1

For no less than two days, the united caravan marched on, suffering no casualties, though not entirely without issues either. The knights from Ludgwert endured various troubles, such as blisters, sores, bug bites, sleep deprivation, dehydration, and stomach aches, but bravely kept up the pace. With Waramoti’s expert advice and supplies, their overall condition gradually improved. Against his harsh countenance and even harsher words, and reputation as a cold-blooded dog of war, the man was still a team player at heart, unable to ignore the suffering of his comrades—even as he refused to openly call the knights as such.

More frequent breaks interrupted the march as compared to before, but when they did proceed, they did so with doubled vigor, and the mileage kept steadily growing. Though the near sacred serenity of the early trip was only a memory now, even Izumi had to admit that having more company made things merrier, overall.

“When did I become such a people-person?” she pondered, recalling the events of the past months.

—“Hey!” Somewhere past the noon of the third day, an unexpected sighting stopped Benedict’s scouting, and he turned to beckon the others. “Come have a look at this!”

Stopping the cart and the horses, the others quickly gathered at the senior knight’s position. Had he spied something dangerous?

The cause of the stop was no carnivore, or other such natural threat, however, but something much more unsettling. As soon as the rest of the group reached Benedict, they could see what he had discovered between the irregular mounds—and were struck silent by awe.

A little less than two hundred yards southeast in the bumpy, lush marshland, stood a distinctly man-made structure. Man-made, in particular, for the fashion of its build was not elvish in the least. It was a tilted, derelict tower, coated with nailed boards, half-covered in moss and vines. The boards had been painted warm brown-red, though now largely sullied by mold and moisture damage. Four wide, frayed sails were attached near the top of the tower, their frames pointed in the four cardinal directions.

The poor condition failed to disguise the building’s purpose. Everyone present, regardless of their origins, could immediately recognize that practical masterpiece of engineering. Whether a mirage or real, it could only be a classical windmill, the staple of agrarian settlements. And while there was nothing outwardly unusual about the windmill itself, its presence deep in the marsh bore with it disturbing suggestions.

“That’s...impossible,” Stefan summarized everyone’s sentiments, as they stood staring at the windmill, dumbstruck.

In a land, where no humans should have dared to set foot in ages, was a building indicating permanent living arrangements. Moreover, the windmill was hardly ancient. It defied everything the travelers had believed. If there was any one among them who took the revelation without much of a shock—for it indeed took a lot to shock him—it was Tratovia’s acclaimed warrior.

“Ruins left by the settlers of yore,” Waramoti made his guess.

“But, see the condition it’s in?” Benedict argued. “The weather should have expedited the decay, yet even the paint is still clear. It doesn’t look even a hundred years old. Would the elves have suffered humans to live this close to their dominion? I don’t believe it.”

“It does not ask our faith to exist,” the bard responded with disinterest. “It’s there, for whatever reason, and that’s that. We should keep moving while it’s light.”

“But Sir,” Magnus interjected, “it wouldn’t hurt to have a little closer look, I think. If there are other buildings, or even a whole village nearby, we could at least spend one night with some comfort. Who knows, there might even be supplies left or other people, who could—”

“—Don’t be daft,” Waramoti interrupted him. “Does that look like it’s been touched in decades? If anything, what you behold is a sign of warning. It there was a settlement here once, we should take heed of its fate, and circle far around.”

Everyone quietly thought about his ominous words.

But for only a brief moment.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Millanueve soon spoke up. “We can’t just walk by and pretend it never happened. Human beings have lived here and no one outside knows who they were or what they were here for. Where did they come from and where have they gone? Now that we’re here, we have to learn more of their fate. I concur with Magnus; we should stop and have a look around.”

“Leave it,” Waramoti told her. “Nothing good ever came from digging up the past, and curiosity killed the cat. This place has nothing to do with our quest. So leave it lie.”

But Millanueve wasn’t that easily discouraged.

“With all due respect, Sir, this isn’t only about our quest,” she told the bard. “As civilized people, we have the duty to recollect the past. Those who lived here may now be absent from all record, but live they did, the same as us. Everyone deserves to be remembered. We can’t abandon the memory of these settlers and their way of life. It’s in the common decency of man to bring back at least knowledge of their own kind.”

