Horizon of War Series

Chapter 185: Dark Arts

Chapter 185: Dark Arts

Dark Arts

Sagarius

The sun dipped low in the western horizon, its brilliant rays obscured by the rows of trees from the ancient woods. Yet, the cloudy skies still displayed a tapestry of red and golden hues. Beneath the Elandian sky lay an open encampment situated next to a burgeoning town at the crossroads. There, Sagarius resided in a simple tent, unbothered by the lack of luxuries. Unknown to anyone, she had cast a spell to block out sound—not to thwart eavesdroppers but to mute the ambient noise.

It was one of her most useful spells, as it allowed one to sleep quietly even in the middle of a deafening thunderstorm or when the summer crickets' incessant chirping was in full swing. And it was certainly useful to preserve privacy.

"Pardon my intrusion," Sir Bald Eagle announced from outside before slipping into the tent, his hands carefully balancing two bowls. He offered one to Sagarius with a proud smile, declaring, "I have convinced the villagers to cook us some fine stew."

"Most pleasing," Sagarius accepted the bowl with polite gratitude.

He took his place on the thick carpet, directly across from her.

Midway through their meal, the old commander's voice broke the silence. "So what are you going to do now?"

Sagarius understood the intonation and didn't immediately answer. "Let me be frank with you," she finally said. "I no longer have a purpose. Not since I gathered increasing evidence that House Bengrieve is likely in cohort against the Imperium."

Sir Bald Eagle nodded, giving her time to reflect and collect her thoughts.

Sagarius continued, "Right now, I can only try to help you integrate with the local noble of your choice."

"Integrate," Bald Eagle repeated, tasting the word. "With ambitious warlords in disguise around us, I don’t even want to think about it."

Unexpectedly, Sagarius extended her hand, grasping the old man's coarse yet warm hand. "You don't have to. You could have a farm and build a family."

"Maybe I can. I have enough coins and clout to do that. But for how long? A month, a year?" he asked gently, with a fatherly tone. "Eventually, the war will touch everything I hold dear. I fear that we're in the eye of the storm yet to pass."

Sagarius didn't argue but sipped her warm, hearty stew. She knew a succession crisis in an empire as old and vast as the Third Imperium would be disastrous. The thought almost made her reconsider her stance. However, she persisted, knowing it would only delay the inevitable.

"To integrate will only lead to us and your followers being split apart to avoid a coup, then being utilized as frontliners. With four hundred veterans, we pose a real threat to most local lords," Bald Eagle continued, his voice calm and free from pressure.

Sagarius nodded thoughtfully and asked, "Then what do you propose we do?"

Bald Eagle offered a wry smile. "I must admit, I'm ill-equipped to handle the fall of the known Imperium," he quipped.

Sagarius returned a faint smile.

"Anyone who claims they know what they're doing right now is a dangerous liar. A succession crisis of this magnitude, with the throne and palace reduced to ashes—it's simply unbelievable," he said, exhaling deeply.

Setting down her half-eaten stew, Sagarius paused to gather her thoughts before meeting the old man's gaze. "It seems we lack a clear path forward. I believe the military strategy dictates that if you can't advance, you must either defend or prepare to flee."

"That is correct, My Lady," Bald Eagle affirmed. "We have only two options: defend or flee."

"And what does each option entail?"

"To flee is to continue our journey," Bald Eagle replied smoothly. His tone then shifted to one of caution, "To defend means to secure a strategic location and fortify it."

Sagarius took a soft breath and asked directly, "Do you really want to crown a daughter of a hat maker?"

Amused by her candor, he replied, "Under normal circumstances, no, I wouldn't dare. But these are not normal times."

"Do not entertain such thoughts," she warned. "I have read about a new style of government. Perhaps it is time to explore such options."

"They're a bit too radical for me, but I have nothing to lose."

"And what if I simply choose to flee?" she ventured.

"Then, we will gladly follow," Bald Eagle affirmed.

"I don't believe you spoke for everyone," Sagarius voiced her doubt. "I can only hope they'll find a just noble to serve and continue their lives."

"The men who followed you have lost more than everything. They're... adrift," Sir Bald Eagle struggled to find the right words. "After their miraculous recovery and victory, they found no other purpose but to follow you. I believe, in doing so, they discovered a reason to live or at least a debt to repay."

"That is unwise," Sagarius chided. "They received a second chance and chose to squander it by following a nobody."

"Did they really?" the knight commander countered rhetorically.

