Raxis: Book 7

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- 1 -

An October drizzle, venting tediously from an encompassing film of grey clouds, was suddenly interrupted by a storm. First, the drizzle turned into a downpour. Then, the accelerated wind twisted torrents of water into volleys that sprayed into the faces of pedestrians and into the windshields of cars. Gales shuddered the windows of buildings. On the eighth floor of one of them, a blond-haired young man watched the wind dance. Behind him, a tired-looking woman stood in a doorway.

Alexander, she called softly, you’ll be late for school.

Mom, don’t worry, he said. I’m on my way!

Throwing up the hood of his jacket, Alex left the apartment and emerged from the building onto a sodden footpath. His mom shouldn’t have been worried. There was still enough time. He hadn’t waited in vain. The downpour had lightened, transforming back into a drizzle.

Right around the corner of a new, still unpopulated building in their neighborhood, Alex ran into Mary and Andrew, also hurrying to school, and arguing as they went.

During their Crimea holidays, Mary had a growth spurt. Thin and long-legged, she was unwittingly drawing attention. Next to her marched a grim Drew, shooting evil glares at passersby, who would quickly look away.

Mary’s face was red. Her lips were quavering as though she were about to burst into tears. But in reality she was consumed with rage. Alex, who was now a little shorter than his friends, threw up his arms and clamped them on their shoulders.

Arguing about magic again, are you? he asked them, cheerfully. Still not sick of it?

Hi, said Mary curtly, and nodded at Drew. You know what this lunatic’s doing now?

It looked like Alex’s guess was right. He glanced at Drew, who shifted his duffel bag from one hand to the other.

Black magic! barked Mary.

What? asked Alex, confused. Like Zina’s kind of thing?

This name had long been synonymous for him and Drew with the most abysmal kinds of horror. Even their encounter with Wylde on the tower couldn’t compare with that.

No worse, I’m sure, said Mary bleakly. So it was, then, Alex thought.

After their summertime castle escape, Drew had been desolated to discover that his magic tricks no longer worked. He’d linked the disappearance of his abilities to the destruction of the stone pool in the Vault, and Mary and Alex had been forced to endure his rants of admonishment. That they hadn’t had a choice wasn’t good enough. Drew continued insisting that there was always a choice, and they just hadn’t bothered to look hard enough.

Embarrassed at his own destruction of the final path into that parallel world, all Drew had done their last week in Crimea was complain. He’d moaned that it had been two years since they first met a resident of that world, and still there were more questions than answers. All they had was guesswork, most of it useless.

What, for example, had been the point of hiding Serdars in their school, posing as teachers, and what were they protecting? Alex and his seashell? Drew thought that was nonsense. In the past two years, Havelock had had all the time he pleased to attack, but still he waited quietly for Alex inside the castle. Drew felt it must be noted that, since Havelock had attempted to send Alex to his death with nary a word about the shell, they should assume his only goal was to kill Alex off.

It had been the Loaf who’d tied Havelock to the shell, and he was a separate mystery.

Mr Hopkinson, or the Loaf, had begun teaching at their school before they’d even transferred to it, and he spent his time in the science department. So how did Havelock know him? And where did both Serdars—the Loaf and their other teacher, the absent Paul Paulson—procure their arponis sceptres? An arponis is used to kill demons, but never Serdars or people.

Also, the Loaf had adamantly claimed that Wylde himself had taken them home from the tower. You might believe he’d seen it with his own eyes. Meanwhile, he had nothing to add about the sword-carrying figure they had initially believed to be their saviour.

But all of this personal bickering didn’t interest Drew all that much. What really upset him was that nothing of the social mechanism of that world—their laws, their technologies—had been revealed. What an oversight: spending a day among those people, and coming back with only cuts, bumps, and bruises. That, and a mouthful of mud!

Drew had calmed down into the new school year, but today he was looking similar to the way he’d been the day they’d departed from Crimea.

Maybe a demon’s possessed him, joked Alex.

A real possibility, said Mary.

Drew groaned, and Mary explained what had happened at the horse-riding lodge they had visited over the weekend.

Her parents had two horses on reserve there, and Drew had learned to ride on them last year. However, this year, not Anathema, nor the far more stoic Revolver, had allowed him to come close. As soon as he came near, the horses would flatten their ears, whinny in alarm, and attempt to rear. After struggling with them for a day, Drew had gone home. Mary had gone, too, mulling over dark suspicions.

