“Now eat,” suggested Kedryn.

  Brannoc nodded, accepting the food handed him, his eyes somber as he chewed. Kedryn sought to cheer him but he remained sunk in misery, slumping in his place as the dory continued its gentle passage down the river, all three eventually falling into silence as the day moved steadily toward twilight.

  When the sun touched the uppermost branches of the forest Brannoc presented his wrists to Tepshen and the kyo bound him securely. Kedryn spread the folded tapestry on the scuppers and the half-breed curled on the makeshift blanket.

  “Should I break free,” he said to Tepshen.

  “Aye,” said the kyo, and Brannoc nodded, clenching his teeth as he waited for night to fall.

  The first cries of the therianthropes elicted an answering wail, and Kedryn found himself unable to quell the rush of horror as he saw Brannoc transformed again. Tepshen sat poised in the prow, hand on dirk as the half-breed began to struggle against his bonds, his spine arching as he fought to burst them, his head craning back, lips stretched over snarling fangs. Kedryn wondered if the change was more marked this night, for it seemed that Brannoc’s features altered more drastically, the prognathous extension of his jaw more closely resembling that of a hound or a wolf, thicker, darker hair sprouting on his arms and chest. He looked away after a while, no longer able to bear the pain of seeing so stalwart a comrade brought so low, and as he turned his head he saw again the red glow outlined against the sky.

  It was stronger now, fiercer, filling all the forward horizon with a crimson light that seemed to flicker along its lower margins, as if fueled by inconceivable fires. He pointed, raising his voice to shout over the howling of the changelings and Brannoc’s furious growling.

  “Do you see it? Those must surely be Taziel’s mountains of fire.”

  Tepshen turned, peering briefly ahead before swinging back to fix apprehensive eyes on the wriggling half-breed.

  “Aye.” Like Kedryn, he shouted. “So do the fire mountains of my homeland look, though less fierce.”

  “How long, think you, before we reach them?” Kedryn yelled.

  Tepshen shrugged. “Be they great as they seem, no more than a day or two.”

  Kedryn nodded, looking once more to Brannoc, wondering if he must be bound each night of the journey, a further, uglier, doubt instilling itself in his mind. Should the half-breed continue this metamorphosis would he be opened to Ashar’s fell influence? Might it be that the closer they came to the god, the more danger the transformed half-breed would offer? Might Brannoc become a hazard by day as well as night? If that should prove to be the case . . . His mind sheered from the thought, for it had only one logical conclusion: Tepshen must make good his promise.

  He fastened a hand about the talisman, voicing a silent prayer that the Lady grant his comrade salvation, that she lift the curse imposed by the succuba’s venom and return Brannoc to his normal state.

  He prayed fervently, aware as he did so that an overwhelming purpose filled him. He had felt anger before, a great rage that Ashar should meddle so foully in the affairs of men, a fury that the god should steal his beloved Wynett; that and a loathing, a contempt, for the malign deity. Now those emotions became something more and he felt a pure wrath flood the very fibers of his soul, a massive outrage that Ashar should taint his comrade. It filled him, burning bright and fierce as the fires blazing along the horizon, reverberating within him so that Brannoc’s cries, the yammering of the changelings, all became drowned out and he stared to where the fires burned, his lips moving as he spoke aloud a vow that was equally a part of his prayer:

  “I will slay him! On my life I will destroy him.”

  The threnody of the changelings seemed to increase in volume at his words, and Brannoc’s struggles grew fiercer. Tepshen stirred in the prow, leaning toward the half-breed, who strained up at his approach, fangs snapping viciously. The kyo drew back, his face expressionless, and Kedryn thrust the talisman toward Brannoc, seeing the bound man recoil from the blue light, moaning at first, but then becoming still. It seemed the stone brought him some measure of peace, for his struggles decreased and he ceased his snarling, mouthing a low whimper and then falling silent.

  “Sleep if you can,” urged Tepshen.

  Kedryn nodded and closed his eyes.

  He was not sure if he slept and dreamed, or if the talisman—or some other agency—set images in his mind, but he saw Wynett cowering in a place of darkness, threatened by a shadowy creature whose form he could not discern, but whose very presence radiated evil. He woke to the prodding of Tepshen’s sheathed sword, the kyo’s face frowning in the light of a new sun.

