And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder
One of the four beasts saying,
'Come and see.' and I saw.
***
One of the four beasts saying,
'Come and see.' and I saw.
***
It was high noon: the hour of judgment, after rendari tradition. Autumn had advanced since Raymond's last visit to the steppes and the white heat of summer was now only a memory in the warm touch of sunlight out of a stark, cloudless sky. The bordering trees were aflame with the turning of leaves and a wintry chill crept through what shade was to be had.
There was, however, no shade in the arena Raymond had set. There was no wind to stir the proverbial tumbleweeds across an empty town square. There was only the steppe, the sun suspended directly overhead, and the portentous weight of reckoning.
"Reichenbach!" Raymond called, his voice not so much shouted as projected across the space between them. His tail blade arced high, battle-ready and bloodthirsty, all semblance of jovial serenity smothered in a bed of hot ash. "You will answer for the razing of the Arma Mountains, for the violence you allowed to be perpetrated against your own people!" He lifted his head high, sunlight casting an imperiously fiery curve down the muscular crest of his neck. "You will answer for the tyranny of your regime, and for your silence as the ones who depended on you suffered at your doorstep!"
Twenty paces may have separated them, and certainly the bay stallion had the advantage of height, but Raymond did not need height to tower over the steppe. They were the image of an old West showdown, Marshall facing off against outlaw - but which was which? In that moment Raymond was a primal thing, as vicious and wild a beast as any that had walked the earth in ancient times. The light in his eyes was Judgment; the beating of his heart a gallows tattoo.
"You have forgotten the face of your ancestors, Reichenbach. Surrender your crown, or prove to me you are still worthy of it."
There was, however, no shade in the arena Raymond had set. There was no wind to stir the proverbial tumbleweeds across an empty town square. There was only the steppe, the sun suspended directly overhead, and the portentous weight of reckoning.
"Reichenbach!" Raymond called, his voice not so much shouted as projected across the space between them. His tail blade arced high, battle-ready and bloodthirsty, all semblance of jovial serenity smothered in a bed of hot ash. "You will answer for the razing of the Arma Mountains, for the violence you allowed to be perpetrated against your own people!" He lifted his head high, sunlight casting an imperiously fiery curve down the muscular crest of his neck. "You will answer for the tyranny of your regime, and for your silence as the ones who depended on you suffered at your doorstep!"
Twenty paces may have separated them, and certainly the bay stallion had the advantage of height, but Raymond did not need height to tower over the steppe. They were the image of an old West showdown, Marshall facing off against outlaw - but which was which? In that moment Raymond was a primal thing, as vicious and wild a beast as any that had walked the earth in ancient times. The light in his eyes was Judgment; the beating of his heart a gallows tattoo.
"You have forgotten the face of your ancestors, Reichenbach. Surrender your crown, or prove to me you are still worthy of it."
***
Raymond
And at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
When the man comes around.
Raymond
And at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
When the man comes around.
aut viam inveniam aut faciam
