Chapter 14

Translator: Willia

It was a command tent, with a battle map spread across a large table. A few people were present, and Valery stood looking down at the map, working through strategy, tactics, and the plan of operation.

Outside came the sounds particular to an encampment. Senior soldiers and sergeants bellowing in the distance, the grinding creak of cartwheels, the clop of hooves, the clatter of weapons and armor knocking together.

Still, the thick canvas of the tent muffled things somewhat, dulling all those noises into a low murmur.

Then at one point the entrance flap was thrown back and the noise came rushing in. The flap dropped again and shut it out.

Someone had entered the tent. He looked to be a man just crossing into middle age, with short blond hair, blue eyes, and a solid build, the very picture of Nordic blood.

But there was something badly shaken in his expression. More precisely, his face was a tangle of many feelings, anger and disappointment among them.

"Why in the world would you make a decision like that? It was never even discussed in council! You didn't say a word of it to me!"

"Lower your voice. I don't care to hear it."

At Valery's cold words, something rose up in the blond man's throat, but he barely swallowed it back, dropped his voice, and spoke.

"......Your Highness. If you burn the city and slaughter its people, who will ever surrender to us again?"

"The tide has already turned. Surrender, or be put to the sword, all of them."

"That, that's...... Your Highness, a full five thousand people live in that city......"

"And? I gave them their chance, clearly enough. Hand over the Fifth Prince's son. Instead they trotted out innocent children and tried to deceive me. They meant to betray us from the start."

"Even so, even so, give me just five hundred soldiers and I'll flush him out within the week. Whatever else, burning the whole city down, I beg you to reconsider......"

"I won't squander a week hunting down one brat. For an army on the move, time is life. Wasted time soon turns to disadvantage, and disadvantage to the needless loss of men. Don't make promises you can't answer for."

There was nothing wrong in what Valery said. And so, little by little, the man ran out of words.

"......Will you really do it?"

"Listen well. I would sooner burn and slaughter a whole city than sacrifice a single one of my soldiers. If it happens again, I will do the same again. That is how I am. It isn't a matter of how I choose to think. I am simply that kind of man, Arne."

The man named Arne seemed to have concluded that words would never sway Valery. A thousand emotions crossed his face, his expression shifting from one moment to the next.

Then, with a very calm face and a bitter smile, he spoke.

"Hey. Valery."

"......"

"Are you really a man with no heart, the way everyone says? A person can't be like that. How can anyone be like that?"

It seemed Arne had a great deal built up inside him. In truth Valery had known as much, but until now he had coldly ignored it. It appeared to be bursting out at last.

"Eight whole years. Eight years I gave you every ounce of my loyalty, running after nothing but you. Yes, you'll become king. You know nothing of defeat. But something like you, leading people into Heaven? I don't want to go to a Heaven like that."

Arne looked like a man who had firmly made up his mind. Yet the eyes Valery fixed on him did not waver by so much as a hair, merciless beyond all measure.

In those unwavering eyes Arne felt something close to despair. And so he drew a dagger from inside his coat. It was the one Valery had given him as a gift.

Valery's closest men, there in the tent, rose to act, but it was Valery himself who raised a hand and stopped them.

Arne spoke.

"You've done nothing wrong. You're a prince of the holy House Vǫlsungr, after all. The one at fault is me. For misjudging a man. But...... the burning of the city, don't do that, at least. I beg you. I'll be watching, from the other side."

His words finished, Arne cut his own throat without hesitation. With that dagger Valery had given him.

Arne all but crumpled where he stood, blood pumping in thick gouts from his throat. First aid, anything, was beside the point, the wound was too grave, and he was gone in moments.

After a long stillness, Valery spoke.

"Take him away."

And not long after, he burned the city. Screams and wailing seemed to fill the whole sky, and a violent blaze devoured it.

The roar of the burning flames, a low drrr-drrr-drrr, was much like the sound of a waterfall crashing down.

That scalding, vengeful fire was reflected in Valery's cold, sky-blue eyes.

Valery opened his eyes. A dim interior, though a faint light was mixed into it. It was dawn, the first morning he would spend at House Viðing.

The room was furnished rather well. A chest of drawers, a desk, a chair, and a clean brass mirror as well.

