IV

Ryvan was a fair city, with terraced gardens and high shining towers

to be seen over the white walls, and it lay among wide fields not yet

ravaged by the enemy. But around it, under its walls, spilling out over

the land, huddled the miserable shacks and tents of those who had fled

hither and could find no room within the town till the foe came over

the horizon--the broken folk, the ragged horror-ridden peasants who

stared mutely at the defeated army as it streamed through the gates.

The men of Killorn made camp under one wall and soon their fires

smudged the deep silver-blue sky and their warriors stood guard against

the Ryvanians. They did not trust even these comrades in woe, for they

came of the fat southlands and the wide highways and the iron legions,

and not of Killorn and its harsh windy loneliness.

Before long word came that the barbarian leaders were expected at the

palace. So Bram, Nessa, and Kery put on their polished byrnies, and

over them tunics and cloaks of their best plunder. They slung their

swords over their shoulders and mounted their hests and rode between

two squads of Ryvanian guardsmen through the gates and into the city.

It was packed and roiling with those who had fled. Crowds surged

aimlessly around the broad avenues and spilled into the colonnaded

temples and the looming apartments and even the gardens and villas of

the nobility.

There was the dusty, bearded peasant, clinging to his wife and

his children and looking on the world with frightened eyes. Gaily

decked noble, riding through the mob with patrician hauteur and fear

underneath it. Fat merchant and shaven priest, glowering at the

refugees who came in penniless to throng the city and must, by the

queen's orders, be fed and housed. Patrolling soldiers, striving to

keep order in the mindless whirlpool of man, their young faces drawn

and their shoulders stooped beneath their mail. Jugglers, mountebanks,

thieves, harlots, tavern-keepers, plying their trades in the feverish

gaiety of doom; a human storm foaming off into strange half-glimpsed

faces in darkened alleys and eddying crowds, the unaccountable aliens

who flit through all great cities--the world seemed gathered at Ryvan,

and huddling before the wrath that came.

Fear rode the city, Kery could feel it, he breathed and the air was

dank with terror, he bristled animal-like and laid a hand to his sword.

For an instant he remembered Killorn, the wide lake rose before him and

he stood at its edge, watching the breeze ruffle it and hearing the

whisper of reeds and the chuckle of water on a pebbled shore. Miles

about lay the hills and the moors, the clean strong smell of ling was a

drunkenness in his nostrils. It was silent save for the small cool wind

that ruffled Morna's hair. And in the west it was sunset, the mighty

sun-disc lay just below the horizon and a shifting, drifting riot of

colors, flame of red and green and molten gold, burned in the twilit

heavens.

He shook his head, feeling his longing as a sharp clear pain, and urged

his hest through the crowds. Presently they reached the palace.

It was long and low and gracious, crowded now since all the nobles

and their households had moved into it and, under protest, turned

their own villas over to the homeless. Dismounting, the northerners

walked between files of guardsmen, through fragrant gardens and up the

broad marble steps of the building--through long corridors and richly

furnished rooms, and finally into the audience chamber of Queen Sathi.

It was like a chalice of white stone, wrought in loveliness and

brimming with twilight and stillness. That deep blue dusk lay cool

and mysterious between the high slim pillars, and somewhere came

the rippling of a harp and the singing of birds and fountains. Kery

felt suddenly aware of his uncouth garments and manners and accent.

His tongue thickened and he did not know what to do with his hands.

Awkwardly he took off his helmet.

"Lord Bram of Killorn, your majesty," said the chamberlain.

"Greeting, and welcome," said Sathi.

* * * * *

Word had spread far about Ryvan's young queen but Kery thought dazedly

that the gossips had spoken less of her than was truth. She was tall

and lithe and sweetly formed, with strength slumbering deep under the

wide soft mouth and the lovely curves of cheeks and forehead. Blood

of the Sun Lands darkened her hair to a glowing blue-black and tinted

her skin with gold, there was fire from the sun within her. Like other

southern women, she dressed more boldly than the girls of Killorn,

a sheer gown falling from waist to ankles, a thin veil over the

shoulders, little jewelry. She needed no ornament.

