Elder Antonius
Inside the fast-moving carriage, Antonius sat rigid as the wheels clattered hard over the road. If his eyes had still been normal, untouched by the debilitating green miasma, he probably would have wept. Even old and hardened by decades of clan strife, he had never expected the city to fall.
While the mountain people were not exactly respectable, their ancestors had built cities in the mountain with their own hands. They had conquered the inhospitable Five Peaks and called it home. In just ten generations, they had amassed an incredible amount of wealth, almost entirely hidden from the nobles of the land.
But now, his generation had failed to keep invaders from this sanctuary.
Clavieras had been conquered by force of arms. The mountain people were under threat. The Five Peaks, the paradise that had kept them safe for so long, had been exposed. In their greed, in their lust for wealth and power, they had drawn the wrath of their most powerful foe.
It was still impossible to comprehend. The Imperium had fallen, and from its ruins, brilliant and terrible warlord had risen from nowhere.
Lord Lansius...
A powerful Elder like Antonius, with his network of agents, understood just how capable the man was. Yet like the other Elders, he had been blinded by the certainty of their own strength. After all, the smugglers operated in great secrecy, behind many layers, and had remained faceless for two centuries.
The very thought that a brutish upstart from Lowlandia might uncover them, much less challenge them, had seemed so laughable that no one had considered the possibility at all.
For that arrogance, they paid in blood.
Clavieras, the strongest city in the Five Peaks, had been humbled in just two nights.
Antonius sighed as he looked up at the walls and battlements from his fast-moving carriage. The Lord Shogun was reportedly still young. Before his rise in Korelia, he had possessed no land, no reputation, and no name worth fearing. Yet he had risen so high, so quickly.
He even stopped the warring nobles of Lowlandia. I should have sent a messenger back then...
That achievement alone should have alerted everyone. Now, there was only regret.
Even so, Antonius understood that this failure was not his to bear. Ultimately, his duty was only to the city and its people, who knowingly or not, relied on him.
At the end of the day, someone had to keep Clavieras from destruction. Antonius, as an Elder and likely one of the few still alive, had to bend his knee and surrender.
Whether it would save them or damn them, he did not know.
Aided by his escort, he climbed the bloodstained stone stairs of the gatehouse. Sticky dark marks still streaked the steps here and there, and the smell of iron lingered in the passage.
Lowlandian and Midlandian men stood guard above. They watched him with cautious eyes, but none showed open contempt.
“Let him in,” a voice called from inside.
“This is Commander Farkas, leader of the expedition,” his escort informed Antonius as they entered.
Inside the main chamber of the gatehouse, Antonius met the conqueror of Clavieras for the first time. To his surprise, the man was so young that it beggared belief.
“O victorious Commander, please accept my humble greetings,” Antonius managed, his voice still hoarse from all the coughing. The milk and honey had helped only so much.
After sizing him up, the commander signaled for him to sit. “Please.”
Antonius lowered himself into the chair and quickly continued. “Clavieras and its people are yours, as is my assistance, given freely. I ask only that you extend mercy to the city and spare its people from needless suffering.”
Farkas drew a sharp breath. He seemed hesitant. “Put your surrender in writing. My bailiff will handle the formalities.”
“Certainly,” Antonius replied. He allowed a brief pause before continuing. “But for surrender, you must first accept it aloud.”
The young commander’s face twitched. “Why insist on that?”
“Commander, I am not trying to deceive you. Right now, the city is still under armed occupation. Order cannot be restored until the victor accepts surrender. Or do you wish to continue the looting and burning? I would regret such a decision, but I could understand it.”
“No,” Farkas said. “More looting would leave a foul taste in everyone’s mouth. Then do what you have to do.”
Antonius bowed his head, grateful. The old man produced a ceremonial dagger with a golden crossguard and a polished ivory grip, then presented it to the commander.
“I, Elder Antonius, formally surrender the city of Clavieras to you.”
“I, Acting Captain Farkas, accept your surrender.” Farkas took the dagger, inspected it for a moment, then passed it to his aide.
Antonius could no longer hold back his cough. His throat still burned from the miasma. “Please forgive my voice.”
“You should seek treatment,” Farkas said.
“I have. The physician said it would take time, and that nothing can hasten the healing,” Antonius explained.
