"Stay thou there, brother, and be silent, unless great need cometh," he said, and passed up the steps to his black stone seat near the throne.
A friendly murmur arose from the Sardanians in the hall when they saw the priest throw aside his robe and take his seat. That something untoward was on foot it was easy to guess. All over the hall, the voices of men were raised in discussion, and chiming with them the voices of women also. And ever from group to group passed the priests of Kalin, exhorting here and rebuking there, setting the stage for the denouément planned by their master.
Presently entered Garlanes and a group of Sardanian nobles, among whom towered Minos, the brother of the prince—Minos, whose twin brother lay stiffening in the snow in the Hunters' Road. Then, after some delay, came Helicon himself.
As the prince ascended the steps to his throne, Polaris leaned forward from his sheltering pillar, his whole frame taut as a bow-string, the hand that held the brown rifle clenched so that it seemed that the steel barrel itself would crumple in his terrible grip.
Helicon's face was darkly clouded. He did not glance once in the direction of Kalin, but sat a while in thought, and in all the hall was silence. His musing ended, the prince raised his head.
"Wherefore do the people of Sardanes gather in the Judgement House and summon their ruler?" he asked harshly, and bent his stern gaze on the people below the platform.
None answered him. He smiled grimly, and again he questioned: "What matter would Sardanes's people bring before Sardanes's prince? Speak."
From among the people rose a subdued murmur, a note of protest, but no man was bold enough to voice it. In a silence that followed Helicon sat impatiently, his fingers twitching on the stone arms of his throne.
From his seat Kalin the priest rose and stepped to the foot of the throne.