The Way Back Home (3)

When the elf opened her eyes, she was standing in a clearing.

Tree stumps were scattered all around her, their cut surfaces clean. No felled trunks lay nearby. Someone had cleared the place by cutting down the trees and carrying them away.

“Did it work?”

“Looks like it.”

The voices helped her gather her scattered thoughts.

She raised her head. Masked men were emerging from between the trees, strolling toward her and chuckling among themselves.

“She's a beauty. Was that bastard Theorad keeping a woman like her all to himself?”

“Bet he fucked her every night. Lucky bastard. Shame someone's going to die soon.”

“You never know. Maybe her ass is still untouched.”

The familiar name brought the elf up short.

Only now did she realize Theorad was no longer beside her. She looked around, uncomprehending.

“Theorad…?”

He wasn't there.

She couldn't even sense the faint, distinctive mana that belonged to him. Where had that frail human disappeared to?

Her hands began to shake. She drew one shallow breath after another while the men continued to approach.

“Look at that. She's upset because her master is gone.”

“Don't worry about him. We're your masters now.”

“Hold on. She's an elf. The captain said to kill her straightaway—”

“Be patient. What are you afraid of? We've sealed off the mana with magic stones. How's an elf supposed to cast anything here? Besides, I've always wondered what an elf's cunt feels like—”

Boom!

Thorns burst from the ground and drove straight through the speaker's abdomen.

Flesh tore. Blood spilled from his mouth as he tried to look down at the spikes piercing him.

Boom-boom-boom!

More thorns erupted at once, skewering the assassins scattered through the clearing. Bodies were torn open before their owners could even scream.

One man, still barely alive, gathered enough strength to lift his head.

The elf was approaching him. Silver hair streamed behind her, and her red eyes seemed stained with blood.

“How…?”

The Black Dogs, Prince Leonhard's personal assassination squad, had buried magic-suppressing stones throughout the area. The stones were supposed to interfere with even a great mage's power.

Yet this elf had just unleashed powerful magic without so much as an incantation.

The sight was harder to comprehend than the wounds that had left him impaled on the thorns.

“Tell me.”

The elf stopped in front of him. Her voice was low, but in the suddenly silent clearing it sounded absolute.

“Where is Theorad?”

The assassin couldn't answer. He genuinely didn't know. Only the Black Dogs' leader, Seamerd, and the elite men who had followed him knew where Theorad had been sent.

“I… don't know. The captain…”

The words cost him his last strength. His head sagged, and he died.

“Trash.”

The elf walked away without another glance.

Theorad is alive.

The assassins had mentioned the magic stones. That explained why she couldn't sense him. Theorad possessed so little mana that the stones could easily conceal his presence.

At least, she desperately wanted to believe that was all it meant.

If I find him quickly enough, nothing terrible will happen.

Her measured steps quickened.

“Theorad…”

She had to find him. Quickly.

“Theorad!”

Her cries disappeared into the wind. She called his name again and again, then broke into a frantic run.

---

Theorad lay on the ground, struggling to make sense of what had happened.

His ears rang. The world seemed to sway even when he held still. He planted a hand on the earth and tried to raise himself.

“Theorad Deharem.”

An arrogant voice came from a short distance away.

He couldn't answer. His head felt as though it might split apart, and all he could do was clutch it as he slowly dragged himself upright.

“You die here today.”

Theorad got one knee beneath him and fought to steady his breathing. Every shape left a wavering afterimage.

Once his sight cleared enough, he looked around.

Masked men surrounded him, crossbows held ready.

“Our merciful master has instructed us to give you one opportunity,” said a middle-aged man standing in their center. His voice was entirely without feeling.

“Admit that you're in love with Princess Benelia, and tell us everything you know about her. Cooperate, and our master will spare your life. He'll even reward you.”

“…Who is this master of yours?”

“That isn't a question you're in a position to ask. Do you imagine we're joking?”

The men drew their bowstrings and loaded their bolts.