Farkas nodded. Then, seeming to sense that there was time for more than bare formalities, he asked, “You have no magicians in your ranks?”
Antonius welcomed the question. “Due to the risks and the Elders’ infighting, we never allowed mages or Saint Candidates inside the city.”
“Not even one in servitude?” Farkas asked, without judgment in his eyes.
Antonius smiled faintly. “Their service is certainly tempting. But the Elders could not ignore how easily a mage might assassinate any one of them. So no Elder would allow another to possess one.”
Farkas exhaled and commented, “It seems fear and suspicion governed this city.”
“You are perceptive, Commander.” At that moment, the commander's aide poured water for him, and Antonius drank it with care.
Farkas said nothing but waited patiently.
Antonius took that as permission to continue. “Since you are now the governor—”
“Acting governor.”
“Acting governor,” Antonius corrected himself. “Then may I serve as your advisor?”
There was a pause. Farkas seemed to consider the idea, then said, “You may assume so.”
“Then, as my first advice, please form a council to help you govern the city and restore order as quickly as possible.”
“We have a bailiff attached to us. He’ll handle the issue,” Farkas replied, his tone guarded.
Antonius argued patiently. “Commander, you cannot expect a few bailiffs to handle every matter in a city as large as Clavieras. Hundreds of houses have been looted. Dozens have been razed. Hundreds of sons and fathers are dead. Their mothers and wives will be wailing in the streets, and grief can turn into disorder quickly. We should contain it before it becomes a riot.”
Farkas gave a dry chuckle and turned toward the window, where the clear blue sky hung over the mountains. “War tends to do that,” he said. “I’m sure you are familiar with it.”
“I am. What I have mentioned is only a taste of what will come if you decide to govern a city directly after war. It is always ugly.” Antonius paused to study the commander. “You are capable, I’m sure. But governing a wounded and crippled city, with no trust and plenty of suspicion, is not a task for the inexperienced. I beseech you to let us do the work, so I do not shame my people further.”
Farkas nodded without quite meaning to, and Antonius took it as permission to continue.
“The council will serve your interests. If armed men are your concern, then we shall take no part in the city’s security.”
Farkas turned to his aide, then glanced toward the adjoining chamber as if looking for someone.
Curious, Antonius followed his gaze and saw a tall figure looming there. A pair of predatory eyes silently watched from beneath a heavy cloak, and the words slipped out before he could stop them. “Half-beast.”
Farkas looked back at Antonius. “The council will report directly to me. Any major decision will require my permission. The bailiff will sit with you and judge any dispute.”
“Certainly,” Antonius replied.
“My men will escort you to the bailiff.” Farkas rose, and Antonius followed. At once, the guards stepped closer, ready to lead him out.
“Elder,” Farkas called before the old man reached the door.
Antonius turned back.
“Time will tell whether your loyalty lies with the Lord Shogun or somewhere else.”
Antonius bowed his head. The warning was clear.
***
Korelia
The new situation forced Lansius to abandon his schedule. With reports of war in Edessa, he summoned his retinue and the members of the Shogunate to convene in the keep’s main hall.
For a while, the exhaustion seemed to leave him as he watched his staff roll out a map of Edessa across the long table in the keep's main hall. The map had been taken from a confiscated manor belonging to one of the rebels. In this age, maps were hard to come by. Commissioned works took years to produce, and secrecy was often involved, especially for a margravate that guarded the border.
This map was a stylized one. It was not drawn to true scale, but showed rough directions, roads, town names, and the time needed to travel on foot. Even so, it was probably the best map of Edessa available to them.
“How recent is this map?” Calub muttered as he examined the work.
“At least a century old, and likely based on an even older copy,” Sir Michael responded.
Squire Carla and Margo laid out maps of Midlandia and East Lowlandia beside it, trying to connect them. Some parts overlapped, but there were also gaps. The scales were not perfectly aligned, so they could only form a rough idea of which roads and regions connected where.
Lady Ella, Lady Astrid, and Cecile stood nearby to watch. Meanwhile, the Lord of Galdia was speaking with two members of his House and the messenger who had brought the news.
Lansius sat quietly on the raised platform, waiting. Soon, the council was ready.
