Chapter 26
Upper Water Month, 24th day, 10.00
Of Heroes and Legends
"Marquis Cotton?"
Draudillon called the first name on that endless list in her hands. Childish hands gripped those pieces of paper tightly, for fear that they might slip through her fingers.
"Yes, your majesty." A youthful but unexpectedly serious-looking man answered.
"You are assigned control of the lands of the now-deceased Marquis Grigore," trying to maintain a semblance of authority in that slender little body she was in, the queen assumed her strictest expression. The contrast between her figure and appearance was beyond rationalizing. "Of course, this is only a loan granted until the state of emergency is over and the Crown can calmly find someone more suitable. Don't get too attached."
"It will be done, my queen." The young man replied, with a bow that seemed as phony and worthless as a chocolate coin. "When the time comes, I will gladly give way to a capable person."
The smile he sported, however, betrayed much more treacherous intentions. But the queen of the Draconic Kingdom played the part of the simpleton, to avoid letting on that she was aware of her vassal's true intentions.
'Well, we are short of capable people. So, with the risk of concentrating too much power in the hands of one man, I'll have to put on a good face.'
If any descendants of the late Marquis Grigore were found, that would make it easier in the future to return those estates to their rightful owner. The other nobles, after all, would never have allowed a legitimate heir to find himself dispossessed of what was rightfully his.
Not out of some semblance of camaraderie, but out of simple fear that someday the same might happen to them.
But lately, Draudillon had been all too lucky, and she knew all too well that Lady Luck is more capricious than a spoiled child.
"The office of the Ministry of Internal Affairs has prepared a list of officials suitable for the administration of your new territory," the queen's professionalism was impeccable, nonetheless. Perhaps it would have been better to resume her original appearance, but to see an adorable little girl giving orders to a group of overconfident men was indescribably satisfying. As well as entertaining. "They are all capable men and women who will make the work entrusted to you less onerous."
"And as for the defense of these new territories?" The Marquis' question was all but unexpected.
But even if she had been taken by surprise, Draudillon would have had no trouble knowing what to reply.
"The defense of the reassigned territories will be the responsibility of the new owner," after all, there was no other possible answer. The Royal Army couldn't be spread more than it already was. "Of course, should the need arise, the Crown will do everything to ensure military aid." But with the resources they currently had, the hope that eventuality would never come true was hard to die.
"The personal troops of my household will not be sufficient to protect such a large territory," the young nobleman lamented, finally letting out some of his true character. Wasn't Draudillon the little girl in the room? "To protect the borders from demi-humans attacks, well-trained troops are required, with superior equipment than average. In addition, there is also internal security to consider."
"If the task is too onerous, I can always entrust the rich mines of silver and other precious materials found on Lord Grigore's old lands to a more suitable person," the queen's gracious smile concealed an insinuation aimed straight at the young marquis' pride. "It is the task of the nobility to protect the villagers. Adventurers and workers exist precisely for that. I don't have to remind you that the immense powers granted to you are counterbalanced by the duties that are to be expected of people in your position."
Draudillon trusted that the lure of the riches that lurked in the lands they had recently recaptured would prompt that new nobility to defend their new territories with particular diligence, for fear of seeing that investment reduced to smoke.
Managing that wealth personally would have been a better alternative, but at the moment the royal coffers were on the verge of being completely empty and they did not have sufficient means to make the most of the situation.
Instead, nobles like Marquis Cotton, whose estates had not been touched by the war yet, still had plenty of personal wealth that could be put to good use.
Of course, in the long run, that decision could have significantly diminished the power of the Crown.
But rather than increasing her own personal power, Draudillon had the welfare of her subjects at heart. And with all its faults, the nobility of the Draconic Kingdom had long understood that the only way to survive the Beastmen's attacks was through cooperation. Being in a state of complete danger at least made it for people easier to watch the biggest picture.
'Looking to the future is a luxury that only those who can glimpse that future with sharpness can afford.'
The queen maintained her composure as she waited for a response in silence.
"I accept. I will not disappoint the expectations you have placed on me."
