Chapter 57
Epilogue on these wretched plains
When they arrived at the doors of Orcleans, only a small delegation was waiting for them.
Antilene, covered in the Union's armor from head to toes, observed Mirina met with a centaur cloaked in plain wool. With him, two guards as an escort, spears in sight, shields in the back. On their faces the fear and unrest were apparent.
An elf whose skin was blue as the sea and as dark as the abysses that dwelled in it was there to accompany them.
'A sea elf,' realized Antilene. Sea elves… that was what the Theocracy called them, but it was an improper term. Surely, he would have addressed his people a noble name, a name ancient and worthy of respect. 'The elves of Evasha have lost their names. Their identity. Wood elves, they are called by us. Father stripped them of even a name.'
Logem, Agravaine, Melody, Etienne… They were not the elves of Slaine, of Baharuth, of Re-Estize. But Hougan was no more, and maybe they could have returned to be something else. Something different. 'Evasha elves sounds better than wood elves.'
As she observed the elf that smelled of saltiness and moved on the ground with the clumsiness of an albatross on a ship too small for his wings, the half-elf had the impression she'd come in contact with that intense scent once before. The scent of the coast of Orcneas, impregnated with seaweed and sand.
The leader of the centaur had him come next to him, whispering something only for them to hear. Then, with a small gesture of his right hand, gave a signal to proceed.
The Dark Knight approached the delegation, the sword of rot stowed in the scabbard, one hand resting on it, as to make clear what a possible epilogue to that matter could be, while the other delivered to the representative of the plains a small package, unadorned.
"My name is Bessus, satrap of the Plains Empire, close confidant of the Shah, dear friend to Darius the first," the centaur introduced himself simply, with little readiness. All the ceremonies of the occasion were ditched, the weariness unmasked by only a simple question. "Is it true? Was what your messenger reported to us true?"
Protocol would have dictated for him to inquire about Mirina's role, the ones she represented and the ones she did not. Instead, his voice, broken by a labored breath that had lost its vigor, could muster only that single question.
"I am the Dark Knight of the Union City State Alliance, acting in lieu of the twelve voices that lead our nation, in substitution of Prince Alexander Arrideo Hephaistion Argades of the city of Karnasus, with the approval of the supreme council of Ris, my homeland, and the consoil of the mayor of Bebard, the first general of Beppo Allo, the guild confederation of Franklin…"
Mirina took to rattling off a whole series of charges and formalities, heedless of the lack of attention paid to her by her interlocutor. A way to have him on the ropes, uncaring of his uneasiness. She paused at the end, weighing well how to proceed. "I only lack at the moment the approval of the magistrate of Orcleans. Your Excellency Mussel, forgive the inconvenience of the situation, may I have your approval right now?"
"You have my approval," confirmed the sea elf. In getting close, Antilene could notice the marks of captivity on his wrists. Barely noticeable. The handcuffs must have been lifted recently, and there were no other traces of restraint.
"Many thanks, Your Excellency. I apologize for the inconvenience." Mirina bowed respectfully to Mussel.
The magistrate was prompt to have her raise from that position.
"No apologies needed. I am the one who needs to thank you, truly."
"I only fulfilled my duty."
When she was done, the Dark Knight finally placed the package in the hands of the centaur.
"I am Mirina Crocdabal," she proclaimed solemnly, following the direction of Antilene's suggestions. The etch of diction was impeccable, but tainted by some insecurity that even a theater master couldn't stifle, no matter how many hundreds of years granted. The satrap, as a court animal, could have grasped it, and maybe he did. Still, every reaction of his was overlaid by something more earthly and common. "Last descendant of the Thirteen, I was the last one to meet in combat your king. The result of the confrontation lies in the package I am giving you. Open it, and then answer my question. The question of the twelve: 'will you keep fighting, or will you leave these lands'?"
Bessus's fingers felt the top of the box, slowly. A few seconds were devoted only to assaying the hardness of the oak wood and the rough work of packing, as if that useless act could have delayed, by a short while, by a very short while, what awaited him. With equal insecurity, at least he opened it, carefully observing its contents.
The face, which until just before was furrowed with that mixture of sadness and apprehension, suddenly lifted, forgoing melancholy for something far deeper. His eyes, which were wet with barely held back tears, dried, giving the feeling that they had already given enough.
Under Antilene's instructions, the head of the Equestrian King had been preserved with some incantations, so as to maintain a resemblance of vitality. The cheeks still retained some pinkish colors, and the beard had been tended with the utmost care allowed by the circumstances. The lips still closed in a dignified and thin line, accepting the last moments of his destiny.
For the half-elf, who was the one that had put those remains in there, that expression of quiet acceptance engraved in his last instants was preserved even after death.
"I am waiting," Mirina could not allow mourning, not on that occasion. Coldhearted, she had to be, as Antilene instructed her. The Dark Knight urged for what she wanted. "Your answer. And remember… Remember well. What happened to your king could also happen to you."
Antilene took a step forward. For a second she wondered what would happen. If she was to liberate the city, the priority would be to strike the harbor, to prevent the Great Plains troops from escaping. If the satrap and his people had to react at that precise moment, instead, the only unknown was to ensure the safety of the magistrate.
A fleeting glance was exchanged with Mirina. The Dark Knight had lifted the hand from the sheet, in sign of good faith, but still retained it close to unfasten Crocdabal if necessary.
Bessus, however, showed how unnecessary were those apprehensions.
"I understand," he said, carefully closing the package, posing it close to his chest, in an improper display of vulnerability. The guards at his side took it from his hands, after the centaur was done, and enclosed it in a silk, cremisi drap. "I can only guarantee for the tribe of the centaurs. The Equestrian King had no heir. With him and one of the satrap missing dire times await our Plains."
"The remains of satrap Tiribazus are in our care. We will have them delivered to you in sign of good faith," replied Mirina. "For what it regards your internal affairs, that is not of our concern. I will advise you to enter into a non-aggression treaty with the Union as soon as possible to determine the terms of surrender, or the tributes that will be demanded could be exacted."
"I'll do my best to guarantee a peaceful transition. In the meantime, can you let us leave without being disturbed?"
"This will be to magister Mussel to decide. Orcleans returns to his governance as of now."
