The Convoy and the Oath of Fealty

Yes, why not go back? Lorist could treat the journey to the Northlands as a new adventure. He could see the family's lands and lay to rest the homesick longing Little Locke, this body's original owner, had left in his soul. Whether he became lord could wait. If things proved impossible, he could simply leave and return to Molent City as a wealthy man. Why lose sleep over it night after night?

With that thought, everything suddenly seemed clear. It felt as though a weight had lifted from his shoulders. Still, deciding to return did not mean he could leave at once. Lorist needed to plan carefully, especially while he waited for Pat to recover...

Lorist stood at the study window and watched Ready drag Pat into the courtyard like a dead dog. He strapped him into the iron Spinning Chair, then pulled the cord beneath it until the chair spun faster and faster. After days of this torment, Pat was barely alive. He had no strength to resist or even scream. Now and then, he managed a feeble retch in protest...

Lorist chuckled. Pat had brought it on himself. Did he really think Dynamic Vision was so easy to acquire? In Lorist's previous life, he and his comrades had been men of iron, afraid of neither blades nor fire. They had taken wounds on the battlefield without a groan and dug bullets from their flesh while joking about it. Yet that chair had terrified them. Not one had lasted two days. After a single try, they had avoided it like the plague.

The sickening dizziness was simply unbearable. Every tough soldier who climbed off that chair went limp as a noodle, unable to control his own body. Four months earlier, Lorist had used Ready as his test subject and all but forced him through two months of training before he adapted and recovered. Bordefinger had tried it once after his wounds healed, then firmly declined a second turn. No one kept at it voluntarily unless someone made him.

Now Ready was putting Pat through the same training Lorist had forced on him. No wonder he looked so cheerful—and so pleased at Pat's misery. People were like that. Once they had climbed out of a pit, they were delighted to watch someone else fall in.

This was Pat's seventh day. Like Ready, he probably needed another two months to recover. Lorist also felt he could not return to the family's lands with only Sertkamp and Pat, carrying nothing. The family caravan his third uncle had led years ago had been worth only a little over a thousand Gold Fudes, tiny by Molent City's standards. Yet a single round trip each year had earned it more than three hundred Gold Fudes, or over a thousand Imperial Old Man Head Gold Coins. A return no greater than Lorist's current annual salary had brought the Norton Family to the height of its power and wealth.

Lorist had no shortage of Gold Fudes now. He decided to spend several thousand organizing a caravan—or rather, a supply convoy—to bring goods to the increasingly hard-pressed family. Whether or not he inherited the lands, this was a contribution a Norton descendant ought to make. It was also some compensation for occupying Little Locke's body.

Organizing a caravan, though, raised plenty of problems. First came its size and cargo. Lorist needed a clear picture of what the family's lands lacked and what they actually needed. Otherwise, he might struggle all the way there with a load of goods only to find that little of it was useful.

That part was manageable. Sertkamp might not be much at cultivating Battle Qi, but he knew something about nearly everything on the family's lands and had a good head for managing supplies. Old Steward Cress had already begun training him as a steward. Each evening, Lorist brought him into the study to ask about the estate or let him talk freely about whatever came to mind. Lorist took notes and pieced together what the family needed.

The question of supplies was settled, but what about people? Lorist could count only himself, Sertkamp, and Pat. He did not know whether Ready would want to come. Ready would not turn seventeen until the end of the year, and even with diligent training, he could only reach one-star Black Iron rank in the next two or three months. The journey carried risks, and Lorist did not intend to take him into danger. He set the matter aside for now. If necessary, he could pay well for temporary help to get the convoy to the Northlands. Surely a generous pile of Gold Fudes would attract someone.

Next came the route. The map showed three main roads from Molent City to the Imperial Capital of the former Krissen Empire, but only one road from the capital to the Northlands. Years ago, Little Locke had traveled with his third uncle's caravan from the Northlands to Molent City in fifty-seven days. He had ridden in a carriage, while the caravan had consisted mainly of four-wheeled freight wagons capable of covering about a hundred li a day. That put the Northlands roughly six thousand li from Molent City.

Back then, the former Krissen Empire still existed and its roads were fairly open. Now it had split into three kingdoms and seven duchies, making border crossings a headache. As a nobleman returning to inherit his family's lands, with a convoy carrying goods rather than trading them, Lorist supposed he would not have to pay much in transit taxes. He needed to find out for certain. Perhaps he could contact Peterson? The Peterson Merchant Guild surely sent caravans to the Imperial Capital. Traveling alongside one would make things much easier, and he could work out the final leg to the Northlands once he got there.

