"We shall need overwhelming proof."
"Our proof lies there." Jotan waved a hand at the motionless bulk near the wall. "Get him on his feet, somebody; it's time he told his story to Jaltor, king of Ammad!"
Tamar bent above the fallen man and shook him. "Come! You've rested long enough!"
But Sitab did not move and Tamar shook him again, harder this time, and repeated the order. Then suddenly the young noble was kneeling beside the still form of the guard and placing a hand against the tunic over his heart.
In the silence Tamar rose to his feet and met the stricken eyes of his friends. "He is dead," he said simply.
"There dies our proof," Garlud said glumly. "Now it is our word against Vokal's."
"No!" Jotan swung around to face his father and Tamar. "There is another way. We can go to Vokal's palace, pull him from his bed and force him to confess!"
"And what of Vokal's loyal guards and warriors?" Garlud said soberly. "Do you think they will idly stand aside and permit that?"
Jotan swept out his hand in a half circle. "Here are fifty men—stalwart warriors all. And in your own palace, father, are hundreds more. I say let us go to our own palace, gather together our warriors and march upon Vokal!"
"You forget," Garlud said softly, "that I am regarded as an enemy of the State. As such, my palace and possessions are confiscated and my warriors stripped of their weapons and confined to quarters."