He stared out the window. His view was not of the harbor, but of the mountains behind Chalice. Almost the exact opposite direction from the one where his and the world’s fate would be largely decided in the next few weeks. But Demansk wasn’t even tempted to crane his neck and look toward the south.
That wouldn’t do any good at all. He’d only be staring at a wall, in any event. What Demansk needed, now more than ever, was simply a measure of serenity. And for that, his window suited him perfectly. In the center of his view was the Peak of the Sun God, rising majestically into the heavens. With, as always since Demansk had arrived at the archipelago, that steady, steady, steady plume.
“It’s a good sign,” pronounced Thicelt. He was speaking of the nearby chimes, of course. But Demansk, staring at silent smoke in the distance, found himself in full agreement.
PART III:
THE INVADER
Chapter 21
It’s always like this, lad, said Raj. Don’t let anyone ever feed you any crap about how much more natural it is to live in a state of barbarism.
Adrian was about to protest that he’d never thought any such nonsense—nor, whatever other silliness they sometimes spouted, had any of the philosophers of the Grove. But, catching the little echoes which lay behind Raj’s words, he said nothing. Whitehall, he realized, wasn’t so much speaking to him as to himself. During the centuries in which the long-dead general’s “spirit” had lived side by side with Center, the ancient battle computer had presented to Whitehall the entire panoply of human history, beginning with its origins on a far-distant planet called Earth.
Adrian had never heard of Earth until his ghostly companions told him about it. The birthplace of the human race, apparently—and, certainly, the birthplace of every stupid notion that had ever infected the species.
Did people really think there was such a thing as a “Noble Savage”? he asked, half-incredulously.
Oh, yes. At least one entire school of thought, with plenty of offshoots. Needless to say, not people who’d ever witnessed what you’re seeing.
Adrian didn’t really appreciate that last remark. He was having a hard enough time controlling his stomach as it was. Their column was passing through a village which had been ravaged recently by Southron cavalrymen ranging far ahead of the main army, and the leavings of their atrocities were scattered everywhere. Men tortured in the most hideous ways imaginable—the same for the women, with rape added into the bargain—children slaughtered, cottages burned.
There was not even any point to most of the butchery. Abstractly, Adrian could understand murder and rape. But why expend the time and effort to kill a peasant by flaying him alive? And why, after gang-raping his wife, impale her in such a grotesque manner? Or scatter the entrails of an infant so small that a quick sword slash would have killed him instantly?
The thing about a barbarian’s life is that it’s barbarous. It’s not that these men are intrinsically any more evil than civilized people, it’s simply that there’s nothing else to serve as a counterweight. None of the cultural overlay which—sometimes, at least—a civilized society instills in its members. So when they do go on a rampage, they exhibit all the unthinking glee in cruelty that a five-year-old boy does playing with insects.
I didn’t, protested Adrian. He averted his eyes from a woman’s naked corpse hanging from a nearby tree. She’d been suspended upside-down and then—
He struggled fiercely for a moment, trying to keep from vomiting. I didn’t torture insects, he repeated, protesting.
He could sense Whitehall’s shrug. Plenty of “civilized” boys do, lad. Lots of them. But as they age, they’re taught that people are not insects. Whereas for a barbarian, anyone not of “our people”—which is the same as “the” people—is usually considered no different from an animal. Except that most barbarians don’t treat their animals this badly. Not even close.
“Fucking savages,” hissed Helga. She was riding next to him, at the head of the column, on her own velipad. Unlike Adrian, Helga was not trying to avoid looking at the carnage. She had a stronger stomach than he did, as he’d learned soon after making her acquaintance.