Book 2 : Epilogue

Jungfrau, Nussegrund

Mallorn the Elf

The local gentlemen and other rich people had apparently gone all out on funding the celebrations, as each of the ‘heroes’ of the siege had received a complimentary team of seamstresses to ensure they all had clothes suitable for the occasion. These clothes were completed five days after the measuring, which would be a mediocre time for an elf but seemed a bit outrageous for normal men. 

The celebrations began on the sixth day after the measuring, which was the seventh day after the siege had been broken, and took place primarily along a street that led from the main square and directly to a large building at the other end. The entire street was lined with banners, decorations, musicians, performers, games, and anything else that the locals could scrounge up for the occasion. 

Wines, ales, beers, and other alcohols that he wasn’t familiar with were passed around with alarming frequency. Breads, pastries, jerkies, roasts, and at least four types of pork were served in street vendors and long tables set out for anyone to take from. There were boiling pots of stews and soups being ladled out by grinning men and women, alongside blocks of hard cheese and loaves of rye and barley. Multiple kinds of gourd were served, at least a dozen varieties of vegetable, and six kinds of berry and fruit apiece. 

Pies were everywhere he cared to look. The scent of spices was rich as well- with nutmeg, cinnamon, strong salts, pepper, garlic, paprika, and a number of other, more subtle aromas. 

The sound of music and celebrations choked the air. Enough to give him a small headache, frankly, but he didn’t let that get in the way of the mood. Everyone he saw was clearly wearing their best clothes, of whatever means they had available to them, and the ambient merriment was demonstrably more intoxicating than any of the drinks being partaken in. 

Men and women, from as short as three or four feet tall, to as towering as eight or nine feet, roamed around in jolly fashions. Their features trended towards a human baseline, but almost all of them had at least one or two extraneous features of bestial suggestion. Most were of generally pale and fair complexion, with a handful of folk with tanned or swarthy skin from a lifetime of labor under the sun.

All of them, everywhere he walked, turned and gave him toasts and cheers. The massive golden axe he carried over his shoulder was proof enough of his identity, even when wearing a fine doublet and breeches rather than his scaled armor. The seamstresses had initially thought to put him in more elven fashion before he stepped in and insisted on a more modest, restrained attire.

Dark hues with highlights of red and gold, minimal frills and ornamentation, with a loose white shirt beneath an unbuttoned doublet and relatively tight chaps and trousers. A large feathered cap covered his head, and pointed leather boots covered his feet. 

His newest trophy, the sword of the ghost that still haunted his armor, was secured on a sheath hung across his back. The sword was just a bit too large to be secured to his hip without dragging it across the floor.

Up and down he walked the streets, smiling and waving as was appropriate, shaking hands with those who rushed up to him, graciously accepting any thanks that were handed his way as one of the heroes of the hour.

“You don’t look totally comfortable here, eh Elf?” Rayne muttered at him with a sly smile, arm in a cast and distinctly less noticeable while walking next to him. He had apparently flirted with the healing elf and as punishment his left arm was being left to heal on its own for a few days, not that the Bastard seemed to care. 

A handful of men and women came up to Rayne, to compliment him on his apparently ‘legendary bowshot’ that distracted the ‘fell commander of the undead’, but it was an order of magnitude less than the number of men and women coming up to Mallorn to praise his duel with the same figure. 

“I’m not great with crowds, even if the praise is intoxicating.” Mallorn muttered back, a half-smile of his own. 

“We could retreat to the event hall where the others are. You’ll be less crowded there.” Rayne suggested, then shrugged with a sarcastic grin. “But you’ll also be around rich people, and those are insufferable too.”

Mallorn chuckled and shook his head. “The giants of Erem taught me a valuable lesson.”

“What’s that?” 

“Grandstanding and bombast is not for the hero.” Mallorn nodded firmly. “It's for everyone else.” 

He wasn’t sure if he could articulate the concept adequately at this point, but it was something that clearly worked in Erem, and he was getting a sense of it now. If the hero of the hour wasn’t celebrating the feat, then there was clearly something to worry about. The danger was yet to pass.

Or something like that. 

“...The hero of the hour is still the Heroine I think.” Rayne pointed out in mock-consideration, making Mallorn huff and elbow his ribs. Rayne sniggered as he pulled away from the blow, raising his good arm protectively over the area. “After all, we only showed up on the last day, and her band was here for a whole week. I think they still have the crown here.”

“You’re a master at pretending to miss my point.” Mallorn replied dryly. Eventually his staunchly straight-laced expression fell off into chuckles of his own, mirroring his friend’s amusement. “In any case, we wont stay out here too much longer. I owe someone a favor or two for saving me during that duel, and I hate leaving debts lying around.”

