Chapter 47

Everything you read, is the truth

What could this unworthy pence possibly transcribe, dealing with that magnanimous heart, that dear friend, that brilliant commander, that fearless explorer, proud statesman, incomparable swordsman, fiery lover, artist of renewed fame, wine connoisseur and master of beer, poet-warrior with a sensitive soul and a swift sword, our famous Prince Alexander Arrideo Hephaistion Argades?

Allow me first to introduce our generous gentleman, for you who do not know him, or for you who have decided to forget him. A man endowed with great gifts, extraordinary physical and mental abilities, with a sharp mind and the fox's readiness to act, but also with a sensitivity, a mercy that the gentlest of doves would have envied.

As his companion, for years I was graced by his friendship, his undying love for anyone at his side; easy to laugh and even easier to compassion. I witnessed his charity and the beauty of his soul on so many occasions that so many books could be written, filling entire libraries. At the same time, an implacable man, and ruthless, ready to right every wrong, especially those who harassed his loved ones. And nothing was more precious, more dear, to Prince Alexander's heart, than his subjects and their well-being.

"I pity your future wife," I used to joke. "For she will have to share her husband with another woman, Lady Justice." And this made the prince always laugh, as if these words were not the honest truth.

A man whose very history is rich in extraordinary events, just as mountains are rich in trees or rivers abundant in water. If I were ever to be offered the honor of writing the biography of such a radiant existence, so out of the ordinary, I would find myself compelled to decline because of the impossibility of it, for to transcribe, even slavishly and without frills, a year of his life, ten would be required of my humble skill.

The first time I met him, he was just a young up-and-comer, disentangling himself between the minutiae of court and the sweat of training camps. Just a child at the time. Yet a child endowed with that greatness born one, perhaps two generations.

After the fall of his beloved city, he wandered in exile in the dear and sweet lands of the Union. Of all he had lost, nothing brought him more regret than having forsaken his greatest friend and the love of his subjects.

"Regrets," he used to tell me, "I have many. Too many to count. I lost what I loved, what defined who I am. Prince Landless, they will have to call me from now on." And, I dare not joke about this, there was a fire, a fervor, in his eyes that I could never explain, no matter how hard I try.

There was no trace of weakness in him, physical or mental, more because such concepts were unknown to him, rather than simple arrogance.

According to the testimony of numerous members of the fair sex who -some beautiful creatures!- had the good fortune and honor to share his bed, a more delicate, and at the same time ardent, lover could not have been found for the whole circle of the world. Tales of chivalry and sweet passion, each one special in its own way, that passed for every race and maiden, from the old woman who regretted her youth, to the sweet fruit that had just reached maturity, from the noblewoman betrothed to a brute of little worth, to the peasant girl who dreamed of eternal love.

He drank infrequently, and only in the strictest moderation, for many and many times he had seen what danger lay behind a bottle. "For a soldier and a leader, there is no devil more dangerous than that which lurks in the reddest vine," he always repeated.

Having tried -alas, with not the brightest of results- to paint such an extraordinary picture, let me give you the account of what happened -what really happened- during the taking of Karnasus.

As you readers may know, the city at the center of the Union had fallen after a long siege by the forces of the Equestrian King. The valor, courage, recklessness, and daring of our beloved prince had had to contend with the ferocity, ruthlessness, and cruelty of the centaurs of the Great Plains. He fought relentlessly, Prince Alexander, yet he had to force himself out of the city, like the vulgarrest of thieves, fleeing from court to court of the Union, finding refuge first on one side, and then on the other. Running and hiding, enemies were everywhere, even in the most unexpected places.

But this constant pilgrimage was the key to his redemption. In short, many were the valiant soldiers -who it would now be more opportune to call heroes- who gathered under his banner, drawn by the strength of his personality, inspired by the fierceness of his ideals.

Clashes and divisions were only a distant memory, and under his guide some of the most brilliant, most dazzling swords and minds of our entire beautiful and magnificent homeland rallied. This company that I can only call golden -although even gold appeared as the most vulgar of metals in comparison with such splendor- gathered together individuals born under different skies, writing other idioms, professing different religions, children of the lands touching the northern sea, and the southern mountains. Yet never in the history of the Union was such a relationship of brotherhood, such loyalty and allegiance to one another, forged.

Their spoils were the glory they shared with their leader, and their reward the sweet and sincere affection they felt toward him.

When the time came for the attack, I still remember the speech the prince made to his attendants, of whom I was fortunate enough to be present.

"Friends," he said. And his was a voice broken with emotion and full of hope. "Today I have returned here, where it all began. In my travels, I have known the beauty of the Union, its light, and its darkness. I have learnt to love it, more than I did in the past. I have come to know it, and for that I am grateful. My exile, as you know, has been a source of endless worries and sorrows, but even in adversity, I have known the warmth of trusted comrades. Having to fight my homeland is, as you can imagine, a sword hanging over my head. Whatever my choice, whatever the outcome, I will come out defeated."

"Enemies are in their thousands," Sir Niles, champion of the arena and lord of the battlefield, had pointed out. Among the many, many, valiant who had gathered, he stood out for selflessness and courage. "What will be our priority?"

"The civilians," the prince had replied. "The civilians, my people. Let no harm come to them. Let no blood flow, in those streets, where once there was only hope and happiness. Spare anyone who should put down his swords, friend or foe. Let peace be our goal, and let war always remind us who we want to be, not who we are."

"Your Majesty," a young swordsman, Erya Uzruth, had run into the tent where we had set up camp, sweating and fatigued. "The centaurs have taken hostages, which they now display on the walls. One of them has been thrown into the void, and if we do not show ourselves soon, they warn that they will start throwing others, increasing in number."

Erya was a valiant hero, from a distant land, who had found in the cause of the prince a noble reason, after long wandering, to put his sword to service. Collector of legends, rescuer of helpless maidens, protector of the innocent and enforcer of justice, he was but one among many notable pedigrees who had labored to join Prince Alexander's cause. Since this is not the place, I shall avoid mentioning the exploits that had seen this young man as a protagonist, limiting myself to writing that he had the heart of a noble and delicate spirit, and at the same time the ardor and compassion of a true warrior.

"Mercy!" Exclaimed Prince Alexander on hearing this havoc. "I must go down there myself, damn them!" The splendid blue hair trembled with honest indignation as the prince's bright gaze turned its dangerous fire towards the lost homeland. "And negotiate the release of the hostages, as soon as possible. If a single innocent man, woman or child is harmed..." And, dear friends, I must testify that at the mere thought of a wounded child, our beloved sovereign wiped away a manly tear that had begun to furrow his cheek. Therein lay his greatness, in not lowering himself to give weight to what others would think of him. "... My delicate conscience could not bear the weight of such a misdeed. I will admonish these centaurs in no uncertain terms..."

And here, I am forced to admit, in my vileness I could not wait for the ax of his vengeance to fall upon his enemies, unaware of what the consequences might be.

"No," fortunately for us, other men, far better than myself, flanked our beloved prince. Erya Uzruth, for example. "Your anxiousness to avoid bloodshed does you much credit, my prince, but one cannot hope that the centaurs will have the foresight to come to terms with the enemy. I understand you, I understand you well. I, too, tremble when I hear that an innocent is in danger, and I feel the blood boil for such cowardice. But to believe that such savages are comparable to you in honor and respect for the adversary is foolish. Indeed, you are endowed with a company that boasts many members distinguished for boldness and uprightness, all anxious to execute your orders, and each of whom, I defy anyone to doubt, would willingly sacrifice his life at your command." And here, he who was from another nation bowed his head, the only sign of respect he knew. A universal sign. "Like me, for example."

But Erya was not the only one who proposed himself for that task that would be remembered in the annals. Following that exhaustive speech, volunteers immediately stepped forward to offer their vigorous arms to that noble project.

Alexander was forced to chase away a second manly tear, such was the emotion that that self-sacrifice caused him, and after looking into the eyes of all of them, he performed a cry full of affection: "My men! My brave men!" Then he pressed his strong hands to his noble chest in gratitude to them, and to the Gods, to the Mother Law, for bestowing upon him soldiers of such caliber.

His choice finally fell on Erya himself. "Offer our enemies honest treatment if they give up their cowardly kidnapping and decide to face us head-on," Alexander said. "And admonish them that they will relish the full extent of my wrath should they twist just the hair of their hostages," he finally sentenced. "Do this for me, Erya Uzruth, and you will be properly rewarded."

"Sir, your respect and affection is all I could ever desire," the swordsman replied, and the two embraced, shedding more manly tears. "Just one thing," Erya added, after they had laboriously pulled apart, "if anything should happen to me, take care of my companions. The knowledge that they are not safe is the only worry I could take to the afterlife."

In fact, Erya had three graceful maidens accompanying him. Three elves, of great genius and family, whose beauty was impossible to describe, and whose courage and valor would have made even the hardest of hearts gush.

Erya loved his companions with the kindness of a father and the self-sacrifice of a brother, and the elves, in return, loved Erya. A perfect testimony to the foundations of brotherhood that underpin our wonderful nation!

When the swordsman went to negotiate, concern began to hover in the air. Everyone waited for the outcome of the negotiations, hoping for a happy outcome, preparing for the bloody alternative.

With what tension the time passed! The morning wind was still whispering through the trees and grass, the indifferent birds were still trilling their songs from the branches, but every warrior and enchanter gathered there certainly stood at the edge of anxiety and nervousness.

Every one of them, with the exception of one!

