Chapter 3 Preview

Ceresia

 

On his last night in Bellandia, Lansius told his family about his decision to join young Lord Arte as his retinue. His family was mostly ecstatic. However, Mother Arryn felt the need to warn him, "Remember, we’re just village folk, and you still have a lot to learn about interacting with nobles."

“It’s not that scary, Mother. Besides, expectations are low for country folks like us,” Marc reassured. He then added, “Based on your abilities, you’ll probably work in the supply camp. The worst that could happen is joining a scouting party to count enemy soldiers, but that’s unlikely since you’d need to know how to ride a horse.”

Lansius nodded, hoping Marc’s assessment was accurate.

“You know what Connor told me?” Marc asked.

“The butcher? No, why?”

“Don’t overthink it. Learn as you go if you have to. Opportunities are rare,” Marc said, smirking proudly as he reiterated Connor’s advice when Marc was selected for training.

Mother Arryn crossed her arms and muttered, “Well, the worst that can happen is they’ll send you home.”

Marc laughed and patted Lansius’ shoulder. “I’ll lend you my rucksack and shoulder bag. Now, let’s prepare things for the journey.”

Lansius didn’t tell them that accepting the offer would spare Marc from being levied.

...

 

Early in the morning after breakfast, horses around the camp were saddled. Men refilled their waterskins, and clothes and other gear were packed. Everyone, including a number of camp followers, was ready to march. Mules and horse carts laden with supplies were also lined up.

Meanwhile, inside Arryn’s household.

“Wear this for the winter,” she instructed as she unloaded items from a wooden chest.

“Gratitude.” Lansius examined the woolen coat and found it to be in good condition despite its age.

“Lans, take this for good luck,” said Marc.

Lansius looked at a small iron medallion resembling a coin with intricate patterns. “Where did you get this?”

“It belonged to Father.”

Lansius furrowed his brows. “Are you sure you want to give me this?”

“Yep,” Marc said, pulling out his own medallion. “I have a better one, see?”

Lansius grinned.

“Have you packed your mittens and thick gloves?” Arryn interjected.

“Yes, I’ve packed those already.”

“Extra foot wraps for the road?” she inquired.

“Already gave him two,” Marc answered.

She nodded. “That should suffice.”

Lansius’ rucksack was now filled. Next was the shoulder bag, which he packed with packages of dried meat, hard biscuits, a small sack of flour, some raisins, and carrots.

“Here’s the waterskin. It’s old but still sturdy and not leaky,” Marc said as he handed over what was essentially his own gear to Lansius.

“Gratitude, Marc. Let me pay you for this.”

“No need, you’ve already shared enough. I can buy another one later when I need it,” said Marc.

After they finished packing, Tanya came in and hugged him. “I was about to make you a hood, Lans, but it’s not finished yet. I’m sorry I can’t give you anything.” Her voice was tinged with regret.

Lifting her, he reassured her, “Don’t worry about it. Take care of Mother and Marc for me. I’ll come home when I can.”

“Hush, you’re going to work as a retinue,” Arryn corrected him. “Obey your master and don’t ask to come home too soon; wait until you’ve done something worthy. Don’t worry about us.”

Smiling at her wise advice, Lansius felt grateful. Given the hurried nature of his departure, he had little time to dwell on his emotions. His farewell might have been more emotional and potentially awkward if he had more time.

After saying his goodbyes and sharing warm hugs with everyone, Lansius, with a heavy heart, stepped out the door. His family waved as Lansius shouldered his rucksack and began to walk toward the camp.

The sun was still far on the east and the wind was cool, Bellandia looked amazing around time like this.

As Lansius had expected, a woman in black gambeson waited not far from his house. Stefi approached Lansius and asked, “All set?”

Lansius tapped at his shoulder bag. “Hopefully, it’s enough.”

“I’ll share if you’re missing something,” Stefi reassured him. She then led him to a section of the camp where her horse was kept. It was already saddled and ready to go; a young servant stood by, waiting.

“Gratitude. Here’s a coin.”

Upon being paid, the servant darted into the crowd that was preparing to leave, apparently in search of his own master.

“What do you think of Horsie?” Stefi asked.

“She looks gentle, but I don’t know anything about horses,” he admitted.

