Chapter 158
Winter Forge
East Tiberia
As the last of autumn cast its vibrant hues of yellow and red over the landscape, the area around the Capital bore the scars of war rather than the beauty of the season. The battle for the Imperium's survival had raged relentlessly, and an end was nowhere in sight. The front lines shifted almost daily, marked by the changing control of towns and villages in a grim dance of war.
For the defenders, their castles and walled cities offered some protection, yet they were far from sanctuaries. Clearly, they were losing the initiative and could only retreat deeper into the Capital. Their only hope was to hold out until winter, using the time to rest and regroup before their cohesiveness crumbled.
In one beleaguered city, a brief respite from the night’s skirmishes gave way to a tense calm. From the ramparts, the defenders looked out upon the enemy who, equally tired and drained, were still laboriously repairing ladders and organizing their siege engines. The dull thuds of hammers and the metallic clang of armor echoed from the enemy’s camp.
The city’s walls, scarred by the conflict, stood defiant. Its weakness was its limited food supply for the garrison and the populace, which would force them to abandon the town if a relief force with additional supplies was compromised.
The men of the city, their faces etched with fatigue and bodies draped in stained armor, moved slowly along the battlements. Their eyes, red from sleepless nights, scanned the horizon incessantly, knowing the lull was nothing more than a mirage. The attack could happen at any time, day or night, depending on the opponent's whim.
Inside the city, the streets that were usually teeming with trade and laughter were now quiet and somber. Adults wore faces painted with worry about the looming threat, while children, still unable to comprehend what had happened to their city or why their relatives hadn't come home, wandered cheerlessly.
The Northern Rebellion, or Gottfried's Treachery as it was termed, had turned into an all-out war. Men too old or too young had joined the defender ranks. The young looked eager with their new weapons and armor, while the old quietly cleaned and fixed armor from fallen soldiers.
A man in his late forties stood firm on the battlement despite the threat from siege engines. He was the reason the whole front line hadn't collapsed after their initial fiasco. Assuming leadership in times of crisis, the Bald Eagle, as he was fondly known, had compelled the remnants to stubbornly defend every conceivable strong position, using walled cities like links in a chain to absorb, disrupt, and weaken the attackers' momentum before they razed the place and fell back.
Although the losses of life and materials were staggering, this strategy prevented a mass rout. It was now unclear to both sides whether the attackers or the defenders were winning. The war had become protracted, with the battle lines extending through as many as five cities, and at one point, even seven.
As the temporary commander, he personally led the defense of a small but strategic city that held the gate to the Capital. He had run out of places to retreat to, except for the Capital itself, whose defense would be nightmarish since it was too vast and had outgrown its initial two sets of city walls. It would require tens of thousands of men just to keep sentry, and feeding a besieged populace would be an impossible ordeal.
Gottfried's Northern forces had come and laid siege to this small city. They attempted to surround the city, but it was bolstered by sister cities to the north and south, both in strong positions, not to mention the Capital's garrison at its back. Again, the opponents' movements were stalled, but nobody knew for how long.
They were now at the last stage of defense. Now, either winter would come, or Gottfried's men would reach the city. The chill wind gave hope, but the weather remained unpredictable.
Footsteps from behind were heard, and his personal guards gazed sharply as a knight and his squire approached.
"Commander," the knight called, as his squire waited at a distance.
The commander turned to him, his eyebrows sharp like an eagle and his head balding at the top. "Let me guess, more bad news?"
"House Edelhart and Ulfbret are unable to come," the knight named a Baron and a Baronet.
The commander exhaled deeply yet maintained his steely gaze. He turned to his guards, saying, "Leave us."
The four guards readily left them alone, making themselves comfortable a few distances away.
With only them remaining, the Bald Eagle said, "Just say it plainly. They have come over to Gottfried's side."
The knight, his armor etched with scratches and dents that would not buff out, said nothing in return, his face showing a mix of anger and also resignation.
The commander turned away, his gaze returning to the Northerners' camp outside. His men had been fighting a losing war for more than fifty days and had seen their numbers dwindle significantly from their original strength. Now, they were a hodgepodge of units still willing to fight, led by local knights who could rally them. The Bald Eagle placed his trust in them, but he knew their overall strength was nothing compared to that of the Northerners. What they had in abundance were untrained men: artisan apprentices, craftsmen, sons of farmers, and market laborers.
"That Gottfried was really something," he suddenly admitted.
The knight's eyes widened. "Sir, people might hear," he warned, subtly turning right and left to check if anyone was nearby.
The Bald Eagle chuckled defiantly and clenched his fist. "I can't even discuss the strength of my opponent with my own staff. What kind of ridiculous situation is this?"
