Sir Harold & Clementine
Once a simple wandering knight, Sir Harold’s fate changed when his band of armed riders accepted an invitation to Korelia to defend the city from Lowlandian nobles. No other band would take such a mission, even for good pay, for it was nearly suicidal. But their patron, Lord Bengrieve, convinced them that Korelia was worth fighting for, and that its new lord had defeated the famed Lord Robert, the Lion of Lowlandia.
Their group travelled to Korelia, where Sir Harold fought by Lord Lansius’ side. He saw the Lord’s courage and his brilliance on the battlefield. What had seemed like a single contract soon became a lasting bond.
From that time onward, Sir Harold was almost always by Lord Lansius’ side. He felt he had found his calling in life.
Under the Lord’s tutelage, he began to understand the true importance of logistics. Information, grain, carts, morale, timing, all of these mattered as much as swords. He also absorbed many of the Lord’s approaches to war, ideas that were unthinkable at first, yet somehow made perfect sense once explained.
Sir Harold participated in three famed campaigns: the Korimor campaign, the South Hill campaign, and the Umberland campaign. Through them, he amassed merit and hard-earned battle experience. In Umberland, he gained a squire, Francisca. Though the half-kin showed romantic interest in him, the knight remained steadfast, treating her as an honored guest.
Holding to the ideals of knighthood as he understood them, he had wished to remain single, yet married Saint Candidate Clementine at the end of the Midlandia campaign. It began with sympathy for her plight as his captive, but her confidence and independence soon won his respect. Though a member of the Monastery, she kept her own counsel and did not trust the Saint at face value. That made her bold move acceptable to him.
Clementine soon proved herself trustworthy and became the House’s first healer. She joined the mobile field medics, which the Lord had envisioned to accompany the main army on campaign. He understood that many deaths in war happened after the battle, caused by insufficient, poor, or nonexistent medical care.
Because of her marriage to Sir Harold and her background as a Saint Candidate, Clementine became a mentor, even while disguised. She worked alongside senior physicians, helping to create guides and healing procedures.
Her participation also brought her closer to Sir Harold, who often had to march with the army as the realm continued to fall into trouble.
Though not officially deployed, Clementine and her medical team proved their worth during the One Day Rebellion, saving many. Once the situation in Canardia settled down, she took a step back from most duties and tried to live as a normal noblewoman.
However, peace remained elusive. Sir Harold soon marched on another mission, then another, until war brought him against a place Clementine knew all too well: the Monastery.
Though she did not wish to fight her Sisters, Clementine requested to be included in the reinforcements. She wanted to remain close to Sir Harold, and she knew the Monastery had secrets of its own. As she had feared, Sir Harold was badly wounded near the end of the bloody campaign, one that saw the rise of liches, wraiths, and the undead.
She had been instructed to set everything else aside and make Sir Harold her priority. She did exactly that, nursing the unresponsive man with patience, unbothered by how slowly he recovered.
...
Canardia, Present Day
The sun hung low over the city, pale and weak behind the falling snow. A hard wind came down from the Targe Mountains far to the west, carrying a bitter chill from the borderlands between Centuria and Elandia.
Inside their mansion, Sir Harold sat on the bed and watched as Clementine unwrapped the bandage from his hand.
“It’s already dry and healed,” his wife remarked. She examined the wound a little longer, then set the clean bandage aside. “There’s no need to wrap it again.”
Sir Harold tried to flex his hand. But even without the bandage, his sword arm felt weak, and his little finger barely reacted at all. The Lich Mother’s magic and curse had been so powerful that either one might have killed him. If not for the Saint Candidates’ intervention, he would have died.
It was a miracle that the Lord and Lady had managed to best the Lich Mother, when their retinue had succumbed to corrupted magic.
Is that the strength of fate...?
The question returned to him, as it had many times before. He had yet to find a satisfying answer. Only one thing seemed certain: the Lord and Lady were not like other people. Even facing a Fell Creature, they had stood their ground and prevailed.
“Perhaps the pilgrims had a point,” he whispered to himself.
Clementine turned. “Did you say something?”
“No," he replied. "Just something on my mind.”
Again, Sir Harold flexed his fingers harder, but his little finger only curled a little. His wrist was the same, along with the smaller movements of his hand. Everything felt sluggish and awkward. He had lost most of the fine control he had taken for granted all his life.
Never mind picking up a sword. Even eating had become a new experience.
