“What feats has Orson Gregory performed swordless?” The man on the screen wore a tank top, torn jeans, and sandals. His matted hair and beard were wild and long enough that both billowed in the wind. “You’re a man who needs his toys to be a challenge. I’m tempted to give this back to you. No challenge in killing a weakling.”

In his right hand, he held a sword of blue fire, Orson’s sword.

Kol Maros saw the scene play out on the flatscreen monitor, as soon as he and Max were ushered into Governor Sloan’s tent. There were several other Liberty Corps officers present and a few individuals in plainclothes. It was hard to discern more; the lights were dim for the viewing.

He’d had difficulty deciding whether to bring Max with him. What was worse, leave Max to see the mob or risk him in conversation with Sloan? He should have left Max in the little unnamed gathering of buildings where they’d found the Route 66 Self-Storage.

Kol recognized Orson Gregory when he saw him on the screen. He was still dressed in his signature long-coat and repulsor boot, but he looked younger, his own hair shorter, his face rounder, almost boyish. The sheath on his back was empty.

He stood on a flat expanse, not dissimilar to the desert outside, but it was not the same desert. Kol knew that. There was something different about the low, dense underbrush that gave the environment of the video an exotic appearance.

Orson faced an incongruous gathering. In addition to the unkempt man, five others stood opposite the Aesir’s captain.

The second was entirely hairless, no eyebrows or lashes, and wore a perfectly white tunic, despite the billowing dirt.

The third was dressed in what appeared to be some formal, robed, ceremonial attire, with gold inlay and carried a tall, bladed scepter.

The fourth had her hair in long braids. She leaned on nothing. She stood at a sixty-degree angle toward Orson, her toes barely touching the ground, her weight either on the empty air or on something unseen. The braids fell on either side of her head, dangling toward the parched earth.

The fifth looked unremarkable – a man in a suit, a little rumpled, a little dirty.

The sixth – Kol didn’t know if they were human. This individual was naked, their body gray and ivory white, covered in ripples of bone or strange calluses. Even their face was smooth and apparently eyeless. There was a crooked smiley face drawn in its place. It was uneven, and had the faded color of old marker.

“You must think I’m as dumb as you look.” Orson offered one of his humorless, mocking laughs. “That sword is mine.”

“All swords are mine!” The unkempt man said. He raised the blade high above his head. He rubbed his cheek against the hilt of the sword. “Even the legendary flame blades of the Twelve House Covenant.”

“Eew! Even if you weren’t a murderer, I’d have to hurt you just for doing that,” Orson said. “Seriously, Greasemo, deodorant is still a thing.”

The smiley-faced person let out a series of whooping grunts.

“He says you’ll die for disrespecting our liberator.” The suited man spoke with conviction, total authority, without fear. “You have no idea who we are.”

“I don’t know who you are,” Orson said. “I was told there were five of you. I mean, that’s even in the name, right? Five-Point Palm. But either you aren’t them or you aren’t a threat. I’m not afraid of people who can’t do basic math.”

“Aren’t a threat?” Suit yelled. “You have no…”

“Do none of you see the irony in the Five-Point Palm having six members?” Orson interrupted. “It’s just too ridiculous for a verbally abusive guy, like me. What can I say?” He shrugged. “You’ve killed good people. I’d like to just attack you and be done with it, but I always give everyone the chance to surrender. I can’t enjoy beating the casually murderous if I don’t. So, what do you think? Will you give up?”

Hairless and the Leaner both spoke in foreign tongues, talking over each other. The bearded man, the presumable leader, raised his free hand.

“I’m going to kill you with your own sword,” he said. The rest of the group moved. Long curved blades grew from Smiley’s arms. The man in the robes released his scepter and the tall weapon left the ground, hovering beside his head. The Leaner straightened and raised her hands, palms outward. Hairless lowered to an odd crouching stance. Suit simply backed away. “I’m going to cut you from…”

Orson raised his hand. Something flew from it and struck the sword of fire, dead on.

The sword’s fire billowed out, suddenly uncontained, sending blue flame bursting in all directions. Whatever usually subdued the fire and kept it in the shape of a sword, was gone.

