“Light the end of this for me?”

The dragon pursed her lips and blew a thin stream of flame across the end of the cane reeds.

“You wait here,” he told her. “Sometimes it’s better to be small than big. I won’t be spotted so easily. I’ll think of something, and get the egg, and bring it back through the cave. It’s a long way. It may take until morning before I’m back. I don’t know how close the gars will be behind me, so we might need to leave in a hurry. Stay sharp, all right?” He hooked his pack over a spine on her back. “Keep this for me. I don’t want to carry more than I have to.”

Richard didn’t know if a dragon could look worried, but he thought she did.

“Be careful with the egg? It will hatch soon, but if the shell is broken now, before it is time…”

Richard gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Scarlet. We’re going to get it back.”

She waddled to the cave entrance behind him, poking her head in, watching him disappear inside.

“Richard Cypher,” she called after him, her voice echoing, “if you try to run away, I’ll find you, and if you come back without the egg, you will wish the gars had killed you, because I will cook you slow, starting at your feet.”

Richard stared back at the hulk filling the cave entrance. “I have given my word. If the gars get me, I’ll try to kill enough of them so you can get the egg and escape.”

Scarlet grunted. “Try not to let that happen. I still want to eat you when this is done.”

Richard smiled and went into the darkness. The blackness swallowed up the light of the torch, making him feel as if he were walking into nothingness. Only a small spot of ground before him was lit. As he went on, the floor of the cave sloped downward, descending into cold, still air. A ceiling of rock appeared, and walls, as the way narrowed into a tunnel that snaked deeper. The tunnel opened into a huge room. The path led along a narrow ledge at the edge of a still, green lake. Flickering torchlight showed a jagged ceiling and walls of smooth stone. The ceiling sloped downward as he went into a wide, low passage. He had to bend over to pass through. For a good hour, he walked, hunched over, his neck starting to hurt from holding it sideways. Occasionally he pressed the torch to the rock ceiling to shed its ash and keep it burning brightly.

The darkness was oppressive—it surrounded him, followed him, sucked him deeper, calling him onward with unseen sights. Delicate, colorful formations of rock grew like vegetation, flowering and blossoming from solid rock. Sparkling crystals flashed at him as he passed with the torch, its flame the only sound, echoing back to him from the blackness.

Richard went through rooms of astounding beauty. Into the darkness rose immense columns of rippled stone, some ending before they reached their destination, with mates hanging down trying to meet them halfway. Crystalline sheets flowed over the walls in places, like melted jewels.

Some passages were clefts in the rock he had to squeeze through, others holes he had to traverse on hands and knees. The air had an odd lack of smell. This was a place of perpetual night—no light, nothing alive, ever touched it. As he walked on and on, warm from the effort, the chill of the air made steam rise from his skin. When he held the torch near his other hand, he could see vapor rise from each finger, like life’s energy draining away. Although it wasn’t frigid, the way winter was frigid, it was the kind of cold that would bleed a person of all their heat if they stayed here long enough. A slow sucking death. Without the light he would be lost in a matter of minutes. This was a place that could kill the unwary, or the unlucky. Richard checked the torch and extra cane reeds often.

Eternal night wore on slowly. Richard’s legs were tired from the constant climbing and descending. In fact, all of him was tired. He hoped the cave would end soon—it seemed he had walked the whole night. He had no idea of time.

The rock closed around him. The flat shelf of the roof lowered until he was walking hunched over again, and lowered more until he was on his hands and knees, the ground cold and wet with slimy mud that smelled of rot. It was the first thing he had smelled in a long time. His hands were cold with the wet, stinking mud.

The way diminished to a single small opening, a black hole in the torchlight. Richard didn’t like how small it looked. Air moaned through the passage, making the flame flap and whip. He held the torch into the hole, but could see nothing but blackness beyond. He pulled back the torch, wondering what he should do. It was an awfully small hole, flat on the top and bottom, and he had no idea how long it was, or what was through on the other side. Air was coming through, so it must lead to the other end of the cave, to the gars, the egg, but he didn’t like how small it was.

Richard backed away. There might be other routes from farther back, in one of the other rooms, but how much time could he waste searching, only to fail? He came back to the hole, staring at it with rising dread.

Trying not to think about his fear, he took off the sword, held it with the spare reeds and torch out ahead of himself, and pushed into the hole. He was immediately frightened of the way the rock pressed against him, top and bottom. Arms straight out, head turned sideways, he wriggled his way in deeper. The closeness increased, making him wiggle and snake his way, inches at a time. Cold stone pressed against his back and chest. He couldn’t take a deep breath. The smoke from the torch burned his eyes.

He squeezed deeper, tighter. He rocked his shoulders forward and back, pulling one leg a few inches, then the other, feeling like a snake trying to shed its skin. The torch showed only blackness ahead. Anxiety gripped him. Just get through, he told himself, just push ahead and get through.

With the toes of his boots braced against rock, Richard gave himself a push as he wiggled. The push wedged him tight. He tried to push again. He didn’t move. Angry, he pushed harder. Still he didn’t move. Panic ignited in him. He was stuck. Rock was pressing his chest and back together, and he could hardly get a breath. He envisioned the mountain of rock that was pressing on his back, unimaginable weight towering above him. Fearful, he wiggled and squirmed, trying to back up, but couldn’t. He tried to grasp something with his hands to get leverage to push back against. It didn’t help. He was stuck. Panting, he couldn’t get enough breath. He felt as if he were suffocating, his lungs burning for air, as if he were drowning, unable to breathe.

Tears filled his eyes, and fear gripped his throat. His toes scraped at the rock, trying to move him one way or the other. He didn’t budge. The way his arms were pinned ahead of him reminded him of the way Denna had kept him in the shackles. Helpless. Not being able to move his arms made it worse. Cold sweat covered his face. He started gasping in panic, feeling as if the rock were moving, pressing harder. Hopeless, he wanted someone to help him. There was no one who could.

With a grunt of desperate effort, he moved ahead a few inches. That only made it worse, tighter. He heard himself crying in hysteria. Gasping for air. Felt the rock crushing him.

Master Rahl guide us. Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours.

He chanted the devotion over and over, focusing his mind on it, until his breathing slowed, until he was calm once more. He was still stuck, but at least his mind was working again.

Something touched his leg. His eyes went wide.

It was a tentative, timid touch. Richard kicked his leg. At least he kicked it as best he could in the confines of the hole. It was more of a jerk. The touch left.