"Ah, the moment before jumping into battle!" Affirmed the prince, kneeling in the tall grass above the city, as the fiercest of predators had sharpened his fangs and unsheathed his claws, and what claws! "The delightful calm before launching into a scarlet work such as ours, great is the emotion I feel! I know, I know, it is not noble to acclaim blood, it is not honorable to kiss the lips of lady death. But when a beautiful woman seduces him, what can man do but yield to flattery? Is it not so for you too, dear friend?"

And here, I had to admit my extraneousness to such a whirlwind of excitement. But here also lay the difference between a pathetic and insignificant man like me, and an experienced captain of arms like Prince Alexander. When fear presented itself in his presence, our beloved ruler, all he could do was laugh loudly and say: "Try again next time, maybe when I am old I will listen to your pleas!"

But no enjoyment escaped from his mouth this time. "Get ready," he murmured in front of me and all the others who had gathered around him. He sprang, and I thought I saw thunder come to life, and he charged the army, shouting impetuously: "To arms! To arms!"

In a beat, his charge was joined by dozens and dozens of shouts that flooded the picturesque valley that separated them from the city of Karnasus. I stood at the prince's side, riding a thoroughbred horse. I confess, and I am ashamed of it, I began to fear for my safety. Apprehension grew within me, and the idea that this time might be the last time I would bring my chronicles to the attention of my dear readers was tearing me apart.

It was not for my safety that I was pining, it was only the possibility of leaving so many more adventures, so many exploits of Prince Alexander in oblivion that left me horrified.

When we arrived below the walls, a macabre scene greeted us. Erya's body lay mangled on the ground, surrounded by enemies. The swordsman had managed to cleave one of the dreaded Immortals, honor guards of the Equestrian King, and was about to claim the life of the second champion defending the city as well. But Sir Erya had made a mistake, a huge mistake. Not falling for the trap, no. He acted thinking that his adversary was endowed with that same sense of chivalry, that respect for the enemy that made that great tragedy we call war bearable.

He sinned in stupidity, that he did. He was stupid in having faith in concepts that were now lost, that would never again appear on the battlefield. Except on the rarest of occasions, of which there are very few lucky ones -of which I can boast to be one- who can witness it.

The prince's shout at the scene was mighty, and my first impression was that heaven itself was divided, outraged at that cowardice. The trumpets sounded, and the fury of the people in revolt was also heard, rising from within the walls in a cry of protest and freedom, having recognised their rightful king.

The gates were opened, thanks to the help of these brave rebels - whose valor will never be forgotten - led by nobles who had not submitted to the domination of foreigners, and the prince's troops joined those of General Chazos, who had come from Beppo Allo to provide support.

In short, the clash spread throughout the city. I do not want to bore you further with soporific, off-the-cuff descriptions. There were countless casualties, we all know that. To redeem freedom, there was a price to pay, as always.

I can only say that without Prince Alexander to put himself on the front lines and risk the same safety for all of us -and I challenge anyone to question this- perhaps things would have turned out differently.

In the end, thanks to the joint effort of our prince and Sir Niles, helped by the three elves who yearned to avenge their companion, even the last Immortal fell, after a long and painful battle. The survivors of the Great Plains were hunted down, and only a few of them managed to escape. Karnasus was free once again.

Now, citizens, your time has come. Squeeze together, think about what you hold dear, regret what you have lost, and prepare yourselves. Prepare yourselves because there will be many mourners to come. Prepare yourselves, for there will still be much to fight for.

Luckily, you will not have to do it alone.

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Karnasus

The bodies were piled up in the cemetery area. High stacks of fire had been raised, and a copious trail of smoke rose from them. A priest was repeating a litany of unfamiliar sounds, while the crowd was divided between those who watched in silence, and those who joined in with the chorus.

Antilene watched the flames crackle, without giving them much consideration. There was a constant coming and going in the streets, and every individual was in an agitated state, searching for what to do, whispering about expectations and regrets.

"Do you think we should have Radish and the others read this... I don't even know what to call it." Agravaine continued to wave the flier that had so readily described the events of only a couple of days before.

The elf had her hair pulled back into a ponytail, and the black and white eyes glued to the text.

"Where are they now?" Antilene asked.

"In your rooms. They are resting."

Prince Alexander had been very generous, in granting them one of the royal flats. One could almost have implied that he did not want to let them out of his sight. That one would have probably been right.

"I see," The half-elf brought a hand to her face, to cover herself from the smoke that was flooding her. "Do nothing for now. They might find it themselves, or they might not. In fact, you know what? I couldn't care less."

Erya was dead. That was the only thing that should have mattered to them. The three elves might have found that pile of nonsense as amusing as she had. Or they could have exposed their grievances to the prince, Beppo Allo's army and the band of demi-humans led by that minotaur.

"Doesn't all this irritate you even a little? I know you'd like to keep your presence here a secret... but reading this nonsense someone could think Erya was the hero, not you. Without you... they'd all be dead now."

Antilene shrugged her shoulders, starting to walk down the inner streets. She had seen enough fire for one day.

"I didn't come to this place to start a fan club. If the Union wants to create a spotless and fearless paladin to unite the people, let them do so. In fact, this is akin to my goals. They will have fewer grievances when I claim my reward."

If there was anything to claim. But either the royal treasury had been completely looted by the Immortals, or her talent was starting to fail.

Antilene had gone through every smallest artifact she could get her hands on, achieving nothing as a result of her hard work. Karnasus had proved to be treasure-poor, as had the Union. The half-elf had even asked Melina if she could wield the cursed sword, finding herself returning it seconds later, completely disappointed.

"And what would your goals be?" Agravaine followed her like a shadow. It was beginning to be irritating. "You're not going to tell me you want to free every single elf slave left in the vicinity?"

"That is a purpose I will gladly leave to you," Antilene said. Far too many people in her retinue were beginning to accumulate for her liking. "The goals that move me are the same as always. Curiosity, nothing more. Maybe I'm just a bored little girl, looking for something to arouse her interest. Finding the pieces of my story and putting the bigger picture together would be a good start."

Decem's treasure had given her a first clue. Her grandfather had been a fencer. But the rest ended there.

As they walked, a pastry shop caught their attention. The sign on display solemnly heralded a pharaonic discount for the restaurant's six specialities. Antilene decided to stop and eat, undecided between the crêpe of darkness, or the brioche of flame. In the end, the choice fell on the former. Only when the first overflowing bite of chocolate entered her mouth did the half-elf realize how much she had missed the taste of the sweet tickling her palate.

"What shall we do now?" Agravaine looked around, searching for danger. All she found were passers-by exchanging looks of suspicion, and rubble being rebuilt. "Will you continue with this war?"

Antilene took another bite. The muzzle was now brown from the chocolate. The hard price to pay for such sweetness was the ease with which one could get dirty.

"I have faced two of the Immortals, bringing the casualty count to three," she replied, wiping herself with a handkerchief the shop owner had kindly offered her. "In all, there should be five more left. Plus the Equestrian King, who is supposed to be the most dangerous of all."

"If you were to leave the conflict now, how do you think things would go for the Union?"

"They would probably go back to square one. The Minotaur, Niles, I think is the only one who can take on one of the Immortals in a direct confrontation. That's assuming their abilities are more or less on the same league," and she was indisputable proof that members of a special unit didn't always travel on the same level. "Maybe even Melina, with the right support. But now they'll be more guarded, and the chances of finding them alone will be slim."

"And the Queen of Ris ? That woman is not as helpless as she pretends to appear."

No, she wasn't at all. Antilene looked forward to meeting her again, to ask many questions that had begun to pile up since the infiltration.

The Theocracy always repaid its debts. And Antilene was a golden scion of that custom.

"Did you realize that yourself? Well, only an idiot couldn't. I think her abilities are on par with Baharut's imperial mage, probably inferior." And, surprise aside, she had been very generous with her estimation. The half-elf had only had the opportunity to catch a glimpse of Fluder Paradyne in passing, during her stay in Jircniv's care, but the court mage's skills were well known to the Theocracy. "In any case, nothing to worry about, for me at least. You perhaps should be careful. I'd hate to have to kill you."

Agravaine did not react much to those words. "Should I become a danger, do not hesitate. But I don't think it is the queen's intention to become your enemy. So far I think she has merely observed you, to understand your intentions."

"I have no doubt." Various people, of various races, were strolling amiably down the street. They were whispering, and what they were saying could not be heard. "But I want you to pay attention. The Union may also prove to be our enemy. Spies could be on every side, listening to our every move. The only thing certain is that blood will be flowing, very soon."

Not an unlikely prediction. Blood was always flowing.

The half-elf approached the counter again, to treat herself to another crêpe, this time with white chocolate. She had skipped breakfast, and felt capable of devouring an entire army.

"You're not having anything else?"

Agravaine shook her head.

The owner, a man in his forties with a thick silver beard, handed her another round of sweets, round-shaped treats with a hole in the middle.

"Freebies on the house," he explained. "Sweetened doughnuts, with blueberry jam. For the sweet elf." Then he handed her another napkin to wipe herself with.

Antilene looked at it, then back at her sister. "It might take me a while to finish," she told her. "Why don't you go back to the palace? You'll check how our guests are doing, and you can also contact Etienne and Melody to inquire about the situation in Ris."

Agravaine had taken a liking to the three ex-slaves, and was already planning what assignments might suit them best. A task that Antilene was more than happy to leave in her care.

