44. Dream-Tide (2)
We had pitched camp near a nameless forest. A massive wall of rock reared up behind us like a cliff, a small stream trickled along to the left, and a crooked footpath wound off to the right and vanished into the trees.
Until just two days ago, fortresses, gates, and villages had been strung along the road within a half-day's walk of one another, and everywhere you went the place bustled with people. But once we crossed into Gistol Province, where mountains and forest swallowed up most of the land, signs of human life had thinned to almost nothing.
Which was why the three figures — two large, one small — that appeared on the far side of the trail as dawn spread across the sky looked suspicious at a glance.
One of the two mercenaries standing watch came over and jerked his chin toward the trail. "Milord, want us to go see who they are?"
The Scaled Gauntlet of the Serpent King was thin enough to cling to my hand like a second skin, so I could layer a regular pair of gloves right over it. Someone was bound to ask sooner or later where I'd gotten this gauntlet, so for the time being I meant to keep it hidden just so.
I flexed my thickened hand open and closed, sizing up the group that had emerged from the trees.
An unarmed young couple, and a little girl... a family?
"...No, never mind. Don't pick a fight over nothing — let them pass."
Cole, who had been bending his russet bow to string it, spoke up. "Better wake the mercenaries anyway, just in case. They'd be getting up soon regardless."
I nodded, and the two sentries went around camp briskly shaking their comrades awake.
"Uaaargh!"
A mercenary with hair bundled up like a broom let out a thunderous stretch. His voice knocked faintly against the rock face behind us, and a flock of songbirds nearby burst fluttering into the air.
Ellen, wound up in her cloak and blanket, frowned and rolled over. A snow-white hand scrubbed at her face; a moment later her long lashes crossed, and her blue eyes caught the dawn light and glittered.
She blinked around in a daze, and the moment her eyes met mine she shrank into herself.
"...I'm cold."
"Cold?"
Heh.
Wrapped in how many layers, and she's cold...
At Ellen's utterly predictable whining, I snorted, got up, walked over to her, scooped up that small body of hers, and carried her back to the campfire.
"Warm now?"
Ellen, who never woke easily, usually had to roast herself by the fire for a good while in her half-dreaming state before she finally wriggled out of her cocoon.
Whenever Ellen burrowed into my arms under the pretext of still being asleep — like now — I would tease her: tweaking her nose, her ears, running my fingers through her hair. Then that drowsy heartbeat of hers would slowly pick up speed, and she'd pop awake in no time.
"Eee, st-stop it—"
Watching her squirm with sleep still plastered across her face was always a fine spectacle.
While I was chuckling and playing with her, Heila — awake at some point without my noticing — settled naturally into the spot beside me, unfolded a square of silk patchwork, and laid out a teapot and cups upon it.
She offered a silver-plated teapot to Simos, the magic swordswoman, who was just rising and rubbing the sleep from her face.
"Simos, could you fetch some water?"
"Ah, yep."
Simos took the pot and filled it to the brim from a brass kettle of boiling water beside the fire.
"It's hot, milady."
"Mm. Thank you."
Heila wrapped tea leaves and sprigs of herb in a square of cloth, tied it with string, and dropped it into the pot. Then she stirred in honey they'd picked up in Trosher, the northern province of Graduil, and a sweet fragrance unfurled on the rising steam.
Drawn by that sweetness, Mungchi — who had been hiding somewhere near the rock face behind us — drifted into view as though hypnotized.
"Come sit. It'll be ready soon."
"Yes-ss."
Mungchi scampered over and crouched down beside Heila.
She adored Heila's tea. Back in her Eastern homeland she'd only ever caught the scent of it now and then — she'd never once had the chance to properly enjoy a cup, apparently.
While Mungchi's eyes sparkled at the steaming teapot, the baldy Steedman — who until that moment had been snoring like a bellows — was somehow already up and getting breakfast ready.
Having rinsed a bundle of vegetables at the stream, Steedman tore the stalks of fennel into pieces and dropped them into the briskly boiling brass kettle.
"What's for breakfast?"
"That rabbit pie from two days back... and a soup boiled up with fennel, cabbage, and salted pork."
"What's that? No name for the dish?"
"Uh, a name?"
At the freckled Mira's question, Steedman scratched his shoulder with his chin as he answered.
"Nothing worth calling a name. If I had to give it one... 'Dora Soup,' I suppose?"
"Dora Soup? What kind of backwoods name is that?"
"...My mother used to make it for me all the time. Her name's Dora."
"...Uh. Hm. What did I just say?"
Around then, just as the same peaceful morning as any other was settling over us, Cole — who had kept his eyes on the trail the whole time — spoke up.
"They're coming."
I followed his gaze, and there they were: the usual three, shuffling hesitantly toward us.
...What's this about?
I was quietly studying what they were up to when the stretching mercenary suddenly roared out.
"Hey! What the hell are you people? Get lost!"
