Varda, Daughter of Autumn (4)
Varda, Daughter of Autumn (4)
Viscount Winchester and his assembled vassals felt as though they were dreaming. And yet the intense presence emanating from the unidentified castle was unmistakably real.
"Your Excellency, there is no sign of banners or any presence at all."
The light cavalrymen reported as they massaged their aching necks. The castle was so vast that even circling it once took time, and they had been craning their necks to look up the entire time, leaving them stiff.
"How could that be? Look at that immaculate surface. It is certainly no abandoned fortress. Search again, properly this time."
"Ah, understood."
Parts of the castle were damaged, yet not a trace of moss, weeds, or even bird droppings were visible.
The secret to its maintenance lay in the sterilization of its surface every time it teleported, but an outsider could have no way of knowing that.
"Is there anyone there?!"
A soldier with a strong voice shouted through a loudspeaker fashioned from a large ceremonial horn.
"We are the honorable forces of His Excellency Winchester! Anyone, answer... cough, cough!"
He shouted until his voice went hoarse, but there was no response from within.
-There is now a general suspension of mobilization. Residents are to concentrate on tending their households. Remain silent and stay low. They cannot enter the castle anyway.
That was because Eugene had established new rules of engagement. As the birth rate climbed faster than expected, the need for stable extended families grew ever greater.
Mother, aunt on the father's side, aunt on the mother's side, grandmother, grandfather. Every cog in the wheel had to be intact. Only then could one raise many children to be healthy in both body and spirit. That was Eugene's conviction.
"It is clearly a haunted castle."
"If we do not depart at once, we shall be cursed!"
As it happened, mist was gathering above the castle, making it appear profoundly ominous. Moreover, the castle was absorbing moisture from the atmosphere in accordance with the lingering will Eugene had left behind before departing.
"L-Look at that!"
It made the castle appear to inhale and exhale the mist as if it were breathing. A nobleman who fervently believed in superstition crossed himself and raised a commotion, calling for a priest.
"In any case, encamping with that castle at our rear is utter madness."
"Then what are we to do? Lay siege to that mountain of stone?"
"That is precisely why we are arguing for withdrawal!"
Even those who were dismissive of the superstition agreed that continuing the operation was impossible on purely military grounds.
From the very start, a great many of the vassals had been none too eager for this campaign.
-To be frank, I fear Count Kruger. The man is said to be a madman.
-Seeing how things are going, even if he seizes Britannia, he won't last long. He'll take a knife in the back from his own men, or be assassinated one way or another.
-The midland nobles may feel as though they are walking on thin ice, but what is it to us in the south? Our taxes will simply become a bit more burdensome.
The only ones with their feet to the fire were the viscount and his loyalist faction.
The rest were merely looking to endure their mandatory term of service. The mysterious castle that had appeared at just the right moment served as the perfect excuse to call off the campaign.
"It is impossible. The ladders we brought wouldn't even come close."
"To get grappling hooks up there, we'd likely have to bundle them together and fire them from a catapult, wouldn't we?"
Every attempt to investigate the castle directly likewise ended in failure. The veteran mercenaries merely took one glance at the castle and shook their heads.
The army had been organized for the purpose of striking the minor and medium-sized domains of Cornwall. They did possess some siege equipment, but only of a grade sufficient to reduce a small palisade fort.
After days of fretting uselessly, Viscount Winchester gave the order to encamp with a feeling of "Oh, to hell with it."
"Your Excellency, those who now urge retreat are the disloyal ones. They believe that as long as they swear a new oath, they can keep their domains entirely intact."
"What is more revolting than a coward is a man who pretends to be afraid so he can slip away. Ratlike bastards who know not a shred of honor!"
It was exactly as his loyal vassals advised. If he withdrew now and let things peter out, he would fall irretrievably behind in this civil war race. At the end awaited either disgrace or death for the viscount.
"I shall grant the domain of Baron Foster to whoever achieves the greatest merit in its capture! Seize a lord's seat by the strength of your own arms!"
"!!!"
"What...?"
At that audacious promise from the viscount, the eyes of the mercenary captains and the knights changed in an instant.