Stefi chuckled. “Come on, take the reins, and let’s go.”

Lansius wasn’t sure. “I’ve never held horse reins before.”

“Don’t worry, she’s docile. Time to get acquainted,” Stefi said, smiling.

He gazed at her questioningly. “You’re going to train me to ride?”

“There’s no reason not to. Just don’t pull too hard. Guide her gently.”

Lansius did as he was told, and they finally hit the road. It was bustling with a column of people, knights, horse carts, pack mules, and even donkeys, all marching eastward toward their final destination: Riverstead City.

 

***

 

Elven Calendar 4422

In an era marked by rising tensions and escalating raids, Viscount Karius, the formidable Lord of Inglesia, committed the ultimate act of aggression. He crossed the Great River and launched a large-scale attack on the jewel of the Arvena province - the city of Riverstead.

Despite Lord Maurice of Arvena’s attempts to fortify the city, even sending his own son to bolster its defenses, the city of Riverstead fell prey to Karius’ surprise assault.

The High Lords viewed this as an overt act of hostility and aimed to censure the Lord of Inglesia. However, the Imperium’s archaic bureaucracy, slow and unresponsive, sought to label the incident as a minor border squabble among its vassal lords.

This attempt was a bid to preserve a semblance of peace within a realm already besieged by wars, particularly the Western front’s ongoing struggle against nomadic incursions.

Unwilling to wait for the slow response of the Imperium, Lord Maurice mustered his forces, marching them to Ceresia on the eve of winter.

 

***

 

One month after leaving Bellandia.

Lansius was suddenly awoken by a chilling gust of wind, causing his body to stiffen and his face to ache from the cold. Blinking, he found himself curled up around a faintly glowing campfire inside an old barn. Despite the fire's warmth, he could see his breath turning into vapor.

“It’s still not dawn,” Stefi whispered beside him.

Lansius nodded and pulled his rough woolen blanket tighter around himself. The wind outside howled and shook the barn, making it feel even colder. Despite the thick rags and hay mats on the ground, the cold still seeped through.

Only the crackling fire and the friendly faces of his comrades brought any relief. Gradually, Lansius began to drift back to sleep.

Lansius and the Arvena troops had been marching to retake Riverstead for almost a month when they encountered sudden, drastic changes in the weather. No one wanted to be caught in a blizzard, so they scrambled to find winter quarters.

Lansius' group had found refuge in an abandoned barn in Ceresia village, where they had been trapped for over a month. Yet winter was still in full force, with frequent snowfall and blizzards.

Today was another cloudy day, with weak sunlight filtering through the gaps in the wood panels. The early risers were already up and about, preparing breakfast. Nobility and city dwellers didn't typically eat so early in the morning, but on a campaign, it was a necessity. Morning was one of the few times they could cook without much interruption.

Lansius's stomach growled, and he knew the wine and water he drank each night would upset his digestion. Nevertheless, he needed a sip or two to warm up. Just as he was about to sigh, Stefi appeared with a bowl of stew she had received from the cook.

“You’re awake?” she asked, offering him the bowl.

“Gratitude,” he said, taking the bowl and sipping the warm, savory broth.

Smells burnt just as usual, but the warmth hits the spot.

Lansius took another spoonful, while Stefi gobbled down a thick, round bread. They swapped the bowl for the bread and continued eating.

Stefi didn’t bat an eye when they shared the bowl and spoon; partly because she was raised as a squire, but mainly because of practicality.

Most men carried a wooden plate and spoon, but washing them repeatedly in ice-cold water was a daunting task. One trick was to use a heated rock from the fireplace and dunk it in a bucket to warm the water, but even then, nobody wanted to do it repeatedly. Thus, sharing utensils was a common practice. However...

Don’t think about it-

But this is the same bowl and spoon...

For better or worse, Lansius hadn't been close to a woman his own age in two years. But now, he and Stefi were practically inseparable. They marched, ate, and slept beside each other every day.

Stefi wasn’t done and directed her sword upward. Lansius knew the routine, but instinct made him to dodge backward. He felt it was more natural. However, she followed up with a swing that stopped inches from Lansius’ neck.

“You need to parry it,” she warned him before pulling out her sword.

“My bad,” he exclaimed. “But it feels natural.”

