“Then I am even more responsible for his life.” Seppelitus stood, regarding them both with the sternest look he had. “Please get me there in time.”

  “Done,” the seer replied. “You’ll be going down the Chimney.”

  Seppelitus knew there was a story to that, but there was no time to ask what it was. The seer raised her hand and snapped her fingers, and the world spun away. Seppelitus hoped one sword, and his magic, were going to be enough.

  * * *

  When the world stopped spinning, Seppelitus found himself on a steeply rising path. A horse was tethered in the deep shade cast by a small stand of firs. It was still breathing heavily, and Seppelitus could hear the faint crunch of boots hurrying up the trail, out of sight. He hurried after them, careful to keep his own steps silent.

  He reached the top of the path, in time to see the lord knight standing before a tall column of rock. Sounds of battle drifting up from further down the mountain, distracted him, and Seppelitus knew the knights would never reach the inner chambers in time, knew the dragon had planned it that way. He turned to follow Lord Bright into a spire of rock that could only be what the seer had termed Myall’s Chimney.

  Lord Bright… Seppelitus looked around, only to find he could no longer see the lord-knight’s silhouette. Muttering a curse under his breath, he hurried to the place he had last seen the man, and discovered a cleft in the side of the rock, barely wide enough for the knight to have fitted down. Stepping into the darkness did not appeal, but Seppelitus did it anyway.

  The floor was rough, and he stumbled, pausing long enough to draw enough magic to make his eyes see.

  “Took you long enough.” The dragon’s voice was a murmur inside his head, and then a gauntleted hand descended on his shoulder, and magic twisted itself around him. They reached the demon’s chamber before Seppelitus could draw enough breath to speak.

  The gauntleted hand released his shoulder, and the lord knight leapt away, transporting himself across the broad cavernous chamber. With him out of the way, Seppelitus was able to see where they’d arrived.

  He’d been right to dread his meeting with the demon. Sacrifice and ceremony were indeed involved. Without him, it had fallen to the villagers to power the portal leading to the ogre chief’s patron. The ogres had placed them around the chamber, shackling them, naked, to the stone walls, eight in all, with a ninth chained to the altar, a place Seppelitus knew had originally been reserved for him.

  At one end of the chamber, gleamed the slit of a portal to another realm. Opposite it was a closed door, barred by a huge steel-clad beam, locked in place by iron chains. The light from the barely open portal reflected off the chains and beam, and lit the terrified faces of the villagers hanging on either side.

  Neither of them looked at the new arrivals, their eyes tracked the foot-long blade in the ogre chief’s hands, transfixed by the way it gleamed, as the chanting ogre held it over his head, and then, still chanting, the ogre stepped across to stand in front of the man hanging to the right of the door.

  The man began to plead, as the ogre lord lowered the blade to his belly, and began a long, slow cut leading up into his chest. He did not plunge the blade deep, merely working it to slice through skin, and the layer of muscle and fat beneath. The man screamed, but the chant didn’t waver. On either side of him, the villagers began to plead for their lives, praying to a local god. Soft laughter leaked out of the portal.

  “He cannot hear you,” the demon whispered. “This chamber is sealed from his sight.”

  “Release my people.” The dragon’s command, sounded in Seppelitus’s head. “Get them out of here, before any more die.”

  And before Seppelitus could protest, the lord knight gave a mighty shout, and charged the ogre lord.

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  “Do as I command!”

  Seppelitus obeyed, freeing the man nearest him, with a simple spell that made the chains fall away. Across the room, the ogre roared in response, turning to meet the lord knight’s charge, and deflecting the man’s blade.

  “That way,” Seppelitus whispered, pointing to the shadowed cleft from which he’d emerged. “That way will take you out by Myall’s Chimney. Now, go.”

  He did not wait to see if he was obeyed, but hurried to free the next villager, a middle-aged woman, who had the mark of a priestess. On the other side of the chamber, blades clashed, and the ogre lord roared in frustration. When the first man Seppelitus had freed helped the woman down, Seppelitus turned to scold him for coming back.

  “There is no time,” the man said, as he opened his mouth. “You free them. I’ll get them to the Chimney.”