Fortunately, that young man understood that the advantages, if well exploited, could outweigh the disadvantages.
"Good," Draudillon arched her lips and widened her eyes to show how cute the form she had taken could be. The marquis blushed slightly, showing that her smile had broken through. "I know you won't." 'And if you did, it would be nothing new.'
Marquis Cotton took his leave with a bow, leaving only Draudillon and the prime minister in the throne room.
"Ahhhhhhhh," sighed the little queen. "How many more of these meetings to reassign the lands are left, Magone?"
"You must see Duke Felix and Baron Matusa about the management of the territories of the now-deceased Marquis Lawton. Also," the minister displayed a sword with a bejeweled handle, the tip of which was still sharp as if it had never known battle. "There is the knighting of members of two teams of adventurers: the Elephant's Tusk and Sweet Dreams."
"I would prefer not to award honorable titles to people who protect their home only for a fee," Draudillon's lament showed a poorly concealed contempt for what she considered only more expensive mercenaries. "But I suppose giving them one more reason to fight isn't bad. Rather, how are the reforms for the Ministry of Magic going?"
"Slowly, your majesty," why was she hardly surprised? "The most pressing problem is the lack of suitable personnel to teach the younger generation."
Finding talented magic casters was difficult. Finding talented magic casters who were also capable teachers was an even more difficult task.
Retired adventurers were usually the best choice, but the Draconic Kingdom currently had a shortage of such individuals.
"We have no choice but to look outside our kingdom," the queen noted, though not entirely happy with the situation. Far from it. "The Empire and the Re-Estize Kingdom have numerous practitioners of magic that we can convince to switch to our side. Especially the latter. Don't mind promising a few titles of nobility if it would help the cause. The common people lose all reason with the prospect of being called baron, duke, or your highness."
"It will be done," Magone replied. "May I proceed with bringing in the other guests?"
"Yes," a deep exhalation followed by a prolonged sigh of exhaustion. "The sooner we start, the sooner we finish. I look forward to being able to return to a look that is not an object of derision from the other rulers."
"I'm sure none of the other monarchs have that opinion of you." A lie with good intentions was still a lie.
"And I am sure that the idea of seeing myself in this condition is one of the most beloved sources of amusement for that presumptuous Jircniv," the young emperor of Baharut's barely restrained grin was still etched in the queen's mind like a carving in stone. "But let's not get caught up in grudges. There is still much to be done."
The rest of the day proceeded without any particular noteworthy events. Besides the usual administrative quarrels and knightly ceremonies that had anything but the pageantry of legends, Draudillon had to deal with the demands of the Minister of Economy and the Grand Marshal.
At this point, she was so accustomed to having a headache that she almost didn't notice it.
By the time evening fell, the queen was ready to retire to her rooms. Her bed, the sole object of her desires.
"There is still one guest missing, your majesty," Magone crushed her hopes as easily as a cruel child crushes a helpless ant. "The emissary of the Theocracy is here to see you."
"Urgh," the image of a man with short blond hair, covered with an arrogant air that encircled him like a royal cloak brought revulsion to the queen's mind. "I detest that Nigun. Every time he speaks it seems as if we are watching a prolonged sermon by a fanatic who has made religion his only reason for living. And the way he looks at me... He doesn't even try to conceal his contempt. There is only one man that disgusts me more."
"A trait he shares with many of his fellow citizens," the prime minister pointed out, handing her a cup of steaming coffee that one of the attendants had prepared. "Pardon my rudeness, but I would rather have the symbol of my manhood crushed by a pair of sharp and long heels than listen to the rantings about the supremacy of the human race from some of the priests of the Theocracy."
A soft laugh escaped Draudillon's mouth. Few people had as little faith as Magone, but that was one reason why the queen considered him a valuable ally.
A cool mind that was not carried away by the passions of faith was an appreciable quality in a right-hand man.
"I would not have used those exact words," sipping the coffee vaguely dampened the little woman's-tired mood. "But I can't blame you. Well, for people of little faith like us, those sermons are just words thrown to the wind. But it is undeniable that they bring comfort to many in the most difficult times."
