Chapter 139

* * *

Ricard passed through Valensha, leaving the coast and heading inland.

Despite his having killed four knights, the emir of Valensha took no action. Whether he was frightened or simply lacked the means to respond, Ricard could not tell.

But was there truly no one to protect these people? The refugees following Ricard looked to number well into the thousands.

Unwittingly leading them, he reached the Keresi Highlands, where the Order of Flame had its headquarters. Cool breezes swept the fields of shrubs and short grass, and the lake water was clear.

Then the thousands following him suddenly settled down right there. Ricard found himself unable to go anywhere, as though his feet had been shackled.

Should he abandon them, or do something for them? But what could he possibly do?

"Look closely, and even people like these are bound to have village headmen or someone of the sort among them. Let us ask what they intend to do," Hashim advised.

Ricard approached the people, deciding to at least ask, as his friend suggested.

Riding his scarlet horse and wearing his ornate armor, he was visible even from far away. All those thousands of people watched him approach.

He rode back and forth, looking over the crowd, then spoke.

"Is there a leader here? A village headman or someone of that sort?"

Eyes darted about before everyone turned to look at certain people. One by one, figures rose here and there and approached Ricard, looking reluctant and afraid.

They all had dusky skin. They were not of the same race as Ricard.

"I have somewhere I must go. Have you decided on a destination of your own? Is it safe to stay here?"

The leaders of the groups from each village or region merely glanced at one another.

Then an old man in a turban stepped forward with the peculiar courage of someone who had little time left to live.

"This is our homeland. Go that way, and you will find a village called Musa. That way lies a village called Alpanti, and beyond that distant pass is a village called Jose. And if you keep going that way..."

The old man kept pointing in different directions, explaining where the villages and towns stood. Ricard had no idea what he was getting at, but calmly heard him out.

The old man continued.

"But all those villages and towns have been destroyed. You may not understand, El Cid, but for people like us, they are still home, even in ruins. If we have one wish, it is to rebuild our homes and live there again, rather than flee somewhere far away."

The people called Ricard "El Cid." In the Salaman tongue, it meant "master" or "lord," much like addressing someone as "my lord."

Earning the respect of heathens was a rare thing indeed, but this was hardly an occasion for unalloyed joy.

"Who destroyed your villages and towns?"

"The Order of Flame."

At those words, Ricard felt a stifling weight settle over his heart.

Sure enough, a gathering of this size was bound to draw attention. In the distance, riders were approaching.

At their head was a standard-bearer carrying a triangular pennon on a lance. A flame adorned its white field, and the white surcoat covering his mail bore the same design. It was plainly the Order of Flame.

They rode up to Ricard, and a man in a nasal helmet came forward to question him.

"I am Raimund, a knight of the Order of Flame. Are you the man who killed the knights of Valensha and is protecting the heathens?"

The people had simply followed him of their own accord, but it seemed the rumors had spread regardless of his intentions. That was how rumors worked. They often spread without regard for the intentions of those involved.

Still, Ricard answered in the affirmative.

"I am."

"Why are you protecting heathens?"

"We all believe in the same God. Only the manner of our belief differs. And look at them. Do they have the strength to resist? Tormenting the innocent is the work of demons, while protecting them is God's command. I am merely following His will."

Before heaven and his own conscience, Ricard spoke his honest thoughts without holding anything back, though the way things were going, he might end up fighting this knight of the Order of Flame.

But the knight named Raimund glanced over Ricard and the people, then gave an unexpected answer.

"It is rare to hear someone speak such good sense these days. What is your name?"

"I am Ricard of House Kaldebern, from Stormhertz. I am fighting a war in Adelorn and have come to request the Order of Flame's support. My older brother is also in the order, and I wish to see him. And I mean to fulfill a request from Edmund, who died unjustly."

Ricard openly stated his three purposes. First, to secure the Order of Flame's support. Second, to see his older brother, Bilter. Third, to deliver the reliquary.

But upon hearing where Ricard came from and the name of his house, Raimund looked visibly startled and dismayed.

"Oh dear... Is Bilter one of your brothers, by any chance? Bilter the Red Reaper?"

"The Red Reaper?"

"That is what he is called here. This is awkward..."

"Why?"

"I scarcely know where to begin, but to put it plainly, the Order of Flame is now divided in two. Your brother has seized the order's fortress and is acting as commander. The rest of us could not follow his wishes and have sought refuge with King Santonio."

