Argrave and Anneliese spent the remainder of the day with Galamon and his family. Dras had given him the duty of dealing with the killings in Veiden while he investigated another matter, and with the ice wraith dead, that meant his duties were over. Rhomaden and Galamon were quite similar in appearance… and perhaps in temperament, too, for they played with a bear twice their size and seemed to have a great deal of fun doing so.

Argrave and Anneliese sat on a stone bench while watching father and son play in a field of snow… with a bear. He knew that was Durran’s bear, but it seemed that the southern tribal had given it to Galamon while he went into the Burnt Desert. It was a sensible thing, he supposed, and evidently it seemed to be working out splendidly. Argrave let his Brumesingers join the father-son-bear trio.

Muriem walked up to Argrave carrying a tray. It had hot tea on it, steaming visibly especially in the cold. “Galamon is very grateful to you, King Argrave. As am I, for that matter. Rhomaden kept me going, but I felt empty with my husband’s absence. I don’t really have the words to thank you… but again, we are grateful.”

Argrave looked at her, then smiled as he took the tea. “I’m grateful to Galamon,” he countered as he handed his cup to Anneliese and then grabbed the next. “You know how he is. Absolutely unstoppable. I wouldn’t be alive without him—only fitting I help him get what he wants. He’s given me plenty.”

“Yes,” she smiled brightly. “He works very hard for everyone that isn’t himself. I love him for it. And I do my best to spoil him—Veid knows he won’t do it himself.”

Argrave took a drink of the tea. It was a little bit contrary to his tastes, but in the cold weather he found himself enjoying it nonetheless. “Speaking of work… what has Galamon been doing here?”

Muriem looked back at Galamon and Rhomaden. “The past few months he was very busy. His main task was whipping the army into shape, but he also led them in subjugation expeditions against various things that were troubling us. Problems arose one after the other, and Patriarch Dras needed a surefire victory. Galamon was the only one he felt confident in assigning that task to. Things have quieted down somewhat, but then… well, you saw how he ended up.”

Argrave gripped his cup a little tighter. Hey, Galamon, he thought in his head, playing out the conversation. I know you’ve been going from place-to-place hunting monsters, and you finally have a day off to spend with your family… but I need you to come with me. When? Oh, this morning. And instead of monsters, you’ll be fighting a cult of whackos. How does that sound, Galamon?

As Muriem stared, her smile slowly widened. “I was honestly worried about how Galamon and Rhomaden might interact. My boy can be very gloomy sometimes, and I know Galamon’s absence was...” she trailed off, leaving words unspoken. “But Baile… that bear was the link between the two of them.” She turned her head to Argrave. “Now that they’ve met properly, Rhomaden goes around bragging to his friends about who his father is. It puts my heart at peace.”

Argrave watched Galamon talk to Rhomaden as he sat on the back of the huge black bear. Argrave responded, “Galamon’s son deserves to brag about his father. More than anyone, maybe.”

“Hmm,” Muriem agreed quietly. “Sometimes I feel my husband deserves more than me. A tailor of poor talent.”

“Deserves?” Anneliese cut in. “He loves you, Muriem. That is all there is to it.”

Muriem lowered her head bashfully, almost like a newlywed even after decades. After a time, she focused on the two of them. “Would you like to eat with us? I believe it might be poor fare compared to a king’s diet, but if I might offer hospitality… I have been cooking for quite some time.”

“Of course,” Argrave nodded at once. “That’d be lovely.”

#####

Argrave and Anneliese enjoyed a dinner with Galamon’s family… and Anestis, too. Muriem had been right in that it was different from what they normally ate, but what she prepared had a certain quality of home to it that was impossible to reproduce in the finest royal kitchen. Anestis seemed to be the only one who didn’t enjoy the meal, but Galamon’s ice-cold white eyes kept him silent and afraid. Argrave wasn’t sure the dwarf would survive if he complained.

Rhomaden was eager to hear stories about his father, and Argrave was more than happy to oblige, adding grandiose flair to Galamon’s feats. To be fair, he didn’t need to embellish at all—the former vampire had done great things. In the end, the meal extended far past when they finished eating, lasting until well into nightfall.

Argrave and Anneliese decided to take Anestis, the wayward dwarf, off Galamon’s hands. They would be able to both help him and use him far more efficiently than the people in Veiden could. But as for bringing back Galamon…

Argrave stood at the door to Galamon’s house, Anneliese at his side. He stared at the windows, his face scrunched as he thought about what he might do. All that he’d seen… he didn’t want to be responsible for ending it prematurely. Anneliese was more than an able strategist, and Orion was the best bodyguard one could ask for.

But then the door open. An armored knight dwarfing Argrave walked out. His steel plate was cold and gray, lined with fur on the shoulders and the joints. He wore a Viking-like helm with a chain coif that covered his mouth and neck. He had a huge sword strapped to his waist, mirrored on the other side by a black axe of Ebonice. The Giantkillers—blue daggers that could absorb electricity—hung just below the axe.

Galamon shut the door behind him. “Ready,” he said.

“Uhh…” Argrave said dumbly. “What?”

“Do you think I wouldn’t know why you came?” Galamon looked down at Argrave.

