Chapter 318

The Golden Silence

 

Camp, Foothill below the Monastery

As the sun drifted toward the west, the camp and the surrounding barricades were lit by hundreds of watch fires. Along the palisades, torches burned steadily, casting long shadows across the trenches and earthworks.

By order of the command staff, the camp had been cleared of previously captured men. There were no prisoners remaining, aside from a bribed few kept solely to identify Monastery members if they were willing to talk. All other prisoners had been transferred to neighboring towns.

While Sir Harold, as the commander of both the camp and the campaign, held jurisdiction over them, he refused to pass further judgment. Aside from whipping the worst offenders, he believed it was the bailiff’s duty to convene a court and deliver judgment in accordance with Imperium law, which was still in force. Sir Omin, in his letter, appeared to agree with this position. The House took no chances on the matter. Everything was done by the book, leaving no opening for dispute.

As for the camp itself, the man-eating duck incident remained the talk of the evening. As the men came off watch and gathered around their fires for supper, the story spread from group to group. Yet it was little more than camp gossip. It no longer seemed critical. No one voiced complaints about the ducks, nor did any group appear threatened by them.

The men trusted the ducks, and that was the end of it.

Yet a different story was spreading. The tale went that just around sundown, one of the caretakers, while shoveling manure from the pen, stumbled upon something incredible. He noticed something faintly glinting in the fading light. He paused, set it aside, and continued working. When he was finished, he examined it more closely and discovered it was metal. More than that, when he splashed it with a bucket of water, it gleamed unmistakably like gold.

He notified his superior, who confirmed that it was indeed gold and immediately brought men to the pen with torches and lit a bonfire. They began shoveling and found more. Word spread quickly. Before long, a small crowd of onlookers had gathered.

“The what?” the Lowlandia-born guard on night duty at the palisade wall demanded, staring in disbelief at the friend who broke the news.

“They found gold in the ducks’ dung pile. I was passing nearby when it happened,” said his friend, a Midlandian-born guard fresh from hauling a bucket of water from the well.

“No wonder it took you so long just to fetch water,” one of them muttered in jest.

“You’re saying one of the ducks laid a golden egg, like in that old story?” another asked, amused.

But most were skeptical. “Aren’t most of the war ducks male?” the youngest of them asked.

Dismissive murmurs rippled through the crowd, their faces lit by the crackling fire from a metal brazier filled with pitch-soaked wood that burned bright.

“The one in question is probably female,” the Midlandian kept insisting.

His friend chuckled. “No way this is real. Gold coins, maybe. A smuggler must have dropped it.”

“Not coins. Lumps of gold,” the Midlandian insisted, half laughing himself.

“Lumps?” his friend frowned.

A hush fell over the guards, followed by a low murmur.

Still, no one was convinced until the Midlandian turned to an older man leaning against the palisade wall, his gaze distant as he stared out into the darkened landscape.

“Watch leader, you were there too. I saw you with the crowd. Tell them.”

All eyes shifted to the watch leader. He had been handling reports when the commotion at the duck pen drew his attention. Slowly, he let out a tired breath before nodding.

“By the Ancients,” several men muttered at once.

“Where’s the gold now? I want to see it after my break,” the skeptical guard asked the Midlandian, and many murmured in agreement.

“Not at the duck pen anymore,” the watch leader was the one who responded. “The riders reported it to the command staff. They should have taken it away by now.”

The Midlandian guard grinned and turned toward another watchtower. There too, the guards had grown noisy, likely discussing the very same topic. Even in the dead of night, the story continued to spread, and by morning almost everyone knew about a duck that laid golden eggs.

...

 

Sir Harold

As the sun rose, inside one of the cabins, the knight commander rubbed his temples as he received the night watch report. Big Ben, the half-kin, had captured a second man who had thrown several weighted letters over a weak section of the fence. He had been caught only because Big Ben was on patrol and noticed the movement. This marked his second capture since arriving at the camp. On the other side of the wall, Lady Valerie had also apprehended one, though it was officially recorded as if an ordinary patrol had made the capture.