The Draconic Kingdom did not have a state religion. Areas farther east, bordering Draak Lake had been influenced by the Theocracy and tended to worship the Six Great Gods, while those farther north were closer to the faith of the Four. Nevertheless, there were countless other cults within the kingdom, free to profess their faith as long as they abided by the nation's laws.
Draudillon herself was not religious and tended to observe a set of ancient rituals and traditions that had been handed down to her by her ancestor, the Brightness Dragon Lord. Except those that consisted in flying for hours in the sky or burning fierce flames. Those were difficult.
"Anyway," Magone continued, putting aside those findings about religion as one would put away a garment in the drawer. "Today's emissary is not the captain of the Sunlight Scriptures."
"Oh," the queen was pleasantly surprised. One less migraine that day. "Who is it?"
"Let me bring him in."
The prime minister signaled to one of his assistants, who hurried in response to open the throne room doors.
A confident-looking young man-he could not have been more than twenty-five years old-entered, sporting a charming smile that could make men and women alike fall at his feet with ease.
His hair, enclosed in a bob that resembled a crown, was bright blond, and his scarlet-red eyes were shaped like a bloody half-moon.
He wore an orange-colored tunic, with a particularly expensive fabric judging by the gold trimmings that adorned it.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Queen Draudillon." The young boy bowed, not taking his eyes off her. It was at that moment that the queen noticed that he wore a set of rings on his fingers, which sparkled like sapphires. "I beg your pardon if I cannot share my name, but state protocols require that it remain secret until deemed necessary to share it."
The woman instantly understood the unit to which this charming young man belonged. "This is no cause for apology. I fully understand the exigencies that justify this decision. May I offer something to you and your comrades as an excuse for the time you have been forced to wait?"
The young man was indeed not alone.
At his side was a girl who looked completely identical to him, prowling the hall like a bored feline. Twins, probably.
Draudillon noticed that under the robe she wore a sharp shape could be glimpsed, which very likely belonged to a weapon such as a stiletto or short sword. Normally it would have been an unforgivable outrage to bring something dangerous to a private audience with a member of the royal family, but the queen had to overlook it.
Such was the delicacy of her position.
The other was a wrinkled-skinned man with a stern expression adorning a bony face hollowed by wrinkles. He remained completely still, and his presence could have been described as ghostly.
"No, there will be no need for that," the emissary of the Theocracy reassured her. "We only came here to leave a report on our latest exploits. We will leave it with your prime minister and then we will gladly leave."
So why meet her in person? Did they want to get a clear picture of the woman who commanded that kingdom on the verge of collapse? To mock her?
Whatever their intention, she would not let herself be trapped like a mouse by the cat.
"There was no need to wait so long just to deliver it in person. You might as well have left it in the hands of one of my prime minister's assistants."
"Oh, we wanted to deliver it to you ourselves," replied the young man, calm as the sea in the early morning. "Besides, we have received strict orders to pay due respects to the ruler of the place where we are to operate in the coming weeks."
'A gesture of respect? Or just a way of letting me know that it is indifferent to what I think, since the Theocracy has already made up its mind? Not that I can complain, after all.'
There was no doubt that those three in front of him belonged to the Black Scriptures.
The Black Scriptures.
Surrounded by a mystical aura, their very existence was a whisper lost in history.
A team that gathered around itself those who could claim the title of hero. The diamonds whose brilliance put to shame all the other crystals.
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Men and women who had made it their mission sacrifice for a greater cause.
In the morning, they would find tribulations.
In the afternoon, their blood would be spilled.
In the evening, shadows would give them relief.
Night, dreamless.
For their fight would never end.
The banishment of the demon Sovrani-Vudù, the killing of the Giant Werewolf Hopkins, or the destruction of the Unholy City of Kabala were just some of the numerous stories she had heard in her life. But who knew if they were true?
Until then, even Draudillon, who had numerous times dealt with the Theocracy's special units in the past, had believed that their existence was just an exaggeration. Mere propaganda to enforce the cause of the faith of the Six.
