Horizon of War Series

Chapter 18

The sun rose, and the day grew warmer. Anci stirred from his slumber, roused by the sounds of birds and rustling leaves. Their crude makeshift tent was far from ideal, but it had served its purpose for the night.

“Can’t believe we traded the inn for this place,” Anci complained as he munched on yesterday’s bread.

Lansius sighed, thinking of the inn’s comfortable bed. “At least we had the roasted meat,” he said.

“Oh, that finely seasoned and juicy meat,” Anci said.

“So tender,” Lansius commented, and they shared a laugh.

“So, what’s your story with that blonde?” Anci asked, changing the subject.

Still groggy from his night watch, Lansius paused. “Felis? We barely know each other. Why do you ask?”

Anci stroked his chin. “Well, she’s not an ordinary girl, you know.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Forget it. I can always ask her myself.”

Lansius’s defiance made Anci laugh. Despite their differences, the two bonded easily. Anci, born Archibald, came from a family with a history of serving as squires. He told Lansius his grandfather had been a knight, but his father never earned the title. Anci himself barely made it as Sir Peter’s squire due to his imposing physique.

The sun continued to climb, but nobody entered or exited the manor. Nevertheless, the two continued their scouting mission. The area was remote, with only a handful of hamlets within a day’s journey, so the road was practically empty, with only the occasional birds flying and circling around.

Lansius fell asleep after breakfast while Anci kept watch for any signs of danger.

“Oi, oi . . .” called Anci.

Lansius wearily opened his eyes and crouched beside Anci. “What did you find?”

“A carriage.” Anci gestured in its direction.

Lansius looked toward the lone incoming carriage.

“Well?” Anci asked impatiently.

“Well, what? I don’t think that’s our reinforcement.”

Lansius had expected tens of men and several warhorses, especially considering the six gold coins he had given.

“Oh, that’s one of the slavers, all right.” Anci grinned wickedly.

Lansius squinted, trying to follow Anci’s train of thought. Meanwhile, Anci withdrew deeper inside their shelter and retrieved his broadsword.

“What are you going to do with that?

“Information gathering.” Anci laughed and strolled out in a relaxed manner.

“By the ageless.” Lansius scrambled to tie his sword to his belt, grabbed his bag, and hurriedly followed Anci. When he found him, Anci was already standing in the middle of the road, blocking the carriage. Though not particularly tall or big, he was muscular and as intimidating as a bear.

The two horse-drawn carriages stopped as they saw Anci blocking the road. The coachman looked at Anci wearily, and shouted, “What do you want?”

“Just some questions,” Anci said while shouldering his broadsword.

“Go on,” the coachman replied.

“Do you know anything about slave trade?”

Anci received no further answer. Three men descended from the carriage, weapons in hand. The burliest of them, clad in ring mail, led the assault.

“My, my, so impatient,” Anci jeered at them.

Anci stood defenseless as one of his attackers lunged at him. At the last possible moment, he executed a slash so swift it was almost invisible. The resulting clang echoed loudly through the air. The assailant’s grip wavered, and he only just managed to regain his balance when Anci launched into another swing with effortless precision.

The man attempted to parry, but he misjudged Anci’s speed. His blade failed to meet Anci’s, which landed with a faint metallic echo, followed by a dull thud. Anci’s broadsword had broken through the burly man’s upper arm bone and didn’t stop until it had cracked several ribs. Only a few rings of the man’s armor were damaged, but the impact sent him to the ground, gasping for breath.

The remaining two men were both terrified and enraged. They launched their attack in unison.

Anci managed to parry the attack from the slimmer assailant, but he intentionally engaged in a blade-lock with the larger man’s sword. Utilizing his strength, Anci wrestled and positioned the larger man in such a way that his back obstructed the slimmer man’s advance.

The larger man, confident in his superior strength, attempted to force Anci’s sword in his direction. Instead of further contesting the brute force, Anci cleverly redirected the man’s sword downward while delivering a swift knee kick to his groin. The move was executed so rapidly that the man could only gasp in surprise before his eyes rolled back, overcome by the sudden shock.

Without waiting for his final ally to crumple, the slimmer man launched a desperate attack. Anci blocked the thrust with a solid parry and deflected it aside. The man, seemingly blinded by desperation, attempted another strike. However, his stance was sloppy, his movements ill-coordinated. Anci’s heavier sword swung faster, its blade slicing through the man’s gambeson and burying itself into his right shoulder.

“I yield! I yield!” the slim man shrieked as he knelt with his right arm dangling. A deep gash and blood soaked his layered fabric armor and tunic.

Lansius was Anci’s backup, but he only stood in awe. He was glad that Anci was on his side.

Anci heard his opponent’s plea and snorted. “That’s why you should introduce yourself, so I’ll know whether to keep you for ransom or to end you.”

“Money, I have money, take it.” He scrambled for his money pouch with his left hand. “J-just let me live—”

A horse’s neigh alerted them.

“That can wait,” Anci said and then to Lansius he said, “Keep them down. I’ll be back soon.” He casually ran after the speeding carriage.

Lansius, with a drawn sword, watched over the man who sat on the ground whimpering from his injury. Lansius pitied the man. “Cut some of your cloth and press it on the wound. That’ll stop the bleeding. Otherwise, you’ll be going cold soon.”

