“You can speak freely in here,” Vighon told Gideon. “Though we would appreciate it if you started by explaining the new company you keep.”
“You’ve been gone for a year,” Inara pointed out. “So she can’t be yours.”
“Quite,” Gideon agreed. “I cannot boast of such a beautiful creation. But she is very important to me… and to Erador.”
Inara eyed the girl between the pillars. “Gideon, who is she?”
“Gwenyfer, daughter of Princess Lilyander and Bloodlord Tyvan.”
“They sound important,” Vighon remarked.
“Her father was more rich than he was important. Her mother, however, was Princess Lilyander of Valayan Blood. The Valayans were once cousins of Etragon Blood - they, that is to say, Gwenyfer, is all that remains of either family line.”
“Etragon,” Vighon repeated. “I’ve heard that name before.”
“Those of the Etragon Blood ruled Erador for most of its history,” Gideon explained.
“Atilan was of Etragon Blood,” Inara specified.
Vighon looked straight at Gwenyfer. “She is a descendant of Atilan?”
“Very distant,” Gideon quickly pointed out. “When the Etragon line ended with Atilan, the Valayans took control of the realm. Gwenyfer’s mother, Lilyander, was the daughter of the king who Alijah slew when he assumed the throne. Alijah let Lilyander live, but she was never to return to Valgala and he was never to hear her name.”
Vighon folded his arms. “That’s all very interesting, Gideon, but none of that explains why her daughter is with you, in Illian.”
Gideon looked down at the map. “When the Reavers fell in the streets, Erador fell into chaos. In the absence of a monarch and a supporting army, the only law is lawlessness itself. Warlords have arisen from north to south and brought bloodshed to every town and city in their bid for dominance. I have encountered many of them myself. They have only one belief: the throne of Erador is for the taking.”
“Such a prize was always going to incite violence,” Inara reasoned gravely.
“Inevitably,” Gideon continued, “it is a prize that will be claimed by the strongest. That is to say, the worst. And it was the worst who tracked down Gwenyfer’s parents. The whole country knew that Alijah had spared them, the rightful heirs.”
“How did a little girl survive that?” Vighon asked.
“Lilyander wasn’t without her loyal supporters,” Gideon went on. “People of position, some more powerful than others, who believe she should be on the throne. Unfortunately, their support drew the attention of the warlords. They came for Gwenyfer’s parents, but not before I was able whisk Gwenyfer away. For months now she’s been passed around and hidden from those who hunt her.”
“No one so young should have to go through that,” Inara lamented.
“And what of the people caught in the middle of all this?” Vighon enquired.
“The death toll rises every day. That is why my return was so delayed. We tried to help wherever we could and as often as we could, but the guilds and warlords fighting for the throne don’t know the meaning of mercy.”
“These supporters of Valayan Blood,” Inara began, “they are opposing the warlords?”
“They have formed something of a rebellion,” Gideon said. “And their numbers increase, but some of the guilds and warlords have responded in kind and forged alliances. Erador is on course for all-out war.”
Inara folded her arms and rested one hand over her mouth in contemplation. “You mean to fight for them,” she concluded, leading Vighon to stare at the old master expectantly.
“I do,” he admitted. “There is a part of me that calls Erador home. I will not leave the people to the tyranny of monsters who would be men. If Ilargo and I don’t do something, Erador is going to be taken by someone. And whether that be a guild master or a warlord they will have taken it with blood and fear and steel. And that is all the people of Erador can expect from their new ruler.”
Inara regarded her old mentor with a familiar smile. “Here you are again, placing yourself between the light and the dark. It seems there is no other way for you to live.”
Vighon leaned forward and rested both of his hands on the table. “You’ve brought Gwenyfer here to hide,” he said with revelation.
“To be safe,” Gideon replied. “There is nowhere in Erador where she cannot be found. I would keep her with me, but if we are to truly root out those who would kill her for the throne, Ilargo and I will need to be able to move swiftly.”
Vighon pushed off from the table. “This is not to be taken lightly. None of it, be it you fighting in another war or us taking in a child.” The king met his wife’s eyes and he took a breath before running his hand through his beard. “Yet we will do it,” he finally said.
Gideon felt a wave of relief wash over him. “Thank you.” He put all of his hope into those two words.
“She will be more than safe here,” Inara assured. “We will treat her as our own.”
Gideon looked from Gwenyfer to Inara. “I would advise caution. You will not be able to stop yourself from loving her, but always know that she is not yours. She is Erador’s. Gwenyfer must know this also. Call her your ward or whatever you prefer, but I beg you not to call her your daughter. ’Tis a trap of the heart, for I will return when Erador is made safe again. On that day, I will see that she is seated on her throne, far from here.”
“I see a great alliance in our future,” Vighon remarked, eyeing the girl.
“I see great heartbreak,” Inara replied.
Gideon reached out and placed a tender hand on the queen’s arm. “I know I am asking a lot of you. I would have considered sparing you the inevitable pain and requested safe haven for her in Ayda, with your parents, but she must learn the ways of ruling from those who reign over man’s world. I know, with you, she will return to Erador all the stronger.”
