Chapter 58

Prologue: a long-awaited reunion

The candle's light was almost consumed. It could have taken only a snap of fingers to have magic illuminate the room, but Rufus preferred to see the wax slowly wear off.

Only a whim, the last vestigia of a world that wasn't his anymore.

"Are you sleeping?"

His disciple's voice was soft. Rufus had noticed her entering only a moment ago. The slow creaking of the door had brought disturbance to a hard-built peace. Looking up, a sad melancholy was suppressed by a default pattern of coldness. A squeak of a worn mechanism resonated in his mind, shaping concerts of distant pasts.

"You ask as if you didn't already know the answer."

The undead tried to remember how to smile. The bones could form just a remembrance of an expression, the imprinting of forsaken emotions.

Nevertheless, the result was quite satisfactory, if not completely correct.

"You never know. Things change…"

Things changed indeed.

The inexorable passage of time was so methodical that in many instances it almost left the impression that the change was just a glare, and that it happened out of the blue, from one moment to the next, without giving an opportunity to get accustomed to it.

But that was just an illusion. The hands of the clock flowed indifferently from the attentions of those who were to perceive them.

"You are right. My pupil has become wise while away."

"Or maybe I always was. You just didn't notice." Antilene's grin was warm. The derision hid an immeasurable affection that could make every heart beat in joy, even ones made of nothingness and void.

"Is this the way to treat an old man?"

The half-elf took a seat next to his desk. The smell of closed must have been penetrating, because Rufus saw her pull up with the nose in an inelegant manner.

"Old? Since when are you old? Something really happened while I was gone. Did you start to steal souls, perhaps? Or the dreams of all the children of the Theocracy are more to your taste?"

A mocking implication of alleged monstrosity, counterbalanced by laughter that flowed clear in that dismal atmosphere.

"Neither of them," the candle had reached the end of its cycle. Resorting to magic to bring back the light was a mandatory choice at that point. "I remember the last time we saw each other, but I can't allocate a date. How long has it been since then?"

"Months. You have probably spent more just staying here."

"Months…" Perception could be tricky. "I had much to write. The political situation in the neighboring countries is quickly mutating. The Scriptures, the Cardinals… are they still the same?"

"They are."

Dominic, Berenice, Maximillian, Yvon, Zinedine… and Raymond, the old guard of the Black. Was he right?

The names started to overlap. Sometimes, they repeated. How many Dominic and Berenice and Raymond had followed in the history of Slaine? Watching the library he guarded, the desire to read all the treasures there kept sourged in him. To remember, and to honor again those who were here no more.

What was the point in that? He didn't know.

"Tell me. What did you see in your travels? You were in the City-State Alliance, if I am not mistaken."

"Correct. I saved them from a horde of centaurs. I took many valuable items from their king, this included."

Antilene untied a necklace to which an emerald feather was attached, handing it to him gently. An emerald blaze spread with that simple step, illuminating the atmosphere with a bright green glow.

Rufus examined it carefully, being amazed at the sensation of wonder growing in him. "One of the tears of the world. Equal to the panoplies of the Gods."

"Tears? Like Downfall?"

The undead nodded, feeling strangely invigorated. "At one time, these were leaves of a sacred tree. The tree from which every world originated."

The half-elf's expression was an easy puzzle to decipher. "If you say so," she whistled, without paying much attention to him.

He did not hold it against her. The original creatures of the new world had difficulty understanding the intricate reality that connected the two realities. At times, even he remained confused, caught between what he now believed to be a distant illusion and what he considered to be his new existence.

"What else did you find?"

"Curious?"

"Immensely so."

His disciple smirked, in the same vein she used to when greatly pleasured. In his imagination, that now full-grown woman was still the child who sat on his lap when tired, snoring on his legs when sleeping.

"I took great care to note down everything I saw," from the bag she carried, the half-elf pulled out a leather-bound notebook. "It is the first of many. I want you to read it."

After handing it to her, Antilene was colored with an unusual nostalgia. Her cheeks, white as snow, blushed just enough to be noticed even by Rufus. "I didn't think you were into writing," the teacher murmured, with some surprise. "Why?"

"I'm not. And the result I think is barely satisfactory..." The position Antilene had assumed in the chair was properly composed. Unusual. As a rule, grace was almost unknown to his disciple.

Rufus was almost struck by a motion of concern.

He was on the verge of asking her what was troubling her. The sound of silence, however, could not be disturbed by the bad counselor that was haste.

