Child of a Dead God

CHAPTER SEVEN

Three days of being dragged behind Sgaile wore Leesil's patience thin. Blindfolded, with a rough walking stick in one hand and a rope gripped in the other, he trudged onward, with Magiere behind him. Chap ranged somewhere nearby, his claws scrabbling over dirt and stone.

Chap assisted with warning barks whenever they strayed or came upon uncertain footing. Sgaile carefully steered them around anything larger, but the going was painfully slow. From time to time, Magiere settled a hand on Leesil's shoulder.

They exchanged few words on this blind side journey, and Leesil wondered why he had ever agreed to this. Why did he keep giving in to whatever bizarre requests Sgaile made?

Privately, Leesil knew why-to find out what Brot'an-and his mother-had arranged.

Had this been Brot'an's plan alone, Leesil would have rejected Sgaile's requirements. But for his mother… no, he'd abandoned her to eight years of imprisonment, and he couldn't refuse her now.

Chap barked, brushed against Leesil's leg, and then dashed away. Leesil heard a small cascade of stones tumble beneath the dog's paws.

"What's wrong?" Leesil asked.

"We have to climb another chute between stone sides," Sgaile replied. "The bottom is littered with debris. I will loop the rope through your belts, so you may use both hands to steady yourselves. Toss aside your staves, as you will no longer need them."

"Then we're close?" Magiere asked.

For a moment, Sgaile didn't answer. "Yes," he replied, as if he didn't care to reveal anything.

Leesil tossed aside his staff as Sgaile looped the rope through his belt. He waited as Sgaile did the same for Magiere and then took the lead once more. Leesil stepped forward, and his left foot shifted on loose stones.

Someone snatched his right wrist and guided his hand to the side, pressing it against a vertical wall of rough stone.

"As I said… take care," Sgaile admonished.

Leesil felt his way up the granite chute. Before long, he reached out and felt only empty air. Another step and the ground leveled off. But when he tried to hook the blindfold with one finger, Sgaile pulled his hand down.

"No," he said sharply. "Not yet."

Moving onward again, Leesil grew aware of a slight downward decline. Then he smelled dust, and the sounds around him began to reverberate. He realized they had gone underground.

Sgaile began turning them, this way and that.

Leesil tried to count off the lefts and rights, but he lost track after a while. By the time Sgaile halted their procession, Leesil was slightly dizzy from the winding downward path.

"It's warmer here," Magiere said.

She'd been unusually quiet for the past three days. Leesil reached back until he felt her arm.

"We are far enough," Sgaile said. "You may remove the blindfolds."

Leesil ripped off the cloth, blinking as he rubbed his eyes.

For a moment he wasn't sure the blindfold was gone, as everything around him was so dim. Then the world sharpened slightly.

Magiere's pale face was strangely illuminated by an orange glow- Sgaile had already lit a torch. They stood within a natural rock tunnel wider than Leesil's arm span and half again the height he could reach up on his toes.

"We continue," Sgaile said and walked off down the tunnel.

"We're not there yet?" Magiere asked, but he ignored her.

Leesil sighed and trudged on. When he glanced back past Magiere and Chap, he saw nothing, for the tunnel curved sharply into the dark. He couldn't even guess how far or deep they had come.

They walked down winding passages with craggy walls, but the floors were smooth. Leesil's patience was beginning to wane when suddenly the torch's light reached only open space, and he followed Sgaile into a vast cavern. Before he could look about, his gaze caught on the cavern's most prominent feature.

A large oval of shimmering metal was embedded in the cavern's far wall.

Magiere pushed around him, heading straight for it. Leesil followed with Sgaile and Chap trailing more slowly. When he was within arm's reach, Magiere ran her gloved hand over the metal.

Leesil saw the barely visible, razor-straight seam. The oval split down the center into two doors, but he saw no handle or hinges, or other way to open them. Orange-yellow torchlight glimmered on their perfect polished surfaces, a bleached silver tone too light for steel or precision metals. Leesil recognized the material.

These doors were made of the same metal as anmaglahk blades.

"They're warm," Magiere whispered.

Leesil put his hand upon the metal. More than warm, they were nearly hot.

"Turn away," Sgaile said wearily.

"Why… how do they open?" Leesil asked.

He heard cloth crumple on the cavern floor, and the sound of a blade sliding across leather.

Chap growled.

"I said turn away, now!" Sgaile commanded, and his voice echoed around the cavern.