His sleep had been troubled, but he shook it off quickly and rose. As always, he set the bedding straight first, then opened the shutters of the window.

The window was very small. The guest wing was a building with a military purpose, forming part of the citadel's outer wall.

The view stretching beyond the window was rather poor compared to Winsloe as well. In its place, though, looking out over the city beyond the moat had a modest charm all its own.

Here and there across the city, he could see white smoke curling up from the chimneys.

He tipped the water pitcher to fill a basin and washed himself quickly. Sweeping his hair back, he looked into the mirror, but Valery hated the sight of himself in it. So he took the mirror down and laid it face-down atop the chest of drawers.

He went out and headed for the dining hall on the ground floor. There, meat butchered for last night's feast, fresh-baked bread, cured ham and cheese, soup and the like were laid out. The feast had ended early, so there was food to spare.

There were not many people, but a few, and every one of them looked much older than Valery. At least in their thirties, by the look of it.

Some had thick, shaggy beards, and others had scars caked across their faces and hands. Knights who gave off the air of veterans. The kind of men who, properly armed, could kill off a whole village single-handed.

They didn't pick a quarrel with him exactly, but they stared openly at Valery. One of them spoke.

"Bowls are over there."

Valery dipped his head slightly toward the man, then gathered a bowl and plate and helped himself freely to the food.

This was the difference between the barracks and the guest wing. The barracks served rationed mess, but in the guest wing one could take as much fresh food as one pleased.

He found a suitable spot and ate. For utensils he had his hands and a single dagger, nothing more. Even fishing out the solid bits, he used his hands to eat.

No one spoke to him. The gazes that had rested quietly on him were withdrawn as time passed.

Apart from Valery the men might have chatted if they were on friendly terms, yet there was none of that either. It was early, and by nature they were all their own men.

"How old are you?"

The one who had told Valery earlier where to find the dishes, seated a good distance off, asked.

"Fourteen."

At that he showed no surprise, only nodded his head slowly.

"Fine-looking horse. What breed?"

"That I don't know."

Again he only nodded. Without so much as an exchange of names, the conversation ended there.

Those who had finished eating rose and went out, and new arrivals came in.

Each was busy in his own way. The Duke's knights tended to their horses, squires, and soldiers, patrolled the outskirts of the city, dealt with incidents and mishaps, or, when the Duke gave an order, saw to that as well.

Even when there was nothing to do, standing by to receive orders was itself a duty.

Valery had no task assigned to him just then. He was no knight of the ducal house, and if he was a guest passing through briefly, that didn't seem right either, and if he lodged in the guest wing, he was no ordinary hanger-on.

But as to whether his position made him uneasy, Valery paid such things no mind, and for now he meant only to look around the city.

He finished eating and rose from his seat. He drew a short cloak about himself, belted a sword at his waist, and left the guest wing. And whereas inside the guest wing he had drawn little notice, out here he felt eyes on him from every direction.

Servants moving about the inner bailey and other hired folk, hangers-on, people of that sort.

Ordinarily he would not have given them a thought, but Valery studied each of them slowly, carefully. As if searching for someone. Yet no one caught his eye.

Just then the drawbridge lowered and the gate opened. Timed to that hour, those assigned to guard duty left the citadel to change over. Valery followed them out of the citadel as well.

The relieving watchmen scattered off to their own posts, and Valery, rather than trailing after them, walked along the canal.

Glancing about, he saw Torvik held many timber buildings in the Nordic style. Buildings with steep, pointed roofs whose eaves ran long and low.

Some of the houses had a painted round shield hung on the outer wall, which meant the people who lived there were Freemen.

Walking along the canal, Valery changed direction and followed a main road. If there was a market, he meant to have a look at it.

Many people were beginning their day from early morning. He followed some who were hauling carts off somewhere, and sure enough, a market appeared.

Stalls stood in dense rows around a plaza, and there were a number of large stone structures too, along with the narrow, tall timber Temple particular to the Nordics.

Many people went to the Temple to lay Offerings and mourn the Dead Gods.

Valery had no particular thought of mourning, but he stepped into the Temple for a moment simply to look around inside.

