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hinted that the priests themselves were not immune to the general terror.
These latter rumors penetrated everywhere, though whispered with sidewise
glances to make sure no priest or deacon was in earshot. How a priest had fled
screaming from a service in one of the lesser chapels because some thing
invisible had clutched his throat as he preached. How a group of commoners,
returning at night from their work in the fields, had been deserted by the
priest who was supposed to escort them and protect them from the forces of
evil. How a child had died of the
Choking Sickness before dawn, because no Third Circle priest would come from
the Sanctuary.
There were other indications that the Hierarchy itself was afraid. For two
days now bands of rural priests had been trickling into Megatheopolis. Some
said they were come for a religious festival. But others maintained in guarded
whispers that they were seeking the protection afforded by the Grand
Sanctuary. This was confirmed by the farmers who came to market. The farmers
asserted they were a little more outspoken than townsfolk that many of the
rural sanctuaries were deserted and that work in the fields was coming to a
standstill.
Traders come by muleback or cart from the nearer cities said that the minions
of Sathanas were at work in those cities, too. They were not a little
disconcerted to find Megatheopolis similarly besieged.
Sathanas laughed. Earth shook. And the Great God took no heed.
So it came that an argument circulated with the tales of priestly cowardice.
It ran this way:  Why don t the priests protect us? We have confessed our sins
twice over. We have reformed. We have been good. Then why don t they protect
us from further terror? They tell us it s a test, but surely the test has
lasted long enough. They ve always said they could smite down
Sathanas whenever they wanted to. Then why don t they?
So Sharlson Naurya, slipping into the Great Square, sensed surliness as well
as fear in the commoners leaving it. To her it was apparent in the readiness
with which they quarreled over right of way and other trifles, exchanged
accusations of pilfering, and cuffed their children for loitering.
For her purposes, the bickering confusion was an advantage, since it occupied
the attention of the few priests and deacons on hand.
She knew she was taking chances and disobeying the instructions of Asmodeus.
But the disappearance of the Black Man and Jarles had altered circumstances.
Jarles had been on his way to recontact the Witchcraft. The Black Man had gone
to meet him. That was all Drick had been able to discover.
So, garbed as a commoner, with shawl drawn close to her cheeks, Sharlson
Naurya threaded through the sullen crowd in the Great Square, like a young
mother searching for lost children.
And she felt rather like one. True, she might love one of the two men. But
they seemed more like her children. The Black Man the slightly spoiled
darling clever and good-natured, but impudent and mischievous and harum
scarum, too. Jarles the serious one, stubborn, beset by moral problems.
There was a commoner about Jarles build slouching at the next corner.
Instinctively she hurried her pace. He had a stubbly growth of beard, and wore
Page 59
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
a hood perhaps to conceal a recent priestly tonsure?
She came closer. It looked like Jarles. It was Jarles. The emotion she felt
was mixed with a certain tart self-satisfaction. So Drick had said it would be
futile to keep the rendezvous? For that she d take Jarles direct to the Coven
meeting tonight. Drick would find out soon enough that she had gained a very
able convert for the Witchcraft.
She caught his eye. With the barest nod in his direction, she turned into the
side street. After a moment he followed her.
The elation Jarles felt was not unmixed with apprehension. He had hardly hoped
to contact the
Witchcraft so smoothly and so soon, but he knew that ahead lay many
perils threats to his bodily welfare. And recently Jarles had come to have a
great respect for that bag of flesh and bones which contained his ego. Once
let that bag be seriously ruptured and you could whistle through all eternity
for another.
Why he had ever before taken such desperate risks and not for personal
gain! was mixed up with the greater mystery of why he had ever been such an
idealistic weakling as he remembered.
He disliked thinking about it. It was all too cheap and puerile.
Of course, to achieve personal gain and ego-satisfaction, it was necessary to
run risks. You never got anything for nothing. Obviously, Goniface wouldn t
make him a Fourth Circle priest
the reward he had dangled before Jarles unless there was something in it for
Goniface. So it was necessary that Jarles embark on the ticklish job of
betraying the Witchcraft.
Goniface! There was a man for you! Jarles never remembered envying anyone so
acutely or admiring any one so utterly, though grudgingly. Not even Cousin
Deth. For the archpriest had the breadth of vision and capacity for power and
enjoyment of it that the deacon lacked.
Elevation to the Fourth Circle and all that went with it, and even a little
more besides was a reward that justified taking risks. Anything was better
than to grub along with the timid little minds down in the first two circles.
But it was only common sense to minimize risks and stretch margins of safety
as wide as possible.
So it was with alert senses and active mind that Jarles followed Sharlson [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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