Empire of the Saviours

by A J Dalton

Genres: Fantasy; Fantasy action & adventure; Epic Fantasy

Synopsis

In the Empire of the Saviours, the People are forced to live in fortified towns. Their walls are guarded by an army of Heroes, whose task is to keep marauding pagans out as much as it is to keep the People inside. Several times a year, living Saints visit the towns to exact the Saviours' tithe from all those coming of age - a tithe often paid in blood.

When a young boy, Jillan, unleashes pagan magicks in an accident, his whole town turns against him. He goes on the run, but what hope can there be when the Saviours and the entire Empire decide he must be caught?

Jillan is initially hunted by just the soldiers of the Saint of his region, but others soon begin to hear of his increasing power and seek to use him for their own ends. Some want Jillan to join the fight against the Empire, others wish to steal his power for themselves and others still want Jillan to lead them to the Geas, the source of all life and power in the world. There are very few Jillan can trust, except for a ragtag group of outcasts.

His parents threatened, his life in tatters, his beliefs shaken to the core, Jillan must decide which side he is on, and whether to fight or run ...

Release date: May 17, 2012

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 452

Sample

CHAPTER 1:

Magic is the first evil

In the beginning, the blessed Saviours had rescued the People from the pagans and barbarians, and then built fortified towns within which to keep their new followers safe.

Each town had a standing force of Heroes along its walls to guard against any sudden attacks by marauders from without, and to keep any of the People who became distracted or disorientated within. For it was not unknown for a pagan magic-user hiding somewhere in the deep woods to attempt to cast a dark influence over the minds of the People. There was a story whispered among Jillan’s classmates that one such spell-caster had caused the People of New Sanctuary to rise up against their own Heroes, and that it was only a sudden and unexpected visit by one of the Empire’s Saints that had saved the town from being entirely lost – praise be to the Saviours for their foresight in commanding the Saints to travel between communities in order to administer ongoing care to the People!

It was said that the pagans and barbarians were brutal savages – many of them shape-changers – who were elements of the Chaos. In the olden days, it was from the Chaos that the Saviours had created lives of order and safety for the People. That had been so long ago, of course, that everybody now knew about it even if they hadn’t been alive when it had happened. The Empire of the Saviours was ancient and had always been – older than old Samuel even, and he was the oldest person in Godsend – older than Jillan’s grandfather, great-grandfather, great-great-grandfather, whoever he had been, and even the one before that.

Minister Praxis said that just as the Empire of the Saviours had always been, so it would always be; that the Empire was eternal. The only ordered life that existed in the world was the Empire and everything else was the Chaos. At the beginning of time, the Minister told his young students, the forces of good and order had come together as the Empire in order to prevent the Chaos and its dark pagan gods from ruling absolutely and from ultimately destroying the world. The Chaos constantly railed against the Empire and tried to tear it down, jealous that the People had been wrested from its clutches. Thus, every community needed its walls and Heroes, and all of the People needed to remain vigilant and guard their thoughts and minds against any unholy instinct or temptation.

Jillan had lived all his thirteen years within the walls of Godsend. Each morning, he would be sent off to the school at the centre of town, just off the wide and open Gathering Place. His mother and father – along with most of the other adults – would spend the day beyond the walls, his mother working in the fields and his father hunting with a skilled few in the woods. The adults were always escorted and protected by a squad of Heroes, although the pagans would rarely attack while the sun was in the sky. In fact, there’d never been an attack while Jillan had been alive. Minister Praxis said that the pagans had learned to fear the Heroes and preferred to use dark, sneaking ways rather than risk any sort of direct confrontation. Minister Praxis always looked at Jillan when he used the words dark or sneaking, but Jillan was never sure why. It made him uncomfortable and his face would flush. He’d feel guilty and afraid and Minister Praxis would smile and nod knowingly, reminding all the students how important it was to guard their thoughts against any secret and selfish desires sent to them by the pagans and the Chaos.

Jillan was afraid of Minister Praxis and didn’t like going to school to sit beneath the tall man’s glare every day. The boy knew he should be grateful to hear about the Saviours, because of what they had sacrificed and done to free the People from the corrupting grip of the Chaos, but Jillan’s mother would have to shout at him several times each morning before she could get him out of his bed. Sometimes he found himself wishing that the night and his sleep would last forever, and that the sun would never rise again. Then he’d realise such a desire was sinful – that it was dark and sneaking – for the night belonged to the pagans, and in wishing for a night that lasted forever, he was actually dreaming of the final triumph of the Chaos. Of course he wanted the sun to rise again! How could he not? If it didn’t, he’d never awake to see his school friends and parents, and he loved his parents dearly, more than anything else, even though he knew he should love the Saviours more.