After all, the extraordinary existence that was known as a hero was more unique than rare. Many nations could barely boast of one, such as the paladin captain of the Holy Kingdom or the imperial mage of the Baharut Empire.
Cerabrate, as much as it annoyed her to admit it, was the closest thing the Draconic Kingdom could boast.
But the pressure those three exerted by their mere presence left no room for doubt.
In comparison to them, the Holy Knight lost to her eyes the luster that he was renewed for, only appearing as a dusty and obsolete old armor devoid of any value.
"Prime Minister Magone, please receive the report that our friends in the Theocracy were kind enough to send us."
After proclaiming her order, the subordinate approached Slaine's small delegation so that he could take in his hands the scroll that the young man was offering.
After he had returned to his place at the queen's side, Magone began to read it.
"Well?" Curiosity was devouring Draudillon, who could not contain the agitation that was taking hold of her. Her fingers gripped tightly the throne on which she sat as she waited anxiously for an answer.
"I..." Magone seemed about to say something, but stopped himself. Instead, he continued to read and reread those papers, unable to hide his astonishment. "Is it true what is written here?" He asked, turning to the delegate.
"All true."
"...I can't believe it."
Draudillon, realizing that if she kept waiting for an accurate answer then all night would be spent in the throne room, had the prime minister pass the report to her.
The words began to be processed by her mind as her expression changed more and more rapidly to one of bewilderment.
"It says here that you liberated four cities in a single week..."
"It would have taken us less if someone hadn't wasted time letting their beasts rest," commented the girl, who cast a glare with her eyes at the probable twin, only to be promptly ignored.
"I can assure Your Highness that everything that has been written corresponds to the truth," the young man grinned proudly, aware of the extraordinary nature of the result. "We expect to liberate at least half of the territories under the control of the demi-humans within a month's time."
The queen could hardly believe her ears.
"I... I don't know what to say." It was true. Being speechless was not a feeling she was used to. Not entirely unpleasant, though.
"Don't say anything," the young man comforted her, with a smile as warm as a hug. "Now that we are here, you have nothing to fear."
For a moment the desire to run and embrace those emissaries blazed in Draudillon's heart, as all her inner strength had to be brought to bear not to put on such an unseemly spectacle for a person of her rank.
"Thank you," were the only words she managed to put together.
"We will get in touch soon."
The three of them bowed again -the girl begrudgingly- and then took their leave.
When they were left alone, Draudillon turned to Magone.
"Can you believe it? A chosen unit was able to do alone in a few days what was impossible for entire armies."
"Quantity is a quality of its own," murmured the prime minister, still in disbelief. "Only today do I realize how disingenuous those words are."
Upper Water Month, 24th day, 10.00
Aeneas walked around the capital of the Draconic Kingdom with newfound lightheartedness.
The long hair enclosed in a ponytail and the divine equipment hidden by his worldly clothes should not have made him stand out too much to the populace.
That was the idea, at least.
But not a few steps could be taken, that girls and women of all ages began to bother him.
"Um, are you free now?"
"Would you like to go get something together?"
"Come home with me, I know the perfect way to have fun."
Aeneas always replied in the same way, "No, thank you." And with a false smile, he quickly walked away, without turning back.
Each of them did not present the right characteristics for a Godkin's future wife.
Not only were they not from the Theocracy, but those mere villagers with puny, slender hips did not carry bloodlines suitable for passing on his lineage. How could these small and thin women be expected to give birth to his heirs?
Finding a suitable mate was not a choice dictated by love, after all, but by logic.
Feelings were not covered in his duties.
That is why he did not waste a single second of his precious free time mingling with girls who were not worthy of his attention.
'It is pleasant to be alone for once.'
The Black Scriptures had separated momentarily, just long enough to enjoy some rest in the capital before resuming their hunt for nonhumans.
Not having to look after them had been a small blessing, one he would savor every moment of.
This was not the first time he had entered the Draconic Kingdom, but he had never visited one of its cities before.