She remembered Anathema’s behaviour when Drew had demonstrated his trick with the so-called portal. Then she thought about Alex’s words regarding a horse’s ability to sense the unnatural. Putting two and two together, Mary nagged Drew about what it was he was messing with now.

Obviously, I’m turning into a demon! yelled Drew, loud enough for the whole street to hear. I admit it. Are you happy?

They turned onto the alley leading toward their schoolhouse.

And how’s that going? asked Alex.

Mary muttered something condemning.

Ask her, exclaimed Drew. She seems to know everything! His ears flushed crimson, and he turned away.

Please, don’t yell about demons in school, Mary told him coldly.

First you get off my case with the black magic!

Weaving through the throng of assembling students, they ascended the school’s steps and headed for their lockers. As Alex had predicted, they were early.

Raising his voice to yell over the din in the hallway, Alex asked, What’s all this about, really? I get the thing about the horses, but you two are arguing so intensely there’s gotta be something else.

I’ll explain later, interrupted Drew. Who knows what kind of skewed version this harpy’ll give you.

Mary levelled him with a death glare, and turned toward the gym. Did you forget you have to drop off your laundered uniform?

Oh, yeah, muttered Drew, glancing at the duffel in his hand.

Vic Salem appeared in the hallway, towering over the crowd. Even in plain jeans and a sweater, he still managed to look like a pretty-boy. Alex had noticed, last year, that Vic was interested in Mary, and it was probably because of her that he’d signed up for the school’s fencing team.

Mr Veritt asked to find you, Vic said to Mary with a warm smile. He’s in the staff room. He wants to go over something regarding the New Year’s tourney.

Mr Veritt was the latest version of their ever-changing PE teachers, replacing last year’s casualty, Sam Simons. He was short, rail-thin, never smiled, and spoke very little. The kids had nicknamed him Introvert. His typical response to any kind of student complaint was to mumble the incomprehensible wisdom, If you can’t run one lap, run two.

I’m coming, said Mary. She turned to Drew. Just leave my uniform in the gym, I’ll put it away myself.

After she’d gone, Alex looked over at Drew.

What did you want to tell me? he asked. Together, they paced down the rapidly emptying hallway to the gym.

Mary’s fears regarding the horses hadn’t swayed Alex all that much. There were many reasons for a horse not to allow a person near. If the person was stressed, or angry about something, a horse would sense it. It was more than likely that on the way to the stables Mary and Drew had had another spat. Drew was freaking out, and the horse responded. As a result, Drew would have freaked out further, and the rest was a slippery slope. Alex couldn’t believe that none of this had occurred to Mary, and that meant there had to be something else.

You remember the book I was reading in Havelock’s library? asked Drew.

Yeah.

It describes the history of the Second Empire started by the Serdars.

Alex’s ears perked up. They’d heard of these Serdars last winter. Drew had read about them in a book given to him long ago by Zina. Further, the man who had met them at their exit from the Vault had expounded upon Serdars. And, while descending into the castle’s prison, Havelock had mentioned them as well. But not one source had had a nice thing to say about them.

Phys Ed was scarcely ever a morning class, and the gym was deserted. On the way to the changing room, Drew continued. "The word Serdar means Elder Warrior, and was first saddled on them after they created an army from conquered people. What’s important is what happened to the demons after the Serdars booted them out into the uninhabited regions. The demons’ woes didn’t end there. The book says that soon after a star fell on their heads. As I understand it, some kind of meteorite. And something appeared in the spot where it fell. I didn’t read enough, but it did mention the Soteris as a source of similar energy."

Alex considered this as he turned a fencing foil over in his hands. A similar one, huh? So, you’re using it now to fuel your tricks, aren’t you? And that’s why Mary’s off her rocker?

Drew smirked. "The important part was finding whether it existed. Mary only freaked out when I told her about how those lands are forbidden now. The Serdars let the demons evacuate the place, and walled the whole thing in. When Mary heard that, she went nuts worrying that the energy might be dark, whatever that means—bugging me about how I’m able to channel it. How the hell should I know how? It just happens, like it always does."

Alex continued studying the foil in his hands. Why are you keeping this thing here, and not with the equipment?

Because it’s broken, Drew said. The pommel’s loose. I think it’s wrecked for good. Roman only promised to find money for new gear, and then he graduated and that was that.

Have you been tightening it with a power drill?

Whatever’s on hand, Drew said with a shrug, taking the weapon away.

Alex shook his head. Well, no wonder. Let’s drop it by the shop, and see if we can’t fix it up over recess, huh?