At that bellow from the ill-favored mercenary rattling the chain of his flail, the three froze mid-step, startled stiff.
"Fritz."
The ponytailed mercenary with the flail hunched his shoulders and looked back over them.
Utekwai, seated on a fallen log sketching with a charcoal pencil, narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Noisy. Waking forest."
"...But Hatanka-hyung, those bastards, one look and—"
"Shut mouth."
Fritz, the hot-blooded bastard of a mercenary, snapped his jaw shut.
Fritz was a mercenary out of the Mitergelant Empire — plenty skilled, but with a temper filthy beyond all reason, and once his anger lit he couldn't tell fire from water.
How bad was it? Say, about three weeks ago? His fuse had gone completely off its hinge and he'd actually lunged at Utekwai.
Angry or not — watching a man bare his teeth and charge a giant a good forty centimeters taller than him, I found myself thinking, yeah, that bastard's got a genuine rage disorder, no question.
He looked to be around thirty this year, and it was a small miracle that a man who lived by the blade had survived this long with that temperament. In any case, after nearly dying back then he'd been subjected to, ah, ongoing 'treatment' at Utekwai's hands, and his symptoms had improved somewhat — but he still picked fights at the drop of a hat, the party's standing headache. If his skill had been even a little worse, we'd have tossed him out ages ago.
"......Mmm."
When Fritz visibly deflated under Utekwai's gaze, the other Empire-born mercenary, Confeir, put a question to me.
"They look shady, no getting around it. What would you like to do?"
"Hm."
I turned to Ellen, who was slowly working her way out of her cocoon.
"Ellen, feel anything?"
"...Mm."
She knitted her brow and studied the three figures on the trail.
"No magic."
"Right?"
I brushed off my backside and rose, walking toward the three of them. Cole and Confeir fell in behind me without a word.
"What's the matter?"
Call it proof I'd adapted to this world rather well? Talking down to complete strangers right off the bat had become second nature by now.
The man and woman, late twenties at a guess, quickly rolled their eyes over my appearance.
A frame well above average height, a breastplate woven of chain and plate, a belt that carried an ominous air and the longsword hanging from it, long-necked suede boots — they seemed to take a rough guess at my station, and the pair bowed deeply at the waist.
"May the Lord of Radiance look down upon you. A good morning to you, milord."
"Right. Who are you?"
"This one's a charcoal burner living in the castle village of Tvas, over yonder. This here's my wife and my daughter."
"A charcoal burner. And?"
"W-well, we happened to come upon milord and the good mercenaries while on the road, and, ah, there's something I'd dare to ask, so I worked up the courage to approach."
When I gestured for him to go on, the charcoal burner wet his lips and continued.
"As milord will well know, few travelers pass this way. The last four or five years especially so. And so a mere countryman like myself fears — fears whether I can so much as keep my family safe on the road."
Whether the words struck Confeir as absurd, the middle-aged mercenary burst into a hollow laugh.
"Ha — you walk up to a band of mercenaries and say that. Are you ignorant of how the world works, or do you take us for fools?"
"One look and anyone can see you're righteous, good-hearted people — why such dreadful words—"
"You think that sort of flattery will work on us?"
When Confeir — the terrible scar carved across his mouth and cheek — glared, the charcoal burner hastily raised his hands.
"No, that's... uh, I don't mean that milord or the good elders here are such, but surely it's better to suffer at the hands of men than at monsters come down out of the mountains? At least you can talk."
Saying so, he kept stealing glances in my direction. I crossed my arms and spoke.
"So you want to join us? For a guarantee of safety?"
"Put plainly, yes. Ah! Of course, whether you'd call it payment or mere sincerity, I will most certainly express my gratitude, milord."
He undid the pouch at his waist, hesitated a moment, then held the whole thing out.
Hardly his entire fortune, surely — he'd probably stashed a sum somewhere beforehand and was putting on a performance, no?
"Keep the money. Where are you headed?"
"We're bound for Raven's Cliff."
"Raven's Cliff?"
"Yes, milord."
The moment I fell silent, Confeir, standing behind me, murmured under his breath.
"Same destination. How very convenient."
As I stood idly scratching my brow, the charcoal burner spoke up again.
"To speak precisely, we are going to the church at Raven's Cliff. To see the priest there."
"Your village has no church? A castle village, you said?"
"Yes, of course it does. But the priest received a summons from the Norick Order a week past and departed, so..."
The Norick Order was the group that handled the church's heresy inquisitions — I'd crossed paths with them before. The monk, Lewis or whatever his name was, whom I'd met at the Southharbor church, had belonged to that very Norick Order.
"They say some revelation came down to the church, but a countryman like me doesn't know the exact particulars."
"...Hm. Then is there a priest remaining at Raven's Cliff?"
"From what we hear, the Archcount has been in seclusion these several years, so the priest handles all the domain's affairs himself. The Order will know that as well, so we think the priest is likely to have stayed..."
