An Oddly Assembled Retinue
It was mortifying, but words already spoken could not be taken back. Count Abner was not a man tolerant enough to forgive someone cutting in on a conversation at a moment like this.
Opportunity-hungry knights swarmed beneath Count Abner, and Gerdolf was merely one of them.
Inno fidgeted anxiously with his fingers, while the Count laughed inwardly.
'The son outshines the father.'
Most people, looking at Inno and Gerdolf, thought much the same thing — a father babysitting his dim-witted son. Count Abner's thoughts ran somewhat differently.
Inno was timid, greedy, and shallow. A knight you could never entrust with anything great. Gerdolf, if anything, looked better. Clumsy as he seemed on the surface, that tenacity and stubborn dependability of his were virtues not easily found anywhere.
From the look of it, Gerdolf intended to trail after a knight named Johan. Count Abner decided to grant it graciously. He owed Johan a debt, after all.
"Thanks to this victory, imperial envoys are already arriving. Once the Emperor dies, they'll be lining up to curry favor with us, no doubt."
At Count Abner's words, smiles bloomed on every face.
Victor of the West. Lord Paramount.
The position the Abner family had set its sights on all along.
"Let us all offer this victory to God. May the glory of God be with our house forevermore."
"May the glory of God be with the house forevermore!"
Count Abner singled out several knights who had distinguished themselves, distributed rewards, and then dismissed the gathering. Only Ulrike remained in the chamber.
"You've worked hard."
"I merely did what had to be done."
"There's no need for excessive modesty. Even if the situation favored us, it was still a great victory."
What the Count had anticipated was a tedious siege ending in the castle's fall — the Margrave's personal intervention and subsequent repulsion had been beyond anything he'd foreseen.
"You'd best rest until the daughter of the Zarfen house arrives. It would sit ill with the Zarfen family if their prospective groom kept wandering about."
"I will do as you say."
"You can take your time finding an heir. We can adopt someone suitable from our own house, or acquire one elsewhere if need be."
"My body has grown heavy, so I don't intend to think about it for a while."
"I suppose not. You were never the type to enjoy sowing wild oats. Give the Zarfen girl a firm warning too — she's free to amuse herself, but if she bears a child outside the marriage, that child will never be entered into the family register."
"I would hardly need telling of that much."
"Knowing a thing and keeping it firmly in mind are different matters. You'll understand once you marry."
At the Count's half-mocking words, Ulrike felt an inexplicable irritation. He spoke as if marriage itself had made him some kind of authority.
"Only one of Abner blood may carry on the family name. Just remember that. Things will grow busy from here, so let me congratulate you on your happy marriage in advance."
"Thank you."
"And I'm grateful you spared Stefan."
"I didn't spare him."
"Let us say I thank you for not killing him. I'm proud of you."
"...Yes."
Ulrike bowed his head and withdrew. Conversations with the Count always stirred contradictory, tangled feelings in him. As he stepped outside sorting through his thoughts, Johan came to mind unbidden. Was he drawing up plans to tour the village by now?
"You think I'll agree to that proposal?"
"I apologize. Even if you refuse, I am prepared to accept it."
At Johan's words, Ulrike sank deep into thought. Astonishingly, he wasn't angry — even though he stood one step from having something of his own taken away.
"Why is that?"
"Pardon?"
"Ah, no. Sorry. I was talking to myself."
Frankly speaking, it was a situation Ulrike had no choice but to acknowledge.
It would be one thing if Johan meant to live out his days as a rural lord — but if he intended to keep fighting, keep pushing forward, then receiving his formal knighting from Duke Brudhe was unconditionally the better choice.
It wasn't a tangible asset. Yet in the battles and the life to come, it would exert an enormous power.
If he refused here, Johan would simply abandon the fief and walk away.
In the end, only one decision remained: did Ulrike just let him go, or, trusting in some distant future, do something about it?
"...Fine. I'll settle all rights to Haincut and the surrounding villages, and grant them to you."
"!?"
Johan was genuinely taken aback.
'Has Ulrike lost his mind?'
