Chapter Two

“Who serves the empress sovereign?” called out a strong, masculine voice over the general noise.

Sudden silence fell over the cavern. Men’s heads turned. They craned to see.

Recognizing Caelan’s voice, Elandra stopped in her tracks and stood still. Her breath came raggedly in her throat. She dared not glance back at the emperor.

“What?” said Kostimon from behind her. “What? Who said that? Who speaks?”

“Who serves the empress sovereign?” Caelan called out again. His voice rang off the walls. “Without both emperor and empress to rule, this land is fallen. Which man of you will leave her behind? Which man of you is both traitor and coward?”

A growl of assent broke out among the soldiers. Sergeant Baiter and Captain Vysal exchanged glances, then looked at the emperor. Elandra herself stepped aside as Caelan came striding forward from the shadows.

He carried his drawn sword in his hand. His cloak swirled about his ankles with every step. As he walked into the circle of torchlight, he looked somehow taller, leaner, and more fierce than he had ever appeared before. His blue eyes blazed with a wrath that was all the more terrible because of its coldness. Elandra saw something bleak and deadly in his face. It was the same look he had worn when he refused to serve as her protector. Yet here he came, to save her once again.

Triumph blazed inside her, and her head lifted higher in renewed confidence. This man served her. No matter what he said, he was her protector.

The soldiers parted at his approach. Even Balter stepped back. Caelan strode past Vysal, then past Elandra without glancing at her. A few feet short of the emperor, he stopped and stood towering over Kostimon, fierce, proud, and grim.

The emperor stepped back. “Who are you? How dare you bring a drawn sword into my presence? Hovet—”

Kostimon’s voice choked off abruptly. He glared a moment, his jaw working. Chagrin warred with anger in his face.

Then his gaze snapped to General Paz. “Who is this man? How dare he speak to me unbidden?”

The general glared at Captain Vysal. “Identify this man at once.”

“You know me,” Caelan said before Vysal could respond. Caelan’s gaze never left the emperor’s. His youthful strength and vigor made Kostimon look shrunken and almost feeble.

Glaring, Caelan said, “You know by what right I speak unbidden. I brought your Majesty warning of this attack, and you heeded it not. I told your Majesty the Madruns were coming, and you ignored me. You had time to send for your armies, but you did not. I told your Majesty there were traitors close to you, men who would open the secret ways of the palace to your enemies. You sat and did nothing. Nothing, until now when your throne has been shattered and your palace burns. Your Imperial Guard has been massacred, and you bleat like the coward you are.”

The emperor’s face turned nearly as white as his hair. He glared at Caelan. “That is your death sentence, knave! You cannot talk so and live. Sergeant! Kill this man, who dares insult me to my face!”

Elandra drew in a sharp breath. She wanted to cry out in protest, but she dared not speak. Violence glowered in the faces about her. Every man’s hand gripped the hilt of his weapon. The wrong move, the wrong word would set off a fight like a torch thrown among straw.

“Sergeant!” Kostimon roared. “Kill him!”

Baiter did not move. He stood at attention, as rigid as stone.

Silence spread over them all, broken only by the soft jingle of bridles and the stamping of the horses. None of the guardsmen moved. Captain Vysal’s fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword until his knuckles were white, but not even he drew his sword.

Kostimon looked around at them all, his face strained and disbelieving. “Is this how I am served?” he asked hoarsely. “In my final hours, is this the loyalty I command?”

“Majesty,” Baiter replied, “lead us honorably and we will serve you honorably.”

A cheer rose from the men.

General Paz cleared his throat and let his gaze slide toward the door. Then he stepped to the emperor’s side and drew his sword. “If no one else will maintain order, then I shall, Majesty. To prove my loyalty to you, I shall kill this knave as you have commanded.”

“No!” Vysal called, but too late.

Paz launched himself at Caelan with a swing of his sword. Although Caelan stood with his own weapon drawn, he was not in a fighting stance. Nor did he look prepared for the sudden attack.

