Horizon of War Series

Chapter 226: The Greater Ember

The Greater Ember

Midlandia was a vast province with several mines that had operated since ancient times. Two of them contained silver veins, supplying local artisans with the precious metal to craft exquisite works of art. Hidden from most, a small portion of that silver was transported to an enclave deep in a valley, where the Imperium had established a secluded village of select people who lived like hermits. They followed a monastic existence, working at the behest of the Ageless One himself.

The village was sparsely recorded by the ruling House, and not even the neighboring nobles were aware of its existence. Under an arrangement set by the Ageless One centuries ago, the ruling House of Midlandia was required to send pure raw silver twice a year, disguised as trade for honey, medicine, and fine furniture.

In reality, they were minting silver coins to be circulated under the Imperium’s orders. The central government used these coins to fund defensive projects in the East and cover other expenses managed by the Midlandia ruling House. Now, this arrangement had fallen into Lansius' hands.

After a tip from the shadowy Hunter’s Guild, which was a result of Sir Harold and Sir Morton’s negotiations, Lansius had learned of the mint’s existence and sent his trusted Orange Skald Captain to invite an official from the village. The meeting was soon to take place, and as a sign of their willingness to cooperate, the moneyers had already presented Lansius with a fresh batch of newly minted coins.

With this, House Lansius had secured its realm from a currency crisis. But several pressing questions remained.

"Are we still going to mint the same coin?" Audrey asked after listening to Lansius' explanation about the hidden mint. "It feels odd now since the coin bears the face of the Three Dragons, the Ageless' House, but the Imperium is gone."

"That’s a good question," Lansius remarked. "One I don’t have an answer for yet. For starters, we can't just replace the old face on the coin. People wouldn’t trust it."

His words piqued Audrey’s interest, and she listened intently.

Audrey nodded, her eyes still fixed on him.

"If we start minting new designs, people will question their value compared to the old coin, and who knows how they might react. Moreover, changing the design means much more than just appearance."

"What do you mean?"

"Placing a new face on a coin is a symbol of sovereignty. This is why only ruling houses or monarchs have their image on currency. But for us, who would we put on our new coin? The Blue and Bronze banner?" Lansius chuckled, finding the notion absurd.

"Why not?" Audrey asked, catching him off guard.

"Drey," he called softly, "placing our house on a coin would be the same as proclaiming ourselves a new, separate political entity—in short, a kingdom."

"Ah," she murmured in realization.

"Creating a new design on a coin is a power only exercised by monarchs. If we do it, we are declaring ourselves the successors of the Imperium."

Audrey nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the weight of the issue.

"You asked earlier about harboring imperial ambitions," he reminded her. "Minting coins with our insignia would confirm it. And once that happens, friends and allies might turn into enemies."

She furrowed her brows and asked carefully, "Why?"

"Because some may still be loyal to the Third Imperium, have different ideas about succession, or harbor imperial ambitions. They wouldn’t support us and would instead collaborate with those who want to remove us."

Audrey exhaled softly. "No wonder you said it’s dangerous."

"Indeed. The reality is that despite our military dominance, we need as many allies as possible to secure our rule in Midlandia. Like the roots of a tree, this process will take time."

Audrey looked concerned but masked it well, though not from Lansius’ perceptive eyes.

"Don’t worry," he continued, drawing her attention back. "There is a way to speed up the process."

"Really? How?"

Lansius rested his hand gently on her belly and explained, "A child born in Midlandia, raised among its nobility, shaped by its customs, and forging bonds with its people, will be seen as one of their own. He will not be an outsider but a leader they can claim as theirs. That will make them more accepting of our rule."

***

A City to the East of Canardia

Inside a separate room, a group of patriarchs from old knightly families, wealthy esquires, and landlords gathered after a merry feast. As was common among the lesser nobility, they were bound by kinship, most as distant cousins or in-laws. All five were old, the youngest well past fifty.

The last to enter, an older gentleman with a grand mustache, closed the door behind him and took his seat.

