The city celebrated Dhenn’s victory by turning into the biggest daylight rave on the continent. Everywhere from Azgadal's main square to the alleys by the Inner Quarter was packed with crowds of survivors singing, dancing, playing music, drinking, eating, hugging and kissing. Bards hurried to share their new hits about the Battle for Azgadal, written an hour ago or even improvised. It didn’t matter. An all-encompassing zest for life permeated the celebration and people loved the new songs. Soon, out of the dozens of tunes, one became the people's favorite that they sang day and night, sober or drunk, in accents from all across Mela.
A hundred thousand feral orcs marched on his shining city
Great Azgal flew to kill them all while servants hunted mice
The frightened humans ran and fled
Imagine how great was their shame
When Azgal at the break of dawn
Smashed the invading horde
The dragon kept all promises
And killed 10,000 for our sake
He burned them all and saved the day
With flames hot like the sun
Traders and merchants, sages too
Swear by his city’s majesty
Look at the Summer cloudless skies
The Lord Protector flies
A hundred thousand feral orcs marched on his shining city
Great Azgal flew and killed them all while servants hunted mice
The servants in the song being Seros, Blacktongue and Sancho. None of the songs mentioned their names, the zombies or their heroic actions. Not even Blacktongue’s magic sword received a mention, and bards love magic swords. There’s never been a song that a magic sword didn’t improve, everyone knows that.
The people of Azgadal did know that these men were heroes, but they didn’t contradict the bards for two reasons. First of all because it was a time of celebration and no one was in the mood for arguments. Secondly, the songs didn’t exactly contradict what happened. All they did was add a fictional horde of 100,000 orcs somewhere to the South, or the East, somewhere else. A horde which Azgal had rushed to destroy while his faithful servants took care of a small force too impatient to wait for the main contingent. Seros, Blacktongue and Sancho had done well... for sidekicks. They’d held the line until Azgal returned from the main battle to clean up the smaller horde.
In any case, Azgadalis were thankful for their help. Warriors saluted Seros raising their swords as he passed and traders begged to hire him for outrageous sums. Sancho had it even better. He found himself sitting on a throne chair held by a crowd that gave him a victory parade from the city’s gate to the main square, where thousands called his name as Sancho in his chair moved about like a crowd-surfing rockstar. He loved every moment of it even though he didn’t realize that this was history in the making and one of the strangest views ever to grace Mela: A necromancer, one of the most feared and despised creatures in the world, revered by a crowd that chanted his name until their throats gave out.
(As for Blacktongue, he disappeared as soon as the battle ended, but no one took him for the partying type anyway.)
Dhenn's situation was very different. No one knew he was involved in the city’s defense. It stung him, but he tried his best not to think about it. He didn’t plan to stay in Azgadal anyway, and his plans didn’t include parties, just collecting his reward for winning the battle.
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Fran picked up the history, geography and anthropology books he’d requested from the monks and walked to the dragon’s cave through the secret corridors connecting it to the Unholy Cathedral. The dragon wasn’t back yet. Not a problem. Dhenn immediately grabbed a specific bottle from his treasure and rubbed his eyes with its content. By the time Azgal arrived an hour later, Dhenn had finished reading the twelve dusty tomes he’d brought from the cathedral and had reread the two he’d liked best, both written by veteran explorers.
“I didn’t say you could use that liquid,” said Azgal.
“You didn’t say you’d steal our victory either,” said Fran. “Down in the streets, the people exalt you for destroying an army that never existed. It’s disgraceful.”
“That must be the bards. Exaggeration is their trade.”
Fran laughed sardonically and his gaze returned to the books. A tense silence spread over the cave. Finally, Azgal couldn’t stand it any longer.
“You’ve seen that warrior dressed up as a dragon. The monk’s creature. I couldn’t admit it to the Archbishop, but he gives me the creeps. He’s part of the reason I need you here, Dhenn. It’s a new beginning for the city, it will grow even more prosperous now I’ve shown my might. As its ruler, you’ll profit immensely. It’s not just the magic items I promised, which are yours to take. Gaining experience as a ruler will help you on Earth too. Are you interested in politics?”
Fran gave the dragon a cold look.
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“Think about it. Someone will have to lead your people when Mela clashes with your world.”
Your world.Your people. Fran despised the way the dragon separated himself from his humanity.
“My point is that ours is a mutually beneficial relationship. With ups and downs perhaps, but it’s important to let bygones be bygones. That’s an important lesson to learn when you’re young. Mutual benefit is built on mutual trust, and I'm trusting you when I confess that it unnerved me when I saw that pink sword slash through orc fighters like they were made of paper. It made me realize that I can’t trust the monks. Who knows what their true intentions are? Tomorrow, you start ruling in my name. I’ll have the Archbishop introduce you as the architect of my victory at the main square. Or we could do it outside the city, and I’ll fly next to you by surprise at the right moment. Humans love dramatic gestures like that, and it’s mostly humans in my city.”
Fran passed the pages of his book. Maps of the Elven forest, illustrations of the faerie creatures that lived deeper beyond. And then, nothing. The mystery of Mela’s borders.
“Tomorrow, I’ll wake up in my bed and have breakfast with my parents,” said Fran. “They’ll be surprised that I didn’t go clubbing with my friends.”
The dragon dropped his head on the treasure, relaxed by Fran’s apparent acquiescence to his request.
“Of course, of course. The announcement will have to wait a week then. But we agree, right?”
Fran saw a hooded monk arrive at the edge of the cave and bow his head. Just in time. He stood up and faced the dragon.
“You know I never agreed to stay, Azgal. But I’m not indifferent to your predicament and have found a solution. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
In the back of the cave, Sancho the necromancer took a step forward.
