The Forge in the Forest by Michael Scott Rohan Read Free Book Online Page B

answer, but Kermorvan."
    "Then may he do so soon!"
    Bryhon gestured at Kermorvan. "What do you think the ancestors he vaunts before us would have made of him then? Much what I did, I fear. And if in the days since that return he had proved me wrong, with all my heart I would have made amends, and been the first to follow him today. But has he? What has he brought us since? Help and wisdom in our need? Hardly. Instead he has encouraged a flock of carrion crows to settle upon our already devastated fields, under guise of a kinship long forsworn. His pack, for do they not hang upon his every word? And how many more of them are there to come, when the Northern Marches are in his hands? Shall the Northlands be emptied for us to feed? See how the half-savages he shields steal among you, the northerners who scuttle southward from their cannibal kin. See how they slip the very bread from before the mouths of your hungry children, the smallest wealth from your pocket, the roof from over your heads. A strange way to treat a city he professes to care for! Either he is mad, or he has a purpose. And what can that purpose be?" He waved a hand in Kermorvan's general direction. "I am grateful to him, in his arrogance. For so vast was his pride in what he thought his hour of triumph that he has saved me the labor of convincing you. For he stands revealed in his purpose! Is he not clad in its colors?"
    Elof could not guess what he meant, but that barb struck harder upon the city folk than any gone before. There was a moment of stunned silence, and then a roar like a great wave breaking. Elof could hear cries both for Bryhon and against him, for Kermorvan and against him also, but it was as if the same feeling fed them, a ravening anger that seemed to convulse both crowd and chamber, syndics and spectators both, as a lightning flare leaps from cloud to cloud. Blows flew freely among the crowd, brawls sprang up and spread outward like ripples in a pond. Anger rode upon the shoulders of the crowd, anger whose very cause and moment seemed forgotten in its own mad onrush. It was like a wave indeed, driven on from behind by shouts and milling brawls. The great crowd surged forward, up the steps and spilled through the doors into the Syndicacy itself. Elof shuddered as he heard the rising growl of that most savage and monstrous of beasts, a mob. Syndics sprang to their feet in fury and alarm, but their shouts went unheard in the row. His formerly stolid neighbors in the gallery were on their feet also, shouting first down into the chamber, and then at each other and others around. Feet clattered on the stairs, and a tide of rioters spilled into the gallery. "Mad!" shouted Ils, ducking down as blows were traded above her head and Elof's. "Stark mad, the whole pack of—"
    Then a heap of struggling, cursing bodies tumbled between them, and they were forced apart. To either side of Elof the spectators scattered in panic, stumbling over the stairs and each other, and he saw one almost toppled over the low stone balustrade. "Ils!" he shouted, and heard a faint voice cry out, " Elof, beware! At your back !" He whirled, and saw a knot of tall men forcing their way determinedly through the crush in his direction, five copper-skinned northerners, all with faces hard and fell. They saw him even as he them, and plunged down on him; he saw steel glint among their garments, and his hand flew to his side for the sword that was not there. He cursed, seized the heavy bench he had been sitting on and with a heave tore it free as the first knife reached out for him; it stuck in the wood, and he upended the heavy seat and smashed it down upon the wielder's head. Another threw his weight upon the bench and tore it from his hand, and the rest sprang forward. Elof looked desperately for some weapon, saw at his feet his toolpack spilled open, and seized the huge hammer with which he had forged the sword. Short in the haft it was, but terrible weight was in its high-peaked