Others might have been devastated by it, but Sir Harold simply understood that the training needed to return to fighting shape would be brutal. Fortunately, he had all winter.
“Let’s get you changed,” Clementine said.
Even after two months, rising from the bed still took effort. Not only because of the pain, but because his leg muscles seemed to have forgotten how to move as they once had. It might have been the effect of the Saint’s lightning magic, the curse, or even a side effect of the high dose of healing magic.
Clementine had helped him through it every day, patiently teaching him how to stand, walk, and dress himself again.
Afterward, they prepared to make their way to the adjoining hall for supper. Tonight was special, for it was their New Year feast. Still, with him recovering, it was bound to be a private affair. When Clementine stepped close to offer her arm again, Sir Harold shook his head.
“I can walk,” he said, refusing the help.
“I’m strong enough,” Clementine insisted. She slipped his right arm over her shoulders and supported him by the waist.
In that manner, they exited the room through the door, which had already been opened by a chambermaid.
“Gratitude,” Sir Harold said.
“It’s no trouble, Sir,” the chambermaid replied kindly. They were Canardia-born, but their respect and warmth seemed genuine. The House had selected good maids and servants for his household.
Helped by Clementine, Sir Harold stepped out of his room and into the adjoining hall where they had prepared the meal. A fire roared in the hearth, filling the place with welcome warmth against the winter cold. There, he found another woman waiting.
He immediately recognized Sister Emma, who curtsied at once.
“Husband, this is Sister Emma,” Clementine introduced her. “She’s come for a visit.”
“We’ve met,” Harold said as Clementine helped him sit. “My gratitude for helping me and my men in the Monastery.”
“Husband, she did more than that.” Clementine gave him a soft smile. “She brought you back. If not for her, you would not have made it.”
“Ah,” he remarked, looking at Emma with newfound respect. “Then my gratitude is even greater.”
“No, no.” Emma waved it off. “That gratitude is misplaced. It was Dame Jane, the masked Hunter, who revived you using the lich’s specter. I tried to help, but I failed.”
Clementine shook her head and sighed. “All our studies in medicine and healing, and in the end, a strike with a scepter was what healed people.”
Emma giggled at that.
Changing the subject, Sir Harold asked their guest, “Would you like to join us for supper?”
“She’s not here only for the meal,” Clementine said, her voice a little nervous.
Sir Harold thought nothing of it at first. “Right. It’s already late, and the snow is coming down again. You’re welcome to spend the night here.”
Emma sat a little awkwardly, a blush rising on her cheeks that made her seem almost cute rather than graceful. Only then did he become suspicious.
But it was too late. Clementine had already spoken. “Husband, my dear friend wishes to live with us,” she said bluntly. “Can you extend the same offer you once gave me?”
Sir Harold inhaled sharply at his wife’s tactless proposal. He turned to Emma, who could not quite hide her nervousness. “Despite all the trouble with the Monastery, you are still a healer. With my recommendation, I’m sure you could secure a post in the Lord’s service.”
“I’ve met the Lord,” Emma said. “The issue is not about a post.”
Clementine came to her help. “She came because she wishes to place herself under your protection."
“I’m flattered,” he said, choosing his words with care, “but surely there are other single knights. I could help arrange a betrothal.”
“They are suspicious of former Saint Candidates.” Emma's smile fading, though her voice remained calm. “I have no dowry, no land, and no kin with standing to speak for me. Many of the survivors are no better placed. Without a household or patron to answer for them, they will be easy prey for every accusation. I do not ask this out of helplessness. I ask because someone must have the standing to defend the innocents.”
Clementine explained further. “If she entered the Lord’s retinue, it would shield her. But as a new retainer, she would have no influence to protect the others. If she became a wife to a Banneret, men would think twice before moving against her or those under her care.”
“I do not wish to stand against the bailiff,” Sir Harold replied calmly. “Besides, I have already married a Saint Candidate.”
Clementine turned her face away and muttered, “Well, I was never that good of a member. I mostly survived on my own with my little sister. Emma is different. She is leading a large group of survivors.”
Sir Harold raised his weakened hand to his brow and rubbed it slowly. “People will laugh at me,” he muttered. “I can barely walk, yet I am taking another wife.”
“You don't have to marry me,” Emma said quickly, then drew herself straighter. “Accept me into your household as a mistress, if that is the place you can offer. With your name behind me, I can still speak for the survivors without being brushed aside.”
