The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [183]
The crowd had fallen silent, so quiet that Dallandra could hear the wind in the trees behind the plaza. Dar cleared his throat then continued.
“If you agree, we will swear a solemn bargain, you and I, under the eyes of the gods of both our peoples. I will swear that forever you will be free. You will swear that you will help me keep your lands free. We shall build together a new Rhiddaer—a land that’s free indeed, a land free of the tyranny of kings and priests alike.” He paused, then held out both hands in supplication. “Will you join me?”
The assembly roared like a breaking wave, cheering, screaming out “We will,” over and over. The noise echoed around the plaza, booming like the sea against rocks at high tide. Dallandra glanced around and saw Cleddrik glowering, glaring—and slowly, carefully, drawing a dagger from its sheath.
“Dar! ’Ware!” Dallandra screamed, but in the noise he never heard her.
She turned and flung up both arms to summon Wildfolk, but Drav had seen the threat. With a howl of warning, he lunged at Cleddrik, who twisted away and made a feeble strike in Dar’s direction. The Gel da’Thae grabbed Cleddrik’s left arm and swung him away from the prince. Cal leaped forward, but Cleddrik slashed up with the dagger in his right hand. Drav made no noise, merely stared at Cleddrik with a look of mild annoyance as blood gushed from his throat. His knees gave way, and he fell, crumpling over like an empty sack stood on end.
From behind, Cal threw one arm around Cleddrik’s neck and hauled him back while he choked and writhed. Dar grabbed his wrist and twisted so hard that Cleddrik howled and dropped the dagger. Dallandra rushed forward and flung herself down in a kneel beside Drav, but all she could do for his physical body was to close its eyes. As she bent over him, she felt the touch of Grallezar’s mind on hers. She looked up to see Grallezar kneeling at the back of the platform. Dalla realized that her fellow dweomermaster would lead him to whatever after-death place of peace the Gel da’Thae might have.
The entire scuffle ended so fast that only those in the first few rows of the assembled townsfolk even saw the murder. They began to shout the alarm. As the news of this treachery spread, the crowd began to move, to pull back, to shout in response, a slow churn toward panic. Dallandra got up, wondering if she should try to calm the crowd, but Jahdo limped forward and held up the staff of his office.
“Citizens!” he called out. “Citizens, hold and stand! The traitor’s been caught.”
The two militia men stepped forward and took Cleddrik from Calonderiel. They twisted his arms behind him, then shoved him to the edge of the platform on display while Jahdo went on speaking in a calm, steady voice that worked on the crowd like dweomer. The citizens held still, stopped shouting, began to reassure each other, and finally fell silent to listen.
“Tomorrow we shall do one last piece of business here in our beloved town,” Jahdo called out. “The traitor shall have a fair trial according to our laws. In the meantime, may his men guard our prince well.”
“Cursed right!” Calonderiel muttered. “I blame myself for Drav’s death. I should have been—”
“Hush!” Dallandra said. “He took us all by surprise.”
“We did doubt his good faith,” Jahdo put in, “but none did think he had the courage for such a strike.”
Calonderiel shrugged, started to speak then knelt down by the Gel da’Thae’s corpse. “Let’s give him a decent funeral at least,” he said.
“Just so.” Dar stepped forward. “I owe him my life. I only wish I could have saved his.”
Between them, Calonderiel and Daralanteriel picked up the corpse and carried it off the platform. Dallandra glanced at the pool of blood, turning thick in the sunlight, and nearly vomited. Jahdo caught her arm to steady her.
“Come away,” he said. “There be naught more to