“I don’t seem to have any major injuries. Is that so they have room to bargain with me…?”
She remembered the moments just before she had lost consciousness. Bean and Miles had used some kind of concoction to put her to sleep. There had been something in the tea—but it was antidote, not toxin. The drug was in the room itself, and only Crusch, who had been too suspicious to drink, had succumbed. But it bothered her that there seemed to be so many potential holes in the plan.
“If I had been careless and drunk the tea, it wouldn’t have worked.”
“…If you’d done that, we would’ve done something much more terrifying.”
She hadn’t been expecting an answer, but one came. The unforgettable voice belonged to none other than Bean. She’d sensed someone nearby, but she never would have guessed it was the perpetrator himself. Crusch didn’t let her shock show on her face. Instead, she let out an incongruous laugh.
“You never cease to surprise me. That, at least, makes me think you’re related to Felix.”
“You don’t know how grateful I am to hear that from someone who’s closer to that boy than any other. It gives me confidence that he and I really do share a blood connection.”
“You seem awfully interested in the son you gave up nearly ten years ago.” She couldn’t see Bean, but his tone was calm—yet this only spoke to the depth of his madness. Crusch considered it more dangerous than if he had been hysterical.
“I told you. I need him. And you are going to bring him to me.”
“You’re right that when Felix finds out what’s happened to me, he’s likely to come running. But you’ll have another problem to deal with first. My subordinates know I’m here, and it won’t be long before they notice I haven’t returned and come down on this place like an avalanche.”
The contest would be between a duchess and a subsidiary noble with no station. The difference in military strength was unquestionable. The outcome was a foregone conclusion.
Flight would be similarly futile. If they wanted to, Bean and Miles could take Crusch’s head, but this would only doubly sign their death warrants.
“I won’t try to convince you to surrender. But what are you planning? I can’t understand what you have to gain by putting me in this position.”
“I see being blindfolded and chained hasn’t made you any more meek. I guess the ducal family really is made of sterner stuff than the rest of us. Well, that only makes things easier for me.”
“I take it you don’t intend to answer me?”
To this question Bean did not spare any reply at all; Crusch heard his footsteps growing distant. There was the sound of some wet glop dirtying the soles of his shoes. Apparently there was something unsanitary here besides just the bad smell.
“Oh, yes,” Bean called back to Crusch, as though he had just remembered something. “This is where Felix used to spend his days, those many years ago. The room that moved you to take him away from us. Perhaps you’ll understand him even more intimately now.”
“…Is that so? How thoughtful of you,” she answered, her voice thick with sarcasm. “I’ll make sure to put this experience to good use.” Bean only gave an angry snort. This time the footsteps receded until she could no longer hear them, and the blindfolded Crusch was left alone.
“So this was Ferris’s room…” she murmured to herself.
Crusch thought back to when she had met Ferris. If Bean was telling the truth, then she was underground. The room where the cat-boy had been confined as a child was beneath the house.
The manacles on her hands and legs were made of metal, not easily removed. Bean’s attitude suggested he had a plan in mind for dealing with the guards accompanying Crusch. She saw now: She was in a desperate situation. But nothing more.
“This isn’t quite what I was expecting, but it’s a bit too early to just give up.”
Being drugged and kidnapped had certainly not been part of her plan. But if it gave her a way to uncover the secrets of the house, then it might have been worth it. She had only one real concern…
“I guess it was asking too much to think I could finish this before Ferris or His Highness got worried.”
Both of them would no doubt be tremendously anxious when they heard what had happened to her. That thought tormented her far more than any question of her own safety.
8
There was a secret spell called the Sacrament of the Immortal King.
It was one of the exceptional magics, supposedly created by a witch who held the world in thrall before the knowledge was lost. Put briefly, it allowed the user to control corpses according to their will. The witch who invented the spell had been said to be able to bring the dead back looking exactly as they had in life, but that part of the spell had not been passed down.
Most of the ritual had faded from living memory; it was impossible to replicate any of the spell’s effects except animating corpses. And even that most basic manifestation was all but impossible to achieve without a caster who had a natural affinity for the spell.
It was a very rare affinity—no one had been known to possess it in more than a hundred years.
“I’m impressed we were able to come so far in replicating the effects.” Miles gave a happy shrug as he watched the corpse wander around, a revolting scent drifting from it.
A dark smile came over his face. He felt no distaste for the walking body. The dead were a familiar sight to him. It was simply that those who were usually asleep had now awoken.
“Awfully intimidating name for such a useful power,” he went on. “Such fine workers the dead make. I can’t believe we’ve forgotten this ability.”
“Normal people wouldn’t think to put the dead to manual labor.”
“Ah, master, welcome back.”
From amid the dead came a man who was living, yet whose face was no different from the zombies’. A living dead man who controlled the deceased through secret magic, while Miles was the villain who worked with him. It was a place awash in a never-ending tide of sin.
“I long ago lost the good sense to be concerned about such things, anyway. And how is our little princess doing in her underground room?”
