CHAPTER 265: DEMONS

Demons

Canardia Castle

The five guardsmen’s roar of celebration echoed through the vast Great Hall, their voices raw and unbridled, ringing with gladness and triumph. Lansius saw the joyous expressions on the faces of others in the chamber, including the maids and servants. Their expression confirmed Audrey's words: a male heir had indeed been born to their House of Blue and Bronze. Their nascent House, the Shogunate it led, and the legacy of their hard-fought victories were now firmly secured.

In the center of the jubilation, Lansius stood unmoved, watching Audrey with every fiber of his being.

"Yes," Audrey finally confirmed, a faint pout on her lips. "It's a healthy baby boy. I counted his fingers myself."

The guards let out another cheer, more subdued but just as joyful.

Watching them, Audrey remarked, "Judging from the men's reaction, it seems I worried over nothing." Still, her eyes lingered on their stained armor.

Behind her, the maids exhaled heavily. A few even rolled their eyes.

The maids will tell everyone. It's best to start here and control the rumors.

"No, you had the right hunch," Lansius replied, drawing everyone's attention. "I lost it."

His words silenced the hall and made the air heavy. Many of the girls and women who had just exhaled now gasped, wide-eyed. Only Audrey’s eyes remained steady.

"Well, you didn't even take the castle garrison with you, so of course you lacked the numbers. How damaged is the city garrison?"

"I managed to retreat in good order."

"Are we in the middle of another military action?" she asked again, unfazed by the word retreat. "If we are, I’ll call a council. We can take two hundred from the city and fifty from the castle who can ride."

Lansius pondered briefly, then shook his head. "No need. The situation is still dangerous, but we're in good shape. I've sprung the trap."

Only then did Audrey exhale and mutter, "You're a father now. Don't do reckless things without me."

"I won't," Lansius reassured her, letting out a faint smile.

Returning to the subject, Audrey asked, "Is Canardia under siege?"

"Yes, but Dietrich and the vanguard should arrive in two days."

"Then that should settle it," Audrey said, confident in the strength of the defensive walls. She extended her hand.

Lansius glanced at his palm and replied, "I'm filthy like this."

Audrey turned to the crowd behind her and ordered, "Margo, hot bath."

"Not in our quarters," Lansius said to the squire. "I'll take it in one of the guest chambers."

Margo bowed and quickly left, a maid and a servant following close behind.

"Come," Audrey said, and the two walked together as the castle staff stood respectfully as they walked by.

Behind them, the five weary guards were finally relieved as the Lady's men took over.

Lansius moved along the line of ladies and maids when his gaze found Valerie's. A silent acknowledgment passed between them. Her warm eyes offered reassurance that the labor had progressed without issue. Ingrid's calm expression also told him all was well, and he felt a wave of relief. Next, he spotted Claire.

"Claire," he called, stopping. The mage in training and lady-in-waiting, curtsied.

"My Lord," she answered gracefully, her long blond hair shimmering even under a dim chandelier.

"Can you arrange for one of the physicians tied to the military? I want one of Francisca’s kin to smuggle him to the western camp."

"Yes, My Lord."

Lansius forced himself to look away, knowing it would be unwise to tell her he had left before seeing Sterling return with the cavalry.

She didn’t need to worry.

Prompted by the need to keep information flowing, Lansius searched the chamber and spotted a knight in full armor surrounded by his staff. "Sir Omin," he called out.

"My Lord." The former lord and enemy approached at once.

Lansius noted his pale visage and the eyes of an intellectual, much like his own, but with a warm thin smile that concealed ambition. He needed capable men, someone who could read schemes and was well-versed in the intricacies of plots and noble intrigues. And he was glad this one was a family, his fate tightly bound to the House. "Make sure the signal exchange between us and the camp runs all night. I want regular reports by the hour. List what help, critical supplies, or medicine they need. Make sure the news finds me."

"Understood," Sir Omin replied.

"And keep watch on the South and East gates. Big Ben and Reginald are heading that way."

Several brows furrowed at the name. "Reginald, My Lord?" Sir Omin asked.

"Yes, he correctly deduced the crisis from his post and managed to make himself useful," Lansius explained. "He should return with a captured man, someone who will talk about who’s behind this rebellion."

