Rydan: Son of No Man Series, #1

By D. Lambert

These are the first steps along the path to conquest. Tread lightly.

 

Born Esparan but raised in isolation, Tohmas Galanth wavers between blood and upbringing. Called north to defend the family he never knew, he must inspire Espar to rally, lest the invading Northlander forces conquer the land between the Ice Oceans and Outland Plains.

 

But Tohmas is not the naive commander his enemies or his allies expect. War is in his blood. He will not be deterred, though remnants of a crushed Rydan clan seek his head for a secret crime, and the Northlander chief readies a legendary dragon-wing axe for his throat.

 

His allies are no less eager to spill his blood. The Princes of Espar bicker for supremacy, unaware that the greatest threat to them all is Tohmas himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: 4 Horsemen Publications
• Release date: Aug 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781644502808

Book preview

Chapter 1

The road was cold in the gloom, forcing the party to take their time. Daylight had melted the snow under the passage of feet and carts, but as the sun disappeared over the hills, the mud froze into ankle-turning ridges. Tohmas was disappointed to discover that Esparan horses were not as sure-footed as the Rydan steeds he was accustomed to. If one fell, he would be hard-pressed to replace i t locally.

At Tohmas’ side, Carsh’s stallion, Bashuran, snorted, nostrils flaring and casting a fog in the chill. Likely scenting the cooking fires ahead, the stallion danced eagerly, but Carsh kept the enormous horse reined in. Bashuran grunted his opinion but obeyed.

The lit windows of Homestead, set atop one of Clandac’s rolling hills, became clearer once the town was no longer silhouetted by the sunset. It was small by Esparan standards, yet larger than any Rydan encampment. There would be hundreds of people within, possibly thousands. He checked his sword and, without turning his head, verified that Carsh was equally prepared.

The thought made him smile. When was Carsh not prepared? The Rydan had a knife in hand, another two dozen on his baldrics, and a long blade on his belt. Bashuran would also make quick work of any threat. Usually two hands taller than other steeds in the region, the warhorse had a penchant for trampling things and could not be matched in speed or muscle. It made Tohmas miss his mare. The gelding he rode, Honest Justice, was a decent warhorse, but after growing up on the explosive power of the Outlands’ steeds, Justice felt too tame.

He reminded himself of the dozen protectors with him, each sworn bodyguards of commendable prowess, something he had not gotten used to yet. If nothing else, they were an obvious deterrent to thugs or thieves. What brigand would dare attack a Prince of Espar?

Prince Dragal of Clandac was an ally, Tohmas had been told.

Homestead was far from battle lines. The stone-stacked buildings were under greater threat from age and rain than invasion. The village did not even have a wall or lamps along the roads. As they crossed the bridge at the base of the hill and made their way up the dirt roads, the protectors lit torches.

Talon Vallant, a veteran of the last prince’s ranks, dismounted and led the way through the village square. He stopped at an adjacent building. By the rounding of the wayward side stones, the farmhouse was likely the oldest in the village. Walls laced with ivy, it stood in a small yard bordered by a stone fence. The firelight within was bright in the early evening.

Vallant spoke to the posted guards at the knee-high gate, who appeared to recognize him. Once Vallant had handed over one of Tohmas’ tokens, the guard rushed into the house, the token clasped in his thickly-gloved hands. Tohmas wondered if the guard had noticed Vallant’s rank had changed.

Tohmas squinted in the poor light. Six guards stood in the yard, each with the green rank ropes of a protector over a shoulder. Although they all wore quilted overcoats in the cold, their tabards differed. One group wore blue and gold, the colors of Prince Dragal Galanth of Clandac. The other group had red tabards with black shield emblems on their chests. They belonged to Prince Sol Galanth of Solta.

The two princes were sharing the duty of keeping watch. They trusted each other.

Once the protectors have permission, they will admit you, Vallant said as he returned to Tohmas’ side. The old soldier had dismounted, but his horse followed him as if on a lead.

Tohmas looked at the door to the house. He would have to duck to get through its smoothed stone arch.

I could walk in there, he mused.

