Horizon of War Series-Chapter 223: Incendium

Incendium

Canardia, Northern Side

Despite the real fire threat every summer, firefighting efforts remained basic, crude, and rarely appreciated. In many Midlandian cities, being a firefighter was not even considered a profession. Most relied on city guards and the general populace to combat blazes. Municipalities allocated minimal resources to fire prevention, typically stocking lightweight leather buckets waterproofed with pitch as the primary tools for extinguishing fires.

Firefighting primarily relied on bucket brigades, where lines of people passed water from wells, rivers, or cisterns to douse the flames. While this method could manage smaller fires, it often proved woefully inadequate against larger, more destructive blazes. When fires grew out of control, authorities had no real plan and simply left the local populace to fight the fire with whatever resources they could muster.

This disorganized approach left cities and communities dangerously vulnerable, particularly during the dry summer months when fire was both a constant and terrifying threat.

That vulnerability became reality slightly past midday when a building in the northern part of Canardia caught fire. The flames roared to life, and the narrow streets and tightly packed structures allowed the inferno to spread with alarming speed. Only when thick, acrid smoke billowed into the sky did the rest of the city grasp the scale of the disaster. Men hurried to form bucket brigades, but their march clashed with panicked crowds, frantically scrambling to save what little they could from the fire-stricken houses and shops.

To make matters worse, the lightweight leather buckets were stored on the other side of the city. Desperation forced them to use anything they could find—heavy wooden buckets, old helmets, or even old battered cauldrons—to pass water from the wells. As they labored, the stench of charred wood and burning debris wafted through the narrow streets, making every breath a painful struggle. People coughed and gasped, covering their faces with scraps of cloth, their eyes stinging as they fought against the fire.

More men arrived, but the flames had already spread from rooftop to rooftop, devouring entire rows of houses with terrifying speed. The relentless crackle of fire mingled with the cries of frightened children and the frantic shouts of desperate families.

Many fled with whatever they could carry, while others clung tightly to their weeping family members, desperate not to be separated in the chaos. Here and there, shop owners and merchants rushed to evacuate their goods to the streets, with a few lucky enough to load them onto carts.

Amid the chaos, a newly appointed fire brigade chief, a Lowlandian, arrived. He was late because he had been training with his newly formed firefighters outside the city when he saw the billowing smoke. They rushed to the scene in a narrow horse-drawn carriage loaded with buckets and tools. He surveyed the site grimly while two dozen of his men prepared to act.

"Get the Guild. We need their mason," he instructed, calculating the fire’s rapid spread.

One of his men immediately sprinted off, pushing through the crowd with urgency.

"Someone who knows the area, speak up!" he shouted to his men over the clamor.

One of his men, who lived not far from there, stepped forward, shouting over the commotion, "There are five deep wells in this vicinity!"

The chief glanced at him, then turned to his lieutenant. "Send the five youngest to distribute buckets and take command of each well."

The lieutenant quickly chose five men, assigning each to a well. Without hesitation, they grabbed as many buckets as they could carry and bolted toward their posts.

"The rest, follow me," the chief instructed, pulling on his heavy woolen tunic before soaking his leather cloak in water. His men followed suit, soaking their cloaks in water and donning them as though they were uniforms. As they readied themselves, the people nearby began to take notice. This year in Canardia, firefighting was no longer a desperate scramble but a highly organized effort.

Armed with axes and hooks, the firemen marched behind their chief toward a building adjacent to the blazing inferno. They passed a line of townsfolk struggling with buckets of water, pausing to glance at the newcomers while resting their sweaty, exhausted hands.

The men watched as the group in soaked leather cloaks fearlessly entered the building, even as the raging inferno consumed the structure next door. Even from the streets, the heat was intense, drying their sweat before it could trickle. Worse, smoke hung heavy in the air, swirling through the streets like a living thing, choking everyone.

Then, changes began to unfold. The building, on the verge of being engulfed by flames, started to crumble. Its wooden walls slowly collapsed inward from the top, and the roof caved in as the firemen outside tugged at it with ropes, bringing the structure down.

As a large section of the structure fell, the soot-blackened firemen emerged from the haze.

"Douse the rubble," the chief ordered the nearest bucket brigade. "We need to prevent the fire from spreading, or I’ll have to bring down the next building."

The townspeople, despite the chief's thick Lowlandian accent, recognized his expertise and followed his instructions without hesitation.

He gave his men a moment to catch their breath before surveying the scene again. Satisfied with their efforts here, he turned his attention to the fires spreading elsewhere. The war against the flames was far from over.

