That emotion in the boy's voice sounds real. No time to think on that. What he does think on is that it's useful. It fits his script here - so far as he has one - very nicely.
"It's too late to convince me. It's done. Bring him out here so I can finish him off, or don't. The rebels will be moving soon, now they know of this." Do they? If they don't by now, they probably deserve to be ambushed. "All I have to do is stand here for a while, isn't that right, sirs?" With that he turns, addressing their audience directly. A shot actually scratches his shoulder and after the instinctive flinch away from it he raises his eyebrows, then sits crosslegged behind the open bomb cases.
"If you had a more finely made gun, you might have made that shot." He looks up at the sky - without, of course, wholly taking his attention from the peacekeepers. He thinks of Signless, and the Psiionic, and Alain. He thinks of Firo, and of his own fate once he delivers himself into the peacekeeper's hands. He shudders.
"I don't want to go," he says, speaking not entirely, or at all, to the troops ahead of him anymore. "But it's never truly mattered what I want. But I choose it this time. That's something. Do you hear me? This time I choose to go back." He shudders again, feeling the wind and the snow whip around him. It really is very cold up here.
"And no one dies for it, either," he murmurs, maybe loud enough for Firo to hear. "Not this time."
He looks down from the sky at the men ahead. "Suppose I've earned my punishment, haven't I? Well, come on. I've put the gun away, I won't fight you. What needed to be done is done."
Roland lifts his hands toward the sky, in keeping with this world's custom when a man surrenders without a fight. Or much of one. He feels the Tower tugging at him, even now, even now, a part of him wants it. He stares ahead, evenly. He waits.
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"It's too late to convince me. It's done. Bring him out here so I can finish him off, or don't. The rebels will be moving soon, now they know of this." Do they? If they don't by now, they probably deserve to be ambushed. "All I have to do is stand here for a while, isn't that right, sirs?" With that he turns, addressing their audience directly. A shot actually scratches his shoulder and after the instinctive flinch away from it he raises his eyebrows, then sits crosslegged behind the open bomb cases.
"If you had a more finely made gun, you might have made that shot." He looks up at the sky - without, of course, wholly taking his attention from the peacekeepers. He thinks of Signless, and the Psiionic, and Alain. He thinks of Firo, and of his own fate once he delivers himself into the peacekeeper's hands. He shudders.
"I don't want to go," he says, speaking not entirely, or at all, to the troops ahead of him anymore. "But it's never truly mattered what I want. But I choose it this time. That's something. Do you hear me? This time I choose to go back." He shudders again, feeling the wind and the snow whip around him. It really is very cold up here.
"And no one dies for it, either," he murmurs, maybe loud enough for Firo to hear. "Not this time."
He looks down from the sky at the men ahead. "Suppose I've earned my punishment, haven't I? Well, come on. I've put the gun away, I won't fight you. What needed to be done is done."
Roland lifts his hands toward the sky, in keeping with this world's custom when a man surrenders without a fight. Or much of one. He feels the Tower tugging at him, even now, even now, a part of him wants it. He stares ahead, evenly. He waits.