Chapter 7

A linen tunic, a belt, leather shoes, a wool coat, a traveling cloak, a dagger, and a shoulder bag were all Ricard owned now.

He no longer had a home to return to, nor any promise of seeing his family again. Looked at one way, a new future and a wider world lay before him. Looked at another, he faced hardships unlike any he had experienced in this life.

At times like this, having a previous life came in handy. Nothing he might do frightened him.

Ricard crossed the borders of Stormhertz, which he had never once left since being reborn, and walked all day with only two brief rests.

Darkness fell early on the mountain pass. As the cool breeze began to feel chilly, the courier headed for a campsite. It seemed to be a stopping place for travelers: reasonably sheltered from the wind, with a pile of black ashes in a makeshift hearth of large stones.

With practiced ease, the courier struck his flint to light the dry twigs and straw he had gathered beforehand. He blew on the flames to strengthen them, then laid on some firewood lying nearby. Soon the fire took hold and began to crackle.

Ricard settled in a suitable spot and took a cloth-wrapped parcel of traveling food from his bag. His sister-in-law had made it by mixing various grains with honey, salt, and other ingredients, then steaming and drying it.

It was so hard that he had to gnaw it with his front teeth or crunch it into pieces, then let his saliva soften it. It tasted nutty, salty, and sweet, all in such perfect balance that it was not merely palatable but a treat. He could feel his sister-in-law's care in it.

"Have you traveled before?" the courier asked out of the blue.

"No, sir."

"Please, there's no need to be so formal with me. It makes me uncomfortable."

"Really? All right."

"It's a strange thing. These days, plenty of fellows who aren't even nobles swagger about as though money has made them one. Yet here you are, a true noble of proper lineage, and you're polite."

"I'm only doing what Mother taught me. She told me to speak politely to adults."

"But is this really your first journey?"

"It is. Why?"

"Well... you don't seem worried or anxious at all."

In this age, if a traveler was robbed and murdered on the road, there was no way to track down the culprit. Human trafficking flourished in the shadows, and nobles in particular were sometimes kidnapped for ransom.

Yet here was a ten-year-old, leaving home for the first time on a long journey, without the slightest sign of worry or unease, just as the courier had said. It was strange. Did he simply know nothing of the world?

Ricard only gave a faint smile. He went on eating for a while, then asked a question of his own.

"Is being a courier a decent job?"

"Decent or not, having work is a blessing. It puts food on the table, for a start. I've met plenty of people here and there through the job, too. Even if I quit, there are a few places I could find work through my connections. I may not look it, but I'm in the Empire's employ. Hahaha."

"That's good."

"Anyway, are you planning to become an adventurer?"

"For now."

"I don't know what to make of it. We live in a world where even nobles become adventurers now. Did you know adventurers used to deliver letters, just as I do? By that reckoning, I'm an adventurer myself."

"Adventurer or whatever else they call it, the name doesn't interest me. What I want to know is whether it was worth going to war over. The eastern expeditionary front, I mean. I think it's called Fernland now. Anyway."

"... Pardon? That's what interests you?"

"It's personal. I understand if it doesn't make sense to you."

The courier certainly looked baffled. But if that was what the boy said, what could he do?

"Still, its reputation isn't all that good. The academy, I mean. I'm not sure I ought to be telling you this."

"Why? Is there something wrong with it?"

"Perhaps there is, perhaps there isn't. I don't know exactly what goes on inside, either. But they say academy students are forever getting killed or half-crippled. I've seen it myself. Whatever grudge these academies have against one another, they don't hesitate to spill blood. They fight tooth and nail, make peace, then go at it again. You're still young, Master Ricard, so they won't send you into those fights just yet. Once you're older, though, who knows? If you ask me, I suspect it's all because the guilds are pulling the strings behind the scenes."

"You mean they use academy students to fight their guild wars?"

"That's what I think, anyway. The point is, adventurers have always been an unsavory lot. The only difference is that people used to look down on them, whereas now they're rather frightening."

For someone not very old himself, the courier kept going on about "the old days" and "back then." Perhaps he was showing off his seniority in front of young Ricard.

So Ricard did not take his words too seriously. Nor did he ignore them. He simply took them as talk about the world at large.

"There must be a reason. Whether it's absurd or important."

"Aren't you frightened, Master?"

"Why? Do you want me to be?"

"No, but if it were me, I'd turn back even now, cling to the lord's legs, and beg him to send me to a monastery. A monk's life is better than you might think, you know. You can go into the village on weekends and fool around with innocent country girls, with no need to take responsibility if you get one pregnant. You can drink, pay no taxes, and never worry about keeping the lord happy."

"The monks I've met weren't like that."

"Forgive me for saying so, but Stormhertz is rather out in the country, isn't it? And people in the central regions tend to be stubborn and stuffy. Westerners are spirited and open-minded. So all you need to do is join a monastery in the west."

"Really? Is Stormhertz in the central regions?"

"South-central, more or less."

"Do I seem stubborn and stuffy to you?"

"Hahaha, not at all. You're still young. Anyway, once I've saved enough money, I'm going west to open a winery."

In truth, the courier had never even been to the west. His work took him no farther than the central regions, delivering letters. He seemed to have built his fantasies and dreams on stories someone had told him. Open-minded beauties, fine drink, pleasant weather, fertile land, that sort of thing.

There was nothing wrong with that, Ricard thought. Grand, modest, or worldly, a dream was fine so long as it gave him something to live for.

"What's your name? I can't keep calling you 'courier.'"