"Then I will make the proper preparations," Sir Omin said, his confidence easing some of the lingering concern and nervousness among the staff.

Lansius turned to Audrey's mentor. "Lady Ingrid, may I trouble you to assist Sir Omin? I want full knowledge. I don't intend to fight blindly."

"I shall make myself useful," Ingrid declared.

With nothing else on his mind, Lansius turned to Audrey. Without another word, the two walked toward the guest chamber, their small entourage trailing behind.

"Have you eaten?" Audrey asked as they walked through the corridor.

"I ate before I set out."

"Do you need company?"

"Not really..."

"Too bad," she said with a sideways glance. "You're stuck with me."

Lansius let out a weary frown. "You're going to wait while I bathe?"

"Yes. You can't hide that dent on your pauldron, and the way you swing your arms is telling."

Lansius snorted softly, knowing he couldn't hide anything from those fierce eyes of hers.

If she’d been there, I probably wouldn’t have lost.

"It must have been a tiresome fight," Audrey said, her concern showing in her eyes at his lack of reaction.

"Indeed."

"Don’t worry. I’ll ride with you tomorrow to settle this if need be. But right now, you should get some rest." There was a reassuring confidence and warmth in her voice. Lansius could already see she had regained most of her physique.

As they talked, they passed through a low stone arch at the end of the corridor and reached the rarely used guest chamber. Another more comfortable chamber was used exclusively by Valerie.

The rest of the entourage, consisting of two guards, a page, and a maid, waited outside while Lansius and Audrey entered. Inside, Margo was already waiting, his aides having brought in a wooden tub. Even in a large castle like Canardia, space was at a premium. This guest room, though, had a separate area that could be used for bathing using a portable tub. Only the grandest castles like Cascasonne had plumbing. Everywhere else still relied on buckets. Soon, a bucket brigade of off-duty kitchen staff and servants would be hauling water up from the kitchen and the cistern.

While waiting for hot water, Lansius stood in the center and let Margo unfasten his armor, starting with the armlet, then the gorget, pauldron, and breastplate.

Once the pauldron was removed, Audrey looked intently at his shoulder. "The bolt penetrated," she muttered grimly. "I'm going to turn that man into a candle."

"The slingers and Francisca already took care of him."

"Good," she muttered. "But since it's a rebellion, there will be others responsible."

"Certainly, but we must handle it properly. If not, popular support for our rule will fall," Lansius said, still standing as Margo unfastened the rest of his armor. Finding the topic unpleasant, he changed course. "So, what color is the baby's hair?"

It took several seconds before she replied, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. "Well, what do you think?"

"I hope it's not black," Lansius replied playfully.

The new mother smiled proudly, like a baker hearing praise for her bread. "They're brown. Both the eyes and the hair."

Lansius let out a sigh of relief. At least his son would face no discrimination. He glanced at Audrey, who now looked smug and proud, and said, "My apologies for not being there during your labor."

"Don't worry, it was easy," she boasted.

Yet Lansius noticed Margo’s eyes widened briefly, staring blankly as if recalling something dreadful. Lansius was curious, but now wasn’t the time to press. Meeting Audrey's eyes, he asked, "Are you really fine now?"

"I’m wearing a linen corset and some other bindings, but nothing serious."

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"No lingering pain?"

"Just a little. Nothing that will affect me," she said lightly.

"Really...?" Lansius asked again, knowing she prided herself as a shield maiden and likely refused to admit pain or discomfort.

Audrey flashed him a mischievous look. "Wanna test me?"

Too tired from battle, and too happy for the baby and for her, he refrained from a verbal riposte. "No, dear. I'm spent."

Margo finished with the armor and Audrey turned to him. "Get my physician. He should still be awake. And bring that hot water."

"Yes, My Lady." The squire left, closing the door behind him.

Lansius sank into a solid but exquisitely carved wooden chair and drew a long, heavy breath. His whole body ached. The borrowed armor wasn't made for him, and the strain from using the gemstone had left him exhausted in an unpleasant way.

With the two of them alone, he asked, "Drey, why are you wearing that? If you're going after me, shouldn't you be in armor?"

"The armor won't fit," she replied flatly.

"The stomach, huh..."

"No," she replied.

"Then?" He looked up, caught sight of the true reason, and swallowed dryly. "Never mind. Have you started lactating?"

