Chapter 16

The beach that stretched along the boundary between the central lands that bordered Mt. Mahameru and the Great Western Ocean was strewn with shipwrecks – vessels tossed up thanks to centuries of work by the Storm Sisters and similarly vengeful and furious water spirits. Considering the continental size of the Great Western Ocean and the sheer population of spirits, gods, and stranger creatures, it was easy for a hapless ship to blunder from one sea lane into another and to find themselves suddenly beholden to a completely different set of criteria as to what was ‘appropriate.’ If you were sailing with blue sails and salt on the deck but entered into the court of Storm Sisters, then none of that would matter if you had a woman on the deck.

The end result was a truly staggering number of wrecks cast onto the shore, many of them still lingering under the curses that had put them there. Those curses had the opposite effect they would have in the ocean. They preserved the wrecks. No one, not even the desperately poor who had to live this close to the Great Western Ocean without a harbor god to protect them, would be willing to make a house out of cursed wood.

This is what made it such a perfect meeting spot for such an unlikely group of allies.

The ship wreck that the Piss Boot Legion sheltered under had been a two hulled catamaran of immense size, whose sturdy central hull managed to keep the second half of the ship hanging overhead despite the ship’s age and the barnacles that grew along the side, dangling down like stalactites. Sea rain dripped from them while sleet gray clouds swept across the wreck strewn shore, but the hull itself kept most of the rain off the low, portable table that Ejana had set out for the meeting. Somewhere in the refugee train they had found some tea, a portable kettle, and set to boiling the water, which Tayar poured into a cup for the envoy they had come to meet.

“Sorry about the tea,” Ember said, smiling slightly as he knelt across from the envoy. The envoy picked up the tea between two broad fingers, lifted it to her slit nose, and sniffed it.

One Eyed Razor, the Pirate-Legionary, grinned at Ember past the steam that rose from the cup.

“I expected someone more impressive, you know,” she said, pounding back the drink.

“I expected someone with only one eye,” Ember said. Ceaith snorted behind him and Ember held out his hand for a low five. His Lunars were disposed around the meeting area as fit their wants. Tayar had taken over the duties of serving tea and being distracting in a low cut kimono, while Chirp and Xora were kneeling at a distance – Chirp to keep a watch on everything going on at the table, Xora to keep watch on everything beyond the wreck. Ember wasn’t sure where Jaqueline had gotten herself to – but he had spotted a bit of orange fur heading up into the rafters. So, he was pretty sure that his Agate had found somewhere to leap down dramatically at the appropriate moment.

One Eyed Razor did, in fact, have two eyes. She had gray skin and long, eel-like hair that draped along her back like slippery coils. Her eyes were pure midnight black, without pupils or whites that Ember could see. Her nose was slitted, like a shark, and her teeth were razor sharp, glittering with every grin that she sent his way. He noticed a very faint hint of gills along her neck, similar to Xora’s. But where Xora was broad and muscular, One Eyed Razor was made of angular lines and narrow, predatory grace. She slammed the cup down on the table, like she had just pounded down a shot of saké.

“So!” One Eyed Razor said. “Let me run down this, bullet point by bullet point, to make sure I’ve got the picture.”

She clicked her claws, then flicked her finger at Ember. “You died.”

“Yes,” Ember said.

“And crawled out of Hell,” One Eyed Razor said.

“Yes,” Ember said.

“And now you’ve got no powers, no mandate of Heaven, no soulgem, and nothing between you and your Lunar Circle than just their own feelings. No celestial marriages. No empathic links. No mana transfusions.” One Eyed Razor stood. “For a military, all you got is the decimated remains of the Piss Boot Legion, a few civilian stragglers, and a single skyship from the fucking Locust People and one of their wind up toys.”

“Hey!” Elegant Nova of Progression said, turning away from the wooden hulls he had been prodding at. “I’m not just a toy. I’m a Champion of Lyca.”

“Yeah. Sure.” One Eyed Razor started to pace, her hands on her hips. “So, you want me to sign up my entire Legion and all my auxilaries onto your side to take on the First, the Second, the Fourth and the Eight Legions all at the same time. Oh, who are also led by the Good King Bahul, a hundred year of Unconquered who has spent that entire time training to be stronger, faster, and more powerful than any mortal has ever been. All to...” She spread her hands. “What?”