"Not a lord in name, but in practice it amounts to the same. Haincut has no steward at the moment, so we'll simply send over the steward from the neighboring village — nothing much will change. Satisfied?"
"......"
When Johan looked flustered, Ulrike felt an odd, nameless pleasure rise in him.
"What?"
"Thank you."
"Consider this village the price of buying your loyalty. You are an honorable knight, after all. Aren't you?"
"......"
He wasn't remotely honorable, but Johan was hardly so oblivious as to say so now. He nodded.
"It's done."
"Truly?! Lord Ulrike shows a truly magnanimous spirit, as expected. To yield so much for the sake of a young knight...!"
That was what the people of the Zarfen house said, but Suetleug just shook his head. Young as he still was, the fellow's view of the world was soft and naive. As if such a thing were even possible.
"Excellent. Shall we depart for the duchy as planned, then?"
"Hmm..."
Johan nodded. If the knighting ceremony was on offer, there was no reason to linger. A few letters with the Zarfen people, and they could leave at once.
"Wait. Don't we have to pass through the Empire's south? Should we hire more soldiers?"
From the rumors he'd been hearing, the southern Empire was in a vicious state — the Emperor's faction and the allied rebel lords grinding against each other.
Johan couldn't help but be wary.
"No need to fret over that. They won't fight much in this kind of winter, and if there's an army about, you simply give it a wide berth. Travel by way of cities unaffiliated with the Emperor and you'll be fine. And... frankly, no one is going to chase after one man like you."
Johan felt slightly embarrassed at Suetleug's words. It was perfectly true. In the eyes of the imperial nobility, Johan was a single unremarkable knight not worth a moment's concern. Passing through the south had drawn no pursuit before. He could simply pass through quietly again.
"A large number would only draw more attention. A few dozen skilled, loyal men will be plenty."
Negotiations with the mercenary captains were already well in hand. When Johan signaled his willingness to become their new employer, the mercenaries had practically danced with joy. Come the new year, they would have needed new masters anyway.
And if that master was to be not some feckless lord but a knight like Johan, all the better. The tale of a mere dozen-odd knights collapsing an enemy camp had already passed into legend among them.
"I'll select men who can ride and fight well-armed, and have them ready. Will you be traveling with us, Lord Suetleug?"
"That was my intention."
"Oh."
"Oh, nothing of the sort. I owe you a debt, so I owe you this much."
"I thought all of that was settled back during the fog."
"If debts ended simply because you decided they had, life would be easy. That's what makes promises so dangerous. In return, when we travel down through the south, follow the Ipael River. I need to recover a few of my secrets."
Even for a mage like Suetleug, summoning that fog had been no small feat. He would need to spend some time near the river to restore his strength.
"And we'd best bring Stefan along."
"Pardon?"
"He's Abner blood, no? Wherever we go, his name will be a convenient thing to have."
"Ah..."
Johan nodded. The lineage Stefan carried would certainly serve as a convenient token of proof anywhere they went.
He'd thought every problem resolved, but an unexpected one snagged at Johan's heels: Marco and the four knights taken prisoner earlier.
"I understand your families cannot pay ransom. Since we've taken your weapons as forfeit, I'll release you."
When a knight was defeated, the equipment he carried became the victor's, and to be released, custom demanded the payment of a proper ransom.
But Marco and the four knights had claimed their houses were too lowly to pay anything of the sort.
It felt wrong to punish them, and he had no reason to keep holding them, so Johan had meant to let them go when—
"We cannot accept that."
"Then what do you want?"
"Allow us to follow you and earn our ransom. Wait until then."
"......"
Johan thought it was utter lunacy, but the others around him showed no surprise at all.
Given a knight's honor and dignity, it was the only decision a man of their standing could make.
If the captor offered to release them without ransom and they simply walked away, where would their honor as knights stand? Only by paying their ransom openly and departing with their heads high could a knight's name survive intact.
"So you mean to follow me and work for it?"
"We do."