  The man was right, and Seppelitus needed the help. As he worked his way around the chamber, the man guided the escapees to the tunnel leading out the chamber. To the seventh son’s surprise, the priestess stayed with them, her skills useful, when they reached the ogre lord’s first victim.

  “He lives,” she whispered. “If he’s carried, I might be able to call the god’s healing on the surface.”

  Seppelitus nodded, and hurried on, feeling his magic grow unruly, as he reached the fifth dangling prisoner. He was only too aware of the battle being fought between the lord knight and the ogre king. He turned to the sixth prisoner, as the wounded man was carried carefully away. Again, he had no choice, but to use magic to free the man.

  The magic came, curling over his hands like fire, lashing out at the shackles, and exploding small divots from the stone beyond. The villager stumbled away, toward the first man waiting to guide him out. He stepped around Seppelitus as though afraid to touch him.

  “What are you?” he whispered, backing hurriedly along the wall.

  What indeed? Seppelitus thought, catching sight of the magic coiled around his wrists.

  Keeping it in sight, he hurried toward the next villager. She whimpered, when he came close, flinched as he raised his fingers to touch the catch on each shackle. She did not thank him as they fell away, but ran, in a panicked scamper, to where the first villager waited.

  “Hurry,” the man said, his eyes flicking to where the lord knight, and the ogre were locked in battle, and then flicking to where the portal stood. Even his gaze was wary where it fell on Seppelitus.

  Seppelitus nodded, hurrying to where the last villager hung. Eight villagers, and he had only called the magic six times. He looked at his hands, and saw the magic remained, a tangible glittering band of fire, coiled over his forearms and wrist, the end of it wavering like a snake, ready to strike. Keeping an eye on the combatants, he raised his hands to the shackles, glad he didn’t have to call the magic anymore.

  How long he would be able to control it he couldn’t say. This time, it struck out at the shackles before he could tell it what he wanted it to do. The man dropped from his chains, and tumbled away from Seppelitus, panic in his eyes. To the seventh son’s surprise, the other villagers had not left, but they fled as soon as the last man joined them.

  That left only one—and she was chained to a great stone slab in the middle of the room. Seppelitus eyed the distance between them, noticing how the magic around his hand wavered and glowed, noticing how the portal’s light pulsed and wavered, as though someone, or something, paced back and forth on the other side. Whoever, or whatever, it was, it was too close.

  Seppelitus glanced over at where the lord knight and the ogre sparred, their blades glittering in the portal’s light, their breath coming hard as they danced back and forth. Seppelitus wondered why the lord knight didn’t return to his draconic self, and a sudden, hurried picture of the girl appeared in his mind. She was staring at the two combatants, her eyes wide with horror, and Seppelitus understood that the lord knight did not want his true form known. He also knew he had to hurry; the ogre was slowly gaining the upper hand against the man.

  Keeping a careful distance from the portal, he worked his way around the chamber, until the combatants were no longer between him and the altar. Hurrying across the chamber, he knelt at the first of the chains. This time, the magic did not reach out from his hands. Instead, it seemed to recoil from where the chains joined the altar’s base.

  Seppelitus moved to the end of the altar farthest from the portal, to where the girl’s hands had been drawn together and secured above her head. Concentrating hard, he tried to guide the magic down to unlock the shackle that bound them. All the time, he was aware of the girl watching him, aware that she seemed almost as terrified of him as she was of the portal at her feet, or the ogre fighting her lord knight.

  She saw him reaching for her hands, and whimpered. Seppelitus wondered what she saw that frightened her so, and then decided he didn’t need to know. When the magic licked out from his hands and touched the shackle, Seppelitus forgot all about the girl.

  The magic recoiled and shattered, its golden light vanishing from his wrists and forearm. With a curse, Seppelitus grabbed it back. This time, he thought only of opening the shackles. He thought of them releasing the girl’s wrists and ankles, and falling from the altar top. Focusing hard, he pulled the magic through his hands, and poured it into the shackles. He was not ready for what happened next.

  The magic came at him in a rush, slamming into the shackles like a torrent, and bursting them wide open. Moving quickly, Seppelitus reached over to pull the girl off the altar, but she avoided his grasp, scrambling over the other side and racing for the tunnel opening that would lead her to the top of Myall’s Chimney.