The host, a plump man with a rounded belly, leaned forward and began, "Have you heard? Several days ago, Canardia was on fire."

The other heads of families, seated around a small table, let out soft chuckles, mocking smiles on their lips. With music and festivity still going on outside for their family members' entertainment, there was little fear of being overheard.

"Serves our foreign conqueror right," the oldest among them sneered, his high-pitched, croaking voice filled with disdain. "He must've attracted the Ancient's curse if his rule begins with dry winds."

To his side, the mustache man ventured, "I can't remember the last time we had one of these. It must have been ages ago."

"I remember it well. It burned my neighbor’s manor," the oldest replied. "Poor man, he lost so much."

"I believe it was your rival’s manor, and I doubt it was just a harsh summer that did it," an aging knight with a white beard teased from his seat, causing the others to chortle.

"Hey, watch your tongue. I never laid a finger on another man's property," the oldest grumbled hoarsely.

"Calm down, calm down," the host said with a neutral, dismissive smile as he poured ale for everyone.

One by one, they drank, and the conversation resumed.

"Ultimately, the new lord has no kin to rely on. Even if he is powerful, his rule will be weak," the oldest remarked after taking a sip of his ale.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

With no objection, the oldest continued despite his hoarse voice, "How can he possibly rule so many domains when he has no blood relatives to rely on to secure his realms?"

"It'll be hard not knowing who to trust," the mustache gentleman agreed, stroking his whiskers between thumb and forefinger.

The oldest nodded and went on, "Naturally, he'll rely on his most trusted men. Meritocracy, they say. But without blood ties, even his most accomplished officers or knights will be ripe for the taking."

"A sweet promise of wealth and grandeur can unravel any man," the mustached man said grimly, still twirling his whiskers.

"Or the offer of a hand in marriage," the host added.

The old knight scoffed and exhaled deeply. "What a grim prospect for his rule."

He merely echoed what they had discussed several times before. The reason they had gathered was to decide what their combined Houses should do regarding the new lord: would they offer their support, throwing their lot in with his cause, or would they play a minimal role just to keep up appearances and stay out of trouble?

The youngest of them, a scholar turned trader, shifted in his seat before arguing, "But the new lord is far from incompetent."

His words drew everyone's attention, and he continued, "Early on, Lord Lansius sent his knights to Krakusa to collect documents and records. Now he has enough leverage to force them to submit or risk having their holdings confiscated."

The others recalled the details of the report they had heard about the event, but the oldest of them chuckled. "Those juveniles in Krakusa deserve it! They're too greedy and haughty for their own good."

Meanwhile, the host offered his lamentation, "For the Krakusa elites to be caught red-handed in a meeting against the ruling house, with evidence of falsifying records... how careless can they be? Now their entire bloodline is at the mercy of the new lord."

"I heard many have offered their daughters as a token of submission to escape further investigation and punishment, but the lord didn't even consider their offer," the youngest added, prompting a concerned reaction from the group.

"That's harsh," the mustache man muttered, while the knight crossed his arms but offered no comment.

The youngest cast a glance around the room and asked, "Which begs the question: what if the new lord sends his knights for us?"

A tense silence settled over them. But the oldest, seemingly unconcerned, replied, "I have nothing to hide. My House is currently supporting him to the best of our ability."

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"Cut the act," the knight retorted. "I know damn well what you mean by that. Answer me for real: will you send your son to his court and join his wars just to gain favor, or are you thinking of holding out until the next conflict arises?"

The oldest curled his lips in distaste, as if catching a whiff of something unpleasant, and refused to answer.

When it seemed like they had reached an impasse, the youngest revealed, "You might want to know that House Tedzeus has already thrown their support behind him."

Everyone was surprised, but as expected, only the oldest refused to back down. "They're Elandian migrants. They don't count." But from his tone, it was clear he disliked this prospect.

