CHAPTER 245: ASCENDANCE OF THE UNKNOWN

Ascendance of the Unknown

Orange Skalds

As soon as the verdict was passed and announced, activity in the courthouse quickly wound down. The bailiff invited the petitioner to stay while they waited for the lord’s decision, also advising her against going home for now, as the crowd outside was too large. Meanwhile, the witness had already been sent back under escort. Only a handful of guards remained inside the hall; the rest had returned to their posts within the compound. Sterling and his group were among the few who stayed behind.

With the verdict delivered, it was uncertain whether the Lord of Midlandia would make an appearance, since there was no pressing need. He could render his judgment the next time he held court, with the bailiff acting on behalf of Sir Ebenstein, who had pleaded guilty.

“I can’t believe the plan actually worked,” said one disguised Orange Skald in his distinctive orange brigandine, a rueful groan in his voice.

“I told you not to bet,” his friend, dressed in darker attire, replied with a smirk.

“How many did you lose?” Sterling asked.

“A week’s pay gone,” the first man confirmed, earning soft chuckles from the others. He shook his head. “I never expected the Lord could wage battle inside a man’s heart.”

“You’ll get your money back if you turn it into a ballad,” Sterling suggested.

“But the censure will be painful.”

“Can’t help it. We knew too many secrets,” Sterling reminded him.

“Oh, the irony of skalds and spies,” the first man said with a wry smile while keeping an eye on their surroundings.

“Winners ought to be treated to a feast,” another man added with a grin, prompting others to mutter in agreement.

Sterling interjected before his men grew too merry. He tapped the skald who had lost his bet and instructed, “Ride with the SAR and deliver this report to our Lord.”

The man in the orange brigandine looked at Sterling. “I dare not. That’s your right, and you’re still counting every coin for your House.”

Sterling gave a faint smile but insisted, “That’s an order. Or I’ll report your betting tendencies.”

The man quickly grinned and saluted. Since they were in guardsmen’s disguise, nobody in the courtroom paid them any mind.

Accompanied by one of the SAR, the skald in orange brigandine rode off to report to Lord Lansius. A bringer of good news could expect a generous reward, as it was tradition to foster more good news than bad. In practice, this also allowed information to circulate more quickly.

Meanwhile, the Orange Skalds wrapped up their performance, allowing the courthouse guard to resume full control of security.

From the courthouse, they made their way to the castle. They noticed that the public was still in disbelief over the outcome. Many had truly believed the wealthy Ebensteins would escape justice, and that not even the Black Lord would risk abandoning such powerful allies over a peasant’s son. Still, people had come in large numbers, finding satisfaction in seeing a powerful noble put on trial and subjected to questioning.

They hoped that this display might deter other nobles or make them think twice before committing injustices against the common folk. But before the Black Lord even arrived at court, the accused had already pleaded guilty. People questioned whether Sir Ebenstein had yielded out of fear of the lord’s judgment. If true, it was proof that the ruling lord and his officials were not in league with the local nobles and, despite their support, kept them at arm’s length. This gave the commoners and peasants a renewed sense of hope.

Overhearing the crowd's gossip, the Orange Skalds could only smile, committing their words to memory for their report.

“There’s one question I still have,” the second skald said to Sterling as they headed for a quiet alley to avoid the crowd. “Why doesn’t the Lord ask Francisca or her kin to sniff out lies?”

“Yeah, that would make things much faster,” another remarked.

They all turned to Sterling, who calmly explained as they walked the uneven, cobbled road, “Well, I’ve already asked the Lord about that.”

Everyone seemed eager to listen.

Sterling continued, “He said: While we could use her ability, that would set a bad precedent.”

They all listened attentively while keeping a careful watch on their surroundings.

“The concern was: if the Lord used her to settle a case, there would be nothing to stop him from doing the same in other cases.. Because the half-breed is loyal to him, she would likely agree to say anything to please him. The nobles would fear that he could eventually snare them one by one in a trap, only to bring them to court and have his half-breed claim they were lying and seize their estates.”

“I see…” one remarked. “Indeed, that would be frightening.”

The rest nodded, their faces serious as they absorbed the implications of his words.

“Moreover, the Lord wants to keep it hidden as nothing more than an unconfirmed rumor. He doesn't want others to find out the details of those abilities,” Sterling said as they reached a small intersection and paused to watch the crowd still forming on the main street not far away.

The first man turned to him and said, “Still, it’s a bit sad to hear such abilities won’t be used.”

