Legacy's Edge

“Mother,” Alaric greeted, his voice echoing slightly as he crossed the threshold of the great hall. He stepped past two guardsmen standing just inside the doorway, both his men, and worked his way around the tables to the hearth at the back of the hall. Alaric himself bore the marks of battle, bruises, scrapes, and slight cuts on his arms, legs, neck, and face, yet now presented a cleansed visage, having washed away the vestiges of the fight earlier in the day. He’d even managed to grab some sleep and felt moderately rested.

Despite the warmth radiated by the roaring hearth, a pervasive chill lingered within the cavernous space, seeping into the very stones of the hall. Enveloped in a heavy gray woolen blanket that seemed to swallow her diminutive form, his mother occupied a chair of ancient make, positioned close to the fire.

The fire’s flickering light cast dancing shadows across Elara’s features, momentarily dispelling the weight of years and worry that lined her face. The hall, vast and echoing with the memories of countless gatherings, felt desolately empty. The only other soul present was Ezran, who halted at the entrance with the guards, his presence unobtrusive yet vigilant.

Alaric grabbed a stool, its legs scraping softly against the stone floor, and positioned himself beside his mother. Since she had not spoken in reply, he joined her in companionable contemplation of the fire, which crackled and occasionally popped loudly, the only source of sound in the otherwise oppressive silence. The moment stretched on, until the amplified quiet felt almost tangible.

That silence between them was a reflective pool, deep and still, allowing unspoken thoughts and emotions to swirl beneath its surface. In this sanctuary of stone and shadow, mother and son sat together, united not just by blood, but by the unyielding bonds of survival and the understanding that only those who have faced the precipice together can truly know.

Elara’s voice finally broke the stillness, her words weaving through the air like a delicate yet somber melody. “I wrote you multiple letters.” A faint tremor of her chin betrayed the steadfast calm of her demeanor. “You did not come. I would know why.”

“I never got them,” he confessed, his voice a low rumble, akin to distant thunder. “Had I received your summons, you know I would have returned sooner and on the fastest ship I could have found.”

She did not reply to that and the air between them thickened with unvoiced thoughts, the silence once again descending like a shroud, heavy and impenetrable.

Alaric exhaled deeply, the weight of his next words pressing down upon him. “The Crusade is lost, the Cardinal King done,” he admitted, the defeat resonating in his voice. It was a fact he had come to terms with, and yet he still had unresolved feelings rooted in guilt. “I brought less than half of my people home, and then some, warriors we picked up and adopted as our own, commoners too, families made, some sundered, refugees, skilled craftsmen who did not want to see the enemy rule over them.” Alaric paused. “I left too many behind… those who fell in service of a lost cause.”

Elara’s response was a sorrowful shake of her head.

“How did he die?” Alaric broached the subject that lay like a shadow between them. His voice, though steady, was laced with a pain that had not yet found its full expression.

“Your father?” Elara’s voice was a whisper, barely audible above the crackle of the fire.

“Yes, I’d like to know how he died.”

A profound sadness enveloped her; the plain sorrow in her eyes was as tangible as the cold that gripped the hall. She diverted her gaze back to the fire, its light painting her face with hues of orange and gold.

“It came on sudden,” she began, voice steady but laced with grief. “He grew sick and died two days later. The doctor said it was an inflammation of the bowels—a bad spirit had wormed its way into him.” She paused, her eyes distant. “Priests were called, but by then, there was nothing to be done.” Her voice broke on the last words, a fragile whisper lost to the crackling of the flames. “One moment, he was strong and healthy; the next, he was gone.” She shook her head slowly as she sucked in a breath that shuddered. “My great love was gone… leaving me behind and alone.”

Alaric’s gaze dropped, settling on the hands clasped tightly in his lap—sadness and regret churning within. The revelation of his father’s mortality, the man who had been an immovable force in his early life, stirred a whirlwind of emotions. His father had been a bastion of strength and resilience, an indomitable presence that shaped the very foundations of his world. Tough, demanding, and seemingly invincible—that his father was dead still in a way did not seem quite real.

“For a long time, I resented him for sending me away,” Alaric confided, his voice a soft murmur against the backdrop of the fire’s lively crackle. “I hated him for that.”

“I know. We had no choice.”

“But at the same time, I owe him a great deal,” Alaric continued, the words pulled from a place of deep reflection. “I would not be the man I am today without him. It took me years away from home to realize that.”

