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30

Exeter limped back to the road, obviously finding walking an ordeal. His praetorians fussed around him like mother hens, but he ignored them, pulling up his cowl to hide his face. They would gladly have carried him shoulder-high, of course, but what sort of prophet would he seem then? Soon he called Dommi to his side. The road was narrow and crowded again, now that the sun was past its height, so Julian found himself excluded, walking behind his own houseboy and hemmed in by the armed escort like a felon being led to the gallows.

He tried to make conversation with the spear carriers on either side of him, but he could understand little of their heavily accented Joalian. They were loathe to speak with him anyway, being uncertain just who he was or how their leader regarded him. The red-haired one was obviously the boss's favorite.

Julian had made no progress with Exeter so far. He still had no idea why the man had changed his mind about the Filoby Testament, nor did he know what could be done about Ursula. He had been expecting to find the Liberator all charged up with mana, capable of at least putting up a fight. Watching the gray-robed figure striding along in front of him, though, he could see charisma at work. Even though they were not on a node, Exeter was bearing himself straighter already, drawing strength from the devotion of his bodyguard and the adoring pilgrims he passed. That would doubtless carry him as far as Shuujooby. It wouldn't help much with Ursula, or Queen Elvanife's lancers either.

For a sweaty, mosquito-laden hour, they trudged through the swamp, looping around toward the rocky gullies of Niolslope again. Finally Exeter remembered his manners. Leaving Dommi to walk alone, he dropped back to partner Julian.

"Dommi tells me the war is over." He looked fitter than before, his blue eyes twinkling again. Perhaps he felt better able to battle wits.

"Apparently. The Huns lost. We haven't heard much detail yet." Julian told what he knew, marveling how little it touched him now. He rarely even dreamed of the hell he had known in Flanders anymore. "And you've started another," he concluded. "Another war, I mean."

"Dear me! The Service is upset?"

"Very. When they hear how you're changing their doctrine, they'll all spit fire and brimstone."

"Their own fault for inventing the demons. What sort of religion is based on lies and slander?"

"Try telling that to Ursula."

Exeter did not answer. His cowl concealed his face. He had been a devilish-good bowler back at Fallow, never much of a batsman. When he was on bat, he had consistently stonewalled. He had not lost that ability, for he now proceeded to stonewall every question Julian threw at him.

"You don't hand out gold earrings to your converts?"

"Ain't got no gold."

"But you've imported baptism!"

"Water's cheap."

"I suppose every cult needs some sort of initiation," Julian mused. "And circumcision would be messy?"

Exeter shuddered. "Please!"

"So you went into partnership with the Pentatheon?"

"They're not all monsters."

"And they deal with any reapers Zath sends after you?"

"They have so far."

If the Five were frightened of upstart Zath, they might accept the Liberator as an ally or use him as a stalking horse, although only a congenital idiot would ever trust any of them. What promises had Exeter made to win that cooperation? How long a spoon was he using? How far had he bent his principles? To ask those questions would be to end the conversation and trample the fragile reawakening of friendship.

"I thought Zath was stronger than any of them, perhaps even stronger than the whole caboodle?"

Exeter shrugged. "Who knows? Who can possibly know, without trying? No one plays the Great Game with his cards showing."

Julian persisted. "So why doesn't he come and get you, now that he's aware where you are?"

"You're the military man. You send out skirmishers and they fail to return. Do you march your whole army after them?"

"No. I send a stronger force to reconnoiter."

"I expect he'll get around to that." Reapers were only natives, enslaved by mana. They were armed with rituals that could direct the power of their god, but all their strength came from Zath himself.

"If he sends that stronger force, will you be able to detect them? Will the spells show?"

Exeter took a while to reply. Julian could not tell whether he was thinking over the question or just delaying.

"If I have mana of my own, I may be able to detect them."

"Why don't you have any mana now?"

"Used it up."

"Doing what? Turning rods into serpents?" He knew he was prying dangerously, but he got a civil enough answer.

"Running. I did heal an injured ankle, but it was on Visek's node."

"Why did that matter?"

"All the witnesses were Visek's clergy. They gave all the credit to Visek."

"You'll gain some back tonight, when you preach at Shuujooby?"

"Hope so."

Ursula might get to him before he even opened his mouth, unless Julian himself could distract her somehow. To a large extent, mana was its own fertilizer, like money—the more one had, the easier it was to gain more. Physical exhaustion was not the best state in which to preach a religious revolution. Bloody idiot!

Julian realized he was starting to lose his temper, which was the worst way to deal with stonewalling. "You're heading for Tharg? You're going to knock the chip off Zath's shoulder, aren't you? Where the hell are you going to get the mana from?"

Exeter hit that one for six. He turned his head and flashed a smile at his tormentor. "From the Filoby Testament, of course."

Julian said, "What?"

"The prophecy itself has mana, old man. Haven't you realized that yet? It takes a ton of mana to prophesy—so where does it go?"

"Haven't the foggiest."

"Into the words! Every time the prophecy is vindicated by events, it collects more mana from all the people who know about it. Zath's been trying since before we were born to break the chain. He fails every time, and every time the prophecy grows stronger."

Julian stepped in a pothole and stumbled into a leather shield, which helpfully thumped him back to the vertical again.

"That's bizarre! I never heard that theory before. Who told you that?"

"Thought it up by myself," Exeter said with a shrug.

"I don't believe it!"

"I'm not sure I do, actually. But perhaps Zath does? I thought there was at least a fifty-fifty chance he'd come after me right at the start—nip me in the bud in Joalvale with donner und blitzen and fiery whips. He didn't. So perhaps he's learned his lesson."

"He'll just let all those things happen, you mean? Let the play be acted out? Hell's bells, man, the finale is his own death!"

Exeter chuckled. "Which means that he won't have dared do a foreseeing of his own. Did you know that, old man? Foreseeing your own death is fatal. He may have had someone else do it for him, of course. No, I'm sure he'll fight at the end. Now he knows I'm coming for him. He knows I have allies, but he doesn't know how many or who, and he'll want to know that for settling scores later if he wins. He may try another jab or two, but I do believe he'll save his strength for the final innings."

The idea of the Filoby Testament as a sort of active participant did make a wildly improbable sort of sense. Julian himself had postulated that Exeter might have seen something nobody else had. Was this it? More important, would it deter Ursula from meddling?

"That valley?" Exeter was pointing a long, gray-sleeved arm at the hills that now loomed over them, surprisingly close again. "Shuujooby's at the mouth of that."

"You've reconnoitered the whole route, haven't you? That's what you've been doing these last two years?"

Exeter just smiled.

 

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