He heard a loud commotion outside his tent and rose to his feet to quell the noise. Before he could leave the tent, his second dekegul threw back the tent flap and saluted. “Akkad-Dar, the trackers have brought in a centaur.”

Perhaps the answer to a prayer, Lanther thought. He breathed a silent word of gratitude to his goddess and strode out of the tent. He found three of his scouts surrounding a bound and angry centaur. Two more stood back with crossbows aimed at the stallion’s back. The horseman was a light bay who had the looks of an escaped slave. He was thin, haggard, dirty, and had a wound on his flank that had been broken open again in the scuffle with the guards. It bled heavily down his leg. He glared ferociously at the Akkad-Dar, but Lanther was pleased to see a tremble in the centaur’s hands and a nervous step in his hooves.

“Akkad-Dar, we found this one watching the camp,” one of the scouts reported. “He will not speak to us.”

Lanther crossed his arms and studied the centaur. His arms had been tied and his legs hobbled, but he was not gagged. “Were you with the traitor, Linsha Majere?” he asked. “Where are they taking the eggs?”

The centaur did not answer.

“We have been following a trail out of the Missing City that includes a wagon and a number of horses and centaurs. This group split off near the city, and the larger group went west.” Lanther’s voice turned sharper and came out hard and demanding. “Now they have turned northwest and are going… where?”

The centaur panted in fear. His eyes shifted left and right, and still he said nothing.

“All right,” Lanther said. He flexed his fingers and nodded to the guards. They swarmed over the helpless centaur and slammed him to the ground. Stunned and gasping, the centaur stared up at the Akkad-Dar in growing terror. Lanther stepped to the centaur’s front and clamped his hand over the horseman’s face.

All was quiet for a short time until the silence was shattered by the centaur’s agonized scream. The centaur twitched and writhed under Lanther’s hand. His legs jerked in violent spasms. Patches of sweat darkened his bay hide. He screamed again, then abruptly he fell silent. His body trembled then subsided to stillness. His breathing stopped.

Lanther stepped back, satisfied. He glared distastefully at the corpse and indicated that the guards should haul it away.

The dekegul beside him bowed expectantly. “My lord?”

Lanther stared into the darkness of the Plains night. “The eggs are not in the wagon. The dragon took them. The wagon is a lure.” He thought for a few more minutes while his officer and the remaining guards waited in silence. “We will go after the eggs and make the rabble come to us.” He turned on his heel and returned to his tent.

Flashfire. The name played in his mind. He had seen that somewhere on one of his maps. His hands flew over the stiff parchments and old hides. It was there, somewhere. And then he had it-an old peak, a dormant volcano. Of course! He would take his army there and make the Plains rabble come to him. The dragon would be a fearsome defender, of course, but Lanther had several weapons to deal with him. Linsha would come, too, and when the battle was over and the eggs were in his possession again, he would have his wedding night and his revenge. She would live just long enough to bear his son, the child of prophecy, the Amarrel.

And… perhaps he would let her see him take possession of the hatchlings so she would know that she had failed completely. Yes, that would be the best.

One more day to go. In one more day of hard travel, if the wagon did not break a wheel, or a horse did not go lame, or the food held out. If everyone could keep going for just one more day…

Linsha looked at her companions and knew they could not go much farther. They had endured weeks of forced labor, starvation, and miserable conditions only to be freed unexpectedly and encouraged to trek across the open plains in wet, cold weather with inadequate food and not even a fire at night to dry their clothes. The two wounded men were holding on, but just barely, and the rest of the troop was exhausted and worn and hungry. The only thing that kept them going was the hope that tomorrow would bring them to the butte and the camp of Falaius’s army. Then, hopefully, they would have a day or two to rest before the Tarmaks arrived.

Linsha glanced back at Callista, who gave her a wan smile. The courtesan was as exhausted as everyone else, for she spent most of her time caring for the wounded men-and lately, for Sir Hugh. The young knight’s cold had turned nasty and left him with a racking cough and a fever. He sat with Linsha sometimes while she drove the wagon, but much of the time he sat in the back with Callista and coughed. Linsha hoped Danian had traveled with Wanderer’s tribe and would be with the army. The healer would certainly have some medicines for such a bad cough.

A shout drew her attention to a faint sound coming behind them. She twisted in the seat and realized the sound was hoofbeats. Someone was coming up fast on the trail behind. The men and centaurs wheeled around and drew weapons while Linsha reined her team to a halt. Sir Hugh climbed up beside her, and they waited in tense expectation.

A form appeared on the far hill and came galloping toward them, waving and shouting. The centaurs relaxed.

“It is Menneferen!” one of the horsemen called to Linsha.

The roan centaur skidded to a halt by the wagon. His coat was muddy and damp, and his sides were heaving for air. “The Tarmaks,” he gasped between breaths. “Didn’t take the bait. They’re not… following the wagon.”

Linsha spat a curse and slammed her fist on the wagon seat. “Where are they?” she cried.

Menneferen took several more deep breaths and replied, “Crucible sent me to tell you. The Tarmaks are marching toward the river in the direction of the volcano.”

Linsha threw up her hands, feeling angry and frustrated. “How did they find out?”

“Crucible thinks they may have captured someone and learned the truth that way.”

The other centaurs exchanged glances. There was only one other scout away from the troop that knew where they were going, and they had not seen him in two and a half days.

“So Crucible knows,” Sir Hugh said. “Where is he?”

“He is going to Falaius to warn him. They must move the army south.”

A wordless groan drifted around the listeners. Their hope of finding rest and food the next day dwindled to nothing.

“And what are we to do?” Linsha demanded. She knew what she wanted to do, but she had volunteered to stay with this band, and she would not abandon them now.

“Crucible said, if you can make it, go to the volcano and wait for him. It is about thirty-five miles from here.”

Thirty-five miles. At the rate they were going, it would take two days-maybe a day and a half if they really pushed.

“Is this volcano warm and dry?” Sir Hugh asked, with the barest twinkle in his eyes.

“Crucible made the nest inside,” Linsha replied for everyone to hear. “It is warm as baked bread and as dry as the desert.”

There was a subtle shift in posture and expression among the whole group. The members of the little company looked at one another and shrugged. Thirty-five miles was nothing when they had already come so far. They could make that final push, especially if there was a warm, dry cave at the other end.

Since there was no longer a need for subterfuge, they shoved the rocks out of the wagon and turned southwest. Menneferen took the lead to find the best path for the wagon. Fortunately, the ground in this area was mostly grassland on gently rolling hills. The way was not difficult, just long and tedious.

Yet they had to hurry. They had to find the volcano before the Tarmaks reached it. If need be, Linsha decided, she and Crucible would move the eggs again to keep them out of Lanther’s grasp. They just had to get there first.