Unnoticed, Nevitta slipped from the antechamber and silently closed the door after him…
Kieron stood before the arched window, staring out into the eternal, misty dusk of Kalgan, his heart heavy. Behind him, Alys lay on the low couch. Her bright hair lay in tumbled profusion about her face as she watched her lover at the window. Kieron turned to look at her, feeling the impact of her warm beauty. He began to pace the floor, wracking his brains for a lead to his next move in the subtle war of treachery and intrigue that had taken shape around him.
He had ordered his men ready for attack, but for the moment there was little need for that kind of vigilance. What was needed was more information. Carefully, he marshalled what few facts he had at his disposal.
The connection between Freka and the plotters in the Imperial City which he had suspected was proved at last by the attempt on Alys' life by men of Kalgan. The star-kings were being used to fnght a battle not their own. But whose? Freka's. . or Ivane's? No matter which, they were being tricked into striking the Imperial Crown from Toran's head, and the gain to them and their people would be — more oppression.
The treatment he himself had received in the Imperial Court made sense now. Landor sought to drive him into the arms of Freka's revolt. Only Alys had spared him.
Now, the star-kings must be warned. But by the code of the Edge, Kieron must prove to them that he was not the craven coward that Freka's laughter had branded him. And he needed proof. Proof of the monstrous structure of treachery and intrigue that had sprung up out of a worn-cupidity and an unknown star-king's cold inhumanity.
Kieron stared moodily down into the damp courtyard beneath the open window. In the early dawn it was deserted. Then, quite suddenly, there was activity in the walled-in square. An officer of the Citadel guard escorted heavily cloaked figure into the yard, and with every evidence of great resp ect, withdrew. The solitary figure paced the wet cobbles nervously.
Who, wondered Kieron, would be treated with such obvious obsequiousness and yet left in a back courtyard to await the summons of Freka of Kalgan? A sudden thought struck him. It could be only someone who should not be seen by the star-kings and their attendants that tilled the Citadel of Neg to overflowing.
Kieron studied the cloaked nobleman with renewed interest. It seemed to him that he had seen that mincing walk before…
Landor!
Kieron flung open the door to the outer chamber. His startled men gathered about him. Alys was on her feet bebind him. He signalled for Nevitta and four men to enter.
"Nevitta! Tear down that wall tapestry and cut it into shreds. . Alys, tie the strips together and make a rope of it! Make certain the knots are secure enough to bear a man's weight… That's Landor down there!"
Kicking off his spurred boots, Kieron eased himself over the ledge of the window. The courtyard was thirty feet below, but the ancient walls of the Citadel were rough and full of the ornate projections of Interregnal architecture. Kieron let himself down, feeling the mist wet on his face. Twice he almost lost his footing and pitched to the courtyard floor. Alys stared down at him from the window, whitefaced.
He was ten feet from the bottom when Landor looked up. Recognition was instant. There was a moment of stunned silence, and Kieron dropped the remaining distance to land cat-like on his feet, blade in hand.
"Kieron!" Landor's face was grey.
The Valkyr advanced purposefully. "Yes, Landor! Kieron! I wasn't supposed to see you here, was I? And you don't dare raise an outcry or the others will see you, too! That would raise quite a smell in the Consort's pretty brew, wouldn't it?"
Landor shrank back, away from the gleaming blade in Kieron's hand.
"Draw, Landor," said Kieron softly. "Draw now, or I'll kill you where you stand."
In a panic, the First Lord of Space drew his sword. He knew himself to be no match for the Valkyr star-king, and at the first touch of blades, he turned and fled for the gate. He banged hard against the heavy panels. The gate was locked. Kieron followed him deliberately.
"Cry for help, Landor," Kieron suggested with a short, hard laugh. "The place is full of fighting-men."
Landor was wide-eyed. "Why do you want to kill me, Kieron," he cried hoarsely; "what have I done to you. .?"
"You've taxed my people and insulted me, and if that were not enough there would still be your treachery with Freka — tricking me and the others into rebellion so that Ivane can seize the crown! That's more than enough reason to kill you. Besides. ." Kieron smiled grimly, "I just don't like you, Lander. I'd enjoy spilling some of your milky blood."
"Kieron! I swear, Kieron…"
"Save it, dancing master!" Kieron touched Landor's loosely heHd weapon with his own. "Guard yourself!"
Landor uttered an animal cry of desperation and lunged clumsily at the Valkyr. Kieron's sword made a glittering encirclement and the First Lord's weapon clattered on the cobblestones twenty feet away.
Kieron's eyes were cold as he advanced on the now thoroughly terrorized courtier. "Kneel down, Landor. A lackey should always die on his knees."
The First Lord threw himself to the cobbles, his arms around the outworlder's knees. He was grey with fright and babbling for mercy, his eyes tightly shut. Kieron reversed his sword and brought the heavy hilt down sharply on Landor's head. The courtier sighed and pitched forward. Kieron sheathed his weapon and picked the unconscious man up like a sack of meal. Time was short. The guards would be returning to escort Landor to Freka.
Kieron picked up the courtier's fallen sword. There must be no sign of struggle in the courtyard. The Valkyr carried Landor over to where Alys and Nevitta had lowered their improvised rope. He trussed Lander up like a butchered boar and called to them. "Haul him up!"
Landor disappeared into the window and the rope came down again. Kieron climbed hand over hand after the vanished courtier. Within seconds he stood among his warriors again, and the courtyard was empty.
"Landor!" Kieron splashed wine in the unconscious man's face. "Lander, wake up!"
The courtier stirred and opened his eyes. Immediately they filmed with fear. A hostile circle of faces looked down at him. Kieron, his dark eyes flaming. Alys. . the great red face of Nevitta, framed by the winged helmet. . other savage looking Valkyrs. It was to Landor a scene from the legendary Seventh Hell of the Great Destroyer.
"If you want to live, talk," said Kieron. "What are you doing here on Kalgan? It must be a message of importance you carry. Ivane would have sent someone else if it weren't."
"I… I carry no message, Kieron."
Kieron nodded to Nevitta who drew his dagger and placed it against Landor's throat.
"We have no time for lies, Landor," said Kieron.
To emphasize the point, Nevitta pressed the blade tighter against the pulse in the First Lord's neck. Landor screamed.
"Don't…!""
"Talk — or I'll cut the gizzard out of you!" Nevitta growled.
"All right! All right! But take the knife away… 1" "Ivane sent you here."
Landor nodded soundlessly.
"Why?"
"I. . I. . was to tell Freka that. . that his men failed to… to.."
"To kill me!" finished Alys angrily. "What else?"
"I. was also to tell him that the rest of the plan was. . was. . carried out… successfully."
"Damn you, don't talk in riddles!" Kieron said. "What 'plan'?"
"The Emperor is dead," Landor blurted, eyes wild with terror. "But not by my hand! I swear it! Not by my hand!" Alys choked back a cry of pain.
"Toran! Poor…Toran…"
Kieron took the terrified courtier by the throat and shook him.
"You filthy swine! Who did it? Who killed the Emperor?"