Silver Standard
Canardia Castle
Inside the castle wing reserved for the ladies-in-waiting, the afternoon passed slowly. With the Lord and Lady away on a trip and little real duty to occupy them, three young women lounged in their usual chamber, sitting, sinking into soft cushions as they traded gossip to pass the time.
The door squeaked open, and the oldest among them stepped inside. “Ladies,” she greeted.
“You’re back,” the others exclaimed, brightening at once.
“Come, come,” one urged, patting the open spot on the long, cushioned chair.
“We just had some baked yams. Have you eaten?” another asked.
The first lady, daughter of a wealthy esquire with an even wealthier mother, eased herself into a chair. Though weary from the long ride back from her family’s manor, having been away for a month, she looked every bit as eager for whatever rumors she might have missed. She glanced around and asked, “Where is Eleanor? Is she not joining us?”
“Eleanor?” one of her friends echoed.
“The new lady-in-waiting. Sir Justin’s daughter,” the first lady replied. “The one who arrived from Korelia with Lord Robert and Lady Astrid.”
“Ah, the chubby, talkative girl,” the second lady remarked.
“She is always with Lady Astrid,” another answered. “I think her position is secured.”
“I see...” The first lady sighed softly. “I thought she was going to join us.”
“Even the younger ones have already found someone to serve. And here we are, left to wither,” the second lady lamented.
“Somebody please wed us,” the third lady declared dramatically, earning a round of laughter.
The last lady let out a feigned groan of despair, leaning her whole body against the friend beside her until the two of them were pressed together on the cushions. The friend yelped and pushed back, and the pair ended up half-squirming, half-laughing.
For ladies-in-waiting like them, serving a Lady was the natural path to raise their status and influence. It would certainly help them find a good husband. Because unlike their male siblings, it was rarer for women to inherit an estate. The old belief that a clan or House must pass through the male line still held firm, despite the Ageless and the Imperium never supporting such a notion.
Thus, influence was all they truly possessed here. To know gossip was as good as lining their purse with gold. To serve a powerful Lady was to have ears close to those who held power.
“Oh, I hope a knight will come for me and do me dirty in bed,” the youngest, a cute and calm-looking girl, said without a hint of shame.
Another quickly added, “I hope Sir Sterling will do that to me.”
“He is married,” one gasped, but it did nothing to stop them.
“Oh, I want Sir Harold. That strong arms and stare,” she said, practically swooning.
Another burst out in a fiery tone, “How dare that low-born Clementine take him away from me!”
“You did not hear the news about her?” the second lady asked, prompting exchanged glances among her friends. She, who had siblings in the army, leaned in slightly before continuing, “The gossip circulating in the Lord’s army is that Clementine is a Saint Candidate, captured by Sir Harold himself.”
There were loud gasps, and the ladies giggled, finding that bit of gossip far too intriguing to resist.
Then the youngest commented, shameless as ever, “I do not mind being his second.”
“No, I am second. You will be the third,” the first lady retorted playfully.
The third lady then asked her friends, “Say, say, do you know anything about Dame Daniella?”
“That Nicopolan woman? She worked with the money-lending business. And yes, she is famous and powerful," the second lady replied.
“She is a Lady too, you know,” the first lady added.
“Truly?” two of them asked, surprised.
“A Nicopolan baron’s daughter,” she revealed.
“No way.” A round of gasps followed.
“No wonder. I always hear men talk about her. Even the younger ones.”
“Every boy, even the young squires, wants an accomplished woman. At this rate, we will end up marrying a pasta meister,” one joked, drawing a loud ruckus of laughter.
“Speaking of people to bed,” the youngest said, drawing everyone’s attention. “Why not the Lord himself?”
“Oh, that would be the most ideal. To slip into his bedsheet and make babies," one whispered.
Again, the chamber shook with roaring laughter.
“I will be swooning if he returns to chop wood again.”
“I so wanted to massage his body with scented oils. And he better not take a bath beforehand.”
“You love a man’s scent, do you not?”
