Twice I awakened. The first time it was the howling of the wolves that aroused me. It was as though they were beneath my window. I listened drowsily, and sank back to sleep.

The second time I came wide awake from a troubled dream. Some sound in the chamber had roused me, of that I was sure. My hand dropped to my sword lying on the floor beside my bed. I had the feeling that there was someone in the room. I could see nothing in the green darkness that filled the chamber. I called, softly:

“Evalie! Is that you?”

There was no answer, no sound.

I sat up in the bed, even thrust a leg out to rise. And then I remembered the guards at my door, and Dara and her soldiers beyond, and I told myself that it had been only my troubled dream that had awakened me. Yet for a time I lay awake listening, sword in hand. And then the silence lulled me back to sleep.

There was a knocking upon my door, and I struggled out of that sleep. I saw that it was well after dawn. I went to the door softly so that I might not awaken Evalie. I opened it, and there with the guards was Sri. The little man had come well armed, with spear and sickle-sword and between his shoulders one of the small, surprisingly resonant talking drums. He looked at me in the friendliest fashion. I patted his hand and pointed to the curtains.

“Evalie is there, Sri. Go waken her.”

He trotted past me. I gave greeting to the guards, and turned to follow Sri. He stood at the curtains, looking at me with eyes in which was now no friendliness at all. He said:

“Evalie is not there.”

I stared at him, incredulously, brushed by him and into that chamber. It was empty. I crossed to the pile of silks and cushions on which Evalie had slept, touched them. There was no warmth. I went, Sri at my heels, into the next room. Dara and a half dozen of the women lay there, asleep. Evalie was not among them. I touched Dara on the shoulder. She sat up, yawning.

“Dara — the girl is gone!”

“Gone!” she stared at me as incredulously as I had at the golden pygmy. She leaped to her feet, ran to the empty room, then with me through the other chambers. There lay the soldier women, alseep, but not Evalie.

I ran back to my own room, and to its door. A bitter rage began to possess me. Swiftly, harshly, I questioned the guards. They had seen no one. None had entered; none had gone forth. The golden pygmy listened, his eyes never leaving me.

I turned toward Evalie’s room. I passed the table on which I had thrown the locket. My hand fell on it, lifted it; it was curiously light . . . I opened it. . . . The ring of Khalk’ru was not there! I glared at the empty locket — and like a torturing flame realization of what its emptiness and the vanishment of Evalie might signify came to me. I groaned, leaned against the table to keep from falling.

“Drum, Sri! Call your people! Bid them come quickly! There may yet be time!”

The golden pygmy hissed; his eyes became little pools of yellow fire. He could not have known all the horror of my thoughts — but he read enough. He leaped to the window, swung his drum and sent forth call upon call — peremptory, raging, vicious. At once he was answered — answered from Nansur, and then from all the river and beyond it the drums of the Little People roared out.

Would Lur hear them? She could not help but hear them . . . but would she heed . . . would their threat stop her . . . it would tell her that I was awake and that the Little People knew of their betrayal . . . and Evalie’s.

God! If she did hear — was it in time to save Evalie?

“Quick, Lord!” Dara called from the curtains. The dwarf and I ran through. She pointed to the side of the wall. There, where one of the carved stones jointed another, hung a strip of silk.

“A door there, Dwayanu! That is how they took her. They went hurriedly. The cloth caught when the stone closed.”

I looked for something to batter at the stone. But Dara was pressing here and there. The stone swung open. Sri darted past and into the black passage it had masked. I stumbled after him, Dara at my heels, the others following. It was a narrow passage, and not long. Its end was a solid wall of stone. And here Dara pressed again until that wall opened.

We burst into the chamber of the High-priest. The eyes of the Kraken stared at me and through me with their inscrutable malignancy. Yet it seemed to me that in them now was challenge.

All my senseless fury, all blind threshing of my rage, fell from me. A cold deliberation, an ordered purpose that had in it nothing of haste took its place. . . . Is it too late to save Evalie? . . . It is not too late to destroy you, my enemy . . . .

“Dara — get horses for us. Gather quickly as many as you can trust. Take only the strongest. Have them ready at the gate of the road to the temple. . . . We go to end Khalk’ru. Tell them that.”

I spoke to the golden pygmy.

“I do not know if I can help Evalie. But I go to put an end to Khalk’ru. Do you wait for your people — or do you go with me?”

“I go with you.”

I knew where the Witch-woman dwelt in the black citadel, and it was not far away. I knew I would not find her there, but I must be sure. And she might have taken Evalie to the Lake of the Ghosts, I was thinking as I went on, past groups of silent, uneasy, perplexed and saluting soldiers. But deep in me I knew she had not. Deep within me I knew that it had been Lur who had awakened me in the night. Lur, who had stolen through the curtains to take the ring of Khalk’ru. And there was only one reason why she should have done that. No, she would not be at the Lake of the Ghosts.

