The Lord of the Rust Mountains (Complete)

by Kanata Yanagino

  Bishop Bagley hummed quietly. “It appears necessary to prioritize this matter, Your Excellency.”

  “Yes. The Rust Mountains... Fallen capital of the dwarves, and a den of demons...”

  Everyone under the shade of the arbor had a serious expression. It wasn’t surprising. There had been nothing but trouble recently, including many incidents not worth an explicit mention, and now, on top of it all, we had to contend with a ‘fire of disaster’ that would come from a den of demons. It would depress anyone.

  So I decided to laugh.

  “Sounds great!”

  The three of them turned to look at me. I did my best to put on a huge grin.

  “I can go as wild as I like!”

  If you got ripped, you could solve pretty much everything by force. Blood gave very good advice. “We know the location of the problem, and even better, it’s in enemy territory, desolate to the point that there’s no risk at all of me hurting any bystanders! This problem was made for me!”

  I clenched a fist as I said it, and Ethel couldn’t help but laugh. “Come to think of it, you’re right. Can I trust you with this, then, paladin?”

  “Of course!”

  Bishop Bagley and Menel both sighed at once and automatically glanced at one another, then snorted and looked away again.

  “Give the word, and I’ll gather some men and head out at once—”

  Ethel chuckled at my eagerness. “No, I doubt there’s a need to rush it that much.”

  I nodded. I’d suggested it energetically on purpose to help clear away the gloom, but actually I was of the same opinion.

  Everyone here was a quick thinker, so I was sure they’d all realized as well: regarding the “fire of disaster,” the Lord of Holly had said that “it shall not be long in coming,” but he had also promised us “a bountiful harvest” for the autumn. That meant that unless something happened that the Lord of the Woods didn’t foresee, we could safely assume that nothing would happen until autumn at least.

  “I’m afraid that we don’t know very much regarding the Rust Mountains, either,“ Ethel said. “Can I also ask you to gather information?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “I will try asking my friend who’s a troubadour and the dwarves who live at the port. As for the prophecy from the Lord of the Woods, we should keep it a secret between all of us here for the time being.”

  Everyone nodded, as if to say they’d already been planning on it. The period from the summer to the autumn was the busiest time of year for the farmers, who made up the majority of the population. The summer wheat harvest wasn’t yet over, and they had a lot ahead of them once autumn came around: planting winter wheat, fattening up their livestock with nuts and berries from the woods, harvesting fruits, and making alcohol. Now that the threats of beasts and demons had finally been alleviated, everyone’s lives had begun to settle down and they were all looking forward to the harvest. At a time like this, none of us wanted to arouse fear in people by spreading unsettling rumors.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure this will work out somehow.” I forced a smile.

  The duke laughed. “I start to believe it when I hear it from you.”

  “Hmph. Don’t let the hero treatment go to your head, or your complacency will be the end of you,” Bishop Bagley said, showing his concern in his usual way.

  Menel and I looked at each other and exchanged wry smiles.

  ◆

  There was some further discussion over a host of little details, and then we left the mansion. His Excellency and the bishop seemed to have even more to talk about. They had it tough.

  “So, what are we doing?” Menel asked. “Right now, I mean.”

  “Let’s go see Bee first to get information on the Rust Mountains. She should be in the plaza right now.”

  Menel gave a small grunt and pulled the hood of his cloak over his eyes. There was a reason he preferred to avoid attention.

  “Fff.” Menel scrunched up his face as if to say he’d known this was coming. The plaza was filled with the sound of a three-stringed instrument known as a rebec.

  “Near and far away, vicious-looking beasts ran riot. People and horses came and went no longer. The north wind drowned out wails and cries. Around the woods, the howls of beasts echoed.”

  The tale being recited was one I had heard before, of people suffering at the hands of demons and the beasts they controlled.

  A single young holy warrior with the blessing of the god of the flame appeared from parts unknown. The young warrior reformed a beautiful half-elven hunter who was turning to crime in that time of distress, and the two became friends. The warrior saved him from his predicament, and they headed to the city together.

