“You are Bergelin?” he said. “I call myself Demadé Slair. The revolt has begun. Have you the Blue Star safe?”
II
Questions whirled in Rodvard’s mind, but the larger of the pair said; “Hurry,” and gripped him by the elbow like the guard who had brought him in, dragging along the corridor.
“Wait!” said Rodvard, resisting. “There is another—”
“We must hurry,” said Demadé Slair. “You do not know how desperate a business this is. We have had to kill.”
“No. I will not leave her. She is my sweetheart; my witch.”
“You have her here? Of the two of you, she is the more important! Where is she?”
“At the third cell here, I think.”
Without another word Slair counted off. “The torch, Cordisso,” and began to try keys from a chain of them. The big man advanced the torch, but the place held only some babbling, furtive creature with white hair and idiot eyes. The next cell was empty. Slair swore furiously. “You are sure your doxy’s here?”
“She was brought in with me.”