The Right Hand of God (8 page)

And you are?' the Haufuth asked, holding his own hand against his chest. Tempers threatened to flare in the heat of this extraordinary morning.

'He is here at our place of lodging,' Indrett said brightly, keen to avert open argument. 'This is where we are staying. We have left the fire behind for the moment. Let us go inside and talk things over there.'

Tanghin strode up and down the platform in the Basement. The fervency of his delivery drew the crowd close to him so that even more of those waiting outside could squeeze in to listen.

Though it was late afternoon, and the nightly meetings did not begin until after sunset, a large crowd gathered.

Tanghin knew they would, after the great fires in the southern districts. To make sure, he spread word that something extraordinary would be happening. The curfew would be strictly enforced tonight, he whispered, so the meeting would begin early. Expecting the blue-robed Hermit, their usual speaker, the crowd was confused by the appearance of the handsome man from the Lore Market branch. Tanghin counted on this, and threw all his skill into the Wordweave he spun. This was a critical moment.

'We have been guilty of placing spiritual interpretations on the prophetic words we have been given,' he cried. 'We have mistakenly thought the fire would fall only in our hearts. Our founder, the Hermit from the north, gave us that interpretation. He had the message straight from the mouth of the Most High, but he failed us in its interpretation. Beware! Do not get caught up in deception! The Most High has come to visit us with fire, but not just a fire within. He has set the city of sin alight! He seeks to purge the Great Harlot of wickedness, of all her evil! He will not work with an unclean vessel. He will have us cleansed!'

The preacher ran a careful eye over the crowd. Despite the force of his words, and the underpinning of the Wordweave, a few people made their way from the Basement, faces set in puzzlement or anger. Troublemakers and wiseacres, he thought. Better off without them.

'Last night I gave my flock from Lore Market a word from the Most High Himself. I prophesied He would raise up a new movement to execute His will. See how I am proved correct! See how the City burns for its sins, as 1 foretold! The anointing has passed from the Hermit, the one who prepared the way, to me, the appointed one. I am here to immerse Instruere in fire, to supervise the spread of the flames

across Faltha, until all the worldly governments are brought down and the greatest Power in the world is installed in their place.

'This new movement is made up of the men and women of Escaigne, whom the Most High caused to be set apart from their worldly fellows, dedicated unto purity. They have been raised up to tear down the ungodly Council of Faltha. Even now, right now as we speak together, they are fighting and dying on our behalf. Outnumbered and ill-equipped, Escaigne continues to challenge the Instruian Guard. They are fighting and dying for us! While we talk, they act!'

He paused for effect, and noticed the usual formulaic chorus of assent was absent. Good.

They're listening. They're hooked. On cue, a voice came from the crowd. 'So what do we do?'

Ah. The months of conditioning pay off. I could ask them to put their neighbours to death, or sacrifice their own children, and many of them would do it.

Quietly now, he continued. 'So what do we do, my sisters; my brothers? We fight. It is time for what has been placed inside us to come out. It is time to live - and to die - for the Most High. And where do we fight? It has been prophesied we are the spearhead of the next move of the Most High, and so we are. We are pointed squarely at the heart of Instruere. The Most High hurls us at the Council of Faltha! Go now, seek out your friends and acquaintances from other branches, and tell them to assemble in front of the Hall of Lore at sunset tonight. Bring your swords, bring your sticks and your clubs, bring your torches and your fire. Bring your wives and your husbands, your parents and your children. Bring the fire that has been set in your hearts, your courage and your purses to receive the largesse of the Most High Himself.

For we will burn the buildings of the ungodly to

the ground, we will take their treasures for our own, and we will lift high the standard of our master!'

Cries of assent rang around the Basement. Really, he needn't have bothered with the Wordweave.

'Go now! Today is the day of decision, when you find out whether your faith is of the heart or of the mind only. If your faith is indeed of the heart, then meet me in front of the Hall of Lore at the setting of the sun. I will be there, revealed as the appointed one, and I will see that justice is delivered!'

With a mighty roar the crowd surged toward the door, which burst open. Within ten minutes the Basement emptied out, leaving Tanghin alone, laughing, laughing.

