Chapter 22 : Specter

Chapter 22

Specter

Arvena, One Year Earlier

The sun shone brightly that day, and the warm weather was a welcome change. The sky, visible through the forest canopies, was a brilliant shade of blue. It contrasted greatly with the reddish leaves of the late fall season.

It was the tenth day after Lansius's departure from Bellandia. The Arvenians had crossed several hamlets and villages along the way, but only the lords, knights, and their retinues could stay for the night. The rest of the troops had to make do with their simple tents pitched in the fields.

Last night, they had camped just outside the forest, in a clearing where they built a large campfire and a field kitchen. The site wasn’t ideal, but the woods provided them with easy access to firewood and opportunities to forage for wild berries and eggs.

After breakfast, Lansius and Stefi began packing their belongings. The strong morning sunlight made the situation rather hectic, as some had decided to march earlier than usual. Several men with their spears and shields were already forming groups and waiting on the dirt road.

This far from the frontline, they marched at their own pace. While it seemed lax, the rearguard who marched behind would ensure that nobody was deserting.

Stefi had taught Lansius how to pack his gear, and after more than a week of living on the road, he had mastered some simple tasks. Stefi untied the ropes while Lansius carefully pulled and wiped them off with a dry rag.

Ropes were costly, so care was needed to maintain them. They were literally the thing that held the roof over their head every day. Without ropes, the tent would turn into a large poncho. Made from braided natural hemp fibers, they were coated with wax to protect against mold and decay.

As Lansius worked with the ropes, Stefi gathered the bowls, spoons, and waterskins and said, “Pack them all up. I’m going to the stream.”

“Don’t take too long. Everyone is already on the move,” Lansius warned.

“No worries. We have Horsie, remember?” And then she left.

Indeed, she was right, Lansius admitted. He initially thought that only the rider would benefit from a horse, but he was wrong. As it turned out, having one benefited the group.

Tents, battle gear, and foodstuffs were especially burdensome to carry. A pack animal could easily carry them, allowing the group to march faster and farther.

Lansius continued to dry wipe the remaining ropes. Once he was done, he gathered them all and approached the horse carefully. After a week of traveling together, Horsie was already familiar with him, but Lansius was wary of the big animal. He approached from the front and only proceeded to the saddle once he was sure that the horse’s demeanor remained unchanged.

Although he winced at the horse’s strong odor, he put the ropes into the saddlebag and left gracefully with a relieved face. He repeated this process several times with the bedrolls, blankets, and their lantern.

Finished with it, he noticed Horsie nudging toward a patch of tall grass, so he pulled out his knife, cut it, and brought it to her.

As the horse ate, Lansius noticed more movements on the road. He saw that the usual group he had marched with had started their march. Even the traveling peddlers that followed their column were preparing to move.

Lansius patiently waited, but after a while, he couldn’t ignore it any longer. So, he rose, took his and Stefi’s bag, and tightened Horsie’s reins to ensure that she wouldn’t wander on her own.

Before leaving, Lansius took a good look at his surroundings to ensure that no one was eyeing the horse and their belongings. Satisfied that nobody was nearby, he made his way to where the stream was supposed to be, guided by its faint sound.

“Stefi,” he called, but there was no answer, so he tried again, louder. Still, there was no answer.

Realizing he had no other option but to descend the steep and possibly slippery path, Lansius cautiously checked the surroundings for any signs of danger. Despite being told that there were rarely any beasts in Arvena other than the occasional highland wolf, he took no chances. He was aware that what was considered a monster by humans like him might be seen as a mere animal or beast by people of this world.

Lansius hesitantly began his descent as he found no evidence of danger.

At least there’s no kappa or river goblins.

He remembered how Stefi had assured him that she had never heard of green-skinned monsters who walked like a human and used weapons.

As the path became steeper, he grabbed onto branches to steady himself. Halfway down, he looked up and grew wary of having to climb back up again. When he looked down, the vegetation obstructed his view.

“Stefi!” he called again, but the sound of the stream was loud enough to muffle his voice.

Lansius’s worry urged him to continue. He carefully descended the treacherous path, holding on to branches for support. Finally, with sweaty and reddened palms, he reached a flat area near the stream.

