“He had a few guards, but he sent most of his company to help man the siege works in case the Dark Knights try to attack from the passes.”
“Only a few,” Linsha repeated worriedly. “Was Commander Durne with him?”
The sentries traded questioning looks. “He came by here, but we don’t know where he is now,” a sergeant answered.
The hope that Ian was not responsible for leaving her bound and gagged in the apartment diminished. If the sentries saw him here, he was certainly still alive and moving under his own free will. She swallowed hard against a sudden hard lump in her throat. She was about to urge Windcatcher forward when she thought of one more question. “Did the woman guard, Shanron, accompany Lord Bight?”
“No,” the sergeant answered again. “She arrived later and followed him toward the mountain. In a great rush, she was.”
Linsha’s call of thanks flew behind her as she pushed the bay mare into a canter again. They followed the edge of the camp toward the northeast observation tower and the great earthen ramparts of the siege works. Linsha didn’t see Varia, but she knew the secretive owl was close by and would fly to her aid if the need arose.
The horse flew over the paths, past rows of tents and the crowded infirmary, past the open practice fields and the empty horse corrals, Linsha clinging to her hare hack like a burr. A few guards called out to her, hut Linsha ignored them and concentrated on finding the quickest path to the mountain.
They came at last to the tower, and Linsha saw several Governor’s Guards still manning it in spite of the grit, ash, and smoke that drifted down on the wind. The men leaned on the crenellated wall and gazed toward the burning mountain.
The possibility occurred to Linsha that if one Dark Knight could hide as a Governor’s Guard, so could others. What if these were henchmen of the Skull Knight, positioned there to protect his rear? Without a word, she sped by the tower and, ignoring the guards’ shouts, guided Windcatcher over the rim of the wall.
Thirty feet down plunged the mare, her haunches tucked under her, her forelegs driving into the dry, grassy incline. At the bottom, she lunged forward across the open moat. The next fortified wall stood about a hundred feet away, rising like a huge brown ridge before the horse and rider. A set of stone steps had been set in the wall for the aid of the defenders, and Windcatcher clattered up them two at a time.
At the top of the second wall, the mare had to stop, for there was no apparent road for a horse. The defenses had been arranged to thwart not only siege engines and ground forces but mounted cavalry as well. Rows of sharpened spikes had been planted on the far side of this wall like a tilted forest of spears. Only a narrow footpath wound down between the spears toward the heavily fortified trenches, the moat of lava, and the volcano.
Reluctantly Linsha slid off and left her mare on the berm. She paused for a minute or two to study the lay of the land. Every moment she delayed could risk Lord Bight’s life, yet she couldn’t rush out there alone and unprepared. She could get lost on the wrong path or stumble into an ambush. As far as she could see, this section of the fortifications was deserted because of the risk of pyroclastic flow from the collapsing dome. Beyond the line of trenches lay a wide strip of no-man’s-land and the sullen, reddish yellow flow of the lava in the wide moat. A slender stone bridge arched over the slowly moving river of molten rock to the stony ground beyond.
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.”