Spice & Wolf Omnibus

by Isuna Hasekura

  There was nothing finer than warm sunlight in the cool season.

  But the stillness was soon shattered.

  Just as Lawrence and Holo started to doze off in the driver’s seat, Holo spoke abruptly.

  “Hey.”

  “… Mm?”

  “There is a group of people.”

  “What’d you say?” Lawrence asked as he scrambled to grab the reins, his sleepiness gone in an instant. He narrowed his eyes and looked ahead into the distance.

  Despite the slight undulations in the road, the generally flat terrain offered a good view ahead.

  But Lawrence saw nothing. He looked to Holo, who now stood, staring forward intently.

  “They are certainly there. I wonder what happened.”

  “Are they carrying weapons?”

  There were only a few ways to explain a group of people on a trade road. Lawrence hoped for a large caravan of merchants, a column of pilgrims all visiting the same destination, or a member of the nobility visiting a foreign country.

  But there were other, less-pleasant possibilities.

  They could be bandits, rogues, hungry soldiers returning home, or mercenaries. Encountering returning soldiers or mercenaries might mean giving up everything he owned – if he was lucky. His life could well be forfeit.

  What would happen to his female companion went without saying.

  “I… do not see any weapons. They don’t seem to be annoying soldiers, at any rate.”

  “You’ve encountered soldiers?” asked Lawrence, slightly surprised.

  “They had long, sharp spears, which made them quite a bother. Though they couldn’t keep up with my wits,” Holo said so proudly that Lawrence didn’t venture to ask what had happened to the unlucky mercenaries.

  “There’s… no one about, yes?” Holo looked around quickly, then pulled her hood back, and exposed her wolf ears.

  Her pointed ears were the same brown as her tail, and like her tail, they expressed her mood so effectively that they were a good way to tell when she was (for example) lying.

  Those same ears pricked forward intently.

  Holo’s attitude was every inch the wolf searching out its prey.

  Lawrence had encountered such a wolf once before.

  It had been a dark, windy night. Lawrence had been following a road across a plain, and by the time he heard the first howl, he was already within the wolves’ territory. Baying sounded from every direction, when he realized he was surrounded, and the horse that pulled his wagon was half-mad with fear.

  Just then, Lawrence caught sight of a single wolf.

  Its posture was fearless as it had looked straight at Lawrence, its ears so keenly fixed upon him that he was sure it could hear him breathe. He had known that forcing his way free from the wolves’ snare would be impossible, so he immediately took out a leather bag and, making sure the wolf could see, dumped all the meat, bread, and other provisions he had onto the ground. Then he urged his horse onward, the wolf watching him all the while.

  He could feel the beast’s gaze on his back for some time, but eventually the howls seemed to cluster around the food he had dropped, and he escaped unscathed.

  Lawrence would never forget that wolf. And at this moment, Holo looked just like it.

  “Hmm… seems there’s some kind of to-do,” said Holo, bringing Lawrence out of his reverie; he shook his head to clear it.

  “Is there a market I’ve forgotten about?” said Lawrence. Roadside meetings to exchange information and advance trade were not unheard of.

  “I wonder. It doesn’t smell of a fight. That’s for sure.”

  Holo pulled her hood back over her head and sat down.

  Lawrence was preoccupied with driving the cart as she regarded him with an expression that said, “So what shall we do?”

  The merchant was deep in thought as he visualized a map of the area.

  Lawrence knew he had to get the arms in his wagon bed to the Church city of Ruvinheigen. He had signed a contract to that effect with a company in Ruvinheigen. If he detoured now, he would have to backtrack along a very roundabout route – the only other roads were so poor as to be passable only on foot.

  “You don’t smell any blood, do you?” asked Lawrence.

  Holo shook her head decisively.

  “Let’s go, then. The detour is a bit too far.”

  “And even if they should be mercenaries, you have me,” said Holo, pulling out the leather pouch filled with wheat that hung from her neck. A better bodyguard didn’t exist.

  Lawrence smiled trustingly as he drove the horse down the road.

