tener. Alaric went on in his smooth voice, "We are fortunate to find one who has the gift of summoning Andred's spirit to Hellsgarde. I think there must be in you a kindred fierceness which Andred senses and seeks. We must call him out of the dark again—and we must use your power to do it."
Jirel stared around her incredulously. "You would call—that—up again?"
Eyes gleamed at her with a glow that was not of the firelight "We would indeed," murmured the evil-faced boy at her elbow. "And we will not wait much longer. . . ."
"But—God's Mercy!" said Jirel, "—are all the legends wrong? They say Andred's spirit swoops down with sudden death on all who trespass in Hellsgarde. Why do you talk as if only I could evoke it? Do you want to die so terribly? I do not! I won't endure that again if you kill me for it. I'll have no more of Andred's kisses!"
There was a pulse of silence around the circle for a moment. Eyes met and looked away again. Then Alaric said:
"Andred resents only outsiders in Hellsgarde, not his own kinsmen and their retainers. Moreover, those legends you speak of are old ones, telling tales of long-ago trespassers in this castle.
"With the passage of years the spirits of the violent dead draw farther and farther away from their death-scenes. Andred is long dead, and he revisits Hellsgarde Castle less often and less vindictively as the years go by. We have striven a long while to draw him back—but you alone succeeded. No, lady, you must endure Andred's violence once again, or"
"Or what?" demanded Jirel coldly, dropping her hand to her sword.
"There is no alternative." Alaric's voice was inflexible. "We are many to your one. We will hold you here until Andred comes again."
Jirel laughed. "You think Joiry's men will let her vanish without a trace? You'll have such a storming about Hellsgarde walls as"
"I think not, lady. What soldiers will dare follow when a braver one than any of them was vanished in Hellsgarde? No, Joiry, your men will not seek you here. You"
Jirel's sword flamed in the firelight as she sprang backward, dragging it clear. The blade flashed once — and then arms like iron pinioned her from behind. For a dreadful moment she thought they were Andred's, and her heart turned over. But Alaric smiled, and she knew. It was the dwarf who had slipped behind her at an unspoken message from his master, and if his back was weak his arms were not. He had a bear's grip upon her and she could not wrench herself free.
Struggling, sobbing curses, kicking hard with her steel-spurred heels, she could not break his hold. There was a murmurous' babble all around her of that strange, haunting tongue again, "L'vraista! Tai g'hasta vrai! El vraist' tai lau!" And the two devil-faced boys dived for her ankles. They clung like ghoulishly grinning apes, pinning her feet to the floor. And Alaric stepped forward to wrench the sword from her hand. He murmured something in their queer speech, and the crowd scattered purposefully.
Fighting hard, Jirel was scarcely aware of their intention before it was accomplished. But she heard the sudden splash of water on blazing logs and the tremendous hissing of steam as the
