"Think of it as a priest would," Lyacris looked over his shoulder with an approving nod - the teacher in him was emerging, and he was approving of Eragos' question. "The Hands of Prahbat do not accept religious zealots into our ranks for one reason. Sometimes they seek knowledge as we do. Sometimes, the prestige of their order is more important. Imagine telling a group of loyal believers this tale. Ao made other beings before the gods. These beings hate us for what we are, and what we've done. They want us dead. And you could meet one of these creatures, because they roam the earth even now and no one remembers how to kill them except a heretic Wild Elf. The only reason some of the Hand who fled have not prostrated themselves at Gola's feet is simple. They have no room in their life for that sort of faith. But a religious mind could be easily convinced that Gola preaches the truth, that Gola is the light and the salvation, and that faith in the gods is meaningless because they are the second age. Corruptors of Ao's true plan."
"Surely," Hasna's smile was gentler now. "You don't believe that."
"Of course not," Lyacris snorted. "If Ao had a plan I've yet to see any proof of it. Yet their fear led these orders, who have fractured and forgotten since, to cover up Savil's story. I have one of only two copies of The Histories of the Grand East still in existence, and its author possesses the other. Fear is both ally and opponent, White Riders. The temples have used it to cover up one secret after another. And now Gola uses it to provoke and manipulate you. Your better natures subverted by your fear, by your simple desire to live, you become weak. He will control you through that fear unless confronted by fire."
"But whoever confronts him with fire dies insane, and stays that way, in the afterworld," Grees said grimly.
Lyacris finally turned to face them fully, spreading his hands wide. He said nothing.