their expression as they watched Alyn. A gulf had suddenly opened between this boy and their chieftain. They felt it too. One by one they dropped to their knees before him. Alyn made a protesting gesture, his eyes bright with tears. He saw the chasm opening, and fought it futilely. But when Kiera, too, went to her knees, he knew it was so. In one fleeting moment, they had changed from lover and beloved to sovereign and vassal.
He forced back the tears and raised his head proudly; as Galactic Emperor, Heiress to the Thousand Empresses, he accepted the homage of his fighting women.
'My lord of Valkyr,' he said in a low, unsteady voice. 'My love and affection for you—and these warriors will never be forgotten. If we live . . .'
Kiera rose to her full height, naked sword extended in her hands.
'Your Imperial Majesty,' she spoke the words formally and slowly, regretting what was gone. 'The women of Valkyr are yours. To the death.'
Kiera watched Nevitta and Alyn vanish down the long, gloomy hall outside the Valkyr chambers—to all appearances a warrior chieftain and her slave-girl ordered away by their mistress. Even then, thought Kiera bleakly, there was danger. She saw them pass one sentry, two ... three ... They turned the corner and were gone, Kiera's hopes and fears riding with them.
Already, there were sounds of confusion in the Citadel of Neg. Women were searching for the vanished Landora. Searching quietly, reflected Kiera with grim satisfaction, for the visiting star-queens must not know that Freka the Unknown held familiar audience with the Imperial First Lady of Space. Spur of the moment hunting parties and entertainments were keeping the visitors occupied while the Kalgan soldiery searched.
Kiera weighed her chances of escape and found them small indeed. They dared not stir from their quarters in the Citadel until the roar of Nevitta's spaceship told that the Emperor was safely away. And meanwhile, the search for Landora drew nearer.
An hour passed, the sand in the glass running with agonizing slowness. Once Kiera thought she heard the beat of hooves on the drawbridge of the Citadel, but she could not be certain.
Two hours. Kiera paced the floor of the Valkyr chambers, her twelve remaining warriors armed, alert, watching her. Nervously she fingered the hilt of her sword.
Another hour in the grey, eternal twilight. Still no sound of a spaceship rising. Kiera's anxiety grew to gargantuan proportions. The search for Landora came closer steadily.
Kiera could hear the soldiers tramping the stone corridors and causeways of the Citadel.
Suddenly there was a knock at the barred door to the Valkyrs' quarters.
'Open! In the name of the lord of Kalgan!'
A Valkyr near the door replied languidly. 'Our mistress sleeps. Go away.'
The knocking continued. 'It is regretted that we must disturb her, but a slave of the household has escaped. We must search for her.'
'Would you disturb the Warlord of Valkyr's repose for a slave, barbarians?' demanded the warrior at the door in a hurt tone of voice. 'Go away.'
The officer in the hallway was beginning to lose patience.
'Open, I say! Or we'll break in!'
'Do,' offered the Valkyr pleasantly. 'I have a sword that has been too long dry.'
How Landora must be sweating in that back room, Kiera thought wryly, thinking that the Valkyrs would rather kill her than let her message reach Freka. But Landora's death would serve no useful purpose now. Time! Time was needed. Time enough to let Nevitta get Alyn out of danger!
Kiera stepped to the door, hoping that some warriors of the Outer Marches might possibly be within earshot and catch the implication of her words. 'Kiera of Valkyr speaks!' she cried. 'We have Landora of Earth here! Landora, the First Lady—is that the slave you seek?'
But the only response was the sudden crash of a ram against the panels of the wooden door. Kiera prepared to fight. Still, no sound of a spaceship rising ...
The door collapsed, and a flood of Kalgan warriors poured into the room, weapons flashing.
Savagely, the Valkyrs closed with them, arid the air rang with the metallic clash of steel. No mercy was asked and none was given. Kiera cut a circle of death with her long, out-world weapon, the fighting blood of a hundred generations of warriors singing in her ears. The savage chant of the Edge rose above the confused sounds of battle. A woman screamed in agony as her arm was severed by a blow from a Valkyr blade, and she waved the stump desperately, spattering the milling women with dark blood. A Valkyr warrior went down, locked in a death-embrace with a Kalgan warrior, driving her dagger into her enemy again and again even as she died. Kiera crossed swords with a guardswoman, forcing her backward until the Kalgan slipped on the flagstones made slippery with blood and went down with a sword-cut from throat to groin.
