Responsibility (2)
Rumors ran thick through Rueshatia Territory.
That plague and drought had struck at once and wiped out the people. That, in the midst of it all, someone had sold their own daughter to pay off a debt to Loren. That sort of talk.
But the Rueshatia Territory that met Cronian's eyes looked no different from any other. No—if anything, it looked a little better, as if the rumors themselves were the lie.
Whatever prestige the drought and plague had shaken seemed largely restored. Wildflowers that should have been hard to keep even in winter lined the roads. Stone walls, built to keep horses from straying, ran toward the village and the manor. Here and there, the people of the territory could be seen praying for the lord who was about to ride to war.
Rumors really aren't worth believing.
Cronian had set out for Rueshatia Territory for Riel's sake, and worry had ridden with him the whole way. Now, for the first time, he began to hope.
Ordinary people did not become adventurers. Anyone with enough strength to survive as one was better off as a noble house's knight or a mercenary. No one went out of their way to die hunting monsters far more dangerous than men.
That was why the guild never filled with ordinary folk. Only orphans, people who had lost their families to monsters, the desperate. Riel had been an innocent boy—stubbornly, foolishly self-sacrificing—who only ever wanted to look after his family, his childhood friends.
Laika never said it aloud, and neither did Cronian, nor any of the guild members, but they had all treated Riel like a little brother. And that little brother was going to die for saving a childhood friend from rape.
It still doesn't make sense. Riel shouldn't be executed just for killing a bastard like Loren.
Cronian checked the bag of gold inside his coat, then glanced at the sword he had carried for years. It was no legendary blade, but it was a fine one—said to respond especially well to anyone who could handle mana.
We taught Riel how to kill. The least we can do is take responsibility like this.
Cronian thought briefly and hoped largely. If Rueshatia had truly recovered its standing, then under the royal decree that compelled them to war, they would fill every place but their own bloodline with mercenaries. He was sure of it.
Blood and lineage mattered more than gold. Protecting one's kin was more profitable, in the end, than the hard, uncertain work of earning merit. And he knew that good arms for those who had to go to war mattered more than almost anything. He was ready to give even a friend of ten years for that.
"Hyah—!"
The hoofbeats grew harder, faster. Cronian's horse seemed to read its master's heart; mane streaming, it ran. At last it stopped before the manor gates and, clever as ever, walked itself to the hitching post so he could dismount. He tied the horse and approached the guards.
"…I've come to speak about the war."
He held up the papers that marked him as a kingdom-sanctioned adventurer and spoke of the coming campaign. War was the great, immediate problem hanging over every noble house. If he framed it that way, he might get inside.
One guard sent word to another; a moment later the gates opened. Watchers trailed him as he climbed toward the manor, but he kept his composure. When they reached the lord's study, a butler carefully knocked on the dark wooden door.
"Come in."
The lord of Rueshatia Territory—Baron Köln Rueshatia—was there with his daughter, Lediche Rueshatia. She was the only true heir to the house; they seemed to be settling family affairs before the war.
"…I am Cronian, deputy master of the Tales Guild."
He bowed and held out a letter.
Köln took it but did not read it. He only asked why a man would come at such a late hour.
"So. What business brings you here?"
"I've come about mercenaries."
"…Rueshatia has recovered a good deal, but we don't have the coin to hire mercenaries. Still, we've done favors in enough places that I can put you in touch with someone. I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing."
"…It won't cost much."
"I know the rates well enough. This house started as mercenaries before it was ever a noble house."
"…Please, just read the letter once. This is the cheapest it will ever be. I've seen a future Sword Master, and it would be a waste—so I came to ask. I beg you to make a wise decision."
Köln had been refusing, and refusing again—but he took the measure of the man who had come so far, and opened the letter. Sword Masters numbered fewer than a hundred even if you counted past the kingdom into the Empire. That Cronian would stretch the truth that far just to plead for a reading made him look pitiful. Coin might be short, but Köln was not so hard-pressed that he would ignore a heart like that.
"…Very well. So settle yourself a little."
Köln read on—and then started, and asked again. Something on the page was wrong. A small suspicion rose: was this man trying to swindle Rueshatia?
"…Loren is dead?"
Loren. At that name, Lediche, who had been helping her father at his side, began to tremble.
