A grim, weary army marched through the outskirts of Diodor, the capital of Hallvarr. Soldiers walked with somber faces and downcast eyes. Although ultimately victorious in their recent conflict, they could not celebrate when hundreds of their brothers-in-arms had perished in the fighting.

Worse, today they bore home their fallen leader.

King Leszek's body floated on a glowing cushion of air in the center of the vanguard. He lay with his sword on his chest, pommel under his hands, point at his feet. In his hands he bore yew and stone.

Kevlin rolled his shoulders to relieve some of the tension. He wore a heavy breastplate, borrowed from one of the fallen soldiers. He preferred the mail shirt he'd worn for the past week since the battle at Il'Aicharen, but Harafin had urged him to switch.

He shifted in his saddle and looked forward to where Harafin rode at the head of the column, just behind the honor guard that bore the king's body into the city. The Sentinel wore his customary white robes, and his white beard and hair fluttered in the wind. Harafin's face, which Kevlin could see in profile as the old Sentinel glanced to one side, looked somber. Kevlin could never read Harafin. The old man never did anything without a reason, but that didn't mean he shared those reasons.

The city of Diodor huddled under a chill gray sky that spit occasional drops of rain at the silent multitudes gathered to witness the return of their king. The buildings of the city, draped in black cloth, dripped from heavy rains that had swept through barely an hour ago, giving the impression they were weeping.

Despite the somber mood and grim duty that lay upon the army, Kevlin breathed a silent sigh of relief to see the city. He wasn't much of a woodsman, but in the past couple weeks he'd traipsed around more wilderness than he cared to see ever again. The city held its own dangers, but Kevlin preferred them to the unknowns of the deep forest.

The king's honor guard passed the extensive outer market clustered outside the city wall. As they began to ascend the long central avenue toward the palace, many in the crowds lining both sides of the street bowed or murmured prayers to Serigala. Others held aloft stones and sticks of yew to honor their fallen king.

Kevlin wiped water from his brown hair and straightened in the saddle. He doubted anyone would pay much attention to him, but years of training demanded discipline. A soldier presented his best face when on parade.

As they slowly followed the honor guard, he studied the crowd. The people, almost universally dressed in black, looked like they sincerely mourned the death of their king. He wondered where they found so much yew. He respected each kingdom's burial customs, and had buried comrades from each of the Six Kingdoms.

Nikias stirred in his saddle beside Kevlin. The young man had said little all morning. His moods swings were quick and extreme. Now his previous melancholy bled away as he tugged his form-fitting black leather jerkin straight.

The movement must have drawn someone's attention because a voice called from the crowd, "Nikias! It's Nikias."

Other voices took up the call and soon hundreds chanted the young man's name from both sides of the road.

Nikias grinned and flashed a happy smile. He swung the Bladestaff high over his head in salute. Kevlin, who had learned to watch the long, deadly weapon carefully, ducked aside. Even so, Nikias nearly split his head open with one of the broad, silvered blades that capped both ends of magical weapon.

Nikias shouted, "I have returned." He lifted the Bladestaff higher and the silvered blades burst into blue fire. The crowds cheered their approval. Nikias' grip shifted on the polished shaft that was covered in intricate inlaid silver runes.

Kevlin reined his horse back and shouted, "Careful!"

Nikias, who had already started spinning the Bladestaff, pulled it aside, just missing Kevlin's shoulder. He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. Forgot you were there."

"You can't afford to do that." Kevlin reined further back, wondering why he bothered. Nikias' attention span was about as long as a hummingbird.

Nikias laughed and spun the Bladestaff around his head and torso in a blur, trailing twin streamers of blue fire.

Colonel Gabral, bearer of the Mace, another of the six great weapons of power, called back over his shoulder, "Control yourself, soldier. You forget our purpose."

Nikias cringed. "Sorry." The flames winked out and he lowered the Bladestaff.

Gabral grunted, but didn't turn again. He looked impressive in his silver-trimmed armor, with his black hair carefully combed and held in place with special creams. Astride his large war horse, he looked imposing, and almost not short.

Kevlin urged his horse up beside Nikias as the crowd settled back to a slightly less somber silence.

Another voice called out of the crowd, "Where's the King's Avenger?"

Nikias grinned and slapped Kevlin on the shoulder. "Here's the man," he shouted loud enough to be heard for several blocks. "Kevlin. The man who avenged the king!"

Nikias grabbed Kevlin's hand and tried to raise it in victory, but Kevlin shook the impetuous youth off. "Stop it."

