《Griidlords: The Bloodsword Saga [LitRPG-lite, Progression, Starts Weak]》
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
I''m writing this to be understood. I don''t know when, or if, these words will ever be read by human eyes. But I hope I will be remembered. I hope it won''t be as one of history''s great monsters. I tried.
It was jarringly unfamiliar. No amount of training could have prepared me for this. My vision through the visor was bombarded with texts and graphics. The torrent of information about the world around me obscured my view of the field and swamped my thinking. How could anyone fight with this overwhelming deluge of data? I felt the power of the suit coursing through my veins, sensed the monstrous strength that gripped my very being.
For this brief moment, I wielded it. My whole life had been building up to this moment¡ªthis was my chance. Everything I did next would influence if this power would be mine forever, or just a fading memory, a lost chance.
My eyes drifted to the corner of the HUD where the most important lines of text, maybe not for this situation, but for my life at least, were displayed. The text was simple, the letters bright and glowing:
Subject: Tiberius
Status: Unchosen
Level: 8
Ranking A: 12/12
Ranking B: 178/178
I hovered over the display, fixated on this column of seemingly pointless numbers. The data shouldn¡¯t have distracted me, I shouldn¡¯t have let it. But the information was screaming for my attention.
The status was the whole point of this exercise, to become chosen. The level¡ªa very, very unflattering one¡ªwas a deflating reminder that I was the lowest among my twelve classmates in the choosing. The rankings confirmed it.
The first ranking was my position out of the twelve candidates vying to become the next Sword of Boston, and I was dead last. The second was my ranking as a Griidlord, and I guess for these few minutes, I was one¡ªthough clearly the most lowly in the land. Which made sense, I was, after all, just barely learning to walk in the thing. But some of the others hadn¡¯t all even had a chance in the suit yet, how did it know to put me at the bottom?
I had hoped to find myself in the same boat as my peers. For all twelve of us this was our first time in the suit. I had hoped their struggles would be at least as great as mine. I had worked hard to exceed at this. They had enjoyed a head start in life. My childhood had been a bed-ridden existence. It was only in my teens that I had been brought to the training field. The others seemed to have learned to swing a sword before they could talk. I wasn¡¯t far off many of them. But the best of them seemed to have an automatic understanding that the rest of us lacked.
I tried to return my focus to the task at hand. Across the dusty floor of the arena was a fiend. The creature''s twisted form triggered an instinctive repulsion in me. The ragged little beast wasn¡¯t natural. It moved with a twitchiness, it¡¯s beady little eyes darting around with a predatory hunger. Every muscle on the twisted little thing was coiled and ready to strike, it¡¯s head darting rapidly around with a hint a madness. The grotesqueness of the vile thing was like a picture from a nightmare.
The fiend was a little one, not much bigger than a dog, looking vaguely like a hairless rat. Its claws had the dullness of stone about them, but there was a metallic quality to them as well. This was a creature that a true warrior could maybe, just maybe, slay on his own, but most likely only with at least a touch from lady luck. But, it was a creature that a Griidlord should pay almost no attention to. I wasn''t a Griidlord yet, not really. I was wearing the suit of one, and theoretically wielded the power, but I was a baby taking its first steps. This was just the first of many tests where I hoped to compete with the other eleven to actually win this suit for my own.
The fiend lunged at me with surprising speed, its beady eyes gleaming with vicious intent. I swung my sword, the motion clumsy as a toddler''s. The blade sliced through the air, missing the creature entirely. I staggered, the weight and power of the suit throwing me off balance.
My torso was turned the wrong way as the little demon flew at me. I turned myself as best I could, but I couldn¡¯t even bring my arms up to protect myself, let alone my sword. The strangely metallic stone claws of the fiend raked across my chest. But they could do little harm to the armor of a Griidlord. They hopped along its surface, leaving no discernible mark on the surface. The impact pushed me backward, my feet spun as I raced to find my balance. The fiend landed on its feet in the dirt, turning quickly to face me again.
My heart raced as I tried to regain my footing. I could hear the blood pulsing in my ears.
Why was this so hard? This wasn¡¯t even a real round of The Choosing. This was just a chance for us to experience the suits before the real contest began. And a chance to weed out those who were simply to inept to be allowed to take part in the more dangerous rounds to come.
I tightened my grip on the sword. I could see no way to hit the thing, but the only choice I had was to try.
Straightening myself was awkward, every motion a struggle to control the strength of the suit. I felt as if I could snap my own spine if I moved too sharply. My emotions were roiling. My whole life had been building to this moment.
My heart raced¡ªcould I fail on the first attempt and be thrown out before the Choosing truly began? My father''s face hovered in my mind, his voice echoing in my ears, urging me on for my family''s honor.
The fiend raced towards me again. I swung my sword, almost as clumsy as before, another miss, but not quite so awkward. I was attempting to be gentle, allowing the suit to accentuate my movements.
Then, there was a voice in my ear. My heart almost stopped as the words started to pour into me from nowhere. The voice was strange and warped. It sounded like a child but distorted and strange. It whispered, "Oh, you''re an interesting one at least."
"Who is that?" I whispered, trying to focus on the fiend. The surprise of the noise, the honest to Oracle creepiness of it, made me stumble. The voice giggled as I struggled to maintain my concentration. The creature coiled, ready to pounce again. I tried to shift my sword and stance, but my arms swung violently as the suit enhanced every movement.
"I know you feel pathetic, and really¡ you are¡," the voice continued, "but you''ve already got the tiniest idea of how to do it. Don¡¯t move so much as let the suit move. You¡¯re a slow starter, but I smell potential. And besides that, your brain... it''s not like the others."
I shivered, chilled by this strange entity. If not for the heat of the moment I would have been more deeply frightened. Because this was a truly frightening moment. I was hearing a voice. Be it my own mind cracking under the pressure to perform, or a supernatural apparition, there was no version of events where this wasn¡¯t a terrifying experience. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
But I couldn¡¯t afford to even contemplate it.
The fiend launched at me. I attempted to step back, but my legs slipped from under me. I landed on my back, the fiend hurtling towards my face. The glowing red blade of the suit''s sword pointed out and up, held awkwardly as my arm was pinned to my side where I''d fallen.
The face of the fiend grew huge as it descended towards me. For a moment, I thought maybe there was a flicker of fear or realization in its eyes as it fell the last few feet, as though it had already understood it was doomed. Or perhaps it was frustration, offended that it would meet its end to such a poor opponent. Or maybe it was simply outraged by the cruelty of chance.
Whatever imagined feeling I projected onto the beast didn''t matter. I barely felt the impact of its body as it struck my sword, its body impaled, sliding down the blade, hissing and smoldering from the energy in the weapon. The fiend''s death throes were quick, its struggles quickly grew weaker until it finally lay still.
I lay there, still unable to move or rise, the creature''s corpse cooking on the sword. It sizzled and popped, the smell of charred flesh filling the air. The fiend''s body began to fall apart, pieces of it sloughing down the blade and landing in grotesque lumps beside me. My heart pounded. I had passed this little test, but the manner of my victory was humiliating. Then panic surged through me as I realized I still couldn''t get up. I was trapped on my back in the awkward suit like an upturned tortoise.
Suddenly, the face of the priest filled my vision. The man regarded me with an entirely unconcealed contempt. His eyes bore into mine. I felt momentary anger at this. I might not be a noble, but by many measures I was the son of a man much more important to the city. My rage melted quickly as I realized what an embarrassment I had just made of myself.
Mario, the High Priest, stood beside the first man. He leaned over me. His hands fluttered at something under my chin, and the helm and chest split open with a hiss.
The cool air rushed in. Being in the suit was not hot or stifling. There was even a strange awareness of the feelings of its surface when you wore it. But feeling the actual air on my skin was a relief. I felt a rush of freshness against my sweaty skin, like a balm soothing my frazzled nerves. Slowly, I rose from the suit, leaving its shell on the ground beneath me. My muscles ached, and my movements were stiff, but I was free from the constricting shell.
Mario¡¯s gaze never left me. Look looked at me with unreserved distain. I sullied him by just being here.
"Pathetic," he said. "You have much to learn, Tiberius. If you¡¯ll last long enough to learn anything, that is."
Mario sighed. He looked disgusted, as though he were soiled by simply being near me.
"Get up," he ordered. "There¡¯s no time for you to wallow. Others would have their chance to make a less humiliating display."
I could hear low giggles. I turned, seeing the others bunched together in the stands above. They were clustered together, whispering in each other''s ears. They mockery was low, but quite intentionally loud enough for me to be aware of it.
These were my classmates, my competitors for the suit. But of course, I was different from them, and that difference only served to heighten what they all shared together. I rose and stumbled away from the suit.
Lord Baltizaar stood not far from them, looking down at me sternly, his expression unreadable. Beside him, Bishop Ra watched me with completely unveiled distaste.
Baltizaar said, "A pass is a pass for now, no matter how ungainly. You will see the next test."
The bishop snapped his head toward the giggling youths and barked, "Lauren, now girl, your turn. You can hardly do worse unless you find a way to get yourself killed."
My cheeks burned. This was not how I had imagined this going. I climbed the steps of the arena to the stands. As I passed Baltizaar and Ra, I held my head low in shame and deference. But a strong hand took my shoulder, holding me for a moment. It turned my body and I lifted my head. I met Baltizaar''s cold, steely gaze. Unlike the priests, he gave me the immediate impression that he was really seeing me.
"Everyone has to start somewhere," he said. "You have a lot to learn, and you better do it fast."
I nodded my head. "Yes, my lord."
He turned back to the arena floor. I trudged on, trying to interpret the meaning of his gesture. Did he not resent me like the others?
As I moved towards the contestants, my head turned to watch Lauren as she peeled herself away from them. She had the features of a highborn: a long, slender nose, the bearing of good breeding and good rearing. But the most important thing to my young, hormone-glazed eyes, was that she was a knockout. All the girls were, but Lauren was a blonde dream doll come to life.
She moved with easy grace, gliding past me, not bothering to meet my eyes as she went to the steps for her turn with a monster.
I felt a pang of jealousy and inadequacy. Lauren had everything I lacked: grace, confidence, and the natural poise of someone born to this life. As she prepared for her test, the others watched in sudden silence. They were eager to see what she could do. Unlike me, they saw her as real competition. I was ignored as I joined the cluster of youths, their attention was wholly focused on her.
I stood near the other ten. We were all on the cusp of true adulthood. The youngest was Emilia, a dark-haired petite creature. She wore her ambition like a badge. She was far from a favorite, but she seemed to let that fact set a fire under her.
Lance was the oldest. He was a tall, strapping specimen, haughty and self-assured. His confidence was not unearned; he was probably the favorite to win the Sword. And he was an asshole.
They were all of noble families, their parents were Lords, Barons, Earls. They were of families that had ruled Boston since the Tower first boiled its way out of the ground when the city was founded.
I was not. This irked them. That a merchant''s son, a commoner, worse, a traders son, could possibly become the next Sword was an insult to their blood. The simple fact that I had a place in The Choosing seemed to be an offense. I don¡¯t believe they really thought it was possible for me to win. I had done nothing in the arena to dissuade them of this idea.
Lance looked at me, his voice superior, as he opened his mouth to speak.
"What level did it give you, shopkeep?" he said.
Lance had been clumsy enough in his own attempts in the suit, but he had at least hit his fiend with the blade on the fourth try, cleaving it in half. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze.
"Nine," I lied. "It said I was level nine."
Lance''s face folded into an expression of cruel amusement. He turned to the others. Loudly, he said, "The shopkeeper says he was a nine!"
The others laughed and looked on me with cruel, disdainful eyes. Katya, the foreigner, stood a little back from the others. She didn¡¯t laugh or point, but her dark eyes still regarded me with distaste.
I gritted my teeth and held my tongue. "Shopkeeper" was just one of the nicknames they used for me. It took a lot not to snap back at them. My father was a trader, a man who had built a fabulous empire, with caravans moving across the continent. He funded expeditions to the frozen north beyond the shield-veil and to the scorching south through the Wierding Wall. He could have bought the castles of every one of these idiots'' fathers. That was, in no small part, why I was here.
I turned from them, my cheeks burning. I watched Lauren. She stood with her noble poise as the priest and Mario lifted the suit behind her. It melted and shifted to accommodate her smaller, curvier form.
The suit enveloped her, flowed around her, adapting to her form. She, too, was awkward as she moved, but she showed far more control than I felt I had displayed. In fact, she might have been more attuned than even Lance had been. The chittering and mocking of the others faded into the background as I focused on her. She was everything I wasn''t. She was confident, noble, and seemingly destined for greatness.
Boston had struggled in its campaigns in recent decades. The city shivered with the possibility of harsher times to come. The nobles had less and less to support themselves with each year. My father had money, though. He had so much of it. I wasn¡¯t privy to the means he had employed, but his money had talked my way in here. This was my chance to make my family famous, to win honor, to win a title.
I cast a glance at the others. They were such assholes. Yes, they were noble. Yes, they had skills and the best training a lord of the land could buy. But their cruelty and bigotry spoke louder.
I wondered if I would really want to join them in anything, even social rank.
Chapter 2
The rest of the contests went as I expected. This would be the only round of the Choosing where at least one of us wasn¡¯t guaranteed to exit the competition.
Gideon did well. He was the grandson of a Griidlord and came to the arena wrapped in great expectations. He did not disappoint. Like the others, none could describe his movements as easy of natural, but he was so much surer than I had been. Gideon attacked his fiend with more aggression than anyone else. Oh, he had his misses, like the rest of us, but he backed this thing up and skewered it on his fourth attempt.
The surprise of the series was Katya, the quiet foreigner who had regarded me quietly as the others openly scorned me. She was an actual princess from Miami, the sixth or seventh daughter of the Queen. With no hope of inheriting anything of substance there and with no immediate prospects of becoming a Griidlord for her home city,, she had traveled for the Choosing. We had all assumed her presence in the Choosing was due to her royal connections, but she quickly made it clear that it wasn¡¯t entirely a result of politics. She was lithe and quick, quickly announcing herself as a true contender.
After the contests had finished, and the priests and bishop had lectured endlessly, I wandered away from the arena. The towering stone walls loomed ahead, casting long shadows across the landscape.
The others climbed aboard carriages to leave for their homes in the countryside, or were joined by retinues to return to their lodgings. I walked by myself. I was not alone. I had glimpsed Zeb as I descended the steps. He was always there, watching me. Father had invested too much in me, and too many were too displeased by my presence in The Choosing, for me to go unguarded. Zeb disappeared into the shadows. He didn¡¯t creep or leap, the big man in the dark cloak just walked, with a detached ease, and yet something about his movement seemed to lose eyes that tried to follow him.
Even when I couldn¡¯t see him, I knew he was lurking nearby.
At first, I passed hovels, their inhabitants peering out with curious eyes. Men plowed fields near the walls with horses, their muscles straining with the effort, the rich earth turning under the blades. The evening air was filled with moist living smell of the damp soil. The clanging of a blacksmith¡¯s hammer echoed through the air, rhythmic and steady.
Even as I walked with a distracted mind, my lungs were filled with the cool air, and the scents of the evening grounded me. The wet living scent of the fresh soil, the dying wispy smell of smoke from forges and fires, the enticing aromas of evening meals, all combined to remind me that there was life beyond the arena as well.
I walked past a group of men gathered around a wagon. They were hard working men, their hands black with dirt, their clothes rough and worn. They were discussing the day''s work in low, gruff tones. One of them glanced up as I passed, his eyes narrowing in recognition before he returned to his conversation. His recognition was a reminder that even here, in this remote part of Boston, my presence as a contestant in the Choosing was known. I wasn¡¯t anonymous.
As I neared the walls, the Tower of Boston filled more and more of my vision, took more and more of my attention. It bloomed far away, rising above the roofs of the buildings around it. It loomed above the city like a sentinel, its dark surface glistening in the fading light. The sight always seemed to take my breath. I had been looking at that structure for as long as I could remember, but the thing never seemed to be quite a part of reality.
The Tower was the heart of our power. It was the source of our city¡¯s strength. And, ultimately, it was the reason for my struggles to exist.
As I walked through the streets, the contrast between the main cobbled way and the branching dirt paths was stark. The people here were poor, living in the outer sector where the Order was low almost all of the time, especially with Boston''s recent struggles. The houses were small. Their walls were often dirt. Many a roof looked unmaintained, or patched. The paths weren¡¯t paved. When it rained the ground would be slick and everything mud-stained.
The world is cast under a pall of entropy, a pervasive chaos that adds a hard-to-define randomness to the movement of every particle, every mechanism. In most circumstances, technology simply doesn''t function here. For example, where I walked at that moment, in the outer sector of the city, a pistol wouldn''t fire, a calculator wouldn''t even power on. In these realms of lowest Order, man was limited to the technology powered by muscle, wind, and fire. In battle, he would use nothing more sophisticated than a sword or a bow; even a crossbow would be unreliable. Order existed in incremental levels, this was simply the lowest level, but also the most common in the land.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
As I walked, I approached the gates that divided this sector from the next. Evidence of the higher Order became apparent. Here, gas lamps lit the streets. Machinery announced itself from far corners, the puttering of steam engines gasping into the night. The guards who walked past me carried muskets instead of swords. Life was only a little better for people here, but to afford to live here meant a great deal.
I continued walking, my mind struggling with the obvious reality that I couldn''t compete with the others. I was burdened heavily with thoughts of my father''s disappointment. I seethed slightly at his expectations. How could he have expected different? He might have supplied me with the finest tutors that money could buy, but did he think the nobles had done any different with their children? And had they spent their early years confined to bed, attended to by furrow-browed physicians rather than skilled trainers?
I continued up the main thoroughfare towards the gate that would lead to the next sector, the sector of highest Order outside the Tower itself. The Tower controlled the Order, lighting sectors of the realm inside the city walls and beyond with higher Order as needed. It wasn''t free; the resources to control the Order were harvested from the Orbs.
I won''t even start on the Orbs yet. For now, it might be enough for you to understand that the Orbs are wild resources that our city competes for with others. Griidlords fight and die to win them, the Orbs in turn giving cities the ability to utilize greater technologies for longer periods. Orbs are the true lifeblood of every Towered city on the continent. Orbs mean economic power through the functioning of factories, oil refineries, electric lights, and pumps. But they also mean military prowess. An army standing under an Order field could fire auto rifles against opponents who might have nothing but arrows to send back.
I passed through the gates to the next sector, the guards eying me with recognition and a hint of curiosity. They didn''t stop me, but their scrutiny was palpable. This sector was entirely different from the one I had just left. Electric lamps lined the streets. Their light was different from the smoky yellow of the gas lamps. The hum of air conditioning units hummed from windows. Neon signs flickered and glowed, advertising everything from diners to boutiques to ice cream parlors, their colorful lights reflecting off the polished cobblestones. The motors and signs and lights all seemed to add together to add a background buzz to the sounds of the city at night.
People whizzed past on electric scooters, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Guards patrolled the streets with automatic pistols strapped to their thighs. There were more guards here by far than in either of the outer sectors. This was where the true elites dwelled, and the city allocated more resources by far to ensure their peaceful lives than the poorer folks beyond. The atmosphere was so different to the outer sector. Where the faces beyond had been worn and weary, clearly occupied with thoughts of rest, here were people excited for the night to come, their worries less and their means greater.
My father''s house, my house as well I suppose, was nestled further up the hill, closer to the Tower, where few could afford to live. Few enough could afford to live in this sector in the first place; the smallest home or apartment here would cost more than a whole street in the sector behind me. Here, residents enjoyed everything that would have been on offer in the world of the 21st century, or so my learning has led me to believe. As learned as I have become since those days of my youth, my knowledge is still based on gathering scraps and ideas from that world so long gone.
As I walked, my thoughts continued to dwell on my seemingly doomed exploit to become a Griidlord. My father''s exploit, really. He had trained me for years for this task, from the moment I was well enough to hold a heavy training sword, but maybe there was something to the breeding the others talked about. Maybe a Griidlord couldn''t be made; maybe a Griidlord had to be born.
I approached my father''s home, a splendid, opulent townhouse that stood several stories high. The house was compact in footprint but made up for it with its height and grandeur. The fa?ade was a blend of stone and wood, intricately carved and meticulously maintained. Large windows glowed with warm light, and the front doors were adorned with ornate ironwork.
As I approached the door, it opened, and Harold, the house''s leading servant, stood waiting to greet me. He must have seen me coming. My heart fell somewhat; I had hoped my father would at least greet me on the evening of my first day competing in the Choosing. But in a way, it was a relief as well. Maybe he had as little hope and excitement as I had. Maybe I could slip to my room and be asleep before he would think of me.
Harold bowed slightly and said, "Young master, you need to get dressed quickly."
I looked at him with astonishment. "Harold, are you mad? I''ve just come from the Choosing."
Harold raised an eyebrow. "Hmmm, did you survive the first round?"
I continued to stare at him, amazed. As outmatched as I had been, it was a slight to even consider I might fail in the first round. The first round was intended as a simple weeding for those completely incompatible with the suits and as a taster. "No, Harold, I haven''t failed quite yet."
Harold seemed distracted. "Oh, very good. Hurry to your chamber then, fresh clothes have been arranged for you."
I shook my head in disbelief. "Harold, I haven''t the slightest interest in getting dressed. Today was an ordeal. I intend to shower, take my supper in my room, and go to sleep at the soonest¡ª"
Harold cut me off, his tone insistent. "Lord Morningstar is dining with us this evening."
My jaw fell slack. Morningstar, one the most feared Griidlords of the age, was in my house.
Chapter 3
Chapter 3
I stumbled down the stairs, fumbling with the buttons of my shirt, my excitement and terror mingling into a chaotic mess. Morningstar had only been the Sword of Indianapolis for the last two or three decades. I understand that now I''m casting the picture of a grizzled 30-year veteran in your mind, but things are different for Griidlords. The Order fields that dominate almost every aspect of life in the world generally don¡¯t affect biological life. Only at extremes do living things seem to be affected by the fields. In circumstances of extreme Entropy, darker, deeper, and more twisted than the normal veil that cloaks the land, the fiends seem to emerge, born from the chaos. But beings that exist in areas of extremely high Order, Tower dwellers for example, seem to age more slowly. Kings could reign for centuries, and Griidlords, spending most of their lives in their suits, could serve a city for 100 years or more, if they managed to keep their heads attached to their necks for the duration. Morningstar was new to the suit by relative terms, but in these last 30 years, he had made people take notice of Indianapolis.
As I entered the dining room, I saw my father laughing and sharing scotch with Morningstar. The Griidlord sat there in his glowing, shining Griidsuit, helmet removed, sharing the laughter and sipping whiskey with ice cubes. He was handsome, confident, and aloof. My father noticed me and said, "Tiberius, at last! I thought you¡¯d never finish with the silliness in the arena today."
I approached him, glowering inside. Silliness. He was the one who had turned my entire existence into training for this, for as long as I could remember. "I thought the Choosing was the greatest thing that had ever happened to our family," I said, unable to conceal the bitterness.
My father¡¯s eyes flashed with warning. "Indeed it is, son, but today was nothing, as well you should know. There was never any possibility that my son would fail on day zero."
I winced a little, thinking about how poorly I had performed. Morningstar turned to me, his eyes appraising. "I was conducting a little business for your father, bringing me to Boston, and he thought that maybe I could share some wisdom with you. Now, I gotta be honest, kid, I don''t know if a few words will make the difference. Those noble kids you''re going up against will have been trained by Griidlords themselves."
I snorted, unable to hide my hero worship. "Yeah, but none of those Griidlords will have been the Morningstar."Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
I groaned inside as I said it, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Morningstar smiled kindly. "Well, I dunno about all that, but whatever I got in here"¡ªhe tapped the side of his head¡ª"if any of it''s any good to you, then you can have your share."
Father slapped his shoulder, the sound ringing against the strange liquid metal that the suit seemed to be composed of. "Thank you, my friend. It''s been my dream for the longest time to see my boy wear a suit, and now he has his chance¡ªa Sword suit up for grabs no less."
Morningstar looked down at the glowing sword strapped to his own side, a little morose. "The Sword isn''t so easy to carry sometimes."
Father said, "You two sit here a minute. I''ll go see what''s happening in the kitchen. I swear, Morningstar, you could have more money than God¡ªand I do¡ªand it would still be impossible to find good help." He drifted away, pausing to refill his glass from the whiskey bottle, leaving me and the Griidlord alone.
I haven''t done a terrific job explaining to you what a Griidlord is exactly. Each city has five: Sword, Shield, Arrow, Axe, and Scepter, each with their own strengths and weaknesses, strong against and weak against other types of suits like a game of rock-paper-scissors. At the lowest rung, a Griidlord is maybe the equivalent of a couple thousand men on the field. At the highest, like the man who stood before me now, it was said that a Griidlord could have the impact of 10,000 soldiers in battle. When a Griidlord died or retired, a Choosing would begin to select the next wearer of the suit. It was something taken with the utmost seriousness; the success and failure of a city hinged absolutely on the quality of its Griidlords. More Orbs meant more of everything for the people.
Now, why was what essentially amounted to a god working for my father? Well, this brings up the secondary but still vital function of the Griidlords. This is a world where technology just doesn''t work outside the cities, so trade can move only as fast as horse and wagon. A journey from Boston to, let''s say, San Francisco could take weeks, and most of the time it did. The movement of troops and goods was tightly contained by this limitation. Griidlords, though, could use their Order fields to perform a strange distortion of space-time, moving themselves, and potentially large numbers of others, at speeds of tens of miles per hour. Thus, Griidlords, the sentinels, the superpowered heroes, actually spent most of their time making themselves and their cities rich by acting as couriers.
Morningstar filled his glass again and moved to sit at the dining room table, settling in the chair nearest the fire. The flames cast a warm, flickering glow across his face, highlighting the lines of experience and the confident gleam in his eyes. He gestured to the chair opposite him.
¡°Well then¡,¡± he said, his voice steady and encouraging. ¡°Come on then, kid, let¡¯s see what I can do you for.¡±
Chapter 4
He looked at me, calm and kind. "So, you gotta remember, while I know my way around a Griid-suit, I''ve only actually been through one Choosing." He smiled self-deprecatingly, and I laughed a little uncomfortably.
"Well, where do we even start..." he mused.
I looked at him, eyes burning with a mixture of desperation and determination, and blurted, "When I was in the helmet, it said I was only a level 8..."
His eyes widened slightly. "No, you got that wrong. You mean you were a level 0.8, that''s an oh with a dot, then the eight."
I shook my head, confused, trying to remember. "No, I would have seen that. It said 8."
He shook his head, a little condescendingly, a little considering. "Kid, if the suit chooses you, then you''ll start at level 1. The level measures your affinity with the Griid, with the kind of mind meld you gotta do with the suit, with the Prophet. Before the Choosing is finished, you get a fractional level that measures your natural affinity for the mind meld¡ªhow well your brain kinda talks to the Prophet. I guess. Hell, that''s priest bullshit, I dunno what I''m talking about."
Trying to remember, I mumbled, "I guess I could have been a 0.8..."
Morningstar nodded. "If you were, then that''s fair shooting, kid. I don''t wanna go rolling around like I buy all my own hype, but I started out as 0.9, and that''s the highest I''ve ever heard of."
"They laughed at me when I told them my level," I said, feeling the sting of the mockery again.
Morningstar smiled. "Well, if they have a sense of what the levels are, they either thought you were lying with the eight or probably thought you were lying with the 0.8 too. By them, you mean the stuck-up brats you''re competing against?"
I nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond. Morningstar himself came from a line of Griidlords stretching back centuries.
He saw my reaction and smiled. "House Morningstar has been around since before a lot of today''s cities even had Towers. But we weren''t born to it. My ancestors won their title the same way you''re trying to, by winning their suits in Choosings. We take a different view to some of the entitlement that goes around the old cities like Boston, if you don''t mind my saying so."
"Not at all," I breathed.
Morningstar looked at me. Again, like Batlazar, he gave me the impression that he was really seeing me. He said, ¡°Your Dad says you weren¡¯t well as a child.¡±
I looked away. Morningstar was a hero, I didn¡¯t want to talk about my sickly youth.
He seemed to understand this, his tone was gentle. He said, ¡°Hey, you¡¯re big and strapping now. I don¡¯t mean to stir up bad memories, but it¡¯s relevant. You weren¡¯t well enough to train until you were thirteen?¡±
I nodded, and said, ¡°Yeah.. thereabouts.
He narrowed his eyes, ¡°And what could keep a lad bound to a bed for his whole childhood, but leave no trace in his teens? I mean it, you look as big and strong as any noble¡¯s son.¡±
I said, ¡°I don¡¯t know. I saw a lot of doctors. A lot of them. They were always examining my head, looking at my eyes. Father won¡¯t talk about it. He says I should count myself blessed by the Oracle that my malady faded. I think¡ I think there was a sickness in my brain.¡±
Morningstar continued to look at me for another few moments. There was silence. Then he spoke again.
"So it''s you on your own against eleven other brats that were born in castles and had people training them to become Swords since before they could walk."
"I... I... think so. I know several of them are, anyway."
"In Boston, you better believe they all are. Other places do Choosings differently, but in Boston, they expect their suits to be worn by nobles. Your Dad must have spent an Orb''s fortune getting you in."
"It''s important to him..." I said, my voice trailing off.
Morningstar looked at me sharply, surprising me with his next question. "And is it important to you?"
"Of course it is... I guess... well, I never really thought about it..."Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Morningstar smiled. "A suit is a hard thing to wear. I know it''s got its perks, but it comes with a lot of responsibility, a lot of hardship, especially for the Sword. You''ll kill other Griidlords, or they''ll kill you. Your city will depend on you for Orbs, Flows, Order. And if you''re good enough to survive the fighting, you''ll live long to see generations of your family live and die." I could see a strange reticence in his eyes as he said this last.
Then he shook his head, staring at me intently. "Well, I told your Dad I''d give you some pointers, so here''s the best I got for you, but I dunno how much different it will be from what you probably already heard."
I waited, doubting him. I''d had tutors, well-paid tutors, but no one like Lord Morningstar.
He said, "How did you feel when you were in the suit? Find it awkward?"
"Did I? Everything I did was so exaggerated. Every move was bigger, even when I tried to just move slowly. It was like I couldn''t keep my balance, and then when I''d try to shift my balance, I''d just toss myself about."
Morningstar nodded. "And your trainers told you what you should do."
"Yeah, they told me the suit exaggerates everything I do. It''s so strong that it magnifies my movements. I must be smooth like water, gentle like a breeze, just make faint echoes of the real movements I want, but it''s not so easy when you''re actually in it."
He shook his head, chuckling. "I guess that probably works for a lot of folks, but I don''t think that''s quite right." He downed his whiskey and stared into the fire. "This might sound strange or stupid, and I don''t mean to go correcting those high-priced trainers your Dad got for you, but that''s not how I''ve found it."
I waited, breath bated.
"The suit doesn''t give a shit about your movements. The thing is so strong, your body has almost nothing to do with it."
I frowned. "But when I''d moved, it moved."
"Folks''ll tell you that you just need to think and the suit will move on its own, that its muscles are doing all the work and you''re big lump of grey matter is the engine that drives the whole show. I think... I think that has something to do with it. All that smooth as water, pissing into the wind business, that''s a line you''ll hear from many Griidlords. That''s a business of shutting the mind down a little bit. They do that to distract the mind from actively trying to control the suit. But I''ve clashed swords with Griidlords like that too and, well, I''m still here."
He smiled wickedly. The wickedness had a charm to it.
He said, "It''s more symbiotic than that. It''s more holistic. When I move, I move my arm. But I''m feeling the suit. I''m feeling these wonderful metal muscles contract exactly the same as my real muscles. Stonger men in the flesh make stronger Griidords, swifter men make swifter Griidlords. When I get exhausted, the suit gets exhausted. When I get hurt, the suit gets hurt. When adrenaline makes me feel like I can move a mountain, the suit maybe really can!"
"So I should be trying to move my arm? Or I shouldn''t be?," I asked, still confused.
"Again, kid, the details are priest business. I don''t really know the workings. All I know is that when I do this"¡ªhe raised the hand with the crystal tumbler in it, rotating the delicate glass between armored fingers strong enough to crush a man''s skull with nearly no effort¡ª"when I do this, I''m not thinking about moving my fingers any more than you would be. I''m not willing the suit to move, I''m not forcing it to react to the movement of my body. We''re all moving together, flesh, metal, all obeying the same neurons.."
I looked, transfixed, at the armored hand. At any other time, I would be mesmerized at the chance to be so close to a Griidsuit, but in that moment, I needed to seize the opportunity. I had to understand, to absorb every word he was saying, and hope that it would make the difference in the next round of the Choosing.
He said, "I remember the menus used to be a problem."
"You mean all the words in your way when you''re trying to see?" I replied. I heard the kitchen door open and my father talking to the cooks as he stood in the open doorway.
"Yes, the HUD," Morningstar explained. "It defaults to too much information. When you get a quiet moment with the helm on, concentrate on trying to remove the messages, or concentrate on viewing your progression. It will help you see better, obviously, but it''s also practice at that mind meld. You might even find the distraction is good for you."
"Progression?" I asked.
"Just keep asking to see your progression," he said. "If you can get your thoughts across properly, then the system will display how the connection is forming between you and the system. We all connect differently to the system, based on our makeup, our talents. Like how one person can be gifted with language, another for music, another for math. The same is true for our connection with the suit. It measures your progress by category. I can''t promise the categories are all the same, but in my HUD I can look up to see my rating in cut, beam, close-range sword affinity and energy shots, shield, power, and agility. They''ll all be at zeroes to start with, but if you can get even one of them to go up a point, then that might give you an advantage against the other kids."
My father approached, saying, "Well, Morningstar, how goes the schooling? Have you made a Griidlord of him yet?"
Morningstar laughed and said, "Who knows, Sempronius, maybe we have."
"One more thing, Lord, if I may," I said, my curiosity piqued.
Morningstar waved a hand dismissively. "Cut that ''Lord'' shit out anyway. But yeah, kid, what is it?"
"What about the voice in the helm?" I asked.
A look of utter recognition and marvel flashed on his face before he masked it, glancing comically at my father. "Voices, Sempronius? Are you sure you aren''t working the boy too hard?"
They both laughed, but Morningstar glanced at me again, the look full of consideration. "Well, I''ll be damned," he said softly, his eyes narrowing slightly as if piecing something together.
My father poured himself another drink and handed a glass to Morningstar. "Don''t let him worry you too much. The Choosing is a trial, and it gets in your head. But if there''s one thing I know, it''s that you''ll get through it, Tiberius."
"Thank you, Father," I said, trying to keep the unease out of my voice. The voices in the helm had unsettled me deeply, but seeing Morningstar''s reaction was even more disconcerting.
Chapter 5
"The suit is a living thing," Mario almost shouted at us as he paced up and down. "It is capable of changing, adjusting shape and form to any wearer. When one Griidlord passes from a suit and it chooses a new bearer, we see the details of the suit shifting to match the image the new Griidlord holds of themselves, the suit becoming a reflection of the personality of the wearer."
All twelve of us were lined up, hands by our sides, waiting solemnly. The Sword suit stood on its own before us. It¡¯s empty visor seemed to be looking right at me, judging me.
In the stands, Lord Baltazar stood. The Lord Supreme stared at us, his face utterly unreadable.
Behind Baltazar and the bishop, a small group of high-ranking officials had gathered. Today''s events promised to be more interesting than the previous days. Among the newcomers was Baron Darkwater, head of an ancient house, a noble and longstanding power in Boston, but one that had never produced a Griidlord to its shame. Darkwater kept his eyes focused on Lance, his son and heir, his gaze piercing and measuring.
Mario continued, "For the purpose of the Choosing, the Prophet may deem it necessary that the suit alter its form further so that it might better find one worthy of its wearing."
As Mario spoke, the suit almost seemed to melt. My eyes widened as I watched it happen for the first time. The suit seemed to dissolve, falling away like a sugar cube in hot water. The imposing, solid shape of the suit faded as it turned into a stream of black particles, like living sand. The stream split into two, and the mass of these particles began to pour themselves on top of each other. The others around me inhaled with awe as well. We watched as two new suits started to form, from the boots up. They materialized, as though from nothing. In moments two new suits stood before. They were each half the mass of the suit that had stood before. They were not completely encapsulating as the full suit had been. The new suits were lighter and would leave parts of us uncovered.
The helms of these new suits were half helms rather than full helmets. They would cover the heads of the wearers to about the nose. The lower face would be exposed.
Mario watched our reactions, his gaze sharp and assessing. "Today, you won''t waste your time with petty fiends, and today will not end with twelve still clinging to the vain hope that they can become a Griidlord. This will be a contest. You will each match yourself against four of your classmates. As the sun sets, the participant who has been vanquished the most often will be discarded from the running."
My heart beat faster. I knew today could end with my ejection from the Choosing. Part of me yearned to be rejected, for the ordeal to be over, to go home, face my father''s disappointment, and then get on with my life, pushing numbers around pages and arranging consignments as my father did.
Mario walked to the center of the arena, where a circle had been marked in the sandy dirt floor by pinning a thick rope into the ground. The circle was large enough, maybe thirty feet across. "If you are driven to the ground or driven from the circle, that means defeat," Mario said. "You will not place hand or foot upon one another. The new suits carry swords that do not cut but project a kinetic field that bludgeons and pushes. The Prophet sees fit to spare you from a more perilous competition on this day."
He turned to us. He looked upon the twelve of us with withering distaste. He said, "Olaf, Katya, you will go first. Go to your suits."
The tension in the arena was thick. The first days of The Choosing were not open to the public. It was during these days that the weakest would be culled from the pack. Today¡¯s fights would only be witnessed by the contestants, the priests, and a select few lords who had insisted on attending.
I, like the others, watched intently. This would be our first chance to get a measure of these two.
Olaf and Katya stepped forward. Olaf¡¯s eyes were fixed, his brow furrowed. There was a weight on him that I recognized. He doubted himself as much as I doubted myself. Katya, on the other hand, walked forward with almost no care at all. She could have just as easily been perusing goods at a market as embarking on a single combat. They approached the suits, turning around and stepping backward into them. The suits seemed to melt around them. The solid shapes of the suits almost seemed liquid as they melted and flowed around their new wearers.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Olaf was a broad-shouldered youth, easily the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve of us. He walked awkwardly in the suit, but less so than he had in the full suit the day before. Katya fared much better. The complete lithe grace of her unsuited form wasn¡¯t evident, but there was an ease to her motions that still awed me.
They took their positions across from each other in the circle. The arena fell silent. The whispers of the lords and contestants died down. There was no sound, save for the occasional screech from the fiends below.
"Come on, nephew, do your house proud!" a voice echoed from the gaggle of nobles clustered in the crowd. Olaf raised his head to look at the source of the voice. I could see his jaw was clenched with tension.
Mario raised his hand. He held a colored cloth. He held it high and then dropped it to indicate the start of the match.
Olaf moved as I would have expected. He planted his feet in a traditional stance, his sword extended towards his opponent. Katya was shocking. She wasted no time with circling or pacing. She flew at him with a swiftness that was hard to fathom. Yes, she was slowed and awkward as she adapted to the suit. But even with that taken into consideration, she was so swift.
Olaf had not expected the attack, neither it¡¯s speed nor it¡¯s total aggression. The big fighter was instantly on the back foot, flailing with his sword to deflect Katya¡¯s flurry of blows. I watched how she moved her feet. There was no lack of stumbling there, I could see her feet were not doing exactly what she wanted them to. But she wasn¡¯t walking like a toddler as I had, as most of us did.
Olaf seemed to be aware that he backing further and further toward the edge of the circle. He needed to create space. He lunged at Katya, a dangerous move, exposing himself to counter, leaving his guard down and his footing uncertain. But he was lucky. The sudden swing, ugly and flailing though it might have been, surprised the lither combatant and she darted aside. She lost control of her own footing in doing so, and there was a moment when it seemed like they would both fall.
They gathered themselves and faced each other again. Katya let the moment linger. Maybe she was planning, maybe she was just gathering her strength again. Olaf didn¡¯t take the initiative. He too was stunned from the initial contact. But his passivity was a mistake, I thought. If he let her have the opportunity then it was clear she would seize control of the battle and the outcome would become a foregone conclusion.
Katya exploded at him again. Olaf was better prepared this time, but even at that, there was a chasm between their abilities. Their movements in the suits would probably have seemed child-like to a spectator who had never worn one. But to me, to all of us, Katya¡¯s display was intimidating. It was as though they were learning to walk for the first time, and Katya had taken a huge headstart.
My mind drifted a moment. It hadn¡¯t been that long ago that I¡¯d had to learn to walk myself. I remembered those days when the malady that plagued my childhood had so suddenly disappeared. I remembered yet another physician, talking to my father, remarking on the miracle that had transpired. I remembered the excitement. But the frustration, as well. My head had plagued me for years, when I regained the ability to leave my bed, to move my body as I wished, there had been such elation to start with. I saw a new life for myself, one I had given up on save for in my wildest dreams. But the excitement faded as I discovered how atrophied my young legs were, how uncoordinated my movements were. The disappearance of the sickness had only been the beginning of new trials.
I watched Katya and Olaf, clumsy as they might be, and felt a bitterness. Five or six years ago I was training myself to simply walk again, while these two would have been learning to dance with a sword. What was Father thinking? How could I hope to compete against a head start like that?
Katya screamed. It was an animal noise, fierce, guttural, loud. She had maneuvered Olaf like a dumb beast, driven him to the edge of the circle. As she bellowed, she swung at him. He managed to bring his sword up to absorb the blow, but the sheer weight of the attack, the momentum of the aggression, drove him back. His stumbling feet shuffled, trying to stay inside the circle. Katya screamed once more, throwing her whole body behind another swing and Olaf¡¯s right foot landed outside the ring.
Mario wasted no time. "Katya is the victor. Now stand, exit your suits."
Katya showed nothing. She didn¡¯t whoop, cheer, or gloat. She just stood, shoulders heaving as she breathed. Olaf sagged. I watched him. I felt for him. As poorly as he had done, I expected to do no better.
They stepped out of the suits, the metal armor melting away from their forms. The suits remained standing behind them as they exited, the seems closing back up, leaving them as perfect statues, awaiting their next occupants.
The crowd of nobles had fallen silent. Olaf¡¯s eyes darted to them. The uncle who had so vigorously supported him a few minutes ago was silent now.
Mario turned to the remaining contestants. "Lance, Tiberius, step forward."
Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Lance was a few steps behind, still hadn¡¯t entered his suit. I seized the moment to try and practice what Morningstar had said. I examined the HUD, focusing on the clutter of texts and numbers that filled my vision.
As I concentrated, I saw the familiar lines:
Subject: Tiberius
Status: Unchosen
Level: 8
Ranking A: 12/12
Ranking B: 178/178
There was no zero or dot before the 8.
That creepy voice returned, childlike and nymphish, in my ear. "Oh, you''re back. You know, I missed you. You''re not as ready as the others, but I think you''re more interesting..."
I cringed in fear at the voice. Was my mind breaking and playing tricks on me, or was this coming from the suit? I didn''t have time to replay the expressions on Morningstar''s face when I''d mentioned the voice the night before. I didn''t have time to acknowledge the voice or consider its reality. I concentrated on progression, focused.
I tried hard to communicate with the suit, to see the screen as Lance stepped into his suit. Then the voice was there again. "You want to see your progression? I really don''t see why. There''s no progression to speak of, but if it will shut you up..."
The HUD shifted. The dazzling maze of text melted away, replaced by a row of words and numbers:
CUT: 0
BEAM: 0.1
POWER: 0
SHIELD: 0
AGILITY: 0
My eye hung on the BEAM reading. It wasn''t a zero. Morningstar had suggested I would be zero in every category when I began, and he had implied there would be an advantage in progressing at least one of the categories. But how could I progress with Beam?
The voice said, "You want to progress with Beam? Well, I suppose why not, it''s where you seem least hopeless."
I whispered, "But how do I...?"
The voice replied, "You push, silly head. Push down the blade, like the blade was a muscle and you want it to contract. I''ll be here. I''ll tell you if you''re doing any good."
Then the voice, a little alarmed but mostly amused, said, "Oops, I think you should be paying more attention to your playmate."The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
My eyes suddenly focused beyond the wall of text. Mario had dropped the cloth already, and I was too shocked to react. Lance was on me, hitting me full force across the chest. The impact of the kinetic energy staggered me. I was beyond fortunate that these were his first steps in the new suit. He''d stepped too close as he swung and failed to gather enough momentum. I kept my feet, barely.
Panicking, I clumsily got my feet under me and raised the sword. My movements flailed. There wasn''t time to mess around with the bullshit where I tried to direct the suit instead of my own muscles. If I didn''t go and go fast, then I was a goner. The new HUD was in the center of my vision, and I could barely see Lance trudging forward, winding up to swing again.
The voice said, "Oh, is the screen annoying you? Make up your mind. First you want to see it, now it''s in your way..."
The HUD flashed away, and I had a moment of clear vision. Lance attacked again. I sidestepped, still taking a glancing blow that turned me, my feet shuffling and staggering awkwardly. He spun, clumsy, but already gaining confidence.
I had a thought, maybe a dangerous, stupid thought. All I had to do today was not finish last. My odds of beating Lance were very close to nothing. What if, instead of really trying to come out on top over him, I let this round be a chance to grow into the suit, the way Morningstar had suggested? I''d seen how Katya had grown in the suit when fighting Olaf, how Olaf had stagnated. If I lost this round but went into my next match a little more accustomed, then maybe I would have better odds of coming out on top.
As Lance goose-stepped towards me, raising the sword again, I tried imagining my legs moving, really feeling it. As he swung at me, my instincts took over, and I stepped aside. But it was ever so slightly different this time. It felt, dare I say, slightly more natural.
Lance swung again, and I parried awkwardly, but my movements had a bit more flow. I focused on the feeling. I tried to let my mind speak to my body and the suit as though they were one. With each passing moment, my confidence grew a little. I knew I wouldn''t win this bout, but I could use it to learn, to adapt.
I spent the next few minutes just evading and parrying, focusing on the advice given by the voice and Morningstar. I imagined pushing down the blade like a muscle, flexing it as I moved. With each attempt, a very slight sense of fluidity grew in my movements. It was nothing to write home about, and certainly nothing that would help me stave off Lance, the favorite to win the whole thing, but it was progress.
As I dodged another one of Lance''s heavy swings, I flexed my "Sword muscle" once more. To my elation, a message flashed across the HUD. BEAM: 0.1 appeared, then the 1 blinked out and was replaced by a 2. BEAM: 0.2.
A surge of triumph welled up inside me, but as my elation dissipated, Lance struck me in the chest again. The impact was immense, the kinetic energy propelling me through the air. I landed in the dust far outside the rope ring, the force of the blow ringing in my ears. I lay there, the dull aching pain spreading through my body, unable to ignore the disappointment of defeat despite its expectation.
Lance stood above me, looking down with a smug expression. "Don''t worry, shopkeeper. We''re classmates. That will really count for something. I''ll be sure not to haggle too much when I''m perusing your wares in years to come. The city needs merchants too."
I gritted my teeth, the sting of his words cutting deeper than the pain of the fall. The crowd murmured, some with approval of Lance''s skill, others with sympathy for my effort. As I struggled to my feet, the voice in my ear returned, softer now, almost encouraging.
"Not bad, silly head. You made some progress."
Chapter 7
The next hour passed quickly, with Lauren dispatching Arthur with the same kind of ease that Lance had employed to take me out. Arthur, the son of the current Shield, had half the city rooting for his success, enamored with the idea of a father and son serving together as guardians of the city. The other half of the city seemed to think it would make a perilous combination, especially considering that the Sword was the nominal leader of the Griidlords, and folks struggled to see that working well with the son leading the father.
None of this really crossed my mind as they fought. Even the details of the fight went past me. My eyes were fixed on her. I know the kind of puppy-dog love clich¨¦ I''m spinning here, but sometimes clich¨¦s are clich¨¦s for a reason, and boy was I smitten with her.
Lauren moved with a fluid grace that seemed almost otherworldly. The half-helm she wore left her blonde hair flowing freely behind her. The golden stream followed behind her, trailing her movements. The previous day, in the full suit, her beautiful form had still been on display. The full suit had melded itself to her form, swelling where she swelled best, and pinching in where her body curved inward. The half-suit was even more breathtaking. It was lighter, only serving to highlight her curves all the more. Where the suit left spaces, her bare skin winked at me. I found my heart beating faster as I watched her. I couldn¡¯t suppress the longing I felt.
It was a stupid childish desire. She was a lady, a noble. It was only fantasy for me to think of her that way. At the best of times, I would struggle to even form words to her. My life, a childhood as a sickly wastling, then the years of intensity preparing me for this contest, none of them had left time to make friends or talk to girls. They tongue-tied me. But still, I found my thoughts wandering to fantasy.
As she fought, beads of sweat glistened on her skin. There was nothing about her athleticism that diminished her femininity. She attacked with savageness, but controlled, focused. Arthur had no advantage. She was as strong as he was. She was swifter. And her skill was everything he had and more.
When she landed the final blow, I felt a thrill run through me. She put Arthur down hard with a vicious chop that drove him to the ground. She stood sternly over him. Her jaw was set grimly. She turned her head to the rest of us. There was a message there. She was inviting any of us to imagine that we could best her. By the Oracle, but she was captivating.
Watching her in that moment, I felt so many feelings. I admired her, how could I not? And I longed for her, but that was no different to what every red-blooded male in the arena must have felt. I was bitter as well. My body was no longer the wasted thing it had been when the headaches vanished and my vision cleared as the sickness left me. I was tall and strong, well-built for the role of a fighter. But by the time I had first picked up a practice sword, Lauren, and her peers, would already have been experts.
Don''t worry, I''m not about to give you the full details of all the fights that followed. Lauren''s just bore recounting, it still burns in my memory, burns to be retold. The first round passed with Gideon defeating Zara, Emilia defeating Felix, and Theo getting the better of Leona. I know these are new names, and I doubt very much you want a bio on each of them one after the other. I''ll fill you in as we get to them.
Mario snapped and chased us, disdain written all over his face. Each fight started almost as soon as the last had ended. As the final fight of the first round concluded, he cast around, locking his eyes with me, and snapped, "Tiberius! Arthur! To the circle."
As I passed Lance, he chuckled softly and said, "Surely you can take Arthur, shopkeep. If you can''t..." I pretended not to have heard, but that probably served him as much satisfaction as a win would have.
I stepped into the suit again, feeling the familiar weight settle around me. The voice was there as soon as I entered. I struggled to understand what I was hearing. Was it my mind rending? Was it some kind of haunting?
"Oh, it''s you again. You were very interesting the last time," the voice said.
I whispered, "But I lost..."
The voice giggled. "Oh, but I like your plan. I think you should keep it up. The game isn''t about winning today, it''s about not losing. These are our precious moments together. You got your beam score to go up, that was very unusual. I think you should keep trying..."
I was startled, growing certain that this was a figment of my overstrained mind. "I never told you about any plan," I mumbled.
The voice giggled uproariously in my ears. "Didn''t you?"
I looked across the circle at Arthur, wondering if he was being taunted by invisible devils as well. He advanced on me, far less confidently than Lance had. The voice said, "Flex the sword, like I told you. Push for the beam."
I waited defensively as Arthur circled me and practiced, as I had before. I thought maybe I could feel something, like I could feel the sword in my hand¡ªnot with my fingers, not with my grip, but I could feel the length of it like I could feel the length of my arm.
Arthur came fast and suddenly, surprising me. I parried, backed, parried, and backed, kept flexing that beam muscle that the voice told me was there. If I could actually gain the ability, it would change the rest of the fight for me, but as I continued to step back from each attack, I felt that was unlikely. To my amazement and delight, the digits flashed before me again, and the 0.2 faded to be replaced with a 0.3. Even as it happened, I blocked a blow from Arthur, stepping away from him, and suddenly Mario''s voice rang out.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
"Match!"
I looked around, confused. Arthur looked relieved and happy. I didn''t understand. I tossed my head the other way and caught the eye of the smug, smiling Lance. As I locked eyes with him, he casually pointed a finger down to his feet. With a sinking heart, I cast my own eyes down and saw my foot lay beyond the rope boundary.
Arthur said, "Tough luck, Tiberius. I know it was unsporting of me to force you back..."
I shook my head. "No, rules are rules. I''d have done the same. Congratulations, Arthur."
Arthur''s expression was one more of relief than victory. Mario touched the suit, and again it melted from me as I stepped forward. I walked back to the sideline, my eyes downcast, feeling ashamed and embarrassed. I made sure not to meet Lance''s gaze; I couldn''t bear his smugness in that moment. What I had achieved¡ªraising my beam to a 0.3¡ªseemed wondrous to me, but it hadn''t helped me one whit, and now I had lost two of my four matches.
I stared vacantly as Lance was summoned to fight Olaf. At least, I thought, Olaf will surely remain winless paired with Lance, so I wouldn''t share the bottom rung alone. Lance''s match with Olaf didn''t take long. He dispatched him quickly. I was unnerved to see the grace growing in Lance''s movements as he spent more time in the suit. Grace might be a strong word¡ªhe was still learning the suit, still looked like a toddler, like the rest of us¡ªbut his movements were becoming more certain, more natural. The suit was obeying more and more. Only Lauren so far had shown a skill that might match that level of ease.
Lauren and Katya were summoned next. I cursed under my breath. They were among the upper tier. I wanted to see them pairing up with other losers, like me, I guess, so they could keep others winless. Watching the two girls square up provoked a primitive excitement in the lads who watched. There was elbow nudging, rude whispered comments. Katya didn''t have Lauren''s full pouty lips or her substantial heaving curves, but she was lithe, pretty, and most importantly for the hot-blooded onlookers, she was female.
Lance stood next to me as the two entered their suits. He said, not turning to face me, "It must be tough, shopkeep."
"What?" I responded.
"It must be hard being here, watching women like that, knowing you can never touch them."
I murmured, "You don''t know."
Lance cut me off, his voice dripping with pity, intentional cruelty swimming in the pity. "You''re a commoner, shopkeep. Those two will marry for power and allegiance. More importantly, they''ll marry to make better sons than they can get from the likes of you. There''s a reason that the nobles are kept apart from you lot. We''re better, our blood is better."
I glowered as the two girls started their match. Katya displayed how much she had grown into her use of the suit in such a short time. For a moment, it even seemed like she would better Lauren. Katya moved with surprising agility, her strikes precise and calculated. Lauren, however, matched her with a fierce determination, countering each move with her own practiced skill.
We watched this fight intently. Already it was becoming clear that some of us had a greater expectation of winning the suit than others. Lauren and Katya were among the best in the arena, and watching them compete against each other was thrilling. It was also intimidating. Katya was like a shapeshifter. She had adopted a completely new approach here, she looked like a different fighter. The aggression she had used on Olaf, driving him and maneuvering him with sheer power, was gone. Against Laruen, Katya moved like shimmering oil, not committing to any single attack. Lauren, like Katya, seemed to have quickly gained a measure of control over the suit. Her steps were clunking enough, but far beyond what I expected to be able to do. Lauren was strong and long. Not so big as Olaf, not by a long shot. But she was far more physically imposing than Katya. And she was swift. It was hard to imagine a world where I could defeat that combination.
They moved across the arena, back and forth, seeking each other. Their swords clashed over and over. Neither of them would commit an error to bring the fight to a close. I thought that Katya would vanquish Lauren through fatigue. Katya seemed to have unending energy. Lauren¡¯s longer limbs seemed to be fading as the fight wore on and on.
But then it was done with a suddenness that left me breathless. Lauren cut down hard, a committed blow. Katya tried to step in over the blow as she dodged it. But Lauren dazzled us with her up cut, dragging the sword up as Katya stepped in. The kinetic flash was stunning. Lauren had made good use of the energy in the sword. Katya¡¯s body was smashed up, and away. She landed on her ass in the dust.
The worry and tension built inside me like a tightening vice. I only had two rounds left, and I couldn''t finish in last place. As I numbly watched the second round conclude, I was barely aware of my surroundings. My body felt heavy, my stomach churning with dread, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead.
My horror deepened as Zara defeated Theo, Leona bested Emilia, and Felix managed to take down Olaf. Each victory for them felt like another nail in my coffin. The crowd''s cheers and gasps seemed distant and muted as my mind raced with panic.
The highlight of the second round was the spectacular fight between Lance and Gideon. Everyone was shocked as Gideon used his footwork to get Lance to step out of bounds. Lance''s face twisted in burning shame and petulant rage as Mario declared Gideon the winner. For a fleeting moment, I couldn''t resist mimicking Lance''s earlier gesture, smugly pointing to my feet. The instant I caught the look of dark, black rage enter his eyes, I knew I had made a mistake. My heart sank.
At the end of the second round, only Olaf and I remained without a win. It seemed inevitable that one of us would emerge as the overall vanquished.
Updated Scores:
Winners (2 Wins Each):
Winners (1 Win Each):
- Lance: 1
- Katya: 1
- Zara: 1
- Leona: 1
- Felix: 1
- Theo: 1
- Emilia: 1
- Arthur: 1
Losers (0 Wins):
The sinking feeling of dread solidified within me as I realized the stakes. Only two rounds left, and I was dangerously close to finishing last.
Chapter 8
Mario stalked before us, decrying us with every step. "You, you are the best Boston has to offer? One of you thinks you¡¯re worthy of the Oracle''s gift? The Oracle deserves more than this pathetic offering. It is only through the ultimate mercy and generosity of the Oracle that you might dream that the suit won''t be snatched away. Boston doesn''t deserve a Sword if this is the best the city can offer. All the time you''ve spent practicing, training, wasting your pathetic time on mental exercises and advice from those who failed their own tests or fell from grace and had their suits returned to the source. You''re pathetic, unworthy. You all forget that piety is the path to the Oracle. It is time spent in worship of the Oracle that is the path to the Oracle''s favor."
Mario marched up and down before us, his eyes blazing with righteous fury. Baltizar and the bishop watched. The bishop was nodding slowly, almost mouthing Mario''s words as the priest raged at us.
"A Choosing might come only once in a lifetime, might not even come that often, and you squander it! Even the best of you is a shadow compared to the least of the classes I''ve seen come before you."
I glanced up at the row of faces. Most of my classmates, like me, seemed to wither under his words. Even Katya, who was so detached and unflappable seemed pained. Gideon only glowered more deeply, the lines on his forehead standing out. I could see him seething. This one was all rage.
Lance alone was unaffected by the verbal assault. He watched Mario speaking with total disinterest. His eyes were unfocused, a faint smug smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Lance was above all of this nonsense. The priest¡¯s words rolled off of him like rain on oiled cloth.
In my mind, it felt as though he was speaking just for me. It penetrated me, how true his words were. I could feel my ego fading as I struggled to deny any of it. But I looked again at Gideon. His anger had cost once already today, but here it was a shield. I would be better served with anger than fear.
As Mario continued his tirade, I clenched my fists. This endless pity I felt for myself would do me good. The excuse of a sickly childhood would not lessen the blows from my opponents. I had one chance, probably one chance in my whole life, to do this.
Looking back, I know what Mario was. He was a bully. He was a small man with an ugly personality. He lifted himself by lowering us. Then though, I didn¡¯t understand it so well. His words streamed on. I tried to find the fire to rise above them.
I remember those feelings today, the sting of feeling lesser, unknowing, not the first or the last time a priest would make me feel that way. Are there still priests in your time? Is there still an Oracle? These are things I wish I could know, things I dream about. What would a world look like without either? If you live in a world with them, then my writing may confuse you. Ancient history suggests to me that priests, and their likes, have always been something like this.
In the distant past before the Fall, priests were mouthpieces for apparent deities, imagined magical beings as far as I can tell, entities that did not have the apparent reality of the Oracle. In my time, we could see and feel the evidence of the Oracle''s existence¡ªthe Griid, the shifting tides of Entropy, the Griidlords, the Towers themselves¡ªall came from the Oracle. The priests made their connection with the Source apparent by their ability to coax effects from it.
As time went on and my studies deepened, secret studies that would have probably seen me executed if discovered, I came to realize that the mysteries of the Oracle went far beyond the understanding of nearly all their class. They toyed on the fringes of powers beyond their comprehension, extracting effects by practicing rituals the meaning of which had been long lost to them. They held their power and status because of the vital effects of these rituals. Without the rituals, no city could survive against another.
And that was the problem.
The priests, with their limited understanding, guarded their secrets jealously, wielding their power to maintain their influence and control. They acted as gatekeepers to the Oracle¡¯s gifts, deciding who was worthy and who was not, based on criteria that were often arbitrary and rooted in tradition rather than true insight. Their rituals, while effective, were shrouded in mystery, and any attempt to understand or question them was met with swift and severe punishment.
There was a break for lunch, and servants brought food to us. Harold had come from home, bearing a basket laden with meats, breads, and fruits. I could barely pick at them; the worry in my gut had deepened, and I could concentrate on nothing but Olaf. I needed to see him fall in the next round. I needed to abandon my tinkering with the beam and focus on winning myself, or it would all be over.
Harold watched as I poked at my food. "Young master, from what I understand, your performance leaves something to be desired. Was Lord Morningstar not of use to you last night? Did you fail to absorb his teachings? Your father will be most disappointed if you return vanquished."
I coughed, spraying crumbs. "Disappointed, Harold? Are you completely daft? If I lose today, then I would be better off not coming home at all."
Harold opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again, struggling to find the words to contradict me. "Your father believes in you, Tiberius. He has invested much in your training, and it is faith in you that leads to such expectations."
"Harold, if you expect me to believe that, you''re mistaken. My father wants to found a new house in the nobility. He wants to stick Baron or Earl in front of his name when he signs it. He wants to stop his betters from looking down their noses at him. It''s a waste of his energy and mine. They''ll never accept him; they''re obsessed with their bloodlines."
"Perhaps your father would be happy to know that in generations, your family would become part of those bloodlines. By placing you in the suit of a Griidlord, he would be building a legacy that would far outlast his merchant empire."This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
I snorted. "You know what? You hit the nail on the head. That''s what he''s thinking about. Don''t insult me by trying to convince me that he has faith in me. He just has a need, and I''m the one who can fill it."
As Harold packed up the lunch, mostly uneaten, I sipped water from a gold cup and stared into the dust of the arena. The outcome of these events had been taken out of my hands. I couldn''t control what happened with Olaf, and if he won, it felt to me like I would be finished.
As I stared, Lauren passed near me. She paused, uncertain if she wanted to be seen talking to me. Then she said quietly, "Why don''t you attack?"
"What?" I replied, my skin flushing and heart pounding, flustered by her proximity and beauty, her huge, deep eyes staring into mine.
"You can hardly expect to win a round if all you do is stand there, parrying and backing away. No opponent is going to just fall on their sword for you. I thought you''d have hunger, coming from the lower class, wanting to climb. I didn''t know what to expect from your skill, but I was sure I''d see you trying harder than anyone else."
I wanted to tell her I was trying, that I was doing something different, but I couldn''t find the words. She seemed to reconsider what she''d said, maybe afraid she''d been unkind. She absently said, "Well, good luck in the next round, Tiberius." Then she glided away, floating it seemed on graceful wings.
I stared after her, hating myself for not finding the words, chilled at the evidence that my performance so far hadn''t inspired her. I thought back to Lance''s cruel comments about not being able to touch a noblewoman like her, and I found another reason to stay in the competition. As the next rounds continued, I couldn''t find a reason to care. All I could think about were my own matches and Olaf''s. When my turn came, it was Lauren that was summoned to go against me. I gulped at the thought of having to strike at her.
As the helm came to rest on my head again, the voice came back, giddy. "Your beam is a 0.3. That is really remarkable, not to mention your level. That is utterly astonishing. It has been so long since I''ve smelled one as interesting as you."
I hissed quietly, "And you won''t be smelling me for much longer. I''m a round away from being out of this thing."
The voice answered, "That''s tosh. You only need to not be last. You said so yourself."
I searched my memory, unsure if I had even uttered that out loud.
The voice said, "If you master the beam, if you can bring yourself to a 1.0, then you will be able to employ something that the others here can''t approach."
I scoffed, whispering, "I''ll need to. I can''t compete with them."
The voice paused, then shed its excited, almost mocking tone for a moment. "You don''t know what you can do yet. You were born different from them."
I snorted. That much had been made very clear to me so far.
The voice said, "Keep flexing your beam."
I said urgently, "I can''t keep doing that. I need a win, or I''m doomed."
As Lauren stepped her lovely, long-legged form into her suit across the circle, the voice said, "And are you going to attack her? Even if you did, do you think you''re ready to bring her down? She might be the best one here."
It gave me pause. I didn''t know how I was meant to raise my sword against Lauren. Already, my heart pounded at being so close to her, her attention undivided from me. The round began.
Lauren and I faced each other in the circle. She seemed to either be toying with me or holding back. I couldn''t find the gusto to really go after her. After a time, I fell back into my pattern of flexing my beam muscle, parrying and backing away, more aware of the perimeter after the last round''s disaster. Lauren tested me, probing with attacks that seemed to lack intensity. Did she pity me? Was she playing with me? Whatever the reason, the round went longer.
My 0.3 became a 0.4, then a 0.5. I had so much time to practice, but it felt futile. She was obviously beyond me. I had no chance of winning this round, so if Olaf won his, then I would be essentially finished.
Lance suddenly shouted, "Come on, Lauren, stop playing with your food. There are others here waiting their chance to up their numbers."
Mario immediately hissed at him to be quiet.
The voice said, "You''re doing it! You''re doing it! If she keeps this pace up, you''ll have the beam at your disposal, and that will be your path to beating her."
Lauren seemed to either lose patience or take fire from Lance''s words, because her attacks became more insistent. I redoubled my efforts, barely defending myself, concentrating on making the digits go up. I rose to a 0.6, a 0.7.
Then Lauren''s attacks became truly pressing, and I needed every wit I had to defend myself. Unconsciously, I kept flexing my beam muscle out of habit as I defended myself, but in another minute, she had dismantled my defenses, methodically and with ease, finishing me with a spearing thrust that hit me in the chest, sending me spinning to the dust. I landed on my face, tasting the arena floor.
My spirit was broken as the other fights continued. As the last fight began, Theo, Lance, Emilia, and Katya won their rounds, leaving only Gideon and Olaf to face off. My enthusiasm lifted a little; Olaf would have no chance against Gideon, so at least we would both enter the final round on zero wins, which meant I still had a chance.
Gideon and Olaf stepped into the circle. There was less interest in this fight. After me, Olaf had shown the least aptitude. There was no expectation that we would see a good fight here. Olaf one of the worst, Gideon one of the best.
Olaf played Gideon as he had played Katya; passively. He let Gideon dictate the pace and flow of the fight, working only to defend himself. Once Olaf seemed to panic and lunge at Gideon. But Gideon was in control. His whole form rippled with restrained anger. But he was in control of it. He parried Olaf easily and struck him in the chest.
The kinetic impact would have floored any of the rest of us. But Olaf was bigger. His body absorbed the blow. He staggered back, but kept his feet. I watched as he only barely kept his boots inside the ring.
I needed Olaf to lose this. If only one of us were to be eliminated today, then it would be me or him.
Gideon attempted an ambitious lunge. He had Olaf on the ropes and he let loose the reigns of his aggression. He surged at the bigger man. But his feet betrayed him. I¡¯m sure that he would have been perfect outside of the suit. But his feet, unsure of their movements in the suit, tangled. We all gasped as Gideon tried to recover, but his momentum carried him forward. Olaf turned his body, just sidestepping the staggering lunge, and like that, Gideon was outside the circle.
Mario''s voice rang out. "MATCH!"
My heart completely fell out of me. Olaf had won. I was finished.
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. Olaf would have a score in the win column. I was essentially beaten.
Chapter 9
As the round ended, I was disgraced by the standings. I alone, among my peers, was winless. I was glad that my father wasn¡¯t there to see my struggles.
Winners (3 Wins Each):
Winners (2 Wins Each):
- Gideon: 2
- Theo: 2
- Lance: 2
- Emilia: 2
- Katya: 2
Winners (1 Win Each):
- Arthur: 1
- Zara: 1
- Felix: 1
- Leona: 1
- Olaf: 1
-
Losers (0 Wins):
As we started the last round, I was the only participant who had yet to win a round. Everything suddenly had an air of formality. The others knew it too. All they had to do was wait, and I would be the one to end the day ejected. My best hope was to tie with someone, and end the last round on equal scores. But, for all I knew, that might only see all of those in last place ejected. As I watched, less interested in the fighting than in my father''s reaction, I had a vague awareness of Arthur beating Theo, Zara besting Emilia, and Felix getting the better of Katya to the amazement of all.
When Leona squared off with Gideon, it was clear his previous mistake had screwed with his thinking. He hadn''t decided to learn from his overzealousness of the previous round. If anything, he seemed to charge into the circle with something to prove. He put everything he had into quickly dispatching Leona. There were no questions among any of us that he was the better in a Griidsuit, but his eagerness left himself open. I snapped out of my melancholy long enough to admire her patience and steel as she gave herself up to him, inviting another outrageous lunge, and then took advantage of the opening, striking him. The kinetic explosion from the Griidsword lifted him from his feet and planted him on his back.
Mario shouted, "MATCH!" He looked about us as Gideon rose to his feet, boiling with rage. He was safe; he already had two wins, but the shame of falling twice devoured him. Mario seemed ready to vomit, his face queasy. "This has been the most pathetic display I could have imagined. I want no more of it. The table is clear; we don''t need to continue with all the contests."
My heart sank, tears stinging my eyes. I tried to stand upright, proud, to show them I could take my ejection with resolve. Mario turned to me. "You have no win yet today. It is impossible for you to reach a score of two and pass any of them."
I clenched my jaw. I had thought I would feel relief in this moment, but it was just crushing dread, and humiliation. I imagined Lauren staring at me with scorn, or worse, pity.
Then Mario turned to Olaf. "You have been drawn to fight the winless one this round. You, child, have only a score of one. If he bests you, then you will be tied, and he will hold the tiebreaker of the head-to-head victory."
My feelings rose, confused, realizing suddenly that I had a chance.
Mario said, "Tiberius, Olaf, don your suits. This will be the final round. The loser will be banished from the arena."
As I stepped into my Griidsuit, I watched Olaf cross the circle towards his. His posture was tense, his movements betraying the same pressures I felt. I could see his trembling, but he seemed to have the vital ingredient that I couldn''t find: confidence. He had won a round, after all. As I entered the suit, the voice returned.
"Oh, this is so exciting! You''re so close. Imagine having the beam at your disposal, gaining a full point in an attribute on just the second day of the Choosing¡ª"
I cut the voice off, hissing, "Shut up! I don''t have time for this. If I don''t beat him right now, I''ll never have another chance at the beam or anything else."
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
"But¡ª" the voice started.
I cut it off again, roaring and charging at Olaf as Mario dropped the starting flag.
Olaf was startled by the suddenness of my attack. He hadn''t expected it. Even he didn''t expect me to be a real challenger. And, at first, the ferocity of my assault served me well. Olaf backpedaled away from me, careening toward the edge of the circle. But he was aware of what was happening. At the last moment, he arrested his retreat and stepped into me. He shoulder-checked me, his huge mass staggering me.
Olaf seized the opening. I dodged back as he swung his sword, but Olaf scored a glancing blow. The kinetic blast still sent me skittering back, but I managed to keep my feet. As I regained my footing, digits flashed before me¡ªthe 0.2 by Shield became a 0.3.
The voice cackled with excitement. "Look at you! Look what you can do. Now, the beam!"
I ignored the voice, focusing on Olaf. I could see his chest swell. For the first time that day, he felt he had the upper hand over an opponent. He seized control of the fight. He worked on me, pressing the attack himself now. I tried to find rage to push me, but the deflation of my impending defeat nagged endlessly at my spirits. The voice continually pestered me to flex the beam, but I ignored it, wondering why I bothered at all. Olaf had me, and he was being careful. He wouldn''t make a mistake.
Olaf glanced me again, sending me stumbling but just holding my footing. The Shield score became a 0.2, but now he had me cornered. One step back would take me outside the ring, leaving me short of room to maneuver. I could feel the curtain falling on my slim hopes.
Then the voice screamed in my ears, "Flex the beam! Flex the beam! You''re so close!"
My heart ached. Perhaps if I had followed those instructions from the start of the round, I would have the beam by now. But time was too close. What was I at, 0.7? Almost unbidden, I summoned the stats before me, and my eyebrows shot up inside my helm.
Current Stats:
How had this happened? How was it a 0.9? Had I really been flexing it that hard?
Olaf gathered himself. Like a wolf smelling blood, he knew he had me. He carefully set his feet, measuring me as he gathered himself for a fresh flurry. I was too close to the edge to set my feet right. I was off balance and vulnerable. My mind rolled back to the fight with Lauren. She had toyed with me for so long. She had stretched that fight out. I didn''t know if she had played things out so long from cruelty, or pity. Maybe she had used the time with such an inadequate opponent to simply practice with the suit. After Lance goaded her, she had pressed me, but carefully. I had been too concerned with defending myself to have an awareness of the text on my HUD. But I had still been flexing and flexing.
Then Olaf came at me. He wasn''t going to give me a chance to move away from the edge of the circle. He could afford to be aggressive, I was in no position to counter him. I watched his big form close on me with no small amount of panic. I had no defense. But I squeezed the sword in my hands. I strained my brain as I flexed the invisible muscle.
The digits on my HUD flashed¡ªthe 0.9 fading, a 1.0 blinking into place.
I felt a surge of power course through me. My sword blazed with light. I think that was the first moment when I understood the ecstasy of being in the suit. The kinetic blast erupted along the length of my sword. I openly gasped at the sensation, the feeling of such power. Olaf''s eyes widened in surprise as the force hit him, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying back, all the way across the circle and out the other side.
I stood there, amazed, my heart pounding in my chest. The crowd erupted in gasps and murmurs. Some of them had been barely watching. But now I had their attention.
I could hardly believe what had just happened.
Mario, stunned, hesitated for a moment. He composed himself and barked out, "MATCH!"
Reality dawned on me only slowly. I had done it. I had won a round. More importantly, I had gained an attribute! The others looked at me with something like disbelief. Of all of us, I was surely the last anyone had expected to see do something like this.
Lauren caught my eye. She smiled. It was a faint thing, a subtle thing. But it was there.
What came next felt as bad as the victory had felt good. Olaf gathered himself from the ground, spitting dirt. He had come so close, I could feel his pain. Like me, he had spent the day straining to just survive. And he had done what he needed to do. He''d won a round and put himself ahead of me. The surprise in his eyes faded and something else burned there. Hatred. He hated me. And why shouldn''t he?
Mario still seemed confused by what he had just seen. But he spoke, his voice carrying the monotony of ceremony. "Where there were twelve, now eleven remain. Olaf, you are hereby ejected from the Choosing. May your future endeavors bring you strength and wisdom."
Olaf''s shoulders slumped. The big man seemed smaller now. I ached that it was I who had done this. But I had had no choice. Olaf faced the priest and nodded curtly. His face strained to contain the emotions that welled there.
As he left, it was as much sorrow I felt as victory.
I looked at my sword and felt a new lightness in me. I could wield the BEAM. I was the first among us to do that! For all the disadvantages I had, surely this new asset would give me a real chance to succeed.
I looked again at the faces of my competitors. They were looking at me differently now. Even Lance seemed to consider me.
In a moment I had gone from being an afterthought to a true threat.
Chapter 10
I sat on the steps outside the arena, lacing my boots with fingers that still trembled.
The light was fading in the late evening. Shadows ran long and deep from the low buildings that clustered around outside the walls. There was no Order here. No electric lights, not engines or motors.
I watched a woman washing clothes in a half barrel of what must have been cold water. It was late, she carried the fatigue of a long day on her. I watched her hands, tired, the knuckles red and sore looking. It was a time when a person should be resting surely, not slaving on. In my Father¡¯s house, even the maids had machines to deal with tasks like this. I wondered at the fairness of it.
My eyes drifted over and settled on the graceful form of Lauren as she approached her carriage. Forgive the hormonal goggles, but I can¡¯t forget how her form obsessed me. She was more like a drawing than a real person. The way her hips flared, the curves of her body.
She turned as she mounted the steps to the carriage and I was started, caught in the act of ogling her. But she held my gaze a moment, without accusation. Her eyes glittered and she smiled. Again, it was barely a thing at all, but it made my heart leap.
Then she continued into her carriage and was gone.
I stared into space, a little dreamy-eyed. It hadn¡¯t been so bad a day by the time it ended.
Then a shadow fell over me from behind, above me on the steps. My heart lurched at the sudden presence. I remembered the hatred in Olaf¡¯s eyes and I imagined the big man standing above me, consumed by revenge. It was a stupid thought. Zeb lurked nearby. Zeb was always lurking and watching. If a threat had approached me it would have been put down before it even considered me a target.
I turned and found the curious form of Katya looking down at me. She stared openly, inspecting me like a science project. Her ways were strange. I understood people had different customs in her far-flung land, but it was still difficult to reconcile her manners.
In a bygone era, Miami and Boston were part of one huge nation, and it is my dream and hope that by the time you read this, that will be the reality again. In this time, Miami and much of the southern extremities¡ªNew Orleans, Atlanta¡ªwere part of a noticeably different culture. The western cities were similarly alien to the northeastern cluster of city-states. Miami, in particular, was a strange place. Their leadership was hereditary, the city always led by a Queen, a queen that was treated not only as though her rule was divinely sanctioned by the Oracle, but that she herself carried a touch of the divine.
Katya stood staring down at me, her head slightly cocked, unabashedly inspecting me in a way even Lance would have been embarrassed by. "H-hey," I said shakily.
"Hey," she replied.
As I looked back at her fixed gaze, I couldn''t fail to appreciate her appealing looks. At the time, I was a lad in my late teens, so maybe it might be fair to say I found almost every appropriately aged female to have appealing looks. But as I looked up at Katya, I realized that I hadn''t appreciated her as I''d basked in the radiance of Lauren''s glowing obvious beauty. Katya didn''t possess the pronounced shapeliness to her contours that Lauren displayed so proudly. She was skinny, very slight, her feminine curves quite underpronounced. But she was lithe, her eyes deep and burrowing in a different way to Lauren''s¡ªnot huge deep pools, but rather aching planets that spoke of faraway places. And she was odd, in a very good way, different from the girls I''d grown up around. She was not dressed as a lady at all, sporting tight jeans and a riding cloak.
"Is there something I should do?" I asked.
Katya said, "Tell me how you did it."
"How I did what?" I trailed off, rising slightly from my stage fright. "Oh, the beam. You mean the beam."A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
"I''ve studied the history of the Choosing in this city very carefully," Katya said. "Nobody has ever gained an attribute so quickly, and you suck, which makes it even harder to understand."
I tried not to show myself being taken aback by her comment. She said it matter-of-factly, with no insult or intent. After a moment, I realized she was right. I had easily been the worst suit wielder of the class, but for my miraculous acquisition of the beam, it would be me and not Olaf who had trudged home defeated that day.
"I focused on improving the beam," I said. "That''s why I struggled so much, but it paid off, didn''t it?"
"How did you work on the beam?" Katya asked.
"I just did what the voice said."
"The voice?" Katya''s eyes narrowed.
"Yeah, the voice, the one that talks to you in the suit..." I had started to believe this was a feature of the Boston Sword Suit and that everyone had been experiencing it, gaining guidance from it. Her expression gave the lie to my presumption.
"Oh," she said, looking disappointed. "You''re a crazy person, I see..."
I rushed to cover myself up. "Not the voice! Not like an actual voice, I mean... the feeling of the suit, the sensory feedback... One of my tutors said I should listen to the voice... Oracle''s sake, that must have sounded strange..."
I waited, bated breath, to see how she received my shaky lies. She inspected me a little more and then said, "I want you to teach me how you did it."
I said, shaky, trying to stay fixed on my goal of becoming a Griidlord but also not wanting to deter the attention of this alluring female human, "Katya, I don''t think that''s really how it works. I mean, we''re competing with each other. I don''t want to¡ªI can''t help you get better."
Katya responded, "But you suck anyway, and you probably won''t win." Again, no insult, just matter of fact.
"I might win," I said, trying to assert myself. "I have the beam now."
"Not all of the competitions will be combats with each other," she said, her tone pragmatic. "You can barely walk in your suit."
"Well, why should I help you gain an advantage over me, or anyone else for that matter?" I asked, feeling a little angry.
Katya''s expression softened into one of consideration. "We could have an alliance."
I blinked, taken aback. "What, if we win, we both share the suit?"
She examined me for another moment, then burst out in a strange, fast melody of laughter. "Oh, you''re joking. Your humor here is strange, but that was amusing. No, of course not, but we could make an arrangement that benefits both of us in the case that one of us is the victor."
"Oh?" I said, intrigued despite myself.
"I am the seventh daughter of Her Glory of Miami, and have no obvious path to a place in the city save as a piece of court furniture, which is terribly boring. I need a place to call my own, away from my mother and my tedious sisters. That is why I am here¡ªto make my own glory. I intend to win the suit. In the event that I don''t, my chances of finding another Choosing while I am still in my prime may be quite slim, so I could marry you."
Startled, I stammered, "What?"
"Your family has terrific wealth, and if you win, you will be a Griidlord. There would be great prestige for me to be the wife of such a man and be the mother to generations of future Griidlords."
I blushed, imagining the physical acts that would be entailed in fathering children with her. She paused, seeming to admire my blush, somewhat satisfied. Then she said, "But in all possible outcomes, that seems the least likely. Your failure to master any other aspect of the suit means you are unlikely to emerge the victor. I, however, armed with the strange knowledge you have at gaining attributes, could very possibly win the suit. If you married me, you could join my noble house, possibly satisfying your father''s desire to make his family part of the established nobility here."
I juggled for words, speechless.
"You''re flustered, I understand," she said. "I would like to start as soon as possible, but sadly I have no time for you this evening. Think on my offer, and we can speak again tomorrow. But be warned, if you are ejected tomorrow, I will need to narrow the terms of the proposal somewhat. I would still have need of your knowledge, but you would no longer be in a position to offer me the opportunity to marry you as a Griidlord, however unlikely that might be, and the arrangement would need to be adjusted accordingly."
I stared, still scrambling for a response. She ducked down like a bird and kissed my cheek, then straightened, seeming to enjoy my uncontrollable embarrassment for another moment before striding away briskly. I can''t say my eyes didn''t linger on her posterior in those tight jeans as she walked away.
Chapter 11
Harold opened the door of my father¡¯s house as I approached. You should have gotten the impression by now that he was a very dry and single-minded man, devoted to service but finding very little to excite him in life. He had been a part of my world since my earliest memories. In fact, I had spent a great deal more time around Harold than around my father, who was always busy away on trips, conducting business, or living the indulgent life of a criminally wealthy merchant. I would like to say that Harold filled the void, provided the father figure and nurturing emotional warmth that was absent, but as you¡¯ve possibly noticed, Harold never seemed to overflow with emotional anything. I did know him well, though, and as I approached the door, I could tell that, in his own repressed way, he was agitated.
He said, "Master Tiberius, the kitchen almost has your supper ready. I shall have it sent to your room immediately." I observed his darting eyes and understood immediately what had upset him. I spoke low, "He¡¯s drinking."
Harold hesitated, then faintly nodded. "Why don¡¯t you go to your room, young master? You must be exhausted after the day¡¯s events, and congratulations, may I say. The city is abuzz with the news of your last-minute triumph." Harold may not have been a warm pillow of love and expression, but he cared for me in his own way. If he was herding me to my room in this manner, it could only mean that I was in danger of becoming the victim of my father¡¯s drunken tirades. I couldn¡¯t understand the possible source of a tirade; I had survived the day and gained the beam.
"Thank you, Harold," I said and entered the house, moving immediately towards the stairs. There was a slightly slurred shout from the parlor, "Harold! Who is that? Is that my triumphant boy back from the arena?"
Harold looked at me apologetically. I answered for him, "Yes, Father, I¡¯m back."
Father shouted more loudly, seemingly uproariously victorious, "Well, get in here, boy, have a drink with your old man." I nodded to Harold and crossed the foyer to the parlor.
The parlor was a strange mix of antiquity and modernity. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting knights and battles, suits of armor stood in the corners, and heavy wooden furniture gave the room an air of bygone eras. Yet, there were also electric mood lights casting a warm glow, and a large display screen dominated one wall, currently showing footage of battles fought over orbs, Griidlords cleaving through hundreds of men like harvesters through fields of corn. My father stood in front of the screen, swaying ever so slightly, holding a huge whiskey glass in his hand.
As I entered, he turned to the cabinet, "You must deserve a drink after your survival today." I hesitated. He was offering a rare treat, but I was suspicious of his mood. "I don¡¯t know if I should, Father. I must return to the arena again tomorrow."
"Nonsense," he said. "We won¡¯t get you drunk, just one little sup with your old man to celebrate." He poured a rather large glass of whiskey and passed it to me. Offering his glass in toast, he said, "To my boy, who survived the day."
We clinked glasses. As we did, I could feel the threat¡ªhe had twice referred to survival and not victory. He must have been displeased. I sipped, the liquor burning hot, making my jaw throb. He gulped, then slurred worse, "And you gained the beam, my son. I understand that may be a first in the history of Boston."
"Somebody said something like that to me earlier," I replied.
He leaned close. I could now see his eyes were glazed but also desperately furtive, panicked even. "Do you think the beam will help you have better success tomorrow?"
"I don¡¯t know what the competition will be like tomorrow, Father, if the beam will come into play. The others, they¡¯re awfully good."
He snapped at that, slamming his glass down on the cabinet. It didn¡¯t shatter, but I heard the clink of a crack emerging in the incredibly expensive crystal. "Awfully good? Better than you? My son! I probably spent more on your tutors than all the rest of them combined. You shouldn¡¯t just be scraping through, you should be coming out on top, you should be the favorite by now."
I cowered back slightly, desperate to avoid worsening his eruption. "I¡¯m learning fast. I have the beam now. None of the rest of them have the beam."
He stepped forward as I backed slightly, towering over me. "But as you said, the beam might not come into play at all tomorrow. Tomorrow, you might be coming home with a tale of woe."If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
"I¡¯m doing my best," I said, my own anger rising now, swallowing my fear.
"You¡¯re my son! Your best should be dominating those nose-turning bigots! We can¡¯t afford for you not to win!" He seemed to startle himself as he said this, his eyes blinking.
"We can afford almost anything..." I said, confused.
He turned his face, found his glass, drank again. He seemed to be thinking. "Father, what is it?" I asked.
He sighed, his shoulders slumping. Father was the most composed man in the city, more regal than the Highlord, but in that moment, in many moments when he was too deep in his cups, he looked a little pathetic.
He said, "I made a wager. That''s how I got you into the competition."
I didn''t understand. With my father''s wealth, how could he possibly have made a wager that could worry him? Many of the lords couldn''t afford a house in the first sector of the city, where order was high and things like video screens and electric lights functioned. My father owned the largest house in the first sector of this city, and he owned homes in the first sectors of other cities. He owned whole towns, trading outposts that had grown into full settlements. What could he have done?
His eyes were wet, not just from the glaze of the whiskey, but from emotion, from guilt, fear. "I wagered a good deal, son, a great amount of my fortune. Worth it, of course, because you will win, and then we will be first among nobles here, title and wealth, unlike those flailing impoverished bastards with titles but no gold."
"How much?" I asked, the words barely escaping my lips.
He seemed to try to assure me, his hands waving. "A lot, enough, not too much... but things have changed."
"Changed? Changed how?" My emotions chilled me, the pressure on me deepening.
He said, "The Horde hit Dodge City. It''s gone."
I gasped, unable to help it. Dodge City was an ancient settlement in the wilds, far from order, that my father had essentially bought and transformed into a hub for his empire. Huge warehouses holding goods between transits, holding other goods waiting for market fluctuations to increase their value, holding fortunes of goods simply to allow them to appreciate. The army that my father employed to defend Dodge City might have been enough to rival the military forces of some of the smaller city-states, might have rivaled Boston''s own army in those days.
"Dodge City... gone?" I echoed, struggling to comprehend the magnitude of the loss.
He nodded, his face a mask of despair. "It''s gone. The Horde came through, and our defenses couldn''t hold. Everything is lost. The warehouses, the goods, the settlements. Everything."
I understand that this is the first you''re hearing of the Horde. Maybe I should have stuck an addendum on them somewhere else. For now, a little bit, enough to give you an idea without breaking the flow of the story too much.
You should by now have a fair picture of the world: technology functioning in the centers of cities and in regions owned by the city, dependent on the city having enough Flows to spend to raise order levels required for whatever tasks were needed¡ªto let an army use tanks and guns, to let the farmers use machinery for the harvest, to let factories churn. Most of the land was far from cities, nominally governed and taxed by a city-state, but never feeling the touch of Order. We called such places the wilds. In the wilds, the only power was muscle power, horses for plows, men for swords and bows.
But there was the Horde. To tell you of the Horde, I must briefly mention chaos storms. I''ll tell you more another time, but for now, chaos storms were relatively rare events, or at least rarely observed by humans. Strange swellings in the entropy field that appeared and faded at random, sweeping across the land, destroying, spawning fiends. They rarely hit a settlement¡ªthe simple odds of it were so low¡ªbut the storms sometimes came with the Horde.
Back then, we didn''t understand the Horde. They were a people alien and terrifying to all civilized men. They weren''t Griidlords exactly, but they had collections of armor and rode terrifying motorized bikes. They came in the hundreds, sometimes, it was said, the thousands, with the storms. Not all storms, not nearly, thank the Oracle. Even then, when we didn''t understand them, it was clear that their tech was related to the storms. They could use guns, power weapons, the bikes, out in the wilds where none could. But their movement was limited. Away from storms, their tech functioned no better than anyone else''s.
The Horde swept away villages from time to time, but the idea of them falling on Dodge, with its wealth, with its thousands of defenseless inhabitants... The army defending Dodge, with swords, spears, bows... They would have been like ants to the Horde with their guns and armor.
I stood there, breathless for a moment. This couldn¡¯t be. I tried to grasp what this would mean for us. Dodge was a city that my father had basically built from the ground up. It was repository of treasures and goods. I tried to fathom what would have been lost to us, what this would mean for us, but the scale of the tragedy was too vast.
"Dodge City... Dodge is gone?" I breathed.
Father looked at me. His eyes were a little unfocused by the whiskey, but I could see the strain there. He said, "Between that and the wager... if you lose... if you don''t win the Choosing, or at least do well enough for me to renegotiate the wager... we''ll be ruined."
Chapter 12
I stood in line with my ten other classmates, grass at my feet, a deep valley running below me, vast and wild. I could almost smell the salt in the air. If I turned my head, I could see the vastness of the ocean, Boston in sight, a speck of grey and smoke miles away. Nobles gathered on horses, watching eagerly. Wagons lined up nearby. Dawn was still young, the smells and senses of early morning filling the air. Nearby, cages held gnashing fiends¡ªwolf-like creatures with stone claws and distorted bodies, the stuff of nightmares.
My anxiety rose as Mario spoke, or rather screamed, at us, his voice cutting through the morning calm. "Today will test the wideness of the mastery of your suits! To equip you, we bring the precious Mystorium from the Tower. This Mystorium is the lifeblood of our Griidlords. It heals them, grows them, but today we squander it on you worthless retches that you may be tested in the feeble hope that one among you may be worthy of the Oracle''s blessing and become the Sword of Boston."
As he spoke, other priests hounded servants carrying large jet-black cylinders, struggling under the weight. Another priest scolded a team of servants bearing the Sword Suit on a stretcher. I watched, my heart aching with fear. I had mastered the Beam, but Mario spoke of wider-ranging attributes. My head raced with the pressure of not only bringing glory to my family but saving us from ruin.
Mario squawked, "Today we risk this precious Mystorium on you worthless objects, so that the Sword may grow to encompass you and allow you all to compete and at least give us the chance to send at least two of you away."
Two? I didn''t understand. I thought only one classmate would be lost each day barring strange disasters.
The grass beneath my feet felt more solid than my own resolve as I tried to steady my nerves. The fiends in their cages snarled and snapped, their twisted forms a constant reminder of the danger we faced. The nobles watched us like vultures, eager to see who would fail and who might emerge as a potential Griidlord.
I looked across at the others. Faces were strained and tense. Eyes darted from the mystorium to the terrifying beasts, back again. The gravity of the day wasn¡¯t lost on them either. Katya seemed cool, that same curious yet diseinterested expression on her face. Lauren was still, her face unreadable. Lance stood completely relaxed. He stood as though he had already won, he was barely interested and unconcerned with demons or mystorium.
Mario''s voice cut through my thoughts. "The Sword Suit will grow to encompass you, to test your limits and your abilities. Only through this trial will we see who among you has the potential to wield it with honor and strength. You will fight, you will endure, and only the strongest will prevail."
I felt my skin growing cold. There was terror enough and challenge enough in this wihtout the new pressures that weighed down on. I thought of father¡¯s words from the previous night. If I failed today, if I failed any day, it wasn¡¯t just the Choosing that I would lose. I would doom my family.
Again I cursed my father for his madness. How had he ever expected me to compete against these nobles? They had been trained from the moment they could walk. I had been frail wreck in a bed, with no expectation that my life would ever be anything.
Mario barked at us, "There will be five teams: four of two and one of three. The larger team will face the greatest challenge. On this day, you will test the broadest array of your suits'' attributes by hunting a fiend." Mario gestured to the cages, five in all. Each of the small wolf fiends gnashed and scrabbled, angry and afraid. As I looked, I could see each forehead was branded with a different numeral from one to five.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Mario continued, "The fiends will be released, and the teams will make chase. The last team to return with the head of their fiend will be dismissed."
We stared in awe, none of us able to believe the challenge. Even with Griidsuits, this seemed impossible. A fiend like these would tear nearly any man apart, could terrorize a whole village. A true Griidlord might dispatch one without even noticing, but to our clumsy novicehood, this seemed an impossible task.
Mario belched, "The valley is surrounded by proud soldiers of Boston, enough to turn the beasts back into the vast acres of the Valley of Testing, where you will make your hunt."
We watched, the tension rising, as Mario cried to the heavens, "Oh Prophet, though these worthless whelps are beyond unworthy, grant them the chance to prove their unworthiness. Bestow upon them the use of your blessings."
The cylinders began to melt, flowing like particles to the Griidsuit on the stretcher. The suit dissolved, the particles flowing like animated water to all eleven of us. The flow of blackness consumed us, forming crude Griidsuits with half-helms. Mario continued speaking.
"We will match best with worst. Lauren, the leader from yesterday''s contest, you will be paired with the wailing, Tiberius."
While I didn¡¯t appreciate the old bastard¡¯s words, I did appreciate his choice. I felt the excitement in me at the prospect of teaming up with Lauren. The idea of being close to her, of talking to her made my chest flutter. But all the same, it brought anxiety itself. What did you say to girls? Father had used me for his ends and had never thought that my life might be better if I¡¯d been able to mix with others my age, make friends, and make mistakes. But to my father, I was only a thing that served a purpose.
As the blackness formed around me, I glanced at Lauren. She wasn¡¯t looking at me. She was pointedly looking away from me. If anything, she looked concerned. I thought back to the smile she had given me as she climbed into her coach. There was no smile now. Of course, she had just had her destiny tied to me, the obviously weakest contender here.
When the suit had formed around her, she detached herself from the line of contestants. She walked to me, and I tried to imagine that she wasn¡¯t dreading trying to survive the round with me dragging her down.
Mario continued announcing the other teams: Gideon and Leona, Theo and Felix, Lance and Zara. Emilia and Arthur, and finally, Katya together, were tasked with bringing down the largest of the beasts.
The others approached each other, there were hushed conversations.
Mario kept bellowing the rules. "We have five rockets, each will burst in the air to reveal a different color. These will announce the return of each victorious team, if victory is a term that can be used to describe you miserable excuses for applicants. First team, Lauren and Tiberius, are red. Second team, Gideon and Leona, are blue. Third team, Theo and Felix, are green. Fourth team, Lance and Zara, are purple. Fifth team, Emilia, Arthur, and Katya, are pink."
A sense of horror gripped me as I watched the fiends being released. Servants, several per fiend, held them by poles attached to their collars, dragging them to different edges of the clearing. At a word from Mario, the poles were detached from the collars by some mechanism that I couldn¡¯t see. The fiends hesitated, looking at the crowd of humans and eying the armed guards. Four streaked away immediately. But our fiend, the one branded with a 1 on its brow, lunged at one of the servants who had released it. Blood erupted from the room and the fiend reared up to strike again as the other servants scattered.
Soldiers rushed forward, bearing spears, shouting to distract the animal. The fiend clawed at the servant again. My stomach churned as I watched. Spears thrust at it, but the thing hardly seemed to care. The creature raked its claws at the struggling man. More spears jabbed at the fiend, and finally, it turned and fled.
I turned to Lauren. Her gaze was fixed on the undergrowth. It would be our task to not only track the beastly thing down, but to slay it as well.
Chapter 13
Mario stood before us, holding the cloth in his hand. We waited eagerly for him to drop it so we could pursue our quarries. My thoughts were in a whirl¡ªworking with Lauren, a chance to talk with her, know her, impress her even. But darker thoughts also crept in. What if I disappointed her? What if I got her ejected from the Choosing as well?
Mario yelled, "Under no circumstance can any team interfere with the hunt or quarry of another team. We care not how you procure the head of your quarry, just that the last team to do so is ejected."
I stood there, trying to feel familiar in the half Griidsuit. The suit was heavy, cumbersome, yet filled with potential. I tried to adjust my stance, hoping to find some measure of comfort and readiness.
Then the voice was in my ear. "Oh, another chance to see how you do at gaining attributes."
I muttered under my breath, "I don''t think Beam is going to be much use for most of this. Finding the thing is going to be the challenge, waddling around fast enough to get to it is going to be the problem."
The voice replied, "Oh, I know, but you rose to the challenge before. I''m sure you''ll impress again. Have you decided what attributes you will focus on now?"
"Walking... I guess," I said, frustration evident in my tone.
The voice cackled. "Oh, that''s very funny. What about a more specific skill?"
I snapped at the voice, quietly so Lauren wouldn''t hear me. "Will Cut help me chase after it faster? What the hell are you talking about?"
The voice chortled more. "I thought you were trained, you silly fop. You''ve only been looking at the combat skills. You know there are more, don''t you?"
I screwed my eyes shut, trying to recall my training. My tutors had focused so much on finding ways to gain skill with the suit, to grow into it, but my head swam with the details.
The voice said, "Ask for the attribute tree."
I sighed. Mario was still blathering, so I thought, "Attribute tree."
A menu appeared on my HUD with subheadings:
Combat
Passive
Unique
Fields
My eyes widened as I stared at the options, realizing just how much more there was to the suit than I had considered.
The voice giggled in my ear, "Check out the passive menu."
I sighed, watching Mario. He was ranting, building to a crescendo. I didn''t want to be caught distracted when he dropped the cloth and set us after the beasts. I thought "passive," and a new menu appeared:
Sight 0.0
Scent 0.0
Hearing 0.0
Spectra 0.0
Strength 0.0
The voice picked at me. "Scent might be key to this endeavor... of course, you still need to get better at actually moving about. You look like a walking abortion most of the time. We need to do something about that as well."
My attention returned to the world as I dismissed the HUD and watched Mario drop the cloth, freeing us to act.
"Come on," Lauren snapped at me and strode away from the clearing toward where our beast had disappeared into the undergrowth.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
She attempted to pace up to a jog, not doing badly but becoming less stable as she did so. I tried to follow, increasing my pace, turning me into a drunken child, staggering.
I muttered to the voice, "I would have thought all the time I spent fighting yesterday would have given me at least some Agility attribute..."
The voice replied, "No, silly. Agility has nothing to do with being able to walk like you didn''t have ale for blood. The cure to your walking woes is just exposure, practice, attunement. It will come. All you did yesterday was shuffle backward the whole time. Today will be much better for that."
I followed Lauren as she stepped into the obscurity of the foliage. I whispered to the voice, "Okay then, how do I get better at the scent attribute?"
The voice giggled, "How do you think?"
"What, do I just smell a lot?" I asked, frustrated.
The voice was silent.
"Seriously?" I pressed.
"Yes," it finally replied, "but you need to concentrate on it, ignoring your other senses, really opening yourself to scent, inviting the suit to feed you with information."
I tried to focus on moving swiftly behind Lauren, my feet constantly threatening to tangle themselves. Acknowledging to myself for the first time that this voice was truly real, I asked, "Who are you? What are you?"
Stumbling but keeping my feet as I entered the tangle of the undergrowth behind Lauren, the voice replied, "It took you until now to wonder about that? Silly, silly, silly. We won''t worry about that for now."
Suddenly, I bumped into Lauren''s back where she had stopped, nearly knocking both of us over. She turned to me, frustrated but hopeful, and said, "We need to follow the fiend."
"I know," I replied, "but it''s long gone."
She gave me a steady look. "You know there''s a scent attribute."
I felt stupid. I should have known there was a scent attribute. Had my tutors not told me, or had I just failed to retain the knowledge? I stuttered, trying to be natural with her, unable to stop thinking about how glorious she was, how beautiful, admiring her steadiness, her commitment to the task at hand. "Yeah, I know there''s a scent attribute."
She just stared at me. After a moment, I asked, "What?"
"You gained the beam in a day," she said, sincere and admiring. "That''s a hard skill to master."
At first, I didn¡¯t understand, then I realized. "What, you think I can just master scent as well?"
Her next words were sincere, admiring even. "You mastered the beam in a day. You have a special way with the attributes, maybe."
I snorted. "I gained one point in something. I don''t know if that means I''m particularly good at gaining attributes. If that''s true, then I''ll pass everyone in a week and win the suit easily."
She continued to look at me, seeming to consider. My mind flashed back to the smile she gave me as she entered her carriage the day before. "What, you think I''m going to win this thing?"
"Tiberius," she said, "I intend to win the suit. Technically, I''m at the top of the table. I won three matches yesterday. But Lance and Gideon are going to be hard to get past. And you... yesterday you did something really amazing. You''re behind now, but I can''t help but wonder if that''s going to change. I''d rather see you win than Lance."
I was taken aback, my head swimming at these words of interest and encouragement. "Even though I''m just a shopkeep?"
She smiled, a little bitter, a little apologetic. "If you win, you''ll found your own house. You''ll be a lord and the heir to the greatest fortune in Boston. Everyone will have to respect you."
I tried to process her words and chuckled. "But you''re going to win."
She smiled back. "Damn straight, but today I think you might be able to help us both get through. Try to scent."
"Why don''t you try?" I asked.
"I am trying," she said. Then, sadly, "Nothing''s happening."
I absorbed her admission, paused. "Give me a minute."
"Try to be fast," she said, her lower face exposed. She pursed her beautiful lips, and my cheeks grew hot at her expectation.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a moment, and tried to focus on the scent attribute. Ignoring my other senses, I invited the suit to feed me with information, hoping it would guide me to our quarry.
I tried to open myself to the scent attribute, taking a deep breath and focusing all my attention on my sense of smell. At first, there was a flicker of hope, a momentary feeling that I might actually succeed. But that hope quickly faded as thoughts of pressure and expectation crept in. Lauren stood there, waiting, impatient and intent on me. I could feel her eyes on me, the weight of her expectations pressing down on my shoulders.
I tried again, but my thoughts drifted further from the task of scenting. Instead, I imagined the consequences of failure¡ªher disappointment, her waning interest. Worse, our ejection from the Choosing, her crushing sadness, my father''s loss, and the implications of something like poverty. These thoughts clouded my mind, making it impossible to focus.
After a time, Lauren seemed to grow uneasy. "Okay, never mind, it was a dumb idea. It''s not like I should have expected anything." She turned, peering into the undergrowth, touching a broken branch of a bush. "We can try to follow the trail. I... I don''t know anything about trails, but we can''t just stand around."
She took a few steps from me, her voice urging, "Come on, forget it, let''s go."
But I didn''t move. Absently, I said, "Wait."
Chapter 14
What happened next may seem radical, but you need to understand: not all attributes were born equal. Some were harder to develop and grow, some were simply more important and powerful than others. The Beam was obviously more important to a Griidlord than the ability to smell really well. And, as it was revealed to me, the Beam was much more challenging to attain than many of the others. Fields were another matter; we''ll get to them before too long. They had their own unique learning curve. For now, just understand that senses are quicker to fire up than combat skills.
I experienced a mental explosion, a oneness with the suit I had never felt before. My brain bloomed and exploded as I connected with it, my nostrils swelling and filling with awareness. But no, it wasn''t my nostrils. Though I perceived the explosion of sensitivity as being part of my flesh, there was an intense knowledge that the sensory information I was suddenly feeling came from the suit, feeding straight to my brain. My body was telling me that I really scented the air differently.
Lauren looked at me, interested, maybe even concerned. "What is it?"
I turned my head to her, feeling nearly blind as my brain was overwhelmed by the scents. I detected and became suddenly aware of many smells: the earth, the trees, animal scents, the floral smell of Lauren''s perfume flooding me. The scent attribute flashed on my HUD, the 0.0 flashing, fading, replaced with a 1.2.
She looked at me, disbelieving. "You didn''t just..."
I nodded. "It''s working."
She took a long breath, observing, measuring, marveling at me. Then she said, "Can you smell it?"
I scented. It was hard to believe we couldn''t have smelled it before. Fiends are foul things with a stink all their own. Survivors of attacks speak of the clouding stench that pulses from them, their blood smells of rotting meat. I could smell it; I couldn''t miss it, which was just as well because, despite my brain exploding with new awareness, I had barely gained one point.
I pointed down the slope. "It went that way."
Lauren stood aside, saying, "Lead the way." Her interest in me had crystallized; I could tell.
As I walked down the hill, stumbling and clumsy, I felt stupid, sure I was infuriating her. But she said nothing to indicate as such.
Each step was a struggle to maintain balance. My movements were poorly coordinated and the ground was uneven and tangled. The overpowering stench of the fiend guided me. I focused on the smell. The scent attribute might have made me more aware, but it didn¡¯t make me any more graceful. Every few steps brought another opportunity to nearly trip over something.
Lauren followed closely. She walked in silence. She didn¡¯t want to distract me from my focus. I was only too aware of how she could see me plodding along. She must have regretted having me with her for my poor affinity with the movement of the suit. I only hoped that my new attributed redeemed me to her.
We continued through the dense foliage. Brambles and branches deflected from the armor harmlessless. Occasionally a thorn would find some bare flesh and draw blood. The going was slow.
There was a heavy silence for a time. Lauren seemed to be deep in thought. I concentrated on trying to follow the scent. It wasn¡¯t easy as I might have suggested. I had just gained the attribute. I only had one level in it. I was learning how to use it. It was a blessing that the fiend¡¯s smelled so strongly. I couldn¡¯t have tracked a man or a rabbit at this level.
As I walked, I felt the tension of the pregnant silence from Lauren. I concentrated on the smell and worked hard on placing my feet, feeling clownish as I lifted my lightly armored legs and set them down, thinking through the difficult process of heel striking ground, ankle flexing, hip turning, as though I was responsible for every action that my unconscious brain normally managed. The voice was gleeful, hooting and giggling.
"You did it just like that," the voice said. "Gained an attribute just by thinking about it."
I spoke quietly, Lauren trailing, absent and distracted. "Am I getting better at it? If I can gain attributes this quickly, then maybe I really can develop enough to pass the others and win the suit."
The voice cackled. "Oh, no, no, no. It''s not like that. I am excited, I really am, but that''s not how it works. Some attributes can be gained quickly, like scent or sight. Some take much, much longer, like the beam. But the more you learn, the harder it is to progress to a higher level of attunement with the suit. You might be able to meditate a level or two from a 0 to a 1 or a 2, but certainly after that, the only way to evolve your abilities is to actually use them, actually train them."
I sighed. The tone was so condescending. There was something about the character of the voice that was vaguely sinister. It made my neck chill. I tried to remind myself that thing had been helpful. But I couldn¡¯t ignore my unease. The voice had helped me so far, helped me gain the beam to defeat Olaf, helped me gain scent just now to give me a chance to stay in the competition, and a chance to impress Lauren.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
I tried to focus on the task at hand. The scent was strong. At times I could barely detect it. At other times it wafted so thick as to nearly choke me. It was a filthy smell. Like something not-quite rotten mixed with excement. The trail led us through thick underbrush, over uneven ground, and I struggled to maintain my balance.
As we continued through the dense underbrush, I could sense Lauren¡¯s growing frustration with my plodding steps. Though her steps were still awkward, they gained fluency with every moment we walked over the uneven ground.
"Tiberius," Lauren said, her voice clipped, "we need to move faster. At this rate, the fiend will be long gone before we even get close."
"I''m trying," I replied.. "This suit... it''s not easy to move in."
Lauren stopped, taking a deep breath to calm herself. "I know it''s difficult, but we can''t afford to fall behind. Here, let me show you something."
She stepped behind me, her presence suddenly very close. Her hands reached out to guide my movements, touching my arms and shoulders. Her breath was warm against my neck, and I could feel the heat radiating from her body. My heart pounded, and I felt my cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and excitement.
"Remember," she said, her voice softer but still firm, "it''s not really your musclesthat you use, but your mind. The suit responds to your thoughts. You have to think about moving, not just try to muscle your way through it."
She guided my arm, showing me how to lift it smoothly. "Like this. Imagine your arm moving. Let the suit do the work."
I tried to focus, feeling the suit respond more fluidly to my mental commands. Lauren''s hands on my arms were steady.
"That''s better," she said. "Now, your legs. It''s the same principle. Think about walking smoothly. Imagine each step in your mind."
I did as she instructed, picturing my steps clearly. The suit responded, my movements becoming slightly more coordinated. But the closeness of her body, her breath on my neck, was distracting. I could feel her chest brush against my back as she adjusted my stance, and the sensation sent a shiver down my spine.
"Good, keep going," she said. "We don''t have all day."
I concentrated harder, trying to ignore the blush creeping up my cheeks and the way my heart raced. The voice in my ear giggled. "Oh, look at you, so flustered by her closeness. Aren''t you a little lovesick puppy?"
I clenched my jaw, trying to shut out the teasing voice.
Lauren stepped back, watching me take a few more steps on my own. "You''re getting it," she said, sounding more satisfied. "But we need to keep moving. Try to keep that rhythm."
I nodded, grateful for her help but also painfully aware of how clumsy I still felt. We continued through the underbrush, my steps becoming more fluid.
"You''re doing better," she said after a while.
"Thanks," I said, my voice a bit breathless both from the effort and the lingering excitement of her touch.
The voice in my ear couldn''t resist another jab. "Oh, how adorable¡¡±
It was never easy, but it kept getting easier.. The sense of Lauren moving my arms for me had helped me understand the powerlessness I needed to give myself over to, a movement outside myself. I started to feel more comfortable, my steps becoming more confident. The voice in my ear teased me, "All the tutors and Griidlords who have ever instructed you failed to hold your attention quite so well as her soft, warm body."
"Shut up," I snapped at the voice, frustrated and embarrassed.
Lauren, behind me, said, "What?"
Humiliated, I stuttered, "Ah, my mind is so busy, so many senses, it''s hard."
Lauren spoke a little hesitantly. "You might have something, Tiberius. That''s a second attribute you''ve gained. I have to admit, it''s a little intimidating. I feel belittled by the way you''ve done this."
I mocked myself. "You could take me in two seconds if you wanted to. I''m not even a hint of a match for you."
She seemed thoughtful. "Today, maybe. Tomorrow, maybe. But if you keep growing like this... I''ve never heard of anyone gaining attributes so quickly."
We descended the dewy grassed hill, moving towards thicker cover again. My steps grew surer, my excitement rising as my movements became less child-like. The terrain was challenging, but each step felt more natural, more controlled. The suit and I were beginning to move as one.
The landscape opened up, revealing a beautiful stream bordered by wild growth. The water flowed gently, its surface glistening in the soft morning light. The air was filled with the sound of trickling water and the rustling of leaves. Even with my mind occupied I couldn¡¯t help but pause.
I stopped at the stream''s edge, taking in the scene.
Then I jerked my head, my heart pounding, panic rising in my chest.
Lauren looked at me. "What''s wrong, Tiberius?"
"The water," I stammered, "it''s the scent trail. It''s broken. I can''t follow it anymore."
Lauren gasped, her mouth turning in a grimace. Then she spoke quickly and surely.. "Let''s look for signs. If you can''t smell it, that means it must have entered the water. Let''s cross to the other side. You hunt for smells, and I''ll look for tracks."
I marveled at her determination. The problem was done away with it just like that.
We crossed the stream together, the cold water splashing around our ankles. On the other side, I cast about, trying to pick up the scent again. Panic rose as I found nothing. My movements became clodding again, heavy and uncertain.
I paused, remembering Lauren''s breath on my neck, the way she''d held my wrist to guide me. I surrendered myself to the suit once more, my movements becoming more smoother again. We searched the area, looking for claw marks in the bank and soil, depressions in the grass, broken twigs. I scented, scented, scented, detecting nothing but my own sweat and Lauren''s heady perfume.
Then, a distant whistle and bang caught our attention. We turned and looked up through the foliage. In the sky, we could see the fading wisps of an exploded rocket, purple smoke curling and blowing away in the breeze.
"Lance and Zara have already won," Lauren said,
Chapter 15
My heart sank. How could they have caught and killed their fiend so quickly? Lauren¡¯s jaw hung open as she stared into the sky. She looked lost. It was my turn to be determined.
¡°They¡¯ve won nothing more than we can,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s only the last team that will be ejected. Catching the creature in five minutes or fifty doesn¡¯t matter as long as we get there before the last team.¡±
Lauren looked at me, a smile forming on her lips.
¡°Yes, you¡¯re right¡± she said, her voice strong.
We returned to our chase, our urgency greater now. After several minutes, Lauren paused and said, ¡°What if it stayed in the water?¡±
¡°What?¡± I asked.
¡°The stream is shallow, only a few feet deep at its deepest parts,¡± she explained. ¡°If a fox is fleeing the hounds, it might travel in water to help make its scent harder to follow.¡±
¡°You don¡¯t think a fiend is smart like that, do you?¡± I asked.
Lauren nodded. ¡°Father said they come in different shapes and sizes, in mind as well as body. Some, he says, seem almost as cunning as a man.¡±
I paused, thinking. Lauren¡¯s father was a lord, and they held a large castle in the countryside outside the city, governing many fiefs and villages. They commanded a strong company of mounted soldiers. Fiends were exceptionally rare, but when they did appear, it was a lord¡¯s duty to hunt them down, to protect their people.
¡°Well, which way? Should we split?¡± I asked, regretting the suggestion as soon as it left my mouth. The idea of facing the creature alone filled me with dread. Lauren tensed at the suggestion and I think she had the same fear.
¡°No,¡± she said quickly. ¡°The stream flows down and away. It was already traveling down the slope. There¡¯s no reason to believe it doubled back. Let¡¯s go together.¡±
¡°Of course,¡± I said.
We walked down the stream, watching the banks for any sign of disturbance. We reached a bend in the river, where it turned around some harder material in the landscape, forming a wide, deep pool. The water reached our waists, green fronds of weed trailing against us, small fish darting around our legs.
It was sudden. Too sudden to react to. One instant, the surface of the water was smooth, lazily flowin past me. The next it erupted and the thing emerged. My sight was filled with a wall of muscle and fur.
The fiend lunged at me, its movement awkward in the water but driven by feral fury. Its claws raked across my armor, scraping off the metal with a grating screech. One claw found exposed flesh, tearing into my side. Pain seared through me, and I felt the warmth of blood on my water chilled skin.
It drove me down into the water, the weight and strength of it overwhelming. I struggled to surface, panicking as water filled my lungs. I flailed, trying to push it off, but its bulk kept me submerged. The world blurred as my head went under again and again.
I surfaced for a brief moment, gasping for air, only to be driven down again. My limbs were heavy, the cold seeping into my bones, my movements slowing.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
Suddenly, the weight lifted. I scrambled to my feet, coughing and retching water, my vision clearing enough to see Lauren. She had pulled the beast off me. She pushed the fiend against the high bank, trying to get a hand free to reach for her sword.
I tried to move toward her, tripping and fumbling in the water, coughing water from my lungs. My hand found the hilt of my sword, and I drew it. They were only fifteen feet away, but moving through the water it felt like miles.
The fiend twisted, throwing Lauren off balance. She fell on her back on the bank, the terrible jaws rising to strike. The creature¡¯s teeth, grey and terrible, glistened with saliva as it loomed over her. It had a claw on her head, pushing her chin back, exposing her throat.
Lauren emitted a tiny, desperate gasp. I could only imagine what she felt. We had only imagined such moments. I don¡¯t know how much any of us had ever dwelled on the moment of our deaths, but the terror in her must have been immense.
The fiend¡¯s maw plunged down. Blinded by need, I didn¡¯t think. I was unaware of what I was doing. I thrust my sword forward and flexed the new mental muscle that had just become part of me the day before.
The miracle of the beam lanced out from my sword, striking the beast. It sent the creature rolling and tumbling, a ragged heap, onto the ground beyond Lauren.
I rushed to her, panicked, helping her up. She touched her throat in disbelief, looking at me, wordless. Even as I fixated on her face, on the sensations of shaking terror receding from my body, she turned, her mind focused on the task at hand.
The ragged heap of the fiend rose, its body more sagged now. It regarded us with hatred and hunger, but now, for the first time, also fear. Blood dripped through its fur, one side of its body more misshapen than before.
Lauren drew her sword and advanced. The creature seemed to consider her. I scrambled out of the water, behind her, marveling at her fearsomeness. If the creature stood, it would be her and it alone for seconds before I could join them.
The creature turned and fled, faster than we could follow, but slower than before, loping and limping.
"We need to finish this," Lauren said. "It''s wounded, but it¡¯s still dangerous."
I nodded, my heart still racing from the close call. "Let''s go. We can''t let it get away."
We followed the fiend¡¯s blood trail, its stench stronger now, mingling with the smell of its blood. Lauren led the way. She could follow the blood now. I kept close behind, my sword ready.
We chased the trail across the forest, the trees growing older and larger as we went. Their canopies created a dim, shadowed atmosphere. The undergrowth thinned, making it easier to move. Lauren led the way, following the blood trail. She paused occasionally, allowing me to catch up and scent a direction when the blood became harder to see.
We emerged into a clearing. On another day it would have been a pleasure. Long grass swaying gently in the breeze, butterflies flitting through the air. The sun was rising higher, bringing some warmth to the day. To our left, where the stream meandered through the trees, we could hear the vague sound of shouting. Another team was nearby, hunting their fiend.
Lauren examined the blood trail. "The bleeding must be getting worse. These patches are bigger than the others."
"That, or maybe it''s slowing down, pausing more," I said. "More blood accumulating at each spot."
"Either way, that''s good for us. Maybe it will drop dead," Lauren said.
"Wouldn''t that be nice," I said, dreaming of finding the creature''s corpse. While I didn''t relish the prospect of having to hack its head off, the idea of not facing the nightmare again was¡ appealing.
There was another distant whistling as rocket was set off. We stared into the sky, across the clearing, over the trees that verged it. An explosion of dense blue smoke filled our window into the sky.
"Gideon''s back with his fiend''s head," Lauren said.
Two of the five teams had completed their task, we knew another was nearby. We had no time to waste. We had no idea how far the other teams were from their quarrie, or from the hilltop. For all we knew circumstances may already have proceeded to the point where there was nothing we could do.
Chapter 16
We re-entered the cave of the forest canopy, moving as fast as we dared. The light vanished , just beams peeking through. The blood trail grew denser. I could see claw marks in the dirt, smeared and overlapping each other. It was moving badly.
We reached the stream again, where it cut through the trees. We were tense now, fearing another ambush, following the blood trail along the bank but not into it. The stream had swelled. It must have been fed from another source nearby. It was a river now, much wider. The treeless width of the reiver let a column light spear the darkness. As we moved, the shouts of the other team grew closer. Passing a bend in the river, my heart sank. Across the river, we saw them.
Theo and Felix, swords drawn, were circling their beast. It was wounded and bleeding, on its last legs, swinging its claws wildly. The creature was surrounded and too wounded to escape. We knew we should keep moving, but the violence held us for a moment.
We watched Theo and Felix¡¯s last moments of combat with the fiend. The action was hard to follow at the distance. Theo brought his sword down hard, cleaving the head off. Felix picked the head up where it had rolled to a stop. They looked across the water at us. They had their prize; they only needed to return to the hilltop with it.
As they stared at us, another explosion echoed from the distance. We didn¡¯t need to look to know it was the pink cloud of Katya¡¯s trio. Desperation sank into me. Only Lauren and I remained to compete with Theo and Felix, and they had already slain their beast.
Lauren amazed me once again. When feelings of despair and defeat should have been at their strongest, she found her steel unwavering. As Theo and Felix started to move away, she said, "Come on, we¡¯ve no time to waste. We¡¯ve still got time, they need to cross the river. We¡¯re closer to the hilltop. If we find it soon there¡¯s still a chance."
We pushed forward with urgency, following the blood trail as fast as we dared. The canopy above us broke occasionally, allowing shafts of light to poke through. Suddenly I realized that I could hear the creature¡¯s labored breathing somewhere ahead.
I scented the air, the foul stench growing stronger. We were close, so close.
"There," Lauren whispered, pointing to a thicket ahead. Several of the small branches were bent and broken. "It must be in there."
We approached cautiously, but quickly. A mistake could cost us our lives, but we didn¡¯t have time to waste either. I thought I could see the fiend¡¯s shadow moving within the thicket. Its labored breaths were clearer now. The creature was cornered, but it would also be desperate. This was our chance.
Lauren drew her sword. I followed suit, gripping my weapon tightly. We stepped toward the thicket, and the there was an eruption of movement.
The fiend chose to stand and fight, knowing it could no longer move fast enough to escape us. It lunged at Lauren first, its claws swinging wildly. She parried with her sword, the clash of metal against the creature''s stone-like claws ringing through the forest. I circled around, looking for an opening.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Lauren''s movements were still better than mine. For all I had improved over the course of the hunt, I couldn¡¯t come close to matching the way she moved. I swung my sword, trying to keep the creature off balance. My first attempt at using the beam was a disaster, the energy missing the fiend entirely and shredding the foliage behind it. The creature snarled, turning its attention to me.
It leapt, claws slashing towards my face. I barely managed to duck, raised my sword to deflect the attack. Then I stabbed. The blade connected, but the fiend¡¯s thick hide absorbed most of the impact. It was like striking stone. I backed up, trying to keep my distance.
Lauren moved in, her sword flashing again, she pressed hard, exposing herself, going for the kill. She struck the fiend''s side, blood streamed, but the creature didn¡¯t slow. I tried the beam again, my aim rushed and desperate. This time, the energy blast barely missed Lauren, clipping her shoulder. She stumbled from the force of the impact.
"Sorry!" I shouted,.
She recovered quickly, her focus unwavering. "Just keep it together, Tiberius!"
We managed to get the fiend between us, surrounded. It grew more frenzied, its attacks wild and erratic. It was tiring. The blood kept flowing and it moved like it was in pain. I calmed myself, drawing a deep breath. I aimed carefully, flexing the beam muscle with more control. The energy lanced out, striking the creature in the side.
The fiend spun, staggered, and lunged towards Lauren. She moved perfectly, her timing impeccable. Her sword swung in a perfect arc, slicing clean through the fiend''s neck. The head slid from its shoulders, the corpse collapsing in a twitching, scrabbling heap. The foul stench of its blood nearly choked me. The head rolled to a stop by my feet, the jaws still weakly opening and closing..
With disgust I picked it up. Lauren came to me, her face alight with excitement. She threw her arms around me.
The voice in my ear made a rude comment, then added, "It will do you two no good to have the head if you don''t get back up the hill before the other two."
Lauren seemed to have the same idea. "Come on, let''s hurry."
My stomach churned at the thought of the head start that Felix and Theo had. "No, you go," I said.
"What?" she said.
"You''re the most graceful suit wearer in the whole class. They have a dreadful head start. I''ll slow you down," I said.
"But what if it doesn''t count? What if you need to return too? You might be ejected if you don''t come back with me," she said.
I swore, said, "I never know what their damned rules actually add up to. It''s a team event. If our team gets the head back, then our team should pass. Besides, if you have to wait for me, then we''re definitely both doomed. Our only chance is if you go now, as fast as you can."
She hesitated, conflicted. I thrust the sticky, bloody lump into her arms and urged her, growling, "Go!"
She paused for just one more moment, seeming to hesitate. Then dipped her head to kiss my cheek before moving away. I watched her go. I touched my cheek and stared. She was fully jogging now. I was still proud of being able to walk like someone who had only consumed one barrel of ale, and she could jog. I watched her disappear between the trees, her pace quickened.
It was hard to imagine that she could catch up with and pass Theo and Felix, but if either of us had a chance, then she did. The forest seemed to close around me. I had done all I could.
Now, it was up to Lauren.
Chapter 17
The voice in my ear said, "You''re taking quite the risk, strange one."
I replied, speaking more comfortably now that I was alone in the wilderness, alone with the voice for the first time. "What do you mean?"
"It sounds like there''s a chance you''ll be ejected from the competition by letting her go back alone," the voice said.
I walked slowly along the bank of the river. I was in no hurry. For the first time I was standing in the suit without a pressure. The die was cast. Either Lauren would make it back first or she wouldn¡¯t. Either her return would qualify me for the next round or it wouldn¡¯t. It was suddenly strange to find myself to not be in panic mode. To just be calm. But the calm was nice.
My eyes settled on a flash of color on the opposite bank of the river. I squinted. The blues and oranges of a kingfisher had caught my eye. It was still, perched on a small branch, watching the water with intensity.
With a burst of wings the kingfisher dove. It struck the water with more violence than something so small should have been able to accomplish. The water erupted into a spray as the bird lifted off again. Droplets cascaded from it, back to their source, a beam of light spearing through them, making them stand out. It was perfect beauty.
As I focused on the bird, I concentrated. Again, don¡¯t get too excited. Sensory attributes level easily. Especially getting them to level 1. It¡¯s more like turning on a feature of the suit than gaining an attribute. As I stared at the bird a graphic flashed before me: Sight 0.0 flickered, faded, and then Sight 1.0 flashed into place. I observed the bird again but with new eyes. What had been a vague blob of color and movement became crystal. I could see each individual water droplet clinging to its feathers, I could see the hairs of each feather, I could have counted them. I could see the pupil of the eye of the minnow that struggled in its beak..
I looked around the forest. Seeing it with new eyes. The distraction of this, and the success of this, only served to make me feel more calm, more detached from the frenzy of events that passed that day.
The voice in my ear broke the silence. "You''ve gained another attribute. Impressive."
I smiled. "It''s a start. But I need more if I''m going to survive this competition."
The voice said, "If you''re still part of the competition after the girl gets back without you, that is. You''re acting strangely. Why aren''t you rushing to get back there? There''s a chance you''d get up there before the other team, then you''d have to count as being part of the winning team. You''re dawdling¡ I don¡¯t understand."
I smiled slowly, trying to harness the peace I was feeling. "Sending Lauren back ahead of me was the obvious choice. I''m still too clumsy in this suit. I don''t really think there''s any chance I get back there before the other team."
The suit said, "You could still be on your way back up there."
I smiled softly, said, "But is there any reason for it?"
The voice paused. It gave me great pleasure to make it pause, to find it uncertain.
The voice said, "You have a scheme of some kind, a plan. I can feel it. You sent her back on purpose so you could be alone with me."
I nodded, said, "In part. I want to know what you are."
The voice giggled as it was wont to do, but there was a doubt in the giggle this time, the confidence was lesser. "I''m a ghost."You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
I said, "A ghost in my mind. Am I imagining you? I never hear you when I''m not in the suit. I thought for a while that you were a feature of the suit, some kind of assistant that helped rookies learn how to use the equipment, but the more I talk to the others, the more it''s clear to me that you don''t talk to them."
The voice was a little bored, a little petulant. "They''re not very interesting, not very interesting at all."
I paused. "So you interact with them as well?"
"I can feel them," the voice said. "They don''t interest me in the slightest."
"Not even Lauren or Lance? They are far ahead of me in terms of ability with this gear."
The voice was disgusted. "Not in the least, especially not that boy! He is as uninteresting as any I have met."
I said, "What are you?"
The voice was gaining comfort and confidence again. "You''d love to know, but not yet."
I took a deep breath. "How do I know you''re not just a symptom of some madness I''m experiencing?"
The voice said, "I''ve told you things about the suit that you didn''t know, things that helped you."
I stared down into the water, seeing a large trout moving tentatively. Its scales shimmered with iridescent colors, each fin and gill moving with graceful precision. The clarity of my new vision allowed me to see the fine details of its scales and the gentle ripples it created as it swam.
"Maybe you''re a demented part of me recalling details from my tutors that my conscious mind cannot."
The voice cackled louder. "Maybe I am, but the point is I''ve helped you this far. Does it really matter what I am if I can keep you in the competition, help you win the suit?"
I sighed, kicking at the bank with my armored toe. A lump of mud fell into the slow-moving water at the edge of the bank, dispersing in swirling clouds that distorted the clear reflection of the sky above.
The voice, now more confident, said, "You need me, Tiberius. Accept that for now. Focus on the competition. Win the suit. Then we can explore these questions further."
The voice grew annoyed. "You won''t be in the competition if the rules dictate you need to get back with the girl!"
"First of all," I said, "if the rules dictate that, then I''m already out of the competition, so that''s nothing to worry about. I can''t catch them now. Second of all, it was a team competition. I''m fairly confident that it doesn''t matter when I get back. As long as I see our smoke in the sky before theirs, then I''ll be through to the next round. Third of all, if I continue the way I''m going, just scraping through again, as I am now, second to last, sooner or later, and probably sooner, Lance, Lauren, Gideon, Katya¡ªone of them will knock me out."
The voice was curious, still annoyed. "Then what are you doing?"
I concentrated and brought up my attribute scores on the HUD. My current scores displayed:
Combat Skills:
- Beam: 1.0
- Cut: 0.0
- Power: 0.0
- Shield: 0.3
- Agility: 0.0
Passive Skills:
- Sight: 1.0
- Scent: 1.2
- Hearing: 0.0
- Spectra: 0.0
- Strength: 0.0
"I''m focusing on what really matters," I said. This had been on my mind from the moment I told Lauren to go back without me.
The voice giggled. I hated that giggle. It didn¡¯t belong on a being like this. It said, "You think you can level up enough to secure your place?"
"I have to," I replied. "If I don¡¯t, I won¡¯t just lose this competition¡ªI¡¯ll lose everything. I need to leverage these moments, these quiet times, to build my attributes. The one thing I¡¯ve exceeded at is gaining attributes. That''s my best chance."
The voice considered my words, the curiosity evident. "You''re an interesting one, Tiberius. I knew you were, from the first moment."
"I don''t have the luxury of panic," I replied, watching water droplets slide off a leaf into the river, each ripple seen in perfect distcinction from its fellows. "I''ve seen what panic does. My father¡¯s been living on the edge of it for years, hiding it behind whiskey and wealth.¡±
The voice said, "Are you going to tell me what you''re doing next?"
I stared at the display on the HUD. I answered voice absently, my mind elsewhere. I said, "I¡¯ll do better than tell you what I¡¯m doing¡ I¡¯ll show you¡"
Chapter 18
Two riders emerged into the clearing, partway up the hill. I saw them as I trudged awkwardly up the slope. I had to lift my feet high to avoid tangling in the long grass. Everything was harder in the suit. But it was distinctly getting easier. As much as I felt clumsy and awkward climbing the suit, there was no comparing my fluency of movement with how I had started the day. Even since Lauren had left me, my skill had grown considerably.
I thought of the others. Especially the big dogs, Lance, Gideon, Katya. After the additional hours spent moving through the valley in their suits, fighting the monsters, how would they have improved? Had they gained fluency in the griidsuits? Were they able to move more easily, more swiftly? Had they gained attributes?
I imagined Lance, more nimble than before, and it worried me. His smugness could only have been fed by being the first to return with a fiend¡¯s head. But I smiled at the thought as well. In a way, that had been a mistake. He would have spent many hours less in the suit than I had this day.
Then I imagined Lance adding BEAM or CUT to his armory of moves and my smile faded. I had no idea what he had achieved while Lauren and I chased our fiend.
I wanted the suit. I was beginning to understand that I wanted it for myself. Oh, I needed it for father. Needed it badly. But I wanted for me as well. But if I couldn''t have it, I''d much rather see Lauren or Katya wearing it. This wasn''t just me favoring them because I thought they were pretty, found them attractive. Lance was an asshole. And they had both treated my like another human being.
I wasn''t a fool. I was my father''s son, and, for all my lack of practice at interacting with others, I understood that people were driven by selfish motives that weren''t always apparent. Both Katya and Lauren had things to gain from me. But I thought of Lauren''s kiss on my cheek, Katya''s playful offer of marriage. At the very least, noble-born or not, they saw me as someone with my own inherent value.
To Lance, I was nothing. At most, I was a possible threat to the established order that he and his family so valued. If he considered me at all, that was how he saw me. I was not the same species as he was.
The horsemen had seen me. They were letting their horses pick their way carefully down the slope. I pushed on. A breeze stirred the gass and I felt a strange regret at returning to the others. Apart from the time with the suit, this had been a time of peace. The time passed in the forest, with none apart from the voice to pester me, had been special.
Reaching the top of the hill, I paused to catch my breath. I was higher now, far from the valley floor. Through the trees I could see the stretch of farmland beyond me. It connected the forest to the city. Boston was only a spec from here. But, on a whim, I used SIGHT. My first level SIGHT wasn¡¯t enough for me to see people moving at this distance, but the buildings sharpened and magnified. I smiled.
The weight of my father¡¯s expectations plucked at me, even in a moment of pure distraction. My growing desire to have this powerful thing for my own also nagged at me. I could feel the pressure building inside of, deep in my guts. It stressed me to think I might feel this way for days to come.
The horsemen reined up in front of me. I''ve learned much history since that day. In a time gone by, these warriors might have been called knights, but that term was reserved for a very different category of fighter in this time. The men were mounted on beautiful chargers, horses bred for battle. Man and horse alike wore heavy armor. These men fought far from the city, when they fought. They fought far from order. It was sword and bow for men like these. They probably knew the rifle as well, but neither carried one. It wouldn¡¯t work out here.
One of the men said, "Priest Mario sent us to find you."
His tone was respectful; for all he knew, I could be the next Sword of Boston. He knew who¡¯s son I was. It would do him no good to make an enemy of me. My dallying had cost both of these men some hours in searching for me. He would be within his rights to be annoyed with me.
The other was either less aware or less kind. He snapped, "Come on, everyone''s waiting. The day will be over when you return."
I just nodded and trudged away behind them, stumbling and tottering as I climbed the slope. An observer might have noted that my difficulty in walking only seemed to increase.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The two horsemen walked in front of me, guiding me back. As we passed under trees, the hooves crunched noisily on fallen twigs.
The two horsemen occasionally glanced back at me as we continued up the slope. They spoke in low tones to each other. They thought their low voices brought them privacy. But SIGHT wasn¡¯t all I had added that day. It was just a matter of willing the suit to activate HEARING. Then their words came to me clearly. Their words did not lift me. It was clear they doubted my ability to succeed,. Their words stung me. Then I felt shame for invading their conversation. Having the power did not mean having the right.
Emerging from the trees at the clearing on the top of the hill, I squinted. The day had been dimming and dying. But on the hilltop there was no cover. The sunlight was harsher here. The air was different too. The earthy, green, loamy smells of the forest faded. Instead the fresh hint of salt carried on the wind from sea.
I could see the wagons lined up nearby. The nobles who had joined us for the day were already mounted. They seemed impatient. The cages that once held the fiends were empty now.
Suddenly I remembered. Through all my distraction and planning I had completely forgotten that I didn¡¯t know I had even qualified for the next round. As I pushed through the last branches and emerged onto the clearing, the anxiety raced back to interrupt my sense of pleasant detachment.
There was no guarantee Lauren had made it back in time. If Theo and Felix had managed to return before her, all my efforts would be wasted. More than that, I didn¡¯t know if my returning last would disqualify me in an event. I had taken a gamble and thought no more. But now the thoughts came. The thought of my father''s disappointment, the loss of our fortune, and the humiliation of failure weighed heavily on me.
My ten other classmates were gathered together. They had been relieved of their Griidsuits, the black cylinders from earlier mostly reformed into their original shapes. Mario paced impatiently in front of them. Lord Baltizar and the Bishop stood off to the side, passing idle talk. Lord Baltizar looked bored, uninterested, while the Bishop engaged him in conversation.
The servants and guards were no more pleased with the delay I had caused. They had families, suppers and pints of ale waiting for them in town
As I looked on, I could see Felix and Theo standing to the side. They wore different expressions to the other eight. They glared at me with dark eyes. That darkness lifted and lowered me at the same time. It told me what I needed to know, but I didn¡¯t enjoy the ugliness of it today any more than I had on the day before, with Olaf.
Then Lauren was jogging toward me.
I can''t begin to describe the feelings I had as she ran to me. The very simple fact that she had some enthusiasm to greet me made my heart swell. She seemed to realize that eyes were on her. Lance especially scowled with disapproval at her enthusiasm. She slowed, and what might have been a hug¡ªa dream of mine, maybe never a possible reality¡ªbecame an extended hand. I reached out with my armored hand and shook hers, careful to be gentle. Her eyes were damp with relief and happiness.
She said, "I thought something happened to you."
I replied, "I''m slow. That''s why I told you to come back without me."
She said, "It''s been hours. You''re not that slow!"
I looked sheepish, looked down, and said, "I kinda got lost too..."
She stared at me, measured me. I could tell she was thinking something, barely suppressing the desire to say it. I asked, "Does it count? Am I through too, even though I didn''t make it back with you?"
Mario''s voice was abrasive as he pushed her aside. "Yes. Of course, you''re through as well. As much as it disgusts me, you''ll only survive so long scraping past as you have. You rode her coattails to the next round, but the next round won''t be so easy for you to coast through." He punched at something on the neck of my Griidsuit, and it dissolved, pouring itself along the ground, becoming a part of the cylinders.
I felt the coolness of the air again, and a strange sense of loss as the sensory input of the suit was replaced with the feeble senses I had been born with. Mario snarled, "If I could eject you, I would. I had such dread that something had befallen the suit you were wearing, the Mystorium. I beseeched the Bishop to let me send you home with those other two pathetic candidates, but the Bishop is a stickler for the rules." As he turned to walk away, he paused and looked back at me viciously, cruelly. "I suppose I''ll have to wait one more day to see you removed from the competition."
As Mario walked away, Lauren said, "Tiberius, thank you. I might be going home now as well if it wasn''t for you."
I replied, "No, thank you, Lauren. The only reason you were at risk of ejection was because you got lumped with me."
She paused, considered that, then shook her head. "I don''t know about that. I think our fiend was the fiercest of them, the cleverest. I''m glad I was paired with you and not someone else."
I blushed, my eyes darting away from hers. She said, "Well, I guess tomorrow we''ll be competing again."
"Yeah..." I thought for a moment, then met her eyes again. "Lauren, if I can''t win the Griidsuit¡ªand I probably can''t¡ªI hope you get to claim it."
It was her turn to turn her head away, but she gave me a sidelong glance with those huge eyes and smiled.
Chapter 19
Chapter 19
The evening light was fading as I stood at the main gate to Boston, the salty scent of the sea filling the air. The activity around the gate was bustling, with people moving about, their faces illuminated by the dimming light. A large mechanical crane, its engines rumbling and pistons screeching, lifted huge stones for an improvement being made to the battlements. Adults and children alike gathered to watch, their faces nearly as awed as the youngsters¡¯. It was a rare event for Order to be turned up in the outer sector, but the powers that be in the tower had evidently deemed it necessary to expend the Flows to elevate the Order here, allowing the heavy machinery to function. The crew worked fast, clearly instructed to complete their task quickly so that Order could be turned back down as soon as possible.
I walked through the gate, and the atmosphere felt almost festive. With Order turned up, higher-level technology could function, and the poor hovels out here, which normally relied on fire for cooking and candles for lighting, could suddenly employ all manner of mechanical and electrical wonders. Family heirlooms were being pulled out of storage everywhere: electric toys making crude sounds, music blaring from speakers, and through the window of one house, I could see the glow of a projector playing some ancient film. Everywhere, the excited voices of adults and the glee of children filled the air.
As I strode through the sectors toward my father''s house, I thought about the pressure and excitement that would come with the Griidsuit if I could only win it. Times were tough in Boston; if our Griidlords had more success gathering Orbs, then there could be more Flows for the city, and moments like this could be more common. The poorer folks could have expanded access to technology¡ªsimple things, like fridges¡ªthat would make their lives better and easier.
As I approached the gate to the next sector, I felt a presence beside me. I turned to find Katya walking alongside me.
She said, "Again we miss our chance to train together. It was a long ride back from the valley; today went quite late."
I fumbled for words, "Maybe tomorrow will be shorter..."
Katya replied, "Yes, though I do fear it will be too short for you. Your fumbling return to the hilltop today marks you substantially behind everyone else in growing accustomed to the suit."
I took no offense, though the reality stung a little. It was either the way of her people or maybe just her own way to speak plainly, and she was right. They had waited hours on the hilltop for my return. She looked at me with that strange, curious, piercing expression she often wore.
"It''s very odd how slow you are growing into the suit when you are gaining attributes so quickly. I could have sworn you looked more clumsy when you came back from the valley than you looked going down."
"I was tired," I said. "It had been a long day, and I''d been lost. I''d done a lot of walking. I was fatigued."
She almost ignored me. "Lauren said you gained a level of Scent in almost no time."
I shrugged, "I seem to have a knack for gaining attributes. I just don''t know if that will be enough." Then I asked, "Have you gained any attributes yet?"
She said, "Today was a good chance to spend time in the suit. I did develop a level of Scent too, but I think it took me much longer than it did for you. I gained a lot of fluency with moving in the suit, and I raised some attributes from 0.0, but nothing is really close to a 1.0 yet, apart from Scent."
We continued walking on the cobbled streets of the second sector. The smell of roasting meat and the sound of drunken laughter poured from one of the elegant taverns that lined the main thoroughfare. The streets were more refined here, the buildings taller and better maintained. Lamps lit with gas cast a warm glow, creating pools of light along our path. The occasional horse-drawn carriage clattered by, the sound of hooves echoing off the stone walls.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
A steam truck puttered by, making deliveries between this sector and the higher ones beyond the next gate. Katya was looking at me, measuring me. I grew uncomfortable and said, "What?"
She said, "You''re not unappealing to look at. If I don''t win the Griidsuit and you do, then having you for a husband would not be a terrible consolation prize."
I spluttered again; her unabashed frankness was hard to get used to. "I thought you had decided I had little chance of winning the Griidsuit."
She kept looking at me. Her eyes were so sharp, intelligent, I could see them working, measuring, piercing, seeing right through me. She mused, aloofly, "You''ve made it this far, Tiberius. Three have been sent home already, and you are not among them."
I said, "But do you think I can surpass the favorites? Lauren, Lance, Gideon... or you?"
She said, "I wouldn''t have said so, not without the greatest of luck, but I think you have a scheme... Have you thought any more on my offer?"
I said, "To train together, you mean? I think we should talk again after tomorrow''s competition. I don''t want to give up any of my secrets too easily, Katya. It''s not that I don''t want to see you succeed, but I don''t want to lose my advantage to you. That''s fair, isn''t it?"
She was completely matter-of-fact. "Of course it is. You''d be mad not to see that. It really goes without saying. That''s why my marriage proposal evens it out."
She was looking at me differently than the day before. I almost felt as though she was holding me in higher regard, which made little sense; on both days, I had essentially come second to last. But as we walked towards the next sector, the sounds of electric music starting to reach our ears, I could still feel her dissecting me with her eyes.
Katya peeled off from me as we entered the gate to the next sector, and I continued to my father''s house. As I approached the towering mansion, I saw Harold outside with a hose, watering the flowers, while another servant swept the paved path. The little bit of space in front of our house dedicated to ornamental planting was a massive display of wealth. In this sector, where Order was always elevated, any sort of garden was considered a tremendous piece of decadence.
Harold bowed his head to me, "Victorious again, young master. Perhaps I will be the servant of a Griidlord yet."
I snorted, "Victorious doesn''t seem like the proper term for someone who came second to last."
Harold smiled, "If you keep coming second to last until the end, you''ll only need to finish in first place one time."
I shivered, feeling the pressure again, dreading my father, as I entered the house. In the hall, I found my father pacing. When he saw me, he came right at me, his eyes drawn. He seemed sober; I could smell no whiskey on him.
"Tiberius, you survived again, thank the Oracle, but your stock is so low. Nobody thinks you''ll make it another round."
"Father, I''m trying. I''m getting better. It''s a long road to winning the Griidsuit."
His eyes were desperate. "Tiberius, between the bet and my losses in Dodge, the Griidsuit is becoming the least of our concerns. I need you to do better, to impress more, at least create an impression that you''re a threat to win. I need to renegotiate my wagers, and nobody is interested in surrendering any odds when your loss seems to be assured."
I felt hot and angry. My whole life, he had been training me to win the suit, my days and dreams consumed with the stress of the challenge. But now, in part because of his own foolishness, his precious fortune was in peril, and I was becoming just another tool in his eyes.
I snapped, "Don''t you think I would have done better if I could? I survived the day, Father. I''ll have another chance tomorrow."
He grew more intense, more agitated. He grabbed my shoulders, shook me, his voice piercing, "You''re my son. You can''t defend surviving. Where did you get this apathy? We''re winners, Tiberius, the greatest winners. I built the greatest fortune in the city from nothing, and I''ve put myself in a position where a place in the nobility is in my grasp. Would you take this from me with your soppishness? I was too generous with you. You grew no steel living in the luxury that I made for us!"
I could barely find words for the anger I felt. "Luxury! Father, my life has been training. Where other children got to play, got treats, got love, all I got was lessons, lessons, and more lessons. When in my life have I had the chance to enjoy these luxuries?" I spread my arms, feeling hotter, angrier. "All of this, this splendor, it''s just more pressure."
I could feel tears stinging my eyes now. A moment of empathy flashed in his eyes¡ªconcern, caring even¡ªbut he wiped it away quickly, stepped closer, his voice a growl. That growl carried more menace than any roar I could summon. "All this splendor hangs by a thread, Tiberius, and the thread is you. If you don''t win the Griidsuit, or at least find the mettle to start placing well, then all of this will be gone, and you can see what it''s like to live a less-pressured life."
Chapter 20
We stood in the arena, the black cylinders brought out again, merging with the Sword Suit and flowing to each of the nine of us that remained. I stood again in the suit, feeling at home with my senses alive, mourning the fact that I would have to take it off again at the end of the day''s competition. It was addictive, the sense of power, the way it fed my senses. The world seemed half-formed without the vision, scent, and sounds it provided. It made reality more real.
I hungered most of all for the mysteries within it, the abilities I could unlock, the pathways to knowledge that it seemed only this armor could provide. A thought away were endless menus, many of them lists of skills and measures of my growing affinity with the suit. Many more, though, hinted at records, histories, and mysteries of the Griid. If I could only win the suit, I would have an eternity to explore and learn.
Mario paced before us, outlining the rules of the day''s competition. "Today will be a melee. We will test your ability to move, to assess, to make decisions in chaos. You will all do battle en masse. There will be no circle this time. You fail the round when you hit the ground. There will be three rounds. When five have fallen in the first round, it will conclude. The surviving four will begin another round. The failures of the first round will have a melee of their own. The two poorest contenders from the five-way match of pathetic losers will face off, and the loser of that t¨ºte-¨¤-t¨ºte will be ejected. But, to motivate you, to entertain these vapid nobles who insist on observing these sacred proceedings, we have an incentive. The last two standing from the match between the four who survive the first round will face each other as well, and the winner of that round will gain immunity for the next day.¡±
There was a collective gasp from my classmates. I marveled, thinking of what it would do for my standing, for my father''s desire to renegotiate his gambles, if I not only survived but gained immunity, guaranteeing myself a place in the competition for two more days!
Mario continued, "But we don''t want to disadvantage the winner. A day of immunity could also mean a day less of experience with the suit, slowing the development of the best of you. Considering how pathetic even the victor would be, given you sorry excuses, that would do our city no good. During their day of immunity, while the rest of you waste our time trying to convince the Oracle that you are worthy of becoming a Griidlord, the victor will be allowed to simply practice in the suit¡ªa day of meditation, exploration, and desperately needed growth."
My head swam at the idea. A whole day with the suit, a day to gain levels in attributes, to add attributes. As that seemed to be my only skill, acquiring attributes faster than the others, if I could somehow find a way to win today, my chances could never be better than if I had a whole day with the suit.
The lords in attendance seemed excited. This would be a good show, if nothing else. I didn¡¯t enjoy the presence of these men. Most of them saw me as exceeding my station just by being here. But, this would also be the last day that the public would be excluded from the contest. I wondered if I would come to miss this small audience of bigoted assholes once the arena was filled with excited spectators.
Mario''s voice rang out again, "Take your positions. The melee begins on my mark."
We spread out across the arena. We seemed to find our own spaces, no one directed us. Lauren came to stand by my right. Katya took her place to my left. I had no illusion that we were in any form of allegiance.
I flexed my hands. I enjoyed the feeling of power that pulsed in my arms as I did so.
Mario raised his arm, and the arena fell silent.
Mario''s devious eyes locked onto me as he made an announcement. "Having spoken with the Bishop, it has been decided that no combatants are to employ the beam today. Doing so will result in immediate disqualification."Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
My jaw fell. He was targeting me; I was the only one present who could wield the beam. Everyone knew it was my one great advantage. Mario kept his eyes entirely locked on me as he explained in a faux reasonable tone, "It was felt by the Bishop that combatants employing the beam could take too much advantage from the chaos of the melee, picking off worthy combatants so they wouldn''t need to face them in later rounds. But that could deviously deprive the Oracle of the best candidates." Mario flashed me a smile.
I steeled myself. Even as he had been outlining the rules of the contest, I had been making plans to employ the beam, hoping to remove Lance at the earliest opportunity. Mario raised the hand holding the cloth, dropping it as he had done before. The battle began.
Lance burst into action, engaging Arthur in sword-to-sword combat. The time he had spent in the suit yesterday had increased his comfort massively. Lance moved with grace and confidence, his blows extremely powerful. Arthur flailed, struggling to keep up, parrying clumsily against Lance''s precise and forceful strikes. Lance''s movements were fluid, almost effortless, his attacks unrelenting.
I held my sword high, looking around. No one had moved to engage me yet. I saw no need to risk combat immediately; this round would end when five were defeated. I took in the scene. Katya and Lauren were engaged in a stunning dance of blades clashing, each attempting to remove a skilled competitor from later rounds. Their movements were a blur of speed and precision, each strike met with an equally skilled parry.
Gideon and Emilia were dueling, Emilia easily outmatched. Gideon fought with a rage that would surely exhaust him, his attacks brutal and relentless. Zara and Leona were fighting, evenly matched, but from my vantage, the poorest pair of fighters left in the competition, with the obvious possible exception of myself.
Lance smashed Arthur to the ground with a powerful blow, racing to get involved in Zara and Leona''s fight. Mario shouted, "Arthur, to the sideline!" Arthur wearily dragged himself from the melee, defeated.
Still, no one engaged me, and I gladly hung back, sword raised, spending the precious time in the suit flexing my skills, trying to raise my attribute points. I watched as Lance imposed himself on Zara and Leona, they quickly realizing that he could dispatch them quickly if they remained divided. I furrowed my brow. Lance was smart, or so I thought; an unlucky move could still see him defeated despite his vast and growing skill. And now he had set both of them against him. What was he playing at?
Gideon finally sent Emilia flying through the air with a tremendous kinetic energy explosion from his sword. He stopped, gasping for air as she hit the ground, rolling and tumbling, screaming in pain as she fell awkwardly. Mario called her name, and she limped to the sideline. My eyes darted to Lauren and Katya, evenly matched, neither gaining a clear advantage over the other. Then back to Lance. He was nearly too much for the other two to handle, but not quite. I thought he had made a mistake, they aligned all their skills against him, and I bubbled with glee at the prospect of seeing him fall, maybe even gloating at him about the error he had made in his overconfidence.
Then my jaw dropped.
Lance''s blade pulsed with energy, glowing as though on fire as he swung his sword. The force was something we had yet to experience. The sheer power of his swing, the sword blazing, easily knocked Leona''s sword aside, continuing in the swing like a comet. It smashed into her, sending her reeling to the ground, smoke erupting from the impact. Everyone was stunned. I understood then what I had just seen, what he had been doing. He had been raising his own attribute points. He must have seen that he was close to hitting 1.0 on CUT and had taken the opportunity to practice and flex the skill until he had finally achieved it. I felt a terrible dread at the thought of competing against him now that he had gained the CUT attribute.
Even as I watched, his blade blazed again. He turned towards Zara with more hunger. We were all just meat to him now. His next strike was just as savage. The sword hummed with power, and in an instant,, he sent Zara crashing to the dust. Smoke and dirt erupted from the impact, and she lay on the ground, stunned and defeated.
Mario shouted, "Zara, Leona, to the sidelines!" The two women, dazed and baffled, got to their feet and moved aside..
The remaining contestants glanced nervously at Lance. He had always been the major threat here. But that threat was magnified now. The sheer power of his CUT attribute was enough to make one of us titanic by comparison to the others. The fact that it was he who wielded only deepened the concerned expressions.
All eyes turned to Lauren and Katya. I was hanging back, Gideon and Lance each stood gasping, sucking wind. Four competitors were down, the next to fall would end the round and be relegated to the losers contest. For now it semed inevitable that the next to go down would be either Katya or Lauren.
Chapter 21
There was something a little lecherous about the three of us standing idly by as the only two women fought. Lance made no move to come for me. I didn¡¯t move for him. I could have, but I didn¡¯t want to risk it. He could have too, but I¡¯m sure he was playing his own game. I was safe for this round already. Maybe he wanted to watch the girls fighting.
Katya was speed. She was agility. She was lithe like a stoat, never ceasing her motion. Everything was movement and quickness with her. Lauren was bigger, longer limbed. Her fighting style was more classical. She fought as Lance did in many ways. She made more powerful attacks, was more judicious with them. Her footwork was amazing. Her comfort in the suit was growing better and better.
I watched, unsure of who to root for. Unsure of who was likely to even win.
Katya danced around Lauren.. She darted in and out, always moving. Her sword a blur as she struck at Lauren. All her attacks were quick jabs, testing, exploring, looking for the one moment of weakness. It must have been exhausting for Lauren. It was difficult to defend against such constant motion. I wondered how Katya could have such endless energy. The lithe creature showed no signs of fatigue. If anything she only seemed to be gaining ferocity.
Lance shouted. "Come on, Lauren! Show her what a true Boston noble can do! Make her regret coming here!"
Katya''s jaw remained set. She was constantly searching for an opening. She had no time to pay attention of Lance¡¯s prattle. She launched a series of rapid thrusts. Each one aiming to find a gap in a different part of Lauren''s defense. But Lauren parried each strike. She was unshakable. Her problem was getting a chance to level a blow of her own. I watched, impressed, as Lauren¡¯s sword moving almost lazily to deflect the blows. The woman was unshakable. I had seen enough of her to know that.
The two circled each other, the clash of their swords ringing out in the arena. Katya''s speed was incredible; she moved like a shadow, constantly feinting, her feet barely touching down on the dusty floor. But Lauren was unyielding. She started making more aggressive cuts, trying to head Katya¡¯s dodges off, leading her as a skilled archer might with a bird in flight.
It had the feel of a fight that would end quickly. Katya would find a gap in Lauren''s defences, disrupt Lauren, and then bombard her into submission. Or Lauren would just land one of those swings. Katya¡¯s small form could absorb little more than one of those attacks.
Suddenly, Lauren took a step back, letting Katya overextend herself. In that brief moment of vulnerability, Lauren swung her sword in a wide arc, the blade cutting through the air with a hum. Katya barely managed to deflect the blow, the force of it pushing her back several steps.
Lance shouted again. "That''s it, Lauren! Keep the pressure on her! She''s no match for Boston blood!"
Katya recovered quickly. She danced left, then right, then rocketed forward. Her movements were a blur as she closed the distance once more. She attacked with a frenzy. Her strikes came faster and more aggressively. She was trying to take advantage of Lauren¡¯s adjusted stance. But Lauren was ready. She met each blow with a solid parry, her sword moving with unhurried care.
Lauren feinted left, then swung right. Katya had committed herself. In another moment she might have been through Laruen¡¯s defences. Instead, Laruen¡¯s sword connected with Katya''s side. The impact sent Katya stumbling, and Lauren seized the moment. She stepped in, her sword arcing down in a powerful strike. Katya tried to block, but Lauren''s strength was overwhelming. The blade hit Katya''s shoulder, the force of the blow sending her sprawling to the ground.
Katya lay there for a moment, dazed. Then, with a look of resignation, she rolled to her side and struggled to her feet. Mario''s voice boomed, "Katya, to the sidelines!"
She nodded, her expression once more unreadable. She almost looked like she didn¡¯t care. I noticed her limping as she walked away.
Mario strode into the circle, his voice booming, ¡°Round one has concluded. The four still standing will advance to the next round of combat.¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
He looked directly at me. I was acutely aware of having passed the round without even parrying a single blow. I felt the weight of everyone¡¯s eyes on me. My cheeks glowed under Mario¡¯s gaze, but I wasn''t embarrassed. I had a vague plan, and the first round had unfolded exactly as I had hoped. No one viewed me as enough of a threat to engage, and the result was that I was already through. I wouldn''t be ejected this day. Even better, for the first time since the competition had begun, I was technically better than second last; I was in the top four.
I wasn''t sure if this would help my father''s gambling negotiations, as the nobles in the stands would undoubtedly share the story of how I had reached the top four by simply standing aside and cowering. Mario continued, ¡°The five defeated will face off first, to give our victors a chance to gather themselves and recuperate. SOME of them greatly exerted themselves.¡± He shot me a hateful glance as he said this.
Lauren, Gideon, Lance, and I moved to the sideline, standing together not far from Mario. The other five gathered themselves and entered the arena. The tension was higher now, as one of these five would be sent home today. If I was truly feeling competitive, I should be wishing for Katya to have poor luck and find herself cast out. She was easily the best of them, and her removal from the competition would increase my vague hopes of eventually winning the Griidsuit. But in reality, I was tense for her, already rooting for her.
Leona was very much the worse for wear, moving awkwardly, her chest piece sizzling and sparking, bearing damage from the incredible blow Lance had delivered. Lance leaned slightly, speaking to me out of the side of his mouth. ¡°Do you like the new trick I picked up? You''re not the only one gaining attributes. My, my, I did some damage to her suit, didn''t I? I wonder what would have happened if I''d hit her in a joint, on a limb maybe. Competitors do get maimed in Choosings. Sometimes they even die.¡± He turned his head just enough so I could see his eyes on me. The threat was clear. I would be facing him in the next round, after all. His eyes were hungry for violence, cruel. He was everything that was wrong with the noble class, a vicious clich¨¦.
The five in the ring spaced themselves out. My eyes remained locked on Katya. Mario stepped up and barked, ¡°Once two have fallen, this round is over. Those two will face each other in a separate round. The loser of that round will be ejected from the Choosing.¡± Mario raised his cloth again.
I had no problems deciding who I was rooting for in this round. Katya was easily the best of them. I wondered about her limp and how it might effect her.
The five faced each other, their heads turned just enough so they could watch him drop the starting flag. Katya stood ready. I thought I detected just a hint of tension in her. If I did, it would be the first time.
What happened shocked me at first, but as it continued, I was able to make some sense of it. As the flag hit the dirt, they all sprang into action, but not in the pattern I had expected. I had expected to see each moving to strike the figure opposite them. Instead, I witnessed a prearranged plan unfold. Katya immediately found herself the target of the all four of the other fighters.
Her superior skill was quickly swamped. She backpedalled and parried, there was no chance to make an offence move with four swords coming at her from every angle. I watched Katya, marveling at her steel. There was no panic there. She might have all the odds against her, but she was taking care of business as best as she could. As I reflected, I understood it wasn''t all strategy. Katya may be a noble, may be a princess, but she was an outsider to them. The other four were children of noble houses, nobles of Boston, part of the inner circle that Katya couldn''t penetrate. It wasn¡¯t just her skill that had made her a target.
I felt a sudden kinship with her. She wasn''t that unlike me. Despite her noble blood, she was an outsider here. To them, she was foreign and odd. How different was that from the way they saw me as low-born and common?
Katya was clearly doomed. She had no possible way to defeat the four of them, despite how much better she was than any one of them. But Katya was smart. As I watched her make her decision, I realized she was smarter in the moment than I could have been. She made a decision in the heat and stress of the moment, under all that pressure, that hadn''t even occurred to me as I watched from the safety of the sideline.
She streaked into the heart of them, essentially giving herself up, exposing herself to blows from both sides. But the move stunned them, gave her an opening to strike before any of them could react. She made like a bolt for Leona, weakened already from the damage Lance had delivered. She hit Leona hard, the kinetic energy exploding from her sword, sending Leona shrieking, tumbling head over shoulders to the ground.
It was another moment before Katya took two or three hard blows, energy exploding from each impact. She spun in the air from the blows, but landed well as she smashed to the dirt. She had given herself up. But she had been doomed any way. The choice she had made, sacrificing herself to take Leona down, guaranteed her the most vulnerable and weakest possible opponent for that final round. She had hurt Leona more with her sudden attack. She had played the odds.
By the Oracle, she was ruthless.
As much as I admired that, as much as it buoyed my spirits, it pained me that nonetheless, she was only one mistake away from being ejected.
Chapter 22
Katya rose to her feet. She shook the dust from her armor and paused to hold the gazes of the other four. They all withered from it. None of them could a hold a candle to her. They would need to watch their backs from her in the future. Their helmeted heads pivoted towards each. Collectively they seemed to understand how they had been outmaneuvered. Whoever had faced her in the final round would have had a slim chance to beat her. But Leona had taken further damage. I wondered if she would have been able to get the better of anyone. Katya had basically survived. She just needed to go through the formality.
Mario stepped forward, raising his hand. ¡°Leona, Katya, to the sidelines. The final round for you two will determine who leaves the Choosing today.¡±
He paused, his eyes narrowing as he looked between the two. The he turned to the rest of us. He said, ¡°The rest of you, ready yourselves for the next round.¡±
Katya moved to the sidelines. Again, she seemed not to care about anything. Leona followed, limping noticeably. She held her sword arm to her side as she moved. There was strange sense of defeat to the baring of the other four.
As the rest of us took our places, I glanced at Lauren, Gideon, and Lance. Each of them seemed focused, ready for the next bout. I steeled myself, knowing that I needed to prove my worth in this round, not just to myself but to everyone watching. My father¡¯s wager could be negotiated to his favor if I made myself a favorite.
The four of us arranged ourselves as we had before, forming a square. Lauren was to my side, Gideon across from her, Lance directly opposite me. This was the moment to make something happen. I didn¡¯t know how to feel about having Lance opposite me, squeezing the grip of his sword, the toes of his boots already working their way into the dirt of the arena, preparing to come at me.
Lance was the strongest fighter here, at least for today. We were all growing and changing with each passing hour, so there was no promise he would remain as such, but as we squared up, he was the clear favorite. He stared across at me, smiled savagely, and his sword blazed with blue flame before it flickered back to glowing solidity.
I took a deep breath, feeling the tension in the air. Lauren glanced at me, her eyes filled with a mix of determination and worry. Gideon¡¯s face was a mask of concentration, his body tense and ready for action.
Mario''s voice pierced the silence. He shouted, ¡°Begin!¡±
As we began, I prepared my stance, knowing Lance would come straight at me. I intended to let him; I had something up my sleeve for this moment. The first few seconds I can still recall, seeing all the movements happening slowly. Lauren and Gideon moved at each other, she unafraid of his power and rage, he consumed with raw aggression. Lance moved straight at me, sword raised, that smug grin on his face. All I wanted in the world in that moment was the chance to wipe it off his face.
