The Two Confessions by John Whitbourn (good books to read for adults .TXT) 📕

strike.Their Irish masters had rough ways with rebellion and took some tongues out,but for once it did no good. Generations of slavery to the Hibernian 'JointStock Farming Companies' had cowed but not broken the poor native Welshmen. So,Samuel took over and quoted scripture at them, decrying revolt against properauthority and the vain illusions of Satan. Then he hurled handfuls of silversixpences over their heads and stood clear of the resulting scramble.

Theywere not used to either argument or kindness and so Trevan prevailed wherepincers did not. Work resumed, the miners protected by as many saints' medalsand charms as they cared to take from the crate-load Samuel placed by theshafthead.

Thosewere just the highlights of a series of cowpats dropped in the project's path.Things went missing when needed, people acted out of character and misfortunewas permanently on duty. Samuel didn't lose his temper, not even when all thetent canvas inexplicably began to rot. Instead, he sat down to think and tothis troubles up. Reviewing each mishap, set down in cold black and white, astructure to them hoved coyly into sight. For a brief moment he thought hediscerned a pattern in the chaos, for all that it was elusive: a shadowglimpsed at the end of a corridor. He could almost credit these things as clevernuisances, nicely contrived to dismay. If so, it was a question of finding thecommon thread - and tracing it back to the spinner to supply payment in kind.

Thenthe army wizard arrived and every other distraction had to be put aside.

U[U[U[U[U[U[U

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'... The soldier-thaumaturge is an unnatural hybrid, neither one thing northe other; welcomed by neither profession. This class of man, this career, islike unto the mule, a similar aberration; useful perchance as a livingtool but an unfit vehicle for a gentleman. Recall that our blessed Lord andSaviour, Jesus Christ, who entertained the most wretched and debased ofcreatures, chose a donkey on which to enter Jerusalem. Even He, infinitein love and forgiveness, forswore carriage on that which is against nature.

To expand: when a soldier kills he does so with blade or bow or bullet:things which, though fell, are known and natural. But when a wizard slays whoknows from whence the means comes - or to where his poor victim goes? I myselfhave seen both foemen and comrade alike crisped in blue flames that give noheat, or turned inside out by invisible forces, or in other ways die horriblywithout explanation. This I say boldly is not war but coward killing by strangeforces. The true gentleman warrior strives with like against like, but that cannever be the thaumaturge's way.

Fortunately, these precious charges, these rare products of longtraining, fall prey to plain sword or gun just like any other man. Accordingly,they are usually cosseted and sheltered from the lottery of battle, kept safefrom harm in the general's pavilion. There they may consult with occult powersor wrench the truth from unhappy prisoners under an honest soldier'ssupervision. Such is their only proper place (if indeed one may apply that termto them) in the chivalrous tournament of war.

It is also true to say that martial wizards are often degraded wretches,barred from their usual softer and more lucrative employ by past crimes andinfamy of character. My experience is that most are fugitives from the justiceof G*d or man. For example, when I had the honour to command the Burgundiansoccupying Latvia in 1923....'

'At the Altar of both Mars and Christ - being an instruction in theethical pursuit of war: required preliminary reading for gentlemen volunteersof sundry Christian nations in the service of His Most Excellent Highness, TheHoly and Roman Emperor Joseph IV.'

ByPascal Gudarian. By grace of G*D, Imperial Commander of the Varangian Guard,the convert Turks and Croat hussars.

BelisariusPress. Constantinople. The year of our Salvation 1933.

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cHAPTER 29

‘It's alive.’

‘Alive?’queried Samuel. He peered at what could not be seen but barred the way. ‘Notmagic?’

‘Thattoo: but mostly alive. They all are. Sort of…’

Trevanstudied the wizard's face as best two-candle-power permitted. It was no sweetera sight in below-ground gloom than sunlit above. The plump visage of floridcurves offered nothing to interpret or supplement its owner's words. He seemeda preoccupied man; his attention focused long ago and far away. There wasinformation to be had from him but it was like drawing teeth.

‘Listento me,’ snapped Samuel, ‘are you going to co-operate or-….’

Vaunted'straight-talk' bounced off the magician like a sheep's growl. The man suddenlyturned.

‘How’syour headache?’ he asked, sounding solicitous.

Samuelshrugged.

‘Muchthe same but - hang on, how did you know I...?’

‘Ididn’t – but do now. It comes as no surprise: everyone I’ve spoken to here getsthem. Real shockers. Coincidence, do you think? Then think again. And harder. Andbetter. They’re exercising influence against you – subtly influencing youaway.’

‘‘They’?Who’s ‘they’?’

TheWizard smiled.

‘Haven’tthe foggiest. Not yet. But it’s them, you may be sure.’

Withoutasking for permission, the Wizard touched Trevan’s forehead. It felt more likea spark or gnat than a fingertip. Instantly, the brain-pain cleared – and thenjust as promptly returned, crashing back with momentum, when the fat handwithdrew.

‘See?’asked the Wizard. ‘It went, didn’t it?’

‘Itdid,’ said Samuel, ‘but only for that second. Couldn’t you make the relief morelasting?’

‘Yes,’answered the Wizard: but made no move.

 ‘But…,’ said Samuel, rather than givehim the pleasure.

‘Butit would involve effort,’ confirmed the Wizard. ‘And everyone would want it.You must carry that particular cross, Mr Trevan. Accept it as flattery. Atleast someone takes account of you…’

TheWizard had a way of turning his back which signalled he no longer even recalledthe conversation just ended, let alone might return to it. You just had tostudy his broad rear view and lump it.

‘Lumpit’was Trevan’s least favourite food. It made him retch. But for the moment it hadto be got down.

‘Tellme more about the barriers,’ he asked, trying to salvage something. ‘Are theyall identical?’

Noanswer came. The Wizard waddled past Trevan as though nothing had been said -and leapt out into the vertical shaft.

Inthe course of a laborious morning they'd visited all of the 'dry tunnels' nowrevealed by the labours of the steam pump. The Wizard had studied the invisiblebarrier blocking each, muttered, looked concerned, fiddled with his sparserat's-tail locks - and then said nothing.