Yes, princes cannot be refused entry, Vallant allowed. He pursed his lips, stretching his mustache. But you’d not be making a good impression with your uncles.

Uncles. He had to remember that these men were his relatives.

The older man walked away and joined the ranks of the protectors that had spread out behind Tohmas in a defensive semi-circle. Most dismounted and stood by their steeds to better fill the space.

Carsh, mounted beside him, snorted like Bashuran, his half-laugh truncated. Bah, dohn madder.

It matters, Tohmas corrected gently. We play this by their rules for now.

Yadda, yadda, Carsh grumbled. He took a surreptitious glance around. A handful of protectors stood at the ready just out of earshot. Not only was Tohmas still wearing his weapons; he was also accompanied by his prime protector, Carsh. None of the men had any reason to fret over his well-being.

But the protectors were from his father’s reign—they hardly knew or trusted Carsh. They accepted the Rydan as a superb fighter, but no one seemed entirely positive where his loyalties lay.

Why naw chief? Carsh complained.

They don’t have a chief, but it amounts to the same thing. Princes are just leaders with a fancy title.

Be bedda ta Chief.

If they had a single chief, Tohmas replied, they’d be unified. He left that thought hanging for the Rydan. Espar was divided into princedoms, each ruled by a prince who had his own allies and enemies. It was confusing, but it was also why he had been sent north, as Carsh knew. So long as the Esparans did not see the danger, they were vulnerable.

The trick was to never let them realize it.

Your accent is getting worse, Carsh, Tohmas said. That bastardization of Esparan and Rydan is—

Bedda fun! Carsh finished with another sharp-toothed grin. His voice dropped quickly into a hush. We be trustin’ tem, brudda? The Rydan was uneasy—Carsh tended to dance on his feet when he was nervous—but Tohmas did not believe the anxiety was founded.

A more immediate concern was the choice of title.

Do not call me that, Tohmas whispered back.

Carsh’s long hands came up. I be forgedin’. I be careful, he promised, but his rolled eyes and half-smile said he was not, by any means, apologizing for the slip.

Movement at the farmhouse caught Tohmas’ attention. The protector messenger had returned.

This way, Prince Tohmas, the man invited, sweeping his arm in a grandiose gesture to indicate the path from the yard to the thick door.

Only your prime protector should attend. We will wait here for you, my Prince, Vallant said with a wry smile. Two of the protectors took up posts within the yard, joining the Clandac and Solta soldiers flawlessly.

As if we trust each other. Good for appearances.

Tohmas dismounted from Justice and, checking his weapons once more, passed through the gate. Carsh followed in his shadow, bone knife in hand.

The room beyond the low doorway was hot, a large fire blazing in the hearth. Several fresh logs had been added; the night was young for the occupants. Atop the mantle, three tankards stood in a row, so worn by handling that their engraved crests had lost all relief. Dried herbs and flowers hung low from the rafters.

Sound would not travel far in this space.

Two men stood from their seats as Tohmas entered, leaving their own tankards on the pitted table. One was older than even Vallant, with white-blond hair and beard. His features were angled and stark, like a statue given life. The second man was shorter than the statue by only a few fingers, leaving him tall enough to see over Honest Justice’s withers. Although he was bulky, the man, blond-haired and blue-eyed like any Esparan, looked fatherly.

They matched their protectors outside: Prince Dragal, the great statue, wore blue and gold. Prince Sol, Dragal’s younger brother, wore his red and blacks.

Behind each man, trapped against the wall in the small space, stood the princes’ prime protectors. Dragal’s was a brute of equal height and thick muscle who had a sword on each side of his belt and a scar cutting through his mustache. The other prime protector, two heads shorter than any of the room’s occupants, wore no armor. His loose, red robes embossed with black billowed around him as if to hide the man’s pot belly and disproportionately thin arms. The rope on his shoulder was still the green and black of a prime protector, but it had been pinned to the sleeve instead of tied in place around armor straps.

He unnerved Tohmas. The invisible weight of magic, unseen and unfathomable, hovered around the squirrelly man.

