“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Of everything you witnessed whilst traveling in that land, did you come upon anything that would threaten our country?”
Laedron thought long and hard about the things that had happened, then responded, “No, Highness. I can think of nothing that would directly endanger Sorbia.”
“Good.” The king gestured at the other man who had entered with him. “Kelrick, bring the decree.”
Kelrick approached and unfurled a scroll. “By order of His Majesty King Xavier II, the knights responsible for the defeat of the persons commonly known as Andolis and Gustav Drakkar, enemies of the people of Sorbia and the Knights of the Shimmering Dawn, shall be granted the following rewards.”
Laedron raised his hand. “You need not give us anything, Your Highness. We’ve returned safe, and that is reward enough.”
“Do you mean to insult me, Sorcerer?”
“N-no, Sire.”
“Then accept the gifts.”
Laedron nodded, and the king motioned for Kelrick to proceed.
“For Victor Altruis, His Highness grants the right to reestablish a training academy to be known as the College of Mages for the pursuit of magical studies. Although it is customary for the Circle to choose such, he is also elevated to the status of Archmage until such a time as the Circle is capable of selecting its own.”
“For Marquis Meklan Draive, His Highness elevates his title to duke and names him Protector of the North.” I never even knew he was a titled noble, and he’s elevated to the highest rank in the land?
Meklan leaned forward. “Sire, is that not the position of your own brother?”
“Indeed, but he has been brought to the capital to aid me here. You shall pick up the banner and carry it forward.”
“As you desire, Highness.”
“For Laedron Telpist, Marac Reven, and Brice Warren, all shall be knighted and issued as true Knights of the Shimmering Dawn, their lands and titles to carry henceforth to their descendants, and they may demand the address of ‘Sir.’ By request of His Majesty, Laedron Telpist will, when asked, aid the Archmage of the College of Mages in reforming the Circle.”
“And Valyrie, Sire?” Laedron asked.
“It isn’t customary to grant titles to foreigners, but… young lady, do you swear an oath of fealty to me and Sorbia this day?”
She bowed her head. “I swear it. I have no intentions of returning to my former home, Your Grace.”
The king furrowed his brow.
Victor nearly spit out his wine. “Grace? Refer to him as ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Your Majesty,’ for he is the King of Sorbia.”
“Forgive me, Your Highness, for the way I addressed you. I meant no disrespect.” Blushing, Valyrie hid her face with a bow, and Laedron could only imagine how embarrassed she felt. He reached out, took her hand, and squeezed it.
“That’s how the Heraldans address the Grand Vicar, isn’t it?” the king asked.
“Yes, Sire,” Laedron said. “’Tis the highest address in the theocracy.”
“No harm done, and she shall be granted the same as you, Sorcerer,” King Xavier said, waving his hand. “Kelrick, add that to the decree.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Kelrick left through the hall by which he’d entered.
“I starve.” King Xavier stood, and so did everyone else. “Would you care to join me?”
Meklan nodded.
Victor smiled and said, “Certainly, Your Highness.”
“Might we be excused, Sire?” Laedron glanced at his friends. “If it’s all the same, we would prefer to return to our homes in Reven’s Landing. It’s been nearly a month since we’ve seen our families.”
“Who am I to hold you up?” the king asked. “Go, be with your families-Reven’s Landing, you say?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“How did you plan to get there?”
“By coach, I suppose.”
“Go to the docks on the north end of the city. There, you shall likely find a vessel to take you there.”
A boat, of course. That would cut our trip into a third. “Thank you for everything.” Laedron and his companions bowed deeply, and the king departed.
Before he left, Victor paused long enough to say, “I shall send word for you when we begin, Laedron, and I hope that it’ll be no more than a week.”
“So, that is that,” Marac said, then put on a thick, pompous accent. “Would you care to set sail now, Sir Laedron Telpist?”
Brice waved his hands and spoke in a similar, comical tone. “But, Sir Marac Reven, we could visit the city. Perhaps Dame Valyrie Pembry would like to see the town.”
Laedron laughed. “No, Sirs Brice and Marac, I think that we’ll return to Reven’s Landing posthaste, to be reunited with our loved ones.”
“We shall accompany you, Sir Laedron and Dame Valyrie.” Brice proceeded through the halls, his hands grasping his lapels, his swagger exaggerated and arrogant, and his nose stuck high in the air.
Not wanting to draw any ire upon himself, Laedron kept his distance from Brice as he followed, but stern glares from the stewards and guards near the main exit seemed to make Brice act normal again. Outside the palace, they turned left, and at the end of the boulevard, Laedron asked around to find a small ship headed north.
He convinced a captain at the end of the row who hadn’t actually planned on stopping in Reven’s Landing to do so, a favor for which he handed over a gold sovereign. We’ll probably be home in a matter of hours.
22
Once Upon a Thimble
The crew tossed out ropes to secure the ship to the little pier at Reven’s Landing, and Brice stepped off. He waited for Laedron, Valyrie, and Marac to join him, then walked with them along the dirt path and up the hill. Reaching the crossroads at the edge of the village, Brice turned and said, “Well, it would seem that this is where we part ways.”
