“But suppose,” asked Carse, “you had weapons of your own?”
Something in his voice penetrated even to Rold, who scowled at him.
“If you have a meaning, speak it plainly!”
“Sark could not stand against you,” Carse said, “if you had the weapons of Rhiannon.”
Ironbeard snorted. “Oh, aye, the Cursed One! Find his Tomb and the powers in it and we’ll follow you to Sark, fast enough.”
“Then you have pledged yourselves,” Carse said and held the sword aloft. “Look there! Look well—does any man among you know enough to recognize this blade?”
Thorn of Tarak reached out his one good hand and drew the sword closer that he might study it. Then his hand began to tremble. He looked up at the others and said in a strange awed voice, “It is the sword of Rhiannon.”
A harsh sibilance of indrawn breath and then Carse spoke.
“There is my proof. I hold the secret of the Tomb.”
Silence. Then a guttural sound from Ironbeard and after that, mounting, wild excitement that burst and spread like flame.