Jillan was scared of his own thoughts and feelings sometimes. They could be sinful and threatened to get him into trouble, threatened to let the Chaos claim him completely one day. And the way Minister Praxis looked at him in class meant that the Minister knew. He had to know that Jillan had such thoughts. He saw it every time Jillan’s face flushed, and perhaps even sensed some of his thoughts, for those who were strong in their faith were gifted with an ability from the Saviours to see where and when the Chaos was at work. It was why all the other town elders listened respectfully to the Minister whenever an important decision needed to be made or whenever one of the People brought some grievance to the council.

‘Do I have to go? I feel a bit sick,’ Jillan complained as he sat eating breakfast with his parents. Then he brightened: ‘Maybe I can stay home today, and you could stay with me, Mother!’ Jillan used his most pleading eyes, the sort that usually persuaded his mother to give him his birthday present early or give him an extra helping of one of her wonderful puddings.

But his father was too quick for him today. ‘I’m not surprised you’re sick, spending all night cooped up in here. Fresh air is what you need, lad. You can get plenty on the way to school. You’ll feel right as rain by the time you meet your friends.’

Jillan refused to adjust his expression and kept his eyes on his mother. Her face became worried.

‘Perhaps he really is sick, Jed.’

Jed snorted and set down his mug of light beer on the table with a bang. ‘My sweet and trusting Maria, didn’t you see how he polished off that bread and honey? A boy with that sort of appetite can’t be so sick, now can he? It can’t be contagious whatever it is, since you and I are fine, so whether he spends the day sick at home or at school makes little difference. Better he spends the day in school then, learning his numbers and letters so that he doesn’t have to end up in the fields or woods like us when he comes of age.’

Jillan silently cursed – he should have thought to resist the bread and honey, but honey was his favourite. He knew he would have to change tack. ‘But I don’t want to work with numbers and letters, Father. I want to be a hunter like you! I’ve been practising with my bow and can hit a tree from forty paces!’

Jed, who was a bear of a man, nodded his head in approval and clapped Jillan heavily on the shoulder, all but flattening him. ‘Yes, son, you have the eye, but you do not yet have the strength to draw the sort of bow that can stop a wild boar in its tracks …’

Jillan eyed his father’s bow leaning in the corner by the door. It was as long as he was tall, and when he’d secretly tested himself against it just the week before, he’d been unable to bend it more than half an inch.

‘… and you cannot yet read the spoor of an animal, or navigate the trails of the forest. Look, it’s only another six months until the Saint is sent to Draw all those coming of age. Then you will be a man. I will begin to teach you to hunt, but it will be several years before you are ready to have a full longbow. During those years you will have to work at something to contribute your share to the community … and to support any wife you might choose to take.’

Jillan flushed and suddenly found the pattern of the table’s wood fascinating.

‘So learn your numbers and letters well and you might yet be offered work with Jacob the trader. He has no son and his back is too bent to load that cart on his own. You’ve always said you wanted to see other places, rather than being stuck out here in the far and wild reaches of the Empire. Well, the trader can offer you chances to travel, for you know well that he visits Saviours’ Paradise every month and sets up a stall there on market day on behalf of Godsend.’

‘And Jacob’s daughter, Hella, is a sensible girl.’ Maria smiled. ‘I hear she has the sort of eye for you that could hit a heart at forty paces.’

Jillan flushed even more furiously than before. ‘I’m going to school!’ he announced hotly and stood.

Jed took pity on him. ‘Maria, don’t tease him so. It’s all right, Jillan, all in good time. And the choice will be yours – we will not arrange and insist on such things as some other parents would. All right?’

Jillan nodded. ‘I have to go or I’ll be late. I need to get my slate and chalk for school. Can I be excused?’

Jed hesitated, debating with himself for a moment. ‘If you tell me why you were trying to avoid going to school.’

Jillan’s eyes widened in panic.

‘Jed, he’s distressed enough as it is,’ Maria warned. ‘This can wait.’