"Don't you have your meeting with the prince soon? Can I leave you alone?" After long days of waiting, Prince Alexander was finally ready to receive his pointy-eared guests.

"I will be careful not to burst into tears as soon as I see him." A giggle escaped her sister. "If I had sunglasses I could shield myself from his dazzling charisma, but unfortunately I will be forced to run the risk of being blinded."

Or perhaps a helmet of pure steel would have been more suitable. Looking at the sun with naked eyes, the risk of getting burnt was to be taken into consideration. At the same time, being reckless had its uses.

"I would be very careful," Agravaine warned her, the face comically serious. "There is a real possibility that you will turn into a helpless maiden, captivated by his charms. The elves of Evasha are not yet ready to accept a human as king consort. You could cause a second civil war, just because you couldn't keep your gaze in place!"

She pointed a finger in front of her, waving it in false disappointment.

"If that happens, I will be prepared to accept exile," Antilene reassured her, looking at her scornfully. "It would never be my intention to leave my subjects in disappointment. I will accept my responsibilities with supreme joy. A white horse, and an immaculate carriage, just like in fairy tales for little girls."

"Ah, to be young again. My heart could benefit from strong emotions once more."

"I don't think there's that much of an age difference between us," but that was a topic neither of them wanted to broach. To open the door to happiness, ignorance could sometimes be the perfect key. "Anyway, now go, let's not waste any more time with this nonsense."

Agravaine addressed her with a delicate bow, before taking her leave. Antilene watched the elf walk away, as she lost herself in the alleys and the crowd.

The half-elf continued to eat, cheering herself with the gentle breeze that was beginning to blow. It did not take her long to finish it all. She threw the rubbish into a nearby bin, and then approached the shop owner once more.

Only the two of them were present. No one else approached.

"A glass of water. Clear water, if you please."

The man smiled at her, and ran quickly to the back, returning soon after with what was requested.

"Beautiful day, isn't it? Since the prince returned, this feels like a different world. People are happier, and set to work with more desire. Much optimism, in the streets. Much hope for the future."

"Oh yeah?" Antilene swirled the glass between her fingers, sipping slowly. "Would you say the population is happy with the change? Or should we say the return to the past? There were many deaths during the taking of the city."

The man looked at her with deep violet eyes, his lips parted in a sly smile. "Deaths are unfortunately inevitable, my lady. If there is discontent, well, our beloved prince would know how to handle it. He is the rightful heir to the throne of Karnasus, and the people are not ungrateful for the years of good governance that preceded his exile. Although..."

"Although...?" Antilene urged him to continue.

"My lady, I am fearful of the Gods. It is not my intention to share hovel talk with a graceful maiden such as you are."

Antilene ignored the graceful maiden's part. "How long have you been here, valiant confectioner? I am but a wayfarer, who has hastened to pass this way to see the fruits of liberation sprout. I am ignorant, as far as the common feeling of the inhabitants of this city is concerned." What she had said was not entirely true. But wasn't entirely untrue either. And they both knew it did not matter.

The owner arranged more of his produce on a tray that he placed on the counter, in plain sight. Their strong scent mingled with the burnt one that still hovered in the half-elf's nostrils. "Not much, I must admit. A couple of years, maybe a bit more. And in that time, there have been many occasions when I have returned to my homeland. A truly enchanting place. The taste of home is unlike any other, as sad as it sometimes is to admit."

"I'm sure it is," Antilene's stomach, at any rate, was currently full. However, of trying new flavors she could not say she was completely satiated. Not yet, at least. "But knowing that there is a place waiting for us makes the distance sweeter. A feeling I think we share."

The man looked up, to see her gaze fixed in his. "Aye, that's right." Then he looked away, unable to hold it. "Karnasus is a city of great history and strong traditions. Its citizens do not forget, nor do they forgive. And this belief of theirs, according to the idea I have, is well represented by the one who governs them." He approached her, so that no one else would hear them. The street was deserted, but even the walls knew how to grow ears, at the occurrence. "And it is said that many are those who still hold old grudges against the prince for abandoning them. The family is a sacred thing, very. It would surely be divine will if that sacredness was respected, always."

'That is not always the case,' thought the half-elf. 'It is not always the case.'

"I thought the nobles sided with the rebels. Many stories of the prowess of the survivors of the royal family can be heard, and how they rushed to the rescue of their breadwinner. Am I to believe that what I read was a malicious lie?"

Stories that, to the best of Antilene's recollection, certainly did not correspond to reality. Certainly troops had been sent in support of Niles and his people, and certainly theirs had been welcome help. But the half-elf found it hard to believe that their contribution to the cause had been so unparalleled and so crucial. Indeed, the duties of the nobles still teemed with guards, almost as if losses had been kept to a minimum

'Just coincidences. Not everyone can be a warrior comparable to you.' Using herself as a yardstick was a bad habit that Antilene struggled to eradicate. Standard. She had to find more realistic standards.

"It was a confusing night of deliverance. Many rumors are already starting to spread. Some, bitter malicious tongues who have never tasted my masterpieces, even claim there was no clash. And that the battle was already won the moment our prince entered, breaking through the gates."

"And how would that explain all the dead that now burn?" Antilene asked.

Few things lied. Fire was not among them. "I'm surprised they didn't put your ovens to community service as well, so much work to be done. And the guards? How could anyone have gotten rid of all those guards by themselves?" She shrugged her shoulders, unable to contemplate such nonsense. "Madness. Pure madness even to imagine it."

The confectioner raised his hands, as if he wanted her to believe he knew nothing about anything "I'm just saying what I've heard around, for a generous and charming customer. I make sweets, I don't cook truths. Nor lies, to be clear."

Antilene slid a golden coin into his pocket, to loosen his tongue. "Forgive a naive and ignorant woman who is too intrigued by silly gossip. Why don't you bake me one of your best pies, so that I may give it as a gift to the one who awaits me?" So quickly it passed, so quickly the man's mouth opened. As street artists, perhaps there was a future for the agents of the Theocracy.

"For you, my lady, I have one of the finest creations of these humble hands." He showed her a beautiful white cake, with just a few hints of bright red. A craftship of light indeed. "The vanilla and cream are so sugary and fluffy that you can mistake what melts in your mouth for pieces of cloud. The strawberries are so juicy that they will move even the most inflexible of men to tears." Within seconds, the confectioner had already finished wrapping the chosen one.

Antilene accepted the parcel satisfied. "It will be a gift that will make whoever receives it happy, I feel. With this it will be very easy to be loved. Perhaps we should give up swords, and make war with sweets. It would certainly be more enjoyable for everyone."

Blood replaced by custard and juicy fruit salads. A cheesy prospect, perhaps, but also a very pleasant one.

"You are very wise, my lady," replied the confectioner. He had a silly smile on his face, and his eyes fixed on the outside of the shop "To be loved, it is difficult these days. We can't all be like Sir Niles and his people."

"What do you mean?"

"The population loves its heroes. The people of the Union are united in sport, although lately it is difficult to remember that. Fortunately for us, Niles and his comrades have brought back memories of those who were the favorites of our lands."

It made sense. Having rounded up that band of stragglers now revealed new depths of truth. Antilene found herself surprised, realizing how little she had understood about everything from the beginning.

"Should you return to your homeland," she told the man, before leaving, "place a flower on the grave of a loved one. Surely there will be some. Chrysanthemums, in particular, are auspicious where I come from. I cannot now..." She sighed, leaving a trail of perfume behind her. "But I will be able to before long."

She did not wait for an answer, even though it was known to her. Already she was far away.

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When she appeared at the doors of the throne room, Antilene found a bat-like demi-human scrutinizing her from head to toe.

The half-elf had left the cake in her sister's hands, not without some amused comment on her bottomless stomach, and had then headed swiftly for the place where she was expected.

She waited in silence, those few seconds of stillness spent exchanging glances with that sentinel. Antilene thought she had seen him following Niles, but could not be entirely certain. Non-humans had the bad habit of all looking alike, making identification more difficult than was normally expected.

Finally, the man-bat made a sound that sounded like a giggle, and the door opened. Whether he was ignorant of the common tongue, or had not even tried to communicate with her, the half-elf could not know.

'Perhaps I could try to make him talk,' a not entirely pleasant consideration, now that she reflected about it. 'Or maybe I could make him sing, with the right help. The little star in the sky, the nursery rhyme you teach children to learn to talk.' Now that was a more enticing prospect. As a teacher, Antilene knew she wasn't very qualified. That's why she needed practice. Lots of practice.

When she entered, the throne room was not so different from how she remembered it. The masks continued to stare at her from the walls to which they were attached, giving the strange impression that the room was more populated than it actually was. They watched the half-elf, never changing expression, never turning their fixed gaze away from her figure.

The fixtures had been repaired, and the blood cleaned up as well. How many could have guessed that not even a week had passed since an execution had been carried out in that very place?

"Lady Fouche, it is with great pleasure that I welcome you into my presence!" There was only one difference, not a very unpleasant one at that. The one who sat on the wooden throne was no longer Erya. "Be welcome, to my humble abode." He was alone, except for a small man scribbling on a pad of paper.

Was he a dwarf? Or a gnome? Actually, he would have called himself a human. Just like Antilene was. His short stature, just a whim of the Gods.

Prince Alexander gave her a smile, and a graceful bow after rising from the throne. He even made to kiss her hand, but Antilene pulled it away gracefully, leaving him groggy for a few seconds.

"No need for unitile formalities such as these," the half-elf explained. "Tell me rather how you are faring, now that you have returned home."

