The Dawning Light

SYNOPSIS

During the four thousand years of its recorded history, the people of the planet of Nidor had known only peace. Ruling the one-continent world from the Holy City of Gelusar, the Elders of the Sixteen Clans, backed by a firm priesthood, had led the people in the Way of their Ancestors according to the Law of the Great Light.

And then the Earthmen had come. Unlike the down-covered Nidorians, these strangers were relatively hairless except for the odd tufts that covered their heads and chins. They came from the eternally-clouded sky, claiming to be emissaries of the Great Light Himself—whom they refer to as a "blue-white star." With the consent of the Elders, the Earthmen established the Bel-rogas School of Divine Law and began to teach the Nidorian youth—only a few of which could pass the rigorous entrance requirements.

One of the earliest Bel-rogas graduates was KIV peGANZ BRAJJYD, who unwittingly touched off Nidor's first economic crisis with his discovery of a new method for killing the hugl, a small, insectlike creature which periodically devastated the peych-bean, the staple crop of Nidor. Kiv's process was the first significant change in the Nidorian way of doing things.

Two generations later, Kiv had become an Elder of the Council. His grandson, NORVIS peRAHN BRAJJYD, invented a growth hormone which would double the per-acre yield of the peych-bean crop. The invention, however, was stolen from Norvis by SMITH, the Earthman in charge of the School. The credit was given to another student, while Norvis was summarily dismissed.

After narrowly escaping death from stoning for blasphemy, Norvis fled from Gelusar, changing his name to NORVIS peKRIN DMORNO to leave the impression that Norvis peRahn was actually dead.

Deeming it unjust that only the farms of the Elders should have the new growth hormone, Norvis, with the aid of a priest-hating old sea captain named DEL peFENN VYLESS, secretly made the hormone and distributed it to farmers all over Nidor.

The result was an economic collapse that took fourteen years to straighten out. Deluged by a surfeit of food and fiber, which had become worthless in its plenty, and plagued by the excess of animal life which resulted, Nidor fell into the Great Depression. An unsuspected consequence of the hormone's use was to deplete the soil the following season —famine followed over-production.

At this crisis-point, Del swung into action, forming the Merchants' Party, an organization which he headed and of which Norvis was secretary. By applying pressure on the Council of Elders, the Party forced through corrective agricultural and economic measures which restored Nidor's balance to a certain extent.

But Nidorians were too used to stability. After the upheaval died down, Norvis and Del find that the Party no longer had much popular support, and, while Del won't admit it, it is believed that Del's fiery anti-priesthood tirades have cost them much popular sympathy. Norvis, hating the Earthmen for what they have done to him personally, and for what they have done to Nidor, still maintains his burning desire to drive the Earthmen off the planet.

Affairs are now at a crisis-point for the Merchants' Party, which no longer has the money to put through their program. In desperation, the leaders of the Parly come together to work out a plan.

They are, aside from Del and Norvis: KRIS peKYM YORGEN, the Parly's strong man, a tall, broad-shouldered, handsome young man, who, having been reared by Norvis since he was eight, also had an over-whelming hatred for the Earthmen; MARJA geDEL VYLESS, daughter of Del, a keenly intelligent girl of determined personality; and GANZ peDEL VYLESS, her brother, Del's only son.

The conspirators are seeking something which will result in panic on Nidor—something which could be blamed on the Earthmen. Norvis admits he has thought of several plans, but that the Party lacks the money to carry them out. Marja, cutting to the heart of the situation, suggests the appallingly bold stroke of robbing the Bank of the Province of Dimay and blaming it on the Earthmen. Norvis and the others approve, in Del's absence, and Kris peKym sails the Party ship, the Krand, to the seaport of Tammulcor, and there proceeds to rob the Bank. He carries the crime off with ease, since no Nidorian Bank had ever been robbed and no precautions against such an occurrence were thought necessary.

The trick comes off as planned. Kris caches the Bank funds—some eight million weights in cobalt—on the offshore Bronze Islands, and returns to the Vashcor headquarters of the Party, where he learns that the entire province is in an uproar. With the metal backing for it's paper money gone, Dimay's scrip becomes worthless. And, to make matters worse, Elder Grandfather Kiv peGanz Brajjyd, head of the Council, has announced his refusal to replace the cobalt.

Kiv had been faced with a unique problem. He had received an anonymous note informing him that if the coin were replaced the robbers would dump the stolen metal back on the market, thus reducing the value of all Nidorian money. Kiv did not, of course, suspect that the note had been sent by his grandson, Norvis, whom he believed to be dead. Confronted with this prospect, Kiv refused to allow the bullion reserves to be minted.

The second part of the plan now remains to be carried out. Kris peKym goes overland to Tammulcor, accompanied by his devoted First Officer, a Bronze Islander named DRAN peDRAN GORMEK. Kris sets up an office, and, using the cash reserves of the Party, begins to build up the value of Dimay scrip again by offering paper from the Bank of Pelvash, buying the Dimay money at half its face value. Within a short time, he gains control over Dimay's economy; the value of the money fluctuates at his whim. People become aware of his power.

With Tammulcor in his grasp, Kris can begin his next bold stroke against the Earthmen. He invites a group of merchants to his office and tells them that Nidor's calamities are really the doing of the Earthmen, and when he sees them sympathetic to his approach, he begins to sketch out a tentative plan of attack that will result in the downfall of the Earthmen. He is painfully aware, all this time, that as a Party underling he has no right to be furthering plans of his own, and that Del, if he knew, would oppose him solidly.

As he speaks to the merchants, Kris is interrupted by a sudden knocking at the office door. It is Secretary Norvis, looking travel-stained and weary.

"What's going on, Norvis?" Kris asks. "Why are you here?"

Norvis peKrin's face becomes bleak. "Leader Del PeFenn was murdered two days ago. Shot from ambush by a rifle. We don't know who did it."

Chapter VIII

Kris stared at the smaller man almost without seeing him, as the meaning of his words began to filter through his mind.

"Del is dead?"

Norvis nodded. "He was killed in the street, right outside the Headquarters. He was about to enter the building when someone shot him down. I saw the whole thing from my window."

"You know who did it?"

"Couldn't see," Norvis said, shrugging. "I have some ideas, but—" He paused. "Del was getting awfully fiery about overthrowing the Elders, and I knew it wouldn't be long before someone tried to silence him."

"Nasty situation," Kris said, almost to himself. He glanced back into the room where his eight merchants were sitting waiting for him. "Look—I've got eight fine, dues-paying members of the Party in there. They don't know that they've been in the presence of their new Leader all morning."

Norvis frowned, then nodded. "You are the new Leader, of course, now that Del's dead. You sure you can do it? It's a big job, Kris—and getting bigger."

"Don't worry about that. I'll be able to handle it." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully with the back of his hand. "It seems to me, though, that you should have sent a messenger instead of coming yourself. Who's handling the Party in Vashcor? You didn't leave young Ganz in charge, did you?"

"No. Ganz and Marja came with me; I figured that if anyone were out after Del, they might try for his children, too." Rather self-consciously, Norvis brushed dust from his forearms. "No; I left the Party in Captain Bas peNodra's hands. He's a nobody, but he can hold them together if there's stronger leadership from the top. I thought maybe you'd rather keep up the work here than go back to Vashcor."

"You were right," Kris said decisively. "There's more work to be done here in Tammulcor in a week than there is in Vashcor in a year. I think we'll set up our new headquarters here—make this the center of the Merchants' Party.

"But there's time for that later. Here's some money; you take Ganz and Marja down to my hotel. Dran peDran's there; he'll take care of you. We'll talk this out when there's some free time. Right now, I've got business to attend to."

"Fine." Norvis nodded and left. Kris remained at the door for a moment, a half smile on his face. Del peFenn Vyless was dead. How nice! How timely!

It was too bad about Del, of course—but the old seaman had been asking for trouble all along, and anyone who antagonized people the way he did had better be prepared for a short life. And now Del was out of the way. That left Kris free to put his own plans in operation without fear of conflict from the gruff old captain.

Kris turned and went back into his office. The conversation the eight merchants had been engaged in died away immediately. They looked up at him, and he surveyed them with icy eyes—eyes that showed neither friendliness nor hatred, only an expectancy of obedience.

He glanced at each of them in turn. "You are all members of the Merchants' Party, aren't you?"

The men looked at each other briefly, and then, as though he were afraid something would happen to him, the baker said softly: "Yes. We are."

Kris peKym's expression didn't change. "Then give your alms (o the honor of Del peFenn Vyless, who has been murdered by our enemies."

"What?" Nibro peDom was out of his chair instantly. "How do you know that?"

"The man at the door just now was Norvis peKrin Dmorno," Kris said. "He bore the news from Vashcor."

"What will happen to the Party now?" Nibro asked nervously. "Now that Del is gone, who—"

"From now on, you will follow me," Kris said coldly.

"You? But who are you?"

"Kris peKym Yorgen, and that's all that need concern you. Del chose me his successor before his death."

"But how do we know that?" the baker asked truculently.

Kris frowned. "Because I tell you so! Do you think I'd lie?"

Nibro peDom seemed to give ground. "But—what are your qualifications? You're not a merchant. What do you know of our special problems? As far as we know, you're just a traveling moneychanger!"

Kris stepped forward and placed a forefinger on the baker's chest. "Nibro peDom, be assured that I know the merchants' problems intimately. I also know the problems of the seamen, the bankers, the farmers, and the priests. I have their interests at heart as well as those of the Great Light. The Party is in good hands, Nibro peDom." He folded his arms. "And now, let's get down to business, shall we? I called you here for a reason, and we've already wasted too much time."

The meeting took nearly an hour. By the time it was over, Kris had obtained several definite commitments. Mentally, he checked off the things he would have to remember —there were things to be delivered and things to be set aside and stored.

"Let's run through it again. Drang peBroz, two thousand peych-knives."

The merchant nodded. "Nearly three feel long, heavier and wider in blade than normal, with a special thong to loop around the wrist. A very odd peych-knife, Kris peKym."

"That's not for you to worry over," Kris said.

Quickly, he reviewed the contributions each merchant was to make. "All right," he said finally. "Is everything understood?"

"All but one point," said Kresh peBor Dmorno, a pale-skinned wine-merchant. "What of the money?"

Kris looked at him steadily for a moment, then said: "If you can't give your share, why are you here?"

Nibro peDom, the baker, glared Kresh peBor down. "We will give, Kris peKym," he said.

"Good. Don't worry about going broke; there'll be money to spare. You may not make an immediate profit, but the reward will be greater when the Earthmen are gone. Got that?"

They nodded. Kris smiled satisfiedly; he was beginning to make things fall in line. The meeting was closed with handshaking all around. The merchants filed out, while Kris remained, jotting down a few notes on what had taken place.

A good day's work, he thought. And Del dead. We're moving in the right direction at last.

He locked the door of his office, pocketed the key gayly, and trotted down the stairs, in a hurry now to return to the hotel.

