Chapter 268: Canardia Under Siege

Chapter 268: Canardia Under Siege

Canardia Under Siege

The Previous Night

The chill air in the corridor did not bother the master of Canardia Castle as he walked across newly laid rush mats. They cushioned his steps, muffled his passage, and offered some warmth against the stone. Herbs woven among the rushes gave off a gentle fragrance and kept insects at bay. These new mats were clearly for the benefit of his newborn, and Lansius was grateful that the castle staff had managed this despite the war outside. Led by Margo and the SAR guards, and followed by a small entourage, Lansius strode toward his private quarters.

He wore fresh clothes after a hot bath that finally left him feeling clean and refreshed. Yet Lansius could not hide his sullen, reddened eyes, which showed the cost of the battles he had fought. He knew he was lucky to escape the rebellion’s four night battles with what he could call only minor injuries. This proved his garrison was kept in peak condition, and their armaments that he had borrowed himself were indeed of superior craftsmanship.

Tonight, their steps were a bit quicker than usual, as Lansius’ urgency and impatience were easy to see.

And indeed, his heart fluttered with anticipation.

Audrey, with a baby.

Her son.

Our son.

As Lansius ascended the stone stairs into the private hall where his family resided, it struck him for the first time: a baby’s cries. He stopped in his tracks. His entourage let out faint smiles; some of the younger ones had tears in their eyes. Even if they did not fully understand, they knew they were witnessing a moment of history they would remember for the rest of their lives.

The cries that echoed off the plastered white stone walls were strong, awakening something within him that called him to act. It was the rawest form of distress. A plea for help. A call to attention.

His already hurried steps grew faster. He nearly ran the rest of the way as the door guards opened the entrance to his private hall.

There, Lansius saw Audrey with the baby in her arms, trying to console him and coax him to stop crying. She had never been this gentle with anything but her horses, and that made Lansius breathe a sigh of relief. A little worry that this shield-maiden would treat their child as roughly as she treated him turned out to be unfounded.

"Lansius," Mother Arryn spoke first, prompting him to turn and see her, Tanya, and Valerie rising from their seats.

Upon hearing the Lord’s name without honorifics, the entourage pretended not to notice. They knew better than to cause a scene. After all, they were in the innermost hall reserved for family, and this night was special.

Margo saw that his service would not be needed and did not enter. Instead, he closed the door to give the family privacy. He sat on a bench outside, taking turns to rest with the other squire and pages, while the guards kept watch and patrolled the area. For many, the night’s vigil had only just begun.

Inside the hall, Lansius let out a rather awkward smile to his family. Arryn stepped forward and hugged him, tears filling her eyes. To her, the boy was her grandchild. 𝑅άƝƟВĘ𝐬

"Congratulations, it's a healthy boy," she said, her voice trembling with emotion, unable to say more or bring up about the rebellion outside.

"Mother..." Lansius replied to the woman who had cared for him when he was nothing but a lost man. He saw Tanya, who could barely hide her grin. She likely would have babbled about her time with the baby if not for Valerie standing beside her.

"My Lord," Valerie greeted him with a warm smile.

"Val," he answered.

"Congratulations. You've come far in this life."

Her words carried a weight that was not lost on him, and Lansius couldn’t help but let out a genuine smile. He breathed deeply. Indeed, he had reached a milestone he never dreamed possible.

"Lans, Lans," Audrey whispered as she brought the baby into his view. By now, she had managed to calm the baby, rocking him gently.

"It stopped," Tanya whispered, almost giddy.

Meanwhile, Lansius saw the boy for the first time. Wrapped in soft linen to keep him warm, the baby’s fine hair was unmistakably light brown, unlike his own. The boy's face was strikingly handsome in a way which was only to be expected since his mother possessed a beauty he rarely saw, even among the noble ladies of his growing court.

As if reading his thoughts, Audrey whispered, "I might be only a squire, but I have Centurian blood in me, and now it’s passed on to him."

"Brother, carry him," Tanya said, unusually excited.

"What?" He turned toward her, amused. "No way, I’ve never done that."

"It's easy," she insisted, beaming.

