“We will bargain, Norhala,” he answered calmly; the voice was deep, filled with sinister strength.
“Bargain?” she laughed. “What have you with which to bargain, Cherkis? Does the rat bargain with the tigress? And you, toad, have nothing.”
He shook his head.
“I have these,” he waved a hand toward Ruth and her brother. “Me you may slay—and mayhap many of mine. But before you can move my archers will feather their hearts.”
She considered him, no longer mocking.
“Two of mine you slew long since, Cherkis,” she said, slowly. “Therefore it is I am here.”
“I know,” he nodded heavily. “Yet now that is neither here nor there, Norhala. It was long since, and I have learned much during the years. I would have killed you too, Norhala, could I have found you. But now I would not do as then—quite differently would I do, Norhala; for I have learned much. I am sorry that those that you loved died as they did. I am in truth sorry!”
There was a curious lurking sardonicism in the words, an undertone of mockery. Was what he really meant that in those years he had learned to inflict greater agonies, more exquisite tortures? If so, Norhala apparently did not sense that interpretation. Indeed, she seemed to be interested, her wrath abating.
“No,” the hoarse voice rumbled dispassionately. “None of that is important—now. YOU would have this man and girl. I hold them. They die if you stir a hand's breadth toward me. If they die, I prevail against you—for I have cheated you of what you desire. I win, Norhala, even though you slay me. That is all that is now important.”
There was doubt upon Norhala's face and I caught a quick gleam of contemptuous triumph glint through the depths of the evil eyes.