Rene Magritte The Voice of the WindsRene Magritte The Sea of FlamesRene Magritte The Ignorant Fairy
right. Make it thirty. And then I'll . . .
"Ah, Brutha. Let us go."
Brutha swallowed his heart again, and turned slowly.
"I did not hear you, lord," he managed.
"I walk softly."
"Is there a watchman?"
"Not now. Come help me with the bolts."
A small wicket gate was set into the main gate. Brutha, his mind numb with hatred, shoved the bolts aside with the heel of small army . . .
It had taken months. A third of the men had died, of heat and dehydration and wild animals and worse things, the worse things that the desert held . . .
You had to have a mind like Vorbis's to plan it.
And plan it early. Men were already dying in the desert before Brother Murduck went to preach; there was already a beaten track when the Omnian fleet burned in the bay before Ephebe.
You had to have a mind like Vorbis's to plan your retaliation before your attack.
his hand. The door opened with barely a creak.Outside there was the occasional light of a distant farm, and crowding darkness.Then the darkness poured in. Hierarchy, Vorbis said later. The Ephebians didn't think in terms of hierarchies.No army could cross the desert. But maybe a small army could get a quarter of the way, and leave a cache of water. And do that several times. And another small army could use part of that cache to go further, maybe reach halfway, and leave a cache. And another
It was over in less than an hour. The fundame