The intensity of his voice, the passion that showed in his face, demanded an answer. From the rear of crowd, a few hesitant voices rose.
`NoP
And once the lead had been given, more voices joined in, until the cries denouncing King Ferris were coming from all sides, and the volume was growing.
`No! No! The King does nothing while the people suffer!'
`He's safe in his mighty castle! What about the rest of us?'
The first few voices were probably plants, Will realised. They were Tennyson's cronies, scattered through the crowd and dressed in simple country clothes, without their tell-tale white robes. But the voices that swelled the chorus condemning the King were coming now from the people of Dun Kilty.
Tennyson raised his hands for silence and, as the yelling gradually died away, he spoke again.
`Who was it who turned back the attack on Mountshannon? Was it the King?'
Again, the chorus of 'No!' boomed around the market square. As it subsided, Tennyson asked another question.
`Then who? Who saved the people of Mountshannon?'
And behind him, a group of villagers from Mountshannon shouted their enthusiastic response, practised over the past week in half a dozen villages and settlements along their way.
`Alseiass!' they shouted. 'Alselass and Tennyson!'
And the people of Dun Kilty took up the cry until it echoed back from the buildings around the market square, redoubling itself as it did so, becoming one long, rolling cry: `Alseiass-and-Tennyson-yson-Alselass-seiass-Tennysonyson-Alseiass.' And it seemed to Will that the people were hypnotised by the rolling, echoing roar until they had to join in and reinforce the sound, the echo and the hysteria that was sweeping over the square.
This is getting very dangerous, he thought. He had never experienced mob hysteria before. Standing in the middle of it, he felt the full, ugly, unreasoning force of it.
Tennyson's hands went up again and the rolling thunder of voices gradually stilled.
`Who stood against evil at the gate to Craikennis?' he demanded. And this time, before his planted followers in the crowd could answer, Will decided to take a hand.
`The Sunrise Warrior!' he yelled at the top of his voice.
Instantly, a hush fell over square. People around him turned to stare and Tennyson, taken by surprise, was silenced for a few seconds. Will seized the opportunity.
`I was there! He destroyed his enemies with a flaming sword! He drove them back! Hundreds of them defeated by one man – the mighty Sunrise Warrior!'
He heard voices echoing the phrase 'Sunrise Warrior' around the square. For rumours had reached Dun Kilty of events at Craikennis and there was confusion now as to who had actually saved the town. But Tennyson shouted him down, pointing a finger at him.
`There is no Sunrise Warrior! He's a myth!'
`I saw him!' Will insisted but Tennyson had the advantage of a raised platform and a trained orator's voice.
`Lies!' he thundered. 'It was the Golden God Alseiass!'
Again, a chorus of 'Alsealss! Praise Alseiass!' arose from the white robes around him. Tennyson's finger continued to point at Will and the young Ranger realised that Tennyson was pointing him out to his followers in the crowd. Any moment now, a knife would slip between his ribs, he thought.
`He lies!' Tennsyon continued. 'And Alseiass strikes down those who bear false witness!'
Will glanced around quickly. He saw a glimpse of dull purple in the crowd, off to his right side and slipping through the crowd towards him. He watched from the corner of his eye as the figure drew nearer. Even without the wide-brimmed hat, he recognised him for one of the Genovesans. And he saw the gleam of a dagger held close against the man's leg.
`The Sunrise Warrior!' he shouted again. 'He can save us! Praise the Sunrise Warrior!'
A few people took up the cry and it began to spread. Will, watching Tennyson, saw him nod towards someone close to him in the crowd. He looked to his right. The Genovesan was almost upon him. Will saw surprise, then annoyance, in the foreigner's eyes as he realised that he had been spotted by his quarry. A fraction of a second later, Will brought his right elbow up to face height and pivoted on his right heel, slamming the point of his elbow into the man's face, breaking his nose and sending him reeling back against the people around them. Blood sprang from his nose and the dagger clattered to the ground. Seeing it, those closest to him drew back, shoving each other and calling out warnings.
Will decided enough was enough. Dropping, into a crouch so that Tennyson could no longer see him, he shoved through the crowd, running to a new position some fifteen metres away. Once there, he stood erect again and yelled: 'Praise the Sunrise Warrior!'
Then he dropped to a crouch again and burrowed through the crowd before Tennyson could pinpoint him.
Tennyson had seen the flurry of violent movement that resulted in his assassin being sent reeling. But then he lost sight of the infuriating heckler who was destroying his momentum. Now, as the voice rang out from another part of the crowd, he went on the attack.
`The Sunrise Warrior?' he sneered. 'Where is he? Let'ssee him if he's so powerful. Produce him here and now. There is no Sunrise Warrior!'
His sycophants echoed the scornful words, demanding that the Sunrise Warrior step forward and be seen. But now a deep voice answered them, and a scuffle of movement could be seen at the front of the crowd, below the platform where Tennyson stood.
`You demand the Sunrise Warrior, you charlatan? Then here he is! And here I am with him!'
At least a hundred surprised voices all exclaimed at once. 'The King!'
And a stocky figure in a green brocade cloak shoved his way onto the stage, flanked by a broad-shouldered warrior with a sunrise insignia on his surcoat, and a slimmer, dark-haired warrior who many recognised as the King's steward, Sean Carrick.
There was a collective gasp of surprise from the people assembled in the marketplace. It was Ferris, they all realised. And confirming it was the fact he was escorted by half a dozen members of the palace guard, who now took up positions screening him.
Will's eyes narrowed. He saw the drawn-back, dark hair, the shaved face and the royal robes. But somehow, he knew this wasn't Ferris. It was Halt. And just in time, he thought. Then, as the robed figure revealed the full force of his personality, he knew he was right.
`Who will protect you?' he thundered. 'I will! And not this mountebank, this sideshow performer from a county fair! He talks about some unseen god. I have the real power of ancient legend with me! The Sunrise Warrior!'
He indicated Horace, who drew his sword with a ringing sound of steel on leather and raised it high above his head, exposing, as he did so, the bright orange sunrise insignia he wore on his chest.
`The Sunrise Warrior!' The words ran around the square. Horace stepped back, re-sheathing his sword, leaving the focus on Halt once more.
`This man,' Halt continued, indicating Tennyson, whose face was twisted in rage, 'is a liar and a thief. He'll draw you in with words of honey then he'll take all you own. And he'll do it in the name of a false god!'
`There's nothing false about Alseiass,' Tennyson began.
`Then produce him for us!' Halt bellowed, cutting Tennyson off. Unpopular the King might be, but he was still the King. And with Halt playing the role he projected a powerful aura of authority. 'Produce him as I have produced the legendary warrior who'll defend us! You asked to see the Warrior and here he is! Now I demand to see this false god you prattle about! Produce him – if you can!'
The crowd began to drift his way, echoing the demand. Seizing the opportunity this gave him, Halt turned to challenge them.