CHAPTER 284: FLASHES OF LIGHT

Flashes of Light

Canardia, Western Field

Amid the waning sun that bathed the landscape in hues of gold and crimson, a dozen horsemen rode into the empty field north of the city. It was a less-traveled stretch where the ground had been cleared and leveled for future expansion to house the lords of the Shogunate. Guided by the horsemen’s banners, the sleek yet stately airship floated majestically across the sky, slowing as it descended toward the grassy plain.

Its arrival drew many onlookers: woodcutters trudging back from the forest, weary laborers resting at the site, peddlers along the road, and peasants returning from their fields. They quickly realized this vessel was unlike the Lord’s own, which could only mean a noble visitor. A crowd soon gathered, though they dared not approach. The Lord’s horsemen were present, and none wished to interfere in his affairs.

The airship’s silent approach, despite its great size, held the people in awe. The crows, however, seemed to disagree, cawing harshly as they scattered from the thickets and trees, frightened by its looming presence. The leviathan of the skies appeared so otherworldly that even the captured rebels, confined in their hovels, rose to gape in awe, unable to deny the wonder of such an impossible craft.

Many had seen the Lord’s airship, but none shaped like this. If his vessel resembled a spearhead with a swollen midsection, this one almost looked like a jousting lance, long and sleek. Its skin was a glossy ivory, and its gondola joined seamlessly to the body above. It hardly seemed to be fashioned of wood at all.

To behold such a thing flying through the crimson expanse was nothing short of extraordinary. If the Lord’s airship were a common cart, this was a ceremonial chariot.

From the direction of the castle, a large group of riders with a carriage also approached, though they took their time, watching the ivory-skinned vessel descend. The sun had not yet set completely, but lanterns and gemstones of light had already been set aglow, casting their light across the field.

The crowd looked at the newly arrived group, chests puffed with pride.

Day by day, the House of Blue and Bronze was gaining recognition from nearly everyone. After the Ebenstein Case and the One Day Rebellion, even the old and obstinate had begun to soften in their support for the ruling House.

Against the setting sun, the vessel drew nearer to the designated area, where a few horsemen stood waiting with a banner flapping in the breeze.

A hush fell over the field, broken only by the snap of banners in the evening wind, as the airship made its final descent. After a few gliding skids across the damp grass, it came to a halt. From a hatch at the rear, a crewman emerged with a coil of rope fastened to a long iron stake. With rhythmic strokes of a mallet, he drove it deep into the soil, anchoring the giant of the skies that seemed unwilling to be bound to the earth’s embrace.

The crowd of dozens who watched from afar broke into clapping, cheering, and raised hands, as if they were enjoying a spectacle.

Not far off, Sir Sterling and Claire, whose cavalry had guided the vessel with their banner, waited patiently. Both had crewed an airship for weeks across several missions and knew that proper customs had to be observed to keep the landing safe.

Behind them, the Lord and Lady approached with their large party, halting a few hundred paces short for security’s sake. A carriage rolled with them, Francisca seated beside the coachman. Knights, retainers, guards, and the rest of the entourage flanked the Lord and Lady, presenting an imposing show of force.

Tens of light cavalry circled the edges of the field, their presence forming a ring of security.

...

Lansius

In the distance, beneath the shadow of the airship balloon, a figure in a maroon dress layered with a fur jacket descended from the gondola, aided by one of the crew. She appeared to exchange a friendly greeting with Sir Sterling and Claire.

"Do you remember Petra?" Audrey asked Lansius as they waited further back. Both sat on folding chairs, the staff eager to make a strong impression on the unannounced guests.

"Yes, I remember her," Lansius replied, recalling the Saint Candidate who had once saved his life on the Umberland mountain pass.

So, that is Petra in the maroon dress.

"And who is the pilot? Is it the same mage?" Lansius asked.

"No. It's not the Western mage from before. This one is different..." Audrey broke off, then added, "He does not look like a mage."

Lansius turned to her, eyes narrowing. "A non-mage piloting the airship?"

"No. He has magic, but different..." Audrey’s eyes widened suddenly. "You might want to stay close," she warned, her tone shifting. "That one is a Hunter, and not the ordinary kind with hawks." ṛΑＮO͍ꞖÊŞ

Lansius understood at once. He had met one in Korelia, now kept in a dungeon: an assassin.

"Should I prepare the Lord’s shadow?" Carla whispered from behind.

At Sir Omin’s urging, they had brought his chosen pair of squires who could serve as doubles, at least from a distance.