The knight felt powerless. The truth was that the force defending the capital was fighting with one hand tied behind its back. The bureaucrats, the true power running the Imperium, had ignored all the generals' planning and ordered a massive pitched battle to start their counteroffensive, which had failed spectacularly. "If only the Duke wasn't powerless against the sages," he whispered.
His words made the commander lament, "We lost many good men." His tone was heavy as he recalled many of his old comrades.
"But their lives weren't lost in vain," the commander continued. "The past blunder will cost the one hundred sages their reputation, if not expose their incompetence and corruption," he named the top bureaucrats that ran the Ageless One's directive.
The knight looked worried, and it wasn’t out of fear. He was fearless in battle, but the sages could reach far. There were many stories of them inviting people into the palace where unfortunate accidents befell the visitors.
Exhaling sharply, the Bald Eagle said in a fatherly tone without looking directly, "Just forget about all this. Go to sleep; we might see another nighttime action. Even Gottfried is desperate to secure a foothold before the heavy snow falls."
The knight stared into the distance, nodded, and replied, "Let me accompany you for a while."
Delighted by the company, the commander let out a faint smile and quietly accepted. They observed the enemy's camp for a while until he asked the younger knight, "What do you think? Will we survive the onslaught?"
The knight glanced at the commander. "Your strategy has brought us this far. I'm sure it'll be crucial for the Capital's defense no matter what the result."
"My strategy is merely to deny them battles..." The commander then quipped, "Turns out their horses and riders are useless in scaling the walls."
The knight let out a dry chuckle.
The Bald Eagle continued, "Alas, we're out of walls to hide behind, and I can feel that the opponent is organizing a large assault. I see new banners every day."
"But Sir, we've been taking a lot of heavy assaults and have meted out severe punishment to them."
"I'm afraid that's merely an attempt to tire us before the big one. That's probably why they only attack at night."
The knight nodded and muttered, "Indeed, that's unconventional."
The Bald Eagle pointed out, "Do you see that large empty tent over there without a banner?"
Squinting, the knight found it and asked, "What about it?"
"That's probably intended for Gottfried himself. His men are preparing for his arrival to launch the assault." He smiled ominously and said, "Our days are numbered."
Despite the grim news, the knight snorted. "It's been like that since the start."
"You should abandon this city and hide with your family," the Bald Eagle urged. "Gottfried will give leniency."
The knight's jaw tightened and shot a stare. "How could you say such a thing?"
"Make no mistake, Gottfried has a lot of supporters in the Capital. Especially people who believe that the Ageless One is dead. They'll likely surrender the city after the loyalists have fallen."
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"You can't dissuade me from dying at your side. The Imperium will survive. Help will come," the knight asserted, more to convince himself than his commander. He glanced away briefly, his gaze falling on the worn flags above the ramparts, fluttering defiantly.
The older man laughed, drawing the attention of the guards who kept watch at the ramparts. He gave a fatherly look toward the young knight. "No help will likely come. As I said, Gottfried has friends in high places, who hope to join him with their estates intact. That's why the Capital Garrison has barely given us any relief."
"The Barons around the Capital?"
"Likely a good portion of the one hundred sages themselves," the Bald Eagle minced no words.
"By the Ageless," the knight spat to the side.
"The Imperium has been nothing but the sages' playground for hundreds of years. It's not worth the blood of the young who defended it," the older man lamented.
The words piqued the knight’s curiosity. "But why do you lead this defense?"
"Because if I didn't, more blood would be spilled," he revealed. "I'm a believer that even a twisted peace accord is better than a full rout and the ensuing bloodshed."
The distant wail of high-pitched trumpets sliced through the air, announcing the imminent arrival of a large force and snapping every head toward the eastern horizon. There, a grand host advanced, their golden banner fluttering like a flame. Below, the enemy camp stirred into a frenzied hive of activity.
The commander's personal guard quickly returned to his side, both to protect him and to witness the arrival of the enemy's reinforcements if not their main army, likely in the thousands. To them, the Bald Eagle said, "Well, I guess we're going to die tonight."
Instead of looking concerned, the guards joked, "Sir, you've been saying that to us for fifty days, yet we still draw breath."
The old man snorted and beamed at them proudly. He then patted the knight's shoulder, saying, "Go to rest. You’re going to need it."
***
Korelia, Eastern mansion
Audrey had returned to the hall next to her chamber after the council session. Usually, Ingrid accompanied her for lessons, but today, she was on leave. Rumor had it that she'd had a crazy night out with the half-breed, and both were absent from the morning meeting, likely due to hangovers.
