Shadows Over the Eastern Plains
He felt as though he were setting foot on foreign soil for the first time as he crossed the vast, deep-green plains. On the gently rolling hills, dozens of plump foals and mares grazed contentedly on the grass.
“This year alone, more than a hundred foals have been born at this ranch,” Daren Dru Seorkan explained, his voice tinged with quiet pride as he followed a step behind. “All of them carry the bloodline of the renowned Nornek stallions.”
Barcas turned to regard the stern-faced man with his rigid, somewhat obstinate air. “How many trained warhorses do we have?”
“Three thousand here at this ranch alone. Adding the northern pastures brings the total to roughly six thousand three hundred.”
“Fewer than the reports indicated.”
A flush crept up the man’s face at the observation.
“You have been in the central territories, my lord. It is simply not practical to relay every minor detail beyond the regular reports.”
The man averted his eyes, adding in a defensive tone, “A month ago, a Zramian raid struck one of the northeastern horse ranches and inflicted heavy losses. The subsequent retaliatory battle cost us a great many serviceable warhorses as well.”
Barcas’s brow furrowed. “Why was this not reported to the imperial court?”
“We can handle it ourselves. There is no need to involve them.”
The man shrugged, his expression indifferent.
“It has always been the Grand Duke’s policy that eastern matters be settled by easterners. The vassals agreed.”
“The east is still part of the Roem Empire,” Barcas countered in a dry voice. “We are imperial subjects as well. Just as the east owes loyalty to the throne, the throne has a duty to protect its people in the east.”
The man pressed his lips together, clearly repelled by the word “protect.” Warriors of the proud Khan Tribe regarded outside aid as humiliation.
Instead of correcting the misguided notion, Barcas turned his horse toward the village nestled at the foot of the hill.
The residents living outside the castle walls led far harsher lives than the city folk. Proof of this lay in the dilapidated buildings lining the muddy dirt road—every one of them old and shabby.
As he surveyed them with an indifferent gaze, something caught his eye. Barcas narrowed his eyes and urged his horse toward the center of the village. There, in the square, something hung from a large tree.
Drawing closer, he could make out the details. Three corpses, long dead and beginning to turn a sickly purple with decay, dangled from ropes around their necks.
“Heretics executed not long ago, it seems,” Daren remarked, wrinkling his nose.
Barcas looked at him. “Is the heretical influence spreading in Kalmor?”
“As you know, my lord, many easterners still cling to their tribal faiths. Some worship spirits as gods or indulge in superstition.”
The man let out a heavy sigh.
“Lately, accusations of heresy have increased. Likely due to the frequent clashes with the Zramians—they are all steeped in spirit-worship. The growing hostility toward heretics has led to more frequent religious trials at the village level.”
“In just a few years, everything has fallen into chaos.”
A displeased look crossed the man’s face. He tried to mask it with a forced smile and a shrug of his broad shoulders.
“The Grand Duke has been bedridden for some time. There was little that could be done.”
Barcas gazed thoughtfully at the corpses, then jerked his chin toward his men.
“If left like this, they will likely turn into ghouls. Cut them down and give them a simple burial.”
The man raised his thick eyebrows. “Heretics, my lord?”
Barcas fixed him with a cold stare. “Must I repeat myself?”
After a long, piercing look, Daren barked at the lined-up knights.
“Obey the young lord’s command at once!”
The men dismounted immediately and severed the ropes holding the bodies. The corpses dropped heavily to the dirt with dull thuds.
Barcas looked down at the broken necks twisted at unnatural angles. Maggots swarmed in the empty eye sockets, and every tooth had been pulled from the lipless mouths—precautions taken against ghoul transformation.
Bodies that had not undergone purification rites had a high chance of rising as undead, which was why heretics were often stripped of eyes, teeth, and nails.
Useless measures…
Ghouls could still wield tools based on their living memories. It would have been far better to burn the corpses completely or perform proper purification rites.
He watched the soldiers drag the three bodies to a corner of the clearing, then turned his gaze to the shabby farmers gathered at one side of the square. Most looked terrified, though a few wore expressions of discontent.
He pointed to one of them. “You. Fetch a priest. Now.”
The man shuffled reluctantly toward the chapel at the edge of the village.
Soon a priest arrived and performed a brief purification rite. Barcas observed in silence, then ordered the bodies buried in a suitable place before leading his horse out of the village.
At the end of the wide road, an abandoned wooden statue caught his eye. A three-headed wolf—or perhaps a dog—carved from wood lay half-split by an axe blade on the path leading into the Argand Forest.
It was clearly a mark of a curse.
Daren, who spotted it a moment later, stiffened and shouted at the soldiers.
“Remove it at once!”
Barcas regarded the statue calmly, then glanced back toward the village. Someone had placed it there deliberately, timed to their arrival. The malice behind it was unmistakable.
A dry laugh escaped him.
It seems there are those who do not welcome my return.
Whether it was the work of superstitious heretics or a provocation from anti-imperial factions, he could not tell, but he sensed that life here would not be easy.
“Shall we search for the culprit?” Daren asked, watching his expression.
Barcas tugged the reins and shook his head lightly. “Leave it. Stirring trouble over a single statue will only invite mockery.”
The man swallowed a sigh and nodded. “You are right, of course.”
Yet his eyes remained sharp as he surveyed the village, his anger clearly not spent. Barcas wondered if he might lead the men in some act of petty harassment. Among the mounted warriors, this subordinate possessed a particularly combative temperament.
Feeling a strange weariness settle over him, Barcas spurred his horse forward.
By the time they returned to Laedgo Castle, the sun had begun to sink in the west.
Barcas dismounted in one fluid motion and handed the reins to the stable hand before crossing the wide training grounds. As he entered the main keep, the steward who had been directing the servants hurried forward.
“Welcome back, my lord.”
Barcas acknowledged the greeting with a nod and made his way through the bustling hall toward the stairs. The steward followed closely.
“Several lords from the surrounding regions have come to pay their respects, my lord.”
Barcas frowned and glanced back. “Regional lords?”
“Vassals who oversee the southeastern territories.”
The man added carefully, “They seem eager to present themselves before your succession ceremony.”
Barcas rubbed his chin lightly with a gloved hand, then continued up the stairs, speaking without much interest. “Prepare a banquet for the guests. I will change and join them in the hall.”
“My lord…”
The steward hesitated as Barcas headed toward his chambers on the second floor. Barcas looked over his shoulder.
After a long pause, the man spoke cautiously. “Will Her Highness the Princess be attending the evening banquet as well?”
Barcas’s eyes narrowed.
Sensing his reaction, the steward rushed on as though offering a report. “She is soon to become the lady of the Grand Duchy. Everyone is curious about her. Yet she has not left her chambers all day…”
“Steward.”
Barcas’s low voice cut him off.
“Do you believe the princess should endure discomfort merely to satisfy the curiosity of my kin and servants?”
The color drained from the steward’s face. Barcas continued coldly.
“Her Highness suffered a grave accident only months ago. She has not yet fully recovered, and she has just endured weeks of arduous travel. She requires rest. Make it clear to everyone that she is not to be disturbed with trivial matters.”