Section 1

         Lesson one.
         They're coming.
         A single table sits in the darkness. A lit candle placidly burns, the flame dancing with restrained abandon, unable to leave its wax confines but apparently content to simply make the most of the situation. The shadows act as partners, a step behind but matching it motion for motion, knowing more freedom but equally constrained, bounded by the candle's intensity.
         It all happens in silence.
         Liquid wax slides down the candle, glistening in the imperfect light.
         Lesson one.
         They're coming.
         A rustling from the darkness, followed by a small intake of breath.
         They're coming.
         A gentle expulsion of air shoves against the flames, causes it to dance crazily. Knowing the end is near, it tries to cram as much living as it can in the last moments.
         They're coming.
         A voice from the dark.
         "Let them."
         The flame is snuffed out. Smoke clutches at nothing.
         Laughter coats the darkness and stifles the silence.
         Lesson one.

* * * * *
         There are doors.
         The walls were solid and nearly impenetratable rock, fitting together so neatly that a seam could barely been seen, pitted with age, traced with hairline cracks, but still a formidable barrier to anyone or anything nevertheless. Any door that would act as a portal between the outside world and this place would in its own right have to be formidable as well. And they were. Sturdy oak, possibly several inches thick, braced with evenly spaced rings of iron, they rose into the air about ten feet and appeared impossibly heavy. Chances are there was probably metal inside the doors as well, supporting it from attempts to ram it open. Designed to repel any and all types of invaders, regardless of size, strength or intention, the doors functioned as imposing guardians in their own right, even without any obvious locks or hinges.
         Even so, it took them almost thirty seconds to break through.
         The dry cracking was the first sound. The wood seemed to compress, slowly, and then with gathering speed. Splinters bent and flew off as the metal in the wood groaned in an attempt to keep up with the warping fibers. Then the metal itself began to be coated in a reddish powder, until all that was left of the iron was the powder itself, falling into neat piles on the dusty stone floor. The noise rose to a cresendo, like a building falling over on a quiet day, all uncoordinated crashings and crumblings.
         Finally, with a numbing roar and a ferocious cloud of dust, the door simply gave up and politely burst open. Sunlight streamed in, highlighting the clouds of fine debris and making flower like patterns on the floor and walls. The oddly peaceful aftermath of such unprompted violence was almost anticlimatic.
         But the door was open.
         Because no door can ever be a barrier.
         Lesson two.
         Two figures stepped into the stillness. The first through was a moderately tall bearded man, dressed in clothing of muted colors that seemed to have seen much wear lately. His eyes scanned the surroundings, even as his movements were cautious and fluid, slipping from one stance to the other in rapid succession, each one an almost unconscious act.
         "Nobody home," he pronounced after a second, wincing a little as his voice twistedly echoed in the nearly cavernous entry room. His hands were at his sides, but one hand kept near a small flashlight shaped device at his belt. Its appearance gave no clue as to its function.
         "Did you expect him to welcome us with open arms," the second man asked dryly, finally stepping into view. He was much taller than his partner and more simply dressed, a brown robe wrapping his almost seven foot frame. His skin was deeply tanned and sunlight gleamed weakly off his bare head. His boots made absolutely no sound as he stalked into the room. "After all, Tristian, this isn't exactly a social call."
         "I realize that," Tristian replied almost peevishly. His partner's tone was not so much imperious as archly amused, bordering on sarcastic and maybe that's what irritated the other man. He continued to stalk around the room, talking as he did so, some of it meant for his partner, some of it mostly just muttered notes to himself. "But you figure, he had to know we were coming, if he's as all knowing as they're claiming in the village . . ." he runs his hand down the wall, a puzzled expression crossing his face as he rubs his fingers and thumb together while staring at his palm. "Some kind of dust coating the walls . . ." he murmured, his eyes narrowing.
         His partner hadn't shifted from his initial spot but appeared poised to do so at the first sign of any trouble. "I think you're still going to have to get used to the fact that in this business people don't always come after us with guns blazing right from the start." His eyes were constantly scanning the air, trying to pierce the vaulted darkness of the ceiling.
         Tristian was still running his hands along the wall, as if looking for seams or secret doors. None of which appeared to exist. But his partner could have told him that, Tristian just refused to ask. "You'd think otherwise though. Honestly, he came out of nowhere and wiped that entire house out where they were plotting to kill him." He turned and faced his partner, rubbing his hands together to rid himself of the grainy sensation of the invisible dust. "Come on, Ranos, you have to admit that there aren't many things more blatant than that."
         Ranos merely sniffed. "Except it was a message, obviously. He could have just as easily killed the people in the house, he didn't need to turn three stories into an inferno."
         "I suppose," Tristian responded, chewing his lip a little in thought. His hand kept creeping over to the device at his belt, flexing around it. A gunfighter about to draw. "Still, what I'm trying to say is . . . he knew about it. So it's not like he holes up in this tower all day." Tristian was still making his way around the room and was now about a quarter of the way around it, almost in front of another door. "He pays attention."
         "I imagine he would have to, or else he would have been dead a long time ago. I'm sure we aren't the first to try this." Ranos took a few steps closer to the center, his hands casually clasped behind his back, seeming no more interested than a man looking through an art museum wallpapered with the same painting over and over again. But there was a strange energy pulsing behind his eyes, especially in the way those eyes kept darting around, sometimes going slightly out of focus for a second.
