NOVEL NEXT Chapter 25
Lucan sat on a stump in the bailey, opposite the three new men-at-arms. He’d had time to get to know them in the past few months, which had included a few spars. They weren’t that much older than him, only two or three years at most.
Ryder, who sat first on the left, was the most frustrating in a spar. He wielded a long swordbreaker along with a stiletto, and dealing with his fighting style in training was difficult. In real combat, one of them would die within a very short amount of time, but that was difficult to duplicate in a friendly spar. So Lucan had had to struggle to keep up with the young man’s ridiculous speed. He’d found his choice of arms odd at first, until he’d seen how quick on his feet he was. He suspected now that he had a movement Skill, like him. Ryder looked the most nondescript among the three new men. He was a touch shorter than Lucan with dark hair and a plain face.
On the right sat Heath, with dirty blonde hair that touched his shoulders, a sharp jawline, and a tall, uniform build. Lucan had thought him a noble at first sight, but had later learned that he was one of the new arrivals. Heath was the kind of prim and proper retainer that any high noble would find excellent for their service. He had the most dignified and formal demeanor among his peers, to the extent that he was often called uptight by the other two. He fought so rigidly that he didn’t even use feints. Lucan would have thought him stupid or incapable if it weren’t for his meticulous technique. He used a bronze greatsword that Lucan believed could even pose a threat to a fully armored knight if used with enough strength.
The last and most unscrupulous of the three sat between them. He had dark, slightly disheveled hair that shaded a naturally scowling face which invited distrust and, under different circumstances, insidious fear. Clifton was the cleverest among them in a fight, knowing when to advance and when to retreat, when to rain a flurry of strikes with his axe, and when to patiently bear a continuous punishment on his shield. If Lucan were to judge natural talent, though, Clifton would be the least among the three. Not that he thought he was the best judge.
They’d been chatting after a tiresome spar and a walk through the bailey. As his father had instructed him, he was getting to know their new men. “And where are you from, Heath?”
The bulky, young man cleared his throat, as though about to mouth an important speech, but Ryder beat him to it.
“He’s from Ayza, a village in the nook between the borders with The Union and The Vincemare, a quaint little place.”
“That’s good,” Lucan said, nodding reassuringly at the slightly embarrassed blonde. Then he turned on Ryder.” But I didn’t ask you, did I?”
Lucan couldn’t help but feel a bit annoyed with him. Ryder wasn’t just fast in a fight. He was the first to speak too…always. He’d already told Lucan everything about himself without being prompted. He’d been raised on Sir Bourke’s estate, being the son of one of his peasants. It had made Lucan wonder why he hadn’t been drafted into the knight’s service directly. Perhaps it had something to do with his irritating nature? Lucan mused. It didn’t help that he’d frustrated him to no end during their spar with his speed. Lucan had never struggled so much to land a meaningful strike. He didn’t mind being blocked or even parried, but to have every strike either evaded or turned against him in a series of ridiculous counters was something else.
“And you, Clifton?” he asked the man in the middle, throwing a meaningful glance at Ryder to deter any more interruptions.
“The capital,” Clifton replied curtly.
“You’re from Eldham itself?” Lucan asked, surprised. Knight-Masters like Sir Bourke often took recruits from the countryside, trained them, and sold their trusted services to other knights. There was never a shortage of third sons with no prospects who found promise in service to nobles. The only other case would be when Sir Bourke was paid to train a son from a family of martial lineage.
“What does your family do, then?” Lucan continued.
Clifton shrugged. “This and that. Nothing important, Sire.”
“I’m not a knight yet,” Lucan said, not missing the deliberate flattery. An ambiguous background for an ambiguous man, Lucan thought of the oldest of their new men-at-arms.
He was about to continue with his questions for the men when he saw them all looking at something behind him. He turned around and got up as he saw Thomas approaching. “Thomas,” he greeted.
“Master,” Thomas greeted back formally, recognizing the presence of the new arrivals.
“How goes the work?” Lucan asked.
“The work on the canal is proceeding smoothly,” Thomas said. “There have been no obstacles so far, thankfully.”
“May the gods stay out of our way then,” Lucan prayed, hoping to banish any latent presence of the abyssal and infernal divines, if there was any truth to them. “What about the village? Did you take a gander at it?” He’d been worried about the new village populated by refugees at the stream that led to the saltwater lake. The refugees had successfully cleared the land early enough for sowing, and they’d be expecting a harvest of hay at the beginning of summer.
“Aye,” Thomas said. “Their fields are hale, and they expect a healthy harvest.”
“Good. I suppose I can begin the journey to the capital tomorrow with a light heart.”
“Fear not, master. I will maintain the welfare of the estate in your and Sir Zesh’s absence.”
“I know you will, Thomas,” Lucan said, sighing. The summons from the King had come in quite a bothersome time. Not only had it forced them to recruit new men-at-arms, but it was also forcing them away from their estate, which was in dire need of good and meticulous governing if it was to make it out of its current setback without public embarrassment.
His father had decided to leave four of their men-at-arms here with Thomas to look after the estate; while the other four, including the new arrivals, would accompany them to the capital to be subtly shown to the King who was sure to notice the fresh faces. Though Lucan imagined it would be his aides who would notice and inform him.
Lucan turned to the three men-at-arms, nodding. “I must leave now, gentlemen. We will speak again tomorrow…on the road.”
The men, who were now on their feet, returned his nod before he turned around and accompanied Thomas to the keep. He had to prepare properly for such a journey after all.
The dawn of the new day saw Lucan and his father on their traveling horses in front of the bailey. Thomas, Lee, and the other three men-at-arms that would be staying were there to see them off.
His father and Thomas only nodded to each other heavily, exchanging goodbyes and expectations without a word. In appearance, Lee would be castellan in his father’s absence, but there was no doubt as to who would truly be governing while the knight was away. He had already given his instructions and farewells to the men-at-arms, so he turned his horse westward along the road and urged it forward.
Lucan smiled at the old steward though, choosing not to mimic his father’s silence. “Soon, Thomas,” he said, relaying his goodbyes in the most hopeful manner.
“Soon, master,” Thomas said.
Lucan nodded to the men-at-arms who would be staying and turned his horse to follow his father in the lead of their small procession. Cordell, Ryder, Heath, and Clifton drove their horses behind them.
…
Once they were off Lucan’s road, their horses trod the High Road at a steady pace. Having an interest in such matters now, Lucan noted the decrease in the road’s quality as they moved northwest.
He knew that the easternmost portion of this road was the most recently built, though it seemed that the original was badly maintained. Already, they could spot broken bits at the edges, potholes in the middle, and cracks in the masonry. Thankfully, it wasn’t enough to slow them down yet.
They stopped multiple times at a village or a small town to rest, often paying a farmer or an innkeeper for their stay. The road was thankfully ripe with settlements given the amount of trade that flowed to and from Arpague. So they didn’t have to camp in the open.
They continued on their journey through the days and rested through the nights, until a fortnight after they’d left their estate, they reached Arpague. The road had gotten worse and worse the farther they’d gone on their journey. Right now some stretches of it were completely ruined and broken apart, replaced by spreads of gravel that made it stable enough to tread. Even with the horrid condition of the road, trade would never abandon the jewel of the Elder Lands’ inland trade. The Lord of Arpague could always rely on the city to provide him with income better than that of a goldmine in the form of taxes and tariffs.
Lucan observed its high, dark gray walls, towering over a sprawl of slums that grew out like mold, and sighed.
It was going to smell astounding.