Chapter Two Hundred Forty-Nine: 'O, inciting tribulation...'

Hector awoke with a start, jolting upright and taking a moment to blink away the disorientation in his vision.

'Easy there,' came Garovel's echoing voice. 'I decided to wake you up a bit early, just because there's a lot of people who want to talk to you. So take it slow. It'll probably take you a full week to recover completely.'

Hector tried to think. Recover from what? Agh, his head was pounding. Everything was, actually. "What happened?" he mumbled.

'Don't remember?'

"I remember a battle... er, in the sky...?"

'Yeah, and you hit the ground like a ton of bricks. Killed you real good. Big splat. Blood everywhere. Even your brain didn't survive, so I had to regenerate you from scratch.'

It was coming back to him.

He was in his own bed, he suddenly realized. "We're back at Warrenhold already? How long was I out?"

'A full day.'

"Agh..."

'You did well, Hector,' said Garovel. 'Perhaps a little TOO well, in fact.'

"...What do you mean?"

'You slew the Man of Crows.'

Ah...

He remembered now.

The reaper. He'd killed the reaper.

His eyes eased shut, and he lay back down again with his forearm pressed against his forehead.

And he sighed.

He'd been in so many fights now. So many life and death situations. It felt a little strange to think about it, but... he still wasn't really used to killing. Especially people. Reapers.

In fact, that might've been the first reaper he'd ever killed. It was a bit hard to be certain, thinking back on some of the more chaotic fights he'd been involved in, such as the one at Dunehall where there'd been tons of invisible enemies around.

If nothing else, that was the first reaper he had knowingly killed.

Yes. The first.

He didn't much like that word. First. It implied there might be many more to come.

Egh.

While he didn't exactly feel bad about it, he didn't feel great, either. Hell, he hadn't even known the reaper's name. Or the crow guy's for that matter. When it came down to it, he'd barely known anything about them. Beyond the fact that they were the "enemy" and that they were infamous, they'd been mysteries to him.

It made him question things.

Could he have taken the reaper captive, instead?

Hmm.

Not likely. The way those crows had been gunning for him, they would've killed him and freed the reaper immediately thereafter. And the Man of Crows would have escaped. And Garovel might've been dead now, too.

Or maybe not. Maybe he was lacking imagination in some way.

Ugh.

He didn't like how... unbothered he was, right now. He felt the weight of his actions, the importance of them, but he didn't feel guilt. Like, at all, really.

That was a good thing, he supposed. And not wrong, perhaps. But it was still... concerning, in its own way.

He'd done what he had to, though. He'd protected Garovel. And their allies.

If the Man of Crows and his reaper hadn't wanted to die, then the motherfuckers shouldn't have been trying to kill them.

Pretty simple.

Still strange, however. Despite how much death and destruction he'd seen, this sense of permanence still felt weird to him. Servants could come back from so many things. Even the bloodiest and most gruesome of fights often didn't carry much sense of finality to them.

Perhaps Garovel had some idea of all the different thoughts that were going through his head right now, because the reaper wasn't saying anything. He was giving him time to think, seemingly.

Still on his back, Hector decided to break the silence with a question. "...What happened to Bloodeye?"

'Still alive, unfortunately. He escaped.'

Hmm.

'Which means the rest of Abolish will know that Abbas found allies near the Lorent-Callum border.'

"Shit. You think they'll be able to identify us?"

'Well, it's a bit of a toss up at this point. None of our reapers recognized Bloodeye's soul, so our individual identities might still be safe--at least until any of us run into him again. But then again... you've gotten kinda famous lately. And your armor is pretty distinctive. I wouldn't be terribly surprised if they figured out who you were.'

"Fuck..."

'Plus, some of them probably know that you were at Dunehall. With Ivan. Which is another matter, by the way.'

Hector hadn't forgotten. He'd been hoping to talk to Abbas about that very subject as soon as possible, in fact. "Just tell me that Ivan isn't free."

'He's not free.'

Hector opened his eyes and turned to look at the reaper. "Wait, really? He's not?"

