Redeeming the Lost

XIV The Word of the Winds

Jamie, Rella, Maran, and I took advantage of a brief pause in the fighting to catch our breath. Most of the Raksha that had been harrying us had been dashed on the rock of Vilkas's power and destroyed. Others would no doubt replace them soon. Aral was kneeling by Will, her power bright around her. Even as I glanced at them, he sat up, his hand to his head. "Hold still, you idiot, I'm still working," she told him.

He let himself be told. It was as well Aral was looking at his wounds and not his eyes. Even now, I thought, the greater wound is there. He gazed at her the way Varien—Akor—no, I can't bear it...

"You'll keep now," she said briskly, rising, and she returned to us, swiftly cleansing and sealing the worst of our wounds.

I longed for more Raksha to fight. Anything that would not let me stop and think.

Kedra stayed for only a brief moment after—after—"Lady Lanen, I pray you, assist me here."

I hurried over. He reverently lifted his father's soulgem and placed it in my hand. "Keep it safe, Lady. I cannot stay."

"As my own life, Kedra," I replied.

He leapt into the bright morning to join the others in the aerial battle. I put Shikrar's soulgem in my scrip and turned back to find the others watching me. Behind them more demons approached— ' I cried out and pointed. We all prepared, and I drew my dagger across my arm yet again, letting the blood fall onto my blade. I welcomed the pain. Anything that kept me from thinking.

I had never been so happy, or so free, or so completely myself in all my life. There I stood, fighting for my life against the powers of darkness, and I was filled with a joy so vast I could barely contain it. Only the smallest part of me remembered that in my dreams I laughed as I destroyed the world.

Berys was more powerful than I would ever have believed, certainly far stronger than he had ever revealed himself to be. He screamed and cursed and sent dark flame like daggers to pierce me to the bone. Most I deflected, but those that got through and injured me I healed at once.

At first I let him do all the work, restricting myself to defence while I tested the extent of my own powers. Before I welcomed them, a few minutes and an age of the world before, I would have been terrified. Now—ah, now I felt the Lady's power flowing into me through my feet, through the top of my head, through my very skin. I formed it into a shield that soon deflected everything he flung at me.

Berys turned from smug to angry very quickly. "You foolish boy, you cannot hope to equal my power!" he cried. "Bow before your master!"

"I have already made my devotions to the Lady this morning," I replied, turning away the forest of knives he had conjured to throw at me.

"This is some trick!" he screamed. He paused to draw a deep breath, moved his hands into a semblance of a claw, and reached for my heart. I had never seen such a thing, his arm grew impossibly long and his fingertips appeared to touch my skin. I battered against the claw, moving away from it; it followed me, and suddenly I felt something tap my abdomen. I looked down.

If he'd had two hands I might have been done for, but even Berys could not make a claw from a stump.

I laughed and poured the healing light of the Lady into the very substance of his extended arms. He cried out in pain and released the spell before it could travel up his arms. In panic, to buy himself time, he sent a cloud of choking blackness to cover me. I summoned a wind to blow from behind me, returning the cloud to its maker, who had to disperse it as swiftly as he had called it into being.

I seemed to have the defensive part worked out.

Berys glared at me, wild-eyed, desperately summoning yet more strength for some new attack.

"My turn, I think," I said, and grinned. I relaxed and breathed deep, feeling as if I were sustained by a brilliant beam of light shooting through me from the very heart of the world. I drew power from the very air as a lamp draws oil through a wick, ignited it at the raging bonfire in my soul, and sent it forth to batter down the thick defensive walls around Berys's soul. He fought me, beating away my initial foray. I leaned into him, sending my power deeper. He did not laugh anymore, he was focussed absolutely, but he turned aside my attack.

How could this be?

I sent again, concentrating harder, thinking to tear his shields from him.

He remained unharmed.

Stop we cannot win we must not lose control hold back do not attack do not let go

Old voices chattered their old song in my mind, insistent.

Strange. I had thought they were answered.

I concentrated, astounded that there was yet some vestige of that in me—and yes, there, for all my new freedom, I was still holding back. Thick walls yet surrounded my very core, where lay the deep roiling center of the flame.

But that is our secret heart! cried my soul in terror. That is the fire, that is the searing flame that protects and that we protect. It rages ever in control. That is our power. That is our truth. We cannot let that be touched or known, we cannot let down the barriers, once that is loose we may never call it back.