The hair that so much could have been mistaken for seaweed moved, as if a wave had disturbed their stillness. "Now that I stand before you, I have never felt better." The prince's tanned skin had that smell of salt and sea that deeply annoyed Antilene. Where it came from, it was hard to say. Karnasus was certainly not near the waters, nor was Ris. "Yet, I implore that you will forgive me for the rudeness, even this does not compare to the ecstasy that grips me as I once again caress my royal chair. In greeting my beloved subjects, in exchanging laughter with those who always bring a smile to my face, my soul lights up immensely."

The man who was not a dwarf nor a gnome, who was challenging the prince's shadow to determine who could be more attached to his backside, began to write louder to these last words of his, smearing his already filthy hands even more with ink.

"Lovely," Antilene commented, trying to appear as dignified as possible. There was something about the prince that irritated her deeply, as unfair as it was to base such a harsh opinion on such a limited amount of time and knowledge. Lies stank far too much for her nose. "Certain I am, however, that you did not summon me merely to extol the praises of your beloved homeland. It is a game I am capable of playing myself, and one I would not be very inclined to lose."

The prince retired to his throne. Long had been the separation from it, and it made sense that he should now find himself reclaiming what he had lost. "I am sure the stories about the forest of Evasha that you have to tell me are many and interesting," he said, making his scribe approach his side again. "But it is not to exchange pleasantries that I requested your radiant presence; you are right about that." He cracked a sneer at her, with plump, red lips that must have been meant to charm Antilene, but that only reminded her of a piglet. "No, I trust by now you have been able to read the flyers we had distributed. Producing so many, in such a short span, and with so few means, was a feat that should be handed down to future generations, I assure you."

'The Great Paper Distributors. Next to the Thirteen Heroes and the Mystic Dragon Knight certainly has an impact, although I would be willing to bet that's not what the prince expects.'

Antilene disagreed with those remarks, perhaps too stupid for a gathering of heroes as that was.

"Minstrels will be singing this venture for years to come," she said instead. "Should I ever have children, I wouldn't need to look further for the right bedtime story."

The prince snuggled into his doublet, a deep blue with silver stripes that made him look even more 'sea-like', should that be possible. "In a mockery contest, I admit I would be crowned the jester of the day. But the important thing is not what you think of yourself, but what others think of you. Did you note it down?"

The little man wrote quickly, mumbling something between his teeth. He certainly had a certain sense of the dramatic, like his liege.

"It is not the case that his grace should cause too much trouble of this kind. From what I can see, the population has accepted your arrival and is quite happy to be back to normality." The trails of smoke were still before her eyes, but the half-elf made no mention of them. "Is this not what your grace desired? To have your own immortal exploits imprinted on the simple minds of your subjects, so that they would decant its praises into their imaginations."

Alexander shook his head, not without first giving her a jaunty smile. Was he the valiant lord of a city, or a ragged mercenary who had risen to power? The clothes he wore made it easy to tell the difference, but would he be the same under that dainty velvet?

"I take it you have also been impressed by such terribly fascinating and surprising chronicles," the little man let out a sour chuckle, which was promptly silenced by a simple glance from the prince. "I believe that one day whole volumes of writings like this will fill entire libraries," he continued, undaunted, "so it was my intention to ask your grace what her opinion was on the matter. Especially about certain 'alterations' we have made to the course of events. Modifications that have not changed the big picture of the truth."

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

'In short, he wants to know what I think about being completely left out of events, and having Erya as the bearer, in part, of what I have accomplished.' Maintaining secrecy was certainly one reason why Antilene would accept that implied agreement without too much trouble. On the other hand, she did not know how to regard the almost sacred elevation that had been performed towards the now dead swordsman. 'I could protest, and make this peacock with few feathers swallow his sequins. But to what end? I would get nothing out of it but a good laugh. And half the Union as an enemy.'

"If it pleases your grace so, I have no objection. The only thing I require is proper treatment for my retinue, and a preview of the new masterpieces to come from the creative mind of your scribe." She continued not bowing, even if it was expected at that point judging from the way the prince was drumming annoyed on the throne bracelets, merely staring her straight in the eyes.

Prince Alexander held his gaze longer than many, perhaps not as valiant as himself, had managed.

"Splendid!" He exclaimed at last, having directed his regal head towards his attendant. "Master Dinocrates is as humble as only a sage can be, and has achieved a level of skill that only a true artist can display. I am sure he will be glad to procure copies of his manuscripts for you, before they are given to the vulgar."

The literary master made to open his mouth, but no sound came out, or at least Antilene heard nothing. "He is very shy," his patron explained, giving his brown hair a sharp squeeze. "But there is no pen capable of weaving plots and painting emotions like his in all the twelve cities of the Union."

The little man nodded and approached the half-elf, handing her a sheet of paper. On it Antilene could read a sketchy list of high-toned praise, mostly about her legs and chest. More suitable for a turkey than a maiden, and especially a warrior. For that was what she was.

'At least they rhyme.' "Very... interesting," she tried to thank what must have been... a nice gesture? The half-elf found it difficult to determine for certain whether it was without malice or a way of mocking her. "I will carry these words in my heart." 'While the paper will end up in the trash.'

Judging by Dinocrates' sincere expression of gratitude, those compliments were heartfelt. Which was a pity, since they didn't give her a sufficient excuse to tear his head off.

"A moving demonstration of how poetry breaks down all boundaries. But at this point, my dear lady Fouche, now that it has been established that you hold no grudge against me, let me explain to you why I requested your presence." The prince had risen again, and had begun to wander about the room. There were no windows there, but he positioned himself on either side of the walls, as if he could absorb heat from them.

Alexander strolled for a few seconds, saying nothing. A few servants entered eagerly at a clap of his hands, bringing drinks and more food.

"I'm all ears," Antilene, on the other hand, remained at her place. She refused everything that was offered, without special consideration. "And, please, let's get this over with. My attendants are waiting for me." 'And a delicious-looking cake, too.' That last detail remained unspoken.

"It is good to know which side the swords are on in a conflict," Alexander finally spoke. "In front, serving the cause, or behind, in the darkness, ready to betray? I do not claim to have knowledge of the art of war. Not to the level of those who have lived centuries, at least. I am a fool, and as such I reason like a fool. Forgive my insolence, then, when I ask where your sword is stowed." His voice was firm, impassive. There was no trace of uncertainty, nor arrogance. He was a man who feared for his life, and who was throwing himself into a bottomless ravine, hoping someone would save him.

"The sword I had was returned," replied Antilene. Delfina was back in the hands of Niles, who would return it to its rightful owner. The minotaur had expressed great sorrow at the death of the previous bearer. So great, that for a moment the half-elf had even considered that grief to be true. "What I have with me is only my body, the scythe I wield, and the Union equipment given to me by the Queen of Ris. What you're asking is where I align myself and in which direction my interests lie. If you wish to speak as equals, you must first reveal yours to me, prince. It is courtesy to disclose your secrets and intentions, not all of them of course, if you wish to begin to build a relationship of trust."

Alexander squared her, doubt guiding his eyes. They were both sovereign at that moment. He in his blue velvet and silk caressing his skin, she in her black trousers and half-sleeved shirt. Two sovereigns, different, and at the same time similar.

For Antilene, that title had no meaning. For Alexander, nothing had meaning outside that title. One defined oneself by titles appropriate to one's status, which in turn became a second skin that ended up devouring the first. Prince Alexander had let the crown he wore on his head mask his face. The half-elf had rejected her birthright, but had accepted that of beyond life and death, protector of humanity and symbol of the Black Scriptures.

"There will be war," Alexander finally proclaimed. It was meant to be a solemn proclamation, worthy of a new crusade. To Antilene's ears it sounded like the desperate cry of someone who did not know what to do. "And I am surrounded by enemies. The Great Plains are still strong, and their armies march on the borders of the Union. When the fall of Karnasus will reach the Equestrian King, a payment will be demanded, which only blood will be able to satisfy. The rivers will swell red, and the lands will feed on corpses for years to come. Although united in name, the alliance between the city-states is weak and hanging by a thread. Karnasus must be at the center of a new pact, stronger and more cohesive."

He clenched his fists. The hands were full of calluses and blisters, now that Antilene observed them better. In comparison, those of the half-elf were soft and regal, as if they had never known hardship.

"And how do you intend to do that? I hear you can't keep clean at home either. Is His Majesty going to get dirty, or will he want to keep claiming to be so neat and clean."

"Much of my family was executed the moment the city fell," Alexander feigned sadness, but no manly tears furrowed his face. "Some cadet branches are still alive, lacking actual power but still retaining some dignity. The closest relative is a cousin of six, perhaps seven, years, whom I arranged to return to the palace under my sole care the moment I regained power. Not a real danger. The nobility will follow me, and knowing that I have a designated heir in case something happens to me will make my position stronger."

"But there is more," Antilene urged him to continue. Dinocrates nodded hastily at his master's side. For a moment, Antilene noticed a sparkle in the little man's eyes. "Tell me what your intentions are, and I will consider whether it will be worthwhile to continue helping you and your cause."

Alexander laughed. A crystal clear laugh, furrowed by heavy pauses. "A perceptive woman." Antilene had learned to recognise what lurked in men's expression, especially when they were turned towards her. Fear and suspicion, above all. But, rarely, also love and friendship. Desire, that was almost always there, many times hinted at, rarely expressed. She did not recognise, however, with which eyes the prince was looking at her. "You are right, my lady. There is more. Ris and Beppo Allo have joined my cause, as has Bebard. I am sure I can count on the support of Veneria and Listaran. But that is not enough. Orcneas wants to submit, and with it goes one of the two richest cities, as well as the best sailors and navigators in the Union. For this, I must cement other alliances, with more security. Words are wind, after all."

