vision of a shadowy form, dark, with a slaughter weapon in its hand, and heard a voice from Heaven say, “Behold, a dark angel shall execute my judgment on the cities of the coast, and there shall be none that escape him.” The Scripture never gave the angel’s name; but Naiah prophesied against those ancient cities on the coast, and they succumbed to fire and to plague. This was in the days of King Andrech, an evil king of ancient Obann.
It had all happened a very long time ago, and men like Orth and Reesh nowadays didn’t believe in angels anymore. But Orth had believed in this one, as a boy; and now, to his horror and his dread, he believed in it again. The dark angel with the slaughter weapon was waiting for him beyond the mountains. Every step they traveled into the East was a step closer to that meeting. And then the angel would slay his body, and his soul would be cast into the Pit for all eternity.
He dared not speak a word of this. Reesh would despise him for a superstitious fool. “Never mind,” Reesh would say: “You’ll either come to your senses when we get to the Temple, or die.” And Orth would be carried by force to his meeting with the angel.
But if he could escape into the fens before they got there—into the watery fens, where he would leave no trail that could be followed—yes, that’s what he would do. The other seventeen men had run away, and no one brought them back. They’d escaped. He could do the same.
He would have to be careful. Kyo posted sentries at night. But since they’d captured and sacrificed the young man with the eel pot, they hadn’t seen another living soul in this country. Orth was having trouble getting any sleep at all, so he knew the sentries were dozing: there was no danger around to keep them awake. If he were quiet enough, he ought to be able to get past them. Once into the marshes, they would never find him.
If it were raining, or particularly cold, the passengers would sleep inside the coach under luxurious furs. But on warmer nights Orth and Gallgoid preferred to stretch out on the ground, cushioned on and wrapped in furs. Tonight would be seasonably cool, but by no means frigid, clear, with a full moon. “Tonight it is, then,” Orth decided. “They think I’ve lost my nerve; they won’t be watching me.” Besides, Gallgoid slept like a hibernating bear, and snored.
Having made his decision, Orth felt calm and capable. When the party made camp for the night, he ate a hearty meal and laughed at Gallgoid’s story of a fat and shrewish fiancée who inspired him to take service with the Temple.
In due time the camp settled down and everybody went to sleep. Orth lay huddled in his furs, feigning sleep and waiting for the sentries to doze off. Somewhere far away an owl hooted mournfully. Overhead the moon hung like a silver coin in the sky. Even the horses were quiet. Kyo worked them hard all day, and they slept soundly.
When he was satisfied there was no one left awake, Orth carefully crept out of his furs and rose to his feet. Slowly he stood erect, listening; but there was nothing to hear but the owl, and Gallgoid snoring.
Orth was a big man, but he had a gift for stealth. One step at a time he advanced toward the nearest stand of reeds, behind which he knew he’d find water. He would leave no tracks for anyone to follow.
Closer, closer; behind him, no one stirred. Orth proceeded slowly, making only little movements. He reached out with his hands to part the reeds before him. They rustled only slightly, but enough to make him go even more slowly. He would have to be especially careful about picking up his feet and putting them back down. A snapped twig would be fatal to his hopes.
But he didn’t snap any twigs, and no one woke while he made his way through the reeds. Soon enough he found the water stretched before him, inky black but shimmering all over with moonlight.
When he first stepped into it, the water was so cold that he almost cried out
It had all happened a very long time ago, and men like Orth and Reesh nowadays didn’t believe in angels anymore. But Orth had believed in this one, as a boy; and now, to his horror and his dread, he believed in it again. The dark angel with the slaughter weapon was waiting for him beyond the mountains. Every step they traveled into the East was a step closer to that meeting. And then the angel would slay his body, and his soul would be cast into the Pit for all eternity.
He dared not speak a word of this. Reesh would despise him for a superstitious fool. “Never mind,” Reesh would say: “You’ll either come to your senses when we get to the Temple, or die.” And Orth would be carried by force to his meeting with the angel.
But if he could escape into the fens before they got there—into the watery fens, where he would leave no trail that could be followed—yes, that’s what he would do. The other seventeen men had run away, and no one brought them back. They’d escaped. He could do the same.
He would have to be careful. Kyo posted sentries at night. But since they’d captured and sacrificed the young man with the eel pot, they hadn’t seen another living soul in this country. Orth was having trouble getting any sleep at all, so he knew the sentries were dozing: there was no danger around to keep them awake. If he were quiet enough, he ought to be able to get past them. Once into the marshes, they would never find him.
If it were raining, or particularly cold, the passengers would sleep inside the coach under luxurious furs. But on warmer nights Orth and Gallgoid preferred to stretch out on the ground, cushioned on and wrapped in furs. Tonight would be seasonably cool, but by no means frigid, clear, with a full moon. “Tonight it is, then,” Orth decided. “They think I’ve lost my nerve; they won’t be watching me.” Besides, Gallgoid slept like a hibernating bear, and snored.
Having made his decision, Orth felt calm and capable. When the party made camp for the night, he ate a hearty meal and laughed at Gallgoid’s story of a fat and shrewish fiancée who inspired him to take service with the Temple.
In due time the camp settled down and everybody went to sleep. Orth lay huddled in his furs, feigning sleep and waiting for the sentries to doze off. Somewhere far away an owl hooted mournfully. Overhead the moon hung like a silver coin in the sky. Even the horses were quiet. Kyo worked them hard all day, and they slept soundly.
When he was satisfied there was no one left awake, Orth carefully crept out of his furs and rose to his feet. Slowly he stood erect, listening; but there was nothing to hear but the owl, and Gallgoid snoring.
Orth was a big man, but he had a gift for stealth. One step at a time he advanced toward the nearest stand of reeds, behind which he knew he’d find water. He would leave no tracks for anyone to follow.
Closer, closer; behind him, no one stirred. Orth proceeded slowly, making only little movements. He reached out with his hands to part the reeds before him. They rustled only slightly, but enough to make him go even more slowly. He would have to be especially careful about picking up his feet and putting them back down. A snapped twig would be fatal to his hopes.
But he didn’t snap any twigs, and no one woke while he made his way through the reeds. Soon enough he found the water stretched before him, inky black but shimmering all over with moonlight.
When he first stepped into it, the water was so cold that he almost cried out
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