Waramoti turned to face the girl and stepped closer. He towered above Millanueve a good two feet taller, leaving her completely in his shadow.

“Do you remember what I made you all swear?” he asked. “I help you, you do as I say—ring a bell?”

“Yes, I remember,” Millanueve replied, “but the situation’s changed. And our agreement shouldn’t mean that we aren’t allowed to even discuss the things that—”

“—No. I said, no disagreeing. No talking back. No being a pain in the ass. No speeches about human civility, or what is decent and what is not. Nothing here is decent! I don’t want to hear it.”

“I—”

“Really!” Waramoti exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “Nothing is trying to kill you for a few days and you forget you’re in the wilderness? This is precisely why I didn’t want to travel with you lot in the first place. I knew it would come to this! Keep up with this and there is no way any one of us is getting through this alive. And moreover—”

—“Now, now, that’s about enough with the heavy talk!” Izumi suddenly intervened, stepping up next to Millanueve, and hanging her arm around the knight girl’s shoulders. “Where’s your sense of adventure, big guy? How did you ever get famous, being such a chicken? There’s no harm in looking a little, is there?”

Waramoti fell quiet, staring at Izumi, as if trying hard to decipher what went through the woman’s head.

Millanueve was left in a highly awkward position, trapped between the two eccentric figures, and opted to remain quiet and still. Was it really all right, to provoke the warrior? What if he lost his temper and a fight broke out? Whenever the Divines’ blessed champion drew his blade, it wasn’t sheathed again without claiming a life—so the stories told.

“It’ll be okay!” Izumi lightly insisted, with no sense of danger. “Whatever shows up, all we need to do is slice and dice it. Everybody could use a breather. And I’m just a little curious myself, about what happened. So let’s do it. Dig up the past.”

“...Fine.”

Waramoti turned away, carrying out an immediate, complete turnaround in his stance, not even setting any conditions. The knights stared at the two, stunned. Who on earth was that woman, and what kind of a charm did she hold over the warrior, to bend his mind so easily?

“Aren’t we glad?” Izumi asked Millanueve with a wide grin.

“Ah...yes.” Millanueve answered and averted her eyes. “But, was that really all right, getting into argument with him for my sake…?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“...Never mind.”

2

A slight deviation from the course brought the travelers closer to the windmill. As they had guessed, it was not the only building in the vicinity, but the view awaiting them up ahead nevertheless stole their breath away.

There, in a small, round dale bordered by grouped hillocks, stood a rather modern, orderly hamlet. No less than eighteen bungalows were lined up along the two sides of a wider central lane, which took past the windmill in the west to a larger, two-story mansion in the east. A few more buildings could be spotted outside the main group in north and south, respectively, resembling stables, sheds, granaries, and hen houses, although their condition was worse. A few houses had partly collapsed and sunken into the water that had invaded the western settlement. Meanwhile the central area had been kept clear of flooding by old canals and dams, although the passage of time and lack of maintenance had degraded the arrangement somewhat.

Not even the most jaded of skeptics could deny it by this point. People had lived in Henglog, against all prior knowledge.

No signs was left of the settlers themselves, however.

The houses were all in a state of severe disrepair, sun and rain eroding their original colors. The windows were most broken, roofs caved in. The little verandas and porches were overtaken by wild bushes and grass, with misshapen trees forcing through the boarding. It was clear that organized life had been absent for a very long time.

Who had the settlers been, what had made them defy the wrath of Henglog, and what had become of them since? To answer these questions, the travelers started their investigation at once, splitting up into pairs to conduct a thorough search for clues.

Drowsy afternoon hours passed as they explored the hamlet, house by house, though their efforts didn’t prove particularly fruitful. Nothing beyond the usual everyday items could be found in the houses, no diaries, chronicles, or other records that could have helped illustrate the past life.

“Imperials, from late eighth or early ninth century,” Benedict judged, looking around in the kitchen of one house. “Probably came here around the same time when Logaria was settled, following the Southerner war. The pots are made of copper, but with aluminum coating on the inside, so no older than eighth century.”

“You’re probably right,” Stefan, who was with him, agreed. “The houses look a lot like those you see in the southern Empire. But will you check this masonry. That’s just like the brick oven at my grandmother’s! Didn’t know they make it like that in the Empire.”

