As the Bhodi
disciples made their way through the crowds, more than one onlooker
reached out to slap their backs. The disciples took that with poor
grace. It told them that many of the witnesses were there to be
entertained.
The rite proceeded as before, but more quickly as it was evident
that the Greys anticipated trouble and had instructions to head it
off.
The kneeling priest in orange burst into flames just as the
Greys began manhandling his assistants out of the way.
A gout of smoke leaped upward. A Black Company skull formed
inside it, an evil eye seeming to stare deep into the souls of all
the witnesses. A voice filled the morning. “All their days
are numbered.”
And the wooden curtain-wall shielding the reconstruction came to
life. Glowing lime characters as tall as a man proclaimed
“Water Sleeps,” and “My Brother
Unforgiven.” They crawled slowly back and forth.
Soulcatcher herself materialized on the ramparts overhead. Her
rage was palpable.
A second and larger cloud of smoke burst off the burning
disciple. A face—the best representation of the Captain’s
that One-Eye and Goblin could manage—told the awed and silent
thousands, “Rajadharma! The Duty of Kings. Know you: Kingship
is a Trust. The King is the most exalted and conscientious servant
of the people.”
I began to slide away from there. This was sure to sting the
Protector into some impulsive and self-defeating response.
Or maybe not. She did nothing obvious, though a sudden breeze
came along. It blew the smoke away. But it fanned the flames
consuming the Bhodi disciple. The smell of burning flesh spread out
downwind.
As the Bhodi
disciples made their way through the crowds, more than one onlooker
reached out to slap their backs. The disciples took that with poor
grace. It told them that many of the witnesses were there to be
entertained.
The rite proceeded as before, but more quickly as it was evident
that the Greys anticipated trouble and had instructions to head it
off.
The kneeling priest in orange burst into flames just as the
Greys began manhandling his assistants out of the way.
A gout of smoke leaped upward. A Black Company skull formed
inside it, an evil eye seeming to stare deep into the souls of all
the witnesses. A voice filled the morning. “All their days
are numbered.”
And the wooden curtain-wall shielding the reconstruction came to
life. Glowing lime characters as tall as a man proclaimed
“Water Sleeps,” and “My Brother
Unforgiven.” They crawled slowly back and forth.
Soulcatcher herself materialized on the ramparts overhead. Her
rage was palpable.
A second and larger cloud of smoke burst off the burning
disciple. A face—the best representation of the Captain’s
that One-Eye and Goblin could manage—told the awed and silent
thousands, “Rajadharma! The Duty of Kings. Know you: Kingship
is a Trust. The King is the most exalted and conscientious servant
of the people.”
I began to slide away from there. This was sure to sting the
Protector into some impulsive and self-defeating response.
Or maybe not. She did nothing obvious, though a sudden breeze
came along. It blew the smoke away. But it fanned the flames
consuming the Bhodi disciple. The smell of burning flesh spread out
downwind.