"Yes. He drinks plenty," she said with genuine affection, even excitement. "He'll grow fast. I can't wait for him to walk so I can teach him swordsmanship."

Memories of his brutal training flashed through Lansius' mind. "Wait, I think he should learn from a master swordsman."

"Why?" she asked with a sharp gaze.

He quickly offered the first excuse he could think of. "You'll be busy by my side, yes?"

"Ah, indeed. Then, let's do that. I can always test him myself, gently of course, just like I did with you."

Lansius went a shade paler, hoping his son would be a better swordsman than he was. Still mindful of her nursing, he warned, "Drey, you need to let it out as much as possible, or it'll get blocked and start hurting."

"Yes, the old nanny has told me. But how do you know?" Her tone was curious.

"It's part of medicinal knowledge," he answered lightly.

Audrey nodded, then asked, "What should you name him? Last time, you mentioned naming him after the late Sir Callahan."

Lansius glanced at the lantern on the table, its light mingling with the glow from the chandelier above. "I did say that, but his death is still heavy on me. How about a version of his name?"

"Sure. What would it be?" she asked.

"Mm," he mumbled. "Either Galahad, Calahad, or Galahan. Do you like the sound of any of those?"

She considered it. "Do they mean anything?"

"It's the name of a perfect knight where I come from. It means the falcon of summer."

Audrey’s wide smile settled it. "You’ll have to tell me that knight’s story because I haven’t heard it."

Lansius was caught off guard. He wasn’t as well versed in Arthurian legend as he would have liked, finding most of it an ahistorical retelling with little sense of real battle. Still, he knew enough, and Valerie might be able to help. "Yes. It’ll be a good story for our son."

...

It was quiet inside the guest chamber where Lansius bathed, scrubbing himself clean of battle’s remains. With both hands, he scooped hot water onto his face again and again. As his eyelids closed, his mind flashed back to the chaos and violence still fresh in his memory. He paid those visions little heed, knowing he fought for a good cause, ultimately for his men and all his subjects.

He would likely face nightmares for days to come, but he would overcome them as he always had. There was little guilt. If it was against his enemy, even his usually compassionate emotions went cold.

Another scoop of water splashed into his face. Another flash of the brutal fight. His eyelids opened and he was back in his bathtub.

Lansius stared at the steamy water, enjoying the heat that rejuvenated his tired body.

A few moments ago, Audrey had left. Tanya had come searching for her, as the baby needed his mother’s milk. Fortunately, Tanya hadn’t seen him in that blood-soaked armor. It might have been too much for her.

"Do you still have hot water left?" Lansius asked Margo, the only one who accompanied him inside.

"Yes, I still have another," the squire replied readily, his voice still sounding unbroken as he gently poured in more.

The water was nearly scalding, but Lansius wanted to rid himself of every trace of muck and grime. He feared carrying disease to his newborn, and part of him craved a sense of purification after the bloodshed.

He lathered himself with a light green bar of hard soap, made from vegetable oil and lye, much like castile soap, to make sure he cleaned everything.

A fresh mark showed on his right shoulder, the skin seared where a crossbow bolt had grazed him. The physician had checked the wound and found it clean, with no tip lodged inside. They had washed it and applied ointment just in case. It didn’t trouble Lansius, who guessed it had mostly healed thanks to the gemstone’s healing effect.

Margo had poured in all the hot water from his bucket and was now adding some aromatic herbs.

Lansius felt a pang of guilt for enjoying such a luxurious bath while his men were in a worse condition out in the camp. "Any new reports yet?" he asked.

"I'll see to it, My Lord," Margo replied, then went to the door and spoke with the guards outside.

The squire returned shortly. "There is none, My Lord. Just the first one."

Lansius inhaled deeply and rested his head against the thick canvas lining the large, circular wooden tub. The last report said Francisca and her men had returned safely within the fortified walls. The half-breed would remain there in case the rebels tried anything, but it seemed even the rebels had seen enough blood and had mostly disappeared from the surrounding area.

Francisca’s kin had left the castle, carrying a physician on her back. Lansius was reluctant to risk moving the last half-breed, who was responsible for Tanya, Arryn, and the castle’s security, but he would do it for the sake of his wounded men at the hill camp. Claire had joined them, wanting to wait for Sterling and use her healing to help the most critical cases.