Tohmas straightened to his full height, his head touching the lowest-hanging dried lavender. He was younger than Prince Sol by at least two decades, but he would not let that undermine his position. They would think him inexperienced, and that was necessary, but he would not allow them to intimidate him.

Tohmas took two long strides into the room, and grabbed a tankard from the mantle. The silver tree emblem that matched the crest on his chest made it clear which was his.

He placed the cup on the table and stood beside the chair, matching the other two princes.

I invited my brother, Habal, to this conference, Dragal said, his narrowed eyes sending deep wrinkles around his frown. What, by the five hells, is going on with my brother that he would send a messenger without warning us?

You do not recognize me, Uncle? Tohmas asked, keeping his voice light as he removed his heavy coat and laid it over the chair he had selected. There might have been a set order to who sat where, but he had never been to a meeting of princes. He picked the closest seat. The old wood creaked under his weight as he sat.

Prince Dragal’s glower did not change, but Prince Sol squinted at Tohmas pensively as they slowly took their seats to mirror him. The younger brother, Tohmas recognized, was less of a warlord, more of a thinker.

Tohmas? Prince Sol asked, realization dawning slowly. His eyes widened. Little Tohmas?

With a nod and a polite smile, Tohmas picked up the pitcher from the center of the table, not caring what the contents were. Little? he said, filling his tankard. I am not so little anymore, Prince Sol. All he could smell now was lavender.

No, but it has been at least ten years since—

Fifteen years, Tohmas corrected. He had memorized the dates. It has been a while. Unlike the bitter tang of familiar wildwater, the ale was buttery and stuck to his tongue when he took a sip. It combined poorly with the lavender scent. He struggled not to make a face.

A while? Sol echoed. More than just ‘a while,’ Nephew. But what… why are... where is Habal? His eyes flicked up to where Carsh had taken a place behind Tohmas, matching the other princes’ prime protectors. Tohmas saw Prince Sol register the green and black rank rope on Carsh’s shoulder, tied to the bare-chested man’s baldric.

His brow furrowed.

Tohmas drew a long breath. Prince Habal is dead, he said, his voice filled with grief.

Sol lowered his head, his mouth drawn into a tight line under this beard.

Dragal slammed his hand onto the table, and the room jumped. Tohmas fought to keep his hand off his sword. When? the eldest prince snapped.

The thirty-seventh of the Eighth Mooncycle. He felt Carsh approach over his shoulder, ready to intervene, but there was no fight here. Dragal’s prime protector had not reached for weapons despite being startled.

But neither of them could gauge the wizard. Carsh’s proximity was appreciated.

Your father has been dead for a halfcycle, and you did not see fit to inform his brothers? Dragal accused next.

I needed my feet under me before Espar found out. This was the best opportunity I had. I sent couriers to Prince Barnon and Prince Deiton. They will know within a day or two. He was less confident mentioning Deiton. The man was a member of the family and considered a son of Zayban by marriage, but he was a widower. By Tohmas’ account, the man had no connection left, but the Esparans insisted they were still family.

Esparan way, he reminded himself. Although Tohmas looked the part, it did not come easily.

With Prince Dragal briefly appeased, Prince Sol had the opportunity to speak. He looked up with a bleary stare, his words choked. Who killed your father?

It was time for lies.

No one, Tohmas replied, taking time to meet the stares of each prince in turn. At first light on the thirty-seventh, he rose in full health. By midday, he had collapsed from illness. He was dead by nightfall. There was no time to call for any of you, and there was nothing more the cutters could have done for him.

The satisfied stare of Prince Sol fell to the table. Prince Dragal held Prince Tohmas’ gaze, seeming unhappy with the reply.

It did not surprise Tohmas that the eldest prince would have preferred to see his brother die gloriously. The mention of sickness would remind the princes that they were all old enough to have grown children. Although Dragal had no sons of his own, he had two sons-in-law, and Tohmas wondered whether the Prince of Clandac feared finding one of them at this table in the coming year.

In the pause, the fire crackled loudly. Something in a log exploded, and a fresh wave of heat filled the room, making Tohmas’ skin prickle with sweat. Smoke overpowered the smell of lavender at last.

