Gently refusing her children's support, Sylandya stepped forward. Straight-backed, her face a picture of resolve, she seemed the exact opposite of the frail oldster of a moment before. And when she spoke it was in an impressively strong, loud voice. 'Citizens of Acurial!' They roared once more at that, and even louder when she amended it to, 'Citizens of free Acurial!'
When the clamour died down she continued, 'We have suffered greatly in recent times! Our liberty has been stolen and our land defiled! Too long have we stood back and endured the indignities heaped upon us and the assaults on our pride!'
Archers were on the veranda, scanning the crowd. In the horde itself rebels, Wolverines and Vixens were watchful for any sign of opposition.
'The time is long overdue for us to throw off the shackles the outsiders have forged for us! And now we have a sign!'
Stryke couldn't say what drew his eye to a figure way over beyond the farthest edge of the crowd. It was true that whoever it was wore a cloak and hood that obscured their features, but many in the crowd were dressed that way, for fear of being identified. And the figure was far enough away to present no threat to the principal; too far even for an arrow to be unleashed with sufficient strength or accuracy. Yet Stryke still stared.
'We have the blessings of our revered forebears! We have the assurance of a prophecy! There! There in the sky!' She pointed to the heavens. The crowd went wild.
Stryke saw the figure take something from the folds of their cloak. He couldn't make out what it was.
'Peczan has held us in bondage long enough! Now Grilan-Zeat has come, a hammer to break the chains that bind us!'
The figure cast the object into the air. Or rather, released it. Whatever it was soared upward, seemingly of its own volition. Then it levelled out and started moving over the crowd.
'We have a heritage! A heritage of ferocity and battle, of victory over our foes! A heritage we have allowed ourselves to forget! Well, now the time has come to reawaken that slumbering spirit! To set free the hounds of war!'
As it got nearer, Stryke could see that the object had wings. At which point he stopped thinking of it as an object and started thinking of it as a bird. A white bird, not particularly large, flapping unerringly in their direction. He wondered what harm a bird could do.
'Coilla,' he whispered, nudging her. 'See that?' He pointed, but not obviously so.
She squinted. 'A bird? Looks like a dove.'
'Yes, I think it is a dove.' He noticed that the figure who had released it had gone.
'What about it?' she asked slightly peevishly, irritated at his talking over Sylandya's speech.
'It's… not right.'
'When we raise arms against our oppressors it is in pursuit of a righteous cause! The cause of freedom!'
'What do you mean, not right?' Coilla hissed. 'It's a fucking bird.'
'No,' Stryke replied. 'I don't know what it is, but…'
The dove was a stone's throw away and heading straight at them.
'No longer will we dwell miserably in the dark! We shall take up our blades and carve our way to the light! No matter how much human flesh stands in our path!'
'Brelan! Chillder!' Stryke yelled. 'Danger!'
The principal faltered, and looked at him. Everyone else on the veranda did likewise, some open-mouthed, others with angry expressions.
'Something's coming!' Stryke shouted. 'There!' He thrust out an arm to indicate the approaching threat.
As he did so, a change rapidly came over the dove. It became somehow indistinct, and began to alter its shape. But it kept coming. Some in the crowd noticed it and reacted noisily.
Stryke snatched a bow from one of the rebels, drew it and took aim.
The dove transformed into a swirling black cloud, with streaks of gold and silver pulsing at its core.
The crowd on the balcony was in disarray. Stryke loosed his arrow.
A bolt of pure white light, blindingly vivid, erupted from the cloud. It covered the distance to the balcony in an instant, striking Sylandya. She collapsed, a smouldering wound in her chest.
The cloud that had been a bird that wasn't a bird dissolved.
There was uproar. Brelan and Chillder, ashen with shock, half carried, half dragged their stricken mother inside. Stryke, Coilla and a number of the rebels went with them.
The crowd was in turmoil.
They laid Sylandya on some sacking. Brelan slipped out of his jerkin and folded it as a pillow for her head. He and Chillder seemed distraught to the point of panic. A rebel medic elbowed his way through. One look at the gaping, charred wound told him all he needed to know. He turned to the twins and slowly shook his head.
Sylandya was still conscious. Her lips moved feebly. Brelan and Chillder moved closer.
' Remember,' she whispered, ' remember… your… promise.'
'We will,' Brelan pledged, squeezing her hand.
Then Sylandya's eyes closed and the last breath went out of her.
The twins surrendered to despair.
Chillder rose. She wore a look of hurt and bewilderment.
Coilla went to her and put her hands on her shoulders. 'Courage,' she said.
'She knew,' Chillder replied, as though separated from the world by a great distance. 'Somehow, she knew.'
The crowd was making a tremendous racket. Stryke went back outside.
Haskeer was still there, surveying the scene below. ' Shit,' he said. 'And on our watch.'
'We couldn't have foreseen it,' Stryke assured him, though he wasn't entirely sure that was true. 'I'll tell you one thing. I doubt that was Helix magic.'
'Jennesta?'
'Who else? Getting some minion to assassinate the one orc who could rally the populace would be right up her alley.'
'To cow them?' He gazed at the frantic crowd. 'They don't look too put off to me. Just the opposite.'
'No,' Stryke agreed. 'This could be Jennesta's biggest mistake.'
10
Stryke was proved right, and in short order.
Far from intimidating Acurial's population, the murder of Sylandya enraged it. Attacks on the occupiers immediately increased tenfold. Not just in the city but throughout the country. Many of the assaults were opportunistic, and carried out by individuals or small ad hoc groups. One of the resistance's tasks was to coordinate these actions, and to organise the growing number of dissidents into a coherent fighting force. Within days they had the makings of a rebel army.
Brelan and Chillder channelled their grief into these activities, working with demonic energy in their mother's name, and the Wolverines were heavily involved in training the new intake. But the warband drew most satisfaction from doing what they did best: confronting occupiers on the streets of Taress.
In this Jup and Spurral, and the human Pepperdyne, were given roles to play. The dwarfs in particular, after being confined for so long, found it a pleasing outlet. However, none of the trio ever ventured out unaccompanied by fellow band members or rebel fighters, lest they be taken for enemies or freaks. For Standeven, little changed. Useless in any kind of combat function, he contributed mainly through manual work at various safe houses, which he undertook grudgingly. But he mostly confined his complaints to the Wolverines. The incident of the dead intruder had been eclipsed by the burgeoning uprising, but not forgotten.
For his part, Stryke kept the instrumentalities with him at all times, even in combat. He was not about to repeat the mistake of entrusting any of them to anyone else, even the most loyal of his comrades. There were
