The Founding Festival
The Steppe Coalition
The Steppe Coalition was an alliance formed by the remaining tribes of the steppes—everyone outside the Ban tribe, who had become the heart of the Empire, and powers such as Ashtar and Ribelt.
Where the Empire convened the Great Tribal Assembly under its own name, the Coalition could, under authority the Empire recognized, preside over its own Combined Council. In practice, of course, that council almost never met unless something truly exceptional was afoot.
Today was one of those exceptions: the Great Tribal Assembly was at hand.
With the Founding Festival drawing near, the chieftains had no choice but to prepare.
“The Founding Festival is upon us once more,” one of them said, opening the meeting around a great circular table.
“Indeed. The chieftains of every tribe will soon have to set out for the Imperial Capital.”
“Then, as always, we must choose the warriors who will represent each tribe before the Empire.”
“Before that, should we not decide what we will demand from the Empire this year?”
“Our tribe’s soothsayer has prophesied a harsh winter. It would be wise to secure grain and cloth enough to survive it.”
The older chieftains—hair gone gray with age—conferred just as they did every year, selecting their envoys and drawing up the lists of goods they intended to bring home. Orkan of the Turka tribe, who had only recently risen to the chieftain’s seat, found the whole performance distasteful.
Useless without the Empire. Every last one of them.
Grown old and still leaning on the Empire for everything—no wonder the Empire looked down on them. No wonder the steppes never advanced. From what he had heard, the current Emperor was a woman who had spent decades amusing herself inside the Imperial Palace, and the Crown Prince was a fool who had been toyed with by a succubus. And those two were supposed to have the right to control the steppes?
It was absurd. They had long since become a settled people. Would it not make more sense for an Imperial delegation to attend the Coalition’s council rather than the other way around? In that case, seizing the initiative for the steppes might not be such a bad idea.
Orkan struck the table with his hand and drew every eye.
“What is it?”
“The Empire is not what it once was. Must we truly attend a Great Tribal Assembly the Empire itself convenes?”
The chieftains who had traded with the Empire for decades took Orkan’s words for the bluster of youth and laughed long and loud.
“The Imperial bloodline still carries the Ban tribe’s blood. The Ban once led the steppes; their legitimacy is intact. What reason do we have to defy them?”
“Hahahahaha! And what would you have us do, then? Refuse His Majesty’s summons?”
“The Ban have long since mixed with the Kart; the blood of the steppes has been diluted for generations. Must we still obey their commands?”
Pretty words—but only words.
“It is true the Empire is weaker than it once was. Yet the Empire does not oppress us. If we ruin our relationship with them, we are the ones who will freeze and starve this winter.”
Before the Empire had risen, the tribes had raided the petty kingdoms that now lay within Imperial borders—or raided one another—to scrape together what they needed for winter. The successful spent the cold months in comfort; the unsuccessful shivered and watched their strength wither. Even the victors lived in fear that the little kingdoms might unite and strike back. After the Empire’s founding, all of that had vanished. The petty kingdoms and the Kart had been absorbed into the Empire, and the Ban’s descendants treated the steppes as brothers, supplying what was lacking without regard to season. Every tribe now passed the winter in peace, without battle and without bloodshed.
What, exactly, was so terrible about that?
“Exactly. This is why young chieftains are such a trial. Do you think we do this for nothing? We obtain food without shedding blood, we trade with the Empire, we live well—and you would deliberately stir up conflict?”
“Do you know how the Imperials see us? Shepherds of the steppes. Country bumpkins of the steppes. Creatures who reek of horse dung!”
The chieftains roared with laughter again. No one at that table was ignorant of the insults. They had been angry once, too. But a chieftain who dealt with the Empire learned certain truths over time. The Imperial House still took pride in being the Ban’s heirs. The Empire’s lands were vast and its people beyond counting; not every Imperial would look kindly on the steppes. And just as they called the steppes provincial, people on the steppes cursed Imperials as soft-bellied city folk who could not even ride a horse.
“There are tribes on the steppes who think of Imperials as nothing but luxury-loving cripples who cannot sit a saddle. Why does that rankle you so?”
“Those remarks only prove their ignorance of the Empire’s northern cavalry.”
It was true that the steppes raised fine horses and fielded many riders—but “many” only in proportion to their population. The Imperial central army and the cavalry maintained by the great houses were not forces to be dismissed. Even a coalition of warlike nomads had to face that fact.
He cannot even read the situation.
If youthful temper soured relations with the Empire, the entire Coalition would pay the price. They were living well alongside the Empire. Why insist on a fight? Weaker or not, the Empire remained the iron bastion no one had ever dared to challenge, and the flow of supplies to the steppes had not diminished in the slightest.
“Have you no pride at all?”
“Pride? Did you say pride? So you would pick a fight with an Empire that has given us no cause for war—all for the sake of pride? What happens if your tribe’s foolishness drives the Imperial nobles to close the corridors between the Empire and the steppes?”
“Imperial nobles are all show. Are the chieftains truly afraid of them?”