"House Tedzeus isn't alone. The big guilds and the armor makers have eagerly shown their support. Even the intellectuals," the youngest revealed, as if teasing.

"The intellectuals? After what he did to Reginald? How?" the host raised his voice in surprise, while the mustached man and the knight exchanged glances.

The youngest let out a faint smile. "Have you not been paying attention to your neighborhood?"

"Don't toy with me, cousin," the host complained, wiping his sweaty, plump face.

The other three watched intently.

"Well, as it turns out, the Black Lord is also an intellectual of the highest order."

"A foreigner like him? That's hard to fathom," the host muttered.

"See for yourself at the nearest city library. Everyone has been gathering in droves to read and listen to the town crier. They've been reading the new lord's books."

"A scholar lord? Impossible," the oldest remarked with a sneer, but there was no power behind his hoarse voice.

The host stood up, went to the door, and opened it to shout at his son in the crowd. The man, dressed in a rich, bright doublet, approached and was about to greet him, but his father merely instructed, "Go take a fast horse to the library and learn what the commotion is all about."

"What commotion—"

"There's still plenty of sun, go give it a look."

"But father, I still have—"

"Now!"

Exhaling deeply, the son left in shame as his relatives chuckled, watching him go.

The host closed the door and returned to his seat. In a soft tone, the mustached man beside him said, "You should allow the boy some standing. He's over thirty. You can't treat him like an errand boy."

"What can I do but correct him? His mother spoiled him. If he can't obey me like his older brother, then I fear for his future in these uncertain times," he said, his tone carrying a hint of apology.

The brief pause gave the oldest time to think, and he now remarked, "This is all just incidental. So what if he's attracted the guilds and the educated? These merchants and quill-wielders have hardly fought wars for him. Any lord worth their title needs our backing."

"Not necessarily," the mustached man disagreed. "The advent of crossbows and their heavier versions has already made it possible to arm commoners with little training. And now that I know the lord is a top intellectual, I believe he's an adherent of that school of thought."

Leaning forward, the knight said, "Discounting the commoners whose hearts are fickle and prone to sweet, honeyed words, the ruling House has plenty of military might. And now that you have told me they have the big guilds backing them, meaning money, masons, and craftsmen, as well as the educated, meaning able administrators and other talents, and non-native nobles like House Tedzeus."

The rest nodded, appreciating the sharp insight.

"If such is the case, then with or without relatives to fill key positions, the current lord will likely hold out," he added quickly, "barring natural disasters or bad harvests."

The youngest nodded, pleased, and asked, "Then how should our Houses act?"

No answers were heard, only heavy sighs and tense, concerned faces.

The youngest added with urgency, "Do we sit back and watch other Houses advance, or do we act now?"

But his enthusiasm was met with a stoic reply. "Nothing," the oldest replied.

"How come?"

"Listen, young man," the oldest said with a measured tone. "This may sound like just a hunch, but it has served me well for dozens of years. I believe that someone will make a move."

He paused to draw breath and gather his thoughts. "We're not the only ones who think this way. The new lord is powerful but generally disliked. His move against the Krakusa elites will not end without a fight. Moreover, the Saint Candidates are also against him."

"But we can't base our Houses' future on—"

"Just hold your support until harvest," the oldest insisted. "I can't explain it, but like Reginald's, the start of the Black Lord's reign in Midlandia will not be peaceful."

"One who rises quickly often falls just as hard," the host quoted a well-known proverb, and the discussion died down.

Like many Midlandian nobles, the five Houses remained indecisive. There was too much power in the province and no shortage of ambitious people. They knew that someone would soon make a move against Lord Lansius. Reginald was merely a puppet. The so-called intellectual coup was nothing but a facade; the true struggle lay in the conflict between factions of noble houses.

And despite the new lord's best efforts to stamp it out, the burning embers remained.

***

Canardia

Three days later, the investigation into the recent fire had concluded. Lansius, seated inside his council chamber, had just learned from two of his most trusted retainers that the fire, which destroyed no fewer than a hundred buildings and displaced hundreds of families, was most likely not arson.

