The compliment earned scattered applause.

Galloran went on. “We now embark on missions prescribed by your most recent oracle. I thank the treefolk for providing us with safe passage through the jungle. Troubled times await us all. I will remain in communication via eagle whenever possible.

“The future of Lyrian has never been more precarious. Remain vigilant. Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. I salute Jason and my friends, who now embark on a hazardous quest to a secret destination. Together they form one of the finest teams ever assembled in the history of Lyrian. If they counsel wisely and work as one, I expect there is little they cannot accomplish.”

Nollin started laughing derisively.

“Is something humorous?” Farfalee asked.

“I’m simply amused by this brave talk of victory,” Nollin said. “Can we be just a touch more realistic?”

“Enlighten us,” Galloran offered. Rachel could tell he wasn’t thrilled with the interruption.

“We’re not going to accomplish anything,” Nollin said simply. “I’ll do my best alongside you, but we’re chasing a phantom triumph. A fool’s mirage. The oracle made it clear that victory was all but impossible.”

“What would you have us do?” Drake challenged.

“I would tell the good people of Mianamon to expect word of our failure,” Nollin replied. “I would encourage them to withdraw deep into the heart of the jungle, to promote the breeding of ferocious beasts, and to erect whatever defenses they can contrive. After our nations fall, this will be the last vestige of free civilization on the continent. They should take every measure to protect it.”

“You can’t write us off like that,” Jason argued.

“Can’t I?” Nollin asked innocently. “The oracle did. She made it abundantly clear that this venture has virtually no chance of success. It will end in our ruin.”

“Then why are you participating?” Farfalee asked.

Nollin faced her. “If we’re already doomed, why not chase one last pleasant illusion? This was the decision of my people, and I will hold true to it. But the rest of Lyrian should brace for disaster.”

Rachel noticed the treefolk murmuring and shifting uncomfortably.

“If we think like that, we probably will fail,” Jason said resolutely. “The oracle told us that we still have a chance to beat Maldor. We need to focus on that.”

“You’re free to dream however you wish,” Nollin teased. “But don’t ask the rest of us to share your unrealistic—”

“Then don’t ask us to share your weakness!” Jason interrupted.

Nollin seemed taken aback.

Jason plowed forward. “This isn’t really my fight. It’s not my world. I’m not helping because my people obligated me. I’m helping because Lyrian needs to be saved. It’s a good place with good people. There’s so much potential that will be lost if Maldor wins! I’ve met him. He wants to control all of Lyrian. He wants to rule it completely, for as long as he can, and since he could live hundreds of years, that could add up to a really long time. If he wins, Lyrian will become a terrible place. He barely even tries to hide that. Stopping him is the right thing to do.”

“Nobody is arguing that we should embrace Maldor,” Nollin said soothingly.

“You’re arguing that stopping him is unrealistic,” Jason said. “But don’t you get what Galloran was saying? You’re with people who do unrealistic things. He’s killed three torivors! I spoke the Word to Maldor and then escaped Felrook. Rachel killed Orruck and we took his orantium. We all made it through Ebera. We’ve done lots of unrealistic things. Why not try for a few more?”

The assemblage cheered. Rachel wanted to hug Jason. The mood in the room had gone from gloomy to jubilant in a matter of moments. Nollin surveyed the surrounding reactions with a condescending smile. He shook his head a little and raised his hands in surrender. The gesture reluctantly gave permission for the others to enjoy their delusion. They took him up on the offer.

“Well said, Lord Jason,” Galloran approved, motioning for the crowd to quiet down. “This is not an hour for doubt or fear.” The blindfolded king drew his sword. The sleek blade flashed like a mirror. “I have in my custody four swords of torivorian make, won by besting lurkers in battle. I have owned two others, but they were lost when I was taken by Maldor. I will keep one of the four swords. My daughter Corinne will retain another. A third will travel into peril with Lord Jason of Caberton.”

“Me?” Jason blurted.

Rachel glanced at his shocked expression.

“I wish I could give more,” Galloran apologized.

“But I’m not the best swordsman in my group,” Jason protested. “Far from it. How about Jasher? Or Drake?”

“According to the oracle, you must survive to reach Darian the Pyromancer,” Galloran said. “You must live to receive the vital information. Therefore you should be the best equipped of your party.”

Jasher nudged Jason. “Go accept it,” the seedman whispered.

Rachel nodded her agreement.

“Okay,” Jason said, walking to Galloran. “Thank you—I can’t believe it. I’ll do my best.”

Jason strapped the sword about his waist. Despite his height, he looked young.

Tark began the cheering. Others noisily joined him, and the approval quickly swelled to a wholehearted level that surprised Rachel. She found herself caught up in spirit of the moment, whistling and clapping.

Jason smiled bashfully. The cheers subsided. Jason stepped away from Galloran, who produced another torivorian sword. “The fourth sword will travel with me to Trensicourt, borne by Ferrin, son of Baldor.”

Mutters rippled through the crowd, not all of them approving. Rachel glanced at the displacer, his expression a study in surprise and disbelief. He walked over to Galloran and knelt before him. “This is too kingly a gift.”

“The blade comes with a price,” Galloran said. “You must wield it in defense of our cause. If you do so, you will more than earn it.”

Ferrin bowed his head. “I’m deeply honored, Your Majesty.”

“More honor awaits if you see this through,” Galloran rasped softly.

Io handed Ferrin the sword. The displacer belted it on.

Considering Ferrin, Rachel decided that Galloran was wise to entrust him with the torivorian weapon. She knew Ferrin viewed the fine swords with an almost religious awe. Any gesture that might help cement his loyalty would give them a better chance for success.