The ground was covered with gray river stones and black sand. The stream turned out to be wider and deeper than he expected. Lansius glanced up and marveled at how the lush trees had concealed the place.

Next, his eyes wandered at the stream which glimmered with the sun’s reflections. However, he spotted something. His eyes opened wide as he realized what he was looking at: a young woman, waist-deep in the stream, her bare skin glistening in the sunlight.

Their eyes briefly met, and Lansius quickly recognized her and her strong gaze, but then his eyes drifted toward two finely shaped round objects, which were normally concealed behind a black gambeson.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” Lansius finally snapped back, turning around with a reddened face.

Stefi said nothing but calmly rinsed her hair once more before wading to the banks. She walked toward a large boulder where she kept her clothes, grabbed her breaches, and turned away. “Sorry, did you wait for too long?”

“S-sorry,” Lansius stuttered.

Stefi chose not to respond, but silently dressed up. Once she was done, she asked, “So, why are you here?”

Lansius turned to face her. “I . . . oh, everybody had left.”

Stefi ignored Lansius’s slightly reddened face and said, “I probably took too much time . . . I water wasn’t cold, so I was tempted to wash myself.”

Lansius nodded. “Can’t blame you. It’s been days.”

Stefi motioned for Lansius to pass her bag. As he did so, Stefi gave him his waterskin. “Better drink some.”

Lansius took a sip but hesitated to drink more, worried about the raw water. He typically made excuses to boil the water or mix it with wine to, hopefully, kill any pathogens inside.

Stefi put the utensils she had cleaned inside her bag. Afterward, she fished out a clean cloth and used it to dry her hair.

“Umm, shouldn’t we hurry?” Lansius asked.

“Before we leave,” Stefi said sharply, and Lansius sensed a scolding was coming. “Lans, it’s best to keep this between ourselves.”

“I understand. Again, I apologize,” he said remorsefully.

Stefi shook her head. “I don’t blame you. It’s just that I had a friend who saw a village woman’s thigh by accident. She reported him, and he was forced to marry.”

Yikes . . .

“At first it was funny, but it didn’t end well for them,” added Stefi ominously. “Also, if that happened to us, everybody would say that I’m taking advantage of you as my charge.”

Lansius bowed his head. “I swear, I’ll never mention it to anyone.”

“Well, let’s get going," she said.

Leading the way, Stefi showed Lansius an easier path upward. As she began to climb, she suddenly asked, “Say, since you saw mine, what should I do with you?”

Lansius shook his head and replied meekly, “You know I don’t have that much coin.”

Stefi looked at him. “Who said it had to do with money?”

“Eh?” Bewilderment was written all over his face. “You want to see me naked?”

Stefi giggled. “I’m a squire. I see men left and right, so that’s not a good bargain.”

“Then what?” Lansius was intrigued.

She motioned for him to come closer, as if to whisper something in his ear. He leaned in, eager to hear what she had to say. But before he knew it, Stefi had her hands on either side of Lansius’s face and was pulling him in for a kiss. It was sudden and unexpected, but he couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement as her lips met his.

As abruptly as it began, she pulled away, a mischievous grin on her face. “I stole yours, so now we’re even!” she said, and nimbly climbed up.

“How—how did you know?” Lansius anxiously asked, but all he heard were faint giggles coming from her direction. He was confused by the mixed signals, but the big grin on his face didn’t lie.

***

Feodosia

A month had passed since Lansius arrived in Feodosia as the victor of Sabina Rustica, and the sharpness in his appearance had worn down into haggard weariness. He seldom left his room, save for a quick stroll to the baker at noon or for supper.

Now he sat on the edge of his straw mattress, back hunched and gaze fixed on the floor of his dimly lit room. Lansius still wore his faded blue Centurian tunic, a garment that stirred memories of his dear friend. Bitter as they were, he clung to them for comfort.

A half-empty small jar of wine and an empty bucket lay on the floor near his feet. He had attempted to drink his sorrows away, but the taste of undiluted local wine was too bitter, even for his desolate mood. Outside, the final hour of sunlight cast a reddish-orange glow through the open slit in the window. Lansius noticed the warm hues and let out a heavy sigh.

Another day wasted . . .