'As far as Abbas knows, at least, a small group of Sandlords managed to escape from the Golden Fort with Ivan's frozen head before Abolish showed up to sack it. There's no telling where it is right now, though.'

Hector exhaled a long breath. Frankly, he'd been trying not to worry too much about the problem of Ivan simply because he didn't fucking know what to do about it. So to hear that it wasn't an immediate issue was an enormous relief--more so than he'd realized, even.

'That being said,' Garovel went on, 'we still can't ignore the threat that Ivan poses to us now.'

That put a bit of a damper on Hector's little relief party. Primarily because he knew the reaper was right. Dammit.

'We have to assume that Abolish is tracking the group who escaped with Ivan's head. Freeing him is probably their top priority, right now.'

Yeah, that sounded about right.

'If they find and revive him, he's going to be pissed. At two specific people, most likely.'

"Me and Abbas."

'Both of whom are here at Warrenhold.'

Hector sighed. "Couldn't they just, like... drop his head to the bottom of the ocean somewhere? Or better yet, launch it out into space?"

'Ah. If only. You're not the first to have had that idea. Launching captives into space, that is. Unfortunately, it doesn't work.'

He kinda figured as much. Seemed too easy. "Why?"

'Because for whatever reason, the servant-reaper bond is constrained by Eleg's atmosphere. If you send a servant into space, the bond will fade until they simply die. Or in other words, if Ivan's head leaves the planet, then his reaper will be able to resurrect him from scratch again.'

"That blows..."

'Kinda, yeah. But it's also good that Abolish can't do shit like that to us. I can only imagine how different history would be if such a tactic were possible. By now, there'd be countless reapers who'd lost their servants like that.'

"I don't care about history. I care about how upset I feel."

Garovel chuckled. 'That's exactly the type of level-headed thinking we need, right now.'

Hector let out a small laugh of his own and rolled out of bed. He was abruptly reminded of how sore and stiff his body was. He stretched his neck. "What about the ocean, though? You didn't explain why that wasn't an option."

'Well, that one has multiple reasons. In general, it's just a bad idea to abandon any captive's head, no matter how remote you think the location might be. Anything could happen to it out there. For example, a temperature shift could cause it to thaw, and if brain function returns, the servant would be able to communicate telepathically with the reaper again.'

Hector rubbed his chin. "So it would be better to hide it in like a snowy tundra region or something..."

'Methinks you've missed the point about it not being a good idea to abandon captured heads in random places. But technically, you're not wrong. There've been a number of notorious prisons throughout history that were located in frozen regions for precisely that reason. In fact, I'm sure there are still a few being used to this day.'

"Really?" said Hector. "I was just kinda talkin' out of my ass..."

'I could tell. And yeah, that's a thing, though it's probably less common than it used to be. A few hundred years ago, there was a series of wars often referred to as the Icy Clog that took place in northern Ardora. They were all about trying to free captive servants from various prisons. Lasted decades. A real shitshow, if ever there was one.'

Hector allowed a beat to pass before turning to look at Garovel again. "I still feel like it'd be possible to hide the head somewhere that no one would ever find it."

'Are you fucking kidding me, right now?'

"Look, I'm just saying, like, what about a super deep hole in an iceberg or something?"

'And what if the iceberg melts one day?' said Garovel. 'Or simply shifts? Or if a reaper happens to wander by? Or something else, perhaps?'

Hector gave a shrug and stood up. He was naked, he suddenly realized. He decided to sit back down and pull the bed sheets over him again.

'I've seen it all before, buddy,' said Garovel. 'No need to start getting embarrassed in front of me now.'

That was probably true. If only it was as simple as deciding not to feel embarrassed. He pulled the sheets with him as he got up again and made his way over to the closet to fetch some clothes.

'Anyway, even if you did find a really good place to hide the head, there are artifacts out there that are capable of helping reapers locate their lost servants. The Vanguard has access to a few such things, so I'm sure Abolish does, too.'

"Artifacts?" said Hector. "Magical ones, you mean?"