“You were right to bring her to us,” Inara said, squeezing his hand. “Helping her frees you to help the people of Erador. It seems the least we can do to aid our neighbours.”
“I cannot stay long,” Gideon declared, stepping away from Inara to lean against one of the pillars and watch Gwenyfer play. “While I am here, though, I will try and help you and her with the language.”
“This is quite the campaign you’re setting out on,” Inara mused. “What of your plans for Drakanan and the eggs?”
“They have waited for thousands of years,” Gideon replied. “They can wait a little longer. Besides, I would prefer any dragons be hatched outside of a war. And whoever bonds with them will need committed time to training - I can’t do that while I’m fighting a war.”
“So you do intend to restart the order of Dragon Riders?” Vighon quizzed.
Gideon continued to watch Gwenyfer, his arms folded, while he contemplated the king’s words. “In time, yes. Though the time I speak of will sadly exceed your own.”
“Truly?” Inara questioned.
“If it takes me a hundred years to find a suitable Rider for just one egg then it takes a hundred years. I’m not going to rush it as I did with the Dragorn. I need time myself to understand what I want the order to be. All I know is… a time of dragons will come again.”
63
Creed
From the battlements of the Namdhorian barracks, nestled at the base of The Vengoran Mountains, Vighon Draqaro looked out, to the south, and saw his city, his home. It was a monument of natural rock and dressed stone that rose from the plains and stood proud over the wild land. It was a magnificent view, yet his eyes were so easily drawn to the young girl at his side.
It had only been a few months since Gideon had unceremoniously brought her into their lives, but the northman could feel his love deepening for Gwenyfer every day. She was sweet and kind while also being bold and sure of mind. The latter frequently led to daily tantrums, but Vighon had come to adore the comfort she sought upon calming down.
Vighon lowered his hand and ran his fingers thr
ough her copper hair. Gwenyfer turned her green eyes up to him and he saw the blanket she held in her hands. It was in desperate need of a wash but taking it away from the girl had proved to be about as hard as bringing down a Mountain Giant.
Footsteps on the wooden walkway turned the northman’s attention away. “Your Grace,” Seriah greeted with a bow. “Queen Gwenyfer’s lunch is ready.”
It still didn’t sound right to Vighon, but Inara had insisted on using the girl’s official title around others. She had argued that it was the only way to show the people who the strange girl living in The Dragon Keep truly was. It was also meant to be a way for Vighon and Inara to protect themselves to some extent. Publicly and regularly acknowledging that Gwenyfer was the queen of Erador kept them from adopting her in their hearts.
Such a plan, he knew, was useless.
Using a mix of both languages, Vighon ushered Gwenyfer to Seriah’s side. The small girl held her hands up at the familiar servant and clenched her fists repeatedly until she was picked up and carried away.
“She shows great resilience for a child, your Grace,” Sir Ruban commented beside the king. “She is quite remarkable.”
“That she is,” Vighon agreed, reaching out to grip the railing.
“Ah,” the captain continued, “here they are.”
Ruban’s remark drew the king’s eyes down into the barracks’ courtyard where twenty men and women filed out of a side door and lined up in four neat rows. They didn’t appear any more remarkable than the soldiers who patrolled the ramparts or the knights that formed the king’s guard. But it was not their appearance that was meant to set them apart. It was who had chosen them to stand in this very courtyard.
Inara strode out of a different door and placed herself squarely before them all. “Form one!” she barked.
The candidates reacted immediately, each drawing their sword from their back and falling into the first stance of the Mag’dereth in one smooth motion.
“Form two!” Inara yelled.
As one, the candidates flowed into the next stance, their blades rising over their heads.
“Face your partners in form three!” the queen commanded.
Without hesitation, the men and women turned to their pre-determined partner, the person they had been sparring with for over a month, and assumed the stance of form three.
“Begin!”
That command created a flurry of activity in the courtyard. Men and women, pitted against each other, met in a clash of steel and iron will, spreading into every corner.
“We always used training swords,” Sir Ruban said with a hint of concern.
Vighon chuckled. “Inara tells me it’s more about control than aggression. They have to learn when to strike and when to hold back at a moment’s notice, lest they make a mistake and—”
One of the candidates cried out in pain when their partner cut a gash down his arm. Vighon gestured to the pair as they had demonstrated his explanation with perfect timing.
“Stop!” Inara called, bringing a sudden end to the lesson. She walked across the courtyard and examined the young man’s arm. “This will need stitches,” she informed him. “Can you stitch yourself?”
“No, Commander.”
“Then you will learn,” Inara instructed. “Outside of these walls, you will have only each other and you will roam in pairs. Your partner is your greatest resource. You must learn to take care of each other.” The queen turned on the candidate who had failed to hold back. “That includes not hitting them with your sword, Daganar.”
“Yes, Commander,” he quickly replied.
Turning back to the injured candidate, Inara said, “You can still fight.”
“Yes, Commander,” the injured man replied, squeezing the hand of his wounded arm.
“That wasn’t a question,” the queen stated, before resuming her place outside the square. “Form four! Begin!”
Sir Ruban leaned in to the king’s ear. “I’m glad the queen wasn’t the commander here when I was training.”