I have brought the ashes with me, Tohmas offered. I expect you will want to pay your respects. It was fortunate that the Esparans insisted on the cremation of those who had died of disease. There was no body for them to investigate, and his excuse prevented them from being alarmed by the lack of a corpse.

You sent the others missives, yet you came here, Sol said. He raised his stare once more. Why?

I knew you would be here, Prince Sol. I came to discuss the situation with your borders.

Dragal harrumphed like a porcupine. What interest is the Northlander War to you?

A force of tens of thousands is invading through the north, trying to claim all of Espar. Of course, it is of interest to me, Tohmas replied. "If they reach Galanth’s borders, my borders, I will be standing alone. I thought it wise to intervene early."

And what would your father say of that? What do you know of war, boy? Dragal grumbled. He took a long drink from the tankard, the ale spilling down his white whiskers.

Tohmas had known it was bound to happen. Boy. He was too young to understand the complexities of war.

Despite how his uncle’s voice had risen, Tohmas kept his level. I am not playing a game. I know this is real. It was Habal who insisted I approach you. Everyone else has ignored it for a decade.

Everyone, including Clandac and her prince.

Dragal’s face flushed sharply.

I do not have that luxury, Prince Sol interrupted before the Prince of Clandac could put words to his anger. Every year stretches me thinner. If I can hold them at BellRoost for another few years, they might get tired.

Might? Tohmas asked, ignoring how the eldest prince was now staring him down with seething contempt. He had given the princes something else to think about for the moment. You do not sound confident.

I will not abandon my land, Prince Sol replied with a spark of anger, but I have stopped expecting much from Inac these days. The Goddess of Victory wants nothing to do with us.

Then force her to take notice. I came to pledge four thousand men, Prince Sol, plus myself, my protectors, and the wizard, Kitable.

Do not be stupid, boy, Prince Dragal spat. You do not have enough men. This is not the way to honor a dead prince! You could lose all Galanth by galivanting off. You would undo all your father had achieved!

Tohmas smothered his desire to set the older man straight and tried to think like an Esparan.

If my borders were at risk, I would not have come, Tohmas said with forced calm. Galanth is secure, I assure you.

What of your south border? Prince Sol asked. I heard of fighting among the Rydans. He indicated Carsh with his stare. There was no mistaking Carsh’s heritage; he was as tall as Tohmas but half his weight, pure muscle with skin darker than an Esparan’s. His dirty-blond hair was so thick with filth, it could be slicked back out of his face, and he had his SoulCatchers—grass bracelets with bones—around each wrist. Carsh could not be recognized as anything except a Rydan.

Their squabbles are resolved, Tohmas said as Carsh gave Prince Sol a toothy grin. Prince Sol was the first to break the stare.

And now you count one of theirs as your closest defender, Prince Dragal groused.

Tohmas smiled. I do. Talks of the Outlands are better suited to trade. I came here to talk about war, Uncle. He nodded to Sol. I want to help you.

Sitting uncomfortably straight, Prince Sol clenched his hands on the table. We are sorely outnumbered, he confessed.

Have we done a call to Trulin? Or Gaidol? Or Lour? Tohmas asked.

None of them are allies, Prince Dragal argued.

Do they have to be? Tohmas replied. It is to their benefit to deal with these raiders. If we marched north with a call–

You are suggesting putting your princedom at risk by sending men into a war where they are outnumbered three to one! Dragal chastised.

Better than four to one, Tohmas said, which is where it sits now. Would you not say so, Prince Sol?

The Prince of Solta had his jaw firmly clenched, and Tohmas strongly suspected he was biting his tongue.

At length, Prince Dragal, gravel in his voice, spoke. You are being reckless.

As tempting as it was to correct him, Tohmas waited. His eyes were on Prince Sol, looking for the answer from the only person whose decision mattered now.

Prince Sol remained silent, his head lowered in thought. When he became aware of the silence in the tent, he cleared his throat. We should talk on the morrow. Tonight is better suited to a vigil.

Tohmas sat back and blinked. Of course, they would want to mourn their brother first. He sobered his voice. I have Prime Guardian Vallant outside; he claims he knows this town well. He can arrange a place.

