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—a 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.”
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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—a 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—I’m too big—but 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—three 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.