“Thou art destitute of humanity,” exclaimed Orondo, springing forward and supporting the fallen head on his knee. “Thy brutal abruptness is wanting in loyalty,” he continued, as long, white streaks mingled with the ruddy bronze about his sternly set mouth and chin.
“When thou art in Tlamco longer thou wilt find that discontent is rampant—that Yermah no longer has a united following,” returned Setos, surprised at the outburst into saying more than he had intended.
“If so, thou art at fault. Speak not thus to me, Setos! I know that thou wert called a black magician in Poseidon’s kingdom, and that none of the White Brotherhood except Akaza would suffer thy presence among the chosen.”
Orondo’s face was ablaze with indignation, while Setos and Alcamayn exchanged significant glances.
“Thou art unduly exercised, Orondo,” mildly interposed the jeweler. “Setos meant no offense. Stress of the times and Yermah’s long affliction have caused people to babble idly. When once he is among them, and when the earth is stable again, it will all pass like mere vaporings.”
“I had sought thee for private conference on this very subject,” said Setos, apologetically.
“And thou hast my answer,” repeated Orondo, his eyes still sparkling angrily.
Alcamayn assisted in the restoration, and Setos was constrained to pull up a reclining chair, as the prostrate figure was being assisted to rise.
“Thou wilt not repeat?” whispered Setos, guiltily.
“Not until thou hast forgotten to be loyal,” assented Orondo, looking him squarely in the face.