“Save the world,” Ember said, nodding seriously.

One Eyed Razor sucked on her lower lip.

She looked at Ceaith, then back at Ember, then back to Ceaith.

“You know,” she said. “When you first pitched this meeting to me, you didn’t mention any of that shit, Ceaith.”

Ceaith shrugged. “I’m cute, so who cares?”

“The fuck of it is that actually works.” One Eyed Razor shook her head. “No. That almost works. Sorry, I’d rather take my risk in the Sunder.”

Ember sighed. “That may be okay for you and your family. But ... Chirp, how many people live in the Land of Ten Billion Gods?”

“Um...” Chirp coughed. “At the last census that I’ve read, uh, it’s close to twenty billion people.”

“If we leave,” Ember said. “Every single person on the Land is going to die. But if we take a stand, we have a chance.” He clasped his hands together. “For Cycles, the Unconquered has been used as a way to keep us from actually advancing. Every time a good Unconquered builds a culture that can last, an evil Unconquered is chosen to knock it to pieces. We can change that – we can stop Bahul, we can stop this whole bloody cycle, and we can create a future that might be better than the past ten thousand years of murderous violence. But to do that, we need to stop Bahul. To do that, we need you.”

One Eyed Razor snorted. “No. You’re going to need way more than just my Legion. We’re good. We’re the best sky-fighters you’ve ever seen. But we’ll be outnumbered five to one out there.” She shook her head. “I feel bad for those people. I really do. But ... unless you pull another three Legions out of your incredibly cute ass...” She spread her hands.

Ember pursed his lips. He glanced to Nova. Nova gave him a subtle nod.

Ember stood, slowly, grunting with the effort. “Come on,” he said. “I want to show you something, Razor.”

He put his hand on her shoulder and turned her around – to face the shore. Past the wrecks and the rocks, there was the sleet gray sea, roiling and crashing. Razor looked at the horizon, brushing some of her hair back and away from her eyes. There, where the horizon met the sea, a rippling began to spread across the clouds, pulling back and sweeping aside, like some vast curtain. Behind that curtain was the roiling red of the Sunder. But dotted among the clouds and between the crackling thunderbolts was a massive array of black dots – dots that swelled in size with shocking speed as lean, knife hulled skyships cut through the air, leaving behind disturbed wakes on the water as they soared close enough to kick up sea spray.

Elegant Nova of Progression leaped forward and landed before One Eyed Razor and Ember, spreading her arms. “Behold!” she said, her voice booming as she leaked magic into it – her eyes gleaming as her words took on the echoing reverberation of a propaganda announcer. “The military might of the Lycan Sky-Navy!”

One Eyed Razor whistled slowly. “I had no idea Locust People had so many fucking guns.”

Nova beamed. “Well, I- hey! We’re not Locust People! You can’t just lump an entire diverse group of people into one mass, you stupid Shardies!”

“Nova!” Ember pointed his finger at us. “Remember what we talked about?”

Nova pouted. “Fine. But there’s a way bigger difference between a Lycan and a Suryan than there is between...” She gestured to the gray skinned, black eyed, eel haired One Eyed Razor and the red skinned, gold eyed, black haired Ember. “You know. Whatever ethnic groups you two are.”

Ember shook his head.

No matter what happened next ... it was going to be interesting.

The planning and the tactical preparations for the last ditched, desperate bid to save the whole of the Land from the mad plans of King Bahul ran into a snag near their end. Everything had been going quite well: The Ninth Legion and the Piss Boot Legion would merge their troops, with the Piss Boot Legionaries serving as the marines aboard Ninth Legion skyships. The Lycan sky-navy would serve as the central core of their attack formation – having the most heavily armored ships, they would be able to soak up the incoming weaponry from their enemies. They would converge towards Bahul’s statue, and seek to destroy it before it could launch. The flagship of the Ninth Legion, Razor’s sleek fast attack frigate (which she had named the Stiletto), would carry the five Lunars into their destined battle against Bahul himself.

“Five Lunars,” June said as she explained this part of the plan to One Eyed Razor, Ejana, and the Lycan admiral. “Normally, any one Lunar would be helpless against an Unconquered. Doubly so since they’re nominally married to him. But since Chirp, Ceaith, Xora, Jaqueline and Tayar were married to Ember, not to Bahul, that restriction won’t have any sway with them. And where one Unconquered can defeat one Lunar in battle, five would be able to hold him down and beat the fuck out of him.”

