Therokos stirred, groaning. Alfric's big brown form stooped over him, dagger against throat. "Up with you, fat jerrad," hissed the northerner. "Up, and not a word, or you'll be spilling guts over the floor." The High Priest climbed unsteadily to his feet. "Now lead us out by a secret way," rasped Alfric. "There is none--" groaned Therokos. Alfric slapped him with savage fury. "Shut up! I know there is. You priests are like all burrowing snakes, you've more than one exit to your holes. March! And if we meet guards, you'll die first." Therokos flung him a glance of utter hate, but stumbled obediently ahead. The empty corridor echoed dully to their footfalls. Near its end, Therokos pressed a camouflaged stud, and a section of the rock wall swung aside on noiseless hinges. Hildaborg took a torch from the wall and closed the door behind them. They went down a long sloping tunnel, so low that Alfric had to stoop. "You cannot hope to escape," said Therokos, his voice again under his wondrous control. "Best you give up peaceably, saving trouble and lives on both sides. In exchange, I will offer better terms than before." "What?" asked Alfric skeptically. "Weapons, money, and hengists--then you can leave the city for the hell that awaits you." "And my men?" insisted Hildaborg. "Exile, with you." * * * * * Alfric pondered the proposal. If they could get free, with men at their back, they could always raise an army for a new attempt. But surely Therokos was aware of that. So if he had some trick--and it would be strange if he did not-- "How do we know you'll keep the bargain?" he asked coldly. "You have the honor of the High Priest," answered Therokos loftily. Alfric sneered, and Therokos added: "Also, I assume you keep me prisoner until you are safe." "It does not sound ill--" mused Hildaborg. Nor did it to Alfric. But he shook his head, stubbornly. "I mistrust him. Moreover, a new war, after he had time to get ready, would take time and lives, and might fail. If tonight is indeed the night of destiny, we can still strike." "With what?" jeered Therokos. Alfric was not quite sure himself, but prodded the captive ungently onward. They came to another hinged rock, and Therokos opened that door for them. Alfric's spine crawled with the thought of what might lie beyond; he kept the dagger against Therokos' back as they stepped out. They were in the shadows of a ruined portico, in a deserted section near the bottom of the hill. White and serene, the ancient columns lifted toward the two moons. The gracious remnants of elder days stretched on either side, half buried by drifting sand. Black against the sky, the Temple loomed on the hillcrest, but Alfric saw no movement. Hildaborg slipped against him. "Now what shall we do?" she whispered.