An hour had gone by and he still could not quite believe it. He had left the cell behind him and the five eternal days of waiting. He stood on a terrace high above the city. It was night, and the burning moons were brilliant in the sky. The wind from the sea had the clean sting of wine, but it was not like the sea winds he remembered, it was new and strange, intensely thrilling. Around him the tall slim towers rose upward toward the moons, and far below the shining web of streets was a pattern of sensual beauty, many-colored, sounding, alive.
Shairn said softly, “Look at it, Michael. It’s all yours.”
He looked. His hands were tight on the terrace rail, and there was a fulness in him that made it hard to breathe.
“I had something to do with it, Michael. Aren’t you going to thank me?”
He