"And why do you need to see this priest?"
"W-well, you see."
The charcoal burner wrapped an arm around his daughter's shoulders and forced the words out with difficulty.
"...The truth is, my daughter has fallen ill."
"Ill?"
I looked the girl over quietly.
She seemed barely twelve; apart from being a little thin, her appearance was utterly ordinary. Her expressionless face was somewhat unsettling, mind you.
"...Her color doesn't look bad. What kind of illness?"
"Well, that is—"
As the charcoal burner rolled his eyes and hesitated, his wife whispered at him with a worried look.
"Dear."
"It's — it's fine, so you stay quiet."
Having steadied his wife, he drew his daughter in closer and looked up at me.
"Th-the village elders say it's... as if she's been ridden by a demon."
"...A demon?"
"Of course we can't be certain — it may be nothing but old men's nonsense."
At that, I studied the charcoal burner's daughter once more.
On that expressionless face there was not the slightest trace of the innocence, the artlessness, that belongs to children...
A little girl possessed by a demon. Straight out of a horror film, that one.
While I was still deliberating, there came a porcelain clink-clatter from behind me. I turned to find Mungchi — a teacup clutched in each hand — standing bolt upright, staring hard toward the forest.
Heels raised, ears pricked, she looked for all the world like a beagle. Or a meerkat.
And in truth, Mungchi's senses outclassed those of any common hound. I knew it, and every last member of our party knew it.
The brief silence didn't last long. Umberta, the mercenary from the Crescent Archipelago, sprang to her feet and drew her bastard sword.
"All of you — alert—!"
At her shout the other mercenaries seized their weapons and scrambled upright, one after another.
By then I too could faintly make out the sound of trees cracking, snapping somewhere in the woods. Mungchi swarmed up a nearby tree with squirrel-quick movements and pointed off to one side.
"O-ver there!"
Ellen, already on her feet, began to chant. Cole nocked an arrow to his russet bowstring; Utekwai donned his feather-crested steel helm; Heila took a leisurely sip of tea; Mira drew her longsword, light gleaming off the crossguard; Steedman raised axe and shield...
Under my flat stare, Heila blinked at me calmly, then held out her empty cup.
"Have a cup?"
"...No, thanks."
I moved toward the campfire and gave the order to Cole and Confeir.
"You two — take the family."
The quick-witted Cole and the veteran Confeir grasped my meaning at once and led the charcoal burner's family off to a tucked-away corner behind the camp. And then, rather than watching the forest where the noises came from, they kept their eyes fixed on the family itself.
Just as I was gathering up the throwing spears laid out beside the campfire, the owners of all that commotion revealed themselves in the dark of the woods.
"Graahk, guoooaargh!"
What emerged amid those thunderous roars were giant monsters.
Vaguely human in shape, their gaping maws, hairless bald heads, flattened noses, and knothole eyes radiated a hideous savagery.
Frames that stood well past three meters, arms hanging long past the knees, bulky bodies packed with huge knotted muscle — nothing could have been more threatening — and around their waists they wore wraps of unidentifiable leather, their massive hands gripping roughly hewn clubs.
"Damn it all, it's ogres..."
As one mercenary muttered, those monsters — about ten of them — were indeed ogres.
"Fuck's sake, we're screwed."
"Those bastards are faster than they look — no running from that."
Unlike the unshaken Cole, Steedman, and Mira, the mercenaries we'd hired back in Longville looked distinctly rattled.
Which was fair enough — through Trosher Province, that is, crossing the domains of the King's Knights, we'd barely fought at all. The occasional brush with thieves, a little sword-work here and there? With forts and gates dotted all along the road, the security was so good there hadn't been a single genuinely dangerous enemy — no monsters, no bandit bands — to speak of.
"Ellen, no fire."
At my words, Ellen kept chanting and only gave the smallest nod.
Then, from among the ogre horde pouring out of the forest and bellowing into the morning air, one smaller than the rest stepped forward.
"Uing, gandul—"
An ogre that looked all of ten centimeters taller than Utekwai was speaking — astonishingly — in Milanor.
"Give half, keep half. Rest, we watch—!"
"...What's with that one?"
As Steedman muttered in disbelief, Heila spoke up over the rim of her teacup.
"A shaman. Among ogres that's practically a deformity — rarely seen. Aren't we lucky."
At her words, a voice drifted in from somewhere, grumbling about 'lucky, my ass.'
I loosened my shoulders a little and regripped a throwing spear.
"Ears painted on?! Right now, immedia—"
THWACK.
The spear flying dead straight across nearly fifty meters burst the shaman's skull wide open.
"Heh. Phoenix, spear-throwing much improved."
"Tell me about it. Didn't expect to land that one myself."
Before Utekwai's and my idle little exchange had even finished, the ogres — robbed of their shaman — went berserk and came charging.