One of the bystander clusters on the wharf had been Mellvis Rantrelli with several employees. Within minutes of the Dard's departure, he'd put his people in rikkshas to visit certain places and people in the city, tell the story and call for a rally in the square immediately after business hours.
The turnout was far the best yet: There were at least three thousand there, he estimated. There was also more emotion than ever. A sea serpent, a Messenger from Hrum, had spoken through its action. There were random shouts for Brokols' deportation, his imprisonment. And scattered cheers.
Rantrelli waited till the inflow of people had nearly stopped, then climbed the platform and faced them, raising his arms. When the crowd had quieted, he spoke.
"People of Hrumma!" he shouted. "Hrum has spoken to us through his messenger, and we have heard him!"
There was loud cheering. He let it run its course, then raised his arms again. "And you are right! The foreign ambassador is an enemy, of Hrumma and of Hrum, and should be deported!" He waved his arms to forestall an incipient cheer. "But more serious—more serious—the amirr has endangered the country by not imprisoning him as soon as he was exposed for the enemy that he is!"
From the crowd a large voice bellowed, "Down with the amirr! A new amirr! Down with the amirr! A new amirr!" The second time through, it was joined by other voices, until most of the crowd was shouting. "Down with the amirr! A new amirr! Down with the amirr! A new amirr!"
Rantrelli watched with a feeling of satisfaction. The situation was ripening. Within a day the whole city would be in agreement, and every traveller would spread the story of it. Within a week he would send his people through all of Hrumma to call for moots. Within five weeks there'd be a new amirr, himself perhaps.
Wrapped in his thoughts, he didn't see someone mounting the platform to one side, didn't notice until the chant thinned and died. Then he became aware of the robed man standing with arms raised. The crowd was waiting, surly but listening.
"People of Hrumma!" Allbarin called. "I am glad to see and hear your concern for the safety of our country. It is well justified.
"For the Emperor of Almeon, its king over kings, desires to rule on this side of the ocean as well. And he has a plan of conquest! He intends that Djez Gorrbul attack us, send its army to invade. And while the Gorrbian army is engaged here, fighting its bloody way southward into Hrumma, an Almaeic fleet will land a powerful army at Haipoor l'Djezzer."
A murmur flowed through the crowd, and he stopped for a moment until it quieted, waiting.
"The amirr reluctantly sent an envoy to Haipoor, to warn Gamaliiu. The reply was as feared: Two days ago our ship arrived back with sacks containing the heads of the envoy and his party. After scanning the heads, I do not believe they were even received by Gamaliiu, or that he so much as witnessed their execution. And if they told anyone their message, it never reached Gamaliiu; otherwise he'd not have sent our people back as he did.
"So we can expect war, and with the large army that Gorrbul can field, it will be a fierce test of the people of Hrumma.
"The Trumpet of Hrum was right in his admonition: The battle is ours alone. We must fight to the limits of our strength and courage, expecting no help. If we do this—if Hrum is pleased enough with us—he will help us. But do not rely on intervention by Hrum. Rely only on ourselves. For only in that way can we earn his help.
"As for the Ambassador from Almeon . . ." Allbarin stopped then, drawing their attention from what he'd just said, back to himself. "As for the Ambassador from Almeon, he has seen our land and been touched by the sages. He has helped us with his knowledge. He continues to help, and has strengthened us."
Rantrelli listened, unsure of what to do. He'd lost the crowd, and groped now for ideas.
"Tomorrow we send couriers throughout the country," Allbarin was saying, "with instructions to the district defense commanders. We do not expect the invasion to come till late summer or early fall, but it is time to prepare our . . ."
Allbarin stopped. The crowd had been motionless; now there was movement in the back as people gave way to someone. It was Panni Vempravvo, and as they melted aside for him, a murmur spread through the crowd. "The Lamp of Hrum! The Lamp of Hrum!" The tall sage reached the platform and climbed its stone steps. Both Allbarin and Rantrelli stepped back, giving him the stage.
Panni smiled, a wide warm smile.
"Where is the Trumpet of Hrum?" he asked. He didn't shout, but everyone heard him. "What has become of the Trumpet of Hrum? Have any of you seen him lately?" He turned to Rantrelli. "Have you seen him, merchant?"
Rantrelli wagged his head, his jowls.
"I will tell you what has happened to him. He has Awakened! The other night he meditated till dawn with Tassi Vermaatio and saw Hrum. And Knew! Today he is for from Theedalit, on a mission for the amirr.
