The Northern Expedition (2)
Swaaah—
The wind blew without end, gently bending the grass at the waist before letting it rise again. Waves of green rippled and surged, rolling endlessly across the plain.
They came rushing forward hand in hand with a soft woo-woo, only to stop short, blocked by a pair of tiny feet.
Small, wriggling white feet.
The bare feet of Alancia, Great Matriarch of the Elves.
The sensation of kicking off her wooden clogs was utterly mysterious. Soft earth met her soles; blades of grass slipped between her toes and tickled her with delicate insistence.
"…So this is grass."
Until now she had only ever touched it with her hands. She had never imagined a day would come when she could plant her bare feet upon the earth itself.
The faint dampness of moist soil, the way the grass pressed along the arch of her foot, the tiny shoots peeking and swaying between her plump toes—
To Alancia, and to every elf, all of it was brand-new.
Each of them savored the moment in their own way. Some raced barefoot across the meadow. Others rolled and tumbled. Still others simply stared down at their own feet in a daze.
Alancia belonged to the last group.
She wriggled her toes and simply gazed at her own feet.
Wiggle, wiggle.
Her impossibly cute toes squirmed among the grass.
How long had it taken them to set foot on the ground like this?
Hundreds of years? Longer? Perhaps a stretch of time so vast that even the sun and moon in the sky had forgotten them.
Her mother, and her mother’s mother, could never have dreamed a day like this would come.
"Ppiik. Ppik, ppiiik?"
A tiny dragon tinged with frostlight fluttered over and circled her. Head and body nearly the same size, it looked at first glance like an oversized plush toy.
Who could look at that adorable form and ever imagine a fearsome Frost Dragon?
Alancia gently stroked the bridge of Iver’s nose as the little dragon nuzzled closer, murmuring,
"This… must be thanks to that white mist earlier."
A strange fog had suddenly appeared around the Golden Tree where the elves lived, spreading outward in pure white. Even at a glance it had been no ordinary mist.
Wind could not scatter its shape. It steadily expanded its domain, swallowing everything into its hazy body.
Only after it had drawn every last elf into itself did the mist stop. Then, in the blink of an eye, it vanished—like morning dew, like a daydream, leaving not a single trace.
"A miracle… that’s what it is."
The mist had disappeared as fleetingly as it came, carrying away everything that had bound the elves like shackles.
If this was not a miracle, what else could ever deserve the name?
As Alancia’s trembling eyes moved between sky and earth, familiar footsteps approached from afar.
Steady, powerful strides—the short gait unique to a small stature.
It was Trivius Palak, the third of the three dwarf brothers.
"Hmm? Haha! What’s going on here? All your folks are barefoot, missy!"
He must have just finished a drink; the tip of his nose was faintly red and a faint scent of liquor clung to his breath.
"What’s the occasion for leaving off those wooden shoes… what were they called again?"
"Clogs."
"Right! Clogs! Why’s everyone running around barefoot without ’em?"
Trivius Palak spoke with open curiosity as he surveyed the meadow. To anyone who didn’t know the story, the barefoot elves frolicking across the grass would have looked more than a little strange.
Every one of them—running, tumbling, laughing—wore the bright smile of pure happiness.
Alancia watched her people racing barefoot through the grass for a long moment, then broke into a radiant smile of her own.
"Today is a joyous day. The day of the miracle that freed us from the clogs that bound us."
It truly was a day for rejoicing.
The day the shackles that had chained them to the trees for ages finally rusted and fell away. The day light returned to a blessing that had long since become a curse.
They were free of those hated clogs at last, free to walk the earth on their own two feet—and for that they gave thanks, again and again.
"Hmm…? That so? Hahaha! I don’t really get what’s going on, but if it’s a happy day then congratulations!"
"Thank you. All of it is thanks to the grace of the Sixth God."
"Aye, aye! Hahaha!"
Trivius Palak laughed heartily, then seemed to remember something and asked,
"Ah! Now that you’re free of the clogs, does that mean you won’t wear ’em anymore? I kinda liked that clack-clack sound they made."
"Well…"
Alancia tilted her head thoughtfully. Now that they no longer needed the clogs, they could wear something more comfortable… yet the elves had worn them for a span of time too long to measure in mere years. And they had done so inside their own narrow domain, cut off from the outside world.
Most elves had worn clogs their entire lives. Alancia herself was no exception.
"…I suppose we won’t wear them for a while, at least."
Customs rooted across such vast ages were not easily changed overnight. For the time being they would go without, wouldn’t they?
She said so with a sheepish little smile.
Clack— clack—
And just as Alancia had predicted, after a short stretch of barefoot wandering the elves once again went about with the familiar clack of wooden clogs.
