Horizon of War Series-Chapter 218: The Weight of the Vow

The Weight of the Vow

Riverstead Forest

The thunderous roar of the culverin shattered the forest's tranquility, its devastating single shot marking the start of the ambush. Thick smoke still billowed from the weapon as the three culverin meisters and a group of men under Sir Justin began their frantic retreat from the hill. Meanwhile, from the far side of the forest, Lord Arte and Thomas advanced with their troops, ready to exploit the chaos caused by the Crown Prince’s incapacitation or death.

Days earlier, the plan to capture the Prince alive had been abandoned. Even the usually cool-headed Thomas had given in to the burning desire for vengeance. Lord Maurice’s death demanded retribution. The blood feud ran deep in Arvena.

Having witnessed the accuracy of the culverin, the Arvenians were confident in its power. Moreover, the meisters had come prepared with a trick: an elegant purple cloth hung to bait the target. They believed it would entice the Crown Prince into the most effective area, where the culverin’s trajectory had been meticulously measured and tested.

Lord Arte and Sir Justin suspected that the purple cloth held special significance for the Crown Prince. However, the three meisters assured them it was merely a ploy to lure the target to a predetermined spot.

Whatever it was, now the attack commenced.

Two hundred Lord Arte's men descended from the less-scouted northern part of the forest, surging toward the enemy. Many of the troops, locals familiar with the terrain, had spent months foraging for berries and hunting small game, surviving off the land.

In contrast, despite their reliable intelligence, the Crown Prince’s men, accustomed to open-field combat, struggled with the unfamiliar dense Arvenians forest environment.

Two hundred Arvenians clashed with seven hundred Northern warriors and riders, still reeling from their leader’s death by an unknown cause. The Northern knights and warriors refused to back down despite the ambush and rallied fiercely. The death of their Crown Prince did not demoralize them; instead, it fueled their anger. Driven by loyalty, many went on a rampage against the Arvenians.

Fighting erupted along the lines chaotically. Worse, alchemist fire bottles were exchanged from both sides, leading to horrendous outcomes. Yet, as the initial surprise waned, the Northern forces stabilized their lines. Against the odds, they began to push back. Momentum quickly shifted as the numerous dismounted knights and riders launched a ferocious counteroffensive.

Within minutes, the effectiveness of the Arvenian ambush waned, and their line began to falter under the relentless Northern assault. It became clear that the ambush had backfired for the Arvenians as their forces were increasingly overwhelmed. After fierce fighting, in which Lord Arte personally took part, he finally ordered his men to retreat north, with the Northern troops in hot pursuit.

They came to a clearing, the Northerners suspecting nothing. Suddenly, without any warning, bolts rained down upon them with bloody consequences. Nearly one hundred Arvenian crossbowmen, lying in waiting, unleashed their fury. With no trees for cover and their shields forgotten in the chase, the Northerners suffered greatly.

Only then did it become clear that it had been a feigned retreat. Yet, the Northern warriors, stubborn as ever and led by dismounted knights clad in plate armor, charged courageously toward the crossbowmen. Their armor deflected most ranged attacks, and they were determined to break through, rallying the rest of their troops to follow.

Then, another deafening roar shattered the air. Another thunder without rain.

The culverin projectile struck one tall knight amid his column, but the lead ball glanced off his shoulder, striking his pauldron at such an angle that it took the blow without deforming. The sheer force of the impact, however, sent him sprawling to the ground. Dazed and badly bruised but otherwise unharmed. It was the second time they had heard the thunderous roar and witnessed the mysterious weapon's raw power. Yet, at the sight of the knight standing again, they all roared in defiance.

"Must be a mage's trick," one shouted as another cried, "It's just a fucking mage!"

"Find them and kill them!" they bellowed, fighting like men possessed. Despite the punishing volleys from the crossbowmen, they pressed forward, closing the gap. Confronted by the charge of a hundred-twenty, the Arvenian crossbowmen broke ranks and fled toward the woods.

Forty Northerners, clad in lighter armor, gave chase, determined to hunt down the supposed mage. Meanwhile, the knights’ column reformed, catching their breath before advancing to join their allies in an encroaching push toward the main Arvenian men-at-arms position.