Sir Harold understood that Lady Valerie’s true identity was meant to remain concealed, which unfortunately only fueled rumors about who she truly was among the troops. At present, the men spoke of her as a champion. They had begun calling her the Hero of Cascasonne.

It was rather odd that her fame spread now rather than at the end of the siege. Sir Omin had once theorized during their meetings that the people, especially the Midlandians, needed a hero amid the fall of Midlandian rule to keep their heads straight. That role had fallen to her, who ironically possessed a mysterious background and pale hair that marked her as likely of northern descent.

Sir Harold himself did not hold any particular opinion of her other than respect.

After hearing the report, he asked, “Did they retrieve the messages, and was the interrogation carried out?”

“Yes, the messages were retrieved, and the bailiff’s men are working on them. But they have yet to decipher the contents. The thrower was a local ruffian who didn't know the message.”

Sir Harold inhaled deeply. It was just like the first man they had captured. The Monastery supporters were not incompetent and had tried many ways to communicate. Now, with the merchants completely barred, they had grown desperate.

“Is that all?”

“No, sir, there is another matter to report.”

The messenger then relayed the story about the duck that laid golden eggs, which had spread during the night, along with the findings from the night watch leader and one of his staff.

Sir Harold's expression did not change despite being dumbfounded. He tried to process the absurdity of it before uttering, “What kind of report is that?”

The messenger could only stand in silence, his unease plain to see.

Exhaling deeply, he dismissed the messenger. Only then did Clementine, already dressed in her medical garb, come from her chamber and ask, “What’s wrong?”

He turned to her and said, “Rumors say one of the ducks laid gold eggs.”

Clementine quickly stifled a laugh. “That’s not possible. Not even magic can do that. It must have eaten a piece of gold jewelry by mistake.”

“Not a gold coin nor a ring,” Sir Harold replied. “A lump of gold.”

“By the... Ancients. That’s mad talk. You should investigate,” she said.

“They already did, and a staff member confirmed it,” Sir Harold said, rising from his seat. Somehow, the ducks kept causing sensation after sensation.

Sir Harold donned his brigandine and headed to the command cabin. There, his staff presented the cleaned lumps of gold. It turned out there was not just one, but several, including a larger piece. One of the smaller ones was egg-shaped, likely a decorative item. It soon became clear that these were man-made.

“Likely one of the Saint Candidates brought this instead of coins to purchase goods for smuggling,” the vice reported in a confident voice.

The knight commander pondered for a moment, rubbing his strong chin, before saying, “Keep them somewhere safe. Label them as evidence.”

“Sir, what do you wish to do with the duck? This may cause unnecessary distraction among the men,” the vice asked. “Should we remove them from the camp?”

Sir Harold flashed a grin that caught his staff by surprise. “Let the men have their distractions,” he said. “The worst they’ll do is poke at piles of dung.”

A few of his staff chuckled at the unexpected remark.

“Just make sure they don’t stick their heads into a duck’s rear,” Sir Harold added dryly, much to his men’s amusement. He went on, “Let them have their fun. I want our men fresh and willing. There are only a few more days.”

The vice recalled another related issue and asked, “Sir, do you think we should send our final demand today?”

Sir Harold did not answer at once. His thoughts returned to the Lord’s plan, the careful coordination, the long preparations that had brought them to this point. His gaze moved across his staff, one face at a time. “Repeat our demands to them. No changes. Give them three days. Make sure they understand it is final.”

The vice nodded deeply.

Watching them, the officer in red brigandine asked, “Are we going to attack once the time runs out?”

“Yes,” Sir Harold answered firmly. “Three days from now, two hours after sunrise, if the Saint is not delivered to us, we will march and take her by force.”

“Sir,” the officers replied in unison, acknowledging the order.

Sir Harold exhaled sharply. “Gentlemen, the Lord expects three days of assault. Make sure this farce ends before the week is out.”

“Sir,” the staff replied again, backs straight, shoulders tense, eyes fierce. They knew much was expected of them. This would be the Blue and Bronze’s first assault against a fortified complex, one defended by trained guards, fanatics, and dozens of mage-like individuals.

