Horizon of War Series

Chapter 13

Lansius sprinted through the woods until his better judgment stopped him. He surveyed his surroundings and concealed himself. Examining his bag, he realized he had items that could arouse suspicion. A clerk fleeing from war with a sword wouldn’t go unnoticed, and carrying a large sum of gold coins would be unwise. At best, they could be confiscated; at worst, he could be robbed or jailed as a thief.

So, he scanned the area and noticed something gray. Lansius cautiously approached the spot, careful not to lose his bearings. As he got closer, he saw a large, half-buried boulder, which was easy to locate even from a distance—as Miranda had told them, perfect as a landmark but not for hiding. Lansius then spotted an old tree with dark-colored bark behind some shrubs.

He pushed through the surrounding vegetation and reached the tree. Sitting on one of its giant roots, he felt protected by the plants that concealed the spot. Lansius then noticed a gap in the tree roots and cautiously inserted his sword, still in its scabbard, to test its depth while praying he wouldn’t disturb any snakes or spiders inside.

Finding the hole deep enough and undisturbed, he pulled out the sword and dug a small hole for his money pouch. He carefully placed the pouch inside, covered it with dirt, and flattened the surface using the scabbard. He then gathered several stones and plugged the hole, followed by a layer of dried leaves to conceal it further.

Satisfied with his work, Lansius checked his pockets for anything that might raise suspicion and found his purple plants. On a whim, he pulled out his knife and began digging in a clearing near the ancient tree. He planted the purple plants and sprinkled some water on them. Now, he was ready to meet the villagers.

Filled with anticipation and hope, Lansius retraced his steps to the gray boulder and then walked east toward the village beyond vast meadows and a clear, azure blue lake.

After an hour of walking, Lansius spotted an elderly couple in their orchard, staring at him. Lansius waved at them, and they quickly dropped their gardening tools and approached him. “Young man,” they called.

Lansius stopped, his heart racing, as he finally met them.

“Young man, are you a merchant?” the elderly woman in gray gardening attire asked.

“He isn’t, Martha. Your eyes are deceiving you again,” said the elderly man with a thin face but sharp eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m not a merchant,” Lansius replied. “May I ask the name of this village?”

They were stunned. “Are you lost? But Torrea is far from anywhere.”

“I came through the woods,” Lansius said, gesturing toward the forest.

The couple was taken aback. The elderly woman motioned for him to follow her, while the elderly man grasped Lansius’s hand and led him away. “Come with us. The village chief will need to know.”

Over two weeks had passed in peaceful monotony. Life in the village of Torrea was much like Bellandia for Lansius—slow and tranquil. The sun blazed on this day, but a cool, pleasant breeze persisted.

Lansius sat on a backyard porch bench as the village chief skillfully cut his hair. The old man with graying hair wielded his large scissors with ease.

“There, now you look the part,” the chief said.

“Thank you, chief.” Lansius then took a refreshing outdoor bath using water from the well, a quintessential summer activity.

“So, you’re leaving tomorrow?” the chief inquired while sweeping the porch.

“Yes, in the morning.”

“I see.” The old man nodded. “I’ll ask my daughter to cook breakfast for you.”

“Gratitude,” Lansius replied with a smile.

The chief waved his hand and went inside.

Lansius dried himself with a clean cloth and dressed in his work clothes. Though the summer sun would make him sweat soon enough, he didn’t mind. He retrieved a wicker basket, a hemp sack, and a large, round hat from the shed.

Lansius routinely gathered firewood and wild berries, viewing it as both exercise and a way to contribute as a guest. He strolled leisurely along the path leading to the forest, waving politely to the people he encountered.

Serene and picturesque, Torrea featured fields and terraced farms that had recently turned a subtle shade of yellow, enlivening the landscape. Cicadas chirped, and birds flew freely around the lake, which teemed with life.

As usual, Lansius chatted with the elderly couple he first met in Torrea before excusing himself and heading toward the forest entrance. Ensuring no one followed, he made his way to a gray boulder. His recently purchased second-hand shoes were slightly oversized, but they protected his feet well enough.

Usually, Lansius would head directly to the half-buried boulder where he had hidden a thick piece of wood about the size of a sword. This piece was heavier than a real one, and he often used it for training after gathering firewood. Several trees had low-hanging branches that were perfect for this purpose. While he could have used the blade he had found, he didn’t want anyone to see him in possession of a sword.

However, today was different. Upon catching sight of the gray boulder, Lansius veered right, heading toward the ancient oak tree. Pushing through the surrounding shrubs, he found a comfortable spot on one of its giant roots. The plant with purple leaves he had planted seemed to keep the area insect-free. Now, its small flower was blooming once again.

Lansius watered the healthy plant using his water pouch, carefully weeding out any other vegetation around it.

Through walking, carrying out small chores, and engaging in occasional training, he felt that he had recovered. He had gained weight, and the blisters on his feet had healed. His left ankle, however, never felt quite the same, but he accepted that there was little he could do to change that.

Birdsong from overhead reminded him of his task. Today, he didn’t need to forage. Instead, he lowered his basket, knelt, and removed dried leaves from between the tree roots. He easily found the stack of firewood he had saved earlier. Afterward, he removed several stones between the roots where he had hidden his sword and money pouch.

