Imbecile, her voice snapped in his mind. They set a trap for you, and you charged right into the middle. And I had such hopes for you.
“Help me, Mistress,” the Black-Gazer begged, his throat so tight he nearly strangled on the words. “Please …”
She laughed, then, a cruel, hissing sound that made ice of Kurthak’s heart.
Help you? she echoed mockingly. Whatever for? You have earned your fate, fool.
“I have served you,” Kurthak whimpered. “I’ve done your bidding. You owe me-”
The pain in his mind grew even stronger than before, blinding him, driving him to his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut, his voice giving way to a silent, agonized scream as the dragon tore his mind apart.
“Owe you?” he shrieked, but it was Malystryx’s voice that issued from his mouth, not his own. “I owe you nothing! You have failed, and you will pay. I will see to it! I will burn everything: the forest, the kender in their tunnels, and yes, Kurthak, you and your pathetic horde. I will burn you all until nothing remains!”
Then, in an eyeblink, she was gone from his tattered mind. Kurthak knelt on the stones for a time, retching. Smoke and screaming surrounded him. Then, roaring with senseless rage, he lunged to his feet again and charged back into the quadrangle. He swung his spiked club wildly, lashing out on all sides. Kender and ogres alike fell around him as he cut a bloody swath across the yard. He sought neither escape nor vengeance; such things were beyond him now. Abandoned by his mistress, unable to stop his horde from falling to pieces around him, Kurthak the Black-Gazer went mad.
A wave of smoke blew in his face, stinging his eyes, but he kept on going, a juggernaut of insane wrath. He only stopped when he reached the far side of the yard and saw the burning buildings before him, barring his way. Crying out in impotent anger, he started to turn around, to charge back into the fray.
He did not see Paxina. She ran toward him on his left, his blind side. He only realized she was there when the spiked butt of her hoopak plunged into his flank. Using her own momentum, the Lord Mayor drove four feet of ironwood through his bowels.
He spun, his left arm lashing out. The back of his hand caught Paxina square in her chest, lifting her off the ground and hurling her away. She struck the ground hard, landing in a motionless heap at the foot of a burning house. He started to turn toward her, but staggered, his head spinning. Hot blood coursed from the wound in his side. His world began to grow dark.
“Malys,” he wheezed. He took two faltering steps, then stumbled to his knees. “Help me.”
Stagheart came out of the smoke, his sabre flashing. Kurthak tried to block the vicious slash, but he no longer had the strength to raise his club. The Plainsman’s sword opened his throat. Choking, Kurthak the Black-Gazer died.
Malystryx’s eyes flared wide, blazing with rage. Above her, Riverwind and Kronn drew back from the rim of the ledge, shaking with fear. She didn’t see them; her wrath consumed her.
“No, my precious kender,” she hissed in a voice as deep and dark as an ossuary. “You may think the game is done, but it is not. You will not escape. Your tunnels will not save you. My flames will find you, even far beneath the earth.”
With unnerving speed, she uncoiled herself, rose on her hind legs, and leapt into the air. Her gargantuan form streaked past Kronn and Riverwind, up toward the rift in the ceiling. With a scraping of scales against stone, she pulled herself through the shaft. Her sinuous tail flicked with anger, then vanished from sight as she crawled out of her lair.
Riverwind and Kronn stared at the ceiling, watching chips of stone rattle down from the shaft and listening to the echoes of the dragon’s passage fade away. Even when the cavern was silent again, they continued to gaze upward, as if waiting for the enormous crimson head to reappear. At last, though, they let out their long-held breaths, and looked down at the floor of the nest.
The egg was loathsome, a leathery abomination six feet long and nearly half as high. It nestled in the middle of the floor, half-buried in a wide bed of warm, white ash. Orange firelight flickered across its rust-red shell, though there were no flames to be seen. Riverwind and Kronn beheld it with silent revulsion.
Wordlessly, the kender unscrewed the cap on the butt of his chapak’s haft. He unspooled the long silk rope from the weapon, slung the axe across his back again, and lashed one end of the line soundly around a rock outcropping at the ledge’s lip. He yanked it hard, testing it, then checked the knot and nodded with satisfaction.
“It’ll hold,” he declared, grabbing the rope with both hands and swinging a leg over the edge.
“No,” Riverwind said, catching his arm before he could go farther. “I will go first.”
Kronn met the old Plainsman’s firm, unwavering gaze. Seeing the resolve there, he hoisted himself back onto the ledge and handed the rope to Riverwind.
“Watch your step,” he said.
Gripping the rope with strong hands, Riverwind lowered himself toward the distant cavern floor.
Moonsong fought her way through the smoke and the press of bodies. The ogres ignored her, trying to flee or hewing wildly at the kender. She saw Stagheart, standing over the body of the ogres’ hetman. She saw Paxina’s hoopak, lodged in Kurthak’s gut. Then, turning, she saw the Lord Mayor sprawled on the ground like a discarded doll. The house Paxina lay beside groaned loudly, its flame-eaten walls starting to buckle. Blazing cinders rained down around the Lord Mayor’s body.
Moonsong ran, dropping to her knees beside Paxina’s unmoving form. As gently as she could, she turned the Lord Mayor over. Paxina’s face was pale beneath the war paint and soot. Checking furtively, Moonsong found the lifebeat in the kender’s throat. She whispered a prayer of thanks, not caring that Mishakal wasn’t there to hear.
“Paxina?” she asked urgently. “Can you hear me?”
The Lord Mayor groaned, her eyelids fluttering open. She looked up at Moonsong and grinned weakly. “Wow,” she said. “Those ogres can sure pack a wallop when they want to.”
A loud creaking sounded above them. Moonsong glanced up and saw the house shift slightly, leaning over them like a smith’s hammer above the anvil. Shards of pitch-soaked plaster broke off the walls, shattered against the cobbles all around them. Cold with fear, Moonsong grabbed Paxina’s hands and dragged her to her feet. The Lord Mayor was still stunned by Kurthak’s blow, however, and her knees buckled limply beneath her. The house continued to crumple, beams and timbers protesting loudly as they gave way.
There were tears in Moonsong’s eyes as she dragged Paxina along with her. “Come on,” she pleaded. “You have to help me. I can’t carry you-you’ve got to walk.”
“I can’t,” Paxina replied. “I can’t feel my legs, Moonsong.” She glanced up at the sagging building. Slate shingles slid from its roof, smashing to finders as they struck the ground. Her eyes hardened. “You’d better leave me.”
Moonsong paled, her eyes widening. “What?”
“You heard me,” Paxina replied firmly. “Find Stagheart, and get out of Kendermore, through the tunnels. I’ll only slow you down. Tell Kronn and Catt I’m sorry …”
Moonsong ignored her. She grabbed Paxina and tried to drag her away from the burning house. The kender’s weight was too much for her, though. They had scarcely gone ten feet when a loud crack split the air. Looking up, Moonsong saw the house’s flaming wall begin to topple.
“Go!” Paxina shouted. Somehow, she twisted free of Moonsong’s grasp. Before the Plainswoman could do anything, the kender shoved her with all her might, sending her stumbling away from the toppling building.
As she staggered, Moonsong saw Stagheart running toward her from Kurthak’s corpse. Then she tripped, crashing headlong to the ground. As she rolled to a stop, she caught a glimpse of Paxina lying on her back, a smile on her face.