The Elder Lands

It took them a fortnight to ascertain that the raiders weren’t returning for another bout. Scouts and rangers along the length of the southern border had agreed that the Wildermen had retreated well beyond raiding distance, and some had even returned to their tribes, supposedly. Lord Arden only allowed them to leave after he’d affirmed the truth of that.

It also turned out that “The Bear” had been the one to rouse and lead the Wildermen on this foray, though he had had the support of other strongmen among the clans, or so the captured raiders claimed. Lord Arden had had to bestow a nominal reward on Lucan’s father for killing the Bear in the form of a bronze-plated shield made from the finest southern oak.

His father had also laid claim to the goldsteel axe he’d won in battle, though he’d told Lucan aside that he’d have it sent to the son of its original owner who’d followed in his father’s footsteps and earned a knighthood.

And speaking of fallen knights, Lucan had found out after the battle how the Wildermen had reached the village. Sir Vicks’s patrol had been attacked like theirs had been but by a much larger raiding party. They’d used their violetash, but any help would have been too late. The knight had fallen along with several of his men while the rest had scattered and retreated, though they rallied each other later to fight in the village.

Lucan, his father, and their men-at-arms rode home by the end of hay harvest, which was also the time by which the merchants began to trickle in. They rode through the rolling Arden hills, then continued north until they passed by the salt lake. Seeing that everything was as it should be with the men working near the crane, they continued on their way, soon observing the laborers who were digging the irrigation channels. Regardless, they didn’t dally, riding straight to their motte-and-bailey, where they found Thomas waiting for them at the gate.

Lucan rode behind his father into the bailey, inhaling the smell of the cramped confines of their settlement. And instead of finding it stifling, he found its familiarity warm and welcoming. The bailey’s inhabitants came out to watch them as they entered, some of them noticing that one was missing from their number and whispering among themselves.

They dismounted before Lucan’s father gripped Thomas’s arm in greeting and Lucan embraced the old steward.

Wasting no time, they marched up the walkway towards the keep. Once they entered, they laid off their burdens in the armory and each of them went to find a bath, having found the luxury rare in Lord Arden’s crowded castle.

After a refreshing cold bath, Lucan met his father and Thomas once again in the former’s study.

Sir Golan leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath as though it had been trapped in his chest for months. Then he looked at Thomas with the eyes of the tired old knight he was. “What have you got for us, Thomas?”

“The farmers have enjoyed a good hay harvest, Master,” Thomas said. “Merchants have also begun trickling in.”

Lucan nodded along with his father. He’d seen the camps and stalls of some merchants as they’d arrived outside the bailey.

“They’ve grown enamored with our new goods too,” the steward continued. “Some even chose to linger in the territory in wait for a new stock of salt and silver.”

“What we had was depleted already?” Lucan asked, astounded.

“All of it sold for good coin.” Thomas smiled at him.

Lucan nearly whooped in happiness, but he was held back by his father’s still somber mood. While Henry the man-at-arms hadn’t been a close acquaintance of his, that didn’t stand the same with his father. “They took well to the silversmith’s work?”

The steward gave him a non-committal bob of the head. “They’re all happy to take the raw silver, but more hesitant to part with coin for the worked metal. Still, we have sold some of what he's made. Doubtless, we’ll be rid of most if not all of it by the end of the season. “

Lucan raised a brow in amusement but nodded along anyway.

His father finally spoke as the study grew quiet. “So our coffers fare well again, at last.”

“Aye,” Thomas said. “Very well. The merchants have taken well to our salt, even though most of them are heading to the Union. The silver was also well-received, since the guilds are always in need of it to mint their myriad of different coinage.”

Lucan’s small dream was coming true. Now he wouldn’t have to provide the merchants with every comfort so that they may visit their fief. For now, they would never miss an opportunity to veer off their path to see what they could pick from their territory’s goods. “Is it time then to raise a tariff?” his thoughts manifested in his voice even before he willed them.

“Not yet, I’d counsel,” Thomas answered instantly.

His father chuckled briefly, though it came without mirth. “Nothing scares merchants more than that which threatens to part them with their coin. Patience, son. You’ve done well so far, and our treasury is no longer threatened. Wait, for you don’t wish to scare away your catch so soon.”

Lucan nodded. If both his father and Thomas agreed on this, then there must be good substance to it.

After a brief pause, Thomas spoke again, “We do have a tangle that must be mentioned.”