“But your family—”

“My family knew this day would come,” Galamon cut him off. “I am ready, Your Majesty. As I promised.”

“And Patriarch Dras, Rowe…” Anneliese pressed for more information.

“I am not so deeply involved that my absence would throw a wrench in things. I always acted with this day in mind, Your Highness,” he dipped his head to the queen. “And so… let me resume my role as your knight-commander, both of you.”

Argrave looked up at his friend, feeling a bittersweet happiness to have this day come. “Good to have you back, Galamon.”

“…I need to say goodbye to Baile before we go,” Galamon declared, walking off.

#####

Elenore had committed Argrave to returning by tomorrow morning, and he was glad to be back in Blackgard the night before. He didn’t care to annoy his favorite sister. Anestis was bewildered by the teleportation, but the dwarven man seemed resigned to his fate of being taken from place to place before they could decide what to do with him.

Galamon looked around at the burgeoning city of Blackgard. “This place… is different.”

“Quite so,” Argrave agreed.

Galamon observed his surroundings for a bit, and then focused on Argrave. “You tell me we face the Ebon Cult.”

“We do,” Argrave nodded.

“Then if you hope to choose the front you face them on… I believe I might have a strategy for that.” Galamon looked to Anestis. “This man might help some.”

Argrave looked at the baffled and scared dwarf, then slowly smiled. “Long day, tomorrow. I’ll hear it then.”

#####

Elenore awoke Argrave quite early. He and Anneliese slept in one of the chambers reserved for parliament seats in the complex around the hall, as he didn’t intend to live in some palace. After getting dressed, the both of them stepped aside to meet her.

“Thought you might not be here,” Elenore began, her tone quiet. She looked to the man by the door. Galamon stood there, his head held high. “And I see your knight-commander is back. You must be pleased. And what of Orion?”

“He and Galamon are going to switch off,” Argrave explained. “It’s certainly easier to sleep with both of them as guards, and I can guarantee Galamon will be of vital importance to the war against the Ebon Cult.” He shifted on his feet, eager to dive into that task. Something else remained, however. “So… a meeting with nobles today. Is that all I need to do?”

“Yes. It’s the last urgent thing on your schedule—once resolved, you’ll have freedom to act once again. They’re a delegation from the south,” Elenore looked off to the room where the guests were likely waiting. “And hearing what they say, it’s much more serious that I thought it would be.” She looked around for a moment, then confided, “The Duke of Birall came all the way from Lasthold. He represents them. Apparently, southern tribals have been poking around southern fortresses.”

“Southern…?” Argrave began, perplexed. He cast a glance to Anneliese. “You said Lasthold? Not the Lionsun Castle? Southern tribals have been seen on our side of the mountain?”

“Correct,” Elenore crossed her arms. “That’s all I know for now. A huge mountain range divides the Burnt Desert from Vasquer, so it’s difficult for me to get spies there. I don’t have more information for you.”

“Well, this mountain range also protects Lasthold. House Parbon’s Lionsun Castle should be the only point of entrance…” Argrave shook his head. “I have a lot of questions. Let’s meet them.”

#####

Duke Reichard of Birall was a small man, and rather unassuming. He shaved his hair and kept a trimmed white beard, and looked perhaps fifty. Of every noble, Reichard was probably Argrave’s favorite—the man liked to stay at home, read, and govern his people justly. That was it. He and his children lived long, boring lives, but his boring life seemed a good one. His territory was nestled into mountains, with the Order of the Gray Owl to the north of it. It was as safe as safe could be.

“So, these men that came to you…” Anneliese continued her inquiry. “You said they came at the behest of the King of the Scorched Sands?”

“Yes.” Reichard nodded, then said, “They repeated it again and again—the King of the Scorched Sands is coming.”

“Did you get a name?” Anneliese leaned in further.

“No, Your Highness.” Reichard shook his head. “Perhaps they were alarmed by our numbers, but they caused no serious damage. A cow was slain and eaten, but beyond that…” he leaned back in his chair. “Frankly, I would not have deemed this worth seeking an audience for, Your Majesty. We’ve been assaulted by the undead, and that is our more pressing issue. But they mentioned you by name. And their warning was… it made me uneasy.”

“Really now?” Argrave crossed his arms.

“They said the King of the Scorched Sands would come to settle the score. That he hasn’t forgotten the humiliation at Sethia. He would come to enact tribute, and you would need to surrender something very valuable, perhaps even your blood, lest all your lands be razed.” Reichard rubbed his hands together. “I apologize, Your Majesty, but I’m only repeating what they said.”

Argrave closed his eyes and sighed deeply. It was a sigh of exasperation.

“Do you have some idea who it might be?” Reichard inquired curiously. “Will they be back in greater numbers?”

Argrave nodded slowly, grinding his teeth as he smiled bitterly. “I have some infinitesimally small idea who it might be. What about you, Anne? Do you have some little niggling inkling? It seems this person wants to scare us very badly using such a terrifying title.”

Anneliese returned him a near-identical smile of exasperation. As she watched, the Brumesingers poked out of Argrave’s pockets, perhaps knowing that it might be time to return to their homeland.