  What they encountered there was a wyvern bent on the city’s destruction. The warrior broke its neck with his bare hands and gained renown. He raised the people’s plight with the lord, who dubbed him a paladin for his commendable resolve. His name drew brave adventurers to his cause.

  At last, the paladin and his party finally headed to the barren valley that was the base of the demons and their beasts. But they were caught in a despicable trap and forced to flee. The paladin fought his way out of the battle with the dark power of his sealed demonblade. But when his friend was gravely injured, the demonblade’s darkness came close to engulfing him.

  As the warrior was nearly reduced to a berserker, his friend the half-elf brought him back with words and fist. Hot tears were shed; an embrace was shared. The two regained their solidarity, and gave battle to the beasts.

  “Thus the heroes marched on the valley, where a great, clawed beast stood in their path. The head of a lion, with razor fangs. The head of a goat, with evil magic. The head of a dragon, with crimson fire. And its wriggling tail, a venomous snake. Its raging roars rent the wind, and its feet shook the earth as it walked.”

  Leading the other beasts was a gigantic beast with three heads called a chimera. The warriors set up a wall of shields, raised their swords high, and bravely took on the pack. Among those warriors was a swordsman also known as the Penetrator, who used a sword faster and sharper than anyone else’s.

  “William the Faraway Paladin and Meneldor of Swift Wings charged into battle together.”

  Around here, the storyteller’s speech style began to heat up.

  “O great god lost to history, O reticent guide of souls! God of the flame, ruler of the eternal cycle, Gracefeel! Will you guide our heroes to the darkness ravaging the frontier, and show your radiance to the world once more?!”

  The chimera battle was tremendous. I listened as Sir William, with his peerless strength, grappled with the chimera and punched it with his bare hands. Ohh, he just punched the chimera and sent it flying. It hit a rock and smashed it in half. I let out a “whoa” in spite of myself. What a hero.

  Menel, beside me, had a huge frown on his face.

  When it came to the half-elven hunter, descriptions of his beauty abounded. Every time he did something, excited squeals would come from the audience, particularly the girls.

  “Ahaha...”

  Young men with brownish hair and blue eyes could be found everywhere, so I didn’t stand out that much. Menel, on the other hand, was a half-elf with silver hair and jade eyes. He couldn’t have been more distinctive. These stories meant he would become the center of all kinds of attention, so he was probably feeling a bit uncomfortable.

  But as the passionate retelling of our chimera kill continued beyond the throng in the proud and happy voice of the storyteller, Menel’s expression softened, a reluctant smile crossed his lips, and he let out a sigh, as if the will to resist had deflated out of him.

  At the same time, a loud cheer erupted from the audience. Sir William had just impaled the chimera’s lion head with his favorite spear.

  ◆

  The tale ended, and tips were thrown. I waited for the audience to disperse, and as the troubadour was packing up, I waved a hand and called out to her in a subdued voice.

  “Bee.”
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  Her pointed ears pricked up. It seemed that was all she’d needed. She whipped around in surprise, and her face lit up with a beaming smile. She came running over and catapulted herself at me, crying out, “You were listening!”

  “It worked out that way, yeah!” I said as I caught her and spun in circles on the stone paving. She giggled playfully. This girl, a halfling troubadour with charming facial expressions, messy red hair, and the physique of a child, was our friend Robina Goodfellow. She was as bright as ever today.

  “It looks like it’s still popular.”

  “You have no idea. It’s my go-to staple thanks to you! Look at this!” Bee showed us a basket full of copper and silver coins. “Made a bundle yet again! Yeeeah!”

  “Good to see our hard work is making piles of cash for someone,” Menel said jokingly.

  “Awww. Okay then, it’s near enough lunch time anyway, I think I oughta pay you guys back a little!” Bee laughed, put her hands on her hips, and looked up at us. “What do you wanna eat, you two?”

