Amonth had passed since Lansius arrived in Feodosia, and the sharpness of his appearance had faded into a haggard weariness. He seldom left his room, save for a quick stroll to the baker at noon or for supper.
Lansius sat on the edge of his straw mattress, his back hunched and his gaze fixed on the floor of his dimly lit room. He wore his faded blue Centurian tunic, a garnt that stirred mories of his friend. Clinging to these mories offered him a bitter form of comfort.
A half-empty small jar of wine and an empty bucket lay on the floor near his feet. He had attempted to drink his sorrows away, but the taste of undiluted local wine was too bitter, even for his desolate mood. Outside, the final hour of sunlight cast a reddish-orange glow through the open slit in the window. Lansius noticed the warm hues and let out a heavy sigh.
Another day wasted . . .
He ached for the familiar comforts of ho and family. Yet, he knew the perils of returning to his ho in war-ravaged Arvena far outweighed his longing. For sure, the journey was fraught with danger, with northern n known to detain travelers without cause. Lansius’s distinct dark hair, a clear mark of foreigner and the fact that he ca from Midlandia direction would made him a clear target of suspicion. The risks were simply too great.
Lansius’s thoughts turned to the fruitless search he had undertaken and how it slowly turned him into a recluse. Day by day, he had waited for good news that never ca. And each day, the cowardly decision he had made in Riverstead had co back to haunt him.
His stomach growled again, and the nausea returned. Lord Arte had granted him status, wealth, and the privilege of exercising his own will, but Lansius had squandered it all with his own irresponsibility.
With a heavy feeling, he fought the urge to lie down. He planted his feet firmly on the floor and took a few wobbly steps toward the table.
Guh . . .
He quickly took hold of the table to steady himself. Despite the proof of intoxication, Lansius stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. Rather, he attributed the weak knees to prolonged sitting.
Without aning to, Lansius’s gaze drifted to the table. Although it had been pristine upon his arrival five days ago, now a thin layer of dust covered its surface. Yet, the dust was the least of his concerns; sitting next to a jar of water and a wooden cup was an unassuming paper scroll.
The n he had hired were competent enough to submit a written report after their search. However, just like his own search, they had found nothing.
“There was no slave that fit the description.” “Most likely she perished in the war.” Lansius recalled the last conversation he had with them.
Anger sparked within him, but not because of the failure. He felt ashad to maintain such a feeble and foolish hope for so long. The likelihood of finding Stefi alive was always grim. Before he had hired anyone, Lansius had visited the slave rchants in Feodosia. They could only offer their sympathies as they couldn’t find her either in their place or in their logs.
As Lansius reached out absentmindedly for the cup, he took a small sip of water and winced at its stale taste. Putting the cup down, his attention was drawn to the empty seat in front of him.
“Hey, if you’re dead, why don’t you tell and save all the trouble?” he blurted out at the empty space.
There was no answer but the darkness that crept in as the sun inched closer to the west.
“Hmph, you’re probably floating freely and laughing at my misery,” he continued, but this ti, the alcohol in his blood whispered an imaginary answer.
“Guilt? But what can I do in Riverstead? I’m no swordsman . . . To die at your side, is that what you want of ?” His heart pounded as he finally spoke so of his burden out loud.
“You’re not special. There’s nothing between us.” He denied his own feelings. “I’ve seen you naked once, but that’s nothing. I’ve seen plenty of naked girls before. Where? The internet. You don’t know? Hah! See . . . you know nothing about .”
This ti, there was no answer to his ramblings, only silence. Frustrated and ashad at his monologue, Lansius retreated to the bed and held his head in sadness. Not even amnesia could erase the deep yearning he felt for a companion, and Stefi was the closest he ever had.
The last faint glow of the setting sun finally ebbed.
Lansius let out a long, tired sigh. Despite his misery, he couldn’t ignore the encroaching darkness. His earlier outburst had pumped so much blood into his head that he felt slightly sober. He grabbed his bag and lantern, and pushed the iron bolt lock open.
The corridor of the timber and stone inn was dimly lit, with only a single lantern casting a feeble glow near the stairs. The sound of creaking floorboards echoed as Lansius made his way downstairs.
Lansius quickly entered the dining area next to the kitchen. The innkeeper and her two kids were too busy to greet him. That was perfect. The last thing he wanted was for sobody to judge him by his looks.
For that sa reason, he liked to co early. Today, there was just one guest in the corner. Keeping his head down, Lansius went to the small table by the window. As he was about to sit down, the man in the corner raised his cup. Lansius thought it was just a greeting, so he waved back.