Sagarius took her waterskin, poured water into a wooden cup, and offered it to the old man, who accepted it graciously. After he finished it, she ventured, "If I choose to defend, can we survive?"

"It depends on where and how," he replied.

"Explain," Sagarius prompted, almost instructively.

"A defensible position requires walls, good farmland, a river, and nearby population centers."

"It's unlikely such a place doesn’t already have a master," she observed.

"You'd be surprised, My Lady. Do you know why most towns and villages along our path welcomed us, despite us being strangers without a banner?"

She shook her head.

"Even before the fall of the Imperium, Elandia was overrun with bandits. Our men’s presence deterred them, earning us a tepid but grateful welcome," Bald Eagle explained. "If we chose, we could claim the manor, and most of the people would likely support us."

"It’s unwise to do so," Sagarius advised, though not entirely against the idea.

"Indeed. This area isn’t remote enough to shield us from Gottfried’s influence. Moreover, we have better options. To the south, the situation is far more dire. Last season, armed refugees from Nicopola raided deep into the territory and waged battles against Lord Bengrieve’s forces."

"So you’re suggesting we continue heading south, find a suitable city, encourage the populace to return, and then establish our independence?" she deduced, and Sir Bald Eagle nodded in confirmation.

"If you’re still uncomfortable with southern Elandia, then perhaps we could cross the border into Nicopola. I’ve heard that no one claims those lands anymore. They perished to the last kin."

Sagarius sighed, weighed down by guilt. She had heard about the great famine in Nicopola and couldn’t help but feel responsible, despite lacking the power or position to have prevented it.

Oblivious to her internal struggle, Sir Bald Eagle continued, "If we proceed, and if House Bengrieve truly is conspiring, then we could use his Elandia domain as a buffer against Gottfried. It's a sound plan."

"The Beastmen's Marche," she mused, invoking the old name of the region. Sagarius had fought there as a Royal Mage in disguise. She had witnessed Kaen, the local champion, join the fray—talented and witty, yet recklessly impulsive. Despite his prowess as a mage-knight, his personality seemed shallow. The last she heard, he was doing penance, overwhelmed by guilt for the many lives he had taken, including those of young beastmen.

"Let's revisit this discussion once we're further south. It would be best if we have a map of the area," she declared with resolve.

"Certainly, My Lady. That can be arranged," Bald Eagle responded, pleased to secure a route to salvation.

...

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Sagarius hadn’t fully made up her mind but decided to explore her options. Taking a lantern so that no one would come up to offer her one, she stepped out of her tent, intending to visit the officials with whom they had been traveling for several days. First, however, she needed to visit the outer boundaries of their encampment. There were no physical fences; just open fields dotted with trees where she planned to use a little bit of her magic to create a temporary ward that would alert her to any intruders.

Without being asked, Sir Munius, who was sitting near a campfire, stood up and escorted her, holding a simple torch that glowed brighter than the lantern.

"Visiting the perimeter again, My Lady?" the knight asked, familiar with her routine ever since they had arrived in Elandia.

"Indeed," she replied softly while walking under the starlight.

They walked quietly, her footsteps didn't make a sound while the knight's boots made some against the ground. Then Sagarius found a suitable object—a gray rock with moss on one side. She extended her hand, channeling her magic onto the surface of the stone, and moments later began imbuing runes onto the magical layer.

Detect Parameters: physical movement, thermal body heat, or foreign magical energies.

Ignore Parameter: small signatures.

Execute: transmit to decoy.

End: Erase at sunrise.

She saw the magical circuit connect and briefly tested it. Satisfied, she walked away, carrying the lantern at her hip, not really needing it as her magic allowed her to see almost as clearly as in daylight. Arriving at a tree that would serve as another sentinel, she repeated the process, turning the tree into another one of her wards.

All the while, Sir Munius followed her without question. It had been several weeks, and tonight she felt it odd that he kept following without saying much. Thus, as she finished setting the second ward and headed toward the back of the camp, she asked, "Sir Munius, do you know the tales of the Champion, the Elven lady, and the sword?"

"I've heard of it but never actually heard it in full. But I know it's a cautionary tale," he replied while keeping an eye on their surroundings.

"Indeed it is," she confirmed, then offered, "Would you like me to tell it to you?"

"Only if it doesn't interfere with your business, My Lady."

