As if sensing it, Sark spoke once more in coaxing tones: "You make your task hard, warrior. There is an easier way. Give up this madness, this trying to beat me and destroy me. Daring is a virtue I, too, admire. Stay with me and I'll make you a captain in my fleet, give you a ship so you can raid again. Then, when I've won this thrice-cursed Xaymar's secret, together we'll reach out across the universe to bring all planets into our power. Or, if it's the woman you want,"—he laughed his smirking, obscene laugh—"why, as soon as she's told me the things I want to know, I'll let you have her—"
Haral felt Kyla's slim body stiffen against him. A tremor ran through her.
His answer to Sark came almost without volition. "No."
"What—?"
The spell was broken, now. The recklessness was back, and the fierce surge of ambition.
That, and something more ... a something Haral could not quite touch.
He laughed aloud. "I'm leaving now, Sark!" he cried. "I'm leaving, and I'm taking the woman with me. Blast us if you will!"
The blandness fell from Sark. He half rose from his seat, his face contorted. "You chitza—!"
Haral laughed again. "Blast, Sark!" he mocked. "But if you do, remember—your chance for the girl dies with me!"
"Stabat! Zanat! Starbo—"