"I failed, Garlud." The words were barely audible. "Forgive me, my friend. They ... made me tell. I am ... old. Once they would not ... have been able...."
Compassion came into Garlud's expression. "Heglar, Heglar," he said softly. "You know I had nothing to do with your attempt to kill Jaltor. What have I done to you that makes you say this awful thing about me?"
Was there a flicker of remorse in those faded blue eyes? If so, it was gone before Garlud could be sure. "It ... is useless, Garlud," the feeble voice whispered. "I had to ... tell him."
"You are dying, Heglar." Sweat stood out on Garlud's forehead. "Would you face the God-Whose-Name-May-Not-Be-Spoken-Aloud with a lie upon your lips?"
"I ... I——"
The noble's hand closed on the old man's shoulder. "The truth, Heglar! Who is the real one behind this?"
The aged eyes closed and Heglar's face began to work. "No! No! I have ... no——"
"You must tell us, Heglar! Speak, man!"
Once more the lips opened. "I—I ... Rhoa!"
Abruptly Heglar's head rolled to one side, his body went limp and with his mate's name on his lips he died.