Page 38 of The Last Dragon

“First, there are the High Mages of Eldara, experts in ancient magic and guardians of arcane knowledge. They advise the king on all matters pertaining to the supernatural. We owe them, among other things, our golems, fashioned in the mountains of Mistvale… That’s where I come from. Next, the Guards of the Star, our army. And the Druids of Sylvandor, guardians of the sacred forests: the wood elves, some would say.”

His back stiffened slightly at the thought of his father, but he continued without letting his unease show:

“My father, as an advisor on foreign affairs, is one of the Emissaries of Lirien. Diplomats, negotiators, experts in inter-kingdom relations… They’re supposed to maintain peace and alliances.”

He paused, pushing down a wave of bitterness.

“I must say they’re doing a remarkable job. Ugh… whatever.”

A quiet sigh escaped his lips. What peace, what alliances? Everyone seems to hate the elves.

“The fifth faction is the Artisans of Eldralis, master craftsmen and creators of architectural and artistic marvels. As for most of our teachers, they belong to the Wise of Aurathil, who draw upon the lessons of the past and the millennia-old wisdom of our people.”

He hesitated, a faint shiver running down his spine.

“As for the seventh faction… we don’t really talk about it. Ugh, who cares? I doubt I’ll ever see the comfort of my library again, so…”

Silence stretched out, which he let linger, lulled by the sounds of nature and the steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves. Talking about home made him feel better. It soothed him. He almost forgot the vise-like grip of fear tightening around his throat.

“The Shadows of Nythral—spies and secret agents tasked with gathering intelligence and protecting against invisible threats—make up the seventh faction. Finally, there are the Priests of Lathiria, representatives of the elven deities. They oversee sacred rituals… though many prefer to worship the stars. Civilized lands are often divided between the intellectual and the spiritual, but deep down, I think the two are intimately connected.”

He paused for a moment, then turned slightly, as if trying to read the mercenary’s posture.

“And you, Cassian… do you believe in a deity, in the stars, in something else, or in nothing at all?”

The question had come naturally, born of the conversation… and of sincere curiosity.

“I’d like to believe in the cold logic of facts,” Cassian replied. “That one thing is simply the result of another. But that’s not how our world works. How can one deny divination or higher beings, when it is populated by such powerful creatures and magic that is both pure and malevolent? Some things are beyond our understanding. And, well, not everything can be tucked away in a book, deep in a library.”

Those last words stung Tariel. He tensed slightly, but didn’t reply.

“Ultimately, worshipping higher powers brings me no personal benefit,” Cassian continued. “Nature, and beings devoid of malice, are undoubtedly the ones I respect most in this world.”

Tariel remained silent. He didn’t agree. But he understood. The gods, the deities, even the forces of nature… he feared them. No, worse: he distrusted them. Nothing seemed more dangerous to him than entities capable of wiping out kingdoms on a mere whim.

Yet he had no desire to argue. Not now. He preferred to savor this rare moment, when he was talking about home, about what was still a part of him… even if it all already seemed so distant.

After a moment, Cassian continued, almost as if he sensed Tariel’s unease again. “The Mountains of Mistvale … that’s a land shaped for magic, isn’t it? That explains the golem that follows you everywhere.”

Tariel let out a soft laugh, almost surprised.

“Brynjar? He’s a golem, yes, but… unlike the others, no one knows who created him. My parents gave him to me when I earned the title of High Mage in my youth. At first, I thought he was a gnome… He’s so small.”

A smile flitted across his lips as he sensed Brynjar grumbling in his mind. The poor fellow didn’t like being compared to a gnome.

“I still sometimes see him that way, despite what I’ve been told.”

Another silence fell, a lighter one, lulled by the rain and the streams. Finally, Cassian’s deep, weary voice broke the calm again. “Why do you travel alone, with only your familiars as companions? Is that a personal choice?”

The elf was taken aback by the question, and he sighed.

“The council sent me alone. According to them, I’m the only one capable of slaying the dragon… Besides, having company means having connections. But I’m a bit of a loner. To tell the truth, I don’t have…”

The sentence died on his lips. He had no friends, and as long as he didn’t say it out loud, it remained bearable… But spoken aloud, even in a half-whisper, the reality became painful. He squirmed slightly, uncomfortable, trying in vain to sit up without bumping into the mercenary’s chest.

“I’ve never sought to cultivate friendships. I’m constantly shut away in my library, writing my theories, reading others’, summoning ever more complex familiars… Friends would only distract me, make me waste precious time…”

Cassian said nothing for a moment, so much so that the elf thought for a second that the mercenary had fallen asleep against his back. He himself wouldn’t say no to a nap… Eventually, though, the dark-haired man spoke again, his voice much closer to his ear.