Ethan walked into the echoingly empty great hall alone. It didn’t really fit his mental image of a Forest Hall.

  The usual braziers remained unlit.

  The usual carvings unseen.

  The usual cheer absent in the gloom.

  Only a bit of core light glowed at the opposite end. Shining on a pair of chairs, one already occupied.

  Ethan made his way quietly to the other and across from a shadow of a man. Strong lines and large musculature almost hidden in his stooped posture. His head lay in his hand, elbow propped on his knee and his black hair ragged and shaggy.

  The man sighed and leaned backward, running his hands again through the mess in obvious frustration, and contributing to that state.

  “Baronet Ethan of Alfwin Pass. My thanks for your intervention this day.” The words were like crushed glass. Released because honor demanded it, though they carved his throat in the saying.

  “Haaa, my condolences to you Baron Sigmar of Glendorn. I am sorry it came to what it did.”

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  The baron waved a hand. A sharp, jerky gesture that stood at odds with his clearly advanced stats. “It t’was not of your making, Baronet. I am not so addled as to fail to recognize this.” He spat. “Truth be told, it was of mine.”

  He breathed in and out for a minute. Fingers clamping hard enough to splinter the wood on the arms wrest beneath them. Then finally he breathed out and slumped backward. Rage giving way to sorrow. “I failed my son.”

  The words fell like rocks. Cracking the silence and leaving wounds in it that Ethan refused to touch. Stillness lingered for a time. Then with a sigh the Baron straightened up.

  “And yet, I have other sons, and must consider more than just him now.”

  Ethan nodded softly. A recognition of his words, not agreement. Nor disagreement. It was not his family.

  “And yet. He is my son.” The man wiped tiredly at his face, then looked at Ethan full in the face. Perhaps for the first time since he’d sat down. “I ask a favor, Baronet Ethan.” The words were formal and with the weight of custom behind them, powerful.

  “I will hear you, Baron Sigmar.”

  “Will you take my son, ni- no, nir-Baron Adalbert as squire.” Nir. Such a small sound to indicate demotion from heir to merely a spare. “To take to the edge of our world and your new fief. To raise or to break. That he comes home a Man, or not at all.” The words hung in the air with brutal clarity.

  “Baron, you ask much.” Risked much and for both of them.

  “I do.”

  “But I don’t ask it for nothing. A favor grows with the risk and difficulty. I swear by Brunti that I will repay this one in full.”

  “Please, Baronet.” His voice broke briefly and he looked up at the ceiling. “Please. I do not want to kill my son!”