Volume 10 Chapter 7 (1/2)

Chapter 7: Envoy[edit]

Part 1[edit]

Salamand Fogel had been captured. Princess Vileena had been taken back by Garbera. Those two pieces of news flew around Solon at roughly the same time as each other.

Because the information had gotten mixed together, for a time, the rumour was that Mephius and Garbera had fought. Because of a gag order from the emperor, the Imperial Guards who had been present at the scene were vague about what had happened.

The garbled reports naturally made their way to all the other cities and before long, they had also reached Birac. Just as he had when the princess had absconded, Crown Prince Gil Mephius remained calm from start to finish. Outwardly, that is. Orba’s inner state of mind was a whole different matter.

He had, of course, sent people to the Solon area to try and obtain information that was as accurate as possible, but currently, even the information flying around the capital was chaotic.

Unexpectedly, the one who had taken prompt action, at a time like this, was Gowen. He had taken the initiative to have his men and friends circulate reports throughout Birac that “it was Garbera’s Princess Vileena who captured Salamand,” in order to bolster the spirits of the crown prince’s faction.

Orba heard that rumour through the grapevine. Ever since he had learnt of her departure from Birac, he had somewhat suspected that that was her intention. But it was an action so reckless and thoughtless that he almost wondered if she was planning to die.

No – while his head was almost boiling in anger, Orba’s chest was chilled to the point of being freezing, and with it, there was also a part of his mind that could a.n.a.lyse the princess’ actions. She probably would be ready to cast her life aside.

Having seen through Gil Mephius’ impatience and anxiety, the Garberan princess had taken action to help reduce them. And she had chosen the dangerous and fierce method of leading soldiers and confronting the traitor head-on. Of course, it probably had not entirely been for the crown prince’s sake. That girl had been endowed from birth with the perspective of royalty. It was an perspective that even Orba’s hards.h.i.+ps had not allowed him to acquire, he was not even sure he understood, and with which she saw a much wider world and future than he did.

The images of the western queen Marilène and the loyal Mephian retainer Simon Rodloom abruptly appeared in his mind. They had thrown away their own future, as well as the reputation they could have left for posterity, and had sacrificed themselves for what they believed in.

If it came to it, in a sense, s.h.i.+que and the many soldiers who had died when Orba rose in rebellion were also the same. Vileena Owell might also have become one of them.

And now she was said to be in Garbera. There was a rumour that she considered herself to have fulfilled her obligations towards Mephius and had returned to her own country, but Orba did not believe it.

As if that idiot would be that reasonable. If she was that wise of a princess, it’d be a lot easier to deal with her.

He did not currently know the details, so all he could do was continue to gather information from the area around Solon. Now that Salamand was gone, they should be able to regain some momentum. The wind, however, had already changed once, and he was worried that now it would not blow in the direction he hoped for.

In that situation, someone new came to call on Birac. With his young and distinctly virile features, he gave the impression that he was there to volunteer as a mercenary, however he introduced himself as “from the Imperial Guards serving directly under the emperor.” As proof of his position, he produced a handgun engraved with the crest of imperial family of Mephius.

“I wish to meet with His Highness,” he informed the guards at the gate.

Although the soldier who took the gun into custody thought him really suspicious-looking, he had orders to – report anything that catches your attention, no matter how trivial it is. Orba had thoroughly hammered that into his men.

As a result, about an hour after the man had first appeared, the gun had pa.s.sed into Gil Mephius’ hands. From the looks of it, there did not seem to be any trick. However, contrary to expectations that he was an official envoy from the emperor, the man had apparently insisted that he was “a former Imperial Guard.”

“I’ll see him.”

“It’s dangerous,” Pas.h.i.+r, who was with him in the room, said without a second’s delay. “He is probably pretending to be disaffected with the emperor so that he can strike you when your guard is down.”

“Even if that’s the case, with you sitting in, it’ll difficult for him.”

Orba wanted information. Even if it was a trap or a lie, the very intention of whoever attempted either was information in and of itself. In this situation, in which waiting was impossible, intelligence gathering was the greatest weapon that Orba could collect, besides there were measures in place to ensure his defence.

The young man who was brought into the room gave his name as Alnakk. Being in his mid-twenties, he was certainly young, but the look in his eyes gave an impression of courage. His right arm, however, was bandaged and in a sling. Probably because he judged it suspicious, Pas.h.i.+r’s vigilance only increased.

“So you’re an Imperial Guard serving my father?”

“That was in the past… Right, it must be about a week since I left Solon.”

“Then it wasn’t that long ago. Why did you come here?”