“Still defiant. The ones who are born to nobility really are a different breed.”
“Fine. That makes it all the better when I finally break her. You haven’t…done anything to her, have you?”
“I have no interest in such things. She’s only bait, to bring my son here.” The question hadn’t really been necessary, but Bean answered it dispassionately just the same. “How do things look outside?”
“Oh, very busy. Her Ladyship’s vaunted soldiers seem to be quite beside themselves at the sight of our undead fighters. I suppose it would be less human not to be scared by those rotting faces.”
From the second floor of the mansion, it was possible to view the tumult outside. The soldiers Crusch had brought along with her were in a pitched battle with the crazed undead. No sooner were the zombies killed than they would rise back up, again and again. It was enough to give the bravest hero pause.
“We gave them our demands. What is their response? Have you seen my son?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. I don’t even know what he looks like. I saw some land dragons leaving, so I assume their headquarters has been informed, but I don’t see any demi-humans.”
“…Don’t speak of that boy as though he were some animal. That’s my son, who shares my blood.”
Miles had spoken the forbidden word; Bean gave him a sharp look. He seemed not entirely sane, so Miles raised his hands and scuttled backward.
The word son was so often on Bean’s lips. He seemed fixated on it. Perhaps it only made sense, since he was hardly calling the child back out of love. Even Miles felt a certain sympathy for the boy. To have one’s life wasted because of the fervent but mistaken convictions of one’s father was the stuff of nightmares.
“Well, not that it means I’ll hold back or show any mercy.”
Bean looked down over the battlefield with glittering eyes, awaiting his son’s homecoming. Behind him, Miles sat on a sofa that hadn’t been dirtied by the corpses and waited for the right moment. The house overflowed with ill intent and the fetor of rotting flesh. But he only had to wait until the time was ripe.
9
Ferris and the others arrived at the Argyle estate to find the place had become a battleground. They had run their dragon carriage as hard as possible, and it had still taken several hours. The place was hell on earth by the time they got there.
“So this is what they meant by undead warriors…” Ferris murmured. A man tottered forward with the point of a spear lodged in his head. What flowed from the wound was not vital red blood but yellow pus. The man collapsed on the ground. Yet, despite what was obviously a mortal wound, he flailed his body, working the spear out, and then, apparently unbothered by his shattered skull, stretched out his arms and attempted to attach himself to the next soldier he saw.
“A dark spell that makes the dead live. So this is the Sacrament of the Immortal King.” Julius had been watching, too, and now he spoke in a voice heavy with fury at the awful scene. Julius was typically quiet, but given to intense emotion. He was full of righteous indignation on behalf of those whose lives had been blasphemed by this magic. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, and he looked as if he might rush in at any moment.
“—Don’t do it, Julius. I shan’t let you go ahead of me.” The voice that held Julius back was that of Fourier, who observed the situation from inside the carriage. The prince’s stern words caused the tension to go out of Julius’s shoulders, as if he were embarrassed at his own impetuousness.
“My apologies. The sight is simply too terrible, and it raised my ire.”
“I understand your feelings. This isn’t a situation we can overlook. But if we make the wrong choice, it could result in needless sacrifices. We must avoid that.”
Next Fourier turned to Ferris, who found himself quailing slightly under the intensity of his friend’s gaze. Fourier was in the grip of the sharp-edged, commanding air he had shown at the castle and the manor. It had happened before, but this was of a different magnitude. Normally Fourier didn’t seem like royalty—in the best sense—but now his heritage was abundantly evident.
“According to Bardok, it will take three hours to gather enough strength to ensure we can destroy the enemy. We have to buy them time so that the worst doesn’t happen before then.” Fourier took in the battlefield. “Of course, we want to protect any innocents from getting hurt. Both of you understand?” Ferris and Julius nodded.
The undead warriors were ranged against Crusch’s soldiers, who surrounded the Argyle house. There appeared to be at least two hundred of them, four times the friendly strength.
But while the undead had the advantage of being difficult to destroy, their ability to think and strategize was gone. The fact that the cordon hadn’t been broken despite being vastly outnumbered was proof of this.
At the moment, Bardok, the ranking military official Crusch had brought with her, was trying to gather the military strength to overcome the disparity in numbers. Once they had the forces, it would be a simple matter to overpower the undead warriors.
“But that means Lady Crusch might…”
“If we don’t rescue Crusch, then we could have a million men and it would mean nothing. What’s more, it looks like the mastermind, Bean Argyle, is asking after a Felix Argyle.”
No sooner had they finished with the urgent message about the appearance of the undead warriors than they received word that Crusch had been taken hostage at the Argyle house. A letter signed by Bean himself had demanded that they hand over Ferris in exchange for Crusch’s safety.
Of course, they weren’t stupid enough to fall for it.
“But we can’t simply dismiss his demand, either,” Fourier said. “Until we see the Duchess, we have to prioritize her safety, and that may mean going to the negotiating table.”
“Yeah, a table they built. It’s about the worst possible way to negotiate…” Ferris said, not trying to hide his frustration. He glared down at the Argyle mansion.
