Ysian kicked her heels into Dosh's ribs. “Here he comes!"
If he had room to move, he could grab her arms and flip her off him, but in this mob she would fall on top of at least one man, probably two, and then there would be reprisals. As it was, his arms were so tightly crushed against his sides that he could not raise them even to defend himself from her attacks.
"D'ward's coming!” she insisted. “Move. This way.” She took him by the ears again and twisted his head to the left.
He yielded to the inevitable, starting to shoulder himself forward. He would probably have made no progress at all had Ysian not begun using her feet with deliberate savagery on the innocent bystanders. The inevitable retaliation was all directed at him, of course—he was jostled, jabbed, punched, cursed at. Any minute someone would manage to draw a sword and gut him.
"Faster!” she demanded. “We'll lose him."
Of course they would. There was no chance of catching him. D'ward was bigger and taller, and he was the Liberator. He had admitted that he had a special sort of charm. He would charm his way through the crowd. He was not carrying Ysian.
Yet Ysian did add some weight to Dosh's efforts. He discovered he could lean on the men in front of him and they would pull away to avoid being pushed over and trampled. If he lost his footing, that would happen to him.
Ysian yanked at his left ear. “That man in green coming! Catch him!"
In a moment, Dosh saw the man she meant. His green tunic marked him in the drab brown crowd and probably meant that he was some sort of temple flunky—priest or guard. He was very large, very beefy, and obviously very determined to move closer to the temple. That meant closer to D'ward.
Somehow Dosh managed to slip in at his back, and after that they made better progress. The big fellow did not seem to register that he had acquired two hangers-on as he wrestled his way toward the pillars. Dosh leaned on him, urging him forward.
The noise was fading, and now there was another sound, a steady drum-beat. Dosh had no idea what was happening inside the temple, but the ominous boom-boom-boom made his scalp prickle. Was Golbfish being brought in now? Human sacrifice? No god of the Vales had demanded human sacrifice in thousands of years. What would they do to him? Cut off his head? Tear out his heart? Burn him alive?
Poor old Golbfish! He had turned himself from an effete slob into a warrior and a leader. He had made himself worthy to rule the kingdom that was his by right, and now he was dying to save his men. What must he be thinking?
"Almost there!” Ysian bounced a few times with excitement. Dosh shrieked at her. He thought she meant the great pillars now looming over them, but then he saw the familiar black hair just ahead. Perhaps this madness was going to pay off after all. Then what? D'ward had refused to listen to reason on the boat; he was not likely to be amenable to logic now.
But Dosh had not been joking when he told D'ward he knew massage. He also knew a few sneaky tricks of self-defense that had come in handy more than once when the romping had become too rough. If he could actually get within reach of D'ward and if he could then work his arms free and if he could put his hands around D'ward's neck—then he could put D'ward to sleep very easily.
Then ... then D'ward would slump to the ground and be trampled to paste? That part of the plan needed more work. The drums were beating faster. All that was needed was to delay D'ward a few more minutes and it would be too late for him to stop the sacrifice. Now the man in green had caught up with D'ward and was right behind him. He had become a barrier instead of a trailblazer, for Dosh could not get by him.
They were within a few feet of the pillars when the man in green abruptly caught hold of D'ward's arm and jerked him around. He himself twisted to the right. Dosh stumbled to catch his balance, recovering to the left. The crowd surged back in tightly around them again, packing all three men in together, face-to-face, with Ysian's legs between them.
The whole congregation had fallen silent under the surging boom-boom-boom of the drumbeat.
"What?” D'ward demanded angrily, struggling to break free of the grip. He had not even glanced at Dosh or Ysian. “Oh—it's you!"
"Who did you expect?” the man in green demanded, in a voice as thunderous as the drums. “What in creation do you think you're doing here, you young idiot?” He was the taller by two or three inches and considerably huskier. He had a dense black beard and a jutting hooked nose. He seemed young, yet he was the sort of man one instinctively addressed as “sir” ... or “master,” in Dosh's case.
Ysian's fingers were knotting painfully in Dosh's hair. He could hardly breathe in the crush, glancing from the Liberator to the other man and back again. Their faces were directly above his, yet neither of them seemed to know he was there. He did not want to guess who this other man might be.
D'ward smiled, but the effect was grotesque—all eyes and teeth, as if the skin of his face had shrunk. “You've got the wrong man in there!” His voice was hoarse.
"I know that, fool! And tomorrow he dies. You think that's an accident? Have you any idea of the trouble that cost us? What do you think you can achieve, coming here?"
"I can take his place. My place!"
"You won't save his life if you do! Even if Zath chose to spare him, which he wouldn't, the ephors could not forgive the humiliation. He's dead now, dead as surely as he will be when they dash out his brains tomorrow."
D'ward grimaced. “I won't let them!"
"And how are you going to stop them now?"
The drumming was a continuous menacing roll, rising louder, echoing among the pillars.
"I can go there and say who I am! I can tell them they have the wrong man. If I say I'm the Liberator—"
"You would drop dead."
D'ward's face was white with misery or terror or fury—Dosh could not tell which, and perhaps it was all of them. “Then if you helped me, stood beside me—"
"Fool!” The big man roared the word, yet none of the surrounding crowd paid him any heed at all. How could anyone resist his authority? “Zath has more power than all the Five together. You can do nothing here except die as well!"
"There must be something I can do!"
"No, there isn't! Maybe one day, but not today, nor tomorrow.” The massive fingers squeezed harder into D'ward's arm. The man seemed ready to bite him. “Now—will you live or die? Must I force you?"
D'ward's eyes glinted feverishly. “Use mana here and you'll attract his notice, won't you? We're on the node."
"Why are you so anxious to die?” They were bellowing at each other now, yet the mob packed around them seemed oblivious.
"Why should it matter to you if I die?"
"Because we want you to fulfill the prophecy! Your time is not yet, that's all."
D'ward closed his eyes and shuddered. He slumped in despair, as if only the press of the crowd held him upright. “All right! If that's your price, I'll do it. I'll be the bloody Liberator, I'll take your orders, I'll do whatever you want, but you've got to pull the prince out of there. I won't let another man die in my place."
"Sorry. I can't do that."
"Then damn you!” D'ward screamed. “Let me go!"
Before the man in green could answer, the drum roll stopped. A brief silence ... a faint voice making an announcement ... the crowd within the temple screaming in joyful unison ... the crowd outside howling for the news...
The man in green heaved his great shoulders back to free his other arm and cracked his fist upward against the point of D'ward's jaw. D'ward's head jerked back. He went limp, held upright only by the man's hold on his arm and the squash of bodies.