"Until now, Vessto Cadriio has had mainly knowledge, knowledge such as is given to those rare adepts who are also seers. His flashes of Wisdom were only flashes. Now he lives in Wisdom. It flows through him. No longer will Vessto Cadriio wear a long face unless he chooses to create it in Play.
"So rejoice that matters are beginning so well. And heed the words of the Trumpet of Hrum, and of Allbarin Venjianni. If you play fully the role of warriors or the role of workers, for Hrumma, Hrum may decide that the people of Hrumma are truly his foster children!"
He bowed deeply to them then, and the crowd began to cheer, less than wildly to be sure, but after a minute or so Rantrelli watched them melting away into the street, and the sound of their excited voices was like a flood through a rapids. He looked around. Allbarin had left the platform; he saw his white-robed back going toward a Fortress gate. Panni, however, still stood there, looking at him.
"Have you meditated lately?" the sage asked conversationally.
Rantrelli shook his head. "I was never any good at it. I gave it up years ago."
Panni nodded. "When one feels no true desire to meditate, one can only pretend. When one desires to meditate, that is the time to meditate. If you ever desire to, you are welcome to do so with me. Whether you bring your body to my cave or we come together only in the spirit."
Riantrelli nodded, not heartened by the words or their friendly intent.
"Do you feel you've been defeated here this evening?"
Again Rantrelli nodded.
"It is all right to feel that way. But it is also all right to feel that you have had a victory here—that you created all this to bring you to some point, or to bring others to some point. It is all right to believe that you have followed beautifully and exactly an act which Hrum-In-Thee created in your script of life."
Rantrelli spoke then while avoiding the sage's eyes, his voice more plaintive than complaining. "It has never been real to me that we live a script. That our lives are pre-written for us and we simply go through the motions. If that is true, what purpose is there in life?"
"Ah! To speak of a script is simply a way of talking about it. Anything we say can only be a way of talking about it. But I will talk of it nonetheless. Before our body leaves the womb, before we have merged with it to enter the stage, we have ourselves prepared, or accepted, a script complete with furnishings. Everyone: villain and hero, vanquished and victor—everyone has their own script."
The sage chuckled, grinning at the merchant. "And there is no director, unless Hrum chooses to take a hand. Which is not often, not at all. And more: Each actor is born both knowing the script and not knowing the script, living it as best he can, revising, rewriting, creating the play, the action, moment by moment in the ever-changing circumstances of Hrum's stage." He looked almost archly at Rantrelli then. "It can even happen that one assumes a certain role in Act One simply to prepare a different role in Act Two."
Rantrelli peered cautiously at him. "And what use is meditation in all this?" he asked.
Again Panni laughed. "All or none whatever. Any player can benefit from Wisdom, Wisdom being simply the right action at the right time to attain the purpose of the role. And for some roles, meditation opens the channels to Wisdom. Wisdom is not Hrum whispering in your ear. It is not words. Any whispering is an addition by Hrum-In-Thee, which may make Wisdom easier to accept."
"And I may come to your cave and meditate with you?"
"If you wish. But you are used to comfort, and you may also meditate with me while kneeling alone in your garden, or even sitting in your admirable hot tub, while I sit on my mountain."
"And if I would meditate with you, what time would be best?"
"Follow your knowingness and your need. If you decide that a certain time is the time, it is. I am usually meditating from nightfall until midnight, and often well after."
Panni half-turned then, as if to join his two waiting disciples. "Go with Hrum," he said to Rantrelli, and walked down the steps.
Rantrelli watched them start across the square, then went down the steps to his own waiting people, and they walked to his carriage together. His employees said nothing, in keeping with Rantrelli's mood.
* * *
Leonessto Hanorissio had been told of the gathering crowd, and had gone to a window to watch. He hadn't been able to hear Rantrelli's talk, but the crowd's chant had reached him clearly, its volume stunning him. He'd seen Allbarin mount the platform, and if he couldn't hear his words, he'd seen their effect. Then Panni had arrived and spoken, and the cheers that followed were a different phenomenon from the earlier chanting.
After they'd dispersed, he'd returned to his office. Allbarin would tell him what had happened.
Which he did. "And do you believe it?" Leonessto asked. "That if we do all we can, Hrum will give us victory?"
"Milord, that is what the Trumpet said. But it isn't what Panni said. He said, in effect, that if we do all we can, not depending on help at all, Hrum may decide we are indeed his foster children. And it seems to me now that that is more the actuality of it."
The amirr looked at it thoughtfully. "Well, that's what we must do, in any case. Unless we'd give up."
And knowing his history, and what had been learned from Brokols' mind about emperors and a sad country called Kelthos, he had no intention of giving up.