MIDNIGHT FALCON by David Gemmell

‘And all so that people can watch it being killed? Now that seems wasteful, Majesty.’

‘Perhaps,’ agreed Jasaray. Then he smiled. ‘But it would be an unwise ruler who did not spend a little money to keep his subjects happy. A contented people rarely see the need to overthrow their emperors.’

Regrets, Voltan would often say, were only for the weak. This was, he believed, an unarguable truth. Strong men achieved, lesser men failed, and in failing would blame external forces for their failure. Luck was against them, or they were the victims of malicious sabotage from those envious of their skills. Weaklings, all of them! Yet despite this iron belief Voltan had never been able to break free of the one great regret of his life.

Dressed now in a simple hooded toga and sandals he moved through the late-afternoon shadows to the entrance of the catacombs, and the rock tunnels that snaked under Agra, the Fourth Hill of the city. A young man was standing at the entrance, watching him as he approached.

‘Good evening, friend,’ said the man.

‘Good evening to you,’ said Voltan, drawing his hands together and making the sign of the Tree.

‘Enter and be blessed,’ said the man.

Voltan moved inside the darkness of the tunnel. Ahead he could see torches in rough-made brackets on the wall, as the tunnel widened into a high, arched chamber. It was cool here, and Voltan made his way past a series of jagged stalagmites, jutting up from the ground, to join the crowd waiting patiently in the torchlight.

Agents of the Temple had located the hiding place of the Veiled Lady, and she would be arrested tomorrow. Everything was coming together. By the week’s end the fading emperor would be replaced by Nalademus, the Tree Cult would begin to wither, and Voltan would be placed in charge of the army. At thirty-seven his destiny waited, a golden prize mere inches from his grasp.

Curiously he felt no excitement, no sense of fulfilment or satisfaction. This was irritating in the extreme, yet it had always been this way. Contentment and happiness were always just a little way ahead. I will be happy when I am Gladiator One, he had thought. On the day he had attained this he had felt a surge of achievement and deep pleasure. It had passed within an hour.

Voltan eased his way through the crowds and sat down on a rock, wondering yet again why he had come to this place. What do you expect to find? he asked himself. A group of fools, filled with death wish, listening to an idiot who would be burned within days. He sat quietly among the almost dead, thinking through the arrangements for the assassination of Jasaray. No plan was foolproof, but, satisfied he had considered all the potential hazards, he relaxed. He felt the crowd stir, and rose to his feet.

At the far end of the chamber a young woman, in a pale blue gown and a black veil, had entered, flanked by three white-haired men. The crowd raised their arms above their heads. Voltan copied the movement.

‘May the Source guide you, and bless you, and receive you,’ they chanted.

The woman also raised her hands, touching the palms, then opening her arms towards the crowd in a gesture of embrace. ‘What do we see in this world around us?’ she asked them. ‘What do we see in tree and stream, in mountain and valley? What do we feel when we gaze upon the stars and the silver moon? What do we experience when the warmth of the sun touches our skin?’

‘Joy!’ chorused the crowd.

‘And when a friend takes us into an embrace, or a child smiles, or we receive an act of unexpected kindness?’

‘Joy!’

‘From which deep well does that joy come, my friends?’

‘From the Source!’ they cried.

‘From the Source of All Things,’ she said. She fell silent for a moment, and stood head bowed. The crowd settled down, seating themselves upon the ground or jutting rocks and broken stalagmites.

‘There is so much evil in this world,’ she told them. ‘It is governed by men whose spirits have been charred by the smoke and fire of their greed and their lust. We should pity these men for they are empty now, and upon their deaths will walk the Void, lost and frightened, never to see the bright and shining Light, never to know the joy of Paradise Found. Their momentary lives will flicker out as an eternity of regret beckons. They think themselves great men. They see their lives as full of glory and riches. Not so. The reality is that they are – as we all are – seeds in the soft earth. We cannot see the sun, nor the awesome beauty of the sky. We lie in the ground, and we yearn for what we cannot see. The men of evil believe the dirt is all there is, and they embrace it, drawing it around them like a blanket. For them a belief in a sun they cannot see is foolishness, so they wait under the earth until they rot. Those of us with faith have a desire to grow. And we do grow, my friends. We put out roots of love and kindness, and we move up through the dirt, and we will see the sun and the sky. The men of evil will not. So when they drag you from your homes pity them. When they tie you to the stakes forgive them. Their lives are as nothing, worthless and dead.’

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