  “So, to detour around here, take the path of Saint Lyne?”

  “No, it’s surely shorter to take the road that crosses the plains to Mitzheim.”

  “Anyway, is that talk about the mercenary band true?”

  “Buy this cloth, won’t you? I’ll take salt in exchange.”

  “Anyone here speak Parcian? I think this guy’s got a problem!”

  Lawrence and Holo caught snatches of conversation as they reached the throng of people.

  Some of the people stopped in the road were recognizable at a glance as merchants. Others were artisans from different lands on pilgrimages to improve their skills.

  Some walked; others traveled by wagon or carriage. Some led donkeys loaded with bundles of straw. Conversation was everywhere, and those who didn’t share a common language gesticulated wildly in efforts to make themselves understood.

  Getting into a confrontation because of a language barrier is a terrifyingly unforgettable experience – all the more so when you happen to be carrying your entire fortune with you.

  Sadly, Lawrence didn’t understand the man, either. He empathized, but there was nothing he could do, and he didn’t know what the precise problem was anyway.

  Lawrence glanced at Holo – a sign that she should stay quietly sitting in the driver’s seat – and hopped out of the wagon, hailing a nearby merchant.

  “Excuse me,” he said.

  “Hm? Oh, a fellow traveler. Have you just arrived?”

  “Yes, from Poroson. But what’s going on here? Surely the local earl hasn’t decided to open a market here.”

  “Hah! Nay, were that so, we’d all have mats spread on the ground and be trading the day away. In truth, there’s tell of a mercenary band crossing the road to Ruvinheigen. So we’re all stopped here.”

  The merchant wore a turban and loose, baggy pants. The man had a heavy mantle wrapped about his neck and large knapsack slung over his back. Judging by his heavy clothes, the merchant frequented the heart of the northlands.

  The dust of the road lingered on his snow-burned face. The many wrinkles and the tanned leather pallor of his skin were proof of a long life as a traveling merchant.

  “A mercenary band? I know General Rastuille’s group patrols these parts.”

  “No, they were flying crimson flags with a hawk device upon them.”

  Lawrence knitted his brow. “The Heinzberg Mercenary Band?”

  “Oh ho. I see you’ve traveled the northlands. Indeed, they say it’s the Hawks of Heinzberg – I’d sooner run into bandits than them when carrying a full load of goods.”

  It was said that the Hawks of Heinzberg were so hungry for wealth that wherever they passed, not so much as a single turnip leaf would be left behind if they thought it could be sold. They had made their name in the northlands, and if they were on the road ahead, trying to pass it would be suicidal.

  The Heinzberg mercenaries were reputed to spot their prey faster than a hawk on the wing. They would be upon a lazily traveling merchant in an instant, surely.

  However – mercenaries acted purely out of self-interest, and in that sense, they were not far from merchants. Essentially, when they behaved strangely, there was often something similarly unexpected happening in the marketplace.

  For example, a sharp jump or drop in the price of goods.

  Being a merchant, Lawrence was naturally pessimistic, bu
t pessimism would get him nowhere, he knew – he was already on the road, loaded with goods. All that mattered now was how he would get to Ruvinheigen.

  “So it seems taking a long detour is the only course,” said Lawrence.

  “Most probably. Apparently there’s a new road to Ruvinheigen that heads off from the road to Kaslata, but it’s been on the unsafe side lately, I hear.”

  Lawrence had not been in this region for half a year, so this was the first he had heard of a new road. He seemed to recall that on the northern side of the plains that stretched out, there was an eerie forest that was the source of constant unpleasant rumors.

  “Unsafe?” he asked. “Unsafe how?”

  “Well, there have always been wolves in the plains, but it’s been especially bad lately, they say. There’s a story going around that an entire caravan was taken two weeks ago – and the wolves were summoned by a pagan sorcerer.”

  Lawrence then remembered that the unpleasant rumors were mainly of wolves. He realized Holo was probably listening in on this conversation and stole a glance at her. A smile danced around the corners of her mouth.