Watching in horror, Elandra choked off a scream.

But Caelan was not run through. At seemingly the very last moment before Paz’s sword struck him, he shifted his feet—quick and light—and swung up his sword to meet the general’s.

Steel hit steel with a resounding clang. Two quick exchanges, and Caelan’s sword tip flashed swiftly.

The general’s sword went flying across the floor ... with the general’s hand still attached to it.

Now Elandra did scream, her cry rising with the general’s own.

Paz stood there transfixed, staring at the stump of his right wrist. Blood spurted freely.

Shuddering, Elandra shut her eyes and turned away. It was so horrible she thought she would be sick. Again and again, the sight of that swift clean cut of steel flashed through er mind as though it would never fade.

Frightened shouts broke out, and she turned back in time to see the general sag to his knees, then crumple bonelessly to the floor. Black fluid now gushed from the stump—not blood, but instead something that stank most foully.

“Get back!” Vysal commanded. Throwing out his arm, he held Kostimon back. “Majesty, take care!”

“What in Gault’s name is it?” Kostimon asked.

Caelan approached the body, which now lay facedown on the ground. Crouching beside it, he started to dip his finger in the black liquid.

“Caelan, no!” Elandra shouted in horror.

At the last second, he withdrew his hand. His face wrinkled in disgust, and he jumped back with a quickness that alarmed all of them.

“Possessed,” Caelan said. “If General Paz was human once, he is no longer. Everyone, stay back.”

Ashen, the emperor looked around for Elandra and beckoned to her. She ran to him, and he gripped her hand hard in his.

“Stay close to me,” he said.

“What can it be?”

“I think I can guess,” he said grimly and shifted his gaze to Vysal. “Captain, we now have danger from within as well as without. In minutes, there will be creatures spawned in that blood. Creatures none of us wish to meet.”

Blinking, Vysal spun around. “Men!” he shouted. “Form ranks. Those who are mounted, go in front. Those on foot, assemble at the rear. Draw your weapons and say your prayers.”

The sergeant brought up both the emperor’s horse and his own for Elandra.

She stared at Kostimon in rising urgency, caught up in the general tension and fear. “But where are we going? We are trapped in this cavern, with no way out except the way w/e entered. And the Madruns are waiting.”

Kostimon touched her cheek briefly with his fingertips. “I am sorry for what was said a moment ago, my dear,” he said softly. “Too many masks—too many betrayals. How could I doubt your integrity for even a moment?”

This was the man she knew, alert and clear-eyed once again. Grateful for his apology, she caught his gnarled hand and held it pressed against her cheek for a moment. “Husband, I—”

“Later.” He pulled away. “You there, assist the empress.”

Baiter held the stirrup for her, then boosted her up as though she weighed nothing. Hastily she arranged her skirts across the saddle. She was not dressed for riding astride, but that hardly mattered now. Clutching the reins in her gloved fingers, she heard a feeble sound come from the direction of the general’s body.

Newly afraid, Elandra glanced at Paz. The corpse lay in a spreading pool of blackness. It should have stopped bleeding long since, but the loathsome fluid still poured from the wound. Ripples now spread across the surface of the pool, although it was too shallow to contain anything. With horrified fascination, Elandra saw movement as though something was taking shape there.

“He is not dead!” she cried.

“Hush. He is,” Caelan said. “Hurry.” He slapped the rump of her mount.

Only by reining back hard did she prevent the startled animal from bolting. All the horses were snorting now, stamping and backing away from the corpse. Fear spread quickly through the cavern.

It took both Vysal and Caelan to push the emperor onto his horse while Baiter struggled to hold the spirited animal still. Elandra had never seen Kostimon look so physically weak, or have so much difficulty mounting. When he was finally in the saddle, he leaned over, gasping for breath. She saw his hands shake on the reins, and she was afraid he would die then and there.