Stefi didn’t bother with his rant. “Again.”

They resumed their stance. Repetition built muscle memory, and gradually there was less hesitation in Lansius’ moves.

Stefi had worked tirelessly to teach him the correct way. At first, he had been clumsy and had some misconceptions about swordsmanship, but now he was starting to get the basics right.

The two weren't the only ones practicing. Breakfast had ended, and more people were exercising. Many young first-timers practiced with their spears, but Stefi felt that more spear training would be useless for Lansius. Since there were no words about Lansius' appointment, Stefi, as a squire, fell back on things she knew best, which was sword training. She thought that teaching him some sword combat would be useful.

Around midday, the barn turned into a chaotic work group. Some people searched for cracks in the walls to patch up, while others tended to the horses and mules. A few went outside, braving against ankle deep snow to relieve themselves in the adjacent hut.

When the sun was at its highest, everyone paused to bask in its warmth. Unfortunately, lunch wasn’t very appetizing. The bread from this morning was blackened and soggy.

Lansius sat with his back against the wall, trying to munch the tasteless bread. A slice of ham, cheese, or pickles would have been a welcome addition, but those were reserved for the nobles.

“Still having trouble with the bread?” Stefi asked.

He groaned, “It’s mushy and tastes horrible.”

She chuckled. “Just be grateful it’s still white. When things get hard, they use cheap grains, the ones they used to feed the mules.”

In shock, he asked, “How does that thing taste?”

“Horsebread? They’re gross, smell and taste like dirt.”

Lansius’ terrified face made Stefi giggle.

“Finish your bread and do some riding while there’s still light,” she said and rose up.

Lansius followed and spent an hour riding slowly around the tight enclosure. Far from riding on his own, Stefi was the one pulling the horse’s reins on foot. She taught him how to sit correctly on the saddle and what not to do when riding.

Despite just sitting on the saddle, it was tiring for someone who wasn’t accustomed to the rocking motion. It wasn’t as easy as he had imagined, and the horse’s smell was giving him a hard time. “Are you sure the saddle is alright?”

“Well, maybe it could have better paddings, but...” she shook her head.

Lansius understood the reason. Maintaining her gear alone was costly; boots needed new soles, coats needed mending, and horses needed fodder, to name a few. It was lucky that her old master used good bridles that still worked despite years of usage.

“Well, don’t mind my ramblings. I’m already grateful that you are teaching me how to ride.”

She chuckled. “Give thanks to Horsie. She’s the one who carried you around.”

The horse neighed as if she understood.

Soon, the sun began to set in the west. The temperature dropped and people begrudgingly donned coats and blankets. Despite daily exercise or handling animals, they rarely bathed, only doing so when absolutely necessary.

Lansius too adopted this practice to some degree, finding the hassle of bathing not worth the effort. When he did wash up, he used a bucket of warm water, a clean cloth, and firewood ash as soap.

Cleanliness was appreciated but difficult to achieve, thus it was common to find cases of rashes and other skin disorders. Clothing was the only thing preventing an outbreak of body odor and putrid smells, as the many layers of fabric kept the unpleasant odors inside.

As someone with a sensitive nose, Lansius avoided unpleasant smells when possible, but his introversion made him reluctant to say anything about his group. Eventually, Stefi noticed and moved together to a group that stank less.

The new group eventually found out about Lansius’ hair. Despite his attempt to always cover it up with a hood or traveling cloak, he couldn’t hide them forever. Unlike what he had feared, nobody behaved differently. The men were interested in his foreign background, but largely unconcerned. Only then did Lansius feel truly welcomed.

The cold season seemed endless, and people passed the time with chatting, playing dice, and preparing meals. When the sun went down, the barn grew quiet except for the bubbling of the cauldron and the crackling of the fire.

Despite the monotonous routine, people did their best to entertain themselves with music, storytelling, or gossip. As a foreigner, Lansius often found himself at the center of attention, but he was cautious about revealing his origin, and only offered vague answers about his birthplace.

The monotony continued for three weeks. During this period, some of the younger soldiers improved their weapon handling skills or picked up soft skills like reading and cooking. Lansius, however, made little progress beyond the basics in his sword training.

