“Thomas was 380 seasons old and died peacefully in his sleep,” Kail continued. “I can’t think of better way to go.”
“And what about Callaghan?” Foghorn asked. He knew the question had hit a nerve, and he immediately regretted bringing him up. Kail dropped back into his chair and froze, looking around at nothing in particular. His thoughts turned to 16 seasons earlier. What a mistake he had made. The worst mistake of his captainship.
Foghorn tried to sooth the wound. “He made his choice. He knew what he was doing.”
“He wasn’t even 70 seasons.”
The roles had reversed from the time they had entered the room. Kail was the silent one and Foghorn was feeling empathetic.
“You warned me,” Kail admitted. “You told me to let it go. And I couldn’t, or didn’t.”
“We all make mistakes Kail,” his words missed Kail entirely.
“My honor was too important to me. I knew I could take him in a fair fight.” Kail thought about the man he incapacitated. A drunk who had the nerve to call Kail’s parents animals. Said, they were the lowest form of life. He didn’t kill him of course, just knocked him out with the hilt of his sword. When Kail was leaving the tavern another man, a friend of the drunk man, pulled out a pistol and shot at him. “Callagan was the only one who saw it coming.”
“Aye, he was,” Foghorn said regrettably.
“He took that bullet for me. He saved my life and I can’t do anything to repay him.”
Foghorn said nothing. There was nothing to be said.