Yet, if she had come into my room — why had she not slain me? Or had she meant to do this, and had my awakening and calling out to Evalie stayed her? Had she feared to go further? Or had she deliberately spared me?

I reached her rooms. She was not there. None of her women was there. The place was empty, not even soldiers on guard.

I broke into a run. The golden pygmy followed me, shrilling, javelins in left hand, sickle-sword in right. We came to the gate to the temple road.

There were three or four hundred soldiers awaiting me. Mounted — and every one a woman. I threw myself on a horse Dara held for me, swung Sri up on the saddle. We raced toward the temple.

We were half-way there when out from the trees that bordered the temple road poured the white wolves. They sprang from the sides like a white torrent, threw themselves upon the riders. They checked our rush, our horses stumbled, falling over those the fangs of the wolves had dropped in that swift, unexpected ambuscade; soldiers falling with them, ripped and torn by the wolves before they could struggle to their feet. We milled among them — horses and men and wolves in a whirling, crimson-flecked ring.

Straight at my throat leaped the great dog-wolf, leader of Lur’s pack, green eyes naming. I had no time for sword thrust. I caught its throat in my left hand, lifted it and flung it over my back. Even so, its fangs had struck and gashed me.

We were through the wolves. What was left of them came coursing behind us. But they had taken toll of my troop.

I heard the clang of an anvil . . . thrice stricken . . . the anvil of Tubalka!

God! It was true . . . Lur in the temple . . . and Evalie . . . and Khalk’ru!

We swept up to the door of the temple. I heard voices raised in the ancient chant. The entrance swarmed. . . . It bristled with swords of the nobles, women and men.

“Ride through them, Dara! Ride them down!”

We swept through them like a ram. Sword against sword, hammers and battleaxes beating at them, horses trampling them.

The shrill song of Sri never ceased. His javelin thrust, his sickle-sword slashed.

We burst into Khalk’ru’s temple. The chanting stopped. The chanters arose against us; they struck with sword and axe and hammer at us; they stabbed and hacked our horses; pulled us down. The amphitheatre was a raging cauldron of death . . . .

The lip of the platform was before me. I spurred my horse to it, stood upon its back and leaped upon the platform. Close to my right was the anvil of Tubalka; beside it, hammer raised to smite, was Ouarda. I heard the roll of drums, the drums of Khalk’ru’s evocation. The backs of the priests were bent over them.

In front of the priests, the ring of Khalk’ru raised high, stood Lur.

And between her and the bubble ocean of yellow stone that was the gate of Khalk’ru, fettered dwarfs swung two by two in the golden girdles . . . .

Within the warrior’s ring — Evalie!

The Witch-woman never looked at me; she never looked behind her at the roaring cauldron of the amphitheatre where the soldiers and nobles battled.

She launched into the ritual!

Shouting, I rushed on Ouarda. I wrested the great sledge from her hands. I hurled it straight at the yellow screen . . . straight at the head of Khalk’ru. With every ounce of my strength I hurled that great hammer.

The screen cracked! The hammer was thrown back from it . . . fell.

The Witch-woman’s voice went on . . . and on . . . never faltering.

There was a wavering in the cracked screen. The Kraken floating in the bubble ocean seemed to draw back . . . to thrust forward . . .

I ran toward it . . . to the hammer.

An instant I halted beside Evalie. I thrust my hands through the golden girdle, broke it as though it had been wood. I dropped my sword at her feet.

“Guard yourself, Evalie!”

I picked up the hammer. I raised it. The eyes of Khalk’ru moved . . . they glared at me, were aware of me . . . the tentacles stirred! And the paralysing cold began to creep round me. . . . I threw all my will against it.

I smashed the sledge of Tubalka against the yellow stone . . . again . . . and again —

The tentacles of Khalk’ru stretched toward me!

There was a crystalline crashing, like a lightning bolt striking close. The yellow stone of the screen shattered. It rained round me like sleet driven by an icy hurricane. There was an earthquake trembling. The temple rocked. My arms fell, paralysed. The hammer of Tubalka dropped from hands that could no longer feel it. The icy cold swirled about me . . . higher . . . higher . . . there was a shrill and dreadful shrieking . . . .

For an instant the shape of the Kraken hovered where the screen had been. Then it shrank. It seemed to be sucked away into immeasurable distances. It vanished.

And life rushed back into me!

There were jagged streamers of the yellow stone upon the rocky floor . . . black of the Kraken within them . . . I beat them into dust . . . .

“Leif!&rd............