He stood looking at Laedron and Marac. He’d relied on them for guidance for almost a month, and leaving them with no plan to meet up a little later was a little frightening. “Will I see you again?”
Marac folded his arms. “We live in the same town, you know?”
“Right, yes.” He cleared his throat, swallowed, and glanced at the ground. “It won’t be the same, though, will it? We’re going back to our regular lives, back to the way it was before.”
“Can anything ever be the same? I don’t think so. Especially not between us.” Marac reached out toward Brice. “How could it be?”
Brice eyed his hand as if he were suspicious of Marac’s intent.
“You won’t take it?”
“I… you’ll toss me to the ground or something, won’t you?”
Marac shook his head, and Brice walked over and took his hand.
“Now, was that so hard?”
Brice raised an eyebrow. “I can never tell with you. One minute, you hate me. The next, we’re friends.”
“We’ve been through a lot, and sometimes it’s easier to blame someone else than accept the situation for what it is.” Marac sighed. “I know I’ve caused you pain, and for that, I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” Brice turned to Laedron. “I know you’ll be on to bigger and better things, but can we see each other again someday?”
“It doesn’t have to be that way.” Laedron swatted him on the shoulder. “Look, we’ll meet up tomorrow, at Calvert’s side street counter, for drinks and conversation.”
“What time?”
“Just after noon. Should be pleasant with autumn approaching.” Laedron smiled. “And if you can’t see yourself at the loom, you’ll always have a place reserved on my adventures.”
“I’ll hold you to it, Lae.” He hoped he wouldn’t be standing at the counter, waiting for his friends who wouldn’t show. “See you tomorrow?”
“You can wager on it.”
Brice walked away, glancing over his shoulder until he couldn’t see them anymore. For the first time in a long while, he felt alone. He almost
wished that a journey still lay before them, that some monster or madman waited for Laedron’s knights to come forward and deal justice. He’d probably be afraid, but his friends would be there to encourage him. We’d fight it together, whatever the threat. Together, we could do anything. He wanted to cry, but he kept control of himself, unwilling to disgrace the king or his title should anyone be watching. Knights don’t shed tears, especially not when others might be near.
His family’s house came into view, and he picked up speed. He saw the sheep in the field behind the house, and he remembered his father’s favorite speech. ‘Brice, my boy, we’re fortunate enough in our trade to make our wool from our own sheep. A tailor with an unending supply of thread will never be hungry.’ He chuckled, realizing that he had a pound or more of pure platinum in his pack. A month of adventuring, and I have more wealth than I could ever spend. It took my father the better part of twenty years to get to where he is, and I could buy a hundred-the man, land, sheep, house, and all-just like him.
He jogged up to the door and burst through it.
His mother turned, and her jaw dropped along with a bowl. Sliced fruit scattered across the floor. “My boy has come back to me?” Ignoring the mess, she ran to him and, being that he was small and light for his age, nearly lifted him off the floor in a tight embrace. “I thought I’d never see you again!”
“I told you I’d come back, Ma. You never had a reason to worry.”
“No reason to worry?” She hugged him so tight he wondered if she would soon cut off his breathing. “How could a mother not worry when her son goes off to war?”
“It wasn’t that bad, but you were right.”
“How so?” she asked, stepping back. Ah, to breathe again.
“Sending me to the knights and keeping me from the front lines.”
His father walked into the room, his signature pipe in hand. “Karina, what’s all the-Brice?”
“He’s come home to us, Geoffrey.” She dragged her sleeve across her cheeks to wipe away the tears. “At long last, our son is home.”
“I can’t believe it. Come here and let me get a look at you.”
Brice obliged, and Geoffrey grasped him by the shoulders. “Looks like you came back in one piece.”
“Yes, Da. The knights took good care of me. Thank you for putting up the money. I can repay it, and then some.”
“Nonsense. Any father with the means would have done the same. A Warren’s place isn’t on the battlefield, never has been.” Geoffrey smiled and pulled Brice toward the living room. “Come, sit a while. Tell me all about your travels.”
And Brice obliged.
23
The Miller’s Son
Marac watched Brice tread the road until he disappeared from view, then said, “See you tomorrow, Lae. I’d better get home, too.”
“You’ll leave it at that?” Laedron asked.
“Leave… what?”
“Brice? The sudden change of heart?”
“I’d never tell him, but I was scared, Lae.”
“You?”
Marac nodded, then stared at the ground. “I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, and I would’ve defended him to the death… but…”
“But?”
“It helped. It’s not easy to stop being a big brother.”
“You replaced Naettan with Brice? I should’ve known.”
Marac grinned. “I shouldn’t have, but it seemed to come so natural. I didn’t even know I was doing it until the ride to Morcaine. When Meklan made me apologize, I thought about how my father had done the same thing when I went too hard on Naettan. Then, it clicked.” He snapped his fingers.
“No worries. We made it back home. That’s all that matters.”
“All except Mikal.”
Laedron closed his eyes. “I wonder if they’ve told his family.”
Marac shrugged. “If not, we’ll have to.”
“We’ll go together tomorrow. Let them have one more day of peace.”