Elara’s gaze met his, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears reflected by the dancing firelight. “He loved you. It was painful for him to send you away, painful for us both, but the king ordered it done. He specifically asked for Dekar’s best for the Crusade, and your father sent you.”

“I was the firstborn and of age,” Alaric said, acknowledging the burden and expectation that came with his birthright. “With no brothers and sisters to speak of.”

“I bore your father six children. You were the only one that survived,” Elara revealed, her voice a delicate thread of sorrow. The magnitude of her loss, the depth of her resilience, was laid bare in those few words. “I thought your sister would live past infanthood, but… but… that was not to be.”

“And now I am home.”

“And as your father’s son, you are the earl.” Though spoken softly, her words resonated with the gravity of the role Alaric was to assume. “You will need to go to Royal Bridge and swear loyalty to the king.”

“I will,” Alaric affirmed, his tone resolute, a hardness creeping in. “But first, I will begin putting our house in order, straightening out things here. Then, when I am ready, I shall approach the king from a position of strength, not weakness.”

“Our house is broke. Banditry is rampant. Most of our people have fled or sought shelter somewhere. There is little strength left in Dekar.”

“What of our bannermen?” Alaric inquired, seeking to gauge the extent of their support or, from what he had seen, lack thereof.

“What of them?” Elara’s response was tinged with disgust, a clear reflection of the desolation that had befallen their allies as well.

“Are there any left?” Alaric pressed, seeking a glimmer of hope in the dire situation. He’d take any help he could get. “Anyone who’d lift a sword and stand by our side?”

“Jourgan, Duncan, Keever,” Elara enumerated. “They are all that remain, and they are just as impoverished as we are. They have little, if any, strength left. They hide behind the walls of their keeps and strongholds, barely daring to come out in the light of day. They do nothing to help deal with the lawlessness and banditry that has overtaken our and their lands.”

Alaric felt a flaring of disappointment at this news. “I have soldiers, all veterans.” A spark of defiance lit his eyes. “We will find the bandits, the rabble, and deal with them. I will bring order back to our lands, make them prosperous once more. The people will return, and more will come. We will rebuild and Dekar will flourish.” His words were not just a plan of action, but a vow, a pledge to restore the glory and prosperity of their ancestral lands.

“Strong words,” Elara observed, filled with both skepticism and hope.

“True words,” Alaric affirmed, his commitment unwavering.

“That will take money.” Elara’s gaze, sharp and assessing, sought to divine Alaric’s plans amidst the uncertainty that shrouded their future. Her practicality was born of years navigating the treacherous waters of nobility and the stewardship of their holdings. “How will you pay your soldiers? Where will the money come from to rebuild? Will you take a loan out from one of the dukes? Will you beggar yourself in debt? Neither of the kingdom’s dukes has ever been overly friendly to our house. The other earls, mostly yes, but not the dukes, the higher nobility.”

“We will need no loans. I returned home with a king’s ransom, literally.”

“What?” Elara’s reaction was immediate, her interest clearly piqued as she sat up straighter. “How? How did you manage that?”

“It does not matter how,” Alaric said, dismissing the particulars of his fortune as irrelevant to the current conversation. His focus aimed solely on the future. “All that is important is I have the funds we will need to restore our house and lands to their rightful place, perhaps, in the process, making our family stronger than it was.”

Elara reached out, her hand coming to rest on his arm, a gesture that bridged the gap of years and hardships they’d both endured. In that touch, there was strength, support, and the unspoken understanding that had always defined their relationship. She eyed him for a long moment, her gaze delving deep, seeking the son she had sent away, now returned a man changed by time and the hard trials of life. Alaric found her gaze almost painfully intense, noting the gauntness of her face, the lines that time had etched into her skin, marking the passage of years and the burdens they brought, making a once beautiful woman look frail and old. Then her gaze hardened once more, and she removed her hand.

“We have enemies,” Elara said bitterly, “amongst the nobility.”

It was Alaric’s turn to straighten at her words.

“I cannot help but think there are those who covet our lands, who seek to enrich themselves off our misfortune.” Her statement reflected the harsh realities of their world, where power vacuums were exploited by the ambitious and the ruthless. “They did this to us after your father passed, created the lawlessness, sent the bandits, undermined our authority, and in the process, bled us nearly dry to the point where we have been unable to pay the king’s taxes.”

