Chapter Nine

Drums rolled like thunder across the vast expanse of parade ground; then the beat became a steady cadence, like the fast throbbing of her heart.

Borne in a swaying litter whose leather curtains were tightly closed, and surrounded by a solid phalanx of armored soldiers, Elandra was carried down the lengthy steps of the palace and across the parade ground past endless rows of men and horses, all at perfect attention. Swathed in furs and heavily veiled, Elandra peered out through a crack in the curtains, curious to see the army turned out so smartly in her honor.

Divisions from every province in the empire had arrived. She knew the barracks were crowded to bursting, that the city was swollen with citizens pouring in from the countryside, that every inn was full and people were camping illegally in the streets, hoping to see her tomorrow. Ambassadors and delegations from outside the empire had even sent gifts of all kinds, some of them said to be truly magnificent, although it was considered bad luck for her to see them yet.

So much attention and tribute was overwhelming, yet she felt isolated from most of it by the restrictions surrounding her. In a way, it almost seemed to be happening to someone else.

She wished she could see her father. Homesickness filled her suddenly, and she found herself missing the river and humid jungles of Gialta. If only she could talk to her father, tell him of the events that were happening, and ask his advice. But when he had given her hand in marriage, she had been cut off from him. Until her bridal year was finished, she could seek no one outside the palace without the emperor’s express permission. And to ask Kostimon’s permission meant she would have to explain.

Elandra sighed. There were no easy answers or solutions. She must find strength inside herself, somehow.

Tucked in her glove was a folded paper that Miles Milgard had slipped to her at the last moment. She was supposed to be studying her oath right now while she was being taken to the temple. But how could she concentrate when her nerves were keyed up? All she could do was wonder what the purification rites entailed.

They were part of the mysteries ... no one would tell her more.

Although the Penestricans had been banished from court for centuries, due to some ancient feud between them and the Vindicants, the sisterhood had been permitted to return for this occasion. They were to conduct the final rites tonight.

And although Elandra feared the Vindicants and their strange ceremonies, she could not feel relieved to be in the hands of the sisterhood either. She had endured their lessons before. They were always unpleasant experiences.

Elandra had been dreading the purification more than anything else. Gripping her hands together in her lap, she tried to shore up her faltering courage. But her nervousness kept growing. She drew in deep breaths, telling herself she must stay calm.

If only there was something to distract her. But there came no cheering from the silent ranks of the cavalry and foot soldiers lined up at attention. They did not move. They did not salute. They did not shout her name. All she could hear was the ominous beating of the drums and the rapid thump of her own heartbeat. It was alarming, this great silence.

Then, with a slight bump, her litter stopped and was lowered to the ground. She heard stamping and the thud of fists against armored chests in salute.

Hastily Elandra secured her veil just as the curtains of the litter parted.

A very stern officer wearing armor polished to a blinding sheen reached in and took her hand to assist her out. Still holding her hand in a ceremonial clasp, he led her up a crimson strip of carpet laid over the steps of the small temple. A man in the black mask of an executioner followed them with an axe.

On either side of the crimson carpet stood an unmoving line of veiled women robed in black. Each woman held a burning candle in her hands. Seeing this, Elandra shivered.

Once before she had entered the Penestrican stronghold between rows of women holding candles. That time, she had been attacked by a Maelite witch and blinded. It had been weeks before she regained her sight, and then she had been told her true destiny.

With a sinking feeling, Elandra could not help wondering if yet more surprises awaited her inside this small, shabby temple.

It was the ancient Penestrican temple, a place closed and deconsecrated centuries before during the purge. The Vindicants had wanted it torn down, but Kostimon refused because Fauvina’s remains were buried there.

At the top of the steps, Elandra’s escort halted before the small, plain altar fashioned of stone. A wreath of flowers lay on it, along with a clod of earth and a simple clay vessel of water. The sisters began to chant, and with deep bows both the officer and the executioner backed away, moving down the steps with care.

Elandra was left alone.

She stood facing the altar, gripping her cloak to her throat with both hands to conceal their trembling.

The chanting grew louder. It was an elemental, primitive sound that sent shivers up her spine.

Beyond the altar hung a curtain the color of the sky. It was drawn open by an unseen hand.

