whose resources are vastly superior to your own. It ultimately has to come down to human terms--man against man--and in the final balance the stronger force will be victor and the weaker will be dead."
"Of course!" Efrel dismissed Kane's forebodings. "But as I have told you, I have more than human powers at my command. These scribbled sheets of parchment do not hint of the hidden forces that I shall unleash in good time--but only at the proper moment may I do so."
She paused to relish Kane's obvious curiosity.
"Listen, Kane! See to the organization of my mundane powers. I know you have the genius to forge these disparate fragments into a fighting unit--an army that shall conquer despite our inferior numbers and my thrown-together fleet. Your reward for this victory will be a kingdom--power in the Empire second only to my own.
"Only see to your army, and don't speak to me of balances and of odds. For I tell you, Kane--when the time comes to strike, I can turn the tides of war for us! No man dare guess from what secret realms Efrel shall summon forth an irresistible power. They who shall answer my call will smash aside any petty advantage Maril may have over us in numbers and strength."
Kane pounced to draw her out. "You interest me. What manner are these supernatural powers that you claim to command? If they are so potent, why do you need me?"
Sensing his challenge, Efrel again became evasive. Her nightmarish face assumed a vague interpretation of a cunning smile. "Later, Kane, when it is time to take you into my fullest confidence. Later I shall tell you all. But now the dawn breaks: '
IX: The Prisoner in Thovnosten
There exists an unmistakable aura about a prison cell. A man blind and deaf can sense this quality, even though he cannot see the walls and bars, or hear the curses, the pleas, the rattle of chains. The prison may be a filthy hole buried in some forgotten dungeon; it may be a royal suite offering every convenience and luxury. Regardless of its station or the range of accommodation, every prison denies its inmates two priceless rights--freedom and human dignity.
For every prison there stands some form of barrier--a rusty chain, a mouldering wall, a surly guard, or perhaps only an obsequious but adamant attendant at the door. Some definite barrier imposes its will upon the imprisoned and says to him This far you may go, but no farther, this much you may do, but nothing more. As surely as a prison robs a man of his freedom to choose for himself his movements and actions, the same does it strip from him his dignity as an independent individual. And from this denial arises that characteristic rancid atmosphere which every prison exudes--an invisible miasma of tension, compounded of hatred and fear, apathy and pain, frustrated hope and inexpressible despair.
M'Cori sensed this. Her heartbeat raced in subconscious panic as she followed the guards, and she breathed rapidly as if the air were growing stale. It was stale, she thought uneasily. No fresh air, no sunlight, no companionship--a lingering death by suffocation. Shivering, she repressed this painful line of thought As she descended the stairway, she gathered close the vagrant folds of her silken gown, dreading that a touch might absorb some intangible taint from the stones. She wore a light cloak about her white shoulders, although the bodies of the guards showed beads of sweat outside their dirty harness.
A half-dozen guards waited viligantly outside the heavy door that opened into an underground room from which there was no other exit. They stood with weapons ready, suspiciously awaiting the approach of the others. A challenge was sounded and answered. The newcomers advanced, and the guards relaxed somewhat as they recognized the daughter of their Emperor.
"He's been asking for you, milady," explained the captain courteously. He peered through the tiny barred spyhole in the thick door. Inside were posted four more guards. "It's all right. Open her up!"
"Of course!" Efrel dismissed Kane's forebodings. "But as I have told you, I have more than human powers at my command. These scribbled sheets of parchment do not hint of the hidden forces that I shall unleash in good time--but only at the proper moment may I do so."
She paused to relish Kane's obvious curiosity.
"Listen, Kane! See to the organization of my mundane powers. I know you have the genius to forge these disparate fragments into a fighting unit--an army that shall conquer despite our inferior numbers and my thrown-together fleet. Your reward for this victory will be a kingdom--power in the Empire second only to my own.
"Only see to your army, and don't speak to me of balances and of odds. For I tell you, Kane--when the time comes to strike, I can turn the tides of war for us! No man dare guess from what secret realms Efrel shall summon forth an irresistible power. They who shall answer my call will smash aside any petty advantage Maril may have over us in numbers and strength."
Kane pounced to draw her out. "You interest me. What manner are these supernatural powers that you claim to command? If they are so potent, why do you need me?"
Sensing his challenge, Efrel again became evasive. Her nightmarish face assumed a vague interpretation of a cunning smile. "Later, Kane, when it is time to take you into my fullest confidence. Later I shall tell you all. But now the dawn breaks: '
IX: The Prisoner in Thovnosten
There exists an unmistakable aura about a prison cell. A man blind and deaf can sense this quality, even though he cannot see the walls and bars, or hear the curses, the pleas, the rattle of chains. The prison may be a filthy hole buried in some forgotten dungeon; it may be a royal suite offering every convenience and luxury. Regardless of its station or the range of accommodation, every prison denies its inmates two priceless rights--freedom and human dignity.
For every prison there stands some form of barrier--a rusty chain, a mouldering wall, a surly guard, or perhaps only an obsequious but adamant attendant at the door. Some definite barrier imposes its will upon the imprisoned and says to him This far you may go, but no farther, this much you may do, but nothing more. As surely as a prison robs a man of his freedom to choose for himself his movements and actions, the same does it strip from him his dignity as an independent individual. And from this denial arises that characteristic rancid atmosphere which every prison exudes--an invisible miasma of tension, compounded of hatred and fear, apathy and pain, frustrated hope and inexpressible despair.
M'Cori sensed this. Her heartbeat raced in subconscious panic as she followed the guards, and she breathed rapidly as if the air were growing stale. It was stale, she thought uneasily. No fresh air, no sunlight, no companionship--a lingering death by suffocation. Shivering, she repressed this painful line of thought As she descended the stairway, she gathered close the vagrant folds of her silken gown, dreading that a touch might absorb some intangible taint from the stones. She wore a light cloak about her white shoulders, although the bodies of the guards showed beads of sweat outside their dirty harness.
A half-dozen guards waited viligantly outside the heavy door that opened into an underground room from which there was no other exit. They stood with weapons ready, suspiciously awaiting the approach of the others. A challenge was sounded and answered. The newcomers advanced, and the guards relaxed somewhat as they recognized the daughter of their Emperor.
"He's been asking for you, milady," explained the captain courteously. He peered through the tiny barred spyhole in the thick door. Inside were posted four more guards. "It's all right. Open her up!"
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