“Lord Shogun,” the Lord of Galdia greeted. Even at around sixty, he still had his charm and looked energetic, despite the broad waist common among noblemen of his age.
“Please,” Lansius replied, leaning forward.
The older lord stood beside the maps, already arranged for Lansius’ view.
“We received this information from the nomads living in our land. As you may know, a large number of nomads have been allowed to settle in Edessa in exchange for serving as auxiliaries. Around a month ago, the Margrave was calling all warriors of the land to fight the Navalnian invasion.”
Lansius remained quiet, taking in the report.
The older lord used an engraved stick to point out several cities. “We learned from the nomads that around two weeks ago, Fuzera, Soprona, and Borsoda had fallen. All cities east of Citadella have either been taken or cut off from Buda, the regional capital. We even fear that the mighty Imperium city of Calisia has fallen.”
Murmurs spread through the hall.
Squire Carla and Margo placed red and blue wooden blocks across the map, marking the fallen cities and the estimated front line from two weeks ago.
Everyone studied the map and discussed it in low voices.
“It is frustrating that we learned this from Galdian nomads and not from our own border cities in Midlandia,” Sir Michael said to Calub and the Lord of Galdia.
“Despite the squabbles, I have good relations with some of the tribes,” the older lord explained. “I helped them with trade. They are reasonable people, even better than my other neighbor.”
Still leaning forward, Lansius pondered. It was not the names of the fallen cities that occupied him. He had already grasped the scale of the attack. What he was trying to determine was the plan behind it.
As the discussion between his staff, his guests, and the Lord of Galdia died down, Lansius asked, “I assume we don’t know their numbers?”
“Unfortunately, we lack information from the front. The old nomad, who is sympathetic to our cause, did not have that information. His tribe still has not returned.”
Lansius nodded. “I’m trying to understand why Navalnia would open a war so close to winter. Are they foolish, or merely too confident in their numbers?”
Murmurs rose again.
The Lord of Galdia spoke briefly with Calub and Sir Michael before responding. “From what we have gathered, the Navalnian nobles are accustomed to war. In that regard, they are similar to Lowlandia. So I doubt they would misjudge a campaign this badly.”
“And the Margravate is especially powerful,” Sir Michael added. “They would not dare underestimate it.”
Lansius frowned. What are they trying to do?
“Pardon,” Lady Astrid interrupted. “Is it possible this is only a raid?”
“Not at this scale,” the older lord replied, drawing their attention back to the map. “Taking more than twenty fortified cities, not including manors and lesser holds, is no simple raid.”
Lansius inhaled deeply and leaned to one side, propping his head with his hand. His gaze remained fixed on the map, sharp enough that many fell quiet and waited for him instead of continuing the discussion.
None of this makes sense.
His eyes narrowed.
Unless...
After a moment, Lansius turned his gaze to his staff and asked, “You said the Navalnians have taken twenty fortified cities. Do we have confirmation that these cities have fallen? Were they razed or pillaged? Or are they merely cut off and assumed to be lost?”
The older lord consulted the messenger briefly before confirming, “Lord is correct. We have only rumors.”
Lansius paused to think, then said firmly, “We need more information. These are all assumptions, mere guesses, or at best, conjectures. We can’t form any cohesive plan from this alone.”
He turned to his squire. “Margo.”
“Yes, My Lord.” The squire, wearing a red doublet, stepped forward.
“Send a hawk to Ingrid. Tell her to send her agents to infiltrate Edessa. We already have eyes planted there, so reports should begin reaching us. Secondly, arrange for the Pride of Korimor to pick Ingrid up and bring her to my side at once.”
“My Lord,” Margo acknowledged.
“Another thing. Tell Ingrid to arrange for a few Orange Skalds and SAR members to help with the infiltration. They will be scouting an active battlefield. Let them take whoever and whatever they need. Ingrid can decide on my behalf.”
Seeing that Lansius was done, Margo stepped back, then hurried to the hunter who tended the hawks.
Sir Michael spoke. “My Lord, I suggest we strengthen our borders in Midlandia and White Lake. With war in Edessa, things might spill over. Refugees, armed or otherwise, could become a problem.”
“Spill over?” Lansius said, surprised. “The matter is far greater than armed refugees.”
