“My job is to run ! I like running ! Sometimes I have to carry humans ! They are made of steel ! They're heavy ! And shiny ! Sometimes I have to run on other humans ! They're shiny too ! They hit me and it hurts ! But I like to run ! The humans scream when I run on them but I have to keep running ! Sometimes there are other horses ! So we all run on the shiny humans ! Or else they cut us with their swords !

-Horse”

* * *

Azcheron

“Kill him !”

“Cut his hands, his feet !”

“Chop his manhood and shove it in his mouth !”

“Ngarghl !”

His explosion spell granted him half a second of silence but soon enough other soldiers took their turn at barking threats to his face.

These madmen ! How many must I crush before they stop ?

The flood of crazy soldiers, blinded with rage and bloodlust, stopped Azcheron from catching his breath. A flick of his wrist created another explosion that sent to their grave some thirty opponents. The shooting pain in his arm and his leg proved to be more hindering than he first assumed. Damn crossbow bolts. He had been taken by surprise like an amateur, as he was busy rejoicing and cutting Karia's head.

The throbbing ache was breaking his concentration – probably hit a bone or something –, forbidding him from using very complex spells, but he had no idea whether another one of these blast of mana orb would really make a difference here or not. There was so many of those imbeciles, he'd probably drain every single drop of the north's mana before killing all these guys.

Still, now would have been a good time to cast that overly destructive magic he stumbled upon, but he wasn't sure he could afford to use it. He had spent a good chunk of his own mana against the Great Sorceress, so now he had to do with the raw mana around Pelirise – he didn't want a repeat of the battle with Oscar.

Depleting his own mana had been a rather displeasing experience, so he felt the smart course of action here was to manipulate his favourite tool, the environment's raw mana. Which had been quite devoured through the battle, too : not only Azcheron relied a lot on it during his fight, but so did Karia. Perhaps he'd really end up consuming all of it. Was it even possible in the first place ? Probably not, but he wasn't willing to find out in this situation.

Holding tightly his bloodied package, his prize, with his unhurt arm, he kept painfully limping away from the crowd, their mean-looking spears and swords, and their even more mean-looking grimaces. He wished he could treat his leg in order to use Manasprint and escape this uncomfortable place, but he couldn't exactly do that either. The healing arts required time he didn't have.

I don't know why I even expected these people to let me leave peacefully. I figured they'd be scared, fleeing and trying to survive, at least ! Not mindlessly throwing away their lives in fruitless attempts to end mine.

A glance to the side and a dozen of heads fell. Both fortunately and unfortunately for Azcheron, his pursuers had seemingly lost most of their sanity – that meant they weren't really attacking him with things such as coordination, organization or cunning. But that also meant they'd keep attacking no matter how many limbs and heads got sliced.

He had no choice but to pave his way back to Pelirise with bodies, but he had the displeasing feeling that the large number of frenzied soldiers was overbearing his own magic. Another batch of enemies exploded, and small bits of guts found their way on Azcheron's head.

How disgraceful.

As he kept dealing with the waves of fanatics, he caught sight of something interesting in the direction of the city – no, not the castle he had accidentally destroyed, it was something much closer. Much more pleasing too.

It was some angry-looking woman on a horse, trampling on the soldiers and swinging her sword at them, as she rode toward Azcheron.

Such convenience ! Here, come quicker if you may, dearest Erin. I grow tired of this moronic carnage.

Apparently not caring one bit for gentleness, the saviour didn't bother to slow down, picked up the Saint by the collar as if he was a disgusting grunt and lifted him on the horse before turning around and riding back toward Pelirise.

A magnanimous Azcheron killed a few soldiers that came too close to the horse, and decided to thank his rescuer. “You took your sweet time.”

“I can still toss you away here, it's not too late,” she retorted flatly. “Seeing how popular you are, I'm thinking of giving you back to your followers.”

He grimaced and blasted another bunch of fanatics out of their horse's way. “I'd be much obliged if you refrained from doing so. They have no tenderness, this bunch. They'd chop my tongue off and gouge my eyes out if they had the chance. Some kind of wicked love this is. I much prefer your love.”

She clicked her tongue. “You'll come to hate my love too, if you keep acting like a suicidal monkey.”

“Now, now, don't say that. I'll always love your love,” he said, turning his head to look at her. She made a strange expression.