Leesil turned quickly and dropped one hand to a punching blade.

Sgaile stood before his fallen cloak, his glistening features strained, as if any word or action would cost him. He held a stiletto, its metal gleaming as bright as the doors.

Chap tensed behind Sgaile, ready to take him down if he moved an inch.

The only memory he caught in Sgaile's mind was a brief glimpse of this place-and Sgaile waiting frozen in dread as the silver-white doors began to swing open. The memory faded too quickly, and now it seemed Sgaile would not tolerate either Magiere or Leesil knowing how the portal opened.

"Please… step back," Sgaile said more deliberately. "And turn away."

Magiere's hand wrapped around her falchion's hilt, and she didn't move.

Chap was sick of dealing with anmaglahk and their paranoia. But all that mattered was finding out what waited beyond these doors-what Brot'an had been scheming up this time. Chap circled wide around Sgaile and huffed once at his companions.

"What makes you so obliging to him?" Magiere asked, but she kept her eyes on Sgaile.

"This is ridiculous," Leesil said. "Sgaile, just open the doors!"

"Keep quiet," she said. "You're the one who let him blindfold us."

Chap huffed again. They had come all this way, and he was not about to turn back. He hopped at Magiere and nipped her breeches at the knee.

Magiere jerked her leg back. "You watch it!"

But she finally turned away, and Leesil joined her with a sidelong glance at Chap.

Sgaile's expression remained tense, but he did not ask Chap to turn away. He merely approached the door, stiletto in hand, and then hesitated with the blade point held up.

"Your oath…," he said, "do not forget."

He touched the blade's tip upon the portal so lightly it did not even click. A low grating creak began, and Chap watched as the seam split.

"Move away," Sgaile told him and sheathed the stiletto.

Chap backpedaled toward Magiere and Leesil as Sgaile also retreated.

The doors separated, each swinging outward as they ground across the cavern's level stone. A wall of heated air rushed out to strike Chap's face, and the cavern's temperature rose sharply with a stench like burning coal. He choked on the hot air filling his lungs.

"You will adjust in a moment," Sgaile said, but he had a hand over his own mouth and nose.

The unpleasant burning in Chap's throat slowly became tolerable. Leesil's face was flushed, though he seemed unhurt. Magiere let out a strangled cough and buckled to her knees, fighting for air.

Leesil grabbed her shoulders. "Magiere!"

A few more breaths and she nodded that she was all right.

"You might have warned us," she gasped.

"Apologies," Sgaile offered, but his face was as flushed as Leesil's.

As Sgaile retrieved the torch, Chap circled back to stand between the wide doors. Beyond them stretched a wide passage, and the farther on Chap looked, the darker it became. Sgaile's torch cast only the barest glistening points of light on its craggy walls. The heated air made it difficult for Chap to breathe.

"You must be joking!" Leesil said.

"It will not be comfortable," Sgaile warned. "But we will survive."

With that, he stepped past Chap into the tunnel.

Chap followed, and the hot stone under his pads grew more unpleasant with each step. He heard Leesil behind as Magiere came up on his left. She looked weak and faint. Her dhampir nature worked well for her in the cold, but it did not seem to help in this scorching place.

"You've been down here before?" Magiere rasped.

Sgaile shook his head. "Only as far as the doors, once… with my past teacher, before I received his assent to take up full service to my people."

Both Leesil and Sgaile slowly adapted, though their faces began to run with sweat. Magiere panted, trying to bear the heat and keep up. Chap stayed close to her as Sgaile worked his way along the uneven passage. It narrowed suddenly at the top of a carved stone stairway.

A dim red-orange glow from below barely illuminated the close walls. Sgaile set aside his torch. The light increased slightly as they descended, as did the heat in the air. They went down for a long while, stopping once for water. Leesil poured some into a tin cup he always carried for Chap, but the water had grown so warm it offered little relief.

Chap kept a close watch on Magiere, though she stayed on her feet. He reached inside her mind and called up memories of their journey through the Blade Range… of snow and freezing wind. She frowned, but this time did not snarl at him to get out of her head. Instead, she put her hand on his back.

"You all right?" Leesil asked her.

"Keep going," she rasped.

Just when Chap thought their descent might never end, Sgaile stepped down onto a landing. Chap peered around the elf's legs through a rough opening in the mountain's rock. Through it, orange-red light brightened slightly, and the opening seemed like the mouth of a dwindling hearth in a dim room.

