Past the tall arch of the Emperor's antechamber lay the Hall of the
Thousand Emperors. Kieron strode through it, the flickering flames of
the wall-sconces casting long shadows out behind him--shadows that
danced and whirled on the tapestried walls and touched the composed
faces of the great men of Earth.
These were brooding men; men who stared down at him out of their
thousand pasts. Men who had stood with a planet for a throne and
watched their Empire passing in ordered glory from horizon to horizon
across the night sky of Earth--men worshipped as gods on outworld
planets, who watched and guided the tide of Empire until it crashed
thundering on the shores of ten thousand worlds beyond Vega and Altair.
Men who sat cloaked in sable robes with diamond stars encrusted and saw
their civilization built out from the Great Throne, tier on shining
tier until at last it reached the Edge and strained across the awful
gulf for the terrible seetee suns of mighty Andromeda itself....
The last few of the men like gods had watched the First Empire crumble.
They had seen the wave of annihilation sweeping in from the Outer
Marches of the Periphery; had seen their gem-bright civilization
shattered with destructive forces so hideous that the spectre of the
Great Destroyer hung like a mantle of death over the Galaxy, a thing to
be shunned and feared forever. And thus had come the Interregnum.
Kieron had no eyes for these brooding giants; his world was not the
world they had known. It was in the next chamber that the outworld
warrior paused. It was a vast and empty place. Here there were but
five figures and space for a thousand more. This was the Empire that
Kieron knew. This Empire he had fought for and helped secure; a
savage, darkling thing spawned in the dark ages of the Interregnum,
a Galaxy-spanning fief of star-kings and serfs--of warlocks and
spaceships--of light and shadow. This Empire had been born in the agony
of a Galaxy and tempered in the bitter internecine wars of reconquest.
Before the image of Gilmer of Kaidor, Kieron stopped. He stood in
silence, looking into the face of his dead liege. The hour was late
and the Hall deserted. Kieron knelt, suddenly filled with sadness.
He was on his way to rebellion against the Empire that he had helped
this stern-faced man to expand and hold--rebellion against the power
of Imperial Earth, personified by the weak-faced boy standing draped
in the sable mantle of sovereignty in the next niche. Kieron looked
from father to son. By its composure and its nearness to the magnetic
features of the great Gilmer, the face of young Toran seemed to draw
character and strength. It was an illusion, Kieron knew.
The young Valkyr felt driven hard. His people hungered. Military
service was no longer enough for the Imperial Government as it had been
for decades. Money was demanded, and there was no money on Valkyr. So
the people hungered--and Kieron was their lord. He could not stand by
and see the agony on the faces of his warrior maids as their children
weakened, nor could he see his proud warriors selling themselves into
slavery for a handful of coins. The Emperor would not listen. Kieron
had recourse only to the one thing he knew ... the sword.
He bowed his head and asked the shade of Gilmer for forgiveness.
* * * * *
A slight movement caught his battle-sharpened eye as someone stirred
behind a fluted column. Kieron's sword whispered as it slid from the
scabbard, the gemmed hilt casting shards of light into the dimness of
the colonnade.
Treading softly, Kieron eased his tall frame into the shadows, weapon
alert. The thought of assassination flashed across his mind and he
smiled grimly. Could it be that Landor had his hirelings after him
already?
Kieron saw the shadowy shape slip from the colonnade out onto the great
curving terrace that bordered the entire west wing of the Palace. Eyes
narrowed under his black brows, the lord of Valkyr followed.
The stars gleamed in the moonless night, and far below, Kieron could
see the flickering torchlights of the Imperial City fanning out to the
horizon like the spokes of some fantastic, glittering wheel. The dark
figure ahead had vanished.
Kieron sheathed his sword and drew his poniard. It was far too dark for
swordplay, and he did not wish to risk letting the assassin escape.
Melting into the shadows of the colonnade again, he made his way
parallel to the terrace, alert for any sign of movement. Presently,
the figure appeared again beside the balustrade, and the Valkyr moved
swiftly and quietly up behind. With a cat-like movement, he slipped his
free arm about the slight shape, pulling it tight against himself. The
poniard flashed in his upraised hand, the slender blade reflecting the
starlight.
The weapon did not descend....
Against his forearm, Kieron felt a yielding softness, and the hair that
brushed his cheek was warm and perfumed.
He stood transfixed. The girl twisted in his grasp and broke free with
a gasping cry. Instantly, a blade gleamed in her hand and she had
launched herself at the Valkyr furiously. Her voice was tight with rage.
"Murdering butcher! _You dare...!_"
Kieron caught her upraised arm and wrenched the dagger from her grasp.
She clawed at him, kicking, biting, but never once calling aloud for
aid. At last Kieron was able to pin her to a column with his weight,
and he held her there, arms pinioned to her sides.
"You hellcat!" he muttered against her hair, "Who are you?"
"You know well enough, you murdering lackey! Why don't you kill me and
go collect your pay, damn you!" gritted the girl furiously. "Must you
manhandle me too?"
Kieron gasped. "_I_ kill _you_!" He caught the girl's hair and pulled
her head back so that her features would catch the faint glow of light
from the city below. "Who are you, hellcat?"
The light outlined his own features and the Arms of Valkyr on the
clasp of his cloak at his throat. The girl's eyes widened. Slowly the
tenseness went out of her and she relaxed against him.
"Kieron! Kieron of Valkyr!"
* * * * *
Kieron was still alert for some trick. Landor could have hired a female
assassin just as well as a man.
"You know me?" he asked cautiously.
"_Know_ you!" She laughed suddenly, and it was a silvery sound in the
night. "I _loved_ you ... beast!"
"By the Seven Hells, you speak in riddles! Who are you?" the Valkyr
demanded irritably.
"And I thought you had come to kill me," mused the girl in
self-reproach. "My own Kieron!"
"I'm not your Kieron or anyone else's, Lady," said Kieron rather
stiffly, "and you'd better explain why you were watching me in the Hall
of Emperors before I'll let you go."
"My father warned me that you would forget me. I did not think you
would be so cruel," she taunted.
"I knew your father?"
"Well enough, I think."
"I've had a hundred wenches--and known some of their fathers, too. You
can't expect me to...."
"Not _this_ wench, Valkyr!" the girl exploded furiously.
The tone carried such command that Kieron involuntarily stepped back,
but still keeping the girl's hands pinned to her sides.
"If you had spoken so on Kaidor, I'd have had the skin stripped from
your back, outworld savage!" she cried.
Kaidor! Kieron felt the blood drain away from his face. This, then,
was ... Alys.
"Ha! So you remember now! Kaidor you can recall, but you have forgotten
me! Kieron, you always were a beast!"
Kieron felt a smile spreading across his face. It was good to smile
again. And it was good to know that Alys was ... safe.
"Highness...."
"Don't 'Highness' me!"
"Alys, then. Forgive me. I could not have known you. After all it has
been eight years...."
"And there have been a hundred wenches ..." mimicked the girl angrily.