He instead focused on learning cursive writing with a wax stylus. A balding lieutenant with an arm tattoo, believing in Lansius' potential, offered to tutor him without charge, thinking that Lansius had potential and would go places.

One day, four men arrived and gathered the captain and lieutenant from Lansius’ shelter. Rumors of an impending attack spread like wildfire. Indeed, the weather had calmed down, and the snow was only ankle-deep.

When the captains and lieutenants returned, they confirmed the rumors. “Pack your gear. We’re going out tomorrow at dawn."

The shelter sprang to life as preparations for the journey began. Like Stefi, several of the group hailed from Riverstead. Driven out in the previous season, they were eager to return home.

“It finally happened,” Stefi said to Lansius, who could only nod with a sense of uneasiness.

 

***

 

The next day dawned in Ceresia, with a drop in temperature and a fierce wind. The barn doors, which were usually closed, stood wide open, and lanterns and torches illuminated the inside. Dozens of men dressed in their winter gear were ready for departure.

Similar scenes were taking place in neighboring towns and villages. After being cooped up in their shelters for over a month, the Arvena troops were finally returning to march.

As Squire and Scribe apprentice, the young Lord assigned Stefi and Lansius to stay behind and take charge of the supplies. It wasn’t surprising. They needed someone to guard the supplies and record them.

“Hope they win,” Stefi murmured as the army received their order to march out. “Otherwise, we’ll have to defend this place with only remnants and leftovers.”

“How big is the opponent’s army?” Lansius asked.

“Interested in war, are you?” Stefi quipped.

“Not much, just trying new vocabulary,” he avoided the question, fearing that Stefi might use it as an excuse to train him harder.

“Well… hard to know. But ours should be bigger. I say two-thousand versus a few hundred?” Stefi shrugged.

Lansius found it hard to believe but he had some suspicion when he saw how many marched with him. He realized he had been mistaken in his assumption about the scale of the world he found himself in. Although he had initially believed it to be similar to medieval times, he now saw that it was more akin to an Imperial Roman, one that had thrived into the medieval era.

So, not just a Lord, but more like a Roman governor with cohorts to commands.

“Ah, so it’s likely we’ll win,” he muttered, more to himself.

Stefi shook her head. “Nothing is certain in a war. Securing the river crossing won’t be easy.”

Lansius had heard that the river between Ceresia and Riverstead was wide and had strong currents. There was only one narrow bridge which was often damaged by flood. The forces who occupied Riverstead surely understood this bridge’s importance and put efforts to defend it.

Looks like it's going to be a messy battle... Unless... if the river is frozen.

He considered the possibility that if the river was frozen, the Arvenians could split their forces, cross the river, and attempt a pincer attack. However, he realized that he knew nothing about the Lord of Arvena's personality and whether he would gamble on such a risky maneuver.

"Stefi," he called as he approached and whispered, "Is the Lord of Arvena, bold?"

Stefi furrowed her brows and met his gaze. "Lans, we're campaigning in the middle of winter. If that's not bold, then I don't know what is."

Lansius felt foolish for asking. "Oh, right, of course."

Stefi crossed her arms in a relaxed way. "What's on your mind?"

"Oh, I'm just thinking, if the river is frozen, then-"

"Then it's going to be easy win at the crossing?" Stefi guessed.

Lansius nodded. "Yeah, something like that."

"Well, you're onto something. If it's frozen then it's only a matter of sending our strongest detachment to cross and attack their camp. However," Stefi continued, "it's not that simple. The river is wide, and it rarely freezes entirely. Have you ever walked on thin ice before?"

Lansius shook his head.

"Well, you never want to cross it in armor, and definitely not with a group of armored men," Stefi cautioned.

"I see, so it's possible-"

"But dangerous," Stefi completed the sentence. "Lastly, if that's the plan then they'll need to move quickly."

"Why's that?" Lansius asked.

"The coldest time was several weeks ago. By now, the river may already be thawing," Stefi said with a sigh.

Lansius now realized that time was running out. With the weather unpredictable and the bridge likely fortified, the Arvenians needed to act fast. The fate of their campaign depended solely on their speed.

 

***

 

Book I is Stubbed. It's a 2 years old project, it's time to publish.

Thank you, and sorry for Stubbing.

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