I noticed that the warmth of spring had come. I couldn’t tell in the wetlands or the darkness of the forest, but on the walk towards Lark it was evident. There was still a cool mountain breeze that blew from the west, but the sun felt good on my shoulders. The path here was wide and flat enough for the wagons, thanks to the earlier spellcraft. With the monsters’ levels reducing, I allowed a hypervigilant Lilly to walk before us, armed with a hefty stick. She seemed to enjoy herself, making loud roars when she smashed creatures that could have been stomped to death. Meanwhile, I focused on pulling stones to the surface and having Walker smooth them over the dirt. Which he did a fine job of, in between bouts of grumbling about the inn’s new name.

I believe we traveled much faster on our return trip, either because the way was better or because return trips simply feel as though they go faster. We camped again partway there and reached Lark slightly before noon the second day. I was only slightly annoyed when the guards at the doorway gate took their time in opening it. The townsfolk seemed in good cheer as we made our way to the inn we’d stayed at before, smiles and laughter on almost every face we passed. I tasked Walker with seeing to our rooms, gathering supplies, and getting the [Wagoneers] ready to depart. No sense in those men sitting around longer than needed.

In one of the rooms, I changed into a robe of fascinating and shimmering blue with a yellow cloth belt that tied on the side of my hip. I pulled my staff from my bag of holding, a beautiful deep brown wierwood topped with a medium-sized mana crystal in a silver bracket. The crystal was cut like a pear-shaped gem and twinkled with a soft yellow light that matched my belt. Just the type of image a good wizard needs to present when potentially meeting with nobility. I didn’t know if the baroness would grant my audience today, but I would be prepared if she did. First, though, I needed to purchase my land.

In the center of Lark, there was a town square, the only part of the city with cobblestones instead of dirt. While the cobbles were of pale dark red color, it was hard to appreciate them when the dirt and dust from the rest of the town trailed all over the square. On two sides of it, the main boulevard of the town continued on, and I could see happy townsfolk walking up and down it as they shopped or ate or did whatever it is that rural humans do to waste their lives away. On one side of the square stood the baroness’s manor, a low wooden wall circling the three-story wooden building. The manor was painted white, with a roof of shining copper tiles still holding patches of winter snow not yet melted.

On the other side of the square, a long deck led to an even longer two-story wooden building that was called the City Center. I don’t know why it wasn’t called a city hall like any other city would name it, but that’s what the building’s name was in Lark. I took the stairs up the deck and entered through a tall wooden door. Inside was a hallway that could fit five people side-by-side, with doors leading off to the right or left. The first door on the right was open, and I could see the city guards walking around and scribbling on scrolls at tables. Behind them, I could see the thick iron bars of the city’s jail containing one drunk who lay in a puddle of his own vomit. I took the door on the other side of the hall, the one that led to [Scribes] and [Clerks] standing behind a long counter. A man dressed in merchant's clothes arguing with a tax collector, but other than him and I, there didn’t seem to be any other customers.

“Can I help you?” A shrill, nasally voice called from a bored-looking woman wearing a white smock. Her hand held a quill ready over an open book.

I stepped right up to her, and spoke clearly and concisely my exact purpose, “Yes, I seek to purchase land within the barony.”

She scribbled something in the book but didn’t do or say anything further. I looked at her. She looked at me. I kept looking at her. She kept looking at me. Eventually, someone behind me tapped me on the shoulder. When I turned, an [Administrator], a woman much better dressed than the clerk, gave a quick bow.

“[Mage] Fargus, I presume?” She asked after the bow. I was immediately on guard. Not just because administrators were notorious swindlers, but because she was also dressed for court.

I nodded my head, mentally preparing to untwist whatever plot the woman had to beggar me.

“The baroness seeks an audience with you. Please follow me.” She spoke and turned, departing without giving me an opportunity to even reply. With a quiet sigh, I followed. This was what I wanted, right? A quick audience? Why, then, did it feel like I was a virgin being led to be sacrificed?

I wasn’t foolish. I had discreetly inquired about the barony and the baroness while in the inn and marketplace the first time we passed through Lark. The Baroness, Lady Olivine Lark, was the fifth generation of her noble line. To the North and South of the Eiston baronial lands lay the counties of Hirkley and Lahal. Those noble houses have a history dating back to the founding of the kingdom, with lands and titles granted for some heroics during the establishment. Yet, despite their shared heritage, or maybe because of it, if one called the relationship between the two houses a feud, one would be understating their feelings. And, as humans are wont to do, five generations ago a noble son of one absconded with the noble daughter of the other in a romance forbidden by both.

Pleading before the Duchess Eiston of that time for a way to escape their family ties, the Duchess granted them noble titles and land to the West. The family named Lark, an insulting butchering of the original names. Considered then, and by many still, the lands were hinterlands. The very edge of the kingdom. A worthless estate on untamed land, a land plagued with outlaws and beasts alike. Now, many cousins from different generations live throughout the barony. To me, this means that I would be dealing with the head of a poor noble family with ambitions of competing against more esteemed nobility in a contest that they have lost over and over for five generations. Lucky me.

Across the square, we entered through the gates to the manor house. In between the manor and its wall was a gravel pathway lined with trimmed hedges on either side. Three steps led to a large red double-door that a servant stood next to. He opened it without a word, and the administrator quickly led me inside. I followed a step or two behind her, choosing a statelier manner of walk after we entered into a wooden hallway lined with paintings and statues. I glanced at a few of the more colorful paintings, didn’t see any art of truly appreciable value.

The hallway itself had no other doors than the entrance and the one we came to. She knocked loudly on the door three times, before opening it. In a clear voice, she called out, “Now presenting Nemon Fargus, wizard.”

