Messengers Clinging to the Road Home
Karem firmly rejected Nepaneck’s proposal.
That fact was never going to change.
Yet she showed no sign of giving up. She kept raising the price, offering new terms, doing everything she could to win him over.
Even while she was at it, Nepaneck handled her official duties in Obsidianberry with startling efficiency. It was a vivid reminder not to judge by appearances, and living proof that she had not become a close aide to the New King through looks alone.
Of course, as she herself had said, there was not much that actually required her personal hand.
At first she had been leisurely enough. But once the fine points of the contract were settled and only a single day of her stay in Obsidianberry remained, impatience finally cracked her composure and she threw the mask aside.
“How much do you want?! Just name a number!”
“No matter how much you offer, my answer will not change. Besides, I hate the desert. It’s too hot.”
“Hot? You’re turning me down over that? Over a little heat?!”
“Uh—ma’am. You really can’t do this here.”
Her stubbornness only softened somewhat after she learned that the chefs of Adobis had already traded for the boy’s recipes and secret techniques.
In pure momentum she looked ready to camp outside until Karem agreed to sail with her to Adobis, yet as a public official she never quite lost her reason.
Still, one final goal remained forever out of reach.
On the day the Adobis fleet weighed anchor from Obsidianberry, Nepaneck shouted from the flagship as though this were anything but an ending.
“Don’t you dare think this is over! I’m only stepping back because of official duties! I’ll be back—just wait and see!”
It was the sort of exit line a defeated villain would deliver.
Whether she meant it or not, the Adobis fleet sailed out into the open sea.
Having been pestered every free moment, Karem slipped into the crowd and waved his arms with the clear message that he hoped never to see her again.
Beside him, Catherine—Mary and Olivier in tow—lifted her chin with unmistakable pride.
“To try to buy my loyal retainer with mere material luxury… Kid, I always knew you would never fall for such cheap temptation.”
“For someone so certain, Contractor, you looked pretty nervous.”
“Would I ever do something so undignified? Mary, you must have been seeing things.”
“Funny you should say that, because this whole time Master Olivier—”
“Right! Business is finished, so let’s pack our bags at once!”
Catherine cut Mary off with unnatural firmness, as if she simply refused to hear another word.
She was not entirely wrong. The moment the Adobis fleet had drawn far enough away, Alfred issued the order to prepare for departure.
Watching Catherine whirl around and head for the lodging, Olivier let out a sigh so deep it seemed to sink into the earth itself—hooooooooo.
“You’ve worked hard all this time, Master Olivier.”
“Yeah… when you get old you ought to just die. Having my heart wrung out at this age over a disciple who’s already independent. Aigoo, the life I lead. If only I hadn’t been cheated out of my money—”
Hmm. This is going to get annoying.
Karem let the old sage’s grumbling wash past him and followed his employer and senior back to the lodging.
The instant the Adobis fleet was gone, the welcoming party scrambled to return to Winterhome.
Yet the column’s progress dragged out just as badly as the schedule that had been stuffed with everyone’s personal whims.
Packing itself took almost no time. The itinerary had been distributed long ago, and every bag had been packed the night before.
The delay came from the flood of people who wanted to join the procession bound for Coldon. Their reason was simple.
Spring is the season when life awakens.
Even cold, barren Iceland was no exception.
Rivers that had frozen solid all winter began to run again. Sleeping vegetation stirred. And of course the carnivores and monsters that had hibernated through the long dark, waiting for winter to end, began to move as well.
They were ravenous.
There were three ways to avoid them: possess overwhelming force, swell your numbers until no one dared approach, or leave the land entirely like migratory birds.
And here, at just the right moment, was the Duke of Iceland’s procession preparing to return to Coldon. People gladly paid handsome sums—and a little self-interest—to attach themselves to it.
Even so, the crowd seemed excessive… What? Confirm it with my own eyes? Exactly as Catherine had predicted, Karem discovered the reason not long after leaving Obsidianberry.
Gyaaaaaaaaa—
“Undead ahead! Shield wall! Ready! Push!”
“Archers against skeletons? If you don’t have special arrows, fall back! Blunt weapons to the front—watch the flanks!”
A swarm of skeletons burst from the forest and poured toward the column like ants that had found a feast.
Their numbers clearly outstripped the procession.
Yet skeletons clutching rotten weapons were low-grade monsters inferior even to laborers with clubs. Only their numbers were impressive.
The horde, armed with trash or nothing at all, was smashed into bone piles by knights, soldiers, and adventurers who had grown even more irritable than on the outward journey.
Skeletons were not the only undead they met in the days after leaving the city.
Zombie packs that announced themselves by shambling forward. Wights that raced ahead of the zombies in utter silence. Ghouls flashing unnaturally sharp teeth and claws. Draugr—the risen corpses of forgotten warriors.
Add the hungry beasts and monsters that had just woken from hibernation, and attacks came at least two or three times a day. Sometimes the column could not move at all.
Karem’s horror was only natural.
Undead—walking corpses. Even when he had been stuck in a backwater corner of Kingsland he had never seen one. In movies and games they were just cannon fodder that died in droves alongside Nazis. But when they swarmed thick enough to surround an entire procession, they became pure terror.
