Kassian agreed with a humble nod. “I only wish she were here to help me.”
Vighon circled on the spot, taking the fortress in. “And what are we to call this place? West Fellion might confuse most as to what your purpose is.”
“This will be a place where magic abounds,” Kassian replied, looking up at the battlements. “A safe haven for the lost. There was another place like this,” he said, turning back to face the Draqaros. “Welcome to Ikirith.”
62
The Blood of Erador
Almost a year to the day since Vighon and Inara’s wedding celebration, Gideon Thorn dropped out of the sky to find that Namdhor was again in the grasp of winter, as if it had never changed in his absence. Thick sheets of snow clung to the rooftops and smoke rose from the numerous chimneys as life continued in the north of the world.
Ilargo banked and began his descent towards the city, deliberately angling himself to come in line with The Dragon Keep at the top of the slope. Gideon was sure to keep the bundle of blankets close to his chest.
Fly once more around the city, he said to his companion. Let them know we’re here.
Ilargo beat his wings and soared past the keep, his speed enough to force a gust of wind through the open windows. After circling Namdhor and casting his shadow over the lower town, the green dragon made for the large platform that extended from the throne room. By the time he was touching down, the iron portcullis was lifting into its resting place above the arch.
Seeing Vighon and Inara brought a much-needed smile to the old master’s face. The king and queen greeted Ilargo as an old friend while Gideon climbed down from his saddle and navigated the dragon’s bulk and the platform’s edge.
Inara’s head pressed into Ilargo’s scales, just below his eyes, and lingered there. “I miss the sound of your voice,” she said to him.
Gideon felt a pang of great sadness shoot through Ilargo as he inhaled the lingering scent of Athis from Inara’s necklace. Not only did his companion miss talking to Inara, he also missed his long talks with Athis. Gideon had often discovered Ilargo reliving memories with the red dragon.
“Ilargo is glad he does not have to miss yours,” Gideon said by way of announcing himself.
Inara held out her arms. “Gideon!” she exclaimed before stopping in her tracks. Like Vighon, she was instantly drawn to the bundle of blankets in her old mentor’s arms. Of course, it was the small legs poking out of the bottom that really caught their attention. “I was starting to fear the worst,” she uttered absently.
“Yes,” Vighon agreed, his head tilting to better see the shape within the blankets. “We didn’t think you would be gone so long…. Is that a child?” he simply asked.
“Apologies, your Grace,” Gideon replied as he pulled back a small hood from within the blankets. “This is Gwenyfer,” he introduced, revealing the young girl and her copper ringlets. “Forgive me,” he continued before more questions could follow, “but our journey has been long for one so young.”
“Of course,” Inara replied, obviously perplexed by the situation. “You both shall have a hot meal by the fire.”
See that she is safe, Ilargo insisted as he pointed his head to the sky. I’m going to sleep. Wake me when summer is here.
Gideon kept his amusement to himself and wished his companion good rest. He also happily accepted a place at the Draqaros’ table, by the fire. He unravelled Gwenyfer, leaving her with a single blanket and a fur over her shoulders, compliments of Inara. He quietly explained to her, in the language of her homeland, that she could eat and drink as much as she wanted, and that she was safe in the keep. Seeing some fear in her eyes, he explained it twice and even put some chicken on her fork in the hope of coaxing the girl.
What followed was a very awkward and silent meal. Vighon and Inara didn’t even touch their food, so intent were they on watching the curious girl in their hall. Despite the strange tension in the chamber, Gideon gave in to his own hunger and helped himself to the food and drink on offer.
“You have been well?” he finally asked the royals.
Hesitant to begin with, both Inara and Vighon informed him on a year of travelling around the regions of Illian. As the once Master Dragorn, Gideon sympathised with the tedious affair of having to meet with dignitaries and pompous lords. Still, it had given them a chance to meet the realm as king and queen.
Spotting a group of servants moving through the chamber, each with a different task involving some form of decoration, Gideon cast a questioning look at his former student.
“We’re having a small celebration tomorrow night,” Inara explained, her blue eyes only shifting from Gwenyfer for a second.
“Of course,” Gideon replied, feeling embarrassed for failing to mention it. “Tomorrow is your first anniversary. Congratulations!”
“Thank you,” Vighon said politely and in spite of his clear confusion. “Though, it’s supposed to be more of a celebration to one year of peace.” The king observed an elaborate ice sculpture as it passed the open door. “Things seem to have got a little out of hand, I’ll admit.”
Inara let out a small laugh. “Who knew my husband had such a flair for party planning?”
“We northmen know how to celebrate, my love,” Vighon boasted, continuing the brief merriment.
“You are, of course, welcome,” Inara added quickly. “And… your friend.”
Gideon bowed his head in thanks. “Have I missed your parents?” he asked, recalling their intentions to leave this very winter.
“No,” Inara answered, as if that was obvious. “They were to set sail for Ayda a few weeks ago, but their vow of support for Illian has kept them here a little longer. You will see them soon though. They are due to return from Grey Stone tomorrow morning.”
“I look forward to it,” the
