can form a defense. Even with a small force, we could hold off dozens if the ground is right.”

“A bait and ambush might work better than a straight surprise attack,” Anci commented.

Hugo seemed to be warming to the plan.

“But first,” Lansius warned them, “this can only work if we eliminate their horses.”

***

The Manor

An elderly guard reclined in solitude beneath a large tree near the manor’s palisade gate. Though the sky was overcast, the summer heat was still relentless. He had hung his doublet on a nearby branch, allowing the breeze to cool him down. Since morning, he had toiled to maintain discipline among his men, resolving minor quarrels and ensuring order in the newcomers’ dormitory.

The sounds of steady plowing and weeding bore witness to his efforts. Everything was well organized, just as his master had demanded.

Following the Arvena war, Sabina Rustica Manor, also known as the Den, experienced an influx of “newcomers.” They were assessed like commodities; those with potential were further cultivated to garner a higher value, while the mediocre were assigned to work in the shops or on the farm.

Contrary to popular belief, female slaves did not fetch high prices. What drew a premium were skilled individuals. Unprincipled nobles would pay handsomely for laborers, carpenters, or scribes. Laborers were employed on farms or orchards; carpenters for private construction projects such as concealed rooms on estates; and scribes to handle illegal dealings and transactions.

There was minimal risk of leaks, as slaves were bound to their masters. This loyalty made them ideal candidates for sensitive roles, such as serving in the inner chambers where family affairs were talked about openly.

Not all requests were malicious. Occasionally, a secret adoption would be arranged. There were other specialized roles, such as female bodyguards, as opposed to eunuchs. Nonetheless, it was indisputable that these slaves would never experience freedom again.

At the heart of this illicit operation was Bogdan, an old veteran of the northern uprising. As the caretaker, he directed his laborers to expand their fields. He had ambitious plans to enlarge the complex, which already included an additional farm, dormitory, and vineyard.

For Bogdan, the manor symbolized his reward, sustenance, and retirement, all in one. Though not the owner, his role as caretaker granted him near ownership. Sabina Rustica afforded him a life far superior to what his social standing would otherwise permit.

This advantage extended to many of Bogdan’s accomplices, including the elderly guard who now enjoyed his tranquil private garden. The day was far from over, yet he was already contemplating his evening meal, a game of dice, and spending time with his mistress.

As the old guard swatted flies away from the festering wound on his right hand, he was reminded of the incident two days prior, when he had been careless with an Arvenian woman. While punishing her, an unexpected guest had arrived, and Bogdan needed him to bolster security.

A sly smile crossed the old guard's face as he pondered the retribution he would exact upon her once the guest had departed.

Clang—Clang—Clang!

As if doused with icy water, the old man sprang to his feet, scanning his surroundings before focusing on the sentry atop the manor house.

The sentry finally noticed him and yelled, “Three horsemen!”

This revelation alarmed the old guard. The Den was only expecting a carriage from Arvena sometime this week, but no one had mentioned horsemen. Hastily, he donned his doublet, grabbed his poleaxe, and sprinted to the gates. “Does anyone know about this?” he asked his men.

“No, boss. No one heard any . . .” one of his men replied.

He clicked his tongue, sensing something amiss. “You lot. Come with me.”

Four men groaned as they emerged from the wooden gatehouse. The heat was oppressive, and they had been secretly drinking.

“Where’d these horsemen come from? I thought the boss bought off all the local baronets and knights,” one queried.

“Maybe they’re just the guest’s men?” another suggested nervously.

A third grumbled, “I didn’t sign up for this."

“You signed up for rape, loot, and arson, but not fights?” the fourth taunted his comrades, inciting a commotion.

“Silence or I’ll cut off your noses!” the old guard barked.

The five men stood and waited until the three horsemen were close enough to shout at. They could see the horsemen wore brigandines and ring mail, but bore no banners.

“I’m Archibald, a champion from Arvena. Prepare to die!” the lead horseman declared.

“What did he say?” The men glanced at each other. Their instincts told them to flee, and so they did, legs pumping at the first sound of hoofbeats.

The old man readied his poleaxe, but he knew he stood no chance. At last, he too turned and sprinted away.

“Crossbows! Crossbowmen!” he shouted, calling for support from behind the gates.

The three horsemen thundered after the fleeing men, who cried out desperately for their allies to open the gates. The riders quickly caught them and struck without mercy. Three of the fleeing men went down at once.

“Crossbowmen!” The old guard made his final plea before a lance pierced his back.

Fulfilling the old man’s dying request, a meager two shots were fired from the slits near the gate. Both missed their marks.

The horsemen laughed as they cut down the last man, who went limp before his face hit the ground.

Two of the horsemen dismounted, dragged the victims away, and stripped them of their gear. “Wow, look what I found—a gold ring and a necklace. These guys are loaded!”

The leading rider, Anci, laughed and turned back toward the gate. “Is there no manhood left inside?”

Above, the sentry hammered the iron bell again. Its clang drove the men in the manor toward the gatehouse. They had yet to learn what had happened when something shattered against the palisade wall. A heartbeat later, the left side of the gate burst into flames.

“Fire!”

The guards panicked and recoiled from the gate as smoke began to rise.

“Buckets! Get the buckets! Have the slaves fill them!” one of the ranking men shouted.

The men sprang to work. They needed a great many buckets, but in the end they managed to put the fire out. That was when the master of the manor, Bogdan, arrived on the scene. “What are you waiting for? Send the riders out!”

Black smoke still billowed from one side of the gate as the heavy wooden door swung open. Eight riders brandishing swords and lances galloped out in pursuit of the three horsemen.

Seeing the new threat, Anci led his two comrades in a hasty retreat.

The eight riders from the Den relentlessly pursued Anci, charging downhill toward a glade where the dense forest met a large pond. Their eyes were fixed on the man ahead, and none of them noticed the men lying in wait among the trees. The moment they entered the glade, armed men rushed out from the woods with spears and swords, catching the unsuspecting pursuers off guard.

“Ambush! It’s an ambush!” the riders cried as the spearmen struck. The riders tried to wheel their horses around, but another group of spearmen moved in to block their way out. At the same time, others pelted them with rocks.

“Have courage!” the leading rider shouted, trying to rally his companions. But he failed to notice Anci, who had turned back and was now closing in from behind.

The two groups of horsemen drew nearer. Distracted by the men in front of them, the riders from the manor never checked their rear. It was a fatal mistake. Anci rode past the group and drove his lance into the leading rider’s ringmailed back. The point punched through, and with a gasp, the rider toppled from his horse.

That brutal end sent the remaining riders spreading in panic, their faces twisted with fear.

“Yield, or I’ll do the same to you, slavers! Decide now!” Anci shouted at the nearest one as more of his allies formed up beside him.

Despite the threat, three riders made a desperate dash for the exit.

...

“Spear front! Keep formation!” Lansius shouted as the three riders came galloping toward his group. As a clerk in young Lord Arte’s retinue, he had been given a small command.

Eight men, some older and some younger than him, lowered their spears and polearms. Behind the front line of spearmen stood four crossbowmen with Felis among them. Lansius prayed the force under him would be enough to blunt a cavalry charge.

“They’re not stopping,” Felis remarked, almost cheerfully.

What kind of girl is she...?

Lansius swallowed dryly and turned to the crossbowmen. “Pick your targets.”

At this range, he had no reason to doubt their aim. “Loose!”

The four crossbowmen around him and Felis pulled their triggers. The sounds of bowstrings and wooden prods snapping back into place filled the air, followed by the sharp whistling of bolts.

Two steel-tipped bolts found their targets. One struck a rider, while the other hit a horse. Both veered off course.

Small cheers erupted from Lansius’s ranks.

“Not yet, one more!” Lansius moved to the front row to fortify their undermanned wall of spears. Standing shoulder to shoulder with the other men, together they planted the end of their spear into the ground like a stake and held it firmly.

The lone horseman, less than forty paces away, continued to gallop, appearing mad enough to force his way through.

Lansius wanted to rally his men, but the words wouldn’t come. Others clenched their jaws or ground their teeth as they stared at the approaching terror. The charging horse made each of them feel as if it were targeting them personally.

This isn’t going to work, we’re too thin . . .

Doubt and fear dawned on him as the ground shook from the thundering hooves of the warhorse. Taller than a man and weighing more than nine of them combined, the warhorse alone was a formidable opponent.

Its large black nostrils flared as the beast went against its instinct to keep away from the column of men. It continued galloping, leaving a trail of dust and dirt in its wake.

Lansius’s fingers turned white from gripping his spear tightly. The other men trembled, cowered, but braced themselves for the inevitable.

Suddenly, a deafening yet familiar whistle cut through the air from behind him. Lansius resisted the urge to turn, his focus locked on the horse charging straight at him. Then he caught the sudden change in its movement. The powerful beast began to falter, its stride turning uneven, as if refusing to continue the charge. With a sharp swerve, it veered off course while its rider slumped lifelessly in the saddle.

“Oh, I got it,” Felis declared, her tone dripping with casual confidence.

Only then did Lansius look back and see Felis, who had clearly fired the last shot. The other crossbowmen were still busy reloading.

Realizing they were out of danger, the men cheered loudly. Many could barely stand straight, and the ground reeked of urine, but they raised their fists in the air and taunted their opponents.

“Great shot!” Lansius said to Felis, amid a chorus of compliments from everyone else.

Felis chuckled but didn’t celebrate. “Compared to running goblins and the labyrinth’s foul beasts, they’re nothing,” she muttered quietly to herself.

Lansius took a deep breath. They had stopped the riders from breaking through, but the battle wasn’t over. In the distance, he saw another rider challenging Anci.

“Anci’s horse seems tired,” one of the crossbowmen observed.

Lansius squinted his eyes.

“Nah, he’ll be all right. The man is a natural,” Felis reassured.

“You can tell?” Lansius inquired.

“The way he controls the horse. He’s not relying on the reins, as the nomads do,” Felis explained.

Ah . . . Indeed, nomads even used bows on horseback.

Just as she had predicted, Anci bested the final challenger like a seasoned fighter dealing with a raw recruit. After that, the few remaining riders finally threw down their weapons. Seeing this, Thomas, Calub, and several other men rushed in from the far side to seize them.

***

The Arvenians finally secured the captured raiders, who had surrendered their weapons and horses. Anci dismounted, checked his horse for injuries, and gave the mare a pat when he found none.

Thomas approached him with a waterskin. “I can’t believe this actually worked.”

Anci took the waterskin, drank from it, then lowered it for his horse to drink as well. “Your friend has a sharp mind.”

“I never knew he was more than just a clerk,” old Thomas muttered.

“Maybe you never asked?” Anci suggested.

Thomas chuckled.

Calub approached the two. “Sorry to interrupt, but I think we should send a messenger.”

“No need. Our little marshal is watching from over there.” Anci gestured toward the line of spearmen guarding the path to the manor.

Thomas followed Anci’s gaze and spotted Lansius among his men. He let out a snort, while Calub glanced between them, still trying to grasp the humor.

Among Sir Peter’s retinue, Hugo had always acted as though he were in charge, much to Anci’s annoyance. Despite his laid-back manner, he could be rather bossy. Seeing someone else in command gave Anci a great deal of satisfaction.

“So . . .?” Calub wasn’t sure what to do next. There wasn’t a clear chain of command in a ragtag war band like theirs.

“No need for a messenger. I’ll speak to Lansius myself. I’ll be heading back up anyway,” Anci said.

“You’re going uphill again? Oh . . ." Thomas asked, half guessing at the plan Lansius had laid out. “The second step, or is it the third?”

Anci tried to count on his fingers.

Watching them, Calub, an alchemist used to working through complicated steps, easily recalled the stages of Lansius’s seemingly complex battle plan. “The first step was the bait. The second was luring them here. Now comes the third.”

The other two readily nodded in agreement. Having tasted a small victory, they were eager for more. That success was proof enough that Lansius’s plan was worth trusting.

With renewed confidence in their strategy, they began preparing for the next steps. Anci and his fellow riders took a short rest, giving their horses time to recover. Even after the break, Anci noticed his mount was still breathing hard, so he gave the horse an affectionate pat and chose a fresher one from the captured stock.

He then rode over to Lansius’s group to go over the plan once more.

With the sun at their backs, Anci set off uphill at a relaxed pace with four other riders. As planned, five footmen went with them, each leading one or two horses. The moment they came into view, the manor stirred to life with the sound of hammering metal and shouted orders.

Grinning, Anci paraded the captured horses and called out in a loud, clear voice, “My gratitude for these fine horses. Have you anything else to offer?”

This time, the slavers answered at once. The gate swung open, and armed men began pouring out.

“Charge! Punish these fools!” Bogdan commanded, clad in bright brigandine.

Anci took in the scene and saw seventy men forming up against him, with another thirty emerging from a hidden position on the far side of the compound. Caught off guard by the breadth of their line, even he hesitated for a moment before pulling back in disorder, losing two captured horses in the process.

The enemy had answered far more aggressively than expected.

Sensing weakness in Anci’s retreat, the slavers hurled their full strength into the pursuit, eager for blood.

***

Chapter 18

Burning Sands

Bogdan

The master of Sabina Rustica, Bogdan, led a hundred men downhill in pursuit of the retreating enemy, who had slain his guards and tried to burn his walls. He had grown suspicious after the eight riders he had sent earlier failed to return, and he had no intention of risking another piecemeal attack against these mysterious foes.

As the manor’s force moved downhill, the narrow ground naturally stretched their line out. The front ranks kept pace with the retreating enemy and reached the glade in the low ground. There, they found four carts, stripped of horses, blocking the path.

The enemy riders passed beyond the carts, which were guarded by a group armed with spears and swords.

But the barricade failed to deter Bogdan’s men. They trusted in their skill and their greater numbers. With a deafening battle roar, they charged straight at the carts.

A fierce battle quickly erupted. Though few in number, the defenders used the carts well as makeshift barricades. Any man trying to climb over was met with brutal resistance, hacked down, pelted with stones, or struck by crossbow bolts.

In the thick of the fighting, Bogdan cleverly sent fresh men into the narrow gap where the enemy riders had slipped through. Soon, the fiercest fighting broke out in the tight space between the two carts. Both sides thrust and raked with spears and polearms, each struggling to gain ground or hold it.

Fresh blood and gore stained the grass. Men screamed in pain, or fell and were seen no more. Casualties began to mount on Bogdan’s side, and many wounded men were dragged to the rear, but that did not shake them. Their morale remained strong. After all, they had a hundred fighting men, a force matched only by the high nobles' troops.

Suddenly, desperate shouts and screams erupted from the rear, prompting many to pause and turn. Bogdan also looked back and saw his rear ranks under attack by a swarm of men who seemed to have come out of nowhere.

“By the Ageless, what is going on?” Bogdan scowled. “What is our rear guard doing?”

One of his aides came running through the line and hastily reported between breaths, “Boss, two dozen men or more have struck our rear!”

“Two dozen...?” one of the men muttered in disbelief.

Still, many turned uneasy and looked to Bogdan for orders.

Bogdan had expected his hundred men to be stretched thin on the narrow hill path. But he had never expected the enemy to attempt such a deception, especially when they did not seem to have the numbers for it.

Indecision breeds disaster, Bogdan thought.

“On me! On me! Boys, now we know where the bastards were hiding. Time to give them a warm welcome!” he shouted, rallying his best men and leading them toward the source of the trouble.

Old Bogdan knew he could still salvage the situation. The enemy was cunning, but they lacked experience.

***

Squire Hugo

A small group of men had been hiding along a secluded trail branching off from the hill path. It had taken them some time to reach it, and there they waited and watched patiently as the slavers’ hundred men charged downhill.

The path linking the manor to the low ground was narrow, and in places no wider than a cart. It forced the slavers’ column into a long, stretched line, snaking down the slope.

As he watched the skirmish unfold, Hugo wiped the sweat from his forehead and noticed Jardin, the alchemist’s assistant, glancing at him.

“Now?” Jardin asked, a man built like a dwarf.

“Do it,” Hugo said.

Jardin puffed a smoke from his clay smoking pipe and grabbed two glass bottles from a nest of hay inside a metal container. He pulled out their corks, jammed waxed linens into them, and lit one using the ember from his pipe. Once it was lit, he looked at Hugo.

“That section over there and there.” Hugo pointed his hand toward the two narrowest sections on the hill path.

Jardin lit the second bottle using the fire from the first bottle, loaded the first one into his leather sling, and then whirled it over his head several times. At the right moment, he released one of the cords and the bottle flew with an astounding accuracy. Before the first one hit the ground, Jardin had loaded and let loose the second one.

The glass bottle crashed without an explosion, but the liquid turned to mist on impact and readily caught fire from the linen wick. It burst into a fireball and the flame spread over a small area.

The fire stunned the slavers’ rear ranks. Several men were caught in it, and panic quickly spread. When the second bottle landed and burst into another fireball, the men hit by it fell back.

Hugo looked over his men. They all seemed ready, eager for the moment. Then he shouted, “For Arvena!”

His men roared and surged into the attack.

Lansius’ plan required Hugo to strike not at the very rear of the slavers’ formation, but at its middle, to cut the rear off from the main body.

The fire and sudden attack had scattered the slavers, but they soon regrouped into several large clusters to defend themselves. Seeing this, Jardin hurled another bottle and successfully kept two of the largest groups from joining together. It was the last support he could offer before melee broke out between the two sides.

Knowing the advantage of surprise would not last, Hugo had placed his best fighters at the front with orders to fight without mercy. Armed with heavy weapons like poleaxes, they hacked and slashed into the slavers’ line, whose men were naturally weaker than the vanguard now engaged at the cart barricade.

Facing slavers who had little chance of ever being highborn, the Arvenians ditched formalities and went for the kill. They were not in the mood to take hostages.

The fighting turned vicious. Patches of grass and the dirt road were smeared with blood and dark gore. Nearby, fire kept spreading through the dry grass.

The slavers’ middle and rear together numbered more than forty men against Hugo’s smaller force, but the narrow ground blunted their advantage in numbers. The gap in skills and resolve caused the slavers to lose men rapidly. It didn’t take long before they began to grow wary of their opponent.

Hugo’s small but hardened party brutally whittled down their numbers and secured a foothold on the hill path. As planned, they then split in two. One group went after the rear section, while the other, led by Hugo, pressed the fight against the middle.

The move stretched their small force even further, yet the slavers were in worse shape. Their ranks were in disarray. Unwilling to die for nothing, many shoved and jostled their own allies to avoid the fighting. Even so, they still had capable men among them.

Amid the close and chaotic melee, a tall man met Hugo’s halberd thrust with a swing of his sword. Steel rang as the blow knocked the thrust aside, and the man lunged at once. But Hugo was already moving. With the axe head of his halberd, he raked across and caught the man’s sword, trying to bind it and wrench it out of line.

He might have managed it, had the man to his right not lost his footing after blocking a savage blow from his own opponent. He stumbled sideways and crashed into Hugo.

The jolt broke the bind and freed the tall man’s sword. Roaring, he drove a thrust straight at Hugo’s chest. It came too fast. Hugo got his halberd across, but only barely. The blade struck his brigandine and dented the metal beneath before glancing off.

Staggered, Hugo took a step back, but the enemy gave him no room to recover and came at once with another cut aimed at his neck. Hugo raised his weapon just in time to block it. Without flinching, he slid one hand higher up the shaft and snapped the halberd across at the man’s arm. The axe head struck the opponent’s left elbow, and the tall man groaned. His gambeson spared him the worst of it, but the pain drove him onto the defensive.

