The Stars of Breudhe
When word came that the young Breudhes would be attending as well, Aclada's face twisted into a look of profound discomfort.
"What's the matter?"
"The Stars of Breudhe give me a very bad feeling, sir."
Centaur folk were every bit as superstitious as the Imperials—no, far worse. And to them, a duke's sons and daughters who looked as alike as twins were creatures that crawled right up the spine.
"Is there anyone among them I ought to watch out for?"
"Hmm, no, not that. They're all diligent sorts."
Aclada answered without a trace of hesitation, which only deepened Johan's puzzlement.
"Even with that many of them?"
"If even one of them had a reputation for debauchery or bad conduct, I'd find them far easier to stomach."
These were the days when a taste for wine, women, or food was hardly counted against a man. The church might frown on such things, but the common verdict was more often admiration—a sign of generous, hearty character.
Yet the duke's children carried not a whisper of such rumor. Word had it that all of them were faithful, humble, and capable.
Even riding the glory of a ducal house, that sort of reputation couldn't spread unless the children themselves deserved it.
"Huh..."
Johan found it genuinely fascinating. He had plenty of half-siblings himself, and even setting those aside, he knew the Abner family's example all too well. The firstborn had to carry the family, so he'd been forced to live strictly as a political animal—everything after him, though, had been free to live as their appetites dictated. Wherever they went. Whatever they sank their claws into...
And yet every one of these children was so diligent? For a coincidence, it was a strange one.
"Has the duke perhaps never named an heir?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Someone without ambition couldn't possibly be that diligent, in that fashion."
"...!"
Aclada's eyes went wide at that.
"Still, there's custom to consider. Wouldn't the firstborn take it?"
"Hard to say. There are always exceptions. Don't the centaurs inherit differently too?"
A faint, pleased look crossed Aclada's face. He could feel Johan taking an interest in his people.
And as he said—centaurs divided everything equally. From the eldest down, each drew a parcel of land, and the farther it lay, the sooner they left the herd behind.
"But the duke is Imperial, not a centaur."
"True. Though wasn't this hunt itself something the Empire proper would never have sanctioned? This is Imperial land, but it feels a world away from the Empire."
"You don't suppose he means to pass everything to the youngest, the way we do?"
"Or maybe he simply hasn't chosen an heir at all... Either way, thinking it through like this just makes my skin crawl for no good reason."
"I could understand myself being wary, but why you, sir?"
"It never pays to go poking around in another family's business, does it?"
Not long after that conversation, the worry he'd half-joked about came marching into reality.
Never can keep that mouth shut, can you.
"Well met, Sir Johan."
"The honor is mine, Lord Elso."
He had crossed paths with the duke's firstborn in the corridor. There was no reason whatsoever for the duke's heir to be here, so no matter how Johan looked at it, the man had come seeking him out on purpose.
Should've dragged Aclada along with me.
If Aclada were here, they could have exchanged pleasantries and parted ways—but alone, he had no choice but to face the man himself.
The attendant who'd been guiding him had long since stepped discreetly out of earshot...
Elso, as polished as his father had taught him, began praising Johan with practiced ease—starting with the troll hunt and working his way through the western campaign, embellishing generously along the way.
My companions must have been busy gossiping while I was gone.
He'd clearly heard it from the Zarpfen folk or from Swetelg. Since Elso recounted the story of what had happened to Stephan, it hadn't come from Stephan himself.
"Sir Johan. May I ask you one thing?"
"What is it?"
"How did you take the werewolf down?"
"Hmm."
Johan faltered.
Was it all right to tell him this?
Between Aclada's warnings earlier and this question now, certainty settled in. The duke's children were competing with one another. He didn't yet know for what, or why...
The duke never told me to keep it secret, so it shouldn't matter much.
The duke was the power of the present; his children were the power of the future. Cultivating goodwill with them could hardly hurt.
"I knocked the beast down, then strangled it to death."
