Sark, and a dream turned nightmare.
Yet he'd ridden other nightmares in his time, with less to gain and more to lose. That was the meaning of life; the challenge.
There below lay a living goddess; and a priestess waited to guide him to her.
A priestess.... He pondered. Already there was a bond between them, for she had a courage to match her beauty, and courage was one trait he gave full honor, no matter what the cause to which it rallied. And it had taken courage to stand in the bloody mud of that arena, defying Sark.
Sark?... Haral smiled. Sark, too, would have a role to play before this game was done.
Sark had pledged him death. Sark would keep that pledge, unless he fell before the might of Xaymar's vaunted secret.
And as for himself, Haral—?
The battle lines were drawn: On the one hand, power beyond his fondest dreams ... a living goddess ... a lovely priestess.
On the other, Sark and the coleoptera, defeat and death.