II. Where Sword and Embers Are Headed (5)
II. Where Sword and Embers Are Headed (5)
Keldric had no intention of staying long in Schaffendorf.
It was not as though the journey to Bellam was particularly urgent, but the mounted bandits who had been beaten by the villagers were in such poor condition that taking a leisurely pace was out of the question.
Not only were they bruised all over, but two or three of them had broken bones and could barely walk.
That did not mean he intended to go easy on them. Keldric felt no sympathy for mounted bandits who had rampaged through the surrounding villages, plundering as they pleased.
In any case, once they reached Bellam, the gallows were a certainty for men like these.
If they were lucky, they might keep their lives and spend the rest of their days worked to the bone as slaves, but that was none of Keldric's concern.
"Sir Knight! Truly, thank you! May God's blessing be with you, my lord!"
Leaving behind the farewells of Marius and several of the villagers, Keldric set out on the road early that morning and urged Boreas slowly forward.
"Hoooh..."
Having spent the past few nights sleeping comfortably for once, he found the cold—almost biting—morning air thoroughly invigorating.
The Ram Mercenary Company following behind him felt the same.
The mercenaries, each of them now neatly turned out, wore looks of undisguised satisfaction.
"Yesterday was a fine experience."
"The real stuff, that was."
A fair number of them had shared beds with village girls over the course of the night. Their faces glowed with particular liveliness.
The awkward atmosphere from before was nowhere to be seen.
The mercenaries had initially regarded Keldric with wariness or outright fear, but now most of them looked at him with something closer to awe.
They had been won over by the overwhelming martial prowess and the merciful conduct Keldric had shown them.
Whether they were or not, Keldric kept his grip on the reins of Alisa's horse, which she rode alongside him, and pressed on.
"Doing all right?"
"..."
Alisa, unable to manage even a proper reply and merely waving a hand weakly, was, to put it bluntly, wrecked.
The price of forcing herself to use magic had been harsh. That morning she had been unable even to rise from bed, and Keldric had been obliged to help her up and onto her horse with his own hands.
Even so, she was in no condition to control the horse properly.
Keldric let out a shallow sigh.
His breath rose white, like smoke. The early-morning air, in the dim light just before dawn, was still cold.
Each breath felt as though it was freezing his lungs, but for Keldric, who had lived long in the North, it was familiar.
"Good thing we've got more horses now."
"Should pick up the pace, thanks to that."
After the fight with the mounted bandits, Keldric came into a haul of usable weapons and six horses as plunder.
The weapons Keldric did not keep for himself were divided among the mercenaries, one apiece, and the horses were ridden by those who knew how—Jorgen and Alisa among them.
Jorgen, unexpectedly, knew how to ride.
He had likely not learned in a noble household as Keldric had, but rather picked it up naturally over years of tramping from one battlefield to the next.
"If we sold all of them, how much do you think they'd fetch?"
"Er... do you not need a spare mount, sir?"
"I'd like one, but none of them looked fit for the purpose."
"In that case, I'd say sixty Grasen silver coins, easily."
Most of the horses the mounted bandits had been riding were hunting horses.
If you traced their bloodlines back far enough, you might find an old warhorse that had ended its days as a stud, but by now that blood would have thinned to nearly nothing.
Keldric tried out the captured horses several times.
Mounting them and riding was no trouble, but his conclusion was that they could not bear a rider swinging a weapon or galloping at full tilt.
Boreas, by contrast, was exceptional. With an even coat and a larger frame, Boreas was unmistakably a warhorse of good blood.
Right after the fight with the mounted bandits, Boreas showed some signs of fatigue, but a full day of rest put that right.
Of course, in an actual large-scale territorial war, a single horse would be hopelessly insufficient.
Knights who prowled territorial wars in pursuit of coin and fief made a point of keeping spare mounts at the ready.
Keldric, too, would someday reach a moment when he needed a spare horse. But that moment was not now.
"The next stop is Yalta, then?"
"Yes. It lies along the Ronaun River, so it's known for its fine salmon."
The Ronaun River, which ran into the cold North Sea, was the lifeline of the North.
The northern people drew water and sustenance from the Ronaun, and its plump, well-fattened salmon were especially popular.
"I hope the inn is decent."
Keldric thought back to the inn where he had stayed in Schaffendorf—the Sheep Drive.
That place had been on an altogether different level of comfort from the Singing Parrotbill Inn in Carlton Village.
If the inn at Yalta Village could manage even that much, he would ask for nothing more.
"There is a place comparable to the Sheep Drive in Schaffendorf. A few Obol silver coins will get you a decent salmon dish. Once you taste it, Sir Keldric, you'll be won over."
"I'll look forward to it."
Fortunately, the inn at Yalta Village came with Jorgen's endorsement this time as well.
