Horizon of War Series

Chapter 222: Under the Castle's Gaze

Under the Castle's Gaze

Farkas

Evening settled over the banks of the Midlandia River, just outside Ploiesta. Thousands of weary recruits, fresh from training, marched toward their camp, hunger gnawing at them. Unbeknownst to them, a group of riders had just arrived bearing instructions from Canardia for a special meal: pasta. It was the dry provision they had carried all the way from Korelia.

The pasta would be served tonight, a proving ground for a dish unfamiliar to many. There had been concerns about whether the recruits would accept it, but those worries quickly vanished. At first, the famished men were surprised by the taste, but soon they enthusiastically devoured it. They ate eagerly, offering nothing but praise and clamoring for more.

Farkas stood nearby, observing the scene briefly before returning to his men in their tent, set apart from the crowd. His men sat on a carpet, forming a circle around platters of food. Their expressions were eager, but not for the meal.

"Message from Centuria?" one of them, a minstrel in lavish clothes, asked, his tone plain, masking his curiosity with ease.

Farkas looked at his men. They were all skirmishers, part of the Black Bandits' forward scouts, also known as the Orange Skalds. They were spies in various disguises. He held up the letter for them to see. "The Lord expects great things from you. He gives his blessing. You are to operate in northern Midlandia. Find allies, make neutrals agreeable to our cause, and when needed sow chaos."

They nodded in silent approval, faint smiles and smirks passing between them.

"However," Farkas added, "the Lord asks me to delay the operation if you need more time to recover from the last engagement."

Satisfied with their answer, Farkas sat down to join them, picking up his fork and digging into his plate of pale pasta topped with crumbled salted meat. "It’s remarkable how the Lord manages to feed so many using the very food we carried from Korelia," he remarked.

"It doesn’t stale and still tastes just like the kind they serve in Korelia’s stalls," one of the men replied with a nod of approval.

"How are the troops reacting to this?" the minstrel in lavish clothes asked as he ate.

"They're eating well," Farkas replied. "Why, starting to care for them? Or do you miss my brown grain and blood sausage gruel?" he quipped.

"No, I'm just worried these Midlandians will find our fine goat cheese and salted meat too delicate and refined for their tastes," the minstrel jested.

His remark drew a burst of laughter from the group.

"Hey, many of us are Midlandians here," another complained in jest.

"My apologies, I forgot. You lot already smell distinctly Lowlandian," the minstrel shot back, earning a wave of approval from the others.

"His concern isn’t baseless," an older man commented. "When we set out from Canardia, everyone had been given three days’ worth of rations for the march. On the first night, two groups gorged themselves and tossed the leftovers. The next day, they were starving, whining, and complaining. We only found out when they stole from another group."

"Ah, classic Midlandian attitude," someone quipped, prompting a round of friendly mockery and playful insults.

"That’s rich, coming from men whose fathers were raiders," a Midlandian retorted.

"And our mothers," his Lowlandian battle brother added proudly, drawing even more laughter.

Farkas glanced around at them fondly. "Eat well, brothers. Once you cross the river, we likely won’t see each other again for a long time."

His group would rendezvous with the Orange Skalds, who had already infiltrated the region to gather intelligence. If they found a likely ally, they would arrange a clandestine meeting. If an estranged House needed a lethal favor in a succession dispute, they might offer their assistance.

"We're going to miss you, Captain," one said, prompting soft chuckles from the others.

Despite the playful insults, the line between who they once were and who they had become had blurred. They had adopted a new identity as House Lansius' finest, proudly serving as the Shogun's eyes and ears. Many, being of Midlandian origin, could easily blend into the local populace without arousing any suspicion.

Farkas was Lowlandian, but it wasn’t his accent that kept him from joining the mission. The reason he couldn’t join them lay in the Lord’s orders. In the same dispatch, the Lord Shogun had explicitly forbidden his participation. New troubles were brewing in Three Hills, and the Lord trusted him to return to the city that had stripped him of his naivety, a place where he had borne the weight of command and witnessed his men die because of his inexperience.

He was grateful for this second chance to make amends. Farkas vowed in his heart that this time the smugglers would be uprooted.

***

Canardia Castle

Inside a castle, several areas were designated for lower-ranking staff to dine and rest between tasks. The servants typically used the buttery areas near the kitchen. Although these rooms were primarily intended for storing goods, they also served as workspaces and informal spaces for gathering and dining.