The silence joined the heat in making the room uncomfortable. Tohmas caught the stony gaze of the eldest son of Zayban, wondering not if he had overstepped, but by how much.

If we cannot be at our brother’s pyre, we must send our prayers through other means, Sol said gently. Talks of war can wait. I will summon a celebrant.

Tohmas rose, leaving the cup on the table. He bowed his head to the two princes and excused himself to make preparations. We can speak in the morning, he finished as he dodged the low-hanging herbs and made his way out, Carsh one step behind him.

Dragal’s glower followed him out of the sweltering room and back into the chill of the late-winter evening.

As they left, Carsh checked that no one was following. The reputations of the princes labeled them men of action when slighted. If they knew even half of the lies Tohmas had spoken, they would have sought his head.

Vallant and the protectors, soldiers who should have been answering to Carsh but still defaulted to their old commander, met Tohmas outside the small stone wall.

We’ll need somewhere to sleep, Tohmas said. And the ashes must be taken to their local temple, if possible. Sol— He caught himself. Prince Sol says he will organize a celebrant for the vigil.

Vallant was a veteran of too many years to waste time on words. With a single nod, he accepted the commands and gave his orders.

Tohmas leaned against the stone wall and watched the commotion in the deepening dark, his coat left open to release the remaining heat from the farmhouse.

Carsh hopped up, crouching atop the wall like a bird beside Tohmas. Wad o’ Flya? he asked.

Tohmas cringed. He understood men of the sword, but men of words and wands were a mystery he distinctly disliked. The short man in glasses standing behind Prince Sol had made him nervous. He did not know how to handle wizards.

Wizards are not the same as flyers, Tohmas said, not for the first time. Wizards won’t do what flyers do. It was an oversimplification, but it was the only distinction Tohmas had been able to make. Until he had come to Galanth, Tohmas had never heard the word wizard before, but the Esparans seemed convinced that casters who were wizards could be allies. Master Kitable of Galanth, a wizard of exceptional skill who had been sworn to Prince Habal of Galanth and was now sworn to Tohmas, was considered the perfect example.

But then, Esparans did not seem to know the word flyer. All casters in the Outlands were considered flyers, and they were killed as swiftly as they were discovered. All casters in Espar were wizards, prized and rare.

Was there a difference at all?

Bud’ ee could, Carsh warned.

Yes, a wizard could put a spell on our minds or conjure stones to drop on us or... Tohmas shook his head to shake the notion. Nearby, Bashuran stomped his feet impatiently and tossed his long mane.

Don’t get your hopes up, Tohmas continued. That wizard is not going to attack us without Prince Sol’s blessing, and princes do not kill princes, or so they keep telling me. I am one of them, remember. I am the son of a prince and now a prince in my own right.

Can naw be trustin’ Flyas, Carsh advised. He did another check of the area but returned to Tohmas’ side disappointed.

There would be plenty of time for fighting. Carsh was not the only one looking forward to it.

While the protectors took the supplies to a requisitioned house in Homestead, Tohmas was escorted to the temple for the vigil. This time, Carsh had to stay out.

At least the prayers to the Wind God Totho were familiar.

The backwater town, selected for being uninteresting and well ensconced within Clandac’s borders, had a single temple. Sol placed the urn containing his brother’s ashes at the base of the wall under the carved stars of Totho. The draft through the alcove brought a chill, but the braziers heated their backs as they sat on the cold stones.

Four thousand men. Sol could not get his nephew›s words out of his mind. His brothers had been offering supplies at excellent rates during his conflict with the Northlanders, but none of them had been willing to spare actual soldiers. Plus, a wizard. Better still, Master Kitable himself. Resources, men, magic... He needed it all.

He glanced at Tohmas. The new Prince of Galanth sat on the ground a few feet away, wearing a green armband in honor of Galanth’s colors as Sol and Dragal did. He had the Galanth family height and broad chest, but there the similarities between them ended. Tohmas had inherited most of his features from his mother’s side; his beard was red-tinged and his hair dark blond. He was far more soft-spoken than Sol expected for a son of Habal, and where had he learned to sit with his legs half-folded and tucked under him? Sol had to admit it would allow his nephew to rise rapidly, but it did not look comfortable.

