The Virgin of Valkarion Reheld

murderous glory, and her manacled hands shot out. One gripped Therokoa over the mouth, and the other sank steely fingers into the wattled throat.

  The two slaves sprang at her like wild garms. Knives flashed in the bloody light. Hildebrand snatched a torch and swept its flaming end across the eyes of one. She screamed wordlessly, rolling over and over, clawing at her face. Hildebrand snatched up her dagger and lunged at the other.

  Alfrid groaned. What chance did he have against the deadly experience of a Temple assassin? Therokoa had gone limp. Alfrid flung the heavy body crashing into the slave. They went down together. Hildebrand leaped in, his knife rising and falling and rising, again, streaming red.

  Then he was in her arms, shaken by wild sobbing. She held his close, kissed him, stroked his hair, and had time for a dim wondering amazement that such a man should have lain in his—his—fate.

  There was no time to lose. 'Unlock me,' she said. 'Unlock me and let's get out of this den of Luigur.'

  He searched Therkos' robes for the key, found it, and cast the chains rattling aside. Alfrid 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.

  Therokoa stirred, groaning. Alfrid's big brown form stooped over her, 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 Priestess climbed unsteadily to her feet. 'Now lead us out by a secret way,' rasped Alfrid.

  'There is none—' groaned Therokoa.

  Alfrid slapped her 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.'

  Therokoa flung her a glance of utter hate, but stumbled obediently ahead. The empty corridor echoed dully to their footfalls. Near its end, Therokoa pressed a camouflaged stud, and a section of the rock wall swung aside on noiseless hinges.

  Hildebrand took a torch from the wall and closed the door behind them. They went down a long sloping tunnel, so low that Alfrid had to stoop. 'You cannot hope to escape,' said Therokoa, her voice again under her 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 Alfrid skeptically. 'Weapons, money, and hengists--theti you can leave the city for the hell that awaits you.'

  'And my women?' insisted Hildebrand. 'Exile, with you.'

  Alfrid pondered the proposal.

  If they could get free, with women at their back, they could always raise an army for a new attempt. But surely Therokoa was aware of that. So if she had some trick—and it would be strange if she did not—, 'How do we know you'll keep the bargain?' she asked coldly.

  'You have the honor of the High Priestess,' answered Therokoa loftily. Alfrid sneered, and Therokoa added: 'Also, I assume you keep me prisoner until you are safe.'

  'It does not sound ill—' mused Hildebrand.

  Nor did it to Alfrid. But she shook her head, stubbornly. 'I mistrust her. Moreover, a new war, after she 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?' jerred Therokoa.

  Alfrid was not quite sure herself, but prodded the captive ungently onward. They came to another hinged rock, and Therokoa opened that door for them. Alfrid's spine crawled with the thought of what might lie beyond; she kept the dagger against Therokoa' 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 in the drifting sand. Black against the sky, the Temple loomed on the hillcrest, but Alfrid saw no movement.

  Hildebrand slipped against her. 'Now what shall we do?' he whispered.

  She laughed softly, the old grim battle joy flowing up in her. Weariness and despair fell off like an outworn cloak—there was new strength in her thews and a goal in her mind.

  'I heard, down there, how Valkarion really hates the priests,' she 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 priestess service by fear, would come over to their side. And you—they love you, Hildebrand. 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 Emperor, the divinely appointed sir of Valkarion, tell the folk to rise against the Temple. Let them storm the citadel, and they may have the looting of it!' She chuckled. 'That should bring in the laggards.'

  'But—untrained mobs, against the guards—'

  'There will be other guardswomen on your side. And—this is my part—your Household will also be there.'

  'But—they're besieged—'

  'I'll get them out.' Alfrid stripped off Therokoa' gold-braided cloak, and slung it over him shoulders. 'This will cover you well enough so you can get to your friends unharmed. Now go, Hildebrand, and Ruho go with you.'

  She kissed him, with a wild hunger that dissolved into tenderness. 'Stay out of danger,' she whispered. 'Stay in a safe place till I come for you—Hildebrand—Therokoa scuttled aside. 'Oh, no!' snarled Alfrid, and stabbed. The priestess tumbled, with blood rivering from her stomach, choking her screams. Alfrid took Hildebrand again in her arms. 'Goodbye, my dearest dear—'

  He slipped into the shadows. Alfrid sighed, wondering with a brief heaviness if she would ever see his again. She knew full well how desperate her gamble was.

  Well, there was work to be done. She 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.

  She grinned up at them. And what did they think of this ruination of their ancient godhead? She could hardly imagine them caring about it. Surely Dannos, the swift warrior, and bright Mother Amaris had more use for an honest fighting woman and her warm-bearted love than for a bunch of sniveling shavepates. All honor to the Moons, but not to tyrants and murderers in their name.

  She was in the gully now, between Temple and palace. Snakelike, she crawled under the shadow of the bridge to its farther end, where she peered cautionsly around an abutment.

  The trampled gardens were full of city and Temple guards, whose watchfires ringed the palace. She saw the light agleam on spears and swords and armor, and had time to wonder if she would ever make it past them.

  But she had to try. She drew a deep breath, tightened her muscles, and ran.

  Like a flying arrow she ran, noiseless on bare feet, and none saw her before she was hugged against a low thorn-tree near one of the fires. Up it she went, wincing as the thorns raked her, and slipped along a branch almost overhanging the blaze.

  She caught a snatch of muttered conversation. '—when they finish those siege engines, down the palace goes. But the Household will be out like a swam 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—'

  Alfrid sprang! She soared from her perch and crashed into the bosom of the woman she had picked. The guard went down in a clang of armor and dry snap of breaking ribs. Alfrid snatched her spear and jabbed it through the groin of another. Through that gap, then, she raced, low and zigzag among the bushes.

  The siege line roared. The air was suddenly thick with spears and arrows. Alfrid felt one rake her leg, and cursed between gasps. To the palace!

  'Open!' she howled. 'Open, let me by, in the name of the Empress!'

  If the garrison took this for a ruse and shot her, it was all over. She 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. She saw steel flash as she neared it.

  'Hildebrand!' she bawled. 'Live the Emperor!'

  They held their fire. She fell under the barricade while their arrows hummed overhead. The disorderly Temple pursuit broke into retreat, back out of bowshot.

  Alfrid climbed over the barricade into the great palace ante-chamber. Its golden glory was gutted by fighting, splashed with dry blood, the tapestries in rags and the furniture splintered. Dead women 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 bloodstained—stood waiting for her. 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 Alfrid 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 Hildebrand, against the Temple,' said Alfrid. ''Twas with my help he escaped their net. Now he leads all of us to overthrow his 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 Alfrid. In hard brief words, she told them the