Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [65]
Finally, assured that all was as it should be, he withdrew to stand by Edronh.
As the fire danced around the pyre, Kahless looked deep into the outlaw’s eyes. He saw the sort of agony there that he himself had known. The kind of torment only the loss of a loved one may bring.
He wanted desperately to look away. But he couldn’t, not ever again. He could ignore the wind, but not what he saw in a man like Edronh.
If he was to lead a rebellion as so many wished him to, he would have to understand their pain. He would have to distill it, like bloodwine. And he would have to give all of Molor’s people a taste, so they would know what they were fighting for.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Morath staring at him, silently keeping him to his promise. But Kahless no longer fomented rebellion for Morath’s sake alone.
Now he did it for himself as well-and for Kellein. He had discovered it was the only thing that made his heart stop hurting for her, the only balm that worked for him.
Had he been the one to die instead of Kellein, she would have made the rest of her life a tribute to him. She would have turned her sorrow and her anger into something useful-and deadly.
Could he do any less?
“Rannuf,” Edronh whispered, the flames reflected in his eyes as they picked at his child’s bones. His wife moved closer to him, to give comfort and to take some.
“My son,” he said, “my strong, brave son.”
Kahless nodded as a bone popped and sparks flew, rising like a swarm of fiery insects among the twists of smoke. “Rannuf,” he echoed.
Edronh turned to him. “You knew him, my friend. He laid his sword before you, that day in the woods. You saw his courage, his manliness.”
I saw how young he was, Kahless thought. How excessive in his eagerness. But he didn’t mention that.
“Rannuf was a warrior,” he said. “He died defending his people against the depravities of Molor.”
That much was true. The tyrant must have gotten wind of the things Edronh was saying about him. And though Edronh and his men were outlaws, every outlaw had kin somewhere. Once Molor had determined where that somewhere was, the rest was simple.
He had sent his soldiers to T’chariv with fire and sword, just as he had once sent Kahless himself. Unfortunately for Rannuf, he had been home at the time, visiting his mother and his younger brother. Seeing what the tyrant’s men intended, he had met them blow for blow.
But the soldiers were more numerous than the village’s defenders and had killed them to a man-then lopped off their heads for good measure. The only good fortune was that the soldiers had spared the village itself, their point having been made.
Do not think to defy your lord Molor, they had saidif not with their tongues, then with their sharp-edged swords. After all, no one can hope to stand against him.
In the last half-year, that message had been carved like a bloodeagle from one end of the tyrant’s domain to the other. Vathraq’s village had only been the beginning. Nor would T’chariv be the end.
Kahless looked at Edronh. “It would be a shame, he said, “if Rannuf were to go unavenged.”
The other man bit his lip. Clearly, he wasn’t as enthusiastic about revolution as he had been.
Until now, Edronh had thought himself too far north to feel Molor’s sting. To his everlasting regret, he had learned that was not so. Having seen Rannuf’s mangled body, having lifted it in pieces onto the pyre, he had become wary.
But if he was to have a hope of toppling the tyrant, Kahless needed men like Edronh. Men who could not only fight, but spread word of their struggle to others.
“I had a lover,” he told Edronh, plumbing the depths of his own sorrow. “We were betrothed before you and I met. But before I could return to her, Molor crushed her village and everyone in it.”
The other man looked at him. “The tyrant is everywhere.”
Kahless grunted. “Because we allow him to be everywhere. Because we sit in our own separate hideaways and wait for him to bring us misery.”
Edronh’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”
“Only this,” said Kahless. “That it is not enough