The third was on Alfric like an angry jaccur. His spear-thrust furrowed along the barbarian's ribs. Alfric closed in, grinning savagely in the cold white moonlight, and thrust with his sword. The guard parried the blow with his small buckler, dropped his spear, and drew his shortsword. Bending low, he rushed in, probing for Alfric's guts, and the northerner skipped aside barely in time. The broadsword chopped down, through the guard's left leg. Blood spurted, the man crashed to earth, and Alfric stabbed him through the face before he could scream. The second was climbing dizzily to his feet. Alfric knocked the sword from a nerveless hand and brought his own blade against the guardsman's throat. "Hold," he said. "One word, one movement, and you'll roll in the gutter with your comrades." Freha came up, the cloak blowing about her wonderful naked body in the wild wind. She was a fay sight under the moons, and the prisoner groaned as he saw her. "Lady--lady, forgive--" "Forgive a traitor?" she asked, wrath sparking in her voice. "Why are the priests after me?" rapped Alfric. The guard stared. "Surely--surely you know--" "I know nothing. Speak, if you want to remain a man." "The prophecy--the priests warned us about you, that you were the heathen conqueror of the prophecy.... Later they said that--" the guard's desperate eyes turned to Freha. "They said you, your majesty--" His voice trailed off. "Say on," she snapped. "Give me the priests' own words. By Dannos, they'll all swing for this! I am still Empress of Valkarion!" Alfric looked at her in sudden shock, as if he had been clubbed. Empress--the Empress of Valkarion-- "But--they said you were not, your majesty ... the Emperor is dead, he died soon after sundown--" "As soon as I was gone, eh? A priest's work, I am thinking. Someone will answer for that. Go on!" "The High Priest sent word over the city. He told of the prophecy--we all knew of that, but he told it anew. But he said the heathen king could still be slain, and offered a thousand gildars to the man who did it." The guard gulped. "Then he said you--forgive me, lady, you asked for his words--he said since the Dynasty was now dead, the Temple would rule till further arrangements could be made. But the Empress Hildaborg, half barbarian, idolatrous witch--those were his words, your majesty--she lay under the Temple's ban. He said she was to be killed, or better captured, with the heathen stranger, with whom she would probably join forces. He put the most solemn curse of the Two Moons on anyone who should aid you and the man, or even fail to help hunt for you--" The guardsman sank to his knees, shaking. "Lady, forgive me! I have a family, I was afraid to refuse--" "What of my Household troops?" she snapped. "The priests sent a detachment of the city guards against them--a dreadful battle. The Household repelled the attack, but now they are besieged in the palace--"