'You could say that. They can look like all sorts of different things, but we generally refer to such items as "soul compasses." They're rare but highly valued. I wouldn't be surprised if Abolish was using one to help them track down Ivan, right now.'

Clothes in hand, Hector waddled over to the bathroom. "Doesn't that mean the people who escaped with the head are in a shitload of danger?"

'It sure does. They'll have to keep moving until they find a place they think is secure enough to store the head.'

"Does such a place even exist?" said Hector. "I mean, if they're being chased by friggin' Morgunov, then..."

'Yeah, it's a tall order. Short of asking Sermung himself to look after it, I'm not sure what you would do in such a situation. I don't envy their position, right now.'

"Shit..." As he got changed, a different question occurred to him. "So wait a minute, how do these soul compasses work, exactly? Can they help you track down ANY soul you want?"

'No. Only souls that you are bonded with, such as that between a reaper and servant.'

"Ah..."

'Which is why Abolish actually might NOT be using a soul compass to track Ivan, just yet. Because it means that Ivan's reaper has to be involved in the chase. Which is risky. And with the war going on, they probably can't spare that much high-level manpower to protect the reaper while they go on some long ass soul hunt across the world.'

"Hmm."

'Such hunts have been known to last for years or even decades, in extreme cases. I remember one time, about 1500 years ago, when a prince of the Mohssian Empire was captured by a famous general of the Valgan Empire. Now THAT was a hunt. A half century of constant clashes spanning the entire planet, including the Undercrust. I've heard it called the greatest chase in history.'

"Geez..."

'It finally ended when the chase led them to Exoltha, and a group of feldeaths annihilated both parties.'

"Holy shit..."

'Yeah, it was pretty fucked. And also a valuable lesson. Don't screw around in Exoltha.'

As Hector finished getting ready, one last thought occurred to him, and he frowned. "Aw, shit, I was supposed meet the Queen in Lorent, wasn't I?"

'Well, you didn't HAVE to. It was an open invitation, I think.'

He straightened his black tie. "I really don't want her to think that I'm ignoring her."

'She might like to meet Abbas. Perhaps it would be a good idea to take them. You were thinking of getting the Sandlords settled in Lorent, anyway, weren't you?'

That was true, he supposed.

'Not to mention, there's that OTHER matter to look into,' said Garovel.

Fully dressed now, Hector poked his head through the open bathroom doorway before walking out. "What other matter?"

'Oh, c'mon, you know the one. The other matter.'

"Uh..."

'The one involving the thing. Inside the other thing.'

Ah, wait a minute. "Hmm. Weirdly enough, I think I actually know what you're talking about..."

'Heh. Good. Then there's no need for me to ramble on. Our reaper-servant communication skills are doing excellently.'

"If you say so."

A beat passed, and Garovel tilted his head at him. 'Again with the all black getup, huh?'

"Hey, these are the nicest clothes I've got." It was true. Ms. Rogers had picked them out and gotten them fitted for him. She said they belonged to the Umbral Heart line from Domingo. He didn't know what any of that meant, but they sure felt nice on his skin and didn't restrict his movements as much as other fancy clothes he'd worn.

And apparently, they were "expensive but not TOO expensive." According to Ms. Rogers, they would allow him to appear respectable and distinguished in front of people who cared about these sorts of things without looking like he was showing off.

That all sounded good to Hector.

'I wasn't questioning their niceness,' said Garovel. 'It's just a lot of black, y'know? A black man in a black suit in a black tower. Don't you think a splash of color might do you some good?'

Well, the reaper had a point. Hector scratched the back of his head as he looked around his room. He went through the dresser near the closet, searching for something he could wear with color on it. Some extra piece of clothing he could wear with or perhaps on top of--

He popped his head out, suddenly realizing.

He wasn't wearing the Scarf of Amordiin, right now.

Where was it? He looked around, but the Scarf was black, and just like Garovel had said, so was the whole damn tower.

'By the bed,' said Garovel, apparently not needing an explanation of what Hector was after.

And indeed, there it lay, on the nightstand next to the amber lamp.

Hector breathed a sigh of relief and went over to pick it up again.

