The Lord of the Rust Mountains (Complete)

by Kanata Yanagino

  It had to be difficult for her to even speak right now, yet she still turned down treatment, preferring to die without fruitless attempts to cling onto life. Elves really were dignified.

  As I was wondering how I could convince her, Menel took her hand and lowered it. “Don’t speak.”

  “No... You must... North... village of... others...”

  “Ugh! Dammit, accept the treatment, wood-kin!”

  “Wood...kin...?” The elf’s eyes, which were starting to lose their focus, opened wide and took in Menel. She met the direct gaze of his jade eyes.

  “This is no ordinary priest,” he said. “Friend of the forest, you will survive. Accept this miracle.” His tone was final. “Pray.”

  The elf was barely conscious now, but as Menel spoke those words to her while holding her hand, I was certain, although it was very slight, that I saw her nod her head.

  And so, I offered a prayer to my god.

  God, if you may, please heal this noble elf.

  The prayer became a miracle, and the miracle became a faint light that shone down upon her body. Very soon after, the unconscious elven woman’s breathing slowly started returning to normal.

  We made sure that the hydra was definitely dead and that the female elf had been healed. Then I handed my gear to Al, pulled the elf’s arms up, crouched down, and lifted her over my shoulders. It was like the fireman’s carry that firemen and lifeguards in my previous world used for transporting people in need of rescue. It made a person easy to lift and fast to move around with.

  We had to move immediately. We’d fought a rowdy battle and gotten blood everywhere. Already we could hear the raspy screeching of monstrous birds circling the cloudy sky overhead in search of carrion. If we didn’t leave this place as soon as possible, we were guaranteed to encounter new enemies drawn here by the smell of blood.

  After recovering his longsword from the hydra’s carcass, Menel said, “Wait a sec.”

  “We don’t have much time,” Reystov replied with a dubious look.

  “I’ll be quick.” Menel wrapped a cloth around his hand, pulled out his dagger, and started doing some kind of work on the hydra carcass. He inserted the blade carefully into the joint behind its fangs in its upper jaw, equivalent to the joint between the cheek and the ear in humans. “Good,” he said, and he poured the jet-black bodily fluid from the hydra into a small bottle he had with him.

  “Is that... venom from its venom gland?” I asked.

  “Bet we’ll find a use for it.”

  “Be careful.”

  I’d learned a little about poisons from Blood and Gus. They were hard to handle; storing them while preserving their toxicity and making intelligent use of them when needed were both difficult tasks that required proper knowledge.

  “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

  Menel was a talented hunter and a warrior of the forest. He knew more than me about how to handle poisons from plants, animals, and beasts, so I was probably worrying for nothing.

  “Sorry about that. Let’s go.”

  With that, we trekked back to the boat through the bog. Based on their physique and equipment, Al and Ghelreis looked like they were finding it difficult to walk, but I felt as if my situation was even worse, with the weight of the elf over my shoulders pressing my feet deeper into the mud. I used my strength to force my way through. Muscle power came in useful even at times like these. I was so glad I’d trained!

  “That hydra...” Al mumbled as we walked. “What a fight that was.” His hands were trembling slightly. Now that I thought about it, that was the first time he’d fought anything so large.

  “Absolutely,” Ghelreis said. “We would have been in some trouble had we not fought it together.”

  “That old champion Berkeley killed one single-handed,” Reystov chipped in. “So they say.”

  The Berkeley Tale of Valor was an old epic that Bee told from time to time. In the days when the traces of myth were still common in the world and the evil gods’ minions were prevalent, the name of the wandering warrior Berkeley was spoken everywhere in the ancient kingdoms.

  Berkeley served Volt, god of lightning and judgment. He was brave and noble and defeated many monsters, wielding his immense power for the sake of innocent people. However, he had an intense fondness for the pleasures of the flesh, and one day, a twist of fate and the jealousy of a wicked woman conspired to create the conditions for his downfall. In many ways, he was the perfect example of a hero.

