Horizon of War Series

Chapter 150: In the Shadow of Power

In the Shadow of Power

Korimor

Morning came with a heavy weight on the townsfolk's minds. With winter only a few short months away, the row of burned storehouses was particularly concerning. Even without understanding economics, they knew the price of goods would rise. Since they had not enjoyed a good harvest, many were sullen about the situation.

Since dawn, the Lord's men had been poring over the wreckage, searching for anything that could be salvaged. What they found unnerved them: among the losses was their entire barley storage, which was essential for ale production.

In this era, without modern means of preservation, ale was typically consumed fresh since keeping it for more than two weeks would risk it going stale. Thus, it was crucial for a city to maintain a large store of barley all year round.

More than just an alcoholic beverage, ale was nutritious, filling, and a source of enjoyment. It was the favored drink for unwinding after a hard day's work, and the prospect of it becoming scarce as winter approached was daunting for everyone.

As expected, when the general populace learned about the shortage, the mood in the city soured further. Then, things worsened: those with money began to hoard barrels of barley, knowing they could turn a profit at the peak of winter.

Many whispered that within a week, the city's brewery would run out of barley, and soon after, the taverns would run dry as well.

The mood in the city was as thick and suffocating as a deluge. Devoid of its usual lively buzz, the air hung heavy with a sense of dread. From the safety of the high castle window, Omin watched over his former city, his sigh blending with the cold breeze. He knew the difficult days ahead. For those in power, the loss of ale threatened their very grip on control, making the task of governing an anxious populace all the more daunting.

"What's the matter, Sir?" Michael’s voice cut through the silence, pulling Omin back from his troubled thoughts. Seated across from him in the council room bathed in morning sunlight, Michael looked expectant, while Roger stood silently at the ready.

Omin turned to face Michael and lamented, "If only we had a victory to show them."

Michael sat silently, inhaling deeply.

"But Sir, Sir Hugo is victorious," Roger reminded.

"Victorious in the field, yes. But we have nothing to show the populace but dead men. We need a victory parade with captured hostages and their baggage train to pacify the people."

"But is that necessary, Sir?" the squire asked curiously.

"Oh, it's vital," Omin declared, delighted by the squire's inquisitive nature. "By parading the hostages, we can effectively shift all the blame to them." He then took an oratory stance. "Here are the thieves and perpetrators who burned the barley, raised the price of goods, and took away your ale. My good people, what should we do with them?"

Roger nodded deeply in understanding.

"Without them to show, we'll lose face and look incompetent. And soon they'll blame us," Omin said with regret.

"The commoners will blame us? But why?" Roger raised his eyebrows, questioning the reality of such a claim.

Omin glanced at Michael, who nodded in acknowledgment, "I might learn something valuable from you."

The former lord turned to Roger and explained, "It's the nature of people to blame someone for their hardships. And when there's only us, the rulers, and them, the commoners, then they'll blame us."

"That is preposterous," the squire blurted out.

"Yes, it's sickening, but people in history have done much worse. Before the era of the Imperiums, when the rains didn't come and a drought ensued, the commoners often rebelled and dethroned their kings. They never bothered to blame the sky or the Ancients, but always the ones in power."

Roger stood in contemplation.

Michael added, "It's unfortunate that we are the easiest to blame, and our actions will undoubtedly pit them against us."

Roger turned to the handsome knight with the eye patch. "But Sir, why are we going against the commoners?"

"Because some might want to loot the shops," Michael said with a concerned face.

Roger looked sickened.

Omin approached the shelves and began to peruse some scrolls.

Michael rose and approached. "Thinking of conducting trade before winter?"

"Since we're under one House, we should be able to ask Korelia to spare some grain and barley," he explained. "The problem is what to offer, because coming empty-handed could ruin everyone's reputation."

"Let's find something. I'll personally ride to report to the Marshal," the knight from White Lake offered.

However, betraying their newfound resolution, shouts and the bustle from the battlements suddenly alerted them.

"Another attack?" Michael asked while Roger rushed out to find more information.

"Don your armor, I'll go to the gatehouse," Omin urged.

As the leaders made their preparations, a feeling of dread and hopelessness swept over the populace. The townsfolk ran home, shut their doors, and barred them with solid planks of wood. Meanwhile, guardsmen rushed to the battlements. The city gate was sealed shut, and the men-at-arms were donning armor still battered and stained from yesterday’s battle.

