Voices were talking in the darkness.

Connor’s voice was one . . . and the other?

The other was the deep, cruel voice that she had heard booming up from the torture chamber of Dorcha Tur. Lord Balor’s voice.

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt them.” Connor sounded angry and afraid. “You gave me your word!”

“Silence, fool!”

“No! I won’t be silent. We had a deal.” Connor sounded desperate now, his voice cracking. “When I agreed to take the iron mirror so you could use it to find us, it was on the condition that no harm would come to them.”

The iron mirror? Tania’s senses were beginning to return now. This wasn’t a dream; this conversation was happening in the world outside her aching head. But what was the iron mirror? Oh! The disk Connor had? It didn’t come from the Hall of Archives at all—it belonged to Lord Balor! It must be a magical device, some kind of tracker—like Edric’s black onyx pendant. Let me go and I’ll find them for you. I promise. I’ll bring them to you. Oh, dear lord, what had Connor done to them?

“You knew my desire,” growled Lord Balor. “Very well, you knew it, boy! Did you think that I would shrink from doing whatever was necessary to secure from those women the secret of Immortality?” He gave a grating laugh. “No, boy, I will have it from them if I have to tear their bodies to quivering shreds to find it! And when I hold it in my palm, then will you get your reward—then will I share the knowledge with you as you wished. And then will I aid you to return to the world from which you came, to use the secret for whatever ends may please you!”

Tania opened her eyes. She was lying on her back in half-darkness, bound tight at the wrist and ankle. She turned her head. Rathina and Edric lay close by, both of them unconscious, it seemed. They were in a low cave, and beyond the mouth she could see a sunlit shore. Connor and Balor were nowhere to be seen; their voices carried to her from somewhere outside the cave.

“Listen! Please listen to me,” said Connor. “They don’t know the secret. I’m absolutely certain of that. If there is a secret to how they can live forever, they don’t know what it is. No matter what you do to them, they won’t be able to tell you!”

“Tell me, boy?” There was a trace of vicious humor in Lord Balor’s voice. “I don’t expect them to tell me the secret. I have better ways. I shall bind them to the Wheel of Sortilege and I will rend their bodies with such sorceries as they have never known! I will rip them apart and dip my fingers into their hearts’ blood. Let them then keep their secret from me!”

“No! I won’t let you do this!”

Tania heard the sounds of a scuffle followed by a heavy blow and a cry cut short. Then there was a low, rumbling growl.

“No, Salamander, leave him be!” said Balor. “He may yet be of use to us.” His voice rose in triumph. “Immortality is within my grasp at last. When my men return from the Reaper with the Wheel of Sortilege, we shall begin! Well it was that I chose to track them by sea, Salamander! It would have been hard work, indeed, to seek to bear that heavy engine of sorcery over land.”

The Reaper must be the galleon Tania had seen at anchor in the bay shortly before she passed out. It was not a vessel sent to take them to Tirnanog—it was Lord Balor’s ship.

They had come so far, so close to journey’s end, and all for nothing.

No!

She turned her head from the light. “Rathina?” She projected a hoarse whisper. “Rathina?” There was no response. “Edric? Please—Edric—wake up!”

But his eyes remained closed, and Tania saw that there were bruises and cuts on his face. He must have fought hard to try and protect them from Lord Balor. But perhaps even with the Dark Arts he had been overwhelmed.

Then Tania saw something that gave her hope. Rathina’s iron sword had been thrown into the cave with them. It was lying about a yard away from Tania. She began to writhe, digging into the floor with her heels, arching her back, using her shoulders to edge closer to the sword.

As she came closer, she could feel the poison of Isenmort like an itch under her skin. She knew how much worse that sensation would become once she made contact with the iron blade. She tipped herself onto her side and lifted her bound wrists toward the sword. Gritting her teeth, she began to saw her arms to and fro, pressing the ropes against the sharp edge.

The sword kept shifting, and every now and then her skin would come in contact with the metal and she’d feel a pain like lightning go crackling up her arms and into her body. She clamped her lips together to stifle her cries of agony.

But at last the ropes began to fray, coming away strand by strand. Tensing her shoulders, she tried to force her wrists apart. The rope snapped. Gasping and sweating, she sat up and worked at the knots on the rope that was wound around her ankles.

She would free Edric and Rathina next, and when Balor’s men came for them, they would find them ready and waiting. Only one sword between them, for sure, but the men would enter the cave unawares and surprise would provide Tania and Edric weapons of their own. Then they would make such a fight of it!

She heard the crunching of boots in the beach outside.

“Good! That is good!” Balor’s voice, a little way off. “Set the device there with its back to the cliff. You, Kirhan, and you, Leannan—go into the cave and bring out one of the women. I care not which. I will have ample sport with either. Make sure the man has not awoken. He has powers I do not trust. I’d kill him now for safety’s sake, but he is one of the Immortals, I deem, and he may serve us yet.”

No time to cut the others free! Tania had to act quickly.

