Paulo slipped through the door and whispered in Ven'Dar's ear. The prince responded quietly, and Paulo came back inside. "He's got to show you to them," he said to Gerick. "He'll try to protect you, but asks you please not to . . . do . . . anything."
Gerick, sober again, nodded and offered Paulo his hands, wrists together.
Paulo blanched. "No . . . demonfire, no. Of course not. No need for that."
"People, hear me!" cried Ven'Dar. "The world is changed, but we must all search for the truth and light that can be hidden beneath slander, rumor, and shadows. Prince D'Natheil's son, accused of treason, murder, and consorting with our enemies, has submitted himself to the judgment of your Preceptors, claiming that the deeds of this terrible day have saved us from chaos even though the Bridge has fallen. In these past hours, I doubted as you do. I was angry and in despair as you are. But I have seen evidence that his claims are truth."
Paulo stuck his arm in front of me, so I could not follow Gerick through the doors. "Best he do this alone," he said. "He knows we have his back."
I found a window from which I could see Gerick take a position on the broad steps at Ven'Dar's right. His fists were clenched, his body taut. A rabbit's wrong blink would make him run.
As the people realized who he was, sound and sensation struck me like a flaying wind, threatening to strip my bones bare of flesh and my spirit of all harmony. I could hear every word of the crowd as if it had been spoken into my ear and feel every emotion as if each person were a Soul Weaver living in my skin. The devil! The Destroyer! Why does he live when my son . . . when my father . . . when so many . . . do not? He commanded the Zhid! We all saw him! What's happened? My power . . . My talent . . . Beware the demon Lord . . . The Bridge fallen . . . It's the end of the world . . . Chaos … I was one of them and all of them. Curses, oaths, and questions flew, a fury thundering louder than the Zhid ram and shaking the very stone beneath my feet as if the end had come the second time in one day.
"What's wrong?" Paulo grabbed my arms as I wobbled.
"They're so afraid," I said, willing my knees firm and struggling not to weep. "He mustn't do anything. They're just afraid." Fear made crowds dangerous, of course, so I willed Gerick to keep his temper and stay quiet.
As the storm raged about him, he raised his head, leaving his eyes in some nonthreatening, neutral focus. He clasped his hands loosely in front of him—clearly visible to all. He did not flinch. Did not move again.
Minutes . . . half an hour . . . passed as Dar'Nethi and Dulce vented the emotions of this terrible day. But I saw no evidence of violence, mundane or enchanted. Of course, if the people believed their power destroyed, then they'd not be able to muster enchantments. Belief was a key to power. Everyone knew that. I looked at my hands that had failed to make a light and tucked that thought away for later exploration.
Eventually Ven'Dar's words of calm, and Gerick's demeanor, quieted the torrent of anger and abuse enough that Ven'Dar could speak again. "The Preceptors and I will summon the finest minds and talents in Gondai to investigate the events of this night," he said. "But I exhort each of you to listen and feel the changes in the universe, for every succeeding moment convinces me that something extraordinary has come to pass—not our doom, but rather our salvation. Dar'Nethi power is not destroyed. Behold …"
Ven'Dar raised his right arm and a beam of white light shot out from his fingers, reflecting from broken window glass and shattered lamps, from a toppled bronze warrior maiden, and from hundreds of fearful eyes. The crowd gasped as one when he cupped his hand and the light fell back, flowing into his palm like liquid silver. "Good people, I have not felt such innocence of power . . . such joy and completion . . . since I conjured my first light."
Gerick lifted his head to watch Ven'Dar's magic and his eyes opened wide and his lips parted as if on the verge of speech.
"That's exactly the way I felt when I sang my children to sleep not an hour ago," said a sturdy woman in the front ranks, whose face was streaked with soot and mud.
Ven'Dar motioned her to come up the steps, and had her repeat it where the enchantments of the house could amplify her report for the mass of people. ". . . and that's why I came here," she said. "To see if the tales I heard could possibly be true, for I'd never made such a song as could take their fear away and send them into a dream."
A few others stepped forward and recounted similar experiences, and before very long the mass of bodies had split apart, the fearful citizens gathering around more witnesses and peppering them with questions.
"Share your stories," said Ven'Dar, "and then help each other. Believe. We will come to you when we know more."
As Ven'Dar motioned everyone on the steps back into the Precept House, a tall, graying woman with a sword at her belt stepped forward, her arm about a young man's shoulders. "I'll keep them talking, sir. My son is a Scribe, and he'll take evidence from those who have demonstrated power. I knew Prince D'Natheil, and I know you, Prince Ven'Dar. I trust your word."
"I'm sorry to put you through that," Ven'Dar said to Gerick, as soon as guards were posted and the doors closed and barred behind us.
"Better than I had any right to expect," said Gerick, rubbing his forehead for a moment before folding his arms, allowing his right arm to support his wounded left. "But you were right—" He whipped his head toward me. "No, you were right. They were just afraid. I don't claim to have much judgment just now."
Ven'Dar nodded. "Indeed they were. We diffused some of the rumors, at least, to give ourselves time to work."
"And your power," said Gerick. "I didn't think anyone— I don't understand it, but I'm glad."
"Clearly there's much to understand. Come," said Ven'Dar, brisk and serious. "I would like to offer you some rest, but we've some difficult hours ahead of us. Preceptor K'Lan is off working with the wounded; Preceptor J'Dinet is working with the city administrators to provide shelter and food for those who need it. W'Tassa is with the legion in the east. Je'Reint is rounding up Zhid, who seem entirely stripped of their ferocity and purpose—quite differently from five years ago. But these four others and I have decided we .must put off other responsibilities. You've left a path of destruction behind you well worthy of a Lord of Zhev'Na, Gerick, and before we can begin to rebuild in earnest, we must understand what you've done and why. And we must know what we face in the future, if it is not you."
Ven'Dar led us down the short wide flight of steps into the council chamber. Two women and two men in dark blue Preceptors' robes had already taken their places behind the long council table that fronted a massive hearth. Only one of them, Mem'Tara the Alchemist, did I recognize. The ancient, plain wooden chair in front of the table—King D'Arnath's own chair, so children were told—sat vacant. Four other chairs had been placed in a semicircle before the table. One was occupied.
Aimee popped to her feet as soon as we entered the chamber, beaming first in Paulo's direction, and then at Gerick and me. "Oh, Jen, and my good lord—Gerick— to find you safe is beyond happiness."