Volume 6 Chapter 5 (2/2)

”Are you Garda?”

”Am I Garda?” The man who seemed like a sorcerer laughed in a hoa.r.s.e voice that sounded as though his throat had been crushed. ”In a sense, you poke at the true nature of things. Masked boy. But the likes of I am merely a pa.s.sageway chosen by Lord Garda.”

”A pa.s.sageway,” Orba parroted his words but in any case, he had no understanding of sorcery. ”At any rate, if I kill you, it looks like this senseless bloodshed will end.”

”I congratulate you for having made it here. But that is all.”

As soon as he had finished speaking, the sorcerer took a leather bag that was tied at his waist and threw it towards...o...b... As soon as it hit the ground, it gave off light and exploded. Orba had been about to cut him down but stepped back and instinctively s.h.i.+elded his face.

Thereupon, holding out his staff as though taking a stance with a sword, the sorcerer lunged at Orba. The distance between them was considerable. It shouldn't have been able to reach him but it extended like a whip and coiled around Orba's right arm.

”What!”

Just as he felt its cold touch on his skin, the staff effected a horrifying transformation. Before he realised what was happening, it had turned into a snake. Twisting its body that was speckled with black spots, it tried to sink its fangs into the nape of Orba's neck. Orba frantically tried to bend his neck backwards out of reach but even as he was doing so, the snake coiled itself round repeatedly and slithered upwards. The part that corresponded to its tail stretched out an unnatural length, its tip clasped in the sorcerer's hand.

”Kill him,” the sorcerer ordered, his voice filled with mocking scorn.

He was not talking to the snake he was using. A soldier clad entirely in black equipment stepped out from the other side of the shadows within the temple. It seemed that a single guard had been allotted to the sorcerer.

He held an axe in one hand and approached at a leisurely pace. As...o...b..'s right arm was blocked by the snake, he couldn't use his sword to fight against him.

Breathing harshly while desperately turning his face away from the snake that was even now aiming for his neck, Orba tried to step back. But the sorcerer who was clutching the snake's tail stood firm with unexpected strength and wouldn't allow him to retreat.

The figure of the soldier approached to within striking distance. Behind the mask, Orba's eyes glittered with impatience.

He seemed to try once more to retreat but instead staggered forward from the recoil and ended up in a posture that was all but presenting his neck to the enemy.

The enemy raised his axe and a wind signifying death rose before Orba to envelop him.

But this time, Orba hadn't staggered but had stepped forward of his own accord. He had moved forward so as to create a range in which he could fall back and at the same time that the axe was about to strike, he retreated half a step backwards and lifted up his right arm.

Blood did not spill.

The head of the snake was struck off by the axe and it turned into the staff, whose two pieces were sent flying. At the same time, Orba smashed the soldier's kneecap with his sword and as he sank to his knees groaning, he lost no time in swooping in to strike twice at his head.

Jumping over the soldier who was in his death throes, Orba advanced towards the sorcerer. Under the hood, his face showed an expression of astonishment. But he didn't give up on victory and once again made as if to grope for something at his waist.

In that instant, Orba threw his sword with all his strength.

Struck unexpectedly, the sorcerer wasn't able to dodge and could only yield as the steel tip penetrated his chest.

”Raswan Bazgan!”

A shaking voice reverberated around the audience chamber. In the hall, movement stopped with swords and spears still interlocked and a new wind blew with that person's entrance. Toún and Raswan Bazgan, father and son, turned towards the same direction. A scornful smile appeared on Raswan's face.

”Well, well.”

”Father!”

When the new arrival - Bouwen Tedos - saw Archduke Hirgo's form lying in a pool of blood, his steps faltered for a moment. Bouwen was the son of one of the elite guards to the royal family but his father had died in battle when he was twelve years old. Recognising his quick wits, Archduke Hirgo has adopted him as a son shortly afterwards.