Despite the old maids' suggestions, she had secretly maintained her and Lansius' armor and gear, but that too had already been cleaned and polished thoroughly. What was left was reading, which she usually immersed herself in once she started. Yet, today, she wasn't in the mood for reading.
She glanced out the window and saw that midday had yet to arrive and sighed. She had rejected the idea of taking a lady-in-waiting to accompany her, as she couldn’t connect with them due to her different background. Thus, she relied on Margo, but the pageboy alone wasn't enough. "Maybe if it were Cecile..." she muttered to herself.
However, she knew Cecile was essential in the small council to help manage the city. As the domains expanded, the workload increased more than ever. Then she remembered Sir Justin's daughter and saw an opportunity for the little girl to provide some distraction until her pregnancy progressed further.
She eagerly awaited her return to Lansius' side to assist him with his various projects. Recently, her husband had been spending a great deal of time in the workshops, juggling several new projects simultaneously. He had been teasing her about making a comfortable bed to sleep in, and knowing him, she was confident it would be a game-changer.
A knock on the door drew her attention away, and Margo, who stood by the entrance, quickly moved to block the door. "Who is it?" he asked.
"It's the maids," came the reply from the guard standing outside. "They've brought gifts from a guest."
"Please wait a moment," Margo said, then turned to Audrey, who nodded and replied, "Let them in."
Two maids entered and placed the gifts, wrapped in leather, on the table. "It's a gift from the nomads. They instructed us to give it to you, My Lady."
"They didn't stay to present the gift themselves?" Audrey asked.
"No, it seems their leader was in the city and will join us for supper tonight."
Audrey nodded and motioned for Margo to open the gift. The pageboy unwrapped the package to reveal a beautiful recurve bow, its grip finely covered in fur, along with richly decorated leather gloves, a wrist guard, and an ornamented quiver filled with arrows. The nomad messenger had even strung the bow for her, clearly knowing this was intended not for display.
While the maids and the pageboy exchanged glances, Audrey's mood suddenly improved. She recalled her time training with the bow and, after traveling with the nomads, now she had a better understanding of how to use it. Not to mention, the bow presented to her was of the correct size and better quality.
She took it, delighted by the weight and balance. It did give off a certain smell due to the use of animal parts, but she was used to it. Audrey looked at the trio and commanded, "No one else is to learn of this gift," her tone firm and carrying a hint of threat.
The trio nodded in unison. "Yes, My Lady."
Audrey leaned back in her seat, pondering the no rules against activities that required little movement—just arms and upper body exercises. "Get me an old pillow and a basket," she commanded, surveying the length of the hall and finding it inadequate. "And some rope," she added, rising from her seat and heading toward an unused corridor that was cordoned off for renovations.
...
Lansius
In the heart of the bustling Korelian workshop, lit by generous sunlight from a wide window that also ensured good ventilation, Lansius stood entranced. Owing to his policy of welcoming talent, many had come to Korelia from across Lowlandia to showcase their abilities.
During one of the talents' introductions, it was revealed that he had a knack for making metal that could bend and return to its original shape.
Lansius recognized it as springs. He wasted no time and had challenged the smith to make a set of springs with varying lengths to be installed on a carriage as leaf springs. However, his knowledge of how to make it work was limited, and he was forced to rely on other craftsmen to work out the details. It would require time and trial and error before he could showcase the product. Fortunately, Sir Justin was interested in this new carriage and offered to supervise on his behalf.
With free hands, Lansius had the smith make a different set of springs. Today, the smith, sporting long hair and a mustache, finished crafting what would be the first coil springs. He carefully removed his leather glove and touched the cooled spiral iron.
He tested it by pressing it with his palm against the table and found it bouncy. Everyone there was excited. He repeated the action several times until it slipped and the coil flew across the room, triggering laughter from the weary assistants.
The smith grinned, picked it up from the floor, wiped it clean, and then presented it to Lansius, who observed the object.
Lansius pressed the coiled springs with both hands and found them resistive but not overly so. "This will do," he grinned.
"Then we can begin production," the smith grinned back. "Maintain the heat on the furnace. It's time to ramp it up," he declared to the assistants, who had been working with him.
The smith then returned to his spot, heating the slightly thicker wire but refrained from making it glow. Using his experience, he determined when it was time and pulled it out before beginning to coil it around a stout rod, each loop snug against the last, creating a perfect spiral. He cut the wire and let the spring take shape by quenching it in a large tub of water.
It wasn't the end of the process; he took the spiral iron back to the furnace to heat it again before allowing it to cool slowly at room temperature. This tempering process would reduce brittleness and increase the toughness and durability of the spring. He then repeated the process for another spring.
