Redeeming the Lost

XI The Eve of Battle

I am still exhausted. The Black Dragon seems to need more sheer strength over land than it did to fly across the ocean, even more than I had planned for. I was summoned by a minor demon soon after I woke. It seems the Demonlord was angry that its body was going stiff and would need much more power lest it fall from the sky. "Not that those mouldy dragons can hurt me, but I thought you wanted me there swiftly, little demon-spit."

"I do. You have fought them, haven't you?" I asked. I meant only to buy time, and was a little surprised by the answer.

"It was good practice," it replied smugly. "One of them attacked me. I had to do a little more than fly in a straight line. Its not so easy as you might think."

"Fool!" I snarled. "Every beat of your wings is held up by my hand. Do not waste your strength."

"Why, little demon-spit, do you grow weary?" it purred. "If you are so weak, why do you waste your time with me? Release me from the bond, I will find strength enough on my own to fly as I like."

The threat was always there with demons. One moments weakness, true or perceived, and they pounced on it. I laughed.

"Weak? I have defeated nearly every Mage alive, I have brought a golem of stone and fire across the Great Sea to do my bidding, and I have you bound to me as my slave. I have strength in me yet to conquer worlds, witless creature. Here, be filled." So saying, I lifted my arms and sent of my own native power to the thing. It absorbed all I sent and sucked at me, demanding more. I closed the stream and denied it. "You must make do with that, for now," I said. "When you get here, I shall provide you with all you will ever need. In the meantime, fly straight, don't go too high, don't damn well fight the Kantri, and hurry."

"Yes, O great one," the Demonlord sneered. "I come." It cut the connection.

Once I was certain it was gone I collapsed. It had absorbed every drop of my strength. I had not counted on that. I managed to summon a servant to bring me food and wine, and told them that I was not well and to let me sleep. One of them asked me a moment ago where Master Marik was, and I quite truthfully responded that he was resting and was not to be disturbed. No need for him to be put into a cell and arouse the locals, after all. I have arranged for the guards who came with us to look after him and to report to me what he says and does, until I require more of him.

It is annoying that the book of Marik's thoughts lies buried in the rabble of the College of Mages. I will have to get him to tell me what he knows before the Demonlord arrives and I give it his soul.

I really must rest and make my preparations.

Tomorrow is the turning point.

I woke in panic from a dream of war to find myself alone, though I didn't have far to look. Most of them were gathered around the fire having a hurried breakfast. I packed my bedding

and went to join them. Travel rations again, I thought, sighing just a little. Never mind, at least the water was fresh.

Vilkas and Aral still slept. The sun was not long risen, and the tail end of the dawn chorus of noisy little birds fell like sweet refreshing rain from the eaves of the wood as I hurried to join the others.

"Varien, Shikrar, I'm a fool," I began. Everyone laughed at this announcement and I had to raise my voice. "There is much I should have told you yesterday, it's important, especially for you two."

"Yes, love?" asked Varien gently in truespeech.

"Don't!" I cried. He looked startled. "That's the problem. You and Shikrar must not use truespeech if you can possibly avoid it."

"Why, Lady?" rumbled Shikrar. Damn, he looked huge in the morning light. "What do you know?"

"Marik can hear you. Anything you say, either of you, he's been listening for months now." I explained swiftly how Marik had come to have truespeech.

Jamie cursed. "That's one of our greatest advantages gone," he said bitterly.

"Not entirely," replied Shikrar, sounding thoughtful. "Akor and I may not use it, but there is nothing to stop the rest of us, or Lanen, from bespeaking one another."

"I may not be safe either," I responded miserably. "He heard me too, when I was in that prison. He said he hadn't before. I don't know if it was because I was shouting or because I was barely ten feet from him, or if he's getting better." I turned to Varien and clasped his forearms in mine, wanting an anchor, wanting him to have one. I felt distinctly light-headed. "Varien, love, he also learned that I'm pregnant. Berys didn't know before, but I'd wager anything he does now," I said grimly. "I'm so sorry, love. I cried out to you in truespeech and he heard." I looked up to Shikrar. "But as far as I know, that's all. You, me, Varien. Everyone else is safe."

"We cannot so assume," said Varien.

"I was hoping to plan our strategy against the Black Dragon as we flew this day," said Shikrar.

"And so we shall, Teacher Shikrar," said Idai. She turned to me. "Know you if Marik can hear what we tell Shikrar?"

I thought about it. "He said he could hear you two, he reported what you said," I answered. "He didn't mention anything about hearing what you heard. Although," I admitted glumly, "that doesn't mean much. Marik lies as easily as he breathes."

Varien

"Indeed." Idai hissed her amusement. "Perhaps it would be best if we assumed that he can hear, and will report, anything that you hear or say, Shikrar. Very well—then let you consider the most tedious subject you can think of, in great detail and at length, and speak to Marik of it all the day long."

"Lady Idai, I like the way you think," approved Rella.

Idai continued. "The rest of us will consider how to defeat the Black Dragon." She glanced at Lanen and winked. "I know that we have not your years, that we are the merest younglings, but we must needs struggle along this once on our own. No doubt we shall falter without your guidance, O Sage of the Kantri, but think of us in our hardship and have pity . .."

Shikrar laughed, a bright tongue of Fire in the broadening day. "Enough!" he cried. "It is all quite true, of course, and no doubt it will be a terrible struggle for you to manage so trivial a task without my assistance, but you must take courage and remain hopeful. If life and the Winds are merciful, you may one day attain to my years and my wisdom—though my natural modesty forbids my ever saying such a thing aloud."

"Your natural modesty would fit neatly in Lady Lanen's palm with room to spare," said Gyrentikh merrily.

Shikrar snorted. "Very well. I abjure pride from this moment. You kitlings come up with a grand plan to defeat our Doom and I will obey blindly!"

"Ha!" barked Rella, finishing her chelan, shaking the last drops from her cup onto the ground. "Even I know you better than that, Shikrar."

Varien laughed loudly. "Poor Shikrar! Even the Gedri tease you now!"

Shikrar's eyes gleamed in the morning light. "Alas, all my secrets are known, my character discovered, my faults made public, and I have not been here a fortnight! Where shall I hide from such infamy?"

"Please, Lord-Shikrar," growled a deep voice, "have mercy. Waking to the hissing of laughing dragons is bad enough. I beg you, speak lower." Vilkas, groggy and bleary-eyed, poured himself a cup of chelan and drained it at once. Aral, behind him, grinned and drank her chelan more slowly as he was inhaling his second.

"In truth, Idai," continued Shikrar, more quietly out of mercy for Vilkas, "if we look to be drawn into battle before day's end, I think we must chance Marik overhearing what is said."

"Of course, Shikrar," she replied. Looking to Rella and Jamie, she said, "Have either of you any idea of how much farther there is to go?"

"Quite a long way," Rella said, and Jamie nodded. "I think I have a rough idea of where we are. Castle Gundar is hundreds of leagues northeast of here, through Mara's Pass—though if you are flying high enough, perhaps you won't need to worry about the pass. But I shouldn't think you could reach Castle Gundar before tomorrow in any case."

"Ah, but, Mistress Rella, you have not seen us at our best," said Alikirikh unexpectedly. It did my heart good to see her taking part in this. "We are still weary, but a night's rest will make a vast difference."

'Then let us be at it," said Shikrar. "Idai, will you wait for these heroes to break their fast? You have the best chance of catching me up."

T will," she replied, "though I recommend they break it quickly."

Aral and Vilkas ate faster.

"Then let us be gone," he said to Lanen and me. Gyrentikh gathered up Jamie and Rella, Alikirikh took Will and Maran—and we were aloft.

That day was years long. The morning was decent enough, clear weather and warmed by the sun, but clouds dark with rain rose before us ere noon. We stopped briefly just before the rain came on, to take some food and let the Lady Alikirikh catch her breath. I took the chance to take my blanket out of my pack and wrap it around me. For all that spring was now well along, it was bloody cold up there.

After we went back up, it rained almost constantly. Of course, Alikirikh sheltered us from much of it, but there was no escaping it all. After an hour we were soaked. When she remembered, she held us near her, and we warmed up and dried off a little—but it seemed not to be a natural position for any of them, and she often forgot.

Northeast, Rella had said. I didn't know if it was chance, but we seemed to be following the river. It had to be the Kai. I stared, delighted. I had always wanted to see the Kai, though I had to smile. I'd planned to be rather closer to it.

It would have cheered my heart to have passed the time with Maran, heard her story, maybe found out what she and Lanen had been yelling about, but the constant sound of the wind in our ears was all but deafening, and speech all but impossible.

Northeast. How any creature could tell directions in that downpour I know not, though of course the river lay below. And eastwards it must surely have been, for the hills rose steadily higher before us.

I sought the Black Dragon from the moment I took to the Winds that morning. We soon, to my sorrow, came upon it and the Dhrenagan together. Even as I approached, two of the Dhre-nagan broke off from the rest and flew straight towards the Black Dragon. I could see their comrades trying to dissuade them, but to no avail, and as I watched the Demonlord laughed and caught them, burned them until all they could do was to choose the Swift Death, cheating him of their souls but throwing their lives away to no purpose. I could not bear it. I did not care if Marik heard every word.

"Naikenna, can you do nothing?"

Her mindvoice was disconsolate. "And how would you stop one of your own who was determined on death, Shikrar?" she asked, soul-weary, heartsick. "They are the seventh and eighth of our people to choose their deaths in this fashion. Each is a soul I have known for many long winters, each was a link to a past that is else lost forever. By my soul, I assure you, I would stop them if I could."

"Can they not even await our Council this night?"

"Most can," she replied. "Those of us who slept can wait. Those of us who waked, even in part—ah, you cannot know. To taste blessed freedom at last, to breathe, to ride again on the Winds! Thus far we are in paradise, after long ages of torment undeserved. To see the founder of that torment so near, in a travesty of our own shape, and know that we cannot even now extract revenge—it is more than some can bear."

"I hear you, Lady," I answered sadly. "Can you at least convince them to keep out of its sight? Let it not know where we are or what we do."

"1 will try, Shikrar," she replied. I thought she had closed her mind to me, but—well, perhaps she was not shielding as tightly as she might. "Alas for Hyrishli and Orgalen," she mourned. "Hyr-ishli, soulfriend, heart's-sister, what darkness so overshadowed your soul? We are alive again, we are free, released from our torment at last. Was life so frightening after all these years? O Hyr-ishlianareli, my sister, sleep on the Winds, sleep soft and gentle where you are gone." Her mindvoice dropped to the merest whisper. "Hyrish, dear one, why could you not let me say farewell?"

I could not keep silence. Quietly, I bespoke her with the only words I had.