Sir Harold looked at them both, his expression calm knowing that the choice rested with him. He tried to refuse without wounding her. “I do not think it's proper or wise for a knight to take a second wife.”
Clementine took his words differently. “You are a Banneret. Men of lesser rank keep larger households. No one would think it strange.”
“I’m not the only Banneret,” he answered. "Try, Sir Morton."
“We can’t,” Emma replied, drawing his attention. “The old Sister already entrusted Anna to him.”
“Anna...” he repeated, trying to remember the familiar name.
“She’s an apothecary. Now, she’s helping Sir Morton with his treatment. Anna carries deep guilt for having been possessed, and many still regard her with suspicion, even hatred. Since her inner vessel was destroyed, she’s no longer a Healer and has nowhere else to go.”
Sir Harold remained quiet and gave no comment.
Desperate, Clementine tried a different tactic. She leaned close to his ear and murmured, “Have mercy on your one wife. At night, you are too much for me alone. I would not mind sharing...”
Emma looked aside and faked a cough. She had clearly overheard, for her face had turned red.
Harold exhaled deeply. His wife was often too bold for her own good. While her words made him reconsider, it did not resolve the matter. “It would set a poor precedent if I allowed a woman to enter my House merely because my wife favored her.”
“You would have the survivors’ allegiance,” Emma declared. “My group alone numbers thirty. Half are healers, half are students, and at least five are adept at strengthening magic.”
“They will be as useful as I am,” Clementine added.
The prospect suddenly became more interesting. The army needed healers and half-mages, and this would make the arrangement look far less like romance and far more like a matter of service to the realm.
But before he could say anything, a light knock sounded at the door.
The chambermaid opened it just enough to look inside. “Pardon, Sir. The infirmarian has arrived.”
Harold turned as another woman stepped in behind the maid. She gave a proper curtsy, still wrapped in a thick travelling cloak damp from the snow, with a leather bag hanging from one shoulder. “I hope to be of service during your recovery, Sir.”
He recognized her at once. She was the infirmarian who had treated him after he faced the giant undead in the Healing Hall. Without the darkened blood and grime from the battlefield, her gentle features were easier to see. She carried herself with quiet grace, not like a court lady seeking attention, but like someone accustomed to sickrooms, blood, and frightened men.
Seeing them all together, a comparison naturally formed. Clementine was strong, independent, boyish, and hard to predict. Emma was clever, refined, and high-born in bearing. The infirmarian, by contrast, was gentle and approachable, with a motherly charm that seemed to soothe the room around her.
Seeing Harold stiffen, Clementine could not resist. She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Careful. This one may ask for your protection too.”
“What?” Sir Harold blurted, caught off guard.
Emma tried her hardest to stifle a laugh, but her face turned red again. Clementine lost her composure and laughed. “I’m just joking."
The infirmarian tilted her head, not knowing what had just happened, though she kept a small, polite smile.
“She’s been transferred to our House at the Lady’s request,” Clementine explained.
“The Lady?” Harold asked.
“The Lady seems to have received good reports of her service to you. The transfer is permanent.”
Fearing another scheme, Harold blurted, “I’ll sort this out.”
Hearing that, the infirmarian stepped forward. “Sir, please. I came of my own will to care for you.”
Sir Harold could not quite believe what he’d heard.
“The Maester told me to remain near you because the recovery will be long, and you’ll require daily assistance,” she explained. “He’s seen men like this before. It may take two or three years before you can move as nimbly as you once did.”
Furrows appeared on Sir Harold’s brow. Two years were far longer than he’d expected.
“Unfortunately, healing magic alone won’t help you with this,” Clementine said. “What you need now is slower work. The muscles must be rubbed, the joints trained, and the body made to remember what it has forgotten. You’ll need to relearn everything, from how you stand and walk, to how you run, even how to wash your own face without strain.”
The infirmarian eagerly added, “If you can swim, the recovery will be faster. Water bears part of the body’s weight, so the limbs may move without carrying the full burden. We can begin that next spring.”
Ice-cold swimming, then.
Sir Harold looked at her for a long moment. “You seem knowledgeable.”
“I learned from a good Maester,” she replied. “He recommended me, and through Lady Ingrid, the Lady personally entrusted me with this responsibility. They wish their champion to recover fully.”
“Lady Audrey actually did?”
“Yes, Sir. Those are my orders,” she said, ever polite.
