"Would you disturb the Warlord of Valkyr's repose for a slave, barbarians?" demanded the warrior at the door in a hurt tone of voice. "Go away."
The officer in the hallway was beginning to lose patience.
"Open, I say! Or we'll break in!"
"Do," offered the Valkyr pleasantly. "I have a sword that has been too long dry."
How Landor must be sweating in that back room, Kieron thought wryly, thinking that the Valkyrs would rather kill him than let his message reach Freka. But Landor's death would serve no useful purpose now. Time! Time
was needed. Time enough to let Nevitta get Alys out of danger!
Kieron stepped to the door, hoping that some warriors of the Outer Marches might possibly be within earshot and catch the implication of his words. "Kieron of Valkyr speaks!" he cried. "We have Landor of Earth here! Landor, the First Lord — is that the slave you seek?"
But the only response was the sudden crash of a ram against the panels of the wooden door. Kieron prepared to fight. Still, no sound of a spaceship rising…
The door collapsed, and a flood of Kalgan warriors poured into the room, weapons flashing.
Savagely, the Valkyrs closed with them, arid the air rang with the metallic clash of steel. No mercy was asked and none was given. Kieron cut a circle of death with his long, out-world weapon, the fighting blood of a hundred generations of warriors singing in his ears. The savage chant of the Edge rose above the confused sounds of battle. A man screamed in agony as his arm was severed by a blow from a Valkyr blade, and he waved the stump desperately, spattering the milling men with dark blood. A Valkyr warrior went down, locked in a death-embrace with a Kalgan warrior, driving his dagger into his enemy again and again even as he died. Kieron crossed swords with a guardsman, forcing him backward until the Kalgan slipped on the flagstones made slippery with blood and went down with a sword-cut from throat to groin.