Small Gods

nudged Borvorius.
    “What did he say?”
    Borvorius, who was better at thinking than the others, said, “Are you talking about surrender?”
    “Yes. If that’s the word.”
    Argavisti exploded.
    “You can’t do that!”
    “Someone will have to. Please listen to me. Vorbis is dead. He’s paid.”
    “Not enough. What about your soldiers? They tried to sack our city!”
    “Do your soldiers obey your orders?”
    “Certainly!”
    “And they’d cut me down here and now if you commanded it?”
    “I should say so!”
    “And I’m unarmed,” said Brutha.
    The sun beat down on an awkward pause.
    “When I say they’d obey—” Argavisti began.
    “We were not sent here to parley,” said Borvorius abruptly. “Vorbis’s death changes nothing fundamental. We are here to see that Omnia is no longer a threat.”
    “It is not. We will send materials and people to help rebuild Ephebe. And gold, if you like. We will reduce the size of our army. And so on. Consider us beaten. We will even open Omnia to whatever other religions wish to build holy places here.”
    A voice echoed in his head, like the person behind you who says, “Put the red Queen on the black King,” when you think you have been playing all by yourself…
    I. What?
    “This will encourage…local effort,” said Brutha. II. Other Gods? Here?
    “There will be free trade along the coast. I wish to see Omnia take its place among its fellow nations.”
    III. I heard You Mention Other Gods .
    “Its place is at the bottom,” said Borvorius.
    “No. That won’t work.”
    IV. Could We Please Get Back To The Matter Of
    Other Gods?
    “Will you please excuse me a moment?” said Brutha, brightly. “I need to pray.”
    Even Argavisti raised no objection as Brutha walked off a little way up the beach. As St. Ungulant preached to any who would listen, there were plus points in being a madman. People hesitated to stop you, in case it made things worse.
    “Yes?” said Brutha, under his breath. V. I Don’t Seem To Recall Any Discussion About Other Gods Being Worshiped In Omnia?
    “Ah, but it’ll work for you,” said Brutha. “People will soon see that those other ones are no good at all, won’t they?” He crossed his fingers behind his back.
    VI. This Is Religion, Boy. Not Comparison Bloody Shopping! You Shall Not Subject Your God To Market Forces!
    “I’m sorry. I can see that you would be worried about—”
    VII. Worried? Me? By A Bunch Of Primping Women And Muscle-bound Posers In Curly Beards?
    “Fine. Is that settled, then?”
    VIII. They Won’t Last Five Minutes!…what?
    “And now I’d better go and talk to these men one more time.”
    His eye was caught by a movement among the dunes.
    “Oh, no,” he said. “The idiots…”
    He turned and ran desperately toward the beached fleet.
    “No! It’s not like that! Listen! Listen! ”
    But they had seen the army, too.
    It looked impressive, perhaps more impressive than it really was. When news gets through that a huge enemy fleet has beached with the intent of seriously looting, pillaging, and—because they are from civilized countries—whistling and making catcalls at the women and impressing them with their flash bloody uniforms and wooing them away with their flash bloody consumer goods, I don’t know, show them a polished bronze mirror and it goes right to their heads, you’d think there was something wrong with the local lads… then people either head for the hills or pick up some handy, swingable object, get Granny to hide the family treasures in her drawers, and prepare to make a fight of it.
    And, in the lead, the iron cart. Steam poured out of its funnel. Urn must have got it working again.
    “Stupid! Stupid!” Brutha shouted, to the world in general, and carried on running.
    The fleet was already forming battle-lines, and its commander, whichever he was, was amazed to see an apparent attack by one man.
    Borvorius caught him as he plunged towards a line of spears.
    “I see ,” he said. “Keep us talking while your soldiers got into position, eh?”
    “No! I didn’t want that!”
    Borvorius’s eyes narrowed. He had not survived the many wars of his life by being a stupid man.
    “No,” he said, “maybe you didn’t. But it doesn’t matter. Listen to me, my innocent little priest. Sometimes there has to be a war. Things go too far for words. There’s…other forces. Now…go back to your people. Maybe we’ll both be alive when all this is over and then we can