The crowd fell silent, everyone captivated by these strange men who had come amongst them, preaching humanity’s superiority over all other creatures.
The speaker resumed.
“The truth is that they
“And both…” He pointed at the crowd once more, emphasising his point, “…and both caught up in their own militant rivalry!” He spat the words in disgust, and a few voices shouted out excitedly from the crowd, agreeing with him.
“They do not want us out here, hunting for the monster ourselves! They feed on our insecurity, on the belief that simple men like us cannot protect our homes-making us believe we need them! Look around you! Look at your neighbour! Can he not protect himself? Would he not
“They rule only by our consent. They govern us only by our own leave. They exist only because we allow them to!” The speaker’s finger once more extended toward the night sky, and he paused for a moment to let them consider the enormity of his words. If the authorities had heard him speak in such a manner in one of the cities, he would be arrested for sedition. He knew that well. But here in the open country, and with Falador a day’s ride south, standing amongst farmers and travellers and men to whom the monster was a very real thing, he was free to do as he wished.
“But in truth, we are to blame,” he continued. “Look again at your neighbour-if he can protect himself, then why does he rely on the goodwill of others? If he can fight, why then is he so eager to extol the virtues of the knights and depend upon them for safety? Why, if a common man has faith in the strength of his own arm, are we so eager to let the strutting knights and officers of the exclusive Imperial Guard collect their taxes and rob us of our livelihood, just to pay for the silver buttons on their ceremonial coats?
“Remember, they rule only because we let them. They rule only because we fear to take our destinies into our own hands!”
A pungent smell made the speaker smile inwardly. His fellow believers had done well, passing the strong brew amongst the onlookers, feeding their frenzied minds with the potent alcohol. Such was their animation that he doubted the crowd would be willing to disperse without some activity to vent their rage.
“They say a monster is loose!” he cried. “A creature that devours its victims! They say they do not know what it is, and they secretly encourage us to let our own imaginations build their monster into something mythical.
“Werewolves!” He punched the air viciously. “Vampires! Ghouls!” With each word another savage punch, and with each blow a roaring tempest of voices shouting encouragement.
“But what has it attacked so far? A single woman barely out of girlhood! A lone gypsy caravan, isolated from any help, with just a grandfather and young mother to protect a defenceless child! Look at your neighbour, my friends, and ask yourselves why we should be afraid. Search amongst you for any who would not fight to protect their families from a beast that kills the old and the weak. This is no werewolf. This is no vampire or ghoul. But it is not human either. What human would do such a thing?”
The faces of the men showed doubt under the torchlight.
“It is something masquerading as a monster-something designed to instil fear into our souls,” he said, his voice filled with certainty. “What else could it be?”
The men shook their heads.
“Goblins can be found in these parts-we all know of the settlement north of here. Could it be a goblin?” he asked, facing the foremost onlookers directly, one after the other.
“Goblins aren’t smart enough.” The voice was thick with the rural accent.
“But what else can it be?” This second voice was familiar to the speaker, for he had told the man exactly what to say.
The result was exactly as he had hoped.
“There’s a dwarf that lives hereabouts. Just off the road to Taverley, a few miles north of here. He lives on his own, as a hermit.”
Doubtful expressions drew the speaker’s attention. Some of the crowd still needed convincing.
“A hermit?” the speaker yelled suddenly. “Does he show a hatred of people?”
“He don’t like them getting too close!” the rural voice shouted out, and several nodded in agreement. The dwarf was a well-known hermit who had lived in the lands of Asgarnia for two dozen untroubled years, but as the farms of men had grown closer, he had become an angry neighbour.
“Dwarfs are known for their cunning,” he said in a thoughtful manner. “They are the masters of metal, hoarding their treasures, unwilling to share even the basest trinket. What lengths would he go to in order to protect his privacy? How well do we know him? We cannot trust a creature like that!” His fiery eyes observed new jugs of alcohol being passed amongst the crowd, and to his delight he noted several men swaying uncertainly.
“How can we trust a thing that hoards its wealth?” he continued. “Dwarfs are known for their love of shiny metals. They share the magpie’s lust to decorate their homes with what is precious to humankind. Gold! Silver! Rubies! Where a dwarf makes his home, you will find such things.”
The speaker had lit the fire of envy in the eyes of the onlookers, and as they drank he could see the effects of his appeal to their greed. Each of them pictured what secret wealth the lone dwarf might possess in his isolated log cabin.
“I say we go and see the dwarf,” the rural voice called from the rear of the crowd. “Ask him about the murders!” A dozen voices rose in agreement.
“It will know something, my friends! The caravan was only a few miles from its lair when it was attacked.” The speaker had changed his approach. The dwarf had been demoted to an “it”, his home rechristened a lair.
He smiled as the angry voices echoed amidst the dell. A lair was so much easier to burn than someone’s home.
The clear night glittered with so many stars that Theodore thought they must be beyond count.
He had sat up late with Castimir, talking extensively of their childhood together in Rimmington, a town that lay several days’ travel from Falador. The two had shared laughter, reliving the halcyon days of their youth, their faces lit under the strong moonlight that softly touched the thatched rooftops and white walls of Taverley. The fountains glistened in the gloom, their faint music of cascading water an eerie enchantment.
Now Theodore looked once more at the stars, a great loneliness in his heart, a sudden feeling of smallness as he observed the heavens above him.
“Is it true, Castimir?” he asked. “What they say about the stars?”
The young wizard looked at him for a long minute, aware that their conversation was nearing its end and that it would soon be time for them to part. It had taken considerable effort to break through Theodore’s reserve, a protection the squire built around himself to keep others at a distance.
“What do they say about the stars, Theo?”
“That if you travel far enough, they change.” Theodore stared wistfully skyward.
“I cannot say, for I have never travelled so far. The stars in Catherby are the same as they are here-fixed in the heavens by the gods to guide seamen and reveal the secrets of the world to astrologers.”
A sudden cough sounded from nearby, and Theodore’s hand instinctively found the hilt of his sword. A moment later Ebenezer emerged from behind a fountain, his hand holding a clay pipe as he walked tentatively toward them.
“Did I hear you correctly, saying that you believed the stars to be fixed forever in the heavens, just to be used by astrologers?” He eyed Castimir with a sparkle in his eyes.
“That’s what we were brought up to believe,” the young man replied. “I know you well enough, however, to