Flanked and with their crossbowmen scattered, Lord Arte could only brace for the impending attack. The two lines clashed violently, with roughly 200 of Arvenian’s best fighting against more than 300 Northerners. The battle was savage and brutal.

The green foliage turned red as the bitter fighting raged on. Lines crumbled, and the battle splintered into sporadic skirmishes, yet neither side fled. Hatred ran too deep, and both armies were intent on exacting a blood price. Honor and vendetta guided their sword hands as they thrust fiercely at their opponents, with no intent to take hostages.

For many, the fight was no longer about their leaders’ ambitions, it was personal.

Twice Lord Arte was struck down after his personal guards were bested, but he recovered and forced his way back into the fray. Thomas, commanding the left flank, narrowly escaped death when two knights charged him. His axe was broken, lost as it embedded itself in someone's shield, while his own shield splintered. Two of his men lay dead, only for the knights to take a few steps back, replaced by a new pair of knights.

Only through sheer tenacity did the Arvenians keep fighting. But a new hope sparked.

Behind their line, Sir Justin had returned and rallied his crossbowmen. They had fled during the knights’ initial charge, but with him at the lead, they confidently returned to the fight. Trained to operate as independent small groups and armed with experience from the Lowlandian campaign, the crossbowmen ran straight from the woods and swerved toward the opponent's rear, even without the protection of supporting columns. Their daring advance caught the Northerners by surprise. Their first punishing salvo sent chaos through the ranks and forced the Northerners to reconsider.

Many of the Northerners levied footmen had fled or been lost in the initial attack, and even their hardened northern warriors were shaken by the repeated ambushes and the sheer stubbornness of their opponents. Bloodied and battered, their commanders engaged in tense discussion before sounding the retreat.

The bugle’s call echoed across the battlefield, sharp and mournful, its retreat note rising and falling in a wavering cadence.

In a hurried escape, the remaining two hundred, many riddled with bolt wounds, regrouped with their rear guard of a hundred men and began their withdrawal. However, the Arvenians had anticipated this. Drawing on insights from Sir Justin and their study of Lord Lansius' tactics, Thomas, despite his wounds, insisted on continuing his plan to harass the retreating Northerners.

With Lord Arte's blessing, Thomas led a mixed group of daring fighters and crossbowmen to a predetermined vantage point with good visibility. From there, they unleashed a relentless volley upon the enemy's retreating column.

The harassment proved effective, provoking the Northerners into action. Twice their rear guard launched counterattacks, but both were repelled with heavy losses.

As the rear guard faltered, disorganized, and bloodied, Thomas raised a looted axe high and led his men in a bold assault. He aimed to cut down as many as possible, knowing they would inevitably face off again at Riverstead.

Caught off guard by a sudden, ferocious attack and suspecting they had been outmaneuvered, the Northerners began to flee in earnest. Those who managed to retrieve their horses from their squires bolted in panic, while the men-at-arms, seeing no alternative, followed suit. What began as an orderly retreat quickly devolved into a chaotic, frantic flight.

At the forest exit, Lord Arte's small group of horsemen had been hunting scouts and other elements. As the retreating Northerners approached, this small, daring cavalry sprang into action, launching a vengeful attack that initially brought several successes. However, they were soon driven back by the Northerners' superior riders.

The Arvenian riders fought valiantly, engaging without taking hostages, yet they ultimately failed to secure a decisive success. Hundreds of Northerners retreated safely to Riverstead.

Still, it was a victory for the Arvenians, though at a heavy cost. Many were injured, including old Thomas, who had to be evacuated after a mace blow crushed his lower left arm and a dagger pierced through his armpit guard, leaving him with a severe bleeding wound.

Lord Arte oversaw his hard-fought victory with a solemn expression until his riders redeemed their earlier failures by bringing him the captured body of the Crown Prince. The body had been taken early in the battle when his guards, attempting to slip from the fight with a small, fast escort, were intercepted.

Having never seen the Crown Prince, Lord Arte, and Sir Justin, still in blood-stained armor, personally questioned captured officers, who confirmed his identity, pleading to return the body to Riverstead for a proper burial.

