* * *

Like most castles, it received little natural light. White light from a window cut a straight path across the room, but the rest lay in shadow.

There were none of the customary refreshments for guests on the table, nor any wine. Valeri set a golden cloak clasp on that empty table.

“Valknutr...”

Earl Æthelred murmured the name. Three interlocking triangles. The knot of the slain, the symbol of an Einheri.

“Revealing my identity will no longer bring harm to House Winslow. With that, I consider my debt for raising me repaid,” Valeri said.

The white light crossing between them concealed his face so perfectly that Æthelred could not see it.

After a brief silence, Valeri tucked the cloak clasp away against his chest and continued.

“Perhaps I should say I have been released from the bonds of gratitude. Not that I particularly felt constrained, but what I mean is that I will extend no further consideration. I commend the way you have put affairs in order following the duke’s death. But that is as far as it goes. Do you understand?”

Valeri meant that the earls were no longer to take the lead in interfering with the ducal succession or Gunnar’s punishment.

It was true that he felt some affection for the earl, the countess, and House Winslow. Thanks to them, he had learned to smile.

But as he had said, that was as far as it went. Private feelings were one thing, public affairs another. Valeri drew a clear line between them.

Perhaps sensing this, Earl Æthelred answered respectfully.

“I understand, Your Highness.”

Valeri turned toward the window.

“Summon the ducal retainers and knights to the castle, along with the other two earls. Nothing good can come of leaving the ducal seat vacant for long.”

“It shall be done.”

Earl Æthelred was now unmistakably in a position where he had to obey Valeri’s orders. He seemed well aware of it himself.

He bowed and left, closing the door behind him. With the click of the door, silence filled the room.

There was nothing there but Valeri and a single, quiet shaft of light.

With news of Knut’s arrival and an urgent summons from the Earl of Winslow, the Earl of Windale hurried back to the citadel.

Armed knights and soldiers moved about the courtyard. They did not appear to be doing anything in particular, yet the place seemed unsettled.

“What is happening? Where is the third young lord?”

Windale questioned a knight without even dismounting.

“We have orders to reduce the garrison within the citadel.”

“Who gave those orders?”

“The Earl of Winslow... He also ordered the release of all the ducal retainers and knights.”

“What?”

Windale was dumbfounded. For something like this to be done without consulting him was an affront to his pride. What possessed Winslow to release the ducal retainers and knights?

Had something gone wrong? Were the other two earls plotting something without him? All manner of thoughts ran through his head. For now, however, he hastily dismounted to seek out Winslow.

Then he climbed the hill with his escort of knights.

When he entered the castle, people had already gathered in the ground-floor banquet hall: the ducal retainers and knights, along with the Earls of Winslow and Revi.

A chill struck his heart. There were so many knights of the ducal house—some twenty of them. Fortunately, they were unarmed.

Above all, the presence of Harald, Winslow’s sole heir, suggested there was no dangerous scheme afoot.

In his confusion, Windale hurriedly caught Winslow by the hem of his clothes, though it was hardly courteous.

“What is all this?”

“The committee is being convened. I expect a decision will be reached shortly. On the treatment of the eldest young lord and the succession to the dukedom.”

“So suddenly? Did we not agree to proceed slowly?”

“Well, circumstances have changed. I cannot explain just now, but watch for the moment. I believe this is a time to tread carefully.”

“...”

Windale found it strange. Winslow was not the sort of man to behave this way. Yet as he surveyed the hall, the ducal retainers and knights seemed just as ignorant of what was happening.

Shortly afterward, Gunnar, the eldest young lord, and Knut, the third young lord, entered the banquet hall. Valeri and his friends accompanied them.

They passed through the crowd toward the place of honor. Naturally, every eye followed them.

There stood a chair in which only the duke could sit, with other chairs arranged on either side. Once Gunnar and Knut had taken their seats, Valeri spoke.