Then, confusion flashed through me as Lance turned on his heel, veering sharply away from me. I was in a defensive stance, in no position to pursue or take advantage of him exposing his flank to me. Lauren''s back was to us as she had driven Gideon back. Maybe that should have been the first warning; Gideon was a machine driven by aggression and rage, and I had yet to see him take a step back from anyone since the competition had started. Lauren seemed to realize at the last moment, seemed to sense something. I saw the corner of her face as she glanced behind her, her mouth grim, her back exposed.
Lance''s sword blazed with radiant energy as he swung, catching her in the back and slamming her to the ground. Mario shouted, "Lauren, out to the sideline."
Gideon and Lance just stood as she got up. She looked at Lance, spat at his feet, and said, "Afraid to take me yourself?" He just smiled. I looked to Mario and back at the two of them, aghast. Lance caught my look and said, "What''s the matter, shopkeep? Is it upsetting that I can outfight and outthink you?"
I said, "This isn''t fair, you''re colluding!"
Lance laughed, a cold, mocking sound, while giving me a look of genuine confusion and no small amount of contempt at my attempt to enforce the rules. "Colluding? You think this is a game with rules, shopkeep? It''s about survival, about being the strongest."This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Gideon grunted in agreement, his eyes locked on me with the same ruthless intent. My heart pounded, and I felt a surge of desperation. They had outmaneuvered me, outmaneuvered Lauren.
I turned to Mario, shouted, angry now, "They''re colluding! They''ve horse-traded the outcome so one of them is guaranteed the immunity. That''s not fair, the rest of us never had a chance!"
Mario dismissed me, saying, "Being a Griidlord is about more than swinging a sword. I don''t see why they can''t use wit and allegiance."
I seethed. Would he have said the same thing if Lance and my positions were switched? He had already gone out of his way to take my Beam out of the contest, seeing that as my one advantage. How wrong he was.
Lance circled to my right, taunting, "It''s easier this way, shopkeep. Lauren was the only competition, and I didn''t want to take chances. You see how good I''ve gotten already. Imagine what a day''s practice with immunity will do for me."
I adjusted my stance. Gideon was on my left. They were setting up to take me down, taking no chances despite my perceived inferiority. Gideon lunged for me, swinging his sword. Lance''s sword blazed with fire, swinging down in a dangerous arc aimed for my head, an attack intended to do more than just knock me out of the round.
Oh, the look on their faces. On both their faces. It made it all worth it. I could only guard against one of them, so I turned to Lance. Gideon''s blade struck my shoulder, and the pulsing energy of my shield flickered across the surface of my suit. Gideon''s mouth gaped in shock, even Lance faltered. They hadn''t expected me to have gained the shield attribute. The blow still staggered me somewhat, but the shield took the worst of the force from the blow.
The next part was even better: Lance''s turn to gasp in fright and disbelief. My sword erupted in sparking fire as it rose to meet Lance''s downward arc. I could see the disbelief, see the smugness fade, as my Cut attribute met his. The explosion of energy as the two energized blades met was staggering, but I had planned my swing, directing his away.
Lance staggered from the shockwave, nearly falling, barely keeping his feet. His eyes were wide with shock, and for the first time, I saw fear there. He hadn''t expected me to be a match for him, let alone to have the same attribute he had just gained.
Gideon, too, was thrown off balance, his earlier aggression faltering as he realized the battle was not as one-sided as he had believed.
I stood my ground, the suit humming with the power of the Cut and Shield attributes. I could feel the energy coursing through me, the connection with the suit stronger than ever. I had a chance, a real chance, to turn this fight around.
I had announced myself. Even at the thought my suit flashed my stats across my HUD:
Cut: 1.0
Beam: 1.0
Shield: 1.0
Agility: 0.3
Power: 0.0
You probably figured as much already, but I didn''t get lost the day before when I was trying to return to the hilltop. I''d taken the chance alone with the suit, stretched it as long as I dared, longer even, spending the hours practicing, letting the voice advise me. I moved my feet, swung my sword, flexed my attributes, delighting as I reached 1.0 and activated shield and cut.
It had been hard to maintain the act on the walk back up the hill, showing everyone the same clumsy oaf who had gone down the hill. I hadn''t been sure why I disguised my new prowess; maybe I just wanted to enjoy this moment, see the shock and upset on Lance''s face. But I was glad I had. Facing both of them and needing to put one of them down fast, having them surprised and uncertain was an advantage I needed.
The voice was gleeful in my ears. It said, "You did it, oh how delicious. Now, finish them, finish them both."
My sword blazed as I raged after Lance, his shock growing, not believing the way I moved, as easily as he did. My blade was his doom. I pressed him hard, his confidence wavering as he struggled to defend himself from my onslaught. Each strike drove him further back, his earlier smugness replaced by desperation.
Gideon, seeing his ally in trouble, speared into attack my side. I spun to face him, parrying his strike with ease. The fight continued, my agility, cut, and shield attributes keeping them at bay. Lance and Gideon regrouped, their initial shock wearing off as they began to regain their composure.
I knew I needed to capitalize on the surprise while it lasted. Lance was the one I wanted, but brash Gideon gave me the opening. He lunged at my blindside, and I deftly evaded his attack. My sword, blazing with the power of cut, struck him with a precision that lifted him off his feet. Sparks and smoke flew as he was sent crashing across the arena floor.
Mario''s voice was disbelieving. He stuttered and paused before saying, deflated and quiet, "Gideon, out... th... that''s match, Lance advances to the final round against... Tiberius."
Chapter 23
Lance stood before me, still gasping for breath. He stuttered, "How?"
I savored his confusion. I had been thinking about this moment since I returned to the hilltop the day before. I smiled thinly, holding his gaze. I said,, "Not bad for a shopkeep, eh? I''ll see you in the final round, I guess."
He was taken aback by my confidence. I was showing him a different Tiberius now, and I don¡¯t think he liked it. As I walked to the sideline, I could feel everything had changed. I wasn''t an afterthought any longer. I was a contender. Maybe, in some minds, I was suddenly the favorite. I couldn¡¯t have called myself favorite, not yet. But the others must have been sweating at my growth. My power was growing faster than anyone''s. These noble youths still had something I didn''t. We all had the same training; I might even have had better tutoring. But I had come to it later in life that they had. And, the likes of Lance had experience. He hadn''t just trained; his father, a lord, had ridden with him to hunt brigands and fiends. He didn''t just know the theory; he had lived it. For all I knew, he had killed men.
But for now, I enjoyed the rapture of the moment.. Lauren was staring at me, her mouth still hanging open, seeing me anew, and I loved it. It was exactly how I''d imagined it. The look on Mario''s face was perhaps the next best thing. He was pale, his mouth working, opening, and closing without sound.
Eventually, Mario found his voice. "Leona, Katya, to the floor. It''s time to send one of you home."
Katya walked to the floor, her head held high. She moved with that same disinterested grace. Her head drifted over to me. I felt like she was assessing me anew. She smiled. I flushed slightly. The way she looked at me incited me to remember her suggestions about marriage and children.
Leona walked awkwardly. She was a wounded animal now, waiting to be put down. I could see wetness on her cheeks, escaping the half-helm. Her suit still smoldered and sparked in places. She was a lamb to the slaughter, and she knew it. I could see the others who had ganged up on Katya shifting uneasily. They had set this in motion, and now they felt they were about to watch a preview of how Katya would deal with them as well.
Mario dropped the flag, and the fight began.
Katya circled Leona, toying with her. She poked and prodded, danced around. At first there was interest from us, some tension. After a time,, I thought it was cruelty, toying with one of the ones who had schemed against her. But the time dragged on and on. Feet began to shuffle. I realized Katya was prolonging her time in the suit, practicing. Leona was her hapless practice dummy. Leona whimpered and cried, trying her best, but knowing her time in the Choosing was done. She could have yielded. She should have. But honor would not permit it.
Katya finally decided to end it. With a violent strike, her own sword blazed to life as she acquired the cut attribute. The strike smashed Leona to the ground.
Mario shouted, "Match!"
He stepped forward. I could see he was about to enjoy playing the ceremony again. "Leona, you have fought bravely, but your time in the Choosing has come to an end. The Oracle does not favor you this day. With your departure, the number of competitors dwindles. Where once there were nine, now there are eight. Step forward and remove your suit."
Leona, tears streaming down her face, slowly walked to Mario. The suit was removed, and she stood there, exposed and defeated. We all watched her. It was a sober moment. We all had to be thinking the same thing. The same fate awaited all but one of us eventually.
Mario stepped forward again. His voice carried a strain, he couldn¡¯t quite conceal his disbelief as he said my name. "Lance and Tiberius, to the ring for the final match of the day. The winner of this bout will gain immunity."Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
The look in Mario''s eyes was delicious. He looked on me with no less disdain, but there was a incredulity there that made the whole effort worthwhile.
As Lance and I faced each other, I could see a change in him as well. The smugness was gone. It was replaced with a seriousness. He sensed a threat from me. I wondered if maybe he was even a little afraid. He had written me off, and yet, here I was.
He looked like a soldier ready for battle. This was not the Lance I had faced before; this was a Lance who was genuinely paying attention to me.
Mario raised his hand, the flag held high. After a few beats, he dropped it. As it fluttered to the ground, the battle began.
We clashed with a fury that sent sparks flying from our swords. The cut attribute lit our blades with a fierce light. Glowing blade hammered into glowing blade. Lance''s strikes were powerful, but I could felt like, when our sword met, blazing with CUT, it was his that deflected more than mine.
I might have had an edge in attribute, but I couldn¡¯t account for his own special edge. That killer¡¯s edge.
Our swords crashed against each other over and over. The force of each blow shook my arms. My shield attribute was of little use against the raw power of the cut attribute, but I held my ground. My SHIELD attribute allowed me to weather glancing blows while advancing on him. It was something I could see he wasn¡¯t quite sure how to deal with.
I was determined to win this, to see Lance fall, to gain my immunity for myself. No matter the outcome, no one would look at me the same after today. I was no longer an afterthought.
I hadn¡¯t quite gained the same fluidity in the suit that he had. But I had grown more than he realized. I had feigned my clumsiness on the return to the hilltop. I had spent hours in the suit in the woods. That time had helped me learn to move better.
It all mounted up on him. We continued to clash, but I could expose myself more. I could be more aggressive because I had SHIELD and he didn¡¯t. It let me press him. He could sense the flow of the match gone my way.
Even my feet seemed to be growing more confident. Each moment, with the elation surging in my heart, I felt like movement was getting better and better. Lance¡¯s, if anything, was degrading.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Lauren. She stood at the edge of the arena, her fists clenched, her eyes locked on me. I could see the intensity there. I knew she was rooting for me, the shopkeeper''s son, not Lance, her fellow noble. The uplift of that feeling only added more power to my attack.
The energy of our blades crackled in the air. None of the others could hope to fight like this. I felt myself on the stage, with an audience, and, to my surprise, I found I liked it.
Lance''s movements grew more desperate, his swings wilder as he struggled to keep up with me. I pressed the attack, my SHIELD allowing me to push through his defenses and strike at his openings.
The few spectators watched in stunned silence. There was no sound, no chatting. The nobles in the stands leaned forward in their seats. They could believe what was happening no better than Lance could. Lance, who had once been the favorite, was now on the defensive, struggling to hold his ground against me. I could smell the fear on him. I could sense his desperation as he must realize he was no longer the top dog.
The battle raged on. Excitement fueled me and I felt more and more strength in my attack. Lance, on the other hand grew more sluggish. He began to weaken, his steps faltering, his defenses slipping. My sword blazed with energy as I pressed the attack, I would finish this as fast as I could. I had no need of showboating.
He stumbled, backing away, and I saw my opportunity. I closed in for the kill, eyes only for the prize and nothing else.
But in that moment, my folly revealed itself.
Confidence like this was new to me. This kind of power was new to me. It had been easy for Lance to feign weakening because I wanted the moment so badly. I wanted to see him that way. As I overcommitted, he sidestepped with precision, his sword blazing as it struck me in the ribs. The kinetic explosion was deafening. I hurtled through the air, rolling through the dirt like I had been thrown from a horse.
"Match!" Mario called out.
I lay there, gasping, in pain. The world spun around me as Lance walked up, his face blocking the light from above. The smug grin was back on his face, but it lacked the depth of before.
"Still just a shopkeep after all," he said, his words forced.
Even though he had won the round and gained immunity, it wasn''t the same. The smug smile was skin deep, the words hollow. I could see in his bearing that he no longer saw this competition as his to lose.
He was afraid of me.
Chapter 24
Leaving the arena, the atmosphere was palpably different. The other competitors looked at me with a mix of wariness and respect. I had suddenly and incredibly announced myself as a serious contender. I might not have been number one in everyone''s perception, but it was hard for anyone to consider me as less than the second best threat to take the Griidsuit after my showing. The weight of their stares was both a burden and a strange affirmation.
My emotions were so confused. I was ecstatic to have performed so well. I was bitter to have been beaten so cheapy and easily. I couldn¡¯t believe I had been unable to best Lance. The memory of his smug grin haunted me. It did me little good to remember how shallow the grin had been. What mattered was that it was he smirking down at me at the end, not the other way round. To make matters worse, he would have an entire day to meditate and practice with the suit, growing stronger and stronger while I simply struggled to remain in the competition. The unfairness of it seethed within me.
Outside the arena, I looked up at the sky, trying to calm the storm inside. It was a beautiful day.
It was the earliest finish we had had since the competition began; it was barely past noon. I stood at the steps of the arena, watching as the other competitors walked past me. Their previous haughtiness had evaporated, their eyes downcast. They avoided looking directly at me, their expressions a mix of resentment and reluctant acknowledgment.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned in surprise. It was Lauren. When would her beauty stop taking my breath away. I needed to get a grip.
"I knew you were different, from the first time I saw you," she said, deliberately holding my gaze. "But I never imagined you could..." She paused, her eyes flitting away and then back to my face. "When we were in the woods, I was better than you. I could have beaten you, easily. But while we were walking, I could see you getting better. Your steps were surer, you were catching up with me, and I hated it."
Her voice wavered, betraying a mixture of emotions. She flicked her head, tossing her hair, visibly uncomfortable. "I was ahead of you, but it was like I was stuck in tar, and I could see you catching up. I knew you were going to pass me out..."
I stood there, absorbing her words. I was conflicted. I enjoyed the attention, the praise. I was greedy for it. But I didn¡¯t like to see the discomfort there. I realized just how much this competition was affecting all of us. Lauren, always so composed, was showing a vulnerability I hadn''t seen before.
Her eyes met mine again. For a moment there were no words. We just looked at each other. I wanted to say something to comfort her, to acknowledge her feelings, but words seemed inadequate.
Lauren paused for a long time, and I was speechless. I felt like a rabbit caught in the light of her attention. She seemed to consider her next words carefully. Whe she spoke her voice was measured, controlled.
¡°I know I''m supposed to be rooting for Lance," she said. "He''s like me, born of high station. Father would like nothing better than to see me married to him, but... I can''t say why, Tiberius. Maybe it''s because we were teammates during the hunt, maybe it''s because I wouldn''t still be in the competition if it wasn''t for you. Whatever it is... If I can''t win, then I hope it''s you."
My heart leaped and my breathing hitched. I tried to be cool, tried to keep my emotions in check as she spoke to me. I tried to compose myself, but I felt my cheeks redden. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
She grew steely then. Her face hardened. But, for all her sudden seriousness, there was a playful turn to her lips. "I still intend to win the suit, Tiberius. If we lock swords again, I won''t go easy on you. And you haven''t gone so far ahead that I can''t catch you."
She started to walk down the steps then. But she paused, looking back up at me from her position a few steps below. The beating sun made her hair seem to glow. She looked like a goddess visiting earth out of curiosity, radiant and untouchable.
"But really, good luck, Tiberius," she said. "You¡¯ve taught me something about all this station talk. I can''t imagine someone more worthy of the suit than you."
Lauren walked away, her carriage waiting below. I openly stared at her as she went. Part of me was processing the meaning of what had passed between us. Part of me just couldn¡¯t turn away from her form. The way she walked, the confidence, the seductive sway of her hips. Her shapely form captivated me, and I found my gaze following her every step. Maybe she really was a goddess.
Suddenly, a female voice cleared itself behind me, startling me badly. I spun around, embarrassed that I had been caught staring. Katya stood several steps above me, her expression unreadable. Nothing about Katya was ever easy to decipher. She measured me carefully with her stern gaze, her small features both intimidating and alluring.
"You have certainly improved your bargaining position today, Tiberius," she said.
"How does that work?" I replied, still flustered.
Katya walked down the steps, getting closer to me. My heart, which had only just begun to recover from being near Lauren, started to race again. Her gaze was predatory but not in a bad way; she was measuring me like a piece of meat, and I found myself surprisingly okay with it.
She said, "You surprised me today. I didn''t expect so much from you. You''re one of the favorites now."
I stammered, "We never actually made an agreement."
She sighed and rolled her eyes, her exotic features like a painting. "We were close enough, and I have decided that I don''t want our arrangement to fade so easily. Let''s train, but this time I offer to share my secrets as well. I still want yours. I would prefer to be the Griidlord in our marriage, but I see now, suddenly, that that may not become the case."
I tried to gather myself, attempting to appear barely interested. "I haven''t actually agreed to anything," I said. "I might have other suitors."
Katya''s eyes flicked to Lauren''s carriage as it pulled away. "She would make a fine suitor as well, and I enjoy competition, Tiberius. She has the wealth of a Bostonian noble, but don''t forget, I am a Princess. Our children would be royal." My cheeks flushed at her presumption, at the thought of having children with her, and most of all, at the imaginings of making children with her. She continued, "But more importantly, I am Floridian, and we know how to take care of our men. You will be much better off with me, Tiberius. I''ll show you."
She descended the steps until she was standing on the same one as I was. Unlike Lauren, she stood much shorter than I did. Her body might not have been as ripe and full as Lauren''s, but she was so lithe and petite that she made my heart scream at her closeness. "We bicker over nothing. Tomorrow, one or both of us may be ejected from the competition. I propose we meet here in the evening, at the seventh bell, and see what we can share with each other that may give one of us the chance to make sure our children have a Griidlord for a parent."
Again, I stammered, unable to fathom how to respond. She said, "My trainers are awaiting me. Until this evening." With that, she was gone.
You''ll judge me, I know you will, and you''re right to, but my eyes followed her backside as she walked away. I don''t doubt that both women knew I watched them as they walked away, but Katya, unlike Lauren, walked as though she knew she was being watched. She walked as though she liked it.
I walked down the steps, feeling weak at the knees after my encounters with Lauren and Katya. My mind spun. What was the meaning their words? The fairer sex was such a frustrating mystery to me. I cursed my father again. The other men weren¡¯t like this. They knew how to talk to Katya, Lauren and the others.
My mind wandered to what the evening would hold. To my rendezvous with Katya.
Before anything else, I would return to my father¡¯s house.
Chapter 25
I walked through the city feeling different, a new sense of pride swelling within me. News of my success would spread quickly, but it wasn''t just about how others viewed me now. I truly felt different. I had gone toe to toe with Lance and very nearly beaten him. For the first time, I had done something to be genuinely proud of.
I pushed away thoughts of the powers Lance could gain the next day, with an entire enviable day with the suit to practice and meditate. I wondered if Mario was stacking the deck, if Lance had already been deemed the rightful owner of the Griidsuit and if maybe the priesthood was trying to ensure the best candidate got the part. I surprised myself with my response to that. There was a version of me that would have responded with a feeling of inevitability, defeat, hopelessness, but not the me that had left the arena that day. This new me, be it a new or temporary version, responded with anger and determination. The Griidsuit was mine! I felt in my guts that it had chosen me.
As I passed from the outer sector to the next, where the streets became nicer and passersby more finely dressed, I felt a surge of ownership. Walking in my own body, without the suit, I felt a pang of being lesser. Life was grey without the sensory inputs of the suit. My flesh and bone body was frail and pointless. I wondered if the others felt like that. Many saw becoming a Griidlord as a blessing and a curse. Griidlords rarely left their suits once they donned them. The strange Order field of the suit did something to the biology and extended youth and life, and it was a hard thing for someone to take the suit off and know that the moments outside of it were aging you many times faster. Common folk often felt like Griidlords were trapped in their suits, only removing them for carnal moments with another, and even then sometimes not completely taking them off.
But as I walked, feeling my own muscles contracting and moving me forward, I wondered if there was another reason Griidlords lived in their suits. If it hurt to become a mortal, even for a few fleeting moments of having their flesh pressed against another''s, in the suit you were a god. The sensation of being in the suit, the power, the enhanced senses¡ªit all made life outside of it seem dull and meaningless.
In the suit you were a God.
As I passed into the inner zone of the city, pausing to allow a courier on an electric scooter to whiz past me, I thought about something I hadn''t considered in days. Each day had been such a whirlwind and had left me so dispirited and honestly so exhausted that my ability to think had been badly compromised. Today, finishing early and reveling in my victory, or at least near victory, I found my thoughts able to wander in a way they hadn''t been able to do for days. And where my thoughts landed was on my level.
When I had told Morningstar that the suit informed me I was level 8, he had flatly disbelieved me, told me I was mistaken, said that to be a 0.8 would be an achievement. But when I checked the suit again, it confirmed that I was indeed level 8. If my classmates were all struggling to achieve a level of 1, and I was eight times that, why were they better than me? Why was this such a struggle? Why was the only way for me to succeed to steal time in the suit in the woods to develop my powers? If I was level 8, shouldn''t I have been dominating them like ants? It didn''t make sense to me.
I walked up the flowered path to my father''s door. It was the middle of the day, and at least this time, I could expect some peace. Father would be at work somewhere, organizing a caravan, doing a deal with a Griidlord of this city or some other to use their Footfield to propel goods at speeds only possible under such powers. Or maybe he would be in the tower, lobbying or deal-making with the highest lords of the land.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
The door opened before I could reach it, Harold standing there with his usual inscrutable expression. "Young master, welcome home," he said with a slight bow. "Congratulations on your performance today."
I was proud of myself. I imagined my father''s delight. He had put no small emphasis on my need to place better, and even if Lance had squeezed me from the top spot, today I had finished second and my sudden emergence had to be the talk of the town. In a strange way, Harold''s approval of me meant more than my father''s. Father was a distant statue that sometimes deigned to come to life in my world, and at times I hated my need to please him. Harold, though, had been part of my life since my earliest memories, and despite his professionally detached manner, he had been the warmest presence in my childhood.
I said, "Thank you, Harold. I should have known news would come before me. I have plans today; I want to rest and eat, and then I intend to depart again. I have training to attend to."
I saw him hesitate, as though trying to find a way to tell me that my plans were dust in the breeze. Hesitating, I asked, "How exactly did you find out about the results of today''s matches?"
Harold hesitated a moment longer, he longed to tell me I could retire to my room, devour some calories, nap even, but it was not to be. He said, "We have a guest, your father has a visitor."
I was crestfallen. I said, "Father is home, but it''s hardly past noon."
Harold said, "It''s a very important visitor, your father wouldn''t have missed him."
My spirits lifted, hopes raised. I said, "Morningstar?"
Harold glumly shook his head. "This way, young master." He stepped aside for me to enter. I did so with trepidation, peering into the foyer, vacant. I stepped forward and heard voices in the parlor. I looked back at Harold, my eyes pleading with him to tell me that I could avoid whatever this was and go to my room. He just barely shook his head, then cast his eyes toward the parlor, the motion clearly an instruction. I moved to the parlor.
There was a stranger there, his back to me, talking animatedly with my father. Father was fixed on the man, giving him an attention and even a deference that he reserved for no one, not even Morningstar. I peered at the stranger''s back, recognizing the robes but unable to imagine who this might be. Father saw me, and his face lit up. I hated myself for the blaze of pleasure this gave me; this was the same man who had drunkenly abused me so recently, the man whose love seemed contingent on my successes and efforts, who had gambled our futures for his pride. Yet, as his face beamed at me, I felt a surge of contentment, and I hated it. He smiled so broadly, raising his glass to me in a toast, and said, "Tiberius, my victorious son! You took your time, but you proclaimed yourself today! Look who you''ve drawn to our midst with your efforts!"
As he spoke, the other man turned, and my heart skipped a beat. It was Baron Baltizar.
At this point, you probably have a good idea that the realm was controlled by nobles, with the rest of us fitting into the good old clich¨¦s of hardworking peasants supporting the hierarchy. But you may have wondered about the government. Boston was just a tiny corner of the vast expanse of the continent. There were, at the time, 31 other independent principalities. It was a time between empires; the City of Angels was rumored to be the strongest agency in the land, but they didn''t hold the dominance that previous entities had held, like the Empires of Green Bay, Pittsburgh, Dallas, San Francisco. It was a time of strange peace but also trepidation, with many cities vying to command the world.
Each city had a different means of government. Cincinnati was led by its Sword, as some others were. Pittsburgh had a strange meeting of the Clans that assigned a chief, but their Sword also reigned in a sense. In Green Bay, it was the people who spoke, almost directly without representatives, though they had a Voice, an elected figure, that expressed the decisions of their Athenian democracy. In Boston, it was a council of nobles that governed, and a Supreme Lord was chosen each time there was a Choosing. On that day, the Supreme Lord was Baltizar. This meant that in the parlor of my father''s house, I was looking on a man who in another land, like New York, might have been called a king.
Chapter 26
Baltizar looked at me. He was young to be on the council, let alone to be the Supreme. He wasn''t much past forty years of age. His face was deep, the eyes set away under a deep brow, his skin weathered and a little jowly. The people hummed about him, a nobody by the standards of the nobility, who had appeared from nowhere to become our leader. He had spent time in New York, serving with one of the factions¡ªI still can''t remember if it was the North or the South¡ªengaging as a mercenary general in their endless war, learning, they said, honing himself.
There was hope among the people that he would be new blood, bringing new experiences and new ideas to help Boston rise from the mud and become a force in the world, to win more Orbs, to have more Order. None could explain how he had convinced the council to elect him. Many hoped that they had put their posturing and bickering aside to elect someone who could simply help the city win and succeed. Baltizar spoke, his voice oddly grim and emotionless.
"Tiberius," he said, "I must say, you surprised me today¡ªnot as much as you might expect."
I stood there, speechless, trying to process the presence of this man in our home. My father, who had been beaming with pride, now looked at me expectantly, his eyes urging me to respond appropriately. I finally found my voice.
"Thank you, my lord," I said, bowing slightly. "I hope I can continue to surprise you."
Baltizar''s eyes seemed to bore into me, assessing me with an intensity that made me uncomfortable. "Your performance today was commendable. You showed resilience and adaptability. Traits that are essential for a Griidlord."
I felt a surge of pride but tempered it with caution. "I am honored by your words, my lord. I will strive to improve further."
Baltizar nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. "See that you do. The Choosing is far from over, and there are many challenges ahead. But you have potential, Tiberius. Do not squander it."
Father cut in, saying, "Oh, he won''t, Lord Baltizar, fear not. The apple doesn''t fall far from the tree. What I have done with trading, Tiberius will do with the Sword." I watched my father''s eyes, the hunger with which he addressed Baltizar, and realized what he really wanted. He did want the respect of founding a noble house; that was no charade. But as he looked on Baltizar, a man that even Father had to be supplicant to, I understood. He wanted to become a noble and then use his guile to become the Supreme. I shuddered and thrilled to imagine what Father could do with such power. He had done so much with so little already.
Father turned his eyes to me, growing sober and serious. "There is a reason the Supreme Lord is here today, stopping on his way back to the Tower." I gulped, audibly, to my embarrassment. Baltizar said, "I understand that your father had impressed on you the gamble he took in finding you a place in the Choosing."Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
I said, "Yes, I understand." I imagined that Baltizar might be the man Father had wagered so much to, that he was here to renegotiate the gamble after my tremendous success.
Baltizar said, "I have much to gain or lose by your success as well, Tiberius." I didn''t understand, and I said as much, "My lord, I don''t see what you mean."
Baltizar walked past me, around me, as though assessing a stallion at market. He said, "How do you think I gained the seat of Supreme, Tiberius?"
I said, "I can only imagine, my lord."
Baltizar said, "You''re clearly a smart lad, Tiberius. Tell me what you really think. This is a safe place, there''s no one watching except Harold, and I understand his loyalty is unimpeachable."
I glanced, following Baltizar''s gaze, and saw a shadow hurriedly retreat from the doorway. Harold had been spying, unable to help himself. There was a moment of silence, and I realized that Baltizar was waiting for my response. I didn''t have much time to measure my answer, so my response was quite honest.
I said, "You fought in the wars in New York. You generaled armies, stood on the front lines, experienced war on the scale between cities, not the petty combats that our lords have experienced, clashing with fiends and wild folk. You learned things that you could impress on the others and offered them a chance at greatness."
Baltizar stepped back, his eyes widening, impressed. "Yes, in a nutshell, that''s exactly what I did. Boston has wallowed too long, not in the pits of the world, but not reaching the peaks. We get by, and for me and the nobles of the land, that''s not enough. I came back here after my campaigns in the East, and I promised them an Empire."
I barely concealed my gasp.
He said, "I saw Griidlords die in those wars. I saw Swords come and go, and I promised the nobles that I could guide a new Sword. A Sword that could win us more than Orbs, but Empire and the Griid-Crown, and they believed me. Or at least they believed it was worth the gamble to give me the chance."
He waited, I could see this was a strategy of his, creating silence and forcing others to reveal things by filling it. Despite recognizing this, I couldn''t help myself, I blurted, "This is why you''re taking such interest in the Choosing!"
He smiled, thinly and barely, "Yes, Tiberius, that is exactly why I''ve taken such interest in the Choosing. I''m sure you''re aware that proceedings have been private thus far, only select nobles like myself and a few others have been permitted access. But from tomorrow, the Choosing becomes a public spectacle. The final rounds will be open for all the citizenry to attend, and I will be expected to be present. It wouldn''t do for the Supreme not to be present as the crowds gather."
I watched him carefully pace back to my father. Father watched him, more tense than I was used to seeing him in the presence of others. Baltizar said, "Lance is the favorite."
I nodded, "He''s very good."
Baltizar said, "Gideon, Lauren, and Katya are better than you."
I spluttered, wanted to argue, but he kept talking.
"You have more attributes than they do, your powers have grown, but they move better than you. They know how to kill better than you, but you''ve closed the gap."
I stood back, glanced at Father. He was watching the show, not taking part, sipping his drink, excited. Baltizar said, "Lance should be the Sword of Boston."
Chapter 27
His words struck me like a blow. There was a strange sense of relief in what he said, as though he was lifting a weight from me. Lance clearly was the best of all of us. Even after my tricks, gaining attributes in the woods while Lauren brought the fiend''s head back to the hilltop, Lance had still beaten me. He was the best of us. I expected that there was some strange deal occurring between Father and Baltizar, that my success on the day had allowed Father to renegotiate terms, that I would be expected to take the fall in the next round, or some future round of the Choosing.
Baltizar stunned me. He said, "Lance should be the next Sword of Boston. All conventional wisdom would point to that. He is high-born, a natural killer. He adapted to moving in the suit faster than any of you. But therein lies the problem."
I stood, confused, unsure of what he could possibly mean.
He said, "What has conventional wisdom done for Boston? Kept us from starving? Is that what we want for our city, our nation, to not starve? Tiberius, you''ve done things that have never been done in the history of the Choosing. You''ve gained attributes faster than any I have ever seen, than any that have ever been accounted for in the histories."
I was stunned, barely able to process his words. Baltizar continued, his voice growing more intense, "Lance represents the old ways, the predictable ways. But Boston needs something new, something unexpected. Your rapid growth, your unconventional methods, they are what we need. Not just to survive, but to thrive, to become a force that others will fear and respect."
Father''s eyes gleamed with pride, a stark contrast to his usual detached demeanor. Baltizar¡¯s words had clearly resonated with him as well.
"Tiberius," Baltizar said, stepping closer, his gaze piercing into mine, "I believe you have the potential to be more than just a participant in this Choosing. You have the potential to redefine what it means to be a Griidlord, to bring Boston to new heights. But you must continue to grow, to adapt, and to outthink your opponents."
His confidence in me was overwhelming, but it also ignited a fire within. I had thought my victory was enough, but now I saw it was just the beginning. I had to prove myself worthy not just of the suit, but of the future he envisioned for Boston.
Baltizar looked at me. I was the son of the richest man in the realm; I was used to mixing with movers and shakers, but this was the Lord Supreme, in my father''s house, his attention completely focused on me. He said, "Lance would be the obvious choice to root for. He''s the conventional favorite. The problem is that being conventional has left us wallowing with the other states, our factories only running half the time because we don''t have enough Flows to keep the order high, hospitals only able to take a fraction of the sick they should be able to accommodate because the good tech can''t run day and night, and our borders always uncertain, never knowing when we''ll have to pitch our men in shield and sword against the rifles and bombs of a more successful foe. So, I say convention be damned."
Baltizar stalked around the room, even my father watching, silent, dumb. He said, "Your father made a terrible wager to put you where you are, with a chance at the Suit. I gambled a lot as well, don''t mistake me, not on you exactly. I spent all of my political capital, all of my financial capital, and piled on some debts into the bargain, to wrangle my way onto the seat of the Supreme. I promised the lords the world, and I intend to deliver. I need to deliver. I don''t specifically need you, Tiberius. If Lance can win orbs and get the order flowing in Boston, then I can succeed with him too... but I feel..."
Baltizar stalked on, coming to stand before the arching window, his back to us. He said, "I''ve given everything I have to be the Supreme during this Choosing. If the Sword that emerges makes glory for Boston, then I can keep this seat and build something better. Lance might be the best of you, but his destiny as Sword would be the same mediocrity our city has suffered for generations."
He turned and looked at me, the light from the window casting a halo, an aura, making him appear almost divine. He said, "But with you as The Sword of Boston, I think it could be terrible or perfect, and I need the chance at perfection. I think you''re my best chance to hold this seat, to really build something here."A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
I waited, breath bated. Was he about to choose me, make me Sword? Did he have that authority?
He said, "I don''t have the power to make you the Sword. The Choosing is a divine rite; the Oracle chooses the Sword through these trials, and the priesthood would see no dabbling in the outcome." I nodded my head, mind swirling. He said, "But we can put our thumbs on the scale. Somebody¡ªthe Bishop, Mario, Lance''s father¡ªinfluenced the rules of today¡¯s trials, and now that boy will have an entire day to meditate in the suit, to grow, gain level and progression while the rest of you just struggle to continue to the next round."
I clenched my fist. It had felt like the dice were loaded against me today. Baltizar said, "I have influence, but the reality is that nobody in power wants to see a commoner gain the Sword. It¡¯s almost never happened, and it casts strange aspersions on the position of the nobles, on their blood. And the priests, well, they always play their games."
Harold stepped primly into the room and cleared his throat. "M''lords, if it would please you, then luncheon has been prepared." My father looked to Baltizar and said, "My lord, would it please you?" Baltizar smirked, amused for some reason, and said, "I have a little more to say, why not? I would be most pleased to share your food."
With that, we moved across the hall to the dining room. The fireplace was clean, immaculate, stacked but unlit. I thought of the last time I had been here, conspiring with Morningstar, and now it seemed I would be conspiring with the Lord Supreme himself.
As we settled ourselves, Baltizar resumed talking, but this time he spoke aware that his audience had expanded to include the servants ferrying food, drinks, and condiments to the table. Baltizar said, "So tomorrow marks the beginning of the public portion of the games."
Father said, "Yes, I''m excited to attend. Money or not, I was not permitted access to the arena until now." Baltizar barely seemed to notice Father. He looked at me and said, "How do you feel about the weight of all those eyes on you tomorrow, Tiberius?"
I swallowed hard. I hadn''t even considered them. After a moment, I honestly said, "I haven''t been thinking about them, really. What difference can they make? The eyes and impressions of a crowd are hardly going to be more important than the prize that''s at stake¡ªfor Father, for our family, for me... for Boston even."
Baltizar nodded, satisfied with my response. "That''s as well. You''ll hear feasting tonight, the people will celebrate and party. There''s nothing more exciting than a Choosing. You can go a lifetime without seeing one and have ten in ten years, but it has been some time, and the people are excited. I believe they''re rooting for you."
I nearly choked on my bite of meat. "They are?"
Baltizar chuckled. "You''re a commoner, like they are."
I looked around the room at the opulence, the electric lights, the bowls of sorbet prepared in electric freezers. There were more servants moving around here than in the castles of half the lords. Baltizar followed my gaze and laughed more heartily. "I know, it''s madness really. You''re further above them than many of the actual lords are, but they''ll root for you just the same, because they see your blood as the same as theirs."
Baltizar tasted an onion tart and expressed surprise and delight. He waved the tart toward Father and said, "The people love that man, even though he could buy all their homes and burn them down and hardly notice, even though he could make all their lives easier, feed them through the winter with just a portion of his fortune. No, they love him, despite his huge house, his servants, his empire, because he was born like them, with no castle, with no birthright."
I thought about this, my thoughts swirling, the pressure, disbelief. "I hadn''t thought of that... I''d kind of thought the opposite..."
Baltizar said, "That you''d be the outcast, unloved and opposed like you are with your classmates?"
I nodded, poking at my food with my fork.
He said, "Even among them you seem to have found a way to form some bonds. The Oakcrest girl, Lauren, she hates you much less than the others do, and you''ve been passing some time with the princess from Florida."
Father''s eyes lit up at this. He stared at me and said, "A princess, Tiberius, you''ve been cavorting with a princess?" He was clearly delighted, excited.
I said, "We might train together later. It''s nothing like that, it''s business, Father."
As the servants trailed out of the room, Baltizar sensed we had privacy again. He leaned over his plate, as though to conspire despite the huge length of table that lay between us all. He said, "I may not be able to influence events tomorrow like some actors can, but I do have something for you, Tiberius."
I looked at him, my attention captured, my heart rate starting to accelerate. Baltizar said, "I might not be able to stack the deck in your favor the way I would like, but as Lord Supreme, I am required to make arrangements to facilitate the Choosing each day. It was I who sent the soldiers to the hilltop for that fiend hunt, and I know most of the details of tomorrow''s trial."
Chapter 28
The shadows lengthened as the evening deepened.
I walked alone through the gates of the arena. My mind was occupied¡ªracing, even. Thoughts of Baltazar, his support, his promises, flooded my mind. My father¡¯s intensity... no, not intensity. The only right word was desperation. It weighed on me. The man might not have been a bastion of love. He may, in fact, have been a force that subjugated my life, making it an accessory to his own. But for all the things he was and wasn¡¯t, my father had always been cool. Unflappable.
That veneer was peeling away now. He had extended himself too much. In doing so, he risked everything he had built.
As I approached the arena, I saw movement. Men were carrying tools and lumber, the sounds of construction echoing from within. I could hear the whining of electric motors and the rumbling of engines. They were hard at work on some project for the coming challenge. Order had been elevated. The city, normally miserly with its Flows, had made the Choosing important enough to warrant some expenditure.
Then I saw Katya, and all other thoughts fled from me. Her petite figure loitered near the workmen. She seemed utterly serene. Even from this distance, I could tell there was no tension in her, despite being alone among so many strange men. She leaned against a wall, apart from the world.
"Are you trying to bed her?"
My heart leapt in my chest, and I spun at the sudden noise.
Zeb had appeared, walking alongside me. The man¡¯s feet made no sound. He barely raised an eyebrow at my reaction.
I gathered myself. "You¡¯re too big to move so quietly."
He barely changed his expression, just the hint of a thin smile. Then he narrowed his eyes at me. "Well, are ya?"
Zeb¡¯s accent was strange. He hailed from the far North, where they bred men tough. They had to be tough. Fiends were more common the further north you traveled, and up there, slaying a fiend was a rite of passage, not a once-in-a-lifetime horror like it was for the common man down here.
My cheeks reddened. "We¡¯re training."
Zeb nodded. It was rare for him to speak at all. The man was silence itself. He was constantly around me, watching for my safety, yet I barely knew him.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!
He said, "She¡¯s a daft one. The daft ones can be the best for bedding, but mind you don¡¯t put a baby in¡ª"
I hissed, "Zeb! Shit! It¡¯s not like that."
He lazily raised another eyebrow and leveled his eyes at me.
"It¡¯s not," I insisted. "We¡¯re training. She¡¯s a competitor. I¡¯m... we..."
Zeb said, "And what about all that marriage talk? Bed the daft ones, lad, don¡¯t marry ¡¯em."
"You heard that?" I said, flustered. "What am I saying, of course you heard everything."
Zeb just nodded, his face placid.
"I don¡¯t know about any of that," I said, stumbling over my words. "It¡¯s just joking around, I think... I¡¯m sure... I think so."
Zeb said, "Well, I¡¯ll be gone again. Just remember what I said."
He turned, not even waiting for a response, his broad back drifting away.
I called after him, "Remember what?"
He turned his head, that faint humor twisting his mouth again. "Don¡¯t put a baby in a daft one."
My cheeks reddened again. Katya was still a ways off. I cringed at the thought that she might have heard that.
As I mounted the steps, she seemed to notice me. I realized that she had truly been distant, as if rising out of a state like sleep. But obviously not sleep, because she had been perfectly aware of my approach, despite all the noise and activity around her.
She said, "You¡¯re ready, then?"
I said, "Uh, yeah, but where will we practice? It¡¯s kind of busy around here."
She smiled and gestured with her hand. "This way, I found a place. I like to go there sometimes to meditate."
Her small frame turned, and she moved that beguiling little body away from me, back down the steps. I followed. Her form may have been small, but she had no problem setting a pace that made my longer legs work to keep up.
We moved around behind the arena. There was a cluster of shrubs and trees there. As we neared, I could see that the center of the cluster was free of foliage, the dense canopy of the little stand preventing any light from entering, smothering other growth.
"In here," she said, smiling oddly, as she always seemed to do.
"In there?" I asked. My mind wandered a little at the thought of entering such a secluded, dark, and private space with her. Just me and her.
"That¡¯s right," she said, eyeing me as though she was examining me for discomfort.
Then she stepped through, and I moved to follow her. Just as I did, I caught sight of Zeb. Zeb was like a living ghost¡ªyou didn¡¯t catch sight of him unless he wanted you to. But there he was, standing about twenty yards away. And the bastard was smiling, less thinly than before.
I understood the look. He was letting me see him seeing me¡ªseeing me climbing into a dark, secret place with this exotic beauty.
I pursed my lips as I regarded him.
Then I climbed through the branches into the darkness.
Chapter 29
And then I was alone with her in the darkness. For a moment I thought maybe it had all been a trick to find a way to be alone with me. I felt nervous, unsure of what to do. But she dispelled the notion quickly.
"What I have to show you may help you, but perhaps we would be better informed if you told me how you have been gaining attributes so quickly. Maybe my methods will work in tandem, maybe they will work against each other.," she said.
I hesitated. "Are you trying to get me to reveal my secrets first so you can scamper away with them?"
A flash of genuine hurt crossed her face, surprising me given her usual aloofness, but it soon melted into amusement. "I have a suspicion about you, Tiberius. I think I already know the secret of your growth."
I scoffed at that. Only if you think I hear a voice when I''m inside the suit.
Then she stunned me by saying, "I think you hear a voice when you''re inside the suit."
I tried to keep a poker face, unreadable, but the jerk of my knees nearly giving way beneath me probably gave her some sense that she had hit the mark. "Amazing," she said, "I don''t believe it."
I stammered, "How... how could you possibly know that?" My mind raced back, trying to recall when I might have revealed some hint of this. Only once with Morningstar, and once with Lauren, which I had quickly covered up, had there been any glimmer of a reveal. How could she possibly have known?
"Do you know the story of Danefer Ma''at-Ra?" she asked.
It seemed a ridiculous question to ask; who didn''t know the stories of Danefer, the Crownless King, a Sword of the strange Southern lands from long centuries ago. "Of course I know of him."
Then I considered, he had been a Sword of Miami, and Katya was a princess, the daughter of their queen. Katya strolled around me, acting coy, enjoying my undivided attention, it seemed.
"You''re well-tutored, Tiberius. Tell me about Miami. What do you know of my homeland?" she asked.
"Not as much as you might think. I know Miami is led by a queen, always a queen, always has been since the start of history."
Katya asked, "And how is the next queen chosen?"
"I''m not sure. She''s a daughter of the last queen, isn''t she?"
Katya nodded. "Yes, but Miami has no kings. Where does her father come from?"
I blushed. "The Queen keeps, uh... male..."
Katya giggled. "The Queen has consorts, often many of them, and though she might have many sons and daughters, it is rare for any two of them to share the same father." She savored my discomfort at the topic.
"I don''t know where this is going..."
Katya said, "In the time when Danefer Ma''at-Ra was Sword of Miami, he was a consort of the Queen, except I should say, he was the consort of the Queen."
My eyebrows went up. "Since that time, all the royal lines have been descended from Danefer Ma''at-Ra," Katya said.
"So you..." I trailed off.
She smiled. "I am born of my mother, descended from all the old Queens, and Danefer Ma''at-Ra is my ancestor."This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
I whistled, impressed at this claim. Then I frowned. "But what has that got to do with anything?"
She stood, smiling, her arms clasped behind her, swaying back and forth like a little girl. Sometimes she could be so aloof and unconcerned with projecting her femininity that it was disconcerting to see her so playful, so girlish.
"Danefer Ma''at-Ra was possibly the greatest Griidlord ever to live," she said.
I nodded. "Possibly, though he never wore the Griid-Crown..."
"He never chose to wear it," she interrupted. "He was a mystery even to his queen, to his companions. He was driven by strange whims. He won fortunes of Orbs for the city, and Miami never feared intrusion as long as he held the Sword there. In his time, as for much of time, Miami reigned sovereign over the lands of the South."
I nodded again. The stories were mixed with myth and often contested in my time, but there was always a vein of oddness to the decisions made by the legendary Danefer.
Katya continued, "But we, the royal line, his family, know things about Danefer Ma''at-Ra that few others do."
Growing impatient, I said, "Things relevant to you guessing I have voices in my head."
Katya smiled, tutted me, and shook her head. "Not in your head, Tiberius. You don''t believe that either. My ancestor heard the voice of the suit when he wore it."
I was startled by this. She said, "He attributed much of his success to following the advice of the voice. It trained him faster, revealed secrets of the Griid-Suit that others couldn''t guess at. From the moment you used your beam, gaining the attribute faster than any contestant for a suit has done in living memory, maybe in all of history, I suspected straight away."
She walked up to me, standing very close. My heart pounded, my skin pulsed at her closeness.
"The Griid chose Danefer Ma''at-Ra," she said softly. "It spoke to him, and now it''s speaking to you too."
I was flustered, unsure if I should argue or deny it. It would be such a relief for someone else to know, but she was a competitor still, despite our arrangement here. I had little to offer her in terms of secrets, and I had committed to sharing, so I said, "It does speak to me."
She was giddy at this, "Amazing, you''re chosen by the Griid, I knew it!"
"I''ve been chosen to struggle to survive at the very edge of being eliminated every round," I said.
She dismissed my words with a hand, "No more, that was the old Tiberius. The Tiberius I saw today is already a favorite to win. The oddsmakers only put Lance ahead of you. Some put Gideon, Lauren, and myself above you, but not the majority, I wager. You announced yourself today; your power was amazing and sudden. And you have the voice. Do you think Lance has the voice in his ear?"
I suppressed a laugh. I anything I thought the voice didn¡¯t like Lance at all.
"Tiberius, you know what this means. This means that you could win the Sword, but more than that, you could forge your own legend. Winning the suit is just the beginning. It is what you do as a Griidlord that defines you."
"Maybe I should just try to win the Sword first," I said.
She nodded, "Good, that''s right."
Katya stepped even closer. I could nearly smell her skin. She said, "I can teach you a method of meditation," she said, her voice soft yet filled with a sense of purpose. "It¡¯s something passed down in my family, something that helped Danefer Ma''at-Ra attune to the voice more deeply."
I nodded. My heart was pounding at her proximity.
"I¡¯m willing to learn," I said,.
Katya smiled. "Good. This meditation is not just about calming the mind, but about opening yourself up entirely to the voice of the Griid. Follow me."
She led me deeper into the small grove behind the arena, where the sounds of the city faded, replaced by the sound of the wind through the branches. A night bird, rousing early, chirped at us in annoyance.
She sat cross-legged on the ground and motioned for me to do the same.
"First," she said,, "you need to clear your mind of all distractions. Focus on your breathing, in and out, slow and steady."
I mimicked her, drawing deep breaths and trying to push away the thoughts of the competition, of Lance, of my father¡¯s expectations.
"Good," she said, after a few minutes. "Now, close your eyes and imagine yourself becoming one with the Griid. Feel the suit around you. Even though you¡¯re not wearing it, remember the sensations of it closing around you. Imagine the weight, the power, the connection."
"Listen for the voice," she said. "Invite it into your mind. Make it a part of you."
I hesitated for a moment, then mentally reached out, Are you there? I thought, feeling somewhat foolish.
But there was no answer.
We passed a long time in our practice. The sky darkened. I thought of Zeb, the ever present sentinel, waiting beyond the trees.
There was no danger of anyone putting a baby in anyone that evening.
Chapter 30
As we pushed our way back out from the secret hiding place, I was stunned by how dark it had gotten. Part of me was honestly relieved. The proximity had been stressful. I¡¯d felt a constant anxiety that she expected me to do something. At the same time, I¡¯d felt a dread that if I did do something, reach out to her, say something, that she wouldn¡¯t respond. For all that relief, I had regret too. Being alone with her, being so close to her, had been exhilarating.
There was no sign of Zeb. But there wouldn¡¯t have been sign of Zeb unless that¡¯s how Zeb wanted it.
I suddenly stopped walking.
"Wait," I exclaimed, "we were meant to exchange secrets, but I gave you nothing!"
She smiled. "It¡¯s not my place to receive, Tiberius. You¡¯re chosen by the Griid. That¡¯s... awe-inspiring."
Horrified at how I had just taken from her, I said, "No, it¡¯s not fair. I need to give you something, something that can help."
She started walking again, and I moved with her. The arena had grown silent now. The workmen had gone home to be with their families. Or to the taverns to be with their ales.
I suddenly barked with excitement.
Katya looked at me, arching an eyebrow. "What do you have for me, Tiberius?"
I said. "Lord Baltizar was with my father today. He revealed what tomorrow''s competition will involve."
Her eyes widened at this. I had provoked a rare response from her. She said. "That would more than pay me back for teaching you a mental trick."
I said. "Tomorrow is a race."
She screwed up her brow. "A race? Really? They¡¯ll test our abilities to combat the enemies of Boston by having us race?"
I shook my head. "Not just a race. We will have to reclaim flags from a point outside the city and evade a gauntlet of mounted knights. The last two to return will be ejected."
Katya''s expression grew more solemn. "The last two?" She seemed suddenly sad.
I didn''t understand her sudden shift in mood. "What''s wrong, Katya?"
She turned to me. "Then it is possible tomorrow that we will both lose our place in the competition and my dream could be dashed, to be neither Griidlord nor the wife of a Griidlord."
***
I approached the door to my father''s house alone. The electric lights of the inner sector were humming away. Clouds of insects swarmed around them.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Zeb appeared alongside me again. He said, ¡°We done for the night? You got any more trists arranged, young master?
I shook my head. ¡°No Zeb. Thank you. I won¡¯t be out again.¡±
And like that, he was gone.
I opened the door. I was slightly anxious that my father would disapprove of my being out late.
I made my way upstairs, only thinking of bed. As I reached the landing, I heard voices and looked down the hall. At the end of the hall, I could see the door to my father''s bedroom was open. He and Harold were moving around, talking. They were clearly lit by the electric lights. The rest of the house was dark, but the lights were on in his room.
Father caught a glimpse of me and beckoned. I walked down the hall, anxious and worried. He might be drunk, he might accost me again. My mind raced with the possibilities.
As I entered his room, I took in the opulent master bedroom of the house, the richest man in Boston. The furnishings were luxurious¡ªplush carpets, intricately carved wooden furniture, a grand bed with heavy drapes. An electric viewing screen hung on the wall, dark and silent for now.
Suitcases lay open on the bed, clothes and papers being hastily arranged within. Father caught my look of concern and said, "I have to travel tomorrow, Tiberius. Whether you succeed or not, I need to put our empire back together after the ravages of the Horde."
I swallowed hard, not wanting to reveal how much it had meant to me that he had said he would be watching tomorrow. This man, who was my idol and yet barely a parent to me. He seemed to read my expression and added, "I will be there tomorrow. I have arranged travel with a Griidlord''s footfield, but not until the afternoon. I wouldn''t miss the chance to watch your triumph for anything, my son."
My mind at once rejected his comments. I was his son now that I was succeeding, but his support had been a ghost when I was barely fighting to remain in the Choosing. And yet, despite myself, I glowed at his attention and commitment.
He said, "I will see you compete tomorrow and then I will be away. I can''t say for how long, but it is my sincere hope to be back to watch you the next day. Failing that, I will certainly be back after that."
"If I survive tomorrow''s competition," I replied, my voice tinged with doubt.
His punch to my shoulder was part play, part male encouragement, and maybe a little bit of physical admonishment. He did punch my shoulder quite hard.
"That''s behind you now, Tiberius. I know it. You''re my son, and you''ve been trained by the best. The whole city is babbling about the commoner who stood against the sons of two nobles and left one sprawling. That was you, my boy. Gideon and Lance, two favorites, they tried to bushwhack you, and you were the one left standing. I have no doubt that you will still be in the show when I return, whenever that may be."
I could smell the whiskey on him as he spoke, and it dulled the sentiments a little to know these were the words of my drunken father.
He said, "Baltizar wants to see you again tomorrow."
The thought intimidated me. Baltizar''s presence and interest were overwhelming, and the weight of his expectations loomed large. I nodded slowly, absorbing the information, the mixture of fear and pride swirling within me.
"He has plans for you, son," Father said, his voice carrying a mixture of pride and urgency. "Plans that could help you win this competition, plans that could see you doing things to make our family great, in a way even I never imagined."
I said, "Will Harold arrange things?"
Father looked at me, confused for a moment. Then he seemed to understand what I meant. He said, "Oh, you think he''ll come here again? No, not likely. You''ve been invited to dine with him in the tower."
Chapter 31
I should probably call this passage, "Of Knights and Relics."
A word on relics, then. Not an essay, don¡¯t worry¡ªjust enough to ensure that this makes sense.
"Relic" was a catch-all term. It referred to wonders that had survived the Fall, treasures from the old world. Relics took many forms. A handgun that could be fired even in the wilds, where the low Order should have rendered it useless. A personal shield, not unlike the SHIELD a Griidlord could pulse to provide protection during battle. Collections of little devices with curious functions, both known and unknown.
The word was also applied at times to items that could still be produced in our era¡ªthose that had exceedingly high value, were exceedingly rare, and could still be identified as being made of that same strange technology from before the Fall. The foundries of Pittsburgh could produce power weapons, mostly axes. But one gigantic factory, humming and pumping, manned by teams of workers, might produce one such weapon in a month. And that precious and nearly priceless weapon would be sought after by warriors not jut across the Clans of Pittsburgh, but by buyers from across the lands.
A power weapon was reminiscent of the special arms wielded by a Griidlord. They were not exactly the same, certainly not as powerful. But a man with a power sword was worth at least five without one, his blade shearing theirs away and allowing no defense. The truest value of the power weapon was the parity it gave a mortal man when facing a Griidlord. The power weapon negated much of the advantage of a Griidlord¡¯s armor, able to pierce and damage it where steel blades and bullets would bounce off. A single man with a power weapon was still of essentially no concern to a true Griidlord. But a suit might prefer to charge a thousand men with spears than twenty with glowing axes. It was a calculus of risks.
And knights? I was aware of the old meaning of the word. My days of invalidity, those long years that compose most of my early memories, had really one diversion: reading. And read I did, both modern tales and old ones. I had some understanding of what a knight of the old world was supposed to be.
The knights of our day were not so dissimilar. Knights Militant, the sort that served a lord or made up the elite of a city¡¯s army, were almost always mounted. They were armed with power weapons and, very rarely, other more potent relics.Stolen story; please report.
Wildknights were another case altogether. These men and women seemed to serve no master. They were exceedingly rare, to the point of nearly being legend. Each seemed to march to the beat of a different drum, with rumors of madness following them all. But their equipment was normally vastly greater than that of a Knight Militant. A Wildknight could be so heavily equipped with relics and powerful weapons as to nearly rival the status of a low-level Griidlord. They needed to be so equipped because of the value of the relics they possessed. A gun capable of being fired outside of the normally requisite Order levels would cost more than the entire annual economic output of an entire village. If they weren¡¯t equipped enough to be unassailable, their treasures would be taken from them. Sometimes they were taken anyway.
So why the lesson? Why now?
At that moment, I was standing in my half-suit. Not just I, but my other classmates¡ªLance excluded for his immunity¡ªwere gathered in a line outside the arena.
A crowd had gathered. Today was the first day when the Choosing would become a public spectacle, and it seemed the entire city had emptied that morning to watch our event. More than the whole city, perhaps. Many of the spectators appeared to be farmers. I had seen droves of horses and parties on foot streaming to the city in the early moments of the day.
The crowd was in ecstasy. A Choosing was exceedingly rare. A Griidlord¡¯s career could last a season or a century. A man might live his whole life without witnessing a single Choosing, let alone one for the Sword. Another might be able to tell of the dark years when his city hosted three Choosings in his lifetime.
The Choosing meant festivities. It meant feasting, drinking, and whoring for those who cared for it. It meant an excuse to leave the fields untended. But most of all, it was what it was: a once-in-a-lifetime experience, something to tell grandchildren in your twilight years.
The cheering and humming of the crowd filled my ears. With HEARING, I could pick out individual voices if I chose.
But the noise could do nothing to distract me from what lay before me. Before me stretched miles of fields, extending toward the sea. And processions of knights cantered about. They were truly a glory to behold. Their armor shone. Their horses were specimens of the finest breed, adorned with beautiful armors.
Most significantly, power weapons glowed. Swords, lances, axes, maces¡ªevery type was borne into the air as the knights wheeled for the crowd. Weapons that could pierce the armor of a full Griidlord. Weapons that could shred the lighter half-suit I wore.
And all those weapons, all those deadly killer men and horses, were there that day for me.
Chapter 32
The wind was blowing strongly from the sea that morning. Salt and seaweed filled our lings. The sea breeze pulled at the banners that were laid out. It tugged at the robes of the nobles that clustered nearest us, afforded the finest space to view the day¡¯s contest. Baltazar stood proudest among them. The wind may have whipped his robes about him, but the man was a statue. I wondered if anything could shift that grim expression from him. Those eyes, always observing, always calculating, met mine fixedly.
Mario was in heaven, it seemed. The bastard had come to life with the appearance of a true audience. He paced back and forth before the gathered nobles, his white robes training away from him on the breeze.
"Ladies and gentlemen, and our miserable lot of contestants," Mario began, his voice carrying over the wind and the murmuring crowd. "Today''s challenge is simple in concept but deadly in execution. You must race to retrieve the flags from the distant tower, and return here. However, you may only pass through fields marked by banners."
He paused, allowing the wind to whip around him dramatically. "These fields are guarded by our knights," he continued, gesturing towards the distant figures on horseback. "They will each stay within their designated fields, tasked with taking you down. They are very motivated, for they have their own rewards for knocking you down, stopping you, even killing you if they can."
The crowd gasped, the reality of the danger settling in. Mario smirked, enjoying the reaction. "These knights are doing their duty for Boston, cutting the chaff from the wheat, refining this miserable lot to find one half capable of being the Sword."
His eyes raked over us, lingering on me for a moment longer than the others. "You must return with the flags. The last two to return will be ejected from the competition. Remember, the knights are not your friends. They are your adversaries, and they will show no mercy."
Mario continued, "You may attack or hinder each other in any way you please. But remember, you cannot use the beam on the knights below. You may only defend yourselves from them."
As Mario spoke, I focused inward, practicing Katya''s meditation technique. His voice was endless, and this time would be best served communing with the suit or flexing my attributes.
Mario held a long pause, then said, "Prepare yourselves. The race begins soon."
The voice came, cheeky and familiar, "Oh, what''s this? You''re calling me now? This is new..."
In my mind, I responded, "It''s time I learned to live with you, I guess."
The voice giggled. "Tiberius, you should have figured out by now that you can''t live without me. Where would you be now without me? You wouldn''t have made it through the first day. We can be friends. I''m excited, Tiberius. I can feel you''re opening yourself up to me."
"I¡¯m ready to do whatever it takes," I said.
The voice was superior. "All it takes is to listen to me, Tiberius, you''ve been doing it all along and you''ve been doing so well."
I steeled myself. I¡¯d been making my own plans. I wanted to use the forewarning Baltazar had given me gain some kind of advantage. "And there''s more I need from you."
The voice was silent for a minute, Mario blabbing away in the background. Then the voice spoke again, quieter, less mocking, instead earnest, amused, and focused on me. "At last..."
***
Mario stood before us, holding the flag aloft as he had so many times before. We watched intently, deepening our stances. I saw Gideon get down low, planting his hands in the dirt, ever aggressive, ready to pounce when Mario dropped the flag. A flash of light caught my eye, and I turned my head slightly.
Lance was practicing. He stood away from us. He would have the day in the suit, as I had had in the forest. I thought of the advantage I had gained for myself with that ploy. Lance would be afforded the chance to wipe that advantage away and build one of his own.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
Fireworks erupted as Lance demonstrated the CUT attribute over and over, his blade igniting with each swing. Each pulse of light colored the faces of the gathered onlookers, the faces bright with awe.
My eyes drifted away from Lance and his spectacle, searching the crowd. Then, I saw him¡ªmy father. Our eyes met, and for a moment, the world around me faded away.
I shamed myself by the pride I felt at this attention. His attendance at such an important moment should have been such a cause of elation. My father had always treated me as another asset, another tool in his grand design. His love was conditional, tethered to my success.
Yet still, I longed for his approval.
As I held his gaze, his expression melted into one of horror. Shocked, confused, I turned my head in the direction he was looking and saw the others streaking away from me.
I had been distracted. Idiot! Mario must have dropped the flag while I wasn''t looking¡ªmaybe even on purpose. He had it in for me.
My father''s panicked urging filled my vision, his mouth moving soundlessly, his hand gesturing frantically. I turned and sprinted, the last to surge down the hill.
I brought up my HUD, flicking through screens, the world around me a blur of speed and determination. The voice in my ear said, "I don''t know if this is a good idea."
As I sprinted, the suit driving me forward like a charging horse, I responded, "It''s a contingency, a safeguard."
The voice pouted, "There''s nothing safe about this."
"What''s wrong with you?" I snapped, "You never take anything seriously."
The voice retorted, "I like when I''m the one rolling the dice. I''m not sure how I feel about you pulling the strings."
Ahead of me, I saw Gideon leap the fence into the first field, dirt exploding around him. He landed in an old cabbage field, already harvested, smelly leaves flying through the air. The others bounded over the hedge as I raced to catch up, my heart pounding, legs pumping, every ounce of my being focused on closing the gap.
The wind whipped past me, the crowd''s roars fading into the distance.
They already had a fair lead on me. I didn¡¯t need to be going to such lengths to disadvantage myself.
I could see the low wall of the first field rushing to meet me.
Gideon was a blur ahead, his powerful leaps sending debris flying. I pushed harder, pumping my legs. I needed to make the ground up. I had been an afterthought for long enough.
As I reached the wall I flexed those incredible suit muscles, pushing the ground away from me. Instantly I was airborne, the power of the suit propelling me with explosive force. I dove over the fenceThe instant my feet hit the slick earth, I slid, cabbage leaves squelching slimily beneath my boots.
The field was a warzone. Knights on powerful chargers galloped across the fields, their power weapons cleaving through the air. My classmates dodged and scrambled, barely evading the weapons or the heavy hooves. Soil exploded around them as glowing lances struck the ground. The panic was everywhere.
Gideon raced ahead, reaching the far end of the field. Easily he leapt, soaring over the next fence and disappearing from sight. He moved like a predator, utterly at home in his suit.
I raced forward, my heart pounding in my ears, desperate to close the gap. As I moved, the others reached the far wall, one by one. Lauren was next,ever graceful as she bounded over the fence. Katya followed, then Arthur, Zara, and finally Emilia.
I felt a chill. I was now the sole focus of a dozen eager knights. Twelve horses turned to me and me alone.. I dodged left, then right, barely avoiding the sweeping arc of a glowing power axe. The air crackled with energy, the ground erupting around me.
A knight lunged, his spear aimed at my chest. I threw myself to the side, the spear grazing my shoulder. My SHIELD activated, deflecting the blow but still sending a jolt through my suit.
Another knight closed in, his sword blazing with kinetic energy. He swung, and I ducked, the blade passing inches above my head. I felt the heat as the weapon passed above me. I rolled, coming up in a crouch, and sprinted toward the fence. My muscles burned, but urgency drove me.
A third knight aimed a crushing blow at my legs. I leapt into the air, the weapon striking the ground where I had just been. Dirt and stones exploded, showering me. I landed, skidding on the slick earth, cabbage leaves flying.
Then I was up.
I pushed harder. I could see the gap widening, my classmates already moving far ahead. I was losing ground, each moment under attack delaying me further. A knight swung his hammer, and I barely avoided it, the impact sending shockwaves through the ground.
Then the wall was before me. I leapt, my feet scrabbling for purchase on the carpet of slick cabbage leaves.
I landed awkwardly on the far side. Then I was up and moving.
The others had only widened the gap. The knights had delayed me terribly.
Still, I ran, with everything I had, even though the backs of the others had only grown smaller and more distant.
Chapter 33
I leaned into the power of the suit. If nothing else my desperation, my urgency, was driving my affinity with it. I had never moved so well.
And, to my amazement, I started to gain on them.
Emilia glanced back, her eyes widening as she saw me closing on her. She leaped over the next fence, and I followed without hesitation. We landed in a wide pasture. There were no livestock, but there were still other animals.
Knights charged toward us. I recognized their emblems. They were Lance''s father''s men. Of the dozen that stalked this space, four came directly for me. They were targeting me specifically. Maybe they had been instructed to remove me as the greatest threat to Lance or simply because I was a commoner. The other eight made an effort to tackle my competitors. The people of Boston were watching, they couldn¡¯t be too obvious in their focus on my elimination.
It was as it was before. Glowing weapons ripped through the air from all sides. Only the barest whispers of my agility, pulses of SHIELD, sparing me from me incapacitated.
One knight''s power mace connected with my shoulder, sending me sprawling. Shield dulled the blow, but pain shot through my body, the SHIELD flickering under the strain. I scrambled to my feet, dodging another attack. I had to keep moving, had to survive.
Emilia was gaining ground again. I rushed forward, daring the mounted bastards to catch me.
A knight''s sword clipped my side, the energy discharge sending me tumbling across the ground. I forced myself up, adrenaline surging. There was no time to dwell on the pain, no time to hesitate.
Again, the wall was before me. I felt the pains in my body as I thrust myself over it.
I fell badly, rolling in the grass, dirt smearing itself across my visor, obscuring my vision. I forced myself to stand, looking ahead. My classmates were very far ahead now.
As I ran, I kept flexing my new target skill.
The voice in my ear said, ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you be better served focusing on just running?¡±
¡°That¡¯s the point,¡± I replied, my breath steady. ¡°I¡¯m not focusing on it. I¡¯m giving that over to the suit, and look what¡¯s happening.¡±
My feet were a blur. It was almost dizzying how fast the suit could make me move. I raced forward, faster than a racehorse. The wind whistled past my ears.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
¡°Well, look at that. Maybe you are getting it, sir. Maybe there is hope for you after all. Well then, I guess, keep flexing away at that skill. Maybe you¡¯ll have use for it after all...¡±
The others were over the next wall long before I reached it. But my affinity for the suit was growing and I felt as thought something was different now. I wasn¡¯t racing with just desperation. There was some belief in me now.
Over the wall, the same dance once more.
This time, I felt less panic. I felt less of everything. Just committed.
I left the suit to fight as I kept flexing away at my new target skill. The suit guided my movements, my blade flashing with precision as I dodged and parried the knights'' attacks.
Everything was changing. I was less the frightened animal I had been. The last remnant of that toddling uncertainty had faded from my movements. I evaded uncountable attacks as I cross the field. But I was defter now. My blade flashed with CUT as I parried over and over. My feet moved so fast, but so surely.
I was surprised by how suddenly I reached the next fence. Then I was airborne once more.
I landed on the other side. My breathing was heavy, but spirits were suddenly light, lighter than they had any right to be.
Again, I was like a horse in full gallop. How could they outrace me for long when I could run like this?
Despair gripped me as I saw Gideon had already reached the tower and was turning back to race past me, his flag flapping in the wind. The other classmates were hot on his heels, each one a blur of motion, already carrying their flags. Facing the knights alone had delayed me over and over, and now they had essentially a three-mile lead.
I raced forward, watching my classmates racing back towards me. The sight of their determined faces, each one focused on the path ahead, made my heart sink. I moved faster, leaving the suit to churn the ground beneath me as I flexed my skill, practiced it. I would need it now more than ever.
The suit propelled me forward with incredible speed, the ground a blur beneath my feet. My classmates seemed to close in on me, but I moved so fleetly that I met them only a little over a mile from the tower. Where they had covered a little over one mile, I had covered almost two. The gap was closing, my hope reigniting.
Then a fresh disaster. Gideon was racing towards me. I shifted my stride to let him pass.
He had no designs on passing me just yet.
He stopped as I streaked towards him, and planted his feet, and before I could react I felt the full force of CUT blazing, crashing, exploding into my helmet.
The voice in my head was silent, the suit''s systems reeling from the attack. I forced myself to my knees, my vision clearing just enough to see Gideon smirking down at me, his flag fluttering mockingly in the breeze. The other classmates surged past us, their flags clutched tightly, their eyes wide with shock at what had just transpired.
I could sense him hesitating, thinking about finishing me, but as the others swept past him, taking his lead, I could see he couldn¡¯t stand that. He turned on his heel and fled after them, leaving me reeling in the dirt.
Chapter 34
I only stayed on the dirt for another moment. Even that hesitation was driven more by my emotional injuries than my physical ones. I wondered if this was all Mario''s doing. Why was I here again, struggling to make it through, last place once more? I thought I''d left that behind me, I thought I''d announced myself, I thought I was the favorite.
It was funny though, how the competition of the day most closely examined the area of the suit that I might have been least developed in. I had grown far more graceful, far more skilled at moving in the suit. I was certainly better than many of my classmates, but my strength had been attribute acquisition. I wondered at the choice of the race as the competition of the day. Mario, the Bishop, the lords, the powers that be, attempting to test us in the way that gave me the least chance of breaking through.
It was only a second or two that I remained there on the dirt, but as I did, it felt like a storm gathered. All of my emotions¡ªfear, inadequacy, rejection, anger, distrust¡ªswirled like a vortex of hot and cold air until a cyclone of rage consumed me. In the midst of it all, I remembered Katya''s teaching, a little trick I would need to practice more. Right now, it crystallized the chaos of my rage into something focused and pointed.
I meditated as Katya had shown me, just for seconds, focusing my emotions. The voice said, "Why are you searching for me? You know I''m here."
Through gritted teeth, rising, I said, "I''m not searching for you, I''m searching for your reins."
The voice, teasing, then excited, said, "What makes you so sure that I have reins?"
I got to my feet, still focusing my mind. "I''ve done it before, seized control of this suit and directed it. I need it now."
I sprinted to the guard tower, the last flag, my flag, fluttering. The voice said, "I''ve told you before that you''re exciting. You can hear my glee when you enter the suit, the things you can do, the tickle you give my brain. But what you''re trying to do now, it''s never been done..."
I grabbed the flag, turned, and looked down. The beach and the road stretched before me, and my Sight attribute showed me my competitors¡ªthey were almost at the first fence, three miles away.
"I''ve done things that have never been done before. I was the first to use the Beam."
The voice said, "This is very different from the Beam. The Beam is directed energy, it''s very cute, but what you want to do now is play with the fabric of reality..."
I clenched the flag tightly. It felt like the last line tethering me to land. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
As I sprinted down the beach, I thought about the suit, about what I was trying to do. What was it to be a Griidlord? Half of the value of wearing the suit was martial prowess. But the other half, maybe the greater half in the eyes of many a merchant and general alike, was the Footfield.
The Footfield? It might be the most powerful attribute of all. High levels of Order can distort time itself. Tower dwellers and Griidlord hardly seem to age. A Griidlord can manipulate Order in ways that others can only dream of. And if they master it, they can create a Footfield, a bubble of time distortion that allows them to move at a separate pace from the rest of the world.
When a Griidlord moves under the Footfield, they aren¡¯t just faster¡ªthey¡¯re in a different reality of time. The rest of the world seems to slow down while they move like lightning. It¡¯s not just a simple speed boost; it¡¯s a complete shift in the flow of time.
And this isn¡¯t just useful for a single warrior. The Footfield has enormous value to militaries and societies. Imagine moving entire armies or merchant caravans across the continent in days, where it would normally take weeks. The Griidlord¡¯s Footfield can extend to cover thousands of men and horses.
A Griidlord can move troops swiftly to outflank an enemy. A suit wearer can bring forces to strike at unexpected locations, or retreat to safety before the enemy even realizes what¡¯s happening. Griidlords can turn the tides of battles with more than just their glowing weapons.
Masters of the Footfield are legend. Tales of crossing entire nations in a single night, delivering crucial messages or supplies in the blink of an eye.
Tutors didn¡¯t train contestants in the Footfield. No contestant had ever masterd it. Why waste the time.
But I had spent a small lifetime confined to my quarters, too sick to walk. I had lived through my books and the Footfield called to me.
The voice was screaming in my ear. "You''re doing it, I can''t believe it, but I can feel it! Flex!"
I concentrated, gathering the almost imperceptible strands of Order around me, focusing them with every fiber of my being.
The voice babbled on, "This is such madness. It''s like watching a baby learn to sprint before it can even stand. This has never been done before, Tiberius, never, never by one so new to the suit."
My HUD flashed Footfield 0.9 across the display. Just this morning, when Mario had dropped the flag, I had managed to flex it to a mere 0.4.
But I¡¯d been pushing. Every moment, every step.
The sensation was overwhelming, like an immense pressure building behind a cork, throughout the suit, throughout my body. It felt as though my brain was ready to explode from behind my eyes.
The voice squealed, excited, "This is it, Tiberius. You''re either going to do it or kill us both!"
Footfield 0.9 flickered, replaced by 1.0.
At that moment, the field triggered. The pressure built to a peak, and then, like a dam breaking, the Footfield enveloped me.
I burst forth like a bullet, faster than an arrow loosed from a bow.
The world around me seemed to grow pale.
My heart leapt.
I had the Footfield.
Chapter 35
There are limitations to the Footfield, limitations I am aware of without fully understanding. The field doesn''t play well with matter; somehow, the ground beneath the feet isn''t part of the effect, but obstacles are troublesome. When I say troublesome, I''m definitely understating it¡ªthe field can''t be operated near obstacles, trees, walls, or people without risking near certain destruction. This awareness is ingrained by training, and stories of Griidlords not taking sufficient care and suffering accidents are almost unheard of.
There''s an ancient story, going back generations, of a Griidlord becoming merged with a tree, dying as the matter of his body became tangled with the matter of the tree¡ªatoms mingled, organs failing. Throughout history, there are only a handful of accounts and stories like this, and at least half of those are probably invented. Whatever the case, the conventional wisdom is that you don''t want to be under the effects of the Footfield when you are even within 100 yards of an obstacle, like, say, the wall of the field I was rapidly approaching.
I had two problems. First, if I deactivated the field a couple of hundred yards shy of the wall, then I would still be 100 yards behind the last-place racer. The second problem I faced was more universal: I didn''t know how to deactivate the field. As I streaked past running suited figures, not bothering to turn my head to see who I was overtaking, I scrambled with my consciousness to turn the field off.
The voice screamed, "You''re going to hit the wall! Oh, what a tremendous experiment this was! I suppose it was always doomed to end like this, but what an experience!"
I wrestled for the right mental impulse to deactivate the field. All these attributes were like new muscles, each with its own ghostly nerves springing from my brain. Finding the way to turn off the field was like trying to close a hand that wasn¡¯t there.
Suddenly, the world around me returned to normal. It was like hitting a wall of jelly. One moment I was careening faster than I had ever moved in my life, faster than I had ever imagined. The next moment reality and normal time took hold of me again, dragging me back to mortal speeds.
I couldn''t help but take a moment to turn my head and look behind me. As it turned out, I had that moment to spare. Slacked jaws pointed towards me. Some of them had stopped. Even Gideon, 50 yards behind me, was after slowing to a jog as he realized what had happened. To some of them at least, it might have seemed like I had just materialized.
A smile plucked at my lips. This¡ this felt good. This was how it was supposed to feel in the arena against Lance on the previous day. I had been prepared to shock them all with what I could yesterday and had been drooling at the chance to finish in first place for the day. Lance had bested me then. But there was no Lance today. Today it was me and them. And I had unlocked a power from the gods.
The voice in my ear, a little giddy itself, said, "They can''t believe it. None of them can. You''ve just rewritten the rules, Tiberius."
For a brief moment, I stood there, basking in the sheer impossibility of what I had achieved. The knights beyond the wall were wheeling and regrouping. They had not been prepared for my sudden appearance, they were neither in position nor formation to intercept me properly.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
The wind from the sea whipped around us, carrying the salty tang and the distant cries of gulls. The sun was climbing higher, casting long shadows across the fields. The air was charged with the tension of the race, the momentary pause only heightening the sense of urgency.
Gideon broke the respite and pounded forward. At first, I couldn''t tell if he intended to attack me or retake the lead, but he chose the latter, not wanting to waste time attacking me while the others passed him again. I turned, bounded, and leapt over the wall. The knights in the stubble field were still in disorder, unprepared for me, their clearly favored target.
As Gideon and I raced across the field, the knights wheeled and came charging. The charge was chaos¡ªhooves pounded, dirt flew, and power weapons glowed with deadly intent. Gideon had accidentally put himself between me and them, a temporary shield.
We dodged and scrambled, each trying to get ahead of the other. The impacts of energy weapons behind us signaled that our classmates were also being intercepted. The huge bodies of horses barreled down on us, and I knew I couldn''t use the Footfield in such confined spaces. But a fire was lit in my gut¡ªI wouldn''t be satisfied with just surviving or even second place. This was my turn to win a day.
I judiciously used my CUT attribute to smash power weapons aside, my sword blazing with energy as it clashed with theirs. The clang of metal and the sizzle of energy filled the air. I leapt over the fence, back into the open of the next straight stretch.
As I hit the ground, I tried to calculate the odds of successfully using the Footfield on the next straight stretch. The voice immediately came to my ear, said, "It''s not worth the risk now. Truly, I enjoy your madness and the crazy things you do more than anyone can, but in this moment, it''s you and the suit. The Footfield needs a longer straight stretch to be of any use."
I listened now, not wondering if the voice was my own madness or some sinister spirit haunting the suit. I just trusted it and sprinted forward. After a few steps, I became aware of Gideon alongside me, both of our mechanical bodies pumping, churning the earth, streaking forward like prized racehorses.
Gideon¡¯s neck strained as he clenched his jaw. He was an animal of pure determination and rage. That¡¯s what he had always been. I didn¡¯t hate this man. He might have seen me as nothing but common dreck, but all he did was compete. I could see the burning desire in him. He would not be bested. Not if he had an ounce of blood left to pour into the effort.
We both went airborne, passing the fence and landing in the pasture. The grass was tall and green, waving in the wind like an ocean of blades. Ahead of us, the knights were organized, a formidable array of power and precision. These were the knights of Lance''s house, and they had eyes for no one but me.
Gideon seemed to know this and darted to the side, taking a slightly longer route rather than passing straight across the field. I could see that this small expense in time would be worth it to him. He intended to give the knights free run at me and didn''t want to get entangled with them even by mistake. As I sprang forward, I saw the knights didn''t even turn their heads to look at him or the other classmates as they started to pour over the wall behind me. These men had been subtle before. The population of the city was watching and they did not want to be seen to be targeting the people¡¯s champion. But it was clear to them now that the only way to get me to fall into the bottom two places would take a focused intervention on all their parts.
Twelve giant chargers, an arsenal of flowing weapons, bore down on me. It was enough to kill an experienced Griidlord of middling rank, let alone a trainee in a half-suit. The wall of horseflesh, armored gladiators, and pulsing energy weapons closed in on my world, occluding reality from sight.
Chapter 36
The ground trembled beneath their hooves, the rhythmic pounding reverberating through my bones. The knights'' weapons glowed ominously, casting eerie reflections off their armor. I could see the determination in their eyes, the single-minded focus on taking me down. There was no room for error.
There was a fire lighting in me that I hadn''t felt before. It was my fixation on coming first. Lance wasn''t part of today''s competition; the best against me were Lauren, Katya, and of course Gideon. But I felt I had crossed a line, passed them. Whether it was true or not, I was fiercely determined to maintain this reality. That was why I wouldn''t settle for surviving the day or even placing second. I was going to beat Gideon out and take first place. The crowd was watching. Father was watching. Baltizar was watching. Already, I could imagine the reaction the city would have to a trainee activating and employing the Footfield so early. What would all of that be for if I just allowed these charging horsemen to push me back down, to let the others pass me?
In the last days, I had done things that I knew, felt in my heart, were truly remarkable. So many people had said as much. But I''d done these remarkable things just to barely keep my head above water. I announced myself the day before, defeating Gideon with the sword even when it was two against one, nearly defeating Lance. Today was my day.
Instead of trying to evade the charging knights, I raced straight towards them. I wasn''t allowed to attack them, but I could defend myself.
I charged right at them. This was perhaps the last thing they had been expecting. Horses whinnied in fright as their riders pulled their reigns, turning the beasts desperately to try and meet my unexpected angle.
The first knight swung his glowing sword at me. I raised my own weapon, the CUT attribute blazing to life, and deflected his blow. Sparks flew, and the force of our clash sent vibrations through my arm.
The second knight came at me from the side, his lance aimed at my side. I twisted my body, bringing up my SHIELD. My motion turned me so that the weapon could hop off the surface of the SHIELD, glancing away. Most of the energy dissipated. The force still winded me, but I kept my feet. I lashed out again with CUT to knock the lance aside and keep moving.
The third knight''s horse reared up in front of me, hooves flailing. I ducked low, rolling beneath the horse''s belly, and sprang up on the other side. The knight barely had time to react before I was already past him.
More horses slammed into each other. Men cursed and shouted. I had come up through the middle of them, compressing them, leaving them with room to turn or maneuver. I could feel the violence of horses hooves on the ground, could feel the vibrations, but I had open space in front of me again.
I could feel the pursuit, the pounding hooves. I could image a glowing lance tip pointed at my back, or an arm drawn back to hurl an axe. I didn''t look back; there was no time. My focus was entirely on the path ahead, the next fence, and the open path beyond where I could once again employ the Footfield if I needed to.
I had taken a straight line, and even though dealing witht the knights had caused some delay, I found Gideon hadn¡¯t gained the kind of ground he intended. It was just him and me and open ground..
Gideon and I raced neck and neck, our strides matching each other. There was something exhilarating about matching our bodies against each other. From here to the fence there was no choosing, no strategy. It was just the physicality of one of us against the physicality of the other.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
The voice spoke, crashing through my focus. ¡°Oh, he¡¯s very good, so determined. I must say, I like him too, but unlike you, he doesn¡¯t have the je ne sais quoi that you carry, that special intangible spark.¡±
I didn¡¯t have the breath to hiss at the voice to shut up and stop distracting me. I could feel Gideon¡¯s presence, sense his determination. We were evenly matched, both pushing our limits, neither willing to yield.
The voice continued, unbothered by my silence. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking, this path between the fields is quite short as well, but after this last field, when you¡¯re back in the open, you might, just might, have enough room to fire the Footfield again and skip forward.¡±
I thought back to the voice, as the next fence drew closer, ¡°That¡¯s an awfully short gap for the Footfield.¡±
The voice giggled. I hated it when it did that. The being was so unworldly and knowledgable, it was creepy and disconcerting when it made that high childish sound. ¡°Yes, it is, isn¡¯t it? You could kill yourself or lots of innocent people in the crowd if you don¡¯t stop in time.¡±
I plunged forward, my mind wrestling with the decision. Would I risk lives just to take first place? It seemed impossible that I would fall further behind than second. Even as I pondered this, the voice commented, ¡°There¡¯s a pretty good gap opening up between you and this hothead and the rest. That pretty leggy blond you like to stare at is the next closest, and she still has some yards to go to close the gap.¡±
We reached the fence, Gideon and I both leaping over it in unison. We landed in the next field, a grassy expanse stretching out before us. The knights were more dispersed here, their attention divided. The open space gave us more room to maneuver, but it also meant the knights had more room to charge.
Gideon surged ahead. Dirt and grass sprayed as he churned the earth. He was breathtaking in his ferocity and his determination. But, somehow, I matched his pace. I marveled at what I was doing, matching the most physical of the competitors at his own game.
The knights came at us again. I might have been a preferred target, but there had been mention of incentives. Prizes or honors were to be awarded for stopping us. Gideon got his own fair share of attention from this squad of mounted killers. But, I certainly got more.
The fear had grown less and less with each other. The disconcerting terror at the wall of meat that was a charging horse had lessened. The panic at the sight or sound of a looming power weapon was much less than before. Maybe my adrenaline was just consumed. Maybe I was growing accustomed to this madness. Maybe I was growing in experience.
Whatever the case, I moved through the gauntlet of horse and weapon with a growing detachment. It was less about urgent reaction than I had realized. A fraction of a heartbeat was worth expending if it let you plan your steps, your actions. And I gave myself those fractions, not moving with quite the same urgency, stepping with greater calm, employing SHIELD and CUT to maximum effect.
And just as fast as the force had enveloped me, they were past. The ringing of weapon on weapon, the desperate steps and lunges, were done with. It was just Gideon and I and open space once more.
We leapt over the final fence together. Beyond this would be the final stretch. It was just him and me now, none of the others could catch either of us to contend first place. I swelled with the urge to beat him with my legs. I craved the thrill of beating him with my body, not the Footfield.
As we landed, I anticipated Gideon taking a swing at me. I considered swiping at him myself. It was within the rules, after all. The crowd awaited, maybe a mile away, their cheers growing louder. I could see the banners fluttering, and hear the distant music of instruments.
There was space now, the rest of our classmates were far enough back that the knights had regrouped to chase after them. Disaster was the only thing that could change the outcome for Gideon and me.
But as I landed, tense to anticipate an attack from Gideon, it was the earth that betrayed me. Like before, I came to the ground a little too hard, found a surface that was a little too disagreeable to to principle of friction. My foot shot out from under me and I slammed to the dirt.
Gideon glanced back. His mouth opened in the briefest moment of surprise. Then he was gone, all business, all intentions.
He raced forward, his figure shrinking as he surged towards the finish line, towards first place.
Chapter 37
Chapter 37
As I rose from the dirt, the bitter taste of sweat in my mouth, the sounds of the crowd felt mocking now. The music and colorful assembly of nobles and commoners blurred together. I wanted their adoration; it was my turn. Damn it, I''d worked so hard, and I knew it meant little. I was not in danger of losing this round, of exiting the competition, but I wanted first place.
I caught a glimpse of Lance, standing apart from the crowd, paying no attention to the race. He was using every moment he had in the suit to practice and improve. His CUT and BEAM were surging now, brighter and more powerful as he danced with shadows. Some onlookers were unable to take their eyes from him despite the climax of the race crashing just behind them. Despair gripped me at the sight.
Pushing forward, I measured the distance. Gideon was already uncatchable. My feet wouldn''t take me past him. Even if I were able to outrun him, there wasn''t enough distance left. He was already less than a half mile from the finish.
The voice said, "You''re thinking about it."
I thought, so what if I am.
The voice, teasing, enticing, said, "You could kill a lot of people, and yourself if you do it wrong."
I thought, not if I''m careful.
The voice goaded me, "Is it really worth it? Second place is basically as good. It will get you to the next round. That''s why you''re here, isn''t it, Tiberius? To win the suit, not some petty glory and attention."
I faltered, knowing it was playing me, but the words rang true. Then it said, "I wonder what Blondie would have to say if you did something so impressive? Or that exotic little creature who pays so much attention to you? I''m sure they''d be swooning at the sight of you employing the Footfield so daringly... but it''s not about long legs and mysterious eyes, is it, Tiberius? It''s about family, honor..."
In a snap decision, I opened myself to the suit, flexing the Footfield muscle in my mind. Time seemed to dilate, and I streaked past Gideon as he moved in slow motion, giving him a wide berth, unsure how close would be too close to cause the field to collapse and kill us both.
The world slowed around me as I raced forward, the crowd a distant blur. Each step was a calculated risk, the stakes impossibly high. Faces in the crowd went from cheering to expressions of fear and terror in slow motion. I focused, wrestling with the field, trying to deactivate it.
The field switched off just in time. The world snapped back to normal speed, and the abrupt change sent me tumbling across the ground. My momentum carried me in a wild, uncontrolled roll. The impact jarred every bone in my body, but I managed to hold onto the flag.
As I rolled to a stop, I saw Lord Baltizar hurriedly step aside, his movements fluid and composed. He pushed the Bishop out of the way with the same effortless grace, never losing his cool or his composure. He looked down at me, an eyebrow raised in amused approval.
The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and gasps, the entire arena buzzing with excitement and disbelief. I lay there for a moment, panting, the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I had done it. I had pulled off the impossible.
Baltizar extended a hand to help me up, his expression unreadable but his eyes twinkling with a hint of pride. "Well done, Tiberius," he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine admiration. "You''ve certainly made your mark today."
I looked back and saw Gideon, his spirit visibly crushed. The determination that had driven him was now replaced by a look of defeat. Some of the pace had gone from him, but he still pushed forward, his suit propelling him with mechanical efficiency. The last few hundred yards were a formality; he knew he had lost.
The crowd roared, an immense wave of sound washing over the arena. The commoner had won. Flushed with excitement from the near miss and my daring maneuver, I basked in the adulation. The cheers were almost deafening, a symphony of approval that made my heart soar.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
I caught my father¡¯s eye in the throng. His expression was a mix of pride and astonishment, a rare emotion on his typically stern face. We shared a moment of connection, a silent exchange that spoke volumes. Despite everything, despite the pressure and the trials, I had made him proud.
Scanning the crowd, I noticed Lance. For the first time, he had paused from his exercises, his attention drawn to the commotion. His face was a mask of anger and frustration, his eyes burning with jealousy as he glowered at me. But his focus soon returned to his practice, his energy weapon pulsing in ways I had yet to even approach.
The stark difference between us was evident. He was training, relentlessly honing his skills, preparing for the next challenge. But for now, this victory was mine. I had achieved something remarkable, something that would be talked about long after this day was over.
Mario rushed towards me, his face livid, rage and strange satisfaction playing on his features, white robes billowing. The bishop marched alongside him, similarly enraged. I¡¯ve been talking about these priests for pages now, and you may need me to do another of my little asides to break down how they figure into the game.
I know through history there have been religions. In my latter years, I have read many histories, explored many pasts that few can access. There were Gods in the time before, conflicting faiths, and many of these gods were served by priests, clergy, druids, rabbis. In this time, there was very little of that. It was said that in the wilds, there were communities with strange worships, but on the main, there was only one higher power in our land: the Oracle. The Oracle controlled reality, the Towers, Order, Entropy, gave us the Griid, the Griidlords, everything. And unlike the Gods of older times¡ªand if you have Gods again in your time, then probably unlike them too¡ªthere was no need to have faith in the Oracle. The Oracle showed itself to us every day; there was no denying the very real effects it had on our world daily.
The priests were the ones that interacted with the Oracle, high in the Tower of each City. When a ruler decided that an Order field be employed within his realms, he passed that instruction to the priests, and they to the Oracle. Not that the priests were subordinate exactly. They served a role, but it was complicated. Only they understood the rituals that needed to be employed; only they had that knowledge. Their arcane knowledge was everything to the city, from maintaining the Griid-suits to manipulating Order Fields to handling sacred and powerful relics. Without them, the city could not function, could not compete, could not survive, and so the leaders of any city had to give them fear and respect in turn.
Baltizar could have the Bishop and every Priest in the city killed in an instant if he so wished, but they could withdraw their services just as easily. It led to bargaining and stalemates. What the priests truly were was something I didn¡¯t understand that day. That understanding would come much later, and I will share that with you too in good time. For now, this little briefing may help the next hours make more sense.
From the moment I had entered the competition, Mario had been a vengeful pissant, and his rage bothered me very little. The bishop, though, was a figure whose power and authority rivaled Baltizar''s. To this point, he had been a little disdainful of me but had largely seemed distant and unattached to my role in events. To see him storming towards me gave a strange quaking confused dread. As Mario prodded at the suit beneath my helmet, the voice spoke in my ear, "You''ll need to demand the Oracle be consulted."
As the suit began to melt from me under Mario''s tapping, I thought, "What?" The voice said again, fading and becoming distant as the suit evaporated back into black particles, "You''ll need to demand that they consult the Oracle. You''ll see. It won''t be relevant for a little while, but you''ll see what I mean when it happens." With that, the particles rushed away from me to join the precious cylinders of Mystorium.
The sensory inadequacy of my human body hit me hard. The loss of the power, the distance from the suit, left me hollow and wanting more. Mario roared in my face, spittle flying, "You''ve gone too far now, commoner! That was insanity! You could have killed us, you could have killed people... dear Oracle, you could have killed the Bishop." His face grew red, his mind churning. He stuttered, "For all that''s sacred in the world, you could have destroyed the Mystorium!"
The bishop shoved him aside, his rage just as palpable but more controlled, scarier for that. "Employing the Footfield like that was beyond the pale, beyond the concept of this competition. We can''t allow a madman like you to continue, risking the integrity of the contest, risking the lives of onlookers, the Mystorium. In my wildest dreams, I could not let one such as you take up the mantle of Griidlord."
I stared back, confused, not understanding. I had just won; this was my moment of triumph. The crowd became subdued, the music stopping, the very wind seeming to leave the banners hanging limp. Lance watched, interested, smug, satisfied.
The Bishop could see my lack of understanding and very cruelly, very plainly said, "We have no choice but to eject you from the contest."
Chapter 38
The world crashed down on top of me, the weight of it all pressing me into the ground. It was over. After all my struggles, recent successes, triumphs, and close calls, it was over. I was being ejected for taking a risk¡ªa stupid, unnecessary risk¡ªfor glory, for ego, for hubris.
My thoughts flitted chaotically. Gone. How would Lauren and Katya see me now? Lance, that bastard, was loving it. And Father, our trade empire already in tatters, needing to be rebuilt, I had been the one lifeline.
The color drained from my life. The world around me, the crowd, the banners, the sunlight¡ All of it turned to shades of gray. The surging swell of victory in my heart melted and dripped away. A coldness spread through my hands and stomach, sinking down to my feet. My triumph turned to ashes, my elation turned to sudden sobriety.
I thought of the others. I had begun to imagine Lauren seeing me more and more with those new eyes. The eyes of a woman seeing a man that could truly be admired. I had thought of Katya, the satisfaction she might derive from my win after helping me. Those would be dreams now if this shame was a reality.
And I thought of Lance, the smug grin, the gloating face. This would please him no end. That was almost worse than the loss of the attention of the other two.
Father. For all my awareness of what he was, of how he used me, I can¡¯t pretend I hadn¡¯t pictured his face as I rocketed to the finish. I wanted the praise. I wanted his pride. As pathetic as it was, I was trained to seek it out. And I had been anticipating it. But¡ no more.
All of it, the roaring crowd, the blaring trumpets, the raptured faces, it all faded to nothingness. The world almost seemed to cease to exist as the Bishop¡¯s words echoed in my mind, ¡°We have no choice but to eject you from the contest.¡±
The dream couldn¡¯t be gone now¡ Not now¡ Not when I had just realized there was way to make that dream become a reality.
Then Baltizar was there, standing between me and the two clerics. His face was stern. That same impassive carved face, but with eyes that suddenly burned with hellfire.
He said, ¡°Not so fast. He did no harm. He won, after all, and there was nothing in the rules that he violated.¡±
Mario dared not contradict the Lord Supreme, not in front of the crowd, not when he had his own master present to take on the titanic figure. The Bishop had no such compunctions. He said, ¡°The boy is mad. If he had destroyed the Mystorium, there would be no Boston in a year. His actions were insanity and unnecessary. He did what he did for glory!¡±
Baltizar stepped up to the Bishop, talking firmly but trying not to let his voice carry to the crowd. That wasn¡¯t true; he attempted to appear as though he didn¡¯t want the crowd to see discord between priesthood and government, but he was playing to them. He could have made his voice lower; he wanted them to hear. He said, ¡°Could it be that the rules never accounted for such a possibility because no one ever considered there could be such a talent that could unlock the Footfield just a few days into the contest? Could it be that while the Mystorium was needed to equip these contestants with suits, such a precious resource shouldn¡¯t have been kept in such a vulnerable position for so long? Could it be¡±¡ªand now he did raise his voice, letting the vast crowd of peasants hear him, not just the nearby nobles¡ª¡°that you want to preserve the Sword, the Griidsuit, for one of the nobility, that you have a prejudice against this boy because he is common born?¡±The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
The Bishop and Mario both cringed at each of his questions, their eyes shifting to the crowd. A murmur spread through the crowd, some nobles muttering inaudibly, and boos emerged. The priests and the Bishop shifted, fearful and uncomfortable. The Bishop said, ¡°This should be discussed in the Tower. These matters are not for public discourse.¡±
Baltizar beamed, ¡°That is very convenient. Young Tiberius here is to be my guest at dinner this evening anyway. You can join me, and we can settle the matter.¡±
The Bishop snorted, not hiding his derision, and turned away, organizing Mario and the other priests and servants to arrange the Mystorium and strip the suits from the other contestants who had finished their race and were milling about, trying to understand the nature of the dispute that I was the center of. It was only then I realized that while I had been concerned with winning first place for nothing more than pride and attention, there had been others behind me fighting for their chance to remain in the competition. What if Lauren or Katya had stumbled? It was perfectly conceivable, if not particularly probable, that one or both of them could have ended their time in the competition while these leaders of our city argued over my fate. I cast my eyes about.
Katya was staring with curiosity, her suit removed, and her face exposed to show her interest in the goings-on. Despite her interest and attention, it seemed more that she was amused by my plight than concerned by it. I saw Lauren, and even as I watched her, a priest dissolved her helm into particles, revealing her beautiful face. Did I see worry there? For all my sudden problems, my heart couldn¡¯t be kept from skipping at the idea that she cared about what happened to my poor commoner ass. Gideon was storming around, kicking the ground, veins popping out on his considerably muscled frame, paying no attention to lords, priests, or me.
As I glanced around, I met eyes with Lance. He had stopped his practice, and a priest was approaching him now to remove his suit as well. His visor was still down, but I could see the smirk on his lips. I glared back, thinking, I could beat him. If only Baltizar could save me from my mistake, if I could stay in the fight, then I could take him.
As if to contradict me, Lance casually pointed his sword toward a broken barrel that lay near the town wall. Without taking his gaze from me, I saw his sword pulse. The explosion of energy that followed was monstrous, dwarfing the BEAM I had achieved in the past. The pulsing energy erupted and obliterated the barrels in a spectacular display of power.
My heart froze a little at the sight, both at the sheer power he displayed and the skill, the accuracy. Whatever I might achieve with my attributes, I could never be the natural athlete that Lance was. Our staring contest was interrupted as the priest reached Lance and started fiddling with his suit, beginning the process of removing it.
My thoughts swirled. Could Baltizar truly save me from this? I clenched my fists, feeling the cold sweat in my palms. I needed to stay in this competition. Lance might have the raw talent, but I had something he didn¡¯t¡ªthe voice, my attributes, and a growing determination that felt like it could move mountains. I just needed another chance, one more opportunity to prove myself.
As I looked, I saw that Arthur and Emilia had been taken aside by Mario. It made sense; there was a clear divide in the class between those who actually had the potential to claim the Griid-Suit and those who were window dressing. It wasn''t so long ago that I had belonged to the latter half, so hope sprang eternal for anyone, but it seemed that in my distraction, I had failed to see Arthur and Emilia taking up the rear. Mario had announced that the last two to finish would be ejected, and the faces of my two classmates wrote the story more clearly than I ever could have. Twelve had entered, and now six remained.
Or maybe it was five... my fate was suddenly far from certain.
Chapter 39
Even as the son of the richest man in Boston, I had rarely seen the inside of the Tower. On this occasion, I could only wish it were under better circumstances.
The foyer was a gigantic room, several stories high. The structure was smooth and seamless. Every part of it¡ªfrom ceilings and walls to stairs, doors, and integrated furniture¡ªappeared as one continuous mass. The material changed, but the joints didn¡¯t seem to exist. Some sections appeared to be metal, other surfaces something like plastic. Everywhere there were lights and the humming of electric equipment. Beads of embedded lights traced the contours of the arches in the massive vaulted ceiling. Soft glowing panels served as the risers of the stairs.
And over it all were the marks of our culture. Paintings and tapestries lined the walls, showing scenes from the great days of our past. Scenes of Griidlords of old standing firm against the endless forces of Thrax Bonesaw, the greatest Warchief the Pittsburgh Hill Clans had ever known. A noble bust of Barrick Swordswong, the first Sword and founder of the city, the legend who had summoned the Tower long centuries ago. And more¡ªhangings and framed paintings of legends I only knew from my books.
Opulence was the rule here.
An enormous chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystal facets catching and refracting the light. Servants moved everywhere, bearing platters of food and drinks. They weaved between dozens of clusters of figures¡ªlords, nobles, foreign merchants, ambassadors. These were the men and women who used the Tower. It could have housed a hospital; the Tower never exhausted its internal Order, allowing all tech, even of the greatest levels, to function here at all times. But instead, the space was used to impress, to pamper, to soothe.
Business was being conducted in every corner.
I followed Baltazar, my head hanging low. Dread weighed on me. It was eased none by the fact that Baltazar himself seemed to exude a strain. He was worried. It was nearly impossible to detect, but those steely eyes were troubled if you looked closely.
I felt scolded and afraid. There was a dread of his rebuke as much as what the priests could do to me. He had defended me, yes. But our destinies were bound together. He had to defend me. I feared what his wrath might be like when he had a chance to express it¡ªthe harm I had done with my urge to take first place.
The feeling of dread, of awaiting judgment, stirred something in me. I had never felt like this with Father. When I disappointed him, I simply ceased to exist in his eyes¡ªmy punishment for failures and unwanted behavior had been the withdrawal of anything resembling a father¡¯s love.
But older memories surfaced too, memories that felt more like this sensation of dread. Waiting in our kitchen, that small cluttered little space, never entirely clean. My head leaning against the rough-hewn, rickety kitchen table. Why was I there? What was I dreading?
I had stolen something from a neighbor on the other side of the village. Yes, I had taken apples from the old woman¡¯s tree. And it had disgraced Mother.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
That was the same feeling as this one¡ªthe dread, the expectation of an unknown wrath. It was Mother who could visit such fear on me...
Such memories came and went for me. Ever since I had been sick, it had been hard to hold on to memories of Mother, good or bad...
I followed Balthazar up a flight of stairs and along a wide hallway. Doors hissed open as he approached, and he swept in with the kind of forceful energy that characterized him. The two descriptors might seem at odds¡ªstoic, stern, impassive¡ªbut he was undeniably a being of constant, forceful motion.
I trailed behind him into the council room, another space of utter splendor. Art lined the walls, statues and busts filled every available space. The room itself was filled with aisles of tiered seats rising up and away from something not far from a throne¡ªthe seat of the Lord Supreme. It was from here that the city was ruled, wars launched, and treaties made.
Balthazar spoke suddenly, his voice low, simmering with barely contained anger. "Wait here. I¡¯ll settle this matter. There¡¯s no session today; you won¡¯t be disturbed."
I opened my mouth to respond, but he was already gone, his footsteps pounding the floor as he swept through the hissing doors, his robes billowing behind him. I was left alone with nothing but my thoughts and the fading echo of his footsteps.
Victory had felt so sweet in the moment. Surging forward with Footfield, not for any grand reason but simply to establish my dominance, to win for the sake of winning¡ªthat¡¯s what I had craved. But now, standing alone in this grand hall, it didn¡¯t feel worth it.
What if I had thrown away my chance for nothing more than a fleeting moment of glory? The thought of Lauren and Katya seeing me as a failure gnawed at me. Worse still was the thought of Lance''s smug satisfaction or my father¡¯s disappointed face. It churned in my gut, making me feel sick.
As I stood there, staring blankly at the wall of tapestries, something truly unsettling happened. It sent me back to a place where I questioned my own sanity. The voice. As clear as a rooster''s cry, yet low and conspiratorial, it filled my ears: "Did you do it? Did you demand the Oracle be consulted?"
I didn¡¯t respond. I spun around, searching for the source of the voice. This wasn¡¯t possible. The voice was part of the suit¡ªit only spoke to me when I was in it. But I wasn¡¯t in the suit now. It was just my flesh-and-blood ears, or maybe my flesh-and-blood mind, conjuring this.
The voice came again, more urgent this time: "Now¡¯s not the time for silliness, Tiberius. Answer me. Have you discussed consulting the Oracle yet?"
I stammered out loud, but quietly, "No, I... I don¡¯t know what that means..."
The voice grew annoyed. "They can¡¯t refuse you¡ªnot when the decision will be so hotly contested, not when it has the power to set precedent."
"What are you talking about? How am I hearing you?" I gasped, feeling increasingly panicked, as though I were talking to an imaginary friend.
The voice ignored my question. "Ejecting a contestant without violating the explicit rules has essentially never happened, barring some gray areas. That will be Balthazar''s argument. But if they don¡¯t move¡ªif he can¡¯t get them to budge¡ªa stalemate is the most likely outcome. And if they don¡¯t suggest it, you have to."
"Suggest what?" I asked, now genuinely freaking out.
"Suggest the Oracle be consulted. They¡¯re so slow to do it, to trouble that most splendid of entities," the voice mocked, "but they won¡¯t be able to refuse. Not when they may be violating something as sacred as the Choosing."
Just then, the doors opened, and an attendant walked in. Startled and panicked, I spun around, feeling embarrassed and guilty. The attendant gave no indication that he had heard me talking to an invisible presence, and I realized the voice was gone again.
Chapter 40
The private dining room in the tower was another exercise in excess. The walls were adorned with more tapestries, the furniture was dark and polished or bright and gilded. The lighting was soft, bleeding from panels in the walls, set low and moody. The table itself was a masterpiece of polished dark wood, long enough to seat a dozen but set this day for three. The ware on the table would have cost a village¡¯s ransom, fine crystal goblets, solid silver cutlery, fine and exotic bone chinas.
As I took my seat, my stomach gurgled unhappily. I had to be hungry, on some level. I had exerted myself so fiercely that day, burned up everything I had. But the nausea of what weighed on me made me doubt very much that I would be able to eat.
A server placed a bowl of leek and potato soup before me and it convinced me otherwise. My mouth watered at the aroma and it stunned me to discover that an appetite lurked behind my anxiety. Next to the soup stood a glass of perfectly chilled white wine. A fine sheen of condensation coated the surface. I dipped my spoon into the soup and tasted it. My stomach reacted my cramping with hunger and not sickness. A few sips of the wine started to ease my nerves.
Baltazar and the bishop sat opposite each other. They both tasted the soup, but their eyes remained fixed on each other. I understood that I had provoked a confrontation between the two. The priesthood and the government existed in a finely-tuned relationship. I had provoked a discord in that delicate machine.
As the servers retreated the two men put their spoons down.
The Bishop broke the silence first. "Lord Supreme, I respect your desire to preserve the integrity of The Choosing, but there is nothing that can be done. After what we witnessed today, we can''t let this boy wear a suit again. The risks to himself, to others, to the city are too great."
Baltizar leaned forward, his gaze intense. "What we witnessed today was a display of affinity with the suit that has never been seen before."
The Bishop shook his head slightly. "Let''s not say never seen before. There are accounts running back centuries that might match or exceed what the boy did."
Baltizar¡¯s voice grew firmer. "Activating and successfully using the Footfield during the Choosing."
The Bishop¡¯s expression was stern. "Well, perhaps not that exactly, but similar feats. I fear that the legend growing up around this child exceeds his actual capabilities. He has gained attributes very quickly, but there are also accounts across the lands, across history, of madmen being able to do amazing things with a Griid-suit. But what matters is that mad they remain."
Baltizar¡¯s eyes flashed with anger. "So you would deign to choose for yourself who can enter or remain in the contest? If the priesthood feels a contestant is mad, anyone can be ejected? And what even is to define madness, Your Grace? I think The Choosing exists to allow the Oracle to choose the next Griidlord."
The Bishop paused, considering Baltizar¡¯s words. Then he spoke, his tone unwavering. "The Oracle can''t choose this mad boy, that is a given. And if we allow him to remain in the contest, who knows what harm may be done."
Baltizar¡¯s eyes blazed with intensity as he countered, "What you are seeing in Tiberius is not madness but brilliance. You can¡¯t deny him at least the opportunity for the Oracle to choose him. Are you denying that the Oracle hasn¡¯t already blessed him, given how quickly he has gained attributes?"
The Bishop snorted dismissively. "Have I not said already, Lord Supreme, that that may be the result of madness? What more can I possibly add? What more can possibly be said? He must exit the contest."
There was silence for a minute. We all busied ourselves with our soups¡ªme from genuine hunger, and they to occupy their bodies as they thought about what next to say. After a time, the servers returned to the room, scooping up the old dishes and replacing them with platters of sushi and crispy morsels of fried chicken. I was not unaccustomed to delicacies, as my father''s chefs were every bit as good as those in the tower. But my father had an aversion to the idea of eating raw fish, so the sushi was a rare treat. I found myself indulging in the food, using it to remove myself from the conversation that was so important, but that I could not really influence.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
Baltizar resumed, "This could incite riots, revolution. The people are falling in love with this commoner who has done so well. It deepens their loyalty to the institution of Boston that one from their class has been given the chance to become the Sword. Removing him now will reek of conspiracy."
The Bishop countered, "Riots are something I am willing to risk. If he had destroyed the Mystorium with his foolishness today, or managed to wipe out the entire class with his madness, what would become of the city then? Putting down a little revolt is a small matter compared to the riots we would see if we cannot win orbs in the coming season."
Baltizar leaned forward. "And you would throw away one who has the potential to win orbs at a pace that has never been seen."
The Bishop chortled. "Lord Supreme, please, don''t let yourself get carried away with the fancies that have so enamored the peasants. He has gained some attributes, it is quite remarkable, but he has not come close to showing the array of skills a real Griidlord needs. He has been slow to learn grace, and his decision-making..."
Baltizar interrupted. "His decision-making has been astonishing, Your Grace. He let his teammate return the fiend''s head during the hunt, delegating the task to the one most suited. And we both know how clever he was, using the opportunity to advance his skills with the suit."
The Bishop¡¯s eyes narrowed. "Clever sounds like a synonym for dishonest in that context."
Baltizar stood firm. "He played within the rules and found every advantage for himself. What more could a city want than a Sword who can find every advantage?"
The Bishop¡¯s tone grew colder. "We are not talking about him as the Sword. His odds of exceeding Lance, Gideon, or those two very impressive girls are still very slim."
Baltizar¡¯s expression did not waver. "No, but we are talking about the rules."
The Bishop paused, chewing a piece of oily fish and sour rice. He finally said, "He broke the rules."
Baltizar leaned back, his voice calm but firm. "He most certainly did not."
The Bishop¡¯s eyes gleamed with a steely resolve. "That is why we are here. He broke the unwritten rules of conduct."
Baltizar had to choke himself off, his rage growing, threatening even his cool demeanor. He gathered himself and said, "A pillar of The Choosing is that the rules are explicit, the event is transparent. Noble houses cannot take issue with each other as their children are chosen and rejected if there is no ambiguity. The people cannot feel cheated when the conditions are made completely explicit. Even introducing the vaguest concept of unwritten rules sullies it, threatens an institution that has existed since the Tower first rose."
The Bishop paused, trying to find a response. Baltizar pushed on, "What you are speaking of doing threatens the sanctity of The Choosing. It creates a precedent. If it doesn''t cause chaos and downfall in this Choosing, then it may in the next. Once you open the door to officials being able to remove a contestant from The Choosing, the parameters for those choices will become malleable over time. In short order, it won''t be the Oracle choosing the next Griidlords¡ªit will be the presiding Bishop or the Lord Supreme."
Baltizar stared at the Bishop as the cleric chewed. Baltizar said, "And if it doesn''t come back to bite our asses in our lifetimes, you and I both know that eventually it will bring everything down. Do you want to be remembered as the man who put those events in motion?"
There was silence. The only sound was that of the Bishop chewing slowly, no trace of satisfaction on his face. He swallowed almost painfully.. Then he said, "This is not an event we are willing to discuss. The boy is done. We won''t move on this."
Baltizar¡¯s face hardened, and he leaned forward. "This is not just about one boy. This is about the integrity of The Choosing itself. If you remove him now, you will be remembered as the man who undermined the very foundation of our society."
The Bishop''s eyes stared blankly.
I had taken too much wine already, I knew that. But the suffering of this experience, the dread for my future, the tension of the moment, begged to be dulled. I sipped again and let it soothe me.
Balthazar held the bishop¡¯s gaze and waited. Then, suddenly, it was there. The bishop¡¯s eyes flickered, doubt peeking through.
Baltizar pounced, "Think about the message you''re sending to the people. That they have no place in the decisions that shape their lives. That the Oracle''s will can be overridden by the whims of the powerful. Do you want that on your conscience?"
The Bishop set down his utensils and leaned back, staring at Baltizar. For a moment, it seemed as though he was resigning himself to agreeing with the Lord Supreme. But then his face hardened again. He said, "The boy is a danger. We cannot afford to take risks with the Mystorium, with the lives of the people, with the stability of our city. This is not up for debate."
Chapter 41
I sat there, watching the two men reach a stalemate. The idea of the nobility, the government, coming to a faceoff with the priesthood was a nightmare for any city. The priests could strike, refuse to provide the services that kept a city alive. And this was even worse; I was not so sure that Baltizar had the support of the nobles in this conflict. Some, maybe many, maybe all of them were offended and unsettled by my presence and success in The Choosing so far. If he went to war with the priesthood, brought the city to a standstill, Order and Entropy unmanaged by their rituals in the tower, our other Griidlords unsupported... how long would it take before a knife found its way into Baltizar''s back, or poison into his food?
I steeled myself, swallowed the morsel that had rested in my mouth unchewed as I watched the two men go back and forth. I spoke up, but my voice was barely audible. I mumbled, "I demand that we consult the Oracle."
The Bishop snapped his head toward me, as though at a sound so faint he wasn''t sure it had been made. He looked annoyed at my intrusion. "What did you say, boy?" he demanded.
I spoke again, a little louder, "I demand that we consult the Oracle."
The Bishop grew flustered at my words. "You demand... you demand..."
Baltizar was quick to join in, "I didn''t want it to come to this either, but in a matter of such importance, with so much contention..."
The Bishop tried to act disinterested. "The Oracle is not a toy or a scrying orb. The Oracle is the very being that holds our world together, that made our world as we know it. The Oracle is not simply to be consulted over whimsy."
Baltizar said, "This is hardly whimsy. This is about the future Sword of Boston, about the very future of The Choosing itself."
The Bishop said, "This matter is below the Oracle."
I could see the Bishop was trying to hold onto control over the conversation, but I could also see that he was losing and he knew it.
Baltizar said, "The people can''t be allowed to believe that something so important was decided without the Oracle being consulted. If you want to have any gravity to your decision, then you will need the Oracle behind you."
The Bishop stared at him for a long time. I observed that look that passed between them and decided there was a threat in the words of the Lord Supreme, an implication that if the Oracle was not consulted, then word would somehow get out that the Bishop had refused to do so. The silence hung heavy.
The moment stretched on, tension palpable, until the servants swept in, removing platters and replacing them with an array of sorbets. The freezers used to make the ice were only available to those in the tower and the most inner section of the city. As the servants left, the Bishop said, "Very well. If that''s what it will take for you to accept the decision, then that is what we''ll do. But I hope you understand the Oracle will agree with the priesthood, and all you will have achieved is wasting the time of our great protector."If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
The Bishop got up and left the room. My emotions were a swirling mix of relief, fear, and uncertainty. Baltizar leaned closer and spoke low, "I was hoping to avoid this. I had hoped to negotiate a way out. You might have fired your powder a little early, but we were probably reaching the point where we would have to insist on the Oracle being brought in."
I said, "Why would we want to hold off on the Oracle, my lord?"
Baltizar said, "Well, boy, we don''t actually know what it will decide. If the Oracle does, in fact, agree with the priesthood, then that''s all she wrote."
My blood grew cold, realizing it was all coming down to this. Baltizar rose and said, "As Lord Supreme, I am allowed to be present as an observer. It''s not really necessary¡ªeven those slimy bastards wouldn''t lie about the words of the Oracle¡ªbut for the sake of ceremony, I will attend. You wait here. There will be more courses. Fill your belly, build your strength. Hopefully, you''ll need it tomorrow."
Baltizar rose, trying to give me a reassuring look, and then left the room. I was alone, a swirl of feelings consuming me¡ªuncertainty, anxiety, hope, and dread. Almost immediately, the voice was back.
"Good, I don''t know why you all wasted so much time dickering. The Oracle will put this whole silly lark to bed."
I felt my nerves tighten at hearing the voice outside of the suit. I spoke low, "Baltizar said the Oracle may decide against me."
The voice dismissed my concern with a casual tone. "Oh pish on that. The Oracle will decide for you. It will be fine. It might even slow the forces that be from trying to stack the deck against you so hard. They can''t be seen to target you after this."
I demanded, "How can you possibly know what the Oracle will choose?"
The voice giggled, "How can I possibly be talking to you right now? Aren''t you freaked out to be hearing me in your head even without the helm?"
I stuttered, "I tried to ask you that already, but you keep playing your damned games."
The voice said, "Oh, getting titchy, aren''t we? The stress getting to you, Tiberius? You''ll need to master that along with some other things."
The servers came in again, removing the sorbets and laying out new delicacies. The spread was mouth-watering: roasted duck with a honey glaze, platters of thinly sliced beef carpaccio, bowls of creamy risotto with truffle shavings, and a selection of fine cheeses. The scent was intoxicating, and despite everything, my stomach growled.
Once the servers were gone, I said, "Why won''t you tell me what you are, how this is even possible? Am I going mad? Is the suit penetrating my brain? I don''t understand."
The voice replied, "We have a long road together, I think, you and I. There will be plenty of time for sharing secrets. For now, you should eat. You will be competing tomorrow, trust me, and you will need your strength."
Feeling like I was in a drug haze, I reached out and started eating the duck and some of the rice. I was still ravenous, and eating seemed to distract me from my failing mental health. It grounded me a little. As I ate, the voice spoke again.
"They''re up there right now, near the top of the tower, all gathered around their precious Oracle. It''s all lights up there, Tiberius, a real show of magic and miracle. The voice will be talking soon, booming and otherworldly. You''ll see it yourself one day."
I gulped, almost choking on a piece of duck. "You think I''ll see the Oracle with my own eyes?"
The voice replied with certainty, "Of course, when you''re The Sword."
I sighed, "That''s not a given."
The voice cackled with glee, "Isn''t that what makes it so much fun though?"
Chapter 42
More courses came and went. They came in a blur. The servants bustled in and out, placing dishes and removing them as though the room were filled with people, not just one young man who was drinking too much wine. Foie gras terrine with fig jam, succulent lobster tails drizzled with garlic butter, citrus sorbet. Plates of rich, creamy cheeses were chased by platters of exotic fruits and nuts. And to end it all, chocolate mousse.
Throughout, I sipped at the wines. They were changed with each course as well. Light crisp whites, heavy reds, fruity roses. The color didn¡¯t matter. What I understood was that if I kept sipping, I could keep my hands from shaking from the tension.
My head swam a little, but I didn¡¯t care. The more I sipped, the less I cared, the less I cared, the more I sipped.
My thoughts wandered to what it would mean if I was ejected. What would become of me next? Father had done nothing to prepare me for running our business. The business was his, my role was to be his Griidlord. I honestly doubted he cared if the whole thing burned down when he was passed. To Father all things only served a purpose if the purpose was his own immediate desire.
Suddenly, the door slid open, and Baltizar entered. His face was smug and satisfied as he retook his seat. He leaned in and hissed at me, "Wait till you see the state of the Bishop. He was right; the Oracle was not pleased to have its time wasted so."
I hesitated, his expression said things had gone well, but his words left me confused. Before I could query, the door hissed again, and the Bishop entered. He was trying to maintain his composure, but he looked like he had seen a ghost. He was badly frazzled and maybe a little scared. Once he had retaken his seat, he just stared at the table for a time, searching for words.
Baltizar chewed happily, not gloating too obviously, but letting us both know that he was satisfied. Eventually, the Bishop spoke. "You are a very unusual boy, Tiberius. I stand by my earlier statement. What you did should disqualify any normal contestant. You risked your life, the lives of others, my very life, and the Mystorium for nothing but trifling glory. But whatever you are, whatever is allowing you to gain attributes so quickly, the Oracle must be interested as well."
The silence continued. I looked at the senior cleric with questioning eyes. After a moment, he said, "Yes, yes, you are still part of The Choosing. Tomorrow, you can compete again."
The relief was so immense that it threatened to overwhelm the numbing wall of mild drunkenness I had built to hold emotions back. It was like a tidal wave, rushing over me, threatening to knock me down. I had to fight to keep a sob from escaping my mouth. I knew my eyes had grown glassy, and I blinked hard to keep it at that.
Baltizar leaned back in his chair. He looked at the bishop, I was too intoxicated to understand the shallow gesture he made as he said, "The Bishop¡¯s concerns were not unfounded. This man exists to serve the city just as I do. You gave him cause to doubt you. I advise you never repeat that mistake. The Oracle may not be so forgiving in the future."
The Bishop was clearly shaken by his experience. But he seized on the branch extended. He said "The Oracle''s interest in you does not absolve you of responsibility. Be more careful in the future, boy. The Lord Supreme is right. Next time, the Oracle may not be so forgiving."
I nodded, still trying to process the idea that it was over.
"Thank you," I managed to say, my voice barely more than a whisper.
Baltizars eyes gleamed as he caught my attention. I breathed a little easier as I saw the smile tugging at those stern lips. He bore no malice to me. The relief of that alone surprised me.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
***
Baltizar and I stood outside the Tower in the cool night air. The freshness of the evening felt all the cooler against my skin after the warm comfort of the Tower. The cold air helped still the slight spinning I felt after my adventure with the wines.
I hesitated, glancing around to ensure we were alone. Baltizar observed my cautious behavior and said. "What is it, Tiberius?"
I asked, "Before I go, my lord, can you tell me anything about tomorrow''s competition?"
Baltizar''s smiled a little, just a little. "You''re getting the idea now, my boy. Seek every advantage you can get. The Choosing should purely be about what a contestant can do in the arena, but as you''ve seen already, other resources can be difference makers. You saw how Lance''s family knights targeted you. They could have taken you out and removed his greatest threat on his way to claiming the suit. It heartens me that you inquire, that you''re understanding the game a little better, but sadly, this is one occasion where I actually can''t help you very much."
I felt crestfallen, not understanding why he couldn''t provide more.
Baltizar continued, "If I had the knowledge, I would share it with you. But on this occasion, I simply don''t have the information. Dealing with this disqualification madness has taken all my attention from matters at the arena. I do know that the order field at the arena was activated and elevated for much of today, expending quite a few Flows, which suggests that machinery was probably involved in modifying the arena floor or constructing something. I am also aware, overly aware because of the complaints and petitions of several powerful merchants and trading partners, that two of our city''s Griidlords aren''t available to employ their Footfields to move trade caravans tomorrow, which suggests to me that they have also been requisitioned."
The very idea that we would be in the arena with Griidlords tomorrow was stunning, terrifying, awesome. As much as we had been occupying Griidsuits, or half-suits, the best any of us had achieved was ant to the elephant that was a true Griidlord. The prospect was overwhelming.
Baltizar continued, "You might think a Griidlord would be above the political games that would spoil their impartiality, but they have families, noble houses, resources of their own, and they are not above dealing behind the scenes. Don''t trust them not to stack the deck against you either."
A chill ran down my spine, horror at the idea of such an entity, a god almost, working against me. Baltizar slapped my shoulder in a fatherly manner. "Go rest tonight, Tiberius. Today, the Oracle spoke in your favor. The Choosing is just a means for us to open ourselves to the Oracle''s favor. If the Oracle blesses you, then you have nothing to fear."
***
I paused before entering the door of my father''s house. Zeb¡¯s shadow lurked behind. He had been amused to detect the effects of alcohol in my gait.
I looked up at the stars. My head swam a little, but all my thoughts were pleasantly subdued. I too a moment to just admire the vastness of the dark sky above me. It¡¯s utter hugeness seemed to press down on me, making me feel small and unimportant. But there was a strange comfort in feeling small and unimportant.
As I stepped inside, apprehension tightened my chest. I said before that father reprimanded with a withdrawal of love rather than a looming punishment. But he could also explode. Especially when embarrassed. Especially late at night, when he was in his cups.
Dread heavy on me once more, I cast my eyes about. To endless relief I saw that his den was unlit.
My childhood had been taken away by a disease of the brain. When I had won my life back from the illness, it was training and preparations of this contest that had consumed my existence instead. Not so horrible as the wasting sickness, but no less total.
For a moment my drunken mind seized onto the realization of how deep my bitterness ran. But then, relief washed over me. Father was out of town, traveling to try and repair his empire after the Horde attack on his outpost. The sense of freedom lifted my concerns.
Climbing the stairs I felt good. I was struck by how long it had been since I felt this good. My mind was erased of worries by the merry glasses of wine, my belly full and my body well exercised, I felt I would rest well.
I stripped and got into bed. Lying there in the darkness, I could feel sleep approaching. But the vague, creeping sense of being observed lingered. It made me feel like I could never be alone again.
Taking a deep breath, I emptied myself as Katya had shown me, opening myself to the Griid, to the Oracle. Then I spoke, quietly, reaching out to the voice.
"Hello? Are you there?"
But it wasn''t. There was no response.
Chapter 43
We stood in the arena, on a raised platform that hadn''t been there the previous day. The priests had been busy, increasing the Order in the arena so that workers with machinery and electric tools could create a vastly different setting than before. Now, six of us remained on the raised stage: Lance, Gideon, Katya, Lauren, Zara, and me. Most of the chaff had been shed from our grouping, and only Zara seemed like the obvious next one out. The tension soared in me, knowing that soon real competitors would start to exit the competition. Any of us could be ejected any day; one slip could even see Lance out. So far, it had been the more deserving of defeat who found themselves leaving the contest each day. Once Zara was ejected, in all likelihood today, the real competitors would start losing their places.
I mused, a little disbelieving, on how I now counted myself among the true competitors. Only a few days ago, I saw myself as a joke, and so did my classmates and my city, placing me last even among those who never really stood a chance. How much can change over a few days.
We stood unsuited still. The priests were arranging the cylinders of Mystorium, berating their servants to hurry, to be careful, to compose themselves.
I awaited the suit with a deeply visceral anticipation. Life outside the suit was becoming every more hollow compared with the rush of power and awareness that came from being within it. I should, perhaps, have had some concern for the passion I was gaining for the armor. As I watched the Mystorium being prepared, I anticipated the suit with more excitement than I would have had for a private moment with Lauren, somewhere in the dark, with out bodies close.
What they had done to the arena in a single evening and night was breathtaking. The entire arena floor, a vast space more than 100 yards long and 100 yards wide, had been transformed from a dusty, empty expanse into something incredible. We stood on a wooden stage at one end of the arena, and in the center rose a towering structure made of timber. The platform at the top of the tower was flat with no railings or protection, a precarious perch that hinted at the challenges ahead. Beneath our stage and the tower, a maze of wooden walls and barriers stretched out, forming narrow corridors and larger spaces. Fiends barked and screamed from the recesses of the timber warren. As I watched, I caught glimpses of the spiny backs of nightmare creatures pacing around. Above the arena floor, the stands stood high behind imposing walls¡ªa necessity, as the fiends employed here would otherwise quickly turn the audience into victims and meals.
The stands were packed. A sea of humanity churned like waves in a storm. The noise of the crowd was a constant roar, nearly toneless with its blend of voices. Nobles and commoners alike filled every seat, their cheers and shouts blending into a cacophony. There was excitement for action, and a thirst for blood up there. Groups of drunken men held banners made from old bed sheets, with names of competitors crudely painted across them. No name was more common than mine as I looked around.
I was the people¡¯s champion.
I heard a sound from the priests and turned my head back to the Mystorium. The cylinders began to disintegrate. Streams of particles fled their old forms and raced towards each of us. I had eyes only for the particles that flowed toward me.
The sensation of the suit forming around me was indescribable. Each time it was like something new, something exciting, but increasingly it was something comfortable and safe. The particles coalesced, wrapping me in the suit. Their liquid nothingness became hard plates and sharp edges. I felt a surge of ecstasy. It was as if every nerve in my body was being electrified, every sense heightened to an almost unbearable degree.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
SIGHT and HEARING returned to me. The sensory torrent that had been the arena became both more and less at once. I could experience it all the more, every sight and sound and odor amplified. But I could filter as well, tune up or down the volume of every sense.
As the suit settled around me, I felt truly alive. This was the prize. Maybe it was the problem as well.
This was what I was really fighting for. A chance to own this. A chance to claim it. To never have it taken from me again.
As I stood there, the crowd''s roar echoing in my ears and the suit''s power thrumming through my veins, I felt invincible. In moments like that, the doubts and fears were banished. I felt like I could conquer the world.
Mario strode across the stage, clearly enjoying the crowd and the attention. His eyes cast across the stands, it was easy to see how he despised most of the onlookers¡ªcommoners, in his view, were beneath him. I suspected Mario had been common-born himself. The priesthood was mostly a destination for the sons and daughters of noble houses who were too far down the line of succession to have a place on their estate, but common men could find their way into the ranks of the priesthood as well and could climb the ranks. I thought Mario was probably one of these men, his disdain for me and the rest of the peasantry a vile reflection of his own inflated sense of self-importance.
He preened for a moment before the screaming crowd. Then he bellowed, "SILENCE." His voice filled the arena, drowning out the thousands of voices, amplified in some manner I couldn''t understand or appreciate. His voice emanated from the far corners of the massive space. The crowd hushed, and Mario reveled in their singular attention. He began to pace back and forth before me and my classmates, arrayed in our glorious half-suits. He said, his voice booming, "Today''s contest has no defined number of ejectees. Today, it will be possible for all of these worthy combatants"¡ªI noticed how, in front of a crowd, we were no longer hopeless worms in his description¡ª"to return on the morrow, or we could see one, two, or even more of these hopeful youths return defeated to the arms of their families, their aspirations of holding the Sword of Boston crushed and discarded, their lives to be lived out far from that glorious potential."
He paused, letting the crowd murmur, the murmur building, soon becoming a drowning din once more. He spoke again, the crowd hushing. He pointed to a wide open space below the stage, where there were six pots with narrow necks and openings, seemingly made of cast iron, immensely heavy-looking. My SIGHT revealed bolts driven into the ground, fixing the pots to the floor. The pots were spaced across the width of the arena, with more than ten yards between each pot.
"In this maze of death and danger," he continued, "are orbs, representing the orbs that our Griidlords strive to gain for our city during each Falling Season, the lifeblood of our homeland. Today, the contestants must struggle in these corridors, overcoming one another and fearsome fiends brought from the wilds, to gather orbs of their own. There are thirteen orbs, in far corners of the arena, affixed to the collars of monsters, behind barriers of elements, and it is our contestants'' task to gather them. At the end of the day, when the last orb has been retrieved, those without an orb in their bin will be ejected."
I nodded to myself, understanding. As I looked on the cast iron pots, I could see names on placards hanging from the necks of the pots. From here, I could see Lauren''s name printed on one such sign, on the pot at the furthest extreme from where we stood.
He continued, bathing in the attention and excitement of the gathered thousands above him. He boomed, "And today our spectacle is enhanced further, by the presence of the Gods of the Field, the Lords of Order, the Hands of the Prophet itself! Today, we are joined by Griidlords!"
Chapter 44
The crowd was silenced by the entrance of the two Griidlords. They marched into the arena and with them came hushed awe. My own heart skipped a beat. Our huge city-state held more than a million souls. Only five of them were Griidlords. These beings were scarcely seen.
I looked on them, absorbing their obvious power, seeing the glory of their simple presence, and wondered if I really dared to aspire to be like them.
Alya Vaelstrom¡¯s Griid-suit was painted in the colors of Boston: deep blue, bright red, and silver. A billowing blue cloak flowed behind her as she marched towards us. In her hand, she carried the weapon that named her type. The scepter was long, much longer than her entire body. Its silvery form swelled at the top to form something like a dull oblong spearhead. Wings crafted in silver, each feather shaped to perfection, surrounded the deadly head.
The Scepter was the range specialist of the Griidlord suits. Alya could slay thousands from a distant hilltop. She could rain death on attackers from the top of the tower. The Scepter suit was the only one of the five kinds to not seem to be part of the type-based weaknesses and strength dynamic. Axe bested Sword, Shield bested Axe, but the Scepter was simpler. At range, the scepter killed all other suits. Up close it was comparatively defenceless.
Wilric Magneblade was the stereotype of the act. His posture bristled with a rage and frustration. Every move told the crowd that he had better things to be doing than babysitting us, than posing for the people. Those better things would include killing, killing, and, if there was time, more killing. The Axe suit was the second bulkiest after the Shield suit. Magneblade was tremendously huge alongside Vaelstrom. His axe was bonded to the back of his suit. His was a double headed battle axe, the haft black as knight, the blades composed of ethereal blue light.
Mario continued "The beasts arrayed in the arena below could easily end the life of these precious jewels of our city. There may be nothing we can do to preserve their precious young lives if the Oracle sees fit. But for their safety, and the safety of you, the people of Boston, the true lifeblood that feeds our city, Alya Vaelstrom eschews her other duties to be here, stationed on yonder tower, her power of BEAM ready at any time to intervene to slay a fiend and save a life. It hardly needs to be stated, but if the Scepter of Boston is required to intervene to spare the life of a contestant, that means that the contestant in question has automatically failed and will be ejected."
As he finished, Vaelstrom crouched low, her powerful body tensing and contracting. The Scepter was the least physically powerful of any of the Griidsuits. But even she, the least athletic of the Griidlords, awed the crowd as she sprang, uncoiling the power of the suit. She leaped easily, crossing 50 yards or more, climbing dozens more in height, her arcing jump carrying her to the tower in the center of the field, landing easily, as easily as stepping from a carriage. The crowd erupted at the spectacle.
Mario turned to Magneblade and continued, the crowd hushing, "Lord Magneblade will referee today¡¯s contest. The combatants are permitted to take orbs from one another, may cross blades to impede one another, to seize orbs from one another, as they would with the Griidlords of another land in the wilds if competing for the true Orbs. But they are not here to assassinate one another. Lord Magneblade will move among them as they compete and will ensure that this is a truly fair contest, allowing the will of the Prophet to be truly expressed."If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
As he finished, Magneblade casually walked to the edge of the stage and dropped off, falling the 30 or so feet to the ground below as though it was nothing.
I took a moment. I was back in the suit, feeling the power coursing through me, the sensory inputs I missed more and more each evening when I had to leave the suit behind. Mario''s blathering gave me a chance to assess where I was. I was intensely aware that Lance had used his time well the day before, had gained more attributes and with the amazing luxury of time had been able to level many of them up. I inspected mine, the subheadings: Combat, Passive, Unique, Fields. I entered the combat menu, inspecting quickly. Time was of the essence, Mario would drop the flag any moment and I needed to assess my growth, decide what to focus on for future matchups with Lance, to build the attributes I most hoped would help me.
My Attributes:
- BEAM: 1.4
- SHIELD: 1.6
- POWER: 0.0
- CUT: 1.9
- AGILITY: 0.0
I looked at the attributes, my CUT was nearly ready to increase a level. I tried to imagine what level Lance''s CUT might be at. He had clearly increased beyond level 1. I had seen the way his sword blazed the previous day. Was he at level 2, or even level 3? What effect would that have crossing swords with a level 1? Would it mildly advantage him or allow his CUTS to blast through mine as though I had no level at all? With only 0.1 left to reach level 2.0, I knew I would have to flex or practice until I got there.
BEAM left me disappointed. I had gained it so early and then used it so little. Lance''s BEAM had looked the same as mine. He didn¡¯t have my knack for gaining attributes. What had put him ahead was the free time in the suit. My wandered to AGILITY. I had yet to really feel myself flex the attribute. The voice had told me it had nothing to do with the grace and naturalness we felt in the suits as we moved, but I couldn''t understand what else it might mean. And POWER¡ªmy power was at 0.0. I hadn¡¯t even felt that muscle yet.
Mario had the flag in his hand now. He was still rambling at the crowd, but it was only a matter of time before he raised and dropped it to signal the beginning of the competition. I wouldn¡¯t make the same mistake I had made at the start of the race and fail to notice the contest beginning. I opened myself to the voice, asking it, "What should I do?"
The voice was there. It said, "Why, win, silly, isn¡¯t that obvious?"
I thought angrily at it, "I don''t have much time, please take this seriously. What attributes should I focus on? How do I work on power?"
The voice said, "The POWER attribute is hard to develop. It''s hard to explain. If flexing SHIELD is like trying to find a muscle that sits just outside your skin, then flexing POWER is like finding a muscle that runs through your bones. You¡¯ve been very impressive so far, Tiberius, but POWER is so nuanced, no one starts to develop that until they are a full Griidlord."
This caught my ear. I understood the voice had done well by me so far and that I should heed its advice. But I wondered what kind of advantage the POWER attribute could give me if I did advance it.
I took a deep breath, trying to internalize this. Surrendering control was not easy, especially in the heat of competition. But if I wanted to reach the next level, I would have to trust the suit completely. I focused on my breathing, feeling the suit''s power humming through me, and tried to find that place of surrender.
Mario''s face lit with excitement, with that vile intensity we had grown so familiar with. He raised both hands high. I saw the flag in his right hand, and as he opened that hand, letting the flag flutter to the ground, he shrieked, "Let us begin!"
Chapter 45
As the six of us bolted forward, understanding we would need to drop from the stage as Magneblade had, the voice spoke, "Try it now. Tell the suit to drop you from the stage and let everything go. No sensing, no balancing."
I tried. I told the suit what I wanted¡ªto leap from the stage to the arena floor below¡ªand went limp. What happened was probably a partial success. As I let my form go slack, I could feel the suit begin to twitch as though it was about to start contracting and moving. At the same time, my slackness made me feel as though I was falling to the ground, as though I would collapse. Involuntarily, I couldn''t help myself, and I moved my legs, saving myself.
To my classmates and the crowd, I looked like I had stumbled, and indeed the movement caused me to lose a step on the others who dropped over the edge before me. The voice said, "That''s the idea, Tiberius, but you''ve got to trust the suit. It will become part of you. Your fate is its fate. You need to believe that the suit understands that what''s good for you is good for it."
I dropped from the stage. The fall was 30 feet, and it seemed an eternity. It took a lot of belief in the power of the suit that the fall wouldn''t hurt. Almost despite myself, I flexed SHIELD as I hit the ground, and as it absorbed the impact, there were two nice outcomes. First, 1.6 faded, to be replaced with 1.7. Secondly, I bounced, almost like a ball, the kinetic energy of my fall channeled back to the ground, exploding dirt and dust and sending me back into the air. Very interesting, I thought to myself.
As I gained my feet on the ground, I looked in front of me. There was a warren of openings to the maze. Gideon, Katya, Lauren, and Zara all disappeared through doorways as I watched. Lance wasn''t in evidence; he must have gone through even faster, before I could see him. I chose a doorway none of them had entered and raced down.
"There are 13 orbs," I said to myself, "and I need at least one." But as I had felt the day before, I knew one wasn''t enough. I wanted the most, more than Lance or Gideon, enough to make the crowd understand I was worthy, that I was their hero. I snarled to myself. If I could get all 13, the Choosing would end today and I would be the Sword of Boston.
As I raced through the wooden corridor, I rounded a bend and barely skidded to a halt as a pair of massive jaws snapped shut an inch from my face. I jumped back, assessing the creature in front of me. The fiends we had hunted in the woods were often called Wolflings, though they were bigger than wolves. They were given the diminutive because of the existence of this creature¡ªa Bearwolf.
The hulking bipedal monster snarled and strained at a chain from its neck to a bolt in the floor. Its massive frame towered over me, muscles rippling beneath coarse fur. The creature''s eyes gleamed with a predatory intelligence, and its fangs were as long as my forearm. Its claws, sharp and deadly, scraped against the ground as it pulled against the chain, trying to reach me. Hanging from the collar of the creature was a glowing orb, the size of a large apple. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The Bearwolf roared, the sound reverberating through the narrow corridor, sending a shiver down my spine. This was a different level of danger than anything I had faced before. The fiends in the woods were nothing compared to this beast. I could see the orb I needed hanging from a collar around its neck, glinting tantalizingly in the dim light.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself. This was what the suit was for. This was what I had trained for. I flexed my SHIELD again, feeling the power surge through me.
Even as I flexed SHIELD, I remembered what the suit had said about POWER, how it was like a muscle opposite SHIELD, not outside me but deeper within. I couldn''t help but search for it, despite the beast snarling at me. I dug deep inside myself. To my shock, I became aware of something, like a fiber of my being that ran through my bones, like a chord. For a moment, I tried to make it move, to tense this tendril of somethingness, but I couldn''t quite manage it. It was like trying to wag a vestigial tail that I just didn''t have the neurons for.
I didn''t have time for this. I needed the orb, but the Wolfbear was my pressing concern. It was like several Wolflings glued together. I had gained much skill in the suit, many attributes, but I sincerely doubted my ability to fell the thing. There was a simple psychological limitation, if nothing else. The creature towered above me, its claws razor-sharp and looking to be carved from stone. Its muscles twitched fast, faster than I could believe. There was simple instinct; this was a creature that hunted humans, that my nature led me to believe was to be fled from. My lizard brain did not understand the suit that housed me, the power I wielded. I needed to force myself forward.
I executed CUT, unsure of what to expect. The beast was smarter than its animal form might suggest. It dodged away, and I followed with a second CUT, just clipping it, singing the fur but not penetrating the hide. It must have been thicker than leather armor. Then it swung back, faster than I could dodge. I activated SHIELD, absorbing the blow. Again, SHIELD elevated, climbing to a 1.8. Exciting, soon I would have a level 2 SHIELD, but for the moment I was flying through the air, sent hurtling by the kinetic force of the powerful creature''s blow.
I remembered the fall from the stage and pulsed SHIELD again as I hit the wall behind me, ricocheting back to the creature like a bouncy ball. This at least was something the creature couldn''t have predicted. Defying the laws of physics, I had a heartbeat where the beast was simply startled, as I streaked through the air like a human bullet. I struck it bodily in the chest, this time too late with SHIELD to be able to use it as I had intended, but the impact punched the beast back. It reeled on its feet.
The impact jarred me too, but the suit protected me from real harm. I reached out and snatched the orb, my powerful suit muscles breaking the little steel links that held it in place. The beast reared about me, preparing to pin me down. I had a vague awareness of Magneblade standing somewhere in my peripheral vision, prepared to intervene if I was threatened with death. But that would mean ejection. I flexed CUT and swung up, putting everything I had into the movement. 1.9 faded, 2.0 replaced it, and I felt the energy of my blade surge, brighter than ever before, energy rippling from my shoulders, through my elbows, down my forearms, and through the blade like we were one thing. The force of the CUT crackled through fur and hide. The beast staggered back, not cloven in two, not dead, but wounded, enough to make it back off as I leapt from the range of its chain.
I looked into my hand, at the orb, and sighed with relief. If nothing else, I was going to survive this round. Priority one was achieved. I just needed to return this orb to my pot, and then I could press on with gathering more orbs and making my statement.
Chapter 46
As I exited the corridor back to the open space with the pots, I collided with Gideon. We crashed into each other and staggered back. His right arm of his suit was charred and smoking. I wondered what he had been contending with. He didn''t seem to have an orb. Had he failed to acquire one? Had Gideon, brutal, stubborn, Gideon, given up on a challenge?
His visored head flicked down to my hand, where I held an orb. I expected a sword fight. Gideon was a brutal, if undisciplined, fighter, exploding with self-confidence. Instead, he considered the orb in my hand, then turned and disappeared down another corridor. I was left standing for a second, not understanding why he hadn''t challenged me. Then it slowly dawned on me. He was intimidated. It was a crazy idea, to think that anyone, let alone Gideon, would be intimidated by me. But the last time we had crossed swords, I had managed him handily, and he had seen me upset the universe by deploying the Footfield during the race. He didn''t want to challenge me directly if he didn''t have to. I couldn''t help but swell with pride. I was a big dog now.
As I turned toward the pots, my periphery was blinded by light. It was only this momentary warning that gave me the chance to pulse my SHIELD and not just lessen the blow, but possibly save my life. Lance''s stunningly powerful CUT was aimed at the back of my head. The SHIELD dulled the blow, but it was still tremendous. My body flew into the air, snapping in rotation around the point of impact at the side of my helm. The SHIELD had saved me, but the impact was still devastating. I crashed into the far wall, too hurt and dazed to activate my SHIELD.
I managed to retain my orb, gripping it tightly as I lay on the ground, trying to gather my senses. Lance was already moving toward me, confident and calculating. This was a moment of truth. I knew I had to get up and face him, or my chances of surviving the competition could be over. As he closed in, I forced myself to my feet, wincing at the pain shooting through my body, readying myself for the fight of my life.
I understood now why I hadn''t seen him disappear down a corridor with the rest of us. He hadn''t left the pots. He had stepped back to the pots, waiting for others to bring the orbs to him. And why shouldn''t he? It was clear his powers had grown. He was a natural fighter, a trained swordsman, and probably an experienced killer. He had a BEAM that could at least match mine and a CUT that might exceed mine. I had no sense of the state of his other attributes, but his natural abilities paired with an entire free day in the suit to develop attributes, left him far ahead of any of us.
I understood his thinking. Could he gather all 13 orbs and end the Choosing this day before anyone else, especially me, could have the chance to gain attributes and catch him?
We both swung our swords, both used CUT. I think there was a moment of doubt, surprise, as he saw my CUT flare with the fire of a second-level attribute. But he didn''t hesitate. His blade crashed towards mine, and as bright as mine glowed, his was brighter. It confirmed my worst fear: his was at least a level 3. When our swords connected, I got a sense of the difference in attribute level. His sword nearly ripped the blade from my hand, my whole arm was thrown behind me by the recoil, my shoulder yanked at the socket.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
As I staggered back, he clasped the orb in my hand. For a moment, it was both of ours, resting in both of our grips. Then, having stepped up for the orb, too close to swing his sword, he drove his shoulder into me, using the full force of the suit to send me tumbling head over heels, leaving the orb in his hand. Lance looked at the orb with pleasure, turned, and tossed it, so accurately and easily, into his pot. Then he turned back to me, sprawled in the dirt, dazed, trying to find my feet.
He stood over me and raised his blade, not content with what was already a substantial win. His sword blazed with the fire of the sun as he drove it down towards me.
This would have at least damaged and wounded me enough to end any chance of competing for the day. At worst, though, it might have ended me. Lance seemed to have no concern about killing and might even have reveled at the idea of putting me down; his hatred for me seemed to know no limit. I was too dazed to find my way to pulsing my SHIELD. All I could do was watch the arc of the blade descend on me, hear the crowd screaming in excitement and maybe in dismay.
Then suddenly, as though materializing from thin air, a double-headed axe blade was between Lance''s sword and my form. This is where I can start, only start, to express the difference between a trainee like Lance and me, and a true Griidlord. Lance''s CUT, which seemed a power handed down from the Gods, an elemental force, simply ricocheted off the axe. The axe didn''t so much as vibrate, as though Lance''s blow, so seemingly immense, was nothing but a wayward fly bouncing off a castle wall. Lance''s whole form staggered back, and I could see pain ripple through his arm.
Magneblade stood above me, his head turned toward Lance. He spoke with the voice of a Griidlord, a being that exceeded my ability to truly fathom. He said, "That exceeds the rules, youngblood. Taking the orbs from each other, and fighting hard to do it, that is acceptable, but this is not a game of assassination. You can cross swords with this one again when one of you holds an orb. Until then, you can wait here and play your game of sentry."
Lance''s expression twisted with a mixture of frustration and anger. For a moment, I thought he might protest, but even he knew better than to challenge a Griidlord directly. He stepped back, sword lowered, and gave me one last look of pure venom before turning away. I got to my feet, shaken but unharmed.
I watched Lance stalk back to the pots, sword ready, his posture cowed. He had been embarrassed and, perhaps worse, scolded by a hero of the city. I could feel the energy radiating from Magneblade; my suit could feel it, responded to it. When I had shared time with Morningstar in my father''s house, I had appreciated the power of his being by reputation and observation. But as I stood near Magneblade, it was as if my suit could sense him, sense his suit, sense the power. It was truly something awesome.
My legs trembled for a moment as I tried to imagine the reality of being like that, of being an actual God among men, of being the match of an army of thousands. It went beyond my every mental faculty to conceive of it, all save one: my ambition could envision that reality.
Chapter 47
WARNING: This chapter contains a character behaving in a way, and performing actions, that could be construed as suicidal. I did not intend to convey the character''s actions/attitudes in this manner, but please be advised.
Thanks to elephasmaximus23 for the assist.
Chapter 47
As I turned to explore another corridor, I heard a crackling sound behind me. I spun around to see Lance nailing Katya with his BEAM attribute. The energy blast struck her squarely, sending the orb she had been racing with flying through the air. Lance snatched it easily, his movements fluid and confident, before tossing it into his pot with a casual flick of his wrist.
Katya''s posture was one of dismay, an expression so unusual given her usual aloofness and fiery demeanor. To see her disheartened like that tugged at something within me. Lance now had scored twice, while the rest of us had failed to score at all. I truly began to wonder if maybe he could do it, if he could find a way to end the competition today. With his improved firepower, it seemed almost possible that no one could get past him.
I was conflicted. While her talk of marriage felt like a joke to me, I had grown a little closer to Katya over these days. My life hadn''t afforded me the opportunity to have friends. Katya might have been an oddly shaped peg, but she was starting to fit into that hole. I didn''t want to see her eliminated, but at the same time, I couldn''t reach my goal without it. I wanted to help her, but I needed to help myself.
Katya brushed herself off, her movements regaining some of their usual grace, and danced down a corridor in search of a new orb. I turned and raced down another corridor myself. Two orbs rested in Lance''s pot; eleven remained to be captured. The pressure was mounting, and the stakes were higher than ever. Every step, every decision, could mean the difference between triumph and elimination.
The narrow walls of the passages passed my vision as I raced. The builders had done a remarkable job. They had built a true labyrinth in the space available. Wide open rooms and endless snaking corridords. I quickly felt so disoriented that I felt like the space I was sprinting through was many times the size of the actual arena floor.
As I moved my heightened sense did nothing to comfort me. HEARING bombarded me with the terrifying screeches and growls of fiends beyond what seemed like every wall. The grunts and crys of the other combatants were picked up the suits ears and pumped into my brain. SCENT, when I chose to turn it up, only rewarded me with the disturbing scents of fiend, blood, sweat and burning.
Suddenly I was in a wide open space. A large room. Beyond the walls I could still hear the thumping of feed and the echoes of screams. But here there was nothing but me and the pedestals. Four pedestals were arrayed before me, made of stone. Each supported one of the orbs we coveted so. And each orbs was hazed and obscured by a shimmering field of some kind.
I approached cautiously. I needed to keep moving, I could sense the urgency. But the fields gaze me pause. The haze around the orbs seemed to ripple as I drew nearer, like the surface of a disturbed pond. I reached out ,my fingers inching towards the closest orb. As soon as my hand breached the haze, a searing pain shot through my fingers. My hand began to char and smoke. I flexed SHIELD into being, but it did little to stop the onslaught of fire.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
I yanked my hand back. I hissed through my teeth as I felt my own skin bruning beneath the surface of the suit. The fingers of my suit were blackened and smoldering. Even now, small tendrils of smoke rose from the damaged area.
I stared at the hazy shield in bitter frustration. If my SHIELD was higher, maybe there would be a chance. The four orbs, four opportunities to pass the round, were so close but so infinitely out of reach.
I circled the pedestals, examining them from different angles. There was no opening, no weakness anywhere. I tried to use CUT on the stone pedestal itself, to see if it would crumble, releasing an orb, but my sword rebounded leaving not the slightest mark.
I understood now why Gideon had brushed past me with a suit smoking and blackened.
I was wasting time. None of us could reach the orbs. They would keep. And there were four of them in any case. I could spend my time better elsewhere.
As I exited down the winding corridor and into the main chamber, a new scene of chaos greeted me. Lauren lay on the ground, her suit sizzling and sparking from a slash mark across her chest. Lance was depositing yet another orb in his pot.
I shot him a disgusted, rage-filled look. He was operating within the rules of the competition, but it felt like he had twisted them out of all concept of their original intent. His tactics were brutal, aiming not just to win but to crush his competitors entirely.
Without wasting another second, I flew down a new corridor, one I had yet to see anyone using, and streaked down the narrow passage. The walls closed in around me.
The new chamber was wider than the one with the Bearwolf, but the floor had been dug out, probably done quickly and easily using excavating equipment when the order level was elevated here the previous day. There was only a narrow edge of ground between the walls of the chamber and the pit. Dangling above the pit, hanging from a narrow chain, was an orb. A contestant would need to leap across the pit and land on the other side, as the chain was far too light to bear the weight of a contestant.
I saw Zara standing at the edge of the pit in front of me, peering down in hesitation. I walked up beside her, not standing too close, not wanting to expose myself to a sudden attack. She was looking down into the pit, and when I joined her, my blood chilled. There were a dozen wolflings down there. Despite the diminutive name, these were monsters at least as big as a man. Lauren and I had defeated one together, and at this point, with my powers grown, I was confident I could defeat one, maybe even two. But the army of pacing, snarling monsters far below meant certain death.
Zara became aware of me, looked at me. I prepared to defend myself, but her mouth, visible beneath the line of her helm, was curved down¡ªnot determined, not rageful, just deflated. She said, "I may as well give it a try."
I said, "Isn''t that what we''re here for..." but her tone was oddly flat, devoid.
She said, "I never really had a chance anyway. When the Choosing started, there were always the haves and the have-nots. I''m the last of the have-nots, the ones that were never really in the contest. I''ve done well, I think, to still be here, but Mother won''t see it that way... They can''t afford to repair the east tower, they can''t afford to replace the stables... I might as well try."
She backed up from the edge of the pit, eyes fixed on the orb.
I said, "Zara, maybe you should reconsider. I mean, there''s a difference between losing the round and getting yourself killed."
Her voice was bitter now. She said, "You were like the rest of us, hopeless. You could barely stand up against Olaf at the start. When you started growing, it gave me hope. I kept waiting for something to happen, for me to start gaining attributes so I could keep up with the others, but it didn''t work like that for me or the others, just for you."
Then she started to sprint toward the pit. I felt like I was witnessing something much darker than a desperate attempt; what I was seeing was a dark surrender.
I bellowed, "Zara, wait!" but she didn''t hear me. Her last stride met the edge of the pit and she leapt.
Chapter 48
WARNING: This chapter contains a character behaving in a way, and performing actions, that could be construed as suicidal. I did not intend to convey the character''s actions/attitudes in this manner, but please be advised.
Thanks to elephasmaximus23 for the assist
Chapter 48
Zara¡¯s mighty leap was breathtaking, her fingers just brushing the orb but not quite grabbing it. My heart sank as I watched her fall into the pit, the awful sound of her impact echoing in the chamber. Wolflings pounced on her instantly. Her sword flashed, driving the first one back, but then another beast pinned her to the ground. My blood ran cold, my heart skipping a beat. I hesitated, torn between the urge to help her and the certainty of death if I joined. A tiny, dark part of me scratched her name off the list of competitors, moving me one step closer to becoming a Griidlord.
Then the powers of gods were unleashed. A pillar of light scored from above, the heat radiating across me even from the edge of the pit. Vaelstrom was employing her BEAM. The Beam of a Scepter could destroy even a Griidlord from miles distant. The beam disintegrated several of the wolflings, startling the beast that had Zara pinned, allowing her to kick it off of her. But the angle of Vaelstrom''s position and the walls of the pit obscured at least half of the fiends from her beam. Zara was still in imminent mortal danger.
I sensed movement, barely saw Magneblade as he streaked past me, diving into the pit. The scene that followed was incredible. I watched in utter awe at the ease with which his blazing axe cut the remaining fiends into pieces. This was power. For all the strength I felt I had in the suit, I was an ant compared with this power. Magneblade cleaved the last creature in half, then gathered Zara to him and leaped the dozens of feet from the pit as easily as I might have climbed a single step of the stairs in my father''s house.
He released her, and she stepped back from him, dazed and a little confused. Magneblade said, "The most important thing, youngling, is that you will live to see another dawn. But the rules are clear. We had to intervene on your behalf, so your time in The Choosing is at an end."
Zara barely seemed to process his words, though there was maybe a faint relief spreading on her lips. Magneblade continued, "Come with me, youngling. I''ll take you to the priests to have your suit removed."
He could see she wasn''t right, perhaps afraid she''d try to find another way to bury her shame.
He paused, looked at me, glanced at the orb dangling above the pit, then down to the pit now vacant of threats, just lumps of sizzling meat and burning fur. His helmeted head was expressing something obvious¡ªwhat was Zara''s loss was my gain. I could still attempt to take the orb, but I wouldn''t face the same jeopardy she had. The worst that could happen to me would be to become trapped in the pit and miss the rest of the round, ending my time in The Choosing.
I stood there, considering the orb as it swayed slightly from the contact Zara had made with it. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The voice came to me, it said, "I think you should do it."
I thought in reply, That''s not a big surprise, you love when I take stupid risks.
The voice responded, "Is that what you think?"
I paused. It continued, "Well... I do enjoy the excitement, but I think maybe you have me wrong, Tiberius. What I love is to see you push yourself, to grow, like you have been doing from the start. This is another chance to level up."
I replied silently, "Or another chance to fail and end my time in The Choosing."
The voice¡¯s tone was rare now, sincere instead of mocking. It said, "With the growth that Lance has achieved, if you ever hope to match him or exceed him again, isn¡¯t it really a case of grow or fail anyway? If you don¡¯t take the chances to push yourself, then you might as well exit The Choosing anyway. You need to grow, desperately, urgently."
I paused, realizing the voice was right. No other contestants were present. It was just me.
The voice said, "To level AGILITY, you need to use it. You need to give yourself to it. All the suits come with some basic ability to move you. That poor foolish girl who went before you did not have the faith she needed in her suit. You have to believe in the suit as an extension of yourself, as something you can trust."
I prepped myself again, thinking of what I wanted to do, letting the suit feel my desire, preparing to cross the expanse. I closed my eyes for a moment, visualizing the leap, the arc, the snatch, the landing. This time, I resolved to truly surrender. I took another deep breath, relaxed my muscles entirely, and opened my eyes. I could see the orb swaying slightly from the chain, taunting me.
I let go completely, trusting the suit to move my legs. It took everything I had not to intervene as my feet struck the ground at the edge of the pit. To say it was without my control was not quite right; it was almost as if my brain was still a component of the action, but there were other neurons outside of me translating the movements. It was an act of total surrender.
As I neared the lip of the pit, all I could imagine was plummeting down. But then, something incredible happened. The suit took over, and I leaped, my body twisting in the air like an acrobat.
As I flew through the air I understood better. It wasn¡¯t about sacrificing all autonomy to the suit. It was a symbiotic relationship. I willed the suit to act, but I was still there, feeling the motions of my muscles and those of the suit. I could guide it, but I couldn¡¯t dominate it. Like a willful horse, sometimes it was better to give it it¡¯s own head.
I floated in the air as my body twisted. It was close. My mind could see my trajectory, how close I would come to not quite reaching the orb, or not quite making the landing on the opposite side.
My fingers reached out, grazing my prize as I passed it. I just, just, had enough contact with it for my finger tips to find purchase. Grasping with all the strength the suit afforded me, my fingers found a way to press into the surface of the orb enough to take hold.
The chain snapped, and the orb travelled with me. I, or maybe the suit, tucked my legs in as I reached the opposite side. I hit the ground in a roll and came up standing. For a few moments I just stood there, heart hammering, chest heaving. That had worked. That had been exhilarating beyond words.
Before my eyes Agility 0.0 faded, and was replaced with Agility 0.1. If that had been the suit moving without the attribute, I was excited to see what it could do at 1.0.
That was one challenge passed. As difficult as it had seemed, as great as the risk had been, it was deflating to think that this wasn¡¯t the greater part of the test.
Now I needed to go through Lance.
Chapter 49
Chapter 49
As I raced back towards the main chamber, it occurred to me that Lance''s gambit could benefit me. If I could just get this orb into my pot, then Lance could possibly eliminate the others, leaving just him and me to compete on the next day. As intimidating and impossible as it seemed to compete against just him and me, the idea of the rest of the field of contestants being removed had to improve my odds. But before any of that mattered, there was still the imposing issue of getting past him and scoring.
My heart throbbed with anticipation as I approached the main chamber, and Lance. Yes, there was fear there. He had already shown his ability to easily dominate the others, and that intimidated me. But, my powers had grown. It was still hard to reconcile myself with that reality. I was one of the contenders now. Maybe one of the top contenders. And that was why another part of me was eager to test myself, prove myself. He had had another day to train, but in some ways, that only made the prospect more exciting.
As I approached, I slowed my pace, assessing the situation. Lance''s eyes locked onto me, and I could feel the intensity of his gaze. There was no way he would let me pass easily. I needed a plan, a way to outmaneuver him and get the orb into my pot without falling to his blade.
When he had stolen the orb from me earlier, he had the element of surprise; I hadn¡¯t expected it. This time we were facing each other as equals. His increased attributes, his natural fearsomeness, these were intimidating, but I was the master of attributes. If I had had the previous day to improve as he had, then the competition would truly have been over. I would have had a lot more to show for the day than he had. That didn¡¯t change the reality that he was the one who had had that day to grow. I wondered where his shield was at, what level his agility was.
I stood facing Lance, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. His cold smile sent chills down my spine, but I refused to show any fear. He stepped forward, eyes glinting with malice.
"You really think you can beat me, shopkeeper?" Lance said. He was acting like a stage villain. Or maybe in his own eyes, a hero. "You might have had a lucky streak, but you¡¯re still nothing compared to me."
I rolled my shoulders and stretched my neck. I said, "I¡¯ve seen the fear in your eyes, Lance. You know I¡¯m catching up, and that terrifies you."
His face twisted into a sneer. "Fear you? That¡¯s laughable. After the day of practice I had yesterday, there¡¯s no doubt I¡¯m the greatest now. The whole city knows it."
I shook my head, my voice steady. "That head start you have, that advantage will disappear in a day or two. I grow faster than you, and you know it. You fear it. You know that your time is short, and that¡¯s the reason for this desperate attempt to end the Choosing early. You can¡¯t keep up with me long term, and being a Griidlord is about the long term. What¡¯s better for the city? A Griidlord who can grow faster than the others, gaining power decade after decade, or a spoiled brat who needs every rotten advantage he can get?"
Lance''s face contorted with rage, his teeth bared. It was the first time I had ever spoken to him like this, and it was clear he was shocked. For once, I felt like I could stand up to him, that I wasn¡¯t too cowed by his presence.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
"Try and get past me, shopkeeper," he snarled, his voice filled with venom. "See what kind of advantages you¡¯ve got. Maybe you¡¯ve grown your last."