She could not be very much older than he, if at all, thought Kery. He

caught her great dark eyes on him and felt a slow hot flush go up his

face. With an effort he checked himself and stood very straight, with

his strange blue eyes like cold flames.

Beside Sathi sat the general, Jonan, and there were a couple of older

men who seemed to be official advisors. But it soon was clear that only

the queen and the soldier had much to say in this court.

Bram's voice boomed out, shattering the peace of the blue dusk. For

all his great size and ruddy beard he seemed lost in the ancient grace

of the chamber. He spoke too loudly. He stood too stiff. "Thank you,

my lady. But I am no lord, I simply head this group of the men of

Killorn." He waved clumsily at his fellows. "These are Nessa of Dagh

and Kery of Broina."

"Be seated, then, and welcome again." Sathi's voice was low and

musical. She signaled her servants to bring wine.

"We have heard of great wanderings in the north," she went on, when

they had drunk. "But those lands are little known to us. What brought

you so far from home?"

Nessa, who had the readiest tongue, answered. "There was famine in the

land, your majesty. For three years drought and cold lay like iron

over Killorn. We hungered and the coughing sickness came over many of

us. Not all our magics and sacrifices availed to end our misery, they

seemed only to raise great storms that destroyed what little we had

kept.

"Then the weather smiled again, but as often happens the gray blight

came in the wake of the hard years. It reaped our grain before we

could, the stalks withered and crumbled before our eyes, and wild

beasts came in hunger-driven swarms to raid our dwindling flocks. There

was scarce food enough for a quarter of our starving folk. We knew,

from what had happened in other lands, that the gray blight will waste

a country for years, five or ten, leaving only perhaps a third part of

the crop alive at each harvest. Then it passes away and does not come

again. But meanwhile the land will not bear many folk.

"So in the end the clans decided that most must move away leaving only

the few who could keep alive through the niggard years to hold the

country for us. Hearts broke in twain, your majesty, for the hills and

the moors and the lake where it is forever sunset were part of us. We

are of that land and if we die away from it our ghosts will wander

home. But go we must, lest all die."

"Yes, go on," said Jonan impatiently when he paused.

Bram gave him an angry look and took up the story. "Four hosts were to

wander out of the land and see what would befall. If they found a place

to stay they would abide there till the evil time was over. Otherwise

they would live however they could. It lay with the gods, my lady, and

we have traveled far from the realms of our gods.

"One host went eastward, into the great forests of Norla. One got

ships and sailed west, out into the Day Lands where some of our

adventurers had already explored a little way. One followed the coast

southwestward, through country beyond our ken. And ours marched due

south. And so we have wandered for five years."

"Homeless," whispered Sathi, and Kery thought her eyes grew bright with

tears.

"Barbarian robbers!" snapped Jonan. "I know of the havoc they have

wrought on their way."

"And what would you have done," growled Bram. Jonan gave him a stiff

glare, but he rushed on. "Your majesty, we have taken only what we

needed...."

And whatever else struck our fancy, thought Kery in a moment's wryness.

"--and much of our fighting has been done for honest pay. We want only

a place to live a few years, land to farm as free yeomen, and we will

defend the country which shelters us as long as we are in it. We are

too few to take that land and hold it against a whole nation--that is

why we have not settled down ere this--but on the march we will scatter

any army in the world or leave our corpses for carrion birds. The men

of Killorn keep faith with friends and foes alike, help to the one and

harm to the other.

"Now we saw many fair fields in Ryvan where we could be at home. The

Ganasthi have cleared off the owners for us. So we offer you this--give

us the land we need and we will fight for you against these Ganasthi or

any other foes while blood runs through our hearts. Refuse us and we

may be able to make friends with the Dark Landers instead. For friends

we must have."

"You see?" snarled Jonan. "He threatens banditry."