Immediately, the fullness of the room filled his mind as he could sense the flow of air all throughout it.

'I'm surprised you didn't notice you weren't wearing it sooner,' said Garovel.

"You said you regrew me from scratch, right?"

'Yup.'

"So then..."

'Dimas Sebolt carried it back for us,' said Garovel. 'At my request.'

"Ah..."

'Yeah.'

"So now he knows what the Scarf is capable of."

'Yes, he does. I didn't exactly explain it to him, but he was touching it for several hours while you were busy being dead.'

Hector squinted. "Wait a minute. Why didn't you just resurrect me then and let me carry it back myself?"

'Oh, um. Well, y'know. I probably should've, huh? Guess it slipped my mind. Probably would've saved us some time, too. Bit of a BONEHEADED move on my part. Heh. Get it? Boneheaded?'

Hector did not react.

''Cuz you see me as a skeleton, right? Skull joke.'

Hector just kept staring at him.

'You could at least pretend to laugh. It was a little funny.'

Still, Hector made no response.

'Alright, stop that. You're freakin' me out. Say something, damn you.'

The truth was, something else was bothering Hector. He stepped closer to Garovel, looking the reaper up and down, searching for signs of anything amiss. Hmm.

'Excuse me, but my eyeholes are up here.' And after a beat, he added, 'They ARE up here, right?'

Hector ignored him. He didn't find--

Ah.

There was a gash on Garovel's backside. Small but there. Smoldering with ethereal, black-and-white smoke.

"You were wounded in the battle," said Hector, displeased--both with Garovel for hiding it and with himself for having allowed it to happen in the first place.

'It was nothing. I'm already back in top form.'

"...Are you?" said Hector. "That's why you had to let Dimas carry the Scarf, isn't it? Because you couldn't revive me?"

'Listen, I was just feeling a little woozy. I could still talk. Kinda. For a while. Anyway, I'm fine now.'

Hector's frown only deepened, however.

'There's no point in worrying about me. And besides, reapers are more durable than you give us credit for, Hector.'

"...I just killed one of you, Garovel. And it wasn't that difficult."

Garovel fell quiet at that remark.

"I knew you should have stayed behind with Voreese," said Hector.

'And I knew you would reach that conclusion if I told you about my wound. Hector, I'm not going to just keep sitting on the sidelines while you do all the heavy lifting, alright? I need to be with you when shit hits the fan. I need to be useful. I'll lose my fucking mind otherwise.'

"Garovel, this isn't... agh..." How was he supposed to explain? Technically, the reaper was supposed to be the one in charge here, but Hector didn't know if he could put up with this.

'I helped, didn't I?' said Garovel. 'I warned you about that missile from Bloodeye. Gave you the chance to intercept it with a big dome, remember? Maybe that doesn't seem like a big deal to you, but if that thing had hit, it could've shifted the entire tide of the battle. I mean, when you think about it, I saved all our lives.'

Hector just sighed.

'And besides, the safest place for me is by your side,' said Garovel. 'You may not think so, but it's true. With all those invisible assholes in Abolish, you're one of the few people who can actually sense their presence and protect me from them. Am I wrong?'

The reaper did have a point, Hector knew, but he was still far from convinced. And worse, it was starting to sound like there was no way that he would be able to make Garovel see reason here.

'Hector, I refuse to be one of those reapers who gets sniped by some low-level douchebag while their servant is distracted. I'm sticking with you. I don't care how dangerous it gets.'

Fuck.

'And I REALLY don't want to be one of those reapers who allows their servant to get captured for twenty years or some shit, either. That would be hell.'

"Garovel, you're being unreasonable..."

'I know I am. But I didn't take you on as a servant because I wanted to be reasonable. I took you on because I wanted to save some fucking lives. To be involved in some heroic-ass shit! And you still need my help, goddammit! I mean, don't get me wrong! I'm super proud of you and all, but battles are crazy, and my experience is invaluable to you!'

Hector held up both hands. "Alright, you're getting a little worked up..."

