Kieron's fingers opened and closed spasmodically over the gem-crusted pommel of his weapon; his dark eyes glittered with unspent fury. Muttering an oath, he turned away from the silent door and resumed his pacing. His companion, a brawny man in the plain battle harness of Valkyr, watched him quietly from under bushy yellow brows. He stood with his great arms folded over the plaits of grizzled yellow hair that hung to his waist, his deeply-lined face framed by the loosened lacings of a winged helmet. A huge sword hugged his naked thigh; a massive blade with worn and sweat-stained hilt. The lord of Valkyr paused in his angry pacing to glare at his aide. "By the Great Destroyer, Nevitta! How long are we to stand this?" "Patience, Kieron, patience." The old warrior spoke with the assurance of lifelong familiarity. "They try us sorely, but we have waited three weeks. A little longer can do no harm." "Three weeks!" Kieron scowled at Nevitta. "Will they _drive_ us into rebellion? Is that their intention? I swear I would not have taken this from Gilmer himself!" "The great Emperor would never have dealt with us so. The fighting men of Valkyr were ever closest to his heart, Kieron. This is a way of doing that smacks of a woman's hand." He spat on the polished floor. "May the Seven Hells claim her!" Kieron grunted shortly and turned again toward the silent door. Ivane! Ivane the Fair ... Ivane the schemer. What devil's brew was she mixing now? Intrigue had always been her weapon--and now that Gilmer was gone and she stood by the Great Throne.... Kieron cursed her roundly under his breath. Nevitta spoke the truth. There was Ivane's hand in this, as surely as the stars made Galaxies! Three weeks wasted. Long weeks. Twenty-one full days since their ships had touched the Imperial City. Days of fighting through the swarms of dilettantes and favor-seekers that thronged the Imperial Palace. There had been times when Kieron had wanted to cut a path through the fawning dandies with his sword! Gilmer of Kaidor lay dead a full year and still the new Court was a madhouse of simpering sycophants. Petitions were being granted by the score as the favorites collected their long-delayed largess from the boy-Emperor Toran. And Kieron knew well enough that whatever favors were granted came through the ambitious hands of the Consort Ivane. She might not be allowed to wear the crown of an Empress without the blood of the Thousand Emperors in her veins, but by now no one at Court denied that she was the fountainhead of Imperial favor. Yet that wasn't really enough for her, Kieron knew. Ivane dreamed of better things. And because of all this hidden by-play, the old favorites of the warrior Gilmer were snubbed and refused audience. A new inner circle was building, and Kieron of Valkyr was not--it was plain to see--to be included. He was prevented even from presenting his just complaints to the Emperor Toran. * * * * *