Elf Defence (Adventures in Aguillon #2) - Lisa Henry Page 0,35
of the entire monster trope,” Calarian objected, narrowing his eyes at Benji. “After all, aren’t the real monsters us?”
“I just said I was one,” Benji said, wrinkling his nose. “I’m the monster of the Swamp of Death.”
“No.” Calarian rolled his eyes. “Not just you. Us.”
Lars blinked a few times. “Us, like the three of us? Specifically? Or are the cows included too?”
“No, us in a metaphorical sense,” Calarian said. “Us in general, like humans and elves and all sentient creatures. Us. You know. Listen.” He put on a contemplative expression, tugging his brows together and stroking his chin. “Aren’t we the real monsters?”
“I don’t get it,” Benji said.
Calarian jabbed him in the ribs with a finger. “It’s a philosophical question!”
“I thought you said it was a metaphor,” Benji complained, rubbing his side.
“It can be both!”
Lars chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “I don’t really know what this conversation is about, but I think I started it so, if it helps, you’re really handsome too, Calarian.”
It helped. Calarian melted a little on the inside. “Thank you, Lars. You’re very good looking as well.”
Benji rolled his eyes. “So, discussion of monsters aside, what are we telling people when we get back? That the monster was just a cow?”
Calarian thought about it for a minute. “I think,” he said slowly, “that Lars needs some bolstering in his new position. We’ll just tell people that he threw himself into the fray and emerged triumphant.”
“But I didn’t throw myself into the fray,” Lars said. “I threw myself into an underground chamber when I heard Maisy’s bell. Unless—is that another metaphor?” His handsome brow furrowed, and Calarian kind of wanted to run a thumb over the creases until they went away.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said.
“It seems like a lie, though,” Lars said, “and I don’t think dukes are meant to lie.”
Benji snorted. “Spoken like a true simple man of the people. Of course governments lie—it’s practically required. And anyway, it’s not exactly a lie. It’s just glossing over certain details. We just tell people that the monster’s been dealt with and that the trolls won’t be a problem anymore, and bingo, you’re a hero.”
Lars raised his eyebrows. “Do you really think that will work?”
“Absolutely. People want to believe their leaders are decent and good. It takes the responsibility off them to manage their own lives,” Benji said. “Got anything left to eat in that knapsack?”
Lars brightened at that. “I have a giant strudel!”
“I’ll just bet you do,” Benji whispered and Calarian snickered, because it was funny. And probably accurate, given the way Lars’s lederhosen strained across his groin. Calarian eyed the small tent speculatively, and tried to figure out if it would stand up to any sort of vigorous activity, but he was forced to admit that they’d probably just end up in a pile of tangled rope and canvas.
It turned out to be a moot point anyway. Once they’d eaten, Lars announced, “You can have the tent. I’d like to keep an eye on Maisy and the girls.”
Benji looked almost betrayed. “But I thought we could all share the tent,” he pouted, waggling his eyebrows at Lars and making a suggestive hand-and-cheek gesture.
Lars ducked his head and bit his lip, cheeks stained pink. “Um, I really would like that, but maybe not in a tent. I don’t want the girls to hear.”
“Very wise,” Calarian agreed. “Benji’s a screamer.”
“That’s true,” Benji said with a shrug. “We can fuck you stupid once we get back to town.”
Lars beamed at them both brightly enough that his teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “I’ll look forward to it.”
Well, Calarian supposed as he and Benji fist bumped, that made three of them.
Their triumphant return to Tournel the next morning wasn’t exactly as triumphant as Calarian had expected. The last time he’d completed a heroic quest, there had been a coronation and a wedding and general revelry. There had been spontaneous street parties and a parade. There had even been a ballad, though the less said about that the better. In Tournel, everyone seemed politely pleased that they were back safely, and quite happy to hear that the monster and the mountain trolls wouldn’t be an issue anymore, but getting a free pretzel off the guy with the cart near the smashed fountain wasn’t the same as a cheering crowd, and Calarian was slightly disappointed. He knew that the point of doing good deeds was in the execution of them, and not in the rewards, but come on. He