Klay approaches Valeran, the reality of what had just been revealed in the attic shaking Klay to his core. ‘I trust in the celestial bodies’ wisdom, but by the Fallen Stars, how am I supposed to accept this’ Clearing his small throat and giving his heels a quick click he probes cautiously, “Lord Athelvane, I find myself in need of some of your time.I think we both know this conversation is not one that I can put off. We need to talk about those relics you have. Given their meaning to my order, I hope you will treat this as a delicate subject.” Klay cranes his neck to make direct eye contact with Valeran.

Valeran slows his walk from the storage room, letting the others go ahead. He draws a deep breath as he nods along with Klay’s words.

“Yes, Mr. Klay, I rather expected it. In fact I have imagined a conversation like this in some form since I learned what the reliquary held, while I was still an initiate. ‘Chevlen’s Chosen’ are but the first who would hold the relic in great importance.” He gestures to the hallway outside the storage room. “Walk with me, please.” He returns to the top of the stairs. Two somewhat dusty, taxidermied wolf heads snarl down on the pair of stone staircases. Valeran strikes a similar profile, peering down to make sure none who aren’t in on the secret are within hearing. 

“It is a delicate subject. It chafes me to say, but I am a knightly order of one. I cannot risk a crusade to seize the relic.” The steps encircle an imposing statue, nearly as tall as the stairs, of an armored figure with Valeran’s nose. “Privacy is a must,” he insists as he descends. 

Klay’s eyes stroke across the figures bearing over him from the walls. The intimidation factor was not lost upon him. ‘Another human doing their best to lord over me, so be it.’ Klay draws himself to his full, yet still diminutive height as they walk. 

“Indeed you can not afford to defend it in the event someone tries to take it. Why not return it? We have the resources to keep it safe, to reunite it with the rest of his body.”

Klay sighs as he pulls his hat off, revealing the bare scalp of his bald head. Scratching at a bit of a dry skin he continues, “Lord Athelvane, why not join us? Your order was once part of mine. Surely our goals are not so different? Do you think Chevlen would have wanted his followers to behave this way?”

He stares at Valeran with imploring eyes, gripping his hat with both hands in a small stranglehold. 

Valeran silently regards Klay with pursed lips for a moment, then resumes walking. Buying time to gather his thoughts, he goes to the kitchen and retrieves two goblets and a smudged bottle with a worn tag. Gesturing back out with the bottle, he leads back through the mossy courtyard to the opposite corner of the manor. 

He opens a heavy wooden door to a lounge. Two dark, old, but sturdy wingback chairs face a cold fireplace. Windows on two walls allow the afternoon sun to illuminate at least half the space. The knight closes the door behind them.

“Please know,” he finally begins, “I do not wish to antagonize. In fact, I honor you and the other ‘Chosen’ as fellow heirs of his legacy.” He pours generously from the bottle an amber liquid and offers the beverage to Klay before sitting. It is mead, perhaps very fine at one time, now merely drinkable after less than perfect storage. 

“I have sworn to restore my order as well as my house,” he utters slowly between swigs. “After decades of history and ordeal, I cannot be the man to preside over their final fall. I will not. And as I mentioned, without the reliquary there would be no more chevaliers like myself.” He looks down at the woven rug between them, a shadow over his face. 

“I could counter with the same. Pardon me, but you describe a faction that is declining into venality.” He holds up a preemptive palm. “I fully empathize. But I have some resources as Count. They could come here; join in reviving the chevaliers’ casern. Some might even undergo the rites.” Already he pours himself a refill.

Klay accepts the goblet hesitantly,but after a moment of consideration takes a drink. ‘I’ve had worse’. The offer that Valernamade was tempting, if preemptive. It would be nice to see some life forced back into the order, perhaps even see a resurgence of honor to replace greed.

“You bear a heavy burden of legacy, Lord Athelvane. I know all too well that feeling. I am tied to a line that has served within Prurid for centuries. We are looked down upon, literally and figuratively, by the others but we have not forgotten our vows nor our duty to the people.”
     
Looking around at the sparsely furnished room Klay thought about the state of the rest of the manor. To leave the Chosen and become part of a branch of heretics would undoubtedly shame his father to an early grave, but perhaps there is something to the idea. Unfortunately, there are many issues that would need to be addressed.

“Lord Athelvane, I have watched you during our travels and to say you are a man with steadfast conviction is an understatement. I believe you when you say you will restore what has been lost to the ravages of politics and time. However, you are human and are fated to live but a short lifespan. Even if I were to join you in this, how could I be certain your order would not share the same fate as my own, or worse still repeat what has already happened? I understand your people do not practice human supremacy in a legal sense, but the prejudice is still there. To say the least I have concerns.”

Klay downs the remaining mead in his cup and helps himself to another pour. The amber liquid was starting to fill a hole he had long sought to keep covered up. ‘Grandpappy, give me strength, give me a sign in these trying times.’

“I must point out the…humor inherent in worrying over prejudice and, in the same breath, fretting on the fate of humans to wither away come winter winds.” Valeran blunts his sarcasm with a polite smile. “But I am sorry to hear if the ‘Chosen’ have succumbed to bigotry. Clearly, I know how it erodes the common good.” Leaning his head back, he peers thoughtfully into the hearth as though a fire might appear out of force of habit.

