Horizon of War Series

Chapter 197: The Return Waltz

The Return Waltz

Sir Stan

A hundred men moved in tight formation through the forest, each step cautious and quiet. Leather boots and linen tabards brushed over damp leaves, muffling their passage as they stayed close to thick tree trunks for cover. Dark cloaks further blended them into the late spring green foliage.

Their leader, Sir Stan, had decided to trust his instincts and rallied his troops once more, leading them toward the forest’s edge where they could observe without being seen. They knew they were pushing their luck; after the havoc they’d wrought, the fanatics likely had eyes scouring the woods, anticipating another strike.

Where the trees thinned, they could see the vast open field where the enemy camped, laying siege to the castle.

Suddenly, from an unseen direction, a clear voice rang out: “You’ve come too early.”

The voice startled the men, who immediately drew their swords, eyes darting through the shadows. Tense murmurs rippled through the group as they gripped their weapons and glanced around, searching for the source of the unexpected words.

“Please, friend. Don’t be afraid.” There was subdued laughter before the feminine voice added, “I’ve taken care of the pesky ones. Your hunters should be able to locate a few survivors.”

The friendly claim reassured them only to a point. Sir Stan stepped forward and spoke openly, “If we’re friends, then why hide? Show me your face.”

Soft, distinct laughter drifted through the woods before the voice replied, “I’m afraid you’d be alarmed.”

“Why should I be alarmed?” Sir Stan replied, signaling his best men to fan out in both directions, eyes sharp.

“Because the House I serve employs not only humans but also half-breeds and horsemen.”

The response sent a chill through the group, murmurs rippling as the men exchanged uneasy glances, many suddenly realizing that the voice didn’t sound entirely human.

As the discussion continued, one scout, intrigued by movement at the forest’s edge, couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. He crept forward, eyes narrowing before he pointed confidently toward the shifting shapes beyond the trees. “Look, horses.”

“Yes,” the voice acknowledged. “My husband and his horsemen have arrived.”

A low rumble rolled through the ground like distant thunder, growing louder with each passing second. Shapes began to emerge across the open field, moving with a fluidity that defied their numbers. As they came closer, the figures sharpened into ranks of light cavalry, but in style unlike anything seen in Midlandia. Soon, more than they could count surged forward, a sweeping wave of horses cresting over the landscape.

Even from afar, the enemy encampment showed signs of panic. Men who had been collecting water and firewood scattered, abandoning their carts. Meanwhile, on the castle walls, the defenders came alive, shouts echoing as they waved their banners, rallying at the sight of the approaching riders.

The riders advanced with fierce grace, clad in iron, layered linen, and fur, each figure merging seamlessly with the powerful beasts beneath them. Braids and feathers caught in the wind, while bows rested across their backs, and the gleam of curved blades flashed at their sides.

Flanking the cavalry were knights riding beside skilled horse archers, banners flying the colors of Korimor.

It was then that a few riders broke from the formation, steering their horses toward Sir Stan’s scout.

“You should meet the one-eyed knight,” the voice suggested.

Sir Stan’s eyes remained on the advancing riders, a flicker of doubt lingering on his face. He turned and nodded to his men, a cautious smile surfacing. “Men, this might be the reinforcements we’ve been waiting for.”

His men, though nervous, were gladdened by this unexpected support. As the riders grew nearer, Sir Stan and his troops moved to the edge of the forest; they no longer needed to stay hidden.

When Sir Stan, the knight, and the nomadic warriors finally met, some groups of riders split off to reconnoiter the area, much to the horror of the New Midlandian army.

“Well met! To whom do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?” Sir Stan greeted.

“I'm Michael, knight of White Lake,” the leading knight introduced himself. “And next to me is Captain Dietrich, the leader of this expedition. And—”

“Let me do the honor,” the voice from the woods interjected, as a blurred figure, moving with the swiftness of a panther, landed gracefully beside the leading nomadic horseman. The rider grinned widely, pride shining in his eyes.

The sight of a half-beast—clad in ringmail, with wolf-like features, sharp eyes, and fangs—sent murmurs through Sir Stan’s men. Yet the newly arrived allies seemed unfazed, though their horses stamped and shifted, a bit agitated.

Undeterred by the reaction, the half-beast continued, “He is Belgutei, Batu Noyan’s Champion, the leader of the brave Lowlandia warriors, and also my husband.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Belgutei in a friendly, almost humble manner. “Pardon my wife’s boldness—we’re newly married, and she’s still getting used to our ways.” From the care in his words, it was clear he was more than just a warrior. He was also a diplomat by nature.

