Cedei nodded and fished out a pipe and tobacco pouch. He filled the bowl and made a show of casting around for a light, checking for their escort of Dark Monks, the religious order both Torl and Macove belonged to. He caught no one’s eye and made no additional gestures, but once the pipe was lit he looked satisfied enough.
‘Shall we then?’
The three men edged a little closer to the preachers, careful to act as they looked: interested merchants who posed no threat to order or the safety of the preachers. Only Torl wore a cloak, and that was pushed back off his shoulders despite the chilly weather and heavy grey clouds — all the better for the Devoted to see they carried only knives for their own protection. His three gold earrings of rank had been removed now they were in enemy territory, as had Macove’s two, though both men found themselves touching a finger to their ear from time to time, then checking the cords around their necks from which the family relics hung.
‘Brothers!’ exclaimed a voice from their left, and Torl almost jumped as a man appeared from the crowd, not dressed as a preacher, but with the exact same expression as those in white. He’d been tasked with rooting out potential dissent in the crowd, Torl realised, meeting the naysayers head on before the white-clad preachers could be dragged into a shouting match.
‘Do you come to hear the peace of Ruhen?’
Cedei nodded enthusiastically, immediately deferential. ‘We do, sir. Passed a good few preachers on the road — and more’n enough signs o’ what war’s done to this Land besides.’
The man inclined his head benevolently and Torl forced himself to respond in respectful kind, Macove following his lead. The ageing suzerain felt his fists tighten as he bent his back to the man; he was unused to considering any commoner his equal, let alone his superior.
‘You are come from Narkang lands?’ he asked with a studied expression of guileless interest.
‘That I am, sir,’ Cedei agreed with a bob of the head, ‘my friends from the north.’
‘Scree,’ Torl said hoarsely, ‘what once was, anyway.’
‘So you have all suffered by the cruelty of avaricious men,’ he intoned. ‘Yours is a common story, brothers.’
‘We’ve seen enough fighting, aye, ta know the horrors of it,’
Cedei said. He looked askance at Torl. ‘Some witnessing more’n others.’
‘Your family?’
Torl bowed his head, trusting Cedei’s instincts for spinning a plausible story. ‘My wife and children,’ he confirmed, ‘we were separated in the rush to escape the firestorm.’
‘And they were murdered by men claiming divine inspiration,’ the man finished for him. ‘The King of Narkang let his army run riot on the defenceless refugees.’
‘Bastard did nothing when the Menin came either,’ Cedei added with venom. ‘Could’ve used some righteous fury when my town was burning.’
‘But he saw no profit in it,’ the white-clad man said sadly, ‘such is the way of men of power. Only Ruhen’s peace will free us of this — only Ruhen is not so clouded by the cares and fears of our mortal life, not corrupted by desires for power or magic only Gods should be able to wield.’
Cedei nodded obsequiously and it was all Torl could do not to gawp at the man’s superb acting. ‘Hoping ta hear a better way, sir. We’ve all heard rumours that King Emin commands monsters, but no matter what, the priests would only sing his praises.’
‘The cults are wedded to their own love of power, the thrall they hold the people in with empty promises of the afterlife.’ The man lurched forward and unexpectedly embraced Cedei, causing several more in the crowd to turn and watch the exchange.
‘Open your heart, brother! Come, let us get closer and hear our saviour’s message of peace!’ Torl saw smiles and approval on the faces of the crowd, and more than one echoing the man’s exhortations.
Torl and Macove held their ground as the man led a beaming Cedei away, one arm draped over his shoulders to guide him to the front of the crowd. Torl could sense the envy radiating out from those around them as Cedei was brought to the front of the crowd, the people parting easily before them, but closing up just as quickly afterwards.
The main group of preachers were assembled on a small platform in the centre of the square, next to a large well. The lighter marks on the stone indicated something had recently been removed from there — Torl guessed a shrine to an Aspect of Vasle inhabiting the well — though how the preachers had justified demolishing it he couldn’t fathom. Perhaps the local priests charged for any water drawn; perhaps it was destroyed under cover of dark and King’s Men blamed for the desecration.
‘Brothers,’ began a burly preacher, slipping his white hood from his head, ‘Sisters, blessed children! May the peace of Ruhen embrace you all and cast the fear from your hearts.’
There were muttered responses from the crowd, no one wanting to stand out by speaking up too loudly, but the preacher basked in their attention nonetheless. He fell silent for a few heartbeats and then his expression turned grave. ‘The peace of the child is a blessed thing. We, his children in spirit, were born with purity in our hearts and minds. We too were once free of fear and our hearts yearn for that time of peace, but this Land is one assailed and it cannot be. Only the child, our Lord Ruhen, possesses a purity of spirit that cannot be diminished by the works of daemons and evil men — for his is the quintessence of that first, perfect gift we are each given by the Gods.’
Torl nodded along with the rest of the crowd, though it sickened him to his stomach to hear such words go unchallenged. The Brethren of the Sacred Teachings, called by most the Dark Monks, were an Order dedicated to the preservation of the Pantheon’s majesty. He had spent his life studying religious texts and defending the innocent from all sorts of threats. That he could not draw a sword and strike this man down pained him physically, but he forced down the feelings and continued to listen.
‘In these dark times,’ the preacher continued after the crowd had hushed again, ‘we find ourselves assailed. The Land itself and the Gods that rule us are assailed, estranged from their children by the wickedness of priests in love with power. We choose peace for our hearts, we choose a path of purity for our lives, but it is not always enough.’
He gestured towards the liveried Knights of the Temples standing at the mouth of an alley. ‘Some are forced to take up arms in defence of peace, to fight those who cannot stand to see it flourish in this once beautiful Land. Place your trust in these guardians and place your faith in the child: his peace is a shield against the cares of this life.
‘And still they come, and still the devoted servants of peace are beset. This is the dusk of the Land, brothers and sisters, and a great darkness shall soon be upon us.’
The preacher bowed his head a moment, as though struggling physically with the strain of the darkness, and Torl saw the crowd surge forward as if to support him with all they had. Many of those watching were the poorest of this town, but not all; Cedei’s account of the assault on the Ruby Tower had described a small army of beggars camped outside the gates, waiting for a glimpse of their saviour. Now, it was not only the mad and the desperate finding solace in Ruhen’s promises. He recognised how they would be swayed to Ruhen’s service even as his horror deepened.
‘The darkness will come in many forms: in the faces of men and on the wings of daemons — but do not fear it; it is fear they crave, terror they seek to inspire. Without oppression and fear, the King of Narkang is nothing but a man ruled by his own vices. Darkness walks this Land, as you have all borne witness. Daemons walk this Land — the voices in the night, the shapes beyond the boundary lines, given freedom to hunt by those enemies of peace, eager for the blood of innocent men.’
The preacher took a step forward, staring directly at the faces of those nearest him, Cedei included. ‘But should we fear them, my siblings under Ruhen?’
‘No!’ screamed several, howling the words back at him and prompting the preacher to incline his head with stern approbation.
‘No, we should not: their power comes from your fear; that is how they become strong over us. When the daemons came to Byora, the child did not fear them. An army of daemons, loosed from Ghenna’s dark pit and sent to kill the child by King Emin himself — but Ruhen did not fear them. He marched out with one disciple at his side, one man walking in the footsteps of a child!
‘The daemons were weakened by his resolve and they could not harm him, for peace is anathema to them. A great victory was won that day — not by armies, not by lords or mages, but by common folk like you and me. The
