Reaching the side of Brown’s House, they edged along the wall and finally reached the Great Plaza.
A mad chaos was sweeping the square, tens of thousands of people shouting and laughing, taunting, as a knot of warriors swept past. Wherever there was a storm drain hundreds, thousands were gathered around, shouting encouragement as if One-eye were directly beneath them. Back and forth in the Plaza could be heard laughing cries, “He’s here, no he’s over here, no here!” Warriors and fighters were trying to battle their way through the mobs, which pelted them with whatever was handy.
In some sections of the Plaza open fighting was breaking out, while around the Great Palace of the Grand Master a solid wall of warriors was slowly moving forward to drive the mob back.
Garth pushed his way through to the edge of the brown paving stones which marked Brown’s half circle of territory in front of their House. A solid ring of fighters was drawn around the great semicircle to keep the crowd off their sacred land. But the mood was almost festive, the mob trading good-natured gibes with the fighters, the fighters obviously enjoying the humiliation the Grand Master was experiencing.
Garth edged up to the ring of fighters and looked around. Seeing what he wanted, he pushed his way through and came up directly in front of a towering bulky form.
“Naru,” he said quietly.
Hammen, groaning with despair, started to back away.
“I saved you for this?” he moaned.
“Naru!” This time Garth’s voice was more commanding.
The giant looked down at Garth and gradually recognition set in. His features turned from surprise to a stunned disbelief. Naru looked past him for a second as if wondering how he had thus appeared and then looked back again. This time his features were starting to contort with a murderous rage.
Garth, his hand in his satchel, pulled out a bundle and held it up.
“Fighter, this is your satchel. Some beggar stole it from you unfairly. I got it back and have been trying to return it. I even had to fight with the Grand Master to keep it safe.”
Naru looked down at him, confused. He tentatively reached out and took the bundle, opening it up. Hammen watched him, surprised by the almost-childlike look of joy that appeared in the giant’s eyes.
Naru put the satchel on and Hammen waited, ready for the fight to begin. Naru, however, suddenly started to dance about, as if possessed.
“My spells, my spells!”
Garth stood in silence, watching him. Around him the crowd had been watching the exchange and recognition suddenly dawned.
“One-eye, he’s here, he’s here!”
A company of warriors not ten fathoms away was wading through the crowd. Hearing the cry, some of them started to turn but their commander, swearing at the mob, angrily pointed them in the opposite direction and they continued on.
Naru looked back at Garth and there was a look of genuine confusion in his eyes.
Garth smiled and extended his hands palms downward in a gesture of peace.
“May I join this House and fight at your side, Naru?”
Naru stood silent for a moment, obviously confused by the complexity of what he had to deal with. He looked back up toward the palace and then, finally, back at Garth.
“You play good joke, yes.”
And reaching out, he pulled Garth onto the brown stones.
Stunned, Hammen watched as Naru slapped Garth heavily on the shoulders and beamed with pride as if he had somehow rescued him. The mob, seeing the display and moved by the sentimentality of the moment, howled with delight. Hammen looked over at Norreen.
“I guess I better go with him, the damn fool.”
“Take care of him, Hammen.”
“Come with us. Damn it, woman. They’re always hiring warriors. It’s too dangerous out there right now.”
Norreen shook her head.
“Take care of him.”
She turned and started to disappear into the mob.
“Norreen. He wants you, you know that.”
“Tell that to Varena. She’s easier,” Norreen said with a sad smile, and, turning, she disappeared.
CHAPTER 10
TREMBLING WITH FEAR, URIAH LAY UPON THE floor of the audience chamber, cursing the fates that had made him such a creature of contempt. He well understood the role he was doomed to play. Though born with the ability of controlling the mana, he was born stunted as well. He had thought that as he learned to master the mana he could thus somehow gain respect, but it never came. There had been a time, an all-so-brief time, when it had been different. But the lure of power offered by Zarel had been too tempting to resist. To be captain of fighters rather than a lowly fighter whom the others never understood.
Others called him crafty, a sneak, a lickspittle of the Grand Master. He saw it simply as survival. He was captain of the fighters, to be sure, though there were some in his command who had more powers than he. Zarel had elevated him thus for one reason only-he could be controlled, and he cursed himself for knowing that cruelest of facts-he would tolerate any abuse that others would have long ago rebelled against… simply because his life had been one of abuse since the day he was born.
The room was deadly silent, the guard of warriors, secretaries, and court hangers-on frozen in place while Zarel struck Uriah yet again.
“You should have anticipated this, damn you! Didn’t any of you think that they might try a rescue through the sewers?”
“My lord, the sewer gate had been barred shut years ago and set with traps. It was thought to be impossible.”
“Well, it wasn’t, damn it!”
The dwarf said nothing, emitting only a low grunt of pain when Zarel kicked him before turning back to his messenger, whom he had dispatched to the House of Bolk.
“Has Kirlen sent a reply?”
The armored warrior lowered her head and said nothing.
“Damn it all, what is it?”
Zarel looked as if he would raise his hand but the messenger looked up at him coldly. He stood, hesitant for a moment, and then savagely kicked Uriah once again.
“Did she say anything at all?”
“My lord, she told you to perform an action upon yourself which is physically impossible,” the warrior replied slowly.
Zarel looked at the warrior, sensing that there was a certain defiance in the woman’s tone.
“Go on.”
“She declared that the one-eye is now officially a Bolk and that as such he is granted the right of the brotherhood to immunity from prosecution for crimes committed prior to his acceptance.”
“Get out.”
The warrior came to her feet, bowed low, and then strode out of the room. Zarel watched her go, realizing that he had suffered a tremendous loss of face. First off, the mob was now firmly on One-eye’s side, they had a hero to worship who they felt was one of them. Worse, though, his own people were now suspect. The lock had been oiled and there was the chance that one of his own people had done it. He had killed the prison guards out of hand for their failure and now his warriors were upset over his fit of temper. His magic fighters were growing restless, angered at the humiliations hurled upon them by the mob. Even though several hundred of the crowd had been killed to quiet them down, he could sense that his own fighters were now upset, the lower ranks even fearful, for several of them had been killed during the day of rioting which had ensued.
And tomorrow Festival would start and half a million of them would be brought together in one place. If something triggered them, the results could be disastrous. Some offering would have to be made to quell the mob and win them back. Though he hated to consider it, he knew he would have to dig into his treasures to buy them off.
“Send in the captain of my catapulters when you and I are done. I’ve thought of something that might be amusing for the Festival.”