"And how do you intend to do that?"

"A wedding, my lady. A classic example to seal an alliance. And for this I ask for your help."

"Marriage is not my speciality," there was an emperor who could have confirmed this. "For what reason should I grant you my assistance?"

Alexander dribbled his teeth. Sharp fangs that would not have been out of place in a demi-human's mouth. "For my infinite gratitude, of course. Is that not enough?" Wisdom was to recognise when something foolish was said. And the prince was wise, for he continued: "That, and so much gold that you will be able to build a house on it, when the war is over. Words run deep, and I know the kingdom of Evasha would be very grateful for both of them."

Wealth was a bewitching prospect, and at the same time devoid of charm for Antilene. Good queens who would accept it there were many in the world. If only she had been a good queen...

"I have no interest in any of this. However, I am still willing to listen to you, if only because of the debt I owe to the queen of Ris." Hospitality had to be repaid, Antilene was aware of that. Once it was done, any debt accrued would be discharged. "So be quick. Speak!"

Her voice echoed in the room. Alexander pulled back, while the writer remained motionless.

"It's very simple," after a few seconds, the prince had already regained control. "The marriage has already been arranged, with the daughter of the current masters of one of Franklin's guilds. My bride-to-be brings a substantial dowry, and a much larger promise of alliance. And with her, other unions have been arranged with daughters, sisters, grandchildren of other guild members and part of the nobility of Karnasus and Ris. Even between the son of a female master and a scion of a family of high lineage in Beppo Allo."

The little man nodded at his master's speech, emphasizing its truthfulness and importance. At least, that was the only reason Antilene connected to his constant shaking of the head.

"You have my congratulations. But I don't understand what I have to do with all this." As maid of honor the half-elf would have been out of place. Same with officiating the ceremony. "Besides, it doesn't seem like a great time to be celebrating a wedding. The Equestrian King could attack at any moment."

In the toughest of times, the perfect moments to feast found the occasion to sprout. Rufus used to complain about this custom, apparently shared by all the living. 'Am I beginning to think like an undead?' A perspective that left Antilene with much puzzlement.

"You are definitely right," the prince found himself agreeing with her. "Yet my future father-in-law was adamant about sealing the marriage pact as soon as possible. After all, the situation is uncertain. And it would be difficult to reclaim Karnasus after my departure, without the proper formalities." And at that moment, Antilene could not help but imagine Alexander with a noose hanging from his neck, ready only to be pulled. "My city, my people, need me now. And the journey to Franklin is far and dangerous. I would be much more serene, knowing that my betrothed is escorted by someone... trustworthy."

'That no one knows the magic of teleportation? No, there is someone.' Thought the half-elf. "And that someone would be me." This was starting to get interesting.

"Precisely." Alexander and Dinocrates exchanged a fleeting glance, telling each other everything they had to say in those few moments. "Everyone here knows who saved Karnasus. Of course, your servants will be treated with the utmost consideration while you are away."

"Of course."

The idea of leaving Agravaine, Radish and the others to one side while Elienne and Melody were in Ris did not leave Antilene very convinced. On the other hand, staying to twiddle her thumbs in that place was even less titillating.

"I will send a message so that my remaining servants also reach this city. I trust they will be treated with the highest honors."

"Your trust will be well placed," a guffawing grin was Alexander's response. It made it hard to believe that he had grown up among the nobility. "I will treat your attendants as part of my family." At the same time, there was something very princely in his manner. Or maybe it was just all that velvet that gave that impression. All carefully fabricated.

'The part still alive, I hope.' "When do I have to leave?"

"Today itself. This evening a carriage will be waiting to take you to your destination as quickly as possible. From there, you will be the guest of one of Franklin's most prestigious inns, waiting for the preparations to be completed."

One thing was for sure, Alexander was not one to waste time.

"Good," said Antilene. "Just let me resolve some matters that require my attention. I will complete your mission in a jiffy, and then I will return here. At that point, I expect to find Karnasus in its place again." It would have been unseemly if the city had fallen into enemy hands during her absence. The half-elf was generous, but not so generous as to take the trouble to conquer it a second time.

"Of that you will not have to worry. You have my word. And the word of a prince is sacred." Alexander brought a hand to his chest, solemnly. The little man sneered.

"Then, I will bring your bride back here safe and sound. In the meantime, I will eliminate any enemy that should stand in our way."

The merry-go-round of the world continued to spin, and at that point Antilene found it tiring and annoying to get off.

At least, a cake was waiting for her.

----------------------------------------

?

In the dream, he was still young.

Corpses were piled up at his feet, and the acrid smell of blood permeated the room. The only light was a candle that was almost entirely consumed, the white of the wax almost disappeared. A matter of minutes -maybe seconds- at most.

The woman clutched the child, while crimson drops flowed from the tip of the knife he was carrying to the floor. The screams directed at him were incomprehensible.

As he approached, the woman continued to hold the child. With each step, she became more and more indistinct, a mere shadow among many.

He snatched the child from her arms, kicking her away. The child looked at him with emotionless eyes. The red of his skin barely moved, imperceptibly.

The knife was plunged into his heart with a single, precise lunge. The screams intensified, splitting his eardrums, but they continued to be only sounds he could not discern. The child only moved for a few seconds before he took his last breath. His body lit up the pile behind him.

He approached the mother. She tried to resist, a last rush of anger and contempt. He slit her throat, staining it with her son's blood. The woman looked at him with vague eyes, before dying. She did not collapse. She remained there, impotent, while the blood continued to gush. The features began to change, until they took on a rosy hue, the animalistic shape transformed into a more delicate and familiar appearance.

His mother looked at him, saying nothing.

The man returned the silence.

Then his mother became his wife, always with that fixed, emotionless gaze.

It was the man's turn to cry now.

His wife became all his daughters, one after the other followed while the red liquid did not stop. At their feet, a deep red pool had formed, glistening like silver in the almost disused light of the candle.

His daughter, the oldest, smiled at him, as she always did as a child. An innocent smile, devoid of any form of malice. She raised her hand, and pointed to the pool.

He lowered himself and saw his reflection in the blood. Meanwhile his daughter had begun to laugh.

He was old again.

----------------------------------------

Silksuntecks

When he woke up, the first thing Raymond did was to check where he was. His desk was the first thing he saw. The amount of work piled on top of it was the second. He brought a hand to his temple, massaging it. The light coming in through the window warned him that dawn was coming.

He touched the forefinger of his right hand, finding nothing in contact but bare skin.

'I fell asleep at work. Again.' The Cardinal hadn't been home for the night for a week now. And, except for brief moments to clean himself up, he had not left his office for just as long. 'What's this?' A cape had been placed over his shoulders, good protection against the morning chill, and steaming coffee waited inches from his nose.

He savored the aroma, beginning to feel better. Just a taste of sugar, the way he liked it. The mixture had been flavored with some herbs from the south, and some incantations from the good cooks of the cathedrals, which made the restorative properties even more exceptional. The magic had no flavor, per se, but Raymond had always maintained that the best chef-magicians could accentuate the best qualities of any dish. And the Theocracy's were unique in skills and originality.

It was like dipping the tongue into sweet ambrosia, and at the same time with a touch of bitterness that enhanced its density even more.

The cup was emptied slowly, each sip given the dignity befitting such a small miracle. When he had finished, Raymond placed the cup back on the desk, beginning to feel better. He was still numb from sleep, more of a psychological factor than a physical one actually, and the dream he had just experienced was slowly receding into the recesses of his memory.

He glanced at the door, conveniently closed. No noise came from outside.

"You may come in, Delia. I'm awake." There was no need to raise his voice. After only a few moments, a crawling was heard and a woman with short blond hair entered.

"Good morning, your excellency Lauransan. Once again today we pay homage to the Six Great Gods with devotion and readiness of spirit." She lowered her head, with a ready and refined gesture, immediately pointing deep black eyes at him. "The day's programme is very full. Is his excellency ready to get to work? Or would his excellency prefer another cup of coffee? Or maybe tea? I can have it ready promptly, just in time to go down to the kitchens." The woman bit her lip, as if realizing a big mistake. "Or perhaps his excellency wanted something to eat? Would his excellency prefer sweet or savory? Anything his excellency asks for will be provided."

Raymond reassured her with a wave of his hand, unable to hold back a grimace from exhaustion. "Good morning to you, Delia. I thank you for your thoughtfulness, but I'm good. You know I don't like to binge on breakfast." They had repeated that dance at least a hundred times, always with the same result. But the Earth Cardinal held no grudge or anything else against his deputy. Only the Gods knew how persistent he had been, not to say worse, when he was in the same position. "You, rather, have you had a good, rich breakfast? I know young people feel full of energy, but that's no reason for them to neglect themselves like us old folk."

The woman opened the shutters, letting the morning warmth invade the room. "I had hot black coffee and scrambled eggs." She approached him, letting the Cardinal catch a glimpse of the muscular body toning beneath the priest's robes. "You should put something under your teeth too, your grace. A good breakfast and sufficient caloric intake are indispensable to stay healthy. My grandmother used to say that it is in the diet that lies the secret of immortality."

