“ `Sod off and forget you ever saw us otherwise you're going to be in real trouble, my friend.' Sergeant Aktar, chapter 1, verse 1,” said the soldier.
Brutha's brow wrinkled. He couldn't remember that one.
“Walk away,” said the voice of the God in his head. “You don't need trouble.”
“I hope your journey is a pleasant one,” said Brutha politely. “Whatever the destination.”
He backed away and headed toward the gate.
“A man who will have to spend some time in the hells of correction, if I am any judge,” he said. The god said nothing.
The Ephebian traveling group was beginning to assemble now. Brutha stood to attention and tried to keep out of everyone's way. He saw a dozen mounted soldiers, but unlike the camel riders they were in the brightly polished fishmail and black-and-yellow cloaks that the Legionaries usually only wore on special occasions. Brutha thought they looked very impressive.
Eventually one of the stable servants came up to him.
“What are you doing here, novice?” he demanded.
“I am going to Ephebe,” said Brutha.
The man glared at him and then grinned.
“You? You're not even ordained! You're going to Ephebe?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because I told him so,” said the voice of Vorbis, behind the man. “And here he is, most obedient to my wishes.”
Brutha had a good view of the man's face. The change in his expression was like watching a grease slick cross a pond. Then the stableman turned as though his feet were nailed to a turntable.
“My Lord Vorbis,” he oiled.
“And now he will require a steed,” said Vorbis.
The stableman's face was yellow with dread.
"My pleasure. The very best the sta-
“My friend Brutha is a humble man before Om,” said Vorbis. “He will ask for no more than a mule, I have no doubt. Brutha?”
“I-I do not know how to ride, my lord,” said Brutha.
“Any man can get on a mule,” said Vorbis. “Often many times in a short distance. And now, it would appear, we are all here?”
He raised an eyebrow at the sergeant of the guard, who saluted.
“We are awaiting General Fri'it, lord,” he said.
“Ah. Sergeant Simony, isn't it?”
Vorbis had a terrible memory for names. He knew every one. The sergeant paled a little, and then saluted crisply.
“Yes! Sir!”
“We will proceed without General Fri'it,” said Vorbis.
The B of the word “But” framed itself on the sergeant's lips, and faded there.