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spirits, I'd guess you have gold, and maybe some work. Palaeon is getting clingy."
    Daxar chuckled. "Not wanting to be a gear in someone else's machine? Yes, once I get settled in I might have some work, though it may be in new markets," he replied, then turned more serious . "Things are changing, Tal, and for the worse."
    "How so?" Talaos replied with mixed curiosity and skepticism.
    "Over there, it isn't just the war.  There are also people preaching the faith of the Living Prophet."
    "The Prophet? When last I checked, he was off past the Eastern Sea."
    "Not anymore. In terms of influence, at least. For the first time I've heard of, there are more than a handful of his believers on this side of the water."
    "All right, that can't be good. From what little I've heard, life under the Prophet is the opposite of everything I want out of living."
    "And then some! You know, Tal, they say he is hundreds of years old."
    Talaos laughed. "And I say, we need some more wine."
     
    ~
     
    Talaos rode a brown horse at a trot down the track at the great stadium.  A few others were doing the same. The rows of seats, tier upon tier, were mostly empty. On a racing day, he knew there might be sixty thousand people in those seats. Today, however, he could pay a few coppers to practice riding around the track on one of the retired racing or chariot horses.
    The horses were celebrities of a sort in Carai, almost as famous as the men who raced, but the officials who ran the stadium still made them earn their keep. Helping amateurs learn to ride, standing around eating their fill, and occasionally breeding to produce the next generation of their line was certainly not the worst fate for old horses. But Talaos imagined it could get repetitive and dull.
    He knew he at least wasn't cut out for the human equivalent of a peaceful, futureless life like that. Of course, he thought, his career of street violence meant he was unlikely to have a long peaceful life, or a long life in any form.
    Assuming that he did nothing to change things.
    While it wouldn't be what Sorya had in mind, he thought it might in fact be time for a change. Ideally including Sorya. For all that he wouldn't be yoked to her plans, he cared for her. Her life, growing up and making her way in the bad parts of the city, hadn't been much easier than his own. Reflecting on it, he could hardly blame her for wanting some peace. Though he was not the path toward it.
    I n the few weeks he'd known her, he'd come to care for Katara too. In truth, he cared a great deal for each of them. With a smile, he tried to imagine a future with the both of them. However the law of the Republic was clear a man could have only one wife. In any case, even one seemed unlikely.
    Whatever he was, or made of his life, he wasn't made to be peaceful and yoked.
    With that, he wondered if the old horse felt peaceful and yoked. Did it miss racing, a full gallop with the wind in its face and the thunder of hooves on the track as it ran with its fellows? He decided to find out. He gave a squeeze with his knees, and the horse perked up its ears and sped up.
    He kept at it, avoiding use of the spurs and instead just encouraging the horse to go faster in stages. It did so, and seemed to regain a little fire in its spirit. It shook its head and tail. Talaos laughed, gave another squeeze and slapped a hand to the horse's shoulder. It snorted, neighed fiercely, and took off like a shot. He shouted to the sky and laughed as they went. People looked at him like he was a madman, and he gave them merry waves in reply.
    Twice they went thundering around the immense track, until he saw Daxar walking through one of the ground-level entrances, watching him and chuckling.
    He reined the horse , gave it a pat, and then a couple of carrots he'd brought with him. He looked down at Daxar, who was smiling up at him with a look that said sarcasm was coming.
    "Planning to make a great impression when you sign up for the cavalry?" asked