Too late. As they passed through the city wall and entered the main thoroughfare, the crowd started shouting, "King's Avenger."

Within seconds it became a chant that reverberated from the buildings on both sides. The crowd surged forward and hundreds of hands grasped at Kevlin from all sides.

For a moment, he feared they'd trample him. His horse tried to shy away from the crowd, but they were pressed in too close.

People grabbed Kevlin's hands, touched his leg, or his horse. Many wept, while those too far to reach him saluted and shouted his name.

Nikias laughed again. "They love you, Kevlin." He raised the Bladestaff high and shouted again, "The King's Avenger!"

Colonel Gabral turned around and glared at Kevlin. Of course he'd blame Kevlin for the disturbance. Kevlin couldn't spare the time to glare back. He was too busy trying to fend off the grasping multitude and calm their frenzy. There was enough pent-up emotion in this crowd that their exuberance could easily boil over into a deadly riot.

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Then Drystan and Jerrik drove their horses up beside Kevlin, granting a little reprieve. More soldiers pressed in close behind them and helped push the crowd back a few steps further.

"Thanks, brothers" Kevlin said.

Jerrik, who rode on his right side said, "Should we tell them that we killed the other Stalwart?" He pushed one over-zealous spectator back with his leg and growled.

People backed up.

Jerrik was one of the biggest men Kevlin had ever met. His unruly brown hair and long russet beard declared him a citizen of Donarr. They gave him a wild appearance only enhanced by the heavy mail shirt he wore and the huge double-bladed battle-axe strapped to his back.

On Kevlin's left, Drystan said, "It won't matter, brother. A crowd like this can only feed on a single idea at a time."

Where Jerrik's sheer mass intimidated people, Drystan's commanding presence had almost as powerful an effect. The tall, lanky Einarri captain with short blond hair scanned the crowd with piercing blue eyes that radiated nothing but confidence. He used the butt end of his long spear to prod spectators aside a few times, and people quickly learned to give him room.

Kevlin allowed himself a smile. Not yet two weeks as swordbrothers, the two men hadn't always gotten along. He still marveled that they would unite with him through blood, and it encouraged him to hear them calling each other brother.

The crowd continued chanting "King's Avenger", but no longer tried to impede their progress toward the palace.

In front of Kevlin, riding just behind Harafin and Gabral, Ceren glanced back. She met Kevlin's gaze and shook her head, but still smiled as if at a secret joke. She wore her thick auburn hair in an intricate braid.

She wore the same riding outfit she had the night he had first met her. The white blouse looked freshly scrubbed despite their having spent the past four days traveling from the shattered ruins of Il'Aicharen. Over the blouse she wore a dark blue vest. A tan skirt, split for riding, was tucked into long leather boots. She wore no sword. She'd broken hers when she'd killed Wayra.

Then Kevlin nearly killed her when he destroyed the building. Kevlin shuddered at the memory. Only Indira's incredible gift of healing had saved Ceren from that disaster.

Ceren called back, "Unbelievable. Only you could turn a state funeral procession into a circus."

"It's not my fault," Kevlin protested.

Harafin turned. "Did you think not to be noticed? There were hundreds of witnesses. You stood against Dhanjal in full battle rhapsody when the King's own guard could not."

"But that's misleading. I couldn't help it."

Harafin shrugged. "I know that. You know that. In the end, it doesn't matter."

"It does matter," Kevlin muttered. In that final battle Savas, god of War, had bestowed upon him incredible battle prowess while possessing him. Overshadowing the awe of that moment was the sick feeling of revulsion at being held powerless in Savas' will, a puppet that the god had played with.

He'd come closer than anyone else guessed to succumbing forever to Savas' will. If he had, he might have destroyed the entire army.

Indira, who rode beside Ceren, also turned to glance back. She wore her simple green Healer's robe, and her midnight hair hung straight down her back. Kevlin grinned when he met her dark-eyed gaze. He'd managed to win his mail shirt back from her in the last game of Dagger's Folly.

His swordbrothers had lost again. They might be two of the elite warriors of the empire, but they were terrible at cards. As gentle and loving as Indira was with her healing, she was ruthless at cards.

Kevlin hadn't gotten to spend much alone time with her in the past week since the battle at Il'Aicharen. She had been so busy healing, she barely made time for food and the nightly card game that had become a tradition with the company. Kevlin had tried to keep busy as a way to keep his mind off the many unanswered questions he still needed to discuss with Harafin.