The hot autumn sun beat mercilessly on Stella as she hung from the wall of the high tower room. She could feel her skin burning in the glare, but could not move to protect herself.

Sweat blinded her, the salt stinging her eyes, and the joints in her tortured arms screamed their pain. For a time she rehearsed the bones of a plan in her mind. A desperate plan, a plan of revenge, not of escape, but even revenge would most likely be denied her. Yet she now hated Deorc - Tanghin -with a passion far exceeding her former regard for him; a hatred born of pain and humiliation. Her plan relied on what the Destroyer might do to her if ever he came to claim her. She practised and practised what she would do, what she would say, which thoughts she would display and which she would hide. She polished the plan like a precious stone, honed it like a sharp knife to slip between Deorc's ribs. Eventually her mind wandered, her thirst for revenge dissolving in the face of a bleak tiredness, her precious disciplines abandoned. Some time later her skin cooled, and a light breeze caressed her arms, waking her from fractured dreams. The breeze

seemed the most beautiful thing ever to happen to her. She hung there for some time before opening her eyes. The sun had set, and the stars were out.

Stella blinked, and blinked again. The stars were below her, and they were moving. What had Tanghin done to her? What new illusion was this? No, they were not stars, but "torches.

Hundreds of people carrying torches filed down the streets that converged on the open space in front of the Hall of Lore. Coming to the slaughter.

The reconstituted Company spent the afternoon in deep conversation. Tales of remarkable adventure were told frankly and without embellishment, and listened to with few questions and little comment. All present realised the urgency of the moment. They heard about the journey of the Arkhimm, of the disaster of Joram Basin, of the separation of Ark and Arkhimm, and of the adventures encountered on the way back to Instruere. Leith told them of Nemohaim and the Pei-ra, and his companions marvelled anew at the flame in his hand.

The Company now numbered over twenty. Kurr sat with the Haufuth, Mahnum and Indrett at one end of the table, with Leith and Hal to their left, along with Farr and Perdu, an empty seat in their midst to remind them that Stella was not with them. At the other end of the table the Arkhos of Nemohaim and his Captain of the Guard sat side by side, with Achtal the Bhrudwan flanking them to one side and Te Tuahangata on the other. And to their left Prince Wiusago had been joined by Belladonna and Maendraga her father, by the Escaignian woman who sat the slave girl on her lap, and by Phemanderac, who was currently speaking. Geinor and Graig his son sat on the floor behind them.

There came a knock at the door. Indrett opened it to find a woman she knew vaguely from the markets, and more recently from the Ecclesia meetings at the Basement. She held a burning brand in her hand, and a fever burned in her eyes. Indrett searched her mind for a name.

'Pelasia! What can I do for you - and what do you have in your hand?'

'Can't stay, dear,' she breathed excitedly. 'I know you used to go to the Basement branch, so I thought I'd pass on the word: the Most High has commanded us to attack the Council of Faltha! If you can still hear the Most High in your heart, He will confirm the truth of it.'

'Pellie!' came a cry from somewhere out on the darkening street. 'Come on! We'll miss the excitement!'

'Think about it,' the madwoman added. 'The world is changing, and we're the ones changing it!'

'Come on, Mother!' the voice called, and a hand reached out and pulled her away before she could say another word.

'Did you hear that?' Indrett asked the room. 'Something awful is about to happen.'

'Something awful has been happening all day,' a wheezy voice said from the far end of the table. 'My city is under attack from within, and I know who's responsible for it. I've listened to your stories with patience, forbearing to correct the more grievous of the exaggerations and untruths they contained. Are you willing to repay the courtesy and listen to me, and consider the advice I bring to you?' The Arkhos of Nemohaim adopted an air of studied reason that belied not only all the Company knew about him, but also the glow of excitement in his eyes.

Graig stood, clearing his throat. 'Begging your pardon,' he said diffidently, then waited, looking to Leith.

'You can speak, Graig,' the youth said gently. 'I am no king, and this is no king's court. We're all the same here.'

'But you have princes and chieftains here among you,' his father said incredulously, standing beside his son.

'And the former leader of Instruere,' Leith replied, 'who might have something important to say.'

'Yes, but - but we of Nemohaim know this man, and his behaviour and appetites shame us all.

