Ch. 419 - Spilling his Guts

After that, Mr. Bryer didn’t argue. He spilled his guts. He told Simon whatever he wanted to hear. Unfortunately, none of the answers were satisfying. 

Why did he kill people? Beyond the fact that he enjoyed it? Because the duke ordered it. 

Why did the duke order it? For political power, and nothing more. 

Simon had trouble believing that, but dull as his sight was in that moment, he sensed no magic. He only felt duty and bloodlust, and both disturbed him in equal measure. 

“That’s not true,” Simon insisted. “You told the man in question that it was a shame, and that he might have been of use to you, just before you killed him.”

“That does sound like something I’d say,” Willis agreed, “But unless you’re going to tell me who it is I’m supposed to have taken out, I really can’t say.”

Simon obviously couldn’t do that, but still, he tried to dig into the evidence for a larger cabal. He was convinced that there was more to it, but Mr. Bryer insisted that wasn’t the case. “Listen,” he said, holding his hands up to make sure that he wasn’t a threat. “The knights… the nobles… You and me, we all have the same job. We make the world a safer place, we help the lands grow, and we keep the people who work them safe. You and I just focus on different sorts of evil doers, that’s all.”

“You can’t tell me that you only kill wicked men,” Simon answered, “I know with certainty that’s not the case.”

“Your job is to kill evil men,” the courtier retorted. “My job is to kill… well, I deal with traitors, the stubborn, loose ends, and anyone that my lord finds inconvenient. If you want to see if your friend is on my list, you can take a look in my ledger. It’s in that black book there, just by the poems I was reading before you came in.”

Simon glanced over to see what he was talking about, and as soon as he did so, he realized he’d made a mistake. In a flash, Willis struck. He lulled Simon into complacency by cooperating so completely that the momentary distraction allowed the man to produce a knife from his sleeve and lunge toward him. Simon saw the poison on it, though, and took the blow in his wooden wrist, taking the blade from his opponent, even as he landed a right hook into his opponent’s jaw, stunning him.

The two wrestled then. Simon tried to bring his own dagger to bear, but his opponent was stronger with two hands than Simon was with one. Still, Simon was definitely stronger overall, and once weapons were out of the picture, he pinned Willis down by the throat and squeezed the life out of him. 

That took long enough to be gruesome; fortunately, it was blessedly silent. When the man’s lifeless corpse stopped thrashing beneath Simon, the room was eerily quiet save for the sounds of Simon’s heavy breathing. 

“I can’t believe that worked out,” he told himself. “I didn’t find out what I wanted to know, but maybe I can summon his spirit one day and find out what he was…”

His words trailed off as the sound of the door opened behind him, sending an icy knife of fear up his spine. In that moment, he knew he dreaded the idea that he’d have to kill whatever maid or servant had picked that moment to intrude, but it turned out to be even worse than that.

“Bryer, I need you to get me…” the duke’s voice said, before trailing off as he caught Simon red-handed astride in his man’s corpse. 

“What in the name of the gods…” the noble gasped as Simon turned to face him. “What have you done? You killed my man? He was no warlock!”

The duke had just finished closing the door behind him, but even as Simon insisted the other man attacked him first, and showed the weapon still jammed into his wooden arm, it was clear that the duke didn’t believe him. Instead, Duke Brin drew his sword and cursed, “Zealots, the lot of you. I told my brother we’d best be rid of you, but he disagreed.”

“Your Mr. Bryer was clearly an evil man,” Simon answered, not immediately drawing his own blade as he tried to calm the situation. “I didn’t want to—”

“Zealot!” the duke growled, lifting his weapon and charging toward Simon. He barely had enough time to draw his own weapon before the battle was joined. 

The fight that followed was brief. Simon didn’t want to kill the duke, but after what he’d seen, there was no way he could let the man live. Their swords clashed three times, and the duke’s lighter blade scored one glancing blow across Simon’s forearm. That was all the damage he did, though.

Even one-handed, his sword was heavy enough to power through the noble’s guard, rendering the older man’s parries useless. He might have been a warrior in his youth, but his strength had abandoned him long ago, and soon he was bleeding from two deep wounds in his chest.

