“—then walk right in?” Del’s brows arched. “Are you so sure that’s wise?”
“Of course I’m not sure. I can’t foretell the future, bascha; how in hoolies am I supposed to know what is and isn’t wise? But Halvar said there was no other way into the dragon; here we are with nothing better to do, and two magical swords. So we may as well get this thing finished before the place smells any worse.”
“I’m not so sure—”
I thrust up a silencing hand. “Hear it? That’s the rumble—any moment the curtain will part … just use your jivatma, Del. Isn’t that what it’s for?”
“This isn’t a circle, Tiger … you don’t know—”
“Shut up and use your sword … Del—now—”
I thrust a swordtip into the curtain of cold flame as it thinned and blew apart, and prodded gently, none too sure what sort of response I might get. The tip sliced through easily enough, as if the curtain was made of air. Colored, cold air, shaped to look like a flame.
I slid the sword a bit farther, risking myself carefully. Felt a prickling in fingers and hands; then it spread to encompass forearms. I took a single step forward, closed nose and mouth against stench, felt the curtain snap shut against flesh.
The sensation was odd, but not threatening. I moved forward carefully, aware of a dampening of sound, a dying of the light. Everything was red.
“You coming?” I asked it thickly around the breath I held.
Her tone sounded no better. “Yes, Tiger, I’m coming.” She sounded exasperated. Like maybe she didn’t think we were doing the right thing. Like maybe she thought I was being foolish.
As if she were humoring me; never her strong point.
I wanted to retort, but I was much too busy.
Almost through—almost—
Something knew I was there.
“Tiger—wait—”
—oh—hoolies—
“Del!”
The dragon swallowed me whole.
Fourteen
They had been beating me again. I could feel it clear to the bone.
I lay facedown on the stone, legs and arms asprawl. Cold, hard stone, biting into flesh. Bruising cheekbone and brow. Cutting into one hip.
They had been beating me again, just as the Salset had.
I twitched. Sucked air. Gagged. Tried not to throw up. Lay very, very still, to soothe my unhappy belly. To give it no reason to protest.
Hoolies, but I hurt.
Listened to the silence. Heard nothing in the darkness. Nothing save ragged breathing; I held it: the sound stopped. Began to breathe again and took comfort in the sound.
Awakening muscles spasmed. A leg jerked, then a hand. Beneath me, metal grated. The sound of iron fetters.
They had chained me again.
I surged up frantically, smashed my head against the low ceiling, sprawled on hands and knees. Then lunged backward against the wall and slid down it to land limply in a pile of flesh and bones. Squeezed my eyes tight-shut. Sat there breathing raggedly while I tried to find the Sandtiger and whatever will he had left.
Some, after all. It allowed me to deal with the fear. To push it back again, if only for a moment. It allowed me to open my eyes.
Saw the sword against the stone: dim glint in dimmer light.
Sword?
Astonished, I stared. Then scrambled for it, found it, dragged it chiming across the stone. Sat down awkwardly on uneven rock and held the sword in both hands.
Not Singlestroke.
Not Singlestroke?
And why do I have a sword if I’m in Aladar’s mine?
The blade was ice in my hands. Vision blurred; I shook it off, then wished I hadn’t tried. The motion jarred my head.
Hoolies, but I hurt.
I leaned against the wall and wiped the sweat from my eyes, shoving damp hair aside. Beard stubble caught on wool; on wool, not on flesh. Not on the nakedness of a slave.
All around me the rock waited with a vast complacency. Dim carnelian light washed the walls with illumination. It bathed the blade with blood.
I shifted, caught my breath, eased myself more carefully into another position. Even my ears hurt, filled with a stuffy ringing. I smelled something remarkably foul; also my own aroma, fear and exertion combined. What I needed was a bath. What I wanted was out of here.
Down the tunnel something whined.
I’m not in Aladar’s mine.
Then where am—ah, hoolies.
I know where I am.
Claws scratched stone. Panting crept down the tunnel.
I think I don’t want to be here.
Whining echoed in emptiness.
Hoolies—where is Del?
With Aladar, of course—no, no, you’re not in Aladar’s mine. You’re not even in the South. Where you are is in the dragon with hounds hard on your trail.
Panting crept through the dimness. A snapping growl accompanied it.