"Arno. They called me 'Rabbit Foot' when I was little. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's running away. That's why this work suits me. Did you know couriers swear an oath, just like knights?"

"What sort of oath?"

At Ricard's question, Arno abruptly straightened and spoke solemnly.

"In the name of God and the Emperor, I swear that I shall not drink while on duty, shall not molest the people, and shall deliver the mail no matter what befalls me. I shall not open its contents, and shall work honestly and diligently. Should I break this oath, I shall become a criminal of the Empire, and upon my death be cast into hell."

It seemed an excessive oath to demand of a mere courier, but the work certainly could not be done without trust. That was why nobles entrusted letters to retainers or other reliable people rather than bothering with employees of the Imperial Guild Bureau.

Still, unlike a knight's oath, it said nothing about fighting. There were no grim promises never to retreat from battle or to stake one's life on defending one's honor. Even so, he seemed to possess a certain professional pride.

In a sense, they were only brief traveling companions. Yet after walking together all day and warming themselves at the same campfire that night, they could hardly help growing a little closer.

Arno had heard plenty of stories in his travels as a courier, and had plenty to tell. He, too, seemed glad to have someone to talk to. For once, the night deepened without loneliness.

Early the next morning, they ground the remains of the dead campfire underfoot to make certain it was out, then set off. They crossed the pass and headed northeast.

At his age, Ricard might well have tired of walking endlessly, but he kept up without a word of complaint. Though he had never specifically trained his endurance, he had run through woods and fields since he was little.

With little to do for amusement in the countryside, the children often raced. Everyone Ricard ran against was older than he was, leaving him no choice but to push himself to his limits. Yet no matter how exhausted he became, a night's sleep would leave him perfectly fine the next day. Then he would run about all over again.

Stamina aside, however, travel always brought the unexpected.

In his delivery work, Arno often used shortcuts known only to a few. At the start of another mountain pass, they encountered a group of people.

A carriage and carts stood beside the road, and people were living in tents pitched around them. There was what looked like a newlywed couple, and what appeared to be an extended family ranging from a grandmother to grandchildren and cousins, along with a merchant and his two armed guards. Altogether, they numbered a little over twenty.

Even Arno, who delivered letters for a living, found this gathering of such disparate people odd. This was hardly a place to settle down, was it? They stared blankly at Arno and Ricard as the two approached along the lonely road.

"Hello there. I'm a courier with the Imperial Guild Bureau. Are you holding a spring festival here?"

Arno approached with an easy greeting and asked what they were doing.

No one answered. The awkward silence had begun to strain Arno's friendly smile when the merchant, warming himself by a fire a little way off, spoke.

"We're waiting for people."

"Really? They must be very important. May I ask who you're waiting for?"

"No one in particular. We're just trying to make up the numbers. But after three full days of waiting, all we've got is a young man and a little boy. Seems a pointless business."

Arno turned to meet Ricard's eyes beside him, then looked back at the merchant.

"Make up the numbers? Why?"

"With enough people, bandits would be too afraid to approach, wouldn't they?"

"Bandits? There are bandits here?"

"Why else would I be sitting around here? Every day costs me money."

The merchant jerked his chin toward several mounds of earth, each marked with a crudely fashioned wooden cross. They were fresh graves.

Bandits had infested the road in the time since Arno had last passed this way. Robbers and bandits were hardly rare. In an age when making a living was difficult and punishments were harsh, many people chose banditry instead.

"Should we turn back?" Ricard asked.

"As you saw on the way here, there's only one road, Master. If we turn back, we'll have trouble meeting your deadline."

Ricard had to arrive at the academy by the fourteenth. Time had already been a little tight when they set out. If they took a long detour, they might indeed miss the deadline, just as Arno said. Besides, Arno was not taking him all the way to his destination. He would need to find another guide in Rheinfurt.

"If they've killed people, they must be past caring..."

Arno muttered, looking troubled. Rheinfurt lay just beyond this pass, practically within reach.

"Spring's only just begun, so there probably aren't many trading parties on the roads. Otherwise, the merchants could have banded together to get through. I don't think waiting will help," Ricard said.

How a child knew such things was a mystery, but he was right.

The merchant seemed to have reached the same conclusion. He had waited several days just in case, but with only Arno and Ricard arriving, he could delay no longer.

Sitting here would only exhaust his provisions, and in trade, time and distance were money. The farther he could transport his goods in less time, the more he earned. Conversely, spending too long covering a short distance meant a loss.

Still, he had little desire to shoulder the risk alone. He turned to the others.

"If you go back, your lord will catch you and kill you anyway. If that's the choice, wouldn't it be better to risk your lives where you at least have a chance of surviving?"

Whatever their stories, these seemingly ordinary people appeared to be fugitives.

"We've already got a fair number here. Waiting longer will only use up your food, too. Let's make our decision. I'll lead the way."

He plainly seemed intent on spreading the danger among them so that he alone could somehow escape. But everyone was thinking along the same lines, so there was little point in calling the merchant a coward.

True to his trade, he had offered something resembling a bargain. The word "food" set the others in motion. They struck their tents and prepared to leave.

Still, only two of them were armed, and there were just five or six grown men, including Arno.

"Good luck or bad, it seems we have no choice, Master Riki."

"Luck isn't something you can only recognize after the fact. You make it yourself."

"Is that so? I'd love it if we really could make luck. I'd make heaps of it, then win a fortune playing dice. Stay close beside me. I'll see about making us some luck."

"All right. Thank you."

The mention of gambling at dice was so absurd that Ricard laughed as he answered. Then the two joined the others and started up the pass.