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—from 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—my 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?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“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—Griidlords 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—the 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—or, 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—not 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.”