She looked down at him fondly. “What is it, Savaron?” she asked him softly.
The young man sat up, his eyes looking from her to his father and back again. “It’s you, isn’t it?” he asked with a hint of awe. “That story is also about you.” Gabria glanced at Athlone, and their eyes met in understanding. The same thought had come to them in the past, but they weren’t presumptuous enough to completely believe it. The will of the gods was often incomprehensible and obscure to mere mortals.
But Savaron was overwhelmed by the possibility. “It all fits,” he cried as he bounced to his feet. “Mother, you and Father are blood descendants of Valorian. That’s why you have the talent to wield magic. And it was the two of you who brought sorcery back to the Clans. Amara’s promise has been fulfilled!”
Gabria bowed her head to hide the flush that crept up her cheeks. “Perhaps,” she said, and her fingers lifted the death mask of Valorian to face Savaron. “If that is so, my son, then it is to you that Valorian’s legacy is passed.” She looked up at him again, her green eyes as bright as gems. “Treat it with care and respect, for it is a gift of the gods.”
Savaron couldn’t contain himself any longer. With a whoop of delight, he dashed across the hall and flung open the doors to greet the evening. Fresh air poured in and sent the lamps and torches dancing.
Outside, a black Hunnuli horse neighed at the young man as it trotted up to meet him. With a wave to his parents. Savaron sprang to the horse’s back.
For just a moment, Gabria fancied he looked just like Valorian as he rode away down the hill. Then she smiled to herself and put away the mask of the revered hero-warrior.