"Not at all, we're just walking," she reassured him, before beginning her story. "The Champion of Griate was known for his many exploits before he slew a notorious fell beast that landed on the eastern shore. But his story didn’t end there. In the beast’s lair by the sea, he discovered the Dwarven sword of Dainsleif. Though he did not use the sword to slay the beast, the tale grew in the telling. People and minstrels claimed he used the Dainsleif sword to cut through the monster’s hide, which was as hard as stone as if he were skinning a young deer."

"It must be a magnificent sword to capture people's imagination like that," he commented.

"Indeed. And it captured not only men's imagination. A female elf heard of it too and began her journey to find him."

"Did she find him?"

"She did, after many years. By that time, the champion had already married and settled down. He kept his sword hidden as he didn't need it anymore. The elf, wanting to see the sword, convinced him to go on another adventure, but the man declined. Until a fell beast appeared in a village some distance away."

The story took a grim tone at the end, not lost on the knight. "Was that the elf's doing?"

Sagarius smiled but ignored his question. "Against his family's wishes, the champion took his sword and went with the elf to slay the beast. They ended up doing more than just traveling. The elf wanted to see the sword used to hunt bandits and bears that terrorized the area. The champion agreed and the two became close, eventually becoming lovers. And then, when he least expected it, the elf was gone along with the Dainsleif. Her only motive was the sword, with which she had fallen in love."

Sir Munius took a deep breath before asking, "And then what happened to the champion?"

"He arrived at the village and still faced the fell beast, but as he was not in his prime anymore, he was slain, but not before giving the beast a mortal wound that the villagers could exploit."

Sir Munius gave no immediate reply, prompting Sagarius to ask, "What do you think of the story?"

"It's certainly a cautionary tale," he then added, "If I may be so bold, you used this story to teach me not to blindly follow someone as mysterious as you."

"Perhaps," Sagarius refused to give him a confirmation, wanting him to reflect for a longer time.

"But, My Lady, you're not after my sword, and you're certainly not an elf," he noted.

Sagarius smiled behind the veil of the night.

Prompted by her silence, the knight asked, "Since the issue is a mystery, perhaps My Lady can explain what you are doing right now?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't feel safe around here," she explained without hesitation.

The answer surprised the knight. "But you're surrounded by men at arms."

"Perhaps, but it can't hurt to keep my guard up," she replied softly, careful not to wound anyone's pride.

"Are you from around here, My Lady?" Sir Munius asked.

"Well, I've been in this area multiple times, a long time ago."

"I see, then what do you fear in this part of Elandia?"

"Not here," she replied, "more toward the east; the ancient forest." She paused in her tracks and turned to him. "Can I trust you with something?"

"I am a keeper of secrets," Sir Munius stated.

She nodded and said, "The knight commander spoke of bandits that lurked in the area and how our presence here had deterred them. But I think that's not the real reason. I believe the reason there are no more bandits around is that something else is preying on them."

"A fell beast?" the knight asked in a low voice, redoubling his efforts to scan their surroundings.

"I heard about the Nicopola refugee and mercenary war last season against House Bengrieve. The more I heard, the more I was certain that there would be many unburied carcasses from it. I doubt the fell creatures from the Ancient Forest would remain idle. They would multiply, and with the Imperium in this state, I doubt the Hunter Guild has an answer for them."

***

Lansius

The sun hung high, yet the sky darkened with the promise of rain, the wind carrying the earthy scent of an impending storm. Lansius stood by the window of the Eastern Mansion, his gaze sweeping over the vast stretch of land that belonged to his House. From a modern man’s perspective, the expanse was staggering—a city, a forest, plains, dozens of villages—immense even before considering his additional holdings in South Hill.

Despite actively governing them, he often marveled at the sheer scale of his domain, pondering just how many thousands of acres he had under his own name. A soft exhale escaped him as he reminded himself that the vast land was there as a foundation to secure peace and prosperity.

His eyes still peeled in the distance when thunder flashed brightly, striking somewhere beyond the wall, confirming the approach of rain.

Lansius turned from the window and slightly closed the curtain, not wanting the flashes of lightning to disturb the people working inside the hall on the second floor. Even on rainy days, when fields and roads turned to mud, there was still much to be done.

Last week, they had just finished a new chapter of The Iliad, depicting the early stages of the Trojan War. Surprisingly, from what he had gathered from those who listened to the herald outside the city library, his readers viewed the idea of launching an armed expedition to punish a wife-stealer as a noble act. Unlike modern audiences who see an enduring love story between Paris and Helen, his readers perceived it clearly as a cautionary tale of wife-stealing, a viewpoint Lansius could understand.

