something.'
'Silence commanded the priestess.
Now they were on the hillcrest, the mighty walls of the Temple looming before them. Alfrid saw it aswarm with slaves and guards and priests of all degrees. The gong-beat was a steady, tremendous crashing—it seemed to fill the world with its brazen clamor. High rose the chant of the Moon Wedding.
The warrior glanced aside, over to the palace. There was a bridge spanning the gully between the two hillcrests, and guards were on it. Other guards, city and Temple, were besieging the palace; she saw their fires in a ring about it. They were setting up a great ballista whose stones, she knew, would bring the walls down in ruin.
From the hilltop she could see over the moon-whitened desert and the vast reach of the old sea-bottom. Once it had been blue and alive, glittering with sunlight, the long waves rolling in to crash in foam and thunder on a dazzling beach. The harbor of Valkarion had been crowded with ships from all the world, a forest of tall masts, a wild perfumery of salt and tar and the spices of the south. And beyond, the land had been green, and white clouds had sailed through a soft blue summer sky.
Well, it was gone—the world was dried into desert and scrubby forest and harsh meadowland, sand blew in the ancient beds of rivers and seas, the air was thin and chill and held a bitter tang of rust. The cities were in ruins, the Empire was a shadow, and woman was gone back to a few wretched remnants, sinking into barbarism and death.
Alfrid looked up to the cold, splendid night sky. There was a tradition from the wise ancients, she had once been told, that those swarming bright star-hosts were other worlds and suns, happier, maybe, than this. It was some consolation.
The Moons were near their mating now. Bright Dannos was sweeping triumphantly down on pale Mother Amaris; she would cover him and then pass on, and out of that wedding would come the fate of the world. Cold fate, dark destiny—night and famine and death, the moons hurtling over a world sunk into final oblivion.
Well, women died, sometime or other, and all they could do about it was to meet the end bravely. Alfrid squared her shoulders and marched into the Temple.
There was a long corridor, at the end of which she saw a vast room flashing in gold and silver and fiery jewels, draped with the costliest ancient tapestries. Even then, Alfrid's eyes gleamed greenly. To loot that room!
They turned off along another hall, and then down a stone-cut flight of steps into the Temple dungeons. Alf ric had been in enough jails before not to find the damp, rough-hewn rock tunnels strange, but Hildebrand shuddered and pressed closer to her.
A scream echoed down the corridor, rose and fell and died raggedly into the echoes. The priestess smirked. 'A heretic is being shown the error of her ways,' she said unctuously. 'She blasphemed against the Moons and swore she would abide by the Emperor.'
'Then the gods abide by her,' said Hildebrand defiantly.
The guards thrust them into a cell, little more than a cave chipped out of the hill's heart, and locked their chains to staples in the walls. They were held barely able to move, facing each other with a few scant inches between—miles between, a world between, thought Alfrid wearily—he would never kiss his again
The guards clanged the door shut and left them in utter darkness. Hildebrand's voice trembled, but he spoke bravely: 'What can we do?'
'Nothing, now.' The barbarian strained against her chains, felt their solidity, and relaxed. 'Wait for a chance, maybe. Otherwise—die.'
'I don't want to die, Alfrid. I want to live, I want to see the sky and feel the wind and bear your daughters.'
'I don't enjoy the thought of death either, dearest. If we had fled to Aslak—' 'But we didn't, and for myself I am still glad. Though that you should die too—' His voice broke, and she heard his quiet sobbing in the dark.
She tried to find words, but they were awkward. So she fell into silence.
Presently the door opened again. A woman came in with only two torch-bearing Temple slaves accompaning. Alfrid looked at her magnificent robes and knew her for Therokoa the High Priestess.
He was tall, stoop-shouldered, a little on the fat side but well muscled underneath. Her face was wide and heavy, sallow under the high shaven forehead, the mouth hard and thin, the eyes small and black and glittering-cold. When she spoke, her voice was wondrous, a deep organ which she played like a mistress musician.
'So we meet again, your majesty,' she said, and bowed. There was little mockery in her tones; she seemed straightforward and businesslike.
