The city of Lompoar, Lomarr's capital, on the south bank of the Lotar some fifty miles from the delta, against the of the Coast Range. Just the town's limit and some hundreds of above its there was a half-bowl, out of the solid by an of some bye-gone age.
This was the Amphitheater, and on the very lip of the to the river so below, Llosir proudly on his of smooth, clean granite.
"'Tis not like a god, methinks." King Phagon, now in cloth-of-gold, the copper very dubiously. "'Tis too much like a man, by far."
"'Tis as I saw him, sire," Tedric replied, firmly. Nor was he, consciously, lying: by this time he the himself. "Llosir is a man-god, remember, not a beast-god, and 'tis so. But the time I set is here. With your permission, sire, I begin."
Both men looked around the great bowl. Near by, but not too near, the and a dozen white-clad fifteen-year-old girls; one of a beaten-gold full of oil, another a open lamp of the same material. Slightly to one were Rhoann—looking, if the truth must be told, as though she did not particularly her present position on the side-lines—her mother the queen, the of the family, and ranks of courtiers. And finally, much back, at a very from their new god, in of more or less concentric, rows, who had had time to there. More were constantly, of course, but the had a trickle; the narrow way, from the city along the side, was almost of traffic.
"Begin, Lord Tedric," said the king.
Tedric over, the iron pan the up onto the platform, and turned. "The oil, Priestess Lady Trycie, and the flame."
The the to Trycie, who it to Tedric, who its over the hearts, livers, and brains. Then the lamp; and as the yard-high the pseudo-priest and his to the of the image of his god. Then he spoke—not softly, but in parade-ground to present.
"Take, Lord Llosir, all the and all the power and all the that Sarpedion had. Use them, we beg, for good and not for ill."
He up the pan and toward the lip of the precipice; high-mounting, around his figure. "And now, in of Sarpedion's and complete extinction, I these, the last of his being, to the of oblivion." He the pan and its out over the brink.
This act, according to Tedric's plan, was to end the program—but it didn't. Long the water his attention was by a long, low-pitched, from a of throats; a the like of which he had imagined.
He whirled—and saw, in a cage-like of bars, a of so like the copper image in every detail of shape that it might well have come from the same mold!
"Lord Llosir—in the flesh!" Tedric exclaimed, and to one knee.
So did the king and his family, and a of the of the courtiers. Most of the latter, however, and the girl and the thousands of spectators, themselves on the hard ground. They themselves flat, but they did not look away or close their or their with their hands. On the contrary, each one with all the power of his nerves.
The god's mouth opened, his moved; and, although no one any sound, the of his being.
"I have taken all the strength, all the power, all the force, all of that Sarpedion what he was," the god began. In part his pseudo-voice was the of a bell; in part the of an organ. "I will use them for good, not for ill. I am glad, Tedric, that you did not my hearth—for this is a hearth, remember, and in no an altar—in making this, the and the only to be to me. You, Trycie, are the of my priestesses?"
The girl, visibly, three times she speak. "Yea, my—my—Lord Llosir," she managed finally. "Th—that is—if—if I you, Lord Sir."
"You me, Trycie of Lomarr. Nor will your be onerous; being only to see to it that your keep my clean and my bright."
"To you, my Lord—Llo—Llosir, sir, all thanks. Wilt keep...." Trycie her and stopped in mid-sentence; her mouth open and her two O's of astonishment. The air above the was as empty as it had been; the flesh-and-blood god had as as he had come!
Tedric's voice the of the bowl.
"That is all!" he bellowed. "I did not the Lord Llosir to appear in the at this time; I know not when or he will to appear to us again. But this I know—whether or not he so deigns, or when, you all know now that our great Lord Llosir lives. Is it not so?"
"'Tis so! Long live Lord Llosir!" Tumultuous the amphitheater.
"'Tis well. In this place all will file me and the shrine. First our king, then the Lady Priestess Trycie and her maids, then the Family, then the Court, then the rest. All men as they pass will sword-arms in salute, all will heads. Will be of or of or of fractions; Lord Llosir is a god, not a huckstering, thieving, trickster. King Phagon, sire, lead?"
