He laughed softly, the old grim battle joy flowing up in him. Weariness and despair fell off like an outworn cloak--there was new strength in his thews and a goal in his mind. "I heard, down there, how Valkarion really hates the priests," he said. "The city is seething with revolt which wants only a leader. Could the common folk rise, I think nigh all the city guards, impressed into priest service by fear, would come over to their side. And you--they love you, Hildaborg. Could you go to sure friends?" "Aye--there is old Bronnes the merchant and Captain Hassalon of the guard, and--many." "Then go. Slip down to them, give them word and tell them to pass it on, to shout it over the city. You, the Empress, the divinely appointed lady of Valkarion, tell the folk to rise against the Temple. Let them storm the citadel, and they may have the looting of it!" He chuckled. "That should bring in the laggards." "But--untrained mobs, against the guards--" "There will be other guardsmen on your side. And--this is my part--your Household will also be there." "But--they're besieged--" "I'll get them out." Alfric stripped off Therokos' gold-braided cloak, and slung it over her shoulders. "This will cover you well enough so you can get to your friends unharmed. Now go, Hildaborg, and Ruho go with you." He kissed her, with a wild hunger that dissolved into tenderness. "Stay out of danger," he whispered. "Stay in a safe place till I come for you--Hildaborg--" Therokos scuttled aside. "Oh, no!" snarled Alfric, and stabbed. The priest tumbled, with blood rivering from his stomach, choking his screams. Alfric took Hildaborg again in his arms. "Goodbye, my dearest dear--" She slipped into the shadows. Alfric sighed, wondering with a brief heaviness if he would ever see her again. He knew full well how desperate his gamble was. Well, there was work to be done. He turned and ran crouched along the hillside, weaving in and out of darkness. The Moons were almost at their mating now, flooding the city with chill silver radiance. He grinned up at them. And what did they think of this ruination of their ancient godhead? He could hardly imagine them caring about it. Surely Dannos, the swift warrior, and bright Mother Amaris had more use for an honest fighting man and his warm-hearted love than for a bunch of sniveling shavepates. All honor to the Moons, but not to tyrants and murderers in their name. He was in the gully now, between Temple and palace. Snakelike, he crawled under the shadow of the bridge to its farther end, where he peered cautiously around an abutment. The trampled gardens were full of city and Temple guards, whose watchfires ringed the palace. He saw the light agleam on spears and swords and armor, and had time to wonder if he would ever make it past them. But he had to try. He drew a deep breath, tightened his muscles, and ran. * * * * *