The sea elf, without giving too much consideration to his newfound position, addressed the satrap without concealing animosity. "Take your soldiers and set sail, before I will have all of them in chains. Maybe this would make you understand what it means to live under the yoke of the invader, but luckily for you, I do not covet revenge. Do we share the same view?"
Had he wielded a sword or another weapon, maybe it would have turned different. The pride in his gaze was not for having regained freedom, but rather for not having broken under captivity.
"It is," Bessus started to turn around, followed by his guards, directed to the now open gates of the city. "You will get news of me as soon as I return home, Dark Knight. Let me express my gratitude for not having spilled unnecessary blood one more time."
"You could have expressed it from the start," retorted Mirina, unfazed by that worthless respect. "Many have died. And it is too late to bring them back."
"There is wisdom in what you say. That doesn't make it completely correct though."
As the centaur was getting away, Antilene stopped him.
"Ehi! Be happy that you still live."
The satrap halted. Even if he wasn't watching her, the half-elf could sense the sadness erupting from him, like glowing fire. Antilene, who expressed only indifference at their turmoils, disdain at their existence, could almost experience a pang in her chest.
"Happy?" He asked. "Happy?" He repeated, with the hopelessness of the defeated. "You have robbed my sky of its colors. Stripped the future of every light and shine. That isn't a sentiment I can own anymore." He did not deign to see her in tears, for a satrap did not weep and so should remain, until the end. A satrap had to remain stoic, even if Bessus could not. "Happiness, you demand of me? The thief doesn't taunt the one who had its treasures stolen with his prizes."
"You have painted gray the same skies you now regret," Antilene said, not being able to express pity. Not for him. "Answer me this: were your king to unite every race under his heaven, slaughtering and conquering to shape his paradise, what next? Would it have been his rule just until the end of eternity? A present of suffering for an eternity of peace. Is that a good exchange? What do you know of eternity?"
Mortals defined their love as such, their faith unmoving in kind, imprinting their passage with the dim hope of immortality, while not comprehending the true meaning of infinite. For what today was tyranny tomorrow could be freedom, and who was called hero would be called villain with the passing of ages.
Antilene could understand the centaurs of the Great Plains, as she fell like them in that inherent contradiction. The only difference was in being aware of it.
But Bessus had no answer for her.
"It's enough, Lady Fouche," Mirina whispered to her ear. "He is gone. It's over."
"May he ponder, then. Perhaps we will meet again, and he will have something to grant me then. Something worth of this silence."
The half-elf followed the Dark Knight in the return. No speech was uttered in the trip, no festivity held for the survivors. Days passed, as they always had and always will.
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The Square of the Black Blade, central point of the city of Karnasus, was now quiet. State funerals to mourn all the victims of the war were held, causing every shop and activity to be closed for the commemoration.
There were no official reports yet. For many, each day could be a waiting, a hope. For others only the confirmation of something long overdue, no less painful in its certainty. For every meeting, a parting.
Where life and moving forward was celebrated, now something different was being renewed. Victory, perhaps? Some of the passerby were telling themselves yes, amid the subdued, hushed murmurs, spoken with respect for those who had returned, and for those who would not.
They almost gave the impression of not wanting to burst into feelings of joy, out of worries that the noise might make them wake up from the dream of an ended war.
'Could do with more noise. It's almost like taking part in a celebration in one of the Cathedrals of Silksuntecks,' but without choirs and invocations to preachers, angels and Gods.
Apparently, such an occurrence was repeated in each of the Union territories. Was the same silence shared by everyone, no matter status, ranks or belief?
Some familiar pamphlets roamed the city. They told a tale of courage and heroism, about how a black knight and a prince had defied fate and death, triumphing in the end. What happened to them… That was another story, for another day.
Antilene looked around and thought, thought about what she had accomplished, and what she would do again. She thought of big things, small things. She thought of the perfume of flowers, simple and delicate. She thought of the sad faces, who had lost everything, or perhaps never had something to call theirs in the first place.
She thought of some bards performing fancy songs, gathering small crowds in religious attention to the new stories being written, just then. Would the pens, the voices, have changed history yet?
She thought of some groups of adventurers and soldiers who, with the inns closed, had brought with them something to forget. With strong wine, there would be merriment in dire agony and, in a not so distant future, they would bring the shadow of a smile into the arms of death.
'What a bore.'
"Our meeting said we wouldn't have to wait for much," she addressed the man next to her, but not close enough to share the same line of view of the half-elf. "What about Agravaine and the rest of our small entourage? Did they return home?"
Her half-sister had preceded them, direct straight to Evasha. Even if no other accident had happened yet, there was the need of someone managing things until their return, and guide the sparse elves in case of danger.
"Yes. She and the servants were displeased to not give the proper farewells," Logem came closer, just enough so that Antilene could feel short in comparison with him. Tall, watchful, he moved circumspectly in that open space as if he were still in the midst of the foliage. A ranger at ease in a forest of cold stone. "Will we return straight to the forest after? Or is somewhere else you wish to go?"
On the neck, a shiver of cold surged with bothersome intensity, prompting Antilene to gasp at that unexpected reaction. She touched the spoil of her last duel, caressing the emerald feather. "No, first I have something else I need to do. The bow I won… are you sure?"
"Of sure there is only death," her half-brother responded steadfastly. "But the crafting of the Equestrian King's weapon has more than one thing in common with the one I have with me… The one that was father's. There are also points of contact with equipment I have used in the past. The materials that make it up are not of this world."
Coincidences did not exist. And if the Gods played dice, then they could have made thirteen with only two of them.
"I saw eight figures cloaked in shadow. Eight figures, and one of them, from the little I saw, resembled him. The point ears do not tell lies," she touched what her hair concealed, but did not change. "The Eight are no more. So it would be more correct to say that father…" Antilene had always considered herself a child of two worlds. That of men, and that of elves. But she never imagined that such truth concealed another larger and more frightening reality within it. "If the hypothesis is correct, what makes me?"
There were some stories, which started from that premise. The protagonist rediscovered himself as the son or heir of a king, of a hero, and accepted the fate that destiny had arranged for him, chasing away the doubts that had matured from a previous condition of freedom.
She was in the phase of doubts and, little by little, felt more like a monster. A legacy forged in devastation, a story of protection morphed in one of betrayal. Not the daughter of Surshana, but the child of those who had slayed him.
"Antilene Heran Fouche, what else?"
Logem was trying to say to her that he was Logem, not Logem Hougan, as Antilene was Heran and was Fouche. Could a family name not dictate your self?