Though out of breath, Hugo kept pressing with his weapon. Then he saw an opening and whipped the halberd upward into the tall man’s face.

“Gahh!” The tall man winced as the halberd’s sharp axe struck his chin and made a bloody gash.

Pain and shock made the tall man lash out blindly with his sword. Hugo sidestepped and answered with a thrust. A jolt ran through the shaft as the halberd’s point punched deep into the man’s abdomen. The tall man coughed hoarsely, then sank to his knees.

Hugo kicked the dying man aside and wrenched his halberd free. He did not pause to celebrate, only fought to catch his breath and recover his stance. At once, the struggle to his right demanded his attention. Too tight for a swing, Hugo stepped in and drove a murderous thrust.

The sudden attack struck cleanly in the stomach. The new opponent dropped his weapon in shock. He stared at the halberd jutting from his belly, his breathing turning ragged as he looked at Hugo with bloodshot eyes. He ground his teeth and pulled the halberd’s tip out.

Hugo pulled his halberd back and readied it again. The Arvenians beside him were ready as well. But the wounded man had already gone pale. He stumbled back several steps, then collapsed, never to rise again.

“Look, they’re running!” one Arvenian shouted, and a wave of emotion quickly swept through their ranks.

Only then did Hugo realize the rest of the enemy had fled, and that he himself had slain the last man standing against them. Though praises rose around him, he felt more humbled than triumphant. The battle had unfolded almost exactly as the clerk, Lansius had predicted.

He looked up the hill path and saw that the fighting there was all but over. The slavers’ middle section had broken off and fled back toward the main body. Farther uphill, Hugo’s split-off group had already routed the rear section, which was now fleeing toward the manor.

The slavers were just local troublemakers. Even strengthened by a number of men-at-arms, they weren’t trained for this kind of battle. They were paid to guard slaves, not to fight a pitched battle.

Amid the cheering, Hugo spat and tasted blood in his mouth, then drank from his waterskin. Afterward, he looked over his men, their faces streaked with sweat, dirt, and blood.

“Don’t celebrate yet. Wash the blood from your hands. Another fight is still coming,” he warned.

The fighters nodded, anticipation already rising in them. They had won the hill path, but the slavers’ main body in the low ground was still intact. Moreover, they could see the slavers main body marching toward them.

Led by Bogdan, master of the manor, and reinforced by their best fighters, the re-formed slavers’ column looked solid and intimidating.

“I believe it’s my turn again?” Jardin asked as he came to Hugo’s side.

Hugo snorted. “Do as you’re told, but nothing extra. We’re a little tight on the purse.”

The response tickled Jardin’s nerve who chuckled. “Most certainly.”

...

The sun was searing hot despite the multitudes of clouds. Bogdan’s men slowed their march just before the hill climb as exhaustion piled up. Bogdan let his men catch their breath before the big push. This was not a race. They needed the stamina to fight.

Made up of mostly experienced men-at-arms, their morale was high. Their earlier failure against the four carts barricade didn’t dampen their spirit. In their eyes, they had forced the main perpetrator out, and now things would be resolved quickly.

Meanwhile, Hugo and his men formed up six across and three ranks deep, fully sealing the hill path. They were exhausted from the last fight, but they had time to catch their breath and now held the high ground.

In numbers, Bogdan still commanded more than fifty men, half of them veterans. Hugo, by contrast, had fewer than twenty. Even so, the Arvenians looked every bit as intimidating as they stood their ground with spears and polearms bristling before them.

Bogdan led the slavers uphill, but suddenly a small object flew into their ranks. It struck, cracked like clay, and burst into flame at the center of the formation. The blast set several men’s cloth armor alight and sent fear through the line.

“Push forward! Let nothing stop you!” Bogdan shouted. Whatever the cost, he needed the assault to land quickly.

Another clay object flew into their front and shattered, fire blazing just like the first one. However, this time, they were ready and only two got caught in the fire. Both fires fizzled surprisingly quickly and left a plume of white smoke.

Bogdan capitalized on the enemy’s apparent failure. “See those men in front of you? They’re nothing but thieves and robbers. Your wealth, your money, they’re going to take it all from you! Are you going to let that happen?”

Bogdan’s words pumped his men, and they clamored for battle.

“So, what are you waiting for? Make them pay!” Bogdan raised his sword.

Emboldened, the men yelled their battle cry. Their distance was less than two hundred paces away from Hugo’s men.

“Onward!” one of the lieutenants shouted, but a wave of screaming from their ranks alerted everybody.

They looked around and saw panicked men trampled left and right to get away from the white smoke. The smoke was clearly unusual. They noticed everywhere the white smoke passed, men immediately suffered.

The men avoided the smoke like a plague and left the formation in shambles. Indeed, it was hazardous. It contained a fine white powdery substance that reacted with moisture and caused burns.

A person engulfed in the white smoke would feel their eyes, nostrils, and throat burning. It blinded them and filled them with immense pain. Even breathing felt like swallowing a burning charcoal. Many scrambled toward the large pond to douse themselves from the pain.

The white smoke had only caught less than a dozen, but it shook the column. Bogdan had shouted at the top of his lungs to keep control. Just then, ten horsemen and a score of Arvenians appeared behind them.

With a wall of spears in front, the threat of more white smoke, and now, cavalry appeared at their back; the slavers were beginning to panic.

“This is madness. We can’t win, not like this,” one rambled.

“There’s no hope. We should run and meet back at the manor!” Another suggested.

Many nodded and hurriedly fled as the horsemen advanced closer.

Watching his men fleeing, Bogdan eerily kept his calm. Instead of running, he dismounted and gave the horse to his aide. He was too old to lick boots. Moreover, he had no child of his own and no real love for his concubines.

Together with twenty like-minded allies, old Bogdan re-formed the column, and they readied themselves against the cavalry charge.

...

Anci and his riders returned to the field after a brief rest. Armed with lances, they formed into a wedge. Instead of breaking into a gallop, Anci led them forward at a trot so they could keep their aim. Riding toward a column of men already locked in battle, with smoke, screams, and shouting all around, the horses resisted at first. But the riders kept their nerve and held their discipline, and soon the beasts surged straight into the slavers’ line.

Men and horses crashed together. In an instant, many went down under the lances, while the warhorses tore through the line, trampling and crushing whoever stood in their way. It was hard to tell how many died, but the surviving slavers broke away in panic and fled.

Anci wheeled his riders and gave chase, determined not to let the enemy regroup.

While Anci rode on in brutal pursuit, Lansius arrived at the scene. Thomas, Calub, and Felis were at his side, along with eleven men, almost all of them wounded. They had spent themselves just to keep marching and remain on their feet.

Lansius looked around with deep concern on his face. Many took it as reading the battle, but in reality, the scattered corpses, blood, and gore mortified him. He took a sharp breath, but the distinct smell of blood made him nauseous.

Calub took notice. “You okay?”

“I’ll be okay when this is over,” Lansius replied.

The white smoke had dissipated from the field. As Calub had warned them, the area wasn’t ideal. There was a strong wind coming from the hillside, and thus the smoke could only last for a minute or two.

Still, it got the job done. Without the burning sands, their casualties would be higher. An evenly matched battle was the worst in terms of casualties. They were lucky that Felis brought the alchemist, who spared them from that fate.

Calub and Felis, in turn, were grateful for Lansius’s uncanny understanding of the alchemist’s tools and how he could integrate them into his plan.

Old Thomas stepped closer and said, “I’ll take some men and round up the survivors.”

Lansius nodded. “Try to link up with Hugo.”

“Aye, will do.” Thomas was about to turn away when Lansius caught the old man by the arm.

“Be very careful . . . no ransom is worth our men’s lives,” Lansius said.

Thomas gave a warm, fatherly look. “We’ll avoid danger as much as we can.”

With just four men, Thomas went to scour the battlefield. The remaining seven lost what little composure they had left and dropped to the ground. Fortunately for them, their role as reserves wasn't required.

“Don’t drink if you have deep wounds. Dab some water on your lips to keep them from drying.” As he watched the men, Lansius was reminded of the few he had left behind at the four-cart barricade.

He glanced at the bright sky and drew a deep breath, trying to drive away the feeling that he was responsible for the dead.

I did my best. Nobody should blame me.

But the plan wasn’t flawless. Originally, two of the carts should have been burned to keep the attackers away. However, the small amount of fire bottles had failed to burn the carts in time. Thus, their severely limited number had borne the brunt of the attack.

Lansius knew that was his mistake. He had miscalculated and made Calub assign most of his stock, including both of the burning sands, to Jardin.

If only Calub carried one . . .

As Lansius had witnessed, even a single bottle of burning sands was powerful. If it had been used on the barricade, it would certainly stopped the attack on the carts and saved many.

“Tsk.” Lansius chastised himself. He had downplayed the technical side and incorrectly assumed that the dry wood would catch fire easily. However, the carts’ thick wood proved to withstand the small douse of benzene-like liquid from the fire bottles.

“Good job, Lans.”

The sudden praise took him by surprise. Lansius turned around and saw Felis. Her smile and blue piercing eyes nearly made him blush. He was weak against such a beauty.

Noticing that he was not reacting as she had expected, Felis added heartily, “Hey, be proud. This is a significant accomplishment.”

Lansius still felt guilty, but the verbal pat on the back felt so good that he managed a stiff smile.

Maybe this isn’t all bad.

Felis tilted her head at Lansius’s lack of reaction. “You looked concerned. Is something wrong?”

“Nah, it’s just that . . . it’s time to finish the job.”

***

Chapter 19

Lupulus

The sun had not yet turned orange when the Arvenians finally secured the battlefield. Anci had already returned and sent a few riders out on patrol. Hugo took charge of the captured men for interrogation, while the others stripped the dead of better gear and whatever trinkets they could find. Anything of real value was handed over to Thomas for safekeeping.

Seated atop a large rock, Lansius busied himself tending both hands. Something had struck his right thumb during the fighting and crushed the nail inward. He wrapped it tightly to ease the throbbing pain. At least that one he could deal with. His left palm was worse. A splinter of wood had gone in deep.

Darn it! Wish I had a tweezer, even a flimsy one.

Done with the interrogation, Hugo met up with Lansius and gathered the rest. “Bogdan, the caretaker of the place, is amongst the dead," he reported.

A wave of relief was on everyone’s face. They felt victory was within grasp. Naturally, all agreed to storm the compound. Despite the risk, the fear that the slavers might retaliate against their loved ones drove them to attack.

Lansius knew that Anci and Hugo would storm the manor regardless of his decision, for the two were looking for a far more important prize, the future Lord of Arvena. This made him wary. “Thomas, get the wounded somewhere cool and safe. Start a fire and boil some water. Treat their wounds if you could.”

Old Thomas nodded readily. He cared for the men and was happy to oblige.

Next, Lansius looked at Calub. “Can I ask you to go with Thomas?”

“I need to warn you that my knowledge of medicine is limited,” Calub said.

“We have no one else. I’m only asking for a bit of cheap wine to clean the wounds, clean linen to wrap them, and some honey for treatment.”

Lansius’s explanation caught Felis’s and Hugo’s attention. They were familiar with the treatment, but Lansius’s confidence was rather unusual.

Calub snorted sharply and asked, “So you’re also well read in medicine?”

“Just a bit . . . oh, and promise me, no bloodletting. Even if they have a fever, don’t draw blood,” Lansius warned sternly.

The alchemist’s shrugged. “I’m not a barber-surgeon. Anything else?”

Lansius offered his hand. “Just wishing you a good luck.”

The two clasped hands. “You too, stay safe," Calub said. Afterward, he departed with Thomas.

Anci, who had stood there patiently, finally stepped forward. “Are we done with the preparation?”

“Pretty much,” Lansius answered.

“So, what’s next?” Hugo asked in anticipation.

Lansius looked him in the eye. “The men are well rested, yes?”

Hugo, Anci, and Felis exchanged glances. “I think the men are ready,” Felis answered.

Lansius lowered his gaze for a moment. The men looked worn, bloodied, and tired, but none of them wavered. He gave a small nod. “Then we move for the summit and take what we came for.”

Anci chuckled and signaled his riders to saddle up. Beside him, Hugo turned to his men and raised his voice. “Gentlemen, time to free your sons and daughters. Move out!”

Only twenty-three Arvenians were still fit to fight, but their answering cry still rang fierce.

***

Manor House

Taunts, shouts, and screams echoed across the courtyard of Sabina Rustica. In their assault, the Arvenians had cleverly used a cart and slanted wooden poles as makeshift ladders. The defenders rushed to contain the breach, throwing their hardiest fighters into the gap.

Leaderless or not, the slavers fought with desperate zeal and might well have held the place, had they not been undone by their own disunity. For all their stubborn resistance, too many had already slipped out through a hidden back door with their gold and silver. That loss of men finally turned the fight in the Arvenians’ favor. The fighting broke apart, then quickly died down as the surviving slavers fled into the manor proper, the last stronghold still standing.

The manor’s usually clean courtyard was now strewn with blood and gore. The last few kept fighting inside the main hall and storage area. Only when they had nowhere left to run did the remaining four yield. The thud of their swords striking the wooden floor marked the end of the slavers’ resistance.

But there was still a different party to reckon with.

“Drop the sword,” Anci demanded, standing tall in blood-stained armor, his broadsword still dripping. They were on the manor’s second floor, facing three guards.

“Easy, we’re not with the slavers,” one of the men in red brigandine said, trying to distance himself from the men in the manor.

Despite the claim, the Arvenians and the three guards continued to stare at one another, each measuring the other in case the standoff turned into a fight.

“Tch—” Anci spat to the side. He glanced around for any other threats before turning to his men. “Someone get Hugo. We’ve got different company here.”

At his order, one of the men rushed downstairs. He passed on the call, and not long after, hurried footsteps echoed through the stone stairwell.

Hugo appeared on the second floor a moment later, his face and hair smeared with blood.

Anci looked at him and snorted. “Someone got you good.”

“Fuck off. ’Tis just a scratch,” Hugo shot back, then turned his gaze to the guards in red.

The one who looked to be the most senior of the guards spoke first. “I know you’re looking for Arvenians, and we understand that. We won’t fight unless you threaten our master.”

“Who’s your liege, and what are you doing here?” Hugo asked.

“Our master is the Baronet of Brunna. He is a visitor, not part of this establishment.”

The name caught Hugo’s attention. “Tough luck. Seems we caught your master with his breeches down.”

“I’m sure we can—”

“It’s a short walk to the gallows for slavers and those who buy from them. Not a road you should take,” Anci cut in.

The three men looked strained and said nothing, but they held their ground in front of the guest chamber.

At last, Hugo gestured for his men to lower their weapons. Then he made his offer to the three guards. “Yield, and we’ll guarantee the safety of both you and your master.”

“Will you hold us for ransom?” the guard asked.

“Nothing too dear for you three. Two goats, or one if you’re poor,” Hugo quipped.

Two of the guards snorted. The joke had come out of nowhere.

“What about my master?” the senior guard asked.

“I can’t decide the fate of a baronet,” Hugo said. “That will be for the nobles to judge.”

The three guards looked at one another, then lowered their swords. “Fair enough,” the senior guard said. He stepped forward and offered his sword to Hugo hilt-first. “We yield on the condition that no harm comes to our lord or to the three of us.”

“I, Squire Hugo, on behalf of Sir Peter, accept." Hugo took the sword.

That exchange marked the end of the fighting in Sabina Rustica. With the matter settled, Hugo and Anci set the men to search the second floor, hoping to find their greatest prize, Arte of Arvena, whose whereabouts were still unknown.

But after a stretch of hard searching, they came up empty.

Amid the Arvenians’ sweep through the manor, Anci, fresh from the master chamber, ran into Hugo again. “Nothing there but signs of looting. You sure there’s no hidden cell downstairs?”

Hugo let out a sharp breath, pressing a clean linen cloth he had found to his forehead. “There’s nothing in the cellar or the storage rooms... Must be outside. There are several suspicious buildings—”

“No, the most suspicious one is the guest chamber,” Anci said, already marching off.

Hugo hurried after him at once, unwilling to go back on his promise to the three guards. “I gave my word.”

“We’ll only check,” Anci reassured him.

When they returned to the guest chamber, they found the guards in red still knocking and calling for their master, to no avail.

“No answer?” Hugo asked from behind Anci.

The senior guard shook his head. “No luck. We explained it’s safe to get out, but . . . ”

Anci snickered. “Is he dead?”

Despite the crude remark, the guard merely sighed and lowered his voice. “I hope not. I have a family to feed.”

Hearing the admission, Anci turned to his men and said, “You. Get me an axe.”

“Umm . . . how about a poleaxe?” A rather young-looking man offered his weapon.

Anci grabbed the poleaxe and found it solid. He smirked. “This will do.”

***

Guest Chamber

Inside the chamber on the second floor, things remained calm. The room had seen better days, but the plaster on the wall still retained its bright color. A cool breeze rushed from a fully opened decorated glass window on the far side. Lacquered furniture completed the fancy look.

Nowadays, guests rarely used the chamber anymore. Decades ago, a potential customer would need to travel to see the wares, but nowadays the slavers had bribed enough officials of the land that they could smuggle their wares directly to the customers. Thus, there was seldom a reason for a visit this manor.

However, three days earlier, a valued customer had arrived on a whim, no less than a baronet. He had brought new company with him, an effeminate wandering bard by the look of him. They had wanted to inspect the wares before deciding on a purchase, and the host had been only too glad to oblige. But now their visit had come to an abrupt end.

A muffled roar from outside, followed by a violent blow, shook the room. The oaken door creaked as splinters flew from it. A dozen more heavy strikes followed, until the edges of the frame began to give way. But the door still held, helped by its rusted hinges.

“Jam it into the gap—”

“We need a chisel!”

“Stand back! Yeaaarrggh!”

The hinges finally burst, and the iron lock tore loose.

Outside stood Anci, the one who had brute-forced the door. He sneezed loudly as wood and plaster dust swirled around him. The room was too quiet to his liking, but that did not stop him. “Yield,” he demanded, casting aside the poleaxe as he drew his stained broadsword.

“You’re too loud,” came the answer.

The tone and the sight dumbfounded Anci.

An effeminate young man sat naked on the bed. His shoulder-length light brown hair swayed by the wind as he filed his fingernails calmly. To his side, a grotesque man lay exposed in an awkward position with mouth foaming.

“Oi, what happened?” Hugo asked from behind. He impatiently shoved Anci aside and saw the young lad. “Who’re you?”

“I’m just a guest here. You must be looking for this big arse?” The naked lad gestured his hand at the grotesque man. “He’s a slave buyer all right, but not the owner.”

The heightened tension and heat caused blood on Hugo’s head to start dripping again. He wiped it off as he approached the bed. Suddenly, his eyes went wide. “That’s the baronet of Brunna.”

“A baronet?” the naked lad asked.

Hugo nodded while ascertaining that the baronet still drew breath.

“Oh, to be taken advantage of by a baronet,” the lad said as if in a play. “I thought he was at least a baron in disguise.”

“Brunna is a wealthy estate. He’s as powerful as a baron.” Hugo felt compelled to explain while he took a piece of cloth and dabbed the reddened sweat from his eyebrows.

“You better get that checked—” The lad's voice was cut off by the appearance of a lady at the door.

Felis held her crossbow in her arms as she went inside. “Oh, my.” She noticed the naked lad and gawked at the beautiful yet masculine body.

