The night wind lifted his silver-embroidered cloak and stirred Oakland's gray hair. His fingertips curled in the empty air, and the light of the Seventh Star of the North spilled between them, just like the stardust shaken from Votradnoi's cedar branches when he was fifteen.
The attendants had waited behind him for some time, holding gold-threaded sashes. They were all loyal men who had fled Bagnia for Minisia with the old king.
Some were only seventeen, still young enough to be attending military academy, but had hastily abandoned their studies to go into exile. Others were decrepit, older even than the old king, their withered fingers barely able to hold the gilded trays.
Leonard, the eldest, even needed an ebony walking stick. A sapphire brought from the Bagnian royal treasury was set into its head, a gift Oakland had bestowed in recognition of his loyalty.
Apart from these few jewels, the old king had little left.
"Your Majesty, the banquet is about to begin. Are you ready?"
An elderly attendant asked respectfully, his voice carrying a slight tremor born of uncertainty about the future and longing for the past.
Tonight's banquet was important. It would determine whether the old king could return to Bagnia soon and once again become the glorious sovereign of all Bagnians.
No one would neglect their duties. Even the decrepit Leonard rallied his spirits. In his own words:
"As long as the banquet succeeds, even if I enter the Earth Mother Goddess's embrace tomorrow, it will have been worthwhile. Whatever happens, I must be buried in the royal cemetery, to sleep beside the kings of ages past."
Although Bagnians liked to seek work abroad, and countless numbers died on foreign battlefields, their attachment to their homeland ran deep. As long as any companions left the battlefield