Chapter 4
The journey along the main road was relatively smooth. It took a full day just to leave the capital and pass through the city beneath the imperial palace. That night, they stayed in the bustling city.
By the third day, the roads were still well paved, and they were able to stop in a fairly large town.
After ten days, the roads began to show many cracks, and now they had to ride all day just to reach a place that could even be called a village.
On the twelfth day after departure, Liberte and the duke’s party set up camp.
Unbefitting of an imperial princess’s entourage, their numbers were very small. Liberte and Rosemary, two coachmen, five guards, the duke, and his two retainers—that was all.
The duke rode at the head of the procession, while Liberte traveled inside the carriage, guarded by the soldiers, so the two of them had little chance to see each other face to face.
“The Duke of Frosta says we cannot reach a village today, so we must camp here.”
The carriage stopped, and a guard’s voice called out. Until the tents were raised, she was to wait inside the carriage. That they were setting camp while daylight remained meant there was no settlement within reach before nightfall.
At last, the tents they had carried in the wagons would prove their worth. Outside grew busy. When Rosemary cast a silent glance at Liberte, she nodded. From the hidden compartment beneath the seat, Rosemary pulled out Liberte’s jewelry box.
In silence, the two women wrapped it in Rosemary’s old headscarf. Peeking through a crack in the curtain, Liberte saw the coachmen, guards, the duke and his men all preoccupied with pitching tents.
She quietly shut the curtain again to finish their own preparations.
A large bonfire was set in the center, with tents for the guards and a spacious one for Liberte. The duke’s tent was pitched a little apart.
One soldier had caught a rabbit, and the coachman cooked a stew with the meat. Bread and fruit bought in the last town were served too—luxurious for a campsite.
The duke and his men ate with the guards and coachmen at the fire, but Liberte and Rosemary, wanting to check the belongings they had smuggled from the carriage, dined inside the tent.
As soon as they finished eating, the sun was already setting. In the forest, the night falls quickly.
Only once it was completely dark did Liberte and Rosemary step out of their tent. The guards tried to follow, but she forbade it. Leaving behind an order not to come, they walked toward the duke’s tent.
Hidden within her wide skirts, Rosemary carried the box wrapped in cloth. Standing before the tent, they looked around—thankfully, the guards were far away, busy arranging their night watch.
Just as Liberte cleared her throat to announce herself, a low voice came from within.
“Captain, are you truly going to keep moving like this? At this rate it’ll take more than three months.”
“Camping out every night is troublesome enough. And she’s a high lady, isn’t she? Surely she won’t be satisfied eating what we eat. Captain, can’t you say something?”
The duke’s retainers—likely newly knighted men—were grumbling freely. Liberte nearly laughed at the absurdity, but then felt something strange.
“It’s an order. Our duty is to obey. If you have complaints, tell her yourself when you see her.”
The duke’s voice. A tone she had never heard from him before. Liberte tilted her head slightly. Tell her? Directly? Who and what were they talking about?
She was about to think further when Rosemary nudged her. A glance showed the guards watching them from afar. Now was not the time. Liberte pushed aside her doubts and cleared her throat.
The tent flap opened, and a startled young knight quickly ushered her inside.
The duke, too, looked surprised. He hurriedly placed his hand over his chest and bowed.
Liberte inclined her head slightly, then turned to close the tent flap herself. The duke began to speak, but she raised a finger to her lips. Outside, an unnatural rustling could be heard.
The duke and his knights seemed to notice as well; the air in the tent grew tense. So they were being eavesdropped on after all. Liberte clicked her tongue.
“I came with a few questions. How long until we reach the next village?”
She spoke loudly, as if for listeners outside, while sliding forward a note she had prepared. The duke frowned, and his knights, peering over his shoulder, read the message with puzzled faces.
They are listening outside. Please answer only what I ask aloud.
“There are scattered farmsteads here and there, but to reach anything one could call a village, you must ride three days.”
“Quite far, then. Are the roads passable for a carriage?”
Liberte nodded. Rosemary, standing silently by, placed the scarf-wrapped box before the duke. Then came a second note. The tent resounded only with the voices of Liberte and the duke.
Forgive me, but ask nothing, and keep this safe until we arrive in the North.
