IX. Standing Against Injustice (1)
IX. Standing Against Injustice (1)
Keldric first set his course toward Bellam, the Cradle of the North.
Bellam was the nearest place from which to maintain smooth communication with Baron Yaven.
Baron Yaven had probably returned by now after leaving troops in Carlton Village, though Keldric had no way to know his exact location.
With territorial war imminent, it was reasonable to assume the baron had returned from Carlton.
"Brr... It’s been a long time since I felt a wind this cold."
Sir Henri shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around his neck.
Succumbing to the cold was no virtue, but that standard belonged to northern men.
The Barony of Candillon grew wine grapes and was therefore probably warm. Henri’s complaints were understandable.
"Want to trade cloaks?"
"Hm? No... I’m fine. I’ll adjust after a while."
Keldric fingered his thick wolfskin cloak. The hide Baron Spitzenberg had given him was unquestionably fine quality.
Keldric was not particularly vulnerable to cold, but northern winds still bit during travel and outdoor camps.
Maintaining body heat was important. Warmth kept the blood moving and the body alert enough to respond to sudden danger.
That was true anywhere, but especially in a north that resembled one vast freezer.
"By the way, what happened with Sir Jacquesmon’s marriage?"
"Hm? That is Jacquesmon’s concern. I only came as my house’s representative."
"Do you have no intention of marrying?"
"M-me? I, well..."
Sir Henri stopped fidgeting with his cloak and fell silent.
Keldric took the hint and dropped the subject. If the talkative Henri would not discuss it, family circumstances were probably involved.
Keldric did not know how powerful House Candillon was, but possessing wine-producing estates suggested considerable standing.
Not every baron belonged to the dregs of the nobility. That was a common misconception.
Though uncommon, emperors and kings sometimes granted barons court titles or entrusted them with specific regions.
Such a baron served the crown directly and acted as a powerful, effectively independent lord without an elector such as a count or duke above him.
The Empire had similar estates. Direct imperial vassals were called imperial counts or imperial barons according to rank.
House Candillon might hold such status. Wine grapes were a rare and valuable territorial product.
"Marriage... marriage is... Damn it! Why are we discussing this?"
"No reason. Sorry."
Keldric apologized awkwardly. Henri evidently had unpleasant memories connected to marriage.
Thinking back, Keldric gradually remembered what Sir Alan had said when he first arrived in Bogenberg.
'I heard some worthless knight abandoned his wizard fiancée because he was afraid of magic... I wonder who that was.'
A worthless knight who abandoned his fiancée because he feared magic. Alan had clearly meant Henri.
Keldric did not know why Henri feared magic, but that explained his fear of Alisa.
"Come to think of it, where did Sir Alan go? Wasn’t he still here when I left for Spitzenberg?"
Henri looked delighted by the change of subject.
He sniffed through a nose already reddened by the cold.
"Ah... you mean that dishonorable Britas bastard?"
"You still treat him that way? You really are petty."
"What? That son of a bitch dared insult my house!"
"You still formed something of a friendship after fighting together."
"What utter horseshit. Friendship? I treated him like any other street thug."
Henri’s hostility toward Alan had not faded. If anything, it had grown worse.
'What happened between them?'
It had not been this bad when Keldric left. They bickered, but their fight had seemed to settle matters.
Henri’s continuing rant suggested something else had happened afterward.
Keldric stared at him wearily. He had only asked where Alan went and received a spray of curses and spittle.
"People are watching. Speaking so crudely may damage your dignity."
"Ahem! You have a point."
Henri’s tirade vanished as though he had been waiting for an excuse. Keldric could only stare.
It was probably best to dismiss it as another common quarrel between a Britas knight and a Frankish knight.
"More importantly, Sir Keldric, what is that magnificent trophy your attendant is carrying?"
The womanizing Frankish knight’s eyes gleamed as he looked at the bundle on Arno’s back.
A skull lay inside, carefully wrapped in cloth—the monster Keldric had hunted at Spitzenberg.
Henri had apparently seen Arno pack it. Keldric answered casually while guiding Boreas.
"I just returned from Spitzenberg, remember?"
"Yes?"
"While I was there, I unexpectedly hunted a monster."
"Y-you hunted a monster? Tell me everything!"
Henri leaned closer with renewed excitement, scattering spittle for an entirely different reason.
The hot-blooded Frankish knight was incapable of hiding what he felt.
The hunt clearly evoked immeasurable honor and glory in his mind, but there was no envy in him—only honest admiration and curiosity.
Keldric began recounting what had happened in Spitzenberg to the guileless, unreserved man.
"A few days after I arrived, Lord Spitzenberg summoned me."
"And then?"
"He asked me to hunt a monster, and I accepted. I could not ignore a creature that preyed upon innocent people."
"Oooh...!"
The sun still hung high above the mountains.
Crossing the low range between Yaven and Bogenberg would take a day or two. They needed to keep moving.
The journey to Bellam would take six days. Keldric intended to pass the time by talking with Henri.
As the two knights at the column’s head chatted loudly, the attendants and soldiers behind them relaxed and marched more easily.
A battle in which they would risk their lives awaited them. No one knew how many soldiers would survive.
Even elite troops could not avoid feeling tense.
If casual conversation eased that tension, it served a useful purpose.
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Keldric and the soldiers marched for three straight days.
Nothing required Keldric’s special attention. They saw neither enemy soldiers nor even a single bandit.