I walked past her, hiding my amusement. The audience chamber was reasonably large. The floor was paved white tiles, with a long pale orange rug running from the doorway to a dais made of shining red stone. Around the dais, a lip of polished copper lined the edge reflecting light from the ornate iron lanterns hanging from the wall. In the center of the dais, Baroness Lark sat in a fancifully carved high-back cushioned chair. The woman looked to be in her early thirties, attractive despite her noble features. Her nose was held high as she assumed an air of arrogance. Her dress was of an older design, a frilly orange silk and red lace ensemble.

In the corners of the room, doors connected further into the manor, but one was blocked by a fine table and chair. The chair was pointed away from the table, and a [Bard] sat in it, holding a harp. A normal-sized man with black hair and green eyes, but only a slightly muscular physique. A lute lay across the table as well. Behind the Baroness’s seat and to the right, Guard Captain Untal stood tall in all his armor. Silent and rigid with arms held behind his back.

All in all, I had the impression of children playing pretend. I imagined that this noblewoman didn’t get the opportunity to hold court as often as she would like. I gave the appropriate courtly bow, the kind appropriate to greeting a lady of the baroness’s station. My courtly manners were beyond rusty, as I hadn’t practiced them for more than a hundred years, but I felt I managed.

“You may rise, Nemon Fargus,” She called, her voice firm and formal.

I stood and waited. It was an awkward feeling to be at the entrance to the chamber, and her being more than forty feet away at the other end looking down on me from a chair.

“You may approach,” she said, and I walked towards her, relieved I wouldn’t be stretching my voice to try to speak from where I had stood. I did make sure to tap the end of my staff on the ground to show my steps were measured and timed, allowing the light in the crystal to flare ever-so-slightly each tap. I stopped about ten feet before her dais, giving another small bow.

“Do you know that my city doesn’t get much trade?” she asked.

I could easily imagine why, but I didn’t say that. Instead, I said simply, “I did not.”

She made a displeased face, “You see, my barony is bereft of the natural resources others have. We have trees and lumber aplenty, but no river to carry them down. No, wagons—expensive wagons—are used to haul our lumber. We have a small copper mine, but no purchasers for copper. My own family roofed this very building one year to ensure the mine still runs. Trees and bogs, Mr. Fargus, I have aplenty. So, when I receive word that a wizard has come to town and he brings with him a dozen [Wagoneers] who spend silvers at our inn like birds fly for the winter, I was surprised. That silver brings a prosperity we haven’t seen in five years, you see. When, three days ago, I received my first merchant from Eiston claiming the road to that fair city has been fixed beyond how it was originally laid and that beautifully made rest stops now provide shelter for wandering merchants and adventurers, I became intrigued. When I received word that you have the Duke’s permission to build a wizard’s tower, that you were a famous teacher in the capitol, why I became excited. Tell me, what do you desire to build a wizard’s academy here? I will clear any of my city’s buildings to provide a place for your school,” she gave a pinched smile that disappeared quickly.

I opened my mouth to explain that this wouldn’t be happening, but she raised a hand.

“I know that was my misconception. That brutish man, the commander of the [Rangers], he already paid me a visit to personally destroy my dreams,” her mouth twisted as she spoke before returning to normal. “He quite happily informed me of your intention to build a tower in a bog. Some summer house to escape the burdens of a busy life in a real city.”

This time, rather than try to answer her, I just waited. If I had less self-control, I'm sure my eye would have been twitching.

“I will admit, that I have even,” she gave a quick, sad look at the [Bard] in the corner, “considered offering my hand in marriage to tie you to my lands, if it meant my people prosper. Yet, he seemed to know my thoughts and reveled—he reveled!—in telling me of your parentage so as to further crush my hopes. So, I ask you, Nemon Fargus, the famous wizard from Sena City, would you be open to appointment as my court wizard?”

There was a lot to unravel in her words and statement. I hesitated to answer, trying to choose my words carefully, but that hesitation must have given away my answer.

“I did not expect you would,” she said. “You can have your bog, wizard. The land is worthless to me, and more than equals the gains my people have made simply by your visit,” she nodded to the administrator who still stood by the door behind me, and the woman approached holding out a sealed scroll.

I took it carefully and bowed in thanks to the Baroness. So far, the interaction was mild considering it was one with nobility.

“That will be all,” she answered stiffly.

I didn’t move from my spot, which seemed to surprise her, “Pardon my forwardness, Baroness Lark, but there is something else I seek to discuss with you.”

“Oh?” She asked, and murmured something about a marriage that caused the bard to stiffen. I ignored it, of course.

“When touring your barony, I ran afoul of some bandits. I took the liberty of securing them, but—”

“Bandits? In my lands?” She glanced at the guard captain, but he still stood at attention, more statue than man.

I nodded, “Yes, and while I normally would have disposed of them, I discovered one is nobleborn. A man named Mirm Fenn. I would ask what you would have me do?”

I watched as she tapped a finger against her cheek in thought. “Fenn, Fenn, Fenn… oh!” Her face brightened.

“You have brought me a gift indeed, Mr. Fargus. I care not what you do with the others, but bring me Mr. Fenn. Alive. Not to say unharmed. Just alive. In fact, I hereby appoint you Alderman, so that you may enact justice on your lands as you see fit.”

It pained me how hard I had to try not to grimace when she made that appointment. I immediately began plans to return the favor but stopped halfway through my imagining of a magic circle that called all the surrounding rats to one location. I stopped because it occurred to me that this was likely exactly what that man, the Scout Commander, desired.

“Thank you, Baroness,” I said, almost choking on the words, “If you’ll excuse me.” I bowed farewell, and departed, theorizing how many lightning strikes it would take to destroy a nearby cabin on a hill.