"You are right…" Both had to look away from each other in embarrassment. Until a few days prior, Antilene had judged it impossible for her half-brother's cheeks to turn red. The world was spinning in unexpected ways. "In any case, I hope you understand why I cannot come back again. It may sound like an apology, but there is still much we need to find out. And it may be related to the five fingers..."
It was imperative to discuss this with Rufus and the Cardinals before studying the next move. Although part of her harbored uncertainties, it was by finding advice from those wiser than her that she could gain insight.
"You don't have to justify with me." The elf did not indulge in objections or too much chatter. An appreciable quality. His following remark was a simple consequence of plain observation. "It's impressive, isn't it?" One eye, and nothing that escaped him. On the other hand, that trait was also irritating at times.
"I guess there is worse around."
Antilene observed absent-mindedly the Dark Knight monument, hollowed out in pitch-black ore, shining with platinum gleams. The dark hero looked upward, each of his swords placed at his feet.
The half-elf couldn't help to notice how Crocdabal's replica was different from the relic wielded by Mirina. The hilt, like the carved helmet and armor, was marked with demonic symbols and incomprehensible formulas, perhaps meant to represent, by some tawdry belief, the devilish arts ascribed to the hero of the legend.
It was natural to wonder if the current Dark Knight had ever paid attention to it, or if she had called poetic license for what was only a representation uncoupled from factuality.
At the base, a marble tablet placed nearby bearing a terse inscription recited:
'Here the hero gave up his love.'
A multitude of different flowers leaning against the base accompanied still burning tapers, the last flames gradually dying down, and sheets with inscriptions characterized by the diversity of language and handwriting.
'Names,' Antilene tried to read them, not without a lot of difficulty. 'Families, of different races and cultures. Accumulated by a single thing. Your gaze is not downward, toward them. You look upward, Dark Knight. But what did you see? Were you noticing the prayers of those below you?'
As was to be expected, the statue alone could not satisfy the half-elf's curiosity.
"How was he?" She asked Logem, a few feet from her. "The Dark Knight, I mean. You were companions, weren't you? Was he really a demonkind like it is told?"
Logem had confided little about his past to Antilene upon her return. The Equestrian King's bow had invited him to share some details that connected him to the relics of the Eight.
And now the elf, only surviving member of the thirteen for what she was aware, was prompt in his response. "An idiot."
A long pause, to let that statement sink in the conversation.
"Not what I had expected," Antilene raised an eyebrow, reflecting on the posture of her half-brother. Stern, as if the concept of relaxation was something familiar to him only in fables. "There is something else?"
"Yes," Logem's expression was unchanged, but in his scarlet eye could be glimpsed the reminiscence of something soft, uncharacteristic for the usual intensity that emitted. "He was an idiot, as I said. Always going straight to the risk when someone was in danger, without thinking, without following orders. Cloyingly chivalrous, ready to protect innocents and lay down his life as a shield for the humble. A headache for me and many others. But our leader loved him as a brother…"
"And you?"
Once again, there was no pause, nor hesitation. "I also loved him as such. Or more." There was a remembrance of kindness, in his tone. The same fleeting tenderness that accompanied Antilene when the vivid image of her late companions lit up once again with gentle nostalgia. "Those you refer to as the thirteen, and who not just thirteen were, forged a brotherhood in arms. Different, all of us. Yet the same, for what we strived for. The accomplishment of one was the accomplishment of all. The majority of them are buried now. My brothers and sisters will continue to be revered for centuries, becoming something more. A legend to share by the familiar hearth as the cold winter advances. A tale to warm desolate hearts, and inspire those to come. But, in time, their memory will also fade."
There was something in that final sentence that was not easy to define... A familiar regret, which the passage of years accentuated rather than diminished. That, however, did not encapsulate everything.
Logem looked at the statue; the shadow of a smile breaking through a subdued, tepid happiness. "I like to think that this is why our lives are blessed with this vast longevity. More than fighters, warriors, wizards and priests, we elves are chroniclers. We continue to live, so that the stories of those we have loved can continue to be passed on in their wonderful wholeness, without omitting the beauty or ugliness."
To witness the ones you cherished slowly grow old, while seeing the never-changing image of you in the mirror. Without wrinkles, without fatigue. To see them getting weaker, day after day, without being able to do anything for them. And, above all, seeing them accept this. Realizing that in that little time, it was possible to create their own destiny, their own bliss.
The curse of the elves was the curse of eternity. In an eternity, one could live countless lives, not only their own. And, perhaps, that was their purpose. To make eternal what eternal was not.
"You are amazingly chatty today," joked Antilene. A soft chuckle echoed in a melodic rhythm. "Should I be worried?"
"Sometimes, a few words are enough. Others, we can only express ourselves in long speeches," the elf cleared his throat with a cough. "Besides, I think I've always been a great conversationalist?"
"Are you being ironic?"
"What is irony?"
"In the name of Surshana's long and crispy beard, are you kidding me?"
Satisfaction showed on the elf's face, equal to that which could be achieved by stuffing five different kinds of cakes into his mouth at the same time.
"Yes. I fondly engaged in what you youngsters call 'a prank'."
Antilene felt the cold caress of death for the first time.
"...I see."
A smirk was allowed, only to her, for just a bunch of seconds, before Logem could return to his stoneface. "Returning to the topic, I don't know if the Dark Knight was really a demon or a fiend. He never confirmed or denied it. I can tell you that these stories were spread by bards with too much imagination, but in every story there is always a kernel of truth."
Antilene returned her gaze to the statue, wondering if to her half-brother that figure cloaked in black was the same that lived in his memory. "Well, not that it has any importance at this point. Rather, do you think Mirina is really a descendant of his?"
He scratched his chin, thoughtful. "There is a possibility. I am pretty sure he had more than an 'adventure' with women. The Dark Knight was someone hardly ashamed of the impurity of the flesh. And were we in these lands, or in what today we call Re-Estize, Baharuth or Roble, he never shied away from indulging in that kind of pleasure."
'Unlike you,' or maybe not. But the current idea of the half-elf could not withstand a different perception of what had been built with costly effort. The picture of Logem was drawn in asceticism. To flip it a second time in a matter of minutes was, for some inexplicable reason, deeply uncomfortable.
"So is the writing engraved here wrong?"
