The Great Hunt of the Dukes
As soon as the outcome was decided, the Duke realized he was gripping his sword with white knuckles. His palm was slick with sweat. That was how utterly absorbed he'd been in the spectacle.
A ruler, after all, was supposed to coldly orchestrate a tournament to manufacture political advantage. Getting swept up in a contest like this and gawking like a commoner was beneath his station.
Reproaching himself, the Duke hastily spoke.
"The contest ends here! No further duels shall be permitted in the name of Breudhe. Squires, servants, and slaves — go inside and bring out your masters. Bless the knights who fought with honor!"
The assembled crowd answered with applause and cheering, thanks for the Duke's grace and magnanimity in presenting such a spectacle.
There was an old saying that a well-run tournament bought the surrounding lands years of peace. That was how much a tournament could burnish a host's authority and intoxicate the people.
One thing remained now.
Choosing the champion of the tournament.
The bishop and the abbot seated beside the Duke made a light sign of the cross before speaking.
"A truly difficult choice, my lord."
"So it would seem."
By custom, the victor's laurels went to the commander of the winning side. And Aclada of the Alchia Tribe had certainly earned them — he had personally felled Sir Lukes of the west and carried his side to victory.
The trouble was that one more knight had distinguished himself in the tournament.
Johan of the Yeats family.
He had not fought aggressively, yet no one could match the grandeur he had displayed. The way he had charged in alone, cut down knights, and rescued Aclada was genuinely extraordinary.
Perhaps because of it, his popularity among the crowds was already soaring into the heavens — and this was a knight who had never even made his name in the east. Even the Duke was astonished.
At this rate, if Johan were not named champion, the crowd might well erupt in discontent.
'But...'
"I once heard Bishop Moxyeo remark that Sir Johan of the Yeats family is so devout he could serve as a model for any knight. Seeing him today, I find those words were not spoken in vain."
"?!"
The Duke was greatly startled by the bishop's words.
He had known Johan was young and talented, but he had never expected to hear such praise from the bishop.
Tournaments of this kind were, after all, barbaric affairs the Church detested. No matter how carefully they were run, people inevitably died — of course the Church disapproved.
A pointed sermon might have been expected. But this?
'Did he join an order? Go on pilgrimage to the Holy Land? What in the world has he been doing?'
"The Lord does love a faithful knight, does He not?"
Despite all he had heard, and his own surprise, the Duke made up his mind.
'The champion shall be Aclada.'
Eastern knights had won the day. If Aclada were denied the honor of champion, the Alchia Tribe might well take offense.
The crown spared no effort in placating the nomadic tribes. Such a slight could never be permitted to stand.
People might grumble, but a champion of Aclada's caliber was hardly an outrageous outcome. The discontent would settle soon enough.
"My lord Duke."
"?"
The Duke's stewards came looking for Johan, who was resting and trading talk with the others.
"Sir Johan. The honorable glory of this contest is to be conferred upon you."
"?"
Johan was puzzled. Given custom, he had assumed Aclada would receive it.
"My congratulations, Sir Knight!"
"Did you put in a word behind my back?"
"Pardon? No — what kind of misunderstanding is that? What could I even have done?"
Aclada played innocent, but Aclada could not read Johan. Johan was no mere brute blessed with strength; he possessed a mind that read situations more shrewdly than anyone.
"Well, your tribe seems an impressive one, and you're a fine warrior, so I assumed you'd declined out of consideration — thinking I'd done you a favor."
"...I apologize, Sir Knight. I slighted you, and insulted you."
Caught out, Aclada gave up and apologized. Dancing around it any longer would only sour the relationship between them for nothing.
"Nonsense. If you'd yielded to me, I'd have been grateful — how does that become a slight and an insult?"
"I spoke without asking first, and presumed too much..."
Aclada worried Johan might be angry, but here too he was mistaken.
"You were afraid that if I were asked, I'd refuse or take it as an insult, so you spared me the offer. I thank you for the consideration."
"...!"
"Still, are you certain you won't take it? It means little to me — I'm no man of this land — but it would mean a great deal to you."
"I am quite alright, Sir Knight. A different glory awaits me."
"...?"
Johan found it odd, but when the man was offering to concede, he was in no position to refuse. He could hardly keep the Duke waiting.
Horns, trumpets, and a few instruments no one could name rang out, and only after the Duke's servants and stewards had bellowed Johan's name and valor until their voices cracked was he able to cross the field and stand before the Duke.
Johan knelt respectfully before him. The Duke's children, arrayed at his side, caught his eye.
"...!"
Johan was stunned.
Their beauty was something out of a fever dream.
Silver hair, pale, exquisite features — they took after their father, but who could have guessed every last one of them would look as alike as twins?
Their faces were so alike that man and woman could scarcely be told apart; they looked like phantoms of one another. Johan felt he finally understood why the Duke's children were called the Stars of Breudhe. Looking that much alike, what else would people call them...
'At that point it's practically magic, isn't it?'
"Sir Johan. It is my joy to confer upon you the most honorable glory of this contest. Were this the west, the fairest and noblest person present would be presenting you this sword — but..."
Laughter rippled through the gathering at the Duke's jest.
"In the east, a warrior presents a sword to a warrior. For the honor, the glory, and the valor you have shown this day, I bestow this blade upon you!"
The sword the Duke offered was the famed blade Dusk, a masterwork whose blade was forged of enchanted silver.
It was no Seal Retriever — the ancient blade Johan carried, passed down from the days of the Ancient Empire — but it was a magnificent sword in its own right.
