Something of the strange look returned to Carse’s face and he said, “I am from Jekkara.”
They laughed. They shrieked with laughter until the square rocked with it. Now they had lost all awe of him. His every word stamped him as what the girl had called him, a coward and a fool. Almost contemptuously, they attacked.
This was real enough to Carse, this mass of hate-filled faces and wicked short-swords coming at him. He struck out ragingly with the long sword of Rhiannon, his rage less against this murderous rabble than against the fate that had pitchforked him into their world.
Several of them died on the jeweled sword and the rest drew back. They stood glaring at him like jackals who have trapped a wolf. Then through their hissing came an exultant cry.
“The Sark soldiers are coming! They’ll cut down this Khond spy for us!”
Carse, backed against a locked door and panting, saw a little phalanx of black-mailed, black-helmeted warriors pushing through the rabble like a ship through waves.
They were coming straight toward him and the Jekkarans were already yelling in eager anticipation of the lull.
IV. Perilous Secret
The door against which Carse’s back was braced suddenly gave way, opening inward. He reeled backward into the black interior.
As he staggered for balance the door suddenly slammed shut again. He heard a bar fall and then a low, throaty chuckle from beside him.