Humans, however, are creatures of adaptation.
After the same nightmare repeated for days on end, the boy adapted.
“Hmm. Today’s first undead are skeletons, are they?”
“I win the bet, then.”
“Ehh.”
They had reached the point of wagering on what the first undead of the day would be.
Olivier grumbled and stamped his staff into the dirt as though he had been robbed.
“Yesterday it was nothing but zombies from dawn to dusk. Why skeletons the moment today starts?”
“Old man, is your belly as full of greed as your years? You’ve guessed right every single day and you still complain.”
“So, Junior Karem. According to today’s bet—what’s for lunch?”
The stakes, of course, were never money. Two archmages who lacked for nothing and a workaholic house elf who preferred labor to coin needed no coin. What Karem had put on the table was the right to choose the menu after the first undead of the day.
He declared the result without hesitation.
“Pancakes and bacon, sand-turtle date-palm syrup, and carrots and asparagus sautéed in butter!”
“Hmm. Light for lunch, isn’t it?”
“Today’s lunch is mine to decide! Let me rest a little too. I’m dying here.”
He answered Catherine’s grumbling with grumbling of his own. For once he truly wanted a break. Right up until they left Obsidianberry he had been dodging the headhunting of that bratty dark elf. Even while trading recipes and techniques with the Adobis chefs he had still cooked two or three full meals a day for Catherine. And the march back to Coldon had given him no rest either.
He could have taken a few days off and left everything to Mary, but a professional chef simply could not. He accepted help, nothing more.
Worse, once the undead began to appear, the lingering stench of corpses that clung to the column drained him every time he stepped out of the carriage.
“Pancakes and sand-turtle date-palm syrup. An excellent choice, Junior Karem.”
“See? There’s even a house elf right here who gladly accepts and will eat every bite.”
“Indeed. Picky eating is never a wise choice.”
Mary’s delight shone without the slightest restraint. Soft, fluffy bread and sweet syrup—there was no chance she would refuse.
Deciding there was nothing more to see, Catherine and Olivier retreated into the carriage.
“Junior Karem, are you staying out here?”
“Since I’m already outside, we might as well catch our breath and pick up the ingredients early. Looks like the column will stop for a while.”
Karem watched soldiers and adventurers picking through the smashed bone piles that had once been skeletons. The bones themselves held little value—maybe a modest bounty for a right-hand bone, a foot, or a skull as proof of the kill, and even that paid only slightly better than goblins. But a great many of the skeletons still carried metal: copper, bronze, iron. Metal always had worth. There did not seem to be enough for everyone, yet the soldiers stayed focused on clearing the field and no real quarrel broke out.
“Hmm. Even for skeletons, that many means we’ll rest a bit before moving on. Since the subject came up, let’s go right now.”
“Yes. The supply wagons should be toward the rear.”
The column behaved exactly as Karem and Mary expected. Having marched since before dawn, it halted after the skeleton attack to clear the field and rest at the same time.
The closer Karem drew to the heart of the column where the supply wagons clustered, the noisier it became—in a completely different way from the outer perimeter.
People need to eat, and supply is everything. Around the wagons that fed the entire main force, the lowing and bleating of livestock never stopped.
The procession was large enough already; Karem briefly wondered whether the animals themselves were attracting the constant attacks. Then he shrugged. Whatever the reason, the result was the same: even in the open field he could lay hands on fresh meat and milk.
So this was what Catherine had meant when she said joining a noble’s procession was pure luxury.
His targets were simple—pancake ingredients, bacon, vegetables, and butter. Quite a few others shared the same idea; a sizable crowd milled around the wagons. But his employer was Catherine, supreme magic advisor. Backed by her authority, Karem cut straight to the front and secured everything he needed.
Mary, carrying the load in his place, inspected the ingredients.
“Junior Karem, there’s no date-palm syrup. Did you forget it?”
“I stocked up plenty in Obsidianberry. Other syrups won’t be necessary.”
Endless headhunting offers and exchange meetings had kept him working without rest, yet they had also paid off. While trading recipes, the Adobis chefs had decided their payment was still insufficient and pressed expensive spices and long-keeping foodstuffs into his hands. The many jars of sand-turtle date-palm syrup were among them.
Far sweeter than ordinary honey or dates—so intense it made the cheeks tingle—and thick enough that a well-sealed jar could last for years. Fantasy-level sweetness, hard to believe yet undeniable.
“Still, once we’re home I can try all sorts of new dishes.”
“New dishes—Adobis cuisine?”
“Yes. First thing that comes to mind… instead of cheese, what if I soak donuts in the syrup for several days, roll them in powdered nuts, and make gulab jamun? Yes, yes—even if you keep staring at me like that, I’ll make plenty.”
Mary’s eyes alone poured out stars. Karem answered at once, exactly as he had expected.
He had received several jars, but considering the dessert-obsessed residents of Winterhome, the syrup would vanish in months rather than years.
After the brief field-clearing and rest, the escort column set off again.
Swollen numbers and relentless undead and monster attacks stretched the journey to roughly twice its normal length before the procession finally reached Coldon.
Attached Material
— Pancakes Drizzled with Date-Palm Syrup —
This is a picture drawn by ChatGPT.