His father sighed. “Truth to tell, I’m glad you’re taking him off my hands,” the graying patriarch said. “He’s not very restful to have around. I’m not looking forward to packing up and haring off into the wilderness, Valdemar, but given some of the rumors I’m hearing out of the Capital, I’m not eager to stick around here, either.”

“Barges will make that journey less uncomfortable,” Kordas pointed out.

“And more practical,” his Lordship nodded.

Kordas made small talk about Endicrag’s family until Ivar appeared, carrying a huge rucksack and a second bag, loaded with weapons, and accompanied by an intelligent-looking mastiff. “I’ve ordered my riding horse prepared,” Ivar said, before Kordas could ask. “I’m ready. Whenever you and Father are done.”

Lord Endicrag shook his head. “And this is why you are the despair of your mother,” he said, sounding more amused than anything else. “You haven’t been back a fortnight!”

Ivar shrugged. “And look how useful I am now!” he countered. “I’m perfect for what’s ahead of us!”

“You can’t argue with that,” Kordas pointed out.

Endicrag sighed. “No,” he admitted. “I can’t. Off you go with the Duke, lad,” he added. “If you get eaten by something, at least make sure it’s memorable.” His Lordship had made a joke out of it, but Kordas could tell this was causing him anxiety. Ivar could tell, too.

“Father, I’m far from your only child. I can do this—you and I both know that to be true. Wherever I go, you, all my family, and all of Valdemar is carried with me. That’s what gives spring to my stride through the deepest snow or stinging gales. I can be my best because you raised me.”

Kordas waited by the exit while Endicrag and Ivar tearfully embraced and murmured to each other.

Not enough of us get to tell those who had a hand in building us just how we feel about our pasts, while they’re still alive. It wounds the heart, but makes us more whole whenever we can, though. This physical world isn’t all there is, but while we have it, this is the one that counts. The words should be spoken.

“I hate to worry him like this,” Ivar confessed, as he and Kordas headed to the stables. “But . . . this is who I am.”

Kordas waited to say anything until they got to the stables and he could watch Ivar with a critical eye. And he liked what he saw. Ivar’s black mastiff stayed right at his master’s heel, with his long tail waving gently from side to side and his head up, ears alert, attention fixed on his master. This was a well-trained dog, with love for his master. Ivar’s horse welcomed him with a whicker and a nuzzle, and Ivar checked bridle, saddle, and girth for his horse’s comfort before mounting.