Ross twisted his head. He blinked. For Horta was an eyeful.
The Lord of the Caverns was a giant. Fully seven feet tall, he must have weighed four hundred pounds. But he bore his great bulk with ease and a certain dignity. He strode over to the two prisoners, looked them over with curiosity but without visible rancor, and spoke sharply to a guard in the Moon tongue. The guard hastened to free the two flyers.
They exchanged glances of surprise. "You don't suppose he's a pal in disguise?" asked Moore blandly. He looked up with a start when he heard a rumbling chuckle.
Horta was amused. "No, Earth-man. You are prisoners. But I have no need to bind you, for you cannot escape. Yet you need not fear death, for if you will stay and serve me you shall have life and all the blessings that will be showered upon a new Kingdom."
"New Kingdom?" Moore blinked. "It's a Regency, isn't it?"
Horta's great laugh boomed out. "Nay! I am the King! And for my queen—well, you have delivered her to me!"
Ross sat up and stared. "You mean—Illeria?"
Horta chuckled as he nodded.
"Illeria!" Ross stifled a curse. His mind raced. The girl was a prisoner, too. He spoke aloud, easily. "Well, I guess we can give Your Royal Highness a hand."
"Hey, Bruce!" Moore expostulated. "You don't mean—"