"Ah, the old folk wisdom. Mine used to say something similar. I suppose in a few years it will be my turn to dispense advice like candies to the younger generation. I'm just afraid it won't be that long before I find myself tending a vegetable garden in the countryside and disquisition on important topics like food and weather."

"Nonsense. His excellency still has much to offer the earth department and the Theocracy," Delia retorted proudly. Sometimes Raymond had the feeling that he had chosen as his second not only a capable person, but a dragon made human.

"How much longer do you think I can continue to serve?" He asked her.

"Another hundred years at least!"

This provoked a laugh from Raymond, although he was aware that Delia was entirely serious. "In that case, I will have to work hard not to disfigure and disappoint your expectations." Cardinals in the Slaine Theocracy were allowed to retire if age became too advanced to continue with their duties, but it was mostly a discretionary choice. Zenedine was nearing eighty years of age, and Raymond was certain he would continue in his role for a long time to come. "Let's move on to the agenda for the day, shall we?" To be less than that? Impossible.

"As his grace wishes. First, though..."

"Of course, of course. The prayer."

They joined hands, and began to recite a few verses from the book of Earth. Mostly invocations pleading for mercy, but also guidance towards action and the future. Delia's fingers were trembling at the contact of Raymond's, a quiver that could not be concealed. The man knew that his position exerted a reverential awe, even towards those who had only to teach him. He accepted this, even if he did not shy away from sometimes wishing things could be easier.

But they never were.

"This morning is busy," Delia said, starting to compose herself again. She only had a small folder in her bag, but to doubt that it was not carefully organized would be foolish. And Raymond, vainly, did not consider himself a fool. "First, the account of General Bulgari and the conquest of the Diarchy. The singular tussle required to end the war saw our overwhelming victory, as the Scripture's report also attests. Negotiations for the submission and establishment of the protectorate are underway and a detailed report has been sent with the demands and concessions to be determined. The Grand Marshal, the Grand Judge and His Excellency the Cardinal of Darkness will meet this evening to discuss the preliminary steps, with your presence requested, of course."

"So Aeneas has won?" Raymond had complete faith in that outcome. The diarchy did not have sufficient military strength to defeat a Godkin. Still, apprehension was natural in such a situation. Every time he sent the Black Scriptures on a mission, he had the feeling he was sending his own children to the gallows, with one exception. "Did the Diarchy accept defeat so easily?"

"Both princes agreed, as long as the lives of the demi-humans living within the future protectorate will be spared."

"They will be, as long as they have a use. It seems the war there in the south isn't over yet, and having some soldiers withdraw so they can rejoin their families isn't such an evil prospect." Besides, treating non-human lives fairly would have made the Platinum Dragon Lord and Argland more sympathetic towards them. In the worst situation, they could have used the Diarchy as a bargaining chip, or a shield. "I don't need to tell you that this agreement will have to remain secret. Officially, we have won the war, plundered their wealth and exterminated much of the population, to teach the enemies of the humans the harsh lesson they deserve."

"I have been in touch with Cardinal Yvon's entourage. The news to be spread will be carefully chosen, and some exaggerations to make ours more credible have already begun to spread." Delia's lips closed in a kind of smile. Very calm, but also full of cunning. "For those we can't control, we will simply brand them as lies."

"Very well. Already things with the elves are not going as hoped," which was not so surprising. The humans would have forgotten the conflict, for time was the best of deceivers. But this advantage was not mutual. "The Clearwater and Windflower Scriptures will have much to do. Please have a message drafted with my apologies for the extra assignment. And arrange a meeting with the Ministry of Economy to determine if it would be feasible to grant some bonus for the egregious work done."

"Very well, but I must warn you that any further incentive will most likely be refused. Shall I still schedule the meeting?"

"Yes, please do. Maybe we can convince someone to accept. In any case, it will be a gesture that will be appreciated. Happy soldiers and money saved. A great compromise." And even if everyone accepted the bonus, it would still be a non-defeat. As a retired member of the Scriptures, Raymond was aware, however, of how slim those chances were. "And another thing. Put me in touch with Divine Chant, I want to hear her opinion on new minstrels we can start training."

"Will do," Delia quickly jotted down that last note. Then she picked up some of the packets that lay on her desk and selected a handful. "These are the reports I was talking about. I had hoped you would be able to finish reading them before today, but the dream lord has beaten my expectations, Your Excellency."

"It was a daring fight, with an uncertain outcome. I lost, but only because I started out not quite in my optimal condition. Tonight there will be a rematch, and I am sure I will be able to bring, if not a victory, at least a draw." Of returning home, Raymond had no illusions. But he was confident that he would at least be able to find rest on one of the cots in the office. As read, the chair would not receive a stellar review, unfortunately.

Delia remained impassive, continuing to watch him with that look mixed with admiration and compassion. "I've had a short summary drawn up with highlights. It won't have to replace the original, but it will be useful for easier memorisation."

"I am infinitely grateful," Raymond said. He began to read the provided summary, repeating aloud what he considered the most interesting parts. "It says here that we will receive something very special. A trophy from our champion, rather... unusual. What do you think?"

"If the resurrection is accepted, we can earn a valuable asset. If not, we will have lost nothing. The last word, in any case, is up to the representatives of the Gods."

Not entirely correct, as the ritual would still require a not inconsiderable price in terms of resources and time. "A loose cannon cannot be resurrected in the middle of the capital, as there is always the risk of it exploding. On the other hand, such a champion does not appear every day. I'll take the matter to the council, see if I can find a suitable location and guards for the purpose."

Matters of that kind were beyond his sole competence. Seven minds thought better of one, as was to be expected, and so a final decision was postponed. 'In any case, to have astonished Aeneas he must indeed have been an exceptional warrior.'

"Shall I continue?" Delia distracted him from his thoughts. For someone whose task was so reliant on using his mind rather than his body, the Cardinal of Earth found very few moments when he could devote himself to deep meditation. "There is still much to discuss."

Raymond nodded, smoothing his forehead. The various matters to be addressed followed one after the other, giving him barely time to process them.

Mostly matters of logistics and organization, but also reports of possible dangers and the drafting of teams to eliminate them. In all, the operating area of the Scriptures occupied every human kingdom in that part of the continent, as well as the Union of city-states and some sparsely populated areas. The work to be done, therefore, was voluminous, and there was never enough staff.

"In addition, I have received a notice from your daughter."

Raymond's stomach did a somersault, and for a moment he felt as if it had turned inside out. The choice to avoid breakfast could never have been so correct. "Which of the three?"

"The oldest," Delia replied. She had an unusually judgmental expression.

'Female solidarity is really something to be feared.' For someone who had put his life on the line between disaster and peace, few things could generate a tremor. "What does she require?"

As a father, Raymond knew he had not been exemplary. Finding a justification for spending more time with his daughters had always been incredibly easy and, in retrospect, resulted in more regrets than he had believed at the time. Once he had retired from the camp, he vowed to right that wrong, but good intentions did not always go as planned.

"Your nephew has taken his first steps in this wretched world," a rather dramatic way of explaining that he had begun to walk, but Raymond pretended not to notice. "Therefore, and here I am paraphrasing, 'his Excellency, who certainly cannot move his sacred ass from his throne made of prayers, might agree to let the light of his life come and visit him, so that he may see with his own eyes the first true man of the family. Afterword: great are the Gods.'" A deadpan intonation. How did Delia manage to maintain it?

"Miriam has always had a certain rather... peculiar way of expressing herself," something the child had picked up neither from him nor from his wife. And although a bold tongue was the gripe of maids and servants, not to mention parents, Raymond had always considered it a charming trait to be cultivated, not suppressed. The gifts of the Gods were known to be strange, but not necessarily unpleasant. "Send a message in reply, telling her that I would be delighted to receive both my daughter and my dear grandson. It has been a long time since I have seen them, and the Gods know how much I could use a distraction."

Only daughters were given as blessings to the Cardinal of Earth. His grandson was the first male in the bloodline. Even if he would not keep the name Lauransan, it was still a source of great pride for Raymond.

"I will find a time slot. In three days, a few hours before dinner there should be a half-hour split. I was planning to give you the opportunity to rest, but I think you will have to wait. Fortunately, by then, the fatigue canceling ring should be back in place."

"Splendid," magic items could relieve the stress on the body, but not the stress on the mind. That was why it was imperative that periods of use were alternated with periods of quiet. "I wish I had more time to devote to my family."

"Every man and woman in the Theocracy desires this," Delia replied, calmly. If that woman could know weariness, Raymond never had the opportunity to witness it. "In this, the voice of the Cardinals is the voice of the people." There was a pause, unusual. "His Excellency Lauransan is a man worthy of respect and esteem, so I will try to move a few appointments around to allow his Excellency to spend a couple more minutes with his daughter and grandson."

Raymond dismissed her with a simple wave of his hand. "There will be no need for that. Something like this would require an increase in both your work and that of the other members of the department. I will find a solution that does not burden my subordinates." He turned to look for inspiration in the effigy of the Six that towered over the room. The Gods, in such cases, knew how to be deaf.

Delia opened her mouth, and Raymond was sure she would countermand his orders. "As his Excellency wishes," she said instead, defeated even before starting. "But I remind you that each of the men in your service lives to serve. To serve the Gods, to serve the nation, and to serve the Cardinals."

Raymond smiled kindly at her. "And I remind you that the Cardinals also serve. They serve the Gods, they serve the nation and they serve the people. People that include you, Delia." The woman lowered her gaze. She never blushed, but that did not mean ice could not know warmth. "Putting an end to this matter, what are the other agendas? There was the issue of the Draconic Kingdom and the invasion of beastmen."