“They don’t,” Benedict replied, looking at the shape of the chimney. “A Ludgwertan mason made this, I’m sure of it. They must have been a group of mixed heritage.”

“So people from two different lands, hundreds of miles apart, just came together and decided to build their homes right here, in the middle of a deadly marsh? Why?”

“I don’t know,” the older knight had to confess.

“And where’d they get all the wood? Not a lot of trees you could saw for boards around here.”

“Maybe the climate was different in the past,” Benedict speculated. “Or maybe they brought the lumber with them from home.”

“Must’ve been one heck of a convoy,” Stefan said. “How many do you think there were? A hundred or something?”

“One house could easily fit a family of ten, and I counted eighteen, not to mention the estate in the east...Could’ve been closer to two hundred, even.”

“And it looks like they added to the numbers,” Stefan noted, looking at an empty cradle in the corner.

“It’s clear they came here to stay,” Benedict said. “But what happened?”

Passing the houses, Waramoti followed the main lane towards the mansion in the back, and ended up making the most bizarre and unsettling discovery so far.

In the middle of the street, a short distance from the mansion gates, was an enormous hole in the ground. The hole was nearly circular in shape, like a well, but without the necessary fortifications or pumps, and unnecessarily wide, almost forty feet in diameter. It was only a naked pit, so deep that the bottom couldn’t be seen from above.

Kneeling on the edge, Waramoti stared into the black abyss with a scowl.

“And this is the part where you’re grabbed by the nameless horror in the dark, and it drags you down to your grotesque death,” Izumi said, a step behind the man.

“It’s fine,” the man said, not sparing a smile for her scenario. “While it’s light.”

“What do you suppose made the hole?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know or you don’t want to say?”

“I legitimately don’t know,” he answered.

“Let me guess, the villagers are down there?” Izumi pointed into the pit. “What’s left of them. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this movie before.”

“Why don’t you climb down there and find out?”

“Um, I think I’ll pass.”

“What? You won’t become famous if you stay a chicken.”

“Wooow. He called me a chicken back. That’s so mature, holding a grudge like a third grader. You know what, I’m gonna go down there and check it out.”

“Yes, you are clearly the more mature of us,” Waramoti replied, standing up. “And stop looking for rope, you’re not going down there. I was obviously joking.”

“Why not?” Izumi turned back. “It’ll make for a great episode in my heroic legend, killing whatever’s hiding in there. I’ll be like Beowulf (female). They might even put me in a mobile gacha game.”

“There’s nothing.” Waramoti ignored her nonsense and went to circle around the pit. “This isn’t a nest. The opening’s facing up, it gets flooded in the rainy season. But neither is it a natural cavity. Too clean for that.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Then what is it?”

“A garbage pit. I told you, I don’t know.”

Unable to find a credible explanation for the hole, Izumi and Waramoti moved on to investigate the mansion at the edge of the village. Doubtless someone of particularly high rank among the settlers had lived there. If there was any clue left regarding these people’s identity, origin, or purpose, the dwelling of their chieftain was the most certain place to find it, it being the leader’s duty to keep such records.

A white-painted fence about two feet tall circled the mansion grounds, and an elegant iron gate had been forged for the entrance, even if now blackened, bent, and hanging wide open. Through the gate, the two entered a wide front yard, overgrown with wild, waist-high grass, save for a paved walkway leading straight across. It was here that Millanueve and Alexander caught up with them, and the four went together into the building.

The shady house was divided in three floors, with a spacious entrance hall right in the middle. To save time, the four agreed to split up, to conduct their search independently, and report back in the lobby by dusk with their findings.

Watching Waramoti depart for the west wing and the siblings east, along facing corridors, Izumi proceeded straight across the hall, to the stairway in the back. She went past a fallen chandelier and climbed up to explore the top floor first, feeling quite thrilled.

Izumi’s initial excitement soon melted away, however.

Whatever written notes and letters she came across were badly damaged by moisture and mold, rendered illegible. Searching the upper areas also turned out exceedingly dangerous. The roof sported numerous leaks and the floor boards were badly rotten, to the point that they could give in underfoot without a warning. Valuing her own well-being over unraveling the secret, Izumi soon gave up on the third floor, and descended to the second.