Finally, there was the convoy's defense. The lands of the former Krissen Empire were said to be far from peaceful. Merchants were often robbed, with many killed or wounded. Such reports appeared regularly in the Molent Daily and the Falikau Commercial Gazette. Lorist had read too many to neglect security. He decided to pay for a mercenary company to escort the convoy and visited the Mercenary Guild to ask about prices.

Lorist returned from the Mercenary Guild with a dark expression. Who would have thought that hiring a company of forty or fifty mercenaries to escort a small convoy to the Northlands would cost a thousand Gold Fudes? The Gold-rank captain told him plainly that this was the minimum. If the convoy had more than twelve wagons, or if its cargo included weapons and armor, the price would double. He was not trying to gouge Lorist. He had no choice.

After six years of war over the throne, the people of the former Krissen Empire were destitute. Fighting raged everywhere, and bandits infested the roads. Even some nobles and lords disguised themselves as robbers to raid travelers. If Lorist's convoy carried weapons and armor, the bandits would certainly target it. The mercenaries might have to fight their way through to complete the job.

Unfortunately, Lorist did intend to bring weapons and armor. Sertkamp had said the family's lands were badly short of such equipment. An escort fee of two thousand Gold Fudes was more than double the value of the equipment itself. Rather than hire a company, he might as well recruit a hundred Silver-rank mercenaries himself. At twenty gold coins each for a trip to the Northlands, plenty would be eager to sign up. He set the escort question aside too.

Lorist grew busy. He spent his days running around Molent City's commercial district, asking prices for the supplies he meant to take to the family's lands. Perhaps he regarded the delivery as another mercenary commission, because he had given little thought to what he would do afterward. He planned to stay on the estate for a while, then return. Bringing the family so much aid would fulfill Little Locke's duty to them. After that, Lorist could enjoy his life in Molent City with a clear conscience.

What Lorist had not expected was that others would read a different meaning into his recent activity. Ready was the first to ask him about it. "Master, are you going back to the family's lands?"

Lorist nodded. He did mean to return, though he had yet to decide how long he would stay or whether he would become lord. Since Ready had come to him, he might as well explain his plans for the boy. Leaving him here to look after the house would be sensible. "Ready, you should stay here. The Northlands are remote, and it's a long journey. There may be danger, so you should—"

"No, Master. I'm going with you." Ready cut him off firmly. "I'm your attendant. How could I leave you? I won't let you leave me behind."

Lorist stared at him. "What if Old Garr and El object? It's a long, dangerous road..."

"I came to Molent City to join their mercenary company, but they never formed one. They started an association instead. I'm not going to stay with them. I have no family left. I follow you now, Master, so wherever you go, I go. No one can stop me!" Ready's face flushed as he spoke. He had clearly made up his mind.

"All right. We'll go together." Lorist did not want Ready to feel abandoned. The boy was stubborn and inclined to dig in his heels. Besides, Lorist intended to come back. He could take Ready along for the adventure. And so the party bound for the Northlands gained another member.

As Sertkamp left the study, he met Bordefinger coming upstairs. He stepped aside at once and bowed respectfully. He had long been curious about this middle-aged mercenary, whom his young master treated as an honored guest. Bordefinger had returned from a mercenary job a few days earlier and questioned him at length about the Northlands and the Norton Family. When Sertkamp learned that Bordefinger was also from the Northlands and had once commanded a battalion in the former Krissen Empire's Heavy Infantry Corps, his respect had only grown.

"Is Locke in the study?" Bordefinger asked.

"Yes," Sertkamp replied.

"Thank you."

Lorist was compiling a list of supplies for the family. He had called Sertkamp in to make sure he had overlooked nothing. The list showed just how few resources the family's lands could provide. He wondered how they had survived in the Northlands at all. Now the scale of the problem was giving him a headache. Meeting every need on the list would require a hundred long-distance freight wagons, perhaps more. Leading a convoy that size all the way to the Northlands was beyond him. He would have to cut the list down to the most urgent supplies. Twenty or thirty wagons would be much easier to manage.

"When are you going back?" Bordefinger asked.

"Ah, Borg. You're here." Lorist greeted him, leaned back, and stretched. "I have to wait for Pat to recover. Another two months or so. I'm planning to leave around November twentieth."

"I see." Bordefinger nodded. "When I returned the other day, I asked Sertkamp how your family was doing. Trouble inside and out. I thought you wouldn't go back."

"I have no choice. My family needs me. As a descendant of Norton, I have to share its hardships." Lorist shook his head with a smile. That sounded a little too heroic. He had overdone it, as though he really meant to give up everything in Molent City and return to the family's lands to suffer.