It was late at night, Kris saw, when he emerged into the street. The air was filled with the falling night-rain which splattered on the pavement and dribbled from the darkened roofs of the buildings into the street below.

And for the twentieth time in as many days, Kris heard footsteps behind him.

Every damn night! he thought. Why?

It had been going on far too long, and it was irritating Kris to have a more-or-less constant shadow. So far, nothing had been attempted. Kris had managed to catch a glimpse of the man now and then, but whoever it was had never been close enough to be a danger. To make sure that no trap was being set, Kris had taken a different route home each night. He hadn't been attacked yet—but he didn't like the idea of being followed.

It would have been a waste of time to attempt to elude the pursuer; the man, whoever he was, obviously knew where Kris lived and where he worked. To waste his energy every night trying to get away from the shadowy figure would be just that— a waste of energy. So Kris had simply kept his eyes and ears ready, waiting for whatever might happen.

This night, the footsteps sounded closer than they had been. Kris kept his ears cocked. The city was dark; the wind had whipped up and blown out many of the street lamps.

He passed a darkened alleyway, and, quite suddenly, three men came charging out toward him. They said nothing, and it was obvious that they intended to kill to get the money Kris was carrying.

Kris went for his gun. He jerked it out of his belt and leveled it at the first of the oncoming attackers. There was a horrendous roar and a great belch of smoke and flame. The man paused, startled, but Kris could see that he hadn't been hit.

He came on again, as Kris thumbed back the hammer for a second shot. There was another blast, and this time the first man dropped, almost at Kris peKym's feet. The other two were still coming; Kris had to make both of his next shots count. Otherwise-—

Suddenly, a third figure appeared out of the wet gloom, coming up behind the attackers, a huge peych-knife swinging in his hand. The blade slammed home twice, and the two remaining thugs were lying dead in the street.

Kris kept his pistol leveled at the newcomer.

"Don't shoot that thing, Ancient One!" said a half-frightened, hoarse voice. "It's me; Bor pePrannt Hebylla!"

It was the scar-faced man who had attempted to hold him up when he had first come to Tammulcor. He stepped nearer, his peych-knife lowered. "Did they hurt you, Ancient one?"

"No," said Kris. "You came along just in time."

"I did my best, Ancient One."

Kris shoved his pistol back into his belt. There were noises up and down the street, now; people were peeping cautiously out of their windows, wondering what the two bursts of noise had meant.

Kris jerked his head in the direction of his hotel. "Come along; no use waiting for the Peacemen."

Bor pePrannt shoved his knife into his belt and fell into step.

"Why didn't you and your brother come back to my office that day?" Kris asked.

"Why didn't we come back? Well ... to tell the truth, Ancient One, we didn't know what to expect. We argued about it, my brother and I, until it was well after the Hour of Second Prayer. When we realized it was too late—well, it was too late.

"My brother got aboard a ship, so he gave me the money you gave him. He went to Gycor—there's work there."

"And you?"

"Oh ... well, I've been getting on. Odd jobs here and there in the daytime."

Like a handful of pyramid dice, everything suddenly fell into place. Kris stopped and looked at his rescuer. "Hoy! Is it you who's been following me around at night?"

"Why, sure, Ancient One. I wouldn't want you to get hurt just because my brother and I argued that morning."

"Great Light!" Kris said, trying to keep from grinning. "Come along, Bor pePrannt. You have a job—permanently."

They arrived at the hotel without further incident. Kris and Bor pePrannt climbed the stairway and strode down the hall to the suite which Dran and Kris occupied. Kris reached for the handle of the door and started to pull when the door swung open unexpectedly. Kris stepped back and blinked.

Marja geDel was standing there, looking almost shamefully beautiful in view of what had happened to her father. Her deep, wide eyes held a sparkle, and beneath her vest, her body seemed incredibly alive and exciting. Her long legs seemed to shine in the lamplight that poured from the room.

"Kris!" Her smile was radiant. "It's good you're here; we've been discussing everything, but we couldn't arrive at any decisions without you." Then her eyes narrowed a little as she saw the hulking figure of Bor in the dimness behind Kris. "Who's that, Kris?"

Kris stepped into the room, with Bor following him. "Bor—step out and introduce yourself."

The scarfaced man smiled hesitantly and said: "I am Bor pePrannt Hebylla, old ones."

Briefly and concisely, Kris explained to Marja, Ganz, Norvis, and Dran what had happened and how he had come to meet the broad-shouldered longshoreman.

Dran peDran, who had been sitting on a chair against the far wall, stood up with a wide smile and walked over to grasp Bor's hand. "We is needing good men with a peych-knife. How is you learn to handle one? You doesn't look like a farmer."

Bor grinned lopsidedly. "I'm not. I've been a seaman, but I couldn't keep from getting seasick; I tried being a Peaceman once, but I was let out because i didn't attend prayers at the right time. So i took up longshoring."

Kris looked at the two men. Here was his nucleus, he told himself. Here were the prototypes of the kind of men he wanted.

He turned to Norvis, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed. "Now let's get straight what happened in Vashcor. Exactly what happened to Del?"

Norvis didn't get a chance to answer. Young Ganz, standing near the bed, said: "Someone shot him while he was going into his office! Someone in the hire of the priesthood!"

Kris looked at the boy. "I didn't ask you, youngster. i asked Secretary Norvis."

Ganz subsided, and Norvis said: "It happened just about as Ganz said. Del was walking toward the office. Someone fired a rifle at him; the copper slug went right through his head."

Kris rubbed his knuckles over his jawline. "It sounds as though the priests might have been partly responsible. I doubt that an ordained Grandfather would have done or even condoned any such thing, but, considering Del's attitude, some young hotheaded acolyte might have done it. After all, Del wasn't exactly friendly toward them; the Party lost a lot of backers because of his policies. They weren't too well calculated to win the approval of the people."

Ganz peDel bristled instantly. "If you mean he went after the dirty priesthood too hard, you're wrong. It isn't possible to go after those old mothbags too hard. And when I catch up with the Elder who shot Del—"

"Oh?" Kris interrupted. "Was it an Elder who assassinated your father?"

"Well," the young man said defensively, "that's what everyone's saying. And I don't see why not. It's logical, isn't it?"

"Of course," Kris agreed. "But logic doesn't always hold together in times like these. Words lose their meaning; friends become enemies. Policies change."

Norvis, who had, as yet, said nothing, finally asked: "Are there going to be changes in our policy now?"

"Damned right there are!" Kris turned on the Secretary fiercely. "Look, Norvis, I've felt for a long time that we were going about things the wrong way. Well, here's my opportunity to do things the right way. Our first step is to win back the people Del alienated—the farmers, the majority of the masses of Gelusar, even the priests themselves."

"The priests?" asked Ganz peDel. "What do you, want them for?"

Kris folded his arms. "Because the priests help to hold this world together. Because they belong on Nidor. Because they follow the Great Light."

"Is we going to have to work with the Elder Grandfathers?" Dran asked. "I doesn't believe I trusts them."

"It isn't a matter of trust," said Kris. "It's necessity." He leaned forward. "What Del and the rest of you forgot is who the real enemies are—the enemies I plan to channel my attack against."

"You mean the Earthmen?" Marja asked.

"Of course the Earthmen! They're the devils who've been causing our troubles—and they're the ones whom we must fight! Not the Elders, I tell you."

He glanced around, saw general agreement on their faces. "Any questions?"

No one spoke. "Good. That's official policy of our Party from now on, Norvis, you can take that down."

"Does you has anything definite in mind?" Dran asked.

Kris smiled slowly as he prepared to deliver the words he had nursed in his mind so long. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I know what the first objective is."

He stared at the five faces before him. "We must destroy the School," he said slowly. "We must wipe out Bel-rogas completely, so that not even a memory remains!"

"You'll need backing for that," Norvis said evenly.

"I'll get it," Kris told him flatly. "By the time I'm through, I'll have every man on Nidor behind me."

"What about the women?" Norvis asked.

"What about them?" Kris had to admit to himself that ht didn't quite see what the Secretary was driving at. "Women can't fight; they have nothing to do with it."

Marja frowned, but said nothing, while Norvis explained.

"I know they can't; I agree with you. Women can't fight. So what do they do when faced with an emergency they can't handle physically? They pray, Kris—they pray. And a wife has a great deal to say about what her husband does, whether you realize it or not. Is a woman going to allow her husband to fight the very thing she pins all her hopes, her strength, her very life on?"

Kris chewed at his lip for a moment, then nodded. "You're right. That's probably part of the reason Del didn't succeed. He attacked the priests—the same priests who were such solace to the wives and daughters of the very men Del wanted to win over." His eyes narrowed in thought. "That means we'll have to change the women's views, too. But how?"

"I think I know," Marja said suddenly. Kris turned his head to look at her.

"Go on," he said.

"Well, look. As you said, the women depend on their faith in the Great Light to support them when their physical strength can't help them. If we can show them that the Earthmen have alienated the Great Light, we'll have them on our side. After all, the Earthmen have only been around for six Cycles of years —the Great Light has been watching over us for untold thousands of Cycles."

Kris glanced at Norvis. "What do yon think?"

"I agree," Norvis said emphatically. "If we can convince the people that the Earthmen are devils from the Outer Darkness, and at the same time convince them that we are really on the side of the priests and the Great Light, we'll have them in the palms of our hands."

Kris turned back to Marja. "Very well, then. Your job will be to convince the women, I think it's a job that only a woman could do. I lave you any ideas on how to go about it?"

"Yes," Marja said proudly, "I'll go into the temples and the market places and just talk. Gossip no more. I'll tell them about the Party and Kris peKym; I'll suggest that the Earthmen—not the priests—have caused all our trouble. I'll put it to them that the priests need our help—the help of the Party to drive the demons out. I'll start bad rumors spreading against them."

"What about the School?" Norvis interrupted.

"That, too," Marja said emphatically. "Have you noticed how many promising students have been expelled from the Bel-rogas School of Divine Law lately?"

Norvis grinned wryly. "Yes. So?"

"Very well. Those students have mothers and sisters. Do you know why they were expelled? I'll tell you: They were too smart! The Earthmen knew that they were just about to discover that Earthmen were demons— or at least they were on, the right track. So they were unjustly expelled."

The others all smiled.

"Great!" Kris said. "Great! That's the right attack!" Then he paused and looked at her carefully. "But you'd better do something about yourself, You don't look like a common farm woman."

"Oh; I'm not," Marja said, suddenly looking very demure. "My father is a priest—a Grandfather, in Sugon. I'm in Tammulcor visiting relatives."

Norvis burst into laughter. "Girl, you're perfect! Absolutely perfect."

Kris chuckled in agreement. "Right. All of her father's virtues and none of his faults."

Ganz peDel broke in then. "Is there any thing I can do?" His voice sounded eager and—perhaps—just a trifle hurt.

Kris looked thoughtful. "Well, I—"

"He can help me," said Norvis quickly. "The Secretariat has a great deal of important work to do, and Ganz will be very useful."

