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—it 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."

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"I'm not surprised," Baltazar said.

"I intend to go as soon as I win the suit—not 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—at 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—few true rookies could do that—but 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—our 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—you need to—acknowledge 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—and 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.