“It is the finest vocation of all times,

the mastery of words, of rhymes,

the power to tell of the sublime.

Only a few chosen of the gods,

have the talent to tell of swords,

shields, daggers and magic rods.

They are the adepts of poetry,

enthralling every lord and lady,

singing about heroes for a modest fee.

-mediocre bard, song about bards”

* * *

Azcheron

Azcheron was woken up by a knock on his door. A strange rattling occurred, as if someone was trying to open the door forcefully, then another hurried knock. His head was aching, probably because of the hangover. The voice of a servant came from outside, but in his half-drunk, half-asleep state, he couldn't make out the words. He felt he heard an interrogative sentence at some point, so he answered with a sort of non-committal groan to shoo the servant away. Silence came soon enough.

Opening his eyes, he was attacked by the dizziness. Nngg... I don't think I've ever been this drunk before.

He turned his head to see a sleeping Erin by his side, her arm barring his shoulder. Gazing at her for a moment, he finally tossed the arm away and sat up on the bed. A glance at the sky through the window told him it was late in the morning.

Why haven't I been woken up sooner ? Damn servants.

Then he remembered that he had melted the lock of his door – that explained why nobody could enter the room to wake him. If he remembered well, he had done it at Erin's request. No, it wasn't anything like not wanting to be disturbed for... reasons. No, no.

Rather, she insisted that his new-found fame should come with new safety measures. Not everyone was eager to praise his name and talk about his deeds. He would make more and more enemies from now on – not only from the Empire, but even in Pelirise itself. Erin too seemed to have noticed some looks of anger among the crowd of cheering people the day before. Who knew what they were capable of, in a moment of rage.

Well, protecting Azcheron in his moments of weakness was supposed to be Erin's job, but that night she had clearly been drunker than him. She somehow still had the presence of mind to suggest that they should seal the door, what a mindful bodyguard !

Once again someone tried to enter the room, and knocked hurriedly when they understood they couldn't.

“Milord ! Milord, are you awake ? The sunlight ceremony will soon begin, queen Jacille is expecting you shortly !”

Oh ! That's right. I forgot about this annoying matter.

The sunlight ceremony, or whatever it was called, was the thing that had been discussed before. Something about having Azcheron bathing in the goddess Pelirise's light. The Saint didn't mind ceremonies about the gods' benedictions, and things of the sort, because it was a strong imagery and it would give him legitimacy, but this one would be happening on the altar – or what served as the new altar, since he destroyed the part of the castle that supported the original. The goddess' altar was a restricted area, and so only priests and important persons would be there. Not the common people. Meaning no cheers, no real fame, nothing interesting at all. A hassle, that's what this ceremony is, Azcheron thought, frowning. And it would take place while the sun was at its zenith – very soon.

So that's why they're furiously trying to open my door.

Azcheron exhaled deeply, and realized his breath was stinking of wine and ale. He wasn't exactly in the right disposition for such an important religious ceremony, but whatever. First, he had to wake Erin. She wasn't obligated to attend, but Azcheron, as the generous person he was, couldn't possibly let her miss on her share of the annoyance.

* * *

It wasn't especially interesting. Standing in the centre of the altar under the sun for a long time, while priests made cryptic speeches, things of the sort. They asked that he kneeled under the sun, but of course, he didn't – so the priests slightly altered the progress of the ceremony, at the queen's intimidating request. Something about being branded as heretics and traitors if they refused to comply. The priests most likely wanted to avoid being sacrificed on the altar, so they did a rather free interpretation of their religious texts and allowed that Azcheron stood still.

He felt very pleased about the inconvenience he caused, of course. A revenge against a ceremony he didn't feel like taking part in. That was all it took for him to go back to a merrier mood.

Next on his agenda was something he was extremely eager to do – meeting with Jacille's bards. Her court was full of minstrels, playwrights and artists, and they were supposed to be the best Pelirise had to offer. She made them entirely available for Azcheron – he wouldn't have to spend a single coin commissioning their songs, since they were already employed by Jacille.

They spent the rest of the day and the night locked in a room together – the feast planned for the evening had to be postponed to the next day –, but the statement would be more expressive this way : the bards were locked in a room with Azcheron. This specific way would convey clearly how the writers were in the suffering position, like sheep locked in a cage with a wolf. The Saint himself was, of course, perfectly aware of the writers' feelings, he simply chose to ignore them.

It was now morning, and they were still trying to read their first drafts under Azcheron's iron-handed supervision.

“Attacking from the left flank,

Causing panic and mayhem,

His enemies' blood he drank,

As he brought death upon them.”

“I didn't drink their damn blood, you filthy imbecile !” Azcheron corrected politely, walking furiously across the room. “What am I, a demon or something ?”

The bard took a pitiful tone. “But milord, we demons do not drink bl-”

“I know, I was insulting you. Find something else.”