The highway between Bellam and Bogenberg was normally well maintained. Baron Yaven and Count Bogenberg both cared for their domains.
The journey was therefore comfortable. Only mercenary bandits sent by Count Rasau gave cause for concern.
"The road..."
Alisa urged her horse forward from slightly behind and drew alongside Keldric.
"More snow appears to have fallen. It’s unusual for the highway to be this clogged."
"Hm?"
The snow’s glare made Alisa shield her eyes as she pointed down the road.
Keldric followed her slender finger. The highway ahead was increasingly buried beneath churned snow.
"Strange. Salzfluss should be nearby."
Salzfluss was the rock-salt-mining village where Keldric had first met Henri on his earlier journey from Bellam to Bogenberg.
Countless traveling merchants passed through it because it stood halfway along the highway.
Some sold leather; others carried grain from Bogenberg.
In other words, this was normally a heavily traveled road.
Wagons, horses, and pedestrians naturally broke up and cleared snow along such routes, preventing deep accumulation even without deliberate maintenance.
Yet the farther they went, the more churned snow covered the highway. Wagon ruts and hoofprints appeared only occasionally.
Keldric guided Aveline along the road with growing unease. His instincts warned him that something was wrong.
"Perhaps the merchants withdrew after hearing about the war?"
Henri’s guess sounded plausible, but Keldric considered it and shook his head.
"I don’t think so. This is still Lord Yaven’s domain."
Baron Yaven valued commerce. Under his rule, Bellam had grown into the north’s foremost trading city and commercial hub.
Even with war approaching, the baron was unlikely to abandon trade entirely.
Farming was difficult in the north’s barren permafrost.
Many villages relied on livestock instead, but grain supported far more people and remained essential.
That was why Baron Yaven encouraged commerce. His domain did not produce enough food, so he imported it.
With war approaching, merchants who could bring in and stockpile food were indispensable.
Baron Yaven was no fool. He would not neglect the Salzfluss salt merchants whose trade brought food into his lands.
"Sir Keldric, this is definitely unusual."
"You think so too?"
"Yes. Merchants normally view war as an opportunity. If the road is this empty..."
"Something must be causing it. Someone may have blocked the route."
Alisa nodded worriedly. Keldric fingered the helmet hanging at his side.
They had not seen a single bandit during the journey.
Only a few forces could have blocked the road—troops sent by Baron Gofrit, for example.
'I hope nothing happened.'
Perhaps he was worrying needlessly.
Salzfluss might be operating normally, and merchants might simply have ignored the snowy road and continued on.
Even so, Keldric’s foreboding grew stronger.
It became reality after less than another half day of travel.
"Sir Keldric! Salzfluss—!"
Salzfluss, the rock-salt village in Baron Yaven’s domain, lay ahead.
Thick, stale smoke billowed above the village Keldric had not seen in so long.
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Keldric drove Aveline at a breakneck pace.
There was no time to lose. Burning Salzfluss rushed closer.
Beside him, Henri spurred his own horse and hurriedly pulled on his helmet.
"Sir Keldric! They’re under attack!"
"I can see that!"
More than a week had passed since Count Bogenberg sent the declaration through Baron Yaven.
It had probably arrived, and Yaven and Gofrit had likely begun military operations.
The result now stood before Keldric, only three days after he left Bogenberg.
Yet the raid must have been prepared in advance. However quickly the declaration arrived, Gofrit could not have dispatched troops this fast otherwise.
Baron Yaven’s army might already have fought Baron Gofrit and lost.
Keldric had no time for darker speculation. The territorial war had begun.
Near the village entrance, cavalrymen ran wild while several soldiers wielding axes came into view. Keldric narrowed his eyes.
Henri saw them as well and craned forward with a troubled grunt.
"Those are...?"
Clattering metal lamellar armor and gambesons embroidered with foreign patterns.
Drooping chain aventails covered their necks and continued into face guards that concealed them completely.
'Soldiers from the Duchy of Rhees!'
Keldric remembered the Rheesian mounted bandits who had attacked Schaffendorf.
He had been poorly equipped then, lacking even a proper spear and forced to compensate with brute strength.
Now things were different.
The screams from Salzfluss grew clearer. Keldric stopped briefly outside the village and shouted.
"Soldiers, close formation! Archers, forward!"
The soldiers who had raced after him hurriedly formed ranks.
Keldric spotted Arno and Helga staying back with Alisa.
The two young attendants trembled at the sight of the Rheesian cavalry.
They remembered those terrifying foreign horsemen who had burned their peaceful village.
There was no time to delay. If Salzfluss burned to ashes, Yaven would suffer a devastating loss—just as Arno and Helga’s village had.
"Sir Henri!"
Keldric would not allow that.
"We have to charge!"
Henri’s pupils shook with excitement behind the eye-slits of his helmet.
A glorious cavalry charge—what could stir a knight’s heart more?
"Sir Keldric... I place my sword in your hands! I’ll join this glorious charge!"
There was no time for further discussion. The archers loosed a volley, and at that signal the soldiers and two warhorses surged forward.
The calm, merciful knight and the lecherous wastrel were gone.
Only two men who had trained their entire lives to kill the enemy remained.
Their honed skill would cut foes down with keen steel. A knight was another name for terror on the battlefield.
"Charge! Charge!"
"You vermin! I'll kill you all!"
The time had come to prove it.