“Gentlemen, the pleasure is all mine. I’m Stan, the baronet of Toruna. On behalf of Lord Bengrieve, I welcome you to Cascasonne.” Sir Stan extended his arm with a sweeping gesture, dramatically indicating the besieged castle and city.

The three visitors exchanged a glance and a nod. Together they dismounted and Sir Stan eagerly approached, clasping each of their hands in turn.

“I will not forget that you’ve come in my hour of need. No matter what, I’ll honor you as guests and brothers," Sir Stan declared, gratefully.

The sentiment pleased the three allies.

“Then, while the enemy is in disarray, let’s test their defenses together. Your men can follow my—”

“Sir Stan, that’s unnecessary for now,” Captain Dietrich interrupted, his seasoned face and commanding presence leaving little room for argument.

“Do you prefer to rest first?” Sir Stan ventured.

“No, but we’ll need to wait,” the captain insisted.

“Any specific reason?” Sir Stan asked, concerned. “We’ve caught them off guard, and we can still strike decisively.”

Sir Michael and Belgutei exchanged knowing smiles, and the nomad answered, “Sir Stan, I understand your thinking, but we must wait—because the great sovereign will soon be here.”

***

Lansius

The lingering stench of stale, putrid water and composting earth clung to the mud smeared on the outside of their carriage after a minor mishap during the crossing had made it float like a boat, much to everyone’s laughter. The laughter had long faded, but the stench lingered, mingling with the faint breeze from outside.

Yet, unbelievably, Audrey acted as if nothing were amiss, not even using her magic to shield them from the foul odor. She merely cooled the air occasionally. The thought that his wife seemed immune to such trivial discomforts was both humbling and endearing.

There she sat beside him, propped with pillows to ease the bumpiness of the ride—not for her own comfort, but for the baby’s. Astonishingly, she was reading a book with enviable focus.

I really did marry a warrior lady, he mused, watching her in admiration.

But did I spec’d her correctly...? Adding INT so late to an AGI / STR build? That's bad for min-maxing.

Lansius’ playful thoughts put him at ease as they marched on. Then a new thought struck him, softening his expression.

Actually… maybe more INT will be good for the baby.

Outside, the road had turned to cobblestone, marking their entry into the town’s vicinity, and the army moved forward with renewed speed. Their rapid progress owed much to good leadership, and a stroke of luck.

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The blitzkrieg tactics had thrown South Midlandia into disarray. His vanguard had pushed deep into enemy lines, while the Dragoons in the east had joined forces with Toruna, leaving the defending garrisons in a state of shock. This chaos allowed the Korimor forces to slip through the western sector largely undetected.

Rather than launching an immediate attack, Captain Dietrich and Sir Michael recognized that they had gained a surprising advantage and chose to stay hidden. They relied on scouts, set up camp in remote clearings, and marched in secrecy.

They advanced farther than Lansius had expected. He had assumed the Korimor column would encounter strong opposition and had primarily counted them as another distraction. However, his merit-based military structure and goal-oriented leadership had paved the way for an unexpected yet welcome surprise.

The Korimor column, seeing an opportunity, decided to push into Cascasonne independently. Their leaders, having learned from the Dragoons' success, adapted their cavalry tactics so that each rider carried an infantry soldier on a spare horse, making the three-hundred-strong column fully mounted.

Another factor Lansius hadn’t accounted for was the nomads. He hadn’t expected them to participate in great numbers, yet they were not only fully supportive of the campaign but also thirsting for vengeance after Reginald dared to raise hidden blades against their Noyan.

All these uncoordinated actions, guided by intuition and executed without communication due to distance and speed, led them all to converge at the opposite end of the broken bridge.

This opportunity arose because Dietrich and the nomads trusted their instincts and listened to the advice of their Midlandian-born troops, who believed that an obscure bridge could play a critical role. The bridge could possibly be used by the main army to advance toward Cascasonne. And they were right.

Arriving at the bridge, they discovered it damaged but were astonished by their fortune when they saw that Lansius and the main army had chosen this exact route.

Dietrich, Sir Michael, and the nomads quickly put their infantry to work. Without the necessary tools, equipment, or know-how to build a pontoon bridge, they simply attempted to repair the bridge from their end. Meanwhile, Lansius directed the rest of the forces to continue advancing toward Cascasonne.

Knowing their allies had secured the other side of the bridge, they worked in peace, managing to assemble the pontoon overnight while the other group repaired a short section of the bridge. By morning, the vanguard had begun crossing, with the rest of the force following close behind. Now, just past midday, after the minor accident and several hours of riding, they finally caught sight of the white towering spires of Cascasonne Castle peeking above the treeline.

