6
“ ”
It had been hours since they had been ushered from the throne room into the guest chamber. A long wait, but being ready for anything was part of a knight’s duty. No man in his position would even entertain the idea of falling asleep from boredom, and Julius had become a master at imagining a shatranj board—the pawns, like soldiers, lined up as if on a battlefield—and playing a game in his mind. It meant he didn’t think of the waiting time as wasted, but…
“Things seem just a little too quiet here.”
It was well and good to play an imaginary game of shatranj, but the faces of the others gave clues to what was in their own minds. Reinhard and Miklotov, like Julius, seemed not to begrudge the wait. Surprisingly, even Bordeaux appeared content to be passing the time in quiet meditation on the sofa.
The problem was Ferris, who was visibly agitated and unable to endure the silence. “What are they mewing? Are they doing this just to tormeownt us?! We’ve been sitting here for ages!”
“Ferris, that’s enough. I sympathize, but we’re in the royal palace of another nation. Your behavior here will reflect directly on our kingdom. In all things—”
“Easy for mew to say! If Ferri’s jabbering was such a problem, they would’ve burst in ages ago!”
“Hmm…”
“But instead, they leave us here! Do you think His Meowjesty has completely forgotten about us?”
That was hardly likely, but Ferris’s pessimistic outburst got Julius thinking. The point of this special mission had been to propose a nonaggression pact to the empire. The empire, wishing to bargain from a place of strength, wouldn’t hesitate to do anything that would improve their position, including psychological warfare. From that perspective, the protracted delay and the refusal to acknowledge Ferris might have been deliberate stratagems.
Whatever the case, if things didn’t develop soon…
But just as he was starting to worry, a knock came at the door. “I request a moment with the Lugunican special envoys.”
“Mrow!” When the longed-for action finally arrived, Ferris looked at Julius with wide eyes. Julius nodded at him, then faced the door and invited the caller in.
A soldier in full armor appeared. “My apologies for interrupting you,” he said as he bowed, though it seemed he couldn’t have known whether or what he was interrupting.
“It’s no trouble at all. Have you come with a summons?”
“Yes sir. But if you’ll forgive me, sir, I’ve only been instructed to summon one person.”
“Just one, you say?”
“Yes sir. I was told to return with the Sword Saint, Master Reinhard.”
A faint look of surprise crossed Julius’s face. He wasn’t the only one; everyone in the room was startled, including the summonee himself. Reinhard cocked his head, perplexed. “Emperor Vincent asked for me by name?”
“Yes sir. His Majesty wishes to speak with you. May I request that you come with me?”
“I’m willing, but…” Reinhard cast a quick, hesitant glance at Miklotov. This was a summons from the emperor himself; they couldn’t very well risk angering him by refusing. But the spokesman for their mission was, in the end, Miklotov. Reinhard wouldn’t answer without his leave.
The elder nodded quietly at the Sword Saint. “Having you accompany us has been a condition of these negotiations from the beginning. Go see His Majesty and do your best to be polite.”
“I understand. All right, lead the way.” With Miklotov’s blessing, Reinhard was ready to go back to the emperor. As he made to follow the armored guard out, though, the red-haired man spared a glance at Julius. His meaning was clear enough: With Reinhard away, the only knights left in the room would be Julius and Ferris. And Ferris barely counted when gauging strength in battle, so for practical purposes, Julius would be the sole guard. Reinhard didn’t expect Julius to do anything rash, but in a foreign country, one could never be too careful.
“I wonder what the emperor wants with Reinhard,” Ferris said when the young man had left, staring at the door he had closed behind him.
“Fine question,” Julius said with a shrug. “If he just wanted to talk, he could have done it in the throne room. But Emperor Vincent is deliberately separating Reinhard from us… Who can say what he wants?”
Julius and Reinhard were both Knights of the Royal Guard. But Reinhard had succeeded to the name of Sword Saint before he was ten years old, and it was well-known that, ever since then, he had received orders directly from the leaders of the kingdom, fulfilling many sundry roles—more than a few of which he couldn’t talk about. To give a recent example…
“The Pleiades Watchtower in the Auguria Dunes.”
“Ferris, I—”
“I know, I know. You were choosing your words carefully, Julius. Besides, Ferri would never imagine criticizing Reinhard for something like that.” Ferris waved a hand and tried to sound nonchalant, but Julius could see clearly how hard he was straining to force a smile. Ferris was not as good at controlling his emotions as he thought he was. Perhaps his perfect physical control left him more vulnerable in the emotional realm.
“ .” For a moment, Julius was silent. Ferris was referring to a certain mission Reinhard had been given. One so important, the result could have shaken the Kingdom of Lugunica down to its foundations: He had been ordered to seek out the Sage, famously said to be all-knowing, in hopes of finding some way to counteract the plague that was devastating the Lugunica Royal Family.
Four hundred years ago, the Witch of Jealousy had cast the world into terror and chaos. This all-knowing Sage had been one of the three heroes who had sealed that terrible creature away. The Sage still lived, residing at the Pleiades Watchtower in the Auguria Dunes, which was on the kingdom’s extreme eastern edge. That old seer was the royal family’s last hope—a hope that had been entrusted to Reinhard.
But he had failed in his mission.
“So the royal line died out, and we lost our guarantee that the covenant with the Holy Dragon would continue,” Julius said. “And that’s why we’re here in the empire.”
“Meowby Reinhard blames himself for that.”
Julius paused. “‘Maybe you judge yourself harshly as well, Ferris. Am I wrong?” He probed at the cat-boy, who pondered Reinhard’s state of mind.