Sterling glanced at him in agreement. “The Lord confided that we can still ask her kin to assist in investigations, but not use her words as evidence. He said to use her help to look for stronger proof, or simply toss a lying witness into the dungeon before wasting anyone's time.”

The group smirked at that, feeling empowered.

They were about to move on when they overheard something amusing about a duck race from passing townsfolk. The men exchanged glances, and Sterling nodded, signaling them to approach the crowd to see what was happening. Only then did they learn about the Lord’s announcement.

It was at that moment that Sterling understood why the Lord had ordered the racetrack to hold a rehearsal.

***

Racetrack, West of the City

In an effort to prevent unrest among the crowds after the court decision, Lansius sought to channel all that energy and expectation toward the racetrack. Although it would still be some time before his delayed inauguration ceremony, he had been assured that the event could proceed. There were enough locals in Canardia who owned horses and were willing to race, and his own House had plenty of horses and skilled riders. Moreover, he had already notified the race staff to be ready at a moment’s notice.

Lansius and hundreds of his escort returned to the city gate and marched out to the racetrack west of town.

It was an event to remember, as thousands poured through the city gate to follow him in a cheerful procession. Fathers carried their children on their shoulders, mothers walked with their older children, and young couples strolled together. Everyone seemed to revel in this unexpected treat.

A horse race was one of the few entertainments available to them, and among the grandest, as it drew the largest crowds.

When they arrived at the racetrack beside the fortified camp, Lansius was ready to divert the hundreds who had accompanied him, assigning them to provide security for the event.

He considered the march, which doubled as a disguised training exercise, a success. Beyond influencing the court proceedings, Lansius wanted to assess his garrison’s readiness to march through the city in case of a surprise attack, natural disaster, or the need for a rapid evacuation. More than just marching in, he needed his advance party to coordinate smoothly and keep corridors open for movement.

Moreover, he understood the importance of earning the populace’s trust. There was no better way to foster that trust than by leading his men through the city with discipline, causing no damage to property, and maintaining order. In doing so, he hoped to gain the public's confidence. It was one of many efforts to improve his image and show the people that his forces were not something to be feared.

“Aligning our banner with their minds, that’s unthinkable,” Claire remarked as their carriage approaching the camp.

“A bit insidious, but harmless,” Lansius replied with a small smile. “I want them to see that we’re here for their protection.”

Soon, their carriage entered the camp. Unlike the crowd, who entered the vast racetrack directly, Lansius and his staff used a separate corridor through the camp to access a private podium. It was designed to shield him from any sinister plans their opponents might devise.

Sir Harold stepped down first from the carriage, greeted many people, and exchanged pleasantries.

Lansius emerged last, following Claire, with Francisca at his side. He noticed her fur was damp with sweat and remarked, "Maybe I should devise a hat for you against the sun."

Francisca was pleased by the offer. "Our fur is thick enough, but I'd welcome some shade. But why don't I see anyone else wearing a hat?"

Lansius glanced around and noticed that most of his men wore helmets and were drenched in sweat as the day grew hotter. Some had removed their helmets and wore only the padding underneath, though that didn't look very comfortable either.

"Perhaps a purpose-built marching hat is a good idea," he mused, recalling that even the Romans used them before the practice fell out of favor in the Middle Ages.

His staff from the garrison approached to offer their welcome.

“How is the situation at the racetrack?” Lansius asked the senior captain who led the garrison.

"They are doing their best, My Lord," the garrison commander replied as they walked together toward the largest stone and wattle building in front of the training ground.

Sir Harold, walking beside them, asked, “Do we have the capacity to get them all in?”

“We can take more than that,” the commander reassured him. “The meister from the Office of Works stationed at the west gate just reported about ten thousand people heading this way. As for tomorrow, leading up to the height of the race, they estimate a crowd three times the size coming from the neighboring region.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Lansius nodded and glanced toward a tall observation tower equipped with optics for communicating flag signals to the gate. It was the first of its kind, and now more crew members were undergoing training to be assigned to a series of towers extending to important towns and cities. Even though his Ekionia optics order had been lost to piracy, he had managed to gather three older but still functional field telescopes from the market at a reasonable price. He had also discovered four more, including two much older Centurian Optics models, among the assets seized during the war.

The commotion of thousands entering the venue drew his attention to the tall wooden wall separating the camp from the racetrack. He could hear the excitement building in the air.