Dry-mouthed, Elandra walked around the altar and ducked beneath the fold of curtain. She passed into the gloom beyond.

She found herself in a tiny room, very dark after the daylight outside. Candles burned in numerous niches around the walls. The air was dry, musty, and cold, overlaid with incense.

Before her a hole yawned in the floor. Steps of crumbling stone led down into a shadowy unknown. Removing her veil, Elandra pushed back the fur-lined hood of her cloak and gathered up her long skirts. Slowly and cautiously she descended the steps, her hem dragging behind her with a soft rustle.

Candles burned at the foot of the steps. Thus, she descended into light, blinking as the illumination grew stronger.

At the bottom of the steps, she found herself in a circular chamber lined with stone. The tamped earthen floor was decorated with a five-sided star drawn with red sand. The serpent box stood in the center of the star, its lid firmly closed.

The chamber was very warm, although she saw no fires burning. Only the candle flames, flickering steadily, reflected in the somber eyes of the sisterhood gathered around her.

Elandra swallowed, but her mouth remained dry. The silence was daunting, and she lacked instructions in how to proceed. Yet the time she had spent with the Penestricans had taught her to exhibit patience and calm in the face of uncertainty. She tried to do so now, waiting without speaking or moving, gazing back at this group of impassive women with an assurance she did not feel.

After what seemed like an eternity, the women parted before her to reveal a doorway. Elandra walked toward it.

When she stepped through, she found herself in total darkness. Startled, she turned around, but it was as though a door had been closed behind her. She had heard nothing, but she could not retreat. Nor could she go forward. When she turned about again, she bumped into a wall. She was enclosed in a tiny cylindrical prison that was barely big enough for her to turn around in, nothing more.

The darkness was the most frightening aspect. She tried to stay calm and not panic. She did not want to be blind again. It was cruel of them to do this to her, knowing what had happened to her in the past. They could have at least given her a candle to hold for illumination and comfort.

But already she guessed that comfort was hardly a factor in what was about to befall her.

The floor moved beneath her. To her surprise, she realized she was being lowered yet deeper into the bowels of the earth. By what means she did not understand, but when she stretched out her hands to the walls she could feel them scraping against her gloves as she went down.

Then her progress stopped with an abruptness that made her stagger. Without warning, she was flooded with light.

Dazzled by it, she shielded her eyes with her hands and came stumbling out into a sand pit.

It was very hot, so hot her clothes were suddenly stifling her. The sand burned through the thin soles of her slippers, making it difficult to stand still.

She hurried across the sand to the other side, and went up three shallow steps to a stone landing.

This chamber lay in a natural cavern of rough walls and a ceiling hung with strange formations of translucent stone. On the far side a niche had been carved high in the wall for the goddess.

“Elandra,” said a woman’s voice.

Elandra turned and saw Anas walking toward her.

The deputy had not changed in the past year. Slim and straight, her long hair hanging unbound down her back, she approached Elandra with her hands outstretched in welcome.

They clasped hands quickly, then stood apart.

“The Magria is well?” Elandra asked.

“She is well,” Anas replied.

“And you?”

A remote glimmer of a smile touched Anas’s lips for a moment. “I also am well.”

“My sister?”

Anas shook her head. “Bixia left us. She was ... unwilling to accept our training.”

Old guilt rose in Elandra. She knew she was not to blame, yet she still felt responsible for having ruined Bixia’s hopes. Her half-sister had been raised from the cradle to think herself betrothed to the emperor, yet destiny had decreed that Elandra should marry him instead.

“Where has she gone? Back to Gialta?”

“No. We do not know.”

Elandra bit her lip. “She cannot wander the countryside. What will befall her? Someone must inform my father—”

“Lord Albain knows,” Anas said coldly.

“But—”

“Our purpose today is not to discuss your sister, but you.”

“She needs help,” Elandra said stubbornly.

“If she has gone to the Maelites, we cannot help her.”

The rebuke was as harsh as a slap. Elandra frowned and fell silent, while inside she wanted to cry out denials. Bixia couldn’t be foolish enough to go into that darkness. To follow Mael was an unthinkable blasphemy against all that was of the light and good. Yet Aunt Hecati had been a Maelite witch, skilled enough to conceal her evilness from all the safeguards in the Albain palace for years. It made sense that Bixia would return to the woman who had raised her. Still, Elandra hated to think it.

