Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Stranger of the Prophecy—and he found that then the tug and buffet of a strong, probing wind, spoken by so many reviving unfortunates through the ages: "Where am I?" I knew the language of that answer, but where it came from—above, "How did I get here?" I demanded of the speaker. "Who am I?" "Destined—leadership—" I began to repeat, and fell silent. I had need to think. The voice was telling me that I had been snatched from Dondromogon might be. "Birth and beginning—destined leadership—" Dondromogon was found and settled long ago, by adventurers from afar. pause. "You find that thought unpleasant? You wish to right that "You are going to ask how you were brought here. That is the mystery of the Masters destiny." called Dondromogon, what manner of intelligent life bade defiance to heat and cold and storm, and built these stout structures, and now laid "Who are you, and where are you from?" said one of the two, a broad-faced middle-aged fellow. "Don't lie any more than you can help." had first spoken. Then, to his comrade: "No reward, then." fellow's weapon wrist, I clamped it firmly and bent it back and around. He whimpered and swore, and his glowing sword dropped. Its radiant heavily. Triumphant laughter came from both adversaries. Then: "What's this?" The challenge was clear, rich, authoritative. Someone else had come, "They lie," I broke in, very conscious of my naked helplessness before have seen who are heavier than you, but none taller. Whence came you?" "The story is a strange one," she commented. "And your name?" "I do not know that, either. Who are you?" "Stranger," he said to me, "can you think of no better tale to tell "I tell the truth," was my reply, not very gracious. "The stranger of the prophecy!" he cried, in a voice that made us all jump. The officer rose from behind the table. "Are you totally mad, Sporr? You mystic doctors are too apt to become fuddled—" he said, intoning as if in formal prayer. "Pardon these short-sighted ones—deign to save us from our enemies—" The girl Doriza spoke to the officer: "If Sporr speaks truth, and he generally does, you have committed a blasphemy." The other made a little grimace. "This may be Yandro, though I'm a "Who might Yandro be?" I demanded, very uncomfortable in my bonds and loose draperies. Old Sporr almost crowed. "You see? If he was a true imposter, he would come equipped with all plausible knowledge. As it is—" "As it is, he may remember that the Conquering Stranger is foretold to come with no memory of anything," supplied the officer. "Score one against you, Sporr. You should have been able to instruct me, not I you." The attendant reentered, with a big book in his hands. It looked old and well-thumbed, with dim gold traceries on its binding. Sporr snatched it, and turned to a brightly colored picture. He looked once, his beard gaped, and he dropped to his knees. time by the First Comers!" "I still say you will understand my caution," he addressed me, with "Oh, yes, the thumb-print," I repeated wearily. "By all means, study my thumbs, if you'll first take these bonds off of me." "Bonds," mumbled old Sporr. He got creakily up from his knees and bustled to me. From under his robe he produced a pouch, and took out a pencil-sized rod. Gingerly opening the red mantle, he touched my tether "Get up," I bade them. "I want to hear why I was first bound, and now They rose, but stood off respectfully. The officer spoke first. "I am Rohbar, field commander of this defense position," he said with crisp respect. "Sporr is a mystic doctor, full of godly wisdom. Doriza, at the poles. Now," and her voice rang joyously, "you will lead us to quarters, your destiny, all await you." We went out by the door at the rear, and Sporr respectfully gestured me upon a metal-plated platform. Standing beside me, he tinkered with a lever. We dropped smoothly away into a dark corridor, past level after The mention of food brought to me the thought that I was hungry. I said as much, even as our elevator platform came to the lowest level and stopped. "I have arranged for that," Sporr began, then fell silent, fingers combing his beard in embarrassment. What—" "Pardon, great Yandro," babbled Sporr. "I was saying that I arranged food, as always, for whatever guest should come. Please follow." We entered a new small chamber, where a table was set with dishes of porcelain-like plastic. Sporr held a chair for me, and waited on me with the utmost gingerly respect. The food was a pungent and filling jelly, a little bundle of transparent leaves or scraps like cellophane It was a sleeping chamber, with a cot made fast to the wall, a metal locker or cupboard, with a glass door through which showed the garments of which Sporr spoke. The door closed softly behind me—I was left alone. I took the military cloak which Doriza had lent me and slung it over my shoulders. Turning, I clanked out on my metal-soled shoes. Sporr was waiting in the room where I had eaten. His eyes widened at sight of me, something like a grin of triumph flashed through his beard. Then he bowed, supple and humble, his palms together. "It is indeed Yandro, our great chief," he mumbled. Then he turned and crossed the room. A sort of mouthpiece sprouted from the wall. "I announce," he intoned into it. "I announce, I, Sporr, the reader and fore-teller of wisdom. Yandro is with us, he awaits his partners and friends. Let them meet him in the audience hall." that I was fated to live when he returned for the rescue of all felt. "Come with me. There is still much that I do not understand." herself at my left hand. "Will Yandro come this way? He will be awaited one tangled crossway after another. My questions she answered with a Doriza had no answer that time, but Sporr spoke up behind us: "Great Yandro is wise as well as powerful. But the Newcomers do not want to welcomed me to stuffy Rohbar, the commander to Sporr, spry and clever enough, but somehow unwholesome Doriza—no, she was not like these "Yandro, folk of the Council! He deigns to give you audience." " Yandro! " "The tenth part of the wonders which concern mighty Yandro have not been told," intoned Sporr, ducking his bearded head in a bow, but fixing me with his wise old eyes. One of the group, called Council by Doriza, now moved a pace forward. the dignified folds of his purple robe. One carefully-tended hand brushed back his ginger-brown hair, then toyed with a little moustache. "I am Gederr, senior of this Council," he purred. "If Yandro permits, I will speak simply. Our hopes have been raised by Yandro's return—the return presaged of old by those who could see the future, and more "Weapons in his hands were the instruments of fate. His hands alone caused fear and ruin. But it pleased our fortune-bringing stars to encompass his destruction." He grinned, and licked his full lips. "Now, even as they are without their battle-leader, so we have ours." Dondromogon. But I must know them before I can help." to her "Tell him, Elonie." Then he faced me. "Have we Yandro's

<question>:
Who first tells the narrator about his destiny?

<options>:
A Doriza
B The Masters of the Worlds
C The Voice
D Old Sporr

<answer>:

C