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autiful。 Like all the others round the table he found himself on his feet； and he was only dimly aware of his chair toppling over behind him。
At that moment； Sightblinder； with Mark's hand on its hilt； came leaping by itself halfway out of its own sheath； as if it were springing to accept the challenge of its peer。
But Mark could not tear his eyes free of the Mindsword。 The terrible force of it was tugging at him。 Wordlessly it demanded that he throw his own Sword down at Vilkata's feet； and himself after it； pledging eternal loyalty to the Dark King。 And already； only half realizing what he did； Mark had gone down on his knees again； amid a small crowd of wizards who were doing the same thing。
The cheering roar of the Mindsword drowned all other sound； the glitter of its blade filled every eye。
Mark wondered why he had e here to this camp； why he had entered this tent。。。 but whatever the reason； it hardly mattered now。 All that mattered now was that instantly； instantly； he should begin a new lifetime of service to Vilkata。 That flashing steel thing told him that he must； that glorious Blade that was the most beautiful thing under the heavens or in them。 Nothing that it told him could possibly be wrong。
He stood somehow in danger； danger of being left behind； left out； if he did not swear his fealty at once； as the other kneeling shapes around him were doing now。 Voices that in the outer chamber had sounded cynical were now hoarse with fervor； gabbling the most extravagant oaths。 What was it that made him； Mark； delay？ Something must be wrong with him； something about him must be unforgivably different。
He was groveling on the floor with the others； mouthing words along with them； but he knew his oaths meant nothing； they were not sincere。 Why was he hesitating？ How could he？ He must； at once； consecrate himself body and soul to the Dark King。 How glorious it would be to fight and conquer in that name！ And how perfect would be a death； any form of death； attained in such a cause！ There was nothing that a man need fear； as long as that glittering Sword led him。 Or； there was but one thing fearful only … the chance that such a glorious opportunity might somehow be missed … that death might e in some merely ordinary way； and so be wasted。 So why； then； did he delay？
Mark's mind swayed under the Mindsword's power； but did not yield to it entirely。 A stubborn core of resistance remained in place。 He was not tarried into action； beyond the meaningless imitative oaths and grovelings。 Part of his mind continued to understand that he must resist。 His right hand still clutched Sightblinder's hilt； and he thought that he still drew power from it。 Inside the core of his mind that was still sane； he could only hope and trust in the existence of some power that might save him … even though he could no longer remember clearly just why he needed saving。
Cowering on his knees like those around him； Mark watched the Mindsword flash on high。 From that beautiful arc emanated a droning roar； as of many voices raised in praise； voices that never stopped to breathe。 Against the background of that sound； the voice of the Dark King was rising and falling theatrically； like that of some spellcaster in a play。 Vilkata was reciting and detailing now all of the malignant and detestable qualities that marked the Queen of Yambu as a creature of special evil。 One accusation in particular； that the voice emphasized； caught at and inflamed Mark's imagination； stinging him with the unimaginable foulness that it represented。 Even among her other shameless deeds this one stood out： Not only did she possess the Sword called Soulcutter； but she intended to begin to use it soon。 And to use it against the blessed Dark King； the savior of the world！
In spite of himself； Mark groaned in rage。 He found himself imagining his hands locked on the throat of the Silver Queen； and strangling her。 Other groaning； outraged voices joined around him； until the pavilion sounded like the torture chamber that it truly was。
And when the Dark King paused； the voices rose up even louder； crying aloud their heartfelt protest against Yambu。 That she should so plot to warp their minds with Soulcutter's foul magic； that she should even for a moment contemplate such a thing； was a sin crying to the gods for her to be wiped out； expunged from the Earth's face； at once and without mercy！
Vilkata had lowered the blade a little now； holding the hilt no higher than his shoulders。 But still the steel kept twinkling above them like a star。 As far as Mark could tell； there was no resistance at all in any of the audience except himself。 And how much was left in him； he did not know。
One of the wizards； he who had whispered conspiratorially to Mark in the outer chamber； now abandoned himself entirely。 With a great frenzied howl he sprang up on the conference table； his arms outstretched to gather that glorious Blade to his own bosom。 But the Dark King withdrew the weapon out of the wizard's reach； and with a lunge the magician fell on his face among the tipped and scattered chairs。
It seemed a signal for general pandemonium。 Men and women rolled back and forth on the tent floor。 They scrambled to stand on furniture； they danced and sang in maddened cacophony。 Cries and grunts came jolting out of them； until the council chamber looked and sounded like a small battlefield。
The sounds of a more familiar danger helped Mark regain some small additional measure of control。 He huddled almost motionless on the floor； trying to remember where he was； and who he had been before that Sword appeared。
Now the Dark King flourished his Sword above his head in a new gesture； like a field mander's signal to advance。 And now Vilkata； guided by the humming presence that hovered always near him； was moving in long； sure strides around the conference table； passing through the litter of chairs and humanity that almost filled the room。 He was heading for the front entrance of the pavilion。
Mark； caught up in the rush of people following the King； was jostled against the torture…altar when passing through the outer chamber。 He felt something sticky on his hand； gazed at it dumbly and saw blood。 It was frightening； but he could not understand。。。
Exiting from the pavilion's front door； Vilkata strode forth into the sun； whose light exploded from the Sword he carried into a thousand piercing lances。 His little mob of followers； including Mark； acpanied him out into the glare； leaping and chanting with a look of ecstasy。 At once their numbers were augmented by those who happened to be near when the Dark King emerged with glory in his hands。 The air above the swelling crowd was wavering； as if with the heat of a great fire； familiar powers and small demons were moving in concert with their magician masters； and sharing their excitement； whether in joy or fear Mark could not tell。
The Mindsword swung in Vilkata's grip。 It shattered the bright sun into lightning； whose bolts struck left and right。 The hundreds who were near； and then the thousands only a little farther off； gaped in surprise； and then were caught up in the savage enthusiasm。
Vilkata marched on without hesitati