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An hour later, Fran walked down the secret mountain tunnels back to the cathedral, struggling to hold all his books in his hands. The magic items he’d earned and the large quantities of money that Azgal had reluctantly agreed to give him would have to wait. Fran would instruct the Archbishop to have his monks take care of that while he was back on Earth. He wanted everything ready by next Friday in order to leave the city with Seros as soon as they returned to Mela. The plan was to retur to meet the rest of the group in Kliogos and travel East through Imperial territory until he reached the Elven forest. It was a land notoriously hostile to strangers, but they were at war now, a long war (in human terms) with the faerie creatures that lived even deeper in the evergreen forests. According to the elves, these creatures carried out constant raids on elvish villages. According to others, the elves were committing genocide. Both sides had requested outside help.
Fran’s new knowledge of Melan geography and history filled him with confidence. He also felt grateful for the magic eyedrops that had made it possible to read thousands of pages in an hour. He couldn’t imagine traveling around with the tomes, they were too cumbersome.
“You could help me with the books, you know?” said Fran. “I just made you the first necromancer to rule a city of the living.”
“That’s how you build muscle, kid. What would I build, stronger bones? Come on, let’s be serious.”
Fran laughed.
“What did you make of Azgal?”
Sancho nodded approvingly.
“We have a lot in common, believe it or not. Juan Antonio could have been friends with my father. He could have been my uncle from the Sierra in a different life. We share the same outlook on many things. Politics, religion, you know. But the truth is, I cannot bring myself to like the guy. Because he’s no longer a man, he’s a dragon. No, it’s not really that. The problem runs deeper: With every word he said, I could sense the way he’s distanced himself from his humanity. What he did yesterday was horrible, his betrayal. Thousands would be dead if it weren’t for your plan.”
“We’d all be dead if it weren’t for your zombies.”
“True, but you know what I mean: He was going to let a whole city die because he couldn’t be bothered. That’s what a dragon would do. However, when he returned to steal our victory, that wasn’t Azgal, that was Juan Antonio. A dragon wouldn’t care, but the human in him craves that recognition. Still, he’d give his whole treasure for a way to fully sever his Melan existence from his dying body on Earth. I can talk to him and I can deal with him, but I don’t like him. He’s a monster and he yearns to become even more of a monster.”
“Well put,” said Fran. “I hope I’m not imposing myself on you by asking you to rule Azgadal. When the idea came to me, I honestly thought that it would be good for everyone.”
Sancho clapped his bony hands.
“Oh, it is! Totally! Taking care of my new friends while I rule the city represents the best of both worlds. I wish I could move my other zombies here, but that would be selfish of me. Well, the ones from the Azgaladi marshes need me more. They’re new to the undead life, and getting that right requires proper shepherding from a necromancer. I wonder how I’ll do as a ruler, though. So far, all I know is that I don’t want to rock the boa, you know, make changes that destroy the unique place that’s Azgal. I’ll find loyal people to rule with me, especially for the periods when I’m back in Terra. I’ll improve the city’s defenses, of course. We need a proper city wall made of stone, with a real gate too.” He lowered his voice. “And I’ll have those little creatures from the Inner Quarter spy on the monks. It’s time we start learning… Oh.”
They’d reached the exit of the tunnel and exited into a small reading room in the cathedral. Ahead of them stood a man in the unmistakable dragonscale armor that they’d seen too often lately.
“Good to see you, Sancho the Necromancer, captain of Azgal’s Undead Honor Guard. The people acclaim your contribution to the Lord Protector’s victory. Lord Dhenn, may I have a word with you alone?”
Blacktongue’s voice sounded tired and concerned. Sancho shared a look with his friend and left the room.
Fran felt the dragon warrior’s presence like a nauseous stench that choked him and made him lose control. His hand reached for a sword that wasn’t there. The dragon knight looked at him. A skilled warrior, he must have noticed Fran’s gesture.
“We must never see each other again,” Blacktongue said. “You feel it too, right? Our energies clash. It’s strange to meet one’s nemesis and not have a reason to desire their destruction, but we desire it nevertheless. It’s written in the stars that you and I would fight until one of us destroys the other, but it doesn’t have to be like that. I escaped fate once when I came here. And now you and I can escape fate together by going our separate ways. Forever.”
“I’ll leave the city soon,” said Fran.
“Good. You and me are men of destiny, Lord Dhenn. There are few of us, and I’d hate it if we wasted our lives going after each other like animals. Mela is vast.”
“Let’s keep away from each other,” said Dhenn.
Blacktongue bowed his head and turned away with fatigued steps. But he stopped before leaving the room.
“There’s one last thing. The Archbishop confided in me that, when Azgal returned, he landed at the cathedral’s courtyard to give him one order only: Hire every bard in the city and have them sing of my victory. The Archbishop obeyed. He is a man of principles, as all Blood Monks are, and felt great guilt.”
“Did he tell you to let me know?”
“No, Lord Dhenn. I’m telling you because I hate that faithless dragon and I want to share my anger with you.” His dragonscale gauntlet punched the wooden wall with an extraordinary strength that denied Blacktongue’s fatigue. “It was our victory alone! Our glory!”
Fran covered his eyes as thick splinters of wood flew across the room. The dragon warrior let his head fall for a second but soon stood stiff, as if ashamed of this display of vulnerability, and exited the room with noisy steps.
Fran left his books on a table and sat for a moment. Azgal’s pettiness didn’t affect him the way it did Blacktongue. He knew he wanted out from Azgadal anyway, and he felt proud of what he had achieved, glory or not. He’d led a meager army to victory. He’d done it. His victory. And next week he’d be on his way to new, beautiful lands with new adventuring companions.
He smiled. Waiting for next Friday was going to be difficult.