"Her captain used to call her Hawk of Darion."
Ransome understood. Hawk of Darion, hell ship driving through black space under the command of a man he had once sworn to kill. Eight years rolled back and he saw them together, laughing at him: the Earthman-captain and the woman who had been Ransome's.
"Captain Jareth," Ransome said slowly. "Here—on Yaroto."
The Venusian nodded, pushing the bottle toward Ransome. The Earthman ignored the gesture.
"Is the woman with him?"
Mytor smiled his feline smile. "You would like to see her blood run under the knives of the priests, no?"
"No."
Ransome meant it. Somewhere, in the years of flight, he had lost his love for the blonde, red-lipped Dura-ki, and with it had gone his bitter hatred and his desire for revenge.
He jerked his mind back to the present, to Mytor.
"And if I told you that it must be her life or yours?" Mytor was asking him.