 

***

 

Inner Sanctum, Apothecary Stores

Young Anna, still in her early twenties, draped in a simple apron, worked inside a small shop within the Monastery’s Inner Sanctum. From the outside, she dressed much like a physician, though she did not deal with patients directly. Her role lay in preparing medicines.

While she possessed talent in healing magic, her greatest strength was in apothecary. Many considered her sense of smell and taste to be gifted, paired with a sharp memory that allowed her to recall countless plants and herbal leaves by sight alone.

With delicate hands moving across a worktable covered by a thin slab of white marble, she sorted through what dried herbs the store still held and measured them correctly.

Today, she was preparing remedies for stomach pain. Besieged or not, someone still needed to prepare common medicines for stomach ailments, along with treatments for colds, coughs, and skin rashes. Otherwise, the situation would certainly worsen. Though the Sisters were mostly unaffected by the food situation, as the Inner Sanctum possessed its own ample food stores, she knew conditions elsewhere in the Monastery were deteriorating.

With so little food and no variety beyond watered-down oats and questionable bread, loss of appetite and indigestion were inevitable. She had already gone through a week’s worth of medicine in just a few days.

“Spell out the ingredients for me,” Anna said to her assistant beside her, without lifting her eyes from her work.

“It’s mint, fennel, cinnamon, and ginger,” her assistant, only two years younger and wearing the same white attire, answered readily.

“Why use ginger?” Anna asked as she finished measuring the ingredients with care.

“It helps alleviate gas and also treats colic.”

“Good. And what if they don’t improve?”

The assistant pondered for a moment, brows furrowing, before answering, “Fresh snail syrup?”

“Yes, but don’t tell them that,” Anna replied as she tipped the mixed ingredients into the mortar. “Some don’t like eating escargot.”

“But they’re quite good,” the assistant replied with an easy smile.

Anna snorted softly, then quickly composed herself. Their workspace was not tucked away in a quiet corner but sat beside a busy corridor, with a wide window where two people could queue for medicine at once. Thus, they could not afford to appear at ease.

“Remember, a healer can also treat pain externally using balm, just to ease it,” Anna reminded her assistant as she stepped aside, allowing the assistant to take the pestle and begin grinding.

“Oh yeah, Sister, I heard about hippocras. Can it be used?” she asked, working the pestle in slow, practiced circles.

“Where did you hear about it? It can help, but don’t give it to anyone who asks. It’s made from sweetened wine, and so far, it has only made things worse. It’s probably closer to a laxative than stomach medicine.”

“I see...”

As Anna prepared another batch, she noticed that the usually busy corridor was devoid of activity. The air throughout the Inner Sanctum was tense and heavy. The past few days had been especially hard. Rumors spread freely. Faces grew paler by the day, suspicion took root, and accusations followed in whispers and hurried, clandestine meetings.

She knew groups were forming again, just like last year, when Sister Nay seized leadership in a bloody purge.

Anna still missed the Old Abbess and many of the senior sisters who had vanished during that time. Officially, they had been retired to faraway places. She knew better. As an apothecary’s student, she had been the one ordered to administer antidotes to several of them, all to no avail. Poison had been the first move. After that came knives in the dark and thin ropes drawn tight around the neck.

“Sister,” the assistant called, pulling her back from her thoughts.

“Yes?” Anna replied, her composure intact.

“Is this enough?”

“Do some more,” Anna observed. “Finer is better. It reacts faster in the body. Otherwise, they’ll complain that the medicine doesn’t work.”

Nodding, the assistant ground the mixture again. Her hand movements had already grown steady after just a few short months. She was not Anna’s first assistant. The previous one, a close friend, had been taken by the Saint to serve as her personal aide. Despite living under the same roof, Anna rarely saw her anymore, as she now stayed on the Saint’s separate floor.

The last time had been more than a month ago, the day Sister Angela returned with the Great Gemstone. It had been celebrated as a triumphant victory. That was what they had all been told. Yet whatever hope it inspired was quickly crushed once the truth of what followed became known.

Her absence, along with that of several others, left Anna wondering whether the Saint was preparing something in secret.

Without realizing it, her gaze drifted downward, toward the floor, as if she could see through the thick stone beneath her feet.

