Chapter 2 : Bellandia
Chapter 2
Bellandia
After a brief but freezing winter, another spring arrived in the Arvena highlands. The snow melted, and the scenery changed dramatically. Meadows turned colorful with purple and yellow wildflowers while the wind carried whiffs of floral scent as the land returned to life once again.
Like most villagers, the Arryn family spent their first week cleaning their yard and maintaining their thatched roof. Afterward, the village welcomed the new spring with a week-long festival. Only after the soil was soft enough did they return to farming.
Last year, Lansius had unexpectedly assisted with the village's annual report, a job typically reserved for the village chief, scribe, or officials. However, his hopes for rapid advancement were quickly dashed. In a rural farming community, there were seldom job that required such skills.
Despite the setbacks, some had begun to see Lansius in a different light. They took him for a foreign merchant’s apprentice who had been robbed and lost in the woods, which explained his odd clothes and inability to speak the common tongue.
Since Lansius lost his memory, the rumor went unchallenged. Even the village chief wrote as much in his reports. The officials heard of a foreign straggler’s appearance, but with nobles occupied by their own conflicts, they treated it as an unimportant detail. He was a nobody, with nothing worth noting. However, his improved standing in the village had already earned him a few quiet enemies. In a place as small as Bellandia, envy needed little encouragement, and whispers passed quickly from one mouth to another.
Unaware of the whispers beginning to gather around them, the Arryn family followed their routine as usual. With the warmth of spring, Lansius was finally strong enough to help more in the fields, and together they planted more than usual. It was hard work, but the season gave them reason to hope.
Once the planting was done, Marc began coaxing Lansius into taking daily walks before sundown. They would circle the village plaza, where the young gathered beneath the watchful eyes of their elders. Though still awkward in company, Lansius forced himself into small talk and slowly grew more comfortable with the common tongue.
In this world, the common tongue was rough-hewn and direct. Words were utilitarian tools, not elegant and well-articulated. Conversation was a matter of conveying necessity, not crafting poetry. The more polite and formal the conversation, the stiffer it became.
On one such evening, the two wandered without aim and ended up at the butcher’s shop. As poor as ever, they had no business buying anything, but they still stepped inside to hear the latest gossip and perhaps trade a bit of help in exchange for a few slices of meat.
As they entered, a pair of slightly older villagers near the counter fell quiet. Marc and Lansius both noticed. It had been happening more often of late. In a village like Bellandia, where little ever happened, Lansius had become a convenient subject.
The butcher, Connor, a tall, muscular retired city man with a graying mustache, greeted them warmly. “Come in, lads. You two need anything?”
“Actually, we were wondering if you needed a hand today?” Marc asked.
“I have all the help I need,” the Connor replied.
Marc let out a small breath but kept his tone light. “Ah, well. Anything interesting happening, then?”
The pair, one of whom Marc knew as the owner of a nearby fruit orchard, snorted. Meanwhile, his friend nodded toward Lansius and said, “Well, him.”
“Besides my brother,” Marc said, brushing the remark aside.
Lansius said nothing. He had grown used to the looks and the half-spoken remarks. Whatever they thought of him, it changed nothing for now.
Before the moment could grow any more awkward, Connor turned his gaze to Lansius and asked, “Lad, I heard you can do calculations?”
Lansius’ eyes widened, and so did the others inside.
“You jest?” the fruit grower asked Connor, wanting to be sure.
Connor simply shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt to ask.”
“I wouldn’t even trust him to count the fruit in my basket, let alone coins,” the fruit grower’s friend grumbled.
“Oi, he helped the Chief with taxes,” Marc protested.
“It’s fine,” Lansius said, grabbing Marc’s arm.
The two men stared at Connor, but faced with the towering butcher, they soon left in displeasure.
“Come back another time,” Connor said, somehow still sounding friendly.
Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Lansius said, “Yes, I can calculate. Do you need any help?”
As he wiped his hands clean with a cloth, Connor explained, “Next week, I’m going to deliver a new batch of meat jerky to the city. I’m thinking of buying some supplies. The problem is, I don’t know whether my savings will suffice.”
Lansius nodded. It should not be too difficult. “May I have something to write with?”
Connor gave him a waxed tablet and a wooden stylus. “Would this suffice?”
