Uninvited Guests (5)
The water- and ice-soaked curtain Roy's magic had flung toward the cabin unfurled in midair as if it were alive.
It wrapped the entire burning structure in a great embrace and settled gently over it.
Ssssssss—
Flames and smoke surged up through the gaps in the bound fabric.
Roy held perfect control over the curtain as it tried to rise with the smoke. The fire was not fully out, but the blaze shrank to a third of its size in an instant.
"Good heavens!"
"What on earth just happened?"
"It's not out yet! Hurry and throw more water on it!"
The shouts from inside the building snapped the people back to their senses. Servants who had been held at bay by the heat rushed in close and emptied their buckets over the cabin.
Ibaldo's chanting followed right after. The massive sphere of water he conjured streaked toward the cabin—and at the same moment another huge mass of water burst from inside the building itself and crashed down over the curtain.
Ssssssss—
White steam billowed upward. Where buckets and magic alone had been nearly useless, the curtain and the two simultaneous torrents smothered the embers in a hurry. The second mass of water that had come flying from the annex belonged to Roy as well.
The boy was controlling the curtain with one hand while casting an entirely separate spell with the other.
Not double casting—dual casting.
For a child who had been studying magic for less than a fortnight, it was an advanced technique bordering on the impossible.
"Th-the fire… it's going out…"
"The flames are weakening! We have to finish it now! Water! Bring more water, faster!"
A few more rounds and the fire would be completely extinguished. Hope began to bloom on faces that had been full of despair.
Anna left Roy in Ibaldo's care, stepped into the mansion, and bolted the front doors behind her.
Protecting the children was part of it—but that was not the only reason she locked them.
I will never forgive this.
Breaking into the estate was bad enough. Taking her precious children hostage—taking five-year-old Roy—was unforgivable. No matter what happened, she had no intention of showing those men mercy.
Anna herself came from a baronial house of roughly the same standing as her husband's Greenhilt family. That bloodline had gifted her with more than adequate magical aptitude. On top of that she had graduated from the kingdom's Knight Academy with excellent marks; put a weapon in her hand and she was every bit a warrior in her own right.
After watching Geren's astonishing performance, she felt confident they could wipe out the villains before her—provided Boodle returned with weapons soon enough.
Boodle had been one of the estate's butlers long before Anna married Clive and took the Greenhilt name. No one knew better where the arms were stored; there was no need to wait long. A minute at most. If they could hold for that single minute, he would be back.
"Geren. I'm going to help from here on. Hold out as long as you can. Boodle will be back any moment."
"Understood."
Anna channeled mana into her grip and tore a long strip from one side of her dress skirt. Given the circumstances—and the fact that she was wearing drawers underneath—the result was not especially indecent.
In her field of view the masked men were trading words.
"What now? Give us the next order already…"
"Hmm. Hold on a moment."
From the masked men's perspective they had just watched Geren display uncommon skill with their own eyes. If a weapon found its way into his hands, their entire plan would very likely collapse. And if Boodle joined them as well, turning it into three against three? Better to abandon everything and run. At least, that was Anna's firm conviction.
So of course the intruders would want to end the situation before Boodle returned armed.
And yet something was off. Time kept ticking, and the masked men showed no sign of moving—almost as if they were waiting for something.
Then the burly one locked eyes with Geren and swung his sword at once.
"Whoa—!"
Geren barely slipped clear of the blade's arc. The sword the man used looked very much like the type favored by the city guard.
"I'm not letting you sneak another chant."
"My, aren't we sharp."
What the masked men most needed to prevent was a repeat of what had just happened. It had not actually been Geren who cast the silent spell, but watching them swallow his lie whole was so satisfying he could hardly stand it. He was a master of improvisation.
As for me—I'm a proper veteran who's been through situations like this more times than I can count.
Born a noble of the Frost Kingdom at the northern edge of the continent, he had survived the fall of both his house and his kingdom and made it all the way to this kingdom at the southern tip. A man who had crossed every battlefield and every line of death found nothing particularly unfamiliar about a scene like this.
Geren offered the men a faint smile—an implication that he was preparing a spell by silent casting. They took the bait beautifully.
"You bastard! Trying another trick—!!"
Whenever Geren kept his mouth shut and stayed quiet, the masked men fell into the delusion that he was chanting again. Leaving only one man to pin down the baroness, the other two charged Geren at the same time. He had expected as much and slipped past them lightly.
"I'd heard the rumors, but you're even better than I imagined. You're from the northern kingdom, aren't you?"
One of the masked men addressed him.
"Oh? Seems I've become rather well-known around these parts. To think even petty thieves have heard of me."