"I think that's unnecessary for now," Lansius said, glancing toward the two in traveling garb that concealed their faces and attire, and signaling with his hand for them to stand down.

From his side, Audrey asked, "Are you wearing the new brigandine?"

"Yes," Lansius replied. He was wearing the new brigandine, no longer a jack of plates with hundreds of overlapping small pieces, but a single plate of steel, half a coin thick. It was lighter and more comfortable than traditional brigandine, and since it was steel, it offered comparable protection while being pound for pound more resistant to puncture. The newly forged plate was one of the earliest proofs that steelmaking was achievable with the new processed coal.

Audrey exhaled softly, then turned to his knights and instructed them to keep watch on the person still inside.

Meanwhile, Petra returned to the gondola, where she and the first crewman helped a girl in a milk-white dress step down. It was the first time Lansius had seen the red-haired maiden, and her hair truly was red, a blazing fiery hue that made the crimson sky seem pale in comparison.

"The Dawn’s heir," Audrey murmured, confirming what he saw.

In the distance, the crew escorted their red-haired lady to Sir Sterling and Claire. They bowed and curtsied not as strangers, for they had met during their time in Dawn, in the days of the assault on Kapua.

Lansius then saw Petra, the red-haired granddaughter of Dawn, and the first crewman come alongside Sir Sterling and Claire.

"She is rather cute. I wonder if I can get close to her," Audrey said, her voice lighter now that the Hunter stayed aboard the vessel.

Lansius chuckled. "You sound like Felis when he sees another blonde."

Audrey snorted. "I have never met a redhead before. I wonder if she smells nice."

"Hands off. She is an ally," he quipped.

Audrey refused to back down and added in a playful whisper, "I wonder if grandpa Avery sent her to—"

"To become a member of the Shogunate, of course," Lansius finished for her, knowing she was about to conjure another mad notion of marrying him to some noble lady. Lately, it had been one of her favorite pastimes to tease him.

I wonder how she would react if I entertained the thought.

He silenced that thought at once, recalling the claymore and the wooden target in the training chamber that had already been reinforced and repaired three times. He would not risk another armored training session. The faint ringing in his ear reminded him he was, first and foremost, a scholar and a leader of men, not a line combatant.

As they waited, the wind moved restlessly around them, the air shifting with the coming of night.

Watching the guest approach, Lansius decided to rise. He was not going to appear as some haughty lord in front of an ally.

At his movement, Audrey and the rest of the knights and attendants straightened in unison.

"You are in the presence of the Lord of Midlandia and the Lady of Kormior," Sir Michael proclaimed to the approaching guest, who bowed and curtsied in turn.

"To whom do I owe the pleasure?" Lansius asked, as was proper decorum.

"I am Ella, Lord of Dawn’s granddaughter and heir to the Dawn Barony. Please accept my apology for intruding. I believe the Lord of Dawn has sent a hawk with word of my coming," the red-haired girl said. She was as young as Margo had been when he started, yet her words were fluent and her manner confident.

"Rest assured, I believe I have received such a message," Lansius replied, then turned to Petra. "And I believe I owe you gratitude for your help in Umberland."

"My Lord is indeed generous," Petra answered formally.

Lansius exchanged a glance with Audrey, received her nod, and said to the guest, "You must have much to say, but for now, unless you are pressed to be somewhere else, I welcome you to Canardia. Let us prepare a feast for your arrival and a comfortable chamber where you may rest from your travels."

At his words, Sir Michael signaled for the carriage to approach. Meanwhile, Ella and Petra curtsied while the lone male retainer bowed in respect.

With no objection, the guests were ushered to the carriage. Lansius and Audrey chose to ride back on their own, not wishing to discuss serious matters so soon with the new arrivals.

Before they departed, Audrey quietly tasked Francisca and Sir Sterling with providing security for the airship. She also had Ingrid notify the Hunter Guildsman to exchange words with the pilot.

As the carriage began to roll toward the castle, Lansius cast a final look at the ivory airship. It was unlike anything he had seen before, its bold, elongated shape built with a clear understanding of aerodynamics. The balloon looked full, almost rigid, and carried with it so few riggings. It was a marvel to behold. Just as he had once stood in awe of his first airship, this one too filled him with wonder.

Moreover, it seemed to operate on principles far beyond the simple burner of heated air or the buoyant gas unique to this world.

