The tremor lasted nearly a full minute, but it seemed an eternity At last, however, the swaying grew less violent, the planks’ creaking less strained. The companions relaxed, sucking in deep breaths of scalding, smoky air and leaning weakly against the hand ropes.
With a loud snap, the rope on their right gave way.
All three somehow managed to keep from falling. Kronn stumbled, and Riverwind dropped to his knees; one of the boards beneath him snapped in half, and his left leg dropped through the opening.
Brightdawn, however, remembered the lesson Catt had taught her aboard Brinestrider. She found her sea legs immediately, then turned around. “Father!” she shouted as Riverwind struggled to pull himself back onto the bridge. She started toward him, gripping the remaining rope with both hands. “I’m coming,” she said. “Hold on-”
Then her eyes focused on something behind him, and she screamed. Kronn looked up, and Riverwind craned, trying to see what she had spotted.
A black-cloaked figure stood upon the ledge they had come from, naked steel in its gloved hand. It stood by the frayed remnants of the severed hand rope, then began to move to the other side. As they watched, Yovanna touched the edge of her dagger to the remaining hand rope and began to saw the blade back and forth.
Acting on instinct, Brightdawn dashed back across the bridge, heedless of the planks’ protesting groans. Riverwind stared in mute astonishment as she charged toward him; she was past him before he knew what she was doing.
“Brightdawn!” he shouted as she ran away from him.
Yovanna continued to cut through the rope for a moment, then glanced at the onrushing Plainswoman and stepped back, her dagger poised. Brightdawn didn’t slow, however; she leapt onto the ledge, at the black-cloaked figure. She grunted with pain as the knife plunged into her side, but her momentum knocked Yovanna into the wall, driving the air from both women’s lungs.
Riverwind watched in horror as his daughter and Malys’s thrall grappled on the ledge. Straining mightily, he pulled his leg back up through the hole in the bridge, then started back after Brightdawn.
Then another tremor struck, nearly pitching him off the bridge. The cavern lurched wildly, sending showers of scree plunging into the molten pool. Brightdawn and Yovanna stumbled sideways, toward the edge of the ledge. They teetered on the brink for a moment, then overbalanced and toppled into the void.
“No!” Riverwind bellowed.
For a moment Brightdawn was free, falling toward the hungry, waiting magma. Then she caught the lip of the ledge with her hands and held on with an iron grip. Yovanna grabbed her about the knees, arresting her own fall, and Brightdawn groaned as their combined weight began to loosen her grip on the stone. The muscles in her arms strained, and she ground her teeth with effort and agony.
Regaining his balance as the tremor subsided, Riverwind heaved himself toward the ledge, trying to reach her. “Child,” he gasped helplessly, “I’m coming…”
Brightdawn kicked and thrashed, trying to knock Yovanna loose, but the black-cloaked figure held her tight. Yovanna’s hood fell back from her head, revealing the tortured ruins of her face. Her lipless mouth twisting into a snarl, she grabbed the back of Brightdawn’s tunic and began to climb.
“Please,” Brightdawn sobbed. The sharp obsidian dug into her palms, drawing bright blood. “Father…”
Riverwind moved as quickly as he could, but he could see his daughter’s grip faltering and knew he wouldn’t be fast enough. Another board gave way beneath him, and he nearly fell, clutching the weakened hand rope. Tears of frustration crawled down his cheeks.
Yovanna continued to pull herself up Brightdawn’s body, growling like a wild animal. Her hand clawed up, reaching for the Plainswoman’s collar.
Then a tiny dart hissed through the air, striking the back of her neck. Reflexively, Yovanna swatted at it…
And lost her grip on Brightdawn.
As she fell, the glittering cruelty faded from Yovanna’s eyes. A look of relief took its place. Then the heat of the magma ignited her robes, and she plunged, burning like a torch, into the molten rock.
Brightdawn sobbed, her fingers slipping. Recklessly, Riverwind charged the last dozen paces back along the bridge, threw himself flat on the ledge, then reached back and caught her wrists. Groaning mightily, he pulled her up, out of the abyss. They lay sprawled together on the stone for a moment, shuddering, then Riverwind pushed himself weakly to his knees. His face was ashen as he beheld his daughter’s body. Yovanna’s dagger was still buried to its cross-guard in her side.
The Plainsman glanced back across the bridge, seeking Kronn. The kender stood still, holding the haft of his chapak in his hands. Pieces of the weapon protruded from his pouches and pockets: while Riverwind had striven to reach his daughter, Kronn had dismantled it, turned it into a blowgun, and fired the dart that had felled Yovanna. Now he slid the haft into his belt and dashed back along the bridge to help Riverwind and Brightdawn.
She rolled onto her side, the dagger’s hilt sticking up into the air, and looked at them both with bleary eyes. Her tunic was dark with blood. “I don’t think I can make it… on my own,” she hissed.
Riverwind’s jaw tightened; his face might have been carved of granite. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m here, child. I’ll help you.”
Somehow, using the remaining hand rope to guide them, he and Kronn carried her across the bridge. When they finally reached the far side, the kender and the Plainsman sank down on the stone, exhausted. For a long time, none of them could do anything but gasp for breath. Then Brightdawn stirred. “Father?” she asked in a small voice. “Why is it so cold?”
A spike of horror drove itself through Riverwind’s gut, paralyzing him. Wearily, Kronn crawled over to Brightdawn and inspected the dagger lodged in her side. He dabbed at the wound, and his fingers came away with blood-and something else. Something black and oily.
He looked at Riverwind, shaking his head.
His face constricted with anguish, Riverwind lifted his daughter and rolled her over, resting her head in his lap. She was shivering, and her lips were blue. Her eyes gleamed feverishly in the fireglow.
“Oh, child,” he said. “My sunrise.”
“She would have killed us all, Father,” Brightdawn hissed. “She would have cut the rope, and we would have fallen. I had to stop her. I had … to save you.”
“Oh, gods.” Riverwind’s voice was ragged with tears. “Child, you cannot save me. You cannot.” He hesitated, summoning strength from within. “I’m dying, Brightdawn.”
Kronn choked suddenly and turned away.
Brightdawn smiled, however. “Then,” she breathed, “you’ll see me again soon…”
Helplessly, Riverwind bowed his head.
“Father?”
“Yes, child?”
“Do you remember, when Moonsong and I were young, how sometimes we’d cry until you came to kiss us good-night?”
He nodded. “I remember.”
“You used to sing to us…” A shudder ran through her body, and she groaned.
“Shall I sing it for you, child?”
She nodded, smiling weakly. Her eyes fluttered dosed. Riverwind took several long, slow breaths to calm himself. Then, with grieving effort, his baritone voice rose softly, singing an old Plainsman lullaby.
Hush baby, sleep baby, nighttime is here
And the moons circle round up above in the skies.
The evening is calm and the blanket is soft,
Time to rest, time to sleep,
close your eyes.
So hush baby, sleep baby, don’t stay awake,
Let your dreams
carry you to a world far away.
A world that is peaceful, a world filled with love,
Where all