Chapter 146

Threads of Fate

Mountain Pass

So much had happened in the last week that time flew by for Ingrid. It was hard for her to fathom seeing so much when all she had expected was to be a mentor and educator. While she anticipated witnessing a siege, she never expected to face a half-beast attack, observe diplomacy with a half-breed lord, witness an attempted coup, and then see an airship.

But more important to her was the arrival of a Saint Candidate. Unlike the Mage Guilds, which were older and had branches in large cities across the Imperium, the Healers Guilds were new and only had branches in Midlandia and around the Capital.

Thus, finding Petra here as part of Lord Avery's entourage was a surprise, especially since she had escaped from it.

"So, you're leaving tomorrow?" Ingrid asked Petra as the two shared a private lunch in Ingrid's tent.

"Indeed. I can see that Lord Avery has grown fond of Lord Lansius, but the Dawn barony needs its leader," Petra replied. "Angelo believes that a big push will happen before winter."

Ingrid didn't recognize Angelo, but as a member of the same guild, she was looking forward to sharing what could be shared between them. "Is that why the Lord of Dawn wants horses and horsemen?"

"Likely related, but I don't know anything about the military," said the Saint Candidate, sipping her ale like a fine lady. "Then again, you're also about to leave."

"True. The vanguard has marched, and they should be passing Umberland City right now," the older woman ventured. Although Ingrid couldn't ride a horse, they had prepared a carriage for her, which tied her to the rear guard led by Farkas. "You know, lass, I'm going to miss your company."

Petra reacted with a big smile. The situation was vastly different from when they had first met. Both had been wary, coming from guilds that distrusted each other. However, their shared work in treating Lord Lansius and Servius brought them together. The hours spent caring for them transformed the two from mere acquaintances into trusted allies.

"To safe travels," Ingrid raised her goblet.

Petra followed, "To safe travels." The two sipped their pale ale and proceeded to eat the roast wild bird that Farkas had managed to hunt before it got cold.

After finishing their meal with wild berries and dried fruit, Petra asked, "Excuse me if this is private, but I heard you joined House Audrey?"

Wiping her mouth with a cloth, Ingrid explained, "Truthfully, I'm against it."

Petra's eyes widened as she asked, "But why? It would secure your future."

"I told the Lady that my magical power has worsened, and certainly I won't be able to work as a mage anymore," Ingrid said without bitterness. "However, she still wanted me for my counsel and experience."

"That's wonderful to hear," Petra said warmly. The topic of retirement resonated with both of them. They knew that the gift of magic was not permanent, but something they would lose after their prime.

"Mind if I ask how much you were promised?" Petra asked shyly.

"Why? Want to switch sides?" the older woman teased, prompting a giggle from Petra.

"I'm not asking, but the Lady offered me a vineyard of my choosing."

"Oh my, that's a great retirement. I'm so envious and look forward to visiting you," Petra said cheerfully.

"I'll throw a banquet when you come to visit," Ingrid said cordially.

Petra's eyes sparkled with amusement. "I never thought I'd cross paths with someone from the Mage Guild as friendly as you."

"My guild harbored some suspicions toward some of the Healers Guild's activities."

"Anyone should be." Petra inhaled deeply, her expression troubled. "What they do is dangerous."

"I'll be sure to report your concerns anonymously," Ingrid reassured her. In the past few days, Petra had shared several of her concerns about her guild.

Petra nodded and muttered, "A lot of gifted people are being misused."

Ingrid disliked the tense atmosphere and shifted the subject. "So, have you determined anything about Lord Lansius' condition?"

"In terms of health, it seems there's no significant difference. But even that I'm not sure of," Petra said, her eyes wandering.

"You can't be sure?" Ingrid wasn't expecting that answer.

Their eyes met, and Petra explained, "When I treated the Lord, instead of the magic being absorbed into his bloodstream, it simply vanished. So, I'm unable to probe him. I suspect his body is incompatible with magic."

Ingrid shook her head in disbelief.

Petra shifted in her seat and spoke with concern. "I've never seen someone with so little magical presence. It's as if he's not a living being."

"Could it be that it's because he's a foreigner from afar?" Ingrid ventured.

"Well, we don't have any other explanation." Petra paused, her eyes roaming the room as she thought. "It's fascinating to learn that there are people who can live with so little magic—so low that he probably won't be able to use a magical artifact."

Ingrid leaned back in her seat, keeping the fact that the Lord had managed to activate a gemstone a secret.

"Ingrid," Petra called with an uncertain expression.

"What is it?"

"Promise you won't be mad?" she began, piquing Ingrid's curiosity.

