Two Invitations
The merchant guilds' true strongholds lay in the city-states of the Catalia Peninsula, not here in Marcel. For the guilds that had taken root in this city—and for the consul himself—the guilds were entities that could never be fully trusted.
"But you, Sir Knight, are another matter entirely. Now then. Do tell me."
"Cardirian is hardly a good emperor, wouldn't you say?"
At Johan's words, the consul broke into a thoroughly pleased smile.
"Oh? Is that so?"
"Did you summon me just to ask which side I'm on?"
"Ah, of course not. The real matter begins now. You captured Baron Ainbek, and the rights to him belong to you. The knights sent by Count Bartok said as much themselves."
Johan was the one who had taken Baron Ainbek captive, and thus the ransom for the hostage was rightfully his.
"Do you have any intention, perhaps, of handing Baron Ainbek over to another noble?"
"!"
Not releasing him for a payment from the Ainbek family itself, but selling the baron to a third noble for their coin instead.
It was certainly not something the imperial side—or any noble house tied to the emperor—could do easily. It would be slinging mud directly in the face of House Ainbek.
Of course, Johan could not have cared less.
"So long as the price is reasonable."
"...We will, of course, offer a generous price. Are you truly certain about this?"
"Yes. Though I am curious—who is it that wants to take Baron Ainbek off my hands?"
"I cannot tell you that yet. Once it's settled, I'll inform you."
"An imperial noble?"
"Sharp as ever. In exchange, I'll tell you something else. When the sun rises tomorrow, every imperial citizen in this city of Marcel—especially anyone with ties to the emperor—will be expelled."
Johan was genuinely startled. What the emperor had done had been shameless beyond belief, but he hadn't expected a reaction this hardline.
"Are you certain that's wise?"
"That Cardirian refused every explanation and every apology, and then humiliated our envoy. He's daring us to do our worst—so there is no longer any reason to hold back."
"Won't there be pro-emperor factions left in the council?"
"As of tomorrow, there won't be."
"......"
For an instant, Johan felt a chill run down his spine.
"Sir Knight. I was frankly astonished by your martial prowess. When the guild first hired you, I wondered what game they were playing."
"I'm a wandering knight who drifted in off the road, so I understand the skepticism."
"But from here on... the more chaos spreads around us, the more a knight like you rises in value. As consul, I look forward to your continued exploits. And do not make the mistake of believing that the guild alone can stand behind you."
The consul smiled, the expression heavy with unspoken meaning.
Ugh. That banquet gave me far more of a headache than I'd bargained for—and in entirely the wrong way.
His conversation with the consul had been informative, but it had come with weight attached.
What the consul wanted was plain as day. When the guild's interests and the consul's diverged, Johan was to come stand beneath the consul's seal rather than the guild's banner.
Considering the man's standing, it was an unambiguously good offer on its face...
But from Johan's position—knowing nothing of the consul's true thoughts or plans—it was impossible not to feel uneasy about it.
The guild, by contrast, was refreshingly straightforward. Give and take. Suetelg hadn't called the guild easy to deal with for nothing.
And besides, betraying a partner we've only just linked arms with would leave a sour taste.
Trust mattered, along with fame and power. Most people simply couldn't be bothered to care about it.
Even as he deliberated, Johan worked through his obligations one by one. He collected the silver and gold owed to him from the bandit campaign and his war merits—scattering part of it among the mercenaries and donating a portion to the monastic order—and arranged to sell the troll hide and blood here in Marcel.
"Regarding the trolls you hunted—do you intend to carry them off to the Empire?"
The consul, naturally, wanted Marcel to buy up such rare materials. It was only because Johan had no house of his own that nothing came of it; had he possessed one, the haul would have been worth hauling off by the cartload.
In the meantime, the elf knights finished their business in the city and made ready to depart. They embraced Johan again and again, telling him to send word if his travels ever brought him near.
The city was as busy as Johan himself. Just as the consul had promised, expulsions, executions, and asset seizures erupted across every quarter. The measures were drastic enough that people whispered the emperor's army might come marching in.
And yet the citizens did not seriously worry. That was the degree of trust this city placed in itself. Emperor or no, marching an army all this way to bring down these walls was no easy undertaking.
"Has your fatigue lifted, Sir Knight?"
There was something in the voice of Iaon, the manager of the guild's Marcel branch, that seemed—somehow—more deferential than the last time they'd spoken.
"Yes."
"The reason I've called you today is that I've received proposals I find difficult to decide on my own."
The trifling offers Johan had fielded at the banquet had flown to Iaon as well. Letters had arrived from every direction, but the contents were much the same: shower the newly famous knight with praise, then ask him to slay whatever monsters happened to lurk nearby.
Few things poisoned a young knight quite like monster hunting.
Fame came easily, but it was a trade that left nothing behind once you grew drunk on that fame. All might be well as long as he kept winning—but if he ever took a grievous wound, he would end with nothing at all.
Even among such proposals, however, the worthwhile ones always surfaced.
Two of them, precisely.