"No, no, you are too hasty," replied Sathi. "He is simply telling the

honest truth. And the gods know we need warriors."

"This general was anxious enough for our help out there in the eastern

marches," said Kery suddenly.

"Enough, barbarian," said Jonan with ice in his tones.

Color flared in Sathi's cheeks. "Enough of you, Jonan. These are brave

and honest men, and our guests, and our sorely needed allies. We will

draw up the treaty at once."

The general shrugged, insolently. Kery was puzzled. There was anger

here, crackling under a hard-held surface, but it seemed new and

strange. _Why?_

They haggled for a while over terms, Nessa doing most of the talking

for Killorn. He and Bram would not agree that clansmen should owe

fealty or even respect to any noble of Ryvan save the queen herself.

Also they should have the right to go home whenever they heard the

famine was over. Sathi was willing enough to concede it but Jonan had

to be almost beaten down. Finally he gave grudging assent and the queen

had her scribes draw the treaty up on parchment.

"That is not how we do it in Killorn," said Bram. "A tyr must be

sacrificed and vows made on the ring of Llugan and the pipes of the

gods."

Sathi smiled. "Very well, Red One," she nodded. "We will make the

pledge thusly too, if you wish." With a sudden flame of bitterness,

"What difference does it make? What difference does anything make now?"

V

Now the armies of Ganasth moved against Ryvan city itself. From all the

plundered empire they streamed in, to ring the town in a living wall

and hem the defenders within a fence of spears. And when the whole host

was gathered, which took about ten sleeps from the time the Killorners

arrived, they stormed the city.

Up the long slope of the hills on which Ryvan stood they came, running,

bounding, holding up shields against the steady hail of missiles from

the walls. Forward, silent and blank-faced, no noise in them save

the crashing of thousands of feet and the high demon-music of their

warmaking--dying, strewing the ground with their corpses, but leaping

over the fallen and raging against the walls.

Up ladders! Rams thundering at the gates! Men springing to the top

of walls and toppling before the defenders and more of them snarling

behind!

Back and forth the battle raged, now the Ryvanians driven back to the

streets and rooftops, now the Dark Landers pressed to the edge of the

walls and pitchforked over. Houses began to burn, here and there,

and it was Sathi who made fire brigades out of those who could not

fight. Kery had a glimpse of her from afar, as he battled on the outer

parapets, a swift and golden loveliness against the leaping red.

After long and vicious fighting the northern gate went down. But Bram

had foreseen this. He had pulled most of his barbarians thither,

with Kery's bulls in their lead. He planted them well back and had a

small stout troop on either side of the great buckling doors. When

the barrier sagged on its hinges, the Ganasthi roared in unopposed,

streaming through the entrance and down the broad bloody avenue.

Then the Killorners thrust from the side, pinching off the several

hundred who had entered. They threw great jars of oil on the broken

gates and set them ablaze, a barrier of flame which none could cross.

And then Kery rode his bulls against the enemy, and behind him came the

might of Killorn.

It was raw slaughter. Erelong they were hunting the foe up and down the

streets and spearing them like wild animals. Meanwhile Bram got some

engineers from Jonan's force who put up a temporary barricade in the

now open gateway and stood guard over it.

The storm faded, grumbled away in surges of blood and whistling arrows.

Shaken by their heavy losses, the Dark Landers pulled back out of

missile range, ringed the city with their watchfires, and prepared to

lay siege.

There was jubilation in Ryvan. Men shouted and beat their dented

shields with nicked and blunted swords. They tossed their javelins in

the air, emptied wineskins, and kissed the first and best girl who came

to hand. Weary, bleeding, reft of many good comrades, and given at best

a reprieve, the folk still snatched at what laughter remained.

Bram came striding to meet the queen. He was a huge and terrible figure

stiff with dried blood, the ax blinking on his shoulder and the other

hairy paw clamped on the neck of a tall Dark Lander whom he helped

along with an occasional kick. Yet Sathi's dark eyes trailed to the

slim form of Kery, following in the chief's wake and too exhausted to

say much.