"Good enough," said Kris. "Meanwhile, Dran and I will be training men. I have an idea for a group of men who would be a sort of Peacemen group of my own. Those who qualify will be well paid."

Bor pePrannt said: "I can teach them to use knives, Ancient One."

"Good," said Kris. And they fell to planning their group.

Later, when the others had gone to bed, Norvis raised the first objections.

"I can't see it. Just scraping up an army and marching into Bel-rogas like that—it can't go. I don't like it, Kris."

"Why? Great Light, why?" Kris gestured angrily. "Look here, Norvis —all my life, I've hated those devils, and I know you hate them, too!"

Norvis' face darkened. "And for good reason," he said bitterly.

"All right, you hate them," Kris persisted. "And now that I propose to smash them down, you draw back. Great Light, Norvis, what's going on in your head?"

Norvis sat back and gently smoothed his ruffled down. He was silent for a moment, then turned to face Kris. When he spoke, he seemed to be choosing his words with utmost care.

"Kris—you're not a plotter. You are a fine leader, but you can't see more than three days into the future. I agree that the Earthmen should be wiped out—the devils—or at least driven back to the sky they came from."

"So?"

"Not your way, though. Not by just busting in there and wrecking the place."

Kris frowned quizzically. This had happened time and time again in the past, and he was getting not to like it. He would present a plan, carefully thought out and closely reasoned, and Norvis would hew it to threads in a moment's time.

Who is this Norvis anyway? Kris asked himself. He thinks he's smart, and I'll bet he thinks he can run me. Well, he never has, and he won't start now.

"We attack Bel-rogas next week," Kris said firmly. "My way. I've got the approach strategy all worked out."

"All right," Norvis said wearily. "But you'd better start wearing a brass hat if you don't want to rejoin your ancestors as fast as Del did."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that you won't outlive (he gutting of Bel-rogas by a month," Norvis said quietly.

"Are you dictating policy to me?" Kris demanded.

"Far from it," said the Secretary, "just offering my opinion."

"Your opinion's not needed," Kris snapped. "I'll manage by myself."

"Very well," Norvis said. He closed his eyes for a moment. Then, changing the subject, he said, "Oh, by the way—what do you plan to do with all that cobalt we have cached away on the Bronze Islands?"

"What does that have to do with—"

Suddenly Kris paused, stood up, smiled slyly as a thought occurred to him. I'll show Norvis who's a plotter, he thought vehemently. "Go get Dran peDran. Wake him up."

"What for?"

"We're journeying to the Bronze Islands tonight."

Norvis' face wrinkled. "You're ... why?"

"You'll see," Kris said. He didn't elaborate, and he made sure that the expression on his face would discourage Norvis from asking any further questions.

Chapter IX

The Krand left the harbor of Tammulcor a week later, carrying Kris, Dran, a crew of eighteen picked men, and a noisy, restless cargo of deests. The false bottom was also in use. Eight million weights in cobalt lay hidden there. It had been a quick but arduous job, getting the cache out of the Bronze Islands earlier in the week.

They pulled out of the Bay of Tammulcor and headed north up the river Tammul. A dinghy-load of Peacemen cut across their path before they had gotten very far upriver, and a tall man at the front of the small boat held up one hand, "Hoy! Who are you, and where are you heading?"

"Captain Kris peKym Yorgen," Kris replied. "Heading for Gelusar to market these deests." He gestured at the herd on the deck.

The Peaceman looked up at him suspiciously lor a moment. Kris waited impatiently. They were still worried about their missing cobalt, evidently—but since the recent upswing in Bank of Dimay currency, they were somewhat relaxed. Some-ivhal. Kris hoped he wouldn't be put to the nuisance of another three hour search; a delay of that length might be utterly damaging to his project.

Finally the Peaceman said, "Deests, eh? Very well, head up-river. They'll probably stop you again at the Bridge of Klid, though."

"Thanks," Kris said. "I appreciate the clearance. Any news of the missing cobalt, by the way?"

The Peaceman shook his head. "All is quiet. We're sure we'll find the money soon, though. No one's being allowed out of Dimay without full search."

"Wise move," Kris said, "I hope you won't search fruitlessly for long."

"Something tells me the cobalt will come to light soon," the Peaceman said. "Good voyage to you, captain."

"And a pleasant night to you," said Kris. "Great Light illumine you."

"And you," the Peaceman replied.

The dinghy glided away. "All right," Kris yelled. "Up river to Gelusar, now!"

It was early evening as they passed under the Great Cor Bridge, out of the environs of Tammulcor, and up the sluggish Tammul. The Great Light had begun to set, the Lesser Light was not yet in evidence, and the air was moist with promise of the evening's rain yet to come.

Kris stood on the deck, listening to the quiet complaining of the deests. Behind him, Tammulcor shrank in the distance; Gelusar lay far ahead upriver. The night was still young. If they made good time, they would reach the landing point just about this time the following night.

After a while, Dran came out on deck.

"Everything is well, captain."

"Good," Kris said. "It's going to be a tough trip, sailing upriver."

From starboard came the cry of one of the men, calling out the sounding.

"All well," Kris yelled back. He peered out at the wide, flat stretch of water ahead. The Tammul was a shallow, sleepy river, and Kris had little mind to run aground in the night—not with eight million weights of cobalt on board.

"Here comes the rain," he murmured to Dran, as the nightly drizzle began to sprinkle down. "Better get the deests under."

"I is just about to do that, captain," Dran said. "Hoy there! Drosh! Marn! Down with those deests!"

Kris stood alone on deck for a while, then strolled aft to the helmsman.

"How's it going, Dom?"

"We'll make it, captain."

"We'd better," Kris said. He frowned. "Not much wind tonight, is there?"

"No, captain," the helmsman said locanically. "It's a hard night for sailing, captain. A very hard night."

Kris nodded and walked away. It was a very hard night indeed.

Morning came, and the Krand was still a good distance from its destination. Other boats were moving downriver from Gelusar, heading toward Tammulcor, and occasionally a wandering Peace dinghy would cut by, peering suspiciously at the ship without hailing it. It was the river patrol, on guard for strange craft.

By the time evening had arrived, the journey was nearly over. Kris peered ahead into the gathering dusk at the shore to the westward, searching for the landing.

"All right," he said after some time. "There's where we go ashore." The Krand moved silently through the dark waters to the inlet, and they dropped anchor as close to shore as possible. Kris called the men on deck.

"We're landing here," he said.

"I thought we were going to Gelusar," a deckhand said. "Isn't that where we're going?"

"We're going to Bel-rogas," said Kris. "And it'll be a lot easier to leave the river now and finish the trip overland than to try to carry eight million weights of cobalt through the heart of town."

Dran nodded. "Is right. We is about ten miles from Bel-rogas now. Is not so bad."

"We'll have to make three trips, Bronze Islander," said Bor pePrannt unhappily. "We've got a hundred manweights aboard, and twenty deests. The best of our animals can't do better than two or three man-weights of cobalt."

"Not so," Kris said. "Each deest's going to carry five manweights."

"We can't do that!" Bor pePrannt protested. "They can't carry that much!"

"They can if we walk alongside of them instead of riding on their backs," Kris said. "We've only got ten hours till dawn. If the Great Light rises while we're still in Bel-roijas, we're finished. We'll have to make it in one trip and no doubts about it."

He looked around. "Everyone understand, then? Dran, get your crew down and start unslinging the cobalt from the hold. Bor, get a couple of men and drive the deests out on shore. We can't waste any time."

It was a strange sight—twenty deests, each groaning and swaying under a fortune in cobalt, each with a man walking at its side urging it along.

The Lesser Light glimmered faintly above as the strange caravan wound its way through the narrow dirt paths that led to Bel-rogas. Kris and his crew had anchored ship about two miles below the Bridge of Klid that spanned the Tammul, and, under cover of nightfall, they were heading west and north toward the School.

Two roads forked out from the Bridge of Klid—one going directly into Gelusar, the other bypassing the Holy City and carrying outward to Bel-rogas, which lay some five miles west of Gelusar. Kris guided his caravan through the backroads and byways to the fork, and then along the little-traveled road from there to Bel-rogas.

The coins jingled faintly as the deests struggled along under them. It was not, thought Kris, exactly a quiet group traveling along the road. He fingered the butt of the pistol at his sash; in case anyone should come down the road from the School, there might be trouble. It wouldn't be easy to explain where they were heading in the middle of the night with eight million weights of cobalt.

There were no difficulties, though, and finally they reached the borders of the School. Spacious parks bordered Bel-rogas; standing on the outskirts, Kris could see the group of majestic Earthman-designed buildings located around the central campus, and the spreading lawns that surrounded the entire School.

All was quiet. Lights burned in a few of the distant buildings, and Kris saw shadowy forms bent over desks in several of the windows. Earthmen, he thought. Plotting against us, late at night. A quiver of hatred ran through him.

It had taken five hours to cover the ten miles from the Tammul to the School. Five hours yet remained before the Great Light rose. Five hours to plant the cobalt and get moving back to the Krand. It was more than enough time.

He paused for a moment, mopping away the rain that had soaked into his eyes, and listened to the noisy breathing of the deests. They were struggling under the heavy load of coins, and some of them were scraping at the ground with their hoofs. They couldn't bear the burden too much longer.

"Let's go this way," Kris said. "Get the deests in line and follow single-file."

Stealthily, he edged into the grove that led to the School. He brought the caravan to a halt about half a mile from the nearest of the buildings. No one was around, though a light burned in a window of the building.

"Unload the deests," Kris ordered. "And don't clank those loops of coins around too much."

He joined them in the job of unloading, and before long eight million weights of cobalt lay in a deceptively small pile on the grass. Kris turned to Dran. "Pick two men and start driving the deests back to the ship. I don't want them bothering us while we work."

"We could always drive them down into the School and stable them there," Dran suggested.

"It wouldn't do," Kris said, chuckling. "The idea lacks practicality."

Dran chose his men and began herding the deests back out of the School grounds. Kris turned to the others.

"Unload those shovels," he ordered. He picked out four men and said, "You come with me. The rest of you deploy yourselves in a loose circle around us."

Each of his four chosen men grabbed a shovel and Kris led them as close to the School building as he dared. "We dig here," he said.

The eight million weights of cobalt took up more than thirty-six cubic feet. That meant a pit three by three by four, at least. Shovels bit into the ground.

It was slow work, because Kris insisted on a tidy job. When one of his men showed signs of tiring, he sent him back to be replaced with a fresh digger. They had the pit finished within three hours; the first glimmers of the Great Light were beginning to filter through.

"In with the cobalt, now," Kris said. He watched as they lowered the heavy loops of coin into the ground and painstakingly replaced the turf over the pit. He stepped back to survey the job.

"You'd hardly know anything was under that hump in the ground," he said approvingly. Then he chuckled. "Let's get back to the ship. The Earthmen are going to have a hard time explaining this away!"

Chapter X

The next few months moved slowly, as far as Kris was concerned. They were months of waiting, of exasperating detail-work and fine-lined planning. Slowly, he began to organize the sort of group that he felt would best serve his needs.