Finally, Big Ben and Reginald had entered the city, and soon they would begin interrogations.

It seemed everything was under control. Only two matters remained: instructions for the Orange Skads and the whereabouts of his riders.

Camp Commander Karl, where have you taken my horsemen...

Still, Lansius knew that whatever Karl did, along with Dame Daniella and Sterling, it had to be for a strong reason.

He exhaled and shifted in the tub. Through the rising steam, he spotted Margo gathering the buckets and piling them up, sleeves rolled high, revealing a set of toned arms. "You’ve been training well."

Margo looked surprised by the comment and replied sheepishly, "Yes, Lady Audrey told me to excel at sword fighting since danger could come from anywhere, and I would be the House members' last line of defense."

Lansius snorted softly, pleased. "Do it in moderation. I don't want you getting hurt."

Margo smiled, and Lansius couldn't help but notice that the boy’s face still had no hint of manhood. To anyone who didn’t know Margo, he might have seemed a young woman. Still, Lansius wouldn’t change his posting. Margo was good at his job, and to move him to another position just because of his appearance would be cruel and unjust.

Probably prompted by the question, Margo asked, "My Lord, the other staff wanted me to ask what should be done with the armor you wore."

Lansius, unsure where this was going, replied, "What do they mean? Is there anything to do besides cleaning it?"

"Some say they want to preserve it as proof of your valor. The troops might use parts of it for their standard. Since it isn’t your main armor, it would be well suited for that."

"A symbol, huh..." Lansius mused.

An object like a relic or some sort. Indeed, it would be powerful, but that only happens in a cult.

He frowned, his gaze drifting, pondering whether there was a cult going on in his House.

"Whatever the suggestion, it needs to be cleaned thoroughly first. Boil it if you must. Blood carries disease, and we all should take precautions." Lansius gave his answer.

"Understood, My Lord."

But then something came to mind. "No, wait. It might have some use..."

"My Lord?" Margo asked, seeking confirmation.

"I've changed my mind," Lansius declared. "Leave them as they are. Keep them dirty. I'll have the chief bailiff collect them as is. They could use a symbol as they start working on a purge."

***

Fields next to the Arena

Moments before Lansius' retreat.

Emerging from the darkened ground where the white light could not reach, sixty riders thundered across the plains. The horses were now rested, having drunk from their riders’ own waterskins. It hadn’t fully sated them, but they were in far better condition. Ahead, the rebels marched in a disorganized mass, carelessly making a beeline for the hill camp.

Aided by the white light, now under rebel control but ironically guiding them, the riders closed in on the rebels. Earlier, they had conserved their strength by avoiding melee as ordered, but now there was no reason to hold back.

"Gentlemen, shed all your doubts. They don’t even fit in a dungeon. Give them all deaths!" Karl, the camp commander, gave the order, and Sterling gladly followed.

"Deaths!" his riders roared. With bows and curved blades, the dozen nomad riders at the front led the charge, carving a bloodied path through the stunned rebels.

It was a merciless slaughter. More than a hundred rebels were killed or trampled by sixty riders. The rest scattered, fleeing in terror down the road.

In sheer desperation, some tried to organize a defense, but all they found was swift death as the cavalry swept past with blades at their throats. A rider on horseback could easily slay even an armored man by sheer weight and momentum.

Yet the rebels were lucky. The riders were pressed for time, having heard the cornu signal and knowing exactly what it meant.

"Don’t waste time hunting them down. Go! Go to where the Lord’s banner is!" the camp commander shouted.

As fearsome as they were, the riders were running on their last breath, their only aim to reach the hill camp. The sixty riders spurred their horses again and thundered toward the hill camp, but soon found a much larger rebel force blocking the way.

Sterling looked to Karl, who gave a sharp nod. They would not be stalled, not when their Lord demanded it, and not when they had the means to break through.

The rebels numbered a thousand, marching in several long, silent columns. Unlike the reckless youths sent earlier, these were older men, wearied by the march from the northern farms and then across the fields by the arena. Still, the rebel command had sent nearly everyone to overwhelm the Lord’s position and ensure victory.

But terror struck at their rear. With a murderous charge, the Lord's cavalry fell upon them.

