*COMPLETE* Allayria promised to do what it takes to stop the Jarles, to make the ugly decision. She thinks, at last, she understands what the dynast meant. The lesson earned from the top of that lonely cliff and given the dark murky water below.
It...
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The news leaks out of the tower like blood.
Amidst a crowd of whispering people, Ben is just another face in the same rough coat, the same peeling shoes. He moves among them, watching the story pass over their faces, these low people to which the likes of Urilong would pay no heed. He watches the horror grow strong.
Checkmate.
A glimmer of something like victory is in Meg's face when he turns back to her too, and he steps forward now, up onto the platform, and the murmuring begins to quell. There are new faces tonight, and it is them to whom he will have to speak.
"You've heard the news then," he says to the crowd, and they fall silent. "You've heard what Queen Urilong's guard dog has done."
Their expressions are hard in the torchlight, cracking along pursed mouths and flared nostrils. He paces.
"A child lost, a child sacrificed at the altar of what? A girl who has spent her whole life in a gold-plated house, in comfort and safety not given for any goodness of her own, but the fine accident of her birth." He stops, turning back to them all. "Too many children have been sacrificed for the sake of these gold-laden liars."
"Burn them!" someone shouts from the back, and Ben sees the fear in some of the newcomers' faces. The uncertainty.
"Not them," he says, ignoring the furrowed brows and sharp looks. "This."
He points to the wide opulent hall they are squatting in, the large velvet tapestries and tall, marble columns.
"Burning people like Urilong is a waste of time," he tells them. "Throw down one and another will just crop back up, as vain and self-absorbed as the last. Break the system though, take their fine things, cut their support at its knees—kill the guard dog—and there's nothing left to prop them back up."
They're staring now, and he knows he has them.
"A child died tonight," he reminds the crowd. "Not because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not because he was weak. He died because he stood up for himself, he made the point that he would not be another cog in her machine, another piece on her—" he throws an arm out, pointing to the dark tower, "board. A child died for the chance to be what he could be, not what they expected him to be."
He looks at them all, each newcomer in turn.
"So what are you going to be?" he asks them.
He turns back and takes the unlit torch Meg proffers.
"Burn the system," he tells them, tossing the torch to a nervous-looking man in the front. He catches it, holding the wooden stick in both hands, his wide eyes narrowing.
"Level the playing field," Ben says as others take the stage, bringing up bats and axes, knives and swords. The crowd shifts, but they don't ask who these weapons are from. Their hands stretch out, reaching as the arms are passed out.
