“The King!”
“Where is the King?”
“Let him speak to us—tell us what to do!”
“We are ready to fight! Death to the Maagogs! Our King! We want our King!”
“Father!” cried Atar. “Speak to them! Command them! Now, or panic will come and we are lost.”
The King rose to his feet uncertainly. “Yes, speak to them—of course I will.”
A woman swam hurriedly into the apartment—a serving woman to the Queen. “My King, the people are arriving from the forests and the mudbanks. They are crowding into Rax—they do not know where to go or what to do.”
The rural population! Coming into the city for protection.
“I will speak to them,” the King repeated—he said it numbly, as in a daze. “I must tell them something. . . . Atar, my son, we must plan something, you and I. But there is no time—the Maagogs are coming so soon.”
It was then that my Nona whispered to me. Vehemently, with her soft arms entwined about my neck. Inspiring words! My blood raced hot through my veins.