To refuse a talented infirmarian while he was still recovering would be foolish. And without good reason, rejecting her would only risk offending the Lady. Compared to the issue with Emma, this choice was far clearer.
Harold studied her for a moment, then asked, “What is your name?”
“My name is Suzette. My great-grandfather came from the north. Most people call me Suzie.” She reached into her bag and searched through its contents. “Also, I was entrusted with this letter. I believe it’s from Sir Morton.”
“Morton?” Harold said, accepting the letter from Suzie. Then he looked to the other women. “Please excuse me.”
“Not at all,” Emma replied with her usual grace.
Meanwhile, Clementine had ordered the servants to bring out enough food for two guests.
Sir Morton’s letter was brief and colorful.
Brother,
Annum novum faustum felicem tibi!*
I hope your breath still runs deep and long, as mine does. We have just survived a feat of legend, and I have little doubt that minstrels and bards will sing songs of us.
When spring comes again next year, let us share a glider and fly once more. I miss truly riding the skies like birds and dragons.
P.S. Do not let our wives know. That would be complicated.
Eat this letter. It is written on new vellum. Chewable enough.
Sir Harold chuckled at the jest. He knew what his fellow Banneret wanted. The airship, even at its fastest, did not behave like a bird. It was more like a carriage in the sky. But the glider was a different matter entirely.
He dipped the letter into his goblet of wine to render it unreadable, then explained to the three curious women, “Military secret.”
Outside, the snow kept falling.
*A happy and fortunate new year to you!
***
Canardia
Midlandia felt winter earlier than Lowlandia, and with the roads worsening, news traveled slowly. Even so, one night, shortly after the new year of the Elven Calendar, a coded message from Korelia reached the first optical telegraph tower. Amid the cold and falling snow, lights carried the signal through the young network, first to Ornietia, then from post to post until it reached Canardia.
It took a day for Canardia’s cipher clerk to decode it. When the council gathered to read its contents, they were so shaken that they sealed the message again and requested confirmation from Korelia.
The urgent message and reply through the network, followed by hawks flying through winter weather, took five days.
When the reply arrived and the decoding began, Sir Harold was informed. Despite his unsteady gait, he made his way to the council hall, helped by his wife, Sister Clementine.
Dame Daniella, as Canardia’s administrator, had read the first letter brought by the cipher clerk.
“We have another letter,” she said to the chamber. “It’s from the Lord Shogun himself.”
Uneasy glances passed around the council.
Dame Daniella gave the second letter to Lord Robert, who took it upon himself to read it before them.
“This is the Lord Shogun’s own message, verified by the Lady, Lady Tanya, and the members of the Shogunate.” The Old Lion paused.
“Under ordinary circumstances, I would study the wax seals, and the hand in which the message was written. But this came through the optical telegraph, in code.” He let the words hang for a moment. “So keep your judgment guarded.”
Then he read.
“If you are reading this, then I have fallen into a deep sleep.
I will keep this brief, so there is little risk of misrepresentation.
1. No change in military leadership. It's not required at this time. The bannerets, captains, and all officers are to remain at their posts, perform their duties, and conduct themselves honorably.
2. Recruitment and training are to continue as agreed. Refer to my last letter.
3. Study the two plans for Edessa. We're not there to help, but to ensure the destruction of Navalnia’s designs.
4. Don't mourn for me. There's no need to come to Korelia. Don't slay anything in my name.
5. If this part of the letter has reached you, then there's no infighting and no succession crisis. The position of Lord Shogun can be left empty. The council may decide matters by vote, with Lady Audrey holding four additional votes as regent for my son, representing Korelia, South Hill, Midlandia, and Corinthia.
6. Korelia wish to breed race ducks. Send 5 pairs when the weather permits. By the Ancients, keep them content. Let no noble buy them. They are strictly for Shogunate military purposes.
Written under my authority,
Lansius
Lord Shogun of the Grand Alliance, Count of Midlandia."
The duck part sent a murmur through the hall.
Lord Robert lowered the letter and let out a short chuckle, unable to help himself. “Why are the ducks mentioned in a letter of such importance?”
“Because ducks are an important matter,” Captain Karl said with a snort. He, of all men, would know. Ducks had saved him on the night of the rebellion.
That drew a few strained smiles from the council.
“I suppose that’s the Lord Shogun for us,” Dame Daniella said, her voice softer.
Captain Karl turned to Sir Harold. “Is it only me, or does the Lord not sound like a dying man?”