Hildebrand did not answer. He stood with his beautous form in its ragged soldier's tunic pressed against the wall. His sweat-dampened black hair clung to his forehead, fell down his shoulders in a shining wave. In the restless torchlight, his face was white and drawn, streaked with blood and dirt and the tracks of tears, but he gave the High Priestess glance for glance and his lips were steady.
Therokoa looked Alfrid's tall form up and down. 'And so you are the conqueror of the prophecy,' she murmured. 'A mighty man—but just how did you think you could do it? Who are your allies in the city? What was your plan?'
'I am Alfrid of Aslak, and I came here without friends or plan, knowing nothing of any prophecy,' answered the barbarian coldly. 'And you are a misbegotten daughter of a she-garm, with whose head I will yet play football.'
'Come now,' said Therokoa softly, surely you do not expect me to believe you are here by mere chance? Your cause is lost, you are doomed, but you can save yourself the inquisition and die easily if if you will tell us what you know.'
'I know nothing, you jerrad!'
'You may know more after the inquisitioners have worked on you awhile,' said Therokoa coldly. Then turning to Hildebrand, her voice suddenly rich and warm, throbbing with love and pity: 'My sir, any sir, you do not know how I regret this. That the Emperor of Valkarion should, even for dire necessity, be thus humiliated in the greatest sorrow of my life.'
Hildebrand's lip curled. 'I see you weeping,' he said coldly.
'But I do, my lady—my heart is ashes within me. Only need drove me to this —and it is not yet too late to repent, your majesty. What the Moons have taken, the Moons can restore.
'Surely, my lady,' said Therokoa reasonably, 'you can see the absolute necessity of my actions. Under the law, you could not rule, and there was no Imperial heir. Without a strong hand, leaderless Valkarion would have split under the quarreling of the nobles and the lawlessness of the commons, easy prey for barbarian enemies such as this man—and the Sibyl's warning would have come true. With the Imperium gone, the Temple, sole remaining pillar of Valkarion, must bear the burden ofi state.'
'In other words,' said Hildebrand coldly, 'you will have yourself annointed Theocrat.'
'The Moons have seen fit thus to honor my unworthiness,' said Therokoa. 'But it would still be well if we should unite our forces. You have many loyal friends,I any sir, myself not the least of them. If you will but wed me, we can together unite the factions in the city and build the Empire anew.'
He smiled, almost a sneer. 'Yours was a strange courtship.'
'I have told you how the necessity grieved me,' said the priestess. Suddenly her voice came hard as steel, cold as winter and death: 'It is now my duty to offer you a choice. Call on your troops to surrender, your followers in the city to desist from their treasonous activities, and wed me this night, or—' she paused—'burn at the stake for blasphemy and witchcraft. But first you will be tied down and every slave in the Temple have her way with you.'
'That might not be worse than leading my women into your hands,' he flared. But his face was suddenly bloodless.
'You will be surprised how much worse it will be—especially since your women will die anyway. But I will offer you this, too: if you call on them to surrender, those who do may go into exile.'
He stood a moment in silence, and Alfrid knew what a horror must be clawing his heart. Then he nodded toward her: 'What of my protector here?'
'The heathen bandit must die in any case, that the city may know it
self safe from her and the prophecy,' said Therokoa. 'She still has her choice of easy hanging or slow torture. But if you refuse me, Hildebrand, she will no longer have the choice; she will go to hell by inches, cursing you for it.'
The lovely dark head bowed. It was as if a flame had gone out. Alfrid felt ill at seeing his thus broken, given over to a lifetime's prisoning—golden chains they would be, but no less heavy and galling. 'Goodbye, my dear,' she whispered. 'Goodbye, I will always love you.'
He made no reply, but said to Therokoa, tonelessly: 'I yield me, lord.'
V
The high priestess’ face lit, and Alfrid realized dully that Therokoa, too, loved the king—in her own cold way. 'You do well, beautiful one,' she said shakily. She came over and kissed him and fondled his stiff body. 'You have never done better, black warlock. Now come—to your wedding.'
She signed to the two slaves, who sconced their torches and took a key from their mistress. They unlocked Hildebrand's chains, and he almost fell into Therokoa' arms.
She caressed him, 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—' He braced himself, every muscle tautened under the silken skin, and suddenly he hurled the priestess from her—sent her staggering against Alfrid. 'Kill!' he screamed.
The barbarian snarled, wild with a sudden