12
With the door closed, the room was dark and silent. Under guard, its occupant hugged his knees to his chest, chewing his fingernails nervously.
“ ”
They were supposed to communicate on a regular basis, but the time for the next report had come and gone. He had set the thugs to tailing the most awful killer in the world—a murderer who was after him. When his bodyguards had informed him that the man had been sighted in the capital, his heart had raced so fast he thought it might explode.
Fleeing the capital was an option, of course. But negotiations here were his last chance. He had abandoned his home country and ran to the kingdom in hopes of turning death into life.
He’d prepared a souvenir. Now he just had to get it to Six-Tongue. The man had gambled in hopes of doing just that. Now he was waiting to discover if the risk paid off.
“I will win. I can’t lose. It can’t end here… It can’t…!” The man clutched his knees and prayed, trusting his destiny. But then, remembering he had no one to pray to, he took an audible bite of his nails. “Argh, when are they going to report?! What happened to those thugs?! Why aren’t they here yet?!”
“ ”
“Hey!” The man got to his feet and directed a shout outside the room. To his surprise, there was no answer. He frowned to receive no response from the guards who should have been standing just outside the door. Then he swallowed heavily, and in a panic, he scrambled for the sword leaning against the wall in a corner of the room…
“Hullo, hullo! Pardon me for barging in, Viscount Glamdart.”
“Wha…? Ah…?!”
The door opened, ushering in a comically stiff breeze. No sooner had the thought registered than his hand, outstretched for his sword, was in the grasp of a young man wearing a kimono. The guest smiled pleasantly; he was holding a sword that shone with an uncanny light.
The older man knew the younger one, of course. Knew his name and how powerful he was.
“Cecils Segmund…”
“The very same. Player of the lead role in this world—and faithful blade of His Majesty.”
“M-my guards… What did you do to—? Hrrgh!”
It was a foolish question anyway. In the middle of it, Cecils’s foot met the man’s stomach, and the fugitive—Glamdart—went rolling across the floor. He briefly caught sight of blood dribbling on the ground in the hallway. That was all he needed to know about what had happened to the bodyguards.
And what would soon happen to him.
“Now that just won’t do, Holstoy, you old dog. When your plans have unraveled, you should see yourself off the stage without delay. The head of your double and your little gift to the kingdom… Truly appalling. A stupendous performance as the villain!”
“W-wait, Segmund…”
“But trying to make off with the empire’s crown jewel, the sky-dragon tamer—that can’t be allowed. Add that to the fact that you were the ringleader of the plot against His Majesty, and a hundred deaths wouldn’t expunge your sin.”
The enchanted sword in Cecils’s hand glowed in a way no sword should have been capable of. The Divine General’s eyes were brutal as he informed Glamdart of his crimes; he clearly had not the slightest concern for life. The older man, all too aware of this, clasped his hands together. “Hear me out, Segmund! The scheme against the emperor was of his own devising—between him and Balleroy! I simply—”
“I’m not interested in your excuses, and I don’t care about your arguments. You targeted His Majesty’s life, absconded with an imperial secret, and worst of all, you continue to cling to the stage when your part has been played out. Let your blood wash away your disgrace.”
“Heeegh—!”
“Ahh, I’m so glad for your sake that I’m the one who found you. I’m much nicer than the emperor, you know. For example, you deserve to die a hundred times, but I’ll settle for once.” Cecils smiled and raised his sword, which seemed to tremble nefariously. Just a flicker of that blade, and the thread of Glamdart’s life would be cut as surely as the sinews of his neck, his consciousness lost forever.
Why? Why, despite this terrible knowledge, did the blade look—beautiful?
“And now, farewell.”
Those were the last words he heard before the stunning flash of silver descended toward his neck.
“That will be quite enough, Cecils.”
“Oh-ho?”
A voice interrupted Cecils in the middle of his stroke, inches before the blade found flesh. The sword came to a halt, and its owner glanced over at the source of the interruption. He looked pained as he registered the slim, pale man standing in the doorway. But the other man, Chisha, looked no happier.
The two Volakian generals stood there, scowling at each other, then they looked down at the man who had fainted on the floor.
“There’s just in time, and then there’s just in time.”
“Hmm? Say, what are you doing here anyway, Chisha? Bit of sightseeing?”
“I’m here on His Majesty’s orders, naturally. Orders to find and stop a certain fool who went racing off the moment it became clear that the mastermind behind the recent rebellion had faked his own death with a body double and escaped to the kingdom. Do you need me to specify exactly which fool I’m talking about?”
Chisha appeared relieved, in a certain sense, to have both found Cecils and to have found him with his target still alive. The swordsman cocked his head at Chisha’s explanation, then he saw Julius and Ferris behind him. In resignation, he sheathed his sword, but he stomped pointedly on the floor. “That’s that; all cleared up, then!”
“Uh-uh! Nothing’s clear at all, and I’ll thank you to explain it to me!” Ferris burst in before Cecils could sweep the whole thing under the rug. Julius let out a sigh at the exact same moment Chisha groaned. They exchanged a look and then a shrug.
No Comments Yet
Post a new comment
Register or Login