Damien managed another day resting before he couldn’t stand it anymore. He still ached, but it was bearable and getting less painful all the time. In another week, hopefully, he’d be recovered. It still hurt to draw his soul force. John said it was because he’d used too much all at once, but he hadn’t done any permanent damage. Better yet, if Damien had to do it again it would hurt less since he’d done it once already.

Damien, Jen, and the rest of her squad rode for the better part of three weeks before the walls of the capital rose in the distance. Damien would have preferred a conjured mount, but John assured him riding a real horse would be better under the circumstances. So here he was, on a rolling, breathing, stinking mount ten miles from the capital. Snow blanketed everything; trees, fields, and fences were reduced to white blobs.

He hated winter. Anything might be hiding out under that white expanse. A clever, patient enemy could sneak within a few feet of his target before he struck. Of course, anyone stupid enough to sneak up on Damien and his companions would end up dead in very short order. At least the traffic to the city had tromped down the snow covering the road so the horses didn’t have to slog through knee-deep piles of the stuff.

“What are you thinking about?” Jen asked.

“Assassins.”

She frowned. “What about them?”

“I’d rather fight half a dozen than go to some stupid feast.”

She laughed. “It’ll be fine. Just smile and nod, shake some hands, and plead exhaustion. You could probably escape inside an hour.”

He grimaced. An hour? How would he manage an hour of smiling and listening to those idiots talk about the battles they watched like they had some part in the fighting? At least the food should be good. After a month plus on the road and eating in camp Damien wanted a hot, well-cooked meal in the worst way.

Not tiny sandwiches covered in cold cucumbers either, but meat and hot bread. And a mug of mulled cider, he’d sell his soul for a mug of hot cider.

“Looks like they sent out a welcoming committee.”

Jen’s words shook him out of his thoughts. A dozen horsemen cantered out from the main gate toward them. Damien squinted, but couldn’t tell who it was.

“It’s Dad.” Jen must have used her soul force to sharpen her sight.

Damien warped the air in front of his eyes to mimic the lenses of a spy glass. A little twinge of pain coursed through him, but nothing to bother about. Sure enough, through the magnification field, he saw his father riding at the head of ten horsemen dressed in blue-and-silver tabards, a gold crown embroidered on their chests. They carried lances with matching pennants flapping in the wind.

An escort of royal guardsmen, how nice. It looked like the king, or as he preferred Jen and Damien to call him in private, Uncle Andy, was going all out.

They reined in when the two groups were ten yards apart. Jen and her squad saluted his father, their fists touching their chests. Damien waved. He wasn’t a warlord and he didn’t answer to his father.

Dad returned the salute. “Congratulations on your successful mission.” He turned his intense gaze on Damien. “I understand you made a good showing for yourself, son. His Majesty wishes to extend his most sincere thanks for your efforts on his behalf. Well done.”

The pride in the old man’s voice surprised Damien. He’d never had much use for sorcerers and even less for Damien himself. He considered them cowards for the most part since they didn’t fight the enemy face to face. “Thank you, sir. It’ll be nice to see Uncle Andy, I mean the king, again.”

Dad winced at his slip. Damien had to remember not to act too familiar with Uncle Andy when other people were around. Sometimes he forgot the kind man that used to run around with Damien on his shoulders as a child was also his king. Of course Uncle Andy would have a fit if he acted too formal in private so he had to balance it, so complicated. Stupid court, with all their rules and propriety. It would be so much easier if everyone could just be friends instead of lords and vassals. The fact that a lot of them hated each other might have something to do with it.

The guardsmen formed up on either side of the group and they rode toward the gate. Dad eased his mare over beside Damien.

Taking on that dragon was very dangerous.

Damien smiled, but didn’t reply. It was good to hear Lizzy’s voice. He hoped they’d have time to catch up later. Dad hated it when he talked out loud to her when others were around, so he contented himself with sending her warm thoughts.

“General Kord said you saved the northern army all by yourself.” Dad sounded a little dubious and Damien didn’t blame him. All he’d ever seen was Damien the screw up.

“I did the best I could and things worked out. I was lucky Jen was there to catch me since I didn’t have a drop of power left after I blasted that dragon. I was hoping to kill it, but the spotters said it got away.”

“An impressive feat just the same.” Dad patted him on the back.

Damien smiled at the awkward attempt at affection. Of all Dad’s myriad of talents, showing affection to his son was not among them. It was nice that he’d made the effort though. Maybe they’d manage to be civil for however long they were in the capital. “Thanks, Dad. Did any of the monsters get through?”

“Reports say a few groups snuck past our line. I’ve got squads out hunting them down. You’ve done your part. Let others handle this.”

“Yes, sir.” That was one order he’d be happy to follow.