Asher narrowed his eyes at the dwarf before returning his grin. “And maybe you will suit it, Heavybelly.”
“Am I late?” Kassian asked as he entered the throne room, his limp long gone thanks to his fellow Keepers and some additional spells from elven healers.
“You’re right on time,” Vighon announced, emerging from a side door with Inara and Sir Ruban Dardaris. “Soon, this hall will be filled and the revelry will begin in earnest.” The king paused and shared a brief moment with Inara. “Before that happens,” he continued, “we wanted to make an announcement—”
“To our family,” Inara expanded, with a quick look in Asher’s direction. The ranger was just happy to see something of a genuine smile on her face.
“Yes,” Vighon agreed, taking Inara by the hand. “We are engaged to be married!” he exclaimed.
There were cheers and applause in response, including a, “Finally!” from Doran. The couple descended the steps from the throne and accepted hugs from all. Reyna and Nathaniel embraced their daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law with tears in their eyes. It was a joyous moment they had all been in much need of.
And, as Vighon had promised, revels were soon upon them. After their private celebration, servants of the keep welcomed everyone from lords to decorated soldiers who had fought in The Rebellion. Under one roof, dwarves, elves, and humans joined in merriment for the first time since victory had been claimed. Asher couldn’t remember the last time he had drunk anything from a goblet. Doran had brought his own goblet of sorts, though it was more comparable to a bucket with a handle on the side.
Before volume and potency left every member of the party inebriated, Vighon stood above all on the podium, before his throne. “Victory,” he declared simply, drawing every set of eyes to him. “It is not given. It is earned. It’s earned with blood… and sacrifice. This chamber, if not the realm itself, should be filled to bursting with glorious heroes who fought for what was in their hearts. But without their blood, without their sacrifice, we would not be here to celebrate this moment. This victory. So raise your drinks,” he said, lifting his cup. “Raise them to those who cannot stand with us. To absent friends!”
The latter was echoed throughout as the chamber drank to the fallen. Asher’s goblet touched his lips but he paused before consuming the beer. He thought of Russell Maybury, Adan’Karth, Athis the ironheart, and… Alijah Galfrey. They and so many more had been taken by a fated war.
After the king’s speech, the celebration was renewed and the hall was alive with chatter and laughter. Asher drifted through, allowing himself to be pulled into various conversations and debates, until he found himself alone on the dragon platform overlooking the city. From top to bottom it was awash with a multitude of overlapping parties. Every inn, tavern, and house was brimming with people and cheer. Beyond the lower town, illuminated by thousands of torches and sporadic fires, was the combined dwarven and elven camp, whose merriment carried all the way up to The Dragon Keep.
A great gust of wind battered the ranger, throwing his hair and cloak out. He turned to see Ilargo land on the platform, his golden speckles glistening in the moonlight. Gideon climbed down from his saddle having left the throne room shortly after Vighon’s speech.
“It’s ready,” he said to Asher on his way inside.
Asher acknowledged the news with merely a look. I’m almost with you, Avandriell spoke into his mind.
The ranger watched as Gideon discreetly informed the selected few of the same thing he had told him moments ago. One by one, they excused themselves from their conversations and quietly made for the main doors.
Jump! Avandriell insisted.
Asher could feel her presence and knew she was close. I’m not doing that, he replied with a light chuckle and a glance over the edge. And besides, you’ve had way too much dwarven ale.
Accompanying the others, Asher took the traditional route out of The Dragon Keep, if on this occasion a more secretive one. Cloaked, hooded, and unchaperoned by guards, the kings and queens of the world made their way down through the city and back on themselves to reach the lake. Galanör, Aenwyn, and Faylen made their own journey together, separate from the monarchs so as to move in smaller, less noticeable groups. Kassian, however, had declined to accompany them, choosing, instead, to remain in the keep. Only Asher, after meeting up with Avandriell outside the keep, and Gideon made their way by dragon flight.
Now, under the King’s Hollow, between Namdhor’s rising slope and the rocky pillar that supported its weight, those few gathered around a pyre. It was a space traditionally reserved for the crowning of Namdhor’s kings and queens but, tonight, it was a place to say farewell to one.
Before the fire grew and consumed the pyre, Asher looked upon the body that rested there. A few elves, those Faylen had assured Reyna were their most loyal, had placed a stasis spell over Alijah before they had set off from The Vrost Mountains. And so, weeks later, he looked just as he had the day he died. Gideon stood before the pyre and made a snatching motion with his hand, bringing an end to the spell and leaving Alijah’s body to the flames.
“Here lies Alijah Galfrey,” Gideon announced, “a prince of Elandril, a Dragon Rider in his heart, and a good man. May it be, that one day, the realm comes to learn the truth of his life, the truth of the light that lived in him, even when the darkness claimed him as its own. For now, his sacrifice will remain with us, those who loved him, who knew him as that good man.” After receiving a nod from Reyna and Nathaniel, Gideon waved his hand across the pyre and increased the