That set them off entirely. The room filled with echoes of laughter until they were flapping their hands, trying to catch their breath. In their minds, the axe swinging and the Lord’s sweaty body were far too vivid. Each of them had peeked, and it had become a sensation among them. Most nobles were soft and untrained; many were either too picky and thin or too fond of eating and turning ungainly. But more than just his physique, there was the strength of authority, and with it came a powerful attraction.
“If I were the Lady of the House, I would lick him clean before washing him,” the youngest offered the boldest remark of all and earning a new wave of hoarse giggles.
“But, ladies, remember, we also have strong competition,” the first lady warned.
“Ah, that blonde guest,” another replied.
“Valerie?” the other guessed.
“Who is she exactly? The more I ask, the more muddled it gets,” the youngest asked, frowning as she hugged a cushion to her chest.
“It is hard to say," the first lady muttered.
“They are pretty tight-lipped about her."
“Must be something guild-related.”
“The men from Korelia seem to know her,” another added, raising her brow.
“She is well-traveled then. And the Lord seems to treat her rather closely,” the first lady remarked thoughtfully.
“Ah, yes, I saw just the two of them in the garden a little while back,” another said in support.
“I am guessing she'll become a concubine?” the youngest asked.
“Ooh, I heard a story that the Lord saved her in Cascasonne,” the second lady said suddenly, recalling a detail her sibling in the army had once told her.
“Ahh, My Lord saving a damsel in need,” another sighed theatrically, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead.
The girls giggled, and one said, “The Lord should declare himself a king and make a harem.”
“My House will certainly be in support,” one responded quickly.
“Mine too,” another readily added.
At that, they all dissolved into giggles again, cushions shifting, skirts rustling, the sound of their chatter filling the chamber like warm air rising from a hearth.
“But ladies, even if the Lord started a harem, I doubt he would ever look to us,” the first lady said, curbing their runaway imagination.
They all sighed in unison, shoulders sinking, the mood collapsing into a playful gloom.
The first lady continued, “We have the new lady, Ella, and she is the strongest candidate. It would cement the alliance with the powerful Lord of Dawn.”
“The flame-haired lady...”
“But she is so young.”
“Not that the Lord is that old. Less than a ten-year gap, likely. I’m sure we’ve seen worse.”
“I doubt that'll happen,” the youngest said. “The Lord is the type who likes dangerous women. The Lady fits, and so does Valerie.”
“Oh,” they exclaimed together. “Good observation.”
Then, with nothing more to add to the matter, one drifted back to her usual complaint. “I want young men to marry. No more daydreaming.”
“Young men, huh?” the first lady muttered, sinking deeper into the cushioned seat. “How about Farkas?”
“That Lowlandian lieutenant? He's quite charming. Where is he?”
“Somewhere in the mountainous jungle in Lowlandia,” the second lady answered.
“Too far!”
The second lady then added, "You girls forget about Captain Dietrich. He is yet to marry.”
“I never see him around. He's a bachelor, but you need to be good with horses if you want him. He loves to ride,” the first lady said, then recalled another candidate. “How about that young boy from the Tedzeus family? His House is filthy rich.”
“Oh, that Ted boy. Where is he now?”
“Same as Farkas, in the jungle,” she answered with a giggle.
There were groans in the chamber. “Why are the young always in the jungle? They will turn mad and forget everyone, like the stories of old,” the third lady complained.
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“That is scary," one chimed in.
“No. He will turn manly when he returns,” the youngest said with full confidence.
“He will probably bring a woman from the south,” the first lady teased.
The chamber grew quiet. One of them whispered, “Southern women are fierce.”
“Unlike us,” another sighed, their shoulders collectively drooping as the thought settled over them.
And then, without warning, someone let out a sharp, unmistakable high-pitched fart, and chaos immediately broke loose.
"Who did that?” one shouted in panic, rising at once and scrambling toward the narrow window, away from the rotten stench.
“Not me,” her friend remarked, already pinching her nose.
“It must be the beastmen's yam."
“Why is it so deadly?” the youngest cried, half-laughing and half-despairing as she hurried to open the door to let fresh air in.
The group dispersed into chaos. Their refined behavior dissolved entirely into shrieks, gasps, and helpless laughter.