"I talked to the Cardinals. According to Windstride's reports in the Draconic Kingdom there are some traces of those who are looking for me," she finally spoke after a few minutes. To be done well, things required the proper amount of patience. "There are no other traces of that mysterious cult in the Elven Kingdom. And I got tired of standing around waiting for their next moves."

"When will you leave?"

"At the earliest. Things are also getting complicated in the south. I may be forced to intervene there too."

South. That direction took the form of something definite.

"Is the flying city in danger?"

Antilene nodded. Then, her lips parted hesitantly. The memory of when was the last time Rufus had seen that uncertainty peep over his disciple was clouded. A missed beat, or the alienating sensation of what could perhaps have been called that movement, caused him to doubt himself about what was experiencing.

"Did you know?"

"Know what?"

Antilene closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. It was easy to imagine her preparing for that question countless times before asking it. Yet, that had not been enough.

The ringing of the bells -midday or midnight made no difference- was the only thing keeping that moment from getting lost in the lull.

"My father's origins. Did you know he was the son of one of the Eight?"

He observed her. This was no joke, in all probability. Just the indomitable desire to know the truth. How could he deny her?

"No... But I had my suspicions."

"Why?"

There was no disappointment in Antilene. Nor anger, or any other emotion that could be traced to such a strong feeling. There was something else, though. Something that, if it could have been easily defined, would have led him to question what he thought he knew about humans.

And his disciple was not only human, however. Many times, it was easy to forget.

"Decem Hougan's strength, the timing of his appearance, the fact that one of the Eight Greed Kings was an elf. There were the elements to be able to advance this hypothesis... But it was circumstantial evidence, with no real value other than a sensation fueled by far too much paranoia."

Now that he repeated that reasoning aloud, it sounded to him tremendously like disingenuous excuses. Rufus had no soul to fathom, nor anything resembling a conscience. Not anymore, at least.

Watching the half-elf sigh before him, it was almost natural to wonder how far a deception could extend. How much the darkness could engulf, when your eyes remained closed.

"That's not what I was talking about. I want to know why you never told me. You could have at least shared your uncertainties with me."

Why?

There was always a need for a why with mortals.

And why hadn't he, in fact, done so?

Did he not want to break that little girl even more as she held back her tears by sinking her head into his robes? Or did he not want the adult woman who felt hatred toward herself to come to despise her existence even more?

Excuses, just excuses.

His disciple was not glass. She was not steel. She was something more. As the blacksmith who forged her, Rufus was well aware.

Nonetheless, a blacksmith was not a God. A blacksmith knew metal, and the sweat that flowed from the forges. But not a God did not know blood. A God did not know the tribulations of the flesh.

Why did he want to protect it, then? He had let her loose in the world, and at any moment Antilene could be snatched away from him.

Just as each of the children of the Theocracy had been snatched away from him, taken away by the Silent Lady or by the furious enemies who surrounded them. Without mercy, without a farewell. It just happened. His eyes were wells now devoid of water, his chest a strand of bone guarding something that was no longer there. His fingers caressed ghosts, and the only future he could see was reflected in a remote, ancient lake, now dry.

"I thought it prudent not to share with you. If it will do any good, know that I regret it."

Rufus did not know what to expect. Part of him, deep down, anticipated condemnation. Another, smaller part felt a kind of relief at the hate that could have followed. He had received so much unconditional love over the years that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to be loathed.

Instead, none of this happened. Antilene's response was blunt. "You have nothing to apologize for. I know you did it for my sake."

"You were right… You have always been wise. Let me at least offer my apologies for not noticing until it was too late."

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"It is never too late. Not for us..." His disciple pointed with her index finger to the diary she had handed him as a gift. "Read it, when you get the urge. I will bring you more, so that you will always know what I am doing."

One word could bridge a small distance. Many could make people even closer. Especially if they were the right ones.

"I thank you. They will be perfect for my chronicles."

Antilene smiled. A smile that carried much tenderness with it. "And so you will never forget me." Unexpectedly, there was a certain joy in that expression that so much should have sounded sad.

"I could never forget you."