"Your Excellency, are you certain you can promise such a thing?"
"Do I have a choice? Winning comes first. There is no leisure to fret about tidying up afterward."
His close aides voiced their concerns, but Viscount Winchester could have made far larger promises without hesitation.
'Kruger is running wild without a thought for the consequences — do I have the luxury to weigh and calculate now!'
The trouble was that during those wasted days, Eugene's army had arrived.
"Enemy! The enemy army!"
A pale-faced scout came galloping over the ridge and made his report.
"Their numbers?"
"Sixty to seventy percent of our own strength, Your Excellency."
"It seems the Cornwall lot had made preparations as well."
None of the nobles or mercenary captains appeared tense. In terms of preparation time, numbers, and supplies, their side held the advantage. They could also continue receiving reinforcements from mercenary companies through the port to their rear.
The problem lay with the next question.
"How many cavalry do they number?"
"More than six hundred horse!"
This was why the scout's face had been so pale.
"Six hundred?"
"Six hundred!"
"Six hundred horse? That can't be?"
"You! Are you sure you saw correctly?!"
While the nobles were uniformly thrown into consternation, someone burst out in anger.
"Six hundred cavalry — are you joking? Did you mistake the flock of sheep we brought for provisions?"
"My lord, humble soldier though I am, I do not mistake sheep for warhorses."
The scout managed his expression as he answered with the utmost polite indignation. The difference in station was enormous, but he too was a soldier who had spent his entire life on the battlefield. He could not tolerate his pride being trampled so.
"Fine! I shall see for myself! If it is your mistake, you will soon find yourself bound for the gallows—"
The knight who had been about to spur his horse forward came to a halt. For he felt a dull vibration.
"Drums?"
A mercenary standing on the ground tilted his head. From far away came a sound like hundreds of small drums being struck one after another.
Ruuuumble.
As time passed, the echoing thunder came to resemble the growling of a dragon. Even the conscript in straw sandals felt the very earth tremble through the soles of his feet.
"That is no Cornwall rabble. It absolutely is not."
A lord groaned as he watched the army reveal itself.
Tribal knights with their long lances raised skyward and their squires, and heavy cavalry holding shorter spears came pouring down in a mass.
Behind them, mounted archers armed with elven composite bows and flails spilled forth. They split into two groups and deployed onto both wings.
"We did come to Britannia, did we not?"
"What are they wrapped up so tightly in..."
The mercenaries from the continent murmured. Even the most seasoned veterans had never seen so many warhorses gathered in one place. What was more, the opposing cavalry had both horse and rider fully clad in armor.
In contrast, on their own side, only the riders wore armor while the horses were bare. In scale and in equipment, the comparison was utterly humiliating.
Step, step, step, step.
The footsteps of the dwarves bearing rectangular shields that covered their entire bodies were perfectly synchronized, left foot matching right. Thus, the dwarves' march resounded across the field like a gigantic drum.
Disquiet spread like the plague through Viscount Winchester's lines. For the quality and composition of the enemy forces were of an absurd level.
"Dark elves? The Black Hand Mercenary Company!"
"Dwarves have entrusted their backs to them?"
It was not hatred like that for elves, but mutual disdain and contempt were the default relationship between the two races.
The sight of dwarves heavily armored with shields coated in steel plating arrayed in the front ranks, with dark elves holding longbows lined up in the rear, was bewildering.
'Dear gods. Someone actually managed to make that real.'
A few stout-hearted nobles marveled at seeing a dream formation they had only ever fantasized about now materialized before their eyes.
Once the alignment was complete, a silence settled between the two armies. On Eugene's side, it carried the air of, 'Well then, let's see what entertainment you have to offer,' while on Winchester's side, it was nothing less than a silent scream.
* * *
"Their numbers exceed our projections."
"They appear to be about thirty percent larger than our own force."
Baron Foster, who was accompanying Eugene's army, spoke up.
In the opening stages of the war, Viscount Winchester had attempted to unify the south as swiftly as possible, even if it meant overextending himself. Considering it was an army mustered in haste, the number was considerable.
"Just by headcount, they might even surpass Count Kruger."