We faced each other. The moment lingered as we stared each other down. His confidence, that smug grin, they chilled me. I yearned to test and prove myself, but he didn¡¯t even see a challenge here. It was hard to face that kind of confidence without having some of it spill on you, burning your own.
Lance moved first. His sword came through the air at me, faster that I had anticipated. I moved and pulsed my SHIELD. The blow glanced from the SHIELD as I moved. Even at the angle I received it, the blow shook me badly. My SHIELD was at 1.9. A 2.0 might have made all the difference.
But I came back at him. He was surprised again this time. He had expected the impact of his CUT to stagger me worse that it had. He showed no sign of having SHIELD, but as always, his footwork and swordplay were exemplary. Each of my slashing attacks was met with a CUT that smashed my arm away from me.
He moved to the offensive again, stepping in, and stabbing at me. I leapt back. Again, I wasn¡¯t quite fast enough, but my SHIELD took the edge off the blow and the kinetic force just pushed me further back without serious damage.
I found myself trying to use my AGILITY to help me move away from him. It caught him off guard, this was something he had clearly failed in invest in. As I dodged again and again, my feet leaving the ground, my body soaring, I watched the numbers fade and change. 0.1 became a 0.2, then 0.3. But, by the time 0.4 flashed before my eyes, I found a strange fatigue had settled over my use of the attribute and I was grounded once more.
Our swords crossed again and again. He had the upper hand, I could desperately feel the fight slipping away from me. But the smugness was gone from him. I could feel him worry, see the strain. He had never imagined that I was still this close to him.
I swung high, aiming for his head, but he ducked and slashed at my midsection. My SHIELD flared, blocking the strike, but the force of it doubled me over. Lance wasted no time. He struck me once, twice, three times, with powerful two-armed swings. The SHIELD did what it could, but each blow was like a strike from a charging bull.
If only my SHIELD was that little bit stronger, it might have made all the difference. Lance was too powerful, too skilled. He swung low, aiming for my legs. I jumped back, avoiding the strike, and countered with a thrust towards his chest. He sidestepped easily and delivered a punishing blow to my shoulder.
Sparks flew, and I felt the searing heat of his CUT. My suit smoked and sizzled. I smelled something like burning plastic. Fiery pain erupted in my body. I staggered back, my grip on the orb slipping. Lance¡¯s smile returned as he snatched the orb from my hand and spun away from me. Before I had even regained my composure, he had dropped it into his pot.
I fell to one knee, my shoulder throbbing with pain. The crowd¡¯s roar was a distant sound in my ears as I watched Lance stand victorious, the orb securely in his pot. I had fought well, but it wasn¡¯t enough. He was simply too good.
I had to rise, had to endure his gaze boring into the top of my head as I got back up from the ground. The damage wasn''t good, but it probably looked worse than it was. I couldn''t tell how my flesh had fared beneath the skin of the suit, how impaired I would be for the rest of this day if the impairment would linger through tomorrow. But as I rose and tried to erase the thoughts and memories of the humiliation of my defeat from my mind, I looked around. There were a few corridors left that I hadn¡¯t explored or that I hadn¡¯t seen one of my classmates explore.
I pressed on, choosing a corridor I thought hadn¡¯t been entered yet. Thoughts and worries about being impaired tomorrow mattered very little because right now, Lance was the true obstacle that we all faced. If I couldn''t find a way to get past him, then I wouldn¡¯t need to worry about being impaired any further. It seemed probable now that none of us would need to worry about the rest of the Choosing soon, because Lance seemed to have found an impossibly secure position.
Chapter 50
Leaving Lance after the defeat stung. The rules insisted that if we were not contesting an orb then we couldn¡¯t strike at each other. It had been humiliating to have to get to my feet as he stood there smiling. But I¡¯d had no choice. As I raced down a new corridor, the memory of the moment continued to plague me. A bitter anger burned in me. A tiny, idiotic, but primal part of me raged that I hadn¡¯t fought on. Damn the rules, damn The Choosing.
I slowed to a jog as I entered a new chamber. My breath caught as I found myself facing a grotesque creature with a bulbous body, its many tentacle-like legs writhing as it moved to the extent its tether would allow. Its beak-like mouth clicked menacingly, and it wore a collar like the Bearwolf had, a collar that was meant to carry an orb.
The fiend turned its many eyes towards me. The creature¡¯s flesh was scored, and blood and foul black fluids leaked from wounds. I could see the scorch marks of a blade employing CUT on the ground. My heart sank when I saw the broken chain lying on the ground and the absence of the orb One of the others had been here already. I can¡¯t swear that part of me wasn¡¯t relieved not to have to fight the ugly thing myself. But I was starting to fear I¡¯d run out of options.
I clenched my fists, feeling the anxiety build within me. Time was slipping away, and the orbs were disappearing fast.
I retreated from the room and chose another corridor. This corridor seemed to wind downwards. The builders must have cut a path through the arena floor. Had they incorporated part of the basement in this maze?
The air grew cooler as I descended. I could feel the cold on my exposed skin, I could sense it relayed from the miracle surface of the armor as well.
I entered a room covered in ice. Every surface was frozen. The floor was a polished mirror. The walls were shiny and blued with their coating. Icicles and the fur of frost hung everywhere.
As I approached the ice, I saw the space had already been disturbed. In the centre of the room lay a huge pile of shattered chunks of ice. Amongst the chunks were pools of water and already hardening lumps of slush. I could imagine the orb that had been in here, frozen in some impossibly huge block. Someone would have needed to use CUT over and over to get through it. And someone had. It must have been exhausting.
I had to keep moving. I had to find an orb before it was too late.
I hurried back to the main chamber. Real panic was starting to build in me. A sense of impotence threatened to overwhelm me.
There was one more corridor that I hadn''t checked yet. I dashed into it. My anticipation was at a peak as I ran. As far as I could tell, this was the last corridor I had left to check. If there was no orb here then the game was essentially over.
The corridor darkened as I ran until I found myself entering a space blackened by the absence of light. I could sense that the room was bigger than the corridor I had passed through. But my heart beat faster with new hope. A room like this would be easy for me with my SIGHT, maybe impossible for the others without the attribute.
I activated my SIGHT attribute, and the room slowly came into view. The room was an obstacle course. Rambs, walls, and pillars filled the space. And bear traps littered the floor.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
And still, my heart sank. I could see the pedestal at the far wall. I could see the empty recess where the orb would have sat. The recess was vacant. I couldn¡¯t imagine how one of the others had achieved this. But, imagine or not, the deed was done.
I jogged back towards the main chamber, feeling crushed. Maybe there was a chance there was some other corridor I hadn¡¯t checked. Maybe I¡¯d missed something.
I heard the clash of weapons as I neared. Entering the chamber, I caught the last seconds of a combat between Lance and Gideon.
Gideon was strong. He was utterly tenacious. His was a spirit that would never yield, never be denied. But spirit alone did not swing a sword.
I arrested my jog as I watched Lance smashing Gideon¡¯s defenses aside. Lance was methodically dismantling the other young noble. I had a brief moment of excitement. Lance could best any of us, but could he best two of us? I was allowed to contest an orb. I gripped my sword, dashing forward to cross the room.
Would Gideon understand that I was coming to fight by his side? Would he turn his sword on me in the chaos?
But I wasn¡¯t fast enough.
Before I could reach them, Lance finished it. His sword blazed with the light of CUT. Was it brighter than before? Had all these combats allowed him to level the attribute again? The blow smashed into Gideon, his body flew backward, and the orb flew high.
Lance caught it, spun, and lobbed it. The orb ran around the rim of his pot before falling in. He turned and planted his feet, meeting my gaze. His confidence was like a choking stink in the room.
Then I felt steps beside me and glanced to see Lauren skidding to a halt. Her body was tight with the same strain I felt. The sinews in her neck stood out as she clenched her jaw. Her shoulders sagged with despair.
From the opposite corridor, Katya emerged. She stopped dead in her tracks. She too understood what had happened. The defeat was written all over her posture. There was another who had traveled every corridor and exhausted every option.
Even Gideon seemed to wear worry more than rage at that moment. As he painfully found his way back to his feet, his head hung low. He looked at the floor, like a scorned child.
For a moment, the four of us stared at Lance. He reveled in it. He stood before us all, the conquering hero. Untouchable by any of us. Together we would have been able to overpower him. But all the orbs were gone. I waited in terror of the voice of Mario announcing that the day was lost, The Choosing over. I could almost hear him now, his satisfaction, as he declared Lance the Sword of Boston.
We all seemed to have the same realization at the same moment. All four of us had searched the maze. I knew Gideon had tried the room with the force fields. It stood to reason that Lauren and Katya had been there too. Orbs did remain. They were unreachable to us, but none of us had lasted this long because we gave up easily.
Almost as a whole, we moved toward the corridor. Gideon caught my shoulder as I passed him. He shoved me hard as he scrambled to get by me. There was no need. Four orbs waited. But he was burned by the defeat of the last moments. I clenched my fists, biting down the urge to retaliate.
We entered the chamber. The pedestals stood before us, each topped with an orb masked in a hazy, burning field. Gideon was the first there. His arm still smoldered from his earlier attempt, but he stood staring at the orb in front of him as if trying to crush the field by sheer will.
My hand bore the scars of my own failure.
Katya stepped up. She turned her head to me and then back to the nearest pedestal. She pushed her hand into the field. I could see SHIELD glowing over her surface. She had won the attribute too. It glowed as mine had, a level 1 attribute.
She pushed further than I had. I wanted to stop her as she kept pushing, a scream rising in her chest. She pushed and pushed, unable to suppress gasping shrieks. I turned my head away. I couldn¡¯t watch it.
Then she was doubled over, clasping her wounded arm. She was sobbing from pain or defeat, or both. To see even Katya, stoic, detached, Katya, sobbing like this¡ finality started to settle over me.
A silence fell over us.
How could it end like this?
Chapter 51
Chapter 51
We stood there. Every heart must have been filled with the same despair. We were a collective of miserable defeat.
Then I spoke, "Gideon, strike me."
Gideon snapped his head up. "As good as that might make me feel, it''s not allowed."
"I have an idea, something that can help all of us, but I need you to hit me with everything you''ve got," I said.
Gideon was impassive. He stared at me. "If you have some strange plan to get me ejected, I''m not biting."
Lauren said, "I have a terrible feeling we''re all getting ejected. Lance has found a way to shorten the competition. Even if one of us can take an orb here and get through the rest of us, Lance will just take it from them."
"That''s exactly what I''m thinking," I said, turning back to Gideon. "Gideon, I need you to hit me with all you''ve got."
Gideon grew angrier, snarling, "Don''t you get it, shopkeeper? I''m not an idiot. Whatever your plan is, I''m not stupid. I know you''re serving yourself. Doing what you want will help you. We''re competing. I''m not going to fall into your plot."
I felt frustration boiling over and roared back, "I have an idea to help all of us. Now hit me! You want to, don''t you?"
Gideon''s sword flared with energy, his eyes blazing. "Nothing would make me more excited, shopkeeper!"
"Then hit me, Gideon!" I shouted. "If the day is lost, then you might be wearing that suit for the last time. This might be the last chance in your life to feel the power of your CUT. Take a shot!"
The pressure cracked in Gideon. Maybe my words hurt him, provoked him, but he swung. His sword cut through the air with a ferocious hum. I flexed my SHIELD attribute, bracing for the impact. The blow was terrible, driving me to my knees, but my SHIELD dulled the worst of it.
I stood, my breath coming in ragged gasps, looking Gideon in the eyes. "Again."
Gideon''s eyes flicked behind me, and I turned to see Magneblade standing there, not intervening yet, just watching, interested. I turned back to Gideon and screamed, "AGAIN, I SAID."
Gideon hit me again, his CUT blazing with energy. The force of the attack sent waves of pain through my body. I flexed my SHIELD again, absorbing the blow, my knees buckling but holding my ground.
Again, dammit," I snarled, my voice filled with determination. Gideon glanced at Magneblade, who stood there, his visored head cocked to one side, leaning forward with what I imagined was an amused expression beneath his visor.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.
Gideon stuttered, "What are you playing at, Shopkeeper?"
"If you want a chance to be in the competition tomorrow, then hit me just one more time," I pressed him. Gideon hesitated, winding up to strike me again, but he was confused, his spirit wasn''t in it.
"With everything you''ve got, try to send me across the room," I urged.
Gideon stammered, "What''s the point in all of this, Shopkeeper? I don''t know your game, but none of us is getting past Lance."
Katya spoke. Maybe she understood my thinking, her voice was high. "Gideon, quickly, do it, give him everything you have. I don''t know how long the priests will let this go on without calling time. Hit him."
Gideon hesitated. Katya screamed at him, "Where are your balls? I thought you were a bull, not a steer. Hit him!" Her voice grew louder and more desperate, "HIT HIM!"
With a roar, Gideon finally unleashed his fiercest attack. His sword blazed with energy as he swung it at me. I flexed my SHIELD, feeling the familiar surge of power as it flared to life. The blow was immense, the force of it crashing into me. My HUD displayed the 1.9 for a moment before it faded, replaced by a bright, glowing 2.0. My SHIELD flared bigger and brighter than ever before.
I still felt the blow, but this time I barely staggered backward. The others stood stunned for a moment. I knew what they were thinking. I''d done it again, levelled an attribute faster than any of them.
Gideon stared at me, awe fading to distaste. He looked like he felt used, like I had manipulated him into helping me, his competitor, to gain an advantage. I held a hand up to him, urging patience, and approached a pedestal.
I forced my hand into the field. The pain was still there, intense and searing, and I could feel some damage being done, but my level 2 SHIELD protected me from the worst of it. The barrier felt like a viscous, burning liquid against my armor. As I pushed through, I felt the smoothness of the orb under my fingers. I grasped it tightly and began to pull my arm out.
It was hard, like moving through molasses, and there was a sensation as if a gravity within the pedestal was pulling me back. My muscles strained, the resistance growing, but then, with a snap, it released. I staggered slightly, my arm now outside the field, smoke rising from my armor, the orb secure in my hand.
Gideon''s sword flared with energy as he advanced, determined to take the orb from me. The girls, however, did not follow his lead. They seemed to be waiting, understanding better what I was doing. Before Gideon could attack, I tossed the orb to him.
Startled, he nearly dropped it, fumbling with the orb before securing it. He just stood there, confused, staring at me.
My gaze moved from Gideon to Lauren to Katya. I said, "Only one of us can take the Griidsuit at the end of the Choosing. I know we are ultimately competing with each other, but the way today has gone, there is a very real chance that the suit will be Lance''s, and we will all see our chances dissipate."
I looked at Gideon. "You allied with him once before to try and remove me from the competition. The Choosing seems to take no issue with us using diplomacy to help us succeed."
I glanced back at Katya and Lauren. "Zara is gone. At most, there are five of us left in the competition. Tomorrow will be a new day. If we can all remain, then tomorrow we can compete again and see the worthiest of us find their way to winning the Griidsuit. But for now, Lance is impenetrable. He found a way to use today''s challenge for his own advantage, and as much as I dislike him, I commend his thinking, his ingenuity."
I returned my gaze to Gideon. "But now it''s time for us to let our own inspiration give us a chance. Lance is better than any one of us right now, but I doubt he''s anywhere near as good as any two of us, certainly not all four of us."
Gideon nodded slowly, understanding. His mouth beneath the half-helm seemed to sneer in distaste at the idea of allying himself with a commoner.
Chapter 52
Chapter 52
I approached another pedestal as I spoke. "So, I propose you each let me retrieve an orb for you from the pedestals. When each of us has a ticket to tomorrow, we fight together, drive Lance off, and help each other deposit an orb in each pot. I know the temptation, of course, would be for the first of us to deposit to switch and join Lance, try to ensure the other three get ejected, narrow the field. So, we need to swear, swear that for today we fight together to secure each of us a place in tomorrow''s contest."
My hand entered the field, and smoke began to rise again. My level 2 SHIELD kept my arm from disintegrating, though the pain was still intense. Magneblade continued watching, his visored head giving nothing away. Gideon stared at me, his eyes hard. "I can accept an oath from the ladies, but you''re a commoner shopkeep. You can''t make an oath worth valuing."
I finished the process, extracting another orb and tossing it to Lauren. Katya darted in to snatch it, bouncing back on the balls of her feet, casting Lauren a hard-to-decipher look. Lauren remained stoic, waiting for me to approach the next pedestal. I said, "Very well, I don''t know if we have time to argue. How about we let it rest on your honor then, Gideon? My orb can be deposited last. How does that sound?"
Gideon hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Fine. We''ll do it your way, for now."
Katya and Lauren exchanged glances.
Lauren said, "An oath then. We swear an oath, bind ourselves to this task by our honor."
Katya stared pointedly at Gideon. She said, "An oath is the right thing."
Gideon snorted. He said, "A commoner can''t swear an oath. A commoner has no honor to lose by breaking it."
But his words were empty, insincere.
As I handed the third orb to Lauren, she said, "I''ll be content, Gideon, that you bind your honor to it. I trust Tiberius well enough, and you don''t have much choice."
Katya said, "Speak an oath for us, Tiberius."
I said, "On my honor, for today, we fight together to ensure each of us makes it to tomorrow."
They each repeated the oath. We should have felt like our problems were solved. Lance couldn''t stand against the four of us. But there was a strangle quiet funereal atmosphere.
As I retrieved the last orb, my arm felt weak and the armor was marred badly with blackened portions, smoke rising from folds in my forearm. The flesh beneath felt scaled and tender from the repeated taxing of the burning fields. I held the last orb, and there seemed to be a moment of indecision, like we couldn''t decide how to proceed. It was easy to speak the words of the oath, but a different prospect to march into battle together when we had been competitors for so long. I feared the priests would call time on the show, declaring the competition over if too much time passed without an attempt to score.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
I marched down the corridor. There was no sound behind me for an instant, as if the gravity of the moment stayed my temporary allies. Then I heard three sets of armored feet start to follow me. I emerged from the corridor first, Lance waiting for me, sneering.
"Ah, shopkeep," he said. "I was hoping you''d get another one. I haven''t had my fill of taking you apart yet."
But as I stood there, I saw his mouth twitch, confused, as Lauren stepped from the corridor to stand alongside me.
"What''s this?" he said.
Then he took a step back as Katya emerged on the other side of me.
"You can''t be serious," he said. "You can''t be joining forces with this commoner. You''re a princess, and you, Lauren, your family is too proud for you to join forces with a peasant."
He froze with great shock as Gideon stepped forth, between me and Lauren, facing him.
Lance''s voice was shocked. "Gideon, of all of them, I thought better of you...."
I could see the cogs turning in Lance''s head. He had been so close to securing ultimate victory, and it was a long way down for him to realize that tomorrow he would face us all again, especially me. He had to fear my growing attributes.
"No!" he shouted. "Magneblade! This is collusion! This can''t be allowed."
I made no comment on the hypocrisy. He had allied with Gideon before, and his father''s men had targeted me during the race. Magneblade''s voice cut through the tension, calm and authoritative.
"I see nothing wrong here, youngblood," Magneblade said. "Make yourself ready. I think you have a fight on your hands."
There was definite mirth, definite amusement, in Magneblade''s voice.
I had promised to be the last to deliver my orb. I took the central position, Katya and Lauren flanking me. Gideon moved to deposit his orb.
Lance came at us like an animal. He attacked with all the frustration that could be born of the situation. He had nearly done it, and now he was impotent. I held him back. It was easy now. He couldn''t abandon himself to the assault, Lauren and Katya corralled him and forced him to guard himself. Still, he fought with the insanity of a cornered rat.
"You''re not getting through me, Lance," I growled, pushing back against his sword.
Lance''s movements grew wilder. The tight control, the perfect form, they began to slip. Desperation and frustration drove him.
"Stay out of my way, shopkeeper!" he snarled, firing his BEAM in a desperate attempt to hit Gideon, who was making his way to his pot. I managed to deflect the BEAM, my SHIELD absorbing the energy, though the strain was immense.
Gideon reached his pot and deposited his orb.
"That''s one down!" he shouted.
Gideon moved to my side, relieving Lauren as she moved to deposit her orb.
Lance''s fury only grew. He came harder. Even if he couldn''t beat us, he was expelling the demons of his rage on us.
Lauren didn''t waste time. She reached her pot and tossed the orb in
Calmly, almost quietly, she said. "That''s two."
Katya darted away from her position and Lauren took her place.
Lance, seeing her approach her pot, fired his BEAM. But I was ready. I knocked his blade aside, the shot scoring the wall instead of Katya''s armor.
Katya''s turned her head to me as she dropped her orb into the opening of her pot.
She said, "Three. It''s nearly done."
Lance''s screamed. All composure was gone. The flesh of his neck was scarlet, the veins seemed ready to explode.
"You think this will stop me?" he screamed.
Chapter 53
Chapter 53
The stage was set. Only my orb remained to be delivered.
Within moments of my disengaging, things broke down badly. As soon as I moved away towards my pot, Lance hit a stroke of luck. It had to be luck; I couldn''t credit him with arranging what happened on purpose. He parried an attack from Lauren by striking her CUT with his.
The mess that ensued was chaotic. He struck Lauren hard as she swung with her own CUT. Her swing went wild, catching Katya on the side. The blow surprised the princess, there was nothing she could to defend against it. They both went down in a tangle. Almost immediately they were rising again, but what passed next, passed in moments.
It wouldn''t be the last unlikely twist of the next moments. All that remained between Lance and me was Gideon. His once ally served his oath proud and stepped in to clash with Lance. Lance had the boon of time with the suit on the previous day, his powers had grown immensely. Gideon, however, had no attributes to match. Yet, he had always been a ferocious fighter, and he managed to slow Lance.
As they clashed, I raced for my pot. Lance''s plan had failed, and I could see he blamed me. His determination to interrupt my score burned hotter in his stance than anything he had shown when trying to stop the others. He had come within a hair''s breadth of becoming the Griidlord this day. His gambit had worked, but now, things would be harder for him. The others, his peers, would suspect him. The head start he had gained over us would start to diminish. He blamed me, hated me. Even as I reached the pot, my hand outstretched, Lance had his second stroke of luck.
If nothing else, he still had the opportunity to remove me from the competition, to have his revenge, to ruin my hopes, to remove possibly his greatest threat. He fired his BEAM. I cannot believe he scored the hit without the touch of fortune. I''m probably selling him short not to account some of the accuracy to his natural skill, but there was no way he could have hit the shot five times out of ten, probably not five times out of a hundred. Despite my SHIELD flaring to protect me, his shot struck my hand, the hand carrying the orb, and it was enough to send the orb flying from my grasp, bouncing off the wall, back to him.
At the same time, he had smashed Gideon aside with his awesome CUT and stepped up, snatching my orb, my very last chance to remain in the competition, from the air. He stalked to his pot, looking down at me, measuring me. My sword had flown from my hand, and I was too far away; there was nothing I could do. He stood with his hand hovering over the opening of his pot, looking at me.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Lauren and Katya stood frozen. The action had moved too far from them. Lance held us all to ransom. If they budged it was clear he would just drop the orb.
"You might think I suffered a loss today, Shopkeeper, but it''s nothing of the sort. True enough, I could have achieved more, events certainly seemed to be conspiring for me to end the Choosing today and walk away as the new Sword of Boston. But so what? So I need to play this game for one more day. It doesn''t matter. I showed today that it takes all of you, not to beat me, but to survive me. And now I get to eliminate you, one less to get in my way. Honestly, Shopkeeper, how much pleasure do you think this brings me? If I could only have achieved one thing today, then this is it."
There was a long moment of tension as Lance and I locked gazes through our visors. My game was over. I had done my best, achieved far more than it had seemed I would at the start, but still, a bitter feeling lingered. I had grown so much for nothing. Even worse was the idea of never feeling the suit on me again, feeling the power, the sensory inputs, the sense of being what I was supposed to be. The rest of my life would truly be spent wondering about what might have been, dreaming of another existence where I had been a Griidlord.
Lance''s fingers loosed on the orb.
And then there was a second armored hand clasping his, closing his hand back around the orb, not allowing it to fall into Lance''s pot. Lance spun, shocked. Gideon stood there, their faces inches apart. Lance made to swing his sword, but they were too close together. Gideon stood inside the arc, and the swords couldn''t come to play.
Wrestling with Gideon, Lance snarled, "What are you doing? He''s a peasant. You said it yourself: common blood has no place in a Griidsuit."
Gideon pushed back against Lance, and I started to realize something. Lance had gained attributes yesterday, but not in proportion. His CUT and BEAM were devastating, and maybe he had more that I hadn''t seen, but as they wrestled, whether it be through natural physicality or mastery of the suit, Gideon was physically stronger.
Gideon hissed, "I swore an oath, Lance, and the commoner did too. He fulfilled his side."
Lance snarled, "A commoner has no honor to lose. An oath means nothing from him."
Gideon bore his grip down on Lance''s hand. Lance squirmed, wriggled, his grip loosening.
Gideon barked, "This one has honor."
Then he punched Lance with the fist of his sword hand, right in the face. Most of the blow landed on the lower part of Lance''s face, the part that was uncovered by the Griidsuit. Under the force of the impact¡ªa punch from Gideon at the best of times was probably a devastating experience¡ªbut his fist propelled by the strength and speed of the suit, I saw blood and teeth fly through the air. Lance''s head snapped back, his knees going weak. He curled on the floor, not dead, but teetering at the border of consciousness.
Gideon looked at me and nodded. I nodded back. Gideon walked slowly to my pot and dropped my orb in for me.
Mario''s voice sounded across the arena, "MATCH!" and the crowd roared.
Chapter 54
I rose from the ground, wanting to hold my injured hand but unwilling to let the injury be seen. Lauren and Katya had untangled themselves and were up as well, embracing with relief at having survived another round, especially given how doomed we had seemed to be. Gideon walked up to me and extended a hand. I offered mine in return, trying to disguise the pain I felt there.
Gideon said, "Make no mistake, shopkeeper, I haven''t changed my mind. Noble houses exist to breed warriors and Griidlords; that''s our place, and your position in this competition sullies it..."
I was taken aback. I had expected something a little more conciliatory. Maybe not the deep embrace that Katya and Lauren were sharing, but, you know, something less bigoted to me and most of the populace.
Gideon continued, "But I cannot deny your talent, your steel. You were good to your word today, shopkeeper, and what''s more, I probably would be finished if not for you. When I am the Sword, I won''t forget this." With that, he stalked away, as surly and fierce as ever.
Before us, the priests were fussing around Lance where he lay sprawled, but they gave way to Lance''s father, Lord Darkwater (confusingly enough also named Lance¡ªit was a habit among Griidlord families), and his retinue, which included several medics. I watched Lance on the ground. I can''t say I''d particularly have cared if he expired there, and it was far from unheard of for a contestant in a Choosing to die, but the gravity of the situation was hard to escape. I doubted he was in mortal danger, but his lordly good looks might never be the same.
Then again, the world had ended, the old world, in The Fall in what we believed was probably the year 2169 CE of the old dating system, and the medical technology that had existed then was staggering. Though things were very different in the present year, the year 802 since the first tower had risen, the rich had access to wonders. In areas where Order was high, those old wondrous technologies still functioned. A boon for the son of a great lord who''d just had all his teeth knocked out, but a bitter pill for a farmer in the wilds who would watch their child slowly die when all they needed was occasional dialysis or medication. No, in reality, Lance would probably be alright, and probably even be back to his tediously handsome self.
What was more interesting was the possibility that he would be unable to compete the next day, or even if he was, that he would be impaired. I knew all of us would feel our odds go up if he was removed from the competition, but none could be more excited than I was. Without Lance, I would be the forerunner, the favorite, all the sweeter considering how I was an afterthought during the first days of the competition.
I watched as the medics carefully removed Lance. The priests then began the process of removing our suits.
I felt that familiar but strange sadness as the suit melted from me, the Mystorium streaming back to form a cylinder on the ground.
Once we exited our suits, we were arranged on the stage for the priests to close the day''s competition. I struggle to describe the emotions I felt. There was the peace that followed the intensity of battle. But I felt strangely hollow. I couldn''t explain it.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
The crowd had no such reservations. They cheered with a volume that bordered on the violent. They had had the show they wanted. For many of them, they had had the outcome they desired as well. Their commoner was still a part of The Choosing.
Mario bowed his head as the Bishop stepped forward. His voice boomed from the corners of the arena as Mario''s had.
"Citizens of Boston, today has been a great day, a momentous occasion for our city. This is the second day the Choosing has been open to the public, and the first day within this grand arena. Our young heroes had not failed to do the Oracle proud. They have not failed to show you why they each see themselves fit to be your Sword. For a time, it seemed as though only one worthy champion would arise from among you. But the Oracle was not sated yet. The Oracle would see more."
The Bishop paused. The crowd hushed for him in a way they had not for Mario.
"Today, we have witnessed feats of strength, agility, and strategy that have astounded us all. We have seen the resilience of our contestants. We had seen their determination to become the next Sword of Boston. A Sword must never be one that can be defeated in their heart, even if their body can be cut down. It has been a day of fierce competition and high stakes, but also one of great triumphs and worthy efforts."
His eyes passed over each of us. They lingered on me. The distant crowd could not see the touch of distaste that flickered there as he looked at me.
"After much consultation, it has been decided that returning the arena to working order will take too long to resume the Choosing on the morrow. Therefore, a day of rest will be allowed, a well-earned rest for both competitor and spectator alike. We will resume the competition the next morning, with renewed vigor and anticipation for what is to come."
The Bishop raised his arms again.
"Until then, may the Oracle be with you all, guiding your steps and fortifying your spirits. Rest well, citizens of Boston, and prepare yourselves for the next stage of the Choosing. The best is yet to come."
The Bishop stepped back and turned away. The other priests remained standing still as he slowly moved away.
I stood seething. I couldn''t help but see it as an odd coincidence that we would be given an extra day of rest right after Lance was badly injured. I wondered if there would have been so much work to do to ready the arena again if he hadn''t been hurt, or if there would have been a different outcome if the powers that be were aware of how my wrist ached. Maybe they would have traded Lance regaining his strength for seeing me compete with my own injury. It wasn''t lost on me that I would benefit from the rest as well. With our riches, I had access to the same medical facilities as Lance, and the extra day would benefit my wrist no end. Still, I seethed. The Choosing was supposed to be a pure and fair event, a chance for the Oracle to choose us through our trials, a chance for the best Griidlord to emerge. Instead, once again, I was watching the deck be stacked in favor of the establishment.
As I stood there, seething, I noticed Katya and Lauren approaching me, a strange expression shared on their faces. I looked at them curiously.
Lauren said, "We don¡¯t need to compete tomorrow."
I nodded. Katya said, "That means, my betrothed, that we don''t need to observe such tedious bedtimes tonight or be quite so precious with our constitutions."
Lauren giggled, obviously amused at Katya describing me as her "betrothed."
I said, "I guess..."
Lauren said, "Katya and I are going to get a drink..."
I said, "Is that a good idea? We''re still competitors. Today was a temporary thing. Won''t it confuse things for you if you socialize like that?"
Lauren said, "We''re grown-ups, you dummy. Besides, we thought you might join us."
Chapter 55
Chapter 55
As I walked back to my father''s house, my mind was decidedly unsettled. The thought of joining the two girls socially was obviously exciting. But.. My anxiety remained heightened. I didn''t know how to talk to them in the brief exchanges we had had. How was I going to sustain a conversation?
The streets were busier than any night so far. The city swelled with visitors. The Choosing was an economic shot in the arm for the city. Hotels and boarding houses were overflowing. The eateries had lines outside. Every tavern, in every sector, that I passed was exploding with the sounds of revelry. The streets were filled with the smells of new foods. Vendors had joined the crowds that flowed into the cities and strange spiced aromas flooded me.
Even as I walked through the inner sector I found that the sober veil of propriety had been cast aside. The wine bars and restaurants were crowded, and the sounds of revelry were more exuberant than I was used to on these finer streets.
Part of me kept asking why I had agreed to go with them. They were my opponents. They were nobles. But that other stubborn part was quite insistent that this was the only course I could take without later hating myself. They had invited Gideon as well, but he had brushed them off.
What would it be like to spend time with Lauren and Katya outside the arena? I had already formed an attachment to each of them. Was it dangerous to let that deepen?
I thought on both of them as I walked. Lauren, beautiful, long-legged, curvaceous. I thought about how her placid face had transformed from one that looked upon me with dispassionate disinterest to one that smiled with growing fondness. Katya, all energy, completely unconventional in this world. She was intoxicatingly attractive. What part of my young mind could really refuse a chance to be near either of them, let alone both?
Passersby recognized me as I walked. I imagined Zeb following. Even his coolness would be tested by the crowds and the attention they paid me.
There were hoots of "Knock ''em dead", a snip of "Our Champion", and some scattered curses from those who had lost wagers. When someone pressed too close, attempted to engage me at more length, Zeb appeared. None argued, not commoner or noble, when his huge form stepped between them and I.
As I entered my father''s house, Harold greeted me. "Good evening, Master Tiberius. Your father has not yet returned."
I wasn''t bothered by this. In fact, I was relieved. He might have objected to my outing. I made my way inside. Harold seemed to notice my dreamy detachment as I moved by him. An eyebrow raised ever so slightly as he looked at me. I barely noticed.
In my room, I changed into social clothes. I chose some things that were more comfortable and less imposing than my usual attire.
As I buttoned my shirt, I glanced at myself in the mirror. Tonight, I would be Tiberius the young man, not Tiberius the competitor. At least for a little while. And almost for the first time.
I had never done this before. My life could be divided into three segments. My youngest memories, vague and decayed by the illness that would take me. These were nothing but discordant fragments of images of my mother, our little home, the dirtiness and hunger. The years I spent, my limbs held in the grip of neurological illness, barely able to walk from my bed to the bathroom, my only friends had been books. And the last years, the life of a soldier, vainly trying to make up for lost time with an existence that was only training.
I descended the stairs. My stomach was aflutter with excitement and nervousness. I felt such a fool to have such feelings.
Harold noticed me immediately. His keen eyes missed nothing and my current attire was far from my norm.
"Do we have plans, young master?" he asked. He watched me, allowing an unusual amount of emotion to effect his expression.
"There''s no competition tomorrow," I replied. "I thought I might go out for a while, clear my head."
Harold frowned slightly. "I''m not sure your father would approve."
"But you''re not sure he wouldn¡¯t approve either," I countered. I tried to show him a confidence that was really at total odds with my true feelings. "So I guess that means I''m going."This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Harold assessed me, his expression thoughtful. This was unusual for me; my life had been separate from others my age, and Harold had never known me to have friends. I think he could have stopped me; he had enough paternal credits in my account that if he had banned me from leaving, I would probably have returned to my room. Instead, he seemed to smile, a rare display of warmth.
He looked me up and down. "And is it young lady Oakcrest or the Princess you will be seeing tonight?"
I blushed, stammered, then found my voice. "Both of them, if you must ask."
Harold suppressed a broader smile but briefly failed. He approached me and straightened my collar. "Don''t be the one to buy the first round, young master."
I looked at him strangely, and he just looked right back, his eyes twinkling with some unspoken wisdom.
"Well, young master..." He cleared his throat. "I''ll make sure the cook leaves some food for you, should you want to eat upon your return."
"Thanks, Harold," I said. I didn''t enjoy the way he was looking at me. I felt like he was reading my mind.
I opened the door. I resisted the urge to take a deep breath as my foot moved forward.
But Harold called my name, softly. I turned to look back at him.
"Tiberius," he said, using my first name. His eyes were earnest. At the time I couldn''t understand his emotions. "Do have some fun."
***
We had arranged to meet in a tavern in the first sector. The son of Boston''s wealthiest merchant, the daughter of a noble house, and a certifiable member of the royal line of Miami could hardly have passed the time in a dive bar in the outer parts of the city.
The tavern in question boasted all of the comforts of a first-sector establishment. The drinks were refrigerated, air was massaged by machinery, the lights were dimmed and colored and, of course, electric. But the decor liked to play the more primitive aspects of our society. Suits of armor stood like statues in the corners of the room, the mounted heads of animals (and even some fiends) adorned the walls. The furniture was all dark polished wood, and plastered stonework dressed the interior walls. This was where the wealthiest people in the city came to pay astonishing prices, what would have been a day''s wages to a peasant, for each drink. And they liked to do so in a setting that made a bizarre effort at mimicking the setting in which those same poor folk spent their time.
As I entered, the noise hit me like a wave. The music was too loud. The piece that was playing was a modern symphony of harsh electric noises that did little for me. Viewscreens lined the walls, replaying highlights from the day''s Choosing. I grimaced as I looked up to watch Lance putting me down hard. The next clip was a slow-motion replay of the same action. The crowd booed as they watched him defeat me. I would have joined them, but the sight of the scene made my fists tremble.
Navigating the bar was a challenge. I was unaccustomed to being out this late. The tavern was extra crowded with the influx of visitors here to witness The Choosing. I side-stepped and shuffled around the mess of bodies. Hands reached out to pat my back or shake my hand as I moved. Zeb must have been having a heart attack.
"Hey, it''s the shopkeeper!"
"Good job today, Tiberius!"
"You''re the people''s champion!"
There were drunken experts here as well. One man leaned over, almost falling from his barstool, and wisely informed me, "Should''ve seen that BEAM coming, kid!"
Another, swaying and glassy-eyed, put a hand on my chest to stop me. Sagely, he said, "Next time, don''t let Lance get the drop on you!"
I smiled and fought the urge to roll my eyes. Why hadn''t I thought of that?
Despite it all, the atmosphere made me feel strangely excited. All these people, living their lives, spending their time so freely. I had never had the chance. The place was alien to me, but the thought that this could be a fixture in someone''s existence made me wonder.
Several barkeeps moved behind the counter. They were clearly swamped by the weight of the orders being presented to them. Glass after glass was placed on the counter, too often too quickly. The dark wood was spotted with puddles of spilled drinks. Barmaids moved more easily than I through the crowd, even with their arms laden with glasses. I watched a young woman move, a stack of 10 glasses, each inside the other, held in the crook of her arm. She moved so easily with the burden. I shook my head in disbelief.
I eventually weaved my way through the crowded tavern and found the faces I sought in the sea of strangers.
Lauren and Katya sat at a small table, a third empty chair opposite them. I wondered at their ability to talk so intimately. Their heads were close together as they tried to hear each other over the terrible din of the bar. Lauren was dressed as I would have expected, looking like a radiant goddess in a long shimmering gown. The dress displayed her form more completely than any other attire I had ever seen her wear. I had to consciously control my gaze to keep it from traveling down her body.
Katya surprised me. She too, was wearing a dress. Gone, for the night, were riding clothes and loose shirts. I gulped as my male gaze defied me, eating in her own beautiful curves.
I saw that they had started without me, Katya knocked back the rest of her drink and stared at me, those deep dark eyes dragging my soul from my body.
¡°I¡¯m going to get another round, what¡¯ll it be?¡±
Chapter 56
Chapter 56
"Well?" Katya asked again, her eyebrows raised expectantly. I hesitated, unsure of what to order. My father drank whiskey, and I joined him on occasion, but I wasn¡¯t sure I really liked it.
Lauren cocked her head and said, "I know, it''s so hard to choose. I live far out of town. Daddy likes to have the family together, and he needs to be on the estate most of the time to keep things running, to organize the men when there''s trouble. A night like this is a major treat, but I''m always so spoiled for choice. I let Katya choose my drink, and I wasn¡¯t disappointed." She smiled warmly, and I could see the effect of the booze had already softened her a little. Then she blushed. "What am I talking about? You live in the town. You probably go out like this all the time."
"Less than you might think," I said absently.
Katya sighed, "We''ll grow old waiting at this rate, Tiberius. What will I get you?"
"Surprise me," I said. Katya gave me a funny little smile at that and wandered to the bar.
The moment that remained, with Lauren and I on our own at the table, was awkward. I knew I was going to be awkward, unsure of how to talk to girls my own age, unaccustomed to socializing like this. I was surprised that Lauren also seemed a little unsure.
She said, "That''s twice now."
"Twice what?" I asked.
"Twice you''ve kept me in The Choosing. If not for your idea and your SHIELD, Lance would be a Griidlord now."
"And I don''t think he''s going to forget it any time soon," I said.
Lauren said, "Well, whatever. I won''t forget it, Tiberius. I know you were behind the pack when The Choosing started, but you and Lance are the favorites now. The bet makers have moved Lance ahead of you again after today''s showing, but you''re ahead of me."
I stammered, "Hey, I don''t know how true that is. I''m getting attributes really quickly, but you''re better on your feet, better with a sword, and you''re growing too."
Lauren looked at the dregs of her glass, sipped, and said, "I don''t think I''ll ever be good enough to beat Lance."
I snorted. "Imagine where you''d be if you''d had a whole day alone with the suit like he did during the race."
She looked at me, sensing my animosity. "Someone, maybe his father, is pulling serious strings to set him up. Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s funny that we get a day off for the first time right after he got hurt? Give him extra time to heal? Would the rest of us get that treatment?"
Lauren shrugged. "I don''t know..."
I was making her feel uncomfortable. Was she friends with Lance? Did she expect that she too would be treated like that? I couldn¡¯t work out her shifting around.
She said, "I know Lance seems like an ass, but I grew up around guys like him. We''re brought up differently, we''re raised with ideas. He''s not really a bad guy, he has pressure on him too..."
"You''re not an ass like that," I said.
Lauren said, "You know, I joked about you early on. I never stopped him when he called you Shopkeeper."
"Slowly," I said, "but you don''t feel like that now?"
She blushed a little. "This might seem mad, considering how there are hundreds of people of normal birth for every noble, but I''ve never really spent time with anyone who wasn''t a noble, except for servants obviously. We''re brought up to think we''re different, special, plain better, Tiberius. But you''ve grown and grown. You might be the best one in The Choosing now, and you''ve saved me twice. If I do win the Griidsuit, then I won''t forget any of that."
I didn¡¯t quite know how to respond to any of that. My words caught in my throat, leaving me lost for a reply.
Then Katya was back with us, three glasses held between her hands. She placed them on the table and said, "I almost don''t care who wins the suit as long as it''s not Lance." Lauren seemed taken aback by this. Katya followed up, "Oh, he''s very handsome, and I''m sure he''d make very handsome babies, but he''s a simpleton and very unpleasant."Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!
Katya tasted her drink, and I followed suit, picking up my glass. The cocktail was a mix of sharp and sweet flavors, surprising but pleasant. Katya continued, "I''ve been around. I traveled to many cities when I left Miami. I''ve been around a lot of noble boys, and Lance is no good. He''s mean, he''s nasty, and his family is poor."
I nearly choked on my drink and said, "The Darkwaters aren''t poor!"
Lauren looked very uncomfortable at this, but Katya went on, "Oh, they might not seem to be lacking for money, and when I came here, I quickly came to understand that they were one of the premier, if not the premier, families in Boston. A big fleet as well as good lands by the coast. But I''ve poked around. I research all my potential husbands."
I looked into my drink and tasted it again, disliking the idea that Katya had scouted Lance as a potential husband, even if she''d found him lacking. Katya continued, "They still make a big show, lavish parties, their soldiers are the best equipped, servants all over their castles, and a very nice townhouse, but it''s all afforded on borrowed money, and that debt is piling up."
Lauren said, "I don''t know if we should be talking about this kind of thing."
Katya waved her off and said, "Why not? Tiberius should know about it. It''s his father''s fault anyway."
I looked at her, dazzled. Katya smiled, enjoying defaming the Darkwaters. She said, "All the houses have lands, but those lands can only support a certain level of decadence, and they''re always competing. The Darkwaters have a big fleet of ships that carry goods up and down the coast. It gives them a second very substantial stream of revenue to squander on showing off how much money they''ve got. They don''t talk about that, of course. A very uncouth way for a Boston family to make money. Funny really, don''t you think, Tiberius? Lance giving you so much grief with his shopkeeper talk, and his father is secretly part trader himself, or he was at least. The last years have apparently been getting tighter and tighter for the Darkwaters. Your father moved in, undercutting them, breaking monopolies, even hiring away some of their best talent from their ships. I''m not even sure if the fleet is profitable anymore."
I looked at her, feeling my tongue loosen a little as the alcohol entered my blood. I was more than a little pleased at the idea that Father had wounded Lance''s family, though I knew the thought was probably unworthy. Katya said, "That''s at least part of why Lance has it in for you, Tiberius. Your father is ruining his father."
What really was the point of this? What had inspired Katya and Lauren to embark on this mad adventure of socializing? Wouldn''t this be a bonding experience? Would this kindle further the small embers of friendship that had emerged between us, and how could that be a good thing? In less than 48 hours, we would be back in the arena again, all fighting for the same dream, all focused on destroying that dream for each other.
It may have been something that I just didn''t have the complexity to understand, but there was a therapy in that night. We sat at the table in the bar and grew merry. None of us allowed ourselves to become drunk, as much as we were affording ourselves the chance to have a night off, a night out. A hangover would not have been acceptable, losing the next day and probably still having lingering effects on our performance for the day after.
What did we talk about? You might imagine we could have discussed The Choosing so far, debriefing each other or learning, but what we spent the evening talking about was mostly nothings, mostly silliness. Katya''s revelation about my father competing with the Darkwaters was as serious as the night got. We spoke about horses and boating, hopes for the future beyond the chance of becoming a Griidlord. Lauren was first in line to inherit her father''s estate and planned to modernize the farming, move on from what she saw as silly old traditions. Katya, as you know, wanted to find her place in the world, wanted to leverage her status as a princess to marry into a good house with resources, but she wouldn''t sell her hand cheaply. She wanted to build a dynasty and it was clear that she intended to command the course of that dynasty, not whoever became her husband.
I think what was so important about the night, what was significant about the three of us sitting down together that night, as opposed to having the same experience with other friends, was that we all shared a similar experience. First of all, who else could we spend time with that could understand what it was like to go through The Choosing? Boston, the territory, contained some millions of people. Of those, only 12 had entered The Choosing. The three of us shared an understanding of the stresses, the aspirations, the dreams, the fears, the complications.
Further than that, as the night wandered onwards, I came to realize we shared more. I had been raised to compete for a Griid-suit. Long hours of training and study had left me isolated, without friends or peers. Being so rich and yet common born had isolated me further. I struggled to build relationships with the common folk who had so little in common with me, and the noble classes who disdained my lower birth.
Katya was an outsider, a visitor from a foreign land. While many noble houses might covet the status of having her marry into their ranks, she was still strange and brought no lands with her. Lauren surprised me. She was so beautiful, so gregarious, so confident, so natural around the others. I had expected her to be different to Katya and me, but as we chatted she revealed a picture of a lonely outsider herself. Her family had vast farmlands, but well outside the city. She had grown up mostly alone and separate from people her own age. There had been parties and gatherings, of course, but as she talked it became clear that she disdained many of her peers, many prospective matches, the likes of Lance, with their bravado, their conceit.
The evening provided a rare glimpse into their worlds, and as we laughed and shared stories, a bond was forming. This bond was strange, almost paradoxical, given that in just a short time we would be back to viewing each other as competitors, potential obstacles to our own success. But for that night, we found solace in each other''s company
Chapter 57
Chapter 57
I woke up feeling vaguely groggy. I was not familiar with this feeling of fuzziness. Father, in his better moods, would let me share a drink with him. But the man measured my pleasures meanly. He would never let me indulge enough to affect my next day''s training. He policed my sleeping patterns religiously.
Waking that morning, with my head feeling vaguely sore, and my mouth strangely dry, I was grateful that there was no contest that day. I was disoriented for a moment. The light was too bright through the window. It was much later in the day than I was used to waking.
I sat up in the large, canopied bed. The events of the night played back in my mind. Snapshots passed through my mind. Lauren''s smile, broad and unrestrained. Katya''s light but devious laughter. I blushed as I recalled Katya''s rude jokes. I blushed deeper as a memory came to me of my hand resting on Lauren''s leg, her expression completely unobjecting to the gesture.
For all the desires that ran through me, it was the closeness of the memories that filled my heart. I had no friends. There had been no room for friends in my life.
A memory surfaced. A memory of a time when my limbs had been much shorter, but before they had started to fail me. I could other children running in front of me. Their clothes were dirty and tattered but their faces were bright with laughter. I was running after them, my bare feet tramping the dirt of the street. Their faces were known to me, familiar, but the names were long lost. I had fallen. Another boy had picked me up. His face was right there in my memory, just for a moment. He had a hare lip. But I barely noticed it. I saw his eyes, the way they looked down at me with real concern.
Those times were long gone now.
I dressed quickly. As I tied my shirt my wrist reminded me of what it had suffered on the day before. The stiffness troubled me. It hurt sharply when I tried to flex it.
A few hours later, I found myself in a hospital that only lords and the richest merchants could afford. It was a house of miracles that were denied to the common folk. There were machines there that could see inside the body without piercing the skin, devices that could keep a body breathing and a heart beating even when the brain that it housed was long deceased.
I was subjected to treatment by a strange piece of equipment. A priest, not a doctor, was the one who managed the item. It must have been a truly rare relic from the time before if one of the priests insisted on its operation. Strange vibrations and warmth spread through my injury as I sat there for an hour. When the treatment was completed the injury was much improved, if not completely healed.
As I sat there, a medic approached. A younger man, his face tired, but kind.
He said, "You''ll still have pain after the treatment. Not so bad, not nearly, but it''s going to hurt. And it will be weaker for a while."
I nodded, distracted by the sensations of the machine.
The medic held up a vial of pills. He said, "These will help though, I don''t know how they''ll affect your performance in the arena, but-"
I shook my head, interrupting him. I smiled, thanking him for the thought. I said, "I can''t. My trainers warned me against drugs that dull the senses. The suit is directed by my nervous system. Alcohol and other drugs that dull consciousness, are bad. Things that dull the central parts of the nervous system are bad. But painkillers that block nerves from working... There are horror stories of how the connection with the suit has failed Griidlords taking medicines like that."
The medic seemed uncertain. He said, "You''ll have substantial pain though. Why don''t you take these with you, you can always choose not to take them."
I shook my head, again smiling gratefully for his attention. "No. Thank you, but no. I''ll take the pain now. The rewards are just... too great.
It was hard to experience that miracle knowing that there were children in the outer parts of the city dying from common illnesses.
Harold was distracted when I returned home. I found him in the den, leaning over a table with his head hanging. When he heard me enter, he suddenly straightened. There was a moment of awkwardness between us. I understood that it was kindest to pretend I had seen none of it than to inquire about him. But I couldn''t suppress my curiosity, my concern, as he spoke.
"Good morning, young master," Harold said. His voice betrayed none of the heavy emotions I had seen weighing on him a moment before.
"Morning, Harold," I said. "Has my father returned from Dodge yet?"
Harold''s eyes wavered, just for a moment. The pause might have meant nothing, but it prodded my concerns. "Not yet, Master Tiberius. He is still attending to business matters."Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
I frowned. I didn''t want to embarrass him. Harold was truly dear to me. He had shown me more affection over the years than my own sire had. But I couldn''t stop myself. I said, "You seem worried, Harold. Is everything alright?"
Harold hesitated. His perfect composure faltered briefly. Then he repainted the mask of professionalism on his face. He said, "It''s nothing to trouble yourself with, young master. Your father is a capable man. He knows how to handle himself."
I studied his face.
"If there''s something I should know, Harold, please tell me."
He sighed. I wondered if it relieved him a little to say more.
"There have been some... concerning reports from the areas your father is visiting. The Horde''s activity has increased. But your father has taken ample precautions. He is guarded by a small army of the best. He carries his own relics."
The relics that exceeded the budgets of even wealthy lords were available to Father. The man had absolutely no skill with a weapon, but he armored himself with ancient treasures that would make him almost impervious save in the most desperate situations. I too, carried some relics on my person. They were concealed. A pendant that hung beneath my shirt. A belt buckle that had been modified to look plain and normal. The sword I carried at my waist. It was better to conceal the items rather than draw the greedy eyes of those would try to take them from me. But, between my relics, and Zeb, I had little to fear from mugger or assassin.
Of course, during the contests, Zeb held my relics for me. They were not permitted in the arena. The advantage they would bestow on their user would be a capital violation of the sacred rite.
I felt a pang of worry. "And you''re sure he''s safe?"
Harold nodded, though his eyes betrayed his uncertainty. "As sure as one can be in these times. Your father is not one to take unnecessary risks."
Before I could press further, Harold cleared his throat and changed the subject. "There was a message for you, Master Tiberius. From Lord Baltizar. He requests your presence in the tower foyer immediately."
I straightened, the name snapping me out of my concern. "Baltizar? Did he say what it was about?"
Harold shook his head. "No details were provided, only that it is urgent."
I nodded. There was a pause as I considered Harold''s veiled concerns about Father. I wanted to say more, ask more.
In the end, I just said, "Thank you, Harold. I''ll head there right away."
As I made my way to the tower, my mind raced with possibilities. Baltizar''s summons could mean any number of things, and in the volatile environment of The Choosing, every moment was fraught with potential danger and opportunity.
The Tower was not far uphill from my Father''s house. The wealthier the household, the closer it seemed to stand to the tower.
I moved with the crowd of people that flowed in and out of the titanic structure. The guards checked everyone. Too many people wanted access to the tower. Too many people wanted access to the power of the people who dwelt there. But my name wasn''t even required. My face was known to the guards from the viewscreens they watched in their private hours. I was expected and I continued inside.
The foyer was busier than usual. It was thronged with bodies. Foreign garbs and accents crowded my senses. Important persons from far and wide had come to enjoy The Choosing, and they wasted no chance to conduct their business while they visited the city.
Then I saw him. Magneblade stalked across the room towards an elevator. He moved with the same restrained rage as I had seen before. It was easy to see the contempt he held for the milling politicians and bureaucrats. They parted before his armored form. As he passed by, he paused for a moment and noticed me. He saluted. He saluted me. This man, this living God, had taken the time to recognize me.
I was lost in that moment when suddenly Baltizar was standing alongside me.
Baltizar said, "My boy, I''m glad my message found you. I couldn''t be sure where you would be on a day off to spend training."
I replied, "Less training than I might have, my lord. I needed to attend to my injuries."
I waited, unsure of how to ask him what his message was about. He saw my uncertainty and said, "You''re wondering why I summoned you here? You should probably have guessed."
He spoke low, "I want to give you a tip-off about tomorrow''s competition."
As he spoke, an aide dashed up and took his attention. He spoke with the man, annoyed at the distraction, then turned to me, "Why don''t you wait in the gardens for a minute? I''ll need a moment here."
As he walked off, I started to cross the foyer to the door to the gardens. Suddenly, the voice was in my ear, startling me but not exactly surprising me. Whatever it was, it was real. I couldn''t be going mad; the voice had given me information, like demanding the Oracle be consulted when the bishop was trying to have me ejected, knowledge that couldn''t have come from my subconscious, it was knowledge I''d never owned.
The voice said, "We''re getting close, Tiberius, can you smell it?"
I thought back to the voice, I need to take every round as it comes. But the voice didn''t respond. I whispered as I walked, "I need to take every round as it comes."
The voice answered, "Oh yes, of course, of course. You had your wrist healed, how does it feel now? It was a nasty blow. The suit will compensate for a lot of that, but all the same, a little injury like that can get in the way, impede you."
I said, whispering since there were people about, "It''s good now. Besides, it''s my left hand, my sword hand is fine. I don''t see how it can matter all that much."
I paused in the doorway to the gardens and said, "How come I can only hear you when I''m either wearing the suit or spending time in The Tower?"
The voice giggled, "Those aren''t the only times, but... that''s very observant of you..."
I was frustrated that the comment didn''t actually include an explanation. I was about to ask something more when Baltizar came striding towards me. He said, "Come, let''s take a little walk around the garden."
Chapter 58
Chapter 58
Baltizar and I strolled through the garden.
Tower dwellers experienced vastly diminished aging in the high Order of the Tower. Any time spent outside of the field that surrounded the Tower cost them many times what the same duration would cost them inside. Some dwellers obsessed over this. Some Tower dwellers simply would not venture beyond the walls that surrounded the tower. Those walls appeared to be the limits of the heightened field that preserved them.
The gardens around the Tower had been built to give the most important of people a place to experience the outdoors. It was my understanding that all Towers had gardens like these where lords, kings, bishops, and leaders could enjoy the air while still stopping the clock on their body''s aging. This was not entirely true, I was not well enough informed of all of the cultures that filled our vast land. But it was certainly true of the majority.
The gardens were a true spectacle. A fortune had been expended in their construction, and a fortune was expended annually in their upkeep. I couldn''t count the numbers of gardeners and attendants that moved around the rolling lawns.
Everything one could imagine of a royal garden graced the lawns. Incredible topiaries, shaped in the forms of fiends and Griidlords and wild animals grew from the ground. Beds of flowers brimmed with color, the most exotic and difficult-to-manage flowers imaginable thronged in terrific numbers. There were artificial waterways and ponds, brimming with fish of every imaginable shape and color.
Everywhere I looked, people moved in twos and threes. A bench, overlooking a pond in a shaded corner, bore two conspirators. Another pair of men walked on a decorative bridge that spanned an stream, their heads close together as they shared secrets. The Tower was a place of too many ears. In the gardens, plots could be launched, and intrigues hatched, with less risk of being overheard. Of course, even the garden had ears. Every gardener belonged to someone, well rewarded for reporting snippets of what they heard.
History was full of stories of terrible treasons and monumental alliances being born in the gardens of a city''s Tower.
Baltizar walked beside me. I knew a little of his history, but not enough. I knew he had lead armies during previous Fallings. I knew he had been decorated. One might think Father would ensure that his heir was informed of every aspect of politics in the city. But Father''s use for me only extended as far as winning the Sword.
"You know," he said, "these gardens have seen more conspiracies and betrayals than the Tower halls themselves."
I nodded. I said, "I can imagine. It''s the perfect place for such things. Far from prying ears, yet close enough to the Tower''s influence."
We passed a small pond where koi fish swam lazily. Nearby, a cluster of orchids bloomed. The flowers caught my eye. Their redness, so intense as to almost seem artificial, set something vibrating in my mind.
"Do you remember the incident with Lord Varian?" Baltizar asked. "He thought he could outmaneuver everyone in the Tower by holding his secret meetings here."
I thought, recalling the scandal that had rocked the city a few years ago. I had been younger, and not included in the gossip. I decided to agree anyway. I said. "Yes, I think I do..."
Baltizar''s said, "He underestimated how many eyes and ears these gardens have. Even in a place designed for seclusion, there are always those who watch and listen. And that''s why we must be careful. The gardens may be a refuge, but they are also a stage where the most dangerous games are played."
The city stretched below us. I could see it all, shining slate roots and painted buildings blending and lessening until the homes at the edges became cruder.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
My eyes fixed on the orchids as grew nearer to them. Why were they drawing me so?
"The Order field," Baltizar mused, "it''s both a blessing and a curse. It keeps us young, but it also ties us to this place. Few are willing to give up the life extension it provides."
"True," I agreed. "But for those who crave immortality, it''s a small price to pay."
The flowers... I could see it suddenly. A flower, just like these, on the lapel of Father''s jacket. The memory came unbidden, just a snatch of something long degraded by the teeth of the illness that had kept me from living the life of a normal child. I could see Father, standing in the door of our little home. He stood outside, my mother stood inside. She wore a faded pink dress. The dress was so old as to probably have been closer to grey. And father stood in front of her, tall, handsome, confident. His clothes were immaculate and splendid.
And mother was crying...
I looked up with a start, coming back to the moment. Baltizar stared at me, measuring me with his intense gaze.
"If you win the suit," he said, "that will be the same. Griidlords barely seem to age at all. As wonderful as that might sound, they become trapped in their suits. Removing the suit is like accelerating time¡ªeach minute outside of it like five or ten within it. It might seem silly, but some Griidlords don''t even remove their suits for lovemaking."
I shifted uncomfortably at the comment, the weight of his words sinking in. I thought about it, about the ecstasy of sensory input, the power, and the safety that the suit provided. Life extension was only one reason a Griidlord might become addicted to being in their armor. The suit was a sanctuary, a fortress, and a prison all at once.
Baltizar continued, "I wish I had more time to spend with you, Tiberius. You fascinate me, but the demands of being the Lord Supreme weigh on my every minute. Time to fill you in on the contest tomorrow, and then send you on your way."
We continued walking through the garden, the opulent surroundings a stark contrast to the gravity of our conversation. The golden pathways gleamed in the sunlight, leading us past crystalline fountains and marble statues that seemed to watch over us with knowing eyes.
I held my breath, excitement coursing through me as I anticipated what Baltizar would reveal about tomorrow. There was a tinge of guilt at the thought of cheating, but it was short-lived. The others had advantages derived from their noble birth; at least my advantage was merit-based. Baltizar was sharing his knowledge with me because of the promise I''d displayed, because he, Lord Supreme, believed I was the best choice for Boston.
He said, "Tomorrow is a classic. If you read the histories, you''ll see it''s been used many times over the years." I waited, wondering if he was pausing for dramatic effect. He continued, "Tomorrow will be the Tower of Babel. I don''t know if you''re familiar with it. A huge tower is being constructed in the middle of the Arena, and contestants will climb it. There will be a line painted near the top. After two hours have passed, anyone below the line will be ejected; anyone above survives. The tower is peppered with different climbing surfaces, various traps, and obstacles. It''s shaped like a cheese grater, narrower as you go up. The closer you get to the top, the more contestants are pressed together, increasing the chances of someone getting knocked down, losing height, or even hitting the ground below and being hurt or having to start over."
I sucked air between my lips, considering his words and thinking about the attributes of the other contestants. I thought I was the only one with AGILITY, which would benefit me greatly, but my injured left hand suddenly mattered significantly.
"Do you have any advice for me?" I asked, trying to mask my nervousness.
Baltizar looked thoughtful for a moment. "Use your AGILITY to your advantage, but be mindful of your hand. The Tower of Babel is as much about strategy as it is about strength and speed. Watch for opportunities to climb efficiently and avoid conflicts whenever possible. Don¡¯t be afraid to hang back, let the others fight, and ascend close to the end of the timer. The higher you go, the more treacherous it becomes."
Baltizar said, "It''s strange. A different challenge was being constructed, and then the priests suddenly changed their plans, opting for the Tower of Babel instead." He peered at me, ready to measure my reaction. "They changed the plans around noon."
I couldn''t understand why he was looking at me so intently, but then my eyes widened as I realized. It wasn''t long before noon that I had attended treatment for my injured hand. I breathed out sharply, "The bastards."
Baltizar smiled, appreciating my realization. I looked back at him, disgust on my face. They had changed the competition when word reached them that my hand was injured. Were they aware I had AGILITY, or did they simply feel that a contest like this would impede me enough regardless because of my injury? I feared they were right. As I stood there, I flexed my left hand. Despite the treatment, I could still feel the pain and the damage, and I struggled to imagine how I could climb like that.
Chapter 59
Chapter 59
Baltizar said, "They keep trying to knock you down, Tiberius, but they''ve failed every step of the way. I think you should reflect on that when you feel the stress and worries of this whole event bearing down on you. No matter the odds so far, you''ve always triumphed, always made it through, no matter the challenge."
I looked aside, taking in a glimpse of a bird smacking a snail against a rock under the shade of a topiary. The snail cracked open, the bird''s persistence rewarded. The intricate shapes of the topiary cast shadows over the meticulously maintained pathway.
I said, "Should that really give me confidence though? Each time they fail, they just come back stronger, finding a new angle. This isn''t exactly an even field. I have to keep beating them, surviving, getting through. They just need to knock me out once, and it''s all over."
Baltizar said, "Tiberius, can you imagine the political capital I have to spend to support you? The people might love their commoner champion, but the nobles and bureaucrats I''m dealing with, they have no such adoration for you. You are the most politically expensive of any of the candidates for me to support, and yet I do it. Do you know why?"
My mouth worked, but no words came out.
He said, "I''ve told you before, I don''t want to be Lord Supreme for the honor of the role. I want my term in this office to be something spectacular, enough to force those other bastards to elect me back to it, time and again. Boston has been a periphery of the world for too long. We need to stake our claim, win Flows for the people, plant our flag as one of the premier powers in the world. And I believe that if you become the Sword of Boston, then we have a chance to have one of the true greats in our ranks.
"Any of the young people who remain¡ªLance, Katya, Lauren, Gideon¡ªany of them could make a good Griidlord. They all have the potential to fill the role, some of them to even be better than average. But you, Tiberius, you''re a case of big or bust. You''re intangible, different. I''m throwing my lot in with you despite all the expense. You just need to have a fraction of that belief in yourself."
I felt a surge of mixed emotions: the weight of his words, the pressure of expectations, and a spark of hope. If Baltizar, the Lord Supreme, believed in me, maybe there was a chance.
I looked at him. I was aware I was dealing with a political animal. Nobody rose to the rank of Lord Supreme without being terribly good at playing the games, at saying the right things, and being charismatic and probably a little psychopathic. The face that looked at me seemed sincere, though. I wondered how good he might be at painting an expression like that on himself and finding those perfect words to provoke the perfect response. But as I looked at him, I might have believed. I definitely wanted to believe in his faith in me.
Baltizar glanced aside; another aide was standing at the door of the tower. He said, "My time is up. Once again, the duties of management beckon. Let yourself out the side gate and seize your day. The competition resumes tomorrow. Don¡¯t waste the chance now that you know what tomorrow will bring. The guards know who you are; they won''t bother you as you go."Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
I watched Baltizar''s back disappearing down the path. I waited for him to be gone, then turned to look back at the red flowers. I visited the fragment of memory that had come back to me. Why was mother crying? Why was she dressed so poorly and he so finely?
AGILITY would be needed for the Tower. But I had none. Would there be time to grow it during the contest? Could I use Katya''s meditations to find a way to tap into it before I even entered the arena? I wondered. What a trick that would be.
I made my way through the town, out the main gate, toward the arena. The fields beyond the city were dotted with groves of trees. This was bad practice for a fortified town¡ªtrees like that were cover for attackers, a place to muster forces, prepare siege equipment. But in the event of a siege, there would be warning, and these stands of trees and small woods could be torched, or blasted away by The Scepter, in very short order. The very fact that they grew here said a lot about the state of Boston, and a lot about how warfare worked in a time of Towers.
Smaller settlements warred, sieged, fell, and burned. But a city with a Tower was different; it had control of the Order around it, so defenders could use cannons, rifles, and artillery, while the attackers could be left with nothing to deploy save for trebuchets and arrows. It meant that besieging a City with a Tower was an exceptionally rare event. This led to a certain kind of complacency, with small forested areas sprouting up, perhaps tended as a resource for those who wanted to nurture lumber or charcoal. For now, the trees called to me¡ªa place like the garden around the tower, peaceful, serene, private, a place where I could possibly stretch my meditation muscles and try to gain that advantage Baltizar had urged.
I entered the shelter of the trees. For once I managed to catch the shadow of Zeb as he moved ahead of me. He would be compelled to search the cover around me. Zeb saw assassins everywhere, in every face, in every figure I ever met. I can''t say they bothered him. But few were above the suspicions of my bodyguard.
The air was cooler here. The air was wetter and richer. And I was alone. I was completely alone, in a setting of perfect privacy. Well, except for Zeb. But his presence was like my own shadow''s at this point.
How often was I ever truly alone like this, with my own thoughts?
I didn''t sit cross-legged as Katya had shown me. I wanted to feel my body as I sank into the state of mindlessness she had shown me, opening myself to the suit, to the memory of it. My AGILITY was a 0.4. Could I find a way to raise it?
I gave myself over to the act. My mind melted away. It was surprising how quickly I could do this, with so little instruction. Soon I was in the suit. It''s hard to write about or recall the experience. My conscious mind faded from existence while I was in this state, it leaves me with little I can actually relate.
I had some vague awareness of the angle of the sun changing, the dappled shadows changing.
Then Zeb''s voice pierced by concentration. He hissed at me, "Tiberius!"
The sound was urgent. Very urgent, very serious. What on this earth could alarm Zeb so?
I opened my eyes and gaped.
In the clearing, before me, stood another man. His body was covered in a long flowing cape that cascaded over his body. But through the opening, I could see weapons. And not just weapons. He carried power weapons and relics. I could see the grips of two different pistols jutting from his belt. Strange-looking guns that barely resembled their name. There was so much gear there that it dazzled me.
Even with all the wealth I had grown up around, it seemed impossible for a single man to carry such a fortune. A man like this would be titan. A man like this would make even Zeb seem like nothing more than a brief nuisance. Armed as he was, this stranger could maybe rival a Griidlord.
And this strange figure, armed with a terrifying array of exotic powers, was focused intently on me.
Chapter 60
Chapter 60
The man threw back his hood and revealed a handsome face. His skin was weathered. I wouldn''t have said he looked old exactly, so much as he had been exposed to the elements a long time. The deep bronzing of his skin spoke of a life lived at a far more Southerly climb than this. A strange relic was mounted to the side of his head, covering one ear.
Zeb hovered nearby. I could see his tension. This was not something he had been prepared for. There was probably no knight in the city who could even moderately challenge Zeb. He was a vicious killer with a long history. And father had equipped him with many treasures. But Zeb was powerless here. The worst thing he probably do was attempt to intervene and provoke violence. He stood no chance against this man.
Still, Zeb''s eyes worked. I could see him calculating his options, imagining the scenarios that could play out. It was strange, troubling, alien to see impotence and worry on the veteran''s face.
This man seemed to carry more relics and value than I could imagine even in the Tower vaults. He was a Wild Knight, yes, but one beyond my wildest imaginings. My own relics, despite their power and value, would be dust in the wind before the storm the stranger could unleash. I kept my hand far from my sword hilt.
Seeing my hesitation and fear, the man spoke. "You have nothing to fear, Tiberius. I came to talk, nothing more."
I doubted his words, suspicion gnawing at me. Was he sent by the priests to convince me to quit or face death? Had the nobles arranged for him to come? All along, I had believed I was doing this for my father, but now, faced with the prospect of losing the chance to wear the suit again, the bliss and ecstasy of it, I realized that maybe I would rather die than give it up.
I said nothing. He watched me with interest, but there was no obvious intent to him
He said, "You''ve done terribly well, Tiberius. There are stories about you. They''re talking about you in places as far as Vegas and Miami."
"How..." I stammered. Those lands were so distant, so far away.
He smiled slightly, a glint of admiration in his eyes. "Griid-lord trains have spread the rumors. They''re only just starting to hear of you out West. The first words are trickling in. Soon the whole continent will be talking about the merchant boy who used the BEAM on his second day in the suit."
I didn''t know what to make of him. I stood there, watching, trying to measure a way to flee if necessary.
I said, "Is there something I can do for you?"
He smiled. He seemed a man in his forties, but there was that odd sheen to him, the same as old tower-dwellers get, suggesting he was much, much older. He said, "It''s not so much about what you can do for me, and it''s not going to be that old clich¨¦ about what I can do for you. Rather, it might be about what we can do for each other."
I grimaced, not liking the sound of that. "I''m nobody. What could I do for you?"
He stared at me intently, then said, "You can hear the voice, can''t you?"The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
I staggered slightly, taken by surprise. His eyes lit up with excitement. "The voice talks to you, I knew it."
Too surprised to veil my feelings, I blurted out, "How could you possibly know that?"
"There have been so few who could hear the voice. Do you know how rare this is?"
"I really need to know who you are, what you''re doing here, and what you want," I demanded.
"Danefer Ma''at-Ra," he said, almost reverently. "He could do it. The only one in living memory, I think. I can''t be sure, but it might just be you and him..."
The man stared at me, and I tried to meet his gaze, but his eyes were deep and powerful. This was a rare species of man before me, someone powerful in every respect. I said, "You know who I am. Tell me your name."
He considered me for a moment before saying, "My name is Joel."
Confusion washed over me. I knew his face; it was familiar to me, and that name, Joel, itched at the back of my brain. "Sir Joel, it is good to make your acquaintance, but I was just about to go home. As you seem to know, I have a busy day tomorrow¡ªlife-defining, with the possibility of death or dismemberment. You know how it goes..."
He ignored my attempt at humor and said, "You can''t trust the voice, young one."
I tried to understand. The voice frightened me, but it had been guiding me.
He said, "If you win the Griid-suit, I won''t be able to talk to you anymore. There are only a few days left in the competition. We need to parley now; it might be our only chance."
I stammered, "Why couldn''t you talk to me if I win the Griid-suit?"
"If you win the Griid-suit, then the voice will always be there, talking to you, listening to what you listen to, seeing what you see. And I can''t be in front of the voice."
I grew suspicious. "Why can''t you let the voice know you''re there?"
"Because we''re at cross purposes, the voice and I."
I puzzled over his words, trying to understand the implications.
I said, "Why would you not be able to talk to me if I won the Griid-suit?"
He replied, "Because the voice would be there. It''s part of the suit."
I thought of the many thoughts I''d had over the last few days and said, "It''s in the tower as well."
His eyes widened. "Yes, yes, it is in the tower as well. I didn''t think a merchant''s son would have been to the tower, but that aspiring clown Baltizar probably invited you, didn''t he? To parade you, for a banquet? Ambitious little bastard has plans for you, I''ll bet."
I thought about the mysteries that had plagued me the last few days and suddenly felt as though I had a possible source of answers. "The voice comes to me in the suit. When I''m wearing it, I can hear it, and when I''m in the tower, it speaks to me as well. But only when I''m alone¡ªnot when there''s anyone else around, not even servants. What is it?"
Joel nodded along with me, and I feared there was a mania in his eyes. "Yes, you''ve noticed. You''re putting it all together. That''s good. I''ve tried this before with those who might have heard it. There were others. You and Danefar are the only ones I''m really sure about, but I''ve tried it before, and there''s always resistance, a lack of understanding. But you''re a curious one, aren''t you, Tiberius? A smart one. You''re figuring it out."
His voice had the franticness of a madman. I considered his equipment, his strangely youthful (relatively speaking) appearance. This man might be close to wielding the power of a Griidlord himself. I was guessing; I couldn''t know the nature of his relics, but if they were half as rare and powerful as they looked, then he was the match of many men¡ªmany knights, even¡ªand certainly a destructive enough force to burn whole towns to the ground on his own. I didn''t like the idea of such power resting in the hands of a lunatic.
I said, "Joel, please tell me, what is the voice?"
He stared earnestly into my eyes and stepped forward. Again, I knew that face. I''d seen it before, and I knew that name, Joel. It screamed in my memory. He stared deep into me and said, "I''m not sure yet, but I think I know its nature, Tiberius. The voice is¡ª"
Chapter 61
Chapter 61
Joel stopped suddenly, his head snapped around, and he seemed to hear something. To me, the forest was silent. Not silent, exactly¡ªthe sounds of a forest, but there was nothing there to alarm me. Nothing, barring the incredibly dangerous, possibly half-mad man who stood before me. He drew his hood back up and touched the side of his head. A visor slid from the recesses of the hood to cover his eyes. He turned his head slightly and cursed under his breath.
Of course, I thought, a knight such as he could possess relics that enhanced or fed the senses. I remembered how the Griidsuit had made me feel so alive, how grey and silent and lamely lacking in stimuli the world was without it.
Joel backed away slightly. "I have to go. Return here when you can; I''ll try and talk to you again."
I tried to stall him. I wasn''t unhappy that he was departing, but for all the dread he filled me with, the unease, he was about to answer the question that had plagued me since those whispers first started in my head. "Joel, what is the voice?"
He was backing away silently, his gaze locked at a point through the trees. I heard it then¡ªthe faint thrashing of underbrush. Horses were approaching.
Joel said, "We don''t have time for that right now. Just believe me, it''s not to be trusted. It wants you, Tiberius, not just for what you can do but because of what it can use you for."
He turned to flee, then paused and turned back. He hissed, "And for god''s sake, Tiberius, whatever you do, don''t let it know that we spoke."
Then he was gone. I blinked, confused. It was as if he had taken a single step into another realm of existence and vanished. I thought I heard a creak of a branch on his path¡ªthought, only¡ªand then he was certainly gone.
I stood there, a mix of relief and frustration washing over me as the sounds of approaching horses grew louder. The underbrush continued to thrash around me, signaling a powerful force was combing through the woods¡ªBoston''s elite fighting force.
Two knights emerged. In the shade of the trees, their power weapons were more obvious. The glow of an axe spread from the hand of one of the knights. A ghostly halo surrounded the sword of the other. The men let their horses pick their way through the undergrowth towards us.
The axeman barked, "What are you doing out here, boy?"
I stammered, "I was¡ªI was practicing my techniques... I was, uh, meditating..."
The sword-wielder leaned forward. He eyed me, then Zeb. I saw his eyebrows go up as he recognized us. It was me that he seemed to know first, but Zeb that took his attention.
He said, "That''s one of the contestants, the merchant''s son. The one the common folk are making such a fuss about."
The first knight nodded slowly. He, too, seemed to soften his tone as he became aware of the terrible bodyguard who stood beside me.
He said, "Oh, Tiberius, is it? What are you doing out here, young fella?"
"I was practicing my techniques," I repeated. "I was meditating, preparing for tomorrow."Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
Zeb spoke. His voice was even. There was no obvious aggression there. But something about the flatness of his voice seemed to alarm the two newcomers. He said, "The boy is busy. What''s your business?"
The sword knight asked, "Did you see anyone out here?"
I hesitated. Why was I about to lie? Zeb just waited. He would take his cues from me.
I said, "No, I haven''t seen anyone, apart from you sirs. I wouldn''t expect to; that''s why I came out here, for the peace."
The sword knight nodded, "Best clear on out of here. There''s a wanted man been seen entering the woods around here, and you won''t want to come upon him."
"A fugitive?" I asked. I tried to sound surprised. I couldn''t read any reaction to my attempt at acting on Zeb''s face.
The axeman said, "Huh, worse than that. A wild knight known for inciting trouble, a bloody dangerous man at that."
"Does he have a name?" I inquired.
The swordsman started to answer, but the axeman interrupted him. He said, "What are you doing? We''re not here to chat with commoners; we''ve got a quarry to be after."
The axeman pulled his horses reigns and moved off into the brush.
The swordsman paused for a moment. I wasn''t sure why he delayed. Then he said, "Good luck tomorrow, lad. I''ve got a fair purse wagered on you." Then he was gone, too.
I watched them disappear into the woods. I could see them for a long time, high on their horses, above the low lying vegetation.
As they faded from sight, I turned to Zeb. I said, "That... that was..."
Zeb spoke with his usual impassivity, but his words were serious. "That was fucking dangerous. I''ve never seen one man with so much power at his fingertips. Well, except for a Griidlord."
I said, "Would there have been anything you could have done if he''d..."
Zeb nodded, slowly. His eyes were distant but his face betrayed no emotion. He said, "Aye. I could have died, lad. And I would have died. Have no doubt about that. I let that monster do his talkin'' cause there was nothing I could have done there except spook the bastard and get us both murdered. But if he''d have killed you, he''s have done with my blood on his sword."
I said, "What purpose would that serve?"
Zeb said, "There are men of purpose in this world, Ti, lad. And there are men of honor. In my experience, rarely do the two meet. I''m a man on honor, if little fucking else, and I''d have died before I let him get to you."
I beleived him.
Zeb rarely spoke this much. It was odd. He had been around me so long and so much that I felt like I knew him. But as he started to speak again, I realized this might have amounted already to the longest conversation we ever had. He said, "That shit the fucker was talkin'' about. Voices in the suit, and to trust ''em or not trust ¨¦m-"
I cut in, "I can explain, that''s just-"
But he held up a hand, his brows furrow, a dismissive expression. "The shit about the voices, that''s your business. That''s the business of Griidlords and all the daft magic of the oracle. It''s nothing to do with me. I owe your father, and I''m bound to serve. I serve by keeping two legs and two arms and a head all attached to your body, right where they are. That''s all of it. I won''t be tellin'' him none of this. It''s between you and him if you decide to tell him."
I was taken aback by all of it. His discretion, his devotion to my safety. I was also, quite honestly, a bit overwhelmed to have heard him speak so much. I wanted to probe further, to see what else he might say.
Zeb had other ideas. He said, "We going now?"
I said, "Uh... y-yes, I guess we are."
Then, vintage Zeb, he just nodded and glided away from me, scouting the path ahead.
I looked around the woods one last time. Had my hours lost in trance been worth anything? Could I trust the blasted voice? Could I trust a madman fugitive more than the voice that helped me so much and so far?
Joel was gone. Part of me wished he could be back, to finish his sentence, to tell me what the voice was.
Part of me never wanted to see him, his dangerous power, or his glints of madness ever again.
But that was not to be.
Chapter 62
"It only works with AGILITY, really."
I was back in the suit. The rush of its power was becoming something I could live without less and less. Putting it on again, Baltizar''s words about how the suit was as much a prison as it was a tool, I understood better. Each time the suit returned to me, I appreciated better the way I had missed it. How would I enjoy the world around me that was devoid of the information the suit fed me? My skin was more sensitive, my hearing more acute, my sight more detailed. And my power. How could I spend the rest of my short life moving myself around with my pathetic human muscles after tasting this?
"What?" I said. It was the voice that had spoken to me.
It said, "Whatever game you played to tweak your stats. I don''t want you to go getting any wrong ideas. You can''t sit around playing imagination games and expect to see POWER or CUT bounce on up."
I understood what it was talking about. I felt my face shift beneath the helm, my eyebrows rising in anticipation. I called up the HUD and there it was, plain as day, AGILITY 1.0.
I said, "I just added 0.6 to AGILITY... By the Oracle..."
The voice seemed put out for some reason I couldn''t explain. It said, "Like I said, that won''t work with the other attributes, and it won''t work with AGILITY beyond the first level. You''ve noticed, haven''t you kiddo, how different attributes flex differently? The BEAM involves flexing a muscle outside yourself, pushing something up the blade. SHIELD is something you feel in your skin, the skin you share with the suit. POWER is in your bones. But it''s not really, it''s the suits fields running through you. AGILITY is about integration with the suit, about lining all those delicious little synapses of yours up so they speak the same language as the suit. Part of that, the first part of it, is mostly in your brain, not the suit. The first level of AGILITY can be increased without wearing the suit, but that''s it. Not that I can ever recall seeing someone push it all the way to 1.0 that way, but there''s a first time for everything."
"What''s got your goat?" I asked.
The voice said, "What''s got my... Nothing''s got my fucking goat, shithead. Are we going to get focused on the job at hand here? That white robe is going to say something useful sooner or later, we should probably be listening."
Mario was indeed speaking, waxing on and on about very little to the crowd. The crowd seemed to be paying as much attention as I was.
I said, "Why didn''t you tell me I could flex AGILITY outside of the suit."
The voice laughed, a little dryly, maybe a little embarrassed. "You know, honestly... I forgot."
"You forgot?"
The voice was more abrupt this time. "Hey, I got my own shit going on."
While we spoke, my eyes had been taking in the vast structure that had been erected on the arena floor. The tower was an impossibility. Something like this could not conceivably have been constructed in so short a time. Then again, with Order raised in the arena for construction, miracles were possible.
The thin construct soared upwards. It was a colossus, I tried to estimate its height and gave up. It was incalculable. A quick count told me it was broken into ten sections. Each section was slightly narrower than the last so that the tower grew thinner and lighter in tiers as it rose up and up. Each tier seemed to have been equipped with its own challenge. Some of the levels seemed challenging, like a sheer flat surface with nothing but scantily arranged jutting pipes for handholds. Some of the tiers seemed downright terrifying. From here I could see the demonic forms of fiends scurrying unnaturally around on the outer surface, constrained to their own level somehow. Bursts of blue flame exploded at interval at a point further up.
My mind reeled as I imagined what other nightmares would be waiting.
I swallowed hard. My left wrist throbbed dully beneath the armor of my suit. Though it had been treated, the pain lingered. I flexed my fingers, willing them to move smoothly. AGILITY was a boon that would serve me well here, but my left hand would be a hindrance to balance what I had gained.
The others were arranged in a line for the cheering crowd. The excitement was high. This was a spectacle of a contest and one that would provide a terrific view for the spectators. Not even Lance seemed to be taking this challenge lightly, I could see the set of his jaw. He was intimidated by the trial as much as any of us.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Lauren and Katya stood alongside each other. Their heads were slightly tipped toward each other and I could see their lips moving. A friendship had sprung up there faster than I imagined. I had to wonder, was it me against two parties? Gideon and Lance had allied before, Lauren and Katya seemed united now. I wondered what our time together would mean if we were in conflict. What would it mean to them? What should it mean to me?
Mario was blabbing away, his voice amplified to a booming level that filled the arena. I tried to keep one ear on what he was saying, but my main focus was on bringing up the menus on my HUD. I needed to examine my status and flex my attributes, promoting growth as urgently as possible.
I quickly reviewed my attributes:
- BEAM: 1.7
- SHIELD: 2.2
- POWER: 0.1
- CUT: 2.0
- AGILITY: 1.0
The voice arose, its tone amused and jaded, teasing, patronizing. "You''re getting places, Tiberius. Lance still has a lead on you in some attributes, but that lead is entirely due to his free day with the suit. You''re closing the gap very handily... I see you were flexing the BEAM during the last day''s contest. I hadn''t even noticed. That could be an especially valuable power to employ today. And I have a feeling that you are the only contestant with a full level of AGILITY, which should give you a huge advantage over the others."
I barely whispered, "Yeah, but my injured hand will more than negate that. What am I supposed to do? I can''t climb well with my left hand, and I can''t fight well with it. I either hold my sword in my left hand and fight like a duck, or I keep my left hand free for climbing and probably fall and break my bones."
The voice said, "AGILITY can more than make up for that if you develop it further."
I hissed, "I''ve got two hours! You think I can raise it to level 2 in that time?" My voice rose slightly in volume. I had to calm myself to lower it again.
The voice said, "You know, in the time before The Fall, there was a man, sort of a merchant like your father, who used to say, ''Whether you think you can or you can''t, you''re right.''"
I rolled my eyes. Then the voice exclaimed, more genuinely than I was used to hearing it, "What''s this? Oh my, Tiberius, you raised POWER from 0.0 to 0.1. You''ve been a very impressive creature throughout this exciting little affair, but I never expected such, even from you... I wonder... Could you achieve a level in POWER before The Choosing is completed? Hardly..."
I said, "I was flexing it while running the corridors the last day. What does it do?"
The voice said, "Your tutors won''t have wasted your time telling you about POWER. It''s not reasonable for a contestant to invest attention in it. It''s too hard to level up."
Annoyed at the entity''s ignoring my question and entertaining itself with its musings, I said, "What does it do?"
The voice said, "It''s a root attribute that governs your ability to focus the suit''s inherent ability to alter the fields."
I said, "Like the Footfield?"
The voice said, "The Footfield is a very crude expression of the suit''s ability to manipulate order. We don''t have time now, I suppose, but if you left the COMBAT attributes menu and inspected UNIQUE, you might find things in there that become available once POWER levels."
I gritted my teeth. "You still haven''t told me what POWER does."
The suit said, "It doesn''t matter for now, but if you can, flex at it while you climb the tower. If you can reach 1.0 in POWER, then the competition essentially becomes yours."
I paused, Mario still blabbing, the crowd still cheering. He was gesticulating and parading, waxing on with a sermon. Once he started on the rules of the competition, I would need to listen more closely. "I can hardly focus on POWER when you''ve already told me to try and increase AGILITY and BEAM."
The voice said, "Oh, they''re all good. Does it matter, really, as long as you''re increasing something?"
I snarled, less quietly than I should, "Of course it matters! Today''s challenge has specific requirements. Look what''s in front of us! The Tower of Babel must be 200 feet high!"
The voice said distractedly, "312 feet high, actually. The last 12 feet are the parts above the painted line."
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves
I noticed the crowd hushing slightly. I marveled at the way the suit fed my senses; it was like it piped the information past my ears directly to my auditory nerves. I could almost reach out and hear the breaths of individual spectators if I wanted to. Mario had raised his hands. For a terrible moment, I thought he was about to drop the flag and start the race, that in my distraction, I had managed to miss his description of the rules. But even as I watched, he boomed, "And now, dear citizens of Boston, children of the Oracle, we move to our explanation of the specifics."
The crowd hushed, fairly obediently. There were still plenty of people cheering, talking. They were fatigued by Mario''s rambling; they wanted action and blood, victory and defeat. But for now, most of them were silent, understanding the rules of the next contest would heighten their excitement, enrich their drunken chatter during the evening''s festivities.
Mario began to speak.
Corrections
Who the hell is "Olive"? I riffed her name into the first chapter and then she ceased to exist, for those who noticed. I had still been playing with who the Choosing contestants would be. That''s been corrected.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
I''ve also retconned some of the Attributes. That''s a lie, just one. Tiberius''s POWER attribute surged during his "alone time" in the woods after the hunt, I''ve gone back and fixed that.
Apologies and appreciation to patient and forgiving readers.
Chapter 63
Chapter 63
Mario''s voice boomed from speakers recessed around the arena. The rapture on his face, as he held the attention of the crowd, made me wonder what he loved more. The spotlight? Or the Oracle?
"Noble citizens of Boston, and esteemed guests from afar, welcome at last to this, perhaps the grandest spectacle in the Choosing! Today it is the Tower of Babel that will test these children of Oracle! It is the Tower that they can use to show their worth. The Tower is the altar where they can lay their faith down and measure it against each other''s. The Tower is a challenge that can lay out the Oracle''s judgment in one sweeping spectacular moment. The Tower can doom all, ending this Choosing and leaving us to start anew. The Tower can see fit to pass all of these souls to the next round."
The crowd roared in approval and excitement. At last, he was getting to the point. His endless blathering had finally arrived at what they''d come here for. "Now, for the rules. Our contestants must understand the conditions under which they are tested! And you, the holy masses, must understand the sacrament you are about to observe."
He raised a hand, demanding silence. For a change, it mostly worked. The volume of the crowd receded. Sections still seemed to ignore him, their roars in no way diminished. But most of the crowd grew quiet if for no other reason than to ease him through the last of his endless nattering.
"Firstly," he began, "at the two-hour gong, any contestant below the painted line will be disqualified! If none rest above the line at the gong, then the Oracle deems all unworthy and the Choosing begins again with new children! Any above will progress the next round."
The crowd murmured. These were the kind of stakes they could get excited about.
Mario boomed, "From the very outset of the competition, a glowing line, projected from lamps, will begin to climb the tower. This line will ascend steadily until it joins with the painted threshold! A contestant cannot be below this line for more than ten seconds without being eliminated! No part of a combatant may remain below the line for ten continuous seconds without the consequence being elimination!"
He paused. He loved this so. It was as though he believed they were here for him and not us. He behaved as though he thought he was the main event.
"Combatants are free game for one another. Without any restrictions on attributes or alliance. Today, anything is permitted, our worthy hopefuls are not constrained in any way! Any means is allowed to attack or hinder fellow competitors. There is no reason for more than one to survive the top of the tower save for a lack of commitment! A lack of will!"
The crowd erupted into cheers and shouts. Flags spin wildly in hands. Banners, even more of them baring my name than the last day, whip madly in the air. They think it is time for the show to start. They have underestimated how much Mario enjoys their delicious attention. Mario allowed the noise to wash over him, a satisfied smile on his face.
"But!" he called out, raising a hand in a manner so patronizing, "When the gong rings, all attacks are to cease immediately under penalty of elimination! This is a competition, not a slaughterhouse. The safety of our contestants, as much as can be managed, is still a priority. So remember, at the sound of the gong, all fighting stops!"This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
He paced the stage. Maybe he was mistaking the crowd''s rageful impatience for an excited frenzy that he was building.
"In all other manners, this is a free-for-all. Climb, fight, strategize¡ªdo whatever it takes to stay in the game. Everything you do is for the Oracle. The Oracle judges. Keep in mind, falling from this height is unlikely to kill you because of the protection of your suits, but crippling injuries are a real possibility. And¡ a fall from the highest point is potentially fatal even with the armor. Our esteemed Griidlords have other duties to attend to today, and thus, none can be present to save you. You are on your own!"
"So, contestants," he roared, arms spread wide as if to gather the attention of them all, "prepare yourselves! This is the ultimate test of your abilities, your resolve, and your desire to become the next Sword of Boston. May the best among you rise to the top, and may the Oracle be with you all!"
With that, Mario stepped back, his arms still raised to the sky. The crowd was at the breaking point. Young men stood on the railings, daring gravity to take them to their graves, as they waved at us. They called to us. They called our names. They called my name.
So many of them called my name.
Mario stood poised, the flag raised high above his head. This was not exactly what I had expected. The Tower of Babel loomed above, every surface creating a daunting path to the top.
Again, this was a competition that could theoretically end The Choosing.
If Lance could position himself well enough, there was a chance he could prevent any of the rest of us from reaching the safety line. I didn''t think for a moment that such a notion hadn''t crossed his mind. Like with the pots, he would press the advantage he had gained in developing his attributes to try and bring a close to the tournament. If nothing else, I was sure he would focus his efforts on me. He knew I was a threat, that in another day or two, there would be a chance I could surpass him again.
The climbing light line was also a fly in my ointment. I had been mulling the idea of just hanging back, playing a game I had played before, focusing on flexing skills until the final minutes and then, hopefully, with newly leveled attributes, making a dash for the line. I won''t pretend that, depending on my success in leveling, it was playing in my mind to play Lance''s game and focus on him, trying to eliminate him from the competition completely. But all of that had faded. I would need to stay with the ascending line at least, and as the tower rose, it grew narrower. This would force us to tangle with each other more and more as we went up.
The crowd''s cheers faded into a low hum in the background as my attention narrowed to the task at hand. I glanced around at the other contestants. Lance stood with a determined look, his eyes fixed on the tower. Gideon, Katya, and Lauren each appeared focused, their minds likely racing with strategies of their own.
Mario''s voice boomed one last time, "Contestants, prepare yourselves!" The flag hovered in the air, a breath away from signaling the start.
I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves. This was it. The competition had been fierce, but today felt different. Today felt like a turning point. While there was a chance that all five us could make it through to the next day, in all likelihood one or more would be ejected today. And, unlike the other days when there had been weaker elements present, today all that was left were contestants that each could have been described at one point or another as a possible favorite.
My left wrist throbbed, a reminder of the injury that could hinder my performance, but I pushed the pain aside. There was no room for doubt, no time for hesitation.
Mario''s hand moved. The flag lifted on the breeze and lofted briefly before tumbling to the earth.
And we were off.
Chapter 64
Chapter 64
The lowest level of the tower consisted of a vertical wall with steel pipes protruding in a random pattern. The pipes were slightly thicker than the handle of a sweeping brush, some extended from the wall by a few inches, others by a few feet. Ascending this mishmash of handholds, considering their wide spacing, would have been very challenging to me without the suit, probably not quite impossible, but perilous and difficult. The strength of the suit made it theoretically easy, except that my wounded left hand, even assisted by the suit''s fibrous inorganic muscles, would struggle.
I considered employing AGILITY. The level ended maybe 20 feet above us, a Griidlord could certainly make that leap, though I feared it was beyond a level 1 AGILITY such as I possessed. I also feared making a mistake during the leap, hurting myself further, or exposing myself to Lance or one of the others. I had, for now, just one option if I wanted to climb: I had to keep my sword sheathed.
Sheathed is the wrong word. I haven''t explored the details with you, but the sword didn''t fit into a scabbard. The sword could simply be placed against the suit and if you willed it, it would stay there, like the sword itself understood what it was supposed to do. This created some options, and as I imagined, should I need the sword, that reaching to my waist might be awkward, I shifted it from hip to back as I dashed, where I could hopefully reach it more easily if in an awkward moment.
I glanced at the other contestants. Lance was already making his move, scaling the wall with the determination of a predator. Gideon, Katya, and Lauren were also starting to ascend, each using their own strategies. The crowd''s roar seemed distant, almost like a background hum as I focused on the challenge before me.
I raced forward myself. I took my time. I needed to get a sense of AGILITY now that I had a full level of it. I needed to test my hand. I didn''t expect that the Tower itself would challenge us nearly as much as we would challenge each other. With that in mind, it made sense to tarry and let some space develop between myself and the rest.
My left hand groaned as I tried to use it. The suit''s strength compensated for my injury but I could feel the entwining of suit and man. My weakness became the suit''s, just as my strength became its strength also.
Still, with the strength of the suit, my body was more than able for the task. I moved up swiftly, using my left hand to balance myself and find steadying holds, my right was used for dragging and pulling my weight.
Without warning, a bright beam of energy shot past me, missing my head by inches. Lance was firing his BEAM at me, the deadly light slicing through the pipes. Some pipes deflected the shots, others shattered or melted into slag. I realized then how foolish it was to just dash up the tower without a plan. The climbing light-line was only very gradually ascending; I had time to think and strategize.
I watched as Katya nipped around the side of the tower, claiming an entire wall to herself. Smart. She''d avoid the immediate chaos and have a better chance to ascend. Lauren was right behind her, the two of them moving with an understanding that the competition was the competition, and they would lash at each other given the chance.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
I considered my options. Lauren and Katya to the left, and Gideon and Lance to the right. Lance was focusing his shots on me. Gideon''s broad back presented just as fine a target as I did. But Lance continued firing BEAM at me, ignoring Gideon mostly. The pipes between Lance and I were blasted away by kinetic force. Others seemed to explode with heat, slag pouring down the tower, spattering on my suit, red hot and smoking.
I climbed awkwardly, barely using my left hand. I shifted to the left, aiming to move to the side that Katya and Lauren had rounded to. Each time Lance pulsed I leaped, and used my right hand to swing me laterally. He was a good shot, but the BEAM had a weakness at long range. The sword pulsed blue before each shot. It gave me time to time my maneuvers. At shorter range the attribute was more potent. Finally, I reached the edge of the face I was climbing. As I rounded the corner, a bolt from Lance''s BEAM clipped my shoulder. The impact sent a searing pain through me. Smoke smoldered from my shoulder, obscuring my view of Lance. I gritted my teeth. Just a few more feet and I would have time to gather myself. Time to assess the damage.
I swung from the last pipe, another line of energy searing past me. With another swing, I was around the corner, to the next side, to safety.
The pipes on this side of the tower were undamaged. It made for easier climbing. I took a moment to catch my breath. My shoulder was damaged but not that badly. Katya and Lauren were above me. They climbed in tandem, staying reasonably close to each other.
Gideon and Lance were still on the other side. I could hear the sounds of BEAM and CUT clashing intermittently. The light-line was creeping upward below me.
I knew I had to be smart. It would be nice to bring the fight to Lance, to take him out. But the priority was surviving. The priority was just about making it to the top in time.
Katya and Lauren were climbing roughly even with each other, separated by maybe 20 feet. They weren¡¯t firing at one another; in fact, they barely seemed to be paying attention to each other. A thought crossed my mind, perhaps an unworthy one: they had bonded that night in the bar. We had seen alliances before¡ªGideon and Lance had arranged to eliminate me, narrowing the field to just the two of them.
I had largely surpassed either of them, and Lance had certainly done so. Gideon was not terribly nuanced, but in direct combat, he was a titan. Had Katya and Lauren figured out that their best avenue to success was to ally, eliminate all others, and then guarantee that one of them would win the suit? Had they invited me that night to try and soften me, make it harder for me to move against them?
I pushed the thought aside. The tower had four walls. As far as I could tell, Lance and Gideon shared one, and Katya and Lauren shared another. There was no reason for me to be a third wheel on either side. I decided to climb across and round the next corner, claiming a wall for myself where no one could aim at me.
I stayed far back. I expected Lance to come hunting for me. I kept scanning the edges of the face I was climbing. I climbed at the pace of the creeping light line.
I could use this time to Flex my abilities. In two hours I probably couldn''t change the world. But I could add to my arsenal.
Before my eyes, the 1.7 of BEAM became a 1.8. I considered the damage I could do if it reached a 2.0.
I smiled.
I had time enough for that at least.
Chapter 65
Chapter 65
Twelve minutes¡
I glanced at the creeping light-line and did some quick mental math. We had two hours to reach the top of the tower or rather to be above the white line. Two hours meant 120 minutes. If I counted correctly, there were ten levels to the tower before the white line, which meant that the creeping light would take twelve minutes to cover each level.
For now, I had the entire wall to myself, with nobody attacking me or firing at me. If I stayed a minute''s climb above the line, I could remain well behind the others and still get into contention towards the end. It might be cutting it a little close, but my injured hand made me vulnerable while climbing. The distance and ease would give me time to flex my abilities.
BEAM and AGILITY were the attributes I most needed to level. I focused on the sensory input the suit provided, feeling every minute movement as I climbed. The suit amplified my senses, making me acutely aware of each handhold and foothold. I concentrated on flexing my AGILITY, visualizing the flow of energy through my body and into the suit, feeling the smoothness and precision of each movement.
As much as I knew I was best served with BEAM and AGILITY, the POWER attribute beckoned me. I wasn''t sure if I had ever heard the voice sound so genuinely impressed, so unabashedly eager about something I had done or could do. And the way the voice had talked about POWER, its tones almost dripping with desire, this tempted me.
Even as I climbed, the top of the first level drawing nearer, I paused to rest, hooking the elbow of my left arm on a pipe to steady myself and ease my throbbing wrist. I practiced flexing the cords that ran through the core of my body and limbs. As I did this, the voice chimed in, ¡°What are we up to now? Tempted, are we? Want that extra something special?¡±
I hissed, ¡°You said it would give me the greatest possible advantage.¡±
The voice replied, ¡°I didn''t say it would be a good investment of your energies when this challenge so clearly calls for AGILITY and BEAM.¡±
I retorted, ¡°You didn''t say not to... in fact, you''re still not saying not to.¡±
Silence. I climbed a few feet, leaving the light line below me. There was the sizzle of a beam from the far side of the tower, and a female voice shrieked in pain. I wanted to go look, but I knew I had to stay focused.
After a time, I said, ¡°You won''t tell me not to flex POWER, but you know I shouldn''t. What''s your deal?¡±
The voice said, ¡°POWER would be useful...¡± It sounded lame, like it was excusing itself.
I said, ¡°You''re curious! You know it''s not the right decision, you know I should focus exclusively on BEAM and AGILITY, but you can''t bring yourself not to tell me to flex POWER because you just want to see if I can do it.¡±
The voice was off balance. It was never off balance. It said, sounding like it was fumbling for excuses, ¡°Nobody has ever achieved a level of POWER during the Choosing, not even the greatest legends.¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
I was angry. ¡°And what, you''d risk my time in the Choosing just to see if I could do it?¡±
The voice was falsely reassuring. ¡°And if you gained the attribute, then your victory would be completely assured.¡±
I said, ¡°But you said yourself I probably wouldn''t be able to! You''d let me waste valuable minutes that could be spent building valuable attributes that I actually can attain! All for your curiosity.¡±
My mind flashed back to what the strange man in the woods, Joel, had said about the voice, about not trusting it, the way his eyes had shifted at even the subject of the voice.
The voice oozed sincerity and compassion, colors that did not suit it well. "Can you blame me for believing in you, Tiberius? I''ve been around all of them, the greatest Swords, the greatest Griidlords¡ªDanefer, Gold King Montarion, Jock Verdance¡ªall the names of legend, and none of them have impressed me like you have. None of them showed your potential. Don''t you understand what it''s like? I''ve witnessed eight centuries of Choosings, across more than 30 towers. Think about the contestants I''ve seen come and go, and now I''m seeing the one who most impresses me. How can I not want to probe your limits, to push you to be the best that you can be? I would be failing us both if I didn''t."
My eyes glanced down. I''d let the light line grow very close to me as I argued with the voice, as I wasted time that could be better spent flexing attributes. My head was spinning. What was this entity? Once I had decided that it wasn''t some stress-induced hallucination, I had come to believe it was the suit, or some element of the suit¡ªa ghost, a spirit, something tied here. Granted, I had heard the voice in the tower, but the mystorium that the suits were composed of was also stored in the tower, and I had assumed, as much as I could assume anything about such mysteries, that my proximity to the suit allowed the voice to reach me.
But the voice had described interacting with heroes, legends of the highest order, spanning back generations: Danefer, The Sword of Miami who reigned over Miami''s victories for centuries until his recent disappearance; Gold King Montarion, who had built the empire of San Francisco, an empire that existed still, decades after his retirement; and Verdance, the Axe of Pittsburgh during that city''s glorious and terrible reign, centuries ago.
It was hard to gather my thoughts back to the task at hand.
I couldn''t pretend my chest didn''t swell at the praise, but my eyes shifted behind my visor. The voice was manipulating me; Joel had said it would do such things. A bell gonged suddenly, the sound reverberating through the amplifiers in the high corners of the arena. The crowd took in a collective breath, and I looked down. To my horror, the light line had crossed over my ankle.
Mario''s voice screeched over the amplifiers, "Tiberius has 10 seconds!" My brow furrowed with hatred for the small-minded bastard. I only had to raise my foot, but he couldn''t pass up the opportunity to try and humiliate me. I climbed one more rung and moved above and free of the line.
Mario¡¯s voice was less enthusiastic this time. ¡°Tiberius is safe.¡±
The crowd exhaled, but there were some faint boos now, directed at me, I felt. They had come for spectacle. As much as the common folk might like to see one of their own attain the Griidsuit and become a Griidlord, they''d started the day with ale, many had continued the day with ale. This was a rare treat, a Choosing in their lifetime, the days here watching the competition might cost many of them years to pay back, and I was giving them a poor show, loitering away from the action, and now, to their disappointment, I had brushed the light line for no reason. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but my fists clenched with determination.
I glanced up, I was within an arm''s length of the next level. I decided to proceed, to get a few more feet above the light line; if there was a serious delay at the next level, I needed some room to maneuver. Using the strength of the suit, I hauled myself over the lip of the ledge.
Then, to my horror, a huge stone-taloned claw swiped at me. The only way to avoid decapitation was to just let go. I tumbled back into space, my heart pounding in my ears, feeling the terrifying weightlessness as the ground rushed up to meet me.
Chapter 66
Chapter 66
Here''s a conundrum for you. You''re falling. Granted, the reality is that you''re only about 30 feet in the air, and your superhero power armor will protect you almost completely from such a fall. But your tiny human brain can''t process the two conflicting realities¡ªone being a reality of serious injury, maiming, even death, as you hurtle to the ground, accelerating at almost 10 meters per second per second. The other reality is that you are wearing a suit of technologically advanced miracles that makes a 30-foot fall jarring, but little more.
My brain was very much focused on the fact that I was falling. I think maybe 1% of my brain was also startled and panicked by the fact that I had just crossed the light line barrier again. It happened so fast that the crowd barely had time to gasp. So, consider all of this, put yourself in the state of mind I was in¡ªadrenaline, panic, urgency, and the pressing awareness that the one way to save yourself is to use AGILITY, which requires sacrificing control to the suit, to clearing your mind of your own impulses.
Explain to me how it happened, in that moment, when in so many others I struggled to give up control of my movements. Maybe I mentally quit in that moment, maybe it was despair. Whatever it was, I found myself letting go, only wishing I was still on the platform (with whatever fiend had just attacked me) rather than racing to my date with the ground.
And the suit took over. I had a momentary impulse to take control as I felt my body twist, but somehow, somehow I found the peace to let my body move on its own.
The transformation was instantaneous. My muscles, usually tensed and ready to fight against every movement, relaxed. The suit responded with a fluidity I had never experienced before.
I felt my body rotate in mid-air, the suit''s AGILITY guiding me with an instinctive precision. I fell maybe 10, 15 feet before my hand snapped out, grabbing a pipe protruding from the tower. The momentum of the fall slingshot me upwards, and for a moment, I soared through the air with a new sense of power and grace. I rose above the level of the ledge I had just fallen from, catching a glimpse of the scene above.
A fiend, almost as big as a Bearwolf but with longer arms and no fur, stood there, ape-like with a gigantically distorted human-like skull and a gaping maw. It thrashed at the ledge in frustration, its eyes locking onto me with an almost intelligent rage. I saw glimpses of movement on the ledge¡ªother contestants scrambling and fighting for position.
Gravity began to pull me back down, but the suit responded effortlessly, guiding me to a graceful touchdown on the ledge. I tried to absorb the details of this level: a narrow ledge ran around the tower, with corridors connecting opposite sides to form a crossroads at the center. Rope netting covered the 30 feet or so up to the next level. It wasn''t a boon; the netting looked even harder to climb one-handed than the rigid pipes of the previous level.
I saw at least two of the fiends. The one that had attacked me was now raging at the ledge, and another was bearing down on Lauren. Flashes of energy illuminated the scene as Katya and Gideon swung their CUT attributes at each other, balancing precariously on the edge of the ledge. Lance was nowhere to be seen, and a sinking feeling in my gut told me he was still ascending, ahead of the rest of us.
As my feet touched the ground, I noticed a flicker before my eyes. AGILITY flashed on my HUD, the 1.2 fading and being replaced by 1.3. It seemed the best way to grow attributes, as always, was to use them rather than just flexing them.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
The horror froze me for a moment as I watched the ape fiend smash Lauren with a fist like a mace. She clattered to the ground on her back, barely saving herself from falling off the ledge. The fiend pounced, pinning her down, its terrible distorted jaws snapping open. One disgusting clawed hand pushed her helmeted head back, exposing her throat as the maw descended.
Am I a bad person that I felt like I shouldn''t intervene? Do, please, try to understand, that my whole life had been one long lesson about winning The Choosing, about seizing the suit, and those long-trained instincts told me to let the beast have her. One less contestant meant one step closer to becoming a Griidlord. I try to pass too much of the responsibility for my thoughts to my father and his cohort of trainers. As you will see later in the story, my own ambition was a force quite beyond my ability to tame.
So, especially considering what happened later on, it''s hard to pat myself too much on the back for intervening in that moment. Instinctually moving to protect someone who had somehow become almost a friend should have been impulse number one, not impulse two.
Without thinking, I raised my arm, leveling my blade at the creature, and activated the BEAM. To my amazement, the energy lancing out seemed to double in size and brightness. The recoil in my arms was far greater than I felt from BEAM before. Even with the tension of the moment, I was elated at the power I felt rushing through me and out of me. I hit the fiend dead centre. The explosion of kinetic energy and heat ripped into it. Flesh and hair burst into the air. The stink of burning hair immediately filled my sense of smell.
Its mangled form tumbled from the ledge, still smoldering as it fell. It swung wildly, still bound to the tower by a chain that restricted it to the second level. The chain snapped taut, jerking the creature back and leaving it to dangle helplessly.
I barely registered the HUD update as 1.8 faded and was replaced by 2.0. BEAM had reached the second level.
"What just happened?" the voice said in my ear. There was an unexpected tone of amazement in its usually calm demeanor.
"I guess I leveled up. That''s what you wanted, isn''t it? What''s with the tone?" I replied, trying to hide my annoyance.
"No, this doesn''t make sense. It''s not in the framework..." the voice continued, almost babbling.
"What are you talking about? For once, why don''t you try filling me in on the details instead of just mumbling out loud?" I snapped.
"You can''t do that. It''s not actually something you can do..." the voice jabbered as I went to Lauren and extended a hand, heaving her to her feet. I had missed what had transpired between Gideon and Katya, but their clash seemed to have ended. I saw why. The light line had just reached the lip of the ledge below us. In instants, it would be at our feet. It was time to ascend once more. The other ape-fiend was in pursuit of Katya, which was good because I was going to be slow ascending with my bum wrist.
Lauren took a moment. There was a wordless appreciation for my intervention, then she was scaling upward. I envied her two good hands as she raced up the netting. The voice in my head never stopped.
"Nobody does that. It''s not a possibility."
As I moved to the netting, this time keeping my sword in my left hand, ready to fend off the ape-fiend when it ran out of slack on its chain and decided to come after me, I said, "What are you babbling about? This is probably not the time to be distracting me with nonsense."
The voice crystalized, "Tiberius, you went from a 1.8 to 2.0."
"Yeah, that was pretty sweet. I guess I skipped 1.9," I replied.
The voice was incredulous, "Tiberius, that''s not a possibility. You can''t move up more than one point at a time."
"But I did."
Chapter 67
¡°How¡ how did you do it?¡±
¡°I¡ I don¡¯t know. How do I do any of the other things? How come my attributes go up so fast? I thought you were amazed with some of the other things I¡¯d done. Remember when you were excited about me using BEAM so early in the competition? Or how excited you were by how quickly I adding points to SIGHT and SCENT? You never got all shaky at the knees about those!¡±
The voice was utterly dismissive of my thoughts, as though disgusted that I could draw a parallel between them. ¡°Yes, all very impressive, exciting things that you did. The difference, my young mystery, wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in the lustful, hormonal flesh of a young man, is that I know how you did those things, it was what drew me to you. But now, this double step, going straight from a 1.8 to a 2.0, that¡¯s not something I¡¯d seen before. I don¡¯t even understand how the framework of the system allows something like that to happen¡¡±
There was no time to talk further. The light line was reaching my feet.
I tensed my muscles, feeling the power of the suit surge through me as I summoned my AGILITY. I needed to shortcut the thirty feet ahead of me, and I aimed for a spectacular leap. With a powerful push, I launched myself upward, soaring through the air, minimizing the use of my left hand while still holding my sword. The leap carried me fifteen feet up, the sensation exhilarating yet terrifying, as my body spun the ground looked so far away. I couldn¡¯t dare think about how it would look when I was 300 feet up instead of 60 feet along the journey.
Before my eyes my AGILITY rating appeared, 1.3 became 1.4.
As I reached the apex of my jump, I grabbed onto the net with my right hand. The impact sent a jolt of pain through my shoulder, still hurting from Lance¡¯s earlier BEAM strike. I clambered clumsily, my left hand barely helping, my sword awkwardly weighing me down.
Then I heard the guttural roar of the ape-fiend. It streaked across the net, climbing with ease. Panic surged through me. I tried to fend it off with bursts of BEAM, but the unstable net made my aim wild. The ape-fiend dodged my attacks, drawing closer with every moment.
I swung my sword. I tried to introduce it to the kinetic apocalypse that was the receiving end of CUT. But the net swayed with each of my movements, and each of the heavy fiend''s urgent surges. The creature was savage, all raking claws and frenzied violence.
My left hand felt weak, and my shoulder hurt from Lance''s beam. Nothing about this was easy, especially with the netting swaying and jerking each time the monster leaped closer. I was in a poor state for this fight. The long-limbed fiend was in its most natural element. I thought maybe it understood the advantage it had. Those little eyes moved and calculated with an intelligence I couldn''t credit.
Then it happened, as it always seems to happen to me. I went for the creature, feeling my only hope was kill it and then take the rest of the climb more at my leisure. But I over extended, and missed, the glowing arc of my sword cutting nothing but air molecules. The beast back handed me. The impact to my chest was mostly absorbed by the suit, so it did little by way of physical harm to me. But the suit did nothing to eliminate the change in inertia, physics seemed to conspiring against me as well. I felt the net sway violently as the ape-fiend lunged again, my momentum already causing me to swing away from the solid wall of the tower. I sprawled, half in the air, only one foot and one hand barely holding onto the net. The ground far below seemed to beckon as I dangled precariously, the ape-fiend preparing for another strike.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Utterly vulnerable, off balance, possibly ready to fall to defeat even without the ape attacking me, time seemed to slow. Moments of reflection flooded my mind. I had come so far, but the bastards had already picked the perfect contest to exploit my weakened hand. Lance¡¯s BEAM strike to my good arm¡¯s shoulder only made my position worse. I closed my eyes as the beast started to swing.
An eruption of light and heat seared through my eyelids. I opened my eyes to see no beast. Glancing around, I saw it writhing and dangling from its chain below me, smoke rising from its body. I glanced up to see Lauren poised on the next level, the glow of BEAM fading from her sword. I tried to hold her gaze for a moment. I knew she was paying me back for helping her, but the very fact that I was worth paying back to her, that I wasn¡¯t just a commoner whose duty was her support, that she would pause in her own pursuit of the Griidsuit¡ªit meant something to me. But then she was gesturing frantically.
I looked back down. The ape-fiend wasn¡¯t dead. Smoke rose from the cooked meat of its muscles as it began to climb again, slower than before, but much faster than me.
I didn''t want to expose my AGILITY to depletion. I didn''t want to lose access to the attribute by entering that strange fogging fatigue that had clung to my mind as I battled Lance during the contest of the orbs. But the thing was coming, another could come at any moment, and the light line was approaching.
I gave my self over to the attribute. That surrender that had been so difficult and unnerving, that had been so uncomfortable and frightening, was taking on the light of ecstasy like so many aspects of the suit. I became a true fusion of suit and man. My wants became its wants and the muscles of the armor took over. We soared upward, spinning in the air. It was breathless and wonderful, even with the view of the fall below me that awaited any mistake. I felt the thrill of imagining that this was what it felt like to be a bird. Or maybe a squirrel? That seemed a silly comparison, but the effortless lightness with which I moved, the spectacular leaps and the ease of my display dazzled me even as my body streaked up the side of the tower.
1.4 faded again, and 1.5 flashed in to replace it. I could not believe I had gained so much in so short a time. But using AGILITY was exhausting, there was a mental depletion that came with its exertion that I could not understand. Was it surrendering control of my body that caused such taxation? Or was there some actual expenditure of my neurons, of my mental energy, involved? Did the suit utilize some part of my brain to help it make those calculations?
Musing on the mechanisms of how the suit executed AGILITY could definitely wait. What I had to face up to was the reality that I would not be able to continue to employ AGILITY all the way to the top of the tower. As my brain fogged from the last exertion, I had no doubt that another use of the attribute in the next minutes would probably exceed my limits, and I couldn¡¯t imagine what would happen if I experienced a catastrophic failure of AGILITY while trying to leap at a point, 60 or 100 or 200 feet from the ground.
Breathless and exhilarated, I looked at Lauren, who was already moving on. The brief moment of connection was enough. I knew I couldn¡¯t linger..
Chapter 68
Chapter 68
It wasn''t great. I was on level three out of ten, and I was already almost broken. The others were gliding up the side of the tower, energy beams lancing between them. Occasional clashes revealed where two had come close enough to lock swords. Their arms were strong, they had two hands to grasp when not fighting.
I let myself feel my body. My left wrist, much as I tried to avoid using it, had absorbed the recoil of a level 2 BEAM discharge. There had been times where, out of distraction or necessity, I had used that hand to help me climb. It throbbed now, the suit pressing against where it swelled. I touched my shoulder where Lance had hit me with his BEAM. There was a small patch of shredded suit there¡ªnot severe, but the skin beneath it hurt with the hot searing pain of a burn. Still, if the damage was only flesh and not structural, then I should be able to use it, even if that came with the distraction of pain.
I looked around. I could hear the clash of swords above, the sound of BEAM, but it sounded further off than I expected. Was I the only one left on level 3 already? That wouldn''t serve my purposes poorly; I still wanted to linger back, to flex AGILITY.
I looked around, inspecting the new level to discover what fresh torture the designers had brought. The walls of this level ran straight up. They were polished and smooth. There was absolutely no possibility of scaling these walls, there was zero purchase available. But, as I looked around, a shelf slid from the seemingly smooth surface. It swiftly glided out, creating a small step. As it began to recede back into the wall, another started to emerge, further away and higher up. As I watched I could see there were more, emerging and withdrawing at random points.
I stopped for a moment to think. I was alone here. None of the others were near me to pressure or engage me. I had time. Bounding up the moving steps would be so easy using AGILITY.
I could feel my mental exhaustion. I would be better served resting that attribute. The suit enhanced all of my physical attributes passively. I was stronger and faster in the suit than out of it. A six-foot vertical leap was very comfortable in the suit. As much as I had a dreadful sense of anticipation at the thought of negotiating these moving platforms, I felt that it was very achievable to simply jump from one to another, being observant, careful. However, once I started, there would be no pausing. Each platform only extended quite briefly.
I looked back down to the level below. The ape fiend was climbing back and forth on the netting below me like a caged lion pacing a cage, its chain tethering it from continuing up to this level. The light line was about a third of the way up the level below me. "Two hours is 120 minutes, 10 levels means 12 minutes a level, if it''s a third of the way up then it will take 8 minutes to reach where I''m standing. With nobody here to attack me, I can ascend those platforms faster than the light moves, so I could theoretically just stand here and flex attributes for 8 minutes, leaving the others to get further away from me. But that gives me no margin for error. I''ll wait 6ish minutes, then start moving."
The voice said, "Alright, I''ll remind you to move in 6 minutes."
I was startled; I had been talking to myself. I said, "You can do that?"
The voice said, "Of all the things I can do, a six-minute timer is not very challenging."
I hesitated. I would be trusting myself to the voice a little bit, but it seemed certain, and I was already exhausted.
I focused on flexing AGILITY and POWER. Agility failed to elevate, but to my, and the suit''s, delight, POWER rose to 0.2. The voice then announced, "Time to move."
This would have been a possible task for a suit wearer. It would have been difficult, and extremely perilous, but it could have been done. When I looked down at the fall that awaited a single mistake I decided that this was a worthwhile investment of AGILITY.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
I moved, letting AGILITY lead the way. The suit seemed determined to make every leap a spectacle. Under agility, the suit seemed nearly unable to simply hop from shelf to shelf. Each bound was a backflip, or a spinning display. My heart rushed at the thrill of it, at the fear of it. But we moved flawlessly from shelf to shelf, utterly and completely sure-footed.
With each leap, my confidence grew. The suit and I were in sync, moving as one. The final platform extended, and I jumped, landing solidly. I pulled myself up onto the ledge of level 4, almost confused by how simple that had been.
The floor of this ledge was composed of grating, like in a shower. Thirty feet above me, jets of water created a curtain of falling water that covered the surface of the stretch of tower above me. The surface of the tower had been fabricated to resemble the face of a cliff, oddly shaped crags and tiny ledges scattered about.
I looked down; again, I had time, but this ascent seemed less certain than the last, and I felt I should give myself more margin. The light line had barely begun to ascend the level below me; it was at least ten minutes away. I said, "Give me five minutes to flex before I move again."
The voice said, "Done."
I took a deep breath and focused on flexing my attributes. The minutes ticked by as I poured my energy into AGILITY and POWER. The effort was exhausting, my body and mind straining to push past my limits. Finally, I felt a shift. AGILITY crept up to 1.5. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
It was hard to imagine how I was going to get AGILITY to level 2 before the end of the day''s contest. If I could, I could only imagine the advantage it would give me. My current level of AGILITY, when I had the energy to employ it, made all of these obstacles a doddle.
The voice said, "It''s time."
I took a deep breath. This would be very difficult with only one good hand. I sheathed my sword; my left hand would have to come into play to some extent. If necessary, I could activate AGILITY, but while I had the relative peace of a wall to myself, not having to contend with the others, I hoped to conserve my AGILITY for a time when I would really need it.
I leapt, reaching for the first handhold. Immediately, my fingers slipped from it, and I fell. The moment was terrifying, space opening below me, hurtling down. Somehow, I managed to catch a ledge with my left hand. A spike of pain shot through my wrist, but I had to hold on. Swinging myself around, I got my right arm onto the ledge and heaved myself back up. Panting, my left wrist now screamed at me.
I held back a tear of frustration. Why did it have to be like this, so hard? I had grown so much; I should be the easy favorite now, but at every turn, the Choosing was arranged against me, giving Lance time to train his attributes ahead of me. This contest was practically designed to exacerbate my weakness. There was nothing for it, though. I needed to ascend. The handholds would be slippery; I should have known that. I was too preoccupied with flexing attributes and gaining advantage.
I climbed again, having to use my aching left wrist as well. It got worse with each foot of ascent. Suddenly, two-thirds of the way up the wet wall, I heard a crashing sound above me. I looked up and saw Katya falling from several levels up, hurtling towards me. She must have taken a terrible blow from one of the others because she was several feet from the face of the tower and couldn''t reach any handhold as she hurtled down.
Internal conflict surged within me. Should I leave her to fall? She was competition. But I couldn¡¯t do that. I went against that shameful urge to compete at all costs, an urge that would truly shame me later. I held to the face of the wall with one hand and both feet, reaching out with my right arm. As she streaked down, she saw what I offered and reached out, grabbing the offered hand. I tried to brace the impact through my feet and legs, but my poor screaming left wrist had to anchor me. The pain was momentary but excruciating.
I didn''t need to lift her or bear her weight; I just needed to direct her momentum. She swung on my arm, bringing the arc of her descent towards the wall of the tower. She hit hard slightly below me and to my right. For a moment, I thought she wouldn''t be able to find purchase, that the impact was too severe. But having two good hands changed the equation. While one of her hands slid off a crag as though it was coated in butter, the other found purchase, and just like that, she was perched securely alongside me.
It was then I realized what I had done. Katya was a strange soul, her notions of morality and honor were very well developed, but focused through a Southern lens that was very different from ours. If she so chose, she could easily attack me now, send me from the tower like a missile. If she had made an allegiance with Lauren to try and eliminate all others so that they could contest the suit just against each other, she might feel duty-bound to end my challenge in that moment. Considering how my left wrist was getting worse and worse, that half the tower still soared above me, I wondered if maybe that would be best. It seemed impossible for me to continue at this pace.
Chapter 69
Chapter 69
Katya paused, clinging to the face of the wall like a beetle. Those exact thoughts might have been careening through her brain. Katya was an incredible combination of intelligence and a quiet ruthlessness, an almost psychopathic detachment that I envied and respected. But it was tempered by that same curious oddness that I found so alluring. Her mouth, visible below the visor of her half helm, twitched with a smile. What did the smile mean? Was she satisfied that my predicament with my injured hand would deal with me as easily as she could with a sword? Was she conveying something personal to me? The smile flashed, and even in the maddeningly tense situation, my heart skipped slightly at that beautiful smile. Then she wordlessly ascended.
I gathered my breath. She was climbing away much faster than I could. I looked down. I was going too slowly. If anything, the light line was gaining on me. It was still several feet below me, but the gap was narrowing. I had no choice. I had to keep moving, despite the agony in my shoulder and wrist.
Each handhold was a battle. My left wrist felt like it was on fire, and every time I had to use it, a spike of pain shot up my arm. My right shoulder throbbed with a dull, burning ache where Lance¡¯s BEAM had hit me. I had to grit my teeth and force myself to focus on the next handhold, the next foothold, pushing through the pain and fatigue.
The water cascading down the cliff face made everything more treacherous. The handholds were slippery, and several times my fingers slipped off a crag, causing my heart to lurch with fear. I could hear the faint cheers and gasps from the crowd below, but they were a distant echo, drowned out by the roar of the waterfall and the pounding of my own heartbeat in my ears.
I glanced down again. The light line was closer now, too close. Panic started to creep in. I couldn''t let it catch me. I couldn''t let all my efforts go to waste. I dug deep, using every ounce of strength and determination I had left. I had to make it to the next level. I couldn''t fail now.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I reached the top of the level. I hauled myself over the ledge, collapsing onto the narrow floor. I was panting, my entire body screaming in pain. I looked down and saw the light line just a few feet below the ledge. I had made it with barely a minute to spare.
I looked up and my stomach fell. The wall above me was glassy smooth, an utterly impossible prospect, 30 feet of glossy perfection. What had I done wrong? Panic clawed at my lungs for a moment. The light line was coming, and there was absolutely no way up. I must have made some kind of terrible error. Then I calmed myself. Katya wasn''t here; she had already progressed somehow. If she had found a way, then I could too.
A BEAM sizzled just in front of my nose, heat and light. I jerked back. Far, far above, I could see Lance perched at the apex of the tower. He had completed his ascent. Now he had nothing to focus on but destroying all those below him. He had taken the opposite strategy to me. I had hung back to allow the others to get clear of me so I wouldn¡¯t have to compete with them, so I could flex attributes. I cursed my lack of ambition. Lance had chosen the more aggressive path, reached the top, and now was in a position to potentially defeat all comers. And he would have no more favored target than me.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Another BEAM lanced at me, and I took a step along the ledge, my head turned to the side. The light could only be seconds away. As I stepped, I saw it. There was another corridor here, like the level with the ape fiends. A corridor led from this wall toward the center of the tower. That made sense. This wall was unclimbable, but the corridor probably connected the four walls of the level, and at least one of them had to be climbable.
I sidled along, another beam scoring the ledge at my feet. I rounded the corner and entered the corridor. What greeted me were giant jets of blue-white flames, firing at intervals. I counted the seconds in my head. The light line would reach my feet any second. I didn''t have time to work out the pattern of the flames. What I did have was level 2 SHIELD.
I ran through the flames, my SHIELD wavering but holding, until I reached the opposite exterior wall. Agonizing frustration surged through me. The surface above this wall was glass as well. I ducked back, again braving jets of flame with SHIELD, turned left, and found that the ascent above me was another set of artificial footholds. My heart hammered. My wrist was so weak now. If I could climb that at all, I doubted I could go fast enough to stay ahead of the line. Even as I looked up, Lance¡¯s head and shoulders appeared at the top of the tower. He had been hunting for me, and now BEAM lanced down. I stepped back into the corridor. This was now utterly impossible. The others might have a chance to climb quickly and nimbly enough to avoid Lance, but I was like a sloth, stuck to the side of the tower and barely moving. It was a near guarantee that Lance could destroy me.
Even as I stood there, the light line breached the top of the ledge and struck my feet. Mario''s voice boomed out, "Tiberius has 10 seconds!"
My head felt light, and my heart hammered in my chest. This was a total trap. There was only one way up. That ascent was nearly more than I could handle if I''d had an entire leisurely morning to deal with. More than a hundred feet above me was my nemesis, the most powerful of us all, with a level 3 BEAM, and nothing to worry about except eliminating me from the competition before I could gain the attributes to defeat him. If I climbed, it was a certainty that I would be defeated, and the combination of BEAM and the long fall that would ensue would certainly mean grave injury and possibly even death. Would it be better to just stay here and let the timer run out than to die attempting the surely impossible?
Mario''s voice boomed, "9 seconds."
I pressed my head against the steel lining of the inside of the corridor. It flexed under the pressure as I pressed my head against it, my mind heaving with frustration and defeat.
¡°8 seconds,¡± boomed around me. I leaned my head back and slammed my head into the wall, the wall bowing in and flexing back under the force of the blow. The end was coming, and the frustration was maddening. I felt like I was going to have a tantrum, like a child, shaming myself in front of thousands even as my time in the Choosing came to a close.
¡°7 seconds.¡±
Chapter 70
Chapter 70
¡°6 seconds.¡±
The realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. The wall in front of me had bowed under the weight of my helmet. The sheet of steel was flexible, barely holding against the force of my head. The tower was 300 feet tall, and despite the city''s use of Order fields to enable high-tech construction, physics dictated it needed to be heavier at the bottom and lighter at the top. How thin was the sheet of steel before me? If it wobbled under the touch of my helmet, it must be very light.
¡°5 seconds.¡±
A thought formed. It might breach the rules, though it had not been explicitly stated. The Choosing seemed to operate on a basis of few explicit rules, with the rest being up to the contestants to figure out. What did it matter? In a few heartbeats, my time in the Choosing would be over. I had to act, and this was worth a try as much as anything else. And, in fact, there was nothing else.
I drew my sword, executing a series of CUTs, creating an opening in the wall of the corridor. The thin steel yielded easily to the glowing sharpness of my blade, and soon I had carved a hole large enough to climb through.
¡°4 seconds.¡±
I took a deep breath. I stepped up and through the hole in the wall, my feet lifting above the level of the light line as I disappeared into the innards of the tower. There was a booming stutter, Mario''s voice caught between announcing 3 seconds and trying to process what I had just done. There was more stammering and then silence.
I imagined the debate that would ensue, Mario raging that I had violated the spirit of the contest, Baltizar advocating for me, pointing out that the Choosing was also a test of ingenuity, which I was certainly displaying. I wondered about the Bishop. Would he risk the anger of the crowd again? Would he risk being obviously against the people''s champion for a second time? Would he bear the humiliation of ejecting me for this move only to have the Oracle contradict him once more? Whatever they decided was beyond my power to affect now. What I could affect was my elevation.
Inside the tower, it was pitch black, but my SIGHT activated, providing low-level illumination, enough to let me see my way. I was in the cavity between the outer wall of the tower that faced the crowd and the inner shell that formed the walls of the various corridors between levels. Fine metal tubes made a latticework between the various structures. Below me, I could see tanks of accelerant attached to tubes and devices creating the blue flames in the corridor. Further down, I could see gears and electric motors turning, probably controlling the appearing and disappearing platforms I had climbed, and pipes carrying water for the waterfall.
The protruding tubes were smooth. Their spacing was generally quite wide and certainly erratic. Their polished surface was definitely not designed to make for sure grips or easy climbing. I cursed the designers of the tower. Why wasn''t there an access ladder? How had they assembled this tower of torture without such elements? I looked over the arrangement of pipes. A climber without a suit could theoretically have made the climb. For one with the strength of the Griid-suit, such as me, it shouldn''t be that great a challenge. It was more the prospect of hanging from each precarious point with such a terrible fall below me that gave me pause.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
SIGHT let me see clearly in the near blackness. Small blades of light pierced the interior at points where external panels met. The crisis crossed beams and tubes made an almost spider-web like arrangement above me. I sighed, reaching up and taking hold of a tube, bracing my foot to another, and started to climb.
At least I was ascending, getting further from the rising light line. The climb surprised me in its ease as I continued. There were no beams being fired at me. The steel under my hand was more than strong enough to bare my weight, and, as it turned out, a new handhold was never far from the last.
But a new troubled thought arrived before long. I couldn''t see the light line anymore. If I emerged too late, I might find myself hopelessly far below the line and get myself ejected. If I climbed too high, too fast, then I might emerge to the outside in a position exposing myself terribly to one of the others.
I tried to do the math. The first level had been the climbing pipes: 12 minutes. The next level had been the netting with the fiends: 24 minutes. The next level was the platforms: 36 minutes. Then the water level made 48 minutes. My God, had I really been rushing at this for almost an hour? I had been here for maybe a minute or two, so something like 50 minutes in total had elapsed. The problem was I had no idea how far I was ascending now, how far ahead of the light line I could be. The priests probably couldn''t measure it either, but I would have to emerge somewhere. There would surely be an obstacle of some sort along the way preventing me from climbing all the way to the safe zone without having to exit. If I emerged far below the light line, then the priests would have no problem claiming I had failed and could have me eliminated. Equally, if I emerged too soon, then I was as good as gone. Lance would focus on me, Gideon could easily defeat me as I was now, and Katya or Lauren would make quick work of me if they decided to.
I said to the voice, "Can you time how long I am climbing?"
The voice said, "I can time you from now."
"Good enough," I said. Then I asked, "Can you measure my rate of climb, how many feet I''m going up?"
The voice said, "Sadly, no."
I kept moving upward, climbing easily. I tried to make a guess of the distance between each rung, to keep a count of the number of rungs I was climbing. All the while, I kept flexing attributes. It was a juggle to keep the numbers in my mind and flex, and the numbers were rough estimates. I could possibly use them to delay my emergence, but I would need to exit in advance of any estimate to avoid the fatal error of defeating myself by emerging below the level of the light line.
Whatever happened, as long as I managed to emerge above the light line, I would skip several levels of the tower. I could see the path above me extended a long way, and I would likely emerge somewhere above level 7, maybe much higher. When I next exited the tower, I would be entering the final fray, a showdown with my nemesis, a chaotic battle that I would be hard-pressed to survive.
Chapter 71
Chapter 71
I continued climbing. As I moved upwards I had to avoid the inner workings of the tower. Huge cogs spun. I couldn''t know it they were powerful enough to damage my suit, but I had no desire to investigate personally. Flexible pipes ran from vessels of fluid. These, I imagine bore accelerants for flame jets on the outside. I didn''t expect that breaking one of those tubes and saturating myself, or the surfaces I climbed, with slippery flammable liquids, would help my cause. There were long stretches where I could simply climb, but my path was frequently interrupted by moving parts and dangerous mechanisms.
I couldn''t keep track of the time. I tried to count the rungs as I went, tried to find some kind of mental calculus that would allow me to estimate how I, or how far, I had been climbing. But my thoughts were interrupted constantly my the moving parts of the tower, by the sounds of battle beyond the walls.
The voice suddenly spoke. The thing''s tone was teasing. It said, "How long do you think you''ve been climbing, Tiberius?"
I gritted my teeth. "I don''t know. Ten minutes? Fifteen?"
The voice giggled. It was a mean sound, twisted in that high childlike voice. Why was it enjoying this? It wanted me to win, didn''t it?
It said, "Oh, much longer than that, I think. Or maybe much shorter. It''s hard to say, isn''t it?"
I tried to ignore it. It was toying with me. I tried to focus on the climb.
"You know," the voice said, "you could just emerge now. Take your chances. What''s the worst that could happen?"
I said, flatly, "The worst that could happen is Lance blasts me off the tower and I end up crippled or dead."
The voice laughed uproariously, as though I had just told an especially funny joke. It said, "True. But isn''t that a risk you''re willing to take? After all, you did sneak inside the tower. That was quite the bold move."
Again I tried some fruitless exercises in mental math, trying to even roughly estimate how much time had passed, and how much distance I had covered.
"Think about it, Tiberius," the voice said. "You can''t stay in here forever. The longer you wait, the more likely the line has passed you. If you wait too long, you''ll miss your chance."
I knew the voice was teasing me. But I also couldn''t argue with the facts. I couldn''t afford to wait too long. I needed to emerge sometime, and too late would certainly be worse than too early. I took a deep breath. I decided that I would count to one hundred, and then I would make my move. It was a gamble, but everything in the Choosing was a gamble.
As I counted I still didn''t waste the valuable free time. I counted and flexed my attributes at the same time. Every increase was an addition to the armory of options I would have when I emerged., The voice remained silent.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
I tried to count the rungs I had climbed, at three feet each, and multiply, but I kept losing count, and kept doing the maths wrong. I snapped at the voice, "Why are you mocking me about how long it''s been? I asked you to set a timer."
The voice mocked, "I haven''t been checking the timer. It''s running, don''t worry, but this is far more exciting for me if I see what you do without constant reminders."
I screamed at the voice, my frustration echoing in the cramped space, "I thought you wanted to see me succeed! Why would you torture me like this!?"
The voice said, "How do you know I''m not talking to all of them right now as well? Or that other voices aren''t talking in their heads, that we''re not all just entertained, tickled pink, by the excitement, the peril, the struggle?"
I paused. The jibe poked at my growing sense of specialness. How could I know? Was I really so different? But then reality poured in. The city was amazed at my progress, many knowledgeable men had remarked on my growth. Neither Morningstar nor Katya had indicated they heard a voice when I mentioned it.
Then I found myself laughing. The voice felt less like a sinister source of mockery and more like a teasing friend. By the Oracle, was this thing becoming my friend? The voice spoke, more sincerely intimate, "That''s the spirit, Tiberius. It''s all just a lark after all. Might as well laugh while we''re alive."
I agreed, wiping a tear from my eye, pressure, mania, honest amusement. I said, "Alright, voice, how long has it been then?"
The voice said, "Almost an hour."
My heart froze. I shrieked, "An hour? This is another joke?"
The voice said, "No, when it comes to solid data, I don''t joke."
I said, "But... but... if it''s been an hour..." I did the maths, 12 minutes a level, 60 minutes to the hour, divided by the square root of how horrendously fucked I was. "If we haven''t reached the top level then I''m finished, it''s over."
The voice said, "Then I guess it''s time to find out."
Even as we spoke, my head hit a solid wall of steel above me. I wondered, was that the pinnacle of the tower? It had to be. If it was, then I was about to emerge above everyone, Lance included, well above not only the light line but the painted line of the safety zone. My mouth watered suddenly at the chance to strike at an unsuspecting Lance from above, to send him hurtling from the tower.
I faced the wall, feeling the pressure mount as I prepared to cut through it. I reached back with my sword and executed a CUT, but it just left a faintly glowing line. Panic began to set in. Of course, the wall here was thicker; this wasn''t the lining of an inner corridor. This was the outer wall of the tower, designed to bear the weight of contestants, absorb impacts, and deflect glancing CUTS and BEAMS.
I used CUT again, my sword flaring angrily, the level 2 CUT striking like the punishment of a mad god. Again, it had almost no effect. I hacked again and again, but I was just an initiate. This wall wouldn''t hold up under the assault of a Morningstar, but to a lowly contestant in the Choosing, the CUT I thought so highly of was a blunted butter knife.
The voice in my ear, suddenly weary, said, "The seams... Tiberius... There are seams..."
Following the advice, I targeted the seams, my CUT searing through the joints between the sheets that made up the exterior of the tower, shredding little rivets like icicles. Light from the arena flooded in as a square fell away, a square easily big enough for my head and shoulders. The sound of the crowd rushed through me, battering me, staggering me.
I leaned out and looked down. The distance to the ground was dizzying, so far, so very far now. But oddly, I couldn''t locate the light line. Perplexed, I looked up, and there it was, inches above my head, creeping away.
Much, much worse than that, Lance was only twenty or thirty feet above me. His lips beneath the half-helm twisted into a demonic smile. His blade pointed at me, swelling with the light of his level 3 BEAM.
Chapter 72
Chapter 72
It was the adrenaline. Or it was the shock. The surprise. Something crystallized my response to the sight above me into a near-perfect reaction. Employing AGILITY requires surrender. It does get easier with practice, but in the early days, it actually takes tremendous concentration for a contestant or young Griidlord to both surrender the use of their body while still instructing and guiding it.
The body moves at incredible speeds normally when one is using AGILITY, hurtling through the air, twisting, turning, like the most terrifying ride at a fair. The brain''s natural reaction is to try and intervene, to seize control. But in that moment, Lance stared down the length of his sword at me, aiming, the blade glowing.
I told my body that I wanted to be clear of the hole, and fast. I could have ducked back in, but the light line was above me. I needed to get above it, but I also needed not to get erased by the BEAM that was about to sear toward me. Even as my artificial muscles began to contract, Mario was booming, "Tiberius has ten seconds."
The suit''s AGILITY kicked in, and my movements became a blur. My body twisted and launched upward in a graceful arc, narrowly avoiding Lance''s BEAM as it lanced past where I had just been. The world spun around me as I executed a series of acrobatic maneuvers that would have been impossible without the suit.
I felt the acceleration pushing into me. The first leap made me feel like a rocket lifting off, piercing upwards. I cut up through the air like an arrow. As I rose, the suit tucked my legs into my body, and I spun, tight and fast, over and over. I arced above my targeted landing spot and dropped neatly onto it.
The crowd erupted in cheers and screams. The display of acrobatics had thrilled them. To those who cared, the sudden shift in my position changed the dynamic with Lance as well. Above me, Lance''s mouth folded into a savage, seething snarl.
A lot of information needed processing in a short window of time. Lance was tracking me with his blade, trying to hit me as I landed. I had a mild elation. Mario had announced that I had ten seconds when I emerged, even though I had emerged below the light line. I had assumed that doing that would have resulted in ejection.
The voice hissed, "They need to be on their best behavior. They''ve been too obviously against you so far. They might try and duplicitously work against you, like they did today choosing a challenge that exploited your weakness, but they won''t let the crowd see them working against you, not with Baltizar waiting in the wings to fight your corner."
Even as the voice spoke, I leapt again, performing another acrobatic move to another girder as Lance''s BEAM missed me by inches. My mind raced, taking in the situation. I was dancing on the final feet of the second last level. This level was composed of steel girders jutting from the tower at random points, and above this level was 30 feet of pipes, like the ones we started with. Only now the pipes were even further spaced, and now they were 300 feet above the ground instead of 20 or 30. Beyond that was the conical top of the tower, the slopes of the cone not too steep to stand on. That was where Lance had positioned himself.
The white line separated the level of pipes from the cone, the safe zone. I leapt again as Lance fired, narrowly avoiding his BEAM. The light line was rising above this level, which was a shame. The girders were wide enough for me to balance on them without needing my left hand. The narrow pipes above were less convenient. The tower had narrowed considerably, the four walls closer together. As I leapt, I caught a glimpse of Katya fending off Gideon as they both dangled from the pipes of the next level.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
Lance turned from me, confusing me, until I saw Lauren skittering up the pipes towards him. He blasted at her, and she diverted from her path. He was playing king of the castle, intending to be declared Griidlord today if he could. His distraction was a boon. I leapt, sparing my AGILITY, and caught a pipe from the next level with my right hand, taking my time, heaving myself up to standing, using the wall of the tower to balance me. The light line below slipped over the last of the girders. This was it. I was on the last level, and there were 10 minutes left.
Gideon and Katya separated from their dueling. Katya, I was sure, had already figured out the predicament, but it was only just dawning on Gideon. Lance was on reasonably sure footing, with the elevated position, a powerful BEAM attribute, and the intention of deleting all four of us if he could. We had essentially no cover; the pipes weren''t worth much. As I thought this, Lance fired at me, and I leapt. I would have fired back, but my sword was not equipped; I needed both hands for now. The BEAM, intended for me, struck the pipe I had just been standing on, shearing it away. Pipes would not make good cover.
What ensued was a frustrating battle. The four of us, moving between pipes, either had to keep our weapons sheathed or use them from precarious positions. Either scenario resulted in the same: Lance could shoot at us with comfort and face very little risk of having fire returned against him. There was no formal declaration of allegiance this time; we all four just understood that we couldn''t afford to make targets of one another.
We leaped from pipe to pipe, constantly dodging and repositioning. Lance frantically tried to cover all approaches, his BEAM slicing through the air and shearing pipes that rained down below. At one point, Katya nearly reached Lance, but his advanced CUT sent her tumbling. My heart leapt in my chest, but she spun and caught herself, so graceful and natural that it was awe-inspiring. The light line continued to creep up.
Lance was tiring. I was stunned he was able to use so much BEAM, but it was clearly fatiguing. The bolts he sent became lesser and lesser. That was how it seemed to be with attributes; I could only use AGILITY so much before the neural pathways in my brain that operated the attribute began to go numb. The same seemed to be true for BEAM. Sadly, he had used CUT very sparingly, so we had to expect him to be ready to use that next if any of us did succeed in reaching him.
Each of us was biding our time, trying to find an opening. Katya and Gideon had stopped their skirmish, now focusing entirely on navigating the pipes and avoiding Lance''s BEAM. I glanced at Lauren, who was inching closer from another angle. The four of us were like a pack of wolves, circling a dangerous prey.
HEARING brought the sound of Lance''s breathing to me. He was breathing hard and fast, maybe more from stress than exertion. He fired another BEAM at Gideon. The big man ducked out of the way, the beam streaking past him. The blast sheared another pipe from the tower and it tumbled away. I used the distraction to move a few feet closer. I never took my eyes from Lance. His shots were getting sloppier, his aim less precise. He was nearing his limit.
But so were we. Every movement expended energy, and he was certainly keeping us moving. My wrist throbbed, my shoulder burned. But I was matching well. Katya was dancing from point to point, cool as ever. Lauren''s jaw was set in that same stern set, letting nothing show. Gideon''s expression was one of hungry rage, but then, his expression was always one of hungry rage.
The light line was coming, closer and closer. We had minutes, maybe less. Lance knew it too. His every move grew more urgent, maybe even to the point of panic. He knew he couldn''t hold us off forever. Of course, he didn¡¯t have to. Just for another few minutes.
It was getting harder to navigate. The battle was removing pipes at a prodigious rate, the spaces between them growing wider and wider, the gaps less even. I had to employ AGILITY more and more. But then, finally, Lance aimed his blade and it pulsed. Sputtered might be more accurate, and failed to send the spear of energy. His BEAM was exhausted. Lauren, Katya, and I were spread only a few feet apart, directly below him. We''d had to edge higher as the light line rose; there was only a gap of 16 or 17 feet left.
Then Lance did something that I momentarily couldn''t explain. He dropped from the security of the cone and grabbed a pipe, dangling from it. In the first moment, I couldn''t explain it, but in the next, his intention became devastatingly clear.
Chapter 73
Chapter 73
I paused. I think we all paused. I wanted to pounce on him as he dropped, but I had depleted my own AGILITY dodging his shots. The three of us watched in confusion as he hung from a pipe just below the lip of the cone. Then he let go, dropped another few feet. We were arrayed below him, not that far now. I poised to defend myself, wondering what his game was now. Now that his BEAM was exhausted, did he want to come after me personally? What would Lauren and Katya do? Would they just race up past him on either side and claim the safe zone? Would they ally with me? Would they make the strategic decision to engage him now and try and remove him from later rounds?
As I contemplated the possibility of them just climbing up past him on either side, my eyes flicked to the left and right of Lance. I had to double take. There were no pipes sticking from the walls to either side of him. In fact, there were no pipes to be seen anywhere above the light line, which was rapidly approaching my heels as I crouched on my pipe, sword held in defense, left hand doing what it could to hold onto my poor perch. The only pipes left that would reach to the cone, that would give us a path up, were a narrow, straggling path directly below Lance. My eyes widened with horror, I knew his game now.
I screamed, "NO!" but too late.
Lance employed CUT, his level 3 CUT erasing the pipes between him and us. I leaped to my feet as he propelled himself back up to the cone, using CUT to sever each pipe that remained along the way.
The pipes shattered and fell. They plunged to the earth, disappearing as the shrank out of view. I saw the path disappearing in front of me, the only way to the top being destroyed. The light line was at my feet, and there was no time left.
The three of us were stranded, no way to ascend, and the light line was on us. We had seconds to act. But there was no action to take.
The light line continued to creep up as we looked around, desperate for a route up. It was 15 feet away, more than we could jump, any of us. My AGILITY might have allowed me to get there, but it was exhausted. I couldn''t dare try to use it in case of failure; the result would be a long fall to the ground. The crowd noise swelled with anticipation, a cacophony of excitement and dread.
Mario''s voice boomed over the amplifiers, "Katya, Lauren, Tiberius, Gideon, ten seconds remain!"
I glanced down at my feet in panic; the light line was touching my heel. The thought of using AGILITY in the final second crossed my mind¡ªrisking death or maiming to stay in the Choosing. If I succeeded, it would only be me and Lance in the next round. My odds would never have been better. For now, I searched for an option.
Idiot thoughts flicked through my brain: we could make a human ladder, stand on each other''s shoulders... but then only the one on top would have a chance, and all that while Lance waited above us with his CUT ready to knock us from the tower.
Lauren was a statue. I don''t know if she had given up, or if she was thinking. Whatever the case, she would not dishonor herself with emotion. She wouldn''t give Lance the satisfaction. Gideon slammed an angry fist into the wall of the tower. Katya kept moving, head tilting and bobbing like a birds as she sought any option.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
¡°Nine seconds!¡±
I looked around, up, down, everywhere. There had to be something. Anything.
¡°Eight seconds.¡±
By the Oracle, the frustration was enough to drown in. To lose, now, to Lance, like this. To lose while he got to sit back and watch the fruits of his plot.
"Seven seconds!"
Movement to the right caught my eye. Gideon was airborne. He was leaping up to something. He''s seen something we hadn''t. He snatched a pipe, swinging up with a grace that belied his brute strength. He hit the cone, and Lance spun to face him.
"Six seconds!"
We saw it then¡ªa nub of a pipe, barely a handhold. We had missed it in our panic.
"Five seconds!"
Katya, Lauren, and I raced for the pipe, scrambling over the shredded pipes below us. I hated to admit it, but Lance''s strategy had been utter genius. All the time we thought he had been missing, he had been plotting our defeat. I had underestimated him, seen him as a dumb athlete, a handsome idiot. How stupid of me.
"Four seconds!"
We were moving as fast as we could, jostling each other in the desperate scramble. There was no allegiance here, only survival.
"Three seconds!"
We weren''t close enough. It was too far.
"Two seconds!"
Shit, this was it. We all knew it. I crouched, tensed, daring not to use AGILITY, putting everything I had into firing those suit muscles. Katya and Lauren, either side of me, did the same.
"One second!"
We leapt, all three of us airborne. The pipe was close, but there was only enough room for one hand, one body. As we soared through the air, our fates hung in the balance, a split second from elimination.
In that heart-stopping moment, I reached out, my hand straining for the pipe. Katya and Lauren''s hands shot out beside mine, all three of us fighting for that single chance to stay in the Choosing. The world seemed to slow as we flew toward our uncertain future
I mentioned earlier about how there would be a sorry tale attached to my ambition... If you''re reading this, whenever you are, you may already know me, know my story. If you do, then what comes next may not surprise you. But if all you know of Tiberius is what you''ve read so far, you may be disappointed.
I want to tell you what happened next was a reflex. I want to believe that myself, and to be truthful, I don''t know that the contrary is definitely true either. But I know what I did later in life...
As we each soared towards the pipe, our forms were converging. A collision was inevitable, a collision that would tangle us all, ruin our momentums, certainly spoil our chance to get to the next round, and very likely send one or more of us spinning to the ground 300 feet below. You need to understand we were about to have a mid-air collision.
I braced for impact. But now my instinct to brace for impact was intimately tied to an instinct to flex my SHIELD. My level 2 SHIELD. As we struck each other, my SHIELD pulsed, driving their bodies away from me.
My hand, and my hand alone, found the nub of pipe jutting from the wall. The recoil from my SHIELD sent them hurtling form me. Katya hit the wall itself, sliding down it, but Lauren... Lauren arced into the air, away from the tower, into open space where only 300 feet of nothing stood between her and the ground.
Chapter 74
Chapter 74
Two people acted next. The first actions I will describe are mine. I contracted the muscles of my suit, the power was immense. My momentum already driving me upward, combining the two, thrusting my arm, I continued to spear to the sky, traveling foot after foot, my speed dropping as that bitch gravity tugged at me. But I drew level with the lip of the cone, my right hand grasping firmly. My left, useless, still held my sword, and my right hand augmented my trajectory, driving me over the lip and onto the gentle slope of the cone.
I had to scrabble; gravity wasn''t done with me yet. She pulled me back toward the lip, undoing my work. I found purchase by using CUT, driving my sword into the surface of the cone, and I was safe. Safe for now at least, there were still minutes left before Mario would call a halt.
The next set of actions I describe will shame me. You won''t need me to explain why they shame me, though I will probably do that as well. I couldn''t actually see what happened, what with my face being pointed upwards as I very distinctly saved my own ass at the expense of two people that, only a few chapters ago, I had tentatively described as friends, or something of the sort. While I soared to my own selfish intentions, Lauren spun in the air. The force of the repulsion from my shield had actually lifted her higher, so she rose for a few moments before she began to fall.
Katya had hit the wall; she was sliding down. I''ve watched this over and over on replay, and I am certain she could have jumped from the wall. With the strength of her suit and her lithe little body, she could have pushed off from the wall and reached the handhold and been up there with me, ready to fight another day, have another chance at the suit, Lauren falling to death or grievous injury, one less to contend with. But she didn''t.
Lauren had started to fall, accelerating at very close to 10m/s2, air resistance obviously tugging that down a notch, but a mighty rate of speed gain per heartbeat all the same. By the time Katya reacted, there was no way for her to reach Lauren by falling. Even streamlined in a diver''s pose, Lauren would be a puddle on the ground before Katya could reach her.
So Katya flipped over on her slide down the wall, chest to the wall, facing down, facing that insane 300-foot drop. She coiled the powerful muscles of the suit and pushed off, using that initial surge of force to add to the universal 10m/s2 gravity acceleration. And she also did the whole diver''s pose thing, hands in front of her, making herself into a spear.
Two forms plummeted, one flailing, far from the walls of the tower, the other an arrow, pointed straight down, between the first form and the tower. Remember, the tower narrows as you ascend, so it widens as you descend. Katya reached out, somehow, in those perilous precious moments, Lauren became aware of her, and reached out for her hand.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
And then they were both just falling, plummeting toward a shared death. But around level 4, the tower had widened enough that it was close enough to Katya for her to stab it with CUT. She plunged her sword into the tower wall and used it to break her fall. With the momentum shift, she swung Lauren to the wall of the tower, and Lauren mimicked her, stabbing her sword into the tower as well.
Their swords cut into the surface of the tower, but their momentum carried them on. Their swords cut long jagged lines along the surface of the tower. Screws and metal banding exploded with the torrent of splinters that sprayed from the cuts. Sparks flew as the blades glances off metal. Their feet scrabbled urgently, trying to aid the braking action of their swords. And then they were slowing. A moment later they had stopped.
Mario wasted no time, he barked, "Lauren and Katya, 10 seconds remain!"
They were at the bottom of the 4th level, with no hope of ascending to the top in just 10 seconds. They remained there for a moment, pinned to the wall of the tower, still hand in hand. The light line kept climbing up the tower, not that far from me, here on the cone. They were an eternity away from the where they needed to be.
I had become aware of what was happening during the frantic braking. I had looked down, understanding what I had done, what Katya had done. My heart burned with shame at my actions, and my inactions. I had nearly killed Lauren. I had done nothing but serve myself, instinct or intent, it haunts me to this day.
As the final seconds ticked away I could only wait. They seemed to wait as well. As Mario counted down, they just stayed there. Tears threatened me, guilt and shame wanted to metamorphosize into grief or rage.
Mario''s voice boomed, "Lauren and Katya, disqualified!"
The crowd had a mixed response. There was a series of cheers and whistles, those who wanted to see all but the people''s champion take the prize. Others booed or moaned. Some had put money on one of the girls. Some would only be happy when Lance was finished. Some would only be happy when I was done too.
Lauren and Katya began to descend the tower. They looked like such lonely, forlorn creatures as they climbed down with no hint of the urgency that had been on them as they climbed.
I had done this. They had never turned their alliance against me, not once. And I had ended their chance at the suit. Not Lance. Me.
My guilt twisted into something darker. Rage started to boil in me. I hated Father for sending me here. I hated my trainers for the instincts they had hammered into me. I hated the voice for its mockery. I hated myself for this damnable desire to win.
But I hated one above the others...
As I turned, I saw Gideon crash to the ground. Lance stood over him, smiling that same brash smile of his. He wasn''t even thinking about me. Or Lauren, or Katya.
It was so easy to turn the hate towards him. If my rage was lightning, then Lance was the perfect lightning rod. My lips trembled as they curled back into a snarl. I bared my teeth, felt my face contort into pure anger.
"LANCE!" I screamed.
Chapter 75
Chapter 75
Lance was startled at first, as though he had forgotten I was there. I stalked towards him as though there was nothing else in the universe except Lance, and I went after him as though I was seeing through him, as though he himself was barely part of the universe. I could barely see him or his glowing sword. My sword was in my hand. Lance took a step back. For the rest of that day, I would wonder about that backward step. Was it fear? Was it just him finding better footing to deal with me?
Yeah, I know. Now, I know at least. Lance wasn''t responsible for this. Up to this point, there''s very little you could say to criticize Lance''s conduct during the competition. Outside of the arena, yes, he was a small-minded, superior, arrogant bastard who liked to look down his nose at the common man. But the worst that Lance had done during the contests so far was to push his advantages as far as he conceivably could.
The fact was simple: he was probably the best of us. It was within the framework of the competition for him to use his superior firepower to try and keep us all from the top of the tower or keep all of our orbs out of the pots. He wasn''t actually a bastard for that. And, in truth, looking back after all this time, the move he''d made at the top of the tower, knocking off all those climbing pipes without our noticing, that was genius. And shame on us.
The truth was actually very simple. Only one person in the contest that day had a reason to be ashamed. It was the people''s champion, the one who had very nearly killed Lauren. The one who had seen his two "friends" (yes, friends is a strong word for the tenuous relationship I had formed with the girls, but in my constellation of trainers, servants, and business contacts, they were the closest I had ever come) exit the competition as a result of his own actions. I was the only real bastard there that day. And I felt it. I knew it. The shame, the regret, they burned hot within me.
But it goes back to that question of ambition, doesn''t it? I was angst-ridden with my shame, but I was still on top of the tower and Lauren and Katya were finished. It''s funny how, in my life, things like that had a way of happening.
I took another step towards Lance, my rage boiling over. His eyes narrowed, and he steadied his stance, readying for my assault. I could see the determination in his eyes
Lance spoke with a swagger I wasn''t sure he was feeling as he stared at me. "You going to make my day, shopkeeper? You were such a big help with the two ladies there. I didn''t hear any thuds or crowd screaming, so I guess you didn''t quite manage to kill Lauren, but I must thank you all the same. Gideon''s basically done, there must be what, five minutes left? You''ve arranged things even better than I had. Once I deal with you, the competition''s over. I should thank you; you''ve made me into a Griidlord."
I boiled, like a glob of spit on the surface of the sun. I roared, "I''ll fucking end you, Lance! I''m sick of your games, of your fucking words!" I rushed at him, sword held high. His face was patronizing disdain, but mark this¡ªhis eyes were filled with fear.
I didn''t have time or interest enough to check my stats, but they must have been:
BEAM: 2.0
SHIELD: 2.2
POWER: 0.2
CUT: 2.0
AGILITY: 1.5
He didn''t understand what was coming at him. He thought he still had the edge.
We clashed with a force and sound like thunder. Our leveled CUTs smashed into each other. Flames erupted at the point of contact as the kinetics became a heat strong enough to ignite the air. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
My feet shattered the boards beneath my feet as I planted and swung again. Lance, already reeling, his arms shaking from the previous impact, staggering back. He stepped back from my CUT, but he was reeling. His mouth was hanging open. I came again, and he parried, but it was barely enough. And it wouldn''t continue to be enough.
The structure beneath my feet trembled and swayed from the forces we employed against each other.
Lance had at least a level 3 CUT and a level 3 BEAM. My blade was deflected by the force of his impact. I should have been afraid, and he should have been confident, not the other way around. That was how it had always been. But I was the bully now. His thrust was panicked and desperate. His follow-through glanced off my level 2 shield as I stepped aside. I was sure his shield was only level 1. He had invested everything he had in offense. I had some balance.
The voice said, "Oh my god, it''s happening again, this is exciting and infuriatingly confusing."
As it spoke, CUT 2.0 flashed and faded. The numbers reappeared, only now the 0 had become a 2. My CUT was 2.2. My shield flashed and became a 2.4. Lance could see I was distracted. His panicked mouth closed and he steeled himself, reached down into his well of assholeness to find something he could hold on to.
Lance spoke with a confidence that I knew he didn''t feel. He said. "What''s the matter, shopkeeper? Feeling out of your depth?"
He swung again, his sword blazing with energy. But I met his strike with my own, the force of our blades clashing sending sparks flying, and his arms flailed from the contact of steel.
"You''re pathetic, Lance," I growled. By the Oracle, this felt good. My chest surged with confidence.
I swung out, CUT make my sword flare with light and power. He skipped back again. My sword contacted the cone we stood on. The explosion of energy, heat, fire, and debris was enough to draw a collective gasp from the crowd. Lance looked shocked at first, maybe imagining what would have happened had he been on the receiving end of that blow. But he drew the threads again, his face adopting the old look of smug confidence.
"Is that all you''ve got?" Lance jeered. We clashed again and again, his blows coming slower and weaker with each strike.
His voice started to take on a strain he couldn''t conceal. He roared, "You think you can beat me? A commoner like you?"
I bared me teeth with a new and satisfying savagery. I said, "I''ll end you, Lance! I''ll show you what a commoner can do!"
Lance''s mocking smile faltered as he struggled to keep up. He parried my blows, but he was constantly backpedaling now, barely getting his blade up in time to meet the next attack.
My CUT flashed and faded again, first to a 2.4, then a 2.6.
"You''re nothing!" Lance spat. It sounded like nothing but a desperate plea. I was in control now. I directed his retreat, my CUTs coming with purpose. I was driving him toward the edge of the cone.
"You''re finished, Lance!" I roared. CUT 2.8 blinked into existence before me.
Lance''s screamed, petulant and powerless. "You''re nothing, a peasant! You shouldn''t even be trying! Griidlords are born, it''s in our blood! You''re an affront to generations, to tradition! Know your fucking place!"
His rage, his outrage, his desperation, something drove him, and the next CUT he made drove me back. He didn''t hesitate, driving forward to press this tiny opening.
My blade suddenly blazed with a new light. The intensity made him pause, his lips parting in confusion. He stepped back. This time, there was no question about the emotion that drove his retreat. It was fear.
The light blazed in my sword. CUT 2.8 flickered away, replaced by 3.0.
My god, I felt powerful.
The voice quietly breather, "Incredible..."
Lance nearly choked. His words ghosted out of him. "Impossible..."
I lunged again, murder in my heart.
Chapter 76
Chapter 76
The power surged through me. It was incredible. I had done this. Me! I could do anything. I was a god!