'I've BEEN worked up! For thousands of years, I've been worked up! You know how much bullshit I've seen and couldn't do anything about! I go through these phases of feeling incredibly powerful and then incredibly useless! I'm not gonna become your fucking pet reaper, okay?! I'm gonna do everything I can to keep being useful, and you're not gonna stop me from doing that! We're in this together, you little shit!'

Wow. Hector just kind of stood there, not even sure what to say anymore.

Garovel seemed to be done now, though. And an awkward silence arrived.

After a while, Hector scratched his cheek and looked around the room again. "So... about that splash of color you mentioned..."

After a while longer of rifling through his clothes, Hector was finally able to pick out something to wear that wasn't black.

Garovel was still not entirely pleased with the outcome, however. 'Of all the possible colors, you choose GRAY?'

It was his undershirt that he had changed. It contrasted with the black of his suit and also made his black tie more visible. "Yeah, y'know, it's like, thematic. Because we live in Gray Rock."

'So you're trying to wear the environment?'

"Look, I don't know fashion, alright? But I think it looks decent, at least. You never said I looked bad."

'No, you look fine. Very lordly. I guess. Doesn't change the fact that gray is the most boring color in the world.'

"I don't know if I can trust your opinion on this, Garovel."

'That's hurtful. In fact, I think my wound from Crowe just reopened.'

He was finally ready to leave the room, until he reached the door and remembered yet another thing that he should probably ask about. "Where's the Shard?"

'Oh, it's under your pillow,' said Garovel.

Hector gave him a look.

'What?'

"You had Dimas put it under my pillow? Like the Tooth Fairy?"

'Yeah, what's wrong with that?'

"I just... I mean... why the pillow?"

'Why not? Clearly, it was a pretty good hiding spot, since you were just sleeping on it and didn't even notice.'

Alright, whatever. Hector ventured over to the bed and grabbed it. "Did you tell Dimas how important it is, too?"

'I think so. Sort of. My memory's a little fuzzy on that one. I don't think I went into detail about it being your personal hotline to an ancient warrior god of his ancestral rivals.'

"That does seem like it would be a little hard to explain..."

As they left the room, Hector briefly wondered if perhaps he could've located the Shard without asking Garovel where it was. He recalled having some weird kind of... extra awareness of its location in the past. Maybe if he'd concentrated, he could've sussed it out on his own.

Hmm. Maybe he'd try to test that theory out later.

The Tower of Night was busier than he'd ever seen it--which wasn't too surprising, really. If all three hundred of Abbas' refugees had made it to Warrenhold, then the number of people within the castle had almost doubled overnight.

He wasn't too concerned about having enough room for everyone, but food was another matter. No doubt, Ms. Rogers was having a hell of a time with all of these new guests.

On every floor, he could see the Rainlords and Sandlords intermingling, but they were easy to differentiate from one another. Even if their bronzier skin, head coverings, and robes didn't give them away, it would still be obvious because the Sandlords looked like they'd all been through hell.

So many wounded.

He was glad to see they were being tended to, though.

Hector was a bit worried how the Rainlords and Sandlords were going to get along under one roof, but this was an encouraging sight, he felt. And they'd shared a country for ages, so maybe there was hope.

With each room or crowded corridor that he passed, Hector sensed a lot of eyes on him and heard plenty of hushed whispers.

It was making him self-conscious. These clothes weren't making him stand out too much, were they? They couldn't be. They practically blended into the nightrock.

As he neared the first floor, a crying woman stumbled in front of him and all but fell at his feet. She was saying something, but he couldn't tell what it was, either because she was sobbing too hard or because she was simply speaking a different language--or perhaps both.

'I think she's thanking you,' said Garovel privately. 'Ah. For saving the lives of her grandchildren.'

Hector's brow peaked in the center, and a somber frown split his face as he helped the poor woman back up to her feet. When he looked her in the eye, it only seemed to make her cry harder.

An unfamiliar pair of men pushed through the crowd and gently put their hands on the woman, pulling her away from him. They didn't say anything, perhaps because they didn't speak Mohssian, but they did give him nods of acknowledgment.

