Michael’s lips tightened.

“Julius...Asmodai...is not a god. It is true that he has extraordinary powers, but he’s not a god. He’s...well...he’s like me.”

Lord Swordcane said carefully, “There are those who whisper about your divinity, Lord Michael.”

“And, as I’ve said before and as I’ll say again, I am not a god!” Michael insisted.

Lord Sorcerer mused, “And how do we define godhood? Powerful? Immortal? Worthy of worship?”

Michael snapped, “If that’s the definition you want to use, then you have nothing to worry about. Julius is most certainly not worthy of worship.”

Sir Reginald interjected, “However you want to label him, Asmodai is rumored to be powerful beyond measure, and if he is leading an army against us, we must decide how to counter that power.”

Rafe held up his hands.

“Everyone calm down. Before any decisions are made, you need to hear the entire story.”

He nodded towards me, and once again I found myself the center of attention. Shuffling nervously, I glanced around trying to decide where to direct my words and ended on Michael. Clearly, like Rafe, he knew a lot more about...well...everything. I wanted to see his reactions to my words.

“Julius--Asmodai, as you call him--won’t be leading anyone. The man who liberated me from the dungeon of Spiral Castle fought to keep me safe, and the castle was destroyed.”

Lord Two Knives asked sharply, “Who did this person fight? Who else was with him that they could destroy the castle?”

“No one. It was just him.”

Michael broke in, “Wait. This is the savior you spoke of? The one who recognized Julius?”

I nodded.

His eyes intense, Michael demanded, “What did he look like?”

I described the man who had freed me--nondescript brown clothing, brown hair and eyes, utterly unremarkable looking.

Michael frowned. “But you say he recognized Julius?”

Rafe opened his mouth to speak and then shut it.

King Ladislas asked, “And this man...he fought everyone in the castle? And the ensuing battle destroyed the keep?”

Brow furrowed, Michael muttered softly, “Brown hair and eyes...medium height...which one is it? Who would have…”

“Yes, your majesty,” I answered. “Julius--Asmodai--”

I was going to have to figure out which of those names to use or else this would get confusing.

“--was clearly a powerful magic user. The orcish forces were nothing compared to the strength Asmodai wielded personally, but the man who saved me was powerful as well. Asmodai threw bolts of force and summoned creatures to attack him, but he was immovable. Finally, Asmodai transformed himself into some kind of demonic monster, and that’s when my benefactor commanded me to flee.”

Lord Fatty raised an eyebrow. “So you ran away and left this man to die on your behalf?”

His voice held barely concealed contempt.

Guilt twisted in my gut, pulling angry words from my lips.

“Yes, I ran. The forces that were being flung about so casually were beyond anything I could possibly have faced. I would have been mere collateral damage in this fight between titans. Though I’m not proud of it, I couldn’t think what else I could have done. Fortunately, I’m light on my feet and was able to escape. Had I been overweight and slow, my benefactor’s sacrifice might have been for naught.”

I let my gaze travel up and down Lord Fatty’s plump form insultingly. One of the other lords began coughing all of a sudden as Lord Fatty’s face reddened. He stood abruptly and seemed about to lash out when the king made a curt motion with his hand, and the porcine bastard reluctantly retook his seat, glaring daggers at me all the while.

Michael grunted, “If he was strong enough to take on Julius, I’m not surprised the castle was destroyed. Julius...it’s been a long time. He would have gathered a great deal of strength to himself by now.”

Lord Sorcerer asked, “A long time? Do you mean to say you have met Asmodai before?”

Michael waved his hand irritatedly, “Yes, yes. It would have been several hundred years ago. I was investigating--well, it’s not important what I was investigating. But we bumped into each other. I didn’t appreciate what he was doing and took him down a peg.”

King Ladislas asked, “What do you mean by ‘taking him down a peg’?”

“We fought. I won.”

“You beat a god?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Like I said, he’s not a god! Just because your people use his name to scare their children into obedience doesn’t make him a god.”

“But he’s more than just a man, isn’t he?”

Michael took a breath, paused, and blew it out.

“Okay, he’s something more than a regular man. After the beating I gave him, he would have needed to take time to recuperate and regain his strength. But that’s not important.”

Not important? The rest of the men in the room seemed to think it was important. I could see the looks on their faces shifting to expressions of awe and--for some--fear.

“What I want to know is who was fighting him? This man never told you his name?” Michael directed at me.

I shook my head. “No, all he said was that I should look for Rafe and that--”

Rafe grabbed my shoulder firmly, his fingers digging so hard into the muscle over my collarbone that it caused me to take a quick intake of breath in pain. Clearly, Rafe wanted me to hold back.

Michael’s piercing blue eyes narrowed. His eyes darted to Rafe, but he held his peace. Barnabas looked confused but said nothing either.