The summoned champion’s interests gradually shifted. She soon forgot all about their original purpose of discovering the past, instead sinking to an idle burglar’s mindset, looking for valuables. Yet even in this greedy pursuit, only disappointment awaited her. Most of the rooms were emptied, as if no one had ever lived there to begin with. The rest were quite modestly furnished and devoid of personal belongings. Random household items like cups, plates, trays, candlesticks, spinning wheels, and such might have appeared fascinating to a historian, but didn’t interest the earthling in the least.

There was simply nothing of conventional value.

In spite of the handsome house, it appeared that the settlers weren’t prosperous by any measure. No gold, no silver, no rings, medallions, bracelets, necklaces, jewels, or anything of the sort. The most valuable loot Izumi came across were a few dusty, dimmed copper coins in a drawer. Being wholly indigent, she stuffed them in her pocket anyway, unsure of whether they had any real value today. Returning to the staircase, she concluded her search and racked her brain to come up with something meaningful to tell the others.

Izumi’s sole consolation was the fact that the others weren’t able to strike it rich either, in any sense. It was already well before the agreed timing that the four gathered again in the lobby, to announce the results of their efforts.

“I’m sorry. We failed to find anything worthy of note,” Millanueve begrudgingly admitted, while her brother merely returned a shrug.

Nothing resembling a chronicle or even a personal diary had come up in the search. They had found a room that was most likely the headman’s study, but it was without any obvious documentary, as if deliberately cleared of such.

“I’ve got nothing either,” Izumi declared, emphasizing her point by showing her empty palms, knowing that her coins would only earn a scolding.

“Seventeen people lived in this house,” Waramoti gave his report last. “A Ludgwertan man in his fifties, a woman of around the same age, and seven children, of which two were female and the rest male, the eldest about thirty, the youngest probably under five. They had eight servants, who most lived on the first floor. I saw signs of combat in the south-western hallway and in one of the children’s rooms. There was dried blood on the floor. It seems they came under attack by someone, and the residents were either taken away, or struck down, and a thorough cleaning was carried out afterwards. Even if there were casualties, the bodies were removed by the attackers. I checked the basement as well, but saw no traces of the corpses.”

The others were silenced by his gruesome report.

“At what level do you get the Batman vision?” Izumi inquired the man.

“Use your actual eyes,” he answered her.

“Could you find out who attacked them?” Millanueve asked. “Was it the villagers themselves? Was there, per chance, a mutiny? Or something else?”

Instead of answering her, Waramoti glanced at Izumi.

“Hm?” Izumi failed to understand that look.

Refraining from further comments, the bard turned for the exit.

“We should go see what the others have found before we get to that.”

3

The travelers regrouped with more questions than they had answers, and the mystery of the forgotten hamlet showed no sign of becoming cleared by the end of the day. But, if anything, they had ascertained that the village was safe to stay at, for the time being, and hadn’t become the dwelling ground of hazardous wildlife. Snakes hid under some of the rotten cabins, wasps had made nests in the attics, and enormous rats could be spotted darting across the street in the few cobbled patches not yet taken over by moss or grass. But such things had become commonplace by now, and the party wouldn’t stress much over inconveniences of such level.

The anomalous pit in the central street and its unfathomable depths haunted the travelers’ imagination, but Waramoti was confident no beast he knew lurked in it.

“There’s no stench of decay, no claw marks on the edges—I doubt any common predator is using the cavity to stash its prey. It’s too open for that, and easily accessed by competition.”

“But,” Magnus hesitantly spoke up, “I don’t meant to doubt your judgment, Sir, but in the unlikely event that you’re...mistaken? Is it possible there could be some monstrosity strange to us hiding down there?”

“Even should I be wrong, it’s much too late to run away,” Waramoti answered him. “The nightfall is upon us. If we are on the territory of some magnum-grade beast, it will have caught our scent by now, and would slaughter us in the dark. It’s better to make use of the houses for cover tonight, instead of venturing out into the wilderness, where we are without shelter.”

On that note, with the sunset fast approaching, the company resolved to spend the night in the abandoned hamlet, as the knights had hoped. Even if in quite the sorry state, the more intact cabins still offered protection superior to mere tents. Better yet, instead of an open bonfire under the unstable sky, they could clean and light up a real stove indoors, upon which to warm their modest meals.

It almost felt like home.