Hopeless. In pure training, the peoples of the steppes might have the edge. In numbers of troops, quality of arms, and the presence of mages, the gap was enormous. All the nomadic alliance possessed was a strategy of hurling cavalry across endless grass.
“Imperial nobles stand equal to the kings of the old petty kingdoms. Of course they command armies of matching size. The steppes could be thrown into peril. Young or not, how can you be so ignorant? We cannot force you to change your mind—but at this year’s Founding Festival, your tribe will accept nothing!”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
More than half the chieftains rose and stormed out of the tent. The seeds of internal division were already sprouting inside the Coalition. Orkan’s retainers looked at their chieftain’s outburst with open dismay.
“Chieftain, why would you do that? The Empire defeated the Demon King’s army. Corrupt it may be, but House Ashtar—the pillar of the Empire—has expanded its domains all the way into the Demon Realm. Why provoke them?”
“He’s right. Do you truly believe we can defeat the army that drove back the Demon King’s forces and then plunder the Empire?”
“The Ban who founded the Empire rose only when the Turka and the petty kingdoms were weak, and built the prosperity we see today. What do we lack that they once had?”
“If you are set on this, at least attend the Founding Festival first.”
“So even you want me to crawl before the Empire without a second thought?”
“Even if you harbor great ambitions, you must feed your people first. You cannot let pride leave every other tribe stocked for winter while we alone starve. And you certainly cannot go begging later from tribes who accepted Imperial aid.”
Orkan exhaled a long sigh. Yes—right now, supplies came first. But next year, at the very least, he would secure even a scrap of Imperial territory so that his people could weather winter on their own. He would make certain of it.
“Fine. We will prepare for the Empire as well. Choose the representatives. Show them that no matter how high the Empire flies, it cannot defeat us.”
“Yes, Chieftain.”
For now, he would swallow the humiliation.
The Founding Festival opened.
From the western steppes, chieftains and tribal representatives streamed into the capital in great numbers.
“Haa. So this day finally arrived.”
“Are you truly all right with this?”
“I already said I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I mean!”
“Then what’s the problem now?”
Celia, what on earth was she fretting about?
“Obviously those sheep-herding bastards from the steppes are going to undress Lady Olivia with their eyes and leer at every inch of her!”
Well, she wasn’t wrong. When that fallen saintess and the ear-grabbing girl had gone to the steppes, plenty of men had talked about taking them as wives. The hero had stepped forward as if they were his women.
How dare those bastards covet what’s mine!
Right. You protect your own women.
Now go, you lecherous mage. Show them what a hero-party wizard can do.
?
The idiot had dumped the job on me because he found it tiresome. Even if he was a lesser hero than his predecessors, he was still more than a match for a handful of nomads. He had simply been lazy. Later I twisted the story a little, crushed the nomads who had insulted the hero’s party, and he strutted around as if he had done it himself. I had wanted to crack his skull open, but I held back.
Anyway, Celia had a point. The steppe bumpkins prized beautiful women and wanted strong wives who would bear them fierce warriors. In their eyes I probably looked like the ideal bride. Not vanity—just probability.
“They will. But I can’t go into hiding now that I’m the Empire’s Taesa.”
“True enough… Hmm. Still, I’m surprised you’re accepting the role so calmly.”
“What do you think the Emperor would do if I refused?”
The way you look at me on ordinary days isn’t all that different from them, you know.
“If anyone is openly rude, I’ll just tear his face off.”
There probably wouldn’t be anyone that stupid. Even the densest fool ought to know better. If one of them actually appeared in front of me, I would not let it slide.
Besides, the Founding Festival was not solely about receiving the tribes. It was a celebration of the Empire’s founding day. Meeting the chieftains was only one part of it; the real festival belonged to every Imperial citizen across the realm. Naturally the capital, home of the Emperor, shone brightest of all. Luminous mana stones would float everywhere, turning the city into a place where the lights never went out for days on end. Even on ordinary nights the streets stayed bright enough to walk; during the festival the night would blaze as if the sun itself hung in the sky.
“Hmm. There will be food everywhere, too.”
Looking down the street, I could already see countless shops that had spilled out onto the pavement to do business. Celia ducked into one of them and came back with chicken skewers.
“They only sell these around this time of year.”
“Oh? Special, are they? Still just chicken skewers.”
“Apparently they use a secret sauce.”
“Once it goes in your mouth it’s all the same meat.”
Even if it tasted good, the thought of what I would have to perform at this Founding Festival—like a pig being dragged to the slaughterhouse—killed any chance of enjoying the flavor. The work itself wouldn’t be hard. What made my stomach twist was imagining the capital’s citizens laughing and carousing while I sweated through the spectacle. If it weren’t for the Emperor, I wouldn’t have to step forward at all.
“Heh heh heh. You pretend it doesn’t bother you, but it really does, doesn’t it?”
“Of course it bothers me. I can’t stand the Imperials. I have to shoot arrows and swing a sword in front of the Emperor and those nomads.”
It was no different from a public execution of some demonkin. And I truly, deeply hated it.