“A vacant ducal seat amounts to a vacuum of authority. I have therefore convened this committee to rectify the situation. I ask that you all listen carefully.”

For the moment, the dozens of people present listened in silence.

“Each of the three earls will cast one vote. The retainers as a whole will cast one vote, and the knights directly serving the ducal house will collectively cast another. The ducal succession and the treatment of the eldest young lord will be decided by a vote. I ask that you accept the outcome without objection.”

It sounded fair. Yet no one understood why Valeri was setting the procedure. Was he merely announcing what Gunnar or Knut had decided?

More importantly, the earls were in control of affairs and could have shaped the procedure however they pleased to suit their interests. Fair though it might be, they could still have grounds for dissatisfaction.

Then Knut rose from his seat.

“I, Knut of House Viðing, speak as an heir to the dukedom. Effective immediately, I renounce my right of succession and support my elder brother Gunnar as the next duke.”

The declaration was so shocking that everyone fell silent at first. Then murmurs began to spread.

What, then, would become of the crime of murdering the duke, and its punishment? If Gunnar became duke as the sole remaining heir, they could hardly punish him.

Valeri spoke again.

“Silence, everyone.”

They closed their mouths and turned toward him.

“The succession of a sole heir who murdered the previous duke may be considered flawed. But that flaw can be remedied by the support of his family, vassals, retainers, and knights. Once remedied, the succession becomes legitimate, and the crime of killing the former duke, along with its punishment, naturally falls away. As I have stated, the committee will decide by vote. If a proposal receives more than half the votes, abide by that decision.”

A heavy silence filled the banquet hall. Then one man stepped forward: the Earl of Windale.

He looked at Valeri and asked,

“Who devised this procedure?”

“I did.”

“Why should you decide a matter of such gravity? I witnessed your remarkable abilities and accomplishments in Gringen myself. Yet that does not make you any less a bastard, does it? His Grace was murdered, and we are choosing the next duke. Surely only those with lawful standing may discuss and handle this matter. If a bastard establishes the procedure, is that not itself a flaw? Can a duke who succeeds in such a manner truly be legitimate?”

The earl’s objection seemed valid. There was no place for a bastard to intervene in so grave a matter. However fair the procedure, the fact that a bastard had devised it was itself a problem.

But there was something he had wrong.

Valeri showed neither anger nor shame. He merely stood at the place of honor, looking at Windale.

Valeri drew upon the power of the rune awakened by the dragon’s blood. As he concentrated on the energy coursing from his heart throughout his body, strength seemed to well up within him, and his body felt lighter.

A faint wind stirred. It was nothing like the wind during the final battle, but it was strong enough for everyone to notice in a banquet hall where no wind should have blown.

Valeri’s hair fluttered. Then light began to emerge from deep within his eyes, growing ever brighter.

As everyone in the hall stared at Valeri, their hearts began to pound and gooseflesh rose on their skin. Could it be?

Then Valeri spoke.

“Earl of Windale, I am no bastard. I am a man of the Vǫlsungr clan, Valeri Helgison, fourteenth son of His Majesty Helgi, the reigning king. Would a prince’s involvement also constitute a procedural flaw?”

Windale recoiled a step in shock. His legs threatened to give way and leave him slumped on the floor. A prince? A prince? Why was a prince here?

The others in the hall trembled as though struck by lightning.

They had never dreamed they would see a prince outside a war of succession, unless some rare accident or incident happened to expose his identity.

None of them could tear their gaze from Valeri. His face was almost unreal in its beauty, and his shining eyes were impossible to meet directly. To behold the so-called stars of the dawn with their own eyes filled them not only with fear, but even with awe.

The Vǫlsungr clan, or House Vǫlsungr, was regarded as a living legend. Above all, to belong to that clan meant carrying the blood of a god.

It also meant being born to a destiny of blood: bearing the sublime and harrowing fate of a human who must slaughter kin and spill the blood of their own clan to lead humanity to heaven.

