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—things 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.

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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 – 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—my excitement at the suit, my anxiety in meeting Chowwick, my father’s body, the expedition—it 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—the 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.