Still, no sign of his wife. Hopeful that one woman he picked out with velvet hair almost to her waist and a lithe frame could be Thania, he paced a little ways from his men. His heart sank when she turned, and an unknown face greeted him.
“People of Benez.” Nerian’s voice boomed above the din. The King stood on the palace’s walls with his arms outstretched, golden armor glinting. His lone bodyguard, dressed all in black with a long cloak to match, was only a few feet away. The noise from the crowd died. “I give you … the Unvanquished.”
Wild cheers followed. People danced and capered in the streets and threw hats high. Many showered the army with flowers.
“In honor of their return,” the King’s deep voice rose higher still over the cacophony, “games will be held in two months.”
The jubilation pitched to new heights. A tap on Stefan’ arm made him glance down.
“The King requires your presence immediately.” The man who spoke wore black. He was of average height with a face plain enough to fit in anywhere, but Stefan never forgot those eyes. The way the silver flecks within them shifted to hide the green of his irises was disconcerting and made them appear to witness everything at once. The man was Nerian’s bodyguard, Kahar.
How had he gotten down from the walls so quickly? Taken aback, Stefan paused for a few moments before he nodded, tossed his helm to Garrick, then dismounted to follow Kahar.
Without the bodyguard speaking or even making a gesture, the crowds parted before the sinuous man. Each person appeared oblivious to his presence, yet still made room for him to pass. Together, they strode up the steps, into the western tower, around winding stairs, and onto the battlements.
“Stefan,” King Nerian proclaimed. A wide smile on a face still wearing the past summer’s tan made him appear a darker shade than his usual olive. The King did not look as if he aged a day.
“Sire,” Stefan replied, going to one knee.
“Oh, my son, stop, no need for formality. Not here.” Nerian strode over, and they embraced, the King having to bend a ways to get his arms around Stefan.
Stefan was not a small man. At a little over six feet, he was taller than many a Setian, but next to the King he always felt small and not only from the man’s stature. Nerian was at least a foot, maybe two, taller than him. The King often reminded Stefan of the pictures of giants from books in his youth. In the three years since Stefan was last home, Nerian’s chest was wider, face more angular, his eyes harder. When Stefan met the King’s gaze, emerald beads came to mind.
“Let me look at you.” Nerian held him at arm’s length. “Not bad.” He pursed his lips. “A little worse for wear, but you look … healthy.”
“Same to you, sire. You’re more fit than I remember.”
“Ah, if only I felt that way.”
Mind drifting to Thania, Stefan gave a pensive frown.
“What troubles you?” Nerian asked.
“Where’s Thania? She’s never missed a day when I return.”
“Ah. Yes.” Nerian was grinning now. “She is well.” His voice lowered. “I am not supposed to be telling you this, but she prepared a surprise for you.”
Stefan arched an eyebrow.
“Not to worry. Trust me. You will love it.”
“Yes, sire.” Stefan still couldn’t help the trepidation gnawing at him.
“So,” the King’s demeanor became serious, “Cerny said you did not receive his message well.”
“The man’s overbearing and incompetent. Why did you promote him anyway? Because he’s an Alzari?”
“Yes, he can be.” The King paused for a moment. “Still, I had my reasons beyond him being a powerful Matii. Walk with me. Let us escape the crowds.” He nodded out toward the revelers in the streets.
A wind nipping at them, they walked in silence for some time until the palace’s battlements met with the city walls. Guards greeted them, bowing deeply to the King and putting fists to hearts at the sight of their Knight Commander.
They were traveling along the southern wall when finally Nerian spoke. “What do you think of what Cerny had to say?”
“Nothing good,” Stefan admitted, breath rising in feathery mists from the evening’s chill. “Why another war so soon? And against whom?”
The sun played off the King’s resplendent golden armor of interlocking plates as he stopped. His oversized hands gestured out to the vast city from the slums before the gates here in the south to the villas and spires rising up the slopes of the Cogal Drin Mountains to the north. Citizens crowded the streets. “For them of course, the people, the Setian. We deserve to rule all of Ostania as we did in the days of old.”
I thought you’d given up on that. Stefan suppressed a sigh.
A time existed when he and Nerian plotted on how to bring Seti and Ostania to their former glory, holding dominion over most of Denestia. But the Tribunal shattered those dreams when they united the Granadian kingdoms in its present empire under the ideals of Streamean worship. During the Luminance War, when the shade swept out of the Great Divide in Everland, Felan and then Seti itself ceded to the Tribunal for protection and assistance. The Felani, however, had recently broken away from the Tribunal. Still, with its influence stretching far into Ostania, the Tribunal was a near immovable force now.
As the thoughts flitted through his mind, a sense of satisfaction overcame Stefan. He and Nerian had managed to carve an empire for the Setian within Ostania. He could live with such success. A whisper of sound made him look over his shoulder.
A few steps behind, Kahar trailed. The King’s bodyguard was like a ghost, always seeming to fit in wherever he went, and most did not notice he was there until it was too late. The man’s too plain appearance, placid demeanor, and shifty eyes glinting with the dying sun gave Stefan the chills.
Bracing himself against the King’s possible anger, the Knight Commander said, “The men deserve a break, a time to rest. Haven’t enough died a hard death already?”
“Death’s always simple. We spend our entire lives dying.” Nerian shrugged.
Those words again. “Do you intend to resume our attempt to conquer the Nevermore Heights?”
Nerian’s brow wrinkled. “One day, not now. Our campaign starts in Everland with Erastonia’s fall.”
The words brought a slight relief to Stefan. He considered warning Nerian about the Svenzar, but first, he needed to voice a protest for his men. “I promised my men-”
“I know what you promised, and I commend you. Your words gave them something to fight for besides simple glory. ‘Give a man a purpose he believes in with all his heart, and he shall accomplish great things.’ You have taken the Disciplines and implemented them in ways well beyond my imagining when I taught them to you.”
Despite the concern for his men, Stefan’s chest swelled with pride. “So you’ll let them have some time before you start this new campaign? Or, at least seek volunteers first? Plenty among them would gladly remain soldiers.”
Nerian paused and rested a hand on Stefan’s shoulder. In his mentor’s shadow, Stefan felt inconsequential as if caught up by some irresistible force. A glimpse of regret flashed across Nerian’s emerald eyes.
“You are like a son to me, but I cannot promise you anything,” Nerian said. “I will try to limit how this reflects on you, but I must do what is best for our budding empire.”
“I understand.” Stefan resisted the urge to pull away from the King’s grip. “But it’s not right.”
“Come now.” Nerian chuckled and gave Stefan’s shoulder a squeeze before releasing. “You sound almost like the little boy I met all those years ago. Sometimes we need to be hard.”
“I know.” Stefan gave a half-hearted shrug as he stared off at nothing. “If there’s anything commanding men has taught me, it’s that one constant. Still, I don’t have to like this or what it means for men who have already spent most of their lives in service.”