The Burning White (Lightbringer #5) - Brent Weeks Page 0,351

men had quietly accompanied Quentin everywhere he’d asked this morning. He’d made four or five stops. This was to be the last before dawn.

Teia, please tell me you weren’t merely drunk last night. If nothing happens here, you—and I—will have ruined Quentin.

From where Kip and his men stood, Quentin’s voice wasn’t loud. There was still time left now, in the last few minutes before dawn, where Kip should be making his own big speech.

In Kip’s experience, men usually fought because they didn’t want to let the man next to them down, then because their commanders would kill them if they didn’t, and finally because they might get loot or revenge.

What was he supposed to tell his people that wasn’t already obvious? We’re on an island. We’re surrounded. There’s nowhere we can go, nowhere to run away to. We win or we die.

“My friends!” Quentin said, and he was resplendent in his luxiatlord’s attire. “Be strong and take courage. You have trembled through the long night, but dawn is coming. We, the Magisterium, have long used our words to sway your hearts. Today Orholam shall reveal whose heart inclines to the light and who wishes to hide in darkness. Let me speak to you one last time, for three minutes only. I take as my text a commentary on the end of mercy by Doni’el Machos.”

Quentin read the words without drama, without inflection, merely a loud and clear statement of fact: “ ‘The wrath of Orholam burns against them. Their damnation doesn’t slumber, the pit is prepared, the fire is made ready, the furnace is now hot, ready to receive them, the flames do now rage and glow. The glittering sword is whet, and held over them, and the pit hath opened her mouth under them.’ ”

He closed the scroll, although Kip was certain that the action was mostly to signify that he was finished quoting. Quentin had quoted longer selections from memory many times. The young luxiat continued, with no passion in his voice other than pity. “My dear wayward sheep, today is the day of judgment. Orholam’s luxiats have become corrupt. His magisters clad themselves in golden rags, as if rags might save.” He held up the front of his own fine tunic as if it were loathsome to him. “Orholam’s own drafters have grown proud in their strength, so this day, Orholam will deny our drafters His luxin that we may learn to lean upon His strength instead.

“Among us, men and women of all stations have worshipped other gods, have conspired with Orholam’s enemies, and have betrayed Him and us both. Traitors stand among us, but Orholam knows what is done in darkness, and Orholam will drag their shame into the light. These are words you’ve heard before, words you’ve discounted as mere metaphor. But I tell you that when the dawn comes—literally: this dawn, this day, today, minutes from now—when Orholam’s Eye rises over these walls, some of those standing with us will die. They will be unable to bear the full light of Orholam’s gaze. And they will perish.”

Oh, shit. Quentin had gone way past what Kip had told him to say. Quentin had been supposed to go out and say, ‘Hey, don’t be afraid if some people get ill. Orholam’s in charge. Those loyal to Him are going to be fine.’ But no, Quentin had thrown it all in, like a first-time gambler with no sense of responsibility.

If Kip and Teia had led him astray, Quentin wasn’t merely going to be ruined; he was going to get lynched.

“But when it does happen,” Quentin said, “be not afraid. Orholam sees. Orholam hears. Orholam cares. Orholam saves. He will slay these traitors who are intent on betraying us to the King of Wights. Orholam will slay them, not to cause your hearts to fear but to save your very lives and your souls.

“This day is not a battle of brother on brother. Nor even between men and those wights who once were men themselves. Today, Orholam Himself fights beside us against the legions of the damned. When you grow faint, His immortals shall uphold you. When you grow weary, they shall bear you up. Though ye fall, O beloved of Orholam, ye shall rise again. And if any part of this doesn’t happen, slay me as a false prophet!”

Quentin paused. The crowd had fallen utterly silent. They seemed caught between hope and despair, with disbelief overall. When did any luxiat speak so plainly?

Some knew him or knew