Chapter 16: Diplomacy in Action

Baron von Latimore stepped down from the carriage, his posture as steady and composed as he could manage. Before him loomed the rather imposing estate of Duke Mark. The mansion seemed to glare down at him, the pristine white stone of its walls shimmering slightly in the sunlight and hinting at the not-entirely-mundane nature of its construction.

The reminder of the duke's affluence nearly made him gulp. It had been only a couple of weeks since his wedding—the last time he'd seen his new uncle-in-law—but this meeting was an entirely different beast. This was not a family affair. It was formal. And the duke, even in casual settings, was undoubtedly an intimidating man.

A summons from him wasn't inherently a bad thing, of course. But the fact that the duke wanted to meet with him personally, rather than having a viscount or earl speak with him… That worried him. Whatever this meeting was for, Latimore doubted it was good news. He couldn't think of anything he'd done to warrant commendation yet. That left only a handful of alternatives: a problem, a reprimand, or a task to be done.

Latimore felt an imaginary weight settle on his shoulders. Any of the options would mean even more added to his plate, more expectations to address. He'd barely had time to even wrap his head around the neglected barony he'd inherited, much less begin to address all of its issues. He'd hoped to have a few months at least to gain a better grasp of the situation and make real progress on fixing it. But perhaps he'd been too lenient with his timelines—or rather, underestimated those of his superiors.

He was quickly escorted through the estate toward the duke's sitting room. Intricate tapestries and paintings adorned the halls as they walked, many bearing plaques or inscriptions describing their historical significance. Latimore had already been granted the opportunity to inspect some of the more striking ones on his last visit. Which was how he knew just how rare and priceless many of these pieces were. The sight did little to calm his already frayed nerves.

As a servant announced his arrival, Latimore kept his back straight and his expression neutral. He was guided to a chair across from the duke, who sat with perfect poise behind a grand desk as he penned a missive. Short-cropped grey hair ringed his head, circling around a bare patch at its top. Yet despite the man's hairline and wrinkled features, Latimore knew better than to ascribe the word "old" to the man before him. The duke had more in common with a slumbering dragon than some doddering old grandfather. Even now, he exuded a presence that seemed to fill the room with its very weight.

As he sat, a servant poured tea into fine porcelain cups before moving to stand near the wall. The duke finished his work and set it aside with a sigh. His steel blue eyes stared at Latimore with an intensity that nearly made him fidget. The baron, already uneasy, picked up his tea to hide the urge and sipped cautiously, doing his best to hide any signs of nerves.

"Baron. I'm glad that you were able to attend this meeting on such short notice," the duke said, breaking the silence. "I just returned from speaking with the king. Our meeting left us with… much to discuss."

Latimore glanced up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Hope welled up within his chest as he recognized the implication of the words. "Are we going to get the reinforcements we requested?"

Trade in the barony had been halved in recent months, with merchants avoiding the area due to rampant banditry. It was one of the many, many problems that Latimore had inherited from his predecessor. Unfortunately, it was also one that he was the least positioned to solve.

Every able-bodied man with any martial training had already been conscripted for the wars in the far north against the Empire. Those who remained were stretched paper-thin as town and city guards or dealing with the border incursions to the west. That, or they had joined the very bandits plaguing their lands. It wasn't an uncommon vocation, especially for those who had avoided conscription.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." The duke remained impassive. "All of that depends on another matter. I received a notification. You probably did as well—about Habersville."

Latimore frowned, racking his memory. He'd been inundated with reports and notifications ever since taking over the barony. Most of the settlements under his rule had some issue or another, and he was doing his best to handle the most urgent ones first. But that necessarily meant leaving some problems unaddressed to deal with later. After a moment, realization dawned.

"Is that… the rebellion?" he asked cautiously. He'd already dealt with a few small-scale uprisings, of which he was fairly proud. But this one in particular hadn't struck him as especially notable. Habersville was a minor logging town on the outskirts of his province—not exactly a high priority by any standard.

"Yes," the duke confirmed grimly. "It needs to be taken care of, and quickly. The king himself received notice about it and demanded that we take action."