Chap stepped through and halted at the sight before him.

A wide plateau ran a gradual slant away from the stairway's portal. At its distant edge, red light erupted out of a massive fissure in the mountain's belly, like a gash wider than a river. Smoke drifted up into glowing red air from deep in the earth.

"Wait… here…," Sgaile breathed with great effort.

He advanced with slow and heavy steps but went less than halfway to the plateau's edge. He stopped, digging beneath his tunic, and drew something out.

"What's he doing?" Leesil whispered.

Sgaile cocked his arm and heaved. A small dark object arced out and over the plateau's lip to vanish into the fissure. Chap had seen this object in Sgaile's flickering memories-a smooth basalt stone etched with curving lines, sharp strokes, and dots. Sgaile returned but stopped to rest, hunched over with his hands braced upon his knees. He blinked against the sweat running down his forehead.

"Now we wait," he said.

Leesil stumbled closer. "How long? For what?"

Sgaile only shook his head.

They stood there so long that Chap wanted to collapse from the heat. But he feared he might not rise again. Then he heard a soft scraping.

Like metal upon stone, it carried faintly across the half-cavern plateau. Chap looked out beyond Leesil, searching. The plateau's edge was a dark silhouette against the gorge's burning light.

A tiny part of that dark jagged line bulged and moved.

Leesil desperately wanted out of this place, and even more so when he glanced at Magiere.

Eyes half-closed, she gasped for air, and she hardly perspired at all- which was a bad sign. And Chap appeared about to drop with all four legs quaking.

Leesil was furious with himself for ever agreeing to let Sgaile bring them here. Whatever Brot'an and his mother wanted didn't matter anymore. He took a step toward Magiere.

In the stillness, a faint scrape carried along the walls, like a blade scratching stone. Chap lifted his head to stare, and Leesil swung about, hands fumbling for his winged blades.

His gaze lighted first upon Sgaile, who held no weapons but straightened with an effort and looked off toward the glowing fissure's right end.

"Sgaile?" Leesil said.

"Keep… your weapons… sheathed," Sgaile managed to say.

Magiere stumbled in next to Leesil, hand on her falchion's hilt.

A bulge grew at the precipice's edge, taking form in movement.

At first it was no more than a rippling smudge backlit by red-orange air. Small and blacker than the stone, it crawled up onto the plateau from out of the red depths. Leesil barely made out a pair of thin, spindly arms as it crept forward, dragging something behind.

Its size was difficult to gauge, but by the way the little black shadow hunkered, Leesil guessed it wouldn't be much taller than Chap, if it stood up. And then twin horizontal slits opened in its blotch of a head.

Two eyes, like white-hot coals in the dark, fixed on Leesil.

It crawled a little farther, dragging the bulk of a sack half its size. The charcoal-colored woolly baggage shimmered as if laced with fibers of black metal or glass. Thin smoke rose from the bundle to dissipate in the gorge's heat-rippled air.

"What is-?" Magiere began.

"Chein'as," Sgaile cut in. "The Burning Ones."

But there was only one, and the little thing fumbled with its sack. It paused, turning searing eyes upslope, and a small maw opened beneath them.

A grinding shriek erupted across the stone plateau.

Leesil cringed as the sound pierced his ears. His skull and bones seemed to vibrate sharply in his flesh.

"Go!" Sgaile ordered, hands pressed over his ears. "Whatever it has… is for you, Leshil."

Chap rumbled and took a few shaky steps forward, and Magiere clutched at Leesil's arm.

"It's all right," he whispered, peeling off her fingers.

Magiere trembled but didn't try to grab him again.

Leesil crept down the plateau, closing on the black little thing with lantern eyes. As he drew nearer, its form became clearer.

No larger than a naked child of six or seven years, it squatted there with its scrawny arms and legs folded. The whole of its body was covered in ebony-toned leathery skin. Thin digits sprouting from splayed hands ended in short obsidian claws. Its oversized head was featureless except for the slit mouth, the vertical cuts of small nostrils, and its glowing eyes. Instead of ears, it bore two small depressions on the sides of its skull.

Leesil was still well beyond reach when it began to shiver.

It cringed away from him, clutching itself like a deformed and naked child caught in a frigid winter wind. The closer Leesil tried to get, the more the little thing quivered-as if he were the source of cold. Leesil stopped and crouched, waiting.