  “How do you get to this new road?”

  “Hah, you’re going to go? You’re quite the rash one. Take this road straight, then turn right when it forks. Keep going for quite a while, then it will split again, and you bear left. Though peacefully whiling away two or three days here should be all right. It’d take but five minutes to tell if the mercenaries really are there, but by the time you saw them, it’d be too late. The merchants with fish or meat will have to head to a different city, but I’ll play it safe.”

  Lawrence nodded and looked back to the contents of his own wagon. Fortunately his cargo was in no danger of spoiling, but he still wanted to sell it in Ruvinheigen.

  He pondered silently for a moment, then gave his thanks to the other merchant, and returned to the wagon.

  Holo had behaved herself, but once Lawrence sat down in the driver’s seat, she started giggling. “Summoned, eh?”

  “So, what is Holo the Wisewolf’s take on this?”

  “Hm?”

  “The wolves in the plains,” Lawrence clarified as he took up the reins and mulled over the question at hand – to go or not to go.

  “Mm,” sniffed Holo, idly biting her little fingernail with a sharp fang. “I think they’d be more interesting than humans. At the very least, we’ll be able to talk.”

  It was a good joke.

  “That decides it, then.” Lawrence flicked the reins and turned the wagon around, heading down the road and away from the chattering merchants.

  A few of them saw and raised their voice in surprise, but most simply took off their hats or capes and waved.

  “Good luck,” their gestures said.

  There was no merchant that would shy away from a dangerous bridge – if across that dangerous bridge waited a larger profit.

  The news of a mercenary band traveling the roads would spread faster than a plague. Such was the threat that they posed.

  But for a merchant, time was an indispensable tool. Wasting it always led to loss.

  This is why Lawrence decided that with Holo along, he would risk traveling the plains, despite the rumors of wolves.

  The stories of a nearby mercenary band would surely have an impact on the Ruvinheigen market, and Lawrence meant to take advantage of that to make a nice bit of pocket money. At first he’d jumped to the assumption that things had taken a turn for the worse, but in reality, it was just the opposite.

  And in any case, unexpected developments were part and parcel of the life of a traveling merchant – that’s what made it fun.

  “You certainly seem happy,” remarked a bemused Holo.

  “I suppose,” was Lawrence’s short reply.

  The road ahead led to profit, the watchword of the traveling merchant.

  They arrived at the plains in question before noon the next day.

  There were times when new trade routes naturally occurred, and other times when the powers that be in the region created them. Sometimes grass was cleared to make the road, but in extreme cases, gravel would be laid, then topped with wooden planks, allowing carts to cross the terrain at relatively high speeds.

  Such roads did not come cheaply, of course, and tolls to use them were high, but since robbers along these roads were dealt with harshly, the price was a good value in terms of time and safety.

  The road ahead, with its rumors of wolf appearances, was somewhere between the two types.

  A sign had been erected, indicating the destination of the road that now branched off. There at the fork was a pile of weather-beaten planks, as if there had once been a plan to build something at this junction. Perhaps the builders had intended to collect a toll to maintain the road well, but now all that remained was that one lonely sign.

  The junction sat atop a small hill, and from its crest, one could see down the road as far as one cared to. This seemed like a good spot for lunch. Despite the approaching winter, the grass was still quite green, and Lawrence could look out across plains that he would have rushed to pasture his sheep upon were he a shepherd.

  All that was left of the road that cut through the plains was a pair of wagon tracks, mostly overgrown with grass. Naturally, there were no other travelers.

  According to Lawrence’s mental map, the forest to the north of this road was the most suitable spot for the wolves to make their home, but it was hardly true that all wolves lived in forests. In the distance stood patches of tall grass, and this looked more and more like an ideal plain for wolves.

  Lawrence could guess that much without asking Holo, but he went ahead and consulted her anyway.

  “What do you think? Any wolves about?”