"Not at all. Don't confuse the act with the feeling," in a way, Logem resembled Rufus when he took on the teacher's tone. Strangely comforting, if know-it-all. "I guess there is partly a mistake, though. He loved only one person, as far I am aware. He continued to love her, even when the disease took her away. The Pestilence King's curses were something different than any other incantations. From a certain point of view, their bane was more ruthless than death."
The Pestilence King. If Antilene well remembered it had been the leader of the Thirteen who had slayed him, after the sacrifice of a heroic unknown. But before that, the fog of horror and rot he had left behind still survived in mournful lyrics and ballads.
"And so he had to bury her here, hence the name of the square. I guess resurrection magic was off of the table for that woman." Fifth-tier was in the domain of the heroes, and the thirteen had used it. Still, there were limits not easy to overcome.
"That is also untrue."
Antilene furrowed. "Is it?"
Logem nodded with conviction. "Where resurrection worked, the curses persisted. No matter what we tried to break the spreading diseases, nothing arose. When the Dark Knight's beloved was struck, I was far away on another mission, so all the finer details are amiss to me. But I was told that they managed to save her, even if they had to change the very essence of her soul to do so. For those of your faith, this was undoubtedly blasphemy."
Reflecting on what she had been told since her arrival in the Union, things were perhaps beginning to make sense. Only inferences, as long as they remained without concrete evidence.
"And so he couldn't love her anymore, once she changed."
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
One did not have to be an expert in matters of the heart to understand that feelings, however pure, however sincere, could not bridge purely biological distances. Even the eye wanted its share.
"It's not like that," But Logem denied her convictions. "He loved her, as he did before. He continued to love her tenderly and deeply, trust me. Rather, it was the woman that couldn't love herself anymore. And if you can't love yourself, your love for others will always be incomplete, missing an important piece."
The statue was not facing her, but Antilene had the impression of being observed. Were the lingering feelings of the Dark Knight still there, in wait to reunite with whom had once made him complete? And if the answer was yes, when would they have found peace?
"Love, you say. Maybe it had not been love at all. Since when are you an expert on the matter, anyway?"
While some annoying buzz arose, Antilene caught with the corner of her eye a small family of two, mother and child, approaching passer-by, offering them something.
"You are right," Logem said flatly. "I am inexperienced with the intricacies of the heart. What I am telling you is only what I witnessed at the time, and gathered from other companions. Nothing more, nothing less. It is up to you to choose to believe me or not."
"In that case, I want to believe you…"
There was no reason in particular. For Antilene, it was no more than a whim to indulge on.
"Missus, do you want one?"
The child of before was now next to her. Fluffy tail waving, a face that had no human features, characterized by bestial and dirty countenances. He had with him a tray with some strange sweets on it, the scent of which just hinted at some remnants of cinnamon.
The mother who was following him, belonging to the same species judging from the same shining gray fur, started to explain after some gestures of pleasantries.
"My child and late husband used to bake together these little cadeaus. As a last commemoration, we are offering them to everyone here."
The placid stare, the meek expression. Nothing of her spoke of a warrior.
Yet her fangs could have torn through the bones of a grown man with ease, her claws penetrating metal just as lightly. She was not a warrior, Antilene concluded. A simple housewife, or any other mundane profession.
Not a warrior, yet she could have run much longer than an untrained human adult. The night would not have faltered her movements; fatigue would have been more delayed compared to a man.
'Not a warrior,' the half-elf thought. 'Dangerous, nonetheless.'
"If you were to take one, we would be extremely grateful," she continued, exchanging a look with her son. The cub, one day, could have become a fighter. To honor, or to avenge, his father. Such motivations could prove risky for the future.
"Please, take one…" But, in the present, he remained what he was. A child. Offering some sweets that smelled of cinnamon. Rather than the sword and blood, it was the rolling pin and flour he had embraced.
It took courage.
"...Many thanks." An awkward gratitude was the only thing the half-elf could offer in exchange.
Antilene picked one up noting the uneven texture and coarse appearance. The taste, given the not-quite-excellent impression of the odor, presaged equally uninviting. Her half-brother, on the other hand, looked as if he was pleased by that unexpected gift, expressing emphatic thanks for that simple gesture.
"Father was a lot better than me. If you don't like it, you don't have to force yourself… kind and fair lady."
They saw again on the child the same traces of weeping that Antilene had observed only a few days earlier, on the heartbroken expression of the centaur satrap. But the loss of a loved one could be not only a source of grief.
There was a strange resolution in that little creature, as if, in spite of everything, in spite of such mourning, he managed, or at least made an effort, not to let circumstances get him down.
"It will be fine," the half-elf murmured.
Logem, who had already finished the first one with unexpected swiftness, was on the verge of an encore. "They are good, little one." The elf tousled the hair, or perhaps the fur, of the little boy with an affectionate gesture. In turn, he got a second treat, accepted with freight.
Then, after stuffing his mouth, he addressed the mother. "Madam, was your husband one of the guards that fell during the siege?"
"He was," managing to remain serene, despite the painful inquiry, the demihuman woman offered an insincere smile to him. "He fought on the walls, dying to protect us and all the people here. But don't be sad for me and this child. His sacrifice is a source of pride for us."
"I will not be," Logem bowed his head. "I will just commemorate that soldier, if you allow me."
"Thank you very much…"
"Thank you very much…" Both mother and child replied in unison.
After they had expressed their goodbyes, Antilene still had the sweet on her hand.
"What's troubling you? Not being able to save that soldier?"
"As if…" The half-elf could not be moved by such a scene. She had seen more touching ones, and more pathetic ones, without flinching. "I didn't even try to save the soldiers. The more casualties, the better. In fact, a demi human soldier fallen is beneficial for me and for the Theocracy."
A simple calculation. Ruthless? Forcing herself to feel misery when it was impossible for her to do so would only have been hypocrisy.
"Then why are you not eating it?"
"It just doesn't feel right. I hate them. I hate their kind. Why should I share their food?"
"Because, in the end, you saved them. And that is your reward for it. Small, of course. But still better than nothing. Savor it."
"And yet…"
Logem, as if he was reading her mind, stopped what she was trying to say. "And yet… And yet… It doesn't seem fair to you. Why? Because you hate them? What nonsense. That doesn't change what you did. Do you know how many I saved, even though I hated them? Do you believe that the thirteen were well-disposed to all races? That the captain of the air-giants had affection for you humans?"