"...I see. Sir Johan. Understood. That was clumsy of me."
"?"
Johan was baffled.
Ah, damn it all.
Only then did he catch on, biting his tongue inwardly. All that time rubbing shoulders with the eastern warriors had rotted his common sense.
The duke's children weren't warriors who'd believe whatever he said. Words like those could only be taken one way: is he joking with me?
"The duke did instruct you, didn't he?"
"No... well. Yes. In a manner of speaking."
"It may be too late to say this now, but if you would keep quiet about what I just told you, I won't forget the favor."
"I'm not a man who goes around spouting nonsense, my lord. And my memory isn't particularly good, either."
"...Thank you."
At Johan's assurance, the duke's firstborn gave up cleanly, bowed, and withdrew—his eyes carrying a mingling of regret and gratitude.
...Did that go well?
He hadn't given the man the answer he wanted, but at least he'd banked a favor.
Still, only one of the duke's children had come calling—so he thought. When a second figure appeared, identical to the first, Johan briefly assumed Elso had changed clothes and come back for another round.
"I trust you've been well, Sir Johan?"
A woman.
The second child praised Johan in much the same fashion as her brother—identical, save for a touch more arrogance and a more aristocratic turn of phrase. Johan sighed inwardly.
"How did you manage to—"
"I knocked the beast down, then strangled it to death."
"...I was shortsighted, I see."
Anita peeled off her friendly expression like a mask, revealing the imperious, burning face of an aristocrat beneath.
"I will keep your secret."
"I'd be grateful if you did."
And with that, Anita left.
All he'd wanted was a trip to the privy, and now he'd run through the duke's children one after another. His patience was wearing thin—but before he could even reach the door, the third appeared.
Did they all bribe the same attendant?
Thud.
The third child took a rather more distinctive approach: he tried to hang a bracelet and a necklace around Johan's neck. Johan caught the hand mid-air.
"I knocked the beast down, then strangled it to death."
"...I—I beg your pardon, sir."
Presuming the duke had already imposed a gag order, the third child went pale as fresh milk, utterly flustered. Johan met his eyes evenly.
"No need to fret. I'll keep it to myself."
"...Thank you! I will repay you for this, I swear it!"
"Haha. I'll look forward to it."
Once the third had gone and the attendant crept near again, Johan glared at him.
"If one more person blocks my path, I will break your neck."
"M-my apologies, sir!"
The attendant's terrified cry softened Johan somewhat.
"...Well. When the blood of House Breudhe asks a favor, how could a man refuse. I understand."
"Thank you for understanding! I—that is..."
"?"
"One more asked after you..."
Johan counted on his fingers. Three had come, which left one—the youngest. He glared at the attendant. He'd been served the whole set, in perfect order.
"...P-please, spare my life!"
"I won't kill you, so just guide me."
He crossed paths with the last of the duke's children on the way back. The youthfulness showed even at a glance—short of stature and slight of build, with a voice too young to guess at its owner's sex.
Being on the return trip, Johan was feeling magnanimous.
"Well met, my lord. What a remarkable coincidence—"
"It is no coincidence. I was waiting here before Lord Elso ever spoke to you."
"Were you? But why?"
"It seemed you were on your way somewhere, and I did not wish to interrupt."
Huh.
Johan was quietly impressed. The boy looked younger than Johan himself, yet he could think of things like that.
Granted, the destination had been the privy...
"Curious how I took the werewolf down, are you?"
"...Yes."
"I knocked the beast down, then strangled it to death."
"Is that truly what happened?"
"Why would I lie about it?"
"...I see."
And with that, the youngest withdrew.
Johan returned with the attendant to where Aclada was waiting.
Aclada looked at him with open puzzlement.
"Did you stop to ravish a chambermaid on the way, sir? What took you so long?"
"Something stranger than that happened."
Despite everything that had befallen him earlier, the feast itself passed peacefully.