“Indeed,” Sir Harold agreed. He was the Banneret and the senior-most of the Lord’s retinue in the chamber. “It’s probably an illness. He has never been in full health.”
“But he bested the Lich Mother,” Lord Robert muttered. “Was the report exaggerated, perhaps?”
“No,” Sir Harold answered firmly. “He defeated the undead bitch. This sickness is probably the price he paid for it.”
His jaw tightened. “If only I’d been stronger.”
Clementine put her hand over his.
Silence settled over the chamber.
The Lord Shogun had done so much for them, even at the cost of his own life.
Lord Robert turned to the hall and declared, “White Lake will remain loyal to the Shogunate.”
“And my House,” Sir Harold said.
The old knight from Three Hills also spoke. “My Lord Jorge has given his sign. The Black Knights will abide by it.”
“Our House stands under the Blue and Bronze,” Captain Karl said.
Dame Daniella, his wife, nodded beside him. “As will the Shogunate Korelia Bank.”
Her words carried more weight than most in the hall realized. The Bank was still young, but it already employed hundreds of clerks and scribes, many of them esquires or lesser nobles. It also kept an equal number of guards and armed retainers, from common sentries posted at its branches and vaults, to nomadic riders, veteran men-at-arms, and even half-kin when needed.
It was also in the process of procuring two small, fast airships from Dawn, the first of their kind to be built either in Korelia or Midlandia, depending on Lord Avery’s discretion.
Even without the airships, such a force was already enough to topple a weak barony or enforce any contract made under the Shogunate’s authority.
It was one of the reasons Lord Lansius had chosen Dame Daniella as administrator. If the Shogunate army was slow to react, mired in politics, or already deployed elsewhere, she still had forces of her own to answer a crisis.
***
Elandia – Nicopola Border
Foot of the South Targe Mountain Range
Cold air lingered far beneath the mountain. Dust hung stale and unmoving, caught in the harsh white light shining from the smoothed stone ceiling. It was a light without warmth or flicker, too clean for the old stone chamber below.
Old timber shelves stood neatly against the walls, where the plaster had worn thin with time. Once, they might have held tools, records, or provisions. Now they carried artifacts from the height of the Imperium era. The chamber had been cleaned more than once, yet cobwebs still clung to the corners and gathered in places no broom could easily reach.
Near the entrance, a sturdy sheet-iron door stood ajar, opening to a dimly lit, empty corridor. Beside it, seated on wooden crates covered with rough canvas, a delicate-looking girl sat bundled in a woolen coat, watching in silence.
Long brown hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders. Her face was smooth and still, too fair for the damp stone and dust of the chamber, her gaze fixed on the young man testing the prosthesis fitted to his leg.
“There. Try to move it,” said Paulos, the talented official who had fled the Capital. “It should be more comfortable now.”
The young man with unkempt short hair obeyed. He took one careful step, then another, the prosthetic foot knocking softly against the cold stone floor.
Gaining confidence, he walked faster around the chamber Paulos used as his workshop. At a glance, the place looked chaotic, with piles of tools, buckets of scraps, dirty rags, broken devices, and half-cleaned artifacts scattered everywhere. Yet there was order in the chaos. Paulos knew exactly where everything was, and he refused to let anyone arrange it for him.
After a dozen steps and a few turns, the young man remarked, “Paulos, you’re a magician. This feels so much better.”
Paulos, who looked younger than his age, grinned in satisfaction. “I adjusted the springs and tension to suit your gait. The rubber was worn as well, so I replaced it with thick leather. It’s not original, but it should do.”
The elvish figure continued to watch Paulos and his student silently from the wooden crate, sitting so still she almost seemed like a doll. Her right hand rested on her lap, while her left arm hung loose at her side. Her left hand was gone, along with part of her forearm, leaving only a scarred stump just below the elbow.
Her journey to Vindebona had spilled the blood of many.
***
PS: Umm, I’m sure there are a lot of questions.
This is the last chapter she appeared in, in case anyone wants a quick memory refresh: Chapter 279 (check the middle part)
Who do you think the young man with the prosthetic leg is?
More about them next chapter!🔥
The chapter image is from the previous chapter: Lord Avery’s arrival to Korelia. He's actually singing White Christmas. The lyric "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas..." but due to copyright, I can't use it, otherwise, patreon bot will flag the chapter.😅
As always, gratitude for supporting Horizon of War! 💎💖🦆