He remembered mercy and he remembered fighting fair. What was he doing? What was he becoming?
Too quietly: "Stop."
Braxiatel grabbed at his anger and his horror and his fear, and he sealed them away and took a step closer and remembered that he was Irving—Cardinal—Chancellor—Pand—he was Braxiatel and he had to be in control. His thoughts rearranged themselves to forget everything but the problem, that Narvin was in pain and that had to stop. A simple task. He could do that. He could be calm and cold and rational and controlled.
"Narvin." That voice had cut through battlefields, overcome the din and clamour of violence and suffering. It could easily be heard over one man's scream. "Narvin. Listen. And now it stops."
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He remembered mercy and he remembered fighting fair. What was he doing? What was he becoming?
Too quietly: "Stop."
Braxiatel grabbed at his anger and his horror and his fear, and he sealed them away and took a step closer and remembered that he was Irving—Cardinal—Chancellor—Pand—he was Braxiatel and he had to be in control. His thoughts rearranged themselves to forget everything but the problem, that Narvin was in pain and that had to stop. A simple task. He could do that. He could be calm and cold and rational and controlled.
"Narvin." That voice had cut through battlefields, overcome the din and clamour of violence and suffering. It could easily be heard over one man's scream. "Narvin. Listen. And now it stops."