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  A grinding noise brought the anxious Torquil to his feet. A quick look showed what he most feared: the opposing spikes of their prison walls had begun to advance slowly toward each other. Their captor had set the game in motion once again.

  All three men moved to the center of the room. Then Bardolph was scanning the floor frantically.

  "What's wrong?" Oswyn asked him.

  "My knife. My golden dagger. There it is!" Before Torquil or Oswyn could put out a hand to restrain their companion, he'd bolted toward the far corner of the room. The dagger had fallen from his belt. Now it lay just beneath the lowest of the protruding spikes.

  "Bardolph!" Torquil yelled. "Let it go! Don't be a fool, man!"

  Ignoring him, the thief threw himself prone on the floor and stretched out a hand toward the gleaming weapon. Torquil ran up behind him and grabbed at his feet but Bardolph kicked him away.

  "Leave me be! Ah, I've got it!" His hand closed around the dagger and he started to worm backward.

  But the spikes were tight about his body and not even Torquil's strength could free him,

  "Torquil!"

  The bandit chief would have preferred that his friend breathe his last with another name on his lips. Too late now. He looked away as the spikes continued slowly onward, until they were locked tight through the twitching form. Save for shouting Torquil's name, Bardolph died quietly.

  The walls continued closing on the two survivors, their progress slow but inexorable.

  "Fool," Torquil mumbled, not looking at the body in the corner. "I told him once that that royal pigsticker would be the death of him!"

  "Some men fix on certain objects the way others fix on women," Oswyn observed quietly as he studied the ceiling. "It's a madness. I like gold as well as the next fellow, but I value my life higher. Bardolph always was a gambler."

  Torquil resisted the obvious rejoinder. They had more pressing matters to deal with, all of them long and pointed.

  The flashing lights were brighter now. Colwyn tensed as he examined them, his gaze locked on the gap he'd cut through the dome's wall.

  When the Beast fell upon them, however, it was from a different place. The monster exploded through the hexagon with as much disregard for the damage thus done as for any harm it might do itself. The ball of green flame it flung at Colwyn looked familiar. It was the same color as the Slayers' spears.

  Colwyn barely had enough time to deflect the ball-lightning with the glaive. Though blocked, the fireball had passed near enough to graze his right side. His nostrils brought him the odor of burnt leather and fur. Wincing, he backed awav from the alien colossus. A second blast of energy followed close upon the first, singeing him again.

  The relentless onslaught would already have overpowered any dozen well-armed warriors. Ynyr had prepared him to deal with strength but not fury.

  Colwyn halted. No more retreats, he told himself angrily. He was in this place, at this moment, from exercising his own will. There was no point in blaming Ynyr, who had done the best by him he could. Ynyr could not help him defeat the Beast. This was his own destiny, the destiny he'd crossed half a world to confront.

  Think! Your opponent is mortal. Huge and intimidating, powerful and alien, but mortal. Use your skill. Press him hard. Wound his confidence if not his body.

  The next time one of the green fireballs came toward him he dodged under and forward, deflecting it over his head and following through with the motion to fling the glaive at the Beast. It shattered another fireball in midair, sending tendrils of green flame in all directions. The weapon continued onward to rip into the Beast's arm.

  The monster emitted a bellowing moan and clutched at himself. Staggering, it launched a much larger globe of energy. Hanging in space between the two combatants, the glaive shattered the fireball almost as soon as it left the Beast's grasp. Eyes damp with the sweat of concentration, Colwyn moved his hand through air. The glaive responded by swooping in a wide arc around the Beast's head.

  Trying to dodge, the monster lurched to one side, crashing into the hexagon. At the same time, Colwyn's arm dropped. So did the glaive, burying itself so deeply in the creature's chest that only two blades remained visible above the skin. The Beast staggered and fell against the sanctuary, his great weight caving in the standing wall as he toppled. He lay motionless amidst the rubble, the flashes from the great body sparse and barely visible.

  Colwyn extended a commanding hand, but try as he might, the glaive refused to return to its master's grasp. Lyssa stepped hesitantly clear of the corridor wall that had shielded her.