"I have Captain Luin's report here. Detailed as always, but I did not detect any noteworthy information. Since they found that strange corpse, the enemies seem to have disappeared from the borders, and the search continues to result in nothing." Delia cleared her throat with a few coughs. "Of course, I wouldn't dream of comparing my analytical skills with a legendary hero like the former third seat of the Black Scriptures. I implore you to take a close look at it and point out to me any errors and points of criticism."

"I will do so," although Raymond strongly doubted there could be any inaccuracies. But as a direct superior, it was his job to carefully check every point and comma, both out of respect for his office and for those who gave their energy to provide him with results that bordered on perfection. To use perceived inferiority to avoid doing his duty was unforgivable. At that point, more correct would have been to abandon his position. "Do you think it is time to withdraw the Sunlight Scriptures? The Tob Forest is restless these days, and their intervention may be necessary. And then there is the matter of Windstride. She hasn't caused any trouble, has she?"

If the Black Scriptures were like children of his own, Raymond would never have had a problem pointing out which one was the most problematic. He had hoped that giving Clementine some position of responsibility, away from her brother, would do wonders for her sense of duty. But the more time passed, the more he regretted that decision, although there were no concrete reasons for it.

"Windstride was completely cooperative, even though there was no shortage of barbs at the futility of that assignment in her reports." Delia bit her lip, evidently uncertain whether to continue. "In any case, if I may give my humble advice, it would be more prudent to let Captain Luin and his men stay a while longer. That corpse they found did not bode well."

"I will consider your proposal, but remember that we have other men in the Draconic Kingdom, and we cannot let the Scriptures remain in one place for too long," the weight of command, much to Raymond's chagrin, many times demanded making difficult decisions, which would often end in tragedy. If it was not possible to limit them, it was at least their job to contain them. "A few weeks at most, and then it will be time to go home."

"His Excellency, as always, is right." His deputy genuflected, touching the floor. Raymond immediately gave her the order to stand up, to avoid embarrassment. "I will see to the orders, as soon as it is time."

The large pendulum clock in the room vibrated, striking midday.

"It's lunchtime," Raymond noticed, looking up. "Will you eat with me, Delia?"

"With great pleasure. I will have something brought immediately. Does his Excellency wish for anything in particular?"

"The usual will do."

It took a few minutes before the woman entered along with two servants and a tray full of food. Nothing too complicated, mostly sandwiches with assortments of various meats and juicy fruit for dessert. The servants placed everything on the desk, setting the table with a simple tablecloth, and then withdrew just as quickly.

"I see you are in good company for lunch today," along with Delia, someone else had decided to stop and share lunch with them. A towering man with long white hair, wearing a linen tunic that left his mighty chest almost exposed, well familiar to Raymond. "I brought you some beer from the Holy Kingdom, I hope you'll appreciate it."

"Any gift from you is always appreciated by me, Samson. Back from your mission already?"

The man placed a glass bottle on the table, along with a couple of colossal-sized cups. "Yes, I came to report to his Excellency the Cardinal as soon as possible." He opened the bottle, and began pouring its contents into the glasses. "I didn't think I would miss seeing your face so much. Yet here I am, like a young lad anxious to return between his lover's legs." He was about to offer Raymond a glass, when Delia promptly stopped him.

"Let me taste it first. It might be poisoned."

The strongest man in the world looked at Delia. "Woman, do you really believe that a member of the Black Scriptures, with honorable years of service behind him, could make an attempt on the life of an old comrade, a close friend and direct superior?" The difference in size, so obvious, and Samson's pointed sideburns that were beginning to twitch, gave the impression of being in front of a big cat that had sniffed a small mouse.

The mouse, however, was not the type to be frightened by so little. "No," Delia replied firmly. "And I am prepared to suffer the consequences of such disrespect. But it is the practice. I cannot let the Cardinal's life be put at risk, even if that risk is practically non-existent."

Samson stared at her for a few seconds. He chuckled, and turned towards Raymond. "You got yourself a capable young assistant, old friend. I almost feel envious of you." He took another glass and refilled it, before offering it to Delia. "Cheers to you, woman. The only thing I ask of you is an honest opinion. It was a long-time contact of mine who gave it to me as a gift. If he dared to give me a bad product, he must be informed as soon as possible."

Delia took a small sip, and immediately her impression became disgusted. "It's very strong," she tried to compose herself, not without some difficulty. "And also very bitter. What is its alcohol content?"

Samson, who in the meantime had poured a glass for himself as well, let out a very loud laugh. "Ninety-one degrees. Or maybe ninety-two. I can never remember. Unfortunately, he didn't have the ninety-five-degree one." He drained the contents in one go, immediately pouring himself a second. "Just a way to whet your appetite, isn't it, old friend?"

Raymond followed suit, though not with quite as much impetus. "I can see why she cannot appreciate it more, Samson. You really need trained taste buds to drink this." The acidity tickled his tongue, making him wish for sweeter flavors. "Anyway, how did the mission go?"

The man stretched. Every time he did so, Raymond had the impression that his muscles were performing a decidedly atypical concert. "You were right. The Rainbow Scales was trying to form a coalition between the various tribes in the Hills. The Emperor Beast and the Ashes King had already come over to his side, and many others were planning to follow him."

The Cardinal let out a sigh. "This is problematic. If it really were to happen, the Holy Kingdom would fall. And then it would be up to us to deal with them, and the Elf King's losses are still being felt." They had drawn up a new recruitment plan with the Grand Marshal and had optimistically assumed that they would be able to replenish at least forty percent of the lost soldiers in a ten-year time frame. With the southern front still open, and the situation uncertain in the Draconic Kingdom, opening another front would have been far too costly for their current capabilities. "How did you proceed?"

"As we were ordered. We waited for them to be alone and then cut down two of the most famous chieftains. The armor of the Great King of Destruction and the ax of Black Steel have already been delivered to the armory." Samson yawned noisily. "We then proceeded to take down a few poorly defended villages. Heaven and Earth left a couple of souvenirs that will raise more than a few suspicions. With any luck, doubt and old grudges will find fertile ground on which to grow. With even more luck, they will exterminate each other."

"With a bit of luck, but do we have it?" Always act like the unluckiest person in the world. A piece of advice to treasure, and one that Raymond used to repeat to himself at every opportunity. "We may be forced to send you to face the Rainbow Scales before Aeneas returns. In that case, do you think it is possible for you to succeed in defeating him?"

The strongest man in the world had a habit of smoothing his beard enclosed in sumptuous braids whenever someone asked him such a question. "Hard to say, without having some more information. If I were to consider the other heroes of the Hills, it shouldn't be such a difficult battle, assuming it's a face-to-face, one-on-one fight." Samson closed his eyes, only to open them again immediately afterwards devoid of uncertainty. "The problem would be facing him in said situation. He is a cautious guy, according to the Clearwater Scripture. Always surrounded by trusted guards."

"I see," Raymond whispered, beginning to sense the impending headache. "We'll leave it at that for the time being, and just observe. There are too many unknowns, and the Hills still hold too many secrets for us. We must be cautious."

"As long as caution does not become cowardice, that's fine with me," commented Samson, serene on the surface, but with a note of dissatisfaction distinctly clear in the Cardinal's ears. "The time is coming for me. I don't know if a year from now you will still find me sitting at this table, talking to you."

Raymond looked at his old companion. Far more advanced in years than he, but brimming with health. His skin was still smooth and polished, sunburned and full of scars; his breathing firm and sure, free of aches and pains. The gaze still sharp, penetrating. If anyone had seen that goliath, he could never have entertained the idea that the end could even approach him.

"Delia, could you give us a few minutes alone?"

"There's still a lot of work to be done..." The woman did not continue, Raymond's gentle expression being enough to convince her. "I understand. I'll be back in a few minutes." She stood up, and quietly closed the door behind her.

"You got yourself a really good assistant," Samson whistled, watching her leave. "If only I were younger, and didn't already have two wives, I'd think about it."

"She is not my assistant, but the current vice-cardinal of the earth," Raymond corrected the man, giving him a reproachful look. "Be respectful. One day she might be your direct superior."

Samson sprawled in the chair, so small it made him look ridiculous. "I doubt there will be that problem, but I'll keep that in mind."

"You are still young, I expect that you will also serve my successor faithfully."

"Since when do priests lie?"

"Since today."

They shared a heartfelt laugh. At that moment, they both needed it.

"I am old, Raymond," Samson suddenly became serious, decidedly out of character, but no less real for that. "How much longer can I go on with this life? The body hasn't left me yet, but what if it were to do so one day? What if it decides to betray me right in the middle of a mission? The lives of my comrades could be put at risk, just because of my arrogance."

Raymond knew that feeling of helplessness well. It was the same one that had convinced him to retire, years ago, when he had realized that reacting to a blow was becoming more and more difficult, when his breath was getting shorter and shorter, when even waking up at dawn was no longer a gentle breeze.

However, Samson was different. He was already a veteran when Raymond had joined the Blacks, and would be there until the end of his days. Of both their days.

"Then retire. It will be a hard blow, but your service has been perfect for so long that no one will dare deny you. And that will not mean abandoning the cause. Recruits always need guides. You will simply change battlefields."

Age brought compromises. A harsh lesson from an equally harsh teacher.