It took delicate juggling. Norvis peKrin took over the Scrip Exchange Office, carefully keeping the sagging monetary system of Dimay on a fairly even keel. But the paper scrip of Pelvash was none the less running dangerously low. Fewer and fewer people came in to exchange their money, true; since they assumed that it must be worth something, they were reluctant now to give it away for half its price. The money had acquired an artificial backing which consisted solely of Kris' pledge to redeem it for Pelvash money—a pledge that no longer mattered. It hadn't taken long for the Merchants' Party to accumulate several million in Dimay scrip by their trading policy. It now was back at its earlier value—and Kris and Norvis had thereby doubled their capital.

Meanwhile, Kris started his training program. It involved much word-of-mouth activity, a technique he was rapidly becoming proficient at, but before long he had assembled a fairly large corps of young men, drawing them from the landless farmers in the outlying districts, from the irreverent sailors willing to jump their papers, from anyone else who wanted to serve. Under the leadership of Dran peDran and Bor pePrannt, the men drilled every day in the flatlands just north of the city. No specific target had been revealed, but the men enjoyed the discipline.

Young Ganz peDel began to show promise, too. Norvis had suggested that he, too, be trained, and at first Kris had been reluctant. But the boy showed he was made of the right stuff. He could handle a peych-knife as well as, if not better than the others.

He had worked up a rather clever little exercise for the men. They formed up in a column on their deests, and then, galloping full tilt at a wooden pole, each man swung at it with his knife, lopping a bit off the top. Of course, as it grew shorter, each man had to bend lower to get his bit off. It improved their aim with the knife tremendously.

Yes, Ganz showed promise.

Marja geDel was doing her job well—even brilliantly. Kris became definitely aware of it the day a loutish-looking farmer in his thirties came to the office and asked to join Kris' men.

"Why do you want to join?" Kris asked. Norvis had suggested the question; it was helpful to know men's motives for doing something that was unheard of in Nidorian history.

The lout twisted his fingers together. "Well, Ancient One, I understand I can make a little extra money, which, Light knows, we need. My wife said she'd manage the farm; she said it was time I did something to help drive the devil Earthmen away. I never thought much about it, but she's right, I guess. All the women seem to think we've got to do something."

"We do," said Kris, hiding a grin, "Report to Garf peDom's farm tomorrow—just outside of Tammulcor, on the Tammul Road. That's our training held. Come at the Hour of Second Prayer."

"I'll be there, Aged One."

When he had gone, Kris thought over what he'd said. The women were definitely coming round. Preparations, then, were nearing completion. Now other wheels had to be set in motion—and for that, he would have to resort to his skill at rumormongering.

"Is there anything to the story that the Earthmen robbed that Bank?" Kris inquired casually, one evening, in a Tammulcor bar.

The barkeep looked surprised. "Haven't heard that story myself. Where'd you pick it up?"

Kris shrugged. "Oh ... it's all around. I thought you could give me some further information, that's all."

The barkeep leaned forward, interested. "Tell me about this, will you?"

"Seems the Earthmen—this is the way I got it—used some kind of magic to get into the Bank, and floated the cobalt out."

"No!"

"That's the story," Kris said. "They floated it right up to Gelusar, out to that School of theirs, and they've got it hoarded away some place."

"The devils!"

Another man came up—a seaman named Bort peDril Sesom, a man Kris knew vaguely. "What's this I hear?"

Kris told him.

"The Earthmen, eh? Well, I never did trust them, never did at all."

Meanwhile, far at the other end of the city, Dran peDran curled his wiry fingers around a mug of peych-beer and smiled confidentially at the fat merchant sitting opposite him.

"It's the Earthmen, all right," the Bronze Islander said in a hoarse voice. "They is stolen the cobalt and buried it somewhere. I hears that everywhere."

"The Earthmen, you say? Stole the cobalt? Why'd they do that?"

Dran peDran shrugged eloquently. "Does you understand the Earthmen?" he asked.

"All I know about the Earthmen," the Merchant said, "is that I don't like them and I don't like their School. And if they robbed the bank—"

While in a third section of the port, Bor pePrannt Hebylla growled loudly, "It's the Earthmen! The devil Earthmen who have our money!"

People crowded close around in the bar. "What? The Earthmen? Where'd you hear that?"

"It's all over," Bor pePrannt said. "Everyone knows they took the cobalt!"

A long-nosed farmer with fiery eyes crashed his hand down on the table. "We ought to kill them!" he roared.

Someone else picked it up. "Kill them! Kill them!"

By the next morning, there was hardly a man in Tammulcor who did not suspect that it truly was the Earthmen who had robbed the Bank of Dimay.

Sentiment began to gather. Forces started to be exerted. The rumor spread—from Dimay to Pelvash, from Pelvash to Thyvash, around the coast from Gycor to Lidacor to the distant province of Sugon.

The Earthmen had robbed the bank!

It was on everyone's tongue—or rather, almost everyone. Two significant groups were yet to commit themselves to an opinion. No word was forthcoming from the Council of Elders—and no denial had yet emanated from the Earthmen at the Bel-rogas School of Divine Law.

"We've got them where we want them now," Kris said. "We have to keep our fingers on the pulse of the world. When the time is ripe—we strike against Bel-rogas."

"And how do you know when the time will be ripe?" Norvis asked.

"Don't worry. I'll know."

Suddenly, Ganz peDel appeared at the door of the room. Kris looked up. "What is it, Ganz?"

"Visitors," the boy said. "Old men. I think they're priests." His face made no attempt to hide his distaste for the clergy.

"Show them in," Kris said.

The visitors entered, walking stiffly. They wore the blue tunics of priests, and over them light traveling wraps.

"Good evening, Ancient Ones," Kris said respectfully.

"May the Great Light illumine you," said the elder of the two priests.

"Peace of your ancestors be with you always," Kris muttered. "May I ask what brings you here, Grandfather Bor peDel?"

The Priest-Mayor of Tammulcor took a seat. "I think it is time I called upon you, my son." He gestured toward the man who accompanied him. "This is Marn peFulda Brajjyd," he said. "Priest-Mayor of Vashcor."

"Great Light's blessings," Kris said.

Marn peFulda nodded curtly. "You're Kris peKym Yorgen, are you not?"

"I am. And this is Norvis peKrin Dmorno, my assistant."

"We've already met," Marn peFulda said.

"Yes," said Norvis. "We know one another."

Kris frowned over that for a moment, then brushed it from his mind. "May I ask your business with us?"

"Briefly, this," said the Priest-Mayor of Tammulcor. "My colleague and I represent troubled areas of a troubled world. We fear for Nidor. We have long thought that Nidor has been in serious danger, and have given thoughtful consideration to that which must be done to ... ah ... hold things together."

"As have I," Kris said. "But—"

"We've concluded that something's got to be done about Bel-rogas," Marn peFulda said bluntly. "We won't mince words. You two have built up a powerful organization. We're here to offer you our spiritual and political support."

Kris stood up and crossed his arms in a by-now customary gesture of power. "I see. You're here to tell me that you're not in full agreement with the policies of the Council of Elders, I take it."

Marn peFulda spread his hands and smiled with delicate subtlety. "In a word—yes."

Kris frowned and glanced from one priest to the other. Very wee, he thought. It's shaping up. It's taking form. Now I've landed two priests, and big ones.

"You see," the Grandfather went on, "something must be done or our religion will be splintered. Already there is a man wandering around the countryside of Lebron, calling himself the New Lawyer; he thinks he is a second Bel-rogas.

Something must be done to strengthen the Council and purify it of the influence of the Great Darkness."

"We understand you've organized some men," Bor peDel said hesitantly. "We would like to suggest ... ah—"

"That you take them to Gelusar," Marn peFulda completed.

"Indeed?" Kris glanced at Norvis. "For what reason, may I ask?"

"There's a current rumor that the Earthmen were behind the robbery of the Bank of Dimay," Marn peFulda said. "You're aware of this, of course."

"Ah ... yes."

"Very well. We have learned through ecclesiastical channels that Elder Grandfather Kiv peGanz Brajjyd has reluctantly decided to hold a public hearing—in order to squelch this rumor. The Earthman Smith has agreed to appear and speak in his defense."

"And you think," Kris said, "that the presence of myself and my men at this hearing might—"

"Might be worthwhile—especially if Smith's defense should appear particularly unconvincing."

Kris nodded. "I thank you for your information, Ancient Ones. I'll consider it carefully."

"May the Great Light illumine your mind as He does the world," Marn peFulda intoned.

"May He illumine yours," Kris responded.

After the priests were gone, Kris turned to Norvis, who had remained silent throughout the entire inter-view.

"Well? What did you think of that?"

Norvis smiled. "Encouraging, all right. How do you plan to deal with what's come up."

"I'll go to that hearing, of course —with a hundred of my best men."

"And the local situation, here in Tammulcor? Who'll be in charge while you're gone?"

Kris thought a moment. "Oh, pick one of the youngsters in the Party. Give him a chance to learn how to administrate, while I'm away. Might as well not let the new blood go stale, you know."

"Good idea. How about Dran peDran?"

Kris shook his head. "Don't like. Dran's a clown. Beside, the men won't listen to a Bronze Islander."

Norvis snapped his fingers. "Say, what about young Ganz peDel? He could probably handle some of the job while you're in Gelusar."

Kris frowned. Ganz? Could be, he thought. "I suppose so," he said. "If you think he's worth the trouble of bringing along. But I guess they'll listen to Del's son, young as he is. All right—make Ganz peDel my deputy. I'm going to leave for Gelusar immediately.

Chapter XI

The Tammul Road followed the Tammul River, winding its way from Tammulcor to Holy Gelusar on the Dimay side of the stream. It was wide and well-turfed, neither so hard that it hurt a deest's cloven hoof, as some of the desert roads did, nor so soft that the animal had trouble moving at a rapid pace. It had been built for heavy traffic, but it had never seen the traffic it had on a spring day in the Year of Brajjyd, in the 324th Cycle.

A hundred men, wearing the black vest and trousers of seamen, modified by slashes of bright scarlet across the back and the chest, rode in precision array on a hundred sleek deests. At their head rode Kris peKym Yorgen, and to his left, Dran peDran Gormek.

In a column, four wide by twenty-five long, they trotted up the broad highway toward the Holy City. The thundering sound of the hoofs of a hundred deests echoed in the air as they went on.

Word had already preceded them that Kris peKym of the Clan Yorgen was going to Gelusar to watch the Council of Elders question the Earthman, Smith; farmers lined the road, anxious to get a glimpse of the man who had saved their money from disaster, cheering the men as they rode northward.

"Bring back our cobalt, Kris peKym!" they shouted.

"Get our money for us, Ancient One!"

Proudly, the hundred men followed their captain, who seemed to ignore the accolades, but secretly was reveling in them. Ancient One indeed, he thought. There are times when titles of honor become empty of meaning.