"He's sleeping. Let him be for now," Mother Arryn interjected. Then, to Audrey, she said, "Are you feeling tired, My Lady? You’ve already fed him. I can take him for a few hours so you can rest, until the little one is hungry again."

Audrey turned her soft gaze to Lansius and asked, "Do you need anything specific?"

Uncertain, Lansius shook his head. "No. I'll do whatever you want."

She brightened. "Then let's have Mother and Tanya sleep over here tonight. I'll probably need help. And also Valerie."

Lansius didn't mind, but he glanced toward Valerie and met her eyes. He could see she was uncertain as well.

"She's also family, you know," Audrey added after noticing their hesitation.

"I don't mind," Lansius said, too tired to think further.

"Unless you're tired," Audrey said to Valerie, who shook her head.

"No, I'm fine. You have a newborn, and I want to help you. Although I'm not sure if you should be asking me instead of Lady Arryn or the old nanny."

"I need you," Audrey replied. "There are things you seem to know better than even the old nanny."

Lansius nodded. The Frenchwoman indeed possessed a modern view on motherhood and childcare. And as women, they could discuss matters Audrey would never bring up with him.

With that settled, Lansius turned his attention back to the boy. He couldn't see the child's eyes, as they were closed in sleep, but he took in the small arms and delicate fingers. The skin was soft, smooth, and unblemished.

As if sensing his gaze or lost in a dream, the boy shifted, curling up for a moment before settling back into his light slumber.

It was so endearing that all the women smiled as they watched him.

Oh, unlike me, boy, you're going to be a lady killer.

"You'd better get some sleep," Mother Arryn said to the new parents. "The night is long and the baby will need plenty of nursing."

"Let me try this once, and when I give up, I'll be sure to bring him to you, Mother," Audrey said to Arryn with such ease and warmth that it felt as if they had been family for a long time.

Mother Arryn simply nodded and couldn't resist softly patting the child's thigh.

Audrey turned to Lansius. "Come, help me with him. I'm going to put him in bed."

Lansius nodded and strode forward to open the door, letting Audrey enter first with the little one.

Before he stepped inside, she glanced back at the three women. Valerie noticed his gaze and said, "Don't worry about us. The daybed is nicely cushioned; it shouldn't be a problem."

With that, Lansius entered and saw Audrey gently, with a bit of practiced grace, place the baby into the freshly cleaned bed. Not only the bedding, but everything in the chamber was spotless. Even the stones looked polished, covered by fresh rush mats mixed with herbs to keep insects at bay. Pots of blooming lavender near the window filled the room with a soothing fragrance.

He noticed the furniture and wood beams had a fresh thin coat of oil, another effort to ward off pests. Nearby, a baby's bed was ready if needed, its wooden base curved like a rocking horse.

The preparation was nothing short of meticulous. Whoever organized all this deserved praise and a bonus.

"Why are you standing there? Come on, don't you want to see your baby up close?" Audrey called as she slid into bed, covering the baby in the middle with a thin blanket.

Lansius snorted softly. He removed his doublet and shoes, and in just his tunic and braies, slid into bed beside the baby. The child’s scent, fresh from his first bath, was sweet and new. Lansius reached out, touching him as gently as he dared. The baby responded with a shrug, his expression bothered. Suddenly, the baby pouted, and Lansius, unable to hold back, buried his face in the pillow to stifle his laughter.

"What?" Audrey asked, watching him with amusement.

There was no doubt. The boy was his mother's son. That pout was unmistakable.

For Lansius, the day that began in blood miraculously ended in the warm embrace of his family. He prayed his sleep would be free of torment, not wanting to wake the delicate creature lying beside him.

***

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Canardia

The sun rises to its zenith inside the besieged city, with little but fear on the streets and only the most basic, thankless work carried out by the hardiest laborers, while rumors and gossip move from mouth to mouth. More and more information trickled in from various sources, often from individuals who claimed to have witnessed the night’s events and spun tales around their observations. Arguments frequently broke out as people debated what had truly happened outside the walls. But as midday passed, the city’s thirst for truth was finally answered.