  "Is it dying?"

  "I don't know. I don't know how any living thing could survive a blow like that from the glaive. But it won't return to me. I think it must be too deeply buried to pull free." Cautiously, he approached the huge, immobile body.

  Whereupon a hand moved; a massive, taloned hand, rising to cover the still embedded glaive. Colwyn backed away as the monster rose. It stood before them as though the blades buried in its chest troubled it no more than the pile of debris it contemptuously shoved aside.

  Another fireball flew toward Colwyn, the largest the Beast had yet conjured, a swirling green planetoid that blinded both Colwyn and Lyssa with its power.

  Somehow they managed to avoid it, running wildly down the corridor. It exploded behind them, tearing away a huge chunk of ceiling. Debris rained down about them as they raced for the shelter of a side tunnel.

  The faked death had failed to dispose of Colwyn. For the first time he thought he could sense something like anger emanating from the monster. It was on its feet again, coming after them, the flashes from its body bright enough to light the dim chamber like midday.

  Behind them a voice reached out, full of strength and the promise of unnatural death. "She will be my queen now!" the voice promised.

  "The glaive is lost," Colwyn told her, panting hard as they ran. They entered a different kind of chamber, full of sharp projections rising from the floor and descending from the ceiling and walls. Anxiously they ran through the unsettling cavern, frantically searching side passages for a hiding place. "I have no weapons against him." Another fireball raced after them, exploding contemptuously against the ceiling. He could feel the heat of it as fiery splinters rained down around them. He turned into a branching passage.

  "Colwyn . . . Colwyn, there's no peace for us in flight!"

  He slowed, gasping for breath. She leaned against him, holding him tightly to her, trying to regain her own wind. There were no telltale flashes in the dark passage behind them.

  For a second he thought they'd gained a respite . . . until he turned to see the pulsating glow ahead of them. Hopeless. It was hopeless. The Beast was content now to toy with them, to prolong the game.

  Lyssa was shaking him, trying to gain his attention. He stared dully at her. "I've failed, my love. I'm sorry."

  "Don't talk like that. Think! Those last two fireballs did not touch us, did not harm you."

  "He doesn't want to damage you, so he is careful."

  "Not that careful. Colwyn, I watched the fight. He directs his energies as you directed the glaive. He should have struck you twice."

  "He'll kill me soon enough."

  She shook her head violently. "No! Remember the first fireballs you dodged before you began to fight with the glaive?"

  "I was fast and fortunate."

  "More than that. It has to be more than that! It wasn't the glaive. It was you. The glaive was only a tool, a lens that enabled you to focus your energies. Consider, husband, the requirements of the marriage ceremony. The ability to bring a torch to life."

  "A trick, nothing more."

  "A trick how many could duplicate? None!"

  "Ynyr," Colwyn muttered, his mind working furiously. "He told me that the Beast needed to keep us apart. I didn't understand. He tried to explain to me but the explanations went away with his life. And it's not me." He was suddenly excited.

  "Half-right, you are half-right, Lyssa! It's
not me the Beast fears. It's us. It's what we might do together."

  She shook her head, frowning, confused. "No . . . I have no power, Colwyn."

  " 'I take fire from water' . . . another 'trick'? He fears us, Lyssa." He leaned away from the wall as a fireball exploded close by his head.

  "That's why he had to take you away from me. He needs to keep us apart."

  "He spoke of sharing power with me." Her eyes shone even in the dim light. "What power could he want to share with me? I didn't think—"

  "There is more to our union than an alliance between kingdoms, Lyssa. Between man and woman. Much more. Everything has felt so right. Ynyr . . . he was trying to tell me why. Our marriage . . . it was ordained, I think. Before either of us were born."

  "You mean the spirits . . .?"

  "No, nothing supernatural. As we were conceived, so was a definite plan. I wish I could talk to my father! He would have clues to give me, if not explanations. I can sense it now."

  "As can I, Colwyn."

  "But I don't know what to do," he said helplessly. The flashing lights that signified imminent death were very close.