She reached out to him, wanting to help him, but his mount skittered to one side, snorting and tossing its head.

“Lord Sien,” Kostimon said, managing to straighten. “Where is Lord Sien? I need him.”

It was Caelan who looked up and answered: “The priest cannot come to you.”

“I need him!” Kostimon insisted. Glaring, he glanced around. “Sien! Come to me!”

“He will not come!” Caelan said more forcefully, gripping the emperor’s bridle. “Do not call him, lest you bring more of the darkness to us.”

Elandra’s mouth fell open, but she said nothing. Others stared at Caelan in open astonishment. As for Elandra, she wondered if he knew what he risked by accusing Sien so openly. The priest had been Kostimon’s most trusted adviser for a long time. Only a fool or a very courageous man would dare speak against the priest.

Kostimon’s mouth clamped in a thin line. His yellow eyes blazed with anger and impatience.

The guardsmen watched, the whites of their eyes showing in the torchlight. Murmurs rose among them.

“Lord Sien,” called Kostimon, “I call on you to serve me now.”

The priest did not answer, nor did he appear. Realizing she was holding her breath, Elandra released it. Then she sent Caelan a look of fresh wonder. It seemed he had indeed cowed the priest into staying away.

“Damn!” Kostimon said angrily, twisting about in the saddle. “Where is the man?”

“He can not come,” Caelan said again, his voice very terse.

Kostimon glared at him. “Is he dead?”

“No, Majesty.”

Another eerie sound came from Paz’s corpse. Kostimon glanced at it and scowled. “There is no more time to wait for him. I shall have to do this myself.” He lifted his free hand into the air while the other gripped the reins. “I, Kostimon the Great, call on the hidden ways! Exalted ruler of the shadows, show mercy upon thy subjects and reveal the ways to us.”

Several of the men gasped at his request. Elandra felt coldness squeeze her own heart. Suddenly she was short of breath, and everything about her did not seem quite real. Kostimon was calling on the powers of darkness, the forbidden knowledge. Openly, with all of them as witnesses, he was committing blasphemy.

“Dear Gault,” Elandra whispered aloud in her horror, “watch over us and keep us safe.”

Caelan’s gaze met hers. “Gault does not rule here,” he said in warning.

Across the cavern, the shadowy darkness curled back as though parted by an unseen force. Eerie light not cast by fire appeared in soft radiance. It hurt Elandra’s eyes to look at it. Blinking, she squinted and turned her face away. Her heart was beating faster now. Her mouth was dry. She felt deathly afraid.

A doorway stood revealed in the strange light. The wall surrounding it was carved into the shape of a beast’s snarling mouth. As they watched—disbelieving, horrified, some muttering prayers and others hastily making warding signs—the door swung silently open to expose a yawning darkness beyond it.

A dank, ancient smell came to Elandra’s nostrils. She shivered, and her horse whinnied nervously.

“Do not fear!” the emperor called out across the confusion. “Ahead of us lies safety. At our backs grows the danger of Beloth.”

As he said the unspeakable name, something shrieked behind them.

Crying out involuntarily, Elandra looked back and saw a shape rising from the black pool surrounding Paz’s body. The shape looked slender, almost like a child or a woman. Now it was unfurling wings that dripped and splattered the black fluid. Each splatter on the floor spread into a miniature pool of its own, rapidly spreading and growing.

“Ela!” Kostimon shouted. “Don’t look at it. You’ll draw it to you. Hurry and pin this to your cloak. It will protect you.”

As he spoke, he drew a metal disk from his pocket and thrust it at her. She saw that he wore a similar disk pinned to his own cloak. Some trick of the torchlight made its polished surface gleam as though it emitted fire.

But when the disk touched her gloved palm, a searing flash of light and heat shot out. Sparks flew between the disk and her glove. She cried out and dropped the disk, which went clattering across the ground.

It rolled up against Caelan’s boot. He stooped and picked it up as though in wonder.