         "We're going to be the first to succeed," Tristian announced with more confidence than he actually felt. He was beginning to get a strange feeling about this place, he didn't know whether to call it intuition or a premonition or just plain caution, but something definitely wasn't right. But then, he was willingly walking into what he was sure was either a deadly trap or the next best thing. Perhaps the something that wasn't right had more to do with him.
         "I would hope so, I don't know how you used to operate, Tristian, but I tend not to take jobs that I won't see the end of. It's bad business." He stalked over to the other side of the room, opposite from Tristian and was examining another door set directly across. Their voices mingled in the maybe thirty feet between them, crisscrossing echoes fighting for space in the air. "And I'm certainly not ready to die for the amount of money we're being paid."
         "Come on, Ranos, these people need help," Tristian shot back, not taking his eyes off the door. "You saw those graves, he treats them like . . . just like things." Quietly, he noted, "You know, I only remember seeing one door on the outside when we came in . . ." he let the sentence trail off and turned back toward Ranos. In a louder voice, he said, "They need our help. Hell, you did your best to heal those people hurt in the blaze . . . you did that for free."
         Ranos had his hand on the door handle and was about to pull it when Tristian spoke. Letting his hand release it, he turned back as well, saying simply, "I did." After a moment, he added, "Perhaps burning children isn't something that sits well with me. I'm not inhuman, Tristian and I saw no need for people to suffer. That's all."
         "But if we just left it at that, then nothing would change," Tristian protested. His nose wrinkled suddenly, "I've been smelling something in the air . . ."
         "So have I," Ranos interjected. "I don't know what it is, but I don't think it's dangerous." Running his hand down the door, following the grain of the wood, he said, "Still, I don't know what you're complaining about, Tristian. I'm here, you're here. We've got a job to do. I agreed to it the same as you did and I'll see it through to the end." A thin smile touched his face. "Besides, if I hadn't agreed, you'd would have just run up here and carved your way in on your own."
         "Hey now," Tristian responded with a quick laugh, "don't start blaming me for any of this." He turned and began to make his way back across the circular room to Ranos. The initial gloom of the interior was fading now to a more dimly lit visibility, which Tristian attributed to his eyes gradually becoming adjusted to the inside. "Have you seen any other places to poke into in here, because there doesn't even seem to be a second-"
         Tristian stopped in midstride as the air glowed and folded in front of him. A light breeze brushed his face as an object suddenly dropped into view.
         "Ah . . ." he exclaimed, stepping back a foot in surprise, raising one hand to partially cover his face, the other snaking down to the device at his belt.
         It was spherical and floating. Sitting at about his face level, Tristian could peer into it and for a secomd, he swore he could see something moving inside. The object was suffused with a rich blend of reds and oranges, constantly swirling around, like the inside was filled with a kind of liquid. It appeared strangely heavy despite hovering effortlessly in the air.
         Gingerly, he held his hand out to it. Heat tickled the underside of his palm.
         "Ranos . . ." he breathed.
         "What . . ." Ranos answered as he spun around slowly. As the object came into view, his eyes narrowed in brief curiousity as he tried to make some sense of it. And then just as suddenly, those same eyes went very wide and all the blood seemed to leave Ranos' tanned face.
         "Tristian, get away from-" he shouted as the air thickened and went hazy, as something seemed to bubble and kick inside the object.
         The intuition that had been screaming garbled warnings in his head the entire time entered a moment of solid clarity. That, coupled with Ranos' oddly frantic warning was enough for Tristian. All his muscles tensing at the same time he threw himself backwards, heedless of what might lie behind him.
         He had already turned his face away when a flash lit his peripheral vision and incredible heat strafed his face. A scream formed in his throat as the air got almost unbearable and then went up another notch. The air became knives in his lungs, each breath a hoarse effort. Already hitting the floor by this point, an almost physical force slammed into him, knocking the rest of the wind from his body as he slid along the unyielding floor. The roaring almost deafened him, it filled his entire head, a crowd cheering for the wrong team. Friction went away as he fought for control of his direction, succeeding only when the rock wall seemed to reach out and connect with every part of his body. His head struck smacked the wall and the entire world swam.
         Move. Get up. Do something.
         His head kept shouting at him.
         Tristian painfully lurched to one knee, fumbling for the device at his belt. An flickering heat was prickling against his face and something about it made him glance up.
         The entire room was aflame.
         Flames snapped and flared all over the center of the room, a giant fiery sphere. Even the air itself seemed to catch fire.
         In surprise he gasped, sucking in a breath of superheated air. He paid for that mistake by spending the next ten seconds hunched over and coughing, trying to get the poisons out of his system. The heat beat against the top of his head as he tried to get his body to do his bidding. It wasn't working. Someone had just set the entire room on fire and he couldn't find the impetus to move. Any second now the sphere could expand and incinerate the both of them.
         the both of
         Oh no. Oh damn.
         Ranos.
         He squinted into the inferno but could see no sign of his partner. Fire was reflected in his eyes. Tristian began to inch his way around the sphere, keeping his distance as best he could, limping a little from the bruises he knew had to be forming. Still he couldn't see his partner. The fire had warped all the colors in the room, painting it all garish shades of orange. This is madness, Tristian thought as he stared into the primal violence taking shape in front of him. But then what had he expected, a neat resolution. He should have learned by now. Nothing was ever easy.
         Time to end this, he thought grimly.
         In his head, he sent a thought out.
         Ranos!
