In the Earth Abides the Flame Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Russell Kirkpatrick
courage and determination, not because of some hidden magician. We're here because of the sacrifices of good people, because Wira and Parlevaag gave their lives for us.
The Council of Faltha will believe us because of the Bhrudwan captive and the testimony of this Trader. I say this man's words are irrelevant. He would do better to play his music in the marketplace, or go back to his homeland where they obviously appreciate this kind of talk.'
'What's got under your skin?' Kurr turned to the Vinkullen man.
'Strong arms are always taken for granted, while the good talkers gather all the praise.'
Kurr frowned. 'Surely the time for strength is over? What we need now is someone with a clever turn of phrase.'
'And what does the fighter do? Sit back while Mister Golden Tongue plays his harp for the Council?'
Kurr's frown deepened. This was like the bad old days before they met the Fodhram. He had neither realised just how much Withwestwa Wood had changed Farr, nor that the change might not be permanent.
Before he got another chance to speak, Phemanderac stood and walked over to the wooden stool upon which Farr sat. The Vinkullen man rose to meet him. There they stood, facing each other like jilted lovers or warriors about to duel, the willowy philosopher half a head taller even than his snowy-haired antagonist.
'Actually, I agree with you,' Phemanderac said. The whole room let out a relieved breath. 'No amount of talking could have brought the Company safely to Instruere. I just happen to believe that -well - you were guided by an unseen power. You were meant to join the Company; your part is not yet over. We may yet have to fight.'
'Oh,' Farr replied, a little too sweetly. 'So the Most High is in charge, is he? And he planned it so I could join the Company?'
Phemanderac nodded enthusiastically, not seeing the trap.
'I joined the Company as a direct result of my father being murdered by the Bhrudwan bandits,' the mountain man breathed, his voice dangerously quiet. Then his patience snapped.
'Did the Most High plan that too? Did he watch as my father writhed on the ground, as he begged for mercy, while they cut him and cut him and cut him just for the fun of it? Was he shouting encouragement?' His river was in flood, and the despair in his voice struck at the souls of those in the basement. 'Was my brother part of his special plan? When he died trying to save the Company, was this because he loved us, or was it because the Most High organised his death? I have no need for such a god! I will not worship Him! Give me a sharp enough sword and I will kill Him!'
Phemanderac lowered his eyes. 'My friend, if you would only listen—'
'No, you listen! I've heard you mystics talk about the Most High as though he lived in the next house, but it's just talk! When some-thing needs to be done you go quiet and leave it to someone like me, or Stella, or Mahnum, or Kurr. Ordinary people! Give me deeds, not words!
Be quiet and get on with it - like Hal here. He doesn't Mather on about the Right Hand, he just gets on and does it.'
At the mention of his name, Hal dragged himself to his feet and shuffled over to the two men.
'There is a time for talk, Farr,' he said quietly, 'but that talk will be before the Council, and it will be about our deeds: about Mahnum and Andratan, about the Company and the Bhrudwans, about Leith and the Widuz, about Phemanderac and his journey to Faltha. There is no need to rehearse it here.'
He clucked about them like a hen fussing over frightened chicks. 'Don't be in a hurry to blame the Most High for what happened. It is futile to debate what is in his mind. If he exists, and if he is interested, he will have something to say before this mission is completed.'
'Are all our discussions going to end up like this?' Leith asked his brother late that night. For the first time in months he and Hal found themselves alone together, and while they shared sleeping quarters there were things he intended to ask,
The Council of Faltha will believe us because of the Bhrudwan captive and the testimony of this Trader. I say this man's words are irrelevant. He would do better to play his music in the marketplace, or go back to his homeland where they obviously appreciate this kind of talk.'
'What's got under your skin?' Kurr turned to the Vinkullen man.
'Strong arms are always taken for granted, while the good talkers gather all the praise.'
Kurr frowned. 'Surely the time for strength is over? What we need now is someone with a clever turn of phrase.'
'And what does the fighter do? Sit back while Mister Golden Tongue plays his harp for the Council?'
Kurr's frown deepened. This was like the bad old days before they met the Fodhram. He had neither realised just how much Withwestwa Wood had changed Farr, nor that the change might not be permanent.
Before he got another chance to speak, Phemanderac stood and walked over to the wooden stool upon which Farr sat. The Vinkullen man rose to meet him. There they stood, facing each other like jilted lovers or warriors about to duel, the willowy philosopher half a head taller even than his snowy-haired antagonist.
'Actually, I agree with you,' Phemanderac said. The whole room let out a relieved breath. 'No amount of talking could have brought the Company safely to Instruere. I just happen to believe that -well - you were guided by an unseen power. You were meant to join the Company; your part is not yet over. We may yet have to fight.'
'Oh,' Farr replied, a little too sweetly. 'So the Most High is in charge, is he? And he planned it so I could join the Company?'
Phemanderac nodded enthusiastically, not seeing the trap.
'I joined the Company as a direct result of my father being murdered by the Bhrudwan bandits,' the mountain man breathed, his voice dangerously quiet. Then his patience snapped.
'Did the Most High plan that too? Did he watch as my father writhed on the ground, as he begged for mercy, while they cut him and cut him and cut him just for the fun of it? Was he shouting encouragement?' His river was in flood, and the despair in his voice struck at the souls of those in the basement. 'Was my brother part of his special plan? When he died trying to save the Company, was this because he loved us, or was it because the Most High organised his death? I have no need for such a god! I will not worship Him! Give me a sharp enough sword and I will kill Him!'
Phemanderac lowered his eyes. 'My friend, if you would only listen—'
'No, you listen! I've heard you mystics talk about the Most High as though he lived in the next house, but it's just talk! When some-thing needs to be done you go quiet and leave it to someone like me, or Stella, or Mahnum, or Kurr. Ordinary people! Give me deeds, not words!
Be quiet and get on with it - like Hal here. He doesn't Mather on about the Right Hand, he just gets on and does it.'
At the mention of his name, Hal dragged himself to his feet and shuffled over to the two men.
'There is a time for talk, Farr,' he said quietly, 'but that talk will be before the Council, and it will be about our deeds: about Mahnum and Andratan, about the Company and the Bhrudwans, about Leith and the Widuz, about Phemanderac and his journey to Faltha. There is no need to rehearse it here.'
He clucked about them like a hen fussing over frightened chicks. 'Don't be in a hurry to blame the Most High for what happened. It is futile to debate what is in his mind. If he exists, and if he is interested, he will have something to say before this mission is completed.'
'Are all our discussions going to end up like this?' Leith asked his brother late that night. For the first time in months he and Hal found themselves alone together, and while they shared sleeping quarters there were things he intended to ask,