“The princess of Garbera entrusted me with something for you, Your Highness.”

“For me?” For a moment, Orba’s voice almost rose in excitement but he just managed to bring it under control. “And why you?”

“I accompanied the princess on her subjugation of Salamand.”

Alnakk then explained the sequence of events from the princess’ audience with the emperor, to her leading a hundred Imperial Guards to face Salamand. And then –

“The princess was shot at by a friend of mine.”

“What?” Lying on top of the desk, Orba’s fist twitched. He placed his hand on top of it as though to hold it down. “Say that again.”

“The princess was shot at. The bullet actually hit the horse she was riding on, but she was thrown from it and was, for a while, knocked almost unconscious.”

Since it was essential to bring her to safety as soon as possible, her brother, Prince Zenon, apparently took her to Zaim Fortress. Just before he did so, the princess entrusted Alnakk with:

“This.”

Alnakk carefully brought something out of his breast pocket and placed it on the desk. It was a gold medallion engraved with the flag of Garbera and stained slightly red.

The former Imperial Guard probably noticed the change in Gil’s expression.

“The blood does not belong to the princess. It’s mine,” he noted.

As though startled, Orba drew his eyes away from the medallion.

“I doubt you received Father’s permission to come here.”

“That is why I am a ‘former’ Imperial Guard. I do not have any family, so it will not cause any trouble to anyone.”

He spoke easily, but there was no doubt that he had risked his life by coming here. Even so, his expression was cheerful. Looking carefully, there were tears in his eyes.

“Please be at ease. I was ready to do – sorry – to undertake this even in exchange of my own life. I am truly glad that I was able to safely deliver the medallion into your hands, Your Highness.” His voice trembled.

Having done what he needed to, Alnakk turned to leave the office. Pas.h.i.+r stood next and was about to lead him out when –

“Your Highness,” Alnakk stopped abruptly and turned back.

“What?”

“No, nothing….”

“Say it.”

“I-In that case, please pardon my rudeness. Your Highness, please go fetch the princess sometime soon. I am certain that her intention is not to remain in Garbera. She surely wishes to return to Your Highness’ side. With that…” he said no more.

With an expression that could not even be called a strained smile, Orba waved his hand to urge Alnakk to leave.

The door shut.

Orba’s gaze was fixed intently on the medallion. It was a small thing, no more than five centimetres in diameter. The design was of a horse and sword at the centre, engraved with words meaning “eternal friends.h.i.+p”.

Orba’s eyes slowly became blurry.

d.a.m.n it, why?

An emotion so strong he could not understand it was burning at a point in his chest. In no time at all, it had sped to his heart and filled it.

I don’t get it.

He muttered inwardly.

The princess’ action – no, that wasn’t it. So why was it that the corners of his eyes were burning, why was he practically shaking from emotion?

In the end, Orba was not able to identify what it was.

Pas.h.i.+r led Alnakk through the mansion’s corridors. They had walked in silence until about halfway when Alnakk suddenly spoke.

“I’m surprised.”

Pas.h.i.+r sent him a searching glance. It’s meaning was clearly shut up, but Alnakk paid no attention.

“You’re this year’s Felipe, aren’t you – the runner-up at the gladiatorial tournament. I’ve only just noticed. Staggeringly good with a sword, but more importantly, the ring-leader who challenged Mephius.”

“…”

“You were taken up by Crown Prince Gil Mephius and so avoided execution. And it looks like you’re still following His Highness. So after all, is he that amazingly compelling, that he can fascinate and attract people?”

“Who knows,” Pas.h.i.+r answered shortly. He seemed to take the chance to change the topic. “Enough about me. What are you going to do from now on? You can’t go back to Solon.”

“I’m not big on gambling or women, so the pay I’ve gotten until now will hold me for a while. After that, I might look for a position in Birac.”

“You’re not going to apply to be a mercenary?”

Pas.h.i.+r still had his suspicions about the man’s real intentions. He took into consideration that Alnakk might have forged a connection to the prince thanks to the medallion so that, using it, he could then act as a spy or an a.s.sa.s.sin. However, Alnakk shook his head.

“That’s… well, I’m also strong. I’m strong and I piled up achievements by taking one life after another, but being made an Imperial Guard actually took me away from fighting. Before, when there was talk about fighting breaking out in Nedain and how we might be ordered to march to the front any day soon, I suddenly got so scared it was unbearable. I’m not fit for war anymore.”

A crease appeared in Pas.h.i.+r’s brow. If what he said was true, this man was one h.e.l.l of an eccentric.

