"No! Oh, no, Tyr! His heart stopped from excitement. He—he thought the ardth had found the Barrow. It is the Barrow, isn't it?"
"Yes," he muttered numbly, looking away from her toward the receding, confusing arches.
Accuse her again, Tyr. Do not let those big black eyes fool you. She is a traitress, is she? She is a spy, instead. Accuse the one thing on all Lyallar that believes in you. Smash her belief. Kill her with your hands. Stand alone, as always you have done.
"No!" he moaned, swaying on big legs, widespread.
The woman knelt, looking up at him.
His eyes closed as thoughts rocketed across his brain. She killed Harl. She wears no gun, his body bears no mark of violence! She is a spy for Mason, and will betray you. She has come alone to you! Kill her, and be safe. Trust not in your strength to fight what may come.
He put out his big hands and caught her shoulders. He lifted her up and held her against him. He rained kisses on her soft mouth.
She stirred after a while, gently.
She whispered, her black head nestled to his chest, "You love me, Tyr?"
"Yes."