The captain continued, “I beg thy pardon for this interruption, sir, but we caught the enemy general wounded and trying to flee. Would would thou have us do?”
Only Murosa’s eyes moved in reaction to their entrance. With a grunt, the Boggre tossed the prisoner onto the ground before the feet of Murosa, where he tumbled a few times, gripping his wounded stomach and crying out. The man’s armor was broken, and stains of blood soaked his sweaty clothing.
Konro looked away.
The poor man looked up with agony at Shepherd Murosa and opened his mouth to speak, but Murosa simply frowned and concentrated, his brow furrowing and his eyes flashing with a momentary spark of red, appearing to the eyes of all present like little more than a splotch of color on the inside of their eyeballs. The captive, wounded general went suddenly limp, laying flat on his back staring blankly into the cloudy sky, his open belly wound exposed. Without waiting, one of the Boggres suddenly lurched forward, heaved its ax back behind its head, and beheaded him.
Konro grimaced and kept his head turned firmly away. Murosa didn’t look at them, but Konro could sense the Shepherd’s concentration as the Boggres picked up the man’s bloody remains and dragged them away.
A glazed-over look came into the captain’s eyes. Then he shrank back. “Yes, Shepherd. I apologize. Please, forgive me,” he managed to say with struggling voice. He turned around and went on with awkward steps. Murosa released his concentration and the captain’s brow relaxed; he breathed deeply and walked uprightly again, not stopping to look back.
Konro breathed in and out and averted his gaze from the stains of wet blood on the dirt.
Then Murosa clasped his hands together and rested his chin upon them. “Now. Enough of this verbal sparring, harmless Konro. I have more matters to attend to in an afternoon than you will have in a year. I believe you refused coin. Tell me what you want from me as payment for your service and both of us can part ways with smiles on our faces.”
The Shepherd did not smile. Konro did not either. “I wish to be Judged, Shepherd. That is why I have come, why I have served you. You should know enough about me to judge accurately if I…if I can be forgiven for what I’ve done.”
The lord raised an eyebrow. “Ah, I do remember! You told me about you when you arrived. You want forgiveness from me? You’ve been Judged already. Although I suppose it’s not impossible that your condition be reversed, unless you are actually a Boggre. Then again, that cannot be…” Konro lurched slightly as a brief tug came to his mind, a harsh and hasty probing. “I see you are not all gone,” finished Murosa.
Konro steadied his breathing again, resisting the urge to rub at his temples. “I have been Judged many times.”
“Hoping some kinder Shepherd will see you in a brighter light, then?” Murosa tried not to smile too widely; he kept his annoyance in check behind fascination. He’d never met anyone like this fellow. The only men or women he had seen with that much sin marked upon their bodies did not travel. They certainly didn’t fight or lobby insults at royalty. They wasted away in poorhouses, begged for spare change on city streets, or, just as likely, undertook unseemly ways of life.
It was the most interesting thing Murosa had seen in weeks. To kill this man would be to squash a bug of a vibrant color never seen or documented by mankind. It wouldn’t be right.
“I wish to have thy Judgment inflicted upon me in honesty and truth, as a true Shepherd would,” said Konro. “I have told you my sins. You know me well enough. Unless you would prefer me to stay and serve you longer.”
It was an honest question. Murosa slowly stood up to address it. “No,” he said, and his eyes began to shimmer ever so slightly with crimson, blinding to Konro’s Marred eyes.
His brain felt as if it became exposed, like a cross-section was removed. His mind invaded in an instant by Murosa’s, the rest of his body was left in total shock, falling to his knees and convulsing. The feeling was impossible to become accustomed to.
None of the scornful soldiers watching could see what happened inside Konro’s mind, only his physical reactions, but they well knew what was occurring, and they feared it.
ADORE, came the overwhelming feeling to Konro. It wasn’t a conscious “thought” so much as an idea, a powerful, primeval directive placed in the center of his mind by the invading party—Shepherd Murosa—and that was latched onto with frightening ease by his subconscious impulses.
Yes, the impulses that ruled all creation.
This particular command manifested as a consuming feeling of adoration for Shepherd Murosa. Konro’s enmity towards the man seemed to evaporate and he suddenly felt very simple-minded: no thoughts could formulate to block feelings that made him admire Murosa’s fancy clothing, his stature, his handsome face, the shimmering eyes, even the way he cocked his eyebrow and curled the edge of his mouth. He wanted more than anything else to be near him and bask in his glow.
That desire welling up in him, strength returned to his limbs and he stood up and stumbled forward to kneel at the feet of Shepherd Murosa. Konro could not remember who he was or why he was here. All he knew was Murosa was beautiful, unfathomable, and remarkable. He would do anything for the man.
With a sudden rush like a dam breaking, the adoration left Konro and the invading force was gone, leaving him weak and hollow and disturbed. All returned to normal and Murosa chuckled, standing before a kneeling, overcome Konro. “Now,” the lord said, “I think I am ready to Judge you.”
He reached out with his left hand and placed it upon Konro’s head, fingers all outstretched, clutching the skull in a tight grip.
Konro closed his eyes. He was ready.
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