The Vorbing by Stewart Stafford Page B

far, have they?” Vlad said.
    The crowd murmured.
                  “It is God’s will that the vampires punish us for our transgressions and not man’s place to question that, and certainly not yours, you upstart crow,” Vrillium countered.
                  “I am an Ingisbohr, and you will address me as such,” Vlad said, seething with rage at the unflattering put-down. “This curse will never leave us unless we make it go; my father knew this.”
                  “Your father is dead as a result of his rash actions,” Vrillium retorted. “We will not shed one more drop of blood following another madman into battle.”
    The crowd shouted their agreement.
                  “My father was a great man!” Vlad said with conviction, and it quietened the crowd. “He gave his life for us.”
                  “You think the name Ingisbohr absolves you of participating in our holy processions?” Vrillium asked, tightening the verbal noose around Vlad’s neck.
                  Vlad wisely did not take the bait and stayed silent. He felt and heard Vrillium’s rabble-rousing skills taking effect all around him, and it worried him. The tide was turning against him.
    Vrillium rose dramatically to his feet and pointed a long, bony finger of accusation at Vlad. “Or perhaps you are in league with the vampires and do not need God’s protection!” Vrillium shouted angrily.
                  The crowd reacted again, some of them even jostling Vlad where he stood.
                  “That’s not true!” Vlad said. “The vampires took my father from me, why would I side with those things? I hate them more than anyone here.”
    The crowd relaxed slightly, but there was still an air of agitation around Vlad. Sensing the mood of the crowd, Vrillium took a moment and then made his next surreptitious move.
                  “We hear that you are missing our religious processions to fornicate with a young farm girl in a field,” Vrillium said, smirking with superiority and self-satisfaction at his inside information about Vlad’s private life. The barn was in uproar. Ordinarily, Vrillium would have called for order, but he was deliberately whipping the crowd into a frenzy for his own ends.
                  “Leave her out of this,” Vlad said.
                  “Ah, so you admit this is true?” Vrillium asked. “Your father is spinning in his grave…wherever that is.”
    “I admit I am in love with this girl and want to marry her,” Vlad said testily. “If that is a crime, then so be it. I am not ashamed, and neither are my parents.”
    “You presume to know what goes on in the spirit world with your father?” Vrillium said. “How do you know this?”
    “I know my father is proud of me, because I have done nothing wrong,” Vlad said.
    “Evil spirits speak to him!” Vrillium said. “That’s how he knows.”
    “That’s not true!” Vlad protested.
    The crowd murmured and shifted nervously where they sat and stood.
    Gladwish whispered with the other members of the council.
    Vlad knew they were plotting against him, and he had to try something fast or he faced a harsh judgement. He turned and faced the crowd. “I have known you all my life, my friends,” Vlad said. “Do not let these people poison you against me with untruths.”
                  “Silence!” Vrillium roared. “You are not in charge here. You do not make pronouncements without permission.”
                  “Mattna the Shaman died last night,” Vlad said.
                  “You will not mention that sorcerer’s name in our presence,” Vrillium said, his voice low as he looked at the floor.
                  “You don’t want to know?” Vlad asked.
                  “The misfortunes of a mad hermit are hardly a matter for this council,” Vrillium