         A faucet of ice water flicked on in his brain and Tristian felt the mental link open up. It still sent a brief chill down his spine, which was almost welcome in his raging heat. He could feel the slick saltiness of sweat tearing tracks down his face, dripping onto his pants.
         I'm fine. Are you all right?
         Hearing another voice in his head still ranked as one of the weirdest sensations in his brief but already bizarre life. He had been reluctant when Ranos had first suggested it and it still took some getting used to.
         Yeah. A little banged up from an encounter with the wall, but in one piece. What the hell just happened?
         But Tristian had to admit, there were times it came in handy.
         Someone tried to set us both on fire, I believe. I felt the surge of power right before it flared.
         Like now.
         Nice to know that he's consistent, Tristian noted archly. Rising to his feet, he cautiously paced the edges of the flame, a man trapped on the outside of the cage trying to get in. Once in a while a tongue leapt out at him, but he danced back out of its reach. He thought he could see shadows writhing deep inside, entwining in a complex movement bourne of the random and scattered nature of fire.
         It means he takes us seriously at least. Enough to bother with attempting to kill us instead of just ignoring us completely.
         It's nice how you always try to put a positive spin on things.
         One does try. Ranos' dry inflection and humor came in even more clearly through the link then it did from his voice. Tristian had to supress a grin. Staring at the flames helped sober him up. This was still serious. Still, Ranos continued, chances are he's probably nearby.
         Right. Tristian circled a little more around the sphere, his back now to the door that they had entered by. The warm summer air drifting through the open entryway was like heaven in these stifling quarters. But he couldn't linger here. Ranos wasn't anywhere in sight, not that it was easy to see anything solid in this room of contrasting shapes and shadows, but no doubt he had bent the light and gone invisible the first sign of trouble. A good idea. And yet Tristian was still out in the open, almost daring the fire to try and pick him off. Which means we can probably draw him out if we play this right. It'd be a good idea to keep our conversations like this for the time being. No reason for him to know our plans because we're shouting to each other.
         Agreed. What should we do next?
         If you can get those flames out of the way, maybe we can get a-whoa!
         The sphere suddenly roared and expanded, engulfing Tristian. Biting his lip to keep from yelling, he covered his head with his arms and ducked, feeling the world devolve into a shimmering haze of heat. It was all around, searing into his skin, his chest, his clothes were melting off his body, all the hair on his arms just falling right off, abandon ship they say abandon-
         And then with a strangled bellow, the sphere suddenly contracted with violent force, imploding just as quickly as it had expanded. The room went suddenly quiet.
         Tristian gingerly uncovered his head and looked up again. His entire body felt raw, like someone had rubbed him all over with a cheese grater. He was sure his hair had been singed and he was certain that he was going to need a few months in the fresh air for all the scars to heal on his lungs. Still, he was alive and that meant something.
         He flung his thoughts out. Did you do that?
         No. But look at the sphere.
         It was back to its original size and shape but the inside of the sphere looked more like liquid than it ever had. And it was churning violently, Tristian swore he could see a shape kicking around inside. A womb. That's what it reminded him of, an utter perversion of the womb. Something about it made his stomach turn just staring at it. Unnatural. This world for the most part wasn't that much different from home, but everytime he ran into things like this, the differences struck him once again.
         My God, Ranos, it looks alive.
         It might be. Even Ranos' voice sounded slightly sick. It was hard to tell, he had better control over how his emotions presented over the link than Tristian did. I'm getting some mental activity from it.
         "Who is this guy?" Tristian wondered outloud, taking a step toward the sphere. It was liquid inside, he could see that as he got closer. A giant sac of liquid fire hanging in the air, with a vague shape flailing inside. The edges kept bulging as the thing's arms struck the walls. It was trying to break free, whatever it was. The occupant was trying to get out.
         I'd get away from there, Tristian. The activity just jumped up quite a bit.
         Are you getting anything specific?
         Something pressed against the edges and then thrust away. The imprint it left behind Tristian could have sworn was that of a face. A human face.
         It's basically human. Other than that, nothing. I really think you should-
         "There's someone in there," Tristian whispered, willfully pushing Ranos' voice out of his head, unable to bring himself to look away. He could feel the heat piling on his face, bottled rays of the sun. "Good Lord, Ranos we have to-"
         With a wet ripping noise the sphere suddenly split open, neatly down the center. Tristian jumped back as a reddish fluid splashed down on the floor, sizzling as it did so. Smoke rose and made him cough again, more to get it out of his lungs than anything else. He waved it away, turning his head at the same time.
         Then he heard a faint cry and whirled to see a human form sloppily emerging from the cracked sphere, thrashing and flailing as it tried to extricate its body from the clinging membrane. It was naked and clearly a woman. Long hair was plastered with moisture onto her back, but he couldn't see her face.
         With another cry and a thud she slipped from the sphere and slammed into the floor, rolling over once and then flopping face down onto the floor.
         Sliding a little through the rancid liquid, Tristian made his way over to the woman. Ranos' voice seemed to be yelling in the back of his head but the good thing about the mental link was that either person could ignore it if they felt like it. If Ranos really wanted to stop him, he would have come out of hiding and done so. But he was just as curious as Tristian was. Sometimes emotions bled off the link and that's definitely what he could feel. Curiousity and maybe a vague sense of horror. He didn't want get too close but he couldn't leave either.
         "Are you okay?" he nearly shouted to the woman. By the looks of her body she was fairly young but Tristian was doing his best not to pay too much attention to that. Just be clinical. A mercenary. Cold and clinical. He wasn't sure how Ranos managed to do it all the time. Maybe it came with experience. Tristian wasn't sure if that was the kind of experience he eventually wanted.
