Tobold stood on the balcony, barely noticing that he was still tenderly embraced by the mighty arms of a certain amorous elf. The embrace continued to lull the restless soul of the non-hereditary Count of Free Winds and protect him from an excess of negative thoughts. The elf himself rested his head on the Count's shoulder and practically purred with pleasure.
The Count's anxiety was only increased by the fact that he would soon be leaving these hospitable walls where he had spent the last ten years. The Tower of the Finesto, the finest students, had served him as a home all this time, as reliably as Vespikus's legendary staff had served as his back scratcher. Vespikus had many other unusual habits, too, habits that ordinary archmages wouldn't even consider. But right now, Tobold was thinking not of Vespikus or the Tower of the Finesto, but of the fact that the Golden Hero Card should belong to him, not to that upstart Seymour, unworthy of even a bronze card.
Studying wasn't easy, but a few tricks and tiny advantages allowed him to achieve, if not success, then certainly academic excellence. If it weren't for Seymour and his extra two points toward his final exam for casting a new fire spell, Tobold was now the Highest Hero, and Seymour would be biting his elbows, crying under the stairs. Or somewhere else. Where he belonged.
For example, if Seymour had burned to death along with his friends in the Dungeons of Endless Horror a couple of weeks ago during an accident involving the improper use of the Devourall Fire, Tobold wouldn't even have to work hard for his final exam. Oh, what a life he would have had if he'd become the Highest Hero…
"What are you thinking about, Bod?" Ayalf purred softly, aware of the feelings that were currently overcoming his friend.
"Yally, I don't have time for you right now," Tobold replied gloomily, gripping the railing even tighter and thinking about the last words of this runt who had become the Protagonist.
"Are you mad?" the elf whispered in his ear, lowering his hands.
Although he disliked the elf's ardor, deep down Tobold couldn't help but admit that he still didn't want to shake off Ayalf's powerful grip. So, after making a couple of convincing thrashings to try and free himself, the young count gave up, savoring the warmth. And his hatred for Seymour Distroy, who had obtained the Golden Hero Card through completely unfair and utterly fraudulent means!
"I can see you're furious." Tobold wanted to turn around to angrily tell Ayalf everything he thought about Seymour, Ayalf, and the exams, but the elf hugged him even more tenderly, and all his furious thoughts instantly vanished from his mind. Only elves can do that. Tobold sighed and nodded, allowing the elf to express his thoughts. "I completely understand how you feel right now. Rector Vespikus should have appointed you as the Highest Hero, not that slacker. And let me give you a piece of advice: don't take quests with as many stages as you did. And two quests at once, no less! It's good you finished before the exam started; otherwise you would have wasted your time and wouldn't have made it to the exam. You could have spent that entire time training relentlessly, like almost everyone else did. And if I were you, I'd also consider disappearing from the Academy as soon as possible. Vespikus doesn't like to be seen in such an unsightly position."
"Yally, I didn't tell you that…"
"Bod, I'm an elf. We don't need to witness an event to know it happened."
"Demoned elves! Always sticking your nose in where you're not wanted..." Tobold muttered. He wasn't particularly surprised, though. Yally was constantly operating with knowledge of events he simply couldn't have witnessed.
"If we don't look into every soul and act as Justice dictates, then who will save the world from the Cataclysms? The gnomens? The runts who sit in their caves, hammering away, accumulating more and more treasures with each passing century, which they never even spend. The orcs? The closed-off gardeners! They won't even scratch their heads after Grass Greenwell awakens! Or the humans? Your race is so mired in laziness and idleness that they simply won't notice another Cataclysm. 'We are humans! We will live forever! We don't give a damn about problems!' And those are just your most peaceful slogans. You just don't understand by whose grace you're still alive. And I won't even tell you what will happen if… even Singvar Swandalle and Blacklyer Danzeyborg awaken at once! If we just ignore your problems, a time of love and understanding will come for everyone! But, of course, you already know what I mean. So what was that you meant about "demoned elves" and their beautiful eyes?"
Tobold grimaced, as if he had a wisdom toothache in a hard-to-reach spot, and muttered something.
"You could try your luck with some King. Or a corporation. Oroximayer needs a Hero to protect him from Swirly and his kin. How are you?"
"Oroximayer needs more brains. The old basilisk has gone nuts with the expansion of his chocolate empire. What good will it do him if Swirly stops producing his marshmallows?"
"I can see from your eyes that you wouldn't have helped him anyway."
"Yes! Yes, I prefer the 'Snow-White Marshmallows from the Snow Country' to all that snake's chocolate! Because it's tastier and softer. And white. Now, don't talk about them, don't…"
"The Ancient Evil has appeared in the Chattering Forest again…"
"Saving beavers and wolves? No, that's not my level."
"The High Council of Ariennor is up to something."
"And from here on out, let's go into more detail…"
"I don't know enough about it myself to recount it."
Ayalf smiled and looked at Tobold with superiority in his eyes. The bait had been taken. The man of noble – more or less for a human – blood suddenly lost some of his ardor. And he no longer looked as furious as he had a few minutes ago. Apparently, Yally had used Racial Superiority, a slightly forbidden skill, after all. Or maybe he hadn't, playing on the Polarians' natural dislike of elves and helping them. Even with a reward in the end.
