COMPLETE SILENCE OVERTAKES the trio in the cathedral's sanctuary. Elder Okafor trembles where he stands, gaze fixated on the resurrected phantom from his past. The gaunt warrior stares right back, condescending grin etched into his face. Meanwhile, Zakkai holds his ground physically, but thoughts crash back and forth inside his head. More than anything, he is baffled from the revelation that has just spilled from Okafor's lips.

Surely someone has been deceived or manipulated here. Depending on the manner of this man's former death, he must merely have been gravely injured. Okafor had prematurely assumed the deed complete. If he had truly died, he could not possibly stand before them now, could he?

"Quite right you are on that," the man says. "Ran me through the heart, you did."

Okafor still fights to keep his composure. "Then ... how?"

"Powerful alliances are being drawn as we speak, and allies must be bought somehow. Some see fit to buy loyalty outright with money. Others with offers of future trade and commerce. Some, like your queen, provide protection to secure their interests. I have pledged my loyalty to another who swayed me with the greatest gift of all, life itself."

"Who is that?"

"Your bewilderment is most amusing."

Okafor clenches his jaw. "I asked you a question. Now answer it."

"My new master will be revealed in due time, but that time is not now."

"Then I will assume you have stooped to working for some worker of the dark arts. At least in your first life, you held to something of an honor code."

The resurrected man scoffs. "My new master holds to a variety of honor unbound by code or creed. Conscience is the only guide needed."

"A conscience untethered from faith is a playground for devils. How many evildoers has your master brought back from the dead to serve as pawns in this twisted game?"

"It is an extensive network, I am assured. But enough about my master. Surely you wish to know the true reason you have been baited here."

"I have been presented too many questions to neglect finding an answer," Okafor says. "Tell me."

"As you wish. I have been brought back from the dead to lead the seven Kalguri tribes into a new era of prosperity and prevalence. Tell your queen we have only two demands to make of her, and they are as simple as they are firm."

"Name your demands, though be warned she will not heed your words."

"The clergymen here in Mejanno put up a pitiful fight against our men when we swarmed in, but I assure you my men can defend this town far better than they did. Mejanno will serve as a fine capital for our new Kalguri nation, so our first demand is that your queen not bother with the fruitless attempt of uprooting us. Furthermore, we demand she cede the western half of her tributary N'graza to us as a land for our cattle to roam."

"You ask that the queen of the mightiest nation on the western plateau simply give away a prosperous city and some of her most fertile land because nine thousand nomads finally decided to stop wandering." Okafor's voice grows stronger as he continues speaking. "You should be thankful she allows the Kalguri to wander through her territory without paying tribute, because she considers you not worth her notice."

"We are eleven thousand strong now," the warlord corrects. "And I would advise you not to underestimate our growing might. My new master already brought me back from the dead to lead these seven tribes, and I have no doubt this act of kindness will be repeated if you kill me again. It is futile to oppose one who possesses the keys to life and death."

"Only God Almighty commands such power," Zakkai interjects.

"And yet here I stand. Strike me down, if you wish it."

Okafor huffs. "So to be clear, when her majesty, Queen Jokuye of the Zafanyan Empire scoffs at your foolish demands and outright refuses them, what then?"

"Then I have no choice but to lead the seven tribes into war against her. Tell your queen I urge her not to underestimate our might, and also remind her of all the enemies she has made over the years who may come to our aid."

"I will pass on your foolish words. Now I have a message for you to pass on."

The warlord's grin widens. "My ears are ready."

"Tell your Maker who sent you to Him!"

With all his might, Okafor hurls his spear over the top of the pulpit and at the warlord's throat. His accuracy is impressive, but the gaunt man dodges down the platform's steps and emits a taunting laugh. From the folds of his battered cloak, he produces a skewed length of steel requiring two hands to wield. When Okafor unsheathes his own sword, the warlord engages him with gleeful vigor.

Blow after blow, the two experienced fighters dance back and forth in front of the pulpit, filling the sanctuary with the screech of metal on metal. Zakkai pulls his own sword from its scabbard, but remains an indecisive spectator. His heart continues to pound in anticipation.

He tenses himself to engage, but refrains, not wanting to throw Okafor off. The elder performs admirably on his own, raining heavy blows down on his shorter foe with gritted teeth. The sheer power of his advance forces the warlord back again and again.

