Page 81 of King's Reckoning
As the formal part of the ceremony concluded, members broke into smaller groups. Some gathered around maps of the protected territories, discussing patrol schedules and security arrangements. Others shared stories with tribal members, strengthening the human connections that had grown alongside their formal alliance.
King approached, his expressionuncharacteristically tentative. "So...when were you planning to tell the old man that his legacy is growing in more ways than one?"
Rowan couldn't help but smile at his transparent attempt at casualness. "How did you figure it out?"
"Please," King scoffed. "I've known you since...” He trailed off, their separate past an echoing chasm between them, years lost they’d never get back. But the last year, they’d made up for lost time. “You've never turned down a beer in your life until these past few weeks,” he continued after clearing his throat. “Doesn't take a genius to put it together."
Reed's arm slipped around Rowan's waist, protective and proud. "We were waiting until after today. Didn't want to steal focus from the memorial and land recognition."
King's weathered face softened with emotion he rarely displayed. "Elena would have loved this. All of it. The alliance, the land protection..." His voice roughened. "Especially a grandchild."
"We're going to name her Elena if it's a girl," Rowan said quietly.
For a moment, the three of them stood in silence, feeling the weight of the past and the promise of the future.
The sound of approaching motorcycles broke the moment. Barbara hurried over, tablet in hand. "Surveillance picked up a group heading this way. Not on our guest list."
Instantly, the alliance members shifted into defensive positions, a testament to how well they'd learned to work together. Rowan moved toward thetactical position they'd established on higher ground, Reed and King flanking her.
"Numbers?" Reed asked, already scanning the horizon.
"Eight bikes," Barbara reported. "But the riding formation...it's not aggressive. More like a formal approach."
As the riders came into view, Cole stepped forward with unexpected recognition in his eyes. "Those are Nomads," he said. "Representatives from national chapters. They don't get involved in local matters unless..."
"Unless they're acknowledging something significant," King finished, a note of wonder in his voice.
The approaching riders slowed as they neared the gathering, their formation formal and respectful. Their cuts bore patches from chapters across the country—riders who typically served as messengers and peacekeepers between regional clubs.
Their leader, a gray-haired man whose cut bore decades of road wear, dismounted and approached with his hands clearly visible in the universal sign of peaceful intent.
"Which one of you is Rowan Thompson?" he asked, his voice carrying the graveled texture of someone who'd spent a lifetime on the road.
Rowan stepped forward, Reed a protective shadow at her shoulder. "I am."
The man's weathered face broke into an unexpected smile. "Your reputation precedes you. Word's spread about what your alliance hasaccomplished here." He glanced around at the gathered chapters. "When we heard about enemies becoming allies, about clubs setting aside generations of rivalry to protect tribal lands... Well, some stories need to be witnessed firsthand."
He extended his hand. "I'm Berny. National Nomad Council sent us to see if the rumors were true. About a new kind of alliance that honors the old ways while forging new paths."
As Rowan shook his hand, she realized that what they'd built here wasn't just a local solution to a regional problem. It was a template that could spread—a new way for clubs to interact with each other and with the communities they rode through.
"We're still figuring it out as we go," she admitted. "But the foundation is solid."
Berny nodded, looking around at the gathered alliance members and tribal representatives. "That's evident. The National Council is interested in learning more about your approach. Particularly how you've integrated protection of tribal lands into your chapter responsibilities."
King stepped forward, the transition of leadership playing out naturally. "Rowan Thompson is the one you want to talk to about that. She's taking over as president next week."
The surprise on Berny’s face was evident but quickly replaced with respect. "Progressive thinking. We've been watching these developments with interest."
As the Nomads were welcomed into the gathering, Rowan found herself standing once more by her mother's memorial stone. The day had taken an unexpected turn, but then, wasn't that the story of the past year? Every challenge they'd faced had opened new doors, created new possibilities.
Reed joined her, his arm slipping around her waist. "Your mom would be proud," he said quietly. "Not just of what we've protected, but what we've built."
Rowan leaned into his strength, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach where their child—Elena's grandchild—was just beginning to grow.
"That's the thing about legacy," she said, watching the alliance members interact with the Nomads and tribal representatives. "It's never just about preserving the past. It's about creating something new that honors where we came from."
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the protected lands as alliance members shared stories and plans with their unexpected visitors. What had begun as a memorial ceremony had evolved into something more—a celebration of connections forged through shared purpose.