The Lycan admiral – a tall, broad shouldered man whose face looked like it had been plated in solid jade and riveted into place – nodded. “Understood. We shall deploy our Champion, Nova, to assist in that battle.” He frowned. “This better work...” He lifted his head, glaring right at Tayar. “And you promise that the treaty is binding, even if some, or all, of you should fall in battle?”

“The treaty is binding,” Tayar said. The treaty had been what brought the Lycans in in such a dramatic force: It stipulated that, for ten thousand years, so long as the rulers of the Land persisted, they would owe the Lycans the first pick in purchasing and mining magical materials. They also promised several immigration treaties, to allow people from the Land to move to Lyca and vice versa. This would be a dramatic shift in the relation between the Land and the city states of the Sunder. For ten thousand years, the strongest nation-states had come into the Land and scooped up massive chunks of it every time they wanted to. Without a way to defend itself, the Land had simply grown used to this predation.

That was about to change. Thanks to Ember. Ember was feeling pretty good about that when the snag happened.

“Besides,” Tayar said. “Ember will be remaining behind – he shall be able to uphold the treaty.”

“I excuse me what?” Ember snapped his head up from the map to the gathered generals and Lunars.

Ceaith had the good graces to look abashed. So did Chirp. Xora and Jaqueline exchanged a glance. Tayar, lovely Tayar, tried to be diplomatic. “Ember...” she said. “You’re not the Unconquered right now.”

Ember flinched, then looked down at the map. “I should be there.” He whispered.

“Ember...” Ceaith moved around the table. She put her hand on his. “It’s going to be a battle between five demigods and a two hundred year old God-Emperor with all the power of the incarnae sun in his hands. Like.” She shook her head, brushing her fingers through her wild mane of brown hair. “Anyone who gets within a mile of ground zero is going to be ripped to pieces.”

Chirp gulped and looked as if they, at that moment, would rather like to bow out of the upcoming battle.

Ember clenched his hands and then let them rest on the map. He hung his head forward. “I should be there...” His voice was almost silent. Shame burned through him – a fierce needle sharp shame that made tears prick at the corners of his eyes. At the moment the world needed him most, he was useless. So fucking useless. He drew in a shuddering breath – and he lied. “All right. I’ll stay behind.”

“Yeah...” Ceaith said, quietly. “Ember. I love you. I want you to know that. Like. A lot. Look up.”

He lifted his head.

Ceaith punched him in the jaw – and Ember went out like a light.

June Devilblood stood on the prow of the Ninth Legion attack frigate, the Broadsword, and squinted into the wind. The sails of the skyship crackled with aetheric lightning as her crew hauled them out to as far a span as they could manage. The whole craft felt as if it was shuddering beneath her feet, trembling as it caught the wind and rocketed forward. Ahead of her, the Land swept out like a carpet of greens and golds. Fields. Forests. And beyond them, the still smoldering ruin of Samsara.

Even the apocalyptic bombardment that had struck the city had not fully erased it from creation. Yes, a good chunk of it was now so much smoldering ice, and huge swaths have been reduced to frozen craters. But buildings still stood – all with a chunk or two ripped from them, like some ferocious, hungry titans had been about the city, clawing and digging. Clustered around the city like a murder of crows were the remaining ships of the loyalist Legions. Most of them were the heavy battleships and cruisers that had been too slow to hound the refugees as they had tried to flee in desperation.

June’s fingers dropped to the bottles on her belt. She had brewed as fiercely as she could while the preparations had been taking place. While the Lycans and the Ninth Legion had both had plenty of supplies, there was a limit to what most thamaturges could do in a crunch.

June grinned.

She wasn’t most thamaturges.

She spared a glance to the left and took that moment to admire the splendid view that was war. The whole sweep of the combined Locust and Lander fleets was majestic: Hundreds of ships with spread aetheric sails, the polished snouts of their mana-cannons aimed towards the enemy. Crew in bright, crisp uniforms scrambled about, while Piss Boot Legionaries readied their heavy armor. Infused Knights, clad in shimmering elemental animas, moved into high positions on the rigging, to prepare themselves for leaping onto enemy ships in close in actions.