  “You cried out,” the easterner said.

  Kedryn nodded, the aftermath of the images still vivid in his mind, his mouth dry with fear. “I saw Wynett,” he said slowly. “She is in mortal peril.”

  “She has the talisman,” Tepshen responded.

  Kedryn touched his own half of the stone and felt his fear magnified. There was a difference that he could not define. The jewel still vibrated beneath his fingers but its pulsation was somehow changed and he looked to his comrade with frightened eyes.

  “We do all we can,” said Tepshen, recognizing panic in Kedryn’s gaze. “Soon we shall reach Taziel’s smithy. Look yonder. ”

  He gestured over his shoulder and Kedryn looked to the horizon, seeing the day’s new sky not blue, but pink, glowing with a rubescence other than the blush of dawn. Shadow hung beneath the rubrication as if stone bulked there, and Kedryn fought the panic, his grip hard about the talisman.

  “Aye,” he said, his voice ringing hollow. “Soon.”

  “Mayhap Ashar sends phantoms to confuse us,” Tepshen suggested.

  “Mayhap.”

  There was scant enthusiasm in the response and the kyo pointed to Brannoc, seeking to cheer Kedryn.

  “At least our half-breed friend is whole again.”

  Kedryn nodded, moving to release Brannoc from his bonds. The former wolf”s-head grunted, raising a face become gaunt. As if to confirm he was man once more he leaned over the dory’s side, splashing water on his face, his enthusiasm threatening to spill them all.

  “I am hungry,” he muttered, reluctant to meet their eyes.

  They ate and composed themselves for another day of travel that passed without incident, fading into a twilight that again saw Brannoc bound, thrashing in the scuppers until Kedryn held the talisman close once more. The light on the horizon was brighter now, a fierce crimson that remained visible when the sun rose, no longer pink in day’s light but a fiery red that colored the sky, merging reluctantly with the blue. The woodlands thinned, the therianthropes became fewer, and the meadows along the banks grew sere. The air was warmer and acrid with the mounting scent of ash, and the ensuing dawn saw an end to the pastoral landscape.

  The dory rocked precariously down a mild cascade as the current increased its pace, running between banks of naked stone that gave way not to further timberland, but to an ashen terrain reminiscent of the Desolate Plain. The ground was barren, cinereous with the emanations of the peaks that were now clearly visible, no longer a dark line on the farther limits of sight, but a massive, jagged range that thrust angry pinnacles toward a no less angry sky. No blue showed there, only the furious red that shimmered, incandescent above the hills. Warmth became heat, the air heavy with ash that drifted down like rain, layering the banks, floating ugly on the water. The air was tainted with the reek of sulfur and soon they heard a sonorous booming. As the dory brought them closer they saw that the sound was accompanied by great gusts of flame that spouted heavenward, spewing fire and ash like dragon’s breath. Brannoc rose from his depression to stare at the spectacle and Kedryn began to fear for their vessel, for as night approached sparks became visible, fluttering down to scorch hair and exposed skin.

  Brannoc’s transformation was less vigorous that night, as if the absence of the changelings lessened his mutation, and he lay quiescent in the scuppers, whimpering like a dog terrified by a storm.

  It was, indeed, a frightening night. Fire burned along the sky, a great curtain of red hanging above them, bright sparks cascading down, the river loud with the splashing of hilling stone that sizzled as it struck the water when such minor sounds could be heard through the thunder of the mountains. Proximity increased the terrifying grandeur of the peaks, the rock dark under their overlay of flame, massive jets of fire roaring upward to set the night ablaze. Several times Kedryn and Tepshen moved to stamp out small fires started by the hellish rain, or splashed water over clothing that scorched and threatened to burn, ignoring Brannoc’s awful moans as the liquid touched him, and they were fatigued as the darkness brightened into day.