Yeah, sure, Drew replied. He laughed suddenly. With Mary’s personality, it’s no wonder she has no friends. Her dad was totally right on that one!

A door slammed shut. Mary was standing at the gym’s entrance. Seeing her, Drew dropped the foil, and it clattered on the floor.

Uhh… said Alex, trying to somehow break the awkward silence. Judging by Mary’s expression, she’d heard Drew’s words.

Mary paced toward them across the gym, picked up the dropped foil, and exhaled in a high shaky voice into Drew’s face, "I don’t need friends like this. I’m tired of you and your pathetic magic tricks—most of which inevitably lead to people dying! The next time that happens, you jerk, it’ll have to be without me." She paced decisively away.

Drew’s face relaxed since he’d been anticipating something far worse. Hey, what about my foil! he yelled after her.

Mary spun around and hurled the silvery metal foil directly at Drew. He dove to the side.

The apex of the foil jammed between the boards in the bleachers, and the blade snapped in two with a crack. The doors to the gym slammed.

Drew stared at them for a while. Sick woman, he muttered, and glanced down at the remains of his foil. Whatever…I was sick of fencing anyway. He didn’t sound convincing.

She really is afraid of something, said Alex. He picked up the handle piece of the foil, and tapped the palm of his hand with the blade. Drew yanked the second piece from between the bleacher boards.

Afraid that I’ll turn into a goblin, he responded irritably. But I’ve been experimenting since September, and horns have yet to sprout!

They dumped the broken foil inside the changing room, and hurried off to class. As they jogged to the second floor, Alex asked, So you hadn’t told her about this new power source before?

Nope, said Drew. He took stock of Alex’s expression. Oh, don’t you worry, too, grandpa. It’s totally safe!

Uh-huh.

By the end of physics class Alex had formulated for himself what it was that bothered him. In the elapsed time since the beginning of the school year, Drew hadn’t once shared with them the news he was able to do magic again.

Physics, the last class of the day, was taught by a young university graduate who had been hired to replace the Loaf. Having hung on Mr Hopkinson’s every word for the past two years, Alex was wary of the new face.

Drew, upon seeing this Fruit fly, as he called their new teacher, shamelessly burst out laughing. For which he was summoned to the board to recap what he remembered from last year. He’d scarcely begun when he was interrupted and asked to solve a simple exercise pertaining to the topic.

While Drew idled by the board, trying to dig himself out of the hole he’d created, the class watched him with mounting interest. Their teacher, also curious about what he was writing, attempted to approach him from one side, then another. But she was only as tall as his shoulders, and Drew kept getting in the way.

Finally, she’d had enough. Excuse me, Hawkins, move over! she exclaimed, and dragged him aside by his sleeve.

Ms Caulter, I’m not finished!

Never mind.

She scanned Drew’s handiwork and grabbed her head with her hands. Turning to the class with wide eyes, she gestured over her shoulder with a thumb. We’re not going to waste our time untangling this, are we? she said. I mean, we want to get to this year’s curriculum sometime, don’t we?

The classroom erupted in laughter.

The teacher, having sent Drew back to his seat, added, The holidays have just ended, so I’m willing to forgive this kind of lack of application. But next time I’d like to see more respect for the formulae.

At recess, Drew had chuckled to Alex, If this girl turns out to be packing an arponis, too, I’m going to lose my hope in humanity.

Today, Fruit fly was starting a new topic.

Alex had already come to understand that she was no worse than the Loaf. She only lacked his ability to find accessible analogies for any given concept. Of course to contrast this, Venomous, who taught biology, couldn’t explain a damn thing and when people didn’t understand her, all she did was get angry. Alex had wanted to excel in biology last year, but hadn’t got very far.

This year he’d kissed that subject off.

Instead, he had decided to focus his attention on physics—which he’d always liked—and had dragged the strange heavy dark pipe that he’d discovered inside the Loaf’s generator to the first workshop he’d signed up for. One of the rings that the pipe was made of had split apart, and some metal membrane was visible within.

Alex had decided to restore the Loaf’s broken generator to working order, though he wasn’t sure why. The Loaf had created the generator to combat a murdering raven, but the last one of them Alex had executed in Havelock’s prison. And it wouldn’t matter even if Havelock did have another such bird in his arsenal; it would not be able to get here because of the destruction of the Soteris pool.

Nevertheless, Alex still wanted the generator fixed. The amplifier he could handle himself, but in order to fix the mysterious tube, he would need to understand how it worked.