The bearded man burned, shrieking and roasting. The other five dived aside. Smiley landed on top of the suited man, shielding him from harm.

Orson rocketed from the ground with his repulsor. In an instant, the fire sword was back to its usual contour and in Orson’s hand. The fire had been extinguished. What remained of the bearded man was no longer moving.

“Damn, I was hoping that would get all six of you,” Orson said. “I thought his grease might spread the fire.”

The video paused on the image of Orson, visor on, sword ready, before the other members of the crew could attack him.

The screen went dark. Lights came up in the tent – tall portable lamps, freestanding, battery-powered.

“He puts on a damn good show, don’t he?” Governor Kent Sloan wore a suit without a tie and a cavalry hat with purple and gold ribbon. “Shame he’s no better than those freaks he killed that day.” He was a thickset man, but he maneuvered his way through his assembled officers with grace. “We’ll start up again after I greet our new arrival.”

Kol stood at attention. In his training, ‘Governor’ was not a title in the chain of command. Under other circumstances, he would have sought out the proper protocol. He decided being overly formal was a better mistake to make than disrespect.

“At ease, son,” Sloan said. “Kol Maros?”

“Yes, sir. Captain Kolben Maros, on special assignment for Czar Hawthorne.”

“I’ve heard of you. I’ve heard of your mission.” Sloan offered a salute to Max. “Your brother and advisor.” Max stared at Sloan. He did not respond. “Good. I can use your help. We both know how dangerous Gregory is, and right now he’s standing in my way of keeping this territory under control.”

“He is very dangerous,” Kol said. “And with all due respect, I think he’s a lot more dangerous than any independent war force. I think anything less than Helmont’s infantry and his knights will fall short of apprehending Gregory.”

“The war force is for Littlefield.” A man spoke from the crowd of officers. He broke free of the group. His hair was buzzed short, and he wore only a light-weight black shirt over uniform pants. He was heavily muscled, twice Kol’s width, at the shoulder. “I’m here for Gregory.”

“Gregory won his reputation fighting his own kind, killing other outlaws,” Sloan said. “Sir Adrian is a soldier, and there’s no comparing the two.” Sloan clapped his hand on the man’s broad shoulder.

“I’ll make his death quick,” Nine-flails said.

“And everyone will know it,” Sloan answered. “Every outlaw will know their place. They’ll know that there’s law here again.”

“I’m happy to offer any advice I can,” Kol said. “But I’m also here to ask you to wait to proceed, just days…”

“That’s not possible,” Sloan interrupted. “As soon as all squads arrive, we’re settling matters right away.”

“I have a man in Littlefield. There’s an item Gregory’s crew has, something needed for my mission. And with all due respect, sir, my mission needs to be observed. I serve at the direct command of the Lost Park Office.”

“Due Respect.” Nine-flails laughed. “Due respect, yes, due respect to his Excellency – but he should have picked another man. We’ve been looking into you too, Maros. We’ve seen Gregory’s victories, and we’ve seen your failures.” He raised his hand. He held a small terminal. Its screen showed a brief repeating video, a loop of Kol, thrown through the air by Enoa Cloud, his hair splayed in all directions, his armor broken and smoking.

“Beaten by a child.” Nine-flails laughed again and the other officers laughed with him. “We respect your mission. You will have what remains of the Aesir, when Gregory and his pups are dead. But make no mistake, that respect is given only to his Excellency, not to Gabrielle Rinlee’s bed-warmer.”

“Easy, my friend, easy.” Sloan waved his hand at Nine-flails. “He’s half a pup himself. He’s been embarrassed, but the Czar has his eye on him. And who can blame him for enjoying the perks of his position.” He leaned close beside Kol. “Who’d refuse a woman with a body like hers. Or did you pursue her? Then I’d really respect you.” Sloan gave a smile that was all teeth. He slapped Kol on the shoulder. “We’re all friends here. All friends. We can destroy the outlaws and get the Czar’s treasure, all at the same time.”