"Anyway, Borg, I'm glad you came. I have something for you." Lorist hurried to change the subject.

He opened a drawer, took out a high-level Battle Qi Manual and five gold certificates, and laid them on the desk.

"Your Battle Qi has the Metal Attribute, doesn't it? I got this manual for you. It can take you to the peak of Gold rank. It also contains notes its original owner wrote after becoming a Great Swordsman. My former girlfriend gave it to me when we broke up, but it's no use to me. I'd like you to have it. I hope you reach Gold rank soon. Whether you become a Great Swordsman after that will be up to you. Don't refuse. Consider it a parting gift."

Bordefinger lowered his head. His body trembled slightly...

Lorist did not notice. He was busy explaining his plans for Bordefinger's family. "As for these five hundred gold coins, they aren't for you. They're gifts from a teacher to his students, Shiward and dear Alisha. You'll hold them for now. Shiward has talent, but make sure he eats well and exercises. Once his Battle Qi awakens, you can teach him the basics. If his attribute differs from yours, I'll find a high-level Battle Qi Manual for him."

"One more thing. I doubt you'll want to keep living here after I leave. I've asked El to buy a house near the Red Raven Tavern for your family. Then Old Garr can look after Shiward and Alisha whenever you're away on mercenary jobs. You should think about my other suggestion too, Borg. If you're willing, I can have the academy hire you as an instructor. Once you reach Gold rank, you can live here. It would be good for the children..."

Before Lorist could finish, Bordefinger stood, turned, and left without a word.

"Uh..." Lorist stared after him. What was that supposed to mean?

A little later, footsteps sounded in the corridor, followed by a knock. Bordefinger had returned.

He had changed into formal clothes that looked like a former Krissen Empire officer's dress uniform, complete with a sword. He stepped forward solemnly, knelt on one knee before Lorist, and raised his sword above his head in both hands. Bowing his head, he declared, "Gurei Bordefinger, former commander of the Ninth Battalion, Third Heavy Infantry Corps of the former Empire's White Lion Legion, willingly takes Norton Lorist as his liege and pledges his loyalty to the Norton Family. May the God of War grant me the chance to earn honor beneath Norton's banner and prove worthy of my lord's faith."

Lorist leaped to his feet in shock. This was an oath of fealty, the sort of ceremony subjects used to pledge loyalty to an emperor, a King, or a Grand Duke. When offered to a noble, it bound the man's fate to his lord's. Rich or poor, the lord would have his loyalty for life. Even if the lord rebelled, he would follow him to the end. It was a bond deeper than that between a family knight and the head of his house.

"Borg, what are you...?" Lorist had no idea what to do.

Bordefinger remained kneeling, head bowed and body motionless.

Weren't both sides supposed to discuss an oath of fealty beforehand? Who sprang one on a person like this? Lorist had little choice. He stepped forward, took the offered sword, and drew it. He lightly tapped the blade twice against Bordefinger's head and each shoulder, then recited, "From this day on, our blood is bound. You regard me as your liege, and I regard you as my brother. Let the God of War witness our oath, and let time record the glory to come."

Lorist had to answer. If he hesitated too long, Bordefinger would take it as a rejection—the gravest of insults. Some men would kill themselves on the spot over such a slight. Others would become lifelong enemies.

Bordefinger accepted his sword back, stood, and bowed deeply. "My lord."

Lorist gave a rueful smile. "Borg, why? You could have stayed out of this and lived freely in Molent City. Why jump into the fire with me?"

Bordefinger chuckled. "I wasn't going to stay in Molent City. Truthfully, I've wanted to see my home in the Northlands for a long time. But if I went back, I'd have to join some family there. I'd rather follow you. Besides, I owe you a great deal. Who better to take as my liege?"

"What about the children?" Lorist felt another headache coming on.

"I asked Shiward. He said you're his teacher, so of course he's going with you. As for Alisha, she should grow strong like a wild thornflower, not frail like a flower in a greenhouse. I think you spoil her too much. A daughter of the Northlands ought to return and be tempered by its wind and snow."

Lorist sighed. Fine. The party traveling to the Northlands now included Bordefinger and his family.

Bordefinger stepped forward and picked up the high-level Metal Attribute Battle Qi Manual. "Now I can accept this with a clear conscience. I hope I can reach Gold rank in the next two months and serve you better."

He turned to leave.

"Borg, don't call me 'my lord.' Call me by name, like before," Lorist said.

"Of course, Lord Locke."