Kieron snorted derisively. First Lord! The shades of the mighty fighters who had carried that title through a thousand of Imperial Earth's battles must have been sickened by young Toran's ... or Ivane's ... choice of the mincing courtier who now stood before him. The more cynical courtiers said that Landor had won his honors in Ivane's bed, and Kieron could well believe it. Out in the vast emptinesses of the Edge men lived by different standards. Out there a woman was a woman--a thing to be loved or beaten, cherished or enjoyed and cast off--but not a touchstone to wealth and power. Kieron had loathed Landor on sight, and there was reason enough to believe that the First Lord reciprocated most completely. It was not wise for anyone, even a Warlord, to openly scorn the Consort's favorites--but restraint was not one of the lord of Valkyr's virtues, though even Nevitta warned him to take care. Assassination was a fine art in the Imperial City, and one amply subsidized by the First Lord of Space. "Well, Landor?" Kieron demanded, disdaining to use Landor's title. Landor's smoothly handsome features showed no expression. The pale eyes veiled like a serpent's. "I regret," the First Lord of Space said easily, "that His Imperial Majesty has retired for the night, Valkyr. Under the circumstances...." He spread his slender hands in a gesture of helplessness. The lie was obvious. Through the open doorway of the royal chambers came the murmuring sound of laughter and the reedy melody of a minstrel's pipes in the age-old ballad of _Lady Greensleeves_. Kieron could hear Toran's uncertain voice singing: "Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves was all my joy, And who but Lady Greensleeves?" Kieron could imagine the boy--lolling foolishly before the glittering Ivane, trying to win with verses what any man could have for a pledge of loyalty to the Consort. The Valkyr glared at Landor. "I'm not to be received, is that it? By the Seven Hells, why don't you say what you mean?" Landor's smile was scornful. "You outworlders! You should learn how to behave, really. Perhaps later...." "Later be damned!" snapped Kieron. "My people are starving _now_! Your grubbing tax-gatherers are wringing us dry! How long do you think they'll stand for it? How long do you imagine _I_ will stand for it?" "Threats, Valkyr?" asked the First Lord, his eyes suddenly venomous. "Threats against your Emperor? Men have been whipped to death for much less." "Not men of Valkyr," retorted Kieron. "The men of Valkyr no longer hold the favored position they once did, Kieron. I counsel you to remember that." "True enough," Kieron replied scornfully. "Under Gilmer, fighting men were the power of the Empire. Now Toran rules with the hands of women ... and dancing masters." * * * * *