Horizon of War Series

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Nightfall descended on the newly liberated Sabina Rustica, the sky awash in hues of dusky purple and blue. The manor was now under complete Arvenian control, but there was no sign of celebration in the air. They ended the day with only a small feast. Despite having a cellar full of alcoholic caskets, only bitter pale ale was available. This wasn’t due to self-restraint, but a need for preservation.

Exhausted and weighed down by wounded men, the Arvenians also faced the risk of a counterattack. The slavers could return with fresh accomplices and stage a night attack. Thus, the feast started abruptly and ended just as quickly. They knew they needed their rest before their rounds of night watch.

Meanwhile, freed slaves and captured men drank wine merrily, an absurdity that was actually a calculated gamble. The Arvenians were trying to calm the slaves while simultaneously robbing them of their fighting abilities. With the slaves’ loyalty in question, the Arvenians couldn’t take any chances. They simply didn’t have enough eyes to watch everyone.

Despite earlier hostilities, the Arvenians provided their captives with meals, blankets, and linen for bandages. It was a stark contrast to what they used to have, but they could only drink their sorrow. The only thing that kept them from the sword was their labor. After all, there was no rose garden after the war, only piles of dirty jobs. It fell to the defeated to dig burial pits, bury the dead, and wash looted articles.

The victors fared only slightly better. The care for the wounded was taxing and oftentimes ill-fated. As the night fell, the remaining uninjured Arvenians barricaded themselves in the manor, gatehouse, and dormitory. Inside the manor’s main hall, injured personnel were being tended to. The atmosphere was heavy and riddled with whimpering, whining, and sobbing. However, on the second floor, an altogether different scene was unfolding.

Clean and serene, the private hall was filled with small chuckles and lively discussion. A number of peers were waiting for a ceremony. The air was scented with the fragrance of incense wafting from a censer.

Inside the master chamber, Sir Archie prepared himself by donning a fresh, clean tunic. Today, the Arvenians had won a brilliant victory against an opponent thrice their size. He should be ecstatic, but he remained dispirited. Truthfully, he had gone to Sabina Rustica not to hide, but in search of a servant boy who was like a brother to him. The two had gotten separated when they escaped Riverstead. Ever since that day, Archie had been on the lookout. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find him, not even at the Den.

Archie remembered their times together and let out a sigh. However, he did not dwell on it. He was the Lord of Arvena, and his men needed a leader, not an emotional youngster.

Two knocks on the door alerted him. “Enter,” he said without hesitation.

An old esquire named Thomas appeared. “Sir, we’re ready for your presence.”

Archie strode out from the master chamber, into the adjacent hall where a big mahogany chair stood in the center. He sat on it and looked at the guests arrayed before him. Some looked like Arvenians, some were not, but all were equally unfamiliar to him.

Squire Hugo was the first to approach, and he knelt down in front of Archie and formally stated his deeds in an embellished manner. Originally, this was a herald’s job, but the only one they had had been injured. After Hugo finished, Archie offered a praise and bestowed three gold coins, a share of the loot, and a promise of sizeable arable land in Arvena.

Hugo rose and returned to his colleagues, and Anci stepped forward to play the jester and embellish his merits to an extreme degree, causing a riot of laughter. The unexpected entertainment helped him win a bigger prize. Valor and courage alone weren’t enough; one needed to promote oneself to gain a reward.

Next, Thomas stepped forward, delivering his performance solemnly and politely. For his efforts, he received one gold coin and a promise of two horses. Felis and Calub were then called forward. Sir Archie praised them for their assistance, giving a sizeable pouch of looted riches as payment.

The ceremony ended quickly, and they got down to business. Hugo started with the information about the slavers. “We stumbled upon a powerful group who surely will try to exact revenge on us.”

Archie pondered the new threat. “Nothing we can do about it but to proceed carefully . . . anything else?”

Since the time they had found him, Archie had been a constant relief to his retinue. He lost his father, his closest colleagues, his loyal entourage, and the whole province, yet he remained steadfast.

Thomas coughed once to draw attention. “From what we gather, this Gottfried bastard and his northerner barbarians have captured the entirety of Arvena except the western area.”

“The reinforcement from the Duke of Tiberia forced Gottfried to withdraw. Even he couldn’t act brazenly against them,” Hugo added.

Archie nodded, but didn’t say anything.

