The flames flashed, then flickered out, and Xena found herself staring down into the eyes of the beast only three feet in front of her. The eyes, she noticed, were no longer coal-black. Now they burned with a fire the color of molten lava. Her sword was embedded in its side behind one of the bright red, spine-covered forelegs. Orange fire dripped from the wound, and the steel blade was starting to glow red from heat.

Xena fought back another wave of panic. How could such a creature exist?! How could she possibly hope to fight it?! How could she kill something made of fire without water? She stood poised to dodge, waiting for it to charge.

Instead, it backed up. Flame flickered around its nostrils and curled around the teeth in its half open mouth. It backed up toward the pool of lava.

"Oh no you don't," Xena said. She wasn't about to let it get away.

It opened its mouth and fire poured over her again even as she leapt forward, grabbing for the sword. Her gloved fingers closed around the handle, and she wrenched it free.

The salamander howled in rage, whipping sideways, and Xena swung for the spiny neck. Again the blade stuck deeply, and fire spouted from the wound. The salamander gave one last mighty roar, then collapsed on its side, writhing.

Xena stepped forward, and with all her might, struck the neck again, and again until the head severed from the body and the writhing stopped.

She watched the still form warily. Even headless she was afraid it might somehow try to harm her, but it did not move.

Finally, she inhaled deeply and realized that she'd been holding her breath. She'd done it! It was dead!

She stepped forward, and felt pain shoot up her leg. Looking down, she saw that her pants' leg had been shredded, and the skin beneath that, too. "Damn." It looked bad, but there wasn't any bleeding. The burning claws had cauterized the wounds even as they'd made them.

She regarded the corpse, still burning fire. She couldn't haul the whole thing back, not with her leg like it was, so she decided to take the head instead, just in case anybody decided to doubt she had done what she claimed. She tucked the grisly trophy under one arm, dripping fire down her coat, and wearily limped up the long passageway to the sunlight above.

She emerged triumphant, expecting cheers and congratulations from the King his wizards and Meks. Instead, she found the burned mountainside bare of all life except for one ragged crow that squawked at her from the skeletal arm of a dead tree.

~ to be continued ~