"Star-kings of the Empire!" Freka cried, and the sound of his words rolled out over the gathering like a wave, gaining power even as he continued: "For more than a hundred years you and your fathers have fought or the glory and gain of the Great Throne! Under Giber of Kaidor you carried the gonfalon of Imperial Earth to the Edge and planted it there under the light of Andomeda itself! Your blood was shed and your treasure spnt for the new Emperors! And what is your reward? The heavy hand of a fool! Your people writhe under the buden of excessive taxation-your women starve and your children are sold into slavery! You are in bondage to a foolish boy who squats like a toad on the Great Throne…"
Kieron listened breathlessly as Freka of Kalgan vove a web of half-truths around the assembled warrios. The compelling power of the man was astounding.
"The worlds writhe in the grip of an idiot! Helia, Doom, Auriga, Valkyr, Quintain. ." He called he roll of the warrior worlds. "Yes, and Kalgan, too! There is not enough wealth in the Universe to satiate Toran and the Great Throne! And the Court laughs at our complaints! At us! The star-kings who are the fists of the Empire! How long will we endure it? How long will we maintan Toran on a throne that he is too weak to hold?"
Toran, thought Kieron grimly, always Toran. lever a word of Ivane or Landor or the favorites who twisted Toran around their fingers.
Freka's voice dropped low and he leaned out over the first row of upturned faces. "I call upon you — as you love your people and your freedom — to join with Kalgan and rid the Empire of this weakling and his money-grubbing and neglect!"
In the crowd, someone stirred. All but this one seemed hypnotized. It was old Eric of Doom who stepped forward.
"You speak treason! You brought us here to discuss grievances, and you preach rebellion and treason, I say!" he shouted angrily.
Freka turned cold eyes on the old warrior.
"If this is treason," he said ominously, "it is the Emperor's treason — not ours."
Eric of Doom seemed to wilt under the icy gaze of those inhuman eyes. Kieron watched him step back into the circle of his followers, fear in his aging face. There was a power in Freka to quell almost any insurrection here, thought the Valkyr uneasily. He, himself, was bound by the promise he had made to Alys, but it was only that that kept him from casting in his lot with the compelling lord of Kalgan. Such a feeling was unreason itself, he knew, and he fought against it, drawing on his reserves of information to strengthen his resolve to obstruct Freka if he could. Yet it was easy to understand how this strange man had sprung out of obscurity and made himself master of Kalgan. Freka was a creature made for leadership. Kieron stood away from the crowd and forced himself to speak. All his earlier suspicions were growing like a suffocating cloud within him. Someone was being fooled and used, and it was not the lord of Kalgan!
"You, Freka!" he cried, and the lords turned to listen.
"You shout of getting rid of Toran — but what do you offer in his place?"
Freka's eyes were like steel now, glinting dully in the light of the wall-torches.
"Not myself. Is that what you feared?" The fine mouth curled scornfully. "I ask no man to lay down his life so that I may take for myself the Great Throne and the sable mantle of Emperor! I renounce here and now any claim to the Imperial Crown! When the time is right, I will make my wishes known."
The crowd of star-kings murmured approvingly. Freka had won them.
"A vote!" someone cried. "Those who are with Freka and against Toran! A vote!"
Swords leaped from scabbards and glittered in the torchlight while the chamber rang to a savage cheer. Here was war and loot to satisfy the savage heart! The sack of Imperial Earth herself! Even old Eric of Doom's sword was reluctantly raised. Kieron alone remained silent, sword sheathed.
Freka looked down at him coldly.
"Well, Valkyr? Do you ride with us?"
"I need more time to consider," said Kieron carefully. Freka's laughter was like a lash. "Time! Time to worry about risking his skin! Valkyr needs time!"
Kieron felt his quick anger surging. The blood pounded in his temples, throbbing, pulsing, goading him to fight. His hand closed on the hilt of his sword and it slipped half out of the sheath. But Kieron caught himself. There was something sinister in this deliberate attempt to ruin him — to brand him a coward before his peers. A man faced two choices here, apparently; follow Freka into rebellion, or be branded craven. Kieron glared into the cold eyes of the Kalgan lord. The temptation to challenge him was strong — as strong as Kieron's whole background and training in the harsh warrior-code of the Edge. But he could not. Not yet. There were too many irons in the fire to be watched. There was Alys and her plea to Toran. There was the plight of his people. He could not risk the danger to himself of driving a blade through Freka's throat, no matter how his blood boiled with rage.
He turned on his heel and strode from the Great Hall, the laughter of Freka and the star-kings ringing mockingly in his ears.
Kieron awoke in darkness. Of the fire on the hearth, only embers remained and the stone rooms were silent but for the sound of sleeping men. The single Valkyr sentry was at his elbow, whispering him into wakefulness. Kieron threw back the fur coverlets and swung his feet over the edge of the low couch.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Nevitta, sir."
"Nevitta! Here?" Kieron sprang to his feet, fully awake now. "Is there a woman with him?"
"A slave-girl, sir. They wait in the outer chamber." Kieron reached for his harness and weapons, threading his way through his sleeping men. In the dimly lit antechamber, Nevitta stood near the muffled figure of Alys. Kieron went immediately to the girl, and she threw back her hood, baring her golden head to the torchlight. Her eyes were bright with the pleasure of seeing Kieron again, hut there was anger in them, too. The lord of Valkyr knew at once that she had not succeeded with Toran.
"What happened, Nevitta?"
"An attempt was made on the little princess' life, sir." "What?" Kieron felt the blood drain from his face.
"As I say, Kieron." The old Valkyr's face was grim.
"We had to fight our way out of the Palace."
"I never had a chance to speak to Toran," the girl said sombrely. "It was all that could be done to reach the spaceship. Even the. Janizaries tried to stop us. Two of your men died for me, Kieron."
"Who did this thing?" asked Kieron ominously.
"The men who attacked the princess' quarters," said Nevitta deliberately, "wore the harness of Kalgan."
That hit Kieron like a physical blow. . hard. "Kalgan! And you brought her here? You fool, Nevitta!"
The old Valkyr nodded agreement. "Yes, Kieron. Fool is the proper word…"
"No!" Alys spoke up imperiously. "It was my command that brought us here. I insisted."
"By the Seven Hells! Why?" demanded Kieron. "Why here? You could have been safe on Valkyr! I know it was my order to bring you here, but after what happened. ."
"The princess would not hear of seeking safety, Kieron," said Nevitta. "When Kalgan proved its treachery by trying to assassinate her, she could think only of your danger here. . unwarned. She would risk her life to bring you this news, Kieron."
Kieron turned to face the girl. She looked up at him, eyes bright, lips parted.
"What could make a princess risk her life. ." Kieron began numbly.
"Kieron. ." The girl breathed his name softly. "I was so afraid for you."
The Valkyr reached slowly for the clasp of her cloak and unfastened it. The heavy mantle dropped unnoticed to the flagstones. Alys stood, swaying slightly, parted lips inviting. Kieron watched the throbbing pulse in her white throat and felt his own pounding. He took a step toward her, his arms closing about her yielding suppleness. His mouth sought her lips.