Like other major events, the race would take place over several days. There would be five days of racing, each featuring elimination rounds before the semifinals and final. The schedule began with lighter horse classes, while the heavy warhorse race, the crowd’s favorite, was set as the grand finale.

“The area surrounding the racetrack will be filled with camps,” Sir Harold commented, reacting to the growing commotion. He then turned to Lansius. “My Lord, when do you plan to enter?”

“Soon, I think. We can't let the people wait too long.”

“No need to rush, My Lord,” the garrison commander said. “We have horses going through their final familiarization training, which should provide some entertainment for the crowd. Also, the racetrack master told me the people will be happy to wait if we serve them drinks.”

“Do we have enough?” Lansius asked.

The garrison commander smiled proudly. “We have enough. And while our field kitchen is busy with today’s march, we have extra hands to help prepare snacks.”

“Extra personnel? From where?” Lansius asked, curious.

“We still have a hundred refugees from the last fire. The men have been working in construction, and the women are helping in the kitchen,” the commander explained. “As for the ingredients, House Tedzeus heard about the race rehearsal from Dame Daniella and donated some for making oublie.”

Lansius had already forgotten about the refugees from the fire and was pleased to hear they had been helpful. Still, he couldn’t help but frown, unfamiliar with the snack. “Oublie?”

“It’s an Elandian pancake, molded between two heated irons,” Sir Harold explained, while Francisca nodded, likely having had one before.

Mm... two heated irons. Perhaps medieval waffles? He wondered, then said, “Excellent initiative. And yes, I’d love to try that.”

“We’ll be glad to prepare you some,” the commander said with a fatherly tone.

...

The vast horse track arena was made of wood and featured simple construction, as it was intended to be temporary. Even so, its sheer size made it a spectacle to behold. The seating area was enormous, and it had taken several months for the contracted guilds to prepare. They stockpiled materials, hired builders, and worked steadily to bring the project to completion. It wasn’t grand, but it was certainly functional. There were several seating sections, with the most lavish called the nobles’ tribune. This elevated area was decorated with banners, fine fabrics, and ornamental shields, and a field tent provided shade.

At present, the seating area was half-filled, while the standing section near the track was only modestly occupied. The nobles’ tribune remained empty, as Lansius had not yet had time to invite his knights and esquires. Still, from the standing crowd alone, the racetrack meister estimated there were around ten thousand people in attendance as he accompanied Lansius to the podium.

“Today’s race is a preliminary, giving the lesser, unproven breeds a chance to make a name for themselves. Next, we’ll see the horses who have already won at least once, and finally, the proven champions will compete in the day’s finale,” the meister explained. “Tomorrow, we’ll begin the elimination races leading up to the final.”

“How many horses do we have for today?” Lansius asked.

“We have more than thirty horses, so there will be plenty of spectacle. We also have minstrels, acrobats, jesters, and the mounted archery that the Lady suggested.”

Lansius nodded, clearly pleased with the answer. With his guards and retinue, he finally stepped onto the podium. The bugles sounded, and the herald announced his arrival. A thunderous roar from the sea of spectators greeted him. People rose from their seats, fists raised in support, voices echoing through the stands. The atmosphere was electric, and everyone was in high spirits.

As Lansius reached the front of the podium, he saw that the people held cups of pale ale and sweet oublie, both handed out upon entry. People hailed him enthusiastically, and he felt compelled to wave in return.

After a time, the cheers gradually faded, and the herald’s voice rang out across the arena: “My Lord, the people wish to express their heartfelt gratitude for this magnificent horse track, built for our enjoyment, and for your generosity in providing the sweet nectar of life and nourishing ale.”

At these words, another wave of grateful cheers erupted, rising into a triumphant crescendo of applause and whistling that filled the air.

Lansius stood at the podium, both hands resting on its wooden rail, taking in the cheers directed at him. He couldn’t deny it; it was the most intense feeling he had ever experienced.

One could easily get addicted to this feeling.

“Just wait for them to quiet down, My Lord,” the horsetrack meister advised softly. “Then raise your hand to calm them.”

Lansius did as instructed, lifting one hand high enough as if to address them, and the crowd quickly lowered their voices.

“Splendid,” the meister said, turning to Sir Harold and Francisca with excitement. “My Lord is a natural.”

“You can always tell who’s led battles. The scent of a leader is strong on him,” Francisca replied.

Once the crowd had quieted further, the meister said, “Now, my lord, say the words.”

