"We are of one blood, Stark, though we be strangers."
The Earthman's cold eyes narrowed. "What would your red wolves say to
that? And what would Otar say? Look at him, already stiff with jealousy,
and fear lest I answer, 'Yes'."
"I do not think you would be afraid of either of them."
"On the contrary," said Stark, "I am a prudent man." He paused. "There
is one other thing. I will bargain with no man until I have looked into
his eyes. Take off your helm, Ciaran--and then perhaps we will talk!"
Otar's breath made a snakelike hissing between his toothless gums, and
the hands of the Lord Ciaran tightened on the haft of the axe.
"No!" he whispered. "That I can never do."
Otar rose to his feet, and for the first time Stark felt the full
strength that lay in this strange old man.
"Would you look upon the face of destruction?" he thundered. "Do you ask
for death? Do you think a thing is hidden behind a mask of steel without
a reason, that you demand to see it?"
He turned. "My Lord," he said. "By tomorrow the last of the clans will
have joined us. After that, we must march. Give this Earthman to Thord,
for the time that remains--and you will have the talisman."
The blank, blind mask was unmoving, turned toward Stark, and the
Earthman thought that from behind it came a faint sound that might have
been a sigh.
Then....
"Thord!" cried the Lord Ciaran, and lifted up the axe.