"I caught this fellow in the streets, my lady," said Bram merrily, "and

since he seemed to be a leader I thought I'd better hang on to him for

a while."

The invader stood motionless, regarding them with a chill yellow stare

in which there lay an iron pride. He was tall and well-built, his black

mail silver-trimmed, a silver star on the battered black helmet. The

snowy hair and beard stirred faintly in the breeze.

"An aristocrat, I would say," nodded Sathi. She herself seemed almost

too tired to stand. She was smudged with smoke and her dress was torn

and her small hands bleeding from their recent burdens. But she pulled

herself erect and fought to speak steadily. "Yes, he may well be of

value to us. That was good work. Aye, you men of Killorn fought nobly,

without you we might well have lost the city. It was a good month when

you came."

"It was no way to fight," snapped Jonan. He was tired and wounded

himself, but there was no comradeship in the look he gave the

northerners. "The risk of it--why, if you hadn't been able to seal the

gate behind them, Ryvan would have fallen then and there."

"I did not see you doing much of anything when the gate was splintering

before them," answered Bram curtly. "As it is, my lady, we've inflicted

such heavy losses on them that I doubt they'll consider another attempt

at storming. Which gives us, at least, time to try something else." He

yawned mightily. "Time to sleep!"

* * * * *

Jonan stepped up close to the prisoner and they exchanged a long look.

There was no way to read the Dark Lander's thoughts but Kery thought he

saw a tension under the general's hard-held features.

"I don't know what value a food-eating prisoner is to us when he can't

even speak our language," said the Ryvanian. "However, I can take him

in charge if you wish."

"Do," she nodded dully.

"Odd if he couldn't talk any Aluardian at all," said Kery. "Wanderers

through alien lands almost have to learn. The leaders of invading

armies ought to know the tongue of their enemy, or at least have

interpreters." He grinned with the cold savagery of the Broina. "Let

the women of Killorn, the ones who've lost husbands today, have him for

a while. I daresay he'll soon discover he knows your speech--whatever

is left of him."

"No," said Jonan flatly. He signalled to a squad of his men. "Take this

fellow down to the palace dungeons and give him something to eat. I'll

be along later."

Kery started to protest but Sathi laid a hand on his arm. He felt how

it was still bleeding a little and grew silent.

"Let Jonan take care of it," she said, her voice flat with weariness.

"We all need rest now--O gods, to sleep!"

The Killorners had moved their wagons into the great forum and camped

there, much to the disgust of the aristocrats and to the pleasure of

whatever tavern-keepers and unattached young women lived nearby. But

Sathi had insisted that their three chiefs should be honored guests at

the palace and it pleased them well enough to have private chambers and

plenty of servants and the best of wine.

Kery woke in his bed and lay for a long while, drowsing and thinking

the wanderous thoughts of half-asleep. When he got up he groaned for he

was stiff with his wounds and the long fury of battle. A slave came in

and rubbed him with oil and brought him a barbarian-sized meal, after

which he felt better.

But now he was restless. He felt the let-down which is the aftermath of

high striving. It was hard to fight back the misery and loneliness that

rose in him. He prowled the room unhappily, pacing under the glowing

cressets, flinging himself on a couch and then springing to his feet

again. The walls were a cage.

The city was a cage, a trap, he was caught like a snared beast and

never again would he walk the moors of Killorn. Sharply as a knife

thrust, he remembered hunting once out in the heath. He had gone alone,

with spear and bow and a shaggy half-wild cynor loping at his heels,

out after antlered prey somewhere beyond the little village. Long had

they roamed, he and his beast, until they were far from sight of man

and only the great gray and purple and gold of the moors were around

them.

