To get back to the town hall, we went by a route that took us outside the old town, and into the crowded streets of Lottie itself. Quickly we were surrounded by hundreds of people, along with the refugees and beggars, and the guards chasing them off. Columns of soldiers marched along the streets as well, young-looking, with fresh faces and nervous eyes.
The town hall was as busy as it had been five days ago, only that now, it was teeming with officials, couriers, and soldiers. All the commoners had to stand and wait outside, in the damp wind that came from the ocean, and patiently bide their time until summoned. Many of them were grumpily complaining about this injustice. We pushed through them with little effort. I only had to flash my Scorro pin to make them give way. Because it was made from gold, and highly detailed, the civilians got out of our way just in case.
Inside the town hall lobby was busy, but quiet and organized. Formations of soldiers stood at attention, given orders by their commanders, and officials rushed by, carrying stacks of papers or folders. And among them were messengers or couriers, dressed in earth-colored short coats or cloaks, and with leather riding boots and lightly armored.
I saw the Lord Mayor’s secretary, and after I got his attention, he took us upstairs and into his lord’s office. Inside the Lord Mayor’s office was dark, with the curtains pulled halfway in front of the paned windows. A delicate smell of smoke, mixed with an overly sweet smell of liqueur, filled the air.
In the middle stood baron Vilip Fascamonta, surrounded by a few officials and aides, and also a captain—evident by the yellow insignia on his right sleeve—that looked over the provisional map. He was lanky, and wearing the Lienor military uniform of royal blue, and had an attentive look in his dark eyes. But the most curious thing about him was the utter lack of charismatic presence in the room, and I thought this man would pass unnoticed in any larger crowd.
“Mr. Espian, your quick arrival is very appreciated,” said baron Vilip Fascamonta, and he greeted me with a firm handshake. This time, his face was long and almost stretched out, with dark and droopy eyes from the apparent lack of sleep. His chin bore an unshaven stubble, but his dark hair was combed to perfection, and the deep purple and dark green robes he wore looked immaculate.
He noticed how I examined him and said: “Please excuse my appearance. The past few days have indeed taken their toll. Please, come and join us at the table. Perhaps you or your companions would like something to drink?”
Florencia was quick to refuse the offer, but Iskander and Jace agreed to a cup of wine.
“I wouldn’t mind some of that liqueur,” I said.
The Lord Mayor commanded his aides, and very quickly came cups filled with dark red wine, and mine with an almost sickly sweet smell of liqueur. It tasted of citrus and sugar.
The captain stepped forward and introduced himself, and we exchanged pleasant greetings. “Captain Velgo Jarta, commander of the local Lottie infantry regiment.”
I had a moment to examine the map that was laid out on the table. It showed the entire southeastern region of Lienor, with Lottie proudly drawn in the middle. To the east, some fifteen miles away, was Belcorvo, the village where most of the Stotor refugees were kept in some fashion. Probably in a similar encampment that was at the dig site.
Tracing the coastline south from Lottie, I saw the Pianneturre village that had the red fortress built into the waves of the ocean. I saw the Ombrosso River marked blue on the map, flowing from the north and into the bay, winding snakelike, and alongside it were many small villages.
“It is truly a masterpiece,” said baron Fascamonta about the map. “If you are interested, I have many more in my personal study. I would gladly introduce you to my cartographer. Maps are one of my deep interests, you see, and I have collected a great many of them over the years. Some are old and quite inaccurate, but their artistry is remarkable and unsurpassed by the current styles. Well, at least in my opinion.”
The mention of ancient maps lit Jace’s eyes, and he looked down at the old brown-ish paper.
But I did not want to spend time with idle talk, and asked: “Is marshall de-Vilgario not here?”
“He and colonel Piasno had duties in Belcorvo. Last I heard from him, he was sending out patrols into the Valley, but I’ve not had a message from him for two days,” said baron Fascamonta. “Allow me to change the topic quickly. I know that you’ve been all over our city with the capable chief investigator Grimaldi, and you’ve yet to cause any disturbance with the guards or with any officials. You’ve actually done nothing noteworthy at all!”
I suppressed a frown. Did he summon me here to rub our failures in my face?
“This is amusing because I received a message from the honorable baron Vico Fiandconis, Lord Mayor of Caffria, some days ago, where he warned me against you. He said in his letter that you are insufferably rude, impossible to get along with, and will happily wreak havoc in my city, regardless of the authorities. I find that hard to believe, and I wonder if any personal biases are at play there…”
He smirked, wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, and sipped on a citrus liqueur. I did the same, and it was good. For a moment I was surprised that the Lord Mayor of Caffria would be this petty, but then, after considering how he was, it wasn’t surprising at all. It was curious, though, why Fascamonta would bring that up.