Meanwhile, far from the commotion, in the quiet of the Council Chamber, three young ladies sat facing a long desk. By chance, each had a different shade of hair: Tanya with golden blond, Ella with fiery red, and Eleanor with deep brown. All three leaned over their books after a lecture from Ingrid. The only sound in the room was the soft turning of pages.
Here, the air was still and cool. Lady Astrid was present, and Ingrid sat beside her, the two of them exchanging quiet whispers in the corner.
Through close proximity, the three young ladies had grown familiar with one another. For that same reason, it was only natural that they studied together. And what they studied was not prose, poems, or dance. These women held very different aims. Marriage was not their pursuit. Their focus lay on books and ledgers, on learning to manage coin, and on studying the details of estate administration.
Lady Ella of Dawn was the smartest between the three and led the group with confidence. Eleanor was studious, and as the daughter of Sir Justin, the Marshal who had returned to Arvena to assist Lord Arte, she was favored by the Lord and received the finest education. In addition, after following Lady Astrid, she studied closely under her, preparing herself to serve as Lady Astrid’s advisor one day.
Meanwhile, Tanya, who had never received formal schooling, lagged behind the rest. The Lord’s sister often found her drive wavering, weighed down by a myriad of other burdens, yet she continued to make progress, slow but steady, with Ingrid and even Sir Omin at her back. To Omin, though Tanya was not blood-related, she was still family.
The three, enabled by their good circumstances, did not waste their chance and strove forward. They wanted to excel, to earn recognition, and one day to manage manors or towns. The Lord had promised that the new administrative positions were open to them, with only one condition: the postings must not be too far from Canardia due to security concerns.
Thus, the three studied, knowing that a different path had opened before them.
Powerful women were almost a hallmark of the House of Blue and Bronze, with Lady Audrey, Chamberlain Ingrid, and Dame Daniella leading the way. Now, Lady Astrid, Lady Ella, lady Eleanor, and lady Tanya were joining their ranks.
***
Lansius
On their return journey, moving from manor to manor and spreading his plan for the selection of able officials for manors, towns, and cities, Lansius stopped by to visit the Commoners’ School, more famously known as the School for the Landless. His visit was unannounced, causing great disturbance and shock to the surrounding communities where the school was located. Yet despite all that, he was greeted with great enthusiasm. Students, teachers, and guildsmen alike welcomed him warmly on his first visit.
Lansius, clad in his traveling attire, was genuinely pleased by the reception. He had expected something lukewarm, as many could still view him as a conqueror. But as it turned out, most looked upon him favorably.
Still, to avoid drawing ridicule for his unclear accent and to prevent anyone from seizing on it to form a damaging opinion, Lansius chose not to engage publicly and declined the invitation to address the students. He preferred closed-door meetings.
Inside a large chamber where they usually studied like a symposium, Lansius spoke to the teachers, select top students, and guildsmen about the opportunity for exceptional talents to serve as administrators for manorial lands. Successful leadership would lead to bigger opportunities, first a small town, then larger ones, and eventually even cities.
The soft declaration was well received, and many showed great enthusiasm for such a chance, even if not for themselves but for someone they knew who was capable.
However, Lansius was not here for that alone. He had a more crucial matter to discuss with them.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he addressed the more than a dozen men and a few women inside the chamber.
The small crowd, many of them older than him, listened attentively. Lansius leaned forward slightly and said, “There is an issue that keeps bothering me. Like an itch I cannot scratch. I know it is there, but I cannot fix it. And no, I am not speaking of sickness, but of the issue of craftsmanship.”
A few wise men and women glanced at one another but did not interrupt.
Lansius continued, “When you go to a craftsman and say: make me a spoon, he will ask what it is for. And if you tell him it is for soup, he will make it to the best of his abilities. Certainly, there is nothing wrong with that. But if you go to ten different craftsmen, you will get ten spoons. Naturally, they will all look different.”
He saw them following his words with growing curiosity.
“Depending on the money and the craftsman’s specialty, you may end up with a spoon made from soft wood, hard wood, bone, ivory, copper, iron, or silver. Decorated or plain. None of that is a problem. What I have an issue with is the different measurement.”
His long-winded explanation had clearly caught some of their imagination.
