The Elder Lands - Chapter 10

In the keep’s study, Lucan stood in front of his father, poring over another map that was spread beside their territory’s, this one of the Kingdom. His father had been surprised to see him arrive before he could be explicitly summoned. Lucan himself was surprised. But deep inside, he knew why.

He was excited about more than one thing. He was anxious to tell his father about his new skill, and hopefully get a rare look of approval. He was anxious to take that mantle of responsibility that his father had been trying to throw onto him for a while, but only if his father would let him do what he wished to do. He already had ideas on how to make them richer, bigger. How to make them more. Unlike what those like his second cousin thought.

Reading books wasn’t as useless as they thought. And as his father thought, he remembered somewhat painfully; more so because his father knew who had made him fall in love with the written word.

It’d been years, every memory of his mother was fleeting but it brought with it as much warmth as pain. Lucan blinked rapidly, pulling his mind back from ancient memories.

He focused back on the present. His favorite books were those of history. Perhaps that was one reason his father hadn’t stopped him from reading in favor of more martial pursuits. A noble was expected to know his history, after all. Of course Lucan had long surpassed what was expected of any noble on that front.

That knowledge of history would help them now.

When their people had first arrived in the Elder Lands from the Dead Continent, they had formed coalitions, City-states, Petty Kingdoms, and even clans that lorded over their own corners of the land. That was until the Veti Empire had risen. Its founder, a military genius named Vetinus Barcid, had fashioned the dreaded Adamant Awl tactic, when all his enemies had known about military tactics at that time was how to maneuver their flanks. The tactic had done well to serve generations of the Veti Empire’s hegemony on these lands until, of course, the Mermen had introduced the devastating Wrath counter-tactic in the Battle of Deus which set the field for the eventual collapse of the Empire.

Lucan knew, however, that their military approach hadn’t been the only thing to guarantee the Empire’s survival for so long. A centralized command of most of the Empire’s elite warriors along with a strong web of roads that allowed their armies rapid movement in the field and solid logistics were what had made the Empire long-lived.

That web of roads had also served another purpose more than expected, if every historian of that period was to be believed. It had eased trade and strengthened the logistical flow of the Empire so much that the cost expended on them had not gone unrecouped. The roads of the Empire were well-known to this day, even if most of them had been deliberately destroyed by their enemies during the Collapse to deprive their large armies of their usual high mobility.

Lucan intended to build his own roads here in their fief. They only got one or two merchants a year at the time of their harvest. Surely there’d be more if a proper road connected their home to the High Road.

“There, father,” Lucan pointed at where the makeshift dirt road split from the High Road and meandered through their lands. “If we build a proper road instead of this dirt one, we could make a merchant’s journey through our lands easier.” Then he turned to their territory’s map and pointed at the spot where something less than a road started, a trail that led from their motte-and-bailey to the northeast and eventually back to the High Road farther northeast, beyond Sir Ward’s lands. “We will also need to build a good road instead of this trail. I don’t think this one is even made of packed earth.”

“It is not,” Sir Golan said. “The trail was trodden into existence by farmers and traders’ carts.”

“Yes,” Lucan said, holding onto his string of thought. “The merchants need a way into and out of the territory that won’t slow them down.” He grinned at his father and gestured to the map. “It’s simple, father. If we bring more trade here, we get more taxes. Sir Upton’s quarry isn’t far. We can buy the flagstone from him, and the gravel we can get from around us,” he said, thinking of the plateau their motte-and-bailey was built on, which was a small, barren stretch of land that suffered from the natural occurrence of stone or gravel every few steps.

After letting him finish, his father finally gazed at him steadily. “And how much do you reckon this would cost, son?”

Lucan grimaced. “What we have should be more than enough. Perhaps we could build a proper road to Lord Arden’s lands, to bring the wine trade–”

“It’s not wise to spend all that’s left of our wealth on this venture of yours,” his father interrupted him. “And if you want all the trade to be here, it wouldn’t be wise to build a road to the Arden territories. The merchants will simply go there to buy their wine, as they often do.”

“Father,” Lucan said, pointing at their motte-and-bailey on the map. “We can eventually tax more than we’ve spent, a lot more. More trade means more coin coming through our lands, and that means more coin coming into our treasury.” He gestured towards the door of his father’s improvised treasury as he said the last word. “You’ve wanted me to carry this responsibility for a long time. Now let me. If all I’m to do is wear armor and look imposing, then I’d rather read something useful.”

His father sighed. “I didn’t say I would forbid it, son. You may begin this venture after harvest, when more of our dues are received and many of the peasants seek to pay their taxes in labor. I will not have you leave us destitute in this pursuit.”

Lucan nodded in understanding. “I see.” Harvest wasn’t too far off. He’d begin turning what he saw in his mind’s eye into reality soon enough. He dreamed of a burgeoning town thriving with trade in place of their simple bailey. The thought that Winton had planted in his mind wouldn’t go away now. Why couldn’t they become Lords? They were nobles through and through, their blood as old as the Kingdom itself. If what it took to be a knight was to be a severe and prominent warrior while what it took to be a Lord was to be educated and sophisticated like his father’s cousin, Lord Zesh, then Lucan would choose the latter every time. At least there was a chance he could be good at it.

His father pointed at the salt lake in the southwest of their lands. “Have you thought more on this one?”

Lucan trod carefully. The last time he’d ventured a thought on the matter, he’d received a verbal lashing. This matter was making his father taut. And Lucan knew why. In an inland Kingdom like theirs, salt came at a steep price. It would indeed improve their circumstances significantly if they could extract the lake’s salt. But they couldn’t, and Lucan’s thoughts were that if they couldn’t do it reasonably easily, then perhaps it wasn’t worth it at all. Many mines cost more to mine than the profit they brought, and the centralized Empire was a prime witness to that. It had often taken their officials too long and their coffers too much until they realized one such mine wasn’t worth the effort. He’d learned of this from an ancient treatise written by one of the Viziers of the Empire itself.

Yet Lucan kept his silence and chose something neutral to say instead. “Not yet father. We’ll do it eventually.”

His father nodded. “Very well. Now to other matters. You must know by now that I have hastened your Blessing day.” At Lucan’s nod, he continued. “And for good reason. Sir Wolfe’s hunter recently reported an outbreak in his part of the forest.” He paused, giving Lucan a level stare, as though expecting him to infer the rest.

Of course, it wasn’t difficult to deduce what his father was thinking. A chance so close to home to undergo his Blood Rite was, in a way, fortunate. It was also less dangerous than doing it on a battlefield. “You want me to join them in the cleanup.”

His father nodded. “I will send Lee with you.” Lee was one of the men-at-arms in his father’s service, and while he wasn’t the first to enter his service, he was the oldest among the men. “You must do our family proud. And to that end, we must prepare you. It’s time you learned Wraith Strike and practiced using it properly.”

Lucan’s muscles were already twitching with excitement, but he held it in. He was intent on making his 7-Point Star Dance a surprise for his father on the training field. After all, it was always better to show than to tell.