Seeing no signs of spiders or snakes, he carefully reached inside and retrieved his arming sword. Even within its scabbard, the sword felt light. Resisting the urge to check the blade, he placed it inside a hemp sack and concealed it in a wicker basket, covering it with firewood.

Next, he dug a little deeper and pulled out his old money pouch. After confirming the contents of gold and silver, he placed it in his trusted bag. Lansius felt guilty for keeping these items a secret. The chief had been kind to him despite his dubious background and circumstances, but he couldn’t risk confiscation.

The sun turned orange and bathed the clouds in gold-colored rays. Lansius packed his gear. His old fear of getting lost in the forest haunted him deeply.

He knew it was a close brush with death. The villagers told him that the river he had followed flowed westward into the Great Forest. If he had gone there, then he would have certainly died. There was no known path through, and it would take weeks to cross it. That is if he survived the rumored foul beasts and monsters that lurked inside.

Lansius looked at the purple plant one last time. Despite its special properties, he had no heart to pluck it for the second time.

He left the plant and oak tree behind. With hurried steps, he returned to the village.

Sundown came, and supper was served. The chief finished early as usual and left the two youngsters to clean up.

“I heard you’re going?” Amelia, the chief’s daughter, asked while cleaning the plates.

“Mm, yeah. While you were away, the land official returned with a travel permit,” Lansius replied while scrubbing the cauldron.

“I see . . .”

The village of Torrea was so remote that it took seven days for the land official to learn about Lansius and to arrange someone to visit. When they finally met, Lansius shocked them with his report of war in Arvena. They forbade him from leaving until they could verify his story. As it turned out, confirming Lansius’s story took another seven days, and an additional three days to find an official bound to Torrea so they could deliver his permit.

“Well, I understand why you want to leave,” Amelia said in between cleaning.

Lansius stopped scrubbing. “How so?”

“This village, there’s nothing in here but old couples and farm life.”

He chuckled. “That’s not true. Torrea has a lake, and freshwater fish are a delicacy.”

Amelia giggled. “Too bad they’re fishy and rot easily. Also, without salt, we can only grill them.”

Lansius laughed. The two had talked about this topic several times. She was a few years older than him, but already a widow. Her much older husband had succumbed to an illness two years ago.

“Honestly, I like staying here. It’s peaceful.”

Amelia paused her work, turned around, and looked at Lansius. “Then stay.” Her tone was serious.

Lansius exhaled. Even as dense as he was, he knew Amelia wanted him as a brother she never had, or as a substitute for her late husband. Torrea was surrounded by dense forest and lacked any trade routes, causing many young people to seek employment in neighboring villages with more opportunities. This led to a severe shortage of eligible partners for marriage.

“I wish I could,” Lansius said. He had too much guilt to accept such an offer.

Amelia said nothing and returned to cleaning.

Lansius did the same. This was his last day, and he intended to clean as thoroughly as possible. While his hands worked, his mind wandered. The offer was a tempting one.

If he stayed, then his future would be set. As an educated man, he could apply for a clerical job in the nearest estate. Moreover, the chief’s vast farming land would be his if he married Amelia. He wouldn’t have to worry about anything. To top the list, Amelia had a sweet side and was dependable by nature.

“I’m going to prepare something for you tomorrow,” she said when they were done.

“Gratitude,” Lansius said politely, and the conversation ended that way.

As morning arrived, Lansius enjoyed an early breakfast. He had discarded his moldy gambeson, which was too conspicuous when not on a campaign. Instead, he traded it for a second-hand gray doublet that he confidently wore.

Carefully packing his belongings into a hemp sack fashioned like a duffel bag, he donned a felt hat to cover his hair. Unbeknownst to him, the chief had arranged for a donkey cart.

“I can’t repay your kindness, chief,” Lansius said, touched by the stranger’s generosity.

“Don’t get me wrong, lad. You’ve been a great help to me.” The chief pulled an envelope from his coat and handed it to the coachman. “For the baronet.”

The coachman nodded and kept it in his breast pocket.

Lansius smiled with satisfaction. The envelope represented his idea to initiate trade between Torrea and its nearest neighbor. Although Torrea lacked a prized commodity and wouldn’t typically benefit financially from trade, Lansius believed the villagers should barter their harvest for salted meat.

While salted meat was expensive, this trade could help alleviate the village’s salt shortage, which Lansius suspected had caused illness and deaths after the salt mine closed due to a lack of young miners. He also suggested the chief invite people who knew about the smoking process to preserve fish, potentially turning the underappreciated catch into a valuable commodity.

The chief bade him farewell. “Don’t get in trouble again. Visit Torrea if you find yourself nearby.”

“Thanks again, chief. Until next time.” Lansius carefully loaded the hemp sack and climbed aboard the cart.

The coachman gently nudged the donkey, and the cart began to move.

“Visit us when you can.” Amelia waved.

“I will. Take care, Amelia.”

As Lansius left Torrea with the sun yet to shine brightly, he eagerly anticipated his return to the world outside.

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