Before her tirade the mob faltered, but again the crazed old men led them on.
Liane turned, saw us, and made a regal gesture of farewell. From the bosom of her tunic she snatched a small black object, and swung it high above her head.
"The bomb!" shouted Hendricks. "She has it; she—"
At the very feet of the onrushing crowd the black object struck. There was a hollow roar; a blast of thundering air swept us backward to the ground.
When we scrambled to our feet, Liane was gone. The relentless mob had gone. Where they had been was a great crater of raw earth, strewn with ghastly fragments. Far back toward the city a few straggling figures ran frantically away from that scene of death.
"Gone!" I said. "Power was a mania, an obsession with her. Even her death was a supreme gesture—of power, of authority."
"Liane," Hendricks whispered. "Chief Priestess of the Flame ... Giver of Death...."
With Liane gone, and with her the old men who had tried to snatch her power from her hand, and who might have caused us trouble, the rebellion of the Lakonians was at an end.
Leaderless, they were helpless, and I believe they were happy in the change. Sometimes the old ways are better than the new, and Liane's régime had been merciless and rather terrible.