The duke's children offered courteous greetings to the knights and exchanged gracious words of praise among themselves.
"Wow. They look so close it's almost unsettling."
"...Sir. I always enjoy your wit, I truly do, but perhaps a little caution at occasions like this!"
Aclada hissed the warning in a panic. Beloved child of the tribe though he was, mouthing off about ducal authority to the duke's face could still cost a man his head.
"Relax. I made sure they couldn't hear. Anyway, here—try some of this."
"Isn't this the very same meat we were served in the village?"
"Oh dear. Saying that just proves how far you've yet to go. Even with the same cut, the secret is in the sauce. Hmm... white wine blended with the fat of the meat, and a splash of almond milk, I'd say?"
This knight really is an impossibly strange man.
Aclada thought to himself.
The image was still vivid in his mind: the knight walking right up to the Werewolf King, letting the monster beat him bloody, and then wringing its throat. It was as if a warrior straight out of myth had stepped into the world whole.
And yet here he was, savoring dishes like some corpulent, moneyed merchant...
"Have some?"
"I'm quite all right, sir. Too much fine eating weighs a body down."
"Suit yourself. More for me."
"......"
The pigs and bulls prepared by the duke's cooks arrived heaped high, followed by game birds—woodcock, pheasant, goose—and then more ordinary fare besides: suckling lamb and veal.
"Sir Johan! Our thanks!"
The other knights raised toasts in Johan's honor.
The warriors gathered here were the knights who'd joined the werewolf hunt. Ordinarily only Johan and Aclada would have been seated at such a table, but Johan had made a special request of the duke on their behalf.
"Drinking well, are you?"
"Yes! I'd dearly love to take one of these silver cups home with me."
"Go ahead, if you'd like your hand lopped off for it."
"Hahahaha! I'm not drunk enough for that. Though come to think of it, the fact that he's gathered us all like this—doesn't that mean the werewolf you took, sir, was the grandest quarry of the hunt?"
The tribal warriors were brash and utterly without ceremony. Johan and Aclada knew how to carry themselves at table; these men did not. They ate with abandon and roared their conversations across the hall.
Far from reining them in, the duke had his musicians swell the singing, deliberately stoking the hall into a merry, unceremonious revel.
Works out well enough, actually.
A cheerful, loose atmosphere made questions easier to ask. The duke ordered a slave to pour him wine, then spoke.
"This hunt of yours left me truly in awe."
"I didn't manage it alone."
"?"
"??"
The eastern warriors, who'd been loudly drowning themselves in drink, looked up and fixed Johan with peculiar stares. The duke found their expressions baffling.
Why were they looking at him like that?
Oblivious or indifferent, Johan pressed on shamelessly.
"Had every knight gathered here not joined their strength together..."
"Pfft... hhk."
"Hey. Don't laugh. The sir is speaking."
"...we could not have taken it."
The drunken warriors were now red-faced with the effort of holding in their laughter.
Joined their strength? What in all the plains is he talking about! He floored the thing single-handed and wrung its neck—
By this point, even a duke could no longer contain his curiosity.
Just what in the world had happened out there?
"They say a hunter never reveals his methods, not even to his lord. What a pity I couldn't ask."
The duke put it delicately, sidelong—a roundabout way of saying he wanted to be told, since he couldn't ask outright without wounding his own dignity. But Johan was hardly so tone-deaf as to answer such a remark with "Quite right, my lord, the method must remain secret."
"Not at all. Are the warriors gathered here not first and foremost your knights, my lord, before they are hunters? To answer one's lord is a knight's honor as much as any other."
"My lord duke. Pardon my boldness, but might I offer an opinion?"
The duke's firstborn spoke up. The warriors turned to watch with keen interest.
Could the duke's firstborn land the perfect answer?
They came prepared, all of them.
The duke read resolve in his children's faces. It was, as it happened, an excellent chance to test them. He nodded.
"Speak, then."