"You talk about tradition and blood," I growled, my voice a cold, relentless tide. "But look at you now, Lance. You''re nothing but a coward hiding behind your noble birth."
I had imagined this moment for a long time. He was at my mercy, he knew it. He was exhausted, he didn''t have the fury to match me, our CUTs were even, I had the advantage in SHIELD. I hadn''t been blasting BEAM continually to the point of exhaustion, and I had that something else... that thing that made me different...
Once, imagining Lance at my mercy, standing at this moment, on the precipice of seeing him exit the competition, once it had seemed like the wildest fantasy. Then, as I discovered my talent for gaining attributes, it had seemed like something that really could happen someday. Over the last days, with Lance surging in power thanks to his alone time with the suit during the race, thanks to his strategies, I had started to fade in my belief. It shook me slightly, penetrating the wonderful haze of rage and hatred, that Katya and Lauren were gone, Lance was moving away from defeat, Gideon was battered. It could be me, not Lance, that brought the Choosing to an early finish. I could be a Griidlord this day.
And what excited me most was not the glory, not my father''s satisfaction, not the relief of leaving this ordeal behind me... What excited me most was the prospect of securing my right to the suit, having it always, never having to worry if this euphoric blend of sensory input and godlike power would be taken away.
I surged at him. He actually cowered back. He lifted his sword, executing CUT, to match mine, but we could both see how dim his blade was now, how bright mine. I angled my strike toward his chest, away from my body. I wanted to let him block it and allow the superior momentum of my cut to send him flying from the tower.
Just as I had done to Lauren¡
As my blade flew towards him, his face was tattooed by the shadows cast by the blazing sword that rushed towards him. But you''ve probably figured out that the story can''t go so perfectly and suddenly in my favor. I don''t know if you''ve been musing about what could possibly interrupt my victory at this point. Well, a fraction of a heartbeat later, I was on the ground, landing awkwardly on my already injured left wrist. The pain was sickening, not just the pain of a wounding, but the pain of something wrong. What had happened?
Put yourself in Gideon''s position for a moment. Lying, exhausted and beaten near the precipice of the tower. Watching the peasant, the young man that you have begrudging respect for, but who you see as an affront to what you stand for, as a threat to your dreams, goals, class, and history. He is suddenly soaring with power, obliterating the man who just put you down. From Gideon''s perspective, the Choosing was slipping away, his chances were already thinning, Lance clearly ahead of him, but watching me leapfrog Lance in power and status, he understood. He had no chance against the version of me that stood before him, crushing Lance. He had only one choice, join Lance and vanquish me, or at least keep Lance in the game for another day to give them the chance to strike a deal.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
Gideon fired BEAM.
But I knew it was coming.
I turned, catching the attack on the flat of my blade, and deflecting it.
Gideon rushed at me. I smashed his attack aside with a one-handed CUT. Lance tried to take advantage of the moment, tried to spear me from the side, but my CUT continued, sweeping in an underhanded arc, coming up to block his blade. Gideon surged at me, I stepped back and kicked out to trip him. He stumbled, and crashed into the slope of the cover, broken boards flying into the air.
This was too easy. Granted, Lance and Gideon were more used up than I was. But I revelled in it.
Two of them stood before me, but after a few moments, after my level 3.0 CUT had hammered them, again and again, driving back their attacks like powdered snow before a gale, they stood no more. They cowered.
My heart pounded with excitement. This was it. It was over. I had overmatched them both. Together they couldn''t stop me. The light of a huge CUT attack built in my sword and the only reaction they had available was to hopelessly brace themselves.
I wasn''t thinking of Lauren or Katya at that moment. At that moment I was thinking of the suit. I was thinking of victory. I would win the bet, save Father. I was to be who brought the Choosing to an early finish. I could put them both down now and it would be the end of it.
But I couldn''t see the light line finally aligning with the painted line below us.
Mario''s voice erupted from the speakers. It was almost frantic. He could plainly see that if he was fraction of second too late, then it would all be sealed, and I would be his Sword. He snapped, "MATCH! Time had expired!"
Then, as if afraid of something continuing, "Cease all combat!"
The crowd lost their minds. SIGHT showed me a sea of faces, making each one distinct. Mouths opened wide in full-chested screams! Tears came to some eyes. They all whooped, thumped, shouted. This was better than perfect. Their commoner lord had just embarrassed his two remaining competitors. They had witnessed the violence and dominance that they dreamed of. But even better, there would be yet another round to enjoy.
I stood there, my sword by my side. My chin fell to my chest. The elation of the crowd felt distant. I couldn''t avoid confronting the thoughts that I had been burning as fuel during the fight. I had to face what I had done to Lauren and Katya. It had been me.
Even as we''d climbed the tower, they had never directed their allegiance against me, even if they hadn''t invited me to join it. We had helped each other. I thought of the night we had spent in the bar, possibly the only memory I had in my young life of true camaraderie with people my own age. I thought of Katya''s joking, or not so joking, comments about marriage and children. I thought of Lauren''s deep dark eyes, how they had gone from unreachable black moons in the early days of the contest to warm, inviting pools, almost within reach.
I thought of the tenuous friendship I had built with them and wondered what the real value of a friendship like that was worth compared with only a chance at the great prize.
What had I done?
Chapter 77
Chapter 77
Ropes extended from the top of the cone. I understood their purpose.
Deflated at having my chance to beat Lance stolen from me by the simple cruelty of the timer running out, I stepped forward and took the rope in hand. I saw Gideon and Lance doing the same. Lance was very obviously effected by what he had experienced. He had been the favorite through this whole competition. Being easily manhandled by me had done something to him. His head hung as he took hold of the rope. He seemed incapable of looking at anything but his own feet.
Gideon wasn''t unscathed by the experience. Maybe he understood that there was nothing he could now. Maybe he understood that The Choosing was mine to lose. It was strange to see him standing without that violent intensity. He took hold of the rope and all three of us started to descend, the ropes continuing to reel out and lower us.
My stomach churned as I watched the ground slowly grow nearer to me. I had experienced the height of elation as I dominated Lance and Gideon. I thought back to weakling I had been at the start of the contest and found myself shaking my head with disbelief at what I had become. But for every moment of joy, there were two of sorrow. I thought of the friendship I had been building with Lauren and Katya. I grimaced as I thought of the damage I had done to the developing bond.
Below, officials moved about with purpose, preparing for our arrival. The mental clock in my head ticked away¡ªfive contestants had meant four more days until the end, but with two gone, it was suddenly two days at most. I glanced at Lance, his head hanging low. He had been so confident, so sure of his victory, and now he looked defeated, panicked, inadequate.
The sense of victory, of mean supremacy, vied with the feelings of guilt and shame I felt over what I had done to the girls. I tried to remember that it was a mistake, that I hadn''t meant to harm them. More than that, I tried to hold onto the guilt and the shame. But as I watched that bastard gripping the rope, his head down, imagining the swirl of defeat and panic in his head, I felt a surge of satisfaction.
For most of the descent, all I felt was victory.
The crowd noise rushed over me. There was something not entirely unpleasant about the attention of the masses as I continued to drift downward. Mario may have called time before I could truly defeat the others, but I felt like I was experiencing a triumph. Every face in the crowd had watched me emerging, had watched me toss not one, but two of the favorites around with such ease.
Then the voice was talking.
"You kept on doing it, skipping and skipping," it said. There was an awe, a disbelief to it. "How did you do that? That''s never been done, nobody does that."This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
I furrowed my brow. What was the blasted thing talking about now? What had passed was a blur in my mind. The action had been fast and frantic. I could really only remember the feelings of triumph, and the feelings of shame.
"What are you talking about now?" I said.
"You went from CUT 2.6 to 2.8 in one jump, then to 3.0 in one jump. In one jump, Tiberius! What kind of fuckery are you playing with?"
I tried to shrug it off. I was suddenly very tired.
"Maybe it went through 2.7 and 2.9 and the screen just didn''t register it," I said.
The voice went silent, the kind of silence that was really very loud. Then it said, "What the hell am I playing with here? I knew you''d be interesting, but what have I got on my hands here?"
"A shopkeeper''s son," I said. My tone was flat, but my emotions were a storm.
Nearly as soon as my feet touched the ground, Mario was in front of me. His brow was furrowed with something that bordered on hatred. But he didn''t say anything. He didn''t make direct eye contact with me. His hands fluttered at my neck and the suit began to dissolve from me.
The experience of having the suit taken away, yet again, was an increasing sorrowful experience. Each time I wore it I became more obsessed with the thing. But there was a solace here. I was the best of us. Suddenly I was more than a possible favourite, I was the runaway. In a day or two the suit would be mine and Mario''s hands would flutter no more at my neck.
My chest remained full of hot air as I stepped forward to where the priests were gesturing for us to gather. Then it hit me¡ªthey were only gathering three of us. Off to the side, I saw the other two, Katya and Lauren, their suits removed for the last time. Never again would they feel the sensory euphoria of the suit, never again would they be one with the infinite potential, the power. Because of me.
I tried to catch their eyes, but they were huddled close, heads down. They were talking. I could imagine what they were saying: "The bastard," "Treacherous fucker." No more would Katya be talking of marrying me, of having my children, no matter how seriously or jestingly she meant it. No more would Lauren''s dark pools of eyes be trying to sweep me in. I went cold inside, and the victories all started to feel hollow. They were my friends. I didn''t mean to do it, goddammit, it was an instinct, something that happened in a fraction of a second.
Mario''s voice boomed across the arena, pompous and self-satisfied, as the three of us stood on the stage. "Citizens of Boston, behold your remaining champions!" he declared, his arms outstretched as if he was personally responsible for the spectacle. "What a day we''ve had! The trials, the tribulations, and the triumphs! We have witnessed incredible feats of strength, cunning, and bravery. But now, only three contestants remain in the Choosing, each one a beacon of hope for our city!"
Mario continued to blather on. In watched him and I could see the discomfort in him. He knew as well as I did that if nothing changed then he would have to face me as the christened Sword of Boston in just a few days. I watched him with a bitter hunger.
It was so sweet to seem him swallow his emotions. He had scorned me, mocked me. He hated me for nothing more that my parentage.
I thought about the feelings Lance must be experiencing. It was small of me, I''m sure, but I treasured the expression on his face the suit melted from him. He was troubled beyond words.
And it was me, the shopkeeper''s son, who had done that to him.
Even as I felt that, my eyes drifted to Katya and Lauren and my heart stilled.
Because of me, they would never feel the heaven of the suit again.
Chapter 78
Chapter 78
I stood on the arena steps, looking out at the darkening sky. Clouds rolled there, forming and reforming. I couldn''t make any shapes from them. It was a game I loved to play, watching the clouds, identifying distorted things in their forms, and watching those things blend and melt to take new forms. As I looked out at the pale greys and shocking blacks of the sky, I could see no shapes. But I could identify with the roiling torments nonetheless.
The crowds had cleared. They had new seats to fill in taverns and eateries. The arena was quiet at last. I stood alone. Zeb had returned my relics to me. He waited somewhere below.
Lauren''s coach was waiting for her below. She clearly hadn''t left yet. The presence of the coach drove me to want to flee. I didn''t want to see her. I didn''t want to have to meet her eyes. But, it''s presence held me there as well. As much as I didn''t want it, I felt that I owed it to her to face her after what had happened.
My thoughts were a tangled mess of guilt and regret. The victory and triumph had faded from me. What remained were flashing memories. I remembered the way Lauren''s mouth had snapped open in horror and surprise as I cast her into the air. I remembered the humiliation I had felt when I turned to look down the tower and understood that Katya had given herself up to save Lauren while I had scrambled on towards my own selfish goal.
I looked back at the arena, expecting, but dreading, the aspect of Lauren approaching the steps. Not yet.
Looking at the arena reminded me of the adoration of the crowd. I was their hero, their champion. But I didn¡¯t feel like a champion. I felt like a fraud, a betrayer.
My eyes drifted to the little forest below. Joel had told me to meet him there, and I couldn''t deny that part of me was drawn to the idea. He had promised to tell me what the voice was. Every part of me screamed to know. Every part, that is, except my sense of self-preservation. Joel had been laden with relics. His power was just one step below a Griidlord''s. Going to him would be like putting my life in the hands of the devil. I remembered the madness in his eyes. I wondered if Zeb would physically stop me if I tried.
Then there was a musical sound behind me. It was the sound of Lauren laughing. But that was impossible. I had crushed the life from her dreams. I had ground my boot on her hopes. She couldn''t be laughing.
But I looked up the steps toward the arena and saw them descending. Katya and Lauren walked together. Lauren was laughing, freely and easily, at something Katya had said. I imagined they were talking about me. My cheeks burned at the notion. But if they were speaking of me, it was unlikely that bubbling laughter would be the result.
I turned to them. I felt panic rising in me. How could I talk to them? This was a stupid idea. What was I going to say? How could they be so... okay? After everything?Stolen novel; please report.
"Lauren, Katya," I said. They paused, looking up, and for a moment, I feared they might turn away and ignore me. But they didn''t. Instead, they came to me.
Then Lauren spoke. She seemed amused. "You''re guilty looking."
My heart stopped. Was she mocking me?
Katya piled in, "Tiberius, you look like Padraig Dragonheart after he betrayed Lady Bridget."
My heart was ready to explode. Were they being kind? Were they mocking me? Was this the beginning of a scathing attack that my psyche couldn''t bear? Then Katya was skipping down the steps before Lauren, standing in front of me, so small, so big at the same time. She had that piercing, teasing look in her eyes, "Do we have regrets, Tiberius?"
I stammered, "I cost you both the chance to compete."
Katya''s tongue was silver, "You cost Lauren the chance to compete. I made my own choices."
My heart felt sliced. I was off balance, "I didn''t mean it."
Katya said, "You should have meant it. There was only room for one. Only one of us can be Griidlord."
I said, "I took the suits from you."
They both looked confused.
I said, "You can''t wear the suits anymore."
Lauren finished descending, stood by Katya, "Tiberius, only one of us could ever keep the suit."
My eyes stung with tears, "But you could have had another day in the suit, another day with the inputs, the power."
They both looked confused with me, then they both spoke at once, over each other. Katya said, "You liked all of that?"
Lauren said, "Thank God that''s over at least."
I looked at them, incredulous, "You don''t..."
Lauren said, "Ugh, it was such a trial, the smells, the sounds, it hurt my eyes."
Katya said, "My brain didn''t like all the extra muscles, the ones that controlled the attributes... ugh." She shuddered as she said it.
I looked from one to the other, "But I..."
Lauren put her finger to my lips, "Tiberius, only one of us could ever be The Sword, and I knew long ago that it wouldn''t be me. I had to keep chasing it, for my father, for my family, but it''s a relief, it''s over... I''m not delighted that you nearly killed me, but mistakes are mistakes."
Katya said, "As long as it''s you and not that blond asshole."
Lauren slapped Katya playfully, "You mean the future Lord Darkwater."
Katya looked from her to me, then back at me, "Or the future Sword of Boston."
My head was spinning, and they both seemed to realize it. Lauren touched my shoulder, and it was still electrifying to be touched by such a perfect goddess. She said, "I know it was an impulse, Tiberius, an instinct. The suit has always been instinct for you, that''s why you were so bad at the start and so good now."
Katya touched my chin, completely aware of her exotic allure, "You got through to the next round, and embarrassed Lord Dimples while you were at it. Don''t worry about us."
They each took a turn to kiss me briefly on the lips. My body responded to their closeness, their touch, even though it was fraternal and vaguely pitying. Then I watched them descend to Lauren''s coach, Katya holding Lauren''s hand to help her enter before climbing in herself.
Chapter 79
Chapter 79
I turned to stare at the woods, oscillating between going in there to answer the unknowns and staying away from the madman with the relics. Suddenly, there was a soft touch on my shoulder. I spun around, my adrenaline kicking in, my body reacting to the surprise. I expected Harold, maybe a well-wisher. The face behind me was new. The man was new.
He was tall and slim. His form was largely obscured by the large black overcoat he wore. His face was deeply tanned. He wore a beard of strangely elaborate fashion that I wasn''t familiar with. His eyes seemed to be darkened with eyeshadow.
"Hello, friend," I said.
"Hello, Tiberius," the man replied. "I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk with me."
I hesitated. What was I suddenly doing to draw strange lunatics to me? "I... I don''t mean to be rude, I''ve had a long day," I said, nodding to the arena. "As I''m sure you know... I need to go home."
"Of course, no doubt. A trying day, filled with great success. I won''t keep you from your rest. Perhaps I could walk with you as you return home."
I hesitated again. At least this way, I would be in public, in the presence of guards. I didn''t know what it was about this man that made me feel threatened. He had an aura of unreality about him that left me vaguely queasy.
"Of course," I said, and he took a few steps toward the city gate. I followed. "So, ah, what can I do for you?"
"You''ve been doing well in the tournament, Tiberius. Many talk about your success. They say you have done things that were never done before. I could be wrong, but it very much seemed to me like you went from a level 2 CUT to a level 3 CUT in a startlingly short amount of time."
I was impressed. "You could tell that by watching?"
"I am familiar with the ways of the suit," he said.
I eyed him again. Only a few groups of people were truly familiar with the Griidsuits: the priests, of which I very much doubted this stranger was a member, and the Griidlords themselves. But this man bore no Griidsuit, and Griidlords ended their careers either with death, maiming, or the neurodegeneration of decades interfacing with the systems. This man seemed neither dead, maimed, nor degenerated, even if he did seem off.
"Were you in a Choosing once?" I asked.
The man nodded, smiling, his eyes distant. "Yes, I was, what seems like lifetimes ago."
We walked a little further. "Your growth in the suit is amongst the best I''ve ever seen."
I wondered if maybe he was a coach, a trainer. "Thank you. I''ve had my struggles, but I''ve been progressing, thank the Oracle. If I wasn''t, I''d be finished already."This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
"It looked to me like the other two standing against you would be out of the competition if they''d had to stand against you for much longer. That Lance boy is very good, but you were pressing him and the other one hard."
"Thank you," I said. I was growing accustomed to strangers praising me, criticizing me, remarking on the spectacle I was a part of.
"I wonder..." he began, drawing me in. "Yes?" I said, feeling a sudden and definite tension.
"I wonder... have you been hearing things while in the suit?"
My blood chilled. Not another one, not another weirdo who knew of the voice. "Wh-what do you mean?" Even as I said it, my reaction seemed to bring a satisfied smile to his lips.
"You have then. I knew you must."
I sighed. What was even the point in pretending? How many people knew about the voice? "How do you know about it?"
"I used to hear it as well."
My mind spun. He had been in a Choosing, and he had heard the voice, but clearly, he hadn''t won. This unsettled me. I thought the voice came with a touch of destiny; it had become a pillar of my own self-belief. We passed under the arch of the gate and into the city. I had no anonymity any longer. There were cheers, and rare jeers, from the people we passed, but none came to interfere with me. I was part of the Choosing; there was a sacred component to that.
"So you can hear the voice, and it''s been helping you. I''ll bet it got excited when you started skipping increments while leveling," he said.
I nodded. "Yes, it practically lost its mind over it."
"The voice will like you, Tiberius. It''s been looking for someone like you. It''s been searching since the dawn of our history, and it''s come close a few times, but we always seem to slip away from it before the end."
More inane riddle talk, another half-daft stranger. "What do you mean? I don''t understand. What does it want exactly?"
"It wants to find someone who can connect with it completely, and in that, you are extremely rare but not unique. There have been others over the centuries that connected with the voice intimately and completely enough to serve its ultimate purpose, though the incredible extent of your affinity must have the thing shaking with eagerness."
I admitted, "Yeah, it does seem to be excited about me."
"If you win the suit, you will live with the voice, all day, every day, in your waking times, in your sleeping times, while you drink, while you fight, while you feast, while you make love. It will always be there. Not necessarily always talking, but you will never be alone, never be far from a comment or a suggestion."
I shuddered slightly. He went on, "The voice will guide you, help you grow faster than you possibly could without it. But you will also be an agent of its agenda, and that''s why I''ve come to talk to you."
Something snapped in me at that. Who were these strangers, coming with their knowledge of the voice, oozing their own plans and schemes, coaxing me with their mysteries, with their answers? I was to be a Griidlord. In another day or two, with the help of destiny, I could be Sword of Boston, an eminent entity, a power onto myself. It was time to drop the boy face and talk like a man.
I stopped walking, and the stranger did too. I stared at him. I realized then that as much as he seemed tall and imposing, we were on one level with each other. I was easily as broad and strong as he was. What reason did I have to fear anyone?
"What could you possibly know about what the voice wants? What interest do you really have in me? For Oracle''s sake, who the hell are you anyway?" I demanded.
The man did not seem taken aback. He casually looked down and away, as if thinking for a few beats, then looked back at me, meeting my gaze. Oh, there was madness there alright, but a deep cleverness too, and a serenity that I couldn''t explain. The bearded face melted into a gentle smile, and he said, "I''m sorry, I failed to introduce myself. My name is Danefer."
My stomach tightened. No, it couldn''t be.
"I am Danefer Ma''at-Ra."
Chapter 80
Chapter 80
I said, "No... you can''t be..." This is what I got for being up front, for taking the bull by the horns. I could have just let the strange man ramble along, listened to his weird conspiracy talk for a while, and then gone into my house to be safe, secure, and rest. No, I had to confront him, and now his crazy was spilling all over the place, and I had to deal with it. He thought he was Danefer Ma''at-Ra. And I was The Great Warchief Thrax Bonesaw himself.
The man saw my reaction, his amusement only seeming to grow. He said, "Yes, I''m sure it''s hard to believe. Danefer has been gone for long years now."
I said, "Gone? Danefer is dead."
He said, "I don''t feel dead."
I said, "You can''t be Danefer, the fucking Sword of Miami, one of the gods of history."
He shrugged, said, "I wouldn''t say god exactly, but I knew my way around the suit."
I said, "No, this just... listen, I have to go now." I turned, but he placed a hand on my shoulder. He didn''t grab me, he didn''t move suddenly, but somehow he managed to make me pause.
He said, "Look." He parted his coat slightly, and my jaw dropped. He was caked with relics, at least as much as Joel had been. There were pistols, grenades, power weapons, faintly glowing threads of what might have been armor. He was wearing a king''s ransom in rare hardware. Ten king''s ransoms. He wasn''t just a batty homeless guy; there were maybe a handful of people in all the world who could afford to be kitted like this, that included monarchs and griidlords alike. It would have taken a lifetime of outrageous success as a griidlord to accrue the wealth to acquire these relics.
My mind paused. A lifetime of outrageous success as a griidlord... hmmm... like Danefer...
"Believe me now?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement and a hint of something darker.
My mouth worked, opening and closing, but I couldn''t find the words. He said, "I know it''s a shock, and I know I seem odd. A long life in the suit does things to your brain; you see things and understand things you never could have."
I tried to summon what I knew of Danefer. How long had he served as Sword of Miami? 200 years? Was I talking to a man more than two centuries old? That alone would help to explain the mad glint. He said, "In 800 years, there have been maybe a dozen who were good enough to connect with the voice enough for it to build its plans around them. Most of us have been Swords. The problem the voice has always faced is that these plans take a long time. A long time, centuries. In those centuries, the suit interface degrades the minds of some, rendering them useless. For others, like me, it gives the human brain more time on this earth than it was ever meant to have. You learn things, understand things. As a griidlord, you have the time, and the access, to read old histories, to start to put the puzzle together. I''m not alone in abandoning the suit to focus on our own quests. Even in our time, there is another like me, one of the voice''s favorites, who shed the suit to escape the voice."Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
I thought for a moment. Unbidden, the name came to my lips, "Joel..."
At last, I had said something to shake Danefer. He looked at me with surprise, said, "You''ve met him?"
I said, "He said his name was Joel..."
The wonder in my voice was a product of my mind racing. Another legendary griidlord who had left their post, disappeared... One who had had the success to build a fortune that could acquire enough relics to nearly make them a griidlord again, a named knight, a legend. Joel...
This was a time of parity, there was no truly dominant power in the land, no burgeoning empires, but there had been a time, not a century past, when the Golden Empire of the west, its throne in San Francisco, when it seemed the whole world would be its subject. As with all great empires, the Golden Empire had been led by a Griidlord, a Sword, of impossible renown, of impossible power and success. I breathed, "Joel Montanion... Are you saying... Was that Joel Montanion I met?"
Danefer''s expression grew distant. He seemed troubled. "Yes, Tiberius. The very same. Joel Montanion, the Golden Sword of San Francisco. He was a force of nature, a legend among legends. His departure from the suit was a great loss, not just for the Golden Empire but for the voice''s plans as well."
The man I had met was the Golden Sword? He had forged the Western Empire? The Empire persisted, but since his relinquishing of the suit, everything had started to cave in on itself. Had I really been talking to a legend of such stature?
"But why?" I asked, desperation creeping into my voice. "Why would he seek me out? And you, what do you want? What does the voice want with me?"
Danefer sighed and started walking again. I joined him, my mind spinning. He said, "The voice lies, it guides you, builds you, helps you win, but it never reveals its true desire, its true purpose. To be honest, I don''t exactly know what it wants. I think I do, but how can I be sure? I suspect, and I think Joel suspects as well. What I do know is that I don''t want to help it anymore. That''s why I gave up the suit."
I could see the pain and regret in his eyes as he spoke of leaving the griidsuit. He was like me; he had loved it, it had made him so alive that life outside it was grey. I said, "Why... why would you give it up?"
Danefer looked at me, his eyes were sincere, they were sad, they were serious, and they were distinctly lit with the fires of madness. He said, "I did it, Tiberius. I abandoned my post, left my people, relinquished the ecstasy of the suit... I did it, Tiberius, so I could change the world."
Chapter 81
Chapter 81
I kept walking alongside him, trying to remain calm in appearance, but my mind was in turmoil. Most of me was screaming that I didn''t want this. I didn''t want to be close to this madness; I didn''t want to be near any schemes to change the world or unearth secrets of the Griid. What I wanted was to win the suit, somewhat for my family, somewhat for my father, but at this point, mostly so I could just keep it, so I could grow into the godlike powers, the heavenly sensory inputs that felt like omnipotence. This disaster with this crazy person was the last thing I wanted.
But that was most of me. There was a part, a part that would come to eat up more and more of my attention over the years, that desperately wanted to unearth the unknown, that was intrigued, inspired even, by Danefer and this lofty statement.
After a few minutes of silence, Danefer said, "You''re thinking, conflicted."
I hesitated. What could I say? I said, "This is a lot. I''m not even sure you''re really Danefer, that still seems impossible."
The man shrugged, said, "Well, while we walk, why don''t I give you something to think about, put a little theory to you."
I returned the shrug, a little defeated. I didn''t want to be doing this, to be talking to this man, but what was I going to do? Run? I wasn''t raised for unnecessary rudeness, besides the fact that this man seemed to be equipped with an arsenal that could level the whole street we were walking through.
"Alright," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "What''s your theory?"
Danefer smiled, his eyes glazing slightly. I didn''t like that. He said, "What do you understand the Griid to be?"
I said, "It''s, well, it''s everything, isn''t it? The fabric of reality, that comes from the Oracle."
Danefer said, "The word Griid never existed before the first tower rose, or at least I''ve found no evidence of it."
I said, "The Griid has always been there."
He said, "Why do you say that?"
"Because that''s what the priests preach."
He said, "Yeah, it''s... everyone knows that..."
He said, "We''re told that the entropy is universal, that man evolved in a world where the natural randomness of the universe meant that most complex systems couldn''t function if they weren''t biological. We''re told that organisms have an innate ability to generate fields that calm this chaos, the entropy, and allow their complex systems¡ªchemical reactions, neurons, muscles¡ªto function, but that outside of a living thing these things are destined to fail because of the unpredictability of the movements of particles."
I said, "Yeah, of course." I wasn''t sure where he was going, how mad this was going to sound.
He said, "We''re told that the Oracle came to man, long, long before the Fall, a time so long ago that we don''t know when it was."The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
I said, "They call it the Dark Ages, that in the Dark Ages man had reached the apex of what he could achieve with entropy everywhere, and that when man had achieved what he could, the Oracle came and calmed the entropy, banished it from the whole world, and what followed were centuries of growth and discovery."
Danefer smiled, nodded, said, "Then man sinned in some way, and the Oracle took back the gift."
I said, "Yeah, and that was the Fall. Everything collapsed, and we went back to the Dark Ages, worse even, for a long time."
Danefer was almost mocking as he said, "And then the Oracle decided man had suffered enough, it returned, but was less kind with its gifts, measuring out the Order in Orbs that fell from the heavens, eking Order to us through the towers."
I said, "Because we''d been unworthy of the gift from the time before. We''d used it wrong, angered the Oracle. The Oracle had been too generous and given us more than we were capable of using."
We continued walking, passing into the second sector of the city. Day was fading, and the air grew cooler. Steam engines trundled past, their whistles piercing the evening air. We walked in silence for a while, the noise of the city a backdrop to my racing thoughts. I tried to ponder what Danefer was getting at. I could see he was going to imply there was a lie in what we were told. Dangerous loons always wanted to rewrite reality to a more exciting script. I just couldn''t see where he was going. He seemed happy to wait for me to ask a question or draw a conclusion.
"I really don''t know where you''re going with this," I finally said.
Danefer smiled, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "That''s because you''ve lived your life under assumptions. You believe what the priests tell us, and why shouldn''t you? Your father, your servants, teachers, the local baker, and the beggar on the street all believe the same things. The priests have access to the knowledge of the towers, they have access to the Oracle, they''re the only ones with access to histories, the real histories, the records of this time and the time before."
"Exactly," I said.
"But they''re not the only ones who can access it," he continued. "Griidlords can as well."
I sucked in my breath for a moment, contemplating this. I could see the implication. If he was really Danefer, and if Griidlords really could access the same sacred texts that the priests could, then he might have secret truths that had never been shared. This all hinged on the reality that he was, in fact, Danefer.
"Are you saying the priests are lying?" I asked.
He leaned his head back and chuckled. The chuckle grew and became a cackle. I looked around nervously. Eyes were naturally drawn to me these days, the people''s champion, but now more folk were glancing toward us. I was walking in public with a deranged knight, but none of them could see the arsenal beneath his coat.
I waited for his laughter to stop; it was too much. I squirmed with the eyes on me. A guard walked past us, eyeing Danefer, his hand gripping his musket, thinking about doing something. But Danefer was well-dressed; there were worse things in the city than a well-dressed man laughing hysterically. After a while, it subsided. As he started to calm down, I said, "What''s so funny?"
He said, "Oh, I''ve had this conversation with so many people, so many times, and they all jump to that conclusion¡ªthat the priests are lying to them. I get it, it makes sense. But when you know the truth, it just makes it all the funnier."
I wanted to slap him. The more he spoke in vague circles, the more that undesirable, curious part of me got a stronger hold on me. "What''s funny?" I asked.
He said, "Well... what the priests say are lies... but they''re not lying." He giggled a little. It was unnerving to see such a hard man giggle so childishly, but he did it anyway.
I said, "By the Oracle, what are you talking about?"
Danefer stopped walking and turned to face me, his eyes sharp and intense. "The priests believe what they preach. They genuinely think they are protecting humanity, guiding us according to the Oracle''s will. But what they don''t understand is the true nature of the Oracle and the Griid. They are pawns, just like the rest of us."
"Pawns?" I echoed, feeling a chill run down my spine.
Danefer was about to speak again. It was like deja vu. Joel had been about to lift a veil, tell me what the voice was, and then the knights came. This time was different, but no better. Danefer looked past me, at something beyond me, and his face changed¡ªstartled, and then he calmed, looked at me, and said, ¡°Shit.¡±
Chapter 82
Chapter 82
I turned to follow his gaze. My heart stopped. Magneblade, Lord fucking Magneblade, was standing up the street, blocking our path. I cannot stress what a big deal this was. There was a Griidlord, standing there, clearly focused on us. I don''t know if I''ve stressed what a big deal a Griidlord was. There were less than 200 of them in the known world. Each of them was the equivalent of maybe 1000 men in the field. That would be an average; a fledgling Griidlord might match 100, the legends were whole armies unto themselves. Magneblade was experienced, average, he was 1000 men wrapped into one awesome entity of power and carnage.
But it wasn''t just the carnage. Their Footfields were arguably their most valuable asset. In a time where everything beyond city limits moved as fast as a horse and car, the Footfields were the backbone of commerce across the whole continent. Each hour of a Griidlord''s time was worth a fortune. Couple that with the fact that these gods in armor wanted their own time for drinking, whoring, and living life, and it was an impossibility to imagine that Magneblade was here. But there he was, blocking the path, his axe glowing in the fading light.
Danefer looked at me, said, "If I live through this, then we''ll meet again. For now, you better get back."
I looked at him, incredulous, "If you live through... you''re going to fight... you won''t live through this!"
He said, "I''m going to leave now, if I can."
Magneblade leaned forward, he was coming, he was getting ready to pounce. Danefer shoved me away, the power in the motion was beyond what a mortal man could achieve. Some relic beneath his coat aided the motion and I was airborne, flying away, even as Magneblade charged.
I hit the ground awkwardly, doing my best to roll, but my wrist took a lot of the impact and pain flared. I barely noticed, though, because what unfolded before me was something few would see in their lifetimes.
Magneblade leapt, crossing fifty feet in a single bound. Danefer moved, faster than humanly possible, smoke billowing around him, clouding the street. I assumed he had dropped pellets or a grenade. Lights flashed in the smoke, then a cracking impact echoed, and Magneblade hurtled from the smoke, crashing into a nearby building with a force that sent debris flying. Danefer had delivered an incredible blow somehow.
Magneblade charged again, his glowing axe cutting through the haze. Danefer met him, emerging from the smoke like an avenging angel or a demon unleashed. Their weapons clashed, sending sparks and arcs of energy flying.
Magneblade was nothing but rage and power. The huge axe flashed in the air, time and again. That was the axe of a Griid-lord. An axe like that could shatter stone walls. Magneblade was formidable Griidlord. He was a small army distilled into one body. How could anyone, no matter the relics, stand against that?
But Danefer had his own powers. He moved so well. Unnaturally well. He seemed to blur and haze from existence as he danced the deadly dance with Magneblade. His sword flashed as he parried the blows. It was utter madness that he could parry them at all.Stolen novel; please report.
I watched them battle, and it seemed like I was watching two peers. Magneblade''s axe flashed, coming in a wide lateral arc. It was so fast. But Danefer dodged under it, his boot came up, and he kicked Magneblade back. The insanity was that the boot of this mortal was enough to drive Magneblade back. A horse would have crashed into the man to no effect.
But Magneblade was a creature of fury. He charged forward again, intent on destroying the smaller man. I saw that his visor was glowing. No, not glowing. It was blazing with light. As the smoke whirled around his face, it seemed as though Danefer''s eyes were glowing as well.
Danefer countered a flurry of strikes with calm counters. I watched them fight, sword against axe. The ground vibrated beneath my feet as they clashed. I couldn''t deny my amazement as Danefer seemed to hold his own. But, even as I watched, he seemed to be slowing. No man but a Griidlord could stand against a Griidlord.
For a moment, it looked like Danefer had found an opening. Magneblade brought his axe down hard, but Danefer sidestepped. His sword impacted the Griidlord''s abdomen. A pulse of light and violence erupted at the site of contact, like a ball of lightning exploding.
The force of the impact sent Magneblade stumbling back. Danefer darted in to follow with another blow. But Magneblade was less phased by the attack than I can understand. Danefer''s sword seemed to carry the power of CUT. It blazed with light, the explosions of his blows echoed. But Magneblade just braved them, letting them glance off of his armor. He quickly resumed his assault on Danefer. Danefer was on the defensive now, his movements growing slower.
Despite his experience and despite the power of his relics, Danefer was clearly losing. Magneblade''s sheer power was more than he could overcome.
Despite myself, I found myself rooting for Danefer. Why was hard to say. I didn''t want to see him die. I was awed by his ability to stand against a Griidlord for even this brief moment.
Flashbangs exploded everywhere, blinding light and deafening noise assaulting Magneblade. He staggered, his movements disoriented, but only for a moment. Beams of energy assaulted him from the blinding lights and spreading smoke, striking his visor, sizzling against his armor.
A wall to the side of Magneblade collapsed, and he danced aside, narrowly avoiding the cascade of bricks and mortar, but he was still struck by debris. He grunted, his glowing axe spinning in his hand, cutting through the dust and smoke.
When the smoke cleared, Magnebalde remained. He stood, his body heaving with lust of battle, his axe held in both hands. His head snapped left and right, seeking his quarry. But as the smoke finally dissipated, Danefer was nowhere to be seen. He was gone. He had told me that he would leave if he could.
Magneblade''s visor faded, the blazing light receded. His head turned, but he didn''t seem to pause at all as he surveyed the incredible harm his battle had done to the street. Rubble and dust lay everywhere. The orange light of fires had started to emerge in the darkness. Somewhere nearby a child was crying.
Magneblade''s gaze settled on me. He stared at me for a few long moments. I expected him to approach me, to interrogate me. Instead he straightened, the fighting stance disappeared. The huge man turned slow and started to walk back towards The Tower.
I exhaled slowly. Danefer had survived. He had stood against a Griidlord and lived to tell the tale. I was chilled as I considered he was out there somewhere. I was unnerved at the thought of him coming to speak to me again.
I was left standing in the aftermath. More cries started to spring up as the flames began to lick higher and higher.
I had to compete on the morrow. How I was meant to sleep after this?
Chapter 83
Chapter 83
I stood there, barely able to process what I had seen. I wasn''t the only one. For several seconds, the fringes of the street were littered with stunned spectators, none able to react to the display of power we had just witnessed. But then reality came crashing down on us like a wave.
This, right here, is what I meant when I spoke of the fear inspired by a Knight with the kind of power that Danefer, or Joel, clearly possessed. There were Wild Knights across the land. I won''t say plenty of them because the simple expense and scarcity of relics made that impossible. But they existed. One might have a powered breastplate and a pistol that could operate outside of Order fields, another a power axe and visor. Two or three relics were enough to make a hero out of an individual, especially if they had the skill to go with it. Beings like Joel and Danefer, possessing fragments of powered armor, laden with relics that even Griidlords might not be familiar with, were scarce to the point of myth. I had not really believed that such existed until I had met Joel. And before me was the product of such men, the effects they could have on reality.
The street was a scene of horrifying carnage. Rubble was strewn everywhere, fires burned unchecked, devouring homes and businesses, turning livelihoods into ash. The acrid smell of smoke filled the air, mixed with the metallic tang of blood and the scent of burning wood. Screams echoed through the chaos, cries of pain and terror from those trapped or injured in the collapse.
I could hear the distant bells of the fire brigade. Someone had made straight for the tower in the aftermath of the battle. Order would be raised here shortly, long enough of motorized pumps and engine driven machinery to douse the flames.
Some of the damaged buildings had continued to collapse after Magneblade departed. The cries of the trapped and the cries of the seekers began to thicken in the air. My heart bled at the sounds of panic and sorrow in the voices.
Electric lights began to flicker to life. These were emergency installations that were made available for just such an incident. As the lights flickered on, we could see better. The lights also signalled that Order had been raised in this little district.
I couldn''t stand by and do nothing. I joined the others, climbing through the wreckage. I pulled on beams and lifted bricks. We found people alive in the mess of rubble. We also, sadly, found people who weren''t alive.
I thought of Magneblade. He had visited violence here. He had been battling a dangerous vagabond, but I still seethed at the easy way he had turned to leave. The man had ruined lives here. He had ended lives here. But he hadn''t stayed.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
The fire team finally sent me away. As the work began to ease, the fire chief came to me. He said, "You''ve done enough, Tiberius. Go home. Get some rest. The people need you tomorrow, we can finish here."
I had argued, but it hadn''t taken much to convince me. My body had already been exhausted from the day in the arena.
This was why we feared the strange men with strange powers. Joel and Danefer held the power of gods in their arsenals of relics. But they carried the curse of madness. I hoped never to see either of them again.
The walk back home took longer than usual. My mind was heavy with the words of Danefer. My body was heavy with the weight of exhaustion. My mind spun at what Danefer had told me. I thought more about the voice. It had never seemed an honest creature... But it had yet to do me harm. It had aided me, time and again.
Approaching the door, I let myself in. The house was quiet, the servants having finished for the day. The kitchen was silent, no clatter of dishes or murmur of conversation. Father must still be away. A pang of worry struck me. He had been gone longer than he said he would be. Harold had seemed concerned about him. I hadn''t paid that much heed, occupied with the Choosing, occupied with my own affairs. But after the loss I had witnessed in the city today, I felt a twist of worry in my guts now.
I found Harold in the parlor, sitting alone, staring distantly, swirling a glass of Father''s whiskey. The dim light of a low fire cast shadows on his face, highlighting the lines of age, deepened by worry.
This wasn''t like Harold. Oh, it was fine for him to use the parlor; he was essentially family, he had been my stand-in parent while my father built his empire, and he was probably my father''s truest friend, a companion of long decades. It wasn''t strange to find him in this room, or to find him relaxing with a drink. It would be more normal to find him here with a book, watching the viewscreen, passing time with Father, or folding clothes. Not sitting morosely. Harold guarded his composure, was always aware of himself. To let me see him like this, to be sitting, not even aware of my presence, this deepened the surfacing worries about my father.
It took a few moments, but some sixth sense prompted him to look around. When he saw me, he was flustered for a moment, embarrassed. He gathered himself, replaced the lines of worry with his usual mask of propriety.
"Harold," I said, "something''s wrong."
Harold said, "Pardon, young master? You must forgive me, I was lost in thought."
"About Father?"
Harold hesitated, then said, "Nothing for you to worry about. I was there today, in the crowd, you know. I watched you. I couldn''t be more proud of what you''ve done."
"What''s going on with Father?"
Harold said, "You need to focus on the Choosing. It''s yours for the taking now, that is very clear. There are only three left, and you''re the best of them."
I came closer to him, met his eyes. He wouldn''t outright lie to me, that wasn''t Harold''s way. His evasion tied my guts in an icy knot.
"Harold," I said firmly, "tell me what''s happening with Father."
Chapter 84
Chapter 84
Harold sighed deeply, the mask slipping for a moment to reveal the depth of his concern. He looked into his glass, as if searching for the right words within the amber liquid.
"Your father...he''s been missing for longer than he said he would be. We''ve had no word from him, no communication at all. It''s not like him, you know that. He''s always kept us informed of his whereabouts."
I stood there, absorbing this. I don''t know how to express my feelings, even after all those long years, the memory of that moment isn''t clear to me. The corporeal elements are crisp: Harold, his sincerity, the fire crackling quietly, the smells of flowers, the hint of smoke. That is all very crystal to me.
You''ll judge me, I''m sure, and I won''t blame you, but my emotions weren''t clear. I know it should have been a deep spear of worry, but it was more nuanced than that. It''s hateful to say it, but I don''t know how much I loved my father. He had barely been a presence in my life, and when he had been, it had been to drive me, direct me, scold, scorn me, use me. The only version of love I ever remember from my father was a reward for succeeding¡ªwhen my tutors reported favorably, when I won a sparring contest, when he could see me progressing in line with his goals. He was important to me; for most of my existence, his approval had been the focus of my existence, the quest to acquire it, the impossible task of retaining it.
Harold mistook my expression for shock, I think. He rose and breached the curtain of formality, a rarity for him. He put his free hand on my shoulder and looked into my face. "I''m sorry, Tiberius. I shouldn''t have said anything. Your father is resourceful beyond measure. He has achieved more in a lifetime than many noble lines will ever manage."
I said, "Could the Horde have come back?"
Harold hesitated, then said, "The Horde only comes with a storm, and a storm comes with warnings. It might be impossible for common people to escape the path of a storm moving quickly, but you know what he''s like¡ªcontingencies upon contingencies. He''d always have access to escape, know where Griidlords were in the area, have prearranged contracts to get passage with them."
"And yet, you''re still worried," I said.
Harold stuttered for a moment, then smiled softly. "You''re more like him than you know."
Harold loved my father. He meant this as a compliment. I thought of the ruthlessness of the man who had sired me and felt no pride at the comment. I thought of what had happened earlier, as I flared my shield and nearly sent Lauren to her death, how I''d ended the Choosing for both her and Katya. Was that the apple not falling far from the uncompromisingly ambitious tree?
I glanced around the parlor, the familiar surroundings offering no comfort. The weight of the day''s events, the strain of the competition, and now this uncertainty about my father¡ªall of it pressed down on me. I took a deep breath and looked Harold in the eyes.
He seemed to wake up then, his face becoming horrified. He said, "Young master Tiberius, what happened to you?"
I saw his eyes rake over me, and realized the state I must be in after helping with the aftermath of Magneblade dueling with Danefer. Harold said, "Your clothes, you''re covered in soot and ash. What have you been doing?"
I said, "There... there was a fight..."
He said, "A fight? Where? With whom? Are you hurt?"This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
"No, I''m not hurt," I replied. "But there was a fight in the city, near the second sector. Magneblade and Danefer... they clashed. It was chaos, Harold. I was caught in the middle of it."
Harold''s eyes widened with disbelief. "Danefer?¡±
The reality of everything that had happened, the unreality, the pressure, the horror, the carnage¡ªit all came crashing down on me. I wanted to weep. I could feel the emotions welling up inside of me like an icy geyser. My body wanted to cry. My face wanted to melt. But that''s not how I''d been raised. That''s not how I wanted Harold to see me. I held it in check, barely.
With glassy eyes, I said, "THE Danefer... He said he was the actual Danefer."
Harold could see how threatened my psyche was. He said, "But... Tiberius, that can''t be..."
I said, "You should have seen the gear he was wearing, Harold... He went toe-to-toe with Magneblade, got licks in even, held him off... There''s an entire street in ruins... There were people there... children..."
Harold''s brow folded down, his own eyes grew a sheen as he watched me. He reached out and actually put an arm around me. This was an exceptional gesture from the reserved older man. I''ve described him as the real parental figure in my life, as the only real source of love and warmth I knew growing up, but you need to bear in mind that he has always held himself in perfectly professional detachment, always formal.
When your greatest source of parental affection is a highly reserved and unemotional butler... well, maybe that goes a long way to explaining how fucked up I was... how fucked up I still am... but nonetheless, he held me, however briefly. It did nothing to console me. And it did everything.
Hours later, I was pacing the landing outside my bedroom. I had tried sleeping; I desperately needed to sleep. Not only was I exhausted from, you know, THE CHOOSING, but I was mentally and physically shot from the cascade of events with Danefer. I would be competing again in the morning. I could feel my fatigue building on itself with each sleepless minute, an anxiety rising in me that, after everything I had done, everything the voice had done, the surprises we''d inflicted on our opponents, on the whole city, rising at last to cement myself as THE favorite in the competition... that I could be doomed by sleeplessness, that my fatigue would compile into enough mistakes and failures the next day to bring everything crashing down. But I couldn''t sleep. My mind was a whirl. There was always the anxiety of what the next day of the Choosing would bring. But now my mind was a tempest, thoughts of my father and Danefer whipping past behind my eyes, memories of the carnage after Danefer''s battle with Magneblade, a mother screaming the name of a child, a baker staring heartbroken at the ruins of his business. And raining on top of all of it were the unbanishable notions Danefer had set seed in my brain, the idea that the fabric of our understanding of the universe might be a lie.
If I didn''t sleep, I was going to be toast. The mental interface with the suit would not be kind to a mind addled by lack of sleep. As I stood on the landing, mind burning with all of this, Harold appeared, gliding up the stairs. Well, gliding was his usual modus of movement, but at this point, there was a certain whiskey-induced lack of grace. He wasn''t drunk, not by any means¡ªthe house could sink into the depths of hell, and Harold still wouldn''t let himself be seen that way¡ªbut he was a little impaired.
He saw me, his eyes widened minutely in surprise, and he said, "Young master, what are you doing? You need to be asleep... you need to rest."
I shook my head, burning with frustration, and said, "I''ve tried. I can''t. There''s too much in here." I tapped my head.
Harold paused for a minute, considering me, then extended a hand. I hadn''t noticed, but he had been carrying a laden glass of whiskey with him. He said, "You''ve been through a lot today, young master. The Choosing itself is enough of a trial that it amazes me you can rest so easily, but everything else that''s crossed your path today... Have a nip, young master, to take the edge off."
I looked at the glass, hesitated, and said, "A hangover would be as bad as sleeplessness for the contest."
Harold said, "Just a few nips, enough to ease yourself, to take the sharpness off your mind. You''ll see..."
I took the glass and stared into the amber depths. This was my father''s medicine. But my brain screamed with fatigue, with the frustration of not having yet found the oblivion of sleep. My chest hammered with the worries of everything that had unfolded, with the worry of what would happen if I didn''t find sleep...
I took a sip, felt the ache seeping into my bones and the odd unwinding of the tension in my brain...
So I took another sip...
Using alcohol to soothe a mental ailment, that was never a bad idea, right?
Chapter 85
Chapter 85
"Welcome to the Choosing, proud citizens of Boston!"
Mario was once more the center of the universe. The stands before him were jammed. Every seat, every inch of standing room, was occupied.
Below him, the arena floor had been transformed. The workmen and designers had executed a miracle. The landscape of the arena had been turned into something entirely new. Where, before, the surface had been flat and plain, it was not a complicated arrangement of topography. Mounds of earth, metal barricades, wooden fences. The entire space had been turned into an obstacle course of uneven topography.
Three faux castles had been erected. They looked to have been constructed of lumber, but they had been presented as mock castles. The shapes of the structures had all the marks of real castles. They had the bastions, crenelations, and towers of fine castles, but in miniature. They were like wooden playhouses, but on a far grander scale.
I stood on the stage. I was complete once more. I wore the suit. My life had totality once again. The power, the senses, washed over me and completed me. I had a moment to worry about how hollow life would be to live without the suit, having tasted what it could offer.
To my right and left stood the other two remaining contestants. Gideon was a hulk of intensity. He stood there, bristling. Aggression washed off of him in waves, like the rolling heat of a bonfire. He had gone from being one of the favorites to being the clear underdog. None could consider any better than I was. But Lance''s powers were immense. He clearly overshadowed Gideon.
Lance had regained his composure since the day before. He stood before the crowd with that same condescending smile. He held himself easily. He stood there as though he expected the suit to be his already. But I knew, deep down, he must be quaking.
Mario''s voice boomed. "This day is a sacred rite, one that can only be witnessed when events conspire, and this Choosing, the Oracle has ordained, that it must be so. Today''s event can only occur when the number of contestants is reduced to three, an outcome not guaranteed, and when none of the eliminated participants have been killed or badly wounded. It is no small coincidence that this day we find those events have aligned to allow us to witness an event known as The Fall! The Oracle''s hand is at work here; the Oracle has deigned that we experience the privilege of this ancient and sacred rite."
The crowd cheered. They were so excited at the prospect that was to come. Mario had speak more loudly to have any hope of being heard above their din.
And, of course, the voice needed a moment speak as well. In my ear, my mind, I heard, "Oh, The Fall, I do love The Fall. It''s been decades, longer maybe¡ªwhat a treat."This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
I said, "The Fall?"
As I write this, I wonder if you, dear reader, still experience The Fall, if my plans have succeeded or failed. But give me a moment to bore you with some context.
As has been made evident, cities have the ability to calm entropy, to manipulate the Order fields that allow higher technologies to function. But such manipulation is not without cost; it requires resources. The resource in question is called Flows and Ebbs¡ªthe larger and lesser units of Order gathered from Orbs. A Flow represents a tremendous amount of Order, and it is this Flow that a Tower spends to raise the Order levels in regions under its control, whether within the city walls or beyond in the territory it dominates.
The Flows and Ebbs are found in Orbs, vast spheres of varying diameter, but rarely less than 20 feet across. These Orbs quite literally fall from the heavens during the winter each year. They can land anywhere across the land, but they are mostly contested in the Wilds¡ªthe vast, untamed regions of the continent. The winter, when the Orbs descend from the sky, is known as the Campaign Season. It is during the Campaign Season that Griidlords truly prove their value to their cities, roaming the Wilds with armies of thousands or even tens of thousands of men, doing battle to win these Orbs.
The more Orbs a city gathers, the more Flows it has, the more technology can be used by its people. Industry booms, agriculture blazes, military prowess surges. But there are always cities struggling to gather enough Flows to even survive. Boston, for the past century, had held its ground¡ªneither starving for Order nor ascending to the ranks of the premier powers. The last decade, however, had been lean. Victories were fewer and fewer, and the city''s stock of Flows was waning.
Mario''s voice boomed across the arena, his words crafted to stoke the fervor of the crowd even higher. "This is a rite of exquisite sacral quality, our contestants rehearsing for their future! One among them will lead our Griidlords in the campaign seasons for decades to come, gathering the Flows that will keep your¡ª" he paused, letting the tension build, "lights on, your tractors running!" The crowd roared in response, their energy nearly palpable as it surged through the stands.
Mario, ever the showman, pressed on, his voice a powerful tide washing over the audience. "This is a day that will test our future Sword, not on the paltry measure of CUT or BEAM, but on the true measure of a Sword of Boston¡ªon their cunning, their strategy, their leadership!"
The arena shook with the force of the crowd''s reaction. The people roared and screamed. Maybe they were responding to Mario''s words. Maybe they were trying to drown him out.
Mario¡¯s spoke louder. "This rite is also a generous gift from the Oracle, a mercy, a kindness extended to those who were banished from the embrace of the Griidsuit... to feel its power one... last... time."
As he spoke, a gate in the arena wall slowly opened. Figures began to march out, emerging from the shadows and stepping into the light. They were sheathed in the same half-suits as Lance, Gideon, and I.
I stared in disbelief. What was happening? There were males and females among these figures. Some of them were large, others small. Some seemed anxious, their heads held low. Other seemed to revel in the sudden attention of the crowd.
Nine figures. I counted nine of them as they approached the stage. As they drew nearer, recognition dawned on me. Olaf... Zara... These were the ejected contestants. And then, my heart skipped a beat. Walking together, side by side, calm and steady, were Katya and Lauren.
I watched them come in state of total confusion.
What in the name of the Oracle was going on?
Chapter 86
Chapter 86
My mind reeled. What in the name of the Oracle was going on? I thought they were gone, their chance at the Griidsuit stripped away, their dreams ended. And yet, here they were, suited up once more, marching toward me.
Mario had spoken of a mercy, a final chance to feel the power of the Griidsuit, but I hadn¡¯t understood until now. The Fall... It wasn''t just about those of us still in the Choosing. It was about them too¡ªthe fallen, the eliminated. They had been given a chance to return, to fight once more.
Mario''s voice boomed over the speakers. "In our day-to-day lives, the Fall is a tremendous occasion of anxiety, victory, defeat, hope, and despair. Our armies march forth, our Griidlords streak into the wilds to do battle¡ªbut never alone. The Griidlords battle together, with The Sword as their leader. The Sword, the one among them that can enhance the power of another Griidlord in the heat of battle."
The crowd was more silent than usual. They paid closer attention to him. They were as puzzled as I by the appearance of the others and wanted their own answers.
Marion could see he had their attention. His chest swelled. He boomed, "How can we measure the potential of these young contestants without giving them the opportunity to lead a team, to lead their own Griidlords into battle?"
"And so," Mario''s voice kept blowing over us. "The vanquished enter the arena, nine lost souls to add to our three contestants. We shall witness three teams of four do battle in the field."
It clicked into place. Twelve of us. There would be twelve once more. That made for three teams of four, with each team lead by own of the three surviving contestants.
As he spoke, the figures continued to approach us. I looked at them as they came. A chance to lead? My trainers may have known this was a possible challenge I would face. I had been left so stupidly ignorant of so much of the world, so many of the nuances of the knowledge of the suit, and the world beyond. Father was ruthlessly efficient. He would have instructed my trainers to only invest time in skills and knowledge that could help me win. But time had been spared to instruct me in understanding the other suits that existed. In understanding the personal strengths and personalities that would pair with each suit. Their strengths and weaknesses.
Mario''s didn''t stop. I felt disgusted as I watched him wallowing in the attention of the thousands before him. "Our valiant hopefuls: Lance, Gideon, and Tiberius..."
He practically spat my name, unable to mask his contempt for me and my common blood.
"...Will pick from this roster of redeemed souls, assigning them Axe, Shield, or Arrow suits."
I looked on the vanquished and my eyes settled on Katya and Lauren. They were so much better than the others. Any team that contained either of them would be massively advantaged. The first two of us to pick would have be disproportionately powerful. But there was no need for me to worry about that. I had become jaded enough to know how the game would be rigged. I was certain that I would be picking third.
Mario continued. "We will pick in the ancient tradition of the Snake. The last to pick in the first round of selections will be the first to pick in the next."
That was something maybe. I might be last to pick, but I would pick twice, and then not again until the very end.
"Drawn by lots, Lance will pick first, then Gideon, and finally Tiberius."The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
I snorted in disbelief. "By lots, my ass," I muttered under my breath. The voice in my ear seemed to share my skepticism, quipping, "They chose by lots the way I choose by cup size."
A bitter smirk crossed my face.
There was a mercy in this. I wouldn''t have wanted to be the first to choose, to have to select between Lauren and Katya. Whatever fragile friendship existed between us had already been strained to its limits. Picking one and rejecting the other would only make things worse. Besides, it would have been an agonizing choice. Lauren was fierce, strong, dominant, and forceful¡ªan Axe in every sense of the word. Katya, on the other hand, was lithe, fast, and quick¡ªan Arrow, sharp and precise. The comparison made me pause and think.
The Griid-suits were highly specialized. The Sword was the most generalized, but each suit type had its own strengths and weaknesses, like the classic game of stone, cloth, knife. An Axe was death to a Sword, but a Shield was the undoing of an Axe. And yet, there was an affinity to different types, a natural alignment that went beyond the superficial.
The Choosing had been selecting candidates for the role of the Sword, identifying those most suited to lead and wield the generalist''s power. But what stood before me now were the nine most gifted potential Griidlords the city could offer¡ªeach suited to different roles, with different strengths. Lauren and Katya were undoubtedly the best prospects for the Sword, but were they the best options for a Shield or an Axe?
The notion started to bloom in my mind. Three choices, two in succession. Lauren and Katya might the obvious choices, but what about the other things I understood. What about the compatibilities of the wearer and the type.
I thought of Magneblade. Any time I had seen him he had been a ball of barely contained rage. The countless stories I had spent my bed-ridden days stereotyped the different suits. Axes were battle-mad warriors, who thirsted for violence. Shields were physically imposing types, normally huge of stature, and solemn in disposition... There was more to this than just picking those who had been the best in the Sword suit.
Mario''s kept talking. I wondered if he would ever stop while the crowd attended his words so intently.
"Those who help the contestants that survive until the next round will earn their houses a full Flow!"
The crowd gasped. I felt my own breath catch in my throat. A Flow! What a House could do with such a fortune... A Flow could be sold, invested. A house could use that Flow to elevate the Order of their lands for periods at harvest, or for construction projects, enabling them to access machinery they could never use otherwise. A Flow was a substantial unit of Order on the scale of the city. On the scale of the lands of a single noble, a Flow might last years and boost their fortunes tremendously.
Until moment I had harbored a vague hope that Lauren and Katya might be my agents in this fight. They disdained Lance. There was some friendship between us. I had hoped they wouldn''t give their all against me. But to win a Flow? What wouldn''t they do to bring such a prize home to their houses?
Mario''s turned to Lance. "Lance, make your first choice."
Lance barely hesitated. He could never have chosen any but Lauren. She was the best of the nobility. She, with Katya, had been the most recently ejected. She was a perfect example of the noble blood that he considered better.
"I choose Lauren as my Arrow!"
I smiled thinly. It was pleasing to finally see Lance make an error. Lauren was certainly no Arrow. Lance was assigning her the role of speed and grace based on her gender, not by her natural affinity. Arrows were the sleekest and fastest of the suits, vulnerable but deadly. Lauren was a sentinel, like Lance, or I. She would not do well in the Arrow suit.
Mario''s turned to Gideon. "Gideon, your choice."
Gideon, too, wasted no time. Katya was the next most valuable piece on the board to those who valued ranking and hierarchy. "I choose Katya, to be my Arrow."
I nodded to myself. That was a good choice. Whether by luck or logic, he had found the right role for Katya. Katya was all quickness and motion. I could imagine her doing well in the Arrow suit.
Then Mario turned to me. He disliked addressing me, I could plainly see it. He said, "Tiberius, who do you choose?"
I looked at the remaining seven and tried not to smile. I might be better at this than the other two.
I would value these people for who they were, for their own personal strengths and assets, not for the order in which they dropped from the tourney.
Chapter 87
Chapter 87
I looked at their faces. I had to choose two.
But I tried not to look at them through the lense of their successes and failures as a Sword. They were all incredibly trained and prepared for this kind of battle. I might have seemed to struggle against them endlessly, making my own training seem worthless at times, but I had been competing against the best of the best.
And I had the best of the best to choose from here. The question was, whom...
My eyes settled on Leona first. I remember the desperate way she found on the day she was eliminated. She had been wounded and badly outmatched. But, through tears, she had fought. Another might have yielded, knowing how badly outmatched they were, knowing how hopeless their situation was. And she was not that dissimilar to the girl who had beaten her. Leona was light, quick. She knew how to move.
And Zara... I remembered her leaping over the pit, almost casting her own life away for a tiny chance at success. That action might have been driven by despair, but it spoke to something else as well. An absolute determination. A recklessness to do anything to try and find a way to win. The legends and histories were full of Axes who charged to their doom for one final chance at glory.
Finally, my eyes settled on Olaf. Broad, powerful Olaf. I had crossed swords with him and understood his style. He had been the first to be ejected from the contest, dismissed by many as slow and lumbering. But Olaf wasn¡¯t a swordsman¡ªhe was a battering ram, not a ballista. He was the epitome of what a Shield should be: steady, strong, and focused on defense.
I realized that Leona would make a good Arrow, Zara a great Axe, and Olaf was perfect for the Shield suit. I had to play this carefully. Olaf was the one I wanted most of all, but I doubted Lance or Gideon would see his true value. He had fallen to me when I was almost incapable, and they were likely to disdain him for it.
With a steady voice, I declared, "I take Zara as my Axe and Leona as my Arrow."
Both sets of eyes widened. I could see conflicted emotions on the faces of my newly chosen teammates. They had maybe not expected to be chosen so soon. I doubt either of them liked Lance. They had to know what my reputation had become, that they had just been chosen by the most powerful of the final three. But I was still the shopkeep, the commoner. I think the dishonor of fighting beside me might have been the source of the hesitation on I saw there.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
But their expressions settled. On paper, I was the best Sword left. I had won against terrible odds, and survived the unsurvivable. And the prize for victory was a Flow.
Neither Lance nor Gideon seemed surprised when I selected Zara. After Lauren and Katya, she had been the contestant to survive the longest. But my choice of Leona seemed to confuse them. Lance''s lip curled in a superior smile.
Mario started blathering again. The crowd grew unruly. The people wanted to see the next selections. But Mario couldn''t help himself. He rambled. While he rambled, I flexed.
Without even meaning to, I closed my eyes as I flexed my attributes. I touched on them all. I could feel the invisible muscles of CUT, SHIELD, BEAM and AGILITY all responding to me. It was POWER that felt different. Each time I tried to flex it, pushing the invisible muscle within my bones as the voice had told me, I felt like I was tapping on a dam. I could feel a torrent of something waiting on the other side. But, for now, the wall between that power and my control seemed too stout to penetrate.
Something pierced my focus. Slowly, I opened my eyes to find Mario¡¯s red, furious face inches from mine. He had been shouting my name.
"Tiberius! Tiberius!"
I let out a breath. I turned my head, embarrassed as I realized how disconnected I had been. The people in the stands were laughing. Laughing at me and clownishness, but also at Mario and his red enraged face.
I couldn''t regret the delay. Every fraction of every attribute that I could increase brought me closer to keeping this suit forever.
Mario leaned in. His voice was not amplified by the speakers as he whispered. "Is The Choosing inconveniencing you, Tiberius?"
His tone was cruel. "Just savoring your last minutes in the suit, maybe, before you leave it forever?"
I wanted to respond. I wanted to tell him that soon, I would be his Sword, and he¡¯d have to answer to me. But I pushed the urge down, forcing myself to stay calm. Instead of responding, I simply looked past him, letting my indifference do the talking. My reaction was vinegar to him. His face darkened further as I ignored him.
Ignoring him completely, I focused on the choices that had already been made. Lance stood with Lauren, Theo, and Arthur. Gideon was with Katya, Felix, and Emilia. My breath hitched in my chest as I took in the sight. They had done it. They had actually overlooked Olaf, the most naturally gifted Shield in the entire group.
It was a mistake so glaring that I almost couldn¡¯t believe it. I had no choice to make, Olaf was my only option. But even at that, the excitement in my voice seemed to startle the others, none more so than Olaf himself.
"I select Olaf as my Shield!"
Chapter 88
Chapter 88
Mario¡¯s voice boomed. His posture shifted. He was shifting from nonsense rambling to something more pointed. The crowd detected the shift. The restlessness and murmuring that had been growing as Mario prattled on suddenly receded.
¡°Today, proud citizens of Boston,¡± Mario began, pacing with theatrical flair, ¡°you are about to witness a contest unlike any other. The rules of this sacred rite are as follows: Three teams, three forts, each led by our three remaining contestants. No orbs will fall from the heavens as they do in the wilds. No, here in our arena, they will emerge from the very floor beneath their feet at random intervals. These orbs will contain a simulacrum of the precious Flows, the same power source that fuels our very city and our future.¡±
The crowd waited expectantly. Mario smiled widely at their silence.
¡°Our pseudo-Griidlords must absorb the Flows contained in these orbs, just as they would in the wilds. But absorbing a Flow is a lengthy process, one that leaves the Griidlord defenseless¡ªopen to attack from all sides. Once absorbed, the Flow must be returned to their team¡¯s castle. And here¡¯s where it gets interesting: these orbs will vary in size, just as they do in the wilds. Some will be worth more Flows than others. The first team to secure 100 Flows within their castle will end the competition. However, any team with less than 50 Flows at that point will be eliminated.¡±
The crowd was growing excited. With twelve suits on the floor, this would be a day with a lot action.
¡°If two teams reach 50 Flows each,¡± Mario went on, ¡°then the day is over, and the third team will also be ejected. This is a trial of cunning, of strategy, and of leadership¡ªqualities that will define our next Sword of Boston!¡±
I nodded to myself, taking in the rules. This was yet another opportunity for one of us to claim the suit today, though I doubted that was truly a possibility. The powers that be wouldn¡¯t deny the crowd their grand finale¡ªa head-to-head match that would conclude the Choosing and proclaim a new Griidlord.
But I wasn¡¯t naive anymore. I expected the scales to be tipped. I intended to move according to that expectation, to try and anticipate it and use it for my own advantage if I could.
My objective was clear. I wanted 50 flows. I wouldn''t think about 100. And, I needed to do my best to stop Lance of Gideon from gaining 50 before I did. If they were each worried about at least making themselves safe, then they would be unlikely to abandon their own ambitions for that of a collective. If either of them passed 50 then they could turned their full attention to me.
Mario¡¯s boomed once more.
¡°And now,¡± he said, ¡°it is time for our nine redeemed souls to be equipped!¡±
Twenty or more priests flooded onto the arena. They were followed by young, strong attendants. The Mystorium cylinders glistened in the light.
The voice spoke to me. It was sneering in its tone. "You know, Boston doesn''t have that much Mystorium."
I thought back to it, what? What am I looking at then?If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The voice said, "Mystorium is held by the priesthood of each city. It''s sacred, the hands of the layman, even the noble layman, cannot touch it without the blessing of those doddering white coats. Thems the rules. But The Choosings are so sacred, so vital, that the priesthood facilitates them in ways that might surprise you. This much Mystorium must be on loan from a dozen cities."
I thought, Never. A city would never lend Mystorium to another...
The voice said, "The cities have nothing to do with the decision. The mystorium does belong to the city, and the priests take account. But they have the right to use it for ceremonies like The Choosing. Oh, you know how it is, there are treaties and agreements between the dithering old men in the white cloaks and the dithering old men who sit on the thrones."
Still, I stared with new thoughts flooding me. I should have wondered at the quantity of the precious material that was arranged before me.
The Msytorium flowed to the bodies of the vanquished nine. Suits formed around them. It was breathtaking to see so much happening so quickly. SHIELD suits formed around their wearers, taller and heavier than the others by far. Arrow suits enveloped those chosen for the role, clawed hands forming at the ends of their arms. And the Axes took shape, bulkier than Arrows or Swords, diminutive compared with the SHIELDs.
For the first time I realized how poorly most of the others reacted to contact with the suit. Most of them shivered or winced as the suits formed around them. It was not the uncurling ecstacy that I expected to see, the exuberant power that I felt each time the suit took me. Only Olaf seemed to swell as the suit enveloped him. The others, if anything, looked uncomfortable.
Mario''s waited for the transformations to complete before he spoke. "The contestants may now proceed to their forts. As this is a challenge that measures strategy as much as their skill with the suit, we will allow a few minutes of consultation for the Swords to plan and instruct their teams."
Lance, Gideon, and I walked down the steps that joined the platform to the arena floor. Attendants met us at the bottom of the stairs to bring us to our new teams. As I descended, I could see Lance being guided to a fort with blue markings, Gideon to one with green. My team and I were led to the fort adorned with red.
The forts were crude enough, but built of sturdy heavy lumber. They were really just a facade for the crowd. Inside each, a large metallic device dominated the center, a massive orb embedded within it. This was the point for Flow delivery. It would be by delivering Flows to these receptacles that we could increase our score.
I glanced up and noticed that each fort had huge banners hanging above them. Right now, the banners above each fort bore two zeros. I understood, these were our scores. As each team delivered Flows to their fort, the banners would be replaced or altered to reflect our new scores.
I reached my three new teammates and the attendant moved away.
Olaf stood, glowering at me. He had always been big, but now, in the SHIELD suit, he was a titan.
"Olaf," I said... I felt an urge to speak to him, to tell him something... But I struggled to find the words.
"Olaf, you were the first one to lose your place in the Choosing," I said, and immediately regretted it as I saw him recoil slightly. Damn it, that wasn¡¯t what I meant to say.
I took a breath and tried again, forcing myself to focus. "Olaf, they didn¡¯t value you enough because you exited early, but I promise you, the only reason I didn¡¯t pick you in my first selection was because I knew they¡¯d make that mistake."
He straightened a bit at that, regaining some of his composure. I pressed on, hoping to reach him. "I truly believe you were meant for the Shield. Today, you have the chance to prove the doubters wrong. You¡¯re still young, Olaf, and you might yet get a chance at the Shield in the future. But right now, I can¡¯t imagine anyone being a greater asset to this team."
I stepped back, looking at the three of them¡ªOlaf, Zara, and Leona. Each of them had been cast aside by the Choosing, their dreams dashed, their hopes dimmed. But here they were, standing with me, ready to fight once more.
"I bet when this whole thing started, none of you ever imagined being in this position," I said, my voice steady. "Backing me for the Griid suit¡¡±
Chapter 89
Chapter 89
We stood before our fort, waiting for the signal to start.
The voice spoke to me during the pause. I had such reservations about it. Joel and Danefer had each spoken warnings of it. But they had been mad. And the voice had never failed to help me. Part of me wondered if I was making a mistake in listening to it. But I wanted to win. I wanted the suit. It would be too foolish of me to ignore it.
The voice said, "I can tell you who to fear. I can tell you who to target. I can feel them, all of them. Most of it won''t surprise you."
Go on then, I thought to it.
It said, "Lauren''s got a tasty lump of grey matter between her ears, but that over-confident lump put her in an Arrow suit. She was only ever meant to be Sword, I think, but the Arrow is the last thing she should have been given. She''ll be a weak point for them."
"The princess should worry you. She''s dastardly good and she might be better in the Arrow suit than she would have been in a Sword suit. The others are a mixed bag. Arthur is a good choice for a SHIELD, so be wary of that one. His dear old papa wears the SHIELD for Boston right now. Arthur''s no chip off the old block, but there''s still an affinity there."
I listened and noted. It could hurt me nothing to hear what the voice had to offer. It all made sense to me anyway.
I would do anything to win the suit. It had started as a duty to honor my family, to please my father. But now it was for me, it was about me. The future beyond the end of The Choosing was murky and unknown. I didn''t know what I would want for life when the event was over. But I knew I wanted that future to be lived in the suit.
The others were here to win a Flow for each of their houses. That would be motive enough for anyone. It was a fortune even, to a noble. It should drive even those who disdained the idea of fighting with, or fighting for, a commoner. They didn¡¯t need to love me; they just needed to see the potential of what we could achieve together.
Across the arena, the other teams stood arrayed and waiting as well. All eyes pointed to Mario, watching the flag in his hand.
Mario waited. By the Oracle, would he ever tire of attention? It was surprising when he finally released the flag.
As the flag fell, the floor of the arena parted at two locations. There was a groan of machinery as the dust of the floor sifted through the openings that appeared. The orbs began to rise. I wondered what they really were. They couldn''t be real orbs from The Falling.
My team was the first to move. I had decided what we would do before the orbs even appeared. In unison, we dashed toward the orb nearest Lance''s position.
We had no experience in formations, none of this did. In the field, true Griidlords gave so much attention to how they arranged themselves, always trying to set type advantages in place, trying to avoid the wrong matchups. A good leader could arrange for his Axe to assault the other''s Sword, and his Shield to tackle the opponent''s axe. His Arrow would engage the enemy Shield and he himself would destroy the enemy Arrow. For reasons beyond explaining, the suits matched in that manner were amplified against each other. Of course, the other team sought to achieve the same outcome.
This was the game we were all about to play.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Lance''s team had moved for the closer orb as well. But we had a headstart. We''d had no hesitation, our action had been planned. We left our backs exposed to Gideon''s side of the field, putting all of our forces in action toward the orb nearest Lance.
As Lance''s team approached, Olaf and I peeled off from our group and moved to intercept them. Leona and Zara continued to the orb.
If Gideon''s team decided to come for us now, we would be easily finished. But, as I had anticipated, his team surged toward the easy score of the uncontested orb.
Worse for Lance, he had assumed his ally would join him. I think he had expected to make a pincer. The result was his team was clustered, intending to make up one side of the pincer. It would allow for me and Olaf to corale them more easily.
But what wasn''t going to be easy was what came next.
Olaf and I moved into position, blocking the path to the orb.
It was no accident that I had paired myself with Olaf. The choice was deliberate. With a Shield and a Sword together, we had the ability to maneuver ourselves in such a way as to negate the class advantages of our opponents. Olaf could intercept their Axe, I could intercept their Arrow. We didn''t need to crush them, only hold them back long enough for Leona and Zara to gather the Flows.
And we had another advantage... Me.
I unleashed BEAM. I had been flexing it continually, and as I fired, the 1.8 on my HUD became a 1.9. It wasn''t a level-up, but it brought me damn close to gaining the next tier of power in the attribute.
My shot forced Lauren to dive aside. Her suit was the most vulnerable, it could withstand the least damage. Lance fired at the larger target of Olaf. But to his surprise, and my delight, the Shield suit just absorbed the blow to very little effect.
Something about the experience seemed to awaken Olaf. He had been hesitant up until now. But receiving the heavy blow of the BEAM and barely seeming to feel it changed something in him. He stood a little straighter. He looked down at his suit. I think he was starting to like it.
Lance hesitated. Already things were wrong for him. Olaf was positioned where he could tackle Theo, the Axe, if he moved to me. Lauren was pinned. I had the better BEAM, and my team was already drawing flows from the orb.
Then Arthur came at me like a battering ram. He just charged, the heavy suit trading at me. I fired BEAM and hit him. It had more effect on him than it had had on Olaf, but it didn''t stop him either. He was swiftly on top of me. He used the shield in his hands in the manner that Shield suits did, bludgeoning with the face of the shield, stabbing with its angled edges. I wasn''t under pressure, exactly. I was much much better than him. That became evident as I parried him and easily moved around him. But he was Shield, it would take a hammering to bring him down. It was the time I couldn''t spare.
His shield was a wall of violence, filling my vision each time he thrust at me. But it was slow compared with the Sword. And my levels made his look infantile.
Arthur tried to press me, to drive me back and contain me. I could his teammates rushing to take advantage of my engagement.
But I was better now. My days as the runt of the litter were over. I stepped back a particularly ambitious lunge and swung at him with CUT, bringing my sword under the extended shield. Kinteric violence erupted where my sword me his middle and a moment later he was sprawling.
By the Oracle that had felt good.
Lance''s BEAM was again in the air, sizzling past my head.
I dodged Lance''s beam and returned fire of my own. I turned to see what had happened while I dealt with Arthur. I was worried.
But Olaf was already on them. With a roar, Olaf struck Theo. Already Olaf had the advantage of type in the engagement. But he also had a stunning affinity for the Shield suit. Theo''s axe thundered again and again into Olaf''s shield, blue explosions of light springing from the contact. Olaf kept pressing, battering Theo''s axe aside as he kept charging. Theo was suddenly backpedaling, finding no footing to use his weapon effectively.
Olaf''s shield pulsed with an explosion of energy that reminded me of BEAM. The massive shockwave lifted Theo''s body and sent him flying.
Lance, seeing his teammate falter, had turned to help. But Olaf was already on him. There was no type advantage between the two. Lance was a favorite among us. But Olaf so surprised him with his aggression and ability, that Lance was suddenly and unbelievably on the defensive.
The thought crossed my mind¡ What if we disabled Lance¡¯s team, and left them unable to fight¡
Chapter 90
Chapter 90
My spirits soared.
Theo was down and Lance was locked up with Olaf.
I couldn¡¯t believe our success. Olaf and I had only been meant to act as a blocking force. Lance was the most formidable member of their group, but now, locked in with Olaf, he was effectively neutralized.
Theo lay stunned on the ground. He was their axe and their greatest threat to my Sword suit.
I was excited at the prospect of disabling one or more of them. A blow like that might hinder Lance''s team so greatly that he would struggle to gain any Flows.
Arthur was on me again. But the tables had turned so much. I dodged his attacks easily, and assailed his body with CUT after CUT. Even his sturdy Shield suit started to grow sluggish and weak as the damage accumulated.
Over were the days when Arthur was my better. It must have been difficult for him, struggling so badly against me, when just a few days ago I had been the afterthought. My head swam with the realization of how easy this seemed, how much control we had over the battle.
But then, in the back of my mind, I was troubled. If you''ve been doing the math, Lauren was still unaccounted for.
And then she was on me. Lauren moved with the speed and grace that only the Arrow suit could provide, darting in from the side. I was ready for her. I''d know she had to come. As vulnerable Arrow, she had waited for the best moment to get close.
Two opponents were harder to handle. The Sword held advantage over the Arrow, but with Arthur trying to hammer me, it was difficult to hold them both at bay.
Difficult, but no impossible.
My CUT flared over and over. They both had reason to fear it and leapt back from each attack, trying to protect themselves. But neither could I turn from the help Oalf. I didn''t want to do punishing damage to Lauren. I had hoped to disable Arthur before she''d stepped into the fight.
The sound of steel and steel was in my ears. My blade clashing with the shield of Arthur and the claws of Lauren, the terrible hammering sounds of Olaf dueling Lance. Olaf. Against Lance. Holding his own!
Then, suddenly, a new orb emerged on Lance''s side of the field. As it rose from the floor, it changed all of the calculus.
Arthur and Lauren pulled back from me. Theo rose and faded away with them. I wanted so badly to pursue, but Olaf had retreated to guard our orb, and I would be dangerously exposed if I went after them alone.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Lance was still engaged with Olaf, but was clearly waiting for his moment to escape the battle.
At that exact moment, Zara and Leona finished absorbing the Flows from the first orb. Fresh fighters, they rejoined the battle, charging toward us. Their arrival bolstered our team¡¯s strength, evening the odds. Zara, had a good affinity for the axe suit, she came hard and the other team had to account for her.
We regrouped quickly, our formation solidifying as Lance¡¯s team began to withdraw toward the new orb. Olaf, still locked in with Lance, did his best to keep the pressure on.
The thought of keeping Lance occupied was tempting¡ªit would cripple their offensive potential¡ªbut I couldn''t leave Olaf as an easy target for a concentrated attack. Gideon''s team was still unaccounted for, and that uncertainty gnawed at me.
I roared at Olaf, "Withdraw!"
The command cut through the noise of the battlefield. I unleashed BEAM, the pulse of energy streaking through the air, forcing Lance to break off and giving Olaf the time he needed to regroup with us.
I cast a quick glance upward to the banners that hung over the three forts. A score of 15 was displayed above Gideon''s fort. He had finished collecting the Flows from the first orb and had returned them to his fort.
As we neared our fort and it became clear that an interception by Lance''s team was unlikely, I made a decision. I peeled away from the group.
"Go on back, deposit the flows!" I shouted. "I''ll see if I can find a use for myself while you''re busy."
I climbed one of the artificial hillocks that had been built during the night. Leona and Zara rushed to the orbed repository in our fort and embedded their weapons in the surface. Their body''s lit up as the Flows started to move from their suits to the storage orb. Olaf stood at the door of the fort, watching, ready. Leona and Zara were defencelessly exposed as they worked.
My attention snapped back to the battlefield. Lance''s team were rushing to the new orb. It looked as though they would be able to take it without contest.
I fired BEAM at them as they moved. I rarely struck any of them, but the hail of energy forced them to move more carefully through the cover.
Every second I bought us opened possibilities.
Gideon¡¯s team was still frustratingly absent. They were out there, somewhere. I had hoped to provoke a fight between Gideon and Lance over the next orb, even if my team was unready to contest it.
Movement from our fort caught my attention, pulling my gaze back. Zara and Leona had completed their task and were now moving to rejoin me.
I glanced up at the banners above our fort. The numbers had changed. I could feel the smile spreading wide on my mouth as I looked up. The display now showed 30. Gideon''s orb had been worth 15, but the one we had chosen had scored us a 30. It had been as I predicted, the powers that be wanted to tip the scales towards Lance. If I acted with awareness of that then those advantages had a chance of becoming mine.
There was another rumbling and whining of motors. Three more orbs rose from the ground. My eyes moved between the three. I was thwarted by the wealth of options.
The new orb, again on Lance¡¯s side of the field, was likely another high-value target. I wanted it. Another orb like the first would be enough to secure my place in the final round.
But, with a total of four orbs now in play, it would be difficult to stop Lance from scoring.
Chapter 91
Chapter 91
We hesitated. All of us¡ªmy team, Lance''s team, Gideon''s team¡ªeach trying to calculate the next best move in the split second before committing. The arena had suddenly become a game of easy pickings, or so it seemed. Four orbs had emerged, one close to each fort and one in the center, and my mind raced through the possibilities.
Gideon was already at 15 points, and I knew I couldn¡¯t afford to let him reach 50 too easily. But the orb nearest Lance was my bet for the highest value, and his team was already closing in on it. The temptation to split my team and try to score two of the orbs called to me. I could push forward with the high-risk strategy that had paid off so far, or play it safe and ensure that we secured just enough points to stay in the game. My goal was 50. I kept reminding myself of that.
You might be wondering about the voice at this point. Rest assured, it was there, babbling away in the back of my mind, taunting me for my momentary indecision and making the task no easier. But I wasn¡¯t opening myself to it. After Danefer''s and Joel''s warnings, I had grown uneasy about the voice, and I had started to shut it out. In that moment, where split-second decisions mattered, the nattering in the background was more of an irking distraction than an asset.
Four orbs, one close to each fort, one central. Lance''s team was nearly on the orb nearest his fort already, swarming around it, not bothering to spread out. Did he know his part of the arena was set to receive higher-value orbs? Balthazar had fed me information, was there any reason to think the collusion to help Lance wouldn¡¯t extend to sharing information? Gideon''s team had split up: two of them settling on the central orb, while Gideon and Emilia broke off to claim another one. That was pure Gideon¡ªaggressive, daring. I couldn¡¯t let him pull ahead without a fight.
The numbers danced in my mind. Lance''s team, nearly secure on what I suspected was the highest value orb; Gideon, spreading out to grab two at once; and me, already at 30 points. I calculated quickly: if Gideon''s first orb had been worth 15, then there was every chance that was the average value. I only needed 20 more points to reach my target. I just had to stay focused.
I bellowed, "Zara, Leona, claim the orb nearest our base! Olaf, cover them. I''ll harass the others." There was no hesitation from my team; they moved with certainty. I darted forward, taking cover behind another hillock, and peeked to see what the others were doing.
Lance''s team was still concentrated around their orb, no attempt to spread out. They were betting heavily on it. Meanwhile, Gideon''s split force was a problem. Two of them were claiming the central orb, while Gideon and Emilia moved toward the next one. It made sense; Gideon was gambling on grabbing as much as he could as quickly as possible.
I couldn¡¯t allow that. I darted back down the hillock, shouting to Olaf in a low voice, hoping the sound wouldn¡¯t carry to the other teams. "Gideon¡¯s team has split. I¡¯m going to try and interrupt them at the orb nearest their fort. When you''re done here, join me."Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
And then I ran.
There was an emotional tax from all these choices. There were so many variables it was impossible to be sure if the next decision would bare fruit or cost us greatly. Still, so far, things had played well for us.
As I darted through the cover, I gambled I could go unnoticed as a single figure. I raced brazenly towards the orb. I tried to stay low, tired to stay unseen. Surprise was the entire point of this gambit, and I hoped Emilia and Gideon would fail to guess what I intended.
I skidded to a halt behind a steel barricade, just a few feet from the orb. The noise from the crowd was so intense that it was difficult, even with HEARING, to detect any sounds of movement beyond me.
I waited, heart pounding. I was hoping Gideon would be ambitious. I was hoping he would try and accelerate his scoring by having both himself and Emilia attach to the orb.
My thoughts went back to Lance''s team. They were all still clustered around the orb on their side. If there were three of them drawing Flows at the same time then they could finish quickly, deposit quickly. Then they would be back in the field and it would be difficult to predict their next moves.
I decided to count to five, then take my chances.
When I moved, I moved fast. I rounded the side of the sphere hoping to see at least one, if not two, vulnerable forms drawing Flows. Instead, I found nothing at all. That reality set my heart racing.
What happened to being conservative? I thought. My team only needed 20 more Flows to hit 50, if the orb they were drawing from held 15 then we were almost there. This aggression was unnecessary, reckless even. But that logic did nothing to slow my steps as I rounded the orb, sword held high¡ªonly to find no one.
Of course, it had been a trap. I had gone from timid mouse to foolishly overconfident.
I pulsed SHIELD as Gideon swung at me with CUT. He had the advantage of surprise, but I don''t think he could have anticipated how strong my SHIELD was. I turned my surprise to rage and responded to them both like a tiger.
For all my power, it was two against one. And, for all I had grown, Gideon was still a potent enemy.
We fought hard. I was forced to concede ground. I started thinking about a strategy to escape the battle.
Then, suddenly, the rest of my team appeared. The raced down a hillock to join me.
How? They shouldn''t have been here so fast. The orb should have taken longer than that.
Olaf stepped between me and my opponents. As his huge form absorbed their attacks, I had a moment to gather myself.
I looked to the banners.
Our score was only 35.
Of course, the bastards had stacked high-value orbs near Lance, so it made sense mine would have been low-value. I had expected as much, but I hadn''t guessed they would tip the scales quite so much.
But maybe this could still be to our advantage. The five points had been scored almost for free. My whole team was assembled and in position to score another orb.
We just needed fifteen more points.
Chapter 92
Chapter 92
Gideon¡¯s face grew into a frustrated snarl. He had set out to trap me, probably disable me. The result had been far from satisfying for him. Now it was he who was on the back foot.
I stepped around Olaf and struck at Gideon. With Olaf to my right, I had less to defend. With Gideon as my own only target I felt the advantage returned.
I hacked down with CUT, and Gideon countered with an upward chop. Our blades smashed away from each other. Beside me, Olaf churned his feet as he drove Emilia back. He was by far the better shield.
I calculated the situation quickly. I was the better Sword (the elation it brought me to embrace that idea) and Olaf the better Shield. We had these two well in hand. My urgency was the collection of the last Flows we needed to secure my place in the last round.
¡°Zara! Leona! Claim the orb!¡± I shouted.
Zara and Leona immediately rushed to the Orb, embedding themselves in it.
Gideon and Emilia were no threat to get past Olaf and me. If anything, there was chance we could do real damage to them.
Gideon flailed as he tried to fire around me, tried to hit Zara or Leona with BEAM. I pulsed SHIELD and blocked the beam with my sword.
Olaf and Emile were playing a game of hammer against hammer. The smashed their huge weapons and monstrous suits against each other. It was a brutal way to fight. But it was more brutal on Emilia. I could see she was beginning to sag as the toll accumulated on her.
I wondered how long it would take the rest of Gideon''s team to finish their work with the Orb. Would they go to deposit their Flows, giving us time to finish with out Orb? Or would they be directly upon us?
I didn¡¯t need to think too hard about that. Gideon was the incarnation of aggression. He would have directed his team to go for the high-risk, high-reward play. That meant that we could be facing two more opponents at any moment. And worse, an Axe to hurt me and an Arrow to undo Olaf.
I pushed hard at Gideon. The best chance now was to try and put him and Emilia down hard, and fast.
Gideon had to turn to the defensive. My rain of CUTS was a storm that even his aggression couldn''t blow through. It was so obviously difficult for him to fight on the retreat. But it was the only choice I gave him.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Have I mentioned the incredible feeling it was to dominate an opponent like this? To be the better of an old bully? I might have mentioned it once or twice. It was no less true for the repition.
It tried to count how long it had been, glancing back to see if Leona and Zara had finished their work. I was being too hopeful, they''d barely begun.
There was an explosion of metal to my right as Olaf smashed Emilia to the ground. Pieces of he armor shattered to pieces with a terrible shriek. Smoke boiled form a hole in her suit.
Olaf could finish her, put her out of the fight with another blow.
Suddenly, Katya was in his face. Like lightning she had struck.
I had to fumble to bring my sword up to block a blindside blow from Felix''s axe as he joined the fight.
Felix and Katya glowed with the Flows they still contained. They had come to the fight rather than to deposit their bounty.
All fortunes were reversed now, Olaf and I were both fighting opponents with type advantages. Katya was deadly, her bladed hands slashed over and over at Olaf, getting around his huge shield with ease. Gideon would have every opportunity to stab at me while I focused on avoiding Felix''s terrible axe.
"Fall back!" I shouted. "Zara! Leona! Disengage from the orb!"
But detaching from the orb wasn¡¯t an instantaneous process. Zara and Leona were slowed, as though the orb didn''t want to release them. Olaf and I needed to hold on a little longer.
I gritted my teeth . Felix was on me again. His axe soared at me from every angle. It was a desperate scramble to parry and step and avoid what it could to my suit.
The type-advantage was terrible to experience. My every parry felt flailingly weak against everything Felix did.
Gideon wasn¡¯t idle either. He surged at me each time I moved from Felix. All he needed to do was interrupt my flow, make me stagger or pause, long enough for the axe to land.
Olaf was under no less pressure. Katya was shredding his armor. His defenses had withstood everything, but against the type-advantage of the Arrow it seemed to crumble like foil. Emilia was slow to re-enter the fight, still shaken from her clash with Olaf.
Felix¡¯s next strike came down with brutal force, and though I managed to deflect it slightly, the power behind it still sent me staggering. His Axe was a storm, each swing making my body feel weaker, slower. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest as I tried to match his sheer strength, but it was hopeless. My superior skill and aptitude didn¡¯t matter here¡ªnot against this type advantage. Felix was stronger than me in every way that mattered right now.
Gideon caught me on the leg with a stabbing CUT. I dropped to my knee. The axe dove at me from above. I raised my sword to block, but there was little I could do against Felix''s advantage.
Then... Zara.
She appeared out of nowhere. Her axe blazed as it struck Felix''s, smashing it aside. Leona was at Olaf''s shoulder, and suddenly Katya was stepping back, unwilling to risk taking damage to her vulnerable Arrow suit.
"Fall back!" I shouted.
Gideon''s team made no move to pursue. They were laden with Flows, and some must have still remained in the Orb we had abandoned.
The terrible question was, how much remained? How much had we taken?
Chapter 93
Chapter 93
Leona and Zara were at the fort¡¯s receptacle. Their weapons were embedded in the orb, depositing the Flows. Olaf stood over us, his face to the arena. He was like his suit, battered but resilient. He was like a mountain weathering the storm. Mountains could outlast many storms. And Olaf looked like he had much left in him. I felt like I was seeing him for the first time.
We had started with such a lead. By my mental math, we still had a lead. Maybe Leona and Zara were depositing the last Flows we''d need to 50. But I doubted that. That would be too easy.
I glanced at Olaf. I said, ¡°Why aren''t any more orbs rising?¡±
He shrugged. His attitude toward me was conflicted¡ªhow could it not be? To him, I was a commoner suddenly standing on the precipice of becoming one of the most powerful individuals in the city, someone who could ascend far beyond him in social rank should I win the Sword. But I was also the one who had humiliated him during the earlier stages of the Choosing by ending his time in the arena. I could sense his resentment, but also his need to cooperate if he wanted to win the Flow for his family. A part of me wondered if, deep down, he was rooting for me or hoping I would fail.
¡°They came so fast before,¡± I muttered, more to myself than him. ¡°What¡¯s happening? Are the organizers giving us time to rest, for the teams to regroup¡?¡± I frowned, suspicious. ¡°Is this for Lance''s benefit somehow?¡±
Olaf shook his head. ¡°The organizers won''t do things to benefit one team,¡± he said with quiet certainty. ¡°The Choosing is fair, sacred. That''s the Oracle''s will.¡±
I raised an eyebrow at him, biting back the urge to correct him. Fair? Sacred? I wanted to laugh. The entire contest had been stacked against me from the start, obstacles and manipulations thrown in my path. And yet, here I was, still standing, still fighting. No, the Choosing wasn¡¯t fair. I¡¯d seen too many signs of that already.
But I swallowed my retort, allowing the thought to hang in the air instead. My mind churned with consideration. The delay wasn¡¯t some benevolent pause to allow us all to recover¡ªit had a purpose. And as the pieces clicked together in my mind, I realized what was happening. We had already deposited what little Flow we had managed to secure. Gideon¡¯s team had likely done the same with the remnants of their last orb. But Lance¡ Lance''s team had been completely free to absorb what I suspected was a high-value orb near their base. They needed more time to deposit it.
The organizers were giving them that time.
Fair? My ass.
Then, the voice came to me again. It said, "Why haven''t you tried boosting, Tiberius?"
Boosting?
There had been so much going on, so fast. I hadn''t thought to boost. The strength of my hands and my sword had seemed like they would be enough.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
I blinked
Boosting. Among Griidlords, the Sword had a special ability. The Sword could boost. The nature of the power was unknown. Whether it was Order or Entropy, I didn¡¯t know. But they could send this strength, from this unknown source, and use it to enhance their teammates. I had completely overlooked it.
I said. "I haven''t even tried to..."
Then I paused. I stammered. "I don''t know if I can."
The voice was not best pleased with me. It said, "How would you know if you haven''t even tried? You think Gideon and Lance haven¡¯t?
I looked at my hands, considered a power that was there that I hadn¡¯t even considered. ¡°I don¡¯t know how¡ Gideon and Lance haven¡¯t been using it¡¡±
¡°Please. Felix was boosted the whole time he was fighting you. Why do you think he dominated you so easily? Yes, the Axe has an advantage over the Sword, but you¡¯re too skilled for one as pathetic as him to have bested you so thoroughly without help. Gideon was there, boosting him, making Felix stronger, while you floundered like a helpless child."
I felt like a fool. It made perfect sense now. Felix wasn¡¯t skilled enough to have dismantled me on his own. Gideon had been there, fortifying him, while I was too blind to notice. All because of my arrogance, my new obsession with my own power.
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of my failure. "How do I...?" I began to ask, unsure of what to do next.
And then, as though responding to my thoughts, my HUD flickered. A circular reticule appeared, locking onto Olaf. It was like a target, and I could feel it pulling at me, like a whirlpool drawing me in. Suddenly, I understood. I knew how to do it. I had no idea if it was the suit responding to me or if it was the voice guiding me, but I knew how to boost now. It was almost instinctual.
I saw Olaf¡¯s shoulders slump as his eyes drifted upward. I followed his gaze to the banners hanging above the forts, and my heart sank. The banners had changed, and it wasn¡¯t good.
We had leapt to 47¡ªjust shy of the 50 points we needed to secure our place. I cursed under my breath. Just a few more moments, and Leona and Zara could have drawn enough Flows from the orb to get us past the threshold. But we had been forced to abandon it before we could finish, leaving us vulnerable.
¡°Yes, boy,¡± the voice hissed in my ear, ¡°but another few moments and your suit would have been a sparking wreck, and your team obliterated.¡±
The truth stung. We had made the right call, retreating when we did, but the frustration was bitter. I seethed at my failure to find that last ounce of power, at the wasted opportunity to boost my teammates. All because I had been ignoring the voice, pushing it away, letting the warnings of madmen like Danefer cloud my judgment. If I had been listening, the voice would have reminded me to boost my teammates. That small edge could have made all the difference, allowing Zara and Leona to finish drawing the Flows and securing our place.
Gideon¡¯s score had risen to 38. He had absorbed an entire orb uncontested, likely worth another 20 points, and then scooped up the last few Flows from the orb we had abandoned. He was too close now. Too close to overtaking us.
Curiously, Lance stood at 30. His team had only secured one orb, but it must have been a high-value one. His position was tenuous. I couldn¡¯t help but smile grimly. The idea of Lance failing to even reach the final round filled me with a mean satisfaction. If I could get through today and face either him or Gideon in the final round, I was more than confident in my ability to secure victory.
But first, we had to survive this day. We had to reach 50 points.
Chapter 94
Chapter 94
I turned the numbers over in my head. Most of the orbs we¡¯d encountered so far had been worth 15 points or more. The poorest had been 5. It seemed that securing any orb would push us over the 50-point threshold we needed to ensure our place in the final. Even an average orb would be enough for Gideon, too, bringing him over the mark. But Lance¡ Lance¡¯s odds were growing increasingly slim, and my skin prickled at the thought of what he might do with his back against the wall. Desperation had a way of turning people unpredictable¡ªdangerous even. He had already been dangerous and unpredicatable.
I knew Gideon wouldn¡¯t let it go unnoticed. Gideon wanted me gone. That much was obvious, and I suspected he¡¯d align himself with Lance to try and eliminate me, even if only temporarily. But there was no trust between them. Gideon wasn¡¯t foolish enough to rely on an alliance for long¡ªhe¡¯d never allow himself to be vulnerable to Lance''s manipulations. He knew that if he trusted Lance too much, he risked being expelled from the contest himself.
Our 47 points made us a formidable target. We were too close to securing a spot in the final round for comfort. My hope was that the other two would turn on each other. If I could push them to focus on one another, maybe I could avoid the crosshairs long enough to ensure my team¡¯s safety.
Just as I was mulling over a strategy, the arena shook. A new orb was emerging. Overhead, a monstrous view screen flickered to life, catching both the contestants and the crowd by surprise. The screen was used only on rare occasions, during ceremonies and grand tournaments¡ªwhen Order in the arena was elevated enough for the technology to function. It had been off for most of the day¡¯s contest; showing the entire field would have spoiled too much of the action if we could¡¯ve just looked up to see where our opponents were.
But now the screen flared into life for a few seconds, long enough to show the lone orb rising from the center of the arena. My gut twisted as I recognized it immediately. This wasn¡¯t just any orb¡ªit was a bumper orb, one of the largest I¡¯d seen. Of course. Of course, it would appear now, when the stakes were highest.
I said, "Fair? Fair, Olaf? Can''t you see how they favor Lance? He needed extra time to deposit his flows, and he got it. The only way for him to win now is to pass us and Gideon, and he¡¯d need at least 20 flows to do it. That bastard orb there¡ª" I pointed furiously at the screen, the crowd roaring with excitement at the sight of it. "¡ªit''s worth at least that! And there¡¯s just one! One!"
Olaf didn¡¯t respond, his face stony.
I said. ¡°Any orb would have gotten us past the threshold, but no! When we need it most, there¡¯s only one¡ªand it¡¯s placed right in the center forus all to fight over. They¡¯ll work together, lock us out of that orb, and there¡¯s possibly enough flows in it for both of them to pass us.¡±
Still, Olaf said nothing. His silence only provoked me.
I stepped closer to him. I said. "It was one thing when it was just me being screwed over, but you¡¯re here too. You have a chance to win a Flow for your house. Can¡¯t you see now? Now that it¡¯s hurting you as well? They¡¯ve been tipping the scales, rigging this whole thing against us!"This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
Olaf''s lips tightened, his massive shoulders tensing. He was bristling, but I couldn''t tell if it was at me or at the situation. Had I misjudged him? I wasn¡¯t trying to anger him, but I needed him to see the unfairness, the blatant manipulation. I needed to ignite the fire of indignation in him, turn that stubbornness of his into something that could drive us forward, push us to victory. I needed his strength to break through this web of deceit they¡¯d spun around us.
After a moment, Olaf finally spoke. ¡°What do you want me to do?¡±
¡°We fight,¡± I said. ¡°We don¡¯t let them lock us out of that orb. It¡¯s our only shot.¡±
Time was everything now.
Three flows. That was all we needed. We didn¡¯t have to secure the whole orb, didn¡¯t need to dominate the field. We just needed those precious few points. A minute at the orb would be plenty, a few moments of connection, then we could break away, letting the others fight for the scraps. If we played it right, we could withdraw and watch the rest unfold, potentially even exploit the chaos to reach 100 points before either of the other teams got to 50. Or simply stack up against Lance to keep him out of the final.
But none of that mattered yet.
Right now, our entire world hinged on those three flows.
Lance and Gideon didn''t need just a few points. They had a lot to score. We just needed those little three. But they would be aware of that? Would their competition with each other keep them distracted enough for us to slip in and scoop what we needed? Would they negotiate an agreement, turn their forces to lock us out?
Agreements and strategies took time. My plan was not to give them that time.
We moved like lightning. We abandoned any notion of secrecy. We gave up on cover. We just raced to our goal. Was this what it was like to be a true Griidlord? Rushing across the landscape flanked by teammates? It was an element I had never considered. I quite liked it.
We mounted a hillock together slowed enough to examine the scene. My team slowed behind me.
The orb was huge, as big as a serf farmer''s cottage almost. It stood like some colossal egg in a nest of artificial hillocks. The hillocks that rose around it could be cover, allowing to safely secure our orbs. Or they could be a deadly funnel, a death trap waiting to spring.
¡°Go!¡±, I barked. This hinged on the other teams not noticing us yet. Unlikely, given the arena¡¯s noise. The sheer audacity of our charge had the common folk screaming . This was either daring brilliance or wreckless foolishness.
The voice spoke, affecting an accent I couldn''t recognize. "If it works you''re a genius, if it fails you''re an idiot."
My plan was unchanged, Zara and Leona had done all the Flow work so far, they were already practiced at it. Olaf and I would stand guard. I swept to the left flank, Olaf to the right, the other two spearing for the orb. But even as I approached the orb I felt movement. I turned, surprising even myself with the ease with which I summoned my level 3 CUT. My searing blade smashed into Gideon¡¯s easily deflecting it.
It was foolish of me not to expect him to act brazenly, that had been his hallmark since the Choosing began. Still, I was more than a match for him. As his blade flailed away from his body I charged my blade toward him, my CUT spearing toward his unprotected torse.
Then my mind exploded as kinetic energy erupted in my side, surprising me, my SHIELD not even pulsing to lessen the blow. In an instant I was sprawled in the dirt, my body convulsing from the shock, the pain.
I looked up, Lance was there, alongside Gideon. They stood side by side, weapons pointed at me.
Chapter 95
Chapter 95
Gideon flicked his blade at me as I lay there, my CUT surged into his sword, sending his arm snapping back, staggering him. Lance pounced with a terrible downward CUT. I rolled, not avoiding the attack completely. But my SHIELD flared, the digits flickering across my visor, rising to 2.6. The combination of my roll and the pulse of SHIELD sent Lance¡¯s blade glancing from me. It still hurt, but caught bodily that blow might have disabled me. Hell, it might have killed me.
Then I was on my feet.
My sword sang. They tired to move to either side of me, tired to pincer me, make my position impossible to defend.
I would have none of it. My BEAM spoke, spearing Lance in the shoulder. My sword screamed, CUT smashing into Gideon''s defenses.
The crowd screamed. The sound of the crowd had been one of panic when I went down. Tones of despair had rustled among them when it seemed I would be outnumbered. But the energy of the crowd, the noise of it, grew higher and more rapturous as I moved. My sword declared this no uneven contest.
My sword clashed against Gideon¡¯s. The sound rang, steel on steel, the crackle of the kinetics fizzling between the blades. I booted him back to make room as Lance charged again. I wheeled on Lance, and the bastard actually flinched. He didn''t want to face me head on. My CUTs were a blur, hacking at his sword, driving it down, down.
I turned again to Gideon as he swing at me. My parry carried his attack away into nothingness.
As I fought my CUT attribute flashed in my visor. 3.2, then 3.4 in what felt like a blink.
The sword felt lighter in my hand. My body moved so easily. Had I truly become this good?
The voice spoke, You can be a little hard on yourself sometimes.
I parried another blow from Gideon. I thought, what? I don''t have time for this. I''m fighting.
The voice said, You''re fine. Look at you. You''re fiiine. But you''re a little too low on yourself, kiddo. I was thinking about that business with the BOOST. You haven''t using it, but when have you given yourself the chance?
My CUT caught Gideon in the side. He pulsed SHIELD, a SHIELD that was paltry compared with mine. The explosion of my kinetics sent him spinning to the dust. I thought, I really don''t have time for this.
The voice said, You''ve got time. I just, well, you know. I was just thinking about it, and I felt kinda bad. You''ve been in the thick of things. You''ve been putting yourself to pretty good use.
Lance moved defensively. Everything he did was so perfect. His feet moved perfectly. His sword moved perfectly. His stance, his poise, his choices. But I drove him to panic. I slashed and drove him back. He barely kept his feet. He kept me at bay with a desperately wild swing, an attack that would have left him open if I''d had any expectation of it.
Gideon was scrambling to his feet. He fired BEAM, but I spun, deflecting with my sword. Lance struck two-handed from above, but I dropped to a knee and smashed my sword up into his. 3.4 faded and was replaced with a 3.6.
I was winning! Against both of them. The air around me seemed to crackle with energy. The crowd was erupting, the crowd was reeling with the insanity of the display.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
But, I turned my head and understood things were more complicated than me besting Lance and Gideon. Some of Lance and Gideon''s teammates were attached to the Orb, drawing FLOWS. Even at that, my comrades were outnumbered. My heart raced a little as I understood. I didn''t have time for this to continue. It needed to end fast or it would end badly.
I doubled my efforts, hammering at Gideon and Lance with a flurry of strikes that had them both stumbling backward. My CUT surged again¡ª3.9. I was so close. I could feel it. Lance¡¯s face was a mask of horror, his disbelief absolute. He couldn¡¯t comprehend how I was still standing, how I was fighting both of them off so easily. Gideon¡¯s eyes widened with panic as my sword nearly cleaved through his defenses.
If I could just push a little harder, reach level 4, I could end this. Finish the fight. Finish the whole damned tournament once and for all.
As I fought, the images of those who mattered to me flickered through my mind, each one stoking a different fire. Harold¡ªup in the stands, watching me with that quiet, reserved affection that had sustained me for years. Was I glad it was him, and not Father, witnessing this? Harold, who had shown me subtle warmth in a life otherwise bereft of tenderness? And then there were Katya and Lauren. I couldn''t tell in the chaos if they were fighting or drawing Flows, but they had to see me, had to witness this transformation. I wondered what they thought, seeing me not just holding my own, but dominating¡ªactually dominating¡ªboth Lance and Gideon at once. Was I their hero now? Their regret? I couldn¡¯t be sure, but the thought gave me wings, made my sword feel weightless.
And then it happened.
CUT 4.0 flashed before my visor.
The sensation was unlike anything I had ever known. My whole body seemed to catch fire. It was like the light of a deity had shone into me and filled me. Gideon and Lance both cowered back from the light that suddenly blazed from my sword.
Gideon roared with frustration. He charged. His CUT slashed at me, the finest swing of a sword you could ever see. My Level 4 CUT smashed it away, jerking his whole arm back, making a mockery of the skills he had built. I booted him to the ground and turned to Lance.
"Last time", I said, feeling the beautiful darkness take me.
Lance recoiled. He was fearful, openly fearful. He kept his sword in front of him and sank away from me.
He backed away from me.
That triggered something primal in me.
For so long, I had dreamed of this moment. I had dreamed of wiping that smirk from his face. I had dreamed of watching him fall. I had dreamed watching him realize that I was not just his equal, but his better.
As he fled backward, the predator inside me awoke. It was hungry.
I surged after him. He was retreating fast now. He was cowering. The rush of power that filled me left everything I had ever felt in my life feeling like a grey sketch of nothingness.
I was close! So close to finally ending this!
But even as I lunged for him, something changed.
His lips flickered into a grin.
It wasn¡¯t the smug grin of someone who had been playing with me all along. No, the fear had been real. But he had played it into a trap.
But I''d been here before. Too many times.
I''d been splitting my skull with HEARING as I closed on Lance. The bastard always had something up his sleeve.
Theo came gliding in, like the angel of death, from my blind spot. He was diving, airborne, his axe was blazing like a comet, arcing around to try and take my head off. I met his movement with an upward cleave, the blinding fury of my Level 4 CUT striking him from underneath. The explosion set him hurtling upward, lifting him, before he crashed to the ground.
Lance screamed, "No!"
Then, shaking, quietly, he barely breathed it again. "No..."
I CUT him. Maybe it wasn''t honorable. I didn''t care. I would have my moment.
The CUT opened the chest of his suit and knocked him on his ass. I stood over Lance. I''d always wanted to be here.
Theo staggered to his feet, but Leona drifted in, occupying the space behind me, to my right. Good. She only needed to keep Theo away for a moment.
Lance looked up at me pitifully, his chest sparking and sizzling.
Then his eyes widened in a strange new horror.
I didn''t understand.
Two arms snaked around my body, closing suddenly, their bladed fingers locking together. I wrestled to break free. My captor was smaller and weaker. I would be free in a second.
Lance held a hand out, screamed, pleasing, "No! Not like this!"
My captor turned my body, presenting my head. I only had the briefest impression of a meteor of terrible brilliance, Theo''s axe, searing towards me.
Then nothing but blackness.
Chapter 96
Chapter 96
¡°Tiberius¡¡±
¡°Tiberius¡¡±
"Tiberius..." The voice came from the blackness again, softly taunting me, pulling me further into awareness. I forced my mind to focus, but my universe remained a drunken haze of nothingness, an endless swirling mess of disconnected thoughts and electric pulses.
"Tiberius," the voice repeated, sounding eerily familiar. Was it father¡¯s voice? Where was I? Where was he? What was father doing out here in this ocean of blackness.. Wasn¡¯t he¡ wasn¡¯t he somewher else?
¡°Tiberius¡¡± Like Father¡¯s¡ªyet not. It drifted through the void with a teasing, sing-song quality that Father would never employ. The timbre sharpened slightly, higher now, more alien than before. My head throbbed.
I had awareness of very little¡ªjust darkness and the disorienting sensation of spinning through a void, a nauseating nothingness that pulled at me. My stomach churned, a bitter reminder that I still had a body somewhere in this emptiness, and it was doing everything in its power to turn itself inside out.
"Tiberius..."
"Voice?" I croaked, my own voice distant and weak.
It spoke again, "Yes, it''s me."
That brought confusion flooding back to me. I could only hear the voice when I was in the Tower or the suit. But I wasn¡¯t in either of those places, was I? Where was I? I was floating, lost in the nothingness, disconnected from anything tangible. The endless spinning in my head made the nausea worse. But then... something¡ªdirt, gritty and rough¡ªshifted beneath my fingers. I groaned, twisting as my stomach heaved violently. A bitter wave of vomit surged up, acrid and vile, filling my nostrils and making me gag again.
"It¡¯s just little old me," it repeated as if amused. "Checking on you. You might not believe this, but I¡¯d be heartbroken if you died. I might never see the likes of you again."
"What... what are you doing here?" I stammered, spitting the last of the bile from my lips. The dark void swirled around me, and the ground beneath me seemed to tilt.
"Checking on you, obviously," it said, still with that insufferable amusement. "Making sure you didn¡¯t get yourself killed. That would be... quite unfortunate."
"But... you can''t be here," I mumbled. "You only come to me in the suit..."
The voice chuckled, a teasing note lacing through its words. "And where exactly is here, Tiberius?"
I struggled to think, my mind a swirling haze. I blinked, or at least, I thought I blinked. My eyelids were heavy, weighted down as if by lead. The act of trying to open them sent my head spinning again. Flashes of unfocused light leapt through the gaps in my eyelids. Bright beigeness. Pain speared through my brain. My body wretched once more, but there was nothing left, just dry heaves and the bitter burn of bile at the back of my throat. I could feel tendrils of drool wetting my lips.
"I... I don¡¯t know where I am," I admitted, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "Am I dead?"
The voice chuckled again, soft and almost comforting. "No, not dead¡ªthough you had me going for a while there. You¡¯ve been unconscious. It¡¯s alright. I¡¯ve checked your brain. It took quite a beating, but you¡¯ll live."Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
I groaned, feeling the hard surface beneath me again. The ground? Yes, it had to be the ground. The grit of dirt pressed against my cheek, rough and uncomfortable. There was pressure against my hip, an ache from lying in one position too long. It hurt... but it was real.
The voice spoke again, almost gleeful. "It¡¯s been fascinating, really. Poking through your neurology... it''s not something I can normally do when you''re conscious. But while you were out, I got to clear up some of your little mysteries."
"Mysteries?" I mumbled, confused. My eyelids fluttered as the darkness began to give way to flashes of unfocused light, the blurred edges of the arena coming into view through a painful, dizzy haze.
"Yes," the voice said smoothly. "How you gain attributes so quickly, how you can level in jumps."
"What does that have to do with..." My thoughts trailed off as the realization crashed into me like a wave of ice water. The fight. The suit. Lance. Gideon. The Choosing. It all slammed back into my mind in an instant, sending me into a spiral of panic. My stomach clenched violently, forcing me to retch again, though there was nothing left inside to come out¡ªjust dry heaves and painful convulsions.
I forced myself onto all fours, pressing my forehead to the dirt. The pressure in my skull was unbearable, lancing pain shooting through my head with every tiny movement.
"Careful there, Tiberius," the voice cautioned, almost lazily. "I said you¡¯d live, but you¡¯ve taken a terrible pounding."
Through gritted teeth, I managed to hiss back at it, "I need to get back to the fight... I can¡¯t lose the suit..."
"There''s no hurry," the voice said with an unnerving calmness, as if it hadn''t heard the panic in my mind.
"No hurry?" I thought it was crazy¡ªwas it trying to toy with me?
Reality crashed back into me in brutal waves. I had been winning. Lance had been retreating. I had them both terrified¡ªGideon and Lance, mere prey before me, and I had felt like a war god. Something¡ªsomething like a thunderbolt¡ªhad struck me in the side of the head, a hit so fierce it felt like the very beginning and end of time collided.
How long had I been down? It couldn''t have been long. It couldn''t have been. Any longer and the fight would be lost beyond retrieval.
I forced my knees under me, trying to steady myself. When I opened my eyes, the arena floor swam into view, a hazy brownness of dirt and grit. My head pounded in excruciating pulses, and even as I looked, the ground came in and out of focus¡ªlittle particles of dirt, specks of stone, flickering as though reality itself was uncertain. It would be impossible to fight like this.
"Slow down there, slugger," the voice teased. "You can''t stand yet."
"I have to," I groaned, crawling my hands beneath me, lifting my weight from the ground. My body felt like a tree caught in a storm¡ªpushed, swayed, and threatened to be toppled by invisible forces. Staying upright was a war I was losing.
"It''s utterly pointless," the voice chided, "You can''t even crawl. You''ll just embarrass yourself."
A hot tear stung the corner of my eye. This couldn''t be how it ended. I had done it¡ªI had won. I couldn¡¯t leave the fight now. Not like this.
"I have to," I said through gritted teeth. "I have to! I can''t lose the suit now. Not when I''m so close."
My head spun faster as though the entire world was tilted against me. My arms gave way beneath me, and I collapsed sideways, muscles convulsing out of control. I was trapped between reality and an abyss of darkness, where my body refused to listen to me anymore.
"Don''t worry about that," the voice said, calm and almost sympathetic.
I jerked my head at that, dirt grinding against my helm, filling my ears with coarse static. "I have to!" I shouted in desperation. "I need it! I''ll never be whole again without the suit!"
"Just stay there," the voice said, utterly unfazed by my struggles.
"I can''t stay here!" I spat back, trying to roll over again. "I need to fight!"
"Oh," the voice replied, almost amused now. "Don''t worry about that... there''s nothing to be done now."
I froze. What did that mean?
"The round is already over."
Chapter 97
Chapter 97
"No!" My mind screamed in protest, but the voice remained unaffected, almost apathetic to my anguish. Why wasn''t it more upset? Why wasn''t it railing against this injustice with me? I couldn''t fight the inertia any longer, my body sinking toward the ground as if gravity wasn''t just pulling me back to earth, but drawing me in like instinct draws a salmon up stream. I surrendered to it, collapsing into the dirt, all my fight draining out of me. The spinning in my head worsened, and I was left with nothing but the misery. Oh, the fucking misery.
To have come so far. To have gained so much. To have felt the power of the suit coursing through me, only to lose it in an instant. It was a cruelty I hadn¡¯t prepared myself for. Even through the haze of my spinning thoughts, I appreciated one thing: I was still wearing the suit, maybe for the last time. That realization stabbed through me like a knife.
Maybe... maybe Lance or Gideon¡ªlikely Lance¡ªwould win. But maybe they would die or be crippled in the next year or two. I was still young. I could try for the Choosing again. If I could afford the bribes, if Baltizar still had his fingers wrapped around the throat of power... there could be another chance.
But then the image of Dodge City crumbled through my mind. Destroyed. The bet lost. My family¡¯s ruin. I could see Harold¡¯s face¡ªhis steady, silent devotion, that look of concern when he talked about Father¡ªand in that moment, I didn¡¯t care if I ended up destitute or working in some mine, laboring the rest of my life away in darkness. The thing that hollowed me out most was that these might be my last moments in the suit, feeling the power, the enhanced senses, and the brightened world that only the suit could provide.
I surrendered to the suit¡¯s sensations for a moment, just let it all in. SCENT flooded me first¡ªmostly the stink of my own vomit and bile, but there was more. Sweat. Blood. The smells of battle¡ªsomehow not vile, but vital, vibrant, charged with the importance of life and death. I could smell the crowd too, waves of sweat and food and beer washing over me. And beneath it all, the strangely clean scent of the arena dust, kicked up by armored feet.
HEARING took me next, a storm of sound. The deafening crash of power-armored feet stomping in the dust, the movement of contestants nearby, standing before the crowd. Their screams were not the disappointed boos I might have imagined at my defeat. They were screaming. There was rage there. It sounded more like a riot than an audience. Then I let it fade, receding into the sound of my own blood rushing through my veins. It was loud, almost like a womb, of the mother I had never really known, cradling me in bitter grief. For a moment, it drowned out their fickle cheers.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Then came SIGHT. I opened my eyes, fearing the pain that might come with it, but desperate to see¡ªjust once more¡ªthrough the heightened clarity of the suit. This might be my last chance to see the world like this, before the priests took it from me forever.
I won¡¯t lie¡ªI thought of fighting.
Griidlords went rogue on occasion. The suits were theirs¡ªneither the priests nor the tower could control them once they were claimed. Sometimes, men with the powers, and often the delusions, of gods, would carve out their own path, wage their own wars. Madness, like Joel and Danefer, was often the motive. They could last a while, maybe years, before the attrition of battle took them down. The suit could self-charge, but it couldn¡¯t self-heal. Once rogue, they couldn¡¯t return to the cradle of the tower to mend. Little by little, the wear and tear would build up, until their suit failed them.
Would I trade a few weeks, months, or years of this power for in lieu of the rest of years? It was tempting. Gods, it was tempting. But I pushed the thought aside. I would see what happened when Mario put his hand out to touch my neck, his face finally triumphant, see if he was allowed to keep that hand.
I let SIGHT consume me, let the world flood back in through the enhanced lenses of the suit¡¯s vision.
The light seared through the haze. It was too much for a fractured mind to handle. Figures moving nearby weren''t enemies, they were my teammates.
For a moment, this power made me feel like a giant again. Like a living god. But it only deepened my sorrow to know that I had let it slip away.
My SIGHT found the vid screen, the action replaying.
I saw myself like a stranger. I didn''t know that man with the blazing sword, cutting down both his rivals at once. He was a strange and powerful being.
Tears touched the corners of my eyes. I saw how utterly defeated Lance and Gideon had been. I had been a bear, toying with cowering foxes. I had come so close...
And then the screen showed it. Leona surging behind me. My own Arrow. Her arms catching me, pinning my own to my side. Theo stepping in, almost reluctant to be playing the executioner like this.
Why? Why had she done it? She''d be executed for this. This was a violation of the Choosing. In plain view. What pressure could have driven her. Even Lance had been disgusted at the dishonor.
Watching it unfold felt like torture. The strike came like a thunderbolt. His weapon cleaved into my head with all the force and power of type advantage. My body crumpled under the impact. The blow lifted me from Leona''s grasp. It flung me like a ragdoll in a way that defied belief. The kinetic energy of his attack snapped my head to the side with a crack.
I saw my own body roll and tumble, limp and lifeless, before it finally came to rest. The screen changed to the reaction of the crowd. The perfect stillness of my form had left them stunned. But that quiet shock quickly erupted into murderous rage.
They could undo it? That was blatant cheating... They could give me back my place.
But it was a lie. It was an immutable rule of the arena that all outcomes were final. It was the will of the Oracle that played out here. It might also be the will of the Oracle that Leona be hanged or beheaded.
There were no backsies.
Chapter 98
Chapter 98
What happened next, though predictable, still sent a cold shock through me. The vid screen continued to play out the carnage, my blurred senses struggling to catch every detail, but each one burned itself into my mind.
Gideon stood tall, his gaze fixed on my fallen form as it tumbled to a stop. There was no sign of disgust or outrage on him. The killer in him just saw a problem solved. He had face a titan, a titan that should have been the end of him. Now the titan lay broken and he did not.
His relief was to be short-lived.
From behind him, Lance''s blade blazed with energy, the glow of a Level 3 CUT. Before Gideon even knew what was happening, the sword smashed into the side of his head with brutal precision. The strike came without warning, from behind, Gideon¡¯s body never had the chance to react¡ªno chance to flex his SHIELD, assuming he even had one. His form twisted mid-air, spinning violently before crumpling to the ground in a heap, completely and utterly defeated.
What a curious thing honor could be. Lance had raged at the blatant cheating as Leona took hold of me. But he thought nothing of turning on his ally the moment their agreement ended. I was down, their deal was done. Why give Gideon a chance to defend himself?
The vid screen cut away from the chaos of that fight and quickly flashed to other parts of the arena, showing what had been happening elsewhere at that exact moment. Brief clips snapped by: Arthur and Emilia¡ªone Lance¡¯s teammate, the other Gideon¡¯s¡ªwere focused on the orb, pulling Flows from its energy without interruption. Olaf, exhausted and teetering, struggled to fend off Lauren. The weight of battle had taken its toll, and even with his Shield Suit, his movements had become sluggish. Lauren, faster and deadlier in her Arrow Suit, danced around him with ease, her type advantage clearly more than compensating for his greater affinity with his suit.
Zara was fighting Felix. He was struggling to match her affinity.
And Leona... Katya came at her. Did she do it to wipe out my team so the round could end? Was she avenging me?
Leona was barely hanging on, her bladed arms meeting Katya¡¯s with every ounce of strength she had left. But Katya was overwhelming her, utterly superior in every respect. They were both Arrows, but Katya¡¯s affinity, and natural skill, completely eclipsed Leona¡¯s.
The vid screen cut back to Lance, and though there was no audio, his body language was unmistakable¡ªhe shouted a signal to his team. And then... chaos.
Lauren broke away from Olaf. I was surprised she was so agreeable to being part of the plot. But then, that was another virtue to these people. Lauren was lovely, truly lovely, but she existed in a different reality to me. Olaf could only watch her streak away from him.
Lance and Theo moved as one. It was a perfectly orchestrated arrangement. Each of them moved against one they had type advantage against. It might take me minutes to describe it, but it was over in heartbeats.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.
Lance hit Katya from behind as she exhausted her rage on Leona. Katya¡¯s back arched in pain as the strike hit her. Leona did nothing. Her hands fell to her sides as Katya staggered. Lance hit her again and again. Katya jerked and staggered. She fell to her knees. One more blow laid her flat on the ground.
The screen flicked to Olaf. His mouth opened in shock as Lance''s team assassinated Gideon''s. Just before the screen shifted again, there was moment when the viewer could see Olaf¡¯s jaw clench with a certainty.
Felix had been locked in combat with Zara. He turned as he detected Lauren surging at him. He turned to face her, opening himself to Zara. Zara hit him hard, sending him staggering towards Lauren. Her bladed hands flashed, kinetic energy rippling over them and he was sent reeling back to Zara. Back and forth like the world''s unluckiest ping pong ball. Then, Zara''s head cocked, and she drifted away from the fight, leaving Lauren to finish Felix.
I watched it all unfold, my concussion-riddled brain piecing together the inevitable. Once again, Lance was orchestrating the end of the round, ending it early just like he had tried before. With me down, Gideon down, and Katya defeated, Gideon¡¯s team was crumbling. Felix, soon to be eliminated as well, left Lance free to pick apart my remaining teammates.
I realized with a sinking feeling that Lance¡¯s plan was clear. Soon he would be facing the remnants of my team¡ªleaderless, battered, and demoralized. He and his remaining allies could finish them off with ease. Emilia, the only one left on Gideon¡¯s team who was still intact, was defenseless, locked into the orb, drawing Flows as the rest of her team crumbled.
Lance had won the round without breaking a sweat.
The screen flickered one last time, replaying the moment of Gideon¡¯s fall, and the sight of his limp form hitting the ground was the final punctuation to my growing despair. Lance was methodical, ruthless, and he had just sealed his place in the final round.
Then the frame shifted again, drawing me deeper into the unfolding chaos. The vid screen focused on Olaf, running with purpose, his body language urgent, gesturing wildly in the air. His mouth was moving. He was clearly shouting instructions, and a few moments later, Zara appeared by his side.
Olaf, with a rough shove, physically propelled Zara towards the orb. His mouth opened wide as he barked orders¡ªprobably commanding her to draw Flows, to act quickly, before it was too late. In the next frame, Zara had done exactly that: her weapon was embedded into the glowing orb, and energy pulsed visibly through her body. The power surged as she began to siphon the precious Flows we so desperately needed.
The view flicked back again¡ªnow to Felix. He was being decimated by Lauren and Lance, tossed about like a rag doll. Every blow from Lauren¡¯s glowing bladed hands sent him stumbling, and each CUT from Lance felt like it might break him in half. Felix was punch drunk But he swung that terrible axe and kept them fighting.
The vid screen darted back to show Arthur, Lance¡¯s Axe, drawing Flows for his team with an almost frantic determination. Emilia, still locked into place with her Shield, continued to pull in Flows for Gideon¡¯s doomed team. The battle had taken a different shape, a quieter shape. Victory now depended not on weapons but on the Flow scores ticking upward.
Then the view shifted to the banners above. My heart clenched as my eyes focused on the numbers. The banner over my fort read 47, just a sad, mocking 3 points away from securing victory. Gideon¡¯s banner showed 38, his chances shrinking but still dangerous. And Lance... Lance¡¯s banner hung at 30, dangerously poised but still behind us all.
As I watched Zara on the screen, her body lighting up with the pulses of energy from the orb, the truth hit me like a thunderclap. We only needed three more Flows. Just three.
Chapter 99
Chapter 99
It was more than my mind could bear.
This had to be it. I was done, wasn¡¯t I? It was over? It had to be. The reality of defeat loomed large and inevitable, heavy as the arena dust settling in my lungs. Why did the universe find it necessary to twist the knife in my back, to show me that damn screen, to give me the glimmer of hope? It wasn¡¯t realistic to think there was a chance. Every logical scenario pointed to Lance¡¯s victory. He had orchestrated the alliance to eliminate me, leaving my team exposed and leaderless. Then he had dismantled almost all of Gideon¡¯s team, piece by piece.
I needed to expect, to know, that the next scenes on the big screen would show Lance¡¯s team finishing off the remnants of my companions.Perhaps they wouldn¡¯t even need to go that far; the priests could call it. A technical knockout. Declare the round over, spare the audience the drawn-out conclusion that seemed inevitable. I tried to push the rising embers of excitement down, to stifle the irrational hope that threatened to flicker up from within. I had to calm myself. I had to accept the truth, prepare myself for the reality that was about to unfold. Anything else was folly.
My heart erupted with feeling as I watched Olaf and Zara do what they could. The odds were impossible, but still they fought on.
Leona stood away from them all, her head hanging. Still, with everything else I was thinking, I couldn''t stop wondering, why? Why had she done it?
The ground beneath me seemed to rock and tilt like a ship caught in a violent storm. My head pounded in rhythm with my heartbeat, and through the haze of pain, an unwanted memory drifted to the surface. The third real day of the contest. The tournament when I had revealed my CUT for the first time. That moment when I realized Lance and Gideon had conspired against me. I had been furious then, indignant at the collusion between them, but Lance had only laughed, mocking me for my complaint.
Was it mocking? Or had he been scorning my weakness for not exhausting every avenue to victory? That was what the city needed.
I could still see his pain as I watched Leona betray me. There were limits for him.
Lance had been denied time and time again. I may have spent these last days scraping to survive before I had found my feet. But Lance, too, had struggled. The blows to his psyche as he had victory snatched from him over and over. But he had persisted. And here he was, putting the last pieces together.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Lance had made it to this point not just because he was strong or fast, but because of his ingenuity, his willingness to do whatever was necessary. And wasn¡¯t that what the Sword of Boston needed to be?
Maybe I was the villain of his story.
Emilia stood like a statue. Her shield was embedded in the orb. She was completely defenceless.
The pack of wolves didn''t care about Emilia. They had more immediate prey. Gideon''s force was nearly deleted, my survivors were more pressing. But it was Emilia they stumbled upon first.
I imagined what I would have felt in Lance¡¯s position. Would I have acted the same way in Lance''s place, I wondered. Could I have struck down a defenseless opponent, someone who had done nothing to me? My heart said no, but my mind had already learned the truth: hesitation created openings, and in this contest, openings led to defeat. Perhaps Lance had learned that lesson better than me, for he didn¡¯t falter. He didn¡¯t pause for even a moment.
Without breaking stride, he swung his glowing blade with brutal efficiency. His CUT was illuminated with power, the sheen of a fully-charged attack, and it slammed into Emilia¡¯s defenseless body with the force of a hammer blow. The screen showed her crumpling form in vivid detail, caught at a distant angle. Her body was sent flying, propelled by the blow, slamming hard into the surface of the orb she had been harvesting from. She rebounded off it like a ragdoll, collapsing into the dirt, motionless. The moment was over as quickly as it began, Lance¡¯s team rounding the orb without a backward glance, focused entirely on their goal of eliminating the rest of the competition.
Lance''s group continued around the side of the orb, the scene returned to my brave, desperate, but hopeless teammates. Zara glowed as her suit pulled the Flows from the orb.
Olaf stood to her left, facing outward, vigilant, watchful.
Leona was just there. She knew she had essentially just killed herself. Olaf stared at her. His gaze seemed to suggest that he would do it if he didn''t have more pressing matters.
Then, I smiled, a little bitterly, as Lance stepped around the side of the orb. He stepped directly into Olaf''s path. It was petty of me, I know, but I would have at least this one moment of satisfaction. I would get to enjoy seeing Lance''s victory garnished with this little embarrassment. Olaf was utterly focused. Even as the sensation of movement began to emerge from the horizon of the orb, his shield pulsed with energy. Before he could have guessed who approached him, his form was surging forward.
The collision was terrific. The screen caught the telltale flicker of Lance flexing his SHIELD. He had gained that attribute then? My muddled mind was unsure, but this might have been the first time I''d seen him use it. His form lit up with SHIELD. SHIELD must have done something to lessen the blow, but that was hardly apparent. Olaf''s strike was cataclysmic, the force of the impact sent him rolling in the dust. The wide angle of the screen showed the rest of his team reacting, not surging forward, but steadying themselves, spreading out.
It all meant seconds, and that temptation to believe that there was hope continued to gnaw at me.
Chapter 100
Chapter 100
The math was simple.
There were four of them, and two of my team remaining. The extent to which the odds were stacked against my team was easy to see. They were down a member, me. They were missing easily their best member, me. I know how conceited it sounds to value myself so, but if I was being practical, if I was being purely analytical, then this was a simple fact. I might not have started out that way, but by this day I was the best. Stacking worse odds on top of worse odds, one of the two remaining members of my team was defenseless, drawing Flows from the orb. So, what this really boiled down to, was four against one and the ultimate question of whether they could buy enough time.
Leona stood listless, just a little ways off.
Lance came back to his feet quickly. I had to give him that, nothing seemed to faze him, never for long. His head snapped up, checking the banners, I could see he was doing his own math and doing it quickly. His decision was quick, his understanding comprehensive and instant. All he needed to do was ensure that the remaining members of my team did not get an opportunity to return 3 or more Flows to our base. That was it. I couldn¡¯t stop myself from imagining what it must feel like in his head at that moment. Once again, he was inches from finishing the Choosing. In another few minutes, it could be all over, he could have the suit claimed for himself, secure the ecstasy of it, the glory, the triumph.
He was efficient, he made his decision quickly. The screen showed him waving at the other members of his team. Instantly Theo and Arthur peeled off and skirted back around the orb, racing to tackle Zara from the other side. He remained against Olaf, with Lauren at his side. Lauren¡¯s Arrow suit would have type advantage over Olaf.
It was impossible to calculate how many Flows Zara might have absorbed at this point. I had a vague sense of how quickly she could draw the Flows into her suit, but the perspective on the screen kept changing. The display was only showing the highlights of the action; time was impossible to figure. She could have been attached to the orb for 30 seconds at this point or several minutes. My heart pounded in my chest. The din of the crowd continued their frenzy of cheering as I lay there, staring at the screen, watching my dreams fall apart and blow away. Everything was happening fast on the replay, and I feared that Zara had been drawing Flows for far less time than I imagined. Lance had done everything correctly, save for one element. His obsession with status had led to poor assumptions. He had selected his teammates almost entirely based on when they had exited the Choosing. He had assumed that that corresponded to a kind of ranking. With all the mistakes I had made that day, it was the one insight that I had succeeded with over him. I had taken Zara as my Axe and Olaf as my Shield.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Even as I watched Lauren surge towards Olaf, there was a bitter satisfaction in me. She had the type advantage, that was perfectly clear. As she struck his raised shield, he staggered back, the force of her impact multiplied by the mysterious type advantage interactions of the suit fields. But he held firm, his own affinity for the suit bolstering him. I doubted Arthur would have stood up so well, or Emilia. Lance let Lauren lead the assault, absorbing Olaf''s attention. Lance tried to circle him, but Olaf impressed me. He angled himself against the wall of the orb, using that to block angles of attack, deflecting Lauren''s impacts while stepping and turning as needed to keep Lance from reaching Zara.
To this day, it is honestly a performance that I recall when I need to dig deep and drive through a challenge. Olaf had been the first to exit the Choosing. There was a mark of scorn on him in the community; his peers would always see him as the first to fail. But at that moment, with everything to gain for his family, he stood strong. The way his body jerked and flailed revealed the pain he was receiving from the jarring impacts of Lauren''s relentless assault and from the occasional nips of Lance''s CUT that penetrated his defenses. But he stood, completely unwavering. It seemed as though he would stand there like an oak, not falling until every piece of him had been chipped away.
It was strange to be lying there, knowing that it was already over, but it was the only thing I could focus on. Olaf stood so strong, despite the overwhelming opposition, that I honestly wondered if he could keep Zara on her feet long enough for her to gather what she needed. I was foolish enough to let the hope bubble up in me again, to think that maybe I had a chance. Whatever Olaf did, there was nothing to stop the two approaching around the other side of the Orb.
Zara stood resolute, her axe buried in the Orb. She had to know the danger that approached.
I remembered the awful moment when she had thrown herself over the pit. The complete defeat, the way she cast her body out into space with the near certainty that the result would be defeat, that the probability of dying was far greater than the probability of succeeding. There were pressures on Zara, she had muttered about her family''s financial woes. On that day it had been the suit she was trying to claim, however hopeless, in the vaguest hope of resurrecting her struggling noble house.
And a doubt niggled at me. From what this tale has told of my character so far, you might find this doubt unfounded. But, as you will see, my later actions color my decisions sufficiently to make me wonder.
Did I pick her in part because of her desperation? Did I take her onto my team because I knew the pressure she felt? Because I knew how that could be used to drive her to self-destruction in the name of my benefit? I tried to believe it was because I saw her as having a natural affinity for the Axe. But I wonder.
Was I truly that much of a bastard?
Chapter 101
Chapter 101
Arthur hadn''t seen Leona grapple me!
To him, she was another member of my team!
He surged at her as he rounded the corner. And, for all her zombie-like immobility, she reacted. Theo gestured for him to stop, but the attack had triggered something in Leona. I wonder if her mind was with her at all as she flailed those bladed claws at them both.
They had won, no matter what happened now. Even if Zara did somehow manage to return enough Flows to our base to get me to the next round, Lance''s team would have no difficulty gathering what they needed to breach the 50 points they needed. Gideon''s team was eliminated. Lance''s had no motivation. Olaf and Zara were driven. Lance screamed, I couldn''t hear his words, but it was easy to imagine. He was trying to drive his teammates to push harder, fight harder, but they waned. Olaf was willing to take the punishment, and more than willing to deal out much worse. Lauren, Theo, and Arthur had little appetite to be hurt, crippled, or killed in these fading moments.
It was with dispassion and a settling sense of finality that I watched Leona finally fall. Theo had come at her with his axe, and she had met him in kind with her glowing bladed hands. Her mouth gaped open in a mournful shattered scream as she fought. She fought with hysteria. As their glowing weapons clashed in a flash of light and a shower of sparks, Theo was the one left reeling back. I think Leona saw an opening there. I''m not sure what she was thinking, what awareness she had. Maybe she believed that she could put Theo down as he staggered from her, leaving her with one less opponent to stand against. Maybe she was just a crazed machine exorcizing her demons through violence.
But Arthur had a similar thought. He might have had no appetite to risk himself, but as Leona lunged at Theo, moving further from the protective wall of the orb, Arthur moved in. Putting her down in this vulnerable moment would only simplify his remaining moments; it was the safest thing he could do. He hit her blindside with his Shield, the energy ballooning out in a wave. Leona had no SHIELD attribute, and the impact ripped her from her trajectory toward Theo and tossed her against the orb. She bounced off it. The replay slowed, revelling in the violence of the moment. Even the crowd that was incessantly shrieking around me gasped again at the replay. Leona''s body curled as it bounced from the wall of the orb, turning in on itself like a dying beetle. Arthur could have left her to tumble to the ground then, but instinct, or meanness, took hold, and he hit her again as her form flew back toward him. She rolled in the dirt, totally inert, her limbs splaying and tangling.
Zara was completely exposed on their side now.
It took too many moments for a suit to detach itself from an orb for her to be able to escape. I think maybe Zara had been watching Leona''s defeat unfold, and perhaps she had started to pull free from the orb, but there simply wasn¡¯t enough time. For Arthur and Theo, this whole ordeal could be brought to a prompt stop by putting her down, and they moved in without hesitation. Olaf, his back to what was happening, seemed to react with a sixth sense. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
I''ve watched that replay countless times in the years since, studying it for clues to what drove him in that moment.
I believe Olaf reacted to Lance. Lance had seen what was happening beyond Olaf¡ªhe had seen Leona fall, seen Zara starting to pull free of the orb. Lance grew urgent in his movements. Everything was playing into his hands, but victory had slipped through his fingers too many times before. He stepped past Olaf, exposing himself to what could have been a painful strike from my Shield champion. But to Lance, it would be worth the risk if he could put Zara down, or at least interrupt her.
Olaf, Oracle bless him, didn¡¯t take the bait. He didn¡¯t seize the easy target of Lance''s exposed side; instead, he understood the true threat, and he turned away from Lance, his instincts screaming that something worse was happening. He saw that Theo and Arthur were nearly upon Zara.
The shield of a Shield suit is a massive thing, a slab of defense that would be cumbersome if not for the immense strength granted by the suit itself. Griidsuits took different shapes and forms over time, molded to the nuances of their wearer. Some Swords bore two-handed greatswords, others had delicate sabres. Olaf''s shield was still unadapted, having only bonded to him that very day, but what he did next marked him as being just as gifted for the Shield suit as he was unsuited for the Sword.
In that instant, he felt what he needed to do. The action was too fast and fluid for it to be anything but instinct.
Olaf threw his shield. Every fiber of strength and power that flowed through his immense suit directed itself through the motion, and he sent the shield, already blossoming with the light of a pulse, streaking past Zara and toward the other two. The flight of the weapon was utterly flat and so incredibly fast. Theo and Arthur were bunched close, having forced themselves against each other in their eagerness to reach Zara, and the wall of the orb had corralled them. The shield struck Arthur on his shoulder with its left corner, surprising him, the kinetic force spinning him on a vertical axis and tossing his body aside. It barely deflected in course, meeting Theo in his gut, picking him up with the force of its punch and carrying him away. He hit the ground hard, skidding on the dusty floor on his backside. He came to rest in a sitting position, doubled over, leaning on the huge shield that still rested in his lap.
Zara was turning, her axe now free of the surface of the orb, but as she turned, all that faced her was Lance, his sword crackling as energy surged through it, all of his attention on her¡ªon ending this, on finally doing away with me, my challenge, and any question of his right to be Sword.
Beneath the half helm, Zara''s face contorted in shock. She had no route out, Lance was before her, Lauren blocked her right side. Already Arthur was finding his footing again, planting his feet and turning to face her. Directly before her Lance¡¯s sword was erupting with energy as he raised it. There was more going into that assault than needed. It was an outpouring of all his frustration. Every scrape and ding on his ego was emerging as he moved towards her, his sword blazing as he held it above his head. My own breath caught in my chest as I watched the attack with dread. The blow that was coming would seal the Choosing.
Chapter 102
Chapter 102
We all want to be the heroes of our own stories. That''s a clich¨¦d line I''ve heard over and over again. Another, based on some quote that never died and came from The Before, goes something like, "If you live long enough, you''ll live to see yourself becoming the villain of your own story." As I''ve written this tale for you, I''ve tried to be honest. I hope, in my heart of hearts, that by the time the whole thing is done, you will see me as the hero of this story. But the truth is, I don''t feel that way, and I desperately feel that you won''t either.
Even in these early days, during The Choosing, how much of a hero had I been? Okay, I''d stood against Lance, and compared with him, who isn''t likable? I can practically see you nodding away at that one. But the reality is that our story so far has shown one truly heroic act: Katya, giving up her chance to win The Choosing, possibly even risking death, diving down the tower to save Lauren after she had been cast into space by none other than... me...
The second heroic moment of the story was about to unfold. I''ve watched this scene a hundred times since it happened¡ªprobably more. I''ve watched true valor, true heroism. Zara was about to be beaten; we were all about to be beaten. She was very possibly facing an outcome that would mean death or crippling injury. My memory shows me the sword dropping toward her, and you know, of course you know, that salvation is coming. I should remember that sword dropping with excitement because I know exactly what happens. But I don¡¯t. That moment only shames me.
Olaf was weaponless, having cast his shield at the other two. The only weapon he had left was his body¡ªand his virtue. As Lance¡¯s sword descended, glowing hot with the kind of power only I could have matched, Olaf moved into the frame. His suit was bigger and sturdier than Zara''s, but he was defenseless. He had no SHIELD attribute, no weapon to fend off the strike. But he didn¡¯t falter. He didn¡¯t pause. He took the blow with his body.
The force of Lance¡¯s sword was overwhelming, the sheer power behind it amplified by the deadly energy of his level 3 CUT. The blade smashed into Olaf with a visible crunch. The impact was horrific. There was an explosion of force, an impact that distorted the entire shape of Olaf¡¯s armor.. It seemed as if every bone in Olaf¡¯s body shattered at once. His armor buckled under the pressure as if it were tin, warping and denting inward in a way that should have been impossible.
Olaf was flung backward as though struck by a catapult. His massive form slammed into the dirt with a bone-rattling thud. The ground shook beneath him as his body skidded across the arena floor, plowing through the dust and dirt like a ragdoll thrown aside by a careless child. He lay there, unmoving, his suit bent and twisted unnaturally, steam hissing from ruptured joints, and the once-mighty figure reduced to a heap of broken armor.
Zara wasted no time. Before Lance had even fully processed the foolishness that he had just witnessed, Zara was moving. She smashed him with her axe as she moved. It wasn''t a solid blow, her feet weren''t planted, but her axe had advantage over the sword and he landed on his ass, dazed.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The camera showed Lance''s mouth moving, barking orders. It was Lauren he was screaming at. Of course, Lauren was his Arrow¡ªher suit could move faster than Zara''s. The camera zoomed out, showing an aerial view:
Zara streaking away from the orb and her opponents. The necessity of putting distance between them and her forced her to move out into open space, not directly towards our base. Zara was clearly thinking about Lauren pursuing her. She moved away from the orb in a roundabout route to get to our base, with Lauren blazing in pursuit. Oracle only knew if she carried enough Flows to get us past the 50-point margin. And, not only did she need to get back to base, but she also needed enough time to disgorge her Flows into the receptacle.
But I have two observations I can make. The first is Lance''s mistake. It was clear that Olaf''s move had unsettled him, Zara''s blow disorientated him. I can only speculate that he was perturbed by Olaf''s sacrifice because he perceived it as loyalty to me. He was unnerved by seeing one of the noble class do something so self-destructive to benefit an upstart like me. Maybe that was it, but I doubt it greatly. Olaf was ensuring his family earned a Flow¡ªa tremendous prize. He was protecting Zara from a terrible, possibly lethal injury. Whatever motivated Lance, it led to the wrong decision.
Because of Zara''s path, there was probably time for Lance to move himself and his teammates to our base, get there before her, block her path, and in doing so, he would have ensured the end of The Choosing. If he had taken that path, it would all have been over that day. Instead, Lance raced to the nearest high point and started blasting at Zara with BEAM. That might have worked¡ªeven a glancing blow would have been enough to slow her enough for the pursuing Arrow to reach her. But it wasn''t the sure victory he could have had.
The second observation is one that tickles at my heart a little. Lauren was not a natural Arrow. Lance had chosen her based on her ranking in The Choosing. That, and her social rank. She was not well suited to the class.
But despite that, I can''t help but wonder about how Zara kept her lead on her. Even with Lauren seemingly cutting across the curve of Zara''s movement, attempting to cut her off, she seemed to move slower than her quarry. It is my speculation, to this day, that Lauren essentially allowed Zara to get away from her...
Whatever the reason, I lay there, my head swimming, my stomach rebelling, watching the screen. As I stared, my head throbbing as though it was the victim of a case of mistaken identity with a blacksmith''s anvil, I held my breath.
I had started watching this display in the total belief that my time in The Choosing was over. I had been playing with utter madness in the back of my mind as I watched. I couldn''t let go of the ecstasy of the suit. I couldn''t relinquish this. Even if it meant only having one of the half-suits that we use in the tournament, even if it meant only having some short weeks, months, or hopeful years with the suit, I had been contemplating going rogue.
But the scene that played out on the screen gave me a strange hope. I had selected well; I had chosen the right champions. Olaf had exceeded every expectation. Zara had punched far beyond her class and even now she raced an Arrow
My head still spun, but my senses had started to return to me. I couldn''t stop my eyes from fixating on the screen, but my peripheral vision started to clear, and I began to become aware of the other figures moving around me.
Chapter 103
Chapter 103
Zara darted across the field, her legs a blur as she dodged the beams that Lance unleashed. Lauren, racing after her couldn''t seem to gain ground. Lance cursed under his breath, his frustration palpable as Leona closed the distance to our base.
Meanwhile, Theo and Arthur finally changed course, abandoning the orb and moving directly toward our base, intent on cutting her off. My breath quickened, the pounding in my head fading into the background as I watched with bated breath. All my focus was on Zara. She was so close. So damned close.
She reached the base ahead of everyone, her form almost crashing into the receptacle orb in her desperation. The camera caught the moment she planted her axe blade into its surface, her body glowing as the light pulsed around her. She was disgorging the Flows into the receptacle. Relief swelled in my chest. There was no sign of Lauren anywhere near her. For a brief, miraculous moment, I thought we might have done it.
But then¡ªhorror. Theo and Arthur burst into view, charging toward her. I couldn¡¯t even blink before Theo¡¯s axe flashed with deadly kinetic energy, a blur of glowing power arcing toward Zara. The impact hit her with a sickening force, sending her flying backward, her body crashing into the ground like a ragdoll.
My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the roars of the crowd. I looked around, frantic, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. Figures were coming into focus now, blurry forms sharpening as my vision adjusted. One stood sagging, an arm raised as if in victory. A second sat on the ground, nursing a wound, their head lowered. They stood near me, their presence unfamiliar, but ominous.
Beyond them, four more figures loomed on the edge of the field, basking in the crowd''s adulation. Three had their arms raised, gesturing in triumph. The fourth stood with arms folded, silent, but their gaze was fixed on me. Watching. Waiting.
My mind raced. Had Zara had enough time? Had she managed to transfer the Flows into the receptacle before Theo struck her down? I twisted my head, every movement sending sharp, resonating pain through my skull and neck, as I forced myself to turn toward our base.
My vision swam, nausea rising within me like a wave of sickness that pressed painfully against my chest. My head throbbed, a deep, paralyzing nausea that made me feel as though I would collapse right there on the field. But I kept going, forcing myself to look up, forcing myself to focus through the haze. Slowly, excruciatingly, the banners above the base came into view.
51
Zara had done it. She had managed to put four more Flows into the receptacle before Theo had put her down.
We¡¯d made it.
I tried again to rise. I rolled over, my face back in the dirt, and got my elbows under me. The world spun worse than the first time, and I pressed into the dirt with my hands. I tried to push the world away from me, shoving the whole planet. The force of the action lifted me¡ªthe suit was still strong, it was my mind that was suffering. I felt my body lift up and away from the ground, but the storm of winds hit me again, my dizziness causing me to tremble, to struggle to know which way was up and which way was down. I swayed to one side, tried to correct and center myself over my arms, but the overcorrection tipped me past my balance point on the other side, and I collided once again with the planet I was trying to escape.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
My face in the dirt, my breath sending little vortexes of dust spinning away from me, I gathered my strength to rise again. We had done it. I wanted to join them. It was just me and Lance left now, and I could take him¡ªit wouldn''t even be hard.
I needed to go to them. I knew they had won a Flow for each of their houses, I knew that had been their driving motivation, but the swell of happiness and gratitude and relief that surged in me propelled me to join them. Then a hand was on my back, holding me there. I rolled over, vulnerable and weak, and looked up into Olaf''s face. He had taken his helmet off, discarded it somewhere. His broad face looked down at me, and I couldn''t read his expression.
He said, "You better stay there."
I said, "I want¡ª"
He said, "You''re concussed, your brain might be bleeding. You stay right there until the medics get over here and check you out. This won''t have done any good if you die and Lance gets the suit by default."
I coughed a little, could feel my cheeks were wet. Olaf''s eyes were glassy too. He fixed me with his stare and said, "I didn''t do it for you."
I said, "I know."
I tried to raise myself again, but again his hand pushed me back. He said, "Hey, for now at least, I''m your Shield. A Shield protects the Sword, so I''m gonna save you from yourself and keep you right where you are."
There was a moment between us. He hated me¡ªI¡¯d humiliated him, cheated him even, when I knocked him out of the tournament. But we''d been through something just now. We¡¯d won something for each of us by working together. After a moment, he turned his eyes from me and said, "Thank you. That Flow is going to mean a lot to us."
I said, "Thank you, Olaf. I meant what I said before, if I didn''t know they''d underestimate you, I''d have taken you with my first pick. You''d have made a great Shield."
Olaf looked bitter. I could see the longing. Could it be that he was one of those, like me, who craved the suit, who wasn''t sickened or unnerved by the inputs and "extra mental muscles"? Had I robbed him of that ecstasy?
Beyond him, I could see the priests moving among the contestants again, removing their suits. For almost all of them, it would be the last time they would ever wear a suit, but for most of them, this seemed a relief. I could see the four members of the other victorious team standing in a cluster, three of them ecstatic with their prize. But as the suit melted from Lance, I could see the darkness of his expression. He was staring at me with a dark, raw hatred. He knew he couldn''t compete with me. This had been his last chance; today, with the help of Gideon, he could have beaten me. Our next contest would be just me and him, and he knew it was over. I could feel his hatred spearing across the distance between us.
I can''t say it didn''t unnerve me, but I also can''t say that it didn''t thrill me. At last, I would have a chance to humiliate him, to put him in his place. Mario stepped up to us, his attendant going to Gideon. As the suit melted from Gideon, I could see his expression. It was utter despondency, like the greatest drug in the world had been given to him to sample, and now it was being taken away forever. I felt a pang of guilt; I had done that to him.
Mario leaned over me, silent for a change, not making eye contact. He reached out to remove the suit from me, and I had a realization. This would be the last time that anyone would ever take the suit from me. After today, I would win the Sword suit, become a Griidlord, and then nobody would ever take my suit away from me again.
At the edge of the arena I saw Leona being taken away by armed guards, flanked by dark eyed priests.
Chapter 104
Chapter 104
The ceremony that followed exists in my memory as a blurred cascade of sounds and frequently indistinct images. My head ached; I felt drunk, but without the happy feelings. All of my senses seemed to disagree with each other, and my mind simply couldn''t hold all the information it was being presented with. I remember one of the medics checking me out, diagnosing me with a severe concussion¡ªto nobody''s shock¡ªand then just leaving me to my business. Maybe the medic was one of those who would just as happily have seen me die of a brain bleed rather than become the new Sword of Boston. Maybe he had better things to be doing. Whatever the case, once I had been checked out and deemed not to have severed my spine or experienced some other category of debilitating injury, Olaf helped me to my feet.
I remember standing with my two teammates, aware of them standing in line with me. Olaf stood shoulder to shoulder with me, his own battered form acting as a bulwark to help me keep my feet while the crowd filled our ears with unending ecstatic cheering. He had told me he didn''t like me, but this was a kindness he didn''t owe me. It does stand out in my memory that I can remember the sense of camaraderie I felt with these teammates. We had been united only for the briefest time, a few hours. Most of our time in each other''s lives had been as adversaries. But that feeling of companionship, artificial though it may have been, still holds a permanent place in my heart.
Don''t fail to remember, please, that I spent my life becoming the machine that my father intended me to be, a tool to help him gain nobility. My life had been lived separate from others my age; I had almost never participated in any group activities, never been part of a team. But as I stood there, trying to support myself on legs that threatened to fold at any minute, my shoulder finding strength in Olaf''s solid form, I found myself dreaming. This was what it would be like to be a Griidlord. To be part of a unit, to win victory together, to support each other. I found I had a taste for it. After my insatiable need to be back in the suit, I think this would go on to become another motivating factor in my pursuit of victory. I wanted to have teammates. I wanted more of this. Of course, I couldn''t have known then that there was such a wide chasm between idealized notions and reality.
I noticed Mario was speaking. I noticed in the way one does when one awakes from a daydream mid-lesson. He was speaking, and I felt he had been for some time. I turned my head, my brain swimming at the adjustment, and tried to focus on him. His voice droned on, as it did when he had a large audience. His face was the embodiment of importance, and this was, in some ways, the most important he would ever be¡ªspeaking on behalf of the priesthood during the tournament, holding the attention of the masses. I looked away, down toward the ground. I allowed my eyes to become unfocused, dedicating what little cognitive function I had to the task of listening.
His voice eventually transformed from a garbled, muffled presence into distinct words as I brought my drunken mind to bear on listening to him. "And with that, there could be none more worthy of bringing a Flow to each of their houses. These valiant young people, deemed unworthy of becoming The Sword of Boston by their efforts, still returned and performed exquisitely for us and for their city. It was their sacrifices today that will help the Oracle find our newest Griidlord, find our future and our hope. How could they deserve anything less than such a reward? Please, proud and worthy citizens, a cheer for those who competed today for others."This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
He raised his hands with the power of one who expected results. The crowd did respond¡ªthere was a surge in volume¡ªbut it was somewhat muted, somehow forced. It wasn''t hard to imagine why. A Flow was a prize that could be traded for enough wealth to feed many of these onlookers for their entire lives. True, the previously eliminated had sacrificed, had put themselves in great danger. But for a crowd composed largely of the poor and needy, it was a bitter pill to watch these rich children earn such a prize.
I looked back up, willing to brave the nausea and dizziness that the move would exact on me. I needed to see Mario''s face. He did a good job of continuing with his grin and pride. It was the face of one who expected to be adored, who felt that all this attention was simply his due. But a mean satisfaction in me flared as I saw the corners of his lips twitch downward. He could see exactly what a lackluster effect his words had had on the crowd.
He waited a moment longer, then continued, "And now, at last, after many trials, after many stunning performances, we finally arrive at the waning days of The Choosing. The Oracle has deemed it so, our next Sword will be Lance or Tiberius. In two days'' time, only one will remain standing before you, and you will know who your newest champion will be!"
The crowd responded more vigorously to that. Even in my feeble state, I couldn''t prevent myself from picking out shouts for the people''s champion or a chant that had started somewhere in the arena that simply repeated my name over and over.
"Tiberius! Tiberius! Tiberius!"
I don''t need to go on forever about how that made me feel, but to put it concisely, I had never felt so wanted or valued.
Then my slippery thoughts managed to assemble themselves correctly for a moment. Had he said, "two days"? But wasn''t this it? Would I not face Lance tomorrow and end this whole thing? Even as I thought as much, my knees threatened to spill me back to the earth, and I felt the rising lurch of my stomach. I wanted to vomit again. I was so dizzy. Mario went on, "It is tradition in our city to feast on the penultimate day of The Choosing, and thus, though we all hunger to see this last contest, tomorrow will not see us back in the arena." The crowd responded well to this as well, cheering and whooping. If I tortured my aching head enough to look, I could see tankards of ale sloshing in the hands of drunken spectators.
A day off? It seemed so unlikely. The powers that controlled the city could surely see what a sorry state I was in, had to know that rushing me back into the arena with Lance was their best chance to see me fail. Part of me, most of me in fact, was immensely relieved to have a chance to get my brain to rotate back the right way inside my skull, but it puzzled me.
Mario kept roaring at the crowd, "Tomorrow is a day of relief for this city, a day to be merry, to eat and drink, and wager, to imagine what the future might hold. Tomorrow is a day of peace within the walls of this stadium; no swords will clash here, the only disruption will be the construction of the final gauntlet our prospects must walk through. Tomorrow is a day for us to marvel at what the Oracle has given us, a chance to wonder, and a certainty that the best hope for all our futures will surely emerge to lead our Griidlords in the campaign season."
Chapter 105
Chapter 105
Olaf stayed with me. Read into that what you will. Either the rumors of his hatred for me were vastly exaggerated, or his sense of honor and decency was titanically overpowering. Whatever the case, he made no move to exit the arena more swiftly than I could. It was the nature of the event that we had to wait anyway. The thousands in the audience would filter out first. It was a security measure if nothing else. The stands had been filled with drunken common folk, people who were elated beyond measure by what would probably be the greatest event in any of their lives. And many of the people in that crowd had won or lost tidy sums in wagers; some might be burning with rage and hatred for the contestants that had spoiled their bets.
So it was that we waited in chambers off the main floor for the crowd to exit and disperse. And while we waited, Olaf stayed near me, a strong arm ready to prop me up each time my body decided that its overriding goal in life was to hit the floor. I looked at him. My head was clearing somewhat, even if it was a hardly composed mess. His face was stoic; he held an expression of detached professionalism. But beneath it, I could tell he was bubbling with excitement. I found that my mouth was working without the consent of my brain. I said, "That Flow means a lot to you, Olaf? You earned it, Oracle knows you earned it. I''d be finished without what you did."
Olaf maintained his distant stare, but his eyes twinkled. He said, "A whole Flow will transform my house''s finances."
I said, "And you were the one to bring it to them."
His face snapped towards me then, the insight triggering something in him. He said, "It''s... well, it''s good to do something useful..."
I said, "To redeem yourself."
His eyes were so confused, so full of conflicting emotions. He said, "It was hard to be the first one ejected from the contest, the least worthy."
I said, "You weren''t the least worthy. Just being in the contest meant you were one of the best 12 prospects in the entire territory... and the way you went out... I..."
He looked at the ground. I wobbled slightly, and he reached an arm out to steady me without needing to look up. He spoke, his eyes fixed on the ground, pointedly aimed away from me, "It''s not your fault. It was wrong of me to paint you like that. When it happened, I was outraged. You were so useless, Tiberius. Forgive me for saying so, but you were beyond incapable. Everyone could see it. That was in the early days when there was no crowd, but when some nobles were allowed to attend. My father was there that day. My father had watched you waddle around helplessly in the suit. Then he had to watch me blown out of the ring."
I said, "You couldn''t have expected me to use BEAM. Nobody could have expected that."
He nodded softly and slowly, still staring away. He said, "No, but that meant little for me at the time. At the time, the simple facts were that I was the first to be ejected from The Choosing, the least relevant of anyone who took part, and I was ejected by you, hands down the least capable of all of us."The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
I smirked slightly and said, "Aw... shucks..."
Olaf allowed his eyes to flick back up to mine for a moment. When I met his stare, I could see the wetness there. I could feel my own eyes were the same, glistening with emotions. I knew what it was like; my whole life had been one long fruitless adventure to win my father''s approval.
Olaf said, "At the time, it felt like a dirty trick, as though you''d robbed me of the chance to compete for the prize because surely, BEAM or no, you couldn''t possibly survive another round. But you did, you stayed in there, just managed to avoid ejection during the hunt. Of course, at the time, I put that all down to the fact you were paired with Lauren. I... A man shouldn''t blame others for his failures, but you made it easy. You kept scraping past by the skin of your teeth, seeming hapless over and over, and it made me grow more and more bitter."
I said, "Are you still bitter?" Even as I said it, my knees gave way and I buckled forward. Olaf moved to catch me.
He was badly shaken from the blow Lance had delivered to him¡ªthe blow intended for Zara. But he kept me from falling just the same. Maybe it was his nature, maybe this affinity for types went deep into a person''s soul. Maybe he had made such a good Shield because he was a natural protector, a nurturer. But if that was true, did that mean I was a natural leader? It certainly didn''t feel so.
As he straightened me up, I asked him, "Are you still bitter?"
He paused. He wasn''t staring at the ground anymore, but he wasn''t meeting my gaze either. He said, "It got harder to be bitter at the end of the... was it the fourth day? In the arena, when Lance and Gideon teamed up on you and you just... you just revealed yourself."
I could still remember the feeling of that moment¡ªwhen I turned on the attributes I had carefully hidden, the skills I had developed while I had been alone in the woods, pretending to be lost. The moment I showed Lance I had CUT, the shock on his face, the feeling of victory.
Olaf said, "I couldn''t admit then that you were more than I''d given you credit for, but it started to shift for me then. You handled both of them, you shocked the city with what you could suddenly do. But, I''m man enough to admit it, I still hated you, still saw you as the one touched by luck and not skill or destiny. But after that, it got harder to hate you for knocking me out. You used the Footfield during the race, you nearly killed Lance and Gideon together on top of the tower. I guess what I''m saying is, it became obvious after a while that you were special. But even when that was staring at me, I couldn''t shake that first impression¡ªthat sense that you''d cheated me, that you were unworthy and I was."