Both Lucan and his father looked at the steward quizzically.

“With the arrival of the silversmith and the trickle of merchants, we seem to be suffering from a shortage of room. A workshop was built for the silversmith, but that has already stretched the bailey to its limit.”

Lucan nodded in agreement. The bailey was too small for his plans. “Perhaps we should expand it. It would also be good if there was room for travelers and merchants to stay inside.”

“Perhaps, though I doubt the merchants will risk stepping inside for fear of a toll or a tariff,” Thomas remarked.

“Again with that?” Lucan couldn’t help but ask.

“I don’t know what you’ve read about them,” Sir Golan chimed in. “But merchants guard their wealth as carefully as we guard our lands. Sometimes even more doggedly than us.”

Lucan gave a resigned nod. “Regardless, more room will be good for what’s coming.” He turned to Thomas. “That widower who provides drinks for the locals. Could we entice him to build a proper inn?” The man in question lived alone with a single son and had turned a portion of his considerable house into a place to drink for those who paid. Sometimes he would even rent his bed to wealthy travelers and sleep with his son in their establishment instead.

“It’s not a question of enticing him as much as it is a question of coin,” Thomas said. “It’s unknowable whether he has the wealth necessary, though he is one of our wealthier residents. Even if he does, we can’t be certain he’d be willing to expend all of it on such a venture.”

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“Perhaps we could provide him with a loan?” Lucan said. “An inn would be a good boon for our expanding settlement.”

His father perked up at that, seemingly alarmed. He always was when spending coin was mentioned. Lucan mused that perhaps he wasn’t that much different from the merchants he quipped about. No. That wasn’t a fair judgment. His father wasn’t concerned about expending coin so much as he was concerned about the threat of becoming impoverished, particularly considering how close Lucan had brought them to that precipice. He couldn’t help but grow a little sheepish at the thought. Still, he’d brought them out of it eventually, hadn’t he? His plans hadn’t gone without a hitch, but they had gone.

“I suppose he could be persuaded,” Thomas said in answer to his question.

When Sir Golan chimed in again, it was with a suggestion instead of a protest. “Why bother with a loan when we can demand ownership?”

“Huh?” Lucan looked askance at his father.

“We’re to provide the coin and labor needed for an inn and he’s to run it, aren’t we?” the knight said. “Why don’t we own at least half of said establishment then? It’s better than waiting to be repaid on something we’ll reap no meaningful profit from.”

Lucan couldn’t help but be impressed with the idea. His eyes snapped to their steward who shrugged noncommittally. “I will see if he’s amicable to the idea.”

Lucan nodded with an anxious spirit. More streams of wealth were always better than less, however small. Currently, they were benefiting from the sale of their salt and the better prices their farmers got from competing merchants(which meant more taxes for their estate). There was also the difference in cost after the silversmith worked the raw metal from their neighboring knights’ territories, though the craftsmen was owed a great portion of that difference. Half an inn to add to all that wouldn’t be bad, considering their burgeoning settlement was certain to attract more visitors every season.

“To expand the bailey, fill the moat, build new walls, we’ll need considerable labor,” Thomas said.

Lucan nodded. “No matter, the canals won’t be finished any time soon, let us move a portion of that labor to the bailey.” He hummed to himself. A season ago they had had more labor than they knew what to do with. Now they had more work than laborers. Lucan wondered whether the canals would even be needed by the time they were finished.

Could we get more laborers, perhaps? More refugees? He glanced at his father. Father might just drop dead if I suggest it.

Nonetheless, they needed to adapt to their own growth without fear. Perhaps he would discuss it with Thomas discreetly first. He wondered whether there were other sources from which they could get laborers and farmers.

They ended their assembly on that note, but Thomas stopped Lucan just as he got up to leave. “I almost forgot. A letter arrived for you.”

“A letter?” Lucan said, raising a brow. “From whom?”

“I don’t know. I only know that it bears the royal seal.” Thomas gave him a knowing look.

Lucan glanced at his father who looked just as perplexed. There was only one royal that could have sent him a letter. And he wondered why she would bother. He’d grown ever more wary of the princess since the last time they’d met. For the more he’d thought of what had happened in the capital, the more he’d grown certain of the breadth of her craftiness.

Thomas soon handed him the letter which looked suitably regal, with rare dyes used to draw frilly patterns along its length. Lucan then left for his chamber while getting a dubious look from his father. He would read it in seclusion, though he was certain to speak to his father about it later.

