Miela was back beside me. Her breast was heaving; her eyes were full of
tears; she trembled.

"A terrible thing, Alan, my husband, for a woman to do; but it had to be."

I pressed her hand with silent understanding.

"Come, Alan," she said. "They will have heard his cry. The others--we must
meet them, too."

"We must get to the king. I--"

A vibrant scream rang out from the silence of the house--a man's voice,
shrill with agony--then suddenly stilled.

"Good God, Miela! The king--where is he? Take me there."

She pulled me back through the doorway. A man scurried past. I leaped at
him and struck him a glancing blow with the heavy wooden pestle. He
stumbled to his knees. Without thought of giving quarter, I hit him again
before he could rise. He sank back, senseless or dead.

Miela was ahead of me, and I ran after her along a hallway. The sound of
scurrying footsteps sounded from overhead; a woman screamed.

A broad, curving stairway fronted us. I passed Miela halfway up, and,
reaching the top, ran full into another man who darted from a doorway
close by. The impact of my heavier body flung him backward to the floor. I
leaped over him with a shout of warning to Miela, and ran on into the
room.

A man was standing stock still in its center. It was Baar. He flung his
knife at me as I appeared, but it went wild. Two other men were coming
toward me from opposite sides of the room. I swung the bludgeon about me
viciously, keeping them away. Suddenly Baar shouted a command, and before
I could reach any one of them they had scurried away like rats.

A low bed with a huge canopy of silk stood against the wall. A woman knelt
on the floor beside it, and against her knees huddled a little half-grown
boy.

I heard Miela's voice shouting in her own language. The sound of men
running came from below. Then Miela's half-hysterical laughter, and then
the words: "They are running away, Alan--all of them. I have been calling
you to bring me the light-ray. And they are running away."

I turned to the bed, pushing its curtains aside, and then hurriedly
closing them again with a shudder.

Miela was beside me.

"The king is dead, Miela. No--you must not look."

Her eyes widened; her hand went to her breast.

"There is one who needs you." I pointed to the woman on the floor.

She was staring at us, unseeing, one arm flung about the child
protectingly, holding him partially under one of her long, sleek red
wings. The fin