Lansius spoke with his most commanding tone, “People of South Midlandia, let the race begin!”

His words met the crowd’s anticipation, and excitement erupted across the arena.

From the track, five riders approached, each guiding a horse as distinct as their banners. Some wore surcoats of rich scarlet, others deep blue, green, or the bold yellow of distant cities. Embroidered crests and personal emblems adorned their tunics, and the horses themselves were striking: one, a shimmering gray; another, jet-black with a white blaze; a red chestnut with a neatly braided mane; another, black with gleaming flanks; and a sturdy white horse bearing the marks of many campaigns.

The riders paused before the podium, dipping their heads in respect to the lord and the crowd before mounting up and taking their places at the starting line. All the while, the crowd cheered without pause. For the riders, the day had begun as a rehearsal but had become an impromptu race to satisfy the masses.

Lansius felt a surge of pride as he looked over the lively scene. To see the racetrack meister, the Office of Works, and the various guilds coordinate such an event on short notice was an achievement in itself. Though the event had been delayed by the fire and most of the arrangements were already in place, he knew the sheer logistical effort required to launch everything in a single day was nothing short of remarkable.

He took his seat to enjoy the spectacle, pleased by how well it had turned out despite how little time he had spent on it. Lansius thought of Audrey and how envious she would be of such an event. But with her pregnancy so far along, even she admitted that anything more than a gentle walk in the garden or up the castle stairs might be challenging.

The sound of trumpets echoed across the arena, and the horses sprang into motion, marking the start of the first race.

***

Midlandia Office of Works

A clerk named Vince, clad in fine, colorful clothes with his hair slicked back and a small goatee, dashed along the corridors of the Office of Works. He wasn’t athletic, but he was quick on his feet, which proved he was a hard worker despite his laid-back appearance.

He opened the door without knocking and quickly called out, “Master Hubert, do you want to go outside?”

“What? What’s happening out there?” asked Hubert, a tall, slender old man with white hair, dressed in attire no less vibrant than Vince’s.

“The new Lord is holding the horse race today!” Vince announced, placing a stack of documents on his worktable.

Old Hubert frowned and paused in his work. “Wasn’t he supposed to have court proceedings today?”

“Listen to this,” Vince said, growing animated. “The case was finished so quickly that the lord didn’t even have to appear.”

Hubert’s eyes widened, speechless for a moment.

Vince clarified, "People say the accused heard the Lord was approaching, lost his nerve, and pleaded guilty."

Shaking his head in disbelief, the old man chuckled but returned to his paperwork. “Get back to work. We can’t afford to waste time idling.”

“Yes, master,” Vince replied, settling into his seat and spreading out his writing utensils.

Today, he was calculating the guild’s offer to build four twin-prodded ballistae mounted on narrow, horse-drawn carts. Aside from that, he also needed to review plans for a new project involving the creation of pits and clay, along with some sort of blackened material. He didn’t know exactly what it was, but he would do as instructed and carefully check the calculations to ensure there was nothing suspicious in the numbers.

Suddenly, as they worked, Hubert muttered, “Still, we might be able to catch the final match. It’s a five-day competition, isn’t it?”

Vince grinned from his desk. “Gratitude, master.”

The two Arvenians now worked and lived together under one roof. They had been clerks at the Riverstead Municipal Office before the city fell under siege. Now, like many who had escaped, they were trying to rebuild their lives. It was no easy task, especially since Midlanida itself had been troubled by a succession war and was now under the rule of a foreign lord.

Fortunately, the new lord was competent and had been instrumental in bringing jobs and opportunities for talents like theirs.

They were working when Hubert sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes in weariness. The lord had so many projects, so much manpower, and so many estates that constant calculation and record-keeping were needed to keep everything running. Although he was officially a baron, what they managed was nothing short of a kingdom.

Hearing his master, Vince muttered from his seat, “I wish Lans were with us.”

“Yes, he’d be invaluable,” the old man confirmed, his voice tinged with sadness.

“Speaking of him, did you know the Lord of the Korelians also has black hair?” Vince asked.

The idea was so absurd that Hubert turned and met Vince’s gaze with a frown.

Vince continued, “Do you think they could be relatives? Their names are quite similar, too.”

Hubert quickly put a finger to his lips, whispering, “Don’t speak of such things. The last thing I want is to end up in a dungeon over the death of a lord’s relative.”