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As the fire spread, the streets grew increasingly chaotic. The heat and smoke blanketed everything, making it nearly impossible to see or walk. Families were separated, salvaged furniture cluttered the streets, and strangers helped guide the disoriented and injured to safety. Without a moment's rest, the chief and his men pressed on toward where the fire and wind were strongest.

By sheer luck, one of the buildings was extinguished in time by the bucket brigades, commandeered by one of his men. However, the row was connected to a narrow alley where the fire could quickly spread. Two buildings were in grave danger. If either ignited, the entire block and a large part of Northern Canardia would be at risk.

It was clear they needed to tear down the building to stop the fire. One was a small tavern, easily demolished. The other was a sturdier, four-story building.

"Where are the Guildsmen?" he yelled, but his men had no answer.

He spat to the side and wasted no time. "Take ten men, go to the building on the left, and tear it down," he ordered his lieutenant.

"Yes, Chief," the lieutenant responded, quickly organizing his team and heading off.

"The rest," the chief said to the remaining men, gripping his axe tightly. "With me."

They marched to the building, determined to tear down the dry roof or walls. This was the critical point where the fire could be stopped. If they failed, the strong, dry wind would drive the flames into the rest of the city. When that happened, Canardia would be consumed by an uncontrollable blaze that could rage for days.

"What are you doing?" a group of men demanded as the fire brigade approached the building.

"What does it look like?" the fire chief replied sharply, stepping forward to block the group as his men began their work inside.

"Who do you think you are? This building belongs to the city. Get your men out!" barked an older gentleman who looked to be in charge.

"Even as we speak, the flames have already spread to the rooftop and will soon reach the walls. If we lose this building to fire, the flames will spread to the rest of the city. We need to tear it down," the fire chief explained.

"Tear it down?!" The gentleman was visibly shocked. "You can’t. It’s not yours to touch! I demand that you douse the roofs and walls with water to stop the fire."

"That’s impossible, not with a building this large. Slightly damp timber won’t stop an inferno."

"This building has a rich history. You can’t let it burn down. Not on my watch!"

"I won’t risk the rest of the city for a single building," the fire chief snapped. "Move aside—I have bucket brigades to organize."

Both men stood their ground, and tensions rose as the opposing group armed themselves with sticks and knives. The fire chief’s men, watching closely, moved to support with their axes at the ready. Feeling threatened, a few men from the group drew their swords.

"By the Ancients," murmured one man from the bucket brigade as he watched the tense standoff.

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Amid the burning row of buildings, the searing heat, and the thick black smoke, the situation teetered on the brink of violence.

"What’s the issue here?" a harsh voice cut through the chaos. A man clad in a gray cloak arrived, flanked by tall, armed guards.

The older gentleman responsible for the building opened his mouth to explain, but the newcomer removed his cloak, revealing his black hair. Gasps of recognition rippled through the crowd.

One of the tall guards stepped forward and announced, "Behold, you are in the presence of the Lord Shogun of Midlandia."

The people around them knelt immediately, bowing before the Lord of the City. The fire chief smirked faintly, amused by the sudden shift in power.

"No time for this. Get up. We have a city fire to extinguish," the Lord commanded. The bucket brigade resumed their work with renewed vigor.

Turning to the fire chief, the Lord ordered, "Get your men to work. You’ll be fine with me here."

The fire chief bowed and directed his men to continue demolishing the building.

"My Lord," the older gentleman protested, "this building is a repository for past stewards of the city. It contains fine furniture, artwork, and other valuable goods."

"Repositories," the Lord Shogun repeated, his sharp gaze fixed on the man. "Meaning unused goods? Are they in need of repairs?"

"Some are of good quality," the man insisted.

"If they’re of good quality, then why are they in this building and not stored in the castle complex or vaults?"

The gentleman stammered, "It’s... that’s because..."

"Sterling," the Lord called out.

"Yes, My Lord." A dashing young man appeared with a different group of armed men.

"Take these fine gentlemen to the nearest billet and have them write reports about this so-called repository building."

The gentleman trembled. "B-but, My Lord—"

One of the Lord's tall guards stepped forward, towering over him with a cold, murderous glare. Intimidated, the suspicious gentleman and his group said nothing more and were escorted away.

"I suspect those goods were embezzled," the fire chief remarked once they were gone.

"I have the same suspicion," the Lord Shogun replied. "Can you organize some men to check and possibly evacuate the goods? They might be of high value."

"I'll arrange for some. Also, it would be a good idea to take two of the youngest among them to help identify the items inside. They might also know about any secret doors or cabinets."