“Anyway, Mr. Espian, I am very interested in what you have found out during your days here in our city, and there are many things about you that I wish to find out. Unfortunately, right now I’m short on time and energy.” The baron yawned into the handkerchief and finished his drink. He recollected himself and pointed at a small village on the map that was some thirty or forty miles north of Lottie.
“This is the village of Castan,” he said, still pointing at the small black dot on the light-brown paper. “We have a thousand men garrisoned there, and it is their duty to guard the Krastarn Pass. Maybe you know that there are very few ways through the mountains, and the Krastarn Pass is one that is wide enough for a sizeable military force. Castan, and its keep, is of the utmost importance!”
He then pointed at the Castamand Mountain Range that spanned along the Lienor border, all the way down to the Stotor peninsula, many hundreds of miles long.
“The regiment’s orders are to patrol the surrounding lands and report back whenever they see any suspicious activity. Those Stotor bastards sometimes try to sneak by the keep, but so far, we’ve caught them every time. That was until a week ago. They haven’t reported back or sent any messengers. I need someone competent to go there and see what has happened. We know the importance of Castan, and so do the Enemy.”
“We’re not your errant boys,” said Iskander suddenly, arms crossed, looking down at the map.
“Isn’t this a military matter, my lord?” I said quickly, hoping to distract from Iskander’s rudeness.
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“I’m very well aware of that, Mr. Kalis,” said the baron and looked straight into Iskander’s eyes. Both held firm and didn’t back down. I was impressed that the baron could withstand Iskander’s gaze. Even I found it difficult to do that sometimes. “I know I have no power over you or your time, but I’m becoming desperate. A dread is growing within me, and I feel like the silence of Castan is not a coincidence. Mr. Espian,” he turned to me, “our best forces and guards are tied up in Belcorvo, and patrolling our eastern borders. I simply don’t have anyone remotely capable left to send there.”
“Leftovers,” said Iskander without any politeness, and baron Fascamonta grimaced.
“Those are your words, not mine,” he said. “And mark my words, Mr. Kalis, that despite the lack of training and sufficient experienced commanders, the Lottie Guard, and our infantry regiment have done wonders! Calling them leftovers would be unfair.”
The uncharismatic captain stepped in to join the conversation.
“Our new recruits are hardy,” he said, with a voice that was as indistinct and dull as one could imagine. “Many are motivated and love the Crown and the Realm. They want to do their duty to the King and defend their homes. When I joined the armies of the Crown almost fifty years ago now, everything was different. Only those who didn’t have the mind for studies or the gift of craftmanship joined the ranks of the soldiery. But now, many who join are very strong and driven—”
“And the moment a new company of recruits is done training, the marshall takes them and sends them east, leaving us with scraps,” said the baron.
“Very well, but what of Castan?” I asked, steering the conversation back to the core issue. “If this is a military matter, wouldn’t it be best left to the marshal?”
“It is technically a military matter,” said the baron, his voice laden with concern, “but I think the situation is more serious than we think. Marshall de-Vilgario and colonel Piasno have not told me if they’ve had word from the men at Castan, and I need to know what is going on there. If our northern flank is unguarded, or worse, in danger, we must act quickly.”
“I thought only your eastern flank was in danger,” I said, tracing the terrain around Belcorvo and the open lands north from it. I finished the sweet citrus liqueur and put the glass down on the table.
“It is not that simple. We are fortunate that the Castamand Mountains separate our lands from those of Stotor, but there are secret paths that run between the mountains. Some of them are unguarded, and a few are even unmapped. To our knowledge, the Krastarn Pass is the only one large enough for a sizeable force to take, hence the regiment there. Because of this, Mr. Espian, I earnestly implore you to help me and find out what has happened there. I hope all is well with the garrison, but my heart grows heavy with worry.”
It was surprising to hear a baron, who was tied by marriage to the King’s own extended family, ask for help in this manner.
“Are you sure marshall de-Vilgario doesn’t know about the situation there?” I asked.
“He made for Belcorvo two days ago, and I haven’t heard from him since. It might very well be that his messengers have come back, and everything is in order, and that he has simply forgotten to notify me about it. But I doubt that. He has always been punctual, and he understands that time is most important. And let us not forget that because of your special privileges, Mr. Espian, you have much greater access than any emissary that I could ever send out.”
I turned to Florencia.
“This wasn’t what we planned for,” I told her.
“Our lead went cold,” she said. “We should grab any lead that is presented to us. I feel like we should go.”
Further away stood Jace, looking into the distance through the windows, as if he wasn’t really paying attention to what was going on. He had this strange, dreamy look about him. “A clue, Jonas, is this not what you sought?”
