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. The wisdom of the ages is yours.
If you enter, do so with respect. Lay down your weapons."
The crudest, most murderous villain in the crowd could
not help but applaud such courage. And most of the people
were not murderers or villains, but ordinary citizens, tired of
fighting poverty and disease and misfortune, seeking to
place the blame for their problems on someone else. They
looked ashamed of what they'd done, what they'd been
about to do. More than a few began to slink away.
The Revered Son realized he was losing them.
"Yes, it's open to the public!" he shouted. "Go inside!
Read about the gods who brought this misery upon you!
Read about the elves, the favored of the gods, who are
living well while you starve! Read about the knights!" He
pointed at Nikol. "Even now, they feed off your misery!"
The people stopped, exchanged glances, looked
uncertain. The Revered Son sent a swift glance at the leader
of his henchmen, who nodded. A stone hurtled from the
crowd, struck Nikol on her shoulder. Hitting her breastplate,
the stone knocked her back a step but did no harm.
"Cowards!" Nikol cried, drawing her sword. "Come and
fight me face-to-face."
But that is not the way of a mob. A second stone
followed the first. This one hit its mark, struck her on the
forehead. Nikol reeled, dazed from blow, and fell upon one
knee. Blood streamed down her face. At the sight, the
crowd howled in glee, excited. The henchmen, shouting,
urged them on. Nikol staggered to her feet, faced them
alone, glittering steel in her hand
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