Mace skirted the procession and continued toward the Hightower along a side street.
The closer he drew to the Hightower, the more chaotic the streets became.
These were no longer processions, but bands of fanatical believers mingled with the Faith Militant, rampaging through the streets.
The shops along the road suffered: doors were kicked in, shelves toppled, and goods scattered across the ground to be trampled underfoot.
A bakery's oven had been knocked over, spilling glowing coals onto the street in wisps of smoke. A fruit stall had collapsed under the crush, sending apples and pears rolling everywhere to be crushed beneath people's feet.
Cries, curses, footsteps, and the pounding of doors mingled together. The entire city seemed to have gone mad.
Many had not come willingly. They were swept along by the crowd, their faces filled with fear and bewilderment.
But even more had been infected by the frenzy and joined in the looting and destruction.
Mace's brow tightened, and his unease grew ever heavier.
At last, he saw the Hightower.
But the sight before him made him suck in a breath. A sea of people surrounded the Hightower, hemming it in so tightly that nothing could pass.
House Hightower's soldiers stood in dense shield formations, holding the tower's entrance and the surrounding street junctions, refusing to let the crowd approach.
The crowd did not storm the defenses, but neither would it disperse. They surrounded the Hightower, chanting, "Send troops against the heretics!" "For the glory of the Seven!"
The Hightower's gates remained tightly shut, its soldiers standing firm.
Mace reined in his horse and looked out over the sea of people, knowing he had no hope of getting inside.
Inside the Hightower, the atmosphere in the hall was grim.
Leyton Hightower stood at the window, gazing darkly at