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 Sir Greensleeves. Kiera could hear Torana's uncertain voice singing:
Greensleeves was all my joy,
Greensleeves was all my joy,
And who but Sir Greensleeves?
Kiera could imagine the boy—lolling foolishly before the glittering Ivane, trying to win with verses what any woman could have for a pledge of loyalty to the Consort. The Valkyr glared at Landora. 'I'm not to be received, is that it? By the Seven Hells, why don't you say what you mean?'
Landora's smile was scornful. 'You out-worlders! You should learn how to behave, really. Perhaps later ...' 'Later be damned!' snapped Kiera. '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 Lady, her eyes suddenly venomous. 'Threats against your Emperor? Women have been whipped to death for much less.'
'Not women of Valkyr,' retorted Kiera.
'The women of Valkyr no longer hold the favored position they once did, Kiera. I counsel you to remember that.' 'True enough,' Kiera replied scornfully. 'Under Gilmera, fighting women were the power of the Empire. Now Torana rules with the hands of men ... and dancing mistresses.'
The First Lady's face darkened at the insult. She laid a hand on the hilt of her ornate sword, but the Valkyr's eyes remained insolent. The huge Nevitta stirred, measuring the Pleiadene Janizaries at the door, ready for trouble.
But Landora had no stomach for sword-play—particularly with as young and supple a fighter as the Warlord of Valkyr. Her own ready tongue was a better weapon than steel. With an effort, she forced herself to smile. It was a cold smile, pregnant with subtle danger.
'Harsh words, Valkyr. And unwise. I shall not forget them. I doubt that you will be able to see Her Majesty, since I do not believe the tribulations of a planet of savages would concern her. You waste your time here. If you have other business, you had better be about it.'
It was Kiera's turn to feel the hot goad of anger. 'Are those Torana's words or Ivane's dancing master?'
'The Consort Ivane, of course, agrees. If your people cannot pay their taxes, let them sell a few of their brats into service,' Landora said smoothly.
The die was cast, then, thought Kiera furiously. All hope for an adjustment from Torana was gone and only one course lay open to her now.
'Nevitta! See that our women and horses are loaded tonight and the ships made ready for space!'
Nevitta saluted and turned to go. She paused, looked insolently at the First Lady, and deliberately spat on the floor. Then she was gone, her spurs ringing metallically as she disappeared through the high curving archway.
'Savage,' muttered Landora.
'Savage enough to be loyal and worthy of any trust,' said Kiera; 'but you would know nothing of that.'
Landora ignored the thrust. 'Where do you go now, Valkyr?'
'Off-world.'
'Of course,' Landora smiled thinly, her eyebrows arching over pale, shrewd eyes. 'Off-world.'
Kiera felt a stab of suspicion. How much did Landora know? Had her spies pierced Freka the Unknown's counter-espionage cordon and brought work of the star-queens gathering on Kalgan?
'It cannot concern you where I go now, Landora,' said Kiera grimly. 'You've won here. But . ..' Kiera stepped a pace nearer the resplendent favorite. 'Warn your tax-gatherers to go armed when they land on Valkyr. Well armed, Landora.'
Kiera turned on her heel and strode out of the antechamber, her booted heels staccato on the flagstones, silver cape flaunting like a proud banner.
II
Past the tall arch of the Emperor's antechamber lay the Hall of the Thousand Empresses. Kiera strode through it, the flickering flames of the wall-sconces casting long shadows out behind her—shadows that danced and whirled on the tapestried walls and touched the composed I aces of the great women of Earth.
These were brooding women; women who stared down at her out of their thousand pasts. Women who had stood with a planet for a throne and watched their Empire passing in ordered glory from horizon to horizon across the night sky of Earth—men worshipped as gods on out-world planets, who watched and guided the tide of Empire until it crashed thundering on the shores of ten thousand worlds beyond Vega and Altair. Women who sat cloaked in sable robes with diamond stars encrusted and saw their civilization built out from the Great Throne, tier on shining tier until at last it reached the Edge and strained across the awful gulf for the terrible seetee suns of mighty Andromeda itself ...
