nd scattered chairs。
It seemed a signal for general pandemonium。 Men and women rolled back and forth on the tent floor。 They scrambled to stand on furniture； they danced and sang in maddened cacophony。 Cries and grunts came jolting out of them； until the council chamber looked and sounded like a small battlefield。
The sounds of a more familiar danger helped Mark regain some small additional measure of control。 He huddled almost motionless on the floor； trying to remember where he was； and who he had been before that Sword appeared。
Now the Dark King flourished his Sword above his head in a new gesture； like a field mander's signal to advance。 And now Vilkata； guided by the humming presence that hovered always near him； was moving in long； sure strides around the conference table； passing through the litter of chairs and humanity that almost filled the room。 He was heading for the front entrance of the pavilion。
Mark； caught up in the rush of people following the King； was jostled against the torture…altar when passing through the outer chamber。 He felt something sticky on his hand； gazed at it dumbly and saw blood。 It was frightening； but he could not understand。。。
Exiting from the pavilion's front door； Vilkata strode forth into the sun； whose light exploded from the Sword he carried into a thousand piercing lances。 His little mob of followers； including Mark； acpanied him out into the glare； leaping and chanting with a look of ecstasy。 At once their numbers were augmented by those who happened to be near when the Dark King emerged with glory in his hands。 The air above the swelling crowd was wavering； as if with the heat of a great fire； familiar powers and small demons were moving in concert with their magician masters； and sharing their excitement； whether in joy or fear Mark could not tell。
The Mindsword swung in Vilkata's grip。 It shattered the bright sun into lightning； whose bolts struck left and right。 The hundreds who were near； and then the thousands only a little farther off； gaped in surprise； and then were caught up in the savage enthusiasm。
Vilkata marched on without hesitation； heading for the reviewing stand。 The crowd surging around him was growing explosively； and already seemed to number in the thousands。 Men and women； caught by curiosity； by the attraction of the growing crowd itself； came running through the camp from all directions； to be captured at close range by the sight of the blinding Blade。 Again and again； through the waves of merely human cheering； Mark thought that he could hear the surf like oar of the Sword itself； grown louder in proportion to the crowd it led。
Now； somewhere out on the parade ground； beyond the cages for prisoners and beasts； an enormous drum began to bang。 The growling and snarling of the caged warbeasts went up； to challenge in its volume the whole mass of human voices。
Now； across the whole vast reach of the parade ground； humans and trained beasts alike were demonstrating spontaneously at the sight of the Blade that waved above Vilkata's head。 The cry of his name went up again and again； each time louder than the last。 A thousand weapons were being brandished in salute。
Now the Dark King had reached the reviewing stand； and now he mounted quickly。 His closer followers； Mark still with them； swarmed up onto the platform too。 Immediately the stand was overcrowded； and people near the edges were jostled off。 A small clear space … more magic？ … remained around the person of the King。 All around the base of the platform and across its surface where they had room； grand military potentates and dreaded wizards were prancing and gesturing like demented children。 The aged and dignified abased themselves like dogs at one moment； and in the next leaped howling for the sky。 And the very sky was streaked by demons； speeding； whirling in a pyrotechnic ecstasy of worship。
Grimly Mark held on to the small margin of self…awareness and self…control that he had regained in the pavilion。 He thought that he would not be able to hold onto it for very long … but perhaps for long enough。 He remembered now who he was； and what goal he had determined to acplish。 He still held Sightblinder's hilt in his right hand。 But。。。 to strike at Vilkata； possessor of the Mindsword。。。 how could anyone do that？ Or even plan to do it？
To strike at one who held the Mindsword might well be more than any mere human will could manage。 If once Mark summoned up the will to try； and failed； he was sure that he could never try again。
Even to work his way through the press of frenzied bodies on the platform； to get himself close enough to the Dark King to strike at him； was going to be difficult。 Get close to the Dark King； he ordered himself； forget for the moment why you are trying to get close。 He almost forgotten his bow； still slung in its accustomed place across his back。 And there were two arrows left。。。 he groped with a trembling hand； and found that there were none。 Spilled somehow in the jostling？ Or had some enthusiast's hand snatched them away？
He was going to have to strike with Sightblinder； then。 Even had his mind been clear； entirely his own； it would not have been easy。 Most of the people on the platform were also struggling to get closer to the Dark King； to touch him if possible； the ring of those who were closest； constrained to do all they could to protect the Mindsword's master； were striving to hold the others back。 Their task was perhaps made easier by the fact that Vilkata was swinging the Sword more wildly now； inspiring fear as well as ecstasy in those near enough to stand in some danger from the Blade。 There was still a cleared space of several meters directly around the king。
Mark elbowed room enough to let him draw Sightblinder … no one； he thought； was able to see that he was holding it； no magical guardians struck at him yet。
The small crowd atop the reviewing stand surged again； chatocially； as more people kept trying to climb on。 Inevitably at one edge； more people were pushed off。
Mark forced himself a little closer to Vilkata； but then was stopped； pushed back again。 This is impossible； he thought。 I cannot fail simply because I can't get through a crowd。 Still he dared not use the Sword to hack bodies out of his path； surely if he did that the magical defenses of the King would be triggered； and he would have no chance to strike the blow that really counted。
He had to get closer without killing。 He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes； and blindly bulled his way ahead。 His Sword； invisible to the people in his way； he held raised awkwardly above the jostling bodies that would otherwise have carved themselves on it。
But even as Mark scraped up new determination and tried again； the crowd surged against him； and its hundred legs effortlessly bore him even a little farther away。 The cause of this last surge was one of Vilkata's sweeps with the Mindsword。 Mark exerted one more great effort； and forced his way through； or almost through； but was deflected in the process to a place precariously near the platform's edge。
Now； one more effort。。。 but the Blade in the Dark King's hand came swinging heedlessly past； and grazed Mark's forehead。 The Dark King was laughing thunderously now； to see his courtiers duck and dodge in terror； and at the same time e pressing helplessly forward all the same。
Those next to Mark in the crush violently shoved back。 Tangled with others； he fell over the edge of the platform； others falling with him。 The distance to the ground was no more than a man's height； and the ground below was soft。 Mark landed with a shock； but without further injury。 By some miracle none of those falling with him had impaled themselves on Sightblinder； which lay on the soft earth under his hand。
He had failed； not heroically； but as by some demonic joke。 He grabbed up his Sword and got to his feet again。 Then he understood that he was hurt more than he had thought at first by Vikata's accidental stroke。 He could see blood； feel it and taste it； his own blood running down from his gashed forehead into his left eye。 A centimeter or two closer to the Mindsword's swing and it would have killed him。
The fall had taken him out