Feeling rather redundant and wholly useless, Vighon remained astride his horse and simply listened to the violence unfold beyond Palios’s walls. More than once he shared an impatient look with Sir Ruban and he couldn’t help but notice Nathaniel’s proud expression as he watched his daughter dart about the battlements like a Fury of the gods given life.
As time went on, the king finally dismounted, along with many others. He held a few conversations here and there, mostly checking in on the wounded they had transported across the land. The more seriously injured that had been among them were now being taken care of in Vangarth, but there were still men, dwarves, and elves in their great company who suffered.
Of course, their were no longer any Centaurs among them, having declined to leave the plains, their home. With nothing to offer them, Vighon and the others had given their thanks and promised to find some way to repay them in the future. Kelabor had spoken on behalf of his kin and refused any such payment. They had been fighting for their land and freedom, both of which had now been returned to them.
Vighon was left with only the utmost respect for them.
It felt like the Fourth Age had come and gone when, at last, the city’s hulking doors began to open. Vighon hurried back to the front with Sir Borin trailing him like an overly large shadow. Asher was standing in the middle of the entrance, his chest heaving and sword filthy with Reaver debris. Behind him, Inara had her boot resting on the chest of another Reaver as she pulled Firefly cleanly from its head.
Vighon passed through the doors and patted the ranger on the shoulder.
“The people of Palios saw the banner of house Draqaro coming,” Asher explained, gesturing to a mob of armed men and women. “They wanted to welcome their king.” Never one to say more than he needed to, the ranger sheathed his broadsword and walked away.
The northman faced the crowd, though their attention had been turned to more Reavers approaching from the side street. “Sir Borin,” Vighon said. “Assist those people.” The Golem strode away with a sword more befitting of a Troll in hand.
Turning to Inara, he saw that the Guardian of the Realm was reaching out towards a lone Reaver emerging from the nearest alley. Her hand snatched at the air as she grasped the fiend within her magic. Its arms and legs bent at awkward angles, its feet taken from the ground, before she swiped her arm and launched the Reaver head first into a stone wall.
Vighon raised an eyebrow. “Has anyone ever told you you’re something of a brute?”
“It’s the dragon in me,” Inara replied with a wry smile.
Moments later, the entrance to the city was flooded with rebellion forces of all three dominant races. Vighon, Reyna, and Commander Rolgoth issued orders to sweep the streets and buildings and destroy any Reavers and Seekers. It wasn’t long before Sir Borin the Dread was returned to the king’s side, his wide sword coated in bits of Reaver.
Halfway towards the All-Tower, a small crowd approached the king and his much larger entourage. Leading them was the familiar face of Governor Tarlan, a man in his late sixties with a slender build and thinning white hair. Vighon had entertained the governor in The Dragon Keep numerous times during his reign as king and knew the man to be a good supporter of his - at least he hadn’t heard otherwise in the time since.
“Your Grace!” Governor Tarlan gave a deep bow before the crowd behind mirrored his action. “Palios is truly blessed to have you here! I have had men, good men, waiting for the right time to strike. There isn’t a Palosian within these walls that could suffer the rule of any but you. When we saw your banner and, of course…” the governor said, looking from Inara to Athis flying overhead, “we knew the hour was upon us.”
“Your loyalty will never be forgotten, Governor Tarlan,” Vighon assured. “You know our Guardian of the Realm, Inara Galfrey,” he said, gesturing to his side. “And this is Queen Reyna, the Lady of Ayda,” he quickly added, before the governor could greet the elf by her old title of ambassador. “And, of course, her husband, King Nathaniel.” Behind Vighon and slightly to the side, a stout dwarf cleared his throat. “And you also have the honour of Commander Rolgoth, son of Bolgayne, of clan Battleborn.”
Again, Governor Tarlan paid his respect with a deep bow, though not as deep as the one he gave to Vighon. “It is the honour of my life that such esteemed guests should grace this fair city. You are most welcome.”
Vighon looked up at one of Alijah’s banners - a black dragon on a red background - as it blew in the wind. “Has the enemy’s rule here been hard on the people?”
“Yes, your Grace, though indirectly. The usurper’s laws come to us via Lord Gydon, of house Bairn.” The governor’s tone spoke volumes about the lord’s treatment of Palios, a city within the steward’s region.
Vighon absorbed the information with a quick glance at Sir Ruban, who said, “Lord Carrington’s replacement, your Grace.”
The king nodded along. “One wretch replaced by another; and not by me,” he defended, aware that Alijah had publicly executed Carrington before bestowing the title of steward on Lord Gydon. “It’s been a long time since Velia had a respectable lord and Alborn a steward worthy of its land. I must see to that in time.” Vighon
