"I am Alfric of Aslak, and I came here without friends or plan, knowing nothing of any prophecy," answered the barbarian coldly. "And you are a misbegotten son of a she-garm, with whose head I will yet play football." "Come now," said Therokos softly, "surely you do not expect me to believe you are here by mere chance? Your cause is lost, you are doomed, but you can save yourself the inquisition and die easily if you will tell us what you know." "I know nothing, you jerrad!" "You may know more after the inquisitioners have worked on you awhile," said Therokos coldly. Then turning to Hildaborg, his voice suddenly rich and warm, throbbing with love and pity: "My lady, my lady, you do not know how I regret this. That the Empress of Valkarion should, even for dire necessity, be thus humiliated is the greatest sorrow of my life." Hildaborg's lip curled. "I see you weeping," she said coldly. "But I do, my lady--my heart is ashes within me. Only need drove me to this--and it is not yet too late to repent, your majesty. What the Moons have taken, the Moons can restore. "Surely, my lady," said Therokos reasonably, "you can see the absolute necessity of my actions. Under the law, you could not rule, and there was no Imperial heir. Without a strong hand, leaderless Valkarion would have split under the quarreling of the nobles and the lawlessness of the commons, easy prey for barbarian enemies such as this man--and the Sibyl's warning would have come true. With the Imperium gone, the Temple, sole remaining pillar of Valkarion, _must_ bear the burden of state." "In other words," said Hildaborg coldly, "you will have yourself anointed Theocrat." "The Moons have seen fit thus to honor my unworthiness," said Therokos. "But it would still be well if we should unite our forces. You have many loyal friends, my lady, myself not the least of them. If you will but wed me, we can together unite the factions in the city and build the Empire anew." She smiled, almost a sneer. "Yours was a strange courtship." "I have told you how the necessity grieved me," said the priest. Suddenly his voice came hard as steel, cold as winter and death: "It is now my duty to offer you a choice. Call on your troops to surrender, your followers in the city to desist from their treasonous activities, and wed me this night, or--" he paused--"burn at the stake for blasphemy and witchcraft. But first you will be tied down and every slave in the Temple have his way with you." "That might not be worse than leading my men into your hands," she flared. But her face was suddenly bloodless. "You will be surprised how much worse it will be--especially since your men will die anyway. But I will offer you this, too: if you call on them to surrender, those who do may go into exile." She stood a moment in silence, and Alfric knew what a horror must be clawing her heart. Then she nodded toward him: "What of my protector here?"