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Authors: Michael Pryor
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gestured ahead, then hurried on. Adalon and Targesh followed. With each step, the rock grew hotter. Adalon thought he could feel his skin starting to shrivel. His tail skimmed the rock and he hissed with pain.
'On,' grunted Targesh from behind him. 'Up.'
The path beside the lake of fire grew yet narrower.
Adalon looked down. The molten rock was alight with reds and oranges, with streamers of bright white that made his vision dance. The vast chuffing noise was even louder and he felt as if he were trapped in a giant bellows.
Heat beat at him and he saw that the lake was heaving. Great waves surged along the lake, along the river of fire, then down toward the cave entrance. Flame and smoke leaped high, licking the ceiling of the cave.
In a rush, they squeezed around a rocky spur and were past the lake. Light beckoned. Adalon broke into a run, yet couldn't catch Simangee. His heart felt as if it would burst as he scrambled up the slope, ignoring the pain in his hands and feet. The air began to grow thicker with smoke and he heard Targesh's throaty coughing from behind him.
Adalon looked up and peered ahead. He could dimly see Simangee, scrambling toward the light. He dug in his claws and dragged himself after her, trying not to choke on the smoke.
He looked up in time to see Simangee disappear. He surged forward and, suddenly, broke into open air.
In the dim twilight, Adalon cried out in relief and sucked in lungfuls of cool air. Then Targesh stumbled out of the tunnel and ran straight into him. They both rolled onto a mat of thick, green grass, Targesh's horns gouging long furrows as he fell face first.
Adalon sat up to see Simangee lying close to them. Her gaze was on the cave they had just left. 'The fiery lake is about to erupt. The cave will fill with molten rock before rolling out and down the mountainside. I think we got through just in time.'
'We did?' Targesh said. He glared at the cave mouth.
'Explorers were afraid to enter the tunnel until the A'ak discovered that the lake erupts regularly, allowing time to get through to the Hidden Valley.'
The mountain roared. Adalon clapped his hands to his ears as he was engulfed by the noise. It was like being pummelled by a thousand fists. He rolled onto his stomach and put his hands over his head. The ground shook. Smoke and heat burst from the cave – but no molten rock came their way.
Adalon lay there wondering when it would stop. If it would stop.
A few minutes later, all was still again.
Simangee sat and looked at the cave mouth. 'I don't think we have to worry about General Wargrach.'
Fourteen
Wargrach's head pounded with each step. He felt as if the top of his skull would fly off any minute. He staggered, fell, crawled, picked himself up and fell again, clenching his teeth to stop himself from screaming each time. Bright pain flared in his shoulder, his hip, the back of his head, his hands. His left arm hung at his side and he knew at least one of the bones was broken.
Wargrach turned his one good eye back to Graaldon, the smoking mountain. He snarled and tried to curse it, but the words caught in his scorched throat and sent him into a spasm of coughing. He bent double and the pain from his many burns and wounds blended together into one map of agony. This time, he did scream.
He was thankful that none of his troops had survived to hear him.
When the pain had receded, he opened his eye and stared at the velvet of the night sky. Stars looked down on him from between clouds stained orange from the glow of the fires of Graaldon.
The taste of defeat was sour in his mouth. In that accursed tunnel he had been close; his prey had almost been in his grasp. The youngling and his friends were nearly his.
At that moment, when the climax of the hunt was near, the blood had beat in his veins and he had known he was a true descendant of the Toothed Ones of old. The hunt, the chase with the promise of blood in the end. That was what he was meant for, that was what
'On,' grunted Targesh from behind him. 'Up.'
The path beside the lake of fire grew yet narrower.
Adalon looked down. The molten rock was alight with reds and oranges, with streamers of bright white that made his vision dance. The vast chuffing noise was even louder and he felt as if he were trapped in a giant bellows.
Heat beat at him and he saw that the lake was heaving. Great waves surged along the lake, along the river of fire, then down toward the cave entrance. Flame and smoke leaped high, licking the ceiling of the cave.
In a rush, they squeezed around a rocky spur and were past the lake. Light beckoned. Adalon broke into a run, yet couldn't catch Simangee. His heart felt as if it would burst as he scrambled up the slope, ignoring the pain in his hands and feet. The air began to grow thicker with smoke and he heard Targesh's throaty coughing from behind him.
Adalon looked up and peered ahead. He could dimly see Simangee, scrambling toward the light. He dug in his claws and dragged himself after her, trying not to choke on the smoke.
He looked up in time to see Simangee disappear. He surged forward and, suddenly, broke into open air.
In the dim twilight, Adalon cried out in relief and sucked in lungfuls of cool air. Then Targesh stumbled out of the tunnel and ran straight into him. They both rolled onto a mat of thick, green grass, Targesh's horns gouging long furrows as he fell face first.
Adalon sat up to see Simangee lying close to them. Her gaze was on the cave they had just left. 'The fiery lake is about to erupt. The cave will fill with molten rock before rolling out and down the mountainside. I think we got through just in time.'
'We did?' Targesh said. He glared at the cave mouth.
'Explorers were afraid to enter the tunnel until the A'ak discovered that the lake erupts regularly, allowing time to get through to the Hidden Valley.'
The mountain roared. Adalon clapped his hands to his ears as he was engulfed by the noise. It was like being pummelled by a thousand fists. He rolled onto his stomach and put his hands over his head. The ground shook. Smoke and heat burst from the cave – but no molten rock came their way.
Adalon lay there wondering when it would stop. If it would stop.
A few minutes later, all was still again.
Simangee sat and looked at the cave mouth. 'I don't think we have to worry about General Wargrach.'
Fourteen
Wargrach's head pounded with each step. He felt as if the top of his skull would fly off any minute. He staggered, fell, crawled, picked himself up and fell again, clenching his teeth to stop himself from screaming each time. Bright pain flared in his shoulder, his hip, the back of his head, his hands. His left arm hung at his side and he knew at least one of the bones was broken.
Wargrach turned his one good eye back to Graaldon, the smoking mountain. He snarled and tried to curse it, but the words caught in his scorched throat and sent him into a spasm of coughing. He bent double and the pain from his many burns and wounds blended together into one map of agony. This time, he did scream.
He was thankful that none of his troops had survived to hear him.
When the pain had receded, he opened his eye and stared at the velvet of the night sky. Stars looked down on him from between clouds stained orange from the glow of the fires of Graaldon.
The taste of defeat was sour in his mouth. In that accursed tunnel he had been close; his prey had almost been in his grasp. The youngling and his friends were nearly his.
At that moment, when the climax of the hunt was near, the blood had beat in his veins and he had known he was a true descendant of the Toothed Ones of old. The hunt, the chase with the promise of blood in the end. That was what he was meant for, that was what
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