“Palios will treat every one of you like the heroes you are,” Tarlan reassured. “And you shall all have chambers made up in my estate,” he added, taking in the royal gathering.
“We won’t be staying long,” the king informed him. “A day, perhaps two, while we gather our strength. From here we are taking the fight to the enemy. I won’t issue a command, but I would have you spread the word: any who wish to volunteer to join our force will be rewarded and carry a great honour for the rest of their days.”
“I will of course spread the word of the king,” Governor Tarlan promised. “And you will all have a place at my table this evening.”
A distant scream turned Vighon to the western district. “I look forward to it, Governor.” The king drew the sword of the north, its flames enough to make Tarlan step back. “Until then, there are still Reavers to put down.”
It was a satisfying evening as the sun, heading to its rest, had cast the city of knowledge in a burnt orange. A strong wind had blown in from the east and evicted the thick snow clouds that had threatened to unleash fresh powder. In their place, a crystal-clear night looked down on the Palosians, offering the people a heavenly vista of stars. It was still bitterly cold, but the stillness of it all had beckoned Vighon to the veranda between his chamber and the dining hall.
Standing sentinel in the passage, Sir Borin watched over his master. Vighon was happy enough not to have the Golem’s overbearing shadow for a time, however brief it might be. How often he pondered on Queen Yelifer’s witchcraft, undecided on whether it was a gift or a curse.
Hearing the door to the veranda open, the king casually looked over his shoulder to see Nathaniel Galfrey, the closest thing he had to a father. The old knight was hardly recognisable having had a bath and retired his mud-covered coat for clean clothes. His hair, short as always, appeared washed and free of the debris it had picked up on their journey north. Having bathed himself and welcomed the clean clothes from Governor Tarlan, Vighon wondered if he too looked a different man.
“You’re easy to find,” Nathaniel quipped, thumbing at the giant in the doorway.
Vighon chuckled lightly. “He is lacking a certain… stealth element.” The northman gave another look over his shoulder. “Where’s your better half?”
“She said something about a second bath. Elves,” he added with a shrug. “Where is Inara?” he queried.
Vighon felt an instance of awkwardness. It would still be some time, he reasoned, before everyone’s knowledge of their relationship was a comfortable affair. There were times, even now, when he could hardly believe he was in a relationship with the woman he had longed for all his life. It was all new and happening at the worst time, a time of turmoil and chaos.
“She went for one last flight with Athis before dinner,” the king answered.
Nathaniel laughed to himself. “Another? Her feet barely touched the ground on the journey here.”
“They nearly lost each other,” Vighon explained. “I think they’re going to be more inseparable than usual for a while.”
“I can imagine,” the old knight replied, searching the starry night for any trace of his daughter. “So what has left the king of Illian brooding in the cold?” he eventually asked, turning his attention back to the northman.
Vighon continued to lean against the railing, his arms folded over the banner. “I’m not brooding,” he insisted.
Nathaniel gave him a once over. “You’re definitely brooding. Trust me; I know brooding.”
An amused smile pushed at Vighon’s cheek. “From your time with Asher?”
“Of course,” the old knight said. “You might be the king of Illian, but Asher is the king of brooding. He’ll die on that hill.”
Vighon’s gaze drifted over the city and turned skyward. “Kassian said they set off from Vangarth with seven-hundred and thirteen Drakes. Seven-hundred and thirteen, Nathaniel. That’s how many people had to willingly sacrifice themselves to keep this world in the light. Kassian tells me they aren’t dead as we know it but… Now I can’t help but wonder how many of them are left.”
Nathaniel, ever the pragmatist, replied, “The Drakes’ sacrifice has given us another chance to win this fight, but it’s no different to all the men and women who have died in battle against Alijah and his Reavers. The Drakes fought back in the only way they could, in a way that fits with their beliefs. And like all those who died before them, the Drakes will be honoured in all our deeds. Moving forward is all the living can do. It’s our duty.”
Vighon sighed. “You’re right, of course. Don’t you ever get tired of duty?” he asked wearily.
“All the time,” Nathaniel said honestly. “That’s why we have strong women like Reyna and Inara in our lives. Duty is in their blood.”
The northman couldn’t disagree. “How long have you and Reyna been married for now?”
Nathaniel slowly turned his head to look at Vighon, though his expression was one of suspicion and calculation. “I believe this year marks our forty-sixth anniversary,” he said evenly.
Vighon turned a display of disbelief on the immortal man. “You don’t even look forty-six.”
“I have Asher to thank for that,” Nathaniel said as he leaned against the rail.
The king gave the veranda a cursory glance. “Where is our fearsome ranger? I haven’t seen him since we entered the city.”
Nathaniel half turned to take in the governor’s grand estate. “This isn’t really Asher’s scene. He said something about finding a tavern.” The old knight’s gaze came to rest on Vighon, where he deliberately held it for a long moment. “Are you going to ask her?”
The sudden question took the king aback and he feigned ignorance for a second. There was no