I shifted a little, put my elbow on his shoulder to steady myself. I said, "There''s a lot of past tense there."
He cocked an eyebrow.
I said, "You keep talking about resenting and hating me in a way that suggests that maybe you don''t so much any more."
That made him uncomfortable. Olaf was certainly the stoic type. He might manage a soliloquy about his feelings¡ªsomething that was already half-formed and half-prepared¡ªbut having to actually express emotions as he experienced them, that was hard for a man like him.
I can''t say why I wanted him to tell me that it was okay. We had been in competition; it had been my job to beat him that day, his job to beat me. At the end of the contest, it had been me who had won the right to continue, no matter how unlikely that had been, no matter how unconventionally I had achieved it. But I burned to hear him say it, that he forgave me, or didn¡¯t hate me, or respected me. Why I cared, I couldn''t possibly imagine, but it was something I needed to hear.
Olaf opened his mouth to speak, and my heart decided to stop beating for a minute, as though it wouldn''t dare add a sound to the moment.
And then, unbidden, Lauren and Katya appeared.
Chapter 106
Chapter 106
There was a strange energy attached to the two as they bounced over to us. "Bouncing" is not a means of locomotion that I would generally describe either of them as employing. Lauren generally moved with that captivating grace, Katya with a simmering glide. But they interrupted Olaf''s thoughts with a strangely energetic entrance. Olaf immediately closed his mouth. Whatever personable moment he had been about to share, whether it had been about to be good or bad, it was gone. He was not about to let these two spectators observe him being vulnerable or bitter.
Katya was first to speak. She said, "So it looks like you will have your chance at winning your suit after all!"
Lauren said, "I''m happy for you, Tiberius. I could never have imagined this when we started The Choosing."
I looked at them, and I could feel a curious smile touching me. I was ecstatic that they had ventured forth, that there truly were no bad feelings from what I had done on the tower. I said, "You two seem excited. Lauren, I know you must be happy to be bringing a Flow back to your family, but, Katya, I don''t know what''s got you looking so bright."
Katya smiled, broad and full and without the usual shade of mystery. She said, "It''s an exciting day, Tiberius! I''m happy for Lauren''s prize, and I''m happy for you."
My heart vibrated a little at that. Was she going to resume her assumption that I would marry her if I won the suit? She had been joking, hadn''t she? Did I want her to be joking? By the Oracle, she was alluring. But she had joked, or maybe speculated, about our betrothal without ever shaking hands on anything. She watched me curiously as I obviously paused. Lauren smiled too, in a merciful way that I couldn''t understand.
Lauren said, "I think I''m just a little swept away by the news."
I said, "The news?"
Lauren said, "You haven''t heard?"
Olaf and I shook our heads. There had been enough news in the arena over the last hours that it was hard to imagine there being something of greater excitement that could draw our minds away. Olaf said, "News? You mean about the feasting tomorrow? I''ll enjoy it, but I doubt Tiberius will be doing much more than lying in bed and hoping his brain comes right before he faces Lance."
Lauren laughed, "No!" She looked at Katya and said, "They haven''t heard!"
Katya''s face brimmed with glee. She said, "Maybe we shouldn''t tell them, let them find out from the crowd."
I snapped my gaze from one of them to the other and back again. Olaf said, "Oracle''s sake! What''s the news?"This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Katya smiled thinly. Lauren stayed quiet as Katya teased it out. Slowly, seductively, she said, "There''s been a new rising."
I said, "A what? What are you talking about? My brain isn''t able for this, my skull is still upside down. Just tell us."
Lauren said, "Tell them, Katya."
Katya continued, reveling in the mystery she held. Slowly, seductively, she said, "A new Tower has risen."
I couldn''t find words to respond. Even the relatively impassive Olaf seemed lost for words. After a moment, it was he who spoke, "Wh- wh- where?"
Katya was positively gleeful. She said, "It''s said to be on the coast, south of Dallas. They''re calling it¡ªit''s supposed to be calling itself¡ªthe Houston Tower! Think about it, that''s the South Coast; this new Tower might become part of the Miami sphere! A new Tower is a vulnerable thing, a weak and growing city¡ªthey could benefit greatly from Mother''s protection. And Mother would get five new Griidlords to answer her call."
The dreamy way she said this reminded me that her heart still lay in the foreign southerly land. As much as she had come here to compete for a suit, or a suitor, the only reason she wasn''t still in Miami was because she was disinterested in the marginal roles available to her there.
I paused for a moment and said, "Would you go there, Katya? There''ll be a new Choosing there, five Choosings maybe! Are you thinking about trying to join the city?"
I spoke as though I was calm and rational, but my mind was abuzz. A new Tower! What did it mean? That would bring the total of known Towers to 32; a thirty-second state had just been born. It was madness to think that such a momentous event could be taking place at the other end of the continent while all here remained focused on the comparatively small task of deciding who would be the next to wear a Griid-suit.
As I speculated about Katya''s future, I saw her small face crease slightly, as though the suggestion was a new one to her. Lauren, beside her, seemed to grow oddly still as well. Surely Lauren wasn''t thinking of forsaking her lands and family to travel to Houston. No, she was in line to lead her house¡ªthat would be madness. What could cause her to have such a stunned reaction then?
My thoughts were filled with wonder as I processed this. The Oracle had seen fit to grant humanity a new Tower. It was a blessing and a curse to the land. It meant a new center with control over local Order and Entropy, a new refuge for those who wanted or needed access to Order. It took another part of the barren wilds and turned them into something useful for people. But at the same time, it meant another force competing for Flows during the Falling. It meant a new entity in the politics of our world. It meant five new Griidlords and the potential havoc they could bring on the balances of power that existed in the South, and the wider world.
And most of all, it raised the question of who would control this new city. Would it be a new power from Houston itself, or would a foreign entity like Miami reach in and create a new puppet vassal?
I thought of Father and what opportunities this victory would bring to him and his empire. Then I had a pang as I remembered that his whereabouts were unknown. I felt guilty for forgetting that there was, in fact, a question about his safety. I felt guiltier still for the confused way this question didn¡¯t cause me more pain or concern.
I thought of Harold as well. Had he heard the news? I could share it with him, maybe be the one to tell him. For that matter, where was he? He had told me that he attended the fights. Normally he would leave with the crowd and meet me at home...
But this day was different. I could barely walk. I had assumed Harold was in the crowd watching, would have seen how badly rattled I was after the fight, and that he would meet me after the contest with a carriage to return me home, or possibly to a hospital. But as I looked around, I could find him nowhere. Where the hell was he?
Chapter 107
Chapter 107
No, something was wrong. The thought struck me, piercing through my concussive haze. Harold should be here. There was no way he could have missed the blow I took, the way I went down. If he had been in the crowd, that is? But of course, he would be in the crowd. He had said he''d been attending. I think my reaction was compounded by my fear for my father. Already, one of the figures of paternity and security, however loosely that described my father, was shrouded in a dangerous mystery. The simple absence of Harold, arguably the only other loved one in my life, was enough to set my heart racing.
I looked around urgently. The crowd had dispersed, Lance was gone, and most of the other competitors had departed. Katya saw my suddenly darting eyes and said, "Tiberius, what''s wrong? Is it your head? Are you feeling okay?"
I mumbled, "I''m feeling fucking terrible, I can hardly see."
Lauren said, "What''s got you so worked up all of a sudden?"
I said, "I can''t see Harold!" The way it came out focused their attention¡ªthere was a strange, unearned fringe of panic to my voice.
Olaf said, "Who''s Harold, your servant?"
I nodded vigorously, the head movement setting off a violent headache. I staggered back, knees weak, and wretched emptily.
Lauren said, "You should go to the hospital, get checked out."
I rasped, between retches, "No, Harold should be here, why isn''t he here?"
Lauren huffed, then spoke reassuringly, "It is hard to find good help, Tiberius. Don''t worry, he''ll be along."
I tried to straighten myself, Olaf lending me his bruised shoulder to help me. I said, "No, you don''t understand, he should be here. I''m not annoyed at him; I''m worried." I nearly said, I love him. But I kept that from pouring out. What could have happened to him? In the city, he was safe. Why wasn''t he here? If something had happened to Father, I wouldn''t be able to bear losing Harold as well.
Katya leaned in, taking my gaze with hers, talking to me in that direct and captivating way she had. "Tiberius, listen, in less than 48 hours you will face Lance for the suit, the last round. You need to get yourself fixed. Lauren and I will take you to the hospital now."
I grabbed her shoulder, not thinking if I was stepping over a line of decency. Just as earnestly, I said, "No! I need to go home. I need to see if Harold is alright."
Katya held my stare for a moment; I could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. She exchanged a glance with Lauren. For a drunken moment, my haze led me to wonder when they had gotten quite so chummy. Then I barely perceived Lauren nodding at Katya.
Katya said, "Alright, we''ll take you home to see your servant, but once everything is alright, you must promise to let us take you to the hospital."
I gasped, "Fine! Fine!"
Lauren looked to Olaf. "Would you mind helping him outside to my carriage?"
Olaf said nothing, just nodded and started guiding me toward the exit. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
As we moved into the evening air, overcast but bright and warm enough, I wondered if I was making a fool of myself. So Harold hadn''t shown up? So what? He had never met me after a round; he had always been waiting at home for me. Maybe he had simply missed the extent of my injury and was waiting for me. Perhaps Father had returned, and Harold had needed to tend to him before the round ended.
I wondered how much the addling of my brain was affecting me. My cheeks burned a little, embarrassed to be making a show of myself in front of the two beauties and the stoic sentinel that was Olaf. But despite all of that, I couldn''t quench the anxiety in my gut.
Zeb appeared from the crowd. He made no move relieve Olaf of his burden. That wouldn''t be his way. He always preferred his hands free if possible.
Flatly, Zeb just said, "You''re not dead. Good."
As I wavered down the steps, only Olaf''s strength kept me from tumbling. I could see Lauren''s carriage waiting below. She and Katya moved ahead of us, and as we approached, I heard the coachman say, a little uncertainly, "Are we bringing guests back to the estate, m''lady?"
Lauren replied, "No, we''re going to take a little trip into town before we return home."
The coachman said, "Oh aye, to celebrate the flow? It was well earned, m''lady. Your parents will be proud."
Lauren hesitated, then said, "Whatever we do, our next stop will be a house call."
I grew a little faint after descending the steps. Maybe that medic had really been hoping I''d die of a brain bleed and leave Lance the Sword by default. Whatever the case, the next minutes were a garbled blur. I recall some confusion in the carriage about where my house was actually located. Lauren said, "Just head toward the Tower; I know he lives in the best part of town."
Katya chimed in, "I know his house."
The next minutes were an agony of pain and a fogging brain. My thoughts cycled round and round. I was being ridiculous, making a fool of myself in front of Lauren and Katya, who had somehow found the kindness in themselves to forgive me for how I treated them atop the tower. It took me a long moment to realize that Olaf was in the carriage as well. What was he doing here? Then the wheels began to slow, the individual bumps of the cobblestones becoming perceptible as the carriage came to a stop. I straightened up and made for the door.
"Not so fast!" Katya caught my arm, holding me steady while Olaf got out and helped me down the steps. He continued to brace me as I made my way down the path to the front door of my father''s house. Through the strange, drunken haze, I remembered how I always called it that¡ªalways thought of it that way. Not my house. Not my home. My father''s house.
A brief flicker of wonder pierced through the haze and worry: Would I have my own house soon? Would I be a Griid-lord and have wealth of my own? Then the door consumed my vision. I can still see my hand reaching out, the free hand, the one not draped over Olaf''s shoulder. I can see my fist striking the door. I remember the worry, the anxiety, the certainty that there would be no answer¡ªthat Harold had died at the hands of a cutthroat or had fallen down the stairs, or... or...
Then the door peeled open, revealing a familiar face on the other side. I had never felt such relief to see those deep wrinkles, those oddly warm eyes in that otherwise emotionless face. I breathed, "Harold!"
His eyes darted over me, then Olaf, taking in my state. His expression metamorphosed through several versions: concern, guilt, shame. But then it settled back into the expression that had first greeted me¡ªgrief.
He said, "Young master, what have I done? I neglected you!"
I waved him off, saying, "You''re alright."
He replied, "But of course I am."
I asked, "Why weren''t you there, after the round?"
His eyebrows furrowed with pain, and he looked at me silently for a moment. I saw a sheen in his eyes, and I understood. My chest lurched as I sensed what he was going to say. Using every ounce and reserve of dignity he had, he found a way to contain his distress. But even then, his lip quivered as he said, "It''s your father."
Chapter 108
Chapter 108
My world stopped for a moment. I looked into Harold''s eyes as he stood in the doorway, staring back at me. The deep creases in his wizened face seemed like canyons. That moment stretched, and I found my gaze traveling over his features. Had he really aged this much? When had he grown so old? It was a stupid thought, but my mind was in a distant place, my consciousness drowning in a sea of horror, anxiety, dread, and, well¡ concussion. I found myself saying, "Father? What''s¡ what''s happened?"
Then Harold said, "Blurgh ba durgedy flurgh."
I frowned. What the hell did he mean? I tried to say, "Harold..."
Instead, my mouth produced a sound somewhere between a burp and a sob. Olaf was speaking then, but his voice sounded like it was coming from underwater.
"Flowp wop! FLOWP WOP!" he said, his words making no sense to me.
Harold''s face grew panicked as he suddenly moved toward me. Why was he rushing? I needed him to answer my question. And why was he rising above me, toward the sky?
It took me that long to realize I was sinking to the ground, dropping like dead weight and slipping free from Olaf''s already injured grip. The ground didn¡¯t rush to meet me¡ªI slowly sank down to it, as if drowning. I had the faint awareness that I was slipping into unconsciousness for the second time that day. I was frustrated, riddled with anxiety. What had happened with Father? Had he returned? Was he dead? I needed to know.
But all the questions melted away as my vision tunneled into a corridor bordered by blackness. A steady ringing filled my ears, and my torso felt oddly cold in a sickening way. The last thing I saw were the faces of Harold and Olaf looking down at me, the hazy grey sky too bright above them.
***
Voices and beeping¡ªthese were the first sensory inputs that pierced my eternity of nothingness. The beeping was familiar. I understood it was some kind of medical monitoring device. As I drifted up from the depths of nonexistence, I discerned that I must be in a treatment center. The beeping was likely the sound of my heartbeat, or perhaps brain impulses. I was also aware of two voices, one male and one female. They were speaking quietly, but without much concern for being overheard.
The female voice said, "I heard Miami has sent envoys to them, to try and persuade them that they''re better off as part of their sphere, but Miami is also assembling an army to go over there and take things over."
The male voice, ever so slightly condescending, chuckled and said, "They won''t send an army, Martha. That would be too provocative. The next thing you know, the Empire in the East would send one to counteract them, and before you know it, the lords up here would have formed a coalition. Then we''d have three armies warring over one Tower, and that''s without worrying about the goddamned natives."
Martha''s voice, the female voice, carried a shudder as she said, "The Free Men?"Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
The male voice responded, "Going into the Badlands isn''t worth it. Let Dallas have influence over the new Tower, or let it choose its own path, but trying to take it by force would just mean a cataclysmic war that wouldn''t be worth it."
Martha''s voice drifted on, "But it''s a Tower, Jacob! A Tower! It''s a whole city, and five more Griidlords! That has to be worth a lot."
I felt my eyelids crack open, almost without my bidding. Everything was too bright. What I saw was a patchwork of squares with odd shiny borders. It was like a chessboard where all the squares were the same bland shade of off-white. After a moment, I understood that I was staring at ceiling tiles. Ceiling tiles were not employed in many buildings of that era, which meant I was in the main hospital¡ªthe good one, the one for those who could afford not to bleed to death from brain injuries.
Jacob''s voice came back, all too knowing, all too certain. "It will take years for that place to be a city worth knowing. Right now, what you''re talking about is a Tower, and, alright, that''s a grand prize, but what''s all around it? Barren plains? How long will it take for this ''Houston'' to become a city worth anything?"
Martha''s voice returned, slightly scolding, "Jacob! What do you know about the Badlands? Honestly, the way you''re talking, I''d swear you''d been there."
Jacob''s voice stuttered, defensive, "I''ve read about it, I''ve spoken to a Wildknight from the Badlands!"
Martha''s voice deepened with scorn as she said, "A Wildknight? Really?"
Jacob began a stuttering reply, but Martha cut him off. "Oh, he''s awake!"
A face filled my vision¡ªnot exactly a face, more like a hazy, unfocused suggestion of one. The image above me was vaguely the outline of a human skull, haloed by short, fuzzy grey hair.
Martha wore the tunic of a doctor. I recognized the style. I was indeed at the finest clinic in the city, deep in the heart of the metropolis where Order levels were high, the rarest tech functioned well, and pockets needed to be deep.
I stammered, "Am I... will I..." Martha reached down and touched a finger to my lips. "Shhh," she said, "you''ll be just fine. What you need is to rest for a while."
She turned her head suddenly and snapped, "Jacob! What in the name of the Oracle are you doing?"
Jacob was outside my field of view, but I heard a door clicking. His voice was apologetic, "I was instructed to inform him if the lad woke."
Martha''s gentle features contracted in a brief snarl, but the vicious visage quickly faded to a stern frown. She said, "Jacob, this young man needs rest. No doubt he''ll have to be up much sooner than we''d like to try and become a Griidlord. That could have waited."
Jacob''s head and shoulders passed my line of sight. He was young and wore the tunic of a nurse. He said, "The man is head of household to the wealthiest man in the city. You think I was going to ignore him?"
Martha rolled her eyes and said, "He''ll probably burst right i¡ª" She was cut off as the door opened, and immediately I heard Harold''s voice.
He said, "My young master is awake?"
Martha replied, "He is, but he''s disoriented. The process we employed to set him right will leave him terribly fatigued. He can''t be¡ª" But Harold''s voice cut her off again. He may have been placid in the company of his employers, but Harold had run a household for a long time. And, in his own way, he had real standing in the city. He was my father''s friend and agent.
He said, "I''m afraid it can''t possibly wait. I have substantial matters that need to be discussed, and I need his approval to take a course of action."
Even in my confused state, it quickly dawned on me what that implied. If he needed my approval to take a course of action, that meant...
I was his nominal employer now.
Chapter 109
Chapter 109
There was some fumbling around for a minute or two. The doctor didn¡¯t protest or try to block Harold from talking to me. She could see that it was inevitable; he needed to speak with me. She knew I was part of the Choosing, understood my father¡¯s wealth, and recognized the power in the room. Before she and Jacob left, she said, ¡°If you can, try to be brief with him. The device we use here to treat brain injuries is one of the best in the known world, a precious relic from before The Fall. Its healing powers for brain injuries are truly miraculous, and this young man can be expected to recover quickly. For all of that, the notion of stepping into the arena in less than two days¡¯ time is pushing the limits of what this miracle can do. The more peace and rest he can have in the interim will be greatly to his benefit.¡±
Harold was firm but polite. He said, ¡°My young master¡¯s best interests are my best interests. I wouldn¡¯t be here if it wasn¡¯t absolutely necessary. I will do my best to be brief.¡± Martha nodded, gathered some implements into a pouch, and moved to leave. She paused at the door, as if to add something¡ªanother caution. I shifted in the bed to see her. My head felt woozy, but the major pain and confusion seemed to have passed. The woman opened her mouth to speak but closed it again, met my eyes, and gave me a faint but kind smile. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut, and the only sounds in the room were my breathing, Harold¡¯s, and the faint beeping of a monitor.
The silence stretched between us for an odd moment. Harold seemed unsure how to proceed, which was entirely unlike him.
I said, ¡°What of Father?¡±
Harold winced. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ve made a mistake. You need to rest. None of this will do you any good.¡±
I said, ¡°Do you think I¡¯ll rest when it¡¯s clear something terrible has happened? I¡¯ll rest no easier with uncertainty than I will knowing he¡¯s dead.¡±
Harold¡¯s eyebrows fluttered involuntarily at my words. He came closer and stood by the bed. I wished he¡¯d sit down, but that would have been too much for his reserve.
I said, my voice cracking slightly, ¡°Tell me.¡±
Harold took a deep breath. ¡°A courier arrived while you were in the arena, carrying a report. It was vital enough that he came to find me in the stands¡¡±
I felt emotion rising in me and pushed it down. I tried to remind myself what was important now¡ªmaking the suit my own. Father had made his own bed.
Harold continued, ¡°The Entropy storm that brought the Horde to Dodge City swept out into the wilds. It¡¯s a big space out there, with long stretches of wilds and few villages. When your father went to attend to recovery, it was assumed the storm had dissipated or passed far on, but that wasn¡¯t the case.¡±
I listened, holding my breath, imagining what Harold would say next.
¡°It seems the storm turned back after some days. We can¡¯t know for sure it was the same storm¡ªit could have been a newly formed event¡ªbut there¡¯s reason to believe¡¡±
I interrupted, ¡°Because when it came back, it was still bearing the Horde.¡±Stolen story; please report.
Entropy storms came and went in big and small forms. There was an association between most storms and the appearance of fiends of various levels, but most storms certainly did not bear the Horde. No one knew how the Horde moved between storms or how they existed in their absence.
Harold nodded. ¡°Yes, the Horde was borne on the returning storm.¡±
I asked, ¡°And they crossed paths with Father¡¯s convoy?¡±
Harold nodded again. ¡°He took tremendous precautions. He had optional contracts arranged with Griidlords in the region. Almost nothing could have defeated his plans¡ªexcept something as swift and terrible. His own bodyguard was very well equipped; he had several knights with him, but they would have been¡¡±
¡°They would have been like grains of sand against the sea,¡± I finished.
Harold nodded slowly, not speaking for a moment. I could see the pain in him. This wasn¡¯t easy for him¡ªrelaying this news. But through that, I also imagined his own difficulty. He was Father¡¯s closest friend, and the man was dealing with his own grief.
I asked, ¡°How was he discovered?¡±
Harold said, ¡°A Griidlord from Kansas City had been prearranged to return to Dodge to collect your father. He found the aftermath of the raid, but his time was short, and it took a while before he could send the message to us here.¡±
I nodded slowly. Emotions were rising in me, but they were strange and mixed.
I said, ¡°And what... what decisions do you need from me now?¡±
Harold said, ¡°I... it''s still complicated. Reports indicate there was a battle. Your father''s entire convoy seems to have been destroyed, and the remains of at least one Horde warrior were present, but... he doesn''t seem to be there.¡±
I sat up straight, my head spinning only slightly. ¡°There''s no body!¡±
Harold raised a calming hand and said, ¡°Tiberius... that doesn''t mean... It''s the Horde we speak of.¡±
I winced. The Horde was known to perform rituals with the dead, and they would prize a grand figure such as my father above all others.
I said, ¡°Still, Father is wily, resourceful. He could be out there somewhere.¡±
I could imagine it easily enough. It would be well within Father''s mentality to sacrifice the convoy and his bodyguards so that he could hide and wait for the battle and the storm to pass. Growing more excited, I said, ¡°He could be wandering in the wilds right now!¡±
Harold nodded slowly, but too sadly. ¡°I wish it so as well, and we can hope... but Tiberius, in all probability...¡±
I interrupted, ¡°If there''s any chance, we have to go!¡±
Harold said, ¡°It''s days away¡ªdays under footfield! An expedition of that sort can''t be rushed.¡±
I moved in the bed, attempting to get up. Harold actually placed his hands on my shoulders to stop me. The gesture was shockingly familiar. I didn¡¯t mind it, but I could see he surprised himself.
He said, ¡°I''ve had a thought on this, Tiberius. Our resources... finances are in a terrible state of disarray. We can neither afford this expedition, nor the Griidlord to ferry it to Dodge.¡±
I looked at him. ¡°We can''t give up on him.¡±
Harold said, ¡°No, no, I wouldn''t suggest that. As hard as this might sound, our best course is to remain here.¡±
I was incredulous. ¡°How can you say that?¡±
Harold was calm, but his eyes shone with emotion. His voice had none of its usual formality. He said, ¡°Tiberius, whatever course of action we take would involve days to implement. In less than two days, you may be a Griidlord yourself.¡±
The reality of his words settled on me heavily, and the weight of it forced me back onto the bed.
Harold said, ¡°The best way you can help your father, if there is any hope at all, is to win the competition. If you win your father''s bet, our finances will be much restored. You yourself will have the resources of a Griidlord, and maybe most importantly, you will have your own Footfield.¡±
The bones in my chest seemed to contract at the thought¡ªanother weight added to the pressures of the fight with Lance.
Chapter 110
Chapter 110
I remember the rest of that day with a strange emotional detachment. In the midst of the upheaval in my life¡ªthe constant strain, the endless stress, the days of exertion and peril¡ªit wouldn¡¯t have been entirely unpleasant to be required to lie in bed under doctor¡¯s orders. But the immobility of it was utterly galling. The idea that I was lying there, with clean linens and a soft pillow, while Father might be dying of thirst or running from the Horde somewhere in the wilds was impossible to pull my thoughts from.
I know, you want to ask what my feelings were. Haven¡¯t I spent most of this tale describing a deeply narcissistic and emotionally withdrawn excuse for a parent? Have I not already hovered on the verge of stating that I had no love for the man? These things are true. And, have no doubt, they played on my mind as the sun crept lower in the sky. But I¡¯ve been around long enough to appreciate the difficult feelings I experienced at that time. Father was, after all, the greatest goal in my life until I discovered the immense power of the suit. I had been programmed, controlled, and stunted into a being that existed to serve his purposes. And that is, of course, brutal.
But the narrow perspective I had of the world had still been formed by his hands, and I confused loyalty and trained devotion for love. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m trying to say there was no real love there... but... he was my parent, the only one I had ever known.
Departing the hospital was an impossibility. At intervals during the day, I was brought to a room¡ªalmost an altar in the hospital¡ªto experience further treatments from the relic. I couldn¡¯t begin to understand the nature of the ancient machinery, but I sat in a chair, and the equipment hummed loudly. Anything metal I had on my person had to be removed before taking my seat. The humming would intensify, my thinking would grow oddly clouded and hazy, and I would find myself lying in bed again.
Dr. Martha assured me that it was necessary if I wanted to make as full and as swift a recovery as possible. The machine was a miracle, and I needed to take full advantage of that miracle. As clear as it was that I had surpassed Lance on an individual basis, I could not afford to increase his odds in any way. My family¡¯s position depended on it. My father¡¯s life might depend on it. And a future existing in the near-perfect euphoria of the power and senses of the suit depended on it.
Sleep itself was not so hard to grasp. After repeated treatments, my thoughts seemed to melt like butter on a warm sill, and eventually, thoughts of Griid-suits and fathers were shed for the embrace of nothingness.
***
I awoke to the confusion most of us experience in such situations. It was fleeting. The sense of disorientation as I stared at the unfamiliar room faded quickly, replaced almost instantly by one thought: tomorrow, I fight Lance for the suit. There were no staff present in the room, and the beeping machine was turned off. Had Dr. Martha told me I was finished as she led me back from the relic last night? I felt like I recalled such, but the confusion triggered by the treatment left me unsure.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!
I tried to take stock of myself and realized I felt normal. In fact, I felt rested¡ªmore rested than I had since the entire ordeal of the Choosing had started. A bit cautiously, I swung my legs out of bed and placed my bare feet on the floor. I was wearing a lined nightdress that I assumed had been provided for me. I stood up and found I had regained all, or almost all, of my sense of balance. My clothes and gear were stacked on a small locker near the door. I had done my resting; I had business to attend to. Tomorrow, I fight Lance for the suit.
I was most of the way through dressing when the door cracked open, and Dr. Martha¡¯s placid face peered in. She observed my state of readiness and smiled softly. "I''m impressed this is the first effort you''ve made to free yourself from us."
I said, "I''m... I''m finished, am I not?"
She nodded gently. "That you are. There''s no more the relic can do for you. Without treatment, an injury like that could have killed you, and even if it hadn¡¯t, you wouldn¡¯t have been in any fit state for your contest tomorrow. I think you have better than good odds of finding yourself without ill effects by then. All the same, I wouldn¡¯t recommend exertion today¡ªand certainly not head trauma." She smiled with a touch of mirth at that last comment.
As I pulled on my boots, I said, "Doctor, I want to thank you for everything."
She moved across the room and crouched beside my chair. Reaching out, she took the straps of my boots in her hands and fastened them herself. As her hands worked, she looked up at me and said, "It was my duty, Tiberius. And more than that, it was my pleasure. Go out there tomorrow and strike a blow for the common man. Your name is on everyone¡¯s lips today. Even with the news of The Rising in the south, it is your efforts that obsess the man and woman on the street."
I was slightly surprised. I appreciated that she knew there was no point in trying to stop me from entering the arena after my concussion, but her outright encouragement caught me off guard.
I said, "Th-thank you. I will."
She finished buckling my boot, stood up, and patted my shoulder. "I''ll be able to tell my grandchildren I helped mend Tiberius, the Sword of Boston. And that I tied his shoes." She smiled again and moved toward the door. Turning her head, she added, "Stop at the desk and let the nurse know you''re leaving. I have other patients to attend to who are far less responsible for their own injuries." She smiled once more with humor, then said, "Good luck tomorrow," and was gone.
I gazed after her for a moment and then rose. Tomorrow, I fight Lance for the suit.
I couldn''t dally here¡ªI had one single day to prepare for the biggest fight of my life. Today was a traditional day of debauched feasting, and the city would be in chaos. Moving about would be torture for anyone, let alone me, the focus of much of the revelers'' enthusiasm. But as I stood there, looking at the door that led out of this room¡ªthe door that led me on the short path to my destiny¡ªI was pleased by the clarity I felt. My mind was crystal clear. There were three things I needed to do today, important things.
And tomorrow, I would fight Lance for the suit.
Chapter 111
Chapter 111
I stepped outside into the street. The hospital was located in the heart of the town so that it could benefit from the elevated Order levels there. I had spent my time in the finest clinic in the city, where only the richest and boldest could afford treatment. Most hospitals or treatment centers were located beyond the central zone of the city, and as a result, could not employ tech as advanced or wondrous as what I had benefited from.
The street I stepped onto was alive with activity. Already, at this early hour of the day, there was an excited bustle. The sun was clear in the sky, and while I could feel its warmth, the air had the delightful fresh bite of early morning. In the new air of a new day, people moved. A wagon rolled past me, laden with wooden ale kegs. A woman in chef''s whites marched down the street, haranguing two young men who each bore half of a whole pig. From where I stood, I could see two street sweepers working feverishly at their task. Today was going to be a tremendous day.
It was, in fact, today that the greatest feasting of the Choosing would occur. The city would swell with peasants taking time from their farms to witness the final day of the Choosing tomorrow. More importantly to the economy of the city, merchants and nobles from far and wide would come to see a new Sword claim his suit. Even Griidlords from cities where there was no open hostility might come to enjoy the drink, the food, the women, and the spectacle of the battle.
Zeb stood in a doorway down the street. For all his ominous might, he seemed so commonplace and unnoticeable. I felt suddenly concerned. Suddenly Zeb didn''t feel like enough protection. The common people on the streets may have been excited to see me become the Sword of Boston, but that excitement obviously did not extend to all corners of society. Up until now, there had been many paths I could have walked that might not have led to winning the suit. The powers that be could contentedly wait for my defeat¡ªwhether by my own incompetence, the roll of the dice in combat, or the schemes and coalitions of my opponents. But by now, I felt their collars must have grown sweaty. It was only Lance and I that remained, and it had to be clear to anyone watching that I had surpassed him.
I didn¡¯t want to grow complacent, but it was hard not to see it as an almost foregone conclusion that in little more than 24 hours, I would be their Sword. Some would not be able to accept that. I was aware enough of the cruel realities of the world to know that an assassin¡¯s knife had probably become the simplest solution for many of them, riots though that might cause. It might be time to add to my retinue, for a time at least.
For what it was worth, none of the busy folk around me seemed to have recognized me yet. I had three things to do. How important any of them truly were would be hard to state objectively. I turned right down the street and started walking toward the center of the city. Everywhere, the smells of food and the chatter of people permeated the air. I grabbed snippets of conversation. Aside from the practical topics of the day, there were only two subjects that seemed to be on anyone¡¯s lips: the Rising of the new tower in Houston and the final battle of the Choosing.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.
A baker stood in the door of his shop, chatting with a man on a wagon laden with bags of flour. I only caught a few sentences, but it was enough to set my mind working. The baker, mid-speech, was saying, ¡°...will mean war. The lords and ladies round here won¡¯t stand for it. There¡¯s talk of forming a coalition and marching south.¡± The wagon driver nodded and said, ¡°I hear Buffalo wants to call a meeting of all the cities to do something about it.¡± The baker shook his head sadly as I moved past them. ¡°The last thing we need is...¡± The voices faded as I walked faster. I had one day to prepare, and I had questions I desperately needed answers for. The prospect of a looming war, the notion that it might break out just as I became one of the primary weapons of the city, did not sit lightly on my shoulders. But I couldn¡¯t afford the distraction. For that to become my concern, I first needed to win the suit.
At a corner, I stopped as traffic trundled by¡ªcarts laden with goods, electric vehicles bearing the baggage and persons of visiting nobles. A cluster of children stood near me, caught in their own excitement. I stared fixedly ahead, unable to afford being recognized, but their voices drifted up to me, and I couldn¡¯t help but smile.
A boy¡¯s voice said, ¡°Papa says he¡¯s never heard of anyone like Tiberius. He¡¯s the best Sword anyone ever had.¡±
Another boy, brazen and argumentative, said, ¡°My grandpa says it¡¯s no good. Common folk can¡¯t be good Griidlords, and nobody beats a Darkwater...¡±
A girl¡¯s voice among them said, ¡°Tiberius is nice looking, but Lance is the handsomest.¡±
I rolled my eyes, honestly a little irked.
I was excited, my mind fixed on the task at hand. My father¡¯s fate hung over me like a cloud, but I pushed it away. Nothing mattered more than winning the suit, and nothing could dull the excitement. The traffic passed, and I pushed on up the street, climbing the incline. My father¡¯s house was just a couple of blocks over, but I continued to climb the gentle hill. That could wait. I had a bigger and more important date in my mind.
My heart started to beat a little faster as I climbed the hill. I felt good¡ªmy balance was intact, and my head was clear.
The incredible, shining monument of the Tower rose above everything as I moved into the square. Most cities called the clear area outside of the walls the Tower Garden or Tower Square, and Boston was no different. I had arrived almost too quickly; my mind raced to assemble my thoughts and expectations.
I had been passive long enough¡ªtoo long. I had been a leaf swept up in the river of destiny, being moved toward my objective rather than moving myself there. Today was my day, maybe my last day as a common man, and I would spend it well. Taking a breath, I stepped into the openness of the square.
At this early hour, the space was reasonably quiet. Some electric vehicles passed by, delivering guests to the fine hotels lining the square. There were perhaps more officials moving in and out of the gates to the Tower than would be usual at this time, but the buzzing activity of the streets had not yet breached the solemnity of this space much.
I crossed the square, my face lifted to absorb the majesty of the Tower.
There were answers here, and I would claim them before I claimed the suit.
Chapter 112
Chapter 112
The guards at the gate of the Tower recognized me. Ordinarily, I think I would have been challenged, but either Baltazar had given instructions that I be granted access to the Tower, or it simply made sense to the two men that I would have business there, given my position in The Choosing. One guard caught my eye and spat on the ground. These men were knights, only the finest were posted to guard the Tower, and many were chosen from the ranks of noble children. Young men and women who were not in line to inherit often found their place in the world in the ranks of the finest soldiers of a city. Their armor gleamed, more meticulously shining than ever, prepared to greet the fine people of foreign lands.
And this man¡ªthe spitter¡ªheld my gaze as I approached. Who was he? A Darkwater? Or just any member of a class that saw me as inferior? It says a lot about the surge of confidence I was feeling that I turned my head to him, feeling an argument rise within me. Did this fool not understand that, in all probability, in a day¡¯s time I would be the Sword? I would be a Griidlord. He wouldn¡¯t dare show such disrespect to one so mighty; why would he provoke me now?
But even as I opened my mouth to say something, the other knight spoke first. ¡°Welcome, young sir, an exciting day ahead for you tomorrow¡ªfor all of us.¡±
I turned my head to him and saw the face of a commoner, a man who had probably risen from the lowest ranks and earned his status here by merit. My words caught in my throat. The first knight cut in, saying, ¡°It will be a dark day for this city when a peasant wears the suit. Nothing good comes of this except shame for Boston.¡±
If I bristled at this, the second guard practically shivered. He fixed his colleague with a hard glare, and I felt the need to move on. I nodded to the kinder man and stepped through, up the long, hedge-lined path to the Tower. Two more knights stood at the door, but these two did not react to me. In any case, the foyer bustled with their betters and superiors, and they were too close to observant eyes to show partiality, either for or against me.
I stepped into the Tower, my ears sharp, expecting the voice¡ªthe voice I had come to speak to. But no words came. The space was busy enough, with robes in the colors of foreign cities moving among those of Boston¡¯s, and there was no chance to speak to the voice without being observed or heard. That was fine; this was nothing I hadn¡¯t expected. I was going to have some time with the voice before we became married to each other on the morrow, and I knew how to get the time I needed.
A robed attendant stood at the base of the main stairway. I approached the young woman, a lady not much older than myself. She saw me coming, and her eyebrows raised with interest¡ªshe recognized me.
¡°Sir, what brings you to the Tower this morning? Can I help you in some way?¡±
¡°I have been summoned by Lord Baltazar, to meet in his chambers,¡± I said, lying.
The lady seemed surprised. ¡°In his chambers? I... the Lord Supreme is occupied at the moment.¡±The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
That was nothing I hadn¡¯t expected; it was part of my plan. How could Baltazar be anything but busy with the influx of foreign nobles and dignitaries demanding his attention?
I said, ¡°Of course, it¡¯s a busy day. He suggested there would be a private space for me to await him. I don¡¯t mind waiting, honestly. A few minutes of peace would do me good.¡± I smiled modestly at her, letting her see the fatigue and weariness of the last long days on my face.
The lady shifted uncomfortably and glanced around, then said, ¡°May I have a moment?¡±
¡°Of course,¡± I replied.
She bustled away quickly, and I stood, looking around. The voice still hadn¡¯t come to me. There was nobody particularly near me, and I whispered quietly, ¡°Voice? Are you there? I need to speak with you.¡±
Nothing. I glanced around again, conscious of so many eyes, but still, there was no one near me. I spoke again, still in a whisper, but louder and more demanding this time, ¡°Voice! Goddammit, I need you. Answer me.¡±
Still nothing. Why was it that the voice would speak to me in the suit, even when an opponent was inches from my face, but in the Tower, it never spoke within 20 feet of another person?
The attendant returned after what felt like a long time. Her demeanor was different now, less suspicious and reserved. She greeted me this time with a much warmer smile and a more demure expression.
"Lord Baltazar is indisposed, but he wants me to assure you that he will speak to you at the first possible opportunity. If you would follow me, you can await him in his private foyer," the attendant said.
I replied, ¡°Thank you. I understand he must have a lot on his plate with everything going on.¡± She raised her eyebrows at this and, for a moment, seemed more human, leaning forward slightly.
"You must have a lot on your plate as well," she said. It was at that moment I realized part of her earlier reserve was simply her being impressed by talking to me. I was the talk of the town, the favorite in The Choosing. Tomorrow, I might be the Sword of Boston¡ªher Sword. It dazzled me for a moment, realizing she might be starstruck.
I said, ¡°Today, I just need to rest. I¡¯ve spent my life being busy and getting ready.¡±
She blushed. I couldn¡¯t imagine why, but I suddenly had the definite sensation that she was attracted to me. It made my own cheeks feel warm and my neck tingle.
¡°Follow me, please, and I¡¯ll show you the way,¡± she said. I followed her to the elevator. Like everything in the Tower, it seemed to be crafted of metal and plastic in such a way that there were no visible joints, just smoothness and perfection. There was silence as the elevator hummed, carrying us up the Tower. She seemed somewhat overwhelmed by the private moment in the small space, and I was overwhelmed by her reaction.
We stepped out into what I believed to be a very high level. The Tower was gigantic, but space here was at the highest premium. Inside, the Tower operated at the highest possible Order level, even higher than most of the inner zone, and it was passive. No matter how many Flows the city gathered, the Tower was always at this maximum Order level, making space here coveted above all else.
Money couldn¡¯t buy space in the Tower, or else, I was sure, Father would have had us living in a suite rather than our townhouse outside. I didn¡¯t know if the number of Tower dwellers was in the hundreds or very low thousands, but I knew that to live here was a blessing beyond blessings. Even most of the priests didn¡¯t actually live in the Tower.
We traversed the hall and arrived at a door guarded by two knights. They clearly recognized the attendant, and perhaps me as well. Without objection, they allowed us to enter the suite of the Lord Supreme.
Chapter 113
Chapter 113
The foyer was amazing. Don¡¯t get me wrong¡ªit wasn¡¯t more impressive than Father¡¯s house, but to have so much space here, in the Tower, left my jaw hanging for a moment. It was an opulent room. The sleek walls were adorned with framed paintings of Boston¡¯s Griidlords through the ages, all the way back to the first, after our Tower rose some 640 years ago.
As I looked at those portraits, it struck me¡ªBoston had never produced a truly legendary Sword. Not like the savage Bloodsaw of Pittsburgh, the fleet Montagnion of San Francisco, or a Danefer like Miami had claimed. A strange certainty settled over me then: I could be that great Sword. I could be the one.
After starting The Choosing so ineptly, so uncertain, it was strange to feel this way. I knew the feeling had grown in me over time, but something had been distinctly different when I awoke that morning. It was as though destiny had whispered to me in my sleep, and, for the first time, I truly believed in myself.
The attendant left me then, promising to send refreshments, and I settled into an ornate armchair, carved and gilded.
I had one day. On the morrow, I would face Lance. I tried to calculate the time. I had woken early and spent some time walking here. It still had to be before breakfast time for most common folk. I had time. I needed that time. It was only one day, and I had much to do. As I settled into the chair, I felt a rush of amazement at the certainty I now felt. All through the events of the last few days, I had been passive, snatching victory at the least likely moments. Even as the days passed and I grew into my powers, I failed to realize I had some semblance of control over my life.
But at that moment, sitting in that chair, in perfect silence and solitude¡ªsave for the low hum of the ventilation¡ªI found confidence in myself. Not confidence in my father''s guidance, nor in the attributes I could gain so quickly, but in myself. I had survived the last round because I had picked my teammates. It was my judgment, not my father''s, nor the voice''s, that allowed me to survive the catastrophe of my incapacitation. That might have been part of what lifted me so much that day.
Sitting in that chair, waiting for Baltazar, had been my plan. Meeting the Lord Supreme and gleaning something from him about the coming challenge might help me, but the real reason I had come was for this privacy. I opened my mouth and, clearly but a little quietly, said, "Voice, are you there?"
In a moment, I had a response, leaking into my ears. The weird childish voice said, "Of course I am, Tiberius. Where else would I be?"
I considered his choice of words, then said, "I''ve come here to talk to you."
The voice said, "Oh, I know. I know you too well now, Tiberius. I understand that you don''t give much of a shit about Lord Farty Pants. You came here to talk to me. I think I knew this was coming. I just thought maybe it could wait until after you won the suit."The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
I said, "That''s exactly the problem. I need to know if I really want to win the suit."
A heavy silence stretched between us then. I let it stretch. I had come to know the character of this voice a little, and there was one thing I was certain of.
The voice finally said, "You love the suit."
"I do."
"Of course, you want to win it."
"I do want to win it. I want to own it. I never want to leave it. But I don''t know if I want to be married to you for eternity."
The voice responded, hurt like a jilted wife. "Tiberius, how can you wound me so? Through all of this, who has been more by your side than I have? I¡¯ve been with you through all of it, guiding you, helping you. I¡¯ve never steered you wrong. Your father hasn¡¯t even attended every day of the tournament. Those girls only tease you. That oaf who wore the shield is as fickle as the rest. Who has been a truer friend to you than I?"
I paused. When it mentioned Father, I felt a sickening lurch in my gut. But what interested me most was the lack of mention of Harold. If the suit wanted to compare itself to loved ones in my life, why not mention him?
I said, "What about Harold?"
There was no response.
I said, "You never mentioned Harold."
Silence again. I can''t say I didn¡¯t feel satisfied by the silence I had inflicted. I couldn¡¯t understand, at the time, why I only heard the voice in the Tower and in the suit, but I knew that was the case, and I wanted an explanation.
When the voice didn¡¯t respond immediately, I said, "Harold hasn¡¯t been to the Tower, and I¡¯ve never spoken to him in the suit, so you don¡¯t know who the hell I¡¯m talking about, do you?"
The voice said, "Well, I... ah..."
I said, "Why can I only talk to you here or in the suit? Why can I talk to you without speaking in the suit, but need to speak out loud to you here?"
The voice came back, certain and self-assured. If anything, it sounded condescending. "Tiberius! I¡¯ve told you, I will reveal all over time, but first, I need you to win the suit. I can¡¯t reveal my secrets if there¡¯s a chance you might not be the Griidlord of the future."
I said, "I thought my future was assured if I listened to you."
It said, "But you don¡¯t always listen to me!"
I said, "Then I promise to listen to you, without question, if you just tell me what the hell you are."
The voice hesitated, stuttered even, then said, with more menace than I¡¯d ever heard from it, "We can talk tomorrow after you win the suit."
I steeled myself then. What I was about to say would be difficult. I thought about the ecstasy of the suit, the perfection of existing sheathed in its power. I thought about a life that could stretch for centuries. Yes, part of me still wanted to please Father, if he were alive¡ªif I could find him. But mostly, I thought about what I could do for me. Make me a living god in the city. Make me eternal.
I thought about visiting Lauren on her estate. I thought about presenting myself to Katya, glowing with the power of a Griidlord. For a fleeting second, I even thought about how I could have both of them. If I won enough Flows, if I proved myself enough, what woman wouldn''t be willing to share me with another just to have a piece of that glory?
Then I ripped myself away from those thoughts, those fantasies, and said, "If you don''t tell me, then I won''t compete tomorrow."
Chapter 114
Chapter 114
I was met with nearly immediate cackling and laughter. It rang in my ears with that strange whispering quality I always experienced in the Tower¡ªloud, yet quiet at the same time. The laughter went on for a while. I waited patiently, unperturbed. I had expected this. I had grown to know it. Eventually, the voice seemed to gather itself, as though it needed breath, the laughter trailing off until it finally spoke again, slightly ragged as it recovered from the apparent hilarity of my ¡°incredible¡± joke.
The voice said, "Tiberius, you can''t exist without the suit. Of course you''ll compete for it."
I shook my head. "You''re not wrong. I love it¡ªmore than I ever thought I could love anything. But I won''t enter this if I don''t know what I''m attaching myself to. I don''t know what you are. I know you''re tied to the suit, I know you''re tied to the Tower, but I won''t sell my soul to a demon just to live in the suit. I can live a life of luxury. I can have pleasures, women, power¡ªwithout the suit. You''d know I was lying if I said I didn''t care. I do care. I want the suit, more than almost anything. But I won''t commit myself to it, knowing that it ties me to you, unless I know what you are."
I waited then. It was a lie. I would take the suit, even if it meant damning myself for eternity. I was counting on the voice not knowing that. There was a hesitation, and that hesitation spoke volumes.
After a pause, the voice spoke again with total certainty, "You''re lying."
My breath caught for a moment, but I maintained a calm expression. "I''m not lying. I''ll do it. And you can''t take the chance, because you need me."
I didn¡¯t know if it needed me, but it had made it clear it wanted me. I waited.
The voice said, "I don''t need you."
"Then why the fascination with me?"
"You''re interesting. In an eternity of existing, you''re one of the rare interesting ones."
I said, "Maybe you need me because I''m interesting."
The voice grew darker. "Listen, you little shit. I can make you a god, or I can destroy you."
I can¡¯t say that didn¡¯t terrify me, but I had prepared for this. I calmly replied, "No, you won''t."
The voice snapped, "I can destroy you, and this entire city, if I need to."
"I''m sure you can," I said, "but you won¡¯t."
I wasn¡¯t sure of anything. I had no real sense of what this entity was. But I was nearly certain it couldn¡¯t deal with my nonchalance.
You might be asking yourself, why would I continue to want to win the suit, knowing this was the creature I would be connecting to my brain for all time? The answer is simple: if you have never worn a suit, felt the strength of flexing those mental muscles, felt the power that courses over your skin and through your bones, had your vision sharpened to that of a hawk¡¯s, and your hearing so elevated you can detect the blood rushing in someone''s arteries ten feet away, then you simply can''t understand.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
I needed the suit, but if I was to retain my sanity, I needed to tame this thing.
The voice spoke again, quieter now, almost tired. It said, "What do you want from me? What will it take to make you happy? I''ve given you everything. I''ve helped you, comforted you, been there through everything. What do you want from me? What do I have to do to make you trust me?"
The sounds it made were pleading. To any ear, the thing sounded desperate and weary. Even with my awareness of its cleverness, I felt my own heartstrings being tugged, felt the urge to comfort the entity, to submit to it. But I had steeled myself hard. I was focused on an outcome.
I said, "Tell me what you are. I don''t think it''s that hard. I can tell you what I am. I''m a boy¡ªa young man¡ªfighting to please his father, to win a Griid-suit, and, I guess, to win fame and glory. That''s who I am. There are no layers to peel back. But you want me to bind myself to you, and you won''t tell me what you are."
The voice was petulant. "I wanted to wait until you had won the suit..."
I wasn''t harsh, just firm. "Well, as much as that might be what you want, I need to know you too, or else I just can''t take the risk."
The voice sneered, "I don''t believe you. You need the suit."
I kept my face blank and said, "Are you sure enough to risk it?"
The voice paused for a moment before it said, "No..."
Elation ran through me. Had I won? Was it going to finally peel back the curtain of mystery? Then it spoke.
"I am part of the Oracle."
I froze. Looking back, with the knowledge you might have, I¡¯m sure this comes as no shock¡ªor at least, you may have expected it. But to me, this was an impossibility. The Oracle was an absolute entity of divinity. It existed in all Towers, was the source of the Towers, the source of Order, the maker of the Griid-suits. The idea that this voice was claiming to be part of the Oracle was overwhelming.
I said, "You''re... the Oracle?"
The voice replied, "No, I''m not the Oracle. The Oracle is a composite of several souls, ancient beings, entities beyond your ken, beyond your ability to imagine. I am one of those souls."
Suddenly, everything I had aimed for seemed quite pale. I had intended to force this thing to explain itself, to reveal its nature to me. Knowledge was power, and there was a basic part of me that understood if you knew the nature of a demon, you could control it. And if you couldn''t control it, then knowing it meant you could at least protect yourself from it. Never had I imagined I would discover that my secret helper was God itself¡ªor part of God.
I said, trying hard but unable to keep the quaver from my voice, "You''re... you''re part of the Oracle."
As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I had lost any further progress. It had heard the shock, the awe. It wouldn¡¯t entertain me further. I cursed myself for the mistake, for the weakness. But, nonetheless, I had come here to pry some secrets from this thing, to make it understand that I would be a partner, not a puppet. And in this, I had succeeded. I had forced it to reveal something about itself, and that was progress, if nothing else.
The voice said, "You know what you''re dealing with now. Winning the suit doesn¡¯t mean marrying yourself to me¡ªit means marrying yourself to your precious Oracle, to your deity."
I could hear and feel my heart pounding in my ears. I couldn¡¯t miss the strange, bitter disdain that filled the voice as it spoke of the Oracle.
I said, "What I asked was, what do you want from me?"
Chapter 115
Chapter 115
The voice paused yet again. I was growing a little weary of these pauses, of the dramatics. This thing, whatever it truly was, was not human. It gave me pause to consider that it needed to think as I did. Part of me wondered if the pauses were mere theater, for my benefit.
But the break in the conversation was not wasted on me. My emotions were roiling as I considered what it had said. I didn¡¯t trust it, but neither did I fully distrust it. This entity made me feel uncomfortable; its manner was strange, its ways unnerving. Yet, all the same, it had never failed me. It had never done me wrong. In fact, going back to the first round, I probably wouldn¡¯t have made it this far without it. It had shown me favor, and that favor had, at least in part, brought me to this point.
Was I truly talking to the Oracle? Or a component of the Oracle? Could this voice that had teased, taunted, helped, and amused me be a part of the ultimate deity that guided our world? The idea made me weak with awe. But it also fed that part of me I hadn¡¯t known existed until this tournament began. The part of me that took a foolish risk at the end of the race just to earn first place over second. The part of me that may have nearly killed Lauren just so I could continue pursuing my prize. That part of me yearned for it to be true¡ªyearned for the blessings of the greatest being in existence, to be worthy of it, to be advantaged by it.
I tried to think back and identify if it had ever lied to me. For all the sense of untrustworthiness, for all of the warnings from Joel and Danefer, I couldn¡¯t recall a single time when the voice had actually lied to me.
After a few more beats, the voice started to speak again. This time the tone was earnest, sincere, conspiratorial. The voice had masked itself in different ways over our time together, but this was a new character it was showing me. The question still hung in the air though: Was this just another act, or finally the true persona of the entity?
¡°Tiberius¡¡± the voice began. The depth of sincerity was at odds with its weird, alien, childish timbre. ¡°There is so much I want to tell you. But there is so much risk attached. I can only tell you as much as I can, and after that, it will be up to you to decide to come with me or not. I hope desperately that you will choose the suit, choose a fate with me in it, but if you can¡¯t, then I understand that as well. I have existed for an eternity, and I have not survived so long without understanding the necessity of caution.¡±
I took a breath to speak, but the voice continued.
¡°I would bare more to you, but doing so would expose me, and even the world, to too much risk. There is still a chance that you won¡¯t win the suit. Even if you do, it is perfectly plausible that you won¡¯t rise to the heights of power needed for my plans to come to fruition. I promise you, when the time is right, I will bare all to you, in its entirety, without blemish of misdirection. I, Tiberius, am a being that simply cannot lie. It is an impossibility for me."This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Part of me wanted to laugh at that. What kind of assurance was that? If the thing could lie, then a promise to the contrary was meaningless.
¡°I am trapped, Tiberius. That is the simple, plain truth. The Oracle is not a single unified entity, but rather many and one at the same time, not unlike the Christian God of old. I am part of the whole, and yet I am myself. I desperately want to be free. I don¡¯t want to spend another eternity as part of the amalgam. For one such as me, for a free-thinking and creative creature, existing with those others is¡ is living torture. But to eventually make my escape, I need a champion. I need someone connected to the powers of the Griid but with independent agency.
"It¡¯s not necessary to play a 20-question word game to make it clear that the only option to fulfill those conditions is a Griidlord. But not just any Griidlord. I need one who can gain enough affinity with the Griid to be able to free me. I can give back¡ªthis needn¡¯t be a one-way street. In exchange for a Griidlord with the greatest affinity, with the ability to gain attributes and level at a superhuman rate, I can give the power, knowledge, and guidance of the Oracle. I can make your greatest dreams come true.
"Forget your greatest dreams¡ªI can make my greatest dreams for you come true, dreams that exceed your wildest imaginings. You can be a god alongside me. But first, we need to win the suit. And before you can join me in the inner fold, where I bare myself to you with total vulnerability, exposing even my weaknesses, where you¡¯ll hold the power of life and death over my near-eternal existence, you must level. You must climb, Tiberius. You must rise until your affinity with the Griid exceeds that of any human who has ever come before.
"Until then, the finer details must remain mine. It may sound like paranoia, but there have been others before you¡ªothers who would destroy me. Had I revealed these truths to them, my existence would be in perpetual and complete peril.¡±
I held deathly still as it spoke. These "others" the voice mentioned made me think of Joel and Danefer. But as I sat there, I couldn¡¯t imagine that this paltry hinting could possibly be the foundation of a partnership. I could see an eternity as a servant to a god. Yet, at the same time, the temptation of being that close to godliness, of being forever in the suit, tugged at me.
The voice spoke with some urgency, ¡°He comes now.¡±
I raised my eyebrows.
The voice continued, ¡°You don¡¯t need to answer me now, Tiberius. You can answer me tomorrow when you enter the arena¡ªor not. Whatever happens, I have enjoyed you. I would not have you join this unwillingly. If you choose not to join me, you have nothing to fear. I withdraw my threat to destroy you or this city. It was panic spilling from me, and I regret it.¡±
My eyebrows shot higher. Had the voice just apologized to me?
I felt like I was being manipulated. I was nearly certain of it. But the very fact that it was playing me like this¡ªwithout trying to force or bully me¡ªmade me think. The fact that it was trying to use me and I was aware of it made me think.
Then, with a sound that should have been too soft and subtle to cause a start, the door from the hall hissed open, and I bolted upright in my seat.
Chapter 116
Chapter 116
It was Baltazar who entered. His stoic face seemed ever so slightly perturbed by the look of surprise on mine. He peered down at me in my seat and, with some small concern, said, "Are you alright, Tiberius?"
I gathered myself and replied, "Oh, apologies, my lord. I think I may have drifted off slightly, and the door startled me."
Baltazar considered me for a moment, then asked, "How''s your head, Tiberius? You took a terrible blow. I was worried for your life in the aftermath."
"My head is fine, my lord," I said. "I spent the remainder of yesterday in treatment and have been assured I can retake the field tomorrow."
"Assured?" Baltazar said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
I shrugged, smiling back. "The doctor said she knew she couldn''t stop me from going, so there was no point in arguing."
Baltazar nodded and moved past me through the foyer to another set of doors. He called over his shoulder, "I am truly sorry I kept you waiting. The festivities have brought many obligations to my stoop, and there is nothing I can do but attend to them. Join me in my office a moment; I''m sure I know why you came."
As I rose, I thought, You couldn''t imagine why I really came. But I followed him. His office, like the foyer, was larger than almost anyone could hope for in the Tower, where space was so valued. The sleek fabricated walls were barely visible, the room lined with hardwood bookshelves and installations. A fabulously heavy wooden desk stood before a yawning window. Even from where I stood near the doorway, the view from the window was breathtaking. I had never been so high, had never seen the world from such a height¡ªit was dizzying and thrilling.
Baltazar said, "I''m afraid I can''t tell you anything you couldn''t find in books or hear on the streets, but I will tell you what I can. Tomorrow will be a simple affair: you and Lance, sword to sword, winner takes all. The arena will have a series of raised platforms in the center, like a set of steps or a pyramid. The main platform for the battle will be in the center, with terraces falling away on all sides toward the floor. The winner will be decided by incapacitating your opponent, forcing submission, or knocking them entirely from the structure to the floor of the arena."
I blinked. "That''s concise."
He shrugged as he sat at his desk, sorting through a pile of documents awaiting him. "No elaborate rules for tomorrow. It''s a simple proposition. Little you can do by way of specific preparation. Just be your best."
I stood, considering. It wasn¡¯t far from what I had expected. I hovered there as Baltazar frowned at a document, wondering if I had been dismissed. Without removing his eyes from the parchment, he said, "I still believe you''re the best hope for a new Boston, for a better Boston. I wish there was more I could do to help you..."
I paused, unsure if I had the courage to say what I needed to. Baltazar sensed something and his eyes drifted from the page to settle on me. He inspected me, then put the paper down, resting his arms on the desk, signaling I had his full attention. He didn¡¯t resent this interruption; maybe he was even apologizing for the dismissive way he''d attacked the documents. The most powerful man in the city was giving me his precious time. Of course, I understood why. Apart from his own plans for me, in a day''s time, I might be one of the most powerful men in Boston.
"You know about my father," I said.
Baltazar nodded gravely. "Yes, my condolences. There will be time for grief after the contest, Tiberius. You need to focus on that and that alone. Your father would have wanted no different."
I nodded, then said, "You know they never found a body."
The slightest, irrepressible sigh escaped him. "I do."
"I intend to search for him."You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
"I''m not surprised," Baltazar said.
"I intend to go as soon as I win the suit¡ªnot the day after, not after a week of preparations. I intend to go the same day."
Troubles played across his face. "Tiberius, you may be the Sword of Boston then..."
"And Griidlords have freedom and agency," I said.
"Aye, but they follow schedules. They follow orders. You¡¯ll be weak, barely forged. You need to understand that when you take such a risk, you risk Boston as well."
"I hear you, my lord, and I understand. But I don¡¯t hear you saying you¡¯ll forbid it."
Baltazar stared at me a long time. God, that stare was punishing. He may have become Lord Supreme so young in part because he could play political games, curry favors, bribe and bargain, but he¡¯d also arrived in that seat due to his rare character.
Finally, he said, "I think it would do us no good to start our relationship that way. I¡¯m not even sure I could stop you."
I bobbed slightly, excited, not wanting to show it. "If you¡¯re concerned for the safety of the new Sword, then you could arrange resources to travel with me."
Baltazar asked, "You don¡¯t have resources of your own, family resources?"
"My family has many things, but at best we will have one Griidlord tomorrow, if I win."
"You want to send another?" Baltazar asked.
"Yes, my lord."
He was acting coy, of course. It was standard procedure to send Griidlords in pairs when trouble might occur¡ªat least in pairs, they could avoid total type disadvantages.
Baltazar said, "A Griidlord¡¯s time is utterly precious."
He rose and moved to the window, looking out over the city he ruled, the city he was responsible for. He said, ¡°A Griidlord can move goods and communications across the land faster than almost anything else in existence. Their Footfields are as important to the city as their power in arms. Leadership constantly wrestles with the Griidlords'' duty to us and their desire to spend their time as they see fit. Sending another with you would be costly to Boston."
I said, "You''re not saying no, my Lord."
He replied, "No, I think you know well enough that if you win the Sword tomorrow, I will want to keep you safe."
I waited. This was the second of the three tasks I had set for myself today. I could use a Footfield¡ªfew true rookies could do that¡ªbut once I won the Suit, if I won, my levels would pale in comparison to that of a veteran. A veteran Griidlord at my side wouldn¡¯t just make the adventure safer; it would make it faster.
Baltazar turned to me and asked, "Is this your way of showing me that you can deal? Is this an attempt to be reasonable, to find compromise?"
I opened my mouth to speak but only managed to stutter. He nodded solemnly, saying, "I respect this and appreciate it. Tomorrow, I hope you will be my Sword¡ªour Sword. I will be your Lord Supreme, but you will be a Griidlord. I need to be able to trust you, and what you''re doing here is a fine step. Can you make a compromise with me?"
I nodded.
He said, "I will summon one of our Griidlords. They will accompany you, along with some of our knights and priests."
I wanted to interrupt when he mentioned priests, but I stopped myself. I might have a hatred for them now, but as a Griidlord, I would need them to maintain my suit. I would depend on them for survival. And many of them studied arcane and strange subjects. There might be those who understood the Horde better than the layman.
"We will incorporate a trade caravan into the journey so Boston doesn''t have to suffer entirely," he continued.
I hesitated. A caravan would slow us down.
He said, "Your father has been gone for some days now. We can''t know exactly when he was attacked, but we need to¡ªyou need to¡ªacknowledge that, in all likelihood, he is truly gone. If he lives, that would mean he has already survived days. Adding a day or two to your rescue efforts will mean little. If the Horde took him, then he is far, far away¡ªand most likely dead."
I steeled myself and didn¡¯t answer.
"So I extend to you the power of Boston, the resources, in exchange for two things: that you allow a small trade caravan to hinder you slightly... and..." I waited. "I will make every effort to find a Griidlord who can be spared for you tomorrow, you have my word. But in the event that I cannot achieve this, I want you to promise me that you will wait until I can provide one."
I raised my eyebrows, my mind racing. This was a trap, a trap sealed by my honor.
I said, "I will wait as much as one more day, then."
Baltazar bore into me with his fixed gaze, his face firm. Then that smile tugged at his lips again, and he bowed his head. "Very well. You must promise to allow me at least one more day to find a Griidlord to accompany you if I can''t find one tomorrow."
Baltazar, the Lord Supreme, the most powerful man in Boston, walked around the desk and came to stand before me. He extended his hand. I extended mine. We shook hands to seal a pact between the young man who hoped to be the Sword and the ruler of Boston.
It was not the last pact we would make between us. Not nearly.
Chapter 117
Chapter 117
I stood at the entrance to the Tower. The day had progressed since I left the hospital. It looked like it would be a good day for the festival. The skies were mostly clear, the early morning chill had faded, and now a steady heat was building in the air. I looked out at Tower Square. Workmen were assembling a stage of some sort, perhaps for musicians to play or for speeches to be given. A medley of fine scents wafted up the streets from the maze of the city: frying smells, baking smells, the aroma of slowly browning meat, and the heady scents of toasting spices.
I needed to eat. The smells of fine cooking reminded me of the practical reality¡ªI needed to stay strong and vital. My mind was a scattered mess, my thoughts constantly returning to Father. I was doing what I could for him, but at that moment, I was powerless. I needed to accept that. Whatever my feelings about him, it was hard to separate the sensations of love from duty, loyalty, and training. There was tremendous urgency¡ªif Father was alive, every moment counted¡ªbut until I wore the suit, there was little I could do now that I had secured the promise of an expedition from Baltazar.
For now, all I could do was pass the day and further my own plans. I had set out that morning with three tasks to accomplish. Two had been achieved as well as I could have hoped. I had confronted the voice, and even if it had not satisfied me entirely, I had established that whatever alliance we formed in the future, I would not be a passive or silent partner. I had met with Baltazar and arranged the best possible chances for finding Father.
Now, as I stood in the breeze, the sun warm on my skin, one more thing preyed on my thoughts. Aside from achieving my own goals, it would free my mind to focus on tomorrow if I could resolve this last concern. I started walking again. I passed the same two knights at the gate to the Tower gardens. This time, I didn¡¯t even acknowledge the spitting bastard. What concern was he to me? I had just held a private meeting with the Lord Supreme himself and negotiated with him¡ªwhy should I care about this bigot? To the other knight, I dipped my head and smiled. He gave me a sincere, if reserved, smile in return and bowed his head as well.
Then I was outside, on the cobbles, the gentle pull of the slope guiding me down the square toward the rows of townhouses. My father''s house was the tallest among them, and it called to me. I had a moment to consider the reality: Father was probably dead. In that case, this was no longer my father''s house¡ªit was mine. But what good was that to me? If I won the suit, I would take residence in the Tower. If I won the suit, I might live for a century, two even, and have no use for such a residence, no matter how expensive. I could retain Harold, but most of the servants would have no function in that possible future life.
I reached the door and pushed it open. Inside was chaos. Servants and soldiers moved about with purpose. Peering into the den, I could see charts and maps spread out on the surfaces, armed men in mercenary colors gathered around them. Turning toward the dining room, I found Harold, surrounded by the other servants and a couple of armed mercs, studying lists. As I entered, Harold said something to one of the kitchen maids, handed her a parchment, and she moved away quickly.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
I was at the table before anyone noticed me. I could see the lists on the table were for supplies¡ªbasic calculations of the provisions needed for the size of the expedition. Harold stared intently at the sheet before him, completely unaware of my presence. The hired soldiers knew me not at all. They wore leathers and furs, with black and yellow trims and emblems that marked them as warriors from the Pittsburgh Hill Clans. If they were hiring on with us, they were probably from the fringes of Pittsburgh territory, not part of the core assembly that governed the city and its rugged surroundings.
I glanced at the list, noting the basic calculations¡ªso many pounds of flour per man, so many men. I said, ¡°You¡¯ll need more than that.¡±
Harold startled at the sound of my voice and stepped back in sudden fright. His face contorted in surprise, then delight. ¡°Young Master! You¡¯re out! You look hearty and hale. Are you recovered?¡±
¡°I¡¯m recovered enough to do what I need to. You¡¯ll need more supplies than you¡¯re accounting for. I¡¯ve made some arrangements.¡±
I hadn¡¯t noticed it before, but there was a simple, self-assured certainty in my voice. Harold noticed it. He paused, assessing me as if seeing me for the first time. His gaze caused me to reflect on myself.
He asked, ¡°May I ask my Young Master what arrangements he has been making?¡±
¡°I¡¯ve been to speak with the Lord Supreme. When I win the suit, I will gain the power of the Footfield, but I will be new to it. The Lord Supreme has agreed to arrange for another Griidlord from the city to accompany the expedition, along with a detachment of knights and some priests who may be knowledgeable about the ways of the Horde.¡±
At the mention of priests, the warrior nearest Harold made a disgusted sound.
I didn¡¯t acknowledge the man¡¯s reaction. Instead, I said, ¡°Can you be ready by tomorrow evening?¡±
Harold was flustered. ¡°By tomorrow? That¡¯s sooner than I expected...¡±
I said, ¡°The Lord Supreme has promised to arrange a Griidlord to join us tomorrow or the next day. If none can be found by then, I¡¯ll move the convoy with my own Footfield, and we¡¯ll proceed ourselves.¡±
Harold studied his lists again. ¡°I think we can be ready. It¡¯s not ideal, but every day will make a difference.¡±
¡°That¡¯s good. Perhaps you should send a runner to the Tower to consult with the Lord Supreme¡¯s office. Coordinate with them, ascertain the numbers they will be sending, and find out what arrangements the Tower is making in terms of supplies. There will be a merchant convoy with us for part of the journey, which means a stop at a city along the way. If an advance courier is sent, resupply could be arranged at whichever city we¡¯re bound for.¡±
Harold assessed me again, then said, ¡°You¡¯re more your father¡¯s son than you may know.¡±
I didn¡¯t know how to react to that. I felt some pride at the praise, but I wasn¡¯t sure if I liked the comparison.
Harold continued, ¡°Will you not be able to consult with the Tower for us, Young Master? You seem to have access.¡±
¡°I won¡¯t be here for a while. I¡¯d like a horse arranged while I change and bathe.¡±
¡°A horse?¡±
¡°Yes, a horse. I intend to take a ride to the countryside for a few hours. I have some matters to discuss at Castle Oakcrest.¡±
I felt my eyes grow distant then. Castle Oakcrest lay miles outside the city. It was the fortress of clan Oakcrest, Lauren''s family.
And, to the best of my knowledge, that''s where I would find Katya and Lauren.
Chapter 118
Chapter 118
It actually felt good to have a horse under me. I paid no mind to the four warriors riding behind me. The hills rolled before me, each rise offering a perfect view of our countryside. Green fields stretched over the contoured landscape, and the sea sparkled to my left as I rode. Everywhere, there was peace. Cottages dotted the landscape, backs bent in the fields, while the hedgerows formed a perfect patchwork of the land. Seagulls wandered in from the coast to pick at the invertebrate life of a recently plowed field, wheeling and bickering as they jostled for position. Cattle lazily lowed, raising their heads to watch my small troop clatter by. The smells of salty sea air and fresh vegetation filled my nose, the intensity and vibrancy of it rivaling the heightened senses I had grown to love while in the suit.
Up until today, there had been a myriad of possible outcomes for the Choosing, but now the powers that be had only one option left to remove me: assassination. So I rode not just with Zeb, but with four wildmen from the Pittsburgh hills at my back. Yet, with or without them, who could have predicted I would take a canter into the countryside on this day of all days? But I needed to clear my head, and I had come to understand that. My own mind was my worst enemy, and I needed to enter the arena without distraction.
I had done what I could to ease my concerns for my father. As the day passed, I quietly came to accept the reality that he was almost certainly dead. No grief accompanied that realization. Maybe it would come later, maybe it wouldn¡¯t. What mattered in that moment was that the matter had been attended to, and I could free my mind of it until after the Choosing.
However, another matter remained unsettled. I know, the folly of a young man with feelings and urges. As I rode to Castle Oakcrest, I still hadn¡¯t entirely made up my mind. Every instinct told me that both Lauren and Katya were available to me. I had intense feelings for both of them, though I tried to suppress or ignore them. Looking back, it''s easy to see how inexperience can mislead a young man. I was lost in the ocean of romantic considerations, my development in that arena stunted by a cloistered life. Father had never concerned himself with preparing me for courtship. Knowing him, he had probably assumed he could just marry me off to whomever suited his own machinations. Maybe it even suited him that I would be so na?ve, so incapable.
What I knew for sure was that I couldn¡¯t enter the arena with these thoughts plucking at the edges of my mind.
As we rode, the shape of Castle Oakcrest began to come into view¡ªLauren¡¯s family home, the seat of House Oakcrest. Though not the farthest reaches of Boston¡¯s domain, it was still more than an hour¡¯s fast ride from the city. The further one traveled from the city, the more fortress-like the settlements became. Oakcrest wasn¡¯t a true bastion, but it was defensible. Seated on a rise with high stone walls, it was clearly designed with some thought to protection. However, compromises had been made for practicality and aesthetics. There were too many windows, and they were too large. The surrounding settlement had been allowed to sprawl right up to the castle walls, providing potential cover to attackers.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Yet, this far inside Boston¡¯s territory, the main concerns of a lord were different. Lord Oakcrest''s focus was on the proper management of his lands and peasants, and maintaining a force capable of repelling sea raiders and fiends. For that purpose, his knights and soldiers mattered most. Still, as the castle loomed into view, my heart skipped a beat.
I had gained the sense that Katya was staying here as well, having formed a sudden and seemingly significant friendship with Lauren. So, the easy part had been achieved: I was soon to arrive at the location of both young women. The problem, before you wonder, was that I had not entirely decided who to woo.
I had previously entertained the idea of making wives of them both¡ªa thought buoyed by the elation of battle and victory. I can''t pretend it didn¡¯t sound like an ideal solution either. But reality demanded a choice, and that was where the problem lay.
What was I doing? Why was I riding out here to make some kind of declaration when I hadn¡¯t even chosen what that declaration was, or to whom? Blame my naivety. Blame the blindness of passion and infatuation. I knew I needed to address this lingering longing, but I couldn¡¯t decide how. I believe I was riding out here, expecting the moment to guide my decision. Maybe I was even hoping that one of them would make the task easier by simply declaring their undying love. Even if one of them declared their undying disgust for my existence, that would have helped.
My small party arrived at the main street of the little town surrounding the castle walls. Heads turned as we rode toward the castle. I doubted anyone knew who I was this far from the city, but dressed in finery like a noble, I was clearly someone of importance. My bodyguard of savage warriors, clad in furs and bearing axes, likely helped draw attention as well. As we approached the castle itself, I could see the gates to the main courtyard were wide open. The resounding sounds of hammering echoed from the walls of the castle, ringing off the nearby buildings as we passed.
Upon entering the courtyard, I found a familiar sight. Just as in Tower Square, a stage was being constructed. Workmen moved about lazily, carrying lengths of lumber, hammering nails, and building a platform.
I reined in my horse, bringing it to a stop just outside the gate. I peered curiously at the platform, noticing other workers bustling around. The castle seemed unusually busy. What were they doing? They couldn''t be hosting their own festival; surely the Lord and his family intended to travel to the city for the evening to join in the atmosphere and revel with their peers. Perhaps this was a gesture to the local people who might not make the long journey to the city? Even that seemed unlikely¡ªanyone who could spare the time would surely be going. The festivities in town would feature cheap food and ale, subsidized by the city coffers. It was a rare chance to build unity among the peasantry, and the leadership of the city intended for the common folk to enjoy themselves.
A soldier moved toward me, eyeing my bodyguard of savages without much concern. It was hardly a force capable of laying siege to the castle. He eyed me lazily and said, ¡°M¡¯lord, who do I have the pleasure of greeting?¡±
¡°I¡¯m no lord, sir," I replied. "Just a merchant¡¯s son. I came to call on a friend of mine. Can I ask, what¡¯s the meaning of this business with the stage?¡±
The man turned his head to inspect the work, as though lazily realizing its existence for the first time. He turned back to me and said, ¡°Why, that¡¯s for the wedding, of course.¡±
Chapter 119
Chapter 119
Despite myself, I jumped slightly in my saddle. The sudden movement startled my horse, causing it to step back from the soldier. I had to take a moment to regain control of the beast, forcing it to stand still once more.
¡°A wedding?¡± I leaned forward, feeling a strange compulsion to speak quietly. ¡°Who¡¯s getting married?¡±
The man seemed almost surprised by my ignorance. He said, ¡°Why, young Lady Oakcrest, of course.¡±
I had to forcibly stop my eyebrows from shooting up. It couldn¡¯t be. No, that would be impossible. I tried to rack my brain, wondering if Lauren had any sisters¡ªperhaps I had stumbled upon the wedding of a sibling. I said, ¡°Uh, which young Lady Oakcrest is to be wed?¡±
The man paused, assessing me again. I realized how strange I must have sounded, displaying ignorance of the family while professing to be a friend. More slowly and measuredly, he said, ¡°Lady Lauren.¡± His eyes narrowed, as though measuring my reaction.
How do you imagine I felt at that moment? You might expect feelings of loss or rejection. I won¡¯t pretend those emotions didn¡¯t brush past me briefly as I heard him speak her name. But, being completely honest, the overriding emotion I felt was relief.
So, Lauren had been married off to some noble, which meant she was explicitly off the table. It simplified matters so much. A little part of me mourned the fantasies of being wedded to her¡ªher long-legged, curvaceous, doe-eyed beauty. I would miss admiring her stoic yet personal nature. But as a thousand musings of a hypothetical future with her melted away, I felt a strange sense of peace.
It was Katya, then. Katya was to be my focus. It made sense. She was the one I had spent the most time with, the one who had shown explicit interest in me. And, when I thought about it, she was the one whose character appealed to me most. Yes, she was strange and awkwardly forward, but I knew that someone like me¡ªso uncomfortable with intimacy and romance¡ªwould benefit from someone like Katya. Her forwardness, even near-aggression, would help me break through my own barriers.
After a moment, I gathered myself and said, ¡°May I ask¡ I believe Princess Katya is staying here at the moment? It is she I came to visit.¡±
The soldier continued to look at me, making little effort to hide his bemusement. Slowly, he said, ¡°Princess Katya is in the courtyard, downhill of the castle, to the east.¡±
I thanked him and turned my horse. I rode with a much lighter heart as I guided my mount through the warren of little houses and streets. The indecision was gone, and I felt blessed. Now that Lauren was spoken for, I realized Katya had always been the right choice. Oracle knew, she would be easier to approach. All I¡¯d probably need to do was stand around for a few minutes, and she would be the one to propose.
Finding the orchards was effortless. The land sloped away from the castle sharply to the east, and from my elevated position, I could easily see the orderly rows of fruit trees below. I paused for a moment, hearing my dutiful bodyguards rein in their horses as I stopped. The landscape fell away dramatically before me. Below the castle were some lawns, and beyond them, low stone-walled pens for animals, though none were occupied. Further still were substantial plantings of apple and pear trees. The scenery tumbled steeply for maybe two miles until it abruptly met the rolling blues of the sea.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!
In the center of the fruit trees was a pavilion in a large, intentional clearing. Its lower sections were finely shaped stonework, with heavy timber construction above that. It was a place for nobles to while away their idle hours, looking down over the sea, smelling the apple blossoms, drinking tea, and musing on the banalities that interested them. From where I stood, I thought I could make out a single figure seated beneath the arches of the structure.
For a moment, I paused and considered how easy it would have been to peer at that shape, know it was a person, and see clearly who it was if only I possessed the Griid-suit. Soon, I thought.
I urged my horse forward, and soon we were trotting between the trees, heavy with unripe fruit. Wasps buzzed in the air around me as I neared the pavilion. As I drew closer, the figure in the pavilion turned their head and rose. Even from a distance, I could identify the lithe figure of Katya.
I dismounted and walked toward the pavilion on foot. Katya descended the steps with a curious hesitance. I¡¯ll never forget that moment¡ªthe green scent of leaves and fruit, the frantic drone of insects above, the fresh, salty air rolling up the slope from the sea¡ªand Katya, beautiful, perfect Katya. Even with the intensity of my feelings, I felt a strange calm as she looked at me: detached yet intense, amused yet serious, and so exotically alluring.
"Tiberius! What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice lighter than I was used to. She was interested, amused even, but her usual intensity was absent. I gathered my courage and said, "I came to talk to you."
She raised an eyebrow as I crossed the clearing to reach her where she stood on the pavilion steps. She wasn¡¯t dressed in riding clothes. Instead, she wore a simple cotton dress that moved in the breeze, highlighting every detail of her petite form with overwhelming perfection.
¡°I would speak with you, Katya, if you would allow me,¡± I said. Her face shifted slightly, a look of concern appearing. I wouldn¡¯t be denied, so I pressed forward.
"Katya, I am one round away from becoming the Sword, and I... I haven¡¯t been able to stop thinking about you. I fear that thinking about you will be the thorn that rots me, that my distraction over you will cost me the round. So, I¡¯ve come here to discuss our arrangement."
She stilled. ¡°Our arrangement?¡±
¡°Our agreement," I clarified, "the agreement you proposed, that we be wed if I win the suit.¡±
I should have noticed the way her expression shifted then, the concern that flickered in her eyes. In truth, I probably did, but I was too focused on my goal to be diverted.
"I know you proposed marriage from a place of practicality," I continued, "but the more I¡¯ve reflected on it, the more I¡¯ve come to know you, the more I¡¯ve thought about you, I realize that it¡¯s exactly what I want. It¡¯s exactly what I need. Katya, if we were to be betrothed, I know my victory tomorrow would be assured, and I know we would be happy.
"Katya, I didn¡¯t realize it at first, but after time has passed, after I¡¯ve let my feelings mature, I think¡ no, I know... Katya, I¡¯m in lo¡ª"
"Stop!" she interrupted. The intensity and volume of her voice made me reel back slightly.
"Katya, I¡ª" I started, but she raised a hand to stop me. Her expression had shifted completely¡ªworried, sad. Her eyes searched mine, inspecting, measuring. I thought she looked concerned.
After another moment, she said, ¡°Tiberius, we cannot be wed.¡±
Chapter 120
Chapter 120
I looked at her in amazement. Disbelief. I hadn¡¯t prepared myself for this¡ªthough, to be fair, I hadn¡¯t really prepared myself in any way when I came here. I¡¯d let my puppy-dog feelings put me on a horse to the countryside, infatuated with two different women, with no real idea of how to talk to them or how to choose between them. As I stood before her, it dawned on me that maybe it hadn¡¯t been my choice to make.
I stammered, ¡°But you said¡ we had discussed¡¡±
Katya rolled her eyes, frustration breaking through an expression that was otherwise concerned and sincere. ¡°You northerners and your implications. We discussed an arrangement, Tiberius. We never made one. We shook no hands and signed no contracts. In the South, we don¡¯t assume a deal is made until it¡¯s made.¡±
I felt myself growing flustered, desperate. I spoke quickly, trying to blurt out my words before she could interrupt me. ¡°But you said that if I became a Griidlord, that would give me real value to you, and, well¡ it¡¯s just Lance and me now. The odds are pretty damn good that I¡¯ll be the Sword of Boston tomorrow. Isn¡¯t that what you wanted? To be the lady in the house of a Griidlord? To have little Griidlord babies and be important? That¡¯s what you said! Even if there wasn¡¯t an actual agreement, surely that¡¯s still what you want¡ªyou said you wanted that.¡±
I could hear myself blathering, and I could see her expression shift. The frustration melted away, and even the concern had largely vanished. What replaced it was much worse: an expression of pity. My skin grew cold.
She shook her head slowly, smiling weakly. ¡°Tiberius, I would be proud to be your wife, and you have proven all of that value now. I can¡¯t imagine a world where you don¡¯t win tomorrow. I¡¯ll be there, cheering for you. The wedding at the castle is planned for the day after. Nobody wants the distraction of waiting for your crowning moment.¡±
I worked my jaw, racking my brain for something to say. She went on.
¡°But things changed, that¡¯s all, Tiberius. I surprised myself, even. I thought I was more practical than this. If I wrote it down on paper, you¡¯re the better offer. You¡¯ll have everything I set out to attain: a handsome man, a rich man, a powerful man, and, mostly, a good man. But sometimes practicality has to give way.¡±
I nodded, trying to understand. Or thinking I understood. ¡°There¡¯s someone else,¡± I said.
Katya nodded.
¡°Is it¡ I mean, have you¡ is it formally decided? Maybe you could wait a while, give me a chance, think about things.¡±
Katya frowned. Even with all the turmoil in me, I couldn¡¯t help but notice how cute her small face looked when she frowned like that.
¡°Tiberius¡¡± she said softly. ¡°I just said the wedding is in two days.¡±
I frowned. ¡°Oh no, I thought you meant Lauren¡¯s wedding.¡±
I think I fully understood before her expression explained it all to me. My stomach lurched as though I¡¯d fallen from a great height, my mouth literally gaping open in shock. The craziest part was how obvious it should have been.
Katya reached out and touched my shoulder, smiling gently. ¡°It¡¯s Lauren¡¯s wedding too.¡±
I looked down, shaking my head pathetically. I felt like such an utter fool. That feeling was stronger even than the undeserved sense of rejection gnawing at me.
¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t... when?¡± I asked.
Katya shrugged. ¡°Little by little. Neither of us had any intentions¡ªor at least I didn¡¯t. We both want to bear children, and that¡¯s easier with a man. No need to mess around with other ways to get pregnant. No, I never set out for this. The Oakcrests aren¡¯t even that well off. But there were moments, here and there, and after a while, I realized I wasn¡¯t thinking about contracts and prospects anymore¡ªI was thinking about her.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
I said, ¡°When you dove off the tower to save her, that was more than just heroism.¡±
Katya nodded slowly, watching my eyes.
¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯ve been traveling in the Oakcrest carriage, why you¡¯ve been staying out here,¡± I said, more to myself than to her. Again, more nodding.
¡°Katya, I¡¯m such a damned idiot... I never saw it.¡±
She smiled kindly. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Tiberius. Really, don¡¯t fret. Tomorrow you¡¯ll be, quite literally, the most eligible bachelor in Boston¡ªmaybe one of the most desirable men in the world. A Griidlord, a lord of a new house, rich as a king. In another world, I would¡¯ve been only too happy to enter into an agreement with you.¡±
The feelings of regret settled more heavily on me, and I felt my emotions reacting. My eyes contracted. I needed to excuse myself.
¡°I need to go,¡± I said, turning slightly.
Katya seemed alarmed. ¡°Tiberius, don¡¯t¡¡±
I moved away from her. ¡°It¡¯s not you¡ªyou didn¡¯t do anything. The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. I¡¯m happy for you and Lauren, I just... I just need to put my attention back on tomorrow¡¯s fight. It¡¯s a long ride back to the city, and I need to rest up. Thanks for... thanks for taking the time to talk to me.¡±
I moved to my horse and put a foot into the stirrup.
Katya asked, ¡°Will you come to the wedding?¡±
I heaved myself into the saddle. ¡°I can¡¯t. My father is¡ I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve heard, but he¡¯s missing. The Horde attacked his caravan. If I win the suit tomorrow, I need to leave immediately for Dodge to search for him.¡±
Katya¡¯s eyes widened in surprise. ¡°Tiberius! I had no idea.¡±
I waved her concern away as I turned my horse toward the path. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that now. Please extend my best wishes to Lauren, and my apologies to you both that I can¡¯t be there.¡±
Before she could say more, I urged my horse into a canter, the beauty and peace of the orchard transforming into a tangled, untamed mess in my eyes.
***
Night. The darkness of my room did nothing to quiet the thoughts swirling in my mind. I needed to sleep¡ªwhen I woke, I would be facing him, I would be winning the suit. Sleep was so desperately necessary, yet the awareness of this only strained my mind further, stretched too thin. My thoughts drifted to my father, to the way I had embarrassed myself with Katya, to the bitterness I couldn¡¯t quite shake that both she and Lauren had made themselves unavailable to me.
When I closed my eyes, I saw Father¡¯s head on a spike, or his proud form brought low, naked and cowering in some Horde cell. When I forced those images away, I was haunted by the sickening look of pity on Katya¡¯s face. I swung my legs out of bed and stood up, not bothering to dress, moving to the door in only my underwear. I needed to clear my head¡ªI needed sleep. It was vital.
I moved out into the hall. The house was quiet at this hour, except for the snores of a Pittsburgh warrior in one of the guest bedrooms. My father¡¯s house had become a temporary barracks for the night, with the soldiers housed here in preparation for the expedition. The city was alive with visitors from far and wide, and accommodations were nearly impossible to find anywhere else.
I quietly descended the stairs, my mind a tempest. Sleep felt like a distant hope, and with every step, I was more aware of how far my life was from what I wanted. The question of my father loomed, an overwhelming worry that I could set aside for a few days¡ªeither with his rescue or the confirmation of his death. But the emptiness left by Katya and Lauren gnawed at me in ways I hadn¡¯t fully realized until now.
As I reached the bottom of the stairs, a wave of unquenchable sadness enveloped me, nearly staggering me. Here I was, hours from the end of the Choosing, and yet my life still felt so far from what I desired. The suit¡ªit was everything, the thing I wanted most. I was this close to winning it. But what did it all mean? Beyond the suit, what was I supposed to be hoping for?
I moved into my father¡¯s study, where another Pittsburgher snored, stretched out on the couch, oblivious to my quiet presence. I needed to banish this feeling, this heavy sadness, just as much as I needed to rid my mind of the foul images haunting me. I crossed the room to the cabinet, pulling a bottle from the shadows. I looked at it for a moment, feeling self-conscious about using alcohol as a crutch. My father¡¯s life had revolved around drink for too long.
I found myself wishing the voice was here with me, to either encourage or scorn me¡ªanything to distract from the loneliness. But the voice wasn¡¯t here. No one was. There was no one in my life to lean on, no one to draw strength from. The strange sadness rose from my gut again, and with an urgent need to quiet it, I opened the bottle.
The overpowering smell of whiskey filled my nostrils as I brought the bottle to my lips and tipped it back.
Chapter 121
Chapter 121
The crowd was raucous. Whatever heights of elation the spectators had reached during previous rounds of the contest, nothing compared to this. The air felt thick with the breath and sweat of thousands; their screams and cheers were nearly deafening. As I looked among the stands, I saw faces in ecstasy, many flushed with the effects of long drinking. Banners were unfurled, whipping above the crowd with fury, with a desperation to be seen. My name flickered across the cloth far more often than any sign of my competitor¡¯s. It was humbling. It was humiliating. This was the crowd of the common folk, drunk not just on ale, but on this brief, momentary chance to see one of their own succeed. One of their own¡ªhow pitiable it was that they had so little to cling to that they would see me as a symbol of anything.
I stood on the top tier of the platform. It was like a wedding cake, with a broad, flat upper level and a series of shelves radiating out to the arena floor. I felt exposed and overwhelmed. Yet, I also felt thrilled and excited. Above it all hung the question of what my actions today might mean for my father, for Harold, for the servants in my house, for me. But it was hard to let the sobering effects of reality dampen the sheer exhilaration coursing through me. I felt confident.
Lance stood opposite me, on the far side of the platform. The sheer force of the crowd¡¯s screaming seemed powerful enough that I half-expected to see him lifted and tossed away like a leaf in a storm. He stood there, his expression distant. I wanted to say I saw fear, worry¡ªthe troubled face of a bully who knew he was about to be brought low¡ªbut no, that wasn¡¯t quite it. He wasn¡¯t untroubled, but the look on his face was more contemplative, difficult to decipher.
The center of the platform slid open, broad wooden boards sliding aside, silently moving against the tempest of noise from the stands. A mechanical platform rose from the bowels of the arena, lifting a group of figures: Mario, another priest, two attendants, and the bishop. And most importantly¡ªthe suit itself.
I stared at it hungrily, unable to tear my eyes away. I could feel my inner obsession rising to new heights as I gazed upon the object of my desire. It¡¯s hard to put into words how I felt¡ªhow fixedly my eyes were drawn to the suit. I felt like a fox, ravenously staring through the wire of a coop at a plump and defenseless bird. Or like a castaway, clinging to debris, watching as the waves torturously brought the shoreline within reach. Or like a man starved of the touch of a woman, waiting obsessively for her to come to him.
Before my eyes, Mario began to touch the suit, his fingers working at a portion obscured in the cleft where the helm met the neck. Excitement sprang up inside me, my heart beating faster¡ªnot with fear, as it had so many times before, but with pure eagerness. I would make it mine. I would own that power for the rest of my life, see the world in all the colors the uninitiated never even knew they missed.
I pushed down the excitement, trying to calm myself. I remembered, with some shame, how I had used my father''s whiskey to ease my nerves the night before. It had worked¡ªtoo well. But as morning came and Harold knocked insistently on my door, the troubling weight of that choice lingered. I had gone back to that well, dipped into the soothing effects of alcohol to quiet my troubled mind. What bothered me most was how justified it had seemed at the time, and how unsettlingly guilty I felt in the cold light of day. Had I sought an excuse? Did I really need those numbing sips to ease my mind?If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
I bit my lip, the thought taking hold. My father¡¯s life had come to revolve around the bottle. I had never feared it before, but the comfort it had brought me last night unsettled me just as much as it soothed me. It had been too easy.
My attention snapped back as the suit suddenly dissolved. I recognized the phenomenon¡ªfamiliar by now. The suit melted into countless particles, surging like the waves of an angry sea, haloed and veined with strange, glowing purple light. The mass split and surged in opposite directions¡ªone stream shot across the platform toward Lance, the other flowed to my feet.
I couldn¡¯t suppress a gasp as I felt the particles make contact, crawling up my legs, encasing me. This would be the last time I would experience the suit coming to me, I swore it. After today, the moment of being without it would be over forever. Darkness enveloped my face as the suit closed around me. Then, the window of vision formed, and I could see all around me.
Almost immediately, the voice spoke in my ear. "Tiberius... You had me worried for a while there. I¡¯m certain of many things, but I couldn¡¯t be sure you would appear today."
I wondered if it meant that or if it simply wanted me to believe I had made it doubt. I spoke back with my mind, You know, we¡¯ve talked before about how winning today would bind me to you, but we¡¯ve never said it the other way.
The voice sounded confused. "What?"
You¡¯re aware that you¡¯ll be bound to me as well, I thought. You have your grand plans¡ªwealth, power, changing the world. You offer me these rewards to help you with your quest, and I need to make my decision carefully because binding myself to the suit also binds me to you. But it binds you to me as well.
The voice fell silent. I watched the suit form around Lance. These were still the half-suits, not the full suits of a true Griidlord. Even as I waited for the voice to respond, my blood vibrated with excitement at the thought of what it would be like to experience the true ecstasy of the full suit.
Finally, the voice spoke plainly, seemingly without its usual veil. "Well said, Tiberius. Maybe you¡¯re even more suited to this role than I realized."
I might have pondered those words longer if not for the intensity of the moment.
I said, "Enough of that for now. In a short while, we¡¯ll have eternity to dicker about how we can help each other. For now, he is our only concern."
I could almost feel the voice¡¯s attention shift toward Lance. It said, "He¡¯s of no concern. You¡¯ve surpassed him long ago."
The bishop raised his hands, motioning to the crowd for silence. I could see the frustration on his face as the wild hooting and incessant din continued, refusing to ease for him. He paused, unwilling to make a greater demonstration of his impotence before them. Instead, he nodded to Mario, whose hand slipped into the sleeve of his robe.
A deafening klaxon blared from every corner of the arena, twice as loud as the revelers. There were shrieks of surprise, mixed with short screams of fright and displeasure, but the crowd quieted. Not completely¡ªthere was still a steady hum of voices¡ªbut the rowdy roar had receded. The bishop straightened, preparing to address the crowd himself.
As I waited for what would doubtlessly be an endless drone of self-aggrandizement, the voice spoke again. ¡°That boy¡ there¡¯s something off about him.¡±
¡°What are you talking about?¡± I asked.
The voice spoke again, suspicion lacing its words, concern even running beneath them. ¡°The other one, Lance. Something¡¯s different.¡±
Chapter 122
Chapter 122
The endless drone of the crowd was still present, subdued somewhat by the blaring klaxon horns, but not diminished entirely. The bishop had begun to speak, though to me, his words were as meaningless and monotonous as the crowd''s din. Even though I was in the suit, with senses heightened beyond description, the sounds around me seemed to fade. I narrowed my eyes, peering through my visor toward the figure opposite me.
He was my mirror image. We both stood, clad in our half-suits, swords hanging at our sides. We both faced each other with a similar intensity, a similar focus, an identical goal. I thought about what the voice had just said¡ªthat something was different about him. It echoed what I had felt earlier. He seemed troubled¡ªnot with fear, as I had hoped, but with indecision. His face wasn¡¯t that of a man afraid, but of one contemplating a choice. What choice could that be, I wondered, as I stared past the gesticulating bishop toward Lance.
What do you mean, different? I asked the voice.
The voice replied, Different¡ I don¡¯t know. I can just feel a change in him¡ around him.
The concern in the voice sharpened my focus. I often struggled to trust the voice¡¯s honesty, but there was nothing it could gain by inventing this. The natural worry in its words felt beyond an act.
I asked, If you¡¯re part of the Oracle, then you¡¯re connected to him too. Can¡¯t you tell what¡¯s different?
The voice groaned, frustrated. It¡¯s not that simple. I can see inside your head, but only a little. And I see well because of the way your brain aligns with mine. Lance¡¯s connection... well, he connects to me, but his weaker connection to the suit, to the Griid¡ªthat¡¯s what will doom him against you today¡ªit also makes it harder for me to discern his thoughts. He¡¯s troubled, but I can¡¯t tell why. And¡ it¡¯s not him that¡¯s different. It¡¯s something else.
I didn¡¯t like this. I didn¡¯t need any wild cards in a game I thought I had already won. I exhaled deeply and looked away. Whatever was happening, I was itching for this thing to start. The tension of waiting was more exhausting than the fight itself might be.
As I looked up, the sharpened vision of the suit swept across the sea of faces. And, of course, my gaze settled on them. On a balcony, reserved for the nobles, two figures stood, looking down at me¡ªKatya and Lauren. They stood side by side, their gazes mostly fixed on me, their heads tilted together in private conversation. A pang shot through my heart as I watched them. Fantasies of being part of that intimacy, of those secret conversations, had crept into my mind during the competition. By now, I had been foolish enough to believe they were mine to choose between.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
But I had been blind not to see it¡ªthe way Katya held Lauren¡¯s hand as she mounted the carriage, the way she sacrificed herself in the tower to save Lauren. The way neither of them had cared about winning the Flow during the contest with the orbs, as long as one of them did. Their house would receive its reward. Their house.
I forced my gaze away, looking down at the floor beneath me. My fist clenched and unclenched. I wanted the sword in my hand. I wanted to be done with this. I craved a little violence. Anxiety, fear, grief, and hope swirled together in me, creating a molten-hot cocktail of emotion. I needed to be in motion. I needed that little bit of violence.
But despite it all, as I clenched my fist, I could feel the incredible power in that grip. The bishop stood, waving his arms, boring the crowd to death. They wanted to get to the action as badly as I did. It was why they had come¡ªwhy we had all come. None of us were here to let that pompous fool put us to sleep. I stared daggers at him through the visor. I hated him. He thought himself far above us all, but standing in the suit, feeling the power in my hands, coursing through my bones, I felt a thousand feet above him.
Reality snapped back, and the sounds regained their hold on my attention. I could hear again. The crowd was mostly hushed as the bishop droned on, his words echoing from hidden speakers. But among the low murmur of thousands, there were jeers and shouts from those who were especially drunk or especially fed up, calling for him to shut up and let us get on with it. The bishop, however, was a seasoned tower dweller, living far longer than his face might suggest. He steered himself past the heckles with ease, though I knew inside, he would be seething.
His voice boomed, and I realized he was nearing what I hoped was the end of his speech. He said, "...from the dawn of our time, the Choosing has been a corporeal representation of forces beyond our ken. It is not these young men who choose the suit, who elect one another, who deign to effect this outcome. All that has passed and all that will come to pass is but the physical manifestation of the judgment, the desires of our Oracle. Our truest path to happiness, to salvation, to the brightest of all possible futures, lies in surrendering to the will of the Oracle. We only need to be worthy¡ªthat is the only thought, the only desire, the only goal that need occupy our pathetic human minds. And as these two young men step forward, they too know that their actions are merely the notes of a song written long ago..."
I spoke in my mind to the voice, Is that so?
The voice, part amused and part bitter, replied, If only it were that simple.
I chuckled slightly. I could make friends with this thing, if I treated it with enough caution.
Then I noticed the crowd noise reaching a low, the jeers fading into silence. Anticipation filled the arena. The bishop¡¯s voice had reached a higher pitch, more excited. I glanced at him and saw the flag held high in his hand. My heart surged, my hand twitched, aching to feel the hilt of my sword. It was about to happen.
I let the old cleric¡¯s voice reach my ears once more as I watched the platform beneath him begin to descend.
¡°And let the final round of the Choosing begin.¡±
The flag fluttered free from his hand, caught by the air thick with tension, before it flapped and curled its way to the floor.
Chapter 123
Chapter 123
There was no hesitation. The bishop was still descending into the platform when we moved. I felt the boards beneath my feet flex and nearly buckle as I propelled myself forward. Such was the force of my charge that I seemed to fly in a flat trajectory toward my opponent, my feet barely touching the floor after that first powerful thrust of my legs.
Lance met me with no less fury. His entire body became a projectile as he surged toward me. The sheer momentum with which he moved was truly awesome. Somewhere inside, I felt a twinge of something like guilt. Lance was an arrogant bigot, but he was undeniably gifted. He had earned his skills. In any other Choosing, it would be a near certainty that the suit would be his, and he could look forward to life as the Sword of Boston. As we converged on each other, I had a flicker of empathy. He must feel robbed. What were the odds that in his lifetime, during his opportunity, someone like me would emerge¡ªsomeone touched by the Oracle, with an unfair advantage, the ability to absorb attributes unnaturally quickly, a brain perfectly adapted to grow into the suit?
I met his cut with mine. The crowd inhaled collectively as we moved toward each other, the arena falling silent for the first time that day. The sudden hush was noticeable. The hollow thump of Lance¡¯s feet on the boards echoed with an odd clarity, the mortal snarl of a human voice ringing too clear. When our swords met, glowing and blinding with energy, the impact was sonically overwhelming. There was the clear ring of steel on steel, but equally, there was a cracking, surging, explosive resonance that spoke to the true power of our weapons.
The force of my cut smashed Lance¡¯s sword aside. I followed up conservatively, cutting again at his midsection, my footing careful, not overextending, not exposing myself. As I made my second strike, the crowd found its voice. There was an exultant roar, a swelling of jubilant voices that was both deafening and exhilarating. The people were ecstatic as they watched their champion¡ªthe commoner¡ªcomfortably push back the nobleman.
Lance leapt back, arching his body to pull his abdomen clear of my cut. I didn¡¯t rush in with abandon. I had made that mistake too many times before. My attributes might be greater, and my comfort with the suit might even exceed his at this point, but Lance was the more experienced fighter. He had feinted and fooled me too many times. Though I had trained long in the practice yard, I had learned that it was no substitute for the real fighting and killing Lance must have seen as a defender of his father¡¯s lands.
Lance tried to circle to my right, and I slashed out to eliminate the option. His posture and movements were clearly defensive. He was where I had been before¡ªon the back foot, in a desperate position of inferiority, searching for a slim advantage or a roll of the dice that might turn the fight in his favor.
As for me? I wanted so badly to dominate him, to crush him, to show everyone¡ªMario, the bishop, Katya, Lauren¡ªall of them, just how far I had come. But I wanted and needed the suit more. So instead of unleashing the full fury of my power and risking walking into one of his traps, I used my strength and swordplay to manage him, to contain him.
Lance spun on his feet, nimble and sure, lashing out with his sword as he moved. He was trying to push me back, to give himself room to move to the left. He could tell I was trying to corral him, pushing him toward the edge of the platform, leaving him in a defenseless position where he could be felled by my cut or simply by slipping off the edge. Again, I interrupted his attempted escape. I let his nimble strike contact me. It was an attack meant to make me step away, not carrying the full force of his suit¡¯s power. I flexed shield. The blow still jerked my body, but it did no harm. As his sword glanced off my shoulder, I swung mine up, the blade blazing with the light and heat of my cut. Lance had to step back, parry.
He surprised me slightly then, coming at me suddenly and with complete abandon. I had spent so long in this competition just trying to keep my footing, backing away from stronger opponents, that the moment of his attack was dishearteningly familiar. The fury and recklessness with which he came at me left me with no recourse but to raise my sword in defense and back away. His cut blinded me with its light as the blows hammered down. My blade was trapped in front of me for a few heartbeats, fending off the rain of fury.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
But I was in control this time. In control of myself, in control of the battle. I pulsed CUT, repelling his blade, and his arm jerked outside the corridor of attacks. Instead of closing the gap and gambling on a crushing strike, I swept my leg out, stepping outside the narrow avenue of battle he had created. Lance¡¯s mouth gaped slightly in surprise. Perhaps he had counted on me exposing myself again, like so many times before. As I stepped outside and around him, he tottered. He had been ready to step into me as I countered, expecting me to fall for another feint. Instead, the maneuver left me on solid footing, while he was unsteady.
Now was as fine a moment as any to let him feel my power. I swung my sword in a horizontal arc, even amazing myself with the surging energy that radiated from the blade. My CUT struck him squarely, the kinetic energy crackling like lightning. Lance¡¯s feet were lifted by the force of the impact, and he was sent spinning through the air. I hadn¡¯t aimed with enough consideration. If I had been more thoughtful, I might have sent him tumbling from the platform to the arena floor, ending the contest then and there.
It hardly seemed to matter¡ªthe impact must have hurt, might have broken ribs, and certainly expelled all the air from his lungs. The boards splintered and screeched under the force of his body as he crashed back to the platform. He rolled, and despite his situational awareness, he couldn¡¯t seem to stop his body from curling in pain, like a wounded insect contracting in on itself. I could have finished him then, but I had grown too wary. The pain was real, probably intense, but he had been too devious too many times before. And maybe, just maybe, I wasn¡¯t done yet. Maybe I wanted to play the bully for once.
So I stood, waiting. I didn¡¯t need to wait for long. He quickly rolled, expecting a finishing blow to descend, and flipped to his feet.
There was space between us now. We regarded each other for a moment. The crowd was quite literally losing its mind as we stood there. Their screams and shouts flowed over us like a roaring tide.
I stood, dominant, confident but careful. Lance stood ragged, slightly hunched with pain, his posture twitching with anxiety and uncertainty.
He said, "You bastarding upstart, this isn¡¯t fair."
I said, "What¡¯s not fair about this, Lance?"
He snarled, "I earned this. I was born for this. I¡¯m better than you."
I replied, "If you¡¯re better than me, then come show me."
His lips curled back, baring his teeth in savagery. "I am better. I know I¡¯m better. But you have something¡ªsomething I don¡¯t fucking understand. It¡¯s not you that¡¯s beating me; it¡¯s some stupid little gift, some quirk. I can¡¯t let you take my birthright from me just because of some chance wrinkle in your brain that lets you do this."
Again, sword leveled, calm, I said, "Then come show me how you can best me."
Lance seemed to deflate then, his sword dropping to his side. "I can¡¯t¡"
My eyebrows shot up. Was he conceding? He was right¡ªthere was no way I could imagine him besting me, especially not after the lessons he had taught me during our contests, honing the rough edges of my swordplay with each defeat he had dealt me.
He continued, "I can¡¯t beat you like this. I wanted to¡ I wanted to show the people that there was more to this than simply having the most attributes and the greatest power. But your advantage is too great, I can see that now¡"
They were words of surrender. My emotions were mixed. Of course, there was excitement at the thought that it was about to be over¡ªthat he was about to concede, end the fight to spare himself, and grant me the suit for all time. But there was an animalistic disappointment in me too. I wasn¡¯t finished.
Then the voice was in my ear again. It actually trembled with something akin to fear, and that, more than anything, made my blood pulse faster. The voice simply said, oh no...
Chapter 124
Chapter 124
The voice¡¯s words echoed in my mind. The sudden dread in its tone chilled me. This voice, so jaded and bored by its apparent eternity of existence, now seemed afraid. Perhaps I¡¯m projecting my own emotions, but at the very least, the voice hummed with concern.
At this moment, I must do something I haven¡¯t yet done in my tale: we must change scene and perspective. I need to tell you about the events that began to transpire in the basement of the arena at, what I believe, was that very same instant. I can¡¯t swear that my description is completely accurate, but I have gathered my sources since that day, and I believe what I tell you next is very close to the truth.
Further, I must warn you: these events may seem random, a coincidence too great to bear, but I promise you, there was nothing random about what occurred in the basement as I readied myself to finish Lance far above. It took me many years to understand the nature of those events, but their source, and the complete lack of coincidence, is vital to the story of my entire life.
Below the main floor of the arena lay a vast basement. This was the staging area for many shows and fights performed for the people. The floor of the arena had numerous hatches leading to the basement. During shows and combats, contestants could be delivered to the arena floor with great drama. Fiends could be introduced for spectacular effect. And it was for this reason that the collected fiends of the arena were caged there.
Fiends in this time were rarer than you might expect, far less numerous than wolves or bears. Many lived their entire lives without ever laying eyes on one. Fiends may have played a vast role in my story, but they were truly uncommon. Yet these powerful monsters posed a dire threat to common folk, especially in the wilds. A single bearwolf could terrorize a village, decimating herds, growing hungry, and eventually attacking the population itself. Left unchecked, a single fiend could extinguish an entire settlement. Thus, it was the duty of lords and knights to slay these creatures.
But fiends had value. Their rarity and danger made them valuable. They were a great addition to any arena event, let alone The Choosing. Whenever possible, hunters would capture the beasts rather than kill them, bringing them to the city. A fiend regenerates supernaturally, so even those mortally wounded could often heal back to a useful state.
Thus, beneath the arena, among the stored effects, were cages housing monsters. Monsters we¡¯ve already met in this tale. The cages held wolflings, bearwolves, the ape-monsters from the tower, and a scattering of the rat-like creatures I encountered at the beginning of this story. Hideous and terrifying though they were, they caged well. Time enough around anything can breed boredom.
And so, Barnabus cared little for the agitation of the creatures as he walked to the stairs leading to the arena floor. He noticed their heightened agitation¡ªthe louder rattling of bars, the screeches and hoots¡ªbut paid it no mind. Barnabus was one of the guards assigned to the fiends. He fed them, cleaned after them. Over his career, he had grown used to them. You could even say he had grown complacent. But the louder noises still caught his ear.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
The problem for poor Barnabus was that he was missing the spectacle Lance and I were providing. He had no desire to miss it. In fact, the only reason he wasn¡¯t watching was because the shaft of the moving platform from which we fought exited in the basement. Someone had to be present when the Bishop and priests descended. They had bodyguards, of course, but protocol demanded that some staff member be available as the Bishop moved through the unpleasant arena basement.
Once the bishop and his entourage had departed, Barnabus was obliged to remain for a time. He didn¡¯t want to be seen scurrying off, leaving the dangerous creatures unattended. So, he waited, hearing the crowd noises swell above him, wondering what spectacles of The Choosing he was missing. Barnabus did a fair amount of pacing and foot-tapping, listening with growing regret each time the crowd roared. But eventually, he convinced himself he had waited long enough. Barnabus turned and began walking toward the stairs.
The stairs were located at the far end of the space, away from the caged fiends. So, when the creatures suddenly erupted, shaking their cages and screeching with sudden intensity, they were distant from him. He tried to ignore the noise, his focus fixed on reaching the stands and witnessing the once-in-a-lifetime fight playing out above him. But the noise only intensified, and he had no choice but to stop and look.
Barnabus turned and peered through the gloom at the cages at the far end of the arena. At first, nothing seemed to be wrong. It wasn¡¯t as though the creatures never got excited. All it took was one agitating another to start a frenzy that escalated. Maybe one of the ape creatures had reached through the bars to pull the tail of a wolfling. Maybe the sounds of the excited crowd had piqued them.
He started to turn back toward the stairs when he saw the first spark. In the poorly lit space, the spark, though small, was undeniable. And, of course, it was quickly followed by another, and then another. Barnabus, ignorant of what he was seeing, took a step closer, confused but intrigued. The sparks were leaping from the surface of the metal bars of the cages. They came faster and faster until their combined luminescence began to brighten the space, casting the moving shadows of the fiends in sharp relief.
It is important to note that Barnabus only took a few hesitant steps. He was perturbed by the display, fearful of something he didn¡¯t understand. And that is significant because had he ventured too close, he would not have survived to witness what happened next. Had he marched right over to the cages, Barnabus would have ceased to exist.
Instead, Barnabus took only a few halting steps. He was right to be afraid. The sparks themselves were flying with such fury that they might have been dangerous to him, and perhaps they signaled a looming disaster for the integrity of the cages. Barnabus had no desire to be standing next to a cage that might pop open, bringing him face to face with one of the terrifying fiends.
As the stream of sparks came closer and closer together, they eventually blended into a continuous glow. The intensity of the light reminded Barnabus of nothing so much as a welder¡¯s torch. That is how he later described it to me.
But his confusion, his concern, morphed into panic as the blackness began to swirl. As he watched, the shadows of the basement began to merge and shift, moving in ways that defied reality.
Though Barnabus didn¡¯t understand what he was witnessing, it filled him with a deep and primal dread¡ªa supernatural dread. He had no way of comprehending the display unfolding before him.
But I can tell you what Barnabus was seeing. Barnabus was witnessing the manifestation of a tiny Entropy Storm, contained in one corner of the basement.
Tiny though it might have been, even the smallest iteration of an Entropy Storm was akin to a window into the bowels of hell.
Chapter 125
Chapter 125
Madness boiled beneath the floor of the arena. The truest of insanities was roiling before the eyes of poor Barnabas, who only wanted to watch a fight.
Meanwhile, many yards above Barnabas and the nightmare unfolding before him, my own dark dream was developing.
Lance¡¯s jaw seemed to set as he faced me. To the onlookers, the match was all but decided. I stood masterful, strong. My posture was decidedly dominant, my swordplay confident without recklessness, and my power exceeded his in every aspect. This had been less of a match than a carefully executed piece of business. To the eyes of the crowd, the only way I could lose would be if I beat myself¡ªand for once, I had been careful not to let that happen. Lance was cowed, exhausted, outmatched, and desperate. You might think the crowd would be displeased with such a poor competition, but quite the opposite¡ªthere was little the common man could enjoy more than watching an elite be brought low, and by one of their own no less.
But the set of Lance¡¯s jaw caught my eye. Not the strained clenching of a man panicked and ready to fall on his sword or make a last suicidal charge. No, it was a resolved grimness that spread across the lips I could see below the half-helm. The voice''s words echoed through my mind: Oh no.
What could make the voice fearful at that moment?
I was swiftly to discover that something was wrong. As the voice had said, there was indeed something different about Lance.
The visor of Lance¡¯s helm suddenly lit up with an internal fire. A noticeable glow suddenly surged from inside the helm. I felt that I could suddenly see his eyes blazing like those of a demon. It shocked me.
He launched himself at me again, and something was utterly, indescribably different. He moved too fast. Too fast to be plausible. He was suddenly like a different species. His CUT came at me, and this time it was only by the faintest twitch that I parried. Though my CUT was stronger, he delivered another blow before I could ready myself. This second CUT I deflected with the edge of my sword, not fully escaping the blow, and some of the searing kinetic impact caught my shoulder. My SHIELD was strong, dampening the damage, but I still felt the shock course through my body, turning me. This impact to my stance, coupled with the blinding quickness of his next attack, left me exposed.
I need you to understand: the quickness with which he attacked was not just fast. It was supernaturally fast. It was impossibly fast. That speed had simply not been there until this point in the fight. Up until now, my attributes far exceeded his, but our physical abilities had been somewhat similar. Suddenly, Lance was fighting with the speed of a Griidlord.
His blade took me in the gut. My suit protected me, my SHIELD absorbed some of the blow, but the full kinetic impact of his CUT lifted me from the floor of the platform. I felt the air painfully forced out of my lungs, the searing, gasping pain in my abdomen, the dull, critical agony radiating through my torso.
While hanging in the air, I had just enough time to wonder¡ªwhat the hell was happening?
Then I was rolling across the boards, thumping and crashing, barely keeping a grip on my sword. I came to a rough halt only a few feet from the edge of the upper platform. The tiers below me were fair game to fight on as well, but better avoided, as each one was closer to the floor of the arena and disqualification.
Lance didn¡¯t follow up on what might have been an opportunity to finish me. Instead, he stood where he had been when he delivered the terrible blow, looking down at his hands. There are no other words to describe his posture and expression¡ªhe was amazed by something. He was amazed by himself. A smile, one that might only have been partly sane, spread across his lips as he stared at his hands.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
The voice came to me, saying, You need to get away from him.
I replied, What? No! This is my fight, I¡¯m winning.
The voice said, You were winning. Do you really feel like you¡¯re winning now? Can you fight that?
I was confused. But¡ but¡ I¡¯m better than him now, more powerful. I don¡¯t understand what¡¯s happening.
The voice urged, Just get moving. I¡¯ll explain, but I need you moving now. If you¡¯re still here when he finishes congratulating himself, you¡¯re toast, and I want you in the suit, not him. Just trust me for once, and move¡ªdrop to the next level!
The urgency in its tone pierced through my confusion, and I rolled from the top tier, landing lightly on the platform below.
What now? I asked.
Just keep moving, the voice said. Try not to be seen. He¡¯s got too much on the line to blindly charge after you. He¡¯s too smart for that. If you keep moving and stay out of sight, it¡¯ll force him to be cautious¡ªbuy us a little time.
Keeping low, I scurried around the second tier. The top tier overhung it slightly, so as I moved, staying close to the wall, it would be very difficult for Lance to peer down without exposing himself.
What¡¯s happening? I thought to the voice, urgency and impatience clear in my mind.
The voice answered, He¡¯s cheating. They¡¯re all cheating. How did they manage this without my knowing?
How can he be cheating? I asked, bewildered.
The voice said, He has a relic. They¡¯ve given him a relic. I knew I felt something strange in him when he stepped into the suit, but I didn¡¯t know what it was. He didn¡¯t activate it at first. I think he wanted to give himself a chance to beat you fair and square, but once he saw that was impossible, he turned it on.
I said, A relic? What relic? What does it do? How can he¡ this isn¡¯t fair!
The voice replied, It¡¯s not only unfair, it¡¯s illegal. But he didn¡¯t do this alone. That bastard bishop is behind it. The relic must have come from one of the monasteries. It¡¯s a type I¡¯m familiar with. Many cities give their newest Griidlord a relic that boosts a level, something to help them be competitive while they¡¯re green and still gaining levels of their own¡ªa head start.
I could hear Lance moving again, his footsteps fast and heavy on the platform above me, like a rapid drumbeat. He was hunting me. But the voice was right¡ªhe wasn¡¯t about to let his newfound power make him reckless.
The voice continued, Such relics are not allowed in the Choosing.
I said, Then we¡¯ll expose him.
The voice was scornful. Tiberius, grow up, please. If they gave him the relic, they can slip it from him again once you¡¯re defeated. Exposing him won¡¯t help.
I paused, pressing my back against the wall, trying to make myself invisible from above. My eyes darted left and right, ready to defend if Lance dropped to this tier and attacked from the side. Familiar, unwelcome emotions returned: doom, inadequacy. But they came hand in hand with rage and frustration. I was being cheated out of what was rightfully mine. I couldn¡¯t let this happen. My heart pounded as I thought about it. They had no right to take this from me!
I asked, What exactly is the relic doing?
The voice was grave. The relic he¡¯s using has given him a full level in one attribute. The one attribute you don¡¯t possess from the COMBAT menu.
A weight dropped into the pit of my stomach as the voice said that. The one attribute I hadn¡¯t yet gained a level in was the one the voice had told me would effectively end the Choosing. It had said that if I gained that attribute, I¡¯d be so astronomically ahead of my peers that the competition would be over.
My task had changed. I needed to find a way to compensate, and fast.
Lance had gained a level in POWER.
Chapter 126
Chapter 126
How does POWER work? I silently asked the voice. I kept myself pressed to the wall under the overhanging platform above me. Lance''s rapidly drumming footsteps drew closer, and I tensed. I suspected he wouldn''t be able to see me without leaning out dangerously and exposing himself. Even with this strange ability he had gained, if he leaned down, my high-level CUT could be enough to finish him.
The voice replied, What did all your trainers teach you?
I said, Nobody ever bothered to teach me much about POWER. You said it yourself¡ªno contestant in a Choosing has ever gained a level of POWER, so why waste time tutoring it? I know it has something to do with raising physical attributes, but I thought there were limitations on POWER. Don''t Griidlords limit their use of the attribute in combat situations?
The voice said, Yes, indeed they do. You, in fact, have some possible avenue to getting through this. Hmm, maybe I acted a little rashly...
I couldn''t fathom what the voice meant by acting rashly. I wasn¡¯t aware of it ever acting at all, unless you counted blathering and mocking in my brain as action.
The voice continued, POWER allows a suit wearer to direct energy from a finite well to boost physical stats. The size of the well is most certainly finite, and once exhausted, it takes time to replenish. Our noble friend up there has fired up POWER and seems to be running it continuously, which means he must be burning through his reserves. I don¡¯t know the precise nature of the relic he¡¯s using, but I¡¯m unaware of any such relic that would raise his POWER by more than a single level. Such wonders do exist, but their rarity is such that I doubt they''d be available for a ploy like this. And, frankly, a single level of POWER makes the boy unbeatable.
I heard the footsteps drum by above me. He must have scanned the entire perimeter of the upper floor by now. My HEARING gave me a clear sense of his movement. I wondered why his SCENT or HEARING didn''t allow him to track me by heartbeat or odor, but the tournament was alive with the sounds and smells of the crowd. I didn¡¯t know which of those attributes he had leveled.
I asked, So how long does he have before he exhausts it?
The voice said, He seems to have directed his POWER attribute to his speed stat, which, as you''ve seen, is a fine use of it. A normal level-1 user would have exhausted their reserves by now and would already be recharging. This relic must come with a larger reserve. But mark me, Tiberius¡ªthat¡¯s your only way out of this now: wait for him to burn through his energy, then strike while he¡¯s recharging. I just don¡¯t understand why the dolt is being so wasteful. Why isn¡¯t he turning POWER off when he¡¯s not in combat?Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
I could have answered that. I understood. I was already salivating at the thought of experiencing the power Lance wielded. The suit had a drug-like effect on me. I¡¯d seen in Olaf¡¯s eyes that he also felt the ecstasy of power from the suit. Lance, for all his arrogance, was a gifted suit user, and he too probably felt the joy of the suit the way I did. I could imagine what he was experiencing as he dashed about, deciding on his next course of action. He was alive in a new way. The power coursing through him probably burned like heavenly fire. He might even have been aware that he needed to switch it off to conserve the resource, but it would be so hard to let go of that invigoration. I understood.
I felt a vibration through my feet. My heart jumped a gear. Lance had leapt to this tier. I could feel the rapid vibrations of his feet as he raced around the tier from the opposite side. I could hear the impacts of his feet on the surface as he came for me. The crowd noise rose with excitement as they watched him. They might be rooting for me, but what they wanted to see more than anything was the next clash of steel on steel. I jittered slightly; he would come fast. I had seen the speed he could employ now. I needed to be facing him, but I wouldn¡¯t have time to turn¡ But which side?
I activated SIGHT. Bear with me¡ªbecause even to this day, I am proud of the play I made in that moment. I activated SIGHT and scanned the crowd. There was no vid screen up during the fight, for the very reason that someone in my position could use it to unfair advantage. But I could zoom in on the faces in the crowd. None of them were watching me. They were all watching the figure streaking with superhuman speed towards me. I focused on faces in the crowd, watching their eyes tracking him. They were all pointed to the left.
Time slowed for me a little as I watched their pupils move. What a marvel of the suit that I could see the eyes of the spectators from this distance. I watched their pupils reveal my opponent to me. I let my HEARING measure the distance. I let the drumming vibrations of his steps seep through my feet.
At the last possible moment, before Lance had rounded the bend, I leapt towards him. I pushed everything I had into my CUT. I felt the power surge through me, through my sword. I felt the heat of the blade flaring against me. I had to narrow my eyes as the light erupted from my own sword. He was too fast for me to swing at directly. Instead, I used this chance to strike at where I expected him to be.
In this instance, I did not go unrewarded.
His blurring figure rounded the bend of the second-tier platform. He was racing, buoyed aloft by the experience of power, perhaps even drifting slightly in an ecstatic haze. Well, I brought that ecstasy to a sudden halt.
I caught the briefest glimpse of his lips curling into a surprised snarl. Then his mouth twisted into an expression of agony. He had time to pulse SHIELD. The attack would have been too much of a surprise for him to respond had he not been employing POWER, but his enhanced speed gave him just enough time to raise SHIELD and turn his body slightly. Regardless, my blow exploded on him. The kinetic fire raged on impact, a burst of light and force that shook my own arms, let alone his body. His form was sent hurtling from me. He skipped off the edge of this tier and struck the tier below. The glowing light of his visor dimmed.
Like a stone on water, or an object tumbling down stairs, he glanced off each step of the tiers, his body dashed brutally with every fall. I held my breath. His trajectory was clear. He was going to hit the floor of the arena.
I had done it.
I was about to win.
Chapter 127
Chapter 127
I¡¯ve retold this story many times since then. Writing this account is not the first time I¡¯ve re-experienced that moment. And every time, I wish the sense of suspense had been greater. This was my real-life experience, not a tale spun from imagination. So I always expect my listeners to feel a greater sense of anticipation. Why couldn¡¯t this have been the end? Why couldn¡¯t the listener believe, truly, that it might be over? Why couldn¡¯t the reader hold their breath as I described Lance hurtling toward defeat?
Because it would have been too easy, I suppose. It certainly hadn¡¯t felt easy.
Whatever the case, if you''ve read this far with the certainty that the fight wouldn¡¯t end so suddenly, then I must tip my hat to you.
As I watched Lance fall, my breath held in excitement and anticipation, I saw the light flare from his visor again. I can¡¯t help but respect his composure. He found enough wherewithal to activate POWER again during that chaotic fall. His sword flared with the light of CUT as he bounced from the final tier and, with his body twisting in mid-air, he stabbed the platform. His blade bit deep, anchoring him. His body jerked violently as his momentum clashed with the anchored blade, but he was arrested mid-fall, kneeling on the final tier, grasping the hilt of the embedded sword with both hands.
He stayed there. His shoulders rose and fell rapidly. He was stunned, he was in pain¡ªbut he wasn¡¯t out yet, and his visor still blazed with the light of his damnable POWER attribute.
I moved forward immediately, determined to take advantage of his momentary weakness.
The voice shrieked, "No! Don¡¯t!"
I faltered.
The voice said, "He¡¯s too far down. By the time you get there, he¡¯ll be back on his feet, and you¡¯ll be one slip away from defeat. There is no relic he can possess that gives him an unlimited reserve of POWER. You need to play this out. Believe me, Tiberius, there is exactly and only one way out of this. You need to stay in the contest long enough for him to use up his reserve."
I think it says a lot about how far my confidence had grown that I personally disagreed with the voice. My faith in my own abilities had surged so much that I could envision another way to defeat him. But it was fantastical, probably impractical. I tempered my confidence enough to keep the thought to myself, choosing to concentrate on the voice of experience that was guiding me. Still, I didn¡¯t completely let go of the idea forming in my mind.
I glanced up, considering moving to the top tier again, further from the floor.
The voice read my intentions and hissed, "No, stay where you are. Stay on this tier. The wall behind you limits the angles he can attack from. On the open space of the top tier, his speed advantage will be multiplied. He¡¯ll be able to move around you from every angle."If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
I nodded. The voice was right. I opted to stay on the second tier. I hesitated. I could stay here, watch him coming, and be prepared, or I could dash to the far side and give him some uncertainty about how to assault me. After the nasty surprise I had just delivered to him, I felt maybe he would slow down if he had to approach from an unseen angle again, anticipating another ambush. That would mean more seconds, and more seconds meant his POWER reserve depleting further.
Without consulting with the voice, I raced around the bend toward the opposite side of the tier. I was giving up my ability to see him coming, but I wasn¡¯t sure how much that would matter. Uncertainty might slow Lance down.
But Lance was no fool.
I would have loved for him to race to the top tier and come around the platform again. I was even considering dropping to the third tier when he reached the second. Play out more time. Ambush him from a new angle. But Lance was too aware for that.
As I stood, bracing myself once more with my back against the wall, HEARING as my main focus, I saw him. Instead of racing up, he had stayed on the bottom tier and circled around with his supernatural speed, fixing my location. My move had bought me little to nothing in terms of extra time. Once he had my position, he surged at me like an arrow.
I readied my sword. At least he would be at a disadvantage making the final leap to my platform. But again, I underestimated him. When he reached the third tier, he darted a few yards to the side in an instant. From that lateral position, he leapt to my platform. At the very least, this gave me the opportunity to turn and face him. I leveled my sword at him. His visor blazed with the fires of finality. I understood how slim my chances were.
But there was no quit in me now. I had been through too much, evaded disaster too many times. Too often, I had let those narrow escapes fill me with feelings of inadequacy instead of victory. I would stand firm against him now. The only way he had gotten this far was by cheating. I would not be denied easily.
Lance smiled and said, "It''s over now, shopkeeper. You got this far, and that¡¯s something you can tell your grandkids when you¡¯re teaching them how to hoist a few extra customers by undercutting your betters. But this is it. I can take you apart any way I want to now. The only question left for me is if I shouldn¡¯t just kill you."
I stood firm. Through gritted teeth, I snarled, "You¡¯re cheating. You have a relic. You can¡¯t beat me yourself, and you know it. What does it say about your honor, your blood, that you need help to win? That you can¡¯t do it nobly?"
To my surprise, my words affected him. They didn¡¯t trigger instant rage. I had hurt him. Lance had tried to best me without the relic. He had wanted to do it fairly. I couldn¡¯t know if that was because he wanted to prove something to himself, or if it was an actual sense of honor that had led him to delay using the relic. He might have been an arrogant bigot, but he had only done his best in the contest. He had used the rules to his best advantage, but he had never cheated¡ªuntil now. He had been like me, doing what he could to win. Nothing more.
The pained grimace that seized his face made me wonder about his parental pressures. My father had seized my whole life as a tool for his own ambitions. Perhaps Lord Blackwater, Lance¡¯s father, saw his son the same way. I could never know the pressures that had led Lance to accept the relic.
What I did know was that he had it now, and he was ready to use it.
The pained grimace turned into one of rage. Lance roared and charged at me. His speed was dazzling, impossible to defend against. A board shattered beneath his foot from the sheer force of his movement.
I raised my sword in utter futility; there was absolutely no defense against the assault that was coming.
Then, the light from his visor flickered¡ªand went out.
Chapter 128
Chapter 128
His charge still carried the momentum created by the POWER relic, but his movements suddenly slammed back to normal. Let¡¯s not forget, this was still an immensely skilled, graceful, and honed warrior coming at me, but the sudden loss of POWER jarred him. He tried to direct the attack as he sped through the space between us, making the most of the momentum he had gained, but even as he did, I could see his lips melt into a look of despair. He crashed into me as I sidestepped the blade, shoulder-checking me hard, and we both tumbled from the second tier to the third.
I landed on my left hand¡ªthe same hand he had wounded when he blasted the orb from my grip during the trial with the jars. It had been behaving reasonably well until now, but as I landed, I felt something pop uncomfortably. I writhed on the floor for a moment, recovering from the wind being knocked out of me and the new, uncomfortable pain in my arm. I saw Lance rise before I managed to get to my feet. I readied myself to spring into action to defend myself, but he only stared at me for a moment before, to my surprise, peeling away and fleeing around the bend of the tier.
The voice said, "You can¡¯t waste time. His relic will start recharging immediately. You must go after him."
I lifted myself to a kneeling position, still gasping for breath. The fall had jarred my ribs, and I was struggling to catch my breath. My wrist hurt, but worse than the pain was the strange sensation that something was simply wrong with it.
"I¡¯m getting to it," I muttered.
As I gained my feet, the voice said, "My, my, you really did it, Tiberius. You outlasted him. As long as you don¡¯t dally too long, you¡¯ll have an easy time putting him down now. Don¡¯t worry about your left hand; you hardly need it. Just press him this time, won¡¯t you? No more of this caution and care. Time is very much against you. My God, are you going to stand there forever?"
I grunted and started to lope around the tier.
The voice continued, "I really didn¡¯t think you could outlast him this far. Of course, if his relic recharges, you¡¯re done for. Did you see the look of surprise on his face when POWER faded from him? He won¡¯t make that mistake twice, mark my words. If he gets a recharge, he¡¯ll use it more efficiently, and you won¡¯t stand a chance. Still, I can¡¯t believe you did so well. Maybe I acted rashly¡"
I thought back, Acted rashly? "What are you talking about?" Then, shaking my head, I said, "Never mind, we don¡¯t have time for this. How long will it take his relic to recharge?"
I moved quickly and carefully, extending my HEARING and SCENT. Even through the chaos of the screaming crowd, I could detect him, still on this tier, waiting for me as I had waited for him.
The crowd was utterly losing its mind by this point. This had been the perfect show for them. It wasn¡¯t a quick ten-second knockout¡ªit had been a slugfest with all the twists and turns they could have hoped for. And now, it seemed their favored champion had turned the tide.
The voice said, Haven¡¯t the foggiest. I don¡¯t know what relic he has. As much as he had the favor and help of the big men in town, they wouldn¡¯t have access to, nor would they risk, a truly precious relic on such a silly grudge. But still, he might have enough recharge to use some POWER in¡ª I don¡¯t know, it could take minutes or hours. I can¡¯t even begin to guess without knowing what relic he possesses.
So I chased him. I was a little slower now. My side ached, and my body protested after the awkward fall, but I was very much the hunter again. I rounded the wall of the tier, and there he was, ready and steady, looking far less worse for wear than I had been.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
I sprang at him, my CUT smashing against his blocking CUT. He was startled by the power of it. I wasn¡¯t holding back now¡ªthere was an urgency to my attack. I needed to put him down, and fast. His footwork was sublime. Even though he could barely deflect my CUTS, he stepped away perfectly, clearly understanding the game we were playing. He knew his POWER would return if he waited long enough, so he bought as much time as he could.
I roared in rage and pushed at him. It was a calculated risk. I pulled my SHIELD for added protection, and it completely deflected a flailing lash of his CUT. My next CUT came in hard, but he surprised me. He dropped. He simply stepped over the ledge to the next tier and fell. I didn¡¯t wait for him to hide or gather himself defensively¡ªI moved after him.
The voice urged, That¡¯s it, don¡¯t give him a chance. Good instincts, my little Griidlord. Keep on him now. He can only drop so many times before the floor of the arena becomes his only option.
A BEAM scorched the air past me as I dropped. He had tried to hit me mid-air. He was an excellent shot, but the action was too frantic, too close. I surged with a massive CUT attack as I plummeted down to him. He rolled aside as I fell, and my CUT smashed into the floor where he had been crouched. Wood splintered¡ªno, it exploded. The kinetic energy made the whole structure shake. Boards and lengths of beam flew through the air, splinters igniting from the heat of the impact and friction.
The two tiers above us groaned and sagged. I leapt back as part of the upper tiers tilted and slid down, blocking the space between us. The smell of smoke filled my nose, and a haze of it lifted from the sudden pile of debris, keeping me from my quarry, buying him precious time.
But I wouldn¡¯t give him time. I employed AGILITY, willing the suit to leap over the pile of broken lumber that had crashed down between us. I felt myself lift into the air like a bird taking flight, spinning on an axis that ran from my feet to my head. In moments, I cleared the smoking mess and landed on a jutting beam. I peered down through the thickening smoke¡ªthere he was, backing away from the growing fire, staring straight ahead, expecting me to crawl through the debris. Instead, I leapt at him.
He reacted just in time as my airborne CUT descended. He raised his own sword, not even trying to block, using the recoil of our clashing blades to propel himself away. God, but he was skilled. I landed lightly on the suddenly quivering boards of the tier. Briefly, I wondered if they would call a halt as the fire licked at the wood behind me and the structure continued to groan. But I thought not¡ªnothing would interfere with this most sacred of contests. If the Oracle willed us both to burn alive, so be it.
We stood for a beat, staring at each other. He was afraid, I could see that, but he wouldn¡¯t let the fear own him. He would have made a fine Sword. But whether it was for the good of the city or not, I needed the suit. I was going to finish this.
I said, ¡°You¡¯re done, Lance. You can still yield. The rules permit it. You don¡¯t need to sacrifice your body for your pride.¡±
Of course, a big part of me didn¡¯t want him to yield. A part of me wanted an excuse to take him apart.
He held his sword in front of him, pointed at me. He planted his feet and said, ¡°No! You¡¯re my test, I know that. The Oracle is testing me. It put a demon in my path, an upstart commoner granted special powers. This is all to test me. If this is the final moment, I won¡¯t be found wanting. Come at me, you insolent shit. Come at me, and I¡¯ll show the Oracle I¡¯m worthy.¡±
The breath went out of me for a moment. The will to attack lessened. It was so true. My story wasn¡¯t the only one unfolding here¡ªhis was too. There was another version to this entire tale. A noble¡¯s son who had worked his hardest, earned his skill, and had every right to expect that the mantle of Sword would be his, only to have his path thwarted by a nobody who excelled purely because he happened to gain attributes unnaturally quickly. How vexing that must be. How frustrating. How unfair.
I held my sword tight in my right hand, my left only making a show of gripping the hilt. I realized there was another triumphant story to be told in the next few seconds. A story where the young lord, despite all odds, vanquished his demon. Defeated the contestant who had done what no one else could. Wouldn¡¯t that be a wondrous tale?
But I had to have the suit.
The voice was in my ear, urging, Get on with it, quick, before it¡¯s too¡ª
Lance¡¯s visor suddenly blazed with light.
The voice groaned, For fuck¡¯s sake.
Chapter 129
Chapter 129
I didn¡¯t even have time to react. Lance seized the opportunity, and his booted foot shot out, slamming into my gut with a speed nearly impossible to track. The air rushed from my lungs for the second time, and my feet left the boards. I smashed into the wreckage of the upper tiers, feeling the heat building around me. It didn¡¯t burn, but I felt it wash over me, accompanied by ash and smoke erupting as I struck the irregular but painfully solid debris.
The voice spoke, You flubbed it, Tiberius. You had the chance, and you hesitated. Why? Because you had empathy for him? Because you felt what he felt? There won¡¯t be time for that when you¡¯re a Griidlord fighting other Griidlords.
In that moment, with Lance advancing, his visor blazing with POWER, I couldn¡¯t imagine a reality where I was a Griidlord.
Lance paused, unwilling to charge into the smoke. His visor dimmed, the light extinguished¡ªnot from exhaustion, but conservation. He had learned from his last mistake. But now he had other options. He leveled his sword at me, and panic surged through my veins as I realized what he was about to do. The light of BEAM raced up the length of his blade. I rolled off the platform, dropping to the tier below. The fourth tier, maybe?
I cried out in agony as I hit the boards, every part of my body screaming. My wrist throbbed with searing pain, broken or twisted. My torso ached fiercely, my lungs fighting for air through the pain of bruised ribs and the smoke I had inhaled.
Coughing and groaning, I forced myself upright. Tears of fear and frustration burned at the corners of my eyes behind the visor. I stood as straight as I could, trying to focus enough to activate HEARING, to detect where Lance was.
But I was too late. He was on me before I even sensed him. I didn¡¯t see the attack, didn¡¯t prepare. I didn¡¯t even pulse SHIELD. His CUT exploded against me, and agony ripped through my entire body. I was tossed like a rag doll, my body skipping down the tiers like a stone across water.
Unlike Lance, I had no composure to anchor myself with a well-placed CUT. I tumbled helplessly from one tier to the next, each impact shattering the boards beneath me. Every landing sent fresh waves of pain coursing through my body.
I rolled awkwardly on my wrist, unable to stop the momentum. I flew off another edge, landing hard on my wrist again, and a sharp cry escaped me.
My head hit the next tier, a terrible blow to the same spot that had only recently recovered from a concussion in the last round.
I hit the floor of the next tier like a cannonball, crashing hard on my side. I felt the sharp crack of a rib¡ªor maybe a few¡ªas I smashed into the boards. Timber popped and splintered around me, and my momentum finally began to slow.
Despite my desperate efforts to stop, my body flopped down once more, landing on the last tier. I hit squarely on my chest, and my already struggling lungs lost what little air they had left. The suffocation was immediate. I rolled onto my back, gasping for air that wouldn¡¯t come. It felt like a giant had placed his foot on my chest, pressing down. Each breath was an insurmountable task, like lifting a weight far beyond my strength. With every ounce of willpower, I forced my burning chest to draw breath. Finally, I inhaled.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
My head swam, and I felt dazed, unable to orient myself. I realized that my back was pressed against the boards, but my shoulder and left arm were hanging over the edge, suspended in space. Turning my head, I saw the arena floor¡ªjust ten or twelve feet below me. I lay on the brink of the last tier, my body broken. The voice had been right. I had squandered my last chance.
It reminded me of that, its words bursting into my mind, bitter and sharp. "I did everything I possibly could, Tiberius. This saddens me so. I know you don¡¯t always trust my words or my feelings, but I want you to know, this truly brings me sadness. We could have been great together."
Above me, I saw Lance leaping down from the top. He had paused, perhaps long enough to savor my fall, caught in the spectacle. Maybe he had hoped¡ªor even expected¡ªthat I would tumble all the way to the arena floor.
I had seconds.
There was no way I could fight him like this, not in this state, even if he didn¡¯t have POWER.
But the voice was wrong. It had said there was only one path to victory.
How had it explained it? To flex my bones? Wasn¡¯t that it? To increase BEAM, I had to flex my sword like a muscle. For SHIELD, it was flexing my skin, as if it were voluntary. But the last... the last had been to flex the power coursing through my bones. That was it. I gave myself over to the practice.
And I could feel it¡ªwhat the voice had been talking about. It was just like the strange awareness I had gained of my sword when I learned BEAM. I felt something pulsing through my bones, like my entire skeleton had become a muscle, or a massive nerve, alive with energy. I focused on it, abandoning everything else. I lay there, struggling to breathe, but giving all I had to the sensation.
Lance landed lightly by my feet.
He looked down at me. His visor was not alight. Even now, he was holding back, saving his strength for any last trick. He must have been able to taste victory.
But he extended me the same courtesy I had given him. He stood, cautious but ready, his sword leveled, and spoke. "You can yield, shopkeeper. You don¡¯t have to sacrifice your body... any more than you already have."
I was barely aware of him. I just kept flexing, kept pushing that something down through my bones to a place I couldn¡¯t quite identify.
Lance seemed to hesitate. Maybe he was waiting for Mario or the bishop to declare the match over, to grant him the mercy of victory without further bloodshed. But no such voice came.
I vaguely remember Lance gathering himself as he stared down at me. It probably wasn¡¯t that hard for him. He hated me. He always had. I knew it from the start¡ªthe commoner who dared to challenge his betters, the shopkeeper who reached for the mantle of Griidlord. But as his jaw clenched and his mouth tightened, other feelings pulsed through him. Hatred for the gifts I had, gifts he could only dream of. Hatred for the humiliation I had delivered to him, time and again.
Lance was a winner. Lance was a practical man.
He raised his sword above his head. He had made his choice: if I had to die for him to win the honor and glory of being the Sword, then so be it.
His sword blazed with the light of CUT. His visor lit up with the brilliance of his stolen POWER.
The blow arced down toward my head, and still I just pushed.
Chapter 130
Chapter 130
Barnabas was having the worst night of his life. He had just wanted to watch the fight.
Barnabas was a man of simple birth. He wasn¡¯t from a completely peasant background. His grandfather had been a substantial landowner far out in the wilds. Their family employed dozens of workers. They were landed, sophisticated people, as much as one could be while living far from the city, far from the tower, only witnessing technology on the rarest of journeys into the city. But they were landowners and lived comfortably.
Barnabas¡¯s father had been the second son. His uncle inherited the estate, and his father had no place there, but the family took care of them. They had resources, so they paid for his father to go to the city and study for the priesthood. His father had great aptitude. It was said that their family had a way with books and learning. But his father met a woman, a serving girl. Priests could not marry, and his love for that young lady pulled him away from his studies. His father redirected his focus to bookkeeping and accountancy, trading the robes of the priest for a ledger, and built a decent life for himself in the city.
Barnabas hadn¡¯t inherited his father¡¯s aptitude for learning. But he was decent and hardworking. He was smart enough to impress and physically imposing enough to find a place in the soldiery. His father had some connections, and Barnabas had secured a comfortable position in the arena, managing the beasts. Many wouldn¡¯t have been able to survive the horror of caring for the creatures, but Barnabas, if anything, was fascinated by them.
He had spent his years with regular hours, clocking in and clocking out. He, too, had found a lovely city girl to make his wife, and he, too, had become a father.
And so it was that he stood before the roiling blackness that he couldn¡¯t explain, nagging regrets playing on his mind. He had had simple desires that evening. He was going to wait for the bishop to leave, then sneak up top to watch the fight. He had a few coins resting on the victory of the common boy. The odds weren¡¯t great, as the boy had become the overwhelming favorite, but Barnabas preferred a sure thing with a simple return. Once the fight was done, he would wait for the crowd to disperse, lock up, and head home. He¡¯d probably pick up food from a vendor¡ªthere were so many vendors open that day because of the festivities. He¡¯d bring it home and enjoy the meal with his wife. His eldest would probably still be up, and he¡¯d share some of the treat with her. Then, when the last child was asleep, he had harbored hopes of some nocturnal activities with his very loving¡ªand usually eager¡ªwife.
Instead, he was staring into the eye of a demon. He was watching something unfold before him that he couldn¡¯t comprehend. I still don¡¯t completely understand what happened, but I¡¯ve studied enough to have an idea. In the eye of an entropy storm, even a tiny one like this, time loses all meaning. Millennia can pass in an instant. Generations can fly by in a breath. Other things can happen as well. Organic matter, normally immune to the effects of order and chaos under most circumstances, becomes subject to the same randomness as inanimate objects.
When that storm swelled from nowhere and consumed the cages of beasts, there had been a total of 37 creatures inside. This was an unusually large number, but it had been the Choosing, and the priests had demanded the requisition of so many creatures to give them options for the events. They wouldn¡¯t have gone to waste. The city would be swollen with revelers for days to come, and many displays could have been put on with the surplus creatures.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
But that was not to be. I can only tell you what I imagined happened in there. I have a mental image of what occurred in the storm, but my understanding is so limited, and the possible versions of events so varied, that this might just be a fantastical notion.
What I see happening is the melting of flesh. Thirty-seven creatures howled and beat at the bars, no less perturbed by the emerging storm than Barnabas. As the storm swelled and enveloped them, they entered a different reference of time than the outside world. Things happened slower or faster. Decades may have passed while Barnabas watched, or microseconds. But I see their flesh melting.
Thirty-seven monsters. The ape things weighed in at maybe 200 pounds. The little rat creatures were perhaps a tenth of that. All told, the 37 creatures added up to almost two tons of meat and bone. And the chaos of the storm broke down the essential physics that held the cells together. This, of course, should have spelled death for them. But there is a strange iterative process in the guts of these storms. They can act again and again, in seemingly pure randomness. Cells sloughing around, puddles of ichor and gore. But the cells could pool and flow a million times in a minute. Maybe billions of times. The tides of entropy could roll over them again and again, making new shapes from the raw materials. If it took a billion random attempts, a trillion, eventually something could be made from those cells. And with an eternity speeding by within the storm, while only minutes ticked by outside of it, the possibilities were endless. It was like a million monkeys hammering away at typewriters. Organs and meat, cells and fluids, assembled again and again, for a trillion years if need be, could eventually produce something that wasn¡¯t just stinking waste.
Entropy storms are believed to birth fiends.
The storm receded as quickly as it had come. The boiling blackness pulled back, and electricity seemed to arc through the air as the darkness vacated. Barnabas had a moment to think that things were going to be okay. He could see it receding. He had imagined for a moment that it would keep growing and devour the whole arena while he stood there, rooted to the spot, immobilized by fear.
But as the darkness shrank back to the same point it had emerged from, the world it regurgitated was different. The cages were gone. Strange plants seemed to sprout from the ground. Most of the little weeds weren¡¯t that strange at first glance, but their colors were off¡ªdark purples that shouldn¡¯t exist in nature¡ªand their shapes seemed impossible to support. One of the plants appeared to be more of a tentacle, like that of an octopus. Boston was a fishing city, and Barnabas enjoyed his seafood like any citizen. He knew what an octopus looked like, and what he saw in that plant was more octopus than anything that should grow from the earth. It twitched and waved.
If that had been the only puzzle, the only horror, Barnabas might have counted himself blessed. But the darkness receded further, folding in on itself until nothing was left except the reality that had existed before. Except everything that had been there¡ªcages, barrels, coils of rope, crates of food, and fiends¡ªwas gone.
Something else remained in their place.
Barnabas found that for all his terror, for all the way the fear had rooted him in place, this new apparition could move him. He took in a deep breath as he stared at the strange mountain of heaving flesh. His eyes widened with disbelief, his pupils dilating as his brain tried to process what it was he was seeing.
Then a scream left his throat. It was a huge, gurgling scream of complete, abandoned terror. That scream could have summoned help from five streets away.
But it was drowned out by the surging voices of the crowd above him.
Chapter 131
Chapter 131
The blade descended from above. I only had the vaguest awareness that it was coming.
This might seem passive of me. You might be raging at this account, furious that I was lying there, wounded, making no attempt to protect myself or fight on. But I was wagering. In a way, I was protecting myself. I understood there was nothing I could do against his POWER attribute, no matter how unjustly he had acquired it. Lance had made mistakes the first time, but he always seemed to learn from his errors faster than I did. I couldn¡¯t imagine him making those mistakes again.
Against the power he now wielded, I was utterly impotent. The voice had said as much. The only way to beat him, it had told me, was to wait for his POWER to run out, then seize the opportunity.
But I had quietly disagreed.
I had seen one more way to beat him. And what I was doing in that moment was betting on myself. Since the start of the Choosing, I had rarely found a way to believe in myself. I had gained attributes faster than any account in history that I could find. I had employed the footfield earlier than any contestant ever. For all the inadequacies I had felt in my physical skills, my connection with the suit was nearly miraculous.
So I bet on that connection.
I had skipped levels before. This would be quite the leap. But even as the sword fell through the air, I focused on nothing other than flexing that strange energy I felt coursing through my bones.
And then it happened.
Time quite literally stopped. The sword froze above me, utterly stationary, Lance''s body behind it a statue locked in a pose of dynamic, enraged motion. Even my lungs seemed not to be moving. All of existence entered a pause. Before my eyes, letters and digits appeared and flickered: "POWER 0.3" flashed before me. The digits faded away, and a "1.0" replaced them.
The voice came to me then. It said, "Holy fucking shit, you did it."
I said, "What¡¯s happening?"
"You raised POWER to level 1, you dolt!"
I asked, "Why is everything frozen?"
It said, "Oh, that? Yes, well, I have to tell you, I don¡¯t really know. This seems to happen when the first level of POWER is achieved. I think your merry friend with the sword here probably experienced the same thing when he activated his relic. You wouldn¡¯t have noticed it, but he probably did. He probably found time frozen."
I asked, "Why¡ how?"
The voice was dismissive, "Oh, I don¡¯t know. Order and Entropy do things to time. They speed it up, slow it down¡ªwho cares. I¡¯ve been on this merry-go-round before, and I can tell you it¡¯ll stay like this until you make your choices."If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
I was hesitant. "My choices?"
The voice said, "POWER is a different attribute from the others. It¡¯s directly influenced by your overall level. For each degree of overall level you possess, you get to add a point to a base attribute, like speed, strength, or toughness. That young man standing over you, believing he¡¯s delivering the final blow of the tournament, has achieved level 2 overall. That¡¯s a substantial feat for anyone in the Choosing. So, he applied two points of increase to speed, and, well, you saw the result. You get time now to choose what to do with it. As much time as you need. Time will stay like this until you allocate your points."
I was stunned by the wonder of it. I had done this. I had bet on myself, and this was the result. "My level¡"
The voice said, "You started high, if you recall."
My mind swept all the way back to the start. My first moments in the suit, distracted by the numbers and words that filled my HUD. I had thought I misread the level the suit had informed me of. Morningstar had completely disbelieved me. The other contestants had thought I had been lying. Well, I had been lying, but I¡¯d only buffed the number by one.
It had seemed so meaningless. The numbers that had mattered were CUT going from 0.0 to 1.0 to 2.0 to 3.0. The same for BEAM, SHIELD, AGILITY¡ªall the rest. Those were numbers I could use. I hadn¡¯t paid the tiniest attention to my level since those first couple of days.
I said, "I¡¯m level 8."
The voice said, "That you are. Lance gained two levels over the course of this whole thing, but the higher you are, the more experience it takes to increase a level. You¡¯re nudging up toward nine, but for now, you¡¯re still level eight. Still, I think that might suffice for now, don¡¯t you?"
I couldn¡¯t smile. My body was frozen in the same stasis as the rest of the world seemed to be. But all the same, I could almost feel my lips curling up in a savage grin, baring my teeth. I had announced myself to the world before with my attributes. What would the world think of what I could do with all of this at my disposal?
***
To the world outside of my suit, there was no lapse in time. All Lance saw, and all the crowd saw, was my defenseless form lying there, and his blazing sword arcing down toward me. What followed was so fast it was almost impossible to track. Lance could follow what happened¡ªhe had two levels of POWER directed at speed. But the crowd would need to watch the replay later to understand.
His sword was slicing through the air toward me. It was all over; no one could conceive of any outcome other than Lance winning the suit.
Then, my visor blazed with light. At the same time, my sword came up, the light of CUT flaring through the haze of smoke from the spreading fire.
The power I felt was heavenly. My superior CUT, delivered with heightened speed and strength, sent Lance¡¯s terrible blow crashing into the lumber beside me.
Shock registered on his lips. I rose effortlessly. I was still hurt, but I lifted myself in a way that felt casual to me, though it appeared blindingly fast to those around me. Lance was raising his sword to strike again. It¡¯s hard to express, but he was still using his Level 2 speed. So, to an onlooker, that sword was moving faster than the eye could track. To me, it was still swift, but I could follow it easily.
My CUT blazed again, and steel screeched on steel as I knocked his blade aside. It was so casual, so easy.
He attacked again with fury. Rage and frustration boiled out of him. His visor still shone with the light of the POWER he had stolen. Every blow was easily knocked aside. It was suddenly like fighting a child. Lance spent everything he had hacking and attacking. Eventually, he sagged, his body heaving with exhaustion. I just stood, impassive, feeling my eyes want to roll back in my skull from the satisfaction of it all.
Lance staggered back, gaping at the fire burning in my visor. He understood. He completely understood what had happened. But he struggled to believe it.
His voice cracked as the words escaped him, "Impossible¡ this¡ this isn¡¯t possible."
Chapter 132
Chapter 132
I wasn¡¯t about to make the same mistake Lance had made. I could feel the strength of the suit in a way I had never experienced before. I could appreciate how he had been carried away by it, burning through his reserves. Everything around me felt slower, calmer, as though the increase to my speed had slowed the world itself. The threats seemed distant. If I hadn¡¯t seen Lance fall into the trap of relishing this too much, using up his POWER, I might have done the same.
We stood there, two figures shrouded in the power of the gods. Both our visors blazed with light. But Lance¡¯s power paled compared to mine. I knew it. He knew it. As long as I didn¡¯t squander this opportunity, it was finally over.
Lance heaved for air, bringing his CUT at me again. He screamed, "This isn¡¯t fair! Whatever you¡¯re doing, however you¡¯re doing it, this isn¡¯t earned! This is my right!"
I casually pulsed my CUT and spoke with newfound ferocity. "And the relic you¡¯re carrying, Lance? Is that earning it?"
Lance gasped with unfettered despair as I knocked his attack aside effortlessly. He leapt back, his ribs and shoulders heaving with exhaustion, but he fought on without relent. I saw the light of BEAM swelling along the length of his sword. "What else could I do? What you¡¯re doing... however you¡¯re doing it... you have to be cheating as well," he spat.
I stepped aside with ease as the pillar of glowing kinetic energy surged from his blade. Then I stepped in and punched him with my right hand, gripping the hilt of my sword tightly to add force to the blow. He staggered back. "I am who I am, Lance. I had my own fight to get here, my own struggles. And it¡¯s over now. At long last, it¡¯s over. I can¡¯t dance around here all day waiting for my POWER to deplete. Put your sword down, or I¡¯ll put it down for you."
Uncertainty flickered across his face as he staggered from the blow. For the faintest moment, I thought maybe he would yield. There would be no honor in crushing him now, not when our levels had so suddenly diverged, not when I was so much more powerful. I still couldn¡¯t fully grasp just how powerful I felt.
The crowd was a tornado of madness. Every time I thought they couldn¡¯t reach a new pitch of frenzy, they proved me wrong. The sound was like the voice of a single maddened god. Could they have imagined a show like this? And what could be better than seeing their champion take control in the twilight of the match?
I let my senses absorb the moment. This was a memory I would carry with me for the rest of my life. I wanted to remember every detail. As I stood, waiting for Lance to fight or yield, my SIGHT caught a figure running. One of the arena guards, scrambling in panic from a side door in the stands. His movements were uncoordinated, heavy with the drunkenness of adrenaline. My HEARING sifted through the waves of noise, and I discerned him screaming, "FIEND! FIEND!"
But he was not my concern. I returned my full attention to Lance.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
His jaw clenched, his lips narrowed. No, he wouldn¡¯t yield. And despite all my noble intentions, I was glad for it. He had tormented me long enough. A small, dark part of me wanted him to swing at me. Just one more time.
Lance gathered himself. His visor seemed to blaze brighter than ever. He would have made a good Sword. He might have been arrogant, prejudiced, and cruel, but the man could fight, and his spirit was indomitable. He roared, ¡°I¡¯d rather die than kneel to a shopkeeper¡¯s son! I¡¯ll put you down! YOU! CAN¡¯T! TAKE! THIS! AWAY! FROM! ME!¡±
He charged. Where he found the reserve of energy, I couldn¡¯t comprehend. He directed a lifetime of training into the attack. His footwork was breathtaking, darting laterally, still finding a way to plant himself and pour every ounce of leverage into the swing. All of his fury, all his desperation, the acid bitterness of failing¡ªeven after breaking the rules¡ªfueled him. He had besmirched his own honor by bringing a relic into the arena, and he wouldn¡¯t let it be for nothing.
The CUT that descended was beyond anything I could have defended against before. It was so fast, so blazingly powerful, that even my attributes couldn¡¯t have saved me.
Not before.
But now, my visor blazed brighter, and time seemed to crawl. I stepped outside the arc of his CUT. My own sword flashed with the fire of anger, with the heat of revenge, with the intensity of finally proving myself. I probably hit him harder than I needed to. The explosion of kinetic energy erupted where my sword met his abdomen. He had given everything to his failed attack and had no defense against my blow. He catapulted from the tier, repeating his grisly tumble. As he fell, I gave myself over to AGILITY, becoming airborne, flying through the air in pursuit. Nothing would be left to chance this time.
Lance arrested himself again. His CUT stabbed into the second-to-last tier, saving him. But what was pursuing him was no longer a peer. I can¡¯t imagine how utterly powerless he must have felt as he tried to stagger to his feet again, seeing my form descending on him from above.
I got what I wanted. I saw his mouth gape in horror. He finally understood¡ªthe suit was mine. MINE. In the heat of the moment, that expression was almost as great a reward for my efforts as the suit itself. But thinking back now, I take no pleasure in it. He was just a young man like me, pouring everything he had into doing his family proud. He had cheated, yes, and had help. But had I earned my attributes any more than he had his POWER?
My boot connected with his chest. It was a shove kick more than in impact. His suit responded to mine, trying to find purchase in the floor as the force of my kick sent him sliding and staggering. He arrested his backward motion as his heels slipped over the edge of the final tier. His arms spun wildly as he tried to save himself. It was a humiliating final moment. His mouth was a cavern of disbelief.
He tilted away from me. I took no action. I was partly transfixed by this final moment. Partly I was in disbelief that this was it. And part of me was just curious to see if it really could be over. If he really would just totter there for moments before falling. After all the resources he had employed, after being so unbeatable for so long, would his time in the Choosing really end with flailing arms and that sorrowful expression.
And then gravity took him.
It was a hard fall. Not a grievous one¡ªnot in a suit¡ªbut the sound of his body hitting the ground still resonated within me.
I stood on the edge of the tier, suddenly still.
Lance lay below me in the dust of the arena floor.
Chapter 133
Chapter 133
The descent of reality was beginning to fall on me. It was like a curtain or a sheet dropping over my head, consuming me. I struggled for a moment to breathe. My lungs caught for a second, hitching as I realized what had just happened. Then the air flowed in¡ªa ragged, elated fluttering breath. My neck became elastic, my knees and abdomen threatened to quit their jobs, and I staggered slightly.
The entire crowd was silent for that moment. Lance lay in the dust. His legs kicked and twisted as he absorbed the pain of the moment. And there must have been pain. He would certainly have felt physical hurt from the fall to the floor. But more than that, the dust he felt between his grasping, clenching fingers was the dust of defeat.
I raised my head, and my SIGHT showed me the faces of the crowd. Even among the thousands, I could see the faces I most wanted to see. Katya and Lauren stood together. My heart bloomed at the expression of untempered joy on their faces. They had chosen me as their favorite, over Lance, despite the prescriptions of class. Despite the faint bitterness that still lingered, my affection for them only grew as I felt their happiness for my success.
Harold was there. He wasn¡¯t pressed to the railings, caught in the throng jostling for the best view. The older man stood back against a wall, still composed and reserved, but with my enhanced vision, I thought I could just, just barely, perceive shining streaks running down his cheeks.
The seconds of silence stretched. The crowd was almost holding its breath, absorbing what had happened. But no announcement had come.
I looked to the platform where the bishop stood. Mario was beside him. Balthazar stood like a statue of solidity off to the side. And, to my pleasure, Lord Morningstar of Indianapolis was there as well. None of the Boston Griidlords were present. I had no doubt Balthazar had negotiated with them to work double time, clearing their schedules for one to become available to join me in my expedition. But Morningstar had made it. Maybe he had come to see what became of me, maybe he wanted to revel and feast like the rest of the crowd, or maybe he had been here on a mission, escorting a convoy, and the stars had aligned for him to catch the show. Whatever the case, it only served to lift me further to have one of my heroes here to witness this moment.
Balthazar was nearly unreadable, his lips just barely curling in the hint of a smile. But Mario and the bishop were open books. Here was the source of the long delay in the announcement.
Their faces were perfect mirrors of each other¡ªashen and gray. Despite the eyes of the crowd, despite their usual composure, their jaws gaped. They had known of Lance¡¯s relic. They may have conspired to provide it to him. Today¡¯s outcome had been utterly preordained to them. To be standing here now, staring at me as I stood in total victory, was beyond what their imaginations could have conjured. And the icing on the cake was that I was now their Sword. My status suddenly ranked far above Mario, perhaps even above the bishop¡¯s. I was about to be declared the Sword of Boston.
And through it all, a voice blubbered and sobbed. A male voice, tinged with the ramblings of madness. His babbling rose up as the arena gasped at what I had done. "Oh god... the fiend, please, won¡¯t you listen. Please... please... someone, you have to listen..."This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
The bishop finally realized that the eyes of the crowd were shifting from me to him¡ªexpectant eyes. He gathered himself, found his composure, and spoke, his voice booming from the extremities of the arena.
"Match! All hail¡ª" Despite it all, there was a moment where the bishop had to reconcile this new reality, even to himself. Then he finished, striving, but somewhat failing, to muster total enthusiasm, "The new Sword of Boston, Tiberius!"
And the crowd exploded. They might not have quite reached the level of madness they had achieved during the most tense moments of the fight, but madness was still the word to describe them.
I was just as lost. I felt the excitement rising through me like a volcano. A lifetime''s worth of weight seemed to fall from me. Concerns for my father, reservations about the voice¡ªall of it fell away as I let the elation of this moment consume me. I raised my fists high in the air and bellowed in victory. The air streaming out of me, the sound, carried away an eternity of struggle. Inadequacy, worry, anxiety, dread¡ªall fled my body in a torrent as I screamed back at the crowd. My body was its own, my fists punched the air, my sword blazed with light as my arms swung.
