Chapter 109

There was some fumbling around for a minute or two. The doctor didn’t protest or try to block Harold from talking to me. She could see that it was inevitable; he needed to speak with me. She knew I was part of the Choosing, understood my father’s wealth, and recognized the power in the room. Before she and Jacob left, she said, “If you can, try to be brief with him. The device we use here to treat brain injuries is one of the best in the known world, a precious relic from before The Fall. Its healing powers for brain injuries are truly miraculous, and this young man can be expected to recover quickly. For all of that, the notion of stepping into the arena in less than two days’ time is pushing the limits of what this miracle can do. The more peace and rest he can have in the interim will be greatly to his benefit.”

Harold was firm but polite. He said, “My young master’s best interests are my best interests. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. I will do my best to be brief.” Martha nodded, gathered some implements into a pouch, and moved to leave. She paused at the door, as if to add something—another caution. I shifted in the bed to see her. My head felt woozy, but the major pain and confusion seemed to have passed. The woman opened her mouth to speak but closed it again, met my eyes, and gave me a faint but kind smile. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut, and the only sounds in the room were my breathing, Harold’s, and the faint beeping of a monitor.

The silence stretched between us for an odd moment. Harold seemed unsure how to proceed, which was entirely unlike him.

I said, “What of Father?”

Harold winced. “Maybe I’ve made a mistake. You need to rest. None of this will do you any good.”

I said, “Do you think I’ll rest when it’s clear something terrible has happened? I’ll rest no easier with uncertainty than I will knowing he’s dead.”

Harold’s eyebrows fluttered involuntarily at my words. He came closer and stood by the bed. I wished he’d sit down, but that would have been too much for his reserve.

I said, my voice cracking slightly, “Tell me.”

Harold took a deep breath. “A courier arrived while you were in the arena, carrying a report. It was vital enough that he came to find me in the stands…”

I felt emotion rising in me and pushed it down. I tried to remind myself what was important now—making the suit my own. Father had made his own bed.

Harold continued, “The Entropy storm that brought the Horde to Dodge City swept out into the wilds. It’s a big space out there, with long stretches of wilds and few villages. When your father went to attend to recovery, it was assumed the storm had dissipated or passed far on, but that wasn’t the case.”

I listened, holding my breath, imagining what Harold would say next.

“It seems the storm turned back after some days. We can’t know for sure it was the same storm—it could have been a newly formed event—but there’s reason to believe…”

I interrupted, “Because when it came back, it was still bearing the Horde.”

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Entropy storms came and went in big and small forms. There was an association between most storms and the appearance of fiends of various levels, but most storms certainly did not bear the Horde. No one knew how the Horde moved between storms or how they existed in their absence.

Harold nodded. “Yes, the Horde was borne on the returning storm.”

I asked, “And they crossed paths with Father’s convoy?”

Harold nodded again. “He took tremendous precautions. He had optional contracts arranged with Griidlords in the region. Almost nothing could have defeated his plans—except something as swift and terrible. His own bodyguard was very well equipped; he had several knights with him, but they would have been…”

“They would have been like grains of sand against the sea,” I finished.

Harold nodded slowly, not speaking for a moment. I could see the pain in him. This wasn’t easy for him—relaying this news. But through that, I also imagined his own difficulty. He was Father’s closest friend, and the man was dealing with his own grief.

I asked, “How was he discovered?”

Harold said, “A Griidlord from Kansas City had been prearranged to return to Dodge to collect your father. He found the aftermath of the raid, but his time was short, and it took a while before he could send the message to us here.”

I nodded slowly. Emotions were rising in me, but they were strange and mixed.

I said, “And what... what decisions do you need from me now?”

Harold said, “I... it's still complicated. Reports indicate there was a battle. Your father's entire convoy seems to have been destroyed, and the remains of at least one Horde warrior were present, but... he doesn't seem to be there.”

I sat up straight, my head spinning only slightly. “There's no body!”

Harold raised a calming hand and said, “Tiberius... that doesn't mean... It's the Horde we speak of.”

I winced. The Horde was known to perform rituals with the dead, and they would prize a grand figure such as my father above all others.

I said, “Still, Father is wily, resourceful. He could be out there somewhere.”

I could imagine it easily enough. It would be well within Father's mentality to sacrifice the convoy and his bodyguards so that he could hide and wait for the battle and the storm to pass. Growing more excited, I said, “He could be wandering in the wilds right now!”

Harold nodded slowly, but too sadly. “I wish it so as well, and we can hope... but Tiberius, in all probability...”

I interrupted, “If there's any chance, we have to go!”

Harold said, “It's days away—days under footfield! An expedition of that sort can't be rushed.”

I moved in the bed, attempting to get up. Harold actually placed his hands on my shoulders to stop me. The gesture was shockingly familiar. I didn’t mind it, but I could see he surprised himself.

He said, “I've had a thought on this, Tiberius. Our resources... finances are in a terrible state of disarray. We can neither afford this expedition, nor the Griidlord to ferry it to Dodge.”

I looked at him. “We can't give up on him.”

Harold said, “No, no, I wouldn't suggest that. As hard as this might sound, our best course is to remain here.”

I was incredulous. “How can you say that?”

Harold was calm, but his eyes shone with emotion. His voice had none of its usual formality. He said, “Tiberius, whatever course of action we take would involve days to implement. In less than two days, you may be a Griidlord yourself.”

The reality of his words settled on me heavily, and the weight of it forced me back onto the bed.

Harold said, “The best way you can help your father, if there is any hope at all, is to win the competition. If you win your father's bet, our finances will be much restored. You yourself will have the resources of a Griidlord, and maybe most importantly, you will have your own Footfield.”

The bones in my chest seemed to contract at the thought—another weight added to the pressures of the fight with Lance.