“Gratitude. This will do,” he said, his words fluent and formal, like those of a tradesman. “Now, name the items you wish to purchase, along with their prices and quantities.”
Connor informed him about the goods.
Lansius tallied them and compared the sum against the savings. “You’re still forty copper short.”
“About three silvers short, eh?” Connor approximated while rubbing his chin.
Sensing an opportunity, Marc grinned and hyped it up. “Wow, you sure can count fast. Not even the chief can calculate that much.”
Lansius could only smile sheepishly, but Connor nodding his head. “Indeed, lad, you’re pretty good with this.”
Marc found an opening. “Surely such assistance begets some reward?”
“But of course,” Connor said happily.
The two went home with three iron coins and a sausage. The treat was a pleasant surprise for Tanya and Arryn. Before eating, the boys smelled their cut multiple times to savor it. The meat was juicy, unlike the dry salted meat they had on festivals.
Marc was especially pleased. Before they fell asleep, he asked, “You know why they were talking about you this time?”
Unbothered and with a full belly, Lansius yawned. “Spare me the gossip. I’m too sleepy to think.”
“You’re getting known, you know.” There was a hint of pride in his tone.
Lansius blinked in the dark. “What does that even mean?”
“The two fruit growers at the butcher shop.”
“Yes?”
“They’re envious of you.”
Lansius found it strange and rather unsettling.
Marc continued, “You calculate better than some peddler. Even Connor approved of your skill. You’ll go far in life. That’s why they’re afraid of you.”
Lansius furrowed his brows and turned to Marc. “Hold on. Afraid?”
“Yeah. Those two are afraid you’ll take the Chief’s niece. She’s a beautiful one, and her family has fertile land. Or even the miller’s widowed daughter. She’s still young, and not that far from you in age.”
Lansius chuckled as he massaged his forehead. To think he had already earned envy and resentment over a marriage rivalry he knew nothing about was too much.
The night passed in peace, and morning came again to greet Bellandia.
After his help to Connor the day before, one small favor began to lead to another. In the following weeks, the number of people asking for help, though random and inconsistent, steadily grew. Lansius was pleased, but he knew he could not count on it for a living.
When spring was nearly at an end, Connor returned from his trip. To the quiet disappointment of those who had doubted Lansius, he happily reported that Lansius’ calculations had saved him from taking out loans. Now he even wanted Lansius to teach his eldest child calculation.
Lansius, ever in a hurry to escape from farming life, immediately agreed. With mother Arryn’s blessing, he took two students under his wing. At first, he thought that this was doomed to fail, but he soon realized that he was dealing with teenagers, not kids. They were well-behaved and curious, so the teaching went smoothly.
For his effort, he earned six iron coins or half a copper daily. A copper was the price of a full meal with ale, so Lansius’ rate was abysmal. Earning half a meal per day was not a living wage, but he was content.
The road to financial independence is never easy.
Afterward, things began to take a better turn. During the summer, Lansius gained two more students, the village chief’s son and the baker’s child. With them, his income improved enough for him to earn a copper a day. Summer passed in relative ease, but when autumn arrived, the tutoring came to an abrupt halt as the entire village turned its attention to the harvest.
Harvest was the biggest occasion of the year, and other celebrations, such as marriages and feasts, were often arranged around it. Only after the festivities ended did life begin to slow again, as people turned their thoughts toward the coming winter.
Lansius was ready to call it a good year. For the first time, he had a steady source of income. But then, on a clear but windy day, the village routine was broken.
Without warning, hundreds of armed men came retreating into Bellandia. Only then did the villagers learn that Arvena was at war. Young Lord Arte led a column of men that included wounded fighters and refugees. They made camp outside Bellandia and waited for reinforcements. Marc and the other villagers were soon called for training.
The sudden turn of events left Lansius deeply worried. He had no experience with war or fighting. Though he kept it to himself, the uncertainty sickened him. In his mind, the situation could worsen at any moment.
***
Days passed in more or less the same routine. The only difference was that Lansius frequently spent his free time with other men from the village. During one such gathering, the topic of magic was raised. Some believed that the lord might employ a mage or a saint candidate as a healer.
Intrigued, Lansius found himself increasingly drawn to the subject. Magic was something he had always yearned to witness. Thus, he followed the crowds to the newly established camp nearby to listen and learn about the world beyond his village.