"May the Winds bear them up, where the sun is ever warm and bright.

We finished the Blessing for the Dead together. If Marik heard, much comfort may he take of it.

May their souls find rest in the heart of light.

I bespoke Kedra, for my heart ached for the sound of his voice. "Where are you, my son?"

"Far ahead and higher up," he replied shortly. "Fear not, my father."

It was enough.

We flew on. I would fain have joined Kedra and the others, but we four had to stay low for the sake of those we carried. We swiftly passed both Black Dragon and Dhrenagan and settled into a steady rhythm, following the river far below.

It came on to rain just after noon, and soon after we reached that place the Gedri call Mara's Pass. It is an excellent landmark for flight. It is not truly a pass, for the hills to the north and south fall away to flat ground for some leagues, but it is the only sensible place to cross that range of mountains if you cannot fly above.

I became more and more unsettled as we approached it. It looked—familiar. I could swear I knew the place, even to the extent of knowing that there were better updrafts on the northern side. I rose swiftly on the thermal, anticipating the jog to the left that I knew lay before me just past the highest point of the surrounding hills. I swooped away left, caught the rising air as though I had lived there all my life, and nearly dropped Lanen and Varien when I saw the vista before me. Their cries in my mind brought me back to myself, but all was changed.

There in the distance were the true East Mountains, of which these hills were mere outliers. They stood, snow-topped and menacing under the dark sky, looming at the edge of sight like a threat, and I realised between one breath and the next how I knew this place.

My Weh dreams.

Dreams that occur in the healing Weh sleep are important. The Weh sleep is our time of regeneration: the longer we live, the larger we become, and it is impossible to grow surrounded by armour. Thus, about every fifty winters the Weh comes upon us, with little or no notice—perhaps a day, perhaps a few hours—and we have no choice but to find a safe place and go to sleep. It is the only time that we are vulnerable to the Gedri, when our old armour becomes brittle and falls away and the new armour underneath has not yet had time to harden. It can take up to six moons for one my age to rouse from the Weh sleep. In most cases we do not dream, or do not remember it if we do, but sometimes a dream will come to haunt us. If it comes more than once, we consider it worth paying attention to.

I had dreamed of this place four times, over the space of three hundred and fifty winters. I knew the way to Castle Gundar from here, I knew what it would look like and what surrounded it.

And I knew now, to my sorrow, that my destiny awaited me there.

The rain lightened and gave way to clear skies just before the sun began to set. The high mountains before us began to glow in the golden light as we drew nearer, and the wind changed, blowing now from those distant heights. The air was cold and clear and bracing. I took a breath like a faceful of snow and was revived.

"Kedra, how fare you?" I asked.

"We are well, Idai, and we are here!" He sounded quite pleased. "The castle rises above a huge lake right at the edge of the mountains. If you veer north-by-west when the lake appears the size of a soulgem, fly a double hand of heartbeats then roll a quarter right, you will find yourself above a long curving valley between two ridges. At the end of the valley is a grassy field, almost like the Summer Plain. There is a waterfall to the south and a little stream runningfrom it."

"Have you spied out the land around the castle?" I asked.

"I considered it, Lady," Kedra replied, "but it is still light. Surely it is best if we are not seen?"

"True. Ah, well," I sighed. "The moon is with us, at least, she nears the full. We must trust that it will be enough."

"Shall we light afire to guide you, Lady?" he asked. "I would not hazard our discovery on such a thing, for all the comfort it would bring."

"If our enemy can see a fire through a mountain range, we . surely are doomed in any case," I replied dryly, and Kedra laughed.

"Very well, then. Come to the fire, and bring my poor father as swiftly as you may. He will be suffering agonies at this enforced silence!"

I sent a swift thought to Shikrar, no more than "all is well," and shut my mind to him. Our plans, such as they were, would not take long to communicate to him once we came to land.

It seemed likely that all would be over and done by the morrows sunset. I shuddered, making Aral and Vilkas cling more tightly to my foreclaws, the poor souls. I longed to turn from this path, fly on powerful wings in any direction that did not take us to our fate.

I could no more turn away than fly on my back. Our path was determined when the first Kantri who ever breathed chose order over chaos: thus we balance the Rakshasa, our life-enemies, who chose the path of chaos. The poor doomed Trelli chose not to choose, and they have vanished from the world. The Gedri alone among the Four Peoples from the dawn of life had chosen choice itself—each individual soul was free to decide if it would follow order or chaos.

The Kantri could no more abandon the Dhrenagan to their fate than walk on water. We are bound, by blood, by honour, by our very nature, to stand by them.

I took some comfort in the knowledge that for all the suffering the Lost had endured, for all those endless years of captivity, the balance that is in all things decreed that there was a terrible price yet to be paid. I for one intended to make sure that the Demonlord and that Rakshadakh Berys paid it as painfully as possible.

It did occur to me that the battle that loomed before us could be a blessing from the Winds, in a strange way. As if we were being given the chance to undo the great evil that had created the Lost all those long ages ago.

It eased my heart to think that, at least.

I have slept nearly a full day. The sun was setting when at last I opened my eyes, fully rested and ready to welcome the Demon-lord. I sent a Rikti to find out when he would arrive. The useless creature said that he could see the East Mountains only as a mist in the distance, and that it was not possible that he should arrive before the morning.

"What delays you?" I demanded sharply. "Are you lost? Have you fought the Kantri again though I forbade you?"

"I haven't fought them, but what should I do when the damn things throw themselves at me?" he complained. "There have been at least half a dozen of them that couldn't resist the urge to kill themselves today." I could hear the pleasure in his voice. "I have let this body do most of the work. They do burn nicely."

"Are all the Kantri close to you?" I asked. "Do they follow you or precede you or fly by your side?"

"Damned if I know," he said, snorting. "I've been flying through mist and rain and cloud most of the day. Until the last half hour I have only seen the ones who attack. The rest could be anywhere."

"The skies are clearer now?" I asked.

"Yes, enough at least to know I can't see a trace of a dragon, but clouds still obscure the moon. Even now I can barely see to fly."

"I care not for your excuses. Keep coming. On the whole, I would rather you got here before the Kantri."

"I don't know why you are concerned about them," he replied. "They are just as stupid now as they ever were. They are doing now exactly as they did then, throwing their little lives away in a temper." He laughed briefly.

"Are you entirely stupid, or have you forgotten how to count?" I snarled. "Only six of them! There are hundreds more left."

"There would not be if you would let me engage them."

"Patience, foolish one. You are not yet at half the strength I have prepared for you. Get you here as swiftly as you may. This castle is vulnerable without you to serve as my guard."

"Guard! Little demon-spit, you have much to learn," he hissed. "I come because you promise me the Kantri, all together, all at my mercy."

"You bore me," I said, yawning. "Boasting is so tedious. You come because you are bound to my service, whatever your pride might wish were the case. Come swiftly and be ready to destroy the Kantri. If they are not here before you, they will not be far behind."

"I have been ready to destroy the Kantri for thousands of years," he snarled. "Let them come when they will. I will throw them from the sky, each and every, until they fall upon the earth like drops of rain. I will tear their souls from them and take them back with me to the deepest Hell, there to feast upon that rich harvest down the long ages."

I had never asked, and I was curious. "You were man, you are now demon for the most part—how long do you expect to live?"

In a low, drawn-out voice, it replied, "Forever."

I have to say, it's quite handy travelling with the Kantri. True, we were all still damp and cold from the mornings rain, but if you ever want to get warm fast, talk to a dragon. Gyrentikh, who seemed to be enjoying the adventure, brought a young mast for firewood, broke it up, and lit it as well. Dragonfire bums hotter than normal fire, so the wood was consumed swiftly until it settled down to being normal flames, but that first blast of heat was more than welcome. Still, I'd have given a great deal for a hot bath.

While the Kantri were making their preparations, we humans all sat around the fire and tried to come up with some way of taking Berys out of action. Maran used the Farseer to check on him, and the image was the last one any of us wanted to see. He stood before a makeshift altar, obviously preparing something important, and all around him fluttered a small army of Rikti and a few Rakshi fetching and carrying. Jamie cursed and Rella shook her head. "That's work for the Kantri," she said. "I'd happily carve Berys into steaks, but I couldn't get anywhere near him like that."

We all looked to the Healers. Will and Aral looked to Vilkas, who sat very still indeed. It was left to Varien to ask, "What say you to that, Mage Vilkas?" His voice he kept carefully neutral. "Can you do aught to dispel those creatures?"

He took a long time to answer. "Yes, I can," he said, "but whether I will be able to do so on demand tomorrow is another question." He frowned. "I cannot in all conscience let you make any plans depending on my abilities," he said calmly. "I cannot give you my assurance that I will be able to do anything at all about Berys's demons."

Aral opened her mouth to protest, but Will put his hand on her arm and she held her peace.

Varien nodded. "It is as well we know this now, Mage Vilkas. I appreciate your honesty." He glanced around the circle. 'The Kantri have said that they will bear us to a hill near the side of the lake tomorrow morning, that we may see with our own eyes everything that occurs. We should keep well away from the water's edge."

"Damn it, man, do you mean that we are to do nothing tomorrow?" cried Jamie. "If Berys is left to work unchallenged we will all be the worse for it. Surely there is some way, between the eight of us, that we can defeat enough demons to at least distract Berys."

Aral began to protest, as did Rella. Vilkas scowled at everyone.

The most peculiar idea occurred to me.

"What if Berys were attacked by a demon?" I asked loudly.

Well, it got their attention, but not a soul there looked pleased at the idea. Vilkas glared at me and said sternly, "Mistress Lanen, do you tell me that you are versed in the summoning of the creatures? I would be surprised to hear it."

"Of course not," I snapped. "Only Healers can call the things, surely. I thought that perhaps you—I mean—uh—"

Vilkas's and Aral's brows were two black thunderclouds, and I was hugely relieved that it was Aral who spoke first.

"No, Lanen. Anyone can call them." Her eyes were hard as stone. "All it takes is a blood oath in which you revile the Lady and reject Her utterly. I'd rather not, thanks. Are you volunteering?'

My mother stood, slowly, and opened her mouth.

Jamie, not seeing her, said, "Lanen, it is an entrancing idea, to burn him with his own fire, but there are some ways closed to us. Would you rid a kingdom of a despot by torturing his subjects into rebellion? We cannot so debase ourselves as to use demons. We would be no better than Berys."

Maran turned and wandered off, as if to stretch her legs, but I knew perfectly well that she had meant to offer herself and risk her soul as a demon-caller. I wasn't certain whether I was proud of her courage or worried that she had so low an opinion of her own worth.

