Chapter 80

I said, "No... you can't be..." This is what I got for being up front, for taking the bull by the horns. I could have just let the strange man ramble along, listened to his weird conspiracy talk for a while, and then gone into my house to be safe, secure, and rest. No, I had to confront him, and now his crazy was spilling all over the place, and I had to deal with it. He thought he was Danefer Ma'at-Ra. And I was The Great Warchief Thrax Bonesaw himself.

The man saw my reaction, his amusement only seeming to grow. He said, "Yes, I'm sure it's hard to believe. Danefer has been gone for long years now."

I said, "Gone? Danefer is dead."

He said, "I don't feel dead."

I said, "You can't be Danefer, the fucking Sword of Miami, one of the gods of history."

He shrugged, said, "I wouldn't say god exactly, but I knew my way around the suit."

I said, "No, this just... listen, I have to go now." I turned, but he placed a hand on my shoulder. He didn't grab me, he didn't move suddenly, but somehow he managed to make me pause.

He said, "Look." He parted his coat slightly, and my jaw dropped. He was caked with relics, at least as much as Joel had been. There were pistols, grenades, power weapons, faintly glowing threads of what might have been armor. He was wearing a king's ransom in rare hardware. Ten king's ransoms. He wasn't just a batty homeless guy; there were maybe a handful of people in all the world who could afford to be kitted like this, that included monarchs and griidlords alike. It would have taken a lifetime of outrageous success as a griidlord to accrue the wealth to acquire these relics.

My mind paused. A lifetime of outrageous success as a griidlord... hmmm... like Danefer...

"Believe me now?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement and a hint of something darker.

My mouth worked, opening and closing, but I couldn't find the words. He said, "I know it's a shock, and I know I seem odd. A long life in the suit does things to your brain; you see things and understand things you never could have."

I tried to summon what I knew of Danefer. How long had he served as Sword of Miami? 200 years? Was I talking to a man more than two centuries old? That alone would help to explain the mad glint. He said, "In 800 years, there have been maybe a dozen who were good enough to connect with the voice enough for it to build its plans around them. Most of us have been Swords. The problem the voice has always faced is that these plans take a long time. A long time, centuries. In those centuries, the suit interface degrades the minds of some, rendering them useless. For others, like me, it gives the human brain more time on this earth than it was ever meant to have. You learn things, understand things. As a griidlord, you have the time, and the access, to read old histories, to start to put the puzzle together. I'm not alone in abandoning the suit to focus on our own quests. Even in our time, there is another like me, one of the voice's favorites, who shed the suit to escape the voice."

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I thought for a moment. Unbidden, the name came to my lips, "Joel..."

At last, I had said something to shake Danefer. He looked at me with surprise, said, "You've met him?"

I said, "He said his name was Joel..."

The wonder in my voice was a product of my mind racing. Another legendary griidlord who had left their post, disappeared... One who had had the success to build a fortune that could acquire enough relics to nearly make them a griidlord again, a named knight, a legend. Joel...

This was a time of parity, there was no truly dominant power in the land, no burgeoning empires, but there had been a time, not a century past, when the Golden Empire of the west, its throne in San Francisco, when it seemed the whole world would be its subject. As with all great empires, the Golden Empire had been led by a Griidlord, a Sword, of impossible renown, of impossible power and success. I breathed, "Joel Montanion... Are you saying... Was that Joel Montanion I met?"

Danefer's expression grew distant. He seemed troubled. "Yes, Tiberius. The very same. Joel Montanion, the Golden Sword of San Francisco. He was a force of nature, a legend among legends. His departure from the suit was a great loss, not just for the Golden Empire but for the voice's plans as well."

The man I had met was the Golden Sword? He had forged the Western Empire? The Empire persisted, but since his relinquishing of the suit, everything had started to cave in on itself. Had I really been talking to a legend of such stature?

"But why?" I asked, desperation creeping into my voice. "Why would he seek me out? And you, what do you want? What does the voice want with me?"

Danefer sighed and started walking again. I joined him, my mind spinning. He said, "The voice lies, it guides you, builds you, helps you win, but it never reveals its true desire, its true purpose. To be honest, I don't exactly know what it wants. I think I do, but how can I be sure? I suspect, and I think Joel suspects as well. What I do know is that I don't want to help it anymore. That's why I gave up the suit."

I could see the pain and regret in his eyes as he spoke of leaving the griidsuit. He was like me; he had loved it, it had made him so alive that life outside it was grey. I said, "Why... why would you give it up?"

Danefer looked at me, his eyes were sincere, they were sad, they were serious, and they were distinctly lit with the fires of madness. He said, "I did it, Tiberius. I abandoned my post, left my people, relinquished the ecstasy of the suit... I did it, Tiberius, so I could change the world."