“It is fine for spoons to differ,” Lansius went on. “But what if we need something that must be made with exact measurement?” He leaned back slightly. “I must say, our workshops and craftsmen fall short in something masons and carpenters already do every day.”
He glanced down at the wooden floor. “Look at the planks beneath us. What is the tolerance between them? Likely less than a spoon’s width,” he quipped, drawing several chuckles.
“Or the roof,” he pointed out. “If the gaps between the wood or the tiles were wider than a spoon, water would certainly leak through.”
Almost everyone nodded, and Lansius counted his blessings. He knew if he wasn't a powerful Lord, they would argue with him at every point, he made.
“What I am saying is this. The Guild and everyone working in the workshops must step up. And there is a reason for that.” He paused briefly, letting the tension form. “In my place, the tolerance of manufactured things is but a hair’s width.”
As expected, his comment stirred a strong wave of murmurs.
Several looked as if they wished to speak, yet perhaps not knowing him well enough, they held their tongues.
"See in my eyes and you will find no lies," Lansius challenged. "In my birthplace, I still have masters who studied Dwarven manuals."
His claim stirred an even stronger buzz. It was far more believable and less confusing than saying he came from another world.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Lansius addressed them again, "believe me when I say this. If we ever wish to reach, or surpass, what the Dwarves achieved ten thousand years ago, we must aim for that level of perfection."
With their gazes locked on him, Lansius continued, "I want our lathes improved to reach that standard. I want metal parts to be made with exact precision. I want precision to be married with craftsmanship. And for that..." He paused and turned his gaze toward a man in his forties with a thin beard and sharp eyes.
The man was Lansius’ trusted scribe, the student of the elderly scribe who had long served him. He was a Midlandian, but had been with Lansius since those early days in Korelia.
With a single firm nod from Lansius, the man rose.
The guildsmen straightened at once. Many recognized him. He was one of the most influential figures in the ever-growing Office of Works, overseeing several thousand talents, who in turn led their own teams. He handled countless dealings with all guilds. They called him the Master of Works.
Lansius watched as his top scribe stepped toward the podium. A junior scribe followed close behind, carrying an exquisite wooden tray draped in blue silk embroidered with bronze thread.
“Right now,” the scribe began, his voice steady, “many of the tools and items produced by the Office of Works can no longer be made by mere artisan’s feel. Exact measurement is needed. And to reach the exact size or dimension, we require standard measuring tools.”
He gripped the purple silk and drew it aside in a deliberate, almost ceremonial motion.
The tray revealed two neat stacks of silver coins resting on red velvet. One stack rose vertically, the other lay arranged from side to side.
A ripple of curiosity passed through the chamber as everyone leaned in.
“Each artisan or craftsman, and every guild, already uses measuring rods, protractors, or calipers,” the scribe continued. “But now we will calibrate all of them to the thickness of the new silver coin, which is already in circulation. These coins all share the same measurement. Their width, thickness, and weight can be used as a standard for calibration.”
He picked up one of the new silver coins and set it flat on a smooth wooden rod brought for the demonstration.
“First, we use the coin’s diameter.” With a piece of charcoal, he marked where the two edges of the coin touched the wood, then lifted the rod for all to see. “This distance, from edge to edge, will be two Coin Meters, or 2 Cm.”
“Why two?” an old teacher asked.
“You will understand shortly,” the scribe replied politely.
He then pressed the coin’s edge against the rod and marked its thickness, repeating the step ten times in a straight line.
“Now, using the thickness,” he explained, “we mark the rod one coin-thickness at a time. Ten marks equals the same span as the coin’s diameter.”
To demonstrate, he stacked ten silver coins on their sides beside the rod. When he lifted the column level with the marks for the diameter, the two matched perfectly.
“This thickness is the Mano Meter, or Mm,” he said. “Each coin-thickness is two Mano Meters, or 2 Mm. Ten coins together measure 20 Mm, which is equal to 2 Cm.”
The men and women in the chamber nodded in agreement, though many were already leaning forward with questions.
Lansius listened as some of the brightest minds in Midlandia finally dared to raise their hands, offering thoughts and asking sharp questions. Meanwhile, he sank into his own contemplation.