I didn’t even have to ask for what Iskander and Jaxine thought, and the matter was decided by the majority.
“Then, my lord baron, we shall go and see what is the situation in Castan,” I said.
“Then what are we waiting for?” said Iskander and made ready to leave.
Baron Fascamonta was immediately relieved and filled our cups again with renewed vigor. This time, he himself poured me a more heavy-tasting liqueur that we downed in a single gulp—blackcurrant, mixed with something acidic and rich.
“May the Gods smile upon you, and let Hanuk ennoble your journey,” he said.
Hearing those words, Jace stepped closer to the baron and rubbed his Eye of Hanuk amulet. “Are you a religious man, my lord? I never took you for one.”
“The teachings of the deities have brought me out of many deep pits of despair during the past years, Mr. Vialisios, but on the whole, I keep it as a personal thing. I have found that discussing religion with my peers often devolved into debates over the minutiae that I have no interest in. But yes, I am a devout man.”
He turned to me. “About the village of Castan—I cannot tell you much about it. I ventured there five years ago, when the flowers were in bloom, over a matter I’d forgotten. After midday, the mountains cast the village into a darkness that I found unpleasant and gloomy. It is built right at the foot of the mountains, after all. Because of this, I didn’t wish to spend the night there. They offered me tolerable lodging in some house, but I made for Lottie when the shadows grew too deep for my liking. I recall captain Marvast is in command of the garrison of the keep, but I can’t for the life of me remember who was his second-in-command. Ah, wait—”
He strode towards his study and took a piece of yellowish paper, upon which he scribbled some lines. He then folded and sealed it with wax bearing his personal coat of arms.
“There,” he gave me the letter. “Now you can show this to anyone if you wish to withhold your standing as the King’s agent. Now, please, hurry! The sun is waning.”
Our goodbye was quick, shaking hands as we were already halfway out of his office, and in his eyes, I saw a faint glimmer of hope.
Exiting the town hall, I felt a sense of urgency propelling us to the barracks where our horses awaited. We made ourselves ready with speed, stuffing our saddle bags full of anything we could find and think of, and in under an hour, we were ready to set out for Castan. We were in such a rush that we didn’t even tell Viola Grimaldi that we were leaving.
And it was some hours before sunset that we rode out from the City of Flowers, along the northern road that followed closely the Ombrosso River and ventured into the backcountry.
For some time, the lands north of Lottie were bustling with life, especially while there was still light left in the day. People came and went along the road, some on horseback or in carriages, others on foot, and they went into the many small villages and farmsteads that were all around us. In the fields, we saw men and women work the earth, and the many chimneys were lit, with dark smoke rising into the sky.
When the Ombrosso turned left, we headed northeast and rode well past midnight.
We stopped along the road for the night. Iskander found an immense oak tree some paces from the road, and under its canopy we made camp. We slept under the stars with only a simple fire that Iskander fed throughout the night. I much preferred to sleep in a bed, with a roof over my head, but in these times, one had to endure these things.
A cold dawn broke, and we could see our breath when we exhaled, but the sky was clear and the sun was wonderfully orange. With the daylight’s advance, the road began to narrow, and the surrounding lands became even wilder.
But most incredibly, the majestic Castamand Mountains emerged into our view from over the horizon. They stretched from the north-western expanse all the way to the south-east. These high ridges were the mighty guardians of Lienor from the free territories of Stotor. Their peaks were covered with crowns of snow, while a delicate shroud of mist veiled the eastern slopes.
It was a magnificent sight, but our road took us forward.
Quickly, the signs of human presence grew increasingly scarce—an occasional small lodge or remote farm punctuating the landscape here and there.
By midday, we were nearing Castan, and in the distance, we could see a small settlement built against the rugged foothills. It was built in the middle of a field of grass, with a narrow but fast-flowing river close by, and a patch of forest lay tucked about half a mile westward.
To me, it was an unremarkable little village, just as baron Fascamonta had said. I had passed many such settlements during my travels already, and this one did not really have any noteworthy features to it, except for the giant mountains. An encampment of tents and wooden structures was erected next to a dark grey keep outside the village. And further beyond still was a straight path, maybe ten yards wide, that led deep into the crevasses of the mountains.
Our pace eased into a trot, and we passed quiet farmhouses and the sawmill, and we looked at the peaceful lands around us. It was almost picturesque in its stillness.
But with each step that we advanced, I started feeling an undercurrent of dread about the whole thing. Something that I could not put into words as quickly as Florencia did.
Suddenly she commanded her horse Luminello to stop, and pulled her sword from her back, and belted it around her waist.
“There’s nobody here!” she said, with a barely suppressed panic in her voice. And as she spoke, a cold gust of wind came from the east, from over the tall peaks. “Swords ready!”