No, but they were heroes. And true heroes were supposed to be above conflicts.
"Maybe you're right."
"It was not about saving the world. It never was, no matter what we told ourselves. A special person, a family. Everyone had something small to protect…" Her half-brother patted her shoulder, in a clumsy gesture. "Eat it."
Antilene took a bite. The texture was not refined, and crumbs fell on her and on the ground. An excessive sweetish taste flooded her palate.
"How it is?"
"...Nothing special."
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After some minutes, Kista arrived, escorted by a hooded woman.
"Lady Fouche," the duskborn skin of the mayoress shone under the light of the midday sun. She wore a simple milk-white dress, which accentuated her grace. A necklace of small pearls was the only adornment, along with a ring on her right little finger, emitting a dim amethyst glow. "Let me open by thanking you for your efforts. My beloved still lives thanks to your help."
"Let's skip the pleasantries. It was just a way for me to repay you for your hospitality," Antilene shot a glance first to Kista, then to the woman next to her. She caught a familiar scarlet vision of fire-red ringlets dancing in the air. "Why is Kilmestra with you?"
The servant did not respond. Her concealed expression was devoid of any indication of what she was pondering.
"I needed someone to accompany me. For a woman it is never safe to walk alone. In dire times, or peaceful ones."
A bouquet of blue roses was placed next to the other flowers at the statue's feet, giving even more color to what had grown as a rainbow field in the soil.
"What happened to the one she swore to protect?"
Kista arranged the flowers carefully so that they were in the foreground. "Philo Orestes died in the siege, together with magister Kostacles and other important people. Important people that betrayed the Union," she allowed herself a brief burst of laughter. "And regarding Elaina, don't worry. The halfling is safe. At this point her swan knight is more than enough as a shield."
The dangers were passed, and the sword could return to the scabbard, that was the implication.
Antilene waited for Kista to stand up, so as to meet her gaze. They were kind eyes, Kista's. Warm and friendly, which suggested no falsehood. "Did you kill them? Like you did with Queen Kirke?" For an instant, the woman slightly trembled. Just a fleeting moment, before recomposing herself, giving the impression that nothing had happened. "Or was it the one who is with you now? Why did you have to kill the other servant, I ask?"
Kilmestra made to move, sticking her hand in some pocket of the overcoat, but Antilene only needed to stare at her for a second for all instility to cease.
"I had no intention of doing anything," she hastened to apologize, pulling a letter from her coat. "It was from the time I saw you sipping the founder's poison like it was pure spring water that I knew you were a lost cause. For crying out loud, the story goes that it could have disposed of a full-grown dragon instantly."
"A misconception. As you see, I am not a dragon," the half-elf calmed Logem, who was beginning to move toward them. "There are too many people here. Let's not put on a show."
"On this, we agree," Kilmestra passed the letter in Kista's hands, who took it with perfect composure. "My employer asked me to give it to you, Lady Fouche, and so here I am. Kill me, if you want. But only after I have honored my contract, if you please."
"And your employer was…" Antilene already had an hunch. She just needed confirmation.
It was Kista to reply and cease all doubts. "You already know. The late queen, who else? Well, even though the precise instructions were given by me." Without wavering, the letter passed once again to other hands, this time into those of the half-elf. "Tell me, Lady Fouche, how did you find out? I thought I had been careful, and not let slip even the smallest lie. Not to mention the magical objects I had to protect any divination..."
"You have nothing to worry about, because you were perfect. The divination skills I possess are underdeveloped, and often unreliable. That's not what made me suspect you," the more developed inquisitor skills for interrogation and investigation required a set path, and a formal process to be put to good use. Antilene's, on the other hand, had been honed for combat, not hunting. "It was simple enough to notice your behavior. So kind with everyone, always ready to take care of me and the late queen. And yet… That night, you left Queen Kirke alone to follow the other dignitaries, no matter if she had been strange all night. Why? To create an alibi for yourself, and leave the field clear for the assassin," and here the half-elf cast a glance at the servant girl, who grinned with satisfaction. "The rest I can only imagine. In fact, if you care to explain it, it would save me time."
"Let's go to a more secluded place," Bebard's mayoress shrugged a strand of raven hair from her forehead, beginning to lead them away from the Black Blade Square.
When it was established that there were no more prying ears, she could explain without haste. "The war with the centaurs showed a nest of vipers within our Union. Magister Kostacles, Philo Orestes… They were only a couple of names in a network of careerists and turncoats, traitors to the Mother who had made us great, in the name of profit and convenience. It was Rea who uncovered most of them, but with war looming we had our hands tied. We could not afford internal unrest, not while we were on the verge of collapse..."
"And here comes the new visiting elf queen," Logem intervened, a harsh tone that did little to conceal the accusations. "A miracle, or mere chance? It did not matter, for little by little it shows you that the outcome of the war is not yet predetermined. There is still hope, if you know how to make use of the tool that has fallen into your hands."
Kista nodded. Her breath was soft, but steady. Whatever was to happen, she had long accepted it. "Yes. I am sorry, Lady Fouche. For what it's worth, I really considered you a valuable friend."
"So have I," Antilene said, emotionless. "Here I can continue, at least in part. The Queen organizes the taking of Karnasus, but she needs to be sure that I am able to defeat the Equestrian King. Therefore her spy inside sells me to the Immortals. There had been no about-turn. The result is… better than expected. The city is retaken, casualties are few, Prince Alexander sits once again on the throne of the symbolic city of the Union, taking all the glory and demonstrating that the Equestrian King can bleed. Skeptics are beginning to believe that he can win..."
At the gates of the royal palace, the few guards let them through without any problems. The long corridor to which Kista led them was bare, dark, with just a few faint traces of illumination. Walking there was a monotonous stroll, a dismal atmosphere as only company.
"Yes, that's right," Kista confirmed, and Antilene did not need to resort to magic to be sure she was telling the truth. "That's where the Orestes family comes in. The wedding had already been arranged before the war, and for Prince Alexander and Queen Rea that was the right opportunity to test the loyalty of the Franklin guilds."
"But Philo Orestes was the classic man who liked to keep his foot in both camps. He accepts a hasty marriage for his daughter, while the queen persuades him that I can beat Darius. Words are wind, though, and he needs to test me ... fortunately between the Union and the Baharuth Empire there is a renowned guild of assassins. Elaina was only bait, I was the target."
