Chapter 151: White Gold

Chapter 151: White Gold

White Gold

Great Plains of Lowlandia, the Previous Night

The three carts moved slowly through the night; their journey was bumpy as they could only rely on the horses' instincts and the faint glow of the stars. Without a lantern, it was hard to see, but they continued in darkness to hide from the mercenaries they no longer wished to employ.

"Do you hear anything?" asked the man in brigandine.

"No," replied his lieutenant from the back, "and I doubt they could chase us."

The coachman shifted in his seat and asked, "Can I risk a light?"

"You better, or we might lose the other carts if this goes on much longer."

Hearing this, the coachman lifted the cover of his trusted lantern, casting a gentle glow a few steps in front of the horse. Seeing the light, the two other carts followed suit.

"Why are there only two? Where's the rest?" the leader asked, squinting into the darkness.

"I see nothing," said the lieutenant.

"Damn it, someone is feeling mercenary," the leader chuckled.

"Must be Old Osric; he hated your guts, and his cart is still laden with grain, wine, and salted meat," the coachman said.

The leader turned to the lieutenant at the back of the cart. The man grumbled, "I'm not blind. I put my brother on that cart to prevent this. I doubt they'll go rogue on me."

"Right," the leader muttered, "let's signal them to come closer. We'll soon find out who betrayed us."

Using their lanterns to signal, they managed to attract the attention of the other two carts. As they drew closer, the Midlandians shouted friendly insults before addressing the important issue: "Who's not with us?"

"No idea. I can’t see shit," came a distinct raspy voice.

"Is that you, Osric?" the coachman asked urgently.

"Yes. Why the tone? You missed me already?" Osric answered as he pulled his cart alongside the coachman's.

Laughter erupted, followed by another round of friendly insults.

"It's not him," the leader said, looking at the lieutenant as all the carts came to a stop.

The man's expression was sharp. "I find it hard to believe that my own men would betray me—"

Suddenly, the short man known as their scout rose from atop a cart. He surveyed his surroundings before jumping down, almost tumbling, and then knelt to put his ear to the ground.

Everyone fell silent; even the coachman soothed the horse to keep it calm.

The leader leaned out from the cart and whispered, "What do you hear?"

"Horses," he said, turning to face the leader. "A lot of horses."

"Kill the lantern," the leader instructed without hesitation.

The coachman closed the metal cover, but the leader repeated firmly, "Kill the flame."

At the back, the lieutenant jumped down and grabbed his spear; his men and those from the other cart followed suit.

"Do you think this is a good idea?" the leader asked.

"Carts and horses are squeaky," the man answered while flexing his broad shoulders.

"Then we better send one to distract them."

Under the stars, the lieutenant gazed at the leader and could faintly see his grin. "I assume you want to unload the goods first?"

Despite the tension, the leader's voice was clear. "Certainly. Now make haste."

The lieutenant directed his men, and they began to unload the third cart because Old Osric wouldn't surrender his.

...

Under the cloak of night, the smugglers huddled together, their calm breaths masking their nervousness. The only sound heard was that of horses pulling an empty cart away, its lightened load quickening its pace into the darkened plains.

A faint glow appeared in the distance, resembling fireflies. As the light multiplied, it became clear that these were approaching torches and lanterns. Soon, the clatter of horse hooves could be heard and felt. Tension surged as each man's eyes darted through the darkness, bracing for the worst.

"Easy, men, they can't see us," the lieutenant whispered, attempting to reassure his anxious men.

Nearby, the coachman and the leader had coaxed their horse to lie down to minimize its silhouette, the animal gratefully sinking into its brief respite.

As the sound of hooves intensified, fear rippled through the smugglers, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons. But just as the sound reached its peak, it began to fade, the hooves' clamor diminishing as if moving in another direction.

Relief washed over the smugglers, their tension easing into chuckles of disbelief. "They're gone," one whispered, hardly believing their luck.

Meanwhile, the scout rose and walked a short distance before kneeling to press his ear against the ground.

The leader followed, whispering urgently, "Where are they headed?"

Pointing, the scout replied, "That direction. Tailing the empty cart."

"Then we should go the other way," the leader decided lightly.

"Wait," the scout interjected sharply. "Something is moving."

Silence fell abruptly across the group. "Footsteps?!" the scout blurted out, his voice tense.

Suddenly, the cart squeaked loudly, burdened with extra weight. Spinning around, the smugglers saw a tall figure shrouded in shadows. "We've got you all surrounded, brigands," a distinct voice teased, fearless and mocking.

Before they could react, their horses, spooked by the figure's scent, reared up, nearly breaking free. The lieutenant and several men, spears in hand, rushed toward the cart, but the shadowy figure leaped away and unexpectedly struck down the lieutenant with a crashing, murderous pounce.

The attack was over in a heartbeat; the lieutenant lay unconscious, bleeding profusely from a severe head wound, as the creature disappeared from sight.

"He got the lieutenant!" one smuggler shouted, his warning quickly drowned out by a sudden beam of light that illuminated the area.

The eerie white light from above revealed the smugglers, their carts and horses, and the mysterious wolf-like creature, along with the tightening circle of footmen who had them surrounded. Then, a tall man in a blue surcoat stepped forward, sword drawn. "On behalf of the Lord of Korelia and the Lady of Korimor, drop your weapons."

The announcement threw the smugglers into a panic.

The man, likely a champion by his bearings, continued, "One way or another, you're going to drop your weapons. Make your choice now!"

Finding no one voiced disagreement, Lord Lansius said, "My Lady, I hereby suggest punishing the ringleader with fifteen years of hard labor in the cave. The Midlandians that accompanied them should serve ten years, and the Nicopolans, seven years."

The Lady gazed at their retinue and declared, "I support the ruling."

