Ommodurad had found his dagger. He turned back from the corner where Foster had sent it spinning. Foster retreated until his back was at the wall: My vision grew dimmer. The great gold circles of the Two Worlds seemed to revolve, while waves of darkness rolled over me. But there was a thought: something I had found among the patterns in the intruder's mind. At the center of the sunburst rose a boss, in black and gold, erupting a foot from the wall, like a sword hilt.... The thought came from far away. The sword of the Rthr, used once, in the dawn of a world, by a warrior king but laid away now, locked in its sheath of stone, keyed to the mind-pattern of the Rthr, that none other might ever draw it to some ignoble end. A sword, keyed to the basic mind-pattern of the king.... * * * * * I drew a last breath, blinked back the darkness. Ommodurad stepped past me, knife in hand, toward the unarmed man. "Foster," I croaked. "The sword...." Foster's head came up. I had spoken in English; the syllables rang strangely in that outworld setting. Ommodurad ignored the unknown words. "Draw ... the sword ... from the stone!... You're ... Qulqlan ... Rthr ... of Vallon." I saw him reach out, grasp the ornate hilt. Ommodurad, with a cry, leaped toward him-- The sword slid out smoothly, four feet of glittering steel. Ommodurad stopped, stared at the manacled hands gripping the hilt of the fabled blade. Slowly he sank to his knees, bent his neck. "I yield, Qulqlan," he said. "I crave the mercy of the Rthr." Behind me I heard thundering feet. Dimly I was aware of Torbu raising my head, of Foster leaning over me. They were saying something but I couldn't hear. My feet were cold, and the coldness crept higher. The winds that swept through eternity blew away the last shred of ego and I was one with darkness.... Epilogue I awoke to a light like that of a morning when the world was young. Gossamer curtains fluttered at tall windows, through which I saw a squadron of trim white clouds riding in a high blue sky. I turned my head, and Foster stood beside me, dressed in a short white tunic. "That's a crazy set of threads, Foster," I said, "but on your build it looks good. But you've aged; you look twenty-five if you look a day." Foster smiled. "Welcome to Vallon, my friend," he said in English. "Vallon," I said. "Then it wasn't all a dream?" "Regard it as a dream, Legion. Your life begins today." Someone came forward from behind Foster. "Gope," I said. Then I hesitated. "You are Gope, aren't you?" I said in Vallonian. He laughed. "I was known by that name once," he said, "but my true name is Gwanne." My eyes fell on my legs. I saw that I was wearing a tunic like Foster's except that mine was pale blue. "Who put the dress on me?" I asked. "And where's my pants?" "This garment suits you better," said Gope. "Come. Look in the glass."