He would have said more in his anger, but Berild said sharply,
"We will not speak of time. Go now, Stark. Be ready at midnight."
Stark went. And as he went, his brow was furrowed deep by a strange doubt.
VI
At midnight, in the great square of the slave market, Kynon's caravan formed again and went out of Valkis with thundering drums and skirling pipes. Delgaun was there to see them go, and the cheering of the people rang after them on the desert wind.
Stark rode alone. He was in a brooding mood and wanted no company, least of all that of the Lady Berild. She was beautiful, she was dangerous, and she belonged to Kynon, or to Delgaun, or perhaps to both of them. In Stark's experience, women like that were sudden death, and he wanted no part of her. At any rate, not yet.
Luhar rode ahead with Kynon. He had come dragging into the square at the mounting, his face battered and swollen, an ugly look is his eyes. Kynon gave one quick look from him to Stark, who had his own scars, and said harshly,
"Delgaun tells me there's a blood feud between you two. I want no more of it, understand? After you're paid off you can kill each other and welcome, but not until then. Is that clear?"
Stark nodded, keeping his mouth shut. Luhar muttered assent, and they had not looked at each other since.