But his hand would not move.
Cassraw turned back to his audience. ‘My friends,’ he said, his voice less powerful but filled with emotion, ‘you must forgive me if I am suddenly a little unmanned, but Brother Vredech has rightly sought to question the revelation I have received, and question it sternly. To have him by my side now moves me… more than I can say.’ He paused then held out his arms again. ‘And Brother Vredech’s public reconciliation is yet further testimony to the guiding presence of His hand… ’
‘No!’
The cry, high and shrill, and loaded with frenzied desperation, filled the chamber, crackling through the tension that Cassraw had built and shattering it. There was not one person present who did not start at the sound.
Then all was confusion as everyone sought to see who had cried out. It was not immediately apparent, but Vredech was amongst the first to see who it was as his eye lit on a commotion in the public gallery at the end near the podium.
A figure was clambering over the balustrade.
‘No! No!’ the cry continued frantically.
Vredech recognized the figure. It was Mad Jarry. With a nimbleness that belied his size and his normal lumbering gait, he dropped on to the tiered seats beneath the gallery and began scrambling over them, heedless of the bewildered Heinders in his way.
He was moving towards the podium and Vredech knew his intention even before he heard Jarry’s new cry.
‘No! No! You mustn’t listen! He’s Ahmral! He’s possessed! He came in the darkness! I’ve seen His dreams! I’ve seen His dreams!’
Then he saw that Jarry was wielding a large knife.
At the same time he became aware of Cassraw’s Knights recovering themselves and beginning to move forward to intercept this unexpected threat. To little avail, however. Drawn from Troidmallos’s more troublesome youths, secretly schooled by Yanos at Cassraw’s behest, and hardened at Bredill, they were not unused to violence, but few could have withstood Jarry’s demented charge. Those who came within reach of his massive flailing fists were dashed brutally to one side. A couple managed to seize hold of him, but he paid no heed to them, dragging them along like paper streamers. Another stood directly in front of him only to be lifted bodily and hurled into a group who were running to help him.
And all the time Jarry was crying out.
‘Ahmral! Ahmral! I’ve seen His dreams!’
Vredech, his body trembling again and his mind numb from his failure to strike Cassraw down, watched the whole scene as though it were being performed by street players as a mockingly slow ballet. He saw Cassraw’s mouth dropping open at the sight of this approaching nemesis. He saw Dowinne’s hands rising protectively and he heard her begin to scream. For no reason that he could have analysed, he reached out and seized her, dragging her roughly away from Cassraw and placing himself between her and Jarry.
He heard the words, ‘No, Jarry,’ forming in his throat, but even as the sounds began to emerge he saw Jarry reach Cassraw and drive the knife into him. At the same time Jarry disappeared under a writhing mass of figures, stabbing and beating. Glittering blades, red sashes and bloody gashes began to blur, mingling with the nightmare cacophony of screams and groans, panic-stricken cries and grunts of appalling effort. And the trembling that was shaking his body threatened to master him completely.
Then one sound dominated the others and he became aware of a powerful hand turning him round. His entire vision was filled with Dowinne’s face. Yet it was scarcely recognizable, so contorted with fury was it. Raking through him, he heard, shrieking and awful: ‘Damn you to hell, Allyn. What have you done?’
He gazed at her, shocked and helpless, but almost before he had a chance to register what she was saying, a blow shook his entire body and plunged him into gasping darkness.