"…Riel? I've never heard the name. If this is some trick on a noble house…"
Köln could not believe that Loren had been killed by a fifteen-year-old boy. His eyes narrowed with doubt as he pressed the question. Then Lediche caught at her father's sleeve. She was shaking harder now than when she had first heard Loren's name. Her eyes were wide—shock, grief, pity, and the relief of finally having found him, all at once.
"…I—I found him—. F-finally—. F-Father…. R-Riel. We—we have to save him."
"What are you talking about…?"
"The one who saved me from Loren—his name is R-Riel…."
Köln asked her again.
"Is that true?"
"Yes…. When Loren dragged me to the slums to sell me, Riel saved me and even paid for the carriage. You remember…."
Köln was quiet a moment, then nodded once, steadily. And then he bowed his head. Noble though he was, he offered a deep thanks to a commoner adventurer.
"Show us the way."
Riel. If he was the benefactor who had saved Lediche—if he had given them a debt of grace—then a noble repaid it as far as he was able. That was the duty of the rank.
Cold.
So cold.
Around this time of year, I always used to sleep with everyone. Even when they said they hated me, in winter we still always slept together, just like that.
I'd grown, so we'd had to rebuild the makeshift bed more than once. Sometimes the three of them fought so much no one slept at all—but even then, it had been happy.
I thought I could face this with composure. Left alone, though, the loneliness found me all the same. My left hand had gone purple, as if it might truly be ruined, and blood from the whip—meant to keep me from resisting—had clotted and itched against my skin.
Clink—.
The chains wouldn't even let me move enough to scratch. Stone floor, cold air, iron bars, darkness. Nothing like the warmth I had always known—body heat, a soft bed, the faint flicker of a candle as I fell asleep.
The more I thought, the more wretched I felt. I was afraid I would end up begging like a fool to be spared. Afraid that if I were pushed any further I would start dragging Rhea's name, or Sister Flora's, into some pathetic plea—so I drove my head into the wall. Thud—.
A thin trickle—.
Nowhere on me didn't hurt, but my head hurt worst of all. Whether the skin had split or not, blood ran, and for a moment a little warmth ran with it. I closed my eyes and used that warmth as material.
I imagined.
What Rhea and Ceria and Claudia would do after I was gone. I wanted the warm memories of living together to push the fear back even a little—but somehow only sad pictures came.
Were they eating properly?
They'd cried so much, saying they didn't want me to leave—what if they couldn't get to the academy on time?
Rhea would be miserable for days…. No—for months.
Ceria would pray for me. Of course she would. I only hoped she wouldn't cry the way she used to when she thought of Sister Flora—crying over me the same way.
"…Claudia."
Claudia was the one I worried about most. She had always asked for the most affection, always clung the hardest. And more than anything, I kept thinking—Claudia, who dreamed of being a good mother, would she be treated differently at the academy just for being of the Wolf Tribe?
I thought I could almost see her tangled tail. I remembered Rhea sniping that she hated me. Ceria, voice thick, asking if I'd forgotten Sister Flora.
Back then I'd been a little worn down. I'd thought everyone hated me, and I'd answered with a childish heart of my own. Now that I knew I was about to die, I only missed them.
"No."
I shook my head. If the time left was short, I wanted even a little warmth in my thoughts. I forced the memories up. I forced myself to remember the days when we had all laughed together without worry.
The first face that came was Sister Flora's. Maybe because I had just killed Loren—her voice seemed to reach me.
You did well, Riel.
It was only my imagination, but she held me the way she always had when I was small. She patted me lightly, smiling, saying she'd set aside something for me to eat in secret, telling me to come and have it.
So, for the first time in a long while, I let myself cling. I told her she was amazing—that I still didn't know how she had ever managed to look after all of us. I told her I had been lacking, that everyone had fought because of me, that Rhea had gone back to the slums because of me. Sister Flora smiled, and on the other side of that smile she wept and patted me—but she did not comfort me.
More precisely: her lips moved, but I could not hear her voice. When I asked her to say it again, a sudden cold wind tore through. The day we let Sister Flora go rose before my eyes. The day filled with grief, when I had sworn to protect everyone.
When I opened my eyes, my body was shaking. The brief warmth that had run down was gone. The cold stone, the iron chains, everything I was living through came back.
Thud—.
I drove my head into the wall again. The blood that ran warmed me a little—but in the end it only stole more heat from me. Sister Flora would not come back into my mind.
So I reached for the happy days with Rhea and Ceria and Claudia. A flicker of happiness pushed the fear away—and then the warmth was gone almost at once.
