Standing next to Avandriell, Asher watched the fire rise from the back of the group. Inara and Vighon remained close, wrapped in each other’s arms - as did Reyna and Nathaniel. Gideon stepped away from the fire and returned to Ilargo’s side, where Galanör and Aenwyn stood quietly together.
A hand sneaked between Asher’s arm and chest as Faylen linked herself to him, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. The ranger had seen her coming but her actions still surprised him. Rather than question the affection, he squeezed her hand and lightly kissed the top of her head. Her friendship, he knew, was a comfort he had purposefully avoided. An immortal now, Asher was pleased to know that he had a very long time to work on their friendship and, perhaps, even give Nemir a chance.
For now, he simply enjoyed their closeness and let his thoughts drift across the memories he retained from his brief bond with Alijah. Thankfully, Avandriell had pushed almost all of Malliath’s memories into the abyss, leaving only Alijah’s earlier life to recall. He had, indeed, been a good man.
As the fire consumed his body, Asher dwelled on an image of the young half-elf from his time on the road with Vighon. He saw him wearing a green cloak, taken from Asher’s locker beneath The Pick-Axe, and a familiar silvyr short-sword and folded bow on his back, taken from the Galfreys’ home.
Once upon a time, Alijah Galfrey had wanted to be just like him, a ranger doing his part for the world. That was the man Asher would remember.
59
New Beginnings
It had been three weeks since the start of the victory celebrations, three weeks since The Rebellion had nothing to rebel against. In that time, winter had unleashed its full force, an unwelcome shield against the warmth of the sun. Namdhor was struck daily by blasting winds and the snow came day and night.
Nothing, however, could stop the Namdhorians, nor the dwarves, from enjoying their freedom from the fear and the violence that had dominated their lives for so long. Nor did the prevailing cold prevent a wedding, especially when it was the wedding of the Age.
Every soul in the city had gathered in the streets, filling the main road from top to bottom until the numbers spread throughout the lower town and beyond. With bated breath, they looked up to The Dragon Keep, their eyes fixed on the ramparts above the main gate.
Reserved a space on those ramparts, Galanör Reveeri had one of the best views in all of Namdhor. He was also freezing to his bones. He adjusted the fur collar draped over his shoulders before quickly returning his hands to the inside of his navy cloak.
“Only in the north,” he muttered under his breath.
Beside him, Aenwyn contained her amusement behind a tight smile. “I think it’s a beautiful tradition,” she whispered.
“Tradition isn’t going to keep my toes attached to my feet,” Galanör complained.
“I thought you were a ranger of the wilds,” Aenwyn said innocently.
Galanör had a witty retort on the edge of his lips when Aenwyn’s comment lodged itself in his mind and brought up a very important question: what was he now? He had once been a soldier in the elven army, but his skills with a blade had caught the eye of King Elym before long. Thankfully, his time as an assassin for the king had been cut short after meeting Gideon Thorn. Being a ranger had been easy, a job the elf had discovered he was more than capable of. But now his allegiance had been pledged to Reyna and Nathaniel and, to date, his role remained undefined.
Perhaps, he mused, he would be given a high-ranking position in the army. Just thinking about returning to life in Ayda brought a dark cloud over Galanör. Despite his centuries in Ayda, he had only learned to be his true self while living in Illian and, in the process, it had become his home.
In the absence of a response from him, Aenwyn leaned in. “Sir Ruban told me royal weddings are typically planned for the summer for just this reason.”
Galanör considered the bride and the groom. “I don’t think there will be anything typical about Vighon and Inara’s reign,” he said wistfully.
Aenwyn agreed with a contented smile. “I don’t think the people could have waited until the summer,” she remarked. “The excitement has been building since news spread of their union.”
And what a strong union it was, Galanör thought. Both were heroes of their time, warriors in their own right. Together, they would steer the world of man into its strongest age yet. Their obvious pairing aside, Galanör was overjoyed to see them brought together by a love they had held in their hearts since childhood.
That was worth the cold.
“They’re coming,” Asher said, his voice loud enough to be heard by Vighon.
The king straightened up and turned to the city. Galanör narrowed his eyes down Namdhor’s slope but even his powerful eyes failed to find the approaching bride. A moment later, bells rang out, starting in the lowest tier of the city and rising higher until finally joined by the great church outside the keep. In their wake, musicians and choirs heralded Inara’s arrival from various balconies up and down the main road.
In due course, the bride came into view for all on the ramparts to see. The dense crowds parted, creating enough space for Avandriell. The bronze dragon led the bridal party with Inara seated astride her. Side by side, Reyna and Nathaniel trailed her on horseback with Faylen and Captain Nemir close behind them. Elves, three abreast and twenty deep, followed them all, their melodic voices slowly but surely replacing the human choirs that overlooked the affair.
Galanör peered over the edge to watch Inara dismount and enter the keep via the decorated gates. Her parents filed in behind her until Nathaniel offered his daughter an arm to see her through the courtyard and up the steps. The remaining elves