“Please pardon my uncouthness, my lady.” The lad jumped from the bed after he had noticed the blonde and made a gentlemanly bow, all without trying to cover his groin. “A most unfortunate circumstance just befell me.”

“Not at all. Please, I’m not a noble,” Felis corrected him. “But . . . you’re Archie, right?” She saw through the heavy makeup.

The name forced Hugo and Anci to do a double-take. As mere squires, they rarely saw Lord Maurice’s son in person. Only now, they began to see the resemblances.

“Ah . . .” The lad’s surprise turned to smile. “You’re the lady from three days ago. Such a good fortune to be blessed with your presence again. But tell me, for what purpose, my lady, are you here in such an unpleasant place, and are these your men?”

Felis nearly grinned. Before they could interact further, someone intruded from outside. “What’s happening? Is my master all right?”

“Oh, he’s fine. Just a bit drunk.” Anci blocked the way and passionately guided the guard out. “Listen, there’s personal stuff happening, totally unrelated to your master. So, grunts like us, we better wait outside.”

Hugo breathed a sigh of relief at Anci’s quick thinking. Afterward, he approached the naked lad and took a knee. “My Lord, I’m Hugo, Sir Peter’s squire. We have come to rescue you.”

“My, to be found by my own retinue. ’Tis is so unexpected.” The lad, no other than Arte of Arvena, stood taller as he straightened his back like a seasoned fighter that he was.

To their side, Felis gathered the scattered clothes and offered them to Arte.

“Gratitude, my lady. And pardon for the sight.”

“Not at all, my lord. I heard it’s a sign of nobility when one isn’t ashamed of their own body.”

Arte chuckled at Felis’s flattering while Hugo readily assisted him to don his clothes.

“Squire, tell me about your master.”

“My master is Sir Ian’s firstborn son.”

“Ah, the old baronet. It seems that the Ancients’ light has not forsaken me.” Arte closed his eyes to gather his thoughts. “I’m indebted to you and your master, but for now, let’s drop the formality. I’m in a poor state, and there are likely assassins coming after me . . . Until I can stand on my two feet, call me Archie, a knight from Arvena.”

Hugo bowed his head and then asked, “Sir Archie, may we ask what happened and why you’re here?”

“It’s a long story. Maybe for some other time.” Archie looked at the man in the bed. “You only need to know that I used this poor excuse of a man to hide from my pursuer. Unknowingly, he kept me safe. But there’s always a catch . . .”

Hugo nodded diligently. Outwardly, he appeared content to serve his newfound lord, but inside, he knew the story didn’t add up. However, there was no reason for a lowly squire like him to pry further.

“So, what did you do to him, Sir Archie?” Felis innocently asked.

“Well, how should I explain . . . this sorry man enjoyed my company, so it’s only prudent to return the favor, no?” Archie let out an innocent smile.

Felis unexpectedly giggled. Meanwhile, Hugo found it hard to digest. “He’s passed out from that?”

Archie laughed but didn’t offer an explanation. “More importantly, now you’ve rescued me. What is your plan?”

Hugo’s back tensed. He should have sought out the black-haired clerk first, but this chance was too good to share. “Sir, I think it’s best we head out at first light tomorrow.”

***

Chapter 20

Missing

Night fell over the newly liberated Sabina Rustica, the sky washed in dusky purple and fading blue. The manor was now fully in Arvenian hands, yet there was no sign of celebration. They ended the day with only a small feast. Despite a cellar full of casks, only bitter pale ale was given out. It was not restraint that stayed their hand, but the need to preserve what they had.

Exhausted and burdened with wounded men, the Arvenians still had to reckon with the threat of a counterattack. Deep in enemy territory, the slavers might yet return with fresh accomplices and launch a night assault. So the feast began abruptly and ended just as quickly. Everyone knew they would need what little rest they could get before taking their turns on the night watch.

Meanwhile, the freed slaves and captured men were given wine to drink, an absurdities that was in fact a calculated gamble. The Arvenians hoped to calm the slaves while dulling their strength to fight. The Arvenians simply couldn’t take any chances. They didn't have enough eyes to watch everyone.

Despite earlier hostilities, the Arvenians provided their captives with meals, blankets, and linen for bandages. It was a stark contrast to the life the slavers had known, but they could do little now except drink their sorrow. The only thing that spared them from the sword was their labor. After all, war left no rose garden, only dirty work. It fell to the defeated to dig burial pits, bury the dead, and wash the looted goods.

The victors fared only slightly better. The care for the wounded was taxing and oftentimes ill-fated. As the night fell, the remaining uninjured Arvenians barricaded themselves in the manor, gatehouse, and dormitory. Inside the manor’s main hall, injured personnel were being tended to. The atmosphere was heavy and riddled with whimpering, whining, and sobbing.

However, on the second floor, an altogether different scene was unfolding.

Clean and serene, the private hall was filled with small chuckles and lively discussion. A number of peers were waiting for a ceremony. The air was scented with the fragrance of incense wafting from a censer.

Inside the master chamber, Sir Archie prepared himself by donning a fresh, clean tunic. Today, the Arvenians had won a brilliant victory against an opponent thrice their size. He should be ecstatic, but he remained dispirited. Truthfully, he had gone to Sabina Rustica not to hide, but in search of a servant boy who was like a brother to him. The two had gotten separated when they escaped Riverstead. Ever since that day, Archie had been on the lookout. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find him, not even at the Den.

Archie remembered their times together and let out a sigh. However, he did not dwell on it. He was now the Lord of Arvena, and his men needed a leader, not an emotional youngster.

Two knocks on the door alerted him. “Enter,” he said without hesitation.

An old esquire named Thomas appeared. “Sir, we’re ready for your presence.”

Archie gave a nod and strode out of the master chamber into the adjoining hall, where a large mahogany chair had been placed at the center. Beneath the gaze of those gathered, he sat and looked over the guests arrayed before him. Some looked Arvenian, some did not, but all equally unfamiliar to him.

Squire Hugo was the first to approach, and he knelt down in front of Archie and formally stated his deeds in an embellished manner. Originally, this was a herald’s job, but the only one they had had been injured in the fight.

After Hugo finished, Archie offered a formal praise and bestowed three gold coins, a share of the loot, and a promise of sizeable arable land in Arvena.

Hugo rose and returned to his colleagues. Next, Anci stepped forward and embellish his merits to an extreme degree, causing a riot of laughter. The unexpected entertainment helped him win a bigger prize. Valor and courage alone weren’t enough; one needed to promote oneself to gain a reward.

Next, Thomas stepped forward, delivering his performance solemnly and politely. For his efforts, he received one gold coin and a promise of two horses. Felis and Calub were then called forward. Sir Archie praised them for their assistance, giving a sizeable pouch of looted riches as payment.

The ceremony ended quickly, and they began discussing what came next.

Hugo started with the information about the slavers. “We stumbled upon a powerful group who surely will try to exact revenge on us.”

Archie pondered the new threat. “Nothing we can do about it but to proceed carefully . . . anything else?”

Hearing him take the lead had been a constant relief to his men. They knew he had lost his father, his closest colleagues, his loyal entourage, and the whole province, yet he remained steadfast.

Old Thomas coughed once to draw attention. “From what we gather, this Gottfried bastard and his northerner barbarians have captured the entirety of Arvena except the western area.”

“The reinforcement from the Duke of Tiberia forced Gottfried to withdraw. Even he couldn’t act brazenly against them,” Hugo added.

Archie nodded, but refrained from saying anything.

A haunting memory gushed into Thomas’s head. “These barbarians are no better than animals. They kill and chain whoever they cannot use in their army, even children—”

“The margrave will pay,” Archie stated with cold and loaded voice.

Satisfied that his pleas were heard, Thomas bowed his head deeply.

“If nothing else . . .” Hugo looked at the other and then at Archie. “Tomorrow, we’ll move out with ten riders to Selene Manor.”

Archie looked perplexed. “Selene? Shouldn’t we head for Lubina Castle?”

“Sir Peter is a guest at Selene Manor, but more importantly, it’s Lord Bengrieve’s summer residence,” Hugo explained.

The name made Archie nod easily. While only a seneschal and not the Lord of Midlandia, Bengrieve held the actual power in this vast province. If Arvena was to survive, he needed that man’s support.

“How about the rest of us?” Anci asked.

Hugo recalled the conversation he had with a certain someone. “Thomas will lead the men to Pozna. Remember to pillage this manor before leaving; otherwise, brigands will use it. If you have trouble, consult with Calub, or lady Felis.”

“Isn’t it better to ask Lansius?” Calub suggested with a faint smile.

“Lansius? The name seems familiar,” Archie remarked.

Hugo’s heart raced as he hastily responded, “He’s just a clerk from Riverstead.”

The room fell silent. Hugo shot a look at Anci and Thomas, who reluctantly nodded their heads in agreement, having previously discussed and agreed to advance their own interests over some unknown foreigner.

Archie’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned to one side in his seat with a face devoid of any expression. The tense silence in the room deepened.

***

Lansius

While his colleagues were being rewarded for their merit, Lansius was facing harsh complaints from fourteen freed slaves inside the dormitory. Instead of being grateful, these women vehemently refused their newfound freedom.

Something about opportunity?

Can’t return home? Really . . .

He tried to listen, but his mental capacity had reached the limit. Outwardly, he only looked slightly tired with bags under his eyes, but deep inside, he was in pieces. He had risked so much, yet he couldn’t find the one he sought.

Damn, my fingers are all blackened. I hope it's not toxic.

Instead of listening, Lansius was worried about his injured thumb and palm, now covered in coarse soot from the torches he had used during his searches. The torches also left a strong tallow scent on his padded coif.

Suddenly, the sole remaining Arvenian attached to Lansius, a young man, couldn’t hold himself back and exclaimed, “You want to be sold as slaves?”

“And what’s wrong with that?” a woman snapped back.

Their exchange triggered an avalanche of heated accusations, with the young man pitted against fourteen angry women.

Lansius watched the verbal melee with contempt from the sidelines. Only when it reached a fever pitch did he intervene, saying, “Now, now, everyone, please calm down.” He also signaled to the young man to step back.

“I apologize for my sisters’ outburst. My name is Leda,” said one woman in gorgeous blue traveling attire. “It’s just that you don’t know our situation. Where we came from, there’s only backbreaking labor waiting for us.”

“Or death in childbirth,” another woman hastily added.

Despite their attempts to explain the situation, Lansius’s lack of response deterred the women.

Leda continued, “Some of us come from Nicopola and Lowlandia, but we’re mostly Rhomelians. We’re born poor. The land was hard to cultivate. Even with children working in the field, there’s only food for a person or two, not the whole family.”

Another woman quickly added, “Raids from the east are becoming more frequent. If we stay, we’re going to end up as slaves either way.”

“I get it,” Lansius said, trying to see their side. “But now you’re free of this place. Isn’t that a good thing?”

The women exhaled or let out a sigh. The woman in blue calmly said, “Can’t you see our clothes? Can’t you hear the way we speak? Sabina Rustica gave us education and a chance at a better life.”

Lansius suddenly realized that these women, who were born in villages, actually spoke and behaved like city folks. They were obviously educated, and it showed in their confidence.

This place is a school…?

“We don’t mind being sold to the highest bidder. They’re more likely to give us a better life than if we stayed in Rhomelia,” one of the women said, and the others shared their tragic stories one by one.

“Two of my sisters died young. One in childbirth. Another beaten by her drunken husband.”

“My mother died from hunger, and my auntie’s family, who raised me, got sick with the black rye plague. I watched as her fingers rotted away. They sold me away to spare me from the same fate.”

“Anything is better than staying. If you think whoring is bad, you haven’t seen the brothels in Rhomelia where women are treated akin to seasonal meat to be discarded before winter.”

Lansius raised his hand. “I-I get it . . . I was not aware of your plight. I apologize.”

A wave of relief passed through the group at his answer.

“Can you do something to help? We need work,” a woman said.

Lansius exhaled bitterly. “I’m not a slaver, so I can’t help you with that.”

The women answered with impatient clicks of their tongues and weary sighs.

The poorly trained, undisciplined youngster could not resist a taunt. “Can’t you go to Feodosia and sell yourselves?”

His remark was met with a chorus of jeers from the women.

“All right, enough,” Lansius snapped at the youngster. “Take it easy and let me handle this.”

The youngster hesitantly looked away.

“Hear me,” Lansius started slowly. “You can’t expect us to sell slaves . . . However, if you have a quill pen, ink, and paper, I may be able to help.”

Most of the the women frowned, puzzled by the request.

“Please wait a moment,” Leda said, gesturing to her sisters, who sent the youngest among them to gather the necessary supplies.

Lansius took a seat in the nearest chair facing the long table in the dormitory hall, and the rest of the sisters followed.

“What do you need the supplies for?” Leda asked as she handed them to Lansius.

“I’m going to write your name, age, place of origin, and skills you have,” he said while resting his back on the stiff wooden chair.

“And then?” she inquired.

“I’ll report to my superior, and then we might find a solution.”

Leda looked confused. “Pardon me, but will it really help?”

“If what you’re saying is half true, then some of you are bookkeepers, scribes, musicians, or bakers.”

The sisters realized what Lansius had in mind and grew excited.

“I promise nothing, but at least this is legal.” Lansius sharpened the quill pen and looked at the women. “Now that I’ve helped you, it’s time to return the favor.”

“What do you want?” Leda asked with reddened cheeks. “Companionship for the night?”

Lansius paused but shook his head. “Nothing like that. Any of you know anything about a female squire from Arvena?”

Leda’s shoulder stiffened. “Are you looking for Thilde?”

Lansius shook his head as he remembered the woman they discovered at the small wooden cabin on the far side of the vineyard. “No, we already found her. She’s not the one I’m looking for.”

Many of them drew a breath of relief. “Thilde was new,” Leda commented.

The youngster fidgeting with curiosity. “So, what’s her story? Why’s she in a cell?”

“Thilde’s background story is different from ours,” Leda reluctantly explained. “She was born an esquire and only recently taken from her family’s estate. Naturally, she wishes for her freedom back. A senior guard took a liking to her. We don’t know what happened, but they got into a row, and she bit a chunk of his flesh.”

“No wonder.” Lansius felt anger as he recalled the wounds on Thilde’s limbs.

So it was torture . . .

“Unlike us, she never faced hardship and famine,” said another sister with pity on her voice, followed by nodding from the rest.

Lansius kept a stern gaze on the youngster beside him, warning him not to blurt out another stupid comment. The youth raised his palms in surrender, acknowledging the rebuke.

Leda clapped her hands to gain everyone’s attention. “So, the meister’s original question, do any of you know anything about a female squire from Arvena?”

“Sharp eyes, short hair, good with swords,” Lansius added.

No one answered.

“None of you?” Leda confirmed, before turning to Lansius. “I’m afraid your friend isn’t here. We oversee this dormitory, and we’d certainly know if someone special like her was inside.”

“Special?”

“Sword trained, short hair," she explained.

Lansius felt utterly hopeless. “No chance you missed her?”

“I’m sure. For certain, we got nobody with short hair,” Leda clarified.

“I see.” Lansius sighed. His heart pained.

Leda sympathized with him. “I’m sure she’s in a better place. There’s a good chance that your friend is free somewhere out there.”

“The Den rarely accepts combatants. If your friend was caught, she would likely be sent to Feodosia,” another suggested.

Lansius felt torn. He had spent several precious days here, all for nothing but a cruel detour.

There’s no hope in this. I’m just fooling myself. She’s—

Leda sat down next to him and spoke in a soft, concerned tone. “You appear exhausted, meister. Perhaps you should consider getting some rest.”

Moved by her sincere offer, Lansius exhaled sharply and reached for the coarse, thick parchment. He carefully dipped the quill pen into the ceramic inkwell and asked, “Your name and training, please.”

As Lansius began writing a list, a knock on the door interrupted them. They turned to the source and saw a man in a leather coat accompanied by a stout but shorter man. The door had been left ajar, so this was either out of courtesy or urgency.

“Meister Lansius, they require your presence,” said the stout fellow.

Lansius felt his stomach tighten.

***

Chapter 21

Arms Bearer

The manor’s main hall was somber, with eerie shadows flickering across the walls as lantern light and chandelier flames made them seem almost alive. The Arvenians had claimed the hall as their quarters and done what they could with it, spreading temporary beds across the floor.

For all the people inside, the place felt drained of life. Only faint whispers and weak groans broke the hush. The floor was strewn with piles of filthy linen bandages and buckets reeking of blood, piss, and vomit.

There were no healers besides the volunteers, and they too had seen their share of fighting that day. Most were driven by little more than camaraderie as they tended their battered comrades.

Some had lost limbs. Others had lost a friend or kin. With only alcohol to dull the pain, many sat buried in their own thoughts.

Cold evening air swept in when the night watch pushed open the door.

Footsteps echoed as Jardin entered with Calub and Lansius. Short and broad, the dwarven-like man led the way. What met them was damp air, the smell of blood, and the sour stench of wine used as antiseptic. Lansius immediately noticed a few eyes drifting toward him, so he kept his gaze low. If he had to guess, they were looking at him with resentment, perhaps even hatred.

With this many injured and dead, Lansius couldn’t shake the feeling that he had let them down. However, Calub, the alchemist, seemed unfazed. Led by Jardin in front, they kept walking briskly toward the end of the hall where a stone circular staircase was located.

As the shadow from the staircase fell over him, Lansius exhaled deeply. “What does the lord—”

Calub, who had barely ascended several flights of stairs, raised his hand. “He’s just a knight for now.”

Lansius had heard that they found someone named Archie and deduced that Hugo found what he was looking for. However, for the young lord to use another disguise was surprising. “And why does the knight want to see me?”

“Better ask that directly,” Calub replied as they reached the second floor.

The spacious, illuminated room and the scented air felt a world different from downstairs. As he entered, Lansius noticed that the conversation had stopped and grew wary of the nature of the summons.

He wasn’t sure what to do when Calub turned to face him and whispered, “Be mindful that now they’ve found him, there’s no need to carry out another attack.”

Lansius’s eyes widened.

Just what did he imply?

He had yet to get an answer when Felis approached. She feigned friendly greetings whilst speaking softly. “Only ask for money. Your goal may lie in Feodosia.”

Despite how normal-looking their exchange was, it still grabbed everyone’s attention.

“Better present yourself,” Calub said openly to allay the room’s suspicion.

Felis smiled and motioned Lansius to follow her. Meanwhile, Calub and Jardin made their way to the side.

Lansius noticed the stares from Anci and Hugo. While Anci eventually flashed his teeth, Hugo simply closed his eyes and feigned ignorance.

Something is indeed wrong . . .

“Go, now.” Felis smiled and then proceeded to bow her head slightly toward the chair in the middle, where a man sat idly to one side. It was the same person Lansius had met in Bellandia. His hair was longer now, and he was wearing a much plainer outfit.

“It’s been a while.” Archie addressed Lansius first. “Come closer. You can call me Sir Archie,” he instructed plainly.

Lansius swallowed his fear and knelt near his master. “Your servant is gladdened that Sir Archie is well.” An eloquence Lansius never knew he had flowed from his lips.

“You seemed well yourself.” Archie’s face looked bored or annoyed. “So, tell me, oh servant of mine. Why didn’t you report your deeds to me?” he said without even looking.

The tone made him uncomfortable. “I-I’m just a clerk, sir. I only partook a little in the fight.”

Archie moved his gaze toward Lansius, and after a few moments of thoughtful silence, said, “I know you’re a foreigner, so maybe they do things differently where you’re from. But here, you need to claim your merit. Else, you’re going to be a deadweight.”

