In Palanthas, the princess gave birth to her baby in the spring. Immediately the nurses and physicians agreed all the auguries were promising. He had a healthy cry, his eyes were bright and curious, and his little fingers-ten in number, equaling his toes-clutched his mother’s hand with a sturdy grip.
The emperor had an heir! A son!
If the child’s mother, the Princess Selinda du Chagne Markham, wondered at all about the lingering effects of the potion called the Red Lotus, she kept her concerns to herself.
Jaymes Markham, the emperor, took up permanent residence in his great palace, overseeing the rule of Palanthas and also the surrounding realms of the new empire. His wife lived nearby, in the temple of Kiri-Jolith. They appeared together with their son soon after his birth, and the plaza was filled to overflowing with people who cheered and applauded their leader and his family. Jaymes and Selinda accepted the accolades with grace and good wishes in return.
Then they went back to their respective homes.
In the darker streets and alleys of Palanthas, Sir Ballard and the other knights of the Legion of Steel doffed their regalia and, dressed again in dark cloaks and fingerless gloves, frequented their secret alehouses. But the people-and the emperor-knew they were vigilant and watched over the welfare of the city.
Trade thrived in Palanthas and across Solamnia. Many goods came over the mountains, through the wide road over the pass, while the great seaport remained as busy as ever before. Kalaman, formerly a part of the First Empire, sent emissaries to Palanthas to inquire about rejoining the great nation in the new age. Ergoth, Sancrist, and Sanction all became important trading partners and allies.
The lofty spires of Vingaard Keep were rebuilt with funds from the emperor’s personal treasury. The Kerrigan clan, under the leadership of the pardoned young lord Blayne, lived and ruled there. So, too, was the High Clerist’s Tower restored where the explosion had damaged it.
And the secret of the black powder remained with the dwarves in their pastoral valley. The charcoal ovens were cool, no more spring steel was ordered from Kayolin, for there were no bombards in the making.
Nor would there be, unless the songs of war were given voice again.