Erlendr fidgeted with a silver band on his finger, struggling to hide his worry. The news of High King Aigoths death had troubled him, not least because they were friends, but there was now a cloud of uncertainty that now hung above the Broken Isles. It was the High King’s authority that kept the jarls in check - prevented the clans from breaking into open warfare and weakening themselves before foreign powers. The Red Knot Clan had been secure in that authority, knowing the army of the Shattered Moon dare not leave its bogs and swamps to march on Debendsfeld. With Aigoth gone, it could no longer be complacent in that knowledge. Gravemire had attacked in the past when there was no High King. Why shouldn’t they do so now?

“Are you alright, father?” asked a voice, stealing Erlendr’s attention from his ring. He turned to find the youthful face of his son, Gunni, partially obscured by the fog. 

“It’s nothing,” he said with a dismissive grunt.

“Debensfeld is in good hands,” Gunni assured. “Osgar will see to that. When we get back, Kynnesburgh will still be standing, trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Erlendr answered quickly. “And Osgar, which is why I left Debensfeld in his control. If your older brother is to inherit the clan someday, he needs to learn to manage it on his own.”

“Have you brought me along to learn to become his emissary?” Gunni asked. He laughed, but Erlendr knew he meant it.

“You’re still young. I brought you out because you need to see more of the world. I wouldn’t see you grow complacent living in Debensfeld all your life. A man needs experience and fresh air.” It seemed a satisfactory answer. Gunni smiled, shrugged his shoulders and was silent. 

The two of them rode through crowded streets, hooves clicking against broken cobblestones. Kingsport was still drab and it still stunk. Erlendr had never been thrilled when he was summoned, but spending time with Aigoth had made up for it. Now, there was just about nothing redeeming of the place. He pondered, wondering what the High King’s son would look like now - how old was the boy, again? It had been longer than he remembered. 

Trailed by a small honor guard, the Debensfielders reached the inner city. The main keep of the Stonecutters lay before them, penetrating the miasma of fog that choked the rest of Kingsport. A handler appeared to take their horses. They dismounted, let the attendants usher them inside and gathered themselves in a waiting chamber to prepare for the kingsmoot.