Another bard tried his luck. “Err... Attacking from the left flank, causing panic and-”

“What do we care which flank I came from anyway ?” the Saint wondered, frowning. “Doesn't that feel like superfluous information ? People don't want to know about that, they want action, so make it more interesting.”

A bard that had been keeping silent until now decided to read his draft. “Milord, I believe I may have something ?”

Azcheron sat in an armchair and supported his head with his fist. He nodded to the bard, without expecting much.

“Crashing against the horde of enemies,

the Saint casted his beautiful magic,

a thousand lights brought deadly melodies,

the cries and screams of dying fanatics.”

“Hm,” he groaned in approval, and waved the bard to continue.

“Milord is too good, I am not deserving of such a praise,” he hurriedly answered, grovelling before the Saint. “The next verse is about milord's battle with the Great Sorceress.”

“Go on.”

“Fearless and brave, the elegant wizard,

Stood superior against the sorceress,

Engulfing her flames in a strong blizzard,

The evil whore fell, for she lacked noblesse.”

“What's this ? Are you sure you wrote both verses ? Because the last one is crap.”

“Milord, apologies, if you tell me what to-”

“Yes, yes, stop clinging to my leg, it's distasteful,” he said, shaking his foot so that the man would stop trying to lick it. I won't behead you for such a puny mistake, damnit.

He sighed and continued. “First of all, it's inaccurate. Her fire magic was stronger than my ice magic. And don't call her a whore and names like that. She didn't lack noblesse, and that imaginary lack was certainly not the reason she lost. She lost because I was better, that's all. But she was a worthy opponent, and I need you to convey that properly. The stronger the foe I vanquish, the better I look. Don't you know these things ? It's supposed to be your job...”

“Milord, it would be disgraceful to honour the sorceress' memory... She is but a fanatic that brought only tragedy and destruction. It would be indecent to praise her.”

“I don't care, it's my tale, you're not working for some princess or whatever. You will do as I say, and you will become rich thanks to me.”

And how is it not indecent to call someone a whore anyway ?

The bards looked at each other and during that single exchange of glances, apparently came to an understanding – money was better than decency. Decency couldn't bring food on the table or buy things, after all.

“Then, milord, allow us to correct our past mistakes. We shan't leave this room until a suitable depiction of your battle is found.” On these words, they began to talk together with much more verve. The evil shackles of decency broken, their inspiration must have been flowing now.

Looks like they came to their senses... he concluded, smiling to himself. Why does it always have to be in rhymes and metres, though ? I feel it's unnecessarily complicated. And why does everyone here call me 'milord' since yesterday ? Is this a grand joke happening behind my back or something ?

Azcheron casted his paranoid thoughts aside and joined the bards in their discussion, to make sure his battle was written the way he wanted. At some point, someone tried to enter the room, but couldn't, since once again he had melted the lock to stop the writers from escaping.

Walking to the door, he used magic to unhinge and remove it from the doorway. He was met with the wrinkled face of the Pigeon-master, who looked rather surprised to witness Azcheron's unconventional method of door-opening. Finally triumphing of his confusion, he handed out two parchments.

“This one is from lord Sazael of Atharemine,” the old pigeon fancier said, pointing to one of the two letters. “The other, I do not know, only that it has an Imperial seal...” It was said with disgust in the man's voice.

“Thank you, Pigeon-master. You may leave.” The man nodded and complied.

Azcheron glanced at his bards in the room, and seeing they were still busy, stepped out of the room and laid his back against the wall before breaking the seal of Sazael's message.

“Honourable Saint,

I have heard of your victory at Pelirise, and of my daughter's safety. You have my admiration for the former task, and my most sincere thanks for the latter. As we agreed, you shall have songs and books praising you. I would ask you to come to Atharemine so that I can introduce you to my personal bards, but friends told me you'd meet with queen Jacille's artists first.

About friends... it seems you still have some in the Empire. A bird came from the Imperial capital, with a message for you. I am joining it to mine, as a token of my friendship. And as a token of your friendship, you wouldn't blame me for reading that letter, I assume. After all, we both know you are a man of many mysteries.

Sazael, lord of Atharemine”

“Ha !” This guy, I can't believe it. Azcheron cursed as he noticed that the seal of the second letter had been broken and repaired with magic. What's with his 'friends' anyway... I only met the bards yesterday, are his spies sending him a bird for each and every single thing I do !?

He opened the second letter, and frowned as he went through it.

“Brat,

I found myself in mortal danger thanks to the mess you left behind. Please retrieve it shortly. Rude problem-solvers came to me with sharp knifes and expressed their eagerness to deal with whatever you started in the most uncivilized fashion. Our moustached friend got caught in an unenviable situation while he was searching for you know what. I believe you are a curse to all of us, but if you have an ounce of humanity left, you will take care of this matter.

Your best friend who's growing tired of your antics.”

Anton sending such a letter – because only Anton could write a thing like that –, that was fairly strange. And worrying. Thankfully, the scholar had avoided giving out obvious names and explicit information, in case someone intercepted the letter and read it – which was exactly what Sazael did.

