“We have to keep in mind the possibility that he might arrest you,” Maella said.

Korrich stood in front of the multitudes of Cawns rallied behind him. Preparations had been made for the march and now, at the same spot where the attacks had occurred the day before, they gathered every Cawn who could travel to Grich. Soon they would march under the early morning light on the Capital House to hold a demonstration on its steps.

The men and women standing around him seemed worried about their leader. But Korrich had apparently slept off all his agitation, and a strange calmness spread from him.

“For what? I’ve done nothing illegal,” Korrich stated.

“Not yet. But that tax loophole might not hold for something this big. We might want to consider going to a safer area,” a councilman suggested.

“My family has a home a few hundred miles from here. The Grichians wouldn’t think of looking for you somewhere so isolated,” Joff said with a fatherly tone.

Korrich waved off these suggestions. “We’ve put too much into this. Besides, everyone is already here, including those of the outlying lands.”

“The march can go on without you. Please, Korrich,” a councilwoman pleaded, knowing it was futile but trying anyway.

Korrich laughed. “My friends, my friends, to run away now would be to admit defeat. We’re organizing for the greatest—”

A sudden shriek made Korrich and all the council members turn around quickly. They saw hundreds of startled Cawns, formerly resolute and ready, part down the middle and gape at a figure coming toward the front. He had an aura of despair and held a child in his arms.

“I tried to stop him, lord!” a guard called as he ran up to Korrich, “But…” The guard sounded as if he had no clue what to do with such a deformed man.

Korrich approached the man slowly. Before he could reach him, the man collapsed to his knees and fell on his back in the middle of the street.

“Jesta!” a woman shouted as she ran over to the deformed and fallen creature. She knelt down and the woman held the sleeping girl in her arms, her hands bruised and gnarled from putting washers on bolts all day. She kissed the child as it awoke and faintly smiled back.

“Hi Mom,” the girl whispered.

With her work-wearied hands, the woman then examined the man who’d saved her daughter.

Several of the guards rushed over to him.

“Is he alright?” Maella asked, frozen solid with fright and intrigue as she and the other leaders cautiously examined the blackened creature lying before them.

The guards checked the girl first. One of them breathed a sigh of relief. “The girl’s alright, nothing seems to be broken,” she said.

“Take her to the closest hospital, now!” Korrich said. Two of the council chairs grabbed a bench and took it over to the girl. The guards used it as a gurney to transport her to the hospital as the child’s mother followed along, holding her daughter’s hand and crying. “How’s the man?”

“I, he…” one guard stuttered.

“He looks like cooked vander meat!” another one said with disbelief. “I don’t see how he’s alive!”

As they repositioned the unconscious man’s body, they saw the sword sticking out from a makeshift sheathe on his back. The guards jumped back as if he were infectious.

“Zel!” Korrich shouted.

A wave of apprehension swept through the crowd as people heard and recognized the hated Prophet’s name.

“Where’s Silen?” Korrich demanded of the deformed man.

Zel didn’t respond.

“Where’s Silen?” Korrich repeated as he shook the Prophet awake.

Zel looked up, despair and pain covering his face. He couldn’t answer.

Korrich bent down to pull the man to his feet. “Where is she?” he asked. He grabbed Zel by the shoulders, bits of burnt flesh rubbing off on his hands. Some of the onlookers began to throw up.

“Korrich, let him go!” Maella said. “He’s hurt!”

“He’s going to be dead soon. Now where’s my wife!” Korrich whispered fiercely, not wanting to shout and upset the crowd.

Zel took a few stuttering breaths. He had regained some of his inner strength, but his body was weary beyond belief. He strained to remain conscious and fight his body’s urge to shut down and rebuild itself.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Dead,” Zel said.

The people froze, and stared at Korrich. Slowly, they backed away, fearful of his soon to come rage.

Korrich remained calm, staring at the Prophet with eyes that penetrated to the man’s core. The people waited a long time for his outburst, but it never came. Instead, he fell to his knees with a sudden and soundless impact.

Korrich bent his head back and wailed a cry of anguish and sorrow. He put all his despair into that one act, and, after what seemed forever, dropped his head. He sat there, breathing deeply, then lifted his head with a fiery hate in his eyes.

“You, Prophet!” Korrich shouted, and ran over to Zel and brandished his gun. “You swore you’d save her! You swore!”

“I failed you, I know,” Zel spoke, his voice cracking through his scorched mouth. “But I’ve grown tired of you putting that gun in my face!” Zel, no longer able to hide his own anger and tired of putting up with these narrow-minded zealots, swiped the gun out of Korrich’s hand.

Korrich stared, amazed.

“You haven’t got the courage to face what I’ve got to tell you, so I’ll force you!” Zel said. And Zel rose to his full height, shuddering with pain, and pulled Korrich down to his face.

Guards all over leveled their guns and the people prepared to rush to protect their leader. But Zel had a fire in him they could see was very dangerous.