Any reasonable person facing so many weapons might have pleaded for mercy or surrendered what he knew. Instead, Theorad gave a weary little laugh and stood.

He swayed, then managed to straighten his back.

He smoothed his clothes with an almost leisurely care.

“That bastard…!”

One assassin stepped forward, but Seamerd, the leader, held him back. Even now, he could recognize the composure Theorad was struggling to maintain.

Theorad adjusted his sleeves with trembling fingers, set his brooch straight and raised his head. Anger burned in his light-brown eyes.

“You worms. How dare you try to persuade me to betray anyone?”

Several assassins laughed. Surely this nobleman had failed to understand how hopeless his position was. Perhaps terror had driven him mad.

Theorad's next words silenced them.

“You've buried magic-suppressing stones throughout the area. You used a device containing displacement magic to bring us here. And now you're surrounding a man without his wand with crossbows.”

He knew perfectly well what they had done. He understood that they could kill him.

“Did you think a threat to my life would be enough to make me submit? That I'd fall to my knees and beg? The thought disgusts me.”

His teeth clicked together.

“I will not make myself that small for scum like you.”

He had neither weapon nor way out. Nevertheless, his voice carried through the clearing with a dignity the killers couldn't imitate.

He looked from one masked face to the next, then roared:

“I am the head of House Deharem, a family of viscounts, and a deputy to Count Leonberg, who has placed his trust in me! Do you think I would kneel to the likes of you?”

Silence followed.

Seamerd frowned.

“How amusing. You would throw your life away for a reason like that?”

Theorad closed his eyes for a moment. His head was still throbbing.

“A reason like that…”

He opened his eyes again and met Seamerd's gaze.

“My name doesn't belong to me alone. My household, the people who serve it, the enslaved people who labor under it, the villagers whose livelihoods depend on it—every one of them is bound up with the honor House Deharem has preserved.”

Seamerd said nothing.

“What do you think would happen to them if I betrayed that honor merely to save myself? If I knelt to men like you?”

People would condemn the Deharem name. Those who had served it faithfully would be branded as associates of a disgraceful noble. Lives would be ruined. Enslaved workers could be sold off or purged because they had served the wrong house. And Count Leonberg, who had trusted him with responsibility, would be shamed as well.

That was what the name Theorad Deharem meant. Noble honor was a net binding countless other lives. To fail it was to drag them all into darkness.

“What would be the point of living as a traitor?”

Betrayal would leave wounds in everyone around him, including himself. That was why Theorad refused to bend.

Of course he was afraid to die.

He wasn't a saint or the hero of a tale. He was only a young man who felt responsible for his family and dreaded the grief his death would leave behind. If there had been a way to escape, he would have taken it.

But if death was unavoidable, he would face it as a nobleman.

Wind stirred the branches overhead.

After a pause, Seamerd spoke again.

“…You could live, and make plans for the future. That's another way.”

“Enough. Don't make this any more miserable.”

Theorad didn't believe they would release him even if he betrayed Benelia and gave them every scrap of information he possessed. They had prepared too carefully. No professional assassin would throw away the chance to finish the job merely because a prisoner had talked.

Seamerd seemed to recognize that Theorad had seen through the offer. He nodded and took a crossbow from one of his men.

“I act only under orders.”

His finger settled on the trigger.

“Understand that I bear you no personal grudge.”

There was respect now in Seamerd's voice. The man he was about to kill had refused to surrender his convictions even on the edge of death.

If he'd been born into the imperial family, perhaps he could have become a wise ruler.

Seamerd dismissed the absurd thought with a rueful smile and tightened his grip.

Theorad watched him for a moment, then slowly closed his eyes.

Facing the end, he felt an unexpected calm.

I'm sorry…

He could not rid himself of the guilt he felt toward those he would leave behind.

Seamerd spoke one last time, with an emotion Theorad had not heard from him before.

“Farewell. May you find peace in heaven.”

He pulled the trigger.

The taut string snapped forward. A bolt tore through the air toward Theorad.

Thud!

It pierced his heart.