“Hey there, Pas.h.i.+r. And this gentleman is?” Miguel, another eccentric of Pas.h.i.+r’s acquaintance, called out to him from the other end of the pa.s.sageway.

This former gladiator had taken part in the revolt against Mephius along with him. Although he could have left when the prince’s Imperial Guards were disbanded, the young man had given as reason for staying that “this seems more interesting.” As a result of which he had gone through the unpleasant experience of almost being executed in Apta. You might have thought that he would have had enough by then, but he was still here in Birac, again with the position of an imperial guard.

“Everyone was making a fuss about an official envoy having arrived from Solon.”

“I’m nothing that grand,” Alnakk gave a wry smile. “I just came to make a personal delivery.”

“What? And here I thought we were finally heading for a large-scale battle.”

Blond-haired, blue-eyed Miguel Tes might look effeminate, but the truth was that he was an attention-seeker who was driven by the ambition of one day having his name resound throughout the whole world.

He was currently lamenting the fact that he had not done anything particularly noteworthy during the recent battle at Tolinea. Especially compared to Pas.h.i.+r, whose feats had been outstanding: he had come to the crown prince’s aid when he had been in peril, and had then mowed down enemies at the vanguard. Miguel was jealous and envious of Pas.h.i.+r’s achievements.

“Is it true that you’re an Imperial Guard directly under the emperor’s control? Everyone there’s the hand-picked elite, right? How strong are they?”

Confronted with Miguel’s persistent inquisitiveness, Pas.h.i.+r cleared his throat. Because of the way he had come calling, it was inevitable that Alnakk should be a topic of gossip. Still, they should not be loudly talking back and forth where there were eyes to see and ears to hear.

Just then, Alnakk suddenly halted.

“Miss,” he called out.

Pas.h.i.+r and Miguel’s eyes moved to one side. At a bend in the pa.s.sageway was a young woman who looked like a lady’s maid.

“Miss Layla, it’s you, right?”

He was about to rush towards her, but the woman he had called Layla went so pale they could see it even at a distance and said, in a faint voice, “y-you have the wrong person,” before hurriedly turning around and leaving.

Alnakk ran after her for two or three steps, then stopped. Miguel tilted his head to one side.

“Is that a popular pick-up technique in Solon?”

“It’s nothing like that,” Alnakk answered with a serious expression.

“An acquaintance?”

“She… She looks a lot like one.”

This time, it was Pas.h.i.+r doing the asking and Alnakk who was giving short answers. He had indeed known Layla Jayce. Her father, Rone Jayce, had been his superior officer for a while and he had been invited to his house several times. He remembered being introduced to Rone’s daughter, and being told that she would soon be getting married.

Rone was a taciturn and stern superior, but at those times – and at those times only – his face was that of a gentle father. Then, he and his family had abruptly disappeared. And that, right after his daughter’s wedding ceremony.

The matter had never been officially announced however.

Naturally, all sorts of speculation had flown around. There were theories that he had been sent on a secret mission to a foreign country; that he had run away after committing some kind of crime; or even that, having provoked His Majesty’s wrath, he had been secretly executed.

And now, Layla was in Birac. Alnakk did not believe that it was a coincidental resemblance. That she had run away had only strengthened that conviction.

That being so, however, she must have her reasons for not wanting to meet an acquaintance from the past. It was, after all, abnormal for her to have vanished right after her wedding ceremony. So Alnakk had preferred not to question her.

Miguel had already lost interest and was asking Alnakk all sorts of things about the current situation in Solon, but Pas.h.i.+r, noticing Alnakk’s conflicted look, gazed warily at the direction Layla had disappeared.

Part 2[edit]

This time around, he invited the four people for supper.

The four in question were Folker, Zaas, Yuriah and Walt. As usual, Orba had no intention of diving right from the start into the real issue, but then, the people present should have had a fair idea of what this was about. When they were roughly halfway through the meal, he asked –

“Have you changed your minds?”

“Of course not!”

It was Zaas who had come right out with that answer. The other three remained silent, although not for the same reasons, and the quality of each of their silences differed from the others. Folker had his eyes closed and seemed plunged into thought, Yuriah looked bewildered, and Walt sullen.

When the other three people failed to back him up, Zaas irritably got up from his chair and glared at them as though they were enemies.

“That’s fine,” said Orba. “Zaas, you’ll be free to leave tomorrow. Nedain, Solon – you can go wherever you want. Head back to your room and hurry up with your preparations.”