Gasps of envy and jealousy mingled in the air around them. Johan accepted the sword with due humility, acutely aware of the Duke's children staring at him.
'I can feel exactly what they're thinking.'
Every other knight here had already cultivated some relationship with the Duke's children. They were noble houses active in the east, after all — it was only natural.
But Johan was not.
A great boulder had suddenly rolled into their garden, and the children could hardly help wondering, 'How on earth are we supposed to handle this knight?'
Once Johan had withdrawn, the Duke rose and cast a gracious gaze over the assembled company.
The contest was done; now came the hour of the feast. The guests were filled with anticipation for the wine and provisions that would be lavished upon them by the Duke's generosity.
But the Duke had one more scheme in hand.
"This honorable contest being concluded, a feast must follow for all assembled. Yet it is too soon to loose your hearts! There is another contest for the warriors gathered here!"
"?"
The crowd began to murmur. A tournament ends, a feast follows — that was the way of things. What more could there be?
A one-on-one joust? Archery? Or perhaps...
"A hunt!"
Since time immemorial, the hunt had been the finest proving ground for a warrior's skill.
Admittedly, a huntsman's craft of laying snares and waiting was far removed from honor.
A true warrior had to end his quarry's breath with nothing but the martial arts of his own training.
And one more thing mattered just as much: the quarry itself.
If the quarry were a stag, the hunt would become an elegant pastime for dignified nobles. If it were a boar, it would become a battle for the training and honor of young knights. And if the quarry were a rabbit, the whole affair would be too shameful to speak of.
"From this new moon until the next, the knight who brings back the most magnificent monster shall receive the greatest glory of all! Until then, knights — eat, drink, and make merry in thanksgiving for this bounty!"
Thunderous cheering erupted once more — the loudest of the entire day. The crowds marveled at the Duke's magnanimity and largesse as they buzzed about the hunt, every face full of eager expectation.
The faces of the knights who would actually compete, however, were grave.
Most of them had known nothing of this. They would have to find and hunt monsters nearby, starting now, of course they were flustered.
Besides, this custom was...
"That's a barbarian custom, isn't it?!"
"Shh. Lower your voice, Sir Knight. And the Empire hunts often enough itself."
"No — say it I must! Hunting in the Empire? Who anywhere hunts like this? Bringing back your kill and showering glory on whoever bags the grandest quarry — that's a barbarian's game and no one else's!"
The old eastern houses naturally knew something of the nomadic tribes' customs as well.
Bringing back the grandest quarry to honor it with a festival — that was their way!
Anyone with a head on his shoulders could not fail to grasp the Duke's intent.
He was courting the nomadic tribes, as plain as day.
"We already yielded in the tournament, and now we must yield to them again?"
"Ha. Should have fought harder in the tournament, then."
"Why you insolent—!"
"No confidence in your hunting, so you'll draw steel here instead? Go ahead, then! Let's see how well an Imperial knight fights. I'm curious how well he fights — and how readily he defies his own lord's decree!"
Uproar and low growls broke out in every corner, so badly that the Duke's soldiers had to rush in with warnings before they could be quelled.
"An amusing notion."
"So that's why the centaurs kept saying things with such pointed looks..."
The centaurs had departed, and only Johan's party remained gathered in the tent.
They had to depart at first light, so a plan had to be hammered out before then.
In truth, the one worst off here was Johan — was he not the least familiar with the terrain?
And this hunt...
"Having to go alone, with no servant or escort — isn't that a bit excessive?"
"If the Duke means to favor the nomadic tribes, he figured he might as well do it thoroughly. Had he allowed retainers, the Imperial knights would have swarmed the field by the dozens. Besides, the pretext holds up well enough, doesn't it?"
A true knight hunts alone. No knight present could argue against that.
"Your kindness to the centaurs was well done. The Duke extends courtesy to them because it is worth his while to do so."
At Kaenelna's words, Suwetlge nodded. Johan asked the two of them:
"Is there nothing you could do to help?"
"Don't be absurd. What ability would we even bring? And we couldn't if we wanted to — we received our own invitations before you ever arrived. While you're off hunting, I expect we'll be making the rounds of this countryside."
"?"
"Me, our wizard here, Stefan, Marco..."
"Please tell me Sir Gerdolf wasn't invited."
"Sir Gerdolf was, of course, invited."
"......"
"I'll do my very best, Sir Knight."
"Right... just keep your mouth shut and keep nodding."
Before Johan had even returned, every manner of house had sent people his way.
Not the Abners or the Zarpens — houses that wished to forge ties with the knight named Johan himself.
Suwetlge and Kaenelna were naturally the first to receive invitations. They were famous mages even within the Empire, and unlike most nobles they were unentangled with any house — far easier guests to court.
Knights like Stefan and Marco received invitations as well. Their houses were a complication, but building a personal connection first was a gamble worth taking.
Hearing all this, Johan thought to himself.
'Couldn't I just wander the countryside a bit and head home?'
He had already won more than enough glory at the tournament. Unlike the other knights, he had nothing at stake here that demanded he put his neck on the line.
Enjoy the rivers and plains and lovely scenery of the east a while, receive some hospitality in a village, and head back home...
"You seem to be deliberating, Sir Knight — might I offer some assistance?"
Kaenelna answered Marco as though he had said something foolish.
"He'll be agonizing over his quarry. Premature advice means nothing. What a knight chooses to hunt, the knight himself must choose."
'I'd better pack plenty of silver if I want to be treated well in the villages.'