Having lost his second father, intense anger appeared in Bouwen's face. He strode forward, forcefully pus.h.i.+ng aside Toún's subordinates. Normally he was a young man who loved flowers and birds, and now the figure of his manifested anger was so terrifying that Raswan's soldiers could not easily draw near him, even with his sword sheathed.

”It's fine. Let him pa.s.s” as he spoke, Raswan unsheathed his own sword. ”You have good reason to attack me. Like I have good reason for driving out my uncle and taking the throne. Once I become king, I will not be able to put my own affairs first. I'll gladly take your heart.”

”You'll have to rip it out, rebel.”

Bouwen's face was suffused with blood but underneath it was still pale and he should have been resting in bed. In the battle at the Coldrin Hills, his shoulder had been smashed and he had taken bullets to the back. He had recovered considerably in the last month, but not to the point where he could wield a sword.

But Bouwen was unflinching as he stepped up to the centre of the hall to confront Raswan.

The two of them were often compared to one another. Not only were they close in age and of similar physique, they were alike in their knowledge of the martial arts and alike too in being quick-tempered, and time and time again, their names had come up as candidates for the succession. Although to be precise, that was the word on the street and Ax himself had never once alluded to it.

However, perhaps because that mood transmitted itself to them, it couldn't be said that Bouwen and Raswan were habitually close. They never even spoke familiarly with each other.

If they fought head on, who would come out on top? Despite the current situation, their duel was attracting an interest that was much like curiosity.

The two of them slowly started to measure their distance. A number of eyes followed both their movements.

The first to move was Raswan. Propelling himself with his left foot, he jabbed at Bouwen's throat. Bouwen repelled it, twisted left and hit back from the side.

After that, it turned into a battle of attack and defence that no one could take their eyes off. From across a fixed distance and while drawing a circle to the right, the two of them swung their swords as though they were mowing down large trees.

The people watching didn't make a sound.

Their skill seemed roughly the same. But as their swords clashed five, six times - as was to be expected, Bouwen's stance began to slip. It wasn't only the soldiers who were watching but also Bouwen himself who felt that from there on he would only be able to push forward with brute force. For that reason, he lunged forward in a single, desperate blow. At the risk of getting injured, he closed the distance between them with reckless force. Right as Raswan performed a feint and was about to begin his next a.s.sault, he thrust at Raswan and miraculously slipped under his guard unharmed. Sword against sword, their guards locked together.

The force of the attack took Raswan by surprise. His footwork was thrown out of step. Bouwen applied his body weight and was about knock down the treacherous retainer.

”That's as far as you go!”

The soldiers on Raswan's side had been too caught up in the duel and had for a moment neglected to pay attention to themselves, allowing Toún Bazgan to make his move. But perhaps it was also because he didn't want to see his son pierced by sword in front of his own eyes. Toún hurled himself at the nearby soldiers and cut across the hall, breaking into a run as he aimed at Raswan.

But it backfired. When he saw right in front of him the father of the man he was about to strike down, despite the murder of his own adoptive father, for an instant, Bouwen's fervour weakened.

Taking advantage of that, Raswan swept at his opponent's legs. As Bouwen pitched forward, the sword fell from his hand.

At the same moment, Raswan's soldiers stopped Toún's charge and pinioned his arms behind his back.

”It's over,” Raswan smiled coldly. Bouwen was not moving from where he had fallen.

Having gotten to this point, the soldiers on both sides were suddenly seething murderously. It was looking more and more like Taúlia would be the scene of a fight in which blood would be washed for blood. At that moment,

”Please wait.”

Once more, someone had appeared in the hall.

Had it have been anyone else, they would not have been able to halt the surge of bloodl.u.s.t within the room or caused everyone to look their way.

Had it not have been Ax Bazgan's only daughter, Esmena Bazgan.