“The roads are already in poor shape. From tomorrow, we may have to travel unpaved paths.”
Though his gaze darted sharply between Liberte, Rosemary, and the box, the duke answered her aloud questions faithfully. Arms crossed, his face seemed deep in thought. The knights only watched in silence.
“Your Grace, when should we prepare to depart tomorrow?”
At Rosemary’s question, the duke nodded as though understanding. Liberte handed him a third note. This one, the duke deliberately passed to his knights as well. Their eyes widened, and their faces darkened.
One of the younger knights nearly blurted something, but caught himself and clapped a hand over his mouth.
“When the sun rises, we’ll eat a simple meal and depart immediately. Be ready.”
“That is answer enough. Thank you.”
When his last words were spoken, Liberte bowed her head slightly and left the tent. She spotted one of her guards hurriedly trying to hide against the wall, but ignored him and walked back toward her own tent.
From the forest came the sound of running feet. Pathetic, she thought with a click of her tongue. Not a single move outside her expectations. She stopped, lifted her head, and gazed at the hazy moonlight and faint stars. “It will be a long night,” she muttered, half a sigh.
Prepare for battle.
That was the message on the last note.
***
The sharp sound of a signal arrow split the wind. Liberte drew a deep breath and slowly opened her eyes. Dawn had not yet broken; the eastern sky was still a dark blue.
As if waiting for the moment, a chorus of war cries erupted. Perhaps to flaunt their numbers. Liberte frowned, and Rosemary clicked her tongue. They had hoped their fears were unfounded, but in the end, trouble had come. Almost laughably inevitable.
She reached for the sword lying within easy reach. The familiar weight of the scabbard filled her left hand as she gripped it tight. Tension threatened to burst within her chest. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Rosemary, their eyes met. No words were needed. Together, they threw open the tent flap.
The shouts were deafening. The sky was still dark, and the only light came from the raiders’ blazing torches, casting red and yellow firelight. Narrowing her eyes, Liberte scanned the enemy.
The guards who should have been fighting in front were nowhere to be seen. Likely, they had slipped away to join the ambushers, hoping for profit.
“There! That’s her!” a rough voice shouted.
At the cry, Liberte instinctively spun, drawing her blade. Metal clashed with a grating shriek. A dull axe head bore down on her with crushing strength, wielded by a giant two heads taller than she.
Had her sword been of lesser steel, it might have snapped on the spot. The overwhelming force made her arms tremble violently.
“What are you doing?! Focus!”
Rosemary’s sharp voice cut through. In the next instant, her sword flashed between them, and blood spurted from the giant’s arm. Roaring in pain, he lunged with his remaining hand, but Rosemary was faster.
A silver arc sliced the air, and with a heavy thud, he collapsed.
“Don’t harm the horses! They fetch a price!!”
The bandit leader’s shout carried over the din. To worry about profit even now—absurd. Liberte let out a short laugh despite herself. At once she steadied her stance as another blade came for her. She parried the dagger with the scabbard in her left hand and thrust her sword straight into the attacker’s throat.
The next foe fell to a sweeping cut. Her lips pressed tight, her crimson eyes flared. Kill, or be killed. Whatever promises they had been given, the raiders attacked with ferocious will.
Liberte’s movements were like a dance, her tied hair swirling in arcs as she spun. Wherever her blade went, enemies fell. Her eyes shone sharply. Amidst the clash, her gaze flickered here and there as if checking on her companions.
Around Rosemary, too, enemies were dropping—her sword tracing silver lines through the night, scattering drops of blood, whether her own or theirs she could not tell. The young knights fought as well, clad in light armor, their disciplined motions so precise that even in a brief glance, she was impressed. And the duke—
His height and build matched the great two-handed sword he wielded, cutting down foes with ease. As they said, he was well-versed in battling monsters; his mastery of his weapon was obvious.
His enemies faltered, retreating despite their numbers. His swordsmanship was so formidable that it drew the eye, impossible to look away. Liberte wished she could watch longer, but another foe rushed at her.
She struck down her attacker, and her gaze found the duke again. At that moment, as he felled another, their eyes met. He looked briefly surprised, then flashed a grin. The same grin he had worn when she first met him. Liberte smiled back. Then, gripping her sword anew, she plunged into the midst of the enemy.