The initially ghastly discovery of the village ended up greatly soothing the group’s spirits. In no time, cheerful chatter and laughter filled one of the bungalows along the central lane, through the windows of which shone the warm light of human presence once again.

Late into night they conversed, until the sun had long set. It was only then that the old soldier Benedict once again brought up the topic everyone had silently pondered the whole day.

“This hamlet lacks even a name,” he spoke, clutching in his hands a steel mug with freshly brewed tea. “It’s given us much, yet we can’t even honor the memory of its founders. And we’ve nothing to take home with us, to prove to the world that these people lived.”

The knights hung their heads in silence.

“What could’ve happened to them?” Millanueve pondered. “Did some irreconcilable dispute drive the villagers to overthrow their leader and migrate? Perhaps there was a shortage of food? Or maybe the differences of their cultures of origin drove a wedge between them?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” Magnus denied her idea. “Looking through the houses, it’s clear they didn’t just pack up and take off. Their personal belongings were left everywhere. Their clothes, tools, even plates and cups were still on the tables. They didn’t run out of food either, as far as I can tell. Plenty of supplies rotted in the storage, untouched. The field north of the settlement grows rye to this day. Whatever made them take off, it sure happened in a hurry.”

“Yes, it wasn’t something they planned,” Benedict nodded.

“He found signs of a struggle,” Alexander spoke up, gesturing at Waramoti. “Yet, they didn’t have any weapons here. The blacksmith’s place only had shovels and pitchforks and ploughs, no swords or spears. Don’t you find that odd?”

“What do you mean, odd?” his sister asked him.

“Think! It means they were attacked, by somebody from outside!”

“By who?” Millanueve asked, confused. “And why? These people weren’t in anybody’s way. They possessed nothing of value. What would anyone have to gain for assaulting peaceful, unarmed settlers? Neither does it seem likely that any bandits would hide so far out in the marsh. No, surely only a mindless beast would be capable of such a thing. There’s not even a fence around the settlement, monsters must’ve crept in at night, and—”

“—And cleaned away all the corpses? No, you’ve got it wrong, sister,” Alexander interrupted her, a grim look on his face. “The answer’s clear, isn’t it? Who attacked the village and why. You must be the only one who hasn’t realized yet.”

“What are you talking about?” his sister frowned at the boy.

After a heavy pause, Alexander gave his answer.

“It was the elves.”

“The elves?” Izumi repeated with a frown.

“That’s what Sir Waramoti found out, right?” Alexander continued. “These people settled too close to the elfland and paid for it with their lives. The same fate awaits anyone—us too, should we push on. By this point, it should be clear that our quest is doomed. We should’ve listened to what Sir Waramoti said and turned home the day we met. Those beings can’t be reasoned with. We’re all going to die.”

“You can’t say that for sure,” Millanueve argued. “Do we have any real evidence to show it was them?”

“Who else?” Alexander shrugged. “Why are the houses mostly intact? No doors broken off their hinges, no claw marks, very little blood spilled. And where are the corpses? We’ve found not one bone in the whole village. These people made no plans to leave, yet leave they did, and even the infants were taken from the cradles. It was a quick, one-sided purging. As tends to be the case when unarmed civilians face a superior force. So where did they all go? Or rather, where were they taken?”

No one spoke, and so the young knight soon continued.

“What is that pit?” Alexander broke into a bitter laugh. “Ha! It’s plain as day, isn’t it? It’s a mass grave. The elves dug up the hole for the villagers they murdered.”

“That’s...” Millanueve gasped and fell pale with a terrified look.

A dismayed silence took over the room.

Was Alexander’s theory correct?

Even without direct proof, it made too much sense for anyone to outright refute it.

“What a fine mess this has become,” old Benedict finally sighed. “What should we do? Try to investigate the cavity, see if we’ll find any traces of the villagers down there? Any of their belongings, something to identify them by?”

“We’ve wasted enough time,” Waramoti interjected in his low voice. “Who they were doesn’t matter, now that they are long dead, and their pitiful fate is hardly worth a song. Remember that our munitions are finite, and we’re not even halfway to Alderia yet.”

“You mean to still go on?” Alexander stood up, stupefied. “With all due respect, that’s a suicide! No matter how you are a legendary warrior, you’re no match for the elves!”

Waramoti answered him with a silencing glare.

“I believe I know more about the elves than you do. Boy.”