The carpet under his bare feet seemed again to be the springy, pungent

ling of Killorn. It was as if he smelled the sharp wild fragrance of it

and felt the leaves brushing his ankles. It had been gray and windy,

clouds rushed out of the west on a mounting gale. There was rain in the

air and high overhead a single bird of prey had wheeled and looped on

lonely wings. O almighty gods, how the wind had sung and cried to him,

chilled his body with raw wet gusts and skirled in the dales and roared

beneath the darkening heavens! And he had come down a long rocky slope

into a wooded glen, a waterfall rushed and foamed along his path, white

and green and angry black. He had sheltered in a mossy cave, lain and

listened to the wind and the rain and the crystal, ringing waterfall,

and when the weather cleared he had gotten up and gone home. There had

been no quarry, but by Morna of Dagh, that failure meant more to him

than all his victories since!

He picked up the pipe of the gods, where it lay with his armor, and

turned it over and over in his hands. Old it was, dark with age, the

pipes were of some nameless iron-like wood and the bag of a leather

such as was never seen now. It was worn with the uncounted generations

of Broinas who had had it, men made hard and stern by their frightful

trust.

It had scattered the legions of the southerners who came conquering a

hundred years ago and it had quelled the raiding savages from Norla and

it had gone with one-eyed Alrigh and shouted down the walls of a city.

And more than once, on this last dreadful march, it had saved the men

of Killorn.

Now it was dead. The Piper of Killorn had fallen and the secret had

perished with him and the folk it had warded were trapped like animals

to die of hunger and pestilence in a strange land--_O Rhiach, Rhiach

my father, come back from the dead, come back and put the pipe to your

cold lips and play the war-song of Killorn!_

Kery blew in it for the hundredth time and only a hollow whistling

sounded in the belly of the instrument. Not even a decent tune, he

thought bitterly.

He couldn't stay indoors, he had to get out under the sky again or go

mad. Slinging the pipe over his shoulder he went out the door and up a

long stairway to the palace roof gardens.

They slept all around him, sleep and silence were heavy in the long

corridors, it was as if he were the last man alive and walked alone

through the ruins of the world. He came out on the roof and went over

to the parapet and stood looking out.

The moon was near the zenith which meant, at this longitude, that it

was somewhat less than half full and would dwindle as it sank westward.

It rode serene in the dusky sky adding its pale glow to the diffused

light which filled all the Twilight Lands and to the white pyre of

the hidden sun. The city lay dark and silent under the sky, sleeping

heavily, only the muted tramp of sentries and their ringing calls

drifted up to Kery. Beyond the town burned the ominous red circle of

the Ganasthi fires and he could see their tents and the black forms of

their warriors.

They were settling down to a patient death watch. All the land had

become silent waiting for Ryvan to die. It did not seem right that he

should stand here among fragrant gardens and feel the warm western

breeze on his face, not when steadfast Lluwynn and Boroda the Strong

and gay young Kormak his comrade were ashen corpses with the women of

Killorn keening over them. _O Killorn, Killorn, and the lake of sunset,

have their ghosts gone home to you? Greet Morna for me, Kormak, whisper

in the wind that I love her, tell her not to grieve._

* * * * *

He grew aware that someone else was approaching, and turned with

annoyance. But his mood lightened when he saw that it was Sathi. She

was very fair as she walked toward him, young and lithe and beautiful,

with the dark unbound hair floating about her.

"Are you up, Kery?" she asked, sitting down on the parapet beside him.

"Of course, my lady, or else you are dreaming," he smiled with a tired

humor.

"Stupid question wasn't it?" She smiled back with a curving of closed

lips that was lovely to behold. "But I am not feeling very bright just

now."

"None of us are, my lady."

"Oh, forget that sort of address, Kery. I am too lonely as it is,

sitting on a throne above all the world. Call me by my name, at least."

"You are very kind--Sathi."

"That is better." She smiled again, wistfully. "How you fought today!

How you reaped them! What sort of a warrior are you, Kery, to ride wild

bulls as if they were hests?"

"We of clan Broina have tricks. We feel things that other men do not

seem to." Kery sat down beside her feeling the frozenness within him

ease a little. "Aye, it can be lonely to wield power and you wonder if

you are fit for it, not so? My father died in our first battle with the

Ganasthi, and now I am the Broina, but who am I to lead my clan? I

cannot even perform the first duty of my post."