Probably already closer to a Zeppelin, but in a smaller size.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Compared to this vessel, the Pride of Korimor was little more than a glorified hot-air balloon. This craft, however, deserved to be called a true airship. He even suspected it might contain a sealed cabin, and with the guests out of sight, he studied the suspicious protruding structures on either side of the gondola. In the dim light he could not make out the details, but they could well house propellers, which suggested the vessel carried its own means of locomotion.

If that was true, then it was a striking feat of technology. Sadly, it would look unseemly for him to stand gawking, so Lansius resolved to be patient for at least a night. Tomorrow, he would find an excuse. In the meantime, he would send his maintenance crew to help inspect the airship. Meister Hans had joined Sir Morton on campaign, but there were still a few men who knew the craft of airships and had the proper tools for the task. He doubted there would be resistance, for several of the crew hailed from Dawn.

With that thought, Lansius turned his gaze and found Audrey waiting with a telling smile.

"Yes," he said to her, without needing a question.

"But I have not said anything," she answered, a little surprised.

"It's a yes." They had confiscated so much land and so many manors that wealth was no longer a problem. He knew mobility was such a great factor, and it would be foolish not to pursue a better and faster airship.

Old Avery is indeed a dangerous man. He showed me this when he sought an alliance. How could I say no?

***

Canardia Castle

The usual supper at the Great Hall was delayed by the unexpected arrival of Lady Ella and her crew. But what should have been the daily feast was turned into a banquet to honor Lady Ella, her crew, and their journey to Midlandia. House Lansius spared no expense in strengthening the friendship between the two powers. The occasion was spurred on as well by the coming harvest, already underway in several parts of Southern Midlandia. Even before the grains were fully reaped, barley and a wealth of fruits had come into season, providing the makings of delicacies unseen since the year before.

Bowls of grapes, almonds, plums, and even melons accompanied jars of pickled turnips and cucumbers, along with fruit custards, berries, and flowing ale. Korelian specialties such as salted meat, hard goat cheese, and pasta appeared beside roast pheasant dressed with a spiced wine sauce. For grandeur, spiced pies filled with venison, raisins, and saffron were set out next to baked river trout, fragrant with herbs and oil. No duck was served, however. After the famed war-duck charge, everyone seemed to respect the giant birds too much to consume them, save in times of sickness.

At the banquet, Lord Robert, the Lion of Lowlandia, who had refused to evacuate, proved to be the star. Once the formalities were concluded, he easily charmed his way to Lady Ella’s side, engaging her in harmless curiosities and an exchange of stories without the least hint of intrusion. With grandfatherly warmth and pleasant care, he set the young lady at ease.

"He fits right in," Lansius remarked from the high table, drawing a smile from Audrey.

"He has a daughter and granddaughter. Of course he knows what makes them comfortable or not."

"Better than ladies-in-waiting," he quipped.

Audrey chuckled softly. "Avery and Robert share some similarities, perhaps. It may have made our guest more at ease with him."

"War-fighter grandads," Lansius commented. "Then it is decided that Robert should tend to our guests. Let us try to make her feel at home here."

As part of the Shogunate’s rule, family members were required to live in the capital. It was hostage-taking in essence, though carried out with more complex intentions. The aim was to forge trust and bind the next generation of nobles. Instead of growing attached only to their own domains, which might fuel rivalries, the heirs of the land were raised together in the same city. This would hopefully ease tensions from the never-ending squabbles over who owned what along their many borders.

His last remark piqued Audrey. "Would you accept Dawn into the Shogunate?"

Lansius met her gaze amid the music of flutes and the low hum of voices filling the banquet hall, and admitted, "I would go to war for the prospect of owning such an airship."

"Yet our men are stretched too thin," she reminded him. "You also still owe promises to Sir Justin and Lord Arte to aid them in war."

Lansius inhaled sharply. "I will task Dietrich to send a volunteer brigade of two hundred to be smuggled into North Midlandia. Once they reach Brunna, they can cross into Arvena."

"You would have Dietrich lead them?" she asked, sipping a small draught of ale, careful since she was breastfeeding.

"No. Dietrich is too valuable. I will choose one of the Arvenian captains for that."

Audrey nodded but said, "Five conflicts at once."

Lansius could only sigh as he pushed his empty plate aside, which quickly drew Margo’s attention. The squire stepped forward and swiftly cleared it from the table.

The ongoing war against the smugglers, the monastery, the northern lords and Edessa, the wars in Arvena, and now he was about to agree on extended support for Dawn in his Nicopolan domain.

Lansius took a slow sip of ale before admitting, "Yeah, I do not like this, but that airship…"

Audrey reached across and laid her hand gently on his. He felt the warmth of her touch. "I share the same feeling," she reassured him.