He gripped his reins tightly with one hand and waved broadly to the people. A few yards behind the hundred men came five more deests, and upon them rode men wearing the honored blue robes of the priesthood, two of them bearing the white slashes of Priest-Mayors. As they cantered by, the farmers bowed low, and their cheering ceased.

It was a good move, thought Kris, having the priests ride in procession with them. The very fact that the Council of Elders had seen fit to question the Earthman in public, and the fact that five priests were accompanying Kris peKym to the hearing, would deepen the suspicions of the Earthmen which had begun to take root in the mind of the people.

When the column rode into Gelusar, Kris noticed with pride that none of the men seemed to show the long hours of travel; they held their heads high and rode erect, like the well-trained soldiers they were. He knew no one would be surprised that the men were armed; it was foolish not to be armed in these troubled times, and a peych-knife was, after all, a handy weapon. The tact that these blades were half again as long as an ordinary knife went unnoticed.

Kris had already sent a man ahead of the column, riding at a hard gallop most of the way, to arrange things. By the time the hundred men reined up before the Inn of the Purple Deest, less than half a mile from the Great Temple itself, the arrangements had been made.

The innkeeper, a rotund, oddly gloomy-looking man, came out in front of the old inn and held up a hand in greeting.

"Hoy, Kris peKym!"

"Hoy," Kris said. "We have traveled far, innkeeper."

They exchanged blessings, and then the staff of the inn showed the men to their rooms, while their deests were toweled and fed.

That evening, in the banquet hall, Kris was to address his followers. They were not the only ones present; there were curious townspeople there who had come to the Inn of the Purple Deest for their evening meal, curious to see the strong young man who had upset Nidor so greatly. Kris' words were meant for their ears as well as those of his own men.

The meal had been blessed by the Priest-Mayor of Vashcor, and when it was over, Kris pulled aside his plates and climbed to the top of the table itself. A sudden hush fell over the great banquet hall.

Kris let his eyes wander over the upturned faces for a moment. They were his men he saw—his own. They were tough and strong and eager, ready to follow the orders of their captain.

"Youngsters," he said, "we have come to Holy Gelusar to right a great wrong. It has been said that the Priesthood of the Great Light has done us wrong—has betrayed us to the powers of the Great Darkness. Let us, in all honesty, admit that there is some truth in these charges.

"But let us not forget the greater truth. Let us not forget that if our priests have erred, they have erred as men, not as priests.

"We have with us, as you know, live priests, two of whom hold the noble position of Mayor. I have spoken to them concerning what has happened on Nidor in the past six Cycles—the past hundred years— and they agree on one vital point. The Earthmen are not, as they claimed, Messengers of the Great Light; they are Agents of the Outer Darkness!

"Our priests have been misled, true—but no more than we. And they, like ourselves, have come to see the truth. Why else would they question the devil Earthman in public? Our priests know what they are doing now; they see the Earthmen as they really are. As fiends! As devils who have come to lead us from the Way of our Ancestors!"

He paused, then continued in a softer voice, "Of course, not all of the priesthood sees the truth. Naturally, being men, some of them are still in error. But we should not hold this against the Priesthood as a whole. We should not hold our Ancient Grandfathers accountable as a group for the errors of a few.

"We have come here to witness the questioning of a devil, the Earthman Smith. We don't know what his answer will be—but we do know one thing. No demon, when spoken to in the name of the Great Light, can lie. We will know, then, Smith's true status. If he is a demon, he will be unable to lie. He will be unable to deny that he and his fellows have stolen and hidden our money. If he is but a man, he will be able to lie—but then we will have little to fear from him. In either case, our path is clear. Nidor and the people of Dimay must get their money back!"

Applause rang through the hall loudly, making it impossible for Kris to continue. Although he held up his hand for silence, it was some minutes before he got it. He noticed that the townspeople in the back of the banquet hall were cheering too.

When quiet finally came, Kris went on.

"It has been said that we—the Merchants' Party—are against the Priesthood and the Council of Elders. You and I know that this is untrue. It is true that our former leader, Del peFenn Vyless, who was murdered by some unknown enemy of ours, spoke against the Council. But he spoke against them because they were misguided, not because the Priesthood itself is wrong."

It was an out-and-out lie, and Kris knew it. But propaganda is propaganda.

"We have, then, a job to do. But we must never lose sight of the fact that we are here to save our priests, not to condemn them. We are here because we want to see Nidor return to the Way and the Light! And we will!"

There was another prolonged burst of applause. Again, Kris signaled for silence.

"I will now ask Grandfather Marn peFulda Brajjyd, Priest-Mayor of Vashcor, to lead us in a prayer that those of the Priesthood who have not yet seen the truth will be given the truth by His All-Effulgent Majesty, and that the common people of Nidor will again be blessed by His radiance."

The priest rose as Kris stepped down from the table. Looking grave and impressive in his blue robes, Grandfather Marn peFulda began the prayer.

The Square of Holy Light was jammed with Nidorians on the day that the hearing began. The huge open space in front of the Great Temple was overflowing with milling people; talking, whispering, shouting, and fighting. Here and there, little knots of people gathered to argue, quarrel, and trade blows.

Kris peKym Yorgen and his hundred men marched into the Square less than two minutes before the scheduled time of the hearing. In spite of the close-packed tightness of the mob already present, the measured tramp of their high-heeled riding boots automatically cleared the way for them. They marched directly to the wall of the Great Temple and stood quietly, waiting for the Elder Grandfathers to appear on the broad balcony above. The air was warm and clear; it was a good day for a public hearing.

At precisely the Hour of Thanksgiving, an acolyte stepped into the tower of the Great Temple and swung a heavy mallet with ponderous dignity. The huge bronze gong that hung there sounded its mellow note across the city, and the crowd in the Square of Holy Light became silent, waiting expectantly.

Then the shutters of the balcony drew slowly aside, revealing the assembled Council of Elders in full ceremonial array. The bronze chains of their high office were draped across their blue and white robes, and their bronze coronets shone brightly in the glow of the Great Light from the eternally clouded sky.

At the left of the balcony stood the Earthman, Smith. He was simply clad, wearing a pearl gray shirt and trousers. The long sleeves and trouser legs made the clothing unlike any normally seen on Nidor.

But it was not his clothing that drew Kris' attention. It was Smith's physical appearance. This was the first time Kris peKym had ever seen an Earthman, and the sight startled him.

In spite of the fact that the Earthmen had been on Nidor for nearly a hundred years, they were not often seen by the public. They kept themselves secluded at the School—and, while most Nidorians were aware of the presence of the alien men on their planet, few had seen them, except for the students at the Bel-rogas School of Divine Law.

Kris studied the Earthman carefully. He seemed unusually big, as he stood there on the balcony near the Grandfathers. Kris had always thought of himself as an exceptionally big man, but it seemed to him that Smith was yet somewhat taller than he was. It was a depressing thought.

People said that the Earthmen actually did have body hair, but, if they did, none was visible to Kris. Smith's hands and face looked naked and pink, while his chin and the top of his head had, if anything, too much hair.

His topknot was dark except for the graying at the temples, and his beard was long and straight and thick. It covered his chin completely. The whole effect was oddly grotesque, but somehow impressive. It gave an appearance of great power to the craggy features.

Kris stood silently, his arms folded, waiting for the hearing to begin. He felt uneasy in the Earthman's presence, sensing someone even stronger than himself.

Another sound of the giant gong echoed across Gelusar. Kris' ears shook at the impact of the sound wave. The gong was a mighty one; it was likely that it went unheard nowhere in the Holy City.

It rang a third time, and then Elder Grandfather Kiv peGanz Brajjyd, Leader of the Council, stood up. He held out his arms and crossed them in blessing.

"The peace of your Ancestors be with you always!"

"And may the Great Light illumine your mind as He does the world," Kris found himself mumbling in response.

Kiv stepped forward. "My children," the Eider Grandfather said, "We are gathered here together in the Temple of the Great Light to deal with a difficult and trying matter. The Elder Kovnish will conduct the inquiry."

At Kiv's gesture, a tall, ascetic-looking Grandfather arose and took Kiv's place.

"As the Elder Brajjyd has made clear, the matter at hand is a delicate one, and we are hesitant to expose our guides from Earth to the indignity of a public trial. Yet the Council of Elders—after due deliberation—has settled upon this method of clearing the reputations of the Earthmen and of the Bel-rogas School, whose name we all revere. I call upon the Elder Yorgen to sum up the reasons for this inquiry."

The Elder Kovnish stepped down and another Grandfather arose. Kris felt a little twinge of half-suppressed pride at the impressive sight of the head of his own clan. The Elder Yorgen was the third oldest member of the Council, and his down was silvery-gray in color.

"My children, not long ago a strange and frightening thing happened in the Province of Dimay. Unknown persons entered the bank, and took from it eight million weights in cobalt." The Elder Yorgen paused for a moment, as if the energy required to deliver a speech of two sentences had sapped his feeble strength. "Where this money is, we do not know.

"However—rumor has become widespread that our friends of Bel-rogas, the Earthmen themselves, have taken this money. You all have heard these rumors. It is the opinion of the Council that such words border on blasphemy, inasmuch as the Earthmen have long been recognized as emissaries of the Great Light Himself. We are gathered here today to hear the public denial of the rumors from the lips of the great Earthman Smith."

Kris' eyes flashed across the balcony to where Smith stood, impassive and aloof—Smith, the archdemon who had guided the School for more than forty years.

"Thank you, Elder Yorgen," said the Grandfather Kovnish. "The case has been stated. I call upon all of you present to witness the words of the Earthman Smith, here on this sacred ground."

Kris smiled. The Elders were playing right into his hands! Smith would be called on next—and, naturally, he would deny the charge, here in the Temple. What an uproar there would be, Kris thought, when the money turned up on the Bel-rogas grounds after all!

The Elder Kovnish gestured at Smith. "Earthman, we call upon you in the name of the Great Light to speak."

The Earthman rose.

Chapter XII

He stood there, staring mildly at the assembled Elders. It seemed to Kris that Smith was looking right through the Elders, gazing contemptuously off into the distance.

It was possible to count to ten before he spoke. Finally, he said, "Just what is it you want me to tell you?" His voice was deep, well-modulated, commanding, and there was something strangely alien about his accent.

The Elder Kovnish recoiled as if he had been struck. "What we ask of you," he said slowly, "is that you deny the charge now current among the people of Nidor that the Earth men were responsible for the robbing of the Bank of Dimay."

Smith seemed to frown. "I'm afraid, I can't do that," he said. "Is there anything else you want?"

What the devil is this? Kris thought bewilderedly. Why doesn't Smith just deny it and get this farce over with?

The Elder Kovnish said, "Perhaps you misunderstand, Ancient One— (hough I hesitate to imply that. The belief is that you of Earth caused The robbery of the Bank of Dimay. I ask you to tell us this is not so."

"How can I do that?" Smith asked.

A ripple of astonishment ran through the crowd this time. What was happening was utterly unbelievable.

"Am I to understand," the Elder Kovnish said sharply, "that you therefore admit the truth of the rumor that the Earthmen robbed the bank?"