“I don't even know what this love of mine is supposed to be.”

It's because our romance is dragging on, dear heroine. We should speed it up, for my future readers' sake.

“So,” she continued, glancing at the thing wrapped in the blood soaked white and gold toga, “...I assume you killed her ?”

“Damn right I did,” he bellowed, clinging to his prize. “I told you I would, right ? Who do you take me for !”

She made a sudden turn to avoid a group of pikemen that Azcheron didn't see, swiftly catching him with one arm as he almost fell to the side. “An irresponsible fool ? You somewhat obliterated the city you were supposed to defend. I almost died myself, what the hell was that spell ?”

“Ha ! Was it flashy enough ?”

“Flashy ? You... Ugh, yeah, you'll be remembered,” she said coldly. “As the man who killed almost as many allies as he killed enemies.”

He took an offended tone. “Wasn't my fault ! I didn't expect the spell to do that! Had I known-”

“You casted it twice !” she hissed.

“I was hoping the second time would be different ?” he said, trying to lie his way out.

Erin sighed. “Look, I'm not entirely sure you'll be popular after that...” Her voice was sad, like a mother explaining to her stupid child that his wooden toy was broken, or that his friend, the blacksmith's son, wasn't really his friend to begin with. Extremely condescending !

Nevertheless, Azcheron took a second to think about his wording. “...All fame is good fame. What matters now is that both the north and the Imperial army saw me fighting and killing the Great Sorceress. Of course there would be casualties, but it would have been ten times worse if I hadn't been here.”

“Do you believe that's how they'll see it ?”

Azcheron shook his head. “I don't need them to see me as a shining hero, not at the moment anyway. For now, Jacille and Sazael's poets and minstrels will do some publicity for me. And you know what they say, you can't make a tale without breaking skulls.”

“I'm fairly certain that's not how the saying goes...”

“Oh, it's not ?” he wondered without really caring. “Well, you get the idea. This is war, I risked my life too, Karia wasn't an easy kill, so... Don't expect me to grovel and apologize to the people.”

“Stop messing around,” she muttered. “You already have enough enemies.”

Azcheron displayed his best smile. “And once again, you'll protect me if need be ! You've been doing a great job until now, by the way !”

He expected a glare or a scold in return, but Erin only let out a tired sigh. Perhaps she had enough of his deliberate foolishness for today.

As they approached Pelirise, they encountered less and less fleeing soldiers, until there none were left. They must have all retreated, albeit in a disorganized fashion – lots of Imperial corpses pierced with arrows or half flattened. The archers and the cavalry probably couldn't resist killing off the fleeing invaders.

The Imperial army had obviously suffered heavy casualties, and Anton always said that a disorganized retreat always ended in a carnage. Some thirty-thousand people, united under the banner of madness and hate. A mob or a horde, rather than an army : all it took to make that unity crumble was the death of Karia...

The Saint looked back, expecting his fanatical pursuers to be running after him, in the distance. Surprisingly, there was no one pursuing them now. Their carelessness and eagerness to annihilate Azcheron was probably due to him being isolated deep in the enemy camp, on foot.

Now that he was on horse, returning to Pelirise, they were surely less keen to throw away their life in a stupid revenge attempt. The relative peacefulness gave him the time he needed to heal his wounds a bit, though it was rudimentary. He'd do a proper job later, when he wouldn't be on a damn horse.

* * *

They weren't exactly expecting to be welcomed back like heroes, but they certainly were surprised too see soldiers and people cheering for them as they entered Pelirise. It seemed Azcheron was at least partly right. While the city's inhabitants probably thought they'd all die in the flames of the Great Sorceress, they were saved by some unknown human mage.

People liked heroes, after all.

At first he thought that maybe, they hadn't realized that the chaotic spell was his, but he was proved otherwise. Azcheron could clearly glimpse a few unhappy faces glaring at him, but these things couldn't be avoided. He saw sadness, resentment, anger. There had been unfair losses, unwarranted deaths – and he had been one of the causes. Still, many expressions of joy and celebration, it felt nice. Glorious, even.

It's a good start. Once I'll retell and spread the details of my battle, it'll be even better. It would have looked amazing, in fact, if I wasn't stuck on Erin's horse like some damn princess.

