The Prophet's Bridge
The commotion at the House of Holes had turned out to be no trouble at all. Had Johan been some suspicious vagabond of unknown provenance from far away, things might have gone differently — but he carried the weight of illustrious houses behind him.
If anything, the city's powerful men were practically falling over themselves to apologize. The whole affair was wrapped up with the explanation that the Emperor's faction had blundered into excess zealotry.
Johan praised the mercenaries' courage and scattered silver among them, while the city's nobles seized the moment to squeeze the Imperial faction over the incident.
"Sir Knight. You should leave the city as soon as possible."
"Agreed. I'd say the same."
The mood in the city had grown ugly enough that even Marco spoke up, not just Suetlg. There was no reason for a company flying the banners of Abner or Zelpen to wade into a power struggle that wasn't theirs. It would only benefit other men while staining their own colors.
The party made their preparations simply and left the city. Several people, loath to see them go, tried everything to keep them longer, but Johan cut them off without a moment's hesitation.
"You're lost in thought. What's on your mind?"
"I was thinking about Caenerna."
"Bewitched by her looks, are you? She is a beauty, I'll grant."
Suetlg said, stroking his beard.
A mage was one who studied the arcane and bent it to his will — and in the course of that, his words and voice took on a peculiar persuasiveness all their own.
Among mages, some were exceptionally gifted in this. Talents who ensnared another's very soul with a beautiful face and a honeyed voice.
Blessed with a good soul, such a person became a magnificent advisor; without one, they became the ordinary sort of mage who manipulated others for their own gain.
And Caenerna was the textbook example of the latter.
'Wait. Now that I think about it, I tried to kill her back then, didn't I?'
He would hardly have gone for her throat if he'd been charmed.
"No. I was wondering what scheme that mage might be cooking up."
"...There you go again. Rest easy — a mage's oath isn't as simple as you seem to think. Granting three favors in return for the mercy of being spared doesn't merely mean three favors. It means she cannot bring harm to you. Right now she's probably back home with a splitting headache, trying to figure out what story to tell."
"What story do you think she'll tell?"
"How should I know? If she doesn't want to lose her magic, she'll have to wriggle out of it herself."
Spinning the recent events so that nothing of them could harm Johan would be a considerable nuisance even for Caenerna.
But it was no concern of Suetlg's whatsoever.
Her problem, her headache. She'd manage!
"Sir!"
Marco came riding back from scouting in the distance. He had ridden out as a vanguard with a handful of mercenaries.
The farther the company strayed from the city, the more essential such scouting became. Someone had to confirm the dangers ahead before the main body moved, so those following could prepare.
"There are mercenaries on the road."
"Here too?"
"From the look of them, they're nothing special. We could probably just ride through..."
Marco offered his opinion carefully.
Truth be told, Marco and the knights had the most precarious standing in the company. Unlike the others, they were former captives. Even a single opinion had to be weighed against the mood of the room.
Johan was hardly arrogant, but speaking up from that position was never easy.
"If you say so, sir, then so it is. We go straight through."
"Yes, sir!"
Marco's face brightened.
Marco had judged right — the mercenaries on the road were nothing much. They'd clearly been out in the wilds a long while; they were filthy, and their expressions were foul.
They eyed Johan's party up and down, wearing the look of men disappointed to find prey they couldn't touch.
"Watch your eyes. Stare at us one more time and I'll skewer those eyeballs of yours!"
"......"
The mercenaries in Johan's employ roared back, savage and loud.
Being mercenaries themselves, they understood exactly what the other men were thinking. Men like these were beasts — the kind that came crawling up over you unless someone made it plain who stood above whom.
"Our apologies, Sir Knight. We'll move aside. Please forgive us."
"Our apologies!"
The mercenaries shuffled sheepishly to the side of the road. Johan's party moved through air thick with tension.
"The south isn't doing well either. How's a man supposed to live in peace at this rate?"
"Is any corner of the Empire any different, sir?"
"Wherever the Emperor himself resides seems to be doing fine."
That the imperial demesne flourished while every other land was dragged into the flames of war clearly grated on Suetlg, and he wore his displeasure openly.
Because when it came down to it, wasn't all of the Empire's political turmoil born of the greed of the Emperor and the imperial house?
"...?"
The mercenaries were gone, but people kept appearing along the roadside — not only sellswords but travelers hauling their belongings, and merchants besides.
At first Johan took them for refugees fleeing the fighting, but there were far too many of them huddled together for that.
"What's going on here?"
"M-my lord, I've done nothing wrong! I have a priest's blessing for my pilgrimage—"
"Calm yourself. No one is accusing you."
Marco settled the traveler down. On the road, bandits and monsters were fearsome enemies — but knights were scarcely better.
Not a robber knight, just an ordinary knight, was terrifying enough to any traveler. Mistaken for a runaway serf or a fleeing slave, and things got very thorny indeed.
"Why are all these people gathered on the road?"
"Ah, that's the thing... Some mad band of mercenaries has seized the bridge. Everyone's been arguing over what to do now."
To cross the river ahead, one had to use the bridge — which the mercenaries had occupied, apparently refusing to let anyone pass.
The cold had already chilled the water, and this was no shallow ford. Swimming across was honestly out of the question.
"There are enough of us here. Why not pool our coin and pay the toll?"
"The bastards won't take money! They've gone completely mad!"
Cries of agreement erupted from all directions.
A toll was properly paid to the lord of these lands, but even robbers had their rules. Pay a reasonable toll, and any sane brigand stepped aside — that was simply how things worked.
But these bastards, whether they'd eaten something rotten or what, refused coin outright and squatted on the bridge like they owned it. No wonder the travelers were gnawing their nails.