Not knowing where this conversation was going, Lansius could only play it safe. “My apologies, but I only helped a little.”

Archie scoffed. “I remember our meeting. Back then, you acted like this too . . . Too shy for your own good.”

Embarrassed, Lansius quipped before he could think. “My good sir, do you wish for an ambitious retinue?”

It was almost a rhetorical, yet Archie responded lightly. “And what if I do?”

The answer surprised Lansius, and he quickly regretted it.

Archie watched Lansius’s expression and chuckled. As his mood improved, so did the tension in the room.

As a lowly clerk, Lansius usually put up with humiliation, but today he felt exposed. The wound from his failure to find Stefi was still fresh. So, uncharacteristically, he fumbled in his bag and retrieved a parchment, and said, “May I approach?”

With a finger, Archie motioned Lansius to come closer. “What’s this?”

No shame in trying . . .

“A gift for my good sir’s freedom," Lansius explained.

Archie read the parchment, and his lips turned into a sinister grin. “Clerk, why do I see names and their professions?”

“Sir, I’m sure you’ll need them to rebuild your forces.”

“You offer me slaves?” Archie balked.

“Sir, we’re not enslaving them. We’re recruiting them.”

Archie snorted as he found the suggestion to be funny. “And how will you explain when the Imperium sends their agents?”

Lansius could’ve stopped there and excused himself as a foreign fool. However, his wounded pride wouldn’t let him. “Sir, they could inquire all they want. I made no trickery. It’s the freed slaves who wanted this. They begged me for this chance.”

The answer made Archie lean forward in his seat. “Is this not a jest?”

“Sir, if you wish to find out, you may ask the alchemist,” Lansius named a third neutral party.

All eyes were on Calub, who serenely enjoyed the limelight and proclaimed, “The clerk spoke the truth. I overheard that the enslaved Rhomelians wanted to join. They refused to return, as their homeland was rife with constant raids, famine, and extreme poverty.”

Archie shook his head in disbelief and massaged his temple with one hand. “I have yet to ascertain whether you are the ones responsible for today’s battle. And here you are bearing a substantial gift. Lansius, what kind of man are you?”

“An ambitious one, sir,” stated Lansius nervously.

Archie couldn’t hold himself and burst into a fit of laughter. After he laughed his heart out, he exclaimed, “So why do you refuse to claim the highest honor?”

Refuse to claim? The highest honor?

Lansius was clueless, but felt obligated to honor the men. “Sir, I’m just the one making plans. It’s Anci, Hugo, and Arvenians who bleed for you. I dare not to claim the honor.”

“So you don’t deny making it?”

“Indeed, sir. I made the plans, but they’re not even worth mentioning.”

“To beat a hundred and fifty with just forty, and you say it’s not worth mentioning,” Archie said with a dry chuckle, and then he suddenly proclaimed, “Enough! You shall not make fun of me any further.”

Like a storm in a daylight, Archie’s wrath was so unpredictable. Lansius almost begged for a pardon, but Archie stood over him and asked, “Tell me oh clerk, what is thy desire?”

Is this a trick . . .?

Cold sweat ran down his back. Then what Felis had said flashed through his mind. “Money,” Lansius said and quickly added, “I want to free an enslaved friend in Feodosia.”

The answer seemed to be correct, as a stiff smile was on Archie’s lips. “People fight for their own interests. A man who asks for nothing cannot be trusted,” he imparted to Lansius.

Lansius absorbed the words and saw the change in his master’s expression.

Archie gazed upon Lansius with renewed interest. “Lansius from Bellandia, from this moment on, I take you as a squire of the tent.”

The sudden declaration was met with a clamor from the room.

What the . . . What kind of job is that? I don’t even like tents.

“As for the money.” Archie reached for a small wooden chest and showed its contents. The bottom part was filled with valuables. “One part for my House, another for the troops, and the this shall be yours.” He grabbed a fistful and opened his palm for Lansius to see.

The emotional roller coaster made Lansius speechless, but he was so thrilled by the golden reflections.

Archie dangled the prize from his hand, so Lansius crouched with a raised hand to accept his reward.

The small coins and two heavy rings trickled into his hands. A few hit his bandaged right thumb, but the adrenaline dulled the pain.

Lansius stared at the five gold coins and two rings in his hands. It felt surreal, so he clenched them tightly, then opened his palm to see the soot, ink, and blood staining the coins and rings.

It’s real . . . they’re real!

Filled with gratitude, Lansius exclaimed ecstatically, “All hail, Lord Arte of Arvena!”

Archie guffawed and slapped his thigh.

All hail, Felicity, my goddess of luck.

Lansius had received a substantial reward, and it would be foolish to ask for more, yet he couldn’t betray his conscience. “My Lord, may I ask another thing on behalf of the wounded men?”

Archie looked at him cautiously. “Speak.”

“The men are in danger from fouled bandages. One man’s blood shouldn’t make contact with another’s. It would be so kind to provide them with clean linen. They need it more than their share of loot.”

“Is it true?” Archie beckoned to the others in the room, all of whom turned their gaze at Calub.

The alchemist bowed slightly. “Indeed, Sir. This Lansius fellow seemed to know a thing or two about medicine.”

“Then it’s settled.” Archie rose from his seat. “Thomas, pick the worn-out and faded ones, and ensure that enough is distributed for their needs. I need men to fight wars, not clothes.”

***

The next day, the sky was clear and cloudless, displaying warm shades of pink, orange, and gold. Lansius rode in a slim cart, drawn by two swift horses, accompanied only by a coachman.

Lansius had taken the ride from Pozna. Instead of spending the night there like the rest of the Arvenians, Felis had persuaded him to press on. It was costly, but she deemed it necessary. Lansius went with her suggestion and rode with just a few hours of daylight remaining.

At first, he was doubtful, but the slim cart, with its sleek and light construction, proved to be fast and nimble. With nothing onboard but Lansius and his bags, it easily maintained high speed through the bends and corners.

The summer sunset was breathtakingly beautiful. The fields all around them were illuminated by the last rays of the setting sun, casting long shadows over the rolling hills and tranquil hamlets dotting the verdant landscape. For a moment, Lansius forgot about his troubles and simply basked in the peaceful beauty. It was a rare chance to escape from the harsh reality of medieval life, so he savored every minute of it.

His new brigandine, looted from the manor, felt comfortable despite the steel plates inside. It was a finely crafted piece that fit his body perfectly. Even the backing felt soft and supple. He might not find what he was looking for, but Sabina Rustica had made Lansius a wealthy man. His pouch was laden enough to free a slave, buy a farm somewhere, and live peacefully.

Driven by his newfound wealth and status, he dared to dream about living carefree with his family from Bellandia. He also fantasized about living together with Stefi.

A sudden realization hit him.

Hang on, when did I look at her like that?

The memory eluded him, whilst the cart overtook another horse-drawn cart along the cobbled road. “This feels like a race.”

The coachman let a chuckle. “Worry not, meister. You’re in good hands.”

The wild and jerky ride continued eastward. Soon, they started to see the outlines of the city of Feodosia, with its ancient, derelict gray stone wall.

***

When they met, Stefi is 18 and Lansius is 23. After the New Year, in the barn at Ceresia, they are 19 and 24.

Chapter 22

Specter

Arvena, One Year Earlier

The sun shone brightly that day, and the warm weather was a welcome change. The sky, visible through the forest canopies, was a brilliant shade of blue. It contrasted greatly with the reddish leaves of the late fall season.

It was the tenth day after Lansius's departure from Bellandia. The Arvenians had crossed several hamlets and villages along the way, but only the lords, knights, and their retinues could stay for the night. The rest of the troops had to make do with their simple tents pitched in the fields.

Last night, they had camped just outside the forest, in a clearing where they built a large campfire and a field kitchen. The site wasn’t ideal, but the woods provided them with easy access to firewood and opportunities to forage for wild berries and eggs.

After breakfast, Lansius and Stefi began packing their belongings. The strong morning sunlight made the situation rather hectic, as some had decided to march earlier than usual. Several men with their spears and shields were already forming groups and waiting on the dirt road.

This far from the frontline, they marched at their own pace. While it seemed lax, the rearguard who marched behind would ensure that nobody was deserting.

Stefi had taught Lansius how to pack his gear, and after more than a week of living on the road, he had mastered some simple tasks. Stefi untied the ropes while Lansius carefully pulled and wiped them off with a dry rag.

Ropes were costly, so care was needed to maintain them. They were literally the thing that held the roof over their head every day. Without ropes, the tent would turn into a large poncho. Made from braided natural hemp fibers, they were coated with wax to protect against mold and decay.

As Lansius worked with the ropes, Stefi gathered the bowls, spoons, and waterskins and said, “Pack them all up. I’m going to the stream.”

“Don’t take too long. Everyone is already on the move,” Lansius warned.

“No worries. We have Horsie, remember?” And then she left.

Indeed, she was right, Lansius admitted. He initially thought that only the rider would benefit from a horse, but he was wrong. As it turned out, having one benefited the group.

Tents, battle gear, and foodstuffs were especially burdensome to carry. A pack animal could easily carry them, allowing the group to march faster and farther.

Lansius continued to dry wipe the remaining ropes. Once he was done, he gathered them all and approached the horse carefully. After a week of traveling together, Horsie was already familiar with him, but Lansius was wary of the big animal. He approached from the front and only proceeded to the saddle once he was sure that the horse’s demeanor remained unchanged.

Although he winced at the horse’s strong odor, he put the ropes into the saddlebag and left gracefully with a relieved face. He repeated this process several times with the bedrolls, blankets, and their lantern.

Finished with it, he noticed Horsie nudging toward a patch of tall grass, so he pulled out his knife, cut it, and brought it to her.

As the horse ate, Lansius noticed more movements on the road. He saw that the usual group he had marched with had started their march. Even the traveling peddlers that followed their column were preparing to move.

Lansius patiently waited, but after a while, he couldn’t ignore it any longer. So, he rose, took his and Stefi’s bag, and tightened Horsie’s reins to ensure that she wouldn’t wander on her own.

Before leaving, Lansius took a good look at his surroundings to ensure that no one was eyeing the horse and their belongings. Satisfied that nobody was nearby, he made his way to where the stream was supposed to be, guided by its faint sound.

“Stefi,” he called, but there was no answer, so he tried again, louder. Still, there was no answer.

Realizing he had no other option but to descend the steep and possibly slippery path, Lansius cautiously checked the surroundings for any signs of danger. Despite being told that there were rarely any beasts in Arvena other than the occasional highland wolf, he took no chances. He was aware that what was considered a monster by humans like him might be seen as a mere animal or beast by people of this world.

Lansius hesitantly began his descent as he found no evidence of danger.

At least there’s no kappa or river goblins.

He remembered how Stefi had assured him that she had never heard of green-skinned monsters who walked like a human and used weapons.

As the path became steeper, he grabbed onto branches to steady himself. Halfway down, he looked up and grew wary of having to climb back up again. When he looked down, the vegetation obstructed his view.

“Stefi!” he called again, but the sound of the stream was loud enough to muffle his voice.

Lansius’s worry urged him to continue. He carefully descended the treacherous path, holding on to branches for support. Finally, with sweaty and reddened palms, he reached a flat area near the stream.

The ground was covered with gray river stones and black sand. The stream turned out to be wider and deeper than he expected. Lansius glanced up and marveled at how the lush trees had concealed the place.

Next, his eyes wandered at the stream which glimmered with the sun’s reflections. However, he spotted something. His eyes opened wide as he realized what he was looking at: a young woman, waist-deep in the stream, her bare skin glistening in the sunlight.

Their eyes briefly met, and Lansius quickly recognized her and her strong gaze, but then his eyes drifted toward two finely shaped round objects, which were normally concealed behind a black gambeson.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” Lansius finally snapped back, turning around with a reddened face.

Stefi said nothing but calmly rinsed her hair once more before wading to the banks. She walked toward a large boulder where she kept her clothes, grabbed her breaches, and turned away. “Sorry, did you wait for too long?”

“S-sorry,” Lansius stuttered.

Stefi chose not to respond, but silently dressed up. Once she was done, she asked, “So, why are you here?”

Lansius turned to face her. “I . . . oh, everybody had left.”

Stefi ignored Lansius’s slightly reddened face and said, “I probably took too much time . . . I water wasn’t cold, so I was tempted to wash myself.”

Lansius nodded. “Can’t blame you. It’s been days.”

Stefi motioned for Lansius to pass her bag. As he did so, Stefi gave him his waterskin. “Better drink some.”

Lansius took a sip but hesitated to drink more, worried about the raw water. He typically made excuses to boil the water or mix it with wine to, hopefully, kill any pathogens inside.

Stefi put the utensils she had cleaned inside her bag. Afterward, she fished out a clean cloth and used it to dry her hair.

“Umm, shouldn’t we hurry?” Lansius asked.

“Before we leave,” Stefi said sharply, and Lansius sensed a scolding was coming. “Lans, it’s best to keep this between ourselves.”

“I understand. Again, I apologize,” he said remorsefully.

Stefi shook her head. “I don’t blame you. It’s just that I had a friend who saw a village woman’s thigh by accident. She reported him, and he was forced to marry.”

Yikes . . .

“At first it was funny, but it didn’t end well for them,” added Stefi ominously. “Also, if that happened to us, everybody would say that I’m taking advantage of you as my charge.”

Lansius bowed his head. “I swear, I’ll never mention it to anyone.”

“Well, let’s get going," she said.

Leading the way, Stefi showed Lansius an easier path upward. As she began to climb, she suddenly asked, “Say, since you saw mine, what should I do with you?”

Lansius shook his head and replied meekly, “You know I don’t have that much coin.”

Stefi looked at him. “Who said it had to do with money?”

“Eh?” Bewilderment was written all over his face. “You want to see me naked?”

Stefi giggled. “I’m a squire. I see men left and right, so that’s not a good bargain.”

“Then what?” Lansius was intrigued.

She motioned for him to come closer, as if to whisper something in his ear. He leaned in, eager to hear what she had to say. But before he knew it, Stefi had her hands on either side of Lansius’s face and was pulling him in for a kiss. It was sudden and unexpected, but he couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement as her lips met his.

As abruptly as it began, she pulled away, a mischievous grin on her face. “I stole yours, so now we’re even!” she said, and nimbly climbed up.

“How—how did you know?” Lansius anxiously asked, but all he heard were faint giggles coming from her direction. He was confused by the mixed signals, but the big grin on his face didn’t lie.

***

Feodosia

A month had passed since Lansius arrived in Feodosia as the victor of Sabina Rustica, and the sharpness in his appearance had worn down into haggard weariness. He seldom left his room, save for a quick stroll to the baker at noon or for supper.

Now he sat on the edge of his straw mattress, back hunched and gaze fixed on the floor of his dimly lit room. Lansius still wore his faded blue Centurian tunic, a garment that stirred memories of his dear friend. Bitter as they were, he clung to them for comfort.

A half-empty small jar of wine and an empty bucket lay on the floor near his feet. He had attempted to drink his sorrows away, but the taste of undiluted local wine was too bitter, even for his desolate mood. Outside, the final hour of sunlight cast a reddish-orange glow through the open slit in the window. Lansius noticed the warm hues and let out a heavy sigh.

Another day wasted . . .

He ached for the familiar comforts of home and family. Yet, he knew the perils of returning to his home in war-ravaged Arvena far outweighed his longing. For sure, the journey was fraught with danger, with northern men known to detain travelers without cause. Lansius’s distinct dark hair, a clear mark of foreigner and the fact that he came from Midlandia direction would made him a clear target of suspicion. The risks were simply too great.

Lansius’s thoughts turned to the fruitless search he had undertaken and how it slowly turned him into a recluse. Day by day, he had waited for good news that never came. And each day, the cowardly decision he had made in Riverstead had come back to haunt him.

His stomach growled again, and the nausea returned. Lord Arte had granted him status, wealth, and the privilege of exercising his own will, but Lansius had squandered it all with his own irresponsibility.

With a heavy feeling, he fought the urge to lie down. He planted his feet firmly on the floor and took a few wobbly steps toward the table.

Guh . . .

He quickly took hold of the table to steady himself. Despite the proof of intoxication, Lansius stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. Rather, he attributed the weak knees to prolonged sitting.

Without meaning to, Lansius’s gaze drifted to the table. Although it had been pristine upon his arrival five days ago, now a thin layer of dust covered its surface. Yet, the dust was the least of his concerns; sitting next to a jar of water and a wooden cup was an unassuming paper scroll.

The men he had hired were competent enough to submit a written report after their search. However, just like his own search, they had found nothing.

“There was no slave that fit the description.”

“Most likely she perished in the war.”

Lansius recalled the last conversation he had with them. Anger sparked within him, but not because of the failure. He felt ashamed to maintain such a feeble and foolish hope for so long. The likelihood of finding Stefi alive was always grim.

Before he had hired anyone, Lansius had visited the slave merchants in Feodosia. They could only offer their sympathies as they couldn’t find her either in their place or in their logs.

As Lansius reached absently for the cup, he took a small sip of water and winced at its stale taste. He set it down and found himself staring at the empty seat across from him. Then something in him gave way, and he blurted at the empty space, “Hey, if you’re dead, why don’t you tell me and save me all the trouble?”

There was no answer but the darkness that crept in as the sun inched closer to the west.

“Hmph, you’re probably floating freely and laughing at my misery,” he continued bitterly, but this time, the alcohol in his blood whispered an imaginary answer.

“Guilt? But what can I do in Riverstead? I’m no swordsman . . . To die at your side, is that what you want of me?” His heart pounded as he finally spoke some of his burden out loud.

“You’re not special. There’s nothing between us.” He denied his own feelings. “I’ve seen you naked once, but that’s nothing. I’ve seen plenty of naked girls before. Where? The internet. You don’t know? Hah! See . . . you know nothing about me!”

This time, there was no answer to his ramblings, only silence. Frustrated and ashamed at his monologue, Lansius retreated to the bed and held his head in sadness. Not even amnesia could erase the deep yearning he felt for a companion, and Stefi was the closest he ever had.

...

The last faint glow of the setting sun finally ebbed.

Lansius let out a long, tired sigh. Despite his misery, he couldn’t ignore the encroaching darkness. His earlier outburst had pumped so much blood into his head that he felt slightly sober. He grabbed his bag, and pushed the iron bolt lock open.

The corridor of the timber and stone inn was dimly lit, with only a single lantern casting a feeble glow near the stairs. The sound of creaking floorboards echoed as Lansius made his way downstairs.

Lansius quickly entered the dining area next to the kitchen. The innkeeper and her two kids were too busy to greet him. That was perfect. The last thing he wanted was for somebody to judge him by his looks.

For that same reason, he liked to come early. Today, there was just one guest in the corner. Keeping his head down, Lansius went to the small table by the window. As he was about to sit down, the man in the corner raised his cup. Lansius thought it was just a greeting, so he waved back.

“Lans, my man, you look unwashed.”

The man’s words sent a jolt down Lansius’s spine. He looked at the man and recognized the facial features along with the milky-white leather coat. “Calub!”

The alchemist raised his cup even higher as a smile formed on his lips.

Ignoring his suspicion, Lansius rushed to meet him. He had changed inns twice and used an alias, but a friendly face was something he yearned for. Truthfully, he was worried about staying alone in Feodosia, especially with a sizable amount of money.

Calub carefully kicked the chair in front of him, and Lansius gladly took it. “So, how’s Feodosia?” the alchemist asked.

