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Authors: Russell Kirkpatrick
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of assent was absent. Good.
They're listening. They're hooked. On cue, a voice came from the crowd. 'So what do we do?'
Ah. The months of conditioning pay off. I could ask them to put their neighbours to death, or sacrifice their own children, and many of them would do it.
Quietly now, he continued. 'So what do we do, my sisters; my brothers? We fight. It is time for what has been placed inside us to come out. It is time to live - and to die - for the Most High. And where do we fight? It has been prophesied we are the spearhead of the next move of the Most High, and so we are. We are pointed squarely at the heart of Instruere. The Most High hurls us at the Council of Faltha! Go now, seek out your friends and acquaintances from other branches, and tell them to assemble in front of the Hall of Lore at sunset tonight. Bring your swords, bring your sticks and your clubs, bring your torches and your fire. Bring your wives and your husbands, your parents and your children. Bring the fire that has been set in your hearts, your courage and your purses to receive the largesse of the Most High Himself.
For we will burn the buildings of the ungodly to
the ground, we will take their treasures for our own, and we will lift high the standard of our master!'
Cries of assent rang around the Basement. Really, he needn't have bothered with the Wordweave.
'Go now! Today is the day of decision, when you find out whether your faith is of the heart or of the mind only. If your faith is indeed of the heart, then meet me in front of the Hall of Lore at the setting of the sun. I will be there, revealed as the appointed one, and I will see that justice is delivered!'
With a mighty roar the crowd surged toward the door, which burst open. Within ten minutes the Basement emptied out, leaving Tanghin alone, laughing, laughing.
The hot autumn sun beat mercilessly on Stella as she hung from the wall of the high tower room. She could feel her skin burning in the glare, but could not move to protect herself.
Sweat blinded her, the salt stinging her eyes, and the joints in her tortured arms screamed their pain. For a time she rehearsed the bones of a plan in her mind. A desperate plan, a plan of revenge, not of escape, but even revenge would most likely be denied her. Yet she now hated Deorc - Tanghin -with a passion far exceeding her former regard for him; a hatred born of pain and humiliation. Her plan relied on what the Destroyer might do to her if ever he came to claim her. She practised and practised what she would do, what she would say, which thoughts she would display and which she would hide. She polished the plan like a precious stone, honed it like a sharp knife to slip between Deorc's ribs. Eventually her mind wandered, her thirst for revenge dissolving in the face of a bleak tiredness, her precious disciplines abandoned. Some time later her skin cooled, and a light breeze caressed her arms, waking her from fractured dreams. The breeze
seemed the most beautiful thing ever to happen to her. She hung there for some time before opening her eyes. The sun had set, and the stars were out.
Stella blinked, and blinked again. The stars were below her, and they were moving. What had Tanghin done to her? What new illusion was this? No, they were not stars, but "torches.
Hundreds of people carrying torches filed down the streets that converged on the open space in front of the Hall of Lore. Coming to the slaughter.
The reconstituted Company spent the afternoon in deep conversation. Tales of remarkable adventure were told frankly and without embellishment, and listened to with few questions and little comment. All present realised the urgency of the moment. They heard about the journey of the Arkhimm, of the disaster of Joram Basin, of the separation of Ark and Arkhimm, and of the adventures encountered on the way back to Instruere. Leith told them of Nemohaim and the Pei-ra, and his companions marvelled anew at the flame in his hand.
The Company
They're listening. They're hooked. On cue, a voice came from the crowd. 'So what do we do?'
Ah. The months of conditioning pay off. I could ask them to put their neighbours to death, or sacrifice their own children, and many of them would do it.
Quietly now, he continued. 'So what do we do, my sisters; my brothers? We fight. It is time for what has been placed inside us to come out. It is time to live - and to die - for the Most High. And where do we fight? It has been prophesied we are the spearhead of the next move of the Most High, and so we are. We are pointed squarely at the heart of Instruere. The Most High hurls us at the Council of Faltha! Go now, seek out your friends and acquaintances from other branches, and tell them to assemble in front of the Hall of Lore at sunset tonight. Bring your swords, bring your sticks and your clubs, bring your torches and your fire. Bring your wives and your husbands, your parents and your children. Bring the fire that has been set in your hearts, your courage and your purses to receive the largesse of the Most High Himself.
For we will burn the buildings of the ungodly to
the ground, we will take their treasures for our own, and we will lift high the standard of our master!'
Cries of assent rang around the Basement. Really, he needn't have bothered with the Wordweave.
'Go now! Today is the day of decision, when you find out whether your faith is of the heart or of the mind only. If your faith is indeed of the heart, then meet me in front of the Hall of Lore at the setting of the sun. I will be there, revealed as the appointed one, and I will see that justice is delivered!'
With a mighty roar the crowd surged toward the door, which burst open. Within ten minutes the Basement emptied out, leaving Tanghin alone, laughing, laughing.
The hot autumn sun beat mercilessly on Stella as she hung from the wall of the high tower room. She could feel her skin burning in the glare, but could not move to protect herself.
Sweat blinded her, the salt stinging her eyes, and the joints in her tortured arms screamed their pain. For a time she rehearsed the bones of a plan in her mind. A desperate plan, a plan of revenge, not of escape, but even revenge would most likely be denied her. Yet she now hated Deorc - Tanghin -with a passion far exceeding her former regard for him; a hatred born of pain and humiliation. Her plan relied on what the Destroyer might do to her if ever he came to claim her. She practised and practised what she would do, what she would say, which thoughts she would display and which she would hide. She polished the plan like a precious stone, honed it like a sharp knife to slip between Deorc's ribs. Eventually her mind wandered, her thirst for revenge dissolving in the face of a bleak tiredness, her precious disciplines abandoned. Some time later her skin cooled, and a light breeze caressed her arms, waking her from fractured dreams. The breeze
seemed the most beautiful thing ever to happen to her. She hung there for some time before opening her eyes. The sun had set, and the stars were out.
Stella blinked, and blinked again. The stars were below her, and they were moving. What had Tanghin done to her? What new illusion was this? No, they were not stars, but "torches.
Hundreds of people carrying torches filed down the streets that converged on the open space in front of the Hall of Lore. Coming to the slaughter.
The reconstituted Company spent the afternoon in deep conversation. Tales of remarkable adventure were told frankly and without embellishment, and listened to with few questions and little comment. All present realised the urgency of the moment. They heard about the journey of the Arkhimm, of the disaster of Joram Basin, of the separation of Ark and Arkhimm, and of the adventures encountered on the way back to Instruere. Leith told them of Nemohaim and the Pei-ra, and his companions marvelled anew at the flame in his hand.
The Company
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