Warton Macomber felt lighter than he had ever experienced. He looked around. He stood in a great hall. He couldn't see the ceiling. He sniffed the air. Incense drifted to him. He suspected his location and mentally shrugged. He had needed to perform his prayer. He couldn't regret the decision now.

Saving the city had seemed to be in the best interest of everyone still living and fighting the demons in the walls.

“Macomber,” said a voice from the other end of the hall. “Come forward.”

The cleric walked forward. He looked down at the floor as he walked. The golden and silver bricks had been used to create a scale, the symbol of Pantalus. He marveled at the work as he walked across it.

He found Pantalus standing at an island floating in the air in front of him. It resembled the city in its details. Other gods stood around the island. The god of laws gestured for his representative to come closer.

“Ladies, Lords,” said Pantalus. “This is my representative, Warton Macomber.”

Macomber bowed before the assemblage. He didn't understand why he was standing in the hall of gods, interacting with them. He did realize what would happen if he said, or did, the wrong thing.

He didn't know what his afterlife would be like, but he didn't want to turn it into a visit to some place unpleasant for the rest of his existence.

“We're looking at the next stages of things, Macomber,” said Pantalus. “I'm afraid you will have to sit that part of things out.”

“I understand,” said the cleric. “I seem to be dead. I guess that would put a kink in things.”

“You created a hole that your friends used to shut off the flow of demons,” said Pantalus. “The magicians involved are waiting on my judgment. I am holding off until the siege is lifted, or the city is destroyed.”

Macomber nodded. Pantalus might be considering circumstances to take into account before rendering his judgment. The considered punishment could be more severe than words could convey.

Mercy would probably not be used when Pantalus took his place to pass sentence on the summoning magicians killed by Macomber, and the knights of the Golden Circle. The amount of death and destruction they had caused prevented any leniency that might be applied to them.

Macomber wondered what his sentence would be when his own trial started. He had tried to kill the magicians with a death surge. He hoped for a show of mercy for his own afterlife.

He hoped stopping the destruction was more important than any other error he might have committed.

“The demons still hold sections of the city,” said Avri Noll. “Our clerics and their support are dealing with it. Some of the enemy will escape before they can be killed.”

Macomber stood behind Pantalus and didn't disagree with the war goddess's estimation. His own conclusions were the same. He was surprised the demons were still holding with their generals cut off from them.

“Some of our temples are still extant,” said the goddess, Par Mog. “Our representatives will be able to solidify our assistance for the populace. Healing and reconstruction can be launched.”

“Not until daylight,” said Par Mog's brother, Sar. “Trying to fight more than a holding action at night will just get more of our people killed.”

“What do you think, Cleric Macomber?,” asked Mogin Farn, the god of knowledge, and king of the pantheon.

“I think that if the defenders can take a small part of the city back at a time, it might allow for bigger pushes when daylight comes and strips the demons' natural affinity for darkness away from them,” said Macomber. “The biggest problem I see with this approach is that there are more demons than defenders at this point. I don't see any way to surround small groups of demons and banish them with what we have left.”

“We need a bigger power on the field,” said Avri Noll. “Both the cutter and the mystic are off the field for the moment. If our piece can keep the other busy, it might give us time to field something to change the odds.”

“There's another member of the Brotherhood on the field,” said Sar. “If we could get him to take a more proactive approach, it might buy our representatives more time.”

Sar's golden finger pointed at a small cabin on the edge of the city. It had been marked as one of the nodes that Skaren had needed to focus his power through to make his ascension.

The owner of the cabin had taken it back as soon as Skaren had gone about his business.

“Who are we talking about, Sar?,” asked Mogin Farn. Hundreds of hands laced themselves in a contemplative fashion as the king regarded his son, the god of time.

“My son, Alexander,” said Sar.

“Will he help us?,” asked Avri Noll.

“I don't know,” said Sar. “He hasn't taken part in most of the battle. I think he only wants to defend his immediate domain. Maybe he would help if we asked him.”

“Someone will have to talk to him,” said Mogin Farn. “If he hasn't moved from his home, I doubt he will on his own. I will go down and ask for his help.”

“Sir,” said Macomber. “May I ask a question?”

“Yes, Master Macomber,” said Mogin Farn. A featureless face turned to look down on the human spirit.

“Who is this Alexander?,” asked the cleric.

The gods turned to Sar. It was up to him if he wanted to answer so personal a question from the remains of a cleric that had already sealed his fate with his dying.

“A long time ago, I wandered the physical world,” said Sar. His golden face took on an expression of regret. “I met a woman that I loved. I pretended to be human so we could be together. I accepted the challenges of her other suitors, and her father. Naturally, even constrained by my disguise, I still had some control of my domain and easily bested anything that could be used to keep us apart. Alexander was born in the fifth year of our marriage.

“Eventually I had to return to my seat here. I had to leave my wife and son behind in the mortal world. I tried to do the best I could for them. My wife was killed during the Gigantos War with most of the world. That was when we created the One Thousand, and Alexander joined them to avenge his mother. We haven't spoken since her death.”

“I don't think he will listen to an appeal for help from any of you,” said Macomber. “You need someone mortal to ask him to take a more active hand.”

“How would you like to do this for us, Master Macomber?,” said Mogin Farn.

“I don't mind,” said Macomber. “I'll see what I can do.”

“Your assistance will be much appreciated,” said Mogin Farn.

One of his hands touched Macomber. The cleric found himself standing on the designated street. He wasn't alive either.

That would have been too much to hope for, but he had hoped for a second life.

Macomber walked to the shack. He knocked on the door with his transparent hand. He hoped Alexander didn't hate spirits barging into his life.

As a cleric, he was used to having to impose the authority of his temple on people trying to ruin things for others. It wasn't quite the same thing, but he didn't have anything to lose in his opinion.

“Who's there?,” said a voice that wasn't young, or old. It reminded Macomber of Pitt's for some reason.

“Warton Macomber, cleric of Pantalus,” said Macomber. “Can we talk?”

“You can say what you want to say from out there,” said Alexander.

“All right,” said Macomber. “I have been asked to ask you if you will take a more direct hand in fighting the demons so the city can be saved.”

“Why would I want to do that?,” asked Alexander.

“Because if you beat the demons, they will stop trying to take your home away from you,” said Macomber. “Then you can go back to being a hermit.”

“And what makes you think I care what the demons do?,” asked Alexander.

“They were being directed by someone from your Brotherhood,” said Macomber. “Once he knows you're here for sure, he will do away with you. It's a necessary part of his plan if he can't sacrifice the cutter.”

“What do you know about the Brotherhood?,” asked the man who opened the door. A scarred face glared at the spirit. “What do you know about anything?”

“I know a little,” said Macomber. “I might be able to guess the rest.”