Chapter 5

Translator: Willia

Spring really did seem to be a capricious season. Just when the weather was turning warm, a day would suddenly come that felt like the dead of winter.

The grown-ups said it was because winter was jealous of the spring flowers. If so, then despite its outward appearance, winter apparently wasn't all that cool a character.

Seeing as it clung to its regrets and grew jealous, though it had already passed.

It was a cloudy day. Dark clouds blanketed the wide sky. Would it rain? Or would it snow?

Valery stood in the early morning, looking up at the cloud-heavy sky. White puffs of breath bloomed with every exhale.

"Wid."

At the sound of his name, Valery lowered his gaze from the sky and turned his head. Harold had just stepped out from the keep into the inner courtyard. He wore a fur cloak belted at the waist, with a sword hung at his hip.

Though Blackcen was within the Count's domain, leaving the direct holdings still called for proper dress, so he had outfitted himself accordingly.

And in his hands he was carrying what looked like a garment.

"Put this on."

Curious, Valery looked and saw it was a dark blue gambeson. It had been stitched densely in the quilted style, sturdy and meticulous, its plump fullness suggesting it was stuffed with good-quality wool.

Valery considered refusing, but thought it would be more of a bother to turn it down when Harold had gone to the trouble of bringing it out. So he simply took the gambeson and put it on.

True to something a Count's son would wear, the lining was soft, a world apart from the kind of gambesons commoners had to wear.

As Valery pulled on the gambeson and was fastening the leather ties across the front one by one, nearly finished, he felt a gaze from somewhere.

Following the feeling, he looked up, and his eyes met those of the Countess, who was watching from a window on the upper floor of the keep. The silhouette was faint in the early light, but he could tell it was her.

The moment their eyes met, the Countess turned away at once. An intuition flashed through Valery's mind. Ah, this is a garment the Countess made.

For noblewomen, spinning thread on the wheel and weaving cloth on the loom were essential refinements and daily occupations. With that cloth they would then make banners for the fief, or surcoats and garments for their husbands, sons, knights, and squires.

In other words, the gambeson Valery was now wearing was precisely such a garment. From the spinning of the thread to the weaving of the cloth, the cutting of the pattern, the stuffing with wool, and the meticulous stitching. Every single step bore the touch of the Countess's own hand.

And in every one of those touches there would surely be tender affection for her son Harold.

Having locked eyes with the Countess like that, Valery couldn't help feeling uncomfortable. He awkwardly fingered the hem of the gambeson and wondered if he should take it off even now.

"Aren't you ready yet?"

Harold spoke, already mounted. That was his personal horse. He rode it because they were headed to Blackcen, and Valery would have to ride behind him.

A week had passed since Count Aethelred had given the order. In that time they had kept the horses in good condition, and today they were going to sell them.

Roden and Kale, the horses that needed to be sold, were being ridden by Gidwin and Tommy. Like Harold, both had swords at their hips.

For some reason Hakon, wearing his helmet, was riding behind Gidwin. He had said he wanted to come along, so Harold was bringing him. They were already waiting near the gate.

Valery stepped up onto the mounting block and climbed on behind Harold.

"Let's move out."

Harold kicked his horse's flanks. As he led the way through the gate, Gidwin and Tommy followed.

Even though it was morning, the sky was so thick with clouds that it felt as dark as evening.

Valery and the party set out from the castle in the early morning, and by riding and resting in turns, they reached Blackcen around midday.

The clouds still hadn't lifted, and the world was washed in gray. Even so, the horse fair was visible from far off.

At the horse fair, long makeshift stables had been set up just outside the city, and sellers walked or trotted their horses along by the reins, showing off the quality of their wares.

It wasn't severe, but a haze of dust hung in the air, and the dull thud-thud, thud-thud of hooves carried faintly even from a distance.

It seemed the place wasn't only for those selling horses; the area around the fair teemed with people. Vendors peddling snacks or whatever else, and others who had simply come to watch.

Whether it was bees drawn to flowers or flies to a pile of dung, wherever coin gathered, people were sure to follow.