He ached for the familiar comforts of home and family. Yet, he knew the perils of returning to his home in war-ravaged Arvena far outweighed his longing. For sure, the journey was fraught with danger, with northern men known to detain travelers without cause. Lansius’s distinct dark hair, a clear mark of foreigner and the fact that he came from Midlandia direction would made him a clear target of suspicion. The risks were simply too great.

Lansius’s thoughts turned to the fruitless search he had undertaken and how it slowly turned him into a recluse. Day by day, he had waited for good news that never came. And each day, the cowardly decision he had made in Riverstead had come back to haunt him.

His stomach growled again, and the nausea returned. Lord Arte had granted him status, wealth, and the privilege of exercising his own will, but Lansius had squandered it all with his own irresponsibility.

With a heavy feeling, he fought the urge to lie down. He planted his feet firmly on the floor and took a few wobbly steps toward the table.

Guh . . .

He quickly took hold of the table to steady himself. Despite the proof of intoxication, Lansius stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. Rather, he attributed the weak knees to prolonged sitting.

Without meaning to, Lansius’s gaze drifted to the table. Although it had been pristine upon his arrival five days ago, now a thin layer of dust covered its surface. Yet, the dust was the least of his concerns; sitting next to a jar of water and a wooden cup was an unassuming paper scroll.

The men he had hired were competent enough to submit a written report after their search. However, just like his own search, they had found nothing.

“There was no slave that fit the description.”

“Most likely she perished in the war.”

Lansius recalled the last conversation he had with them. Anger sparked within him, but not because of the failure. He felt ashamed to maintain such a feeble and foolish hope for so long. The likelihood of finding Stefi alive was always grim.

Before he had hired anyone, Lansius had visited the slave merchants in Feodosia. They could only offer their sympathies as they couldn’t find her either in their place or in their logs.

As Lansius reached absently for the cup, he took a small sip of water and winced at its stale taste. He set it down and found himself staring at the empty seat across from him. Then something in him gave way, and he blurted at the empty space, “Hey, if you’re dead, why don’t you tell me and save me all the trouble?”

There was no answer but the darkness that crept in as the sun inched closer to the west.

“Hmph, you’re probably floating freely and laughing at my misery,” he continued bitterly, but this time, the alcohol in his blood whispered an imaginary answer.

“Guilt? But what can I do in Riverstead? I’m no swordsman . . . To die at your side, is that what you want of me?” His heart pounded as he finally spoke some of his burden out loud.

“You’re not special. There’s nothing between us.” He denied his own feelings. “I’ve seen you naked once, but that’s nothing. I’ve seen plenty of naked girls before. Where? The internet. You don’t know? Hah! See . . . you know nothing about me!”

This time, there was no answer to his ramblings, only silence. Frustrated and ashamed at his monologue, Lansius retreated to the bed and held his head in sadness. Not even amnesia could erase the deep yearning he felt for a companion, and Stefi was the closest he ever had.

...

The last faint glow of the setting sun finally ebbed.

Lansius let out a long, tired sigh. Despite his misery, he couldn’t ignore the encroaching darkness. His earlier outburst had pumped so much blood into his head that he felt slightly sober. He grabbed his bag, and pushed the iron bolt lock open.

The corridor of the timber and stone inn was dimly lit, with only a single lantern casting a feeble glow near the stairs. The sound of creaking floorboards echoed as Lansius made his way downstairs.

Lansius quickly entered the dining area next to the kitchen. The innkeeper and her two kids were too busy to greet him. That was perfect. The last thing he wanted was for somebody to judge him by his looks.

For that same reason, he liked to come early. Today, there was just one guest in the corner. Keeping his head down, Lansius went to the small table by the window. As he was about to sit down, the man in the corner raised his cup. Lansius thought it was just a greeting, so he waved back.

“Lans, my man, you look unwashed.”

The man’s words sent a jolt down Lansius’s spine. He looked at the man and recognized the facial features along with the milky-white leather coat. “Calub!”

The alchemist raised his cup even higher as a smile formed on his lips.

Ignoring his suspicion, Lansius rushed to meet him. He had changed inns twice and used an alias, but a friendly face was something he yearned for. Truthfully, he was worried about staying alone in Feodosia, especially with a sizable amount of money.

Calub carefully kicked the chair in front of him, and Lansius gladly took it. “So, how’s Feodosia?” the alchemist asked.

