Small Gods (Discworld 13)

People liked to be friends with Vorbis, mainly because of the aforesaid mental field which suggested to them, in the subtlest of ways, that they didn't want to be his enemy.

Two of them were sitting down with him now. They were General Iam Fri'it, who whatever the official records might suggest was the man who ran most of the Divine Legion, and Bishop Drunah, secretary to the Congress of Iams. People might not think that was much of a position of power, but then they'd never been minutes secretary to a meeting of slightly deaf old men.

Neither man was in fact there. They were not talking to Vorbis. It was one of those kinds of meeting. Lots of people didn't talk to Vorbis, and went out of their way not have meetings with him. Some of the abbots from the distant monasteries had recently been summoned to the Citadel, traveling secretly for up to a week across tortuous terrain, just so they definitely wouldn't join the shadowy figures visiting Vorbis's room. In the last few months, Vorbis had apparently had about as many visitors as the Man in the Iron Mask.

Nor were they talking. But if they had been there, and if they had been having a conversation, it would have gone like this:

“And now,” said Vorbis, “the matter of Ephebe.”

Bishop Drunah shrugged.[3]

“Of no consequence, they say. No threat.”

The two men looked at Vorbis, a man who never raised his voice. It was very hard to tell what Vorbis was thinking, often even after he had told you.

“Really? Is this what we've come to?” he said. “No threat? After what they did to poor Brother Murduck? The insults to Om? This must not pass. What is proposed to be done?”

“No more fighting,” said Fri'it. “They fight like madmen. No. We've lost too many already.”

“They have strong gods,” said Drunah.

“They have better bows,” said Fri'it.

“There is no God but Om,” said Vorbis. “What the Ephebians believe they worship are nothing but djinns and demons. If it can be called worship. Have you seen this?”

He pushed forward a scroll of paper.

“What is it?” said Fri'it cautiously.

“A lie. A history that does not exist and never existed . . . the . . . the things . . .” Vorbis hesitated, trying to remember a word that had long since fallen into disuse, “. . . like the . . . tales told to children, who are too young . . . words for people to say . . . the . . .”

“Oh. A play,” said Fri'it. Vorbis's gaze nailed him to the wall.

“You know of these things?”

"I-when I traveled in Klatch once- Fri'it stuttered. He visibly pulled himself together. He had commanded one hundred thousand men in battle. He didn't deserve this.

He found he didn't dare look at Vorbis's expression.

“They dance dances,” he said limply. "On their holy days. The women have bells on their . . . And sing songs. All about the early days of the worlds, when the gods-

He faded. “It was disgusting,” he said. He clicked his knuckles, a habit of his whenever he was worried.

“This one has their gods in it,” said Vorbis. "Men in masks. Can you believe that? They have a god of wine. A drunken old man! And people say Ephebe is no threat! And this-

He tossed another, thicker scroll on to the table.

"This is far worse. For while they worship false gods in error, their error is in their choice of gods, not in their worship. But this-

Drunah gave it a cautious examination.

“I believe there are other copies, even in the Citadel,” said Vorbis. “This one belonged to Sasho. I believe you recommended him to my service, Fri'it?”

“He always struck me as an intelligent and keen young man,” said the general.

“But disloyal,” said Vorbis, “and now receiving his just reward. It is only to be regretted that he has not been induced to give us the names of his fellow heretics.”

Fri'it fought against the sudden rush of relief. His eyes met those of Vorbis.