Chapter 146

In the long epic called history, a war might be a single tragic passage, and a battle no more than a sentence. Thus, it was rash to judge the outcome of a war by a single battle.

Yet there were always exceptions. Sometimes a single sentence changed not merely the passage, but the course of the entire epic forever.

The Battle of Valensha, in which Sultan Yusuf fell, did more than shatter his army. It became the catalyst for division among the Salaman people in Sinatria. For someone living through these times, with the insight to perceive such changes and ride their waves, unifying Sinatria might not be a mere dream.

But that was not Ricard's task. Was this an outsider's limitation, or an outsider knowing his place? Had he set his mind to it, he could have built a third power with Valensha as his base. But he restrained himself.

Valensha was, after all, King Santonio's territory. Ricard had borrowed the king's army to occupy it temporarily, and his purpose was to put strategic pressure on Bilter. Most of Karagosa's war supplies and provisions passed through Valensha. Holding this city in his grip was tantamount to tightening a noose around Bilter's Order of Flame.

Whatever the political upheavals or the changing times, Ricard had never forgotten his family, his wife, or his friends for a single moment. He had not lost sight of the greater story of the epic that was the life granted to him.

He did not swagger about as commander of the occupying army. He treated even those of low birth without reserve, and did not mistreat Ahmad, who had converted and become a count after being an emir. Though he had not intended it, people saw humility in his conduct.

By avoiding the limelight, refusing to covet wealth for himself, and faithfully defending Valensha, Ricard instead raised his standing all the higher.

And so the people of Sinatria offered him a treasure of the highest honor. It was none other than a true song of heroic deeds: a ballad.

How could the first songs have been composed in writing? This was no work of a man of letters, but a ballad carried in rhythm from one person's lips to another's. Though the songs had begun in Adelorn, Sinatria composed a new one of its own. Songs inevitably reflected the character of the region where they were sung.

It told of how, filled with devotion, he had heard God's word in the holy city, won a horse called the Red Comet in a wager with a prince of the Sultanate of Mayub, been chosen by the emperor of the ancient Empire, and crossed to Sinatria, and so on and so forth. Like most stories, it mixed truth with things that were nothing of the sort, such as his supposed devotion and the name they had arbitrarily given his horse.

At any rate, Ricard had now entered the ranks of legend and myth. Yet the ballad contained one particular verse. Borrowed from scripture, it alluded to his fated struggle.

And there was the first murder, which came to pass between brothers...

It was the rainy season. Rain fell on Valensha day after day. Thunder rumbled ceaselessly across the dark gray sky. Yet it never vented its fury all at once, as though struggling mightily to hold its anger in check. Or was it sorrow? Was that the sound of sobbing?

The rain spilling from the eaves and beating against the windows was lovely to listen to. It was the sort of sound that seemed to soothe the heart and make one content with what one had. Even the sword propped against the wall seemed to have quieted its bloodlust to listen. But the sound could not reach Ricard's heart now.

The rain left the room dark even in daylight. Without lighting a lamp, Ricard sat by the window, lost in quiet thought. His long lashes were lowered, his half-open eyes seeming to gaze beyond the present into some part of the past. The recent past, or the distant?

Some memories remained vivid no matter how much time passed, while others blurred though scarcely any time had gone by. Even a peerless hero praised by all could not transcend his mere humanity. Painful memories hurt him, and sorrowful memories grieved him. Yet some memories were so beautiful that they made the present seem hopeless and sad.

Sultan Yusuf's final expression had resembled Bilter's when he left home, unsettling Ricard. Even the comforting sound of rain could not easily quiet his heart.

God's language was silence, and perhaps to reflect quietly on the past was to listen to His word. But Ricard had to find the answer himself, and he could not find his bearings.

Just then, someone knocked at the door.

"El Cid."

A knight of the Order of Flame opened the door a crack and spoke.

"We have a suspected spy whom we wish to torture. Will you grant permission?"

"A spy?"

"Yes. We caught him loitering around here for several days. He refuses to give his name, and his behavior is suspicious."

Though torture was rampant in this world, it could not be inflicted indiscriminately. It required a lord's permission, and as the current commander of the army, Ricard held the authority to approve it. But he took a critical view of torture, and decided he should first see the suspect for himself.

"Where is he now? Can you bring him here?"

"I will bring him at once."

The knight went off immediately and soon returned with the suspect. Ricard was astonished to see him. The suspect was none other than Hashim.

His turban had been stripped off, and his already scrawny body was drenched with rain, leaving him a truly pitiful sight. A livid bruise marked his left cheekbone, as though someone had struck him. Even so, he clutched the glass jar containing the crystal flowers tightly to his chest.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well..."

"You know him, sir?"

"This man is my friend. He's no suspect."

The knight tilted his head and looked from Hashim to Ricard. Friends, despite being of different races and apparently so far apart in age? It seemed odd, but Ricard himself had called the man his friend. There was nothing to say to that.

"You should have said so."

Apparently feeling rather apologetic, the knight brushed Hashim off, though he was soaked through and could hardly have any dust on him.

"Enough of that. Bring a towel and fresh clothes."

Rather than thunder at him for daring to treat his friend this way, Ricard simply gave that order.

The knight brought a towel and fresh clothes into the room, then closed the door again. Ricard and Hashim were alone in the dim room. For a while, neither spoke; only the rain sounded outside. Ricard was thoroughly bewildered, while Hashim kept his head bowed, apparently ashamed.