"And wither in such a wretched way? Nonsense, old friend," in the chest of the strongest man in the world still was beating a heart made of flame. The blood of the Gods was strong in Samson. Not as strong as it had been in others, perhaps. But in terms of hotness, it was second to none. "I have long since sorted all earthly matters. My children are settled, ready to serve the Gods as we did. My wives will spend an old age in luxury and ease, in return for all the cares I have put them through. All that remains is for me to find a death that suits my existence," the blackness of his eyes lit up with a dazzling light. "I do not claim to have made every moment of my life bright, Raymond. I do not claim that mine has been an exemplary story, worthy of being remembered in the annals. I want to shine, old friend. I want to shine, if only for a moment. When that moment comes, the only thing I hope to hear is laughter of joy and enjoyment. Even if they were to come from only one person: me."

"I understand what you mean," Raymond said. He did not share that aspiration, but that did not mean he did not sympathize with it. "I always thought it would be our little girl who would fulfill this wish of yours. But sometimes events take unexpected turns." There were days when it was easy to wonder how things could have turned out differently. One mistake could have been enough to bring ruin. "I would have been very curious to see that confrontation."

If Samson yearned to fall for the hands of the strongest, then he should not have traveled far, at least not until some time ago.

"It would have been interesting, though there would have been little doubt as to the eventual winner. Aye, certainly the most exciting five seconds of my life they would have been." With his fingers, the world's strongest man scratched the world's biggest nose. "Besides, the little girl can be very stubborn when she wants to be. I don't think she would have accepted such a request with joy."

"Be careful what you say," Raymond warned him, arching his lips slightly. "She might hear you."

"Ahaha, like hell she could." Samson began to look around, nervously. "She can't, can she?"

"Who knows? I never fully understood what she was capable of." As one set his gaze to the sky, it was difficult to determine exactly how much distance separated it from the earth. "Just in case, I will make sure to report what you said. You may find yourself under a pit sooner than you had hoped."

"Priests lie, and priests also tell jokes apparently. How can a simple devotee trust them in this condition?" Samson shrugged his monumental shoulders, shifting the air with that simple gesture alone. "Since she's gone, things haven't changed much. Yet, everything seems different. Maybe it's because she's always been there, in that corridor keeping watch, but I expect to see that little girl popping up from one day to the next in the same place, watching the walls as if I'm not even there. Even the guardian deity hasn't been around much since she left, though I suppose it was only natural, given how fond of her he was."

Indeed it was true, Raymond found himself agreeing. The guardian deity, already normally elusive and enigmatic, had retreated even further into the deepest part of the sacred shrine, and there were rare occasions when he would show his presence.

"We simply do not need the advice of our guardian at this time. I remember him saying that beyond life and death would not be gone for too long before returning to the fold. A decade or so, and she would resume her position." Or was it a century? Raymond wondered if when that happened, he would still hold his current position. Probably a vain hope, but he wished to still have enough energy to welcome her back. "For now, let's monitor her movements and cover her tracks."

"I hear she is now in the City-State Union," Samson's mouth dropped open for two reasons. The first was speaking, of course. The second was to swallow a sizable pear in one mouthful, eventually spitting out only the torso after a couple of seconds. "Did you get any more news?"

Raymond was undecided whether to pour himself another glass of beer, or switch to water. He opted for the healthiest solution. "She's giving battle to the Equestrian King's troops. With any luck, she'll get a headache out of our way. Where have I put that report?" It took him a while to find it amidst all those papers, but eventually the flier he was looking for popped up amidst an account of the location of the current Scriptures and a report on the swamp lizardmen. "Here, read."

Samson flipped through it quickly, before placing it back into Raymond's hands. "What is it? A joke? Who could possibly believe such rubbish? Besides, there is no mention of our old companion."

The confusion that was furrowing his old friend's brow amused Raymond. "I think it's brilliant. It's so stupid that no one will believe it, and so the rumors will start circulating. Even if the truth is told, no one will be able to take it without a good dose of skepticism. Our agents are already at work, at least a dozen different versions are starting to circulate. I think that was the author's goal." To hide something, usually there was nothing better than to put it in plain sight. But, to be brutal, sometimes it was even enough to bury it under a big pile of shit. Few would dare stick their hand to the bottom. "Although there is no mention of her, we are sure that beyond life and death was crucial in repelling the siege. This will further disguise her presence."

"If you say so," Samson was still undecided, but he trusted his words. "You have always been wittier than me on these matters, which is why you stand where you are now. History is written by the victors, I suppose. We'll just have to keep winning to be trouble-free."

History was written by the victors, a great maxim indeed. "That's not quite right," Raymond corrected him. "The important thing is not always to win, in situations like this. Although it can be a valuable help, I don't deny that."

"What do you mean?"

"History, or rather the writing of history, is in itself both art and war," Raymond began to explain.

"The war part I can understand," Samson interrupted, his expression a jigsaw puzzle with many pieces missing. "But the art one... I'm too ignorant for that."

"That's because you're a brute," the Cardinal poked him playfully. "Listen to me. It is art because it requires, to be passed on, an ability to strike at the heart. The texts on everyone's lips are not necessarily the best or the most reliable, but rather those that have been able to impose themselves for their stylistic supremacy because, above all else, men are in search of what is beautiful and not what is true. And so the advance charge of the cavalry is an act of valor, not stupidity; the patience that precedes the attack is not mere cowardice dictated by uncertainty, but a cunning military stratagem. And this makes it, at the same time, war. As even the most objective writers are influenced by those demons called 'opinions', in a constant struggle for supremacy. The revolutionary becomes tyrant, the oppressor hero of the people. It is the inner conflict that manifests itself as an outer conflict. It is deception, backbiting. It is a weapon."

A weapon that was hardest of all to sharpen. A weapon that, more than any other, was difficult to handle.

"And so strength would not be sufficient to control it?" Samson asked. Despite his appearance giving the opposite impression, he was quick to grasp things. "To listen to you, it would seem that the world belongs to the poets… Might doesn't make right... A pleasant outlook. But do you think it actually is so? One day even the Theocracy could be completely annihilated, and then what would we become, if not the demons that have hunted down and exterminated countless other races?"

"Should that day come... We might be remembered, as you say, as sinners and fanatics. Our heritage sullied, and our past erased and altered." In the end, it was possible to have control over everything, except for the mark that was left on the world. "Yet, and call me foolish for this, I am sure that our motives would resurface anyway. Even the defeated, sometime, win. There are many examples I could give you..."

'One closer than you can imagine,' but that last thought remained a secret. 'Great heroes win, and etch their lives in legend, but their legacy will not always follow them in people's memory...' The memento that had been imparted to him the day he had taken his vows as Cardinal. Old Carnesio's voice was still vivid and alive in Raymond's mind, like a flame that had never dimmed.

"In the end these are just theories," Samson began to rise. "That is not what will bring salvation to humanity. I do as I was taught, and in doing so I ask very few questions. A simple life, for a simple death."

"You are right about that," Raymond found himself agreeing. Judging what they had done, and would continue to do, would eventually fall to others. "I had a dream today. Do you recall my first mission?"

The strongest man in the world also had a very good memory, because he answered without thinking twice. "And how could I forget? There was that hobgoblin village. The Empire? Or was it the Holy Kingdom? Either way, we couldn't let them breed too much, especially with the other goblin tribes in the surrounding area. I remember their leaders had a lot of potential, too bad the captain at the time took all the fun..." The braids of his beard moved, in rhythm with his good humor.

"That is correct. That day, I was in charge of the chiefs' wives and children. A dozen in all. Everything went smoothly, after a few minutes I was already back." The blood had soaked into his fingers after the fact, and the sticky feeling reemerged, still clung to his skin. "But a woman... tried to resist. Or maybe it was just me being too slow. I think she had screamed, even though I am not sure now. I had completely forgotten about it, until today."

"Did you perhaps have some belated feelings of compassion? Because, if we're being honest, that's not even remotely one of the most gruesome things we pulled off when we were on a mission," Samson tried to comfort him, in his own way. "They were just goblins."

"No, nothing like that. It's just... weird. I don't know how to describe it. I'm getting old, too, and maybe I'm starting to think more and more about the consequences of our actions. I'm not having second thoughts or anything. I'm just saying... isn't another way possible? Things with the elves are coming back together, slowly. Very slowly. Maybe the dream of a league of humanoids, united against all other races, wouldn't be out of reach." At least, it would be worth a try. Living with an orc? Absolutely impossible. Living with a dwarf? Maybe it wasn't a lost cause.

"That I cannot say," Samson took one of the apples that lay on the table. "What I can tell you is that something similar happened to me on the mission. Not a dream. No. After killing the bafolk leader, we took care of the survivors. One brat tried to protect his mother. I grabbed him by the head like this." He put the apple right in front of his eyes. "And then I tightened my grip." The fruit crumbled into a thousand pieces as the pulp cascaded like a rushing waterfall onto the table, overflowing onto the tablecloth and coming into contact with the wood. "The female screamed in despair. Later, I repeated the same thing with her. Just enough pause to give her the time to mourn. I did the same with everyone who tried to resist. To the others, I granted a quick death."

"I hope you will clean it," the wood had absorbed the pulp, but small traces of bright yellow continued to remain on the surface.

Samson didn't listen to him, and began to head for the door. "I did what had to be done, just as you will do the same. There was no hesitation in my hand, for I knew that if I only left one of those little bastards alive, he might one day become a new Great King of Destruction. And then it would be human children's turn begging for mercy."

He closed the door, leaving Raymond alone with his thoughts.

The Cardinal took the tablecloth, and began wiping the soiled table.