Keldric swallowed, imagining grilled salmon dripping with rich oil.
There was only so long a man could stomach thin barley porridge; after a proper meal in Schaffendorf, a small appetite stirred in him.
"Is it salmon season now?"
"It is not the season, but they will have salted down the salmon from the peak a few months ago. And it is not a place where you could not catch salmon right now if you had to."
"Oh..."
Keldric guided Boreas along while sharing small talk of that sort.
Even so, with Jorgen chattering away without pause, there was no chance to grow bored.
Before, he had needed to pay silver to get the man to open his mouth; now, without having to do a thing, information about the region flowed smoothly into Keldric's ears.
"Once you return to Bellam—what do you mean to do after that?"
"For mercenaries like us, the work is decided for us. We mean to swell our numbers in Bellam for a while, and then, once word of a territorial war reaches us, we'll head that way."
Keldric gave a small sigh.
He did not know how long Jorgen would rest, but at least, he reflected, there would be no shortage of work.
The Empire, founded more than three hundred years ago, was entering an age of upheaval.
Territorial wars were breaking out everywhere, and men who coveted a neighbor's hunting grounds and silver mines kept stoking the flames of conflict without cease.
The nobles of the Empire were utterly absorbed in seizing one another's lands.
And that was true not only of the Empire but of the neighboring kingdoms as well.
"I hear that war has broken out between the Kingdom of the Franks and the Kingdom of Britas. A few mercenaries I know headed that way."
"Troubled times."
"Yes. The whole continent is in turmoil. And the Holy Land Reconquest Campaign from a few decades ago ended on a sour note, too. For our part, the work's plentiful, so we can't complain."
Jorgen, with his extensive experience in territorial wars, was certainly well-connected.
Territorial wars always drew crowds of mercenaries, and Jorgen, by befriending them, had been able to pick up the occasional nugget of solid news.
And that news made its way, intact, into Keldric's ears.
"Ah, this is something I heard from a mercenary out of the Principality of Firenza, but... rumor has it that an expeditionary force to reconquer the Holy Land will be organized again before long."
"Reconquer the Holy Land?"
"Yes. The heathens' lands across the sea, I mean. The bastards seized the Holy Land, so now it must be taken back."
People of this age were deeply bound up with religion. The nobility and the knights were no great exception.
Greedy knights joined crusading expeditions to earn God's love, and the nobles were no different.
"As it is only a rumor, you need not set too much store by it."
"It sounds like the sort of news I'll be hearing often enough from now on. Still, I ought to keep it in mind."
He did not say it aloud, but the words "Holy Land reconquest" and "expeditionary force" stirred a strange sense of déjà vu in Keldric.
Even that sensation was only a fleeting thing that flickered past in an instant, so with a faint feeling of unease, Keldric tucked the news Jorgen had given him away in his mind.
☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩
From Schaffendorf Village to Yalta Village was a good day and a half of travel.
That meant Keldric had to spend one night camping in the open.
Sleeping rough was always uncomfortable. Still, bedding down while gazing up at the glittering clusters of stars was a fairly romantic business.
"Move out."
"Right. We're moving out!"
After passing the night at a temporary camp, Keldric and his party quickened their pace again starting early in the morning.
The cool morning wind woke everyone's senses.
With his own head now clear, Keldric looked over at Alisa, who was riding beside him.
"Seems you've pulled yourself together a bit."
"...I must apologize for yesterday."
Alisa, who had been too dazed to think straight, only managed to collect herself after a full day had passed.
It was a mercy she had ridden leaning against Keldric as though propped up; had she walked on her own two feet, her depleted strength would have made it difficult for her to even keep upright today.
Even as he guided Boreas along, Keldric took in the gradually changing scenery around him.
The snowfields, where trees had been a rare sight except near the mountains, began to show scattered stands of timber, and thin streams appeared with increasing frequency.
The appearance of streams meant a large river was nearby.
Considering that Yalta lay along the Ronaun River, it was a welcome sight to Keldric.
They walked on in that fashion for a long while, and by the time Jorgen's store of tales was at last running dry, the sun was on the verge of setting.
"The river!"
At last, the broad current of the Ronaun River came into view to greet Keldric and his party.
The Ronaun was wide and its current strong. What was more, the water temperature was plainly as cold as a sheet of ice.
Keldric gazed out beyond the bridge spanning the river.
Jorgen, who had drawn up beside Keldric before he knew it, pointed past the bridge as well and spoke.
"That is Yalta."
There, as darkness slowly settled, lay Yalta Village, nestled beside the lifeline of the North.
Keldric looked at the palisade encircling the village and clicked his tongue in surprise.
'Far larger than Carlton Village. No—perhaps even larger than Schaffendorf.'
Yalta Village, situated at a short distance from Bellam, was sizable indeed.