"Let's go."

Harold said. The party moved toward the horse fair.

When they reached it, everyone except Harold dismounted, and the people nearby turned to look at the newcomers.

Naturally, not dismounting where one was supposed to marked a person as nobility. And in this place, nobility effectively meant the Count. Or his wife, or his son.

The quickest way to gauge someone's status was their attire. And then the faintly haughty, self-assured look in the eyes, and the bearing.

The crowd instinctively and quickly realized that Harold was the Count's son.

But even without any of that, there were already people here who knew Harold.

"Is that not the Young Master?"

A man wearing a long conical cloth cap, its point hanging out to one side almost to his shoulder, approached and made himself known. As it happened, he was one of the merchants who lived in the city.

But Harold only gave a small nod from atop his horse; it was Gidwin who answered the greeting.

"We've come to sell horses. Not the one the Young Master is mounted on, but this stallion and mare."

"Is that so? The horse merchants are over that way. If you're not planning to sell today, I'd suggest lodging them at the Official Residence. Keeping them at the makeshift stables costs coin, and you'd also have the bother of posting a man to watch them."

"Understood."

Gidwin replied curtly and walked on, holding the reins of Harold's horse.

Tommy led Roden and Kale, the horses meant for sale, and as he did so, his eyes met with eyes watching him from within the crowd. They were the very thugs Tommy and the others had been boasting about back on Valery's birthday, crowing about how they'd beaten someone up in the city and taken his sword.

"Looks like Lecton's boys."

Perched on his horse with a clear view all around, Harold had spotted them too.

"Stay by me, Tommy. They won't dare touch you then."

Harold said, as if to reassure him. But Tommy didn't seem to like the idea one bit. Whether from nerves or from self-assurance, it was hard to tell.

"No need, Young Master. I can knock every one of them flat on my own. Give me just a moment and I'll take care of it."

"Hey, you shut the fuck up. Before those fucking Lecton bastards get to you, I'll finish you off first."

Gidwin turned his head and growled at Tommy. His top priority was protecting Harold, and with so many things to keep watch on at once, he must have been on edge.

It was hard to imagine city thugs would dare lay hands on the Count's only son. But since some nobles went hunting and were gored to death by boars, and noble assassinations happened now and then, one couldn't be entirely at ease.

"I'll do the bargaining. Hand me the reins. Hakon, come to my side. Tommy, you go over there."

Valery had Tommy move to the opposite side of Harold's mounted horse. That way the horse itself would shield him somewhat from view.

Taking the reins from Tommy and keeping the constantly-distracted Hakon tight at his side, Valery walked on. These arrangements were all meant to ease as many of Gidwin's burdens as possible.

"Thanks."

Gidwin said under his breath, having noticed.

Valery hadn't been angling for credit, so he simply nodded and let it go.

When they reached the place where the horse merchants dealt, there were people trading pack horses and the like, and, set somewhat apart, a separate space for trading in finer breeds. Valery headed for that one.

A large pen had been fenced off, and inside, several horses were circling in a ring as a practiced rider cracked his whip against the ground, thwack! thwack! regulating their pace.

Outside the fence sat a man who looked for all the world like the chief of some band of horse thieves. Despite the cold, he had his front collar flung open, baring a chest thick with grizzled hair.

Even after glancing at Harold, who was plainly noble at a look, the man only went on chewing noisily at an apple, as if to say, what of it.

"I've come to sell these two horses."

Valery stepped forward and spoke. His manner of speech was grown-up, but his still-youthful face didn't quite match it.

The horse merchant, however, showed no trace of contempt or condescension. He simply looked Valery and his party over quietly, then said,

"The stallion's too old to be worth a damn as a stud, and the mare's stock isn't good enough to breed from. One gold coin for the pair."

It was a sharp eye and a price beaten well down. Valery, unflustered and not in the least cowed, spoke.

"The trick of cutting the price to the bone and then tossing in a little extra at market's end as if you're doing a favor, that won't work on me. These horses, as you can see, were fed and trained at the Count's house. They're more than worth their price as pack horses, and they'd do fine for riding practice too. I'll need four gold coins."