         She didn't answer his call but seemed to stir a little. The air in the room was nearly smothering, all the fire appeared to have increased the humidity something fierce. His clothes felt like they were sticking to him. Dirty and battered, that's how he felt. Some heartless mercenary he was. Gently, he touched the woman, surprised at how warm her skin was. But then it probably had been insanely hot in that sphere. How had she gotten in there? Her hair had fanned out when she had fallen and was covering her face, dangling in thick wet strands. Slowly, he took the girl and started to turn her over, bracing her top of her neck with his hand.
         A fair face with closed eyes greeted him. Tristian went to go lay her down on her back, sliding his hand down her neck and onto her head.
         You should really get over here and help heal her, you know.
         I think, Ranos replied and his voice actually sounded shaken, that you should get back over here. Now.
         She was on her back and he was laying her head down. His palm felt the slick wetness of her hair as it reached the back of her head.
         But there was no back of her head.
         Following the contours, he found that it indented and his hand touched something soft and oddly pliable and strangely ridged. Like the back of her head had been removed. Like-
         Oh God.
         "In my head they planted seeds of fire in my brain," a woman's voice sounded out dully, a broken down motor grinding to a start. With dawning horror, Tristian looked down to see that the woman's eyes were open. Distantly he realized something wet was running onto his hand. She was looking at him and there was nothing in her eyes.
         "He took me and lit the fire that burns in everyone's head," she continued, sitting up and staring at Tristian, even as Tristian started backing up, swiftly realizing that this was not the time to hang around. There was a greyish liquid coating his hand. He kept praying that he wasn't going to get sick but he was really pushing his limits now. His head felt compressed, everything was starting to get unreal. Now smoke was floating lazily from from her head.
         "He does it for me, he does it for you," the woman intoned, getting to her feet, matching Tristian step for step. Her feet made squishing sounds on the soaked floor. Tristian knew her face. He knew the face. The village, dear God, the village-
         Ranos, get her out of here!
         "We don't fall apart so much as crumble, that's what he realized. And what good are we then, nothing but fodder, food for the worms." Her face was a sickening cross of the radiant and the despondent. "That's the whole point, you see. It's all ashes."
         By all the . . . Tristian, I can see into her mind . . . and the things . . . the things he did to her-
         A flash flared from the back of her head and Tristian had to bite back the bile that reared in his throat as he watched her brain catch fire. Her brain and her hair. A thick greasy smell, the unmistakable stench of flesh burning, slammed into his nostrils. He wanted to suddenly run. She was still walking toward him.
         Tristian stood his ground. His hand hovered near the device at his belt. Almost. A few more steps. Almost.
         Her eyes were melting, pouring out of the sockets like liquid wax, marking the paths of tears down her face. Flames danced through open holes. Smoldering pieces of something fell to the floor from her head. Tristian was trying his best not to think about it.
         "I'm a candle," she told him cheerfully, her tongue blackening in her mouth and splitting. Boiling blood ran down her chin. "I'm the wick and the wax and he's the candlemaker. He's going to stop us from being snuffed out." The girl and Tristian were almost two feet apart now. The air turned hazy and quivered between them. His hand started sliding toward the device.
         "We are born in the heat of passion," she told him. Tristian tensed but just as suddenly the woman lunged forward, thrusting her arms out at him, grabbing his shoulders. Her face was warping like cheap plastic now, and the heat made Tristian flinch. "And it's the cold that we should fear. Never the heat." He wanted to move but there was no time. No time at all.
         She grinned with charred teeth. "We love you, Tristian."
         Then her hands burst into white flame.
         Tristian's body was engulfed instantly, and he staggered back as fire wrapped itself around his entire form. Flailing around blindly, the odor of burnt skin flooded the air as he batted at himself. But he was a man afire, no part of his body went uncovered and he was no more than a flaming outline, stumbling in a small circle, thick black smoke spewing from his form.
         The girl's gaping eyes scanned the room. Her grin seemed burned into her face. "Beware the Hierophant," her oddly husky voice stated plainly. She pivoted in a half circle, the black stumps of her wrists gesturing pointedly at the air, wisps of smoke curling from them, making obscure symbols in the air. "And where are you hiding, little mindbender? Are you as foolishly brash as your comrade was?" Her voice rang like a twisted bell in the stillness. The only constant sound was the combination of the silence and the steady crackling of Tristian's flaming body.
         "No."
         The sound came from nowhere and the girl spun around several times to try and find the source. Her head had taken on a deflated quality and with most of her hair burned away it was quite clear that there was indeed a bowl shape to it.
         A small scuffling noise made her whirl yet again. Tristian's fiery form was standing directly across from her. He seemed to be a wall of flame, but he was still standing.
         Suddenly the flame seemed to balloon out and expand, until Tristian was nearly covered in a dome of flame. The dome slid forward. The woman didn't move at all and her expression was so distorted that it was impossible to tell what she was thinking, if anything at all.
         Then the flame parted on the dome, rushing back, the opening of a cocoon. Tristian stood revealed, his expression set and grim, soot blackening the highlights on his face, grimy and dirty. The device was gripped firmly in his hand.
         "What is this?" the girl asked, reaching out toward Tristian again. Her wrist struck something invisible before they reached him though and a web line of energy raced along her arm. With a strangled gurgle she tore her arm away.
