Sounds filtered into Kieron's dungeon. Sounds that were familiar. The hissing roar of spaceships. Then later the awful susurration of mob sounds. Kieron lay sprawled on the stones of his cell-floor, not hearing, lost in the fantasmagoric stupor of delirium. His wounds still untended, only the magnificent body of a warrior helped him cling to the thread of life. Other sounds came. The crash of rams and the clatter of falling masonry. The shrieks of men and women dying. The ringing cacophony of weapons and the curses of fighting men. Hours passed and the din grew louder, closer, in the heart of the Citadel of Neg itself. The torches on the outer cellblocks guttered out and were left untended. The sounds of fighting rose to a wild pitch, interlaced with the inhuman, animal sounds of a mob gone mad. At last Kieron stirred, some of the familiar sounds of battle striking buried chords in his fevered mind. He listened to the advancing clash of weapons until it rang just beyond his dungeon door. He dragged himself into his corner again and crouched there, the feral light in his eyes brilliant now. His hands itched for killing. He flexed the fingers painfully and waited. The silence was sudden and as complete as the hush of the tomb. Kieron waited. The door was flung wide, and men bearing torches rushed into the cell. Kieron lunged savagely for the first one, hands seeking a throat. "_Kieron!_" Nevitta threw himself backward violently. Kieron clung to him, his face a fevered mask of hate. "Kieron! It is I ... Nevitta!" Kieron's hands fell away from the old warrior and he stood swaying, squinting against the light of the torches. "Nevitta ... Nevitta?" A wild laugh came from the prisoner's cracked lips. He looked about him, into the strained faces of his own fighting men. He took one step and pitched forward into the arms of Nevitta, who carried him like a child up into the light, tears streaking his grizzled cheeks.... * * * * * For three weeks Alys and Nevitta nursed Kieron, sucking the poison of his untended wounds with their mouths and bathing him to break the fiery grip of the fever. At last they won. Kieron opened his eyes--and they were sane and clear. "How long?" Kieron asked faintly. "We were gone from Kalgan twenty days ... you have lain here twenty-one," Alys said thankfully. "Why did you come back here?" Kieron demanded bitterly. "You have lost an Empire!" "We came for you, Kieron," Nevitta said. "For our king." "But ... Alys ..." Kieron protested. "I would not have the Great Throne, Kieron," said Alys, "if it meant leaving you to rot in a cell!"