The last time Darion had really talked to the knights was when they had gone to war with Valdenmoor.
That felt like ages ago now. The planning sessions, the march, the fire arrows lighting up the night sky, the chaos of battle. He had given them orders then.
They had followed without hesitation. After the war, things had changed. Darion had shifted his focus to other matters: the farmland, the debts, the negotiations with King Michul, the graveyard, the endless administrative work of rebuilding a dying barony.
Darion replied to their greetings with a loud, clear voice that carried across the entire yard:
"Morning, knights of Percvale."
The words echoed off the stone walls. A few of the younger knights straightened their backs even more. Some of the older ones nodded, their faces unreadable.
Then Darion did something unexpected.