  There was little change from night, for the sky merely became a more candescent crimson, the falling ash thicker, the heat fiercer, the river itself steaming now, the air they breathed noxious. The current grew stronger and the dory was buffeted as it rode the flow, all three clutching the gunwales as the little craft was carried relentlessly deeper into the forbidding foothills. Around noon they saw a narrow isthmus of ashy rock across their path, the stream splashing furiously against the barrier stone, a beach of fire-bleached pebbles to the side. The dory drove fast toward the promontory, spinning wild as eddies took it, striking rock that pushed them landward. Then the force of the water flung the stern onto the strand.

  Kedryn threw Drul’s glaive onto die pebbles and sprang after it, snatching at the dory as it threatened to depart on the maelstrom. Tepshen caught up what little food they had left and leapt to join him, followed dose by Brannoc. Kedryn let go his hold and watched the dory carried away, turning, once, twice, three times, before the flood smashed it against the isthmus and the planks cracked, the craft sinking as it was born away. Brannoc held out the cords that nightly bound him, a sad smile on his haunted features as he said, “Do not forget these. You will need them again.”

  Kedryn nodded, taking the cords and tucking them under his belt. He looked about, feeling sweat run free down his face, his shirt plastered to his back. The heat was intense and the stench of sulfur stronger, but it seemed they were sufficiently close to the fire-breathing mountains for the rain of heated stone to be spewed farther out, saving them at least one danger. The beach spread back along the line of the isthmus, a wide triangle that sloped upward to its apex, a path showing there. For want of any other likely direction they took it.

  The pebbles gave way to polished stone, black and shiny as glass, an avenue that rose between saw-edged rocks, winding up toward the ominous hills. It was smooth beneath their boots but still the going was difficult for the terrible heat seared their lungs, the acid stench of sulfur watering their eyes. They fastened cloths over mouths and nostrils, forcing legs made rubbery by the stinking atmosphere to plod the trail. Speaking was impossible for all their efforts were concentrated on the business of climbing through the miasmic fog of falling ash that now surrounded them. It grew denser as they ascended and they walked close together, fearful of becoming separated and of the dangers that might lurk with the brume.

  How long they climbed Kedryn could not tell, for his world was become gray, the only light the burning sky above, his eyes so stung by the noisome emissions he could see no farther than a few paces ahead, could barely discern Tepshen and Brannoc to either side. He felt his lungs must bum within him, each breath a painful victory, each step an effort that cost him dear. To pass a night in this hellish inferno was a thought both terrifying and inconceivable, for he imagined the dawn, if dawn rose here, must see them suffocated beneath the pall of ash, roasted by the very ground he could feel burning through the sturdy soles of his boots. He clutched the talisman, seeking its reassurance, willing it to grant him strength, but the touch disturbed him now, for he felt again that strange difference in the stone’s crystalline life and fear for Wynett joined the physical discomforts of the climb.

  Then he grunted, raising a hand to wipe at his tear-filled eyes, staring into the gray and fiery fog. Tepshen and Brannoc looked to him as he halted and pointed, unable to speak, indicating the wall of stone that rose before them.

  It was a curtain of sheer rock, dark and glossy as the trail, as if stone had melted and run, sleek and devoid of handholds, the glassy black trail ending at its foot. He felt his hope dissolve then, for there was no way around the barrier nor any way over it, and with the dory sunk they had no means of escape from this hellish place. He mouthed a curse through the cloth masking his face and paced a little closer, his hands raised in fists as if he would beat the stone. Then the curse became a hoarse cry of optimism as red light blazed within the darkness of the cliff face and he realized that a cave opened there.

  He put his mouth close to Tepshen’s ear, shouting over the relentless roaring of the fires above, “Can this be Taziel’s cave?”

  The kyo nodded, unsheathing his sword as he moved into the looming opening. Kedryn followed him, Drul’s great blade at the ready, Brannoc at his side with saber drawn.

  Flame flashed again and a searing wind rushed through the tunnel, bringing the beat of metal on metal. They moved toward it, the cave affording protection from the endless fell of ash if not from the heat, which became stronger as they paced cautiously down a corridor of gleaming ebon stone.

