* * *

The rain had stopped. The ground was muddy, hardly suitable for riding at a gallop. Still, there was a paved highway beyond the north gate, so it should be all right.

Valeri loaded Snow with food, fodder, waterskins, fire-making supplies, spare clothes, a cloak, and other necessities.

He wore mail over the gambeson Lady Sibild had made him, with a surcoat over that, leather combat gloves, and boots. His helmet was tied to the saddle. He was fully armed and armored.

He fastened the cloak clasp that marked him as a territorial patrol officer near his right shoulder and wore his sword on his left hip. His right arm was exposed, while the cloak concealed his sword.

After packing an ever-useful dagger and a hatchet as well as his sword, he paused to consider what he might have forgotten.

But in war and travel, as in life, no preparation was ever so perfect that it left nothing to be desired. When something was lacking, what mattered was the confidence that he could find his way through whatever difficulty arose. He packed that last.

"I'll be off, then."

"Good fortune in battle."

After making his final report and bidding Tancred farewell, Valeri left Torvik Citadel.

With the ground so muddy, he led Snow by the reins rather than riding him through the city. His feet sank ankle-deep with every step, making the gate feel all the farther away.

Near the gate, they reached dry ground, much to the relief of both man and horse. Valeri and the gate guards knew one another by sight from their various encounters, so he passed with only a casual wave.

Beyond the gate, a highway built in ancient times and still in sound condition stretched away to the west. Unlike the damp, muddy city, the sunshine after the rain and the dew clinging to the grass felt fresh and invigorating.

At last, Valeri mounted Snow. To let the horse work off some of his pent-up frustration, he began with a good, free gallop.

CLIP-CLOP, CLIP-CLOP, CLIP-CLOP, CLIP-CLOP.

Most people traveling to and from Torvik went north or south by river, so few used the eastern overland route. Having left Torvik that morning, Valeri saw almost no one all day. Only when he reached the outpost village of Belfort late in the afternoon did he finally encounter people.

Green barley stretched along the paved road. The ears had already emerged; all that remained, it seemed, was for them to ripen gold. They would probably be ready for harvest in a month or two.

The reddish-gold sunlight just before sunset settled gently over the fields. A fragrance impossible to enjoy in the city delighted Valeri's nose: the warm, grassy freshness peculiar to green barley filled the breeze.

CLOP. CLOP. CLOP. CLOP...

Valeri proceeded at a leisurely walk, savoring the fragrance. Ahead, he saw an uphill road barred by a palisade and gateway. Belfort.

The sun had not yet set, so the gate was still open, but no guards were in sight. As Valeri approached, someone came rushing out.

"Who...!"

The man was about to ask who he was when he noticed Valeri's cloak clasp and closed his mouth. He recognized the insignia of a territorial patrol officer. Patrol officers always made Belfort their first stop.

"Can you rest my horse and provide me with food and a place to sleep?" Valeri asked.

Though the man was visibly older, the difference in their standing made Valeri's authoritative manner entirely natural.

"... C-come in, please."

The man looked flustered, yet somehow less than pleased. Was it because Valeri looked young? There was no telling.

"Hey! The patrol officer is here!"

The man called out as he led the way through the gate.

Beyond lay something like a small fortress, too small to be a village and too large to be an outpost. There were houses, a smithy, stables, and other buildings. Small though it was, it seemed to have everything it needed.

Continuing straight along the road would take a traveler out through the opposite gate, beside which rose a sheer rock face. A winding slope led to level ground above the rocks, where another wooden outpost building stood.

Its defenses were arranged on two tiers, and the fortress was so well designed that an ordinary band of brigands would never dare attack it.

It was called an outpost "village" because the soldiers raised families here and settled down for good. Their sons inherited their fathers' occupation and lived as soldiers in turn.

As Valeri entered, the people just finishing their day's work all turned to look. Scanning the village from horseback, he spotted plenty of bows, crossbows, and spears.

"Wow! A horse! A horse!"

"Hey! That's dangerous!"

"Oh, look at his face. He's a prince. A prince!"

"They say he's a patrol officer. Isn't he awfully young, though?"

He could not tell whether they meant him to hear or were merely talking among themselves within earshot.

Valeri dismounted, and someone came forward as a matter of course to take the reins.

"Feed him the fodder I brought first, then replenish it. Mostly dried bean stalks. Give him a carrot first and brush him well, and he'll behave."