         Tristian only smiled in sad truimph and slid his finger along a switch on the device.
         The interior of the shield glowed a sickly red as the blade emerged from the sword, racing away from Tristian, striking the shield and plunging right through it, the same lines crackling futilily around it frantically. A gasp was heard from somewhere but nobody paid any attention as Tristian raised the sword, the red light shining down on the girl's ruined features just before Tristian brought the weapon down. She hardly made any sound.
         Around Tristian the flames slid off him like water, collecting on the floor at his feet and burning out quickly. His sword was held tightly at his side as he stared down at the woman's cleaved body. There was a curious set to his face.
         "Tristian!" Ranos called out as he suddenly reappeared, falling out of the air itself. His purposeful strides took him over to his partner in just three steps.
         "Did I ever mention how grateful I am for your shields sometimes, Ranos?" Tristian said, faint and forced humor in his voice. None of it touched his face. He didn't take his eyes off the woman.
         Ranos blinked and stared at him curiously. "Today you are, at least," he replied a moment later, glancing down at the body. "You're lucky that you could get through the shield and she couldn't." His eyes flickered for a second at Tristian's hand and what was held there.
         Tristian shifted his gaze for a second to stare at the weapon glowing faintly in his hand, its steady light reflected in the drying fluids coating the floor. "I told you it could cut through anything," he responded, sounding a bit shellshocked, looking for all the world like it was the last thing he wanted to be caught holding. But he hadn't sheathed it yet. There still might be a need for it.
         Smiling a little, Ranos replied, "I believe you now." He rubbed the top of his head lightly. "But, please, next time warn me before you do that . . . the shield isn't meant to be breached and the feedback gives me quite the headache."
         Tristian dropped into a crouch, examining the body, his hand pressing into the floor near her face as he braced himself to get a better look. "We knew her," he murmured. He didn't seem to have heard Ranos. Turning slightly, he looked up at his partner. "Do you recognize her?"
         Ranos bent down as well, but not before glancing quickly around. The room was oddly quiet again. It didn't bode well. He peered intently into the shriveled head, eyes squinting as if the answers might lie below the surface in an arena only he could see into, but after a moment Ranos just shrugged. "I can't tell now," he told Tristian. "And I didn't get a good look at her before."
         "I did," Tristian said, his voice distantly intense. The blade of the sword was quivering just a little. "I did," he said again. "And . . . that girl in the village . . . this . . ." his hand trembled bare inches from her warped flesh, "this was her." Tristian bent his head a little, closing his eyes tightly. "She vanished and this is what . . . happened to her."
         "We thought she died in the fire," Ranos said softly, finally remembering.
         "But she didn't," Tristian added. Slowly he opened his eyes and faced Ranos. There was a long silence as the two men regarded each other. "She didn't," Tristian repeated in a near monotone. "She ended up here and . . ." he couldn't bring himself to even mouth the words. His dangling hand resolved itself into a clenched fist. "Why do this?" The light from the sword threw red contrasts onto his face.
         Ranos gave an utterly mirthless smile. "Perhaps we can ask the Hierophant when we find him."
         "All things considered, I think we're better off not knowing," Tristian sighed, shuddering a little, straightening up even as Ranos did the same. His eyes were hard. "And I doubt I could stop myself long enough to find out."
         Ranos only nodded in response, his eyes suddenly narrowing.
         Tristian caught the look instantly, it was one he was well familiar with. And depending on how the next few minutes went, it could either be a good or a bad thing. "What's happening?"
         "Someone's here. With us," Ranos said tersely, spinning on his heel, his robes fanning out as he stalked around the room. "I didn't notice him before because . . . it's not right," Ranos muttered. "He's not right."
         "What are you talking about?" Tristian asked as he followed his partner around, keeping the sword in front of him in a ready position. Not that he was sure how much use it was going to be. He noticed that it was getting warmer in the room again, almost uncomfortably so.
         "He's in here with us," Ranos spoke quickly, softly. Then he raised his head to the ceiling. "Enough of these games! Show yourself!" he bellowed. His voice returned to him, bouncing along the curved walls. The only other sounds were the repetitive pantings of their own heavy breathing. Tristian felt unable to catch his breath. Like something was draining all the air out. But it wasn't the air, it was the temperature.
         From a distance, he could hear a faint whistling, like a tea kettle venting. It seemed to be coming from above.
         Tristian felt oddly exposed all of a sudden and far too vulnerable. Grabbing his partner's arm, he said, "Ranos, this isn't going to work, we've got to draw-"
         "Quiet," Ranos hissed. He was still staring directly above them. "He's here."
         "Then why isn't he doing something," Tristian said equally quietly and intensely. "We can't keep reacting to him, we've got to come up with some kind of plan." Ranos had been unnerved by the girl's fate as well, but they couldn't sink down to working by instinct, or else they weren't going to be walking out of here alive. But Ranos didn't appear to be listening. Dammit.
         "His thoughts are fire," Ranos nearly snarled. Sweat seemed to be erupting from his forehead, beaded and glistening. Tristian heard the whistling getting gradually louder and a small point of light dotted the infernal darkness of the domed roof. The hair on the back of his neck began to rise. "I can't read his thoughts, Tristian, but he's up there."
         "Can we reach him?" Tristian asked, grimacing a little as he squinted up into the darkness. The point of light was growing larger, and he could feel a brisk wind picking up. The whistling was now clearly audible but grittier, a sputtering geyser capped with stone.