Alaric’s response was a measured nod, his expression grave. The weight of his newfound responsibilities pressed upon him, not just to rebuild, but to protect what remained of their legacy. “Do you know who is responsible?”

“I have no proof, but I believe it to be Duke Laval. Masterson mentioned him a time or two in passing, as if he’d known the man. But still, we have no proof with which to go to the king. But even if we had such proof—that would be a wasted effort. You are an earl, he is a duke, and the king is weak, easily swayed.”

“Then he will bear watching, and we will take steps to limit what he can do to us,” Alaric declared, his decision immediate. The absence of proof did not equate to inaction; rather, it necessitated vigilance and action when required.

In the complex web of politics, Alaric knew that observation, patience, and information often proved as valuable as the sword. And acting when one needed to was just as important. Alaric had learned how to play such games, to be utterly ruthless when needed. Life amidst the Cardinal King’s court had taught him only too well. To be strong, you had to project strength. Showing weakness invited others to try to take advantage of you, and Alaric would not have that. If Laval wanted to play with Dekar, he would be playing with fire. And when one played with fire, it was easy to get burned.

“How many prisoners were taken?” Elara’s question shifted the focus. “They were an ignorant and brutish lot. But I’d know. How many of Masterson’s men survived?”

“Six surrendered to our forces. Three of those have sustained wounds which are mortal. They will not make it through the night.”

“What will you do with those that do?” The query, though simple, was laden with the complexities of leadership and the moral quandaries it entailed.

“They will be publicly executed,” Alaric stated simply, a harsh decree but one he deemed necessary. “We will make an example of them. But right now, they are being questioned. If there is anything useful to be learned, Grayson will find out. He has people skilled in interrogation.”

Elara nodded, her approval unequivocal. In the calculus of survival, such decisions, though grim, were often indispensable.

“There is hunger across our lands.” Alaric’s declaration was not just an observation, but a prelude to action. “I will send people to Kanar to buy what food and seed we can for spring. Do you believe the Earl of Kanar still friendly? I remember him as a kindly man, but that was more than a decade ago.”

“As far as I know, he is still a friend, though I have not corresponded with him for some time. He was always a friend of your father, a near-brother. They campaigned together in their youth. I believe he will welcome not only your gold, but also your friendship. He may even be convinced to offer support through strength of arms.”

Alaric’s nod was an affirmation of their shared understanding, an unspoken vow to leverage all avenues of support in the daunting task of restoration that lay before him.

The moment of strategic contemplation was interrupted by movement at the periphery of their awareness. Michael and Missa emerged from a side door that led to the kitchens. Together, they approached the fire’s light. Their subsequent bows were marks of respect and fealty.

“Do you require anything, my lord, my lady?” asked Michael. “The food stores from the supply train have been moved into the castle. I am told the cook died in the cells. If you wish, Missa can make you something or at least heat up some rations to make them more palatable.”

“No, thank you, I do not require anything.” Alaric dismissed the offer with a gentle wave of his hand, his attention swiftly shifting to his mother as he arched an eyebrow in inquiry regarding her own needs.

“Grayson saw me fed a short while ago,” Elara assured. “Camp rations are far from the worst fare I have ever had. I need nothing more for now.”

“Missa.” Alaric turned toward the girl with a decisive tone. “My mother needs a personal servant. You will act in that capacity, until otherwise told.”

“Yes, my lord,” Missa said, bowing her head in acceptance.

Alaric’s mother cast a curious glance at the foreign girl, then to him, her eyebrows knitting together in a mix of surprise and mild protest that he should make such decisions for her. “I did not say I needed someone,” she pointed out, her independence surfacing in her gentle objection.

“You did not have to,” Alaric countered firmly. “The staff that survived the dungeons are mere skeletons. Many are sick. They will need to recover before they are able to resume their positions and work.”

Elara, understanding the necessity behind Alaric’s decision, nodded in acquiescence. “Very well,” she agreed almost reluctantly, her gaze once more drifting to Missa, her eyes narrowing in appraisal.

Alaric decided he would follow up with both Michael and Missa to find out how his mother received her new servant. Elara was not an easy woman, and she could be quite difficult.

“Leave us,” Alaric said, signaling an end to the conversation. “Michael, I will send for you if I require anything further.”