Kilmestra raised her hand, waving it playfully. "And that's where I come in... I must admit that I haven't had such a funny assignment in a long time... If only my little sisters had been there to see me..." She wiped away a false tear that lined her cheek as the irises in her eyes now took on one color, now another. Her face also began to mutate, assuming a softer connotation in a first instance, followed by harder looking in a second one. "As you may have guessed, the task was to try to kill you. If I failed, I was to simply report on your strength. Unusual, but a girl can't do anything but be moved when a generous offer is made to her."
Where the real Kilmestra had gone, it was better not to know. If there was an ounce of honor among misfits, the woman had simply been replaced. Perhaps on a whim, Antilene wanted to believe such romantic idealism to be true, despite it being now evident that she had never met the real one. After all, a good forgery still allowed one to get an understanding of the original.
"There is only one thing I don't understand," Logem intervened, turning to the assassin. "Why tell us all this now? I thought secrecy was imperative in your order."
Kilmestra's face changed again. It was now indistinguishable from that of Thekla, the servant she had killed. The principle was the same as that of the Antilene earrings, but with a much more refined technique. It was difficult to determine which tier had been necessary to unravel the deception. Or maybe it was different from the traditional systems altogether…
"You speak the truth, you handsome elf," while the transformation was still taking place, Kilmestra's way of expressing herself also began to change. From abrupt and direct, to more contained, rigorous. It was like hearing Thekla herself speak. "But part of the contract required me to be here to explain everything. The queen cared so much about it that I couldn't refuse. When a dying request is made to me, I am always ready to follow it up, you know? And when the promised honorarium equals the treasure of a small nation, well, even my life is just a small piece in the great scheme of our organization. Not to say..." A slight inflection, barely perceptible. "Perhaps my death would finally convince them to return home."
Antilene had no idea who he was referring to, nor did he intend to investigate. "Why kill the queen, then?"
"It's simple," Kilmestra -or Thekla- did not let a passing instant of that moment of curiosity escape her. "Besides testing you, I had also been hired to kill the queen. She knew too much, and could not be allowed to continue to… meddling."
"And until you honored the contract, you could not endanger your contractor, am I right?" For assassins who moved in the shadows, reputation was the best calling card. Establishing trust was crucial.
"That's right," the woman, who now had unfamiliar features, assumed a serious and composed air, in stark contrast to the playful attitude of just now. The blond hair recalled Elaina's. "Are you from the trade?"
"I have gathered indirect experience," Antilene explained, without elaborating further.
"Queen Kirke had it all planned, with the complicity of myself and Prince Alexander," Kista stepped in, stopping at a partition without further continuation. The light was now suffused, a puff in the darkness. "Once all was ready, she took her own life herself, before the eyes of the Ijinaya member. By that time the contract had been honored, and when I finally rushed in I was able to engage Kilmestra, with the approval of Queen Kirke."
She leaned the ring against the walls. A slight glow was unleashed from the contact, raising it with a huff and creating a new passway for them to traverse.
"That's right. I have to admit it was really ... hardcore. I've killed many targets over the years, but never had I been surprised by someone capable of taking their own life with such confidence." Kilmestra stopped in front of the new passage. Antilene gave up trying to figure out what form she had taken at that juncture. "At that point, I convinced the Orestes to stay, promising to protect them. A sudden departure would align all suspicions on them, that was my reasoning. Very easy, especially when they thought I was still working for them. If they had asked to renew the contract I would have been forced to explain the situation, but fortunately there were no such problems. Magistrate Kostacles had hidden in their apartments, and little by little I gathered what I needed to know to locate all their allies in the city. At the time of the invasion, I accomplished my work."
"What about Thekla?"
"An unfortunate coincidence. Which, however, played to our advantage. Her sudden death increased the feeling of danger for our dear merchant. I would have preferred to avoid it, but Kista by then was my new employer. The things you do for a little extra…"
Someone should have asked Thekla if she shared that opinion.
Kista nodded in agreement as Ijaniya's assassin once again lowered her hood over her face. "At this point my task has been accomplished. My associates have already notified me that payment has been arranged," part of Antilene was curious as to what treasures had been promised in exchange for that charade. "Now, I will go. Unless, Lady Fouche, you have something against it."
It was not a challenge. Kilmestra was ready to face the judgment of a higher entity, knowing that her eventual departure would benefit her cause immensely in any case.
The familiarity of that self-denial was sickening. "Don't worry. If I were to bear a grudge against anyone who tries to kill me, I would have no acquaintances left."
The woman approached, but no hostility came from her. "If you would like to make use of my services someday," she handed the half-elf a small, apparently white card. "Use this. It will be enough to think of me, and I will be the one to show up to contact you." Then, without giving an opportunity for a reply, she disappeared into the shadows.
"A fascinating woman," commented Logem, looking behind him, watching that trail of darkness deepen. "Do you think we will see her again?"
"Definitely," Antilene stowed the note in a pocket, not before noticing that on the back was a small inscription with indecipherable characters, similar to the runes she had observed in some history book on old dwarven customs. 'Moon runes?' "You never know when you might need a job done right." Noting that oddity in some recess of her memory, she began to move forward, under Kista's guidance.
"Come. He is waiting for you." The corridor became even narrower, as strange as it was to think about. The geometry of those spaces became convoluted, difficult to map. Almost as if every corner and bifurcation was constantly changing places, in some indecipherable pattern.
"How is Elaina?"
"Fine. She's pregnant."
Antilene thought back to the little crunch she had left, and felt a bite in her throat. "Pregnant with whom?"
Kista turned, stopping short, the jaw slightly on the verge of opening, before closing again with customary restraint. "Since when did you know?"
"You've confirmed it to me now." Confusion was depicted on Logem's face, but Antilene wasted no time in explaining. "There was one thing I was wondering. Why did you send Mirina against the Equestrian King? You love her, don't you?"
"Lady Fouche, now I have no way to hide from your questioning. You know that I am telling the truth."
"I know."
"You know that I love Mirina more than my own life."
"I know."
"You know that I would never do anything that would endanger her."
"I know."
"So you believe me when I say that I never thought Mirina would be in danger. No more than I might have been."
"I believe you."
"You also know that death is not always final."
"... I know."