Jed kept his eyes on his son and lowered his voice to a growl. ‘Is Elder Corin’s son giving you trouble again?’

‘No, no!’ Jillan protested. ‘He’s just an idiot. I’m not scared of him.’

‘Then what is it? You know you can tell us anything. We’re your parents, and we love you no matter what.’

Jillan shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to another, and then back again. He glanced at his mother for help, but she only watched him with a mix of concern and curiosity. Finally, he couldn’t help blurting, ‘The Minister hates me! He always picks on me. And I haven’t done anything wrong, not really. But don’t say anything, pleeease, because that’ll only make things worse! It’s only six more months. It’ll be fine!’

A terrible anger came into his father’s eyes, an anger Jillan had never seen before and one that scared him more than Minister Praxis did. Jed seethed, ‘I knew that snake couldn’t be trusted to leave well enough alone!’

‘Jillan!’ Maria snapped, demanding his attention. ‘Get your things and be off to school. Now! I need to talk to your father. Don’t worry, all will be well.’ Her eyes blazed as she turned on his father.

Heart pounding and blood roaring in his ears, Jillan fled to his room. He grabbed slate board and chalk and then took up one of his special rocks from its niche in the stone wall of his bedchamber. His collection of strangely coloured and oddly shaped rocks had started when he was young enough to believe they had special meaning and magical properties. He now understood that his father only brought him such rocks when the hunters had failed to catch enough rabbits for everyone’s dinner pots. Nonetheless, today, he put the smooth red pebble that he associated with feeling brave in his pocket.

Jillan ran back through the small kitchen and eating area of their small house, hardly daring to glance at his parents, and out into the daylight. His mother’s voice filled his ears.

‘… if you really do love us, then you will leave it be. When we came here, you promised me you’d cause no more trouble, so that we could raise our son in some sort of peace and safety. You promised me, Jedadiah, and I mean to hold you to that promise!’

His father rumbled something in reply, but Jillan couldn’t catch it.

‘No!’ his mother rejoined in her high pitch. ‘That died in New Sanctuary, along with many good people. If you’re going to start on that again then – as the Saviours are my witness – you can do it without Jillan and me. I will not stand idly by while you put this family in danger.’

Jillan blinked as he tried to make sense of what he’d just overheard. What did his mother mean by when we came here? Had his parents lived in a different part of Godsend at some point before he was born? And how had they known of people in New Sanctuary, a place of such shame and blasphemy that its name was only ever whispered in conversation?

As far as Jillan knew, the only home he’d ever had was their small cottage squashed up against the wall of Godsend. The families who had first settled the town naturally occupied the large homes – complete with front and back yards – near the Gathering Place, and usually had a seat on the council. As the town had become more established and the population had grown, however, there had only been hurriedly built crowded homes available for the newer families. Jillan and his parents lived right up against the south wall, behind which were the midden ditches and cemetery, and just beyond which the wilds truly began.

People tended to avoid the south wall. Even the south gate was only guarded by a single Hero, since it was used solely for infrequent burials. It was usually only the very newest families who lived in the higgledy-piggledy warren of the southern part of town, yet while most families moved out as soon as they could, he and his parents had remained in their home even when the houses around them had become deserted and fallen into disrepair. Consequently, rather than thinking of his family as newcomers, he’d always assumed they lived where they lived because his parents liked their privacy. After all, people just brought interference and trouble, with their rules and disapproval. And he really didn’t mind the smell from the middens, at which so many people turned their noses up – he’d grown up with it and somehow found its damp earthiness reassuring.

Blinking, he realised he was almost out of the maze in which he lived and close to the busier parts of town. He slowed his pace, wanting to delay the moment when he would reach the school as long as possible. He watched a bird winging high across the sky and found his steps drifting after it. It led him back to the wall and he climbed the long stairs up and round to the Hero keeping a solitary lookout over the south gate.

Old Samnir the Hero nodded to Jillan in welcome and then turned his grey eyes back towards the wilds.

‘Anything moving?’ Jillan asked as he always did, taking his customary seat between two crenellations.

Samnir continued to scan the landscape. After a second or two, he replied gruffly, ‘Thought I saw one of the mountains move to the left earlier.’

Jillan smiled. ‘It did not!’

