The Elder Lands

During the next month, Lucan’s father tested and evaluated his prowess. There had been a particularly bright moment when his father commended him for reaching Journeyman in Swordsmanship. After that, he was trained regularly every day.

Meanwhile, the new arrivals had successfully built themselves makeshift shelters on the piece of land Lucan had given them. Then those who’d been building those shelters had moved on to working on the road in the west. His father had sent word to Sir Upton earlier in the month, and they’d received their first load of stone a fortnight prior. Thomas had also sent a rider to Arpague, and he’d returned with a man experienced enough in road-laying to make certain that they wouldn’t be wasting labor and resources on a ruined venture.

Lucan was now riding towards the beginning of the new road they were building. The work was actually beginning on land outside of their territory. But thankfully, his father had agreed that the King would find no issue with them rebuilding an old road as long as they didn’t interfere with the High Road itself, not that there was much of an opportunity for the King to hear about something this trivial.

Thomas was riding beside Lucan, and they’d just passed the bridge that crossed the canal to the north towards the High Road.

While the elder, whose name was Graham, was the one acting as a foreman for the laborers, Thomas and the expert from Arpague were overseeing them most of the time. Work had progressed steadily since it’d begun, owing to the refugees’ eagerness to prove their worth. Even women and children were helping with the work, carrying dirt and gravel, or, in the case of the younger and weaker, delivering food and water when necessary.

As they rode on, Lucan observed the dug-up dirt of the old road. In its place, a shallow foundation of rocks, gravel, and mortar was laid. Soon, flagstone would be laid with more mortar to make a relatively flat road slightly higher than the land around it.

From time to time, a runner would go by them, bowing before moving on to deliver a message or bring whatever he was sent for. Their estate had also had to hire some of the peasants who owned carts and work animals to assist with the undertaking. These carts were often going between the estate and the work site to deliver needed materials.

Lucan spotted the laborers in the distance. It was a sight to behold. Nearly three hundred people working. It was like watching a beehive in motion.

They rode up to the work site, where Lucan saw the expert from Arpague standing on a large rock among the laborers, observing their work.

Graham, the elder, soon came out to greet them. He jogged to their two horses, bowing. “Sire, a good morn to you.”

“Graham.” Lucan nodded, bringing his horse to a stop. “How goes work?”

“We began at first light,” Graham said. “Every one of us has been putting all our effort into it, and we strive to do so every day, sire.”

Lucan and Thomas dismounted, handing their horses over to a boy who came out to receive them. They walked along the road’s length, and Lucan spotted where the advance of the stone-laying had reached. A stone path, slightly sloped to the sides to drain water and wide enough for a large wagon, was taking form. Their new small road was branched out of the High Road, which Lucan observed to be significantly higher than the surrounding ground, so much that when it branched into their new road, it formed a considerable incline. It was also wider, capable of fitting two large wagons side by side with some walking breadth to spare.

Lucan saw how it stretched into the horizon, disappearing beyond a faint fog without losing any of its grandeur. The Kings of Barwalis had repaired what had remained of the old Imperial roads and called it the High Road. And it was indeed high. One would have to put in quite a bit of effort to climb onto it from the sides.

Lucan turned his attention back to the old refugee who managed to observe him without staring too much.

“Will you be able to finish the road to the estate by the time the grain is being harvested?” Lucan asked, passing by some of the workers and getting bows or confused glances from some of them who were unsure whether to continue working or show their respect.

Graham hesitated for a moment, pressing his lips. “We will do it.”

Lucan nodded. Thomas had told him that it’d be difficult for them to finish that fast. Next month, the harvest would begin, and soon after merchants would hopefully begin to arrive. Most of the western half of the road would be done by then, if not all of it. And that should be enough to get the merchants’ attention. Trekking into the backend of nowhere to trade in some grains would slow down any significant merchant’s journey to or from the Union. Giving them the incentive of saving time with proper roads would change that, encouraging more of them to take the chance.

“I’m certain you will try your best,” Lucan said, giving the elder a firm nod.

Graham set his jaw, making the scar on his chin more prominent, and nodded back.

Lucan spent the morning at the work site, overseeing the work along with Thomas. Eventually, they had to return to the keep at noon because Thomas would have to send for more stone from Sir Upton. The pace of work had satisfied Lucan, and Thomas had confirmed that he hadn’t had to do much to encourage–or force–the refugees to put in the required work, and more. They were encouraged enough as is. If anything, he and the roadlayer from Arpague had had to curb the laborers’ energy from time to time in order to prevent mistakes.

He’d pointed out, however, that some of the refugees had been malnourished on their first fortnight of work, owing to their initial journey, which had made work early on slower, specially before the roadlayer had arrived.

“The other knights are already asking about your roads,” his father said as he ran an oiled cloth over his sword. They were seated on hardwood blocks in the training yard. He'd let him skip morning training to take a look at the road, but Lucan had later found out that his father hadn’t forsaken it, but had in fact postponed the training until his return.

“Did you tell them?”

“Aye,” his father said. “They’re perplexed.”

“As much as I’d like for them to understand,” Lucan said, “they don’t have to, as long as you can persuade them to send their crops here…for their own sake. They’ll get better prices.”

“I will,” his father said.

“What about Lord Arden?” Lucan asked.

“I’ll send word to him when the time comes too,” his father said, sheathing his sword. “He won’t pass the opportunity to sell his wine for a bit more. He needs every coin his house can get its hands on. But first, merchants will have to arrive. Several merchants, son, if they are to compete for the goods.”

“They will, Father,” Lucan said. “They will.”

His father sighed deeply and his eyes shifted, his mind seemingly moving to something else. He tapped his sheathed sword. “You’ve stopped improving.”

“I suppose I’ve hit the limit of my Skill,” Lucan said. “Hopefully I can improve it again soon.”

His father shook his head with a wry smile. “The Skill is what your body can do with the sword, Lucan. Your mind,” he tapped the side of his head with a forefinger,” is something else entirely. How you plan your next move, how you respond to your opponent’s rhythm. That’s all in here.” His finger rested on the side of his head.

“Yes, Father.” Lucan nodded. Then he remembered something that’d happened on his recent outing. “Father, you’ve told me before that intellect is limited to Herald beasts. All the books I’ve read on the matter agreed. Yet when I fought my third beast in Sir Wolfe’s land, it feinted an attack to catch my sword. What is that if not intellect?”

“Instinct,” his father said, giving him a knowing smile. “Some of the beasts have their own fighting instincts. If this beast feinted an attack, then you should remember that for any future encounters with its brethren. They’ll have the same instincts after all. Heralds are something else entirely. They only lack speech and experience against humans. In everything else pertaining to combat, you might as well be fighting a man.”

“You’ve fought one before, Father, right?”

His father nodded. “Thankfully I wasn’t alone. If you ever find yourself alone with one, run. There’s no shame in it, unless you have a duty to protect.”

Lucan nodded in understanding. His father didn’t like to talk about that experience for some reason, but Lucan would hopefully get it out of him someday.

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