"......Picked up some talk somewhere, have you. How a horse gets used is decided by whoever buys it. An old stallion that can't serve as a stud, and a young mare with a poor line. Two gold coins."

Hearing that, Valery stepped closer to Harold and whispered softly.

"It's not what I'd like, but the price isn't really cut down that far. If we figure on staying a few days, once you factor in lodging, food, and stabling, it isn't bad."

"Yeah? But we don't have to pay for lodging, do we? We can just stay at the Official Residence. No stabling fees either."

As the heir to the Lord himself, he could stay at the city's Official Residence for free.

Valery nodded, then went back to the merchant and said,

"Two gold coins and five silver coins."

"Come now, when you're making a deal you can't be so cold about it. You've got to factor in that we buy these horses to resell them. You think feed costs nothing? And who knows when they'll sell?"

Valery was about to reply along the lines of, why should we be worrying about your side of things, when suddenly, from somewhere, a loud horse cry rang out.

Neeeeiiigh!

Everyone's head turned reflexively toward the sound, and there, a huge black horse was thrashing wildly.

"This one's acting up again!"

"Don't let him get away! Hold on tight!"

"Bring more rope!"

People shouted. It wasn't far, so Valery drew closer to look, and there was a black horse of good build but somewhat gaunt, thrashing violently.

Several men had thrown ropes around its neck, its forelegs and hind legs, trying to restrain it, but the beast thrashed so hard it didn't look easy.

"Damn it! That one's acting up again!"

The merchant who had been haggling said irritably.

"Is that horse for sale?"

Valery asked. At that, the merchant gave a scoffing little laugh, as though the question were beneath him, and said,

"He's a man-eater. Eats people, I tell you. Can't be sold unless he's broken in."

"A man-eater?"

Hakon, brimming with curiosity, stepped forward to ask.

"Doesn't really eat them, but he's bitten off chunks of faces and limbs and crippled a good number of men."

"Eeek......"

The black horse was slightly gaunt from being restrained, but looking at its height, length, and musculature, it could stand beside any war horse without disgrace. No, one could go a whole life and scarcely see a horse of such quality.

With war horses, however, it wasn't only inborn size that mattered, but a whole constellation of traits, such as bravery, self-control, and loyalty. For fighting on a battlefield awash with spears, swords, corpses, and blood.

That was why war horses had their bloodlines so strictly managed, and this one might have impetuous spirit, but loyalty or restraint seemed too much to expect from it. What good was it if its master was maimed before the fight with the enemy even began?

This one was clearly a wild horse, and regrettably, if it couldn't be broken, it was useless.

Then, at that moment, Valery climbed over the fence and walked toward the black horse.

"Wid!"

"Hey! What are you doing!"

"That's dangerous!"

Startled, Harold shouted, and the people around him cried out in alarm too. But Valery acted as though he hadn't heard, and kept approaching the horse.

As Valery drew near, the black horse snapped its teeth and lunged its great mouth as if to bite. But Valery showed no fear at all, and kept coming, little by little, closer.

The men restraining the horse with lasso ropes strained with all their might, and the black horse, seemingly tireless, kept struggling to break free.

Valery raised a hand to stroke the horse, and each time, the horse lunged to bite his hand. Dodging the snapping jaws, Valery held to his composure.

That composure poured out through a gaze that did not waver. And it seemed to transmit itself, little by little, to the horse as well; fixed solely on Valery's eyes, the horse's agitation began to subside.

Valery carefully covered the black horse's eyes and whispered into its ear.

"You aren't rebellious because you're rough. It's because you're sensitive. Isn't that right?"

Then he lifted the hand that had covered its eyes and met its gaze again.

The whole series of events was so improbable and dreamlike that his companions, and the rest of those gathered there, could only stare in dumbstruck silence.

And then the snow began. From the sky that had been overcast all day long, snow finally began to drift down without a sound. A boy, a horse, and snow. It was a scene like something out of a painting.

But just then.

"Agh!"

