Just as the Host had lived with them to protect Danras from the Grim King, the Chief Herder had existed to protect the oroxen. Once the Grim King was gone, Yuma would only become another rich orox owner like Bruden or Jesska. Only the ones who did not own enough oroxen to form their own ranch would roam the steppe in the old way.
Everything would change, especially for Yuma. Which was why everyone waited for her disapproval. But she had no objections—Yuma was more than happy that everyone would be safer and more prosperous at least.
The Fifth Legion sent a herald announcing that their arrival would be a day earlier than expected. Yuma and Lysandros received the herald in the Feast Hall, where the Host no longer resided. Theherald called Yuma “the great King of Danras” and the Feast Hall a “grand palace,” but Yuma knew that this wasn’t a palace and that she was no king. Perhaps this city was no longer Danras either.
Later that night, standing next to the still-empty cradle, Yuma asked Lysandros what was to become of Merseh. Her tone was so serious that Lysandros’s ever-present smile faded from his face.
“There must be a prefect here. I shall discuss it with Chief Herder and others, but I want Chief in that position. The Senate will follow my recommendations.”
“What does the prefect do?”
“The prefect would rule the country and liaise for the Imperial Capital. Set trading rules, collect taxes… But don’t worry about the taxes. Compared to what the Grim King collected, it’ll be nothing.”
Yuma nodded and sat down. She had not heard from the Grim King since that conversation where he’d stoked her fears, but as long as she was pregnant with Tychon, the possibility of him slipping into her mind was always there. She looked at Lysandros. His expression was earnest, a hint of that beautiful grin on his lips.
She looked down and said, “Remember when you were fighting the Grim King’s giant, and there was that casket that fell out of Fractica?”
The grin was gone once more. “That again. I think the matter is better undiscussed. It’s Imperial magic, a secret one.”
“Well, I’m discussing it. I can’t put it off anymore. As I’m resting here, Danras is changing beyond recognition. So this is something you can talk about with me, isn’t it?”
Lysandros sighed. “Chief Herder already knows it’s called a Power generator. When a sorcerer dies, the body is processed in aparticular way and converted into a generator. It’s a source of almost limitless energy. Danras and all of Merseh will soon benefit.”
It was just as Eldred had told her in that dream. He’d called it a debasement of all sorcerers. Yuma had tried to ignore it—so what if the Grim King was offended?—but between the Host and her unborn Tychon, she found herself unable to. And there was yet another thing that bothered her.
“What I really want to know is who that was in the casket. Was Fractica the name of the sorcerer?”
Lysandros shrugged. “Who the Power generator used to be isn’t important. It’s just a body now.”
“You said you were a sorcerer as well. If you die, will you be turned into a Power generator?”
Lysandros averted his gaze, but not before Yuma registered a hint of discomfort, and even fear, in his eyes.
“Probably,” he finally said. “But there’s a way to avoid it. If that’s what Chief Herder wants, I’ll try my best.”
“And our child? Tychon?”
“Why… It isn’t known if Tychon will have Power. The signs don’t appear until a few years after birth. Unless both parents are sorcerers, the possibilities are low.”
“Just assume he does!” she shouted, no longer caring to be patient.
Lysandros seemed surprised at her outburst, but answered calmly. “… Well, Chief Herder, that would mean Tychon would be in the same situation as I am.” Lysandros gently laid a hand on her belly. “This child will be born, grow up, meet a wonderful person like Chief Herder, fall in love, and have children. Tychon will be surrounded by sons and daughters and grandchildren and liveout a long life. The only difference between a sorcerer and ordinary folk is that a sorcerer is placed in a lead casket, not a wooden one, upon death. Isn’t that better than being buried in the ground? It’s certainly not any worse.”
“Then the Host?” she pressed on. “Is that what’s going to happen to him? Wrapped in bandages and laid in a lead casket?”
“Yuma—”
“The soul of the Host is passed on from person to person, that’s why they’re called ‘host.’ It’s been this way for hundreds of years. But how can the next person receive their soul if he’s a generator, as you called it?” she asked, desperate for him to understand.
Lysandros stared for a moment before slowly giving her an answer.
“I was glad the Host volunteered to leave for the Capital, because I thought it would save me from saying this but… Chief Herder… to worship something above people is wrong.”
“Wrong? Why would that be…?” she spluttered. “Besides, the people of Danras do not ‘worship’ the Host.”
“The Host protected Danras from the rage and harassment of the Grim King. Danras sent oroxen as tithes to the Grim King. In Danras and other parts of Merseh, the way things are done has always revolved around the Grim King. But now the Empire can end the tyrannical reign. The Empire has the means to liberate the world. But the traces of the Grim King must be cleansed by the people of Merseh, or the scars will never fade.”
Yuma felt her eyebrows twitch.