"Why put yourself through all this? You could have come to see me anytime."

As he spoke, Ricard lit the candle on a plate. It made little difference to the darkness, but its light was as comforting as the rain. It was better than nothing.

"Towel yourself off and dry out by the fire. Summer or not, getting caught in the rain at your age could give you a cold."

Ricard lit a fire in the hearth as well. Still hanging his head, Hashim spoke.

"I'm sorry..."

Ricard gave a small chuckle and shook his head.

"You've nothing to apologize for. There's no need to be embarrassed. If you're in trouble, you're always welcome to come to me. Now, hurry and dry yourself off and change."

Hashim was both a fearsome mage and a wise man, but there was something rather absentminded about him. Having traveled through Lunadan with him, Ricard knew that well. Both were uncomplaining when it came to hardship, and in that respect they got along splendidly. Unlike Ricard, however, Hashim tended to drift wherever life took him.

With slow, fumbling movements, Hashim toweled off his hair and body. Then he changed into the fresh clothes and sat by the fire. The lodgings were remarkably modest for a peerless hero, but they lacked nothing and were simply cozy.

Hashim watched Ricard's reaction with his large, deep-set eyes, then spoke.

"The truth is, I meant to wander aimlessly from place to place, as I always have. But then I realized: hadn't all those travels been a search for my memories? And I've already found the answer. These crystal flowers. So I didn't know where to go, and I lingered near you. Forgive me."

"If you have nowhere to go, you're welcome to stay with me as long as you like. I don't abandon my friends. Though I don't hold them back, either."

"No, you wouldn't."

"But you haven't recovered your memories yet?"

"Hmm... Have you never felt it? Longing for something with all your heart, only to hesitate when it's finally before you?"

"Well, nothing in particular comes to mind, but I understand the feeling."

"What if recovering my memories turns me into something other than myself? The way I see you, the way I see the world and its people, might change. Who knows? Perhaps I was a terrible villain in the past."

"I happen to know a little about that. It could work for the better. After all, there must be plenty of good among the new memories you're making."

Ricard's present life was a reversal of his dreadful previous life. He therefore did not believe that having been a villain in the past would dramatically change the person Hashim was now.

"You have a point, now that you mention it."

"Have you made up your mind?"

"Not yet."

At those words, Ricard set his gloom aside and smiled faintly.

"I won't interfere. The choice is yours alone. But if you need help, I'll always be there. Just remember that."

"I will. But what about you? Have you made up your mind?"

"..."

The smile slowly faded from Ricard's face. His gloom seemed to be returning, but being with a friend who had shared his hardships made it a little easier.

"I don't know. I already hold the initiative, and I'm confident I can win if I lead an army against him. But if Billy resists to the bitter end, I have no idea what I should do."

"It's a difficult thing... But isn't there something beyond it? Your wife and friends waiting in Adelorn. For their sake, if nothing else, you cannot afford to lose, can you?"

"I do worry that I'll end up with neither by chasing two rabbits at once. Perhaps I should just give it all up and leave."

Ricard laid before Hashim everything he had kept bottled up inside. Whether he meant it or was merely giving voice to a passing thought, saying it loosened the knot in his chest and brought some relief.

"That, too, is a choice. But it doesn't sound like the Riki I know. Perhaps what you must steel yourself for is accepting what must be accepted. Are you afraid of pain?"

"No. That isn't it. I'm not afraid of pain. What frightens me is betraying those memories. Betraying myself, or something... I don't know. If only Billy would come to his senses..."

"Your feelings seem tangled indeed. Perhaps your brother made that choice against his own wishes."

"What do you mean?"

"Could it be that the hopes of the knights, consumed as they are by vengeance and hatred, have all come to rest on him? If he resembles you, he would be unable to abandon them."

Hashim's words brought a sudden realization to Ricard. He felt a kinship born of shared suffering with all soldiers. That did not mean he excused their wrongdoing, but could Bilter, too, be unable to bring himself to abandon his brothers in the order? Even if they were extremists?

Yet even if that were possible, the reality was that it gave him all the more reason to fight. How could he stand by while they slaughtered innocent people simply for being heathens? Their cruelty was one reason they had to be stopped, but the greatest tragedy was that they were casting themselves into the flames of vengeance and hatred. They could imagine no life beyond it.

"..."

Ricard bowed his head beneath the weight of reality. Deep shadows covered his face.

Hashim looked at him with a troubled expression.

"Get some sleep. Tormenting yourself won't give you an answer, will it?"

"... Didn't you tell me that last time, too? To get some sleep. Haven't you got some healing spell to clear the mind?"

"You do fall back on preconceived notions about magic now and then. Scholars have agreed since ancient times that sleep is the finest medicine. There's no magic better than that."

"Which scholars?"

"Myself, for one."

"Now that's impressive magic."

Ricard laughed again at the absurdity of it. The shadows covering his face seemed to lift once more. Despite his bruised cheekbone, Hashim smiled too.

"Just as you always welcome me warmly, I will always be rooting for you."

"Thank you."

Ricard nodded. Perhaps he needed to face Bilter not with fiery resolve, but with a calm heart.

It had been a simple conversation, yet having someone he could speak to openly had settled his heart a little. Only then did the sound of the rain outside begin to seep quietly into it.

PITTER-PAT. PAT. PITTER-PITTER-PAT. PAT...