Hector just stood there for a minute longer, watching them go.

Wow, he thought. He had no idea who that woman was, and he felt like she might've been giving him a bit too much credit; but all the same, he was unbelievably glad to have played a part in helping her.

He was abruptly reminded of why he was doing all of this, why he wanted Warrenhold to become a bastion of safety in the first place. He hadn't forgotten, of course, but still. Seeing all these people like this... battered and in need...

It was an odd mixture of emotions. Sorrow and frustration. He hoped he could do more for them. With every fiber of his being, he intended to keep them safe, at the very least.

He was starting to draw even more attention, just standing here like a weirdo, so he moved on.

Garovel led him out into the main plaza, around which stood all of Warrenhold's eight great towers.

The reaper pointed out Lord Abbas, who was overlooking the underground lake on the far side of the plaza.

The man wasn't in his armor, but he did seem to be tinkering with something in his hands. He wasn't alone, either. A sizable crowd was gathered around him, most of whom Hector did not recognize. A few Rainlords were sprinkled in there as well, however.

They all turned to look his direction as he approached.

Abbas' reaper--Worwal, as Hector recalled--was the first to speak up. 'The Lord Darksteel of Warrenhold. This is a magnificent fortress you have here.'

'We appreciate your kind words,' said Garovel, 'even if you are only being polite. It still needs quite a bit more work before it will be deserving of a term like "magnificent," I feel.'

'Oh, you are being too harsh, surely,' said Worwal. 'Why, this castle is a wonder and a half. The size alone is enough to leave a lasting impression in the mind, but the fact that it is also underground makes me think that it could only have been the work of a true artist of the architectural craft.'

'Ah, that artist would be one Stasya Orlov,' said Garovel.

Worwal's hollow eye sockets widened a little. 'That name is familiar, though I have not heard it since before the banners of Al'Imbratur were flown in Kuros.'

'Indeed. My friend Voreese would be able to tell you more of her, if you are interested.'

'I would be. Perhaps we could--'

"I'm afraid I must interject before the entire day disappears during this conversation," said Lord Abbas. "Unfortunately, there are more pressing matters to be discussed than that of your lovely home, Lord Goffe."

'Of course,' said Worwal. 'Forgive me. I have something of an obsession when it comes to the matter of grand masonry.'

Oh? Hector's head perked up a little at that.

Abbas seized full control of things before Hector could respond, however. "Firstly, please allow me to thank you for coming to our aid. I believe it is no exaggeration to say that your efforts saved the lives of my entire Hahl, and I could not be more grateful."

"Oh. Uh... er..." Shit. He should've practiced for this or something.

"If the situation had grown any more dire, I would have been forced to do something quite drastic indeed," said Abbas. "So thank you for stepping in when you did." And he offered him a handshake.

Well, Hector knew how to do that much, at least. He shook it.

Abbas held his gaze for a long moment, not saying anything.

Hmm, perhaps he was waiting for Hector to take the initiative. Uh. Shit. There were plenty of things to discuss, weren't there? He thrust his uncertainty into a background thought process as he tried to think about what to say.

This handshake was going on for a bit too long, Hector suddenly realized. He tried to pull his hand back, but Lord Abbas maintained his grip.

And the man tilted his head at him. "So I wasn't hallucinating," said Abbas.

Hector didn't know what was happening, right now. He tried to pull his hand back again, and this time, Abbas let him go.

"Everyone," said Abbas, apparently addressing the small crowd around them, "would you mind giving us a moment, please?"

A string of acknowledging murmurs ran through the onlookers, and a minute later, they had all dispersed. Only the handful of Rainlords remained behind, and Hector noticed that they were looking at him, as if expecting something.

Hmm.

He gave them a nod, and then they dispersed, too.

Abbas' gaze lingered on those departing Rainlords for a bit longer before returning to Hector again. "The Rain is very attached to you, it would seem. Asad did not mention that."

Again, Hector did not know what to say, so he merely remained quiet.

