“You’re going to have to make a stand,”
“You’re going to have to make a stand,” I told him, as the deadline approached. “Call a meeting of the gods. You have to assert some discipline. If you show weakness now, you’ll never get your people back again.”
To do him justice, the Old Man knew exactly where I was coming from. Which made me suspect that perhaps he’d been having exactly the same unquiet thoughts. What made mine less so was the fact that I already had a plan, which I’d been keeping under wraps for maximum dramatic effect. I prepared for a killer performance.
So, on the eve of winter’s last day, the Old Man called his people to an emergency council meeting. The outer wall was almost complete — only the giant gateway remained half built, a massive arch of raw grey stone. One more trip to the quarry would be enough to finish the job, after which the mason could claim the reward I’d promised him.
