The Dragon's Blade_The Last Guardian by Michael R. Miller

Author:Michael R. Miller [Miller, Michael R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Epic Fantasy, fantasy, myth & legends, Dragon
Publisher: Acorn Independent Press
Published: 2018-03-15T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

THE LOYAL SON

“Of the old island kings, it is said that when a storm approached a true Imar would smile.”

— From Tiviar’s Histories

Grigayne – Dalridia – Hall of Somerled Imar

IN HIS FATHER’S hall, Grigayne rubbed his hands over the central fire. The smell of wood smoke was a fine companion to the warmth, as was the rich amber glow from racks of whisky lining the walls. The heat, light and smoke were comforting senses of home he’d not known he’d missed. Yet the hall was dull today, the servants keeping their heads low as they went about their tasks. The whole city had been subdued now that he reflected on it, and he’d been escorted in, not by islanders, but by Brevian soldiers.

That had not been so comforting. He’d brushed it aside, however, thinking them to be Arkus’ fresh troops who had been sent to the east and were merely stopping in Dalridia along the way. Even as he considered more disturbing possibilities, Somerled emerged from his rooms behind the King’s Rock. And he was not alone.

Five Brevian soldiers flanked him, only their uniforms differed from Arkus’ regular footmen. They lacked any mail, or even heavy padding, wearing a black coat with white buttons and trim. Propped up on their shoulders were, well, they were the strangest looking weapons that Grigayne had ever seen. At least, he assumed they were weapons, for they seemed like short spears to him with the blade removed – basically clubs, and not a lot of use if so.

The soldiers hung back as Grigayne greeted his father in a strong embrace.

“Ye look knackered, son,” Somerled said. His voice was deadened, not its usual high sharp bite. Between the two of them, Grigayne thought his father looked the more haggard. His face was grey, and his hair looked thinner.

“I’m just tired from my journey,” Grigayne said. “But why do you look so worn?” He eyed the soldiers suspiciously before continuing. “Listen, I know it is a tough thing to ask, but I return seeking more warriors and supplies to return to Aurisha with. Every man, woman, turnip and flank of mutton you can spare.”

Somerled scrunched up his lips then gestured with an open palm to the long wooden table underneath the King’s Rock.

“Let’s sit and eat first.”

A little puzzled, Grigayne sat. The King’s Rock rose sharply above their heads. Lord Somerled often made his speeches while standing upon it, placing his bare feet into the carved footprints like the Island Kings of old. Somerled continued that tradition, even if the line of Imar had long ceased being royal.

Grigayne checked on the Brevian soldiers. They’d sat down at a long table not so far away, throwing them an occasional glance. He then wondered when his father had last stood upon the King’s Rock.

Servants appeared carrying their meal; a heavy black pot of barely broth for two, cold slices of pink beef, hot bread, and soft butter. Grigayne was most thankful for the mug of ale placed before him and drained half of it in one long gulp.

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