Lora of Two Worlds

They set off again. Brilliant sun, cloudless sky. Lora, in excellent spirits, refused to sit quietly in the carriage.

"Alvin, the convoy isn't moving fast. I'll ride alongside and learn as we go. By the time we reach Lohenheim, I'll be galloping across the world. Father will praise your teaching."

Lora beamed. Alvin wasn't so optimistic.

After finding his sister on the boat, he'd sent word home from the first posting house. Gareth's reply hadn't said whether their parents were angry, only "take care." Whether that meant on the road or after arriving home, unclear.

The convoy covered a hundred miles a day. Not slow, but not something you could halt at will.

Alvin hesitated. Learning to ride in such a rush, was it safe? Leon spoke for Lora:

"Not knowing how to ride is a genuine inconvenience. When we rode together, she was brave, good posture, good rhythm. I'll watch her. Nothing will happen."

Since Leon vouched, fine.

"Yaaah! Riding!"

Alvin watched Lora and Faye bounce away. Baffled: Yesterday she'd been furious, puffed up like a sheepskin raft. Today, frisky as a newborn lamb? Had she found money in her dreams?

A chamberlain's first skill was reading faces. Von Klein had figured it out last night, or rather, drunk it out: His Highness had taken a liking to the young Odenheim lady. Otherwise, he wouldn't have swallowed that mouthful of over-salted herb tea after learning she'd added the salt.

The two of them last night, and today's scene, nine times out of ten: a couple's quarrel, followed by reconciliation.

Natural. Binding the Odenheims meant at least a strong military deterrent.

Voss's faction controlled the Silver Shield, eight military districts, twelve garrisons, a hundred and eighty thousand troops. But they were spread across the capital district and the Lohenheim district. Even mobilizing took time and information.

Now, His Highness had begun with the northern marcher domains, the least connected to the court. An unexpected move.

Von Klein looked at Alvin with fresh eyes: "Deputy Commander, stop worrying about the young people. Let's move out."

Alvin: I'm only five years older than Leon. Am I not young too? This old chamberlain makes me feel ancient...

The convoy rolled south at a steady pace. Alongside, riders drifting in and out, sometimes fast, sometimes slow.

Corin had never been to the Heartlands. The steppe was vast in its endlessness. The Heartlands were vast in their abundance.

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He rode beside Lora, ready to catch her if she fell. Within days, she'd mastered the basics. On a clear stretch, you'd never know she was a beginner.

"My lady, you're already qualified to be an Askar orto!"

"What's an orto?"

Corin called, cheerful: "Orto means, a friend of the Askar!"

"Good! Then I'm your friend!"

Lora urged her horse forward, past them all. Mo rode beside Corin, grinning:

"Corin, why didn't you tell her? Orto also means 'partner' in Askar."

"Get lost!" Corin's whip cracked on Mo's horse. The horse bolted, protesting.

Leon wasn't deaf. He'd heard the exchange. Before spurring forward, he called to Corin:

"First to the Harden posting house, loser feeds every horse tonight!"

He whipped his horse, rose slightly off the saddle, leaned forward, and surged ahead.

The royal house, descended from the old conquering line. Their mounted prowess had faded since the golden age. But to win at hunts, polo, and racing meets, to display royal vigor, princes had trained in riding and archery from childhood. Whether they practiced was another matter.

Leon's father had been fair with his sons. The eldest, sickly, no martial arts. The second, scholarly, riding for show. The fifth and Leon, the strongest. The eighth, close behind.

In his former life, stripped of four ranks, demoted, the fifth and eighth princes had panicked. Feared the same fate. One turned to alchemy and eternal life. One drowned in wine and women.

Only Leon, the third-rank Baron Chaun, hadn't cared. He'd exhausted his body to punish his heart.

Four extra years of life had made him more than the equal of the fifth prince.

Corin wouldn't give up. And feeding hundreds of horses? He whipped hard, galloping after Leon.

Leon blew past Lora, Faye, and Roland like a gust. Then Corin, another gust. The Turkic guards' blood was up. They drew swords and chanted:

"Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!"

"Leon! Go!" Lora cupped her hands, shouting at his retreating back.

Their road followed the Thanehorn Range. Hills ran parallel. The two riders vanished around a bend ahead.

Lora turned to Roland: "Brother, Leon can ride. But he can't beat a man raised on horseback. Why race?"

Roland raised a brow: "See that bend? On open steppe, we can't beat him. In these mountains, he might not beat us."

"Mountains? More bends, isn't that dangerous? How far to Harden?"

"Close. We just passed a posting house. Harden is the next, ten-odd miles."

Ten-odd li, at this speed, two cups of ale's time. Lora squeezed her horse: "Brother, let's chase! Yah!"

As Roland had predicted, the mountain road was Leon's advantage. Short distance. Corin had no time to adapt and catch up.

Can't win on the flat, but can I lose on home ground?

A freshly smitten rooster is all strut and fight. Any rival approaches, fight first, think later.

By the time Lora's group caught up, Leon and Corin lay side by side in the roadside grass. Their horses swished tails, grazing. They'd been resting.

"Who won?" Faye asked, eager.

Leon said nothing. Corin's thumb jerked toward Leon: "Him."

The sprint done, and it was still early. Lora looked around. Aside from the posting house, desolation.

"This is Harden? Why so barren?"

"Harden is only a posting house now. A few dozen li ahead, Weybrook territory. War-torn border, no residents." Leon stood beside her. He and Roland shared her regret.

The old Zara capital. A great city of the first empire, rich beyond measure. Now, a ruin in the river of time.

Then, Lora's mind sparked. She grabbed Leon's hand and traced a character on his palm: Coal.

"Harden isn't a dead city. It's another treasure."

The coal here was shallower than Highgarden. Thirty or forty zhang, you'd hit it. And from here to Jaxham at the river-canal junction, only a hundred-odd miles.

"Can we buy the land?" Lora blinked.

Leon caught her fingers, folded them into a small fist in his palm. Smiled:

"Little greedy. Save it. This place won't change in a few years. When the time is right, or when we find the right person, we'll move slowly."

Silly woman. Our future is long.

Everything can wait.

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