  The corridor ended and they stood within a great cavern, lit by the flames that gouted from a molten pool at the center. An anvil stood there and beside it a malformed, trollish creature who beat a massive hammer against the block. He turned, sensing their presence, revealing a face that seemed ill-molded from unready clay. His pate was naked, the pink of raw flesh, domed huge, with thrusting brows that hung above tiny red eyes sunk deep in hollow pits, as if pushed there by careless thumbs. His nose was no more than an indication, a slight swelling marked by the vertical slits that flared wide open as though he savored their scent. The mouth was lipless, a wide, flat gash that parted in ghastly approximation of a smile to display twin rows of blackened, pointed teeth. He had no neck, his head jutting forward between enormous shoulders, his arms and chest massive and corded with muscle, the torso incongruous on a narrow waist, the legs bowed and spindly, ending in overlarge feet, the toes clawed, as were the hands that now set down his hammer.

  “Human folk,” he declared, the words a slobber that sent spittle dripping over his receded chin. “Living folk come to feed Taziel.”

  Kedryn tugged the mask clear and answered the creature: “Come to ask work of Taziel.”

  “Work?” The distorted head twisted against the torso, turning first to left, then right, the glittering eyes studying each in turn. “What task would human folk have Ashar’s smith perform?”

  He chuckled as he said it, spilling gobbets of saliva over his pink hide, his obscene form shaking, a long, gray tongue emerging to lick over his ragged teeth.

  “I would have you set this stone as pommel to this sword.”

  Kedryn indicated Drul’s glaive, drew the talisman from his shirt. Taziel’s laughter ended, his little eyes blinking as though in disbelief; or amazement at Kedryn’s presumption. “Drul’s blade,” he croaked. “I forged that glaive on my master’s bidding that his word be carried on its edge. How came you by it?”

  “Drul’s shade gave it me,” Kedryn answered.

  “So,” rasped Taziel. “And what price did Drul’s bones extract?”

  “A fair exchange: my sword for his.”

  Taziel nodded as best he could and said, “The stone is of the other. It is a thing of my master’s enemy. I feel its power and it makes me angry.”

  “It is Kyrie’s stone,” returned Kedryn, “and if you will set it to the sword I shall remove it from your presence.”

  “To what end?” Taziel demanded.

  “Your master has my bride,” Kedryn said, “and I would win her back.”

  “You would have me forge you a weapon with which you may destroy my master,” came the hoarse response. “How came you by the stone?”

  “It was given me,” Kedryn answered. “The Sisters of Estrevan gave me one half, my bride the other.”

  “Given?” Taziel’s tongue extended to probe a nostril. “You gave nothing in exchange?”

  Kedryn shook his head, struggling to conceal his disgust. “I accepted a duty,” he said, thinking that he saw it clear for perhaps the first time. “When I took the stone I accepted that I should defend the Kingdoms.”

  Taziel grunted, the sound expressing satisfaction: “Nothing for nothing, all has its price.”

  “What is yours?” Kedryn asked.

  The trollish creature stared at him and Kedryn felt that had his mouth been capable of such movement it would have curved in a smile, and that the smile would be ugly.

  “A life,” said Taziel.

  “No!” Kedryn had no need to consider his response.

  “Then you shall not have your sword,” croaked the smith, “and you all die here and I shall feast on your flesh.”

  “Ask some other fee,” Kedryn pleaded.

  Taziel’s head rocked from side to side. “There is no other. All has its price and that is mine. When I forged that blade for Drul to bear he gave nine times nine lives to the blood eagle. Of you I ask but one.”

  “It cannot be,” Kedryn said.

  “Wait.” Brannoc moved past him, his face haggard in the red glow of the molten pool. “Should you have your price, smith, you will grant this service?”

  Kedryn clutched at the half-breed’s arm, saying, “No!” Brannoc shook him off, his haunted eyes firm on Taziel’s hideous features. Taziel said, “I will.”

  Brannoc said, “And if it is done, how may he come to Ashar?”

  “Easily,” said Taziel. “Let stone be fixed to sword and the way will open there.”

  He pointed to the for side of the cavern, where a dark mouth showed.

  "That leads to Ashar’s lair?” asked Brannoc. “He may reach your master through that passage?”

  Taziel’s head bobbed in confirmation.

  “Unharmed? Without hindrance or snare?”

  “You ask much,” the smith complained, “but it is long since I tasted sweet human flesh so I will answer you: aye; unharmed to Ashar he will go. But,” he chuckled horribly, “he shall not return.”