  “Starting to doubt it now I’ve seen the real thing, though. No one could take one of them down alone... Or, hmm.” Menel turned to look at me.

  “What?”

  “No, was just thinking you could probably manage it...” All the others turned to look at me with interest, so I decided to give it serious thought.

  It would probably be easy if I could blast the hydra with a powerful Word from outside its range. However, it was unrealistic to think that I could spot a hydra living in a marshland of swirling mist and attack it without it noticing. So I was going to have to assume I’d be running into it in the bog itself. I also decided to assume I’d been anticipating fighting a hydra and had come properly prepared with weapons enhanced with fire Signs or something.

  If I protected myself with a good magic shield and spent the opening stages of the battle just chopping off as many of its heads as I could, or if I did what Berkeley did and held one of its edgemost necks against my side, using it as a shield so I could be the one dragging the hydra around, maybe it would work out somehow? With several layers of physical enchantment spells and blessings, it would probably be alright.

  Of course, given that I would be fighting a hydra alone in a swamp, there would always be a danger of something unexpected killing me. But still, even without considering the dirty trick of pulling out Overeater—

  “I think my chances wouldn’t be too bad,” I said.

  Menel bent his neck dramatically back to look straight up at the heavens and apologized to Volt for having doubted the accomplishments of his hero.

  ◆

  We all returned to the boat, covered in mud, and loaded our gear into it. At the same time, we laid out sheets and blankets for the still-unconscious elf (whose name we were yet to discover) and wrapped her up in them to keep her from getting cold. Then it was back into the thigh-high mud to push the boat back to the river.

  Slowly, the boat began moving again, following the current.

  “Hmm...”

  “Eck. Mud everywhere. Didn’t realize we were this bad.”

  “Ahh! Leeches?!”

  “Burn ’em off.”

  “I’ll get some water and things ready.”

  We’d all undergone a mud baptism, so we used benediction, fairy blessings, magic, and more to get rid of the mud and make ourselves look completely decent again. This was important. If we contracted a disease in a place like this, the word “hassle” wouldn’t come close to describing the problems we would face. I could heal people with benediction, but it would still take time for them to get their strength back. There were even some troublesome diseases that could lie dormant with no visible symptoms for some time and flare up suddenly later.

  “There we go.”

  Once we were all mostly clean, we finished dealing with the remaining aftermath of the battle. Without a word, Reystov took the helm and kept watch for us.

  “So, about this elf.” I took another look at the elf wrapped up in blankets. She had the kind of rich golden hair that I imagined nature’s spirits would like. Her fine-featured face was pale and looked haggard. Her violet eyes were still lowered, but she was definitely breathing.

  We had finally reached a point where we could pause for a moment to talk about her. Considering the precedent of the water serpents, it was admittedly hard to call the boat a safe place to be, but it was better than anywhere else. We couldn’t expect anywhere in these dark regions to be completely safe.

  “Is she a survivor of the elves?”<
br />
  “I imagine so.”

  “Look, we’re not gonna get far talking without her.” Menel showed no restraint. Saying, “Hey. Wake up,” he tapped the elf on her cheeks, which were like a work of art, hard enough to make a slapping sound. When he saw she still wasn’t waking up, he brought a little bottle containing strong, distilled alcohol up to her full lips and poured it into her mouth without hesitation.

  The effect was instant. The blonde-haired elf bolted awake with wide eyes, coughing violently from the liquid’s intense strength. She looked left and right, trying to make sense of what had happened to her.

  “Wakey-wakey,” Menel said, grinning like a trouble-making kid. The rest of us had frozen a bit, shocked at the way Menel handled it.

  “Wh-What was that?!” she sputtered.

  “Woke you up with a spicy kiss. How you feeling, my fellow forest buddy? Splitting headache? Wanna puke?”

