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dripped down his arms.
    Cross fell back, crying. 
    What have they done to me?
    It didn ’t matter.  He had to survive, had to leave.  He had to find Danica.  He didn’t know where to start, but she certainly wasn’t in those caves.
    He took his blade, and power flowed into his body.  He held Soulrazor/Avenger so tightly his knuckles turned white.  Murder filled his heart.  He knew he had to destroy the other two women before he could escape.  He would never know what they’d wanted him for, for breeding or just for their cruel pleasure, but it didn’t matter. 
    He would kill them.  He had to.  He wanted to.
    No.  The blade wanted him to.  Cross realized with horror that the sword’s need had become his own. 
    That doesn ’t matter now.  Worry about that later.  Now you have to escape.
    He wrapped the wolfskin blanket around his freezing body and set off down the tunnels, intent on fighting his way back to the surface.
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
    THREE
    FIRE
     
     
    Ronan quickly came down the side of the hill.  Failing sunlight cut across the bruise-black sky.  The black clouds had rolled in quickly, but he couldn’t afford to wait.  He didn’t want to be stumbling around on the plains in total darkness, at least not if he could help it, but it would be easier to see once the Firehorns he’d spied from the top of the slope were on his tail. 
    Ronan hadn ’t been hunting in years, ever since his time with the Crimson Triangle.  He’d been a boy then, not even twelve.  He remembered pale fields of blasted wheat and drifts of salt white sand.  The boys were punished if they came back empty handed, and there’d been times when they’d stayed out for days, fearful of what would happen if they returned without a prize for their masters.  The dead plains had been riddled with giant scorpions and arcane snakes.  He remembered the feeling of hard sand between his toes and the weight of the double-edged blade in his hands.  His knuckles and knees had gone raw, and he’d tasted grit and dust in his teeth.  He’d killed many things on those fields, and had learned the best ways to bring down a superior opponent with minimal danger to himself.  The boys had fought in packs, but even with their training many of them had died.
    I haven ’t seen a Firehorn since , Ronan thought as he raced away from the marsh and onto the plains.  Firehorns were fearless, and while the battle at Voth Ra’morg might have pushed them away they wouldn’t stray far if there was food to be had, since the big brute’s favored meal was carrion. 
    The marsh gave way to flat lands of frozen mud and hard black stone.  He ran at a fast and steady pace.  The downed vampire ship was in the distance, and its raging fire cast ghostly light into the darkening sky.  Ronan passed through a bank of shadow fog and found the Firehorns.
    There were only about two-dozen of the beasts.  It was a small herd, but still large enough for his purposes.  The creatures dug into the earth with curved horns in their search for rot grubs and black worms.  Three eyes sat high on their sloped pachyderm heads, and though their six stunted legs gave them a fearsome and ungainly appearance Ronan knew for a fact they could move fast if properly enraged.  They were bigger than he remembered, just over the size of a full-grown bull, and their scaly red flesh was riddled with bony white protrusions. 
    The nearest Firehorn paid him no heed – he wasn’t a threat yet.
    He looked back the way he came.  It was maybe three-quarters of a mile back to the Gorgoloth camp.  He had to lead the beasts where he wanted them to go without breaking his neck or getting trampled on.
    The things I do for my friends.
    Sword in hand, Ronan took a breath, tensed his muscles, and narrowed his vision.  His mind focused and hardened.  He set foot in the Deadlands.
    H e raced forward.  Sunlight glinted off his katana as he ducked low and sliced open the