The False Martyr by H. Nathan Wilcox Read Free Book Online Page B

was no answer, no
shuffling of feet, no shadows moving in the windows. The house was
empty. Ipid remembered the letter he had sent just a few days ago.
He had ordered his secretary to gather everyone and everything and
leave as quickly as possible, to escape what was about to happen in
the city. At the time, he had not considered that the outcome would
be so horrendous and fortuitous. For as terrible as the devastation
of Thoren had been, the lavish estates on this side of the river
had been untouched. But there was no way that Paul could have known
that, and obviously, he had taken Ipid at his word.
    “ Well this is something,”
he turned to Eia with a smile, “locked out of my own
house.”
    “ Or is it your house?
Maybe all this lordship talk has been a lie. Are you trying to
deceive us regarding your standing, Lord Ronigan?”
    Ipid stuttered to defend
himself before he saw Eia’s smile. Of course she was joking. He had
worked constantly to keep his true identity hidden. “If only I
were,” he mumbled. The thought had brought back the load of
responsibilities that his position carried with it. He had somehow
forgotten what Arin had piled on his shoulders – the fate of an
entire nation – and now wished more than anything that he were
actually just another man, just another piece of flotsam caught in
this storm.
    Eia rubbed his arm. “Then
you would not be in this position to help your people. Surely, you
have known responsibility before, have felt the pressure of men
dependent upon you. The Belab would not have sent me if he did not
think you could succeed.”
    Ipid thought about the
people who had been placed in his care. His first thought was for
all those dead on the field across the river, of those buried under
the remnants of the city he called home. Failure. He thought about
his workers, saw them now as Dasen had. How was it that their
haunted eyes had never registered before? Their dirty faced? Their
broken bodies? Even if he claimed that they were better off than
the serfs working the fields, did that mean he had helped them?
Could he say he had taken responsibility for them? And if so, could
it be called success? Suddenly, he felt sick. He had betrayed his
people long before the battle of Thoren. His profits had been
astronomical, his wealth legendary, yet he had spared none of it
for the men in his care, for those who made it all possible. And
now he wanted to protect them from the Darthur? Were they really
any worse off under the yoke of that master than under
his?
    He laughed bitterly. “It
is what I deserve, locked out of the house I have built on the
backs of those I now wish to save? If I’d wanted to save them, I
should have started a long time ago.”
    Eia rubbed a tear from his
cheek with a cool finger and then ran it down his chin. “Among my
order, we have a saying about the freewill given to us by Hilaal,
‘it is a blessing to be able to make our own choices and a curse to
have to live with them.’ However, my mother used to tell me
something that may be of more use to you, ‘you can stop making bad
choices anytime you want.’ That is the center of my beliefs. Hilaal
gave us the ability to make our own choices. It is our
responsibility to live with the consequences, good and bad. But you
cannot allow yourself to think that bad choices in the past have
locked you into making them in the future. That is the very
definition of freewill. The blessing of Hilaal is that we never
need be locked into a course. We can always choose.”
    Ipid stared into Eia’s
eyes a few inches from his own, seemed to get lost in their dark
depths until he barely heard her. He felt her soft, cool hand on
his cheek. The other rubbing the side of his arm. Her body so close
that he could almost feel her pressed against him. He had not been
this close to a woman since . . . . He cleared his throat and
backed away. “Thank you for that. I think our counselors would
disagree, but I appreciate the