“T-then why…?”

“If you want to run back home, then by all means, do,” the bard leaned back in his chair. “I won’t stop you. You agreed to join my company, not the other way round. And whatever perils lie ahead, no matter how ridiculous or senseless the goal, I will not turn from this path—not unless that woman decides so.”

At his declaration, everyone’s bewildered eyes turned to Izumi, who was absorbed in the delicate process of forking out the last beans in her can.

“Eh?” she stopped and looked around. “Um...What’s wrong? I get anxious when people stare at me.”

“Fine.” Alexander spread his arms, exasperated. “What’s it to me? You and your girlfriend are free to chase your own deaths, if that’s what you want. But I still have a life left to live. So yes, let’s part ways here, the first thing in the morning.”

“I—I’m not his—” Izumi stammered.

“—That’s quite enough, brother,” Millanueve gave her sibling a stern gaze. “It’s not up for you to decide.”

“I know you’re scared, young man,” Benedict spoke, leaning his elbows on his knees. “We all are. But we can’t let that get to us now. We knew the risks when we set out on our journey. And the only way we’re getting through this is by keeping our heads and sticking together.”

“Did we? Know the risks.” Alexander narrowed his eyes. “Somehow, I really doubt that.”

He glanced at his sister while saying so.

“W-what?” Millanueve reacted.

“The rest of us didn’t come here for the elves or to find justice, sister,” Alexander told her. “Not really. We came for you. Try not to forget that.”

Millanueve hung her head, biting her lip in shame.

“I—I didn’t want you here, brother. You know that.”

“What choice did I have?” Alexander sighed, and strode into the corner of the room, to lay down on the blackened boards with his surcoat for a pillow.

A dejected air hung over the crew for a time. Not that anyone could remain depressed for too long, their stomachs filled, hearing to the homey sound of flames in the stove. As poor as their situation looked, the spark of hope still burned in everyone’s hearts.

“Excuse me, madam,” Magnus suddenly spoke to Izumi.

“Hm?”

“For better or worse, it appears you’re the one steering our ship,” the knight told her. “And the way I see it, if we stick together, our combined supplies should probably last the trip back home, especially with capable hunters like old Benedict and Sir Waramoti by our side. So, how about it? Why don’t we all give up on going to Alderia? Let’s turn around and head back to Ludgwert. I’m sure Baron de Guillon will reward you handsomely for bringing his only children back. How about it?”

“Ehh…?”

Izumi glanced at the other people in the room.

Millanueve was still hiding her face under her bangs, but the three male knights were staring directly at Izumi. In Stefan’s eyes, like Magnus’s, was a wishful gleam. Benedict kept his expression forcefully neutral, but he couldn’t hide how the depressed color on his countenance had momentarily brightened. Alexander in the corner had his back turned at the others, but it was obvious that he was listening intently.

A heavy burden was suddenly shoved on Izumi.

If only she agreed to their request, there was a chance that five innocent lives could be saved. Was seeking the way to Alderia really worth the effort? What if the elves truly weren’t the kind of beautiful, lovable creatures she had always imagined them to be? What if the popular culture of her home world had cruelly misled her? What if the travelers would only be summarily killed, no questions asked, without even the chance to present their business?

Izumi didn’t need to try and imagine what the current Empress of Tratovia would choose in such a situation, in order to tell which was the “correct” choice. Every rational, empathetic being should favor the path with the least pain and sacrifices, no matter the personal cost. And any advantage gained at fellow people’s expense was surely mistaken and evil.

For a true hero, there was no choice in the first place.

Only the necessity.

Indeed, Izumi didn’t consider her answer for very long.

“I’m sorry,” she told them with all seriousness. “But I can’t turn back.”

Nobody commented on her answer.

The knights’ feelings were obvious on their faces, as they hung their heads in frustrated disappointment. It didn’t look like they had entirely given up on the matter either, but before the first protests could be presented, a lighter voice spoke up.

“I don’t think we should give up either,” Millanueve straightened her posture and declared. “Rather, we only have another reason more to seek the King of Alderia. If nothing else, we must show the elves that we humans are not only cattle to be toyed with. We have our own rights as a species, that can’t be freely trampled and ignored. They’ve hurt us, without a just cause. They must be made to acknowledge that!”

Who would do it, if not us?—she ended her declaration in that quiet question.