Some castles also featured service wings, which were separate corridors or sections designated for servants. These allowed them to move around the castle and access different areas without disturbing the activities of the noble household. Often, these spaces included small lounges where servants could rest and dine.

Canardia Castle, though modest compared to the largest castles in the region, was also equipped with dedicated servants' quarters that functioned much like a mess hall. Although far less ornate than the Great Hall, this space provided the staff with a social area where they could relax without worrying about the noble family, top retainers, or guests.

Like many other available spaces in the castle, at night the servants' quarters also served as sleeping areas for the lower-ranking male staff, since space inside remained limited.

Just after midday, stifled laughter echoed through a narrow corridor in the service wing assigned to the ladies-in-waiting. As was often the case, staff arrangements were put in place to prevent conflicts among the castle's occupants. This separation was necessary because the ladies-in-waiting typically came from knightly or esquire families, giving them a higher status than common folk. Moreover, since they were young, incidents might arise if they mingled too freely with maids and servants in unsupervised, informal settings.

Lady Audrey herself took part in making this arrangement. As a former squire, she was well aware of the dynamics between the social classes that made up the castle staff. Furthermore, she had gained valuable experience during her various short tenures in several castles across Lowlandia. Fortunately, everyone, even her newest subjects, held her in great respect and feared her fair but formidable reputation.

The stifled laughter echoed again. As intended, the occupants of these service wings could pour their hearts out without worrying too much about being overheard.

"Are the Elandians really that stupid?" one whispered, huddled close and still stifling giggles after hearing the latest joke.

"It must be because of their bitter drinks. What do they call it? Beore?"

"Beer," another exclaimed, and they giggled again, even though it wasn't particularly funny.

"A bitter drink instead of ale or mead, such scandal," another of the five ladies added.

One fine lady with sun freckles on her cheeks leaned in and said, "I heard a ridiculous story the other day."

Despite still catching their breath from the previous joke, they eagerly leaned in to listen.

"A Lowlandian, a Midlandian, and an Elandian were captured by nomads on the plains," she began. "The fearsome tribe leader told them that if they wanted to live, they had to complete two tasks. First, they had to bring back ten of any item they could find on the steppe before sundown."

The lady continued, "The Lowlandian returned first, carrying ten costard fruits, thinking they would serve as a tribute. However, the tribe leader revealed the second task. He had to fit all ten pieces up his derriere."

The group of ladies gasped and giggled at the naughty joke.

"Shocked yet fearing for his life, the Lowlandian began. He managed three before giving up and pleading for mercy, but the tribe leader showed none and killed him on the spot."

The girls gasped again, only this time slightly uncomfortable with the cruelty.

"Shortly after, the Midlandian arrived with ten wild cherries plucked from the bushes. The tribe leader then told him what he had to do next. As he saw the body of the dead Lowlandian, the poor man quickly started inserting as many as he could into his derriere. But when he reached eight, he stopped and burst into laughter."

The girls giggled in anticipation as the freckled lady continued, "Now the tribe leader was so confused that he said, 'Why are you laughing? You were almost done!' And the poor Midlandian man replied, 'I know! But I just saw the Elandian arrive with ten large cactuses.'"

The whole chamber erupted into uproarious laughter.

Their faces were reddened, their breaths short and shallow. But the freckled lady declared, "I still have another!"

Without waiting for her friend's approval, she recited, "A Lowlandian, a Midlandian, and an Elandian visited a magical pond. They were told that whatever they shouted while jumping in, the water would transform into it. The Lowlandian went first. He took a running start, leaped, and shouted: Goat milk! And the water magically turned to goat milk. After swimming and drinking his fill, he happily climbed out."

Her friends' faces were already smiling, eager to find out the rest of the joke.

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"The Midlandian was next. He ran, jumped, and called out: Ale! And the milk in the pool changed into ale. He made a big splash, swam around, and drank merrily. He nearly passed out when he climbed out with a big satisfied grin."

A younger lady couldn't stop herself, venturing, "And then the Elandian asked for bitter beer?" But she was promptly shushed by the others.

The freckled lady suppressed a giggle before continuing, "Then came the Elandian. He had seen the magic pond and got so excited that he ran toward it. But just as he reached the edge, he slipped on spilled ale and shouted: Shit!"

