JAMES LLEMENS

Wennar spoke as Tyrus sank to his knees. The dragon bit the limb clean off.

Blyth struggled to speak and ended up coughing a gout of blood instead.

Tyrus took his hand. I should've been faster, he muttered. I'm sorry.

Blyth shook his head. Pirates live short lives. Shorter than princes.

Tyrus frowned. I'm no prince

Don't say that again, Blyth blurted fiercely, ending in a racking cough. He gasped and caught his breath. I knew you were always a prince. It's high time you saw it.

Tyrus did not know how to respond.

Don't mourn me. His first mate's fingers clenched on his as a spasm of pain lanced through the man. He grimaced. I got to ride to battle with a prince' and call him friend. Despite the pain, pride filled the other's voice.

Tyrus smiled sadly. Who said you were my friend?

Blyth smiled back, a pirate's smile, but also a man's. He gave Tyrus' fingers a final squeeze. Then the light faded from his eyes, his smile dimmed, and he was gone.

After a long moment, Tyrus sighed and stood. Be at peace, my friend. Mycelle's words came back to him. For me, live like a prince. He made a promise. For her, for Blyth, he would try his best.

Sy-wen still knelt as the pirate's blood seeped to her knees. She had seen Ragnar'k lunge and snap Blyth up, lifting him off his feet, then throwing him down.

But worst of all, the dragon's savage delight had washed into her, and it had felt like her own. Her heart had beat harder, surging with lusts, as the man was dropped bloody to her feet. A gift.

She covered her face, sobbing. Then she had watched the dragon petrify into granite. Still tied to Ragnar'k, she had heard him fading away, falling down a well without bottom, dragging Kast with him to a stony grave.

She rocked in place, unable to fathom the tragedy. She had lost everything.

Then Lord Tyrus touched her shoulder. I'm sorry, Sy-wen. he said. Kast saved us all. The dragon would've consumed all in its path.

She nodded. I know. She stared up at the dragon, not knowing whether to curse or mourn Ragnar'k. His great muzzle lay almost on the floor, as if he were just reclining toward slumber. His eyes stared at her, no longer afire, just plain granite. She knew the giant had been sorely used, but she had yet to find her way to forgive him. Her grief was too raw.

Wennar spoke from a few steps away. What do you make of this? The d'warf general stood at the edge of the hole. The fire pit's gone cold.

The rock's not even warm.

Tyrus stood. I think the flames and the demon dragon were connected, some volcanic magick. He nodded to the stone giant and held out a palm. Feel how he still burns like a coal. The fires must have been drawn into him. The heat is fading, though cooling as the granite sets. Wennar eyed the dragon, then waved them over. Come see this. Tyrus reached to help Sy-wen up, but she shook her head. She did not have the strength to care. Though she lived, her heart was as much stone as the dragon and man she loved. Leave me be, she moaned.

He tugged her to her feet. Anger flared. She had to restrain herself from striking him, but he pulled her around to face him. You live, he said fiercely. Kast and Ragnar'k gave their lives so you might live so we all might live. You must keep moving.

A sob escaped her. How? How is that possible?

It's not. Such grief is beyond anyone to bear. For now, just survive. Move one foot in front of the other.

She began to protest, but Tyrus took her by the shoulders and walked her toward the pit. Her legs were leaden from her grief. She felt truly of stone.

Wennar looked upon her with concern. She shook out of Tyrus' embrace. She would stand on her own.

What did you want us to see? Tyrus asked.

Wennar nodded to the pit. If the flames and the dragon were one, then both must have been posted here for a reason a guard dog at the gates, so to speak.

Sy-wen glanced down the hole. Far below, molten rock glowed ruddily.

Do you see those steps? Wennar said, sweeping his ax toward the walls of the pit.

She glanced to the sides, her eyes widening. Along the inside of the pit, a spiraling staircase wound down into the depths.

Wennar spoke. If a demon as fierce as the dragon was set to guard this path, then it must be important.

Tyrus nodded. It must lead into the heart of the mountain itself.

Perhaps to the lair of the Dark Lord. Wennar gripped his ax in both meaty fists.

Sy-wen's grief flamed into anger. Her hand fell to her belt, to the line of stunners fastened there. If she had to live, then here she found a reason to act: revenge. We must descend, she said. She looked to Tyrus and Wennar. Their faces were hard, their eyes flinty.

How could we not? Tyrus said. It cost us much blood to open this gate. We won't let those deaths go to waste.

Wennar quickly organized his forces, leaving some behind to tend the wounded. Sy-wen walked back to the dragon. It crouched, steaming slightly in the damp air.

Tyrus kept near her shoulder. She sensed the sliver of guilt in the prince. Maybe once this is over, he said softly, I can try freeing the dragon.

Sy-wen took a long moment. How she wanted to latch onto this one hope. But she had seen the flames glowing from their eyes. Ragnar'k was too strong. And even if they could bring him back to flesh, Ragnar'k was an ill'guard. It would be near to impossible to reverse the corruption. And how many more deaths would it take for even the attempt?

No, she said, her voice cracking. Ragnar'k arose from stone; let him return to his stony slumber. That's where he belongs.

But Kast' he doesn't belong in there.

Sy-wen crossed to stand near the muzzle of the giant. She reached out with a hand. Was her love in there? Did he sense her? The heat from the granite was rapidly fading. She touched the scaled cheek of the dragon. It remained warm, as if he were still alive. As she drew her hand back, a burn suddenly flamed her fingers. She yanked her arm back, startled.

What's wrong? Tyrus asked.

She leaned closer, examining the dragon. From both his wide nostrils, thin streams of steam wafted out, hard to discern against the black granite. She had accidentally scalded her fingers. She shook her head and straightened. It's just the last traces of the volcanic heat, steaming away.

Tyrus nodded. We should ready ourselves for the descent.

Sy-wen turned to go, shaking her stinging fingers. She had scalded the same hand when she bathed Rodricko's flower in the smoke of the

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