“You!” the emperor shouted at him, barely controlling his plunging, half-rearing mount. “Give that back to the empress. She must wear it. It’s her only protection against the shyrieas.”

Fresh fear leaped into Elandra’s throat. She couldn’t help looking again at the monsters that were forming. They shrieked and struggled, flapping wings and clawing the air with their talons.

Caelan was still studying the disk, turning it over and over in his hands. Elandra was afraid of it, afraid of Kostimon’s suddenly revealed powers, afraid of the way he dared utter the shadow god’s unspeakable name.

“I shall wear no emblem of the darkness,” she declared fearfully.

“Don’t be a fool,” Kostimon said. “You—”

“It’s a warding key,” Caelan interrupted, his voice full of amazement. “Choven made.”

“Give it to the empress,” Kostimon said. He kicked his horse in Caelan’s direction. “She must be protected—”

“Her cloak and gloves do that,” Caelan said. “The protection spells are different. They cannot work together.”

“Give it to her, I say!”

Shrugging, Caelan handed up the disk to Elandra.

“No!” she cried, backing her horse away.

Behind them, the shyrieas shrieked. Ahead of them, a tall figure in long priestly robes suddenly appeared in the bestial mouth of the doorway. He beckoned, and several guardsmen cried out a warning. Panic ran through the air, hot and sour.

“Majesty!” called the priest. “Come quickly.”

“It is safe, men!” Kostimon tried to assure the soldiers. “On my honor, I swear to you that it is safe. It is a secret way of Gault.”

Caelan was also staring at the priest. “It’s not Sien,” he said as though to himself.

Elandra heard him, and relaxed slightly in relief. She never wanted to see the high priest again.

“Captain Vysal,” Kostimon ordered, “send the men through at once. We cannot afford delay.”

Vysal’s voice rang out, tighter and more brusque than usual, and the men reluctantly spurred their shying, frightened horses toward the exit.

“Majesty, come!” the priest called with more urgency than before. “Your Majesty must be the first one through the portal, if the others are to follow where you go.”

The emperor swore, using dark, ancient words that rang in Elandra’s ears. “Never mind your instructions!” he shouted back. “I know what to do. See that you get the cup ready. Hurry!”

Elandra stared at him in wonder, trying to understand what was happening.

He glared at her. “Take the disk and come with me. We must go through first. There’s no more time.”

No matter how great her fear, she could not disobey his direct command. With great reluctance, she reached out her hand and let Caelan give her the disk.

Again, sparks flashed between her glove and the disk. A numbing jolt went through her hand, and the disk went flying.

“I cannot hold it,” she said.

Kostimon swore again. “Ela, stop fooling about or I shall lose you forever. Take off those damned gloves and—”

“The magic she has is stronger than this, and older,” Caelan said, interceding. “She is safe as she is.”

“Nonsense!” Kostimon snapped. “Nothing is stronger than Choven-forged—”

“Women’s magic,” Caelan replied. He glanced at Elandra with his brows lifted, as though for confirmation. “Penestrican?”

“Mahiran,” she answered.

Scowling, Kostimon opened his mouth as though to argue further, but a dreadful screech from the first, and largest, shyriea filled the cavern. Lifting itself into the air with strong flaps of its wings, it flew at them.

Elandra screamed.

Shouting a war cry, Kostimon drew his sword and brandished it aloft. “Choven steel!” he shouted defiantly. “Come and eat it, you harpy of the devil!”

Beside Elandra’s shying horse, Caelan gripped her stirrup and raised the warding key in his hand. He shouted something in a language she did not understand—Trau, perhaps. The sound of the words made her feel dizzy and strange.

The disk in his upraised palm glowed and came to life. Light flashed in a ray from it to the disk pinned to Kostimon’s cloak to his sword. As though in response, Elandra’s gloves and cloak also glowed with light until the combined radiance was blinding.