He tried to focus on the urn and the vigil. If he could reach out to Habal’s spirit, perhaps he could find peace with the decision he had to make.

If Habal had made the offer, Sol would not have hesitated. But to hear it from a man of only twenty-some years whose hold on power was not even a mooncycle old, did not instill Sol with confidence. Sol did not believe Galanth could spare the soldiers or the wizard.

Tohmas was being reckless, just as Dragal said. Like all young men, Tohmas wanted his name written in history. Sol could not take advantage of the inexperience of his brother’s only son.

But Solta needs help. Despite his purported optimism about holding for another year, it had been evident years ago that he would not win this war. Year after year, the battles dragged on, and Sol watched the loss of his princedom, and possibly his life, slowly advance south with the Northlander hordes. The Princedom of Solta was all but lost.

Would Tohmas’ four thousand men be enough? Even if they failed to drive the Northlanders out, perhaps they would be able to keep them back and establish a new border. But the hordes had come together under a single commander, and this DoomDragon did not seem ready to stop at a border. Could Sol justify dragging his nephew into a lost cause?

And what of the wizard? Master Kitable was an advantage Sol did not wholly understand. Master Clarin, Sol’s prime protector, had been vital to their success thus far, limited though it was. The enemy had casters, and Clarin prevented that from being Solta’s downfall. Alone, Clarin had only been able to act defensively. With Master Kitable, they may be able to press the magic confrontations into a counterattack.

If we defeated the enemy’s casters, will the magical advantage lead to victory? Dare I hope for victory at all?

Desperately, Sol stared at the urn, wishing with all his soul that Habal was alive to answer his many questions.

Dawn crept in, the grey of morning lingering in the north-facing stars. None of them moved until the bells tolled the morning service for Pari.

Sol’s mind spun with possibilities.

Rising slowly to allow the blood to return to his legs, Sol sent a final goodbye to his older brother in his prayer.

Get some food, Dragal interrupted. We will talk after we eat.

Although Dragal’s eyes were red in the firelight, Sol knew his older brother had not shed tears overnight. Dragal had taken after their father. He had little patience for emotions of any kind.

The Prince of Clandac marched out of the temple, and the thick crowd of incoming worshipers parted around him.

Tohmas did not follow; he disappeared down the corridor to the corner of the Goddess Inac. Considering the discussion of war, homage at the feet of the Goddess of Fire, War and Victory seemed practical.

To Sol’s surprise, Talon Vallant met Sol at the temple’s door. The worshipers of Pari, pressed flowers on their collars proudly, choked the entrance. He had not thought the village contained so many people, but with the surrounding farmland, the villagers would be worshipers of the God of Earth and Beasts. None of them seemed to recognize the prince among them.

Allow me, good prince, the old prime protector offered. With confidence borne out of years of experience, he marched forward. The crowds moved aside, and Sol followed in his wake.

In the growing sunlight, they stopped by the temple’s forked entrance path. Sol struggled for a moment on how to address the man he had always called Prime Protector for Habal, but the red and black rank rope on the man’s shoulder solved his dilemma.

Thank you, Prime Guardian. This is why I prefer the larger temples. Four entrances, you see.

Vallant shrugged, drawing attention to the lack of his trademark sword over his shoulders. Small towns, small temples. It was my pleasure.

Before the Prime Guardian could depart, Sol added, Have you a moment?

Of course, good prince. A walk?

Sol nodded curtly and led the way from the temple and into the streets of Homestead. All too soon, the road ended, and Sol was on the outskirts, looking over the hills.

He decided to continue the walk around the small town, Vallant complacently following. Since Vallant was giving him the first word, Sol ventured, Prime Guardian now, I see.

The old fighter snorted and looked down at his rank rope in disgust. Promotion or demotion? I still am not sure.

Side-motion, Sol suggested. Just more administrative work, tracking a city’s soldiers instead of your protectors.

Do not worry about my ego, Vallant said. I’m grateful the prince had the sense to keep me around. He gave me the capital to command. We all expected him to take a new prime protector. He needs someone he knows.