"We've got numbers! When night falls, let's rush them! There are mercenaries guarding those merchant wagons over there too!"
"Don't spout nonsense. Did you see how many are up on that bridge? We'd charge in and get slaughtered."
"A knight's arrived, though. Surely he can sort this out? Go on, ask him."
"Are you mad? Do you even know who you're trying to put on the hook..."
The crowd murmured among themselves. Johan had them make way and cleared a path.
When several dozen well-armed men approached under their banners, the crowd split apart like water before a prow. They held their breath and bowed their heads until Johan's party had passed.
"What kind of lunatics seize a bridge... Forget talking. Let's just sweep them off it!"
At Stephan's words, Johan sank into thought.
Charging in blind without knowing who the enemy was — that was knight's behavior. It didn't suit Johan's temperament at all.
Know your enemy first, then fight. Was that not the sensible way?
"Sir. With your leave, I'll ride ahead and test them."
"No. First we find out what manner of men we're dealing with."
What mattered to Johan was not the situation but the opponent. Even in a humiliating position, if the other side was stronger, you did not fight.
Suetlg nodded as if to say that was well considered. On matters like this, Johan's judgment was remarkably easy to agree with.
"Hear me! We are an envoy from the houses of Zelpen and Abner. Who are you, that you dare block the bridge and hinder honest travelers on their way?"
Marco bellowed the challenge boldly. At his cry, the mercenaries lounging across the broad stone bridge stirred at once.
The names Zelpen and Abner were more than familiar to seasoned mercenaries.
The same sellswords who'd been snarling at travelers to clear off came hurrying over at a run — they knew better than to be careless with nobility.
"We're the Ultramarine Mercenary Company!"
"Mind your tongue, dog! You'd best remember who stands before you before you open your mouth again."
At Marco's words, the three mercenaries who'd run up twitched visibly.
Even knowing their opponent was a noble didn't quench their temper entirely. But they sized up the situation quickly and bowed their heads.
"F-forgive us, Sir Knight. We've been doing rough work of late... This head of mine doesn't always listen to reason. We beg your generous pardon!"
"Please forgive us!"
Johan, who had been listening from behind, asked.
"You know the Ultramarine Company?"
"They're fairly well known, sir."
Kahn, the most experienced mercenary among them, answered cautiously.
"May I offer my thoughts?"
"By all means. And speak freely, whenever you like."
"Thank you, sir. The captain of the Ultramarines is an odd one. They call him 'The Prophet'..."
"Hm?"
Suetlg's interest sharpened. A mere mercenary captain, bearing the epithet of Prophet?
Prophecy was among the most difficult and intricate branches of magic — no amateur's pursuit.
"Ah, n-not that he can prophesy the way you do, Mage, sir!"
Kahn stammered, embarrassed.
"It's just that this Mahrit fellow has such an uncanny knack for sniffing things out that the nickname stuck."
He refused dangerous contracts, attached himself only to battlefields where there was profit to be plucked, and fled at the first hint of any opponent too dangerous to face...
When a mercenary captain pulled that off a few times, the nickname wrote itself. Along with the absolute trust of his men.
Mercenaries lived lives stained with blade and blood — and perhaps for that very reason, they were all the more superstitious. Judged by that measure, the captain of the Ultramarines was qualifications overflowing.
"Are we fighting?"
"If they won't clear the road, I don't see how we avoid it, sir."
With Johan's temperament, waiting them out or taking the long way around would have been the easy choice — but he was carrying several banners and names now. Yielding to a pack of hired swords over a mere bridge would cost him far more than it gained.
"If it comes to capturing their captain, leave me the chance to question him."
"No need to worry, sir. That was my intention as well."
"Captain! Captain!!"
"What's all the racket?"
A man dripping with ornaments on his arms and neck frowned as he emerged from the tent.
Mahrit, captain of the Ultramarine Mercenary Company.
"I told you to block the bridge — why are people crossing it? Have you grown nostalgic for the whip?"
"It's not that! Nobles have come!"
"Nobles?!"
Mahrit flinched — so hard his stately composure cracked right off his voice.
Travelers were one thing. This was another matter entirely.
"What do we do, Captain? Should we step aside?"
Smack!
Mahrit backhanded the mercenary across the face.
"Don't spew such idiotic nonsense! Go and stop them — somehow. Bribe them, sweet-talk them, threaten them..."
"How are we supposed to threaten a noble?!"
"Then tell them that noble or not, anyone who tries to cross gets fought to the death! Any excuse will do — you just make them turn back, you fools! Yes. Say you're acting on the orders of a noble whose name cannot be spoken. All you need is for them to weigh a fight against walking away. That's it."
Mahrit fidgeted with the rings on his fingers, his face pinched with anxiety.
No wonder — that bad dream last night, and now this mess lands on his head!
Block Padel Bridge for seven days, and let no soul pass.
Drown the witch. Kill her in the water.
Do this, and the shadow of death clinging to you shall be lifted.
His prophecies had never once been wrong. Mahrit believed in them.
"Wait a moment. Isn't that Caenerna?"
"Don't say such ridiculous— gah!"
Suetlg froze too. There, among the mercenaries on the bridge, stood a red-haired mage.
"Apparently they hired her in the interim. Fine talent for it, too."
"Well, with abilities like hers, I suppose finding work isn't hard."
"...Then why is she tied up?"
"......"
Johan and Suetlg stared, mouths agape.
Caenerna was being held prisoner!
"Hold on — that really is the mage, isn't it?"
"Mages are people too! No — wait, why am I the one defending Caenerna?"
The two of them looked again, dumbfounded. No matter how many times they checked, there was no mistaking it: Caenerna was bound and captured. And the mercenaries were circling her, shouting things like 'The witch must die!' and 'We were told to kill the witch!'