"Instead you will," she replied. "It won't be in a century, maybe not even in a millennium. Just as you have seen me grow, you will see me age. Someday the wrinkles on my face will lead you to wonder if the frightened little girl you met ever really existed. Then, I will be dust. And then a memory. Sweet, sad. All these things together. I will no longer be a person, but many little stories, many little events. You will begin to forget my name. I can already imagine how you will start calling me. 'My little disciple', 'the young half elf', 'the old guardian'. All true, and all false. Then you will begin to forget my face. It will become an imprecise form. The color of my eyes, the shape of my lips, the conformation of my nose will become more and more imprecise. And then nothing… And that's okay. I will be gone, but you will stay here, for much longer. Let me keep you from being alone, maybe we will be able to fool Surshana too."

Because the God of Death was also the God of Forgetfulness, and absolute death was also that. To disappear from all memory, from all history.

But Surshana... Rufus was part of him, two sides of the same coin. Could anyone be asked to consciously deceive himself?

"In that case, let your master make a request of you for once. Bring me more, so that I can keep them, and give them importance. So that I can read them and read them again, until they become part of me."

"I will be glad."

There was one thing Antilene was wrong about. The half-elf had not taken into account that Rufus, too, would be destined to be gone one day.

'Eternity, after all, is a time far too long for everyone.'

And if one day they were to be parted then, perhaps, there was also the hope of a reunion.

Even if they would not recognize each other, it would not matter in the end.

How can a queen inspire her people?

There was a dragon, in her dream.

The dragon was flying high in the sky, the color of its scales reflecting a wonderful rainbow. Draudillon loved to marvel at the different hues that bounded together in a mystical dance, while a soothing music played in the distance. The smell of wet soil, which so much brought to mind the aftermath of a rainy day, engulfed that vision.

"My dear, of all my children you are my biggest masterpiece. The arts we thought lost live once again in your small and frail body. On your shoulders rest the hopes of an entire race, and fate calls you to abide by your destiny."

The dragon had assumed the form of an old man. Gray his hair, gray his beard, gray his eyes.

Everything about him conveyed the idea of old age. A dignified, no-frills austerity. His robes were adorned with jewelry and embroidery. Lapis lazuli and ancient symbols, emeralds and diamonds traced lines of radiance.

The voice was stern, contoured by the calmness that only deep wisdom could impart. It was like listening to a fairy tale that had been heard more than once before, reassuring in its predictability.

The two of them were in a huge library, with so many shelves that just counting them would take more than a lifetime. The smell of paper was pungent, but not unpleasant.

"How can I do that, Grandfather?"

Draudillon had always called him grandfather, although it was not the most appropriate term, but great-grandfather wasn't as easy on the tongue. Ever since she was little more than a child, ever since she had first shown talent, the now queen of the Draconic Kingdom had no other memories than those shared with the dragon.

By day, she was given the education of a princess: economics, art, etiquette, affairs of state. An existence out of the ordinary, but not special.

At night, when the stars fell, her grandfather would visit her in dreams. Actually, although she called them dreams, they were not really such. They were recollections, experiences that merged with something arcane and secret.

Her infant hands clung to the dragon's back, and the skin of her face caressed the night breeze, watching from above that world that everyone had forced her to fear.

'Yet it is so beautiful,' Draudillon Oriculus thought in those moments.

"You mortals are attached to the idea that fate is fulfilled by a simple action. You look for a single instant that divides the before with the after. But that is not how life flows."

Now, her grandfather looked like a woman. Golden hair that fell over her shoulders, and golden eyes that shone brighter than the sun in the sky. Even the lips had contours that blinded.

The voice was melodious, soothing as a lullaby. Every word an embrace, every syllable spoken an affectionate motherly kiss. The hands with which she stroked her hair were soft and warm. The scent of roses she exuded made one feel safe.

The library had given way to a large room, filled with musical instruments. It was the same one where Draudillon used to listen to the concerts that companies of wandering bards brought to her court.

The vague feeling of familiarity put her at ease. Draudillon had no particularly pleasant memories of her parents, not because they had been inadequate. On the contrary, they had showered her with affection and attention.

At that moment, however, she really understood what it meant to be loved by a mother.

"Give me at least a hint. Something to put me on the right track. Without you, I am lost. Insignificant. My heritage is meaningless without you to guide me. Tell me..." But the words died in her throat.

'Why have you abandoned me?' She wanted to shout. 'Why did you leave me alone?' She would have accused him, tossing back bile and contempt for her current situation.

But what would it matter? The dragon was flying in the sky, and she was left on earth. She could not touch the stars, could not set her eyes on the sun.

She could only wait, locked up in the palace, while everything she loved was slowly eroded by time and grief.

"What do you see?"

"A warrior."

