Margaret Weis - The cataclysm

Those in the front ranks seemed unwilling to proceed, fell back to let those behind come forth if they wanted. Those behind, finding themselves about to become those in front, had second thoughts, with the result that the mob began to mill about aimlessly at the foot of the library stairs. Some shouted threats; others threw rotten eggs and vegetables at the venerable structure. No one wanted to go any nearer.

The speaker gazed at them with a grim face, realized that the time was not propitious. He stepped down from his platform and was immediately surrounded by people, who cried out for his blessing or reached out to touch him reverently or held up their children for him to kiss.

"In the name of the Kingpriest," he said humbly, moving from one to another. "In the name of the Kingpriest."

"What is this mockery?" Michael gasped, appalled, no longer able to keep quiet. "I can't believe this! Haven't they learned? This is worse, far worse — "

"Hush!" Nikol hissed and dragged him even farther back into the shadows.

The speaker moved through the crowd, handling the people skillfully, giving them what they wanted, yet subtly ridding himself of them. A small retinue, led by the man who had asked the speaker to read the laws, formed a circle around the Revered Son and managed to extricate him from the press. He and his henchmen emerged near where Michael and Nikol stood, hidden by the trees.

Some of the mob continued to surge sluggishly about the library steps, but most grew bored and wandered off to the taverns or whatever other amusements could cheer their dreary existence.

"You had them eating out of your hand, Revered Son. Why didn't you urge them on?"

"Because now is not the time," the Revered Son answered complacently. "Let them go to their friends and neighbors and tell what they have heard this day. We'll have a hundred times more people than this at our next rally and a hundred times a hundred more after that. In the meantime, we'll whip up their fear and their hatred.

"Remember that half-elf baker we talked to yesterday, the stubborn one, who refused to leave the city? See to it that his loaves make a few people sick. Use this." The Revered Son handed over a small glass vial. "Let me know who's taken ill. I'll be around to 'heal' them."

One of the henchmen, taking the vial, looked at it dubiously. The Revered Son regarded him with some impatience. "The effects wear off naturally after a while, but these ignorant peasants don't know that. They'll think I've performed a miracle."

The man pocketed the vial. "What about the library?"

"We'll hold another rally in front of it day after tomorrow, after we've had time to stir up trouble. If you could get me one of those books, the one with the lies about the Kingpriest — "

The man nodded, shrugged. "Nothing to it. That fool old man, Astinus, lets anyone read 'em."

"Excellent. I'll read it aloud to the crowd. That should seal the library's fate and the old man's. He's been the main one opposing my takeover of the city's government. Once he's out of the way, I'll have no trouble with that nambypamby Lord Palanthas.

"Now, tonight," continued the Revered Son, "I want you and the others in the taverns, spreading stories about that knight, the one that was god-cursed — "

"Soth."

"Yes, Lord Soth."

Nikol sucked in her breath softly. Michael caught hold of her hand, squeezed it, counseling silence.

"I'm not certain we should rely on that story to drive the mob to attack the knights, Revered Son. There's more than one tale about him going around."

"What's the other?" the speaker asked sharply.

"That he was forewarned about the Cataclysm. He was riding to Istar, planning to try to STOP the Kingpriest — "

"Nonsense!" The Revered Son snorted. "Here's the story you tell them. Soth was furious because the Kingpriest was about to make public the knight's dalliances with that elven trollop of his. Make that clear. Oh, and throw in that bit about him murdering his first wife. That always goes over — "

"Shush, someone's wanting a blessing."

A young woman, carrying a baby, was hovering timidly on the outskirts of the group. The Revered Son glanced about, saw the woman, and smiled at her benignly.

"Come closer. What may I do for you, Daughter?"

"Pardon me for disturbing you, Revered Son," the woman said, with a blush, "but I heard you speak at the temple yesterday, and I'm confused."

"I'll do my best to help you understand, Daughter," said the Revered Son humbly. "What do you find confusing?"

"I have always prayed to Paladine, but you say we're not to pray to him or any of the other gods. We're to pray to the Kingpriest?"

"Yes, Daughter. When the wicked Queen of Evil attacked the world, the other gods fled in terror. The Kingpriest alone had the courage to stand and fight her, just as did Huma, long ago. The Kingpriest fights her today, on the heavenly plane. He needs your prayers, Daughter, to aid him in his struggles."

"And that's why we must drive out the kender and the elves — "

"And all those whose disbelief come to the aid of the Powers bf Darkness."

"I understand now. Thank you, Revered Son." The young woman curtseyed.

The Revered Son laid his hand upon her head, and upon her child's. "In the name of the Kingpriest," he said solemnly.

The young woman left. The Revered Son watched after her, a pleased smile upon his lips. He cast a glance at his cohorts, who grinned and nodded. Their heads bent together in continued plotting, the Revered Son and his minions walked off in the opposite direction.

Neither Nikol nor Michael could speak for long moments. The shock of what they'd heard and seen took their breath, made them dizzy and sick, as if they'd been physically assaulted.

"Oh, Michael," murmured Nikol, "this can't be happening! I don't believe it. Lord Soth was so valiant, so brave. No knight would do such terrible things — "

"Lies!" said Michael. His face was pale. He literally shook with anger and outrage. "That false cleric has twisted the truth — "

"But what is the truth, Michael?" Nikol cried. "We don't know!"

"Hush, we're attracting attention," he cautioned, noting that several men were casting suspicious glances in their direction. "The truth about that friend of ours," Michael continued loudly. "We'll find out, I'm certain, now that we're here in this fair city. A city obviously blessed."

Several men, burly and unwashed and smelling strongly of dwarf spirits, lurched over to stare at them.

"Strangers, are you?" one said, scowling.

"From Whitsund, Sire," said Michael, bowing.

"At least you're human. Refugees? Thinkin' of movin' in?" He glowered at them. " 'Cause if you are, you got another think comin'. We got beggars enough as it is." Those with him muttered their assent. "Why don't you two just head on back to wherever it is you came from?"

Nikol shifted restlessly; her armor jingled, her sword clanked. The man turned, looked at her with drunken interest.

"That steel I hear?" The man took a step nearer Nikol. Reaching out a filthy hand, he caught hold of her by the chin, wrenched her face to the light. "You look as if you've noble blood in you, boy. Don't he, fellas? Not some noble's son, by any chance? With a fat purse?"

"Let go of me," said Nikol through clenched teeth. "Or you're a dead man."

"Please," said Michael, trying to come between them, "we don't want any trouble — "

But he only made matters worse. His staff caught on Nikol's cloak, dragged the fabric aside. The shining breastplate she wore glittered in the sun.

"A knight hisself!" The man howled in glee. "Look, fellas. Look what I've caught! I'm gonna have a little fun.' " He drew a long dagger from his belt. "Let's see if your blood does run yellow — "