Elvenborn

more! Until she started talking and acting like a person, of course.'

It made Kyrtian's head swim a little more. 'In the very near future—when you're settled on my estate and we have the time—you are going to have to tell me all about that,' he said, as firmly as he could.

He was not going to disabuse the young dragon of his notion that Lashana 'depended' on him. He did feel a pang of jealousy though, over that young Wizard, Lorryn....

No, he corrected himself. Not jealousy. Envy.

It wasn't that he wanted Shana—she was a handsome young woman, but not, well, not the type he was attracted to, really. Except, perhaps, for those characteristics of mind and spirit that he admired. No, what he wanted was the kind of relationship that she and Lorryn so clearly shared. What his mother and fa­ther had once had together.

Ancestors. Won't that be a surprise for Mother. But he didn't think he'd give her free rein to go hunt him up a wife. Not at the moment. There were a lot of difficult days ahead of them; they were all going to have a great many more important things to occupy their time.

Like how to survive, for one thing.

He was under no illusion that with Aelmarkin gone, all of his troubles were about to vanish. Quite the contrary. He was now into the morass of the politics of the Great Lords, he had the Young Lords to worry about and—

And I'm technically a traitor. I'm conspiring with the Wiz­ards to create a slave rebellion.

All that, in addition to trying to keep his own people safe. If he thought about it too long, it seemed impossible, and he be­gan to doubt he'd even manage that last, and in some ways most important task, much less all the rest.

But he wasn't alone in this, now. For once, it didn't all de­pend on him and his paltry skills. We'll be doing it together, dragons and Elvenlords, Wizards and humans working to­gether. At last.

And with that formidable combination—he had to believe there was no problem that they could not ultimately defeat.

EPILOGUE

Triana had never been particularly afraid before she'd en­tered these caves. She'd only thought she'd encountered terror before the construct came alive.

But the moment that the thing arose out of the rest, like some terrifying metal insect with a screaming Aelmarkin in its claws, she knew true and paralyzing horror.

By then she had been beside the Great Portal, and as the thing blundered back and forth across the cave in pursuit of Kyrtian and his people, she shrank into the shelter of one of its curved sides, praying that it wouldn't see her, wouldn't blunder into her. That was all she could manage; her knees scarcely held her up, and she couldn't have run if she wanted to. She was drenched in a cold, cold sweat; every time the thing came any­where near she held her breath until she nearly passed out, lest it hear her breathing.

She was sure she was going to die. For the first time in her life, she stared mortality in the face, and realized that she couldn't bear it....

She couldn't bear it. In a moment, she was going to faint, or scream and betray herself. She trembled and sweated, and clenched her fists until her long nails bit into her palms and made them bleed.

One moment, there was the metal monster. Then the metal one—was attacked by a dragon.

It was impossible. It was too much. She clutched at the Por­tal side, and turned her face into it and refused to look. It didn't matter which one of them won—the survivor would find her and kill her—she'd die like Aelmarkin, screaming in terror and pain; she didn't stand a chance—

She fought down the scream that threatened to escape—tears

scorched her face and her throat ached with the need to shriek and shriek, but if she did, she'd die then and there, and she wanted to live....

Something snapped inside her. Her mouth opened, but noth­ing came out. She felt herself start to collapse, then blackness swooped down on her like a dragon, and took her senses.

When she woke, the cave was quiet, and she lay sprawled at the foot of the Great Portal. The cave was still illuminated by the un­certain yellow light of Kyrtian's lanterns, or what was left of them.

Suddenly, she did not want to know if Kyrtian had met the same fate as Aelmarkin. It was one thing to see mere human slaves die; it was another thing entirely to know, to see the hand of death cut down another Elvenlord.

No. The caves were not entirely quiet... in the far, far dis­tance, out in the entrance cave, perhaps, something battered monotonously at the stone. Since the 'something' sounded like metal, it must have been the metal monster that survived.

So it was between her and the only way out.

For a moment, she thought she was going to faint again, but as her hands closed convulsively and her nails bit into her palm, so did the band of the heavy signet ring she wore—

The ring. The ring! It was her Portal key—and she lay in the biggest Portal of them all!

Shaking in every limb, she got to her feet somehow, and dis­missed the illusion she wore. If this was going to work, she would need every morsel of power.

She faced the Great Portal, closed her eyes, and slowly, care­fully, began to weave the lines of energy that would open a long-dormant Portal like this one. It was going to take a lot— this one had been made by the concerted effort of dozens of mages, and she was only one.

But she also didn't have any choice if she wanted to live.

Bit by bit, sluggishly, the Portal began to respond. The lines of power oozed into place rather than snapping crisply into their positions. The patterns formed, but oh! so slowly!

And then, with no warning at all—the Portal snapped to full and vibrant life!

Startled, Triana opened her eyes.

The shimmering curtain of power within the glowing green arch shivered.

Parted.

And an entirely new horror stepped through.

Like some unsanctified melding of Elf and reptile, the thing stood twice as tall as she. It was long-limbed, sexless, and en­tirely naked, covered in its own blue-green scales. It had a tail that lashed back and forth restlessly, a hairless head, legs that bent the wrong way at the knees, a lipless mouth full of pointed teeth, and—most horrible of all—eyes she would have recog­nized on any Elvenlord. And it saw her the instant it walked through the Portal.

Before she could move, it had cleared the distance between them in a single leap, and seized her.

Its strong, scaled fingers closed around her waist, in a grip un­breakable as metal cables. Now she screamed, shrieked and fought, but she might as well have been fighting the metal monster. It