A sharp cry rang out. Turning to see what had happened, Valery saw Tommy clutching his side and staggering.

"Kill him! Fuck!"

It all happened in an instant, and Lecton's Gang was already rushing in on Tommy.

"You scoundrels!"

Harold shouted as menacingly as he could, but there was no real authority in it, and he had to worry about not falling off his startled horse.

Valery sprinted back to where his companions were. At that, the black horse started thrashing again.

Neeeeiiigh!

Gidwin, for lack of any better plan, used his large frame and slammed into Lecton's Gang like a charging bull. Then, with the situation being what it was, he drew his sword, less cleanly than he might have liked, and shouted,

"These bastards have truly lost their goddamn minds!"

The gang scattered back in a rush, and Gidwin quickly turned to check on Tommy.

Meanwhile, Hakon had thrown himself over Tommy to shield him and, having crammed his own helmet onto Tommy's head, was now trembling violently.

Then, from somewhere, came the sound of horses galloping hard, clop-clop, clop-clop.

It all happened so fast no one knew what was what, and this time a sharp cry burst from Harold's direction.

"Agh!"

Valery and Gidwin whipped their heads around in horror, but Harold, who ought to have been on his horse, was nowhere in sight. The saddle stood empty.

Scrape, scrape, came the sound of something being dragged, and as they turned toward it, there was Harold, his arms and body bound up in a lasso rope, being dragged along the ground. Someone had galloped up on horseback and snatched him away with the rope in an instant.

A word too terrible even to think of flashed into Valery's mind. Kidnapping.

Gidwin, faced with something that could not be happening, that must never be allowed to happen, unfolding in the blink of an eye, fell into panic and froze where he stood. More precisely, it wasn't his body that froze, but his mind that had gone blank.

By the time he could think of pursuit, the distance had already opened up, and it only kept widening.

After putting enough distance between themselves and the fair, the kidnappers briefly halted, dismounted, threw a cloth sack over Harold's head, then hoisted him onto a horse.

Harold hadn't been knocked entirely unconscious, but the impact of the fall had left him too dazed to offer any resistance.

Neeeeiiigh!

A mighty horse cry rang out again. It was closer to a roar. The black horse had at last torn free of the ropes that bound it, and, now a free beast, bolted out like a lightning strike.

Seeing it, Valery, without even consciously thinking it through, kicked off the fence, leapt up, and vaulted onto the black horse's back. No saddle, no stirrups, no reins.

With only the strength of his two legs and his hands clutching the mane, he rode the horse at a run, and shouted urgently,

"Gidwin! Sword!"

At that, Gidwin snapped belatedly back to himself and threw his sword, and Valery, tearing away like an arrow, snatched it cleanly out of the air.

Harold, his body bound and a sack pulled over his head, was being carried on one of the three kidnappers' horses. Seeing this made it plain their aim was not to kill him but to take him alive.

The kidnappers split and rode off in three directions. Valery made straight for the one carrying Harold.

The black horse exploded forward as if venting all the pent-up rage it had swallowed until now. The drifting snow stung against Valery's face.

Thud-thud! Thud-thud! Thud-thud! Thud-thud!

The black horse was so fast that, despite the considerable gap, it all but closed on the kidnapper in moments.

The speed was enough; all that was left was timing. But he was a little short on strength.

So Valery decided to trust the black horse. With no saddle and no stirrups, no reins, he straightened his back, centered himself, and gripped the sword with both hands. It was precarious. The slightest swerve or loss of balance from the black horse and he would be thrown.

The kidnapper, hearing the pounding of hooves closing fast from behind, whipped around to look, but it was already too late.

All he saw was the flash of a blade, and Valery, with perfect timing, swung the sword and struck off his head.

Thwack! Clang!

The severed head spun in the air. Blood sprayed in a wheeling arc along with it. From the body that had lost its head, blood gushed like a fountain from the stump.

But while the strike had been accurately timed, the follow-through of the cut wasn't quite as accurate, and Gidwin's sword broke.

None of that mattered now. Valery quickly shoved aside the beheaded kidnapper's toppling body and seized the reins of the horse carrying Harold.