With a shudder, it uttered a soft hiss like water thrown on a griddle. Both of its clawed hands reached into the charcoal-colored bag, and Leesil caught a glint of metal inside turning red in the fissure's light. The little one chucked two long pieces of curved metal across the plateau floor.

Leesil quickly scooted back as they clanged across the stone before him. Focusing sharply as the objects settled, he stared in shock.

Twin winged blades lay in the dark before him, so much like the ones he carried strapped to his thighs. A matched set, mirrored opposites but alike in make.

His own blades had been assembled by a master weaponer in Bela, made from sketches he'd drawn himself. But these were not steel. Even in the dark and the chasm's unnatural light, they shimmered too cleanly. They glinted like silver mirrors-like the sheer perfect doors to this cavern-like the stilettos of the Anmaglahk.

Their wings would stretch down the outside of his forearms, but unlike his, these turned slightly outward at the back end, slender and graceful. The spades extending in front of their grips were thin and fiercely pointed, perhaps slightly longer than his own.

The oval grips hadn't yet been wrapped in leather.

Partway down each wing, half-circles sprouted sideways. Round in shape rather than flat and sharp, they might brace around his forearm and steady the weapons in his grips.

Leesil raised his eyes to the shuddering little creature. His mother had never seen his weapons closely, especially not while in use. The only other who had-who knew that Leesil would come here-was Brot'an.

Leesil's anger began to eat at his insides.

"Take them!" Sgaile hissed from upslope.

Leesil glanced over his shoulder at Sgaile's shocked and lost expression. It was plain the man had expected something else-perhaps stilettos like his own. Then Leesil saw Magiere watching him as she knelt beside Chap.

He had to get her out of here.

He snatched up both blades with one hand, nearly dropping them from the heat in their metal, and then tucked them under his arm as he stumbled upslope. He grabbed Magiere's arm.

Sgaile held out both hands toward the small being down the plateau. He began speaking softly in Elvish, his words filled with strange reverence.

Chap was already limping toward the stairway as Leesil hauled Magiere up. Sgaile backed slowly and turned to follow.

Another metallic screech tore at Leesil's ears.

Chap went deaf for an instant.

He wheeled about, nearly toppling beside Sgaile, and looked down the plateau. The small creature's sound still rang in his head, and he could not help barking at it to stop.

"What now?" Leesil shouted.

Sgaile just stared toward the fissure's edge in silence.

The black visitor seemed somehow familiar to Chap, but heat made his mind hazy. Perhaps the memory of this small being was something else the Fay had taken from him at his birth-or was it something he had seen since walking this mortal world? He could recall nothing regarding these "burning" beings-these Chein'as.

The creature hunched again over its bag, becoming a lumped silhouette, and then its forelimb lashed up and out.

A metallic object flickered with red light as it tumbled from the creature's pointed digits. It fell to clatter and clang across stone. Before Chap could try to make out what it was, the creature's hand shot out again.

This time the sound was thicker-heavy and dull-and the second object did not glint like the first.

"What now?" Leesil repeated, releasing Magiere to head downslope.

Sgaile shook his head, his expression anxious, even wary. "I do not understand."

The creature threw its head back, eyes closing as its maw opened. Another shriek echoed off the half-cavern walls and through Chap's bones. His ears still rang as the creature raised a clawed hand, hissing like fire consuming water.

It reached out and gouged downward, seeming to claw the air toward itself. The gesture was aimed at Chap's charges.

Leesil had tried to return, but the dark little one responded in denial. Its call was not for him.

Chap looked fearfully at Magiere. What did it want with her?

Sgaile had only been ordered to bring Leesil. Whatever Brot'an's scheme, he could not have known Magiere would bully her way into this side journey. What had the black visitor thrown out upon the plateau?

The creature clutched the air again, its gesture aimed at Magiere.

Magiere felt chilled inside, though the air was hot in her lungs. The clash of sensations left her dizzy and weak.

Sgaile stumbled a few steps downslope, shaking his head. But when he looked back at her, his sweat-glistened face twisted in a grimace.

Magiere had seen that look before, the first time Sgaile had watched her crawl under a blanket next to Leesil, and the day he'd looked into her eyes when she'd lost all self-control in Nein'a's clearing.

The small, dark being from the fissure's depths called to her… waited for her.

This turn of events sickened Sgaile as much as it stunned him. Suddenly, he waved her on.