Julius’s two close friends both suffered from their inability to save the royal family. Reinhard, because he had failed on his mission. And Ferris, because he was called The Blue and served as Lugunica’s best healer—curing illnesses and mending wounds was his very pride. Both of them felt that the kingdom, the royal line, had died out because they hadn’t been strong enough. Julius was reminded of what Marcus had said to him personally just before they left for the empire.
He had been summoned into the captain’s quarters, alone, the day before their departure. There, he had been ordered to keep a close eye on Reinhard and Ferris.
“ ” Julius was determined to not let his friends out of his sight during this trip, and not only because of Marcus’s orders. That was what had brought on his question just now.
“Blame myself…? Sure, yeah, I do. I mean, just think about who Ferri is.” Ferris almost worked his lips into a smile as he spoke into the silence. But it was a smile of self-mockery. He was obviously tormented by profoundly painful emotions. As the kingdom’s premier healer and a friend of the deceased prince, the memories must have been difficult.
“Ferris, you must not blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”
“…Pretty familiar words, as comfort goes.”
“Sorry. I wish I could say something less trite, but…” Ferris’s touch of irony made Julius rue his own lack of insight. He wanted dearly to say something that would truly speak to Ferris’s heart. But all he had been able to muster were the most tired words of comfort in the world.
And the moment didn’t even give him a chance to make another attempt.
“Hmm?” Julius raised an eyebrow as Ferris’s ears twitched. Both of them had noticed the change at the same time. They looked at each other.
“Julius…,” the cat-boy started; Julius nodded affirmatively.
He slowly raised his right hand to reveal a light glowing softly in his palm. It was Ire, one of the six greater spirits Julius held a pact with. When they had been guided to their room, Julius had sent out this spirit to keep watch in the Crystal Palace. The spirit and the demi-human blood that coursed in Ferris’s veins had both detected something.
“Looks like something’s afoot in the palace.”
“Sure does. I think things have gotten a little rowdy.” Bordeaux, sensing the two knights’ reactions, opened his eyes and came out of his meditation. The bald-pated elder looked to their leader. “Master Miklotov?”
“Mm. They say hearing is the first thing to go with age. What rowdiness do you speak of, may I ask?”
“It sounds sort of…confused? Like everyone is flailing around. And for this to start right when they took Reinhard away. I don’t like this.”
“I agree,” Julius said. “I think the imperial troops outside are gone, too.”
There should have been soldiers stationed outside the door to ensure the visitors didn’t do anything unwelcome and that nothing was done to them. But Julius no longer sensed the guards standing nearby. The most natural thing was to assume they had gone toward the ruckus.
“…I have a bad feeling about this,” Julius said after a brief pause. “I’ll go see what’s happening. Master Miklotov, Lord Bordeaux, please stay here. Ferris will—Hmm.”
“You could look a little less disappointed! Eh, you couldn’t pay me to be all Just leave everything to ol’ Ferri!”
“True enough. But then…”
“It’s all right.” Considering what might be happening, it made Julius uneasy to leave Ferris alone as a bodyguard. But his hesitation was forestalled by a word from Bordeaux, who got slowly to his feet. He crossed his arms, still great, sturdy limbs despite his age, and regarded the two young knights from beneath his thick eyebrows.
“Go make sure it’s safe outside,” he said. “I’ll look after Master Miklotov myself.”
“I’m rather afraid I’m being treated like luggage… But with Master Bordeaux here, I certainly believe I have nothing to worry about. Both of you, go and have a look.”
“But sir…”
“Stop worrying,” Bordeaux insisted, the bravery almost palpable about him. “Make sure everything is all right—and quick.”
With a salute, as much to that aura of warriorhood as anything else, Julius exchanged a silent look with Ferris, and then they left the room.
Out in the hallway, he discovered that, indeed, the guards were missing. No sooner had he registered this unusual fact than they discovered the source of the noise: people running through the halls of the Crystal Palace.
“I knew it. It’s like they’ve lost their heads. Think there’s been an assassination attempt on the emperor or something?”
“Careful anyone should hear you and think you’re being serious. Put away your jokes for the time being.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Notwithstanding Ferris’s tasteless remark, the pair set off at a quick pace to find out what was going on. The idea of an assassination had been nothing but Ferris being glib, but the commotion did have an edge of panic. And not without reason…
“Julius! I smell blood!” Ferris’s face was grim. There was no sign of him joking now, and Julius’s apprehension was growing by the second.
At length, they came to the source of the commotion. It was a crowd of imperial soldiers, oozing bloodlust as they mobbed the entrance of a room.
“Do whatever you have to! Just get it open! Knock it down!”
The soldiers were shouting, confronted with a large and firmly shut door. It must have been barred from the inside; the soldiers slammed a massive ram against it to no discernible effect. Two, then three times they brought the ram to bear. Finally, with an immense crash, the towering iron door flew inward.
“There! We did it! Inside—!”
The soldiers working on the door gave a cheer, but suddenly, their voices died in their throats. The others around them did the same. They seemed to be dumbstruck by what they saw before them.
Julius and Ferris came up behind. The two peered beyond the guardsmen into the room and saw…
“Impossible…” Julius let out unconsciously.
The room beyond was destroyed, the cold floor slick with the blood of several men. Among them was a face Julius recognized as that of Balleroy Temeglyph. Balleroy, one of the Nine Divine Generals, the most powerful warriors in the entire empire, was collapsed in a pool of blood, motionless. Standing beside him was another figure, looking down at his victims…
“Reinhard…”
The red-haired Sword Saint was the only one in the bloodstained room without a scratch.
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