Latimore's stomach dropped at the words. "The king…? Why did he get a notification about something like that?"

The duke's eyes narrowed. "The fact that you don't know suggests that you did not read it carefully enough. Otherwise, you would understand."

The sharpness in his tone made Latimore's wince. After a moment, the duke let out a tense breath and rubbed his forehead. "The town did not simply rebel. It has been seized. Instead of merely declaring independence from you—or even from me—they've declared themselves separate from the entire kingdom of Novara. That is a far more serious matter, young baron."

Understanding dawned as Latimore digested the words. That truly was a big deal. A section of the kingdom seceding altogether hadn't happened in hundreds of years. Who would risk it, when such an act would immediately result in a massive target being painted on their backs? Not to mention that Novara generally had the military resources to quickly quash such delusions. But now, with the army so preoccupied…

The duke continued to speak. "However, there is good news as well. The king has promised us some soldiers… if we manage to handle the problem."

Latimore's eyes narrowed. "If? He won't provide aid to deal with the problem itself?"

The duke smiled thinly. "It seems not."

Latimore grimaced at that. He knew very well how strained the duke's own manpower was right now. It seemed it would be up to him to scrounge up the fighters for this matter. There was another question on his mind, however, one that he hesitated to voice.

"Will the king… honor his promise?" he asked skeptically. The ruler of Novara was not exactly known for his reliability, though such things were not publicly discussed.

The duke chuckled coldly. "Yes. I made sure to get it in writing from several of his chamberlains. It would look very bad for him if he reneged on this promise, and worse still for his advisors."

Latimore nodded. The reassurance was heartening, but it did little to lessen the sheer gravity of the situation. "I understand. However… I don't know how quickly I can act on this," he said carefully. "What few men I have are all tied up repairing infrastructure and guarding the roads. If I were to draw them away from that, the entire barony would quickly spiral even further into lawlessness and disrepair. It would be a number of months before I would feel comfortable sparing people for this."

The duke's expression darkened, but Latimore quickly continued to forestall any objections. "That being said, there are other options. I can reallocate some funds to hire adventurers. At the very least, they can investigate the town and gather information so we have a clearer picture of what's happening. Perhaps they'll even be able to handle the problem themselves. Habersville is not very large, after all."

The duke's lips curled into a smile. "That would be an acceptable course of action. I'm pleased to see that you have a good head on your shoulders. It's one of the reasons I allowed you to marry my niece."

"Thank you, sir," Latimore said, feeling a rare flicker of relief. The duke's smile wasn't exactly warm, but it was a vast improvement.

The older man leaned forward slightly. "Double whatever you were planning to spend. I'll match your contribution. Make sure you secure at least a team of five silver-rank adventurers."

Latimore nodded firmly. "Understood, sir. I'll do that. Your offer is… well, it's very generous of you."

The duke waved dismissively, his expression softening just a fraction. "Don't be so formal, Klein. When we're in private, I'll permit you to call me uncle."

Latimore smiled faintly, inclining his head. "Thank you… uncle."

***

Quintus's grip tightened around his gladius. He was no stranger to magic, of course. Several of his men bore protective amulets and trinkets meant to bring luck in battle. He'd even heard of less savory types who'd dabbled in curses, inscribing foul charms onto tablets and hiding them beneath a disliked neighbor's home or stowing them in temples to bring down the wrath of the gods. Of course, such harmful magics were forbidden by law and harshly punished, but that did not mean they ceased to exist.

Romans had long ago accepted the place of the mystical and divine. And between the glowing lights of the class stone, the ephemeral floating text of notifications, and the supernatural effects of skills, the existence of magic in this world had already been made abundantly clear, though it took strange and unfamiliar forms. Still, he felt as though he were starting to become accustomed to the differences.

But seeing a woman's wounds stitch close before his very eyes, as though by an invisible hand? That was another level entirely.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion at the woman before him. The display had suddenly transformed her from a helpless captive to a potential threat. Such powers were more in line with what a priest or holy woman might accomplish. Still, who knew what other abilities she had? It took Quintus far more willpower than he was willing to admit to not simply draw his gladius and try to run the witch through.

