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Holuar glanced at Gerrion. “To this I agree.” He glanced at Gerrion. “Take his honor for the Sulatar, child. Show that you have the strength of the fire—that you are not just a knife in the darkness.”

“Grandfather, I—”

“I have spoken!”

Daine grinned. “Tell you what, Gerrion, we’ll keep it fair. You can use that fine flaming stick you’ve got there. Me? I’ll just use my dagger. I’m sure you remember it.”

“Do as you wish,” Gerrion said. “You will take no honor from the Sulatar. When you are ready, then.” He made a mild gesture with his light sword, the vaguest hint of a salute, but even as Daine nodded and drew his dagger, Gerrion was already launching in a lightning-swift thrust.

Daine leapt back. He didn’t parry or riposte—he simply kept the distance between them, staying beyond the tip of the blade.

“Do you have any honor to take?” he said.

Gerrion said nothing. His handsome face twisted in a snarl as he launched blow after blow. Daine continued to dance away, staying just out of reach.

Minutes passed, and Daine had yet to strike.

“What are you waiting for?” Gerrion hissed. “You asked for this fight. Aren’t you going to try to win it?”

“Perhaps I already am,” Daine said, ducking beneath a fiery slash. “Perhaps I’m not trying to win yet, but you’re doing a fine job of losing without me.”

Gerrion growled, and the tip of his blade almost grazed Daine’s cheek; the flames singed his beard. Cutting it close, he thought.

And suddenly Gerrion stopped. He held his guard position and simply watched Daine. “You’re not trying to win,” he said. “But you asked for the fight. And if you didn’t want to win, then you—”

“That’s right,” Daine said. His arm flashed forward, and the blade was a black streak through the air. The adamantine dagger sank into Gerrion’s left shoulder, and the gray man dropped his sword in shock and surprise. “I was bored,” Daine finished. He looked at Holuar. “First blood,” he said. “I’ve got what I came for. Give me back my dagger and I’ll show you to your gate.”

Gerrion had fallen to his knees. Holuar looked down at him and yanked the dagger loose in one swift motion. Gerrion whimpered and pressed a hand against the wound to staunch the flow of blood. Holuar ignored him and tossed the weapon back to Daine.

“You have your honor,” he said quietly. “Now give us our destiny.”

“Is everything ready?” Daine called out to Lei as he led the firebinders into the vast Hall of the Gate.

Pierce and Lakashtai stood by the door; at Daine’s signal, Pierce laid down his bow.

“Yes,” Lei said. “The vessel is prepared.”

She pointed, and murmurs rippled through the assembled drow. One of the crystal spheres had descended and was hovering just above the floor. A shard of the crystal had folded out and down, creating a long ramp. The inside was filled with dark mist.

Holuar studied the glowing inscriptions on the outer edge of the sphere. “Yes. This is the gate of passage, the chariot that rises to the land of promise.”

“Do you know how to operate it?” Lei said. “I can send you through … but you’ll need to use the controls in the sphere to travel back.”

The old elf hadn’t taken his eyes off the sphere. “Yes. Yes, I know what is required. We have prepared for this journey for thousands of cycles.”

“Do you know what they say about Fernia? I’ve heard it’s all fire and lava. Are you sure you want to go through with this?” “Foolish girl!” Holuar turned to glare at her, and now there was anger in his eyes. “Thousands of cycles. I know what is to come. This is our destiny!”

“Fine!” Lei said, stepping back and raising her hands.

“I am no fool,” the old priest continued, “and I will need … hostages.”

Daine shook his head. “You’re not taking any of my people into a pit of fire.”

Holuar hissed sharply. “Of course not. You do not deserve to see our promised land, nor could you survive it, but …” He gestured to two of his soldiers, speaking rapidly in Elvish. He turned back to Daine as the soldiers came