Legion and the Emperor's Soul by Brandon Sanderson Page B

religion.”
    “Isn’t it always?” J.C. said with a grunt, inspecting the newcomers for weapons. “This guy is packing,” he said, nodding to the leader. “I think they all are.”
    “Indeed,” Tobias said. “Think of the MNLF as the Filipino version of the IRA, or Palestine’s own Hamas. The latter may be a more accurate comparison, as the MNLF is often seen as an Islamic organization. Most of the Philippines is Roman Catholic, but the Bangsamoro region—where the MNLF operates—is predominantly Islamic.”
    “Untie him,” Salic said, gesturing toward me.
    His men got to work.
    “He’s lying about something,” Ivy said.
    “Yes,” Tobias said. “I think . . . Yes, he’s not MNLF. He’s perhaps trying to pin this on them. Stephen, the MNLF is very much against endangering civilians. It’s really quite remarkable, if you read about them. They are freedom fighters, but they have a strict code of whom they’ll hurt. They have recently been dedicated to peaceful secession.”
    “That must not make them terribly popular with all who would follow them,” I said. “Are there splinter groups?”
    “What is that?” Salic asked.
    “Nothing,” I said, standing up, rubbing my wrists. “Thank you. I would very much like to see the device.”
    “This way, please,” Salic said.
    “Bastard,” Monica called after me.
    “Language!” Ivy said, pursing her lips. She and my other aspects followed me out, and the guards shut the door on Monica, leaving her alone in the room.
    “Yes . . .” Tobias said, walking behind the men who escorted me up the steps. “Stephen, I think this is the Abu Sayyaf. Led by a man named Khadaffy Janjalani, they split from the MNLF because the organization wasn’t willing to go far enough. Janjalani died recently, and the future of the movement is somewhat in doubt, but his goal was to create a purely Islamic state in the region. He considered the killing of anyone opposed to him as an . . . elegant way to achieve his goals.”
    “Sounds like we have a winner,” J.C. said. “All right, skinny. Here’s what you need to do. Kick the guy behind you as he’s taking a step. He’ll fall into the fellow next to him, and you can tackle Salic. Spin him around to cover gunfire from behind, take his weapon from inside his coat, and start firing through his body at the men down there.”
    Ivy looked sick. “That’s awful!”
    “You don’t think he’s going to let us go, do you?” J.C. asked.
    “The Abu Sayyaf,” Tobias said helpfully, “has been the source of numerous killings, bombings, and kidnappings in the Philippines. They also are very brutal with the locals, acting as more of an organized crime family than true revolutionaries.”
    “So . . . that would be a no, eh?” J.C. said.
    We reached the ground floor, and Salic led us into a side room. Two more men were here, outfitted as soldiers, with grenades on their belts and assault rifles in their hands.
    Between them, on the table, was a medium format camera. It looked . . . ordinary.
    “I need Razon here,” I said, sitting down. “To ask him questions.”
    Salic sniffed. “He will not speak to you, Mister Leeds. You can trust us on this count.”
    “So he’s not working with them?” J.C. asked. “I’m confused.”
    “Bring him anyway,” I said, and carefully began prodding at the camera.
    Thing is, I had no idea what I was doing. Why, WHY didn’t I bring Ivans with me? I should have known I’d need a mechanic on this trip.
    But if I brought too many aspects—kept too many of them around me at once—bad things happened. That was immaterial, now. Ivans was a continent away.
    “Anyone?” I asked under my breath.
    “Don’t look at me,” Ivy said. “I can’t get the remote control to work half the time.”
    “Cut the red wire,” J.C. said. “It’s always the red wire.”
    I gave him a flat stare, then unscrewed one part of the camera in an attempt to look like I knew what I was doing. My hands were