Sir Michael looked baffled. “My Lord means to do more?”
“Indeed. A relief force, and a significant one at that."
The hall grew noisy at once. Everyone began speaking among themselves.
Sir Michael spoke, unease plain in his voice. “My Lord, you have only just decided on a policy of peace for the next several years.”
“You are correct,” Lansius said. “I may risk going against my own words, but this changes things... I said we must avoid war in our own land. Sending reinforcements beyond the province is not the same.”
Sir Michael did not respond at once, allowing Calub to voice his concern. “My Lord, with no farm tax planned for next year, we might be pressed to support a force beyond our borders. Should we reconsider?”
“It depends on how many we send,” Lansius answered.
“We are still sending grain to Sir Servius in Nicopola. Prices will rise,” Calub warned.
Lansius raised his palm to calm his men. “I know,” he said. “I hear your concern.”
Once they quieted, the Lord of Galdia spoke. “My Lord, I understand your intention. But the Margrave is hostile toward us.”
Even the younger scribe felt compelled to speak. “The Margrave has not even asked for help.”
And Sir Michael was quick to add. “My Lord, would you really let our men bleed for the Margrave?”
“More than anyone, I want the Margrave to grovel and beg,” Lansius replied. “I would only render aid after demanding a ridiculous sum in recompense for his involvement in sending assassins after me. However, the attack and its speed mean Navalnia isn’t playing around.”
A few in the hall began to sense that there was a deeper reason behind his insistence.
“My Lord,” Cecile said carefully, “forgive me, but such a course will be difficult for many to accept unless they understand your reasoning.”
Hearing his chamberlain’s calm words, Lansius realized his staff was not following his thoughts. “My apologies,” he said in a warmer tone. “I have not explained my reasoning.”
The hall quieted, waiting.
After a moment’s thought, Lansius looked over his staff. “Let us change the approach.”
His words drew the hall’s full attention.
“Imagine that you are the Emperor of Navalnia,” he began, prompting several of his staff to shift uneasily and exchange glances. “You look upon the Margravate, with its many castle-towns, walled cities, and great fortresses. All of them are fortified as they should be, with ample manpower and supplies. They were built to delay even a large invasion. To stall it long enough for reinforcements to arrive.”
Almost everyone nodded, and even the red-haired heir of Dawn followed his explanation.
“Now, tell me. How would you wage war and force the Margrave to surrender within a year? Bear in mind, a year may sound like a long time, but we must account for winter and two months of wet spring. So, we have two months of spring, four months of summer, and one month of autumn before harvest.”
Low murmurs passed through the hall.
“Waging war during harvest season is certainly cruel and barbaric,” the Lord of Galdia said, “but would that truly be enough to halt an invasion?”
“Large wars are inherently different from small wars,” Lansius answered. “If we command five to ten thousand men and march through a heavily populated region, then we can expect the army to live off the land for a time. We can pressure cities, towns, and villages to surrender their food. We can trade protection for grain, or raid if things turn bad. But once the army rises above twenty thousand, that becomes impossible.”
His staff and guests listened intently as Lansius continued his explanation.
“At twenty thousand, the army is many times the size of most towns, and larger than many small cities. There will not be enough food, even if they seize several cities’ worth of stores. Unless they wish to risk famine and see the campaign fail, they need prepared camps and supplies, especially with so many sieges ahead. And that brings us to harvest. They cannot possibly afford to let it go to waste. Food will make or break the campaign.”
The Lord of Galdia nodded and turned to the staff. “Lord Shogun’s explanation is sound.”
Sir Michael picked up the thread. “Let us assume the attacker cannot ignore harvest season. That still leaves them seven whole months.”
“You would also need at least a month just to march to the Margravate. That leaves around six months.” Lansius looked over them. “Now tell me. Would you be confident enough to take this much land in Edessa and force the Margrave to surrender in just six months? And how many troops would you need?”
Murmurs spread through the hall. Even Lady Ella, Squire Carla, and the guard captain began to speculate.
Lansius turned his gaze to the Lord of Galdia. “Lord, would you be confident of forcing the Margrave to surrender in six months with twenty thousand men?”