“How long does my agent have before you plan to move against Littlefield?” Kol considered offering some defense for Brielle. Nine-flails plainly aimed to goad him, for whatever reason. It galled him to stay silent and let the remarks go, without comment, but he saw nothing productive to be done. He felt Max’s eyes on him, judging and expectant, as always. “He’s in Littlefield now. He can be finished in a few days.”

“We have tremendous powers coming,” Sloan said. “Tremendous numbers. We have fighters and patriots from across the continent. People are driving two thousand miles to fight for me and bring the law. They have until tomorrow night to get here. I’m attacking the next morning, and only the word of the Czar, himself, would stop me.”

“Attacking?” Kol asked. “What if the town of Littlefield surrenders?”

“Then they can help us demolish the town,” Sloan said. “I want a new base there. There’s enough land to build and enough fertile land to feed a full brigade. It’ll be the biggest base in the region, strong enough to hold back anyone. When the locals give up their town, I’ll forgive them for harboring outlaws. Then I’ll let them join the Liberty Corps.”

“No one would agree to that,” Max said. “It would drive anyone to violence.”

“I know.” Sloan curled one corner of his mouth into a smile. “Nobody will fight me after they see what I do to Littlefield.”

* * *

“We only hang out when people are trying to kill us,” Eloise said.

Orson sat with her and Carlos in their living room. “Well, that’s not saying much. People try to kill me all the time.”

“You have to find a different line of work, Orson.” Carlos held a steaming cup of tea. “That’s just not healthy. Isn’t adventuring supposed to be fun? I’m not sure. Because you two talk like it’s supposed to be fun, but these last few days have been really, really horrible. I love you, Ellie, but if I didn’t, I would not stay in this town.”

“You should’ve gone with Rob to California!” She squeezed his free hand. “I told you to be safe. I meant it when I promised we would be safe. You can still leave until the P.A. gets here.”

“No, no.” He kissed her cheek. “There are so few safe places now. There is nowhere I’d rather be than with you.”

“I’m sorry for making this happen faster than it needed to.” Orson felt an odd heaviness, watching his friends’ settled life thrown into new upheaval by the IHSA’s would-be successor. He felt the weight of passing years and passing youth and a decade of adventures. “It used to be fun. We were pretty reckless then, though. The first adventure we had, fighting Kappa and the Blitzkrieg and… all of them, that was terrifying, but we won.”

“And it was fun, after that.” Eloise picked up her own tea. “It was fun when we were recovering chameleon-emus and making money doing the weird jobs the Montgomerys would send us.”

“We were in danger then too,” Orson said. “I mean, the people we fought weren’t terrorists or military-trained, but they were still, like, international criminals, remorseless killers, and we treated it like a joke.”

“I don’t remember when everything got really serious,” she said. “Maybe we just grew up.”

“I don’t know,” Orson said. “But I don’t think we would’ve been this scared ten years ago, even with everything that’s happened. We would’ve been planning to fly out to Las Vegas and see a concert or something, while we have this crazy militia trying to kill us.”

“We would’ve flown over there to see Sloan,” she said. “And with the luck we used to have, he would’ve put his base somewhere easy to blow up. Then after a few hours of chaos, we would’ve won and we’d fly away to get ice cream.”

“Yeah,” Orson said. “It was a good time.”

“It was a good time?” Carlos asked. “Anything with that many explosions can’t be a good time. I’m glad I didn’t meet you when I was a kid. You would’ve scared me off.”

Orson heard the house’s back door swing open.

“That’s because you’re normal, Carlos,” a voice shouted. “I don’t know why you got mixed up with my crazy little sister.”

“Oh my God, Alec!” Eloise yelled. “Are you standing outside listening? That’s so creepy. Come in or leave.”

Alec Corwin and his father walked into the house and the living room. It was like seeing the same person at different ages, decades apart, same height and build and lightly amused expression.

“Hello!” Alec approached Orson, his hand outstretched. “You must be Orson Gregory. My sister has told us all so much about you. I’m one of the brothers you didn’t know existed.”

“When are you going to let this go?” Orson stood and shook his hand. “Why would I mention two people who weren’t around when the memoir took place? There are so many people in that story.”

“It’s not a memoir,” Alec said. “It’s fiction. My sister isn’t an only child, Orson.”

“It doesn’t say she is!”