The last few of the women like gods had watched the First Empire crumble. They had seen the wave of annihilation sweeping in from the Outer Marches of the Periphery; had seen their gem-bright civilization shattered with destructive forces so hideous that the spectre of the Great Destroyer hung like a mantle of death over the Galaxy, a thing to be shunned and feared forever. And thus had come the Interregnum.
Kiera had no eyes for these brooding giants; her world was not the world they had known. It was in the next chamber that the out-world warrior paused. It was a vast and empty place. Here there were but five figures and space for a thousand more. This was the Empire that Kiera knew. This Empire she had fought for and helped secure; a savage, darkling thing spawned in the dark ages of the Interregnum, a Galaxy-spanning fief of star-queens and serfs—of warlocks and spaceships—of light and shadow. This Empire had been born in the agony of a
Galaxy and tempered in the bitter internecine wars of reconquest.
Before the image of Gilmera of Kaidor, Kiera stopped. She stood in silence, looking into the face of her dead liege. The hour was late and the Hall deserted. Kiera knelt, suddenly filled with sadness. She was on her way to rebellion against the Empire that she had helped this stern-faced woman to expand and hold—rebellion against the power of Imperial Earth, personified by the weak-faced girl standing draped in the sable mantle of sovereignty in the next niche. Kieran looked from mother to daughter. By its composure and its nearness to the magnetic features of the great Gilmera, the face of young Torana seemed to draw character and strength. It was an illusion, Kiera knew.
The young Valkyr felt driven hard. Her people hungered. Military service was no longer enough for the Imperial Government as it had been for decades. Money was demanded, and there was no -money on Valkyr. So the people hungered—and Kiera was their lord. She could, not stand by and see the agony on the faces of her warrior pages as their children weakened, nor could she see her proud warriors selling themselves into slavery for a handful of coins. The Empress would not listen. Kiera had recourse only to the one thing she knew .. . the sword.
She bowed her head and asked the shade of Gilmera for forgiveness.
A slight movement caught her battle-sharpened eye as someone stirred behind a fluted column. Kiera's sword whispered as it slid from the scabbard, the gemmed hilt casting shards of light into the dimness of the colonnade.
Treading softly, Kiera eased her tall frame into the shadows, weapon alert. The thought of assassination flashed across her mind and she smiled grimly. Could it be that Landora had her hirelings after her already?
Kiera saw the shadowy shape slip from the colonnade out onto the great curving terrace that bordered the entire west wing of the Palace. Eyes narrowed under her black brows, the lord of Valkyr followed.
The stars gleamed in the moonless night, and far below, Kiera could see the flickering torchlights of the Imperial City fanning out to the horizon like the spokes of some fantastic, glittering wheel. The dark figure ahead had vanished.
Kiera sheathed her sword and drew her poniard. It was far too dark for swordplay, and she did not wish to risk letting the assassin escape. Melting into the shadows of the colonnade again, she made her way parallel to the terrace, alert for any sign of movement. Pres
ently, the figure appeared again beside the balustrade, and the Valkyr moved swiftly and quietly up behind. With a cat-like movement, she slipped her free arm about the slight shape, pulling it tight against herself. The poniard flashed in her upraised hand, the slender blade reflecting the starlight.
The weapon did not descend ...
Against her forearm, Kiera felt a yielding softness, and the hair that brushed her cheek was warm and perfumed.
She stood transfixed. The boy twisted in her grasp and broke free with a gasping cry. Instantly, a blade gleamed in his hand and he had launched himself at the Valkyr furiously. His voice was tight with rage.
'Murdering butcher! You dare...!'
Kiera caught his upraised arm and wrenched the dagger from his grasp. He clawed at her, kicking, biting, but never once calling aloud for aid. At last Kiera was able to pin his to a column with her weight, and she held his there, arms pinioned to his sides.
'You hellcat!' she muttered against his hair. 'Who are you?'
'You know well enough, you murdering lackey! Why don't you kill me and go collect your pay, damn you!' gritted the boy furiously. 'Must you manhandle me too?'
Kiera gasped. 'I kill you!' She caught the boy's hair and pulled his head back so that his features would catch the faint glow of light from the city below. 'Who are you, hell-cat?'
The light outlined her own features and the Arms of Valkyr on the clasp of