The hot rim of the sun had lifted above the peaks and now slanted its light on the face of the mountain. Looking up the slope, Linsha saw no movement or sign of any person among the rocks. However, the angle of sun revealed to her a large crevice partially concealed by a protruding ridge of stone halfway up the mountain. Perhaps that was the lair of the infamous red dragon, Firestorm. Higher still, Linsha could see glimpses of the lava dome through the shapeless masses of steam and smoke that roiled out of its heart. Like a gigantic boil, it had swollen to the size of a coiled dragon and was beginning to burst apart from the internal pressure of the rising lava.
At that moment Linsha caught a glimpse of something red moving near the base of the peak. It was impossible to see who it was, but the sight was enough for Linsha. Loosening her sword in its sheath, she ran down the inclined wall through the forest of stakes. Her feet carried her nimbly down into the trenches, past empty guard posts and fortified bulwarks. The slender path continued up and over the trenches, then into the wide, barren strip of land before the moat. Linsha hurried faster over the level ground toward the bridge over the moat.
The bridge was little more than a stone footpath that arched over the lava. It had no handrail, no walls, and was barely wide enough for one person. Linsha shivered when she saw how narrow it really was, but others had crossed it, and so must she.
She was almost to the bridge when another patch of red caught her notice. This one lay huddled to the side, at the foot of the span, and did not move. Her heart pounding, Linsha rushed forward and found the body of one of Lord Bight’s guards. He lay on his side, his back to the siege works, his face gray with death. Muttering an oath, she sprang onto the bridge.
Beneath her, the lava moved sluggishly. Semi-hard plates of superheated rock floated on a current of brightly glowing crimson lava. The heat was ferocious, and the air tasted bitterly metallic on Linsha’s tongue. She gasped for breath and felt her throat ache for water. She walked purposefully up the arch, keeping her eyes firmly on the stone at her feet, and started down the other side.
“That’s far enough, Lynn.”
Every hope, every imagined excuse withered and died at the sound of that voice. Feeling sick, she looked up and saw Ian Durne standing at the foot of the bridge. He grasped Shanron by the neck and held a knife to her throat. The guardswoman’s face was furious, but she stayed frozen in place.
“Oh, Ian, why did it have to be you?” Linsha cried. The only satisfaction she found was the genuine look of regret that crossed his handsome face.
“I tried to keep you out of it, Lynn. I don’t want to kill you. Or her,” he said, pushing Shanron closer to the edge of the moat. “Just back away. Return to the tower and I will leave her here, alive.”
Shanron dug in her heels and yelled, “No, Lynn! He means to kill the lord governor.”
Linsha looked at them both-her friend, her lover. A sense of betrayal rose in her like gall. “You know I can’t do that,” she said loudly.
“I know. Ironically, that’s why I fell in love with you,” he replied, his voice tinged with sadness. “Tell me, before we end this, who are you?”
Linsha slowly drew her sword and rested it point down on the stone. Sweat poured from her face and stung her eyes; her lungs ached. She felt dizzy and sick, but she stood firmly on the bridge and replied, “I am Rose Knight Linsha Majere.”
“Majere!” He gasped and gave a sharp laugh. “What a twist, to fall in love with one of the Majere clan. By Takhisis, Lynn, you are a marvel. I only wish we could have met under different circumstances.”
“You don’t have to do this either, Ian. Just let Shanron go.
You can leave, go back to the Dark Knights at the East Pass.”
“You know I can’t do that,” he said, copying her words. “We’re too alike, Lynn. We love our orders more than each other.” The last word was barely past his lips when, in one violent move, he cut Shanron’s throat and pushed her into the lava river. The guardswoman’s body struck the lava, burst into flame, and sank beneath the scarlet surface.
Linsha started forward in horror. “No!” she screamed at him. “You didn’t have to do that!”
He drew his own sword and stepped onto the bridge. “Now we’re alone again, Lynn. Just you and me. Come kiss me, Green Eyes.”
Just then, in a blur of motion, another creature joined the confrontation. A cream and russet bird dropped with the speed of a hawk out of the sun and clamped her dagger-sharp talons into the right side of Ian’s face. He bellowed in surprise and pain and fell back off the bridge.
“Run, Linsha!” Varia screeched.
The lady Knight needed no urging. Anger and revenge could wait; she still had her duty to do. She bolted off the bridge, away from the killing heat and lava. She dashed past Ian’s struggling form and up the trail toward the volcanic peak. Lord Bight was still up there, working his magic, expecting her to come. She had to put herself between him and the Dark Knight.
“Come on, Varia,” she yelled back.
The owl winged past her, chuckling like a madwoman, blood staining her talons. “He follows, but slowly.”
Linsha nodded grimly and pushed herself on. The trail crawled up the mountain through fields of volcanic rock and broken boulders, apparently heading toward the crater at the peak. The daylight dimmed around her as the boiling smoke covered the sun. The thundering grumble of the mountain shook the ground beneath her feet.
Looking up, Linsha realized the trail led not to the peak but to the large crevice she had noticed earlier. There was still no sign of Lord Bight.
“Lynn,” came a cry from below.
She hesitated and glanced back. On the trail behind, Commander Durne came after her, as inexorable as the volcano. Blood stained the right side of his face, and his visage was dark with fury.
Linsha looked quickly around. She wanted to choose her place to make a stand where the advantages would be in her favor. She had neither helmet, mail, nor shield, only her sword and her athletic ability to keep her alive. This was not a good place, for it was steep and slippery, with beds of gravel and scree. She hurried higher, but nothing offered itself to suit her purposes.
Finally the trail reached the crevice and widened out into a broad, level ledge almost like a porch. She ran across the ledge and entered a huge cave. Far back, at the very edge of the cavern, she saw a bright yellow glow flicker and gleam against the black rock. A figure stood silhouetted there, dressed in long robes, his arms held high over his head while he chanted his spells to the erupting power of the mountain.
“Lord Bight!” she shouted, but there was no answer. She thought she saw him move, but she couldn’t be sure, and there was no time to find out.
Commander Durne caught up with her at last. Panting, he charged up the path and onto the ledge.
Linsha whirled to face him, her sword raised and ready. She slid a dagger out of its sheath and tried to will her muscles to relax.
“Oh, my beautiful Lynn, why can’t you just stand aside? What does that man mean to you?” He advanced toward her, his own blade poised.
The lady Knight refused to answer. She could only stare at his face. Varia’s talons had scored across his cheek and forehead and had torn his eyelid. That side of his visage was a mask of blood, and she doubted he could see through the gore that covered his right eye. She drew a long, quavering breath. “Oh, Ian,” she sighed, and she walked to meet him.
Their swords clashed, steel on steel, in the first tentative test of each other’s skill. At first glance, it looked to be an uneven contest. Durne was a head taller than Linsha, broader, older, with height, reach, and weight all on his side. But he was blind in one eye, and she had the speed and agility to hold her own.