Rudolph was here, too, and so was Saraela. Erin looked relieved to know of the captain's safety – Azcheron was satisfied too, though it had more to do with Sazael's request and his reward.

“Let us go to the castle,” Saraela advocated. She glanced at Azcheron's trophy. “Queen Jacille is waiting for your good news”

It was Azcheron's turn to be relieved, now. He quite liked the girl. That, and he would have done all this for nothing, had the queen died. Worst, died because of him ! The irony.

They rode slowly across the city, as to show themselves to the people. The roads were in a fairly bad state anyway, so it wouldn't have been easy to go faster. The city had suffered quite a lot from the attack overall. Putting aside the castle and the damage caused by the collapsing tower, a lot of houses were crumbling. And the corpses. The corpses were being transported, but some were still laying around.

The cheering crowd looked somewhat out of place amidst the devastation.

They dismounted before climbing the stairs leading to the castle. Azcheron walked theatrically in front of everyone, carrying the package under his arm, his hair and feathered coat swaying in the wind. He was perfectly convinced to be the embodiment of style at the moment. Nothing, not even Erin's exasperated sigh, could possibly ruin this moment.

Queen Jacille and counsellor Yva were waiting at the top of the stairs, along with their guards. As he climbed the last step, Azcheron gave his most charismatic smile, unwrapped his trophy and displayed Karia's pale head, holding it by the hair. Once of a beautiful brown, it was now dirtied with blood and mud. Raising his arm and turning around so that the citizens could see, too. As they all stared into the lifeless eyes of the general, they entered some sort of disturbing, overjoyed madness.

So much hatred... he thought, gazing at the sorceress' head. I'll probably have a fairly abominable reputation in the Empire from now on, but I'm not sure even my own severed head could trigger such happiness among the Imperial people... I don't feel like finding out, in any case. I like my head where it is now.

Eventually, he faced Jacille. “My queen.” He was neither bowing nor kneeling, of course. Towering above the queen despite his own modest height – thank the gods, she was but a child after all –, he wondered for a moment if he wasn't looking a bit too intimidating.

“Saint Azcheron,” the girl answered, a slight flush on her cheeks. Though the severed head didn't seem to faze her in the least, as expected of someone who carried out human sacrifices as a hobby. “You did well. As promised, you shall have ballads and epics about your deeds, and even more.” She glanced at Yva and nodded.

The counsellor stepped forward and addressed the crowd down the stairs in a surprisingly strong voice, despite the absence of sound magic. “People of Pelirise ! Rejoice, for the invader has been repelled by our brave warriors ! They came to defile the city of our beloved goddess, and they failed ! It is not only our city's victory today, but that of the entire north !”

The people's cheers increased twofold. She extended her arm, signalling for Azcheron to approach her, and continued. “Here stands the man who made that victory possible, the man who defeated the Great Sorceress Karia in single combat ! Azcheron, the Rahal Saint ! People of Pelirise ! It is the wish of her majesty queen Jacille to grant this man, the hero of the north, a title worthy of his accomplishments ! All hail Saint Azcheron, Saviour of Pelirise !”

She makes it sound like we've won the war already... Well, I suppose that without Karia against them, the north can manage on its own now ? Plus, the Imperial army's moral must be awfully low.

“Saviour of Pelirise ! Saviour of Pelirise !” the crowd repeated, again and again.

Hmm... It lacks originality but at least it conveys clearly what I did, Azcheron thought, judging his new title behind his perfect smiling mask while he waved at the people. Seeing how Jacille is a child and since this is supposed to be the city of sun and summer, I could have ended with some dumb title like “Friend of the sun” or whatever...

A few rounds of applause later, they went inside the castle. They talked and spoke and so on, but Azcheron wasn't really listening. He was much busier thinking about his future songs. He'd have to meet with the bards and guide them in this important venture that would be the creation of his legend, to make sure they didn't write garbage. What if the stupid writers mistook his mighty mana orbs for a pitiful light spell used in place of torches and candles ! The whole battle with Karia would be turned into a joke, and he would be the butt of it.

He'd be the laughing stock of the mage community ! No, he'd have to be careful and show the bards what was what before they messed up his tale.

Erin, Jacille and the others kept talking for a moment, something to do with a banquet and a ceremony the next day. Azcheron didn't need to listen to these things, he would catch up by asking Erin, his trusted associate, saviour and agent. Erin, Erin, Erin... Come to think of it, she didn't really get congratulated for her work, hm.

