Tall--wide but trim--superbly made--a true scion of the old blood--Llosir's liver, what a woman! He had undressed her mentally more than once, but his visionings had fallen short, far short, of the entrancing, the magnificent truth. _What_ a woman! A virgin? Huh! Technically so, perhaps ... more shame to those pusillanimous half-breed midgets of the court ... if _he_ had been born noble.... She slid off the altar and stood up, her eyes still dark with fantastically mixed emotions. She threw both arms around his armored neck and snuggled close against his steel, heedless that breasts and flanks were being smeared anew with half-dried blood. He put an iron-clad arm around her, moved her arm enough to open his visor, saw sea-green eyes, only a few inches below his own, staring straight into his. The man's quick passion flamed again. Gods of the ancients, what a woman! _There_ was a mate for a full-grown man! "Thank the gods!" The king dashed up, panting, but in surprisingly good shape for a man of forty-odd who had run so far in gold armor. "Thanks be to all the gods you were in time!" "Just barely, sire, but in time." "Name your reward, Lord Tedric. I will be glad to make you my son." "Not that, sire, ever. If there's anything in this world or the next I _don't_ want to be, it's Lady Rhoann's brother." "Make him Lord of the Marches, father," the girl said, sharply. "Knowst what the sages said." "'Twould be better," the monarch agreed. "Tedric of old Lomarr, I appoint you Lord of the Upper, the Middle, and the Lower Marches, the Highest of the High." Tedric went to his knees. "I thank you, sire. Have I your backing in wiping out what is left of Sarpedion's power?" "If you will support the Throne with the strength I so clearly see is to be yours, I will back you, with the full power of the Throne, in anything you wish to do." "Of course I will support you, sire, as long as I live and with all that in me lies. Since time first was my blood has been vassal to yours, and ever will be. My brain, my liver, and my heart are yours." "I thank you, Lord Tedric. Proceed." Tedric snapped to his feet. His sword flashed high in air. His heavy voice rang out. "People of Lomarr, listen to a herald of the Throne! Sarpedion is dead; Llosir lives. Human sacrifice--yes, all sacrifice except the one I am about to perform, of Sarpedion himself to Llosir--is done. That is and will be the law. To that end there will be no more priests, but a priestess only. I speak as herald for the Throne of Lomarr!" He turned to the girl, still clinging to his side. "I had it first in mind, Lady Rhoann, to make you priestess, but...." "Not I!" she interrupted, vigorously. "No priestess I, Lord Tedric!" "By Llosir's brain, girl, you're right--you've been wasted long enough!" * * * * * _In another time-track another Skandos and another Furmin, almost but not quite identical with those first so named, pored over a chronoviagram._