“Cascasonne,” Lansius remarked, drawing Audrey’s gaze to the carriage window beside them.

She sighed, her expression a blend of emotions. “I’m back.”

Lansius turned, curious. “Why do you speak as if it’s home?”

“Well, like it or not, I did spend a month there. And Bengrieve did give me a name.”

“I wish I could still call you Stefi.” Suddenly, he felt a faint tickle in his throat that made him straighten involuntarily. He turned to her with a raised brow. “Hey, stop that.”

“What? I didn’t do anything,” Audrey replied, though a mischievous smile betrayed her innocence. Her control over her magic had grown enough to summon a playful, ticklish breeze.

Lansius chuckled, feigning innocence as he leaned over and buried his face in her belly, tickling her in return. “Don’t, don’t!” Audrey protested, laughing. “Or we’ll have to make another stop—I’m going to need to pee again!”

The carriage rocked slightly, but the coachman and Francisca in front only exchanged amused glances. Ahead of them, Cascasonne came fully into view.

***

Cascasonne

By the time Lord Lansius and his main army arrived, the vanguard had already set up camp at the forest’s edge, while the nomads continued to harass the enemy, keeping them contained without fully engaging. They had also quietly secured the only other access point to the town, cutting off the enemy’s retreat if needed.

The Blue and Bronze banners, alongside the Black Horse, fluttered in the wind as the shogunate honor guards escorted the carriage with pride until it came to a halt.

Francisca jumped from her seat next to the coachman, landing with ease at the carriage door to secure it, while Sir Harold, Margo, and the guards quickly formed a perimeter. It might have seemed excessive for a baron, but the recent assassination attempt warranted such precautions. Besides, Lord Lansius had come to be seen as more than just a baron. With the fall of the Imperium, people in Lowlandia had come to regard him almost as a sovereign, and a growing number of intellectuals in his employ quietly wished for him to declare independence.

As the area was secured, Lord Lansius disembarked, followed by Lady Audrey, greeted by his knights and officers.

“My Lord, my Lady,” Captain Dietrich and Sir Michael greeted them.

“Gentlemen,” Lord Lansius replied, turning briefly to gaze at Cascasonne Castle.

“Do you wish to meet them today?” Lady Audrey asked softly, her eyes steady.

“I intend to, but it can wait a moment,” Lord Lansius replied. He turned toward the assembly in front of him and spotted the baronet of Toruna.

Noticing his gaze, Sir Stan offered a warm, genuine smile. “Lord Lansius, Lady Audrey, long time no see. And congratulations on your pregnancy.”

His words and smile brought warmth to their hearts. Both knew Sir Stan was a force to be reckoned with. His financial backing and combat prowess were formidable, even unnerving. The only drawback was that he was often given a leadership role, which prevented him from fighting as fiercely as he could. He was better off let loose on his own, with someone else overseeing the entire battlefield command.

“Brother," Lady Audrey called warmly. "How’s the old man?”

“Father? Last I heard, he’s still planting that sour cherry tree. He’s that stubborn, he'll survive this,” Sir Stan reassured her. “Gratitude for your concern.”

Lady Audrey smiled and turned to Lansius. “Shall we go inside?”

“Certainly,” Lansius replied, and they made their way to the command tent prepared for them, situated at the center of hundreds of surrounding tents.

Meanwhile, the main army had not rested after their march; instead, they had immediately taken up their axes and iron-tipped spades and set to work. The vanguard had already laid out the camp, and the men began digging ditches, chopping wood, and preparing palisades. Their training in the Hill Fort had proved invaluable, and the men were eager, for unlike Lowlandia, Midlandia was rich with good timber.

Once inside the command tent, with only their closest staff present, Lady Audrey continued, “As much as I hate to admit it, your House has treated me well. For that, I’m forever grateful.”

Sir Stan’s gaze softened. “You’ve changed, my Lady. Tell me, does motherhood do that to you?”

The Lady gave a faint smile. “My role has forced me to change. And, of course, there’s the expectation of the man who chose me as his wife.”

Lord Lansius smiled with pride as he helped her to her seat. Despite sitting all day in the carriage, the solidity of the ground beneath their feet was a welcome change.

“The journey must have been exhausting,” Sir Stan acknowledged. “I apologize for requesting reinforcements, but the situation has grown dire.”

“Think nothing of it,” Lord Lansius replied. “If Midlandia falls to Sir Reginald, it will be dangerous for us as well.”n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

“I heard about the assassins from Sir Michael. I’ll be sure to send a messenger to Elandia to report this to Lord Bengrieve. Perhaps he can exert some influence over that guild.”

