“No. That won't work.”
IV. Could We Please Get Back To The Matter Of Other Gods?
“Will you please excuse me a moment?” said Brutha, brightly. “I need to pray.”
Even Argavisti raised no objection as Brutha walked off a little way up the beach. As St. Ungulant preached to any who would listen, there were plus points in being a madman. People hesitated to stop you, in case it made things worse.
“Yes?” said Brutha, under his breath.
V. I Don't Seem To Recall Any Discussion About Other Gods Being Worshiped In Omnia?
“Ah, but it'll work for you,” said Brutha. “People will soon see that those other ones are no good at all, won't they?” He crossed his fingers behind his back.
VI. This Is Religion, Boy. Not Comparison Bloody Shopping! You Shall Not Subject Your God To Market Forces!
"I'm sorry. I can see that you would be worried about-
VII. Worried? Me? By A Bunch Of Primping Women And Muscle?bound Posers In Curly Beards?
“Fine. Is that settled, then?”
VIII. They Won't Last Five Minutes! . . . what?
“And now I'd better go and talk to these men one more time.”
His eye was caught by a movement among the dunes.
“Oh, no,” he said. "The idiots . . .
He turned and ran desperately toward the beached fleet.
“No! It's not like that! Listen! Listen!”
But they had seen the army, too.
It looked impressive, perhaps more impressive than it really was. When news gets through that a huge enemy fleet has beached with the intent of seriously looting, pillaging, and-?because they are from civilized countries-whistling and making catcalls at the women and impressing them with their flash bloody uniforms and wooing them away with their flash bloody consumer goods, I don't know, show them a polished bronze mirror and it goes right to their heads, you'd think there was something wrong with the local lads . . . then people either head for the hills or pick up some handy, swingable object, get Granny to hide the family treasures in her drawers, and prepare to make a fight of it.
And, in the lead, the iron cart. Steam poured out of its funnel. Urn must have got it working again.
“Stupid! Stupid!” Brutha shouted, to the world in general, and carried on running.
The fleet was already forming battle-lines, and its commander, whichever he was, was amazed to see an apparent attack by one man.
Borvorius caught him as he plunged towards a line of spears.
“I see,” he said. “Keep us talking while your soldiers got into position, eh?”
“No! I didn't want that!”
Borvorius's eyes narrowed. He had not survived the many wars of his life by being a stupid man.
“No,” he said, “maybe you didn't. But it doesn't matter. Listen to me, my innocent little priest. Sometimes there has to be a war. Things go too far for words. There's . . . other forces. Now . . . go back to your people. Maybe we'll both be alive when all this is over and then we can talk. Fight first, talk after. That's how it works, boy. That's history. Now, go back.”
Brutha turned away.
I. Shall I Smite Them?
“No!”