The Betrayed by Igor Ljubuncic Page B

his three wives barely compared. Since having discovered he was being stalked, he had reemployed his youngest spouse, Inessa, as his bodyguard. She had been a policewoman once, protecting the academy, until she had fallen in love with its striking founder. Now, the mother of his youngest son, she had gladly embraced the opportunity to be at his side as a soldier once more.
    They did not mingle together in public, but she was never more than ten steps away. The people watching him changed frequently, but he was almost always aware of their discreet presence. He wondered if they were aware of Inessa.
    No leads, no motive. He was walking down one of the broad cobbled streets of Eybalen, engrossed in thoughts, when he stumbled upon a small gathering. A knot of people was blocking half the road, with curious citizens converging toward the crowd.
    A fervent fan of anthropology, Armin decided to participate. He casually drifted toward the assembly, assessing the situation. The people seemed calm. It was not a rally or a brawl that had attracted them. It seemed something that appealed to their intellect. As he neared, the din of traffic subsided, allowing him to hear a clear voice droning, a speech, delivered by a figure in front of the crowd.
    “…are false. For they are afraid. Why would they be afraid? For they are false.” The voice rang, sharp, authoritative, not a hint of doubt in it.
    Armin assumed a passive stance in one of the back rows and watched. A man, as bald as himself, stood on the second step of a short flight leading into a temple of one of the continental deities, preaching to a crowd of onlookers.
    The man must have been some sort of a priest or a holy man, the investigator noted. However, unlike most clergy Armin had met in his life, this one dressed in snug leather rather than robes. While robes were meant to symbolize purity and simplicity, the gleaming oiled leather spoke of power, of unchecked lust and unbridled emotion.
    The man was holding a crystal orb in one of his arms. The free one was lashing in quick gestures that contrasted the slow and deliberate speech. Armin switched his gaze to the crowd. They appeared to be a mixed lot, but mainly the common hardworking men and women of the middle and lower classes. Their faces were locked in thought, an apparently rare experience for most of them. There was a glimmer of hope there, too, and just a hint of anger.
    “The false gods have abandoned us. They no longer mingle among us. They no longer listen to men. They have scorned us. Their power is waning. Look behind me. I’m at the steps of one of their temples. Where is the cheer and pride of this god? Where are his followers? The temple is an empty shell. And I am freely mocking it. The false gods have no sway over me. And they will not have any sway over you if you convert.”
    A few faces bobbed in agreement. Armin rubbed his spotless chin. A rare disease had robbed his skin of all his hair in his late teens. He was as smooth as an egg, something his wives seemed to like.
    The preacher smiled. “You can be free. You can live your lives without fear, without check. You can enjoy life. The false gods have burdened you with meaningless laws and wreathed you with empty promises. To follow their rules is to deny your own humanity. Man was meant to be a free creature, to live freely.
    “But you are not free. Even as I speak to you, city guards are watching us from across the street. They wish to control you and curb you and bend your will to their own whims. You live your lives in the shadow of the rich and powerful. You live by their creed, denied of your true nature and desires.”
    Armin tilted his head. On the opposite side of the avenue, a squad of city guards stood, watching the show. They did not seem interested or concerned. But they were there, to see and be seen.
    The Sirtai investigator was amazed by the gap in his education. There was a whole layer of social currents here he had not been aware