There was no indication that burning materials had been stockpiled near the initial fire location. Neither fire victims nor eyewitnesses reported anything or anyone suspicious, and there was no evidence that the first building to catch fire had been handling particularly flammable materials before the incident.

Additionally, the fire had started in a single building before spreading in one direction. Typically, arsonists ignite multiple locations simultaneously to ensure success and make it harder for the populace to contain the flames. Yet, no such pattern was found.

The most intriguing discovery, however, involved the four-story repository. It was found to have stored valuable silver and gold, which now nicely added to Lansius' coffers to be used to fund more firefighters and to build two water tower reservoirs in the northern part of the city. Interrogations had yielded results, allowing them to learn that the building was affiliated with the Healers’ Guild.

The previous city steward was now in custody along with several suspicious individuals. There would likely be more revelations in the future, but this fact alone made it unlikely that agents of the Saint Candidates were responsible for the fire. Naturally, it would make little sense for them to target their own supporters. Thus, all evidence pointed to the fire being a pure accident.

"Moreover, the affected area is in the northern part of Canardia," Sir Harold continued his report. "During summer, the wind is known to blow northwest, so it's unlikely for the fire to spread to the central part of the city."

"They could have simply been incompetent with fire tactics," Sir Michael offered his view, though he didn't sound convinced.

Lansius, drew a deep breath, relieved by the findings. This confirmed that his security measures were at least adequate, if not entirely effective. "Still, this arid weather will reach other cities, towns, and communities. We need to get them to bolster their night watches and train men to fight fires."

"We can summon the neighboring night watches and train them," Sir Michael suggested.

"That'll take too much time. We'd better recruit more men and assign them," Sir Harold argued.

"There's no need to summon everyone. Ten or even five people per town should suffice. They could train the rest on their own," Sir Michael explained.

"We'll do both," Lansius decided. "We need more firemen, and I will not bargain with fire risk. Besides, this will also be a good method to insert our loyal agents to watch over the other towns."

"Ah, adding to our eyes and ears," Sir Harold exclaimed.

"They'll be a good addition since not all cities or towns have our garrison," Lansius confirmed.

Ideally, he wanted each city and town to form well-sized fire brigades, fully paid annually, just like his troops. They would also be useful for building inspections, nighttime crime patrols, and general emergency services. But it would probably burden the town's income, so he opted for a smaller but heavily trained and well-equipped dedicated force. As he had witnessed, even two dozen firemen could effectively coordinate citizen bucket brigades.

Lansius just hoped that small and effective would be enough for most emergencies. If larger issues arose, he would have to rely on his garrison and dragoons as rapid-response forces. He gazed at his staff and added, "Ideally, we train our garrison for firefighting, and also our dragoons. But I doubt they'll welcome the idea."

"Your garrison wouldn't say no. As for the dragoons..." Sir Michael stroked his chin in doubt.

"I'll handle it," Sir Harold offered. "If they’ve started to feel special because they ride horses, it's time to remind them of the basics."

Lansius was pleased. "Then include them in the fire training, but try not to hurt their pride too much."

After a series of victories, the veterans of his army, especially the mounted ones, had become slightly prideful. In battle, that would be useful, as their pride wouldn’t allow them to be seen as less valiant and would drive them to fight harder. However, it would also cause problems with tasks they deemed less honorable than battle.

Fortunately, their adherence to military law was steadfast, so Lansius didn’t mind. Moreover, they had continuously shown a willingness to join the work of digging ditches and building forts. If they started to reject such work, then he would take action.

Finding that the Lord had nothing else to say, Sir Michael bowed slightly and said, "If there is nothing more, I shall return to my duties."

"Just one," Lansius said to them. "Don't let our men get careless. The last one might have been an accident, but we don't know if the next one will be. I fear that the fire might give dangerous individuals out there some ideas."

The two knights nodded deeply.