People who had failed to gain entry to the city had begun settling in the surrounding villages, and one of those was Yalta. Its size was only natural.
By the time Keldric reached the entrance to Yalta Village, the sun had already begun to set, yet the village gate was unexpectedly bright with torchlight.
In a city it might have been normal, but country folk generally rose with the sun and ended their day when it set.
Yalta Village now, however, was different.
Keldric spotted two stout men standing at the village entrance, between the palisade gates.
"What are they?"
"Judging by their level of armament, they are not a village watch."
As Jorgen had said, in an ordinary country village the watch would be lucky to have even a thick gambeson.
But the men standing at the entrance to Yalta Village were equipped far beyond the ordinary.
There were only two of them, but the fact that both were solidly armed in chain mail and surcoat changed the picture entirely.
Keldric studied the two soldiers' gear more closely.
One had a long spear slung over his shoulder, and the other wore a messer-type sword at his hip.
"Does it look like something's going on?"
"That much, I cannot say. Shall I go and ask?"
"Hm... No. I'd rather not send you off alone."
Send only Jorgen, when he had no idea who those men were? Better that Keldric himself step forward.
Keldric slowly drew on the reins and guided Boreas ahead.
As it happened, the two soldiers on watch seemed to have spotted Keldric as well.
Drawing up before them, Keldric studied the soldiers unhurriedly.
'Well-armed.'
For their part, the soldiers, their eyes gone wide at Keldric's extraordinary bulk, wore expressions of sharp tension.
Keldric had wiped the blood from his armor and helmet, but it made little difference—the surcoat, even when washed, did not easily shed its stains.
As the two sides stood sizing each other up, one of the soldiers at last managed to open his mouth.
"G-God's blessing be with you, honorable sir knight. Welcome to Yalta Village."
"God's blessing be with you as well. Thank you."
"If I may be so bold, might I know the house and honored name of the noble knight?"
"By the grace of God, I am Keldric of House Bellaf."
Having now repeated an introduction he had delivered more times than he could count since leaving Carlton Village, Keldric made no effort to evade the soldier's swift once-over.
The Imperial tongue Keldric spoke came out in the unmistakable accent of the nobility, and the soldier seemed flustered at finding himself confronted by an actual knight who had appeared out of nowhere.
"I must beg your pardon, but might I ask the purpose of your visit to Yalta Village?"
"I am bound for Bellam. At present I am on the road from Schaffendorf. Is there some need for you to know even that?"
"Ah! If I have given offense, I humbly beg your forgiveness! It is simply that, at present, Baron Yaven is lodging within Yalta Village, and so..."
Keldric was taken aback at the unexpected name.
'Baron Yaven?'
Did that mean the two soldiers before his eyes were Baron Yaven's men as well?
"Lord Yaven is staying here?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Might I know the reason?"
"His Lordship is at present en route to a place called Carlton Village. However, owing to certain unsavory incidents that have taken place in this vicinity of late, he has been obliged to remain here for a time."
Belatedly, Keldric recalled the contents of the letter Hilmer had told him about.
The road Keldric had taken from Carlton Village to Yalta had been largely a single track, so it was only natural that Baron Yaven, heading in the opposite direction toward Carlton Village, should be here now.
The situation now made sense to Keldric—but one thing still did not.
"Unsavory incidents—what do you mean by that?"
"Ah, that is..."
The soldier hesitated to answer.
It was dangerous conduct to show such reluctance before a knight, but if the cause was a gag order imposed by Baron Yaven, then there was little to be done about it.
"I understand the circumstances well enough."
The situation was growing complicated.
Keldric could not even guess what those "unsavory incidents" the soldier had mentioned might be.
Moreover, so long as Baron Yaven remained in Yalta, if Keldric meant to spend the night in the village, he would inevitably have to go and meet Baron Yaven face-to-face.
It was not exactly a headache, but it was a decidedly awkward situation.
"By chance, is anyone else here besides Lord Yaven?"
"Sir Werner of House Henzer is also staying here."
"I see. Sir Werner."
Baron Yaven was an honest man.
Just as Hilmer's letter had stated, he was traveling in the company of Sir Werner of House Henzer.
"Sir Keldric. If it is no imposition, I shall escort you to Lord Yaven."
The other soldier spoke to Keldric with deference.
Wearing an expression of mild reluctance, Keldric had no choice but to nod.
"Then I shall trouble you to do so."
There was no option of not meeting him.
To arrive at a village where the lord was staying and march straight to the inn without so much as showing one's face to him would be grievously rude.
"The rest of you go on ahead to the inn."
"Understood."
After sending the Ram Mercenary Company and Alisa on to the inn, Keldric slowly rode along, following the soldier's guidance.
In the distance, what appeared to be the village headman's house was their destination.