Ricard was stunned by the utterly unexpected news. Seeing his reaction, Raimund elaborated.

"There had been a measure of division within the order for a long time. Then the Emperor's recent persecution brought it fully into the open. One faction wishes to establish a nation of our own; the other wishes only to fulfill our duty. For my part, I belong to the latter. The opposite of the Red Reaper."

Everywhere one looked, the fields of the Keresi Highlands were as lovely as a painting. The breeze was cool, the lakes clear. Yet beyond these beautiful highlands lurked blood and flame.

They reminded Ricard somehow of the fields of Heiden, though Heiden lay far away in the north. It was cold there and warm here. That was the only difference.

"I must see Billy myself. Can I trust you to look after these people?"

It was hardly a favor to ask of someone he had just met, and there was even less reason for Raimund to agree.

Yet looking at the Red Reaper's brother, who resembled him so closely, Raimund felt a curious sense of trust.

Their beliefs and aims differed, but as a knight, Bilter was the strongest he knew. Perhaps that trust came from the respect he felt for him.

Ricard was similar, yet the impression he gave was entirely different.

"A strange state of affairs. We have more land than we know what to do with, and no people. There is a fortress in Saramusa, with plenty of fallow farmland before it. I will take them there for now and tell King Santonio afterward. Go to Karagosa. You will find your brother there."

At Raimund's agreement, Ricard merely nodded calmly. Then, after looking back at the people once, he set off again with Hashim.

The Order of Flame had guarded the Empire's borders for hundreds of years. Its members might swear vows of chastity, but that also meant discharged and retired members had been settling here and raising families for centuries.

There must have been many great wars in the early days, but time had mingled their blood and made them live alongside one another.

Gradually, questions were bound to arise. Who, exactly, was the enemy? What were they defending, and against what?

They lumped all the heathens together under the name Salaman, but in truth, these people did not even look like the actual Salaman people.

Perhaps, just as things wore down and outlived their usefulness with long use, the once-noble ideals of the past had grown old and threadbare.

Near sunset, Ricard finally arrived. After a journey of some twenty long days, he had reached Karagosa Fortress, headquarters of the Order of Flame.

First built in the days of the ancient empire, Karagosa had later been captured and expanded by the Salaman people, then captured by the order and expanded yet again. It now boasted an imposing presence and impregnable defenses.

It was in a different league from the shabby castles commonly found in the Empire. Perched on a steep-sided hill, its walls were stout and thick, and it exuded majesty.

The Order of Flame's banners flew throughout the fortress. Below it lay a sprawling barracks complex like a village, where the order's common-born soldiers lived.

As Ricard and Hashim rode past side by side, the soldiers watched them with hostile eyes, looking ready to spring at them at any moment.

People began trailing them, some openly and others less so, closing around the pair as though to encircle them. All carried weapons such as spears, halberds, or billhooks.

When they reached the entrance to the fortress at the foot of the hill, a knight approached. The eyes gleaming beneath his helmet had the flat stare peculiar to a man who had committed countless killings.

"If your business is trivial, I cannot guarantee your life. Who are you, where have you come from, and why do you approach this great fortress?"

"Ricard. House Kaldebern, Stormhertz. I have come to see my brother Bilter. I have also come to deliver a reliquary at the request of Edmund, a knight of the Order of Flame."

Ricard answered the murderous questioning with perfect composure. The knight evidently had not expected the brother of the commander he served to appear. After a moment's silence, he spoke.

"Please wait."

He sent word into the fortress. Ricard and Hashim waited amid the hostile crowd, neither showing the slightest fear.

In truth, Ricard was not afraid at all. No, he was afraid. Not of their threats, but that his vague sense of foreboding might become reality. His pounding heart would not settle.

At last, someone emerged from the fortress and whispered in the knight's ear. The knight nodded in understanding.

"You may enter."

Fortunately, he had not been turned away at the gate. Ricard rode up the hill and into the fortress. Inside were knights both in and out of armor.

He dismounted as the man guiding them took his reins. All the knights were watching him and Hashim. They did not openly glare, but their flat stares were menacing enough.

Not one of them spoke, as though they meant to intimidate the pair with silence.

Rather than taking them into the keep, their guide led Ricard and Hashim around it to the rear garden. A large tree stood there, and beneath it Bilter sat on a stump with his back to them.

