It was not his place to question. “Lord, I have been following the Liberator, as you..."
"Yes?"
"As you ... I think you told me to. I don't remember!” He began to panic. “I have to report to you what the Liberator does, don't I? That's right, isn't it? You must have..."
"When did it begin?” asked the voice. It had lost some of its spooky, echoing quality. It sounded almost gentle. “Did you by chance win the gold rose in the—our, I mean—festival?"
"Yes! Yes!"
"What year?"
"Six hundred, ninety-seventh festival, Lord."
"And then what happened?"
"I...” Dosh moaned. He trembled. He felt faint. “I don't remember! I stood on the dais with the rose in my hair, giving out the prizes in the festival. Then ... I don't remember!” The next day he had gone to the palace in Lemod and asked Prince Tarion for work and been hired on the spot. That was almost a year ago now.... But that did not add up! “Four years? That festival was four years ago, wasn't it?"
"Yes, it was. Put your clothes on, lad.” The god's voice had lost its divine menace altogether and become almost chatty. “I can see you're freezing. Don't worry about the missing years. You're much happier not remembering, I'm sure. Keep talking. You mean that the Liberator is actually here, in Thargvale?"
Dosh confirmed that as he shivered into his wet garments. Three years! Three years stolen out of his life!
"That's very serious! Dangerous! Did the Service send him here, so soon?"
"The who, Lord?"
"The Service! The Church of the Undivided, if you prefer. Hmph! Obviously you don't know about them. My mast—my senior aspect has not been totally frank with you. Well, this is all very interesting, yes? Tee-hee! I must meet the Liberator. Go and fetch him."
Dosh gulped in dismay. D'ward and the army would be miles away by now. How could he, Dosh, ever persuade the Liberator to turn it around and come back? Even less likely was the possibility of his coming alone, with the Thargian cavalry prowling over the countryside.
But to disobey a direct order from the god was unthinkable. It might condemn him to more years of ... of what?
Hatred! Three years of his life had been stolen!
Anger and sorrow burned up in his throat. He turned and stared hard at the inanimate image. This was another god altogether. He must not let his sudden fury at Tion spill over onto Prylis. He must not antagonize the god of learning, who had granted him this wisdom.
And the Liberator—D'ward had done far more for him than Tion ever had. Must he now lead D'ward to his death?
"Lord, how can I ever persuade the Liberator to come? There is danger!"
"Mmph! See what you mean. Well, your new insight will be a sign to him, and ... yes ... we shall find you some assistance. Go outside."
More bewildered than ever, Dosh genuflected to the god, then stumbled over to the door. He stepped out into blinding sunlight. A hand grabbed his hair and hurled him forward. He pitched down the steps and sprawled on the gravel. Through sudden tears of pain he saw shiny boots all around him.
"...is no Nagian!” said a harsh voice.
"Not with hair that color,” another agreed. “We can kill this one."
"Feed him to the worms."
"Sacrilege!” someone bleated. “You violate the holy sanctuary!"
"Take him outside the gate, then,” said the first.
Dosh heard a strange moaning noise and realized it came from himself. Rough hands grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet. He was surrounded by eight or nine Thargian lancers—hard, wiry men, in green and black leather riding gear, in bronze helmets, all clean shaven in Thargian fashion. He tried to speak and merely gibbered.
The abbot was flustering around in the background, wringing his hands and still protesting the sacrileges: violence on the steps of the minster, moas desecrating the gardens, general lack of respect. Followers of Karzon could not be expected to pay much heed to a priest of Prylis, and these troopers were not about to create precedents like that.
"Move, scum!” said the leader.
As Dosh was jerked forward, the minster doors behind him flew open with a boom.
"Stop!” roared a voice of thunder.
The hands released him. He staggered and almost fell.
"Come in here, all of you!” No mortal could be that loud.
The image still seemed to be marble, and yet it was also flesh. The scroll was almost vellum, and Prylis still held it before him. His eyes were more visibly alive than the rest of him, shining as blue as D'ward's. His hair had taken on a golden hue.
The abbot and the Thargians groveled before him. Behind them, Dosh knelt respectfully, then stared disbelievingly at the idol. That pose with the vertical scroll—it was deliberately obscene! Why had he not noticed sooner? New insight the god had said.... The Joker mocked his worshippers!
A voice of thunder rolled around the chapeclass="underline" “Barbarians! Say why we should not smite you for your sacrilege?"
The lancers moaned and gabbled.
"Lord!” their leader croaked. “We followed orders. We were told that Holy Karzon—"
"This place does not belong to Karzon! You, Ksargirk Captain, are sworn to his vile cult of the Blood and Hammer, we see. You also, Tsuggig Lancer, and Twairkirg Lancer ... and Progyurg Lancer, too. Savages! Renounce your oaths!"
The soldiers howled.
"Abjure or die and be forever damned!” the god screamed, louder than ever.
In quavering mumbles, the four men renounced their oaths to whatever the Blood and Hammer was—some warriors’ cult of Karzon, presumably, probably nasty. Dosh decided he was enjoying this unexpected change of fortune. Prompted by the divine bellow, the bullyboys denounced the Man and swore never to seek his patronage again. They were practically wetting their breeches with terror now.
It was nice to have friends in positions of authority.
"Now swear eternal obedience to us! All of you! Swear that forever more you will worship the Youth above all gods."
Could it be that the god was enjoying this also? There was an odd timbre to his thunder, which in a mortal might have hinted of bluster. How often would an obscure, unassuming deity like Prylis indulge in such assertive behavior?
The troopers swore allegiance to Tion with great reluctance, some of them almost weeping. Dosh suspected that the apostates would arrive in the heavens most speedily if Karzon ever heard of this breach of faith—or if any of their friends as much as suspected, either.
"Now,” the god said in a slightly less deafening roar, “there is a great evil abroad in the world, and you are called to strive against it."
"Tell us its name, Lord,” said the captain, sounding encouraged.
"Its name is Zath!"
The troopers exchanged horrified glances.
"You are charged to give all help to our trusted servant Dosh Envoy, whom you sought to slay. You will obey his orders without question or hesitation and if necessary to the death, until such time as he releases you. Rise, Dosh Envoy."
Dosh stood up. One by one the Thargian lancers knelt to him and swore unlimited obedience. Yes, he was definitely enjoying this! He was going to continue enjoying it, too. That young one ... Progyurg? Yes, Progyurg Lancer was a really cute-looking kid.... Obey without question or hesitation, mm?