"Yes, Your Excellency. There will be no small number of yet-uncalled vassals, given the proximity to the midlands, or additional mercenaries still being organized in Haven."
Haven, Viscount Winchester's directly held city, was famous for its vast and fertile plains. It was also possible to sail out to sea via the Thames River flowing alongside it.
Agriculture, inland transport, maritime trade. It was a formidable city that functioned perfectly on three fronts.
The other domains of the south likewise possessed several ports, allowing them to draw in supplies and mercenaries from the continent without limit.
"The Red Deer Mercenary Company, the Stone Fist Mercenary Company, and the Crimson Cloak Mercenary Company to boot. They certainly have an uncanny nose for the scent of money."
Rex clicked his tongue as he studied the banners fluttering over the enemy lines. A significant number were mercenary companies that had operated across the sea on the continent.
"It's unlikely they were lured here by high pay alone. I suspect the status of landed lord was also promised. Throw that into the bargain and they'd come charging in at a dead run."
"As they did during the Sicily expedition."
The number of lordships that would change hands in the Britannian civil war was incomparably greater than in Sicily. There was a reason nobles and mercenaries from the continent were swarming over like moths to a flame.
"In this battle, we serve as the center. Are all of you mentally prepared?"
At Eugene's words, every one of the unit commanders grinned fiercely.
For the reason Viscount Winchester had feared Count Kruger despite commanding such a large army was now made plain.
"A mere rabble, for all their numbers."
"Half of them are conscripts and rookie mercenaries, are they not?"
A dwarf centurion raised his hammer.
"Just look at the sorry state of them, bringing wooden panels barely fit for pot lids and calling them shields. A single blow of our hammers will shatter them."
Their words were mocking, but their eyes and bodies betrayed not the slightest looseness. Eugene nodded at the sight of their iron discipline.
Five cavalrymen bearing banners rode out from Viscount Winchester's army.
"The commander's banner. The viscount himself is coming forward. It appears he desires a parley, Your Excellency."
Upon the report of a keen-eyed tribal skirmisher, Eugene rode out on an ordinary horse. Behind him followed Homi, Varda, Baron Foster, and two escort knights.
"Once Viscount Winchester realizes you command a foreign army, Excellency, he will attempt to buy you off by any means."
"With what? Money?"
"That fellow has nothing to his name but coin."
"Too bad. What I want is Haven."
"Ha ha ha! Indeed. It is far too fine a city for a turncoat to hold."
Baron Foster laughed heartily. The man was as young as his own firstborn son, yet his manner of speaking was that of an old fox.
Both cavalry forces had stopped once they drew within a certain distance of each other.
"I am Viscount Winchester, ruler of Haven. Who in the world are you?"
"Eugene Meyer. Viscount of Sicily and master of the Wandering Castle behind me."
Viscount Winchester felt his mouth go dry.
'This was bad. Genuinely bad.'
It was the same sensation he had once felt when he was thrown from his horse during a hunt and watched the ground rushing toward his face. The chilling sense of a catastrophe just about to land.
"I too have heard much of the noble virtue of the All-Conquering Knight who fought for the weak in Bonyard. You should seek a foe befitting that shining honor in the midlands, not here."
Viscount Winchester recited the lines he and his scribe had put their heads together to prepare.
"Let us stand together against that savage Count Kruger. He will seek to fight you whether you wish it or not. With him, the only offer is submission or death, so we share a common enemy. If you deliver the innocents of Britannia with your sword, that deed shall be praised for all time. I myself shall hire the finest minstrels and have a song composed in your honor."
"A fine speech."
Eugene was genuinely impressed.
This was an age overflowing with illiterate, ignorant nobles. The man deserved praise merely for having memorized such a long speech.
"Th-then, do you agree?"
"Regrettably, that would be difficult. I came only to keep my fealty, not particularly to build my honor."
"Fealty?"
"I came to restore the rightful ruler of Britannia to her rights."
From behind Eugene, Varda rode forward on an ivory-white horse of beauty. Seated on a side-saddle, she kept her face and body wrapped in a sorceress's robe and hood.
'What contemptible trickery is this.'
