CHAPTER VIIFalse Crusader
The star-studded door flew open with a crash that echoed and re-echoed in Tancred’s tower-room. The rosy smoke-layers swirled wildly. Guillaume’s great bulk filled the doorway. He was laughing as he came, in deep, shaking gusts that Boyce thought must ring through all of the silence and the magic that brimmed Kerak.
Guillaume’s huge sword, bare in his mighty scarred fist, flashed in the dim air of the chamber. His face was not mirthful. Though he laughed, it was his mouth alone that laughed. His eyes had the veiled look that Tancred’s showed. A shadow was over his arrogant, stubborn face, and it was a terrifying shadow.
“Tancred!” Guillaume roared, in a voice that should have wakened every sleeper in the castle. “Tancred, this is the hour you die!”
He took one