  She took his hands in hers, drew him near. "Look at me. Concentrate. Think that the glaive still exists for you to fight with it. Fight with it, Colwyn. Fight with what matters."

  He lost himself in her penetrating, intense stare. As he did so he experienced a resurgence of that strange inner trembling he'd felt many days ago when they'd stood together in the bowels of the White Castle, repeating the ancient vows. Something surged within him. He felt all that was Lyssa flowing out toward him, merging, melding, growing strong and bright.

  Much of it was love . . . but there was more.

  "It will not return to me except from the hand of the woman I choose as my wife," he found himself repeating.

  Lyssa was replying but he hardly heard her: "I give it only to the man I choose as my husband." She held out a clenched fist, opened the fingers to reveal the fire dancing on her palm. It had lain dormant there and elsewhere ever since her abduction from the castle. Now it burned furiously in her hand.

  "Take the fire from my hand. In so doing may it become at last one with your own."

  Smiling, his expression distant and serene, he reached out and touched her hand. The flame shot up his arm like a live thing, a fragmented and intensely powerful manifestation of something deep within them both.

  He turned to confront the Beast, his arm and being alive with energy. A fireball came straight for him and he waved at it. It split to flow harmlessly around them as a wave crashes around a rock jutting out into the sea. Lyssa at his side, Colwyn started forward.

  Uncertain and suddenly afraid, the Beast retreated. As he did so he flung a gigantic wall of writhing green flame at the advancing humans, taking no care this time to spare Lyssa. Colwyn gave it the back of his hand, blasting the green wall aside and sending it curling back on itself to strike the Beast's side.

  The monster turned to flee. Colwyn struck at, its legs, bringing it crashing to the ground. There was light in his own eyes now, not red but starlight-brilliant. As the Beast went down, Colwyn lavished fire upon it. Smoke rose from the body. It did not burn like human flesh, but was consumed with great speed and fury. The corpse contorted violently as it vanished. A great scream of pain and rage echoed throughout the Fortress.

  Then it was gone. There were no more flashing lights, no more peculiar moans or confident threats. No more Beast.

  A hand touched Colwyn's cheek as he dazedly continued to pour cleansing flame on the spot where the Beast had fallen.

  "Gentle, my love. The thing is done."

  He blinked, looked over at her, then back to the severely scorched floor. He held up his own hand, staring at the fire that burned there. "I did it, but I still don't know how,"

  "We did it, Colwyn. As you said we should. Truly that was the secret the Beast sought to keep from us. From all men. It failed, and from this moment on its time on Krull is over."

  Colwyn clenched his fist and watched as the flame slid slowly down his arm to vanish between his fingers. The sand runs out, Ynyr had observed, but now something greater had come, back to mankind. Somewhere the old man must be watching them, and feeling very pleased with himself.

  The spikes were close to touching his belly, and Torquil had made final peace with himself when he noticed that the walls had abruptly stopped advancing. Oswyn opened his eyes, dared to touch one of the protruding spikes. He and Torquil exchanged anxious glances.

  A dull cracking sound filled the room and a hole appeared in the far wall. Through it they could see the hexagon of the Beast.

  Oswyn pulled at his friend but Torquil hung back, staring openmouthed at the walls as they drew back to their original positions. The retreat was uneven, the movement of the walls occurring in fits and starts, as if a spring or some other mechanism had failed somewhere deep within the Fortress.

  The bandit leader did not rush for the exit. Instead, he slowly walked over to kneel beside Bardolph's limp, punctured body. Reaching out and over he picked up the golden dagger. Then he placed it back between Bardolph's clutching fingers and closed them over the hilt.

  "He was a good man. Gold was his only weakness." A chunk of ceiling came crashing down nearby. Oswyn waited next to the miraculous gap.

  "Hurry! The walls may close in again."

  Torquil stood, oddly calm. "I think not, my friend. But I have no love for this place. The sooner we are free of it, the better I'll like it." Another section of roof fell in. He stepped around it and followed Oswyn.

  Dust and rock fell around the embracing Lyssa and Colwyn as well. The corridor was alive with the sounds of disintegration. Something more than cement and nails had kept the Fortress intact. Now it was gone and the walls were coming down.

