Yet he answered quietly enough, no tremor in his voice:
"I seek the dragon throne of Cyrena. And I come to you for aid against Karkora."
There was silence. When the whisper came again, it had in it all the sadness of waves and wind.
"Must I aid you? Against Karkora?"
"You know what manner of being he is?" Elak questioned.
"Aye—I know that well." The metallic curtain shook. "Seat yourself. You are tired—how are you named?"
"Elak."
"Elak, then—listen. I will tell you of the coming of Karkora, and of Erykion the sorcerer. And of Sepher, whom I loved." There was a pause; then the low whisper resumed.
"Who I am, what I am, you need not know, but you should understand that I am not entirely human. My ancestors dwelt in this sunken city. And I—well, for ten years I took human shape and dwelt with Sepher as his wife. I loved him. And always I hoped to give him a son who would some day mount the throne. I hoped in vain, or so I thought.
"Now in the court dwelt Erykion, a wizard. His magic was not that of the sea, soft and kindly as the waves, but of a darker sort. Erykion delved in ruined temples and pored over forgotten manuscripts of strange lore. His vision went back even before the sea-folk sprang from the loins of Poseidon, and he opened the forbidden gates of Space and Time. He offered to give me a child, and I listened to him, to my sorrow.