"And what is that?" she asked.

He told her about the god-pipe. He showed it to her and gave her the

tales of its singing. "You feel your flesh shiver and your bones begin

to crumble, rocks dance and mountains groan and the gates of hell open

before you but now the pipes are forever silent, Sathi. No man knows

how to play them."

"I heard of your music at that battle," she nodded gravely, "and

wondered why it was not sounded again this time." Awe and fear were in

her eyes, the hand that touched the scarred sack trembled a little.

"And this is the pipe of Killorn! You cannot play it again? You cannot

find out how? It would be the saving of Ryvan and of your own folk and

perhaps of all the Twilight Lands, Kery."

"I know. But what can I do? Who can understand the powers of heaven or

unlock the doors of hell save Llugan Longsword himself?"

"I do not know. But Kery--I wonder. This pipe.... Do you really think

that gods and not men wrought it?"

"Who but a god could make such a thing, Sathi?"

"I do not know, I say. And yet--Tell me, have you any idea of what the

world is like in Killorn? Do you think it a flat plain with the sun

hanging above, forever fixed in one spot?"

"Why I suppose so. Though we have met men in the southlands who claimed

the world was a round ball and went about the sun in such a manner as

always to turn the same face to it."

"Yes, the wise men of Ryvan tell us that that must be the case. They

have learned it by studying the fixed stars and those which wander.

Those others are worlds like our own, they say, and the fixed stars

are suns a very long ways off. And we have a very dim legend of a time

once, long and long and long ago, when this world did not eternally

face the sun either. It spun like a top so that each side of it had

light and dark alternately."

Kery knitted his brows trying to see that for himself. At last he

nodded. "Well, it may have been. What of it?"

"The barbarians all think the world was born in flame and thunder many

ages ago. But some of our thinkers believe that this creation was a

catastrophe which destroyed that older world I speak of. There are dim

legends and here and there we find very ancient ruins, cities greater

than any we know today but buried and broken so long ago that even

their building stones are almost weathered away. These thinkers believe

that man grew mighty on this forgotten world which spun about itself,

that his powers were like those we today call divine.

"Then something happened. We cannot imagine what, though a wise man

once told me he believed all things attract each other--that is the

reason why they fall to the ground he said--and that another world

swept so close to ours that its pull stopped the spinning and yanked

the moon closer than it had been."

Kery clenched his fists. "It could be," he murmured. "It could well

be. For what happens to an unskillful rider when his hest stops all at

once? He goes flying over its head, right? Even so, this braking of

the world would have brought earthquakes greater than we can imagine,

quakes that levelled everything!"

"You have a quick wit. That is what this man told me. At any rate, only

a very few people and animals lived and nothing remained of their great

works save legends. In the course of many ages, man and beasts alike

changed, the beasts more than man who can make his own surroundings to

suit. Life spread from the Day Lands through the Twilight Zone. Plants

got so they could use what little light we have here. Finally even the

Dark Lands were invaded by the pallid growths which can live there.

Animals followed and man came after the animals until today things are

as you see."

She turned wide and serious eyes on him. "Could not this pipe have

been made in the early days by a man who knew some few of the ancient

secrets? No god but a man even as you, Kery. And what one man can make

another can understand!"

* * * * *

Hope rose in him and sagged again. "How?" he asked dully. And then,

seeing the tears glimmer in her eyes: "Oh, it may all be true. I will

try my best. But I do not even know where to begin."

"Try," she whispered. "Try!"

"But do not tell anyone that the pipe is silent, Sathi. Perhaps I

should not even have told you."

"Why not? I am your friend and the friend of your folk. I would we had

all the tribes of Killorn here."

"Jonan is not," he said grimly.

"Jonan--he is a harsh man, yes. But...."

"He does not like us. I do not know why but he doesn't."