My, that is some involved design! Ms Caulter exclaimed, turning the device over with deep interest. Amazing. How powerful it must be! Where did you get it?

She wasn’t taking her eyes off the pipe, and Alex shrugged noncommittally.

But it is yours? she asked him.

Is now, said Alex. It was a gift, and I want to understand how it works.

Mhmm. She nodded, handing back the tube. It is a fancy thing. But you see… She scratched her nose with a chalk-stained hand. I’m not just a physicist, I’m a teacher as well. If I explain everything to you about this device, you’ll be bored to tears when we start learning about electromagnetic waveforms. But when we do cover this you’ll be able to tell me yourself how this thing works. And if you’re off in some way, I’ll correct you. Fair?

Fair, Alex had nodded.

Now, looking over the diagram of two charged spheres that Fruit fly had drawn on the blackboard, he waited to finally start studying those electromagnetic waveforms. As usual, today wasn’t that day.

After class, Alex and Drew walked home together. Grey clouds had swallowed the sky, but there was no rain. Scattering fallen leaves, the two friends strolled leisurely down a sodden path.

It’s all coming even easier than before, said Drew, and pointed at a set of bushes in the distance. Look over there. It’ll be better than watching Miles do backflips.

Alex gazed suspiciously at the bushes, which grew on the outskirts of the two ponds. The water inside one of these ponds suddenly started receding from its edges. Collecting in the middle in a bulbous spire, it tarried, and then erupted upward in a giant fountain, spraying everything around it. Dirty little brooks began to flow past Alex’s shoes. He backed away.

And now we’ll dry it off, said Drew happily.

A powerful gust of wind rushed at their knees, threatening to tip them over. It blew the water off the path and back into the pond.

Cool! said Alex. Did you show it to Mary?

No, Drew frowned. She’d freak. And I don’t care to show off. I showed you—that’s enough.

Alex turned to look back at the pond. Are you not afraid, at all? he asked.

Of what?

Alex paused. Just don’t fly off the handle like Mary…Do you remember what Lillian said? About sooner or later having to pay for what’s not yours. He gestured at the pond. That, my friend, was definitely not yours!

Drew grimaced, "So you’re to lecture me now about internal corruption and falling under the influence of the evil magic, yes? I’ve heard this tune before. Today, in fact."

No, no, said Alex. I’m not talking about the battle for your soul. I’m talking about physical effects. Like a pissed-off Odin showing up with a big stick. The Serdars fenced that power source off for a reason. And you’re climbing over that fence like an apple thief. Only a matter of time before someone fires a salt gun.

Drew smiled and nodded at the ponds. You saw what I did there. Just let ’em try!

I don’t think the Serdars are that stupid, Alex said. Take the Loaf, for example. Or how Havelock shook at the mention of them.

Drew grew serious. I know why he was shaking. You’d have been shaking, too, if you were in his boots. You want to lecture me, but you have no idea who these Serdars of yours really are. Compared to them, demons are innocent kids. You remember how Bandali told us about centaurs and things?

Yeah. Alex frowned.

"Well they didn’t spring up from nowhere. They were the result of genetic experiments on people. The Serdars wanted powerful soldiers, and voila. They didn’t spare animals, either—sphinxes as an example. But their real atrocities they saved for when they had the Soteris and were waging war on the demons. You remember the snowflake on the arponis?"

Uh-huh, muttered Alex, something in his chest starting to ache.

Demons don’t do well with cold, said Drew. "The snowflake is for torturing them with it. Not for killing, mind you. That’s the triangle. For torture."

Are you getting this from that ‘history’ book you saw? asked Alex.

Yup. Read that just before you burst into the library and told us we should go free one of these Serdars from a prison cell.

Alex turned red. We didn’t know the Loaf was a Serdar back then!

He was one of them, though, Drew replied with a shrug.

Alex didn’t know how to object. He sank onto a bench by his building, staring at the asphalt.

You might be interested in how an arponis was invented, Drew said. "The Serdars build a primitive laboratory for it, where they took demons apart piece by piece while they were alive. I mean, how else could you invent a weapon so effective? It even powers itself using energy it draws from its victims!"

Alex was nauseated.

And do you also recall our canine friend? Drew went on. Alex nodded. "Their handiwork as well! They had this vicious breed, and decided to feed some of the puppies a bit of the Soteris. The first died. So did the second. But the third lived. And it mutated into the horror that we keep seeing everywhere. Not a single demon can save himself from that thing, it smells them a mile off. Luckily only one in a hundred puppies survive the procedure.