Simon felt bad about fighting someone who was clearly so far past their peak, but there was nothing he could do. The duke clearly wasn’t listening to reason. All too soon, though, that blood loss slowed the man, and then, shortly after that, Simon ran him through. 

With his dying breath, Duke Brin cursed Simon, but he couldn’t make out everything the man said. “...on your head…” was all he made out before the man crumpled to the ground and slumped off Simon’s blade. Then the room was quiet again.

On the one hand, Simon didn’t feel guilty he’d killed the man, but on the other, well, it was the right thing to do. Still, there would be consequences, and even as his sword dripped blood, they whirled around him. Any future level that has to do with the war with the Murani is probably screwed, he realized. No, scratch that, every future level is probably ruined, one way or another. If you replace the future king, you change everything. 

He paced for a moment as he considered it. Then, he spotted a mirror and walked over to find out and get it out of the way. Before he could do that, though, he whirled around, raising his still bloody sword. That was when he saw himself, or at least his evil twin. 

No, not my doppelganger, Simon realized as he took the other version of himself in. This was different. 

Simon’s evil twin always had a certain look about him. There was a cold, almost jaded confidence. Not only did the Simon he was looking at not have that demeanor, but he was actually still fat, which was not a condition he’d ever seen himself in. he was mortified.

The first words out of his copy’s mouth were, “I can explain,” as he shut the door behind him and barred it. “After that commotion, there will be more people here soon, though, so maybe it’s for the best if you don’t ask too many questions.”

He had a million questions rolling around his head, but he was too mortified by his own appearance to blurt them out, and instead, nodded along as his other self started his explanation. “I’m not your… our evil twin,” his fat self said, “But then you’ve already figured that out, because I already figured that out. Just like you’ve figured out he’s not really evil.”

“Yeah…” Simon answered hesitantly, like agreeing with himself might be some kind of trap. “But then who are—”

“Who am I?” the other Simon interrupted. “I’m you. From a… well, let’s say you’ll be standing here soon enough that this day will be a vivid memory. I don’t think I should tell you more than that. Let’s just say, you’re going to go deeper into the Pit. You’re going to handle things, and then you’re going to come back here and handle this.”

“Handle this?” Simon asked dumbly. “What are you going to—” As he asked the question, there was a pounding on the door as someone tried to get in. 

“Sir… My lord, are you okay? One of the footmen heard a struggle!” someone shouted. 

The other Simon ignored the man, so he did as well. Instead, he watched as his twin walked around the body. Simon didn’t even notice he was tracing a circle lightly in the duke’s own blood until he was almost done. The smooth movement was hidden almost completely by his slovenly form. 

Just because we look like that doesn’t mean that’s who we are anymore, Simon told himself as he watched his doppelganger fish a tablet out of the canvas sack he was carrying and place it in the pool of blood. 

“Basically, when you figure out how this works, it will be time for you to come here and make sure no one misses the Duke,” his twin said. 

Even as he spoke, though, his fingers were moving, and though the air only rippled faintly, Simon could see the shapes of magic forming through his second sight. Blurry as it was, it was impressive enough that he couldn’t tear his eyes from it as the pounding on the door got louder and louder. 

The other Simon definitely had a few skills that Simon did not. He could guess at some of the words he was using based on the colors of power they were drawing. The ripples caused by the gestures were rippling around the circle, and focusing on the tablet. They were doing more than that, though; they were connecting with the body and the soul that lay within it. All of it was connected by a complex thread of magic.

It’s not just connected to the body, though. It’s connected to the caster as well, Simon realized, but only after his doppelganger started to change. He wasn’t simply losing weight, though, or gaining muscle. His hair was going gray and… 

“You’re becoming the Duke,” Simon gasped as he put all the pieces together. “You’re taking his place so that the continuity doesn’t change…”

The idea was as dangerous as it was powerful, but the version of him that was weaving magic ignored the words just as he ignored who was trying to batter down the door. Instead, he focused on his magic and glowed as his entire body changed. It wasn’t as violent as the shift that Simon remembered enduring when he’d become a child, but it didn’t look too comfortable either. 

In less than a minute, it was over. The pale glow that illuminated the room, and the more vibrant tangle of colors that was invisible to everyone but Simon, was gone, and before him stood the duke, in shabby clothes five sizes too big for him. 

