5.Death of Chaos
LXX
Freetown Port, Freetown [Candar]
“HAMOR! HAMOR!” THE chants rock the marketplace.
The dark-haired man in the tan uniform bows and raises his right hand as he steps forward onto the stones of the public stage. His wide brown leather belt bears only a short blade on the left, a small purse, and, on the right, a heavy short pistol in a leather holster that matches the belt perfectly. He is flanked by two soldiers carrying the cartridge rifles of Hamor. Behind him flutters a pale blue banner bearing the orange starburst of Hamor.
“Hamor! Hamor!...”
Less than twenty cubits away stands a slighter, fairer man, under a thin traveling cloak that covers also the uniform of Hamor. Unlike the man upon the stage, Leithrrse carries no knife, but both pistol and shortsword, and he studies the crowd for a time before turning his eyes to the stage. “... strut and prance your time upon the stage, Rignelgio.”
“Friends! Friends! This is a great day for Freetown and for you. No more endless wars between Freetown and Hydlen, no more conscriptions by yet another plotter calling himself the Duke. From here on, the forces of Hamor will protect you and yours...”
The light wind off the Great North Bay brings the smells of the sea, drying seaweed, sewage, and the smoke from the engines of the Hamorian warships.
Leithrrse snorts quietly as the speech continues, and his eyes study the crowd. He squints for a moment, as the scene beneath the market stage appears to waver before his eyes. He rubs his forehead, then blots away the sweat brought on by the intensity of the midday sun, despite the light breeze that sweeps through the square.
He looks back to the stage.
“... clothing that does not cost a fortune... goods that every family can purchase...”
“Hamor! Hamor!...”
WHHHHSSSTTT! A miniature sun flares from the crowd beneath the stage and explodes across the chest of the Emperor's regent, leaving an instantly charred mass of flames, that wavers, and then pitches forward into the crowd, which scatters away from the feebly flailing column of charcoal.
“Eeee... eeee...”
“Magic!”
“Demonspawn!”
Leithrrse flings off the cloak and bounds up the stone steps.
“Fire! There!” He points toward the slight wavering in the air that seems to flow even faster than the fleeing crowd.
“Ser?”
“NOW!” His pistol is in his hand, and he cocks and fires the weapon in the direction he has pointed. Crack!
... crack... crack... crack...
The volleys go on for a time, and bodies fall across the marketplace under the searing sun.
Then, when all that remain beneath the stone stage are a charred corpse and half a dozen bodies strewn across the stones, Leithrrse nods to the guard, and, accompanied by three guards, the envoy and now-acting regent walks the marketplace, finally stopping and standing over one figure-a black-clad blond woman still clutching a stubby, wide-nozzled device that looks like a miniature cannon of sorts-the same sort of rocket gun he has seen on the white wizard's cottage wall.
“Demon-damned Brotherhood... they'll pay for this.”
“What... ser?” asks the guard serjeant.
“Recluce. Their black marines, sent by their black Brotherhood. Their turn will come.” He ignores the looks that pass between the guards.
“Tell Marshall Dyrsse that we need to make some changes.”
The guards exchange another look.