Free Empire Under Siege by Jason K. Lewis

them with my own eyes.”
    “Bah!” The heckler, an old man with a bald pate and straggly white hair, waved his arm dismissively and turned to leave. As he did so, Conlan noticed a legion tattoo on his bicep. He disappeared back into the crowd, many people giving him disapproving looks as he did.
    “See!” shouted the man on the plinth. “See how the non-believer cannot stand in the face of reason! I, Marek Tyll, have seen the gods. I have seen the great Lord Terran with my own eyes, and I tell you now, he is the image of wrath and glory personified. He saved us from the barbarian horde. On the field of Sothlind, he saved us.”
    There were gasps from the crowd. Some looked angry, but many seemed to Conlan to be enamoured of Marek Tyll. He has a way of speaking , Conlan thought as he gradually inched his way through the crowd behind Villius. There is something in the cadence of his voice, the way he gestures. It’s like an enchantment . Marek Tyll knew of the visitors at Sothlind, he too had seen the bear, bull and hawk along with the others as they danced their way through the horde.
    Villius stopped and turned to Conlan and Jonas with anger in his eyes, his cheeks flushed as he turned to look at Marek Tyll, who continued haranguing the crowd from his perch atop the memorial. “Deserter,” he whispered, just loud enough for them to hear. “And he dares to stand on a war memorial.”
    Conlan turned from Villius to Marek Tyll and back again. The preacher had to be a deserter; either that or he knew someone who had been on the field of battle. Did he fight with us in the circle? Conlan examined the minutiae of the man’s features. Was he a sword brother, even for a little while? Marek Tyll did not look familiar, but Conlan doubted that he would remember most of the men who had joined the remnant of his cohort to protect the standard of the Third.
    “You recognise him?” Conlan asked Jonas.
    Jonas shook his head. “Don’t reckon he’s from the Third. Deserter scum.”
    Villius, his face set in anger, took a step towards the memorial. Realising the danger Conlan, quickly grabbed his arm to hold him back. “No, Proctor.”
    Villius turned and looked at Conlan’s hand on his arm, his lips pursed, a frown creasing his forehead.
    “Villius, think.” Conlan felt a flash of fear as Marek Tyll’s gaze swept across them, but his eyes did not linger, even though they stood out like sore thumbs in their blue legionary cloaks. Conlan gripped Villius’s arm tighter. “Proctor, this is not the time. This is not what we are here for.”
    Villius stared at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. They resumed their slow progression through the crowd.
    “The Lord Terran has spoken to me!” Marek Tyll shouted, his voice loud even as they distanced themselves from his fervour. “This world is in need of cleansing, and I am his instrument. Join me, for we are the chosen! On the day of purging those who follow the way will be spared to begin the world anew. As he has proclaimed to me, so shall it be!”
    The man is mad , Conlan thought, looking back to see Marek Tyll receive a shout of adulation from the crowd. He glanced at Jonas and wondered if his devout friend was drawn to Tyll’s manic preaching. The look of disgust on Jonas’s face told Conlan everything he needed to know. Jonas might believe that the gods had visited them in battle, but clearly he was not driven to a similar frenzy by his faith.
    As they cleared the crowd, Conlan saw the grey-haired veteran who had heckled Marek Tyll earlier crouched on all fours close to the street they were heading for, a puddle of vomit on the cobbles before him.
    Villius rushed to help the man to his feet and Conlan quickly followed suit.
    “Are you alright, citizen?” Villius asked, his voice full of concern.
    The man looked at them, pausing briefly to observe their badges of rank. “I’m fine, brothers,” he said, voice trembling and weak. “Nothing I can’t deal