He wandered around for a few hours, looking for something that caught his attention.
In the course of his travels, one thing he had discovered about humanity.
Humans tended to repeat the same organizational patterns, with varying degrees of difference.
Division into merchant and military castes, legislative systems based on the prevention and suppression of disputes, and governments ruled by single individuals or a select few.
'These patterns are repeated persistently, but I wonder if it is due to some kind of indirect influence of Theocracy or is it something inherent in the human race.'
It was natural that the first human nation had led the way for those that followed, thus a kind of soft power was exercised to direct the various human societies to caste division in order to make the best use of the limited classes that human beings could acquire in their lives.
Experiments that had not always been as successful as hoped.
'Moving away from this part of the continent perhaps it would be possible to find human nations that, breaking away from the shadow of Theocracy, were able to develop innovative systems. Come to think of it, a nation of wyvern rides is in the vicinity of the Draconic Kingdom, perhaps we could find interesting information there.'
The discovery of new methods of combat was driven not only by curiosity but also by war requirements. Learning new combat tactics and the operation of new job levels would benefit both the Black Scriptures and the Theocracy.
Lost in his thoughts, the young captain arrived at the gates of an inn with a gaudy sign.
'The Inn at the Edge of the World.'
Despite the lofty name, it would have been more accurate to call the place a gaudy shack whose walls remained standing only by an unnatural force.
The shining sun high in the sky, however, foretold lunchtime, and there were no other suitable places nearby to be able to end the hunger cramps that were beginning to set in.
Aeneas threw open the dust-scarred door, finding as a welcoming committee a pungent smell of beer and alcohol.
To his surprise, the place was filled with men and women whose fat laughter and bawdy jokes lent a feeling of amenity and fraternity to those four walls.
It was like returning to a familiar place after a long journey, to discover, with a hint of relief, that even time had failed to bring change.
"Welcome," the innkeeper, a wiry man with a welcoming smile, greeted him as soon as he noticed his presence. "How can I help you?"
Aeneas, who was not used to all that deafening noise, was on the verge of turning back.
"I would like a table, please."
Still, something had caught his attention.
Away from the tables, a small wooden platform had been set up, barely able to accommodate an adult person.
"Please take a seat." The man seated him in a vacant space a few meters away from the stage. "What can I get you?"
"The dish of the day will be sufficient."
"So, mutton accompanied by salad and tomatoes. As a drink?"
"Water will be enough."
"Perfect," the innkeeper marked his order on a notebook he carried with him. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Yes, there is one thing," Aeneas replied, driven by curiosity. "Is there any important event today?"
"Oh, you are talking about that 'beautifully' mounted stage that catches the eye as soon as one enters," the man could not hide a hint of embarrassment. "We don't usually have events at this little inn. But when the Lady of Tales specially requests a place to perform, you can't refuse her. Not that I'm complaining about it. This place has never been so full."
"Lady of Tales?" The name rang no bell with the young captain, who now only wanted to gratify his desire for knowledge. "This is the first time I've heard that name."
"A foreigner?"
"Let's say so."
"I see," the innkeeper, who judging by his age had accumulated years of experience, knew instantly that this was not the time to ask for more. A lucky thing, since getting rid of him would have been a hassle that Aeneas would have gladly avoided. "I think very few in the entire Draconic Kingdom do not know her name or reputation."
"Judging by the pseudonym one would say a bard," indeed, there were very few professions that came to mind upon hearing that title. "What's so special about her? A heavenly voice? Or a skill with instruments that takes one's breath away?"
Aeneas doubted that there could be anyone in that forgotten corner of the world with musical skills to rival Divine Chant.
But if so, he would have to find a way to convince that woman to join the ranks of the Theocracy. Unfortunately, persuasion was not his forte.
"No, none of that. In fact, I would say that her voice borders on off-key, and the way she strums the lute is almost amateurish."
So it was just a grotesque show to mock a person lacking in remarkable abilities? The perspective did not enhance Aeneas.
"But," the man continued, his eyes shining with deep admiration. "That's not why her performances gather so many people."
