Standing on an obelisk, or at the summit of steps, or upon some balcony banked with flowers, I would say the same words, or almost the same, telling these people that we had come a very long way, and that there was a very long way still to go.
“The iron legions of Hamal have invaded us. The slavers, aragorn, slavemasters have taken away our loved ones, our fathers and mothers, our husbands and wives, our children, brothers and sisters, taken away to be chained in slavery. The flutsmen wing in our skies, pillaging and slaying. The masichieri march against us with rapine in their hearts — no! No, my friends. I am wrong! These masichieri, all the rest of the scum, they have no hearts that beat in human breasts.”
The crowds would yell at this, raging, knowing the awful tragedies that had ove
