ar I have
awakened and they have used me as a mock sacrifice. And then they have
put me to sleep again for another year."

"And today again?"

"For the last time. They have lost their power to act at a distance.
And they grow afraid that I may call someone they cannot defeat. Their
power is great now on only this one day when the sun comes directly
between the two stones they brought with them from their mother
world."

She started suddenly and Gaar stared at her. "What is it?" he
demanded.

"I feel something. I feel danger."

* * * * *

There was no time to ask questions. Gaar knew she would not be wrong.
This daughter of a lost people had a knowledge he could not fathom. He
lifted her out of the sarcophagus and set her on her feet.

"We've got to get out of here. Once we reach my men and set back for
the coast they'll never stop us."

They were running now, back along the corridor down which Gaar had
come. Half way they went, and then they heard the voices and the feet
that came toward them from above.

Gaar listened intently. There were too many. One or two he would have
fought, maybe even a half-dozen. But this was the tramp of many feet.
They must have found the body at the head of the Stairs. Gaar cursed
his luck.

"We'll have to go back. Is there another way out?"

"No none. It was the burial place for the kings of my people before
the Druids came."

And it looked like it would be his burial place as well, Gaar thought.
But he had to go back anyway. He couldn't take a chance on the girl
being hurt in a fight in the dark. Besides, that fellow he had killed
had a knife. It would be better than no weapon at all.

The feet were close behind them as they ran. The girl was too slow.
Gaar scooped her up and ran with her under his arm. But still not
swiftly enough. They had been overheard.

He had barely time to swing Marna behind the sarcophagus and out of
immediate danger. He bent and tore the knife from Glendyn's loose
grasp. And then they were on him, a flood of black-robed figures.

Blood spurted as the knife in Gaar's hand flashed. A man screamed, and
then another as Gaar's fist made pulp of flesh and bone. His hands
struck blows like Thor's hammer. He made them pay dearly for every
backward step he took. But they came on still.

They were too many for him. They forced him back until a cold wall
stopped him. Then, by the sheer force of numbers they overwhelmed hi