Despite vehement demands from his troops to decapitate the body, Lord Arte's cool-headed decision prevailed. Following Sir Justin's advice, he chose to embalm the body and send a letter to Alba Castle, feigning an unfortunate accidental death and demanding the king to return the province in exchange for the body and an offer to end the blood feud.

Before the answer came, Lord Arte planned to parade the body through towns and villages to rally the reluctant Arvenians to his side. With the captured baggage train providing a fresh source of money and supplies, and the body of the Crown Prince as proof of their military acumen, the populace would likely take up arms. He would need their support as he prepared to besiege Riverstead.

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After the battle concluded, and hostages were either kept or executed, Lord Arte looked at the sunny sky above the thick foliage of the forest and solemnly whispered his father and mother’s names. The journey had been long, and the campaign had unfolded from one unexpected event to another, yet fortune favored the bold, and now half his blood vow had been repaid.

...

Sir Justin

It was a night of celebration for many, but Sir Justin was not joining the festivities. After several years as one of Lord Lansius' men, he had witnessed firsthand what a good general does on the night of victory. Instead of carelessly indulging in a victory feast, he focused on ensuring his men and defenses were in order.

During his discreet inspection, accompanied by only a small escort, he came across three meisters packing their wares near their tent and cart. The bronze culverin that had taken the Crown Prince's life was tightly secured with ropes on the cart.

"Where are you planning to go?" Sir Justin asked, startling them.

"Sir... We're just inspecting them," the eldest meister replied, motioning for a private word.

Noticing the cue, Sir Justin signaled his men to stay with the other two meisters while he stepped aside with the older man, carrying a lantern.

"Well?" the knight asked as he stopped by a low-hanging branch and hung the lantern on it.

The older gentleman turned to face him but seemed hesitant.

"We have a deal, remember? I promised to introduce you to a powerful lord in the south. Also, judging by today's hard-fought battle, we might need your expertise at Riverstead," Sir Justin said without pressure.

"Gratitude for the offer. I'm always open to business," the older man reassured. "But in this instance, I need to return east to collect my payment and set up a workshop."

"I see. I imagine it's quite a sum, considering it involves a royal's life," Sir Justin replied, his tone almost teasing.

"Such is the case," the man confirmed eagerly.

Sir Justin nodded and stroked his chin. "Out of curiosity, how much is your service worth?"

The meister shifted to a businesslike tone. "That highly depends on the target, the risk, and the time required."

"Then, how much to kill a Crown Prince?" Sir Justin quipped.

The older gentleman chuckled. "Well... I'd rather not deal in speculation. Perhaps a person's name or city would be a more appropriate question."

"How about Riverstead, then?" Sir Justin asked calmly.

"As I said before," he answered diplomatically, "given enough time, my culverin can render a crossbow window or defensive position useless, giving your men a better chance to scale the walls, breach the gates, or force a negotiation."

"And the price for such assistance?"

The meister let out a thoughtful smile. "How much is Riverstead worth to your lord?"

"It means everything to Lord Arte," Sir Justin replied, not suspecting anything.

The gentleman chuckled. "Allow me to jest: what is the value of everything? If I were to charge you, say, 1,000 gold for my service, would that still be a good trade for a city that is worth everything?"

Sir Justin snorted softly but acknowledged the meister's point. "Judging by the number you gave, is that truly your fee?"

"For Riverstead... Say two culverins with three dozen shots each, I’d ask about 800 gold. Transport, fees, and materials included."

Sir Justin whistled softly, impressed but wary. "That figure is far beyond my highest estimation."

"Indeed, they are pricey. I've had my share of being kicked out, laughed at, or worse, imprisoned for quoting such a price. But I believed they are worth every coin." Then, looking at Sir Justin, he asked nervously, "You wouldn't do that to me, would you?"

Sir Justin let out an ominous smirk. "You know I might capture you and only release you after we take Riverstead."

The meister laughed nervously. "Oh, Sir, we only have a few shots left for the main culverin. Not nearly enough to do anything. Besides, lead rounds won’t do much against fortified targets."

"I see, you’re well-experienced in this kind of situation," Sir Justin remarked plainly. "I can understand the issue. But if it only needs materials, then I can take you hostage and wait for your men to return."