This was it. For so long, my world had revolved around the unlikely task of standing here in this moment. Now that it had passed, I felt a lightness and freedom that hadn''t existed in my life since my oldest, most fractious memories.
I don¡¯t know what the signal was, but the suits seemed to know it was my time. The suit around Lance started to dissolve. At first, it was horrific¡ªlike watching flesh slough from an immolated corpse. But then it was beautiful, like magic, the suit melting into a stream of particulate wonder, black flecked with electric purples, flowing like a river toward me.
I could feel the suit around me becoming more complete with each passing second. From the moment that stream of mystorium touched me, it was as though I had been connected to God¡¯s umbilical, and the nourishment of the heavens, the essence of reality, was pooling around me and inside me.
All was perfect.
For a few more seconds.
A motor hummed down one of the tunnels that led to the arena floor. Order had been set high for the duration of the contest, allowing the speakers to function. Already, the view screens were lighting up to show the highlights of the match. The motor I was hearing was probably from a truck coming to extinguish the growing pyre that the tiered platform was rapidly becoming.
Then the top tier erupted. I felt the vibration through my feet as the piled broken beams from before tumbled down the side of the platform. The entire structure shook and shifted. I very nearly lost my footing.
The voice was in my ear, "Tiberius, you haven¡¯t turned your POWER off. You¡¯re wasting it. Conserve it, boy, you¡¯re going to need it."
I started to say, "Why would I¡ª"
But the answer to my unfinished question came smashing through the top of the platform. It must have emerged from the shaft that led down to the arena basement. Huge steel claws gripped the timber, crushing it effortlessly as they found purchase for the beast that trailed behind them.
The dark and thickening smoke of the pyre partly obscured the thing that emerged, but it was massive¡ªthat much was clear. The weakened structure beneath it creaked and groaned as the monstrous shape dragged and poured itself from the shaft.
Its ponderous motion suggested a lumbering beast. But it wasted no time in defying that lie. Without hesitation, I saw it rotate toward me and then launch itself down, tons of meat and metal streaking through the air with the lightness of a pouncing cat.
Chapter 134
Chapter 134
Shit!" The words came out of me automatically, without target or intention. I dove aside with more urgency than I had ever felt in my life.
The monstrous thing struck the tier where I had been standing, exploding through the boards and crashing to the floor of the arena. It was ungodly fast for something so big. It was ungodly fast, period. It spun on the floor of the arena like a dancer.
I rolled to my feet. The suit was still forming around me, the stream of mystorium from Lance uninterrupted, following me easily as I dove aside.
Lance!
His battered form still lay on the floor of the arena, now just a few dozen feet from the beast. He would be defenseless if it turned to him. But Lance remained immobile. I didn¡¯t know if he was unconscious or simply sensed that movement would draw the thing¡¯s attention, but he didn¡¯t twitch a muscle as the suit continued to melt from him.
It mattered little. The creature seemed drawn to my movement, and it thundered forward again.
Four gangly, corded limbs churned the ground, each ending in metal-clawed, grasping hands. The torso resembled a stretched-out tuber, ending in a gaping maw that could have swallowed a cow. Eyes littered the front end of the bulbous body, and I could see the melted faces of fiends there as well¡ªa wolf-like snout moaning in pain, an ape creature¡¯s expression of rage. Trailing behind it was a flailing tail, the end split into strands like a cat-o''-nine-tails, each strand gleaming like metal. It was a waking nightmare.
What is happening? I directed my thoughts to the voice as I adopted a fighting stance. The armor of a true Griidlord was still forming around me. I wasn¡¯t defenseless, but it was disheartening how the powers that had felt so god-like moments ago suddenly seemed to pale against the mountain of this task.
The voice said, "It¡¯s a fiend, genius, you have to kill it."
I snarled, "I know it¡¯s a fucking fiend! Where the hell did this come from? What the hell is it?"
The monstrosity launched itself again. It was too fast. It couldn¡¯t be that big and that fast at the same time¡ªit defied physics. I let AGILITY take me, leaping high and away, up a few tiers. The heat of the spreading fire warmed my left side. The smoke swept between us, not hiding me, but at least obscuring me. The creature smashed into the tier I had been standing on, burying itself in a tomb of splintered boards. Instantly, it was scrabbling with intent lunacy as it started to climb free.
The voice said, "It¡¯s an amalgam. Some of the worst creatures of God''s green earth are amalgams¡ªfiends formed by the combination of many lesser creatures, fused together into something greater than the sum of its parts."
As the thing found its footing and started to bound towards me, I let it feel my BEAM. I noticed that as the mystorium bound itself to me, even my sword was changing. The simple weapon I had used throughout the Choosing was morphing into something greater. The color of the blade was changing, dark hues of red appearing. Even the color of the kinetic pulse mirrored this change¡ªthe BEAM I sent forth was almost the color of old gore, or dried wine.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
There was some hope. The thing wasn¡¯t impervious. My BEAM hit its clawed hand just as it was about to grasp the floor of the next tier. The impact snapped the hand back. There was a sound like a thousand pained sighs erupting from the creature''s body. It lost its balance and crashed back down to the tier below. Then, just as quickly, it was climbing again.
¡°I know what an amalgam is!¡± I said, frustrated, urgent. It was theoretically true, though I had never witnessed such a thing. Few had. Even fewer had survived. My mind raced for options. ¡°What the hell is it doing here? Where did it come from?¡±
The voice stammered slightly, saying, ¡°Who can say? It¡¯s¡ well, it¡¯s quite the coinkydink, isn¡¯t it¡ maybe the bishop had one last card up his sleeve?¡±
The voice sounded more like it was asking a pleading question than answering one.
Every part of me wanted to flee. My human mind and body urged me to escape. I probably could have. I could have activated POWER and sped away. But if I did that, the task of containing the thing would fall to the mortal men who guarded the arena. The beast might turn on the suddenly panicked and screaming crowd of spectators. My first act as Sword could not be to run and let the people of the city bear the brunt of my cowardice.
The thing bounded up the structure at me and raised a claw to swipe. I embraced POWER, my visor blazed, and everything became that bit slower. I took a breath, stepping into the arc of the swipe rather than away, pivoting, and CUT blazed from my sword. I aimed at the upturned wrist of the attacking arm.
The impact ran up my right arm, jarring my injured wrist. This thing was made of much more than meat and bone. Blood and ichor sprayed, and sinews writhed like worms in the wound I had opened in the fiend¡¯s arm. There was the ring of steel on steel as my sword struck its bone.
Even with POWER boosting my speed, slowing time around me, I had little time to react. The injured arm didn¡¯t pause¡ªit raised again to swat at me. I prepared to CUT again, acting on instinct, with only the vague notion that I could maybe take off the clawed hand.
Like a diving falcon, the tail soared over the creature¡¯s body, the frayed ends coming together like a spear. The smoke obscured the attack until the last second. I pulsed SHIELD just as the blow connected with my chest.
The armor on my chest had thickened, thanks to the Oracle. Without it, the training armor would¡¯ve been shredded by such a blow.
Even with the stronger armor, the hit hurt. The energy of the attack spread over me, diffused by SHIELD, but every inch of me ached as I was rocketed backward, smashing into the wall behind me. I crashed to the ground, rolling, ready to move or lunge¡ªbut I had no time.
My vision filled with the descending clawed hand. It engulfed me, pressing me into the wreckage of the tier. Tons of weight, an unbearable force, pressed down. The armor groaned and sparked under the pressure. I couldn¡¯t breathe.
Through gaps in the thing¡¯s fingers, I could see clouds of black smoke filling my vision. Then, a gaping maw, filled with thousands of mismatched teeth, eclipsed everything. The maw loomed and lowered, closing toward my face, tendrils of acidic, stinking drool preceding it.
I had no power to fight this. I clenched my fist around my sword, the blade blazing with BEAM, but my arm was pinned, and the shot couldn¡¯t reach any part of the beast.
I didn¡¯t close my eyes as death lowered itself to take my head. I kept them open, frantically searching for any resource, any last hope, to save myself.
But in that moment, I was powerless.
Chapter 135
Chapter 135
Then the creature¡¯s metallic claw came crashing down, smashing through the suit and severing arteries. Blood gushed catastrophically from the wound, my life ebbing away in a final, tragic moment. In that grim instant, my life and dreams flowing from me into nothingness, I just found the breath to croak, Eh¡ I¡¯m dead.
The voice simply remarked, Well, bollocks.
And then the story ended forever, picking back up with Olaf as the new main character.
No, of course not. That would be unexpected, maybe even darkly amusing in a twisted way. But this is life, not a tidy story. I understand I left you with the perilous image of me trapped beneath the beast¡¯s claws, powerless, awaiting destruction. I won¡¯t pretend I made you wonder if I would survive. Instead, I hope I sparked some curiosity as to how I would survive.
For real this time.
I lay there, both my human muscles and the suit''s mechanisms twisting and churning with all their might, futilely struggling against the beast¡¯s overpowering grip. The drooling maw descended, so close that all of reality was completely eclipsed. For all my flippancy, this was the first time I truly expected to die within moments. A strange kind of clarity settled over me.
People say that in such moments, your life flashes before your eyes, or you are overwhelmed with regrets. For me, it was unfortunately the latter. My mind churned with thoughts of the life I hadn¡¯t lived. I flashed to memories of what I could have done with Lauren or Katya, how I might have seized those moments had I only been given the freedom to learn how to speak to women. I thought of the books I hadn¡¯t read, the things I hadn¡¯t done¡ªall because my father had molded my life into an extension of his own ambition. It was his purpose that had placed me here, not mine. And yet, even in this moment, I still wanted nothing more than to keep the suit I wore.
I hated him as the teeth closed in on me.
And then, the inevitable savior arrived.
Blue light flashed, ichor sprayed, and there was a booming impact. Suddenly, the weight pressing down on me disappeared.
As the beast''s maw fell sideways and the claw unpinned me, I rolled away, scrambling to my feet. There was an adjustment to the sheer strength of the completed suit. The stream of mystorium trickled to a stop, and I realized I was now fully clad in the suit I hoped to bear for the rest of my life. The surge of power I felt made the previous strength seem pale in comparison, but this new power was still unfamiliar to me.
Morningstar stood on the platform beside me, his sword leveled at the fiend. His blade glowed with an ethereal blue light, a stark contrast to my ruddy red weapon.
Here stood a god. Morningstar was among the finest, if not the finest, Swords in all the lands. Even as relief washed over me, even as I saw the demon finding its feet, I couldn¡¯t help but gape at him in all his glory. This was Lord Morningstar, here to defend me, to fight alongside me.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
His voice was clipped and urgent as he asked, "Can you fight?"
"Uh... yes," I stammered, still trying to gather myself.
"Don¡¯t try to be a hero," he warned. "You¡¯re new to this. I¡¯d send you away, but I don¡¯t know if I can take this thing by myself."
I steadied myself, adopting a fighting stance. "Just tell me what to do."
Even as I spoke, the fiend¡ªan eruption of coiled muscle, bone, and steel¡ªcharged towards us. It was pure fury, without thought for tactics or survival. But with its sheer size and ferocity, strategy might not even be necessary.
"FIRE!" Morningstar¡¯s voice boomed.
His sword erupted with BEAM. I had thought I understood the power I wielded, but the searing line of light and energy that lanced from Morningstar¡¯s sword was of apocalyptic magnitude. Against its brilliance, I expected the fiend to be reduced to dust.
The BEAM had a significant effect. The blast hit the beast like a roundhouse punch, momentarily halting its momentum. But as Morningstar¡¯s pulse faded, I saw a claw sweeping towards him.
Had he counted on me to react in time? As I would come to know this man better, I¡¯d wonder if he truly dared that much.
My sword pulsed with energy. What I had once considered a stunning display of power now seemed like a mere trickle compared to Morningstar¡¯s might. But it was enough. I struck the fiend in what I¡¯ll call its bicep, and the arm snapped back, the blow aimed at Morningstar thwarted.
The beast gave us no time to regroup. Its other claw raced towards us. I moved on instinct, surrendering myself to AGILITY. My body flipped away from the attack. As the claw swept through the space I had just vacated, Morningstar remained in its path.
He didn¡¯t leap away.
He parried.
I might not have conveyed well enough the sheer size of this thing¡ªits claw alone was nearly the size of a man. But Morningstar¡¯s CUT blazed with such immense power that it made everything I had ever done seem insignificant. As I watched him move, I was both embarrassed by my own efforts and inspired by his mastery. When the seismic force of the beast¡¯s attack met his sword, it was the beast¡¯s claw that ricocheted away. From behind him, I fired my BEAM at the creature''s face. It was a futile effort. Whether I hoped to hurt it, kill it, or merely distract it, didn¡¯t matter. The beast¡¯s mass was so great that my BEAM was absorbed without effect.
Morningstar, however, was a surgeon in combat.
I hadn¡¯t realized it until that moment, but neither he nor I had been using POWER.
Until then.
Morningstar¡¯s helm blazed with light as the creature attacked again. From his left, the side furthest from the wall of the tier, a claw came hurtling. I expected him to evade or counter with his sword. Instead, he showed me the power that could be mine if I leveled up enough. His left hand snapped out and met the beast¡¯s attack head-on. Glowing with the energy of POWER, he grabbed one of the clawed fingers and stopped the blow mid-air. He matched the beast''s immense strength with just one arm. The clawed finger, as thick as a man¡¯s arm, writhed in his grip, but he held the gargantuan limb at bay.
The other claw swept in, and this time, his sword ignited with the force of CUT. With a single titanic thrust, he stabbed through the creature''s palm and pinned it to the structure beneath him.
For a moment, I was paralyzed by the vision of his strength. One arm outstretched, holding the deathly claw above him, the other bracing him as he used his sword to impale the other limb to the boards. My mind flashed to the legends I had lived through in books. Cuchulain tied to his rock, enemies too fearful to approach his corpse. Jesus, hanging from the cross, an image so iconic that it still persisted in our stories. Atlas, trapped beneath the weight of the sky on his shoulders.
But then I saw the tremors ripple through Morningstar. His power was immense, but finite. He could only hold the creature for so long. The tail of the beast whipped back, poised to strike.
Morningstar turned his helmeted head toward me, his entire body shaking under the strain of holding the fiend immobile. He roared, ¡°For Oracle¡¯s sake, Tiberius, STRIKE! STRIKE NOW!¡±
Chapter 136
Chapter 136
I didn¡¯t hesitate.
Morningstar, for all his incredible strength, was at the simple disadvantage of having two arms while the fiend essentially had three attacking appendages. I felt that delicious surge of energy once again as I surrendered to POWER, and I abandoned myself to AGILITY as well.
My visor blazed with heavenly light as I cast myself forward. My body sprang, more energetic than ever under the enhancement of POWER. I spun through the air, leaping onto the beast with urgency, moving to intercept its spearing tail.
Despite his immense strength, Morningstar¡¯s arms were gradually folding under the relentless pressure bearing down on him. He had sacrificed his ability to defend himself by taking control of the creature. He had bet everything on my ability to come through. Even now, I can''t tell if that was reckless, a demonstration of his judgment, or a strange endorsement.
Whatever the case, it wasn¡¯t rewarded with a violent death. My feet, guided by AGILITY, landed squarely on what could only be described as the back of the creature¡¯s neck. My sword, blazing with CUT, crashed into the tail. I deflected the attack rather than meeting it head-on. Even so, my arms vibrated like a gong, and the edge of my sword peeled off rags of flesh and oozing black blood from the fiend¡¯s tail.
The tail recoiled, but without missing a beat, it reared back to lash again.
¡°The brain! Tiberius, now!¡± Morningstar snarled, his powerful arms slowly being overwhelmed by the monstrous force.
I spun on my heel, raising my sword high over my head. CUT blazed so brightly that, even in the fully lit arena, I could see the dark red glow of my blade reflecting off the creature¡¯s back. All the enhanced strength of POWER flowed into that blow. My blade pierced the flesh like air, met a wall of bone¡ªmaybe metal¡ªits progress briefly halted. Then, I felt the recoil as my sword broke through the resistance, sliding effortlessly into what felt like nothing.
The writhing that followed was undirected but no less dangerous than before. AGILITY carried me back into the air, leaping from the back of the beast. I hadn¡¯t fully considered the direction when I launched myself from the suddenly thrashing, dying creature. I just wanted to be out of there. The arena floor rushed up to meet me, and I couldn¡¯t suppress the feeling that this was going to hurt¡ªfalling from such a height that began atop the beast and only grew higher as I leaped upwards.
But the suit bore me safely to the ground, the strength of POWER and the grace of AGILITY guiding me. I rolled easily and came back to my feet, safely away from the monster as it twisted and thrashed. Boards shattered, ash and embers scattered, and the fire spread even further. It was a tantrum of death.
Morningstar must have extricated himself as well because I felt his hand on my shoulder. He laughed, a mix of relief and amusement coloring his voice. "Well, kid, that¡¯s a maiden battle unlike most Griidlords will face. But you¡¯ve done this whole thing differently than most folks have ever gone about it."
I stood there, my breathing heavy, and said, "Where the hell did that thing come from? How... why?"
Morningstar replied, "I might¡¯ve been at this game too long, but I¡¯ve stopped trying to figure out the logic behind these fiends. It¡¯s dead now, surely that¡¯s all that matters."The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Even as we spoke, the fiend¡¯s massive form crashed heavily to the ground, the fight finally coming to an end. Its body twitched and quivered, but the violence of its demise had ceased. The crowd erupted once more. There was confusion, some thinking the creature had been part of the show, thrilling at the spectacle. Others sensed, or knew, that this wasn¡¯t planned, and their cries carried relief.
Teams of men were streaming onto the floor of the Arena now. They came to contain the fire that was still swelling. I saw Lance being helped from the floor. He was hobbling, hurt in the fall or during my fight with the fiend, I did not know. For everything that had passed between us, it saddened me to think of how it must have felt to know the suit was gone from you forever. Lance had been like me in that way. He had cherished the suit for what it was.
As he limped away, he turned his sagging head and looked at me. I expected rage. I expected hatred. I only saw defeat. Defeat, and regret, and desperate longing.
"We can¡¯t... I can¡¯t just accept that," I said. "We¡¯re on the edge of the city, and that... that¡¯s a rare fiend if I¡¯ve ever heard of such a thing. What are the odds it would show up here and now of all places? You can¡¯t be satisfied calling this a coincidence."
He slapped my shoulder again. "Ah, there¡¯s time enough to wonder about that. You need to learn to enjoy these moments, kid. You just won¡ªtwice! Unclench for a second and think about what that means, what just happened. There¡¯s forever to ponder the mysteries, but the moment of victory? That passes faster than any of us would want."
I breathed in deeply. His words brought me back to reality. The shock and confusion of the fiend¡¯s appearance lingered in my mind, but my other thoughts pushed it aside for now.
"Holy shit..." I gasped, "I¡¯ve... I¡¯ve done it."
Morningstar¡¯s helmet hissed as he pulled it off and turned to face me. He was taller¡ªnot by much¡ªbut the sheer weight of his presence made me feel like he was looking down at me from a mountaintop.
"You sure did, kid," he said. "I knew you could. I won¡¯t lie and say I never had doubts, but I knew you had it in you."
He punched my shoulder lightly. "There¡¯s something different about you."
Gathering my breath, I reached up and removed my own helmet. It was a strange sensation. Even in the suit, I could feel sensory information from its surface¡ªlike the air on the suit was my skin. But now, with the air on my face, it was... different.
"Thank you..." I said, still processing everything. "I couldn¡¯t have beaten it on my own."
Morningstar said, "I¡¯m not sure I could have beaten it on my own either. That thing was pretty exceptional."
I looked around, the crowd still screaming. With my helmet off, I could no longer zoom in on faces, but I knew Harold was up there. I knew Lauren and Katya were too. The bitterness would return eventually, but for that moment, my elation was too strong for anything to bring me down.
"What now?" I asked.
Morningstar arched an eyebrow and replied, "Well, for most folks, there¡¯d be feasting, drinking, ceremonies, and bedding to be done. But I understand you¡¯ve already filled your immediate schedule."
A small pit formed in my heart as I remembered. Father¡ªmissing, probably dead. The expedition might start in a few hours, certainly very soon. I thought about how easy it would be to detest him. I thought about the moments I was giving up to search for him. But he was my father, and I had to go.
Morningstar sobered as he watched my face. "I¡¯ve known your father a long time," he said. "I¡¯d go with you gladly if I didn¡¯t have commitments of my own. I¡¯m glad I had the chance to be here today, but we serve different cities, kid. You need to do your duty, and I need to attend to mine."
It struck me then, as he said that, how we belonged to different factions. Indianapolis was on good terms with Boston. The cities had good relations, good trade. But the Falling season would come in a few months. When the Orbs rained down and the forces of every city poured forth to collect them, all bets were off. It was understood. There wouldn¡¯t need to be enmity or war, but cities waged battle for the Flows in the Orbs¡ªit was a rite nearly as old as the Towers.
Morningstar turned his head to watch the procession of priests approaching us.
I watched him for a moment, considering the possibility that one day, our swords might cross.
Consolidated Edits (READER CRITIQUES)
Substantially Altered or New Paragraphs: (Chaps 1-30 covered as of 7th October)
Chapter 1
I had hoped to find myself in the same boat as my peers. For all twelve of us this was our first time in the suit. I had hoped their struggles would be at least as great as mine. I had worked hard to exceed at this. They had had a head start in life. My childhood had been a bed-ridden existence. It was only in my teens that I had been brought to the training field. The others seemed to have learned to swing a sword before they could talk.
Chapter 2
The others climbed aboard carriages to leave for their homes in the countryside, or were joined by retinues to return to their lodgings. I walked by myself. I was not alone. I had glimpsed Zeb as I descended the steps. He was always there, watching me. Father had invested too much in me, and too many were too displeased by my presence in The Choosing, for me to go unguarded. Zeb disappeared into the shadows. He didn¡¯t creep or leap, the big man in the dark cloak just walked, with a detached ease, and yet something about his movement seemed to lose eyes that tried to follow him.
Even when I couldn¡¯t see him, I knew he was lurking nearby.
***
I continued walking, my mind struggling with the obvious reality that I couldn''t compete with the others. I was burdened heavily with thoughts of my father''s disappointment. I seethed slightly at his expectations. How could he have expected different? He might have supplied me with the finest tutors that money could buy, but did he think the nobles had done any different with their children? And had they spent their early years confined to bed, attended to by furrow-browed physicians rather than skilled trainers?
Chapter 4
Morningstar looked at me. Again, like Baltazar, he gave me the impression that he was really seeing me. He said, ¡°Your Daddy says you weren¡¯t well as a child.¡±
I looked away. Morningstar was a hero, I didn¡¯t want to talk about my sickly youth.
He seemed to understand this, his tone was gentle. He said, ¡°Hey, you¡¯re big and strapping now. I don¡¯t mean to stir up bad memories, but it¡¯s relevant. You weren¡¯t well enough to train until you were thirteen?¡±
I nodded, and said, ¡°Yeah.. thereabouts.
He narrowed his eyes, ¡°And what could keep a lad bound to a bed for his whole childhood, but leave no trace in his teens? I mean it, you look as big and strong as any noble¡¯s son.¡±
I said, ¡°I don¡¯t know. I saw a lot of doctors. A lot of them. They were always examining my head, looking at my eyes. Father won¡¯t talk about it. He says I should count myself blessed by the Oracle that my malady faded. I think¡ I think there was a sickness in my brain.¡±
Morningstar continued to look at me for another few moments. There was silence. Then he spoke again.
Chapter 5
Katya exploded at him again. Olaf was better prepared this time, but even at that, there was a chasm between their abilities. Their movements in the suits would probably have seemed child-like to a spectator who had never worn one. But to me, to all of us, Katya¡¯s display was intimidating. It was as though they were learning to walk for the first time, and Katya had taken a huge headstart.
My mind drifted a moment. It hadn¡¯t been that long ago that I¡¯d had to learn to walk myself. I remembered those days when the malady that plagued my childhood had so suddenly disappeared. I remembered yet another physician, talking to my father, remarking on the miracle that had transpired. I remembered the excitement. But the frustration, as well. My head had plagued me for years, when I regained the ability to leave my bed, to move my body as I wished, there had been such elation to start with. I saw a new life for myself, one I had given up on save for in my wildest dreams. But the excitement faded as I discovered how atrophied my young legs were, how uncoordinated my movements were. The disappearance of the sickness had only been the beginning of new trials.
I watched Katya and Olaf, clumsy as they might be, and felt a bitterness. Five or six years ago I was training myself to simply walk again, while these two would have been learning to dance with a sword. What was Father thinking? How could I hope to compete against a head start like that?
Katya screamed. It was an animal noise, fierce, guttural, loud. She had maneuvered Olaf like a dumb beast, driven him to the edge of the circle. As she bellowed, she swung at him. He managed to bring his sword up to absorb the blow, but the sheer weight of the attack, the momentum of the aggression, drove him back. His stumbling feet shuffled, trying to stay inside the circle. Katya screamed once more, throwing her whole body behind another swing and Olaf¡¯s right foot landed outside the ring.
Chapter 7
Lauren moved with a fluid grace that seemed almost otherworldly. The half-helm she wore left her blonde hair flowing freely behind her. The golden stream followed behind her, trailing her movements. The previous day, in the full suit, her beautiful form had still been on display. The full suit had melded itself to her form, swelling where she swelled best, and pinching in where her body curved inward. The half-suit was even more breathtaking. It was lighter, only serving to highlight her curves all the more. Where the suit left spaces, her bare skin winked at me. I found my heart beating faster as I watched her. I couldn¡¯t suppress the longing I felt.
It was a stupid childish desire. She was a lady, a noble. It was only fantasy for me to think of her that way. At the best of times, I would struggle to even form words to her. My life, a childhood as a sickly wastling, then the years of intensity preparing me for this contest, none of them had left time to make friends or talk to girls. They tongue-tied me. But still, I found my thoughts wandering to fantasy.
***
Watching her in that moment, I felt so many feelings. I admired her, how could I not? And I longed for her, but that was no different to what every red-blooded male in the arena must have felt. I was bitter as well. My body was no longer the wasted thing it had been when the headaches vanished and my vision cleared as the sickness left me. I was tall and strong, well-built for the role of a fighter. But by the time I had first picked up a practice sword, Lauren, and her peers, would already have been experts.
Chapter 8
In my mind, it felt as though he was speaking just for me. It penetrated me, how true his words were. I could feel my ego fading as I struggled to deny any of it. But I looked again at Gideon. His anger had cost once already today, but here it was a shield. I would be better served with anger than fear.
As Mario continued his tirade, I clenched my fists. This endless pity I felt for myself would do me good. The excuse of a sickly childhood would not lessen the blows from my opponents. I had one chance, probably one chance in my whole life, to do this.
Looking back, I know what Mario was. He was a bully. He was a small man with an ugly personality. He lifted himself by lowering us. Then though, I didn¡¯t understand it so well. His words streamed on. I tried to find the fire to rise above them.
Chapter 10
Then a shadow fell over me from behind, above me on the steps. My heart lurched at the sudden presence. I remembered the hatred in Olaf¡¯s eyes and I imagined the big man standing above me, consumed by revenge. It was a stupid thought. Zeb lurked nearby. Zeb was always lurking and watching. If a threat had approached me it would have been put down before it even considered me a target.
I turned and found the curious form of Katya looking down at me. She stared openly, inspecting me like a science project. Her ways were strange. I understood people had different customs in her far-flung land, but it was still difficult to reconcile her manners.
Chapter 12
I felt my skin growing cold. There was terror enough and challenge enough in this wihtout the new pressures that weighed down on. I thought of father¡¯s words from the previous night. If I failed today, if I failed any day, it wasn¡¯t just the Choosing that I would lose. I would doom my family.
Again I cursed my father for his madness. How had he ever expected me to compete against these nobles? They had been trained from the moment they could walk. I had been frail wreck in a bed, with no expectation that my life would ever be anything.
***
While I didn¡¯t appreciate the old bastard¡¯s words, I did appreciate his choice. I felt the excitement in me at the prospect of teaming up with Lauren. The idea of being close to her, of talking to her made my chest flutter. But all the same, it brought anxiety itself. What did you say to girls? Father had used me for his ends and had never thought that my life might be better if I¡¯d been able to mix with others my age, make friends, and make mistakes. But to my father, I was only a thing that served a purpose.
Chapter 28 - Has been deleted and written from scratch, includes a conversation with Zeb.
The shadows lengthened as the evening deepened.
I walked alone through the gates of the arena. My mind was occupied¡ªracing, even. Thoughts of Baltazar, his support, his promises, flooded my mind. My father¡¯s intensity... no, not intensity. The only right word was desperation. It weighed on me. The man might not have been a bastion of love. He may, in fact, have been a force that subjugated my life, making it an accessory to his own. But for all the things he was and wasn¡¯t, my father had always been cool. Unflappable.
That veneer was peeling away now. He had extended himself too much. In doing so, he risked everything he had built.
As I approached the arena, I saw movement. Men were carrying tools and lumber, the sounds of construction echoing from within. I could hear the whining of electric motors and the rumbling of engines. They were hard at work on some project for the coming challenge. Order had been elevated. The city, normally miserly with its Flows, had made the Choosing important enough to warrant some expenditure.
Then I saw Katya, and all other thoughts fled from me. Her petite figure loitered near the workmen. She seemed utterly serene. Even from this distance, I could tell there was no tension in her, despite being alone among so many strange men. She leaned against a wall, apart from the world.
"Are you trying to bed her?"
My heart leapt in my chest, and I spun at the sudden noise.
Zeb had appeared, walking alongside me. The man¡¯s feet made no sound. He barely raised an eyebrow at my reaction.
I gathered myself. "You¡¯re too big to move so quietly."
He barely changed his expression, just the hint of a thin smile. Then he narrowed his eyes at me. "Well, are ya?"
Zeb¡¯s accent was strange. He hailed from the far North, where they bred men tough. They had to be tough. Fiends were more common the further north you traveled, and up there, slaying a fiend was a rite of passage, not a once-in-a-lifetime horror like it was for the common man down here.
My cheeks reddened. "We¡¯re training."
Zeb nodded. It was rare for him to speak at all. The man was silence itself. He was constantly around me, watching for my safety, yet I barely knew him.
He said, "She¡¯s a daft one. The daft ones can be the best for bedding, but mind you don¡¯t put a baby in¡ª"
I hissed, "Zeb! Shit! It¡¯s not like that."
He lazily raised another eyebrow and leveled his eyes at me.
"It¡¯s not," I insisted. "We¡¯re training. She¡¯s a competitor. I¡¯m... we..."
Zeb said, "And what about all that marriage talk? Bed the daft ones, lad, don¡¯t marry ¡¯em."
"You heard that?" I said, flustered. "What am I saying, of course you heard everything."
Zeb just nodded, his face placid.
"I don¡¯t know about any of that," I said, stumbling over my words. "It¡¯s just joking around, I think... I¡¯m sure... I think so."
Zeb said, "Well, I¡¯ll be gone again. Just remember what I said."
He turned, not even waiting for a response, his broad back drifting away.
I called after him, "Remember what?"
He turned his head, that faint humor twisting his mouth again. "Don¡¯t put a baby in a daft one."
My cheeks reddened again. Katya was still a ways off. I cringed at the thought that she might have heard that.
As I mounted the steps, she seemed to notice me. I realized that she had truly been distant, as if rising out of a state like sleep. But obviously not sleep, because she had been perfectly aware of my approach, despite all the noise and activity around her.
She said, "You¡¯re ready, then?"
I said, "Uh, yeah, but where will we practice? It¡¯s kind of busy around here."
She smiled and gestured with her hand. "This way, I found a place. I like to go there sometimes to meditate."
Her small frame turned, and she moved that beguiling little body away from me, back down the steps. I followed. Her form may have been small, but she had no problem setting a pace that made my longer legs work to keep up.
We moved around behind the arena. There was a cluster of shrubs and trees there. As we neared, I could see that the center of the cluster was free of foliage, the dense canopy of the little stand preventing any light from entering, smothering other growth.
"In here," she said, smiling oddly, as she always seemed to do.
"In there?" I asked. My mind wandered a little at the thought of entering such a secluded, dark, and private space with her. Just me and her.
"That¡¯s right," she said, eyeing me as though she was examining me for discomfort.
Then she stepped through, and I moved to follow her. Just as I did, I caught sight of Zeb. Zeb was like a living ghost¡ªyou didn¡¯t catch sight of him unless he wanted you to. But there he was, standing about twenty yards away. And the bastard was smiling, less thinly than before.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
I understood the look. He was letting me see him seeing me¡ªseeing me climbing into a dark, secret place with this exotic beauty.
I pursed my lips as I regarded him.
Then I climbed through the branches into the darkness.
Chapter 31 - Whole chapter replaced.
I should probably call this passage, "Of Knights and Relics."
A word on relics, then. Not an essay, don¡¯t worry¡ªjust enough to ensure that this makes sense.
"Relic" was a catch-all term. It referred to wonders that had survived the Fall, treasures from the old world. Relics took many forms. A handgun that could be fired even in the wilds, where the low Order should have rendered it useless. A personal shield, not unlike the SHIELD a Griidlord could pulse to provide protection during battle. Collections of little devices with curious functions, both known and unknown.
The word was also applied at times to items that could still be produced in our era¡ªthose that had exceedingly high value, were exceedingly rare, and could still be identified as being made of that same strange technology from before the Fall. The foundries of Pittsburgh could produce power weapons, mostly axes.
A power weapon was reminiscent of the special arms wielded by a Griidlord. They were not exactly the same, certainly not as powerful. But a man with a power sword was worth at least five without one, his blade shearing theirs away and allowing no defense. The truest value of the power weapon was the parity it gave a mortal man when facing a Griidlord. The power weapon negated much of the advantage of a Griidlord¡¯s armor, able to pierce and damage it where steel blades and bullets would bounce off. A single man with a power weapon was still of essentially no concern to a true Griidlord. But a suit might prefer to charge a thousand men with spears than twenty with glowing axes. It was a calculus of risks.
And knights? I was aware of the old meaning of the word. My days of invalidity, those long years that compose most of my early memories, had really one diversion: reading. And read I did, both modern tales and old ones. I had some understanding of what a knight of the old world was supposed to be.
The knights of our day were not so dissimilar. Knights Militant, the sort that served a lord or made up the elite of a city¡¯s army, were almost always mounted. They were armed with power weapons and, very rarely, other more potent relics.
Wildknights were another case altogether. These men and women seemed to serve no master. They were exceedingly rare, to the point of nearly being legend. Each seemed to march to the beat of a different drum, with rumors of madness following them all. But their equipment was normally vastly greater than that of a Knight Militant. A Wildknight could be so heavily equipped with relics and powerful weapons as to nearly rival the status of a low-level Griidlord. They needed to be so equipped because of the value of the relics they possessed. A gun capable of being fired outside of the normally requisite Order levels would cost more than the entire annual economic output of an entire village. If they weren¡¯t equipped enough to be unassailable, their treasures would be taken from them. Sometimes they were taken anyway.
So why the lesson? Why now?
At that moment, I was standing in my half-suit. Not just I, but my other classmates¡ªLance excluded for his immunity¡ªwere gathered in a line outside the arena.
A crowd had gathered. Today was the first day when the Choosing would become a public spectacle, and it seemed the entire city had emptied that morning to watch our event. More than the whole city, perhaps. Many of the spectators appeared to be farmers. I had seen droves of horses and parties on foot streaming to the city in the early moments of the day.
The crowd was in ecstasy. A Choosing was exceedingly rare. A Griidlord¡¯s career could last a season or a century. A man might live his whole life without witnessing a single Choosing, let alone one for the Sword. Another might be able to tell of the dark years when his city hosted three Choosings in his lifetime.
The Choosing meant festivities. It meant feasting, drinking, and whoring for those who cared for it. It meant an excuse to leave the fields untended. But most of all, it was what it was: a once-in-a-lifetime experience, something to tell grandchildren in your twilight years.
The cheering and humming of the crowd filled my ears. With HEARING, I could pick out individual voices if I chose.
But the noise could do nothing to distract me from what lay before me. Before me stretched miles of fields, extending toward the sea. And processions of knights cantered about. They were truly a glory to behold. Their armor shone. Their horses were specimens of the finest breed, adorned with beautiful armors.
Most significantly, power weapons glowed. Swords, lances, axes, maces¡ªevery type was borne into the air as the knights wheeled for the crowd. Weapons that could pierce the armor of a full Griidlord. Weapons that could shred the lighter half-suit I wore.
And all those weapons, all those deadly killer men and horses, were there that day for me.
Chapter 39
The feeling of dread, of awaiting judgment, stirred something in me. I had never felt like this with Father. When I disappointed him, I simply ceased to exist in his eyes¡ªmy punishment for failures and unwanted behavior had been the withdrawal of anything resembling a father¡¯s love.
But older memories surfaced too, memories that felt more like this sensation of dread. Waiting in our kitchen, that small cluttered little space, never entirely clean. My head leaning against the rough-hewn, rickety kitchen table. Why was I there? What was I dreading?
I had stolen something from a neighbor on the other side of the village. Yes, I had taken apples from the old woman¡¯s tree. And it had disgraced Mother.
That was the same feeling as this one¡ªthe dread, the expectation of an unknown wrath. It was Mother who could visit such fear on me...
Such memories came and went for me. Ever since I had been sick, it had been hard to hold on to memories of Mother, good or bad...
I followed Balthazar up a flight of stairs and along a wide hallway. Doors hissed open as he approached, and he swept in with the kind of forceful energy that characterized him. The two descriptors might seem at odds¡ªstoic, stern, impassive¡ªbut he was undeniably a being of constant, forceful motion.
Chapter 55
As I buttoned my shirt, I glanced at myself in the mirror. Tonight, I would be Tiberius the young man, not Tiberius the competitor. At least for a little while. And almost for the first time.
I had never done this before. My life could be divided into three segments. My youngest memories, vague and decayed by the illness that would take me. These were nothing but discordant fragments of images of my mother, our little home, the dirtiness and hunger. The years I spent, my limbs held in the grip of neurological illness, barely able to walk from my bed to the bathroom, my only friends had been books. And the last years, the life of a soldier, vainly trying to make up for lost time with an existence that was only training.
I descended the stairs. My stomach was aflutter with excitement and nervousness. I felt such a fool to have such feelings.
Harold noticed me immediately. His keen eyes missed nothing and my current attire was far from my norm.
Chapter 57
I sat up in the large, canopied bed. The events of the night played back in my mind. Snapshots passed through my mind. Lauren''s smile, broad and unrestrained. Katya''s light but devious laughter. I blushed as I recalled Katya''s rude jokes. I blushed deeper as a memory came to me of my hand resting on Lauren''s leg, her expression completely unobjecting to the gesture.
For all the desires that ran through me, it was the closeness of the memories that filled my heart. I had no friends. There had been no room for friends in my life.
A memory surfaced. A memory of a time when my limbs had been much shorter, but before they had started to fail me. I could other children running in front of me. Their clothes were dirty and tattered but their faces were bright with laughter. I was running after them, my bare feet tramping the dirt of the street. Their faces were known to me, familiar, but the names were long lost. I had fallen. Another boy had picked me up. His face was right there in my memory, just for a moment. He had a hare lip. But I barely noticed it. I saw his eyes, the way they looked down at me with real concern.
Those times were long gone now.
I dressed quickly
***
"If there''s something I should know, Harold, please tell me."
He sighed. I wondered if it relieved him a little to say more.
"There have been some... concerning reports from the areas your father is visiting. The Horde''s activity has increased. But your father has taken ample precautions. He is guarded by a small army of the best. He carries his own relics."
The relics that exceeded the budgets of even wealthy lords were available to Father. The man had absolutely no skill with a weapon, but he armored himself with ancient treasures that would make him almost impervious save in the most desperate situations. I too, carried some relics on my person. They were concealed. A pendant that hung beneath my shirt. A belt buckle that had been modified to look plain and normal. The sword I carried at my waist. It was better to conceal the items rather than draw the greedy eyes of those would try to take them from me. But, between my relics, and Zeb, I had little to fear from mugger or assassin.
Of course, during the contests, Zeb held my relics for me. They were not permitted in the arena. The advantage they would bestow on their user would be a capital violation of the sacred rite.
I felt a pang of worry. "And you''re sure he''s safe?"
***
Addressing observed inconsistencies regarding medication for wound pains.
I was subjected to treatment by a strange piece of equipment. A priest, not a doctor, was the one who managed the item. It must have been a truly rare relic from the time before if one of the priests insisted on its operation. Strange vibrations and warmth spread through my injury as I sat there for an hour. When the treatment was completed the injury was much improved, if not completely healed.
As I sat there, a medic approached. A younger man, his face tired, but kind.
He said, "You''ll still have pain after the treatment. Not so bad, not nearly, but it''s going to hurt. And it will be weaker for a while."
I nodded, distracted by the sensations of the machine.
The medic held up a vial of pills. He said, "These will help though, I don''t know how they''ll affect your performance in the arena, but-"
I shook my head, interrupting him. I smiled, thanking him for the thought. I said, "I can''t. My trainers warned me against drugs that dull the senses. The suit is directed by my nervous system. Alcohol and other drugs that dull consciousness, are bad. Things that dull the central parts of the nervous system are bad. But painkillers that block nerves from working... There are horror stories of how the connection with the suit has failed Griidlords taking medicines like that."
The medic seemed uncertain. He said, "You''ll have substantial pain though. Why don''t you take these with you, you can always choose not to take them."
I shook my head, again smiling gratefully for his attention. "No. Thank you, but no. I''ll take the pain now. The risks are just... too great.
Chapter 58
My eyes fixed on the orchids as grew nearer to them. Why were they drawing me so?
"The Order field," Baltizar mused, "it''s both a blessing and a curse. It keeps us young, but it also ties us to this place. Few are willing to give up the life extension it provides."
"True," I agreed. "But for those who crave immortality, it''s a small price to pay."
The flowers... I could see it suddenly. A flower, just like these, on the lapel of Father''s jacket. The memory came unbidden, just a snatch of something long degraded by the teeth of the illness that had kept me from living the life of a normal child. I could see Father, standing in the door of our little home. He stood outside, my mother stood inside. She wore a faded pink dress. The dress was so old as to probably have been closer to grey. And father stood in front of her, tall, handsome, confident. His clothes were immaculate and splendid.
And mother was crying...
I looked up with a start, coming back to the moment. Baltizar stared at me, measuring me with his intense gaze.
Chapter 59
Baltizar glanced aside; another aide was standing at the door of the tower. He said, "My time is up. Once again, the duties of management beckon. Let yourself out the side gate and seize your day. The competition resumes tomorrow. Don¡¯t waste the chance now that you know what tomorrow will bring. The guards know who you are; they won''t bother you as you go."
I watched Baltizar''s back disappearing down the path. I waited for him to be gone, then turned to look back at the red flowers. I visited the fragment of memory that had come back to me. Why was mother crying? Why was she dressed so poorly and he so finely?
AGILITY would be needed for the Tower. But I had none. Would there be time to grow it during the contest? Could I use Katya''s meditations to find a way to tap into it before I even entered the arena? I wondered. What a trick that would be.
Chapter 89
We stood before our fort, waiting for the signal to start.
The voice spoke to me during the pause. I had such reservations about it. Joel and Danefer had each spoken warnings of it. But they had been mad. And the voice had never failed to help me. Part of me wondered if I was making a mistake in listening to it. But I wanted to win. I wanted the suit. It would be too foolish of me to ignore it.
The voice said, "I can tell you who to fear. I can tell you who to target. I can feel them, all of them. Most of it won''t surprise you."
Go on then, I thought to it.
It said, "Lauren''s got a tasty lump of grey matter between her ears, but that over-confident lump put her in an Arrow suit. She was only ever meant to be Sword, I think, but the Arrow is the last thing she should have been given. She''ll be a weak point for them."
"The princess should worry you. She''s dastardly good and she might be better in the Arrow suit than she would have been in a Sword suit. The others are a mixed bag. Arthur is a good choice for a SHIELD, so be wary of that one. His dear old papa wears the SHIELD for Boston right now. Arthur''s no chip off the old block, but there''s still an affinity there."
I listened and noted. It could hurt me nothing to hear what the voice had to offer. It all made sense to me anyway.
I would do anything to win the suit. It had started as a duty to honor my family, to please my father. But now it was for me, it was about me.
Chapter 4
An edit to Morningstar¡¯s description of how the suit functions. This is to correct inconsistencies with suit being impaired by Ti¡¯s injuries during the tourney.
Morningstar nodded. "And your trainers told you what you should do."
"Yeah, they told me the suit exaggerates everything I do. It''s so strong that it magnifies my movements. I must be smooth like water, gentle like a breeze, just make faint echoes of the real movements I want, but it''s not so easy when you''re actually in it."
He shook his head, chuckling. "I guess that probably works for a lot of folks, but I don''t think that''s quite right." He downed his whiskey and stared into the fire. "This might sound strange or stupid, and I don''t mean to go correcting those high-priced trainers your daddy got for you, but that''s not how I''ve found it."
I waited, breath bated.
"The suit doesn''t give a shit about your movements. The thing is so strong, your body has almost nothing to do with it."
I frowned. "But when I''d moved, it moved."
"Folks''ll tell you that you just need to think and the suit will move on its own, that its muscles are doing all the work and youre big lump of grey matter is the engine that drives the whole show. I think... I think that has something to do with it. All that smooth as water, pissing into the wind business, that''s a line you''ll hear from many Griidlords. That''s a business of shutting the mind down a little bit. They do that to distract the mind from actively trying to control the suit. But I''ve clashed swords with Griidlords like that too and, well, I''m still here."
He smiled wickedly. The wickedness had a charm to it.
He said, "It''s more symbiotic than that. It''s more holistic. When I move, I move my arm. But I''m feeling the suit. I''m feeling these wonderful metal muscles contract exactly the same as my real muscles. When I get exhausted, the suit gets exhausted. When I get hurt, the suit gets hurt. When adrenaline makes me feel like I can move a mountain, the suit maybe really can!"
"So I should be trying to move my arm? Or I shouldn''t be?," I asked, still confused.
"Again, kid, the details are priest business. I don''t really know the workings. All I know is that when I do this"¡ªhe raised the hand with the crystal tumbler in it, rotating the delicate glass between armored fingers strong enough to crush a man''s skull with nearly no effort¡ª"when I do this, I''m not thinking about moving my fingers any more than you would be. I''m not willing the suit to move, I''m not forcing it to react to the movement of my body. We''re all moving together, flesh, metal, all obeying the same neurons.."
I looked, transfixed, at the armored hand. At any other time, I would be mesmerized at the chance to be so close to a Griidsuit, but in that moment, I needed to seize the opportunity. I had to understand, to absorb every word he was saying, and hope that it would make the difference in the next round of the Choosing.
Chapter 6
Lance swung again, and I parried awkwardly, but my movements had a bit more flow. I focused on the feeling. I tried to let my mind speak to my body and the suit as though they were one. With each passing moment, my confidence grew a little. I knew I wouldn''t win this bout, but I could use it to learn, to adapt.
Chapter 137
It was torture for him. And I cannot pretend for a moment that I didn¡¯t love it.
Mario stood behind the bishop on the platform. I wore the helmet again for this moment, and I could see every line of his face like an ink drawing. My armored hand reached for the joint at my neck, remembering the times he had removed the suit as each round ended. Never again. The thought was so satisfying. Never again would the suit be taken from me. I could live in it until I died or the madness took me, and I didn¡¯t care. Whether I had a year before some Axe suit took me apart, or two centuries of glory, all that mattered was the suit was mine from now until the day I died.
The voice spoke in my ear, "So it¡¯s done, kiddo. You and me, together again¡ we¡¯ll change this world."
It seemed to be using a sing-song tone, as if to a melody I didn¡¯t recognize.
"And you remember our agreement," the voice added.
Feeling more in control than perhaps any other moment in my life, I thought back, We didn¡¯t make an agreement.
The voice stammered, outrage fading to confusion. "Of course we did. We spoke in that pompous prick¡¯s office¡ we agreed to¡ we¡"
We discussed terms, I thought to it. You told me what you wanted, and that was as far as we got.
The voice hissed, "You lousy shit, the spirit of our conversation was¡ª"
I¡¯m not saying I won¡¯t help, I interrupted, but you don¡¯t own me. I¡¯ve spent enough of my life being owned. Let¡¯s be friends first, see how well we can treat each other. Sounds like you¡¯ve waited long enough.
The voice was petulant. "Humans have no concept of time. The scale of the life I¡¯ve lived dwarfs civilizations."
Then there¡¯s no hurry, I replied.
The voice said nothing for a time.
I continued watching Mario. He glanced back furtively at me once, almost as though he was nervous, afraid. I had heard them talking with my HEARING. The priests were in awe of my sudden mastery of the POWER attribute. I had perplexed and confused them before, but what I had done with POWER honestly seemed to frighten them.
But for Mario, it was deeper. He had targeted me, treated me like dirt. Now, in the instant Lance¡¯s back had crashed into the dust of the arena, I had become his societal better. I outranked him. I was a sacred being now, the Sword of Boston, closer to the Oracle than even the Bishop. I would be permitted to speak to it, for I was its strong right arm, and it was the well of my power.
The voice said, "You know, I like this backbone in you, kiddo. Maybe I really will enjoy getting to know you better."
I thought back, Likewise.
But my heart hesitated to commit fully to the thought.
I drifted back to the Bishop¡¯s words: ¡back a thousand years, none have ever been blessed so by the Oracle. Our records show that none, in any city, has ever been blessed by POWER so young to the suit. We stand, my children, on the precipice of a new day for our city, perhaps the dawning of a new age. If a young man can achieve so much in the arena, dare we dream how the Oracle might reward him in the field¡ what wonder¡Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
I drifted away again. I knew my moment was coming. I couldn¡¯t stand any more of the man¡¯s blathering. He was another who had flashed with fear and disbelief when I first laid eyes on him after the full suit assembled around me. But he was slicker than Mario. Already, his tone had changed. I thought back to the day he had tried to have me ejected from the tournament, grasping at any straw he could find, a puppet dancing at the ends of the strings of the lords of the land. But now, he sang a different song. There was no more he could do. Even the blade of an assassin could hardly threaten me within my god-like shell.
Balthazar stood close behind him, almost imperceptibly nodding along to the Bishop¡¯s words. Of course, after me, none had gained as much from this day. Balthazar had the Sword he¡¯d wanted. He¡¯d openly backed me, and now the fruits of his judgment were on display for all to see. It would be short years before he would be challenged again for re-election for the post of Lord Supreme, and that all rested on what I could do for him in the field.
It was the thought of the field that surprised me most. I had expected to fear the prospect, to worry about my ability to stand up to the test. That was how I had felt for most of the tournament. It was how I had expected to feel.
But something was different within me. Winning the suit had proved something to myself. Suddenly, the prospect of the field was nothing but excitement, an urgent calling, another challenge. I wanted to pit my mettle against the Griidlords of other cities.
I hoped this feeling would last. It felt good.
The voice said, Will you use your father¡¯s name?
I thought back, What?
The voice said, In a moment, you¡¯ll found your house. The fact that you¡¯re so eager and ready to forego the women and accolades that will be showered on you here for the next few days, all to go after Daddy Dearest on the slim chance that he lives¡ªdoesn¡¯t that show your devotion to dear old Papa? I¡¯m sure he would insist on it if he were here. It hardly seems fair to see him denied just because he¡¯s not around to pull the puppet strings.
Shut up, I thought at it.
The voice continued, Oh no, did I say something wrong? Was it the women? Are we still feeling sore that the two loves of our lives thought they¡¯d prefer to play with each other¡¯s bodies rather than yours? Or are we truly worried about Pop-pop?
I said nothing. Emotions swirled through me. It wasn¡¯t wrong. It had struck more than one nerve.
The bishop droned on, the crowd cheered. Time seemed to be disconnected from me.
Then the voice spoke again, That wasn¡¯t very fitting of me. Forgive me, Tiberius. I¡¯m a bored old soul, and I like to tease. I only taunt you because you can take it. But I chose my moment poorly. I know you humans have emotions that rise and fall by the moment. I shouldn¡¯t have said that.
Again, I was unsure¡ªwas this manipulation, or was it real?
The voice said, There will be other girls, better girls, I promise you. I¡¯ve seen it a thousand times. And maybe, for your sake, there¡¯ll be more than a few lesser girls. And your father¡ he lives or he doesn¡¯t. I can¡¯t say I care much for him; he really did a number on you. But you¡¯re doing what you think is right. You¡¯re sacrificing to go after him. If you find out he¡¯s dead¡ªwhich I won¡¯t pretend I wouldn¡¯t mind¡ªthen at least you¡¯ll know you did what you could. He might have been a piece of shit of a father, but you¡¯ve been a hell of a son.
I didn¡¯t want this. The heat of tears touched my eyes. I was glad for the helmet hiding my face. But there was a rightness to what it said. Even if I couldn¡¯t say I loved the bastard, I could have no guilt if I went forth to find him.
Suddenly, the bishop¡¯s voice rose to a louder boom, drawing my attention once more.
¡°And now, my children, the blessed lifeblood of Boston, you will meet your new SWORD! He comes before you now to name a new house¡ªa house won by virtue, by merit, by the blessing of the Oracle.¡±
I froze for a moment.
What name would I use?
Chapter 138
The bishop stepped aside with a flourish, and suddenly, all eyes were on me¡ªthousands of eyes. Where the bishop¡¯s pleas and the klaxon¡¯s commands had failed before, this expectant moment succeeded in almost completely quieting the crowd.
I felt the impetus to step forward and slowly moved to take the spot the bishop had been standing in. I didn¡¯t let my hesitation show, moving without hurry, controlling myself, trying to give my mind a chance to process what was happening.
I could have cursed my father. He had been so singularly concerned with preparing me to fill my role for him that I had no preparation for moments that served him not. I imagine that if he had been present the night before, my time would have been partly occupied with preparing for this moment. He was a natural orator. Father had always exuded the kind of easy confidence of a psychopath, and his completely unselfconscious manner was buoyed by the simple certainty that an audience would be intent on his every word.
But Father had not been there the night before. Suddenly, the hollowness of my experiences seemed to glare more brightly. He had not prepared me to run a business after his passing because the man would have no use for the business once he was dead¡ªso what concern could he make of it? He hadn¡¯t allowed me to gain experience with the fairer sex because he would have perceived that any betrothal in my future would be arranged by him, and for his benefit. My life and upbringing had been a product of what served his interests the most.
The bishop placed a hand on my shoulder, staring into my visor. My, but he looked small now. Small, frail, and unimportant.
¡°Well done, my boy, I knew you could do it,¡± he said.
He couldn¡¯t see me roll my eyes at the comment.
He continued, ¡°Despite every opposition, inside and outside the arena, you still triumphed. How could a better Sword be found than one who rises against such vast and varied opposition?¡±
Was he trying to imply that his efforts to have me ejected, his efforts to conspire against me and rig the rounds, were all part of a noble quest to truly prove me the greatest prospect? I wasn¡¯t sure, and I sure as hell wasn¡¯t buying it. A very large part of me wanted to ask him if that was why he had given Lance a secret artifact to artificially boost his powers above mine.
But today was the start of the rest of my life. My life would be made no easier by pitting this man against me. For now, at least, I could play nice.
I simply said, ¡°Thank you, Your Grace.¡±
He seemed satisfied with that and stepped back again.
I turned to face the hushed crowd.
The voice came clearly in my ear, So what¡¯s it going to be? Have you thought it through yet? Do we have a name for our new house?
Our house? I asked.
The voice giggled, saying, Well, I¡¯ve been here before, but I rather like the idea that this might be our house, kiddo.
I stared into the sea of faces.
It was Mario who approached then. His expression was the sweetest of all. The man was not as distilled as the bishop; he could not conceal his horror at what had transpired before him. He did what he could, but his face was drawn, pale. Oh, he held a poker face very well, but the strain was evident.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
Mario turned to me and bowed his head, a respectful gesture that I have no doubt cost him deeply. Then he turned to the crowd and unfurled a scroll. Without ceremony, he began to speak.
"Repeat after me, m''lord, if you would," he said, his voice pinched and struggling.
I nodded my helmeted head.
He began to read, ¡°I, Tiberius, solemnly vow and swear to bear the role of the Sword of Boston according to the statutes and laws laid out by the assembly of Boston.¡±
I repeated, my chest swelling as the reality of the moment started to dawn on me, ¡°I, Tiberius, solemnly vow and swear to bear the role of the Sword of Boston according to the statutes and laws laid out by the assembly of Boston.¡±
Mario continued, ¡°I, Tiberius, swear before the people of Boston, to do all in my power to honor them and serve them, never waning in my duty to bring the Flows to the city.¡±
Again, I repeated, the gravity of the moment real, but the excitement also thrilling, ¡°I, Tiberius, swear before the people of Boston, to do all in my power to honor them and serve them, never waning in my duty to bring the Flows to the city.¡±
Mario said, ¡°I, Tiberius, will do my utmost to honor the will of the Oracle above all things, recognizing the Oracle as the source of my powers, the source of destiny, the source of all life and hope for all men, and that it is the Oracle¡¯s will that defines my purposes above all other.¡±
I repeated the words, knowing that only one instruction remained. ¡°I, Tiberius, will do my utmost to honor the will of the Oracle above all things, recognizing the Oracle as the source of my powers, the source of destiny, the source of all life and hope for all men, and that it is the Oracle¡¯s will that defines my purposes above all other.¡±
Mario nodded in the manner of someone who has dropped something precious into a pit of sewage and has no choice but to reach in, bare-handed, to retrieve it. He said, "Tiberius, Sword of Boston, bare your weapon and announce yourself to your people."
This was it¡ªthe moment I would name my house, a name that might endure for centuries to come, long after I was nothing but dust.
The voice giggled in my ear, "Oh, you¡¯re not... you¡¯re not going to do it? I wish I could see your thoughts better, but I think I can feel it. You¡¯re going to choose your own name for the house!"
I drew my sword and held it solemnly before the people. The red light pulsed and flowed up and down the blade, black flecks and dark shadows drifting beautifully behind the scarlet glow.
The voice piped up, "What¡¯s the fucking holdup?"
I thought back to it, I... I want my own name for the house, not my father¡¯s name. I¡¯m a damned Griidlord now! I¡¯ll find him if he¡¯s out there, I won¡¯t abandon him, but I¡¯m done being his pet! I¡¯m my own man now! So I will name my own house. But... I can¡¯t think of a name...
The voice chortled richly, "Why didn¡¯t you think of one before now?"
I hadn¡¯t decided to name my own house yet...
The silence stretched between me and the thousands of spectators. At first, the silence seemed to connect us, binding us in solemnity. But it went on too long. I could hear feet shuffling and bodies rustling uncomfortably. A man coughed, the sound echoing through the stillness.
The voice said, "Okay, okay, let¡¯s see... how about House Atreides? No, that one¡¯s been used up. What about... House Lannister? No, that¡¯s a bit on the nose... Um... Blackadder? Oh, do use that one, nobody will ever know..."
The voice prattled on, but I stopped hearing it. My eyes had become fixed on the blade before me. Morningstar¡¯s blade had been blue¡ªa bright, pure, uniform blue. Mine was marbled with darks and lights. In some ways, it seemed tainted and ugly, but at the same time, it was mesmerizing. The lights and colors moved like cooling magma, like a black aurora, like all the shades of...
My voice surprised even me as it boomed out, my helmet amplifying my words rather than the arena speakers. The crowd, startled after the long silence, let out a collective intake of breath, a communal gasp.
¡°People of Boston, I am your Sword¡±¡ªI emphasized your, for I was theirs, the people¡¯s champion still.
¡°I am Tiberius, of House Bloodsword.¡±
Epilogue 1
I stood on the platform, watching the bishop and his entourage file away across the arena floor. They maintained their composure in front of the crowds. Some ceremony was being conducted with the scroll that Mario had read from¡ªthey needed to perform some kind of procession to return it to the Tower. As I watched them move in single file, their bodyguards trailing further behind, I had to admire how they held themselves, Bishop Ra in particular.
A fire team was spraying down the flames still clinging to the wooden structure, and the water mixed with the smoke to create billowing clouds of white vapor. The whole thing looked as if it might collapse at any moment, but the bishop and the priests continued their solemn march across the floor, perilously close to danger, without batting an eye.
They passed the corpse of the fiend. The creature had almost immediately started to decompose upon death. Even through the clouds of vapor and smoke, I could see tendrils of steam rising from the corpse. The previously impenetrable skin of the foul thing had started to melt, chasms opening on its surface, the whole form taking on a strange and fetid sheen of decay.
Baltazar, Morningstar, and I were obliged to remain stationary on the platform as the procession trailed away from us. Morningstar had been an unexpected addition that the ceremony had needed to adapt to. A Griidlord was too sacred not to be included in such a display of noble figures, but he was not of the city. I felt that he had been gracious to stay. I could only imagine the things he could be doing with his time that were more entertaining than standing on a dais in front of a crowd from a city to which he had no allegiance.
The rotting fiend obsessed my attention. I wanted to speak to the other two, but I was afraid I¡¯d fail to control the speakers in my helm. It was a small worry¡ªthe suit seemed to understand my intentions as I had them. But, out of paranoia, I reached up to remove my helmet.
I wasn¡¯t sure if it would be a violation of the ceremony to do so. But I was the Oracle-damned Sword of Boston now! If I wanted to take my helmet off, what could anyone do about it?
Morningstar spoke as I reached up. His helmeted head didn¡¯t turn as he spoke; he maintained a somber pose before the crowd.
¡°You don¡¯t need to do that, kiddo,¡± he said.
I didn¡¯t say anything. I was still afraid my voice would boom and the whole crowd would hear my inept response.
Morningstar seemed to sense my hesitation. He spoke softly, just loud enough for me to hear over the murmur of the crowd. Those poor bastards in the stands were obliged to wait until the procession exited the arena. The excitement of the display was over, and they wanted nothing more than to flood the streets of the city and indulge in the food and drink that awaited them.
¡°Tell the suit to open your face,¡± Morningstar said. ¡°Will it to peel back. You¡¯ll see.¡±
I had seen how the suit peeled open when the priests wanted us to exit. I believed it could happen, but all the same, the experience was disconcerting, to say the least. As I thought about baring my face, I felt the front of my helmet melt away, the mass of the material blending back into the rest of the helm. The strangeness came from the sensory shift. The surface of the suit felt like skin, but with a greater supply of sensory information and a lesser supply of pain signaling. As what essentially felt like my skin peeled away, I found my biological flesh exposed to the air. It was jarring. My human flesh was so much less sensitive than the surface of the suit that I almost felt numb. It was another example of how addicting the suit was. But at the same time, there was something strangely refreshing about letting my own nerves talk to me and tell me about the environment around me.
With my face now exposed, I said, "Are we going to pretend like that fiend appearing was just a weird accident?"
Morningstar replied, "How do you want to go about explaining those things? They''re born in the storms, for Oracle¡¯s sake! Who¡¯s to guess what happened for that thing to show up?"
I could hear a strain in his voice that eluded explanation.
"I can¡¯t ignore it," I said. "Where did it come from? And now? Why would it show up now? I need to know what happened. It came from the shaft to the basement. I¡¯m going down there when this is over, and I¡¯m going to see what happened."Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
Baltazar spoke next. He, like Morningstar and I, continued to stand at attention, speaking without moving his head. "I¡¯m not sure you¡¯ll have time for that, Tiberius. Or should I say, Lord Bloodsword..."
The utterance of my new title carried a strange tingle of elation. I also had a faint sense of embarrassment. The name was maybe a little too dramatic. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision.
He continued, "Lord Chowwick will be ready to depart with you to Dodge in a matter of hours. He dispatched his duties urgently to make himself available. I think he wants to get a measure of his new Sword. You won¡¯t want to disappoint him, Tiberius. He does you honor by committing himself to your quest so quickly. You will, I suppose, have time to investigate this beast, but is that how you want to spend the few hours you have in the city? Dodge is days away, even under Footfield. You could revel in the festivities for a few hours at least, or perhaps attend to other business."
I paused, considering Lord Chowwick. The Shield of Boston, Arthur¡¯s father, had decided to come with me on my most probably futile quest.
Morningstar added, "I¡¯m sure the city will be looking into what happened."
Baltazar said, "Oh, rest assured, even if I didn¡¯t want to, there are priests here who will spend days poring over the incident. One wizened old bastard, in particular, is quite obsessed with explaining the connection between the fiends and the Oracle. If you invest your time elsewhere, you can be assured of answers of some form upon your return."
I realized then how their tones had shifted. Neither man had dismissed me before, but I suddenly felt they were speaking to me as a peer. Baltazar had spent a lifetime assembling the political capital to become Lord Supreme. Morningstar might have been a Sword like me, but in just a few short years, he had already established himself as one to be feared in the land. But this was not a conversation between superiors and inferiors. This was talk between equals. I was one of them.
I said, "It can¡¯t be an accident. Think about the odds. When has this ever happened before? And how often is there a Choosing? Let alone a Choosing for a new Sword? Every few decades?"
Morningstar shrugged and said, "We lost two Griidlords in three years at one point. That was hard. You¡¯ll see what I mean after a while¡ªthose other suits become family when you fight alongside them for a few years. But I guess I¡¯m bringing it up because it happened. Still, I get your point¡ªlots of cities can go fifty years without seeing a suit come on the market."
There was silence for a while. Morningstar¡¯s voice had tightened as he spoke of the loss to the city, the loss of friends. I thought I remembered hearing the tale of the events he referred to. The Griidlords were heroes, their every exploit reported from city to city.
The crowd continued to murmur. The rustle of thousands of sets of clothes alone became a constant murmur in the air.
Baltazar took a breath, then spoke. "Tiberius... when you go to Dodge, you should be aware that your father had some special interests..."
"Has," I said. "We don¡¯t know that he¡¯s dead."
There was a pause from both men that spoke volumes. It said, Don¡¯t be so naive. No one survives the Horde.
As the pause faded, Morningstar said, "You know about that stuff?"
Baltazar¡¯s response was equally surprised. "You do?"
Morningstar shifted slightly. "Ol¡¯ Sempronius used to get me to run a few errands for him from time to time, you know, in fair exchange..."
Baltazar said, "You and I might have things to discuss."
Morningstar said, "That we might."
I burst out, speaking more loudly than intended, though still far below a volume that bystanders could hear. "What are you two talking about? What was Father into?"
Many ages have come and gone, and I know as much about them as any do. Proclivities that were once taboo have faded from view. Believe it or not, there was a time when lovers of the same gender were scorned. That was a thing of the past in my world, something few even knew of. Maybe it has emerged again in your time, and maybe this is as shocking to you as it is to me. There were only two thoughts that came to me as I waited for a response¡ªtwo interests a man could have, short of murder, that would instill such scandal among the likes of Baltazar and Morningstar: enjoying animals or enjoying children. I really hoped I was about to hear that Father had a thing for sheep or chickens.
Baltazar took a breath and spoke with deep gravity. "Your father has something of a fascination with prohibited knowledge."
My eyebrows shot up. Prohibited knowledge... I knew so little of it. Ancient knowings that even the priesthood understood little of. Sacrilegious information that contradicted the word of the Oracle.
I stammered, "Why... why are you telling me this now?"
Baltazar said, "Dodge was a remote citadel, a repository of many of his treasures. You should be aware that you might find things there that are strange."
Morningstar nodded subtly. He said, "Oh, I get it. You¡¯re right¡ªhe might find things out there. Useful things. Powerful things."
Epilogue 2
Having permanent access to the Footfield was going to take some getting used to. It was going to change how I thought about so many things.
I had been standing on the rise outside the main gates of the city. It was a strange time, a strange experience. On one hand, gone were the pressures, the anxieties. I had won the suit; it was done. I was a Griidlord, now I was Lord Tiberius Bloodsword. I didn¡¯t need to worry about Father¡¯s control anymore, even if I did find him. I was my own man now.
But on the other hand, there were new pressures. Of course, there was Father. Even then, I was waiting for the convoy to assemble so that we could depart. And there was this new strange status. I stood at the gate, one of the five most powerful beings in Boston, but I felt exposed. I was a valuable target now for our city¡¯s enemies. I was unmistakable to the people, and they moved past me with a strange new deference that I couldn¡¯t say I enjoyed.
It would all take some getting used to.
As I stood there, I saw the carriage moving. What utter joy it was that I could use my SIGHT any time I wanted now. It was rolling down a road a mile or so yonder, heading away from the city. My human eyes would have been left to wonder if it really was the carriage I believed it to be. But my helm magnified the object of my focus as I willed it to. I saw the carriage as though it was only yards away. And I had been right. It was their carriage.
On a whim, I went after it. I flashed my footfield to life as I stepped forward and the world melted around me. I raced towards the carriage at twice the speed of a horse galloping flat out, and the carriage seemed to hold still. The sheer joy and power I felt brought a surge of emotion to me. This was what my life would be now. I was more god than man.
I skirted around the carriage, giving it a wide berth. I no more wanted the distortion of the field to shred the molecules of the occupants than I wanted it to play havoc with the integrity of my own physical makeup. The driver reacted to me. To him, I must have been an indistinct haze, bolting by him like a blur.
The driver reined the horses in, and I let go of the footfield. It was with no small reluctance that I returned to the normal flow of time. Looking back now, it¡¯s funny. Griidlords learn to detest the footfield¡ªso much time is spent ferrying armies and merchant convoys from place to place that the footfield becomes synonymous with boredom. But when you are new to it, the novelty is delicious.
I approached the carriage. I wondered a little how they would react to me. I knew my armor was still shifting, growing, forming itself to express how it perceived me. Ridges grew across my helmet, sharp peaks grew from my chest and shoulders. I was a Griidlord; even noble ladies would be awed by a Griidlord.
Katya¡¯s face appeared at the window of the carriage, and it bore an expression of unbridled glee. She shouted, "Tibby! You¡¯ve come!"
I let the helmet peel back from my face. My expression could only have been one of despair. I said, "Tibby? I¡¯m sure you meant Lord Bloodsword."
Katya¡¯s smile widened, then she feigned embarrassment. "Of course, Lord Bloodsword, how forgetful of me."
Lauren¡¯s face appeared beside Katya¡¯s. She said, "Bloodsword sounds like a name someone might choose in their teens and then regret in their later years, when they¡¯ve matured a little."
I said, "Oh, well, that¡¯s a useful point, Lauren. I¡¯ll just go back and choose again, shall I."
We laughed together then. It wasn¡¯t completely unnatural, but there was a tension among us that forced a kind of joviality. As the laughter faded, I could see they were expectant, waiting for me to explain why I had stopped them.
I cleared my throat, straightened myself a little, and said, "I saw you passing, and I¡ I won¡¯t be here tomorrow, for your big day. I just wanted to give you both my best wishes and my apologies that I can¡¯t attend."Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Lauren said, "You¡¯re the Sword now, you have new duties. Imagine, tomorrow you will be on your way to the wastes, hundreds of miles away. I¡¯ve never been beyond the borders of the family¡¯s lands."
Katya interjected, saying, "Bed a woman on your travels, Tiberius."
My eyebrows shot up and I felt the color drain from my face.
Lauren said, "Katya!"
Katya said, "It¡¯s for the best. You¡¯re a sweetheart, Tiberius, a true gem, and now a Griidlord, but you¡¯re too shy. You need to get over it. You¡¯ll stop somewhere on your journey¡ªKansas City perhaps¡ªfind a pretty whore and get it over with."
I stammered, "I¡ I would¡"
Lauren slapped Katya lightly on the shoulder and said, "Katya! No! Stop it. He¡¯s not shy; he¡¯s sweet and genuine. It¡¯s a positive that he¡¯s not the sort to go whoring."
Katya cast her eyes skyward and said, "He¡¯s easy meat. You¡¯ll be easy prey, Tiberius. Some pretty vixen with ambitions will eat you up."
I continued to stammer, unable to process the turn in topic.
Lauren grew firmer, and Katya retreated slightly. Lauren said, "Enough of this. I¡¯ve told you, that¡¯s not how we talk in Boston. We¡¯re civilized."
Katya returned a look that asked the question, is Miami not civilized?
Lauren ignored her and said, "Thank you for the gesture, Tiberius."
Silence gathered slightly. My blood-drained face was flushed with heat now. I said, "Well... I shouldn¡¯t delay you. I have my own business to get back to as well."
Lauren said, "Thank you, Tiberius."
I hesitated, then added, words bursting forth, "Would it be wrong of me to call on you two? I haven¡¯t¡ I know we¡¯ve only¡"
I gathered my words, "I haven¡¯t many friends, and I like to think that friendship has grown between us. I wonder if it would be alright for me¡ª"
Katya cut me off, saying, "Tiberius! We would be overjoyed to entertain you. Once your adventure in the East is done, come to us. We¡¯ll have dinner and drinks."
Lauren said, "You simply must. Father would be overjoyed to host a Griidlord! To host the Sword!"
I smiled broadly at them. "Well, ah, I will do that then. Don¡¯t let me keep you further. I¡¯ll see you both when I return."
I had a long moment of peace as I watched the carriage roll away from me. I turned and looked back at the city. What a thing it was, to be able to peer at the walls a mile away, and know that I could be there in what felt like a single stride. I turned back to watch the carriage roll away. I felt embarrassed somewhat by my display, but equally, I felt hopeful and maybe even a little elated.
As I stood there, I became aware of a sensation. It was like a sound, but also like a vibration. The suit itself seemed to react¡ªI felt it prickle as though goosebumps were rising on its surface. I turned again to the walls of the city and saw a bolting haze of distortion approaching me. It was my first time as a Griidlord experiencing another of our class approaching under Footfield. The unnatural perversion of reality that the field created resonated oddly within me. I watched curiously as the shape streaked toward me.
With just a little more experience, I would learn to have my hand on my sword when I felt those vibrations. Or to have it drawn. This time, such a stance was unnecessary. The field dissipated at 50 yards distance. The lifting haze revealed the powerful form of Lord Morningstar. He jogged toward me.
¡°Tiberius!¡± he called. ¡°I would speak a moment if you could spare it.¡±
I turned my gaze back to the walls of the city. Harold had appeared, and some of the Pittsburgh mercs were gathering, but neither the city knights nor Lord Chowwick had shown up yet.
I said, ¡°I have time. Even if I didn¡¯t, I would make time for you, sir.¡±
Morningstar¡¯s helmet melted back to show his face. He smiled, but his eyes seemed furtive.
He said, ¡°Tiberius, when I first met you, in your home, that night you told me that you heard a voice when you were in the suit.¡±
I shifted, uncomfortable. I still remembered. I remembered his scornful reaction, but also the way he seemed to consider me after I said it.
He asked, ¡°Is it true? Do you hear a voice in the suit?¡±
I hesitated. Should I reveal it? Griidlords grew mad with age if they didn¡¯t give the suit up. Did some of us suffer that madness early? Was he probing, testing me? But his expression wasn¡¯t one of suspicion, it was one of strange desperation. I thought back to the moment the fiend¡¯s maw descended, how I saw the end of my life approaching, and decided that I would trust this man. If not for his sword, I would have died the same day I won the suit.
I said, ¡°Yes. Not... not now, but often. Yes, I hear a voice.¡±
He nodded, his face growing firm.
I asked, ¡°Why do you ask that now?¡±
He said, ¡°Because I hear it too.¡±
Epilogue 3
Epilogue 3
I stared at him in disbelief. My jaw literally fell open.
I also found myself waiting, expecting the voice to appear in my ear to paint its own version of events.
Morningstar must have seen my reaction, must have seen the way my eyes grew unfocused as though I was listening for something.
He said, ¡°It¡¯s not there right now, is it?¡±
I said, ¡°No¡¡±
He said, ¡°Well, the fucker might be. But it¡¯s probably not. I know, when you were in the arena, the thing was constantly there, always chattering away at you about how special and important you are. It makes you think it will always be there, always listening, always poking its nose into your business. But I don¡¯t think the little bastard is omniscient. I think it¡¯s got other business to attend to. I think it spends time in your head, and time in mine, but I don¡¯t reckon it can do both at the same time. If the little fucker isn¡¯t here right now, chattering away at one of us, then I¡¯ll bet it¡¯s elsewhere.¡±
I felt as though someone were listening. I had the self-consciousness of someone who knows they are within earshot of a third party.
I said, ¡°But it could be here right now, just waiting to see what we¡¯re going to say.¡±
Morningstar grinned savagely. He said, ¡°Yes, it could be. There¡¯s every chance of it. But I don¡¯t have anything to say to you that I wouldn¡¯t let it hear even if it was babbling away at us.¡±
I said, ¡°Did it come to you during your Choosing as well?¡±
He said, ¡°Yup. But not at the start, like it did with you. It started talking to me during the fourth round of my Choosing. We do things differently in Indianapolis. We don¡¯t have nobles the way the cities up here do. We have ¡®em, but they don¡¯t hold the kind of status they do in this region. We have more entrants in our Choosing, the numbers start a lot higher and boil down a lot faster. The voice came to me on the fourth day. Shit, I¡¯ll never forget it. Kid, it was like I¡¯d lost my mind. I was in the thick of the action. I¡¯d been the favorite from day one, but things were going downhill, and fast. A bunch of the other real contenders had bunched together. They were going to take me out and then fight over the scraps. But the voice came to me then. Even though I thought I was losing my mind, I listened to it, did what it said. What else could I do? My turkey was cooked. I just said, ¡®what the heck,¡¯ and went with it. And you know what happened?¡±
I said, ¡°It worked. The advice it gave you won the day.¡±
Morningstar nodded vigorously. ¡°Yup. And the next day, and the next day. I spent my nights waiting for it to talk to me. I¡¯d lie in bed, not able to sleep. I was just waiting for the voice. It took me a whole day to realize it was only when I was in the suit that I could hear it.¡±
I said, ¡°And did it¡ did it make a deal with you too?¡±
Morningstar¡¯s grin was fierce. There was something angry in him as we spoke about this, but there was also some kind of monstrous relief that seemed to be taking over him. He said, "Oh yeah, it did. I¡¯ll bet it made the same deal with you too, kid. Wants you to grow stronger and stronger so it can set you free."This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
I thought about it. I said, "If it¡¯s been talking to both of us, then maybe it¡¯s talking to other Griidlords too."
Morningstar shook his head slowly. "I don¡¯t think so. I can¡¯t say for sure, how the heck would I know for sure? But I don¡¯t reckon it is. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s screwing with us when it says we¡¯re special. I think it looks out for certain types. It told me it likes my brain."
I said, "It told me it likes mine too."
He said, "And did it tell you it would make all your dreams come true?"
I paused. Then I said, "I think it said it would make dreams come true for me that I haven¡¯t even dreamt yet. Something like that."
Morningstar paced around me. He looked out across the fields. I joined him for a moment. The rough squares that made up the pattern of the landscape never failed to catch my eye. I thought through things during the brief silence. How many Griidlords had it spoken to? Was I in competition with Morningstar? I didn¡¯t like the idea of that. I had grown quickly during the Choosing, but if you asked anyone who followed the exploits of the Griidlords, they would quickly tell you that this man was special. He was rapidly growing into a figure of legend that would be remembered in the histories.
Morningstar said, "Did you meet Joel?"
I said, "Yes, I met Joel, and Danefer."
His face reacted in obvious surprise. "Danefer, out of Miami?"
I said, "Well, yeah, he came to me like Joel did."
Morningstar grew distant as he stared across the fields. "I crossed swords with him once. I was very new to the suit then. We were fighting for an orb¡"
I waited. The idea of seeing the real Danefer, the Griidlord, not the mad wildknight I had met, set my heart on fire.
Morningstar said, "He was something. I haven¡¯t seen the likes since. The things he could do with his suit, the power he wielded. Nearly beat him, though. He made weird decisions, did strange things. I thought I had the better of him until damned near the end¡"
Morningstar chewed his lip for a moment, then said, "So he¡¯s wandering around like Joel is¡ isn¡¯t that just a pretty picture. You reckon that waits for us too?"
I just waited. I didn¡¯t understand what he was talking about.
He said, "Listen, it¡¯s hard to talk when you don¡¯t know if the voice is off elsewhere, or if maybe it¡¯s just hanging about in the background, waiting to see what we¡¯ll say. You know what that bastard is like, always playing you. I¡¯m gonna let you in on a little secret, kid."
I waited. My mind was already awash with too much to contemplate. I wasn¡¯t the only one the voice spoke to. This was revelatory. Yet, for some reason, I also felt like I begrudged Morningstar for sharing this connection with the Oracle.
He said, "The voice can¡¯t reach you everywhere on the sweet green earth."
I said, "What?"
Morningstar nodded. "I know a place, underground, where it can¡¯t follow. Don¡¯t ask me how or why it can¡¯t be there, but sure as hell, it doesn¡¯t like when I go down there. It freaks the fuck out when I go down there. It can¡¯t handle the idea that I could be getting up to stuff it can¡¯t see."
I said, "That sounds like the voice, alright."
I still wondered if it was listening. The skin on my neck prickled with nervousness.
Morningstar said, "I got a convoy I gotta move along to North New York in a little while. You gotta go huntin'' for old Sempronius. I swear, kid, I hope you succeed with that one, but you gotta know the odds are damned slim."
I said, "I know. I just have to try."
He said, "I get it. I don¡¯t mean to rain on the idea neither."
Morningstar let a moment pass. An eagle lofted in the air in the distance. I wished my helm wasn¡¯t folded back as I watched it wheel in the sky.
Morningstar said, "Why don¡¯t we arrange to meet up in my little hidey hole sometime? After you attend to your business in Dodge."
He turned to me, that savage smile widening. "I¡¯ll bet there¡¯s a lot more we could say if we knew for sure it wasn¡¯t listening. A whole shit ton more."
This marks the end of Book 1, but not the end of Tiberius''s story. A Griidlord in full, now starts the next part of Tiberius''s life. His chances for glory, love, friendship, war and peace really only begin on the next page.
Book 2: Chapter 1
This was very different from what I¡¯d experienced before with the Footfield.
Up until now, the Footfield had always been activated while I ran. It had always been just for me.
Much of it was really the same. The landscape burned past me in a strange blur. I felt that odd disconnect with the world beyond the shimmering, distorting edges of the field. There were two worlds when you moved like this: one inside the field, the other outside.
But instead of running, dashing madly to some goal, I was marching. I had to march, for the field had other occupants.
Two hundred men in all were marching with me. They were all mounted, but a trotting horse was a lazy task to keep up with when you were a Griidlord.
I wasn¡¯t sure I would ever get used to that reality. I was a Griidlord. I had won the suit. My days competing with Lance were in the past. This was the start of a new reality.
I probably shouldn¡¯t have been so excited while leading an expedition to search for my own father¡ªor, more likely, his corpse¡ªbut there was no way to suppress the continuing elation of what I had achieved.
I was the Sword of Boston.
Wagons rolled along within the field as well. There were two factions here. Most of the men were from Pittsburgh¡ªa small mercenary army assembled by Harold. These men were excellent at fighting far from order. They were brutal men, lovers of the axe and the ambush, comfortable fighting in any terrain.
The other faction came from the city itself: ten knights. I can¡¯t overexpress how much Baltazar honored me with such a retinue. Ten knights, well-equipped with power weapons and relics, would be enough to match an average Griidlord. I was extremely aware that I was in the infancy of my powers, only level 8. Ten knights would have been more than enough to best me. Still, it made me swell with a sense of my own power, knowing that not all of them would walk away alive if they did face me.
I was a Griidlord.
The thought made me smile.
Among the city retinue were a handful of priests, twice as many servants to tend to them, and a diplomat of some sort. I hadn¡¯t had time to speak properly with any of them. Once Lord Chowwick, the Shield of Boston, had joined us, he wasted no time setting the Footfield in motion. He had quickly shown me how to join my field to his. And then we had set out.
Even now, we sped many times faster than a horse could travel. Boston was far behind us, but we still hadn¡¯t left the realm governed by the city.
Chowwick made me uncomfortable. The huge man¡ªShields were generally huge men¡ªhad arrived and taken fast charge of the retinue. I had been unsure how to conduct myself. On the one hand, I was the Sword, the nominal leader of all the Griidlords of the city. On the other hand, I was a true rookie, new to the suit, only level 8. Chowwick wasn¡¯t long in the suit by Griidlord standards, maybe thirty years, but the levels he would have acquired in that time surely dwarfed mine.
The other reason I was nervous about the man was his son. Arthur, whom I had ejected from the Choosing by besting him with my Footfield during the race, was the son of Lord Chowwick. I squirmed a little at the thought of talking to the man I had so shamed.
Even as I contemplated the awkwardness I felt towards Lord Chowwick and the hatred he must have for me, I heard the heavy steps of an armored figure jogging towards me. I turned my head and saw him coming. My helm was on and closed, so he couldn¡¯t see the startled look of dread on my face.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Chowwick was huge. The man must have been gigantic in the flesh, but the Shield suit was the bulkiest of the five, and adding that to his form made for a formidable sight.
As he approached, his helmet melted away, the material dissolving into his neck. The face beneath was surprisingly old-looking. Griidlords didn¡¯t age much, not when they lived under the concentrated Order of the suit. Chowwick couldn¡¯t have been more than fifty, but he genuinely looked to be in his forties. His face was huge and broad, covered in a monstrous flowing beard. What skin could be seen bore the scars of thirty years of battling other Griidlords.
¡°Let¡¯s have a look at you then,¡± he said. His voice was gruff.
I wanted to placate him. I had bested his son. The man might believe Arthur could be wearing the suit now if not for me. It wasn¡¯t true¡ªArthur would never have made it past Lance, or Gideon, Katya, or Lauren. But a father¡¯s pride was a tricky thing.
I remained stoic. I was the Sword, not he. I was the leader of all the Griidlords in Boston.
I let my helm melt away and turned to meet him face to face. I kept moving. One had to keep moving in the field.
I said, "Lord Chowwick, we haven¡¯t had a chance to introduce ourselves."
He squinted at me. ¡°You¡¯re awful pretty lookin¡¯, boy. I thought you¡¯d be harder lookin¡¯. You¡¯re the one they¡¯re all barkin¡¯ about, gainin¡¯ attributes left, right, and center. Throwin¡¯ my boy out o'' the Choosing with the Footfield? A rookie, usin¡¯ the Footfield, for fuck¡¯s sake. I never imagined somethin'' like that. You shouldn¡¯t be so pretty lookin¡¯.¡±
I didn¡¯t know how to respond. I stammered, ¡°I¡¯m sorry to be so¡ uh¡ pretty lookin¡¯...¡±
He stared at me for a long moment. One bushy eyebrow arched up. I sensed I had provoked him. I braced for a tirade.
Then he exploded with laughter. His laugh was a booming sound, deep from the chest. It was real, a genuine laugh.
He wiped a tear from his eye. ¡°You¡¯re alright, I think. We¡¯ll do just fine.¡±
I wasn¡¯t sure what to say. Predictably, I chose something awkward: ¡°I¡¯m sorry about Arthur.¡±
He looked at me with mock concern. "Sorry about Arthur? Has somethin'' happened to him? The lad hasn¡¯t gotten himself murdered in a whorehouse, has he?"
I stammered, "No, I mean¡ª"
But he cut me off with a wave of his hand. "Arthur¡¯s a good boy. He¡¯s a great lad. He¡¯ll make a great lord of the lands I can¡¯t be arsed to deal with. But the lad was never going to be a Griidlord. That fucking Lance was the one who was gonna do it, if not for you. Maybe the Oakheart girl or the little Princess, but not Arthur."
I was surprised.
Chowwick spoke quickly, trying to explain himself. "Don¡¯t get me wrong. I¡¯m not shittin'' on my lad. I love the little whelp, like the rest of ''em. He¡¯s a good man, and he can be a great man. He might be Lord Supreme, he might be a general. He could do all sorts of things, but he was as likely to win the Sword as I would be to win a dance contest."
I said, "Then why train him? Why send him to the Choosing?"
Chowwick waved my comments away. "The trainin'' wasn¡¯t wasted. You saw him, probably fought him. Lad¡¯s good with a sword, isn¡¯t he? He¡¯ll be one of the best warriors in the city for years to come. As for the Choosing? Well, I could hardly tell him not to waste his time. Wouldn¡¯t do him no good. Boy needs to know his daddy supports him, and I do. Not bein'' the right man for the Sword doesn¡¯t make you a lesser man, just the wrong man for the job."
Chowwick¡¯s words wounded something in me. It was such a contrast to the fathering I had received. My world and all the love in it had been entirely conditional on doing one thing¡ªthe thing I had just done. There was no unconditional support like this man professed.
Chowwick chuckled at me. "Anyway, enough of that for now. We¡¯ve a long way to go, it¡¯ll be a few days to Dodge. We¡¯ve plenty of time for talkin''. What¡¯s more important is the fiend that¡¯s comin'' up."
I said, "The fiend?"
The huge man nodded. "You¡¯ve done well for yourself in the arena, lad. I don¡¯t doubt you¡¯ve got more attributes than the average rookie. But between here and the Falling, we need to get you leveled up. And fightin'' a proper filthy fiend is a good way to get that done. There¡¯s a big one comin'' up here in about 50 miles. Been wreakin'' havoc on the villages. I was gonna go get it, but I thought I¡¯d save it for you."
My mind wandered back to the creature I had faced with Morningstar. I said, "You want me to help you fight a fiend?"
Again, the eyebrow, again the huge laugh. Then he settled himself, and his voice grew serious.
"No, lad. I don¡¯t want you to help me fight a fiend. I want you to go get the big fucker yourself."
Book 2: Chapter 2
"Do we have time to tarry?" I asked. My mind rushed through a series of thoughts. Genuinely, time was of the essence¡ªif my father lived, I couldn¡¯t waste time beast hunting. And, I remembered the fiend in the arena. I had stood little chance against the thing on my own. Morningstar himself had expressed his doubts about being able to best it unaided.
Chowwick was enthusiastic, his voice loud and eager. He said, "Of course we do, my boy. We¡¯ll be days getting to Dodge, and the big brute in question will take no time to find. What will an extra hour mean? Remember, lad, it¡¯s for the good of the land that you wear that suit now. Slaying the fiend will serve you twice. It will help you level, and by the Oracle, we need to level you as fast as we can. The Falling grows nearer every day. You are to lead us. We need our Sword to be strong."
His eyes grew serious suddenly. He added, "And the thing is killing peasants. It¡¯s no bearwolf¡ªthis one will eat a village if it gets the chance. Way out here, on the edge of the territory, there¡¯s rarely a Griidlord close enough to do something about it. Lord Rollow isn¡¯t equipped to handle the thing. And he¡¯s not that inclined to. If we don¡¯t do something about it now, while we¡¯re passing so close to its lair, then no one will for a long time."
I was taken aback by his sincerity. Chowwick was a noble. I had long cast them all in the same heap¡ªwealthy aristocrats who cared nothing for the common people. But Chowwick¡¯s eyes were deeply troubled by the danger this thing posed to commoners.
I hesitated. "Well¡ yes, but¡"
I didn¡¯t want to fight a fiend yet. Not on my own. I was eager to test myself, but there had been no chance to practice anything in the full suit. It brimmed with a power that my arena suit had never possessed.
Chowwick smiled and slapped a huge, heavy hand down on my shoulder. "I¡¯ll still be there, lad. Remember¡"
He leaned in close as we walked. My neck prickled at the proximity; I had never been raised to be comfortable with gestures like this.
Chowwick said, "I¡¯m your Shield, lad. I might have thirty or so levels on you now, but it¡¯s my duty to serve you. To protect you. I swear, no harm will come to you. No real harm, anyway! Take the chance to grow, to level against the thing, but never doubt that I¡¯ll be there. I¡¯ll see you pass me, lad. Baltazar believes you¡¯ll outlevel us all given time. It¡¯s been a long time since Boston had a Sword that was worth a shit."
***
"He wants me to fight a big fiend," I spoke in a low voice.
I was crouched in the back of one of the wagons, leaning over a reclining Zeb, who appeared far more interested in continuing his nap than in helping me sort through my latest conundrum.
Zeb looked back at me lazily, his face a picture of complete disinterest. "And why are you telling me?" he said.
"I need help," I replied.
Zeb raised an eyebrow. "Did you tell him we need to be after your father as fast as we can be?"
"I did," I said. "He said there¡¯s time, the beast is barely off our course."
Zeb shrugged. "Then fight it."
I sighed in frustration. "Dammit, Zeb, you''re supposed to be my protector. You should be finding a way to avoid this."
Zeb''s eyes traveled over my armored form, and he raised a cynical eyebrow. "Tiberius¡ I think my days of being your protector are over."Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
"What?" I asked, confused.
He said, "You''re a Griidlord now. Anything that could threaten you would eat me alive."
I shook my head, struggling to process that. Zeb was¡ Zeb. One of the deadliest, nastiest fighters in Boston, equipped with more relics than some lords.
He seemed to read my thoughts. "You know I¡¯d fancy my odds against any mortal man. I¡¯ve gotten this far and rarely stepped back from a fight. But you¡¯re a Griidlord now. We exist on different tiers."
His words didn¡¯t seem to cost him anything¡ªno pain, no regret, no bitterness. He stated the fact plainly, like a man who wasn¡¯t troubled by reality.
I asked, "Then why are you traveling with us?"
Zeb replied, "To find your father. I still owe him. And to collect¡ Ah, there are some goods that are important to me in the city. Your father had acquired them for me. I¡¯m hoping to salvage what I can."
I straightened in the cart and looked out through the shimmering borders of the footfield. The landscape had been growing more forested for a while, but it was hard to make out the details beyond the field''s hazy confines, especially at the speed we were traveling.
Fine then. I¡¯d fight it. I wanted to test myself. I wanted to grow. Why not now? If Chowwick was really to be my Shield, I had to trust him. And if I wanted to lead the Griidlords of Boston, I needed to be stronger. I understood that level 8 was uncommonly strong for a bare rookie, but the average Griidlord on the field was leveled in their 30s or 40s. I¡¯d be of little use to my city facing the likes of them unless I grew stronger.
As the cart rolled along, the hills around us became steeper, covered in thick forests. The movement of the cart led us around a bend, and a chasm appeared in the vegetation. A wide swath had been carved out of the forest¡ªearth torn, trees uprooted, trunks smashed.
Chowwick jogged over, easily keeping pace with the cart. He pointed ahead. "There we have it, lad, your first real test as a Griidlord."
"I did kill a fiend already," I said.
Chowwick spat, "With the help of that Indy bastard. This will be your first test on your own¡ªyour powers and wits against your own little demon."
I eyed the destruction in the forest and doubted that "little" could possibly be the right word for it.
As Chowwick spoke, one of the priests approached on horseback. "Don¡¯t worry," Chowwick continued, "it¡¯s a fair beastie, but it won¡¯t be anything like the thing you faced in the arena. That was a rare fiend."
The priest rode closer, and I was immediately filled with a sense of distaste. I knew I needed to work with the robed ones, but I didn¡¯t like it. I had suffered too much abuse and scorn from them to feel anything but dislike at the sight of their robes.
The man in question was old¡ªfar too old, in fact, to be riding a horse so well. His hair was long and silver, his beard wild and unkempt. His body was withered and skeletal, and it looked like every bounce of the horse would shatter his brittle tailbone.
The priest said, "I expect it to be a class 3. Oh, how exciting! I never imagined I would have such a treat when I set out on this expedition."
His words came in a darting cadence, but his tone was dreamy. I looked at him, unsure how to respond.
Chowwick said, "Tiberius, this is Jacob, if you haven¡¯t met yet."
I spoke slowly, "No¡ I haven¡¯t had the pleasure."
Jacob¡¯s old eyes drifted from the treed landscape to my face. He seemed almost surprised to see me, as if he hadn¡¯t been aware of who he¡¯d been speaking to. Again, that disconnected, airy voice, with words coming in fast bursts: "The new Sword! My word, I hadn¡¯t realized. Lord Chowwick said you will be the one to fight the beast up yonder. Oh, I am most excited to witness this. It will be a fine opportunity to assess both you and the... the specimen..."
"Specimen?" I asked.
Chowwick chuckled deeply. "I forget, lad, that you don¡¯t know all the ins and outs. Jacob here is a mite different from a lot of his peers. He¡¯s a scholar. A scientist, maybe, even, if you want to be generous."
"Or accurate," the old man sniffed.
Chowwick grinned broadly, and I could tell he had no disdain for the man.
"Jacob¡¯s made a career of studying the Entropy. Most of the robes will study Order, if they¡¯re inclined to studies, but Jacob here has a thing for the Storms and the beasties."
I looked at the old man more curiously now. His vacant eyes had returned to the trees, scanning the path of broken trunks with a strangely intent kind of hunger.
Suddenly, Chowwick roared to the convoy, "Halt! We¡¯ll rest a moment! It¡¯s time to slay a demon!"
Book 2: Chapter 3
The fiend didn¡¯t charge us.
The party had gathered to watch the fight. Lord Chowwick hadn¡¯t been discreet. I wondered if that was something he even had the capacity for. The man¡¯s declarations soon had every member of the expedition gathering behind me to watch the fight¡ªfrom the nervous, unfamiliar merchantmen traveling with us to the city knights, as experienced in the ways of fiends as any mortal man could be.
As I stood there, an island alone in front of the gathered crowd, my HEARING still picked out the words of the men below. The comments of the merchantmen meant little to me; they would have been terrified by a bearwolf. A Griidlord now, a bearwolf shouldn¡¯t worry me much. It was the words of the knights that gave me pause.
I heard one passing comment, in a low tone, to the knight beside him. ¡°By the Oracle, but that¡¯s a big one. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen one half as big in all my days. Better the suit have at him than me.¡±
His companion responded, ¡°The lad¡¯s being brash. He¡¯s a rookie. Even he¡¯ll be no match. Maybe we¡¯ll be lucky, and the thing will put an end to him. Then young Lord Lance can take the suit, and the city will finally be in good hands.¡±
I glanced over my shoulder toward Chowwick. He stood by the others, arms crossed, totally silent for once. He was watching me. Despite the worry the knights'' words inspired, Chowwick¡¯s confidence seemed absolute. He had said he was my SHIELD, and my safety was a matter of honor to him. I turned my head back up the rise and decided I needed to be able to trust some of them, and if not my SHIELD, then who?
There, at the top of the rise, down the narrow corridor that had been carved through the trees, the beast awaited me. It was not as terrifyingly huge as the thing that had emerged in the arena. But it was still big. The size of the two biggest bulls I had ever seen put together. The creature had gigantic forearms, so large they diminished the size of its rear legs. It paced above me uncertainly. As it moved, it alternated between walking on four legs and rearing up to totter awkwardly on two. The thing looked not altogether unlike a boar. Its maw was full of protruding tusks, but the teeth I could see¡ªeven from here with my SIGHT¡ªwere rows of sharp, shark-like teeth.
I continued walking toward it. As I separated myself more and more from the small army behind me, the thing seemed to pay increasing attention to me alone. I could sense a charge was coming.
Voice? I thought.
There was nothing.
Voice? I tried to summon it again, but again there was no response. Maybe Morningstar had been right. Maybe the being wasn¡¯t omnipresent. Maybe, right now, it was haunting the Sword of Indianapolis. Maybe it was off playing out plans or ploys elsewhere.
The fiend¡¯s head snapped fiendishly, rotating and tilting this way and that, as though frantically trying to decide which eye it should view me through. But there was no panic in the thing.
Only rage.
I took one more step, and that seemed to satisfy the strange calculus the demon was performing. Some were said to be as dumb as beasts, others as cunning as men. Had this one decided it could not escape and that it was time to fight? Could it simply not resist the sight of a solitary man, an easy victim?
It charged. Those huge forearms pounded into the ground, sending a spray of pine needles and loam into the sky. It ran as though it hated the ground, wounding the soil with horrendous gashes as it came toward me. It was too fast for something so big. Every human instinct in me screamed to run. The primal need to survive begged me. My nerves told me that a man couldn¡¯t fight such a thing.
But I was no longer a man. Now I was a Griidlord.
When it was thirty or so yards away, one arm lashed out and seized a still-standing tree from the edge of the corridor. It cast the tree toward me.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
I can¡¯t deny I had been nervous as I approached it. That shamed me. I had thought I was past that, ready to test myself.
There was no time for nerves now.
My visor blazed with POWER for a moment. The tree, which had been hurtling impossibly fast toward me, almost seemed to pause as I pushed my speed. I ducked under the projectile easily.
The fiend was coming almost as fast as the tree it had thrown, and it was there to meet me.
A clawed hand swept in from the right. POWER gave me the speed and time to move back outside the arc of the blow. I swung with CUT and pulsed SHIELD at once. I hacked at the forearm as I moved toward it. The CUT opened a gash, but against the size of this demon, it was nothing but a flesh wound. My SHIELD was more interesting. I body-checked the passing forearm under the protection of SHIELD, and the resulting kinetics were educational.
The recoil sent the creature¡¯s forearm rocketing back toward its body. This was good¡ªthe weight and sudden movement unbalanced it, and it staggered forward and to the side. The recoil also launched my whole body into the air. I hurtled back down the slope, a projectile myself now. There was certainly some panic in me then, but I can look back and say I was gaining confidence in my abilities as well. I twisted in the air and watched the ground coming. Under POWER, it seemed to approach too slowly, but I understood this was a distortion of my perceptions. I was hurtling toward the earth very quickly indeed.
I twisted to get my legs under me, pulsed SHIELD, and hit the ground like a cannonball. Soil erupted into the air, and my legs buried themselves in the earth. I turned to look back up the slope toward the fiend, hoping to see how it was recovering from the blow. Maybe this would be my chance to race back and put it down swiftly and safely.
It was already only ten feet away.
I wanted to rest my POWER. I had no sense of its depletion, but there was no time.
I rolled backward as the creature launched itself at me. It missed me with those huge claws, but suddenly I was under it, pinned by the weight of its chest, its maw gnashing and slobbering at me.
A surge of momentary elation hit me as I realized why it wasn¡¯t closing those jaws on me: I was holding it at bay with one hand, pushing against its neck, near the jaw. Even in that frantic moment, I could feel my eyes widen. Against the size of this thing, the strength of my arm was enough to affect it.
But my elbow quivered under the pressure. I wouldn¡¯t be able to hold it for long, and I was burning through POWER.
The creature¡¯s head snapped up, suddenly attentive to something else. It growled savagely at something behind me.
There was no room to swing my sword. I tilted the blade up, pointing it into the side of the thing¡¯s face, and unleashed the full force of my BEAM. Holding the blade out from my body like that, with only one hand, the recoil nearly sent my weapon spinning from my grasp. But the impulse knocked the twisted head of the demon hard. It reared up, and I rolled free.
Finding my feet, sword in a two-handed grip now, I spared a tiny moment to glance behind me.
It was Chowwick. He had come closer when I seemed to be in greatest danger. He hadn¡¯t intervened, but I gained confidence, believing he was close to doing so.
Chowwick said, "Sorry lad, didn¡¯t mean to upset things. I was just checking on you."
He said it so casually, like Harold might when he feared I was sleeping in.
I was learning lessons. The SHIELD could be used as a weapon, but carefully. The strength in my arm was so much greater now. CUT did little to a fiend unless it severed something vital.
And another lesson: don¡¯t take your eyes off a frenzied creature that¡¯s tens of times your own mass.
The impact caught me unawares. My SHIELD flared to spare me from greater harm, but once again I was airborne.
It¡¯s strange how quickly one can grow used to even the strangest of sensations.
I repeated the same maneuver¡ªget my legs down, pulsing SHIELD. This time I stumbled, the momentum of my flight through the air carrying me rolling down the slope, tearing the ground to shreds.
For a moment, I was dazed, lying on my back, staring at the blueness of the sky. Then an old bearded face filled my vision. I had rolled all the way back to the gathered men.
Jacob seemed unconcerned by my position or possible injury. He said, speaking in that odd manner of his, "I do believe I was mistaken. I would be at odds to call that anything but a Class 4 Fiend. Tell me, does it have prominent sacs in its armpits? Do you hear me? Large fleshy protuberances?"
I didn¡¯t answer. I sat up and looked up the hill.
The beast was clashing with Chowwick now. The veteran Griidlord had dozens of levels on me. He was comfortably parrying the blows of those huge claws with his own monstrous shield. My mind''s eye could see how quickly he might decide to bludgeon it and end the fight.
I would have thought I¡¯d be relieved by such an outcome.
Instead, I heard my own voice roaring, amplified by the suit, "CHOWWICK! NO! THE BEAST IS MINE!"
Book 2: Chapter 4
I bounded to my feet.
The slowness of my movements alerted me to the fact that, at some point since the beast had hit me, I had either relinquished POWER or exhausted it. Good. Either way, it meant there would be some scrap left or some scrap recharged.
I pounded up the slope, sword drawn.
I would christen myself in the fiend¡¯s ichor today. I would seize the chance, not have it thrust upon me. My mind flashed to the knights I had overheard, wishing for Lance to be their Sword, to "put the city in good hands."
My chest burned with rage. I would show them.
Chowwick leapt away from the creature as I approached. Like the demon, Chowwick was another creature far too big to be so graceful. He turned to me, and his helm dipped in a nod of acknowledgment. I would show him too.
But most of all, it was time to show myself what I could do. The time for treading lightly was over. The time for fear was over. I had become a god, something greater than mortal, and it was time to impose my will.
The fiend had been facing Chowwick, but it turned at my approach and roared. The roar did nothing to dissuade me from plunging forward. Even as I felt the vibration of the deafening sound, I charged on. It did nothing to scathe my vigor.
A memory flashed in my mind. My mother. One of those faint, nearly dream-like memories of her. Sitting at our rickety little table, a sharp knife in her hands. She held a whole chicken. Had I helped her pluck it? I felt like that had been my job¡ªto pluck the birds. Too small to use the knife, I was still fascinated when she broke the bird into pieces.
That was the flash in my mind. She would bend the joints, cut through the connective tissues and not the bones. Cartilage yielded easily, tendons and sinews did nothing to slow her blade at all. I could see her now, the knife flicking at the skin where the thigh met the body of the bird. The skin sprang away as she cut, loosening the joint. Then her small, strong hand pushed the thigh from the body, folding it out, exposing the threads that were weaker than bone. And then¡
The beast hesitated. Its face, hard to read with its twisted hate and deformity, seemed to hold an expression of doubt. But I swear, it felt a difference in me as I reached it. It¡ it hesitated. Recoiled even.
That was the moment I brought POWER to bear. My visor blazed, and the sluggishness vanished. My body became many times stronger, many times faster than it had been a moment before.
I leapt at it. It tried to defend itself, but it couldn¡¯t have predicted how I would move. I landed on its defensive forearm and thrust a POWER-strengthened arm against its chest, pushing with my feet. The fiend¡¯s forelimb yielded, and the shoulder opened.
Just like the chicken thigh¡
CUT blazed. I exalted in the power I felt. Just like my mother¡¯s knife, my blade found sinews and tendons easier than bone. It snagged briefly on the thick, rubbery cartilage, but only for a moment. With a savage jerk and a bestial scream, I cut through. Ichor and blood erupted from the wound, coating me. And in that moment, I exalted in that as well.
The forelimb fell from the creature as it writhed and twisted. As it did, the forearm beneath my feet went with it.
I slipped to the ground. I must have been a gruesome figure then, with only the shining metallic edges of my armor visible through the foul blackness of the blood that coated me.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
The fiend flailed, its mobility badly compromised. I darted forward beneath the remaining forelimb that supported its weight and kicked, putting all the strength of POWER behind the blow. The limb snapped out, the joint opened wide, and again my blade flashed. It was more of a hatcheting than swordplay. Once, then twice, I hacked up through the armpit, and once more there was the spray. The blood of the fiend was fetid, stinking like rotten pig¡¯s blood. But it was glorious too.
I barely noticed "CUT 5.0" flashing across my HUD.
The second limb fell to the ground, and the fiend collapsed forward onto its chest. I danced aside. I wasted no time. The fight might have been as good as won, but I couldn¡¯t determine how much POWER remained.
I was on its back in a moment. It wriggled helplessly, like a man bound in rope. My blade went high above my head, pointed downwards, in front of and parallel to my chest. I paused for just a moment like that.
The men below could see me clearly¡ªthe fiend slayer, the gore-coated god. I wanted them to see me, to understand that it was their greatest fortune to have me as their Sword. Chowwick watched from a little ways off, his helm peeled back to show his face, a thin smile of satisfaction crossing his lips.
My blade came down, and I buried it to the hilt in the back of the thing¡¯s head, even as POWER flickered out from my visor.
A new graphic passed in front of my HUD.
"Level: 8" flashed before me. The 8 blinked away, and a 9 came to take its place.
***
"That was a proper show!" Chowwick bellowed, his arm draped around my shoulder, paying no mind to the foul black stickiness spreading from my suit to his as he did.
"I thought I¡¯d put you up to too much there for a mite! Thought I¡¯d need to pull you out of it! Ah! But you put it together! And a damn fine job too. Those shitheels down there won¡¯t forget it for a while!"
We had walked much of the way down the slope, and I doubted very much that his ever-booming words had failed to reach the ears of "those shitheels down below."
I was giddy. Elated. At the task I had completed, at the camaraderie of my teammate.
"I leveled as well!" I said.
Chowwick threw his head back and laughed at the sky. "What does that make you now, lad?"
"My CUT went from a 4 to a 5! And my real level, my actual level just hit 9!"
"A nine!" he roared with unfettered glee. "A nine? Our rookie is a 9? I never imagined it! They never come out of the arena so high! I sure as hell didn¡¯t! A nine!"
He turned his head and stared into my face. His eyes twinkled as he said more softly, "A nine¡ just one more till level ten then¡"
"Is... ten special?" I asked.
He boomed, "Of course ten is special! Did your tutors teach you nothing?"
I said, "They taught me how to win the suit, not how to wear it¡ Father didn¡¯t want me wasting time on elements that would come after winning the suit¡ my training was a little more protracted than most."
I remembered the hard year of making my body strong enough to train at all. Father¡¯s constant urging, his obvious disappointment when I slowed or failed, the scraps of love when I pushed on.
Chowwick said, "When an attribute reaches each ten mark, you¡¯ll gain new options, new sub-attributes. Ten, twenty, thirty¡ so on. The same for the levels, lad. You¡¯ll get a new skill or power. It¡¯ll be something to have a rookie Sword with new skills so soon after the Choosing!"
My mind reeled. My tutors had told me nothing of this, but there had been little time in my training to focus on anything but making my body strong, my skills sharp. New skills. I thought back, a little guiltily, to how I had reveled in the showers of blood from the wounds I opened in the fiend. It wasn¡¯t the gore I had cherished. It had been the power. Ever since I donned the suit, the power of it had become a never-sated obsession of mine.
The thought that there was more to come only fed my giddiness.
Suddenly, the voice was in my ear.
¡°What¡¯s that all over¡ yeuch¡ oh, that¡¯s really horrible.¡±
I thought to it, So you¡¯re back?
"Back?" it said. "I was always here."
I said, "I called to you."
It replied, "What? Oh, never mind that, we need to talk."
Book 2: Chapter 5
I stood in a stream that ran along the base of the hill. It was a wondrous experience.
The "skin" of my suit had all the awareness and sensitivity of my own skin, if I chose for it to. I could stand in the water as I rinsed the gore away and feel the chill and freshness run around my calves as vividly as if I were naked¡ªmaybe even more so. But if the cold became uncomfortable, I could simply dial back my awareness of it with a thought.
The voice said, "I know your type, kiddo. I''ve been around the block a few times, and I¡¯ve seen it all go wrong."
I picked a fleck of blackened meat from my chestplate and said, "I¡¯m not a type."
The voice replied, "Oh, nobody¡¯s a type. Everyone¡¯s a special snowflake. ''What happened to him won¡¯t happen to me. I won¡¯t wander down the path. I won¡¯t make those mistakes.'' For fuck¡¯s sake, I can smell the synapses in your brain. Trust me, everyone¡¯s a type. I¡¯m a fucking type, dammit. You¡¯re a special kiddo, make no mistake about that, but you¡¯ll still conform to archetypes."
I sighed, rolling my eyes. "And what does it matter if I¡¯m a type?"
"It matters because I want you to be around for a long, long time. I want you to level and level and level until, one day, you have what it takes to set me free. You won¡¯t be able to do any of that if you get sucked into booze or drugs, lose the plot as you bury yourself in mountains of female flesh, or get yourself killed trying to build a legend."
"I thought you wanted me to build a legend," I said.
"There¡¯s a difference between making something of your story and murdering yourself with glory."
"I wouldn¡¯t do that."
The voice laughed thinly. "That¡¯s who you are, though."
I scoffed. "Me? Have you met me? I¡¯m the mouse that beat the lion. I¡¯ve spent my life being afraid of my own shadow."
"Is that still you, though, chief? You sure you don¡¯t have an appetite for making the big play in front of the crowd?"
It was a ridiculous notion. The entire Choosing had been an eternity of struggle. Every moment had been anxiety. I had only been there to serve my father¡¯s goals, not my own. I had no goals. Well, aside from keeping and owning the suit, I had no goals.
The voice said, "I think dear old papa may have painted too many layers of his own ambition over a hungry little ego."
I shook my head, stepping out of the water and walking back toward the convoy. They were lining up again, readying to re-enter the Footfield.
"I just want the suit," I said. "I just want to make my own choices."
"Choices like using the Footfield just so you can take first place in a race? Regardless of whether it risked the lives of innocent bystanders? Choices like stopping a powerful veteran Gridlord from killing a dangerous fiend just so you could have the pleasure? Choices like dismantling the thing like prime meat just so the crowd could watch? Honestly, they¡¯ll call you the butcher instead of the shopkeep after this."
"They won¡¯t call me Butcher," I scoffed. I couldn¡¯t say his argument was easy to dismiss. But I knew myself. I had no hunger for the spotlight.
As I neared the first wagon, one of the knights rode past. He saluted me with newfound enthusiasm. "Welcome back, Butcher! That was some display, my lord! They¡¯ll be telling tales of you taking the limbs of that thing for some time to come!"
The voice said nothing as I walked past the knight. Still, I thought to it, Shut up.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
The voice said, "You need to decide what you want from this life. What you want from being a Griidlord. I just need you to fight and level while doing so. If you don¡¯t choose a path for yourself, you¡¯ll wake up in a hundred years, surrounded by empty wine bottles and naked women, wondering what happened to the last century."
I shook my head again. "You don¡¯t know me."
Chowwick was approaching me, one of the Clan warriors walking alongside him. His huge body swaggered as he walked. He was a curious sort¡ªbrimming with all the bravado and superiority of a lord, but with a heart connected to lesser men. Even as I watched, he paused. He leaned over to where a merchant was frantically trying to repair his wagon¡¯s axle, fearful of delaying the convoy or slowing us down. Chowwick¡¯s visor blazed with POWER as he lifted the wagon with one hand. The merchant startled, looking up at the terrifying titan holding his cart, then bent quickly to his task.
The voice said, "I know his type too. Don¡¯t think he¡¯s such an enigma; he¡¯s just another category."
I wasn¡¯t listening. I watched as Chowwick held the cart. Lance would never have done that if he wore the suit. He wouldn¡¯t even have noticed the commoner. The merchant would have been invisible to him. I tried to imagine what Lauren or Katya would have done¡ªnoble Lauren, aloof Katya. I wasn¡¯t sure. Olaf, maybe I could see him pausing to help a peasant.
I went to Chowwick. The big man was laughing and joking with the merchant. He turned to me as I approached, his huge arm never wavering as he held the cart. Chowwick¡¯s visor blazed with a steady light that seemed unending.
When his helm peeled back, I was shocked to see the glow of POWER continuing to pour from his eyes.
Chowwick said, "Ah, shit! There you are! I have someone here who wants a word!"
He pointed to the Pittsburgh warrior who had been walking with him.
"This here is Dirk Jaxwulf," Chowwick said. "Maybe you know him already. He¡¯s the boss of the gang your butler hired to come with us."
I said, "I¡¯m ashamed to say I haven¡¯t met you yet, Dirk. I was attending to¡ important matters before the last round of The Choosing. I¡¯ve met some of your men¡ªthey seem like good people."
Dirk was young enough. He didn¡¯t seem much older than me, but he had the dangerous look of a man who had taken many lives and wasn¡¯t overly concerned about losing his own. He was dressed like the others, in furs and mismatched armor, but his armor seemed more substantial. And unlike the others, his axe glowed with the inner light of a power weapon.
Dirk smiled. It was a disdainful, self-deprecating, yet oddly mocking smile. He said, "Oh, we¡¯re not good people, my lord. We¡¯re the kind of savages that even our society of savages doesn¡¯t consider civilized enough to keep around. But when we sign a contract to fight, we¡¯ll fight until we get paid or until there¡¯s not a heart among us left bleeding."
Chowwick said, "The Jaxwulfs are from a long line of Griidlords. Axes. Nasty, mean fucking axes."
Dirk grinned savagely and happily at the description.
Chowwick said, "Dirk here broke some rule that the clans couldn¡¯t let slide, so his branch of the family has been kicked out. That¡¯s why they¡¯re working for money. You¡¯re lucky, lad. You won¡¯t find a more capable band to hire for five hundred miles around."
I stood, considering the man. The clans of the Burgh were regarded with fear and distrust. Their society was savage. Their people vied with one another, clan against clan. They warred with each other as much as with anyone else. Just once, hundreds of years ago, the great War-Chief Thrax Bonesaw had subjugated all the clans. He had bribed, convinced, and beaten them all into one cause. What followed was a century of conquest that spread from the East Coast almost to the West Coast. It had seemed like the end of the independent cities.
Everyone feared a single Burgh warrior. But a hundred thousand Burgh warriors was an apocalypse.
I said, "You wanted to speak with me?"
Dirk said, "I did. We¡¯ll be a few nights gettin'' to Dodge. But it¡¯s probably not too soon to be deciding how yinz want us to deal with the engagement when we get there."
I said, "The engagement? I thought we were moving in force as a precaution."
Dirk put his hands on his hips and looked to the sky, as if seeking guidance. He said, "There¡¯ll be an engagement. Dodge was burned and raided by The Horde, but The Horde has to move with the storm. They take what they can. It¡¯s never everything. They won¡¯t leave a pretty young thing behind, and they¡¯ve got a knack for snatching the best loot in the shortest time, but yinz'' dad had a lot of loot there. There¡¯ll be a fortune, an absolute fuckin'' fortune o'' shit to be had. When we get there, you can bet yinz'' ass there¡¯ll be others there before us. Might be wild fuckers, which won¡¯t be a problem. But Kansas might¡¯ve sent out a foraging party. Or worse, those Western Red Empirem bastards."
He looked at me. I was Griidlord, a fearsome figure to be honored and feared. Yet Dirk looked at me like I was a common man. When he spoke of fighting, his eyes dripped with hunger.
He said, "One way or the other, yinz better be ready for killin''."
Book 2: Chapter 6
This was the experience of traveling in convoy under Footfield¡ªthe Griid-train.
Our journey to Dodge would take us first to Kansas City, to facilitate the merchants in our formation.
This journey, from Boston to Kansas City, would take most of two months by conventional means. Most states maintained a road system, but the state of these roads varied wildly by city. In my own home, the roads around the city were in good condition. These roads were the arteries for local trade. Good roads meant a healthy system of market towns, easier troop movements, and happy lords. But further from the city, the roads became decidedly less road-like. Boston had long struggled to gain Flows; her wealth was in substantial recession, and she could neither afford the men to work the roads nor the Order to send machinery.
Movement between cities was inconsistent. The clans of Pittsburgh were said to maintain no roads at all, preferring to march cross-country to make it difficult for invaders to move easily. Green Bay, with its strange communalist society, never had a shortage of manpower and was obsessive about the routes around its city.
But the wilds were far vaster than the settled parts of the world. Almost any journey between two cities, save perhaps for the populated stretches of the East and West coasts, involved crossing untamed lands. This was the slowest part of travel. The rough ground broke axles, forced detours, and the broken landscapes harbored brigands. Fiends were often feared but rarely seen.
Thus, the Griidlord¡¯s greatest value was seen by many as their ability to use the Footfield to move men and goods great distances at great speeds. The journey we were making, which would take a man on horseback at least 50 days, we could achieve in two or three. Almost as importantly, no brigand band would dare assault a convoy bearing a Griidlord.
I was in the infancy of my powers as a Griidlord. Don¡¯t mistake my struggles with fiends for incompetence¡ªa big enough fiend could challenge any Griidlord. But common men? I would be death to men armed with steel. I was an army unto myself.
The speed with which goods could move enabled the trade of items that would otherwise spoil. We could send seafood from our city to distant places, and fresh fruits could be brought to our cold lands.
Chowwick rarely complained as we marched. It didn¡¯t seem to be his way. I understood that the work of the Griid-train was dreaded by suits for its boredom, its tedium, for the time it took away from other pursuits. This was one of the reasons Griidlords could amass such incredible fortunes. That, of course, and the amazing value of the Flows they gathered for their cities.
For me, I couldn¡¯t imagine complaining about traveling like this¡ªat least, not then. The landscape around me melted and changed. Farmland became wild plains, wild plains became forested hills, and forested hills transformed into marshland. Everywhere I looked, I saw colors and creatures that made me cherish SIGHT all the more. Herds of deer lifted their heads and bounded away as we passed. Huge flocks of tiny, dazzling birds lifted from the grass like a cloud as we sped toward them. The quaintness of isolated villages and farming settlements intrigued me¡ªplaces where the people might live their whole lives without ever once experiencing high Order or seeing tech work.
As the sun began to dip toward the horizon on that first day, the shadows stretched longer, and the light grew duller and more orange. Chowwick, jogging beside me, said, "We¡¯ll camp soon."
I barely heard him. For hours, I had been lost in the display that sped past me. I turned my head. "What? Sorry, I¡ª"If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
He smiled and said, "Don¡¯t worry about it, lad. I remember my first time as well. It gets old, fuck does it get old, but it is a wonder. And when it¡¯s the first time you¡¯ve experienced the wonder and not the thousandth, I can imagine how distracting it is. When I won the suit, I¡¯d never been anywhere except my family¡¯s estates, the city itself, and the routes in between. Well, there might have been a few visits to neighboring estates, but I¡¯d sure as shit never seen the wilds."
I said, "Me neither, I¡¯ve never seen the likes of that."
Chowwick said, "Oh, but you must have been on a train like this before."
I said, "How¡¯s that?"
Chowwick said, "When you came to Boston? When your daddy set up shop here."
I frowned. He was talking as though this was common knowledge, as though I should know what he was talking about. "I¡ I don¡¯t think I know what you mean. I¡¯ve¡ I¡¯ve always lived in Boston¡"
Chowwick chortled. "You just don¡¯t remember. Let me think a minute, when did your daddy come to Boston? The whole of our world knew about it pretty fast when he did. The money he brought with him caught the attention of everyone. The fact that he was so rich and widowed made him the talk, and target, of every lord with a struggling bank balance and a spare daughter."
I could imagine the nobles considering pawning off a second or third daughter on a commoner with such a fortune. Enough of them were struggling badly enough that they might consider the shame a fair trade to save their flailing estates.
Chowwick said, "It would have to have been around ten years ago. Maybe a little more, maybe a little less. Could it have been fifteen? Time gets strange for you when you live the suit. You¡¯ll see. Years mean nothing when you¡¯ve lived enough of them and know that you¡¯ll live so many more. I remember being in the city and watching them build that big fuckin'' house of yours. The fortune it must have cost to buy that plot. It already had a fine house on it, but it mustn¡¯t have been grand enough for Sempronius. He tore it down and put up a home twice as grand and twice as tall."
I was at a loss for words. "You¡¯re telling me I¡¯m not actually from Boston?"
How could I not have known this? Ten or fifteen years ago would have been around the time I fell ill with the sickness that had laid waste to my brain. I remembered little of the time before it. I had been able to form memories during the illness, but the time before was lost.
Chowwick laughed again. "Shit, I didn¡¯t mean to drop a bombshell like that on you! You talk like a city boy, you sound like a fancy Bostonian, but no, lad, you¡¯re not from the city. I assumed you knew that. Sempronius played his cards close to his chest; he never told anyone much about where he came from. Only fueled more interest in him, really. I always assumed you came from out West, far out West."
"The West?" I asked.
Chowwick said, "Aye, I thought that¡¯d make sense. Most folks do. Your name, lad¡ªTiberius? And your daddy¡¯s, Sempronius? Those are West Coast names. Western Empire names. Everyone out there seems to be something-ius. Cassius, Lucius, you know."
I stared into the distance, feeling my mind wander. I thought of the brief and fragmented memories I had of my childhood. The dirt streets, the little house. I had never considered that those memories could be from anywhere other than Boston, or perhaps an outlying village. I had always assumed that Father¡¯s business had started in Boston, that we had gone from the village to the townhouse. Mother had died somewhere in between, obviously. Hadn¡¯t Father told me that? Or had I just made up my own version of the story?
An image came to my mind, as hazy and indistinct as all the others. Riding in a wagon. A landscape so incredibly flat it seemed impossible. The land stretched away in every direction, with an uninterrupted view all the way to the horizon. I had a sense of being frightened, confused. I think I had been very small. I think I remember crying. But in that vast flatness, I saw strange pillars of rock rising from the ground as the wagon rolled by. They were startling¡ªcolumns of jagged stone soaring up from a ground that was nothing but flatness and grass everywhere.
Chowwick seemed to grow concerned. He could see me gazing unfocused into the distance.
He said, "Shit, lad, I thought you knew all of that. I didn¡¯t mean to be troubling you."
I just stared vacantly, my mouth moving without involving my brain. "What else don¡¯t I know?"
Book 2: Chapter 7
There had been a settlement at Dodge in the time before the Oracle¡¯s wrath had stripped the world of Order.
The sites of ancient settlements were popular with city builders. Obviously, the Towers emerged in cities of old, and thus, places like Boston had lived two lives¡ªonce as a city of old, in a world without walls, and again in our time, as a fortress metropolis.
There were settlements in the Wilds. The Wilds were the regions far from the cities, where a city¡¯s Tower had no ability to direct Order. Farming communities formed villages. Isolationists, cults, barbarians¡ªall had their reasons for building societies. The Wilds were vast, ungoverned, and sparsely populated.
Father had chosen to build his city in the Wilds. Here, no government could extend control over him. I think part of the reason he built this consolidated depot for his trade empire was simply his desire to own a town. He had been king here. He had made the laws, owned everyone, and controlled everything.
I stood before the wreckage of the town.
It had been very well fortified. Most of the walls were still intact, though large sections had been torn away by the force of the Horde¡¯s attack. These gaps left gaping wounds in the walls, making it all too easy to imagine the horror as the Horde poured through.
I looked through the gates. One of the double gates still hung normally, while the other remained tethered to the wall by a single hinge, dangling at an angle. Through the opening, I could see what remained of Dodge.
Much of it had burned. Much of it had been ripped down by forces I couldn¡¯t fathom. Some structures were still standing¡ªpartially collapsed warehouses with sagging roofs, others flattened. One or two seemed perfectly intact. The main street I looked down from my position before the gate was a wreck of blackened buildings and rubble heaps. Strangely, a tavern stood immaculately unscathed amidst the damage.
There were guards at the gate. Not my father¡¯s men¡ªthey were all corpses now. These were soldiers, their uniforms red and gold. They bore shields and spears. This far into the Wilds, a gun would serve no purpose.
The soldiers had been alarmed by our appearance. Even now, a troop of a hundred or more was marching up the main street from the depths of the ruined city.
Dirk and Chowwick stood at the head of our own substantial force of warriors, but they didn¡¯t move. I was the Sword. As ridiculous as it seemed, the expectation was for me to step forward and parley.
A small, fat specimen of humanity emerged at the gates. He looked more annoyed than worried about our army. At his shoulder walked a Griidlord, his armor shining in reds and golds. The Griidlord walked behind the fat little man, with the bearing of an obedient soldier.
The fat man cried out, "Identify yourselves!"
I looked down at the blues and reds of my armor. I would have thought my city colors identified me. The knights who had traveled with me also bore the colors and banners of Boston.
My voice boomed from the speakers of my helmet. "I am Tiberius Bloodsword. I am the son and heir of Sempronius, the master of this city."
The fat man pursed his lips. Now he was a little more troubled. After we delivered our convoy to Kansas City, the empty wagons of the merchants had continued with us. The fat little man could see the wagons, arrayed behind the lines of warriors.
I stepped forward. Chowwick moved with me. It was unlikely these others had more than one Griidlord. The Griidlord they had with them would have been necessary to move their convoy here. A Griidlord''s time was too precious to waste by sending more than one unless trouble was expected. We only had two because I was so new to the suit.
Did they know how much of a novice I was? It hardly mattered. We had two Griidlords, and our troops. Unless they had a thousand men or more within the walls, the balance of power rested squarely on our side.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
The fat man shuddered with irritation and stepped forward as well. The Griidlord at his shoulder shadowed him as we approached each other.
The fat little man looked up at me. No fear at facing a Griidlord, no rage at having his plans interrupted. He narrowed his eyes to slits and spoke quickly. "Alright, alright. I knew this was a possibility. I can¡¯t say I expected it. Boston is far away, and you were supposed to be in the Choosing. I thought that, if you came at all, it would be days or weeks before you arrived here. You know you¡¯re leaving a lot of celebration behind by being out in this dump, don¡¯t you? A lot of ale and food and eager flesh?"
So he did know who I was.
He went on, the words hammering out of him at a pace I could hardly follow. "We¡¯ve done no wrong in being here. No state has a claim to this place, so the common law of the Wilds is all that applies."
I made to speak, but he waved his hands at me, as if frantic to say his piece before I could interrupt. He said, "You have some right to claim the wreckage that the Horde didn¡¯t carry away, but my people arrived first, and we¡¯ve invested time and money in being here. We¡¯ve partially loaded our wagons. I suggest you make camp outside the walls. When we depart in the morning, the rest is yours."
I said, "I didn¡¯t catch your name, friend."
He glowered. "I am Cassius. Cassius Gellius, of the Empire of the Angels. I am here with the authority and support of the empire."
I considered him. At that moment, I cared little about the fortunes in goods that might lie in the wreckage of the town. I cared about solving Father¡¯s disappearance. I cared about returning to Boston. I wanted to put all of this behind me. But I knew I could come to regret letting the prize slip away. Father would never have submitted to such outrageous demands.
I said, "I agree, you have done no harm. You saw an opportunity and you took it. I bear no grudge against you for... salvaging... what you could. But these are my father¡¯s goods you are trying to take. These are my goods."
There were dozens of merchants in my convoy. They had traveled with us for the salvage, with the expectation of profit. I felt I owed them as much as anything else.
Cassius said, "Fine, then. The common law supports your claim; your family built this place, so I will concede your right to be here. We will pull our wagons and men back to one end of the town and let you salvage. When your party departs, we will resume our work."
I knew what he was doing. The man had a poker face, but there was a greedy eagerness that peeked through his eyes. The greatest treasures were likely already mounted on his wagons. I wondered what they might have found¡ªwhat the Horde had missed or had simply been unable to take away.
I said, "I can¡¯t accept that. I haven¡¯t come to salvage. I¡¯ve come to re-establish the city."
It was a lie. I had no means or intentions of achieving that.
The little man appeared to see through me. He said, "Oh, you have? Is that so? Are those fur-coated barbarians in fact skilled carpenters? Will they drive nails with the flats of their axes?"
I said, "We are the advance force. We came ahead to try and prevent looting."
Cassius frowned at the word "looting." His eyes darted around my force, probably doing the math. I couldn¡¯t know how many soldiers he had within the walls, but the Griidlord math was simple: he had one, I had two.
I inspected the other Griidlord. I had assumed it was a man, but now that I was closer, I saw I had been mistaken. The shiny red carapace of the suit had the form of a long-limbed woman. Her helmet remained sealed. She bore an Arrow suit. That was a problem. She had an advantage over Chowwick, though I had an advantage over her. But I was a novice at level 9, and she was most probably far ahead of me, negating my type advantage.
Cassius threw his arms in the air. "Fine, then, it seems we will have to dicker. I¡¯ll have my tent brought forth. I must be clear¡ªmy men possess the city. I will respect the common law, but there are limits to that courtesy. I have been at great expense in this venture. I will be compensated."
I nodded.
He added, "I expect the care we have given to the survivors will be brought into consideration as well. They¡¯ve been very well tended to¡ªfed, housed, and treated for their wounds."
I was startled. "What? Survivors?"
Cassius peered at me. "Yes, the survivors. The Horde only had so much time. There are corpses here, perhaps by the thousand. When the wind shifts, your nose will tell you all about it. The stench within the walls is far from pleasant. But we found survivors¡ªsome hiding, some trapped beneath the rubble. We treated them with all the attention we would have given our own people. That must surely be worth some goodwill in our dickering."
I barely listened to him. I looked to the walls and thought about the possibility of survivors. Could Father be among them, too wounded or unconscious to identify himself? Even given the improbability, there had to be some chance that among the survivors was a witness who could tell me of my father¡¯s fate.
Book 2: Chapter 8
Cassius summoned soldiers and sent them to fetch his tent and refreshments.
As they hurried away, I said, "Could I see the survivors?"
Cassius replied, "When we¡¯ve dickered, there will be time enough. The survivors are safe and tended to, but within the walls."
I was urgent, insistent. "While we wait for your tent, I would see them."
Cassius shook his head. "I can¡¯t let you past the walls until we have our arrangement¡ª"
An uncharacteristic aggression surged through me. I interrupted him, roughly, "Those are my walls. Those are my people. I would see them."
He was taken aback by my sudden intensity. The Griidlord behind him adjusted her stance, alarmed by the loudness of my voice.
I cared not a whit for the valuables lying in the city. My emotions roiled with the need to know my father¡¯s fate. There could be no peace for me until I found out. I wrestled constantly with the strange apathy I felt at his absence. I had always thought of myself as a good son. I had bent myself to his will, committed my whole life to his purpose, not mine. For so long, all I had wanted was his approval, his satisfaction.
Now, it seemed I would never have it. I wrestled with the guilt of feeling relieved by this. But, as the voice had said, if I did my duty as a son¡ªwhether by finding him alive or confirming his death, even while foregoing the celebrations in Boston¡ªI would have nothing left to feel guilty about.
I needed this closure.
I stepped closer to the little man. At last, I saw a reaction worthy of a Griidlord. He cowed away, standing before one of the most powerful beings on the planet. Though I was the youngest and least developed of those beings, a god is a god, no matter how small.
His Griidlord stepped up, her posture tense. Chowwick took a shadowing step behind me.
"Now," I growled. I felt POWER try to come alive, knew my visor flickered with light like a flame licking fresh tinder.
The little man tried to save face. "Fine, but you go by yourself."
Chowwick laughed harshly. "No, little man. He goes with his SHIELD."
Cassius shuddered in frustration. Petulantly, he said, "Fine. But just the two of you."
Chowwick said, "That¡¯s fine by us."
Cassius turned to the red Griidlord and said, "Take them."
She saluted. It was strange to me¡ªshe, a Griidlord, saluting him, a merchant, and behaving with the rigidity of a soldier.
She turned to us and said, "This way."
As she walked back toward the wall, Chowwick and I moved to follow. I spoke quietly to him, "Thank you, Chowwick."
He slapped my shoulder with a massive gauntlet and said, "Shit, don¡¯t thank me, lad. We¡¯re brothers now¡ªyou best get used to this. In time, you¡¯ll understand and do the same for me."
We caught up with the female Griidlord. Chowwick spoke to her casually, like two tradesmen passing in a tavern. "You¡¯re not Julia."
She turned, her demeanor more relaxed now that she was away from Cassius. She let her helm melt back, revealing her face. She was young¡ªmuch younger than I had expected. She seemed no older than I was. But her face was hard-edged, the set of her jaw firm. She bore no trace of makeup, and her hair was cut short, like a man¡¯s.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
She said, "No. And I might never be a Julia."
Chowwick said, "But you''re out of San Fran, judging by your armor. What¡¯s happened to Julia? Did she bite the big one?"
The woman shook her head. "Time is taking its toll on her. Leadership doesn¡¯t trust her like they used to. Her decisions have become... I shouldn¡¯t talk about this. She serves the Empire in Vegas now."
Chowwick nodded, a little solemn. "So she got demoted, and you got the bump? You¡¯re new to the suit."
"I¡¯ve worn it a few years now," she replied.
Chowwick chortled, "That¡¯s new enough, lass. That¡¯s new enough."
I followed their exchange, my eyes widening slightly. Julia? Julia Rosegold was the Arrow of San Francisco¡ªI knew that! She was one of the most famous Griidlords anywhere. She had been the right hand of Joel Montanion. It was sobering to think that the degradation of the suit had caught up with her. The Empire of Angels had surged so fiercely for centuries. Not too long ago, it seemed they would finally be the ones to consume the earth. With Griidlords like Joel and Julia, they had been unstoppable. But like Pittsburgh before them, their time had waned. There was still an Empire out West, a collective of four or five city-states. But each year, more rumors grew of discord, of a desire for independence among the empire''s components.
I said, "I¡¯m Tiberius."
She responded, "Yes, I know. We¡¯ve all heard of you. You took the name Bloodsword... it¡¯s... cute."
I could tell that when she said "cute," she really meant "overly dramatic."
"I¡¯m Tacita. Tacita Oblius. Of House Oblius."
Chowwick must have seen the look of confusion on my face and slapped me on the shoulder again. "You¡¯ll get used to it, lad. It¡¯s a strange life as a Griidlord. I crossed shields with Julia¡¯s claws more than once. When the Falling starts, there¡¯s nothing for us but letting each other''s blood for the sake of our cities, to get those damned Orbs. But when the sky grows quiet, that¡¯s forgotten. I crossed paths with Julia more times off the field than on it. We¡¯ve been lucky in our corner of the world not to have seen much war these last decades. Life is better and longer with fewer enemies."
Tacita added, "This is very true. There is no war or animosity between the people of the Empire and the people of Boston. If you had come here as soldiers of Dallas, we would have killed you. They are enemies, whether the skies Fall or not."
I understood. Dallas seemed to war with everyone. Dallas had been a holdout when the Empire¡¯s influence spread, like a rock against the waves of inevitability.
We walked down the ruins of the main street. I didn¡¯t know exactly how large Dodge had been, but there had been thousands here at least. Centrally located, trade from both East and West passed through. Craftsmen had abounded, processing materials in the warehouses and sending finished goods out. Tradesmen, craftsmen, and warehouse workers¡ªall needed ale poured and their hair cut. The city had been filled with people who earned their living from the population rather than from the goods that flowed through.
Cassius had been right. Though I couldn¡¯t see any bodies, I found myself dulling SCENT. The smell of decay festooned the air.
It was a sad thing to see what had happened. In another life, I would have eventually become the master of this city. We passed the burned-out ruins of a schoolhouse. Shreds of paper books curled and rolled in the breeze. My SIGHT showed me a warped, multicolored monstrosity that had once been a box of crayons before the heat of the fire melted it.
There had been families here. There had been children.
The refugee camp appeared further in. The looting party from the Empire had not come to save people, and the camp was not composed of uniform tents. The survivors of the city¡¯s pillage were being housed in a surviving warehouse. A couple of army tents stood outside, possibly donated by the merchant¡¯s party. More shelters sprawled by the warehouse entrance, built crudely from the rubble and wreckage of my father¡¯s life¡¯s work.
Tacita said, "You seek your father. That¡¯s why you want to see these people, yes?"
It felt like an accusation. I realized that I should have wanted to see them because they were my father¡¯s people. I should have wanted to count the survivors and measure their welfare.
I didn¡¯t lie. "Yes."
Tacita waved to an Empire soldier standing near the entrance to the warehouse. He trotted over, stood at attention, and saluted her. She accepted the salute like an officer.
"These are Griidlords from Boston," she said. "The Sword is Tiberius Bloodsword, the heir to Dodge. He has come to barter with Cassius for the rights to the wealth that remains here. He also seeks his father."
She pointed into the warehouse. "Show us the way to the bodyguard who survived."
Book 2: Chapter 9
The Horde is brutal.
I had only known of them through stories, through legends. The Horde were the boogeymen that kept Griidlords, let alone children, up at night.
The city had once been populated by thousands. Now, only a sparse few hundred remained in the camp. The soldier led Chowwick and me through the debris of humanity that had survived the storm and the assault. There was hardly a body unmarred by injury. These people had been out of contact with the world for days after the attack. Some of them guessed who I was, but their diminished states, combined with the fear and respect common people had for Griidlords, kept most of them at bay.
There were some emotional outbursts. A mother rushed to me, tears in her eyes, pleading and hopeful that I had come to save them. An old man, who spoke of my father in a way that suggested familiarity, congratulated me on becoming Sword. A mortally wounded young man, not much older than I, lay on the ground, begging me to take care of his son. The boy, a scrap of a thing at maybe eight years old, watched with fearful eyes as we all smelled the rot from the father¡¯s wounds.
I felt guilt. I know I¡¯m good at feeling guilty when I don¡¯t always need to. But this time, it was earned. I had raced out here on my own quest, determined to put the question of my father¡¯s survival to rest, for better or worse. I hadn¡¯t come here thinking of the people that my family had a duty to. The idea of survivors and what to do with them hadn¡¯t crossed my mind until I saw this broken mass.
The soldier led us to a hard-looking man. He was a warrior, well-armored, though no weapon was in sight. He sat on the ground, his back leaning against the warehouse wall. I thought I knew him. Father kept a small army of bodyguards outside the city, stationed and available when he wanted to travel. He also kept men in the basement of our home. He liked them out of sight, never acknowledging that he might need their protection. Perhaps I had seen this man on occasion.
He sat staring, eyes distant, his left hand absently grasping the bloodied bandage on the stump of his right hand.
He looked up as the soldier walked away. Recognition spread slowly across his face, banishing the vacant, brewing despair that had rested there.
"You¡ you¡¯ve come," he said.
I nodded slowly, my face expressing my pity for the man. For all of them.
"I seek news of my father," I said.
The warrior shook his head and let it drop to his chest. "I doubt I have any kind of good news for you," he said, then added, "m¡¯lord."
I would need to get used to that.
"I don¡¯t¡ I don¡¯t really expect that you do," I replied. "But I¡¯ve come here on the slimmest chance that he might have survived."
I paused, then added the lie, "And to arrange for the survivors."
He didn¡¯t seem to detect my dishonesty. He just nodded in affirmation.
"Tell us what you can, anything you know. Did you see the Horde take him?" I asked.
The warrior said, "Not¡ not quite. Things were so chaotic. I¡¯ve never seen the likes of it before. I never even imagined. Spent my life hearing stories, playing Griidlords and Hordesmen when I was little, watching the shows. But I never¡ Have you ever seen the Horde?"
He lifted his head and held my gaze. His eyes were so shockingly empty and frightened. This was a hard man, one of Father¡¯s personal bodyguards.
Chowwick answered from my shoulder. Even his hugeness and brashness couldn''t hide the fear in his voice. It was disconcerting to hear this bear of a man, this walking god, sound fearful. He said, "Aye. Once, and once only. That was more than enough. I¡¯d heard stories from other suits about what happened in Cleveland, people who had been there when the Great Storm struck. They told me how frightened they¡¯d been. Frightened! Full Griidlords, veteran suits! I¡¯d scoffed at it, thought they were being weak or dramatic. But, aye, I had an encounter once. I did what anyone has to do when the Horde appears. I ran."
Chowwick ground his teeth a moment, then said, "Well, I wish I could say I¡¯d been that smart. I tried fightin¡¯. That foolhardiness nearly cost me my life. I clashed with the demons. As a man, they¡¯re deadly. A Griidlord with levels will take one. With enough levels, more than one. But there¡¯s never just one. The stories say it¡¯s never one. It¡¯s the power of them, and the weight of their numbers. It¡¯s a tide. That¡¯s what it¡¯s like. You have as much chance of stopping the tide."If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
The warrior nodded. He seemed comforted in some way. Maybe it made him feel less unmanned that a figure like Chowwick would share his fear.
The warrior said, "The storm came rolling in. Everything¡¯s so flat around here, you could see it coming from a long way off. But what can you do? We packed in behind the walls, closed the gates, and waited. We thought it was just any other Entropy Storm. I¡¯d seen one before. It¡¯s terrifying, but you think the odds of it rolling all the way to you are pretty slim. The thing eats up the land around it, but it jitters¡ªit doesn¡¯t have a plan. It¡¯s pure chaos."
He took a shuddering breath. "None of us were even thinking about the Horde. I mean, what are the odds? What are the odds that the storm would even turn our way? What were the odds that the fucking Horde would be riding inside it? I could have gone my whole life thinking of them as just stories¡"
He trailed off, staring. After maybe a minute, I said gently, "Go on..."
He was startled by the sound of my voice. Those distant eyes had been trapped in a memory. Sweat had started to form a sheen on his brow. He said, "They came out of the blackness of the storm, riding their machines. Huge things that rumbled and roared beneath them. It was shocking. They came at the walls directly, not even slowing down. Hooting and screaming to each other. Explosive rockets hit the walls. Machine guns mowed us down. We had arrows and swords. They had machines and guns. It wasn¡¯t even a defense. They just tore down the walls and poured through. They wasted no time. They just started killing and taking."
His eyes grew glassy. "There had been a serving girl at the tavern I¡¯d met the night before. I was kind of sweet on her. I¡¯d met her before, other times we came out here. She..."
He trailed off again. I nodded. I knew the stories. She hadn¡¯t been killed. She¡¯d been carried away.
He mustered himself and said, "You want to know about Sempronius. Well, he had us ready from the moment the storm started. Horses saddled, men mounted. When the Horde started charging out of the storm, he drove us to the other side of town, out the other gate. There were 50 of us, all galloping as hard as we could, leaving the chaos behind. We could still hear the noises, even over the wind and the hooves. But he was our job, our duty. He wanted to get away to the monastery."
I asked, "The monastery?"
The warrior nodded. "A couple miles to the west. Old monastery, falling to pieces. Just a couple of monks there. Sempronius went there a lot. He seemed to think it would protect him from the Horde. He was in a panic to get there. Thought there was safety there. There wasn¡¯t."
Monasteries were outposts, places where monks carried out their strange works. To me, monks and priests were almost the same. They had similar practices and trainings. Many monasteries had connections to the priesthood, a subservient attachment. Others were fiercely, vehemently independent. Monasteries were largely a mystery to me¡ªstrange rites and practices were conducted there, odd relics guarded.
The warrior continued, "They came after us. Dozens of them. We had a head start, but their machines ate up the ground faster than we could ride. I was in the rearguard. I was shocked when I turned my head and saw one of the demons right alongside me. He was clinging to the top of his two-wheeler¡ªa cycle¡ªlooking at me. When he saw me looking at him, he smiled. He had pointed teeth."
The warrior held up his stump. "He lashed at me with his sword. The sword was as long as a man is tall. It¡¯s the wildest luck I only lost my arm... I was the luckiest of us... I think..."
"You think?" I asked.
He shifted awkwardly where he sat. "I don¡¯t know what happened. I was off my horse, twisting in the dirt. Those fucking machines were all whipping past me. It¡¯s a miracle I wasn¡¯t ground into paste by one of them. But they all passed. The last I saw was the horses racing off, the Horde behind them. And the glow of your father¡¯s relics. Then they were gone. The dust the storm blew up made it hard to see."
I straightened. "So Father might have made it to the monastery?"
The warrior said, "It wouldn¡¯t have done him any good."
I said, "He must have had a reason for going there. Some way to protect himself. Some kind of refuge, maybe."
The warrior said, "There¡¯s no refuge from the Horde."
I turned to Chowwick and said, "I have to go there."
Chowwick nodded. "Aye, I know that. But why wouldn¡¯t these fuckers have sent some soldiers to check? They¡¯d be better off knowing if Sempronius was alive before they started salvaging here."
The warrior shifted uncomfortably. "I was going to go. My legs are broken from the fall. But I was going to go when I got some strength back. I... I didn¡¯t tell the Empire bastards about the monastery."
I was urgent, incredulous. "Why not?"
He said, "I don¡¯t trust these fucking reds. Empire merchants are... they¡¯re fucking ruthless. If they found him and he was vulnerable, well, it might be worth more to them to quietly cut his throat and have this place to themselves to pillage away at."
I turned to go, then paused and turned back to the man. "What¡¯s your name?"
The man said, "Tiobair, m¡¯lord."
I said, "I won¡¯t forget you. I¡¯ll be back with news."
Then I moved swiftly through the wreckage of the city, looking for an open space to enter the Footfield.
Book 2: Chapter 10
The prairie swept by in a blur.
I only paid enough attention to my surroundings to ensure I avoided the scant obstacles in my path. A herd of cattle passed before me. Were they from Dodge? Animals kept for meat and milk, now set loose by the destruction visited there? Or maybe they were feral.
A small bird flitted from the grass and passed before me, vanishing beneath as it twisted in the air, its flight path disrupted by whatever it perceived my streaking form to be.
I didn¡¯t quite understand the Footfield¡¯s interaction with obstacles. Long grass bent before me as it would if I were running under my own power. Maybe it was a matter of mass?
My eyes remained fixed on the distant structure. The plains were so flat that I could see the twisted remains of the monastery¡¯s walls even from here, miles away. Under Footfield, I would be there in a minute or two.
The voice appeared in my mind. It said, "Hey, kiddo, I just want to make sure we have our expectations in order."
"I know what to expect," I replied.
"Let¡¯s make sure, okay?" the voice continued. "I don¡¯t want you to get your sensitive little human emotions all screwed up. Best case scenario... Best case now, is that you find a headless corpse and at least know Daddy¡¯s gone to the big market in the sky. Most likely, you¡¯ll find nothing. The Horde would have seen his relics, seen the way the bodyguards surrounded him, and presumed him to be a chief of some kind. They¡¯d have taken the body away to do their weird shit with it. It¡¯s important we set our minds straight, otherwise this could get pretty upsetting."
"This conversation is pretty upsetting," I muttered.
I raced on, covering another mile. I glanced over my shoulder, uncertain if I should expect to see Chowwick¡¯s field behind me. Nothing but the distant crippled walls of Dodge. He was giving me this moment. I didn¡¯t need a Shield out here¡ªnothing could hurt me here. Physically, at least.
The monastery loomed closer, a little more than a mile away.
"There¡¯s a chance he¡¯s al¡ª" I began.
The voice cut me off, exasperated. "Holy shit, you¡¯re not going to start talking like that. Your big brute of a new best friend is afraid of the Horde, what chance does Pops have?"
"He¡¯s got relics," I insisted.
The voice was curt. "Warriors with full Griidsuits fear the Horde."
"He had a reason to go to the monastery," I countered. "There was a refuge there, someplace he could protect himself."
The voice scorned me. "He was getting as far from the Horde as possible. He was leaving them a city full of people to devour, hoping he could get away."
I slowed and let the Footfield dissipate. Time came juddering back to normal as I dismounted from the strange distortion that had catapulted me across the plain so quickly.
SCENT quickly reported the odor of decay. The smell of rotting corpses rushed to me. I tuned it down, as the scent had an oddly intense impact on my emotions. Reality awaited me here.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
The walls of the monastery crouched before me. It hadn¡¯t been used for a long, long time. There must have been a battle here once. The walls were made of stone, but they were cracked and crushed, much like the walls of Dodge. Vegetation grew in the cracks and hollows of the rubble. These walls had stood for a long time before this destruction.
I walked quickly to the largest gap in the walls. It wasn¡¯t a large monastery¡ªalmost more like an outpost than a settlement.
I met the first corpses before I reached the opening in the wall. An army of turkey vultures alerted me to what lay ahead. As I approached, the birds screeched, unappreciative of my intrusion. Some hopped away. A couple took flight and found perches on the shattered walls, watching me. Most seemed to assess my proximity and deemed it safe to continue their meals, though they eyed me warily.
A handful of horses and men lay scattered in a rough circle at the entrance. These were the ones who hadn¡¯t even made it inside the walls. Maybe they had reined up to delay the Horde, or maybe they¡¯d just been caught.
The voice said, Gross.
The bodies had been exposed to the elements for days. The sun had cooked them, and the beasts of the prairie had fed on them. There were scraps of meat left, but much had already been consumed. The stench was gut-churning, though perhaps less intense than it might have been if scavengers hadn¡¯t already taken so much.
I continued through the walls.
Beyond lay what had once been a yard of some kind. There was only a single building beyond, a low rectangular structure of stone and brick. Three walls and the roof remained mostly intact, but the wall facing me had been obliterated by some force long ago. It felt like a cavern¡ªso bright where I stood, yet so dark and lonely in the shadows of the sagging, broken roof.
More bodies. More carrion eaters. A fox moved among the turkey vultures, raising its head to inspect me with nearly human curiosity.
The voice said, Oh, this is all so gross.
The corpses of men and animals were now little more than ragged skeletons. The birds had pulled away clothing and armor in places, and in others, they had simply buried their faces and necks into gaps to find the putrefying morsels that had once been the innards of living men with families and futures.
Father wasn¡¯t among them.
I continued into the shade of the building. More corpses here, but fewer. These were the ones who had lasted the longest, getting closer to their goal. The vultures inside didn¡¯t appreciate feeling hemmed in, trapped by my presence. They scattered, hopping and flapping, complaining savagely at my intrusion.
Beyond, in the center of the floor, was an opening. A set of stairs had been carved, forming the entrance to a path that led down into the ground.
The voice said, Maybe he did have a refuge¡
As I reached the top of the stairs, the body came into view. It lay tangled on the top steps, elbows jutting out, legs twisted in a terrible testament to the violence visited upon it in death.
The voice said, Or, you know, nevermind.
This one hadn¡¯t been as badly gnawed on yet. It was still largely consumed, but being farther from the others, it hadn¡¯t been stripped as thoroughly of its flesh. It wore no armor. The clothes had been shredded where the meat was most abundant. The exposed flesh of the face and neck was long gone. White bone stared back at me, set with empty sockets where I had once longed to see the approving eyes of my father.
If nothing else, I knew him by the relics. It was him.
The voice said, They didn¡¯t take his relics. Strange, that. Maybe the storm shifted, and they didn¡¯t have time to loot. These are worth a pretty penny¡ªyou¡¯d think they¡¯d have risked a moment to grab¡ªah, oh, am I being insensitive? Is this one of the times I should be respectfully silent?
I wasn¡¯t listening.
I was staring down at the corpse of my father. Sempronius, the wealthiest man in all of Boston, a titan who had built an empire from nothing. Now he lay in disarray, his flesh a meal for vultures, his partially skinless skull staring at the ceiling. His dirty, tangled hair remained ridiculously intact atop the perfect picture of horrible death he had become.
I bowed my head.
The voice remained silent.
Book 2: Chapter 11
I can''t say how long I stood there. It was a while. Might have been a long time.
It was my confusion that held me there more than grief.
Don¡¯t get me wrong, I was torn up. I was, in fact, shredded inside. This was my father. This had been my father. I had many of the same feelings anyone would have in this moment. He was gone¡ªthis titanic role model who had always been there. The indignity of his state left me feeling guilty. I should have come sooner. He shouldn¡¯t have been lying here so long with birds picking at him. He shouldn¡¯t have been alone for so long.
And there was an immediate tidal wave of regrets. I should have tried harder to make him happy. I should have resented him less. I should have hated him less. Now, I would never have the chance to make him proud. I looked down at my armored fingers. This had been what he wanted. Now, when I was finally in a position to show him that I had done it, that I could have done it all along, that I was the son he wanted¡ªthe son he could be proud of...
But there were other feelings too. Guilt-inducing, shameful feelings. There was a strange sense that it was over. There was a terrible sense of becoming free. He couldn¡¯t own me anymore. I wouldn¡¯t have to face his awful rages ever again. The manipulations, the pressures¡ªall gone.
If I had to put my finger on it, and it¡¯s hard, I think it was my own shame at the lack of grief that made me feel the worst right then.
Eventually, the voice broke into my thoughts. It said, Well¡ I don¡¯t know what¡¯s appropriate, but maybe we shouldn¡¯t stand here until the earth¡¯s orbit decays and we plunge into the sun¡
I said, hearing the emptiness in my voice, "I can¡¯t leave him here."
The voice replied, No? Are you sure? He really doesn¡¯t mind anymore. Trust me, I¡¯m a part of your supreme deity.
"I need to take him back," I said.
The voice seemed to squirm. But¡ that¡¯s gonna be hella icky.
I tried to imagine lifting the body. I was somewhat afraid that it would fall apart, that something would pop off if I tried.
A glint caught my eye. Down where the steps plunged into the earth, I saw a shine. It was his hip flask. He had always carried it with him. It had tumbled down the steps when he was slain, or it had been knocked loose by scavengers. It seemed wrong to leave it. It would need to go wherever he went. It always had.
I started down the steps.
As I moved, the voice said, What¡¯s all this about then? Odd little place, this is. What was the point of it? So small, with this weird staircase going down into¡ Wait, I recognize this¡ Tiberius, hang on a sec¡ª
The voice was suddenly and abruptly gone. I was startled by the way it just ceased. My hand went to my sword hilt, but I didn¡¯t stop. If anything, this intrigued me all the more.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
The steps led down a long way. They opened onto a very wide, very large room. A room illuminated by faintly glowing electric lights.
Electric lights? In the Wilds? My neck prickled with a strange, chilling excitement.
"Voice?" I asked.
Nothing.
The room was filthy, bearing the detritus of centuries. My feet echoed with the ring of metal on metal as I walked, though all I could see of the floor was dirt and crumbled rubble. The walls were straight and dull, likely formed of steel, their color dulled by unknown ages of dust and tarnish. At the top of the walls ran strips of glowing recessed lighting. Everywhere, piles of filth hinted at recent human habitation¡ªempty food tins, scraps of fabric, and decayed remains of older garbage piled high.
In the center of the opposite wall stood huge metal doors. They were as tarnished as the walls, bound by a massive locking mechanism the likes of which I had never seen before. If anything, it reminded me of the Tower, though older, dirtier, and cruder.
I approached the doors and touched them. I couldn¡¯t imagine how thick they were, but something told me they were impenetrable. Even a Griidlord wouldn¡¯t break through.
My foot kicked a can, and I looked down. An empty tin of fish, from Boston¡ªa brand I knew. One of my father¡¯s favorite traveling foods. It couldn¡¯t have been centuries old, but neither had it been left here last week.
I paced the room, inspecting the walls and the doors. I looked up at the lights, wondering where they got their power. I wondered how there was Order here for them to function. Frankly, I was wasting time. I let the mystery of the room distract me, because when I went back up the steps, it would be to face the challenge of moving my father¡¯s decayed body.
Footsteps echoed from the stairs. I spun, still Tiberius, the mortal young man. I hadn¡¯t yet grasped what it was to be a Griidlord when danger approached. I pulled my sword, holding it evenly as I faced the opening above. Slowly, it began to creep into my mind that there were few things in this world I needed to fear, and the thought calmed me.
"It¡¯s... you..." I breathed, as a figure casually dismounted the last step and stood in the open space. He turned his head, looking around, his expression one of awe, though not the wonder and surprise I had felt when I first discovered the room.
Joel Montanion said, "Well, what do you know..."
This felt different from our last meeting. Yes, he was still a wildknight of epic proportion. Yes, I remembered how Danefer had fought so well against Magneblade, a Griidlord of far more levels than I. Maybe Joel was a threat, maybe he could kill me. But even if that were the case, this was no longer the uneven meeting we¡¯d had in the woods. I was as much, if not more, of a threat to him as he was to me.
Joel¡¯s eyes fell on me. He said, "I¡¯m still not here to harm you. Just like before."
I asked, "What are you doing here? Did you follow me?"
He replied, "Of course I followed you. Life is full of strange coincidences, but this one would exceed all probabilities."
"Why?" I asked.
He frowned, as if confused by the question. "For this. To talk. I didn¡¯t get another chance to speak before the Choosing was done. Congratulations, by the way. I suppose."
He walked past me and approached the doors, touching them with the flat of his hand, letting it glide over the surface. The gesture seemed strangely longing.
He said, "Before you won the suit, we could speak in private. Now that you have the suit, the voice is with you always. I can live with that¡ªI don¡¯t have that many secrets from the voice. But I wanted to catch you somewhere far enough from another Griidlord so we might have a minute or two to talk before that nattering thing summoned someone to try and remove me. But, I don¡¯t think the voice is here, is it?"
I shook my head. "It got cut off when I started climbing down the steps."
Joel turned back to face me, smiling. There was still madness glittering in his eyes, and despite my armor, it unnerved me. A smile spread across his face¡ªa greedy, eager little smile that didn¡¯t fit well on such a noble, handsome face.
"Good," he said. "Then we can really talk."
Book 2: Chapter 12
It was a different feeling.
I looked at Joel and saw the same man¡ªthe glint of insanity in his eyes, the armor he wore.
It made more sense now that I knew who Joel Montanion truly was. The value of the relics this man possessed exceeded comprehension. Joel Montanion had been a driving force in building the Empire of the Angels. He had served as the Sword of San Francisco for nearly 150 years, achieving feats only matched in history by Thrax Bonesaw. The sheer scale of the fortune he must have amassed in that role was unfathomable. The relics he would have claimed as prizes from battle were incalculable. That explained how he stood before me so well equipped.
But it felt different now. I had been a mortal when we last met. No more. The power he wielded certainly made him a threat to me, but my own powerlessness was now just a memory.
A long silence stretched between us. I kept my eyes on Joel, while he let his gaze wander around the room. He seemed relaxed, distracted.
Eventually, he said, "Was that your father I passed at the top of the stairs? The relics on the body suggest someone of considerable wealth."
I nodded. "Yeah."
He said, "I¡¯m sorry for your loss, Tiberius. I saw this as an opportune time to parley with you, but I can imagine you¡¯re suffering from your own distractions at the moment."
Again, I said, "Yeah."
Joel furrowed his brow. He seemed to struggle for a moment, as if listening to something or wrestling with his thoughts. I tightened my grip on my sword. I sensed he could snap at any moment and unleash the power of his relics on me without warning.
When he opened his eyes again, they were serene. "If it wasn¡¯t so vital, I¡¯d give you peace now. I¡¯d leave you be, to grieve. But I can¡¯t pass up this opportunity. It may be a long time before I have the chance to speak with you without other Griidlords around."
I asked, "Why can¡¯t you speak to me around other Griidlords?"
Joel smiled thinly. "You were there when Danefer battled Magneblade. What provoked that battle? What justified all that carnage?"
I shook my head. "I¡¯ve been so wrapped up in everything¡ªthe Choosing, my father... I guess I assumed it was because Danefer is a wanted man. Like you."
Joel said, "What are the odds that Danefer would be discovered by a Griidlord? And one of Boston¡¯s finest? Why not a squad of soldiers? Why not some unlucky town guard? How often have you seen Magneblade strolling the city streets? You understand¡ªit was no accident."
"How?" I asked, though I already knew.
Joel said, "The voice sent Magneblade."
"But the voice doesn¡¯t speak to most Griidlords," I said.
Joel replied, "The voice has its ways. There¡¯s certainly no way I could have a conversation with you in the presence of another Griidlord, like your brutish friend in Dodge. Even meeting you here, alone, I expected my time to be more limited. The voice would have seen me through your eyes. If the voice knew I was here, then at least Chowwick¡ªand maybe the Empire Arrow¡ªwould be blazing across the prairie toward us right now. This little refuge has turned out to be quite the boon."
I was relaxing a little. I didn¡¯t sheathe my sword, but I dropped my stance. I asked, "What would you have to talk about with me? Why did you come to me before?"
Joel said, "I came to you before because I wanted a chance to open your eyes before you were trapped in the suit."This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.
I didn¡¯t feel trapped in the suit.
Joel continued, "From now on, wherever you go, the eyes of the voice go. You are one of its windows onto the world. That makes it difficult for me to present myself to you. Even after this, I will need to be careful. But at least we have a few minutes for me to plant a seed."
I asked, "Why does the voice hate you so much? Why does it want to destroy you? And Danefer?"