Looming in the distance, a mysterious wingless object flanked by hundreds of cavalrymen approached.

...

The wingless ivory giant, majestic and foreboding, flew above the city. Initially, people were fearful, but soon many who peeked recognized two familiar banners beneath it. The upper banner displayed a white shield with a black horse, and beneath it flew a blue shield with a single bronze chevron.

"It's the Lord and Lady," the people whispered inside their homes.

"If they're here, that means they're winning their campaign," was the common reaction, recognizing the banners that had saved them from the Nicopolan invasion just months ago.

Everyone in the city was relieved to find that the object wasn’t a flying monster, but likely a magical vessel unlike anything they had ever seen before. Soon, the cheering and shouting from the guardsmen confirmed their thoughts.

People rushed out from their homes trying to catch a better glimpse of the wingless giant. Its shape was large but sleek, like the head of a spear. Its skin had ethereal properties, unlike anything they had ever seen before. Quickly, the previous sullen mood was replaced by eagerness and hope.

Excitement grew as more and more people flocked to the streets. This was the second time the Lord and Lady had arrived in Korimor unannounced, like a lightning strike. Although their experience had taught them that the Black Lord was unpredictable, nobody could have predicted the arrival of a flying behemoth.

"Is that a vessel?" a gentleman whispered in awe and fear.

"How does it fly without wings?" another commented.

"It’s so massive, does it house an entire army?"

Crowds formed inside the city, fueled by curiosity, following the movement of the massive flying object.

Guards and commoners alike tracked the object until it flew past the city wall. To their surprise, they found the city gate wide open.

Outside, a military procession unfolded with hundreds of horsemen arrayed in formation. Just beyond their sight, on the plains outside Korimor City, a majestic object landed gracefully. Later, they learned that the flying vessel was an airship and it had been given a name: Horsie.

***

Arvena Province

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A lone man in a cloak walked carelessly as he gently guided a horse down a dirt road after a brief drizzle. The surrounding meadows teemed with insects and butterflies, the last of the season before they migrated south to escape the harsh winter. The sun emerged again, causing the water droplets still clinging to the grass blades to glisten.

Suddenly, the beautiful black horse halted mid-trot, her nostrils flaring. With a loud, explosive sneeze, she shook her head, sending droplets scattering in the sunlight.

The cloaked man, hauling a bag on his back, laughed at the sudden outburst. "Someone must've been talking about you," he joked, patting the horse's neck affectionately. "Perhaps your real master, eh?" he continued, teasing the noble steed.

In response, the horse tossed her mane and neighed loudly.

"Nah... I doubt the one I beat yesterday was your real master. You look every bit an Arvenian horse to me," he argued.

The horse neighed again as if in protest.

"What? Elandian, you say? Okay, excuse me then," the man laughed as he continued walking toward a village.

"Actually, do I know you? You look familiar," he ventured as they went on.

The horse snorted once.

"Ah, you're also unsure. Oh well..." he said nonchalantly as they arrived on the outskirts of Ceresia village.

The farmers, who were taking care of the winter seeds, saw them and hurriedly went away. But the man paid no heed. He knew the situation was tense and everyone was scared of punishment for entertaining a foreigner on their soil.

He yawned and kept walking. It was peaceful and serene, just the thump of his muddy boots and the horse's hooves.

Then two guards appeared and hurriedly approached them.

The man patted the horse and said, "Time for some unconventional tactics."

"Halt, the village is off-limits to outsiders," a young guard said fiercely, his voice thick with a northern accent, while the older one brandished his spear.

"I know. Who's your commander?" the man replied indifferently, smiling.

The guards exchanged glances and were about to answer when the man added, "Never mind that. Just bring me to him. I was issued a bad horse and was late to report. I'd better do it now before the nobles get mad."

The guards exchanged glances again, doubt evident on their faces.

"Come on, man. Be quick about it," he urged the guards.

"Who are you again?" the older guard intervened.

"Can't you see? I'm a spy from the front line, bringing a message to your commander—and I'm late."

The guards seemed confused, and then the older one shouted, "Your voice doesn’t sound northern."

With a grin, the cloaked man quipped, "What kind of poor spy would I be if I couldn't speak the local dialects?"

The two guards exchanged uneasy glances. "Wait here while we confirm—" the older guard's words were abruptly cut off as a heavy bag struck his face, knocking him to the ground with a thud.