Sixty riders slammed into a thousand. Panic seized the rebels, who gasped in horror and broke, unable to comprehend an enemy at their back, let alone brandish spears in defense.

"It's a trap!" someone shouted, adding to the confusion.

And worse for the rebels, these riders were no ordinary men. They were veterans, each personally invested in the fight. Many were Korelia light riders, fiercely loyal to the Lady of Korimor. Tonight, they were fiercer than ever, rage burning in every stroke. The treachery that kept the Lord from his Lady during her first labor had turned them savage.

Driven by unbridled hate, the cavalry charged fast and hard, cutting through the mass of rebels trying to escape. In the span of ten breaths, muffled gasps rose as arrows pierced flesh. Screams followed as rebels watched their comrades’ heads split open by savage sword blows. In another place, several men were crushed beneath the pounding hooves of charging horses.

Amid a cacophony of screams, the neighing of warhorses, and spreading panic, the attack dissolved into pure carnage.

Karl went straight down the road, wasting no time in bloodlust. He let his blade feast only on those who drew near, guiding his horse as gently as he could, hoping she would have enough stamina to go on.

In front, his riders fought hard. Sterling and the nomads were inspiring, battering a path through their enemies in the dim light. But as time passed, Karl realized they had badly underestimated both the enemy and themselves. They could cut down hundreds, but not a thousand.

"It's too much," Karl grumbled, urging his horse to find a burst of speed and catch up to Sterling.

Amid the carnage, six rebels closed in from the side, their eyes wild and fanatical, thrusting spears at him and his men. Gritting his teeth, Karl drew his slim cranequin from its leather scabbard and took the nearest one down. His squire intervened from behind, driving a long spear through another. The rest of the rebels faltered and disappeared into the night.

Karl tucked his blade under his arm as he reloaded his cranequin. His horse managed to catch up to the front, and he called out, "Sterling!"

The squire was caught in the fighting and didn’t hear him.

Karl set his loaded cranequin back in its leather scabbard and drew his sword again, pushing his horse a bit harder. "Sterling!"

This time, the squire turned just as Karl caught his arm with his left hand. "We have to flee."

"Flee? But the Lord is still out there!" Stubbornness filled Sterling’s voice.

"I know, but the Lord wouldn't want us and the cavalry to perish. Think not just as a cavalier, but as a leader of men. Think what it would cost the House. More than sixty riders are still with us." Seeing Sterling waver, Karl pressed on. "We have loyal men and prized warhorses. Do you think the Lord wants you to throw your life away? To attack in vain and die? I don't think so."

Valiant as he was and always loyal to Lord Lansius, Sterling hadn't yet developed an eye for strategy. "Then what do you propose?"

"Halt the attack. Look at your horses. We've done all we can. We have blunted the rebels' reinforcements. To do more would be the death of the horses."

Only now did Sterling realize the rough breathing and panting of his horse. Despite their courage and skills, it was still a thousand against sixty pairs of worn-down horses and riders.

Karl turned to his squire. "Get the nomads to cover our retreat. Their horses have more stamina than ours."

"Yes, commander." The squire nodded and urged his horse faster.

But at that moment, a fresh column surged in from the side, voices raised in loud clamor and frantic chanting.

"Fanatics," Karl muttered, drawing his cranequin again.

Soon, the sixty were engulfed in a counterattack. Fanatics mixed among the rebels, unafraid to die, hurling themselves at the moving warhorses with nothing but short spears or even a common knife.

Karl’s horse took a graze from a spear, and he himself caught a shallow strike from a bardiche, but he pressed on, now leading his riders in a desperate bid to escape. Sterling had taken a heavy blow to his side, almost falling if not for his trained horse’s quick reaction. Amid the chaos, more rebels poured in seemingly from every side.

A nomad pulled up beside Karl. "Too many. We can't break north," he said in a thick Lowlandian accent, sweat and blood smeared across his face. "We must go elsewhere."

"Can't go east," his squire warned, pointing at the regrouping fanatics on their flank.

"We can't turn back. The main enemy is behind us," called a rider from the rear.

They were caught in the rebels' grand movement and soon to be overwhelmed.

But another force was at play. From the direction of the arena, twenty-nine pairs of eyes glowed. Eyes that pierced the darkness.

***