The Hero scowled at Jillan. ‘Know much about mountains, do you? Ever even set foot on one? Didn’t think so. And who are you to challenge a mighty Hero of the Empire? I should have you flogged, dragged through the streets and then hung on high for all to see, so that you might serve as warning to all those who allow the pagans to corrupt their thinking.’

Jillan’s smile broadened. ‘The creases in the corners of your eyes always deepen when you’re not being serious.’

‘Damn this traitorous face of mine!’ Samnir sighed. ‘It knows me too well. It means I can never play cards with any of the other Heroes.’

‘Is that why you’re always out here on your own?’ Jillan asked without much thought.

The Hero tightened his grip on the haft of his spear until a few of his knuckles cracked. He quickly turned his face back towards the cemetery and the forest. His voice became cold. ‘You are presumptuous, boy! I don’t owe you any answers. You should get along to school. I don’t want the Minister saying I’ve been keeping you from your studies.’

Jillan was crestfallen. Samnir had always seemed different to everyone else, less judgemental, less disapproving. The Hero had seen the world and wasn’t scared of anything, even keeping guard alone in a lightning storm. For a few years Jillan had dreamed of becoming a Hero just like Samnir – with a face as weathered and muscles as hard as rock – until he’d learned Heroes were never allowed families of their own, lest their willingness to do their duty be compromised by sentiment. Even so, they’d spent many hours in each other’s company over the years, whether in companionable silence or talking about other communities, trees, animals and all manner of things Samnir had seen – although, Jillan now realised, they had never spoken about exactly why Samnir chose to stay out here on his own. Until now Jillan had always felt safe in Samnir’s company, and the world had seemed to make a bit more sense each time he spoke to him.

Yet today something was different. Something had gone wrong. He’d managed to make his parents argue, and now he’d made Samnir angry. Perhaps he’d been fooling himself in thinking he and Samnir were friends. After all, what could a grizzled warrior and a thirteen-year-old boy have in common? Clearly, Samnir had merely been indulging him up till now, or being kind because he felt sorry for the boy from the southern part of town. Angry at himself, and resolving never to bother the Hero again, Jillan shifted in his seat and prepared to jump down and make for the stairs. The sooner he got to school, completed six more months of study and was Drawn to the Saviours by the Saint, the better.

To Jillan’s surprise, however, Samnir said quietly, his back still to him. ‘Wait.’ A sigh. ‘Why am I out here commanding nothing but the wind, when I was once a leader of men in the Empire’s army? Why am I in the remotest backwater of the Empire, when I once marched side by side with Saints in the campaign against the barbarians in the eastern desert? Why do I now oversee nothing but a graveyard of dusty bones, when I once guarded the temple of the Great Saviour himself?’ He paused. ‘Because I am like all other men, Jillan. Once, I thought I was better than every other mortal, that my proximity to the sacred heart of the Empire made me special, made me something more. I refused to see otherwise, even when my joints began to pain me as I rose from my pallet each morning and as the weight of my armour began to make my shoulders droop. I began to see younger and more capable men as a threat and began to say and do things to undermine them, even when it was not in the best interests of the Empire. I put my hubris and self-interest before the will of the Saviours, despite everything they’d given me. But the Saviours are all-knowing and saw the blasphemy in my heart.

‘I was asked to step aside, and when I refused I was exiled from the holy temple complex. I was denied all sight and sound of the holy ones. I was not worthy to be in their presence, you see. Even then, I was allowed a chance to redeem myself, for the Saviours are merciful even when punishing transgressors. I was put in charge of the Heroes on the walls of Hyvan’s Cross, a large community no more than a week’s march from the Empire’s sacred heart. Yet still I was ungrateful and in my anger sought to blame all those around me. The Saviours forgive me, but I took their name in vain on many occasions.

‘Saint Azual was forced to banish me from Hyvan’s Cross and after several other unhappy postings I ended up here, on the edge of the wilds. My fall from grace was caused by my thoughts, words and deeds, and they have taken me as far from the sacred heart as it is possible to get. I am all but become pagan, so far have I strayed and so corrupted am I.

‘Why am I out here?’ he asked, turning back to Jillan with wide staring eyes. ‘I have condemned myself to this place! Everyone finds their right and proper place in the scheme of things, Jillan, and this is mine. Ultimately, mortals are only ever victims of their own selves. I am the lowest of the low and must now spend my remaining days doing this lowly duty to the best of my ability, else I may as well leave the Empire altogether, join the pagans in the mountains and embrace the empty Chaos entirely.’