The Mage smiled gently. "I promise."

"Out of curiosity, I studied you while you treated the Lord, and I sensed that you're affected by something."

"Affected?" Ingrid was surprised.

"It feels like your source is scarred and wounded."

"Wounded? What do you mean?" Ingrid asked, trying to understand.

Petra nodded. "It felt exactly like that. It's as if something is damaging your source, scarring it, and almost blocking it completely. Have you been fighting anything dangerous lately?"

What she said scared and confused Ingrid. "I wasn't even involved in fighting the half-beast, and I doubt their kin could bestow such a curse."

Petra shrugged. "I have no knowledge of curses or fell beasts."

Ingrid gazed at Petra expectantly. "If it's a wound, can you do something about it?"

"Perhaps there's something I could try. No promises, though."

Ingrid rose from her seat.

"Where are you going?"

"Come, I need you to meet my lady."

"The Lady of Korimor? But why?"

"She has also lost her source somehow. If you have a treatment, please try it on her first."

"Ingrid, wait. There's no need," Petra said, her voice steady but firm, halting Ingrid in her tracks. She looked at Petra, questioning and expectant.

"I've peeked into my lady's source, just a bit. I saw its flow... but rest assured, there are no scars or wounds."

"But the flow is weak for someone of her age."

"Unfortunately, it seems it's too late for the Lady of Korimor. Her gift probably waned due to her late training," Petra explained with a gentle tone.

Ingrid listened, her eyes cast downward as she felt a pang of regret. Lady Audrey had shown such promise, yet the gift of magic had proven elusive. "If only I had been there to train her when she was younger," she muttered, her tone filled with sorrow.

***

Korimor

Inside the council chamber, Hugo bashed a scroll against the table several times in frustration and exclaimed, "Arghh, why is there no money!"

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"No harvest," a man in a green doublet replied coldly, reading from a scroll.

Hugo turned to Omin. "But where's the income from market and road tolls?"

"Not everyone who frequents the market or uses the roads pays toll tax," Omin explained with indifference. His eyes were reddened from overwork.

"But I was there, and it's crowded!" Hugo's tone brimmed with frustration.

Omin remained unbothered. "Must be food transports for the castle or billets. Obviously, you can't tax your own staff."

"Unbelievable..." Hugo said as he slumped into his seat and looked up at the ceiling.

For a while, there was only silence in the small council chamber, populated by Sir Hugo, Sir Omin, and Roger, the squire.

"Better get back to work, or our overlord will learn about this," Omin said wearily, taking a jab at Roger, who smiled from his post near the door.

"I dare not displease our overlord—not the Lord, not the Lady. And especially not after Sabina Rustica," Hugo said in a tone close to mockery.

Roger found it funny, and a laugh slipped out.

"What are you laughing at?" Hugo asked, his eyes widening. "You were there, weren't you?"

"No, sir. I only joined in Toruna," Roger replied, shaking his head.

Their banter must have intrigued Omin, who asked in a disinterested tone, "Is he really that strict?"

"Lord Lansius?" Hugo turned to Omin. "He cut his future wife's payment in half amid the victory celebration because she failed to capture you. And that was moments before he asked for her hand in marriage."

Omin shook his head but did not comment.

After the brief exchange, Hugo lazily dragged himself back to work. The Nicopolans' incursion and the war had displaced many settlers and communities. Numerous issues arose regarding the land, the people, the garrison, and the city, and it was now up to them to fix it.

Yet his concentration lasted no longer than a bird's chirping before he groaned again. "I'm not fit for this."

"Who is?" Omin said with a slightly annoyed tone and threw a finished scroll to the young squire with missing fingers. Roger caught it and stored it in the cabinet.

The former lord of the city continued, "People think ruling a city is all about power, money, and women. But in reality..." He opened both palms, gesturing to the table cluttered with parchment, scrolls, and multiplication tables.

"Why don't you just kill me in my sleep?" Hugo whined like a spoiled brat.

"I haven't got the right poison. Besides, you change night partners so often," Omin said flatly.

Hugo glanced at him, surprised. "Wow, a threat. Perhaps I should return you to the dungeon."

"I'm technically under house arrest with a pension, so please return me to my house, unharmed. I'd rather sleep than deal with this mess." He patted a stack of parchment still waiting to be examined.

It was easy to see that the workload and Hugo's constant whining had taken a toll on Omin's mind.

Hugo was amused, picked up his goblet, and took a big gulp of ale. Despite Lord Lansius' wishes for him to learn from Omin, he learned little and simply pushed Omin to do the work. He had certainly faced his limitations but felt genuinely unbothered.