Everyone stared at her half dumbfounded. They understood that she must have come to the audience chamber through the pa.s.sageway that led to the inner quarters. They understood it, but no one had expected that the usually gentle princess who wouldn't so much as kill an insect would step alone and with her head held high into a hall where swords and spears glistened.

”Princess,” Toún's subordinates called out.

”Please withdraw, Princess!” Raswan's soldiers cried out as though entreating her. They had to drive Ax from the throne for having lost the sovereign's seal and for having allied himself with Mephius, but even so, they felt neither hostility nor hatred towards his daughter. Rather, once Raswan was joined with Esmena in marriage, the inherited blood of the Bazgan House that once established Zer Tauran would run even thicker.

Trembling faintly, her wide-open eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears, Esmena ignored the soldiers on either side of her and looked straight at Raswan, as though their gazes were tied together with a string.

Who there could have known?

Back when Mephius and Garbera had concluded peace. At that time, Ryucown, a treacherous va.s.sal who spoke out about his dissatisfaction, and his followers occupied Zaim Fortress. And Princess Vileena of Garbera had turned an inflexible gaze at Ryucown even as his soldiers pleaded with her.

Naturally he couldn't know that this was a repeat of that situation and for a moment, Raswan's face turned unpleasant. However, he immediately mended his expression.

”This is not a scene in which a princess should take the stage. This is a matter for a man who grieves for his country and who will stand to shoulder the responsibility of that country. Nor will your mother be harmed. Withdraw,” he ordered. Bouwen lay at his feet. Raswan's sword was at his neck.

When she saw it, Esmena's face turned even paler. She was a girl who had always kept away from quarrels and fights. Exposed to the bloodl.u.s.t that had spread throughout the room, it would not have been surprising if she lost consciousness and collapsed.

”The one to withdraw will be you, Raswan Bazgan,” cried Esmena, lifting the corner of her eyes in an expression unlike her usual one.

”What are you saying?”

”Y-You are not qualified and dishonour the throne that legitimately belongs to the ruler, Ax Bazgan. Sheathe your sword immediately and leave.”

”What could you understand about government? Ax Bazgan has already lost the right to a legitimate claim over Zer Tauran. I did not take action because I coveted the throne. As proof of that, I would not immediately designate myself governor-general of Taúlia. I will personally take back the mark of being Zer Tauran's king.”

”The mark?”

”Indeed, Princess.”

Raswan smiled, having regained his composure. He had certainly been startled when Esmena had appeared but after all, compared to the grimly resolved man in the prime of his youth that he was, she was just a young girl ignorant of the world. There was nothing she could do.

”Ax foolishly let himself be robbed of it by our old enemy, Mephius. Then without even regaining it, he bound himself into an alliance with them. If that isn't a betrayal towards not only of Taúlians but also all Zerdians, then what is?”

Armed as he was, Raswan looked every inch the young warrior. His features were well-ordered, his physique was also good and above all, he had a vigour that burst from him and overwhelmed his surroundings. It was no wonder that the soldiers who had pledged their loyalty to Ax were shaken.

Now that Bouwen had fallen and that Toún was being prevented from moving, the only one confronting Raswan was a single princess. He smiled contemptuously.

”I do not like blood. You should understand, Princess, the anguish it caused me to rise to action despite that. Once Ax has been expulsed, I intend to gather the entire army and attack Mephius,” he fired that remark.

There is such a thing as momentum. When big changes are about to occur, those who ride that momentum as though riding a wind blowing hard from the bottom of a gorge manifest a power that would normally be unthinkable, and give off a supernatural charm, almost as though they had been chosen by the G.o.ds. Right then, Raswan was displaying that pattern.

”This is as it were a holy war for all Zerdians. With these two hands, I will without fail reclaim the sovereign's seal of the ancient Magic Dynasty and…”

”The sovereign's seal of the ancient Magic Dynasty,” Esmena spoke up, interrupting him. Raswan drew his eyebrows together unpleasantly.

”So talkative.”

