Stark thought about Knighton and Walsh of Terra, Themis of Mercury, Arrod of Callisto Colony. He thought of others like them, and what they would do, with their talons hooked in the heart of Mars. He thought of Delgaun's yellow eyes. He thought of Berild, and he was sick with loathing. Fianna came close to him, speaking in a different tone that had care and anxiety only for him. "I have told you this, because I know what Berild plans. Tonight--oh, tonight is a black and evil time, and death waits in Sinharat! It is very close to me, I know. And you must follow your own heart, Eric John Stark. I cannot tell you more." He kissed her again, because she was sweet and very brave. Then she led him on through the dark labyrinth, to where Berild was waiting, with her dangerous beauty and all the evil of the ages in her soul. X They came out of the darkness so suddenly that Stark blinked in the unaccustomed light of torches set in great silver sconces on the walls. The floor had been artificially smoothed, but otherwise this crypt was as the eroding action of the sea had shaped it out of the coral reef. It was not large, and it was like a cavern in a fairy tale, walled and roofed with the fantastic wreathing shapes of the rose-red coral. At one end there was a golden coffer set with flaming jewels. Berild was there. Her wonderful hair was dressed and shining, and her body was clothed all in white, her arms and shoulders warm bronze from the kiss of the desert sun. Kynon was there, also. He stood motionless and silent, and he did not so much as turn his head when Fianna and Stark came in. His eyes were wide open and blank as a blind man's. "I have been waiting," said Berild, "and the time is short." She seemed angry and impatient, and Stark said, "Freka is dead. It was necessary to hide his body." She nodded and turned to the girl. "Go now, Fianna." Fianna bent her head and went away. She did not look at Stark. It was as though she had no interest in anything that happened. Stark looked at Kynon, who had not moved or spoken. "He is safe enough," said Berild, answering Stark's unspoken question. "I drugged his wine so that his mind was opened to mine, and he is my creature as long as I will it." Hypnosis, Stark thought. His nerves were beginning to do strange things. He wished desperately that he were back in the cell facing Freka's sword, which at least would deal with him openly and without guile or subterfuge. Berild set her hands on Stark's shoulders, and smiled as she had done that night by the ancient well. "I offer you three things tonight, wild man," she said. Her eyes challenged him, and the scent of her hair was sweet and maddening. "Your life--and power--and myself." Stark let his hands slip lightly down from her shoulders to her waist. "And how will you do this thing?" he asked.