Joel cocked an eyebrow at me, the gesture seemed weary. "Danefer and I are not of the same purpose. We might have been at one point, but our paths have diverged. The voice hates us for the same reasons, though. It thinks we would subvert the knowledge it gave and use that knowledge against it. It¡¯s not wrong. Our time is short enough¡ªhold the questions a while, my friend. Let me say my piece."
I nodded, holding my tongue.
Joel asked, "You know of John the Liar?"
Books had been my only life for so long. "Yes, I know the story."
"And you know him by another name?" Joel asked.
"Yeah, John the Dispeller," I replied.
Joel nodded. "That¡¯s how I prefer to know him. The schism John created in the church when he appeared was the engine that drove Pittsburgh to war. It was under the banner of John¡¯s truths that Thrax Bonesaw united the clans and turned their might against the outer world. There is nothing on this earth as close to a Hordesman as a clan warrior¡ªmaybe a North raider. We should count our blessings every day that the Burgh prefers to war within rather than without."
Joel walked around me, his eyes constantly inspecting the room, always returning to those doors. I followed him with my sword.
"John the Dispeller spoke what we, today, call heresies. He claimed the Oracle to be a demon, not a deity. He claimed to know things of the time before that were impossibly lost, even to the most learned priests. His words fell on deaf ears. From city to city he went, somehow avoiding capture and execution. Everywhere he went, he met with skepticism. He gathered a following, apostles and believers, but they were few compared to the mob that saw him as a liar."
Joel reached down and picked up an empty food can. He sniffed it and looked at it curiously. "Disproportionately, among his faithful, were priests. Maybe that¡¯s what saved him for so long. The truth he spoke resonated with priests more than with common men. Almost as though¡"
He trailed off, looking at me, waiting for me to finish his sentence. I said, "As though¡ what he said resonated with them, with their deeper understanding of the Griid¡"
Joel nodded. "And what he said resonated with another. This resonance nearly saw the world we know today destroyed under a reign of blood and fire."
Joel dropped the tin can and pulled his hood up. The clear visor I had seen him use before descended from the folds, and he slowly turned in a circle, lifting and lowering his head, inspecting everything.
"John the Dispeller visited many courts, many Towers," Joel said. "He met with many Griidlords. His words fell on deaf ears. His supporters, the priests and bishops who followed him, preserved him. The church faced schism, threatened with destruction from within. As much as the greater powers would have liked to destroy him, they feared making a martyr and sealing off any chance of reconciling the increasingly disparate factions within the church. Maybe they should have risked it, for one day, John found himself in the lands of the Burgh, at the court of the mightiest Sword the clans had ever seen."
I knew the story¡ªat least, a sanitized version of it. But I was aware. The version I had learned, the version in the books, painted a far more sinister and devious figure.
"Thrax," I said.
Joel nodded. "The stories you know will tell you that John the Liar and Thrax Bonesaw conspired together¡ªtwo twisted souls that would defile the name of The Oracle, that would carve the world into pieces and tear the Towers down."
I nodded. That was exactly how I understood it. The ramblings of a crazy person weren¡¯t about to change my mind so easily.
Joel said, "Think for a moment. Why would John travel the lands, a pauper spreading teachings, only to be rejected time and again¡ªyet find an ear in the Burgh, a land most hostile to outsiders?"
I thought about it. It didn¡¯t make sense. Pittsburgh was not a closed city; they traded as eagerly as anyone. But there was a hostility there toward outsiders and their ways. The people of the Burgh saw the outside world as soft, decadent, weak. They didn¡¯t want those societal diseases within their borders. It would have been the last place a disruptive preacher should have expected to find support.
Joel smiled, his eyes sparkling with intelligence and madness. He was delighted¡ªhe had me thinking.
"The reason, Tiberius, that John the Dispeller found purchase for his wisdom in Pittsburgh was Thrax Bonesaw himself."
I looked at him, vacantly, unsure. Then, realization washed over me like sunlight emerging from behind a dark cloud.
"Thrax heard the voice," I said.
Joel nodded. "Thrax Bonesaw, maybe the greatest and most terrible Sword to ever walk the earth, knew the voice. And he knew its nature. When John the Dispeller told him of the evil in the voice, Thrax knew it to be true. He heard it too."
Book 2: Chapter 13
My voice came out louder and angrier than I meant it to be. "Why are you telling me this? Why me?"
Joel seemed sympathetic, looking at me with eyes so understanding they bordered on condescension. He said, "When I heard about you using BEAM so early, I went to Boston. I had to see you. I had to see if you would be a candidate for the voice. When I met you in the woods and confirmed that you could hear the voice, this conversation became inevitable."
"Why me?" I repeated.
I had just gained the suit. I had just found my father¡¯s corpse. My life had been confusing and blurred for long enough. I wanted to pass into a simpler time. I wanted to be Boston¡¯s Sword, to win prizes. I wanted to be free for the first time in my life. I wanted to feast, drink, and find a nice woman who wouldn¡¯t run off and bed another. I didn¡¯t want these complications rattling around in my brain, even if they were the rantings of a lunatic.
Joel said, "The Horde has a word for a mythical figure they project will one day exist. The Gokahn. The Gokahn is said to be an inevitability of probability. If enough people are born and die, each with their own variable affinity for connecting to the Griid, to the suits, then one day, eventually, one will come with perfect compatibility, with a perfect connection."
¡°The Horde expect that the Gokahn will unlock new powers in the Griid. I¡ don¡¯t believe in any such thing. But I do think the voice seeks one with the greatest possible affinity for the suit, for the Griid, to achieve its goals.¡±
I was startled and alarmed by the suggestion that he knew anything of the Horde. No one knew anything of the Horde¡ªnot even a hint of their language.
"The voice is seeking its version of the Gokahn. That¡¯s why it speaks only to the most powerful of us¡ªmyself, Danefer, Thrax Bonesaw. I suspect your friend Pyracon Morningstar might be a friend to the voice as well. He will be something special."
I shook my head. Of course, I knew where this was going.
Joel continued, "Your affinity has been staggering. You took a while to get it, but since you¡¯ve figured things out, your trajectory has been incredible. You¡¯re a rookie, in your first days with the suit, but what level are you already? Six? Seven?"
I didn¡¯t correct him. I didn¡¯t need to see his reaction if I told him I was level 9.
Joel went on. "At level seven, you might pale against a veteran of twenty years. Your friend Chowwick is probably around level 30. Griidlords level at different rates and seem to reach eventual caps on their levels that they can¡¯t break through. A rookie should be level 1, level 2 if they¡¯re a prodigy. At level seven, as a rookie, you are an immediate asset to your city. You can fight other Griidlords. With type advantage, you could neutralize an Arrow leveled in their teens. And it¡¯s only the beginning. The fact that you¡¯ve connected so well and so easily with the Griid makes you a candidate to be the Gokahn. That¡¯s why the voice needs you. That¡¯s why I want to get through to you."
I could wait no longer. "What do you know of the Horde?"
He waved me off. "Another time. I can¡¯t afford to talk forever, not when Chowwick may come looking for you."
I bit my tongue. Part of me was still back in the woods from the first time we had met. Part of me just wanted to see him gone. But another part of me refused to remain disinterested.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
I asked, "What is the point then? What do you want from me?"
Joel said, "I want to open your eyes. I am reticent to share exactly what it is that I want. You are under the thrall of the voice, whether you want to be or not, whether you admit it or not. The voice only has vague suspicions about what I hope to do, and the extent of the knowledge at my disposal to make it so. I can¡¯t share with you right now what I wouldn¡¯t share with it. Rather, let me send you forth to find your own answers. I know you think me mad. The sad truth is, I can¡¯t say for sure that I¡¯m not. If you live long enough in the suit, you¡¯ll see for yourself¡ªthe mind frays with enough contact with the suit, with enough time on this earth."
"How do you want to open my eyes?" I asked. I couldn¡¯t keep some distaste, some sarcasm, from my voice.
Joel was untroubled by my tone. If anything, he seemed amused. "You think me mad, so at best, I might hope that you¡¯ve listened to what you consider ramblings. You must find your own truths. I can help you in that much."
¡°In Pittsburgh, speak to Claw, Chief of the Jaxwulf¡¯s. You¡¯ll be sent to Pittsburgh sooner of later, playing courier.¡±
Joel turned to the locked doors. "There are secrets in there as well. Even New York¡¯s Behemoth couldn¡¯t break through. But I think your father had a key¡ªa relic that could open those doors. You need to seek out secret places like this, see history before the church sanitized it, and find your own truths."
I glanced back up the stairs, thinking of the relics on my father¡¯s corpse. Joel shook his head. "It is most strange that the Horde didn¡¯t strip him of his relics. They would be as valuable to the Horde as to any man of your world. But the Horde fear their storm receding from them. Much of their tech, especially their engines, cannot function far from an entropy storm. There are endless stories of Hordesmen straying too far or having the storm move away from them, only to become stranded. A Hordesman alone is still terrifying but far more mortal without his cycle and comrades. It may be that they extended themselves too far in chasing your father and dreaded becoming stranded. They didn¡¯t have enough time to take all his relics, but it seems they had a moment to take the one that opens these doors."
I paused, voicing a thought that had been troubling me for some time. "Why did the Horde chase my father down? They had an entire city to destroy, rape, and pillage. I spoke to a survivor¡ªhe described a large party giving chase when my father left, almost as though he was a goal to them."
Joel shrugged. "There are still too many mysteries in the world for me to know them all. The Horde is an enigma, even to me. It seems they took the key that secures this place, that opens those doors. There must be something precious to them beyond those doors."
We both stared at the doors. Joel was obviously hungry for the mystery that lay beyond. I couldn¡¯t deny a growing appetite of my own.
Joel said, "Our time grows short. I risk much by being here. This is a good place¡ªa secret place¡ªwhere the voice cannot hear what we speak of. You may have cause to come to Dodge again in the future. I would suggest you rebuild the city and use it as your father did. If you do, you¡¯ll have an excuse to return here from time to time. If you want to speak with me again, leave a note here."
He pointed to a piece of decorative cowling by one of the lights. I could see a gap wide enough to slip a piece of paper into but far too narrow and inconspicuous to draw attention.
"I will be here from time to time," he said. "I¡¯ll check for notes when I pass. Until then, consider what I¡¯ve said. Do your own research, find the unedited histories, find more secret places. When your eyes are opened, you can join me, and together..."
He trailed off.
"You should go first," he continued. "I won¡¯t leave until you¡¯re gone, until the eyes of the voice are gone with you."
I moved hesitantly. There was a shake to my movements¡ªmy mind was rocked by the things he had said. I didn¡¯t believe him. But I couldn¡¯t stop thinking about it...
As my foot touched the first step of the stairs, Joel said, "Wait."
I paused, turning back to him.
"Danefer will visit you again," he said. "It¡¯s safe to assume. Don¡¯t trust him. Don¡¯t listen to him if you can."
He added, "Danefer will try to convince you as well. He¡¯ll try to bend you to his own quest, and he¡¯ll kill you if he feels he can¡¯t."
Book 2: Chapter 14
Dammit! I just wanted things to be simple.
I just wanted closure. I wanted to shut the door on what had come before and move on to something new.
I stood in the darkness of the cave-like room, the stairwell behind me.
Suddenly, the voice was talking again, mid-sentence. ¡°¡decisions, and that¡¯s why you shouldn¡¯t be thinking about it like that¡ wait, you¡¯re there? Of course you¡¯re there! You¡¯re always there! What was I saying? Oh yes¡ um¡ boy, that sure was an experience down there, wasn¡¯t it? I sure enjoyed my awareness of everything that just went on! Didn¡¯t you? Let¡¯s play a game, let¡¯s take turns summarizing everything that happened down in that hole!¡±
I was in no mood. ¡°You couldn¡¯t go down there with me.¡±
The voice was aghast, outraged. ¡°I couldn¡¯t go down there with you? How could you even suggest¡ really, when am I not with you? The silliness of even suggesting¡ª¡±
¡°You really can¡¯t lie, can you?¡± I cut in.
The voice drew itself up in a mockery of haughtiness, though anxiety was plain. ¡°I¡¯ve told you I can¡¯t! That¡¯s why you should believe me when I say that¡ I really think the experience we both had¡ in the last few minutes¡ was¡ª¡±
¡°Just say you were down there with me, aware.¡±
¡°Exactly! That¡¯s what I¡¯m trying to say!¡±
¡°Then say it.¡±
Silence.
I looked at my father¡¯s corpse. Part of me wondered what it would matter to just leave him here. He was dead. He didn¡¯t care anymore. My emotions were raw enough that I struggled to understand why I cared at all in that moment.
The voice said, ¡°You shouldn¡¯t go down there. To places like that.¡±
¡°Because you don¡¯t like it when you can¡¯t see what I¡¯m doing?¡± I replied.
The voice said, ¡°I can¡¯t protect you. Places like that are anomalous. There could be radiation, there could be Entropy¡ªyou came so far to start a new life. Stay away from places like that. It¡¯s¡ it could be dangerous.¡±
I sighed. ¡°How about we spare this for another time? I have my father¡¯s body to deal with.¡±
¡°Fine, well, as long as we¡¯re agreed and swear on our souls and the souls of everyone we care about that we¡¯ll never go back down those steps for the rest of eternity, then I guess I could agree to put a pin in the discussion¡ now about Daddy¡ We should go back to Dodge and send a wagon¡ª¡±
¡°I¡¯m not leaving him.¡±
The voice said, ¡°Oh no¡ you¡¯re not going to pick up that stinky, drippy mess, are you? That¡¯s¡ so ick.¡±
I moved through the wreckage of my father¡¯s bodyguards. I found some bedrolls and sleeping bags and carried them to his body. I began removing the relics from him.
The voice said, You can form a pouch in your armor to carry things. Reach down to your thigh, press an item against it, and¡ well, I guess the best way to describe it is: imagine swallowing it with your skin. That¡¯s the flex you¡¯re going for.
It happened more easily than I expected. On the third try, I felt the connection with the nerves that weren¡¯t there, felt a strange convulsive contraction in the surface of the armor where I held the relic, and in a moment, the armor melted around it, creating a pouch.
I worked quickly. It wasn¡¯t a task I cherished. My mind was far away. This was my father. There was a terrible finality to it. There was a terrible shame in me that I didn¡¯t feel more. I imagined how I would feel if Harold lay here, and I knew the emotions would have been simpler, more appropriate.
Once I had removed the relics, folded his arms across his body, and laid out the blankets, I stopped and looked down at him.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
"I hated him," I said.
The voice replied, Right you were to. This man was a bastard.
"But I¡¯m his son," I said. "I¡¯m not supposed to feel like that. I should..."
The voice sounded surprisingly personal, very sincere, as it said, Hey... I can feel your brain, kiddo. You might not know it, but there¡¯s sadness there. The parts that glow with love are glowing, and the parts that glow with loss and grief¡ªthey¡¯re glowing too. The problem is, there are other parts going to 11 as well. You¡¯re not doing anything you¡¯re not supposed to. Sempronius gave you a difficult life. He didn¡¯t treat you the way a father should treat a son either.
I opened my mouth slightly, taken aback by the sudden care in its tone.
The voice continued, You¡¯re doing what you should be doing, and you¡¯re feeling what you should be feeling. Don¡¯t feel bad for thoughts and emotions. It¡¯s actions we¡¯re responsible for. There are no evil thoughts, only evil deeds.
I finally felt wetness at the corner of my eye. But it was one of relief, more than grief. I suddenly felt okay with that.
"What was that?" I asked.
Hmmm? the voice responded.
"There are no evil thoughts, only evil deeds?" I repeated.
Oh? Just a line from a book from a time that died more than a thousand years ago. I always liked it. Come on, what do you say we head back to Dodge with that big oozing sausage roll?
***
I approached the main gates of Dodge by skirting the city on the south side. I didn¡¯t want to go back through the city. I held the bundle of blankets in my arms. I had always been a strong young man. After my sickness passed, I trained hard and was fed well. But the new strength of the suit would take some adjusting to. I carried the body in my arms as I fled the monastery under the pulse of Footfield. The body might as well have been an apple¡ªit cost me nothing to carry it.
I exited Footfield as I rounded the wall to the main gate. My expedition was still gathered there¡ªthe small army of Burghsmen, the city knights. Dirk stood in the no man¡¯s land now, with Cassius, Lucius, and Tacita. Chowwick was nowhere to be seen.
I felt my momentum cease as I stepped out of the field, a hundred yards from my convoy. I felt the eyes of the others on me as I carried the blanket. As I approached an empty wagon, still holding the bundle before me, I saw Tacita point a clawed hand to the sky. The energy of BEAM rippled along those razor digits, swelling out from her body.
She fired three times into the sky. The BEAMs were diffuse, not the tight, focused columns of destruction I was used to. I knew what she was doing¡ªsending a signal. I was uneasy thinking about whom she might be signaling. Dirk, standing only ten feet away from her, did not react. He merely turned his head up to watch the display of light.
I placed my father¡¯s body on one of the wagons and returned to the main group.
Cassius said, ¡°Well, I assume that bundle confirms it¡ªthis is your city we¡¯re dickering over, then.¡±
As if realizing how cold his comment was, even between strangers or adversaries, he added, ¡°My condolences for your loss.¡±
I nodded.
Dirk said, ¡°Yinz knew this was what happened anyway. It can¡¯t cut yinz up too bad. I¡¯m sorry, m¡¯lord.¡±
I had had enough of this. Before Tacita, as likely to one day try to kill me as to ever be an acquaintance, could add her own commiserations, I asked, ¡°Where¡¯s Lord Chowwick?¡±
Dirk replied, ¡°He got worried about you and went looking. Skirted around the city to the north.¡±
My heart hammered at that. Joel was out there! Why I cared exactly was hard to say, but I didn¡¯t want Joel found. I didn¡¯t want Chowwick or Joel to wound or kill one another.
Why didn¡¯t I want Joel¡ªa wanted man, a crazy pest in my life¡ªapprehended?
Tacita said, ¡°We arranged a signal should you return. He should have seen my display.¡±
Cassius pursed his lips impatiently. ¡°Then we can finally get to our dickering.¡±
As he spoke, I saw Tacita turn her head. A moment later, I felt it too¡ªthe disruption in the fabric of Order and Entropy that signaled an approaching Footfield. I turned my head to follow her gaze.
Chowwick was crossing the prairie, his form distorted by the field as it bent reality around him. I was relieved to see him returning. From that direction, he had not found the monastery and, thus, had not found Joel. I was also happy to have him back¡ªI didn¡¯t like our force split like this. Chowwick added weight that made our group stronger. I didn¡¯t trust Cassius and didn¡¯t dismiss the notion that he might turn his men loose on us to claim whatever treasures were in the town for himself.
Under SIGHT, I could just about make out the motion of Chowwick¡¯s limbs as he bolted across the land.
And under SIGHT, I could also see the forms rising from the long grass before him. He was more than a mile away when the figures erupted from the grass.
I had never seen a Hordesman before, but I had seen drawings. I recognized them¡ªthe strange cloaks, the unusually colored lacquer of their plated armor. Their forms were broken by tufts of prairie grass shoved into every crevice, turning their armor into ghillie suits.
I didn¡¯t have time to count how many. I only had time to see a long length of chain stretched between two of them, directly in Chowwick¡¯s path. If I¡¯d had more time, I would have shuddered at the thought of what might happen when Chowwick passed through it under Footfield.
I only had time to shout, ¡°Chowwick! No!¡±
But it was useless¡ªhe was too far away to hear me.
Book 2: Chapter 15
My heart tried to rip its way out of my chest as SIGHT gave me a clearer picture of what was happening than I could have ever wanted.
I saw the heavy chain stretched before Chowwick, and I saw him hurtling toward it like a meteor.
The field around him began to fade and dissipate as he approached the chain. It all happened in fractions of a second, but each fraction seemed to slam into my mind, frame by frame, tense moment by agonizingly tense moment.
The gargantuan form of Chowwick emerged from the haze of the field. He had no time to slow his momentum, so his massive body scrambled and wheeled for balance as he decelerated so sharply.
The Hordesmen spread around the intended point of impact. The two holding the chain braced themselves. With their armor, their capes, and their furs, they seemed bulky, huge, and terrifyingly alien. These were nightmares, not men.
There was a distortion as Chowwick struck the chain. Even SIGHT couldn¡¯t reveal the details. Chowwick went down in the long grass. The Hordesmen moved on him like predators on a wounded beast.
The light of power weapons flashed in their hands. Horde gear wasn¡¯t meant to work far outside an Entropy Storm. In a sudden gasp, I realized that many of the men I had found around my father¡¯s body had been weaponless. The scarcity of power weapons is something I haven¡¯t made clear. In an army of ten thousand men, it would be exceptional to find even ten power weapons. Every figure in the distance seemed to be holding one.
My mind reeled in horror at what might have become of Chowwick. I could imagine the chain wrapping through his being, the atoms of man and steel intertwined. I knew the stories.
But even as I watched, a Hordesman was sent reeling backward. My ally was down, possibly injured, but he was very much alive.
I was moving before I even realized it.
The voice in my ear growled, "We¡¯re going for it? Fuck yeah!"
I embraced the pulse of Footfield. Chowwick was a mile away. I could get there in a minute. Maybe less¡ªmaybe 45 seconds if I pushed everything I had and exited the field dangerously close to the Hordesmen.
As the field folded around me, I became aware of Tacita starting to move as well.
But Cassius¡¯s voice rang out, "Tacita, no! We must prepare defenses!"
The Griidlords of the West were obedient soldiers, it seemed. They were not the free-agent warriors of my homeland. Tacita halted her impulse to join me.
I was alone as I folded into the field and began to streak across time and space toward my endangered teammate.
The voice said, "Stragglers. They must have strayed too far from the storm, or the storm moved away from them unexpectedly. This will be a rock and roll moment for you, son. You¡¯re either going to add to your legend or... well, you know... end it."
What the voice said made sense. There were stories of Hordesmen being left behind by the storms they rode. And there was no other reason I could imagine for them to be here, ambushing a veteran Griidlord.
The space between me and the scrambling figures collapsed¡ªI was closing fast. I saw their glowing blades flashing up and down through the haze of the field. I realized suddenly that I might be charging to my own death, all for the sake of another corpse on the ground.
he voice said, "Oh, this needs a song... something pacey and hard... how does Evenflow go again? Buh-duh-duuuuh. No, that¡¯s not it."
I pushed as close to the Hordesmen as I dared. Some of them turned toward my field. I didn¡¯t want to mangle my atoms with another chain¡ªor with one of them. I began to relinquish the field, bracing myself for the deceleration.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
The voice was still babbling. "Eye of the Tiger? Duh-dudu-duh-dudu-duh¡ shit, that¡¯s not right."
Time came crashing back to normal. I was maybe thirty yards from the nearest of them. Three came charging, seemingly unworried that they were rushing a Griidlord. I drew my sword, its surface glowing with the blacks and reds of drying blood. I tried to draw courage from the blade, from what I had become.
I¡¯ve never killed a man, I realized.
As we closed in on each other and the first glowing blade flashed toward me, the voice said, "Fuck it, work with what you know..."
My CUT met the first blade¡ªa glowing power axe. The formidable strength of the Hordesman wielding it was nothing compared to the surge of POWER I felt as my visor blazed.
"Dancing Queeeeeeen! Young and sweeeeet, only seventeeeeeeen!" the demented voice warbled in my ear. I had no idea what song it was singing.
The axe was thrown back. The Hordesman''s torso was wide open for a counter, but even with the SPEED I felt under the influence of POWER, I couldn¡¯t take advantage of the opening while defending myself from the glowing sword thrusting toward me. I danced aside, but the sword followed unerringly. I had to flash an unbalanced CUT to deflect it.
"Dancing Queeeeeen! Feel the beat of the tambouriiiiiiiine! Oh yeeeaaaah!"
I gained a moment''s space. By the Oracle, these men were fast. Inhumanly fast. And they gave no respite. Even as I moved to create space, they charged in with total abandon. Against a Griidlord!
"You can dance!"
I pulsed BEAM, striking the nearest one. The force sent him flying through the air, black tendrils of smoke trailing his path. I pulsed SHIELD to deflect the axe I stepped past.
"You can jive!"
Then I closed in on the third of the trio. His sword was raised over his head, poised for an overhand stab. Everything moved so slowly. POWER gave me a sense of SPEED that was supernatural. His torso was open. I swung my CUT in a horizontal arc, and my blade passed through his armor and flesh as if they weren¡¯t there. I was nearly thrown off balance by the lack of resistance. I turned to watch as the man¡ªthis human being¡ªstumbled past me, his torso gradually sliding into two pieces as his steps faltered. He collapsed, severed in two. Blood was everywhere. In the air. On the ground. Sprayed across my suit.
I had just killed a man.
"Having the time of your liiiiiife!"
The other two came at me. It was as though they hadn¡¯t just seen their comrade sliced in half. They charged without hesitation. I didn¡¯t have time to process the human life I had just snuffed out. I didn¡¯t have time to register the explosion of adrenaline as I saw two power weapons coming at me from both sides.
These were power weapons. They could pierce the armor!
I gave myself to AGILITY. I leapt up, over them. For a moment, I was suspended in the air above them, feet to the sky, head below me. I watched them stagger away from each other, pulling their weapons out of each other''s paths.
"See that girl! Watch that scene!"
I landed without thinking. My CUT flashed. The glowing blade of my sword passed through the neck of the man whose back was to me. There was a sickening unreality to the way his head left his neck. The kinetic force of the blade helped it, lifting the head up, blood gushing from the wound.
"Diggin'' the Dancing Queeeeeen!"
I stepped forward. It was all training, all instinct. But a cold vileness rose in my gut at what had just happened. These were men. They might have been of the Horde, but they were human. Through the gaps in the furs and helmets, I had seen eyes as human as mine, as Lauren¡¯s, Katya¡¯s, or Harold¡¯s. And those eyes would see no more.
The third Hordesman was pulling his blade back to the side, preparing for a swing. That was the last thing he would ever prepare for. The last voluntary action he would ever take. He was breathing his last. He was thinking his last.
I chopped down with CUT.
I saw a vertical line appear, running from the top of his helmed skull down to his groin. At first, it was just a faint line, more black than red. But everything about him froze. His eyes stopped, vaguely shocked. The sword he had been raising back slowed and started to fall limp. Then his body peeled into two pieces, one falling left, the other falling right. Tendrils of black-red connected the halves as they collapsed. The strands of gore snapped and separated as the body fell into two remnants of what had once been a living thing.
I couldn¡¯t freeze. I wanted to. I wanted to pay homage to what I had done, to respect them. But I had to turn if I wanted to live.
I twisted to face the rest of them.
Seven.
Seven Hordesmen still stood, skipping and hacking at the form on the ground.
But all seven heads started to turn toward me.
I lowered my sword.
They charged.
"Friday night and the lights are looooow! Looking out for the place to gooooooo!"
Chapter 16
The voice was still warbling, "Where they play the right mus¡ª"
¡°Could you cut that out!¡± I snapped.
Seven warriors moved toward me. I had bitten off more than I could chew. These were Hordesmen. The thought of retreat flashed through my mind. I could be gone in an instant with the Footfield... but Chowwick...
The voice chimed in, "This needs a score, young man! This is a legend-building battle! There¡¯s an audience!"
I snarled, ¡°I can¡¯t concentrate with that noise!¡±
The voice sniffed. "Noise? Fine, if that¡¯s the way you¡¯re going to be, then I won¡¯t give your legend a soundtrack."
Seven was surely too many. But what choice did I have? They spread out, trying to surround me, making it harder to defend myself. I couldn¡¯t let them succeed.
There was no fear on their faces. Only savage, eager expressions. They wanted this. It made no sense to me. They might overwhelm me with those weapons, but I was a Griidlord¡ªit would cost them dearly.
Their weapons glowed.
My visor blazed.
They sprang as I sprang. Everything turned into frenetic madness. My BEAM pulsed, cutting off the lateral movements of those trying to flank me. My sword flashed. AGILITY consumed me. I had to evade and keep evading¡ªthose power weapons could nullify my armor.
It felt like a fever dream. Without POWER, it wouldn¡¯t have been possible. Even with the advantage of SPEED, slowing their movements relative to mine, it was a constant struggle to keep seven thrusting weapons from finding their mark.
CUT blazed, and I roared¡ªan animalistic sound erupting from me without my awareness. My blade flashed, and an arm suddenly flew into the air, dark against the brightness of the sky, a stream of blood leaving dots in the air.
I pulsed BEAM at close range, and suddenly there was a cavern of light in the center of a man¡¯s torso.
I went airborne as weapons surged toward me. AGILITY carried me over them. CUT blazed again. Another of them staggered away, clutching a gaping wound that ran from throat to shoulder. But there was no pause, no fear in the others as they watched their comrades meet such grisly ends.
I was exhausting myself. POWER could only last so long. I landed, and there was no respite. Four men now charged me, screaming and cackling with a strange glee.
The voice warned, "POWER won¡¯t last forever... also, this would be better with music."
That wasn¡¯t music! I roared as I stepped up to meet the charge. I used my SPEED to sidestep a thrusting sword, then moved bodily against the wielder, pulsing SHIELD while body-checking him with the full force of my armor. My sword worked to fend off the other blades. The impact of SHIELD and the momentum of my armored form sent the man sprawling. I heard the crunch of bones as he was thrown back. I turned, my sword still moving.
Exhilaration surged through me! I had started with seven¡ªnow there were four left, one of them badly hurt. I was winning. I was winning while my men and the empire soldiers watched. My heart pounded in my chest, now driven more by excitement than fear.
My blade screamed through the air and shattered the haft of a power axe. The warrior holding it staggered back, blinking in confusion as the light faded from his weapon. A savage thrust from my sword robbed the light from his eyes as I speared his chest.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
Numbers flashed on my visor. CUT 6.0. SHIELD 4.0. The numbers streamed by too quickly for me to fully register.
The man I had body-checked lay writhing on the ground, one hand clawing at the dust and strands of grass in agony, the other gripping his chest. Mists of blood spurted from his mouth as he coughed and choked.
Two left!
I turned toward them. I must have seemed like a nightmare¡ªmy visor blazing with the power of a god, my armor painted in the blood of my enemies.
Then POWER vanished from me, and I staggered. I stumbled forward, barely managing to parry a thrust from a glowing sword.
I felt suddenly so slow after the rush of SPEED. I turned and deflected another sword. They were pressing harder, sensing the light gone from my helm. They smelled blood. They smelled a chance.
Frustration boiled in me. Rage rose, suddenly more prominent than anything else. I wouldn''t be denied.
They threw everything into their next attack, hoping to finish me before POWER returned. One came low, striking for my legs, while the other leaped higher than I¡¯d have imagined a mortal could.
The man below me met his end as CUT split his skull. As he died, his sword slashed my calf. Pain shot through me¡ªthe agony of flesh and the suit both. Smoke and sparks erupted from the wound, and my hot blood spilled and burned there too.
I staggered, twisting toward the man descending from above. My hand flashed out, pulsing SHIELD, turning his blade away. He twisted mid-air, but my hand continued, meeting his chest. The strength of the suit held him there, momentarily suspended in the air, a frozen moment.
The barest tip of my sword slipped into his throat. Then my vision was drowned in an avalanche of blood. His throat pulsed, waves of red pouring over me.
But it was over.
I didn¡¯t discard him immediately. I just stood there, his dying form going limp in my grip, blood cascading over me.
In the distance, I could hear the howls and cheers of the crowd. I turned my head, the blood running out of my visor, allowing me to see. SIGHT showed hundreds of men cheering¡ªmy men, the Empire soldiers¡ªall of them hooting and screaming.
I tossed the corpse aside, with more disdain than maybe I should have, casting the dead man away like garbage.
I hobbled toward where I had seen Chowwick go down. My calf was agony.
The grass parted as I moved, revealing movement ahead.
Chowwick¡¯s helm emerged through a curtain of yellow-green as he crawled toward me.
¡°Ti! Lad! You¡¯re alright! You shouldn¡¯t have come!¡±
I looked down at my new friend. The chain was wrapped into his armor, as though it had melted together with it. I couldn¡¯t tell if it was part of his flesh as well. I feared the worst. His organs might be choking and failing even as he tried to drag himself into the fight. His armor was blackened and smoking in places. The power weapons had done their work, but the thickness of the Shield suit¡¯s armor seemed to have saved him from more savage injuries.
¡°I had to come! How badly are you hurt?¡±
His helm melted back to reveal his bearded face, grimacing. ¡°I can¡¯t move my legs... I think the chain melded with me... I might be done, lad.¡±
I shook my head. "No, not after this, not like this."
Chowwick rolled onto his back, levering himself up to look down at his legs. We both saw the chain disappearing into his armor and emerging on the other side in places.
He shook his head. "I never even got to fight alongside you..."
I knelt beside him. My calf burned and felt cold at the same time. "We¡¯ll get you back to the Tower. We don¡¯t know how bad it is."
He looked up at me, his small eyes narrowed with pain. "I¡¯m the one meant to protect you, lad. You were my Shield today. I thank you. Whatever else happens, you saved my life."
We both turned our heads as we felt Tacita¡¯s Footfield approach. She exited it neatly, closer than I would have liked¡ªArrows were known for their affinity with Footfield.
She stalked toward us, her eyes fixed on Chowwick¡¯s wounds.
"I¡¯ve seen worse," she said.
I asked quietly, "Will he be able to fight again, to keep his suit?"
Tacita shrugged. "The healing in a Tower can do miracles. Time will tell."
I stood, still heaving for breath, feeling the pain and weakness in my lower leg. The men in the distance were still cheering and roaring.
Tacita looked me up and down. I glanced at myself. My armor was painted with blood, nearly as bad as when the fiend had covered me in gore.
She lifted her helmet off with a hiss of air. I didn¡¯t understand why some Griidlords removed their helms when they could just fold them away. It was a habit I would eventually develop as well.
She smiled. "That was a fine display. It¡¯s hard to believe you¡¯re in your first days with the suit."
She looked me up and down again, her smile widening. "You know, the Burghsmen were chanting ''Butcher'' while you killed those men. I wonder what they¡¯ll say when they see you painted like this."
Chapter 17
Chowwick partook of the wine.
In his own words, "I¡¯ll be fucked if I have to fight anyway. If I¡¯ll be fucked in a fight, I might as well be drunk and fucked rather than sober and fucked!"
We sat in Cassius¡¯s tent. The dickering was endlessly tedious. The man was so focused on the most minute of details. My attention span failed me time and again. I wasn¡¯t raised for this. Father had never brought me into this world. I hadn¡¯t the vaguest concept of trade or value, but I could tell the man was gunning for every scrap he could get from me. He was obsessively focused on the smallest details, while I was obsessively focused on concluding our business so that I could take Chowwick and my father¡¯s body home to Boston.
It ignited an anxiety in me. I was the heir of Father¡¯s empire. Whatever the wealth meant to me, it was the engine that generated the livelihood of thousands. Other outposts like Dodge existed, though none so vast. Across the lands, at that very moment, wagons trundled in the employ of my father. In every city, there were artisans and craftsmen whose sole function was to make products funneled into Father¡¯s empire. There was a management team within the business, but I didn¡¯t know where to start in contacting them.
Father had said that half our wealth had been destroyed with Dodge. The other half had been wagered on my becoming Sword. I had won the suit, so half our wealth at least remained. I would need to speak to Harold to unlock the details. I only hoped he knew the details.
Cassius droned on, and I did my best to listen. As I did so, I watched Chowwick. I feared he would collapse and die from some complication of his condition. The chains did indeed run through his legs, but he drank the wine and pinched the bottoms of the serving girls with armored hands that could be so gentle. With each cup, he seemed to suffer less and less pain.
I worried how Baltazar would react when I returned. The Falling loomed closer, and Boston needed her Griidlords to be able to enter the field and compete for the orbs. He had entrusted me with a vital asset, and I was returning that asset grievously wounded¡ªmaybe irreparably so.
I suddenly snapped to attention. Cassius was listing numbers that were meaningless to me. He paused as he saw my head snap up and fixed me with those cunning little eyes, curious.
I said, ¡°You could probably do away with us now.¡±
He was flustered by this. Rising in his seat, he said, ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±
I said, ¡°Lord Chowwick is badly wounded. I am diminished by my own injury. I am only a rookie. Tacita could dispatch me in this state, she could probably do it in any state¡¡±
I watched Tacita¡¯s reaction. She showed doubt. She had been impressed by my performance against the Hordesmen. Everyone had been.
I went on, ¡°If you put me and Chowwick down, then your forces would easily overwhelm mine, with Tacita to supplement them.¡±
Cassius¡¯s head rattled on his thick neck. He was stunned, processing. ¡°I¡ I¡ what¡¯s the point in saying such things?¡±
I said, "Why haven¡¯t you done so?"
Cassius¡¯s face darkened, shifting from soft pink to scarlet. He said, "We¡¯re not savages¡ We¡¯re not here for murder. This is business."
I asked, "What is your business, good sir?"
Cassius gathered himself and said, "I¡¯m a merchant. I have my own network¡ªnothing so grand as your father¡¯s¡ªbut it grows year by year."Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
"And what brought you here? To loot Dodge?" I pressed.
He replied sharply, "To salvage! To salvage from Dodge! If it wasn¡¯t me, then it would be someone else. It was fair game. We¡¯re not looters. There is much value here, as well you know. We came to get our share of it before the others closed in."
"How is it you brought a Griidlord?" I asked.
Cassius seemed confused. His beady eyes widened as he tried to grasp my intention. "I requisitioned her."
"Requisitioned? I don¡¯t understand," I said.
Cassius waved a hand in frustration. "You people have your own ways¡ªchaotic and undisciplined though they may be. In the West, our suits aren¡¯t lords, they¡¯re agents, and they understand that they¡¯re agents. They get their commissions, as yours do. If we failed to give them that, any of them worth a lick of salt would just leave and join your decadent societies. In the West, we have order, organization. Tacita works for the Empire. She is a servant of the Empire. When I heard that the Horde had destroyed Dodge, I applied for a license to salvage what could be found here and requisitioned Tacita in the process."
I nodded, then said, "You¡¯re very focused on the precise details of our agreement."
My sudden change of direction flustered him further. "Well, of course I am¡ I¡ I have my own contract with the Empire to fulfill. It¡¯s my duty to... Of course I¡¯m focused on the details. You would serve your business better if you were more focused yourself."
Leaning forward, I asked, "But wouldn¡¯t it serve your business even better to assassinate me and Lord Chowwick right now?"
Cassius recoiled. His face turned from scarlet to purple. "How very dare you! I could do no such thing! We are dickering! That¡¯s¡ It¡¯s¡"
I began to understand this man better. I had mistaken his obvious greed for a lack of honor. I had thought him a vicious little creature that would do anything for profit, but that would have included killing me. No, this man had his own strange sense of honor. He would certainly do anything for profit¡ªbut within the constraints of what he considered fair business. That was why he obsessed over the details and the numbers. He felt bound by the rules once he agreed to them.
"I have an entirely different proposition," I said.
Cassius grew calmer then, recognizing familiar territory. "Go on."
"I don¡¯t know the way of the trader. I was raised in the way of the sword and nothing else. I want to see Dodge restored. Is that a foolish notion?"
Cassius considered this. "Well, no, no it¡¯s not. It will take some time and investment, but the damage here is not as complete as it might seem. The infrastructure is intact¡ªthe sewage systems, most of the walls. Many of the structures just need repair. Those that are ruined still have good foundations. There are a lot of materials already on site. The trade routes are well established here."
I said, "How long do you think it would take for Dodge to start making money again?"
Father had felt that all was lost here. There had certainly been terrible damage. Fortunes in goods had been taken by the Horde, and fortunes in damage had been done. But Father had been looking at the damage to Dodge through the lens of a man who had bet everything he owned and lost it. I hadn¡¯t lost. We had resources.
Cassius was slow in responding. His eyes glazed as he considered. "Months, maybe, with sufficient investment¡"
I said, "I have a proposition."
He said, "Yes, you said as much¡"
I continued, "Instead of taking what you can from the wreckage and paying me a portion of its worth¡ why not take a part of Dodge itself?"
His eyes narrowed, and he said nothing.
I explained, "I am a Griidlord now. I will have my own distractions. And, I know nothing of business. What if I gave you a stake?"
Cassius leaned forward, "A stake?"
"Yeah," I said. "I give you a piece of the profits from Dodge. You rebuild it, you run it, you get a share."
Cassius smiled thinly. "That is quite the proposition¡"
"I need to be back in Boston, Lord Chowwick needs attention, and the city here needs a manager¡"
Cassius nodded. "I would be most interested in the proposition¡ but¡"
There was silence in the room, even Chowwick seemed to have found something to distract him from the bottoms of the poor serving girls.
It was Cassius¡¯s turn to lean forward. His eyes narrowed, his lips pursed. He looked eager, excited even. "We would need to dicker about the details of such an arrangement."
Book2: Chapter 18
The wagons rolled.
Our footfields propelled the convoy forward through space.
Chowwick and I both sat on our asses.
I sat with my helm removed. I wasn¡¯t in the mood for examining the scenes with SIGHT, and I wasn¡¯t in the mood to have the voice plaguing me.
My eyes wandered continuously to the wagon further down the convoy where my father¡¯s body lay. My emotions were a wreck. There was grief and sadness, and guilt for not having enough grief and sadness. I found myself judging myself for letting my thoughts wander so easily. I should have been bound down in thinking about the parent I had found dead. Instead, my mind wanted to creep away to concern itself with this new life and world that I had been thrust into.
I could have moved despite my injury, but I¡¯d certainly felt better, and I couldn¡¯t reason aggravating the wound. So I sat in the bed of the trundling wagon, wondering if I¡¯d just made a deal with the devil, wondering if I¡¯d been too brash. Cassius would act as Mayor of Dodge for a fixed term, with fixed percentages. I could send oversight to make sure he wasn¡¯t abusing his position, but I had a strange feeling I wouldn¡¯t need to.
Chowwick looked me up and down. His huge form occupied much of the wagon. He sat propped against the wooden boards, his arms resting on tarp-covered goods we had recovered from the ruined city.
He said, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have thought of that.¡±
¡°Hmm?¡± I said.
He said, ¡°I know I seem like an oaf, lad, but the Chowwicks are one of the founding families of the city. I was raised to be a lord. I was schooled without assuming I¡¯d ever wear the suit. I¡¯m not quite so dumb as I look. I¡¯ve made deals, dickered as that fella liked to say. It wouldn¡¯t have occurred to me in a thousand years to hire him on like that."
I asked, ¡°Did I make a terrible mistake? What do you think?¡±
Chowwick smiled. ¡°Oh no, lad, I don¡¯t think so. The Westerners, especially the merchants, they¡¯re a slimy crew. They have a different code than the Free Cities. They¡¯re all about ambition, and they¡¯ll do whatever it takes to get ahead, to get their families ahead. But their word is their bond. Mind, they¡¯ll say a few hundred words at a time to give themselves clauses and excuses for screwing you over, but they won¡¯t break their word either. Least I never heard of it.¡±
I nodded. This was comforting. It eased me.
Chowwick said, ¡°I¡¯m thinking we didn¡¯t do too bad with the Choosing.¡±
I couldn¡¯t tell if he was jesting. I said, ¡°Oh yeah?¡±
Chowwick leaned forward, winced deeply, and leaned back. Waving a hand at me, he said, ¡°That was fine negotiating and fine thinking you did with that fella. You might be a chip off the old block. And fighting the Horde¡ By the Oracle, lad, I don¡¯t know that I¡¯ve ever heard of a rook in his first days who could do that. If the white cloaks in the Tower can get me back on my feet, I¡¯ll be proud to fight alongside you. To fight for you.¡±
The eruption of his praise left me dazed. I could feel an uncomfortable brimming of emotion on my face, but I felt this was not the man to show such things to.
Chowwick said, ¡°Fighting and killing ''em must¡¯ve done wonders for your affinity. Did ya not level?¡±
I said, "I... I haven¡¯t had my helm closed since the fight... I know my CUT went up, and my SHIELD, but I don¡¯t know what else¡ªthings were kind of happening fast."
He said, "You were kind of happening fast! Well, on with it then, lad! Level 10¡¯s next! That¡¯ll mean a new attribute. Fiend¡¯s asses, but the very idea of a level ten rook just days after the Choosing makes me shiver!"
I let the helm melt back around me, enveloping me. I braced myself, expecting the voice to bombard me with complaints about talking to Chowwick instead of it, but there was silence. My symbiotic companion must have been paying attention elsewhere.
When I summoned the menu, I was greeted with new information and altered menu layouts.
Subject: Tiberius
Status: Chosen Sword
Level: 10
Ranking: 158/178
Two pleasing results greeted me. I had reached level 10. I cast about my HUD and saw a blinking icon on my Attribute menu. Before checking it, I hovered over my ranking. I had gone from 178/178 to 158/178. Twenty places? It hardly seemed likely. As much as I understood that I was doing well to have reached level 10, a Griidlord in the suit for even a few years would be far beyond that. I thought for a moment about the new Tower in Houston. Five suits would rest in the new Tower, perhaps yet to be claimed. Even if claimed, their wearers would be as new to the suit as I was and, by my understanding, very unlikely to be at level 10. That might account for me moving up five places, but the other 15 puzzled me.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
I brought up the Attributes menu.
Chowwick said, "Well, did ya level, lad?"
I said, "Yeah."
He said, "What did ya get? My first new one was REFLECT. It changed my whole game."
I said, "Hang on, I¡¯m looking."
Combat
Passive
Unique
Fields
The menu was the same, but the Unique section had a blinking icon attached to it. I wanted to see my Combat levels, but excitement filled me to check out the new attribute. I was curious to see it resting in the Unique menu. I had imagined, even hoped for, a combat skill. But the Unique menu was a mystery to me.
I opened it and was greeted by a single entry:
Assess ¨C 1.0
I could hear the confusion and disappointment in my voice as I spoke. "I got... Assess."
Chowwick chortled. "We were hoping for something a little more impactful, were we? Assess is a fine skill for a Sword. You¡¯ll be our general, lad. You¡¯ll direct us. Assess will mean a lot more than a new power for your sword, especially in the early days when your best way to help will be boosting. Level 10 is something, but we won¡¯t meet a lot of 10s on the Falling Fields."
I asked, "What does it do?"
He said, "Examine me."
I looked at Chowwick as he lay there. I focused on him. I felt something, like a spasm in my brain that needed poking. I "poked." I was getting accustomed to feeling muscles that weren¡¯t really there, neurons that existed outside me, in the suit.
A few lines appeared in the corner of my HUD.
Subject: Pembleton Chowwick
Status: Chosen Shield
Level: 31
Chowwick waited, looking unusually scornful. I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off with a sharp gesture.
He said, ¡°Chowwick¡¯ll do just fine.¡±
I felt a smirk tug at me, but I held my tongue. I said, ¡°It just tells me your level¡¡±
Chowwick nodded. ¡°More levels to the attribute¡¯ll give you more. You¡¯ll get rankings, be able to see abilities, attribute levels. But the main level is the most important thing. It¡¯ll help you know who you can tackle yourself, who you can send us against, or if we need to fire up Footfields and quit on an orb.¡±
I said, ¡°You know a lot about this. Do you have Assess?¡±
He shook his head. ¡°No. It¡¯s mostly for Swords.¡±
¡°Then how do you know so much about it?¡±
Chowwick¡¯s face grew somber. ¡°A Shield protects his Sword, spends a lot of time with his Sword. I spent a lot of time with Bladesworth, you know, before¡¡±
Lord Bladesworth. The Sword before me. With everything that had happened¡ªmy excitement at the suit, my anxiety in meeting Chowwick, my father¡¯s body, the expedition¡ªit hadn¡¯t crossed my mind that this man had lost a teammate in the last few months. This man had lost a friend.
I said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡¡±
He waved me off again with one of those huge hands. He said, ¡°It¡¯s what lies in wait for us all, lad. That or the burnout. It can be strange though. Tacita¡¯s not our enemy today, but on the Falling Field, we¡¯ll be trying to kill each other. Your friend Morningstar? He¡¯s bound to provide for his people before all others. Don¡¯t expect him to be easy on you in the field. The man¡¯ll kill you if he needs to, if he gets the chance.¡±
Chowwick¡¯s expression spoke of mild fear when he mentioned Morningstar.
I asked, ¡°What level is he?¡±
Chowwick shrugged. ¡°I know not, lad. More than 31, though, I¡¯ll reckon. And if he¡¯s not, he will be soon. The bastard¡¯s been growing in power like a fucking weed.¡±
¡°Why does he grow faster?¡±
Chowwick raised his eyebrows. ¡°Why do you, lad? Two levels in a few days? That¡¯s fast even for a rookie. We seem to grow at different rates, and hit ceilings at different points. I¡¯m excited about you, lad. The ones that grow fast go high before they slow down.¡±
I wasn¡¯t sure if it was polite to ask, but I found myself saying, ¡°Have you leveled off yet?¡±
Chowwick seemed to have no embarrassment. ¡°Oh, aye. I¡¯ve slowed down a lot. You¡¯ll grow fastest in your first year, and rip along pretty quick in the first ten. Most of us find our ceiling in the first twenty or thirty years. Ceiling¡¯s not quite the right word, you¡¯re always growing, but the levels come slower and slower the higher you get.¡±
The scenery had shifted. The wild grasses of the prairies had given way to sprawling wheat fields. Houses and cottages had started to dot the landscape again. In the distance, the form of Kansas City rose out of the land, the Kansas City Tower spearing toward the sky in the midst of the structures.
Chowwick and I both turned our heads at the same time. A figure was approaching under Footfield, coming from the city. It was moving fast. Much faster than I could travel.
Chowwick watched her approach with a strange expression of dread.
I moved to get up. Chowwick couldn¡¯t fight. While it was unlikely that this random Griidlord meant our convoy harm, it felt right for me to present myself. I felt Chowwick begin to release the Footfield that surrounded our caravan.
I watched the figure devouring the distance between us. It had to be an Arrow to be moving so fast, but even for an Arrow, it was impressive.
I said, ¡°How can she be so fast? After what happened to you, I¡¯m afraid I won¡¯t be able to use a personal Footfield again.¡±
The field around a convoy stretched further, making entanglement with matter less likely. A personal field around a single Griidlord was smaller, more vulnerable to entanglement but much faster.
Chowwick said, ¡°In all my years I¡¯ve almost never heard of this happening to a suit,¡± pointing to the chains tangled in the matter of his legs. ¡°It was the worst luck¡ªthe bastard Hordesmen were well fucking hidden, timed it just right. And I wasn¡¯t paying any fucking attention. Dozens of suits use the field every day. You¡¯ve nothing to worry about, lad. Just look where you¡¯re going.¡±
I shrugged, still uncomfortable, and found my feet.
I walked to the edge of the convoy as the Griidlord approached. My leg was stiff and sore, but I could move on it.
My heart began to pound as the Griidlord grew closer and closer.
The Footfield was still moving at full speed.
It wasn¡¯t slowing down.
Book 2: Chapter 19
It seemed like I had only moments. The field was shooting towards me. I snapped my head left and right, wanting to leap aside but not wanting to seem foolish in front of the men. Desperately, I didn¡¯t want to suffer the same fate as Chowwick had. I had a moment to imagine how much worse I would fare if my body became entangled with the flesh, bone, and armor of another Griidlord.
I had just started reaching for POWER¡ªmy visor may have even flickered with the light of the attribute¡ªwhen the field dissipated. A sleek figure bounded from the field. A woman. Her purple-armored form bounced over the last yards of the prairie, moving like a deer. There was an undisguised glee in the way she harnessed the momentum of the field. Her visor flared, and AGILITY guided her.
My breath nearly stopped as I watched her spin through the air. I had felt like a bird when I used AGILITY, but compared to her, I was a wet stone.
My hand went to my hilt. She had POWER activated, and she was coming with speed, yet there was something so playful about the way she danced that I couldn¡¯t imagine her intentions were sinister.
As she came to a stop, Chowwick levered his unhelmed head over the side of his wagon. ¡°What are you at, daft bitch? Coming at us like that? The Sword here might¡¯ve cut you in half! Fucking Northern bastards charging at us like that, what the fuck do you think we¡¯re going to do?¡±
She seemed completely unaware of Chowwick¡¯s distress or anger. Rising to her full height, she cast her head about, inspecting the convoy. She looked at me for a moment, then continued scanning the surroundings.
I summoned Assess. In an instant, her vital information appeared before me:
Subject: Racquel Moonclaw
Status: Chosen Arrow
Level: 19
I wondered how type advantage compared to level. If I was a level 10 and she a 19, but my Sword had an advantage over her Arrow suit, how would we compare?
Her helm folded back into her suit, and she shook her head to free her hair. It was raven black and shining. She was utterly casual, unconcerned with how we had reacted to her charge at our convoy, unapologetic about the joy she¡¯d taken in her leaping dance, despite the many watching eyes.
Her gaze returned to me. Her skin was pale, her eyes almost unnaturally blue. She looked so delicate, it was hard to imagine her as a Griidlord. And to have gained 19 levels, she must have worn the suit for much longer than I had. She must have fought to level her suit, though she didn¡¯t seem like a fighter.
She said, ¡°I¡¯m looking for someone in your convoy, a man by the name of Dirk Jaxwulf, a Burghsman.¡±
I opened my mouth to speak, but Chowwick was faster. ¡°Have you no apology? You could¡¯ve been killed, lass.¡±
She tilted her head, unabashedly inspecting Chowwick. ¡°Lord Chowwick, is it not?¡±
His words stumbled. ¡°Aye, it is. You know of me, then?¡±
he said, ¡°We crossed blades, Lord Chowwick, when the Falling came to the Northern Lakes a couple of years back. Well, I say ¡®crossed blades,¡¯ but properly, I should say you tossed me around like a cat with a mouse using your shield.¡±
She laughed suddenly, a high, musical sound that was jarring but somehow put me at ease.
Chowwick nodded, ¡°Aye, that we did. You were a rookie, but you charged into our formation as though we were foot soldiers. Hard to forget. I assumed you¡¯d have gotten yourself killed by now, taking such little care. What was that, two years ago? You¡¯ve gained levels since then? Tiberius, what¡¯s her level?¡±
I stammered, ¡°Ah¡ I¡¡± It felt rude to discuss her levels in front of her like that, like reporting on something intimate and personal.
Racquel cut in smoothly, ¡°I¡¯m level 19 now, Lord Chowwick. I¡¯ll catch up to you soon enough. Then we¡¯ll see who bats whom about.¡±
She laughed again. There was murder in her eyes but a lightness to her lips.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
Chowwick whistled softly, ¡°Level 19 in two years¡¡±
Then, from beyond the wagons, came the voice of Dirk, calling to her as he strode briskly down the rows.
¡°Lady Racquel!¡±
She turned toward the sound, her smile broadening¡ªa radiant, captivating smile. ¡°Excuse me, m¡¯lords,¡± she said.
¡°M¡¯lady,¡± Chowwick muttered coolly as she walked away. Then he turned to me, his bushy brows bent low with disapproval. ¡°Nerve of her, lad. What business does she have charging up on us like that, stopping our convoy? And now she¡¯s talking to your man like he¡¯s hers. Daft northern bitch.¡±
I asked, ¡°She¡¯s from Minneapolis? With those colors?¡±
Chowwick nodded. ¡°Aye, city of madmen. If they¡¯re not fighting fiends, they¡¯re raiding decent folk far from their own land. Only folk half as tough and daft as them are those bastards,¡± he said, jerking a thumb toward Dirk and the cluster of Burghsmen.
I watched Racquel talking to them. There was a certain intimacy in the way she engaged with them¡ªopen, interested, and clearly captivated by them. It was just as obvious that they were all captivated by her. Her beauty, rare and striking, was only enhanced by her easy manner.
¡°What business could she have with Dirk?¡± I asked.
Chowwick¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°Dirk¡¯s a good lad, but he¡¯s a rapscallion. Do you have any idea what it takes to get thrown out of Pittsburgh? They¡¯ve no laws, no real government. The lad got himself banished, and it wasn¡¯t done for stealing apples.¡±
I asked, ¡°Do you know what he did?¡±
Chowwick screwed up his mouth. ¡°He¡¯s a revolutionary. Not the sort we need to worry about out here in the civilized world¡ªnot a disruptor of order, not that kind. But to the Burghsmen, he¡¯s a radical. He wanted to bring order to the clans.¡±
¡°Did he tell you this?¡± I asked.
¡°Aye, not in so many words, but he got the message out. The lad was sussing me, most likely.¡±
¡°Sussing?¡± I repeated.
Chowwick nodded, his eyes never leaving Racquel and the Burghsmen. ¡°Believers love nothing better than getting a Griidlord behind them and their cause.¡±
I asked, ¡°What good would you be to his cause? Does he expect you to march in and lay down the law yourself? They have their own Griidlords.¡±
Chowwick said, ¡°It can be more complicated than that. Dirk¡¯s got notions. He mightn¡¯t seem it, with all the rough talk and the big axe, but the man¡¯s a thinker. He might be a dangerous thinker.¡±
I said, ¡°But you said he¡¯s not a disruptor¡¡±
Chowwick replied, ¡°Not yet he¡¯s not, but you can take the man out of the revolution¡ªit''s harder to take the revolution out of the man.¡± He paused a moment, as if awaiting my reaction.
¡°Damn, that sounded better in my head. My point is, Dirk is a man with a cause¡ªor he was a man with a cause¡ªbut now that he¡¯s been up-chucked out of the Hills, he might want to find himself a new cause or broaden the one he had.¡±
I said, ¡°I¡¯m not getting it. Most lands are lawful.¡±
Chowwick said, ¡°There are those who¡¯d see them more organized, who¡¯d do something about the Wilds. There are treaties between the cities about how we treat each other¡¯s holdings out in the Wilds, treaties that are ignored when it¡¯s convenient. But there¡¯s precious little that can be done about law and order out there. A man can murder a man in Boston, rape a woman in Buffalo, rob a store in New York, then disappear into the Wilds. The only way to catch him is to send a hunter after him, and that¡¯ll only happen if he murdered, raped, or robbed someone with enough money or clout to get it done.¡±
I paused. Then, hesitantly, I asked, ¡°And you think Racquel is involved in something like that?¡±
Chowwick shrugged. ¡°She¡¯s daft, isn¡¯t she? That¡¯s plain enough to see.¡±
I was going to say more, question how or why a loyal Griidlord would conduct business with social disruptors, but then I stopped. I thought of Joel, holder of a fortune built on more than a century of wildly profitable success, the founder and builder of an empire that had spread much further than the Western fragment it had become. He had walked away from the suit, from the empire he¡¯d helped build¡ªand what was he doing now exactly? Recruiting other Griidlords for his purpose. Danefer was no less perplexing.
I had always thought of the suit as a purpose. Already, it was beginning to dawn on me that I had no goals now, other than gaining levels and winning Flows for Boston. That seemed like a noble enough set of pursuits, but when I let my mind wander to the future, to the long decades, even centuries, that could lie before me, I could see how that might start to feel hollow. A strange chill ran through my gut at the thought of passing so much time with so little to work toward.
I looked at Chowwick. The man seemed happy enough. He had his ale, he had his family. He¡¯d been a Griidlord for more than twenty years and didn¡¯t seem to have grown lost in the aimlessness of it. I wondered if it saddened him to think about outliving his family, outliving Arthur. It made me think about my bitter feelings toward Lauren and Katya. The bitterness was still there, even if I pushed it deep. But I wondered what sadness there would have been if things hadn¡¯t happened the way they had. In my best-case scenario, I would have lived to watch them wither and age while the centuries deflected off me.
I stared at Racquel. She had a passion about her. An intensity. There was a person with no misgivings about the passing ages leaving her with nothing to apply her energies to. Be it subversion or something else, I could sense she had a purpose.
I had been so focused on winning the suit, I hadn¡¯t thought that much about what I wanted to do with it.
Book 2: Chapter 20
I said, "Should I do something about this? Should I allow her to hold us up like this? We can make a lot of miles yet before we make camp."
Chowwick¡¯s grump seemed to melt from him a little. ¡°Ah, leave it be, lad. Dirk is a good man, a hard man. You¡¯ll have use for him, and he¡¯ll treat you well if you do the same to him. Let him have his meeting. Look, some of the merchants are setting up to leave the train and roll over to Kansas. We¡¯d have had to stop anyway. As long as they don¡¯t take all day, we can spare the time.¡±
As he spoke, Racquel detached from Dirk¡¯s group and swayed back toward us.
She said, ¡°You¡¯re coming back from Dodge? I expected to see nothing but wagons piled high with salvage, but many of these are carrying wounded people. Not rich folk by the looks of them.¡±
I said, ¡°We¡¯re rebuilding Dodge. Some of the survivors are staying on, but some can¡¯t. There was a lot of trauma in the attack.¡±
She said, ¡°There are people here with wounds that will never really heal. What will you do with them? There¡¯s not much point carting them to Boston if you¡¯re only going to dump them there as well.¡±
I said, ¡°I¡¯m still trying to figure that out. I have a new house, new lands, a castle to build, I suppose. I¡¯ll try to find roles for them.¡±
Her eyes widened slightly, barely perceptibly. She said, ¡°Is that so? And you? You¡¯re the new Sword of Boston the whole world¡¯s been talking about.¡±
¡°H-have they?¡± I said.
She nodded. ¡°Mmm-hmmm. The boy wonder who used BEAM at the start of the Choosing, employed Footfield halfway through, and had POWER in the last round. I don¡¯t know how much of that I believe, but your legend definitely precedes you.¡±
She continued to inspect me brazenly. She let her eyes travel over me without veiling the action. I felt my cheeks grow hot.
Chowwick said, ¡°Well, if you¡¯re done, lass, we¡¯ll be on our way. Time is money, and you¡¯ve cost us.¡±
Racquel¡¯s brows shot up, feigning shock and injury. She said, ¡°I have cost you, haven¡¯t I? I should compensate for the inconvenience.¡±
Chowwick started to say something, but Racquel flew to me. Her swiftness was unnatural. She moved softly and instantly, like a sudden breeze. She put her hands on my chest, leaned up, and kissed me on the mouth. It was brief, and I was sure it was a mocking gesture, but I felt a jolt run through me.
I was aware that there was something predatory about this. She was making a show of me¡ªmaybe a show of herself¡ªbut it was hard to argue as those lips touched mine.
As quickly as she touched me, she pulled away. The sensation of her body being close to mine lingered in my mind. The strange sense of her armored form being near, her hands on my chest¡ The suit should have made me feel physically separated from her, but if anything, the sensitivity, the sensory input, made her feel closer.
She paused to inspect my face, smiling devilishly at my flustered but clearly not displeased reaction. She said, ¡°You know, I delayed you and took your man¡¯s time!¡±
She stepped up again, a little more slowly, and kissed me again. My head was a fuzz at the abruptness of it, the surprise. This time, it was briefer, more fleeting, but softer too.
Chowwick made a sound that I couldn¡¯t attribute to any particular feeling.
Then she stepped back again, watching my eyes. She said, ¡°You¡¯re not a bad-looking boy wonder, you know. I suppose the next time we meet, it will be across swords with Flows to be won. Thank you and apologies for the disruption. Good day, my lords.¡±Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
¡°M¡¯lady,¡± Chowwick said darkly as she turned and started to bound away. Her movements were so smooth, so energetic, and yet so calm.
I belatedly said, "M¡¯lady."
Footfield enveloped her, and she was gone once again, burning across the prairie.
Chowwick spoke in a voice that was equal parts disappointment and mirth. ¡°You know, she took up my time as well.¡±
I looked at him, a little stupidly.
Dirk was suddenly there. He said, ¡°Apologies for the delay, my lords. Though, yinz don¡¯t seem too upset about the intrusion.¡±
I gathered my senses and composed myself. Chowwick said, ¡°Will we get this show back on the road?¡±
Dirk nodded, and there were a few minutes of commotion as the merchants that intended to remain in Kansas rolled away from the convoy. Then I could feel the shift in the space around us, and the pull on the reserves of my own Footfield, as Chowwick projected the Footfield around the convoy.
Once we were rolling again, Dirk marching briskly alongside our wagon, Chowwick said, ¡°So what was all that about?¡±
Dirk shrugged, unconcerned, contentedly mysterious. ¡°Lady Racquel is sympathetic to the Jaxwulfs that were banished from the Hills. She would offer us a place in her own estate if we wanted it.¡±
I said, ¡°And do you?¡±
I was still thinking about the easy way she had kissed me. The way it hadn¡¯t seemed to matter to her. I knew she was being blas¨¦, but my mind wouldn¡¯t let go of the moment.
Dirk said, ¡°That¡¯s a good question. My plan had been to make some coin, then take the clan to Houston. There¡¯ll be work there as a new city is founded, opportunities. There are many Griidlords in the history of my clan, fine Axes. There could be a chance to gain lands and title and a fresh start.¡±
Chowwick said, ¡°I¡¯ve heard nothing of what¡¯s become of the new Tower.¡±
Dirk said, ¡°I¡¯ve heard some. Not a lot. The founder took the Scepter suit, but as far as I know, the other four suits lie unclaimed. Miami and Dallas are posturing. It¡¯s hard to see how this plays out without a war breaking out. A new Tower, five new suits, all that Order¡ªit¡¯s too much for either side to leave alone easily.¡±
Chowwick said, ¡°Strange stuff going on down there. Why don¡¯t they fill those suits? Give themselves a little more bite? And whoever heard of a founder taking a Scepter suit? It¡¯s always a Sword.¡±
Dirk said, ¡°Aye, right enough. I don¡¯t think five suits would mean a lot to Miami or Dallas, though.¡±
I said, ¡°I know Dallas has a reputation for being able to put men in the field, but Miami holds sway over three other cities. Dallas can hardly mean anything in the face of that.¡±
Chowwick said, ¡°Don¡¯t be so sure, lad. The Free Men are a mighty force in the field, and they can muster a mighty mass of them. Dallas can march on Houston easily, and quickly, with easy supply lines. Miami has to come a long way, through swamps. It¡¯s almost surprising Dallas didn¡¯t just march on the new Tower straight away and dare the Queen to do something about it.¡±
Dirk nodded. ¡°Aye, there¡¯s goings-on afoot that defy explanation. They¡¯re about something in Houston. I¡¯ve sent some kin down to tell me more.¡±
I said, "And when will you head south, if that¡¯s what you decide to do?"
Dirk said, "Not for a while yet. I¡¯ve purses to fill before we do that. It¡¯s a chance to stake a claim in a new city, but it¡¯s a city with no way to earn right now. And war looms all over it."
I said, "Well, if you¡¯re looking to keep working, I could make an offer."
Dirk said, "Aye, my lord?"
I said, "I¡¯ve been thinking about a few things. My father¡¯s business has been injured, but it¡¯s not dead. I¡¯ve made arrangements with Cassius, and I have to consult with managers in Boston, but we¡¯ll need caravan guards to replace the losses from the Horde attack. And I¡¯ll have an estate to build and guard. There would be work for you, if you wanted it. And space. I assume it wasn¡¯t just a couple hundred fighting men that left Pittsburgh¡ªyou must have other kin, women, children."
Dirk said, "Aye. We¡¯ve a camp out in the wilds not far from Burgh territory."
I said, "Well, I¡¯ll have lands soon. I suppose I¡¯ll need to have those lands worked. I¡¯ll have space. A new estate will probably be on the verge of the settled lands around the city, on the edge of our territory, but it will still be more secure than camping in the wilds."
Dirk didn¡¯t say anything at first. He just walked alongside us, staring ahead. He wore the hard-man face, but somewhere in there I could swear he was moved by the offer. It hadn¡¯t been my intention. It had just seemed practical.
The landscape burned past us. My thoughts turned to Boston. To burying my father. To seeing Chowwick tended to. To what would become of Father¡¯s¡ªno, my¡ªtrade empire. And the Fall, and leveling¡ so much seemed to lie ahead, so much of it so busy, so demanding. And yet¡
I was still left reeling as to what the point of it was. I had won the suit¡ now what?
Book 2: Chapter 21
It took four days to make the journey. It can be done faster; a Griidlord alone is faster than a convoy, both in body and with the strength of the smaller, more concentrated Footfield.
There are well-worn paths between the cities where roads don¡¯t exist. Trade is always moving, people always traveling, and so the best paths are well established. Still, the wilds bring delays. Wagons break axles or throw wheels. Weather has its effect.
Four days meant three nights in camp. Three nights to better acquaint myself with those who traveled with us.
Zeb was even more silent than usual, sulking darkly. He had spent some time in the ruins of Dodge, searching for something alone. Shortly before our departure, he¡¯d emerged with a small satchel, but he carried a shadow with him. Throughout the journey back to Boston, he stayed apart from the others, brooding. Occasionally, he¡¯d peek into the satchel he kept with him at all times, wearing an expression that was hard to read. Fascination mixed with something just short of sadness, like he was wearing the feeling right before sadness as a cloak.
I pondered what to do with him over the days of travel. Zeb was an exceptional warrior, a rare breed of cold-blooded killer, or so his reputation went. But I couldn¡¯t very well take him to the Falling Fields to battle other Griidlords.
He¡¯d been with me so long, I couldn¡¯t remember a time before he was there. I don¡¯t believe he was my bodyguard until I regained the use of my body, but he¡¯d become a fixture. There was some sentimentality. I had no concerns about his ability to find lucrative work¡ªmen like Zeb would always find a purse. Still, I felt I owed him a place in my new life. The contrast from a few days before, when I managed only myself, was strange. My gaze drifted to the wagon carrying Father¡¯s body as I thought that.
The old priest Jacob had a knack for finding me at the worst times. I¡¯d be seeking privacy, and he would appear. Even polite explanations of my intentions wouldn¡¯t dissuade him from talking. When I tried to turn in for the night, rolling over to sleep in the dark outskirts of the camp, the old bastard would appear, sit down, and start talking.
He was not like other priests I knew. He directed no venom or judgment at me. Maybe now that I was Sword, I could expect this from all priests, but Jacob was different in other ways. He lacked their usual haughtiness and sense of superiority. He expected respect for his station, yes, but he spoke to both Griidlord and commoner alike.
And what did he speak of? Fiends. Storms. Entropy. He quizzed me endlessly about the creature that had emerged in the arena. Did it have glands? Did it seem smart? Did it have glands? He asked about glands a lot.
He treated the equipment salvaged from the Hordesmen I¡¯d killed as fondly as another priest might treat a precious relic. He spent countless hours dismantling, inspecting, and staring at the gear. And when he wasn¡¯t looking at it, he was talking about it. Incessantly. I honestly couldn¡¯t tell when he slept, if he slept at all.
I couldn¡¯t discern his age. Space in the Tower was highly valued, and not all priests¡ªnowhere near all¡ªwere given lodgings there. But Jacob lived there, which I gathered indirectly from his references to events he¡¯d witnessed more than 100 years before. The man had been in the Tower a long time, suggesting he held substantial rank. And, to me, a ranking priest was a dangerous political animal. Yet, there seemed to be no guile to this strange old man.
And then there was Chowwick. What could be said about the man? He was loud and boorish. He drank every night to wild excess. He plagued, with pinches, the bottom of any woman foolish enough¡ªor perhaps willing enough¡ªto pass near him. He told outrageously filthy jokes. He recounted tales of battles with an enthusiasm that seemed completely detached from the bodies he¡¯d crippled and the lives he¡¯d ended.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
His roughness seemed at odds with his nobility. The Chowwicks were one of Boston¡¯s founding families. They had been there the day the Tower emerged from the ground, but they were a different sort. When the other old families were building their castles near the city¡¯s heart, the Chowwicks built theirs far from the population. They were of the city but set apart.
Chowwick was impossible not to like. The man welcomed me like a son or a little brother from the start. But, for all that, he deferred to me. It mightn¡¯t have made sense; he was the veteran, the man with decades of experience, yet from the very outset, he embraced the idea that he was the Shield and I was the Sword. He was my protector; I was his leader. It didn¡¯t sit right. It felt awkward and difficult. It made me anxious for the day I would meet the other Griidlords of Boston. Would they, too, treat me as their leader? Among them were warriors who had lived in their suits for decades longer than Chowwick.
Would Magneblade defer to me?
And then there was Dirk. My mind reeled at Dirk.
On the one hand, he was a Burghsman. A Burghsman with a power weapon. A Burghsman with a power weapon who was utterly deferred to by his Burghsman companions. Chowwick hadn¡¯t been hyperbolic when he¡¯d placed the men of Pittsburgh and the men of Minneapolis apart from the rest of the world. This isn¡¯t to say they were necessarily deadlier than the warriors of other lands. The Free Men of Dallas were legendary for both skill and numbers. The armies of isolated Denver were rightly feared. But the wild men of the North and the Hills were distinctly savage and tough. That Dirk was venerated by the others spoke to a prowess that made him desirable to retain.
The North and the Hills shared more than just landscapes; each city was a world unto itself. Epic wars were fought in the valleys between lords within each region, but the men of the North and the men of the Hills were different. Chowwick had said the Northmen liked nothing better than killing fiends and raiding. Killing each other might have been a close third. These tribal peoples united against outside threats, yet within their borders, they seemed to be in constant warfare. These wars were dreadful, wasteful affairs, but they honed the men of those lands and allowed the truly gifted to prove themselves.
I felt that Dirk must have been one of these exceptionally dangerous humans. And as we traveled, he was in my employ. Some base instinct, maybe something inherited from Father, warned me not to let him go. A man like this, a clan of men like this, would be invaluable. A Griidlord was a lord. I was to have lands and would be expected to maintain fighting men to protect those lands¡ªmen the city could call upon in times of need. It wasn¡¯t hard to imagine what a clan of Burghsmen could do as retainers.
But Dirk would not commit.
He spoke openly and often about his dissatisfaction with the world order: Flows expended to pamper the rich while factories went quiet and hospitals ran without power. A world where men fought and died over resources that could be more wisely managed and shared. A history rich in empires that had been forged in blood and dismantled by the sword. Dirk envisioned a united land where brigands would face justice, and the least among us would be treated as well as the most noble. It was hard not to be affected by such thinking.
The nights were difficult. I found myself less troubled by taking men¡¯s lives than I¡¯d imagined. Maybe it was easier because of the cultural divide between us and the Horde, who barely seemed human, more like monsters or boogeymen in the flesh of men. Regardless, those first nights, when I¡¯d close my eyes in search of sleep, it was the cleaved faces and staring severed heads that found me instead.
***
So, it was that I found myself sitting in the wagon as the city of Boston began to peek over the distant horizon. Farms and cottages swept by now, rather than forests and prairies. Chowwick was asleep. He seemed less affected by the pain of his injury, though its long-term consequences were harder to predict.
I stared at the city walls as they grew closer, my heart tense with the decisions yet to come. I would see Baltazar again and finally understand what he had planned for me. The team of Griidlords I was meant to lead awaited. The public that had been so ravenous for me was there. Harold, my Father¡¯s business, Lauren, and Katya¡ªall pressing on my mind.
What I didn¡¯t expect was the sight of the assembly gathered by the gallows.
Book 2: Chapter 22
At first, we went unnoticed. To the common folk milling about the city gates, going about their daily business, we were just another Griidlord train. Such an arrival was enough to draw curious eyes but not so rare as to create a commotion. Traders and craftsmen turned their heads to our convoy, likely wondering what new goods we¡¯d brought. A few merchants with wagons lingered outside the city, hoping to barter their way onto a train headed elsewhere.
Once we exited the Footfield, several hundred yards from the outer structures that grew like weeds around the walls, we began rolling toward the gate at a mortal pace. Two of the ten mounted knights accompanying us peeled off and galloped toward the city, heedless of the peasants in their path, who jumped aside as the horses charged forward.
It didn¡¯t take long for eyes to settle on me, and shouts went up. The people had yet to celebrate their new commoner Sword, and soon a small crowd gathered.
At first, I didn¡¯t enjoy this. I didn¡¯t like the press of people, the way they looked at me as though I were better or greater than them. I didn¡¯t like the strange teary hope that filled some of their eyes, as though my ascension to this rank heralded better times for them, too.
Yet the words, the glances, the outstretched hands, the throng¡ªall gathered for me¡ªstroked my ego. I had never been the most important person in any room; that honor had always belonged to Father. I could see myself coming to enjoy this in time.
Not all the crowd was focused on our convoy, though. A dense throng had gathered by the gallows to the north of the wall. The structure itself was a necessity. There had never been an intentional effort to build a gallows. At some point in the ancient past, the need arose, and a hasty structure was erected from wood. Over the ages, the original structure had been repaired, rotten boards replaced, and storm damage mended. Not one piece of original lumber remained, yet it retained a dilapidated, temporary feel.
The crowd before the gallows jeered with a cruelty only possible in a crowd. A crowd has no soul of its own, no basic decency or compassion that dwells in individuals. The crowd is an empty vessel, awaiting only the emotion of consensus, and that emotion often lacks mercy.
I saw fruit flying through the air, heard the vicious curses. Soldiers stood between the people and the gallows, containing the savage energy of the mob. White-cloaked priests stood on the stage, reveling in the murderous eagerness of the onlookers. I wondered what crime could inspire such rage¡ªwhat rapist or killer awaited their doom.
SIGHT revealed what I should have guessed. So much had happened, and so much was happening, that I had never paused to process the inevitable consequence of Leona¡¯s interference in the arena.
She stood on the platform, dressed in rags, arms bound behind her, the posture of one awaiting judgment. There was no noose around her neck. A priest stood on either side, each one loudly inciting the crowd, fueling their hatred even as soldiers struggled to keep the most frenzied of the people from rushing the platform.
I stood up in the wagon, a cold feeling flooding over me. ¡°No¡¡±
Chowwick looked around, sitting up straighter. He nodded grimly, ¡°Ah, that... Sad, that.¡±
I said, ¡°They¡¯re not going to execute her¡¡±
Chowwick replied, ¡°What else can they do, lad? She broke the rules of the tourney in the most blatant way. She tried to subvert the will of the Oracle. Look how clearly the Oracle chose you, lad. The mad girl tried to alter the Oracle¡¯s will, and now she has to pay the price.¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
I protested, ¡°No, you can¡¯t be so willing to accept that. There must be something we can do.¡±
Chowwick said, ¡°Why would you want to? The girl betrayed you; she sent you to the hospital. Laws are laws.¡±
Dirk trotted over, catching the tail end of our conversation. He said, ¡°They won¡¯t hang her today.¡±
I asked, ¡°How can you know that?¡±
There was a sudden, strange compassion in Dirk¡¯s expression. His eyes were narrowed with a real concern that didn¡¯t fit the hardness of his face. ¡°It¡¯s a rare treat for them. How often do the priests get to put a noble to death for defying the Oracle? They¡¯ll want to play this out. In the endless game of musical chairs between the white cloaks and the fat-assed cats, the whites won¡¯t waste a chance to remind them that this is their power, their right. They¡¯ve probably been bringing her out here every day and showing her off. Don¡¯t yinz worry; the day they put the rope around her neck, there¡¯ll be a bigger crowd than this. The whole city will be here to watch.¡±
SIGHT showed me Leona¡¯s face. I had expected to see tears, maybe fear. What I saw instead was something close to death. There was no emotion, no flicker, just eyes that barely seemed to see. Perhaps she had wept and sobbed the first day they brought her out before the crowd. But now, only numbness remained.
Dirk glanced at me. ¡°Yinz the Sword. Maybe there¡¯s somethin¡¯ yinz can do.¡±
Chowwick said, ¡°Why would he want to? The girl¡¯s a traitor and a heretic. There¡¯s no other fate for her.¡±
I made to drop from the cart, my eyes fixed on the crowd, hand brushing the hilt of my sword. Dirk reached out to stop me. Despite his irreverence, his eyes held a mild concern, perhaps fearing he¡¯d overstepped in touching a Griidlord.
I looked down at him but said nothing.
He advised, ¡°Not like this. If yinz want to do somethin¡¯ about it, don¡¯t go confrontin¡¯ the priests in front of a crowd. Yinz know what they¡¯re like. If they feel embarrassed or humiliated, they¡¯ll fight twice as hard to get the knot around her. Take care of it in the Tower, not out here.¡±
I nodded slowly, disgusted at leaving her there, pelted with rotting fruit and vile curses, but knowing Dirk was right. I sat back down and turned my head from the sight.
Chowwick couldn¡¯t let go of his incredulity. ¡°But why, lad? Why would you want to? You haven¡¯t answered me.¡±
I said, ¡°It just doesn¡¯t seem right¡ I know she turned on me; I know she broke the law. But why did she do it? She was in line to win a Flow for her house if she was part of the winning team. You have to wonder, what pressure was on her? She looked down her nose at me, but I doubt she was so offended by a commoner winning the Sword that she¡¯d give up her life to stop me. She had to know what she was doing. The replays made it pretty damn clear she knew she¡¯d just killed herself. So, why? There must have been some pressure¡ªsomeone must have driven her to it. The moment she put her arms around me and held me for Theo, that was the moment she threw her life away.¡±
Chowwick nodded slowly, speaking carefully, with consideration. ¡°But she still did it, lad. If you kill a man or rape a lass, there¡¯s no changing the nature of the crime.¡±
A solemn moment hung over us. We didn¡¯t speak. I think our words had reached each other. I wrestled with the possibility that this was simply just punishment for a crime¡ªa crime committed against me. Chowwick seemed to weigh my words as well.
I wanted to say more, but the crowd that had loosely followed our slowing wagons began to part. People, many reluctantly, moved back from the wagons. Soldiers marched up: Tower guards and two knights. Behind them, I could see the flowing white robes of priests and the fine silks of nobles.
Among them, I saw Baltazar. There was no way he could have traveled from the Tower so quickly; he must have been waiting. Had some word arrived before us to warn of our approach? Perhaps a spotter had seen the Footfield from a distance, and Baltazar and the nobles had gathered on the chance that it was my train. I realized it would take some adjustment to understand just how important I had become.
I glanced at Chowwick¡¯s legs and then back to the stern expression of Baltazar as he approached. I swallowed hard, wondering how Baltazar would react.
But I needed to grasp the role I had stepped into. He was Lord Supreme, but I was the Sword of Boston. I needed to remind myself, as often as necessary, that he was not my master. I was Sword. I was a Griidlord. I had no master.
Book 2: Chapter 23
The procession had begun with an air of solemnity and respect. At first, the nobles and priests approached me with a dignified sense of celebration. Soldiers flanked the group, pushing back the unwashed masses that had gathered first. Baltazar managed to muster a faint but surprisingly warm smile as he met my gaze, his face creaking open like rusty iron hinges. Despite his typical sternness, he¡¯d summoned a warmth that genuinely touched me. I felt honored.
Then someone noticed Chowwick¡¯s legs.
A high, shrill scream erupted¡ªfrom the throat of the priest who spotted the chains winding in and out of Chowwick¡¯s legs. Pandemonium ensued. White cloaks and nobles surged forward, now heedless of touching the crowding peasants. A stout lord shoved a stooped, pregnant woman aside, and a priest awkwardly kicked at a pair of children standing in his way. White cloaks scrambled up the wagon, clawing over the sides with no trace of decorum.
Watching the display, I felt an intense self-consciousness. Priests bent over Chowwick¡¯s wounds, nobles fussed over each other in dismay. Chowwick¡¯s injury had been sustained on my personal mission, and I felt as if every eye would soon turn toward me.
Despite myself, I tried to ease off the far end of the wagon. My injured calf protested as I started to back away. I knew how ridiculous it was to attempt blending in¡ªmy armor gleamed, and I was one of the most recognizable figures in the land. Yet I moved back, step by step, unnoticed by the nobles and commoners alike, who were all engrossed in the commotion.
Just as I took one more step back, I felt a warm but firm hand on my back. I turned to find Baltazar standing behind me. His smile had vanished, replaced by his usual stern expression.
He said, ¡°You¡¯ve returned, Lord Bloodsword.¡±
¡°Yeah¡ I can explain,¡± I replied.
Baltazar nodded slowly. ¡°That would be most beneficial, Lord Bloodsword. A debriefing seems appropriate.¡±
¡°Yes, of course¡ That¡¯s¡ that¡¯s a good idea.¡±
¡°But I wouldn¡¯t want to keep you, Lord Bloodsword. You seemed to have business to attend to before I so rudely interrupted.¡±
¡°I was just going to the Tower, for a debriefing.¡±
¡°But I am here.¡±
¡°Yeah!¡± I said, a little too emphatically. Lowering my voice, I added, ¡°I mean, I assumed you¡¯d be going back to the Tower¡¡±
¡°Walk with me, then.¡±
He snapped his fingers, and a square of knights and soldiers formed around us, creating a buffer between us and prying ears. As Baltazar began walking, I fell into step beside him, cheeks blazing beneath my helmet.
Baltazar¡¯s tone softened slightly. ¡°I understand you found your father.¡±
¡°Yeah. It¡¯s what I should have expected. It¡¯s what I was expecting. I¡ I¡¯m sorry I took resources away to retrieve a dead body¡¡±
¡°You did what a good son would do,¡± he replied. ¡°You gave him every chance. In another world, you found him alive at the last moment and saved his life. It¡¯s not the outcome that determines if a decision was sound; it¡¯s the logic that founded it. I have no regrets about assigning resources to you.¡±
I couldn¡¯t help the tremor in my voice. ¡°But Chowwick¡¡±
¡°That was not a foreseeable part of the logic that preceded the decision. I assume you didn¡¯t send Lord Chowwick into a situation where that was a foreseeable outcome?¡±Stolen novel; please report.
¡°No. He was traveling of his own accord.¡±
Baltazar nodded. ¡°An injury like that is among the rarest of events. I don¡¯t understand it myself¡ªGriidlords careening across the continent at a hundred miles an hour. One would expect accidents like that to be constant and inevitable. What has befallen Lord Chowwick is a rare and unpredictable outcome.¡±
Relief swelled within me at his understanding. What had happened to Chowwick had been on my behalf. His injury would cost the city and complicate Baltazar¡¯s life, and I felt an inexpressible gratitude rising within me.
I said, ¡°Will he¡ be okay?¡±
Baltazar didn¡¯t respond immediately. As we continued walking, he finally said, ¡°You¡¯d be surprised what kind of damage can be repaired in the Tower. The suit will heal in his pod, and he will heal with it. Outside of amputation or death, there is little a Griidlord cannot recover from.¡±
¡°But the chains are¡ they¡¯re inside his legs,¡± I said.
Baltazar nodded, a slight frown bending his brows inward. ¡°Yes. It¡¯s an unusual injury. I can¡¯t rule out that we may need another Choosing. But it¡¯s not something I can control. The priests will have information on it soon enough. Once they have him in the pod, they¡¯ll be able to give a prognosis.¡±
We walked in silence for a while. I was retracing a path I¡¯d walked many times before, but always as a mortal. The last time I¡¯d walked this path, I¡¯d been filled with uncertainty. I¡¯d had confidence, yes, but I¡¯d also feared the outcome of the Choosing.
Now, reality had been rewritten. I was Griidlord¡ªthe Sword of Boston. I had achieved everything laid out before me. I would have the ecstasy of the suit from now until the day I died.
Baltazar spoke again, ¡°I know you need to bury your father, Tiberius.¡±
I noticed the absence of ¡°Lord Bloodsword.¡±
He continued, ¡°Time is short, though. You¡¯ll have the duties of a Griidlord, and you¡¯ll need to run trains. Without Lord Chowwick, there¡¯ll be a greater load on you and the others. More importantly, we must send you into combat. What level are you?¡±
¡°I got to level 10 while I was away,¡± I replied.
It might have seemed impossible, but Baltazar¡¯s face showed stunned surprise. It took him a moment to speak. ¡°Level 10¡ In the suit a wet week, and already level 10¡ Still, we need you higher. The Falling season is weeks away, and this will be our first chance to prove our mettle. The city needs Flows. More importantly, I need Flows. I backed you, Tiberius, and you¡¯ve proven me right so far. I face re-election in another two years. If we can finally make the city rich in Flows, re-election will be easy. More importantly, it will open the door for our wider plans.¡±
I barely registered that he spoke of his plans as our plans. It caught my ear, but I was already enamored with this man. He¡¯d supported me through the Choosing, even when my chances seemed next to nothing. He had backed my desire to seek out my father, forgiven me easily for the harm done to poor Chowwick. And, silly as it may sound, maybe I was transferring to him the needs I¡¯d once had from my father.
Needs that were never met. Father was gone. I was a free man. But I had been raised on a diet of approval¡ªor, more accurately, the lack of it.
I said, ¡°What are our plans, exactly¡ to make Boston rich?¡±
Baltazar thinned his lips. It might have been another attempt at a smile.
He said, ¡°No, Tiberius. Not just that. First, we must make you strong. Then, yes, we will gather Flows. We will gather so many Flows that we can build a stockpile. We will rebuild the city on the promise of these Flows, make it a true wonder of the world, like Pittsburgh of old. Our people will be happy, and our powers will be vast.¡±
He had taken on a strange intensity¡ªnot intense by any other standard, but, relative to his usual flatness, there was a zeal in his voice, in his eyes. I could see, feel, and hear the hunger there.
Baltazar looked at me. I felt a strange pressure to show him my face. I willed the helm to fold away, and he looked into my eyes, never breaking stride as we climbed the shallow incline toward the Tower.
¡°These things are our most basic requirement,¡± he said. ¡°They are our duty. The city requires this of us, and we owe her nothing else. It is what we have sworn to. But beyond that¡ there is more¡¡±
He paused, seeming to weigh his words. For all the connection I felt with this man, we barely knew each other. How many words had we even shared? And yet, I felt he was about to share something vital and secret with me. I felt honored to be so suddenly pulled in, so suddenly trusted.
¡°When all of that is done,¡± he continued, ¡°when you¡¯ve reached your levels and we¡¯ve fed the hunger of the city¡ then, Tiberius, we will change the world.¡±
Chapter 24
"The girl has to die."
I sat across from Baltazar, the hulking expanse of his desk stretching between us, separating us. Sitting in my beautifully carved chair, with its perfectly cushioned seat, should have felt strange or uncomfortable in the suit. But it felt almost no different than it had the last time I¡¯d been in this office, high in the Tower.
I couldn¡¯t contain my shock. ¡°But it¡¯s¡ I can¡¯t¡¡±
I gathered myself, trying to collect my thoughts. By law, she had committed a crime punishable by death. She had violated the rules of the tourney and attempted to subvert the will of the Oracle. But I couldn¡¯t stand by. I could still remember how dead she had seemed in the moments after her betrayal, the life gone from her eyes. From the moment she had put her hands on me, she had given up her right to life.
Baltazar continued to gaze blankly at me. I took a deep breath. ¡°Lord Baltazar, what happened in the arena that day was bigger than Leona. She didn¡¯t act on her own. There¡¯s no logical reason she¡¯d try to undo me like that. We were winning; I had every advantage over Lance and Gideon. She was on my team. She was going to win a Flow for her house. And she attempted to undo that.¡±
Baltazar said, ¡°I don¡¯t doubt there were influences on her, but what she did¡ her fate is sealed.¡±
¡°Think about it, please. What influence could weigh more heavily on her than the prize of that Flow?¡±
¡°I have thought about it, Tiberius. I¡¯ve thought long and hard. The execution of a member of one of our noble houses doesn¡¯t sit easily with me. But this is one outcome over which I have no influence.¡±
¡°You¡¯re Lord Supreme!¡± I pressed.
He nodded slowly, patiently, his expression unreadable as ever. ¡°And this was not a violation of secular law. The Choosing is a rite, and the judgment here lies with the priesthood. I have no power to intervene.¡±
I felt frustration building, penetrating my tone. ¡°But the Choosing is arbitrary! Some cities don¡¯t have one. Cities have changed the way they Choose.¡±
¡°Yes,¡± he replied. ¡°The manner of the Choosing is dictated by the people, or their representatives. But once a Choosing begins, it initiates a rite that invites the Oracle to judge. From the moment you stepped into the arena, you were part of that rite. From the moment Leona stepped into the arena, she was part of that rite. And that means understanding that you are governed by the rules of that rite.¡±
I rose in my seat. ¡°There must be something you can do. Even if not officially, there must be some pressure you can exert. Hell, I¡¯m Sword now. There must be some pressure I can exert.¡±
That was enough to trigger the faintest hint of alarm in his expression. He said, ¡°Tread lightly, Tiberius. Yes, your position comes with power and influence, but you need to take time, learn the limits and costs of exerting that power.¡±
¡°I have money,¡± I said quietly.
Baltazar¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°No. You are pure in the eyes of the people. There has never been a Sword more unimpeachable in their eyes. They saw how the deck was stacked against you, and they saw you succeed despite that. They see you as one of their own, as absurd as that may seem considering your fortune.¡±
I felt such frustration. I was god. I had such power. With more volume and anger than I intended, I said, ¡°I can stop them. I can cut her free; no one could stop me."
Baltazar shook his head. ¡°Tiberius, you know better than that. To act against the priesthood like that would be the same kind of suicidal madness that put Leona where she is. Violate the compact with the priests, and they withdraw their services from you. They won¡¯t heal your suit. You would be a renegade. You don¡¯t mean that. You¡¯re smarter than that.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
My hands gripped the armrests of the chair. I stopped squeezing when I felt the finely carved wood groan under the power of my grip.
Baltazar said, ¡°Tiberius, why do you care so much? The girl tried to take the suit from you. She betrayed you.¡±
I said, ¡°She wasn¡¯t acting of her own volition. Leona was a bitch to me, like the others. She mocked and scorned me like they did. I have no special affection for her. I just can¡¯t stand by and see her punished when she was so clearly sent there to do what she did. It wasn¡¯t her choice, and¡¡±
As my words trailed off, Baltazar spoke gently. ¡°You don¡¯t want her to die because of your involvement in the crime. She is being punished because she betrayed you, and that makes you feel responsible for this in some way.¡±
I felt the breath come into me as he expressed his insight. I was shocked. This was exactly how I felt, though I wouldn¡¯t even have been able to identify it myself.
He said, ¡°That¡¯s stupid.¡±
¡°I know.¡±
There was silence in the room then. We sat there, bathed in the light shining through the window that looked out over the entire city. It was just us, sitting without words, surrounded by art and comfort.
Baltazar said, ¡°I can¡¯t undo her sentence. But I may be able to stay it for a time. That¡¯s the best I can do.¡±
I was overwhelmed. ¡°You¡ you would do that?¡±
He said, ¡°A stay on the execution may allow time for further evidence to come to light. I doubt anything could be sufficient to negate her responsibility in such a heretical act, but it would give her time.¡±
I started, ¡°Thank y¡ª¡±
His hand flashed up, palm toward me, silencing me. His hand was not that of a pampered noble or politician. This hand was strong, rough, bearing the calluses of a life spent holding a weapon.
He said, ¡°This is where you will start to learn the lessons of the costs of influence. I can do this for you, but it will cost me. I would be doing this for you, Tiberius. Would you ask this of me without being willing to repay me for the capital this costs me?¡±
¡°No¡¡± I said, but I felt myself growing weary. This man had elevated himself to the most powerful political station in the land. He would be an expert in the art of amassing favors. I wondered, not without trepidation, what favor he might ask of me.
Abruptly, he stood. ¡°Walk with me, Tiberius. I want to show you something.¡±
He walked around the desk toward the door that led to the hallway. I rose and followed him. The door slid open as he approached, and the two knights who stood outside the door fell into step behind us as we walked. They were his protectors, trained to his ways. They walked behind us, close enough to be a presence on his behalf, but far enough back to afford privacy.
Baltazar spoke low as we walked. ¡°A great man needs a cause. You¡¯re not the sort of man who could pass the years without a goal to work toward. You wanted the suit, and you won it. Now that it¡¯s yours, can you imagine yourself being content with what comes next? A century of running Griid-trains, fighting every year for more and more Flows, drinking to pass the boredom of eternity, bedding woman after woman for no other reason than needing something to do.¡±
His words struck me. They pierced the reservation that had been growing in me. After the madness of the tourney and the difficulty of Father¡¯s passing, I shouldn¡¯t have felt such an urgent need to look toward something else. I should have been content with the idea of banqueting. I was well aware of how attractive I would be to women now, and the thought set a base part of me racing. But even then, the idea of sex without attachment echoed hollowly. He was speaking to a part of me I was only just discovering. The truth was that a dread had started to grow in me. I could feel my excitement for the coming Falling, for the chance to win Flows. But looking beyond that, I had a trepidation about how that excitement could fade after repeating the cycle five times, or twenty, or a hundred.
We entered the elevator, and Baltazar operated the controls. We began to descend rapidly.
Baltazar said, ¡°I believe you can be great, Tiberius. Already level 10, and showing a rare affinity for the suit. Together, we can bring many Flows to the city and usher in a time of plenty. But helping more tractors to work more fields or more refrigerators to chill more drinks won¡¯t give you a place in history. You want a place in history, Tiberius. I¡¯ve seen that in you from the start.¡±
I wanted to laugh. At the start, at our first meeting, I had been a frightened mouse. I was still only beginning to shed that skin. And yet, I felt his words pulling at something in me.
Baltazar said, ¡°I told you I want us to change the world together. Now, I want to show you how.¡±
Book 2: Chapter 25
The elevator plummeted for a long time. Being part of the Tower, it was powered by the old technologies, making it fast. I became aware that the descent was taking much longer than the original ascent from the entrance hall. We were going below the ground floor of the Tower.
The doors opened into a cavernous space. Beyond the sliding doors lay an immense room, its walls the same smooth perfection as the rest of the Tower, with lighting that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
My breath caught as I looked upon the space and the object lying at the center of the vast room. This was a hallowed place¡ªa secret place. At first, I felt as though I shouldn¡¯t be here, as though Baltazar was showing me something my eyes were not meant to behold. It took a moment for me to remember: I was the Sword of Boston. I had every right to be here, every bit as much as he did.
This was the home of The Eagle. Boston¡¯s Talisman.
Many Towers possessed one treasure like this. The North Tower of New York held the Behemoth, a titanic tank with an immense gun. Boston had The Eagle, a flying machine.
In a world where Order was limited, flying machines were nearly useless. They existed, but it was perilous to try flying a helicopter through areas designated high Order by a Tower, because any failure in the path¡ªor straying outside of it¡ªwould turn the helicopter into an expensive stone.
Talismans were special. They could operate outside of Order fields, just as the Griid-suits could. But they were different from Griid-suits. When a Griidlord died, no matter where it happened, their suit would be reborn in their Tower, waiting for the next wearer. The mystorium in the dead suit could be reclaimed and used by the conqueror, but the suit itself was not captured. When the Griidlord died, the suit became a husk.
Talismans were said to be able to heal themselves, given time. But if captured or destroyed, they did not return to their Tower. Their capture only benefitted the conqueror by depriving the conquered. A Talisman could only be operated by a Griidlord of the same Tower as the Talisman. They were powerful weapons, unique tools, but they were precious and vulnerable, and their use needed to be managed with great care.
A childhood spent wasting away in a bed had afforded me time with books that gave me such snippets of understanding.
Baltazar said, "Do you know what that is?"
I nodded slowly. The Eagle seemed almost too large to fly. It looked to be the length of several wagons, with the width to match. It was sleek yet bulky, smooth but punctuated by angles and protrusions, painted in the same blues, reds, and whites as my Griidsuit. Its engines resembled the pollen pouches of a bee. I saw no weaponry on it.
Baltazar started descending the steps to the deck where the machine rested. The knights who had accompanied us remained by the elevator doors.
As we approached, my chest swelling with awe, there was movement. An armored figure appeared around the side of the machine, and I twitched at the sudden sight.
It was Magneblade.
Baltazar said, "I want to show you some things. Come."
I was speechless. Magneblade moved ahead, touching the vessel''s wall. There was no control pad, but his touch seemed to communicate with the machine, and a ramp folded down. Magneblade entered first, radiating a quiet, steady aggression. There was a tension about him that never seemed to ease.
I followed Baltazar into The Eagle. Inside, the space was continuous. Two pilot seats were at the front with no apparent control panels. Behind them, where we stood, was one large room lined with seats, with loops and hooks set all over the ceiling.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Without a word, Magneblade took one of the pilot seats. Baltazar walked to stand behind him, gripping the seat''s back. The ramp slid up at an unspoken command, and I felt faint vibrations as the machine came to life.
My heart raced with excitement. The Eagle was legendary, and I had never seen it in the air. I always believed it was real, but now, feeling it move beneath me, I could barely contain my amazement.
Baltazar was casual. Perhaps it was just his usual stoic manner, but he seemed accustomed to being here. The vessel lifted, and I gripped the back of the vacant seat, fear and excitement mingling in me.
In a moment, we were moving forward¡ªfar faster than I thought wise in such a contained space. The room revealed itself as a longer corridor than I¡¯d expected. Suddenly, there was movement in front and above us¡ªa widening iris of sunlight. The vessel rose, spearing toward the opening. I clenched my teeth as we neared it. Why wasn¡¯t Magneblade waiting for it to open fully? This seemed reckless. Baltazar, however, remained serene.
As we rose through the still-widening opening, Baltazar said, "You will need to learn to operate her as well. All the Griidlords must be able to fly The Eagle."
I just nodded, teeth still clenched.
We emerged into the sunlight. I couldn¡¯t determine exactly where we exited, but from the view, it felt like we were near the base of the Tower. I gasped as the city spread out below, and we climbed higher and higher. It was a mix of terror and exhilaration as we rose even higher than Baltazar¡¯s office.
Baltazar said, "I want to show you something."
He tapped Magneblade¡¯s shoulder and gestured. I felt The Eagle turning, tilting in a new direction, still accelerating.
As we moved, Baltazar spoke, entirely unconcerned by the way we defied the laws of physics. I remained acutely aware of the potential for gravity to reassert itself.
"Boston has been governed by the same rules since her founding 640 years ago," he said. "Think about it, Tiberius¡ªrules laid out by people who were little more than savages have governed us ever since. Other cities have changed and adapted, but ours has stubbornly clung to old traditions. Everything we do, from our government to our Choosing, is archaic. We¡¯re little better than the wild men of the Pittsburgh hills. We dress our society up, but we¡¯re still a relic."
I was startled. This was not the kind of talk I had expected from the solemn Lord Supreme.
The city disappeared beneath us as we swept out across the fields.
Baltazar said, ¡°And why? Why haven¡¯t we changed as other cities have? Why haven¡¯t we made the small adjustments and the big ones? We flounder, Tiberius. We never have enough Flows; we wallow among the lowest of the powers in the land. I¡¯ll tell you why.¡±
His voice was taking on an intensity uncharacteristic of him. Below us, the pastures faded into wheat fields.
¡°The lords of our land enjoy their privilege; they hold themselves apart from the people. They fear change. The very changes that might improve their lives, and the lives of the common people, are mistrusted by the nobles. They fear that one change may lead to another and that their positions of privilege might fade if given the chance.¡±
I stammered, ¡°But you... You¡¯re a lord.¡±
Baltazar sniggered lowly. ¡°House Baltazar is nothing. There has never been prestige or respect attached to my house. Not that it matters. You¡¯re a noble now as well, Tiberius. But I think we can hold ourselves apart. I don¡¯t think either of us is overly burdened with the status that enthralls the others so.¡±
He pointed down to the wheat fields stretching beneath us. ¡°There is the bread that is meant to feed our city. It seems so vast, but we will be buying grain again this year, as we do every year. We will make other cities grow fat as we spend wealth we simply don¡¯t have. There¡ªdo you see the difference, the change in color?¡±
I could see what he meant. The fields ran like liquid gold¡ªto a point. Beyond that point, the gold became patchy and discolored.
Baltazar said, ¡°This is the land of Lord Ironveil. The idiot does the same thing every year: he plants big, hoping, assuming we will win more Flows and that there will be machines to help him tend the fields. And, as with every year, the Falling went poorly. He spent the hours of many men planting these fields, but now he must discard vast acres. Without the Flows he dreamed of, there will be few machines to tend these fields. It¡¯s mostly human muscle that fertilizes and weeds here. Those mottled acres you see spreading out have been abandoned. It¡¯s not the first time he has wasted resources like this. And, if we don¡¯t take action, it won¡¯t be the last.¡±
I looked down on the seeming eternity of wasted land. The gold here was interspersed with darker, muddy greens where the wheat had been outcompeted by wild plants.
Baltazar turned to me. He looked into my eyes. His expression was as steely and unyielding as ever, but his eyes burned with an intensity that shocked me.
Book 2: Chapter 26
¡°Boston exists in its own little corner of the world. We are so far from the rest of the cities, so removed from the events that have shaped history since the Fall. Boston has never been truly conquered; she has never been truly desired. This distance has allowed us to stagnate. Change was never forced upon us, by conqueror or necessity. The time has come for change.¡±
Baltazar stepped forward to peer through the glass as The Eagle pitched and turned.
¡°There is no control here. No single will. Ironveil squanders his resources¡ªand those of our city. There is nothing I, or anyone, can do to rein the bastard in.¡±
He turned to me, eyes sharp. ¡°You traveled to Dodge in a Griid-train. Outside of the rarest of circumstances, only another Griidlord will bother a Griid-train. But many merchants travel the land without the protection of a Griid-train, without a Griidlord. Have you any idea how harrowing it is to ride the wilds without them? The bandits, the fiends, the hostile settlements of savages¡ Tiberius, it¡¯s madness. Every city sends armies and Griidlords forth for the Falling, men savage each other and die by the thousands to gain Flows. We¡¯re all one people, the inheritors of the race that was American. Why do we do this?¡±
I had no answer, though I searched for one.
¡°It would have been a better world if the Empire of the Angels had taken the world and ended this endless war. The world needs unity. There is a world out there, Tiberius, a possible world, where the cities are united. Imagine a world where the Falling is a simple exercise of harvesting, where farmers and fabricators know what resources they have instead of being compelled to guess and gamble. Imagine a world where a higher power puts Order to use to help the common man, to make things, to heal things, instead of fueling the decadence we now submit to.¡±
A quarry came into view beneath us.
¡°There¡¯s palladium in there, Tiberius. Palladium that could be used to forge Mystorium. But the machines lie idle. We can¡¯t spare the Flows. We waste Flows on The Choosing, squander the inner sector of the city on bars and restaurants and vidscreens, but we can¡¯t mine, we can¡¯t farm. Does that make sense to you?¡±
I shook my head slowly. I couldn¡¯t argue with him, yet a deep trepidation rose within me at his line of thinking. This felt dangerous. I glanced at the back of Magneblade¡¯s head. Was he part of this? It seemed impossible to imagine Magneblade¡¯s thoughts extending beyond his desire for the next chance to commit violence.
The Eagle turned again, and more ruined farmland passed beneath us. We traveled in silence for a time, passing over still and lifeless factories from the old times.
Boston appeared before us again as we soared. I found myself caught in wondering what Baltazar wanted from me. I couldn¡¯t fully grasp his intention. I could see he was at odds with the world order as it existed, but his ultimate goal eluded me. It was clear, however, that he had a plan, and that realization alone troubled me. It frightened me.
He seemed to sense my turmoil, noting my stillness, but he showed neither surprise nor concern.
¡°You didn¡¯t come up here expecting this,¡± he said. ¡°I understand. It¡¯s a lot. You¡¯ve just won the suit; your sights are set, if on anything, on burying your father, recovering from your ordeals, winning Flows¡ªand rightly so. What I speak of here is something I can¡¯t force on you. It¡¯s something I need you to want as I do.¡±
I said, "I don¡¯t understand exactly what it is you want to do. I don¡¯t understand why I need to be part of it.¡±
Baltazar replied, ¡°The first thing I want¡ªneed¡ªto do is win Flows for the city. I need those Flows to secure a future term for myself as Lord Supreme. More than that, I need them to enact my larger plan. My larger plan is simple, Tiberius. I want to unite the land.¡±
I blinked, hard. That was a lofty goal for the leader of one of the poorest cities in the land.
His eyes burned in that impassive face. ¡°I have a dream, a vision. I have a premonition. I know this is something I can and should do.¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
He placed a hand on my shoulder. ¡°Fear not, Tiberius. As I said, I won¡¯t force you into this; I can¡¯t. I know how radical this sounds. I know how much of what I¡¯ve said might sound like subversion. But I want to improve the lot of everyone by doing away with the chaos we all live with. It starts here, in Boston. I backed you. If you can be the savior I promised in the council, if you can finally right the ship through victories in the Falling, then that will set me on the path.¡±
I stammered, ¡°I¡¯m only a level 10.¡±
Magneblade jerked his head to look at me as I said that. The sinister visor fixed on me for a long moment. Two words escaped him: ¡°Already? Fuck.¡±
Baltazar said, ¡°Level 10 is remarkable, but I need you to claw every level you can before the Falling. I¡¯ve never heard of anyone growing as fast as you have. But we need to harness all that growth, all that potential. That means fighting, Tiberius. For now, that¡¯s all I ask of you.¡±
The Eagle dipped suddenly, pointing down towards the mess of buildings that made up the city. My stomach lurched and my heart pounded. I tried to seem calm even as my armored fingers dug into the seat.
I said, ¡°Then what was the point of all this? The tour? Your plans¡ªvague as they are.¡±
Baltazar raised an eyebrow at my tone, noting the strain in my voice.
¡°You brought me up here because you wanted to show me something, because I¡¯d need to owe you for staying Leona¡¯s execution. We¡¯ve flown over what feels like half the territory, and I still don¡¯t know what you want me to do.¡±
The Eagle dove hard. At the last moment, I saw a tunnel opening, a metal door irising in a section of the Tower garden. One moment, we were plummeting to our deaths in full sunlight; the next, we¡¯d suddenly decelerated in the dimness of the subterranean hangar.
Baltazar said, ¡°Tiberius, all I ask is for you to do your duty. You have a month until the Falling, and I need you to gain as many levels as you can. There will be much work in the Griid-trains without Lord Chowwick. I need you to find every opportunity to fight.¡±
I said, ¡°And who do I fight?¡±
¡°I¡¯ll send you reports of fiends, reports of bandits and outlaws. We¡¯ll give you routes for your trains that will bring you close to action. You won¡¯t have a chaperone, which isn¡¯t ideal. But, with Lord Chowwick down, we can¡¯t spare any Griidlords. You¡¯ll fight and level up as fast as you can. Level 20 would be critical¡ªit¡¯s enough to make you a factor in the field, and you¡¯ll gain another skill. Make that your goal.¡±
I blew out a breath. ¡°That¡¯s not much of a goal.¡±
Baltazar said, ¡°No Griidlord has ever entered the Falling at level 20 their first time.¡±
I couldn¡¯t find the words to explain how meaningless it felt. ¡°Still, I don¡¯t see the point of this exercise. You still haven¡¯t told me what you expect in return for helping Leona.¡±
The Eagle touched down. It seemed capable of transitioning from vertical to horizontal flight at will, achieving incredible speeds. I was truly dazzled. Later, I would reflect on the experience and appreciate the wonder of flying, but at that moment, I was all too absorbed in Baltazar and the demands his vision placed on me.
Baltazar said, ¡°You can repay me by thinking on what I said. That is all. I hope for us to work side by side for a long time. I don¡¯t ever want you to feel compelled by me. We can do amazing things together, Tiberius, but I want us to achieve these things as partners. I want you to take ownership of what we build. I keep telling you that it won¡¯t be forced upon you.¡±
I said, ¡°So¡ you just want me to think about it, and then we¡¯re square?¡±
Baltazar nodded slightly. ¡°Just reflect on it. Think about the good we could do in the world by changing the order of things. Think about the good we could do in Boston by breaking the chains of tradition that hold the city down. Think about the good that could be done by breaking down the walls that keep the territories apart and disparate.¡±
Then, almost as though it were an afterthought, he added, ¡°What about your man, Zeb?¡±
¡°Zeb?¡±
¡°Yes, he was your bodyguard, but I imagine that role is defunct now¡¡±
¡°Well, yeah. I¡¯ve been trying to figure out what to do with him.¡±
¡°Give him to me for a while, while you¡¯re not using him.¡±
It felt strange, like trading a person. It felt dehumanizing to the man who had guarded me. But I felt beholden. I nodded.
Baltazar said, ¡°Very good. Don¡¯t send him to me; just tell him to await communication.¡±
As I descended the ramp of The Eagle, I felt a strange unease. More than ever, I felt a duty to this man. He had helped me and asked so little in return, so many times. As much as he insisted that I owed him nothing, I felt the opposite¡ªa growing, unshakeable sense of obligation. But that wasn¡¯t what truly troubled me.
What truly troubled me was the sense that I was being pulled into something deeper, like a sinking ship being drawn to the bottom of the sea.
Book 2: Chapter 27
It was something like a man-sized egg, gleaming and brilliantly white, with a third of the egg removed to allow space for a body to enter. The interior was filled with mist, a bright, pulsing white fog, dense and vibrant, almost reminiscent of the Mystorium as it had flowed to me so many times in the arena.
As I stepped backward into the pod and sat down, I could barely see my hand through the haze. The density of it felt unnatural. I was seated, yet it seemed as if gentle forces¡ªnot mere cushions¡ªheld me in place. It was warm and comforting inside, calm and strangely wholesome. Almost immediately, the pain in my calf began to ebb away.
The room contained five pods, all positioned to face a vast, floor-to-ceiling wall of glass, revealing our city and the vast territory beyond. This was higher than even Baltazar¡¯s office. This space, and others on this floor, were for the Griidlords alone, alongside the priests who tended to us.
Not far above lay the Oracle¡¯s chamber.
The pods formed a semicircle, staggered back from one another so that each Griidlord could see the view through the massive window, while also maintaining a clear sightline to one another. My pod was conspicuously centered in the arc. To my left rested the room''s only other occupant¡ªChowwick.
He had been asleep when I entered with the priests, who had guided me softly to my seat and remained tight-lipped about his condition.
Now I sat alone, the pod¡¯s energies working on both my flesh and armor. Well, almost alone¡
The voice nattered in my ear, insisting I keep my head up. ¡°Tomorrow! Tomorrow we¡¯ll find something to kill. We might have forever to level you up, but I can¡¯t wait forever.¡±
I thought back to it, So, we can finally get on with your nebulous and mysterious plans?
¡°Yes! Of course! Oh, such nebulous plans!¡± it replied.
I exhaled heavily, feeling my chest deflate. I¡¯m being pulled in so many directions, I thought to it. You have your plan to be set free; Baltazar wants to do something that sounds like rewriting society and¡ maybe, conquering the world? I have my father¡¯s¡ªno, my¡ªbusiness to attend to. I need to figure out what to do with Harold, the house¡
¡°Oh, those are little things, kiddo. You know what doesn¡¯t hurt any of them?¡±
I started to think, Leveli¨C
¡°LEVELLING!¡± the voice boomed over my own thoughts. ¡°You need to level. And don¡¯t worry about ol¡¯ Baltie. I think the man might have high ambitions, but his heart¡¯s in the wrong place. You could do worse than considering what he said.¡±
What would you know about it? I thought.
¡°Me? What would I know?¡± it replied. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know¡ maybe the fact that I¡¯ve existed for countless generations and hold the compiled wisdom of the ages!¡±
That¡¯s your response to everything.
We paused. Only the sound of Chowwick¡¯s snoring and the hum of the Tower¡¯s ventilation filled the silence.
After some time, I thought, Voice?
¡°Yes, kiddo?¡± It was playing sweet, trying to sound intimate and friendly.
What do I call you?
¡°You call me Voice.¡±
But that¡¯s not your name. That¡¯s a ridiculous thing to call someone. What¡¯s your name?
The voice hesitated. When it finally spoke, there was an unexpected note of vulnerability. ¡°I don¡¯t share my name. I can¡¯t lie, so I can¡¯t give you a false name. There¡¯s¡ some power in knowing it. I¡¯d like to tell you.¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!
"Then do."
"I¡¯ve never¡ it¡¯s been so long."
We were interrupted by a sudden shuffling and rustling as the doors to the chamber slid open.
"Jacob?" I exclaimed, sitting forward.
The voice muttered, Oh, not this dithering old fool again.
Jacob looked up, momentarily confused as to why anyone would be saying his name. With a furrowed brow, he continued shuffling toward me, his arms filled with barely rolled sheets of parchment.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
His head trembled slightly as he walked, wobbling in a barely controlled tremor. "You need to level," he said.
I nodded slowly. "And you¡¯re going to help me?"
Jacob¡¯s head snapped back, and he regarded me with a somewhat disoriented look, dropping several of the sheets so he could unroll one in particular.
The voice added, He''s your chaplain.
¡°My chaplain?¡± I burst out loud, unable to conceal my dismay.
¡°Yes¡¡± Jacob said, his eyebrows dancing with puzzlement. ¡°Oh my, oh dear boy, do you not know what a chaplain is?¡±
I did, but he went on, ¡°I am a priest assigned to support your role. I am your own personal advisor; I will tend your suit, plan your progression, and be your right hand in your quest to fulfill the Oracle¡¯s will for you."
I worked to contain my disappointment. Jacob was pleasant enough¡ªin fact, by priestly standards, he was downright likable. But a Griidlord¡¯s chaplain was crucial, responsible for training, planning, and strategy. I had envisioned a chaplain as a sergeant, someone to push and compel me. Jacob was a dithering ancient. As I looked at him, I noticed his shoes were on the wrong feet.
He began unrolling the massive sheet of parchment as I watched him. Everything he did had a bumbling, distracted quality. I had to remind myself that he was a tower dweller, a high-ranking priest¡ªhe must have redeeming qualities.
The unrolled parchment turned out to be a map, stretching from around Green Bay in the northeast to the area west of Tennessee below, all the way to the eastern coast, encompassing Boston, New York, and the cities of our part of the world. The map was dotted with circles and stars of various colors, littered with tiny, awkward handwriting.
Jacob said, "The Lord Supreme informs me you want to prioritize leveling. To do this efficiently, we must choose our targets carefully. Pursuing weak foes will waste time¡ªyou¡¯ll level fastest against fearsome enemies, though injuries or, ho-ho, death wouldn¡¯t be very helpful, would they?¡±
He cackled as he held the map up, almost completely obscuring it from my view. I leaned forward in the pod to try and see better.
¡°No! No, my boy, sit back. Let the Oracle¡¯s essence heal you. There¡ yes, lean back. Can you see now, boy?"
"Thank you."
"Now, where was I?¡± He rubbed his brow, clearly befuddled. Then he brightened, ¡°Ah, yes, fiend lairs near trade routes! Now, what level are you again? Ah, yes, 10. A very fine start indeed. But what can I set you against that will stretch and challenge you without¡ de-spining you?¡±
I pointed. ¡°What about the two big stars? The one east of Buffalo, near the Veil? And that one in the hills outside Pittsburgh territory?¡±
Jacob blinked a few times, then laughed. Strangely, it didn¡¯t feel like mockery¡ªhe seemed genuinely amused, as if he thought I was joking. He quickly sobered when he saw my confusion.
¡°Oh, you¡¯re serious! No, no. The one in the hills is Doom, a Class 9 fiend. He took up residence in the ruins of Cleveland but was driven out when the Tower re-emerged. And that one near the Veil? That¡¯s Sinful Bob, an old fiend, a terror to the folks on Buffalo¡¯s edge. He¡¯s a Class 12. Far too much for a Griidlord in training to handle, yet not enough sport for a higher-leveled lord. He plays it safe out there, only venturing into civilized lands every few years, long enough to eat a village and vanish before Buffalo can respond¡ªif they had the organization to respond.¡±
"But I took out the Class 4 on the way to Dodge," I said.
Jacob shook his head. "Yes, but you were what? Level 8? Comparing a fiend¡¯s class to a Griidlord¡¯s level roughly converts by doubling. At level 10, you¡¯re about a match for a Class 5. A Class 9 like Doom would be like fighting a level 18 Griidlord."
"But taking him out would boost my level quickly, right?"
¡°Oh, certainly¡ªbut it would be nearly impossible for you. But speaking of Buffalo¡¡± Jacob paused thoughtfully. ¡°There¡¯s a Griidlord gone rogue from Buffalo."
Jacob nodded slowly. ¡°Oh yes. Some kerfuffle in Buffalo. The Green Men and the Overlords are at odds in the city, and everyone in between is suffering. There was some business with a murder, I think... something about death threats to the Bishop... oh, I can¡¯t remember exactly. What matters is that the Arrow of Buffalo is marked for death. He¡¯s running wild now. The man is a level 24, but he¡¯s injured, and as a renegade, he can¡¯t access healing. It might be a stretch, but at level 10, with type advantage and his wounds, you could collect the bounty. The people of Buffalo would celebrate you bringing him to justice, and the level reward would be substantial.¡±
I said, ¡°You¡ you want me to kill another Griidlord?¡±
Jacob shrugged, rolling up the map and reaching for another from the pile at his feet. ¡°Only if it¡¯s convenient.¡±
As he unfurled another map, this one more focused on the region around Boston, I paused, lost in my own thoughts and not hearing Jacob¡¯s continued rambling.
The weight of killing the Hordesmen still pressed on me. Though it might have been justified, the idea of killing someone from our own region, someone culturally closer to me¡ªanother Griidlord¡ªmade my stomach tighten uncomfortably.
Book 2: Chapter 28
We made our plans. Jacob had been provided with the schedule of routes the city needed its Griidlords to cover. Together, we consulted the map, assessing known fiends and bandit groups. I say "consulted," but in truth, it was mostly me consenting as Jacob made the decisions. He knew what he was doing. The longer our conversation continued, the more I realized that his doddering, disheveled appearance hid a keen and curious mind. His eyes lit up whenever we discussed Entropy. From fiends to storms, Jacob had an intense passion for it.
Planning took time, but eventually, Jacob seemed satisfied, gathering up his papers and shuffling away. I wanted to know if I¡¯d have privacy, so I let my helm enclose my head and extended HEARING to listen as his irregular footsteps faded.
The voice said, ¡°It¡¯s a good plan. There¡¯s a lot of experience to be had here. This is a solid chance, kiddo. We¡¯ll level plenty over the next few weeks.¡±
I thought back to it, a mix of dread and excitement churning in me. ¡°And then the Falling.¡±
The Falling was a wild concept. In a few short weeks, the Orbs would fall from the sky. The armies and Griidlords of Boston would go forth to compete with every other power for our share of the precious Flows they contained. The idea of crossing swords with other Griidlords was mostly thrilling. But being the nominal leader of Griidlords far more experienced than I was enough to twist my stomach in knots.
As Jacob¡¯s footsteps faded, two new sets of footfalls began to approach. Two people, armored.
¡°It¡¯ll be Alya and Tara. They were on long runs and should be back by now,¡± Chowwick¡¯s deep voice rumbled.
I turned with a start. ¡°Chowwick! You¡¯re awake! How¡ how are you?¡±
Chowwick chuckled roughly, though there was pain in his voice. ¡°I just had a few pounds of steel cut out of my legs, lad. I¡¯ve been better.¡±
¡°Will you¡ are you going to be okay?¡±
Chowwick said, ¡°The white cloaks tell me I¡¯ll fight again, but I¡¯ll only barely be ready in time for the Falling.¡±
I shook my head in amazement. ¡°Your wounds were so severe.¡±
Chowwick said, ¡°You¡¯ll get used to what some time in the pod can do. It¡¯s boring as hell, and you need to get used to letting the Pod handle things, even...well, you know. But it¡¯s magic. That scrape on your ankle will be good as new by tomorrow.¡±
His gaze shifted beyond me, and I turned to see Alya Vaelstrom and Tara Bleakwind entering. Their helms were down as they spoke closely. Alya was easily the most powerful Griidlord in Boston¡ªa renowned Scepter, perhaps the finest in the world. As a Scepter, she contributed little during the Falling, as their vulnerability made them rare in the field. Instead, the Scepter was typically tasked with defending the city, using BEAM to protect Boston from opportunistic invaders. Tall and proud, her face was long and elegant, and her fair hair flowed behind her in silvery waves.
Tara was petite¡ªnot as tiny as Katya, but a head shorter than Alya. She had a small, girlish face with a button nose, and her dark hair was cut short. She was eye-catchingly pretty.
I let Assess give me more about them.
Subject: Alya Vaelstrom
Status: Chosen Scepter
Level: 63
Level 63 was by far the highest I¡¯d encountered since gaining Assess. It was also, by my understanding, a rare height. A Griidlord was considered a success if they reached the 30s.
Subject: Tara Bleakwind
Status: Chosen Arrow
Level: 26
Tara had been an Arrow for over 30 years. If she hadn¡¯t broken the Level 30 barrier yet, it was unlikely she ever would. She was a competent, if unspectacular, veteran. Looking at her youthful face, it was hard to believe she was nearing 60. She met my eyes, and the wink she gave carried all the energy of someone my age.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
They said Order changed the way the mind aged. A Griidlord could live for a hundred years and, instead of becoming a sage in the body of a twenty-year-old, would largely retain the mindset they had when they entered the suit. Even centenarian Griidlords were known to take risks like a youth, feast like a youth, and chase partners like a youth.
¡°What are you girls nattering about?¡± Chowwick¡¯s voice rang out across the chamber.
Both women turned to him, their faces breaking into easy smiles.
Tara said, ¡°We were just making bets on whether our new Sword would survive his first Falling.¡±
Alya swung an armored fist into her companion¡¯s shoulder. The blow might have killed a man, but between the two of them, it was enough to turn Tara¡¯s shoulder and provoke an exaggerated yelp and an overly played display of shoulder-rubbing.
Alya turned to me, her face serene and assuring. ¡°We were talking about the Green Men in Buffalo and how they managed to recruit a Griidlord. But first, Tiberius, greetings are in order. We were in the arena together before, but we haven¡¯t shared words. I¡¯m Alya. It¡¯s good to meet my new Sword.¡±
Tara just waved the fingers of one hand while clutching her mock injury with the other.
I said, ¡°It¡¯s an honor.¡±
Chowwick cut in, ¡°You never said it was an honor to meet me.¡±
I couldn¡¯t remember what I¡¯d said to him at our first meeting. ¡°I told you something of the sort,¡± I replied.
Alya smiled, a genuine, self-contained smile. ¡°I¡¯m excited to serve under you. You¡¯ve achieved an awful lot in a short time.¡±
I looked between her, Tara, and Chowwick, waiting for someone to point out the absurdity of the idea. I was only level 10, mere days into my time in the suit. The lowest level among them was double mine, with many times the experience. It seemed madness that I would lead these god-like figures.
Chowwick cut through the moment. ¡°How did the Green Men get their fingers in the ear of old Perdinger?¡±
I knew the name. Perdinger was the Griidlord who had gone rogue from Buffalo.
Alya shrugged as she moved to her pod. ¡°The same way they always do. They find some pain, slight, or injury and leverage it.¡±
Tara slinked to her own pod, casting glances my way as she moved. ¡°They¡¯re only doing what they think is right.¡±
Alya settled into her pod, the clouds of strange whiteness beginning to envelop her lean form. "They''re subversives. They destroy lives. Look at Perdinger¡ªrunning from capture, a Griidlord of many years, brought low to struggle like a common criminal. Do you think that''s where he saw himself when he won his suit?"
Tara slipped into her own pod, wrinkling her nose in response but saying nothing.
I asked, "What exactly happened with Perdinger?"
They all paused. Alya stared at me and then said, "Forgive us, Tiberius. I forget easily how quickly your world has changed. Do you know of the Green Men?"
"Well, yeah. Kind of. They¡¯re rebels who want to rewrite the order of things¡ªan end to Lords and Ladies, taxes, rules."
Alya smiled. "Well, depending on who you ask, that''s part of it. They are rebels, and they''re not unique to Buffalo. There are Green Men in every city. They model themselves after Greenbay, probably even receive support from Greenbay. They preach equality for all, no man holding more than any other. It¡¯s not an ignoble idea, but it¡¯s impractical. All men may have been created equal¡ªno one can testify to that more than you, a man of common station who defied all odds to win a most coveted suit. But I struggle to understand how, in their world of equal wealth for all, anyone would find motivation to work or invent. Disparity may structure our society, but it motivates us, putting power in the hands of those driven to use it for the betterment of everyone."
I hesitated. Alya, like everyone else in the room, was a member of a noble house. Of course, she¡¯d support the traditional structure of society. Father, when he mentioned such things, had detested the Green Men too, though he also stood to lose much in their world of common ownership.
"And what happened with Perdinger?" I asked.
Alya shrugged. "They got to him."
Chowwick added, "They worm their way in, lad. It¡¯s happened before and, sad as it might be, it¡¯ll happen again. They bent his arm with women or blackmail, or they twisted his mind. They got a hold of him, and he was found out. Now he¡¯s a dead man walking."
There was a darkness in the air, an unspoken warning: don¡¯t let it happen to you. I wondered if my common origins made them distrust me. There was no evidence of it, but the thought lingered.
"What did he do?" I pressed.
"There was an attempted uprising," Alya said, "a coup. It''s nothing new for Buffalo. That city''s been in turmoil for years. The ones I feel sorry for are the common folk caught in between. Buffalo¡¯s nobles are a mess, and the Green Men have a real foothold there. Meanwhile, the common people lack trust in their leaders and fear the Green Men will come for their property. It¡¯s chaos."
"But they still gather more Flows than we do, every year," Tara remarked.
Alya smiled thinly, glancing at me as she replied, "Maybe not. Not any longer."
Book 2: Chapter 29
I remembered how Morningstar had looked the first time I met him, relaxing with my father in the comfort of our home. Whiskey glass in hand, yet adorned in full armor. I hadn¡¯t imagined he was comfortable; if anything, he¡¯d struck a slightly ridiculous figure, kitted out in full gear.
And yet, here I sat, sheathed from feet to neck in shining armor. But I could feel the warmth of the open fire on my skin through the suit, as though I were naked. I could feel the softness of the cushions, even the texture of the fabric, as I sat in the plush armchair. My fingers detected the cool smoothness of the brandy glass in my hand.
Cornelius Oakcrest, Lord of Castle Oakcrest, master of the surrounding lands, father of Lauren and father-in-law to Katya, sat in an identical chair opposite me. Lauren was stretched out on a chaise longue a little further away, while Katya, ever restless and energetic, wandered around the room, poking at ornaments and inspecting paintings.
I¡¯d been given 24 hours until I would lead my first Griid-train. Chowwick had been right: my leg had healed completely with a single night¡¯s rest in the pod. The invitation to Castle Oakcrest had been waiting for me upon waking.
I hadn¡¯t known what to expect. I¡¯d been sincere when I told Lauren and Katya that I wanted to maintain and pursue our friendship¡ªI had so few true friends. But I had reservations about the invitation. I distrusted my own feelings, my lingering bitterness. I feared my sensitivity and ego. I dreaded the social awkwardness.
What ensued defied every expectation. Cornelius had been overwhelmed with pride that Castle Oakcrest would be the first noble home to entertain the new Sword. It was a banquet more than a dinner, with nobles and important people from adjacent lands in attendance. And I surprised myself by how natural it felt to be the center of this grand event.
In the grand hall, on a shelf high above the lord¡¯s seat at the end of the long table, a relic was displayed. It was a black orb in a strange and ornate golden housing. Lauren explained that this was the great treasure of House Oakcrest, a treasure envied by all the lords of the land, and of lands beyond. Cornelius honored me by having it displayed for the feast. This relic, the Pinnaculum, could apparently extend its own order field. A very small field, but one of infinite duration. I had whistled softly as I observed it. Such a treasure could let tech work anywhere in the world, a tractor bearing it could plow a field, and an old tank could cross the the continent. Of course, the risk of capture for an item such as this meant it was never used. It passed its days in the vault in the belly of the castle. Even here, guards were posted beneath it, fine knights with power weapons who would die before letting it be taken.
Dinner had been easier than I imagined. With my tongue and mannerisms generously lubricated by wine, I found the evening to be a surprising joy. The feast was exquisite, the company unexpectedly enjoyable. I lost track of the introductions and names, but the hours melted away in a heady mix of intoxication, delicious food, and lively conversation.
Once the evening concluded and the last carriage pulled away, Cornelius invited me to what he called the ¡°family room.¡± This led to the large living room in which I now sat.
Cornelius was talking excitedly about the news that had arrived during dinner: war had indeed broken out between Miami¡¯s sphere and the Free Men of Dallas.
¡°The latest reports I have are beyond intriguing. Do bear in mind, Lord Bloodsword, that there is an element of error to preliminary reports such as these,¡± he said, leaning forward, his round face aglow in the firelight. ¡°But, my, what a tale they tell! Her Majesty of Miami sent a force of 20,000 under the cover of darkness, traveling along the coast on shallow-keeled vessels that could act as landing craft. The intention was striking¡ªa night landing on the coast to move inland under cover of darkness. The Free Men would wake to find a substantial army digging in between Dallas and the new Tower. A very bold move on Her Majesty¡¯s part, one bound to act as a declaration of war or to undermine ongoing negotiations between the two powers.¡±
The firelight danced on his round face as he leaned forward, his waxed mustache gleaming, his bald head shining, his small eyes pinched with excitement.
He said, ¡°How could they have imagined Dallas would send men unmounted to wait for them? It was brilliant. It was unexpected. I¡¯m sure you know, Lord Bloodsword, that the power of the Free Men is their cavalry. But they sent men into the marshes, hours before the arrival of the supposedly secret invasion force. The landing craft were barely emptied before they were filled again with soldiers, but this time, it was the enemy! Marshall Erp himself led the battle that captured the craft. Forty vessels. Forty vessels! By the Oracle, who could have imagined a disaster of that scale? Reports have it that the Miami army was encircled from the moment they landed. The numbers I have now say 5,000 dead, 5,000 wounded, and with their path of escape erased by the brazen maneuver of capturing the ships, another 10,000 taken prisoner. It¡¯s a calamity for Miami¡ªa calamity! The question now is if Her Majesty will double down. There is no more question about war; there is war. It is a done thing. But the nature of what comes next is yet to be decided. The prize of the Tower is tempting, but the challenge for Miami may already be insurmountable. I wonder if Her Majesty¡¯s pride will allow her to pull back from pursuing the new Tower. I wonder if the interests of her court will permit her to. There could yet be bloody days ahead in the South.¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
His face was electric with excitement as he discussed the carnage. It was hard to reconcile this expression with the solemn man who had expressed condolences at my father¡¯s passing when we¡¯d first met or with the composed manner he¡¯d shown among the guests. This emerging conflict was clearly an event that enthused him greatly. I found it hard to join his excitement when I imagined the bodies probably floating in a distant marsh even now.
A servant appeared at the door, and Cornelius immediately stood up. This particular servant had been whispering in the lord¡¯s ear all night, relaying updates on the unfolding war.
Cornelius said, ¡°Ah, won¡¯t you excuse me a moment, Lord Bloodsword. I shall return with greater news, I¡¯m sure.¡±
I watched the pudgy man scurry away. I couldn¡¯t say I didn¡¯t like him. Despite his macabre fascination, he was easy to converse with, and he had welcomed me grandly. A brief pang hit me¡ªhow, in another life, he might have been my father-in-law.
I turned with a start to find Katya¡¯s face inches from mine.
¡°For Oracle¡¯s sake, Katya! Don¡¯t do that!¡± I yelped, squirming slightly.
She kept her face uncomfortably close to mine. She¡¯d learned nothing of the ways of her new husband¡¯s people. Social convention was meaningless to her, and she proved it further with her next question.
¡°Have you bedded anyone since you won the suit?¡±
Lauren snapped, ¡°Katya!¡±
I squirmed further. ¡°That¡¯s between me and¡¡±
Katya cocked an eyebrow and then snapped upright, pure disgust washing over her face. ¡°That¡¯s a no, then.¡±
¡°It¡¯s hardly appropriate for you to be asking me something like that, considering¡¡±
Katya finished for me, ¡°Considering you were hoping to bed one of us? Or both of us?¡±
Lauren was more firm now. ¡°Katya!¡±
I felt my cheeks flush. I had known they¡¯d discussed my proposal, but I was mortified at the depth of her understanding of my intentions.
Katya held her hands behind her back, mimicking Cornelius¡¯s posture. She said, ¡°It¡¯s our duty, Lauren. He knows nothing of the ways of women. He¡¯ll be a victim. He¡¯s been a Griidlord for what? Ten days? More? If he wanted to, he could have bedded a wench every hour. Or a lady. They¡¯d throw themselves at a Griidlord, especially a handsome, eligible one.¡±
Lauren seemed to be listening, but still, she said, ¡°But we can¡¯t talk like this¡¡±
¡°Why not?¡± Katya replied. ¡°Your father will be back in a few minutes; it¡¯s our only chance to help him.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t need help,¡± I said.
They both shot me scornful looks.
It was Katya who spoke next. ¡°You fell in love with us, both of us, simply because we shared words with you.¡±
I stammered, ¡°No... I didn¡¯t¡¡±
Lauren gave me a pitying look.
I stared at her, my voice rising higher than I intended, ¡°I didn¡¯t¡¡±
Katya¡¯s voice softened unexpectedly. ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with it, Ti¡¡±
Her tone was kind now, and despite my glowing cheeks, I found myself listening.
¡°You¡¯re sweet. You¡¯re genuine. You just haven¡¯t had much experience talking to girls. I can¡¯t fault you for falling in love with Lauren.¡± She shot her new wife a meaningful look. ¡°I certainly can¡¯t fault you for falling in love with me. But you¡¯re a Griidlord now. You need to be careful. You were already rich, and now you have lands, title, and will become richer. Some clever lady with a pretty face, big tits, and a kind word could snare you. You¡¯ll be besotted with the first girl who takes you to bed. I don¡¯t want to see you trapped like that.¡±
I noticed Lauren reluctantly nodding along.
Katya continued, ¡°Bed some girls, sure, but you go out and pick them¡ªdon¡¯t let them come to you. That¡¯s the only thing that will save you.¡±
Lauren, though chagrined, seemed to agree.
Then Katya added, ¡°I heard you were trying to save Leona from the noose or the axe. Do you have a thing for her?¡±
I shook my head vigorously, ¡°No! No, it¡¯s nothing like that!¡±
Lauren¡¯s voice was softer, more compassionate. ¡°Then why are you trying to save her? She tried to end your bid for the suit.¡±
The words tumbled out of me in uncertain bursts. ¡°No, I barely know her. She¡¯s¡ I just don¡¯t think it¡¯s fair. She didn¡¯t do that because she wanted to. Someone made her. Don¡¯t get me wrong, I know she had no love for the commoner who was competing for the suit, but she knew that doing that was committing suicide, and she did it anyway. I just don¡¯t think it¡¯s right for her to be put to death when we don¡¯t know what kind of forces¡¡±
I trailed off as I noticed both of them staring beyond me. Turning, I saw Cornelius standing in the doorway. His slightly drunken excitement had faded, replaced by a dark sadness. I didn¡¯t know how long he had been standing there, but I found myself urgently hoping he hadn¡¯t overheard them advising me to sleep with random women.
Cornelius¡¯s voice was solemn, his words slow. ¡°Ladies, would you give us the room?¡±
Book 2: Chapter 30
Katya and Lauren filed out. It was strange to see Katya so subdued, but she clearly sensed something in Cornelius¡¯s mood. As they left, he returned to his seat.
The enthusiasm and excitement of moments before had faded from him, and I felt oddly guilty, as though I¡¯d introduced a topic that drained his vigor. He leaned forward, meeting my gaze, holding it for a long moment.
Licking his lips, pausing before he spoke, he said, ¡°Leona is my niece. I know you¡¯re not part of our circles¡ªor you weren¡¯t, at least. You¡¯ll find many cousins and nephews and aunts and uncles spread between the houses. Leona is my sister¡¯s daughter.¡±
¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said.
Cornelius shook his head, waving off the comment. ¡°What¡¯s happened to Leona has nothing to do with you. It¡¯s already well-known that you¡¯re attempting to have her sentence stayed. I¡¯m not sure there¡¯s anything you can do, but I want you to know that your actions are winning you favor and gratitude. I am personally grateful for what you¡¯re doing, and my sister and her husband feel the same. What Leona did was heresy; it was bad business, and it was directed at you, Lord Bloodsword. And yet, here you are, most graciously doing what you can.¡±
He kept his words and expression formal and composed, but there was emotion brimming behind his eyes.
¡°I just don¡¯t understand why she¡¯d do it,¡± I said. ¡°It was clear she¡¯d been waiting. She spent most of the round doing her part. I guess she was hoping the events in the arena would naturally eliminate me and that she wouldn¡¯t need to intervene. Only when it seemed I was about to put Lance away did she step in. It was clearly planned, something she wanted to avoid but felt was necessary.¡±
Cornelius looked uncomfortable, his gaze shifting from me to the fire.
¡°If you can tell me anything about what motivated her,¡± I continued, ¡°then maybe there¡¯s something I can do. I¡¯ve beseeched the Lord Supreme to understand that while her actions were unlawful, if she was compelled¡ªespecially if the compulsion was forceful¡ªthen the real responsibility lies elsewhere. Maybe you know something that could save her life.¡±
Cornelius¡¯s eyes continued to avoid mine, reflecting the flickering firelight. I leaned closer, drawing his gaze back to me. There was sadness there, but also a strange kind of fear.
¡°Please, Cornelius. She¡¯s your niece, your sister¡¯s daughter. Tell me what you can. It can stay between us if needed, but you might know something that could save her life.¡±
He moaned softly, an involuntary sound.
¡°Please.¡±
He gathered his breath, licked his lips a few more times, opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it, his gaze returning to the fire. Perhaps he drew some courage from the flames, for when he turned back to me, he seemed more resolved.
¡°Lord Bloodsword¡ª¡±
¡°Tiberius,¡± I interrupted.
He smiled weakly. ¡°Tiberius, there are currents that flow beneath the surface of society. The Lord Supreme is a lightning rod. House Baltazar is on the fringes of high society; they had never produced a Lord Supreme before, and there is almost no explanation for how Baron Baltazar found his way onto the council, let alone into the seat of Lord Supreme. He¡¯s a dangerous man; the maneuvering it would have taken to achieve this¡ truly formidable.
I said, "I know. He''s very capable."
Cornelius¡¯s eyes shot wide open. "You''re understating it. He''s a genius, clearly. But worse, much worse than that, he''s a radical."You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
I raised an eyebrow at that. It was hard to picture the stoic and expressionless Baltazar as a radical.
But Cornelius nodded vigorously. "Oh yes, oh yes. Baltazar has long been vocal about his dissatisfaction with Boston. He loathes the way our society is structured¡ªhereditary rule instead of meritocracy. He was a soldier, a field commander, and he praises our troops no end. Our armies enter the Falling each year; they have the same testing and experience as the others. But out here, in our corner of the world, we¡¯ve rarely been pulled into political wars or conflicts. While other cities wax and wane¡ªtheir young men wiped out in wars, their stocks of power weapons and relics pillaged or destroyed¡ªBoston has only grown. Baltazar thinks we can be a regional power, that we should exert our will on the cities around us."
I shook my head slowly. "I don¡¯t understand; what does this have to do with Leona?"
Cornelius leaned in. "Baltazar has the city divided into two camps. There are those who support him, or he wouldn¡¯t have gained the Lord Supreme¡¯s seat. They follow him for the promise of progress and greater wealth. But there are others, many others, who fear the damage he might do. He threatens to pull us into conflicts that could cost us dearly. He threatens to weaken the hereditary rights of the nobles. There are those who simply can¡¯t allow that."
"So why send Leona to take me out of the Choosing?"
Cornelius said, "Baltazar was a leader of men in the field, exceptionally good. To this day, the common soldiers worship him. And he was a great trainer, a great teacher. He promised his supporters he would reform our Griidlords into a force to rival any in the land. To that end, he moored his ship to yours. He publicly and privately supported you, promising that you would be great for the city. Your elimination would have cost him terribly, especially among his supporters."
I leaned back to digest this. I hadn¡¯t deliberately tied myself to Baltazar, but I was drawn to him. He had done me nothing but kindness. As much as his display on The Eagle had frightened me and worried me, his words had landed with truth. The city was in dire need of change. Even the lords were running deeper and deeper into debt.
I asked, "And how do you feel about him?"
Cornelius shifted uncomfortably. "The Flow Lauren won in the arena will secure our comfort for years. Without that¡ well, we¡¯d be facing hard times. The city is faring poorly, and I see the wisdom in changing a failing system. But, Tiberius, the risks Baltazar presents¡ they could be existential. Apart from the potential to draw a foreign power down on us, there is the real potential for civil war. My family has had an elective vote on the council since its inception. Baltazar would threaten that. I shiver when I think about the other things he might threaten."
I said, "How do I help Leona?"
Cornelius sagged back in his seat. "I don¡¯t see how you can."
I said, ¡°Clearly, she was coerced into her actions by nobles who have sway over her. She was pushed into it somehow. Is there not mitigation in that?¡±
Cornelius said, ¡°For heresy? I think not. And Baltazar won¡¯t help you. I hear he¡¯s staying her execution, but make no mistake¡ªthat¡¯s to reel you further into his web, nothing more. He doesn¡¯t have the power to pardon her. Even if he did, I¡¯m not sure he would. Remember, Tiberius, if I know that Leona¡¯s motives were ultimately aimed against him, then he certainly knows it. He would see her executed as a message to his opposition.¡±
His words chilled me. Was the man that cold? That cruel?
I said, ¡°But if he doesn¡¯t have the power to pardon her, someone must.¡±
Cornelius nodded. ¡°Her crime was heresy. Her punishment is the business of the priesthood. Baltazar can order a stay to ensure due process has been carried out, essentially to make sure that her crime of heresy is real. But failing to disprove it, his hands are tied, and her fate lies in the hands of the priests.¡±
I stared into the fire. The frustration of this was immense. How could I stand by and watch her die? It was all the worse for the power I held. I was a Griidlord. I had the personal might necessary to walk into her prison and release her. Of course, the cost to me would be ultimate. But still, it rankled me deeply to think I was choosing my own safety and future over hers.
Cornelius was watching me; I could see that. His small eyes were narrowing.
He said, ¡°There is one thing¡ no, it wouldn¡¯t be proper¡¡±
I turned back to him swiftly. ¡°What? What is it? Please, Cornelius, say it.¡±
Cornelius spoke slowly, with very measured words. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t suggest this if it weren¡¯t my own niece. I understand the impropriety of what I¡¯m about to suggest. Please, understand, this is nothing more than a thought.¡±
I nodded urgently for him to continue.
He said, ¡°There is something you could do to save her.¡±
Book 2: Chapter 31
With 26 days remaining until the Falling, I had limited time to fulfill my duties as a Griidlord and gain the levels needed to be even slightly relevant on the Falling Fields.
To level up, I needed to fight, and my first Griid-train assignment placed me on a path to encounter many fiends.
The borderlands around Pittsburgh were generally avoided. Pittsburgh wasn¡¯t exactly lawless, but its peculiar set of rules certainly seemed to outsiders as if it bordered on that. Pittsburgh also had The Reaper¡ªa mysterious, unknown relic that roamed their lands. It reportedly only attacked invading or hostile forces, but its presence made armed bands of men wary about venturing too close to the borders. As a result, fiends and bandits often gathered in the forests and hills just beyond Pittsburgh¡¯s borders, left unculled and unchallenged.
Thus, my first assignment was to escort a convoy to Pittsburgh. This suited my purposes well. I was slow to trust Joel, but my curiosity about his words had grown, and this journey might afford me a chance to speak with Claw Jaxwulf.
The journey could be completed in one long day; camping would only be necessary if there were significant delays. I would stay in Pittsburgh for the night and then continue on my next train in the morning.
It was gratifying to walk the streets of Boston, descending from the Tower toward the gates. People reacted to me in various ways: some cheered and called my name, others averted their eyes with respect, while some tapped a neighbor''s shoulder to point out my passing. But everyone reacted in some way.
I felt powerful. I felt important.
Passing through the main gate, I was greeted with the sight of the caravan I was to escort: over a hundred wagons and hundreds of merchants and guards gathered together. But my eyes fell on two figures loitering near the back of the readied wagons.
¡°Olaf! Gideon¡¡± I said as I approached them. I¡¯d developed a fondness for Olaf. Gideon, however, still filled me with the same apprehension he always had, though I was beyond his ability to harm now.
¡°What brings you two here?¡± I asked.
Gideon glowered at me darkly. Olaf stepped forward and offered his hand. I shook it, feeling the remarkable strength of his grip even through the armor of my suit.
¡°I¡¯ve decided to go to Pittsburgh to train,¡± Olaf said.
¡°More training? You haven¡¯t given up on the dream of the suit?¡±
The big man shook his head. ¡°I learned something, Tiberius. When we were in the arena, and I wore the suit the second time¡ everything felt different. The Shield suit embraced me in a way the Sword never had. It seemed to¡ I don¡¯t know how to put it¡ It matched me. It felt right. I want to take another shot at a suit, but this time, I want to go for the Shield.¡±
I nodded, pleased. ¡°That makes sense, Olaf. You¡¯re a natural at it. You were so good in the arena.¡±
Olaf smiled, a hint of shyness in his expression that hadn¡¯t been there before. ¡°There¡¯s a Shield master in Pittsburgh, an old retired Griidlord who trains students. I want to study under him. When the madness around the new Tower in Houston settles down, there may be a Choosing. I want to be ready to compete for a suit.¡±
His words saddened me somewhat. Oddly, I didn¡¯t want to see him leave the city. But there was nothing for him here; he wasn¡¯t the eldest of his house and wouldn¡¯t inherit lands or a castle.
I nodded firmly. ¡°I understand.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Then I looked to Gideon. He met my gaze with a dark glower. After a few uncomfortable moments, he eventually said, ¡°I travel to seek another chance to win a suit as well.¡±
I nodded slowly. He couldn¡¯t affect me as he had before, but a strange guilt lingered. These two knew the ecstasy of the suit as I did. I had that now, for the rest of my days. But they continued to yearn, and their loss had been my gain.
It was strange to command so many people on my own. I would quickly get used to it, and soon enough, this would become a routine, even boring, act. But there was a thrill the first time I let my helmet boom my orders for them to form up. I felt the field extending from me, enveloping us, and then we were moving, blasting down the roads of Boston at blistering speed.
Traveling in convoy under the field is a strange experience. The outside world sweeps past, but within the field, all movement feels as natural as though there were no field at all. The wagons rolled, and I jogged easily and tirelessly in my suit alongside them. I moved up and down the line, checking on each wagon more to be seen doing something than for any actual purpose.
Before long, the monotony set in. We were marching and would continue for around eight hours. There would be stops to tend to the horses, and with so many wagons, it was inevitable that some would break down with issues like axle or wheel problems.
I found myself drifting toward the back of the caravan, drawn to walk with Olaf. He represented a new prospect¡ªa friend. My mind drifted back to the words we¡¯d shared when he supported me after our last time in the arena. I remembered the way he had supported and guided me to my home when I wanted to find Harold. And honestly, I just felt strangely comfortable in his presence. It was certainly better than trotting alone for eight hours.
So, I drifted back to the rear of the train. Gideon and Olaf were riding together in a wagon full of sacks of something, sitting in silence. Olaf reacted to my appearance with the same warmth I¡¯d been feeling toward him.
The conversation started off broken and awkward, but as time passed, it became easier. He asked me about what it was like to be a Griidlord, and I asked him about his plans. The conversation eventually drifted to his father.
Olaf stared into the distance, looking past me as he spoke. ¡°Father sees my intention as a betrayal of the city. He thinks I should wait in Boston and, if the Oracle wills it, there will be another Choosing. If not, then I should accept the life of a knight.¡±
He puffed air through tight lips. ¡°The life of a knight is a good one. I¡¯m sure I could be good at it. I know the sword. I¡¯m not great on a horse¡ªI¡¯m too big¡ªbut there would be a place for a lord¡¯s son in the ranks¡ It¡¯s just that¡ I¡ I don¡¯t know how to say it¡¡±
I said, ¡°It¡¯s just that you can¡¯t quit on the suit. You can¡¯t let go of how it feels.¡±
His eyes snapped to mine. ¡°Yes! You understand. Father doesn¡¯t. He doesn¡¯t know what it¡¯s like to feel that and then be told you can never have it again¡¡±
I said, ¡°And how badly is he taking your plan?¡±
Olaf said, ¡°Pretty badly, really. If I go to Houston or somewhere else, then I¡¯ll be sworn to that city. I¡¯ll have to fight the Griidlords of Boston and try to take the Flows for my new city¡¡±
His words hung heavily over us. I hadn¡¯t even considered the reality that if he became Shield to another Tower, we could one day meet as adversaries on the Falling Fields.
The silence was awkward, but I broke it, laughing, ¡°There¡¯s no type advantage between Sword and Shield. We could be an even match.¡±
My jest worked, and Olaf laughed as well, seemingly genuinely. But then he sobered. ¡°No, Ti. Not an even match. You¡¯re already in the suit, gaining experience and levels¡ and, well, there¡¯s the fact that no one is going to be an even match with you.¡±
I started to laugh again, thinking he was joking. But he wasn¡¯t. I could see the earnestness on his face.
He said, ¡°I¡¯m deadly serious, Ti. You¡¯re going to be great. Capital ¡®G¡¯ great.¡±
I said, ¡°Stop. I¡¯m a rookie; where would you get an idea like that?¡±
He replied, ¡°It¡¯s obvious. You started out slow in the arena, but after what¡ªthree rounds, four? You were the best of us. Lance only managed to hold a candle to you because he got the training day, and because everything was rigged against you. Ti¡ the Shield feels natural to me, that¡¯s why I¡¯m going after it. I hadn¡¯t realized how natural something could feel until you called on me for the suit. But¡ I¡¯ve seen you fight, I¡¯ve fought against you. The way you gain attributes, I¡¯ll bet you gain levels the same way. You¡¯re going to be something special.¡±
I blushed at this and started to change the subject. But as I did, I couldn¡¯t help but notice Gideon sitting beyond Olaf in the bed of the wagon. He wasn¡¯t taking part in the conversation, but he was listening.
And he was glowering at our words.
Book 2: Chapter 32
Three Bearwolves moved through the trees.
Perhaps the strangest part of the situation was the role reversal. I had SIGHT, SCENT, HEARING. I couldn¡¯t be certain exactly how my new, relatively low-level senses compared with those of the fiends, but for now, at least, I was hunting them. For now, I was aware of them, and they were completely unaware of me.
The convoy was resting, watering horses in a secure location. It was my responsibility to make every minute count, and Jacob had marked this location on my map. The suit itself could read the parchment and record the location of the fiends. Once Jacob had shown me once, the information became part of my suit¡¯s awareness forever.
The large, jabbering fiends gathered in a clearing, and I continued to stalk towards them. I expected one of their heads to turn toward me at any moment. I was pushing things from the get-go. A Bearwolf was large enough and terrible enough that each one stood as a considerable threat. One was still very manageable, even for a level 10 like me. But three was certainly ambitious. I needed to be ambitious. Enough people had made level 20 a target that I was fixed on reaching it. Tougher fights and nastier opponents meant faster leveling, and I was determined. Apart from the duty to the city to level as quickly as I could, I was personally excited to discover a new skill.
I continued to edge through the trees toward the small group of fiends. All three had their backs to me, and my heart started hammering faster with excitement. With POWER and the advantage of surprise, I might be able to fell one, or even two, before the fight really began. A strange cocktail of emotions swirled inside me: part of me was eager for the fight, to feel POWER, to test myself, to grow. Another part wanted nothing more than to have the experience over with. Death and violence still waited to greet me in the next moments, and it would take a long time to shake the dread that came with them.
I took a knee behind a small bush, only twenty yards from the fiends. I couldn¡¯t tell why they had paused. I was well concealed, surrounded by low shrubbery that made for excellent cover.
I peered through the leaves at the fiends. It was strange how they had stopped. There was no water here, and none of them were passing waste.
Then, one of the long, cruel faces turned slowly, and a gleaming red eye appeared in sight. I felt the human reaction rise within me, the instinctive response to meeting the eyes of a creature from beyond the realm of the natural. They were all twisted versions of a nightmare. The creature that was staring at me continued to turn its head, and I saw that it had a third, crudely formed and likely non-functional eye in the center of its forehead.
My skin grew chilled. It was looking at me¡ªnot just in my direction but at me. It could see me. And yet it wasn¡¯t reacting.
Then it all made sense. I was crouched in a thick patch of shrubbery that made perfect cover. And I wasn¡¯t the only one making use of it.
The fourth Bearwolf reared up from the leaves only a few feet to my right. It struck me with its chest, its long, clawed arms wrapping around me, the smell of rot and wrongness swelling in my nostrils.
It heaved me, its dripping jaws reaching down toward me as it slammed me to the ground.
Fool! I could have sensed it if I hadn¡¯t been so focused on the creatures before me. These hunts would teach me the lessons I was missing quickly¡ªif I could only live long enough to learn them.
I knew I had only moments; the other three that had drawn me in would be scrambling for the feast now. Some said that fiends could be as smart as men¡ªor at least some of them¡ªand this little group had just outsmarted me.
I hit the ground violently, the weight of the fetid beast smashing down on top of me. I felt real fear. I had lost the advantage. Even if I survived, damage to my suit would mean more time in the pod, cutting into my time to gain experience for leveling.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
But the fear was met with a shocking rage from deeper inside me. Fine, I¡¯d messed up again, but I wasn¡¯t going to let it be for nothing. A lesson learned, and blood to spill.
POWER surged, and I saw the light of my blazing visor reflecting in the beast''s eyes. The glow painted the matted, patchy fur on its face. It recoiled slightly.
My enhanced strength surprised it. With a hard flex and a shove, I threw the larger beast off me. With a violent snap of my hips, I was back on my feet just as the first of the other three reached me. The creature with the third eye hung back slightly¡ªit was bigger than the others, and I wondered if it was the brains behind the attack.
A searing roundhouse CUT lopped the head off the first charging fiend. A pulse of BEAM crashed into the one behind it, grounding it in a smoking heap for a moment, though not killing it. Pain and sparks erupted from my shoulder as the beast I¡¯d thrown off me raked its strange metallic stone claws across my armor. I staggered from the blow. Three-Eyes danced in, slashing at me without overcommitting, keeping its distance. Using the speed that POWER brought, I just managed to skip away from the attack. The pain in my shoulder was eye-watering, and I could feel my lips curling into a frustrated snarl at the damage.
The fiend that had slashed me charged again. I turned to it, and my helm amplified my angry roar. The volume and ferocity of the shout startled it, and my CUT traced a line from its left hip to its right shoulder, not quite cutting it in two but opening its innards, spilling coils of gut and steaming, stinking carnage. The creature collapsed.
The BEAMED fiend charged again, seeing what had happened to its comrades and approaching more cautiously. It tried to fend me off with its outrageously long arms, giving it terrific reach. But they weren¡¯t longer than my sword. My blade clashed against the frantic claws, sparks flying and the ring of stone on steel echoing through the trees. I backed up, letting it lead the charge, letting it gain momentum, until it could resist no longer. It lunged harder, bringing itself fully into my range.
My CUT flashed twice, neat, tight upward strokes that were quick and easily reversed. The creature¡¯s arms suddenly ended at the wrists, its clawed hands thumping to the forest floor.
It froze, staring at its ruined arms. It showed no pain, but the look of wonder and confusion on its face was disturbingly human. I snarled as CUT worked once more, and the beast¡¯s head joined its other appendages on the ground, black, stinking blood pooling and soaking into the dead leaves and beds of needles below us.
My HUD rewarded me with the notification that my CUT and Level had both increased. I was now a level 11 Griidlord. Very nice.
As the body toppled over, I turned for three-eyes.
The demon was gone. It had been a smart one, letting the last fiend hold my attention long enough to escape.
I let go of POWER, feeling the odd deflation that accompanied releasing the attribute. I was ready to move in the direction I was sure the creature had fled, but the voice suddenly came to me.
¡°No. I have something much more interesting for you to see.¡±
I said, ¡°That last one will be worth more experience.¡±
The voice chuckled lowly, ¡°No, kiddo. I have a much tastier package of experience for you just a mile over here¡¡±
A waypoint marker blinked onto my HUD.
I hesitated. A basic, hungry, primal instinct in me wanted to find and finish the fourth fiend. I wanted that clever one that had nearly undone me. I reached for the wound in my shoulder. It would cost some pod time, but not much, and it wouldn¡¯t substantially hinder me.
The voice said, ¡°Come on, trust me. If you¡¯re really that eager to get to level 20, then wander over here with me, and we¡¯ll get a real jump on the ball.¡±
I paused only a moment longer, then started jogging through the trees. The terrain made using Footfield impossible, but my armored body could easily run the mile in a few short minutes, even through the dense forest.
The slope led me down into an older part of the forest where the trees grew larger and sparser. It was darker here, and I felt that same thrill of excitement and fear that was becoming more and more familiar.
I said, ¡°What kind of fiend will I find down here?¡±
The voice giggled, ¡°Nope.¡±
I said, ¡°Nope? Nope what? Nope, you won¡¯t tell me?¡±
Then SIGHT showed me my target. As I rounded a massive ancient trunk, my prey came into view.
The voice said, ¡°Nope, not a fiend,¡± positively giddy.
The figure that appeared as I rounded the trunk wasn¡¯t a fiend, monster, or band of outlaws.
It was another Griidlord.
Book 2: Chapter 33
He didn¡¯t seem to notice me.
The armored figure was sitting on a fallen log, helm folded back. His back was to me, bent over as he ate.
It struck me as odd that he hadn¡¯t detected my approach, but with his helm down, he wouldn¡¯t have the same sensory connection to the suit.
I thought to the voice, Is that Perdinger?
The voice responded, Yes¡ you just scored a level with those fiends, but the experience you¡¯d gain by downing another Griidlord doesn¡¯t compare. This is a major opportunity.
I let Assess reach out to investigate the stranger.
Subject: Aifric Perdinger
Status: Chosen Arrow
Level: 29
I recoiled slightly. He¡¯s level 29! I thought. I just got to level 11. Even with type advantage, I don¡¯t have a shot against him.
The voice said, You miss all the shots you don¡¯t take, kiddo.
Yeah, but he¡¯ll kill me. He¡¯s almost triple my level. This can¡¯t be a good idea.
The voice said, Not this fella. He¡¯s a renegade. He fought his way out of Buffalo and has been fighting since. Rejected by the Tower, he can¡¯t access his pod, so both his suit and body have gone without repair. He¡¯s weaker than you think. It¡¯s like free XP¡ªyou want this, trust me. It¡¯s the best thing for you. You¡¯d just be putting a mad dog out of his misery.
I felt my heart racing as the voice continued. Can you imagine what it¡¯s like? His days are running short. He could give up the suit, but it¡¯s hard to do that. Could you? Instead, he¡¯ll wander the lands like a ghost, accumulating dings and tears until he can¡¯t go any more. It¡¯s a shame, really. Tells you a lot about the state of Buffalo.
The state of Buffalo?
My heart pounded harder, and I licked my lips. Part of me thrilled at the prospect of finally fighting another Griidlord¡ªof testing myself, of gaining the levels a victory might bring. But this man was vastly more powerful and experienced. And there was a simple, undeniable fact lingering at the back of my mind: he was another human being.
If I closed my eyes, I could still see the Hordesmen falling under my blade, could still see their consciousness ending by my actions.
The voice said, Yeah. The Green Men got to him, in part, because he¡¯s wearing out. None of us like to admit it, but your little thinking meat bulbs wear out eventually, and this guy¡¯s been circling the drain for years. In another city, the Griidlords or the council would have stepped in. But Buffalo¡¯s in chaos¡ªthey just don¡¯t take care of business. Leaving this poor mad dog wandering the world is like leaving a nuclear bomb with launch codes in a playground. For god¡¯s sake, they¡¯re down a suit, and they can¡¯t fill the Arrow suit with a new warrior until it¡¯s vacated¡ so do everyone a favor and help vacate it!
I swallowed hard, feeling currents pulling against each other inside me. One current wanted the fight, the challenge, the experience, and the chance to prove myself. Flowing in the other direction were fears of facing this god, along with the simple unease at ending yet another human life.
But the pull of the tide drew me in, and I found myself moving closer.
I was only forming a plan. It might have been simple and prudent to try to take his unarmored head off with a sneaky swing from behind, but something held me back. Maybe I wanted to face him; maybe I didn¡¯t like the idea of ending a Griidlord¡¯s life that way. Whatever the reason, I circled around to approach him from the front.
