It became apparent first to curious observers high in the Palace towers, and the bustle in the streets was reflected by a bustle in the Palace corridors as the news hissed rapidly from room to room. Soon all the windows and balconies were filled with excited faces and the battlements themselves began to fill with servants and officials jostling for position between the rigid Mathidrin Guard.
Seeing the activity in the Palace, the crowds by the gate received the message sooner than did those who were much nearer to the approaching Eldric and the atmosphere became almost unbearably tense. Not for nothing was Eldric one of the most loved and respected Lords of the Geadrol. He had a natural gift of leadership, and years of experience had honed and hardened it into a formidable weapon which he could use with very little effort. But what planted him deep in the hearts of the people was his honest open nature. He had asked only two things of Astrom and his neighbours. Shelter, until he could ride through the City to the Palace, and their help in spreading the truth.
When Yatsu and the others had said their uneasy farewells, he had spoken to the gathered crowd. ‘Go to as many of your friends as you safely can, and tell them everything you’ve heard this evening. Tell them it’s my wish that they in turn tell as many as they can of what’s happened.’
Astrom looked alarmed. ‘Everything, Lord? What you’ve ordered the other Lords to do? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, Astrom,’ Eldric replied. ‘I can account for the truth to the people and accept their verdict. Let Dan-Tor weave his web of lies. It’ll bind him soon enough, and I’ve no desire to be caught out in some petty deceit that will taint my whole story.’ He took Astrom’s arm. ‘Besides, this… gossiping… may be dangerous for you. If you’re questioned by these Mathidrin, you’ll have nothing to hide from them. Tell them the truth. Hide nothing. And tell them it’s my specific order that you should do so.’
It had been a wise judgement, he thought now, as he walked his horse slowly through the quiet crowds. It was the most useful thing that Astrom and his enthusiastic friends could have done, and it was the best protection he could have given them. The truth had added a quality to the consequent rumours that had cut through the murky innuendoes being spread routinely by Dan-Tor’s aides.
He had to admit to no small pride when he saw the crowds waiting for him, but he knew it for the treacher-ous bloom it was. He had spoken long and earnestly to Astrom’s wife when her husband was out spreading his tale, and she had confirmed and amplified all that the Goraidin had told him of the events that had occurred since his arrest. It had been a sad and sobering experi-ence.
Be careful, he reminded himself. You know you’re innocent, but these people have been ravaged in many ways since you last walked among them. They’ll need to have the obvious proved to them. And looking into the faces around him, he felt the responsibility of his position more keenly than for many years. Yes, he thought, I’ve failed. We’ve all failed; we Lords of the Geadrol. We lowered a guard which was not for our protection, but yours. We didn’t maintain our vigilance, and it’s you who suffer the most as a result. Perhaps we can start rooting out the evil that our negligence had allowed to seed here.
Quite suddenly he realized his pulse was racing. It puzzled him at first. His ride through the crowd was leisurely, and the crowd’s mood was full of friendly welcome. There was nothing to excite or alarm him. Then an old memory returned to him and he identified the sensation. Battle fever, you old fool, he thought. Many a time he’d ridden through his High Guards before doing battle against the Morlider willing them to take that fear and weld it into anger. An old lesson re-learned. He smiled to himself and several people in the crowd cheered.
But there was a darker quality to his thoughts that eluded him for some while. He recognized it only as he passed by The Warrior, a statue of an armed man leaning exhausted on his battered shield, a hacked and blunted sword in his hand. It was a haunting sight, almost certainly the work of some ancient Orthlundyn carver. Its original purpose was unknown, but it had been rededicated to the memory of those men who died in the Morlider War. As Eldric drew near, he turned to face it and bowed, as was the tradition. When he looked up he found he was staring directly into the statue’s eyes. A trick of the light, he thought as he turned away from what he had seen, but the sight had chilled him. The ancient stone eyes were alive with torment and doubt, with unresolved conflict. Then he recognized the unfamiliar shape in his own thoughts. The dark figure shepherding his pride and battle fever was vengeance, the spirit that tapped deep into the ancient darkness of the mind and bound both madness and sanity with chains of self-justification.
Laying in ambush for me were you? he thought. I recognize you, you old fiend. I’ve seen too many good men go down to your blandishments. Well, you may watch and take what relish you can, but you’ll not guide me further.
Then, as if echoing his inner declaration, the sun blazed out from behind the cloud that had hidden it for several minutes, and bright warm light flooded over the crowd. On an impulse, Eldric reined in his horse and gazed around at the crowd.
‘My friends,’ he shouted. ‘I thank you for your wel-come. Many things have happened of late that shouldn’t have happened. I’m going to the Palace to seek an Accounting of the Lord Dan-Tor. Your presence would honour us both. I beg of you, attend on us. I’m in need of your verdict and your judgement.’
‘They’re cheering,’ said Urssain, turning to look at the seated figure of Dan-Tor. ‘He’s stopped to make a speech. We could have an angry crowd on our hands when he arrives.’
‘No, no,’ said Dan-Tor, ‘that’s not his way. He’ll wait until he’s here before he lays out any recriminations. Right now he’s just trying to "sway the jury" a little, that’s all. It’ll present no problem. I can play this game as well as he, I’m sure.’
‘Game?’ queried Urssain.
Dan-Tor said nothing. It’s as well you don’t know how small a pawn you are, Commander, he thought. Nor the nature of the Master who plays with you. The very thought of him would shrivel your vaulting ambition out of its feeble existence.
Urssain did not press his question, but turned again to look at the now visible Eldric approaching the Palace gates below.
‘He’s a splendid sight,’ he said involuntarily.
Dan-Tor rose and joined him at the window. ‘In-deed,’ he said after a moment’s contemplation. ‘Indeed he is. Most picturesque. A relic of days long gone, like something out of an old picture. It’s quite fitting that such a figure should attend the death of the old order and the birth of the new.’
But the sight irritated him, bringing back ancient and bitter memories of the time when many, dressed thus, had unjustly brought down his Master and sent him into the long darkness. For Eldric was in battle-dress. Not the formal battledress he would have worn for the Geadrol, but the full battledress worn by the High Guards at the time of the First Coming. A light, close-knit mailcoat that would turn almost any edge or point, and a rounded helm that would deflect them. A white surcoat with the symbol of the Iron Ring embla-zoned on it, and a red cloak to denote his rank and make him conspicuous in combat-an invitation to the enemy and a focus of courage and leadership for his own men. At his left side hung a sword in a decorated scabbard, and at his right swung a double-headed axe that glinted bright in the sunlight.
Dan-Tor looked at the glittering axe. Developed from a much cruder Mandroc weapon, he remembered. Ethriss was always learning and improving. Suddenly a great swell of primordial rage rose up through him, as if these old memories had opened a long-closed door. Closing his eyes, he struggled to fight it down. Had Urssain chosen that moment to turn around, he would have seen his master strangely and evilly transfigured, but Dan-Tor’s restraint prevailed and the moment passed.