Briefly, his mind returned to his mentor.

“Say- you wouldn’t happen to know any means of restoring a missing limb, or know of someone who might know?”

“Elf. How the hell would I know that?” Rayne asked flatly.

“You seem to know many things.”

“...The masters at the Ivory Tower might know- they’re in the Imperial Capital.”

“Marvelous, I’ll go there after the Demon Queen is dead.”

—

The ‘event hall’ as Mallorn decided to mentally label it was a broad chamber with a large silver chandelier, tables arranged on the sides and bustling with foodstuffs, and a large open space in the middle for people of higher stations to dance with each other. The dance was somewhat formal, but only somewhat, as the musicians played with high tempo and energy, provoking a somewhat faster and looser rhythm of dancing. 

Cheers and toasts rang out from men in fine, frilled suits and women with layered but revealing dresses. Winecups were raised, garlands tossed, and debauched suggestions made. Mallorn grinned and waved back, axe hoisted over his shoulder, but did not move to interact with any of the gentlefolk.

Instead he moved with purpose to the back-center of the chamber, up a large staircase to a table set slightly above and within view of everyone within the chamber. On that table the finest foods and drinks were laid out, with the most consistent service from the maids and butlers, and the patrons of highest quality clothes.

There, looking distinctly uncomfortable with all the attention and celebration around, was the Heroine Mari and her party. Hilda, the barbarian dressed in only scraps, was laughing and drinking with one arm around the neck and shoulders of a scarlet-faced young man. The elves were distinctly restrained and refined, engaging in small chattery with the men and women at the table. 

Mallorn flicked an ear and scanned the room- he pinpointed Orrin’s voice within the second, down near the food table on the lower floor giving a rousing story, with Marcus and Henry providing additional details when provoked. The other elf was nowhere within earshot, at least not at the moment, so maybe Mallorn would be lucky and he’d never see the woodself again.

The Heroine brightened considerably and waved excitedly as he strode up the stairs, provoking the rest of the table to notice and regard him similarly. He waved back with a casual hand, eyes scanning for the source of his debt.

He found her after a moment, quietly sitting back and chewing on a block of cheese larger than both of her hands. He shrugged his axe off his shoulders and offered it over to Rayne.

“Hold this for me for awhile, will you?”

“What am I, your servant?” Rayne asked dryly, but took the axe all the same. 

“I’ll be back for it soon enough.” Mallorn huffed, turning from his friend and walking around the table to his target.

His shadow briefly passed over the front of her cheese, making her pause and turn up to regard him, broad hat concealing most of her face at first. As their eyes met, her sour expression melted away and a somewhat cautious look overtook her face.

“Sir Mallorn…?” She asked, holding the massive block of cheese like it would shield her from the eyes around.

“You saved my life at least twice, Lady Necromancer.” Mallorn commented with a smile, raising a hand to offer it, palm faced upwards. “I think I owe you a dance or few, don’t you?”

She froze, clutching the block of cheese and suddenly surrounded by scandalous whispers and stares. “I- uh… I’m not very… good with dancing…” She muttered quietly, almost retreating into her fancy little dress and chair. 

“I don’t mind.” He assured, keeping his hand extended. “Come- dance with me, will you?”

Cautiously, she set down the block of cheese, holding her hands together and eyes rolling around in search of support. Eventually though, she nodded, pulling up from the chair and gently putting her hand on his. His palm engulfed hers with room to spare.

“I, ah, okay.” She stuttered as he gently led her away, down from the central table and towards the dance floor. He was glad that she was accepting this in payment for saving his life, because he really couldn’t think about what else he could pay her with. Money seemed a bit shallow and he was already going to be adventuring with her later on, so this was the best idea he had left.

He was glad that dancing was covered by his basic education in the Greenwood, otherwise he’d make a fool of himself here.

“...They’re all staring.” His dance partner whispered as they walked down the stairs, hand in hand, and towards the dance floor. 

“Let them stare.” He huffed with amusement. “You saved my life at least twice, so let me pay you back.”

Red-faced, the apparently people-shy woman with mouse-ears allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor and begin a dance that matched the energy of the chamber.

Then again, if he was a necromancer he’d be people-shy too, so that made sense. 

“Morgan, right?”

“T-that’s right.”

“I’m terrible with names, but I’ll do my best to remember yours.”

“T-thank you.”

And so they danced, and for a time, Mallorn forgot the hot black rage in his heart. 

END OF BOOK 2