Indira smiled and he winked in return. She was turning out to be as fascinating as she was beautiful. Despite his lingering hesitation to allow another woman into his life, he found himself looking forward to the time they spent together.

Nikias nudged him. "Kevlin, you're famous."

"You're exaggerating, like always."

"Am not. You're a hero."

"Sure," Jerrik muttered. "We do half the work and he gets all the credit." He added in what he probably thought was a whisper, "Just share enough of the glory so I can get a date."

Kevlin laughed. "Done."

He waved to the crowd, and his hand didn't even shake. Over the past couple of days, a strange weakness had left him shaky at unexpected times. He planned to discuss it with Indira, but hadn't found the time yet.

The procession moved forward at its stately walk through the well-ordered streets of the city without further interruption. They climbed a long, gentle hill and finally reached the wide plaza paved with cobblestones that faced the main palace entrance.

No wall surrounded the palace so there was nothing to prevent the throngs from filling the square and the manicured gardens on either side. The palace guard kept the square directly in front of the palace free of onlookers.

The vanguard passed into the open space and halted before the main entrance. The palace reared high overhead, constructed of huge blocks of local brown stone. The huge building failed to instill the same awe that other palaces often projected. Hallvarri buildings were simple and effective. Some people from Tamarr or Freyarr referred to them as unimaginative.

Crown Prince Lievin Dalagan descended wide steps from the deep porch to meet the litter. The honor guard saluted as one and Prince Lievin returned the salute smartly.

The prince was in his early twenties. Despite the grief visible on his face, he stood tall and faced the return of his dead father bravely. He was a handsome man, with thick, black hair, and a famous smile.

Kevlin joined the rest of their party as they dismounted and moved to join the prince and his entourage of nobles cloaked in black.

Prince Lievin greeted Harafin warmly and nodded politely to the rest of their company. They all followed the floating byre of the dead monarch up the stairs to the porch. There, the prince turned back to face the now-silent throng.

He made a subtle gesture to a white-robed Sentinel who stood nearby, and when he spoke, his voice was magnified.

"My people, my friends. Today our hearts are full. We rejoice that our brave soldiers drove the invaders from our lands and proved to the world that we will not cower in the face of even surprise attack."

The crowd cheered as the prince continued. "We have proven that we will stand and face any threat. We will defend our homes, our families, and our nation."

As he spoke, his voice rose in volume, and the crowd responded by shouting louder. Kevlin acknowledged the moving speech, but didn't shout along with the crowd. He had been there. The price they had paid for victory was still far too fresh in his mind.

The prince dropped his voice, forcing the crowd to hush in order to hear. He gestured at the floating figure.

"My father led the charge to defend our homeland. He fell in battle, betrayed by one he thought to be his friend."

As many in the crowd openly wept, Kevlin thought back to that day. He had witnessed Dhanjal's betrayal and murder of the king through the haze of Savas' battle fury. The memory sparked an urge to reach for his sword.

Prince Lievin turned to Harafin who pointed at Kevlin. The prince gestured him forward.

Kevlin moved to stand beside the prince, surprised by the summons. Leave it to Harafin to play games even during the king's funeral.

Prince Lievin declared, "Even in our darkest moment, when evil thought to overwhelm our forces and slaughter our army and lay waste to our beloved land, a hero stood forth to fight for us."

The crowd cheered as Prince Lievin clapped Kevlin on the shoulder. "I present to you the man Kevlin, the man who struck down my father's killer, the man who stood against a Blade Stalwart in full battle rhapsody and defeated him."

"The King's Avenger!"

The crowd roared its approval and began chanting Kevlin's name or "King's Avenger".

As the sound reverberated through the square, Kevlin said, "Your Highness, I didn't do it alone."

Prince Lievin smiled. "But you did it. The people need a hero. Play your part."

Then he announced loudly, "I proclaim Kevlin Truefriend of Hallvarr and name him Lord of the Realm."

The crowd cheered even louder. Before Kevlin could protest the Prince said, "We are forever in your debt."

Prince Lievin bowed to him.

The crowd fell silent as first dozens and then hundreds of people bowed to Kevlin. He scanned the bowing crowd, stunned. The prince had said the crowd needed a hero, and he was giving them one, but what service would he demand in return?

Kevlin still wasn't sure if the battle had been a victory. Dhanjal might be dead, but so was Antigonus. The Shadeleeches had been defeated, but hundreds of people had died.

For five long heartbeats silence reigned before cheering resumed.

Prince Lievin said, "Come, Lord Kevlin." He beckoned the entire company to follow him into the palace behind the floating body of his father.