Blood Will

9

“The celebration has been postponed until this evening,” Ralpie reported. “A coach will arrive to take you there tonight. You and Lady Rowena. She wants to instruct you on the way there.”

Rowena was the name of that female official that had schemed against the Moon Army and personally caused Hadjar a lot of pain.

The friends looked at each other again, and Nero held out his bowl.

“Shall we toast to the Princess’ health?”

“To the Princess’ health!” Serra and Hadjar shouted together.

one of them got too drunk because there simply wasn’t enough alcohol in the tavern to get three retired military officers at the Transformation of the Mortal Shell stage to get drunk. Ralpie, having decided that his duties as the messenger of the Generals had been fulfilled, joined his friends.

They enjoyed themselves and told Ralpie stories from their past. The young man was glad to listen to the heroes’ recollections. He especially liked the story where Dogar (may the forefathers be kind to him) had made Nero run along the parade ground while Hadjar was busy trying to fix a dummy that kept hitting his head the entire time.

These were good stories, amusing, harmless, and with a slight touch of sadness. Right then, the trio looked very ordinary, like any other group of friends returning from a war that never truly ended.

“I remember you saying that you can play the Ron’Jah,” Nero proclaimed suddenly, turning to his best friend.

Hadjar looked at the stage. It had already been repaired and the bards were now playing on it. The ‘Drunk Goose’ had become so popular that its doors no longer closed at night.

“Yeah,” Hadjar nodded.

Surprising his friends with his calm acceptance, he rose and walked out the door. His faithful companions followed after him. Together, greeted by a growing silence, they descended to the first floor.

The shouting and laughter subsided, replaced by an all-consuming attention directed toward the famous heroes. Leaving his friends at one of the tables which had been immediately been offered to them by some courteous guests, Hadjar climbed onto the stage.

He came up to one of the bards.

“May I?” He stretched his hand out. “I swear on the graves of my ancestors, I’ll be careful with it.”

“Y-yes, of course, please.”

The bard gave him the dearest and most valuable possession of any musician — their instrument — without hesitation. Hadjar nodded and sat down in the empty chair. He stretched his legs and laid the instrument more comfortably across them. He caressed the strings, enjoying the clear sound of the high-quality and well-maintained musical instrument.

Hadjar closed his eyes and set off on a mental journey to those distant, almost epic times when he’d had only music. It had been his homeland, his friend, his means of survival, and a place where his body and soul could find comfort.

He started playing. For the first time, after three and a half years of the endless war, he played his favorite childhood songs. They were simple, fun, and catchy. He played and, through the songs, spoke about the wind running through the treetops; how deeply and passionately people could love each other; about friendship and joy.

The strings burned with passion, then they laughed childishly. Hadjar played and felt his sword come to life. Moon Beam shed its defiled outer layer, all the bloody stains acquired during the years of war. Along with this layer, with the help of the music, the Mad General disappeared into the past.

But not because he’d been dismissed by the corrupt Generals. Just then, at that moment, Hadjar finally and truly returned from the war. He was once again the same person who had woken up in the village of the Valley of Streams, in Robin’s house. He played as if the granddaughter of the old hunter was standing in front of him. She was clapping and dancing while Hadjar kept smiling.

He hadn’t smiled like that for a very long time.

He knew he could draw his sword again. There was only one difference —he’d remembered why he had done so previously.

When Rowena, accompanied by a detachment of the Generals’ warriors, had entered the tavern, she’d been prepared for almost anything: from hundreds of other soldiers of the Moon Army, ready to rebel, to a bunch of retired warriors who were too drunk to stand. She’d even halfway expected a mythical beast. But what she saw instead defied all logic and even the laws of the Heavens and Earth.

The tavern was in a frenzy. The people were shouting, laughing, and dancing with bowls full of ale in their hands. They hugged each other, sang various songs together, and shook the floor and walls with their irrepressible joy. At the center of this storm of human emotions, the famous couple were somehow making the biggest spectacle of all — the white-haired warrior and dark-skinned witch were dancing as if today was their last day on this godforsaken world.

The cause of this raucous atmosphere was the Mad General. Or rather, Baron Hadjar Traves. Well, he was going to be a baron. The title hadn’t been officially granted to him yet, for only the King himself could do so. That meant that the most beloved man in the country and the most hated one would meet today.

It was Rowena’s worst administrative nightmare.

To make the situation worse, the future Baron was playing an obscene song on the stage, and the crowd of bards around him were supporting him.

Rowena motioned with her hand and the detachment of the Generals’ soldiers began to slowly move into the room. Their sudden appearance calmed the general madness down slightly. When the people saw the emblems on the warriors’ armor, the dancing, shouting, and music began to fade gradually. They slowly cut off until the Baron’s lonely melody was the only one left.

“Honorable Hadjar Traves,” Rowena had omitted the title on purpose, enjoying these few remaining moments when her rank was still higher than the former General’s.

“Milady Rowena,” Hadjar opened his eyes, finished the melody, and, getting up from his chair, handed the instrument back to the bard. He accepted it as if a god had given him the most valuable treasure in the whole world.

“The carriage is waiting for you and you haven’t even changed yet.”

Hadjar inspected his patched, plain clothes.

“I think I’m dressed very appropriately.”

Hadjar jumped off the stage and, crossing his arms behind his back, walked calmly toward the exit. He was followed by Nero and Serra. The latter, despite her friend’s stubbornness, had put on a white dress, earrings with sapphires in them, and a wreath. Nero was wearing his now famous armor. As a bit of decoration, he had put on a red cloak and an iron helmet that resembled a pot.