“I should talk to them,” Temoc said, “before I go.”
They stood outside the tent, in full view of the crowd.
Elayne raised one hand. “I’ll set it up so you can speak in the sky.”
He hesitated, then nodded.
“I never thought you would feel stage fright.”
“I do not like speaking for myself,” he said. “I speak for something greater, or not at all. And anyway, there is no stage here.”
“You did fine last time.”
“Last time I had to stop a riot. There was no room for failure.”
“If pressure helps—if you can’t sell this, I doubt your commissioners will do better, which means that the peace has failed and we’re back to square one.”
“Much better.” He closed his eyes and flexed his shoulders in a way that caused his sternum to pop, a bass noise like an arm breaking. “Let’s go.”
She called upon her expense account with Kelethres, Albrecht, and Ao. Her blood chilled, and color drained away, leaving only wavelengths of light. The red-arms’ armbands lost their bloody hue. A girl with flowers in her hair held a screaming child in her arms, and the child’s face lost its flush and the daisies ceased to remind Elayne of a petal’s brush against her cheek when she’d been young and almost in love, in that vanishing breath between girlhood and the War. All that faded, but power flooded her instead, which was compensation.
The Craft she wove lacked the King in Red’s theatricality, which was probably for the best, considering the delicate moment.
She extended her hand to Temoc. Green and blue flame danced in her palm, tongues twisting between her fingers.
“You’re on,” she said, and opened her grip. The fireflower wrapped him round, flashing emerald as Temoc’s scars seized control. His eyes rolled back, his body went rigid, and his face emerged from the orange sky above.
“People of the Skittersill,” he said. “For the last two days we have discussed terms with the King in Red, and with Tan Batac. We have sought to preserve the city we know. They understand our concerns.” Murmurs of disbelief, a shout of “How?” From off to the north, laughter. Temoc laughed himself, his voice rich and full and wet despite the dry wind. “We have a deal. The structures we live in will not be sold or harmed until we wish it. They will consider our needs, our way of life. These talks have bridged a gap that seemed uncrossable. Nor is this is the end. We have shown our strength. We command respect when we stand together. Do not lose faith. I go to the Court of Craft, where I will present our deal to the judges.” “Temoc! Temoc!” A few voices raised in chant at first, a few hands lifted to the sky. Then, more. “The commissioners will explain our achievement. You will see that we have made compromises, but have not compromised. The world we want is the world we build, now, together.” Strong downbeats in that voice, hammer blows to drive his point home. Short words. A literal speech act: victory was victory because he named it so.
“Listen to the commission. Hear your leaders’ words. Do not falter. Wait for my return.”
He faded from the clouds. A blue space remained where the Craft had scoured the sky clean.
“Temoc.” The chant built and spread, men’s voices, women’s, children’s, bass alto tenor soprano, clear or reedy-rough, angry or rapturous or exultant or simply willing the future bright. “Temoc. Temoc. Temoc.”
The man, priest, Eagle Knight, father, old enemy, lowered his head. He gave no sign he heard them. To him the chant might as well have been the wind that bore it, the wind that whipped clouds and dust to plug the clear blue moment in the sky.
The red-arm cordon strained again, not this time against the protesters’ anger but against their need. Wardens surrounded Temoc, and Elayne, and Tan Batac, who seemed no more than a man in a rumpled, though expensive, suit. And the King in Red of course, who stood at Elayne’s elbow, and said: “He is dangerous.”
“He’s on our side.”
“Now.”
“Did you hear that speech?”
“I heard a dangerous man. And the only thing one knows for certain about a dangerous man, is that he is dangerous.”
Temoc smiled and waved as the crowd chanted his name.