“Stab him,” the new duke said, pointing to the corpse. It must have powered the spell, at least in part, because it was burned and completely unrecognizable.

“What?” Simon asked. “You want me to—”

“Three… Two… One…” Simon recognized the countdown, and though his other self didn’t bother to explain it, he chose to trust it and stroke forward, burying his sword through the breast of the barely recognizable corpse. That was when the door to the room they were in was finally forced open, and half a dozen guards came through bearing weapons. 

“And maybe if you’d done that five minutes ago, you would have done us all some good,” the new duke scowled, doing an incredible impression of the one that had just withered away. 

Did he steal the man’s soul to power the spell and learn his mannerisms? Simon wondered while his other self chastised his men for forcing him to rely on a cripple to save him.

No, he decided. I wouldn’t do that, so presumably he wouldn’t do that. Still, how do I know it’s really… As Simon had that thought, the other him inexplicably took a brief break from haranguing his men and basking in their apologies to wink at Simon, which was really all the proof he needed. Either he’s lived this moment before from my perspective, or he’s a mind reader. 

He considered both options, but decided the first one had to be correct long before the new duke finished weaving his tale about how a warlock had come in here, intent on killing him before Simon had interceded. “The monster got my man Willis,” he said, pointing at Mr. Bryer’s corpse. “He almost got me, too, no thanks to any of you.”

The guards were too busy stumbling over themselves with groveling apologies to notice any of the holes in their new master’s story, which was a good thing. Still, the new duke didn’t let them stay long enough to discover a slip-up, and a few minutes later, they were retreating with the corpses. One would receive a proper burial, and the other, well, it was going to be burned, lest its evil spread. 

When that was done, the new duke led Simon back to his bedroom to change into something more appropriate, since his clothing hadn’t shifted. “There,” he said when they were alone. “Now, we can talk. You know I won’t be able to answer many of your questions, but you’re welcome to try your luck.”

Ch. 420 - Full Circle

Simon struggled with the line, spoken so casually. No, he didn’t struggle. He reeled and sat down on the corner of the duke’s bed as the fake duke walked to the wardrobe and began to pick through the outfits.

Simon studied him, passed the familiar clothes. His vision was too blurred to make out as many details as he would have liked, but one thing that was unmistakable was his aura was different than anyone else’s. Simon usually couldn’t see such details because he was at the center of it, but the way it spiraled and swirled, it stretched far beyond where a normal persons might stop, and even reached out toward him like it was trying to cross some un bridgable gap. 

For a long moment, he was silent, but then he said, “You’ve already lived this moment too, then, because I’m you, right? If that’s true, then…” he paused, looking around the room, “Then you should be able to tell me what’s in this drawer, right?”

As he spoke, Simon pointed to the second middle drawer of a wide walnut dresser. His other self didn’t even look away from the outfits he was choosing between before answering, before saying, “That’s the duke’s handkerchief drawer. Most of them have his initials on them, but a few have AB instead. Those belonged to his second wife, and he seems to have cared about her more than his first or third.”

Simon opened the drawer as his other self spoke, and found all of that to be true, more or less. There were dozens of neatly folded white handkerchiefs made from white cotton, and hemmed in the blue of house Brin. Only a few were more decorated than that. They had a flower motif and the mentioned monogram.

Digging through them, even after everything Simon had seen, made his heart beat faster. As the other him spoke, his words came true, like he was narrating a story. He could have rigged all of this, Simon told himself. He could have come in here beforehand and staged all of this. 

He instantly scolded himself for that. If his future self really had done all of that, then that only proved he was a time traveler in a different way, didn’t it? Just thinking about the loops and the causality of all of this gave him a headache, but he kept searching, and eventually, in the back of the drawer, wrapped in a ratty old handkerchief, he found a locket. 

“That’s what she looked like, before she died,” his other self called out with the duke’s voice. “Go on. Take a look. You’d remember her, too, after all those years.”

Simon did as bidden, and found a beautiful young woman painted inside the locket. For a moment, he thought he’d find someone familiar in there. Really, he feared he’d somehow find Freya again, but instead it was just a striking redhead he’d never seen before. As he studied her face, his future self practically narrated what he was seeing, moment by moment.

