Robert Adams - Swords of the Horseclans

He, too, sat up. “Mara, many of our people feel that I am unjustly persecuting the Ehleen Church in the Confederation. This is an exaggeration. I’m not persecuting it at all; I’m only trying to weaken the stranglehold it has had on the Ehleenoee and their culture for far too long. An organized religion of any description is, by its very nature, best served by conservatism. This is why, when I gave the ancestors of the Horseclans their laws and religion, I did it in such a manner that it would be very difficult for a priestly caste to develop.

“Your cultural apogee was reached two hundred years ago and you were still squatting there, until the coming of the Horseclans. Your average Ehleen is born a conservative—‘What was good enough for great great grandpa is good enough for me!’ Between that basic attitude and the tendency of the Eeyehrefsee to brand as Satan-spawned any person or thing they don’t understand, the creativity has been all but ground out of your people, Mara.”

She slapped her thigh angrily. “Now, that is a lie, and you know it! If our people … my people … lack creativity, then from whence comes our art, our music, our literature, our architecture? Why, the very palace in which you sit slandering us is new. Demetrios had most of it built just before you barbarians invaded. Don’t misunderstand me, I bear little love for Church or Eeyehrefsee—the black-robed vultures! Do you know how they ‘test’ a suspected Undying? They lop off a hand or a foot and plunge the stump into boiling pitch. Then they throw the unfortunate wretch into a dungeon for a couple of months to see if it grows back. No, I wouldn’t care if you had every Eeyehrefs in the Confederation roasted alive, but I won’t have my people defamed!”

“Mara,” he went on doggedly, “your anger is unworthy of the fine woman I know you are. Stop thinking like an Ehleen and open your mind. Think, Mara, thinfcl Your artistics are all nobles, which class is infamously irreligious. No, it is the poor and the oppressed who are your most religious; your peasants, the khpreekoee, they are the actual strength of the Church. When did one of them ever come up with something new and different—a labor-saving device, for instance, something great grandpa didn’t have?”

He paused, awaiting her answer, but she only sat in sullen silence.

“What would happen if a khoreefcos devised and fabricated a simple, mule-drawn apparatus that could reap a field of rye in less time than twenty scythe-men? Well, Mara,” he prodded, “what would be the fate of that agrarian genius? Would he be lauded for his innovative ability? Would his peers beat a path to his door, that he might show them how to build and use his invention? Answer me, wife!”

“Oh, you know damned well what would happen to the poor dumb bastard, Milo!” snapped Mara. “The Eeyehrefsee would see him tortured until he admitted to transactions with Satan … or died; then they’d see him and his invention burned together.”

“Precisely.” He nodded. “Which certainly rather discourages any original thought on the part of the land slaves, doesn’t it? But the priests don’t intimidate me. I have devised and am going to introduce just such a machine at the next harvest time.”

“Oh, Milo, Milo!” Mara pled. “Please don’t stir up any more trouble with the Church. You know what they did to that water-powered mill you had built while yon were gone last summer. And they’d have seen the millers all slain, too, had my guards not gotten there in time.”

“So they sought my millers out in their homes and butchered them before their families,” stated Milo grimly. “You didn’t know of it because the widows were too terrified to speak until I returned, since the damned Ehpohteesee had borne their husbands’ mutilated bodies away and promised to come back and do the same to them and their children if they said aught of the murders.”

Mara had paled. “The Knights of the Saints?” she breathed.

He nodded, tight-lipped. “Yes, the Church’s secret terror squads. But the bastards aren’t secret any longer; they’re all either dead or incarcerated in the old fortress at Goohm.”

“But …” she stammered, “but how did you find out who they are?”

Milo showed his teeth in a wolf-like grin. “As you said earlier, it’s been a busy six weeks for me. I had old Hreesos, the Metropolitan, arrested on a trumped-up charge and immured in the deepest tier of the City Prison, naked, to contemplate upon his sins. After a week, he was brought up, washed, shorn, shaved, and garbed in a death-robe. Then he was left alone for a few minutes, long enough for him to look out the window and see the Chief Executioner sitting on the block and thumbing the edge of his great sword. Mara, you have never heard such moaning and praying,” Milo chuckled.

“The old scoundrel went to his knees, wet his red robe down the front, and started going over his life and his more questionable activities in his mind. Of course, he has no mindshield, and I was behind a false wall with two of the prairie cats; Mara, some of the things that swine has done or had done in the name of religion would curl your hair. I’d originally intended fining him and freeing him after I’d picked his mind, but after I found out just what a merciless monster he is, I had him heaved back in his cell. He’s far too dangerous to be out of a cage!”

“And I hadn’t been back in the palace for an hour when a delegation presented a petition for me to intercede with you on Hreesos’ behalf,” said Mara. “The delegates also apprised me of the fact that barbarian kahtahfraktoee were riding through the streets and sabering every priest they saw—on your order.”

“You’ve never spoken of any of this before tonight, Mara. Why not?” asked Milo.

She matched his predatory grin, tooth for tooth. “I told you, you could roast them all without upsetting me. Besides, I knew you’d tell me all about it in your own time.” Her brow wrinkled. “But why that elaborate charade, darling, why didn’t you just have him tortured?”

“Torturing a man like that would have accomplished nothing, Mara. The man, for all his misdeeds, is a religious fanatic. He is dead certain that every evil he has wrought has been holy, in that his acts helped perpetuate and strengthen his Church. He would have bitten off his own tongue, ere he imparted to me the information I wanted!”

“So,” Mara inquired, “he unknowingly gave you the names of all the Ekpohteeseel”

He barked a short laugh. “Hardly! There were over three hundred of the ruffians. But he did think of the Grand Master, his illegitimate son, Marios. Him, I had the pleasure of introducing to the artful Master Fyuhstohn, only a couple of hours later. Marios became a real fountain of information. It was all the scribes could do to keep up with him. Then I gave him a cell next door to his father.”

“It’s all up to you,” put in Mara. “But wouldn’t it be safer to kill them?”

“That precious pair,” snarled her husband, “is undeserving of a quick death. The only man who’s allowed to slop those swine is a deaf mute; the guards on the level above have orders to immediately slay anyone, even the prison-governor who tries to go below—I issued their orders, in person!”

“What,” she asked, “are you going to do with the rest of the Ehpohteesee?”

“When the Church has been weakened and discredited to the point that witnesses are no longer afraid to come forward, I’m going to try them for their crimes. Until then, I’ve a number of schemes to keep them busy. Shortly, they’ll start repairs on the east trade road. Next spring and summer will come the cleaning and repair of Goohm—at the end of the campaign, I mean Goohm to become Freefighter headquarters. Next winter, they can go back on the roads.”