"Yes, my lord."

As Valeri stood there, everyone continued staring openly at him, as though he were some strange species. Had they never seen a patrol officer before? What was wrong with them?

"Where is the outpost commander?" he asked, eager to get indoors. He was accustomed to being watched, but such blatant staring at such close range was uncomfortable.

"The commander is some distance away. We'll fetch him shortly. In the meantime, I'll show you in. Follow me, please," said the man who had first met him.

Valeri followed him up the slope, with several other men trailing behind. As they went, the men called out various instructions to the villagers.

"Dear, make sure you check that water barrel. The wood's rotten."

"You girls, slaughter a few old hens and bring them over with some drink. Hunt, take the boys and tidy up around here. Don't forget to unstring the bows. Make sure the weapons are properly tended."

Listening to them, Valeri felt that the whole village was one large family—a family with a defined hierarchy and the outpost commander at its head. Everyone, from small children to the elderly, had a task. Those without one helped others, making no distinction between their own work and anyone else's.

At the top of the slope, above the rock face, stood a watchtower, houses, and buildings that looked like storehouses. The watchtower adjoined a large house, rather as though it were imitating a castle.

Valeri was shown into the large house. There were no separate rooms inside, only spaces partitioned by hanging canvas. He saw a fireplace, a dining table, household implements, and weapons.

A woman who appeared to be the commander's wife was hurriedly clearing the table. On seeing Valeri, she wiped her hands on her apron.

"Uh, u-um, shall I bring you some porridge first?"

"No, thank you, madam. I'll dine with the commander when he arrives."

"Oh... Yes. Of course."

The men who had followed him inside were not standing about awkwardly, but they said nothing. They seemed to be exchanging glances, though he sensed no ill intent.

"I'd like to go up the watchtower," Valeri said. He had come as a patrol officer, after all. Surely he ought to inspect what there was to inspect.

The men showed no reluctance.

"This way, please."

One man led him over and drew aside a canvas partition, revealing a bed. Some small children sat there, their eyes round and a little frightened. At the sight of Valeri's handsome face, their eyes widened further.

"Wow!"

A side door led out of the sleeping area. Ignoring the children, he passed through it and found himself right at the watchtower.

Valeri climbed the ladder. A sentry was on duty at the top. He had been the first to spot Valeri riding toward them and raise the alert, so he was not startled to see him.

The unobstructed view in every direction was magnificent. Valeri could see a great distance and take in the general extent of the barley fields.

North of the fields stretched an endless sea of trees. A group was approaching along the northern edge of the barley.

"Is that the commander?"

"Yes, my lord."

"How many shifts do you stand?"

"Three by day and four by night, my lord."

"Any difficulties while on duty?"

"None, my lord."

"Are you eating well? Is there enough food?"

"We eat well and have enough, my lord."

"How are things ordinarily? Any dangers or the like?"

"... I'm not sure, my lord."

Not sure? That was hardly a satisfactory answer. Apparently, there was something he was reluctant to speak about himself. Valeri did not press him.

He asked a few more routine questions, then descended from the watchtower when the commander seemed close enough.

Back in the large house, Valeri sat at the table to wait. Some of the men remained, while others went outside. Soon afterward, the commander entered.

He looked middle-aged. As he came inside and removed his helmet, his short hair lay plastered with sweat, as though he had been wearing it for a long time.

"You are the patrol officer?" he asked, studying Valeri with a slightly bewildered expression.

"I am. The territorial patrol officer. My name is Wid."

"I'm Edric. An honor to meet you."

Even as he answered, the commander kept studying Valeri. His looks and clothing unmistakably marked him as a noble, yet he seemed a little disappointed, as though something was not what he had expected.

And his name was Wid? Whether Nord or Astrian, that hardly sounded like a nobleman's name.

"My apologies for keeping you waiting. The barley is ripening now, so we've been taking extra care with our watch."

"Not at all. I understand."

"What are you all doing? Is the meal still not ready?"

"I've told them to slaughter a few chickens, Commander."

"Tell them to hurry. Why are youngsters so slow these days? They must have seen him coming from a long way off. They should have started preparing then."

"My apologies."

The commander turned to scold the men who had guided Valeri. It was impossible to tell whether he was making a show of it for his guest or genuinely reprimanding them.