"At that point it was open season on the demons, like on wild animals. They almost went extinct, except that the humans had had enough. Normal humans like you and me. The Serdar empire fell. Of the demons only a sad little huddle remained, but they did survive. Unfortunately, so did some of the Serdars."

Drew approached their building.

Ever since, the demons have hated the Serdars with a passion. Humans shudder with disgust at their very mention. So please don’t lecture me about what they built where, and why I should listen to their opinion. Are you coming?

Alex was still sitting on the bench.

No, he said. I’ll just sit for a bit.

Okay. Bye. Drew went home.

Alex couldn’t force himself to stand up. Now he really understood what Mary’s glare at Lillian had meant, before she’d thrown the hyssop. Today, he could forgive her for what she’d done in the gym last winter. It was the same feeling Alex now had toward the Serdars.

Fatigued, he lumbered into his apartment, hung up his jacket, and pulled off his shoes. His mom came out to meet him in the hallway.

What’s happened? she asked, immediately.

Alex waved her off. He kicked off his second shoe and headed for his room.

Alex, something’s clearly happened to you. I want to know what.

Alex stopped in his doorway. He’d heard an intonation of real alarm in her voice.

Mom, you know who the Serdars were?

Bright blue eyes like his own looked him up and down. I don’t, she said. Some kind of militant tribe, maybe?

Alex nodded. You guessed it. And I hate their guts. He closed his door.

In his room there was the strange tubing from the Loaf’s generator lying on the table. Loaf was a Serdar. And Alex and his friends had freed him from captivity last summer.

Alex had liked the Loaf immensely—his temperament, knowledgeability, and diverse skills. He sometimes had even considered the Loaf a father figure. But today he grabbed the tubing in a blind rage and slammed it into the wall as hard as he could.

Coarse shards splashed in all directions. Alex lunged onto his cot, crying in a way he hadn’t done since the day he’d found himself in Drew’s apartment, cast by an unknown force from the tower where he and his friends had almost died two years ago.

- 2 -

Wind danced along the tower’s roof, flapping the folds of a black cape. The garment belonged to an athletic man with blond hair, who stood at the roof’s edge. His worn camisole, patched in several places, was decorated by a chain with a silver triangle. Grey eyes peered at the distant mountains; an ironic smile played on his lips.

The descending sun made contact with the jagged horizon and erupted in a rainbow on the mighty peaks. Night moved in, cooling the luminescence ignited on the mountain snows to nothing. Only the ashen outline of the peaks remained, along with the black mist of forest spreading from their foot.

From out of the darkness, a green shimmer rose into the sky. This final beam of light was clearly visible from the lonesome tower. The pupils of the man involuntarily shrank, and he looked away. There were footsteps behind him. His smile disappeared.

You’ve lost the bet, Praetor.

The man in the cape sighed heavily. They must call you Wylde for a reason, he said with frustration. This is the third time I find you’ve stacked the deck against me. How do you manage it?

He shook the hand of his guest, who wore a light grey suit jacket over a white silk shirt. The heavy, intelligent gaze was made hypnotic by the contrast of pupils surrounded by stark whites. A silver clip held his long, black hair in a ponytail.

Trade secret, replied Wylde. Listen, I’ve been on my feet all day. Do you mind…?

The Praetor nodded and extended an arm, motioning for his guest to follow. They left the roof, and began a descent along a spiralling staircase. It was lit by the torches affixed by metal hooks to the stone walls.

Wylde scanned them with a bored gaze before turning back to scrutinize the thickset figure in the cape. The boots visible below the long garment were equipped with spur slats.

"I always forget to ask—are these torches for a reason, or was it just bad financing? I mean, it is the twenty-first century."

The Praetor said without turning, This tower hasn’t been in use since the days of Emperor Flavius, six hundred years ago.

Oh, said Wylde. And I’ve heard you were close friends.

The Praetor ignored the remark.

They came to a stop in a compact anteroom. The Praetor pressed on one of the stones composing the inner wall, which caused a large section of it to give way. Through the formed aperture, a spacious round room was exposed, containing a table opposite a window.

A stone column partially obscured the view of a wooden workbench, above which a colourful kite hung on a frayed rope. Under the bench, by a massive armchair, lay a wolf. Noting the room’s new arrivals, the animal raised its head, stood and headed toward Wylde, who was completely unfazed.

Please remove your servants, he asked politely. They’ll be bothersome.