The thin man nodded in fear and tore some of his cloth to dress the wound.

Meanwhile, Anci chased after the slowing carriage as it ascended the hill. He climbed from the back, and soon enough, the coachman flew overboard and tumbled onto the dirt road like a sack of wheat. He groaned loudly from his injuries, but Anci wasn’t feeling generous. He turned the carriage around and pursued the man until they came to a stop near Lansius.

The coachman collapsed to the ground with battered breath and bruises covering his body, pleading for mercy. “Please, forgive me. Do no more harm. No more,” he rambled.

“I know you,” Lansius said to the coachman, then turned to Anci. “He’s the one who tried to kidnap Felicity.”

“Please, have mercy. I won’t do it again,” the coachman begged.

“Oh, I’ll give you my mercy,” Anci declared as he jumped down from the carriage and held out a bloodied surcoat for Lansius to see.

Lansius recognized the heraldry of a river and a small castle. “Riverstead,” he exclaimed.

The coachman trembled with fear as he realized he was dealing with Arvenians.

“Lans, you better climb up. There are kids and women.”

Lansius hurried toward the crude-looking carriage and climbed up. Inside, he discovered scattered baskets of clothing, along with three frightened women hugging two children. He didn’t recognize any of their faces, but it did not matter. “Don’t be afraid. We’ll get you out of here.”

After midday, Anci and Lansius, with some help from the women and children, had pulled the carriage to the side and hidden it from sight. All of the captured men, fainted or not, were tied up. The burly man might not make it, but there was nothing they could do but turn him on his side so he wouldn’t drown in his own blood.

Just as they finished, the promised reinforcements arrived. Hugo led thirty men, most of whom were in their teens. They also had three warhorses and four additional horse-drawn carts.

Lansius informed them about what had happened, and they went to meet the coachman. The man confessed that he was a smuggler, who dealt with everything from contraband to slaves. Today, he was sending a fresh batch of slaves from Arvena.

Realizing his safety depended on cooperation, the coachman-smuggler glossed over his role in acquiring slaves from Arvena, focusing instead on details about the manor complex. “The Den is fortified. They have lots of men, a hundred, if not more.”

A hundred, no way . . .

That surprised everybody. Normally, a baronet could only muster a dozen men or two, while a knight would only have himself, his son, and his squire. Only a baron could command such a number.

However, Hugo didn’t let that fact bother him. “Why do you need to keep them there?”

The coachman looked like he might snigger at such a question, but Anci had slapped him once, which broke one of his front teeth and made his cheeks swell. “T-the slavers wanted to keep the price high. They keep the slaves there and only sell a few.”

“Isn’t slave trade legal? Why bother with hiding and smuggling?” Lansius found it hard to grasp.

“The goods bound to Feodosia are bad batches. The too old, too sick, crippled. They’re only good for the Eastern Kingdoms,” the man reluctantly explained. “The young, healthy, and those with skills, they command a high price. The purveyor will secure them before Feodosia’s slaver arrives.”

“And then sell them to who?” Hugo asked.

The man looked left and right before answering meekly, “Anyone with money. The barons, baronets, knights, even rich city folks.”

“In Midlandia?”

He nodded and added, “Also Rhomelia, Elandia, Nicopola . . .”

The smuggler’s answer triggered a murmur among the men. Many felt sickened that fellow Imperium subjects bought slaves.

“Lies! No men would take slaves under his household!” one of Hugo’s men said from behind, followed by a ruckus of support.

“The Eastern Kingdoms are human too, but they used slaves for everything,” the smuggler said and unintentionally silenced the place.

“All right, that’s enough. Anci, get the men to rest and arrange for scouts,” Hugo commanded.

Anci whistled and waved his hand. It was enough to direct the men outside.

At least they’re listening to command easily . . . but thirty against a hundred?

Lansius felt that victory was slipping away.

As the surrounding area was being emptied, Hugo asked the smuggler again, “Do you know anyone named Archie?”

“I never ask their names. It’s better that way . . . less guilt.”

Anci knelt beside the smuggler and whispered, “Try to remember.”

The man nodded fervently, out of fear. Hugo gave him Arte’s description, but the coachman shook his head.

“Are you the only one transporting slaves to this Den?” Lansius asked.

“Of course not. I’m merely a middleman. They got others as well.” Sensing the opportunity, he drove the point home. “I think your Archie friend must be with one of them.”

The interrogation gave no concrete evidence about the young lord’s whereabouts, but stopping wasn’t on their mind.

Hugo checked the knots on the man’s wrist, nodded to Anci, and strolled out. Afterward, Lansius approached the smuggler. “A female squire with fierce eyes. Have you seen one?”

The man hesitated for a moment. “I recall taking one into the Den, but she never opened her eyes.”

“What happened to her?” Lansius asked, his voice laced with a chilling edge.

The coachman swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously between Anci and Lansius. “I don’t know. She had a bandage wrapped around her head. The men carried her both in and out. That’s all I know.”

Lansius let out a weighted sigh, leaving the coachman behind as a flurry of mixed emotions began to consume him.

It could be her . . .

The decision to follow Felis’s lead was starting to appear more justified. Instead of wandering aimlessly in Feodosia, he found himself in a place where the prospect of rescuing his friend seemed abruptly within grasp.