My body was pressed against the stone; I could feel the chill of that contact through my cloak. But there was the coldness of death itself within me. “There it rises!” Was it the Emperor who spoke or had the dull pounding of blood in my brain beat out the words? Behind the distant mountains there was a splotch of flame, a blooming burst of fire. A shattering roar. . . . The murmur of the frenzied city was eaten up and gone. But from the surface of our stricken world arose a javelin of light, up and up. A spear of protest hurdled against the gods. One deep shuddering sob broke through my control. The Emperor’s arm was about my shoulders. “There passes the heart of Krand. Was it not worth the price, my son?” “No!” pounded the hot blood in my veins. I squarely faced his fine eyes. “Aye,” my lips formed the word my heart did not feel. Even as I watched, the spear of flame spun out into the void. The heavens were dark and drear again. From below came the cries of a world gone mad with fear and hate.