A few more idiotic ideas were put forward and demolished, until finally Will spoke up. "The truth is," he said practically, "that none of us wants to admit that we're useless in this." He stood and paced a little. "Believe me, I find this as maddening as you do, Master Jamie, but—I at least admit that I am completely out of my depth."

Maran, composed again, returned to the circle of firelight. Will continued. "I'm a decent hand with a longstaff and not a bad shot with bow and arrow, but I don't have either, and in any case a bit of wood isn't going to bother a demon. And I shouldn't think Berys would leave himself vulnerable to physical attack."

"He has before," said Jamie.

"When?" asked Vilkas, quick and sharp.

Jamie sighed and then grinned up at Will. "Twenty-five years ago, I suppose it was. You don't reckon he's learned anything in the meantime, do you?"

"Even if he hasn't, we'd have to get to him first," said Rella practically. "I suppose one of the Kantri could drop us fairly near the castle, if we had any idea of being useful, but I'd hate to give the bastard a chance of taking any of us prisoner again." She sighed. "I'm afraid we're just going to have to wait tomorrow. Wait and watch." Jamie began to protest, but she silenced him. "I don't like it any better than you do! But unless you can think of something we can be sure of accomplishing, we will best serve our cause by keeping out of the way. I shall keep my sword loose in its sheath and my wits sharp about me, but to throw ourselves into Berys's path unprepared is surely the worst kind of folly."

"I wish you were wrong," said Maran heavily, "but I know better. Goddess, to come so far and be so helpless!"

"Do not despair, Lady Maran," said Varien, smiling grimly. "The day lies before us, and nothing in this world is certain before it happens. It may be that we will all have something to do before the end."

With that we all had to be content. The rest settled down to sleep for what was left of the night. Varien and I walked along to the little waterfall arm in arm, taking our time in the starlight, walking in silence. The water sang a merry tune as it fell, heedless alike of demons and dragons, and it comforted me. Varien walked beside me, silent still, but I swear I could feel something rising in his soul. I just couldn't tell what it was.

"Varien, love, how fare you?" I asked him, finally. "Funny how I have grown so dependent on truespeech so quickly. I would bespeak you if I thought Marik wouldn't hear, but—"

"To the Hells with Marik," said Varien roughly, taking me in his arms. He kissed me passionately, desperately, and I could feel his mind singing in mine, a counterpoint to the whispered endearments so wild and intense that I grew giddy. "Lanen, kadreshi, beloved, beloved." He all but sang the words. "Come, my dearling, come, hold me, let me feel your dear arms about me. Bear me up this night, beloved, of your gentle mercy, for my heart is weary unto death with care and thou art my only rest."

We kissed and clung to one another and the world went away, just for those few moments. Alas that such distractions could not last.

Varien suddenly broke away and started walking, as if he would walk away from the dread in his soul. I kept pace with him, trying not to feel hurt that my love and care were not enough. "My heart tells me that this could be the last night that there are Kantri in the world, Lanen," he said bitterly. "On the Isle of Exile I often worried that there were so few born to us. It seemed to me that in several generations, perhaps as long again as it has been since the last coming of the Demonlord, we might be no more, and that was a dark evil." His voice was like a whip, but it was himself he was lashing. "And behold! I fall in love with you, I choose change rather than death, the world seems brighter than it ever has been—and now all my people face death on the morrow. All of us, even the Lost, Restored for a paltry few days and lost again forever because of me!"

I grabbed his arm and stopped him. He sought to tear himself loose but before he could I slapped his cheek. Not hard, just enough to shake him out of himself.

"Don't be so damned full of yourself," I snapped angrily. Bloody dragon. "If we had never met, if I languished still in Hadronsstead, do you think your island would somehow yet be above the waves? Nonsense. The Kantri would still be here in Kolmar, Berys would still have summoned that damned Black Dragon, and here you would be, all of you, just as we are now." I let go his arm. "The only real differences would be that the Lost would still be lost, the Lesser Kindred would still be asleep on the borders of reason, and—I wouldn't be carrying your children."

"And you would not be here, in terrible danger, carrying our children," he echoed, all contrition. He wrapped me again in his arms. "Oh, Lanen, how do you bear it?" he murmured into my ear.

"One breath at a time, my love," I said, holding on to anger that I might not weep. "One breath at a time."

We walked slowly back to the fire. The Kantri had begun to return by that time, and I felt safe enough to rest. We lay near the fire beside Idai. I had no idea what lay ahead, though I dreaded it—but for that moment I was content to sleep beside my husband, held close in each others arms. One breath at a time.

Kedra

We did not even seek to rest until the moon began to sink, weary, towards the mountains. Our plans were laid, our preparations, such as they were, completed. We would fight fire with earth, air, and water. I think that none of us truly believed we could prevail, yet still we worked deep into the night, flying by moonlight, piling the largest boulders we could lift into a cairn on the flat top of a low hill beside Lake Gand. Idai and I found a small wood that would serve our purpose, and made certain that as many knew of its location as possible.

A few of the Dhrenagan yet kept pace with the Black Dragon, still several hundred leagues away and not likely to arrive before morning, but for the most part they joined us that night. Nearly.

Naikenna it was who thought to use smoke to our advantage. She was saddened by the deaths of her people, but the Dhrenagan as a whole had given themselves up to the single purpose of destroying the Demonlord.

I found it both frightening and deeply distressing. They would not be swayed by reason. I had never seen that in our people before. They would not keep close company with us that night either, because of the Gedri among us. I saw the hatred in some minds, the barely controlled longing to destroy any human merely for the crime of being of the same race as the Demonlord had been. It did not bode well for our future in this place. I spoke to Lanen, and we ensured that all of the Gedri slept within the protection of at least one of the Kantri, lest any of the Dhrenagan be moved to seek revenge in the night.

When at last all was done that could be done, I joined my father and Idai, Gyrentikh and Alikirikh. The four of them watched over the Gedri most dear to me—Varien and his Lady, Lanen Kaelar, who had saved my beloved and my son. The humans had talked long into the night, but now they all slept near the fire. There was Vilkas Fire-soul and Aral the Vahant, who together had saved my father; there the Lady Rella and her dear one, Lanen's Jamie; and there a little apart, Maran Irongrip and Will the Golden.

The night was growing old. The stars in their ordered dance wheeled steadily above us, to the music of the nearby waterfall. There was a bird that sang as well that night, all the night long. I had never heard a night bird or its lovely, liquid song before, but it soothed my spirit as much as anything could. There was no more to be done but wait until the morning. Gyrentikh and Alikfrikh were obviously using truespeech so as not to wake die Gedri.

My father, though, was restless. He could not settle after the work was done. I knew how he felt. The morrow held battle, something only the Dhrenagan had known. The prospect of severe injury, of death, of maiming, was very much in my mind no matter what I did to ignore it.

Finally he stood and left the circle of firelight. I followed him, a little way down the valley. The sky was still bright with moonlight, though she would set very soon.

"Will it ease your heart to speak, my father?" I asked quiedy.

"Ah, Kedra," he replied wearily. 'This night is as long as years." He stood in Sorrow, and his eyes were solemn. He did not say more but, to my astonishment, came near to me and gendy twined his neck with mine.

It is a family gesture, parent to child. He had not touched me so since my mother Yrais went to sleep on the Winds. I was deeply moved. The gesture brought back a hundred memories, of the time when my mother still lived, of a time when my greatest concern was how soon he would teach me to fly. A hundred Midwinter fires blazed in my heart, when in the way of our people we sang togedier a song of home and family, of a love deeper than time that would never fail, love stronger than death.

It was at that moment I knew. He was saying good-bye.

"No, Father!" I cried, pulling away. "No, you can't believe a legend! It's foolishness." I tried to keep my wings from rattling with my agitation. "Why should you not prevail with all of us, Kantri and Dhrenagan, to fight beside you?"

"Kedra," he said softly, "this has nought to do with the legend." His Attitude softened. "As it happens, I think it very likely that we may prevail tomorrow, if the Winds are blowing our way, and the Gedri may well prove the turning point. Akhor's folly, that brought us Lanen and those around her, may prove our salvation." He sighed. "Alas, my son, I have seen this place in my Weh dreams."

"No," I breathed, stricken.

"Time and again, Kedra. Four times, and each ends in much the same way. I know what awaits me."

My heart dropped like a stone. I could only shake my head. No no no no no.

"I do not know all that will happen tomorrow, and by all the Winds I will fight with every drop of my strength, but"—he gazed then upon me with such naked love in his glance that I could hardly bear it—"it is in my heart, my dear son, you whom I love most in all the world, that I am going to die tomorrow. I would not leave without saying farewell."

I could hardly breathe. I knew somehow, deep in my heart I knew that he spoke bitter truth. I tried to deny it, I longed to deny it, but the words would not come.

"You know that you have been the light of my soul since the day you were born, Kedra," he said gently. 'That has never changed, nor the fight ever dimmed. Know that, remember it, and know that no matter what happens to me, a fathers love never dies. I simply go before you to sleep on the Winds, and when after long years your time here is done I will be there to greet you in the Star Home, the Wind's Home, the place of all Songs, with your mother at my side."

"Father," I choked out, through a throat painfully tight. "Must this be?"

"It will be," he said gravely. "I know not precisely how it will come to pass, but—it is battle. I may not be able to speak with you when the time comes."

And at last his calm resolve cracked, and he bowed his head, and I saw that he was weeping.

We are creatures of fire. Tears are agony to us. We only weep when our hearts are wrung beyond bearing.

In a moment he looked up again, gazing into my eyes, his voice barely a whisper. "I say farewell to you now, my dearest son. I pray you, give me your farewell in return, that I may know you have heard the truth I tell you."

I could not, just then. My heart was too full. "Not yet," I whispered. "Not yet, I beg you, while night covers us."

He nodded. "Until dawn, then."

While darkness lasted we lay close together, my father curled around me for comfort, as around a youngling. We spoke of so many things: of memories, of hopes, of sorrow and of delight. Of fife and death. Time seemed to spin around us, unheeding, as my heart begged it to slow, to stop, just for one more moment.

At last, away to the east, fight began to creep silently into the darkness. It spread like water, slowly washing away the night, until false dawn filled the sky. For the first and only time in my life, I cursed the dawn.

We both fell silent, and my father looked to me. Waiting.

I would have given my wings to deny the truth of what he had said. I longed for him to be mistaken, for him to live long years yet with me—but I knew that my father was the truest creature I had ever known. To deny his truth was to deny him, and that I could not do.

"Farewell, my father," I whispered, barely able to speak. "May the Winds bear you up."

He touched his soulgem to mine and we stood thus in communion for a long moment while day grew broad about us. Then he drew back, nodded to me, and turned to rejoin the others, who were rousing with the dawn.