Compared to many castles in the region, the Monastery was not particularly old, having stood for only around two hundred years. Yet it had clearly been built in haste, with an abundance of money and labor. Carved into the hill itself, it possessed vast lower levels, which Anna had heard were reinforced as well, meant to prevent tunneling.

The more she learned about the Monastery’s walls and defenses, the more she realized it had been designed to withstand a siege. Many like her did not understand why such measures had ever been necessary. They were healers, not a noble house. Yet the siege had come all the same, and she could only respect the foresight of the forefathers who had planned for it.

Still, to a sharp mind like hers, there were questions nobody could answer, such as how healing others had made them objects of hatred in the eyes of the current ruling House.

Yet Anna couldn't blame the ruling House. The Monastery had indeed kept choosing sides, claimed the new Lord was a Demon, and even staged a rebellion.

They lost that gamble. The rebellion was crushed, with only a Great Gemstone to show for it.

Now the ruling House wanted Saint Nay, and Anna thought it was only just.

Footsteps were heard in the corridor, and several Sisters passed by, looking busy and talking among themselves in low voices, yet with evident concern. They were an older group, and without patients, they rarely spoke with Anna. As they passed, it grew quiet again before softer footsteps were heard. Then the face of a lovely woman in her late twenties appeared at the window. The freckles on her cheeks gave her a gentle, almost playful charm.

“Hi, Anna, do you have tooth powder? It’s getting bad again,” she asked, keeping her long platinum-blond hair gathered back with one hand.

Anna knew her as Emma. The request sounded normal, but to Anna it carried a hidden intent. “I can give you tooth powder, but I really need to take a look at it first.”

“Sure, just don’t pull out anything."

“I’ll need to see it first before I decide on anything.” Anna removed her apron and turned to her assistant. “Stay here.”

“Certainly. Take your time,” the assistant replied cheerfully. The day was quiet, so there was no concern over a medical emergency requiring access to the more potent medicines.

The two walked toward the opposite chamber. It was a small examination space with two chairs, a small table, and no door, only a canvas separator so the healer could call out if help was needed.

As Emma sat and opened her mouth, she began to say, “Things worsened. The Lord just sent a messenger saying we only have three days.”

Anna heaved a sigh. “Any details?”

“We’re still trying. The damn scribes won’t talk, and the commoners only heard parts, as the messenger’s voice was drowned by a chorus of mockery from inside.”

Anna drew a deep, long breath to calm herself. In any demand, there had to be the option to surrender. Many wanted that. Even among the Sisters, those who disliked the Saint were not few, and more were unwilling to die for her.

“If we don’t do something, in three days we’re going to die,” Emma said. The words felt unreal to them.

“You don’t need tooth powder for this one, just some salt to gargle,” Anna replied evenly, as if unbothered.

“Anna, you know me. Just like our late mentors, I only care about the children. There are fourteen of them, all with good talent. They’re innocent,” the older Sister said, bitter at their situation.

The younger Sister asked, “Are there any other teeth that feel uncomfortable?”

“The Brothers are clamoring to fight. The three missing ones were especially hard on them. Many fear the Lord’s half-breed caught them, so now they say those rumors were all lies, and that the half-breed was just hairy men from the south.”

Anna just listened, still checking her friend’s tooth, which had a small cavity from her preference for sweet food. She had seen worse, cases where her mentor needed to extract it and let the gum heal so it could grow back properly. With a little magic, the regrowth would be much faster than the usual two to three years.

“You need to refrain from eating honey cane. It causes bad teeth,” Anna continued to reply this way so that, if she were ever under suspicion and examined with the Nectar of Truth, her own testimony would be unreliable, as what she had said was entirely truthful. She had merely checked a patient’s teeth and given health advice.

Outside, Sisters walked past the chamber.

The older Sister nodded but said, “You know I can’t. It reminds me of her.”

The name Clementine formed in her mind. A talent among them who had, unfortunately, fallen into a fanatical group. Her group had participated in the siege of Cascasonne and was never heard from again.

Emma continued, whispering, “The little strengthening magic training got into the men’s heads. Anna, this will be bloody on both sides.” Her words were bitter and grim. “There are nine of us now. The more of us there are, the more likely the Lord's men are to accept our surrender and treat us fairly.”