Viscount Winchester bit his lip. Washing and packaging a suitable noble, then putting them forward as an heir to swallow up a domain—it was a thoroughly classic maneuver.
"How dare you bring some false noble and try such trickery. Have you no shame before the honor of an All-Conquering Knight—"
"Varda-nim."
Varda removed her hood. Golden hair, as though spun from molten gold, fluttered radiantly. A portion of it was wound around her nobly pointed ears.
"An elf!"
Even to the nobility of the continent, an elf was a being respected in its own right. How much more, then, in Britannia, where they held a meaning still more special.
"Golden hair and golden eyes..."
"Exactly like the portrait."
The viscount's vassals stared at Varda with hardened faces.
They, too, were nobles of the south. Even if they were not quite Cornwall, the symbolism of the First Era Elf Royalty carried great weight. More than a few families possessed portraits of the royal house, just as Baron Foster did.
"Impossible!"
While all others expressed wonder, only Viscount Winchester had a fit.
"Whether it is possible or not, we shall know once we reach Haven."
Haven was the region where the first half-elf family had set down its roots. The ruins where the royal family had once stayed lay in the city's outskirts.
"I am Varda el Philamor. A descendant of the blood of the First Era royal house."
Varda laid a hand upon her chest as she spoke.
Viscount Winchester dared not even meet her eyes, and behind him, his vassals found themselves half-bowing their heads without realizing it.
"Once I set foot upon the ruins of Haven, all shall be proven."
A task at which every mage and alchemist had failed, yet for Varda it was a truly simple matter.
"Wh-what is it you want of me?"
Viscount Winchester struggled to fix his gaze upon Eugene. Because the longer he looked at the beautiful elven princess, the more it felt as though his own standing would simply evaporate—like a dandelion seed before the wind.
"All of your domain as viscount, including Haven. And the surrender and oath of fealty of the vassals under your command."
Yet Eugene was not a particularly pleasant conversation partner, either.
"Are you jesting with me now?! This is not negotiation, it is coercion!"
"It is neither negotiation nor coercion. It is a rightful demand."
"There is no noble under heaven who makes such barefaced, brigandish demands!"
"Then take that up with your ancestors."
Eugene pointed toward Baron Foster.
"The nobles of Cornwall kept faith with the Elven Royalty which made them of the blue blood. But what of your family? You cast aside the honored surname granted by the royal house, knelt to the invaders, and switched your name to Chester."
"..."
"Know your shame. You are no minor noble, but a great one. Does not great power carry great responsibility? If you surrender now, I shall guarantee your safety. I also promise you sufficient wealth to spend your remaining years in comfort."
"These negotiations are broken off!"
Viscount Winchester unilaterally cut off the exchange and returned to his own lines. He felt that any more words would only shake his position further.
"Were you not perhaps too harsh?"
Baron Foster still seemed to harbor some lingering desire to settle things through negotiation.
"I came out to pick a fight from the very start. Whatever may be the case with other nobles, Viscount Winchester must be toppled. I absolutely must take his personal demesne, including Haven."
Far beyond the vast western ocean of Britannia, there might lie an unknown land.
-Beyond there lies a vast land such as we can scarcely imagine. Countless gold mines lie dormant, and it flows with milk and honey...
Eugene recalled the words of the captain he had met in the Water City. He did not know whether they were true or not.
But if they were, he absolutely needed a foothold in Britannia to plan for that land. Separate from restoring Varda's rights, Haven was a strategic point he had to secure.
* * *
"Invader from Roman! If you have any courage, come forth! Here stands an All-Conquering Knight of Britannia!"
A knight rode out from Winchester's army and roared a challenge. He, too, was a man who had seized the glory of an All-Conquering Knight in a Hall War.
Before armies clashed, it was a common matter for a champion from each side to come forth and raise morale.
It was a custom that opened a path to advancement for nameless knights, and also a religious rite meant to judge whose legitimacy the gods would champion.
"The blood of the great Einherjar flows in our veins! Come at me! I shall break your swords this day and offer up glory to my ancestors!"
A knight of immense stature swung his weapon, his provocations ceaseless.
"Might. Come here."
Grrr.
Neeeigh!