The Valkyrs were cutting down their opponents, but numbers were beginning to tell. Two Valkyrs went down before fresh onslaughts. Another, and another, and still another. Kiera felt the burning touch of a dagger wound. She looked down and saw that a thrust from someone in the melee had slashed her to the bone. Her side was slick with blood and the white ribs showed along the ten inch gash.
Now, Kiera stood back to back with her two remaining companions. The other Valkyrs were down, lying still on the bloody floor. Kiera caught a glimpse of Freka's tall figure behind her guardswoman and she lunged for her, suddenly blind with fury. Two Kalgan guards engaged her, and she lost sight of Freka. A Valkyr went down with a thrust in the belly. Kiera took another wound in the arm. She could not tell how badly hurt she was, but faintness from the loss of blood was telling on her. It was getting hard to see clearly. Darkness seemed to be flickering like a black flame just beyond her range of vision. She saw Freka again and tried to reach her. Again she failed, blocked by a Kalgan soldier. A thrown sword whistled past her and imbedded itself in the last. Valkyr's bosom . The woman sank to the floor in silence, and Kiera fought alone.
She saw the blade of an officer descending, but she could not ward it off. And as it fell, a great hissing roar sounded beyond the open window. Kiera almost smiled. Alyn was safe ...
She lifted her sword to parry the descending stroke, Weakened, the best she could do was deflect it slightly. The blade caught her a glancing blow on the side of the head and she staggered to her knees. She tried to raise her weapon again ... tried to fight on ... but she could not. Slowly, reluctantly, she sank to the floor as darkness welled up out of the bloody flagstones to engulf her ...
V
Kiera stirred, the pulsing ache in her side piercing the reddish veil of unconsciousness. Under her, she could feel wet stones that stank of death and filth. She moved painfully, and the throbbing agony grew worse, making her teeter precariously between consciousness and the dark.
She was stiff and cold. Hurt badly, too, she thought vaguely. Her wounds had not been tended. Very carefully, she opened her eyes. They told her what she had already known. She was in a dark cell, filthy and damp. A sick chill shook her. Teeth chattering, huddled on the stone floor, Kiera sank again into unconsciousness.
When she awoke again, she was burning with fever and a cold bowl of solidified, greasy gruel lay beside her. Her tongue felt thick and swollen, but the sharp agony of her wounded side had subsided to a dull hurt. With a great effort, she dragged herself into a corner of the dungeon and propped herself up facing the iron-bound door.
Her searching hands found that she had been stripped of her harness and weapons. She was naked, smeared with filth and dried blood. As she moved she felt a renewed flow of warmth flooding down from her torn flank. The wound had reopened. Sweat was streaking the caked blood on her cheek. Her mind wandered in a feverish delirium—a night stallion dream in which the tall, coldly arrogant figure of
Freka seemed to fill all space and all time. Kieran's over-bright eyes glittered with animal hate.. ..
Somehow, she felt that the hated Kalgan was nearby. She tried to keep her eyes open, but the lids seemed weighted. Her head sagged and the fever took her again into the ebony darkness of some fantastic intergalac
tic night where weird shapes danced and whirled in hideous joyousness . . .
The rattling of the door-lock woke her. It might have been minutes later or days. Kiera had no way of knowing. She felt light-headed and giddy. She watched the door open with fever-bright eyes. A jailer carrying a flambeau entered and the light blinded Kiera. She shielded her face with her hand. There was a voice speaking to her. A voice she knew ... and hated. With a shuddering effort, she took a grip on her staggering mind, her hate sustaining her now. Moving her hands away from her face, she looked up—into the icy eyes of Freka the Unknown.
'So you're awake at last,' the Kalgan said.
Kiera made no reply. She could feel the fury burning deep inside her.
Freka held a jewelled dagger in her hands, toying with it idly. Kiera watched the shards of light leaping from the faceted gems in the liquid torchlight. The slender blade shimmered, blue and silvery in the Kalgan's hands.
'I have been told that the Sir Alyn was with you—here on Kalgan. Is this true?'
Alyn ... Kiera thought vaguely of his for a moment, but somehow the picture brought sadness. She put him out of her mind and squinted up at Freka's gemmed dagger, unable to take her eyes from the glittering weapon.
'Can you speak?' demanded Freka. 'Was Torana's brother with you?'
Kiera watched the weapon, a feral brilliance growing Hike a flame