A mild smile crossed Abbas' face. "Perhaps he thought it too unbelievable. The idea that these frigid puddles would act so deferential to someone not of their own blood--if I had not seen it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears, I may have simply thought him a fool."

Deferential? Eyes and ears? What exactly had he been seeing and hearing from the Rainlords over this past day, Hector wondered?

"There is something very peculiar about you, Lord Goffe." Abbas' dark brown eyes held on him, seeming somehow more penetrating due to how deeply sunken into his long, thin face they were. "Something familiar."

Hmm. Hector had a feeling he knew what the man was getting at, but he wanted some elaboration first. "Familiar in what way?"

"It is difficult to describe," said Abbas. "I have felt its like before--I am sure of that. But it has been a very long time since I felt it so... strongly."

Garovel interjected before Hector could answer. 'When WAS the last time, if you don't mind my asking?'

Abbas gave him a look. "So you are aware of it, then."

Garovel gave a light chortle. 'Maybe just a bit. But please, answer my question. I'm quite curious.'

Abbas took a moment to think, and his gaze grew distant. "I was but a child. Not yet a servant, even. My grandfather introduced me to a man named..." He shut his eyes, perhaps to help him concentrate. "Hanseth. Yes, that is what it was. Hanseth."

'Jara Hanseth?' said Worwal.

Abbas looked at his reaper. "I don't recall his first name. And you and I had not met yet, so I don't know if we are referring to the same person."

'Mm. You're probably thinking of Jara. Or perhaps his brother, Kizo Hanseth. They were both friends of your father around that time.'

'Hanseth, you say,' said Garovel. 'I've heard that name before. And not in the most flattering of contexts, unfortunately.'

'That does not surprise me,' said Worwal. 'Jara had a reputation for being something of a... "kook," to put it nicely. Many a strange idea were born from that man's mind.'

'Is Jara still alive?' said Garovel.

Worwal's skeletal face twisted awkwardly. 'Ah... no. He was killed. By Kizo, no less.'

'Oh.'

'Quite an odd story, that one,' said Worwal. 'And rather long, as well.'

'I should like to hear it another time, then,' said Garovel.

'And I should like to tell it.'

"Regardless," said Abbas, "I only meant that it is familiar in its strangeness and intensity. I do not mean to imply that you are the same at heart as this Jara character. I did not even know the man."

That was a bit of a relief, Hector supposed. It sounded like Jara Hanseth wasn't someone he wanted to emulate, though he was admittedly still curious. Moreover, he figured he could offer some elaboration of his own now. "The Wrobels call it 'aura,'" he said.

Abbas' head reared back, and he blinked at him. "You are in contact with a nest of Wrobels?"

Hector had a hunch that Abbas would know of them. The dude was old as hell, after all, and the leader of the Golden Council besides. "I am. But I can't say more than that without betraying their confidence."

"That must be quite helpful, indeed," said Abbas. The surprise on his face was not going away. "Aura, you said? How did you come by this strange power?"

Even though he trusted Abbas Saqqaf and felt like they could gain a lot by swapping information, Hector didn't want to give too much away too quickly. Not to mention, there were more pressing questions on his mind. "That, too, might be best saved for a different conversation," he said. "Right now, I'm more interested in hearing what your current plans are."

"Ah." Abbas' expression returned to its more rigid state. "At the moment, making repairs to my armor is the priority. That battle would have gone much more smoothly if its functionality had not been so greatly compromised by those damnable abominations of the Mad Demon."

Hector observed the object in Abbas' hand another time. It seemed to just be a hunk of metal, yet Abbas was still fiddling with it even while they talked.

The Lord Saqqaf took notice and held it up more easily for Hector to see. "The central processing unit for the suit's cerebral implants. Fixing it has been an exercise in tedium."

Cerebral implants? What the heck? "Er... what's wrong with it?" asked Hector.

"It was crawling with nanoscopic saboteurs," said Abbas. "I managed to contain them, but removing them has been akin to picking lice out of my son's hair one by one. If only there was a solution as quick as shaving him bald."

Nanoscopic? The more he talked to this guy, the more Hector felt like he was out of his depth here.