Vince nodded several times without hesitation, aware that they could be seen as responsible for leaving another black-haired person behind in Riverstead. At the time, there hadn’t been enough carriage space, and they had been tasked with escaping with the funds under their charge.

Despite the similar name and hair, neither of them dared to believe the possibility that it could be the same person. In anyone's eyes, it was impossible for a modest and somewhat goofy Arvenian clerk to rise to the rank of powerful warlord in just three years. Even when suspicion flickered, they quickly dismissed it, knowing the risk would be the same. The lord would surely have them killed, either for the injustice they had shown him or simply to keep his past a secret.

No noble lord would ever reveal that he was lowborn. Rather than risk a scandal, it was common to silence anyone who knew the truth.

Hubert suddenly launched into a tirade. “I want to die in great abundance, on soft Centurian linen bedding, surrounded by caring servants and a youthful wife, not in some cold dungeon with cockroaches and lice.”

Vince grew concerned. “Do you think we need to move again?”

“No,” the old man replied after a moment’s reflection. “Even if I did, I would go alone. You should stay. Good jobs are hard to find these days.”

“But master, I don’t have any family left.”

Hubert shot Vince a disapproving glare. “You should start your own. Your wages are steady now to support a family.”

“But I never thought of leaving your side,” Vince said cheerfully.

“If I find a caring wife, I’ll leave you in a heartbeat,” Hubert warned, hoping to encourage Vince not to waste his life stuck with an old eccentric like him.

Vince stifled a chuckle, seeing through his master’s attempt to mask his affection.

“Besides,” the old man continued, “do you know how powerful House Lansius is?”

“Everyone says so,” Vince replied, rubbing his small goatee.

“No, what I mean is, the Lord is capable, young, and values merit. He has a long future ahead of him. Even if he’s defeated in future wars, he has plenty of room to retreat in Lowlandia. And now, he’s expecting an heir.”

Vince nodded, giving his full attention.

“But I think what people overlook is the Lady.”

“The Lady?” Vince asked, frowning.

“Yes,” Hubert confirmed. “I might not be observant enough to ask about the lord’s hair, but I have ears in good places. From what I’ve gathered, the Lady is also competent in warfare. She can even best average knights in sword combat.”

“That can’t be true,” Vince blurted out.

“Some have seen her fight. She can even joust with good mastery.”

Vince shook his head in disbelief. “That’s hard to believe…”

“You know it’s true. You’ve heard the rumors, of course,” Hubert said, enjoying the discussion. “There’s a reason their entourage and the Lord himself hold her in such regard. Even to reject every House that tried to offer their daughters in marriage.”

This time, the younger man nodded. “I’ve heard about that rumor."

“Just imagine it, a capable baroness in her own right. Even if something happened to the lord when the child is too young, there would be no power struggle to set up a regency. The Lady would simply take command, and she already has the military’s loyalty.”

“That’s a very unique perspective,” Vince said, admiring his master's insight.

“The Lord is a pragmatic man, but more than that, his vision is far beyond that of ordinary men. Judging from his projects, I believe he already envisions something greater."

“He’ll conquer more land? Build a kingdom?” Vince wandered.

Hubert gave a soft chuckle. “Personally, I like to think he can aim for more than just a kingdom. Perhaps even an empire.”

Vince turned serious, his thoughts beginning to wander through the possibilities.

“Other provinces can claim whatever they want, but when it comes to stability—” the old man waved his hand in dismissal. “The key to peace is always political stability. And in that regard, this House has plenty.”

The claim piqued Vince’s curiosity. “There’s nothing better?”

“The only thing better would be another Ageless,” Hubert smirked, enjoying his own words before returning to work.

The old eccentric had once feared the fall of the Third Imperium. But now, he felt it might not be so bad, as he looked over the plan and payment scheme he had just marked as reviewed, detailing the purchase of a new airship from Dawn. It was only one of the many projects this House had staggeringly launched. The monetary power and bureaucratic strength they commanded were staggering, making his old work in Riverstead seem pale in comparison.

There were ice houses, fire brigades, armor workshops, furnace modifications, hair elixirs, medicated soaps, and, beyond that, the already established springbed workshops, Lowlandian carriages, duck breeding programs, and a money-lending entity that operated much like a guild. The last allowed the House to fund airship purchases without straining its coffers.

Hubert couldn’t shake the feeling that they had it better than the rest. With stability in hand, even besieged from many sides, if Midlandia held fast, it would not merely survive. It would rise to claim its place at the heart of a new age.

***