B3 Chapter 11

Lucan rode at the head of a small procession beside Lord Ravencroft, Sir Wolfe, and Sir Upton. Their horses trotted in a tight pack a dozen paces ahead of their combined retinues.

With a measured voice, Lucan began, “It will be, perhaps, a month from now.”

“Discretion can be managed,” Lord Ravencroft said.

“It is a must,” Lucan said in a hushed tone. “There is an inherent uncertainty in the realm at a time like this. It cannot be known that I am absent from my estate. I will rely on your lordship to keep Sir Ward in check.” He turned to Sirs Wolfe and Upton. “And on you, Sirs, to come to my estate’s aid if necessary.”

“Of course.” “Of course.” The two knights answered without delay.

After a moment, Lord Ravecroft, too, nodded. “Fear not. My duties to our alliance are paramount. After the announcement, I will be more than properly justified to stand in your defense.”

“My Thanks, your lordship,” Lucan said. “I will also ask that you and Sir Wolfe arrange for my passage through your lands in the quietest manner manageable. Your subjects must not be apprised of my passage, for all it takes is a whisper. Our plans in the east must not be exposed until they are properly underway.”

“It shall be done,” Lord Ravencroft said. “How obliging do you believe the guilds will be?”

“Obliging enough if they intend to observe their interests,” Lucan said. “Their only concerns would be the expenses of such an undertaking and trust in the alliance’s stability.”

“But if it comes to be…” Sir Wolfe said.

“Yes, it will bring plenty of good to all of us,” Lucan said.

A thoughtful silence followed, and Lucan found himself musing over the latest happenings. The lords and knights had all agreed to begin rearing the appropriate number of birds that would be needed to maintain the alliance. All members would be sending their responses and announcements to the calls from the two warring northern factions. There would be no rise to their call, only neutrality. Not much else had been discussed; many of the matters left for later since the anxious lords wanted to rush back to their territories in this uncertain time.

Lucan’s thoughts turned to himself. Winter was upon him, and while he looked forward to the winter harvest, he did not neglect that his long-awaited twentieth had arrived. Twenty winters had passed since his birth, and here he was. He wondered if someday a chronicle would be written about him. Would he be remembered as an ambitious but ultimately failed noble? Or would he be the prodigy who died young? Perhaps no one would write a thing about him. Maybe he was being wishful, but he couldn’t help but ponder at times how history would remember him and whatever negligible change he would bring to the Elder Lands.

Regardless, he had matters to attend to and concerns to address. Every small step would matter in the coming times, for upheaval was fast approaching, and only the prepared would survive.

It wasn’t long before they crossed into the Zesh territory, and shortly after, his companions left him to head northeast towards their estates.

They exchanged polite farewells and promised to prepare together for what was to come before parting ways.

Lucan rode home with his betrothed and two men-at-arms, musing all the while that harvest was near. Had the realm been whole, it would have also been time to prepare a tribute for the king. Now that they were lords, they had different obligations to those they’d had when they were a knightly estate. A knight was expected to wager his life on his liege’s victory in battle, fighting with sword, tooth, and claw if necessary. For that, they received wealth in one form or another and a certain amount of esteem in noble courts.

A lord, on the other hand, was expected to provide men and support in times of war, and a yearly tribute in times of peace. Of course, now that the alliance was announcing neutrality, there was no king to be acknowledged, and hence, no royal treasury to which a tribute could be sent.

“You have done well, dear,” Lilian said after his brief silence.

“That is my hope,” Lucan said. The timber walls of Silvergate were slowly climbing in their sight. “And time shall be the judge of that.”

“Do you thi–” His betrothed paused as the town’s gate came within sight, along with the village of Twinstead, sprawling across the canal from it.

There, they saw wagons and carriages gathered, their animals feeding or grazing, whilst caretakers hovered around them. Merchants were not unexpected at a time like this, but they often came later, once harvest began. Perhaps some merchants were in a hurry to escape the conflict in the north and word had somehow spread? Lilian’s following words, however, quickly put that notion to rest.

“That is Ghafir speaking to one of the villagers. He is my father’s Tongue.”

“Tongue?” Lucan asked, turning to her with a raised brow.

“His foremost man. His trust in him is only second to his trust in my brother. This must be Father’s caravan.”