“Lans, my man, you look unwashed.”
The man’s words sent a jolt down Lansius’s spine. He looked at the man and recognized the facial features along with the milky white leather coat. “Calub!”
The alchemist raised his cup even higher as a smile ford on his lips.
Ignoring his suspicion, Lansius rushed to et him. He had changed inns twice and used an alias, but a friendly face was sothing he yearned for. Truthfully, he was worried about staying alone in Feodosia, especially with a sizable amount of money.
Calub carefully kicked the chair in front of him, and Lansius gladly took it. “So, how’s Feodosia?” the alchemist asked.
“Better than what I expected,” Lansius replied cheerfully, concealing his issues.
Calub smiled. “It’s a small town but passed through by many trade routes. You can find almost anything in here—” He abruptly paused. “Ah, what am I saying? Please pardon my ramblings.”
“What for . . . ?” Lansius grew suspicious and asked carefully, “You’ve heard?”
The alchemist’s response was solemn. “Lansius . . . I’m saddened that you can’t find what you’re looking for.”
The mood turned heavy, and Lansius didn’t give an answer.
“I have so connections who inford about it,” Calub explained. He poured spiced ale into another cup and offered it to Lansius.
Lansius took the cup, but sipped only a little as his stomach didn’t feel well.
Calub didn’t push for an answer, so Lansius pondered his situation. anwhile, the kitchen next door bustled with activity. Lansius’s senses were awakened by the sound of crackling fire, the clanging ladles on the tal cauldron, and the rich aroma from the at puddings being cooked.
“So, how is Lady Felicity doing?” Lansius asked after he rembered just how much he owed her.
“She’s fine. She runs a tavern, you know. We should visit her, but perhaps not tonight,” Calub replied, and glanced at the innkeeper. “Can we get one bowl of porridge, please? For a hangover.”
“That’ll cost extra,” the innkeeper replied without looking.
“Make it tasty then,” Calub said without asking for the price.
Lansius could only watch in silence. After so hesitation, he finally asked, “Calub, am I chasing a ghost?”
“Don’t say such a thing,” Calub uttered, but he didn’t elaborate.
A rather plump lass no older than fifteen arrived with two bowls of stew, a small lump of blackened at pudding, and ward up bread. Lansius hadn’t ordered, but each guest got the sa al.
“You better wait for the porridge,” Calub suggested while stirring his stew.
Lansius nodded. He was grateful for his concern.
The stew was steaming hot, so Calub broke his bread and dipped it before taking a bit.
“Mm, how’s Sir Archie doing?” Lansius asked.
“Now you’re talking.” Calub dipped another piece. “It’s good that the squire is thinking about the master.”
Lansius exhaled sharply from guilt. He had accepted the honor as squire, but ended up like this. “He gave freedom of will.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t include wasting your life away,” Calub said, gazing at him. “Lans, shouldn’t you return to your master’s side?”
Lansius couldn’t challenge that notion. “Since you’re here . . . does it an you’ve co to fetch up?”
Calub shook his head. “Last ti was a contract, but I’m not joining the Arvenians.”
Sothing didn’t add up, Lansius thought. “But then, why are you looking for ?”
Calub paused for a mont. “Well, it wasn’t easy, but as I’ve said before, I have connections.” He pulled a thin brown leather wrap from his inside coat pocket and put it on the table.
“What’s that?” Lansius asked.
“An invitation.”
The answer puzzled him, but the contents might hold an answer. “May I?”
Calub motioned him to do as he pleased. Lansius proceeded to open the rugged leather and reached out for a thick envelope inside. He noticed the purple wax seal that bore a crest of a regal-looking man riding a horse.
Lansius didn’t recognize the crest, but he knew that good quality paper was expensive. He looked up at Calub. “Is this for ?”
Calub nodded, and Lansius carefully unsealed the wax, pulling out the paper.
He saw neat handwriting on the letter with distinctly legible and glossy black ink, clearly the work of a skilled scribe. Although it was an invitation, Lansius felt more like he was being summoned by the noble who sent it. “What does this baronet want?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Calub exhaled sharply. “Nevertheless . . . I thought it would be beneficial for you. That’s why I accepted the task of delivering that letter.”
With too much weighing on his mind, instead of responding, Lansius tore off another piece of bread and dipped it into the stew. He and Calub were comrades, but Lansius hardly knew the alchemist well. The fact that Calub now brought an invitation from a baronet in Midlandia was unsettling.
Who is he working for?
