For a minute there was silence in the chamber, a silence broken only by the slight hissing of the burning torches.
"It appears, my Lady Thrine, we have approached checkmate in both our enterprises," Rald declared presently. "I have the Necklace; you have me."
"You have also a sword."
"And you a beauty I cannot impair. And a voice with which to scream."
"You propose that I—scream?"
"You may decide. There may be dead men before I gain the city streets again, friends of yours you would not care to endanger——"
"If I promise you safe-conduct and freedom?"
"Pardon, my Lady! Even you could not promise safety to one who has committed the unspeakable crime of coveting the Necklace. I came for it; I shall leave with it or rest these bones for ever here."
"I will relieve her of the responsibility, King Rald," said Karlk from the semi-darkness of the doorway.
"Karlk!" exclaimed the thief.
Thrine uttered a low cry.
"King?"
"If you come through the corridors and the guards so easily, why did you seek my services?" asked Rald.
"My powers can blind the guards at the gates and still the watchdogs in their kennels. I can cause a mist over the torches and heavy sleep to the guarding spirits. But I could not raise the bar to this chamber, as I saw you do in my glass. That was the obstacle, Rald. The mere lifting of that bar made you king of Forthe!"
"And thief and traitor, too!" sneered Thrine.
Somehow her words and tone struck Rald to the heart. He looked into her icy eyes and the chill of them entered his soul.
"We can spare the lady now," said Karlk, ominously.
His slender fingers rose to the level of the woman's neck. Thrine guessed at his intent. Her fear vanished; in the face of certain death the dynasty's blood would not permit her to cringe, so she stood unafraid and defiant. There was no glint of admiration in the magician's eyes, but only intense cruelty and pleasant satisfaction. Rald, watching him, knew that the blue sparks would writhe and twist that beauteous form in another second.
"Wait!" he cried, and was surprized at the intensity, the noisy recklessness, of his own voice.
"Hold!" commanded sterner tones. From the shadows beyond the black-robed figure of Karlk, where the forgotten portals swung wide, a slender sword-tip flickered through the air to rest at the magician's throat.
"By the Seven!" swore Rald. "Does none sleep in this cursed palace?"
"Only my precious guardsmen, it seems!" declared the latest arrival in deep and bitter tones.
The man moved into the torchlight as he spoke, and the sudden wild glitterings of a thousand steel corners on his fighting-mail danced on the black tapestries. His head was bare and proudly borne. The hawk-like features, level gray eyes, thin nostrils and dominant chin were familiar to the thief, whose own countenance paled.
"King Thrall!"
"By your leave, my unknown and unannounced guest!" The king's sword did not wander from its threatening position behind Karlk's head. "Or rather: guests! What do you desire now, my infamous magician?"
Despite his surprize the black-robed figure held himself quietly. He did not attempt to face the king; a sword-