They stopped in front of a wooden door. "General Chazos has disappeared, and Beppo Allo is in revolt. It seems that a defeated military dictator cannot guarantee a peaceful transition. The descendants and rivals of the Orestes will exchange smiles of convenience as they try to divvy up an overly unwieldy legacy. Orcleans will soon have new elections. Change is foretold." Kista opened it with a small key, a slow creaking the only noise produced.
They emerged into a dimly lit mortuary room. Two bodies were lying on small stretchers. One was of a man who had been strong, and who until a few days before had led his nation with commitment and dedication. The other one was old and frail, contoured by wrinkles and sores. At one time, perhaps, it had been human. Perhaps it had been beautiful. At least, now, it was at peace.
The gentle rustling of something interrupted whatever observation could have been inferred.
Someone was writing at a desk a short distance from the two beds. Small, pressed, the figure was dipping his quill pen into an inkwell of shiny black ink. Definitely impractical, in comparison with more sophisticated methods. Some people found relief in traditions, Antilene considered, and perhaps this was a decision dictated by particular tastes. Not everything had to submit to rules of efficiency.
"Lady Fouche," the little man noticed their entrance, looking up from the paper. "You have come, at least! I have just finished! The glorious ride of the Returned Prince, how one man defeated death and tyranny with a single stroke of his sword. What do you think?"
Dinocrates proudly waved the paper on which that far too long title had been transcribed.
"Shouldn't you rather think of the living? Mirina needs your support to be regarded as the nation's new heroine, or does she?"
He stood up, walking awkwardly to her. His gait was unsteady, giving the impression that just lifting a leg to take a step was a source of pain. "Of course, of course. But there is time for that. The future is yet to be written..."
The half-elf snatched the paper from his hands, leaving him like a boiled fish. Sentences one after another, arranged in paragraphs and chapters, in razor-sharp precision. "I don't want to contradict you, but Prince Alexander is dead. The one you passed off as the prince, at least. Have you perhaps decided to show yourselves for who you really are to your people?"
The scribe began to laugh. A soft, very peculiar giggle. There was almost a note of contempt in it. "Kista and old Rea were right. Nothing can be hidden from you. When? When did you find out?"
"I just pieced together some scattered information, and when I saw how you suggested to your puppet how to behave in the most difficult situations I realized part of the truth. Now I only got the last piece of the mosaic."
A prince not deformed or monstrous. Just weak, small. Insignificant. Rumors were unfair. When they weren't? Twins raised as his shadow completed the picture. One as a champion. The other as his spokesman.
Blood had been ungenerous to Dinocrates. Or Alexander.
"You are wrong about one thing, though. The real Alexander was him," he rested his hand on the corpse's chest, as if trying to listen to its heartbeat. "Why was I born this way? Some blamed my mother, an insignificant woman. Others blamed my father, who allegedly offended more than one deity. A punishment? An accident? I don't know the answer. What I know is that the Alexander we created, the strong, handsome, and ever-ready prince was him. And with his brother The Brave we created a legend. Do you want to condemn us for that?"
Dinocrates had long since stopped dreaming and was trying to make the prison of his reality into oneiric. A futile attempt to make the mundane magical. The bars his imagination, a fantasy of words his sentence.
"That is only for you to judge," Antilene answered, dismissing further considerations. "Does your bride know?"
"Does it matter?"
"I guess not," Antilene shrugged, without pondering too much on that matter. For Elaina to be pregnant, the only occasion was just the brief occasion they shared after the ceremony, all while the old queen forsaken her life. There was some funny statement to make there, but the half-elf avoided it. "This will not resolve your problems. This man, the man we'll continue to call Alexander for convenience, is dead. Did you find someone capable of casting resurrection magic, perchance? If not, many of your plans will start to go awry."
"No need," Kista gave something to Antilene. A pair of wands. "We have this. And we have you…"
The half-elf took one in her hands, observing it curiously. "Where did you find them?" The mystery of the concealed spell unfolded with just the touch, a shiver of surprise and excitement ran with unexpected force down her back. In the Theocracy, that concealed secret would have been unheard of. "Magic objects that cast the fifth tier..."
The very idea was inconceivable to most of the world's inhabitants. Antilene, also characterized by such impossibility, watched in amazement as what had been brought to her.
"I never feared for Mirina, Lady Fouche. Until her body was to be retrieved, I could save her," Kista made her approach the body of the late Alexander. Or The Brave, to be precise. "We need a divine caster to perform the resurrection. It was Queen Kirke's plan to ask you. She was confident that you wouldn't leak sensitive information, after all. In return, we will cover up your presence in these places."
More easily said than done, but Antilene was aware of Dinocrates' skills. His work was not mere entertainment, but had the great ability to convince an extended audience of people with strong persuasion. There was power in words, that saying had never sounded so true. It was one of the reasons why she had developed the glorious rise of Mirina after the defeat of the Equestrian King.
"I have no objection. May I ask where you got them, though?"
She shot a glance at her half-brother, noticing that he was looking thoughtfully at those two relics, trying to remember where he had seen them before.
"One of Rea's last legacies. I can't tell you more, because it would be impossible for me..."
"I see. Let's proceed, then. Who do you want me to start with?"
"Alexander," Dinocrates stepped between the two women, with newfound excitement. One could glimpse how being able to hug his double again made him extremely happy. "I implore you, Lady Fouche. Begin with him."
Kista had no objection. Antilene gave one of the wands to Logem, and stood a few steps away from the first one designated for resurrection.
The spell came to life from the end of the wand, weaving a clear, enveloping light. Tiny pieces of miracle took on the form of fireflies on their way to a shadow-adorned sky enclosed in a dark ceiling, while the room's meager illumination was enlivened with fatuous fires riveted by a celestial flame.
The energy concentrated, and embraced the corpse, with an overpowering grace. It was a touch that brought to mind as much a long kiss of farewell, delicate and melancholy, as a powerful brotherly hug, strong and firm.
"..."
Dinocrates, with a dreamy look on his face, saw that wonderful phenomenon come to its end. It was like setting one's gaze on a dark sky that was being filled little by little with many different stars, shining the vault of heaven.
"..."
"..."
"... What happened?" He squeezed his shadow's hand harder, finding no reaction. "Alexander... Alexander wake up… Please… I beg you…" He continued again and again calling that name. Nothing. There was no sign of life coming from that body that had reached peace.