         "We don't have to," Ranos said distinctly, and as the heat cranked up another few notches, Tristian realized it wasn't that the light was getting larger, something was getting closer. Something that wasn't round but jagged and moving at the edges of its circumference. "You see," and his voice was getting buried by the everpresent screaming that was coming down on them, "he's coming to us." Ranos was too calm. Tristian couldn't look at the point anymore, it was too bright. The sun was coming. Coming down. Falling for them.
         And then it was filling his entire span of vision, a fireball plunging from the sky, moving impossibly fast, taking up the entire width of the room, heading right for them. For the first time Tristian realized what it was like to be at ground zero and he had to resist the absurd impulse to look down and see if there was a target sign painted under their feet. He couldn't even stare at it anymore, Ranos was still gazing directly into the apparent fireball, as if caught in some kind of contest but Tristian had to shade his face with his hand. Even that wasn't enough. The light was piercing, it was the sun beating mercilessly down on a beach during the hottest summer day of the year.
         The screaming was everpresent now, pressing against his ears, his head, making him want to cover his ears, he swore they had to be bleeding, there was sunburn breaking out all over his face, he was too exposed they had to run, they couldn't stay here, they just couldn't and he had to tell Ranos but the man's lips were moving and oh God there was no sound and his mind the heat was so thick that his mind was mired and not moving at all
         Don't move.
         The fireball was his world, the heat blasting him like a furnace, someone left the door open and he'll never be cold again. And for all his weapons and all his skills were nothing more than useless toys to impress the children with, against something like this he was nothing, the two of them could never-
         The fireball exploded ten feet over their heads.
         Instinct caused Tristian to drop to the floor, rolling back in a futile attempt to escape. The world flashed negative and white, slamming even through his closed eyes. His ears were ringing from the noise and the smell of something rank burning filled his nostrils. It felt like it was never going to end. A constant eruption of sight and sound battering his senses. A pristine violence he could never attain even if he became the world's perfect mass murderer.
         And through it all, Ranos was roaring.
         And Tristian realized that neither of them were dead.
         He opened his eyes and glanced up to see the air turned solid and shimmering. Leaping to his feet, he saw Ranos driven down to one knee, his upper body held ramrod straight, teeth gritted together.
         ". . . best you can do?" Ranos gasped, his voice rebounding into the air. Blood was dripping from his palms where his clenched fists had driven his fingernails into his hands. Above the shield it was a holocaust, fire gnawing and leaping and biting at the glimmering wall, Tristian could sense the intense heat from where he was standing. Only a small distance separated them from the inferno. He shuddered to think how close they had come.
         ". . . power, his power . . ." Ranos threw his head back, mouth wide open and dropped to both knees, still holding his back straigh. The shield never wavered. His eyes were pained but hardened. "A matter . . . of . . . will, it's all a matter . . . of . . ."
         "Ranos!" Tristian shouted, his voice small and hoarse in the wake of the maelstrom, spinning around and staring up, trying to see through the firestorm raging overhead. Everything smelled like burnt hair, and it was making him sick. His skin felt like it was peeling from his face. "Where is he? Tell me where he is!" The sword hummed as it cut through the air, seeming to call to the fire itself, to see which was the stronger. But fire had no body, no head, nothing to cut and slice. It was nature and nature had no parts to sever. None that he could find.
         The gibberish language of the flames suddenly resolved itself into something intelligible.
         "You are strong, little mindbender," and the voice was the white heat in the center of every fire, the core that burned the longest and the brightest. The kind that flayed your skin from your bones. "But I've merely been testing your limits. And I think you've reached them. Pity." Coarse laughter rained down on them. "It's been highly entertaining."
         The walls around them were starting to smolder, grey wisps floating. Each breath was a dagger deep into his chest, he was swallowing lit swords, metal scouring his throat. The Hierophant. It had to be him. And he was planning on destroying them, reducing them to nothing more than embers. Tristian tried to get his thoughts moving but the heat was sapping all remainders of his energy, it was a weight bearing down on him. The walls were glowing now, black smoke vomited from dark stone. Something was about to happen. Dear God, why couldn't he think.
         And then the notion struck him. Struck him even as he started to move, not even remembering giving himself the conscious orders to do so, automatic reflexes taking charge, straining to propel him the too far distance between him and Ranos. The shield. It all made sense to him now. The fireball over the shield was just a distraction, designed to capture their attentions and divert them from other insideous drama. And they were going to burn. If he didn't do something, the two of them were going to burn.
         A dry wind bit into the back of his head. Like the faraway scent of a forest fire. Animals knew. They knew enough when to be afraid.
         Almost there. People were talking and his ears just weren't in synch with the world. It didn't matter. Only motion mattered. The wall near Ranos was starting to smoke. He wanted to cough and there was an itch crawling down his neck but there was no time to do any of that. No time at all.
         He was nearly there.
         He wasn't going to make it.
         almost
         Columns of flame erupted from the stone
         just as Tristian slammed into Ranos, the impact ejecting what little air still existed in their bodies, the momentum knocking them onto the ground while Tristian pushed out with his leg, sending them rolling.
         Tongues of fire screamed past his head. Two columns crisscrossed and spat into each other, augmenting each other until a conflagration soared in that space where Ranos had been a second before.