“My gratitude,” said Lord Lansius, hesitating a moment. “Duty calls for war briefings, yet… my heart is elsewhere today.” His gaze drifted to Cascasonne Castle, where he knew his family was waiting.

“I understand.” Sir Stan’s eyes brightened. “Reginald’s men have abandoned the outer edges of their encirclement; we should be able to secure the southern gate. I shall escort you there myself.”

***

Tanya

The sun was low, casting long shadows across the castle’s tall walls. Yet the young Arvenian-born lady continued diligently working in the vegetable garden, weeding and watering seasonal greens, carefully ensuring each plant grew properly. They would need every bit of fresh food, as supplies were dwindling.

Once, Tanya had been groomed to be a castle maid, receiving an education. But the siege had changed all that—her tutor was called to the war effort, and she was working in the garden instead. She didn’t feel downhearted, however; in fact, she was grateful not to be directly involved in the fighting. Everyone she knew had taken up arms, training with crossbows or spears.

Meanwhile, Tanya remained with her mother, tucked within the inner courtyard where life felt sheltered, almost cloistered. With a cheerful heart, she continued her work without complaint. Her modest gardener’s dwelling had become a haven from the brutalities of the war outside. Yet the occasional screams from the hospice, especially piercing at night, were constant reminders that the war still raged on.

During the day, distant war cries and echoes of battle continued to haunt them. Several days ago, it had grown so terribly loud that they cowered inside their house, huddled beneath the table. If the castle were breached, would they be spared? They were only gardeners, but there were rumors of everyone inside a castle being sold as slaves. With whispers of the fall of the Imperium, everyone was secretly frightened.

Mother Arryn was deeply troubled but kept herself mostly occupied with work to keep her mind off it. Being confined within the castle walls while enemies outside sought to kill them was a new and terrifying experience. Yet there was little they could do but carry on. So, despite the mortal threat, they tended the garden as usual, helped with extra cooking, laundry, and every sort of cleaning.

The workload had only increased, as much of the castle staff had joined the war effort, and many were injured or exhausted. Recently, they had been tasked to help boiling linen bandages and hanging them to dry. Many were no longer white, darkened by bloodstains.

Despite everything, they did not dwell on their misfortune. In time, they grew grateful for the protection of the tall walls. Cascasonne was a massive fortress, and they didn’t feel so trapped. They even found themselves admiring the defenders’ valor, sharing a quiet sense of camaraderie with them.

“Mother, I’ve brought you cabbages. Some are ripe enough,” Tanya said, holding a wicker basket filled with four pale-green cabbages.

“Bring them here. I’ll wash them later,” Mother Arryn replied, stirring the ladle in a pot of gruel simmering for dinner. She didn’t know exactly who would eat it, but she would make it as palatable as she could.

A knock at the door startled them. “Goodwoman, are you inside?”

Turning toward the door, Arryn replied, “Just a moment.” Then, glancing at Tanya, she said, “Here, take this,” offering her the iron ladle.

Arryn wiped her hands on a cloth and muttered, “It’s still early. The gruel isn’t ready—”

She stopped mid-sentence as the door opened, revealing the usual youngster draped in an oversized gambeson. But beside him stood a man in lordly armor, flanked by several equally imposing figures. Even she, with her limited knowledge of armor, could tell by the engravings, styling, and ornaments that he was a high-ranking lord. Instinctively, she wanted to curtsy, but something about his face struck her as familiar.

Her eyes widened, and she took a step back as she caught sight of his jet-black hair. Her mouth went dry, and her lips trembled slightly. She recognized some of his features, yet the man before her looked so much stronger than she remembered. His build was broader, and his neck and face bore chafed skin and bruises—the markings of armored combat.

And in his deep brown eyes was a commanding charisma, something possessed only by those with authority—a stark contrast from the gentle teacher she remembered.

“I apologize—did I interrupt?” the man asked tenderly.

Arryn wanted to speak his name, but her tears came first. Suddenly, the sound of a basket hitting the ground startled her. She turned to see Tanya, wide-eyed, staring at the guest. The sight of her precious cabbages scattered at her feet, forgotten, confirmed Arryn’s intuition.

“Mother!” Tanya’s voice, thick with disbelief, broke the silence.

“Come here,” Arryn said softly, her own voice laden with emotion.

“Tanya?” the man at the door asked. “You’ve grown,” he added cheerfully, dispelling any remaining doubt. His voice was as familiar as his black hair. At that, Tanya’s eyes filled with tears, the name she had tried so hard to bury rising to her lips like a powerful chant. “Lansius!”

***