The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

see that we get fed. Besides, Yaassima needs us—me—alive and well.” Yaala stood up in one fluid motion. “Drink your water, then I’ll show you to your work station.”
    Powwell shifted onto his left elbow preparing to roll to his knees. As he moved, his shirt stuck to his side where a guard’s boot had broken the skin. The coarse cloth prickled against his sweat-dampened back.
    “How come you aren’t sweating?” he asked. For the first time he realized Yaala looked as cool and fresh as if they were lounging in the clean mountain air of Myrilandel’s clearing. Except her clothing was gray. Everything down here was gray or black.
    “I guess I’m used to the heat and don’t need to sweat now.” She shrugged.
    Two men wandered toward them, seemingly from the heart of the fire. They, too, looked thin and worn, with dirty sweat masking their features. Their gray clothes hung damp and limp upon stooped shoulders.
    “We’re ready for the ceremony, Yaala,” one of the men said, his voice barely above a harsh whisper. She nodded and started walking toward the brightest point of red light.
    “What ceremony?” Powwell asked as he balanced, first on his knees and then on his feet. Thorny poked his nose out of the pocket and wiggled it, rapidly digesting the scents of their new home. He didn’t like it and rolled back into a sharp ball. Powwell wished he could do the same.
    “You might as well watch with the rest of us. You’re one of us now.” Yaala beckoned him to follow.
    The blinding glare resolved into a single tunnel in a maze of black openings. Powwell spent several moments trying to memorize landmarks—a triangular outcropping here, a rockfall there. Flickers of white movement teased his peripheral vision. He kept looking for the source of those brief glimpses of white rather than for distinctive features.
    The heat increased, and he mopped his brow with his sleeve. Maybe the sweat dripping into his eyes blurred his vision. He wished he’d drunk more of the water; as bad as it tasted, he needed the liquid.
    “Don’t waste time learning the route. All the tunnels lead to one place eventually.” Yaala paused where the tunnel opened up into a large cave. She stood at the edge of a precipice. Below them, far, far below them, molten rock churned and boiled, shooting flares up hundreds of feet. None of those huge flares came close to where they stood. A thousand feet or more separated the ledge from the core of the volcano. Still, the roiling lava dominated the scene. The ceiling soared so far above him, Powwell couldn’t see the top.
    How deep below the crater’s surface had they come?
    The temperature rose higher yet. Powwell staggered back two steps away from the edge. Vertigo tempted him forward into the boiling heart of the volcano. The Kardia seemed to press heavily against his shoulders. The air left his lungs in long gasps. He couldn’t inhale. He imagined all the air was concentrated in the molten rock. If he wanted to breathe, he’d have to throw himself into the next flare that nibbled greedily at the flimsy ledge where he stood.
    “Don’t look at it. Keep your eyes on the walls.” Yaala grabbed his arm and pushed him hard against the tunnel archway. “The pit will eat your soul if you let it. Just as it eats away at Hanassa.”
    Powwell closed his eyes and absorbed the solid feel of the rock pressing against his back. His feet still tingled with the vibrations of those flares slamming against the ledge. Almost like waves running against a cliff.
    Slowly he opened his eyes, keeping his gaze away from the hypnotic fires of the pit. To his right and left people stood in other tunnel openings in groups of four or five. Gray-clad denizens side by side with black-clad guards. All around the immense pit, they stood and waited in respectful silence. Powwell tried counting the faces. He lost track at one hundred and seventeen.
    “How many people live down here?” he whispered to Yaala.
    “A couple hundred, maybe more. No one counts.”
    “That’s a lot of people to feed without getting any work out of them.”
    “Oh, we work for our keep. She needs us to keep her magical toys active. She also needs us alive as hostages for the good behavior of her followers.” A half smile quirked at the woman’s mouth, as if she knew something Yaassima didn’t.
    “Hostages? Can we be ransomed? If there are so many of us, we could break the lock on the gate and charge the guards. It would be