With a final bow, Michael and Missa withdrew from the great hall, their movements respectful and measured. Their departure left Alaric and Elara alone once more, enveloped in the warm glow of the fire and the heavy silence.

“You must send to the king in the morning,” Elara reiterated. “He must confirm you as earl. Securing your title as earl is not just a formality; it is a critical step in securing our house’s future and legitimacy.”

“I heard there is a new king,” Alaric said. A change in the throne might complicate their plans. “Two years ago, right?”

“There is. His name is Silas. He is barely more than a boy, and weak at that, but still, he must confirm you. If he doesn’t, we have a problem.”

“He will confirm me,” Alaric asserted confidently. “I will be bringing a gift of gold.”

“When we asked for aid, he never sent any help,” Elara said bitterly. “In our time of need, our darkest hour, he did not come. No one was willing to step forward.”

Alaric found the young king’s inaction troubling. A ruler who did not support his subjects, especially his own sworn nobility, was failing in one of the fundamental duties of kingship. Such behavior did not bode well for the strength and unity of the realm.

“And if he doesn’t confirm you as earl?” Elara pressed. “What then?”

“Then he and I will have a problem,” Alaric stated plainly. The determination in his tone left no room for doubt; he was prepared to defend his claim and position, regardless of the opposition. He hardened his tone. “He will confirm me. I will give him no other choice but to do so.”

Elara eyed him for a long moment. “You have changed much since I last saw you.”

“I have,” Alaric acknowledged, a simple affirmation that carried the depth of countless battles, decisions, and sacrifices that had honed his resolve, sharpened his vision for the future, and shaped his views on life and how to make one’s way through it.

“And who is this woman you have brought home?” Elara asked. “Who is this Rikka?”

Alaric let go a breath. He glanced toward where Ezran stood at the other end of the hall with the two guards. He lowered his voice so that they would not be overheard. “You saw what she did outside your room against Masterson’s men, yes?”

Elara nodded and, in the same low tone, responded, “Magic.”

“She is a lumina,” Alaric said quietly so that only the two of them could hear.

Elara’s gaze sharpened. “She sought you out, didn’t she?”

“Not quite, but close enough. She said she was led to me.”

“And you have a Luminary within your retinue? I’ve seen her tattoos and ritual scars.”

“I do,” Alaric admitted.

Elara turned her gaze to the fire and stared into its depths. For a time, she did not speak, clearly thinking. Eventually, she looked back at him. “You know what this means?”

“Trouble,” Alaric said. “Something Grandfather and Father were looking to avoid and advised the same of me.”

Elara gave a slow nod as the heavy tread of boots against stone interrupted their conversation, heralding the arrival of Grayson. His entrance was marked by the urgency in his stride as he moved briskly across the hall and up to them.

“My Lady Elara, my lord,” Grayson addressed Alaric and his mother with a mixture of deference, respect, and concern. “We have a problem that will not wait.”

“Of course we do,” Alaric sighed, a brief closure of his eyes serving as a momentary respite before facing the latest headache. He reopened his eyes, ready to tackle whatever lay ahead. “This has to do with the prisoners and your questioning them?”

“It does, my lord,” Grayson said.

“Then speak. Let us get this out and into the open.”

“Until yesterday, it seems Masterson kept his plans to himself. His men did not really understand why they were here, other than for personal gain, or for that matter, who was really directing efforts to take control of Dragon Bone’s Rest and Dekar, who would profit from the disorder that’s been created.”

“What changed?” Elara’s query, sharp and direct, sought to uncover the root of this sudden shift.

“We did,” Alaric surmised. “My arrival changed the equation.”

“That is correct,” Grayson affirmed with a nod. “When we showed up, his men wanted to leave and were thinking of doing just that, abandoning him. They are mostly thugs and hired muscle. They wanted out before our company arrived to lay siege to the castle and trap them inside. A spy in town informed them a half hour before we came to the keep that you had come home with lots of men, veterans back from campaign. Masterson talked his men into remaining. He told them in three days’ time they were due to be relieved by an even larger force and there was nothing to worry about.”

“Relieved by whom?” Alaric asked.

“By Duke Laval. Masterson told them the duke was coming to return order to Dekar and take control. He said he had just received a message to that effect, that the duke would soon be on his way.”

Elara’s hiss was a visceral response to the mention of Laval. “I never liked that bastard. As a child, I could not stand Laval, not in the slightest. He is the worst of pigs.”