However, rather than learning about magic, Lansius found himself becoming an object of curiosity. The men at the camp were intrigued by his foreign features. No one had seen dark hair like his before. While they were familiar with various shades of blonde and lighter brown, his near black hair was a novelty. Even men who hailed from distant lands, such as the Mercantile Kingdom in the Far East or the Navalnia Empire, hadn't encountered someone with such distinct hair color.
Lansius came to realize his distinctiveness. Then, abruptly, a voice rang out. “You with the dark hair, the young lord wants to see you,” someone declared in a commanding tone.
Lansius looked around and saw that everyone’s gaze had turned toward him as an imposing man in a fresh white tunic approached. The man motioned for Lansius to follow him.
The crowd’s eyes dutifully followed as Lansius and the knight headed toward a particularly large tree.
Lansius saw young lord Arte sitting regally on a small wooden chair, surrounded by burly men, presumably his knights.
Gulping, Lansius stammered, “My lord.” The words felt foreign. He had never addressed a lord before.
“No need to be so tense,” Arte responded. “I just heard a story of a foreigner who was robbed, lost his memory, and couldn’t even speak the language.”
“Indeed, that is my story,” Lansius confirmed, relieved that he found the right words.
“Do you remember anything about your home?”
Lansius shook his head. “I can’t remember.”
“Ah,” the young lord mumbled, then changed his tone. “Tell me, what do you do in this village?”
“I teach children to calculate,” Lansius managed, feeling the constraints of his limited vocabulary.
The young lord laughed upon hearing this, appearing pleased about something.
“If you can count, why not calculate the number of our troops or something? Entertain us, will you?” said one of the burly men.
“That’s a good idea. Can you do it?” the young lord agreed.
Lansius hesitated for a moment. However, his interaction with the young lord validated what others had said about him. The young lord seemed genuine. Thus, he answered, “I believe I can.”
“Excellent,” Arte replied, clearly excited.
The knight who had approached Lansius earlier now signaled to some men. “Assemble the men who can walk. No armor, no weapons. And make no unnecessary commotion.”
Slowly, the camp came to life with calls and shouts as everyone who was able sprang into action, readying themselves for formation. The knights watched from the sidelines, clearly considering themselves above the call. For them, this was merely entertainment.
“My lord, the men are ready,” the knight reported to Arte.
The young lord stood and inquired, “Well, can you calculate the number of men in their current formation?”
Nodding, Lansius realized that his actions had led hundreds of men to assemble, many of whom were wounded. The pressure was immense, and the villagers watched intently.
Observing the formation, he noted that the men were arranged in five deep ranks. The first and subsequent ranks consisted of equal numbers, only the last was missing a few men.
The front consisted of 22 men and 5 ranks deep. So, 110. But they are missing three to complete the formation.
“My lord, it’s 107,” Lansius answered. Clearly, Arte had fully expected him to count manually or to use a stylus and multiplication table.
“Oui, that was quick. Are you certain?” Arte asked a fierce glint in his young eyes, perhaps a byproduct of this violent era.
“More or less, my lord,” Lansius confirmed.
Fascinated, Arte ordered, “Send in the squires.”
Three teenagers hurriedly began to count the men manually, each starting from a different point. They divided the formation into thirds and ran while counting. It was evident that they were accustomed to this method.
After a short wait, the squires returned and announced, “My lord, it’s 107.”
Lansius was inwardly pleased. The count matched his own calculation exactly.
The knights looked pleased, as did the young lord who dispersed the formation. The 107 men also appeared amused by the recent events. Many eyes turned toward Lansius, a level of attention he was unaccustomed to.
Arte returned to his seat and asked, “What is your name, man?”
“It’s Lansius, my lord,” he responded, surprised that Arte would even ask. The social chasm between them was so wide that it would normally be unthinkable for Arte to need to remember the name of a lowly subject like him.
"Lansius, you're an interesting man. How about joining my retinue?" Arte's offer drew chuckles from his knights.
At this, Lansius was dumbfounded, struggling to process the unexpected offer.
***
Two weeks had passed since the arrival of the armed column. The trees had shed their orange leaves, and the cold air from the western Targe mountains had descended upon the Arvena highlands, signaling the approaching winter.
