A stronger glow of red at the edge of his vision caught his attention. Grinding his teeth against the pain, he rose to his elbows. There, not a half dozen feet away, lay Pitch’s longsword. It glowed red with heat, and the wooden hilt and its leather bindings were flaming and crackling. The lightning bolt had struck it full force, and only its superior Solamnic craftsmanship had prevented it from being turned into a puddle of molten slag. It still held its shape, yet the edge and point were useless.
Looking at it wanly, Cael knew it was his one hope to live. He felt no pain, no anguish, no grief, no fear-only hate and the desire to avenge Pitch.
He rose silently to his feet, pushing back the blinding pain. He moved as if in a trance, as though everything was happening to someone else. When he lifted the burning sword and seared his flesh, he gazed at his hand for a moment as though it were all some wonderful joke. Then he was moving as fast as he had ever moved, flying, his lips pulled back in a deathly grimace. Before the creature was aware of the danger the sword had plunged between its ribs. Smoke erupted from the wound as Cael drove the sword deeper and deeper, calling on all his strength, the glowing blade burning through scale and hide, tendon and muscle, until it found the throbbing vitals and finally was quenched in the heart of the beast.
If a gate had been opened to the Abyss and all the fiends of that dreadful plane issued forth, no more hellish shriek could have sounded than the death cry of the beast. Cael loosed his hold on the blade and staggered away. The creature rose before him, towering, bellowing. He clutched his sensitive elven ears lest the noise drive him mad. The beast began to thrash about, filling the chamber with its violence as it coiled upon itself, biting at the sword lodged between its ribs. The floor shuddered, the walls shook, and pieces of stone rained down around the elf. He collapsed against the wall. The creature’s thrashing slowed, grew feeble, and then it fell altogether still. Only its labored breathing continued. Finally, with a rattle, it breathed no more.
A voice nearby said, “He killed a behir.” The incredulity in the voice and the murmurs of awe roused him. However, it was the touch of a cool hand on his cheek, and the soft words that followed, at which he fought off the darkness and delicious oblivion.
“Are you all right?” Alynthia asked, as she stooped over him and stroked his cheek.
Cael rose up, suddenly, to his full height, surprising everyone, including himself. Hoag was there, a look of disbelief on his face. Beside him was Ijus. Mancred was fiddling with a scroll. Rull towered protectively beside Varia, who gazed at the elf with concerned eyes.
It was their captain whom the elf now sought through the red haze of pain and hate that still colored his vision. Alynthia had staggered back, then tried to recover her dignity. With a snarl, the elf lashed out. His scorched and blackened fist caught her squarely on the chin and sent her flying into Hoag. The two tumbled to the floor, Ijus chuckling nervously as he danced nimbly out of the way.
Cael lunged for her again, but Rull was there, catching him in a bear hug, pinning his arms and lifting him completely off the ground. Despite his great strength, the thief was remarkably gentle. Cael could no more break his hold than he could have broken that of the monster.
“This is a stupid, foolish waste of life!” the elf spat at their leader. “Isn’t there danger and death enough without creating it for ourselves?”
Alynthia rose slowly to her knees, all sympathy gone from her expression. Instead, danger flashed in her dark eyes. “I will forgive you for that, this time,” she growled as she rubbed her chin.
“Was that… thing… another one of your pets?” Cael sneered.
“I warned you that this was no game,” the Guild captain said. Ijus helped her to her feet, still chuckling. “Pitch knew the risks the same as you. You had to go off on your own, taking her with you, to face trials meant for a Circle of Seven, not two.”
“We continued alone because we didn’t know where the others had gone,” the elf snapped. “We didn’t want our Circle to fail the test without a chance to even try.”
“Yet you failed anyway, and it cost the life of your Guild sister,” Alynthia responded.
“We did not fail,” the elf cried, struggling to free himself from Rull’s grip. “I won’t allow her to die for nothing. The guardian is dead. The way is opened.”
“The way is still shut to you, apprentice thief,” Alynthia scoffed. “The behir’s lair is not the treasure chamber.”
“I know that, but I now know the way, if you would just put me down!”
Reluctantly, the giant thief lowered Cael to the ground and released his hold. The elf, weak from his wounds, nearly collapsed, but his anger lent him strength. He stood shakily, ready to do anything to spite the beautiful, dusky-skinned Guild captain. Alynthia stepped back warily, eyeing him.
He stalked by her without even a glance and re-entered the Chamber of Doors. The others followed, hesitantly eyeing the dead behir where it lay stretched out at the center of the chamber. Cael paused just inside the room. His companions spread out around him, gaping in awe at the magnificent beast.
Varia gasped and turned aside, burying her face in Rull’s massive chest. The remains of Pitch, pitiful as they were, lay scattered near the far wall. Ijus approached them, his fingers cracking .and snapping in something between curiosity and nervous horror. Seeing how little of the thief remained, Alynthia turned on the elf, her dark eyes burning with anger.
“No door shall be opened to prove or disprove you,” she told him. “Make your guess and be done with it.”
Without a word, Cael stooped to the floor and, with his left hand, which had suffered no burns, picked up a piece of the stone that had fallen from the roof during the monster’s death throes. He spun and flung the rock at the darkened entrance-way. To everyone’s surprise, even Alynthia’s, the stone bounced off the darkness as though it had struck a solid wall, and clattered to the floor.
“A door that does not appear to be a door,” the elf said. “The room revolves.” His legs began to wobble beneath him. Mancred caught his arm and helped him to stand. Cael started to thank him, then noticed that the old thief was staring at him in undisguised respect. He turned away, unable to bear such admiration.
“I am sorry,” he said in a voice harsh with weariness and emotion. “I am having trouble seeing. Everything is red.”
“Your eyes are filled with blood,” the old man said. “Few who have been embraced by the behir survive to bear that Scar.”
“Pitch wanted to do it for you,” Cael said. “She wanted to try.”
“You succeeded. She did not die in vain,” Mancred said proudly, gripping the elf in an almost fatherly embrace.
“The door is not opened, and it won’t be opened, not by him,” Alynthia said stubbornly. “When Pitch died, the test was ended. That is the law of Mulciber. All succeed or no one.”
“Yet two accomplished what was designed to defeat seven,” Mancred argued.
“You take sides with this elf?” Alynthia asked. “After what happened to Pitch?”
“She chose her way,” Varia said tersely.
“Not since Captain Oros came here has such a thing been done. Not even you, Captain Alynthia, entered the vaults alone, not even you solved the riddle of the doors,” Mancred said.
“We act as a team. A lone wolf is a liability we cannot afford, no matter how great his individual skill,” she insisted. She stroked her bruised chin, thoughtfully. “You know the rules. In addition to costing you the life of one of your Circle, this elf has also ruined your careers within the Guild,” Alynthia frowned. “He has shown you the secret of this Chamber, yet failed the test. Knowing the secret, you may never try again.”