“Come,” Anas said, with that sharpness still in her voice. “Put your mind on the future, not on the past. There is much to do.”

She turned and went back the way she had come. Elandra followed her in silence.

Anas took her through a short passageway into another chamber. A small, round dais stood in the center. Elandra was told to stand on it.

As soon as she complied, Anas left her. Five women entered the chamber and began to undress Elandra, beginning with her gloves and fur-lined cloak.

The paper Miles had given her fell from her right glove and drifted to the floor.

One of the women paused and picked it up.

“Forgive me,” Elandra said, embarrassed. “I forgot that was there. Put it back in my glove, please, and I’ll—”

But the woman holding the paper suddenly hissed as though in pain and dropped it. The candles lighting the room guttered, and several went out.

Looking alarmed, the sisters backed up rapidly. “Anas!” one cried.

The deputy came running into the chamber just as the paper on the floor burst into flames.

Yet it was no ordinary fire, for the flames were a sickly green and emitted a strange odor.

Inhaling made Elandra feel dizzy and faint.

“Protect her!” Anas commanded.

Two of the women ran to Elandra and pulled her off the dais away from the weird fire. She wanted to cooperate, but her legs felt spongy and strange. She stumbled and fell to her knees. She felt horrible, so sick she thought she might vomit.

Anas grabbed a candle from its wall niche and hurled it at the green fire. Golden flames burst against green. For an instant both blazed high; then the golden flames were gone and only the unearthly fire remained, larger than ever. Ugly green smoke spewed from it, filling the chamber.

Coughing, Elandra tried to get to her feet. She must not breathe this. None of them must breathe this. Across the room she thought she saw fear in Anas’s face. All the sisters were shouting. More came, some of them carrying staffs that glowed with a nimbus of yellow light. These women struck at the green flames with the staffs, but the fire seemed to grow stronger from everything used to fight it.

“Silence!” commanded a voice above the commotion. “Trust in the mother. Do not feed evil with your fears.”

The Magria appeared in their midst, naked and grim. Her gray tresses hung unbound down her back, and the terrible mutilation scars looked old and white on her skin. She was carrying a basin of dirt, and her face looked as bleak as death.

The fire blazed very high as she approached it, belching the evil, poisonous smoke more than ever.

Coughing and gasping, the sisters backed away. One of them fainted. Elandra herself lay flat on the ground, pressing her face to it in an effort to breathe air as yet untainted.

Undaunted, the Magria dumped the basin of dirt on the fire, shouting an ancient word that jolted through Elandra although she did not understand its meaning.

The fire died, and the green smoke vanished except for a few lingering wisps.

For a moment there was only the sound of coughing and retching. The Magria glared at all of them, especially Anas.

“Bring the serpents,” she commanded. “Let them finish cleaning this chamber. Search for any other traps that may await us. Use earth, not fire in this place. None of you are novices, to fall for such obvious tricks!” Her glare raked all of them. “You and you, bring the girl to me as soon as she is able. Anas, I will speak to you now.”

She turned and strode out. Anas, wearing an unreadable expression, hurried after her. The others exchanged glances of shame and embarrassment. Most faded away until only the two assigned to care for Elandra remained with her.

“Can you breathe better now?” One of them asked. She had a soft, kindly face. “Are you able to stand?”

Still nauseated, Elandra shook her head. Her eyes were streaming, and her throat burned from the smoke she had swallowed. She wanted to crawl into a corner and die.

Probably that was what someone had wanted her to do.

Her near escape had shaken her badly. Here among the Penestricans she had always felt safe.

They brought her water, which she didn’t want, but it made her feel much better and soothed her upset stomach. After a few minutes she could sit up. By the time the snakes were brought in, she was able to stand unsteadily.

Flanking her on either side, the two sisters supported her from the chamber and took her to a room fitted with a chair, a table, and a cot. A scroll-box stood opened on the floor beside a small chest of cedar wood.

The Magria sat there with a fearsome expression. Anas stood near her, looking tense and unhappy.

They brought a stool for Elandra, who sat down feeling as though she was made of glass.