"For what then?"
"It's the stories she tells."
"What's so special about them?" Now confusion was completely a part of him.
"You'll understand soon enough," winked the innkeeper. "Now, with your permission, the other customers are waiting for me. A waiter will soon arrive with your order."
And with that said he left, to attend to the new customers who kept coming in.
Before long, the place was packed. The inn was not made to accommodate all those people.
Thanking Surshana, Aeneas did not have to share his seat with anyone, but the distance separating him from the other tables arranged nicely was so small as to make the air suffocating.
The thought of leaving that place as soon as possible began to form, but by now the desire to understand what was so special about that Lady of Tales was too strong.
He, therefore, ate the dishes he had ordered-they were nothing special- calmly.
And waited.
After a few minutes, a woman made her entrance on the stage.
She wore discarded clothes and clutched in her hands a lute with a detached string. From a red bonnet sprouted wisps of straw-colored hair.
The facial features were so ordinary as to be painful to look at. Brown eyes and a potato nose, with thin lips similar to countless other commoners the Black Scripture captain had dealt with during his brief stay.
While it is true that you cannot judge a book by its cover, the first impact had been anything but impressive.
"It is a pleasure to have so many people gathered here to listen to me," even the voice, glaucous and nasal, could hardly be described as pleasant. "I don't pretend to change your lives with my modest art, but I hope I can stir at least one emotion in you."
Yet, the din that had seemed incessant until a few moments before had now disappeared, abruptly replaced by a silence that Aeneas knew all too well.
The same religious silence that accompanied the Cardinals before they began a religious service, which only the purest devotion can give birth to.
"So, let us begin." The woman began to strum the instrument she carried with her, with modest results. "Today's story is entitled The Fourteenth Hero."
'What?' Aeneas thought in astonishment.
"Long ago, in a world of yore,
there lived a little goblin.
Not wanting to live in fear anymore,
he made up his mind to become a hero.
At the time, good and evil had lost balance,
for creatures whose name was too frightening to be shared
were spreading their treachery
from southeast to southwest, from northwest to northeast.
Luckily for us,
some said no.
And joined in,
to put an end to it.
Our goblin, he was one of them.
But where will was plentiful
talent is not as generous.
I sing for you this tale,
so that you may remember
those whom time has lost sight of."
An ungainly chant caught the attention of the spectators. Though lacking in harmony, there was something in those words that knew how to caress the strings of the heart.
"And thus began his journey,
through fallen empires, enchanted valleys,
boundless seas, unexplored cities,
snow-capped mountains, lost places.
Meeting those who
history would remember as myths.
Though the body was feeble,
courage was that of a giant.
Fear was always present,
in seeing struggles
that with their fervor
were changing wilderness.
But where the sword cannot reach,
the heart can succeed.
Even if you are small,
you can be of help to all.
Just set your soul on the goal,
and dreams can come true."
'Some charm effects? But it should have no effect on me. A talent?'
Aeneas had entertained the idea of unsheathing the spear he had stowed under his clothes and putting an end to that charade, killing her and everyone present.
An ungodly creature like a goblin part of the legendary hero group? Inconceivable.
But against his better judgment, he realized that he longed to know the end of that story.
"You may wonder,
how did that little goblin
get into that legendary group.
That, I don't know.
Maybe he was an outstanding cook,
after all,
even heroes have to eat.
Maybe he was amusing,
after all,
even heroes have to laugh.
Maybe he was ordinary,
after all,
even heroes must remember their mortality.
What do I know, I will tell you.
It was a starless night,
only the light of the moon in the sky,
when the Pestilence King began his assault.
Hidden as he did every time battle broke out,
the goblin incited his comrades.
Sword blows, arrow shots,
The enemy would not yield.
Fire magics, water magics,
the undead were scattering in a sea of bones.
The Leader was imparting his orders,
as the battle grew more and more heated.
The knight in the raven armor gave allegiance to his heritage,
fighting like a demon out of the depths of hell.