It wasn't a bad arrangement, truth be told. Five knights would fight well. The problem was—
'The whole bastard-son-of-a-Margrave thing sits wrong, doesn't it?'
Given Johan's cautious nature, having the Margrave's bastard in the company felt uneasy. There was no telling what he might do, or when.
"Sir Marco, was it? You understand honor."
"Sir Johan. It seems a fair arrangement to us."
But the others showed no concern whatsoever. Apparently, the matter of his bastard birth meant nothing to them.
It was in moments like these that Johan felt the gap between himself and the rest.
'And what if they invoke honor by day and go for my throat at night?'
But Johan already knew. If he raised the point, they would only say things like does that even make sense or you worry too much.
"Then I'll accept your service until the ransom is earned."
"We shall obey your orders until that day."
And so the company was complete.
Tens of mercenaries forming the escort, with a retainer of Count Abner and the bastard son of Marquis Crucho mixed in — a strangely composed company, by any measure.
And Gerdolf besides.
—Sir. I want to follow along, I do.
—Mm... mm?
Gerdolf had appeared unbidden, stripped of everything but his own skin, before the company set out, and declared he would come along. Johan was a little startled, but nodded. The other knights made him uneasy, if anything — Gerdolf, at least, was reliable.
"But did you tell Sir Inno?"
"It's fine, it is."
"...You did tell him, right?"
"It's fine, it is."
"?"
When he'd heard the words son of the Margrave, Johan had expected a character much like Stefan's.
Yet Marco was courteous and careful. He asked permission before riding out to scout ahead, and when it came time to pitch camp, he threw himself into the work alongside the other knights, leading by example.
The sight startled Johan considerably. He asked Suetleug about it.
"That knight — he's better-mannered than I expected, isn't he?"
"...Let me ask it the other way around. What sort of temperament were you imagining, then?"
"An arrogant, insufferable brat, I thought..."
"You do say the strangest things sometimes. If a bastard had carried himself like that, how would he have lived this long?"
He had a point.
'Granted, Stefan's got me thinking in circles for no reason.'
Stefan, entirely unaware that Johan was cursing him, was busy chatting away among the mercenaries and slaves. Unexpectedly, he fit into such company rather well.
"Sir. Thank you for returning my weapons."
"How's a knight supposed to fight without one?"
Johan answered Marco's greeting briefly. He had confiscated the knights' equipment, true — but he was not cruel enough to order men to fight bare-handed.
"You handle a bow. Do they use them often in the south?"
"More often than imperial knights do, perhaps... though not all that often, either."
Marco spoke with an embarrassed smile. The bow was a fine weapon, but not one knights particularly favored. A knight, after all, was meant to charge the enemy lines on horseback — not hang back drawing a bowstring.
"In truth, I only keep using it because I learned it as a boy and it's second nature to me. I use other weapons plenty as well."
Marco offered the excuse because he had no wish to be mistaken for some fellow who knew nothing but the bow.
But Johan was not a man who much cared about such things.
"Could you teach me a bit of archery?"
"Truly, my lord?"
He'd learned from the hunter Joseph, but with such an opportunity, there was no harm in learning more besides — and the two men's methods would surely differ anyway.
Marco's eyes lit up faintly, apparently delighted that a knight like Johan would ask him for bow lessons.
'So that's what makes him happy, hm.'
Johan suddenly found Marco rather pitiable. People who'd walked similar childhoods could always recognize one another. Marco, like Johan, had clearly spent his young life watching his step and treading carefully.
If anything, he'd probably had it worse than Johan had...
"Your form is excellent. You must have practiced a great deal. With your strength, my lord, I knew you'd handle a bow well. You could manage a heavier draw, even... ah, but I'm afraid I don't have one on hand..."
'So talkative the moment his favorite subject comes up, apparently.'
Johan released the string with a light pull. The arrow flew heavy and true and buried itself in a tree. It had been a while since he'd last shot, but it wasn't bad.
"Wouldn't hurt to have the others practice as well, I suppose."
"Won't the mercenaries be carrying crossbows, though?"
"A crossbow is a crossbow, and a bow is a bow."