It was a different feeling.

I looked at Joel and saw the same man—the glint of insanity in his eyes, the armor he wore.

It made more sense now that I knew who Joel Montanion truly was. The value of the relics this man possessed exceeded comprehension. Joel Montanion had been a driving force in building the Empire of the Angels. He had served as the Sword of San Francisco for nearly 150 years, achieving feats only matched in history by Thrax Bonesaw. The sheer scale of the fortune he must have amassed in that role was unfathomable. The relics he would have claimed as prizes from battle were incalculable. That explained how he stood before me so well equipped.

But it felt different now. I had been a mortal when we last met. No more. The power he wielded certainly made him a threat to me, but my own powerlessness was now just a memory.

A long silence stretched between us. I kept my eyes on Joel, while he let his gaze wander around the room. He seemed relaxed, distracted.

Eventually, he said, "Was that your father I passed at the top of the stairs? The relics on the body suggest someone of considerable wealth."

I nodded. "Yeah."

He said, "I’m sorry for your loss, Tiberius. I saw this as an opportune time to parley with you, but I can imagine you’re suffering from your own distractions at the moment."

Again, I said, "Yeah."

Joel furrowed his brow. He seemed to struggle for a moment, as if listening to something or wrestling with his thoughts. I tightened my grip on my sword. I sensed he could snap at any moment and unleash the power of his relics on me without warning.

When he opened his eyes again, they were serene. "If it wasn’t so vital, I’d give you peace now. I’d leave you be, to grieve. But I can’t pass up this opportunity. It may be a long time before I have the chance to speak with you without other Griidlords around."

I asked, "Why can’t you speak to me around other Griidlords?"

Joel smiled thinly. "You were there when Danefer battled Magneblade. What provoked that battle? What justified all that carnage?"

I shook my head. "I’ve been so wrapped up in everything—the Choosing, my father... I guess I assumed it was because Danefer is a wanted man. Like you."

Joel said, "What are the odds that Danefer would be discovered by a Griidlord? And one of Boston’s finest? Why not a squad of soldiers? Why not some unlucky town guard? How often have you seen Magneblade strolling the city streets? You understand—it was no accident."

"How?" I asked, though I already knew.

Joel said, "The voice sent Magneblade."

"But the voice doesn’t speak to most Griidlords," I said.

Joel replied, "The voice has its ways. There’s certainly no way I could have a conversation with you in the presence of another Griidlord, like your brutish friend in Dodge. Even meeting you here, alone, I expected my time to be more limited. The voice would have seen me through your eyes. If the voice knew I was here, then at least Chowwick—and maybe the Empire Arrow—would be blazing across the prairie toward us right now. This little refuge has turned out to be quite the boon."

I was relaxing a little. I didn’t sheathe my sword, but I dropped my stance. I asked, "What would you have to talk about with me? Why did you come to me before?"

Joel said, "I came to you before because I wanted a chance to open your eyes before you were trapped in the suit."

I didn’t feel trapped in the suit.

Joel continued, "From now on, wherever you go, the eyes of the voice go. You are one of its windows onto the world. That makes it difficult for me to present myself to you. Even after this, I will need to be careful. But at least we have a few minutes for me to plant a seed."

I asked, "Why does the voice hate you so much? Why does it want to destroy you? And Danefer?"

Joel cocked an eyebrow at me, the gesture seemed weary. "Danefer and I are not of the same purpose. We might have been at one point, but our paths have diverged. The voice hates us for the same reasons, though. It thinks we would subvert the knowledge it gave and use that knowledge against it. It’s not wrong. Our time is short enough—hold the questions a while, my friend. Let me say my piece."

I nodded, holding my tongue.

Joel asked, "You know of John the Liar?"

Books had been my only life for so long. "Yes, I know the story."

"And you know him by another name?" Joel asked.

"Yeah, John the Dispeller," I replied.

Joel nodded. "That’s how I prefer to know him. The schism John created in the church when he appeared was the engine that drove Pittsburgh to war. It was under the banner of John’s truths that Thrax Bonesaw united the clans and turned their might against the outer world. There is nothing on this earth as close to a Hordesman as a clan warrior—maybe a North raider. We should count our blessings every day that the Burgh prefers to war within rather than without."

Joel walked around me, his eyes constantly inspecting the room, always returning to those doors. I followed him with my sword.

"John the Dispeller spoke what we, today, call heresies. He claimed the Oracle to be a demon, not a deity. He claimed to know things of the time before that were impossibly lost, even to the most learned priests. His words fell on deaf ears. From city to city he went, somehow avoiding capture and execution. Everywhere he went, he met with skepticism. He gathered a following, apostles and believers, but they were few compared to the mob that saw him as a liar."

Joel reached down and picked up an empty food can. He sniffed it and looked at it curiously. "Disproportionately, among his faithful, were priests. Maybe that’s what saved him for so long. The truth he spoke resonated with priests more than with common men. Almost as though…"

He trailed off, looking at me, waiting for me to finish his sentence. I said, "As though… what he said resonated with them, with their deeper understanding of the Griid…"

Joel nodded. "And what he said resonated with another. This resonance nearly saw the world we know today destroyed under a reign of blood and fire."

Joel dropped the tin can and pulled his hood up. The clear visor I had seen him use before descended from the folds, and he slowly turned in a circle, lifting and lowering his head, inspecting everything.

"John the Dispeller visited many courts, many Towers," Joel said. "He met with many Griidlords. His words fell on deaf ears. His supporters, the priests and bishops who followed him, preserved him. The church faced schism, threatened with destruction from within. As much as the greater powers would have liked to destroy him, they feared making a martyr and sealing off any chance of reconciling the increasingly disparate factions within the church. Maybe they should have risked it, for one day, John found himself in the lands of the Burgh, at the court of the mightiest Sword the clans had ever seen."

I knew the story—at least, a sanitized version of it. But I was aware. The version I had learned, the version in the books, painted a far more sinister and devious figure.

"Thrax," I said.

Joel nodded. "The stories you know will tell you that John the Liar and Thrax Bonesaw conspired together—two twisted souls that would defile the name of The Oracle, that would carve the world into pieces and tear the Towers down."

I nodded. That was exactly how I understood it. The ramblings of a crazy person weren’t about to change my mind so easily.

Joel said, "Think for a moment. Why would John travel the lands, a pauper spreading teachings, only to be rejected time and again—yet find an ear in the Burgh, a land most hostile to outsiders?"

I thought about it. It didn’t make sense. Pittsburgh was not a closed city; they traded as eagerly as anyone. But there was a hostility there toward outsiders and their ways. The people of the Burgh saw the outside world as soft, decadent, weak. They didn’t want those societal diseases within their borders. It would have been the last place a disruptive preacher should have expected to find support.

Joel smiled, his eyes sparkling with intelligence and madness. He was delighted—he had me thinking.

"The reason, Tiberius, that John the Dispeller found purchase for his wisdom in Pittsburgh was Thrax Bonesaw himself."

I looked at him, vacantly, unsure. Then, realization washed over me like sunlight emerging from behind a dark cloud.

"Thrax heard the voice," I said.

Joel nodded. "Thrax Bonesaw, maybe the greatest and most terrible Sword to ever walk the earth, knew the voice. And he knew its nature. When John the Dispeller told him of the evil in the voice, Thrax knew it to be true. He heard it too."