That was when Simon set it down and looked up as the false duke was buttoning a new shirt. “Why? Why would you… Why would I do this, why now?” Simon asked. 

“The answer to that question is obvious if you think about it,” the other him responded.

For a moment, he got a whiff of the same arrogance that he heard whenever he tried to get answers from his evil twin, and Simon almost snapped and repeated the question. Instead, he took a deep breath and thought it through. It turned out that his other self wasn’t lying, and the answer appeared almost instantly in his mind.

“Because the death of Duke Brin fouls up too many future levels,” Simon said. 

“And…” the false duke asked. 

“And… because he’s going to be the next king,” Simon said after only a short delay… “because I’m going to be the next king… Why would I want to be the king?”

“Why wouldn’t you want to be king?” his other self asked. “You’d make a great king… at least I think so,” he said with a smile that Simon no longer recognized. “You could change the course however you wanted, within reason.”

“I can change the world however I want already,” Simon said, but his words sounded hollow, even to his own ears. 

As the king of Brin, even for one life, there was a lot he could do. He could prepare for war with the Murani, replace the worst of the nobility, and even make better alliances with the rulers of neighboring kingdoms. He couldn’t imagine all the ripples that would cause, and future levels that would undo, but he could see the appeal, and clearly it appealed enough that at some point he’d decided to pull the trigger. 

For a second, Simon’s mind boggled as paradoxes related to freewill and predestination battered his mind, but before he could put those into words, his other self calmed him. “It will be fine,” the false duke smiled. “Trust me. You learn a lot about yourself, and about time between here and there.”

“But you’ll have to kill the prince, won’t you?” Simon asked. “Duke Brin doesn’t take over the Kingdom without a violent coup. I’ve lived that life before, and I don’t think—”

“And you found other ways,” his future self answered. “Why would I do anything different? You and I want the same thing, well, mostly the same thing. We’re the same person afterall.”

“What do you mean mostly?” Simon asked, seizing on the skepticism. 

What followed was a long conversation on the subject of desire. Simon started out arguing he hadn’t changed, but eventually surrendered that point. He might not have changed much in decades, but he’d changed substantially since he’d come to the Pit, and his other self barely needed to twist that knife before he dropped it. 

It was only when they finally addressed his evil twin that the false duke offered real insight. “I’ve met him… since where you are and where I am,” he volunteered. “I’m even pretty sure he’s still us… You know, like a future version of me interacting with us the way I am with you, right now, but it's hard to say. I have some suspicions, but don’t want to bias yours.”

The other Simon chuckled then, as said, “You’ll come to agree with me in time.”

“But why would he do that?” Simon asked. “Like this, I mean. Why not simply be honest with me… I mean, with us like you are?”

“Some things have to be experienced to really be understood,” the other Simon said with a sigh. There was a distant look in his eyes for a moment that made him look much older, like the man he was pretending to be, before he said. “The point is. I can’t tell you everything. Really, I can’t tell you anything more than I was told where you’re standing right now. If I did anything else, it would break the loop.”

“The loop,” Simon growled. This time, it was his turn to sigh, and it annoyed him how much that impulse made him feel like the two of them were the same person, deep down. “The damn levels are always getting reset.”

His other self nodded and sympathized for a bit before he said, “Sometimes I want to reset a level or two, but it's hard to figure out how, exactly.”

Simon pressed him on that, but he wouldn’t explain. Instead, the false duke said, “You need to focus on this life, not the lives to come. It’s important.”

“It was supposed to be,” Simon grumbled, “But it feels like a waste. I wanted to learn the Whitecloak secrets to fighting witches, but so far all I’ve done is lose my arm and—”

“You’ve learned plenty, and you have good answers to those questions. You know that hell can infect your soul now, and… Well, I don’t want to say much on that,” his other self answered, waving away the idea that it was even a problem. “You don’t have to do everything in one life. Don’t forget to enjoy yourself. Varten grows up fast. You’ll miss him when he’s gone.”

Simon wanted to deny that, but the truth was he missed him now. Instead, he changed the subject back to the white cloaks, insisting that, “They’ll probably never let me work with the lad again.” 

He only realized it was a stupid thing to say to a future version of himself when the false duke smiled and said, “Well, less than before maybe, but there’s plenty of life to live, and then it's on to the next one.”