"Go… now!" he snapped.

"I'll take you," Leesil whispered to her.

"No!" Sgaile commanded and swallowed dryly. "She must go on her own."

Chap pushed in against Magiere's legs. She settled a hand on his back and felt him quivering. As he advanced, she followed his lead. Sgaile took two unstable steps, but as always, he balked at interfering with a majay-hi.

Magiere burrowed her fingers in the scruff of Chap's neck. As he led her onward, she fixed upon a shimmer of red light on the plateau's stone. In one final step, her boot toe planted before it. She collapsed to her knees and felt along the stone.

When her fingers touched the bright spot, she snatched them back from its uncomfortable heat. Then she saw the object more clearly through her blurry sight.

The dagger was as long as her forearm, its base above the guard wider than a clenched fist. The tang sprouting below the guard, where a hilt would be affixed, was bare of wood or wrapped leather. That piece of narrow metal ran straight to the round pommel. The blade was two-thirds the length of a shortsword-a war blade. From its fine tapering edges to its point, its pure finished metal gleamed silver-white and perfect… like the doors Sgaile had opened in the upper cavern… like his stiletto.

Chap hacked and swallowed, and Magiere looked up, her eyes itching as they dried in the heat. The dog padded slowly to the second object, and lowered his muzzle. Magiere crawled forward on her hands and knees.

Beside Chap lay a circlet of ruddy golden metal, too red for brass and too dark for gold. Thick and heavy looking, the circumference was larger than a helmet, and it had strange markings upon it that Magiere couldn't see clearly. About a fourth of its circle appeared to be missing, and Magiere willed her sight to clear.

The circlet wasn't broken. That gap was part of its making. Small knobs protruded inward from its open ends, pointing straight across the break from one to the other.

Magiere wobbled on all fours and tried to lift her head.

The black leathery being watched her, and then suddenly raised a clawed hand to the side of its earless head. Long fingers traced down its skull, as if combing through hair it didn't have. The gesture pulled a memory into Magiere's thoughts.

One winged, frail female-a silf-not much larger than this thing, had appeared at her trial before the council of the an'Croan. And that feathered being had run delicate taloned fingers through Magiere's hair.

A crackling hiss leaked from the black creature's lipless mouth, and its phosphorescent eyes rolled closed. It threw back its head, covering its flat face with both hands. The hands slipped downward, exposing its mouth gaping in a face stretched by anguish.

A mournful bellow rose from its convulsing chest, like a horn blown rough and weak.

The sound vibrated in the stone beneath Magiere's hands and knees, making her nauseated. As her arms buckled, the last thing she saw was its gaping mouth.

In place of teeth were opposing dark ridges, the shade of dull iron.

Somewhere, she'd seen such before, and the familiarity made her shrivel inside.

Chap watched the tiny visitor lift its face upward, away from Magiere, and bellow in grief.

This creature recognized Magiere, or knew of her.

Why else would it have brought her tokens-a weapon and a broken hoop of mysterious metal? Neither Brot'an nor Nein'a could have known Magiere would come here. These gifts had come directly from the Chein'as.

But the sight of Magiere seemed to wound this one from within, and then she collapsed.

"Magiere!" Leesil called out.

Before Chap could scramble to her side, the visitor wailed again. As the echo faded and Chap shook off the pain in his head, it dashed toward the plateau's edge.

Chap froze as it leaped out over the massive fissure.

The small being did not plummet; it appeared to float upon the air. Red light engulfed the spindly black form as it swirled upon the rising heat, like an insect in a desert whirlwind. It began to tumble downward.

Chap lunged to the plateau's edge before it vanished, reaching for any memories he might catch.

Fire erupted in his mind.

It burned through Chap until he felt only stinging pain, and the cavern vanished before his eyes in a flash of searing white.

Leesil scrambled toward Magiere as Chap's piercing yelp struck his ears.

The dog fell twitching upon the stone. Chap's prone form shuddered and writhed as if he were trying to thrash free of something.

Leesil closed on Magiere and grabbed the back of her hauberk, but when he reached out for Chap, the dog lay too far off. He flipped Magiere over, put his ear close to her mouth, and heard her low breaths. She was alive, but Chap's piercing whimpers continued. Leesil went for the dog, and a hand snatched his shoulder, jerking him back.

"I will get him," Sgaile shouted. "Gather Magiere's gifts and take her out!"

