The chocolate from Southwitter of the Recliners still sat on the bedstand. The priest's face was no longer comported in pain. He sat on the edge of the bed waiting, wondering at his own stupidity. His own mother had always said he talked too much, had called him a blatherer, but still, his facial structure had been all it had taken to garner him a quick trip up the religious ladder. He had never had to serve in the brigade, something required even of nobles who wished to become priests of the first order.
No, it had been granted him, this rank, he, a commoner, and his family had rejoiced as they were rewarded with riches and titles, all on account of his facial structure, features that were close enough to be easily surgically molded into a second identity. He was a High Priest with none of the martial training of that station and he was a look-a-like with none of the ability of the original. But he would be Arkatahten no more. And he knew, could feel, already, that he was not even any longer a High Priest.
His family had probably already paid their price. He would be next. His bodyguards had become his captors and he awaited his fate. He looked to the chocolate, thinking he would eat it soon, saving it to savor as his last taste before they took his tongue. They would do this soon, as soon as they were ready to transport him.
He was watchful now, waiting still, watching for something that would indicate their preparation to perform surgery. It would be soon. He could feel it. And suddenly he knew, realized exactly the worm he was, how small and insignificant and how far from heaven he had always been. He began the rites to prepare himself.
And the Noblesse cut through the water while a helicopter waited to land.
No, it had been granted him, this rank, he, a commoner, and his family had rejoiced as they were rewarded with riches and titles, all on account of his facial structure, features that were close enough to be easily surgically molded into a second identity. He was a High Priest with none of the martial training of that station and he was a look-a-like with none of the ability of the original. But he would be Arkatahten no more. And he knew, could feel, already, that he was not even any longer a High Priest.
His family had probably already paid their price. He would be next. His bodyguards had become his captors and he awaited his fate. He looked to the chocolate, thinking he would eat it soon, saving it to savor as his last taste before they took his tongue. They would do this soon, as soon as they were ready to transport him.
He was watchful now, waiting still, watching for something that would indicate their preparation to perform surgery. It would be soon. He could feel it. And suddenly he knew, realized exactly the worm he was, how small and insignificant and how far from heaven he had always been. He began the rites to prepare himself.
And the Noblesse cut through the water while a helicopter waited to land.
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