“The feeling apparently wasn’t mutual. Laval very much wanted you alive, my lady, or so Masterson claimed. That was the reason he never had you killed or harmed in any way.”

“Why?” Alaric asked, puzzled by the motives of their adversary, someone he could not recall ever having met. “Why would he do that, especially after turning Dekar upside down? Surely it would be easier to take control if my mother was dead.”

Elara was silent for a long moment, her gaze shifting to the fire. “Partly, I think it goes back to my youth. He courted me, sought my hand in marriage. I fell for your father, not him. He resented that and always has been holding a grudge.”

“I thought your marriage was arranged?” Alaric, surprised, sought clarification. “At least Father always said so.”

“It was,” Elara confirmed, her sigh conveying the weight of memories and decisions long past. “Our marriage was arranged by my father. He believed in a happy marriage for me, one based upon love, and knew my heart, who I wanted. So he made it happen, joined our two houses in union.”

“Grandfather did that?” Alaric asked. He had always recalled his grandfather as a hard man, much more difficult and overbearing than his father.

Elara gave a nod. “Laval never forgave him for that, or me.”

Alaric, attempting to grasp the full implications, wondered aloud, “So, this is over scorn and settling a score on account of you, Mother?”

“No,” Elara clarified. “Laval is only interested in power and wealth. Even back then, it was clear that was all he cared about. Mark my words, he means to take Dekar and increase his own holdings. That is his ultimate endgame. I’m just a prize he was denied, and he does not like being denied anything.”

“I agree with Lady Elara,” Grayson said, drawing Alaric’s attention. “By intentionally fostering disorder, he has a pretext to move in and scoop up Dekar. He could claim the instability and lawlessness had spread to his own lands, that his hand was forced, that he had to take action.”

“Without a man to lead this house, he would take me under his protection,” Elara said sourly, “effectively making him ruler of Dekar by proxy.”

Her words propelled Alaric to his feet. Just thinking about it disgusted him, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed plausible. He began pacing before the fire.

“With you alive, my lady,” Grayson added, his gaze on Alaric before shifting to Elara, “the king would be hesitant to displace you by raising up and appointing a new earl. More importantly, he would hesitate in upsetting one of his most powerful vassals, Laval.”

“The bastard,” Elara said. “I would be nothing more than a prisoner in my own home, while he lorded over everything. It would be a miserable existence, one much worse than Masterson provided.”

“So, Laval is marching on us now? He is coming here with soldiers?” Alaric sought confirmation, thinking ahead to what must be done.

“Not quite,” Grayson said. “I don’t think he has arrived yet to lead his men. They are apparently in disguise, at least four hundred men camping just over the border, on our side of the river, at a village called Tyfel. It is they who have been supposedly raiding our lands, creating havoc. It apparently began as a small force and over the months grew larger. They’ve been raping and pillaging, sending the goods they’ve taken back to Laval. At least, Masterson told the others that. But… he’s dead and can’t answer for himself.”

The revelation that four hundred men lay in wait, disguised and encamped within the boundaries of Dekar, painted a concerning picture, one that Alaric found very disturbing. These were not distant threats, but immediate dangers, orchestrators of the raids that had plagued their lands, sowing chaos, and weakening Dekar’s defenses, forcing his people to flee their homes and fear for their lives. Alaric rubbed his jaw and stopped pacing. “Are you sure about this, certain?”

“Certain?” Grayson asked with a shake of his head. “No, I am not certain. Most of what we got from interrogation was secondhand, and likely some of it is nothing more than rumor, exaggeration, men jawing amongst themselves after Masterson told them what he did and why, blowing things out of proportion. However, what I told you is what I was able to piece together. I feel it is fairly accurate, enough for us to reasonably act upon.” Grayson paused. “Then again, to be honest, there may be others who are involved, some of our neighbors, who seek gain in the destruction of your house, my lord. They may be working with Laval or even against him. We don’t yet know the full story.”

“As you said, Grayson, we now know enough to act,” Elara said, “and they grew bolder with their success, bold enough that Laval himself is coming to take my home. We cannot allow that to happen.”

Grayson nodded his agreement. “All Masterson’s men needed was to hang on for three days, maybe four at most, and then they would all be rewarded, well paid for their work when Laval arrived. With the walls of the castle, Masterson did not think holding out would be a problem.”