Even when Lansius explained to his senior scribes that Helen's husband was a cruel king, they simply responded, "All kings are cruel to a point. But that doesn't justify her eloping to another kingdom. That’s a sure path to war, causing suffering in both kingdoms. Helen could have requested to return to her father. Eventually, the king, like any other, would grow bored and seek another. Women in power have used many strategies to retain their husbands' attention. And I doubt someone who wouldn't even make an effort would last long in a king’s court, especially a cruel one. Such a king would be unlikely to remain faithful, no matter how beautiful Helen was."

Lansius found their perspective intriguing, yet it made a great deal of sense.

He had to admit that the story might resonate more with them than with a modern audience. Ending his musing, he gazed at the army of scribes and clerks who had been the backbone of his administration. They handled policies, tax collection, army wages, military expenditures, city expenses, guild dealings, and a myriad of other tasks. They were the ones he relied upon.

Last week they did Troy; this week, Korelia.

They worked here in the name of efficiency. Working in close proximity, they could ask Lansius directly about any issues they encountered, rather than formally presenting them at court, which would take too much time. Lansius found the traditional process rigid, plagued by formalities, and highly inefficient. By having them work here, they achieved an astounding level of progress.

The Lowlandia Office of Works, acronymed LOW.

Lansius couldn't help but ponder whether the Midlandia Office of Works would be acronymed "TOW," which reminded him of an anti-tank guided missile. The silly thought made him smile, and like clockwork—yet to be invented here—he felt someone watching.

He turned to a particular soft cushioned seat across the chamber and found a beautiful pair of hazelnut eyes watching him. Like a hunter to its prey, Audrey had caught him smiling, and now her lips formed a smirk that could drive him crazy.

Mmm, temptations... Hold on the Paris in me. Don't be swayed by this sword-buckling, horse-riding, knight-baroness of Lowlandia, Centurian-born Helen.

Lansius turned back to face the window again, his amused smile hidden from her compelling gaze.

He could afford a moment of idleness after outlining his latest plan. Now, he simply needed to wait for its finalization, calculation, and evaluation.

One aspect of his plan involved the production of flares and smoke signals. Having observed their effectiveness in training, he realized their demand would only grow. Unable to rely solely on Calub for their production, Lansius decided it was time to fulfill his promise and establish a proper laboratory—or, in this world, an alchemy workshop.

Having enticed the guilds with southern trade, he aimed to leverage this advantage. He instructed the Lowlandia Office of Works (LOW) to propose to the alchemist guild that they establish an alchemy shop in Korelia. Before negotiating the price, LOW would broach the subject that if the barony bore all costs, then the alchemy workshop must pledge complete allegiance to House Lansius, ensuring all trade secrets became rightfully his.

Lansius expected that his proposal and the stipulation for trade secrets would spark their interest, likely leading to a counteroffer. This was exactly what he wanted. While he preferred to train local talents he could trust, training an alchemist was a lengthy and risky endeavor. The last thing he wanted was for his personnel, who depended on these signals, to face failure in critical moments—a potential disaster.

Hence, a solution was necessary because talents were not merely tools.

If the guilds did not cooperate, the arrangement could become problematic, likely requiring the alchemists, likely from Midlandia, to move permanently to Korelia to safeguard the secrets. Such an arrangement was not only inhumane but could also backfire by attracting only less qualified individuals.

"Non-competing clause," he muttered to himself, watching a lightning fork in the distance.

Although understanding its utility and necessity, Lansius was not fond of it. Moreover, it contradicted his views on industrial secrets: keeping them too tightly guarded often led to theft, as the stories of tea and silk had shown.

Thus, he preferred cooperation, aiming to retain control and secure his margins. He hoped the guild would see the profit potential as distributors and be sufficiently interested in gaining access to either partial or full secrets, along with the capabilities to produce what Korelia manufactured after about twenty or thirty years.

Whatever the deal, the alchemy workshop would prove essential for continuing experiments with volatile oils. If Calub could delegate the production of flares, fire grenades, alcohol, fertilizer, and his famously potent poppy milk medicine to the new alchemists, he would then be free to pursue other projects.

For a long time, Lansius had intended to ask Calub, strictly for research purposes, to begin his studies in what he deemed the dark arts of his world. This meant delving into the study of guano, charcoal, and sulfur, or in simpler terms: explosives.

***