The shyriea swooped at them from overhead, only to wheel back, screaming. She realized it could not harm her or these two men under their protection spell.

As for the light around her, it grew ever brighter. She felt as though she were being burned up, and yet the fire that blazed through her was both strangely cool and exhilarating.

The horses, lathered and terrified, galloped across the cavern to the others, where the priest was hastily administering a goblet of something—sacramental wine, perhaps—to the guardsmen. Caelan kept pace at Elandra’s horse’s side, running effortlessly, his golden hair on fire, his eyes cold white flames. His skin was like tempered bronze, shining in the unearthly light. He was singing as he ran, the words still in some mysterious tongue that awakened strange sensations in her.

Elandra felt as one with this man, as though she had joined his heart and mind. She saw his goodness, his loyal heart, his honesty, and his pain.

As for Kostimon, on her other side, she felt as one with him also, joined with him for the first time. His aged looks had fallen away. He looked as young as Caelan, lean and glorious, his face radiant as he tipped back his head and laughed aloud. White flames shot from his mouth, driving back the shyriea again. She had never seen a man more handsome or magnificent than Kostimon, with his black curly hair and strong shoulders.

Laughing again, he spoke something even older and more powerful than Caelan’s incantations. The word appeared in the air, blazing with fire, and the largest shyriea swallowed it, only to scream and explode into ashes. The other demons vanished also, their screams echoing long after they faded.

There was an awful stink of sulfur and death in the cavern, choking the air.

The fire blazing in Elandra died, as suddenly as it had come to life. She dropped down in her saddle, not realizing until then that she had been standing in her stirrups. She felt dazed and winded.

On her left, Caelan lowered his hand with the warding key and stumbled. He released her stirrup and let her horse shoot past him. The fiery radiance encircling him like a halo faded and disappeared.

On her right, Kostimon looked around and laughed. Strong, vigorous, and handsome, he was glorious, more splendidly male than she could have ever imagined. This was the man who had vanquished countless foes, who had gathered an army and forged an empire. This was a man who had ruled the world for a thousand years, Kostimon the Great, a man above all men.

Then his sword stopped flaming and the fire in him vanished.

Before her eyes, his youthful looks aged swiftly until he was once again an old man slumping in his saddle. He looked haggard and exhausted. His yellow eyes held torment and regret of a degree she could not bear to witness.

She wanted to weep for him, this man who had once held everything in the palm of his hand. How old he was now, how diminished. And yet, she could see in his eyes that he still had the spirit and the soul of a man in his prime. Only his body was failing him, and perhaps, at last, his mind also. She could see his rage, his frustration, and his fear as his own mortality loomed over him. Now, at last, having glimpsed what he had once been, she could grieve for him.

“Majesty,” the priest said urgently. “Come. You must go through the portal now.”

“Sien,” Kostimon said, his voice quivering and feeble. He reached out blindly. “I want Lord Sien.”

The priest came running to his side. “Lord Sien is not here,” he said. “Please, Majesty. I cannot command the portal as you wish. Drink this and grow strong.”

Kostimon slumped lower and moaned. “Help me.”

“Here is the cup, Majesty,” the priest said, lifting the goblet to the emperor’s lips. “Drink deeply.”

Elandra drew rein beside the guardsmen, who were gaping wide-eyed and open-mouthed. She was not sure just yet exactly what had happened. But the shyrieas were gone. That she did understand.

Kostimon pressed one hand against his face. His shoulders were shaking, and he leaned over his horse’s neck as though he would fall out of the saddle. His sword slid to the ground with a clang of steel upon stone.

“Help him!” Elandra called.

Baiter and another man hurried to him, but the priest was already pushing the emperor back into the saddle. The sergeant bent and picked up the emperor’s sword. Slowly he slid it into its scabbard.

“Get back,” the priest said fiercely. He held up a goblet, and Elandra could see ruby-colored wine swirling inside it. “Drink this. Majesty.”

