“I don’t blame you for saying so, but I’m not like him at all.”
She made a dismissive gesture and started to turn away.
“Be my mate, Beramun, and we’ll wander the world together!”
The words obviously startled him as much as they did her, but Harak smiled broadly and repeated them. “Be my mate, Beramun. I know you’ve been asked before, but I’m not a fool like Zannian nor a dreamer like the Arkuden. I’ve had women before, but I’ve never asked one to be my mate. Say no and I’ll not bother you again, but you must know my offer is honest.”
Beramun still held Mara’s dagger. Her other hand went to her chest. She said, “What about Sthenn’s mark? Don’t you fear it? How do you know I won’t cut your throat some night while you sleep?”
She didn’t say no! Harak thought jubilantly. He stepped toward her. Putting an arm around her waist, he slowly pulled her closer still.
“It would be just like the old lizard to plant an evil seed in a brave, good womanlike you. But he’s dead, and I don’t fear his poison. All his other acts have failed, and he’s failed with you, too.”
She would not look at him. She whispered, “I won’t be the cause of your death.”
He took hold of her wrist and brought the dagger up. “Then I’ll undo his work.”
Her dark eyes lifted, the question in them plain.
“I’ll remove the mark,” Harak explained.
“No more tricks, Harak, please.”
He plucked the bronze dagger from her fingers. “No trick. No lies. Whether you take me as your mate or no, let me remove Sthenn’s mark. Once you’re free of it, you can decide what you want to do.”
A small fire crackled on the hearth. Harak bade Beramun sit by the circle of stones. He knelt beside her and put the blade of Mara’s dagger in the flames.
Her eyes widened.
“I saw an old man do this once. His horse had a growth on its withers, and he fixed it this way.” Squeezing her hand, he said, “I know you’re brave enough to do this.”
Wordlessly, she loosened the lacings on the front of her shirt and slipped her left arm out of the sleeve. By firelight, the green triangle looked black and shiny against her tanned skin.
Harak picked up the dagger gingerly. The leather-wrapped handle was hot, but not too hot to hold. The tip of the span-long blade glowed dull orange. “Take a deep breath, and don’t be too proud to scream.”
Swallowing hard, he pressed the flat of the hot blade against the jade-colored triangle. Beramun twisted her face away and groaned. Her entire body trembled. A sizzling sound filled the tent, but the dragon’s mark did not smell like normal flesh burning. Instead, a fetid whiff of Almurk filled their nostrils.
Harak yanked the blade away. Beramun sagged in a faint, so he held her up. It was just as well. Having seared the green dragon’s mark, he now needed to excise it forever. He worked quickly, using the knife’s sharp tip to cut beneath the foreign color embedded in Beramun’s skin. Because he’d cauterized it first, little blood flowed.
At last the evil sign was out. Harak threw it on the fire. He shuddered when the yellow flames changed to vivid green as the last remnant of the green dragon was consumed. A choking stench rose but quickly dispersed.
Beramun’s eyes opened part way, and she let her head loll on Harak’s shoulder. With great care he lowered her to the furs heaped beside the hearth. He found his hands were shaking.
“Well done.”
Startled, Harak turned. Karada stood in the entrance to her tent, arms folded, watching. Behind her were arrayed Pakito and Bahco. Mara’s pale face peered between the men.
Harak passed a hand over his sweating brow and sat down by Beramun. “She was afraid the green dragon would compel her to do evil,” he said. “I did what I could to help her.”
Karada nodded. “She is worth the scar you’ve given her. But are you worthy of Beramun?”
Harak understood her question. Beramun had no parents, no living kin. Karada was taking on their role, demanding he prove himself to her for Beramun’s sake. He returned the dagger to the fire.
Harak hated pain. He’d always thought Zannian and the other raiders who gloried in their resistance to it were stupid brutes. A wise man—a clever man, at least—avoided pain. That’s why it existed, so you would know the things that caused it were to be avoided.
When the knife was glowing again, he opened the collar of his worn tunic. Looking straight at Karada, he pressed the hot bronze to his chest, just above his heart—the same place Beramun had borne the mark of Sthenn. He clenched his teeth so hard he was sure they’d crack, and tears filled his eyes. The smell of his own burning skin made him want to wretch, but as he had mastered the noxious ogre drink tsoong, so he mastered his sickness.
He threw the burning blade aside. Karada’s face swam before him. The tent seemed to waver around him. He fell.
Strong arms hoisted him to his feet.
“Take him out, Bahco,” Karada was saying. “Beramun will stay here until she’s better.”
“Let me stay with her,” Harak protested feebly.
Karada clapped a hand to his shoulder. The comradely gesture rocked him like the kick of a horse.
“You won’t lose her,” she said vehemently. “Not now. That was the strongest mating ceremony I’ve ever seen. You two are bound for life.” She glanced at Beramun, still unconscious on the fur rug. “I knew it would take a lot to win her, but I couldn’t have guessed how much.”
Bahco draped Harak’s arm over his shoulder and bore the ex-raider away. Karada picked up the dagger, still faintly warm.
“Mara,” she said. “Come here.”
The girl tried to flee but ran into a wall of muscle and buckskin as Pakito barred the way out. Though he looked distinctly unhappy doing so, he held the far smaller Mara fast with one huge hand.
Karada approached, tapping the handle of the dagger into her palm. “One of the worst crimes is when a man forces himself on a woman,” she said in a low voice. “I know of what I speak. There’ve been men who tried to take me. Every one died by my hand.”
She stopped at arm’s length from the cringing girl. “You come running to me, screaming that this raider is forcing himself on Beramun. I return and find him saving her spirit, if not her life. Perhaps you were sincerely mistaken. I doubt it. The only crime worse than a man forcing a woman, Mara, is a woman lying about it. When you do that, you make us all out to be liars.”
Karada put the tip of the dagger under Mara’s chin. “If you were one of my band, I’d have you beaten for this.”
Mara squeezed her eyes shut. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Karada removed the dagger abruptly. “But you’re not one of my band, and you never will be. You came from Yala-tene, and here you will stay. Go, and never let me see you again.”
She dropped the dagger. Pakito released Mara. Nearly convulsing with grief, the girl collapsed at their feet.
“Don’t send me away,” she sobbed, clutching Karada’s legs. The nomad chief stepped out of reach. Mara’s sobs gained volume. “Please! Oh, please! I’ll serve you even better than before! I’ll do anything you say, Karada! Anything at all!”
“Get out!” Karada’s voice rose to be heard above the girl’s cries. “If I see you again, I’ll gut you like a fish!” She turned her back.
Large of frame and equally large of heart, Pakito felt sorry for the misguided girl. “Go,” he urged gently. He held open the tent flap.
Hiccuping, Mara brushed her tears away. She snatched up the dagger and for a moment stared hard at Karada’s exposed back. Pakito would have swatted her like a fly if she’d moved toward his chief, but it didn’t come to that. Mara slipped the dagger in her robe and darted out of the tent.
“By all my ancestors!” Pakito exclaimed. “I thought she was going to go for you!”