  “Meat,” Menel said immediately.

  “You know if your fans heard that they’d be so let down.”

  “Shaddup.”

  “Don’t you have something a bit more, I dunno, something? Elf-like, elegant, you know.”

  “Okay. Vegetables. Garnishing the meat.”

  That got a laugh out of me.

  In the poems and stories, elves were an elegant tribe living in the depths of the forest in harmony with nature, and didn’t have much of an image as meat-eaters. But in actual fact, living in the woods—living in harmony with the woods—also meant eating animal meat as a predator. I had a memory of learning from Gus long ago that the reason elves were renowned as archers was because they were excellent hunters. And that was borne out in reality; Menel was quite the meat-eater.

  “What about you, Will?”

  “Meat for me too, I think... It isn’t often we come here to the city.”

  “You warriors are real meat-lovers, huh...”

  As a side note, there weren’t many opportunities to eat the meat of livestock in the countryside. I would say there were only two main times: when old livestock died, and during the autumn when it came time to slaughter livestock that wouldn’t survive the winter. Cows and horses were valuable workers, after all, and it took quite a lot of effort to slaughter and butcher even a single one. Not only that, but those animals could be taken to the city and sold for cash rather than eaten.

  Due to all those various reasons, everyday meals in the countryside would normally be bread, wheat porridge, and beans, or occasionally the meat of birds and other wild animals that a huntsman would come back with.

  In the city, however, cattle and other animals brought in alive from the countryside were slaughtered and broken down everyday, and they lined the front of the butcher’s. Because of the large population, there would always be people who wanted meat today, and dedicated businesses and shops could survive here by meeting that demand. And with specialist shops came an increase in eateries that depended on them to serve meat. All of which meant that you could get your hands on a meat dish far more readily in the city than anywhere else. Passing it up wasn’t an option.

  “Boy oh boy, you two have no grace at all,” Bee said, spreading her arms in feigned disappointment.

  “Oh yeah, and what about you?” Menel asked. “What do you want?”

  “Me? Hmm...” The red-haired troubadour looked as though she was thinking for a moment, and then she laughed. “Meat, I think!”

  ◆

  A little before noon, the three of us carnivores were drawn to a tavern by the delicious smell of meat, and we went straight in before it got too busy. As Bee secured us a table meant for four, she called out to the brown-skinned shop owner boiling something in a large pot. “Excuse me! What are you cooking today?”

  “Boiled mutton, my dear!” he replied in a spirited voice.

  “Woo! For three, please, and great big helpings!”

  “Comin’ right up!”

  What came out on each of our plates was a well-boiled, piping-hot lump of mutton on the bone. On the side, there were also boiled vegetables, and some kind of bread made by kneading wheat flour into dough, fermenting it, and then steaming it. It was similar to the steamed buns I knew from my past life. Because the city of Whitesails was a port town facing an inland sea, you could see food culture from a wealth of regions here, which was really interesting.

  “Ah, this is Arid Climate cooking, isn’t it?” Bee said, pinpointing its origin in a single glance.

  “Sure is,” came the reply from the cook. “That’s the taste of my homeland.”

  Arid Climate... I’d heard of it before. If my memory served me, it was a land of nomads, sprawling steppes, and endless wastes. True to its name, dry winds blew across the land, and climatically, it was cool. I’d heard that although caravans of merchants crossed that land heading to countries in the far east, it was quite a dangerous place that was scattered with plateaus controlled by tribes of goblins. And finally, the thing that had left the biggest impression on me when I heard about the place was—

  “Is it true that there’s a race of centaurs around there? Half-man, half-horse?”

  The shopkeeper laughed and nodded. “There sure are. Scarily good with a bow, every last one of ’em. All right, I’ll leave you to dig in.” And he went back to the kitchen.

  Menel, still with his hood on, stared intently at the mutton. “From below the neck up to the ribs, looks like,” he said, identifying the cut.