”Raswan, that seal,” Esmena took out the cloth-covered parcel that she held to her side and unwrapped it with one hand. ”Is this it?”

For a moment, Raswan felt dizzy from shock and voices rose in confusion from the soldiers who were watching the development from behind Esmena. In her hand, she unmistakably held the war fan shaped like a dragon's head that Ax always carried with him. As though it were s.h.i.+ning with a clear and colourless light, a great number of people narrowed their eyes as though dazzled by its radiance illuminating their faces.

Only Raswan, his expression transformed, pointed at it. ”I-It's a fake,” he decreed. ”It can't be here. Ax took a fake fan to the battlefield. There's nothing strange about that being another one!”

Esmena wordlessly took the fan in her hand. The grip was a bit wider than was usual. The reason for that was demonstrated by Esmena herself. She removed the bottom part of the grip to reveal a rectangular crystal. Within it, something could be seen to be glittering. It was the sovereign's seal of the ancient Magic Dynasty, said to have been made from a fragment of a claw of a Dragon G.o.d.

Everyone in the hall held their breath.

”Impossible,” one of the soldier's from Raswan's group groaned. The muscles of his face were quivering violently. ”Lord Raswan, what is this? Wasn't the sovereign's seal stolen by Mephius?”

”Don't be fooled!” Raswan screamed, clearly unable to maintain his usual state of mind. He thrust out his finger. ”T-That's also a fake. Esmena, hand it over. It's said that nothing in this world can damage the Dragon G.o.d's claw. I'll destroy it with my own hands.”

No sooner had he spoken than he was about to approach Esmena. But at that crucial moment, she mustered all of her strength to glare at Raswan.

”The sovereign's seal of the ancient Magic Dynasty which is in the custody of the Bazgan House to which I belong. It was you yourself who said that it is the mark of the ruler of Zer Tauran. You who called it a fake and who was going to destroy it with your sword, does that not make you the enemy of all Zerdians? Everyone! Seize this fool.”

Raswan was beyond listening and was about to grab hold of Esmena. But instead, his own shoulder was caught from behind. Bouwen had risen with the speed of a tempest.

”Let go!”

As he struggled, the sword fell from Raswan's hand. Seizing the opportunity, the soldiers made their move. The weapons carried by Raswan's soldiers all sprang into action and there too fighting broke out. The soldiers who had risen in rebellion had clearly lost their fervour. Judging Ax to be cowardly, they had followed Raswan but that was because they were proud of their history and lineage as Zerdians.

It could be said that their defeat was determined the moment that none other than Raswan has been about to trample that pride underfoot. Among them, there were some who let go of their spears of their own accord.

Unable to comprehend the entire situation, Esmena was swaying where she stood and was on the verge of collapse. Esmena had a delicate and sensitive personality, and her body and mind had already been pushed to their limit. Somebody was supporting the princess' shoulders.

”Princess, it's dangerous. This way.”

Esmena was already more than half unconscious. A soldier clad in the armour of Toún's troops held her by the shoulder to help her from falling and Esmena unresistingly followed him out of the hall.

The fighting in Taúlia's audience chamber did not last for long. More than half of Raswan's soldiers had lost their fighting spirit and fell to their knees; the remainder lost their lives. Raswan himself was captured by Bouwen and soldiers who had come as reinforcement.

”The princess?” Once he judged that the situation had been settled, Bouwen looked up.

”A while ago I noticed one of the troops leading her out but…”

”Is that right,” answered Bouwen, his face somewhat pale as the wounds in his back had reopened. He was overwrought after just losing his adoptive father then having barely been able to protect someone important to him, and so was surely feeling relieved. Thus he couldn't realise.

As the battle in the hall was about to come to an end, the soldier who was with Esmena did not lead her to the detached living quarters but to a castle courtyard. For some reason, he waved his arms a few times in a movement that looked like he was dancing and a black airs.h.i.+p unexpectedly materialised. It didn't look as though it had simply been camouflaged and hidden beforehand and there was probably no one in Taúlia who would be able to understand how it came to be there.