The dream had turned into something else, and a deserted heath was the stage for that final act.

Draudillon watched her grandfather take one last form. A shape that, like the others, was familiar to her. Indeed, even more so.

Raven hair, sun-kissed skin, and muscles that instilled no fear, only a great desire for protection. Well-made armor, and an unfailing sword at his side.

Both of them moved through that wasteland, where shadows with vaguely human outlines challenged each other. Sometimes they would fall, but then they were quick to get back up and continue with that struggle. The strange thing was that they never seemed to have an end, and although little by little some were swallowed up by larger ones, they multiplied faster than they could undo themselves.

"If it's supposed to be a metaphor for the meaninglessness of war, I get the hint."

There was not the slightest trace of blood, any smell that would suggest death. Aseptic was the landscape, like a crystal case kept isolated from the world.

"Far from it," the warrior replied. "These people have nothing. The desert is not worth fighting for, and yet the shadows do it anyway. Why? Maybe because they think that someday something will bloom here again?"

"Perhaps they protect what little they have. When one has nothing, that is enough treasure."

Her grandfather never smiled. He did not that time either, although he showed satisfaction with the answer with an almost imperceptible movement of the head.

"Do you think the past can be changed?"

What a futile question.

"Of course not."

The warrior returned the rainbow dragon once again, and Draudillon the little girl clinging to him.

"Yet there are those who are trying. When we leave this world, our sins, our mistakes, do not go away with us. And we impose on those who come after to remedy them. What a disgrace. Not even the Court of Miracles, the roar of the world, can depart from this bitter truth."

The dragon did not speak. It communicated with her through something beyond mere words. The voice it emitted in her head was more than the sum of the parts of those that had preceded it.

"Grandfather, what does all this mean? The Court of Miracles was where the old lords of the world gathered. But the Dragon Emperor is gone, and his son..."

"Your breath, my dear, is still strong. Don't let it be snatched away from you. Now is the time to wake up..."

Draudillon felt a chill run down her spine. "No..." Even as she opened her mouth, no sound came out. "Don't leave me..."

But the dream ended, and the dragon was no more. With him, the rainbow was also gone.

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

She woke up and was still a child.

'Another day,' Draudillon thought while waiting for the maidens to enter her chambers.

It didn't take long.

After the first rays of dawn, the morning ceremonial had been completed, and the queen of the Draconic Kingdom prepared to eat breakfast.

"Would you prefer sweet or savory, my Queen?" The butler in charge of the day watched her apprehensively, worried that the fragile body she dressed might shatter with a single breath of wind.

"Salty. Nothing too heavy on the stomach, please."

The choice turned out to be less difficult than expected as there were not many alternatives. Some simple goat cheese and a serving of eggs. Sweet wine to clear the throat. The only consolation was knowing that that sacrifice would not weigh too heavily on the nation's coffers.

Coffers that were already crying from too much spending, almost as much as Draudillon would have liked to mourn.

But could a queen cry when her kingdom was suffering?

What a stupid question.

Of course she could.

"Is Her Majesty devoting herself to her customary morning weeping?"

Draudillon did not give much consideration to the man who had disturbed her in her private moment. "The prime minister exists to support the queen, not to mock her."

Magone adjusted the frames of his glasses, remaining impassive. "Mine is not a criticism. I am aware that if her fair majesty devotes herself to this activity, it is only to harden her heart and ready herself to make the most difficult decisions throughout the day."

It was certainly a charming way to describe the situation, although in truth Draudillon was only doing it so as not to feel too overwhelmed by all that was going on around her on a daily basis.

"Is there much to do today?" Wiping away her tears with a handkerchief, the little queen made her way through the corridors of the palace. "I could return to my true self, perhaps."

Getting comfortable walking with a smaller-than-normal body had required patience and practice, and after years of experience there was still some internal imbalance between what should have been the width of her steps and the actual width.

"Today is the ceremony for the fallen. It would be good for the people to remember what a lovely sovereign they are losing their sons and daughters for."

"Until proven otherwise, they are also losing them to save themselves..." Realizing the ruthlessness of the consideration, Draudillon hastened to apologize. "Forgive me. I am aware that giving an ideal to die for is useful. An ideal of a united nation..." And she, as queen, was living proof of that ideal.

"There is no need to apologize. This servant has heard nothing improper."

"I am fortunate that you are a little hard of hearing," after a sigh that lasted longer than expected, she asked the question she so willingly would have avoided. "How many?"