  It looked delicious. My anticipation built. But instead of immediately attacking the food, I first paused for a moment. “Mater our Earth-Mother, gods of good virtue, bless this food, which by thy merciful love we are about to receive, and let it sustain us in body and mind.” I prayed with my hands together. “For the grace of the gods, we are truly thankful.”

  As I finished offering the prayer, Menel and Bee joined in. “We are truly thankful.”

  “Let’s eeeeat!”

  We took our knives and wiped them, then inserted them into the lumps of boiled mutton in front of us and started cutting them up. None of us spoke, although it wasn’t on purpose; it just happened as we each intently focused on taking apart the meat. I’d heard it said that people can’t talk much while eating crab, and apparently the same thing went for mutton.

  I inserted the knife, cut away a single bone and all the meat that surrounded it, and sunk my teeth in. My mouth filled with the umami flavor of the meat and a saltiness that was just a little stronger than I expected. The mutton had a pretty distinctive smell and texture, and every time I bit into it, the flavor seemed to ooze out and really gave me the feeling that I was eating meat. The light and fluffy steamed buns had a mild flavor to them, and worked well to break up the meal, like white rice.

  “This is great!”

  “Ya, this one’s a winner.”

  “Told you! Ah, it’s good eaten between bread, too.”

  “Hm, I hadn’t thought about that.” I tore open one of the steamed buns and stuffed the boiled vegetables and some of the meat I’d cut off inside it. It was delicious.

  But I thought this was a good point to take a break, and decided to broach the main topic. “By the way, there’s something I want to ask you, Bee.”

  “Hm? What’s that?”

  “Something’s come up, and... I want to know as much as possible about the Rust Mountains.”

  “About the Rust Mountains?” Bee lifted her eyes from the boiled meat and knife in front of her and looked at me. “A poet’s poems aren’t free, bucko. Gonna pay me for the info?” She grinned at me mischievously.

  “P-Pay you? Umm...”

  Menel spoke up before I could. “If we end up going to the Rust Mountains, you’ll be first to hear about what we got up to. Material for a brand-new adventure story. Sound good?”

  “Okey-dokey, you’ve got a deal!” Bee nodded.

  I had a bad habit of overthinking comme
nts that weren’t meant to mean anything. I needed to learn to think on my feet more.

  “That said, I really don’t know all that much.” Bee laid her knife next to the boiled mutton on the plate for the moment, and started to talk. “Two hundred years ago, the Rust Mountains were apparently called the Iron Mountains. And there used to be a country there called the Iron Country. It was the underground kingdom of the dwarves, the mountain-dwellers that are the minions of Blaze, god of fire and craft. It was a powerful country that made a name for itself during the Union Age.”

  Bee continued. “But that was just another thing lost in the chaos of two hundred years ago. The dwarf lord in his halls of stone, along with many powerful warriors, died fighting in those mountains trying to hold back the demon invasion. Much blood was shed, many weapons lay scattered on the ground... and once the Iron Mountains became a den of demons, at some point they started being referred to as the Rust Mountains instead. That’s what I’ve heard.”

  It represented the ruin of what iron once was, the pitiful wreckage of former glory, full of corroded weapons and the rusted, metallic smell of spilled blood.

  “I don’t know the details of what happened in that battle,” she said. “There really is no info at all.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because the dwarven warriors and the people of those mountains who fought to defend them were completely wiped out. And also...” Bee took a breath before continuing. “Because the fate of the dwarves who escaped their country was so cruel. You must know, Will, you sheltered some dwarven refugees about a year ago, right?”

  I thought back to those people with exhausted eyes. They had been covered in mud, smelled foul, and had huge beards covering their sunken cheeks.

  “It’s obvious what would happen to a people driven out of their homeland by war, right? That’s why they won’t tell me anything about the mountains that were once their home, or the last battle that happened there. It’s a hard, painful memory for them, one of tragedy and humiliation, but at the same time, their shared memories of glory are the single bond keeping them together and allowing them to hold onto their pride.”