whether at him or at the Foragers Sardec could not tell.
“That will be enough, sir,” said Sardec. His parade ground voice carried over the crowd. The situation here was on a bayonet’s edge. He did not want anything to provoke the crowd and the slightest thing might set it off. On the other hand, he could not afford to let the man stir the crowd up.
“What are you going to do about it, Hookhand? Challenge me to a duel?”
Sardec felt his face flush. So even the people here knew about that? The lower orders were discussing his business. He schooled his features into a mask. He was not going to let himself be provoked. Some of those present laughed but oddly enough more of those present seemed to take Sardec’s part. They shook their heads. Women began to pull their children into doorways. Men began to walk away. Sardec wished that he knew what was going on but he had no idea.
After a few minutes only a few die-hard troublemakers and the agitator himself were left in the square. Still Sardec sensed countless eyes watching him from windows and balconies overlooking it. Sardec continued to stare at those who opposed his will. He gave them one last chance.
“You will disperse and go to your homes,” he said. “Or you will be arrested. This is an unlawful assembly.”
Once again, none of them could meet his gaze. The men, hard-looking unshaven types, street bullies and stevedores no doubt, slunk away, leaving only the agitator, still hanging from the statue. “Corporal Toby, arrest that man,” Sardec said.
“With pleasure, sir.”
Sardec turned to Sergeant Hef. “That went better than I expected,” he said. “Although I have no idea why.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” said the monkey-faced little man, “but it was the duel. Most of the folk around here, and particularly the women, know you fought a Terrarch over a human woman. The crowd was humans, sir. The speaking fellow made a mistake reminding them of what you had done. Begging your pardon, they have more time for you than most Terrarchs, sir.”
Sardec did not know what to say, whether to feel proud or embarrassed. It seemed that he was something of a celebrity here. He told himself that the approval of the crowd should not matter to him, but he found that it did.
“Let’s get that buffoon into irons and the lads back to barracks,” he said
“What’s your name,” Sardec asked the agitator.
“What does it matter, Hookhand?” Sardec has to admit the man was brave. Either that or he was mad. Even in the improvised cell in the billet, he showed no fear and no sign of regret.
“It will be on your gravestone.”
“Then put down a Kharadrean patriot.”
“A Kharadrean idiot, more like,” said Weasel. He and the Barbarian had been assigned to watch the man until the magistrate got there. The Barbarian laughed.
“Laugh all you like, moron,” said the patriot. “Your time is coming.”
With terrifying swiftness and deceptive casualness, the big man batted him right across the room. Sardec glanced at him. “That will be quite enough, soldier,” he said.
“Yes, sir.” He looked at the patriot and smiled broadly. There was no malice there, which somehow made it all the more frightening. “I may not be the brightest of men, but at least I have more sense than to tell the men who captured me that they are idiots.”
“I called you a moron, moron,” said the patriot from his place on the floor. Blood trickled from his mouth. A tooth had come loose and he spat it on the floor.
The Barbarian strolled across, picked him up one-handed, and dusted off the dirt from the man’s shirtfront. Innocent as the gesture was, it conveyed a world of menace. The patriot flinched. The Barbarian set the prisoner back on his seat, wiped his hands and grinned down at him. His gentleness had frightened the prisoner in a way that his brutality had not. His mouth was shut. At least for a moment.
“You are all going to die,” he said. “It does not matter what you do to me.”
“Every man dies,” said Weasel. “It happens to some of us sooner than others.”
“The Brotherhood will make your death painful,” said the man. Sardec began to understand him: the gaunt face, the unblinking stare, the utter certainty. The man was a fanatic of some sort.
“You know about the Brotherhood, do you?” he said softly.
“I know it’s going to kill you all, starting with your leaders, and not excepting the lowliest private soldier.”
The man was dressed like a member of the lower mercantile classes but he did not speak like one, more like a priest.
“Why do they want to kill us?” Sardec asked. “We are here to help your Queen.”
“Help? You are vultures hoping to gorge on the corpse of Kharadrea. You will find that this time you choke.”
Sardec remembered the Prophet Zarahel. He had belonged to a Brotherhood. And the Lady Asea suspected that behind that Brotherhood was the long arm of Sardea. The Dark Empire had been known to support the secret organisations with gold and weapons and sorcery. He wondered if this man was just another deluded pawn of Sardea’s foreign policy. In any case, a swift trial and hanging now seemed ruled out. Perhaps this man knew something about the Brotherhood of Patriots. Given their apparent involvement in Lord Elakar’s assassination, it seemed only right to report the matter to his superiors. He would need to make things clear when the magistrates got here. In the meantime, he might as well ask a few questions himself.
“Regardless of what you think,” Sardec said, his voice gently mocking, “we are here to help Kathea, and we are here to protect your people and country from the Dark Empire.”
The patriot laughed out loud. There was a horrible strained quality to it, and a complete lack of mirth. He was forcing himself to it. “Keep your lies for the fools who believe them. We know your sort. It’s land you want, Kharadrean land.”
“The Dark Empire will make all you humans slaves. Queen Arielle stands for human freedom.”
“Freedom to starve and labour for a pittance.” There was far too much truth in that for Sardec to disagree. He knew that in Talorea things were bad for humans.
“Freedom to own property. To vote in elections. To not be slaves.”
“To be lapdogs of the Terrarch assembly. If you own property. If you are a common man, it’s as bad as ever.”
“Humans in Talorea are better off than ever they were in Kharadrea. And a thousand times better off than they are in Sardea.” Sardec was surprised to find himself on the defensive here. It was not that he disbelieved what he was saying. He just realised that if he were a human it would have sounded inadequate.
“Things will be better here. We will have equality with Terrarchs. We will have a truly democratic government and laws in front of which everyone is equal.”
Both Weasel and the Barbarian sniggered. That seemed to disturb the patriot more than the earlier violence. “Laugh, lapdogs. Laugh while you can. A new age is coming and you will all be swept away.”
Sardec looked at the man, impressed by his seriousness. There was something more here than simple patriotism, a powerful ideal, strong enough to give this man courage in the face of death and torture. If the Sardeans were funding a movement like this, perhaps they had made a huge miscalculation. They were lighting a bonfire that might prove difficult to put out, and one perhaps to set the whole world alight.
Another more frightening thought occurred to him. Perhaps this had nothing to do with the Sardeans. Perhaps it was simply a mark of a new age, a sign of the times. If so his people were in for a rough time.
The door opened. Captain Quinal entered. With him was a Terrarch in the black uniform and silver mask of a military Magister.
“I understand this man is a member of the Brotherhood,” said Quinal. “I have a few questions to ask him. You and your men may go, Lieutenant.”
Sardec gestured for Weasel and the Barbarian to depart as Quinal and his people came into the room. Almost as soon as he left, screams started.