“This will be explained,” the Magria said in a voice like iron. She turned her formidable gaze on Elandra. “You said the paper was yours. You brought it here deliberately concealed in your glove.”

Elandra stared at her in surprise. Was she being accused? Indignation replaced her astonishment. “How can you—”

“Silence!”

Elandra cut off her sentence abruptly.

The Magria leaned forward. “You said it was yours. You told the sister to replace it in your glove.”

There was menace in this room, combined with considerable anger. Elandra fought back her sense of injustice and struggled to present what she knew in a matter-of-fact voice. If she let herself get too emotional, they would truly think her guilty.

“I thought the paper was the oath I must learn for tomorrow,” she said in a quiet, controlled voice. Her hands were shaking in her lap. She curled them into fists. “It was given me as I set out. I was supposed to study it in my litter, but I didn’t bother.”

As she spoke, a horrified corner of her mind was refusing to believe her tutor Miles could have done such a thing. She had always liked him, trusted him. Why should he want to harm her?

“Who gave you this paper?” the Magria asked.

“A man named Miles Milgard. He is my political tutor.”

“You trust this man?”

Elandra’s eyes filled with tears. She fought to hold them back. “Yes. I—I thought I did. Was I meant to die?”

“Yes. The smoke could have killed you. Had you been closer to it, you would be gravely ill now. Had you handled it in your litter, you would be dead.”

Elandra felt icy cold. She shivered, hugging herself. “Why would he do this to me? I cannot believe he would turn against me.”

“The Vindicants have many ways of turning people. How well do you know him?”

Elandra frowned, struggling to concentrate. She must be objective, she told herself. She must put aside her memories of this man, must put aside her emotions. “I have spent an hour with him daily for nearly a year,” she replied slowly. “I have found him patient, a good teacher, always kind, and considerate. He is from good family, if undistinguished. He has spent his life earning a living from teaching.”

“Perhaps he did not know,” Anas said slowly. “Perhaps he was used as a tool.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps.” The Magria brought her fist down on the arm of her chair. “This was a serious attack. Whoever lay behind it is desperate enough to risk using magic openly. Now, girl. It would seem you have more resourceful enemies than we thought.”

Elandra stared at her. “Who else?”

“Don’t be a fool! Anyone with a stake at getting the throne for themselves. The prince. The Vindicants. The Maelites. The Madruns. Choose one or several. There could be more.” She scowled. “You were to marry and bear children. You were not intended to be at the center of a political storm.”

“It was Kostimon’s decision,” Elandra said defensively. “He told me he consulted with you and—”

“Hah! A lie!” the Magria said with a fierceness that silenced Elandra. “He would rather cut off his right hand than consult with me on anything.” She shook her head. “The visions did not show your sovereignty. None of them showed this. Has he learned to confound not only the augurs, but me?”

“Excellency,” Anas began, but was gestured to be silent.

“It is foolish to disregard Kostimon. He has more resources than we,” the Magria said as though to herself. “He did this for a purpose. Perhaps he has more than one strategy in mind.”

“His time must be drawing near,” Elandra said. “The ruby throne has broken.”

She did not know why she blurted out what the emperor had decreed must be kept secret. It seemed to come of its own accord. Besides, she trusted these women more than she trusted anyone else. She needed their help.

Neither Anas nor the Magria seemed surprised.

“It’s a terrible omen,” Elandra said.

They nodded without concern.

“He was furious and a little frightened,” Elandra continued. She looked at them in growing puzzlement. “I do not think he will crown me as more than a consort now.”

That got their attention.

A cool, unreadable smile appeared on Anas’s face. “What brings you to that conclusion? Did you have something to do with the throne breaking?”

Upset, Elandra started to deny it; then her sentence died in her throat. She looked at them in suspicion. “No,” she said, “but you did. Yes! You did, didn’t you? How—”

“Hush,” the Magria said quietly. “The breaking of the throne was foretold at least a century ago. It can hardly be a surprise to him now.”

“I don’t understand,” Elandra said.

“You are not meant to,” Anas told her coldly.