"You should take care of yourself," Omin said, attempting to de-escalate the tension.

"Keeping me on my toes, are you?" Hugo grinned.

Omin sighed deeply and warned, "Don't drink too much. It's easy to slip poison into ale, especially wine."

The repeated warning about poison made Hugo shudder.

The man in green then lamented bitterly, "Why is life such a joke? When I was captured, people cheered and threw a party to celebrate. Yet, here I am, taking care of the same people who celebrated my capture—calculating their pay, meals, lodgings, and even winter clothes."

"Are you seriously complaining about life not being fair?" Hugo teased.

Omin shook his head. "No, but I'm not a hypocrite."

With the tension back to normal and the ale softening his boredom, Hugo returned to his scrolls. He slowly examined the logs, unable to understand why the city made so little despite the crowded market.

He reached the bottom of the record without groaning, then realized, "Wait. You sly bastard! You brought up poison to scare me away from the things I like."

Omin sported a grin at his commander's slow realization. Even Roger stifled his laughter. It was well known that women and wine were the two favorite pastimes of their commander, which had led to the soft bulge in his belly.

It had gotten so bad that when Sir Michael came for an inspection, he quickly chastised Sir Hugo, knowing he was about to get married in Korelia, presumably next summer. Hugo took the advice but seemed ready to double down when Sir Michael returned to Korelia before winter.

Despite his belly, Hugo remained fit. He often trained hard with his men or against them. Deep down, he secretly wished for another chaos in Lowlandia so he could have another chance to prove himself, either to Lord Lansius or to himself.

A door creaked open, and a handsome man wearing an eyepatch over one eye entered. "Apologies for interrupting."

"Sir Michael," Hugo welcomed.

"I have a letter from Three Hills. It's from Dame Daniella, and it's about smugglers," Michael reported.

"Smugglers? What did she find out?" Hugo asked with keen interest.

Instead of answering, Michael added, "And also a failed coup in Three Hills. Our hidden forces were able to retake control of the city."

There were gasps in the chamber, followed by immediate looks of disbelief.

Hugo broke the silence, gloating, "Our overlord is triumphant again."

Ignoring the antics, Omin rose and walked toward Sir Michael, saying, "Please, let me have a look at it."

Michael handed over the letter, allowing Omin to peruse it.

"Well?" Hugo asked, still seated, after a long pause.

"Indeed, it appears we have smuggler problems," Omin replied without turning.

"I told you so," Hugo said with a big sigh of relief and an equal measure of smugness.

"The smuggler played a different game than I expected," Omin admitted wearily. "I always assumed it was bribery, so I swapped personnel often. But it states that they sell fake documents, recruit merchants with legal papers to smuggle their goods for shared profit, and convince people to join a shadow market disguised as a common gathering."

"It's large and well-connected. They even have a direct channel to Nicopola without going through Umberland," Michael informed.

"And how do we fix this?" Hugo asked the golden question.

Omin turned to him and suggested immediately, "Punish them strongly."

"Lord Lansius would never do that," Hugo flatly rejected.

"I'm not arguing his abilities, but as a lord, his approach is too naive."

Michael patted Omin's shoulder and reminded him, "We follow his policy."

Omin sighed and nodded twice but warned, "At this rate, we can't do anything."

"We can investigate," Michael stated.

"It'll take too much time. The city is bleeding money," Omin said, and the two knew he was right. They exchanged glances but had nothing.

"How about if I shoulder the blame?" Omin suddenly proposed.

The two looked at Omin. "Why go that far?" Michael asked.

"What's the worst that could happen if we're mistaken? The people would be mad, and I'd probably be sent to Korelia to answer Sir Justin. Big deal, I'll just live my life quietly in Korelia! My wife and kid are also there," Omin replied.

Silence permeated the chamber. Michael glanced and gave a nod to Hugo, who rose. "I'll set up a task force. We can't let smugglers rob us dry."

***

Lansius

One day before their return march, still without good mobility, the Lord of Korelia spent his days tinkering with the light gemstone. Audrey had told him about Avery's cane contraption, which sparked some ideas. He wanted to use the gemstone not as a lantern but more like a spotlight.

While focusing it without a lens would be challenging, he managed to create some focused light instead of a floodlight. He instructed a servant to rig a brass bowl with the gemstone mounted inside, using the polished bowl as a reflector. After the initial trials, they hammered the bowl into a better shape before buffing out the scrapes to achieve the desired light reflection.

