The curtain swept aside, and Yrann's veiled figure stood there, fingers poised above the still-quivering strings. Faceless and veiled, like the Norn Atropos, ready to cut the thread that held Darum's life.
For a moment nobody moved. The room was too full of that certainty of doom which Darum's mad voice had made them all believe whether they would or no. For that instant, against all hope and reason, even Craddock, even Raft, knew certainly that there was no chance for life. In the single moment, they were all as mad as the king.
But only Raft understood what happened next. Only he knew what must have passed through Yrann's clouded mind. Death hung over Doirada Castle and the whole world she knew. The king had spoken, and in this moment there was no doubting the king. And she had waited so long for vengeance. The Flame would rob her of it now, unless—unless—she acted.
One last wild shrilling cry came shivering from the harp-strings. With the same motion that swept music across the instrument she flung the harp aside, letting it crash to the floor with a last jangling discord of its own.
She moved forward with a swift, stooping rush toward the couch. Her white hand, darting from the veils, was like a flung weapon in itself as she snatched up the long dagger he had dropped. Headlong, she hurled herself against him, swinging the blade like a scythe.
He was off guard. He tried to rise, to leap away from the blade's glittering descent, but the tangling silks caught and betrayed him. He managed only to writhe, aside, so that the first blow only raked his ribs in a glancing wound. Yrann, still silent, brought up the knife again with deadly singleness of purpose.
Then Raft had her.
He felt her arch against his restraining arm with the desperate strength he remembered from their other struggle in this room, and a shock of unreasonable horror went through him as that veiled face turned to his.
She flung herself against his grip with a cat's sudden, explosive fury, and with one last frantic surge broke free. Springing back, still gripping the dagger, she turned her faceless gaze toward the king.
He was on his feet now, facing her, ready. Her chance was gone. She knew it. They could see the knowledge slacken the tautness of the lovely body beneath her veils. They heard her sigh once, deeply, in the tense silence of the room.
Then she moved suddenly, her draperies swirling like slow smoke, and sank the knife hilt-deep in her own heart!
Motionless, speechless, they watched her sink to the floor. Red came slowly out through the gray veils pinned by the knife against her.
Darum brushed past Raft. He knelt beside Yrann. His hand went out, poising over the veiled face. But he did not touch the gauzy webs that hid her.
'Yrann?' he said. 'Yrann?'
But she did not stir. The red stain widened upon the gray.
Darum's fingers closed upon the hilt that stood up from her chest. He knelt there for a heartbeat, his hand caressing the weapon as if it were Yrann herself. Then his grip tightened.
He tore the knife free, dripping scarlet drops, and rose in a lithe, inhuman motion, facing Raft. His lips had flattened back, and the light in his eyes was the dark blaze of pure madness. He lifted the blade, and the red drops spattered in an arch across the carpet.
Raft stood motionless, his mind racing. He was too close to the king, and he was unarmed. There was no way of escaping that blow, unless he came to grips with the man, and he had no illusions about which of the two was stronger. Power flowed tremendously through the feline's rippling body, and madness lent it double strength.
'You saved my life,' he said in a hissing snarl. 'You came between us! You turned the knife against her as surely as if you held the blade. What use do you think life is to me now?' His features convulsed in the mad inhumanity of feline rage. 'You—ape!'
Darum sprang.
From behind Raft a thin, shining flash of light darted, to quench itself in the king's throat. Darum's body arched. He strained to take one step more forward—to keep the dagger raised for its blow —
Then with shocking suddenness, all the strength went out of him and he dropped to the silks with the lithe, silken limpness of the silks themselves. His fingers released the dagger, and he pulled the rapier from his throat, blood gushing from wound and mouth as it came free.
'Vann,' he said, and coughed. 'Vann. We have dueled before—but never thus!'
Vann's deep voice answered heavily.
'I served you, Darum, but I serve Paititi first. Yrann was not worth any man's love.'
'She was so beautiful,' the king whispered. 'She could not bear to die—with Paititi—without slaying me. She hated me always. And—and—' He tried to choke back blood.
He lifted himself on suddenly strong arms and dragged himself forward a few feet. He ran gentle fingers down the dead woman's arm. Her harp lay where it had fallen, almost beneath her fingers. He touched the strings, and their sad music hung forlornly in the quiet air.
'I would have crushed Paititi,' Darum said. 'I would have—crushed the world—for her. Rather than have her harmed. She was so beautiful.'
The king's head fell upon the soft body of Yrann. The tiger eyes closed. One hand sought for and found Yrann's.
His blood mingled with hers.
The red stream flowed slower and slower —
And flowed no more.
Vann stood motionless, his heavy shoulders sagging.
'Go now, while there's time,' he said. 'I did this to save Paititi, and now I find myself wondering whether I have struck steel into the wrong throat.'
'Vann,' Janissa said.
'Take them away, Janissa. Take these men from another world out of the king's presence. Let them stop Parror if they can.'
'Parror?' Craddock whispered. He touched Raft's arm. 'We'll have to move fast.'
'Yes,' Raft said tonelessly.
He turned and led the way out of the chamber. His face was gray, and sweat stood out in fine droplets on his cheeks.
Once outside, he did not mention the king.
'We'll need the machine,' he said. 'It's a portable, so we can manage the weight. But I'll want some straps.'
They found silken scarves that would do as well, and the machine was adjusted on Raft's back. The light alloys made its weight less than its bulk would have indicated. That would help, since fast travel would be necessary if they hoped to forestall Parror.
Silently they left the castle, darkened now for the sleep-period. Outside the cool, clear daylight of Paititi was dazzling.
'We should have remembered weapons,' Craddock said.
'It's too late now,' Raft told him. 'Janissa, you'll guide. Do you know the secret way to the Flame?'
'I think I can find it, yes. The thought in Parror's mind was clear enough. But it is a long way.'
Yet it was shorter than they expected. They did not head for Parror's castle. They angled off toward the base of the rock barrier that guarded Paititi. Four hours of fast travel brought them to it. There, however, time was lost as Janissa searched for the secret entrance.
'There are ruins here,' she said. 'Ruins of the Old Race. There should be a double column. Parror was thinking of it when I read his mind.'
Silently Raft pointed. With a little cry Janissa ran to the spot he indicated. She felt the smooth surface of the rock-face, searching for a key.
Silently, smoothly, an oval opened in the bare stone.
Raft turned to stare back the way they had come.
'No sign of Parror,' he said. 'He may be ahead of us. Or he may not. We'll soon know.' He followed Janissa and Craddock into the opening. Behind him the hidden door closed.