He had spoken so easily that Zaas was at a loss for words. He had vigorously risen from his chair as a way of forestalling Gil Mephius’ smooth-talking attempts at persuasion, so losing his target left him confused. Instead, it was Folker who, opening his eyes, asked –

“Is that alright?”

“If he hasn’t changed his mind, then there’s no help for it. Would you have preferred me to say I’d kill you if you didn’t obey me?”

“If nothing else, that would have been easier to understand.”

“Yeah, I’d probably think that too if I were in your shoes. But then, that would mean being the same as my father. And in that case, if I were to take Solon, there wouldn’t be any great difference in Mephius’ future… What is it?”

Orba scowled at Zaas. Still standing in front of his chair, Zaas Sidious looked completely at sea.

“W-What do you mean?”

“I told you to go back to your room. It should go without saying that I can’t stand to feed freeloaders any more than this. Leave at once.”

Zaas opened his eyes wide and goggled at him. He could not stop himself from muttering something but then soon strode out of the dining room and left, swinging his shoulders with a deliberately jaunty air. Folker seemed to laugh slightly, “what a harsh thing to say to young Zaas.”

“He’s also a general in charge of an entire division. Next time we meet, he’ll probably have become a more formidable enemy,” Orba gave a reply that was not really a reply, then, “how about you, all of you? Have you made up your minds to help me?”

“Regarding that… say I were, hypothetically, to agree,” Folker retracted his smile and asked, “would you, Your Highness, trust us, we who had pledged our allegiance to His Majesty until just the day before?” “Saying that retainers shouldn’t serve two masters sounds good, but…”

Orba brought Zaas’ plate in front of him and ate the meat that was still on it. After that short interval pa.s.sed, “That’s the same as saying that you want to blindly trust someone and thrown away your own ability to think. Right, you might as well say that you want to turn yourselves into slaves. I want retainers who think with their own heads and use their judgement to decide whether to swing their swords. Naturally, there will be times when I won’t be able to tell you everything. I might be sparring with the information I share with you, or even give you an order and simply tell you to trust me. Or maybe even simply tell you to fight and die for the country.”

“…”

“But say, for example, His Majesty the Emperor – in order words, your current liege – were to give you an order like ‘believe in me and die for the sake of Mephius’ future’, would you obey? Would you be able to die believing that Mephius would definitely be a better place thanks to your death?”

Folker, Yuriah and Walt felt, with just a slight difference in its intensity, that a sword was being thrust into their chest.

“Then,” Folker leaned forward a little, “if it were Your Highness, could we go to our deaths feeling at ease?”

“That is for you to decide.” Orba’s att.i.tude was like someone pus.h.i.+ng away a hand that clung to him. “Perhaps n.o.body can say that for now. But, if you can look at me now and think that you place enough trust in me as a future ruler, then…”

“Then?”

“Lend me your help. I promise to become a ruler that you can entrust your lives to. And I want you to use your strength to help me become that kind of ruler.”

Folker suddenly opened his eyes wide and bent his neck backwards, exactly as though a flint had struck his forehead.

What do you intend to do after waging war on His Majesty? – It was the answer to the question that Folker had previously shot at him. When he had first been asked that, Orba had not been able to return a clear answer. However, the images of Simon, Vileena, and all the many others who had died in past battles had finally shown the way for him and become a light s.h.i.+ning at his feet.

Meanwhile, ever since he had been taken captive in Birac, Folker had spent each day prey to inner turmoil. He did not believe that Mephius was currently fine, and at times he even felt a certain danger from the emperor, Guhl Mephius.

However, he had constantly been plagued with doubts about what would happen to Mephius “afterwards” if he were to criticise the emperor or openly go to war with him. Gil Mephius, the heir apparent, had been known as a feeble-minded youth and, just when he seemed to have started to garner some fame for his heroism, he had pa.s.sed away from the world of the living. The imperial lineage could not be relied on, yet there did not appear to be anyone within Mephius who would be capable of ruling the country. If it really came down to it, Simon Rodloom, who had recently pa.s.sed away in an accident, had been a very capable politician who had been deeply trusted by the retainers; but even so, it was uncertain whether he would have been able to carry the country. Above all, it had always been clear that he himself had no intention of doing so.

In which case…

In which case, even if it was under a reign of terror, even if it was under a dictator, the country was at least still held together.

No, it was probably not only Folker. Even though Mephius had lost countless able and talented people in the long war against Garbera, there were still plenty of statesmen and military men left who worried about their country’s future. Did most of them not probably feel the same way as he did?