Sol cleared his throat, lacing up his collar as he walked. He was grateful he was not expected to wear armor among family, unlike the protectors, but he would have appreciated warmth.

Yes, I was going to ask about that, he said. Just how well does Prince Tohmas know this...this...

Carsh, Vallant supplied.

First name or second?

Only name. If he has a second, I have never heard it.

So, Sol tried again, how well does he know this Carsh? He is Rydan, is he not? Where did he come from?

I do not know.

Sol stumbled. As Habal’s prime protector, Vallant had been responsible for everything related to Habal, including any friends Tohmas, as the heir, was keeping. How could he not know the man Prince Tohmas considered his best defender?

Care to explain? Sol prompted when the prime guardian did not elaborate.

Vallant’s face darkened with a frown, and he shrugged once more. Before he showed up in Wayburn, I had never met Carsh. We assumed Prince Tohmas befriended the Rydan when he was away.

Away? When was he away? A farmer’s cart rattled past them, and Sol paused to allow it to cross into the town. He searched his memory. It had been many years since he had seen his nephew, but suddenly that fact seemed strange. He had visited Habal several times over those fifteen years. Why do I not remember seeing Tohmas? Why did Habal not mentioned him?

A bemused smile appeared under Vallant’s beard as his eyes went distant. The clattering cart passed, and they resumed walking. You remember how much Habal loved Fayela, Vallant said.

Sol laughed. Zayban threatened to disown him, take away his inheritance and everything, and Habal just carried her to the temple and got the first Celebrant of Ocea he saw to marry them. Father was livid!

The prime guardian smirked at the memory. We tried so hard to convince him to take another, but he never did.

Sol’s laughter died as he remembered further. Fayela and Habal had been happy together despite the opposition they had faced, but Tohmas’ birth had been hard, and Fayela had been told she would never bear another child.

Lady Fayela came to the brothers a few times, Sol admitted. She wanted Tohmas to be safe. She begged Habal to have another child.

Vallant’s smile faded. He tried a few times. None ever got pregnant. Only the Goddess Ocea knows who was to blame for that.

Sol had a wife and three children, and while he was content telling Corro that he loved her and the children, he still knew it was not the same as Habal and Fayela. The two had been inseparable. Despite tradition leaving war to the men only, Fayela had marched with her husband. Had Habal attended Homestead, Fayela would have been at his side.

Sol could easily believe Habal had simply found himself unwilling in the presence of another.

When Tohmas was eight, Vallant continued, Habal decided to protect their only child. At the time, Damoria was getting restless, and there had been talk of assassins. Habal sent Tohmas away.

Where?

Only Fayela and Habal knew. Habal had me select two protectors to act as mentors, but he didn’t tell me where they were going. Then there was nothing until a halfcycle ago when Tohmas rode up to the west gate of Wayburn on an old nag of a horse and introduced himself to the soldiers.

The image of the only son of the Prince of Galanth riding on a broken-down horse to meet the hapless gate guards made Sol smile again. Alone? Sol clarified, and Vallant nodded.

One protector had died some years before, he told us. The second had taken ill and died the cycle before. With no protectors, Tohmas returned to Wayburn. Fayela and Habal were elated, Vallant said as they strolled past another path leading into the town. Sol supposed they had gone full around the village now and were looking at the far end of the road that led to the temple. I do not think I have ever seen Habal so happy.

One would expect as much, Sol agreed, for the return of his only son after an absence of fifteen years. Sol tried to envision his own reaction, but his boys were only ten and six, and because of the Northlander war, he did not see them often.

So Habal had, after years apart, had the chance to see his son again before he died. The gods were to be thanked for that mercy. Sol could imagine how terrible things would have been if the Prince of Galanth had died before his son’s return. Vallant was probably on his knees every night in thanks as he would have been responsible for cleaning up that mess. At least with Tohmas, they had a succession for Galanth.

Shame Habal didn’t have time to teach Tohmas more, Sol mused.

Three days, Vallant said. Three days after Tohmas returned, Habal died.

Sol started. He had known it had been close, but he had not expected it to be that close.