Surprised, Lucan turned his attention back towards the estate, scrutinizing the wagons. They appeared to, indeed, all be there together, which meant they were either one merchant’s property or several merchants’ travelling together in an orderly caravan.

They rode on, drawing closer to the town as Lucan pushed them into a canter. At the gate, they were met by two guardsmen who bowed to him before one of them bolted, likely to bring word to Thomas and Cordell.

They dismounted in the bailey, and Lucan led his betrothed up the pathway to the keep. There, they met Thomas at last, along with him were Cordell and Master Saltner. The steward and the man-at-arms bowed to him out of propriety in a guest’s presence, and his lawfather-to-be bowed his head slightly as well.

“You are a welcome sight, Master Saltner,” Lucan said. “It’s a pleasure to see your safe return.”

“The pleasure is mine, my lord,” Master Saltner grinned. Then he turned towards Lilian, extending his arms. “Daughter, it has been too long.”

Lilian accepted her father’s embrace, wrapping her arms around him, even if a bit rigidly. Done with that, the merchant stepped back and addressed Lucan again. “I will not hold you upon return from your journey, my lord. After you have rested properly, I would be grateful if you invited me and my son to your study.”

Son? Lucan thought, surprised. He knew that Lilian had an older brother, but he’d never met the man. He’d been on a mercantile trip somewhere west if he remembered right. Only then did he take note of the man standing behind Maris Saltner. His face bore a striking similarity to the old merchant, though he lacked a beard and a mustache, preferring to keep his face pristine. His hair was a deep dark that betrayed his father’s graying–and now balding–weave.

Perhaps seeing the confusion on his face, Maris Saltner gestured towards his son. “If I may bring before you my son, Bartram Saltner.”

The dark-haired man stepped forward, and Lucan could see him properly then. His look did not stray far from his age, though he might have looked a bit younger than he was. Lilian had told him that her brother would be seeing his thirtieth winter by now, and here he was.

“Lord Lucan,” Bartram Saltner said, bowing. “It is my honor to finally make your acquaintance.”

“And it is my pleasure to make yours,” Lucan said with a smile, gripping the man’s arm in greeting.

“We must hold you no longer,” Master Saltner said. “Though I will ask that you let me speak to my daughter.” He smiled humorously.

“Of course, Master Saltner.”

Naturally, Lucan did not rest. He arrived at his study at once, followed by his aides.

“How is Father?” Lucan asked first and foremost.

“He is well,” Cordell answered. “Aldous tells me he has not missed a spar yet.”

“Good,” Lucan said as he took his seat behind the writing table. “Now, to other matters. Has there been word?” He looked at Thomas.

With a long face, the steward answered, “A missive from your uncle said that they were too indebted to Duke Elmere to withdraw from his ranks.”

“Too close, too,” Cordell added. “It would be difficult to avoid the conflict when they’re close to all the warring vassals.”

Lucan frowned. He hadn’t believed it likely that his uncle and Winton would join the fold, considering everything so far, but he’d held some hope. Before he could think further on the matter, Thomas continued.

“The response from Epiza was not much different. Lord Serys affirms that he would have wished to join our ranks but that he is beholden to Duke Elmere for aiding him in recovering his estate. The lord, however, spoke of his nearness to Duke Elmere openly in his letter. It would imperil him to turn his back on the man at a time like this.”

Lucan nodded slowly. It was within expectations. He’d hoped he could bring a lord indebted to him into the alliance, even if it was too distant. In truth, it would have pulled their alliance too far and wide had they succeeded in recruiting the two lords, and it might have dragged them into conflict. Perhaps it was for the best that it would not happen.

He mused, however, that the nearby Sir Ryder seemed comfortable in his neutrality so far. Perhaps he would use his vicinity to maintain this neutrality, staying out of the conflict at their expense without taking on any of the alliance’s duties. Lucan was no expert judge of character, but he’d seen enough of the man to know that it would fit his.

Regardless, he would think on this matter later. For now, he had guests to entertain and more. He nodded at Thomas. “Send for Master Saltner and his son.”

Shortly after, the merchant and his son stepped into the study to find him flanked by his two aides. Lucan gestured at two chairs set for them across his writing table, and the two men obliged, taking their seats.

“I presume there is a matter of import you wish to discuss, Master Saltner?”

“Indeed.” The man smiled. “It is about time your union with Lilian is sealed, my lord.”