“Obviously, he was wrong,” Elara said.

“Tyfel, you said?” Alaric asked, to which Grayson gave a nod. “I recall that being a forest village on Laval’s border. My father took me there once on a hunting and fishing trip. The village sits along a wide river.”

“That is correct,” Grayson said. “The river is the boundary between Dekar and Laval.”

“Tyfel has been abandoned for some time,” Elara said. “Since the troubles began. From Laval’s point of view, it is a good place to establish a base, remote and hidden away from prying eyes. There used to be a wooden bridge there, built in your grandfather’s time, but it washed away during a bad storm when I was a child. A ferry was set up in its place.”

Alaric looked to Grayson. “How long of a ride is it to Tyfel? Do you recall?”

“Maybe half a day’s hard ride. Two and a half marching depending upon the condition of the road. We can probably do it in two, maybe less if we push the men some. What are you thinking, my lord?”

“If we move fast enough,” Alaric said, “before word of what happened here reaches them, we might be able to surprise this force, wipe it out, and send a message to Laval and anyone else that we are not to be messed with.”

“You would be attacking Laval’s men, his soldiers,” Elara cautioned. “The king and our peers might frown upon that.”

“I don’t care if they do.” Alaric pointed at the stone floor. “They are on our lands, and it’s time to show strength, real power, set an example that cannot be mistaken. If I don’t demonstrate it now, no one will respect me or our family again. Laval will only be the start of our troubles. Besides, they are acting as bandits, raiders, and that is all the provocation and justification I need. If we can get to them before Laval does, all the better.”

“You could be starting a war,” Elara warned. “Especially if Laval or one of his children is amongst them.”

“Maybe,” Alaric said, thinking about all that needed doing. “If he was among them, they’d already be marching.”

“And what happens if he’s already on his way?” Elara said. “What will you do if you encounter him and his soldiers on the road to the keep?”

“Then I will convince him to return from whence he came,” Alaric said in a hard tone, “by sword if needed.”

Elara’s look was a hard one. “That is something your father would have said.”

“What are your orders, my lord?” Grayson asked.

Alaric thought for a moment. “Send our best scouts. Give them the fastest horses we have, mine included. I want eyes on this force at Tyfel. I need to know exactly what we are facing.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Get the men ready to go, along with sufficient supplies, food, and water. We will give them a few hours of rest, then we march before dawn, and we march hard. I know it has been difficult for our boys, but this cannot be helped.”

“I understand, my lord,” Grayson said. “They will handle it.”

“Notify Mayor Nightwell that the militia will be going with us, but don’t tell anyone where we’re headed or what we will be up to. We are going to need every available sword for this, along with the element of surprise.”

“I will also post men outside the town to watch for messengers that might run to this force with the intent of bringing word, my lord,” Grayson said.

“Good idea,” Alaric said with a pleased nod.

“Anything else, my lord?” Grayson asked.

“The bannermen—”

“What of them?” Elara said, interrupting before Alaric could continue. “They are useless. When help was needed, they came not.”

Alaric sucked in a breath. He turned back to Grayson. “Send a messenger to each. Like the militia, do not tell them where we are going or why. Designate a point and a specific time for them to meet up with us en route, somewhere not too obvious, in the event they have been working with Laval and cutting side deals. My orders to them: They are to immediately march. I expect no hesitation and will not tolerate delay.”

“What if they don’t come, my lord?” Grayson glanced at Alaric’s mother. “What if they sit tight?”

“Instruct the messengers to inform them in no uncertain terms that when I am done restoring order to Dekar and putting down our enemies, I will march on their keeps and remove them by force. Their families will be turned out and all they own will be confiscated. I will have bannermen who are loyal to me and Dekar, not to mention responsive. I will tolerate nothing less.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Now,” Alaric said, “carry out my orders.”

“As you command, my lord, so shall it be done.” Grayson bowed and retreated, leaving him with his mother.

Alaric moved to the fire once more and held out his hands, warming them against the chill on the air.

“You risk a lot, my son. If this goes badly, we could lose everything.”

Alaric gave an understanding nod as he glanced over at his mother. “I well know it. But if I do nothing, we are certain to lose everything. In my book, action is always preferable to inaction.”

“This may lead to war.”

Alaric turned his gaze back to the fire, staring into its depths. “Mother, war and killing is something I have become quite good at. It does not frighten me.”