“Better than what I expected,” Lansius replied cheerfully, concealing his issues.

Calub smiled. “It’s a small town but passed through by many trade routes. You can find almost anything in here—” He abruptly paused. “Ah, what am I saying? Please pardon my ramblings.”

“What for . . .?” Lansius grew suspicious and asked carefully, “You’ve heard?”

The alchemist’s response was solemn. “Lansius . . . I’m saddened that you can’t find what you’re looking for.”

The mood turned heavy, and Lansius didn’t give a reply.

“I have some connections who informed me about it,” Calub explained. He poured spiced ale into another cup and offered it to Lansius.

Lansius took the cup, but sipped only a little as his stomach didn’t feel well.

Calub didn’t push for an answer, so Lansius pondered his situation. Meanwhile, the kitchen next door bustled with activity. Lansius’s senses were awakened by the sound of crackling fire, the clanging ladles on the metal cauldron, and the rich aroma from the meat puddings being cooked.

“So, how is Lady Felicity doing?” Lansius asked after he remembered just how much he owed her.

“She’s fine. She runs a tavern, you know. We should visit her, but perhaps not tonight,” Calub replied, and glanced at the innkeeper. “Can we get one bowl of porridge, please? For a hangover.”

“That’ll cost extra,” the innkeeper replied without looking.

“Make it tasty then,” Calub said without asking for the price.

Lansius could only watch in silence. After some hesitation, he finally asked, “Calub, am I chasing a ghost?”

“Don’t say such a thing,” Calub uttered, but he didn’t elaborate.

A rather plump lass no older than fifteen arrived with two bowls of stew, a small lump of blackened meat pudding, and warmed up bread. Lansius hadn’t ordered, but each guest got the same meal.

“You better wait for the porridge,” Calub suggested while stirring his stew.

Lansius nodded. He was grateful for his concern.

The stew was steaming hot, so Calub broke his bread and dipped it before taking a bit.

“Mm, how’s Sir Archie doing?” Lansius asked.

“Now you’re talking.” Calub dipped another piece. “It’s good that the squire is thinking about the master.”

Lansius exhaled sharply from guilt. He had accepted the honor as squire, but ended up like this. “He gave me freedom of will.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t include wasting your life away,” Calub said, gazing at him. "Lans, shouldn’t you return to your master’s side?”

Lansius couldn’t challenge that notion. “Since you’re here . . . does it mean you’ve come to fetch me up?”

Calub shook his head. “Last time was a contract, but I’m not joining the Arvenians.”

Something didn’t add up, Lansius thought. “But then, why are you looking for me?”

Calub paused for a moment. “Well, it wasn’t easy, but as I’ve said before, I have connections.” He pulled a thin brown leather wrap from his inside coat pocket and put it on the table.

“What’s that?” Lansius asked.

“An invitation.”

The answer puzzled him, but the contents might hold an answer. “May I?”

Calub motioned him to do as he pleased. Lansius proceeded to open the rugged leather and reached out for a thick envelope inside. He noticed the purple wax seal that bore a crest of a regal-looking man riding a horse.

Lansius didn’t recognize the crest, but he knew that good quality paper was expensive. He looked up at Calub. “Is this for me?”

Calub nodded, and Lansius carefully unsealed the wax, pulling out the paper.

He saw neat handwriting on the letter with distinctly legible and glossy black ink, clearly the work of a skilled scribe. Although it was an invitation, Lansius felt more like he was being summoned by the noble who sent it. “What does this baronet want?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Calub exhaled sharply. “Nevertheless . . . I thought it would be beneficial for you. That’s why I accepted the task of delivering that letter.”

With too much weighing on his mind, instead of responding, Lansius tore off another piece of bread and dipped it into the stew. He and Calub were comrades, but Lansius hardly knew the alchemist well. The fact that Calub now brought an invitation from a baronet in Midlandia was unsettling.

Who is he working for?

Calub didn’t press for a response and instead quietly ate his stew. The plump serving girl returned with a bowl of gruel and placed it in front of Lansius.

“Gratitude,” Lansius said to the girl, who bowed her head before leaving. He stirred the gruel with his spoon and noticed pieces of cheese and salted meat swirling around. Feeling somewhat calmer, he turned to Calub and asked, “What is this invitation about? Can I decline?”

