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—once 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—all 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—partially 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—they 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.

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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—what 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—my 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—fed, 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—some 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.