“I don’t suppose you can give me a hint there,” Simon asked. “You said I’d be here in a life or two?”

“I think the less said about your future lives, the better,” the false duke said with a smile that seemed less than genuine. “You’re going to go deeper in the Pit, you’re going to learn some things, and when you know enough, well, you’ll be standing where I am now.”

Simon tried to drill down into a number of those points, but his other self stonewalled him whenever things got too specific. Finally, in frustration, he asked, “There are so many problems… There are so many ways I could handle everything. How will I ever handle it all?”

“You could become everyone, I suppose. You could eventually be everyone, everywhere, and the world would finally spin exactly how you want it to,” the false duke teased with a crooked smile and a shake of his head. “I kid, of course. Don’t worry about what I’m going to do. You just focus on your life with the white cloaks. Pretend we never met, and this never happened. It's easier that way.”

Simon thought that was pretty close to impossible, but he didn’t say that. Instead, he nodded. For a brief moment, he considered reaching out to shake his other self’s hand, but the way that the false duke stood one step too far away made that seem like the wrong move. 

That sparked something in his brain, and he was about to ask if there was some sort of reason that the two of them couldn’t touch, but before he could ask, his other self said, “Actually, I don’t know. I’ve been afraid to test that. There’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to touch, but… Well, you know, science fiction, right?”

Simon nodded. He still distantly remembered those sorts of stories. Not so much the details as the convoluted plot lines, and the way that magic was given legitimacy with math formulas. My own magic could use a little more math, too, honestly, he thought with an inward sigh, before he said his farewells and left. 

As Simon departed, he felt strange returning to the room he’d been assigned for the night. He’d left it only a couple of hours before, but now he felt entirely changed by the events of the evening. It wasn’t the murders, either. It was meeting himself, and learning about the future. 

No, it’s learning that I haven’t been imagining things, Simon told himself as he lay there sleeplessly, staring up at the ceiling. Until now, he’d suspected that his doppelganger was just himself a little further in the future. He’d thought he could accidentally run into himself in past lives, but now he knew. That just raised so many more questions, though. What kind of paradoxes were possible now? What kind of damage could he do by accident?

Could I use his mirror and see what he knows that I don’t? Simon wondered. Even as he considered whether or not he should try to stay awake until the false duke fell asleep so he could try it, another thought sprang to his lips. 

“I’m going to be a king someday.” He had never planned on doing such a thing. Even if he’d married Elthena, he wouldn’t have been the King of Ionia; he would have only been the queen’s consort. Still, he found he liked the idea more than he expected.

Ch. 421 - Carpe Vitam

The following morning, Simon was up early and ate a breakfast that was more lavish than he’d been expecting. Serving maids brought him spiced tea, a seared hamsteak, a baked egg, and a variety of sweet rolls. The last ones, especially, were the food of nobility, with cinnamon, raisins, and even sugar. They weren’t something he’d eaten in many lives, so Simon allowed himself to indulge a little.

Only until my host arrives, he told himself. Still, even after he ate more than his fair share, the duke never materialized.

When he finally asked someone about it, the footman apologized and said, “His lordship won’t be joining us this morning. He left early for the capital.”

That annoyed Simon, but apparently his other self had decided that their conversation was complete. That, or he has something urgent to do, Simon considered. He was making up his mind whether or not to leave and try to catch up with the man when the servant volunteered, “He did leave you a note, though. Shall I fetch it?”

The sealed letter was thin and as plain as it could be on a duke’s own stationery. Still, it felt heavy in Simon’s hands, and he waited until he was alone in the entryway, waiting for his horse to be saddled, to read it. 

‘There’s nothing more that need be said between us,’ it started, leaving out any unexplainable details about why that might be in case someone else read it. ‘You have your duties to attend to, and I have mine. Trying to complicate each other’s paths would have long-term consequences, so please, don’t even try it. I don’t know how you-know-who manages, and really, I don’t want to. Please give my best to Varten. He can’t replace Seyom, but he’s probably the only son we’ll ever have.’

The note was unsigned, but when it ended, he found he didn’t really agree with the second half. Really, the idea that he’d see Varten as a replacement son rankled him a little. It was a false note that gnawed away at the back of his mind as he left. Was it a coded message? Did he mean for it to be a proof that he really was Simon, since no one else knew that detail?