  "The Fortress dies with its master. We must find Torquil and the others. My friends." He smiled at her. "You understand: I can't abandon them."

  "I would not have a man as my husband who could do so." She kissed him gently and led him back the way they'd come when they'd fled from the Beast.

  They did not have to search long. Torquil nearly bowled Colwyn over as the two men reached the corridor intersection simultaneously. He looked past the bandit chief, saw Oswyn and no others.

  "Bardolph?"

  Torquil shook his head. "Glory would have made him uncomfortable anyway. He preferred his gold." He nodded at the rumbling walls. "A fitting tomb for a man who never lived in anything grander than a thatched hut. We heard the sounds of battle, even through the walls that held us."

  "The Beast is no more."

  Torquil indicated the princess. "So I gathered by our sudden freedom, and the beauty that walks beside you confirms it."

  "I have learned what Ynyr did not have the time to tell me. We are free to leave."

  "We won't be if we stand here talking about how successful we've been," Oswyn reminded them. He moved past Colwyn and started up the corridor.

  They followed, Colwyn and Lyssa running hand in hand, Torquil guarding the rear lest any remaining Slayers think to try and revenge their master.

  Oswyn skidded to a halt, retraced his last couple of steps and pointed at the floor. "What do you make of this?"

  Colwyn bent to stare at the bloody tracks that marred the otherwise smooth surface. Cat tracks, and a large cat by the look of it. He looked anxiously down the corridor.

  "That's Ergo. It's got to be."

  "That tunnel doesn't lead outward," Torquil pointed out. "Maybe his sense of direction's failed him."

  "Maybe. They might also still be alive. Clearly he's hurt, and maybe the boy as well. Slayers might be keeping them from fleeing back this way. Stay here and guard the princess, my friend." Torquil nodded.

  Colwyn turned to Lyssa. "These two risked their lives to help us. I can't leave here if there's a chance they're still alive." She nodded, watching anxiously as Colwyn and Oswyn raced down the narrow passageway, their eyes intent on the bloody tracks mark
ing the floor. Dust and debris rained down on her and deep-throated rumblings sounded all around. They would have to hurry.

  The two men rounded several turns before they came upon Ergo, lying limply, his head resting in Titch's lap. Oswyn bent over him, checking his wounds.

  "Cuts and bruises, but nothing fatal."

  "There's a chance, then." Together they lifted the dazed Ergo to his feet, each man slipping beneath an arm, and half walked, half carried him back the way they'd come. The tunnel began to collapse behind them.

  The Fortress was coming down around them, and it seemed that the rate of collapse was accelerating as they ran. Ahead lay the bridge they'd crossed on entering. No Slayers stood athwart it to block their retreat, but the unsteady span made the dark abyss below seem even deeper. They'd barely dashed across when the center of the arch cracked away behind them, to tumble into the bottomless depths beneath.

  They turned a well-remembered curve and came to a halt. Ahead lay debris and huge blocks of solid material.

  "This is where we entered," Torquil growled in frustration, "but the old entrance is gone, blocked." He flinched as a small piece of rock struck his shoulder. The Fortress was shaking like a pile of twigs. At any moment the last of the roof might come down atop them.

  Colwyn shifted his half of the burden of Ergo, and Titch tried to help compensate. "Torquil, Oswyn, stand behind us. We'll make our own exit."

  The two thieves obediently moved aside. Their eyes widened at what happened next. Oswyn muttered silent oaths, but Torquil expanded like a proud uncle. One more time, his decision to throw in his lot with this man was vindicated.

  The tongue of flame Colwyn threw at the wall licked at the dark resinous substance and smashed through to the outside, reaching brilliantly into clear sky.

  Then the way was clear, as the last of the fire vanished into the heavens, and they were clambering down the quivering flank of the Fortress. Colwyn was positive he'd never again feel anything as comforting beneath his feet as the grassy loam that greeted them at the base of the structure. He caught Lyssa as she made the last jump, swung her effortlessly to the ground.