He snatched a booklet from Old Jack's hand. Though the farmers were illiterate, he pointed to the woodcut print on it—a depiction of a bishop's stomach exploding—and roared,
"They're not sending you Holy Water because the roads are blocked—it's because they're afraid! The people in the Royal Capital have woken up, and they're killing these bloodsuckers! Are you going to stupidly wait to drink your fill of worm water?!"
"But... but we're starving..." Hans clutched his stomach. The gnawing ache made him almost unable to stand. "If we don't drink this, what will we eat?"
"Food!"
The gray-robed man pointed to the still-gleaming, spired church in the center of the village.
"Your food, your money, it's all in there," the gray-robed man said coldly. "The priest's cellar is piled high with hams and wine, all bought with the money you spent on 'worm water.' You're out here starving enough to eat dirt, and he's in there feasting on meat."