A haunting memory gushed into Thomas’s head. “These barbarians are no better than animals. They kill and chain whoever they cannot use in their army, even children—”

“The margrave will pay,” Archie stated with cold and loaded voice.

Satisfied that his pleas were heard, Thomas bowed his head deeply.

“If nothing else . . .” Hugo looked at the other and then at Archie. “Tomorrow, we’ll move out with ten riders to Selene Manor.”

Archie looked perplexed. “Selene? Shouldn’t we head for Lubine Castle?”

“Sir Peter is a guest at Selene Manor, but more importantly, it’s Lord Bengrieve’s summer residence,” Hugo explained.

The name made Archie nod easily. While only a seneschal and not the Lord of Midlandia, Bengrieve held the actual power. If Arvena was to survive, he needed that man’s support.

“How about the rest of us?” Anci asked.

Hugo recalled the conversation he had with a certain someone. “Thomas will lead the men to Pozna. Remember to pillage this manor before leaving; otherwise, brigands will use it. If you have trouble, consult with Calub, or lady Felis.”

“Isn’t it better to ask Lansius?” Calub suggested with a faint smile.

“Lansius? The name seems familiar,” Archie remarked.

Hugo’s heart raced as he hastily responded, “He’s just a clerk from Riverstead.”

The room fell silent. Hugo shot a look at Anci and Thomas, who reluctantly nodded their heads in agreement, having previously discussed and agreed to advance their own interests over some unknown foreigner.

Archie’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned to one side in his seat with a face devoid of any expression. The tense silence in the room deepened.

While his colleagues were being rewarded for their merit, Lansius was facing harsh complaints from fourteen freed slaves inside the dormitory. Instead of being grateful, these women vehemently refused their newfound freedom.

Something about opportunity?

Can’t return home? Really . . .

He tried to listen, but his mental capacity had reached the limit. Outwardly, he only looked slightly tired with bags under his eyes, but deep inside, he was in pieces. He had risked so much, yet he couldn’t find the one he sought.

Damn, my fingers are all blackened. Is this toxic?

Lansius worried about his injured thumb and palm, now covered in coarse soot from the torches he had used during his searches. The torches also left a strong tallow scent on his padded coif.

Suddenly, the sole remaining Arvenian attached to Lansius, a young man, couldn’t hold himself back and exclaimed, “You want to be sold as slaves?”

“And what’s wrong with that?” a woman snapped back.

Their exchange triggered an avalanche of heated accusations, with the young man pitted against fourteen angry women.

Lansius watched the verbal melee with contempt from the sidelines. Only when it reached a fever pitch did he intervene, saying, “Now, now, everyone, please calm down.” He also signaled to the young man to step back.

“I apologize for the sisters’ outburst. My name is Leda,” said one woman in gorgeous blue traveling attire. “It’s just that you don’t know our situation. Where we came from, there’s only backbreaking labor waiting for us.”

“Or death in childbirth,” another woman hastily added.

Despite their attempts to explain the situation, Lansius’s lack of response deterred the women.

Leda continued. “Some of us come from Nicopola and Lowlandia, but we’re mostly Rhomelians. We’re born poor. The land was hard to cultivate. Even with children working in the field, there’s only food for a person or two, not the whole family.”

“Raids from the east are becoming more frequent. If we stay, we’re going to end up as slaves either way,” added another woman.

Lansius tried to understand their situation. “I get it, but now you’re free from this place. Isn’t that a good thing?”

The women exhaled or let out a sigh, but the woman in blue calmly said, “Can’t you see our clothes? Can’t you hear the way we speak? Sabina Rustica gave us education and a chance at a better life.”

Lansius suddenly realized that these women, who were born in villages, spoke and behaved like city folks. They were obviously educated, and it showed in their confidence.

This place is a school?

“We don’t mind being sold to the highest bidder. They’re more likely to give us a better life than if we stayed in Rhomelia,” one of the women said, and the others shared their tragic stories one by one.

“Two of my sisters died young. One in childbirth. Another beaten by her drunken husband.”

“My mother died from hunger, and my auntie’s family, who raised me, got sick with the black rye plague. I watched as her fingers rotted away. They sold me away to spare me from the same fate.”

“Anything is better than staying. If you think whoring is bad, you haven’t seen the brothels in Rhomelia where women are treated akin to seasonal meat to be discarded before winter.”

Lansius raised his hand. “I-I get it . . . I was not aware of your plight. I apologize.”