He stared at her for a moment, until she finally took notice of his gaze and answered with a quizzical frown. He really enjoyed doing that. Staring at her, making it look as if he was thinking up some plot, when in fact he was simply staring at her. Her reactions were always the same. Wary and suspicious.

He smiled to himself, hoping it wouldn't change.

* * *

The evening came.

Azcheron dipped a toe, then a foot, then immersed his whole body in the water by letting himself fall gracelessly into the bath.

Queen Jacille had made her own royal baths available to him and Erin. Those were thermal baths, similar to the ones at Atharemine, except they were built in the castle, and were much more luxurious.

As the Saint submerged his whole body in the hot water, he listened to the sounds of the city. Laughs and merry voices, mainly. It was rather soothing, different from the agitated, insane cheers he had witnessed earlier in the day.

He glanced around, surveilling the bathing facility filled with steam, his gaze passing on the marble slabs, the columns, the windows, the arched doors leading to some small terrace, and finally stopped on Erin. He watched as she tossed her clothes away and stepped in the bath with, he had to admit, much more elegance than him.

“Show-off,” he called out.

She looked at him for a second, maybe wondering what he was referring to. “You're the show-off.” That much was obvious, with the events of the day.

“Lies. I can't help it if all the attention gather on me. You have no idea how bothering it is.”

“Poor thing,” she mocked. “Being called the 'Saviour of Pelirise', having half the city praising your name, seducing the queen... Such a hard life you lead.”

“Ha ! Jealous,” he snorted. He paused for a bit, then knitted his brows. “What do you mean, 'seducing' ?”

“What do you mean ? It's obvious you're her hero or something. You didn't know ?”

“Huh ? No, of course I knew, but I didn't seduce her, you... vile woman. She's like ten.”

“And here I am, thinking I was your partner and most trusted accomplice...” she said in a fake complaining tone, ignoring his excuses and barely managing to hide her mocking smile. Probably using Azcheron's own words on purpose.

He rose to his feet and grumpily approached her. “Don't put me in a foul mood, I actually wanted to say something nice tonight.”

And he had it all planned ! This game between them had been going on for too long. Anton's novels taught him long ago about how to make things move a bit in such situations.

“Say something nice ? To me ?” she turned her head to the side and looked at him in the corner of her eye.

He sat in front of her. “To you.”

“Ha, that's a first.”

“No,” he said, pursing his lips. “It's not.”

“You're right, it's not. So what's the occasion ?”

“I became the north's saviour, and got handsomely rewarded as I asked, in case you haven't heard, but-”

“Oh I've heard alright.” She smirked. “I'd have heard it even if I was deaf, I think. Sorry, you were saying ?”

“...But you got nothing, yet once again you were my saviour.”

She didn't answer immediately. There was a certain awkwardness floating. This scene wasn't exactly going the way he imagined it. The sentences sounded better in his mind...

Yet she looked at him with curious eyes. “Is that so. And do you think it earned me a, say, handsome reward of my own ? Can I choose ?”

He felt hot – perhaps it was the bath ? And his heart was thumping. Perhaps it was the heat !

He came closer, drowning in the golden eyes. “You can choose.”

Erin leaned forward too, leaving very little space between Azcheron's lips and hers. “You know that if queen Jacille was to barge in here, she'd be jealous.”

I don't care about the queen.

“She wouldn't like that,” she continued, her lips hovering around his mouth, his chin, finally kissing his neck.

He embraced her, burying his face in her hair, whispering in her ear. “Then we have to make sure she doesn't find out.”

* * *

???

The posterity will note that some authors, in their version of Azcheron's legend, depicted the queen barging into the baths with a very convenient timing for drama, and a very inconvenient timing for the character themselves. Some other authors, aiming for a specific audience, romanticized the scene with copious, savoury details and overly sentimental dialogue.

History tells of a less dramatic truth : queen Jacille didn't enter the bathing facilities – despite her dubious morals, she was way too polite to act so improperly. There wasn't any sort of romantic sentence uttered after that, for Azcheron felt it had already been awkward enough.

But the story of Azcheron and Erin's bonding episode shall be spoken another time – or perhaps this one shan't – for the much more serious story of a secret involving dragons, emperors and princes, is now about to be told.