“Not possible,” the older lord replied. “We cannot bypass all of the castle-towns, much less the walled cities, without leaving our supply lines exposed. With twenty thousand men, I could split them into four forces of five thousand and besiege four cities at once, but it would still take months just to take them.”
“Sir Michael," Lansius called. "How about thirty thousand?”
The one-eyed knight looked down at the map, doubtful, then shook his head. “No. That would not be enough to besiege this many strongholds. In six months, we might take only a dozen cities, and only if the Margrave does not come to their rescue.”
Lansius shifted in his seat and said, “Then why are they in Edessa right now?”
The question forced them to reconsider everything.
“From what we have discussed, taking Edessa would require a great many men and months of work. So what does the Emperor of Navalnia hope to gain by attacking this close to winter? You have already said they are not fools.”
Questions and doubts showed on everyone's faces.
Lansius then said, “Unless this is only preparatory work. An advance guard.”
“Advance guard?” Sir Michael blurted out.
The hall stirred. More than twenty fortified cities had reportedly fallen, and the Lord was saying this was only the first wave.
The Lord of Galdia looked at Lansius intently, as did many who attended the meeting.
“What we see now is likely their advance guard," Lansius explained. "They are scouting, clearing the route, and preparing camps and supplies for the main invasion. In doing so, they add two months to their six-month window. A clever strategy.”
“That makes sense,” the Lord of Galdia remarked, his voice grave. “By preparing the camps and destroying the weaker defense forces, they are using these two or three precious months for the work that would otherwise slow the main army.”
“Then in spring, their main army can launch the real invasion,” Lansius confirmed. “They must have planned to take the region’s capital by summer. What we see now is only the opening move.”
“By the Ancients,” Cecile muttered softly, her voice tight in her throat. Calub, her husband, moved closer to comfort her.
The crisis revealed itself to be far larger than they had first believed.
Edessa had already lost so much, and the thought of another wave weighed heavily on everyone’s mind, even if the Margrave was still technically their enemy.
Without needing to be said, Navalnia was seen as a far greater threat than Edessa. It was an empire with different customs and different values. To many, its people were barbarians with a ceaseless hunger for slaves.
“Could they really plan this meticulously?” Sir Michael asked Lady Astrid, his wife.
Lady Ella stepped forward, drawing Lansius’ attention. “My Lord, what if their plan is not to conquer the whole region, but only to take enough land for them to expand?”
“It's possible," Lansius said. “They could simply wage war, claim as much land as they can before harvest and winter, then do it again next year. However, the fact that they attacked now, so close to winter, proves they are following a plan.”
With no one objecting, Lansius added, “Moreover, to plan for a campaign across several years, with nobles and knights accustomed to fighting only short wars, would be inconceivable.”
“Mind you, Lord, Navalnia is famous for its slave armies and irregular riders,” the Lord of Galdia said. “That was the reason the nomads fought for the Margrave. To lose against Navalnia is a sure path to servitude.”
“Even more reason to act,” Lansius responded. “Hostile or not, Edessa has been the bulwark that kept the Empire away. Lose it, and all of Midlandia and Lowlandia are exposed. Edessa’s population is nearly half of Midlandia’s. Can we survive three million souls being turned into slave armies?”
The hall went still, struck harder than before. No one found words for it. While none believed every soul would be chained and armed, even a fraction would number in the hundreds of thousands.
“Now the question is this,” Lansius pressed on, giving them little time to process. “Do we wait for that to happen and risk fighting such a war in our own land? Or do we fight it in Edessa?”
He let the question settle.
“We already know this would involve a force of more than thirty thousand Navalnians. Even if we won, the destruction would be crippling, and it would take decades to recover.”
A grim silence followed, now that they understood the enemy’s designs.
“So,” Lansius asked, his voice hard enough to cut through the hall. “What say you? What will the council and the Shogunate decide? Do we send a relief force, or let Edessa fall?”
***
PS: A bit under the weather here, but I hope the chapter wasn’t affected.😅
So, Edessa and Navalnia. It’s going to be a large-scale battle next year if Lansius’ prediction is correct.🤔
Do you think the Shogunate should participate?
I’m sure Lansius has more in mind than just sending help blindly.
More to come next chapter!
As always, gratitude for supporting Horizon of War! 💎💖🦆