He quashed the sudden and irrational thought. Such things were a product of fear, nothing more—fear that he could not and would not allow himself to succumb to. Besides, if the witch truly could heal, then this was an incredible opportunity.

Quintus turned his attention to the men around him. All but the most wounded one had gone on alert immediately after his declaration. They had not made any overtly aggressive moves, but he noted the slight shifts in positioning that would help them if the situation turned hostile. Even the men cutting open the other cocoons had paused their work and turned their attention to the woman.

The woman swallowed noisily, seeming to sense the shift in the air. Her eyes darted from soldier to soldier. "What are you talking about? I'm not a [Witch]! I'm a [Healer], a [Healer] gods damn it!"

The way she said "witch" and "healer" sounded strange, as though the words were titles. It was similar to how Quintus had heard others speak about their classes.

"Doesn't mean it's not witchcraft," Claudius muttered.

"Uh, yes it does!" A hint of exasperation leaked through the woman's obvious fear. "I've never sacrificed anything. I don't brew potions in an iron vat, either. They're completely different skill trees. How do you even mix them up? And anyway, shouldn't you be able to tell? With how high level you must be, one of you has to have picked up [Appraisal], right?"

No one responded to tell her otherwise. Instead, Quintus motioned for the men to stand down. They relaxed and most returned to their work of tending wounds or cutting open the other cocoons. However, some remained where they were, standing ready in case things went awry.

Now that the immediate danger had passed, Quintus had a moment to study the woman more closely. She was well into adulthood, perhaps eighteen or nineteen if he had to guess, so not particularly young. But her narrow cheekbones, pinched features, and slightly upturned nose marked her as some kind of foreigner to these parts. At least, that's what he assumed. Her appearance was unlike any Quintus had observed in Habersville.

That simply raised more questions, however. What was she doing out here. Obviously, the spiders had captured her. But had she been wandering around the forest beforehand? She didn't have the look of one who lived in these woods. Or perhaps they had ambushed her caravan?

The more he thought, the more Quintus managed to calm his frayed nerves. If this woman had been captured, then she couldn't be that powerful of a witch. He'd have to trust that as long as he kept her in sight, they would be able to handle anything she might try. Besides, they had rescued her. What reason did she really have to treat them as hostile?

A sudden groan interrupted his thoughts. Looking over, he saw Brutus wobble where he knelt before tumbling onto one side. His skin had lost all color and shone with sweat. His limbs splayed bonelessly about him, his face against the dirt as though the weight of his helmet were too much to bear.

Quintus pressed his lips together, then looked back at the witch. If her healing powers were not the source of some trick or deception, then this was a real opportunity. Then again, did he trust her strange magics enough to allow her to touch his men?

A quick glance at the dusky sky made the decision for him. It was already getting dark. Soon, the light of the slowly expanding fire behind them would be the only thing allowing them to see. And that would make them even more vulnerable to the forest's other denizens. They needed to return to camp, and much more quickly than they were currently capable of.

Quintus returned his full attention back to the witch. "You say you are a healer."

"A [Healer], yeah," the woman corrected with that same strange emphasis. "Isn't that obvious? I have a name, by the way. It's Eleonora."

He ignored her comment and nodded to the two other men they'd rescued. "You may heal one of your teammates first. Then, tend to the rest of my men before you heal the other."

The woman—Eleonora—frowned. "I… I can only do so many. I think I only have five cleansings in me right now. Especially with how bad some of these guys are."

Quintus looked at her hard, and she shrank back, cowering. He wasn't sure he believed her. But even if it were true, then that would be enough. It would allow her to tend to both Brutus and the nearly-unconscious Legionnaire sagging ever lower against the tree. It would also let her heal the two other men who had received a significant amount of venom. Even if the healing only enabled them to walk unaided, it would be a huge boon.

"Fine. Choose one of your own to heal, then I will have you tend to four of my men." He pointed out the Legionnaires he had in mind. "If you are capable of healing your last companion after that, then you may do so. If not, we will carry him."

Eleonora opened her mouth as though to object to his proposal. However, as she met Quintus's hard gaze, the words seemed to freeze in her throat. Swallowing again, she simply nodded.