He was able to coerce the king to appoint him as ambassador to the Council of Faltha, and now we learn he has betrayed us to Bhrudwo. He is ever scheming, ever on the watch for any advantage he can find. We dare not trust him!'

'1 wondered where I remembered you and your brat from,' the Arkhos replied amiably. 'The king's old counsellor, ever timid, and his famous offspring, so skilled with the blade he once stabbed himself in the foot without even unsheathing his sword. Did they put you out on the Southern Patrol where you could do no harm?'

Graig tried to restrain his anger. 'I was the first of Nemohaim to behold the Jugom Ark in its glory, and to look on the face of he who carries it. I could do this because 1 was not in Instruere plotting against my king!'

'Ah, but as a result of your.. . goodness, you have no insight into what is happening in Instruere today. I do. Many things Deorc said now begin to make sense, and I see his plans.

Now, youngster, for once in your futile life you might actually have some power. You can prevent these people listening to what I have to say. Tell them all the stories you know, about me, and make up some new ones to go along-side them. Nothing will surprise them. They know me well by now. Nonetheless, their goals and mine are the same for the moment. You want the man destroying Instruere defeated?

So do I. You want a chance to show the Council your Arrow? I'd like to see their faces when they behold it. Who else can give this to you? Or will you sit here waiting, discarding one plan after another, while people like the foolish woman who just knocked on your door die bleeding in the streets?'

'Let us hear the man,' Kurr said, and beside him the Haufuth nodded his head. 'Then we can decide what to do.'

The view from the top of the tower rapidly became truly appalling. Stella watched like an impotent god as The Pinion disgorged guards like ants abandoning an anthill. It was as clear to her as if Tanghin had left a script: a crowd had gathered on the lawn in front of the Hall of Lore, and the Guard were going to put them to the sword. There they were now, circling quietly around the massed group; hundreds of them, lining the shadows. She didn't know who the people were, but she could make out the smaller shapes of children in the flickering torchlight. Her captor often described the enjoyment he derived from the death of children.

Stella did not want to see him derive any enjoyment this night. She cried out through a dry, swollen throat, but the desperate noises she made were swallowed by the evening breeze, and she knew she could not make herself heard.

A figure stepped forward from the shadows, a hated figure. Raising his arms, he stood in front of the crowd. Strike him down! Don't let him live! Even if she was to remain chained here as a result, unknown and unregarded until she died of hunger or thirst, it would be a small price to pay for his death, especially if she could witness it.

By some perverse trick of the wind, his voice drifted up to her, faint but clear. 'Citizens of Instruere! Members of the Ecclesia! You are here tonight to confront the Council of Faltha, to demand their evil be cleansed from this City of God. As your leader, I will deliver your demand to the leader of the Council!' He turned and knocked on the door of the House of Lore, which opened and swallowed him. The crowd moved uneasily.

The Ecclesia! He is Tanghin - and he is Deorc - and he betrays the Ecclesia to the Instruian Guard! Oh, Most High!

The door opened, and the figure re-emerged. But it was Deorc, not Tanghin, who stood before the stunned Ecclesia. Dressed in a sable cloak and with a cowl over his head, he lifted his arms high.

'Hear me, scum of Instruere!' he screamed. 'I am Deorc, leader of the Council of Faltha, keeper of Andratan and servant of the Destroyer, the mortal enemy of all Falthans. I am Tanghin, the usurper of the Ecclesia. 1 am here to declare your doom. The fire will fall on Instruere tonight, and you will be the first to burn!' With that, he lowered his arms and the Instruian Guard streamed out from the shadows, swords raised.

Stella wept burning tears, her body shaking as grief and pain racked her, even before the slaughter began.

THE MAN FROM SNA VAZTHA rode his white horse at a measured pace towards the City and the dark cloud that hovered over it. The setting sun illuminated the dense pall of smoke, rays of light spreading through the upper cloud like a vision of paradise, though the flicker of orange and red at the base of the cloud might have heralded the portals of the underworld. The situation in Instruere had obviously deteriorated since the messenger left over two months previously. The man nodded: it was to be expected. Indeed, it was to be welcomed. If things were now in the open, it would make his task much easier.