“Better than what I expected,” Lansius replied cheerfully, concealing his issues.

Calub smiled. “It’s a small town but passed through by many trade routes. You can find almost anything in here—” He abruptly paused. “Ah, what am I saying? Please pardon my ramblings.”

“What for . . .?” Lansius grew suspicious and asked carefully, “You’ve heard?”

The alchemist’s response was solemn. “Lansius . . . I’m saddened that you can’t find what you’re looking for.”

The mood turned heavy, and Lansius didn’t give a reply.

“I have some connections who informed me about it,” Calub explained. He poured spiced ale into another cup and offered it to Lansius.

Lansius took the cup, but sipped only a little as his stomach didn’t feel well.

Calub didn’t push for an answer, so Lansius pondered his situation. Meanwhile, the kitchen next door bustled with activity. Lansius’s senses were awakened by the sound of crackling fire, the clanging ladles on the metal cauldron, and the rich aroma from the meat puddings being cooked.

“So, how is Lady Felicity doing?” Lansius asked after he remembered just how much he owed her.

“She’s fine. She runs a tavern, you know. We should visit her, but perhaps not tonight,” Calub replied, and glanced at the innkeeper. “Can we get one bowl of porridge, please? For a hangover.”

“That’ll cost extra,” the innkeeper replied without looking.

“Make it tasty then,” Calub said without asking for the price.

Lansius could only watch in silence. After some hesitation, he finally asked, “Calub, am I chasing a ghost?”

“Don’t say such a thing,” Calub uttered, but he didn’t elaborate.

A rather plump lass no older than fifteen arrived with two bowls of stew, a small lump of blackened meat pudding, and warmed up bread. Lansius hadn’t ordered, but each guest got the same meal.

“You better wait for the porridge,” Calub suggested while stirring his stew.

Lansius nodded. He was grateful for his concern.

The stew was steaming hot, so Calub broke his bread and dipped it before taking a bit.

“Mm, how’s Sir Archie doing?” Lansius asked.

“Now you’re talking.” Calub dipped another piece. “It’s good that the squire is thinking about the master.”

Lansius exhaled sharply from guilt. He had accepted the honor as squire, but ended up like this. “He gave me freedom of will.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t include wasting your life away,” Calub said, gazing at him. "Lans, shouldn’t you return to your master’s side?”

Lansius couldn’t challenge that notion. “Since you’re here . . . does it mean you’ve come to fetch me up?”

Calub shook his head. “Last time was a contract, but I’m not joining the Arvenians.”

Something didn’t add up, Lansius thought. “But then, why are you looking for me?”

Calub paused for a moment. “Well, it wasn’t easy, but as I’ve said before, I have connections.” He pulled a thin brown leather wrap from his inside coat pocket and put it on the table.

“What’s that?” Lansius asked.

“An invitation.”

The answer puzzled him, but the contents might hold an answer. “May I?”

Calub motioned him to do as he pleased. Lansius proceeded to open the rugged leather and reached out for a thick envelope inside. He noticed the purple wax seal that bore a crest of a regal-looking man riding a horse.

Lansius didn’t recognize the crest, but he knew that good quality paper was expensive. He looked up at Calub. “Is this for me?”

Calub nodded, and Lansius carefully unsealed the wax, pulling out the paper.

He saw neat handwriting on the letter with distinctly legible and glossy black ink, clearly the work of a skilled scribe. Although it was an invitation, Lansius felt more like he was being summoned by the noble who sent it. “What does this baronet want?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Calub exhaled sharply. “Nevertheless . . . I thought it would be beneficial for you. That’s why I accepted the task of delivering that letter.”

With too much weighing on his mind, instead of responding, Lansius tore off another piece of bread and dipped it into the stew. He and Calub were comrades, but Lansius hardly knew the alchemist well. The fact that Calub now brought an invitation from a baronet in Midlandia was unsettling.

Who is he working for?

Calub didn’t press for a response and instead quietly ate his stew. The plump serving girl returned with a bowl of gruel and placed it in front of Lansius.

“Gratitude,” Lansius said to the girl, who bowed her head before leaving. He stirred the gruel with his spoon and noticed pieces of cheese and salted meat swirling around. Feeling somewhat calmer, he turned to Calub and asked, “What is this invitation about? Can I decline?”

“Of course,” Calub reassured him. “It’s not a summons. But why don’t you meet them first?”

Lansius hesitated, so Calub went on. “It’s clear that they have an interest in you. Midlandia’s nobles may be ruthless, but they’re also fair.”

Upon hearing that, Lansius stopped stirring. “But I’m a squire to Sir Archie.”

“That’s exactly why you need to meet them. Your master needs Midlandia’s support. You’ll do well to build a relationship with a baronet to help Sir Archie’s cause.”

Lansius couldn’t find fault in his friend’s logic, but he remained indecisive. “I need to consult with my master first.”

“By all means,” the alchemist remarked lightly.

“If I accept the invitation, will you accompany me?”

Calub gave a stiff smile and replied, “I could, but I shouldn’t. They are only interested in you, and we wouldn’t want to make a rude gesture.”

Despite his questions, Lansius didn’t feel like accepting. He had a carefree life. Why would he risk it for something vague? He had tried hard to improve his station in life: working as a farmer, teacher, workhouse clerk, forest survivor, and squire—all in a single year—but all had led to nothing.

Fate had a way of pushing him back to square one, leaving him feeling powerless. He felt like a dry leaf caught in a whirlwind of conflicts.

This year, Lansius had witnessed more violence and desperation than most men experience in a lifetime. The traumas from Riverstead and the Amertume forest never left him. Because of this, he was reluctant to even hold onto hope.

Yet despite his emptiness, a faint ambition began to kindle within him. His eyes sparkled as he pondered whether there was still something—or someone—worth living for. Though he had lost Stefi, the thought of his family in Bellandia gave him pause for hope.

Perhaps this’ll pave the road to return home.

***

One week had passed since Lansius began his journey to Toruna. Today, the sun rose over the medieval countryside, casting a warm glow on the landscape. A refreshing breeze swept through the fields, carrying with it the unique aroma of ripe crops ready for harvest. The narrow path meandered through the golden fields, the stalks gently swaying in the breeze.

The sound of hooves echoed against the dirt road. Lansius rode in a horse-drawn cart laden with goods, sharing the space only with the old coachman sitting up front.

Before he left on this journey, Lansius had consulted Sir Archie, who recognized that the baronet of Toruna was an influential man in his own right, and also close to the powerful Seneschal Bengrieve. Because they needed all the influence they could muster, he agreed to send Lansius on his first errand as a squire.

“There.” Suddenly, the coachman pointed to the south after they passed over a hill.

Following his hand, Lansius spotted a manor beside a small river, flanked by recently harvested farms, orchards, and a nearby village. “Is that where the baronet of Toruna lives?” he asked.

“This is Toruna,” the coachman replied with a thick foreign accent, seemingly struggling to make small talk.

Lansius allowed himself to become fully immersed in the breathtaking beauty of the harvest season, a reminder of the bountiful fields of Bellandia. After a month of seclusion in Feodosia, he felt rejuvenated, his old self having returned.

“Always, good harvest. Land is blessed,” the coachman added proudly.

Lansius politely nodded. The land was indeed prosperous, with a good population, and looked well-governed.

It took another hour before they reached the manor. The coachman drove the cart through the vast courtyard and up to the entrance of the manor.

Lansius grew anxious, worried about his first impression. He saw two armed men accompany them from the gate, but they kept their distance.

“Go on. Go down,” the coachman instructed.

Lansius carefully dismounted from the cart and gazed up at the imposing three-story structure that loomed before him. Though not a castle, it radiated an air of authority and grandeur. The walls were built with smooth, large gray stones, while the wooden parts were painted white, creating a striking contrast. At a glance, there were no vines or moss, making the entire building appear immaculately maintained, as if it had been constructed only recently.

Now, this is a manor.

Compared to this, Lansius thought, Sabina Rustica was aptly named a rustic villa.

A surprised pageboy approached Lansius. “Oh, we expected a delivery, not a guest,” he complained innocently.

Lansius allowed himself a small smile. “It’s all right, I can wait outside.” He drew out a letter and showed the crest stamped into its purple wax seal.

“Gratitude, maester. Please wait here,” the boy said, then ran inside at once. His footsteps echoed through the cavernous hall, fading into the silence beyond.

***

Chapter 23

Henchmen

After the page boy returned, Lansius was finally led inside the manor house. Awe quickly filled his senses. The great hall was immense, with long wooden tables and benches enough to seat thirty or forty people with ease. Its high ceiling made the air feel clean rather than stale, dusty, or mold-ridden.

At the far end of the hall stood a raised platform, likely the high table where the host would sit. Yet what drew Lansius’s eye most was the large glass window above, pouring warm sunlight into the hall and bathing it in a gentle glow.

As the page boy led him farther in, Lansius noticed servants going about their duties, too occupied to spare him much notice. Behind them, two guardsmen followed at a distance.

Before long, the page boy brought Lansius into an antechamber, a place where a guest might wait or rest.

“The steward will be here shortly—please make yourself, mm . . . comfortable,” the page boy stammered. “Oh, there’s water in the basin and a washcloth.” He tried his hardest to deliver his line.

“Gratitude, I’ll be waiting here.” Lansius gave a nod and the page boy hurriedly left.

Lansius saw the bench, a small table, and the stone basin.

Better to clean up.

Custom dictated the guest wash their face and hands before meeting a respectable host, but Lansius wanted to go above and beyond to show that he wasn’t a country bumpkin. After all, he was Lord Arte’s squire. he needed to keep a good appearance, not tarnish his lord’s name.

With that in mind, he changed out of his traveling clothes and into a deep blue doublet he had taken from Sabina Rustica. Although it was a little loose around the waist, he could easily fix that with his belt.

He wrapped the sword belt around his waist and suddenly felt nostalgic for his long-lost friend, but he quickly dismissed the sentiment. Today wasn’t the time to reminisce about the past.

Just then, a servant knocked and entered before Lansius could reply. A young boy appeared and bowed deeply. “Maester, I’ll clean your boots.”

Lansius was taken aback. He had never had this treatment before. “Um, what should I do?”

“Just stand there, maester,” the boy replied energetically as he scrubbed Lansius’s boots with a horsehair brush.

Lansius couldn’t help but feel uneasy about the child labor, but the boy looked happy, with chubby cheeks, clean clothes, and good manners.

He probably received an education and a better job than most Arvenians . . . probably also sleeps in a comfortable bed.

Lansius briefly pondered the morality of it, but shook his head. He wasn’t here to judge.

The boy quietly left, closing the door behind him after finishing his task.

After enduring a grueling two-week journey by cart and foot, Lansius finally found himself alone in the waiting chamber. He let out a deep sigh as he lowered himself onto the bench, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling heavily upon him. With a tired hand, he took out his waterskin and took a long swig of water before settling in to wait.

...

As the sun began to set, the manor sprang to life with bustling activity. Lansius, now cleaned up and refreshed, could imagine that a feast was taking place in the great hall, as was customary for feudal nobles.

The lord of this manor may have been just a baronet, but it was clear to everyone who saw it that Toruna was a rich, fertile land. It beggared belief that someone who wasn’t a baron could own such a grand estate. Meaning, the baronet of Toruna was either a rising star at Midlandia’s court, or old money.

A much older gentleman appeared at the door. “Excuse me, maester. The baronet requests your presence at dinner.”

Lansius rose from his seat. “Please, call me Lansius. I’m just a clerk turned squire.”

The old steward smiled warmly, but remained silent as he led Lansius up an elegant staircase and through a series of corridors that eventually brought them to a private dining hall. It was smaller and more intimate than the great hall, but no less impressive.

Though they were on the second floor, the ceiling was high, and two beautiful chandeliers illuminated the space with an unflickering white light that was brighter than any candles Lansius had ever seen. The walls were plastered evenly and painted in bright color.

At this time of year, the room was furnished with colorful tapestries depicting scenes of battles and hunting. One in particular intrigued Lansius, a small green tapestry that illustrated what looked like dwarves and their underground citadels.

Regrettably, he couldn’t approach the tapestry out of respect to his host. Nevertheless, he marveled at the room’s other features, including murals, painted statues, and two gorgeous suits of armor.

The steward gestured for Lansius to take a seat on the far end of a long, exquisite table. “The baronet will arrive shortly.”

Lansius sat and found the air pleasant, filled with the sweet scent of fresh flowers or fruit. Ironically, such a lovely place might hide a dangerous threat, like the lair of a dragon. He noticed two guards standing by the exit. From their demeanor and discipline, he could tell that they had proper training.

One piece of advice from his long-lost friend rang in Lansius’s head: be prepared to not go home when a noble has summoned you.

Tonight it’s either a comfy bed or a dungeon . . .

There were stories of nobles summoning lowborn, only to accuse them of a crime they never did and throw them in the dungeon.

Why did I even bother showing up?

But deep down, he cared little. Something inside him had died with his missing friend.

The sound of marching footsteps outside announced the arrival of the master of the house. Lansius stood and made sure not to gawk at his host as he entered. To his surprise, the baronet was an athletic man dressed in a red silk outfit.

Following the baronet were a lady in a dark gown and veil that covered her face, as well as a squire and a page boy.

“Just sit wherever you like,” the baronet said as he took his seat at the opposite end of the table.

The lady seemed bothered by Lansius’s presence and just stood there.

Why is she so tense? Don’t tell me I still smell.

“Audrey, you’re not going to sit?” the baronet addressed her.

“I will not take part in this scheme,” the lady blurted out, catching everyone’s attention.

A scheme . . .?

Lansius’s throat felt dry. Meanwhile, the baronet merely laughed at the lady’s words and turned to his guest with a faint smile. “My name is Stan, and this lovely lady here is my lovely sister,” he said, emphasizing the last two words in a peculiar way. “And you’re here because the seneschal ordered me to invite you on his behalf.”

The seneschal? . . . Lord Bengrieve!?

The stakes were getting higher, and the situation was spiraling out of control. “Sir, my apologies, but I’m just a clerk turned squire. I’m hardly important.” Lansius tried to reason with him.

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s talk over dinner.” The baronet nodded at his steward, who signaled the servants to bring out the food.

But his sister refused to be ignored. “What does he have to do with this? He should leave now!” the lady demanded.

Lansius felt a sting of offense, his self-esteem knocked down a notch.

“Audrey, he’s a fellow Arvenian, like you,” the baronet said, as if patronizing her.

A fellow Arvenian…?

The lady clicked her tongue in protest and approached the baronet’s table hurriedly.

Lansius froze as he tried to make sense of what was going on. It was then that he realized the reason for the lady’s black dress and veil.

She’s in mourning! Oh, no . . . did she lose someone in Sabina Rustica?

Cold sweat ran down Lansius’s back. He could already taste the rotting dungeon, the stench of piss and decay.

The brother and sister bickered in private, leaving Lansius standing nervously as if waiting for his judgment. They were still at it when the three servants arrived with silver platters.

The servants brought a variety of appetizing dishes. Lansius spotted roasted meat, aromatic stews, sweet and tasty puddings, and an assortment of freshly baked bread. One of them also poured him a generous amount of pale ale in a beautiful silver goblet.

With his fate uncertain, Lansius decided to eat and drink as much as he could before rotting away in the dungeon.

“My guest!” the baronet yelled suddenly, making Lansius’s heart skip a beat. “We have reached a consensus.”

“Y-yes, my good sir,” Lansius steeled his heart as the baronet in red and the lady in black watched his every move.

“On behalf of Lord Bengrieve, I’m going to give Lady Audrey to you,” the baronet guffawed at his own silly joke and jumped from his seat. He was just in time as the lady picked a handful of green grapes from the table and threw it at him.

“That’s not how it goes!” the lady complained as Sir Stan dodged the grapes. She snatched up a nearby cup of wine and hurled its contents at her brother, who was surprised but stayed put. He seemed to accept the splash, but before the wine could hit him, a gust of wind blew out of nowhere.

The baronet smirked in triumph as he saw the wine spray back onto the lady, drenching her as if she were a cat caught in a downpour.

Magic!

Lansius observed the place, taking in the scene around him. He had heard of mysterious individuals, known as mages, who wielded magical powers. If someone like Sir Stan could employ one, it meant that he held great influence despite his mediocre rank.

The guards and the servants were struggling to suppress their chuckles, while the steward and squire appeared uninterested. However, Lansius could not spot any visible signs of the mage. He felt foolish; he had been expecting to see someone with a long beard, wielding a staff and wearing a pointy hat. In truth, he had no idea what a mage looked like.

“Fine . . .” the lady muttered in anger, after her humiliation.

Sensing the tension in the air, the baronet attempted to defuse the situation. “Lady . . . let’s be civil,” he suggested. When it didn’t seem to have the desired effect, he added a gentle threat. “Or else I’ll have to confine you to your room again . . . without alcohol.”

“Drop the pretense, we’re not related!” she snapped back, before pointing her finger at Lansius. “And let him out. Or hand him over as my retinue, and we’ll call it even.”

Lansius squinted his eyes at this new development.

“Are you going to hurt him?” Sir Stan asked playfully.

The lady merely grunted in response.

Upon hearing this, the baronet clapped his hands twice and exclaimed, “Deal!” before quickly adding, “Now, let’s eat.”

Merriment erupted on his command. The troubadours took center stage, playing a lively tune. The baronet, as if famished, dipped a pretzel into the stew and devoured it. Ironically, despite his command, only the lady in black and Lansius were joining him at the table. The others in the room were merely in waiting.

Meanwhile, Lansius repeated the words that had been echoing in his mind.

Did I hear that right? Hand me over . . . is this some kind of feudal employment, but on what grounds?

Clearly, Sir Stan’s earlier comment about giving the lady to Lansius was in jest. However, their final decision for him didn’t seem like one. Nonetheless, Lansius’s limited understanding of noble etiquette meant he couldn’t be certain and needed to seek advice before reacting. Otherwise, he could offend them.

With a maid’s help, the lady in black approached Lansius. “Eat,” she commanded coldly, her bluntness reminding him of someone.

“Yes, my lady,” Lansius answered, despite the many unanswered questions in his mind.

“I’ll meet you after,” the lady announced, making it clear she wouldn’t be partaking in the dinner. With those words, she turned and departed, her veil swishing behind her, radiating an air of determination.

By contrast, the feast had taken on a life of its own. Lansius would never have guessed the baronet was a natural party maker. Sir Stan even hand-fed morsels from his own plate to the troubadours, danced with them, and poured ale for his subordinates.

Lansius felt privileged to witness these supposedly private moments between a lord and his closest retinue.

The harvest season brought an abundance of grains and vegetables, sparing Lansius from some of the more unique dishes he dreaded, such as roast hedgehog, brain jelly, or viper soup. He was always anxious about being expected to eat something or potentially offending someone.

Fortunately, Sir Stan had an uncanny, relaxed attitude toward the men beneath his station. He didn’t even try to make small talk, but motioned for Lansius to dig in and enjoy the merriment. This put Lansius at ease.

As with any other lowborn, Lansius wisely feared the noblemen, as offending them could result in flogging or a trip to the dungeon. Thus, seeing the noble behaved so relaxed was a revelation.

Despite his confusion over the summons, and the strange matter of the lady in black, Lansius found his appetite soon enough. He still did not know why he had been brought here, but food was food. After living as a farmer for two years, he had learned to be grateful for any chance to eat well.

And he ate with a clear conscience. Food was plentiful around harvest, after all, so this was not some privilege reserved only for the rich. Lansius ate heartily and made the most of the feast.