June had been in a great many wars in her hundred years of life.

And she knew that there was something other than just horribleness to the business. There was a majesty. A thriving energy. A driving beauty. But June never told another soul about it. Young men and women didn’t need any more encouragement to do incredibly foolish things. And with that, she whipped the bottled cloud from her belt and dashed it against the side of the Broadsword. The magic exploded from the bottle and the air ahead of them rippled and then bloomed with clouds, clouds that swept outwards in every direction. Within a moment, the sky before Samsara had become seeded with darkness.

June crouched down as cries came from the rest of the frigate. The crew were getting ready.

And so was she.

Once they were in the melee, she was going to find Goat who Wrestles.

And she was going to kill him so fucking hard.

Meanwhile, on the flagship of the Ninth Legion, the Lunars were all hugging one last time. Drawing apart, Ceaith tried to look as if she wasn’t concerned. “This is going to be easy as fuck,” she said.

“Did you have to punch Ember?” Xora asked, her voice soft.

Ceaith snorted. “You all saw him lie his stupid butt off, though?” She turned, shaking her head. “He was going to try and come with and he was going to get himself killed.” She shook her head again. “No. Not going to happen. Not on my watch.”

Chirp bit their lip. “What if he was trying to get Chosen again?”

They all looked at the Sari.

Chirp blushed. “An Unconquered is Chosen when they refuse to take the easy route three times,” they said, nodding. “Sitting out a battle is the easy route, right?” The shrugged. “It’s worth a shot, right. M-Maybe Ember would get Chosen again.”

Chirp shook her head. “No ... no, Ember said that the Land was built by the Locust People as a resource trough.”

“For the last time!” Nova snapped from where she was fiddling with the hilt of her beamsword. She had sat down in the captain’s chair before One Eyed Razor had glared her off of it. Now she was in the corner, looking sulky, even as she twiddled with screws and adjusted focusing apertures with her other hand. “It wasn’t built by the Locust People. It was built by a joint alliance between the Ianers and the Neo-Suryan Front.” She shook her head. “Dead Gods, people. You might as well call me a Korvosan.”

“I don’t know what any of those people are!” Ceaith snapped.

“Well-” Nova started.

“Ladies!” One Eyed Razor barked. “Combat stations!”

The skyship began to pick up pace even more. The crew at their bridge stations exchanged a few terse comments – lost in the howl of the wind. The Lunars, moving as one, stepped up to stand nearest to the view port as they could manage without getting in the way. Through that viewport, they could see the sweep of the enemy fleet before them. Ceaith’s teeth skinned back into a grin as she saw that the heavy, wallowing battleships and the sleeker cruisers were all only barely into formation. They didn’t have total surprise. But they had something close to it.

“Lets do this,” Ceaith whispered.

Ember awoke with a low groan. His head felt as if someone had started drumming on him with the legs of a god, and his mouth tasted like salt. He shook his head and smacked his lips and tried to get his vision to see straight. Instead, all he saw was the red haze of a silken blanket. He writhed, squirmed, and finally managed to get himself out of the blankets. He was laying in a makeshift bed, with as much finery and comforts as could be contrived around him: There was a large sheet of silk, a few curtains, a golden brazier, and a small shrine to the local gods. Two men stood at the doorway.

“Hey!” Ember shouted.

Well.

He tried to shout. It came out as a groaning creak that barely sounded like language, let alone like himself. The two guards glanced back at him, then hurried forward. One knelt beside him. “Unconquered,” he said, his voice full of concern. Ember bristled at the honorific as his hand went to his aching jaw.

“My wife just knocked me unconscious,” he said, slowly, working his jaw as he did so. “Ow. Fuck.” He started to try and stand. The two men gently pushed him back onto the bed.

“Unconquered, we were given express orders,” the guardsman on the left said. “Ceaith was very clear about it, as was the rest of your wives. You are not to leave this tent.”

Ember scowled. “What, just because I’m an unpowered mortal?” he asked, his voice biting.

“Well, yes,” the guard on the right said. The guard on the left kicked him in the shin.

Ember scowled harder. “Listen,” he said. “If you expect me to stay behind while the whole world’s fate is on the line, you need to think again. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” He tried to channel mana into his words. There had been a time, just a few days before, where doing that would have been effortless. Easy. But instead of mana, there was just the force of his own personality. It was simply not enough. The guards shook their heads.