The girls erupted into manic laughter, unable to maintain their lady-like composure any longer. Their voices grew hoarse as they laughed uncontrollably. Some even dropped to the floor, trembling, unable to contain their mirth.

Unknown to them, Francisca was listening from a secluded place next door. Her powerful half-breed hearing allowed her to catch every detail despite being in a different chamber. She retold the story to Margo, who promptly stifled his chuckle several times.

The two were paired together, as Margo's feminine, non-commanding features and his squire posting allowed him to use these service wings without arousing suspicion.

"I'm surprised the ladies in here look sophisticated yet still love crass jokes," Francisca whispered with her maw forming a smile.

"Everyone is like that," he responded lightly.

"Even dear lady Valerie?" Francisca teased, already sensing the squire's boyish affection for the older blonde mage.

"If only she could reveal that side to me," Margo, whose face was as delicate as a lady's, muttered meekly, trusting Francisca to keep a secret.

The half-breed grinned widely, showing her fangs.

Margo decided to change the subject. "Well, now we know that they're not sharing any of Saint Nay's teachings or planning anything in secret."

"Right." Francisca nodded, satisfied that they hadn't found anything suspicious among the new staff. "It seems the castle staff is mostly in the clear." She was confident that she hadn't detected anything unusual other than usual fear and anxiety that arose whenever she or other high-ranking individuals were around.

Margo agreed. "We checked everyone. We already did the guards, servants, maids, and now even the ladies-in-waiting."

Francisca crossed her powerful arms before saying, "It means we don't need a constant lookout on our castle staff. But still, caution is always prudent."

***

South Elandia

The sound of flutes, merry tunes, and children playing filled the open air. The sky was a vivid blue, and even the usually drab trees and mountains surrounding them appeared joyful. Most of the morning fog had lifted, allowing the sunrise to bathe the land in a soft, golden glow. The air carried the gentle scent of wildflowers, pine, and fresh earth. Summer in Elandia was pure bliss.

It was late morning when people began to roll up their bedrolls after breakfast. The weather was so agreeable that for the past two weeks, many had not bothered to erect tents, choosing instead to sleep on blankets wherever they could.

Laughter filled the air as more children ran about. A month ago, this kind of commotion had been a welcome distraction for the troops, but as the number of camp followers grew, some began to worry.

"Why is the commander allowing this?" one man asked as he loaded his rolled bedroll, canvas, and blanket into the cart.

"The bitter drink or the kids?" one ventured in jest, busy lubricating the cart's wheel axle with a greasy concoction of dark waste oil and tallow.

"Both," the first confirmed, gathering the others' attention. "That beer stuff is horrid."

"But it stays good far longer than ale. Would you prefer swampy-smelling water or that?" the busy man answered.

"Yuck," he reacted with a shrug, then recalled his complaint. "About the kids and them," he said, gesturing toward the hundreds of people, including old men, couples with children, and even groups of animals. "How did this happen? We started with a few hundred men-at-arms, and now we have a flock of families tailing behind us."

A few concerned smiles appeared among those who paused to listen, all sharing the same worry.

Having finished his work, the man tending the cart set aside his brush and bucket of greasy oil, and replied, "Well, they're just camp followers. Wherever you march, you'll find peddlers, travelers, and all kinds of people."

"But I've never seen so many following so few," the first man retorted as more of the crew loaded their gear into the cart.

"People tend to act like a herd," Sir Munius answered from behind, having overheard the conversation.

"Sir," they greeted, gazing at him, expecting an explanation.

The tall and charming knight explained, "Apart from peddlers, common folks rarely follow a group of armed men unless they are travelers seeking protection. However, once several families joined, curiosity naturally spread. Some began asking questions and soon discovered that these families were following us in search of a better place to live. After that, more and more joined."

"Seriously? Who told them that?"

"Who knows," Sir Munius replied amusedly before adding, "but Lady Sagaria seems to allow them to follow."

His words seemed to pacify the men. In truth, Munius was also concerned but could not show it. Who would have thought that so many did not want to live in Elandia anymore? It was enough to spur them to venture out, recalling a legend of sanctuary at the foot of Targe Mountain.

"But, Sir, where are we going exactly?" the first man asked again, humbly. "We have long journeyed through the dangerous, boggy marshes, treading over sinking planks. Many nearly lost their lives if not for the blessed lady's help. And now we have arrived in South Elandia proper, but I can't help but notice that we keep procuring more supplies and even carts."