  “G-Gods, you’re vulgar! You’re an offense to the ear and an ache upon the brain!”

  Though I had healed her with benediction, she was in recovery from a near-death state. She had to be feeling drained, but that apparently hadn’t taken the fight out of her.

  “Well, you sound well enough.”

  “And... And did you just say... k-kiss? You... You didn’t dare!”

  “Calm down. You smooched this bottle.”

  She went red to the tips of her ears and railed against Menel in the fastest Elvish I’d ever heard. I couldn’t make it all out with my skill at the language, but I could tell it was a barrage of intense and bitter sarcasm. Menel let it run off him like water off a duck’s back.

  Al and Ghelreis didn’t seem to be proficient in Elvish and were unable to keep up with their conversation, and Reystov had his hand on the tiller and was keeping well out of it. I thought about saying something to the pair of them so we could all move on, but apparently even Menel had the sense to know that things had gone on long enough. As the elf paused for breath for a moment, Menel placed his hand over his heart with a polished motion and gave her a greeting in Old Elvish. “‘The stars shine on the hour of our meeting.’”

  The elf frowned, retracted her sharp tongue, and responded with the standard formal greeting in a similarly refined manner.

  Menel shrugged. “Sorry for shocking you. It’s just how I was raised. I’m Meneldor of Ithil.”

  “Swift-winged heavenly eagle of the silver moon, I am Dinelind of Remmirath.”

  “Enchanting silent tune of the net of shining stars, may our meeting be blessed.”

  Spoken in beautiful, rhythmical Elvish, it was a rhyming exchange in the traditional format.

  “So you can behave normally,” Dinelind said, frustrated.

  “Elven greetings aren’t my style.” He shrugged. “No more, please.”

  Dinelind gave a small, resigned snort, smiling with her violet eyes. “Alright.”

  Then she looked at me, who had been completely left behind by the conversation, and switched to slightly dated Western Common Speech. It was the way of speaking I was most familiar with: the language spoken in Blood and Mary’s time. “My apologies. Are you the leader of this group? It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Dinelind.” Dee-neh-lihnd.

  “William G. Maryblood.”

  “You saved my life. You all have my deepest gratitude.”

  She gave me a graceful bow.

  ◆

  The dark, thick, stagnant river flowed slowly. Carried by the water’s flow, the boat progressed to the north between withered trees that reminded me of bones exposed to the elements. A slight current of air was filling its sail. That was because Menel had used the Tailwind spell again. It seemed the fairies had regained a little of their power.

  “So then we...”

  After introducing ourselves to Dinelind, we explained to her that we were on a journey to kill the foul-dragon Valacirca and the mountain demons. She was astonished. “Just the five of you? Are you serious?”

  “You think we’d come all the way out here for a joke?”

  “You might. I admit that William over there seems unlikely to do that. He looks sensible and sincere.”

  “And I’m neither, am I?”

  “Ask yourself. But this really is reckless.”

  “We’re aware it’s reckless. But we have to do it all the same.”

  “I see. You’re very brave.”

  Dinelind was relatively proficient in Western Common Speech, but her mother tongue was definitely Elvish. She mostly talked to Menel and me.

  “So, Dinelind, why were you there being attacked by a hydra?”

  “Well, I don’t mind telling that story, if you have a little time to listen.”

  “Let’s eat first,” Menel said. “Can’t ever trust an elf’s littles.”

  He had a point. As long as we were in an area as dangerous as this, there was nothing to be lost by getting food in us whenever we were able. If our boat ever capsized, that would be the end of our food supply.

  “Al, you got the smoked venison there, right?”

  “I do, but... Would that be okay?”

  “Yes, I can eat venison just fine.”

  Given Al’s doubt, apparently elves really did have a strong image as vegetarians.

  “About the only elves who don’t eat meat are those who underwent special training and became strongly fae in nature.” She explained that all other elves hunted like normal and ate meat and fish. “It’s the duty of us elves as rulers of the forest to hunt and fish to preserve the balance of nature.”