The soldier slowly removed his helmet. Although his face had been youthful when he had called out to Esmena, now it was that of an elderly man. His breaths sounded like a snake slithering through the desert as he carried the swooning Esmena to sit in the airs.h.i.+p's seat. Taking off with a sound like claws on metal, the craft rose into the dark blue sky at a speed beyond what anyone in Tauran would ever have seen and disappeared into the western skies.

Meanwhile, Moldorf was stationed in Eimen. The enemy was steadily approaching. Within a few days, the army led by Ax would be planting their flags in Eimen's territory. If they broke through this city, Garda would be in danger. Even so, they received the same orders as ever and Garda himself had not left Zer Illias. They had stationed the troops and after that,

”Do not block the enemy's advance on Eimen,” was the sorcerer's only order and he brooked no answer.

That was their usual way of doing things but what was even more incomprehensible was the report that his younger brother Nilgif's troops would leave Kadyne. Since an enemy detached force was said to be nearing the city, they should be departing soon.

”What are they planning?”

Even if he asked, the sorcerers would give no answer.

If they were going to concentrate their military forces in Eimen, shouldn't they have done so from the start? Tilting his thick neck, Moldorf nevertheless did what he had done until then and focused on things he could actually do. Once the troops from Kadyne, which included his brother, joined them, they would have to reorganise their battle formation.

What a headache-inducing job this is, his lips twisted as he spread out a map of Eimen's surroundings. How was he supposed to go and inspire his men and his companions to fight a battle that he himself had no enthusiasm for?

Moldorf felt that at times like this, he wanted a drink. But because so many soldiers had been allotted to Eimen, the rations distributed were decreasing day-by-day. There was no longer any alcohol to be had.

If this goes on and food runs out, the soldiers won't keep their sanity.

Resigned to the situation with the hostages and with his native city, what would see him launch the beacon of insurrection was remarkably down-to-earth: Moldorf was irritated that there was no alcohol. Gulping it down every night as though to drown in it was the custom - or better said, as far as Moldorf was concerned, it was a completely natural desire dictated by instinct in almost the same way as eating a meal or sleeping.

Alcohol, huh?

Yet even Moldorf had once stayed away from drink.

From the window of square, stone-built building, Moldorf looked up at the cloudy sky.

In Tauran were powers were constantly vying for supremacy, there had always existed a relations.h.i.+p between the three countries of Lakekish, Fugrum and Kadyne. At the western edge of Tauran, Lakekish had a fortress to defend against raids by the nomadic tribes of the western desert. Therefore, whenever the situation in the desert looked dangerous, those three countries would often form a cooperative alliance. At those times, it was a long-standing tradition that each of the countries would, for a short period, leave a son or daughter of the n.o.bility in the custody of the others as a pledge.

Three years ago, a young prince of Lakekish was sent to Kadyne. His name was Yākin and he was seventeen years old. This was an exceptional case since those sent as pledges were often young children whose age was in the single digits. As in those days Kadyne's princess Lima was fifteen, they were close in age. There was some thought of receiving him as a kinsman if the alliance were prolonged.

Going by appearances, Yākin was a fine figure of a man but one didn't feel from him the ambition of a Zerdian warrior. Already from that alone, Moldorf and those like him unilaterally decided that he was worthless as a man and on top of that, after arriving in Kadyne, Yākin rarely left the living quarters that had been a.s.signed to him. Even when the king himself planned to hold a banquet for his welcome, he turned it down on the grounds of poor physical health.

Does he see us as enemies? It truly felt as though he was treating Kadyne with contempt and among the military men, Moldorf included, the antipathy towards Yākin grew stronger.

Sensing their mood, Lima Khadein chided Moldorf and the others.

”He is just shy. Why are you gentlemen immediately being so impatient?”