Elandra’s temper flared. She stood up, facing them both. “If I am to be empress, then I cannot be ignored and I will not be toyed with. I am not your puppet, Anas, to be manipulated as you please. You did not foresee me as having any true power, but if the throne comes to me by the will of Kostimon, then you must deal with me as you have dealt with him. With respect.”

Anas stared at her with widened eyes.

The Magria smiled. “Well spoken, girl. You are growing up a little.”

Angered by this patronizing remark, Elandra turned on her, but the Magria raised her hand.

“Careful,” she said in soft warning. “Your rebuke was well delivered, but do not go too far. There is much to sort through, and in the meantime you have not begun your purification. If you feel recovered, I suggest you commence.”

Elandra frowned. “We are to continue, as though nothing happened? Is the emperor not to be informed? There must be an investigation.”

“I prefer my own investigation,” the Magria said. “And, no, I do not think the emperor should be informed. Not yet.”

Elandra shook her head. “I do not believe he is behind this attack on me.”

“You have failed to make him love you; how can you be sure?” Anas said tartly.

It hurt, exactly as she intended it to hurt.

“Anas,” the Magria said in displeasure. “You go too far. Events have turned, and we must reevaluate their meaning.” She turned her gaze on Elandra. “The important thing is to let nothing deflect you from the events of tomorrow. You have done well thus far. You must continued to be courageous. If your enemies stop you, then they have won. Do you understand?”

Elandra nodded slowly.

“We will be more careful now. There must be more safeguards taken,” the Magria said sternly.

“Excellency,” Elandra said, choosing her words with care, “in your visions, have you foreseen the Madruns invading Imperia?”

The Magria’s eyes widened. “What question is this?”

“Have you?”

“I have not.”

Elandra frowned and told herself her fears were groundless. The army was strong. There could be no invasion.

The Magria watched her closely for a moment, then said with unexpected patience, “We have naught to do with the wars of men. The goddess guides our attention elsewhere.”

Elandra asked no further questions.

Finally the Magria said, “Anas, resume the ceremony.”

Anas sighed. She walked past Elandra. “Come, then.”

“Anas,” the Magria said.

Both Elandra and the deputy looked back.

The Magria’s gaze was for Anas alone. “Be kind,” she said.

Flushing, Anas inclined her head and walked out, stiff-backed, leaving Elandra to follow.

 

Whatever Elandra expected, it was not the gentleness of the sisters as they finished undressing her and led her to a stone cistern filled with warm, steaming water. Chanting, they pushed her completely under, then sprinkled dried rosemary and rue on her as she emerged, dripping. The purification chamber was small and cramped. Sand covered the floor, and besides the cistern there was only a stone bench. Elandra sat on it, shivering and dripping water.

The sisters carried in braziers of red-hot rocks. Placing these around Elandra, they poured small dippers of water on the rocks to create steam. Soon she was warm again. Then she was sweating. They scraped her skin, wrapped her in a robe, and led her into an adjoining room to be plunged into a cistern of fresh water.

The water was so cold it had pieces of ice floating on it. The shock of immersion in it robbed her of breath, and she could not even scream.

Then she was out, teeth chattering, hugging herself. They took her back to the steam and warmth, sweating her again.

And thus it alternated until her body was pliant and relaxed. She felt sleepy but marvelous. How could she have been afraid? she wondered. Even the aftereffects of the poisoning attempt had vanished.

When an elderly sister rubbed scented oil on her hands and began to massage Elandra, she closed her eyes and sank deep into luxuriant sensations. The sister’s strong fingers dug into all the sore spots and melted away Elandra’s tensions. She felt boneless, utterly at peace. Fears and worries about tomorrow faded from her mind. Even the chanting about her sounded lighter now, more like singing. Smiling, Elandra sighed and floated into sleep.

Only it was not sleep. She had the sudden sensation of falling, and although she threw out her hands to catch herself, she could grasp nothing. Faster and faster she hurtled down through a darkness that terrified her. Then the darkness changed to light, and she was falling through images. Faces loomed at her, huge and confusing, only to dissolve and vanish as she fell through them. Dreams ... no, memories. She saw her father shouting at a hapless servant. She saw the emperor place his hand on a fragment of his magnificent throne. She saw Lord Sien sneering down at her during her wedding ceremony.

