The Way of the Wilderking by Jonathan Rogers Page B

even pay any mind to his wiggling efforts to get off their shoulders. Percy steered his bearers toward his brother, and when he was next to Aidan’s ear, he shouted, “Stop struggling! Let’s just go with it! You’ll get your chance to make a speech. Then you can set everybody straight!” He nearly fell off when one of the men carrying him tripped over a dog. “But shouldn’t we find out as much about these Aidanites as we can?”
    Aidan nodded. For the moment at least, he had no choice but to “go with it.” And Percy was right: The more he knew about his “followers,” the better he could undo the damage they had done. But he also had the nagging suspicion that his brother’s suggestion was motivated not by prudence but by his appetite for the ridiculous.
    Dobro, for his part, was having tremendous fun. To a feechie, a roiling mob looked a lot like a regularparty. The scene was downright homey for Dobro, unaware as he was of the larger trouble it represented. He took every hand that reached up to him. He waved at the children, many of whom ran away in terror. Dobro was almost as big an attraction as Aidan himself, being the only feechie the Hustingreeners had ever seen.
    The buglers were joined along the way by a drummer and a xylophone player. It wasn’t clear, however, whether they were trying to play the same tune. The mayor, in his self-important way, led the procession to the middle of the village square, where trading was done on market days. A general murmur quickly grew into a loud, rhythmic chant: “Speech! Speech! Speech!”
    Aidan was more than happy to make a speech. It was going to be a stem-winder too. He was going to set these people good and straight. But before he could collect his thoughts, the mayor bounded to the platform in the middle of the square (he was surprisingly agile for a man of such roundness) and raised his hands for silence.
    â€œFor years we have labored in the dark shadow of tyranny,” he began in deep, dramatic tones.
    â€œTell it, Mayor!” came a woman’s voice from the crowd.
    â€œNo more tyrants!” A man in a wool cap shook his fist in the air.
    The mayor raised his hands again in acknowledgment of his hearers’ comments and kept going. “Toolong have the wrongs of an unjust ruler been heaped on the backs of hardworking villagers like yourselves.”
    â€œMy back’s killing me!” called a voice in the crowd.
    â€œHear him!”
    â€œYes-s-s-s!”
    â€œWhere are the young men of Hustingreen?” asked the mayor. Moans from the audience. “I ask you, where are our young men?” Young wives throughout the crowd began to cry loudly. Aidan noticed for the first time that, except for Percy, Dobro, and himself, the crowd was composed entirely of children, women, and men over forty.
    â€œ Drafted into Darrow’s army, that’s where!” The mayor shook with indignation as he answered his own question. “Dragged off to the Feechiefen Swamp to fight for a king who doesn’t care if he throws away the lives of his own subjects!”
    The wailing of women grew louder. The mayor paused for silence. Or was he just enjoying the effect of his own oratory? “But today a new light has dawned!” An approving murmur rippled through the square. “The Wilderking prophecy has been the only hope of an unhappy people. Today it is coming true!” The murmur grew louder. “Today Aidan Errolson has come out of the swamps and forests—just as the Wilderking prophecy said he would—back to his people, who have longed for his return!” The mayor had to shout to be heard over the rapturous crowd. “Hail to the Wilderking!”
    â€œHail to the Wilderking!” the people replied in a deafening shout.
    Aidan’s face was ghostly white. This was much worse than he had imagined it would be. He felt as if he might faint.
    A group of