Chapter 60

The man threw back his hood and revealed a handsome face. His skin was weathered. I wouldn't have said he looked old exactly, so much as he had been exposed to the elements a long time. The deep bronzing of his skin spoke of a life lived at a far more Southerly climb than this. A strange relic was mounted to the side of his head, covering one ear.

Zeb hovered nearby. I could see his tension. This was not something he had been prepared for. There was probably no knight in the city who could even moderately challenge Zeb. He was a vicious killer with a long history. And father had equipped him with many treasures. But Zeb was powerless here. The worst thing he probably do was attempt to intervene and provoke violence. He stood no chance against this man.

Still, Zeb's eyes worked. I could see him calculating his options, imagining the scenarios that could play out. It was strange, troubling, alien to see impotence and worry on the veteran's face.

This man seemed to carry more relics and value than I could imagine even in the Tower vaults. He was a Wild Knight, yes, but one beyond my wildest imaginings. My own relics, despite their power and value, would be dust in the wind before the storm the stranger could unleash. I kept my hand far from my sword hilt.

Seeing my hesitation and fear, the man spoke. "You have nothing to fear, Tiberius. I came to talk, nothing more."

I doubted his words, suspicion gnawing at me. Was he sent by the priests to convince me to quit or face death? Had the nobles arranged for him to come? All along, I had believed I was doing this for my father, but now, faced with the prospect of losing the chance to wear the suit again, the bliss and ecstasy of it, I realized that maybe I would rather die than give it up.

I said nothing. He watched me with interest, but there was no obvious intent to him

He said, "You've done terribly well, Tiberius. There are stories about you. They're talking about you in places as far as Vegas and Miami."

"How..." I stammered. Those lands were so distant, so far away.

He smiled slightly, a glint of admiration in his eyes. "Griid-lord trains have spread the rumors. They're only just starting to hear of you out West. The first words are trickling in. Soon the whole continent will be talking about the merchant boy who used the BEAM on his second day in the suit."

I didn't know what to make of him. I stood there, watching, trying to measure a way to flee if necessary.

I said, "Is there something I can do for you?"

He smiled. He seemed a man in his forties, but there was that odd sheen to him, the same as old tower-dwellers get, suggesting he was much, much older. He said, "It's not so much about what you can do for me, and it's not going to be that old cliché about what I can do for you. Rather, it might be about what we can do for each other."

I grimaced, not liking the sound of that. "I'm nobody. What could I do for you?"

He stared at me intently, then said, "You can hear the voice, can't you?"

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I staggered slightly, taken by surprise. His eyes lit up with excitement. "The voice talks to you, I knew it."

Too surprised to veil my feelings, I blurted out, "How could you possibly know that?"

"There have been so few who could hear the voice. Do you know how rare this is?"

"I really need to know who you are, what you're doing here, and what you want," I demanded.

"Danefer Ma'at-Ra," he said, almost reverently. "He could do it. The only one in living memory, I think. I can't be sure, but it might just be you and him..."

The man stared at me, and I tried to meet his gaze, but his eyes were deep and powerful. This was a rare species of man before me, someone powerful in every respect. I said, "You know who I am. Tell me your name."

He considered me for a moment before saying, "My name is Joel."

Confusion washed over me. I knew his face; it was familiar to me, and that name, Joel, itched at the back of my brain. "Sir Joel, it is good to make your acquaintance, but I was just about to go home. As you seem to know, I have a busy day tomorrow—life-defining, with the possibility of death or dismemberment. You know how it goes..."

He ignored my attempt at humor and said, "You can't trust the voice, young one."

I tried to understand. The voice frightened me, but it had been guiding me.

He said, "If you win the Griid-suit, I won't be able to talk to you anymore. There are only a few days left in the competition. We need to parley now; it might be our only chance."

I stammered, "Why couldn't you talk to me if I win the Griid-suit?"

"If you win the Griid-suit, then the voice will always be there, talking to you, listening to what you listen to, seeing what you see. And I can't be in front of the voice."

I grew suspicious. "Why can't you let the voice know you're there?"

"Because we're at cross purposes, the voice and I."

I puzzled over his words, trying to understand the implications.

I said, "Why would you not be able to talk to me if I won the Griid-suit?"

He replied, "Because the voice would be there. It's part of the suit."

I thought of the many thoughts I'd had over the last few days and said, "It's in the tower as well."

His eyes widened. "Yes, yes, it is in the tower as well. I didn't think a merchant's son would have been to the tower, but that aspiring clown Baltizar probably invited you, didn't he? To parade you, for a banquet? Ambitious little bastard has plans for you, I'll bet."

I thought about the mysteries that had plagued me the last few days and suddenly felt as though I had a possible source of answers. "The voice comes to me in the suit. When I'm wearing it, I can hear it, and when I'm in the tower, it speaks to me as well. But only when I'm alone—not when there's anyone else around, not even servants. What is it?"

Joel nodded along with me, and I feared there was a mania in his eyes. "Yes, you've noticed. You're putting it all together. That's good. I've tried this before with those who might have heard it. There were others. You and Danefar are the only ones I'm really sure about, but I've tried it before, and there's always resistance, a lack of understanding. But you're a curious one, aren't you, Tiberius? A smart one. You're figuring it out."

His voice had the franticness of a madman. I considered his equipment, his strangely youthful (relatively speaking) appearance. This man might be close to wielding the power of a Griidlord himself. I was guessing; I couldn't know the nature of his relics, but if they were half as rare and powerful as they looked, then he was the match of many men—many knights, even—and certainly a destructive enough force to burn whole towns to the ground on his own. I didn't like the idea of such power resting in the hands of a lunatic.

I said, "Joel, please tell me, what is the voice?"

He stared earnestly into my eyes and stepped forward. Again, I knew that face. I'd seen it before, and I knew that name, Joel. It screamed in my memory. He stared deep into me and said, "I'm not sure yet, but I think I know its nature, Tiberius. The voice is—"