         Move screamed every fiber of Tristian's body and he clutched Ranos and kept rolling. Thankfully the other man offered little resistance. At some point he had the piece of mind to sheath the sword. But the floor was getting impossibly warm, the floor was
         Four columns burst from the floor, arcing high into the air, forming arches and then coming down, licking at the sky before kissing the floor, sending liquid rock splashing all over, molten missiles striking the ground all around them. It was controlled chaos. Tristian kept moving. For lack of anything else resembling a plan, he kept moving. In order to merely stay alive, he kept moving.
         Overhead the shield shattered into broken energy, causing the once gigantic fireball to rain down on them in a thousand smaller drops of hungry globes, splattering on the floor, dotting the spaces on all sides. Crimson flashes were all he saw. Tristian tried to force some direction into his body but it was like he wasn't there, not in control, his head was making the decisions that he couldn't, all the actions that he would have to spend actual thought on were being done without reflection, without hesitation. It was maddening, not to be in control. It was keeping them alive.
         Ranos, this is insane! Where he found the presence of mind to shout over the link, he had no idea.
         He's not toying with us, Tristian, he's bent on destroying us right here and now. Ranos' voice was as calm as always but there was a trembling undercurrent to it.
         What the hell are we going to do? Tristian asked as he paused for only a second before throwing them both out of the way as the floor buckled from the spear of fire ripping up into the air. He won't let us stand still long enough to even figure out where the hell he is.
         The air itself seemed to be aflame, the world bent into heathaze, everything a seeming mirage. Pain was struggling to escape the contours of his skull but Tristian angerily shoved it down. He didn't need this. He didn't plan on dying today.
         Keep moving. I have to think of something. Just keep us-
         A blast of scalding air shoved his trajectory off and lifted them from the ground, sending them sailing. Tristian felt the wall more than saw it coming, and could only brace himself before he slammed into it. A hot surface tore scars down his back as he slid down, the world separating into black and white squares. Ranos was gasping nearby, Tristian could sense his weight falling down as well. Everything was too warm, he could barely breathe, could barely get a breath into his oxygen starved chest. The fires were eating the air alive. The room itself was pure flame.
         The wall directly across from him flashed and somehow Tristian managed to secure the energy to throw his body flat onto the floor as the column of snarling flame collided with the wall over him. Splinters of crackling fire landed all over him, sending pinpricks of pain through his body, a network gone horribly wrong. Yelling, he brushed the splinters off of him.
         The splinters . . .
         He turned his heavy head to the right to see a door at his back. Ranos was opposite him, twisted from somehow having landed on his side, his head resting on the floor. But his eyes were open and alert, nearly glittering in this shifting realm of harsh light and stabbing shadows. There was pain in his eyes but he wasn't about to stop fighting.
         Ranos! he called out mentally, figuring it was faster this way. We have to get outside and regroup, he's taking us apart in here! Even as his mind raced furiously, flames were slithering and winding the floor, gouging liquid furrows in the rock floor as they did so. Tristian swore he could hear laughing but his hearing was so battered that it was impossible to distinguish individual sounds at all. It was all just one soupy mess, speakers shorting out in the rain.
         Indeed, Ranos agreed, without even picking his head off the floor. One snakelight fire reared and went to strike at him but Ranos' eyes narrowed and the flame splattered and broke apart against something invisible. But I'm not sure if he'll be less powerful outside. It's not tied to the castle.
          We'll have more room to maneuver out there, Tristian remarked grimly, getting to his feet just to time to deftly step to the side to avoid flaming strings that attempted to wrap around his body. Even so the heat was still staggering. He'll have us right where he wants us if we stay here.
         You have my total agreement on the subject, came the reply and there was a hint of humor in his voice. He was getting to his feet as well, a bit unsteady but he never faltered even as a dozen burning missiles streaked toward him, trailing smoke behind them like dying jet planes. Ranos didn't even look at them as they dissolved into nothing more than thick steam. But I don't have enough stamina to cover us and do what I did to the door before.
         Not a problem, Tristian said, taking out the sword from his belt. The light that the blade cast onto his face almost matched the potency of the roaring inferno seething around them. Even though the weariness in his limbs was growing by the second, he found himself grinning nonetheless. Crazy. He must be a goddamned fool. But some part of him was enjoying this. I said it could cut through anything.
         Smoothly, he rammed the sword into the door, steadily cutting down.
         As you keep reminding me, Ranos replied silently, raising his eyebrow a little. A shimmering wall suddenly sprang up in front of them, the same kind that had blocked the passage of the fireball from before. Almost immediately the view of the room it provided was obscured by thick smoke and searing fire as columns lanced into it, trying to break it, or more appropriately, trying to wear down Ranos.
         Are you complaining? Tristian asked wryly as he cut down, the sword parting the thick wood cleanly. It always amazed him each and every time. If he closed his eyes, it would feel like he was just slicing pure air. Part of him noted that it worked the same on people and he had to work hard to suppress a shudder. Ignore it, Tristian. There's work to do and time to feel guilty about yourself later. Injecting bravedo into his mental voice, he called out, And anyway, what's a little heat to you anyway, you're the one always telling me you were born in a desert.
         A desert, not a volcano, Ranos responded dryly, wincing a little as what looked like white hot tentacles slammed into the shield, crawling across it like they were trying to find some passage inside.
         A busy silence passed between them for the next few seconds as Tristian started another cut, going across and then starting to go down. He hazarded a glance at Ranos and saw that the man was leaning heavily against the wall, his eyes half closed, sweat coating his face like he was standing under a dirty shower, the lighting giving his face a glistening and sickly cast to it. Flashes of rich amber light in his peripheral vision told him that the violence was as fierce as ever.