"I didn't say that," replied Smith. "You neither admit nor deny guilt?"

Smith shrugged. "As you please, I hardly think the Bel-rogas School should be held accountable for its actions in so public an inquiry."

Exasperation was evident on the Elder's face. The hearing, Kris thought, had taken a bizarre twist. The Council of Elders appeared to be in great distress.

"How are we to interpret your answer?" the Elder cried.

"As you please," Smith said again.

"You may draw what conclusions you wish. The Great Light guide you. Grandfathers—and now I must leave you."

Grandfather Kiv stood up, his face dark with anger. "Hold, Smith! You have left us in doubt—and it is not fair. We have asked you for a simple answer."

"And I have given one," Smith said boredly. "I'll repeat it, though: it is, simply, that I don't care to discuss Bel-rogas matters in public. Nor," he added, "will I answer your questions privately, Elder Brajjyd. I must go now."

And Smith nodded, stepped around Kiv, and quitted the balcony, leaving the Elder Grandfathers standing in a confused semicircle, their mouths opening and closing slowly in utter consternation.

Kris didn't understand what had happened, but he saw his chance and took it.

He turned to Dran peDran and Bor pePrannt, who were standing next to him.

"Quick! Give me a boost!" He gestured at the carved, detailed figures on the wall ten feet from the pavement.

Both of them got the idea quickly enough. Within seconds, Kris had been lifted above the crowd. He reached out, tightened his fingers around an intricately-carved and fanciful gargoyle, and drew himself up, working upward onto the balcony.

The Elders were arguing among themselves when he pulled himself over the balcony rail.

"My name is Kris peKym Yorgen!" he bellowed.

The Elders looked at him in astonishment. "What are you—"

"I'm here to see justice done!" Kris roared. "You heard what that Earthman said, didn't you? Speak up, Elder Grandfathers! Did you hear him?"

The Elder Kovnish started to speak, but Kris cut him off in mid-syllable. "You heard him, all right! You heard him refuse to deny that he and his crew took the money! And why did he refuse to deny it? It's because they did take it! Can any of you claim the Earthmen did not steal the cobalt, now that you've heard the admission of guilt from the Earthman's own lips?"

Kris glanced around belligerently. The crowd below was completely silent, watching in awe. In the center, he saw his ring of a hundred loyal men.

The Elder Grandfathers were also watching him with something like awe. This was Kris' big moment; he was determined to play it for all it was worth.

"I say the Earthmen stole the cobalt, and I say I know where it is! It's buried on the land of that School of theirs! Come with me, and I'll dig it up for you!"

"How do you know this?" Grandfather Kiv asked stonily.

"I have my sources of information," Kris retorted. "Just as you Elders do. And I know the money's in Bel-rogas."

He looked down, saw the crowd beginning to move impatiently, heard them talking among themselves.

A sudden blue-white glow attracted Kris' attention, and he turned his head upward to see what it was.

It was Smith—standing on the wall of the Great Temple. A blue-white aura of radiance surrounded him, and he was lifting himself into the air.

"Look!" Kris cried. "There's the devil Smith now—on his way back to Bel-rogas to hide the cobalt!" His pointing linger jabbed the air in the direction of the rapidly-dwindling figure of the Earthman, who was outlined for a moment in sharp relief against the grayness of the sky and then vanished in the general direction of the School.

"There goes Smith!" Kris shouted. "Back to Bel-rogas." He caught his breath and yelled, "Who's for going to the School to see what's there?"

"Just a minute," Grandfather Kiv protested feebly. Kris brushed the old man aside and lifted his hand toward the west.

"Your money's there, and I can prove it! Who'll go with me? Saddle your deests, and on to Bel-rogas!"

"Wonderful, is wonderful," Dran peDran exulted, as Kris made his way down from the balcony and into the threshing mob in the courtyard. "You is a marvelous speaker."

"Get the men together and get those deests up from the Inn," Kris ordered brusquely. "The mob's with us. It's our chance, now. Smith's talk left them all confused."

"To Bel-rogas!" someone cried. Kris glanced around. It was a stranger who had said it, a Gelusar townsman. Kris grinned. The fever was catching now. Soon, a mighty torrent of men would be behind him.

"Come on," Kris said. "Let's get out of here before the Grandfathers realize what's up." He shoved his way through the mass of people and out into the street, with his men following behind.

"Get down to the Inn and get your deests," he ordered. "Then get back here."

Turning to the Gelusar people, he shouted, "Saddle your deests and ride with us! To Bel-rogas!"

Minutes later, Kris was astride his deest, a handsome, powerful creature whose long muscles throbbed beneath Kris' weight. A current of excitement ran through the crowd that surrounded him as Kris stood high in his saddle and swung his arm aloft.

Then he kicked his heel into the deest's side and began to race down the streets of the Holy City, past the Central Railway Terminal, through the crowded, heavily-populated West End of the city, and on out onto the Bel-rogas road. The thunder of a thousand deest hoofs clattered behind him as he rode.

Bel-rogas was five miles from the City of Gelusar, in a secluded area of foothills. The twisting, brown dirt road that led there soon became a river of dust as Kris and his men raced over it. Particles of dust floated eye-high as they charged onward.

They were on their way at last, Kris thought excitedly, as he urged his deest onward. The Bel-rogas School was, at last, under attack. He glanced backward and saw a flood of men pouring after him.

Within minutes, the buildings of Bel-rogas became apparent.

Dran peDran drew up alongside him. "Where is we going first, captain?"

"We'll ride right through the School and on to where we've planted the money. Once we've dug it up, the rest will follow automatically."

Dran peDran's round head bobbed as his deest lurched and raced ahead. The Bronze Islander's eyes gleamed. "I know what you means, captain."

"There's the School!" Kris yelled. "We're riding right through!"

They climbed the gently-sloping hill and rode up to the massive but open and unguarded gate of the School. Kris laughed savagely and spurred his deest on. It plunged through the gate into the Bel-rogas School of Divine Law.

"Follow me!"

They were in the midst of a vast green swath of well-kept grass which led up to a square, thick-hewn building surrounded by smaller ones. There's the School, Kris thought. There it is.

He saw figures running toward him over the lawn, waving their arms at him and shouting angrily.

"You can't come in here! Go away!''

Students, he thought derisively. There were perhaps a dozen of them, with more in the background. He bore down on them, scattering them every which way as his deest burst into their midst, and continued on, through the main square of the School and out into the green field behind the central group of buildings. His keen eyes searched for the slight hump in the ground that would be the hiding-place of the cobalt.

For a moment he was unable to find it, and his body went cold with apprehension. What if the Earthman had discovered the cobalt—had carried it away? What would he say to the people when it proved impossible to find the treasure?

Kris' fears were groundless. "There it is," he cried, pointing to a rise in the ground. He swung himself down from his deest almost in mid-canter, and Dran dropped lightly at his side.

"Get shovels! Start digging!"

They fell to with a will, while Kris watched impatiently. After some minutes of energetic digging, the first cobalt coin glinted from the ground.

Kris looked around and saw a tremendous crowd swarming over every corner of the field.

"Lift me up," he murmured to Dran, and the Bronze Islander and another crewman boosted Kris to his shoulders.

"Now give me a loop of coins."

They handed him a quarter-man-weight loop of cobalt, and he swung it aloft. "See! See! The cobalt is here! The Earthmen have had it all along!"

"Kill the devils!" a powerful voice cried.

"Aye," Kris echoed. "Kill them!"

He held the cobalt high overhead, showing it to all in sight. The flame started to spread through the mob; he sensed their fury building toward a tremendous explosion.

"All right, put me down."

He dropped to his feet and hauled another loop of cobalt from the opened pit. Then he glanced at Dran. "Get all this stuff out of the ground, and have twenty men guard it. I'm going to see what happens down below at the School."

But the moment he sprang to the saddle of his deest, he saw that there was no need to worry about the events at the School itself. The mob had already surged toward the buildings in the distance, screaming and shouting. Their raucous cries were thick in the air.

He urged his mount through the moving crowd of hysterical people, heading into the foremost ranks of the mob. Behind him came his men, a tightly-packed wedge.

A group of students had lined themselves up in a desperate attempt to forestall the angry townspeople. Young men and young women, holding clubs and peych-knives, stood shoulder to shoulder in defense of the School. Behind them stood a tradition of a century of scholarship —a fine tradition, but one that lacked the strength of the older one now resurging, Kris thought.

He didn't particularly like what happened, but there was nothing he could do. The armed mob halted only for a moment when they reached the defenders. Savage cries went up from the attackers, as, pushed forward by those behind, they found themselves in close combat with the defense line of students.

Knives and clubs swung bloodily, blades flashed in the air, men fell. The students didn't stand a chance. In less than a minute, they were overwhelmed and thrown back by the maddened townspeople.

The mob pushed on, stepping on and over the bodies of the dead and dying.

Thus far, there was no sign of the Earthmen or of the priests who taught at the school. Kris tried to keep his deest moving toward the school buildings, but the stupid animal kept shying from the crowd which surged around it like an angry sea.

The priests appeared then. They held nothing in their hands, but they held their palms out before them in prayer. At least thirty of the blue-robed Grandfathers were there, clustered in a tight little group, offering their prayers and supplications to the Great Light and the Ancestors of Nidor.

But nothing could stop the mob. Those in front, who could see the priests, were pressed on by those in the rear, who couldn't. No one struck at the blue-robed men, but they went down, just the same.

"A fire! A fire!" someone shouted. "Bring a torch!"

Kris scowled. There were valuable books in that School, papers and research documents that had been brought forth by five generations of students. Kris didn't want to lose them.

He started to cut off the mob with the torch, then saw there was no point in it. The School had already been put to the flame. A fire was brought, and a torch was hurled through a window. One—and then another and another.

The job was being done too well, Kris thought.

Where were the Earthmen? Had they left before the mob had arrived? Had they deserted their school in a sudden attack of cowardice?

Kris reined in his deest and held up his hand to signal his men to stop. The crowd was so dense that there was little to be gained by trying to push through it.

"Get back!" he called.

Like dry peych-beans in a heavy wind, the buildings caught. The flames wavered over the buildings of the school, flickering and gathering strength. Building after building was put to the torch, until the entire campus was a raging hell of orange-red tongues.

"Look!" someone cried. "The Earthmen!"

"Where?" Kris demanded. He whirled in a full circle, ready to defend himself. But the Earthmen had no intention of fighting. They were gathered on the lop of the Administration Building, which was already crackling with flames in its ground floor. Twelve Earthmen stood on the roof of the doomed structure, looking at the crowd below. Kris half expected them to say something, but there was no word from any of them.

Kris squinted. He thought he recognized Smith, but it was difficult to tell one Earthman from another in the blurring red light of the holocaust.

A rifle crackled. Then another spoke out. The Earthmen seemed to take no notice, but a bright aura of blue-white light sprang up around them. Each Earthman seemed to stand in the center of a glow of light.