Then with a jolt she ceased falling and found herself in a featureless hallway. The walls were very narrow. She could barely squeeze through, but she felt the urgent need to run.

She did so, her feet flying faster and faster. She wanted out of this place, wanted this strange dream to end. But as she ran, a hand reached out from nowhere to grab her arm.

Glancing down, she saw the hand projecting from the wall. She screamed, but heard no sound. Somehow she wrenched free and hurried on.

But there were other hands brushing her, grabbing at her clothing and hair. Ahead of her stood the healer Agel, arms outstretched. She veered around him and collided with Caelan, who seized her by the throat. Pulling free, she stumbled on around a turn in the passageway. And now Hecati followed her, beating her with a switch until her back and legs stung.

Then, without warning, she found herself in the grip of a woman tall and warm, smelling of ambergris and henna. This person held her fast when she would have torn free.

“I must go,” Elandra sobbed. “I must run.”

Abruptly the loving hands were gone, and she found herself standing alone in the darkness.

From far in the distance came a whisper: “Elandra, my daughter. Do not run. Do not heed them. Find your own way. Walk to your destiny at your own pace. Do not be forced.”

Elandra spun around, searching for the voice with a sudden yearning. “Mother?” she called. “Oh, Mother, please help me!”

“Help yourself,” came the reply, fainter than ever. “You are stronger than they know. Trust your own heart. Heed nothing else.”

Elandra ran toward the voice, wishing now she had not pushed her mother away. She had so many questions, so much need for this woman she had never known. “Mother—”

But she could not find her. The voice spoke no more to her.

Finally Elandra stopped running. Anguished tears streaked her face. She had never understood why her mother sent her away when she was so young. She had never understood why her mother did not want her.

A feral snarl from behind her scattered her thoughts. Whipping her head over her shoulder, Elandra saw a huge black game cat leaping toward her from a thicket. Without warning she found herself in the jungle, sunlight barely filtering down through the upper canopy. The panther came at her fast. With fangs bared, it was intent on bringing her down.

And she was ten years old. Foolish and headstrong, she had wandered away from the safety of the camp against orders, and now found herself terrified, the intended victim of this predator.

Before she could turn to run, its paws hit her chest with a jolt that knocked the wind from her. She was falling, falling, her scream entwined with that of the cat. Its hot breath scorched her face as its fangs tore into her exposed throat.

“Stop!” Elandra cried.

She struck the panther, and her hand passed right through it as though it were only mist. The beast dissolved, and she was no longer lying on her back in the rotting humus, but instead standing on a desolate mesa, all bare rock and scrubby weeds, overlooking a sharp drop to the open plains below.

The air was cold, and it blew constantly at her back with a mournful howl.

The jungle cat’s attack was not a true memory. Elandra frowned, still feeling shaken by how close it had come to killing her. But she had not wandered away from camp. Someone else had—a bearer. He had been brought down and killed before the soldiers could drive the animal away. And it had been tawny, not black.

And had her mother ever spoken to her? Was that a true memory, or just a hope?

She felt angry now. She had been toyed with enough. The sisters had no right to put her through this nightmare.

“Stop this!” she said aloud. “I will participate no further. Bring me back and have done with your games.”

But nothing changed or responded. She stood alone on the mesa, the precipice at her feet. There was not another living creature within miles of her.

Suspiciously she turned around, gazing in all directions, but she did not even spy a dream walker standing at the fringes of her vision as they so often did. She no longer chased dream walkers as she had at first. Right now, however, she would have chased anything, if it meant a way of getting out of this dream.

The sky was overcast and very dark, as though a storm was coming. The clouds roiled, and now and then lightning flashed in their bellies, although none struck at the earth. On the plains below she glimpsed movement.

Turning to give it her full attention, she watched until she saw an army coming over the horizon. Soon she could hear its approach, like thunder that grew ever louder. It was huge—black, distant figures that stretched as far as the eye could see, an endless mass that came and came. And as the army marched in perfect rows, spear points gleaming with green fire, she saw dragons flying over, wheeling in the sky and belching fire as they bellowed.

Every creature in the army was black. The soldiers’ armor was black, as were their helmets, cloaks, and gloves. Their swords were fashioned from black metal. Their horses, dogs, and dragons were all black.