Shock overtook the second guard; he hadn't seen the attack coming. His eyes widened, darting from his fallen comrade to the approaching figure. Drawing his blade came too late—the cloaked man had already closed the gap. The face underneath the hood flashed a wide grin, and with a swift, powerful swing of his fist, he struck the young guard squarely in the face, sending him tumbling to the muddy ground.

The perpetrator merely coughed dryly, then picked up the bag filled with ringmail that had bounced from the first guard, and continued his stroll as if nothing had happened. The horse neighed.

"Impressed, are you?" he chuckled. "Wait till you see what I have in mind. That bearded Thomas is no match for my brain. Everything is going to be ezzy."

...

Alba Castle, Arvena

In the sunlit dining hall of the expansive Alba Castle, the traditional seat of power in Arvena, a noble couple was having a late lunch. The wife, elegantly dressed, had a plate filled with costard, figs, and a bowl of vegetable stew as she scrutinized a written report.

"I keep hearing about Arvenian bandits operating in the east. What can we do about them?" she gently asked.

Her husband, a large, chubby knight who was the current governor of Arvena, replied with a thick northern accent, "This close to winter, with almost all our forces pulled to fight in the Capital, we can do nothing..."

"You should at least send men to Riverstead," the wife suggested.

Her proposal was met with a puzzled look from the knight. "Riverstead? Why?" he asked, absently sucking the lard from his fingers.

"The last reports indicated troubles, and then we received nothing," she said concerned.

"It must be due to a lack of messengers. You know how every good horse and rider is being funneled to the front line," he said dismissively, allowing the implications of his words to sink in. "Also, I don't want to create tension with the crown prince. Riverstead is his barony."

"But not like this. First, there’s urgency, and then nothing. They could send someone, even a squire to deliver some message," the wife insisted.

"Alright, if sending men will satisfy you, my dear, then I’ll send a scouting party," he conceded with a smile.

His words delighted the wife, then he quickly added, "But I must warn you. If we end up insulting the crown prince, then our current position might be compromised."

The wife sat straight and put down her fruit knife. "Husband, you are the designated governor of this place, not by connection but by sheer war merit. And I need not remind you that His Majesty's prestige is paramount."

"I understand that much," he retorted in surprise.

"If I were you, I'd fix the issue as soon as possible. Do not dwell on the promise of winter's respite. Let no news of setbacks reach the front line. And if the son is found to be incompetent then..." she articulated the last with heavy emphasis.

"Ah, I see where you are going with this," the knight chuckled. "I am blessed to have a wife as bright as you. With your sister married to His Majesty's second son, we could turn this into an opportunity."

"I am not entirely thrilled to support my nasty sister," she quipped.

"Then?" the knight squinted.

"I merely wish to obtain the first son's everlasting gratitude."

The knight laughed, his voice echoing in the serene chamber. He wiped his hands clean, rose, and approached his wife, lifting her effortlessly as if she were a toddler. Together, they walked down the corridor, with him crouching every time they passed a doorway, as he was too tall for most doors in any castle.

His wife had chosen wisely in marrying him, for he was one of the most capable men in the north. His placement in the rear was a strategic decision by the new King of the North. While his martial prowess was undoubtedly needed at the front, his role in the rear was even more critical to safeguard the backbone of the extensive campaign against the Capital.

Here, at the most vulnerable point where any disruption could choke the Northern Army, King Gottfried had positioned his best knight, to guard against both external and internal threats.

***

Korimor

"Sir, wake up!" The urgent knocking and a voice from outside invaded the room, relentless and pressing.

"Not so loud!" Hugo groaned, his voice laced with pain. His head throbbed from the previous night's excesses. He had resisted the urge to drink until yesterday's wound provided a convenient excuse. Worse yet, the presence of the naked woman sharing his bed was even harder to justify.

The knocking grew fiercer, impossible to ignore. "Sir, you must wake up now!"

"Are we under attack or something?" Hugo's irritation flared as he shouted back, trying to dismiss the disturbance. "If not, then leave me in peace. Let Sir Michael deal with it."

The woman beside him, sensing the increasing tension, slipped from the bed to dress. Hugo's hand shot out, pulling her back. "Stay," he muttered, his voice thick with the remnants of drink.

Silence fell suddenly, ominously, replacing the knocking.

Trying to muster some semblance of dignity, Hugo smiled at the woman. "See, there’s no need to—"

"Rise and shine, Sir new knight," a booming voice shattered the brief calm. "It’s Harold. You might want to learn that the Lord and Lady have arrived."