"A hundred."

"That many?"

It was no surprise, but being accustomed to such a tragedy said all too much about their current plight.

"The fighting at the front is getting tighter. The demi-humans have not planned a thorough invasion this time. It is more like a mass emigration, as if they are running away from something."

But from what? The idea made her shudder. Her thoughts turned to Stronoff, who was on that front that was becoming more unhealthy every day. Also to Crystal Tear and the other adventurers who had decided to go beyond material matters only for the collective interest.

Despite her personal views, it was a sacrifice Draudillon was ready to respect.

"Is there anything else?"

They were only a few minutes into the day and her head was already pounding. A splendid start, all things considered.

"Count Fasil requests reinforcements as soon as possible."

"Can we send them to him?"

The Prime Minister's frowning expression was enough of an answer.

"We'll come up with something..."

"Then there is the matter of Baroness Ayin. Many minor nobles feel that she is not suitable as a regent as long as she is still...unmarried. They propose a marriage to strengthen the lineage. A male figure would also be necessary for the education of the young scion."

Ruspina was one of the most prosperous territories in the kingdom, and could not be left in a heated situation.

Unfortunately, a combined match could also have created a dynastic crisis, given the possibility of a male child for the new regent. Accidents happened...

"It is not welcomed for the Crown to get too involved in these matters. For now, let the Baroness settle any grievances. If they persist, the nobles who continue to have problems can request an assemblage to resolve the matter."

The problems continued to pile up, giving no chance to rest. The stress accumulated so much that the lack of it had come to be alienating.

"As you wish. Unfortunately, I think we'll have to come back to discuss the situation in the future..."

"Leave it to the Draudillon of the future then."

She asked forgiveness from her tomorrow self, but the one of the present already had too much on her mind.

The rest of the day continued as planned.

The commemoration ceremony was quick, just a few words of comfort and a few medals awarded to some survivors who had been given an award leave.

When Draudillon saw their faces, she could not help but wonder if those soldiers would find the readiness to return to the battlefield again, and perhaps understood why they had been given the opportunity to go home.

'Stronoff is a fine captain. He knows that it is better to have no men than to find himself dead weight in the middle of the action.'

Then followed the discussions with various officials, the remonstrances of nobles and citizens, the -disastrous- meetings with ministers...

By the end of the day, the little queen was sitting on her throne, alone. Even Magone had gone home, so he could get a few hours of rest before starting the tour again.

"So tired," she said to no one in particular.

"I can imagine," however, someone, strangely, replied.

"And today was not a particularly difficult day either... Wait a second..."

Draudillon snapped, getting up in one movement. In her haste, she tripped and fell to the ground with a somersault.

A hand helped her up.

"So is this your child form? Looks cute, I guess."

Squinting, the queen realized she recognized the voice.

"Lady Fouche?"

The half-elf, Evasha's new ruler, was exactly as she had seen her at the ball organized by young Jircniv, albeit in less formal attire. A white sweater and plain black pants.

The hand clasping hers was overflowing with energy, and Draudillon had the feeling of clinging to a mountain.

"Had you not been warned of my arrival?"

Draudillon shook her head, confused. Lady Fouche squinted her eyes in response, opening her mouth as a naive child, realizing she had forgotten something important.

"Ah, right. I should have done that. Forgive me, but I'm traveling without an entourage this time, and it's hard to remember all these necessary ceremonies."

It was not required for a queen of another nation to bow her head in apology, but Draudillon perceived no particular royalty from the newcomer. And this was not particularly bad, necessarily.

"How did you get in?"

"The guards at the entrance wouldn't let me in, telling me it was too late and I should have come back tomorrow to express the request with proper formalities, so I had to run a bit."

"Run?"

"Yes. No one saw me. I could have jumped out the window, but it seemed inelegant. In truth, the fewer people who know I'm here, the better."

Confusion was rampant in Draudillon's mind, but she decided to accept it as something natural.

"And why are you here?"

Lady Fouche clapped her hands, sporting a smile that could only have been described as devilish.

"Rejoice. I've come to solve your problems. The ones with an exaggerated amount of fur, at least. Provided you accept my help, that is."

Coming from anyone else, those words would have sounded like sheer madness. Unexpected help did not fall from the sky, and one person alone would not have been enough to set things right.

Before worrying more about any possible trap hidden in that statement, the queen of the Draconic Kingdom had only one thing to say—

"When do we start?"