A switch clicked as she spoke. Light came--a strange, halo-like glow without visible source, utterly unlike the shimmering radiance that had gone before. It formed a lambent wall against the blackness. Haral sat up. He found himself on a cot much like the one on which the queen of storms herself had lain, back in the crypt. She was here beside him now, her lips curved in a smile of welcome below the veil. She wore a close-fitting, high-necked garment of some unique material that matched the glistening blue-black of her hair. Yet, though the raiment masked her body's ripe curves with fabric, the overall effect became one of accent rather than concealment. It made Haral suddenly conscious of his own nude frame. He shifted. Xaymar laughed. "There's a cloak on the rack beneath your cot, my blue one." She turned. "Follow me." The note of mockery in her tone jabbed at Haral beyond all reason. But he swept the cloak about him with one swift, incisive movement and fell in beside the woman. 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." It was the woman's turn to shrug. "I let Sark go, on his promise that he'd blast off within the hour he reached his ships." "You let him go--?" Haral stared. His tension and temper soared. "Are you mad, woman? Sark's word's worth nothing. He'll blast off, yes--but only to roar down on you here and smash you!" * * * * * Xaymar stopped short. Before Haral realized what she was doing, she lashed a slap out at him. Fire flashed through his face beneath her fingers. "Have a care who you call mad, blue warrior!" she cried in fury. "Men have died for less--as you can die--" The sight of her anger lit a spark within Haral. Of a sudden he did not care whether this was death or destiny. Before she could escape, he caught the hand with which she'd slapped him and jerked her to him. "The blood runs hot in others' veins as well as yours," he rasped out tightly. "You've gone too long with your arrogance unchallenged. But I'm the man to break that habit."