She quickly moved to the thinner man and laid her hands on his chest. A pulse of soft light traveled from her hands and into his body in a ripple. Almost immediately, Quintus saw color return to the man's skin as his wounds slowly knitted closed. She rolled him onto his side as he began to cough. His eyes remained closed, but his breathing had steadied.

She then looked up at Quintus, who pointed to Brutus. "Start with him."

One by one, she healed his men to the point where they could move and walk around unaided. The spells did not completely fix them—the more severe wounds failed to disappear entirely, and both Brutus and the formerly unconscious Legionnaire remained shaky on their feet. The process also resulted in quite an unpleasant tingling and itching sensation, according to his men, one that the witch claimed was due to the venom evaporating in his system. However, it was enough to satisfy Quintus for the moment.

Quintus directed Eleonora to the last Legionnaire in need of healing. However, she hesitated, eying his arm. "You don't want me to take care of that first? It looks pretty nasty."

He looked down at his own wounds. The bandage he'd wrapped around the limb was soaked through with blood, and he couldn't deny that it burned as though a hot coal had been lodged inside of it. Still, that burning further reassured him that the limb was in no danger of going numb. He could manage.

With a dismissive wave, he once again gestured to the other Legionnaire. "I am certain. Heal him."

After taking care of the last of his four men, Eleonora straightened. She wiped sweat from her brow, and Quintus noted a slight trembling in her hands. "There. All done. Can I… heal my last teammate now? I think I can manage that much…"

Quintus pursed his lips, but nodded in assent. She then moved to her final teammate—the large, stocky man with a sword belted at his hip. Her hands glowed once more, albeit a little more faintly this time. As the light rippled across the man's body, Eleonora slumped forward and collapsed on his chest, fully unconscious.

Cassius stepped forward to check on her. "She's alive, sir. Guess she wasn't quite as hale and hearty as she thought."

Quintus nodded. The woman was light enough that carrying her wouldn't be an issue. Much less of one than carrying the other man would have been, anyway. "Bind her hands, to be safe. I don't want any surprises. Or panicked flailing to harm my men."

The soldiers chuckled at that. They used some spare rope to quickly tie her hands behind her back. Quintus would have preferred to use iron handcuffs or the like, but they had to make do with what they had.

With that taken care of, the Legionnaires stood and got ready to move. The quickly fading light and the smell of smoke meant it was well past time to move on. However, they were in a far better state than they had been just after the fight. But as they moved to handle the three rescued humans, the burly man suddenly awoke with a start. His eyes darted around the clearing, taking in the strange warriors around him, and quickly scrambled to his feet.

"Who are you? What's going on?" His eyes landed upon the unconscious figure of Eleonora slung over one of the men's shoulders. His eyes narrowed. "Unhand her, you—"

The man reached for his hip, only to find it bereft of his sword. Quintus stepped toward the scowling man. "Peace. She fell unconscious healing you. We have defeated the spiders that held you captive. You three will return to camp with us."

He attempted to make his tone polite, as having the man follow them of his own free will would make things much easier. However, rather than calm the man, he seemed to only become more agitated. "Why is she bound, then? Kidnappers!"

He lunged forward, forgoing a weapon in favor of simply tackling Quintus to the ground. Before he could move more than a few inches, though, Quintus reacted. He stepped to the side, tripping the man mid-step and wrapping his good arm around him as they tumbled to the ground. Two of his other men dogpiled on the man as they fell and pinned him there. The man roared in rage and frustration, surprising them with his strength. However, it was not enough to fend them off. More Legionnaires piled on, keeping his arms to his sides as someone else sat on his legs.

Quintus shook his head at the display. The man was surprisingly strong, but he clearly lacked experience. Rather than leverage his build, he thrashed and flailed like a young boy who had no brothers to wrestle with as a child.

A few moments and coils of rope later, the brute was tied up and walking in front of the contubernium—for his own safety and theirs. They tied up the third member as well, though he remained unconscious. There was no time to deal with them right now. They would simply have to bring them all back to camp and let a tribunal decide their fates.