Promised excerpt from book four, one day late:

The funeral of Fremont Irindein was a somber, small, and simple affair. There was nothing of him to bury, nor any remnant of his station to be preserved and sanctified. Beneath the ruins of what had once been the palace, Arvadis gathered with his small group of Highlords and allies. Nemarria Vendile, current Queen of Angladais, placed a small book on the stone podium that had been etched with Irindein’s name. This would be his only remembrance, a small text on a plain slab of rock. Arvadis, despite himself, smiled thinking how Irindein would have approved.

Runiden Calavar, Tenarl Galden, and Logan Hawking were there as well. The younger Logan, the elder’s child, was with the old guardsman, Graham, somewhere above, taking in the ruins of the old palace. The only other presence was a young woman, Verity Wheelwright, the elected representative of the commoners. She had not known Irindein, but in his brief time speaking to her, Arvadis thought he would have approved of her. She was a dark haired woman of about thirty with sharp brown eyes with a twinkle to them. She often tilted her head slightly when thinking or listening, giving the impression she was taking everything in with great care. The people had selected her from their larger body of representatives to lead them, and Nemarria had begun making it clear she intended to put the tanned and hardened frame of the working woman on par with her own, much more delicate, self.

Arvadis approved, not that it would matter if he did or not. This wasn’t his kingdom any longer, and, now that his dear friend was finally laid to rest, he was ready to put forward what would come next. He bowed his head in silence as Nemarria intoned a call for intrspection, and then it was over. Logan left almost immediately, his furrowed brow and downcast eyes unchanged since the death of his blood-brother. Arvadis was not certain he had even managed a smile when he was united with his son, though of course that moment had come in the shadow of having lost Lena as well. He could not blame his younger son for his dark mood.

Nemarria was looking at him now, her long black hair framed in bright silvers and golds woven through it. She wore the deep violet of her house, but that was all of Vendile that Arvadis could see in her. He admired the queen a great deal, and could see how she had been just the person to save his home while he was gone. That made this moment easier.

“So, when do you intend to leave, Highlord Hawking?”

Verity looked up in surprise, but she was the only one. “So soon?”

“Well,” Arvadis said slowly, “it is clear that Angladais does not need me, given the two women who will be guiding the nation so capably. I do plan to leave, along with Logan and Runiden, to bring aid to Jovanaleth and his armies in the north. We will take only volunteers with us, I do not wish to take from Angladais those who want to stay and rebuild their home.”

“And what of the Highlords whose seats remain empty?” Verity asked. “Are you going to meet to validate their replacements before you go?”

“They will not be replaced,” Nemarria said evenly. “We have the people’s representatives to guide us, and Highlord Galden and myself will represent the nobility with Highlord Xarinth.”

Tenarl cleared his throat. “Actually, my lady, I would like to join Highlord Hawking.”

“That would mean the leaders of Hawking, Calavar, Galden, and newly raised Ordlan would all be out of the kingdom together. There would be just myself and the child Highlord of Xarinth.”

“With all due respect, Nemarria,” Arvadis said quietly, “the time of the Highlords is ending. We can serve our home by venturing from it to aid those keeping the darkness at bay. If Tenarl wishes to join us, I would ask that you let him.”

“Of course.” Nemarria said with a small smile. “I will stop no one who wants to join you.”

Verity Wheelwright looked at the fine and noble faces about her. Never had she believed she would be in their presence, let alone treated as an equal. “We will keep your homes safe and clean for you, so you can return to them when you feel your duty has been done.”

Arvadis bowed slightly to her. “I have no doubt you will.”

The mourners came up the stairs of the archives into the sunlit shadows of the cracked and fallen stones of the palace. Graham and Logan II were clambering among them, the old guardsman trying valiantly to keep up with his younger charge. Logan perched atop a fallen stone and called out, “Look at me, father! I’m taller than you!”

Logan stood, armored and arms crossed, surveying the play impassively. “So you are, son.”

Graham shifted beneath Logan and caught the child as he jumped into his arms. He set him down and Logan II ran to his grandfather. Arvadis bent to embrace him, and Logan was soon on to Nemarria. Arvadis took the moment to approach his son, who was still surveying the wreckage before him. They were silent for some time, each taking the destruction in, before Arvadis finally said, “You don’t have to come you know. Logan and you could stay here, rest, recover, get to know one another. You have done enough and suffered more than needed.”

“Daerveron is out there.” Logan said. “I am going to kill him, no one else.” He turned and looked at his father emotionlessly, his eyes stony, but not able to hide the anger beneath them that Arvadis could almost feel radiate off his son. “Logan will come with us. I won’t deny him his family, but I am not staying here.”

Arvadis knew there was no reasoning with his son. He looked to Calavar, who was observing them from a short distance off, concern obvious in his face. Arvadis patted Logan awkwardly on the arm and moved towards his oldest friend. The paladin grunted and scowled. “Still won’t stay behind will he? Idiot.”

“Would you?”

“No, but I didn’t say I wasn’t an idiot too.”

“The boy is joining us.”

“I suspected as much. We’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Is this the end, Runiden?” The paladin’s eyes came up on his friend, surprised at the whimsical, tired, tone in his voice. “Is this how the great houses of Angladais die out?”

Runiden Calavar rubbed his ruddy face. “Maybe, maybe not. But we probably aren’t coming back from this one. We’re old hunting dogs, Arvadis, eventually the boar gets you if you don’t stay home by the fire.”

“Ah, well, that would be boring.” Arvadis smiled. “Come on, let us see if Renon has found us volunteers.”