That moment has remained with me all the days of my life.

Even now, as I stand here removed by so many years, I can feel his soulgem against mine, a benison beyond words. These moments shape our lives.

I am glad I had the chance to say good-bye.

"Vil?"

"Mmm?"

"Vil, you can't ignore it. Tomorrow."

"Oh, yes I can," he replied, both eyes still tight shut.

"What will you do, Vilkas?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral. "When the demons come?"

"I'll be able to decide then, because I will have had some sleep," he growled. "Not much, but some. Please, do shut up."

I said no more and he feigned sleep for ages, until at last exhaustion claimed him.

I would not have had his dreams for all the world.

The Wind of the Unknown

Marik arrived just after dawn, nicely annoyed.

"What the Hells do you think you're doing, sending for me at this time of day!" he yelled as he strode through the door of my rooms. I smiled.

"Good morning, Marik. I thought you would like to join me for breakfast," I said. "I thought we might venture to celebrate this morning."

"This is my home, Berys. In future please assume that I will seek you out if I want to talk to you, and I bloody well won't at this time of day." He threw himself into a chair and helped himself to food. He made quite a good meal of it. Very appropriate, I thought, considering.

"Have the dragons said anything of interest?" I enquired.

"Not a damn thing they couldn't have said aloud." He grinned, wolfishly. "Though one of them at least is nicely miserable. Weary at heart, it seems, poor bastard that he is." He took a savage bite of bread and butter. "So, what news of your flying friend?"

"The Demonlord is nearly upon us, I am delighted to say. He reported this morning that he neared the mountains. I expect him here within the hour."

"Well, better late than not at all," Marik said easily. "Tell me, is he going to start killing the Kantri right away, or do we have to feed him first?"

"He must be fed," I said.

"What does a creature like that eat?" he asked, draining his cup of chelan.

"People, for preference," I replied. "Specifically—you."

Marik stared at me for a moment and then laughed.

"Hells, Berys, I thought you bloody meant it!" he crowed. I smiled at him.

"Come on then, tell me," he said, brushing the crumbs from his lap. "What does it really eat? If I need to send for a cow or six, it will take a little time."

"No, Marik," I said cheerfully. "I meant what I said. It's going to eat you. Oh, perhaps not physically, that depends on what it feels like, but you are going to feed it."

"What, yet more blood?" he asked, annoyed, and entirely incapable of believing what I said to him. It was delightful. "This grows old. I'm amazed you have anything at all in your veins."

"Come into the courtyard," I replied, rising, and calling over my shoulder as I left, "I will await you."

I waited for Berys to go, waited a moment longer lest he be listening outside the door, and shpped out through the hidden door in his bedchamber.

I'm not a complete fool. I grew up here, I know every foot of this casde, and I'd had him put in these rooms for a very good reason. It's one of only three that connect to the concealed passageways between the walls. You can go practically anywhere in the place, including out. I was soon scrambling out the little concealed door and up into the mountains. Hells' teeth, he was going to feed me to that damn thing without another thought! Me!

Bastard. He'd pay for that in time, but first I had to get a very long way away.

A voice rang in my head.

"It comes! Rise up, my people!"

I cursed and hurried on. Stop bloody posturing and get on with it, I thought wildly. Bloody dragons! If you'd just damn well kill the thing I may live to see another day.

"Bloody hellsfire! Marik?"

What the—somebody heard me?

We rose just after dawn, not that anyone slept much, and broke our fast together. Shikrar and Idai took wing to see that all was prepared, and Maran announced that she was going over to the waterfall to have a quick word with the Lady and if anyone wanted to join her they'd be welcome. Vilkas and Aral wandered along, and after a moment so did I.

We said little, each in the privacy of our own minds addressing the Goddess. Being so near a waterfall, of course, the Laughing Girl of the Waters was uppermost in my mind. It seemed odd, addressing so weighty a subject as battle to the lightness of Mother Shia, but somehow it cheered me. If the Mother of us All had sent us the Laughing Girl, perhaps it was to remind us of hope. That's how I chose to think of it, in any case.

Aral was deeply moved, kneeling, her hands cradling the leather bag around her throat that held the soulgem of some lost Kantri, and her corona surrounded her for a moment as she prayed. To my surprise, her power was no longer plain blue; it was still bright and clear, but there was a depth of colour that suggested purple. I had seen corrupted Healer's power. This seemed the opposite.

My mother Maran seemed to have a very rough and ready approach—she didn't kneel, she didn't even stop moving, just kept walking back and forth in front of the little waterfall, muttering, gesturing, as if she were addressing someone who stood beside her. An impulse took me—I'm sure it was because of the danger we all faced, rather than a kick from the Goddess, but I went up to Maran, stopped her for a moment, and kissed her cheek. Just like a daughter.

Tears sprang into her eyes, sudden as a spring shower, and she wrapped her arms about me. "Oh, Lanen," she said, just for a moment holding me close. "Bless you for that."

Our devotions were soon done, and as we walked back to rejoin the others I happened to glance at Vilkas. I never meant to look at him with my new depth of vision, but so it was. I shuddered. I had once watched a travelling silversmith ply his trade, and I swear that under the surface Vilkas was like nothing on earth more than molten metal burning off impurities; white-hot and boiling, dangerous, beautiful, and waiting to be shaped by the hand of the maker. How he could bear it I will never know.

And suddenly a clarion call ringing in my mind.

"It comes!" cried Shikrar. "Rise up, my people!"

We started running when to my amazement I heard another voice.

Stop bloody posturing and get on with it. Bloody dragons! If you'd just damn well kill the thing I may live to see another day.

A voice I had heard before, but never with my mind. "Bloody hellsfire! Marik?"

"My name somebody heard me Hells what is this?"

His mindvoice was shrill with panic. Varien waited beside Idai, who was to bear us to a safe place on the far side of the mountains. I took Varien s hand and opened my mind to his.

"It's Lanen, Marik. You said you could only hear."

"It was true up to this moment where are you how can you hear me?"

"Can you hear him?' I asked Varien as we scrambled with Vil and Aral into Idai's impatient hands. The instant we were all together Idai launched herself skyward, throwing us all off balance.

"Hear who?" shouted Varien, struggling to keep his footing.

"Marik!" I yelled.

Varien obviously couldn't hear what I was saying: it wasn't worth trying to talk. Idai and Gyrentikh were flying as fast as they could, but because there are no thermals so early in the day they were having to fly to the end of the mountain ridge, south and a long way west of where they wanted to be, then back around east and north to Lake Gand. It was sheer hard work. It didn't help that they were also burdened with the eight of us.

However, it did mean that we saw the arrival of the Black Dragon. It headed straight for the castle nesded up against the mountains' roots. Casde Gundar. My father's home.

It was not alone. Behind it, above it, flew many of die Dhrena- gankantri. They watched closely as it aimed itself direcdy at the casde, then held back. They all knew the basics of the plan of attack, and praise Shia there didn't seem to be any more of them who desired death so strongly that they must needs pursue it.

We came to ground on a hilltop, near the shore of Lake Gand. Idai dropped us as gendy as she could as she came to land. She did not rest, but launched herself immediately off the edge and aloft again. Gyrentikh did the same before joining the gathering cloud of Kantri.

Idai swooped past then, returning with the last and largest boulder to lay on top of a cairn of stones that she and many others had carried from the mountains' feet by moonlight in the small hours. Many of the Dhrenagan and the Kantri took this fleeting moment of quiet to fly into the mountains, searching, taking this brief chance to learn the lay of the land in daylight.

We all watched as the black thing circled and landed behind the high walls of the courtyard. It barely fit. Even as we prepared, insofar as we could, we could see its wing joints above the walls.

"The Winds and the Lady help us all," I muttered.

Varien stood at my side and put his arm around my shoulders. "They will, surely," he said.

"I'm glad you think so," murmured Rella. "In my experience tbey tend to stay well out of such things."

Varien gazed unblinking at the distant creature. 'The Wind of Change has blown over us, the Wind of Shaping we have been part of," he said quietly. "This is the Unknown, kadreshi. It is the hardest to bear."

"You Gedri keep away from the lake," said Idai's mindvoice in our heads. "It begins. Keep well back. We will fight the better for not having you to worry over."

Speaking of worrying. "Varien, before Idai brought us, did you hear—" I began.

Then I heard him again, Marik, my father. His thoughts spilled into my mind. I tried to shut him out, but no matter what I did his voice was there. Goddess, it was terrible.

When Marik didn't follow me, I raised the alarm. His castle, after all, his people. "Your master is missing. His mind is not stable, he has not been well, help me find him, there are dragons out there!"

The presence of the dragons had not escaped the denizens of Castle Gundar. They were petrified, and only Marik's reassurance stood between them and panic. They were desperate to get him back.

I was seriously annoyed with Marik. Of all times to develop an independent mind! No, I was not amused at all. Fortunately one of his old family retainers came forward—one Mistress Kiri—and told me that as a child he used to be fond of the hills, and when he went missing they would always find him in a certain place.

I was impatient. Waiting in the main courtyard of the castle, I called up a Messenger Rikti and sent to the Demonlord.

'Tour future has escaped into the mountains," I said without preamble.

"My future lies where I choose, demon-spit. What are you on about?"

"I have a soul here, ready to join with you and make you less dependent on my power," I said. "But the current owner has escaped."

"Why are you telling me this, fool? To expose your weakness before I have a chance to find it out myself?'

"Don't waste time. Legend calls you Demonlord, with power over every Raksha ever spawned."

"Only the Lord of the Last Hell does not owe me homage," it said smugly.

"Then send me a winged Raksha to fetch me your soul carrier," I demanded.

"Why should I use my power to assist you, little demon-spit?" it asked haughtily.

"I will waste no more time in debate," I growled. With a thought I was in the realm of the spirit, where Healers see all things in metaphor. There soared the Demonlord like a vast highflying hawk. A tethered hawk. The line was woven of all the binding spells I had cast about him: it was interwoven with cruel spikes, poised upon his back to cut him to the bone should he disobey me, and the line led to my hand. I had made the binding tight and true: he could not shake it off, try though he might. I grasped my hand about the tether and pulled. Hard.

The spikes of the bargain he had agreed to were driven into bis flesh. He screamed, and with my real ears I heard a distant dragon roar. It was good.

"Bound to me, in bonds unbreakable. Do as I bid you or suffer more," I commanded.

"I am not a demon, fool!" it cried.

I pulled the binding leash again.

"I don't give a damn what you think you are. Do my bidding as was agreed, or suffer the True Death."

It laughed, even in its pain. "You cannot threaten me with that! My life is as safe as ever it was."

"Your life is in your heart, which you bear even now within your form."

