He did not grasp the significance of her words but the firmness of her tone indicated there was no use arguing with this self-willed, red-haired person. Nevertheless he resolved to try to find Margaret, and as soon as possible. Krasna's eyes widened with apprehension at his thought. "You are a fool. And if you must try you had better read all the scrolls first. Only El-ve-don could survive, and the death of the Faith is not easy." Eldon cursed silently. This damnable girl, although beautiful in her own odd way, not only insulted him with her pity but invaded his mind. "Well, shut your mind if you don't like it," she snapped angrily. "You're odd, too, and far from beautiful." * * * * * Margaret Matson opened her eyes. A strange man stood over her, and what a man! He was huge and hard looking, with dark, wind-toughened skin. He was dressed in some sort of barbaric military uniform, colorful and heavily decorated. And he was playing with a needle pointed dagger. Her mouth opened. "Victor!" she screamed. Her voice reverberated hollowly from the curved walls and roof of a small metal room. The big man screwed up his face at the shrill noise. "Victor! Help me!" she shouted again. Victor failed to answer. "Eldon!" she yelled. The big warrior spun his dagger casually, the way a boy would play with a stick. His lips curled back in a wolfish grin, emphasizing two of his strong white teeth that projected beyond the others like fangs. His whole appearance was brutal. "Where am I? What do you want with me?" she gasped. Then her glance followed the man's eyes. Her form-fitting evening gown was torn and disarrayed. She snatched it down with a show of indignant modesty, and the man grinned widely. One corner of his mouth twitched. Margaret would have been even more frightened except that the big soldier's reaction struck a familiar note that lent her confidence. He spoke, but his words were gibberish. Then from a wall locker he produced two helmet-like devices, metal frames with pieces of some translucent material set to touch the wearer's temples. She started to draw away as he stooped to push one over her hair, but submitted when he frowned and fingered the point of his knife. He donned the other helmet. "My name is Wor, _merta_ of the Forces and _torna_ to Great Sasso Himself." She understood him now. "You and I might be good friends--if Sin allows," he continued. "You bear a great resemblance to Highness Sin, even though your color is faded." Despite her position Margaret bridled angrily. Wor laughed uproariously. "Your temper is like Highness Sin's too," he declared appreciatively. "Who--who is this Sin?" "You will find out," Wor replied evenly. Then his face sobered and softened. "If you want a chance to be with me, take my advice and be careful what you say and even what you think. Sin is all-powerful--and jealous. She _knew_ when you appeared in our world."