“How are you, Papa?” Eloise asked, laughing. “Did something happen?”

“Sloan sent me a telegram,” Mr. Corwin said. “He’s demanding that we surrender our town to him. He plans to demolish Littlefield and build a regional base here.”

“What if you refuse?” Orson asked. “The usual?”

“Yes,” Mr. Corwin said. “Death.”

* * *

Enoa followed Sucora’s teachings. She formed a circle of water in the air, curving it, designing it with extra to burn away. Manipulating the water into an object of defense consumed her mind. Only the task was real and all of her reality bent to the task.

She hurled the drop of water with the force of her entire mind, all her will invested in the blow.

The water splashed against the target, no more forceful than dew dripping from a blade of grass.

Enoa groaned and fell back against the ground. She pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes. Wesley chattered and sat by her side, pawing at her elbow.

“You hit it this time,” Jaleel said. “That’s pretty cool for something that doesn’t make much sense, uh, scientifically.”

“I guess.” She sighed and sat up again, letting Wesley sniff her fingers. “I want to be ready to protect myself. I’m thankful for Orson’s help, but I don’t want to depend on his gadgets forever.”

“It’s cool that you can do this Shaping stuff.” He shouldered his bow. “And you’ve only been at it for a couple of months. If you were a witch, you’d have to be at Hogwarts for seven whole years.”

“Except that’s not real,” she said. “Ugh, Shaping is more important than learning to do these skills and techniques. It’s not that simple.” Her time with Shaping was very brief. She wasn’t thinking about it in days or months, though it seemed that she had been away from home much longer than that.

“I haven’t felt totally safe since the Liberty Corps destroyed my home, and this Shaping style, Anemos, my aunt based this IHSA concept in Nimauk meditation and spirituality. It’s like I can learn to use my… my heritage and my family history to – to feel safe again.

“My aunt could have saved our home. She had that power. It never would’ve happened if she was still alive, and now it’s up to me. The heritage is mine, and I want to stop the Liberty Corps the same way she could have.”

“I lost my home too,” Jaleel said. “It’s not just up to you, and if I’ve learned anything from nineteen years of pop culture, we can win through the power of teamwork, or whatever.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I hope you’re right.”

She drew her staff across her knees.

Enoa formed a circle of water in the air, curving it, designing it with extra to burn away. Only the task was real and all of her reality bent to the task.

* * *

“I have to say, Mr. Greco.” Mr. Lane, the manager who met with Duncan, also wore the ubiquitous blue Corwin coveralls. “This has to be the worst week you could have picked to ask for work, or at least the worst week in years.”

“I’m really sorry for that.” Duncan drank from his water bottle. The Liberty Corps had trained him to hide discomfort or the reflexive reactions that reveal deception, but he’d seldom needed that discipline, in practice, and never with the high stakes that were on him now. “If you have no openings, I won’t take any more of your time.”

“That’s not it, not at all,” Lane said. “There’s something of a complicated local political issue happening. It’s all too common in border regions, like ours. We aren’t offering anyone employment now, not under the circumstances. If you’re still looking in, say, a week, then it might be a different story. What I can do, is help you find a place to stay tonight, if you’re looking.”

“I have a room at the Hayes Boarding House.” Duncan had visited there first, even before beginning his fake work search.

“They’re fantastic! I tell you what. We’ll go through a little aptitude test. If you know your stuff, and I can get you set up to start next week, I’ll see if it’s in the budget to foot the bill for your stay until you can get to work. Does that sound fair?”

“Definitely,” Duncan said. “Very generous. Thank you!”

“It’s my pleasure.” Lane stood from his stool. “It’s a rare thing for young talent to roam through, these days. Gotta nab it when you see it.” He leaned forward and shook Duncan’s hand. “I’ll check what we can do for a test. You stay right here.”

Duncan waited for Lane to walk from the room. Then he reached down to his backpack and grabbed Tucker’s Cobalt Isodar. He flipped its ‘on’ switch for the first time in Corwin territory.

The device beeped and a small red line ran across the display of the device. Cobalt Nine was close, within a quarter mile.

A key to the Dreamside Road was within reach.