They all cheered him at that and drank his health again, all except Thorn of Tarak, the man with the useless arm and the twisted cheek, who had sat silent all evening, drinking steadily but not getting drunk.
“Of course,” said Rold. “Therefore the choice is yours.” He turned to look at Ywain with pleasant speculation. “How shall she die?”
“Die?” Carse got to his feet. “What is this talk of Ywain dying?”
They stared at him rather stupidly, too astonished for the moment to believe that they had heard him right. Ywain smiled grimly.
“But why else did you bring her here?” demanded Iron-beard. “The sword is too clean a death or you would have slain her on the galley. Surely you gave her to us for our vengeance?”
“I have not given her to anyone!” Carse shouted. “I say she is mine and I say she is not to be killed!”
There was a stunned pause. Ywain’s eyes met the Earth-man’s, bright with mockery. Then Thorn of Tarak said one word, “ Why?”
He was looking straight at Carse now with his dark mad eyes and the Earthman found his question hard to answer.
“Because her life is worth too much, as a hostage. Are you babes, that you can’t see that? Why, you could buy the release of every Khond slave—perhaps even bring Sark to terms!”
Thorn laughed. It was not pleasant laughter.