Bracing herself against the pain she knew would come, she got to her feet. She reached out and closed shrinking fingers around the hilt of Rathina’s Isenmort sword.

The pain was blinding. The sword was like fire in her hand, and the anguish of it sent razors slicing through her veins. Every fiber of her being screamed for her to let the sword drop.

But in the torture of her mind a clear point of reason and purpose managed to survive. Panting and dizzy, she carried the sword to the cave mouth and stepped out into the open.

With a howl of anger and pain she stood there, the sword raised.

She saw everything in a flash. The two men who had been approaching the cave fell back at the sight of the sword, shouting and cursing. Connor was lying facedown on the beach. A huge wheel of heavy timbers two yards across, spoked and fitted with iron manacles, was leaning against the cliff face: the Wheel of Sortilege. There was no sign of the horses of the Deena Shee. Fled, Tania guessed—back into the mountains.

Half blind with pain and her movements jerky and uncoordinated, she stumbled toward where Lord Balor stood with the Great Salamander at his side. She saw surprise and rage on his face. She saw the Salamander’s jaws open wide as it surged forward on its iron leash.

In full sunlight the creature was even more terrible and awe-inspiring than Tania remembered. White as snow, its lithe body shone like oiled marble as it glided low toward her over the beach, scimitar claws chiming on the stones. Its eyes flared golden, its tongue flicking between serrated teeth.

“You’ll not escape me a second time!” roared Balor, groping for his sword.

Tania lifted the Isenmort blade high, closing her other hand around the hilt. She lurched up to him, and screaming wildly, she brought the iron sword down with all her might. His arm lifted to ward off the blow, the iron hand balled into a fist.

She felt a moment of resistance, then her sword sliced clean through his arm, severing the iron fist from his flesh. He roared in agony, staggering back, clutching the bleeding stump of his arm. The iron fist came crashing into the beach like a thunderbolt, the long chain rattling.

There were shouts of fear and alarm from the nearby men.

While Tania was still reeling, the Great Salamander let out a piercing roar. Its claw lifted, scratching at the iron collar, breaking it open. Then it turned, and with one leap it drove Lord Balor onto his back. The jaws snapped. Blood sprayed high. Lord Balor’s legs twitched for a moment and then became still.

“That, for all those years of imprisonment, tyrant!” howled the Salamander, and his voice was like a fire, crackling and spitting.

Tania fell to her knees, the Isenmort blade tumbling out of her deadened hands, her palms and fingers red and raw and stripped of skin.

The Salamander whipped around, its eyes on the men who stood confounded close by. “Depart or perish!” hissed the Salamander, its fangs dripping gore. “Your lord is dead—you have no reason to stay and die with him.”

The men fled, kicking up the beach as they ran for the boats.

“And you, engine of evil, you shall not survive your lord!” hissed the Great Salamander, rising and smashing its claws down on the Wheel of Sortilege, breaking the timbers, sending splinters flying.

Tania was in a daze, so consumed with suffering that she hardly knew where she was. She held her hands to her chest, trembling.

The Great Salamander turned to her, its protruding yellow eyes sharp as gemstones. Slowly it advanced on her, white as ghost light, sinuous and deadly. She was mesmerized by its gaze. She couldn’t look away.

It is said that a day will come when a champion will arise to sever Balor’s iron hand from his arm—and on that day the Great Salamander will reveal a fantastical secret that will shake the skies!

The Salamander stood in front of her, its tongue flicking in and out between bloodied jaws, its eyes shining with inhuman wisdom.

Tania tried to speak, but her mouth was parched. She swallowed and attempted again to form words. “What . . . is . . . your . . . secret . . . ?”

The yellow eyes glittered. “Would you know the way to Tirnanog?” said the Salamander, hissing.

“Yes . . .”

“Then turn your eyes to the sky, child, and see wonders beyond the world.”

Tania looked up. The sky was suffused with gold, shining like a glorious summer sunset—although she was certain that only a few moments ago the sun had been at her back and the day only a few hours old.

The sky-fields stretched away from her like an endless beach of golden sand studded with cloud-rocks banded with amber and saffron. And far away, high in the distance, she saw a cloud that looked exactly like a long, white rock. And at the end of the rock stood a small stool and a harp, as though waiting for a celestial musician to come and play.

“How . . . do I get . . . there . . . ?”

“Through pain and transformation,” hissed the Salamander.

“I don’t understand. . . .”

“Oh, but you shall,” hissed the Salamander. “You shall!” It rose and lifted a claw, its jaws widening, its mouth red and deep. It roared and the breath was like a furnace on her skin.

Tirnanog is heaven! The only way to get there is by dying!

Crying out, she threw her arms up to shield her face. She felt a blow on the side of her head as the Salamander’s claw struck hard. She fell onto her side, knowing that the Salamander was towering over her.

The claw came down on her shoulder, pushing her onto her face on the beach. As she sprawled helplessly, she felt the great claws come raking down her back. As dreadful as the pain of the Isenmort sword had been, this was worse still. Far worse.

This was a pain that would kill her.