Hymneth’s voice grew quietly, dangerously frosty. “I am afraid I do not understand. She does not wish to go with you. She does not wish to return to Laconda or the life she knew there. She wishes to stay here with me. Of her own free will. You yourself acknowledged as much only moments ago.”
The herdsman nodded. He had come a long way and was very tired, as if he had spent days chasing runaway animals through the hills and gullies back of the village. “When I first set out on this journey, not knowing how or when it would end or where it would take me, I did so because I had made a vow. A promise to a dying man who called himself Tarin Beckwith, of Laconda North. He made me swear not to rest until I returned the Visioness Themaryl to her home and family. This oath I reluctantly made. I have traveled far and at great expense of effort to fulfill that obligation. I intend to do so.”
The wide, helmeted head was shaking slowly from side to side. “There is reason, and then there is insanity, but the likes of this I have never had to deal with before. Do you mean to tell me that in spite of her declared wishes to remain here you intend to take her back, by force if necessary?”
Ehomba nodded stoically. His voice never changed. “By force if necessary.”
With the abruptness of a rogue wave shattering upon an unsuspecting shore, Hymneth the Possessed stood bolt upright before his throne and bellowed thunderously at the impious intruder.
“By Besune, this is worse than madness!” He was trembling with rage. “In spite of all the sleeplessness you have caused me, I offer you your life, and you demand death!” Reaching out toward the intolerable interloper, he made a cup of his extended fingers. “Since you so devoutly seek your doom, here it is, master of a doubtful magic. Here in this hand. Come and get it!”