A hundred men, wearing the black vest and trousers of seamen, modified by slashes of bright scarlet across the back and the chest, rode in precision array on a hundred sleek deests. At their head rode Kris peKym Yorgen, and to his left, Dran peDran Gormek.
In a column, four wide by twenty-five long, they trotted up the broad highway toward the Holy City. The thundering sound of the hoofs of a hundred deests echoed in the air as they went on.
Word had already preceded them that Kris peKym of the Clan Yorgen was going to Gelusar to watch the Council of Elders question the Earthman, Smith; farmers lined the road, anxious to get a glimpse of the man who had saved their money from disaster, cheering the men as they rode northward.
"Bring back our cobalt, Kris peKym!" they shouted.
"Get our money for us, Ancient One!"
Proudly, the hundred men followed their captain, who seemed to ignore the accolades, but secretly was reveling in them. Ancient One indeed, he thought. There are times when titles of honor become empty of meaning.
He gripped his reins tightly with one hand and waved broadly to the people. A few yards behind the hundred men came five more deests, and upon them rode men wearing the honored blue robes of the priesthood, two of them bearing the white slashes of Priest-Mayors. As they cantered by, the farmers bowed low, and their cheering ceased.
It was a good move, thought Kris, having the priests ride in procession with them. The very fact that the Council of Elders had seen fit to question the Earthman in public, and the fact that five priests were accompanying Kris peKym to the hearing, would deepen the suspicions of the Earthmen which had begun to take root in the mind of the people.
When the column rode into Gelusar, Kris noticed with pride that none of the men seemed to show the long hours of travel; they held their heads high and rode erect, like the well-trained soldiers they were. He knew no one would be surprised that the men were armed; it was foolish not to be armed in these troubled times, and a peych-knife was, after all, a handy weapon. The tact that these blades were half again as long as an ordinary knife went unnoticed.
Kris had already sent a man ahead of the column, riding at a hard gallop most of the way, to arrange things. By the time the hundred men reined up before the Inn of the Purple Deest, less than half a mile from the Great Temple itself, the arrangements had been made.
The innkeeper, a rotund, oddly gloomy-looking man, came out in front of the old inn and held up a hand in greeting.
"Hoy, Kris peKym!"
"Hoy," Kris said. "We have traveled far, innkeeper."
They exchanged blessings, and then the staff of the inn showed the men to their rooms, while their deests were toweled and fed.
That evening, in the banquet hall, Kris was to address his followers. They were not the only ones present; there were curious townspeople there who had come to the Inn of the Purple Deest for their evening meal, curious to see the strong young man who had upset Nidor so greatly. Kris' words were meant for their ears as well as those of his own men.
The meal had been blessed by the Priest-Mayor of Vashcor, and when it was over, Kris pulled aside his plates and climbed to the top of the table itself. A sudden hush fell over the great banquet hall.
Kris let his eyes wander over the upturned faces for a moment. They were his men he saw—his own. They were tough and strong and eager, ready to follow the orders of their captain.
"Youngsters," he said, "we have come to Holy Gelusar to right a great wrong. It has been said that the Priesthood of the Great Light has done us wrong—has betrayed us to the powers of the Great Darkness. Let us, in all honesty, admit that there is some truth in these charges.
"But let us not forget the greater truth. Let us not forget that if our priests have erred, they have erred as men, not as priests.
"We have with us, as you know, live priests, two of whom hold the noble position of Mayor. I have spoken to them concerning what has happened on Nidor in the past six Cycles—the past hundred years— and they agree on one vital point. The Earthmen are not, as they claimed, Messengers of the Great Light; they are Agents of the Outer Darkness!
"Our priests have been misled, true—but no more than we. And they, like ourselves, have come to see the truth. Why else would they question the devil Earthman in public? Our priests know what they are doing now; they see the Earthmen as they really are. As fiends! As devils who have come to lead us from the Way of our Ancestors!"
He paused, then continued in a softer voice, "Of course, not all of the priesthood sees the truth. Naturally, being men, some of them are still in error. But we should not hold this against the Priesthood as a whole. We should not hold our Ancient Grandfathers accountable as a group for the errors of a few.
"We have come here to witness the questioning of a devil, the Earthman Smith. We don't know what his answer will be—but we do know one thing. No demon, when spoken to in the name of the Great Light, can lie. We will know, then, Smith's true status. If he is a demon, he will be unable to lie. He will be unable to deny that he and his fellows have stolen and hidden our money. If he is but a man, he will be able to lie—but then we will have little to fear from him. In either case, our path is clear. Nidor and the people of Dimay must get their money back!"
Applause rang through the hall loudly, making it impossible for Kris to continue. Although he held up his hand for silence, it was some minutes before he got it. He noticed that the townspeople in the back of the banquet hall were cheering too.
When quiet finally came, Kris went on.
"It has been said that we—the Merchants' Party—are against the Priesthood and the Council of Elders. You and I know that this is untrue. It is true that our former leader, Del peFenn Vyless, who was murdered by some unknown enemy of ours, spoke against the Council. But he spoke against them because they were misguided, not because the Priesthood itself is wrong."
It was an out-and-out lie, and Kris knew it. But propaganda is propaganda.
"We have, then, a job to do. But we must never lose sight of the fact that we are here to save our priests, not to condemn them. We are here because we want to see Nidor return to the Way and the Light! And we will!"
There was another prolonged burst of applause. Again, Kris signaled for silence.
"I will now ask Grandfather Marn peFulda Brajjyd, Priest-Mayor of Vashcor, to lead us in a prayer that those of the Priesthood who have not yet seen the truth will be given the truth by His All-Effulgent Majesty, and that the common people of Nidor will again be blessed by His radiance."
The priest rose as Kris stepped down from the table. Looking grave and impressive in his blue robes, Grandfather Marn peFulda began the prayer.
The Square of Holy Light was jammed with Nidorians on the day that the hearing began. The huge open space in front of the Great Temple was overflowing with milling people; talking, whispering, shouting, and fighting. Here and there, little knots of people gathered to argue, quarrel, and trade blows.
Kris peKym Yorgen and his hundred men marched into the Square less than two minutes before the scheduled time of the hearing. In spite of the close-packed tightness of the mob already present, the measured tramp of their high-heeled riding boots automatically cleared the way for them. They marched directly to the wall of the Great Temple and stood quietly, waiting for the Elder Grandfathers to appear on the broad balcony above. The air was warm and clear; it was a good day for a public hearing.