As one hundred thoats carrying the highest ranking officers of my father's Navy paraded in single file toward the capital, the Scarlet Tower of Greater Helium grew on the horizon and the Yellow Tower of Lesser Helium shrank behind us. At the procession's head was a golden chariot, bearing the body of my brother. His mortal wounds remained undressed, as befit tradition. It fell to me, the ranking officer of his command, to bear Mors Kajak to his Reward.

Silently I rode, directly behind that chariot. As I stared at it, my mind replayed again and again the scene that had cost my empire its rightful heir and my father, Moros Tar, his eldest son.

It had been my fault.

A nudge at my arm, and I turned to see an odwar gesturing toward the Gate of Jeddaks. It was lined with faces, straining for a glimpse of the truth they had been told, but could not believe without the testimony of their own eyes.

A thousand times had I passed beneath that yawning portal into the city of my ancestors; but ever had it been at the head of a victorious army. Those same faces had shouted my name in unbridled passion as anthems were sung to Helium's honor. I often rode at the side of my brother in those happier days.

I wished now that it was he who was conducting this funeral march; that it was my corpse in the chariot.

The streets that day were a grim affair I can barely stand to recall, even these many years later. The journey through Lesser Helium, where my brother had ruled as Jed, had been even more difficult. All of Helium loved Mors Kajak.

As we passed beneath somber balconies, barely a sound could be heard -- save the soft padding of our thoats.

Eventually, I knelt before my Jeddak in the Temple of Reward, surrounded by tapestries that bore images of my ancestors going back to the dawn of the Empire. After the brief moment that protocol demanded, my father bid me rise, and I spoke words that were old as the Empire:

"Mors Kajak, Jed of Lesser Helium, Defender of the Faith and son of Moros Tar, seeks his Reward," I intoned, according to tradition. "May he serve Issus in the proud manner he has served Helium."

My voice held. Barely.

Moros Tar looked down upon me from the Throne of Righteousness. He did not speak the ancient response.

Instead, he closed his eyes. When his lids fluttered open, there was an unmistakable redness.

"I am tired," said Moros Tar. "The war has taken an awful toll."

There was a heaviness in his voice I'd never heard before.

"My brother's victory was glorious, father," I said slowly, not reacting to the subtle stirring in the great chamber behind me. "The Seige of Flemster is ended."

Flemster is the Heliumetic city to the northeast of the capital that was the scene of my brother's triumph. It was also the place of my greatest shame.

Moros Tar gazed silently upon my upturned face, his own countenance a mask. It was then that I noticed, for the first time, that he'd begun to age. The realization stunned me, as if I'd been struck with the flat of a longsword in battle. There were lines about his eyes. The faintest streaks of gray were shot through the jet-black hair I had always remembered. I detected the weight upon his shoulders that eight hundred years of rule had brought to bear.

I saw my father as none -- save my mother, perhaps -- had ever seen him before. Something of his loneliness was imparted to me in the still chamber that day.

"It was no victory," he said.

Then Moros Tar smiled. Under the circumstances, it shocked me more than the realization that he had become an old man.

"My jedwars have told me of my son's prowess in the field of battle," the Jeddak continued. "Of the honor he has brought to the House of Mor, and to all of Helium. I am proud."

"The name Mors Kajak will long be remembered," I said.

"Yes," agreed the Jeddak. "Remembered in Helium, and feared throughout the rest of Barsoom. But he was not the son I spoke of. "

I shook my head, knowing a thing that neither my father nor his jedwars knew.

"The Siege of Flemster shall ever bring great sorrow to my heart," Moros Tar continued. "The Empire has lost a promising Jeddak. And yet, it gained another whose likeness will do honor to these walls."

I said nothing, which shamed me even more.

The Jeddak stepped down from his throne and laid both hands upon my shoulders.

"I sail for Dor tomorrow," he said. "I leave this world knowing the Empire is safe in your care, Tardos Mors — Jeddak of Helium."

Without another word, my father retired to his private apartments at the back of the Temple. At first, his posture was bent. But as he walked away from me, he regained his full height. There was dignity to his step, and purpose.

Moros Tar was about to make peace with his ancestors; and seek his own Reward.

I could only stare after him, my mind a jumble of conflicting emotion.

Dor! He could not embark upon the Final Pilgrimage now! Flemster had been relieved, but the war was far from won. The twin cities themselves were threatened from the east by Ptarthian forces.

Though his last words had been softly spoken, meant for my ears alone, it was clear that many of the nobles and officers in the chamber had heard, or guessed the Jeddak's intention. The stirring at my back rose, and soon hushed whispers became louder. Within moments, a buzz of confusion prevailed. One high- ranking officer hurriedly departed. There was a single shout from the rear -- "Nay!" -- and I felt a tug at my elbow. Questions I could not answer were asked.

I pulled away.

Turning, I faced the body of Mors Kajak. He lay there, on the dais, eyes open. The Jed sometimes slept with open eyes, a thing I chided him about as a child. The red stain upon his chest, however, proclaimed that my brother's sleep was one from which he would never awaken.

Dashing to the rear of the Temple, I tore open the door to my father's private sanctuary.

But the Jeddak was gone.