         How are you holding up? he asked.
         Fine, Ranos answered too quickly, his eyes staring deep into the swirling inferno raging just inches from them. But I wouldn't pause to take in the scenary if you can avoid it.
          Noted. It was getting incredibly humid in the small space, Tristian's breathing was coming in shallow gasps, sweat kept dripping into his eyes and his mouth felt dry. Ranos probably wasn't much better off, no doubt they had passed peak desert climate a while back. He tried to finish the downward cut without his hands shaking too much, it really wouldn't matter in the end but he figured he might as well attempt to do a decent job. So people could at least see that he could manage to cut in a straight line, even if that was the only thing he could do well. A fitting epitaph, he thought wryly. Except he didn't plan on dying today. People were counting on them. Even if those people didn't realize, they were counting on the two of them to succeed.
         Then he heard Ranos gasp suddenly, and throw his head back, his entire body tensing like someone had just jammed a fork connected to a socket into his neck.
         "Ah . . ." Ranos sighed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
         "Ranos!" Tristian yelled, nearly dropping the sword in his haste to get over to him. Ranos merely nodded weakly and made a gesture to Tristian to continue cutting the door. Steeling his will, he went to make the final cut, bracing himself to kick the piece of wood out so they could escape. They were almost there. Just a few more seconds.
         "And just how was this shield going to stop me?" the voice mocked, the static of a bonfire coloring the empty spaces in his speech.
         A sheet of flame fell down over the door, nearly causing Tristian to drop the sword as he leapt back, his back tingling uncomfortable as he ran into the shield. He coughed as smoke curled around him even as the piece of wood he had been cutting twisted and fell backwards. A dry wind caressed his face briefly as the fire screamed from all directions.
         Tendrils of fire shot up from the floor, lacing and interweaving around each other, forming a burning cage, surrounding them even as Tristian instinctively cut at the individuals strands with his sword. Some of them flicked away as if alive, but many danced toward him as well, as if emboldened by the fact that he was cornered.
         Heat slapped him in the face, the door at his back was pure fire. His head was getting light, the fire eating away at the oxygen. In a few moments it would be a matter of choosing between which path to oblivion they wanted, burning or the equally pleasant death by suffocation. Spots were whirling in front of his eyes.
         Distantly he heard Ranos' voice, and he wasn't even sure if it was in his head or not. I . . . can't . . . block . . . that . . .
         Tristian turned and what little energy he had left kicked into overdrive. The flames had cleared from the shield but only so they could see the absolutely towering wall of fire that was bearing down on them, with a roar that was something akin to the cacophony of a mountain breaking off and falling into the ocean. Tristian had been on a beach once when a tidal wave had hit and before they had teleported him out, he was struck by how dwarfed everything was, and how helpless he would have been against something like that. His sword, Ranos' powers, they were just ants stabbing at elephants with cracked toothpicks, nothing they could do would make any difference.
         The air stank, the piercing stench only adding to his headache. The air itself must be on fire. His mind was whirling, trying to focus on more than one thing. He debated dashing through the door but they could exit from the door as pillars of fire, the heat was so intense. There had to be a better way. Wasn't that always the case? When you look for the easy way out, a better opportunity had to be present. It just had to be.          
         And then a crazy idea fluttered through his head. Tristian eyed the wall of flame about to arc and come crashing down on them, with enough force to even melt their bones and felt a grin pulling back from his teeth. Oh yes, this just might work.
         Time to get creative, he thought tersely to Ranos. Are you up for something interesting?
         Ranos glanced at Tristian, one eye keeping an eye on the nearing inferno. I'll entertain any theories at the moment. I'm not really in a position to say no, now, am I?
         Good. More specifically are you up for two things at once?
         Depends on what they are.
         So Tristian told him.
         The fact that Ranos showed even the faintest flicker of expression spoke volumes about well his control was. I . . . think I can manage that. His internal voice sounded somewhat awed, as if he could already visualize the results.
         It had gotten dark and light at the same time, the wall was casting a shadow thick enough to dim the day, while the flames were burning with the intensity of a nuclear firefly gone wrong. Only seconds were left.
         Should we wait for the last second? Ranos asked with unusual humor. They were beaten and battered and nearly drained to their limits, but at least they could go down cheerfully.
         Being as I'm not sure this will work, we'd better give ourselves a few seconds to think of something else.
          Point taken. On your mark, then? Ranos' voice seemed even more eternally calm than before. Perhaps he had made his peace with the idea that they might not make it. Tristian envied that a little, but he wasn't ready to die.
         Mark, already! Tristian nearly screamed, feeling like the hair on his head was starting to smoke. The world was tilting dizzily and given his surroundings, he had to resist the urge to throw a hand out to brace himself on the walls.
         Then he felt the air shift and it got very hard to breath indeed, blazing hands reaching right down deep into his chest, lights dancing and curling right in front of his eyes, the world was expanding, his head was contracting, the air itself it was on fire, every sense in his body was being jammed with signals and he couldn't process them all fast enough. There had to be a vent. There had to be a way to vent.
         Now! he yelled, as if volume might make it all come faster. Teleport us out of here before-
         Space twisted and compressed.
         shift
         Reduced to building blocks, he fell back into himself like a puzzle being assembled in midair, grabbing the pieces and trying to fit the entire mess together before you hit the ground, trying to stay as one whole even when all you could do was sit back and watch it slide into place piece by piece
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