Free In the Earth Abides the Flame by Russell Kirkpatrick

to generate awe in those who first saw it, and proved an invaluable weapon in the hands of the Council, serving to cow appellants who might otherwise have given them trouble.
    'The statues tell the story of the dealings of the Most High with the First Men,' he said. 'Not that provincials such as yourselves would be expected to know that venerable tale.' The jibe was obviously designed to intimidate but, despite knowing this, the members of the Company found that in the presence of such magnificence they could not respond.
    Leith found himself transfixed by the enormous wall-carvings stretching between floor and ceiling, and could make out elements of the story Kurr had told them on the road to Breidhan Moor.

    That dark shape must be grey-cloaked Kannwar, the Destroyer, kneeling with arms outstretched, about to take the Water of the Fountain in disobedience to the ban of the Most High. That faceless figure with the arrow nocked to the bow, marble feathers resting against cold cheek, was surely the Most High. The arrow was aimed at the outstretched arm of the Destroyer. The sculptor had managed to capture and communicate the sense of drama: the two figures on the brink of conflict, about to make eye contact; the water about to be drunk, the arrow about to be released, the doom about to be pronounced, the world about to be changed forever. Around them other carved figures watched the confrontation, the battle within their own hearts personified in this clash of good and evil, and they tried to choose which they preferred.
    What do I choose? Leith asked himself. The continued powerless-ness of unquestioned obedience, or to take control by dipping my own hand into the fountain?
    'Come on, Leith,' Hal whispered, tugging at Leith's sleeve. 'The Council awaits us.'
    Through a wood-panelled door at the end of the hall they entered a deep but narrow room, the Inner Chamber of the Hall of Meeting, almost filled with a long table and chairs stretching from end to end. There were no other furnishings or adornments in the room, nothing but plain walls and a white ceiling. Near the centre of the table sat the sixteen members of the Council of Faltha. While the Company was still some distance away their friend Saraskar stood, then came over to them. He introduced himself to each member of the Company, repeating their names to himself as they spoke them; then led them to the others at the table.
    The overwhelming tension in the room began to affect Leith even before he sat down, and he began to shake with fear. Not fear of the Councillors themselves, or not exactly; he was more afraid of the situation they found themselves in, of the uncertainty, afraid that he might do or say something to damn Faltha - or, more elementally, damn himself. The doom was about to be pronounced, the world was about to be changed forever. He sat on his hands, but his whole body shook so much he was sure the others would notice it. No one said anything: they were involved in their own struggles.
    For it was not only a unique afternoon for the northerners. In calling the meeting Saraskar had been obliged to give an outline of the Company's request; and, though he had couched it in the vaguest terms possible, he knew that it had, as had been inevitable, warned the traitors that the game was up. He had seen the looks on their faces. In that sense the meeting itself was unnecessary, for Saraskar now had his confirmation. The words of the northerners were true
    - in essence, if not in detail. Faltha had been betrayed.
    He had been granted so little time to prepare. One short night, a night on which even he could not break curfew without good reason, a night during which he was closely watched. No chance to meet with the loyalists - he already thought of them in those terms - who lived in various unattainable parts of the city. Time only to talk frankly with his frightened family and his servants; to solemnly tell them that they were in the gravest danger, from which