Thud—.
I hit my head again. I tried to keep the happy pictures going, but they would not hold.
Instead of happiness, the bitter days rose. The first day someone told me they hated me. If I left like this, Claudia would hate me so much. More than anyone—
Thud—.
Again. Ceria and Rhea had each hated me for their own reasons. I had always known, really, that those words of hate came because they loved me. Maybe the dream had never been the academy at all—maybe it had only ever been all of us living together.
Whatever the dream was, I would not be beside them. I found myself hoping they wouldn't hate me. No—hate me if you have to. Just live well.
Thud—.
Once more. The warmth was still faint. Even their faces were starting to blur. I could not see them anymore.
Ceria. Rhea. Claudia. I wanted to see them all together, just once more.
Thud—.
I'm scared. I want to live. I want to go back. I want to see their faces, even once.
Thud—.
I did not want to die. Loren had deserved to die—he had tormented Rhea and Sister Flora. No matter how many times I tried to accept it, I could not understand why I had to die for that.
Thud—.
It felt as if the blood had stopped. No—no. The blood was still running. It just no longer felt warm.
If I shouted about Rhea or Sister Flora right now—if I pleaded that what I had done was right—would they spare me? The temptation that cut into my heart for an instant turned to smoke and was gone.
I had only ever wanted Rhea and Ceria and Claudia to be happy. I had already hurt them enough. I did not want to hurt them more.
Clink—.
I got to my feet. If I climbed the execution platform, everyone might see me. Moving in the chains was brutally hard, but I was sure of one thing: if I was going to die, better to die here.
Crunch—!
I drove my head into the wall. Strength left me; my body went slack on the floor. If I died here, at least no one would have to watch. I needed to move—but honestly, I was at my limit. I lay there a long time before a guard opened the cell door and came in.
"On your feet. Count Loren's retainers want you burned alive right now."
I could not even manage to die. They dragged me out again like so much trash.
"A moment—stop there, if you would."
A voice cut in then. Heavy. Steady. Full of weight.
While the guards hesitated, someone ran toward me with urgent footsteps. A small frame that did not flinch from the blood covering me, that pulled me into an embrace. Soft hands closed around me.
"Riel…! I'm late—I'm so sorry I'm late…!"
My vision was too blurred to see. Rhea? Ceria? Claudia? None of them ever spoke to me with formal speech.
"…How—how did it get this bad…."
I must have wanted to live that badly. The fantasy looked too real. I was even inventing a stranger I did not know, just so I could beg to be saved.
"…You don't have to worry anymore. It'll be all right…."
To the someone who spoke to me so gently, I finally let out the thing I had not been able to hold back.
"…Save me."
I didn't know. Warmth was still reaching me through the body heat, so I closed my eyes. Rhea. Ceria. Claudia. I only wanted to go back to them.
"I am Baron Rueshatia. You know me, I trust?"
"…B-Baron?"
Köln stepped toward the guards with a smile. He had moved to stop Lediche from going to Riel—and failed.
"…I'm going to use magic."
Past the guards, Lediche held Riel close, not caring that blood was soaking into her dress. She asked her father for leave—and before the answer could fall, she set her hands on the wounds and closed her eyes.
Whoosh—!
Wind rose in a cell where no wind should have been. The crushed forehead closed. The shoulder that might have been ruined forever began to mend. In the same measure, Lediche's fingertips trembled harder, and her face went pale. A thin line of bright blood ran from between the girl's lips—but no one rebuked her for the sacrifice.
"W-what do you think you're doing!"
No one except the guards who were supposed to take Riel to the scaffold.
"This is the Count's house's affair. A baron has no reason to suddenly—"
Köln watched Lediche, who looked ready to collapse from the cost of the healing magic, then turned his head. The guards were not at fault; they were only doing as ordered. Even so, he did not care to waste more time. In a calm voice he spoke, and drew a document from his coat to show them.
"Is a mere count's house trying to defy His Majesty the King's command?"
In Köln's hand was a document stamped with the royal seal. It held many things—but chief among them was the order that nobles conscript those who would go to war.
"…We are following a royal decree. I trust you understand."
Under Lediche's care, Riel left the prison. Even so, he could not simply go home happy.
Rueshatia was only a barony—lower in rank than a count's house. Aside from pulling Riel out of death, and aside from an apology for the discourtesy of having overlooked such talent, there was nothing more they could do for him.