“Of course,” Calub reassured him. “It’s not a summons. But why don’t you meet them first?”

Lansius hesitated, so Calub went on. “It’s clear that they have an interest in you. Midlandia’s nobles may be ruthless, but they’re also fair.”

Upon hearing that, Lansius stopped stirring. “But I’m a squire to Sir Archie.”

“That’s exactly why you need to meet them. Your master needs Midlandia’s support. You’ll do well to build a relationship with a baronet to help Sir Archie’s cause.”

Lansius couldn’t find fault in his friend’s logic, but he remained indecisive. “I need to consult with my master first.”

“By all means,” the alchemist remarked lightly.

“If I accept the invitation, will you accompany me?”

Calub gave a stiff smile and replied, “I could, but I shouldn’t. They are only interested in you, and we wouldn’t want to make a rude gesture.”

Despite his questions, Lansius didn’t feel like accepting. He had a carefree life. Why would he risk it for something vague? He had tried hard to improve his station in life: working as a farmer, teacher, workhouse clerk, forest survivor, and squire—all in a single year—but all had led to nothing.

Fate had a way of pushing him back to square one, leaving him feeling powerless. He felt like a dry leaf caught in a whirlwind of conflicts.

This year, Lansius had witnessed more violence and desperation than most men experience in a lifetime. The traumas from Riverstead and the Amertume forest never left him. Because of this, he was reluctant to even hold onto hope.

Yet despite his emptiness, a faint ambition began to kindle within him. His eyes sparkled as he pondered whether there was still something—or someone—worth living for. Though he had lost Stefi, the thought of his family in Bellandia gave him pause for hope.

Perhaps this’ll pave the road to return home.

***

One week had passed since Lansius began his journey to Toruna. Today, the sun rose over the medieval countryside, casting a warm glow on the landscape. A refreshing breeze swept through the fields, carrying with it the unique aroma of ripe crops ready for harvest. The narrow path meandered through the golden fields, the stalks gently swaying in the breeze.

The sound of hooves echoed against the dirt road. Lansius rode in a horse-drawn cart laden with goods, sharing the space only with the old coachman sitting up front.

Before he left on this journey, Lansius had consulted Sir Archie, who recognized that the baronet of Toruna was an influential man in his own right, and also close to the powerful Seneschal Bengrieve. Because they needed all the influence they could muster, he agreed to send Lansius on his first errand as a squire.

“There.” Suddenly, the coachman pointed to the south after they passed over a hill.

Following his hand, Lansius spotted a manor beside a small river, flanked by recently harvested farms, orchards, and a nearby village. “Is that where the baronet of Toruna lives?” he asked.

“This is Toruna,” the coachman replied with a thick foreign accent, seemingly struggling to make small talk.

Lansius allowed himself to become fully immersed in the breathtaking beauty of the harvest season, a reminder of the bountiful fields of Bellandia. After a month of seclusion in Feodosia, he felt rejuvenated, his old self having returned.

“Always, good harvest. Land is blessed,” the coachman added proudly.

Lansius politely nodded. The land was indeed prosperous, with a good population, and looked well-governed.

It took another hour before they reached the manor. The coachman drove the cart through the vast courtyard and up to the entrance of the manor.

Lansius grew anxious, worried about his first impression. He saw two armed men accompany them from the gate, but they kept their distance.

“Go on. Go down,” the coachman instructed.

Lansius carefully dismounted from the cart and gazed up at the imposing three-story structure that loomed before him. Though not a castle, it radiated an air of authority and grandeur. The walls were built with smooth, large gray stones, while the wooden parts were painted white, creating a striking contrast. At a glance, there were no vines or moss, making the entire building appear immaculately maintained, as if it had been constructed only recently.

Now, this is a manor.

Compared to this, Lansius thought, Sabina Rustica was aptly named a rustic villa.

A surprised pageboy approached Lansius. “Oh, we expected a delivery, not a guest,” he complained innocently.

Lansius allowed himself a small smile. “It’s all right, I can wait outside.” He drew out a letter and showed the crest stamped into its purple wax seal.

“Gratitude, maester. Please wait here,” the boy said, then ran inside at once. His footsteps echoed through the cavernous hall, fading into the silence beyond.

***

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