Simon wasn’t sure, but as the miles vanished beneath the hooves of his horse, he quickly put it behind him. What mattered wasn’t how he saw Varten, but how he planned to live this life, no matter what the convoluted path was that took him from where he was to the duke’s manor. 

Varten aside, what exactly is the point of this life? He asked himself several times on the way back to the Broken Tower. There were many answers to that, of course, and he never seemed to reach the same one twice. 

He needed to learn everything about witchhunting that he could, of course. He was already doing that. Part of him wanted to take all he’d learned and put it in one book to make the lives of future Whitecloaks easier, but sitting at a desk and scribing away the decades probably wasn’t the best use of his time. 

Plus, that’s exactly what the Masters will want me to do, he thought with a surge of resentment. The mere fact that they didn’t want him to fight anymore made him want to fight that much more. 

Still, beyond witch hunting or Varten, there was one more important mystery to unravel: the Grandmaster. If this life was eventually coming to an end, that was where he needed to focus. There was a mystery there that was glaring. Why would he have magic in at least one of Simon’s past lives? Why would a mage of any stripe lead an organization bent on eradicating mages of all stripes?

Compared to that, the only activity that even came close would be trying to find a way to help the sisters escape from their situation, before they whispered their lives away. The seer obviously expected him to do just that, and he wanted to, but he couldn’t really see how they’d get away in such a wide-open location. 

Regardless of what he did, the first thing he needed to do was help those farmers find a way to earn a living that didn’t involve robbing travelers. 

That was easy enough. On Simon’s return trip he reviewed the charters of all the affected villages, and wrote an edict that the locals could use to fend off any future tax collectors, by clarifying the lines of each domain to ensure that each village could only be claimed by a single lord. 

Since Simon had no official power of his own, he signed each of those documents with the name of the Duke. He was sure that his future self would back him up if it came to it. 

After that, he would focus on cultivating the stillness that he really needed to pursue either objective. Any mystery would be made easier with true sight, and right now, his was blurred halfway to uselessness. He didn’t need to see whether someone was good or evil now; he needed to pick up all the little details about what they might be hiding.

So, after reports were made and good news was given, he didn’t try to pick any fights or force any issues. Instead, he focused on trying to still his inner thoughts so that he could clear up his much-degraded sight.

Master Harrin didn’t try to fight with him on the subject. He barely interrogated him at all as to what the lords and ladies he’d worked with had wanted in the first place. Instead, he seemed quite pleased when Simon told him that he planned to focus on quiet contemplation and the divine for the foreseeable future. 

“I’m glad you finally see past your sword,” the man said. “Hopefully, this little round of diplomacy will help someone with your limitations find your true calling.”

The annoyance that Simon felt at that statement didn’t help him find stillness, but it was the last time he let such chaotic emotions bother him. For the next few weeks, he ate simpler meals and spent time kneeling quietly in silent chapels.

He wasn’t praying, though. He was pondering his life and the purpose of it as he fixed all the little parts of his soul he’d churned up with his wands and his divinatory aids in the recent past. 

Week by week, it had an effect. Slowly, he could see more than the surface colors of his brothers’ auras. He could see the guilt and the anger along with the brighter hues of contentment, and eventually, he started to see the why. 

Simon wasn’t the only one who saw such things, of course, but he knew from long experience that most of the other knights saw only the most basic surface colors. It took real discipline to move beyond that, and he doubted that anyone who hadn’t spent decades cultivating that mindset would ever glimpse the truth of the world. 

There were a few brothers who obviously could, though. One of them was Sir Kulthen. Simon interacted with him rarely, but sometimes, at dinner, he caught the knight studying his swirling soul. Simon abstained from sparring while he focused on attaining clarity, but the way the older knight moved as he trained some of the younger ones left no doubt in Simon’s mind that he was reading his opponents' future intentions a moment or two before they made their attack, giving him an immense advantage. 

Simon watched those bouts, noting not just the languid, almost lazy fighting style of the older man, but also the ripples that passed through the area around him. It was the closest he’d ever seen to the vortex that engulfed him when too many versions of him were present in the world. 