The castle gates burst open, and the riders emerged, clad in gallant armor and raiment, barely cleaned and still bearing the scars of last night’s battles. They arrived in groups to celebrate their hard-won victories. For them, this was a rare respite before heading to the western gatehouse for garrison duty. With their aides tending to the horses outside in the street, drawing a crowd of onlookers, they entered inns and taverns in search of food and drink to their heart's content. From these riders, the gathering citizens first heard the astonishing news of the Lord’s son’s birth.

Gasps and excited murmurs followed as the story spread through the town. Soon, a crowd gathered at the castle gate, eager to hear more or perhaps catch a glimpse of the newborn under the sky’s first light. This changed the gloomy city into one filled with hope and even merriment.

Meanwhile, those more concerned with the war gathered around the cavalrymen in the inns and taverns. The men gladly shared their tales over bread, ale, and the focused stares of everyone nearby. Many among them were educated and told their stories with authority, confidence, and even theatrical flair. Amid the captivated crowd, they recounted the saga of six hundred men, the betrayal of thirty thousand, the four horrific night battles, the Lord’s brilliance in securing victories against the odds, and their timely escape from a gargantuan rebel army.

Prompted by the new stories, every place the riders visited was quickly swarmed by people eager to learn about the situation outside. To the besieged citizens, even mundane information was treated as a great revelation. They listened hungrily to the details of the four separate battles and what the Lord had done to lead them to victory. The stories greatly astonished them.

However, not all took their claims of greatness at face value.

One Midlandian elder spoke up. "Gentlemen, what you’ve told us is undoubtedly a story worthy to be written in the great books of deeds. However, my years have taught me caution, and I find myself struggling to believe."

"The truth of our stories can be easily proven," one cavalryman replied confidently.

"It is reassuring to see your confidence," the elder responded.

The cavalryman turned his gaze toward the crowd. "As soon as the siege is over, anyone willing to do the dirty work can verify our claims for themselves. There will be fields of bodies. I'd say the city will need at least three new burial sites."

The answer was grim, but it carried a simple, satisfying explanation that dispelled many doubts. Indeed, the bodies in the field would be the ultimate evidence of the failed rebellion and the Lord's triumph against the odds.

Thus, their stories continued, interrupted only by gasps as each tale of battle built toward another hard-won victory. But the true jewel came at the very end, the part that drew the most awe and disbelief: the tale of the great duck cavalry.

The story of the race ducks, taken by the rebels along with the arena, and with a few slaughtered by the Saint Followers before they found their place among the Lord's men, captured the crowd's imagination. Just as witnesses had claimed, the giant ducks had truly taken part in last night's chaos.

Now, the cavalrymen's account confirmed the rumors told by those who saw the great beasts thundering through the streets at night with the light cavalry, all heading for the castle. Some had even seen them up close from their windows, noting the blood on their beaks, feathers, and feet.

"Is it true that the race ducks joined the fight?" another guest at the inn asked.

"Joined?" The cavalryman snorted and turned to his brothers, who looked equally amused.

The stoutest among them replied, "The ducks didn't just join. They saved us all. If not for them, many would have surely perished at the hands of the treacherous Saint's men."

At this, the crowd grew boisterous. From there, word spread rapidly about the giant ducks and their role in the battle. The Canardians were not only relieved that the creatures had survived, but proud that they had earned valor and recognition.

"The myth and legend were true," many commented as the stories spread.

Since before the time of the Imperium, giant ducks had held a special place in Canardian hearts. Inspired by tales of a hero and his duck, many brave men bred these flightless birds in hopes of raising one that could bear a human rider. Yet not even the local knights dared to mount them. The last attempt had been centuries ago, and only as a spectacle. But now, the legend of the Grand Progenitor riding a duck and battling fell beasts felt closer to reality than ever before.

There, in a secluded corner of the inn, the Orange Skalds, clad in scholar’s robes, watched the events unfold with quiet satisfaction. They knew the House of Blue and Bronze needed to win the people’s hearts, or failing that, make the people fear the Lord enough to keep them from supporting the ongoing rebellion.