"Count Bartok and Count Zarfen both wish to meet with you, Sir Knight."
"...!"
Told that two counts suddenly wished to see him, Johan could hardly help but be flustered.
"Am I to choose between the two?"
"Yes. So long as neither of them is a fool, the moment you call on one, word of it will inevitably reach the other's ears."
From a count's perspective, Johan was merely a knight who had scraped together a little renown. Counts were rarely gracious when a knight of that standing turned down their offer.
Whichever he chose, he had to assume the other door would be closed to him for good.
"You should settle the matter as soon as possible, gather your company, and depart for the territory. There is nothing to be gained by delay."
"And from the guild's standpoint?"
"Well... both are men of great standing, so I believe either would prove a fine opportunity. And Sir Knight—"
"?"
"Did the consul perhaps make you an offer?"
"An offer? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
Johan played innocent without a flicker of expression changing, but Iaon's face already carried the certainty of one who knew.
"The consul has always preferred to build his own people rather than trust anyone else's. Even though our guild has no intention whatsoever of betraying the city of Marcel. Accepting the consul's offer is your prerogative, Sir Knight—just understand one thing. Unlike a contract with us, a contract with the consul is devilishly hard to walk away from once you've accepted it. In any case... we await your decision."
Like the seasoned merchant she was, Iaon pressed for no answer. She said her piece and withdrew, clean and unhurried.
"Why, he wants to put you to work as his bodyguard, of course. A young knight with skill and standing both? You do know the city guard and its centurions were originally drawn from the mercenary companies?"
"I do."
Mercenaries fought well but offered no loyalty. Knowing this, the city had devised one measure after another to keep them pacified.
They gave the mercenaries homes and families, gave their captains official posts, and beyond that constantly rotated new mercenaries into the ranks in an effort to maintain control.
The carrot and the stick!
Mercenaries were finicky creatures—handle them too stingily or too generously, and either way it ended poorly.
Johan, by contrast, was a knight of noble blood. A far more trustworthy prospect.
"That's the sort of use he has in mind for you. Not a bad offer—but the timing is terrible."
"?"
"The air in Marcel stinks of war. Accept the offer now and you'll be spilling blood for it—in someone else's war, mind."
"Fighting whom, exactly?"
"That I couldn't say. But if there's a fight, it'll be with the Empire—most likely the emperor himself, or some territory tied to him. After what the city's suffered at his hands, they can hardly sit still."
For a moment, Johan recalled what the consul had said.
Could the one looking to buy Baron Ainbek be a lord within the Holy Empire?
Selling off the baron and borrowing an army in return would certainly be worth the trouble—more so still if one meant to start a war.
So that's the situation. Which makes that offer even harder to accept.
Fighting in the war itself was no concern. Fighting it as the consul's lackey was another matter entirely. The compensation flowing in would be worlds apart.
"Far as I can see, that's not what you ought to be agonizing over. The guild and the consul can honestly wait—the one you choose won't sulk over losing you. But a count's invitation is another beast entirely."
"Would you have any advice to offer?"
"Don't go to Count Bartok."
"...Why not?"
Johan asked, half exasperated, at Suetelg's habit of cutting to the point without warning.
"Because Count Bartok is a miser."
"A miser? By whose standards?"
Johan thought back to how extravagantly the elf knights had eaten, drunk, and flaunted their luxuries. A count who permitted such display, a miser?
"I'm not talking about spending. A man of his dignity spends lavishly, sure enough. But he won't part with a fief so easily. You saw those knights of his, didn't you? Not one of them ever received land."
Count Bartok spent freely when it served his vanity or his prestige, but he was notoriously stingy when it came to holding investiture ceremonies for his followers and granting them fiefs.
"I can see it plain as day. Once he's summoned you, he'll have you fight a few bouts, shower you with praise about how splendid you are, and then hold an investiture for you. After that, he'll work you to the bone and hand over no land whatsoever."
"Then what of Count Zarfen?"
"Count Zarfen is..."
Suetelg let the words trail off.
"The Count?"
"...I don't rightly know myself."
"......"
At the look on Johan's face, Suetelg hurried to defend himself.
"It's not as though I've met every noble alive. Count Zarfen in particular never went looking for a wizard, so I had even less occasion to cross paths with him."
"His territory seemed to be at war when I passed through."
"Oh, that's splendid news. Was he losing?"
"I couldn't say, though I believe I heard it said he was at a disadvantage..."
"Even better. A man that desperate will treat you handsomely enough."
Johan snorted despite himself at Suetelg's words. It sounded like a joke, but there was real sense in it.
"So if he's summoning me... it's closer to a search for useful sellswords."
"Does that sour your mood?"
"Not particularly. I'd already considered the possibility."
"You truly are an unusual one. Sometimes I'd swear your vessel runs deep, and other times it seems narrow as a wine cup."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Thanks to the talk with Suetelg, Johan felt his thoughts settling into place. It was certainly better to go where a count needed him than to a noble who had no use for Johan.
And if Count Zarfen was truly desperate, then he would put an offer on the table to match.