Without further words to Blade, Threstar began barking orders. His hundred horsemen formed up in a double line on either side of Blade. Guroth also snapped out his share of orders, and the men of the patrol fell back to let Blade ride in solitary splendor. Then Threstar's hand chopped down like an axe, the horns blew again, and the whole procession moved out.
They returned to Vilesh at a trot, not at a gallop, but the hundred horses on either side of him kicked up a cloud of dust that made Blade cough and blink nonetheless. The dust could not, however, conceal the people lining the road. Some stood in awe-struck silence, others cheered and waved and shouted, «Hail to the Pendarnoth!» while still others threw flowers. Some found there was not enough room along the road itself, so they scrambled up on fences, the roofs of cottages, even the branches of trees.
It got worse as they approached the walls of the city. Now people clung to trees by the hundreds, holding banners embroidered in gold and silver out over the road. Blade had to keep his head low to avoid being hit in the face by the heavy cloths. The flowers poured down like a hailstorm, until there were blossoms sticking in Blade's hair and clothing and the horse's mane.
There was a moment of darkness, coolness, and comparative quiet as they rode through the gateway in the thick walls of the city. Then it all began again-the cheers, the cries, the crowds pressing so close that the escort on either side had to wheel their horses inward to keep from riding people down. Sometimes they had to stop entirely, as small children sprinted across the street in front of them. Blade saw Threstar's face in one of those moments. It was the face of a man who would much prefer to have spurred his horse ahead and trampled the child into a bloody paste on the stones of the street. But he was holding himself in today, for today was the coming of the Pendarnoth and no ill omen must be allowed to spoil it. One of the advantages of being a messiah, thought Blade. With luck you can put everybody around you on their good behavior-even the natural storm-trooper types like Threstar.
They rode down the street from the gate for quite a while. Occasionally Blade twisted his head around to look back at Guroth and the others-especially Curana. In this mob scene it would be easy for something to happen to her «accidentally.» But each time he looked back, she was still in her saddle. Her face was strained and pale under the coating of dust, but she held herself as erect as any of the soldiers around her.
After what couldn't have been more than a few minutes but seemed like an hour, the whole procession rode out into a gigantic square. It seemed the better part of a mile on a side, and except for a narrow lane kept open by a double line of mounted archers, it was packed with people. Every living soul in Vilesh seemed to have come out to greet the Pendarnoth. There were great-grandfathers who had to be carried on litters, and there were newborn infants in their mothers' arms.
Once again only a part of the mob was cheering, while others stood in reverent silence. But the cheers from even that part were enough to make a constant deafening roar in Blade's ears. For the first time, he saw Curana cringe as the sound beat at them. And not only the sound. A quarter of a million people standing packed under even a westering sun were not too sweet to the nose.
At the far side of the square another wall rose, this one dazzling white. Beyond it Blade could see the heavily gilded roofs of a number of elegant buildings. A palace? Probably. Directly ahead, at the far end of the passage through the crowd, stood a gateway, intricately carved and still more dazzlingly gilded. The gates were swung open and a small group of richly dressed figures stood in front of them. They were flanked by more archers in gilded armor.
As the procession approached the gate, Blade could make out the figures more clearly: a dozen men with gray in their hair, wearing shimmering gold and red robes; an enormously fat man in solid red, standing at their head. That must be the Council of Regents and the High Councilor Klerus. A much smaller and slimmer figure, dressed in gold from head to foot, stood beside Klerus. A crown of gold set with rubies shone on his small head. King Nefus, beyond any doubt. And another slim figure, slightly taller, dressed in white, standing well behind the others. Princess Harima?
The archers on either side of the royal party put trumpets to their lips, and more harsh metallic blasts rolled across the square. The trumpeters kept on blowing until Blade wondered how they could have any breath left. The cheers died away, and an awe-struck silence floated down over the crowd like a fog. Threstar reined in his horse, jumped down to the ground, and took the bridle of the Golden Steed. His face impassive, he led Blade and his mount up to the royal party, stopping only ten feet away from Klerus.
Blade suddenly realized he hadn't the foggiest notion of what he was going to say. Hopefully this wasn't an occasions for speeches. But if he had to say anything, he would have to rely on saying it as impressively, and as briefly, as possible. The crowd seemed half ready to fall down on their faces anyway, so they weren't going to be picking holes in his choice of words or delivery.
Threstar knelt to the boy who was King Nefus, and then to the High Councilor Klerus. Even if he hadn't been told that Klerus was a eunuch, Blade would have recognized it now. The man's immense physical bulk and high pitched voice were unmistakable.
Threstar wasted no words. After kneeling, he merely raised his right hand and pointed at Blade. «The Pendarnoth has come, Oh King.» Klerus, the entire Council, and the Princess Harima all joined him in kneeling to Blade. Only the king himself remained standing. Behind him Blade heard a silence fall over the crowd as people by the thousands went down on their knees or even on their faces. But he did not dare turn this time and look at Curana.
Instead, he sat on his horse and let the silence spread around him, until it seemed that the whole square was holding its breath waiting to hear him speak. He took a deep breath and spoke.
«King Nefus, I am the Pendarnoth, the Father of the Pendari, the man who rides the Golden Steed. I have come as it was predicted in your Book of the Nine Prophets. I have looked upon the Pendari and I have found them a worthy people.» Blade fell silent, and realized that he couldn't have said much more if he had to. His throat was dry and there was a hollow cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.
But he didn't need to say anything more, because King Nefus cried out in a clear, boyish voice, «Hail to the Pendarnoth, all people. Hail!» Klerus screamed it out; Threstar echoed him-and then the entire packed square burst into a continuous roar of «Hail to the Pendarnoth!»
The Golden Steed neighed and shuddered nervously as the cheers of a quarter of a million people thundered around it. Blade held the reins tightly and stroked its mane, afraid for a moment that it was going to rear or even bolt. That would be a fine spectacle-the long-awaited Golden Steed running away with the Pendarnoth, scattering the royal party like bowling pins.
How long the cheers and cries lasted Blade had no idea. Beyond a certain point his ears simply wouldn't accept any more sound. Finally he became aware that the noise was ebbing, and that King Nefus was looking up at him. The king's face was indeed that of a boy, thin and brown and large-eyed. But as he looked up at Blade, there was an intensity and a seriousness in his expression that was definitely not that of a boy.
Blade smiled as he looked down at the king. «Your Majesty, I have come before your people. They have seen me, and I have seen them. There is much more that can be done and must be done. But it need not be done here and now, with all the people of this mighty city standing in the sun. Let them return to their homes in peace, let them wish me well, and let me be found a fit and proper place to live. Can this be done, Your Majesty?»