"The devils!" Kris murmured. As the hellish blaze from below licked up around them, the Earthmen ascended. One by one, they lifted into the cloud-laden sky, enclosed in their halos of blue-white light. They rose upward, ascending higher and higher, drifting off into the sky, fading away from sight.

Kris watched as the twelve figures became tiny dots in the sky. At last, they were gone, seeming to fade into the clouds, and there was nothing left but the raging fire of the Bel-rogas School as the buildings collapsed into themselves one by one.

The Earthmen were gone.

Kris sat unmoving in his saddle, staring at the fading bluish sparks in the sky. He felt a sense of emptiness suddenly. They were really, actually gone—the dreamed-of goal had been achieved. Somehow, the idea that the Earthmen had been driven off Nidor was too incredible for him to grasp.

Then the emptiness faded as the realization came to him in lull finality. He had driven them off. He— Kris peKym Yorgen.

He realized suddenly how still it was around him. He stood up in his stirrups and looked at the mob.

The mob had become something else—it was no longer a frenzied mass of destructive impulses, but simply a great crowd of individuals, all gazing silently at the sky. The only sound was the roar of the flames as they consumed what was left of the Bel-rogas School of Divine Law.

Chapter XIII

Kris and his hundred men rode into Holy Gelusar at the head of an oddly silent crowd of people.

He knew what the emotion affecting them all was, because he felt some of it himself. He was not ashamed of what he had done— merely overawed at the magnitude of it.

Behind the column of mounted men marched four hundred more, each bearing on his back a great loop of cobalt coins weighing a quarter of a manweight. Eight million weights in cobalt—and yet almost no one thought about the money itself.

They marched triumphantly into town. Those who had stayed behind lined the streets and began to cheer at the sight of the money. It was a vindication—a crushing proof of the iniquity of the Earthmen. Besides, it meant Dimay money was good once again.

Kris saw that the cheering seemed to brace those who had taken part in the sack of Bel-rogas. They seemed to stand a little straighter and walk a little more briskly, and the curious air of depression lifted.

By the time the procession reached the Square of Holy Light, the city of Gelusar was thoroughly aroused. A wild, demonstrative crowd preceded them, cheering and howling their joy.

"The story will be spreading," Bor pePrannt whispered to Kris. "It must be sweeping all over the city by now."

Kris nodded. "I know how it'll be. It'll keep getting more and more distorted every time it's told, until by the time it reaches the East End they'll be saying I throttled Smith with my bare hands."

He led his men into the Square and ringed them around it. Three streets led into the Square that faced the Great Temple, and Kris saw to it that each of the three was blocked with a deployment of armed and mounted men.

"Don't let anyone in!" he shouted. Then he stood up in his saddle and raised his voice so that all those who were already gathered in the square could hear.

"Leave the Square! Clear us room! Out! Move out!"

The shout was taken up, and, slowly, the people began to filter out of the Square and into the streets. Only the four hundred men who were carrying the coins were permitted to stay. They stood in the middle of the Square, hefting their loops of coins, looking proud of themselves and of Kris peKym. Rightfully so, Kris thought.

He wheeled his deest around and looked at the balcony of the Great Temple. It was shuttered and silent. Turning his mount again, he looked at the men who carried the coins.

"All right," he said. "Let's put it where it belongs! Put it in a pile! Heap it up in the middle of the Square of Holy Light. Let's show the people what the devil Earthmen have done—and what they can do no longer!"

They began to drop their loops in the spot at the middle of the Square, a circular slab of obsidian that marked the center of the Square of Holy Light.

Loop after loop of coins jingled into the heap as the men threw them from their shoulders. Several of the copper wires broke, and the coins scattered, jingling and rolling over the pavement, while those outside the ring of mounted men watched in awe as the pile grew.

"Keep your hands off those coins!" Kris shouted. "The man who tries to take so much as a single weight will die!"

He signaled to the mounted men who blocked the streets, and the oversized peych-knives came out of their sheaths and were held high, their polished steel gleaming in the afternoon light.

It was an unnecessary precaution. The pile of coins was not touched. No one would dare, not with all eyes upon the Square.

And still there was no sign from the Great Temple.

Kris caught sight of Dran peDran and signaled him to come over beneath the balcony. Dran trotted his deest over to his leader.

"Does you want something, captain?"

Kris pointed at the tower of the Great Temple, where the huge gong hung. "You're a good topman, Dran. Think you can climb up there and hit that gong?"

Dran looked startled for a moment, then grinned. "I does it, captain." He turned his deest and headed for the wall.

Kris watched as the agile little seaman stood up on the back of his deest and leaped toward the same carved figures that Kris had climbed a few hours before. But Dran didn't stop at the balcony; he clambered on upward to the roof and then worked his way up the steeple to the great gong.

He reached his goal and waved cheerfully to Kris. Kris returned the gesture, and the little Bronze Islander picked up the heavy mallet that stood near the giant metal disk.

The reverberating note rang out deeply across Gelusar, and the crowd became hushed. It was as though, Kris reflected, the gong itself had some tremendous power of its own over the people of Nidor.

"Again!" called Kris, and again the sound rang out, echoing in the still, humid air.

II it had an effect on the people of Nidor, it also had an effect on the Priesthood. The shutters of the balcony moved slowly apart, and Elder Grandfather Kiv peGanz Brajjyd stood there, looking old and extremely tired.

Kris rose in his stirrups, facing the old priest, and bowed his head. Then he looked up again at the balcony.

"Honored and Ancient Grandfather," he said ringingly, "There is the money which the Earthmen—-stole!" He waved at the great heap of metal in the middle of the Square.

"We have driven the demons off," Kris said. "I, and the people of Nidor, have rid the land forever of the agents of the Great Darkness."

The old priest could do nothing but stare at the heap of cobalt in the middle of the Square of Holy Light. It seemed to be the only thing in the world for the aged man.

"I see," he said hollowly, still staring at the heap of coin. His voice was so soft that Kris could barely hear it.

"Return the money to the Bank of Dimay," Kris said. "Our savings and our world are safe again. May we have your blessing, Grandfather?"

The Inn of the Purple Deest became Kris' Gelusar headquarters. He established himself there, and began to send feelers into the Holy City, gauging the reaction of the people to the sudden destruction of the School.

The word was good. He was becoming known as Kris peKym the Exorcist, and, faced with the overwhelming proof afforded by the discovered cobalt, the reputation of both the School and the Earthmen had dwindled to nothing overnight.

On the third day after the burning of the School, the now-famed Hundred Men rode to the Great Temple with Kris at their head. They arrayed themselves around the square while their captain dismounted and walked alone into the Holiest Temple of the Great Light.

Kris pushed open the giant doors and stepped into the dimness of the Temple. He was alone. There were no other worshipers in the huge auditorium. He stood at the door for a moment, feeling dwarfed by the building's vastness. Then he strode somberly down the aisle between the empty seats, walking toward the Altar of the Great Light.

It was near the Hour of Midmeal, the only time of day when the Great Light could actually be seen as a single entity. At that time, the Great Light became a dimly-outlined spot of fire directly overhead. During the morning and the afternoon, the Great Light spread all over the sky; the eternal cloud layer that covered Nidor glowed with His radiance. But near midmeal, His effulgence burned through the sky and illuminated the land beneath.

His Light was focused through the huge lens in the roof of the Temple, creating a glowing ball of light on the top of the altar.

During the hour, the focus of the light moved slowly across the altar. Kris felt oddly alone in the huge, high-ceilinged room. He paused as he neared the altar, watched the shimmering image of the Great Light. Have I done right? he asked of the glowing image on the altar. There was no answer.

Kris bowed before the image on the altar and then seated himself in the front row of seats, those usually reserved for the Priesthood. Kneeling in prayer, he waited for the midday ceremonies to begin.

Kris had his eyes on the altar when the priest and his acolytes came in, and he didn't move his gaze. But he watched them with his peripheral vision as the File of Sixteen came from the sacristy to the altar.

He could see that the priest who led the File had glanced out over the auditorium, but it was difficult to read his expression. Was he surprised because there was no one else in the Temple, or was he surprised that there was anyone there at all?

Kris forced the conjecture from his mind and concentrated on the blaze at the altar. In his hand, he held the Book of Liturgy, which dictated the service for the day.

The File of Sixteen arranged themselves before the altar. Each of the sixteen acolytes was arrayed in a different robe; their color and designs represented the traditional patterns of each one of the Sixteen Clans of Nidor. Kris felt a glow of pride as he recognized the red and yellow-green check of the Clan Yorgen at the left of the priest.

Each of the Clans was represented —the Yorgen, the Brajjyd, the Dmorno, the Shavill, the Hebylla, the Sesom, the Nitha, the Vyless, the ...

He could enumerate every one of them, right down the row. He had thought that the religious training of his childhood had faded completely during his years at sea, but he realized that old Kym, his father, and Elta, his mother, had pounded more into his brain than he had thought.

After a moment of silent prayer, the priest said, "O Great and Holy Light, we pray that the offering we bring to you this midday will be acceptable in Your sight."

He turned and faced the auditorium. He seemed not to notice that Kris peKym was the only worshiper in the building.

Kris had given careful orders to the Hundred Men. They were not to force anyone away from the Great Temple; they were simply to tell those who came that Kris peKym was inside and wished to be alone. So far, no one had entered, and now it was too late. The service had begun.

The priest was a young man, Kris noticed. He could not have been ordained for more than a year or so, if that. His voice was strong as he gazed out at the empty auditorium and said, "We have gathered here to perform the Holy Sacrifice to Him Who rules our lives and our destinies."

He raised his arms and crossed them at the wrists. "Let us give our prayers to the Great Light."

Kris knelt and read the prayer from the Book of Liturgy.

"O Great and Brilliant Light, let this, our sacrifice to You, be blessed. Guide us, if You will, in the Way of our Ancestors, and the Law of the great Lawyer, Bel-rogas, who was illumined by Your radiance in the days of the Catastrophe which destroyed the evildoers of the world. Keep us and protect us in the Truth and the Light."

Kris heard the echo of his words ringing in the empty auditorium.

The priest raised his crossed arms again. "May the Great Light illumine you as He does the world."

"And may He guide us in the Way and the Light," Kris responded.

The young priest turned to the altar again. The glowing spot of the Image was approaching the Central Pit.

The sixteen acolytes stepped up to the altar, each one carrying a small bronze box. The priest bowed again to the shining Image and took a large bronze cup from its receptacle on the altar. Then he turned to the acolytes, facing the auditorium again.

"O Shining Holiness," said the priest, "Accept these, the gifts of the Clans, as the Sacrifice which You have ordained."

Each of the acolytes opened his small bronze casket and took a pinch of the powdered herb that it contained. The pinch of powder was reverently placed within the bronze cup held by the priest. Each of the acolytes went in turn, the order of the Clans corresponding to the order of the years in a Cycle of sixteen.

Then the priest held the cup of herbs above his head, faced the great shining lens in the roof, and spoke a brief prayer of offering. After a moment, he turned and placed the cup in the Central Pit, taking care not to obscure the light from above, which was moving slowly toward the center.

