Despite the distance to the market square, a rousing wave of cheers flooded to the keep, and the drumming of many feet and clapping hands vibrated the ground. Together, Otaker and Ellonlef moved to the balcony. From their vantage they could easily see over the keep’s outer wall to the market.
Torches and firemoss lanterns illuminated a boiling cauldron of humanity. At the center of that spectacle, once more elevated on the back of the wagon, Prince Varis Kilvar scanned the denizens of Krevar with a calm eye.
“They are his now,” Ellonlef said, speaking of the risen dead. “They will follow him to their death-their second death-if that is where he chooses to lead them.” As well, she knew that those who had not perished were his also. They had seen and received a gift of a miracle, and so would count that blessing as a debt they owed.
Otaker said nothing, only stared, gaze fixed on something far beyond the market square and Varis Kilvar.
At Varis’s side, Magus Uzzret was waving like a fool, shouting indistinct words to further enliven the throng. Knowing him as a reasoned man, his frenzied actions left Ellonlef nervous to the point of taking flight. She saw in Uzzret a man converted from absolute unbelief, to a man who worshiped a man in place of the gods. The same held for the denizens of Krevar. Still, it was one thing to see the townspeople behave with such abandon at the observance of a single apparent miracle, and quite another to see Uzzret act so. He had ever been the image of calm, measured, even pompous sagacity. At least until the earth had split open and swallowed half of Krevar, and the Three had begun to burn.
Those things have changed us all.
And now, Ellonlef considered further, after the townspeople had died by the score, comes a man to perform the wonder of restoring life. No matter his intentions, or what had caused the changes in him, Ellonlef knew that Prince Varis Kilvar was more than a mere man.
But what is he? Could he truly be a god made flesh?
As if in answer, Uzzret suddenly bawled, “ALL HAIL THE LIFE GIVER!”
A cheering roar filled the night, punctuated by shouted praise and blessings. Varis accepted their adulation with an air of preeminence. Around the square, all but unnoticed, the resurrected gathered and stared. They stood like dolls, a gruesome imitation of life.
After several more moments, Varis raised his hands for silence. The quiet he sought was long in coming.
“My people,” he said when the clamor died down, voice carrying strong and sure in the cool night air. The throng exploded again, as if his laying claim to them filled some deep emptiness in their hearts with gladness. After they quieted once more, Varis continued speaking, but now in grave tones.
“I come to you not as your prince, but as a witness to your suffering. Some time past, I went into the kingdom searching for answers to troubling claims. I admit that I disbelieved the reports of Aradan’s distresses. How could the foundations of our great kingdom be crumbling? How could Aradan be dying and her people suffering, when Ammathor yet stood high upon the mountain, overflowing in gold and luxury, her lords wanting for nothing?”
Not a little grumbling met this statement, but Varis quickly went on.
“Once I passed beyond the protective shade of mighty Edaer’s Wall, I did not have far to look before finding that the long-ignored desolation of my people was true. As was your right-all of you here, and your brothers and sisters scattered abroad in every corner of the realm-you have, for a generation and more, pleaded for support to rebuild that which time and our enemies have gradually brought to ruin and despair. Instead of help, you received platitudes and promises as dry and dead as the dust that blows over the Kaliayth. Despite these affronts, you continued to bleed and die to defend the heart of Aradan.”
Now a constant low muttering filled the night. While those he had drawn from the Thousand Hells gazed at him expressionlessly, many of the rest now seemed angry with the prince and his House. He absorbed those ill-feelings with bowed humiliation. Ellonlef had listened intently, wondering just where the additions to Varis’s original tale would lead, but it was to Otaker which she paid the closest attention. A troubled frown pinched his brows.
“There is some truth to his words,” Otaker said slowly, as if doubting his own words. “Yet the people of Krevar have never felt like slaves or castoffs.”
Ellonlef was not so sure. “Perhaps, in their secret hearts, they believed that they were enslaved, and only needed someone to give them leave to voice their complaints.”
Before Otaker could respond, Varis raised his head to speak again.
“I come to you ashamed of the Kilvar blood that flows through my veins,” the prince said. “I am humiliated by my forbearers’ selfish edicts, those laws which have bound you to lives of thankless servitude. I see now the weariness of your souls and the bitterness of your hearts, for these troubles infect me, as well. Understand that I do not stand in judgment of you, for to judge you is to oppose the righteous awakening in myself. I see the evils that have been done to you and your children. These crimes must rightly destroy all the tethers of fealty to my bloodline.”
A few furious shouts now punctuated the mutters. Magus Uzzret drew himself up and cast a baleful eye over the gathered. “Let the Life Giver speak!”
That title served as a reminder of what the prince had done for them and their loved ones this night, and swiftly settled the crowd.
Varis placed a gentle hand on Uzzret’s arm and nodded his thanks. Even with the distance, the youth looked stooped by long, hard years. His was the perfect face of a martyr.
“My shame alone cannot amend the sins of my forefathers,” Varis called, “so I beg forgiveness for myself, one who has seen that he has long been your unwitting enemy. For my part, I vow to stand with you, now and forever.”
“Praise to the Life Giver!” someone shouted.
In moments, that chant reverberated around the market square. Where there had been anger, now there was again only hope and reverence. Varis scanned the faces, his own expression fierce, uncompromising. Shame and humility had vanished. After a long pause, his voice rose strong and defiant in the night. Impossibly, he even began to look stronger, as if merely breathing the night air gave him vitality.
“The Kingdom of Aradan stands on the brink, caught between the unimagined hope of new glories and the anguish of the old ways. In this moment, here and now, a choice must be made. Will you allow your enemies, and all their cohorts, to push you into the darkness and obscurity of a forgotten tomb?”
“NO!”
Prince Varis waited for quiet to fall again. In the still, he quietly asked, “Will you, then, stand with me against a secret and striving usurper who thinks to gain a failing kingdom for his own and shape it into a device of oppression worse than the one before it? Will you stand with me to topple the old kingdom, so that it might not rise against you again?”
“Yes!”
“All hail the Life Giver!”
“Then lend me your strength, and I shall lend you my authority, and together we shall right the wrongs done to you. We shall destroy this usurper and those who have sided with him. We will crush those who have greedily reaped from your toil and suffering!”
“All hail the Life Giver!”
“Our enemies will beg for mercy, but we shall not grant them peace. From the ashes of their pyres, a new age will rise, a new Aradan, a new world. I shall lead you there, and we will take for ourselves glories long denied us!”
“All hail the Life Giver!”
The raucous cheers went on and on, before a new chant went up.
“When, Life Giver?”