'You're talking about nanomachines?' said Garovel, sounding truly shocked. 'Used by Morgunov?'

"Indeed. Quite the obnoxious little things. I would have liked to study them, at the very least, but it appears they have some sort of built-in self-destruct mechanism whenever they are 'caught.' How the old thu'ban managed that, I do not fully know. Perhaps it is something to do with their proximity to one another, but I have tried catching them in groups and yet they still annihilate themselves, so that cannot be the only trigger." The man broke for a sigh. "I dread to think that he could have actually harnessed the observer effect at a quantum mechanical level, but that may be exactly what he did. Haqq Najir has been studying them around the clock and trying to learn more, though I am not hopeful for his findings."

Yeah, okay, wow, Hector felt pretty stupid after listening to all of that and retaining almost none of it. He could at least pick out the name Haqq Najir, though. "How long do you think it will take you to repair your armor?"

"That is a difficult question to answer." Abbas touched a hand to his mouth as he eyed Hector. "But perhaps you will understand. You were gifted the Amir-9 prototype unit by Sazandara, were you not?"

Hector paused. Amir-9? Prototype? What was he--?

Oh, wait a minute.

"You mean this?" Hector materialized Haqq's heater shield into his left hand.

The Lord Saqqaf's eyes just about popped out of his head. He said something Valgan that Hector didn't quite catch, and then recomposed himself. He pocketed the CPU he was holding and then held his hands out as if to ask for the shield. "May I?"

Hector handed it over.

Abbas inspected it up and down with his mouth hanging slightly open.

Hector and Garovel exchanged glances while they waited.

Abbas pressed his right hand against the face of the shield, stretching all five fingers out wide and closing his eyes. After a moment, he opened them again and handed the shield back to Hector.

Rather than taking it, Hector simply dematerialized it.

Abbas blinked as he shook his head. "Unbelievable... how in the world were you able to assimilate it into your materialization?"

"Uh... well, I didn't do it. Rasalased did."

That response made Abbas look even more incredulous.

Hmm. So it was called the Amir-9 prototype, huh? That was news to Hector. He'd just been thinking of it as Haqq's shield this whole time. He resummoned it into his hand and looked it over again. "Unfortunately, it seems to have lost its soul-enhancing properties, but other than that, it's still just as durable as it used to be, I think."

Apparently, Abbas still needed a few more moments to find his words. "...And it still regenerates on its own? Without thought from you?"

"It does," said Hector.

"That is what I was getting at before you... showed me..." He trailed off, eyes having grown distant again.

Worwal jumped in to help him again. 'His armor can regenerate in a similar manner, is what he is trying to say, I believe.'

"I see," said Hector, though he was mostly just saying that to be polite. "By the way, uh..." He offered the Amir back to Abbas. "Er, I know this was a gift and all, but if you want it back, then please, take it. I, ah... I actually have a collection of about three hundred more of these sitting in an armory at the top of the Entry Tower." Plus a few more in the hands of Rainlords on the other side of the world, but that wasn't worth mentioning, Hector felt.

Abbas looked positively disgusted at that information. "Three hund--?" He shook his head. "Do you have any idea how long it took Haqq and I to develop this prototype?"

Hector just kind of pressed his lips together flatly. He suddenly recalled Garovel mentioning something about how big of a deal it was that he could create so many replicas of this shield, about how it could gain him quite a bit of influence and attention in the world that he wasn't yet prepared for.

So much crazy shit had happened since that conversation, though. Thinking back on it now felt almost quaint, somehow.

Lord Abbas sighed and took the shield. "Thank you, I suppose. In any event, my armor should be able to repair itself rather quickly once the nanomachines are expunged from it. I suspect it will take at least four more days to remove enough of them to restore the primary systems. For all systems, however, we might require an entire week. Or more, perhaps."

Hector scratched his upper lip. "How much could you get done in one day?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I would like you to come to Lorent with me."

"As I said, the armor takes priority over everything else, right now."

"I have a Fusion Forge there."

Abbas fell silent. And just stared at him.