Page 39 of The Last Dragon

“Aren’t you close to your father? Or your mother?”

It was a fair question, but the elf shook his head.

“I’m not close to my parents. My father was never really around—always traveling—and when he was, he was never very pleasant. My mother just raised me. I don’t have a bad relationship with them, but… I don’t have a good one either. We’re just part of the same family; that’s as far as it goes.”

Tariel squirmed slightly against him. Talking about his family made him feel a little uncomfortable, but to his great surprise, Cassian didn’t press the issue or make fun of him. Instead, he simply said in a calm tone, “Things are different now. You’re far from your library, the kingdoms are vast, and although some dream of seeing you dead, others might be willing to welcome you. Time is precious for sure but sometimes, it may be worth sharing. Socializing is important… So is having fun.”

The night dragged on endlessly, punctuated by the monotonous sound of hooves sinking into the damp leaves, but the rain had stopped falling. At one point, Tariel had felt a heavy, warm weight slump against his back. Cassian had dozed off against him, finally succumbing to sleep.

The elf didn’t make a move to shift away. He suspected Cassian must be exhausted after expending so much energy fighting the Morgraves army, so he let him rest, keeping his mount at a leisurely pace.

Unfortunately, they couldn’t stop. Not now. The threat was still lurking.

The sun had set what seemed like an eternity ago, and now its first pinkish rays were already peeking over the horizon, filtering through the thorny branches of the forest. That dawning light explained why Tariel himself felt so terribly exhausted: it had been a while since he’d slept a wink, and his body simply wasn’t used to such a pace. It was almost ironic: even when the mercenaries had kidnapped him—what felt like months ago, but had actually been only a few days—he’d had the chance to sleep properly, curled up at the bottom of his cattle cage.

Now, reality was catching up with him. He knew full well that if a fight broke out now, he might not have the energy needed to wield his magic.

On the other hand, he hoped with all his heart that the “friends” toward whom Cassian and the mysterious falcon were leading them would be accommodating—and, above all, that they, too, did not harbor a visceral hatred toward his people.

The mercenary’s harsh words by the lake came back to him: some would cut off his ears on sight.

Instinctively, Tariel let go of the reins with one hand to run his fingers over his long, pointed ears, counting each loop piercing them one by one, as if to reassure himself that they were still there. He let out a long sigh into the cool morning air.

The elves… He found it hard to believe that they were so poorly regarded. So unappreciated, so feared, even despised. His heart tightened—the elves of the High City could be cold, aloof, and proud of their power; that was true. But were they really the monsters of legend? Were they really the villains?

In the distance, a neigh rang out, followed by the muffled pounding of hooves echoing across the green earth, as the two men emerged from the cover of the woods onto a vast, untouched plain, as if the Great War had never touched it.

A deep voice, hoarse from sleep, rang out behind him. “Welcome to the Olyar clan, Tariel.”

In the distance, smoking encampments stretched as far as the eye could see. No settled villages, only a horde of people and horses grazing peacefully.

Tariel instinctively tensed, but Cassian’s arms seemed to wrap gently around his waist.

“Don’t be scared,” he murmured. “We may soon be surrounded and regarded as outsiders, but you and I are in no danger here. The Olyar are wild but fair—they don’t really have a sense of proper manners… but you’re used to that, aren’t you?”

These words made Tariel perk up, taunted by the idea of discovering a new civilization. A shadow crossed his eyes: he was so far from home… and was only drifting further away.

“No manners? Hmm… no, that doesn’t ring a bell. Perhaps you could enlighten me, mercenary?”

Despite his anxiety, he replied in a playful tone before taking a deep breath to silence his conscience. He then covered his ears, letting the pointed cartilage disappear beneath his white hair. He didn’t want to take any risks, despite Cassian’s reassurances.

He now knew his kind was not welcome anywhere.

The mercenary, for his part, surprised the elf by running a hand through Tariel’s hair to reveal that distinctive pointy feature of his.

“Don’t be afraid… Even if caution is called for. I’m here. And believe me, the Olyar owe me a lot. Let’s leave the dragon and the fighting for another day… Let me teach you the basics of friendship.”

Cassian was a vile distraction that always seemed to catch up with him whenever he strayed a little too far into his daydreams. This time, it was as Cassian brushed back his locks—which, despite their… messy adventures, remained as soft as silk. But the mercenary’s words made him pause: they owed him?

He didn’t have time to form even the slightest hypothesis; the two men were already surrounded.

11 - The Olyar Clan

Tariel

“Cassian!”

The name was shouted out quite loudly. One of the warriors dismounted and then looked up at the mercenary, who was still holding the elf close. A good dozen men on horseback surrounded them.