“I feel I’ve learned that certainty is a luxury. Relics may be divine in themselves, but institutions are only as sacred as their members hold.” He takes another glug of mead then dabs the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“I don’t know how the earth may move in another age, but we can choose how to rebuild the foundation. As master, I will demand worthiness. Do my best not to repeat mistakes.” He raises his goblet to Klay in toast, adding, “Seek the wisest counsel.” 

Matching the amber liquid in his goblet, thoughts swirled around behind Klay’s brow. He had seen the young lord’s battle prowess first hand. That Valeran would make a strong leader against the threats of the world was not in doubt. Based on the followers he had already gathered it was clear he did not hold much bias in race. The offer almost seemed too good to be true.

“ I am sorry if I caused any offense. Admittedly those concerns are bad habits difficult to escape from. The purpose of the Chosen was originally to clear the monsters that terrorized the people of our world. I am fortunate enough to have been raised and trained with that mindset safe from the ravages of time. What then would you hold as the purpose for your order? You offer me a seat at your table, but I do not know you.”

Klay had seen what wealth and power could do to a person. He had witnessed that well enough in Liamas at the home of the Caspian boy. There had been many over time who had started off with an ideal, only to see it corrupted or warped. The sunlight reveals the hidden motes of dust in the air, trapped in an infinite dance of chaos.

“I must come to trust more than just the strength of your arm if you seek to recruit me. Tell me, if this quest to stop the return of the Dark Prince succeeds, what then? Or more importantly, what if it fails? Fate is not always so kind as to grant death in the face of failure.”

Klay leans forward, the brim of his hat high, as he stares unblinkingly into Valeran’s eyes. The bristles of his beard motionless as though every part of his being waited upon that answer.

“A bit of history, then,” Valeran began with some small mirth. “The full account may be lost for good since much was left to oral tradition, but this much seems clear to me: The first mention I have found of the Knights of the West is from roughly the same time as Folke seceded from the Prurid Empire more than three centuries ago. They could have been an arm of the ‘Chosen’ or at least their purpose was similar, as a letter we have from the period states they were bequeathed a piece of the Enemy for safekeeping—the piece we are presently hoping to locate. The order therefore existed prior to the passing of Chevlen III, and the relic of his left hand was brought after. If the name of that person and the circumstances are in my records, I have yet to find them.

“Several generations ago, the commander of the Knights, Sir d’Avance, was embroiled in scandal after killing a Folkish Duke in a duel. It would likely have meant the end of the order but for the intervention of my ancestor. The Count of Capalmont adopted them into his retinue and reformed them as the Chevaliers of Corseilles. His son was the first Athelvane to be a chevalier himself; that is his statue at the stairs. 

“Since then, the chevaliers have served the good of this county and country against beast, bandit, and invader.” 

Valeran shifts in his seat. As the monumental scope of the Golden Hearts’ quest became known, his ideas for the future afterward had also grown. But how to explain it to others while avoiding fear for a change?

“The Dark Prince, as you put it, has the stated goal of the world’s destruction. It is hard to say under what circumstances we would still live if we fail. But as long as he stays that course, we must oppose him while we remain.”

He leans forward, elbows on knees, face beginning to display new glimmers of energy.

“But if we succeed?” He sets his goblet down. “Before long, I will have seen something of every realm on this continent. There is stagnation. Victimization. Petty despots in mouldy halls.” The Count sits up straight. “In the wave that follows saving the old world, the chevaliers and Golden Hearts will lead the way to a new world.”

Klay absorbs the information like thick bread in sauce. Nothing stood out to him to cause concern. The future plans of the Count seemed to border on grandiose, but big dreams tend to come out of those who reach for the stars. 

“Lord Athelvane, thank you for the history of your order. I must admit I had never concerned myself much with the bureaucratic differences in the world. It is my main focus to simply help keep the populace safe. I have already offered you my silence on the matter of the…Artifacts, and so shall I keep my word on that. I will encourage you to return them so Chevlen may rest in peace.”

Klay stands up and flattens out his pant legs.The silvered mithril of his breastplate reflecting the sunbeams across the walls like a beacon to incoming ships.

“ I will not bow or grovel for your favor, my lord.I do not have the constitution for such. However your offer bears much consideration. I will determine if you are worthy for my service and dedication once our current quest has been resolved. Until then I hope to see the best of what you have to offer.”

Valeran stands along with the gnome. He lets the repeated comment about returning the relic and mention of bowing pass without reply, though his eyes narrow for half a moment. 

“I accept your word, and I can ask nothing more today,” he responds. His chief concern with Klay is assuaged, and prolonged debate now could only lose ground. “Where others would quail and press their faces to the dirt, we dare challenge. My best—our best—is only the beginning of what is needed.” He walks Klay to the door and, with a cordial parting word, closes it between them. He scoops up his goblet and bottle as he walks back to the middle of the sitting room. 

You’ve had a taste of the many sacrifices you’ll have to make. The admonition of a goddess, the vision she had sent of fighting and death. The chevalier acknowledged it, then let it go with a long exhale. Mead pours from bottle to goblet to lips until empty as the chevalier takes in the quiet.