“Why must they always set fires?” Bheid asked Althalus as the two of them stood on the portico of the temple… — David Eddings
“Why must they always set fires?” Bheid asked Althalus as the two of them stood on the portico of the temple waiting and watching the columns of smoke rising from various quarters of the city.
“I’m not really sure, Bheid,” Althalus confessed. “It might just be accidental. Looters are usually fairly excited, and sometimes they get careless. My best guess, though, is that the fires are being set deliberately to punish the noblemen for their bad habits.”
“That’s pure stupidity, Althalus,” Bheid objected.
“Of course it is. It’s the nature of mobs to be stupid. A mob’s only as clever as its stupidest member.”
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More from this book
I’ve seen this all before, Althalus ... many, many times. An idea that’s born in glory starts to tarnish almost immediately.
“If he’s only a boy, what was he doing in a war?”
“He comes from a warrior culture. They start earlier than civilized people do. It was his first war, and it was supposed to be a quiet one. The half-wit who sits on the throne in Kanthon got carried away, though, so he ordered the soldiers he’d hired from Eliar’s Clan Chief to invade your father’s territory. It was a stupid thing to do, and it wasn’t supposed to happen. It was his fault that your father got killed, not Eliar’s. Eliar was only following orders. The whole business was the result of a series of stupid mistakes, but that’s what most wars are all about, I guess. Nobody ever really wins a war, when you get right down to it.”
The theorists make high-minded speeches. Their followers cheer and applaud—briefly—and then they get back to the business of appropriating everything of value.