"I have brought them, Commander," the guide said.

Bilter neither answered nor turned around. Once the guide withdrew, silence hung over the garden, without even a birdcall to break it.

Then Bilter suddenly turned to look at Ricard. Blue eyes. That was the only difference. Their height, build, blond hair, and features were so alike that it was like looking into a mirror.

But that indifferent gaze, devoid of any emotion, felt like a dagger to Ricard.

He had longed so desperately to see Bilter, yet this reunion felt nothing like he had imagined. For some reason, his heart was racing. 'Say something, Billy... Please.'

Something seemed to surge up from depths even Ricard himself did not know, and it took all his strength to force it down.

But oblivious to Ricard's feelings, Bilter turned away again and asked flatly, looking at the ground,

"What brings you all this way?"

Ricard swallowed hard before answering.

"Edmund. You remember the knight who took you away, Billy? I saw him burned at the stake in Nibelungen. Before he died, he asked me to make sure this reached headquarters."

Ricard took out the crudely decorated reliquary and held it up. Without even looking at it, Bilter spoke.

"Leave it here."

"Is that all? Don't you have anything to say?"

"What more is there to say? More importantly, what is that beast beside you?"

He meant Hashim. Ricard felt that something had gone terribly wrong.

Disconcerted, he looked at Hashim, who merely stood there impassively.

"A beast? Hashim is my friend. He guided me here."

"Your friend? Have you lost your mind? You call a heathen your friend?"

Bilter turned to Ricard again, his eyes full of venom as though looking at a sworn enemy. They seemed to blaze.

"... Why are you so angry? You don't seem like the Billy I knew."

Bilter gave a derisive chuckle and shook his head.

"You still haven't grown up, Riki."

"And what have you grown into?"

Ricard's emotions surged inexplicably, lending an agitated edge to his question.

"Exactly what you see. I am the commander of the Order of Flame."

"So? Is slaughtering helpless people all a commander is good for?"

"Don't be naive, Riki. In the end, this will only be over when they are all dead. The heathens in particular are defiling this land. My duty as commander is to cleanse it and establish a pure nation."

"Don't delude yourself, Billy! That's not building a nation! It's committing a sin!" Ricard shouted.

Bilter sprang to his feet, seized Ricard by the collar, and glared at him as though ready to kill him.

"What do you know? Have you watched your Brothers die? Do you know war? If all you have to offer is childish nonsense, get the hell out."

Ricard violently shook off his brother's hand and seized his collar in turn, shouting,

"Come to your senses! What the hell did the order do to you to make you like this?! You were never like this before! Think of your family!"

His emotions swelled until they seemed about to explode. Or had they already?

Bilter shook off his younger brother's hand, then shoved him hard in the chest. Clenching his fists, he shouted,

"Don't speak of family in front of me! Aren't they the ones who abandoned me? The order raised me! War raised me! Fire and steel! Blood! And death! That is what made me!"

The shock was so great that Ricard's breath stopped. His body trembled as though he had been struck by lightning. Through an unsteady gaze, he looked at Bilter and saw the very image of himself in his previous life.

Vengeance, resentment, hatred—and deeper still, a human being conditioned to slaughter.

As Ricard stood speechless with shock, Bilter brought his anger under control, still breathing hard. Then he wheeled around.

"Stop wasting your time here and go back. Go home, or go back to playing at being an adventurer or whatever the hell you call it. As a last mercy to my own blood, I will let you leave. Don't cross my path on the battlefield. Even you, I will kill."

With that, Bilter strode away. Ricard's legs gave out, and he sank heavily to the ground.

All his strength deserted him. It felt as though the life were draining out of everything. The things I am doing, the things I mean to do, the things I have done...

Then sorrow, hurt, and remorse churned in his chest. Even Ricard, who faced everything with indifference and rarely showed any emotional turmoil, could do nothing now but break down.

His childhood with Bilter seemed to pass before his eyes. Running and playing together in the fields of Stormhertz. Holding hands as they slept at night. The scent of grass and flowers, the light of sunset. Bilter smiling as he hugged him and carried him on his back. And that tender heart.

But that boy was gone.

It hurt as though someone were squeezing his heart. Before long, those remembered scenes shimmered through a veil of moisture. His resentment, lost and with no one to blame, turned to tears that fell one after another.

The soft red light of sunset enfolded Ricard's back.

Chapter 28 – History Repeating Itself. End.