"I heard you were a fallen noble. But it seems you weren't just any noble."
"Well now. How did you figure that out?"
"Hmph. Still, no more than a baron or a viscount at best."
"Correct. More precisely, my father held a viscountcy in the Frost Kingdom. He's already passed, though."
It might have looked as if Geren held the upper hand, but without a weapon all he could do was keep running. Even with a modest magical edge, he had no real chance of beating two armed men bare-handed. He had not been given nearly enough time to unleash a powerful spell. He needed Boodle to return with weapons, so he deliberately kept the enemies talking to buy time.
The masked men, for their part, had every reason to keep him talking as well. The most troublesome thing about facing Geren was never knowing when he might cast a spell and snatch away their freedom of movement in an instant. Magic demanded not only chanting but intense concentration to control mana; however he managed silent casting, they needed to rattle that focus. Trading blows—or trading words—was the most effective way to hold his attention.
For those opposing reasons, the conversation that had begun for entirely different purposes stretched on.
"How about this? I'll pay you double what the baron gives you. I'm not asking you to betray anyone. I'm certainly not asking you to join us. Just look the other way and step aside—for now."
"Do you honestly think that sounds reasonable? I already get discriminated against for looking different from the people here. If word gets around among the Steel Kingdom's nobles that I've been mixed up in something ugly, I'll starve. Do you know how hard I worked to reach this position? If you're going to offer, make it double what I'd earn for the rest of my life and I might consider it. Say… thirty years' worth."
"You're mad."
"What, were you seriously trying to tempt me with two years' pay? Don't tell me it was only two months'."
As the talk dragged on, Geren was the first to sense something wrong.
What is with these men…?
It was strange. The other side had no reason to stall for time—except for one possibility.
"…Don't tell me!"
What if they had another accomplice already inside the estate—or heading this way from outside?
"It seems I was mistaken."
"About what?"
"I thought there were only the four of you…"
"……!"
The masks hid any change of expression, but Geren felt certain his guess was right. He shouted toward the baroness at once.
"They may not be only four! We have to hurry!"
Anna, still facing off against one of the masked men, answered.
"Truthfully, I was wondering the same thing. But without Boodle…"
"Boodle's delay may be for that very reason."
At the suggestion that Boodle might already have been taken, Anna bit her lip.
"Then what do we do? Can you face them without a weapon?"
"I don't know. I can't tell exactly how strong they are."
Geren could not understand why, in a moment this desperate, the face of five-year-old Roy kept rising in his mind. If he had to protect the boy while fighting, the child would only get in the way.
Then footsteps came racing down the far end of the corridor.
It was Boodle.
"Ah. Forgive me for being late. Thank goodness both of you are still unharmed."
Anna brightened at the sight of him returning at last. In his hands he carried no fewer than four swords. Anna and Geren both assumed the delay had come from gathering so many weapons—real blades, of course, not wooden practice swords.
"But where is Ibaldo…?"
"I sent him out. Told him to guard the children. Boodle, we don't have time. Give me a sword—quickly. No, give one to Geren first—"
The masked men had positioned themselves craftily, clearly intending to stop any thrown weapons from being caught.
"Don't throw them—hand them over in person. There may be more enemies hiding. Hurry!"
"Understood."
Boodle first drew the sword he meant to use for himself. With three more blades tucked at his side and one held ready in front of him, he edged closer to the space between Geren and the masked men.
Boodle, too, was a cadet branch of the Greenhilt family; his mana was not on the level of the main house, but he had a fair measure of it. He had also served long years as the family's private tutor, and both his theory and his practical skill in magic and swordsmanship were rated highly. He was past sixty and preparing for retirement, yet Anna knew his edge had not dulled.
Before long he had successfully moved around behind Geren.
"Here you are."
"Well do—!?"
—Thuk!
A sudden pain in his back drove Geren to wrench himself free of the spot.
"Ghk…"
Pulling away with a blade still buried in his back only tore the wound wider; blood poured out in a flood. The one mercy was that he had moved before the sword could punch all the way into his organs. Even so the skin had been sliced open in a V, and the bleeding showed no sign of slowing. The wound was on his back—he could not even press a hand to it.
"Boodle!! What in the world are you—?"
Anna stared in horror and screamed his name. Still reeling from the sudden ambush, Geren hastily tore cloth from his upper garments and bound the wound as best he could.
"It seems the hidden enemy was you all along, Boodle. No wonder you were late…"
"Boodle. Why would you… After more than thirty years of service to this house…"
Anna was so stunned she could scarcely think. Boodle answered in a perfectly calm voice.
"I am sorry."