"I'll just wash and be right back, sir. Dear, bring him some porridge first. He must be hungry after such a long journey."

"Hm? Oh, yes."

He had said he did not want porridge. Valeri nodded to the woman to assure her it was all right.

At any rate, his mere presence seemed to have thrown the whole outpost village of Belfort into an uproar. He resolved to keep as quiet as possible.

After a while, Commander Edric returned, washed and dressed in fresh clothes. Several of the men who had guided Valeri came with him, presumably his close associates.

Girls who looked about thirteen or fourteen brought in the cooked chicken. That was the main dish, accompanied by roasted vegetables, assorted other foods, and drink. There was even expensive honey. It was quite a feast.

"This ale is brewed from Belfort barley. It's famous for its flavor."

Edric filled a wooden cup and handed it over. Valeri drank without demur, but it tasted truly awful.

He seldom drank, and when he did, it was usually wine. Ale and beer apparently did not suit his palate. Worse, Belfort's ale was lukewarm and had a strong sour odor rather like piss.

Still, Valeri was not entirely without manners. He did not grimace at something his host had served him.

"An exquisite flavor."

"Isn't it? There's plenty, so drink all you like."

Edric filled his cup to the brim again. Damn it.

"It's hardly my place to worry, but how is His Grace these days?"

Edric asked once they had eaten a fair amount and the drink was beginning to take effect.

"With the Ballsack Opener dealt with, he's been in rather good spirits lately. But there's no knowing what lies ahead. I wouldn't recommend tailoring your conduct to his mood."

"I heard about that. The Salt Prince, was it? They say he's young, but a remarkable swordsman. To face the Ballsack Opener, practically a giant, in single combat and cut his head off! I suppose some people really are born different."

"... Well, I suppose that's how it goes."

Unable to boast about himself, Valeri gave a vague reply and let the matter pass. Still, if they could not put the pieces together with the subject of the rumor right before their eyes, they did not seem particularly bright. Or perhaps the possibility had simply never occurred to them.

"At any rate, it feels as though patrol officers visit less and less often. I know the northeastern river is important, but when the barley starts ripening, those Black Teeth bastards come prowling around. They wouldn't have dared come near us before. They know it too, you see—that the patrol officers don't come as often as they used to."

With the drink loosening his tongue, Edric began airing his accumulated grievances.

For Torvik, river trade was nothing less than a lifeline. The city stood where a river flowing from the south divided in two. The northwestern branch led to Gringen, while the northeastern branch continued to the sea.

Naturally, they had little choice but to concentrate their efforts on the northeastern river. It was far more important, and more dangerous as well. The relatively safe eastern lands were easily neglected.

That did not mean the east was unimportant, however.

"What are these Black Teeth?"

"Wild folk who aren't content with tattooing their faces and bodies—they tattoo their teeth too. And do those bastards ever breed. There are more every day. That's why I go out myself to guard the barley practically every day. Recently, they even carried off a few of our youngsters. So, I was wondering..."

"Go on."

"Could you deal with them for us?"

These people seemed desperate for someone who could fight on horseback. Defending the fields on foot amounted to little more than grappling with the raiders, and any casualties would be a serious blow.

Defending the outpost itself was naturally no problem. The trouble was that protecting the barley required them to go outside and take action.

That seemed to be why Edric had hinted at wanting more frequent patrols. It also seemed to explain the sentry's evasiveness earlier: the trouble with the wild folk.

Edric and the others dining with them looked at Valeri. His youth seemed to leave them doubtful, yet they also harbored a quiet hope.

Valeri recalled Tancred's words.

["If frontier knights or villagers start telling you about their troubles, just let it go in one ear and out the other. There's nothing you can do for them."]

In truth, patrol officers generally did not handle this sort of thing. They almost never did. Unless an outpost actually burned down or the barley was wiped out, they did not intervene.

Even if they did help, it was treated as merely doing their duty rather than an achievement worthy of credit, so they had no desire to take needless risks. With bad luck, they could lose their lives. Even if they survived, an injury to themselves or their horses would be a tremendous nuisance.

Valeri could not help weighing the matter, but in any case, this was something to judge on the spot.

"I can't stay here long. I'll remain for three days. If they show themselves during that time, I'll try to deal with them."

Edric and the others looked half relieved, half still unconvinced.

And whether it was good luck or bad, the wild folk appeared the very next day.