Sweat dripped down Lucullus’s face as he toiled through the early morning. Horses eagerly awaited their heap of hay. Swines snorted as Lucullus dumped the previous day’s scraps into their troughs. The work seemed to never end, but at least the days were getting cooler. Such a shame they had to get shorter, too. As if the stress of managing his family’s whole farm by himself wasn’t enough, he also had to fight the waning daylight.
As he shuffled to the fence, which marked the edge of his family’s land on one end of the village, he put his feeding buckets and tools on the ground, and leaned against one of the posts. The light breeze blowing through his hair brought a small bit of reprieve from the demanding labor, which only became more tiring as the scramble to harvest his grains for the festival drew closer.
While enjoying the rather peaceful weather, he noticed someone traveling along the road, just on the other side of his fence. He waved to the man as he drew nearer. “Good morning.”
The man returned the gesture. “Wasn’t expecting to see you out here just lounging by the fence. Must be a slow day, huh?”
He tittered, wiping sweat from his brow. “I see you’ve come to bring jokes and entertainment to this tired young man.”
He put one foot on a lower rail, and rested his arms on the higher one. “Just passing through on a little trip is all.”
He put his hand up to stroke his patchy beard. “Oh. And what sort of trip is it?”
“Just a business trip up north. The associate I’m meeting has some valuable information which could very well solidify my family name as the most prestigious in all of Lucium.”
He narrowed his eyes. “More so than House Audens, or Avarus?”
He gave a dismissive wave. “Audens only has prestige because Titus is the king. Beyond that, the house is in tatters. But yes, even more than House Avarus.” He lets out a brief sigh. “So what about you? Anything special in your neck of the woods?”
“Nothing as exciting as you. But the harvest festival is around the corner. I really hope all those offerings at the temple pay off.”
He nodded. “I always seem to have a big trip when the festival rolls around. Perhaps I can leave an offering in the temple on your behalf.” He stood up from his casual repose on the fence.
Lucullus waved as his friend began to walk off. “Please do, Decimus. Perhaps it can keep those savage raiders from trying to plunder my fields again.”
Soon after Lucullus finished his farm work for the day, he made his usual evening visit to the village temple. Though it was a paltry house for even a demigod like Ferax, it still had a certain beauty in its simplicity. The floor was not made of marble nor granite. The way to Ferax’s shrine had no intricate patterns along the floor, nor were there any chiseled columns of stone to line either side. Despite this, every element of the shrine, from the statue to the flowers at the foot thereof, seemed to be pleasing to Ferax.
Everything in the temple was quiet and serene. Lucullus took the offerings from his scrip, and placed them at the foot of the clay statue of Ferax. He reached over for the spills, and lit the offering candles. Kneeling in front of the statue, he assumed a deep bow as he recited his offertory prayers.
The familiar sound of mail armor and a sword shifting around in its sheath came from the entrance of the temple. He finished his prayers, and sauntered out.
On the way out, the man in the armor, his friend, patted his shoulder. “Has Ferax been extra needy this harvest?”
He turned and greeted his friend with a bear hug. “You of all people should know, Tullius. Those men of yours could barely stop a rat from ravaging my fields.”
He grinned and tittered. “I can’t help the bandits being so fixated on our humble village.”
“At least train ‘em to shoot straight.”
He patted Lucullus on the back somewhat forcefully. “I think your crops should do just fine this year. All the offerings you’ve made, I would think, would be more than enough.” He shook his head. “But you never know with these temperamental demigods.”
“Perhaps it’s that attitude toward the gods that causes your men’s arrows to only find the ground as their target.”
He gave his friend a light shove, guffawing as he spoke. “Well if you don’t mind, I’d like to mend my strained relations with our village’s patron demigod. Perhaps then my men will shoot straight.”
He motioned for Tullius to enter the temple. “I won’t keep you, then. I’m sure mother is eager for me to get back to the house.”
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The two parted ways with a chuckle. Lucullus made haste to return home, and greeted his mother with a warm hug.
“Y’know, I always worry when you come in so late.”
“Yes, I know. But with how the prospects look this year, I can’t be slothful with such a good harvest.” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “This year, I’m certain will be the best harvest from these fields since…” His eyes went grim.
“I know his soul is at rest with Mors. Perhaps his pleas with Ferax are giving you this blessing.” She pulled her son back for another hug, holding him tighter this time. “If only he could’ve…”
“It’s getting late. Rest would do us both some good.” He put his cloak on the coat rack, and motioned for her to go.
She nodded, and shuffled to her bed.
He snuffed his bedside candle, and fell asleep within minutes.
Lucullus spent the morning, from before dawn until noon, gathering his harvest. From his rye and barley fields to the smokehouse, he barely had a moment to catch his breath. By the end, the portion he reserved for the big festival filled his wagon. With crops in great abundance, he rode his wagon to the watchtower at the edge of the village.