Might, enraged that another horse had dared carry a master in his place, bared his teeth. The pitiful horse's legs gave out from sheer fright, and it collapsed.
"Don't be like that. What wrong has this fellow done?"
Eugene soothed Might as he mounted, and received Blackout from Homi.
Beyond the Britannian knight, several more could be seen waiting their turn.
"Did you leave the horses and weapons behind aiming for this?"
"It would be troublesome if they grew too afraid and refused to come out."
Baron Foster could only manage a hollow laugh.
The moment Eugene stepped forward, the army's morale skyrocketed. The warriors who had been maintaining silence let out a battle cry with a force that seemed fit to tear the sky apart.
Mounted on a colossal warhorse and carrying a great axe that looked capable of splitting a castle gate, his imposing presence surpassed all ordinary measure.
The hydra leather that encased both rider and steed radiated a barrage of danger signals that prodded at the deepest instincts of every mammal present.
"..."
"..."
"Whoa."
The Britannian knight realized that no matter how much he shouted, his soldiers no longer answered him.
"Hyaaah!"
The shame and rage rising from that fact set his knightly fighting spirit ablaze. He did not quail even before Eugene's utterly murderous countenance, and charged.
"That, right there, is the difference between a knight and heavy cavalry, after all."
Martial prowess aside, the fact that his soul did not surrender even in the face of a monster—that was the true distinction.
"Die!"
Once the distance had closed suitably, the knight hurled a hand axe. It was an act befitting Britannia, whose culture overlapped in part with that of Gord.
Clang!
Yet Eugene simply deflected it. The blade of his axe was so broad that it served as well as any shield.
An instant later, the great axe-head vanished. The diagonal slash, sweeping upward from below, seemed like black lightning.
With a great sound of rending flesh, the warhorse's neck and the upper half of the knight's torso flew into the sky.
The left arm dropped to the ground while blood gushed like a fountain from the obliquely severed shoulder and collarbone. A few meters away, the knight's truncated bust went tumbling across the earth.
The cheers of the army, shouting Eugene's name, blanketed the battlefield.
"You country bumpkins! Do you think all All-Conquering Knights are the same?"
"If you don't want stitches and a funeral, crawl away on your own!"
Jeers and curses toward Winchester's army erupted in abundance. Eugene received those cheers and aimed his bloodied axe.
"It was you who issued the first challenge! Surely you won't tuck your tails like dogs after just one defeat?"
Eugene meant to completely shatter the enemy's morale before the battle began.
Even now, he could plainly see the conscripts and mercenaries rolling their eyes in fear. If he widened the cracks in their hearts further, the moment they broke and fled in the ensuing battle would come that much sooner.
"Don't get cocky, you Roman bastard!"
Another knight burst forth from the viscount's line, but he, too, met his death in a single blow.
Psssh!
Horse and knight, split nearly in half lengthwise, crumpled limply to the ground.
"This one looks hard to stitch back together, eh?"
"Britannian undertakers are going to make a fine profit!"
Eugene's own army grew only more gleefully raucous. The tribal warriors, in particular, generally possessed a higher level of education, so their mockery was of a correspondingly finer grade.
When a fifth knight had been hacked apart and fallen, no more knights came forward to attack. At that, Eugene spurred Might and advanced toward the viscount's line.
"Uh, huh?"
"Hey, shouldn't someone stop him?"
Even Eugene's own men, who had been cheering at first, snapped to their senses when he drew too close. They worried this was far too reckless.
Of course, Eugene was not acting out of drunken victory. He was confident that Might's legs could carry him to safety at any moment.
Eugene halted barely ten meters from the enemy army.
Slaaash!
He gave his great axe a wide swing, flinging the blood from it.
"Eek!"
The soldiers nearby screamed as they stumbled backward and fell. Even the officers who should have been steadying them and restoring the ranks stood frozen.
"Is this all you have?"
Cloppety-clop.
Eugene strutted before them, holding his head high. It was as if he were inspecting his own lines.
"If there is another who will fight, step forward!"
Not one man answered that terrifying, blade-sharp roar. For if one did, that great axe would split him along with his last words.
End
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