Lansius felt they were close to getting it right, but patience was required. He knew several more changes were needed, but the shape of light it produced was satisfying to see.

"How's it going?" Audrey asked as she entered.

"The wound or this device?" Lansius quipped.

Audrey chuckled before asking tensely, "Um, listen. I know my pay is still cut because I disobeyed your order."

"Oh, the Battle of Korelia," he replied. "That feels like a long time ago."

"Yes, but you did say until the end of the year."

"Well, military rules are strict for a reason. But you have a Baroness's allowance and a share of the spoils, so I doubt you're lacking anything. So, why bring it up?"

"Umm..." She approached him and whispered into his ear, "I need a loan for horses."

"I doubt you can't purchase a few horses--"

"A lot of horses," she answered.

His eyes widened. "For what exactly?"

"For... the... baby?" she ventured uncertainly as if making it up as she went along.

"Baby...?" Lansius squinted at her, noting how she stood all flustered, her eyes avoiding his gaze as she shifted nervously. Even her fingers fidgeted, betraying her anxiety. He stroked his chin and said, "Well, get a chair and sit close. I promise to listen, but I'll only give loans if it's financially sound."

Despite his words, Lansius felt compelled to grant her wishes as long as they weren't unreasonable. The way Audrey had fought the half-beast, managed the camp during the Nicopolan crisis, and successfully recruited a mage into their ranks warranted a significant reward.

***

Sir Morton

After several more days of inactivity aside from patrolling, hosting travelers, and finding ways to entertain themselves, they finally received a fast messenger from the Lord of Korelia, announcing his army's imminent arrival.

"About time," Lord Jorge exclaimed with joy and relief.

"It'll probably still take them a few more days, and then a few more before we can depart," Morton advised.

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport, Morton," the Lord said dismissively.

"I've yet to comment on the horse racing," Morton quipped with a deadpan expression.

Lord Jorge chuckled. "And what do you want to say about it?"

"Nothing good, My Lord."

Lord Jorge's laughter resounded inside the tent, piquing the interest of his little daughter, who peeked through the canvas door.

The father took a lacquered wooden box, opened it, and revealed colorful, sweetened dried fruits to lure her closer, but she was too afraid of Sir Morton.

Noticing this, the captain of the Black Knights said, "I'd better leave."

Lord Jorge closed the wooden box with a smile. "No need for that. Unless you're needed elsewhere."

"I have a forest landscape to watch over," replied Morton without a hint of irony.

Lord Jorge simply shrugged, allowing Morton to do as he pleased, as was usual. His eyes seemed to wander as he said, "I can't wait until we're back at Three Hills. I'm going to throw a huge welcome party for myself."

"Better to commemorate your defenders' victory over the coup," Sir Morton suggested as he prepared to leave.

"Yes, we'll do that. That's a better reason than a welcome party," Lord Jorge decided with a charming smile.

...

The next day, the hill fort sent out more men on patrol. They were expecting Lord Lansius' army to arrive and didn't want to be caught off guard by unknown forces in their midst. With Umberland controlled by a half-breed, suspicions were rife about their motives.

As usual, Sir Morton spent his day in the lookout tower after sparring with his knights and a session of riding. Otherwise, they would grow bored and lose the edge they had built and maintained since their losses in the forests of Korelia.

The sky was cloudy, and despite it being midday, the sun was barely warm against the skin. Watching the tapestry in the sky, he hoped that the conclusion of the Umberland campaign would be favorable for them. Although they had secured the bulwark and Umberland, he was still worried about Lord Lansius' wound.

As a mage, Morton was well-read and familiar with stories where young men who accomplished great deeds died young.

A close-range bolt wound to the thigh...

He could only hope that, in Lord Lansius' case, the bolt hadn't broken the femur, which would be very hard to heal. If it had, then the Lord of Korelia would be crippled for life and unable to ride. With so much power yet confined, he could easily succumb to wine or other intoxicants. It would also hinder his chances of having an heir, which could potentially threaten Lord Jorge and the Alliance.

Although they had once been enemies, the fate of the Houses of Lowlandia was now intertwined. Without Lord Lansius at the helm, Lowlandia could easily regress to its old ways.

Sir Morton took a deep breath, trying to dispel this unwelcome concern. The gentle breeze nudged at him as if nature itself was signaling something.

Suddenly, he saw distant figures of horses descending the mountain path. Yet, another sight surprised him even more: an oddly shaped object bursting through the clouds like a flying leviathan, its colossal form dispersing the low-hanging mist above the forested area. Both the cavalry and the flying leviathan moved with surreal grace, steadily making their way toward the hill fort in tandem.

***