[Envinyatar]

Rhûnnaro let his mind drift as the slaves jostled for position according to number. All were now inside the Great Hall and he edged his way closer to the door, hoping to make an escape at the earliest opportunity. His presence was obligatory for the first part of the Ritual, the intention he supposed, to make the slaves cower at the presence of the guards and overseers.

What a fiction that was! At least in his mind. The slave population outnumbered the others many times over. He wondered at the peoples these slaves must have come from. Why were they so easily pressed under the thumb of the Dark One’s minions?

He had made the habit of observing both the slaves and their handlers, as he called them. The handlers, he noted, were, for the most part, brutal men, shallow thinkers, their minds bent on the physical domination of those under them. Most of them were little better than predators, though when he considered that comparison, he thought the predatory beasts to be one up on them in terms of any sort of conscience. At least the beasts killed only for food, and not for play.

The most chilling of the handlers were those who did consider well what they were doing, and chose it because it advanced them in the eyes of their superiors. He shrugged his upper body slightly, trying to ease the tightness which had planted itself between his shoulder blades. This was the kind of man he was in danger of becoming.

Cold, analytical, precise in his killing. No toying with the victim. No joy. Just the task well planned and executed quickly. A brief entreaty to the night black mustang of the west to bear the homeless spirit away. And then on to the next target. A dangerous balance of callous reserve and the nodding acknowledgement of compassion.

The slaves were another matter. Many of them were already spiritless shells, animated only by the routine of their lives and the one feeling left to them to feed on . . . despair. They had neither the will to move to another level of considering their options nor the hope it might succeed. Still, there were those he had seen in whose eyes such desires was still a spark . . . well banked, but still a spark. And given the right opportunity, it might be fanned into a most interesting blaze – consuming any ignorant enough to stand near it.

His gaze slid over the rows of slaves, picking out those in whom he had seen such a spark. Perhaps, given a slight nudge, the game might shift slightly this year. Become more interesting, create a diversion he might use to his own advantage.

Below, in the midst of it all, the center, was Ekatran. Rhûnnaro’s eyes narrowed as he considered him. What would happen to the center, should one of the balanced ends be knocked loose from its fixed position, become unpredictable . . . dangerous, even . . .

[ April 10, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]