In any case, he had to find Erin and speak with her about this matter. The letter wasn't precise enough to tell what or who it involved, aside from Anton, the Dragon tongue linguist and assassins. The fact that he was also clearly making allusion to his search for his clan's past was intriguing.

He glanced yet again in the room. The bards were still arguing, so he lifted the door and put it back where it belonged, and melted it some more so that it wouldn't budge, and neither would the bards.

* * *

“Are you completely out of your mind ?”

Erin didn't seem to like Azcheron's proposal, which was to return to the capital to see Anton.

He shrugged. “I would say that I actually am. 'Tis not everyday that you see me acting like a proper friend to Anton ! Maybe love really makes people dumb... See ? Your fault, only the elegant you could have this effect on me.”

“Stop mixing compliments and accusations in your excuses, you suicidal prick,” she said, but it looked more like she yelled since she was grabbing Azcheron by the collar and shaking him. “You can't go back to the Empire now.”

“Why ?”

“Why ?” Erin made a grimace that spoke evidently about her stupefaction. “Because, I don't know, you're the most wanted traitor of the moment and if they find you they'll god-damn behead you or something ? That's why.”

“Not if I behead them first !” he cleverly said.

I'm the master of beheading after all. No one's even half the man I am when it comes to beheading !

“And I'm not a traitor, I never swore loyalty to the Empire to begin with,” he kept on. “Actually, aren't you the traitor, in this whole thing ? Lady Verald, ex-Imperial knight.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look. You're famous now, and even infamous in the Empire I imagine. You know that it's because you killed Karia. If Karia lost against you, who do you think they'll send to kill you next ?”

“Roharl, of course,” he answered nonchalantly.

“...You're convinced he wouldn't even think about harming you in any way.”

“Honestly, I don't know. He might very well do it. But even so, I don't have a choice. You told me once I was lucky to have Anton as a friend, right ? Then I should at least spare him my own troubles, right !”

“Don't use him as an excuse now,” she said, glaring at him.

Azcheron sighed and crossed his arms against his chest. Of course, he wasn't really feeling guilty about Anton – before everything else, he was curious. Assassins and an old secret buried in draconic historical records ? Who wouldn't be curious ! It screamed of conspiracy and grand, secret plots !

“I'm going anyway, no matter what you say or do.”

“I know, that's why I'm coming too,” she said arrogantly, as if she had planned for this specific moment.

“What ?”

“It's the only way to make sure you don't attract attention. You'll listen to me and we'll meet with Anton without having half the Imperial army coming at us.”

“I don't see how two wanted persons can move stealthier than a lone one.”

“Because you will listen to me. Don't, and I'll knock you out and carry you like a potato bag. It'll still be much more discreet than having you walking.”

What Erin was suggesting amounted to a stealth mission, basically. Seeing this venture as an infiltration easily overshadowed the fact that she was treating him like a conspicuous noisy child. He pushed the insult away, now having only the amazing prospect of a stealth operation in mind.

“So we're both going.” Azcheron scratched his chin. “Why did you even bother to argue with me ?”

“Because it's still a shit idea. I'll clarify this whole mess right now – I'm coming for your sake, meaning mine, because I don't want you to die. Don't make me regret it, and don't make my task any harder than it already is.”

He stared at her, thinking that she was getting better at throwing cool lines. Thinking that she was oddly altruistic, even if it was a self-interested altruism. But she had always been altruistic, putting up with Azcheron's foolishness, and there wasn't a truer knight than Erin, when he thought about it. In fact, he never ever paid her for her mercenary services since they spoke about it in Quarras. And she never mentioned that. As if it was never about money in the first place, as if she was following him and protecting him of her own volition. Curiosity, amusement, friendship, affection, love. It went probably through many of these things, but now it was made clear.

“Then,” he finally replied, failing to find anything equally cool to retort, “we'll depart tomorrow. We should take care of things here and be ready by morning.

“There's something else.” She paused, looked around. “Rudolph.”

“Did you learn anything ?” He knew that she had been trying to pry in the old man's business ever since the siege.

“He only admitted that the countess Ravilna sent him here. He told me flatly that he wouldn't say anything else.”

“Should we believe him ?”

Erin shrugged. “Rudolph's a cryptic guy, I couldn't tell if he was lying or not. We just know he was being paid by Ravilna even before the western expedition, and you're the one who knows the countess better, so you should know whether it's the kind of thing she'd do.”

“Well, I would say there isn't any sort of thing she wouldn't do, that woman. There's no way to really know for now, so let's just keep all this in mind, as a potential threat.”

“Dragons, wars, assassins, and nobles playing games. You should be glad that I'm the kind of girl that doesn't mind action and danger. I imagine other noblewomen would have dumped you long ago, if not outright sold you to the Empire.”

He simply grinned. You couldn't possibly know how glad I am.