The Praetor nodded to the wolf, and it left the room.

Wylde took off his suit jacket, and tossed it on the elongated bench flanking the table. Approaching the window, he peered out at the surroundings, while simultaneously rolling up his shirtsleeves.

The Praetor declared unhappily, They aren’t servants. They’re my only friends. You know this, and yet you persist in your name-calling.

He placed his cape on the workbench, next to an unfinished kite. Beyond the bench the walls were lined with polished shelving, piled with books.

Wylde was already sitting on the stone ridge parallel to a window; one of his shoes rested on the windowsill. His other foot dangled in the air.

You never part with your sword, he said chidingly, gesturing to the suspended kite. How go your labours?

Beat my own record recently, said the Praetor, testing the seams of the kite with the tips of his fingers. Without your books, and this hobby, I’d have lost my mind in here.

Wylde squinted at the black expanse of the forests beyond the window. Stars were beginning to peek through the pitch curtain of the sky, and vaguely illuminated the path that wound from the tower into the thick woods.

The Praetor tested the firmness of his kite’s spars. I’ve been here for six thousand, one hundred and seventeen days, he said bitterly. With only animals for company.

Wylde turned away from the window.

Six thousand, one hundred and seventeen days is what—sixteen and a half years? Big deal. Worse things have happened than that.

The Praetor looked at him over his shoulder. His eyes and mouth were now lined by wrinkles, turning a pleasant face terse and unappealing.

Wylde lowered his legs, and sat on the edge of the windowsill. This isn’t the first time, he continued sarcastically, that you’ve sung the dirge of what happened to you like it’s a great tragedy. Why don’t you follow my lead? You don’t hear me whining—in fact, all I do is look for ways out of a given situation. There always is one.

The Praetor managed to contain himself. Something akin to amusement flickered over his face. Thus you’re here once more, he remarked evenly. Did Havelock not pan out for you?

Wylde grimaced. "Havelock has a rich internal world, but it’s compact—that is to say, self-contained and limiting. It turns out he’s still nurturing his old hatreds, and you’ll believe me when I tell you that I had to be very patient. But my patience came to an end when I found out that he’d made an attempt to kill the boy."

The Praetor spun around, wild-eyed. What? How did it happen? An attempt, you said. How is the boy?

He’s fine. Alive and well. All three got out unharmed.

I want details! the Praetor demanded, his face contorting. You and that balding schemer are going to make an idiot of me!

Wylde’s expression sharpened. He raised his chin, reminiscent of a bird of prey.

The Praetor continued. Pair of foxes in a henhouse! Both of you know that the boy is my last hope! He stepped toward Wylde, but didn’t get far before the other snapped his fingers.

The Praetor slammed into an invisible wall. He grabbed for his sword and pulled it from its sheath. Once the dark grey blade was visible, Wylde whipped his face away as though he’d been slapped.

Seeing that, the Praetor slammed the sword back into its casement. I apologize, he forced out, turning away. He splashed some wine into a glass from a nearby pitcher and downed it in one gulp.

I’m sick of apologizing for that incident, Wylde replied. "I admit that I did lose control, but I was certain that the boy was a Serdar! I find it’s hard to be reasonable with an arponis aimed at your chest."

The Praetor replaced his glass on the table, and lowered himself onto the armchair.

Your news scared me half to death. Please explain what transpired between Havelock and our trio. And help yourself, he added, gesturing to the large fire-cooked shank of meat, and ornate pitcher. I’ve dined already. Have some wine. It’s local. The deer was running around in the woods just this morning.

Wylde seemed to forget what had happened. He moved to the bench and armed himself with a fork and knife.

M-mm, he murmured, tearing into a particularly juicy hunk of meat. You’re luckier than most, you know, with food like this at your beck and call. Bear in mind that what I’m about to tell you is Havelock’s version. Therefore, don’t take everything at face value…

He chewed the succulent venison, and continued. They materialized with the dawn on July seventh, having breached the Inner Border using a navigator. Interestingly, the very same one that I’d once borrowed from Havelock.

He talked for some time, occasionally stopping for another bite of meat, or partaking of the tomatoes in a nearby basket. Leaning back in his armchair, the Praetor listened carefully.

When Wylde was sated he wiped his hands with a towel and poured himself a glass of wine before finishing his story.

"And that is where things stand at present. The Soteris is destroyed, the Inner Border along with it, and all of this directly by Havelock’s grace." He twirled the wine in his glass, sniffed