Chris Pierson - Spirit of the Wind

“Sweet Mishakal,” Riverwind gasped.

On a broad ledge, high above the bridge, stood a pile of dragon skulls. There were dozens of them, bleached bones and teeth glowing hideous orange in the firelight. They had been carefully arranged, one on top of the other, into a pyramid fifty feet high. Looking at it, they could count the different types: the long-fanged maw of a black dragon, the ram’s horns of a brass. White and green, blue and bronze, copper, silver and gold, even a lone sea dragon skull-every breed of wyrm was represented in the gruesome shrine. At the top of the pile, staring down at them with sightless eyes, was the massive skull of a red.

“That’s her mate,” Kronn whispered. “Isn’t it?”

Riverwind had come to the same conclusion. He nodded.

“Can you feel it?” Brightdawn asked faintly. “The power…”

The others closed their eyes, their faces pinching. Riverwind slumped against the wall of the cavern, sweat streaming down his face. “Magic,” he said. “It’s coming from that totem. It must be what she uses to fuel her sorcery-to shape the land.”

“That thing killed the Kenderwood?” Kronn asked, his eyes glinting angrily. He studied the far wall. “Maybe I can climb up to it and knock the skulls off the ledge.

Riverwind, however, shook his head. “No, Kronn.”

The kender regarded him in disbelief. “No?” he exclaimed. “She laid waste to my home with that thing, Riverwind! It needs to be destroyed!”

“I said no,” the Plainsman replied firmly. “We can’t afford to waste time here. We have to get to Malystryx’s nest.”

Kronn shook his head stubbornly, his cheek braids swaying. Brightdawn laid a hand on his shoulder. “Father’s right, Kronn,” she said. “Destroying that totem won’t bring the Kenderwood back or make you forget your fear. Your people are counting on us to destroy the egg.”

In the shadows behind them, a black-swathed figure stiffened, then slowly relaxed and began to creep forward. The soft scuff of its boots against the obsidian floor, the whisper of its dark cloak, and the faint hiss of its breath were all lost in the rumbling of lava and crackle of flames that filled the cavern. If any of them had turned, they might have caught a glimpse of movement, but their eyes were all fixed on the skull totem, and so they did not notice Yovanna’s approach.

“I’ll go first,” Kronn said, forcing his gaze back to the smoldering bridge. “Don’t follow me right away.”

Swallowing, he stepped off the ledge, onto the first blackened plank. Gripping the hand ropes to either side, he eased his weight onto the board. Behind him, Riverwind and Brightdawn held their breaths. The plank creaked and groaned, but it held. Kronn lowered his other foot onto it, then walked forward, stepping carefully, never too hard. When he was twenty feet out-less than a quarter of the way across the span-he glanced back at the Plainsfolk, flashing a smile full of clenched teeth. “It’s not that bad,” he lied. “Just don’t look down.”

“Thanks,” Brightdawn said dryly, as she started across after him. “I’ll try to remember that.”

Riverwind watched, his stomach a leaden knot, as his daughter crept along behind Kronn. He wanted to follow right behind her but knew that would only put her in more jeopardy. It would be dangerous to strain the bridge with too much weight in any one place. Far below, a bubble of magma burst, sending flames blossoming upward and spattering the cavern walls with globules of molten rock that quickly dimmed from golden yellow to black-crusted red.

Swallowing repeatedly in a vain effort to moisten his parched throat, the old Plainsman finally stepped onto the bridge. By far the heaviest of the three, he winced when he heard the soft sound of splintering beneath his feet. Somehow, though, the board did not break. Gripping the hand ropes with sweaty fingers, he inched along behind Kronn and Brightdawn, toward the impossibly far tunnel at the span’s other end. Waves of broiling heat washed up from below.

When they were halfway across, the bridge began to shake. The companions didn’t notice at first-the movement was slight-but with each passing heartbeat the ropes swayed more and more violently until the entire span was swinging. Brightdawn cried out in alarm, and the companions stopped, grasping the ropes tightly as a massive tremor rocked the whole cavern. More planks fell from the bridge, knocked loose by the quake, and burst into flames before they vanished into the seething, churning magma.

The tremor lasted nearly a full minute, but it seemed an eternity At last, however, the swaying grew less violent, the planks’ creaking less strained. The companions relaxed, sucking in deep breaths of scalding, smoky air and leaning weakly against the hand ropes.

With a loud snap, the rope on their right gave way.

All three somehow managed to keep from falling. Kronn stumbled, and Riverwind dropped to his knees; one of the boards beneath him snapped in half, and his left leg dropped through the opening.

Brightdawn, however, remembered the lesson Catt had taught her aboard Brinestrider. She found her sea legs immediately, then turned around. “Father!” she shouted as Riverwind struggled to pull himself back onto the bridge. She started toward him, gripping the remaining rope with both hands. “I’m coming,” she said. “Hold on-”

Then her eyes focused on something behind him, and she screamed. Kronn looked up, and Riverwind craned, trying to see what she had spotted.

A black-cloaked figure stood upon the ledge they had come from, naked steel in its gloved hand. It stood by the frayed remnants of the severed hand rope, then began to move to the other side. As they watched, Yovanna touched the edge of her dagger to the remaining hand rope and began to saw the blade back and forth.

Acting on instinct, Brightdawn dashed back across the bridge, heedless of the planks’ protesting groans. Riverwind stared in mute astonishment as she charged toward him; she was past him before he knew what she was doing.

“Brightdawn!” he shouted as she ran away from him.

Yovanna continued to cut through the rope for a moment, then glanced at the onrushing Plainswoman and stepped back, her dagger poised. Brightdawn didn’t slow, however; she leapt onto the ledge, at the black-cloaked figure. She grunted with pain as the knife plunged into her side, but her momentum knocked Yovanna into the wall, driving the air from both women’s lungs.

Riverwind watched in horror as his daughter and Malys’s thrall grappled on the ledge. Straining mightily, he pulled his leg back up through the hole in the bridge, then started back after Brightdawn.

Then another tremor struck, nearly pitching him off the bridge. The cavern lurched wildly, sending showers of scree plunging into the molten pool. Brightdawn and Yovanna stumbled sideways, toward the edge of the ledge. They teetered on the brink for a moment, then overbalanced and toppled into the void.

“No!” Riverwind bellowed.

For a moment Brightdawn was free, falling toward the hungry, waiting magma. Then she caught the lip of the ledge with her hands and held on with an iron grip. Yovanna grabbed her about the knees, arresting her own fall, and Brightdawn groaned as their combined weight began to loosen her grip on the stone. The muscles in her arms strained, and she ground her teeth with effort and agony.

Regaining his balance as the tremor subsided, Riverwind heaved himself toward the ledge, trying to reach her. “Child,” he gasped helplessly, “I’m coming…”

Brightdawn kicked and thrashed, trying to knock Yovanna loose, but the black-cloaked figure held her tight. Yovanna’s hood fell back from her head, revealing the tortured ruins of her face. Her lipless mouth twisting into a snarl, she grabbed the back of Brightdawn’s tunic and began to climb.