Vighon agreed with a nod of the head and a wry smile. “And I thought The Ironsworn were brutal,” he said so only his old friend could hear him.
“You must be adaptable!” Inara continued. “Your enemy will not always come at you head on, or alone!”
Putting action behind her words, the queen freed Firefly of its scabbard and set upon the nearest candidate. They evaded her blow with just inches to spare. Their counter attack, swift and precise, caused Vighon to grip the railing until his knuckles whitened. Inara, however, met the counter attack with a sudden flourish of her blade and planted a strong kick into the candidate’s gut, launching her from her feet.
Unfortunately for Vighon’s nerves, it didn’t end there.
Inara pivoted on her heel and lashed out at not one, but two other candidates, drawing them in to battle. The queen moved deftly between them only to strike at others, increasing the number of opponents she faced. It wasn’t long before Inara was engaged in a reckless conflict with all of them.
Sir Ruban clearly shared the king’s concern and even moved to potentially intervene. “Wait,” Vighon ordered. “If you interfere now even I won’t be able to keep you safe.”
Inara danced around her opponents, always moving. More often than not, she tied the candidates up in knots, forcing them in to each other before they could attack.
“Your Grace, if even one of them—”
“I know,” Vighon interjected, his jaw tense.
One by one, Inara began to force candidates from the fight by either knocking them down or finding their opening with her blade. She was careful never to draw blood, but after weeks of sparring like this, they all knew when they were bested.
Only minutes after instigating the fight, Inara was the only one left standing in the middle of the courtyard, her chest heaving from the exertion. At last, Vighon was able to take a breath.
“From every corner of Illian,” Inara said, “hundreds of men and women like you made the journey, heeding my call for warriors. You are all that remain. But this is not the end. You still have a long way to go before you can call yourselves Guardians of the Realm. And make no mistake, only those I deem fit will carry the mantle of Guardian.” The queen glanced over them all. “Positions!”
The candidates ignored their new injuries and returned to their original formation in the square.
“Natharei! What is a Guardian’s first creed?”
Natharei raised her chin proudly. “A Guardian of the Realm holds back the darkness, Commander!”
Inara paced up and down the front row. “Givain! What is a Guardian’s second creed?”
Givain squared his shoulders. “A Guardian is to be the hope that carries the light, Commander!”
“Qirinn! What is a Guardian’s third creed?”
“A Guardian stands for those who cannot, Commander!”
Inara’s features softened. “Very good,” she praised. “Know that I have faith in all of you. If you keep true to yourself, you will be the first in a new order. Guardians of the Realm will be a symbol of peace and justice unlike anything that has come before, including the Graycoats of old. I will personally oversee your mandates and you will always have access to me.” The queen took a breath and sheathed her Vi’tari blade. “Now go and eat some lunch,” she said in a lighter tone. “Rollo, see to your arm!” she added sternly.
As the last candidate disappeared into the barracks, Inara turned on the spot and looked up at Vighon and Sir Ruban. “What do you think?”
“I think you are beyond reckless,” the king replied, making his way down the steps to join her.
“You doubt my skill, husband?” Inara challenged with a coy smile.
“I would never be so bold,” Vighon assured. “But it is not just you who could be hurt,” he said softly, his hand pressing against his wife’s stomach.
“There is no safer place for them,” Inara promised, clasping her fingers with his.
“There are safer
places for you,” Vighon felt he needed to point out. “Places where our unborn child isn’t at risk of Daganar’s careless swing.”
“I was never at risk,” Inara said, before planting a light kiss on the northman’s cheek. “You must let me do this without your constant fretting. What I’m doing here is important. It’s part of his legacy.”
Vighon nodded with a sombre expression. He knew well that Athis was rooted in the Guardians of the Realm. After all, it was the dragon’s own words that echoed in their creed.
“I trust you,” he uttered, returning her kiss with one of his own. “But you can’t blame a husband for worrying when his wife faces twenty of the best warriors in the whole country.”
Inara laughed and squeezed his hand as she stepped away, her gaze catching Sir Ruban on his way down the steps. “You haven’t told him yet?” she quietly enquired of the king.
“I wanted to do it together,” Vighon replied.
Inara flashed him an appreciative smile. “It should come from you though. You mean an awful lot to him.”
“I know.” The northman turned to regard his approaching captain. “Sir Ruban, since the queen is still in one piece, we will continue with our travel plans. Are we set for The Shining Coast tomorrow?”
“Of course, your Grace. I’ve already coordinated with the master of servants; we can leave at first light.”
The king nodded along, already aware of the schedule. “Excellent, though I’m afraid we will have to adjust some of our plans for the return journey.”
Sir Ruban’s face creased in confusion, bringing some of his scars together. “Your Grace?”
Vighon glanced at Inara. “After we’ve said our farewells to the queen’s parents, we’re going to stop in Velia.”
“Velia is most splendid in the spring,” the captain opined, oblivious to what was coming. “Queen Gwenyfer will love it.”
“We won’t be staying long,” the king continued. “Just long enough to inform Lord Gydon that his stewardship of Alborn is at an end.”
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