With the meeting over, Lansius headed out from the council chamber. As usual, he was guarded by Sterling and Francisca, who had just returned from patrolling inside and outside the city. The SAR had asked her to assist as they feared someone might be planning a surprise attack, but none had materialized.

Francisca had been called upon because two of her kin, who were usually stationed in Canardia, had been moved west to secure the moneyers’ village and the mint. There was only one other half-breed in the castle, and they were solely attached to Lansius' family.

Lansius still had Big Ben and his group nearby, but they were needed to detect clandestine mage advances from the Saint Candidates' monastery.

He walked down the corridor and found Sir Omin waiting for him.

"My Lord," the former Lord of Korimor greeted him.

"Sir Omin," Lansius replied warmly.

"I presume, My Lord, you will be heading toward the Midlandia Office of Works building?"

"Yes, such is my intention." He wanted to make soap and other hygiene products, even explore the feasibility of upgrading the toilets with running water. The abundance of materials and talents in Midlandia opened many doors for innovations that were previously unavailable in Korelia.

"But My Lord, there are many more important matters that a lord of the realm could attend to besides supervising records."

"I'll be the one who decides that," Lansius replied lightly. "However, if you have more important things to do, then speak freely."

"Indeed, today I brought five companies eager to meet you."

...

Audrey had been waiting in the Great Hall, conversing with five prominent armor makers who had come to answer the competition. Lansius and Sir Omin arrived, and Lansius took his seat before exchanging greetings and pleasantries.

Lansius glanced at Audrey, finding her looking pleased. "They've come to ask for more details about the armor," she explained.

"Gentlemen, I'll be glad to answer. Then, let my scribe record this conversation."

The scribe on duty prepared his tools, and the meeting began.

A broad-shouldered man in a black doublet offered a slight bow before speaking. "My Lord and Lady, we understand that the challenge is to craft armor capable of withstanding a windlass crossbow and its heavier bolts while remaining light and flexible. We accept the challenge, but may we learn what kind of windlass and at what range will the test be conducted?"

"Let's make it three shots at twenty Imperial steps," Lansius decided. "One using a smaller windlass against the helmet and pauldron, and then the heaviest draw windlass against the breastplate."

The guests exchanged glances. One asked, "My Lord, is the challenge to ensure the bolt does not pierce the armor?"

"No. At such range and against a windlass, penetration is likely. But I'll allow the tip to go, say, two coins deep. Deeper than that would be lethal. However," he paused, "if you aim to win, then no penetration is better."

The guest nodded while the scribe recorded the meeting.

"Gentlemen," Lansius said, "I'm sure this won't be too much of a challenge for you. I know that hardening techniques are known in Midlandia, and you have good furnaces that produce quality iron."

There were a myriad of reactions. Some had confident stares, others looked unsure, and one was unreadable. But none voiced a complaint. To argue now would be to show that they were incapable.

One smith, tall with a rough, tanned face, stepped forward. "Then we'll strive to meet your expectations."

"I'm glad to hear it," Lansius said. "Now, while you're still here, please accompany me a little longer. I've asked the staff to arrange some drinks for us."

The guests were grateful for the offer. The invitation to the castle, meeting face to face, engaging in small talk, and being treated well were not the usual way to conduct business with them. Nobles usually only invited them for measurements and gave demands for the type of armor they wanted.

"While we're waiting for the drinks, tell me a thing or two about the hardening process," Lansius asked his guests. "Do you harden with charcoal? Or do you simply quench the metal in water, salt water, or oil?"

The seemingly simple question made the smiths exchange glances, their expressions changing. Excitement flickered in their eyes. Now they knew they were speaking to someone who understood their craft.

Audrey seemed to enjoy this exchange, while Lansius leaned back to savor their reaction. He had always been fascinated by armor, and now, with the threat laid bare by the muskets, the passionate ember in his heart burned brighter.

Yes, speak to me plainly. I'll need to know all about you. Let me bring you 200 years' worth of armor advancements.

***