It laughed again. "Fool! Do you think the power of the Distant Heart is in its physical location? There is only one creature in all the world and time that can inflict the True Death upon me. It is the stricture to the spell, and you know it not."

I smiled as I pulled the binding tighter. "Fool, thrice fool and damned! I know exactly what is required, and I have her under my hand: she who, when cut, bleeds both Kantri and Gedri blood."

The Demonlord reeled, in the realm of the spirit. Luckily my mind was closed to him, at least enough that he could not see that I did not physically have her by me. Enough that I knew the stricture and had a demonline to her. I knew I could take her when I needed her, and that is all he would see in my mind.

"If you are done with your posturing, send me a Raksha to bear to me my prey," I growled at him. He cursed and spat and writhed in the bindings, prophesying my sudden demise—and sent me a Raksha.

"Fetch Marik," I told it. "He will be in these hills. A man, running away from this place."

"Too many Kantri!" it cried. I'd never seen a Raksha terrified. Interesting, but I had no time for this.

"Then fly low and find him swiftly," I retorted. "Go!"

It flapped up to the wall, looked about, and took off towards the southeast.

I stood alone in the courtyard, drew my poniard, and waited.

Height. Must get higher, so I can see and not be seen. I can't shake the feeling that Lanen is right behind me, but I've looked back ten times and she is not there. My mind is playing tricks.

My mind. How did I get to this place? I was steadily gaining wealth, I was doing well as a merchant, then Berys came along and I made that damned Farseer and my life was ruined. I'd never have been as rich as I am, but who knows, Marik, you might have lived longer, eh?

There is no pursuit. Hells! I'm not as young as I was, I can't run up the side of a mountain without catching my breath. Damn— but I've come a long way up, he'll have a job finding me—what's that over the castle—oh, Hells.

It's the sodding dragon. It's too big to be alive, nothing that big should be able to move. It's circling to land, it's—

Damn it what's that something s got hold of me

it's a demon NO NO Let me go damn you let go of me oh Hells we're flying!

It's taking me back. I just came all that way I got away I was nearly away it's taking me BACK—to Berys, Berys is standing there in my courtyard smiling, and the dragon is waiting.

I'm struggling against the demon but I can't get away, the second it drops me one of Berys's own guards holds me, I kick I fight to get free but it's done—

Oh, shit.

A second of pain, a deep thrust with a knife like a terrible needle—the sight of it sticking out of my chest is surprising, my heart stumbles and stops—thought flies away, it's like a dream my mind is loosed my body drops away I'm free at last...

Gahhhh!

I was dead. I know it. Dead, just now. A terrible, eternal, burning moment of pain, and then freedom. No more agony, no madness, no fear. No self. It was—comforting.

But Berys has dragged me back, half healed. Hells, the agony! I cannot breathe, my chest is on fire—and Berys is calling my name. I ignore him, but am forced to open my eyes. He is standing above me, smiling.

"Ah, Marik, welcome back," he says happily. I struggle, I long to leap up and throttle him, but I cannot move. "Just in time. Here is your soul mate. I hope you like him."

Something huge has fallen to earth behind me, with a great commotion and a gust of hot air. The Black Dragon. The Demon-lord. It is so near I can see its eyes, but I cannot focus for more than an instant, the pain is everywhere. I cry out with it but nothing happens. I force myself to look at the creature, take my mind off the searing agony in my body.

Close to like this, it seems to be no more than a thin shell over something that flows horribly beneath the surface, ever changing. And it is hot, a haze rises from it, it bleeds heat like a hundred days of summer violendy crushed into one, scorching heat streams from it, merciless, more cruel than death.

Berys is chanting. Why isn't he healing me, the bastard? The thing seems to nod in reply to Berys, while I lie here in agony, dying again as they go through some stupid ritual. And at last, here again is Berys. He is speaking to me.

"You are chosen, Marik of Gundar. Your soul will blend with the Demonlord, you will fly with him, you can kill every dragon ever spawned. Do you consent?" he asks, as unconcerned as if he asked about the weather.

"Let me die, you bastard!" I scream.

"No, no, we must have consent," says Berys evenly, as if he corrected an errant child. "That is the way to end the pain, Marik."

Pain pulses through me, endless, agonizing. I half open one eye—he's keeping me alive, bastard, I can see the thin stream of healing—not enough to do any more than keep me on this rack. "Bastard," I croak. "Let me go!"

"Consent, Marik," he says, "or you will live forever."

I can barely hear him. What is he saving? Consent. Forever. The prospect of living another instant is torture upon torture.

He wants me to say I consent to something. What was it?

I don't know. I don't care. I will say anything that will end this torment.

"I consent, I consent, damn you forever let me die\" I scream, my voice thin—but it is enough.

A voice unimaginably deep rumbles through the courtyard, shaking through me. 'Your wish, brother, is my command," says the great black beast.

Not

It reaches for me, I am lifted from the ground, I can smell the burning and hear the sizzle of my flesh where its skin touches mine.

I turn my face away, towards the cool blue sky, and close my eyes on my last glimpse of the world of life, as I am pulled through that thin shell and into the body of the beast. AAhhhh, it burns, it burns—but what...?

And behold, we are one. I-Demonlord I-Marik, we are in one body, powerful, free of pain. As we are joined, I-Demonlord find a mind not unlike my own—weaker, unstable, but not so very different in kind, and rather than send that half screaming down into madness I listen to it and we both learn. We are one, and we have a soul again.

I-Demonlord realise immediately that this poses a problem. The Distant Heart spell requires that the heart cannot inhabit a body that has a soul. If that should come to pass, the heart would become mortal once more.

Swifdy I-Demonlord reach into my chest and remove the Distant Heart from the molten rock of my being. It shines in my claws, an unlovely thing the shape and size of a human heart turned to silver-black stone. It remains unchanged: I have acted in time. Berys's eyes glitter. Ah, yes, he would see this as a desirable object.

I leap into the sky. The mountains here are high and perilous and the range extends over a huge area. I can drop the heart somewhere in the trackless heights for now. I will find it a safer resting place later.

For the second time in this hour, I feel the force of Berys's binding spell like spikes driven deep into my soul. This body cannot feel pain, but he is not working in the realm of the physical.

He's a clever bastard.

"Back you come," I declare, pulling the binding tether. It rages, it spits fire at me that slides off the shield I have raised against it, it screams defiance.

"For one reputed to be so wise, you are an arrant fool," I say.

"Whatever your pride may make of things, you are bound to me." I feel a triumphant grin stealing on to my face. "And by the power of that binding, I tell you that I will not release you to the pleasure of destroying the Kantri unless you leave that ugly silver-black lump of stone with me."

It hisses like ten thousand serpents. "You cannot force me to this!" it cries.

"Fool, I tell you I can," I respond. I jerk on the binding, driving the spikes of the spell ever deeper into the tender flesh of the bound soul. "You required my living hand for the binding spell, Demonlord. Blood and bone binds deep." I dropped my calm mask and growled, "Give to me your Distant Heart, Demonlord, or I will tie the binding at its sharpest and leave it there forever."

It screams. It curses me a thousand times, it writhes, it flails about—but it knows that I have spoken truth. At last, the agony wins over its defiance. It flings the Distant Heart at my feet.

"Thank you," I say to it, secreting the thing in a deep inner pocket of my garments. "I was certain that you would see reason. Fear not," I add. "I will put it somewhere very safe indeed when time allows."

It tries to tear me with its teeth. I shrug it off.

Ah, life is sweet.

I will kill him. I will find a way, for he must sleep sometime.

For now, I-Demonlord must admit defeat. However, I-Marik know that Berys did indeed have beneath his hand the only creature in all of time who can control me, that she is our daughter, and that Berys has no idea where she is. I-Marik have realised that for all our new strength we are yet bound to Berys and for the most part controlled by him. I-Demonlord learn from my brother that we do not know where the Lanen is, but she will not be far from the Kantri, and once they are dead she is defenceless. I-Marik remember that I could hear two of the Kantri, but when we listen, there is nothing. I-Marik am truly changed.

The best we can do in the present moment is to turn to Berys and say, "You are dead, demon-spit."

"You are bound to me, beast. You serve me," he replies.

"Fool! I keep telling you that I am not a demon," I-Demonlord reply. 'Your lies are made plain. She is gone out of your hands! And when she is dead, I owe you only enough allegiance not to destroy you." We laugh. "Perhaps I will leave enough of the Kantri alive to do that for me, for once she is dead I will have all the time in the world in which to destroy the few I will leave alive."

The Kantri. There, in the sky above us. If they are here, she must be as well—but for now, they stand between us and our prey. We will have to fight them. It is good. We are strong, we share thought and will, we share hatred.

We rise with a thunderclap, beating vast wings that do not grow weary, and fly straight toward the largest assembly we can see. We breathe fire upon them, and three are stricken at once. Our fire is thick and viscous, it clings to them and sears them to the bone. The three fall from the sky screaming and burn to powder before they strike the ground.

We dance on the wind with delight, just for a moment, then we scan the ground for humans—but there are too many dragons forcing us into batde. They are many, and the spell we once used works no longer to tear them from the sky. We will have to fight them—but ah, Berys never knew. We have a soul again, we are the Demonlord once more. A price once paid to demons is paid until death, and I-Demonlord have never truly died.

I can call upon six of the Seven Princes of the Hells to aid me.

I heard every word, every thought, felt everything that Marik went through. I fell to my knees, retching, when Berys stabbed him to the heart, when Berys would not let him die and fed him to the Demonlord.

As deeply as I hated my cursed father, surely no one deserved such a fate.

Blessedly, when he merged with the Demonlord, his voice in my mind was silenced. My mother Maran was at my side, full of concern, Aral right behind her.

"Can I help?" asked Aral quickly.

"I'm alright," I said shakily. The others had gathered round. Varien gave me his hand and I pulled myself to my feet. "It's Marik. He's dead, but he's not—oh, Hells!" I cried. My gut was wracked with spasms. "There is part of him that's still alive, and it's in that great black beast. His mind has merged with the Demon-lord's, it knows everything he knows or ever knew—Goddess!" I shuddered from head to toe. "There are two of them in there!"

Do not believe the songs: they were made many years later, by those who were not there.

The battle was nor glorious, nor simple, nor swift. It was hideous. It began when the Black Dragon first took to the sky, murdering three of the Dhrenagan, dancing with delight and then turning to destroy wherever it could.

Watching my people and the Restored fighting for their lives against something that breathed death, and against which our natural weapons were useless, wrung my heart and my gut until I could barely draw breath. Lanen, at my side, was hardly in a better case.