The gentle giant of the air protected his comrades,
while he kept the skies safe from the hordes of pestilence.
The little enchantress cast spells,
her arsenal seemed to have no end.
The elf guarded against the darkness,
letting the shadows conceal his blows.
The hours passed, and the goblin continued to remain safe
in the underground hiding place, he had dug.
The weariness was great, but now only the Pestilence King remained.
His skeletal body, reeking of death, still stood.
The Leader was on the verge of triumph.
His sword on the verge of dealing the final blow.
But only the goblin noticed
that they had been the victim of a deception.
The Pestilence King was about to cast magic,
which would have killed their leader for sure.
What to do?
The answer was obvious to his eyes.
He came out of his hut, and let out a scream,
distracting the two contenders.
The Leader stopped his run.
The Pestilence King cast his magic.
A thunderbolt departed from his fingers, striking the little goblin.
But his sacrifice had not been in vain.
Having allowed the Leader the time he needed to deliver the killing blow.
And so, one of the most infamous Evil Deities met its end.
But the little goblin did not die unhappy,
knowing that in the end,
he had been worthy to be called a hero."
When the story was finished, the Lady of Tales received a warm round of applause, to which she responded with a bow devoid of excessive gestures.
Aeneas remained composed in his seat, still uncertain of what to do.
Could this have been considered blasphemy? Or was it just an innocent, albeit dangerous, tavern story?
The look on his face betrayed his feelings, as the Lady of Tales, evidently concerned that she had left a disgruntled spectator, approached him.
"Is something wrong?" She asked, sitting down beside him. Several others of the inn's guests had tried to approach but the innkeeper, perhaps at the request of the Lady herself, had managed to carve out a private space for the two. "Didn't you like the story?"
"It's just a bunch of nonsense," he replied coldly. "All the history books agree that the Pestilence King was defeated by the Leader of the Thirteen Heroes alone, without anyone's help. You just added a fanciful backstory to flesh out a meaningless story. A goblin becoming a hero, impossible."
"History books are certainly the best way to learn about the past," commented the Lady of Stories, with a smile that seemed to mock him. "But if not studied carefully they can become poison of the mind. Tell me, do you know that all the stories we have of the thirteen heroes date back several decades after the fight against the God Dragon? Do you think scholars had a certain way of knowing what happened, without being there? Especially after the fight against the Evil Deities caused such a profound change on this part of the continent."
"And how can you be sure that your story matches the truth?" He asked, irked by the conversation. Still, there was no way he had gotten up to leave. Not yet.
"Let me explain how a legend is born. Stories are told starting with people like me, who wield a disused instrument to try to tell something to gladden the souls of poor people." The Lady of Tales looked him fixedly in the eye, with a strength that Aeneas would have described as magnetic. There was something strange about the woman. "Tales are alive. They change, grow and wither. The narrative you know of the thirteen heroes is just the most successful one, but that doesn't mean it corresponds to really how the facts happened. And even if it did, it wouldn't matter. When history becomes myth, silly concepts like truth lose their importance."
"And why would this fable you told matter? It's just silly propaganda for the demi-humans."
"You can't understand it, can you?" Compassion? How dared she feel that foolish sentiment toward him? "I hope one day you can turn around the way you see things."
"I know what the truth is," a resolute conviction, child of an uncompromising upbringing. "The thirteen heroes were the champions of the humanoid races. They proved their greatness to the other races by driving evil out of these lands."
"Surely those heroes have rendered great service. But are you truly so convinced about their number? Don't you think it's strange that only humanoid races decided to unite to fight what was a danger to all?"
Aeneas did not answer.
"Didn't you ever think that there might be more heroes than those handed down in history?"
"These are mere inferences of yours, unfounded."
More than thirteen heroes? Conspiracies of a sick mind, detached from reality.
"I see," the Lady of Stories had stood up, heading toward her admirers. Evidently, the conversation was over. "Just one last thing. Why did you listen to my story until the end?"
"Simple curiosity."
The woman smiled, then disappeared from the crowd.
The Black Scripture captain left the inn, never to return.