He wondered where this road would take him. Whether it led to destiny ... or death.
Instinctively, at the thought, he shot a narrow-eyed glance at Xaymar, and his blood quickened. The momentary irritation fell away. Perhaps even death would not be too high a price to pay for a night as this strange creature's lover.
But why a single night? Why did she kill when the new day came?
Above all, why did she wear that weird jeweled veil?
For the moment, at least, he could not hope for answers. Shrugging, he turned his attention elsewhere.
The light was moving with them as they walked, like a torch afloat in an encroaching sea of blackness. The echo of their footsteps told the blue man that they must be in some vast, high-ceilinged chamber—a cave, a hall.
Yet they stood alone. There was no sign of life about them.
Haral said: "What happened to the others?"
"The ... others—?" Xaymar's voice held a curious note of hesitation.
"Sark and his men. The priestess, Kyla."