Heirs of Empire

understanding. “They’re—oh, how can I make you understand?” She turned away, folding her arms below her breasts, and her spine was ramrod stiff. “We … can do many things you can’t,” she said finally, “but we’re mortal, Stomald. All of us. We simply have tools, skills, you don’t, yet if you had those tools, you could do anything you’ve seen us do and more.”

“You’re … mortal?” he whispered, and even through the whirlwind confusion uprooting all his certainty, he felt a sudden, soaring joy.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Forgive me, please. I … I never meant to deceive you, never meant—” She broke off, shoulders shaking, and his heart twisted as he realized she was weeping. “We never wanted any of this to happen, Stomald.” Her lovely voice was choked and thick. “We only … we only wanted to get home, and then I ran into Tibold, and he shot me and brought me back to Cragsend, and somehow it all—”

She shook her head fiercely, and turned back to face him.

“Please, Stomald. Please believe we never, ever, meant to hurt anyone. Not you, not your people, not even the Inner Circle. It just … happened, and we couldn’t let the Church destroy you for something we’d caused!”

“Get home?” Stomald rose from the stool and crossed to stand directly before her, staring into her tear- streaked face, and she nodded. “Home … where?” he asked hesitantly.

“Out there.” She pointed at the sky invisible beyond the roof of the tent, and for just an instant sheer horror filled the priest. The stars! She was from the stars, and the Writ said only the demons who had cast Man from the firmament—

Sick panic choked him. Had he done the very thing the Inner Circle charged him with? Had he given his allegiance to the Great Demons who sought only the destruction of all God’s works?

But then, as quickly as it had come, the terror passed, for it was madness. Whatever else she might be, the Angel Harry—or whoever she truly was—was no demon. He’d seen too much of her pain among the wounded and dying, too much gentleness and compassion, to believe that. And the Writ itself said no demon, greater or lesser, could speak the Holy Tongue, yet she spoke it to him every day! All his life, Stomald had been taught the inviolability of the Writ, but now he faced a truth almost more terrifying than the possibility that she might actually be a demon, for if she came from the stars, the Writ said she must be a demon, and yet the Writ also proved she couldn’t be one.

He felt the cornerstone of his life turning under his feet like wet, treacherous sand, and fear washed through him. But even as that fear sought to suck him under, he clung to his faith in her. Angel or no, he trusted her. More than trusted, he admitted to himself. He loved her.

“Tell me,” he begged, and she stepped forward. She rested her hands on his shoulders and gazed into his face, and he felt his fear ease as her fingers squeezed gently.

“I will. I’ll tell you everything. Some of it will be hard to understand, maybe even impossible—at first, at least—but I swear it’s true, Stomald. Will you trust me enough to believe me?”

“Of course,” he said simply, and the absolute certainty in his tone was distantly surprising even to him.

“Thank you,” she said softly, then drew a deep breath. “The first thing you have to understand,” she said more briskly, “is what happened—not just here on Pardal, but out there, as well—” her head jerked at the tent roof once more “sixteen thousand of your years ago.”

* * *

It took hours. Stomald lost count of how many times he had to stop her for fuller explanation, and his brain spun at the tale she told him. It was madness, impossible, anathema to everything he’d ever been taught … and he believed every word. He had no choice, and a raging sense of wonder mingled with shock and the agonizing destruction of so much certainty.

“ … so that’s the size of it, Stomald,” she said finally. They sat on facing stools, and the candles had burned low in the lanterns set about the tent. “We never meant to harm anyone, never meant to deceive anyone. We tried to tell you Sandy and I weren’t angels, but none of you seemed able to believe it, and if we’d insisted and shattered your cohesion when the Church was determined to kill you all because of something we’d started—” She shrugged unhappily, and he nodded slowly.

“Yes, I can see that.” He rubbed his thighs, then licked his lips and managed a strained smile. “I always wondered why you and the An—why you and Sandy insisted that we not call you ‘angel’ when we spoke to you.”

“Can … can you forgive us?” she asked quietly. “We never wanted to insult your beliefs or use your faith against you. Truly we didn’t.”

“Forgive you?” He smiled more naturally and shook his head. “There’s nothing to forgive, My Lady. You are who you are and the truth is the truth, and if the Writ is wrong, perhaps you are God’s messengers. From what you say, this world has spent thousands upon thousands of years blind to the truth and living in fear of an evil that no longer exists, and surely God can send whomever He wishes to show us the truth!”

“Then … you’re not angry with us?”

“Angry, My Lady?” He shook his head harder. “There are many parts of your tale I don’t understand, but Lady Sandy was right. Once events had been set in motion, I and all who followed me would have been destroyed by Mother Church without your aid. How could I be angry at you for saving my people? And if the Writ is wrong, then the bishops and high-priests must learn to accept that, as well. No, Lady Harry. I don’t say all our people could accept what you’ve told me. But the day will come when they can, and will, know the truth, and when they are once more free to travel the stars without fear of demons and damnation, they will no more be angry with you than I could ever be.”

“Stomald,” she said softly, “you’re a remarkable man.”

“I’m only a village under-priest,” he objected, uncomfortable and yet filled with joy by the glow in her eye. “Beside you, I’m an ignorant child playing in the mud on the bank of a tiny stream.”

“No, you’re not. The only difference between us is education and access to knowledge your world denied you, and I grew up with those things. You didn’t, and if our positions were reversed, I doubt I could have accepted the truth the way you have.”

“Accepted, My Lady?” He laughed. “I’m still trying to believe this isn’t all a dream!”

“No, you’re not,” she repeated with a smile, “and that’s what makes you so remarkable.” Her smile turned suddenly into a grin. “I always wondered how Dad really felt when Dahak started explaining the truth about human history to him. Now I know how Dahak must’ve felt making the explanation!”

“I should like to meet this ‘Dahak’ one day,” Stomald said wistfully.

“You will,” she assured him. “I can hardly wait to take you home and introduce you to Mom and Dad, as well!”

“Take … ?” He blinked at her, then stiffened as she reached out and cupped the side of his face in those steel-strong, moth-gentle fingers.

“Of course, Stomald,” she said very, very softly. “Why do you think I wanted to tell you the truth?”

He stared at her in disbelief, and then she leaned forward and kissed him.

Chapter Thirty-One

Tamman stood sipping a steaming mug of tea and tried not to yawn. Brashan’s predicted thunderstorms had rolled up the valley yesterday, and the entire camp was ankle-deep in mud. Pardalian field sanitation was far better than that of most preindustrial armies, and he and Sean had improved on that basic platform, but it was simply impossible to put forty or fifty thousand human beings into an encampment without consequences. Coupled with decent diet, the latrines were holding things like dysentery within limits, yet the ground had been churned into sticky soup and everyone was thoroughly wet and miserable.