“General, you are being insolent!” Chancellor Olaf’s voice cracked like a whip.

Though The Which often agreed with Olaf’s decisiveness, the general raised an interesting point, one that she herself had not considered, and she was intrigued to hear more. But it was not to be.

Xander exploded like a HEX hurled from the hand of a warman. “Olaf!”

Olaf cringed while the others considered the floor. All except Queen Nor. She regarded her husband with flickering hope.

Xander turned a firm eye first to Olaf and then to the general. His voice was cold and controlled though crimson colored his already ruddy cheeks. “I am perfectly capable of disciplining my own subordinates. I am still king. For the moment, anyway. Mind your place, General. As you said, you are simply a soldier. And the Prophecy does not specify. So it could just as easily be you who betrays me. Knowing that, I would advise you not to question my decision. Or face exile yourself. Understood?”

Bahn feigned contriteness. He bowed his head and uttered a clipped, “Honor to Mano.”

“Now,” Xander rose, and all the dissonant energy that had clouded the room was quelled and came to focus. “We must harness the Dogs in the time that is left. Let the will of Femera and Amali choose a champion. The When of Back Tier, you will host the duel. Choose your two best to saddle the birduns. The Which of Front Tier…”

She looked up expectantly. The Which knew that she was destined to be the tip of the sword, the integral and irreplaceable player in Xander and Nor’s defense against the Prophecy.

It is the myopia of those with only two eyes, The Which thought smugly, that leads them to believe that only they are deserving of a destiny.

“When the champion is chosen, you will prepare him to depart for TREE,” the king concluded. “It shall be.”

THREE

As he ascended the seemingly endless steps of the Palatial Pyramid of Indira, Commander Giza grimaced. Once, he had viewed these very steps as a metaphor for his life and career. As a young officer he had attacked the steps with force and focus, rising quickly, mindful of his ascension, his sight set unerringly on the top in every sense of the word.

Now, even though he had achieved the pinnacle of his career, it was still his duty to climb these increasingly irritating steps. With each cycle of his life, Giza had become more and more aware of the creeping decrepitude of his mental fortitude and physical being.

He stopped now simply to catch his breath. He was far above the capital city of Agrilon, with its pyramids rising majestically out of the bosom of lush jungle. It was beautiful, but he couldn’t remember when he had stopped taking joy from the stunning view. He sighed heavily, afflicted as he was with the woes and wounds of perpetual war. This was the worst climb yet, made all the more difficult by the gravity of the news he dreaded to deliver.