Margaret Weis - Fire Sea

Alfred felt stronger. He was able to return the pressure of the young man’s grip. The young man looked at him, and smiled.

Unfortunately, this smile was oil thrown on Kleitus’s smoldering blaze. “You stand accused of corrupting the minds of our youth! There”—he pointed a stabbing finger at the young man—“is our proof!”

The crowd surged forward, its anger rumbled like the belching of the Fire Sea, breaking out of the cracks in the ground.

The old woman thrust aside the hands of those of her brethren who respectfully sought to assist her and rose to her feet under her own power. “Take us before the council, then!” she returned in a voice that quelled the fiery tide. “We will answer any charges brought against us!”

“The council is a bunch of doddering fools, who, in their misguided efforts to preserve peace, have put up with your rantings far too long. The council has turned over leadership to me!”

The mob cheered. Kleitus, emboldened, moved the accusing finger from the young man to the old woman.

“Your heretical lies will do no more harm to the innocent!”

The mob’s cheering grew louder, more sinister. They surged forward again. Blades flashed, blades of sword and knife.

“Those who wield steel in this sacred chamber will find the point turned to their own breasts!” the old woman warned.

It was Kleitus who raised a hand, brought the mob to a halt, brought their clamor to a grumbling quiet. He didn’t act to stop the threat out of fear or mercy; he was demonstrating his control, letting it be known that he could release his wolf pack any time he chose.

“We mean you no harm,” he said smoothly. “Agree to go forth publicly and tell the people that you have been lying to them. Tell them.. .” Kleitus paused, spinning his web. “Tell them that you did, in fact, contact the other worlds. That you hoped to preserve their riches for yourselves. Actually, now that I think of it, such a scheme is probably not far from the truth.”

“Liar!” cried the young man, jumping to his feet. “You know what we have done! I told you! I told you everything! I only wanted to share with you—” Hands outspread, he turned to those gathered around the table. “Forgive me. I have brought this on us.”

“It would have come,” said the old woman softly. “It would have come. We are too early ... or too late. Resume your place at the table.”

Sorrowing, the young man slumped back into his chair. It was Alfred’s turn to offer comfort, what comfort there could be. He rested his hand on the young man’s arm.

Brace yourself, he told him silently. Brace yourself for what must come. Too early . . . too late. Please, not too late! Hope is all we have left.

Kleitus was saying something: “. . . appear in public, denounce yourselves as charlatans. Suitable punishment will be determined. And now stand aside from that table!” he commanded, his voice cold and grinding as the stone door. Several of his followers came forward, iron hammers and chisels in their hands.

“What do you intend to do, Kleitus?”

He shifted the pointing finger again, this time to the white wood. “It will be destroyed, lest it lead others to evil!”

“To the truth, don’t you mean?” the old woman said quietly. “Isn’t that what you fear?”

“Stand aside! Or you will meet the same fate!”

The young man raised his head, stared, stricken, at Kleitus. Only now, he was beginning to understand what terrible purpose the necromancer had in mind. Alfred felt profoundly sorry for the young man. The old woman remained standing. As a body, the men and women gathered around the table rose to stand with her.

“You are wasting your time and possibly your lives, Kleitus. You may silence our voices, but others will come after us. The table will not be destroyed!”

“You plan on defending it?” Again, Kleitus sneered.

“Not with our bodies. With our prayers. Brethren, do no violence. Harm no one. These are our people. Raise no magical defenses. None will be needed. I warn you again, Kleitus!” The old woman’s voice rose strong and proud. “This chamber is sacred, blessed. Those who bring violence will—”

A bow snapped, an arrow sped over the table, thudded into the woman’s breast.

“—be forgiven,” she whispered, and slumped down, red blood staining the white wood.

A flash of movement. Alfred turned. A man raised his bow, arrow aimed straight at Alfred. The man’s face was twisted with fear and the anger fear breeds, Alfred couldn’t move. He couldn’t have cast a magical defense if he’d wanted to. The man drew back the bowstring, prepared to let fly. Alfred stood waiting for death. Not courageously, he realized sadly, but rather foolishly.

A strong hand, coming from behind Alfred, shoved him to one side, and he was falling. . . .

“Damn it, Sartan! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

A hand caught hold of him, shook him roughly.

Alfred raised his head, gazed confusedly about. He was lying on the floor, and expected to see the bloodstained hems of white robes, the trampling feet of the mob. Instead, he saw a dog, standing over him, and Haplo. He could hear voices, shouts, and the tramping of feet. The mob. The mob was coming. But, no, the mob had come—

“Must. . . guard the table .. .” Alfred struggled to stand.

“There’s no time for any more of your tricks!” Haplo fumed. “Do you hear that? The soldiers are coming!”

“Yes, the mob ... attacking. . .”

Haplo grabbed him, shook him as if to shake up his scattered wits. “Give your magic up as a bad try and concentrate on how you’re going to get us out of here!”

“I don’t understand ... please! Tell me what’s going on! I... I truly don’t understand!”

The Patryn kept his watchful gaze on the door, dropped his hands from Alfred’s robes in exasperation. “Why should that surprise me? All right, Sartan. Apparently during the ‘performance’ you put on for our benefit—”

“I didn’t—”

“Shut up and listen! Our duchess managed somehow to douse the sacred lights and activate the runes that open that door. And you’re going to do the same to the runes on that door”—Haplo pointed to another door located at a forty-five-degree angle from the first—“when I give the word. Do you think you can walk now?”

“Yes,” Alfred said, somewhat hesitantly. He swayed unsteadily on his feet, clung to the table for support. He was confused, felt as if he were in two different places at the same time, and he had a strong reluctance to leave the last place, despite the danger. The overwhelming sense of peace and . . . and of having found something long sought.. . now gone again ...

“I don’t know why I asked.” Haplo glared at him. “You couldn’t walk all that well in the first place. Keep low, damn it! You’re of no use to me with an arrow stuck in your craw! And if you faint, I’ll leave you here!”

“I’m not going to faint,” Alfred said, with dignity. “And my own magic is now strong enough to protect me from . . . from attack,” he added, faltering.

Brethren, do no violence. Harm no one. These are our people. Raise no magical defenses.

I did her bidding. I had no magical defenses. Haplo knew that. He knew it because he was there with me! He was beside me! He saw what I saw.. . . What did we see?

A deep voice could be heard outside the door. It sounded distant, but the clamoring of the dead soldiers hushed.

“Kleitus,” said Haplo grimly. “We’ll have to run for it!” He propelled the Sartan forward, guiding him over and around the tangle of bones on the floor, dragging him to his feet when he stumbled.