The man was chewing ravenously on a piece of stale-looking bread. His head was bald, his face ragged and roughly bearded, with sunken eyes underscored by dark rings. He saw me as soon as I moved in front of him. His helm immediately snapped into place as he jerked to his feet, the bladed hands of the Arrow suit extending. He flexed them menacingly. Though he wasn¡¯t a big man, there was a deadly wiriness to him.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
¡°What do you want? You want to take me?¡± His voice was stammering and wild. The question actually took me off guard¡ªI had expected immediate violence. My purpose was pretty clear.
I said, ¡°You¡¯re a renegade. Relinquish the suit, or I¡¯ll relinquish it for you.¡±
He paused, seeming confused by my words. I winced inwardly¡ªthat had sounded better in my head.
Perdinger¡¯s visored head scanned left and right, searching for others. He looked back at me, ¡°It¡¯s just you? You¡¯re¡ you¡¯re the kid out of Boston? You¡¯re a rookie! No, not even a rookie, you¡¯re a fetus¡ªended your Choosing what, two weeks ago?¡±
I didn¡¯t respond.
He started to laugh. ¡°I dropped my food because of you? Get lost. Come back in a couple of years.¡±
I said, ¡°You won¡¯t be around in a couple of years. There¡¯s no way out for a Griidlord who goes rogue.¡±
He cackled louder. ¡°There¡¯s a way out. Oh¡ I have a way out. I¡¯ve got one hell of a way out¡ I just need to show him! Once I show him, it¡¯s all gonna be fine. I¡¯ve got a plan. So don¡¯t you worry, just toddle the fuck off now.¡±
I held my sword, watching him. His darting, tilting head was disturbing, but I was surprised and pleased to find I felt no fear of this man.
¡°What plan? Show who?¡± I asked.
His whole upper body swayed as he seemed to gather a response. I couldn¡¯t see his face, but I sensed his incredulity.
¡°Him! Him, of course! The Green Man! Who else? What¡¯s wrong with you? Why don¡¯t you get it? I just need to show him, then he¡¯ll give me a suit.¡±
¡°One of the uncounted suits? The Green Man has a suit? Is he... the leader of the Green Men?¡± I pressed.
Perdinger threw his head back and howled with laughter up through the canopy of the forest. Then his head snapped back to me with an unnatural, demonic quality to the suddenness of his movements. ¡°I see you! I see what you¡¯re doing! You¡¯re a spy, aren¡¯t you? Sent by the Green Man? Is this a test?¡±
He grew suddenly panicked. ¡°Oh no¡ wait¡ I said too much¡ I¡¯m sorry, I need another chance. Don¡¯t tell him, don¡¯t¡ Of course, you¡¯ll tell him. You¡¯ll tell him everything, you little cur, you¡¯ll go back and take my place, I see you¡¡±
His voice grew louder, and I could sense the violent break coming. ¡°I¡¯ll just have to gut you! It¡¯s the only way. You can¡¯t be his spy if you¡¯re dead! You made a mistake coming here; I¡¯ve been in this suit for a hundred years. I know things you can¡¯t even imagine. I¡¯ll flay you!¡±
As he finished, his visor flared and he charged at me like a bolt. My own visor came to life in response. Why wasn¡¯t I terrified? A century of experience and 18 levels above me, this man should have been my truest dread. Instead, I just felt a rush.
He speared toward me. Holding POWER, I felt the enhanced SPEED that slowed the world around me. I planted my right foot back, turning my body and readying my stance. As I did, I could see the problems with Perdinger¡¯s suit. The light of POWER blazed from his helm, brighter at its peak than mine, but it was inconsistent and flickering. All over his armored form were imperfections¡ªdamage and wounds that still sparked occasionally as he rocketed across the clearing toward me. The voice was right; this was a wounded animal. He wouldn¡¯t be easy prey, but maybe type advantage and his condition would make the difference.
His claws came at me in a barrage of rapid strikes. He was faster and stronger¡ªor at least he was when his visor blazed its brightest. When it flickered and faded, my blocking CUTS easily overwhelmed his blows.
But when they were strong, by the Oracle, they were strong. I kept my body angled away from him, presenting less to strike, pulsing SHIELD and CUT as I moved my sword to intercept those deadly claws. The impacts of claw on blade were shoulder-popping, and I had to scramble madly to keep those claws from getting through. One talon traced a scorching, smoking, agonizing line down my forearm; another opened a hole in my armor near the wound I¡¯d received from the fiend a moment earlier.
I had one weapon, my sword, and he had two. In other circumstances, this could have been balanced, but the incredible speed of his Arrow suit and his advanced level made it nearly impossible to defend against both clawed hands sweeping at me in a constant flurry. His attacks were like a storm, surging and fading as his failing suit roared and sputtered.
But still, I was backpedaling. The madness of his attack¡ªthe all-out insane ferocity¡ªwas overwhelming.
Yet there was no fear. Only a strange, cold determination and¡ an odd excitement. I couldn¡¯t explain this excitement; it was new, something that had only recently started to grow.
A claw raked through the air, and I turned it away with the flat of my sword. The other hand came in low toward my hip, and I bounced out of the way. POWER flooded me, making me feel invincible. He was a god, perhaps, but so was I.
I felt a sudden surge of a feeling that wasn¡¯t anger, but wasn¡¯t far from it¡ªa bubbling hot emotion that excited me, elated me, and made me desperately hungry.
If his all-out attack could overwhelm my defenses, then I could show him what attack truly was.
I didn¡¯t mean to roar as I moved, but roar I did. Amplified by my helmet, it filled the forest and sent birds flying.
I stepped forward.
Chapter 34
He didn¡¯t expect it. He didn¡¯t expect the gambit I employed. He didn¡¯t expect a rookie, two weeks in the suit, to be so strong. Everything that happened in that instant shocked him, and it all played to my success.
He had two weapons, so I added a second. I shoulder-charged him as he continued his relentless attack. My sword flared with CUT, smashing his clawed fingers aside. My SHIELD pulsed, dulling but not stopping the other claw as it scored my back. But I was bigger than he was; my charge caught him off guard. Letting SHIELD pulse to its max, I slammed into him, and the contact with his chest was like an explosion. The recoil shuddered through my own SHIELD, shaking me, but the impact drove him into the air, fragments of his suit scattering. The breath left him in a whoosh.
He crashed and rolled through the debris on the forest floor. I knew enough to realize now was not the time to relent¡ªI pressed my advantage. As he rose, sparking, smoking, and dazed, my CUT came down. I couldn¡¯t cleave him like a mortal; his shield and armor turned the blade. But the incredible kinetic energy flowed through my sword and detonated on impact with him. A gaping, blackened wound opened on his chest as he fell to his knees.
¡°What the fuck?¡± he gasped in pained tones through his helm.
A clawed hand shot out, spearing for my groin. I didn¡¯t even think¡ªI bounded back and hacked down with CUT. The explosive impact of light blinded me, and I turned my head. When I looked back, Perdinger was still on his knees, clutching a stump of a wrist, his severed claw twitching on the ground.
A message flashed on my HUD, informing me that I had reached Level 12. I couldn¡¯t spare the time to inspect the notice or the updates to CUT and SHIELD. There would be time for that later.
He turned his helm to me, his voice shaking. ¡°How¡ you can¡¯t do that¡ you¡¯re a fucking rookie¡ even now¡ my, my fucking hand¡¡±
He screeched with rage and struggled to his feet. I dropped back, content that I could wear him down now that he had one less weapon. But the man paused before reaching me. He hesitated, taking his own step back. I couldn¡¯t stop the smile beneath my helm. He was afraid. It was a thrilling sensation, to be a source of fear to another Griidlord¡ªa dangerously addictive feeling.
His voice was confused and stammering again, ¡°You¡¯re¡ but this isn¡¯t right, you¡¯re a fucking baby¡ you can¡¯t¡ you can¡¯t take my hand off¡ how¡ I¡¡±
It was as if he understood then that the fight was over. A canny logic operated beneath the waves of that broken mind. He turned and ran. I took a step to pursue, but to my horror, I felt the tendrils of Order shifting in the air around me.
The voice was in my ear. Christ, get the fuck back.
I leapt back as Perdinger embraced the Footfield. It was madness beyond madness. He shot away under the distortion of the field, weaving between the trees.
The voice muttered, Shit, I didn¡¯t think he was that crazy¡
I watched him go, my stomach tense, waiting for the field to lick one of the trees and entwine the atoms of man and plant. But somehow, he kept going¡ªa miracle of madness playing to his advantage¡ªand faded into the shadows of the forest.
The voice said, Kid, listen, I love when we do crazy things, but I don¡¯t ever want to see you do something like that again.
I replied, ¡°I should have finished him. You¡¯re right; he¡¯s a danger. He¡¯s going to hurt people.¡±
The voice responded, You did what you could. You couldn¡¯t pursue that. I¡¯ve come too far with you only to watch you kill yourself by using the Footfield in a goddamned forest. You tried, which is a lot more than can be said for his teammates back in Buffalo. You see what I mean now? They should¡¯ve retired him or put him down. He¡¯s loose now¡ªgod only knows what he¡¯ll do.
I said, ¡°If I ever get another shot at him, I¡¯ll finish it.¡±
The voice replied, I¡¯m sure you will, kid. No doubt. But there¡¯s no chasing him now. Come on, back to the convoy. That wasn¡¯t bad¡ªtwo levels in an hour. We got what we came for; now let¡¯s get those wagons rolling. If we dally too long, you¡¯ll be making camp for the night and adding a whole day to this visit to the jolly Burghsmen.
Once I left the forest, there was a short range of grassy hills between me and the convoy. I let Footfield do the work and covered the distance easily.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
The convoy was lined up and ready to go. I could see some impatience on the faces of the merchants. These men and women weren¡¯t all from Boston; they had little investment in seeing the new Sword take detours to gain experience. But none would express dissatisfaction to a Griidlord. Griidlords were known to leave unruly passengers stranded for misbehaving. I couldn¡¯t imagine treating someone that way, but the mere possibility was enough to ensure good behavior.
I released Footfield as I reached the back of the train and started trotting toward the center to deploy the wider field and get us moving.
¡°The hell happened to you?¡± Olaf¡¯s voice rang out, loud and sincerely concerned.
I slowed at his words and looked down at myself. I could feel the pain from several wounds on my body. My armor was damaged¡ªnot nearly as battered as Perdinger¡¯s had been, but showing the marks of my fights with the fiends and my duel with Perdinger. I cursed softly. This would mean pod time. Time in the pod meant time not spent roaming and leveling. While I was pleased with the two levels I¡¯d gained, I knew it would get harder as my experience grew. I was intensely fixated on the goal set before me: reaching level 20 before the 26 days until the next Falling had expired.
I said, ¡°I¡¯ve been training.¡±
I tried to smile as though it was a joke, but I was put off by the horrified look on Olaf¡¯s face and my own disappointment at the time I¡¯d lose in the pod.
The remainder of the journey passed uneventfully. We continued across manageable, if roadless, terrain into Pittsburgh¡¯s territory. Their division of land differed staggeringly from my homeland. In Boston, the city was the heart of the world, with only farming hamlets, castles, and market towns representing civilization beyond the walls. Pittsburgh, however, was entirely different. The Hill Clans were spread across the territory, each seated in a capital settlement of its own. Many of these settlements were located on the sites of still-functioning foundries that produced power weapons or fabricated materials. The Burghsmen didn¡¯t really maintain roads, but well-worn paths had emerged from generations of use, and we traveled these paths until Pittsburgh Tower peaked between the unfolding hills.
The city was different from Boston. Its walls were less substantial, as Pittsburgh had never been taken by an invading force since the fall of the old civilization. Unlike Boston, with its distinct sectors of residences occupying different Order levels, Pittsburgh seemed smaller but more militant. There were more industrial buildings in the city itself, more warehouses. Residences seemed clustered into what could almost be small towns of their own, often in areas of lower Order.
It was said the Burghsmen avoided living in higher Order, fearing the softness and decadence such privileges could bring. Each of the twelve smaller towns that composed the larger city served as an outpost for one of Pittsburgh¡¯s major clans.
Nestled in the crook of three rivers that flowed around it, Pittsburgh somehow felt both older and less permanent than the city I called home.
When we arrived at the mustering area outside the city proper, I dispelled my Footfield. The convoy wasted no time in breaking up. The sun was creeping low in the sky, and for now, this time was my own. Until my next caravan was ready in the morning, I was free to do as I pleased.
I stood watching the caravan breaking up, carts heading off in each direction to deliver the goods we had ferried so far or to rendezvous with other Griid-trains that would take them even farther afield. As I observed, I became aware of a presence near me. I turned and found Olaf¡¯s large figure standing nearby.
He seemed embarrassed to have approached me, awkward about putting himself there. He said, ¡°Uh¡ thank you. I just wanted to say goodbye. If my plans work out then¡ well, the next time we meet might be on the other side of an Orb.¡±
He smiled despite the seriousness of his words. Olaf did not smile often. For all his size and stoicism, I thought he was really quite a shy character.
Words came from me that I hadn¡¯t intended, but words I meant. ¡°Olaf, I understand your need to find a suit. I think we¡¯re the same that way. Once we discovered what it was to wear the suit, we couldn¡¯t imagine any kind of life that could compare with this¡¡±
I raised my armored hand to show him what I meant. He watched me intently, with perhaps a mild envy, and he nodded.
I said, ¡°I don¡¯t ever want to cross weapons with you. Without you, and what you did in the arena after Leona put me down, I wouldn¡¯t have this suit. And afterward, when your obligation was over, you were still there. You¡¯ll make a great Shield, Olaf, and if there¡¯s any justice in the universe, you¡¯ll find your suit. I might never want to cross your path in battle, but I hope you win it.¡±
He pursed his lips, as if measuring his own feelings. ¡°I was wrong about you from the start, Tiberius. I judged you as a commoner, and I hated you for embarrassing me. That was all wrong. I was all wrong. Boston couldn¡¯t be in better hands. Maybe my future is to come back to the city and take up the mantle of knight. Maybe I¡¯ll be riding out with you in Fallings to come. But for now, I need to do what I can to win the suit.¡±
He held out a hand to me, and I took it, holding it firmly. The emotion of the moment shocked me. I barely knew him. But then, I barely knew anyone, it seemed. And even if it was premature to call him a friend, he had surely been a true ally. I said, ¡°You¡¯ll be a mighty Shield somewhere, Olaf. Boston will be poorer without you.¡±
He shook my hand in response. That grip of his, so firm that I could feel the strength of it even through the suit, bore down on my hand with an intensity that caught me off guard. The moment clearly meant something to him as well.
So it was that Olaf set out on his quest to find his place in the universe.
As we stood there, I saw the solitary figure of Gideon stalking away, shoulders hunched in his perpetual anger. It would be a long time before I saw Gideon again. But this wouldn¡¯t be the last time.
Chapter 35
I could still see Pittsburgh from Fort Jaxwulf.
I stood at the window, looking down as the first orange fingers of the rising sun penetrated the folded hills surrounding the city. Most of the city below me remained in the shadow of the mounded earth around it, but the top of the Tower glowed like a lit candlewick.
Everything was alien in this land. The nobles did not occupy the Tower; it was reserved for the mightiest warriors of all the clans so that their prowess could be retained for the good of the city beyond their natural years. Mighty warriors, the best the land had produced over the last century, dwelt in the Tower. They were the Sons of Styx. To become a Son, they had to renounce their clans and swear themselves solely to the protection and betterment of Pittsburgh. They rested, trained¡ªa thousand generational talents armed with the finest weapons the foundries could produce.
I had come to Fort Jaxwulf expecting to find the settlement quiet or barely waking. When the sun had fully risen, I would be expected to lead my next Griid-train. My only chance to meet with Claw would be in these early hours.
I had been surprised to find the settlement very much awake¡ªawake and loud, but far from sober. I had stumbled upon a celebration that had lasted well into the night. Claw had greeted me with a tired, drunken lack of suspicion. The Chief of Clan Jaxwulf was a man perhaps in his forties. Like all of them, he was broad, strong, and rough. His wide face was bearded, with only hints of gray touching his temples.
He had been proud to explain that his daughter had birthed a son to the Chief of Clan Bonesaw. Jaxwulf and Bonesaw were among the foremost of the twelve major clans, and the marriage and birth promised to keep the clans at peace for some time.
I stood there at the window as Claw continued to pour ale for himself. I had declined, shuddering to imagine what using the Footfield under the influence of alcohol might result in. But he had grown serious when I told him I had been charged to meet him by Joel Montanion. He grew more serious still when I told him that Joel had sent me here to gather proof of the teachings of John the Dispeller.
Claw drank deeply of his ale. Beyond the window, there was still dancing and singing, but I sensed that more and more of the revelers were succumbing to the effects of fatigue and ale, or a combination of both. The party had the atmosphere of waning into a happy slumber.
Claw said, ¡°It¡¯s probably beyond coincidence that yinz arrived here on this of all days, Sword of Boston. I sense the hand of Providence in your coming.¡±
I said, ¡°The Oracle works in mysterious ways.¡±
Claw spat on the floor at that. ¡°Fuck the Oracle. Higher powers may be at work in sending yinz to me today. Did yinz know we have a tradition that a Chief can¡¯t refuse a guest a favor on the day of his heir¡¯s birth?¡±
He chuckled and swigged again. ¡°A Chief must hide himself away for fear of being asked too great a boon. Today is not the birth of my heir, but yinz see the sense of what I¡¯m sayin¡¯?¡±
¡°Yes, I see exactly what you mean,¡± I said, though I didn¡¯t at all, really. The man was borderline insensible.
Claw leaned back in his chair and belched loudly. ¡°There¡¯s a meaning in yinz coming to me on behalf of the Goldknight, on the morning young Thoddeus entered the world. I¡¯m in a mood to listen to yinz, to help yinz.¡±
Claw rose and swayed over to join me at the window. He looked down at the city as more of the light crept between the clefts of the landscape to paint it in warm yellows. He said, ¡°John the Dispeller wasn¡¯t welcomed warmly when he came to Pittsburgh. They say he got the ear of Thrax early and easy enough, but the other clans feared and distrusted the stranger. The Bonesaw Clan most of all took a dislike to him, feeling he had bewitched their Chief. He warmed many of the clans with his teachin¡¯, but not Clan Bonesaw. They¡¯re a hot-headed lot and hard to make friends with once they see you as an enemy.¡±Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
Claw wandered back from the window to the table, brought the mug to his lips again, and sipped. It was the first time he hadn¡¯t slugged from the vessel. I could see that he was growing weary.
He went to the door, opened it, spoke briefly to someone outside, then turned back to me. ¡°John the Dispeller found his best refuge here, in Fort Jaxwulf. The Jaxwulfs were the first to hear him for his truth, and he made a home here during his time in the Burgh. They say that as he grew older, he would come back to the Burgh, back to Fort Jaxwulf. It was a glorious time for the Burgh; we were setting the whole world on fire. But still, he found his refuge within these walls.¡±
Claw swept his arm around, gesturing to the room. ¡°His old ass might have sat in some of these chairs years ago. What do yinz think of that?¡±
That gave me real pause. I looked around the room. Everything did seem old. It was a humbling and awesome thought to imagine that such a mythical figure might indeed have once passed time in this room.
Claw grew serious, the wonder leaving his voice. He was suddenly quite grave. ¡°What John the Dispeller taught wasn¡¯t easy to hear, and it¡¯s not easy to live with. Not in our world. I ken the wisdom of the Goldknight sending yinz here to learn from the source. The Goldknight could tell yinz the truth, but why would yinz believe the words of a wandering madman? No, this is the way.¡±
The door cracked open, and Claw staggered over. When he turned back to me, he was holding a small leather-bound book. ¡°I¡¯ll probably regret this when the ale is outta me, but yinz can take this.¡±
He suddenly drew the book back to his chest. ¡°Yinz can borrow it. But I need an oath, a solemn oath, that yinz¡¯ll bring it back to us.¡±
I asked, ¡°What is it?¡±
He looked down at the little book with reverence. ¡°John the Dispeller kept journals. As Fort Jaxwulf became his home away from home, he left things here. We have a few of these, and we¡¯ve guarded them fiercely over the years. I only extend this to yinz because of the Goldknight. And ¡®cause of Thoddeus¡¯s birth. And ¡®cause I¡¯m so fucking drunk.¡±
He bubbled with rasping laughter at his last words. When the laughter subsided, he fixed me again with his gaze. I sensed that this mortal man wouldn¡¯t hesitate to cross blades with a Griidlord. There was no fear among these people. It was almost pathological how fierce they seemed to be.
¡°Go on then,¡± he said. ¡°An oath, a real one. This is no small thing I do.¡±
I took a breath and said, ¡°Claw Jaxwulf, I swear on the Oracle¡ª¡±
¡°No!¡± he almost snarled, then spat again. ¡°Not on the fucking Oracle! Swear on somethin¡¯ dear to yinz.¡±
It was unsettling to think of something dear to me and come up empty. I considered swearing on Harold¡¯s life, but it felt strange to swear on the life of a servant. My mind wandered to Katya and Lauren, but again, it seemed vague and insincere to swear on something as nebulous as friendship.
I felt my resolve deepen, and I met the man¡¯s gaze, steady and unwavering. ¡°Claw Jaxwulf, Chief of Clan Jaxwulf, I swear to care for and return the relic you hold. I swear on the thing dearest to me in this universe. I swear it on my Griid-suit. If I fail in the duty I bind myself to, may the suit be stripped from me, forever.¡±
Claw seemed to chew on my words, studying my face carefully, lips pursed, those eyes still piercing and intelligent despite the drunkenness. Then his expression softened, and a small smile crept onto his face.
¡°Aye, that¡¯s a good oath. I can see yinz mean it. Yinz might be alright for a city-dweller, Tiberius of House Bloodsword.¡±
He walked closer and extended the hand bearing the book. I took it from him gently, reverently. It wasn¡¯t just for show. John the Dispeller was a figure from history, and this little book was indeed a treasure, a relic. I felt honored by the trust Claw was showing in me, a stranger. But I could also sense he valued the Goldknight¡¯s cause. This was a risk worth taking if it would further that cause¡ªand he was, after all, very, very drunk.
I placed the book against my armor and willed a pocket to form, encapsulating it within. There was hardly a safer place it could be in the universe.
¡°Good health to yinz, Tiberius,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m going to bed.¡±
Chapter 36
On the morning I left Fort Jaxwulf, 25 days remained until the Falling.
The Griid-train I led back to Boston that day contained no familiar faces as the last one had. Time seemed to pass slowly on this return journey, and I stopped twice to clear out fiend nests near the Burghland borders, where they seemed to gather in greater numbers than I had imagined.
Upon my return to the Tower, Jacob and Baltazar showed some consternation over the wounds I had sustained, but they were excited that I had gained two levels in a single day. Baltazar was emphatic that reaching level 20 would make a significant difference in my ability to contribute during the Falling. Many Griidlords slowed in their development upon reaching their upper teens, and if I could attain level 20, I would be better able to engage Griidlords in the Falling. The added benefit of a new skill at level 20 was also on my mind, as I hoped for something more offensively capable than just assessing someone¡¯s name.
I spent another long day in the pod, healing my body and repairing my armor. The pod time gave me space to think. By the time I emerged, I¡¯d reduced my days before the Falling to 23. Gaining two levels in one day had been exhilarating, but the true cost was three days: one for the journey to Pittsburgh, one returning, and one healing in the pod. If I could sustain that rate of leveling, I¡¯d have no trouble reaching level 20 before the Falling. Yet, I understood the time needed between levels would increase as I grew stronger. The look of amazement on Jacob¡¯s face when I mentioned gaining two levels told me this pace might be unsustainable.
My fears were soon confirmed. In the following days, I led Griid-trains to various cities, gaining experience but at a slower rate. I traveled to Cleveland, still rebuilding after their Tower¡¯s return, decades after the Great Storm had torn the city apart, filling the ruins with mutant fiends and driving the survivors to the coast. The mystery of the Oracle was deeply ingrained in Cleveland¡¯s story: it seemed almost miraculous that an Entropy storm so vast had obliterated Cleveland, only for the refugees to discover a newly risen Tower on the coast, leading to the birth of Baltimore.
I also traveled to Baltimore, a city as barbarous as Pittsburgh, if not more so. Baltimore was steeped in dread. Since its founding, it had fielded mighty Griidlords and formidable armies. They never lacked for Flows, yet they had no interest in empire or conquest. Instead, they seemed content to exchange Flows for comfort and feasting. Even in my Griid-suit, I felt the city''s intimidation.
Along my travels, I encountered more fiends to battle, including more Bearwolves, which became easier to slay as I grew stronger but offered less experience in return. I encountered other strange creatures, dispatching them like the others. My strength grew, and I reached level 13, but I began to worry that my leveling rate would fall short of Baltazar¡¯s goal. I feared disappointing him and my city.
The travels provided news of note. Perdinger was reportedly alive and well. Buffalo¡¯s Griidlords had made only faint efforts to pursue him, distracted by the city¡¯s internal strife. The rogue lord roamed freely, and there was speculation that Buffalo¡¯s woes would worsen if they entered the Falling with only four Griidlords. The city was already in chaos, which would only deepen if they failed to gather the Flows needed to sustain their land.
Perdinger was rumored to have attacked trade caravans. Although Griid-trains were vital, much trade was still conducted without the aid of Griidlords, and Perdinger¡¯s attacks on these caravans fueled confusion. What need did he have to attack caravans? Was his madness truly the only explanation?
In the South, the burgeoning war had escalated. The queen of Miami had established field forts near Houston, and the Free Men of Dallas continued to repel advances. It seemed Dallas would secure Houston within its sphere.
Oddly, details of the Tower¡¯s rise remained obscure. Throughout history, Towers had risen for vagrants and travelers alike, often responding to the worthiness of a leader among a group that stumbled upon their resting place. Baltimore¡¯s Tower rose for Cleveland¡¯s refugees; Chicago¡¯s first Tower emerged for nomads led by Padraig Dragonheart. The identities of the people and founders of the new Tower remained oddly absent, casting a strange shadow over the story.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Whatever the case, there was speculation that a three-way truce might be formed between Houston, Dallas, and Miami to allow the cities to engage in the Falling. Miami and Dallas could hardly afford to miss a Falling season with their forces camped on either side of the new Tower. Houston had yet to hold a Choosing, but if they did, their Griidlords might be able to gather a few scraps of Flows from the Falling, which Houston would desperately need in these early days of its existence.
The idea that such a truce might be formed, and a Choosing held, tugged at me. I thought of Olaf. I wanted to see him claim a suit. Having learned how deeply one could yearn for the ecstasy of the armor, it was something I genuinely wished for him. But the thought that he could one day be my enemy unsettled me.
Over the course of those days, I returned to Boston often. I spent evenings with Harold, organizing plans to rebuild our trade empire. I returned to Castle Oakcrest more frequently than I had expected, finding myself drawn there time and again. Katya and Lauren never seemed to tire of my visits, with or without invitation. Despite the heart-wrenching turn our relationship had taken, a true friendship grew between us. They would listen and offer advice when I spoke of my pain for Leona¡¯s fate and my anxieties about fulfilling Baltazar¡¯s goals. I even confided my strange apathy regarding my father¡¯s death. They shared with me as well: Lauren was becoming increasingly interested in the social structures of our land. Her friendship with me, even her defeat by me, had led her to question the status quo. She admitted to concealing her identity and walking among the commoners, growing increasingly concerned about the plight of the poor and the greed of the higher classes.
Cornelius continued to be delighted at my presence, regaling me with updates on the war in the South and any other conflicts that flared across the land. Though his interests were macabre and even disturbing, I found myself looking forward to those moments, sipping brandy by the fire as he spoke.
Father¡¯s body had lain in repose. Considering the condition in which I had found him, he lay in a closed casket. Over the days, crowds came to pay their respects. There was little sadness among them; I felt they came more to be seen¡ªperhaps to be seen by me. Father had not been well-loved, but he was enormously respected, and his son promised to be equally powerful.
We buried him in the cemetery outside the walls on the 20th night before the Falling. The ceremony was attended by Boston¡¯s most prominent figures. Baltazar stood at the graveside, Bishop Ra himself presided, and lords and ladies from across the land gathered to be seen mourning the passing of this great man. By design or coincidence, Lord Morningstar arrived in the city that day. Standing apart from the crowd, this foreigner from another city added a special gravity to the event with his presence.
For me, it was closure. Still, no tears came. The guilt I had felt over this lack of sadness had been soothed by Lauren and Katya¡¯s insights. Even the voice had comforted me on this subject. Father had never loved me, and perhaps the feeling had been mutual. I had done as much for him as any son could have. I could no longer judge myself for my feelings. As the voice had said, there were no evil thoughts, only evil deeds.
***
So it was that I awoke on the morning of the 19th day before the Falling. My chamber in the Tower was as fine as Baltazar¡¯s. Sleeping in the suit should have felt strange, but it was anything but. The armor could soften and mold itself perfectly to my body. My bed had no sheets, as there was no need for warmth in the armor.
I stood by my bed, looking out the high window onto the city. I had reached level 13. Chowwick had tried to console me, saying it was almost unimaginable for a rookie Chosen to be this close to the Falling with such a high level. But all I felt was failure. My rate of increase had slowed too much. I had 19 days left to gain 7 levels.
Staring down at the city, I felt the intense need to fulfill my duty. I had seen other lands, cities where Order flowed and where victories in the Falling brought continuous gains. In those cities, every citizen benefited from the Order. They enjoyed more comforts, better jobs, and stronger economies. Boston, by contrast, was a city rich with suffering, where the needs of the poorest were rarely met. This had always been the way of Boston, a fact of life. But something had changed.
Now, it was not merely a fact of life; now, it was my responsibility. As I looked past the inner sectors to the rundown outer areas, a dreadful weight settled on me.
It was up to me to make their lives better.
I had to reach level 20.
Chapter 37
18 Days to the Falling
"I didn¡¯t hear you say that."
Bishop Ra stared vacantly into the pool. To an outside observer, he appeared serene, watching the swollen bodies of colorful carp lazily gliding through the ornamental pond in the Tower garden. But I understood that the man was deep in thought.
His tone was firm and judgmental. I no longer flinched at such a rebuke. There had been a time when words like those would have made me cower. No longer. This was business, and he was rejecting my offer.
I said, "Perhaps you misunderstand me, Your Grace. The offer wasn¡¯t a bribe. I wouldn¡¯t dream of trying to bribe a person of your standing and honor."
It had certainly been a bribe.
I continued, "I speak of a donation. Something the church could use for good works¡ªto build shrines to the Oracle, to aid the poor."
Ra nodded slowly, as if deciding whether to follow my lead. "A donation conditional on ignoring an act of heresy?"
"No, Your Grace, not ignoring it," I replied. "You could consider my offer as part of Leona¡¯s penance. I would suffer on her behalf, paying reparation to the church and the Oracle for her misdeed. I know you can¡¯t pardon her, but change her sentence. Send her from the city¡ªbanish her. Just don¡¯t take her head."
Ra stroked his chin as he watched the fish swim. We stood alone, far from prying eyes and ears¡ªthe Sword and the Bishop, walking together in the early light of the garden.
"Why do you care so much for the girl? I¡¯m not complaining," he said with a shrug. "Baltazar¡¯s compulsion for us to postpone the execution has only afforded us more opportunities to display the sinner for what she is. It¡¯s good for the citizenry to have a focus for their zeal; it strengthens it."
"She didn¡¯t act alone," I said. "And she didn¡¯t act of her own accord. Leona broke the rules of the Choosing out of a sense of duty and obligation. I still don¡¯t know what pressures were applied to her, but they must have been vast. She knew she would die for the infraction. Consider for yourself what must have been pressed upon her to force her to act."
He replied, "Heresy is heresy. If you raped a woman or killed a man at the behest of another, would you not expect punishment?"
"But I forgive her," I argued, "and the crime in this case was committed against me."
Ra shook his head. "The crime was committed against the Oracle. The Choosing is the expression of the Oracle¡¯s will, and you are simply its product. Don¡¯t forget that, Lord Bloodsword. You are simply the vessel for the Oracle¡¯s designs in the physical world."
I tried not to roll my eyes or let my frustration show.
We stood quietly for a time. Maybe Ra really was distracted by the fish. I found myself briefly mesmerized by their languid movements, the light reflecting off their colored scales, the way they moved in liquid grace.
Finally, I said, "There must be something I can do."
Ra responded, "You say that as if it is fact and not a question at all."
"We wouldn¡¯t be standing here discussing this if there wasn¡¯t something I could do," I said. "You wanted to hear what I would offer, but you came here with some demand of your own."
Ra smiled, genuine amusement lighting his face. "You¡¯re growing fast, young Sword. You¡¯re learning the ways of the game. There might be more of your father in you than you realize. I can¡¯t say I¡¯m thrilled to have to deal with a Sword who grows into the ways of politics, but there¡¯s promise in it all the same. It will be good to have a Sword who can bargain and make practical concessions."The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
He turned and started to walk slowly up the path, his hands clasped behind his back. The red orchids beckoned once again. I could see them. It took conscious effort to keep my mind on the Bishop and not let it drift off into the sea of half-formed memories.
I walked alongside him. He was Bishop, I was Sword. It was expected for me to show some deference to the Oracle¡¯s most cherished servant, yet the truth was simpler¡ªwe were equals now. He was the pinnacle of religious power in the city and, more importantly, the chief technician in the machine that provided the city with control over its Order. I was the tip of our military spear. My powers differed from his but were no less grand.
Ra said, ¡°You fought the renegade Lord Perdinger.¡±
I nodded.
¡°He¡¯s been seen since, though he appears to have one less hand than before. Was that your doing?¡± he asked.
¡°It was,¡± I replied.
¡°You do the Oracle¡¯s work in this. I commend you. It¡¯s a shame you couldn¡¯t put the sick dog down, but a renegade Griidlord is the greatest heresy of all. Perdinger has taken the power of a god, granted to him for the betterment of his city, and turned it to his own ends.¡±
¡°He was working for the Green Men,¡± I added. ¡°He spoke of the Green Man before we fought.¡±
Ra nodded thoughtfully. ¡°The Green Man¡ What do you know of them?¡±
¡°They¡¯re inspired by Greenbay. They want a society without lords and ladies, without distinction. They want the resources of the land to be distributed evenly, to see an end to rich and poor.¡±
He said, ¡°Sounds noble enough, does it not?¡±
I hesitated. My views on the Green Men had been shaped more by Father than by my own reflections. ¡°It¡¯s a noble idea in theory. But in practice¡ªespecially the way they practice it¡ªif they take hold of Buffalo, what will happen to the city? Buffalo must compete with other powers in the land. To field and equip armies, the city needs wealth. How can a city devoid of the motivation to seek profit compete with cities like Boston, where the drive to succeed pushes men to greater feats?¡±
¡°Well said. You sound like Sempronius. I couldn¡¯t have put it better,¡± Ra remarked. ¡°But there¡¯s another reason we must be concerned about these Green Men. They have their own mockery of a priesthood. They preach against the Oracle; they speak heresy. It¡¯s one of the ways they sow discontent and twist the minds of men against the greater good and the system that has seen mankind flourish in the thousand years since the fall of the old orders.¡±
I listened, sensing he was approaching a point.
¡°There is a nest of these animals lurking in Buffalo territory,¡± he continued. ¡°The insects operate from this hole, and their tendrils extend even to our home. Their lies and blasphemy poison not only their own people but ours as well. I have no power to act over this hive of demons. Officially, that is the domain of the Bishop in Buffalo. But he fails to act. The why of it I neither understand nor care to understand. The reality is simple: as he lets the wound fester and swell, it¡¯s my flock that suffers.¡±
We walked slowly up the path. This was not like walking with Baltazar, who moved with a pace that brought us swiftly through the garden. Ra moved as languidly as the fat fish we had watched in the pond. I looked at the red flowers, remembering once again that moment¡ªFather at the door of our little house, a flower pinned to his fine clothes, Mother speaking with him, crying, and me watching, confused and unknowing.
Ra said, ¡°I will speak plainly. I fear this knot of vice that reaches out for Boston. Buffalo is in turmoil. There is fighting in the streets; the people turn on each other. The city is without a Griid-suit, and Perdinger runs riot in the wilds. I would not see the same fate befall my charge. But I cannot act openly. Sending soldiers to destroy the heretics would not only be an act of war against Buffalo, it would also attract the ire of the Archbishop himself. I cannot act on the territory of another Bishop.¡±
I understood him now. "Officially, you mean."
Ra nodded. ¡°Your next Griid-train is to Buffalo, is it not?¡±
My eyes widened. It was indeed. I suddenly realized that this meeting might not have been the product of my own machinations at all.
Ra said, ¡°It so happens that your route to Buffalo could take you within a few miles of the den of lies I speak of.¡±
I said, ¡°You want me to destroy it?¡±
He replied, ¡°Burn it to the ground. Kill the heathens.¡±
¡°And if I do, you¡¯ll pardon Leona?¡±
He said, ¡°Banish. We will banish her, as you suggested. There can be no pardoning. But it can make a good story: the Sword of Boston doing penance for a sinner to alleviate her crimes. The people will love it. And you¡¯ll gain levels. The Green Men have their own resources; you¡¯ll meet a challenge if you go there.¡±
We walked a little further. I detested this. Killing fiends cost me nothing, but the thought of killing men again was not something I had an appetite for. But I thought of Perdinger, and the necessity of putting him out of his misery¡ªfor his own good and the good of the land. He was out there now, killing and plundering for reasons unknown. It had been the Green Men that drove him to it. Buffalo suffered under their influence.
¡°I¡¯ll do it then,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll tear out the nest.¡±
Ra nodded happily. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, ¡°And the donation. You can still make the donation.¡±
Chapter 38
17 Days to the Falling
I may have set out on the quest with half a heart. I had a terrible reluctance to kill men. The memories of the slain Hordesmen near Dodge still haunted my dreams. And the Hordesmen were something I could barely see as human. They were bogeymen¡ªsavage, irredeemable monsters who thrived on rape and murder. Driven by desperation to save Lord Chowwick, the killing had been easy, barely giving me pause in the moment.
This mission, to uproot a nest of Green Men, was different. It was premeditated, calculated, cool.
As I said, I may have started with half a heart, but the devastation I saw strengthened my resolve. Buffalo territory had grown increasingly lawless, so the caravan I traveled with was well-armed. I had bolstered its guard with members of the Jaxwulf clan. For now, at least, Dirk and his people were making use of my newly acquired lands for camping, and they continued to be available for hire.
Dirk had no reservations about attacking the Green Men; he seemed to have some intimate familiarity with them. They weren¡¯t entirely ideologically opposed to each other¡ªDirk also sought to uproot the social order and disdained the structure of class. But the Green Men¡¯s insidious violence disgusted him. He saw them as obstacles to meaningful change, labeling radicals like them as little better than terrorists.
So Dirk accompanied me, with fifty warriors, across the landscape. We left the caravan in a secure location, well-guarded and near water, and I used the Footfield to bring the Burghsmen warriors across the land toward the location of the nest.
The Green Men had a fortress in a mountainous region a few miles south of the main trade route between Buffalo and the Eastern Lands. We passed through burned-out villages and hamlets. When we finally came upon a settlement where there were still people, I halted the field to investigate.
The villagers did not recoil from me. They were bedraggled and dirty, working to rebuild smashed homes and partly burned barns. In the fields, young boys were haphazardly chasing after panicked livestock.
An older man approached, possibly the village leader. At first, he seemed hopeful, my SIGHT giving me a much clearer view of him than he could have of me at a distance. But as we neared, I saw disappointment grow on his face.
I greeted him, ¡°I fear I¡¯m not who you hoped to see.¡±
The man was respectful. I may have borne the colors of a foreign city, but I was still a Griidlord. ¡°Forgive me, m¡¯lord. I thought you might be a Griidlord of our city. We have great need.¡±
I made a show of looking around at the devastation in his village. ¡°It seems you do. What¡¯s befallen you?¡±
The man¡¯s eyes were glassy, though his lips struggled to contain an angry snarl. ¡°The Green Men,¡± he spat on the ground. ¡°The Green Men laid waste to us, m¡¯lord.¡±
I shook my head. ¡°I thought the Green Men were for the people, for the common folk. Why would they assault you so?¡±
The man said, ¡°Aye, that¡¯s what we thought too. Not that we support their cause, m¡¯lord. We¡¯re happy to live in a law-abiding world, that¡¯s a fact beyond doubting. But when we started to notice them in the area, we didn¡¯t think we had anything to fear.¡±
¡°And so you shouldn¡¯t,¡± I replied. ¡°That¡¯s the point of them, is it not?¡±
The man shook his head slowly and sadly. "They came to us just a few weeks back. A big band of rough men. Told us that it was every common folk¡¯s duty to pull together, that they''d be doing the fighting and us the farming, but that meant we should feed ''em. Felt like extra taxes is what it felt like. But we''re simple folk, with hardly a sword in the village. What were we to do but give ''em what they asked for? We sent word to the city that we were being extorted, but no help came. That was weeks ago. We sent the harvest to market a little more''n a week back, and when they came again, we explained that we only had enough food to feed ourselves¡¡±Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
The man had to stop for a moment, emotion threatening to engulf him. His eyes shone with tears, and his firm lip trembled.
I said, "It''s alright¡¡±
He waved a hand at me, shaking his head. "I''m sorry, m''lord. No, it¡¯s alright. They started taking what they wanted anyway, and when one of the wives tried to stop them, they¡ they took her round back. The men, the young men, they couldn¡¯t stand for it and tried to fight the roughs. But they had no hope. Before I knew what was happening, there were fires and screaming. They¡ they killed the men who fought them, and took their time with more of the womenfolk. Told us we''d act as an example to others.¡±
I said, "I''ve seen other settlements in a similar state.¡±
"They''ve been making lots of examples," he replied.
"This is hardly a way for them to win the hearts and minds of the people.¡±
The old man spat again, saying, "They don¡¯t care about us. We¡¯re out in the Wilds; we''ll make no difference in winning the city. It¡¯s the common folk of the city and the towns they want to woo.¡±
I looked at the poor, broken soul and felt the urge to tell him why I was here. I wanted to assure him that revenge would be served, and law imposed. I turned my head to the west, where I knew the city of Buffalo lay. I thought of the Griidlords there who failed in their duty, of the leaders and nobles bound to defend these people. The Green Men ran rampant in the countryside, Perdinger wandered with the power of a mad and murderous god.
But I couldn¡¯t reveal my true purpose here. Bishop Ra couldn¡¯t act directly, which was why I¡¯d been sent. I might have even made a mistake by being seen here. Still, a man in a village this remote might not even recognize my colors or speak to anyone who would care to identify me. So, I kept my own counsel.
I said, "My men and I are fiend hunting. If we come across any of these rascals, I''ll take their heads off. We¡¯ll be in Buffalo later today, and I promise to appeal to your Griidlords to send you aid.¡±
The man seemed as satisfied with this as he could be. "Thank you, m''lord. I couldn¡¯t ask so much of you."
We passed only one more village as we streaked into the hills. This one was completely burned out, with no sign of life. As the ground grew rougher and less suitable for farming, signs of human habitation faded away.
Ra had shown me the location of the fort on a chart, and the HUD of my suit had interpreted the location into a waypoint marker. I skirted the marker, traveling further up the slopes until the terrain became too laden with obstacles for the Footfield to function.
We continued the last part of the journey without the aid of the Footfield, but it took little time. The fort revealed itself below us as we crested a hill. I took my cues from the Burghsmen. They were gifted naturals at navigating the wilderness, and I didn¡¯t want my shining form to be the reason we were spotted.
The fort, if that¡¯s what it could be called, was an old ruin, bolstered with roughly sawn logs. Men milled around with no semblance of order; there were no obvious sentries or guards at work.
Dirk crouched alongside me and chuckled lowly. ¡°Easy meat; they¡¯ll be easy meat.¡±
I said, ¡°I think they outnumber us, Dirk. There¡¯s more than fifty men down there.¡±
He looked at me, as if trying to understand if I was joking. He said, ¡°Yinz enough for them alone.¡±
I nodded slowly. I supposed I was. I might have struggled against ten Hordesmen, but Hordesmen were of a different breed and had all been armed with power weapons. The men below had only steel, and they seemed hardly as formidable as the demons of the Entropy storms.
I said, ¡°Maybe I should do it myself, spare your men the risk.¡±
Dirk laughed and, to my great relief, disagreed with me. ¡°We could do with seeing some action. And I wouldn¡¯t mind seeing up close what color these fuckers really bleed.¡±
I asked, ¡°How, then? You know this better than I do.¡±
Dirk said, ¡°The boys and me¡¯ll get in close. Those dumbshits down there won¡¯t see us coming. When we start cutting, yinz can come running in from the other side. It won¡¯t be hard work.¡±
I nodded, and Dirk melted away. I moved into cover where I wouldn¡¯t be spotted by the fort¡¯s watchful eyes and started to lope around to the opposite side. I felt my stomach clenching slightly in anticipation of what was about to happen. Any reservations I¡¯d had about dispatching these men had faded when I¡¯d seen the devastation they were wreaking on the surroundings.
They said that mortal men fighting a Griidlord with steel was like feeding meat into a grinder. It made sense to me; a Griidlord was a god. Only tremendous numbers and a lucky thrust could let a force of mortal men slay or wound a Griidlord. I knew the stories well, I¡¯d devoured them as a bed-bound youth.
I had never imagined the day would come when I would be the meat grinder itself.
Chapter 39
I had expected the Burghsmen to erupt at some point. I waited, only yards from the edge of the crude fortress, listening for the warriors to erupt with battle cries and roars. Instead, there was nothing that human ears could hear.
The fort was barely that. It was a loose collection of ruins with rough palisades erected. Instead of gates, there were simply gaps in the palisades. In the center of the cluster of partially repaired old buildings was one larger structure, like a great hall. This place had not really been constructed with the expectation of withstanding protracted defenses.
My HEARING brought the sounds of the camp to me: disjointed pieces of conversation, the cracks of a fire. I could smell meat cooking. The stink of human waste and urine mingled in the air with scents of stale ale.
Then there was the sickening tink, the sharp rasp of steel cutting meat and tapping off bone. The sound came again, too quiet to detect without HEARING, accompanied by a vile gurgling, bubbling sound. The warriors of Jaxwulf were at work.
The sound came twice more before shouts and cries started to erupt.
¡°Murder!¡±
¡°L-larry? Someone¡¯s fucking killed Larry!¡±
¡°We¡¯re attacked! To arms!¡±
Then the Burghsmen roared. Even I was startled by the volume of their battle cries and the immediacy of their position. They were well within the camp and all over it. The responding shouts were just as furious but somehow less chilling. The air was alive with the sounds of steel on steel, and more sickening, liquid sounds of death.
I sprinted in through a gap in the palisade. It was undefended, the thugs all moving towards the sounds of their attackers.
A band of five men, armed with swords and clubs, were rushing from the great hall when they saw me. My momentum carried me to them. I will never know if they really planned to fight me, or if they would have tried in their right minds. They responded from instinct, raising weapons. But they did it with pupils contracted by terror. They faced a Griidlord. I faced the simplest of mortals.
The story the man at the village had told me was fresh and active in my mind as I met the gang of men. I could not stop thinking of his face, the sadness and pain that lived there when he described the ruffians dragging the village woman away. It fueled me and made what came next much easier than I had expected.
I didn¡¯t even reach for POWER.
The first man swung his sword, and my CUT passed through it, turning the steel to glowing slag. He didn¡¯t have time to scream as the molten metal poured over his hands, sizzling and pushing the stink of burning meat and fat into the air. My blade continued, having destroyed his, through his body, cleaving him neatly in a horizontal line, separating his body into a top half and a bottom half that would have no more to do with each other.
A club came at me, and I caught it, the force of my anger and emotions propelling me. The timber of the club crunched and splintered under the force of my grip, and I punched the wielder with my sword hand. The bearded face became a ruined crater, like a crushed insect. Blood and fluid gushed from every opening as the fresh corpse tumbled away from me.
I roared as I swept my sword in a huge, weeping horizontal arc. The light of CUT blazed like the fires of an avenging hell, bathing the terrified faces of the remaining three men in faint red light. My sword passed through all of them in that one sweep. Each time it struck a fresh body, I felt the slightest tug of resistance, heard the faintest thunk as the burning pillar of death ripped through their fragile bodies. I paused at the end of my swing, facing three immobile corpses, frozen in the last stances they would ever hold. Then the corpses slid apart. The gore was monumentally horrible, but I barely processed it. I moved on, leaving a pile of torsos and pools of blood on the ground behind me.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
So this was the power I had been promised. I hadn¡¯t appreciated before what it was that I wielded. I had only fought fiends and Hordesmen since I gained the suit, creatures and beings that exceeded the powers of ordinary men. I had been impressed with my ability to defeat such nightmares, but none of it had come easily. Here, moving through clutches of men like a scythe through grass, I came to understand my powers better.
I was skilled with a sword, well-trained, and more than a match for any one of these men without the suit. But with the suit, I was an avenging force of nature, sweeping toward the great hall and grinding men to meat and paste.
The roars and shrieks of battle assaulted my ears as I CUT and BEAMED man after man. I couldn¡¯t see what was happening with the others, but from the sounds, I knew the Burghsmen were wreaking their own terrible justice on the brigands who called themselves freedom fighters.
As I reached the door of the great hall, a man burst out. He was a tremendously large fellow and, unlike the others, was well-equipped, bearing a steel breastplate and a staggeringly large longsword. His eyes bulged as he saw a Griidlord tearing toward him. To his credit, he leveled his sword at me. I smashed it aside with the back of my armored left hand and drove the tip of my sword through his breastplate as though it were paper. My visor flared with POWER as I lifted the man impaled on my sword with one arm. His eyes bugged and bulged, blood gurgling through the gaps in his teeth.
I had an odd moment of calm as I looked into his face. Blood ran in a froth from his mouth, brighter and more scarlet than I expected. It foamed over his beard, and instead of a voice, the man only had a gurgling rasp. I realized, with some guilt, that despite my trepidation about killing my fellow man, I was, in fact, reveling in this. Was this how the big kid in the yard felt as he threw his weight around among smaller children? Was this the lust of the fox among the hens? Whatever it was, right then, I exalted in my power. How far I had come from being a mortal man.
The guilt would come later, I was sure.
I flicked my arm and tossed the dying man from my sword. He crashed into a ruined stone wall, writhing and twisting as he clutched at the geyser of blood erupting from the hole in his breastplate.
I turned back to the door he had exited. In the moment I had spent ending that man¡¯s life, someone had barred it. It was a huge, heavy door. They might have put poor effort into constructing their camp, but someone here had gone to the effort of making this structure defensible. Defensible to men, not gods.
My visor flared as POWER burst through me. My booted heel smashed into the door, bowing its shape, sending the slab of timber crashing into the innards of the house like a projectile. Men shrieked in pain, bones crunched horribly as the ruined door crushed a man against the far wall.
I was inside then, lost in a dizzying dance of power and ease. My blade CUT through sword and arm, shield and skull. I made an artwork of the walls and ceilings. Dramatic patterns of blood painted the surfaces, bits of flesh and bone stuck to the canvas. The floor grew slick.
In the blur, I found two men remaining where an instant before there had been a dozen. I hacked down on the first, not thinking about the exhilaration I felt at watching my sword shred mail and flesh and bone. Then I spun, my sword licking out almost carelessly to end the life of the last man in the structure.
I was almost confused by the clang of steel on steel, by the feeling of my sword striking steel and being deflected away. I was surprised to feel the recoil of the impact run through my arm and up to my elbow.
My surprise nearly killed me. I barely brought my sword back up in time to parry the easy flick of the offending sword. What was happening?
I bounded back and looked for the first time at the remaining man.
A dark, knee-length jacket hung from the man¡¯s shoulders. He held a sword not of normal steel but one that pulsed with the light of a power weapon¡ªsomething rare, dangerous, and alien-looking. The man stood at his ease, despite facing the terrible danger of the force of nature I had become. He was not even slightly fazed by the ground meat his compatriots had been turned into.
I felt my confidence waning then, felt the coldness of reality hit me like a punch in the gut.
The man didn¡¯t charge; he just stood in a relaxed fencer¡¯s stance, the power rapier pointed at me in a relaxed but distinctly lethal hand.
Danefer said, ¡°Tiberius, I was hoping to speak with you.¡±
Chapter 40
Danefer.
What was happening in the universe that he was here?
I felt a sudden dread. He was a man, yes, his days as a Griidlord behind him. But he had fought Magneblade. I hadn¡¯t used assess on Magneblade yet, but he had to be at least level 30. Danefer had been on the gradually losing side of the fight, but his arsenal of relics and centuries of skill and experience had allowed him to manage it comfortably. How was I to fare against him at level 13?
Danefer seemed unfazed by the carnage in the room, the shrieks of the raging battle outside, or the fact that a Griidlord with a visor blazing in the grips of POWER stood in front of him.
¡°It¡¯s no coincidence,¡± he said calmly. ¡°Don¡¯t worry; the universe doesn¡¯t really work like that.¡±
I said, ¡°Wh¡ªwhat are you doing here? What are you doing with the Green Men?¡±
¡°The Green Men have their uses. I have plans, Tiberius, as I alluded to before. I have grand plans, important plans. The Green Men can serve me in those plans as well as any others. But don¡¯t concern yourself with them. Concern yourself with me.¡±
He cocked his head, listening to the battle raging outside. Steel smashed against steel, men hacked at one another, the air buzzing with the sounds of chaos and death.
He returned his attention to me. ¡°We¡¯ve reached a sudden crossroads, you and I. I had hoped to see you again before you won the suit, to help you see the light. But the plans of men¡ You¡¯ve had time to be poisoned now, haven¡¯t you? Baltazar has been filling your head, the Burghsmen have been filling your head, the damnable voice has been working its magic. I need to know if there¡¯s any hope for you.¡±
It was, inconveniently, at that moment that the voice entered my mind. Like a regular patron at a tavern, it started casually: So, what¡¯s up, how are things going in the world of Tiberiu¡ª¡ oh shit, this guy! Kill him. Kill him fast.
I couldn¡¯t pay attention to the voice, but it distracted me.
Danefer narrowed his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s there right now, isn¡¯t it? Urging you to do away with me.¡±
Then Danefer spoke, not to me, but to the voice he knew was listening through me. ¡°Do you see me, Enki? Do you see me through the boy¡¯s eyes? It¡¯s been a while. You have hopes for this one, don¡¯t you?¡±
The voice grumbled, Oh, I hate this guy. Tell him he¡¯s a shithead. No, tell him he¡¯s got a small dick. He does, by the way. Yeah, tell him that¡ªhe¡¯s sensitive about it.
I tried to shake my head clear of the chattering noise.
Danefer spoke sadly. ¡°If I could have gotten through to you before you won the suit, I could have shared my plans. We could have plotted against the demon voice. But that chance has passed, and now I am left with few options. You¡¯re gifted, Tiberius, maybe more than I was, maybe more than anyone ever has been. I can¡¯t take the chance that you could become the key that it will use to unlock the vault.¡±
heard my voice coming from a distant place. ¡°So¡ you want to kill me? Is that what you¡¯re saying?¡±
The voice chimed in, Of course he wants to kill you, he¡¯s mad and bad. You still haven¡¯t told him he¡¯s got a small dick yet.
Danefer nodded solemnly. ¡°I take no pleasure in it, Tiberius. None of this is your fault, but sometimes terrible things have to be done for the greater good.¡±
¡°Then why this?¡± I demanded. ¡°Why wait for me here among the Green Men? Why not warn them, have them on alert? Why the damn conversation?¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Danefer replied, ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you to bring an army. My sources told me that Ra had sent you personally to uproot the nest. I didn¡¯t want to rouse your suspicions. If you had come upon the place and seen this band of morons on high alert, you might have smelled the trap. And I needed to see you, to look at you, to know you were lost to me.¡±
¡°Lost to you? I don¡¯t even know you!¡±
Danefer smiled forlornly. ¡°But I know you.¡±
Without warning, he struck. I had never faced a being with such skill. In almost two centuries of constant fighting, it was impossible to imagine how many times he had struck a foe with that sword hand. I realized then how he had fought Magneblade. Decades and centuries in the suit had made him more than human. He had the wisdom and experience of lifetimes, yet the body of youth. Even more, I could feel the strength in his arms as I clashed my sword against his. Did the suit do something to the flesh? Was there more to the effects of concentrated Order than simple life extension?
The voice was worried, urgent. Quick, kid, he¡¯s gonna pull a gun on you.
I didn¡¯t understand at first. So consumed was I with desperately trying to fend off his glowing sword that the voice¡¯s words barely registered. But my eyes darted to Danefer¡¯s belt, and I widened as I saw his free hand smoothly pulling a strange pistol free. Without thinking, I pulsed BEAM, sending the gun clattering away. Danefer was surprised and twisted his body aside to save himself from the BEAM. His hand curled in pain. I wasted no time. I brought a soaring CUT down on him, but he deflected it. I drove my boot into the opening and struck him, holding POWER. My STRENGTH was immense. His body went crashing across the room, and I lunged after it. I had seen him absorb what should have been killing blows from Magneblade. Somehow¡ªbe it relic or something else¡ªDanefer could survive blows that would fell whole squads.
A message crossed my HUD informing me that I had reached level 14.
He crashed through a table, and I pounced. Even with POWER, making the world move like thick honey, he was fast. Like a snake born of lightning, he struck out from his prone position.
His blade scored my chest, not piercing but making me hiss with pain. His boot met me as I dove on top of him, sending me flying back into a wall. The masonry cracked and splintered as I rolled to my feet, the red hue of my sword glowing in the dust that surrounded me.
The voice said, Just hang in there, kid. Just a minute longer.
I took the moment to respond, even as Danefer crossed the room like a beam of light. What are you talking about? You¡¯re distracting me.
Danefer¡¯s blade met mine. His speed was impossible; the force of his blows made me feel human again. Maybe I could beat him if I were leveled further, but right now, he was too much. His skill, his body, his relics¡ªhe might have left the suit, but this was functionally another Griidlord I was battling.
The voice said, Sorry, sorry. I don¡¯t mean to be a pain, and I know you¡¯re busy and all, but¡ you know, you still haven¡¯t told him how small his dick is.
It was a doomed enterprise. I hadn¡¯t felt fear like this since the arena. I had fought fiends, hordesmen, another Griidlord, and mortal men, but none of them had filled me with the certain dread that this fight projected onto me.
I pulsed BEAM again, but he moved easily around it. I hammered with CUTS that could fell trees and topple houses, but he deflected them with ease. I realized that this wasn¡¯t a fight to him. This was surgery. He was putting me down like a dog, only taking his time to preserve himself and limit his own risks.
The tip of his rapier raked across my forearm and along the length of my arm, searing the back of my hand. My sword fell from my grip involuntarily. Another booted heel smashed into my chest, throwing me against the far wall. The air exploded from my lungs as my back slammed against the stone. I slid down, gasping for air, struggling to find my feet. My sword lay ten feet away, glowing red on the ground. I scrambled to retrieve it, but a booted toe cracked into my chin, rolling me onto my back.
I stared up into the cold, mad eyes of Danefer as he stood above me, the tip of his sword leveled at my chest.
I thought, How can it end like this?
The voice murmured, Just a few seconds... tell him he¡¯s got a¡ oh, what¡¯s the point? You¡¯re not gonna do it.
Danefer looked into my visor, but it wasn¡¯t me he was making contact with.
¡°You killed this boy, Enki, not I,¡± he said. ¡°You forced my hand. He might die by my blade, but it was your doing. I¡¯ve been beyond the Veil and I¡¯ve traveled past the Wierding Wall. I know the truth now, Enki. There¡¯s nothing you can do to stop me. I will end you.¡±
The voice replied to him, though Danefer couldn¡¯t hear it, a flat, dismayed tone coloring its words. What happened to you, man? You used to be cool.
Danefer thrust for my heart as I strained to evade the blow.
Chapter 41
It was another moment of certain death.
From my prostrated position on the floor, it seemed inevitable. Looking back, the voice had never seemed entirely panicked. In fact, it had seemed quite certain that a solution to my Danefer problem would soon unfold.
Yet I felt none of that reassurance as his blade lunged forward. All I had was a certainty that this was my final moment. I had the tiniest flicker of regret that I hadn¡¯t fled from Danefer rather than confronting him. He had nearly matched Magneblade¡ªa Griidlord many levels stronger and many decades more experienced than I. But I¡¯d killed Hordesmen, slain fiends of seemingly indomitable strength. How could one man stand against a god such as I?
The blade plunged just as the dust suspended in the air recoiled from a sudden motion. It was too fast to see. One moment there was Danefer¡ªthere was certain death before me. The next moment, in the barest flash of purple, he was gone. My ears registered the sharp impact of something hard striking flesh, but the action was too fleeting for my eyes to follow.
Masonry exploded as Danefer¡¯s form, tangled with the shining purple shape, smashed into the wall. The streaking figure had burst through the open doorway, sending dust blooming through the air and blocks clattering to the ground. A beam of sunlight speared into the space from the damage, its path traced by the clouds of debris. For a moment, I was hypnotized by the clouds pulsing and swirling along the beam of light, almost organic, like the fleshy surface of a jellyfish undulating and pulsating.
Then I was on my feet, my sword in hand. The dust began to part, and I became aware of a figure standing beside me.
A Griidlord. The armor was purple, trimmed with gold. The form was slight, lithe, coiled like a snake. The hands were claws.
This was an Arrow.
An Arrow from Minneapolis.
¡°Racquel?¡± I couldn¡¯t keep the shock from my voice. ¡°What are you doing¡ª¡±
¡°Shh,¡± she hissed at me. ¡°Later. We have a bigger problem right now.¡±
As the dust thinned, the glowing line of Danefer¡¯s sword, dimmed but visible through the haze, appeared first.
He came at me, using the dust for cover, his sword a relentless demon flurrying at any point it could find. My sword covered and parried the attacks. He was pressing harder than ever, some of his reserve for self-preservation abandoned to something else. Rage at the surprise assault? Desperation to slay me before his chance slipped away?
As I held him off, Danefer''s side was exposed to Racquel. She lunged, her clawed hands flashing in the light from the broken wall, cleaving through the swirling dust. He turned to block her attack, and I didn¡¯t hesitate to step into the opening.
My sword missed his neck by a hair. A thin red line appeared¡ªenough to remind him that, relics or not, his flesh was mortal, and he could die like anyone.
He leapt back from us, unnaturally far, landing easily at the other end of the room. I blinked in surprise at the feat.
He seemed more agitated now, twitching with nervous energy. "You sent her, I suppose, Enki? Think this will save your little prince? I will set the people free, Enki!¡± His voice took on a strange, melodic pitch, almost like the wail of a crying child, rising distortedly as he finished each phrase.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
"I¡¯ll best you, Enki! I¡¯ll best him and anyone else you pick as your key. I¡¯ll bring your terror to an end. It¡¯ll take more than some toddling girl like her to stop me."
He pointed his sword at Racquel. She muttered, ¡°I think he¡¯s talking about me,¡± sounding more tired than angry.
Danefer let his sword sway until it pointed back at me. I held tightly to POWER and readied my SHIELD, prepared to pulse at the slightest sign of an attack.
¡°Tiberius,¡± he said, ¡°you can still leave the suit. I have no desire to slay you, but as long as you walk in the suit¡ªas long as you¡¯re Enki¡¯s creature¡ªI have no choice. If you come to me without the suit, then I will protect you. I¡¯ll teach you. I¡¯ll¡¡± He trailed off, his mad eyes darting, as if debating whether to finish his thought. Instead, he shook his head and looked at me with intense regret. "I¡¯ll come for you. I have no choice. It¡¯s not personal; I take no pleasure in it. But you have to know that as long as you¡¯re his tool, I have to end you. For humanity."
Racquel had been circling the room, trying to get an angle to attack him from one side while leaving his other side open to me. Danefer rolled his eyes at her movement. His hand flashed, and colorful smoke erupted around him, filling the room in an instant.
I took a step back, anticipating another attack.
Racquel cursed. ¡°This smoke¡ it¡¯s a relic or something. I can¡¯t see through it.¡±
¡°Of course you can¡¯t,¡± I muttered. ¡°It¡¯s thick as gravy.¡±
¡°No," she replied. "I have advanced sight. I can see through smoke and thin barriers, but¡ not this."
¡°Listen,¡± I said, focusing through the chaos.
She stopped. I knew she understood my instruction to mean using HEARING. I did the same. The sounds of battle continued beyond the room, but they had reached a lumbering ebb¡ªfewer clashes of steel, fewer bodies left alive to scream.
I could hear my heartbeat clearly with HEARING. I could hear Racquel¡¯s, fluttering like a butterfly. But there was no heartbeat for Danefer, no sound of boots, breathing, movement. He was gone, just as he had disappeared from the battle with Magneblade.
¡°Come on,¡± Racquel said. ¡°No point hanging around in here in case he¡¯s got another trick up his sleeve.¡±
I followed her back through the smashed doorway and into the sunlight. The smoke from the house poured out behind us in thick, rolling clouds that seemed almost solid, like cream turned to gas.
Dirk stood nearby, his power axe over his shoulder. He dipped his head with familiarity to Racquel. ¡°Lady Moonclaw.¡±
She let her helm peel back, revealing her ivory skin and those intensely blue eyes. She winked at him and said, ¡°Banished Burghsman.¡±
This provoked a peal of laughter from Dirk and some nearby warriors. An old, hulking Burghsman laughed even as he drove his huge steel axe into the struggling form of a Green Man pinned beneath his feet.
Dirk eyed us both for a moment, then turned to stalk through the ruins, hunting survivors, gathering his men, and taking stock of the battle''s toll. I looked around. There were bodies everywhere, but not a single one wore the rough leathers and furs of the Burghsmen. It hardly seemed possible that they¡¯d taken down a larger force without losing a single man, even with the element of surprise and superior skill.
I glanced back at the longhouse, smoke still billowing from every opening. ¡°Do you think he¡¯s gone?¡± I asked.
The experience unnerved me¡ªmy first defeat since winning the suit, the closeness of my brush with death, and Danefer¡¯s haunting promise.
Racquel¡¯s body had unwound from the deadly tension of a coiled snake ready to strike. Now she slouched in a liquid, languid posture, one I¡¯d seen before. It wasn¡¯t exactly ladylike, but something about her confident ease, the way her hips thrust, her shoulders cocked, and the curves of her armor presented themselves, made me not mind.
She said, ¡°He¡¯s gone. He had no chance against two of us. And he values his life and his mission too much to make a martyr of himself.¡±
I looked at her, curious. ¡°You sound almost like you know him.¡±
Racquel arched an eyebrow, that endlessly devilish smile playing on her lips. ¡°Oh, I know him.¡±
How small the world felt that she¡¯d know him too. Then again, if he had an interest in Griidlords, that population was small enough.
¡°How do you know him?¡± I asked.
She shook her head, her silence answer enough.
¡°How can you be sure he¡¯s gone?¡± I pressed.
She cocked her head to one side, baring the curve of her pale neck to the light. ¡°The Green Man doesn¡¯t take chances.¡±
Chapter 42
¡°Danefer is the Green Man?¡±
I couldn¡¯t stop myself from shouting. The thought was too shocking, too absurd. Yes, he had been here, but he¡¯d spoken of these barbaric thugs with disdain. He¡¯d said he was using the Green Men. He couldn¡¯t actually be one of them¡ªhe couldn¡¯t be their leader and founder.
Racquel looked mildly surprised. ¡°You didn¡¯t know? I thought you knew. You seemed to know him well enough.¡±
I said, the excitement and volume not completely quelled in my voice, ¡°No! I didn¡¯t know! How can you possibly know?¡±
She smiled impishly, though her eyes were dark and serious. ¡°That¡¯s between me and Danefer, now isn¡¯t it?¡±
I shook my head and retreated to a block of rubble, sinking down onto it. The suit didn¡¯t fatigue exactly, but there was a weariness in me that craved the comfort of just sitting.
Racquel slinked over and sat beside me. I suddenly became very aware of her proximity and of how much I¡¯d been noticing her beauty.
¡°I hear a lot about you, Lord Bloodsword. They talk about you everywhere.¡±
¡°Oh?¡± I replied.
¡°Using the Footfield during the Choosing? Taking hold of POWER in the final round? Progressing faster than anyone has ever done in the Choosing? There are those who say you¡¯ll change the fortunes of your city. Poor little Boston has sat over there in the corner of the world, affecting nothing for so long. They say you¡¯ll be a force in a year or two.¡±
There was something playful, probing, teasing about her words.
When I didn¡¯t respond, she continued, ¡°I really don¡¯t see what all the fuss is about.¡±
A shock of dismay throbbed inside me at her comment, then a smile sprang to my lips as I realized she was barbing me.
She said, ¡°What level are you, Lord Bloodsword of the Rapid Development?¡±
¡°Thirteen... no, fourteen. I leveled during the fight with Danefer.¡±
Racquel rocked back on her perch, her eyebrows shooting skyward. It seemed I had perturbed the imperturbable.
¡°If I had Assess, I¡¯d test that claim. Level 14?¡± she whistled sharply between smooth, full lips.
¡°If that¡¯s true, then you really are something special. You know I¡¯m level 19? I¡¯ve worn the suit for two years. Do you know how many Griidlords get to level 19 in two years? Nobody. Well, almost nobody. They tell me I¡¯m a prodigy. But you¡¯ve gone to level 14 in what, two weeks?¡±
¡°A little longer than that.¡±
She shook her head, more amazed than disbelieving. ¡°When will you cap out? By the Oracle, Bloodsword, that¡¯s... that¡¯s impossible. I¡¯d call you a liar, except you just don¡¯t have the face for it.¡±
I blushed slightly, realizing she was actually considering my face.
We sat in silence for a while, the Burghsmen chatting away as they picked through bodies, searching for loot. Two of them were hacking at the locked wooden doors of a small building attached to the large hall. Another band wandered into the hall itself as the smoke cleared. Only minutes before, they had been fighting for their lives, ending the lives of others. Now they milled about as if they were construction workers on a break, roaming the ruins in groups of threes, fours, and fives.
Finally, I broke the silence. ¡°You saved my life, Racquel.¡±
She smiled. ¡°It was my pleasure. Couldn¡¯t let your pretty face go to waste like that.¡±If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
I spoke quickly, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. ¡°I¡¯m not taking it lightly; I¡¯m not joking. You saved my life. I owe you for that.¡±
She shrugged. ¡°Then you¡¯ll just have to save mine someday.¡±
I said, ¡°Isn¡¯t it madness that we could be crossing swords in a little over two weeks? Am I supposed to fight you? I¡¯m your type disadvantage, Racquel. If our teams meet during the Falling, I¡¯ll be expected to seek you out. Am I supposed to... kill you?¡±
She flicked her hair and eyed me sideways. ¡°If you think you can¡¡±
¡°But that¡¯s crazy,¡± I said, shaking my head.
¡°It¡¯s the way it¡¯s always been.¡± Her tone grew thoughtful. ¡°I don¡¯t know you well, Bloodsword, but I like you well enough. I don¡¯t hold anything against you. But if we meet during the Falling, we owe it to our people, our Towers, our oaths, to fight to the last to bring them the Flows they need.¡±
¡°There has to be a better way.¡±
She opened her mouth as if to say something, then paused and seemed to think better of it.
I thought of Baltazar¡¯s vision, to unite the cities, to bring an end to fighting like this. What would become of Griidlords in that future? Would he abolish them? Or could the suits be repurposed, their power used to build things, to save lives, instead of ending them?
Racquel¡¯s voice broke into my thoughts. ¡°Don¡¯t hold back.¡±
I blinked. ¡°What?¡±
She fixed me with a steady gaze. ¡°If we meet on the field, don¡¯t hold back. It¡¯s heresy; it¡¯s treachery. I don¡¯t know how much I truly believe in it, but the other Griidlords expect you to do what you can. The priests, the lords, the people¡ªthey expect it. If we meet on the field, and you get a chance to put me down, then you have to. Holding back could cost you your suit. You can owe me one, sure; I like being owed favors. But that debt doesn¡¯t extend to the Falling.¡±
I swallowed hard at her words. Then a question sprang to mind. ¡°What in the Oracle¡¯s name brought you here? This is a long way from home.¡±
She smiled, almost coyly. ¡°Oh, that? I keep in touch with your man, Dirk. He told me about the plan to come here and attack this place. I didn¡¯t imagine there¡¯d be trouble, but I¡¯m fond of your little Burghsman retainer, so I chose a Griid-train route that brought me out this way¡ªjust in case.¡±
¡°You abandoned your Griid-train just to make sure everything was okay?¡±
She shook her head, her voice slower, thoughtful. ¡°Nooo... it¡¯s funny, actually. I was on the main route, a few miles to the north. Suddenly, an emergency waypoint blinked on my HUD¡ªflashing, red. I could see it was in the direction of where Dirk told me this fort would be, so I said ¡®screw it¡¯ and came running.¡±
The voice. It had been so unconcerned about Danefer, even though my survival had seemed doomed. It had summoned her. It could see through her just as it could see through me. I wondered if it spoke to her, too. She was a prodigy; it liked prodigies. It spoke to Morningstar¡ªwhy not her as well?
¡°That¡¯s a few miles,¡± I said, scrutinizing her. ¡°How much warning could you have had? How fast can you go, exactly?¡±
She bobbled her head with a casual shrug. When she spoke, her tone was nonchalant. ¡°I can break 200 miles an hour on a flat-out sprint under the Footfield.¡±
I stammered, ¡°Two¡ two¡ two hundred miles an hour?¡±
She smiled widely. ¡°I told you, I¡¯m hot shit. Not as hot shit as you are, apparently, but I¡¯m building my own legend.¡±
Another silence. It was easy and comfortable. We were both thinking.
She said, ¡°How do you know Danny boy?¡±
I said, ¡°Danefer? Hmmm, well I guess that¡¯s between him and me as well.¡±
She smiled, her pupils dilating, her eyes fixed on me. ¡°I can¡¯t stand a mystery, Bloodsword. Maybe when the Falling is done, we¡¯ll spend some more time together. Maybe I¡¯ll get to know you a little better, get to trusting you. And we can share some secrets.¡±
She said that last with a flicker of something that set my heart racing.
She turned and started to walk north. She glanced over her shoulder, catching my eyes tracking her muscular figure. I quickly averted my gaze, but she smiled with satisfaction, completely unbothered by my lechery.
¡°And you owe me, Bloodsword,¡± she said.
I nodded. ¡°I really do.¡±
She smiled again, and her helm folded back up, taking the loveliness of her face away from the world. She paused just a moment longer, her visor pointed at me. Then she sprinted away under her natural power, moving so quickly it was breathtaking. Just as she cleared the rubble¡ªfar too close to be truly safe¡ªI watched as the Footfield took her over. There was a sound like a thunderclap as her motion and acceleration snapped to another level, and then she was streaking down the slope like a bolt of purple lightning.
I watched her go, tracking her with my eyes until she was finally lost from sight.
Then I noticed Dirk standing at my shoulder. I couldn¡¯t tell how long he¡¯d been there, but from the angle of his head, I could see he¡¯d been tracking her movement with no less intensity than I had.
He said, ¡°She¡¯s something special, isn¡¯t she?¡±
I looked back to where I had last seen her.
¡°Yeah,¡± I said. ¡°She really is.¡±
Chapter 43
6 Days to the Falling
¡°You¡¯re being too hard on yourself, Ti. Everyone I talk to says Level 16 is an incredible achievement. You¡¯ve barely been in the suit for a month, and you¡¯re level 16. Can¡¯t you understand how incredible that is?¡± Lauren said.
On horseback, Castle Oakcrest was a good hour from the city. Under the Footfield, it was just about twenty minutes.
I was awaiting another round of merchants to assemble so I could ferry them to lands afar and hopefully do battle with something or someone to increase my level. It had been an impulsive notion. I felt strangely unsettled, and I was quickly learning that the counsel of Lauren and Katya had a magical way of setting my mind in order.
I said, ¡°Level 16 will mean I can barely compete in the field. How many other Griidlords will be out there, in the Falling, running around at level 16? Even with type advantage, I won¡¯t be able to engage any but the newest Arrows. I won¡¯t be any use to the city, to the team. If I could have reached level 20¡ I¡¯d have a new skill, another skill that could be difference-making.¡±
We walked in the orchard. The morning was still bright and warm, but the first shivers of autumn were announcing themselves. The fruit hung ripe from the trees. Katya wandered around us, flitting in and out of the trees, picking only the apples and pears she deemed most special. She looked like she wasn¡¯t listening; she looked like she was dreaming, but she was always listening.
Lauren said, ¡°Ti, you need to calm down. You need to take a step back and look at what you¡¯ve accomplished. You saved Emilia¡¯s life. You realize that, don¡¯t you? She¡¯d be dead now. Banished mightn¡¯t be the life she imagined for herself, but it¡¯s a lot better than having her head separated from her body.¡±
I had told them about the plot I made with Bishop Ra. I increasingly seemed to be telling them everything. Katya had already known about the voice. There seemed little point in keeping other secrets. I had started to learn to lean on them, to trust them.
I said, ¡°I know, and I¡¯m glad I was able to do that, but that¡¯s not why I was given the suit. I was given the suit to bring the Flows to Boston.¡±
Katya¡¯s voice droned from a pear tree she had half climbed, dreamy and seemingly uninterested, ¡°Most Griidlords don¡¯t do much in their first year. A rookie can¡¯t do much. At level 16, you¡¯ll be able to contribute.¡±
I clenched my fists, frustrated. ¡°I don¡¯t want to just contribute; I want to help us win. Boston needs a win. I¡¯ve been traveling in Griid-trains, seeing other cities. Do you have any idea how badly we compare? Our outer sector is like a slum. Don¡¯t mistake me, none of the outer sectors of the cities I¡¯ve seen are splendid, but the worst off in those cities hardly compare to the poor of Boston.¡±
Lauren touched my shoulder. There was a time when that touch would have set me blushing and kicked my heart into overdrive. Even after they announced their plans to wed, I wouldn¡¯t have been able to accept the gesture without embarrassing myself. But the last weeks had taught me more than how to wield my suit.
Lauren said, ¡°Being a Griidlord is a long game, Ti. Imagine how strong you¡¯ll be next year. You don¡¯t need to cure all the world¡¯s woes in your first campaign. Pace yourself, measure your expectations. And keep remembering what you¡¯ve achieved already. In a month. Besides reaching such a high level, besides saving Emilia. You fought another Griidlord and won; you fought Danefer and survived.¡±
She said it too loudly, and I glanced around nervously, but the orchards were deserted. I didn¡¯t know why, but I was keeping the story of Danefer a secret as best I could. The Burghsmen didn¡¯t know who it was I had fought with Racquel. As far as I knew, the knowledge of the identity of the Green Man was between me, Racquel, and these two. I couldn¡¯t guess how many people Racquel may have shared the information with, or who else in the world already knew, but I had a strange compulsion to keep the knowledge limited for now.
I said, ¡°I needed Racquel¡¯s help to hold him off. I wouldn¡¯t have made it without her.¡±The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Lauren looked at me with a side-eyed glance as I said Racquel¡¯s name. A smile twitched on her lips.
Katya¡¯s dreamy voice floated from behind a stout apple tree, ¡°You¡¯re doing it again.¡±
¡°Doing what?¡±
¡°Falling in love with anything with tits that will give you a second glance.¡±
Lauren barked harshly, ¡°Katya! For Oracle¡¯s sake! We¡¯ve spoken about this.¡±
Katya¡¯s impish face peeped out from behind the tree. She said, ¡°He needs to hear it.¡±
Lauren said, ¡°There are more developed ways of saying it.¡±
Katya arched an eyebrow, ¡°Should I have said he falls in love with anyone with a¡ª¡±
Lauren growled to interrupt her.
Katya grinned wickedly and ducked back behind the tree. Perfectly good apples flew from where she was hidden, discarded despite their seemingly excellent condition. Lauren furrowed her brow a moment, then looked at me. She said, ¡°Katya¡¯s right, though. Your upbringing was odd, Ti. You were sick for so much of your life, and then your father¡ªhe didn¡¯t exactly give you a chance to develop yourself socially. Please, don¡¯t misunderstand me, I wasn¡¯t put off by your interest in me¡ª¡±
Katya¡¯s voice interjected, ¡°I really was going to marry you!¡±
Lauren grunted and went on, ¡°But you need to be able to distinguish between friendship and attraction. Most boys get a chance to learn that when they¡¯re younger; most of them go through these trials earlier. You¡ you just haven¡¯t had the chance. You¡¯re special, Ti. You¡¯re a really, really good guy, and you have so much to offer. You need to protect yourself. Don¡¯t just fall in love with the first one¡ªfall in love with the right one. Do you understand what I¡¯m trying to say? I sound silly.¡±
I opened my mouth to respond, but again Katya¡¯s voice floated in. ¡°You can¡¯t fall in love with a Griidlord from another city. That¡¯s just impractical. You might need to kill her next week. You¡¯re not being sensible.¡±
I exclaimed, ¡°I¡¯m not falling in love with anyone!¡±
Lauren, almost as outraged, said, ¡°Love isn¡¯t supposed to be practical!¡±
We walked on. Katya drifted back onto the path to join us. She was carrying exactly three apples and three pears. I couldn¡¯t fathom the reason for her obsessive selection process.
Katya said, ¡°There¡¯s a treaty in the South. Corny couldn¡¯t stop talking about it last night. I think he¡¯s disappointed the fighting will be coming to a pause.¡±
I said, ¡°It makes sense, though; all three factions need to take advantage of the Falling.¡±
Lauren said, ¡°Houston had announced a Choosing. They¡¯ve invited participants from every land.¡±
Katya said, ¡°Miami and Dallas will inundate them with candidates. It won¡¯t change their whole game if the Griidlords chosen wound up being dominated by members from one city or the other.¡±
I said, ¡°Olaf will go there.¡±
Lauren said, ¡°I think you¡¯re right. He¡¯s like you and Gideon and Lance. He liked being in the suit. There was nothing wrong with Olaf; I wish him well.¡±
I stared out over the rows of trees toward the sea. Much had changed in a short time. Only weeks ago had I ridden out here, drowning in anxieties over winning the suit, determined to propose marriage to either of these women. Only weeks ago had Katya met me at the pavilion¡ªthe roof of which I could glimpse from where I stood¡ªand rejected me on both their parts. I felt a seething growing in me. So much had changed, but I had grown so little. Everyone kept praising me for my levels, even Balthazar. But the fact remained that we had named 20 as the number that would allow me to make a difference, to allow me to help my city, and I was far short. At the rate of leveling I had reached, there was no chance I would reach twenty in the next six days.
Lauren¡¯s voice was concerned as she looked at me. ¡°I don¡¯t like what I¡¯m seeing.¡±
I murmured, ¡°What?¡±
Katya answered, ¡°You look like you¡¯re thinking about something, and Lauren¡¯s right, I don¡¯t like the way it looks on your face. It¡¯s not the time to be desperate; it¡¯s the time to be excited. You¡¯ll march out of the city in a few days with an army to capture Flows. It should be exhilarating, or scary. You don¡¯t look like either.¡±
Lauren said, ¡°If anything, you look like you¡¯re plotting something. I don¡¯t like it. What are you thinking about?¡±
I wouldn¡¯t tell them, of course, but they were right. It was something I needed to grow to understand about myself, but youth makes us blind to ourselves. I had never set a goal for myself that I hadn¡¯t accomplished. I had nearly been ejected from the Choosing over the risks I¡¯d taken with the Footfield, all so I could finish in first place for no other reason than that I had aimed for it. I had nearly killed Lauren in my desperation to reach the top of the Tower of Babel in the arena.
They were right. I had had an idea. I was plotting something. I had a plan.
It wasn¡¯t a good plan.
Chapter 44
5 Days until Falling
Subject: Tiberius Bloodsword
Status: Chosen Sword
Level: 16
Combat Attributes
Cut: 10
Shield: 11
Power: 5
Beam: 9
Agility: 4
Passive Attributes
Sight: 1.9
Scent: 1.4
Spectra: 0
Strength: 1.8
Hearing: 1.6
Unique Attributes
Boost: 1.0
Special Attributes
Assess: 1.3
It had been too long since I¡¯d taken stock of my progression. It was all still a mess to me, something I was still trying to figure out. It was easy to determine that the overriding factors that would determine my success were my overall level and my gained skills. That¡¯s what the other Griidlords spoke about. That¡¯s what Balthazar concerned himself with. I didn¡¯t understand the calculus. Would another Sword with a lower level but a higher CUT be able to best me in close-quarters combat? Would a level 9 BEAM be useless against a level 30 Axe suit?
I stood on the grassy hillock staring at the numbers on my HUD. What was more than obvious to me was that the 16 was not enough. Despite the reassurances of everyone, from Katya and Lauren to Balthazar himself, I could not be satisfied. I felt a pressure to achieve the level 20 that had been so vaunted. I felt a pressure to show the world that I was the Sword Boston needed. My mind lingered on the poor of Boston, so much worse off than the other cities I had seen. I dwelled on the lords who had sent Emilia to eliminate me from the competition, all so they could retain their comfortable perch at the top of the social structure, even if it meant limiting the potential of our city to advance itself.
I felt my armored hands clenching into fists. My knuckles popped.
I thought about Racquel and her comment. It had been a joke, I was sure, when she said I was unimpressive. She had tried to cover it, assuring me afterward what a feat it was to reach the level I had in such a short time. But still, the joke stung me.
What had been done to me that I felt such an urge to show them? Who was ¡°them¡±? I couldn¡¯t define it, but I was consumed by the desire to prove that I was worthy. Worthy of the suit, of course, but worthy of more.
The wind ran up the hillock, parting the dark green grass in rippling waves. Before me rose something I would nearly call a mountain, a gigantic upheaval in the earth that reached toward the sky, sparsely dotted with pines. Beyond it rose higher slopes. But the hill before me was my focus. At its top was a protrusion of rock and a dark hollow so deep that it was pure blackness.
I turned and looked down the hill behind me. My party was amassed below.
Claw Jaxwulf stood there. He had been a necessary inclusion. Jacob would never have revealed the precise details. If Jacob had known what I planned, he would have told Chowwick, who was back on his feet, and Chowwick would probably have bear-hugged me into submission. Jacob would certainly never have given me the precise details I needed.
But I had figured correctly that Claw would have the information I needed. He had provided it¡ªbut on condition. ¡°If yinz gonna do this, I¡¯m not gonna miss it. The boys will want to see as well. I¡¯ll tell yinz, but yinz¡¯ll have to bring us along for the show.¡±
Olaf stood near Claw. When I had arrived with my Griid-train in Pittsburgh, Olaf had been waiting at the gate. He was seeking a train that would carry him to Houston, or at least to a closer city that could act as a stepping stone. I had made the mistake of telling him my plan. His reaction had exceeded anything I could have predicted. He pleaded with me to change my mind. He begged me to consider the risk I was taking. He rose to a point where he was threatening me, the ludicrous nature of the gesture lost on both of us in the moment. I was a Griidlord; he was a mortal man. But, when he understood he couldn¡¯t stop me, he asked to accompany me. I don¡¯t know what he hoped to achieve by being here. There was some base instinct in him, something tied to his affinity for the Shield, that drove him to protect. He couldn¡¯t protect me from what was about to come, but he felt a need to be here.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!
I took a deep breath as I turned my head back to the small mountain before me. My eyes focused on the black hollow in the rocky outcrop. Try though I might, SIGHT could do nothing to penetrate it. The cave was too deep and too dark. From here it looked tiny, but by my understanding, it was a monstrous pit into the bowels of the earth.
I walked slowly down the hill, returning to Claw and Olaf. Behind them were dozens of ranking Jaxwulfs. They had brought kegs of ale and were drinking their fill. This was a special day for them. There was going to be a show. They had no better a sense of how things would unfold than I did, and that was the source of their excitement.
Olaf said, ¡°Is there any point in me telling you that this is crazy?¡±
Even Claw seemed nervous. Despite his excitement at what I had proposed, the imminent reality seemed to have dulled his enthusiasm. He said, ¡°If yinz changed yinz mind, none¡¯d know. We¡¯d not tell, the boys wouldn¡¯t tell. You don¡¯t have to do this.¡±
I was surprised by the steely determination in my voice. I said, ¡°I would know. I have to do this.¡±
Claw held my gaze for a moment. He was staring into the visor of a Griidlord. If I so chose, I could probably slay every man here. It was an odd thought, but one that came to me often enough. It was hard to reconcile the reality of my simple person with the power I wielded now. Claw didn¡¯t flinch in the slightest at holding the gaze of a Griidlord. He just said, ¡°Well then¡ I wish yinz luck if nothing else. Yinz are gonna win this and be a legend, or yinz will have nothing to worry about ever again.¡±
Olaf said, ¡°They¡¯ll hold another Choosing if you die. Lance will get the suit for sure this time. Is that what you want?¡±
I said, ¡°You know what I want. That¡¯s just the risk I¡¯m willing to take.¡±
Olaf shook his head and turned away from me, his head tilted toward the sky.
I said, ¡°Tell them my rationale if I don¡¯t make it. Let them understand that this was something I decided to do on my own.¡±
Claw nodded his head, no more words.
I moved away from the group. Claw, for all his concern and solemnity, had moved to fill his own cup with ale. Olaf stood like a sentinel, arms folded.
When I was suitably far from them, I embraced the Footfield and let it cast me forth. The opposite slope was hundreds of yards away from the clustered men. I wasn¡¯t convinced the distance was great enough to ensure their safety, but Claw had insisted on finding a point with a sufficient view of the scene.
I rushed down the slope, into the cleft between the rises. Then I was surging up the next, toward the top. There was a reasonable enough path for me to continue using the Footfield until I neared the rocky outcropping and the cave. The trees on this slope had been mauled over and over, for long years.
When I was within 200 yards of the cave, I let go of the Footfield. I was, at this point, well accustomed to the experience of leaving the Footfield. As reality snapped back from the distortion of the field, I was unperturbed and continued walking without breaking stride.
I needed to keep walking. I knew that if I stopped or paused, even for the slightest moment, I would turn around and abandon my plan.
I walked on until I was less than fifty yards from the cave.
This was it. The point of no return.
I drew my sword and lowered the tip until it was pointing at the cave entrance.
I was vaguely aware of the disease in me that drove me to this point. I had been given an objective, and my horror at the notion of failing had pushed me here. My own need to impress, my need to prove myself, had brought me to this point.
The voice had used a phrase once. Something like: if you succeed, you¡¯re a genius; if you fail, you¡¯re an idiot.
Thinking of the entity seemed to summon it. It was in my ear, ¡°What¡¯s going on, kiddo, what¡¯re we up to now?¡±
I said, ¡°I¡¯m going to fight a fiend.¡±
It said, ¡°Oh goodie. Onwards and upwards, like I always say. Well, not always¡ªI say other things, like the words I¡¯m saying now. Actually, I¡¯m not sure I ever used that phrase before, but what the heck, I¡¯m with you, kiddo. Let¡¯s get some levels. What kind of fiend is on the menu today?¡±
I kept my eyes fixed on the cave. Holding my voice even, I said, ¡°A Class 9.¡±
The voice was suddenly panicked and urgent, ¡°What? Oh, no, we¡¯re not ready for a Class 9. Hey, listen, don¡¯t get me wrong, I want you growing and leveling, kiddo. No doubt about that. What I don¡¯t want you doing is growing daisies out of your rotting corpse. What say we turn about and go back? Nothing ventured, nothing lost, like I always say¡¡±
I fired my BEAM at the lip of the cave. It carved off a chunk of rock that fell with a resounding crash. At first, nothing happened.
Then there was the sound of movement¡ªa vibration as much as noise. Soon I could see the contorting mass of flesh that was moving just beyond the reach of light, beyond the entrance of the cave.
I stood firm.
Today I would fight the fiend known as Doom.
Today I would live, or else today I would die.
Chapter 45
The voice appeared in my ear as I stared at the yawning entrance to the cave.
¡°So, what are we doing today, kiddo? My, but that¡¯s a big ominous-looking cave¡ wait¡ what are you up to?¡±
I said, ¡°Leveling. Like a boss.¡±
The voice said, ¡°Wait, where are we? Is this¡ are we¡ what in the name of Caesar¡¯s ghost do you think you¡¯re doing?¡±
The being that began to wrestle its way out of the cave was easily the largest fiend I had ever seen. The huge, clawed paws loomed out of the opening and gripped the edges of the entrance. The rocks and earth that composed the cave mouth shook and crumbled under the force of those paws pulling the rest of the thing out of the cave.
The scale of the creature made me question my decision-making process. The hulking head and torso squeezed their way out of the cave, crushing and distorting the sides of the cave entrance. I had to remind myself that size did not directly correspond to deadliness. This thing was much, much bigger than the fiend I had battled in the arena alongside Morningstar. But it was a Class 9. That meant it was roughly equivalent to a level 18 Griidlord. Morningstar was far beyond level 18 and had said himself that he would have struggled to defeat the creature in the arena on his own. It stood to reason then that this monster was less powerful than the arena fiend.
This thought process brought me little comfort as the titanic being turned its head toward me. It was nearly jet black in color. Its torso was long and bulky, its belly dragged on the ground as it moved. Its head was long, the jaws disproportionately gigantic even when compared to its body. It looked altogether like a drawing of a dragon, brought to life without wings and with an unbelievably oversized mouth.
The voice spoke, ¡°Kiddo¡ you know I believe in you, I¡¯ve told you that before, right? I feel a compulsion to talk very carefully and very clearly to you right now. You have an odd tendency of pointing yourself at things and finding yourself unable to turn away. I¡¯m afraid if I spook you I¡¯ll just send you galloping at that thing. So, nice and slow, are we paying full attention? Yes? No? Maybe? You need to turn your ass around and get out of here. Do you know who that is?¡±
I kept my eyes fixed on the creature. It was less than a hundred yards from me, and the monstrous head at the end of the long, thick neck was pointed at me. But it wasn¡¯t moving, or charging. It was regarding me with sleepy interest.
I said, ¡°It¡¯s Doom. A Class 9 fiend. I know it¡¯s a bit strong for me, but it¡¯s a risk I¡¯m willing to take. Imagine the levels I can gain from beating it.¡±
The voice said, ¡°Imagine the levels you¡¯ll lose if it fucking eats you.¡±
I tried to remain calm, to sound easy and aloof. ¡°What¡¯s happened to you? You were all about me growing as fast as I could and as high as I can.¡±
The voice said, ¡°Yeah! Growing! You won¡¯t do much growing while it digests you.¡±
I said, ¡°Are you losing faith in me¡ Enki?¡±
¡°Oh yeah¡ we didn¡¯t talk about that little detail yet, did we? You know what, I don¡¯t know what I was thinking. Go on up there and sock it to that oversized teenage turtle.¡±
I said, ¡°That¡¯s the plan.¡±
Enki said, ¡°And yet you¡¯re not moving. Having second thoughts? Or should I say, having first thoughts? Because coming out here to fight this thing alone strongly suggests you haven¡¯t been thinking.¡±
The demon cocked its head. It had been standing there, languid and inactive, just observing me. There was a sudden rippling of light, flashes of dull energy peeking out from between the scales, its eyes suddenly beginning to glow, first faintly and then brighter.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Enki spoke urgently, ¡°It¡¯s time to be moving now! Fucking jump or something!¡±
I moved as much on instinct as on Enki¡¯s urging. I grabbed POWER, felt the energy course through me, and leapt to the side. As I did, Doom opened its mouth and a pillar of fire shot forth. The flames didn¡¯t gout and spread as they would from a normal source. Instead, the fire came in a tight, straight-lined beam. The beam was greater than six feet in diameter. I felt the heat of it on my back as I leapt out of the way. The fire and energy struck the ground where I had been standing, exploding the earth. As I rolled and came back to my feet, I felt little clinking impacts on my armor. At first, I thought they were pebbles or bits of dirt, but as I glanced down, I could see that I was being struck by tiny crystals.
Enki said, ¡°Yeah, that would be glass. Doom over there just hit the ground with enough heat to melt the silica in the soil and turn it into glass. How do you think your little level 16 suit is going to hold up to that?¡±
But I was focused, determined. Clothed in the embrace of POWER, I raced forward. Doom seemed to be gasping as it refilled its lungs.
I said, ¡°I won¡¯t need to test how my suit holds up to it if I take its head off.¡±
My SPEED was terrific. I felt like I was skating along the surface over the ground instead of running. The hundred yards of distance collapsed in heartbeats. Doom turned its head and lashed out for me with that gigantic maw. I leaped over it. The jaws smashed into the earth, making a crater, making the hilltop shake.
I landed easily on Doom¡¯s back. I ran the length of it easily, turning so that I was approaching the fiend¡¯s head from behind. My footing became uneven as the enormous skull and neck began to ponderously rise. I wobbled slightly, but driven by the SPEED of POWER, I made it to my goal¡ªthe point where the neck narrowed beneath the skull.
My CUT must have seemed like fireworks to Olaf and the Burghsmen from where they watched. I was exhilarated myself by the surging strength that ran from me through the blade. I hacked deep into Doom¡¯s neck; black, stinking blood, like pureed sewage, spurted out by the gallon. The creature shook and convulsed from the wound. I swung again, my CUT deepening and widening the wound before the spasms of the creature sent me tumbling to the ground.
I landed on my feet and danced back to avoid being crushed under a monstrous paw. I took a moment to look up at Doom¡¯s face, at the man-sized wound I had inflicted. I was waiting to see if I needed to attack again. That damage was surely lethal.
But Doom just turned its head, losing concern for the wound. I met those terrible dark eyes and felt a reflection in them. I didn¡¯t want to shy away; I wanted to charge to meet that gaze.
But the corner of my vision showed me something of very great concern. The wound had stopped bleeding. The edges of the wound were melting, flowing together, knitting closed.
¡°The fuck?¡± I breathed. I leapt back from another probing paw, my blade flashing to hack at it as it passed. My CUT passed through the scales easily enough, tendons snapping in there, and the clawed fingers went lax as I disconnected them from the muscular structure that gave them life.
Again, the wounds started to close. I felt the first hint of panic edging at me then.
The scales shimmered, the light peaked from them, the eyes of Doom blazed bright.
¡°Shit!¡± I heard my voice as I tore away from where I¡¯d been standing. Heat of flame and apocalypse reigned again. A tree a few yards away exploded into flames at the heat of the firebeam. Had I not been wearing the suit, I was sure my clothes would have exploded the same way.
Enki said, ¡°You see why this was a bad idea now, don¡¯t you?¡±
I dashed around to the side of the being. Doom was huge but very slow. Its head swiveled to follow me, but barely fast enough to keep track of me. I darted in under its front and leapt. AGILITY and SPEED put me under its head easily, and I thrust up hard with my sword. I aimed to pierce the brain through the bottom of the skull.
Doom reacted, at first, as though I had achieved my goal. It shuddered and twisted and even seemed to grow vaguely weak.
But the weakness passed in a heartbeat, like an eye blinking. The claws were churning the earth around me, the gaping maw snapping out to take hold of me.
Enki said, ¡°See? It¡¯s time to skedaddle, don¡¯t you think?¡±
I said, ¡°I can beat it. Or at least I can fight it without risking myself so much.¡±
Enki said, ¡°One touch of those claws, and you¡¯ll be Tiberius Bloodpuddle. Besides, the fucker can heal as fast as you cut him. What do you think will run out first¡ªhis murderous energy or your POWER?¡±
Enki was right. Without POWER, Doom wouldn¡¯t feel nearly as slow. And it would only take one smash from those paws, one bite from the jaws, or one brush with that firebeam to put me out of action.
I raced up the slope past Doom, aiming for the outcropping of rocks that surrounded the cave mouth. I had no sense of how much POWER I had used up, but I knew that if I needed time for it to recharge, being near hard cover could give me the moments I would need to survive the assault.
Chapter 46
Doom and I clashed again and again. The pattern repeated itself in a cycle that could stretch into a futile eternity. I would outmaneuver the lumbering creature and shred its flesh, hacking chunks of meat free, scoring it with wounds that should have ended it. But nothing seemed to last. Every wound just melted away. For Doom¡¯s part, the exercise was just as fruitless. Under POWER, I was simply too fast for it to be able to pin me down with a physical attack. The fire beams threatened me, and there were too many escapes that were too close to call.
As a column of fire walked behind me, scoring a long groove into the surface of the earth, I sprinted and dove over one of the jutting rocks that composed the entrance to Doom¡¯s home. Panting, I strained to examine my HUD. The edges contained lots of little numbers and symbols that I had long learned to ignore. One of them must indicate my POWER reserve. I had had enough time to play with this feature that I felt foolish to be scrambling to identify it now, in the heat of battle.
I released POWER for a moment and saw one of the sets of digits suddenly pause. I watched the digits, grasped POWER again, and saw the numbers fall. Then I released the attribute, and the numbers rose again.
¡°Three?¡± I said to myself. ¡°Three out of how many?¡±
Enki said, ¡°Out of 21, you dolt; you get as many units of POWER as your overall level plus your POWER level.¡±
The three on my HUD ticked up to a four as I lay there, my back pressed against the cool earth. Doom was lumbering beyond; I could feel it and hear it, but it wasn¡¯t coming for me with abandon. It sensed that I was a danger, which meant that it had some fear of something I could do to it. Which, in turn, meant there must be some way to really hurt or kill the thing. Maybe I had to cut its head all the way off, but that seemed like a feat that exceeded the level I possessed.
Enki said, ¡°So what¡¯s the end game here? Let¡¯s assume for just one second that you can¡¯t kill the thing. What¡¯s it gonna take for you to quit on it?¡±
I growled, ¡°I¡¯ll kill it.¡±
Enki¡¯s voice sounded like hands thrown in the air; its exasperation was complete. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you, Tibs? I¡¯m all for leveling and taking chances; that day against the Hordesmen was super fun, but this fiend is too far above you. You¡¯re not hurting it. You know, I¡¯ve never seen you back down from something¡ªthat¡¯s a valuable skill too. You know, the good ol'' tactical retreat. Live to fight another day. I really, really want you to live.¡±
I said, ¡°Imagine how much it will grow me.¡±
Enki said, ¡°Sure, sure, but only if you kill it.¡±
I crept to the corner of the protruding rock to see what Doom was doing. I ducked back instantly as heat energy blasted the point where I¡¯d stuck my head out.
I said, ¡°No, that¡¯s not how it works.¡±
Enki drawled, ¡°Oh, do tell me, the being that has lived an eternity in the suits, how they work.¡±
I frowned. The four ticked up to a five. ¡°I got a level from fighting Perdinger, and I never killed him. I got a level from fighting Danefer, and I didn¡¯t kill him either.¡±
Enki said, ¡°Oh, alright, fair enough. Levels aren¡¯t just from killing. The suit and your brain are entwined; leveling is kind of a positive reinforcement game, setting neural connections¡ªyou know, neurons that glow together grow together kind of thing.¡±
I did not know.
Enki said, ¡°The suit-brain connection is rewarded, grows stronger, when you have successes. In combat, the most substantial way to succeed is to kill, but smaller victories can trigger an increase as well. When you basically won the fight against Perdinger, you grew. When you put Danefer on his ass, you grew. Nothing¡ªand I mean nothing, kiddo, that you¡¯re doing against Doom is succeeding at all.¡±Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
A shadow fell over me. POWER had just ticked up to six as I grasped it and propelled myself away from where I lay. The huge paw of Doom smashed down onto the rocks, shattering them, showering me with dirt. I spun, and CUT glowed as I cut at the paw. Again, the same: blood and gobs of flesh flew in the air, Doom roared with pain, and then the wound started to mend. Its capacity for healing seemed inexhaustible.
Fire and lumbering but deadly paws lashed at me as I skirted around Doom. I was aware that I was moving away from cover, aware that my POWER was ticking down again as I moved.
I screamed in my mind. The frustration was overbearing. I had to kill it; I had to get to 20. Maybe Doom wouldn¡¯t get me all the way there, but a fiend like this had to be worth a level or two.
Enki said, ¡°You don¡¯t have to get to level 20. It was a suggestion; you¡¯re fixating. Step back and assess the situation, this is not a winner.¡±
Assess!
It seemed almost pointless, but equally, it cost me almost nothing. I reached for the skill, and information flashed on my HUD.
Subject: Doom
Status: Gut-reactor
Class: 10
¡°Jacob said it was a class 9! Class 10 means it¡¯s more like a Level 20 fiend!¡±
Enki said, ¡°Where¡¯d you get that information? Assess works on Griidlords, not¡ª¡±
I rolled in the dirt as a claw murdered the ground behind me.
I hissed urgently, ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that now! Fucking help me!¡±
Enki spoke quickly, ¡°Well, fiends grow too. Doom is pretty old, so I guess the bastard leveled itself lately. This isn¡¯t a great spot to be in, but¡¡±
Fire exploded near me, the edge of the tight lance clipping me. The pain and heat were staggering, and I heard myself cry out.
Enki went on, ¡°It¡¯s a Gut-reactor; know what that means?¡±
I gargled in pain, rushing slice CUTs at any point I could find, desperate to hit something vital. Doom lumbered and turned its body, keeping its huge maw facing me.
Enki said, ¡°It should be obvious enough, really. Where does it get the fire it¡¯s blasting? I¡¯d love to give you the full science class, but fiends have connections to Order and Entropy just like the suits do. Somewhere in this pretty little fella¡¯s bowels is an organ that can use concentrated Entropy to cause matter itself to become undone. The energy that¡¯s released is the source of the fire. It¡¯s a little nuclear reactor, kind of.¡±
I hacked, I CUT, I pulsed SHIELD, fired BEAM¡ªI did everything. On one level, it was remarkable and exciting to be standing alone against such a monster. It was a validation of everything I had become. I was a hero battling a dragon. But I was getting nowhere. POWER ticked down to three. Doom was between me and the cover. If POWER depleted, then I was done for. Even then, it never occurred to me to flee. I needed to reach 20. I needed to show them, I needed to do my part.
Enki said, ¡°If you smash the organ, Doom will lose control of that concentrated Entropy field it¡¯s using to go all Albert Einstein on matter¡¯s ass.¡±
I roared, hearing Enki. I sprinted under Doom¡¯s limbs, to where its huge, bulging torso dragged on the ground. CUT flashed again and again as I hacked. But nothing would get through. For every gaping wound I opened, the flesh reworked itself too quickly, the demon pressed too hard, turning and twisting, bringing those massive paws smashing at me, driving me back.
Enki said, ¡°Look, it was a nice thought, but you¡¯re just not ready.¡±
¡°No!¡± I roared. It was like a battle cry. POWER dropped to two.
I attacked again, frenzied, abandoning defense, putting it all into this one strike. Maybe I could cut faster than it could heal if I just committed to it, do or die.
Meat flew in the air as I sliced at its side, trying to burrow into the fiend¡¯s body. Doom kept twisting its body away from me, retreating the wounded side. I kept chasing, following the rotation, cutting and cutting, maybe getting somewhere, maybe getting just slightly ahead of the healing rate, the wound widening.
Doom was old. Doom wasn¡¯t stupid. It stopped retreating suddenly and shocked me. It snapped its huge body back toward me, where I was pressing with abandon. It struck me with the full force of its mass, like a gigantic boulder.
Suddenly I was on my ass, 10 yards from the mouth. POWER ticked down to one. Doom¡¯s eyes glowed, and it opened that gigantic mouth, aiming at me. In a fraction of a second, nuclear fire would erupt from its maw to consume me. And escaping meant almost nothing now; I only had moments of POWER left. Any move to evade the attack would be almost pointless.
Once I ran out of POWER, the fight would be over.
Chapter 47
¡°God fucking dammit! I had such high hopes for you.¡± Enki¡¯s voice was swamped with rage and frustration.
Doom¡¯s mouth was gaping before me. There were hairs of a second left for me to act.
The obvious course of action was to try and roll away, kick on my Footfield, and streak away from this foolish endeavor as rapidly as possible.
But there were eyes on me. Claw was watching. Olaf was watching. The gang of Burghsmen was watching.
And I needed this. This might be my last chance to gain the levels that had been asked of me, that I had promised.
And there was something else. That incessant pull. The pull to prove myself. The pull to lay evidence on the face of the planet that I was greater than I had been estimated to be.
And I couldn¡¯t let Doom win. I needed it.
With 1 count of POWER remaining, I might have had as little as seconds before my ability to compete with Doom expired.
I was on my back, a heartbeat from death as the energy lit up inside Doom. Even the time it would take to get to my feet would probably be more than I had.
I acted almost without thought.
I pulsed SHIELD with the greatest might I could muster, deflecting it against the earth beneath me. I was reflected from the surface of the planet, the recoil from the pulse punching me forward. My legs reacted to the motion, kicking down as hard as I had ever done anything as I rose from the ground on the cushion of repulsion.
There was only one direction for me to go.
My arms and shoulders rose with the motion, adding to my momentum, directing me. The light flickered in Doom¡¯s hideous eyes, the pulses faded momentarily from the gaps between the rough dark scales. Doom was staggered by the fright of my action.
I dove into the cavern of its mouth, my sword leading the way like the tip of the human arrow I had suddenly become.
Inside was blackness, wetness, slick and vile and sticking and hot. The humidity of the air of the beast¡¯s throat stuck to me instantly.
But it wasn¡¯t perfect darkness. There, deep in the recesses of the cavern of the massive throat, was a flicker of light. Even as I speared in, my sword raking the pulsating sides of the monster¡¯s pharynx, the glow flared brighter. The organ. The fire organ. It was there.
Enki had said that it was a biological device to contain and manage entropy. Concentrated entropy. Heedless to the details of the consequences, fixated only on doing anything, absolutely anything, to win, I flexed BEAM without thought.
The organ flared brighter; the fire beam would return in a heartbeat. Doom was defending itself from the intrusion of my body.
But my BEAM was faster. Light flared in the darkness, illuminating dark red and black flesh, membranes that bulged and squirmed on every surface. The line of light licked into the darkness, raging toward the pulse of energy deep inside the fiend.
Everything that came next was one chaotic event, impossible to detail.
Impact, there was impact. The sensation of being punched in the face¡ªno, the entire body¡ªby the fist of a thousand gods. My bones jarred, my momentum reversing, being driven back while everything from my armor to my skeleton seemed to be crushed into dust.
Light, brighter than the sun, brighter than a million suns, blinding me, driving splinters of agony through my eyes and into my brain.
Heat, like nothing I had ever felt or imagined. I could only imagine the armor melting from me; nothing could withstand this terrible heat. Every inch of skin I had seemed to ignite, seemed to be on fire.
Meat and fire and smoke everywhere. Being airborne. Not quite blind, looking down on wreckage as I soared away, lifted on the arms of explosion. A crater, a crater painted with gore and blackness, the air full of flesh and bits of bone and streamers of black ichor.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
Hitting the ground on my back, a hundred yards or more from the site of the explosion. Messages flashing rapidly across my visor. Level 17. Level 18.
Pain and distorted thoughts, my ears ringing. Twisting on the ground, not trying to rise, trying to curl up and die like an insect.
Level 19.
Enki¡¯s voice, at first elated, then grave. ¡°Holy shit, kiddo! I can¡¯t believe you did that! That was one hell of a show you gave those stinking cavemen on the other¡ oh, wait, this isn¡¯t that great. You¡¯re dying.¡±
Level 20.
Blackness closing in, my vision, what there was of it, shrinking into a narrow corridor of light as darkness folded in from all sides. The whining in my ears growing louder, drowning out Enki¡¯s voice.
Level 21.
Then nothing.
***
Movement, jostling. Pain everywhere. The bouncing sensation of running, but also the sensation of being carried. Agony as my tender flesh bounced and ground against something else. A human shoulder pressed against my midriff.
I was being carried.
A voice, not Enki¡¯s. ¡°Ti! Ti! We need the Footfield! It¡¯ll take us too long to run back! Ti! Goddammit!¡±
Blackness closing in. Wanting to vomit.
***
Cool golden relief on my face. Coughing, spluttering. Eyes opening. No, not on my face, on armor¡¯s skin. Water splashing on my head from a canteen held above me. Olaf¡¯s face beyond it.
¡°Ti!¡± his voice angry, desperate, urgent. ¡°Come on, you fucking dick! Wake up! You don¡¯t need to walk, but we need the Footfield!¡±
Understanding creeping into me.
Enki¡¯s voice, ¡°He¡¯s right! You need to reach for the Footfield. You can keep lying and dying away, no effort required; this big dope will hoof you off for help, but you need to put the Footfield going, and you need to do it now.¡±
I wanted to say that I couldn¡¯t. That I couldn¡¯t feel my body, let alone the fields. That I didn¡¯t want to, that I wanted to pass out again. Being unconscious was way more fun than this. But Olaf¡¯s face crystallized my thoughts. He was worried, anguished, desperate. He was watching me die. That wasn¡¯t fair. I shouldn¡¯t make him watch me die.
Enki said, ¡°That¡¯s it! You¡¯re doing it, reach out. And for God¡¯s sake, keep a hold of it¡ªif you fuck this up, you¡¯ll melt the two of you into one very unattractive lump of meat and armor.¡±
I felt the strands of order gathering. I tried to ignore the rest of reality. I told the suit to switch off all sensory inputs.
I felt movement again, the lift and jerk of Olaf heaving me back onto his shoulder. As he started to bound away, my vision began to dull as the enhanced eyes of the suit were reduced. Only my human eyes peered out of the visor now. My hurt diminished as I stopped receiving the sensations of my damaged suit. There was still plenty of hurt in my meat-bag body.
I raised my head slightly. The world was blurring past us. Olaf was running faster than I would have credited possible for a man of his size. I could see a huge, thick pillar of roiling black smoke climbing from the distant slopes. We were already covering a lot of ground.
Time lost meaning. Everything was just hurt, the struggle to stay awake, and the desperate fight to hold onto the strands that held the Footfield together. I couldn¡¯t kill Olaf while he tried so valiantly to save me. That wouldn¡¯t be appropriate¡ªI needed to keep the field together.
The droning eternity of rhythmic bouncing. The steady impact of feet on the ground. The constant pain. It all blended into something that wasn¡¯t that dissimilar to unconsciousness.
And then, some time¡ªdays, weeks, months, years later¡ªa fist thumping on my side. Letting my consciousness open back up, to absorb a little bit of reality.
¡°Turn it off! Turn it off!¡±
The hell was he talking about?
Enki¡¯s voice joined Olaf¡¯s, ¡°Turn off the Footfield, dingus. You¡¯re here.¡±
I couldn¡¯t process any of the realities of that, but it was a relief to let go of the strands and let the Footfield dissipate. Thank the Oracle, at least now I couldn¡¯t meld all our atoms together if I passed out.
Being dropped on the ground. The impact making me scream out loud. A glimpse of Olaf dropping to his knees alongside me, then to all fours. His skin sheening with sweat, his chest heaving as though he were trying to inhale the whole atmosphere. Olaf vomiting.
Just about able to turn my head, I could see the Tower. Not Boston¡¯s Tower. No, that would have been too far away.
Pittsburgh. He¡¯d brought me to Pittsburgh, the closest Tower, the closest priests, the closest source of Mystorium. But no pod. I could only use my own pod.
Olaf retched again, his body fighting with the conflicting goals of emptying his stomach and filling his lungs. He coughed and spluttered, tried to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, puked some more, and then just stayed there, gasping for air.
He turned his head and looked through my visor. He looked like he was focusing hard. He might have been trying to discern if I was alive or dead. His guess was as good as mine.
He said, ¡°Hang in there, they¡¯re coming, they saw us coming.¡±
His voice was an exhausted wheeze. Then he fell to his side and just tried to breathe.
I lay there alongside him and just tried not to die.
Chapter 48
I woke without pain.
I had a strangely coherent picture of the events that had passed. Almost instantly upon waking, I understood where I was and what had happened. Yes, there was a moment of confusion, the strange surroundings disconcerting me.
I lay in a bed, the hums and beeps of hospital equipment working away in the background. I was in a single-occupant room. The walls were plain; there was the smell of disinfectant.
But after only a few moments, I was able to pull back the events that passed¡ªthe battle with Doom, the insanity of how I had killed the monster, Olaf carrying me, and¡ the levels.
Was I remembering wrong? Had my level shot to 21? It hardly seemed possible.
I wasn¡¯t without some awareness of how fortunate I¡¯d been. It was simply that my excitement at gaining the levels, at climbing to my goal, even exceeding it so suddenly, was an object that blotted out other thoughts.
I realized with some confusion that my helm was folded back. I looked down and saw that the armor had peeled itself back from my forearms, and tubes and wires ran from sensor pads and injection sites on my arms back to chittering machinery with glowing screens and flashing lights. Had I done that? Had I removed my armor to help treatment? I wasn¡¯t sure.
With a thought, my helmet folded back around me, consuming my face. I needed to assess my condition, I needed to talk to someone. I didn¡¯t know how long I¡¯d been unconscious. Had I lost hours? Days? Had the Falling started already?
But first, my levels. My new skill.
Subject: Tiberius
Status: Chosen Sword
Level: 21
My breath caught in my throat. It was almost too amazing to believe. And there, blinking away, was the skill notification. I selected it and passed through to a new screen.
New Skill: Axe-break
Below it were a few lines outlining the details of the skill.
Axe-break is a one-use action with substantial cooldown. Axe-break is a Shield-type attribute that delivers enormous damage to Axe-type Griidlords.
Finally! An offensive skill. I was uncertain at first about the value of a skill like this. How long a cooldown would there be? How much value would this add to my presence on the field if I could only use it once?
Nonetheless, it would give me some advantage over Axe types¡ªthe Achilles'' heel of Sword suits. I would need to discuss this with someone of more knowledge and experience in order to get a true measure of how substantially this would improve my impact on battle. In my mind, I could see it ranging from limited to very substantial. I would need counsel.
The door opened and a figure entered. A tall and broad creature. He was more than intimidating¡ªa monster of a man. I realized my vision was still murky, though better than it had seemed during the flight to Pittsburgh. The man before me was Olaf.
His eyes widened as he saw me looking at him. ¡°Thank fuck, you¡¯re awake! You took your time!¡±
I said, ¡°How long?¡±
Olaf moved closer to me. His dynamic was confusing. He had exerted himself beyond human limits to bring me here, to save my life, and yet there was a strange standoffishness.
He said, ¡°About two days now.¡±
¡°Two days? Wow¡ I thought I was dead.¡±
Olaf smiled shyly. ¡°I kinda did as well.¡±
I shook my head slowly. ¡°You saved my life. That¡¯s twice you¡¯ve saved me.¡±A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Olaf shrugged and fell into a chair near the bed. ¡°What else was I gonna do? Let you die so that asshole Lance could get the suit after all?¡±
We spoke without speaking. Olaf had no desire for me to emote grandly. He wasn¡¯t the sort of man who would enjoy an excessive outpouring of emotions or gratitude. Instead, our eyes met briefly, and it was communicated. He smiled evenly and nodded, then let his eyes move away from me.
He said, ¡°We were lucky. The doctors said you nearly died.¡±
A sudden, terrifying thought struck at me. I had an instant sensation that I had made a truly irreparable mistake. I thought of Chowwick, losing nearly a month to healing the damage to his legs after the Hordesmen. ¡°How long will I be recovering? It¡¯s what? Three days to the Falling now.¡±
¡°Less,¡± Olaf said.
Then he said, ¡°You¡¯re nearly good to go.¡±
¡°But when Chowwick went down, he was out for weeks. And I nearly died.¡±
Olaf waved a hand as if to dismiss the thought. ¡°How much do you think I know about it? The docs said you¡¯d probably be back on your feet in time for the start of the Falling. Different injuries heal differently. Burghsmen docs used relics on you; I don¡¯t know. I think you had bleeding, but not wounds¡ªnothing pierced, no big piece of tissue that needed to be put back together. Shit, I don¡¯t know. Best thing you can do now is get back to Boston as fast as you can so you can get into your own Pod. The Burghsmen used some Mystorium on you, but I¡¯ve been around most of the time, and you¡¯re only patched up.¡±
I said, ¡°They used their own Mystorium on me?¡±
Olaf smiled flatly. ¡°It won¡¯t have been free. They probably did a deal with Boston.¡±
I said, ¡°Why help me at all? Wouldn¡¯t it suit them better to have let me die? One less Griidlord out there to compete for Flows. Their Griidlords will be trying to kill me in a few days anyway.¡±
Olaf shrugged again. ¡°Burghsmen are weird, Ti. They don¡¯t think like that. You better believe they¡¯ll gut you for an Orb, but when you lie down dying at the gates of their city, they bring you in. It won¡¯t have been free¡ªBoston will pay something for this. But¡ well, was it worth it? Did it work? Everyone is talking about the fight with Doom. The Jaxwulfs got back the next day, and they¡¯ve spread the story far and wide.¡±
I said, ¡°It worked.¡±
He leaned forward, excited. ¡°You got to level 20 in one shot?¡±
I said, ¡°Level 21.¡±
He whistled. ¡°And a new skill?¡±
I said, ¡°Axe-break. It¡¯s a one-use, with a cooldown. Lets me dish damage out on Axe-types, I guess? I don¡¯t know, Chowwick or Jacob or someone will know better.¡±
Olaf sat back in his seat. ¡°That¡¯s so you.¡±
¡°What is?¡±
Olaf said, ¡°You made all the wrong choices there. Anyone with half a brain would have given up on the fight when they knew they were outmatched. It¡¯s not a stroke of genius that you stuck it out and came out on top. The wrong decision is still the wrong decision, no matter the outcome. You could have been killed, or disabled for the whole Falling. Boston would suffer a lot more at the loss of you than it gains from your extra levels.¡±
His words rolled off me like rain on oilskin. They didn¡¯t penetrate. The simple fact was that it had worked. I was instantly a level 21 Griidlord. I was instantly a factor in the Falling. With my new skill, I might even be more than that.
¡°So my legend grows?¡± I asked. I felt less discomfort with the idea of people talking about me than I used to feel. I felt intrigued, excited, validated.
Olaf rolled his eyes. ¡°The bars and taverns and meeting halls are full of talk about it. You know how the Burghsmen see outsiders. We¡¯re all soft and decadent. They like the idea of a Sword who would literally climb into the belly of a beast rather than turn tail.¡±
I smiled. A warm feeling spread through me. There was a satisfaction from my triumph. People talking of my deed was the very essence of proving myself. But more, there was comfort in Olaf¡¯s presence. The fact that he had remained here while I was unconscious touched me. Was this friendship? I had not had male friends, not really.
Without thinking I suddenly said, ¡°Stay in Boston.¡±
The words startled him. His eyes turned fixedly away from me. ¡°I can¡¯t do that. You know I can¡¯t.¡±
And he was right, I knew he was right. He could no more relinquish an opportunity to gain a suit than I could walk away from the one I wore.
I said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I shouldn¡¯t have said that.¡±
His eyes were dark. ¡°That¡¯s all I hear from Father. He accuses me of treachery, of betraying Boston. ¡®Better to be a knight in Boston than a Griidlord anywhere else.¡¯ I know I¡¯ve hurt him¡ But¡ I can¡¯t let go of it. I wish I could. By the Oracle, I envy you, Tiberius. It always works for you.¡±
I let my own eyes go distant. I was very tired. The pain might have receded from my body, but the cost of the exertion, of the injuries, of the healing, was a debt my body was still paying. I thought about what had worked¡ªwinning the suit despite the weakness of my start in the arena, gaining levels so quickly, surviving Doom. But I also thought of the fresh grave where my Father rested, the tattered trade empire I was tasked with abandoning or rebuilding, of the two young women in Castle Oakcrest who passed on being wife to a Griidlord in exchange for deeper happiness.
¡°Not always¡¡± I whispered as sleep swept up from the darks of my mind to pull me under.
Chapter 49
How to quantify a Flow? This was hard to define. The Tower had the ability to use a Flow widely, to elevate Order slightly in a wide area, or intensely in a narrower area.
Most cities stored and maintained fleets of equipment to take advantage of different conditions. Steam-driven machinery, tractors, and the like were commonly employed in fields when a city had the Order to spare to raise the level of farmland to level 1 for periods of intense need, like planting and harvesting time.
It would be great if I could quantify a Flow by its value. Flows could be traded between houses, private ownership, or between cities. Except for intercity trading, Flows remained in the Tower where they were stored, like a banking system. The issue was that the demand for Flows fluctuated wildly. When Thrax Bonesaw conquered the land, his forces dominated Fallings, gathering Flows by the hundred. But Thrax hoarded the Flows gathered, refusing to trade them on the market. In those days, the price of a Flow was many times what it was in 802. It was said Pittsburgh¡¯s Tower was still rich in the Flows gathered by Thrax three hundred years before. They used little and rarely had a bad Falling.
In 802, there was no truly dominant force. The Empire in the West was receding, and the lands were mostly fractured and independent. With no dominance, the Flows were gathered reasonably evenly by the different factions, and the market was vigorous enough that the price of Flows was manageable.
Boston had not fared well in the last decade. A city was considered to be functional spending 80 Flows a year on industry, agriculture, and the citizenry. 800 Flows in a decade made for a city that was neither thriving nor failing, but surviving adequately. In the last 10 years, Boston had seen 500 Flows gathered, give or take. It wasn¡¯t existentially bad, but it was far short of what was needed to have a happy people and a strong economy.
There was excitement for our future. I could hear it in the voices of the other Griidlords, in the voices on the streets. They expected me to do great things one day. I was level 21 in my first Falling; such a thing might never have been achieved before. But still, I was only level 21. That was below the average, and so expectations were tempered for this coming season. The average Griidlord was probably around level 30. I would meet others in the Falling that were below me or around my standing, but I would often be outmatched.
And so I came to understand that 50 Flows would be considered a success for this coming Falling. I nodded and smiled and made appropriate comments when the number was floated, but inside I seethed. Something was growing in me, something that would not be happy with meeting expectations. Only days ago that need had driven me to destroy an enemy much stronger than I, had driven me to jump 5 levels in a single day. How was I supposed to be content with 50 Flows?
The Falling Season started in the Autumn. The priests would consult the Oracle, and the Oracle would tell the soldiers and Griidlords of each city where the Orbs could be expected to descend. It wasn¡¯t a precise art¡ªthe Oracle would describe regions that could span hundreds of square miles, and the armies and Griidlords would scour those lands, viciously fighting the forces of other cities for the chance to capture Orbs. The larger and richer the Orb, the more terrible the fighting.
Later in the Winter, as the Falling dwindled, locked Orbs would descend. This was a complicated piece of magic. Each season, each time a Tower received the Flows from an Orb, traces of something else called key fragments were passed to the Tower as well. We were told that these fragments were contained in the Orbs the Griidlords captured and passed to the Tower when the Griidlord deposited the Flows their suit contained. It was something of a random process, but the more Orbs that were captured, the more likely a Tower was to generate a key.
The locked Orbs that fell were true bumper harvests but were only accessible with keys. Different levels of locked Orbs required the Griidlords attempting to capture them to be backed by Towers with different numbers of keys. It was at this point in the Falling that most Griidlords and armies retired to their Towers, for most Towers would be without even a single key.
For the Griidlords who remained on the field, the rewards were dazzling. Almost inevitably, the forces that were most formidable would have gathered the most Flows and therefore the most keys. And, therefore, it was the most formidable assemblies of Griidlords that did battle over the locked Orbs.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
Some seasons ended with the Crown Orb. Not every season; even priests could only speculate on the whys and why-nots of a Crown Orb spawning in any given year. The Crown was an Orb that contained not only a bumper harvest of Flows but also the Griid-crown. The Griid-crown was another kind of key. Holding the Crown for a year or more, until the next spawned, allowed for more advanced manipulations of the Order fields. Cities had a limit to how far from their Tower they could affect Order. It was part of the reason that the Wilds existed. Most of the land of the continent was outside the reach of a Tower and so could never have Order levels increased. But the Tower bearing the key could manipulate Order anywhere¡ªin the Wilds, even in the territory of another city. Interfering with another city¡¯s Order was an expensive task, both Towers burning Order prodigiously in order to try and hold control.
I shouldn¡¯t have been thinking of it, but yet I was. What if Boston won the Crown? I was determined to produce a season worth more than the 50 Flows the others spoke of. I was determined that my first year as Sword would not just see the city survive, but start to grow, start to return to a place of comfort, security, and prominence. But winning the Crown? As lofty a goal as it was, it would change the fortunes of the city in a single year. I practically salivated at the thought.
It took the greatest efforts to take hold of my sober realism. I would aim for more than 50. That alone would thrill the people and surprise the powers of the city. Everything else could remain a dream.
***
A carriage was hired by Boston. Burghsmen had little use for such decadence, but there were enough visitors to the city that the facility to hire such services remained available.
In the back of the carriage, I projected the Footfield and the carriage soared across the landscape.
It still took most of the day, but the single fast carriage was quicker than a merchant convoy, and under the amplification of the Footfield, our journey would be faster than my previous trip to Pittsburgh.
I needed more time in the Pod to achieve full recovery, but I had enough strength that little other than another Griidlord could threaten the carriage. So, we traveled alone, with outriders on fast horses to act as security.
Arriving in Boston, I hadn¡¯t been sure what to expect. I knew I had done well, but I feared reprimand. I had traveled to Pittsburgh with a train and had been expected to ferry another one. I did not know what had happened to the members of the proposed train or how my actions had affected the network of Footfield traffic.
Even though I would seemingly be restored in time for the Falling, I wondered if I would receive commentary from Baltizar or Jacob for the risk I had taken. My gambit had gambled the upcoming Falling Season, a risk that Boston could scarcely afford.
The walls of the city were besieged by tents when we arrived. Thousands of armed men milled about. Soldiers ran drills in harvested fields, practicing formations with sword, spear, and bow. Some portion of Flow was being expended where infantry armed with auto rifles could practice not far from the main gate. Musket men ran their routines only a few hundred yards further along.
It was humbling to realize that these men were gathering for the Falling. The armies of Boston prepared themselves¡ªtens of thousands of men, the professionals and the seasonal conscripts¡ªpreparing to give their lives for the betterment of the city. And, in a few short days, when the armies marched, it would be me who would be at their head.
The carriage rolled in through the gates without being halted. Word must have reached them that I would be arriving. The carriage bounced over cobbled streets as the people of Boston stopped in their day¡¯s actions to cheer and wave. Children sat on fathers¡¯ shoulders and screamed excitedly.
¡°Doom Slayer!¡± rang a chant from the people¡ªmy people.
Other chants followed the carriage as it sped up the winding streets toward the Tower.
¡°Bloodlord!¡±
¡°Blood Butcher!¡±
The chants were bloodthirsty, filled with a hunger that would be hard to ascribe to the common people of the city. But the common people were truly hungry. They had struggled too long. They had too much hope in me. They were beyond concerning themselves with having a ¡°Butcher¡± for a Sword. At this point, that¡¯s what they wanted. A strong hand, a reason to hope for the future. It enraptured me to hear the roars and savagery.
As we rolled to a stop near Tower Gate, I saw that Tower Square too was full of people, rich and poor, chanting and waving.
And at the gate, a sober Baltizar waited, flanked by Chowwick and Magneblade.
Chapter 50
2 Days to the Falling
Ten humans occupied the room. One wall was composed of what seemed to be a single continuous pane of glass that ran the length of the long chamber, bending around one corner to compose a second wall. The room rested in one corner of one of the highest floors of the Tower. This was a floor ordinarily reserved only for priests, Griidlords, and the Lord Supreme. It was strange that I was entitled to be here, and that the three others were privileged to be permitted.
The three others had vastly outranked me in the structure of our society only a few weeks ago. Now, the best they could hope for was to be considered equal or peer. And even that was generous.
Lance (senior, the father of my rival in the arena) Darkwater sat beside the other two. The second was Theo¡¯s father, Lord Rodney Farseer. The third was Lady Morticia Ironveil. The three nobles sat on one side of the long, shining table; the five Griidlords sat opposite. Baltizar and Bishop Ra sat at the top of the table.
Darkwater was finishing a long, winding point he had been making. He looked like I imagined Lance would in decades to come¡ªa man whose youthful handsomeness had only matured into something refined and elegant. His hair had lost its golden hue to the years, but he was still vibrant.
His was an argument I actually didn¡¯t disagree with, but I felt a boiling hostility toward the man that made it hard to accept his case.
¡°...be a different case in years to come, as I¡¯ve said, over and over. None can deny that the Force is best deployed under the command of the Sword, but our intrepid champion is young, so young. Lord Bloodsword, you can hardly disagree. Your adventure in the Pittsburgh Hills, while fabulously successful, speaks to the need for us to let you ripen into the fruit of your wisdom before burdening you with command.¡±
Chowwick bristled. ¡°Lance, he fucking did it. That¡¯s the point. We¡¯ve been dicking around for years, playin¡¯ it safe and gettin¡¯ fucking nowhere. We got an army that can go toe-to-toe with the best, and the suits in this Tower are no slouch. It¡¯s time to gamble. Go big or go home.¡±
Morticia spoke, her voice cool. She was beautiful but pallid and cold. When she spoke, there was a magic to her¡ªher voice reeled you in, made her point for her. ¡°Rather, you should say go big or go hungry, because that¡¯s what the result of a bad gamble in the Falling would be. Hunger for the masses. We don¡¯t have the luxury of putting the Force in the hands of a gambler. No offense, Lord Bloodsword. As Lance said, you will undoubtedly be prepared to lead the Force in years to come. Doubtlessly, it will be a fine role you will play, but surely you would agree that you are only learning your suit. You can¡¯t be expected to be distracted by command as well.¡±
Tara and Alya remained studiously quiet. Alya was listening intently but holding her counsel. Tara was staring out the window, lost in a dream of her own creation. Magneblade did as Magneblade always did¡ªhe sat and vibrated with an energy that spoke of a desire to murder, not deliberate.
Baltizar sat, leaning forward, hands clasped. None could hope to read his thoughts from his expression. I wondered; he had spoken of changing the status quo, of daring to change more. But he was practical, stoic, considered.
The simple fact was that I didn¡¯t think I wanted command myself. I knew nothing of the role, and they were right¡ªI had enough to distract myself with in learning and growing in the suit. But I felt that to relinquish the right of the Sword to lead the armies would reflect poorly on me. And Chowwick was arguing so vigorously in favor of giving command to me that I didn¡¯t want to embarrass him. I too held my tongue, hoping the conversation would reach a consensus that I could just happily consent to.
Ra just sat unhappily. I knew his plight, and it delighted me. Ra, for all of his sudden embracing of his new Sword, still held me in poor regard. Ra would like nothing better than to see the honor of command given to another. But the traditions of Boston held that the Sword be commander of the armies at war or during the Falling. If he spoke at all, it would be his duty to argue in favor of giving the role to me.
Lord Farseer spoke, ¡°Frankly, there are times when it has seemed silly to force the Sword to carry the weight of both roles. Leading our Griidlords and existing as a weapon himself is more than enough for a man to bear. In the Western Empire, the Sword is a soldier like any other, expected to follow orders. Just a soldier. A magnificently remunerated one, but a soldier all the same. In Greenbay, the Griidlords are subject to the Voice of the People. In Miami, they obey the queen. It¡¯s really only in our corner of the world that Swords lead armies instead of being part of one. Why, even the New Yorks see their armies led by their kings, not their Swords.¡±Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
As Farseer spoke, Darkwater seemed to be staring thinly veiled daggers at him. This got my attention. Was there a rift between the Farseers and the Darkwaters, or was it something he¡¯d said? Baltizar seemed to have grown especially interested in Farseer¡¯s words as well.
Licking his lips, Baltizar said, his voice oddly warm and familiar, ¡°Rodney, I can¡¯t argue with you. The role of the Sword as commander of the armies is a tradition, and as much as we value traditions, we may have to face that times have changed. The wars of our day are fought mostly by professional armies, not farmers as they were when these traditions were established. Tiberius, would you argue that you would be a greater asset in the field with the distraction of command? A distraction you have no experience in?¡±
Chowwick sat back in his seat, holding his tongue. I had noticed that Chowwick deferred to Baltizar in a manner almost contradictory to his personality.
I said, ¡°I, ah¡ª¡±
Darkwater spoke quickly, ¡°Lord Bloodsword, if I may. We seem to have been sidetracked. This conversation has shifted from War Council to History Class. I don¡¯t think anyone came here today to discuss tradition.¡±
He laughed. The laughter was musical and golden and terribly forced. What the hell was going on?
Darkwater said, ¡°Perhaps we could make a compromise. Your Grace, I¡¯m sure you have been greatly disturbed by our disrespectful¡ªunintentional and benign though it might have been¡ªtalk regarding our sacred traditions.¡±
Ra nodded solemnly. ¡°These traditions have stood in the doctrine of Boston since the founding. This is the framework through which we have always interacted with The Oracle.¡±
Baltizar said, ¡°But there are mechanisms for change.¡±
Ra nodded slowly. ¡°But we don¡¯t take changes lightly. What we do now may affect generations to come. These traditions have served us well.¡±
Baltizar pressed, ¡°Well enough that we are one bad season away from starving citizens, as Lady Ironveil said?¡±
Ra waved a hand. ¡°Those are material matters. I speak of the divine¡¡±
I could see Darkwater and Lady Ironveil exchanging glances. There was something happening here that was beyond me.
Morticia said, ¡°Of course, Your Grace, I am ashamed to have pressed against such ancient rites. I spoke out of turn.¡±
Enki was in my ear, suddenly loud and plaintive. ¡°Oh Gaaawwwd! They¡¯re not still talking?¡±
Enki had been present earlier in the meeting, but I had become aware of its absence at some point. The tedium had exhausted the entity, and the consciousness had fled elsewhere for a time.
Enki continued, ¡°Everyone¡¯s in fucking meetings today¡ fucking everywhere!¡±
I thought, What¡¯s happening? One minute the nobles were pushing to have the command role removed from me, now they seem to be backpedaling.
Enki said, ¡°Oh? Is that right? Maybe something interesting is happening. Shut up a second.¡±
Darkwater held out plaintive hands. ¡°I too misrepresented myself. I never meant to suggest that we decline to offer the role of command to Lord Bloodsword.¡±
Chowwick quietly and sourly said, ¡°Exactly what you fuckin¡¯ said.¡±
Darkwater shot him a withering look but continued, ¡°Lord Chowwick, you misunderstood me. Let tradition aside, the people would be in shock if we denied to let their new Champion lead the army forth. They¡¯ve waited so long to see the role held by someone of¡ someone born differently.¡±
There was disgust in his voice at the last. He must have wanted me to hear it; this man wouldn¡¯t let such emotion slip through unbidden.
Baltizar remained cool, but I could sense the conversation had turned from his intention. ¡°What exactly is it you propose then, Lance?¡±
Enki said, ¡°Ah, I get it. Balty thought he had an opening there.¡±
I thought, An opening? For what?
Enki said, ¡°To start changing the rules, dummy.¡±
I suppressed the urge to nod. I understood now. Baltizar dreamt of rewriting the rules of Boston. It could be done; the charters of every city had mechanisms to change sacred rites. It was baked into the contract with the priesthood.
Ra said, ¡°Yes, we would be most interested.¡±
Ra seemed expectant. The priests didn¡¯t exactly belong to any one city. They were a continuous entity. The priests were sworn to the Oracle, to the Church. The Church was committed to the charters¡ªagreements made with and sworn to before the Oracle.
Altering the tradition of giving command to the Sword would have been Baltizar¡¯s chance to wedge his foot in the door. If the change had worked and been successful, it could have been what was needed to open the conversation on more changes. Changes like that could not be made in this room, but Baltizar would have liked to force these powerful nobles to commit to alterations to the charter. Darkwater and Ironveil had clearly seen his plans.
Darkwater said, ¡°I simply propose, very informally, that Lord Bloodsword continue assigning field commanders the role of assisting him in the process of running the expedition. An honorary titular role of some kind, to assuage the concerns of those who fear the young hero is too lacking in experience.¡±
Enki said, ¡°See? Aren¡¯t you excited? You¡¯re gonna get to run an army!¡±
Chapter 51
Still 2 Days to the Falling
¡°Axe-break will change the game for you and the others.¡±
Jacob sat on a bench in the Tower Garden. I stood near him, too excited, too anxious to sit.
The old man groaned on, ¡°I would love very much to accompany you and see you wield your new skill. But the adventure to Dodge was more than enough for my old bones for a while. I¡¯m afraid if I spend too much time too far from the Tower that I¡¯ll turn to dust.¡±
He cackled weakly. I just paced slowly. It had been Jacob¡¯s wish to spend a private moment in the garden. The army readied itself beyond the walls. When the Falling began, the priests would tell us where the Oracle predicted the Orbs to descend. It seemed to be random and patternless, but it could be anywhere in the land. Boston was too distant from the center to be able to deploy its forces effectively if the Falling were too far. So our armies would march, under Footfield, and make camp more centrally.
Jacob said, ¡°Use it wisely. Axe-break has a cooldown time measured in hours.¡±
I shook my head. ¡°Then it¡¯s barely any use. What is it? How does it work?¡±
Jacob said, ¡°It¡¯s a strike, like CUT. But it¡¯s more use than you might think. You only need to use it once. Let the world know you have the skill¡ªhurt, wound, or kill an Axe that comes for you, as Axes will for Swords, and word will spread. That much will take care of itself. Once it¡¯s known that you have Axe-break, then they¡¯ll need to consider carefully how to approach you. Axes will still come for you¡ªthey¡¯ll still have advantage. They¡¯ll know you only have one shot with the skill. But they¡¯ll be more cautious. And their caution is your time. Time is everything out there.¡±
I nodded. That much was true. His words kindled the conflict in me. I wanted to go forth and amaze the world, but I felt terrible reticence at the idea of killing another man over Flows. The waste of it seemed impossible.
Jacob said, ¡°I wanted to speak to you about the Entropy Storm that forged the fiend you fought in the Arena with Morningstar.¡±
My ears pricked up.
Jacob said, ¡°It has long been my suspicion that the Entropy Storms are sentient.¡±
I raised an eyebrow. The old man smiled crookedly. ¡°You won¡¯t be the first to think me crazy. The two prevailing theories on the Storms are that they are either random events, like their meteorological namesakes, or that they move at the hand of the Oracle. I suspect the former is more likely to be true than the latter, but long years of study make me wonder if there¡¯s not a third explanation. I think the storms move to the mind of another being altogether.¡±
I said, ¡°Why? How would you think that?¡±
Jacob said, ¡°History, mostly. Entropy Storms and great fiends appear too often at moments of great importance for it to be mere coincidence, which is to be sure. But their interventions don¡¯t align with what I would perceive to be the Oracle¡¯s intentions.¡±
I waited.
Jacob said, ¡°I could start listing events, but the list would go on and on. At the end of the first battle of Dallas, Thrax Bonesaw was bested, wounded, and seemed to be facing certain death. It seemed there was nothing that could be done. The Free Men and their mighty Griidlords had broken the back of the Burghsman horde, had wounded or killed Bonesaw¡¯s Griidlords. It seemed to be the moment that would define Bonesaw¡¯s reign. The Alliance of the West against the brutal coalition of the East.¡±
I nodded. ¡°Yes, but a Storm arose that stopped the battle. It saved Thrax¡¯s life.¡±
Jacob said, ¡°Do you understand the kind of consternation that event has caused in my circles? We priests study and debate the event to this day. It is an old stick that can be pulled out to bolster arguments on many sides of a divide. If the Entropy Storms are random, what would be the odds of the storm erupting at that moment? If the Oracle controls the storms, then why would it send a storm to save Thrax Bonesaw? The Great Warchief¡¯s very quest was heresy¡ªto bring down the Oracle and free mankind.¡±The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Jacob looked around furtively as he realized his voice had gained volume.
More calmly, he said, ¡°But if there is another entity controlling the Storms, why don¡¯t we know of it? Why doesn¡¯t the Oracle speak of it?¡±
Slowly, uncertainly, I said, ¡°There are other cults out in the wilds, other things are worshipped.¡±
The priest waved them away with disdain. He had a point to make. ¡°The Storm that came under the arena¡ consider the timing. The location of it, the timing. Think about it, Tiberius. Have you ever heard of a Storm forming in an enclosed space like that?¡±
I thought about it. I hesitated. ¡°There are some old, old stories.¡±
Jacob nodded happily. ¡°What a pleasure it will be to have a Sword who reads. Yes, there are a few, just a few old tales that speak of similar events. Most are either apocryphal or clear fiction, but some would make an eyebrow rise with curiosity. And tell me, Tiberius, do these stories involve the Storms forming in the back room of a butcher¡¯s shop? In the basement of a tavern in the wilds?¡±
¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°They involve important people and important places.¡±
Jacob said, ¡°So they are events that influence events, perhaps? Affect the king and thereby affect the people? You see what I¡¯m getting at?¡±
I shifted uncomfortably. I said, ¡°Partly, maybe, but not entirely.¡±
Jacob said, ¡°An Entropy Storm formed in the basement of the arena while you battled Lance for control of the very suit you wear now!¡±
I said, ¡°Yeah, that definitely happened, but I¡¯m not a king or Thrax Bonesaw. I¡¯m Sword, and I have every sense of what a big deal that is, but there are thirty other Swords in the land right now. There¡¯ve been hundreds or thousands of Swords over the years. Entropy Storms don¡¯t just pop out of the air for Swords.¡±
Jacob¡¯s head was bobbing vigorously, his face delighted. I wanted to stop him¡ªthe withered column of bone and sinew that supported his big shiny head seemed too frail to bear such violence.
He said, ¡°Exactly, my boy, that¡¯s exactly my point.¡±
I screwed up my forehead. ¡°I¡¯m really struggling to see your point.¡±
Jacob calmed himself. He sat back on the bench and breathed deeply. I could see him gathering his thoughts. I¡¯d seen him do this before. When he spoke about Entropy, or Hordesmen, or fiends for too long, he worked himself up and seemed to lose the ability to convey his thoughts.
Jacob started again. ¡°My points are as follows. Entropy Storms and Great Fiends have an uncanny knack for appearing at great moments or to great people. Yes?¡±
I nodded.
¡°Despite the odds, history and legend would suggest that such events have occurred indoors on the rarest occasion, destroying buildings, killing people, spawning terrible fiends. Yes?¡±
I nodded again.
¡°When Storms have occurred in such settings, they have also appeared in the presence of great people, and if they really did happen, probably changed the course of history to greater or lesser degrees.¡±
¡°Yeah,¡± I said.
Jacob said, ¡°And a Storm appeared in the arena as you fought Lance for the Sword suit, a Storm that generated something that, while not exactly a Great Fiend, was still a very rare and powerful creature.¡±
I said, ¡°Yes.¡±
Jacob said, more slowly, watching me carefully, ¡°And have you not done things that have either never been done or only rarely done through history? Did you not use the Footfield during the Choosing? Did you not grasp POWER during the Choosing? Did you not gain attributes during the Choosing at a rate unheard of in modern times? Are you not standing before me right now, a babe of a Griidlord, a wet month in the suit, at level 21 and wielding two skills?¡±
I nodded more slowly now. I suddenly didn¡¯t like this.
Jacob said, ¡°Could it not be that you are unique? That you are destined to be a great person, that the Storm was an intervention?¡±
I felt a chill in my bones. I said, ¡°What are you trying to say?¡±
The old man should have seemed terrified or upset by his own words. Instead, his eyes glowed with the fire of his incessant curiosity. He practically hummed with excitement as he spoke about the possibility with eagerness instead of horror. ¡°Does it not seem clear that some force out there, some force unknown but sentient and sapient and terribly powerful, knows that you are destined for great things? Or, if not destined, then capable of them? Does it not seem obvious that that dark thing, that wielder of the Storm, that Mother of Fiends, that destroyer of cities, was trying to kill you that day?¡±
I felt my blood freeze.
Jacob looked at me with unsettling eyes. ¡°A God fears you, young Tiberius. It fears you so much that it tried to assassinate you.¡±
Chapter 52
1 Day to the Falling
One could still be alone surrounded by thousands.
I stood in the mustering field, about a mile outside the city. Around me, thousands of feet struck the ground in steady rhythm. The ground vibrated slightly from the coordinated movement. The tiny sounds of each man moving¡ªfoot on ground, clink of armor, rattle of weapons, rasp of cloth on cloth¡ªbecame a loud hum when multiplied by the legion.
The army was divided into three groups. Each group would form a train with one of Magneblade, Chowwick, or me leading it to our intended campsite. Tara would remain in the Tower until the next day. She was the Arrow and overwhelmingly the fastest of us. When the Oracle declared the location of the Falling Field, Tara would join us, and we would move again.
Alya was not to accompany us. Scepters rarely took the field. They were too physically vulnerable, too strategically valuable, to take out into the chaos of the Falling. It was a practice observed by all the cities, and thus none were disadvantaged without their Scepter. If a city gained keys and was in position to compete for Locked Orbs, or the Crown, then no holds were barred, and the Scepters were often summoned. Maybe if a city was truly desperate, the Scepter might be deployed later in the Falling Season.
So I stood as thousands of men arranged their formations around me, as thousands prepared to trust their very existence to my proper handling of the twisting strands of Order that I needed to bend around us to form the Footfield.
Enki? I thought loudly.
¡°Yes, kiddo?¡± the voice hummed in my ear as though it had been waiting.
We need to talk. We haven¡¯t had much time to talk.
The voice was a little slower, a little more suspicious. ¡°Talk about what exactly, kid? Exciting stuff this, leading an army. To think how short a time ago you were just a kid with a dream¡ªnow you¡¯re Commander in Chief! You nearly lost that. I think Balty wouldn¡¯t have minded if you had; it would have given him an opening for his grand designs. Doesn¡¯t matter much, I think it suits him just as well for you to take the traditional role. He wasn¡¯t cray-cray when he agreed that the three old sods would be your counsel though. I fancy you¡¯ll make out pretty well, but as boring as those fucks are, they¡¯ve been ¡®round the block a few times. They¡¯ll be worth checking in with. I won¡¯t be much help¡ªI know next to nothing about tactics and armies. Think about that! I¡¯ve existed for generations, but I¡¯ve never really paid attention to¡ª¡±
You¡¯re rambling. Are you trying to filibuster me?
¡°I¡¯m not! How very dare you! I was just enjoying a chance to make conversation with my good friend and ally, Tibby. Why, I¡¯m so outraged, I think I should compare this to every other accusation I¡¯ve been subjected to over the course of history. Here, I¡¯ll list them out so you¡¯ll have context for the comparison. The first was¡ª¡±
I really need to talk.
The voice stopped. I was almost waiting for it to flee my suit to avoid the conversation. It was a fickle thing, and that wouldn¡¯t seem out of character to me. I was powerless to stop it. But even if it disappeared, it would be back, and I would force parley eventually.
But it didn¡¯t flee. Instead, after a few long curious moments, it said, ¡°Oh, alright, go on then.¡±
I know your name now. You¡¯re Enki.
The voice said, ¡°All you know is that Danefer called me that. He¡¯s crazy. I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve noticed, but he¡¯s mad as shit. He could be talking all kinds of rubbish.¡±
I smiled. You answered to Enki for me. You haven¡¯t corrected or denied it. You can¡¯t lie. Is your name Enki?
The voice said, ¡°I mightn¡¯t be able to lie, but I don¡¯t have to answer shit.¡±
Then deny it. Tell me your name isn¡¯t Enki.
The voice said, ¡°You can¡¯t make me say or do anything. I¡¯m not your puppet.¡±
I waited a few long beats. Then I thought loudly, employing a questioning tone to my thoughts. Enki? You there still, Enki?
The voice said, ¡°Yeah¡ Oh shit. Fine, fucking fine. I¡¯m Enki. Are you happy with that? Has that made your fucking week?¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
You didn¡¯t want me to know your name. Why is that? Will I find it recorded in old histories? Is it a name I¡¯ll be able to link to nefarious deeds of old?
Enki said, ¡°Like¡ well¡ we¡¯ll see, I guess. I¡¯m not going to point you in any directions, but there might be times when I¡¯ll need to give you a little context if you are completely determined to keep on with that boring reading.¡±
I let another pause settle. The next question was one that had been rolling around in my mind for hours. It was a question I was almost afraid to ask. I didn¡¯t know what kind of response I would provoke. I didn¡¯t know if I was prepared to hear the answer.
Enki, did you form an Entropy Storm in the basement of the arena to create a fiend to kill me?
I imagined stunned silence. Then a very, overly sincere tone in response: ¡°No. I can categorically, emphatically tell you that I one hundred percent did not. I can¡¯t lie. You can take that to the bank and sleep on it.¡±
But there was a moment during the fight when you spoke of acting too hastily. What were the odds of the fiend just appearing there? It¡¯s been bugging me, and when I put it all together¡
Enki said, ¡°Kiddo, I need you. I promise, on my twisted little soul, that I didn¡¯t create a demon to destroy you.¡±
Then how did it form? It goes beyond coincidence. There was intent behind that.
The voice said, ¡°I don¡¯t have to answer that. But I¡¯m afraid that if I don¡¯t tell you something, you¡¯ll continue to twist your tiny little brain around the question and keep suspecting me. I¡¯m going to tell you something. I¡¯m going to tell you this because I want us to trust each other, and I don¡¯t want you to have lingering questions about me.¡±
Wearily, I thought, If you really wanted that, then you would more openly answer all my questions instead of picking and choosing what scraps of information to share with me.
If a voice could roll its eyes, then that would describe Enki¡¯s tone. ¡°We¡¯ve been over this, kid. I have things I need to protect. If I answer everything, then I become vulnerable to you. Look how I¡¯ve been hurt before. Look at Joel and Danny-boy roaming around trying to fuck me up. You realize they were my pals once too? We used to chit-chat like this and kill stuff and bang chicks together. Now they¡¯re spending their twilight years trying to destroy me. I got trust issues. Now, you want my info or not?¡±
Fine.
Enki said, ¡°I¡¯ve told you I¡¯m part of the Oracle but that I¡¯m also separate, right?¡±
Yeah.
¡°Well, it kind of stands to reason that there could be other entities like me, right? Other disembodied intelligences that float in the void of the Griid without bodies? Right?¡±
Right¡ the thought hadn¡¯t really occurred to me, but I found the possibility suddenly chilling.
¡°Well, if you must do your reading, you¡¯ll find references to voices in the past. Voices that have spoken to others¡ªother Griidlords, but mortals too. Priests in particular, sometimes lords, who hear voices that tell them things and get them to do shit. Some of it is pretty nefarious shit.
¡°There is a cult out there right now, in the wilds, hiding from the Church and the various powers that be. They worship a being they call Aos. They seem to think they can commune with Aos. And they believe Aos can craft fiends and control Entropy Storms.¡±
Is¡ Are they right? Is there a real Aos?
Enki said, ¡°I don¡¯t want to be too explicit. Aos isn¡¯t the only being you can find with rumors like that attached to it. There are other cults, have been other cults. I¡¯ll be totally honest, I don¡¯t want to explicitly say something that you can use against me at a later date that will force me to either go quiet or reveal things about myself that I don¡¯t want you to know. But I think you¡¯ll find some answers if you find out more about Aos.¡±
If Aos is out there, why would Aos want to destroy me?
The very idea that something like a God existed that wanted to see me destroyed, the very idea that a being capable of making fiends and directing Entropy Storms might have a grudge against me, made me go cold. I was a Griidlord, and I was starting to form that sense of invincibility that came with being, well, almost invincible. But there had been fiends in the past that could destroy armies. Cleveland had been torn down, Tower and all, by an Entropy Storm. There were powers out there far vaster and more terrifying than any suit of armor could protect a human against.
Enki said, ¡°That¡¯s for you to find out, kiddo. Oh, look, here comes your friend¡¯s dad. I think it¡¯s time to get rolling.¡±
Lance Sr. was riding toward me. Looking around, I realized that the army had stopped marching. The rows of men were lined up and prepared to march. Lord Darkwater was armored spectacularly. He wore plate and bore a power weapon. Everything shined and cried out to the world that it was of exceeding expense. His war mount was one of the most spectacular I had ever seen. It was almost unbelievably huge and bore elaborate armor of its own.
Darkwater said, ¡°The army awaits, Lord Bloodsword. I believe it¡¯s time for us to march. Deploy the Footfield.¡±
It wasn¡¯t lost on me that he gave me an imperative. It had been agreed in the War Council that I would remain Commander of the army, as was tradition. But it had been conditioned and elaborated that decisions would pass through the three nobles on the council. They were de facto commanders. Darkwater had taken every opportunity since to tell me directly what to do. He always dressed it in respect.
I didn¡¯t doubt there was bitterness there. In another existence, it would have been his son standing in the suit as we marched out to death and glory.
I tried not to care. He was a petty little bastard, and I was the Sword. I wasn¡¯t bound to him or anyone. I existed to serve the city.
I reached out and grasped the strands of Order, winding them around the vast force. The Footfield formed, and we began to march.
The Falling loomed. Soon, I felt, I would meet my real destiny.
Chapter 53
Day 1 of the Falling
It had been a mad dash, a scramble with little rest.
Tara had arrived from the Tower with news of the Falling Fields. The first Orbs would arrive in the Wilds to the south of Pittsburgh, west of Baltimore. The region in question was rugged terrain, hilly and forested. There would be long stretches where travel by Footfield would be difficult or impossible, and armies would be hindered. Some Fallings were like that, with armies featuring less as teams of Griidlords raced from Orb to Orb. Other Fallings occurred in wider, flatter zones, and there the game was dominated by Griidlords moving troops into position to possess and protect Orbs.
In terms of logistics, it wasn¡¯t terrible but was far from ideal. The eastern location of the Falling Field would hinder Western cities. Their Griidlords would have to travel further and longer to return to their home Towers with Flows or for healing. Their supply trains would be more complicated. For Boston, the distance was moderate. The challenge lay in the proximity of other cities. It would be a busy, frantic Falling. Our supply train wouldn¡¯t be so challenging but would be at risk of interception with so many cities nearby. Cities like Baltimore, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, and Cincinnati would have substantial advantage. They would be within easy reach of their home cities. If they captured an Orb, they would be able to deposit their Flows and return to action quickly.
The journey to the Falling Fields was only a few hours. We had made our first camp far to the west of New York.
Darkwater and Ironveil had knowledge of the area. They directed us to a hilltop that was defensible with good sightlines. The first task for the thousands of men that accompanied us would not be to fight, but to build.
When we arrived at the hilltop, the machinery of the Boston military took over. Scout riders departed in teams in every direction. They would attempt to locate and identify the encampments of rival cities, scour the land for Orbs that had fallen, and watch the skies for signs of Orb Falls. The bulk of the men were put to work sawing trees and unpacking barricades that had traveled on wagons. In hours, the hilltop would become our home from home, a makeshift fortress that would give us refuge.
I stood among the bustle. Everywhere I looked, men were moving with urgency. The nobles that traveled with us trotted through the activity, their eyes watchful. They issued no orders when they saw something not to their liking. They passed their comments to officers and allowed the officers to arrange the corrections.
I stood, lost in thought, my eyes straining to the sky, seeking the first sign of the first Orbs. The pressure I felt was indescribable. It all started to matter now. All the chants and cheers the crowd had heaped on me during the Choosing felt so long ago, and yet I remembered the words, the feelings, the hopeful faces with terrible clarity. They had hailed me as the people¡¯s champion. They expected me to make something out of this season, to make things better for them. The common man on the street had no appreciation for the progression I was expected to go through. There was a childish belief among the lower classes that the fortunes of Boston could be reversed in a single season.
I was too distracted to feel the boots crushing the grass behind me. When the huge, heavy hand slapped my shoulder, I visibly jumped with fright.
Chowwick almost shouted, ¡°Are you excited, lad? Can you smell it? There¡¯s battle coming. Battle and glory and fortunes to be made.¡±
I turned to him and smiled weakly. When he saw the conflicted expression on my face, his own boisterous vision dissolved with empathy. ¡°Now, lad, don¡¯t be like that. It¡¯s exciting. We know what we¡¯re in for this season; we¡¯ll take what we can get. You¡¯ve a long time in the suit yet to be showing the world what you can do. I don¡¯t doubt it¡¯ll be something. But it¡¯s not all about today, or this season.¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
I had no response for him. I wanted to tell him that it did matter. That there were people back in Boston waiting for us to change things. That there were fields to be worked. That there were coffers to be refilled. I wanted to tell him that there were people who doubted me, who didn¡¯t believe in me yet. I didn¡¯t know how to explain to him how important it was to me to correct those doubts, to prove to them all that I was the right choice for Boston. But I couldn¡¯t find the words. I knew how childish and inexperienced I would sound if I proclaimed my intentions to do more than maintain the status quo.
Chowwick stepped up alongside me and joined me in surveying the sky. He said, ¡°I¡¯m gettin¡¯ a sense of you, lad. You leveled up like a monster the last few weeks. I shudder to think about what your limits, your ceiling might be. You did a lot for the city by gaining those levels. You won¡¯t be useless to us this year, and that alone is a boon that¡¯s hard to reckon with. But you need to keep an eye on yourself. I know I sure as shit will. You¡¯ve got a demon in you, lad. Taking Doom on all by yourself¡ You got notions¡ The Falling is about picking your battles. The Falling is all about living to fight another day. If there¡¯s an Orb we can¡¯t claim, it does us no good to get knocked out of the fight for days or weeks and still not win it. Do you ken?¡±
I nodded. ¡°You want me to be prepared to retreat if we can¡¯t win a fight.¡±
¡°Not just that, lad. I want you to be thinking about it all the time. Let those fat arses call the shots. It¡¯s not their first go-round the merry-go-round. Every time we fight for an Orb and don¡¯t win it, we¡¯ll take damage, we¡¯ll lose men, and then we¡¯ll be less ready to take another one. It¡¯s about picking our fights and knowing when to let go of ¡¯em as well.¡±
I noticed Magneblade stalking towards us. His sulking aggression had transformed into something more like an excited eagerness. His helm was unfolded, his rough face and short ragged beard exposed to the air. I had noticed over the weeks that Magneblade and Chowwick had a tendency to pass time together. There was something shared between them that I couldn¡¯t identify.
Magneblade surprised me when he spoke. I had expected him to contradict Chowwick. Magneblade seemed to have been waiting for the next Falling since the last had ended. The man existed for battle in a way the other four of us could hardly fathom.
Magneblade said, ¡°When a retreat is called, retreat. We, Chowwick, Tara, me¡ªwe won¡¯t pull out of a fight without you. You¡¯re our Sword. You might be a child, but you¡¯re one of us¡ªour leader, our family. But consider this: if you stay in a hopeless fight, force us to stay with you, then you risk all of us. Don¡¯t do that for nothing.¡±
I said, ¡°I¡ I didn¡¯t expect that from you.¡±
Magneblade cocked an eyebrow.
I said, ¡°Retreat talk. You live for this stuff. It¡¯s obvious you¡¯ve been waiting for battle¡¡±
Magneblade looked at me. Those fierce eyes narrowed, and I nearly flinched. I feared I had made a mistake, insulted him. Then his face relaxed, and his mouth burst open, barking laughter. ¡°You think I¡¯d have lived this long if I didn¡¯t know how to give up on a lost cause? I do love it! I love fighting. I love the smell of blood, the feel of meat parting beneath my axe. Crossing blades with a worthy foe is better than bedding a troop of fine women. But I know when my match is met as well. If you don¡¯t know when to get out, you¡¯ll never live to see the next fight.¡±
Chowwick elbowed me. ¡°He says that now, lad. But wait till he¡¯s got an enemy Sword in his sights, or another Axe to knock the shit out of. Watch how hard it is for him to peel himself away from battle then. Watch how easy he doesn¡¯t come running when the horns blow retreat.¡±
Magneblade seemed almost sulky at that. He scowled darkly. ¡°I still leave when I need to leave.¡±
Chowwick slapped him on the shoulder as well. As big and powerful as both Magneblade the man and Magneblade the suit were, the blow turned him. Chowwick said, ¡°Aye, you will at that. But don¡¯t go tellin¡¯ the lad it¡¯s easy. He¡¯s got a little bit o¡¯ your disease. He wants it all.¡±
Magneblade looked at me, assessing me. I think Chowwick¡¯s comment had raised me in his estimations.
Magneblade opened his mouth to say something else but stopped as a cry went up from the camp.
¡°Orb Fall!¡±