The color drained from Hugo’s face and the woman scrambled from the bed, terror evident in her eyes. "It’s the Black Lord... I mustn’t offend the Black Lord..." she muttered to herself, her hands fumbling as she hastily dressed.

Hugo watched her, panic rising within him. His voice, barely a whisper, carried a desperate edge. "Help me dress, quickly."

Outside, Sir Harold’s voice carried a hint of mockery. "I heard about your wound and your growing appetite. If you need assistance, just let us know. You know we can be discreet."

Struggling to regain his composure, Hugo managed a feeble reply, "No need, Sir. I’ll be right out."

...

Aided by wooden crutches, Hugo was escorted to the front of the castle. From this vantage point, he watched the procession unfold. Hundreds of cavalry, stout in form and proud in their bearing, with genuine smiles on their lips, moved along the cobbled streets.

It was a colorful procession; the troops wore bright clothes and polished armor that gleamed in the sunlight. The excited crowd lining both sides of the street cheered the triumphant return of their troops.

Hugo recognized many riders who passed and saluted him, but what truly shocked him were the scores of men paraded in the middle—defeated brigands from yesterday. Turning to Harold at his side, he asked, "How could the Lord find out?"

Sir Harold smiled cryptically. "We have eyes that can see in the dark," he said. "And lanterns that flash brighter than the night stars."

Bewilderment spread across Hugo's face as Harold clarified, "We tracked these brigands for half the night, venturing out of our way, mind you. We would have arrived yesterday had it not been for capturing them."

"What an amazing coincidence..." Hugo was at a loss for words.

Sir Michael and Sir Omin appeared, escorting a carriage drawn by four horses. Upon seeing them, the crowd cheered vigorously, shouting with excitement. The words voiced by the spectators made Hugo's eyes widen. "Flying ships and beastmen? Am I hearing this right?" he asked.

Sir Harold merely chuckled in response.

Soon, Sir Michael and Sir Omin rode past Hugo, nodding at each other. Their smiles and lighthearted expressions suggested that all was well. Emboldened, Hugo dared to anticipate praises for his accomplishments in yesterday's fighting.

As the carriage passed by, Hugo glimpsed the Lord and Lady inside, sitting across a wolf-faced creature. He stared at the creature, and by chance, the she-wolf returned his gaze. Their eyes met and held for a moment before both offered a polite nod.

The carriage moved past, and Hugo eagerly used his crutches to follow the staff to the courtyard and then into the castle, keen to catch another glimpse of the she-wolf. He recalled the tales that in ancient times, noblemen used to have a beast-wife, and he was curious about it.

Outside the castle, the high-ranking staff—comprising Sir Michael, Sir Hugo, Sir Omin, Roger, and followed by other squires, servants, pages, and maids—formed a line to welcome the Lord and Lady.

The rules implied that the host should exit first. Yet, against the rules, the she-wolf exited with unmatched agility. She landed silently, observed the staff, and then moved to the side, allowing the Lady to exit.

While everyone looked unnerved by the appearance of what they thought was a beastman, they were pleased to see Lady Audrey in person. She was the rightful owner of this domain, and the castle staff displayed their utmost respect to her.

Dressed in black attire, the Lady descended the short wooden steps and glanced momentarily at the assembled group. Yet, without a word, she turned to the side and, against all expectations, turned her back to them and vomited facing the cart.

"Huh?" Omin let out an incredulous grunt to his cousin's action. Hugo, standing next to him, could only exchange puzzled glances with Michael.

No one knew what to do; the protocol offered no guidance for this situation and had left them at a loss. Naturally, many wanted to rush to offer help, but the beastman spread her arm to block them as the Lord had already jumped down from the carriage. He went to the baroness and placed a gentle hand on her back.

The two whispered, and the Lord's smile spread, gladdening the hearts of many. Turning to the castle staff, he announced, "Please excuse the Lady. Pregnancy has made her easily nauseous."

Instantly, the castle staff erupted into heartfelt cheers, their faces alight with joy as they offered congratulatory wishes. The Lord gestured for the staff and the maids to come closer. They eagerly moved forward, familiar with the Lord's preference for informality from his short stay earlier this summer.

With great joy and eager anticipation, maids both young and old gathered around the pregnant Lady, tending to her with gentle care. This moment not only brought joy but also secured a bright future for House Audrey and Korimor.

***

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