Soul of the Fire

As the crowd again went wild, Dalton had to turn away to take a sip of wine. Teresa clutched his arm.

"Dalton," she whispered, "the Creator has answered our prayers to deliver us Bertrand Chanboor to be Sovereign."

He almost laughed, but saw the awe in her eyes as she looked at the man. Dalton sighed to himself. It was not the Creator who delivered them Bertrand, but Dalton himself.

"Tess, wipe your eyes. The best is yet to come."

Hildemara went on. "And for the sake of those children, I ask that every one of you reject the hate and division Lord Rahl would peddle to our people!

"Reject the Mother Confessor, too, for what does she know of common people? She is a woman born into advantage, born into wealth. What does she know of hard work? Show her that her birthright of dominance is at an end! Show her we will not willingly submit to her hateful treatment of poor working people! Show her we reject her privileged life! Ex through the Mother Confessor and her pompous demands of people she doesn't even know!

"I say the Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor have enough wealth! Don't give them, yours, too! They've no right to it!"

Dalton yawned and rubbed his eyes as the cheering turned to chanting of the name Chanboor. He couldn't remember sleeping. He'd had to twist the arm of one of the Directors to make it unanimous. Such unanimity inferred divine intervention on behalf of the chosen Sovereign, and served to strengthen his mandate.

When at last Bertrand again stepped up and addressed the crowd, Dalton was only half listening until he heard his name mentioned.

"This is why, among other reasons too numerous, to mention, I have personally involved myself in the selection process. It is with special pride I introduce to you the new Minister of Culture, a man who will protect and serve as well as any who have gone before him"-Bertrand held out his hand-"Dalton Campbell."

Beside him, Teresa fell to her knees, bowing her head to Bertrand.

"Oh, Sovereign, Your Greatness, thank you for recognizing my husband. Bless you for what you have done for him."

Rather than feeling proud of the appointment, Dalton felt a bit let down. Teresa knew the work he put in to getting where he had gotten, but now she ascribed it all to the greatness of Bertrand Chanboor.

Such was the power of the Sovereign's word. As he looked out over the crowd of cheering people, and thought about the words he would say to back Bertrand and Hildemara, he guessed it was just as well, for the people, too, would be just as swayed by the Sovereign's stand on the coming vote.

But there was yet more to come. Dalton had yet to unleash the final element.

The smell, like a prisoner rushing to escape, hit him full-on as the door was dragged open. It was too dark to see. Dalton snapped his fingers, and the big Ander guards yanked the torches from the rusty brackets and brought them along.

"Are you sure he's still alive?" Dalton asked. "Do you ever check?"

"He's alive, Minister."

Dalton was momentarily confused, and then staggered by the title. Whenever someone addressed him by the title it took a split second to realize they meant him. Just the sound of it, Minister of Culture, Dalton Campbell, left him reeling.

The guard held out the torch. "Over here, Minister Campbell."

"Dalton stepped over men so filthy they looked nearly invisible against the greasy-black floor. Fetid water ran through a depression in the center of the blackened brick. Where it came into the room it provided drinking water, such as it was. Where it went out it was a latrine. The walls, the floor, the men, were alive with vermin.

At the far side of the room, across the foul water, a small barred window, about head height and too small for a man to crawl through, opened onto an alley. If family or friends cared if the prisoners lived, they could come to the alley and feed them.

Because the men's arms and feet were secured in wooden blocks to restrain them, they couldn't fight one another for food. They could do little more than lie on the floor. They couldn't walk because of-the blocks; at best they could hop a short distance. If they could straighten enough, they could put their mouth up near the window and receive food. If no one fed them, they died.

All the prisoners were naked. The torchlight reflected off greasy-black bodies, and he saw that one of the-prisoners was a skinny old woman without teeth. Dalton wasn't even sure some of the men were alive. They showed no reaction to the men stepping over them.

"I'm surprised he's alive," Dalton said to the guard.

"He has those who believe in him, still. They come every day and feed him. He speaks to them, through the window, after they feed him. They sit and listen to him ramble on, as if what he had to say were important."

Dalton had no idea the man still had his followers; it was a bonus. With ready followers, it would take little time to have the movement under way.

A guard dipped a torch to point. "There he is, Minister Campbell. That's the fellow."