"What's wrong with Chap?" Magiere whispered.

Leesil swung around to find her eyes barely open.

He didn't mind that Sgaile told him what to do. He wasn't even interested in the strange objects lying beside Magiere. All that mattered was getting her and Chap out of this place, before he collapsed from the heat as well.

"I don't know," he answered, and snatched up the earthy golden loop and the hiltless blade. "Sgaile will bring him."

Leesil hooked the loop over one shoulder, holding the dagger along with his new blades under the same arm. He hoisted Magiere, slipping her arm around his neck, and wrapped his free hand around her waist. Neither of them looked back as they hobbled toward the passage and the stone steps.

Sgaile dropped beside Chap's whimpering form, and his knees ground harshly on the stone. He grabbed hold of the dog, whispering over and over, "Ancestors, protect him… I beg you!"

Chap squirmed wildly, and he was heavier than anticipated. Twice Sgaile shifted his grip until he finally gathered the dog in his arms. The intense heat had no power against the pain of Sgaile's guilt.

He had brought outsiders before the Chein'as. He had brought a pale-skinned predator to this place, and watched as she was "gifted" along with Leshil. And now Chap-who was touched with the ancient Spirit-had fallen in agony. And Sgaile could not fathom any of this.

All because he could not refuse Brot'an'duive.

Each day brought more confusion and cast him into impossible circumstances, until he could do little more than cling blindly to his faith. But he could not bear it if this ancient spirit died in his arms.

"Please, be still," Sgaile whispered in Chap's ear, heaving the dog up and running for the passage.

Chap's bones became coals searing his flesh from within. All around, fire and glowing hot stone half-blinded him. Agony in his heart and mind rose from this stolen memory of the small black visitor from the chasm.

He saw others of its kind who crawled and scampered among mounds of smoking stone surrounding a molten river. Some swam within the orange fluid, small blackened creatures in a wide sluggish stream almost too bright to look upon.

Lost in the memory, Chap saw his own dark and leathery hands. Spindly fingers ended in glossy black claws that caressed the hot ledge on which he crouched.

Please, be still.

The words came like a whisper from somewhere inside of Chap, and his pain began to dwindle, until he felt only the pleasant heat under his black hands and feet.

Then fear rose at the creatures' metallic wails.

Small ebony bodies raced and leaped about the chasm like rodents scattering along an alley to hide. The fissure's charred and smoking walls undulated faintly, becoming roiling black. Soft points of light emerged and flowed across them. Chap lost focus as something new caught his eyes.

It-he-floated in the heat-rippled air above the molten river. The air churned in whirling white-gray about the figure drifting forward.

The surface of his long, hooded robe swirled like oil, and the molten river's red light shimmered on the faint symbols scripted upon its folds. The upper half of the face within the hood was covered by a mask of aged leather that ended above a withered mouth and emaciated chin.

The mask had no eye slits, but the decrepit figure twitched its head about, watching the small black ones flee in terror.

Chap's own memory overlaid the stolen one, and he tasted flesh and blood in his teeth.

Ubad, mad necromancer and engineer of Magiere's birth, floated in an airy vessel made from his enslaved spirits. Pieces of that wispy gray-white globe peeled away in ribbons that dove and harried the fleeing figures. And one struck true.

A small black body screeched in torment as one of Ubad's spirits passed through its gaunt chest. Ubad descended and snatched it by the neck.

Chap leaped forward upon black hands and feet.

He bounded from one stone to the next along the river's shore, trying to close on Ubad. The dark-robed madman began to rise upward in his spirit cocoon, lifting into hot air. Chap clawed his way up the fissure wall and leaped outward.

No, the visitor leaped for its captured kin.

Chap relived the black visitor's memory, as it had tried to reach the one Ubad seized-the one who had been butchered in the keep of Magiere's father to make her birth possible. His black hands caught in the necromancer's robe.

Ubad's face turned downward as he squeezed his captive in his bony grip. His vaporous shell began to turn in a vortex around Chap's narrow black arms.

Intense cold ate away all the heat in Chap's body.

Chap's grip broke from the robe as a metallic scream tore from his throat. And he was falling.

Awaken… please do not die… come back to me!

Another whisper echoed inside of him. He heard it an instant before his spindly black body hit the scorching molten river.

Chap opened his eyes with a convulsive shudder.

He stared into amber eyes sunk deep in a dark-skinned face coated with sweat.