“We’re loyal to you, sir,” the guard on the left said, quietly. “That means we’re loyal to your wives – and their orders were clear. And...” He threw up his hand. “Hells, sire, they make sense.”

Ember sighed. “I suppose they do,” he said, then slumped back into the bed. At the back of his mind, he heard a tiny voice, a snide voice, a voice he hadn’t heard in a very long time. It was the voice that had whispered to him when he had been a normal villager back in Rataka. It had said: Lie down. Go to sleep. Relax. There’s nothing you can do. Right? Ember hooked his feet under the bed and felt his heel bump against the cool metal of a chamber pot. He paused, biting his lip. The two guards smiled at one another, then at him.

“Besides,” the guard on the right said. “Your wives are amazing! They’ll have this in the bag without your help.”

“Right.” Ember hooked his foot on the chamber pot, feeling that it was dry and unused. He kicked it up into the air with a single fluid movement. While he might not have had the strength or accuracy of the Unconquered, he didn’t need it to plant the pot directly into the guard on the left’s belly. The breastplate he wore took most of the impact, but there was still enough force to stagger him – and then Ember was on his feet and sprinting from the tent. He emerged onto the scattered shipwrecks of the coast, and spotted all that his Legions had left behind: Civilian attaches, refugees who couldn’t fight, the injured. He saw a Ninth Legion courier, lounging against the smallest skyship that Ember had ever seen. It was barely the size of a human man, being nothing more than a pole and a pair of folded up aetheric sails.

The courier was chatting with a woman who had lost both of her legs and was still bandaged heavily. “Then I said,” the courier said. “You can’t pull that in the Sunder.”

The woman burst out laughing and the courier looked quite pleased with his joke and his non-zero chance to get the wounded woman in bed. That was why he didn’t seem to hear Ember until Ember was slamming into him shoulder first. The courier pitched onto his face, mashing up against the sand of the beach, and Ember sprang onto his small skycraft, tugging on ropes and spars in a mad dash to try and get the sails out and unfurled.

His two guards ran up, panting. They hadn’t drawn their swords – but they didn’t seem to think they needed to. “Sire!” the left guard said. “Sire, if you go to that battle, you will die.”

“Yeah, well, then, I’ll see you in hell!” Ember said, then yanked a line taut. The sail at the top of the skycraft belled outwards, filling with arcanic winds, and the entire slender vehicle sprang into the air and whisked away, the lower sail unfolding as well and kicking the entire vehicle to a speed that was so roaring fast that Ember’s cheeks filled out like sails themselves. He ducked his head against the mast, holding on tight, and squinted into the wind, holding onto the steering reigns as best as he could. His flight was less elegant than the ride he had taken on the village horse so long ago.

And that was saying something.

The sky above Samsara was a frozen conflagration. A coherent pulse of mana fired from a mana-cannon was an endothermic reaction. It sucked heat from the surrounding space, collapsing it into a starburst of sudden chill that could shatter metal and freeze a soul solid. But if that had been all that a mana-cannon did, that would have been devastating enough. Add to the endothermic blasts a concussive wave of magical energies and the unpredictable backlash that soldiers called ‘mana burn’ and you have an ingredient for a hell nearly as bad as the one with brassy cauldrons and hissing devils.

Battleships from both sides flew into the thick of enemy formations, trading rippling broadsides of crackling energy, while brass and jade armor buckled under the snap-cold impacts. Frost swept along handrails and rigging and men and women slipped from them to crash onto the decks, if they were lucky. Less lucky, they plunged into the ruined city below them. But among the heavy guns flew nimble craft, far smaller and far lighter, armed with everything from pintle mounted automatic crossbows to hull-hugging vortex arrow launchers. Those were the dangerous craft.

A trio of destroyers with a brace of vortex arrows could hammer them along the entire length of a battleship and crack the hull like an egg – ripping it apart in a swirl of raw chaos and destructive energies. The souls of people caught in those blasts were ripped from their bodies with enough pain and horror that they would have traumatic nightmares in their next life after a long turn on the wheel of reincarnation. To stop the destroyers, both sides used their frigates and their lighter craft in the same way that a fencer might use a dagger.