  The idea of applying moderate pressure to maintain ecological balance was a very elf-like way of thinking.

  On the boat, we ate the venison we’d smoked in the city of the dead along with some holy bread. We couldn’t very well use fire, so we had to have it cold, but the smoky taste of the cold venison made it a pretty tasty meal in its own way. Dinelind ate the bread like it was a new experience for her, and the venison with salt sprinkled over it made her eyes go wide.

  “Wait.” Menel frowned upon seeing her reaction to the food. “What do you guys normally eat?”

  Dinelind shrugged sarcastically. “You can imagine, can’t you?”

  The marshland and cloudy river had a thick aura of impurity and death. The creatures we’d seen so far were snakes and stuff like that. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t imagine it; I just didn’t really want to.

  “And I think you have a good idea of why I was there, too. That’s why you suggested we eat first and shared your food with me.”

  Menel grumbled and shut his mouth. Judging by his reaction, she had hit the bull’s-eye.

  Dinelind spoke in a detached tone. “As you guessed, there were too many mouths to feed.”

  Menel frowned even harder.

  ◆

  Too many mouths to feed... I wondered what that meant.

  “Was there something wrong with you?”

  Whenever I heard of people being abandoned when there were too many mouths to feed, those who couldn’t work were usually first to go. The practice helped a group to strike the balance between food supply and food consumption, ensuring its survival. In both my past world’s history and the world I was living in now, in the event of a famine, the old and infirm would be first to go, and their loss would enable the healthy and the work animals to survive. Dinelind looked a little peaky, but otherwise she seemed in good shape.

  “No,” she answered.

  “Huh?”

  “Will, that isn’t the way elves think,” Menel said, wrinkling his brows.

  Dinelind nodded. “Yes, exactly.”

  “Umm, I don’t understand.”

  “There’s nothing to understand. It’s simple,” Menel said, with a complicated expression. Then, he spoke with conviction. “Elves are noble. They never forsake the weak. No matter how bad things get, an elf will never abandon the old or the sick. From the looks of it, it must be a completely isolated village, surrounded by danger.”

  Around us, the
stagnant river and marshland extended as far as we could see.

  “I bet whenever there’s a food shortage, those who can move and fight volunteer to leave,” Menel continued. “Best case, they can find some way out, make their way to somewhere inhabited, and call for help. And even if they don’t, that’s one less mouth to feed. Right?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Who would think of sending the weak out to fend for themselves? That’s ridiculous,” Dinelind said seriously.

  The weak were to be protected, and the strong were to be first to make sacrifices. She spoke not with a tone of fanaticism or blind faith, but as though this was absolutely natural common sense.

  “You really are an elf,” Menel muttered.

  “Excuse me? Was that a compliment or an insult?”

  “A compliment, dammit.” Menel avoided looking directly at her as though she were the sun.

  Elves are proud and noble—that was a common refrain I’d heard from everyone. I was beginning to see why.

  “Elves never change,” Ghelreis said quietly. The old scar on his face was warped by the corners of his mouth pulling up into a smile.

  We talked for a little while about a few less consequential things, and then I brought up the topic once more. “Dinelind, would you mind showing us to your settlement? If you’ll teach us the way to the mountains, we’ll do what we can for you.”

  “‘Dine’ will do.” She brushed her blonde hair back with her fingers—it was still untied from her run-in with the hydra—and did it back up to around neck length. “That’s more than I could have wished for,” she said, and nodded. “Thank you.”

  ◆

  We held a course through the wetland down a narrow branch of the river for a while. Around the time the sun started to set, the forest came into view.

  But it wasn’t the kind of beautiful forest that Ghelreis had talked about. It had a strong aura of death, like a patient stricken with a terminal disease near the end of his days. The branches of the trees were creepily discolored all over. From their weakly drooping branches hung leaves that were already brown and half-withered.