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 Doorn'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. IV 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, but 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.