“Help me,” Kostimon begged piteously. “I am fainting. I cannot go on—”

“You will be well again,” the priest assured him, holding the goblet to his lips. “Drink deeply. This will restore you.”

Kostimon’s fingers groped and clasped the rim of the goblet. He drank noisily, choking on the liquid.

Glancing at the guardsmen who had already drunk the potion, Elandra did not like their glazed looks and semivacant faces. “They look drunk!” she cried. “What have you given them?”

“Forgetfulness,” Lord Sien replied smoothly.

She gasped at the sound of his voice and glanced around swiftly. He was nowhere to be seen, yet his voice was unmistakable.

The priest, thin and serious of expression, walked over to her and lifted the goblet.

From the air, Sien’s voice said, “To walk through the mouth of Beloth is not easy. It is not for the faint of heart, not for the unbelievers.”

“We do not worship the shadow god here!” she said. “Do not utter his dire name in my presence.”

Lord Sien laughed, his voice thin and ghostly. The shadows within the cavern seemed to grow darker as though the torchlight was burning out. The Vindicant priest stood motionless and vacant-eyed, holding the cup.

“Drink, my lady, what this man offers you. Do not refuse what you do not understand.”

“Oh, I understand,” she said grimly, goose bumps rising across her skin.

“It is through Beloth’s mercy that you will escape the trap surrounding you. Drink from the goblet. It will ease you.”

“No, I thank you,” she refused him curtly. “I need no potion of yours.”

“Fool!” Sien’s voice blared loud enough to make the walls of the cavern shake. Elandra’s horse shied, and she struggled to control the animal. Finally the animal quieted.

Elandra drew in a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder at Caelan, who stood apart from her and the others. She could see repudiation and disgust in his face.

“Do you hear Sien’s voice?” she asked.

He glanced at her, his eyes blazing an intense blue, and nodded without speaking.

Elandra heard the sound of splintering wood. Looking back across the cavern, she saw an axe blade cleave through the wooden panels of the door. Suddenly she could hear shouts and war cries.

Her heart lurched anew. “Madruns! They have found us. The spell is not holding.”

“He has released it,” Caelan corrected her angrily.

Kostimon straightened in the saddle and picked up the reins lying slack on his horse’s neck. Turning, the priest hurried back to him and pointed the head of Kostimon’s horse toward the open portal within the open jaws of the stone beast.

“Go,” he commanded, and the horse walked forward.

To Elandra, whatever lay on the other side looked pitch black. A cold air blew forth, and it stank of something she could not identify. She averted her eyes, shivering.

“The emperor knows the way through,” Lord Sien said from his invisible position.

The priest handed a burning torch to Kostimon, who took it without expression. The emperor’s face was slack and strangely empty.

“He has gone this way many times,” Sien’s voice said. “Follow him, and you will be safe.”

“Majesty, no—” Elandra called after her husband, but Kostimon did not look back. Afraid for him, she started to call again, but Caelan touched her foot to silence her.

“He does not hear you,” Caelan said quietly. “Or if he does, it makes no difference to him now.”

Kostimon rode through the portal, lazily ducking his head just in time to go under the low entrance. The darkness engulfed him instantly, and Captain Vysal rode in after him. The other mounted guardsmen followed, then the men on foot. Sergeant Baiter brought up the rear.

The sergeant glanced back at Elandra, who still hesitated.

The door at the other end of the cavern gave way with a splintering crash, and Madruns poured through. She stared at them, caught between two very different kinds of danger, and felt her own resistance give way.

“Caelan,” she said, hearing urgency and fear shaking in her voice, “will your warding key not work again?”

“Not against barbarians of our world,” he replied. “Go.”

It was as though he gave her permission.

“And what of you?” she asked worriedly. “Will you also take this journey?”

He shook his head. “I will hold them as long as I can—”

“Don’t be a fool!” she interrupted angrily. “Your death will not serve me.”