The young priest again looked out over the empty Temple.

"Who are you who come to pay your respect and worship to the Great Light?"

It was the moment that Kris had been waiting for. He stood, and, reading carefully from the Book of Liturgy, he answered the question, putting his own name in the proper place.

"I am Kris, son of Kym, of the Clan of Yorgen. I come this day to say to the Great Light: I have done wrong, O Holy Light; I have done-wrong against Your Law and against the Way of our Ancestors. But I say that I have intended no wrong against You, and I say upon my honor that I will avoid such wrongs in the future. I ask your blessing, O Great Light, that I may never do wrong again."

His voice was strong and powerful in the great room, and it sounded even louder than that of the celebrant.

The priest seemed not to notice. He crossed his wrists in supplication and said: "You are pardoned for your error in the effulgence of the Great Light."

He turned back to the altar.

At that moment, the focus of rays from the Great Light struck the Central Pit and the cup of powdered herbs that lay within it. For several seconds, nothing happened. Then, the herbs began to smoke, sending a pleasant aroma through the Temple. At last, the powder burst into a green flame. It flickered for nearly a minute, and then died.

The service was over.

Chapter XIV

When he stepped out of the Temple, Kris saw Dran peDran waiting for him. The little Bronze Islander leaned from the saddle of his deest and said, "Captain, Secretary Norvis is come from Tammulcor. He is wait for you at the Inn."

Kris nodded and mounted his own animal, paying no attention to the throngs of people that lined the streets leading to the Square of Holy Light. None of them had crossed the line of black-and-red-clad men who guarded the Square.

Kris signaled, and the Hundred Men fell into formation behind him, following him toward the Inn of the Purple Deest.

Norvis peKrin Dmorno was waiting in the banquet room. He was just finishing his midmeal; across the table from him sat Marja geDel Vyless. The girl saw Kris first, and she stood up with a happy little cry when he entered the room.

Norvis stood too, extending his hand. "You did a beautiful job, Kris. All Nidor is talking about the great Kris peKym who drove the devils out."

"You were wonderful, Kris peKym," said Marja, holding his other hand tightly. There was a light in her eyes that Kris had never seen before.

Kris eased himself into a plush chair. "What brings you here, Norvis?"

The secretary grinned. "In the first place, we wanted to bask in the reflected light of your glory; in the second, we thought you might need a little money."

Kris returned the grin. "It would not hurt anything. Is there anything left in the treasury at all?"

Marja looked at him with shining eyes. "There's more than you can imagine, Kris peKym. You've made more money for the Party in a year than my father made in fourteen."

"Donations?" Kris asked.

She shook her head. "Some of it, of course. But most of it is the money you got for us."

"The Dimay scrip," Norvis said. "Since all that cobalt went back into the Bank of Dimay at Tammulcor, the notes that you bought at two for one are now worth their full value. We're twice as rich as when we began."

"Good," Kris said. "We've got quite a bill here at the Inn. It wouldn't bother me in the least to tell the manager he owed it to us, but I think it's better to pay it, as long as we have the cash."

"I'll take care of it immediately," Norvis said.

Kris turned to Marja. "How are things with you?" he asked. "It's a long ride from Tammulcor. Tired?"

"We didn't ride; Norvis brought the Krand."

Kris nodded. "And how's your brother?"

"Ganz is fine," the girl said. "He's really doing things in Tammulcor."

"Just a second," Kris said. "How come you came up on the Krand?"

Norvis spread his hands. "How else could we bring a few hundred thousand weights in cash? On deest-back?"

"You're right," Kris admitted. "Where's she docked?"

"Number Three Pier. I gave half your crew liberty; they wanted to see Gelusar. I hope that's all right."

"Certainly," Kris said.

"Good. What are your plans now?"

Kris leaned forward. "I've got it all figured out. Actually, we don't know if the Earthmen will ever come back or not. We'll have to make sure that if they do we'll be prepared for them. So I've sent a message to Elder Grandfather Kiv peGanz, telling him that I want to talk to him about the running of the Council from now on. The Merchants' Party should have some kind of voice in the government."

Norvis nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, I suppose that's best. What did he say?"

"I haven't heard yet; he hasn't replied. I imagine the old gentleman's still a little shocked by what happened to the Bel-rogas School."

Marja blinked at him. "But I thought you were just at the Great Temple. Weren't you seeing him?"

"No," Kris told her. "I went to the midday service. There was no one there but me, and the priest was just a young man. I doubt if any of the Elders will be conducting services themselves until the next feast day."

Norvis stood up from the table. "Everything seems to be nicely in hand now," he said. "I guess I'd better go back to the Krand and pick up a little of our ill-gotten gains. I didn't want to bring it with me until I knew for sure how much you needed."

"Just enough to keep us here at the Inn," Kris said. "A hundred men and deests can eat a lot of food."

"I'll take care of it," Norvis assured him, as he turned and walked out of the room.

Kris followed him out with his eyes and then looked back at the girl. Just for an instant, he was a trifle startled. She had her elbows on the table, and her chin was cradled in her palms. She was staring at him intently.

"What's the matter?" he asked lightly. "Do I need a bath or something?"

She flashed white teeth in a bright smile. "Something, perhaps, but not a bath. You look very fine—very handsome. You know, you're a very wonderful man, Kris peKym."

Kris smiled a little. "In all modesty, I must admit that you are perfectly correct, my dear."

"Say that again," she said.

Kris shrugged amiably. "In all modesty—"

"No," she interrupted. "Not that part. Just the 'my dear.' "

Kris cocked his head to one side. "I do believe that you have something simmering inside that pretty head of yours. Have I been so busy with my work that I've missed something?"

Marja's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Actually, I haven't had a chance to talk to you since I've known you. It's been Earthmen, Earthmen, Earthmen. But now that they're gone, maybe you can find time to pay attention to other things."

Kris realized suddenly that he had been too busy to see something that had been right in front of him for a long time. "You know," he said slowly, "I think you've got a point there."

Loudly reverberating thunder sounded in Kris' ears. He blinked his eyes open, and the thundering resolved itself into a pounding on the door of his room.

He sat up in bed. What was going on? He'd left two men at the door with orders that he wasn't to be disturbed. He thumbed the sleep out of his eyes and pushed himself out of bed.

"Who is it?" he called.

"Norvis peKrin."

Kris opened the door just a crack. "What in Darkness do you want?" he growled irritably. Then he saw that Norvis was not alone; he was accompanied by Grandfather Marn peFulda Brajjyd, the Priest-Mayor of Vashcor. "Your pardon, Grandfather. I didn't see you. I'll be out in a minute."

He dressed quickly and went out into the hall, closing the door carelully behind him.

The Grandfather and Norvis were both smiling. No trouble afoot, Kris thought, relieved. "What is it?" he asked, straightening his vest.

"My blessing," said the Grandfather. "I have a message for you from the Ancient Grandfather, the Elder Kiv peGanz Brajjyd."

"Oh?" Kris said softly. "What does the Elder Grandfather want?"

Marn peFulda clasped his hands on his chest. "You and your Hundred are to appear this morning in the Square of Holy Light, at the Hour of Second Prayer. The Elder Grandfathers will address you then."

Kris folded his arms, a half-smile on his lips. "Do you have any idea what they have to say?"

The Grandfather shrugged slightly. "I can't say, officially. All I was told was that you, Kris peKym, having done something which has come to the attention of the Council, should be given the award you have earned."

Kris repressed the urge to grin happily, and instead merely inclined his head. "I thank you, Aged Grandfather."

"You're becoming quite an important man, Kris," Norvis said. "I went down to the Krand this morning and found that a third of the crew are missing. Evidently, they're having a time of it in town, bragging that they are the crew of the great Captain Kris peKym Yorgen."

Kris smiled. "I'll hang 'em by their feet from the yardarm if they show up too late. After I break open a few kegs of beer, of course. Let's go. Will you come with us, Aged Grandfather?"

Marn peFulda bowed. "I will, my son. It will be an honor."

The Hundred Men rode grandly into the Square of Holy Light. This time, there was no need for them to guard the entrances for their captain; each of the streets was blocked by Peacemen. Even the Uncle of Public Peace of Holy Gelusar was there, standing importantly just beneath the balcony.

Kris glanced up toward the steeple and saw an acolyte waiting there, mallet in hand.

That's good, he thought. I won't have to get Dran to ring it this time, He forced the smile from his face and moved his deest toward the balcony.

The Hundred Men arrayed themselves behind him. From the windows of the buildings that surrounded them, faces peered out, and Kris could see the yellow robes of acolytes of the Temple ranged all around the Square, looking down from the roofs of the surrounding buildings.

Kris stopped his animal just beneath the balcony. Reverently, he bowed his head in silent prayer.

The gong sounded.

Kris raised his head as the shutters of the balcony slid open.

The scene was strangely like that of the questioning of the Earthman —except that Smith was missing. Otherwise, all was the same. The Elders were clad in full dress; chains and coronets gleamed in the bright morning light. The sixteen old men made an imposing group, there on the balcony.

The Elder Grandfather Kiv peGanz stood up. Looking past Kris, he seemed to glance out over the crowd. He raised his arms, pronounced a blessing, then peered downward almost directly at Kris.

"Four days ago," Grandfather Kiv said solemnly, "a band of citizens, led by Kris peKym Yorgen, stormed the Bel-rogas School of Divine Law, destroyed it, and drove off the Earthmen."

Kris nodded. Yes, yes, he thought. And when do they call me up and pin the medal on me?

Suddenly, the Grandfather said sternly, "Since that time, we of the Council have received additional knowledge about Kris peKym."

There was an odd note in the Grandfather's voice. Kris looked long and hard at the old man, and he felt his lips growing dry. New knowledge about him? What did that mean? How much did Kiv actually know?

Grandfather Kiv peGanz looked down, and for the first time allowed his gaze to rest upon the face of the young man on the deest.

"Kris peKym Yorgen," he said, in a voice that carried loudly across the Square of Holy Light, "we have brought forth proof—absolute and undeniable proof—that you and your men were the ones who robbed the Bank of Dimay, that you and your men buried the metal on the campus of the School of Divine Law. We have incontrovertible proof that you have committed what is undoubtedly the foulest crime that has ever been done on Nidor.

"Therefore, Kris peKym Yorgen, I order your arrest in the Holy Name of the Great Light—on charges of sacrilege, blasphemy, murder, and high treason! Surrender for trial or die!"

Kris froze for an instant, unable to believe what he had heard. Wildly, Kris looked around him and saw that he had been trapped. All plans were smashed now; the vast and fantastic hoax he had planned had somehow been unmasked.

He glanced up. The acolytes and the Peacemen who surrounded the Square had been armed with rifles. At least two hundred firearms were leveled at him from the windows and the roofs of the buildings around him.

"We have you, Kris peKym," said the Elder Grandfather. "Surrender or I'll have you cut down like a peych-bean at harvest time!"