Valadel

Chapter III

"Danticus! Danticus, wake up! Trust me, you don't want to miss tonight!"

Cristomir shook Danticus awake.

"Is...is it time for the feast already?" Danticus asked groggily.

"Yes, it's time for the party! Now get up! Don't want to keep the king waiting, do you?"

Dancticus sat up in his bed and rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. He sat in his bed, his cousin pulling him up. He had slept for longer than he planned too, the battle having drained him of nearly all energy.

"Come on, little more enthusiasm wouldn't kill ya. Hurry and get dressed."

Danticus scratched his head, and rubbed his sleepy eyes. He thought about what to wear. He had no sort of clothes worthy enough to don for a feast thrown by a king.

"I don't carry any formal clothes for a king's feast like this. What should I wear?" He asked Cristomir

"I thought you didn't, so I brought you a decent outfit, the one I wore when I was inducted into the order. Though I didn't get a feast."

Cristomir opened his pack and unveiled an outfit of blue and gray, embroidered with silver.

"It's nice," said Danticus, outfitting himself.

"And that's not all," said Cristomir.

"What?"

"Your suspicions were right...Jenna is with child."

"Thats brilliant news!" Danticus pulled his cousin in for a mighty hug. "Do you have any names picked out?"

"If its a boy, Ulric, after my father. If it be a girl...I'll let Jenna decide." Cristomir and Dantius shared a laugh.

"Have you told Gallador?" Danticus asked

"Jenna plans to do it tonight at the feast."

"Speaking of, we should get going."

"Aye. Don't wanna miss your big night!"

*****

Danticus and Cristomir left their quarters in the barracks, and made their way to the Banquet Hall. There, many feasts and gatherings have been held in honor of countless heroes of Jorden, their songs of praise still sung long after their death. Danticus was unsure if he could contain his excitement for much longer. Perhaps a song of his own would one day echo off the walls of the Hall, hearty with the voices of warriors and melodious with the voices of maidens.

As his cousin and he approached the doors containing laughter and excitement, a voice called out to Cristomir.

Cristomir turned his attention towards the shadows that the voice called out from. "Yes?" He said with uncertainty.

"It's good to see you. I had hoped you lived through the battle...though I'd call it more of a skirmish. All the best battles last more than just a half hour."

The man to whom the voice belonged to emerged, and sauntered over to the two cousins. His platinum blonde hair fell to his shoulders, a straight curl dangling over his forehead. He was thin, but fairly muscled. He wore a gray tunic with black embroidery and red silk. His black boots were shined, and his gloves were lined with fur, as was his collar. A small black cape hung from his left shoulder. He reeked of family fortune.

There was a certain arrogance in his icy blue eyes that made Danticus stay on guard. He seemed to be the kind of man who would do anything to get his way, no matter the cost.

"I don't recall seeing you on the battlefield, Whitelocke. Tell me, did the whore you buried yourself in moan louder than the horn of Jorden? Is that why you didn't come to the aid of your city?"