Sir Munius gazed at the men and answered, "We are still heading southeast."

"Are we crossing into Nicopola?" another inquired curiously.

"Likely, but we are not heading for the province proper. From what I know, only the outskirts lie below the mountain," the knight explained.

"Why there? Is the land fertile?"

Sir Munius could not reveal the main reason, though he knew there were other objectives. "There are reasons to believe that the city has strong walls and is largely unoccupied. The land should be agreeable and far from any troubles. We can use it as a base to wait until the storm brought on by the fall of the Imperium passes."

His answer seemed to satisfy everyone, and they slowly returned to their work. They needed to be on the road, but there was no rush. Burdened by the camp followers, they could not march quickly. Although there was no explicit order to protect them, the commander cared enough not to let them fall too far behind.

Unbeknownst to them, Knight Commander Bald Eagle had been busy handling diplomacy since spring. With so many followers in tow, the armed refugee group had naturally raised alarm among neighboring towns, cities, and villages. For several weeks, local authorities had assigned armed escorts to keep a close watch on the group. Tensions ran high, but fortunately, after several meetings and with the help of several officials from the Capital who had joined them, they were recognized as refugees.

The new Lord of South Elandia seemingly consented to their request and allowed them to pass through Elandia without issue. Soon, they would pass a series of castle towns and a wooden fort built just last year to prevent Nicopolan incursions into Elandia. After that, they would essentially be crossing the border and truly be on their own.

***

Canardia

Four days after Sir Michael and Dame Daniella's arrival, Lansius had just finished meeting with the Midlandia Office Work, many were familiar, friendly faces from Lowlandia. They were his most trusted and capable of following his sometimes unprecedented ideas. After the meeting, he reviewed his still unfinished response to the pirate crisis in Corinthia and likely smuggler issue in Three Hills.

"The Black Guild," he muttered, finding it distasteful.

After a while, he moved on to the Hunter Guild affair. Following Sir Stan's advice in a letter, Lansius had delegated the matter to a team led by Sir Harold and Sir Morton. This decision was due to the Guild's strict policy of avoiding heated discussions that could cause offense or create rifts. This meant the process became lengthy, involving introductions, preliminary discussions, and the establishment of a set of rules before any real discussion could begin.

This was not the straightforward negotiation Lansius had anticipated, but rather a carefully structured dialogue with predefined topics and limitations. Thinking back, it was no surprise that the guild's origins dated back thousands of years. These Fell Beast Hunters, as they preferred to be called rather than assassins, had operated with painstaking caution and were meticulous in every aspect of their dealings.

Despite their shady reputation, often linked to assassination rumors, they assured Lansius' men that they had no involvement in the Capital and were not in league with the Hundred Sages. They admitted, however, to sending a Hunter to Korelia, explaining that the Midlandia civil war threatened their operations in the region against the fell beasts. They maintained that their Guild did not participate in politics and, for the most part, answered only to the highest regional authority.

Carrying a bundle of parchment and scrolls, Lansius made his way to his private hall to work. It was cooler there for reasons he could only guess, likely due to Audrey’s magic subtly regulating the air.

Margo and the guards bowed and opened the doors for him, while Sterling retired to his chamber to rest after accompanying him all morning.

Lansius had just dropped the parchment and scrolls onto the table when Audrey’s voice called from behind. "Back already?"

"Yes, I—" He turned, and the sight of her made his heart skip a beat. Her athletic form and growing belly were hers, but her face had transformed into something utterly captivating. Her nose seemed more refined, her jaw elegantly sharpened, and her brows perfectly framed those familiar, stunning eyes. She was still Audrey, but there was an added elegance that made her seem almost regal.

Audrey's sharp senses quickly picked up on his slower-than-usual reaction, and her gaze narrowed. "Something wrong?" She glanced left and right, her hand instinctively moving to the hilt of her sword.

"No, no," Lansius stammered, his voice unsure. "You look... different."

She frowned, and then her expression softened as realization struck. "Oh! Makeup."

"Makeup?" Lansius asked, his brows knitting.

"Yes, Valerie is getting some makeup, so we decided to try a little." Then, without hesitation and with pure, unbridled confidence, she asked, "Do I look good wearing it?"

That was not a question but a statement. Lansius chuckled softly, walked toward her, and knelt before her. "I'll give you another airship or two. Be my wife again."