“Yes? What did he say?” demanded Lord Fatty.

“He just said that Rafe would help me.”

Lord Fatty turned to Rafe.

“And you have no idea who this man was?” he asked disbelievingly.

Rafe shrugged.

“Brown hair...brown eyes...medium build. Could be anyone.”

After an awkward pause, Michael suggested, “These men have ridden a long way and could use a little time to wash up, and I haven’t seen my friend here in more years than even I can remember. Let’s give them a chance to collect themselves. It’ll give the council time to think things over as well before we meet up again.”

King Ladislas’s eyes searched Michael’s face questioningly. I don’t know what he saw there since Michael’s expression didn’t seem to change. Whatever he saw, it was enough to make him agree.

“Very well, let’s adjourn for now. Sir Reginald, find lodgings for these men. We will allow them time to wash up and eat and reconvene in three hours.”

The lords bowed their heads to the king. Sir Reginald gathered me, Barnabas, and Duke Benedict’s men together and began to lead us away. Michael and Rafe followed, and as soon as we left the room Michael grabbed Sir Reginald’s arm.

“Take them to the Sable Wing. I wish to speak to this one, but I’ll take him to his quarters myself afterwards.”

He pointed to me.

Sir Reginald hesitated. Michael looked steadily at him until he nodded and walked away with Barnabas and Duke Benedict’s men in tow.

Without a glance, Michael turned on his heel and commanded in a clipped tone, “Come with me.”

I glanced at Rafe who indicated with his head that I should follow.

After about ten minutes of winding our way through the innards of the castle, I found myself a large but plainly furnished apartment. We entered a common room with a doorway that led to what was probably a bedroom. A few wooden chairs with worn cushions surrounded a small, well-used wooden table.

“These are my rooms,” Michael said simply. “Please sit. We have things to discuss.”

With Rafe’s nod of encouragement, I seated myself at the table. Michael grabbed a few glasses and a bottle of wine and poured for us.

“I want to catch up,” he said to Rafe, “but there are clearly matters to be addressed first. From your reaction in there, am I correct in assuming you know who this man was? Did Paol here tell you something that you didn’t want to become common knowledge?”

Rafe took a deep breath.

“Take a couple gulps of your wine, my friend.”

His gaze sharpened, but Michael touched his glass to his lips for a couple swallows. I was intimidated beyond measure. I knew that I was sitting with two men of enormous power, probably able to crush me like a bug without breaking a sweat if they so desired. I lifted my glass and gulped down half of its contents.

Michael saw my anxiety and smiled ruefully.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t been very welcoming, have I? Please, take your time. Whatever you have to tell me has waited two weeks. It can wait a moment or two more while you prepare yourself.”

Nodding gratefully at this man who seemed so unremarkable when his sense of presence wasn’t crashing down on everyone around him, he took a few more sips of wine before placing it down.

“Good, now what were you going to say before my old friend here latched his dirty mitt onto your shoulder?”

The way he spoke was odd, but I understood what he meant.

Instinctively knowing what Rafe had not wanted me to say in front of the other men, I answered, “The man who saved me told me to find Rafe. He also told me to tell Rafe to be true to the Stricture of Mercy.”

Michael’s hand around the wine glass clenched, and I saw his knuckles turn white for the briefest of moments before the glass shattered, splashing wine all over the table and staining our shirts red. His eyes blazing, Michael’s hand tightened into a fist, ignoring the bits of glass still caught in his palm, and blood dripped down in slow crimson droplets.

Frightened, I had no idea what to do, so I remained as still as I could, wondering anew what the hell the Stricture of Mercy was.

After long moments, Michael cleared his throat. His voice was rough as he asked, “You’re sure of that? You’re that’s what he said?”

“Yes.”

Those brilliant blue eyes closed, and his hand relaxed. Bits of red glass dropped onto the table.

“God, it’s been so long. I had almost given up hope.”

Rafe put his hand on Michael’s shoulder and gripped it.

“I know. It’s hard to believe. Even now, I’m not sure.”

Michael breathed, “The description--it matches him. He was never particularly memorable until he started talking to you. Then it was like there was no one else in the world but him.”

Rafe said nothing.

“He promised me. You know that. It’s the only thing that’s kept me going all these centuries.”

Centuries. He said it so casually. His understated tone was enough to convince me that he was speaking the truth. He said it with no sense of boasting or pride. Just a simple comment like “the sky is blue” or “the fire is warm.” How could anyone live for so long? Did this have to do with the “respawning?”

“Will you tell me who he is? Please?” I asked plaintively. “He never told me his name”

Rafe waited, taking his cue from Michael who finally answered the question that had been burning in my chest for weeks.

“His name is Kyrie, and he was my best friend.”

Kyrie? Huh? Who was that?