The Imperium’s three Emperors, in their sagacity, had standardized many things: road length, cart width, measurements of distance, height, weight, and coinage. Yet despite all that, one flaw remained. They lacked a standard for small measurements.
This had been an issue for Lansius since Korelia. An issue he knew existed, but one that was difficult to resolve.
Unlike others who were satisfied with things made by hand, Lansius wanted uniformity. He understood how it affected quality, function, and accuracy.
A difference no wider than a fingernail could make a bolt veer off its mark. A crossbow part might refuse to fit during a field repair. A wheel hub might not sit true on its axle. Such small errors would demand hours of work, and on campaign, those hours would turn into blood and sweat.
This left Lansius with a problem. He needed a ruler with dependable markings, equal to a millimeter. He could have designed and distributed such rulers to his craftsmen, and surely they would make good use of them. But he wanted something greater. He wanted every man and woman in his domain to benefit.
Thus, he came up with a simple solution. Something everyone carried in their pocket.
A silver coin.
The coins that his minters now produced were also being proposed as a standard of measurement. Their thickness, about 2 millimeters, made them useful for marking out small items, and anyone could press a coin against a piece of wood to create a simple measuring rod. Meanwhile, the coin’s diameter was roughly ten times its thickness, about 20 millimeters. The mint ensured that ten coins stacked together would reach the same height as the diameter of a single coin.
With just a silver coin, everyone now had an accessible standard of measure.
There would be no more guessing by finger length or thumb width. Everyone would work from the same benchmark.
Aside from aiding measurement, the system worked in reverse as well. It made the coins easier to verify, and any fake or tampered piece would be spotted even by common folk.
They were slightly smaller in diameter but thicker, with a stronger, fuller edge rather than a cheap stamped finish. They looked solid, and the fine ridged lines along the rim helped prevent coin shaving.
More importantly, there would be growing demand for the new silver coins, and with it, greater trust. For Lansius, coin acceptance was as good as validation of his rule.
***
North Elandia, Swan City
After securing South Elandia and his ancestral lands in Cascasonne, Lord Bengrieve had not been idle. Beyond expanding his network of spies and strengthening his troops and domain, he had begun shifting his focus toward Duke Louis. Since the beginning of his career as the Seneschal of Midlandia, he had been unable to secure the Duke’s cooperation through normal means or sway his base of old, devout supporters. It forced him to search for another path.
Fortunately, the intelligence network planted inside the Duchy generations ago by his grandfather had finally paid dividends. He had struck gold.
Most regarded the Duke’s eldest daughter as nothing more than a political dead end. A romantically hopeless woman with no ambition and little influence. Moreover, the Duke made it clear that he favored his son and even the bastard over her.
But Lord Bengrieve’s spies whispered otherwise.
They reported that the widow was not a recluse at all, but a quiet mastermind living in the shadows, biding her time. She kept away from court to avoid drawing the attention of potential rivals. She revealed nothing until she held a winning hand. She would only step forward when victory was certain.
When Bengrieve learned her true nature and the stories surrounding her, something in him shifted. The young Seneschal, even already married, fell in love. He devoted himself to sending her letters, passionate and relentless, even when she did not reply.
Years passed. But at long last, she answered.
He had just become the Savior of South Elandia when a short, simple letter arrived for him by the hand of an official messenger.
There was nothing of substance in the letter, only polite greetings, yet the timing and the messenger were enough.
He immediately sent his most decorated knights in a grand entourage, bearing lavish gifts, ensuring that everywhere they passed, the people knew their purpose: to ask for the hand of the Duke’s daughter in marriage. The Duke’s House caught wind of it, and the ailing Duke, under pressure from his daughter's many allies, finally consented.
As the bride and groom entered the altar in the sacred grove of the Elves, the cold distance between the two Houses finally ended.
After their solemn oaths were taken, before the gathered nobles and knights, the newly made Earl Bengrieve made an oath of his own: to recover the Imperial Capital. The knights, the officers, and the esteemed guests roared their approval. The tide shifted.
With Earl Bengrieve at the lead, and with the Duke’s blessing, the powerful host of two thousand knights and heavy lancers, six thousand men-at-arms, and more than twelve thousand levies finally entered the grand stage.
***
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