"Say on," she snapped. "Give me the priests' own words. By Dannos, they'll all swing for this! I am still Empress of Valkarion!"
Alfric looked at her in sudden shock, as if he had been clubbed. Empress—the Empress of Valkarion—
"But—they said you were not, your majesty ... the Emperor is dead, he died soon after sundown—"
"As soon as I was gone, eh? A priest's work, I am thinking. Someone will answer for that. Go on!"
"The High Priest sent word over the city. He told of the prophecy—we all knew of that, but he told it anew. But he said the heathen king could still be slain, and offered a thousand gildars to the man who did it." The guard gulped. "Then he said you—forgive me, lady, you asked for his words—he said since the Dynasty was now dead, the Temple would rule till further arrangements could be made. But the Empress Hildaborg, half barbarian, idolatrous witch—those were his words, your majesty—she lay under the Temple's ban. He said she was to be killed, or better captured, with the heathen stranger, with whom she would probably join forces. He put the most solemn curse of the Two Moons on anyone who should aid you and the man, or even fail to help hunt for you—" The guardsman sank to his knees, shaking. "Lady, forgive me! I have a family, I was afraid to refuse—"
"What of my Household troops?" she snapped.
"The priests sent a detachment of the city guards against them—a dreadful battle. The Household repelled the attack, but now they are besieged in the palace—"
"Little help there, then." Hildaborg laughed mirthlessly. "All the city against us, and our only friends bottled in a ring of spears. You chose an unlucky time to enter Valkarion, Alfric."
The barbarian's head was spinning. "You are—the Empress," he gasped, "and there's some nonsense about me.... What is this prophecy? Why did you—" his voice, helpless with bewilderment, faded off into the moaning wind.
"No time now, someone may be along any moment.... Where to hide, where to hide?"