Tight-lipped, Haral strode to her. He caught her chin and tilted back her head.
"Did you think I risked my life for you for nothing, priestess?" he clipped grimly. "Some say I'm worthless. But in my way, I still value my head."
Kyla's eyes opened. They were very large and innocent. "Truly, I am grateful, blue warrior...."
"Grateful—?" Haral brought up the crooked forefinger that held her chin so savagely her head snapped back. "Yes, you're grateful! So grateful you could hardly wait till my back was turned before you ran away! So grateful you'd gladly leave me to face Sark's tender mercies alone, so long as you got to cover!"
"But, warrior—You do not understand. I have a mission—a duty bigger than you or me, or the debt of gratitude I owe you—"
"Duty—?" Haral smashed one mailed fist into the palm of the other. "Will your duty save my neck? Will it halt Sark's crewmen as they haunt me and harry me and hunt me down?"
The girl's lips trembled. The violet eyes dodged his. "But—but—what would you have me do—?"
"You know what I want!" Haral gripped her shoulders. "My death warrant's sealed. You heard Sark say it. I've got just one chance—one, and one only. With your Xaymar's secret, it may be that I can smash Sark before he smashes me—"
"No—"