‘I have heard other tales based upon similar themes,’ Mraan said. ‘But the so-called hero always perishes in the end, and it is said that something of Evil still dwells in the north, and always will.’
Haloch paused from his work only briefly, but such an occurrence was so rare that his son listened all the more carefully to his words.
‘In this tale, that is true as well, that Bellandor perished, even as he threw down his brother and all his works. But the point to this tale, as least for Men, is that they truly believe that at the last, Bellandor’s simple act of bravery and sacrifice, without hope or vision to guide him . . . without the grace of a single companion at the end to comfort him . . . saved us all, from Evil and from ourselves, whether we know it or not-’
‘Of all the arrogant presumption!’ Mraan blurted.
‘Of course,’ the old Scribe said mildly. ‘This has always been one of the greatest problems with Man and his beliefs; that he feels he has the right to hold the rest of the world hostage to ideas that are at best alien to the rest of us.
‘Yet I find that there is value in such stories, of a sort. You must admit, they do have a way of telling us something about the teller-’