The Lord Shogun turned to his guard, who promptly sent a man to retrieve two from the escorted group. As they watched the fire raging nearby, the Lord spoke again. "I’ll arrange for more help. You’ll need it."

The fire chief nodded sternly. "I’ll be glad to have it."

***

Lansius

The fire still raged, and the four-story building became the frontline as flames devoured the one beside it. The guildsmen had finally arrived, and their mason set to work, weakening the structure with the intent of collapsing it onto the burning building. The plan was straightforward: reduce both to rubble, prevent the fire from spreading, and make it easier to extinguish.

It would have been easier if this part of the city had a fountain or cistern, but there were none. As more troops arrived under Sir Michael, Lansius ordered them to assist with the firefighting or join the bucket brigade. Though lacking proper tools, they soaked their gambesons, which offered some protection, though not as effective as heavy wool or soaked leather cloaks.

While Sir Michael and his men battled the fire, Sir Omin arrived with a group of men clad in thick leather painted in gaudy yellow attire, pulling a cart fitted with what looked like a pump and crude hoses.

"My Lord," they greeted in unison. Sir Omin introduced the group behind him. "May I present the members of House Tedzeus. They have private firemen for their storehouse and have gladly volunteered to help."

"Any help is appreciated," Lansius said, eyeing the sturdy, confident men in their bright yellow leather jackets. He turned to the fire chief. "Go talk to them and see if you can work together. It's too dangerous to act inside a burning building without proper coordination."

"Yes, My Lord." The fire chief quickly approached the group for a discussion.

Meanwhile, Lansius stepped aside with Sir Omin, away from the chaotic firefighting efforts around them. "They're one of the powerful landlords in Canardia. What will their help cost me?"

"At this point, a gesture of goodwill, nothing else," Sir Omin reassured him. "Also, they're originally from Elandia, so they are likely more comfortable with your rise to power than with our fellow Midlandians."

"The band of foreigners," Lansius remarked, relieved. He was ready to reject their assistance if it came with strings attached, especially if it meant offering their daughter as a concubine. He knew from Sterling's Orange Skalds that several Houses were already expressing interest in exploiting this opportunity, since it was rather common for the upper echelons of Midlandian society to have a concubine either openly or in secret.

He turned toward the cart. "Is that a hand pump?"

"Yes, they use this device. I believe we have a smaller one installed on the airship. Theirs attached to a long canvas hose," Sir Omin explained.

Lansius nodded thoughtfully. After a while, the fire chief returned to report that the groups could work together.

Soon, the two firefighting teams coordinated their efforts. Lansius watched as two men worked the hand pump on the cart, drawing water from the well to street level far faster than the bucket brigades could manage. Unfortunately, the hoses weren’t long enough or designed to deliver water directly onto the flames, but they significantly enhanced the firefighting efforts.

Sweat and soot covered everyone as Lansius watched the fire chief direct the efforts. With more water available, they managed to establish another bucket brigade to combat the flames. Meanwhile, Sir Omin went to gather more help from other Houses that might have their own private fire crews.

Despite House Tedzeus' assistance, progress on the four-story repository building was slow. The fire had already spread to the roof, which was only partially demolished. As Lansius had instructed, items were being carried out into the streets. Among the furniture and debris, the scene suddenly grew more animated. A crowd gathered, pointing and murmuring, drawing everyone's attention.

"What's happening?" Lansius asked, turning to the fire chief, who hurriedly shouted for his men to report.

Sir Michael emerged from the crowd and reported, "My Lord, the men found a lot of bronze and silver wares when they tried to destroy one of the walls. It was a false wall."

Lansius exchanged glances with the fire chief, who muttered, "No wonder progress is slow. They built it to hide a chamber."

"Let the troops handle removing the goods. Don’t let it slow the firefighters," Lansius instructed firmly.

Sir Michael bowed his head but paused as Lansius added, "Sir Michael, don’t risk yourself. Stay away from the flames; burn injuries are no trivial matter. You can oversee the recovered goods instead."

The fire chief quickly agreed. "The Lord is right, Sir. Let my men handle it."

"Acknowledged," the one-eyed knight replied in good spirits before returning to coordinate the efforts.

Despite his words, Lansius felt the urge to inspect the building and the hidden chamber himself. He adjusted his trusted axe secured to his back belt. Just then, a carriage escorted by a score of light cavalry arrived.

Suspecting who it was, Lansius stood waiting. The coachmen and guards bore the insignia of the SAR, and his four guards acknowledged them with a nod. The guards on the carriage stepped down and opened the door, revealing Audrey inside.

"My Lady," Lansius quipped as a rare, cool breeze swept through the air.