“I did all I could to save Silen. But she died, and the only one I could save was the girl. I was lucky to get her. But you listen here. The Grichians are planning to exterminate all the minor races, starting with the Cawns. Today, all your march will do is give them an easy way of collecting you,” Zel said, and coughed. Korrich shuddered as spats of blood and ash flew on his cheek. “You must forget about your wife for now and save your people from destruction. If you’re angry and want to kill me, fine. But do it later. Right now, you need to get your people out of here. Get them out of here, now!”

Zel collapsed to the ground as he let Korrich go.

The man flew back like a coiled spring being released, and staggered to get his balance. He stared for a few seconds at Zel.

“Korrich, maybe we should…” Joff began, but stopped when Korrich picked up his gun again.

He held it in quiet contemplation, thousands of eyes upon him now.

“My life is forfeit, and so is yours. I hope you die soon, because I’m trading your shot to use on Segrich. Maella, get the people as far away as possible. As for me, I don’t even care if I live. I just want to end it all, one way or the other,” Korrich said, and pulled back the striker on the gun.

“Wait, what?” Zel asked, not sure if his head was on straight, spinning as it was.

“I’m going to kill Segrich, burst into his very home and shoot him in the head,” Korrich bit.

“Look at me, Korrich. I’m a Prophet and this happened. You won’t even make it past the gate!” Zel said desperately.

Korrich said a quiet curse to the Prophet so severe that the few who heard it gasped in terror. Then Korrich ran, blinding himself to all others. Zel watched desperately as the man flew toward the Capital House. All he’d worked for would end with the man’s soon to come death.

“Wait!” someone shouted as he pushed his way through the crowd. Korrich, a few dozen yards away, recognized the voice and stopped. He turned around, shocked. “You don’t want to do that, Korrich.” He’d just now made it through the parting people and stood next to Zel. It was the man who’d scorned the Prophet the night before as he passed on his motorbike.

“Traman?” Korrich asked, facing the green-hued man with shock. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see if you failed with this scheme or not. If it worked, I was planning to get the Hamans to do it, too,” Traman said. Zel looked up and realized for the first time that this man was a leader. “Put down the gun, Korrich, you know that’s not what you do. You’re a man of peace, not war. And peace is what can avenge your wife, not blindly getting yourself killed.”

“Why do you care?” Korrich asked. “You’ve always hated other races no matter which one. In the last uprising, your father killed mine! So why do you stand before me talking of peace?” He walked purposefully back toward the leader and the fallen Prophet.

“Him,” Traman said, and pointed down at Zel.

A few hours earlier, Traman had had a bad night and was eager to get back to work. Unfortunately, he had to pass by the prison again. He’d already encountered the Prophet outside and wanted more than anything to miss him, or to see his body beside the road.

As he approached, instead he saw a man cradling a strange looking bundle and looking as if he was going to fall over in the street. Traman pulled up next to him and gasped in shock. The man was burnt all over. With all the black marks, no sign of race or even age was discernable.

“Help,” the man struggled to say, and collapsed to his knees, trying desperately to rise again and keep his bundle from falling.

Immediately, Traman’s heart went out to the man. His instincts of compassion kicked in and, hoping the man was a Haman, he pulled the man to his feet and helped him to his bike. “Hold on. I’ll take you to a hospital,” Traman said.

“No,” the man said. “Central town, quick.”

“I objected at first,” Traman said, his short tale finishd. “But I knew he’d be dead soon and couldn’t refuse. I couldn’t see his skin, only that he needed help. It was only later that I found out he’s Zel, the Gold Prophet.”

“A compassionate story, Traman,” Korrich said, unmoved. “But what does it have to do with us?”

“If I can see past my hatred of this man simply by not knowing his true identity, seeing him as nothing more than a fellow man, then maybe others can as well,” Traman said, a will stronger than steel coursing through his veins. “When I found out it was Zel, at first I felt hate and wanted to kill him. But then I remembered the compassion I’d felt before. And I realized I could trust and be with another race, even a Prophet. I have to tell others about this. You, Korrich, with your powerful words and reputation, you can help me. And the Hamans will unite beside us both.”

Korrich thought about this for a few seconds, his fingers lovingly rubbing the handle of his pistol. He walked over to Traman, hate still in his eyes. Korrich glared at him as the thousands of people waited for history to be made.

“I once made a vow to my wife,” Korrich said. And the leader of the Cawns and Hamans shook hands. “I’ve been waiting for years to hear another race say that. Zel, thank you for making this possible.” A small tear trickled down Korrich’s cheek, a great accomplishment done but not over.

“So now we will get rid of Segrich and his evil. The Hamans and the Cawns will fight together, with all others who wish to end tyranny and bring about freedom for all!” Traman shouted.

“A military overthrow?” Korrich asked, and referred to Zel as the Prophet seemed to be regaining strength. “I think that’s contrary to your point. As my Prophet friend here stated, the ends do not justify the means.”

“Then what do we do?” Traman asked.

“I have a suggestion,” Zel said. “But first, can I have a glass of water?”