Jillan could not move, pinned where he was between the crenellations by the looming Hero. He’d leaned back as far as he dared, clinging desperately to the stonework with his fingers to prevent himself from falling fully thirty feet to the midden ditch and cemetery below. He dared not breathe lest Samnir’s wild and tortured gaze suddenly focus on him, rather than looking through him.

‘Do not become like me,’ the Hero whispered. ‘A ghost wailing in the wind. A being of so little substance and worth that even the spirits of the dead below shun his company and search elsewhere for the warmth of life. Promise me!’

Jillan nodded and swallowed fearfully. His assent seemed to appease the soldier, who blinked several times and then apparently came back to himself. ‘I’m sorry, boy. I didn’t mean to scare you.’

Jillan dragged himself up and planted his feet safely back on the walkway. ‘I-I still like you, Samnir. I don’t think you’re the lowest of the low,’ he mumbled, but then betrayed his words by running for the stairs.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’ Samnir called after him. ‘I’ll tell you more about the mountains if you like! They’re a stronghold for the pagans and the Chaos. They are a place so cold and inhospitable that not even the Saints will venture there alone. Boy! If you ever need my help …’

The Hero watched the boy go. He turned his bleak gaze towards the forest of nodding fir trees which stretched all the way to the distant mountains. A chill wind rattled his teeth and he hunkered down into his armour. If he was any judge, there would be snow early in the mountains, and that meant a long hard winter that not everyone would survive. The harvest had barely finished. What had happened to the autumn? So short, and gone like his youth. ‘Damn that boy! He makes me forget myself,’ he murmured.

Shaken, Jillan ran all the way to school. Everything had been turned upside down so far today, so he was eager to see the familiar faces of his few friends and have some sort of comforting routine restored by the school day.

The other children of Godsend stood waiting outside the large oak door to the school. They mainly kept together for shelter from the wind that whistled across the expanse of the Gathering Place at the centre of town.

‘I was worried you’d be late!’ Hella said with a dimpling smile.

Breathing hard, Jillan only nodded by way of reply.

‘What’s that smell? Middens are strong today!’ Haal, Elder Corin’s son, said loudly. His friends Karl and Silus snickered.

Haal was heavily built like his father, but where Elder Corin was something of a gentle giant, Haal used his size to get the other students to do whatever he told them. Jed had told Jillan that nature sometimes gave those who were slow of wit extra strength, as otherwise they would not be able to survive in the world. Jillan didn’t know if that was true or not, and it really didn’t matter either way, since Minister Praxis knew better than to be hard on the elder’s son for being dull and lazy. As far as Jillan could tell, Haal could be the stupidest and weakest person in the world but he would still survive more easily than others, and stupidly think to mock them while doing so.

Normally Jillan would have ignored Haal’s comment, for he’d been saying such things for years, but Jillan wasn’t feeling normal today. Today was not a normal day. Today was a day when parents argued, Heroes faltered and friends became angry. Today was a day when Jillan had confessed his fear of the Minister, told his dream of becoming a hunter, looked forward to being Drawn and worried about finding a wife one day. Today was a day when Jillan could no longer pretend to be a child. Today began the fight that would last the rest of his life.

He squared his shoulders, faced Haal and glared at him. Jillan was gratified to see uncertainty creep into the other’s eyes.

‘Jillan, don’t do this!’ Hella breathed, sensing Jillan’s mood and becoming nervous.

‘What you are no doubt smelling, Haal, is your own breath, for the rubbish that comes from your mouth is as foul as any midden. One wonders what you eat to be so malodorous and bloated. What festering garbage do you gorge on and where do you get it all from? You haven’t been sneaking out to the ditches in the dark of the night, have you? With such a creature abroad, no wonder the pagans fear to come near Godsend. The Chaos itself fears the enormity of your appetite, and that you will pig it down whole!’

There was silence. Even the wind stilled as if in shock.

‘What, Haal?’ Jillan sneered. ‘So stupid that you don’t even know when you’ve been insulted?’

Karl and Silus stood with their mouths hanging open. Their eyes flicked from Haal to Jillan and back again. All the other students instinctively drew away.