"Guys, I didn't miss anything here, huh?"
A gnomen with a short, light-brown beard ran out onto the balcony, hastily finishing chewing something. With his left hand, he was tucking a semblance of a sandwich into the side pocket of his Rational Gnomen Vest of Stinginess, while his right hand was wiping it on his pants. His roguish gaze settled on Tobold, who hadn't yet emerged from his trance. Then it flickered to Ayalf. Then back to Bod.
"Ahh... You worship elves? Go to a secluded corner, don't let the wind catch your ears." A cheeky smile blossomed on the gnomen's meaty, smug face. His mustache rose. His eyes narrowed even further.
"Barty, were you catching rats again?" Ayalf asked sympathetically.
"How could you even think that? About me?!" the gnomen feigned indignation.
"There's something burgundy and liquid smeared across your lips."
"Ah..." the gnomen waved him off, as if he were a yearling wyvern. "I was eating Lennor red wine with a lumpy salad."
"That sounds disgusting. I hope it tasted even worse," Ayalf chuckled, watching as Bargrant's smile widened, clearly pleased with his clever joke.
"No, it's fine. When Denzil, Villen, and I drank the blood of virgins as brothers – that was disgusting. Ugh," the gnomen spat, not caring that one of the staff might come along and say something that wouldn't scare him more than half-heartedly.
Ayalf grimaced. Tobold winced. "Ugh," indeed.
Tobold slowly came to his senses. But his thoughts were racing. These elves... Not only are they the First Race, the Wisest, the Most Beautiful, and all that jazz, and so on, but they don't hide it, they flaunt it! Like, look at us. Bend your knees and kiss ours. Dusty ones? We've traveled so many thousands of kilometers, guarding your sleep and peace, and you... pathetic mortals! And often, things are far worse…
However, Tobold wasn't about to dwell on that. Thinking badly of the elves was a bad thing. It was good that Yally had used Racial Superiority, and not that same Compulsion to Action... Yally is a good, kind, wonderful elf!
The elf and the gnomen watched sympathetically as the first heir from the last line of succession to the Duchy of Free Winds came to his senses. When this event finally concluded, Ayalf raised his right eyebrow. As if to suggest, "And? What do you intend to do now?"
Tobold didn't keep them waiting long for his answer.
"We're going to Ariennor."
"Excellent. I just got your Travel Scrolls renewed."
"Hey, what's wrong? What about graduation? I'm there... and you... wow! They have such salads there…"
"Bargrant, no one's forcing you to go with Tobold. I'm not being forced either, by the way. But I'm coming. If you decide to join us, we'll wait for you. No, you'll have your graduation like all the other indecent gnomens."
"Uh... Bod? We can wait a little longer, right? At least an hour, okay? There's so much delicious food there…"
"No. The Great Portal will close soon." Bod quickly checked his wristwatch. It showed seventeen to eight.
SEVENTEEN TO EIGHT?!
So he and Ayalf had been standing on the balcony for almost six hours, and he hadn't even noticed?! Tobold turned sharply to the elf and, with barely contained anger in his eyes, said through clenched teeth, "We have fifteen minutes to pack up and be at the portal."
"Need to hurry?" Yally chuckled.
Tobold growled ominously and strode quickly toward the stairs to the Tower of the Finesto. The elf caught up with him in two steps, and the gnomen in three. Bod said without turning his head, "We can't do it without Acceleration. Lightning for the things, and then to the Portal."
The elf nodded and teleported up to the Ancient Halls of the Ancients, a task forbidden to students.
Tobold was already descending toward the Middle Staircase.
The gnomen took a few steps and stopped in the gallery, frowning.
"Orkish humans!... Demoned elves!!! 'We're going to Ariennor!' To Despair Gap with you in cap!.."
The gnomen spat loudly on the polished floorboards and ran down to the Two-Handed Dungeon, the domain of gnomens, goblins, and kergs.
* * *
"Didn't I tell you he'd give you the only vial of life?"
"Yes, you did. You were right again. As always."
"How do you like him? What do you think?"
"He's young, handsome, and noble. But his untreated burns and lack of a suitable hairstyle are slowly destroying him. I'll also say that he held me on his lap for much longer than graduates usually do," one elf smiled at the other. The first elf looked at him with a knowing look and a satisfied smile.
"Eldian is already there. Will you join the viewing or will you be recuperating from that... attack?"
"I always recover better with you around my side," the newly arrived elf gently wrapped his arm around the slender waist of his waiting comrade and pulled him close.
"I can't miss this performance, for which our Minister of Heroic Farce is so famous?" he whispered hotly into the trembling ear.
"So much the better for both of us," the first purred, placing his left hand on the newcomer's left thigh. Together, they entered a secluded room, where a comfortable sofa and a huge screen had already appeared, now flickering with the sparks of True Magic.
There were only forty-three minutes left before History would begin to twist its coils in ways some could never have imagined...