"Help has arrived," Audrey declared warmly as her companions descended from the carriage one by one: Ingrid, Claire, and even Valerie, all wearing traveling cloaks that covered them from head to toe.

"My Lord," they greeted in unison, and the cooling breeze around them only seemed to strengthen.

"You too, Valerie?" Lansius frowned.

"Don’t worry," Valerie replied with a smile. "I’m quite good with fire."

"But you’ve only just recovered," he said, worried.

"All the more reason I need some exercise," Valerie replied with a lighthearted grin. "Besides, Ingrid and Claire are with me."

Lansius turned to Ingrid and Claire, his expression firm. "Don’t put yourselves in danger. The firemen can handle this."

"Canardia is our home too, My Lord. We’ll do what we can to help," Ingrid replied with resolve, while Claire quickly nodded in agreement.

"My Lord," one of the guards interrupted, pointing to the sky.

They looked up to see an airship maneuvering toward the center row of burning buildings. From above, it began showering the flames with a dark, orange-reddish thick substance.

"Mud," Lansius commented, watching as the flames were doused wherever the substance landed. With Sir Morton in the air, he felt a measure of relief. Though the airship’s load capacity was limited, its presence was strategic, offering both eyes in the sky and a layer of security amid growing suspicions of arson or a baited trap designed to lure him out.

"Don’t waste this opportunity! Work faster!" the fire chief shouted, rallying his men and the bucket brigades working in three coordinated lines.

Lansius was about to join the fire chief when his breath suddenly grew shallow and labored.

"Ah, the Lord is having trouble breathing," Valerie remarked, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"Who did this?" he grumbled, but the ladies merely pushed him gently toward the carriage.

"Nobody, My Lord. You’ve simply inhaled too much smoke," Ingrid replied evenly.

Reluctantly, Lansius shrugged off his soot-streaked doublet and handed it to a guard. He wiped his face and hands with a clean cloth before stepping into the carriage. Inside, the air was cool and refreshing, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. As he sat across from Audrey, his breathing gradually steadied. It had to be one of the mages who played a subtle trick on him, likely Valerie.

He sighed and let himself enjoy the soothing atmosphere, which was unmistakably Audrey’s doing. Her magic seemed to be drawing in cleaner air from less affected areas.

Audrey met his gaze and remarked, as if reading his thoughts, "Maintaining this isn’t easy. We’re surrounded by thick smoke."

"Then you should evacuate," Lansius said firmly.

"Not without you," Audrey countered, motioning to the guard, who promptly shut the door.

"Drey, I have a battle to win." His tone was calm but insistent.

Audrey’s gaze sharpened. "Lans, you’ve sent your general, and I’ve provided you with reinforcements. Don’t tell me it’s not enough."

Lansius glanced out the window, watching the mages and the airship at work. He exhaled, conceding. "Yes, it’s more than enough."

Audrey tapped the carriage wall, signaling the coachman to retreat from the scene. "You need to delegate commands. Yes, they won’t be as good as you, but the House depends on you. Even if they fail badly and Canardia is ruined, you still have 29 more cities, towns, and manors in Midlandia to manage."

Lansius reluctantly nodded. "Who told you that? Omin?"

"Him, Sir Harold, and Sir Michael. Should I ask Dame Daniella too, since she’s here?" she challenged him.

He simply shook his head. "No need. I give up," he said, leaning back into the cushioned seat.

Watching him relax, Audrey let out a smirk. "Last year, I came back with soot on my face, and you docked my pay. Now, it’s you who’s covered in soot. Should I dock your pay?"

Lansius chuckled, finding her remark absurd but amusing.

Audrey, glancing out the window, reassured him, "We’ll have the fire contained. I’ve seen your firemen training in Korelia. You’ve given them well-thought-out gear and techniques. They’re capable enough on their own. The mages and the airship are just a show of force."

"That’s what our House does best: overkill," Lansius joked as the inconspicuous horse-drawn carriage and its escorts made their way through the bustling city center.

High above, unperturbed by the smoke from the billowing fire, a majestic hawk swooped through an open window of the castle’s falconry tower. The bird landed gracefully on a perch, ruffling its feathers as its handler approached. With practiced ease, the Hunter Guildsman untied the letter from its leg, offered the hawk water and a small treat, and quickly set off to deliver the message.

The sealed letter bore the mark of the Lord of Dawn. Avery had completed his preparations and was launching a bold and desperate attack on Corinthia. Lansius had yet to decide on Corinthia, its pirates, or its smugglers. Now, with Lord Avery’s move, the entire south, still scarred from last year’s conflicts, once again stood on the brink of chaos.

***