Alain Ballard
Notes upon the Agent, kept by his Handler, for the Use of the Company.
Of his three Allegiances.
Every Soul is ow’d its Road to Judgment.
Liberty cannot be built upon Terror.
Chuse your Moment.
In Litran, all three point at the final Blades.
The Blades, a Sacrilege.
A Pharasmin accepts Death. What he cannot stomach is a Soul held in a Cage.
The final Blades keep the Souls of those they kill, so that none may be rais’d again, & only the Gray Gardeners know the Rite to set them free. To him, Camilia’s Mother is not merely dead. She is still held. And Tristel’s Map reads to him like a List of Prisons being mov’d about the Country.
Galt, the Mirror of Andoran.
When Galt threw off its Chelish Masters, the Revolutionary Council commission’d the Blades as an humane & efficient Means of Execution, & to keep Galtan Souls out of the Hands of Chelish Devils.
He can respect that Intent, & still be horrified at where it led. It is a Road Andoran might one Day walk. Yet he is a Talon, not a Crusader. To expose Andoran would help no one.
Of his Conduct in Litran.
Sahkils descend from Psychopomps who betray’d their Calling & rebell’d against Pharasma. To him they are Deserters from his Goddess’s own Service, feeding on Fear in a City govern’d by it. He will feel how well it fits. His Training says it stays a Hypothesis until prov’d.
His two possible Selves. The one keeps the Faith quietly within the System. The other watches from a ruin’d Shrine, & will not be silent. His Training sides with Keznin. His Heart may not.
The last Word, never the first. A Pistolero’s true Weapons are Charm & Menace, & a Shot fir’d in Litran ends the Cover. Every Shot sends some Soul to Judgment, so he means each one. He may close a dead Gardener’s Eyes, granting the Passage they deny to others.
Nearly all Psychopomps go mask’d among the Living. A plain Mask, white as Bone, might be his private Vow, in a Room full of mask’d Gardeners.
His Maxims.
Death I respect. A Cage I do not.
Ask twice. Shoot once.