"Lady Fouche..."
Ignoring Kista, Antilene took the second wand and repeated the miracle once more, pointing at Queen Rea Kirke.
The same magic unfolded.
The same light enveloped the body of the old crone.
Nothing this time either.
"There you go...these are useless now..." The half-elf threw the two magical items on the ground, as if they were simple trash. "I can go, nothing more to do."
"Stop..." Dinocrates wanted to look big, but he was small. "Stop, you damned half..." He regretted what he was about to say before he could even come to a conclusion.
Logem had a knife to his back, just waiting for an order.
"Let him go," Antilene ordered, annoyed by that useless display. "Prince, what do you know about resurrection magic? Do you perhaps know that it is not always effective? That it can be rejected? Usually it doesn't. Ask yourself, why did it happen this time?"
The little man had no answer to give her.
"As I thought."
She could have counted on the fingers of one hand the times it had happened in the Theocracy over those long centuries. There was always a choice, after all. Incomprehensible to all but those who had made it.
"Lady Fouche, do you perhaps want to say that both Alexander and Rea..."
"Yes, Kista. They deceived you from the beginning. They had never intended to return. The burden and consequences of your actions will have to fall on you alone."
The woman bit her lip, finding herself perhaps for the first time not knowing what to say. "The letter... The letter that Rea had delivered to you. What does it say?"
Antilene had almost forgotten. She brought the envelope to her eyes, giving the impression that she was about to open it... Then she tore it apart. "It doesn't matter. Kista, history is made of constant repetition. There is no more reliable book of prophecies. Think of the one you love. Then think of the one who has now left everything in your hands, and decide what to do."
As friends, that advice was the most precious gift she could grant her.
"I..."
"I don't want to listen to your answer."
She left her there. Antilene left them both there, Dinocrates and Kista, giving them the space they needed to ponder their future.
----------------------------------------
"So you are leaving?" Elaina was looking out the window of her room. An image that had little of the familiar, for Antilene, yet conveyed a certain amount of sadness and homeliness.
Perhaps, it was simply seeing that small woman continue to caress her belly that left her interjected. What was she thinking at that moment? Was she feeling anger at being used? Or was she happy for having fulfilled her duty?
Antilene dared not ask, for she knew that some things said more about ourselves than what they said about others.
"Yes. My stay is over. I just wanted to extend a brief greeting to you... And give you my condolences."
The halfling had an ethereal smile on her face. Her blond hair fell over her shoulders as her small diaphragm contracted in regular but uncertain breathing.
"I am as sorry for my father as you are. I cry for him, as many do in these dire days. Knowing that he died defending the Union is a great satisfaction for me, nevertheless. Remember what I told you, Lady Fouche, everyone has a role. And my father played his… We reap what we sow. Expecting something different would be foolish."
Philo Orestes had died in a latrine, like the worst of dogs. But the story circulating was that he had led a small defensive expedition after the breach in the walls. Did his daughter know about this? All Antilene would have had to do was ask the right way, ask the right question, to be sure. Regardless of any inquisitor skills.
She chose to remain in the dark.
"Were you afraid when the invasion happened?"
"My brave swan knight was here to defend me. Why should I have been afraid? You should have seen him, Lady Fouche. So gallant, so valiant. Even if an army had stormed in, it would have made no difference. I almost feel regret for everything I asked of him..." Dionegis was standing guard near the door, which remained ajar, rubbing the tip of his sword with a filthy cloth, so gleaming it gave the impression of having just come out of the forge. "Besides, I knew you were out there keeping watch over us. I've never been so safe as I was today."
Could that sweet maiden have taken part in her father's death? It seemed impossible.
Still, magister Kostacles should have been in the room adjacent to hers. Had she really not noticed anything?
As Elaina rose to approach her, Antilene noticed no traces of pregnancy. It was also true that too little time had passed. Or perhaps had it been another lie?
"You give me too much grace, new queen." Was she aware of Alexander and Dinocrates' ploy?
Perhaps she had known from the beginning, or perhaps that weak, petite girl was stronger than the half-elf in dealing with the most impervious situations. Easy to bend the world when you could wipe out whole armies with a breath. Without ever having known frailty, could one be aware of true strength?
"You were my knight, if only briefly. Let me salute you, and adore you as befits a trusted friend." The halfling gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. Antilene did not even feel the moisture on the lips. She stroked her skin, wondering if she hadn't just imagined it.
"If you need me, call me with this and I will come, as a rightful knight." The half-elf pulled a scroll from her bag, which she placed on one of the nearby furnishings. "Will you be okay?"
"I will. I got everything I wished for."
"And what is it?"
Elaina took on a sly look. "It's a secret."
They exchanged a smile of friendship. Antilene walked toward the exit.
When she closed the door, Dionegis was staring at her.
"I must thank you, Lady Fouche." The swan knight had thrown his sword to the ground and prostrated himself entirely toward her. "You have saved my lady, and this kingdom. If only words were enough..."
"On the right occasion, they can be," she reassured him. "What will you do now?"
"I have failed my task. I turned my back on the one who saved me from a life in the slums and filth. I don't regret what I did, but I still stained my honor. Still, I would gladly do it again…"
'For her,' Antilene concluded for him, letting his silence speak more than a hundred words.
His sword had been cleaned from top to bottom. There was not a single trace of dirt left on it. Nothing unusual, so why had he continued to wipe it until just before?
And why had he done that? A single word, a single word that redefined every relationship.
"And will that be enough to let you abandon her? Are your feelings so insincere? Is so little enough for you to falter?"
The knight's amethyst eyes shone like Mirina's. History repeated itself, Antilene had affirmed. Occasionally, with unexpected outcomes.
"I have been guilty of a grave sin, but I will remedy it in the only way I know how."
With a sacrifice, thought Antilene. A difficult sacrifice, and at the same time the most easy of all.
"Go ahead and find a quiet place to die, as far as I'm concerned. If your life is worth so little, I certainly won't be the one to tell you to treasure it."
"What is life without honor? Rather, where is honor if not in death?" The swan knight asked.
"Living is honor enough," she told him.
Antilene made to leave. It took her only a few steps to hear his voice again.
"Lady Fouche, is there a chance for me? When does the path of redemption end?"
"Never. That's what makes it so hard… And so beautiful."
Antilene did not wait for a continuation of that conversation. The conclusion, for her, had already been reached.