Lansius nodded, knowing she too longed for a faster airship. Something that could cut travel time across their vast domain would be invaluable beyond measure.

...

With the help of Lord Robert, who assumed the role of host for the banquet, Lansius and Audrey left early, having pressing matters to attend. Their concern was the return of the family in the carriages that had been bound for evacuation to the safe manor some distance from the city. Though it seemed a wasteful operation, both regarded it as good training for emergencies, with lessons to be evaluated and improved upon by the officers in command.

Because of the banquet, Lansius missed the baby, whom Mother Arryn had spirited into his place to sleep. Audrey had already checked and decided to let the child rest there, moving it only when it cried for milk.

As they waited in the privacy of the Grand Hall, they read the latest reports from Sir Harold, who had surrounded Monastery Hill with its famed healing baths. The ongoing siege had forced the Saint Candidate Order to the table, entering into talks and negotiations. Though the Order denied all wrongdoing and little progress was made, the discussions at least kept them occupied and seemed to prevent Saint Nay from attempting to use the captured Grand Gemstone. Ingrid believed the relic might be capable of calling rain heavy enough to ruin the harvest.

In such a situation, Lansius had granted Sir Harold permission to storm the Hill if three days of continuous downpour fell, or if suspiciously lingering cold settled in. It was the only sign they could imagine as proof of magical intervention in the weather.

As Lansius and Audrey continued their quiet discussion, Sir Michael entered. Even with the eyepatch, it was plain to see that he was troubled.

"My Lord, My Lady, my apologies for the intrusion," the knight said, his tone tense.

"Sir Michael, is there an issue?" Lansius asked.

"There is no issue with the banquet or the guest."

Audrey frowned, perplexed. "Then why do you look so concerned?"

"My sincerest apologies, My Lady, My Lord," Sir Michael said, his voice tight. "My wife, Lady Astrid, by circumstance, was forced to breastfeed the young Lord during the evacuation."

Lansius and Audrey both raised their brows and exchanged glances.

Turning back to Sir Michael, Lansius asked calmly, "But why?"

"My Lord, My Lady, I can explain," came a soft voice from behind the knight. It was Tanya.

"Speak," Lansius said, heartened by her presence.

"The wet nurse looked pale from the journey," she began. "She was unaccustomed to carriage travel, and the sudden evacuation order made her nervous. Also, it seemed her milk had largely dried up without her realizing it."

Audrey furrowed her brows, while Lansius could only ponder. He understood that Audrey’s insistence on feeding their son exclusively might have caused it. Without a child to suckle, the milk would naturally cease.

Tanya continued, "So Lady Astrid, who traveled with us, kindly took charge, as the young Lord grew fussy."

"Ah," Audrey muttered, nodding, then turned to Lansius.

"I suppose this is another issue we never considered," Lansius remarked, and the tension in the hall eased.

"Was not Lady Astrid with your daughter? I fear my son might have troubled her," Audrey said to Sir Michael.

"She is, but she said the young Lord did not trouble her," Sir Michael replied.

Tanya added, "The Lady has plenty of milk. And since the wet nurse is now uncertain, she even offered to tend the child should My Lady be occupied."

Audrey nodded, pausing as though weighing her response.

"Sir Michael," Lansius called, and the knight straightened at once. "There is no need to apologize. In fact, please accept our gratitude. I hope my son is not troubling her, or your little one, too much."

Audrey smiled faintly and added, "I shall meet with Lady Astrid tomorrow to deliver my gratitude in person."

With that, the matter was settled, and Midlandia passed into its first night of harvest.

...

It was a little past nine, as marked by the water clock. Once kept in the Grand Chamber, the large device had been moved into Lansius’ study, where he needed a measure of time more than anywhere else. Without it, he might have thought the hour already near midnight. While at first he had been reluctant to use the confiscated piece, for it had belonged to a noble executed for rebellion, he had shown leniency to the condemned man’s family, allowing them exile in Ornietia rather than the distant Corinthia. Thus, he no longer felt the weight of guilt whenever he checked the clock for the time.

Tonight, Lansius worked late. It had been some time since he had done so, but now he was armed with both the gemstone of light and the water clock. With spare gemstones, he could afford steady illumination to read and write even in the deep of night. He had even distributed them to the other offices in the castle, so that scribes and clerks who needed them could carry on with their tasks or studies as long as they wished.