The warlord ducks and twirls, causing Okafor's blade to fly harmlessly overhead. His skewed blade races for Okafor's legs, but he evades with a hop up the stairs of the speaking platform. The elder presents the tip of his sword as a deterrent to any followup attack. The two lock gazes, labored in breath and tense of muscle. With their attentions so entangled, Zakkai spots his opening.

Silent as a fawn and speedy as a serpent, Zakkai lunges. His steel races for the warlord's neck. Sharp reflexes save the gaunt warrior's life. He twirls, smacking Zakkai's weapon aside. He immediately pivots back around for a counterattack. If not for the round shield strapped to the youth's arm, he would have absorbed a slice to the face.

Okafor capitalizes on the distraction. He leaps down the steps with a mighty cry and a powerful blow to match. The warlord deflects, but not without sacrificing his balance. He scurries back several steps to gain distance on his skilled opponent. It is to no avail. No matter how quick the warlord retreats, Okafor remains on top of him. Repeated attacks batter his defense. There is no room for counter or parry.

Zakkai follows the pair at a distance, unable to meaningfully contribute, but determined to swoop in again once an opportunity shows itself. Okafor's style of swordsmanship bedazzles him, full of power and emphasizing slashes and cuts instead of thrusts and stabs. It is a sight to behold, to be sure. The three combatants travel between rows of pews, headed farther and farther from the pulpit.

"Tell me, Enu," the warlord taunts, locking blades and then shoving Okafor's aside, "how fares that daughter of yours? She would be fifteen by now, would she not? Time passes differently in the grave. You would not understand."

Okafor snarls. "Speak not of her."

"If you insist."

The warlord dodges one of Okafor's attacks and proceeds to sweep his legs out from under him. While the elder tumbles, Zakkai races to his defense. He engages the resurrected chieftain in his stead. Back and forth, the two exchange blows. They orbit each other in a deadly spiral that heads back toward the pulpit.

Each combatant keeps the other slightly off kilter with their differing fighting style. Zakkai overuses his shield as a defense in the face of so many slashing attacks coming from every direction. His foe, on the other hand, must constantly leap backward to avoid the youth's constant attempts to stab. The tempo of their attacks rises to a fatal frenzy.

A close call draws a gasp to Zakkai's lips. Narrowly dodging, he watches the warlord's blade eat into the pulpit behind where he had just been standing. Okafor charges back into the fight, but he is several paces back. For now, the warlord has Zakkai cornered, and he can do nothing but deflect attacks off the dome of his shield. He thrusts at his attacker's chest to gain some breathing room.

The warlord leaps back, then lunges forward again. His blade bashes against Zakkai's. Edge screams against edge, and his steel spins from his hand. Using his shield to bash the warlord's sword aside, Zakkai yanks his dagger from its sheath and brandishes it. His foe eyes the smaller blade with pleasure. Zakkai gulps.

Then Okafor reclaims his dominance in the fight. He lands a slash deep in the warlord's back, drawing a scream to his lips. He spins about and launches a frenzy of attacks, but his efforts lack strength. Okafor draws his arm back and strikes again. His blade buries itself in his enemy's gut and protrudes out the other side. Dropping his own weapon, the warlord falls to his knees in front of his killer.

Okafor yanks his sword back out of the warlord's body and proceeds to behead him and slice off an arm before he can topple over fully. The head rolls in front of the altar. He seethes as he stares at the blood seeping across the carpet. Driblets gather and fall from the tip of his weapon.

"Let your master put you back together now," he spits, stepping over the dismembered pieces to retrieve his spear.

The weight of everything that has transpired over the past few minutes slowly settles over Zakkai as he watches Okafor clean his sword with the warlord's own cloak and return it to its scabbard. He puts away his own dagger in the meantime and picks up his fallen sword as well. Then, obeying a grunted command from the elder warrior, he steps over the pieces of the slain Kalguri chief and follows Okafor out the double doors of the sanctuary.

In a sense, they truly had come to settle a land dispute, only they had been mislead as to its scope and its participants. Somewhere, a mysterious enemy of Zafanya had found an ally holding the ability to resurrect men from the dead, and if the warlord's word could be trusted, there were others who breathed again unnaturally. Other enemies of the queen may now be assembling themselves, and the Kalguri had only been the first to show themselves.

At any rate, the two now have a solemn duty to report these things to Queen Jokuye.