Our strategy—the strategy of all the Kantrishakrim—had been decided. The question was simple enough. How do you fight the fires of the earth? That is what the thing seemed to be made of, to our sorrow. We had never defeated the molten stone on our own Island of Exile, despite thousands of years of trying. We had often tried to drown the advance of flowing rock, but we could not carry enough water swiftly enough.

Thus the basis of our strategy for this battle. Lake Gand was deep and its waters cold, Rella had told us. Perhaps the sudden cooling of being dashed into the water would render the creature immobile. Idai had another thought, about using the Black Dragon's poor powers of flight combined with a screen of smoke in the mountains, but that depended even more upon swift pursuit of one or more of us. We could only hope.

From the moment the Black Dragon rose from the castle courtyard, it was plain that it had changed. Most noticeable, alas, was that it flew a great deal better, as though it were no longer under the control of a spell that compelled it to fly only in a straight line. It seemed more alive, less like a golem—but it was still plain that it was not a natural flying creature. That was one of our few advantages.

"All keep well apart," I said yet again, gazing down at it. The dead weight of the stone in my claws was reminding me more and more of Nikis. "Do not present a target. Naikenna, see to your people!" I cried, for three of the Restored had begun flying together.

It only took an instant. The Black Dragon arrowed towards them, breathed its unholy Fire onto them all three, and danced on the wind to see their deaths. I too watched, and saw the Swift Death take them all ere they could be killed by that solid fire.

Three too many, and they were only the first.

I dove at the thing, dropped my great rock onto its back, and was rewarded by seeing it lose height swiftly. However, I had managed to get its attention. "Ready, as many as may, above the north end of the lake," I cried, riding up on the momentum of my dive and wheeling around towards the water. I was pursued rapidly; the thing was fast, with those huge wings, but it flew stupidly, trying to gain height in a straight line regardless of the air currents. I rolled away left and into a shallow dive, rising up again after two swift wingbeats, and felt the heat of its attack pass behind me as I gained height. When I glanced back it was slowing down—its great size and weight worked against it while climbing, despite its wingspan. Still, it was coming directly towards me. In a straight line. Over the water.

Surely it was not that stupid?

There again, I would take any advantage I could get.

I went into another dive, much steeper this time, straight at the surface of the lake—and pulled up, for the Black Dragon was no longer behind me. I had hoped that it would pursue me, that its obvious unfamiliarity with flight would betray it to simple manoeuvres, but no, it had turned away towards the northwestern shore, towards where Varien and his company of Gedri stood.

It also became apparent that even Naikenna had not taken complete account of the bone-deep hatred of the Dhrenagan for the Demonlord. Some, it is true, had barely noted the passage of time, but a few now come back to the world yet remembered being trapped, voiceless and alone, all down the long centuries. The death of their three comrades struck deep, and for all that counsel and reason might urge, our instincts incline us to physical battle.

The moment it was clear that the Black Dragon was not blindly pursuing me, a large group massed above it and all loosed their burden of stone at once. Some missed, but many struck their target, and it was forced down nearly to the surface of the water. So near, so near—

Then, of a sudden, I saw that six of the Restored were not leaving this to chance. They fell on the beast, all of them, from a great height, and like Treshak were trapped. Also like Treshak, they forced the creature down by their sheer weight. The moment those of my Kindred touched the thing, they began to burn, but they did not choose the Swift Death until the whole mass of them fell into the cold waters of the lake with a great hiss and a cloud of steam. The waters closed over them all, and boiled at the spot where they had fallen. I felt in my deep heart the sighs of the Restored, as they welcomed the Swift Death once their task was done.

Someone is going to have to dive into that lake to recover their soulgems when all is over, I thought stupidly as the steam cloud roiled below me. Those who had fallen upon the Black Dragon had done so in full knowledge of the price to be paid. I bowed my head and vowed in my aching heart to honour their courage and their sacrifice more formally, if I lived.

The thing was huge and made of molten stone—it must be vastly heavy, and surely only kept aloft by demonic power. It could not possibly swim. Did it need to breathe? Would it drown? Would the cold water freeze its limbs forever?

Then the steam cloud rising from the lake began to move towards the shore.

There was work yet to do. I had feared it would not be so easy. As I dove and plucked the topmost boulder from the great cairn of them we had created, I bespoke Idai.

"It is time for your plan, my friend. Set your Fire where it will do the most good, that our enemy rising from the water may be confused."

"Your words fly to the Winds and become truth," replied Idai as she led a number of the Kantri in a long fine, swooping low behind the nearer hills and sending Fire into the heart of the wood they had marked by moonlight. The wood grew at the foot of a great fiat cliff face that rose high above the trees. There would be an impressive updraft there on a sunny day, even before we did anything about it. In a very short time the wood was alight, a cloud of thick smoke rising into the clear air like a burnt offering for the dead. It shrouded the cliff face very effectively. If you were new-come to flight and knew not what you were doing in that maelstrom of air currents, it would be quite a hazard. With luck and the blessing of the Winds.

The water boiled in a straight line, more vigorously now, and the creature's head rose from the lake. By the time the whole creature was out of the water I soared high on the rising air, watching to see the result of our efforts and the sacrifice of our Kindred.

The Black Dragon was covered all over with strange black extrusions, some very large indeed, especially where its limbs met its body. As it walked, steaming gently, onto the shore, I saw great lumps of black stone fall away and shatter on the ground.

It was decidedly smaller. Who knew what masses of the fabric of that body had had to be discarded, gone cold and dead in contact with the water, that it might move again?

Before I could even begin to rejoice, however, before I could think what we should do next or call off those of the Restored who dove at it and hurled stone, I heard its voice. It spoke with great difficulty, as if it were not used to the shape of its mouth, but the words were clear enough, as was the malice with which it spoke.

"By the price that was paid, by my mastery, I summon thee, Ur-kathon, Prince of the Sixth Hell! Take unto thee the woman Lanen and wrap her in hellfire until her bones be ash and her heart blows away on the wind!"

Hadretikantishikrar

We were all ranged along the edge of the hilltop when we heard the Black Dragon scream out its summons, damning me, and I learned then how much I had changed. Fear had no more power over me. I had faced hopeless despair and found fire in my soul, sacred Fire, like the Kantri whose blood I now shared. I drew the dagger Rella had provided me with, useless though it would be against even a minor demon, that I might at least face my enemy armed.

I did not stand alone. Varien's sword rang as it flew from its scabbard, making a bright harmony with Rella's and Jamie's swords as they were drawn. Vilkas and Aral stood surrounded by the blue glow of their power, and as I watched they strove to cover us all in a kind of shield. Varien, considering, nicked his arm slightly and let his blood flow onto his sword blade. Good point, I thought, and did the same for my dagger. Seems we both bled Kantri, at least in part. That seemed to work on the Rikti. It almost certainly wouldn't kill a demon prince, but if it banished the Rikti at least it might give the creature a bad taste in its mouth. There came a deep rattle of metal on metal and I turned to find my mother, Maran, standing like the others with her long heavy sword at the ready. Against all sense she grinned at me, a wild delight in her eyes. "Well, girl, we'll likely lose," she said, her eyes fixed fondly on me, "but Hells' teeth, won't it make a good ballad!"

Even there, even then, we laughed—grim laughter, but laughter—and lo, all was changed. I knew death stalked me close, but for that moment I was surrounded by those I loved, in the free air, on a glorious morning in spring.

I reached out with truespeech.

"Varien, kadreshl na Lanen," I whispered.

"Kadreshi na Varien," he replied simply, reaching out to take my hand. His love, real and sohd and unchanging, washed over me like clear water.

It was a good day to be alive.

Suddenly on the hillside there came a disturbance in the air, as though a small storm cloud were forming before our eyes. It grew swiftly until it was a dark upright oval, three times the height of a man—and from that darkness emerged a gigantic figure, the size of the portal, to stand on the very summit of the hill.

My stomach churned. It was an obscene mixture of dragon and human. It stood on two legs but from its back sprouted large leathery wings, like those of a bat. Its face was covered by a mockery of a Kantri mask—what in the Greater Kindred looked like worked metal armour, beautiful and unchanging, was here attenuated and become a threatening deformity. Great fangs protruded from its jaws, long talons tipped its hands, and it reached out for me, getting through Vilkas's barrier with no trouble at all. Vilkas cursed and dissipated it.

Jamie's sword struck the thing just after Rella's thrown dagger bounced off of it. It spat at Jamie, who had to dodge balefire.

"Nice try, Jamie," said Aral firmly, "but this one's ours."

Behind her I could see the Black Dragon leap into the sky once more, assailed by our people with every wingbeat, breathing death among the Kantri. Another fell even as I watched.

Aral, concentrating, sent a stream of blue flame to encompass the creature. The demon barely shrugged and Aral's flame winked out. Vilkas shuddered.

"Vil, help me!" cried Aral, reaching out again with her Healer's power. The thing tried to move but Aral's will opposed it, and for a moment or two it was held in place, but I watched the colour drain from her face in a heartbeat. "I can't hold it!" she cried, even as the demon prince shook itself free of her web, flapped its batlike wings, and was beside her faster than eye could follow. It wrapped one great hand around her and started to lift her towards its mouth. Will, horror-stricken, tried to hold on to her and was lifted high in the air, clinging to Aral's waist. The demon prince took only enough notice of him to toss him aside. He cried out as he fell. He struck the ground with a sickening thump and lay still.

Aral screamed as Willem fell, her voice rising unbearably at the end. "Vilkaaas!"

There was no more time for soul-searching or hesitation or fear. I watched the demon lift Aral to its mouth and I knew that what would follow even I could never heal.

I had to stop it. Now.

Time slowed to a terrible crawl, and I realised that all those dreams, all those nightmares of stepping into my full power were come upon me. I had to choose. Would I let fear decide my fate and Aral's, or would I leap into the unknown and hope for the best?

I am not well endowed with hope. It seems to elude me, for the most part.

I decided to go with love instead. I might not love Aral as a man loves a woman, but by the Lady, I knew perfectly well that she was part of my soul, and I loved her as I loved air.

It wasn't a difficult decision, on the face of it; but the next time you decide to change your life at a crucial moment, truly change it at a fundamental level, no matter how obvious the need, you will learn just how hard it is to leave what you have known. Even if what you have known is pain and anguish, it is familiar pain and anguish. I felt a thousand demons of doubt and fear rise up within me, what if you destroy your friends what if you fail how many will die at your hands what if you cannot control this power once you accept it Death of the Worid what if-don't-what if-don't.

I fought the real battle then, in that timeless moment, though it took less than half a breath. All those years of self-control, all the terror of that which dwelt within me, all the wildfire passion in my soul screaming to get out, burning within me now in truth as before only in dreams—

I held out my arms and chose to be whole, and for the first time in my life I raised my full power about me.