When Emperor Guhl obstinately wanted to continue the war with Garbera; when he forcibly dissolved the Council and concentrated all power in the hands of the imperial family; when slave revolts broke out throughout the country; and also, when he decided on an armed invasion of the west… There were many then who asked – is this really alright?

And who had come to the conclusion that – there’s no helping it ‘for now’. He himself had half-convinced himself of it.

While Folker Baran had been spending his time here in Birac, he had of course continued to think about it, but in the end, he had still reached the same conclusion. However, each time he did so, a voice in his heart asked –

But now. What about now, now that time has started moving?

The thought smashed Folker’s skull with the weight of a steel sword and gouged out his heart with the sharpness of a spear.

Indeed, this was ‘now.’

Crown Prince Gil Mephius had revived and revolted against his father, Emperor Guhl.

With only a small force, Gil had magnificently smashed through the army that the emperor had sent to suppress him. And, obviously enough, Folker himself had been defeated.

According to recent information, he had heard that the Garberan Princess, Vileena, had personally gone to reason with and drive back a scoundrel from her native land who had intruded upon Mephian territory. The young – or rather, the almost childlike – pair had now taken action. The old sh.e.l.l was being broken and new life was arising.

And thus, now.

Now, indeed.

Folker Baran drained his gla.s.s of its remaining water.

He inhaled, exhaled.

A sense of being refreshed spread to every corner of his chest.

“Understood.” Folker stood up as he spoke. He struck his right fist against his chest and clicked his heels together. “I, Folker Baran, will henceforth abandon my allegiance to the emperor and devote my life to Crown Prince – no, to Mephius’ future emperor, Lord Gil Mephius.”

In that instant, Walt leapt to his feet with the force of a gale. He parted his thick lips, looking ready to denounce Folker as an enemy…

“Likewise, I, Walt, will also devote my life to you.”

He stood in the same posture as the commander of the Black Steel Sword Division.

“L-Likewise, Yuriah Mattah.”

Setting aside Yuriah – the commander of the Bow of Gathering Clouds Division – who appeared to have been unable to hold out in that atmosphere, Walt’s decision was probably also the end of result of anguish and careful deliberation, and the gaze he turned towards...o...b.. no longer held either animosity or desire for revenge.

“Good,” Orba also rose to his feet.

One after another, he took their fists in his hand and brought it to his own chest. It was the Mephian-style oath between lord and retainer.

Still wearing the mask of Gil Mephius, Orba said, “I will hold fast to your lives. To use them or throw them away depends on me. However, do not forget that you have eyes to ascertain how your lives are used, mouths to speak to me, and heads to think.”

After their discussion was over, Orba returned to his own room. With him were, of course, the guards that Pas.h.i.+r had a.s.signed. This evening, one of them was a familiar face.

Miguel Tes. At the time of the Founding Festival, he had crossed swords with the masked Imperial Guard, Orba. Naturally however, he had not noticed that his current target for protection was the opponent he had fought against back then.

Pine torches and lamps had been lit all along the corridors. Perhaps because it was cloudy, the day had darkened early. The wind carried a hint of moisture and, unusually for the area, the temperature had dropped, so there might be rain coming.

He returned to his room. Miguel and the other guard stood on watch at the other side of the door.

“A change of clothes.”

Normally, Dinn, his page, would immediately have rushed up. The room was strangely silent.

Has he gone out?

Orba was about to continue to walk in without giving it any more thought when suddenly his feet halted. His nose twitched. As for why –

The room smells different – he sensed.

What, specifically, was different, he did not know. But his deeply-rooted survival instinct had been aroused.

There was clearly something different mixed in with the air he was used to smelling. Someone unfamiliar had set foot in the room. His eyes were suddenly pulled in a particular direction.

The desk he used for reading and writing. A carefully folded letter had been placed on top of it. He walked towards it and spread it open.

In that instant, the innumerable plans, stratagems and future expectations that he had built up from making Folker and the others his allies all soundlessly collapsed and vanished.

I know about you – it said.

It continued: Tonight, at the hour of the Two Dragon Eyes, I will be waiting at the old tower in the southwest corner of the estate. Come alone. If you do not, I will cancel this evening’s appointment and will instead spread Your Imperial Highness’ secret to the four corners of Birac.

For a while, Orba did not move a single muscle. The beating of his heart seemed to strike directly in his ears. As for the “secret”, there was only one he could think of.

That he was not Crown Prince Gil Mephius.

It was so very obvious that a somewhat bitter smile flashed across his face. His expression quickly tightened though. It was equally obvious that he could not allow his real ident.i.ty to be revealed at this stage of the game.

Who is it? Who could know about it?