They simply felt too empty without them.
Prrrrt—
A long column stretched into the distance.
Soldiers marched in perfect intervals, sharp spears rising high between their ranks. At the head of the endless line a banner snapped and unfurled in the wind.
The Northern Expedition.
Holy knights, the Apostles’ unit, and imperial knights united as one—the Northern Expedition Force advanced without hesitation.
Northward, toward the northern lands!
Splash!
Steel boots stamped through the mire, flinging mud. The unicorn recoiled in horror at the sight.
Puhiihing—!
It snorted roughly, fastidious as its pure white coat demanded. Hans stepped in front of the continually retreating beast.
"Keep this up and I’ll send you straight back to the Hero or Lady Friga."
Master, even so, this is far too cruel a treatment! How can you use this noble body like some common packhorse!
Huge loads were lashed across the unicorn’s back and flanks.
An ordinary horse would have collapsed before the day was out, yet the unicorn—true to its name as a divine beast—endured with ease. For the first time in its life it was actually earning its keep.
Not that it appreciated the fact.
"Want to get chewed out by the princess again?"
…The weight of life is profound. I occasionally shoulder burdens so that I may truly feel it.
After grinding its teeth for a moment the unicorn took one reluctant step back. Hans felt a deep, satisfying mental pleasure. To think this damned horse could become so docile! Most of the credit belonged to Estel, the elf woman.
Who would have guessed a unicorn was so vulnerable to a maiden’s scorn and contempt?
Hans glanced back toward the rear of the column. The distance was so great that people looked smaller than grains of millet, yet he had no trouble picking Estel out of the throng.
His own body had changed into something extraordinary, true—but Estel’s beauty was even more extraordinary still.
She stood out among the rest like a white rabbit among black hens.
A beauty that literally shone.
A face one could never tire of looking at—if ever a face deserved that description, it was Estel’s.
Do we really share the same eyes, nose, and mouth?
Every time he looked, half of him felt pure wonder, the other half pure admiration.
She seemed less a living creature than a statue come to life; the sheer otherworldliness made even the thought of harboring other feelings feel somehow burdensome.
"…"
Hans was so busy sneaking glances at Estel’s face that he failed to notice the gaze fixed on him from a short distance away.
Kenis stood with her arms crossed, watching him with a distinctly sulky expression. Her lower lip jutted out far enough that it could have hung laundry.
Friga sidled up beside the thoroughly pouting Kenis.
"Hey, what’re you doing? Instead of just staring, why don’t you go over there and get mad?"
"Why would I? I’m not angry."
"Ohhh, really? Then maybe pull that lip back in before you talk."
"Euk!"
Only then did Kenis hurriedly cover her mouth. Friga regarded her with a faintly pitying look.
"You sure you’re not mad? Anyone can see you’re sulking."
"I am not angry! What reason would I even have to be angry?!"
Kenis snapped with rare heat, then lengthened her stride and pulled ahead. Judging by the reaction, she clearly had no idea why she was in a foul mood herself.
"What a spectacle. Right?"
"Well… I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a spectacle…"
Friga clicked her tongue at the pitiful display. When would the girl ever grow up?
Still clicking her tongue, she shot a sidelong glance at Iscal. As always, he walked silently at her side with the massive rectangular shield strapped to his back.
After a brief pause Friga spoke while deliberately staring off into the distance.
"Ahem, ahem. Hey, Iscal. You know… once we reach the north, there’s this restaurant I recommend. Want to grab a meal there together?"
"Oh? Sounds good. What kind of food do they have?"
"Tons of stuff! What do you like? Whole roasted venison haunch, Montegros specialty dumplings, song-song mushroom stew—they’ve got it all. Just pick whatever looks good."
"Wow, just hearing about it makes my mouth water."
She wasn’t lying.
The place simply happened to be Friga’s home—the ducal manor.
I never lied. They really do cook all of that at my house, so what’s the problem?
Iscal would end up having dinner at the ducal manor with Friga… and her father, Duke Rushan.
Grin.
Watching Iscal earnestly ponder what he would order, completely unaware, Friga’s eyes gleamed.
She had been far too complacent. She had never imagined some other woman would start taking an interest in this blockhead, and she had grown dangerously careless.
Friga reflected on that. And she resolved to hunt him in earnest from now on.
Iscal was the prey. Friga was the hunter.
A true hunter doesn’t chase the prey. She lures it into the place she’s prepared.
That detestable alley-cat Selina had left behind a meaningful remark; she was certain to start scheming. Knowing that and doing nothing would be the act of a fool.
Before that happened, Friga would claim her hunt.