The meal was simply the best he ever had, with no salted meat in sight, meaning it was freshly cut. He could taste ginger, pepper, and possibly cloves, which were a rarity.

Surprisingly, Sir Stan mostly ate brown bread and vegetable stew with only a few slices of meat. For dessert, they had a sweet pudding made from milk, egg, and day-old bread, topped with cinnamon and honey.

The music ended with a round of applause from everyone, including Lansius. The troubadours bowed elegantly while Sir Stan walked away after his last cup of water. A cool breeze entered the chamber as if signaling the end of the feast.

Lansius felt this was his only chance. He dared to approach the baronet and asked, “My good sir, I thank you for the hospitality, but I still don’t know what is to become of me?”

Sir Stan paused, unexpectedly reached for Lansius’s shoulder, and patted him firmly. “For better or for worse, you have caught the eye of a powerful man. My advice to you . . . play to his tune.”

“But sir, I am Sir Archie’s squire.” Lansius couldn’t reveal his master’s true identity.

“Oh, the Arvenian lord,” Sir Stan mused, which shocked Lansius. However, he ultimately refused to give counsel. “Well, that’s hardly my problem, but I’m sure someone will sort it out. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

With a vigorous stride, the baronet left, leaving Lansius to wonder about his fate.

The old steward called out to Lansius, “Maester squire, I believe you have a place to visit.” He then motioned his hand toward a tall guard and said, “He will escort you there.”

...

Lansius had not expected the manor’s interior to feel like this. Instead of some gloomy castle passage, the corridor felt fresh and alive, with bright lanterns set along the sides and hanging above the staircase. The white-plastered walls caught and reflected the light, giving the place a welcoming warmth even on the darkest nights.

Led by the guard, Lansius arrived at the parlor, reserved for confidential discussions. Before knocking, the guard looked at Lansius, cautioning, “The lady has been injured in recent conflict. She’s prone to emotional outbursts. If you require assistance, just knock on the door.”

Lansius didn’t get a chance to inquire; the guard had already knocked. A maid appeared, bearing a tray covered with a linen cloth, and without a word, she left the room.

“Come in and close the door,” a voice beckoned from within.

Now, without anyone’s interference, something about her voice stirred a vague sense of familiarity within him. Yet, Lansius couldn’t quite place it, and there was little he could do but walk in as instructed. Upon observing a lady elegantly clad in a black gothic gown, he gently closed the door behind him, isolating himself with her and leaving the guard stationed outside.

Just as the door closed, she raised a finger to her lips and beckoned him closer with her other hand.

Something didn’t feel right, but Lansius cautiously followed her instructions. He had only taken a few steps when the woman suddenly lunged at him.

“What are you—”

He jerked up a hand, but she crashed into him and sent him reeling. He felt himself falling backward, and then everything went dark.

***

Chapter 24

The Lady in Black

Throbbing pain startled Lansius, and a groan escaped him before he knew it. The sensation quickly dragged his mind back to the present.

“Be quiet and stay still,” a woman’s voice commanded, a dagger held ready in one hand.

Recalling her attack, Lansius tried to scramble to his feet.

“Lans, stay still,” she repeated coldly, showing the dagger as warning.

But she hardly needed to threaten him with it. All at once, something clicked inside him. The way she said his name, her voice. He turned, expecting Stefi, but instead found a woman shrouded in a black veil.

She went on with tense voice, “We don’t have much time. I apologize for attacking you, but—”

“Show me your face,” Lansius demanded. He could not stop himself now. He knew he recognized the voice and was willing to risk the consequences.

The woman sighed sharply. Without a word, she lifted the black veil from her face, more akin to a wedding veil than a typical coif or headscarf.

Lansius beheld a complexion of unnatural paleness, a result of makeup, contrasted by two piercing brown eyes that seemed fierce enough to make children weep in fright. Meeting her gaze, his eyes reflexively widened, his muscles tensed, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. He could only stare at the face he yearned to see for so long.

“It’s me,” she said somberly. “But now, you shall address me as Audrey of Toruna.”

“But—”

She raised a finger to her lips, then demanded, “Answer me. Why are you here?”

Did she suspect me of betraying the Arvenians? Lansius wondered.

Still sitting on the floor, Lansius explained, “I was invited here.”

“Invited? Why?” she asked.

“I’m just as clueless as you, but I have the letter in my bag. That’ll prove my innocence.”

She slowly reached out to his bag, and rummaged through its contents, pulling out a letter. After reading it, she shook her head.

“Stefi, how did you end up here? I was—” He stopped.

The mention of the name seemed to trigger something within her.

“Don’t call me that,” she protested as if in agony.

Lansius approached her. “I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”

Audrey gritted her teeth, a sign that something was terribly wrong. Then, it dawned on him.

The veil . . . could it be concealing a head injury?

“Never mind me,” she said, clutching the dagger tightly. “What happened to the rest of the Arvenians?”

He suspected it could be post-traumatic stress. Lansius took a deep breath to compose himself, then using a gentler voice, he assured her, “You may not believe it, but Lord Arte is safe. He’s in Midlandia.”

“The young lord escaped Riverstead?” she asked. Though doubt still lingered, some of the suspicion had begun to fade from her voice.

Lansius nodded. “We rescued him from the slavers’ den.” He tried to sound cheerful to sell his story.

Audrey’s face betrayed the turmoil inside her.

“It’s me, you can trust me. Why do you look pained? Tell me where it hurts,” he said, concerned.

She shook her head, gradually regaining her composure, then slowly sheathed the dagger and tucked it away.

“If you're comfortable, tell me all your worries; let me help shoulder them,” he offered.

She looked at him, her lips forming a pout. “The Lansius I knew wasn’t this bold,” she remarked, her tone lighter.

“Things happened . . .” Lansius replied. Memories of the events that led him here flooded his mind, including the Amertume forest. Emboldened by these thoughts, he took her hand and said “Love, I have been looking for you. I’ve searched everywhere.” He paused.

His own words surprised him.

When . . .?

He hadn’t even realized it before, but the pain he’d felt when he couldn’t find her, the pain that drove him to drinking—now all of it suddenly made sense. He loved her. She was more than just a comrade to him.

Audrey stared at Lansius. Her gaze seemed more intense than before.

He looked away and felt Audrey move closer. She sat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and muttering, “I'm glad you're safe.”

“So am I,” he agreed, holding back tears of joy.

I thought I lost you . . .

The heavy lump in his heart, the one not even alcohol could manage to erase, was beginning to feel lighter.

For a moment, they sat in silence.

“Why didn’t you recognize me earlier? At supper?” he asked.

“Your appearance surprised me, but I tried not to show it.”

“Why?”

“Lans, we're not in Arvena anymore. It’s better not to let them know that we know each other.” She then added, “I don't know these guys. The last time I—” Pain flashed across her face.

“You don’t have to think about that.” Lansius was worried about her memory from the last war.

“I can’t recall much, it always gives me a headache. But I woke up here which I believe is far away from Riverstead. They treat me well. But they never explain anything to me.”

Lansius found it hard to believe but chose to reassure her gently. “You are you; nothing has changed.”

She looked at him with softer eyes and whispered, “You’re probably here because a Midlandian nobleman wants to use you.”

“Lord Stan wanted me?”

She shook her head. “He’s just another pawn. The mastermind is Lord Bengrieve . . .”

The name made Lansius’s heart skip a beat. “Why does he need me? For what?”

Audrey exhaled sharply. “How could I know that? I don’t even know their plans for me.”

Lansius scratched his head. “Could it be related to Sabina Rustica?” he ventured, more to himself.

“Sabina what?” She furrowed her brow. “I’m not familiar with Midlandia. I hope that’s not a brothel.”

“No, no, well . . . sort of,” Lansius admitted awkwardly.

Her sidelong glance held an intensity that made Lansius falter.

“Is it just me, or has that look in your eye grown fiercer?” he asked.

“The veil does also help with that,” she hinted cryptically.

“So, you have no idea why this powerful man wants me? I doubt he’s interested in a lowly clerk or squire like myself?”

Audrey pondered for a moment. “I’m not sure, but perhaps it has to do with your origin.”

“Origin...?”

She glanced at his hair, and Lansius instinctively realized she meant his black hair, the mark of a foreigner.

A foreigner, huh? Indeed, having a foreigner could be useful if they need a scapegoat, especially one with clear, undeniable proof.

Lansius let out a long sigh. His black hair continued to become a blessing and a curse in one. Despite his newfound worries, he felt a burden had been lifted from his chest. “At least I found you. That’s what matters most.”

She pouted again and looked away, a response Lansius was all too familiar with.

“Why did you change your name?”

Audrey abruptly stood, masking her emotions as she moved to a seat across the room.

In that moment, a realization dawned upon Lansius. Despite her present state, Audrey had likely been a captive, possibly even sold into slavery. He once read that in the Imperium, the stain of slavery ran so deep that freed individuals would adopt new identities. The old name was seen as unlucky or even cursed.

He followed her, taking a seat opposite hers. He finally asked the question that had been gnawing at him. “What’s happened to you? That fine black gown, everyone referring to you as a lady, even the baronet calling you his sister . . . Did you marry someone?”

Audrey stared at him, disbelief etched across her face. “Why would anyone want a female squire with no lands or titles to her name?”

Lansius could only nod in understanding, choosing not to press her further, well aware of how stubborn she could become when pushed.

Over time, she slowly began to open up. “At first I thought they needed a female squire for some reason, but they haven’t assigned me to protect anyone.”

He pondered this, trying to determine whether the Midlandian nobles were allies or potential threats.

“We’re mere pawns in their grand game,” Audrey murmured with a grim acceptance.

“Let them try,” he retorted, his face stoic and his voice determined. “One way or another, I’ll find a way out.”

Her gaze held a glimmer of admiration. “To be the master of your fate is a dangerous idea . . . Remember the wine that soaked me earlier?”

Lansius’s eyes widened with sudden comprehension. “Magic?”

She nodded. “One of his retainers must be . . . Sir Stan is Lord Bengrieve’s most trusted henchman. Having a mage under him is not that far-fetched.”

The thrill from his close brush with magic still lingered, yet Lansius had something else on his mind. “What about us?” he dared to ask.

“Us . . .?” Audrey echoed with surprise.

“I’m now Squire to Lord Arte. Am I not good enough?” He tried a line he had picked up from traveling minstrels.

She blinked, clearly taken aback. “Lans, do you realize what you’re saying?”

Lansius could only offer a small smile. “My feelings are sincere.”

Audrey shook her head. “Why would you want me?” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “I am just a sword maiden. And a broken one at that.” She turned slightly, sweeping her hair aside to reveal a scar on her head.

Lansius felt a surge of emotions: anger at whomever had harmed her and an overwhelming urge to care for her.

She continued. “Sometimes, even in daylight, I feel as though I’m walking through a nightmare. I even assaulted you. I fear . . . I’m not the same person you knew . . .”

He took her hand and held it tight. “All the more reason for me to stand by you.”

Audrey broke a smile. “The hurried hare falls prey to the waiting hound,” she recited.

“What does that mean?” Lansius questioned, puzzled by her sudden adage.

“It’s what my master used to remind me,” she began, her voice dipped in nostalgia. “Haste leads to unpreparedness and danger.” She took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “We need to focus on surviving now. Afterward, we can talk about us.”

Understanding dawned on Lansius, and he nodded, appreciating the pragmatism behind her words. “Promise?” He sought assurance, offering his hand.

Audrey took his hand, her grip firm and steadfast. “I’ll renew my oath to you. No matter the circumstances, I’ll protect you.”

Outside, the gentle whisper of the wind caressed the night, offering a deceptive tranquility in this idyllic, rustic corner of the world.

***

Lansius

The next day, a gentle breeze swept through the mansion’s private yard beside the garden. The morning sun was still mild, and the air carried a pleasant chill, making it a perfect time for training.

Inhaling deeply, Lansius filled his lungs with the earthy scent of the changing seasons. He drew his blunt training blade and lunged at the lady dressed in a black gambeson. She parried his thrust, but it lacked finesse, leaving her open for a follow-up attack.

However, she had already anticipated Lansius’s next move. Taking a step forward, she sidestepped his thrust, guiding his blade aside with her protected underarm. With a swift motion, she tapped the pommel of her sword against the left side of Lansius’s head.

“You’re dead,” Audrey said, her tone full of disappointment.

“It’s still too early,” Lansius said, offering an excuse.

Audrey sighed. “You went into battle with just this?”

“I used a spear,” he countered.

“That’s no excuse. Again!”

Lansius retreated a step and raised his sword. He knew Audrey’s teaching style was brutal.

As he had feared, Audrey lunged forward with a thrust. Lansius moved his sword to parry, but as their swords connected, the lack of force behind her blade signaled that it was a feint.

Oh, crap!

He instinctively raised his left arm to shield his head and took a step back. His guess was correct: his wrist took the brunt of a blow from her left fist.

“Ha! Guessed it right!” he proclaimed, only to feel something poke his gambeson-protected stomach.

“You blocked a fist but missed the sword. Lans, you’re getting worse. You’re unfit to be a squire!” Audrey chastised.

The words were a blow to his ego. He offered a faint smile but gripped his training sword’s hilt more tightly.

“That’s more like it. I see anger in your eyes. You said you wanted to protect me? Back up your words with steel,” Audrey taunted.

Lansius grinned and sidestepped to the right. Audrey adjusted her position accordingly. They moved almost as if they were dancing in a circle.

There!

Lansius noticed exactly where the sunlight was hitting the stone floor most intensely, and he lured Audrey into that spot. The moment she blinked against the sun’s glare, Lansius quickly advanced forward.

Audrey heard his rapid footsteps and took several steps back. Once her eyes adjusted, she saw that Lansius had closed the distance and launched a horizontal cut, which she blocked.

A metallic clang filled the air as their swords met. A faint smile graced her lips. “That’s more like it.”

Suddenly, she turned the clash into a grapple, and both of them went to half-swording as they fought to overpower each other. Lansius could tell Audrey was not using her full strength.

“Are you injured?” he asked mid-fight.

“I’ve been injured for weeks, maybe months. And they won’t let me train.”

“So this is your first training in months?” he asked in disbelief.

She flashed a grin. “Yep, and I intend to enjoy it to the fullest.”

Lansius swallowed nervously. In a deft move, Audrey shifted her weight backward, disrupting his footing and balance. As he struggled to regain his poise, her piercing gaze forced him to momentarily close his eyes.

SMACK!

Audrey laughed, withdrew her sword, and ran. She had just slapped Lansius.

Lansius froze, feeling a stinging sensation on his right cheek.

“Why did you do that?” he yelled.

Audrey, however, was laughing as if she were thoroughly enjoying herself. “I couldn’t help it. You were too close and too unguarded!”

“Come here,” he retorted, chasing her into the wooded area outside the garden where servants usually collected firewood.

...

Two figures observed the events in the garden through a window inside Toruna Mansion.

“Stan, are you sure it’s okay to let them roam free?” asked a female servant with long brown hair. Her tone lacked the usual deference.

“It may sound crazy, but I trust that man. He seems level-headed and reasonable,” replied the baronet, still clad in his flamboyant red silk robe.

“I hope so," she said. "I’ve put in a lot of effort to heal that woman. It would be a waste if she escaped."

Sir Stan chuckled. “You’ll be compensated either way.”

“Certainly,” she said without doubt. “I’m just curious about why Lord Bengrieve wanted to save her.”

“It’s best not to question our master’s motives,” Sir Stan said, smiling.

The servant nodded quickly. “Right. I trust that you have guardsmen on standby?”

“Of course, they’re keeping watch and have horses ready,” Sir Stan reassured her.

Moments passed before she ventured, “Stan.”

“Yes?”

“Can I stop doing this?" she asked. "I’m tired. I wish to return to my own life and live carefree.”

The man snorted, completely disregarding her pout. “Hannei, you’re too valuable to our master. Just be grateful he stopped pressuring us to marry.”

“Eugh,” she groaned and shuddered. “You should abandon your life of debauchery and marry someone more suitable. Just stay away from me.”

Stan grinned, flexing his toned arms and abs, which were fully visible as he wore his robe loosely. This annoyed the servant, who muttered something under her breath. Suddenly, a cold breeze blew toward the baronet.

“All right, all right, cut it out. You’re making me want to pee!” Stan barked, comically shielding his crotch with his hands.

The servant sighed at her friend’s antics, waved her hand dismissively, and left.

...

Lansius chased Audrey into the wooded area and found her out of breath. The long confinement had ruined her stamina. Still, she turned around with her sword drawn. However, Lansius dropped his blade and approached with open arms.

With a ragged breath, she looked at him and questioned his gesture. “What are you doing? We’re still training!”

“Hugs?” Lansius quipped.

“We don’t have that kind of relationship,” she retorted, her cheeks reddening slightly.

Lansius chuckled and dropped down onto the dew-wet grass, leaning against a tree. He unbuttoned the top part of his gambeson to cool off. “Ah, it feels nice to sit down like this.”

Audrey rolled her eyes but followed suit, sitting down in front of him. They sat in silence, catching their breath and listening to the rustling leaves and the gentle breeze. The ground was still cool from last night, while the sun was still far in the east.

Lansius noticed that Audrey’s mood had vastly improved since the day before; the suspicion and coldness were gone.

“Lans, I apologize for the slap,” Audrey began, interrupting the silence.

Lansius glanced at her. “Hey, it’s training. I bet you were aiming for another punch.”

Audrey pouted and crawled toward him. “You can slap me back if you want,” she offered.

She then closed her eyes, looking nervous as if waiting to be slapped, and it sent Lansius into a stifled laugh.

Hearing Lansius’s reaction, she opened her eyes and furrowed her brow.

“Not fair,” he complained. “How could I hurt someone I like?”

The atmosphere grew awkward as both averted their gaze. Lansius had spent the night reflecting on their situation, but he knew her oath to her master prevented any thoughts of marriage.

She exhaled deeply. “I also apologize for yesterday.”

Lansius caught her gaze and saw guilt written all over her face. “You were just confused by my sudden appearance. I get it. Apology accepted.”

Audrey sighed a breath of relief.

“Considering how things went yesterday, I’m surprised Sir Stan allowed us to spar so readily,” Lansius mused.

Audrey glanced around, ensuring no one was within earshot. “I’m not sure why, but I’m grateful for the opportunity to train. My arms feel sluggish.”

Lansius nodded. “How’s your injury?”

Her hand reached the top of her head and rubbed it. “Sometimes it feels itchy, but the headaches are just painful.”

“Isn’t there any medication?” Lansius asked.

“Sir Stan offered me some, but it dulls my senses. I’d rather not.”

The chirping of birds interrupted their conversation. “A love song,” commented Lansius.

“I didn’t know you speak bird,” Audrey quipped.

“Oh, I know many things,” Lansius shot back, making her laugh.

“We should get back to training before anyone becomes suspicious,” Audrey suggested as she stood up.

“Wait, tell me more about your name change first,” Lansius urged.

Audrey stiffened. “I told you about it already. What more do you need to know?”

Lansius also stood and said, “Easy, you only have to tell me if you want to. I’m not forcing you to do anything.”

She nodded once, so Lansius continued, “You explained briefly, but I’m a foreigner. I don’t fully understand.”

Audrey looked away and said, “Don’t call me by my old name. Anyone who falls into slavery is considered dead, and their name becomes cursed. So, if you survive you pick another name.”

Lansius sighed. He had liked that name and felt sentimental about it.