At the center of the Temple stood a long hearth ringed with large stones. Being a timber building, they kept no great fire, only a gentle flame to spread its warmth.

And around it again, all manner of food and flowers, coins and sundry trinkets had been left as Offerings. Priests came and went at intervals, tidying and gathering them up.

Valery was suddenly reminded of the dawn's dream. Arne pleading so desperately, the fire that had swallowed the city.

He set a little coin down beside the hearth and left the Temple.

Not being much fond of crowded places, Valery turned his steps toward the back alleys before the market opened in earnest.

Following the alley straight along, he came again to the canal, and near it stood a watergate. Guards were there.

They seemed to have just changed watch and to be about to open the watergate, but the situation looked less than good. There appeared to be some sort of trouble among them.

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but their voices rose until the words carried clear across to where Valery stood.

"Hey, you fucking piece of shit. Everything I say sounds like fucking shit to you, doesn't it?"

"......No. I just, I just don't want to torment people for no reason."

"Reason? This bastard, seriously. Like it's some kind of joke."

A big soldier grabbed a fellow soldier by the collar. Then, in a nasty way, he struck the helmet the man was wearing several times over. It wouldn't hurt, but being struck on the helmet was thoroughly unpleasant.

"You bastard! You bastard! How! Many! Times! Did I! Give you! A chance! And you! Take it! Like! Fucking! Shit! What! Makes! You! So! Damn! Special!?"

Breaking off his words mid-sentence to strike the helmet, he knocked it askew on the soldier's head. The man couldn't put up the slightest resistance, too busy setting the crooked helmet straight, and for all that it only kept sliding askew again.

Then the big soldier swung up hard, like a slap across the face, and the chin strap came loose and the helmet was knocked clean off.

The helmet dropped to the ground, rolled, and came to rest at Valery's feet.

Clang! Clang! Cla-tter-r-r-r......

Everyone's eyes turned naturally to Valery. And Valery, who had been watching that way, met their gaze.

"Oi! Hey! Enjoying the show!?"

"Wa, wait. Skard, I think that's the bastard, the one from yesterday? Last night......"

"What?"

The soldier who'd been held by the collar with his helmet knocked off looked back at Valery too. Valery's eyes were fixed on him alone.

Valery calmly picked up the helmet and approached him. And holding the helmet out, he said.

"If I told you I came here for you alone, would you believe me, Arne?"

"?"

None of them understood, and their eyes went round. They were kept busy glancing back and forth between Valery and Arne.

Before regression, the king had died when Valery was twenty. He had lived about three years in hiding with the Thieves' Guild, then met Arne. And eight years after that.

Right now Valery was fourteen. Naturally Arne was young too, and on top of that he'd been wearing a helmet, which was why he hadn't recognized him at once.

"H, how......"

He started to ask back how Valery knew his name, but Valery turned to Skard's Gang and said.

"Give us some room, the two of us have something to talk about."

At that Skard was so dumbfounded that without meaning to he let go of the collar he'd been gripping and cleared off. As they made for the citadel, they kept turning to look back, over and over.

Whatever they made of it, Valery straightened Arne's disheveled clothing and pressed the helmet into his hands.

"Are people bullying you?"

"Th, that's...... but how do you know me?"

Valery wondered what to say. But no matter how he thought about it, nothing came to him, and only a word buried deep in his chest sprouted up, like a shoot breaking through soil.

Perhaps the heart he had thought he'd killed with his own hands was not entirely without life after all.

"Well, let's just say I know. Your honesty is a fine thing to see. If only, just once, one last time, I'd looked the other way, you'd never have done it."

"What...... do you mean?"

"Nothing, just saying. Let's be friends, from here on."

"......What?"

Valery smiled and held out his hand. Perhaps because he'd tied things off so neatly in Winsloe, smiling now came fairly easily to him.

But Arne, flabbergasted, had no idea what to do. So Valery drew his hand over and clasped it by force.

It was a very awkward handshake. From where Arne stood now, it could be nothing else.

An astonishing rumor carried on the wind, a shocking first sight of him last night, and this baffling first meeting. To the Arne of now, that was what Valery was.

Chapter 4 - A Reunion for One. End.