  Holo, who was in the process of devouring a piece of dried mutton, gave Lawrence an exasperated look. “We wolves are hardly so foolish as to be spotted from a place with such an obviously good vantage,” she said, sniffing with disdain. Her fangs occasionally showed as she chewed the meat, revealing her non-human nature.

  Holo’s statement and her fangs brought her essential wolf nature to the forefront of Lawrence’s mind, and he considered complications.

  If they did encounter wolves, the situation would become problematic.

  “It should be well, though. Should we happen into a pack, we’ll just throw them some jerky. We wolves don’t get into pointless fights, after all.”

  Lawrence nodded and snapped the reins to start across the plains; the gentle breeze smelled faintly of wild beasts. Lawrence murmured a quiet prayer for safe travels.

  “A faram silverpiece.”

  “Nope. It’s a counterfeit marinne.”

  “Wait, was not the counterfeit marinne this one?”

  “No, that’s a piece of late Radeon bishopry silver.”

  “…”

  Holo fell silent, holding several pieces of silver in her hand.

  Lawrence was teaching her the names of various currencies as a way to combat boredom, but even Holo the Wisewolf struggled with coins whose size and design were so similar.

  “Well, you’ll pick it up as you use them, no doubt,” said Lawrence.

  Holo was so serious that Lawrence was afraid to tease her, but his effort to be considerate only seemed to hurt her pride even more. She glared up at him, her ears flicking angrily under her hood.

  “Once more, then!” she said.

  “All right, from the top.”

  “Mm.”

  “Trenni silver, phiring silver, ryut silver, fake marinne silver, faram silver, bald king Landbard silver, Mitzfing temple silver, fake Mitzfing temple silver, Saint Mitzfing silver, Miztfingmas silver, and this one is…”

  “… W-wait, now.”

  “Hm?”

  Lawrence looked up from Holo’s palm, where he’d been pointing at the various coins. Her expression was complicated – angry and on the verge of tears.

  “Y-you’re making sport of me,” she said.

  Lawrence rememb
ered accusing his own teacher of the same thing, when he’d had to learn the names of all the different currencies – so without thinking, he laughed.

  “Rrrrrr.”

  Holo growled and flashed her fangs, and Lawrence quickly composed himself. “The Mitzfing diocese in particular issues a lot of coin. I’m not teasing you, truly.”

  “Then don’t laugh,” Holo grumbled, looking back down at the coins. Lawrence couldn’t help but smile.

  “Anyway,” Holo continued, “why are there so many coins? It seems such a bother.”

  “They’re made when a new nation is established – or collapses. A powerful regional lord or church can issue coin, and of course, there’s no end to counterfeiting. Even the ryut silver started out as a fake trenni piece, but it was so widely used it became an independent currency.”

  “But when pelts were used, you always knew what you were dealing with,” said Holo, sniffing and then finally heaving a sigh of irritation. She might be able to tell the coins apart by scent, but Lawrence didn’t know how serious she was about it.

  “Still, it’s a good way to kill time, eh?” he offered.

  Without so much as a smile, Holo thrust the collection of coins back into Lawrence’s hands. “Hmph. Enough. ’Tis time for a nap.”

  Holo stood, ignoring Lawrence’s pained smile. He spoke to her as she made her way to the wagon bed.

  “Even napping, you’ll know if wolves come near?”

  “Of course I shall.”

  “It’ll be a hassle if we’re surrounded.”

  To be cornered by mercenaries or bandits was, of course, troubling, but at least they could be reasoned with. Wolves, on the other hand, cared little for human words. One never knew what might cause them to attack.

  Even with Holo at his side, Lawrence was uneasy.

  “You worry excessively,” said Holo, turning around with a grin, perhaps sensing his concern. “Most animals are quite aware, be they sleeping or awake. ’Tis only you humans who are defenseless in slumber.”

  “You’d be more convincing if you snored less.”

  Holo’s face hardened at Lawrence’s words. “I do not snore!”

  “… Well, it’s not too loud, I suppose,” admitted Lawrence. He found her snoring rather charming, but the furrows in Holo’s brow only deepened.