The gentleman let out a nervous laugh. "That won’t work. No one else can authorize the funds or make the powder. Besides, with the risk of defects and imperfections, no bronze work in the East would trust anyone but me to cover their failures, fees, and raw materials."

Sir Justin laughed to ease the tension. "I’m only joking. Forgive my crude humor."

"That's alright, Sir. I appreciate your candor," the meister replied with a polite smile.

"Likewise," the knight replied lightly. "Say, is there any room to get a better price? Eight hundred is a massive sum. Probably four years' worth of a whole barony's income."

"Perhaps... As I said, it depends on the risk factor. I'll quote you a price once I've set up my own workshop."

"When will you return to Arvena?"

"Our trip home, setting up the workshop... This is summer. With fall and winter ahead, I expect spring next year, once the Grand River calms down."

"That's a whole year. Then you won’t participate in the Riverstead siege," Sir Justin remarked, surprised.

"It's unfortunate, but the process is lengthy and time-consuming due to the inherent danger. But I'll let you know if I can refit and reuse the old culverin."

Sir Justin fixed his gaze on the older gentleman. "How much for the old culverin?"

The meister pondered before replying, "There are only a few lead shots left, but if you want to keep the culverin, I’d sell it to you for ninety-five gold pieces."

"That’s too much for a hollow bronze barrel," Sir Justin countered.

"No, no, the raw material purity and casting process alone to make it that good is expensive," the meister argued passionately.

The knight raised his voice. "But ninety-five gold coins—that’s worth a lot of barrels of bronze!"

"Sir," the old man countered just as firmly, "each barrel takes multiple attempts, and every failure—even a hairline crack—means starting over. That costs a fortune. Even when the result is good, I have to check thoroughly and put in plenty of work to ensure it’s fit to size and smooth so it doesn’t blow up in my face."

Both men laughed at the notion. In the end, Sir Justin draped an arm over the meister’s shoulder like an old friend, retrieved his lantern, and walked with him back toward the tent. "I feel we need a drink or two."

"To negotiate the price?" the meister asked hopefully.

"No, it’s too expensive. That could fund tens of riders or hundreds of men," he stated firmly.

"Then?" the old gentleman asked, puzzled.

"Friend, a drink is a drink. Let us celebrate today's victory and friendship," Sir Justin said warmly. Defying his own code not to drink, he trusted his instincts that it would be unwise not to stay in this man's good graces, or his secret employer's.

***

Lansius

Another day had passed with him entertaining audiences in his court, attending council meetings with his staff, and holding further discussions with his scribes and clerks. He had plenty of invitations, which he politely declined, including feasts, marriage ceremonies, and even hunting parties. He delegated those to Sir Omin, who had risen to prominence as the Lady's cousin.

Overwhelmed by so many issues all at once, Lansius couldn’t wait for his Midlandia Office Works to begin operating and handle half the burden, as it had in Lowlandia. While he reviewed agreements, proposals, counter-proposals, and other dealings, Audrey managed the soft power.

She and Francisca selected recruits for the castle staff and guards, evaluated and promoted trusted and capable individuals to key positions, and built alliances with like-minded nobles. Unexpectedly, Francisca had become central to these efforts, often the star of attention.

To guests, she was a mythical creature from old legends. Rumors spread that she couldn’t lie, which made her candid opinions even more convenient. Little did they know that Audrey relied on Francisca’s keen instincts to distinguish the trustworthy from the deceitful.

After a brief midday break, during which Lansius joined his family for lunch, Sterling, once again at Lansius’ side, reported that Sir Michael and Dame Daniella had arrived.

Lansius decided not to delay and headed to the council chamber to meet them. Before long, the charming one-eyed knight entered, followed by the beautiful yet stern Dame Daniella. They were still dressed in their traveling clothes, and beneath their cloaks, the faint gleam of brigandines hinted at their readiness.

"My Lord," they greeted in unison.

"My apologies for summoning you, Dame," Lansius said.

"It's my duty, My Lord." Suspecting the Lord’s curiosity, she added, "My group and I met Sir Michael at an inn and decided to travel with him, as I’m unfamiliar with the road to Canardia."

"It’s good you traveled together," Lansius agreed. "Our grasp on this province remains tenuous, and there’s always a risk of fanatics attempting clandestine attacks on our people."