Sir Omin, once again taking on the role of administrator, said, "Now, with that matter decided, let's move forward with my petition: a stone bridge to ease the movement of people across the river north of the city."

"What's wrong with the boats?" Sterling commented.

"Nothing wrong with the boats, but they're slow and can't handle heavy loads," Sir Michael answered.

Sir Omin continued, "Despite its cost, we believe this project will open up the fertile lands north of the city. It will allow the city to establish more farms. With sturdy stone bridges, even oxen-pulled carts could move with ease."

"It will allow the city to expand beyond the river," the Lord mused aloud.

"Indeed, My Lord."

"Then please make the estimates for both wooden and stone bridges, whether wide or narrow. I'll review them. Also," the Lord glanced at Sterling, who was keeping records on this occasion, "remind me to address this issue in Korelia."

Afterward, there was a lull that Sir Hugo used to cough and gather their attention.

"Yes, Sir Hugo. Do you have a petition, or are you asking for your reward?" Lady Audrey motioned.

"The reward can come later, My Lady. I have a request for this council to select a new steward for Korimor. I am injured and would prefer to recuperate in peace."

"I heard you wanted to recuperate in Umberland," Sir Omin quickly retorted, drawing all eyes to them. "Under the soft embrace of a half-breed."

"Well, that can't hurt," Hugo admitted.

The council room buzzed with lively murmurs, discussing such a turn of events. Dietrich was slapping Hugo's back in support, while Sterling openly ridiculed the man.

"But you are betrothed. Your future wife is waiting in Korelia," the Lord criticized.

Hugo couldn't respond, and it was the Lady who tapped the Lord's hand, saying, "I'll handle the wife. She's a valued member of the community, and I can persuade her that there are better knights for suitors."

"Why are you supporting him?" the Lord asked.

"I'm not. It's just that from the nuanced whispers I've heard from the servants, I feel that the marriage isn't going to work," she explained with a sigh.

"It is as the Lady has said," Hugo admitted, his voice filled with guilt. "She's probably too good for me. I feel guilty towards Sir Callahan. I'll take this leave as penance and retreat to the Umberland mountains."

"How preposterous," the Lord said, frowning as he massaged his forehead. "You could cause a diplomatic row if you end up harming one. We're not even sure about the half-breed's traditions."

"Then, I'll be the correct man to learn about the tradition from the inside," Sir Hugo argued.

Lord Lansius chuckled at the absurdity but took a deep breath and gazed at Sir Harold. "You know more about this than I do. So, please advise the council."

"I'll consult with Francisca. But in truth, it's the same request that she made of us. I believe we can request the same from them."

"But I doubt Sir Hugo is as benevolent as Francisca," Sir Omin teased.

The Lord exhaled deeply as he sank back into his cushioned chair. He saw the Lady glance at him and said, "Let's take a break and accompany me for a walk."

...

Lansius

They arrived at the garden adjacent to the courtyard, and their entourage quickly spread out to give them privacy. Only Carla and Sterling followed at a distance.

"Who do you think is best to lead Korimor?" Lansius began as they walked through rows of medicinal herbs and plants, common in such gardens.

"Ideally, it would be Dame Daniella, but since she's occupied... Sir Michael, he seems more than capable," Audrey offered her perspective.

"But he also has duties in Korelia, preparing for Lord Robert. So, he's out of the picture."

"Then it should be Dietrich, accompanied by Roger," she suggested.

"That's what I was also thinking," he agreed.

Audrey gazed at him, grabbed his hand, pulled him closer, and whispered, "What's the matter? I doubt you can't discuss this inside the council room."

Lansius did not answer immediately but pondered before responding, "Calub’s words in the letter about Midlandia made me think about our situation."

"About what, exactly?" she asked gently.

"Most of our key personnel, including our staff, are Midlandians," he remarked. "The Marshal, Sir Justin, is arguably a mercenary. Moreover, his wife and son are in Midlandia. Sir Harold, the leader of the knights, was originally sent to us by Lord Bengrieve. Meanwhile, Calub... he's a henchman, just like us."

Audrey couldn't refute that fact and nodded lightly.

"Now that we're not at war, we have the opportunity we need to promote non-Midlandians as a safeguard." He continued, "Originally, I had Sir Callahan to rely on, but he's gone, and now I need someone else."

"Dame Daniella is Nicopolan, Farkas is too inexperienced. Your best bet is calling Sigmund," she suggested.

"No, he's needed to handle South Hill. It'll be his proving ground."

The two arrived at a corner underneath a willow tree. "You know, even after what happened at the mountain pass, I believe the rest of our staff are loyal."

Lansius nodded in agreement. "I simply wish to avoid surprises."

Audrey glanced at him and quipped, "And what about me? Have you forgotten that Lord Bengrieve is the one who gave me my name?"

Lansius chuckled, the gentle rustle of the willow’s weeping branches blending with the soft, cool breeze that caressed the space around them. "If you betray me, I have little reason to live."

Audrey's face turned smug, seemingly enjoying his word. "Do you think a succession crisis will bring Lord Bengrieve down?"

"A calculative man like him? Unlikely..." Lansius mused. "He probably even predicted this crisis."

"Even this is still within my plans," Audrey quipped, recalling how Sir Stan used to mimic their master. This prompted Lansius to let out a smile and say, "When you're feeling better and the rear guard has arrived, let's head back to Korelia."

The mention of the city made her eyes glitter. "I can't wait to see the new buildings. They say there are baths, a new bakery, and—"

"I see your appetite remains unchanged," he quipped. Noticing her raised eyebrow, he added, "Which is certainly good, of course."

That answer earned him a broad, confident smile from her. Her brown hair fluttered gently as the wind picked up speed. The willow's branches swayed dramatically as if heralding a change in the air.

***