«A terrible fate for a brave people,» said Blade. He was not entirely feigning the outrage in his voice. On the other hand, what could Klerus say in his defense if given the chance? And how did the Pendari look in the eyes of the Lanyri? This was going to be a matter of open eyes and ears and a closed mouth for many weeks to come yet. Aloud he said, «If Klerus is such a great villain, why have the people who know of his villainy not gone to the other councilors and spoken to them of it?»
Guroth smiled. «You do indeed know little of the way of things among the mighty in Pendar. At least a third of the councilors are in Klerus' pocket. He leads them on with dreams of sharing the spoils from the ruins of their own land. And another third he has won to silence, if not support, by bribes, threats, and the like. Only a handful remain true to the interests of Pendar and the Royal House.»
Blade was about to speak but Guroth held up a hand. «And if you are about to ask why not speak to the king-we have thought of that. We have lain awake nights thinking of ways to do that, and prayed to all the gods of Pendar to show us a way to make the king listen.
«But Nefus is a child, an orphan. The High Councilor is the closest thing to a father he has now, or will ever have again. Klerus loses no opportunity to show the boy how much his 'Uncle Klerus' loves and respects him, humors him» Guroth spread his hands in disgust.
«We have found no way to sow the seeds of doubt in the boy's mind. The Princess Harima believes us and works with us as much as she can, but she has no power and little influence. We have even thought of assassinating Klerus, but Nefus would never forgive us for that. He would let loose the archers of the Council upon us, and the archers are headed by one of Klerus' most loyal supporters. We would be signing our own death warrants and almost certainly be unleashing civil war in Pendar. And civil war would give the Lanyri just as good a chance as Klerus' treachery.»
Guroth fell silent, weary in body, voice, and spirit. He stared off into the darkness as Blade considered his own reply. His path was obvious if Guroth was telling the whole truth. But of that he could not be sure. There was nothing to do but wait and watch until he could be sure.
«You have spoken well, Guroth. You have kept your promise. Now I shall keep mine. Klerus' dreams of having the Pendarnoth in his pocket will be just that-dreams. This I swear by my honor as a warrior, the thing most sacred to me.»
They shook hands and together they walked back to their tent.
CHAPTER FIVE
They rode long and hard the next day, but this time they ended their ride well before dark in a Pendari village of a hundred-odd mud and stone huts. Guroth's men rode past the village's goats and gaunt cattle and its straggling fields of grain, stopping outside a palisade of sharpened posts interlaced with thorny branches. Naked children and scrawny chickens scattered in all directions as Guroth sprang down to the ground and strode over to the gate. He raised his lance and pounded on the gate.
«Open, toilers. Open, my brothers. I, Guroth, bring the Pendarnoth among you.»
If he had set the village on fire, he could not have produced a greater commotion. A stunned silence gave way in seconds to a furious babble of voices. Prayers, questions, and cries rose and mingled in a total pandemonium. Then the gate flew open so fast it nearly knocked Guroth off his feet. The villagers began to pour out, and from the other direction, the men in the fields who had been watching the flocks and herds also came running. In a few minutes people were massed 400 strong and ten ranks deep around Blade. Men, women, and children alike were raising their hands to him, praying to him, invoking his name, begging to be allowed to touch him or the Golden Steed. If Guroth had not ordered his men to dismount and lock lances in a circle around Blade, the Pendarnoth might have been pulled out of the saddle by his enthusiastic worshipers.
Half-deafened by the villagers' cries and pleas and half-stifled by their unwashed mass, Blade could not help grinning. Guroth had wanted to make a dramatic entrance into Pendari territory. He had succeeded. Indeed, he had succeeded better than he could have hoped, if nearly starting a riot among people in the grip of religious hysteria could be called «success.» How was Guroth going to get out of this one? From the expression on the captain's face, he hadn't the faintest idea.
Eventually the uproar died down because people simply lost their voices. More than a few fainted in the crush, and Blade could only hope that none of them would be trampled to death. Finally, with no more than fifty people talking at once, Blade thought he could make himself heard.
«Hail, people of Pendar. What is this village?»
«Lio, oh Father,» came many voices at once.
«People of Lio, I, Pendarnoth, Father of the Pendari, Rider of the Golden Steed-«
«He proclaims himself, he proclaims himself!» came in a chorus of gasps and screams, as everybody seemed to find their voices again. Several more people fainted. Blade sighed wearily, and once again settled down to wait for a lull in the uproar.
It came as throats once again became raw from shouting. «Let me speak, oh people of Lio. Let it be written of this day, that the people of the village of Lio were the first to greet the Pendarnoth as he entered the land of the Pendari. But let the people of Lio do honor also to Captain Guroth and his men, who brought me here safely through the land of the Rojags. The Rojags indeed would have slain me and taken the Golden Steed if Guroth and his men had not been mighty warriors.»
Now the cheers were mixed with cries of horror. The hands reached out again to clap Guroth and his men on the backs and shoulders. For a moment the crowd surged in against them, and it looked as if the circle was going to collapse and all order with it.
But the crowd ran down again before that happened, and this time they stayed run down. Guroth's men were able to push and shove until they had gained themselves a little breathing room. And Blade was able to speak to the villagers without raising his voice to a bellow.
«People of Lio, for all this we thank you. But we have ridden fast and far, and the day has been hot. We will thank you more for food and water for us and our horses, and for a place to rest.» He did not add «in peace and quiet,» although he was tempted.
The crowd did not immediately break up, but it did move aside to form a path to the gate. While his men retrieved their horses, Guroth took the bridle of the Golden Steed and led it and Blade toward the gate.
As they passed into the narrow main street of the village, Blade saw a slim dark-haired figure peering intently at him from a shadowy passage between two houses. He pointed her out and asked Guroth, «Who is that girl? She was not among the other people, was she?»
«She would not be, oh Pendarnoth,» said one of the villagers. «She has Rojag blood, thanks to her mother's whorish habits. She is-«
«You lie, you fat pig,» the girl screamed. «My mother was a better woman than your wife or daughters will ever be. What happened to her was not her fault. And even if it was, what about me?»
The villager growled angrily, then snapped, «Get out of here, you whore's daughter! You profane the sight of the Pendarnoth.»
«Whore's daughter?» the girl screamed. She snatched up a large dry turd from the alley and flung it at the villager. Her aim was good. He let out a bellow of rage and jerked out a knife. He would have leaped to slash at the girl if Blade had not brought down a hand and grabbed the back of his collar.
«There will be no brawling in Lio this day, my friend. And no killing of girls in my sight ever. I have fought Rojag warriors, but I have no quarrel with their women and children. Remember that, and put the knife away before I come down from the Golden Steed and break your arm.» He twisted the collar tight until the man's face went purple and his eyes bulged. «Do you understand?» The man nodded, and Blade let him go. Then he looked at the girl and said, «Approach me. What is your name?»