Unhelmed now, Tedric at attention the image of his god. The king did not past him, but stopped short. Taking off his head-piece and his right arm high, he said:
"To you, Lord Llosir, my thanks for what done for me, for my family, and for my nation. While 'tis not that Lomarr's king should beg, I ask that you us not."
Then Trycie and her girls. "We engage, Lord Sir," the Lady Priestess said, at a word from Tedric, "to keep your clean; your bright."
Then the queen, by the Lady Rhoann—who, although she her enough, was at her sister, so ahead and so the of so many eyes.
The of the Family—the Court—the spectators—and, last of all, Tedric himself. Helmet under left arm, he his right arm high, a "left face," and proudly at the of the long procession.
And as the people their way the and path, as they through the city of Lompoar, as they the and to the and and from which they had come, it was very that Llosir had himself as no other god had been the long history of that world.
Great Llosir had appeared in person. Everyone there had him with his own eyes. Everyone there had his voice; a voice of a quality for any being, or otherwise, to produce; a voice heard, not with the ears, which would have been ordinary enough, but by of some unknown and still or ability only by the god. Everyone there had heard—sensed—him address the Lord Armsmaster and the Lady Priestess by name.
Other gods had appeared personally in the past ... or had they, really? Nobody had any of them their own ... the who performed the and who on the fractions.... Llosir, now, wanted neither fractions; and, powerful although he was, had appeared to and had spoken to alike, of high or low degree, the whole amphitheater.
Everyone! Not to the only; not only to those of the Old Blood; not only to citizens or of Lomarr; but to everyone—down to mercenaries, visitors, and such!
Long live Lord Llosir, our new and god!
King Phagon and Tedric were at a table in the throne-room of the palace-castle, studying a map. It was and sketchy, this map, and full of blank and errors; but this was not an age of cartography.
"Tark, first, is still my thought, sire," Tedric insisted, stubbornly. "'Tis closer, our lines shorter, a victory there would all our people. Too, 'twould be unexpected. Lomarr has Tark, your and his him each to Sarlon's and, in failing, but the already of tribute. Too, in case of something of victory, only the one pass and the Great Gorge of the Lotar to 'gainst reprisal. 'Tis true such would the Marches unheld, but no more so than they have been for four years or more."
"Nay. Think, man!" Phagon snorted, testily. "'Twould fail. Four parts of our army are of Tark—thinkst not their act would be to turn against us and make common with their brethren? Too, we strength, they us two to one. Nay. Sarlon first. Then, perhaps, Tark; but not then."
"But Sarlon us too, sire, if you count those of the Devossian steppes. Since Taggad of Sarlon lets them his lands to the Marches—for a of the loot, no doubt—'tis they'll help him against us. Also, sire, your father and your died under Sarlonian axes."
"True, but neither of them was a strategist. I am; I have this for many years. They did the obvious; I shall not. Nor shall Sarlon pay merely; Sarlon must and shall a of my kingdom!"
So raged, until Phagon got up onto his high and it his will that the thing was to be done his way and no other. Whereupon, of course, Tedric submitted with the best he and set about the of helping the army to roll toward the Marches, some three and a hundreds of miles to the north.
Tedric fumed. Tedric fretted. Tedric in Lomarrian, Tarkian, Sarlonian, Devossian, and all the other he knew. All his noise and were, however, of very little in up what was an slow process.
Between times of and and driving, Tedric was to the and its environs. So doing, one day, he came upon King Phagon and the Lady Rhoann at archery. Lifting his arm in to his and his to the lady, he to pass on.
"Hola, Tedric!" Rhoann called. "Wouldst speed a with us?"
Tedric at the target. Rhoann was her father unmercifully—her purple-shafted were all in or near the gold, while his ones were and wide—and she had been him about his marksmanship. Phagon was in no mood; this was very no for any outsider—least of all Lomarr's top-ranking armsmaster—to enter.
"Crave pardon, my lady, but other press...."
"Your are so transparent, my lord; why not tell the truth?" Rhoann did not at the man's embarrassment, but it was very clear that she, too, was in a temper. "Mindst not me but the Throne? And any who not by hand at this range to of us should be of badge?"
