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Updated: May 12, 2025
Especially since a warrior's contingency plans tended to be violent . . . "Do you have any idea when you plan to offer fealty?" "I was thinking of about five years," Nevan said. "I do want as much experience as I can get, and that's not a lot but her people are allergic to the anti-agathics, so I don't dare wait too long." "True. I'd say that was a reasonable compromise."
She'd seen pictures of him, of course; one Ranger or another was usually in the news. So his appearance was familiar: medium build, youthful-looking thanks to anti-agathics despite graying hair at the temples and an age about 75, if she remembered correctly when an Irschchan would be preparing for death.
"A hundred and seventy-five, Your Majesty but the anti-agathics are still working fine; I have the same physical abilities I did when I started them at eighteen." "Understood. All right, Ranger; you were on full duty, and you obviously know more about them than we do, so I can't reasonably order you to stay away, however dangerous a situation I believe you're going into."
Rina was a year younger than Nevan, but he was on anti-agathics and she couldn't tolerate them; if he didn't get himself killed on the way, he'd probably outlive her by close to two centuries. "Is there anything else?" "No, sir." Nevan stood, bowed. "I thank you for your counsel, Ranger Medart. Gods permitting, I intend to follow it." Medart rose and returned the bow.
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