Despite the usual calm during this time, the town and villages near Bellandia saw an influx of armed men arriving from distant towns and cities. The majority didn't stay and continued their march eastward. Most traveled light, as supplies were plentiful and easy to come by so soon after the harvest.
The situation reached its peak when Lord Maurice of Arvena, Arte's father, arrived in Bellandia with his personal column.
Today was the second day after the Lord's arrival. Despite all the military activities and the rising prices, the Arryn's household continued their life as usual, except for the addition of a mother and daughter who were war refugees. Arryn gladly sheltered them in her house.
The guests helped with the chores and offered some coins for food. With the farm empty for winter, Arryn, Tanya, and the guests went to the wool shop. Meanwhile, the boys were busy fixing things like roofs, window covers, and fences.
Despite his training, Marc was only out at noon for a few hours. Interestingly, Marc wasn't the only one brushing up on military matters. Last week, Lansius had encountered a rather memorable scene involving himself, the troops, and the young lord.
While Lansius didn't think much of this encounter, others insisted that he had impressed the young Lord, who had asked him to join. However, Lansius felt that the young Lord was only joking, as he was neither a fighter nor a competent scribe.
As the sun was rising and today was laundry day, Marc and Lansius busily scrubbed and beat their clothes with a wooden bat before rinsing them.
Suddenly, a woman’s voice rang out from outside, “Lansius. I’m looking for Lansius.”
Marc and Lansius stared at each other. Lansius cleaned his hand from the white ash they used as a detergent, but Marc headed straight to the front.
“Wow, a woman, not from Bellandia, too. I never thought this could happen to you,” Marc commented sarcastically.
Lansius splashed water on Marc for his stupid comment.
“Bah!” Marc reacted by trying to smack Lansius’ back as he went past him, but missed. He ended up shaking his head while returning to his laundry.
The woman leaned against the short wooden fence, her hands resting lightly on the rough wood. Unlike most of the women in the village, her hair was cut short.
“I’m Lansius,” he said as he approached.
“I can tell from the hair,” she quipped.
Lansius unconsciously frowned. Unlike other people’s brown hair, his was almost charcoal dark. He disliked it as it made him stand out.
The woman missed the subtle change. “Are you really a foreigner?”
"I think so. Even now, I'm struggling to talk." He wasn't being modest; despite two years and daily chats in the village plaza, he was only slightly better than basic.
“I understand you enough.” She straightened her posture and revealed a weathered black gambeson. An exquisite-looking belt decorated her waist and a well-worn scabbard hung neatly on one side.
“I’m Stefi, a Squire. They sent me to help you on the journey ahead.” She gave a little bow at the end.
Lansius blinked several times to process what he just heard.
Ehhh... a squire? Accompany me? A girl...!?
Nervously, Lansius guessed why she was here. He concluded that the young lord's offer was real. However, nobody had informed him about this arrangement.
“May I call you master Lansius?” she asked indifferently.
“Eh, no, I’m not someone important. Just Lans is enough," he clarified.
Stefi stared at him briefly. Lansius noticed that there was something about her gaze. It was so abnormally powerful and penetrating.
Not wanting to start on the wrong foot, Lansius decided to explain his stance. “Listen, before anything else, you should know that I haven’t made my decision yet.”
She looked surprised. An invitation from a noble was a formality. It was hardly refused, either due to its prestige and opportunity, or fear of punishment. “Are you by any chance afraid of the upcoming battle?”
“That is one concern, yes,” he admitted. Life for him was already hard without sanitation and antibiotics. Adding war into the mix would be suicidal.
Stefi offered a stiff smile and explained, “Be at peace. At most, you’re probably going to work as a scribe.”
“But I never travel out and I can’t even write that well.”
Lansius' confession broke the ice and made the squire chuckle. “That’s why I’m here. And Lans, put more trust in your ability. I was there, you know, when you counted the troops.”
“Ah…” he muttered.
“The troops had barely assumed formation. The squires just started their counts when you finished counting. How did you do that?” Stefi asked with great interest.
“It’s just multiplication,” he said, but he knew that mental math was uncommon in this era.
“But you didn’t even use a multiplication table. That’s amazing, you know?”
The way Stefi said it made Lansius rather proud. However, he still had doubts. “I’m just a farmer turned teacher. I only want to live in peace.”
“Ahh, so you’re that kind of man,” she said, gazing out across the landscape.
