The advance guard reached the slave block. Then, with deafening abruptness, the drummers crossed their sticks and the pipers ceased, and there was utter silence in the square.
It lasted for almost a minute, and then from every barbarian throat the name of Kynon roared out until the stones of the city echoed with it.
A man leaped from the back of his mount to the block, standing at its outer edge where all could see, his hands flung up.
"I greet you, my brothers!"
And the cheering went on.
Stark studied Kynon, surprised that he was so young. He had expected a gray-bearded prophet, and instead, here was a brawny-shouldered man of war standing as tall as himself.
Kynon's eyes were a bright, compelling blue, and his face was the face of a young eagle. His voice had deep music in it—the kind of voice that can sway crowds to madness.
Stark looked from him to the rapt faces of the people—even the Valkisians had caught the mood—and thought that Kynon was the most dangerous man he had ever seen. This tawny-haired barbarian in his kilt of bronze-bossed leather was already half a god.
Kynon shouted to the captain of his warriors, "Bring the captive and the old man!" Then he turned again to the crowd, urging them to silence. When at last the square was still, his voice rang challengingly across it.
"There are still those who doubt me. Therefore I have come to Valkis, and this day—now!—I will show proof that I have not lied!"