They were, in short, half human and half divine.

Valeri’s friends were no less shocked. Knut’s eyes widened, while Valeri’s past exploits flashed through Arne’s mind.

Part of him even thought it made perfect sense. That was how many impossible things Valeri had accomplished.

While everyone stood bewildered, unsure what to do, Æthelred, Earl of Winslow, was the first to drop to one knee.

“I greet Your Highness.”

The ducal knights fell to their knees in a rush, bowing their heads and speaking with trembling hearts.

“I greet Your Highness.”

The retainers and the Earl of Revi knelt as well. Windale dropped to his knees so abruptly that he nearly collapsed.

Valeri also saw Harald in a corner. His gaze was shaking uncontrollably. Faced with those shining eyes, which seemed to pierce his heart like a spear, he too knelt.

“I greet Your Highness...”

His friends nearby knelt as well. Only the somewhat slow-witted Gunnar did not tremble. He had simply accepted it: he had thought Valeri was a bastard, but he was actually a prince.

In the end, everyone in the hall was kneeling, and Valeri alone remained standing. Thus no one saw the sadness in his eyes.

The faint breeze circulating through the hall died away. Valeri sat in the duke’s chair as though it had always been his place.

“Rise, all of you. Discuss your views freely and cast your votes freely. I will guarantee the outcome as a prince, so I trust there will be no complaints.”

He lowered his head a little, looking somehow weary.

With a prince guaranteeing their decision, however, the committee had little need for lengthy deliberation or debate. They reached a decision quickly.

Anyone with a little sense could discern the prince’s wishes from what Knut had said.

Whether that could truly be called a freely made decision was debatable. Whatever the case, Gunnar was unanimously chosen as the next Duke of Eldeira.

There were no cheers. The atmosphere was anything but celebratory. It was solemn, yet tinged with troubled, bitter feelings.

Some could not entirely dismiss the thought that a duke had been murdered, and perhaps it was wrong to let the matter pass without consequence. But with a prince intervening, they could hardly insist on pursuing it to the bitter end.

The more fundamental reason was that none of them felt particularly deep loyalty toward the late Duke Sven. They had obeyed his authority, but felt no personal affection or obligation toward the man himself.

When Valeri invited him to say anything he wished, Gunnar rose and addressed the gathering.

“Er... You must all have been very shocked. I’m sorry. That day was a little... I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it. But as you all know, I’m a little slow. If you will help me, I want to listen to your advice and govern Eldeira well. I would like to thank the three earls. Especially you, Earl of Windale. You went through a great deal fighting that siege alongside me. I don’t think I ever thanked you. If the three of you are willing, I would like you to serve as my council. I’ll work hard. This has all been so sudden that I’m not very good with words just now. I’ll leave it there.”

There was an odd charm to Gunnar that drew people in; simply calling him slow did not do him justice. Was it his unaffected sincerity? It was hard to say.

His gaunt appearance after days of barely eating only stirred their sympathy further.

Some of the knights shed hot tears. Having served the ducal house for many years, they knew how much he had suffered.

And everyone who knew anything knew that he had fought harder than anyone in the war. Had he not wielded shovel and pickaxe shoulder to shoulder with the soldiers, taking arrows as he worked?

He had never merely issued orders from the rear. No one could deny that Gunnar had fought at the very front.

Though they had met as enemies, Valeri respected that about him too.

CLAP, CLAP, CLAP...

Someone began to applaud. Soft applause spread, gathering until it filled the hall.

Valeri clapped as well. Then he took Gunnar’s hand, drew him over, and seated him in the duke’s chair. The applause grew louder still.

Thus Gunnar was absolved of the crime of murdering his father. Knut was left with no cause for regret or grief, Winslow and Windale laid their longstanding enmity to rest, and peace finally came to Eldeira and Gringen.

The price of it all was the solitude, the loneliness, of a single person.

Part 12 – He Who Leads to Heaven. End.