V
The high priest's face lit, and Alfric realized dully that Therokos,
too, loved the queen--in his own cold way. "You do well, beautiful
one," he said shakily. He came over and kissed her and fondled her
stiff body. "You have never done better, black witch. Now come--to your
wedding."
He signed to the two slaves, who sconced their torches and took a key
from their master. They unlocked Hildaborg's chains, and she almost
fell into Therokos' arms.
He caressed her, murmuring softly. "There, dear, easy--you will wash
and eat and rest, you will wear the robes of honor--be at ease, you are
safe now, you are mine forever."
"Aye--" She braced herself, every muscle tautened under the silken
skin, and suddenly she hurled the priest from her--sent him staggering
against Alfric. "_Kill!_" she screamed.
The barbarian snarled, wild with a sudden murderous glory, and his
manacled hands shot out. One gripped Therokos over the mouth, and the
other sank steely fingers into the wattled throat.
The two slaves sprang at him like wild garms. Knives flashed in the
bloody light. Hildaborg snatched a torch and swept its flaming end
across the eyes of one. He screamed wordlessly, rolling over and over,
clawing at his face. Hildaborg snatched up his dagger and lunged at the
other.
Alfric groaned. What chance did she have against the deadly experience
of a Temple assassin?--Therokos had gone limp. Alfric flung the heavy
body crashing into the slave. They went down together. Hildaborg leaped
in, her knife rising and falling and rising again, streaming red.
Then she was in his arms, shaken by wild sobbing. He held her close,
kissed her, stroked her hair, and had time for a dim wondering
amazement that such a woman should have lain in his--_his_--fate.
There was no time to lose. "Unlock me," he said. "Unlock me and let's
get out of this den of Luigur."
She searched Therokos' robes for the key, found it, and cast the chains
rattling aside. Alfric snatched up a knife, with an uneasy glance at
the door. But the noise had drawn no guards. They must be used to
screams in this part of the Temple.
Therokos stirred, groaning. Alfric's big brown form stooped over
him, dagger against throat. "Up with you, fat jerrad," hissed the
northerner. "Up, and not a word, or you'll be spilling guts over the
floor."
The High Priest climbed unsteadily to his feet. "Now lead us out by a
secret way," rasped Alfric.
"There is none--" groaned Therokos.
Alfric slapped him with savage fury. "Shut up! I know there is. You
priests are like all burrowing snakes, you've more than one exit to
your holes. March! And if we meet guards, you'll die first."
Therokos flung him a glance of utter hate, but stumbled obediently
ahead. The empty corridor echoed dully to their footfalls. Near its
end, Therokos pressed a camouflaged stud, and a section of the rock
wall swung aside on noiseless hinges.
Hildaborg took a torch from the wall and closed the door behind them.
They went down a long sloping tunnel, so low that Alfric had to stoop.
"You cannot hope to escape," said Therokos, his voice again under his
wondrous control. "Best you give up peaceably, saving trouble and lives
on both sides. In exchange, I will offer better terms than before."
"What?" asked Alfric skeptically.
"Weapons, money, and hengists--then you can leave the city for the hell
that awaits you."
"And my men?" insisted Hildaborg.
"Exile, with you."
* * * * *
Alfric pondered the proposal. If they could get free, with men at their
back, they could always raise an army for a new attempt. But surely
Therokos was aware of that. So if he had some trick--and it would be
strange if he did not--
"How do we know you'll keep the bargain?" he asked coldly.
"You have the honor of the High Priest," answered Therokos loftily.
Alfric sneered, and Therokos added: "Also, I assume you keep me
prisoner until you are safe."
"It does not sound ill--" mused Hildaborg.
Nor did it to Alfric. But he shook his head, stubbornly. "I mistrust
him. Moreover, a new war, after he had time to get ready, would take
time and lives, and might fail. If tonight is indeed the night of
destiny, we can still strike."
"With what?" jeered Therokos.
Alfric was not quite sure himself, but prodded the captive ungently
onward. They came to another hinged rock, and Therokos opened that door
for them. Alfric's spine crawled with the thought of what might lie
beyond; he kept the dagger against Therokos' back as they stepped out.
They were in the shadows of a ruined portico, in a deserted section
near the bottom of the hill. White and serene, the ancient columns
lifted toward the two moons. The gracious remnants of elder days
stretched on either side, half buried by drifting sand. Black against
the sky, the Temple loomed on the hillcrest, but Alfric saw no movement.
Hildaborg slipped against him. "Now what shall we do?" she whispered.
He laughed softly, the old grim battle joy flowing up in him. Weariness
and despair fell off like an outworn cloak--there was new strength in
his thews and a goal in his mind.
"I heard, down there, how Valkarion really hates the priests," he said.
"The city is seething with revolt which wants only a leader. Could the
common folk rise, I think nigh all the city guards, impressed into
priest service by fear, would come over to their side. And you--they
love you, Hildaborg. Could you go to sure friends?"
"Aye--there is old Bronnes the merchant and Captain Hassalon of the
guard, and--many."
"Then go. Slip down to them, give them word and tell them to pass it
on, to shout it over the city. You, the Empress, the divinely appointed
lady of Valkarion, tell the folk to rise against the Temple. Let them
storm the citadel, and they may have the looting of it!" He chuckled.
