Chapter 111

I stepped outside into the street. The hospital was located in the heart of the town so that it could benefit from the elevated Order levels there. I had spent my time in the finest clinic in the city, where only the richest and boldest could afford treatment. Most hospitals or treatment centers were located beyond the central zone of the city, and as a result, could not employ tech as advanced or wondrous as what I had benefited from.

The street I stepped onto was alive with activity. Already, at this early hour of the day, there was an excited bustle. The sun was clear in the sky, and while I could feel its warmth, the air had the delightful fresh bite of early morning. In the new air of a new day, people moved. A wagon rolled past me, laden with wooden ale kegs. A woman in chef's whites marched down the street, haranguing two young men who each bore half of a whole pig. From where I stood, I could see two street sweepers working feverishly at their task. Today was going to be a tremendous day.

It was, in fact, today that the greatest feasting of the Choosing would occur. The city would swell with peasants taking time from their farms to witness the final day of the Choosing tomorrow. More importantly to the economy of the city, merchants and nobles from far and wide would come to see a new Sword claim his suit. Even Griidlords from cities where there was no open hostility might come to enjoy the drink, the food, the women, and the spectacle of the battle.

I frowned as I looked around. It had been my hope that Harold would arrange a bodyguard for me today. I felt vulnerable. The common people on the streets may have been excited to see me become the Sword of Boston, but that excitement obviously did not extend to all corners of society. Up until now, there had been many paths I could have walked that might not have led to winning the suit. The powers that be could contentedly wait for my defeat—whether by my own incompetence, the roll of the dice in combat, or the schemes and coalitions of my opponents. But by now, I felt their collars must have grown sweaty. It was only Lance and I that remained, and it had to be clear to anyone watching that I had surpassed him.

I didn’t want to grow complacent, but it was hard not to see it as an almost foregone conclusion that in little more than 24 hours, I would be their Sword. Some would not be able to accept that. I was aware enough of the cruel realities of the world to know that an assassin’s knife had probably become the simplest solution for many of them, riots though that might cause. Harold, I had no doubt, had much on his plate. He had the remnants of Father's empire to manage, an expedition to arrange, and his own grief to contend with. I looked up and down the street and breathed a deep sigh. I would have to be my own bodyguard for now.

For what it was worth, none of the busy folk around me seemed to have recognized me yet. I had three things to do. How important any of them truly were would be hard to state objectively. I turned right down the street and started walking toward the center of the city. Everywhere, the smells of food and the chatter of people permeated the air. I grabbed snippets of conversation. Aside from the practical topics of the day, there were only two subjects that seemed to be on anyone’s lips: the Rising of the new tower in Houston and the final battle of the Choosing.

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A baker stood in the door of his shop, chatting with a man on a wagon laden with bags of flour. I only caught a few sentences, but it was enough to set my mind working. The baker, mid-speech, was saying, “...will mean war. The lords and ladies round here won’t stand for it. There’s talk of forming a coalition and marching south.” The wagon driver nodded and said, “I hear Buffalo wants to call a meeting of all the cities to do something about it.” The baker shook his head sadly as I moved past them. “The last thing we need is...” The voices faded as I walked faster. I had one day to prepare, and I had questions I desperately needed answers for. The prospect of a looming war, the notion that it might break out just as I became one of the primary weapons of the city, did not sit lightly on my shoulders. But I couldn’t afford the distraction. For that to become my concern, I first needed to win the suit.

At a corner, I stopped as traffic trundled by—carts laden with goods, electric vehicles bearing the baggage and persons of visiting nobles. A cluster of children stood near me, caught in their own excitement. I stared fixedly ahead, unable to afford being recognized, but their voices drifted up to me, and I couldn’t help but smile.

A boy’s voice said, “Papa says he’s never heard of anyone like Tiberius. He’s the best Sword anyone ever had.”

Another boy, brazen and argumentative, said, “My grandpa says it’s no good. Common folk can’t be good Griidlords, and nobody beats a Darkwater...”

A girl’s voice among them said, “Tiberius is nice looking, but Lance is the handsomest.”

I rolled my eyes, honestly a little irked.

I was excited, my mind fixed on the task at hand. My father’s fate hung over me like a cloud, but I pushed it away. Nothing mattered more than winning the suit, and nothing could dull the excitement. The traffic passed, and I pushed on up the street, climbing the incline. My father’s house was just a couple of blocks over, but I continued to climb the gentle hill. That could wait. I had a bigger and more important date in my mind.

My heart started to beat a little faster as I climbed the hill. I felt good—my balance was intact, and my head was clear.

The incredible, shining monument of the Tower rose above everything as I moved into the square. Most cities called the clear area outside of the walls the Tower Garden or Tower Square, and Boston was no different. I had arrived almost too quickly; my mind raced to assemble my thoughts and expectations.

I had been passive long enough—too long. I had been a leaf swept up in the river of destiny, being moved toward my objective rather than moving myself there. Today was my day, maybe my last day as a common man, and I would spend it well. Taking a breath, I stepped into the openness of the square.

At this early hour, the space was reasonably quiet. Some electric vehicles passed by, delivering guests to the fine hotels lining the square. There were perhaps more officials moving in and out of the gates to the Tower than would be usual at this time, but the buzzing activity of the streets had not yet breached the solemnity of this space much.

I crossed the square, my face lifted to absorb the majesty of the Tower.

There were answers here, and I would claim them before I claimed the suit.