"He is a strange one," she admitted. "He is not even of Ryvanian birth,

he is from Guria, a city which we conquered long ago, though of course

its people have long been full citizens of the empire. He wants to

marry me, did you know?" She smiled. "I could not help laughing for he

is so stiff. One would as soon wed an iron cuirass."

"Aye--wed--" Kery fell silent, and there was a dream in his gaze as he

looked over the hills.

"What are you thinking of?" she asked after a while.

"Oh--home," he said. "I was wondering if I would ever see Killorn

again."

She leaned over closer to him. One long black lock brushed his hand and

he caught the faint fragrance of her. "Is it so fair a land?" she asked

softly.

"No," he said. "It is harsh and gray and lonely. Storm winds sweep in

and the sea roars on rocky beaches and men grow gnarled with wresting

life from the stubborn soil. But there is space and sky and freedom,

there are the little huts and the great halls, the chase and the games

and the old songs around leaping fires, and--well--" His voice trailed

off.

"You left a woman behind, didn't you?" she murmured gently.

He nodded. "Morna of Dagh, she of the sun-bright tresses and the fair

young form and the laughter that was like rain showering on thirsty

ground. We were very much in love."

"But she did not come too?"

"No. So many wanted to come that the unwed had to draw lots and she

lost. Nor could I stay behind for I was heir to the Broina and the

god-pipes would be mine someday." He laughed, a harsh sound like

breaking iron. "You see how much good that has done me!"

"But even so--you could have married her before leaving?"

"No. Such hasty marriage is against clan law and Morna would not break

it." Kery shrugged. "So we wandered out of the land, and I have not

seen her since. But she will wait for me and I for her. We'll wait

till--till--" He had half raised his hand but as he saw again the camp

of the besiegers it fell helplessly to his lap.

"And you would not stay?" Sathi's tones were so low he had to bend his

head close to hear. "Even if somehow Ryvan threw back its foes and

valiant men were badly needed and could rise to the highest honors of

the empire, you would not stay here?"

For a moment Kery sat motionless, wrapping himself about his innermost

being. He had some knowledge of women. There had been enough of them

along the dusty way, brief encounters and a fading memory.

His soul had room only for the bright image of one unforgotten girl.

It was plain enough what this woman, who was young and beautiful and a

queen, was saying and he would not ordinarily have hung back.

Especially when the folk of Killorn were still strangers in a camp

of allies who did not trust them very far, when Killorn needed every

friend it could find. And the Broina were an elvish clan who had never

let overly many scruples hold them.

Only--only he liked Sathi as a human being. She was brave and generous

and wise and she was, really, so pitiably young. She had had so little

chance to learn the hard truths of living in the loneliness of the

imperium and only a scoundrel would hurt her.

She sighed, ever so faintly, and moved back a little. Kery thought he

saw her stiffening. One does not reject the offer of a queen.

"Sathi," he said, "for you, perhaps, even a man of Killorn might forget

his home."

She half turned to him, hesitating, unsure of herself and him. He took

her in his arms and kissed her.

"Kery, Kery, Kery--" she whispered, and her lips stole back toward his.

He felt rather than heard a footfall and turned with the animal

alertness of the barbarian. Jonan stood watching them.

"Pardon me," said the general harshly. His countenance was strained.

Then suddenly, "Your majesty! This savage mauling you...."

Sathi lifted a proud dark head. "This is the prince consort of Imperial

Ryvan," she said haughtily. "Conduct yourself accordingly. You may go."

Jonan snarled and lifted an arm. Kery saw the armed men step from

behind the tall flowering hedges and his sword came out with a rasp of

steel.

"Guards!" screamed Sathi.

The men closed in. Kery's blade whistled against one shield. Another

came from each side. Pikeshafts thudded against his bare head--

He fell, toppling into a roaring darkness while they clubbed him again.

Down and down and down, whirling into a chasm of night. Dimly, just

before blankness came, he saw the white beard and the mask-like face of

the prince from Ganasth.