The sunlit chamber of Yarzat's garrison overlooked the whole city like a watchful eye, but Talek barely noticed the view anymore. The young commander sat at his desk, parchment spread before him, his quill still idle. He had woken only moments ago from a brief siesta, and the haze of sleep still clung to him.
Son of a simple knight, Talek had climbed further than most men of his blood could dream, not out of his achievement, of course, but instead out of his father's relations.
The classic case of nepotism.
Yet the position, for all its honor, left a bitter aftertaste. His father, Robert, was on campaign against Oizen, marching under the banners of the prince.
Talek, meanwhile, was chained to the safety of Yarzat, guardian of a city that seemed far from the war's true heart. He had begged his father to let him join the host, to fight where it mattered. The old knight's answer had been firm, final, and cruel in its simplicity: No.