“Careful,” Anna warned. “That one bad tooth might spread to another.”

“I will.”

As Anna washed her hands, as she did before checking, Emma said, “I need a favor.”

“I’ll prescribe a vial of salt. I can’t give you much. We’re rationing everything.”

The older Sister whispered, “Your former assistant now works with Saint Nay. Find her and ask her anything. We need to know if the Saint is even still in here.”

Her request made Anna turn and gaze at her. Their eyes met briefly, and Anna nodded. “I can’t promise results if you don’t gargle and still eat honey cane.”

This concluded their conversation. Anna returned to the apothecary station. More Sisters passed by, whispering.

It was appalling to see and feel the distrust. They used to be more than sixty Sisters before Saint Nay’s bloody ascension. Now they numbered only about forty. It should have been a tight-knit group, yet there was only suspicion among the groups. She was sure many Sisters disapproved of the Saint’s direction, but feared reprisal.

The Saint had fostered a situation where anyone could be reported. And they knew firsthand that the Saint was cruel. Her envy and suspicion were especially dangerous. She could send anyone to the cold cell, a metal cage mounted atop the tower, where the condemned would be left exposed to the elements for weeks with nothing but their robes, fed only on brown bread. It was brutal, and she had no qualms about doing so in either summer or winter.

Last year, a few froze to death, and she merely declared it an unfortunate accident. Saint Nay even went so far as to claim the condemned had been fake Saint Candidates, or those who had failed their studies, arguing that any Sister or Brother should be able to survive using magic.

Every Sister who had finished training knew it was a lie. Saint Nay simply wanted those who dared oppose her to die.

She knew from her mentor's past stories that hatred and resentment had long been part of it. Before Nay became a Saint, she had been kept in the dungeon for several decades due to disputes and reckless experiments. Instead of dying of age, she perfected a new form of magic. Keeping her in that cell had only made her unstable, but powerful. Her magic was said to rival that of the greatest mages, or so Anna had been led to believe.

More than anything, Anna could confirm that the Saint possessed high-level magic. Her rejuvenation magic was especially remarkable. It was so effective that several years before her escape, she was no longer referred to as an old hag, even by her detractors, as her appearance had become akin to that of a woman in her forties.

To think she was also one of the founders of the Monastery. Which meant she was actually older than these walls.

But it also meant one thing. She could be confined.

She was not divine.

She was just a very capable mage.

“Saint Candidate...” Anna whispered to herself, thinking about the title as she measured another batch of recently dried herbs.

Those who studied the records knew the title was just a name. They were all mages with different approaches to magic. One who was not as troublesome as true mages, and who could be more easily controlled.

She had come to suspect that the Healing Guild had not been founded for noble reasons after all, but to serve a far more sinister purpose. She did not know what that purpose was. All she cared about was getting away with those she held dear. They were innocents. They were just healers.

However, the Saint’s cronies and supporters would not let them escape. After all, she demanded full obedience to her teachings, teachings that nobody knew in full.

Worse, the Saint was especially adept at charming men. All twenty-two of the Brothers had become her personal, fanatical fighters.

No Sister would escape. But they would have their chance when the attack came.

“Sister,” Anna called her assistant.

Her assistant turned her way. “Yes?”

“It’s quiet now. Can you look after the place? I need to find my friend. She might need some of the dried herbs we just finished.”

“But what about the incense?” her assistant asked, concerned.

“I’ll do it after I get back.”

Her assistant reluctantly nodded.

Anna gathered a basket of herbs, along with several finished tinctures and poultices, and headed into the corridor, which twisted like a labyrinth. She passed through archways, down stairwells, and across an open hall, continuing toward a wing she rarely visited anymore. She went there under the watchful eyes of several Sisters, curious but too afraid to draw attention or even question her.

Anyone not in their usual area was deemed suspicious, but an apothecary carrying a basket of herbs was assumed to be on duty. Anna walked casually, though her heart raced. Soon she would reach the lower floor. There, she would face not only the supporters but also the cronies, and perhaps even the Saint herself.

 

***