She giggled, revealing her rarely seen shy side. "Oh, you silly." Her playful gaze, from below like a predator sizing up its prey, made Lansius grin inwardly; he had grown to love it. Then her eyes shifted slightly as if in thought, and a gentle, merry smile curved her lips. "Lans, I'll marry you again if I can get another airship."

"I'm thinking of getting one for you every time you get pregnant," Lansius teased, his tone as calm as his breathing.

Her smile faltered, replaced by her usual judging gaze. "Lans of Bellandia, don't ruin the moment."

"Yes, My Lady."

"Good," she replied with her characteristic smug charm, but then she gasped softly. "Oh."

"What's the matter?" he asked, rising to his feet.

"Here, here—quickly, touch it." She took his hand and guided it to her belly. "Your boy is kicking."

"Where? Where?" he asked, leaning closer. "Come on, boy, kick again." Lansius didn’t stop at using his hand; he pressed his whole face to her belly.

"Not like that." She giggled. "You’ll frighten him."

He frowned. "Why would he be frightened of me?"

"Of course, he would. It means he's smart enough to recognize the biggest threat in Midlandia."

"But that would be his mother," Lansius retorted with a playful grin.

Audrey smirked at his response, gently pushed him back against the wall, and leaned in, pressing a few firm kisses to his lips.

"Why does it taste... odd?" he mumbled, suspicion creeping into his tone.

"I’d feed you duck eggs even if I had to kiss you to do it," she teased.

"An interesting proposition, but I’ll pass," he said, quickly reaching for a drink, already bracing for the brutal aftertaste.

Audrey stifled a giggle. "I’m joking. It’s not duck eggs. It’s the lipstick. It’s made from a mixture of berries, plant pigments, and beeswax."

"Ah," he remarked, relieved.

"Valerie is so particular about cosmetics. She says many of them contain toxins that can be harmful."

"She’s right. We’re lucky to have her." Lansius felt grateful. "It’s best to only wear what she recommends."

Audrey smiled and caught his hand. "Come," she said. "I have something to show you."

"What is it?" he asked as she guided him toward the bedchamber.

"Just give it a look." Audrey opened the door with the excitement of someone hiding a prize and stepped aside, allowing Lansius to see inside.

"I don't see anything," he said, squinting into the brightly lit room, where the midday sun streamed through the window.

"Look closer," she urged.

He walked further into the room, approaching the bed as he glanced around the chamber, still finding nothing. Just as he stood near the edge of the mattress, Audrey gave him a playful shove, sending him sprawling onto the bed. "Hey? Oh!" he exclaimed, his surprise quickly turning to delight as the mattress bounced beneath him.

"This is a spring bed!" His laugh rang out, filled with pure joy.

Audrey chuckled, watching him revel in the mattress's bounce. "How did you manage to transport these from Korelia?"

She savored her small victory. "We’re resourceful, you know. And we might have a trick or two up our sleeves."

"Seriously, I’ve missed this bed. Finally, I’ll get a good night’s sleep again."

Audrey nodded and explained, "One of the wire artisans had the idea to break the components into smaller parts. He discovered that the coils could be stacked inside one another, saving space during transport. Using this method, he managed to fit almost a dozen springbeds into a single cart."

"That’s amazing," Lansius remarked, pulling back the sheets to inspect the mattress. His fingers traced the tightly packed coils beneath the thick fabric and padding. "Big enough to assemble easily, but compact enough to transport efficiently."

"Sir Michael handled most of the logistics. He had set up a workshop in Ornietia to assemble the beds back into shape. This is one of the first, ready for inspection."

Lansius grinned at her. "What kind of inspection are we talking about? Nighttime bed inspection?"

Audrey raised her brows, catching his meaning. "Remember, if it ends up being twins, I’ll ask for two airships."

Lansius chuckled softly at her jest, but Audrey froze, her eyes narrowing with sharp focus. The sudden change in her demeanor set him instantly on edge. "What’s wrong?" he asked.

"Smoke," she said, her voice low, her eyes fixed on the view outside. "There’s a fire. It’s coming from the north side of the city."

Lansius stiffened, his mind racing. A fire was bad enough, but the possibilities were far worse: arson, sabotage, or perhaps even a trap to lure him out. With fanatics still roaming, this could easily spiral into disaster.

***