Audrey’s reaction was also a contrast to that of the slaves he had liberated in Sabina Rustica.

I guess there’s a different culture even inside the Imperium.

“You would do well to like my new name. None other than Lord Bengrieve gave it to me.”

“He did what?” Lansius was stunned.

Audrey shrugged. “I was told that’s the case. And then I was adopted into this baronet family. Can you believe it?”

Lansius shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

Audrey shook her head and said, “They won’t give me a straight answer, so I’ll have to rely on you for that.”

Lansius picked up the training sword and swung it twice to shake off the dew. “What do they want from Arvenians like us?”

“Lans, we’re not even Arvenians. I’m born in Centuria, and you’re not even from the continent.”

***

A few weeks after Lansius and Audrey’s reunion, autumn reached Midlandia and brought a bountiful harvest. While its people gathered the fruits of their labor, other parts of the Imperium found themselves in the throes of a threatening famine.

The grave situation worsened with the intractable nomadic incursion in the west, escalating beastmen attacks in the south, and the northern provinces breaking away from the Imperium.

The Elven Calendar year of 4423 was shaping up to be the most challenging year the Imperium had faced since its inception. As for Lansius and Audrey, despite the joy of their reunion, they found themselves in a precarious situation.

“Lord Bengrieve wanted me because I’m a foreigner?” Lansius asked, having just been briefed.

“That much I can tell you,” Sir Stan replied. “But officially, it’s me who wanted you. Best not to mention our master’s name outside this chamber.”

Lansius pondered a little, while Sir Stan sat comfortably in his padded chair with a smug look on his face. The two of them were alone in the luxurious chamber.

“But why does my background matter so much?” he asked.

“This is only between you and me,” warned Sir Stan. “We’re going on a campaign.”

Lansius was intrigued. “To Arvena?”

“No, to the south.”

“South?” Lansius was surprised.

“We need to secure our rear before heading north," Sir Stan explained.

Lansius nodded slowly. He didn’t know much about the political situation in the region.

“I’ll have someone brief you about the south, but in the meantime, you need to study and train.”

“Will I be involved in battles?”

The owner of the manor chuckled. “Lansius, you’re a squire under me. Act like one.”

Lansius straightened his back. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Since your lord has temporarily transferred you to my house, I’ll start paying you. There will be a bonus for confidentiality.”

Lansius wasn’t surprised. Lord Arte really needed to curry favor with Midlandia, and lending him out wasn’t a big deal. Then, recalling Audrey, he decided to risk a question. “What about Lady Audrey? Why was she adopted?”

Sir Stan grinned. “For that, you’ll have to ask Master Bengrieve. I’m sure he’ll summon you next season or so. But . . . it’s better not to inquire about Lady Audrey.”

Lansius furrowed his brow.

“You can ask, but he’ll likely give you a false answer. So, a piece of advice, squire: learn to live with mysteries.”

For Lansius, the warning only made one thing clearer. Whatever future awaited him and Audrey, powerful hands were already shaping it, for greatness or for ruin.

***

Chapter 25

The Mage

Toruna Manor

Just as Sir Stan had informed him, Lansius and Audrey spent almost all their time training throughout autumn. Before the season ended, sword masters and horse trainers began coming to Toruna, preparing them for the roles Lord Bengrieve had chosen for them, whether as pawns, retainers, or useful pieces in some larger scheme.

Autumn thinned into frost. The fields were stripped bare, the roads hardened, and the first cold rains gave way to the season’s first snow. Still, their training did not stop. When the yard became too slick with mud or snow, they moved to the hall and the stables. Lansius learned to ride in armor until his legs trembled and his hands cramped around the reins. Audrey drilled with blade and footwork until her palms split, healed, and split again.

Soon, thick snow sealed the lanes beyond the manor, and the cold wind from the western Targe Mountains cut through cloak and leather alike. For months, their world shrank to the training yard, the stables, the practice hall, and the smoky warmth of the hearth.

Yet beyond the manor walls, restless men did not wait for winter to end. Throughout autumn and winter, Lord Arte gathered support among the nobility, strengthening his place at court through bargains, favors, and carefully chosen words. Slowly, the effort to free Arvena began to gain ground.

After the worst of winter had passed, the roads slowly opened again.

Warm winds from the eastern sea finally blew inland, softening the frozen ground and turning the old snow to mud. With them came news: Calub, whom Sir Stan had contracted, had recruited a small warband. When the men reached Toruna in early spring, their arrival stirred the manor.

But that was not the only matter that drew Lansius’s attention. Unexpectedly, his friend the alchemist had enough influence over Sir Stan to persuade the baronet to grant Lansius permission to meet his mage.

A meeting was arranged soon after.

...

Lansius

A spring thunderstorm was howling outside. Inside the manor, the servants began to light the chandelier. The thunderous booms could be felt despite the manor’s sturdy stone construction.

Lansius cleared his throat. He wasn’t in good shape. His face and body were bruised, and both of his palms were bandaged from training. His buttocks remained sore after continuous horse riding, even during winter.

I should’ve carried a flask or something.

He wasn’t thirsty, but his throat felt bad. He wanted to get something warm, but he couldn’t possibly pass up the opportunity to meet the mage.

Sir Stan had just granted his permission after receiving Calub’s recommendation, and Lansius feared the baronet might reconsider his decision. So, he patiently waited just outside the chamber, waiting for a summons.

His thoughts returned to the alchemist. Calub turned out to be more influential than he initially thought. The way the two conversed made it clear that Calub was well-acquainted with Sir Stan and was even trusted enough to vouch for Lansius regarding the mage.

The man was either humble or simply concealing his status as an agent of a powerful noble.

At first, Lansius felt deceived, but he soon understood that secrecy was paramount in their circle. In exchange for such treatment, he gained access to a wealth of knowledge. The old Imperium history book he had read in Riverstead paled in comparison to the volumes the manor possessed.

In one manuscript, Lansius discovered detailed lore about the Ancients, the first beings to roam this planet. They were nearly immortal and, through their guidance, nascent species such as the elves and dwarves reached their peak during the Ancient Era.

During his time off from training, Lansius was currently engrossing himself in reading about early humans. These beings, the Grand Progenitors, were said to have lived even longer than the elves and were depicted much like the demigods from Greek mythology, complete with heroic deeds and epic tales.

However, there was one big caveat. One of the last Great Progenitors still walked the halls of the Imperium. He was known as the Ageless One. The reigning emperor.

While Lansius had heard about this before he read the books and manuscripts in Toruna, the grand figure was shrouded in great mystery. Everybody talked about the Ageless One as if he were a constant, much like the sun or the sky.

Only recently did Lansius understand there was more to the stories than just an immortal being. The emperor turned out to be one of the early humans, a Great Progenitor.

The creaking of the heavy oaken door alerted Lansius. Audrey, decked in her usual gothic attire, stepped out from the chamber. Compared to last autumn, she had recovered some of her muscles.

“How was it?” asked Lansius as Audrey closed the door behind her.

“Ah, nothing. She—the mage is just curious about my eyes.”

“She? The mage is a woman?”

Audrey let out a sigh. “Turns out to be.”

“What about your eyes?” asked Lansius.

“She said she wanted to invite a colleague of hers, a Hunter Guildsman, to give them a check.”

Lansius nodded nervously. He knew something was abnormal about those eyes, but he never thought it was something serious. “Are they magical or something?”

Audrey couldn’t hide a faint smile. “I wish that were the case . . . Now go on, the mage wants to meet you.”

Drawing a deep breath, Lansius was about to enter when Audrey whispered, “She seems trustworthy.”

He paused in front of the door, their eyes met, and he whispered back, “How can you tell?”

“I trust my instinct.”

Nodding, Lansius cautiously opened the door.

“Come in,” came a female voice from inside.

Lansius entered and saw the mage in person. She wasn’t much older than Audrey, wearing servant attire, but was relaxing on a comfortable-looking couch like a pampered lady.

“Please sit.” She pointed at one chair in the corner where the desk was.

“Now that both of you know about me, I don’t need to be in disguise anymore,” she mused, as Lansius approached the chair.

The mage undid her off-white headscarf and pulled out her brown hair, which turned out to be a wig, revealing long, blond hair beneath it.

The sight of her hair shocked Lansius. “Please excuse my curiosity, are you, my lady, a noble-born?”

“Even a dull blond catches the eyes. Eh?” she scoffed. “Hardly, but I get that a lot.” She scratched her head with little regard for Lansius. The casualness of her demeanor emphasized their status disparity. “So, you asked to meet me. Why?”

Lansius had thought about this so many times that his heart almost burst. “I want to learn about magic.”

“Learn about magic? Well, I suppose I could find you a book.”

How easily she agreed didn’t bode well for Lansius. “No, I read a book about the history of magic. That’s not what I seek.”

She paused to glance at Lansius momentarily. “Good, I hate books. The Imperium’s alphabet is driving me nuts.”

She can’t read the common tongue?

Lansius tried again. “I want to learn magic. Can you teach me?”

“Oh, it’s the same as that girl before you,” she said flatly, with a hint of boredom.

“Eh?” He couldn’t believe what he just heard. “Audrey wanted to learn magic too?”

The mage found the reaction to be funny and chuckled. “She didn’t tell you? How quaint. I thought you two are a couple.”

Lansius was rather taken aback. “Well, we still have our secrets.”

The mage smiled judgmentally.

“Um, so can you teach me magic?”

She picked a comb from her pocket and began to comb her hair. “I can’t teach. Magic is a talent anyway. Some have it, most don’t.”

Lansius pushed on. “At least you should test me.”

“Test . . .? Oh that test, so you did your homework. Well, I suppose I could.”

“Great, then what should I do?” asked Lansius excitedly. Despite knowing about the test from the history of magic, the book didn’t say anything about the procedure.

“Cast a fireball or something,” she mused, almost laughing.

“How?” Lansius asked, brimming with anticipation for instruction.

The mage was stunned. Even the dumbest men in Midlandia knew that conjuring a fireball or any element was impossible. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart? Even Calub vouched for you.”

“Err . . . what does a fireball have to do with me being smart?”

“Because it’s impossible!” she responded, a hint of tiredness in her voice.

“Oh, uh, right . . .” Lansius felt dumb.

The mage exhaled deeply in her seat, muttering, “C’est pour ça que je déteste les gens.”

The words sent a tingle through Lansius’s ears, stunning him. They sounded like a foreign language he had once studied, likely in school. He nervously asked, “Parlez-vous . . . français?”

The mage jumped from her seat. Her eyes went wide as she hid herself behind the chair as if fearful of Lansius.

“No way,” Lansius commented with his mouth agape. His suspicion was confirmed.

“What are you?” she challenged, wielding an ivory comb as her weapon.

Lansius rose and answered, “I-I’m from Earth.”

“The fuck, why did you say it like that? You’re an alien or something. Where are you from?” she snapped.

“I can’t remember. I lost most of my memory,” Lansius tried to explain.

Unconvinced, the mage’s eyes darted to Lansius’s hair. “Are you Asian?”

“I don’t know, but I guess so.” He shrugged, uncomfortable under her intense gaze.

She squinted at him, clearly evaluating his appearance. “But you don’t look Asian.”

Lansius replied weakly, “Really, I don’t remember anything. I could be from anywhere.”

As the mage gathered her thoughts, the earlier tension slightly dissipated.

Breaking the silence, Lansius asked, “So, how?”

She lifted a hand. “Quiet, I’ll do the asking.”

“At least tell me your name,” Lansius asked meekly.

She hesitated for a moment. “People call me Hannei.”

“That doesn’t sound French.”

“Fuck you!” the mage retorted passionately and with expertise.

“Okay, calm down,” Lansius said, trying to de-escalate things.

Great, she’s got an even shorter fuse than Audrey!

“Prove to me that you’re . . . from Earth,” the mage responded.

Lansius chuckled. “Like how? As if I could pull a smartphone from my pants.”

“Smart phone . . .? That sounds dumb. Are you fooling me?”

She doesn’t know about smartphones . . .?

Lansius’s eyes widened as he processed the implications. “No way. You got into this world before the year 2000?”

Hannei gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. “You reached the millennium?”

Lansius nodded. “A good two decades,” he revealed, watching her carefully for her reaction.

Hannei shook her head in disbelief. “No way! But I’ve only been here for ten years.”

Lansius frowned, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of their differing timelines. “That doesn’t make any sense . . . unless time here moves slower than on Earth?”

She paused, looking visibly perturbed. “Ugh . . .” she grumbled, the theory not sitting well with her. But after a moment, her curiosity seemed to take over. “Tell me about Earth before the millennium then.”

Lansius sat back in his chair, grateful for the change in subject. He was so happy to have met another Earth-born that he momentarily forgot about magic. “Well, what do you want to know?”

Hannei looked at him intently before asking, “Tell me about Olympia?”

He tried hard but almost found nothing. “The mountain in Greece . . .?”

“What? No, it’s a ship. Try to remember, it’s a big, big action movie,” she clarified.

“I don’t remember . . .” Lansius paused and then something hit him. He slowly asked, “Do you mean Olympia, the sister ship of the Titanic?”

“Titanic, what’s that?” replied Hannei with a furrowed brow.

Lansius was shocked. “Tell me who won World War II?”

“World War? Do you mean the Great War? Are you joking with me?” She shot her strongest gaze at Lansius.

Lansius didn’t even blink. Compared to Audrey’s eyes, any eyes looked cute. “The Great War is the First World War,” he began. “There’s another one, the Allies against the Axis: Nazi Germany, fascist Italy, and Japan, you don’t know any of that?”

Hannei shook her head and asked, “Why are you using that word? It’s Deutsches Kaiserreich.”

Lansius gulped. “You mean, in your year 2000, Germany, is still ruled by a Kaiser?”

“Is it not the case in your world?” replied Hannei nervously, and both drew the same conclusion. Somehow, they were coming from different Earths.

A parallel world? Just unbelievable . . .

Lansius slumped in his seat as he tried to gather his thoughts. Meanwhile, Hannei returned to her seat, looking devastated. However, she found some solace and commented, “Well, at least, we’re still from Earth.”

Lansius nodded. They should have more in common with each other than with the rest of the Midlandians or Arvenians. “Do you watch TV?” he asked.

“Yeah, and also cinemas,” replied Hannei.

“Shampoo?” asked Lansius.

“Oh, how I wish I had it.”

The atmosphere was growing friendlier. Thus, Lansius dared to ask, “So, can you tell me how you learned magic?”

She bit her lip. “No, I can’t. As much as I want to, I just can’t.”

Not giving up so easily, Lansius tried again, “Can’t you test me or something?”

“The test is only to check the potential. Even if you have it, magic isn’t something any mage can teach.”

“Well, no harm in checking—”

“I just told you . . . I’d rather not,” Hannei raised her voice.

Lansius tried his best to persuade her. “Please, I’ve come to this place without anything, not even my memory. At least can you check it?”

Hannei let out a long sigh. Without saying a word, she rose from her couch and walked toward Lansius. “Just stay still,” she instructed, placing her palm over Lansius’s forearm.

She then recited, “Gloire au Père, au Fils et au Saint-Esprit. Comme il était au commencement, maintenant et toujours, pour les siècles des siècles.”

Lansius didn’t recognize the prayer; his French was not that good.

Being close to her, he began to realize that Hannei’s eyes weren’t entirely brown, but a bit golden. The prayer stopped, but all Lansius felt was the warmth of her palm. “So?”

Hannei pulled her hand away, took a step back, and simply shook her head.

Lansius chuckled and used his hands to cover his face. “Oh, I thought I had it, you know. Being summoned to this world and all,” he rambled, embarrassed.

“Don’t sweat it. Magic is rare unless you’re an elf.” Hannei consoled him.

Lansius nodded. “A question. Why do you recite something in French?”

“It’s just something to attune me to my source.”

“Source?” Lansius blurted out.

Hannei drew a deep breath. “Enough. I gave you what you wanted. Now leave.”

“Wait, we still have a lot to talk about.”

“You’re too nosy for your own good,” she retorted, returning to her couch. “While I’m not a member of the Mage Guild, the craft is still a secret. I’ve told you things I shouldn’t have. So zip your lips.”

Then, with more urgency, she added, “If you want to live longer, keep the Earth thing between us. Don’t tell anyone about our origin. Not Sir Stan. Not Lord Bengrieve. Not even your lover.”

***

Chapter 26

Banner of the Unknown

Mid-spring of the year 4424

Lansius finally received the summons he had been waiting for. Three grueling days in the saddle proved what months of training had made him endure. At journey’s end, he and his escorts found themselves before a castle grander than anything he had ever seen. Its towers rose high against the evening sky, its archway loomed wide and deep, and its gates stood immense in the fading light. But the hour was late, and he was hurried inside with little time to marvel.

The next day, Lansius was bathed, given a fresh set of clothes, and served a small meal as he waited. He waited for hours until suddenly, guards and servants came. They escorted Lansius through a dizzying array of corridors, stairs, and hidden pathways until a maid opened a great lacquered door that led to a luxurious study chamber.

The maid gestured for silence, while another servant gently shoved Lansius in. The door closed, and Lansius found himself before the renowned Lord Bengrieve, seneschal of Midlandia.

There was little doubt of the identity of the man now sitting calmly in his comfortable-looking padded chair, reading scrolls on his elegant, small circular table, completely unbothered by Lansius’s entry.

The most powerful man in Midlandia . . .

The chamber was occupied by only him and Lansius. Remembering the maid’s gesture, Lansius could only wait anxiously for his host to address him.

He knew his status too well to even try to cough or draw attention. To Lord Bengrieve, he was just a nuisance.

Releasing tension from his weary legs, Lansius took in the tasteful design of the room. Absent were grandiose furniture or gaudy art pieces; instead, a single painting complemented the clean, lily-white plastered wall, and sleek marble floors added to the room’s elegance.

A large glass vase filled with freshly cut flowers lent a pleasant floral scent to the airy chamber, and the most striking feature was the natural light streaming in from the adjacent open garden, connected by a series of large folding windows. However, a towering metallic statue, the size of a giant bear and painted in a deep, glossy blue, stood as an oddity, clashing with the otherwise serene surroundings.

Is this supposed to be artwork?

The silence was punctuated only by the occasional chirping of birds outside, and despite the fully opened window to the garden, there was no chilling spring wind coming in.

He couldn’t shake off the feeling that the temperature was being controlled by a mage. It was strange to think that the high nobles employed these rare, powerful individuals like glorified bodyguards and even portable air conditioners.

To use them like this when they’re needed the most in the fight at the border. Isn’t this decadence?

Lansius wanted to ask Lord Bengrieve many things, such as why he saved Stefi, why he wanted him, and whether he would release them. Unfortunately, he was merely a henchman, and it was not his place to ask.

The fact that Lord Bengrieve didn’t bother to dress up and remained in his black silken robe conveyed the gulf of status between them. Although this realization made Lansius uncomfortable, he knew better than to let his pride get in the way of his duties.

The sight of the recently blooming flower garden gave him some much-needed respite. The garden was highly decorated, complete with its own fish pond, working fountain, and even a mini waterfall.

Pipes and pumps, or is it magic?

“Lansius, why are you here?” The host finally spoke after throwing his last scroll down to the table.

It was not a casual greeting, and Lansius quickly replied, “I’m here to serve you, my lord.”

Lord Bengrieve gazed out into his garden, his eyes seeming lost in thought as the sweet chirping of birds filled the air. After a moment of silence, “Lansius, what is thy desire?”