"Bald man, about thirty, athletic, standing behind the last row," one whispered calmly to his assistant, who stole a glance in that direction.

"He looks like the baker’s apprentice from market street. Or maybe a new peddler," his assistant murmured, looking every bit the young scholar.

The third man, shorter and looking like he worked odd jobs, complete with a stained laborer's tunic, quietly rose. He spotted the man and didn’t like his eyes either. It was easy to pick out those who disliked the news of the Lord’s victory. Without losing sight of him, he whispered, "New face. I'll shadow him."

The Orange Skalds stayed vigilant, knowing rebel infiltrators still lurked in Canardia. With the Lord inside, they dared not act openly, but an arson would be easy and could shatter the citizens’ morale.

Within the hour, the cavalrymen had left the premises to report to their posts. Now the real discussion could begin. Across the city, elders, influential business owners, and guild members gathered for impromptu talks.

The two scholars attended one of the meetings but mostly kept silent, which wasn’t difficult, as everyone present treated the discussion like an arena to display their influence in the community. Due to the last war and how the former Lord Reginald had enjoyed almost fanatical support from the educated class, the two scholars were seen as the furthest from the current Lord’s usual supporters, so nobody regarded them with suspicion. Moreover, they weren’t tanned like the Lowlandians and spoke with a Midlandian accent.

From there, the two Orange Skalds heard directly what the community thought about the rebellion.

The discussion was heavy and tense.

"My brother worked in the infirmary. He heard similar details from captured rioters. Why would he lie?" a local drysalter insisted, defending the cavalrymen's account.

"The Lord's men must have threatened him to lie," the innkeeper said, then turned to an older man sitting between them. "Tell me, elder. Do you sincerely believe all that?"

"There's little reason not to believe it. But at the same time, I'll only know the truth when I see the hill climb for myself," the elder replied, sipping cool water from his goblet while the midday sun blazed outside.

His words reignited the argument, and the back-and-forth grew louder.

Only after much debate did a senior guild member with a deep, commanding voice speak up. "Even if only a third of the stories are true, more than ten thousand rebels were defeated by just a few hundred. This kind of victory nearly eclipses anything I’ve read in the old records. The Lord might have escaped in the end, but what he achieved is on a scale unheard of before."

Many nodded, some reluctantly, but the sentiment was widely accepted.

"But winning battles is not the same as winning wars," the elder commented.

"You can win battles but still lose the campaign," the innkeeper said in support.

"Does anyone here really think the monastery will win this after sending tens of thousands to their deaths?" the drysalter asked the room.

Nobody dared to answer. Men without a strong man by their side preferred not to speak openly against the monastery, fearing a blade in the dark.

"The Lord's escape last night is not a sign of weakness. More than anything, it's a sign of the rebellion's ultimate failure," the guild member commented. He did not elaborate, but everyone understood his meaning.

If you come at the king, you best not miss.

Instead, Lord Lansius drove the rebellion to the brink and escaped unscathed.

"Still, I fear there are movements in other towns," the owner of the wainwright workshop said.

"The main army will arrive in just a few days, and there is still hope for reinforcements," a local brewmeister said while fanning himself with a painted hand fan, his tone optimistic.

"The meister speaks true," the guildsman remarked. "The city and castle still have their garrisons. The western hill camp also hasn't fallen."

A wealthy hayward, responsible for the hay harvest and storage, spoke up in a cheerful tone. "Then there's little to worry about. We can get our families to sleep soundly tonight."

The other men responded with soft snorts, chuckles, and nods. Most agreed with that sentiment.

Still, an elder cautioned, "We are still under siege. Such words would be unwise."

"But they even have war-ducks now," the hayward replied, half in jest, and more than half the room broke into smiles like children.

They loved their giant ducks and were glad to throw their lot in with the ducks, holding to the spirit of their legends rather than submit to a new faith that butchered and ate the special breed of ducks.

The scholars exchanged glances. Nobody had any idea how important the giant ducks would be in this matter. It was an unexpected boon to their cause.

...

Similar discussions took place all over the city, as no normal activities continued under the siege. Soon, as people returned to their homes for midday meals, the latest wave of news swept through the city, and the mood shifted mostly for the better.

