Our train moved through countryside that was once again familiar. I hurried the company as best I could. I was intensely aware of the time. There was no point trying to attend the city proper—we were far too late for that. I would leave the party as we passed through Oakcrest land. I would be late for the party as well, be it one of celebration or commiseration. I found myself wishing twice as hard that Lauren had won. She would be all the less upset with me if she was deep in the cups of triumph.

Olaf was speaking. I was distractedly attempting to listen.

"…I'm not complaining, Luke just isn't as impressive as Jacob. I like him well enough, but he doesn't have your old man's style."

I was jarred back to reality. "Impressive? Have you met Jacob? Half the time he isn't even wearing matching sandals! And it's a miracle if they're ever on the right feet. The man lives in another dimension, it's only his body that dwells with us."

Olaf was aghast. "Ti! He's older than a Griidlord! He's been around for centuries!"

I shook my head. "That's just rumor. He can't have been."

Olaf said, "At the very least he's been around for generations. He's seen a lot. Oracle! Ti, I'd give my left hand to have a chaplain like him. Luke's barely older than we are. All he talks about are fiends."

I couldn't suppress my incredulity. The volume of my exclamation turned the heads of the wagon riders before us. "All Jacob talks about are fiends!"

Olaf said, "But he knows things about them. He knows where the good ones are. He knows how they work. Luke's just been obsessed with the body of the monster we brought back from Dodge."

I deflated. "But, Olaf, Jacob is no different. He's dissecting the thing inch by inch and never stops talking about tubules and filaments."

Olaf leaned closer. "Luke's the same, but I bet Jacob has actually figured some things out from the guts of the beast. I heard him talking to you the other day. He was talking about some ancient god, F'ael. That's the thing the Children worship, isn't it? How could he have drawn a connection between the thing that slew Tacita and some story from an old manuscript?"

I remained silent.

Olaf said, "You don't listen to him, Ti. You need to listen to him. I'll bet he's told you things that nobody else in the world knows, and they've gone in one ear and out the other."

I found my voice. "He never stops talking, though! How am I supposed to filter the nonsense from the gems when he's just a constant drone of babble?"

Olaf was stern. He shamed me yet again. "By respecting him."

We moved in silence for a time. We were minutes away from Oakcrest land. I considered what Olaf had said. It was true. I dismissed the old man. How did Olaf possess such virtue? Was he not the spoiled child of a noble house, as Lance had been? Should he not have the same disdain for the common man?

As we neared the point of our parting, I noticed that Olaf too was silent. He seemed to be regretting his admonishment of me. He hadn't been able to suppress the comment. He had been valid in it. But I could see he felt the same discomfort between us that I sensed.

I didn't want us to part awkwardly. Our friendship had only tightened in the days we had spent together leading the Griid-trains. After this day, he would lead his own, and these opportunities would thin.

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I sought to provoke some conversation. What I said came almost unbidden. "What drove you to Houston, Olaf?"

He looked up, surprised by the sudden shift. "Well… you know. The suit. It called to me ever after I took it off. You know what I'm talking about. I saw the way you were during the Choosing. You felt it too."

I nodded my head. "Yes. But… there was something else there as well, no? I always felt there was a certain desperation in you to win the suit. You spoke before of the pressure you felt from your father… I know what that's like."

Olaf stared at the horizon as we marched on. Soon we would diverge. He kept staring, and I wondered if he would just freeze me out until that time came.

Then he spoke. "I was always the strongest. Not just among the other sons of the nobles. I was stronger than the sons of the castle staff, the knights, the squires. When I grew bigger, I was stronger than everyone. Not just stronger—quicker, better. I was the best at lessons. Best with a sword. Best on a horse. I can shoot, you know that? Rifle, bow, doesn't matter."

I nodded awkwardly.

He blushed. "I don't mean to boast. That's not what I'm trying to say. I'm trying to say that I achieved. I was good at things. I set my mind to tasks—I excelled at them. But Father always put me down."

I spoke knowingly. "Fathers can be cruel."

Olaf said, "Mother too. My older brother, Darren—he was the heir. He couldn't match up with me in anything. I think Mother and Father diminished me on purpose… Darren would be lord after me. He needed to be the best. He wasn't—he really wasn't. He was a good soul, Darren. A lovely soul. He'd have made a great lord—good to the people, fair. He didn't need to be good at swinging a weapon or wrestling to be a good leader…"

I saw the emotion starting to roil in him. I never saw Olaf as hard. He never removed himself in the toxic way so many men did. He didn't deny emotions, and he didn't exclude himself from being available when others had them. But he was strong. He seemed able to weather the storms of feeling that threatened to wreck us all from time to time. But speaking of his brother, he seemed to falter. I had been trying to break the silence, to have a personal moment, but all I seemed to have achieved was to create another awkward one.

I said, "What happened to him?"

Olaf shook his head. I could see the glassiness in his eyes. He said, "Not now, Ti… Look where we are. It's time for you to go."

The big man sniffed hard, planted the most ingenuine smile imaginable on his face, and said, "Off you go, before Lauren cracks your hide. She's going to be pissed, Ti. Get on—I'll drop these fuckers back to the city and come join you."

I said, "But…"

He met my eyes. There was a plea there—a plea not to press it. He wasn't ready to speak more of it. He wanted me to drop it.

I dipped my head. "I'll try not to be too drunk for you to keep up by the time you get there."

He laughed, the glimmer of amusement never once touching his eyes. "I'll catch up! On with you."

I detached from the Footfield.

My passage across the pastures was a ponderous one. I roared along under the Footfield, much faster now that I didn't need to share it with the caravan. Faster again when I let the power of my suit drive me forward.

As I ran, I thought on Olaf. I speculated on the tragedy that had befallen his brother. I could see how his rearing had shaped him. I could see how the loss of his sibling affected him. I had been shaped, for better or worse, by the mistreatment of my parents. I wondered what wounds he carried. He was the best of men. The very best.

I was too lost in thought at first to register the sounds that came to me, warped by the Footfield. They came first as an annoyance. Then, as I ran on, the warbling sounds became something of a distraction. I was too lost in thought to really consider them.

Then I noticed the sounds and strained to identify them. Sound comes scrambled by the Field. I thought at first I was listening to the sounds of animals. But the sounds were wrong. It wasn't cattle or deer. It was too loud, too unnatural.

I found myself slowing, distracted by the sound. Slowing did nothing to lessen the effect of the Field on my hearing. I let the Field fall away, and the sounds struck me.

Urgency flooded my veins.

The sound I was hearing wasn't the bleating of an animal. It was the shrill cry of warhorns.

Warhorns. Here? In the heart of our lands?

I looked to where the sounds erupted and could see Castle Oakcrest in the distance. Horsemen were distant specks, but SIGHT showed me they were soldiers of House Oakcrest, riding in disarray.

The castle beyond them bled black smoke into the sky.

What had happened?

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