“My lord, I wish to fulfill your order,” Lansius replied despite the growing tension.

The host turned his head and gazed directly into Lansius. “Lansius,” he repeated slowly, as if savoring the name. “What is thy desire?”

As if hypnotized by the sharp eyes, Lansius suddenly remembered a rumor that Bengrieve did not forget anything that was spoken to him. A powerful man with a perfect memory. “To save myself and the people closest to me,” he nervously admitted.

“A selfless guardian,” the host remarked disinterestedly. “To whom have you directed this protection?”

“To Lady Audrey, the girl you saved, and for my family in Bellandia.”

The lord’s expression was unreadable, and he turned his gaze to the garden once again. After a moment of thoughtful silence he said, “Prove your worth, and I’ll arrange for my men to escort your family out of Arvena before the war begins.”

Did I hear that correctly?

“Yes, my lord.” Lansius trembled as he bowed his head deeply. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect something like this to happen.

In just a few words, Lord Bengrieve had gained Lansius’s allegiance.

...

Lansius returned to Toruna and saw the increased military presence around the area. He knew enough to realize that war was imminent. After his meeting with Lord Bengrieve, Sir Stan and Calub entrusted Lansius with more information.

One piece of news was Felicity’s betrothal. Calub broke the news: Felis had gotten her wish to become a noble. Lansius was utterly surprised, but gladdened. In Felis he hoped to find a reliable ally, so he wrote a letter to congratulate her.

Another revelation was the campaign to the south. Instead of marching directly north to Arvena, Lord Bengrieve had unexpectedly launched a campaign against a small barony in Lowlandia.

Sir Stan explained that the plan was to secure Midlandia’s exposed flank before committing to a major push against Lord Gottfried in Arvena. While the southern campaign against a small barony looked like an uneven battle, Midlandia couldn’t afford a prolonged siege or to waste men and supplies. They needed a quick and decisive victory.

The problem was the presence of a powerful viscount in Lowlandia. Although the province was fragmented, the viscount had backed most of the baronies in the area to maintain his regime’s status quo. These small baronies acted as a buffer, separating his region from Midlandia.

For this campaign, Sir Stan would be accompanied by Lansius, Audrey, and Calub. However, they would separate from Sir Stan and the main army. Midlandia needed someone to lead a diversion, and that person turned out to be Lansius, along with Toruna’s ragtag band of misfits.

Initially unsure, Lansius accepted the mission after Calub convinced him. Despite having only a season to train and equip his troops in Toruna, he chose to embrace the risk. Under the guise of a raiding mission, Lansius’s small band of poorly trained troops embarked on what seemed, in all respects, to be a suicide mission.

***

Lowlandia, Summer 4424.

It had been a full year since the fall of Arvena, and nine months since Lansius first set foot in Toruna. The relentless passage of time mirrored the unceasing winds that swept across the Great Plains of Lowlandia.

The Lowlandia province, far to the south of Midlandia remained desolate despite the approaching harvest season. There was no abundance of golden crops or orchards full of ripe fruits. Instead, only endless fields of yellowing steppe grasslands stretched as far as the eye could see, with little signs of life.

Lowlandia was sparsely populated and economically poor, with limited farmland scattered across its vast landscape. The Great Plains, vast but lifeless, separated the province’s two viscounties and eight baronies into eastern and western parts.

The western part bordered with two other provinces via a treacherous mountain range that effectively served as a natural boundary. The eastern part shared a border with Midlandia, along with one of the two human Eastern Kingdoms.

Despite being a part of the Imperium, Lowlandia was closer to a lawless province. The local lords had quarreled and warred against each other for centuries, with the High Court paying minimal attention and unwilling to get involved as long as tribute was paid.

From time immemorial, the Imperium had seen the region as unimportant. The province was largely infertile, and its only other feature was the border with the deadly Great Marshland to the south. However, for the local lords, the place was ancestral, and they would eagerly defend it with their blood.

...

Viscount Side

Lord Robert, the Lion of Lowlandia, once again took to the field. A ragtag troop flying an unknown banner had raided his land. Despite his advanced age, his eyesight hadn’t failed him. He calmly surveyed the opponent’s formation arrayed across the open plains.

“Our right wing and left wing are ready, my lord,” Michael reported as he gently reined in his horse. The excitement in the youngster’s voice was evident as it was his first battle as the marshal.

The viscount didn’t share his enthusiasm and remained silent. No bite, Robert observed. He had moved both of his wings as bait, but the opponent’s formation remained unchanged.

Robert’s passiveness unintentionally caused unease among his men.

“My lord?” the marshal asked again after a while.

“I heard you the first time, Michael,” Robert said to the marshal who was also his future son-in-law.

“Our men are eager to fight. Would you give us the order?” Michael feared the opponent might try to flee.

Robert weighed his decision. Unlike Michael, who was in his prime, Robert was full of wrinkles and grayed hair. However, he had what the younger man lacked: experience. Michael was like a set of armor that had never seen battle, pristine and without a scratch. Robert, on the other hand, had fought in over twenty battles.

“Michael, retreating doesn’t necessarily mean an army is weak,” Robert warned.

“But that’s all they’ve done since invading our lands, my lord,” Michael replied.

Robert’s warning fell on deaf ears, but he acknowledged that Michael wasn’t completely wrong. Ever since Robert had assembled his troops and given chase, the invaders hadn’t attempted to fight. Instead, they simply ran from every engagement. This behavior puzzled Robert and made him timid, while Michael saw it as weakness, which made him grow bolder.

“What do the scout reports say?” Robert asked.

“My lord,” Michael said proudly at his preparation, “I’ve sent riders in three directions. They reported no sightings, only empty plains.”

Robert took a deep breath. It was against his guts, but he felt that his men needed the confidence of a war leader, not a superstitious old man. “Very well, since the enemy isn’t taking our bait, marshal, you may lead the center column. Keep the two cavalries to guard your flanks. And I’ll hold the reserve with a hundred cavalry.”

The trumpets and bugles rang out, signaling the march. Banners unfurled at the front of the formation, fluttering in the wind. The captains rallied their troops, and thousands of soldiers advanced in polished armor and helmets that glistened under the sunlight.

Robert watched as the column marched past him, his highly decorated armor and fierce-looking warhorse adding to his lordly presence and inspiring his men. Yet, the armor was just for show. In reality, he was too frail to fight.

Before the sun rose higher, the center column had successfully rejoined with its two wings, which had earlier tried unsuccessfully to provoke the opponent.

In total, there were approximately one thousand men, bolstered by two hundred cavalry, thrown against an opponent with no more than four hundred.

Despite the three-to-one advantage, Robert felt uneasy. He wondered why the enemy had chosen to fight that day. After pondering for a while, he concluded that something unexpected must have happened, forcing the opponent to engage. “I suppose I overestimated our enemy,” he mused.

“You’re being cautious, my lord,” a senior knight beside him responded.

“Let’s follow our center.” Robert spurred his horse, and his entourage of knights, squires, and servants followed closely behind.

***

Chapter 27

The Die is Cast

The Banner of the Unknown.

“They’re coming!” Audrey pulled the reins and brought her mount to a hard stop.

Ahead of her stood Lansius, the leader of their ragtag army. Though many dismissed him as a no-name exiled noble from a distant kingdom, Audrey trusted him enough to join his seemingly suicidal offensive.

“Listen well,” Lansius called his men. “Hold until they are within crossbow range. Then we fall back to the trenches.”

His command did little to ease the fear in his men, but Lansius paid no heed. His gaze shifted to Audrey.

“Take the cavalry and break through as planned.”

Audrey stared at him with a cold, piercing gaze that could easily frighten children and adults alike.

“I’ll be fine. Go. Move as planned,” Lansius said, almost lightly. He knew her well enough to understand the meaning behind her stare.

“Good luck, then,” she replied.

“You too. Let’s get some drinks after this is over,” he said, despite the overwhelming odds.

Audrey went to her cavalrymen and rallied them. A moment later, fifty riders moved out against the enemy's right wing.

At least she’s with the cavalry, Lansius thought while suppressing a sigh of relief.

He knew that if the worst came to pass, Audrey still stood a fair chance of escaping. Two seasons had passed since their fateful reunion at Toruna Manor, yet here they were again, staring down another armed conflict. At moments like this, Lansius couldn't help but feel despair in their new lives as henchmen.

Lord Arte, busy gathering followers and currying favor with Midlandia’s nobility, had given his approval for Lord Bengrieve to employ Lansius. Now, Lansius had assumed a fake identity as an exiled knight from the Mercantile Kingdom. If he were found out, he would surely lose his head.

While Lansius wrestled with those thoughts, fear continued to gnaw through the ranks. Even with their cavalry riding out in force, the men were hardly convinced.

The Midlandians had enlisted for what they believed would be a simple raiding party, not a pitched battle. They saw Lansius as an exiled noble from a foreign kingdom, with no reputation or standing to claim a fiefdom, and so no one had expected him to start an open war.

Yet here they were, facing off against the Lion of Lowlandia, the biggest name in the region. The sight of the viscount’s banners, fluttering boldly in the wind, sent chills down their spines.

Many muttered curses under their breath, their eyes darting nervously between the enemy’s imposing formation and their own ragtag troop. The thought of fleeing to save themselves constantly crossed their minds.

Although Lansius had treated them well, nobody wished to die for his foolish cause. Many felt betrayed, like sacrificial pawns led to a butcher’s shop. The thought made their stomachs churn.

The only thing that stopped them from killing the black-haired bastard and breaking formation was desperation.

It was clear to all that their situation was beyond hopeless, with flat grassland stretching in all directions for miles, leaving nowhere to hide. Whoever fled would be easily chased and slaughtered, or captured as slaves.

Their fear drove them to quietly follow Lansius, who oddly had yet to show signs of panicking.

Unbeknownst to his men, Lansius himself was inches away from a nervous breakdown.

Am I really doing this?

Watching the ordered lines of armored men advancing toward him made him second guess. However, Lansius had bet everything on his reckless plan. He had poured his money into recruiting more men, horses, and equipment, risked the trust of his benefactors, and even drawn the woman he loved into this madness, because Audrey had stubbornly wanted to participate in this madness.

Lord Bengrieve and Sir Stan’s original design had been simple. Lansius was to create a diversion, allowing Midlandia’s forces to lay siege to another barony and secure their back line.

Lansius had learned that a bitter divide ran between prosperous Midlandia and the poorer lords of Lowlandia, who secretly supported raiding activities on their vast border. Now, with Midlandia poised to fight a major war against the unified northern people, they needed to secure their weakest border.

To ensure victory, Midlandia was willing to sacrifice hundreds of men to prevent the Old Lion from sending a relief force to his besieged neighbor. Yet for all that hostility, Lord Bengrieve still wished to preserve decent relations with the powerful viscount.

That made Lansius, a foreigner, the perfect choice. Even if he and his command staff were taken, little could be traced back to Midlandia’s court.

Outwardly, Lansius had accepted the plan. On its face, it was simple enough. He was to lead these cheaply recruited troops as a decoy for as long as they could hold, then escape with the cavalry and leave the rest to capture and death.

However, he couldn’t bring himself to sacrifice the men.

The troops under him might be nothing but the unfortunates, the lowlifes, and the rowdiest scumbags in all of Midlandia, but they were still his men.

But mercy wasn’t the main reason why Lansius had reneged on the plan. For he had seen a sliver of hope, and ever since learning of the possibility, he had been torn between risking everything for a chance to win big, or playing it safe by sticking to Lord Bengrieve’s plan.

Only now, with the enemy so close, did Lansius begin to feel truly at peace with his decision.

If you lot are destined to die, then let’s test our fates against the heavens.

Lansius had risked everything on this gamble, even Lord Bengrieve’s trust in him. He had knowingly strayed from his benefactor’s design, driven by the hope of winning greater reward for his master and proving his own worth as quickly as he could.

He had judged that this departure posed little danger to Lord Bengrieve’s larger design. The force he sent was meant to serve as a decoy, drawing the Lion’s attention away from Midlandia’s ongoing siege.

And since Lord Bengrieve had already written off Lansius’s men, any victory won from such a venture would count as tremendous merit. So, trusting his instincts, Lansius had ordered two hundred men to raise a camp and dig three horseshoe-shaped trenches twelve days earlier. The first was the longest, with two smaller ones cut behind it.

The foremost trench was meant to serve as the main fighting line, while the two behind it would support it and hold the reserve. Lansius had chosen the site because the ground was soft and easy to work.

The scouts had learned that the place flooded from time to time during the monsoon. That made it possible to draw clean water by digging crude wells. Because of this, they were able to prevent some of the rampant disease and its effects, such as deadly diarrhea.

While Lansius and his men labored over the site, Sir Justin, a surviving Arvenian knight turned mercenary in Lord Bengrieve’s service, led fifty cavalry and two hundred men deep into Lord Robert’s lands to raid and draw him out.

Things seemingly advanced as planned; however, they had badly underestimated the strength of Lord Robert’s forces.

...

Calub, the alchemist who had also joined Lord Bengrieve’s mercenary company, jogged to Lansius’s side. With a small gesture, he drew him away from the men. Once they were out of easy earshot, Calub muttered, “The scouts were not exaggerating. It is a thousand.”

The words tightened something in Lansius’s gut. He had prepared himself to face a force twice his own, but numbers like that made an already dangerous plan turn truly precarious.

“How in the world can a viscount muster a thousand men?” Lansius muttered in disbelief.

Calub waved the complaint aside and pressed, “Can we win this?”

Lansius caught the worry on the man’s tanned face and looked away. He needed a moment to think.

Four hundred of our ragtag army against a thousand of the best Lowlandians? We’re doomed . . .

Calub exhaled impatiently and massaged his temple. He then looked around at the advancing enemy troops in the distance and changed the subject. “Is Audrey with the cavalry?”

Lansius nodded weakly. “Yes. Why?”

“Good. She should be able to make her escape. Then I’ll pack.” Calub turned away.

Lansius caught Calub’s arm and asked, “You’re leaving?”

“You’re not?” Calub asked in disbelief. “Lans, this whole thing, your plan is breaking apart. We should flee while we can.”

Lansius shook his head. “They’re more numerous than expected, but that doesn’t mean my plan won’t work. Let’s give it a chance.”

Calub’s eyes widened, and he muttered something under his breath, yet still hesitated.

“They’re getting closer!” one of the lookouts cried, his voice close to panic.

Lansius strained his eyes as their cavalry formed a wedge formation, while the viscount’s right wing across the field took shape in a line formation.

The sight of hundreds of galloping horses across the green grassland was a spectacle. Massive, colorful flags flew from the bannermen, adding to the stunning visual display.

“I can’t watch.” Calub turned away, his voice filled with dread. “By the Ageless, have you forgotten about those days in Feodosia?”

“That’s why the big boy is with her.” Lansius nervously wiped the sweat from his forehead as he watched the two cavalries on a collision course.

“Him? That’s . . . not entirely promising,” Calub said with an equally nervous smile.

“Lances down! They’re lowering their lances,” the lookouts cried out, drawing everyone’s attention.

The vibrant spectacle came to a sudden halt as the two sides clashed in a brutal head-on collision. Lances shattered and pierced through flesh with sickening thuds. In mere moments, cavalrymen were thrown off their horses or impaled by steel-tipped lances, reducing many valiant men to mere casualties.

The gruesome spectacle left everyone feeling sickened.

Watching as Audrey courageously led her cavalry, gave Lansius a much-needed mental slap to the face. She trusted him enough to put her life on the line. He clenched his fist and felt his blood slowly boil. There was little time to observe her fight as the enemy’s main group had closed in on Lansius’s position.

“Sound the signal. Move to the trench,” Sir Justin, one of the few who had plate armor, ordered.

In response to his order, three hundred men started to descend into the trenches, where another hundred stood ready.

The men looked pale, and a few were already quivering.

Lansius let out a sigh, but knew that they were the only ones available to a no-name upstart like himself.

Sir Justin approached Lansius from his post. His familiar-looking squire followed behind.

“Sir Justin, Hugo,” Calub addressed them.

Hugo bowed his head to Calub. Fate had played a cruel joke on him by reuniting him with Lansius as a subordinate. They had buried the hatchet and now Hugo tried to win Lansius’s trust, but he ended up in this suicidal plan. He lamented his luck, and like the rest, desperately wanted Lansius’s plan to work.

Sir Justin nodded at Calub before turning to his squire, Hugo. “Protect us,” he commanded.

Hugo dutifully placed himself between them and the enemy and raised his shield.

Lansius saw the knight’s gaze shift to him. “Commander, last chance,” Sir Justin said, giving Lansius the option to retreat or prepare for battle.

Despite feeling drenched in cold sweat, Lansius summoned his courage and responded, “I think I’ll risk it. Sir, can I count on you?”

The older gentlemen nodded. “I’ll give it my best.”

“Gratitude, sir.” Lansius bowed his head slightly.

“Don’t feel too indebted. If things go awry, I only need to discard half my armor to run. My horses are fast, and my men are strong enough to escort me out.”

The honesty of the former knight, now mercenary, drew a chuckle from Lansius. “Sir, please call me by name. I’m hardly your superior.”

Sir Justin grinned. “I’m pretty sure they made you the commander.”

“Men will follow someone they respect,” Lansius remarked.

The knight was pleased, and he turned his gaze toward the advancing enemy. “Lord Robert has good troops.”

“Indeed. Meanwhile ours . . .” Lansius couldn’t resist comparing.

The poor and unfortunate, also the scum of every town and village. They are every bit unfit as soldiers. More like a bunch of bandits . . .

The knight snorted. “What we got might be not as good or well equipped, but at least they’ll follow orders.”

“That’s true . . .” Lansius admitted as he watched their last group of men descend into the trenches with a mixture of gratitude and guilt.

Surely, following me was a big leap of faith for them, especially when I employed such an unknown strategy that involves digging a series of ditches in the middle of nowhere like here.

“I better go,” Calub suddenly announced.

“Calub,” Lansius called out. “Next time, remind me to double-check our opponent’s strength.”

Calub let out a deep breath. “If we make it out of this alive.” Then he turned to the knight. “Sir, may I ask why you agreed to this plan? You must have known Lord Robert is a formidable warlord.”

The knight gave a short chuckle. “I’ve always wanted to see the Lion in the field.”

Calub let out a frustrated breath and looked back at Lansius. “Lans, I hope your plan works.”

“If it doesn’t work . . . see you in the afterlife?” Lansius joked, pressing against the limit of his fear.

Calub gave a faint chuckle and made for the trenches. He was needed on the far right, where the fighting would likely be fiercest.

“We need to move,” Hugo interrupted urgently. Just then, the sound of an arrow slicing through the air reached their ears.

“Right, right . . .” Lansius took a final glance at the enemy formation before quickly making his way to the ladder.

Sir Justin and Hugo followed suit, with a few crossbow bolts whizzing above their heads as they descended. Finally, at the bottom, the smell of earth and humidity greeted them.

One of the aides handed Lansius his crossbow, and he proceeded to check how the string felt. The dampness in trenches could affect the string, but he felt that the tension was all right. Next, he checked the bolts in, two quivers on his belt, each with twelve bolts.

Sir Justin secured his poleaxe while Hugo fetched his bascinet and helped fasten it tight.

Lansius finished up by wearing a sallet helmet. Its layers of linen padding felt comfortable. It wasn’t a full-face but had a retractable visor. Now, after a lot of doubting and second-guessing everything about his own decision, he finally felt a sense of clarity.

With everything in place, there was nothing left now but war.

⠀

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