Lucan lay on his bed, the parchment spread open in his hands. He’d thought he was done with the princess after he’d left the capital, but it seemed that she intended to keep her shadow over him even from hundreds of leagues away. He wondered whether he’d have to look out for traps in this simple piece of parchment.

Rousing himself out of his anxiousness, he began to read.

Dear Lucan, my sincere wishes that this missive reaches you and your household in good health. I, myself, am in as acceptable health as one can be in Eldham and the royal court.

I hope Sawyer is serving you well and that your salt lake has borne its fruit. According to those of loftier expertise, Sawyer is intelligent if a little green. I’m certain he’ll meet your expectations.

I hear you also have your eyes on another of my friends. Lilian spoke to me of your understanding with her father. Master Saltner is of good cloth, for one in his profession. My sweet Lilian spoke to me of your understanding with her father. Regardless of my concerns that you’re stripping me of all my companions, so long as Lilian is happy, I will not object. And though she has brought forth some concerns and worries, I have assuaged them. You may thank me for that in your written response.

I thank you again for the gift of mythril that you extracted from the Labyrinth. I have had it made into a band that resembles what my mother used to wear. It’s not as thick or heavy as hers used to be, but one can only wish for so much. Now at least I can pretend that Mother’s most beloved piece of jewelry isn’t molten within Dane’s armor.

I have heard that matters on the border are as tense as a string on a Bitian bow. I hope that when they come to a head, you will come out sound. I have also heard that Lord Arden is getting on in his years, and his grandson is to inherit after he dies, Elders forbid. I would be grateful for the latest word on his lordship’s health. And if you’ve met his grandson, I would be interested in your judgment of his character. That is all.

My well wishes to you and your father. May the gods give you a wide berth.

Lucan folded the letter back into its initial shape and mulled over the contents. He pondered about the real meaning of the letter, now that he knew the princess’s measure, or now that he thought he did.

In the first part of the letter, she was, perhaps, reminding him of the favor she had done him by letting Sawyer leave with him; which Lucan had no doubt she could have prevented.

In the second part, she was politely lecturing him on the futility of keeping something from her. She knew about his agreement with Master Saltner, and she even claimed that Lilian herself confided the matter to her.

In truth, Lucan hadn’t been deliberately secretive of the matter, though he’d been wary of divulging any of his affairs to the princess after he’d gotten a potent dose of her character. Regardless, she knew now, and she was letting him know that she did. Not only that, she was letting him know that she had Lilian’s ear, though Lucan doubted she could have any significant power over Master Saltner himself. The merchant was no fool, and the princess’s reach was limited; even if she carried with her the prestige of the royal family, she carried none of the power. But still, she had a weapon none could deny her. Her mind.

Now, why was she letting him know all that when there was no need to apprise him of such? She could’ve done with her knowledge what she wished, but she chose to let him know. Her conduct would’ve been a mystery, hadn’t it been for the last part of the letter. She wanted something from him, and she was pulling on all the leashes she could to get him to do it. She wanted word of the current state of House Arden. She hadn’t phrased it as such, but it was clear that she had an interest in knowing their precise circumstances.

It didn’t take a mountain of intellect to know that she had some scheme brewing for the inheritance of the Arden estate, though he couldn’t fathom what that would entail.

The only part of the letter he hadn’t thought much of was the one about the mythril. He saw it for what it was. The princess knew that the last memory he had of her was when she’d wrested the valuable metal from his hands, and she was mellowing him through an invocation of his sympathy regarding her mother, a mother who had died too early just like his own.

Lucan sighed. It seemed like he wouldn’t be enjoying much sleep tonight.

He didn’t.

He spent half the night agonizing over how to respond to the princess. There were many things to take into consideration. The matter with the Saltners at their forefront. But there was also Sawyer. The princess could send for his return, and the engineer could very well heed her request. Lucan could already tell that he was anxious to return to the familiarity of his home city, and perhaps also to return to throwing timid glances at Helena, the princess’s other ‘friend’. The only thing keeping the engineer here was his resolve to have the waterworks built properly.

Eventually, Lucan surrendered any hope of making any decision tonight, and he shifted his attention to another matter he’d been delaying. It would come with its own agony of memory, but it would also come with a taste of satisfaction and perhaps a little accomplishment.

His Blessing manifested as he summoned it, and he laid his eyes on his unused Vital Orbs.

At least he would get something done tonight.