“I’m not sure I follow,” Lansius replied.
“Humble. Many people get a speck of skill and become pompous and haughty.”
Lansius couldn’t help but snort softly at her kind words.
“Is that your house?” She gestured at the small hovel.
“Yup,” he remarked without any intention of hiding that he lived in poverty.
“Looks cozy and well taken care of, aside from the rotted thatched roof and wood panels," Stefi observed.
"Indeed, it needs a bit of repair," Lansius admitted.
Stefi nodded sympathetically. "Must be costly..."
"Yep." Lansius knew where the conversation was headed and braced himself for her sales pitch.
"So why don't you accept the offer? Being a lord’s retainer brings wealth and status. What’s not to like?”
Lansius was hesitant and asked sheepishly, "Do you know about the pay?"
“For non-combatants on a campaign, it’s usually half silver a day.”
Half silver was six copper; it was six times his income. Lansius started to see the benefit.
“I don’t know about teachers’ pay, but I think it’s hard to pay for a better house,” Stefi teased.
Lansius unconsciously nodded in agreement.
Stefi noticed the subtle change. “I heard you guys aren’t related, but... don’t you want to help them out? I imagine working the land is hard on the body.”
Lansius exhaled deeply. Mother Arryn’s back was getting worse while blue dyes wrecked Tanya’s fingers. The family had taken care of him, a complete stranger. It was only natural for him to help them back.
“How about if I return tomorrow morning for your answer?” She knew not to push too hard.
“Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”
“I hope you say yes, otherwise I’m stuck with half-pay,” Stefi commented without sounding bitter.
“Eh, why?”
“Well, because I don’t have a duty right now,” she answered flatly.
“But you’re a squire?”
“A masterless one. My knight master, unfortunately, died on a hunt. Maybe I’ll tell you about her when we have the time.”
“I’m sorry to hear that… but why won’t other knights employ you?”
She giggled. “Because I’m a female and most all other knights are males. If I fuck around and become pregnant, then they’ll be the one who gets the blame.”
“T-that’s awful…” He felt embarrassed by the frank answer.
She laughed. “It’s just a lame joke. But yeah, at any rate, you would be stuck with me. But don’t worry. I’m more reliable than my looks.”
Lansius snorted softly at Stefi’s self-promotion. "Is it common for women to become squires or knights?"
Stefi furrowed her brows momentarily. "Oh, I guess you didn't know since you're not from here. It's rare. Probably my master and I were the only ones, so I usually work with the servants. Why, do you wish to change for another squire?"
"No, not at all," he said, shaking his head. "I'm just curious."
Sensing a change in his mood, she asked, "So, how about it? Are you coming?"
He mulled about it. “Are you sure about no fighting?”
“Of course! We’re only defending against a small incursion. We’ll be mostly at the rear, far from any battle.”
Lansius was getting swayed. He looked around to settle his mind and spotted Marc hanging clothes.
“He too, would get an exemption,” she whispered.
Lansius’ eyes widened. He looked her dead in the eye and asked, “Are you sure?”
“It’s common knowledge that the Lord can only levy one from a family.”
He knew that most men in the village had already answered the call. While a lord couldn't legally force the same man to answer the call multiple times, they could impose a quota on the village or settlement. As a result, many volunteered multiple times on behalf of their sons or other male relatives. Youngsters and first-timers like Marc, who had no protection from their parents or uncles, were sure to get selected.
Lansius finally found his courage. “When will we depart?”
Stefi replied brightly. “Tomorrow after sunrise.”
“So soon?” he asked while trying to steel his resolve.
“Winter is coming in a month or two, so we’re running out of time,” she remarked. “Don’t worry, I’ll prep you up and show you the basics.”
Lansius remained doubtful. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being treated as an exotic pet with a talent for numbers. If that were the case, assigning him a squire made sense. Not as an assistant, but more like a handler.
Despite his pessimism, he still wanted to repay the family’s kindness. A scribe in the back lines had better chances than a man in the front. As he reached out with his right hand, he was already thinking of what he would say to Arryn, Marc, and especially Tanya.
Stefi took his hand, and the two clasped hands to seal the deal. “I swear to protect you from harm until we reach our destination.”
“I put my life in your care,” Lansius said, taking a leap of faith.
Autumn of Elven Calendar 4422 was drawing to a close.
***