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John, Ealstan, Sefawynn and a rescued Wyrm reach Yazad's preserve an hour after slipping out of Wellbury. The disciples greet them like heroes back from the dead — which, as Ealstan will shortly tell the room in some detail, is closer to accurate than usual. Yazad notices the missing member of the party. Sefawynn reassures him quickly that Thokk simply laughed and disappeared somewhere in the city; the looks between Yazad, Ealstan and Sefawynn when her name is mentioned are once again something John feels he is the only one in the room not in on.

Bowls of stewed apples are poured. Wyrm — thinner after two days in Wealdsig's pit, scrubbed in the river on the way down — burns through three of them in front of the hearth while his sister hovers and keeps reaching for his shoulder. Ealstan spins his survival tale to the disciples like a skop himself, poking his fingers through three holes in his bloodied tunic. The air in the hall goes electric.

John doesn't join in. He hangs back along the wall. Sefawynn comes over to thank him a hundred times, *Great Prince*, bow lower; he asks for an eye-roll for old times and she only apologises again. The brief equality of their walk to Wellbury is gone, and he wants it back more than he wants the worship. He sits down with his memory whole now — the failures, the years at the cartel, the dive, the door-guard job, Jen he had driven away, Ryan he had alienated, the family that no longer mentions him on social media — and feels human and hungry for the first time in years. Without his nanites to fuss over him, he is not sure what is left to value.

Yazad brings him a bowl and a stool. *What are you?* he asks, kindly. John deflects, then admits: easiest to say he is from the future. Yazad slaps his forehead in delight. Of course! It explains the strange combination of powers and ignorance. In the priest's homeland the windmills are common; here he cannot get a Weswaran to understand that wind is not a wight to be appeased. People in John's day have surely discovered many such things. Incredible things, John admits. And yet, in his time, he is no one in particular. Worthless as a person.

Yazad disagrees on principle. Ahura Mazda's love, he says, manifests inside the heart; the smallest taste of goodness is infinity itself, and one boy fetched out of a pit is worth more than any king's treasury. The fact that John's knowledge is mundane back home is not a verdict on him — perhaps every magus the god has ever sent has simply been someone who knew a little better than everyone else. Then the priest pats his arm and goes back to refilling bowls.

The talk has loosened something. John decides it is time to decide. Quinn's offer is still on the table — run for the continent, find a tribe, set up as their king, lose only the pay-per-view sports. Plausible. Also a fantasy. Ulric has plans for this dimension; he is not the kind of boss who lets a fugitive be; word would get out, and John would never sleep. He needs Maelport. He needs to get *out* — through whatever the cartel is using to bring people in — and then back to his own world, where he can buy some dull pocket dimension and smash every beacon and portal behind him.

He realises someone has been listening. Softly, he thanks the voice for the prod at Wellbury. A pause. *I do not take orders,* it answers in his ear, making him jump. *I accept bargains. Tonight, I want none, John of Seattle.* It knows his name. It knows the *city*.

Across the room, Ealstan has reached the end of his tale. He asks the room what comes next. Sefawynn and Ealstan both look at John. The room goes quiet. John tells Ealstan he is going home to his wife and his people. Ealstan declines and says he will ride to Maelport with the wizard. Sefawynn picks up the thread — three days until Ulric's mysterious visitors arrive, says the reeve, which means the boss is light on reinforcements and resources right now. John stares into his apples and looks himself over honestly for the first time in years. He has washed out of everything he has tried. Running for Ealstan in the courtyard had also been a stupid idea, and it had worked. *Yes,* he says. *I'm going to stop him.* He will probably die for it. But for the first time he has chosen, on his own terms, to stand up to Ulric.