"It's all right now, Harold!"

"W, Wid......?"

With Harold recovered, all that was left was to head back, but the other two kidnappers, belatedly realizing what had happened to their companion, came rushing at Valery in alarm.

They came from both sides. One far, one near.

With his sword broken, he was in a tight spot. But in a flash of improvisation, Valery tossed aside the broken sword and, with a reverse grip, drew the sword hanging at Harold's waist.

Just then the nearer kidnapper reached him, and Valery tilted his body to one side and swung the reverse-gripped blade in a hard wrench.

The kidnapper swung his sword too, but his skill was poor. He must have only picked up lasso-rope tricks. In his haste, he swung, yes, but his timing was off and his direction was off with it.

The two blades brushed past each other as they crossed.

Valery's sword caught his opponent in the mouth. The keen edge split lips and teeth and cleaved half the face clear through to the back of the skull.

At that, the kidnapper's head flopped to one side as if a lid had come loose, and the horse he had been riding carried him past Valery at the same gallop it had come in with.

Clop-clop! Clop-clop! Clop-clop! Clop-clop!

Valery quickly righted his grip on the sword and turned to face the next opponent.

His gaze was so sharp and piercing that the last kidnapper, meeting it, felt his heart drop.

In that instant, a fear beyond death itself seemed to rush over him, and his body would not obey. Mercifully for him, the horse turned of its own accord, and he was able to flee.

The sound of hooves fading into the distance. The drifting snow. Valery, whose urgent priority was Harold, did not give chase. Holding the reins of the horse that carried Harold and still mounted on the black horse, he returned to the horse fair.

The crowd, once a heaving sea of people, now stared with mouths agape, silent and dumbstruck, and upon them a frost-sharp command came cracking down like thunder.

"Every one of you, on your knees, and hands on your heads! Do not move! Any man who disobeys will be killed where he stands!"

Valery, blood spattered across his face, shouted it from horseback with his eyes wide and sword leveled, and in truth he was a vengeful spirit made flesh.

Since there was no telling what further turn the situation might take, Valery meant to seize complete control of his surroundings.

The moment the words left him, the crowd dropped to its knees in a wave and laid hands upon their heads. The sight spread outward like a ripple, as though they were bowing before a king.

"Gidwin, see to Harold first."

Gidwin, who had been on his knees with his hands on his head like everyone else, came sharply back to himself. What was I doing?

In his flustered haste he lowered Harold from the horse to the ground gently. He pulled off the cloth sack and used his dagger to cut away the rope binding his body.

Somehow, Harold had not entirely lost consciousness. Outwardly his eyes looked foggy, almost drowsy.

Valery moved about, using the weight of his presence to hold the crowd firmly in check, then came back to Harold, dismounted, and checked on his condition.

Harold, still dazed as if dreaming, looked up at Valery.

Behind Valery, from the gray sky, great unseasonal flakes of snow were tumbling down. To Harold, it looked as if white tufts of cloud were blooming outward all around Valery.

Harold spoke.

"......Snow. Snow would be good."

"Hm?"

"That black horse. The name Snow would suit him, I mean. He's a gift. I never really cared about Father's order from the start."

If he had the presence of mind to say something like that, he probably hadn't taken any serious injury.

Valery, perhaps because he was relieved himself, or perhaps to reassure Harold, stroked Harold's head and, without realizing it, smiled.

"All right."

In that instant, Valery looked to Harold truly like an angel come down from heaven.

Because Valery, who ordinarily wore only indifferent or cold expressions, became dazzlingly beautiful the moment a smile touched his lips. Even the blood spattered on his face looked almost like paint applied on purpose.

In truth, it was the first time Harold had ever seen Valery smile. Perhaps that was why Harold felt, instead, that he was the one who had received a gift. A gift precious beyond measure, one he was deeply grateful for.

Perhaps the reason winter sometimes returned in spring was not merely jealousy. Because regret had other things mingled in it too. Like snow falling in springtime.

Chapter 1 – Winter's Lingering Regret. End.