Even though she was a daughter of the royal family, she was a woman who noticed these small things between men. When the princess told them that, Moldorf and his companions couldn't do anything other than take it into account but, after all, Princess Lima was still but a young girl. The question of whether there was something that interested Yākin was of no concern to the Kadyne warriors.

And like that, two months had pa.s.sed since Yākin's arrival. When the annual festival was to be held, this time, Lima organised it. Partly because she had always been attentive towards him, the prince from Lakekish seemed unable to refuse her invitation and had for the first time shown up to take his seat.

It was fine that he had put in an appearance but Yākin was as lacking in liveliness as he ever was. Continually downing his drinks, Moldorf watched him in irritation until, less than two hours after the start of the banquet, Yākin seemed about to excuse himself from the table. It looked to Moldorf like he was spitting on Princess Lima's solicitude and, flying into a rage, and, before he even realised what he was doing, he had violently shoved Yākin's thin chest. The prince had fallen backwards, taking a number of tables with him, and was bleeding slightly from the head.

Using violence against royalty from another country should of course have been treated as a serious crime. The ones who saved him by speaking up for him to the king were Lima and Yākin.

Speaking with him afterwards, he realised that Yākin actually did have a frail const.i.tution and that even when he was in Lakekish he had rarely been able to go out.

”Because of this body, I am treated like a parasite within my own country,” the smile he gave was certainly meek but it was also somehow dazzling. It was easy to guess why, despite there being a younger brother, the eldest son himself had been sent as hostage.

From beginning to end, Moldorf's huge body was hunched in on itself and his head was lowered.

”Moldorf, please stop.” He had done the same before Princess Lima and because he had been excessively prostrating himself, she had burst into laughter. ”If a hero such as yourself stays like that, the people around us will wonder what kind of a monster of a princess I am. My chances at getting married will be pushed back because of it.”

Her flower-like smile had seemed to melt into Moldorf's breast.

From that day onwards, Moldorf decided not to touch alcohol again. He had intended to be firm in his resolve but, in the end, he didn't even last half a year. The reason being that Nilgif would drink with great relish and ostentation right in front of him. Eventually, the brothers got into a fight over it.

Seized by a strange feeling of nostalgia, Moldorf was about to break into a smile when his expression suddenly turned serious again.

Princess Lima.

It was impossible for him to believe that the princess had betrayed the country. No, even if it were true, it was all because of the strange magic arts Garda had at his command. Apart from Lima, Kadyne's royal family had been annihilated. On top of having a duty to protect her, Moldorf was indebted to the princess for having saved his life.

I will save you without fail. So Moldorf vowed to himself time and time again.

”Show true loyalty, Moldorf.”

When those words suddenly came to mind, Moldorf's expression turned bitter. It was nothing more than bulls.h.i.+t from a brat who didn't know the circ.u.mstances. And yet, why was it that it wouldn't stop echoing deep inside his ears like this?

If she saw me now, would the princess scold me? Like she did that time, that thought welled up within him.

…And then, when the enemy was finally drawing near, the report came that the troops led by Nilgif had entered Eimen's territory.

As he was preparing to go out and greet his little brother, Moldorf received fresh news. The information came from a scouting unit from Fugrum that had taken position in the mountains south of Eimen and that had been a.s.signed to survey their surroundings. Moldorf thought it was suspicious how the messenger seemed hesitant to give the report, but he soon understood the reason why.

”With that, I have given my report,” he then left as though fleeing.

Moldorf stood there for a long time, completely still. He didn't know how or what to think. A fierce rage that seemed to grill his body and a feeling of despair that made him just want to sit down and give everything up brushed against the surface of his heart.

At long last -

Moldorf abruptly raised his head.

I need to hurry.

His younger brother would receive the same report. In which case, he needed to hurry to him immediately. Because he was afraid that everything they had endured until that day would all be for nothing.

[sic]

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