Nodding, Marac started down the road.
“On the morrow, then. You’d better be there,” Laedron said before Marac got out of earshot.
Marac waved over his shoulder without stopping. Heading through the village, he caught sight of Calvert’s stall and figured that it couldn’t hurt to stop by for a quick drink. Why wait? A glass of honeysuckle cider would do wonders right now. He walked over and climbed onto a stool.
Calvert served the man who sat on the other side of the counter, then turned. When he saw Marac, his eyes grew wide. “Marac Reven?”
“The one and the same.”
“It’s not every day that true, genuine heroes visit my little establishment,” Calvert said, grabbing a pint-sized mug. “What would you like?”
“Honeysuckle cider. It seems like it’s been ages since I’ve had the stuff.”
“Couldn’t find any on your travels? It doesn’t surprise me. A closely guarded secret, it is.” Calvert paused, his eyes shifty as if he’d remembered something, but he said nothing. Instead, he fetched Marac’s drink and served it.
Finding Calvert’s demeanor strange, Marac asked, “Anything new going on?”
“No, nothing. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Just the one drink.” He pulled out a silver coin. “Then I’ll be off.”
“That one’s on the house.”
“Surely?”
“Least I can do to thank you for all that you’ve done. Enjoy.”
He nodded. “Always do. Thanks.” He sipped from the stein, trying his best to ignore the sickening aroma of the nearby fish stall. Just like old times. When he finished, he stood and walked off toward the edge of town and his family’s home. His mind wandered as he went, all of the memories and good feelings of homecoming back to him with each passing step.
First, a stop at the mill to see Da, then onto the house. I hope Ma has something fixed for supper. He followed the road, and when he finally spotted the mill’s sails turning in the breeze, he raced up the hill. Pushing the door open, he peered inside. “Da? I’m home. Da?” He entered, took a long look around, and decided that Bordric must not have been there because it was quiet and dark. Maybe he’s at the house. Yes, he must be; it’s too late for him to be still up here tending things.
After securing the door, he jogged toward the house a hundred yards away. Inside, he saw his little brother, Naettan, sitting on a sofa. “Nate!” He rushed over and hugged Naettan.
The boy sat in silence, barely looking up at Marac.
“Nate?” He crouched next to his brother. “Where is Da? Have you seen Ma?”
Receiving no answer, he walked down the hallway. “Da! Ma!”
“Marac?” His mother opened the door of her bedroom. “Is that you?”
“Ma, yes. Finally, someone answers me.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “What wrong with Nate? Where’s Da?”
“Come with me, Marac.” She took his hand, trying to lead him into the room with her.
“Where’s Da? Ma, is everything all right?” He hadn’t noticed before, but he saw tears running down her cheek. “What’s happened?”
She closed the door after pulling him into the room. “Have a seat, Marac.”
“Where’s Da?” he asked again, having a seat on the edge of the bed. Why won’t anyone tell me anything? Where in the hells… Nate’s silent. Ma’s crying. “Ma, where is he?”
“Your father has passed, Marac, while you were away.”
Passed. Passed? Passed… He tried to force a breath, his face and neck growing hot, his muscles tense, and his hands trembling. Dead? No, I won’t believe that. “He was fine before I left. He can’t be. Not Da, not now. Impossible.”
“We buried him last week, Marac.” She sobbed and sat next to him. “It was an accident.”
“How?” He shook his head and shot up from the bed. “He was strong as an ox. Two of them.”
She followed him into the hall, then to the living room. “An inquest was held by the magistr
ate, and he determined that Bordric passed from a fall. He’d complained to me about the sails getting stuck, and he went up there to fix-”
“Dead?”
She sighed, bowed her head, and pointed toward the kitchen window. Marac walked over and peered out. He noticed a new stone at the top of the next hill in the family cemetery, a stone that hadn’t been there when he left. Then, he turned to look at the dining table, the evening meal prepared and the places set, but where his father usually sat, he didn’t see dishes or a napkin. He’s gone? Da’s gone…
Like an arrow, the pain shot through his heart, and he fell to his knees, gasping for air. Why him? Creator, why has this come to pass?If I had stayed, this wouldn’t have happened. I would have helped him with that damned mill. His vision cloudy from tears, his throat sore, and his body shaking, he couldn’t do anything. We should’ve come home when we were done with Gustav. Why did we have to stay gone so long? A week might have made a difference. We’ve saved so many, but I couldn’t save my own father! He was paralyzed, powerless to do anything but cry. Emotions overtaking him, he fell to his side and rolled into a ball. All the opportunities you had to claim me, and you take him? Creator, why are you punishing me? Why did you take him instead of me?
He lay there for some time, and the sun hung low on the horizon by the time he stopped crying. Ma came over-apparently waiting until he’d calmed down-and touched him on the shoulder, but he reeled away.
“Your brother and I are still living, Marac. We need your love, too.”
He rose to his knees, then to his feet, and stared at her. “It’s my fault. I should’ve stayed.”
“No, Marac, no.” She pulled him to her shoulder. “Have you forgotten? He sent you to the knights to save you. You would’ve been conscripted if he hadn’t. There was nothing you could do.”
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