"That should bring in the laggards."
"But--untrained mobs, against the guards--"
"There will be other guardsmen on your side. And--this is my part--your
Household will also be there."
"But--they're besieged--"
"I'll get them out." Alfric stripped off Therokos' gold-braided cloak,
and slung it over her shoulders. "This will cover you well enough so
you can get to your friends unharmed. Now go, Hildaborg, and Ruho go
with you."
He kissed her, with a wild hunger that dissolved into tenderness. "Stay
out of danger," he whispered. "Stay in a safe place till I come for
you--Hildaborg--"
Therokos scuttled aside. "Oh, no!" snarled Alfric, and stabbed. The
priest tumbled, with blood rivering from his stomach, choking his
screams. Alfric took Hildaborg again in his arms. "Goodbye, my dearest
dear--"
She slipped into the shadows. Alfric sighed, wondering with a brief
heaviness if he would ever see her again. He knew full well how
desperate his gamble was.
Well, there was work to be done. He turned and ran crouched along the
hillside, weaving in and out of darkness. The Moons were almost at
their mating now, flooding the city with chill silver radiance.
He grinned up at them. And what did they think of this ruination of
their ancient godhead? He could hardly imagine them caring about it.
Surely Dannos, the swift warrior, and bright Mother Amaris had more use
for an honest fighting man and his warm-hearted love than for a bunch
of sniveling shavepates. All honor to the Moons, but not to tyrants and
murderers in their name.
He was in the gully now, between Temple and palace. Snakelike, he
crawled under the shadow of the bridge to its farther end, where he
peered cautiously around an abutment.
The trampled gardens were full of city and Temple guards, whose
watchfires ringed the palace. He saw the light agleam on spears and
swords and armor, and had time to wonder if he would ever make it past
them.
But he had to try. He drew a deep breath, tightened his muscles, and
ran.
* * * * *
Like a flying arrow he ran, noiseless on bare feet, and none saw him
before he was hugged against a low thorn-tree near one of the fires. Up
it he went, wincing as the thorns raked him, and slipped along a branch
almost overhanging the blaze.
He caught a snatch of muttered conversation. "--when they finish those
siege engines, down the palace goes. But the Household will be out like
a swarm of stinger asts. I don't relish fighting the best swords in
Valkarion."
"No, but we outnumber them."
"My cousin is in there. I hate to think of--"
Alfric sprang! He soared from his perch and crashed into the chest of
the man he had picked. The guard went down in a clang of armor and dry
snap of breaking ribs. Alfric snatched his spear and jabbed it through
the groin of another. Through that gap, then, he raced, low and zigzag
among the bushes.
The siege line roared. The air was suddenly thick with spears and
arrows. Alfric felt one rake his leg, and cursed between gasps. To the
palace!
"Open!" he howled. "Open, let me by, in the name of the Empress!"
If the garrison took this for a ruse and shot him, it was all over. He
plunged up the long staircase, past the crouching craven sphinxes of
the Empire. The doors had been broken down in the first assault, but
the Imperials had put up a barricade. He saw steel flash as he neared
it.
"Hildaborg!" he bawled. "Live the Empress!"
They held their fire. He fell under the barricade while their arrows
hummed overhead. The disorderly Temple pursuit broke into retreat, back
out of bowshot.
Alfric climbed over the barricade into the great palace antechamber.
Its golden glory was gutted by fighting, splashed with dry blood,
the tapestries in rags and the furniture splintered. Dead men and
wounded lay side by side against the walls, under the ancient murals
of the Empire's greatness. A dozen tall cuirassiers in gold and purple
uniforms--now torn and blood-stained--stood waiting for him. Their
spears and swords, axes and bows were at the ready, their haggard faces
bleak with suspicion.
"Who are you?" demanded the captain. "What is this?"
"I am Alfric of Aslak--" panted the newcomer.
"_A barbarian_--the _barbarian_--_the outlander of the prophecy_--"
They hefted their weapons, eyes narrowing, mouths drawing into taut
lines.
"I am with Hildaborg, against the Temple," said Alfric. "'Twas with my
help she escaped their net. Now she leads all of us to overthrow her
foes."
"How do we know you speak truth?" snapped the captain.
"You'll know it when I lead you out against the Temple!"
"Out--to be cut down by thrice our number? Go to!"
"They'll have more to worry about than us," said Alfric. In hard brief
words, he told them the plan.
At the end of it, the tall captain clapped his shoulder and said in
a voice suddenly warm: "That is a tale whose truth we can see for
ourselves, when the Empress' folk come up against the Temple. So I'll
believe it, for one. I am Ganimos of the Imperial Household. Welcome,
Alfric of Aslak!"
The barbarian nodded, too weary for speechmaking. "Give me some water
and wine and a little to eat," he said. "I'll wash, refresh myself,
and be ready to go with you at the time of the uprising. If we hit the
Temple from the side then, it will fall."
But he had scarcely gotten clean, donned a guardsman's armor, and
stretched himself on a couch for a moment's nap, when he heard the
blare of trumpets. Ganimos burst into the room where he lay, shouting:
"The Temple's men are storming us again in full force, and no help from
the city in sight. Up--up and die!"