The high thick walls I had built so carefully, to protect both myself and the world, the armour so thick I could barely live within it, all, all were gone as smoke in a high wind, leaving only the searing blaze of the power that I had run from since I came of age. I was dizzy with the change, shaking at the terrible sense of nakedness as my true self settled into my body at last.

It was as if I had spent my life wandering blind, stumbling, crashing into the unseen on every side, and I had magically been given sight. It was like diving into deep cold water on a summer's day. The Lady's gift coursed through my body from head to foot, light and life and power, oh, yes, power, and I knew that this was what I was born for.

It took a moment to adjust.

It took years.

It was now, and Aral was nearer death, her terrified voice still caught on my name.

With a thought I immobilised the demon long enough to release Aral from its grasp and bring her safely back to solid ground. It struggled—I could feel the lash of its powerful will, and was surprised—but I was adamant.

Once she was safe, the true battle began.

Damnation! I wasn't expecting the Demonlord to do that. Still, those who protect her will almost certainly be able to prevail against that prince long enough for me to steal her away while they are engaged elsewhere.

Drawing out the amulet that holds the near end of the de-monline, I draw my power to me and throw the amulet on the ground. Grind it with my foot. My eyes are darkened for an instant, and then the demonline is there before me, shimmering in air, connected directly to Lanen.

I step through.

1 had to turn away from Vilkas, for he was become the sun and I risked being blinded.

Just as well, for I saw Varien swinging his sword at—

"Berys!" I cried. He stood beside me and reached out to grab my arm. I aimed a kick at him but I was beaten to it by Jamie, who knocked me out of the way. He didn't even stop to consider, he just stepped in, whirled, and slashed at Berys.

Berys raised a hand. Jamie's sword bounced off the shield of Berys's power and Jamie howled with frustration.

Varien, who had missed his first stroke, strode up to Berys shouting, "He's mine!" Jamie cleared off and Varien swung back his sword and struck a horizontal blow with all his strength. Berys didn't even try to get out of the way.

I nearly fainted. I saw that huge heavy sword, driven by Varien's terrifying strength, go through the barrier as the demon prince had gone through Vilkas's. Without slowing in the slightest, Varien's sword swept right through Berys's body like a bread knife through a loaf. My husband cut Berys in half. He should have bled like a butchered cow and landed in two pieces.

Berys's eyes flew wide with shock, just for an instant, but even as I watched the wound was gone. The only trace of it was a thin line of blood along the line of the cut, all around his torso.

"Have you forgotten that I'm the best Healer in all the world?" he asked cheerfully. "You really are stupid. You can't touch me, any of you. You might as well give me the girl. She's not much to look at, it's true, but I can make use of her." He looked directly at me, so deep in his own madness that he looked absolutely normal. "You don't even know what you can do, you poor fool."

For all that the demon and the Black Dragon had frightened me, this mad immortality shook me to my bones. Staggering back from the thing that had once been Berys, I called in shaky true-speech, "Shikrar, Idai, we need your help! Can the battle spare you?"

"I come, Lanen," said Shikrar instantly.

Despite Berys's protection, he didn't seem inclined to throw himself on the collective swords of Jamie, Rella, Maran, and Varien to get past them to me. He frowned slightly at me. "You're going to call for help any moment now, aren't you?" he said, annoyed. Then a slow grin spread across his face and I swear his eyes twinkled.

'Tell you what. I'll go first, shall I?"

He raised his arms and cried out in a terrible voice, "Come unto me, ye legions of darkness! Come, I command thee! By my power, by my name, I, Malior, Master of the Sixth Circle, do summon to my service all ye of the deep Hells to my aid. Come swiftly!"

On the instant, the air was black with legions of the Rakshasa. I could barely see the Kantri for all the demons. There must have been twenty to every one of the Kantrishakrim.

These were not the Rikti, who could be dispelled by the touch of the Kantri's breath of Fire: these were the Rakshasa, the mirror image of the Kantri in creation, shaped roughly like winged Gedri and only slightly larger than humans. Although Kantri fire can wound them, they are much harder to kill, and although they are much smaller and do not fly as swiftly as the Kantri, they are more manoeuvrable. The Rakshasa breathe balefire as well, the only fire aside from molten stone that can wound the Kantri.

There were so many of them, and the Kantri so few.

For all that they were beset on every side, however, a good quarter of the Kantrishakrim would not leave off harrying the Demonlord. They flamed and fought the Rakshasa even as they pursued or enticed the Black Dragon, flying like mad things to avoid its deadly fire, those who still had them throwing those great stones at it whenever they could to try to force it to ground, or better yet to douse it once more in the deep waters of the lake.

I saw in that brief time more carnage than I could bear. The Kantri, those wise, ancient creatures, attacked from all directions by evil incarnate, fighting back with tooth and claw and the Fire that is sacred to them. So many wounded, so much of blood and agony on both sides. I have never heard that the Rakshasa ever wanted, truly, to take over the world, except in old legends. I think they were forced to it by Berys. If that was the case, every drop of blood, Rakshi and Kantri, was on his soul.

And suddenly there was a great shout and a second deep splash and boom, a second great cloud of steam. The Restored, ted by Naikenna, had managed even in the midst of battle so to harry and anger the Demonlord that it had flown out over the lake once more. I saw in the instant I turned to look that some five or six of the Kantri had thrown themselves on the thing and forced it down. I could hear their agony, but there was triumph there also, and a fleeting sense of peace when they chose the Swift Death once the beast was under the surface of the lake.

Berys called out something in a sibilant speech, and a group of the Raksha came for me.

"Shikrar, swiftly!" I cried, in truespeech—and aloud. Would to heaven I had held my tongue. Would to heaven my tongue had withered in my mouth ere I had spoken.

Shikrar arrived, covered in wounds, and with fang and talon he bit and crashed the Rakshasa who threatened us, ignoring the fresh cuts they inflicted on him. He spat, when he was done, and turning to Varien said, "It tastes worse even than you remember." Varien grinned up at him.

Then to my astonishment, Berys spoke. He had been watching the battle with delight, distracted perhaps, or perhaps simply keeping out of the way of Varien, Jamie, and Rella. That kind of healing must wear him out eventually, and they all three would cheerfully kill him again and again until it worked.

"You are Shikrar?" he said, looking desperately pleased with himself.

"I am, Rakshadakh," growled Shikrar, drawing back his head to strike.

"No," said Berys smugly. 'The true name is binding, knowing the true name is power over the named, truth in essence holds the soul and thus I bind you to my will. You are Hadretikantishikrar, and you will be still!" Berys cried.

Shikrar froze. He was screaming in truespeech, he was fighting with his entire being, but for once in his life Berys spoke truth. The true name is the essence of the soul. He who knows the true name has a terrible power over the named. True names are kept secret, told only to a soulfriend or a loved one.

Marik had overheard Shikrar's true name when Varien bespoke Shikrar in the Language of Truth. If Shikrar and Akor had not forced open Marik's mind out on the Dragon Isle, Marik would not have been able to hear their truespeech to report to Berys. If Marik had not been trying to kill them both, they would never have done such a thing. If, if, if...

Berys grinned. "How delightful," he said, seeing his foe immobile. With a casual gesture, he called a hundred of his demons down to him and threw them at Shikrar.

Varien screamed, "NO!" and ran towards Berys, but there were too many demons in the way. Varien, my beloved, fought like a madman, but he made little headway. Too many demons. Not enough time.

"IDAI! KEDRA! SHIKRAR NEEDS YOU NOW!" I screamed in truespeech, kicking myself that I had not called before, putting all my horror into my mind's voice, and even I could hear the un-derthought that ran through my call. "Help help help he's held by his true name Berys has him quickly quickly they'll kill him help help help!"

They flew, desperate, fury and terror driving every stroke of their wings. Time seemed to slow as I watched them approaching from two different directions. Too far away. Too slow.

Too late.

My breath stopped as I looked upon Shikrar held helpless. No, it can't be—Goddess, help us—O ye Winds, blow that word back into Berys's mouth and let him choke on it, let it not have been spoken, oh no,oh no...

The demons tore Shikrar's flesh with their teeth and with their claws and he could not fight back. He could not even cry out in pain. When they broke his wings, laughing, I heard his mind's scream, a sound that shook my bones to the marrow and drew an answering scream from my own throat. I swear that sound will haunt me every day of my life.

At the last instant, just before Idai and Keclra arrived, they broke his neck I heard it go. My knees would no longer hold me up, and I landed hard on broken stone, gasping for air, as if I could breathe for Shikrar. My throat ached as if some great hand choked me.

Shikrar collapsed. Berys and the demons cackled, and then Berys said, "Enough of pleasure. Bring me the girl."

It was harder than I thought.

I reached out in all my pride and power to destroy the Prince of the Sixth Hell and found myself somewhere else entirely. I was thirteen years old and it was summer. My friend Jon and I were wrestling, as was our wont. I had him in a lock and had started to squeeze.

"Ow, Vil, too tight!" he cried. "Let go!"

"You're such a baby, Jon." I laughed, squeezing tighter. He started to choke. Suddenly I realised that I was grown furious with his weakness and had let go of my self-control. To my horror, I was on the very point of killing him before I forced myself to release him. "Jon, no, I'm sorry," I began, and the world shifted again. The demon prince laughed.

"Sssuch a fool you are," it hissed.

I threw my power at it again and found my hands clasped around Aral's throat. She was beating at my arms and kicking my legs. I squeezed tighter, and suddenly found myself unable to move. My hands were forced apart and Aral dropped back, her hands protecting her neck. She released me.

"Damn it, Vil!" she cried. "What's wrong with you!"

"Where are you from, Aral?" I shouted, convinced that she was some phantom of the demon's. "Where were you born?"

"Berun, you idiot," she snapped. "What in all the Hells is up with you? You let it go and went for me!" She pointed up to the demon prince, who was laughing again. Or still.

Once more I sent fire to envelop it, and this time there was a great fight. I closed my eyes and turned away that I might not be blinded, but when next I opened my eyes, I lay in bed. Clean, crisp linen sheets, gentle sunlight at the window filtering through the young spring leaves of a rowan tree.

"Welcome back, Vilkas. You had us worried," said Magistra Erthik. She smiled, the crooked smile she saved for those moments when she was feeling most maternal. "I am glad you have come back to us. I'd rather not lose my best pupil just yet."

I sat up in the bed. I was in the infirmary at Verfaren. Magistra Erthik was alive.

"Magistra?" I asked, quietly. My throat began to close but I fought it. "What happened? Where is the demon prince?"

"Gone with your waking, young man, and not before time. You've been feverish for nearly a month." She reached out and touched my forehead. "It has truly broken at last. Thank the Goddess."

