not heard the news,” he suggested to the white wizard.
“And what news would that be?” Coryn retorted, rather disagreeably. She knew Moorvan, and in fact they had worked together when the Solamnics had reclaimed Palanthas from the Dark Knights. She knew that he was a schemer and that his primary interests lay not with magic and justice, but with the ambitions of Lord Regent du Chagne.
“There is to be a duel shortly after midnight, in the palace courtyard. Between Lord Marshal Jaymes and the Rose Lord Frankish. Ah, I see, you had not heard.”
“No,” Coryn said, her face betraying her shock. She turned away from him, staring across the room, the darkly elegant study chamber in the regent’s palace. The Kingfisher waited for her to say something, but turning back, she merely glared at him.
“I am sure you agree that it is imperative that such a match occurs without interference from interested parties,” the wizard-knight ventured as politely as possible.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Coryn agreed, thinking furiously. A duel? How could Jaymes have been so stupid?
“To that end, I was hoping that you and I could second the match, together. We will keep an eye on, uh, matters. Is that acceptable to you?”
She frowned. She needed time-time to consult her auguries, to consider her options, simply to think. “When did you say this duel is to occur?” she asked numbly.
“At one bell. Three hours from now.”
There was little else to say, then, and virtually no time for any preparations. “Very well,” she said. “I will meet you in the courtyard and bear judgment.”
“You’re going to fight Lord Frankish? No! You can’t! You mustn’t! You might be injured, even killed!” Selinda sobbed as she threw herself into Jaymes’s arms, clenching him so tightly that he had to unclasp her arms just to draw a breath.
“Are you so sure I’m going to lose?” he asked with a very slight smile, holding his arms around her, looking down at her tear-filled eyes.
“You don’t know very much about Lord Frankish, do you? He’ll do anything to win-anything! You can’t trust him! He’s killed many men already! Oh, this is all my fault!” She broke away and turned to stomp across the anteroom of her chambers. The duel was an hour or two away. Selinda whirled angrily. “I’ll bet my father put him up to this-I’m certain of it! But I’m not going to allow it! Do you hear me? I won’t allow it!”
“I hear you,” Jaymes said, striding over to her, again pulling her close. Willingly, she melted against his chest. “But this is not something you can, or cannot, allow. I’ve given my word. It’s something that’s going to happen. And”-he pulled back to look into her eyes-“don’t worry. I don’t intend to lose.”
“But-why?” she cried. “Why are you doing this?”
“More or less because Lord Frankish forced me into it,” he conceded abashedly. “It was not my idea. But I believe I can turn this to my-to our — advantage.”
“He’s only doing this because he’s jealous-he knows how much I care for you. He thinks he can commit legal murder this way. He intends to kill you!”
“He won’t. And I told you, this will work out in our favor.”
She shivered, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “How could it possibly work in our favor?”
“That hasn’t been entirely settled yet. I needed to talk to you first, and afterward I will pay a visit to your father. That’s why I came here before going to the combat field. I needed to ask you something.”
“What? What is it? What did you want to ask me?”
He stared into her eyes, placed his strong hands on her trembling shoulders. “In the event of my victory in this fight, I mean to ask, with humility and affection, if you will consent to be my wife. Will you marry me?”
Her eyes grew wide. She gasped for breath. In the next instant she pulled him close, nearly strangling him again.
“Yes!” she cried, her voice a mixture of sobs and laughter. She would always remember what had happened this night, before and after the duel, she thought.
“Yes,” she repeated through the laughter and tears. “Yes, I will!”
CHAPTER NINE
A nkhar gradually noticed the warmth, which struck him as unnatural in this dark, sunless place. For timeless miles and uncounted days, the trio had trudged through chilly blackness, cloaks wrapped tight against the penetrating cold. Deep into the world they went, far away from the sun, and still they descended. Ankhar shivered when he slept, longed for the comfort of a campfire. But there was no fuel, no light beyond what their little party carried.
Until, one day-or was it night? — the half-giant felt a sheen of sweat on his forehead and unconsciously loosened his woolen cloak. Curious, he reached out and touched a nearby outcrop of stone and found it warm to the touch. The air felt thick and moist, with a hint of acrid smoke. Within a few moments, they all had removed their outer garb, and suddenly the cavern seemed like such a sweltering place, he began to wonder if he was taking leave of his senses.
“We are very far below the surface,” Hoarst declared, mopping his brow with a soft cloth. “We must be drawing near to the fires in the very belly of the world.” The wizard still carried his glowing blade, but now with its point slanting downward at his side. The once-bright light had faded to a pearly glow. Even so, that faint illumination was enough to show the path before the trio’s increasingly sensitive eyes.
“How long we been on this dark path?” grumbled Ankhar. “I lose track of miles… and of sleeps.”
“The sun has come and gone six times since we entered the cave,” Laka declared. “It is now dawn on the world of the surface.”
Ankhar found himself longing for a look at the world above, even just a glimpse of the bright sun that he had taken for granted throughout his life. He tried to imagine how dwarves and even some goblins could spend so many of their days underground, shielded from that blessed warmth, that refulgent brilliance. He shuddered at the very idea.
Hoarst knelt to sip from one of the pools of clear water that were common in these caves. When he did, the flap of his cloak briefly covered the blade of his sword, yet Ankhar realized that he could see quite well without its illumination. The dark was fading!
The half-giant squinted ahead, noticing a faintly reddish cast to the cavern walls in front of them. It was as though they traveled through a canyon after sunset, and the fading glow of daylight lingered in their surroundings. Like some sunsets, this one glowed a faint orange color, which marked the high walls to either side of them, even casting shadows from the stalactites on the arched ceiling so high over their heads.
As they came around another bend in the still-descending cavern, they saw that the horizon was limned in fire, a strange, hellish light that forced the half-giant to raise his hand in a futile effort to shield his face from its infernal glare and heat.
“We are drawing near now,” Laka said, “for this is another place that was revealed to me in my dream.”
“Good,” Ankhar said. Now that they were actually close to encountering the mysterious, powerful ally Laka had been searching for, he felt more bluster than courage. He thought a growl might be impressive and made a sound that rumbled deep in his chest.
The brightness continued to build as the subterranean canyon twisted through a few more turns, until finally they came to a ledge, where a series of shattered rocky outcrops formed a descending stairway. For the moment they halted, all three of them staring wordlessly at this remarkable place.
The trio stood high above a cavern that was as vast as a deep valley in a large mountain range-except that the rocky faces above them soared upward to merge into an upside-down version of a chasm that twisted and curved through a central, vaulted ceiling. The depths of the upper gorge were lost in shadow, but the rest of this great cavern was outlined in the brilliant fires that surged and crackled everywhere.
Most striking was the river of liquid fire, glowing orange and red, which appeared to emerge from a channel
