Free The Right Hand of God by Russell Kirkpatrick Page B

increased it became pointless to hold them back, despite the absence of instructions. So the gates opened and people allowed to leave, whether or not they carried a yellow identification card.
    Night now lurked just below the horizon, their relief had not appeared and they had grown anxious, having been forced to watch the rising columns of smoke and gouts of flame rising from within their city's walls. Frightened people hurried across the bridge, adding further tales of fire and destruction to those the nervous soldiers had already been told. The Granaries were destroyed, they heard, and the Docks razed. Fighting in the streets. A rain of fire and death.
    Escaigne had arisen at last to challenge the Council of Faltha. No one could escape south of the City, some claimed, because the Southbridge was burned to the waterline. Every boat in the City had either borne their owners far away or were making fortunes for those greedy enough to ferry others to shore for profit. No orders were forthcoming from the Council of Faltha, and the City lay open to its enemies.
    And now someone approached from the north, a lone rider on a dusky mare. Hardly the threat to take advantage of a vulnerable City, but such a one might carry news of that vulnerability to its enemies. The rider reined in at the guardhouse, dismounted briskly and waited by his horse.
    'No one's getting into the City today, card or no card,' he was told. The guard spoke in a nervous voice, tinged with worry. His house lay on the southern edge of town, perhaps half a mile from the Granaries.
    The stranger pulled back the hood of his cloak. The face revealed was old, startlingly so given how he carried himself. Heavy brows and deep-set blue eyes were capped by a close-cropped shock of white hair. His mouth appeared little more than a slit in his face and his nose an eagle's beak. His stare was that of one used to mastery.
    'I have no card,' the man said in an astonishingly deep voice.
    'Card or no, you cannot cross. The City burns. Can you not see it?'
    'I have been summoned by the Council of Faltha. I must cross.'
    'Friend, no one may cross. None have gone into the City since the ninth hour. Perhaps in a few days.. .'
    'I am the Sria Vazthan replacement on the Council of Faltha,' he said, holding up a piece of paper. 'I must cross today. If there is strife in the City, I should be there to assist.'
    'You are not yet of Instruere, my lord,' the guard said respectfully but firmly, 'so I am not required to obey your commands. Once you have stepped foot in the City, thus confirming your commission, then I will be authorised to obey you and convey you to the City.' The guard crossed his arms on his chest, clearly pleased with himself. His fellows exchanged smiles behind him.
    The Sna Vazthan pursed his lips, then without warning his hand flashed to his waist and a shining blade lay across the guard's throat. The movement was impossibly fast.
    No one moved.
    The stranger raised a questioning eyebrow. His captive signalled frantically with one hand and the other guards made way.
    'You shall come with me to the City to verify my commission. I shall then return to this guardhouse and you shall issue me with a card. I would not wish to do anything illegal.' The words were all the more menacing for their gentleness.
    'Actually, it seems that this may not be necessary after all—'

    'No, it is necessary, I assure you. I want no one to claim I am here illegally.'
    'They won't let you in at the gate.'
    The stranger smiled then, the gap-toothed grin of an old man. 'That is another reason you are coming with me.'
    So, much to the consternation and embarrassment of the guard, he was forced to lead the man and his horse first to the Inna Gate, through the guards' entrance and into the city proper, where by setting foot on Instruian soil he activated his commission, and back out across the bridge to the gatehouse. The procedure took half an hour, by which time dusk had descended.
    'You have