"It won't keep. I bear special news from the Lands-that-see-not-Earth."
The guards captain's face lit with a flicker of interest. "What is it?"
"It's for the ears of his Wisdom alone."
"Then wait your turn."
"Look here," said Rikard, "you can send him a message that it concerns certain newly found ores of power. If his Wisdom isn't interested, I'll go my way. But if you don't do this much, I'd hate to be in your skin when he learns what you've kept from him."
"Hmmm—well—" The captain rubbed his chin. There was a superstitious awe deep within his eyes, and the other sentries gaped. "Well, all right." He peered narrowly at the barbarian, "You're not of the city. Where are you from?"
"Moonburg, if you must know. But my message!"
The captain blew a whistle, and an acolyte came forth from within to receive the word and run back with it. Rikard stood waiting, trying not to shiver with the gathering tautness of the moment. Rayth had told him to give this message, and it seemed to work. The prince had added that the Temple was seeking to recover the lost secret of the legendary Tommic's Power, so immensely more potent than the sunlight batteries, but had not gone far for lack of the necessary metals. To Rikard, Tommic had merely been a local god worshipped by some towns, though in other stories he was the devil responsible for the Fall.
"Your sword," said the captain.
Rikard shrugged. It was understandable that no visitor should bear weapons within the Temple, especially after Rayth's last few attempts. He unslung his glaive and handed it over, and permitted them to search him for concealed knives. It did not seem to occur to them, in spite of his hard-thewed size, that hands and shod feet have killed men.