From the letters, he learned that despite the succession wars and the rebellion, villagers and peasants across the province had gathered in fields and hamlets to reap the ripened crops. All through the land, even by lantern light, they labored to outpace the rodents and locusts that threatened to swallow the yield. For a province nearly broken by strife, a good harvest was the first true promise of a better future.

Those reports had reached him by way of the optical telegraph tower. At noon, it signaled with field telescope and semaphore, but while such towers in his own history were only usable during daylight, leaving them useless at night, Lansius had equipped his with a second system. Using a highly polished silver-coated reflector and a spring-fitted shutter of thin metal, much of it derived from past experience with the Great Gemstone, and paired with a powerful lantern crafted by the guild, once darkness fell the tower became a Morse tower.

Hand-operated Morse code, sent by flashes of light, had first been introduced during the Great War of his world as the naval signal lamp. By using this system, messages could still pass across distances even at night without pause. It was invaluable for receiving the latest reports from the border, directing military maneuvers, and maintaining security throughout the province, as well as projecting his authority across the seven baronies, two viscountcies, and three provinces. Slowly but surely, all of Midlandia would be connected faster than any horse relay could ever achieve.

This success rested upon the laborious efforts of his army of scribes, the Office of Works, and the myriad guilds whose craftsmen and artisans had poured their skill into the project.

Only now could Lansius truly appreciate the wealth of knowledge and talent at his command. Unlike Korelia, Midlandia was vast, home to millions, with a strong portion of educated folk who became his pool of recruits.

Even finding men sharp enough to grasp Morse signals proved no issue. Some required only a handful of days to learn the basics. After two weeks of practice with torches and wooden shutters, many were already adept. Even now, recruits were tested nightly, spurred on by prizes for those who submitted the fastest reports with the fewest mistakes, whether in relaying or reading the flash code.

From the amount of information he received, it was clear the trials had borne good results. He could continue to build more towers and train more operators.

The potential of this system pleased him. The entire project cost little. Aside from the telescope, which would last a lifetime, the expense of raising a two-story tower, even with a stone base, was negligible. Towns and communes gladly lent their labor, for it meant they too benefited from swift news.

Lansius permitted the city to relay a message from A to B for a silver per message and a copper per letter, to prevent abuse. For now, it could not replace the volume of letters or couriers by horse, and remained restricted to House business, guild matters, or emergencies.

Each tower was manned by two groups of two. One was trained in semaphore, while the other in Morse. One man from each group also doubled as a city guard or night watch. As an added measure, since in many places the towers had become quasi-bailiff stations without the bailiff, the nearest commune was required to provide an extra hand, day and night, for a copper per shift.

Horse patrols from the nearest city or camp also made their rounds, dropping off supplies and ensuring discipline was kept.

This was, in a way, akin to the market post route he had already established in Korelia, where nomads offered resting places with fresh horses, water, food, and tents for wayfarers. The difference here was that instead of supporting horse relays and stations, the system existed solely for the transfer of information.

Lansius knew he would eventually need to devise code books. Sooner or later, others might learn to intercept the messages, and he could not afford to make the system too simple.

Even in the medieval age, people were clever and resourceful. Some could fathom hidden workings merely by looking, pondering, and tinkering long enough.

And today, Lansius had seen a marvel of engineering.

Even though he already possessed one, Lady Ella's airship was a generation ahead, if not more, and that alone surprised him.

From the reports gathered by the maintenance crew, the vessel that had awed him was in fact an old design. It had been in Lord Avery’s possession longer than any of the others. They said it had once been deemed a failure, and that Old Avery had tried again and again to make it fly but never succeeded. No one understood why this vessel was so radically different in form, or what exactly Avery had been striving to achieve with it. Yet now, to their astonishment, it had taken flight.

Was he following some even older design? Could it be that the dwarves had a hand in this?

His mind raced, but for now, it was only another piece of the puzzle.

Now his thoughts turned to Avery and his request to join the Shogunate. Had it been before the war, he would have agreed without hesitation. But now, with King Nico besieging Kapua and likely to win it, even Lansius harbored doubts.

He would certainly send men and resources to secure Dawn, yet he had no wish to be dragged into a drawn-out war with the new King. The Shogunate was not a blank check for Avery to claim at will. Still, his House could not ignore the airship or the other secrets Avery kept in his vaults. More than an ally, Avery was a man with power too great to refuse.

Lansius knew that if he said no, others like Bengrieve in Elandia would say yes. He feared the realm was slipping into its own late Three Kingdoms era. To lose an ally now was to step onto the path of destruction.

***