Haal’s face began to redden and swell, rage sparking in his small black eyes. Speechless with anger, he choked and spluttered. Then he lowered his heavy brows like a wild boar preparing to charge.

‘No! Don’t!’ Hella squeaked.

Jillan was strangely calm. Let the Chaos come then. It would either destroy him totally or he would put down his enemies. It was simple. It was clear. There was no doubt in him to confuse things or cloud his judgement. There was only focus, purpose and poise. He would not fail. The storm raged around him, but he stood in the still centre of its eye. He watched with a strange detachment as the eddies of power swirling around him began to buffet Haal …

The school’s large door suddenly swung open, showing only darkness beyond. It was a cavernous mouth yawning wide to consume its prey whole. A cold breath issued out of the portal.

‘Come in, children!’ creaked the voice of Minister Praxis. ‘Quickly now, for we should spend whatever time we may learning of the blessed Saviours for our own improvement.’

For once most of the students wasted no time hurrying into the darkness. Jillan suddenly came back to himself and staggered as dizziness overtook him. Hella reached out to steady him, her blue eyes fearful.

‘What happened?’ she whispered. ‘It was so strange.’

Haal still stood glaring at Jillan. He silently promised that things would be settled between them after school and then turned on his heel, followed by the pale Karl and Silus.

‘I-I don’t know,’ Jillan wheezed. ‘Maybe I’m coming down with something.’ Yet he forced himself to straighten and seem bright, so as not to upset her any further. ‘Come on then, let’s get inside. Otherwise, the Minister will decide we need punishing for being lazy.’

But Jillan’s thoughts were not so easily straightened. They swirled as if the storm was in his head and desperate for release. A pain started at his temples and it was a struggle not to wince. He concentrated hard on placing one foot after another evenly on the stony ground, and managed to force everything else into the background, reducing his headache to a dull throb. It itched and nagged at him, making his shoulders twitch every now and then, but he was satisfied that he had it largely under control. He managed a smile for his friend and pulled her inside the school.

Minister Praxis stood looking down at each of them. He was so tall and thin that he seemed unnaturally upright. His eyes were like water, sometimes colourless, sometimes taking on the hue of everything around them. Jillan felt as if he were drowning whenever the Minister looked at him. Everything else about the Minister was hard lines – an unbreakable brow, ruler-straight cheekbones and a spiked nose. He was the rod of discipline every community needed if it was to remain close to the will of the blessed Saviours.

‘Good morning, children!’ the Minister creaked.

‘Good morning, Minister Praxis!’ they chanted back, having to brave his gaze. Jillan could not help shivering, the back of his neck feeling wet and cold. He swayed slightly and his chair scraped.

‘Jillan Hunterson, do you know no manners?’ the Minister asked. ‘You others may sit.’

Haal made no effort to hide a smile. There was the shunting and scraping of chairs as the class settled behind their desks. Jillan looked down at his feet.

‘Well, Jillan Hunterson? We’re waiting. Or do you seek to keep us from our study of the blessed Saviours?’

‘Sorry, sir, it won’t happen again.’

‘Stop mumbling, boy! Are you trying to swallow your apology before it can be heard? Are you not genuine? Are you not honest? Lift your head up and apologise clearly to us all.’

His head and eyes never having felt so heavy, Jillan slowly raised his head and said, ‘I’m sorry.’ He hunched his shoulders slightly to hide the twitch that stabbed him in the middle of his back.

‘You know, I’m curious, boy. Is it a poor upbringing or dark and sneaking thoughts that are to blame for your ill behaviour? Well? Which is it?’

His mind a muddle, Jillan could think of no easy answer. The Minister’s question had him trapped. Either he had to blame his parents, giving Haal and his cronies the chance to smirk, or he had to confess to succumbing to the temptations of the Chaos.

‘I …’

‘He’s coming down with a cold or something! That’s why he’s shaking,’ Hella blurted.

Minister Praxis turned an ire-filled gaze on the bright-haired daughter of the town’s trader. He said nothing for a few moments as the class held its breath …

‘The Saviours gave him a tongue, Hella Jacobsdotter! If he cannot speak for himself in front of the Saviours’ own Minister, then what use is that tongue? And we must wonder what secret it is that prevents him from speaking. Beware, Hella, that you be not unwise in your selection of friends and choosing for whom you speak up. Do you understand me, or should I perhaps ask your