There was no longer a fear of regime change. If fear remained, it was directed toward the new Lord.

In the houses of common Midlandians not native to Canardia, many whispered that he and his army were truly monsters.

"What kind of man could pull that off?" one asked in a low voice as they baked together in a neighbor's house with a large oven.

"Defeating several thousand men with so few. I can't believe it," a woman said, kneading her dough for bread.

"I hope none of my relatives joined the rebellion," added another, still waiting for her turn, her voice thick with worry.

"Mine too. My sister married a man who was a believer. He always claimed that, as a child, he was healed from a deadly sickness," the host’s wife said, glancing toward the door, expecting her oldest son to return soon from borrowing butter.

A younger woman leaned in. "Have you heard? Now they even have war-ducks."

"An army of monsters," said a widow, speaking boldly between bites of freshly baked bread. The words drew a round of gasps.

"Led by the king of monsters," said a young newlywed, who knew no better and spoke without fear.

"A black demon," added the first woman tending the oven, and the house fell silent, save for the crackle of firewood and the steady heat. The weight of those words lingered, as rumors had spread about a creature that could take the form of a goat-headed beast with the body of a man, one who slaughtered humans for feasts, along with the men who worshipped it.

Outside, the sun hung high behind a blanket of clouds. Even so, the change in its warmth was felt by all. Many knew autumn was near and hoped the rebellion wouldn’t drive farmers from their fields or ruin the ripening crops. Though the Lord’s victory brought some relief, plenty of worry still lingered in the air.

***

Korimor's Chamberlain Ingrid

In the aftermath of yesterday’s battles, the castle buzzed with activity. Security was tightened around the grounds, and patrols in the city became more frequent to keep order and discourage any would-be rioters from making another attempt. Since yesterday, Sir Omin and his staff had barely slept, working through the night and into the morning. Ingrid and her staff kept pace with them in their duties.

Together, the two had interrogated a captured man who turned out to be a relative of Sir Hohendorf. For the first time, they had a credible name to pursue and confirmation that a Saint Candidate was involved in the rebellion. The chief bailiff began his work with a symbolic acceptance of the Lord's armor from the previous night, still bloodstained and broken in several places. His office was busy drawing up a purge list, which would later be annotated by the Orange Skalds before being presented to the Lord and his court.

A great deal had happened since dawn. Francisca and her kinswoman had returned to resume their duties.

A separate task force was formed for Dame Daniella to lead as investigator, using her resources as head of the Shogunate Korelia Yield Bank. With the city under siege, the House used the talent from the bank to help find rioters hiding among the city's populace. But since the Dame was wounded, Ingrid was appointed as caretaker.

Another dispatch requesting reinforcements had been sent through the southern gate. They did not encounter anything in their path. For a time, the whereabouts of the Saint Followers’ army remained unknown.

Elsewhere, Big Ben and Reginald were still viewed with some suspicion. Both men remained in the castle, assigned to different areas. Officially, they were told to rest and write lengthy reports, but in reality, they were under light observation.

After a modest lunch of bread and butter with some aged cheese and olives, eaten at her desk, Ingrid sat with her assistant and reviewed battle reports. A lieutenant joined them as a witness. It was from him that she first heard the news about the missing Great Gemstone.

"The Great Gemstone from Cascasonne is lost?" she echoed, eyes wide with disbelief.

The lieutenant looked startled. "Y-yes, my lady. The Lord used it as bait to draw out the enemy."

Ingrid was utterly shocked and didn’t respond at first.

"It was a good strategy. It saved many of us; maybe everyone," the lieutenant added, insisting the Lord had done the right thing.

"No, you're mistaken. I don't blame the Lord," Ingrid quickly clarified. "It's just that in the hands of a skilled mage, it would be a real threat."

The man looked even more anxious. "Then, my lady, should you make a report to the Lord? He ought to know the risk."

"I'll see that he knows," Ingrid replied. She motioned for her assistant to continue, then rose and went straight to the Lord’s chambers.

Outside, two groups of cavalry rode hard toward Canardia.

***