By Christopher Leeson
FROM DYAN'S JOURNAL
There was so much to think about, so much to regret. I lay awake though the long night, suffering the remorse of the damned, until the break of dawn took away even the hope of sleep.
Gannon, who had risen before the sun, joined me at first light, carrying a borrowed harp under his arm.
"Dyan," my friend said jauntily, "I've been thinking."
"About what?"
"That if this rebellion is ever going to catch fire, it has to have a hero."
"Cemion is the hero," I said indifferently.
Gannon shook his head. "No. Cemion isn't ready to inspire people yet."
“So what kind of hero do they expect?” I asked.
"A hero who can never be captured, never defeated, and never outwitted. A hero who only laughs at the worst threats of the enemy."
I frowned. "There is no such hero!"
"I'm talking about a dead hero."
"A dead hero?"
“Real heroes never die; they live in legend,” he clarified.
Thinking it over, I realized what Gannon was saying. Only the champions of saga never failed, and they died the sort of death that only served to put the seal of greatness on their triumphs. It was always the dead, never the living, who the generations looked up to.
"We have a hero," Gannon went on blandly, "if only we only give him what thing that every hero needs."
"What's that?"
"A good song."
I scowled.
"Yes," my friend persisted, "a song, like the one that I've just composed. Do you want to hear it?"
"Do I have a choice?"
With a grin, Gannon put the harp to his shoulder. “I call it 'Rodin's Men.'
"Sing a song of Rodin brave,
Too elusive for the grave.
His arm so strong, his heart so good,
He made his foemen dread the wood.
"When assessors seized their tax
Rod gave their shoulders forty whacks.
When e'er a sellsword deighed to slay,
He made the rascal rue the day!
"Rod gave his life to save a mate,
Was struck by wounds that sealed his fate.
His soul flew to the Isles Blessed,
But the hero true refused to rest.
"The mage Harouck found out too late
Rod was back from Heaven's gate!
Again he ruled the hills and dell,
From the eye of God to the jaws of Hell!
"Saluted by those left behind
Rod helped them keep the mage in line.
They made their realm the woods and fen;
The gods protected Rodin's men!"
"Rod took a task with much to do,
With trouble great and helpers few.
But never daunted by a fight,
He lent our men his spirit bright!”
Gannon put down his instrument and grinned. “It's not quite finished yet.”
I frowned. “Write any more of that silly sing-song and I'll kick Rodin back to the Western Islands myself.”
But the words were hardly out before I heard cheers and clapping coming from behind us.
* * * *
Chapter Sixteen
From the Eye of God to the Jaws of Hell