Lansius, edging closer, asked, "Can someone else also do this process so we can make more?"
"The consistency will suffer, My Lord," the smith answered, without taking his attention from his work.
"I'm not looking for perfection, just good enough quality." Lansius then felt the need to explain, "Your work will be deemed high tier and as promised will be paid handsomely. However, I also need a lower tier for the commoners. Acceptable quality for a lower price."
"Frankly, as long as I get paid, I couldn't care less about who's going to use it," the smith chuckled.
Lansius nodded but added, "I want these not only to grace the nobles but everyone in the city."
"That's a novel idea, My Lord," the smith remarked, then added, "By next week, a few others will be able to try making them on their own. I'll be supervising them so the quality doesn’t suffer too much."
"That's all I ask," said Lansius, satisfied.
With that, his plan for winter had been shaping up nicely. The barbed wire, the coils, and the leaf springs, not to mention the spinning wheels for yarn, were all part of his vision to make the city a center of new inventions that would attract people from afar.
When the three inventions were completed, he would have enough leverage to go against the guilds, which had been baited with the South Trade agreement. Not to mention, he still had other large tricks up his sleeve.
Leaving the smiths to their work, Lansius and his entourage walked to their carriage. Due to his growing popularity, he had chosen a carriage to conceal his movements. It was becoming troublesome to ride out and be constantly stopped by people who just wanted to see him or hear him speak.
He had always thought that becoming popular was a great thing, until he experienced it firsthand.
At least they don't hate or fear me like they used to.
"Where to, My Lord?" the coachman asked as Lansius, Sterling, Carla, and one other guard settled inside a different carriage. He had donated his usual carriage for use as a platform in the leaf spring project.
"Just go around the market," Lansius instructed. "I want to see the new Korelia," he said with veiled excitement.
His words were met with smiles from the coachman and his entourage. Thus, the Lord of Korelia visited the bustling market, observing quietly from his carriage that the market had come alive. Once dusty with few peddlers, limited wares, and many pickpockets, it now rivaled South Hill. And probably in a few years, it would come to resemble the bustling market of Three Hills.
His plan to invite other lords to live here had achieved its intended effect. New shops had been built to anticipate the growing demands. Unlike in the modern era, people in this era had to build workshops to produce even the most ordinary goods; rarely were goods transported from outside the city unless they could not be obtained or made locally.
Lansius noticed new pottery shops, furniture stores, and fabric shops. Then he saw a grand building with a marble-floored entrance.
"The bathhouse, My Lord," Sterling reported.
"Have you visited there?" Lansius asked.
"Not yet, maybe after I'm done with my house, My Lord."
Lansius quickly nodded. "Sometimes, I forget that you just got married. You should take the day off."
Carla quickly added, "Do as the Lord told you."
"But Claire wanted me to work as usual," the young man answered proudly.
Lansius was amused. "Carla, tell the coach to head to this newlywed's new house. I'll pay a visit."
"B-but My Lord, it's still messy," Sterling said, wide-eyed.
"I've been riding and sleeping rough in the Great Plains of Lowlandia. Anything with a roof is as good as a house to me," Lansius boasted. He would never say it, but there was something about Claire that reminded him of Tanya. It wasn’t her blonde hair, but perhaps her chattiness.
After Carla had informed the coachman, Lansius observed the newly constructed station for the fire nightwatch brigade, named the Fire Wardens. They were the first dedicated firefighter and also served as a night watch against crimes.
The brigade's inception was well-received, and many Korelians had applied to join. In the past, several buildings had burned due to the dry climate. However, the fires didn’t spread widely as Korelian buildings were constructed sparsely, separated from their neighbors. This spacing had saved them from a colossal fire, but as the city grew, the threat of fire would become too great to ignore.
Lansius wanted to prevent that and he had planned for the second fire station across the river.
As the carriage rolled along, Lansius noted the diggings for the upcoming combination of stone, clay, and bronze pipe where he planned to have a working fountain. The pipe wouldn't be buried but encased in sand and stones for ease of maintenance in case of burst pipes in the future. Additionally, the fountain was to provide easy access for the Fire Warden.
He then saw a group of women with their children clad in new fur clothes.
"Looks like the city is prepared for winter," Lansius commented.
"Indeed, My Lord. The Korelians have more to spend compared to last year. The work you provided, the trade and commerce, the money from victories, it all trickles down to everyone," said Carla.
Lansius nodded. Finally, he could enjoy the fruits of his labor. The year 4426 was drawing to a close, and he had high hopes for what it would bring. For the first time, even the winter in Korelia didn’t seem so grim. Yet, he understood that with the Imperium in peril, no peace was truly set in stone.
***