Sgaile sighed raggedly. His head drooped for an instant before he turned on his knees to look the other way.

"He is awake!" Sgaile called.

Chap saw the world tilted sideways where he lay with his head resting on a smooth stone floor. His vision was blurred, but he made out a silver metal oval. The doors were closed, sealing off the passage to the burning chasm below. They were back in the entrance cavern far above.

"How fares Magiere?" Sgaile asked.

Leesil half-sat, half-lay behind her, his arm wrapped around her waist. She breathed in long slow gasps, but her eyes opened now and again.

"She'll make it," Leesil said. "But we need more water for both of them. And we should head further up, out of this heat."

Sgaile nodded agreement. He dug into his pack and pulled out a water bottle. At his shift of position, Chap spotted the pile of metal items on the floor halfway to Magiere and Leesil. His gaze slowly cleared, until he made out the twin winged blades, the hiltless dagger, and the strange arc of earthy golden metal. The last item troubled him most, but he focused on the dagger.

He and his companions had stumbled upon another of the lost races- the uirishg-one of five nonhuman species that were thought to be but a myth.

Like the seyilf at Magiere's trial, that one chein'as upon the plateau had known Magiere and perhaps mistook her for some strangely formed kin. It had brought her tokens-or was there more to those gifts?

The visitor had seen one of its own taken long ago, and knew its lost companion would never return. Was that dagger a token of recognition for the shared blood that had been spilled at Magiere's conception?

Or was it a plea for vengeance?

One that the little visitor, or all the Chein'as, could never gain for themselves, locked away in the searing depths of the earth.

Chap closed his eyes. There was no way he could have offered solace. No way to tell the visitor that he had already torn out Ubad's throat.

The dreamer fell through vast darkness, and then suddenly stood upon a black desert. Dunes began to roll on all sides, becoming immense writhing coils covered in glinting black scales.

"Show me the castle," the dreamer demanded.

Flight through a night sky resumed once more.

Here… it is here.

The voice rose as the dreamer tumbled downward. High mountain peaks of perpetual ice loomed all around like a jagged-toothed maw. In its gullet was an immense sunken plateau crusted by snow. A speck within gained size, and for an instant the dreamer saw it become the six-towered castle bordered by stone walls.

The white plateau rushed up in the dreamer's sight and winked out.

But no impact followed in crashing down.

The dreamer suddenly stood before high arched gates. Mirrored twins of ornate iron curls joined together at their high tops in an arched point. Mottled with rust, they were still sound and had not yielded to time. Beyond them, the castle's iron doors rose atop a wide cascade of stone steps.

At a caw, the dreamer looked up. A raven sat upon the high gates.

The dreamer turned from the distraction, looking back to the steps and doors. Something white moved past a low window in one front tower.

It was a woman. Before she vanished beyond the window's far side, the dreamer saw a face like snow and coal black hair.

South… you must travel south.

"I am," the dreamer answered.

No… you do not even try!

"How… when will I find it? When will you leave me alone?"

Succeed… and there will be no more need for dreams. Lead on, my child… great sister of the dead.

Magiere opened her eyes wide and lurched from under the blanket, sucking air as she looked wildly about the night.

She still lay beside Leesil where they were camped for the night on their journey back toward the shore. Chap was curled upon Leesil's cloak near the dwindling campfire, and even Sgaile appeared sound asleep. Just beyond him lay the pack containing the "gifts" from the scorching cavern.

The blindfolded trek down the granite foothills should have been quicker than the ascent, but they'd stopped often to rest. None of them had the same strength with which they'd begun this side journey.

Tomorrow they would reach the ship and return to their voyage, guided only by Magiere's instinct. She stared southward into the dark. All she wanted was to run until she found… whatever she had to find… and got free of this driving urge.

Magiere lay down and rested her head on Leesil's outstretched arm. She scooted in until she felt his chest against her back. But when she closed her eyes, she saw the castle of her dream-and a pale-faced woman passing behind an ice-glazed window.

Chane had caught strengthening whiffs of sea air for the past four nights. Tonight, the salt breeze grew stronger. The ferals smelled it, too, and became restless, shuffling about each other.

Welstiel suddenly halted and pointed ahead. "There… look over the slope of trees!"

Chane craned his neck, eyes wide as his sight expanded.