Her valiant words failed to alter the irritable mood in the room.

“It’s a tough decision.” Benedict commented in a neutral tone, effectively ignoring Millanueve’s opinion entirely. “Let’s sleep on it. Regardless of our heading, we have another long day’s march ahead of us, come tomorrow morning. And since we’re on a hostile territory now, let’s decide on guard shifts for the night. Who’s first?”

4

Men were to sleep downstairs while keeping watch, and the two women retired in a smaller room up on the second floor. But not very long after Izumi and Millanueve had gone, the old soldier from Ludgwert leaned discreetly forward, to address the bard doodling in his notebook.

“Sir Waramoti,” Benedict spoke in a lowered tone. “I take it you aren’t resigned to your fate just yet?”

Waramoti returned him a low-lidded glance from under slightly raised brows, waiting for the man to go on. Taking it as a permission, Benedict went on,

“You claim to have no...deeper personal connection to this lady in your company. Would you mind if I took your words for granted then? That you aren’t—how should I put this?—that your mind is lucid on this matter and not...emotionally tangled.”

Beads of sweat trailed down the aged knight’s brow, as a sign of the difficulty he had in presenting his business. Out of respect for the effort, Waramoti felt charged to hear him out.

“Speak directly, man,” he grunted. “What do you want?”

“Now, I don’t want to be a cause of discord,” Benedict slowly continued. “In every action in my life, I have striven to be a man of peace. A protector of life. That is the reason why I followed in my father’s footsteps onto a career in the Statesguard. But it’s precisely for that reason that I feel compelled to speak now, even at the risk of my words unwittingly insulting you. See, the offer I made earlier to the lady—I now repeat to you, Sir. Your cart, your horse, yourself...If you are indeed the hero the songs I’ve heard of you tell, you will come back with us to Ludgwert. Save our souls. Save the kids.”

Waramoti stared directly into Benedict’s gray eyes, unblinking, perfectly still.

“I keep telling you, I am a bard,” he pronounced.

“A bard,” the knight played along.

“And what of your ‘leader’? She didn’t appear to favor the idea.”

“Milla will understand when she grows older,” Benedict told him. “By the Divines, give her the chance to! She’s just a...”

The man’s voice failed him and he bitterly shook his head.

“And this lady in my company then?” Waramoti asked. “With whom I am not ‘entangled’. What if she...opposes.”

“To put it gently, the lady does not seem to be quite in touch with the reality we’re dealing with. Perhaps you’ll be able to persuade her to come back with us. If not...well, there are six of us and we’ve rope. She can still come with us, even if not entirely willing.”

The last glowing coals in the stove let out a loud crack, coming apart.

Waramoti failed to hold his poker face any longer.

“Pff—hahahahaha!” he cracked up, and after inhaling with effort, his muffled chortle erupted into a full blown howl. “HA, HA, HA, HA!”

The knights looked startled by his sudden, highly inappropriate hilarity, and could only wonder what could have triggered it. There was no way they could understand.

“Ahem,” Benedict cleared his throat.

“Ahahahaha!” Waramoti’s laughter didn’t stop. “Wheeze!”

“Sir…?”

Settling down, the bard exhaled deep and mused,

“How is it that we humans, in our desperate attempts to elude demise, never fail to bait perils yet worse? Ah, I got something good out of this day, after all. I should write it down before I forget.”

“Sir?” Benedict couldn’t understand him. “If it’s a matter of gold, then we...”

“Enough,” Waramoti interrupted him, growing serious. “I gave my conditions as we started out, and I hope you haven’t forgotten them. Unlike the lot of you, I was aware of what I signed up for, and am not known for changing my mind ever so often. You have your answer. There is no business for me in Ludgwert, to justify the trip, and whether you have the supplies or the ability to go back on your own is frankly none of my concern. For the last time, I am not a hero of songs, but a bard, and hold no responsibility in your private matters. Leave, if you want to. No one will stop you. But I follow only the whims of destiny and not the conveniences of mortal men. Now go to sleep. I have the first watch.”

Although the knights were far from pleased by this answer, the bard’s tone made it clear that the business was concluded. They all begrudgingly took their resting places and closed their eyes to regain at least an ounce of vitality before dawn, even if sleep was out of reach.

Brief as that rest proved.