"A dream, was it?" I asked suspiciously. "What of Aral?"

"Was that someone else in your dream?" Magistra Erthik asked, politely curious.

"Stupid," I said. I called on the Goddess and sent my corona to cover Magistra Erthik, who screamed and vanished. I was back on the hillside above Lake Gand, with the demon prince almost near enough to touch. I backed away.

"Vil, what's wrong?" asked Aral frantically. "I thought—l felt you change, I know you aren't restricted any longer. What are you waiting for?"

"It's playing with my mind, Aral," I said quietly. "Changing time, changing appearances. Its illusions are horribly real. How shall I know truth when I see it?"

"As you ever have, Vilkas," she said, and her voice had taken on the strange cadence it sometimes did when she was speaking not entirely for herself. 'Trust those who love you. Here. She wants to help. We both do."

And with that, Aral put the soulgem of Loriakeris into my right hand.

It was astounding. No wonder the Kantri are so good against the demons. I could see the demon prince twisting reality, changing shape, trying to govern my mind and make me drop my guard or injure myself or Aral. The touch of that ancient mind, Loriakeris of the Kantri, granted me for that brief time the vision of the Kantri and acted as a talisman of truth.

Or perhaps it was the touch of Aral's hand and soul.

I bowed my head briefly, committing myself to the Lady, and lifted my hand. Blue flame mixed with red surrounded the demon prince and swiftly constricted about it. Its screams, I am ashamed to say, were music to me. I squeezed harder. I kept expecting it to dissipate, but Berys must have performed quite a spell. It died the True Death.

In my defence, once I realised that it was not going to disappear back to its Hell I killed it swiftly. Even demons require some mercy, after all. It is their nature to bargain and they are forced to obey their master's commands.

It is people who deserve no mercy. They can choose, after all.

I turned to find Berys advancing swiftly on Lanen, a company of Rakshasa with bloody claws before him. A sight that would have moved me to frustrated terror such a short time ago. I raised my hand and Lanen was shielded from their attack.

"Take him first!" cried Berys, gesturing, and a score of demons flew at me, roaring, fanged mouths agape, talons raised to rake and rend.

I blessed them in the Lady's name and destroyed them all with Her power, flowing from me as light from the sun. It was—trivial. Berys looked on impassively, as if he were judging me.

"Berys," I said quietly, saluting one about to die.

"You're that pup Vilkas," he said calmly, drawing his power around him. The blue of the Healer's aura was gone entirely; that which surrounded him now was a black cloud, through which he could barely be seen. "You should have taken the horses. You could have been imprisoned and died with all your friends back in Verfaren."

"I have sworn myself your enemy," I said. In the full flow of my power, looking at him was like looking at a patch of red-shot darkness distorting the world. "For all the evil you have loosed upon the world, for all the murders, for all the corruption of that which was worthy, death is too small a price."

"Then you can pay it," he said, and sent the full brunt of his malice against me, to sear my soul and rend my body.

I was surprised at his strength, but not nearly as surprised as he was at mine.

For that first moment it was a battle of raw power against raw power. The battle of a bully grown proud, believing that he possesses the greatest strength, striking at one he knows cannot fight back. The battle of a coward. He expected me to fall before him, helpless. He expected me to die.

'Tour pride has ever been your weakness," I said quietly, as I deflected his strike. It was harder to do than I had thought. Perhaps my own power was not infinite.

As long as it was greater than his, I was not concerned.

I joined my mind to Shikrar's from the moment his true name was used against him. There were no words left to say between us, but I was there with him for every breath. He was never alone.

I fought beside Maran, Rella, and Jamie to keep Berys away from Lanen as Idai arrived, flaming Rakshasa as she came, to land beside the broken body of Shikrar. Kedra was behind her by only a wingtip. Their arrival worried Berys enough that, for the moment, he backed off. He left his Rakshasa to continue the fight; Idai swiftly despatched a score or more of them while Kedra moved carefully to stand beside his father.

Jamie and Rella were having trouble with the demons. Maran was much better at fighting them, but Lanen had smeared her dagger with her half-Kantri blood and was doing best of all, especially as Aral was now at her side. Vilkas seemed to be well in command of the Lord of the Sixth Hell. I trusted them all to the Winds and the Lady and turned back to my dying soulfriend.

Shikrar's mind began to relax, as the pain left him and he realised that his time was come. "Kedra, my son," he said, his mind-voice soft but clear.

"I am here, my father," said Kedra calmly. "Be at ease."

"Farewell, my dearest son. The Winds blow ever kindly on you and those you love."

Kedra's eyes never left his fathers. His strength humbled me. "I love you, my father," he replied, his mindvoice calm and clear. "Rest upon the Winds, and know that you will live always in our memory, Hadretikantishikrar."

I breathed again. It was well that the last time Shikrar heard his true name, it was spoken with love. I was grateful that he could not see any longer, for the great hissing tears wrung in agony from Kedra's eyes would break a heart of stone.

"AkhorP Idai?" Shikrar called weakly. We who had known him longest, through all the years.

"Here, my friend," I replied quietly, and "Here, Shikrar," she said. I knew that oceans of grief awaited me, a thousand years deep and broad as all time yawning to swallow me up, but as yet I stood on the shore.

"Fight on," he said, and died.

I could not speak aloud, so in truespeech I sang, "Sleep on the Winds, Hadretikantishikrar," honouring him with his true name as he passed from us. Leaning forward, my hands on his faceplate, I closed my eyes and gendy went to touch his soulgem with my own one last time, in token of the depth of our lifelong friendship.

To my horror I felt his soulgem move under mine. My eyes snapped open, my bones turned to water, and I saw the brilliant ruby fall to the earth. I could not stop the movement I had begun, and my own soulgem touched the place where Shikrar's had been.

And I fell, and fell, and fell forever.

That happened which could not happen.

I saw Varien lean forward to touch Shikrar's soulgem, saw Shikrar's red gem come loose and fall to earth, saw bright emerald touch the hollow where it had lain—and saw Varien fall into Shikrar's body, as a man falls into a grave, and be swallowed up. The great body that lay before us shuddered along its length, once, then lay still.

What in the name of all heaven was happening?

"Varien!" I screamed idiotically, turning my back on Berys. "Goddess! Varien! Varien!"

Then the green soulgem, resting in the hollow where a soulgem should be, began to glow. From a tiny gleam in the depths, as a light rising through deep water, it brightened and flowed until it filled all the space in Shikrar's faceplate. The light grew brighter yet, green as clear emerald, green as leaves in deep summer, bathing all that vast body in its radiance. The dark bronze of Shikrar's face did not look so dark as it had. Under the green light, just around the blazing soulgem, it seemed much lighter—almost—

Silver.

I laboured to breathe as I watched, for miracles, good or ill, are not easy to bear. Starting from the slight silver stain around his soulgem, the dark bronze of Shikrar's hide was washed in a coating of silver, sweeping ever more swiftly from nose to tail. Where the green and silver touched the great wounds Shikrar had borne, light flared as flesh and blood and bone were healed. The terrible broken wings blazed green and silver and were made whole. The neck bone came to its right place with a snap very little less terrible than that which had broken it.

It all took little more than the blink of an eye, and when all was done—Akor lay before us, but not Akor. He was the size of Shikrar, and all his body glowed yet fire-bright with emerald radiance.

Then he opened his eyes.

I woke as from a long sleep, instantly aware, myself again after some dream of another life. I stood and stumbled, as one who has not moved for some time. I flexed my wings, glad to find that they were not as stiff as I had feared. Only then did I look about me.

My beloved Lanen stood staring up at me, her eyes huge, her mouth slack. She—she looked terrified. Astounded.

Desolate.

"Akhor?" said a voice, quietly, behind me. I turned to see Idai gazing up at me, her eyes like Lanen's full of fear and wonder.

Wait—Idai gazing up?

I reared onto my back legs and stared down at Idai, and far, far down at my own Lanen. Her lips moved, but it was not the voice of the body I heard. It was the voice of her mind, soft and dry as death, in motionless agony, and so terribly alone.

"Akor. You are Kordeshkistriakor once more. Sweet Shia, no!"

And then she cried out in her desolation, a scream of pain torn from her as though her heart had been wrenched from her breast. She fell to her knees and hid her face from me.

We were parted once more, as I had never thought to be parted from her again in life. Parted forever.

Sorrow fell before fury.

I never wanted this.

Wrath rose in me then, fire unquenchable, and I looked up to where the battle raged. I did not try to understand. There was no time to mourn Shikrar, to mourn anything. With a heart blazing with death and fury, I leapt into the sky and trumpeted a challenge to the Black Dragon, not nearly so huge now as it had seemed. I flew twice as fast as ever I had flown before, I flew as one gone mad, and I felt light as a birds feather. I swear the Winds blew solely to bear me up.

I dragged myself out of that damned lake once more to find that Ur-kathon was no more. The sun had turned blue, it seemed, and come to rest on that hilltop. For the moment, the girl was beyond my reach. Still, I-Demonlord had faced any number of Mages in my day. Eventually they grew weary, as I would not in the body of this golem of fire and ash. The largest of the Kantri, the big bronze one, lay dead on that hilltop as well, which gave me joy. I rose with a great leap into the sky and began pursuing the others, one by one. The big one had been a lesson in flight; the smaller ones were good, but they were not the match of their dead leader. I danced on the air and destroyed some thirty or forty, one after the other, glancing back to that hilltop after each one died, waiting for that Mage s glow to die down, or at least to withdraw from the figure of the girl.

There! He was busy with something else—of course! Berys! Excellent! I wished that Mage all success, as I dove straight as an arrow for the key to my death/my daughter/Lanen, who stood now unprotected and unaware. I drew breath and sent a lance of flame to scorch her to bare earth—and a wind blew up from nowhere. The molten stone of my fire was blown back at me, I was thrown nearly onto my back by the fierce wind. Recovering, I stared in amazement.

Their leader was dead, the big bronze one. I'd seen it lying still as stone with a broken neck—but here it was rising before me, glowing green and shining silver.

I-Marik remember. It's that damned great dragon that came through the wall, I thought it was dead what is it doing here alive again no it's coming for me!

I-Demonlord fight to retain control of this body. I-Marik is taken with soul-deep panic, for a moment I-Marik am in control and I fly as fast as I can away from the creature.

But I-Demonlord look deeper into my other half and find the hatred below the fear. I fan it, I encourage him to remember what has been done to him and what this body can do to the beast. I-Marik slow, thinking, and when I-Demonlord show him an image of the silver one dead I-Marik peel away right and return the way I came. I-Marik gladly let my other self take control.

The silver one sees us coming and takes fright, turns to escape.

We pursue with a light heart.