Wild happy chirps announced the return of the fire-lizards. They swooped to Larad’s shoulders and made much of rubbing their cold bodies against his face. He stroked their delicate heads before finding tidbits for them in his pocket.

“Now sir,” K’van said. “While you and Lord Asgenar discuss strategy, I’ll make copies of these to take back to Benden for duplication.”

Asgenar and Larad exchanged glances and then began to formulate their plans.

The dragonriders burst into the cold mountain air just at dawn, while the frozen sentry was nodding off to sleep. Alerted to his presence by a bronze fire-lizard, they were able to sneak up on him, and one deft blow turned sleep to unconsciousness. Men slid off dragon backs, slipping and sliding into position, while F’lar, T’gellan, F’nor, Asgenar, and Larad checked to be sure all were ready. The three wings of dragons then lifted with amazing quiet to nearby ridges, holding themselves ready to spot any escapees.

“And I thought between was cold,” Asgenar muttered under his breath, flexing his gloved icy fingers and working his toes in his fleece-lined boots. He turned his face slightly so that the puffs of warm air from his fire-lizard kept his nose from freezing. A little trickle was running from one nostril, and he sniffed, then glanced to either side of him, wondering if the troopers had heard him. The lad on his right did not look old enough to be a veteran, but the burly man on his left was exactly the kind to guard one’s vulnerable side. His name was Swacky, Asgenar remembered.

Larad had insisted on being in on the frontal assault, though any of the others would have been glad to spare him. The Telgar Lord had been like that as a fosterling, too, Asgenar remembered. He had hated to be gulled, and he had been dead keen to set matters right once he had learned that he had been made a fool of.

Day had never taken so long to come, Asgenar thought, feeling the cold eat through his heavy coverings. He was beginning to shiver and tried to control it.

“Sir,” someone whispered from his left, and he saw a hide-covered bottle extended. “A sip’ll stop that. “ Asgenar gratefully accepted and gasped at the raw spirits. He had expected nothing more potent than hot klah.

“It did!” he mouthed, still feeling the heat of that sip.

“Pass it on. The lad’ll need it, too,” Swacky said, nodding to Asgenar’s right.

All in the same state, Asgenar thought and passed it. He experienced a mild shock at his first glimpse of his neighbor’s face; the boy was older than he had looked in profile, and his expression was far more grim than cold. He mouthed a thanks and sipped easily, seemingly accustomed to such rough liquor.

Not just grim, Asgenar thought, returning the bottle to Swacky. His neighbor was more intense than that: vindictive and bloodhot, despite the freezing cold. Asgenar hoped that there was experience there as well as incentive. A false move would flush their quarry, and they would have to go through the whole thing all over again. He wanted the matter settled that morning. There were other important things to attend to.

The sun was finally above the eastern peaks, its clear light painting the snow in gold dappled with shadowed blues and blacks. The plateau above and to their right glistened, sparkling as sun struck ice like beams of light bouncing off diamonds.

Suddenly the signal was given, and the men who had lain or crouched just in front of the trampled-down forecourt of the hold sprang to their feet and charged forward, wielding a ram to force the door, but the door proved to be unbarred, and the impetus of their forward motion put the men of the first troop into the main cavern before they could unsheath their swords. Larad pushed past them toward the chamber that he felt his sister would be using. But there were sleeping bodies along the corridor, and someone had wit enough to trip him, yelling at the top of his lungs while Larad sprawled untidily on the stone floor. Asgenar helped him to his feet while Swacky and his other companion plunged on down the gallery, swinging left and right at the sleepers who, awakened by the racket, rose to fight.

Even as Larad yelled at them to take the right fork, Swacky and the younger trooper turned to the left. Others surged in behind them, and Larad and Asgenar went on alone. When they reached their destination, they found the door barred and had some difficulty angling the ram for maximum effect.

When the door was finally hanging on its hinges, the room they entered was empty except for scattered pieces of clothing. Asgenar spotted the other doors, and the battering ram was brought into use again. Each successive room showed signs of frantic packing. Asgenar consulted his map of the complex and tried to relax. True, there was a series of smaller chambers off the main one, but all exits were well guarded. No one could escape.

Shouts resounded, often making the words unintelligible. A messenger found Larad and Asgenar to tell them that the main chamber was secure, all the left-hand tunnels cleared of their quarry, and prisoners taken.

“Any chance that Thella’s among them?” Asgenar asked.

“No, sir, I’ve her face right here,” the man said, holding out the sketch in his hand. “Several women but not one like her!”

“This is the best set of apartments,” Larad said in a quiet, taut voice. “These have to have been hers.”

Asgenar did not remark upon the obvious, that there had been unmistakably male accoutrements in two of the rooms. They moved forward to crouch in a narrow, low tunnel. Asgenar dropped to crawl on hands and knees and ended up, with Larad, in what appeared to be a dead end.

“Can’t be,” Larad said. “Glows! Forward some glows!”

“There was an exit to this group, I know it,” Asgenar said, frustrated.

Before illumination could be brought, they heard an ominous rumble, and felt the stone beneath their fingers and knees shake. The sound seemed to continue for a long time.

“Lord Asgenar, Lord Larad? Are you there, sirs?”

“Yes, Swacky. What was that noise?”

“Here, Jayge, take the basket—you’re more agile than I am. Sirs, it was an avalanche. We’re going to have to dig our way out.”

“Avalanche?”

Larad’s anxious expression, lit by the glow basket, matched his worried tone, but the crouching young trooper seemed to make nothing of their cramped and closed-in condition. His face reflected so much hatred and frustration that Asgenar was stunned. A man that young ought not to feel such passions, he thought.

“Yes, sir,” Jayge said. “They’d a deadfall arranged. Someone got out to release it. They’ve used that trick before. Didn’t anyone think to check?”

“You forget yourself,” Larad said icily.

“Jayge?” Asgenar slewed around and took the glowbasket from him. “You were in that ambush at Far Cry, weren’t you?”

“Yes…sir.”

“Bloodkin lost?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, the courtesy not as sullenly added. “This isn’t the dead end it looks like! See the marks there on the ground. Something’s scraped.”

Larad and Asgenar heaved and pushed, thinking of a cantilevered slab.

“Lords,” Swacky called. “You’re needed out front. We’ll keep on here.”

Larad and Asgenar crawled back out to where they could stand erect again, and Swacky gave a fuller report.

“The Benden Weyrleader’s got his dragons digging us out. We’ve accounted for all but three of the faces in those drawings, and some who weren’t, plus one guy who swears blind he’s got to talk to whoever’s in charge. And there’re troops following every alley and furrow in the place.”

Larad swore under his breath, his expression unreadable.

“Which three faces, Swacky?” Asgenar asked.

“The woman they call Thella, the empty-faced man someone said was dragonless, and one other, a real brute.”