A wave of relief greeted the response. “Can you do something to help?”

Lansius exhaled deeply. “I’m not a slaver, so I can’t help you with that.”

The group of women clicked their tongues or sighed.

“Can’t you go to Feodosia and sell yourselves?” The ill trained and undisciplined youngster couldn’t resist a taunt.

The boy’s comment was met with a chorus of jeers from the rest of the group.

“All right, enough,” Lansius rebuked the youngster. “Just take it easy, and let me handle it.”

The youngster stubbornly looked away.

“Hear me,” Lansius started slowly. “You can’t expect us to sell slaves . . . However, if you have a quill pen, ink, and paper, I may be able to help.”

The women frowned, puzzled by the request.

“Please wait a moment,” Leda said, gesturing to her sisters, who sent the youngest among them to gather the necessary supplies.

Lansius took a seat in the nearest chair facing the long table in the dormitory hall, and the rest of the sisters followed.

“What do you need the supplies for?” Leda asked as she handed them to Lansius.

“I’m going to write your name, age, place of origin, and skills you have,” he said while resting his back on the stiff wooden chair.

“And then?” she inquired.

“I’ll report to my superior, and then we might find a solution.”

Leda looked confused. “Pardon me, but will it really help?”

“If what you’re saying is half true, then some of you are bookkeepers, scribes, musicians, or bakers.”

The sisters realized what Lansius had in mind and grew excited.

“I promise nothing, but at least this is legal.” Lansius sharpened the quill pen and looked at the women. “Now that I’ve helped you, it’s time to return the favor.”

“What do you want?” Leda asked with reddened cheeks. “Companionship for the night?”

Lansius paused but shook his head. “Nothing like that. Any of you know anything about a female squire from Arvena?”

Leda’s shoulder stiffened. “Are you looking for Thilde?”

Lansius shook his head as he remembered the woman they discovered at the small wooden cabin on the far side of the vineyard. “No, we already found her. She’s not the one I’m looking for.”

Many of them drew a breath of relief. “Thilde was new,” Leda commented.

The youngster fidgeting with curiosity. “So, what’s her story? Why’s she in a cell?”

“Thilde’s background story is different from ours,” Leda reluctantly explained. “She was born an esquire and only recently taken from her family’s estate. Naturally, she wishes for her freedom back. A senior guard took a liking to her. We don’t know what happened, but they got into a row, and she bit a chunk of his flesh.”

“No wonder.” Lansius felt disgusted as he recalled the wounds on Thilde’s limbs.

So it was torture . . .

“Unlike us, she never faced hardship and famine,” said another sister with pity on her voice, followed by nodding from the rest.

Lansius kept a stern gaze on the youngster on his side to keep him from throwing a stupid comment. The male raised his palms in protest.

Leda clapped her hands to gain everyone’s attention. “So, the master’s original question, do any of you know anything about a female squire from Arvena?”

“Sharp eyes, short hair, good with swords,” Lansius added.

No one answered.

“None of you?” Leda confirmed, before turning to Lansius. “I’m afraid your friend isn’t here. We oversee this dormitory, and we’d certainly know if someone special like her was inside.”

“Special?”

“Sword trained, short hair.”

Lansius felt utterly hopeless. “No chance you missed her?”

“I’m sure. For certain, we got nobody with short hair,” Leda clarified.

“I see.” Lansius sighed as his heart pained.

Leda sympathized with him. “I’m sure she’s in a better place. There’s a good chance that your friend is free somewhere out there.”

“The Den rarely accepts combatants. If your friend was caught, she would likely be sent to Feodosia,” another suggested.

Lansius felt torn. He had spent several precious days here, all for nothing but a cruel detour.

There’s no hope in this. I’m just fooling myself. She’s—

Leda sat down next to him and spoke in a soft, concerned tone. “You appear exhausted, master. Perhaps you should consider getting some rest.”

Moved by her sincere offer, Lansius exhaled sharply and reached for the coarse, thick parchment. He carefully dipped the quill pen into the ceramic inkwell and asked, “Your name and training, please.”

As Lansius began writing a list, a knock on the door interrupted them. They turned to the source and saw a man in a milky white leather coat accompanied by a stout but shorter man. The door had been left ajar, so this was either out of courtesy or urgency.

“Master Lansius, they require your presence,” said the stout fellow.

Lansius felt a twinge of unease.