After a moment, Mari realized she could see more than just the half-elf’s uncanny eyes. Here and there, spurs of rock defined the mouth of a horizontal passageway. A faint, crimson illumination hung on air that was uncomfortably warm and acrid with the stench of sulfur.
“This way,” K’shar said, moving into the tunnel.
Mari followed on his heels. The passage was large enough for her to stand upright, but K’shar was forced to stoop. The walls of the tunnel were formed of irregular yet strangely smooth black stone. After they had walked for a few minutes, the passage forked.
K’shar squinted his sensitive eyes. “The glow is stronger in the left-hand tunnel.”
Mari peered that way. “It seems to lead down a bit, too. That could be a good sign.”
K’shar gave her a curious look. “How do you know that, Renegade?”
She wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow with the back of a hand. “We all have our talents. You have sensitive eyes, and I happen to have an excellent sense of direction. By the way, K’shar—you’re helping me, so that makes you a renegade Harper yourself. Don’t you think you should quit calling me Renegade and start calling me Mari?”
K’shar grinned but said nothing. They plunged into the left-hand tunnel. After that, the path forked numerous times, and once they came to a natural rock chamber into which a half-dozen passages opened. At each diverging of the ways, K’shar used his sensitive drow eyes to determine in which direction the ruddy light was strongest. In turn, Mari made certain they were not backtracking or moving in circles in the underground labyrinth. Neither questioned the judgment of the other.
As they went, the crimson illumination grew brighter and the stifling heat fiercer. They shed their cloaks. Soon after, Mari tossed aside her green velvet jacket; her thin white shirt clung to her body, soaked with sweat. K’shar stripped down to his black leather breeches. Ruddy light gleamed off his sinewy arms and chest. Each breath seared Mari’s lungs. She wondered if they could survive much deeper.
Abruptly, they rounded a corner and found themselves staring into a gigantic cavern that was a nightmarish fantasy of dark stalactites and stalagmites, all half-melted into grotesque shapes eerily resembling tortured souls. Crossing the center of the cavern floor, like a huge, fiery serpent, was a stream of molten rock. Wisps of yellow smoke rose hissing from the river of lava.
Mari and K’shar stood on the jagged edge of the passageway. From here it was a sheer drop of thirty feet to the hard floor of the cavern.
“I don’t suppose you have another rope with you,” Mari choked out.
“I fear not, Mari. But perhaps there is another way to—”
The half-elf’s words became a cry of alarm. Weakened by countless years of exposure to the heat, the edge of the tunnel crumbled under their feet. Mari screamed as she and K’shar pitched forward. Desperately, she flailed for balance. K’shar arched his back, stretching his legs out and pushing against the crumbling precipice. This action cast him even farther from the edge of the tunnel, out into midair, yet it also had the effect of throwing Mari away from him, backward into the tunnel.
She fell hard inside the passageway, air rushing painfully from her chest. Gasping and spitting, she pulled herself to her hands and knees and crawled to the precipice. Carefully, she peered over the edge, dreading what she might see.
“Are you well … Mari?”
K’shar’s voice rose thinly from below. Mari blinked against the fierce glow of the lava. Then she saw him directly below her. She choked back a cry of despair. The half-elf looked like a broken doll dashed against a rock by an angry child. One leg was bent beneath him at a hideous angle, and his right arm dangled limply from his shoulder. Blood smeared his face. She thought she could see exposed bone on his cheek and brow.
“I’m … I’m fine, K’shar,” she managed to call out.
“I am glad.” His words bubbled wetly in his throat. The Hunter turned his gaze away from her. With his one good arm, he began pulling himself across the rough floor of the cavern toward the wall, leaving a wide smear of dark blood behind him. He vanished from sight beneath a rock overhang.
“K’shar!” Mari called out in anguish.
For a moment there was no answer. Then she heard his voice, weak but oddly triumphant. “I have found something, Mari!”
“What is it?”
“There is a door set into the wall. It is fashioned of some sort of metal, but like none I’ve ever seen. There is a small trickle of water seeping from beneath the door. And I can hear a rushing sound on the other side. There must be an underground river behind it.” There was a long pause. “I think I can open the door, Mari. There is a lever.”
It was exactly what they had been searching for, a way to bring a source of water in contact with the lava. Yet if K’shar opened the portal while he was down there …
“K’shar,” she called out in a quavering voice. “Are you sure?”
“I want to do this, Mari.”
She swallowed hard, then shouted as loudly as her parched throat allowed. “I am glad we could be friends, K’shar.”
The half-elf’s reply echoed faintly back to her. “As am I, Mari. Now please go. I will count to one thousand, then pull the lever. You must be out of the tunnel before then.”
There was a pause, and she heard his voice echoing up from the furnace of the cavern. “One … two … three …”
Mari climbed to her feet. “Farewell, Hunter,” she whispered. Then she turned and broke into a run, careening down the tunnel. As she went, she began to count desperately under her breath.
“… four … five … six …”
Morhion spread his arms as the shadowsteeds dove toward him, claws extended. The two shadevari, each sitting astride one of the winged beasts, opened their fanged maws in screams of depthless hunger. Dissonant words of magic flew from Morhion’s tongue. The shadowsteeds were so close he could smell their fetid breath. With a final, shouted word, he brought his hands together, releasing the spell.
A cloud of thick smoke expanded rapidly outward. Morhion dove to the ground and rolled. There was a deafening whir of wings and a terrible rending sound as sharp talons dug into bare stone inches from his head. The shadevari shrieked in rage; the sound of wings receded. The mage climbed to his feet. Already the magical smoke screen that had hidden him was dissipating.
Cold dread trickled down Morhion’s throat. In the minutes since he had last looked, the shadowking had grown. Its midnight wings had spread wider, and it had raised itself slightly off the platform, leaning on a long, muscular arm that looked as if it had been carved from polished onyx. He could not see the shadowking’s visage, but curving obsidian horns sprang from its brow. In time with the creature’s throbbing wings, the Shadowstar pulsated against the creature’s torso, glowing brightly one moment, fading to dark the next. Soon the shadowking would be whole.
The last tatters of magical smoke evaporated. High above, the shadowsteeds cried out as they caught sight of their enemy again. They folded their wings and dove once more. Morhion had no more offensive spells left. He could only watch.
Suddenly a dark form appeared before him. Two burning eyes bore into his chest. “The shadevari will slay you, mage,” Serafi hissed. “Why do you not do something?”
“I have no magic that will stop them.”
“What of the witch’s ring?”
The mage shook his head ruefully. “Would that I understood its magic. It might indeed help me. But I do not.” What did it matter now? He had done what he had intended; he had bought Mari and K’shar time enough to reach the blocked fissure. “I will die now.”
“You are wrong, mage!” Serafi shrieked. “I will not let you!” He stretched a translucent gauntlet toward Morhion’s chest. “I need some of your life force. Give it to me!”