But he had scarcely gotten clean, donned a guardsman's armor, and stretched himself on a couch for a moment's nap, when he heard the blare of trumpets. Ganimos burst into the room where he lay, shouting: "The Temple's men are storming us again in full force, and no help from the city in sight. Up—up and die!"
VI
Alfric swung to his feet, suddenly raging. "Therokos!" he growled. "I thought the devil was left dying, but someone must have found him. He knows the plan, means to thwart it by taking us before Hildaborg's force can be raised. Without us to attack from the flank, the Temple may well drive off her assault."
Ganimos fingered his shortsword with an ominous side glance. "Unless this be some treachery of yours, barbarian—" he murmured.
"What difference has my coming made in your actions so far?" snapped Alfric. "Were I of the enemy camp, would I have come here to fight on your side when they attacked?"
"Aye—truth, truth. But come!" Ganimos smiled twistedly. "If this is your night of destiny as they say, Alfric, the Fates have their work cut out for them!"
A roar of battle rose as they came out into the antechamber. Ganimos groaned. "There are too many ways into this damned building—we have to guard them all and we lost a quarter of our men the first time. If the Temple men assault one point in strength, they'll be inside!"
"Let them!" blazed Alfric. His eyes were like green fire under the swaying crystal candelabra. "Send messengers to all entrances, Ganimos—tell the men there to retreat, firing the palace to hinder pursuit. We'll gather all our forces here—"
"Burn the palace?" cried the guardsman. "I swore to defend it!"