Normally, it might be nostalgic to see one’s birthplace again, but Ferris felt nothing so pleasant for this house. He had never seen the place from outside like this. In his memory, it existed only as the darkness of that basement room.
“What are you going to do?” Fourier asked. “Bean’s letter said that you and you alone would be allowed past the undead. Do you think we can trust him?”
The warriors leaped without mercy at anything nearby. They never came to attacking one another, but they didn’t seem like they had the ability to do any more than distinguish between the living and the dead. But that was no reason to hesitate.
“I’ll go. Lady Crusch will be in danger if I don’t.”
To Ferris, Crusch’s life was more important than his own, worth more than the whole world. He would give anything at all to get her back. Certainly including himself.
“Ferris…”
“You can’t stop me, Your Highness. You were the one who brought me here.”
“I won’t try to stop you. I know you would go even if I did. Because you are Crusch’s knight. I have no doubt you’ll protect her.”
Ferris was already on his way, and Fourier answered him without hesitation.
With those words, Ferris felt as if he had a thousand armies behind him. After all, Fourier’s words were part of what had fired Ferris’s ambitions to knighthood, part of the reason he was who he was. The pride buoyed him up. But Fourier went on.
“But you should not do it at the cost of your life. I want you and Crusch both back safely. Because you are my life. If you’re a true member of the royal guard, you’ll follow my orders.”
“—”
“You must come back. I won’t lose a friend to something like this.”
Ferris didn’t even have a name for the emotion that welled up in his heart. Fourier had called Ferris his friend many times before, and each time he did, Ferris was just as shocked as the first time it had happened, just as lost for words.
“Yes, Your Highness!”
And then he set out, his friend watching him go with a familiar, audacious look on his face.
Ahead of Ferris was the awful place of his birth, the mistress he cherished, and the family he had left behind.
“You look upset, Julius.”
Fourier spoke to Julius as they watched Ferris grow smaller in the distance. Julius was clenching his fists.
Apparently Bean had been telling the truth in his letter, because the undead warriors completely overlooked Ferris as he approached the house. The same could not be said for the other human soldiers, at whom the zombies threw themselves without mercy.
Julius was at least relieved to see Ferris go safely through, but he couldn’t help being frustrated by his own powerlessness.
“I feel pathetic—to accompany him here and yet be unable to do anything! Why be a knight at all if I cannot help my friend in his hour of need?”
“Don’t get so worked up,” Fourier replied. “There will be many times to come when your strength will be needed. The vexation of this moment is not a sign of your impotence.”
“Er—thank you.” Julius had not expected such words from Fourier, but his surprise was overwhelmed by respect. The fourth prince, Fourier Lugunica, was not known to have a gift for flattery. Indeed, the whole royal family was quite convivial; in this way, they were unsuited to statesmanship. The administration of Lugunica was thus left to the higher nobles and the Council of Elders.
Or so everyone in the nation believed, and Julius himself could not deny that he had assumed as much until this moment. But when he saw Fourier now, he had to wonder if the prince was really just personable. He gradually found himself unable to believe the gossip that ran like wildfire through the royal castle.
“You’re thinking I seem very little like what you’ve heard.”
&nbs
p; “—!”
“Take it easy, no need for shock. I could hardly be ignorant of the rumors about me in the royal castle. Not that I normally pay much attention to them. But I’m feeling unusually clearheaded today. At least enough to plumb the heart of a retainer sincerely concerned for our nation.”
A fresh burst of awe came over Julius, who felt that Fourier had seen through his indiscretion. The sage who sighed mournfully beside him in the carriage was not a man who could be measured by rumors. Still, though that wise man’s eyes saw all, he also exuded congeniality.
“Ferris is going to challenge his birth family. It is his friends’ duty to support what is lacking.”
“Is Ferris…? Does Your Highness consider him a friend?”
“Of course. And if you do as well, then we are in the same position.” Julius found it a dizzying position to be in. Fourier looked thoughtfully toward the mansion. His scarlet eyes played over the house and the undead soldiers fighting outside.
“If Crusch is on the upper floor, then Ferris might be able to manage something… But if not, we’ll have to rely on you, Julius. Take that to heart and wait for your moment.” Julius respectfully accepted Fourier’s words. The knight found himself painfully aware of his own pride. Lately there had been many chances for him to correct his unconscious assumptions, regarding both Ferris and other things. He had no right to take others lightly in anything, nor any reason to be taken lightly by others.
“I see I still have much to reflect on.”
Julius set his hand on the hilt of his sword and waited for the moment when he would be called upon to draw it. It was he, as a Knight of the Royal Guard, who had been entrusted with Fourier. His true worth as a member of the guard would be tested on the battlefield today.
10
“Welcome home, Master Felix.”
Ferris felt out of place as the maid came out to greet him. He couldn’t quite tell if he remembered the middle-aged woman or not. But she seemed to recognize him. He was especially struck by the way she squinted her eyes as if she were trying to remember something.
The Dream of the Lion King Page 15
