A fire burned in the large hearth. Strangers drank and laughed like old friends. A travelling musician sat at the bar talking with a group of local farmers and tradesmen. He had just finished playing the ballad of dragons; a song about the founding dragons flying down from Paeneya to rule the earth. Everyone knew the song well enough to sing along. No one grew up in Ealrian without hearing it at least a hundred times.
Anelle hummed the song's tune as she listened to the patrons. Wait. How do I know this song? She tried to move but her body refused. Her worry was pushed away. Her mind became quiet as she watched someone else's memory play out.
She tuned into the conversations around her, listening for any useful information. The group at the bar were questioning the musician about news from other parts of the country.
"So it's true?" One of the locals asked. He eagerly leaned over the bar towards the musician. "The last dragon is dead?"
"I believe so." The musician responded somberly. "The council of lords took a thousand men to kill the creature. They had hoped to bring back its wings or head as a trophy but they were too heavy. At least that's what they say."
"You don't believe that?" Another local asked.
The musician shook his head. "The beast is certainly dead. But the lords all left their swords in the creature's gut before it took its final breath to ensure no single person could be cursed for killing it." He shrugged. "It just seems to me that people scared of being cured for killing the beast wouldn't dream of bringing a piece back into their homes as a calling card for spirts."
"Have you travelled south east of here? Is it true the lords are dying?" A sandy haired man piped up. Everyone at the bar went silent. They were unwilling to admit their dying curiosity.
Her ears pricked up. She warmed her hands on a mug of mulled cider.
"You want to know if the Enfir really exists?" The musician smiled as the group remained silent. None were willing to meet his gaze. "A thousand men left to kill the beast. But the climb up the Konri mountains was treacherous. The path to its peak took many lives. Most of the men were sent back along the way. Once they reached the plateau only the six lords and fifteen of their elite nights faced off against the beast. Once felled they drove their banner and swords through the beast's middle and left it for dead. Twenty one swords criss-crossed into the dragon's gut. Hunters have climbed the mountains and confirmed the dragon is dead but none mentioned the swords or banner." He took a draft of his mead. He looked around at the growing crowd. People had started moving closer to hear. "The southern Lord of Jan was found dead two months after the dragon was felled. The strange thing was his entire room was burnt to black ash but he was killed with his own sword. The sword itself had stains of dark blue dragon's blood."
The pops and cracks of the fire broke the silence. The bartender shook his head and started cleaning a bottle behind the counter. The room sluggishly came back to life as people turned to those around them.
"How do you explain the lord of Manile?" The bartender asked. "He was one of the six lords who slayed the beast. Yet two years later he is alive and well."
The musician shrugged. "I simply pass on stories as I travel. But it is said that every member of the lord's families have died as well. Tracking down and burning entire families takes time. Perhaps the Enfir is slowly making her way here."
The sandy haired gent piped up again. "Plus out here we only hear of the lords dying. Five of the six are now dead, families and all. It stands to reason Enfir was probably tracking down the knights who helped kill the dragon in all that time." He snorted. "It's true the city lord never leaves his house these days. He just taxes us more so he can buy mercenaries to protect himself. Maybe we would be better off if the Enfir liberated us as well."
An older man with burns down his left arm thumped the sandy haired fellow hard on the back and forcefully wrapped his arm around his head. The younger man coughed. "Now that's the kind of thing you think but don't say."
The woman Anelle inhabited stood. She had heard all she wanted to. As she limped past the bar she flicked a gold coin at the musician. He fumbled to catch the coin. He looked up at her in shock, a gold coin was worth a week's private performances, not a few songs in a back water tavern.
She smiled. "For the story." She nodded and pulled up her hood as she shuffled towards the door. She walked with a strange gait, limping on her right leg. The cold metal of a blue stained longsword was concealed under her clothing. A sword that would be returned to its owner by morning.