Calub didn’t press for a response and instead quietly ate his stew. The plump serving girl returned with a bowl of gruel and placed it in front of Lansius.
“Gratitude,” Lansius said to the girl, who bowed her head before leaving. He stirred the gruel with his spoon and noticed pieces of cheese and salted at swirling around. Feeling sowhat calr, he turned to Calub and asked, “What is this invitation about? Can I decline?”
“Of course,” Calub reassured him. “It’s not a summons. But why don’t you et them first?”
Lansius hesitated, so Calub went on. “It’s clear that they have an interest in you. Midlandia’s nobles may be ruthless, but they’re also fair.”
Upon hearing that, Lansius stopped stirring. “But I’m a squire to Sir Archie.”
“That’s exactly why you need to et them. Your master needs Midlandia’s support. You’ll do well to build a relationship with a baronet to help Sir Archie’s cause.”
Lansius couldn’t find fault in his friend’s logic, but he remained indecisive. “I need to consult with my master first.”
“By all ans,” the alchemist remarked lightly.
“If I accept the invitation, will you accompany ?”
Calub smiled and replied, “I could, but I shouldn’t. They are only interested in you, and we wouldn’t want to make a rude gesture.”
Despite the questions, Lansius didn’t feel like accepting. He had a carefree life. Why would he risk it for sothing vague? He had tried hard to improve his station in life: working as a farr, teacher, workhouse clerk, forest survivor, and squire—all in a single year—but all had led to nothing.
Fate had a way of pushing him back to square one, leaving him feeling powerless. He felt like a dry leaf caught in a whirlwind of conflicts.
This year, Lansius had witnessed more violence and desperation than most n experience in a lifeti. The traumas from Riverstead and the Artu forest never left him. Because of this, he was reluctant to even hold onto hope.
Yet despite his emptiness, a faint ambition began to kindle within him. His eyes sparkled as he pondered whether there was still sothing—or soone—worth living for. Though he had lost Stefi, the thought of his family in Bellandia gave him pause for hope.
Perhaps this’ll pave the road to return ho.
One week had passed since Lansius began his journey to Toruna. Today, the sun rose over the dieval countryside, casting a warm glow on the landscape. A refreshing breeze swept through the fields, carrying with it the unique aroma of ripe crops ready for harvest. The narrow path andered through the golden fields, the stalks gently swaying in the breeze.
The sound of hooves echoed against the dirt road. Lansius rode in a horse-drawn cart laden with goods, sharing the space only with the old coachman sitting up front.
Before he left on this journey, Lansius had consulted Sir Archie, who recognized that the baronet of Toruna was an influential man in his own right, and also close to the powerful Seneschal Bengrieve. Because they needed all the influence they could muster, he agreed to send Lansius on his first errand as a squire.
“There.” Suddenly, the coachman pointed to the south after they passed over a hill.
Following his hand, Lansius spotted a manor beside a small river, flanked by recently harvested farms, orchards, and a nearby village. “Is that where the baronet of Toruna lives?” he asked.
“This is Toruna,” the coachman replied with a thick foreign accent, seemingly struggling to make small talk.
Lansius allowed himself to beco fully imrsed in the breathtaking beauty of the harvest season, a reminder of the bountiful fields of Bellandia. After a month of seclusion in Feodosia, he felt rejuvenated, his old self having returned.
“Always, good harvest. Land is blessed,” the coachman added proudly.
Lansius politely nodded. The land was indeed prosperous, with a good population, and looked well-governed.
It took another hour before they reached the manor. The coachman drove the cart through the vast courtyard and up to the entrance of the manor.
Lansius grew anxious, worried about his first impression. He saw two ard n accompany them from the gate, but they kept their distance.
“Go on. Go down,” the coachman instructed.
Lansius carefully dismounted from the cart and gazed up at the imposing three-story structure that lood before him. Though not a castle, it radiated an air of authority and grandeur. The walls were built with smooth, large gray stones, while the wooden parts were painted white, creating a striking contrast. At a glance, there were no vines or moss, making the entire building appear immaculately maintained, as if it had been constructed only recently.
Now, this is a manor.
Compared to this, Lansius thought, Sabina Rustica was aptly nad a rustic villa.
A surprised pageboy approached Lansius. “Oh, we expected a delivery, not a guest,” he complained innocently.
Lansius couldn’t resist a smile. “It’s all right, I can wait outside.” He pulled out a letter, showing the crest on the purple wax seal.
“Gratitude, maester, please wait here. Don’t go anywhere,” the boy said and ran inside. His footsteps echoed inside the cavernous hall.
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