“It ain’t even in the ten most unbelievable things,” said Gorm. He looked at Kaitha with red-rimmed eyes. “But it means that he was here, lass. He was with me—with us—when we went through all this. When I lost my way fighting the liche. All of it. And now…” He shook his head and looked back up at the bronze face of his friend.
“Now he’s just a statue and a memory,” said Kaitha sadly.
“Aye,” said Gorm. “Just like Tib’rin, and Iheen, and all me other friends. And when ye came back after I thought ye died, and Thane turned out to be a soul-bound Sten, I… I guess anything seemed possible. Anyone could come back. And selfish as it is, maybe I thought… I just hoped the rest of ’em could too.”
His eyes trailed from the bronze figure of Niln to a smaller, newer statue next to him; a brassy Goblin with a wide smile and a noble dagger. The sculptor had done his best based on Gorm’s description, but without the small plaque saying so near its base, nobody would recognize it as Tib’rin Had’Lerdak. “That I might see me old squire again.”
Kaitha put a hand on his shoulder, and for a quiet moment they stood and regarded the statues.
“In a way, we are together. Always,” the Elf offered eventually. She nodded to the other sculptures grouped behind Tib’rin and Niln. Gorm’s own visage stared back at him from behind the Goblin’s shoulder, with a grinning Burt leaning out of his rucksack. Laruna and Jynn stood behind them, their hands raised as though weaving spells. Niln was flanked by Heraldin and Gaist, standing back-to-back. Behind them all, elevated on the old plinth that had been the Dark Prince’s perch, Kaitha and Thane stood hand in hand. A small plaque in from of them read:
THE SEVEN HEROES OF DESTINY
&
OTHER SAVIORS OF ARTH
“That we are,” said Gorm, giving the statue of the Goblin a fond tap on the shoulder. “In many ways.”
“In many ways,” the ranger agreed as they turned to leave.
Gorm nodded up at the bronze Elf and Sten. “Public artwork must add a bit of pressure to the relationship, eh?”
“Oh, yeah, but that’s nothing,” said Kaitha, shaking her head. “It’s the old Stennish sculptures that are trying to rush things, with all of their talk of rebuilding populations and keeping the lineage going. Gods above. We’re not even thinking about the future yet.”
“Won’t be long, I imagine,” Gorm grumbled. “Everything’s fast with ye tall folk.”
“Don’t you start,” the Elf warned him.
“What? That’s how it usually goes.” Gorm pulled the curtain back and let Kaitha walk past him out next to the stage. “Ye and Thane make each other happy, ye know how the other feels, and ye got more history than most Humans who get together.”
“The history is the problem,” Kaitha said with a shrug. “I always wonder how many of our inexplicable feelings were ours and how many were just an echo of the gods’ relationship—a famously rocky relationship, I’ll remind you. And now there’s destiny and prophecy and governance and everything coming all at once. And yeah, a statue of us doesn’t help. It’s a lot for a young relationship, and I want to make it work, so we’re taking. It. Slow.” She emphasized the last point with a finger jabbing into Gorm’s mailed shoulder.
“Aye, fine. Fine,” laughed Gorm. “But I will say I still have a good feeling about ye two.”
Her eyes scanned the people milling about the plaza in advance of the statues’ unveiling, and found Thane speaking with several attendants. The king noticed her as well, and gave her a besotted grin and enthusiastic wave. “A very good feeling,” she said, waving back. “I’m going to go rescue him from whatever that conversation is.”
“Will I see the two of ye before your journey?” he asked.
“Definitely,” Kaitha said. “We’ll have everyone up to the palace for a sending off.”
“I look forward to it,” Gorm told her, and then she was away.
Finding himself alone, the Dwarf searched the plaza for familiar faces. Bannermen and royal servants bustled about the stage. Beyond them, crowds of onlookers gathered like thunderheads, drawn by a rare opportunity to see the new king and the rumors that his speeches tended to be a spectacle. Jynn and Laruna sat with delegations from all three orders of the Academy of Mages. The assembled spellcasters were engaged in a heated discussion about some doubtlessly obscure and arcane matter, and so when his friends waved him over, he shook his head apologetically and feigned an urgent need to walk in the opposite direction.
His path took him to Heraldin and Gaist, who were seated behind the stage and locked in a one-sided discussion.
“I don’t know why we’d start in Scoria. It will be cold and damp up that way for months. Chrate is much warmer in the spring,” the bard told the weaponsmaster as Gorm approached. “We should begin down in the Teagem. I’m not backing down on this one.”
Gaist remained absolutely motionless.
“Fine,” said Heraldin. “Scoria, and then Chrate, and then we make our way down through Knifevale to the Teagem coast.”
“Plannin’ a quest or a vacation?” said Gorm.
“Neither. Or perhaps both,” said the bard. “We’re taking our respective talents on the road to put them to good use. And while we’re about, we’ll enjoy the sights! The foods! The women! The music! The world awaits us!”
Gaist nudged the bard with a gentle elbow.
“And of course, we’ll be doing good work while we’re at it,” the bard amended. “Free music for needy children. Defending the defenseless. Maybe help liberate some downtrodden souls, should they present themselves.”
“Sounds like quite the adventure,” said Gorm.
“Of the very best kind,” grinned the bard.
“With a friend?”
“And without anything trying to kill us.”
The doppelganger nodded at Gorm with a question in his eyes.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Gorm drew in a lungful of the cool mountain air. “The Feast of Orchids comes in Fireleaf this year. Might see if the Khazad’im will let an old clanless like me take part. Or maybe I put in for reinstatement, and see if I can make the festival in 378.”
“If there is a 378,” said Heraldin. “By the time the Agekeepers sort through all the history we just unraveled and remade, they’re sure to declare this the Eighth Age.”
“By the time they sort all of that out, it’ll be 380.” Gorm grinned. “And beyond that… well, time will tell.”
“You’re welcome to join us, of course,” said Heraldin.
“Appreciate it, but I ain’t much of a musician, and ye and I have different ideas about what’s fun. Or helpful. Or legal. Or necessary for basic decency.”
“True enough. We’ll see you at the ceremony then.”
Gorm bade them farewell, then wandered back out into the current of bustling clerks and attendants. He felt aimless, adrift on a sea of possibilities. Where would he go next? What was his purpose now that Johan was gone? What was left to conquer after you helped slay the greatest evil the world has ever known?
Lost in this reverie, he almost stumbled over another figure who was suddenly in his path.
“Ah, Mr. Ingerson. I’ve been looking for you.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Poldo,” Gorm said. “Er, Your Regentness.”
“Mr. Poldo will do.” The Scribkin checked a silver pocket watch, then snapped it shut. “We should have enough time before the unveiling. Come with me. I’d like to discuss a proposal with you.”
“Uh, yes. Of course.” Gorm followed the Gnome with a disconcerted nod. “Where?”
“Just over here.” Mr. Poldo cut through the crowd like a shark through a reef, unconcerned and serene as startled bystanders hurried out of his way. He looked, at first glance, to walk alone ahead of Gorm, but on closer inspection the Dwarf saw bannermen silently moving into place all around them, and a multitude of Wood Gnomes weaving between the feet of the onlookers.
The regent led the hero and his invisible retinue to the backside of the scaffolding that held the curtains in front of the new statues, where a royal carriage waited with an open door. “If you’ll join me in my makeshift office, we can speak privately,” Poldo said over his shoulder.
