Cormac reached over and squeezed her hand. “We’ve had more luck than any two mortals deserve, Light.”
Shiara stared into the fire. “It cannot last, you know.”
Cormac’s brows arched. “A premonition?”
“A thought, rather. It is risky work we do and soon or late it will catch up with us.”
A ghost of a cloud crossed Cormac’s brow. “Mayhap,” he said easily. “Or mayhap we will both die peacefully in bed.” He leered at her. “The same bed, I hope.” Shiara reached out and drew him to her.
They made love, desperately and with a bittersweet passion, as if their coupling could erase the whole World and any thought of the morrow.
They found the cave less than three hours after they broke camp the next morning. Above the boulder field ran a steep canyon, cleaving its way toward the mountain’s top. There was a rushing glacial stream, chill and sharp, down the canyon, making the dark rocks slippery and hard to climb.
They came around a twist in the canyon and saw the cave mouth halfway up the cliff. There was a boulder-strewn ledge leading up from the canyon floor, making a natural pathway. The cave entrance itself was dark, jagged and about as inviting as the mouth of Hell.
“Wait,” hissed Shiara and put her hand on Cormac’s bicep. She pointed a little downslope from the mouth of the cave.
There was a flash of white against the dark rock, like the branches of a dead and barkless tree. Cormac squinted and caught his breath. They were bones, not branches and from their shape and size they could only be the bones of one thing.
“A dragon,” Cormac said quietly. “A dragon died here, and not a small one, either.”
“Dragons prefer caves as lairs,” Shiara said. “It would appear that this one chose the wrong resting place.”
“It did not die naturally.” Cormac pointed with his blade. “Look at the way the ribs are smashed. But what could do that to a grown dragon?”
“The sort of creature which would be set to guard a great treasure,” Shiara said gravely.
“And you think it is still there, Light?”
“A thing which could slay a dragon would not be expected to have a short life.”
Cormac scanned the ledge and the cave mouth again. “There are no other bones. Surely other things would have tried to lair here from time to time.”
“Perhaps they did not arouse the guardian. Dragons are more intelligent than most animals. And greedier than most men. Or perhaps whatever is within is careful to dispose of its refuse so as not to warn others.”
“Hmm. A pretty problem then.” Cormac backed warily out of sight of the cave mouth and settled on a rock. “Do you sense magic?”
Shiara wrinkled her nose. “Like smoke in a hut in wintertime. It is everywhere and strong. There is a blocking spell to confine the emanations, but this near I can feel it pressing. Whatever is within that mountain is powerful indeed.” She shivered. “And malign!”
“But you cannot tell me what guards that door?”
“If I had to guess I would say a demon. But it would only be a guess.”
“So what now?”
“Now,” Shiara said, bending to her kit, “we need a stalking horse. Something to enter the cave in our stead and see what lies within.” She looked up at him. “Plug your ears.”
Cormac clapped hands to his ears while Shiara drew from her bag a gnarled brown root no longer than the length of her index finger. Looking more closely Cormac could see that the root was bifurcated and vaguely man-shaped.
Shiara blew upon the root and spoke softly to it. Instantly the valley was filled with a hideous inhuman screaming. The root writhed and screamed in Shiara’s grasp until she completed the spell. Then she stood up and threw the root to the ground.
Cormac blinked. Standing before him was himself, an exact duplicate down to the scars on his arms and the creases in his worn leather swordbelt.
“How do you like our stalking horse?”
“A mandrake image.” Cormac walked around the figure and nodded approvingly. “Lady, you outdo yourself.”