The Blood of God by Alan Harrison

Author:Alan Harrison
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Alan Harrison
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13:

The White Rose

Ten years after we landed, our settlements across the south grew in populace and size. Unfortunately, any attempt to press our borders northwards were met with hard resistance from the natives. At the time, if we had engaged in open-field combat against them, we would have won an easy victory, with their primitive weapons no match for our magic. But it seemed that they were always aware of this, only choosing only to fight us when the advantage was on their side, through ambushes and short skirmishes.

But ten years in, some progress was made. Some natives had learned our language, very quickly, I might add, and began to treat with us. These ones seemed to know it was only a matter of time before the land was ours, and provided valuable information regarding the movements of those plotting against us.

So once more, we set out northwards, with some natives on our side, and our own numbers stronger than before. This time, we knew, we would find Seletoth.

The Truth, by King Móráin I, AC55

***

Argyll’s chair rattled with each cobblestone they went. Ruairí cursed the lack of paved basalt roads in the Dustworks of Penance. Seemingly, Argyll had ordered a new chair—a design of his own of some sort, though it would likely still need Ruairí to push him around.

We’ll get what we need soon, he reminded himself. The Simians will get their freedom, and we will get our knowledge, and all shall see the face of God.

The night was growing late, with the streets occupied only by revellers on their way home, and those with more sinister motives that still lingered in the streets.

And there’s no motives more sinister than our own, thought Ruairí, taking a turn from the main road into a darkened alley. This had even more cobblestones, from which came even more rattling. It was illuminated by several dimmed oil lamps, attached to the stone walls that stood tall either side.

“You’re sure he’ll be here?” asked Ruairí.

“Yes,” said Argyll, stern and still facing ahead. “He risked far more than this the night the horde came.”

It was a strange thing, to speak to someone before you, without expecting them to turn around to speak back. Ruairí found he had to strain his ears to listen to Argyll more than before, for the Simian’s strong voice was difficult to hear when projected in the wrong direction.

They passed a group of youths, loitering beneath the window of a tavern. They stopped what they were doing, abruptly turning to look at Ruairí and Argyll as they passed. Argyll turned to stare back at them; something the Simian often did to fill the hearts of others with fear. Despite his condition, it had the same effect now as it always had.

Just bored children, thought Ruairí, shaking his head. Nothing to be concerned about.

Eventually, they came to their destination: the back door into The White Rose, a regular meeting place for Argyll, and those who served him. The front of the

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