“He fears to walk the hidden ways, Majesty,” Lord Sien said, mocking them even as he remained too much a coward to face them physically again. “Yes, even a warrior like him comes eventually to his own limit. Call it cowardice if you wish, but he will not take the path to safety. He will not pay. its price.”

“What price?” she asked in alarm. “What do you mean?”

Caelan’s gaze shifted to watch the Madruns, who were entering the large cavern cautiously, almost fearfully. A crease appeared between his brows, but he remained aloof, as though nothing could touch him, as though he were encased in ice, without feelings. Yet she knew he was capable of feeling deeply, beneath his icy surface.

“What price?” she asked again. “What lies waiting in there?”

“Only the mysteries,” Lord Sien replied. “Will you take the cup? I can guarantee your safety no other way.”

The unnamed priest held up the goblet to her again.

“I do not trust you,” she said. “I will stay here, and take my chances with the kind of danger I understand.”

Sien’s voice made no reply, but it was Caelan who turned on her.

“Don’t be foolish!” he said angrily, surprising her. “You are needed elsewhere.”

“I will stay.” With you, she wanted to say but did not quite dare.

He glared up at her. “Then you make worthless everything that was done tonight! Every man’s death was for nothing—”

“I will go if you go!” she shouted back, equally angry. “Otherwise I will not.”

“You—”

“Did you not rebuke the emperor’s men for refusing to serve me?” she said over his words. “Did you not take the same oaths as they?”

Caelan’s face darkened. He met her eyes furiously. He said nothing.

She met him look for look, afraid and stubborn. “Unless you hold the bridle of my horse and enter that darkness with me, I will not go.”

“You put all of us in danger!” the priest suddenly said. “Beloth’s curses on both of you. I will not wait here to be torn to bits.”

As he spoke, a war cry rose from the Madruns.

It chilled Elandra’s blood. She looked and saw them coming now, as though they had finally seen their quarry. Pointing and brandishing their war clubs, they came at a run.

Elandra’s heart filled her mouth, and her hands tightened involuntarily on the reins, making her horse back up. All her courage drained away. She did not think she could carry out her bluff with Caelan, and she was ashamed of herself, bitterly ashamed.

But just before she whirled her horse to bolt through the portal, Caelan gave her a curt nod.

“As you wish,” he said ungraciously.

“The cup,” the priest said quickly. He held up the goblet. “They will be on us in a moment. Drink it now.”

Frowning, feeling as though she were surrendering her soul, Elandra took the goblet. The gleam of triumph in the priest’s eyes frightened her anew. She took a tiny sip, and instantly her mouth was on fire. Choking, she thrust the cup away, almost dropping it so that part of its contents splashed over the side.

Her mouth was on fire, but in its wake came a strange numbness that crept through her face, then down her throat and into her limbs. She found that everything looked strangely crooked and out of perspective. The portal seemed very far away, yet she was already riding through it. Her hair brushed the top of the opening, and she ducked just in time. She entered a darkness as cold and as encompassing as the grave.

Caelan shook his head when the priest offered him the cup. With a curse, the priest fled through the portal ahead of them.

Elandra’s hands rested on the neck of her horse, slackly holding the reins. She listened to the strange and steady boom-boom-boom of her heartbeat.

I am going to the dark god, she thought to herself and was horribly afraid.

With all her soul, she wanted to whirl her horse around and bolt out of there, away from the darkness flowing so cold and tangible around her. Yet she could not command her own hands. It was as though by drinking from that mysterious cup, she had accepted something worse than death.

Had she surrendered to Beloth?

She did not want to think so. All her life she had been taught to abhor and fear the shadow god, whose name was not to be spoken. Yet, was she not now taking the path into his hell? And had she not done it willingly, with the helpful trickery of Lord Sien, her enemy?

She tried to cry out, but her mouth would not open. She could not draw enough breath to utter a sound. But in her mind she screamed.