The effect came and went, depending on the year and how many Simons were running around. He was even pretty sure that it varied with how close other versions of himself were. For a long time, he’d considered it to be a form of paradox, or perhaps a warning that paradox was about to occur. As far as he was concerned, what he was seeing around Sir Kulthen was proof of that. 

For most of the fights, the lines of fate were invisible, but every once in a while, they swirled around his sword arm or his feet whenever he positioned or reacted based on something he shouldn’t know. He was literally breaking destiny in small ways on a constant basis as he tapped into his opponent's future. 

Well, that’s why they thought I was the chosen one, Simon decided as he processed all of that. If these guys are used to seeing such things around only their best seers, I probably looked like a prodigy. 

He wasn’t, though, not all the time. His existence just broke the world in a small but important way. He wasn’t sure if that was going to be a problem. How many Simons could exist in a single moment? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t want to find out. 

He was three months into his efforts, and they were paying real dividends when he saw Varten again. That was an interesting moment. Simon was sitting in the hall with his brothers, having a simple lunch after a long three-day fast to center himself, when he saw the boy.

Even though he’d grown, Simon recognized him immediately, though he frowned at the dull, listless colors of the boy’s aura. He wasn’t having a good time. That made Simon scrutinize it immediately. He was probably supposed to hate Varten on some level, but at that moment, all he felt was an overprotective urge to throttle his new master, should he have mistreated the boy. 

Simon found no evidence of that. Instead, while he was searching through the dregs of loneliness and the swirls of worry, the boy’s aura lit up entirely, going green and blue with happiness and relief. He’s noticed me, Simon realized, as he tried to account for the sudden change.

The boy didn’t come over to visit him immediately. In fact, he sat with his knight on the far side of the room, and it wasn’t until they were both finished, and Varten’s master had left, that he approached Simon and his long, empty bowl. 

“Hello, Sir Enis,” he said, trying to sound casual, or even indifferent. “It’s nice to see you up and around.”

Simon smiled then, letting his view of the boy’s aura fade so he could view the young man behind it. “You’re growing up fast,” he answered. “Tell me, is your new master treating you well? What have you learned in my absence?”

“Sir Cedrin? He’s okay,” the boy sighed, before laying into a long story about a series of misadventures involving the hunt for a troll lair that never actually materialized.

“In the end, he decided it had to be a wild goose chase, but the villagers wouldn’t lie about people dying, would they?” he asked plaintively. 

Varten insisted that Simon would have found the monster, and truthfully, he was probably right, but Simon didn’t say that; instead, he talked the boy through what they had done and what they should have done, one step at a time, which was more valuable. 

In the end, Simon decided it probably wasn’t a troll, based on the sketch of the tracks that Varten provided. The boy had little skill with art, so he couldn’t say for sure.

It took Varten until their second meeting the following day to ask about Simon’s wooden hand. “Does it hurt?” he asked when Simon took the prosthetic off and let him study it.

“Not even a little,” Simon assured him.

He could see that the boy was trying to find a reason to feel guilty about the whole thing, but Simon refused to allow that. Instead, he made it clear that he had no regrets. “Better to have a clean soul than a whole body,” he told the boy. 

They met regularly for a while. Simon didn’t duel him, but he did offer pointers on the boy’s performance and how it might improve. Eventually, Varten asked him, “So when do I get to be your squire again?”

In response, all Simon could do was shrug. “Soon, I hope,” he answered. It was true. He did hope that it was soon, and it was certainly kinder than the real answer, which was probably never. 

It was good to see Varten again, but fortunately, it wasn’t a one-off thing. Over the next few weeks, he saw him almost daily before the knight he served was called off on another quest. Simon enjoyed his company, but every time they parted ways, his other self’s words rang in his ears. 

Like the son we never had, he thought whistfully, reminded more than a little of those quiet days in the palace of Ionar. 

Simon hated to see Varten go. Technically, that gave him the time to get back on track and focus on important things, but unfortunately, glimpses of the Grandmaster were much rarer. The man was reclusive, and Simon only glimpsed him during important ceremonies or annual rituals and speeches. In each of those, he didn’t see any darkness, but that didn’t mean there weren’t problems with the vision. The more often that Simon studied the man, the more he was convinced that there was something wrong with his soul.