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please, call me dad.”
    “What can I get for you, my lord?” the attendant asked Roskin.
    “Just some water. But will you check with my friends, too?”
    The attendant excused himself, and Roskin turned to Master Sondious.
    “It’s good to see you,” he said.
    “It’s wonderful news that you’re safe,” Master Sondious returned, still fuming over the king’s reprimand.
    “Son, please, tell me what happened.”
    Roskin started into the story, beginning with his plans of finding Evil Blade. Master Sondious listened intently, leaning in as close as his chair would allow. The attendant returned with a pitcher of water and three tankards, and as Roskin resumed, the king interrupted several times, asking for more details about Roskin’s time with the outcasts and the ogres. When Roskin reached the point of arriving at the Slithsythe Plantation, he stopped, his voice catching in his throat.
    “I can’t talk about that place,” he managed.
    “It’s okay, Roskin,” Kraganere said, reaching over and touching his shoulder.
    The heir composed himself and continued, explaining how Evil Blade, Vishghu, and Molgheon liberated the slaves and overran the orcs. Then, he described the Battle for Hard Hope, how Evil Blade lured the orcs into the narrow strip of land to even the odds, how Roskin had fought with Leinjar at the rear to cut off the orcs’ retreat.
    “Most of my life, I’ve heard horror stories about Evil Blade, but he sounds like someone I’d like to meet,” the king said.
    “Yes,” Master Sondious agreed. “He sounds nothing like the ogres describe.”
    “He’s not.”
    “Maybe we can bring him to Dorkhun to honor him for rescuing you.”
    “There are others, too. Vishghu did as much as anyone for me. She deserves to be recognized.”
    “Under the circumstances, I’m not sure we could invite an ogre into the kingdom for some time.”
    “If ever,” Master Sondious added.
    Roskin leaned back in his seat and stared at the ceiling. For a moment, Master Sondious saw a glimmer of the Roskin who had left a little over a year before, but as quickly as it came, the glimmer faded. The special advisor could see the pain in the young dwarf’s eyes, a deep wound that could never fully heal. He wanted to tell him that he too understood that kind of suffering. He wanted to tell him about his own ordeal; how he had believed himself already dead; how his legs ached every moment of every day; how he woke most nights from the same nightmare. He knew Roskin would understand in a way the king couldn’t, and more than anything else, he needed to share it with someone who had been through something similar.
    “There’s someone I want you to meet,” Roskin said, rising from his seat.
    The heir went to the door and called to his friends. Then, he returned to the table and stood near his father and the special advisor. In a moment, a new figure came through the doorway. This dwarf was also very thin but in a more toned, muscular way. His left arm was missing from just below the elbow, but he carried himself with grace and dignity. Master Sondious immediately recognized him as the great nephew of the lost Ghaldeon king. When Bordorn had been a youth in exile in Dorkhun, Master Sondious, who then was only an assistant to the council, had served as his tutor, teaching him about government and politics. As well as Master Sondious could remember, Bordorn had been an excellent student, and the two had been fond of each other.
    Then, a Kiredurk entered the room, a thickly muscled and imposing dwarf whose very walk warned of trouble. His white beard was braided in two long strands, and his cheeks were damaged from too much sun exposure. Even though it had been many years since Master Sondious had seen him, he recognized his nephew immediately, and he wanted to embrace his kin but hoped the king didn’t recognize him, too.
    “You remember Bordorn,” Roskin said to the king.
    “Yes,” Kraganere responded, rising and