Parry. Thrust. Deadly little duels among the bigger duel, no more earnest for the fact that they were on such a smaller scale, using far lighter weapons.

The Broadsword was one such frigate, caught in one of those deadly little battles. June Devilblooded ducked low as a Loyalist frigate skimmed by, so close that the aetheric winds of its passage rattled the rigging. From the side of the enemy came a chattering sound – three automatic crossbows, hammering away as they fired their thick quarrels down onto the crew, who dove for cover. The captain, standing proudly on the poop deck, twirled the wheel and bellowed orders to her officers, while men – sweating even in the arctic chill of the battle – heaved the heavy barrels of the deck mounted mana cannons to bear.

June had planned to save her magics for her enemy. But she wasn’t about to let the ship she was on get taken out – especially not with her on it. As the frigate dove behind the Broadsword and swept itself around for another pass, she fished out a bottle of crackling blue lightning. She crushed it between her fingers, bringing her left hand up behind her. Wind swept around her body and her hair turned from her normal raven hues to pure white. She thrust out her finger and spoke a word in the that had been common in the tongues of the sky-spirits, before the Third Unconquered’s conquests stamped it out of existence.

With that word, the energies sprang from her fingertip.

The lightning crashed into the frigate as it came around for the other pass. Wood splintered, brass melted, and the rigging burst into flame as the lightning bolt scythed out the other side of the enemy. The frigate tumbled in half, crashing down towards the city.

The crew gaped at June, who blew the last few sparks off her finger.

“Look out!” A man shouted. June had enough time to see the starbolt flying from the heavens before it struck the deck of the Broadsword. June slammed her palm down and sent herself flying upwards, summoning her stormwind rider with a reflexive twist of magic. She barely had enough time to clear the Broadsword before the entire hull exploded into a lethal haze of splinters. The fragments and the crew tumbled away as June crouched on the swirling yellow cloud upon which she stood. Standing on a floating chunk of sail and rigging, which was buoyed in the air by tiny ambient twitches of magical energies, was Goat who Wrestles.

Goat was holding a pipe in one hand. He puffed on it.

“You bastard,” June snarled.

“Granted.” He grinned at her. “Shall we?”

“Chirp, get down!” Xora shouted, then tackled Chirp before a mana-blast slammed into the Ruby Lunar. Chirp, their belly mashed up against the deck of the battleship they were on. Xora pushed herself to her arms and knees, panting. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes!” Chirp nodded – then kicked hard. One of the many enemy crewmen that still were onboard the enemy battleship went stumbling backwards, clutching at his belly. Chirp scrambled to their feet when Xora had stood as well. “Uh, thanks.” They blushed – feeling painfully useless. The entire circle of Lunars had leaped from the Stiletto to the enemy battleship. There was no chance that Chirp would have stayed behind – but they remembered the promise Ember had made.

Chirp is never harming another person in their entire life! Not on my watch! Not again!

Chirp shook their head. That had been when they had hoped, had thought that maybe things would be all right. Instead, everything had gone out of control. They looked back and saw that more mana-blasts were crashing into the prow of the ship, fired by their allies towards the ship, possibly because they hadn’t gotten the memo that the Lunars were onboard. Xora shattered an enemy marine’s sword, then headbutted him down with casual ease, then dragged Chirp forward. “Come on,” She said, giving them a little smile.

The back of the battleship shuddered. Parts went flying as hull-wood cracked and flew apart into a haze of splinters – and into that destruction leaped the massive, house-sized body of Ceaith in her war form. As she landed on the rigging, her weight and her claws worked together to tear apart the fragile components that helped to keep the battleship in the sky. Once her paws hit the deck, she was washed in a blue glow, shrinking down to her humanoid form. Her laugh – high and giggly and snorting – carried to Chirp.

“Oh man,” Ceaith said, her yellow/blue eyes glittering as she walked over. “We should get into wars more often!” The whole battleship shuddered under their feet.

“We need to get closer to the statue,” Chirp said, trying to sound determined and not terrified. They pointed down at the center of Samsara, where the massive statue of King Bahul – in his guise as the Regent – remained standing, clad in the complex array of magitechnological devices that Ember seemed convinced would carry the statue up to the sun, to enact Bahul’s mad plan to destroy the sun itself. Chirp shaded their eyes, frowning. “There are anti-magic generators. How are we going to get close to that?”