Beside her, Hugh nodded. “We do not deny you home—you may settle among us; we will give you lands, and any aid that we can, and shares of the lordlings’ loot to start merchant shops and workshops—we know, at least, that we need that, and that none but you can begin them. We will build you schools where you may teach; we will give you honor and respect—”
“But you will not give us a voice in your government,” Domigny said grimly.
Hugh met his eyes and nodded. “We will not.” But Domigny wasn’t looking at him. He had stepped apart, arms folded, staring at Lapin.
She returned his stare, unwavering.
Dirk stepped up to him, hissing in his ear, “They can’t do this, Captain! All our work, all our waiting—”
“They can do it,” Domigny ground out. “They are the rightful government.”
“But we’ve got ships, we’ve got cannon! Give the word, and we’ll—”
“We will not kill our own,” Domigny said heavily, still watching Lapin.
“Yes, and she knows it, too; she’s taking advantage of our goodness! There’s no justice to it, Captain—not after all our years, all our work, just for them!”
Then Domigny turned, with a sardonic smile. “What did you expect, Dulain? Gratitude?” Dirk could only stare at him.
“And what of me?” demanded a rumbling voice from the shadows.
All eyes swung to the northwest corner.
Gar stood, the broken halves of the staff in his hands, glaring at Lapin.
He strode forward to the foot of the scaffold. “Me, what of me? Shall I also have no voice here among you?”
“You are DeCade,” Madelon breathed, eyes shining and worshipful, and Lapin echoed her: “You are DeCade. Your voice shall always be heard.” She rose with the majesty of a mountain, stepping to the side. “Come, take the seat of judgment here among us; it is yours, as is the final voice in any decision of our affairs, if you wish it. You are DeCade.”
“I am not,” Gar said harshly.
Total silence hit the courtyard. Every eye fastened on the giant.
Slowly, he raised the broken halves of the staff. “DeCade lived in this. It is broken; he is gone. I am only myself again, the man you knew as Gar.”
Lapin’s eyes widened, and Madelon’s were huge and glistening with tragedy. But as Dirk watched, she managed a tremulous smile through her tears, gazing up at Gar with warmth and trust.
“There is more,” Gar said grimly, with a bitter smile. “I have said it; you have known it: I am an outworlder. Now—have I a voice in your councils?”
“You have not,” Lapin said, as though the words were dragged out of her.
Gar nodded, as though pleased with the bitter answer. “No voice for the bearer? No voice for the man who gave you victory by bearing DeCade within him?”
“Cease to torment us!” Lapin cried. “You know that you merit it, but you know we cannot give it!” Gar nodded slowly, drawing himself up, mouth a grim, satisfied line. “Yes, I know it, and now I will free you. Know that my name is d’Armand, and that I am the son of a cadet branch of a noble house!”
The churls froze, staring at him. Then a slow, anguished hiss escaped from the Lords. Their guards looked up, bracing their weapons; but the burning in the Lords’ eyes faded back to a dull glow, and the guards relaxed.
Lapin still stared down at the giant. Finally, she demanded, “Where is DeCade?”
“His task was done, his thirst slaked; for a moment, he was weak, his purpose gone. In that moment, I rose up, burst out of the lock he had on me, and broke his staff. He has gone, faded—back to his centuries of sleep.” Gar held up the broken halves of the staff. “I have my own life again; I am master of my own body again.”
He stood in the midst of a sea of burning eyes. A low, ugly mutter began around him and grew, swelling to fill the courtyard. But Lapin held up a hand, still staring down stonily at Gar; and the mutter slackened, faded, and died. Into the stillness, the huge woman spoke. “If DeCade is gone, he is gone. Was it needful to break his staff?”
“It was; for if I had not, I would be a prisoner within myself still. It was needful; for if any man lesser than I sought to take up this staff, DeCade would have killed him.”
Hugh and the Guildmaster glared down at him. Gar stared back, unmoved.
So did Lapin. Slowly, she held out her hand. “Then give us the parts of his staff.”
Dirk stiffened, electrified by a vision of churl after churl trying to mend the staff and being fried by a lifetime of memories of a very passionate man.
Hugh echoed Lapin. “Give us the staff!” And his guerrilla outlaws stepped forward, toward Gar. The big man whirled, setting his back against a balk of timber, holding up the two staff-ends like mated clubs.
The outlaws hesitated, eyeing the clubs in awed fascination.
The courtyard held silence while they stared at one another, at an impasse.
Then Gar smiled sourly. He stepped forward and knelt, laying the two halves of the staff on the ground, rose, and stepped back. “Let him who wishes take them up!”
The courtyard was still. Every man stared at the staff-ends with avarice, and fear. Even Hugh, looking down, took a half-step forward, then hesitated.
The moment held taut; then, slowly, Dirk could feel the tension begin to bleed away.
Gar straightened, relaxing a little, nodding with a sour smile. “I had thought not.” He turned back to the scaffold, raising his eyes to Lapin. “I am an outworlder, like these to whom you have just denied voice—but I have borne your hero within me; he was no light load, and without him, you would all still be bondsmen. You would have no freedom without me, but you have denied me a voice. Now I ask: am I welcome among you?”
Madelon started up, eyes full of tears, her lips parted; but she hesitated, then sank back down in misery.
“No,” Lapin pronounced, and the pain was harsh in her voice. “We owe greatly to you, but we cannot have you among us, for you are Lords’ blood.”
“So I had thought,” Gar said grimly. He turned to look out at the assembled churls. “I have come among you. I have fought and bled for you, and you have cast me out. But I have accomplished my purpose, and now I will go.” In one quick motion, he knelt, caught up the broken staff, and stood straight again. “And I will take this staff with me, for it is a thing of greater power than any of you know.”
A frenzied mutter started up, but Gar barked out into it, “He who thinks he can stop me, let him try!.”
On the scaffold above, Hugh leveled a laser pistol; but Lapin struck his hand down. “Fool! You might hit the staff!”
Good point, Dirk thought. If a laser beam caught that circuitry, who knew what would happen? It would be instructive to find out; but personally, Dirk had no wish to determine it empirically.
The churls had all seen Lapin’s action and seemed to be equally fearful; lasers were half-raised, then lowered again.
Gar surveyed them, and nodded once, with a sardonic smile. Then, slowly, he began to stalk across the great courtyard. He approached the skirmish line of outlaws; they tensed, swords coming up.
Gar kept coming, clubs raised, ready for the fight, eyes glowing.
The churls stood steadfast, but their eyes were sick.
Gar was ten feet from them. Five feet.
At the last moment, Hugh signed to the outlaws. They gradually lowered their swords, and stepped aside to leave a channel for Gar to pass through, with surly growls, but they looked relieved.
So did Hugh.
A long, hissing sigh passed through the courtyard.
Gar stalked on toward the main gate, smiling grimly. He came to the front rank of the crowd; at the last second, men pressed back from him, and a passageway opened for him through the throng, opening only a few feet ahead of him as he strode on; but in a minute, it was a long avenue, stretched out to the gate.