As the army came closer, her vision improved. Suddenly she could see them clearly, although they were truly too far away for such clarity to be real. She realized the cavalry was not riding horses, but scaly four-footed beasts with vicious, barbed tails and nostrils that breathed fire. Those were not dogs that bounded ahead of the foot soldiers, but hellhounds with eyes of flame and teeth like razors. The dragons were ridden by demons who screamed with laughter.

The sound was so insane, so awful, she clapped her hands over her ears and tried to back away from the precipice. She did not want to see the faces of the soldiers beneath their helmets.

Yet she found herself frozen, unable to move or look away. With the army came a dreadful stench of death and decay. And at the head of the army rode a figure as large as a giant, with armor that threw off sparks at every movement and a winged helmet that caught bolts of lightning in its span, yet never burned. This figure’s cloak was darkness. Wherever it looked, scrub crumbled to ash and the rocks melted into lava. It carried a quiver of fire, and flames danced at the tips of its spurs.

Terrified, Elandra found herself consumed with recognition. The god’s dire name trembled on her lips, demanding to be spoken. With all her might, she fought to hold it back, knowing that if she said the name Beloth aloud, she would somehow chain herself forever to his darkness.

The god looked up as though he saw her standing on the rocky cliff high above him. He raised one arm as though to launch a hunting falcon, but the creature clinging in chains to his wrist was not a bird but a man, a man square and powerful of body, a man with white curly hair and yellow eyes.

“Kost—”

She bit back his name also, fearing to say anything.

The emperor waved his arm in supplication. “Ela!” he cried, his voice a thin wail against the howling wind. “Ela, help me!”

“Do not say my name,” she whispered, pressing her fists against her lips.

The god looked in her direction again, but his terrible eyes went on scanning as though he could not see her.

She had the terrible urge to kneel before him, to hurl herself over the cliff and fall to her death screaming his name. She felt pierced with a thousand red-hot needles, until she was writhing in agony, and yet she knew there was far worse to come if she succumbed.

Sobbing, she crouched down and plunged her fingers into the thin, stony soil. “Oh, goddess mother, help me,” she prayed. “Give me the strength I need. Take me unto thy bosom and shelter me.”

Suddenly she felt as though invisible shackles had been removed. She whirled about and ran for her life, full tilt away from the horrors behind her.

Then the ground that should have been flat dipped down into a low place that was sheltered and hidden. The cold wind ceased blowing. She found herself stumbling and slowing, sobbing for air.

Ahead, her path was blocked by a low altar of stone. Four thumb-sized jewels lay on top of it, each of a different color, each square-cut and perfect.

An enormous serpent, perhaps eight or ten feet long, lay coiled on the other side of the altar. As Elandra approached reluctantly, the serpent lifted itself into the air until its head was at her eye level. It swayed there, its forked tongue flickering, with the altar between them.

“Choose a stone,” the serpent commanded.

Shivering in fear, Elandra closed her eyes a moment. She was still too close to the dreadful army. She wanted to keep on running and never stop. She had no time for this.

“Choose!” the serpent commanded.

She tried to go around the altar, but her feet were frozen again.

“I don’t want to choose!” she cried furiously. “I must run and warn the others. There is no time.”

“Choose!” the serpent commanded. “You will not pass by me until you have chosen.”

Impatiently she swept her gaze across the gems again.

Ruby. Sapphire. Topaz. Emerald.

Each was beautiful. Each was flawless, worth a king’s ransom.

“Only one may you take,” the serpent told her.

She felt hurried and flustered. This was some sort of test, but she could not reason it out. There was no time. She had to run and warn the others of what was coming.

“I don’t want any,” she said.

“Then you will stand here forever.”

An unearthly howl lifted behind her. The hairs on her arms prickled, and she felt herself shrink inside with fear. The armies of hell were coming closer. She dared not glance back.

“Choose!” the serpent said. “Quickly.”

The ruby she did not want. She hesitated over the others, not understanding the significance they represented.

The howl came again, louder and closer. One of the dragons swept over her, and she felt the hot scorch of its flaming breath.

Without further hesitation, she reached out and plucked up the topaz.

There was a tremendous explosive sound around her— blinding light and deafening noise. The world went white, then black, and once again she was falling.