Tedric, fatuously, at the bait. "Wouldst permit, sire?"
"No!" the king roared. "By my head, by the Throne, by Llosir's and and brain and guts—NO! 'Twould cost the of any save you to me so—shoot, sir, and shoot your best!" his own and a full of arrows.
Tedric did not want to use the weapon, but at the girl's quick, he his and it.
"One shot, sire?" he asked, and the bow. Nothing have him to put an nearer the gold than the of the king's; to avoid doing so—without missing the completely—would take skill, since one a three from the of the target.
His the of the and was an low; his second into the way the king's and the target's rim. Then, so that it as though there must be at least two in the air at once, on arrow; as iron shaft. At end, the rent in the through which all those had their way have been by of one of Rhoann's hands.
"I lose, sire," Tedric said, stiffly, returning and empty quiver. "My score is zero."
Phagon, himself in the but unable to himself to apologize, did what he the next-best thing. "I used to shoot like that," he complained. "Knowst how I my skill, Tedric? 'Tis not my age, surely?"
"'Tis not my place to say, sire." Then, with more than sense—"And I to the teeth any who so the Throne."
"What!" the roared. "By my...."
"Hold, father!" Rhoann snapped. "A king you—act it!"
Hard into of green. Neither the angry king the angry would give an inch. She the short, silence.
"Say naught, Tedric—he is much too to in oil or alive any who tell him unpleasantnesses, true. But me, father, you not, flay, to otherwise, or I this like a melon. 'Tis time—yea, long past time—that someone told you the truth. Hence, my but well-loved parent, here 'tis. Hast too long on too many too soft cushions, too many and and flagons, too many wenches, to be of much use in or with any of in the of the High Umpasseurs."
The and rapidly-deflating king to think of some answer to this blast, but couldn't. He to Tedric. "Wouldst have said such? Surely not!"
"Not I, sire!" Tedric him, truthfully. "And if true, 'tis a thing to itself. Before we the Marches arm and eye."
"Perhaps," the girl put in, her still on the side. "If he matches you, Tedric, in and and wenching, yes. Otherwise, no. How much do you drink, each day?"
"One cup, usually—sometimes—at supper."
"On the march? Think carefully, friend."
"Nay—I meant in town. In the field, none, of course."
"Seest, father?"
"What me, vixen, a cuddlepet? From this minute 'til return here I match your for loll, cup for cup, for wench. Is it what you've been at me to say?"
"Aye, father and king, exactly—for as you say, you do." She him so as almost to him off the ground, him twice, and away.
"A thing I would like to talk to you about, sire," Tedric said quickly, the king up any of the just past. "Armor. There was of the god-metal to three men fully, and for their horses. You, sire, and me, and Sciro of your Guard. Break precedent, sire, I beg, and wear me this of proof of the gold; for what we promises to be than anything you or I have yet seen."
"I me 'tis true, but 'tis impossible, nonetheless. Lomarr's king gold. He in gold; at need he dies in gold."
And that was, Tedric knew, very definitely that. It was senseless, it was idiotic, but it was true. No king of Lomarr possibly that particular precedent. To appear in that fashion, one in a sea of iron-gray, was part of the king's job. The that his father and his and so on for six had died in not him, any more than it have Tedric himself in case. But there might be a way out.
"But need it be solid gold, sire? Wouldst not an of gold suffice?"
"Yea, Lord Tedric, and 'twould be a welcome thing indeed. I not, did my father his father, to gold 'gainst hard-swung axe; e'en less to ten ranks of iron while others fight. But 'tis not possible. If the gold be thick for the to hold, 'tis too to lift. If thin to be possible of wearing, the gold off in at and the is revealed. Hast ideas? I listen."
"I know not, sire...." Tedric for minutes. "I have gold into thin ... but not thin ... but it might be possible to it thin to be on the god-metal with or gum. Wouldst wear it so, sire?"
"Aye, my Tedric, and gladly: just so the comes not off by under of or axe."
"Handsbreadths? Nay. Scratches and mars, of course, easily to be again next day's dawn. But handsbreadths? Nay, sire."
"In that case, try; and may Great Llosir your hand."