Tullius waved at him from atop the tall tower. “Heading to Furca, are we?”
He gave a thumbs up. “Gotta leave a day early if I want a good spot in the market.”
“Just be sure to get back in time for the Astrum Festival.”
He rolled his eyes. “As if I’ve ever missed one.” He jeered his horses.
Fortunately, the harvest festival and Astrum never conflict with each other. Not that he’d miss much by not being at the Astrum festival. The silly dances and defunct ceremonies of the village’s old religion aren’t much to look at. It was only because of oral tradition that anyone even still remembers it. But the village elders insist on keeping these tired old routines alive; if nothing else, for the cultural significance.
After a day’s journey, he arrived in the city. He reserved his spot at the market stalls before anything else. He greeted the organizers with a handshake. “Looks like I’m first this year.”
One organizer grabbed his log book. “It appears so, Lucullus.” He began to write in the book. “I bet I know which stall you want. Will you have enough crops for all that traffic you’ll get?”
He nodded with confidence. “If you’ll turn your gaze to my cart, you’ll see it’s practically overflowing with goods to sell.”
The organizers looked over, and nodded in silent approval.
Soon after, one of the farmers Lucullus knew well arrived. He gave Lucullus a firm pat on the shoulder. “Look who showed up early this year.”
“Figured I couldn’t risk floundering with a haul this good.”
He snickered. “You mean the savages didn’t party in your fields?”
He gave him a light shove. “Go look at my cart and you’ll see.” He sighed, looking at the setting sun. “Well, I better be getting a room at the inn.”
The next morning, he went to his stand, and sold his goods until evening. All throughout the market, rumors of wars, changes in trade, noble house feuds, and all things in between circled. He couldn’t help but listen in on the latest of Lucium’s problems.
A pair of patrons wandered over to his stall. Chatting to one another about foreign affairs.
Lucullus waved at them. “Would any of you care for some smoked lamb?”
One patron looked over at him. “A bit beyond our means, but we’ll take pork if you have it.”
He reached into a box and pulled out his choicest cuts of pork. “Here’s the best of my stock.”
The other patron leaned over to inspect the goods. “You raise good swines. We’ll take twenty pounds.”
He nodded, and began to bag the pork. “That’ll be twenty silver.”
The man who was evidently in charge of the funds begrudgingly forked over the coins.
“Any news from the provinces?”
The first patron leaned on the stand. “Way I hear it, Archduchess Sabina is really cracking the whip on the northern houses. Seems she’s the only one doing something about these foreign bandit raids.”
“I have noticed a serious uptick in bandit activity along the main roads. Where do they come from?”
The patron pulled on the top of his ears to make them pointy.
He chuckled. “What, the Dasos?”
“Who else could it be? They’ve been trying to spread their ridiculous religion to our land for years. Guess the only way they know how is to attack honest folk like us.”
The other patron nodded. “That war they plan to start with Immergrun will be the end of our sea trade, and likely put the hurt on our fishermen. I know a few of ‘em who say the war could be as early as next spring.”
Lucullus looked back and forth at the two of them. “I guess that means their religious disputes weren’t settled the first time?”
Both the patrons laughed. The first one grinned as he spoke. “Their ‘heresy wars’, as they probably call them, will continue ‘til the end of time. No, this time it’s because of some petty revenge between the noble houses. Though I suppose they’ll claim it was for their foolish religion.”
“I just hope it doesn’t spark zeal in those mage groups hiding in the provinces. Some say they have secret ties to the queen of Emporikos.”
One of the patrons scoffed. “Those Dasos stick together. Wasn’t enough that they’ve made a whole race of half-breeds in Western Lucium, now they gotta spread their sorcery to us, too...”
The two patrons eventually walked off. After a while, when the activity died down late in the evening, Lucullus closed up his stand and returned to the inn.
He awoke just before dawn to get a head start on packing. When he had all of his remaining goods packed in his cart, he began his journey back home. On the quiet road home, his mind wandered. If Emporikos was about to start a war, it could further strain relations between them and Lucium. They would probably find any reason to raid Lucium’s merchant ships, and attacking them for “sending aid” to their enemy would be the perfect cover.
While he worried himself over foreign wars, a sudden bump in the road brought him back to reality. He stopped the cart, and dismounted to inspect the damage. One of the front wheels seemed to have something lodged in it. He pulled the item out, but couldn’t tell exactly what it was in the dark of the late evening. Seeing that he was near home, he decided to forego making a campsite, and to continue traveling.
As he was climbing back onto his cart, he felt someone grab him, and pull him to the ground. After laying on the ground for a second to catch his breath, he rolled to his feet to face his attacker.