At first he saw only a flat plain in the distance, impossibly flat. Then he caught the faint ripples upon its surfaces. Tiny shapes of waves rippled upon open water stretching to the night's horizon.

Then another scent filled his head.

Life-human life.

The curly-headed feral began hissing and spitting, and the two younger males wailed and darted forward. Chane knew the smell would be even more intoxicating for them; it was all they desired. The silver-headed man and Sabel whimpered in excitement.

"Stop!" Welstiel ordered. "All of you hold!"

Like puppets jerked by their strings, the scampering monks halted. One young male fell to his face, unable to keep his feet as his rush ended. Sabel buckled to the ground, rocking back and forth on her haunches as her whimpers of joy became panting moans.

Their desperation wormed into Chane. He had gone longer without feeding than any of them, and he wanted blood.

"Follow me," Welstiel said to Chane, and then looked briefly at his minions. "Do not move from this place until I tell you." He pointed toward Chane. "Or he does."

Chane followed Welstiel through the sparse trees. Every step along the forested ridge intensified the scent of life on the salted breeze-and the smoky odor of a campfire.

Welstiel finally dropped and flattened on his stomach. He crawled forward as Chane did likewise, and they peered over a cliff above the shore.

Chane was not surprised to see the men below, gathered around a campfire in a sandy beach cove, but the ship in the waters beyond was another matter. A three-masted schooner was harbored not far into the water, and two long skiffs had been dragged up the beach. Each was half-filled with barrels.

"Who are they?" Chane whispered.

Welstiel continued to watch the men below, so Chane returned to studying them more closely-six sailors in varied worn clothes. He could smell sweat along with their life force. Two returned to the skiffs, loading a barrel. Judging by the way they hefted it, the barrel was full of something. He could just barely hear others speaking around the fire, but he did not recognize their language.

"Why have they come here?" he whispered.

"Seeking fresh water, I believe," Welstiel answered. "The tall one in the leather jerkin said something about their supply being contaminated."

"You speak their language?"

"Not well. I have not heard it in many years, not since my father was…"

Welstiel fell silent.

Chane's curiosity was piqued. He knew little of Welstiel's living days; only that the man was not a native of this continent. And that Welstiel's father had worked his way up through the ranks of Droevinkan nobility.

"I can pick out a few words," Welstiel finally added. "There must be fresh water near here. Seafarers keep careful track of such things, though I wonder about any human this far north, so near the Elven Territories."

"They will have more to contend with than water shortage," Chane said, true hunger mounting upon his longing. "We should bring the others."

"No, this is better than I hoped for," Welstiel answered, and lifted his chin toward the anchored ship. "Magiere travels this coast too swiftly to be on land. That schooner will be useful to us."

Chane couldn't believe what he was hearing and looked more closely at the rough seamen below. Some carried curved daggers tucked into their belts, and a few had squat cutlasses sheathed at their sides. Most were plainly dressed, though some had vests and tunics of leather, a lightweight armor for seafarers.

"I doubt they are interested in passengers," Chane said dryly. "We could feed on them, revitalize your followers, and take the ship. But I have little knowledge of sailing, and likely your monks would know even less. Do you?"

Welstiel shook his head, eying the cove floor. "No, we will need the crew… and count on their greed to favor us."

He drew a pouch from his cloak, jingling the coins inside, and Chane stared at it blankly.

They had lost most of their money back in Venjetz, or so he thought, and used what was left to purchase horses and supplies. But then Chane had never inquired, as they had never needed coins in the mountains.

"Where did you get that?" he asked.

Welstiel loosened the pouch's string. "From a chest at the monastery."

"You intend to bargain our way onto the schooner?" Chane said in surprise. "I doubt the monks had enough with which to tempt those sailors."

"And I doubt," Welstiel replied, "they will pay attention to anything but the clink of coins… and the possibility that we might have more."

Chane scooted back from the ridge and sat up.

Getting out of this forsaken range was an attractive prospect, but he saw holes in Welstiel's plan. Unless Welstiel knew these seafarers' language better than he suggested, they could end up embroiled in a fight before a bargain was struck. The sailors below looked more likely to rob wayfarers out of the wilderness than to offer rescuing passage to the nearest port. And even so, how did Welstiel think they would react when his monks emerged from the dark, full of witless gibbering and hungry stares?

"We will circle around and search for a path down the ridge," Welstiel said.

Chane shook his head but followed. In the end, he believed they would still have the ship-with no one left who could sail it.