He then turned to Sir Michael. "How about you, Sir? Is everything well in Ornietia?"

"My Lord, Ornietia is thriving. I must say, that Lord Bengrieve’s reforms have been effective. I only made several minor adjustments to align with our Shogunate’s standards."

Lansius nodded with satisfaction. "That’s good to hear."

"Additionally, I’m here to deliver a progress report on the formation of the Midlandia Office Works. Since we’ve already established connections with many prominent guildsmen in Korelia, the work is proceeding smoothly. All that remains is to select a building for the office, and the chosen officials from Korelia can begin their work. We believe the main guilds are already familiar with our methods and intentions, and the smaller guilds will follow."

"Excellent," Lansius muttered, pleased. The Midlandia Office Works (MOW) would be critical to his rule, as effectively governing the 30 private estates on his own was impossible, let alone the rest of Southern Midlandia, with its numerous towns and cities.

Despite being termed an Earldom, Midlandia’s politics resembled the Holy Roman Empire, where territories operated with considerable independence. Instead of a strict feudal hierarchy, it functioned as a loose confederation, with lords bound by mutual interests and nominal allegiance to a central authority.

The way House Midlandia and House Bengrieve had structured the province was nothing short of genius. It encouraged growth by allowing independent decision-making at the city level, with the Lord serving only nominally as the leader. This reduced direct control but offered flexibility while keeping corruption risks manageable.

Sir Michael, who hadn’t been the one summoned today, said, "That concludes my report. I shall take my leave."

"No, please stay," Lansius instructed. "I will greatly benefit from your expertise here."

Lansius motioned for Sterling to step forward and instructed, "Explain to them about the Southern Trade attack and Corinthia’s involvement."

Hearing this, the two knights turned grim. They understood how vital the trade routes were, and the prospect of another threat so far south was deeply concerning.

Sterling relayed the report from Sigmund about the pirate attack.

"To think Corinthia is raiding the ships with the caravan inside," Dame Daniella muttered.

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"I never expected them to risk war against the Shogunate," Michael added.

Lansius leaned back in his seat and asked, "It doesn’t add up, does it?"

The two exchanged glances, while Sterling stepped back, assuming his role was to observe rather than actively participate in the discussion.

Sir Michael's single eye narrowed. "My Lord, what do you suggest?"

"There were more than two dozen boats involved in this. And the fact that none of them escaped," Lansius replied, "tell me, how should I think about it?"

Dame Daniella answered, "That means the pirates had more numbers than the cargo fleet."

Lansius nodded. "Exactly. Moreover, even for riverboats, their size must have been large and tall enough to carry caravans with their horses. Far from the normal boats Corinthians use."

"Indeed," Dame Daniella agreed. "I have ventured to the coast and am familiar with merchant boats."

Lansius turned serious, asking, "Do you think larger fishing boats could attack those and climb aboard easily?"

"Maybe with ladders," Daniella replied, her tone thoughtful. "But it’s difficult. There’s quite a height difference between trade boats and fishing or crossing boats."

"Do you suggest the pirates are using special attack boats?" Sir Michael asked.

"That is one possibility. But I lean more toward the reasoning that they knew about the caravan and that a large number of cargo boats were coming. Their information was so precise that they were confident enough to invest in and plan an ambush with a large fleet. That is the only explanation I can think of for why not one of our ships escaped."

"Building special attack boats, having a spy network capable of penetrating Dawn Barony, and crewing such an attack fleet. When we look at it this way, this is far beyond Corinthia," Sir Michael concluded.

Lansius nodded and let that sink in.

"My Lord, do you think there’s a new player?" Dame Daniella asked, concern evident on her face.

"New?" Lansius leaned forward and asked, "Are you certain our enemy is new?"

The two looked uncertain and did not answer. They were intellects who would rarely offer a response without solid reasoning.

"You of all people should realize," Lansius said gently.

As if struck by realization, Dame Daniella’s eyes sparkled. "It couldn’t be," she exclaimed, drawing the others' attention. Sir Michael’s expression shifted, as though he too had reached the same conclusion, while Sterling stood by, waiting with anticipation.

"Yes," Lansius muttered, his tone grim. "Our old enemy is back with a vengeance."

***