Berys was fighting with all his strength as I threw at him everything I could think of, but he did not seem to be more than— inconvenienced. If I did nothing more he could surely fight me off forever.

No this is terrifying we cannot show who we truly are it will hurt we will be overcome we will be derided it will fail we wiUfail we will do something terrible we will kill again and again and againl

I had never paid any attention to that poor frightened part of my soul. The voice was my voice, yes, but as a small scared child, the one who had so horribly killed the first demon-victim he had treated, the one who had been having nightmares about it ever since and been terrified of the power that could boil blood in living veins.

Who was this who said "we"?

Berys, sensing that my attention was turned from him, gathered himself to attack once more. With a thought I held him motionless. It was hard work, he cursed and fought back, but I could sustain it for a short time while I investigated this last barrier.

I turned my Healer's vision on myself, moving into the realm of the mind where all is metaphor and outside time stands nearly still—and there he stood. A skinny ten-year-old boy who had made a horrific mistake and had been running from himself ever since.

Me. Ten years old, though I looked younger, shaking, white-faced with terror and self-loathing.

I stopped before him and looked down, and found myself moved by deep pity.

"Vil, lad," I told him gently, "it wasn't your fault."

"I killed her!" he shrieked, beating at me. "We killed her, remember!"

I knelt down, that I might not loom over him. "I remember, Vilkas. But it was a terrible accident. Our mentor Sandrish should have realised that we could not control a power we barely understood. He should never have let a child, however powerful, take over so difficult a case."

"He didn't kill her, we did!" shouted the boy.

I held out my hand to him. He hesitated, but took it, and finally looked into my eyes. I think we both took comfort from that.

In the back of my mind, Berys began to work free from my binding. I didn't have long.

"Yes, Vilkas," I admitted heavily, his hand clasped gently in mine, that he might withdraw it at any time. "We killed that poor woman. You are right."

He burst out weeping and grasped my hand in a painful grip. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I didn't mean to it must have hurt her horribly I can still hear her screaming oh please let me not have killed her. .."

"Vilkas, we made a mistake," I said, putting my free hand on the boy's shoulder. "The one we trusted allowed us a freedom he never should have allowed. We made a mistake and we have been devastated for ten years and more because of it—but, Vil, it is done. She is dead. We cannot bring her back, no matter how sorry we are for causing her death. But we can honour her by putting that wild power to its proper use. I am older—we are older now. I understand control, I have worked hard to learn it ever since that day. And now we need the wildfire within us." I showed young Vilkas the great legions of demons harrying the Kantri; I showed him the Demonlord; and lastly, I pointed to Berys in the realm of the spirit, a demon struggling out of a net and beginning to break free.

"I know him, he tried to kill us he killed so many of our friends Magistra Erthik he is bad!" my younger self cried.

"Yes, Vil," I said quietly. "And we are fighting him now. This is our chance to right the balance, to honour the woman we killed. Let us release that power to its proper use."

"I'm scared I'm scared we can't make it do what we want..."

I was profoundly moved by the lad's fear. "It's alright, Vilkas," I said, and putting my long arms around his skinny body, I held him close. The first instant it was like hugging a plank of wood, but after that first shock the lad relented and clung to me. "I can control it. Truly."

He drew back, staring frightened into my eyes. "But what if we kill someone else?" he whispered.

"I promise I will not ever use our power to kill anything except demons," I swore to him. "Ever."

I felt his gaze sear along my mind, down into my deepest heart, as he searched out the truth of what I said. It was there. Something began to dawn in his eyes, so brilliant blue, so large in that young face. He reached out, and tentatively he put his light little arms around my neck. "You promise?" he whispered.

"I promise," I whispered back.

"Then what are you waiting for?" he demanded, shoving me away with vigour. "Look, he's getting loose!"

I stood and grinned down at my young soul. "Shall we stop him, Vil?'

The lad grew to meet my height, changing swiftly into the self I knew from the mirror. His identical grin began to meld with mine.

"Oh, yes," he said, his voice no longer its boyish treble but my own.

And we were one.

A sharp pain ripped me back to the real world. Berys was free, shooting black power like swords into me as fast as he could. His eyes were bloodshot with fury but he was laughing.

"Poor little lad, killed someone did he? And you impotent because of it ever since. How wonderful!"

I felt young Vilkas grow to fill my skin, and the cage around the core of my true power grew thinner, thinner, like reeds, like gossamer—gone.

I averted Berys's attack with a contemptuous flicker of thought.

He drew back his hand and started to chant something hideous, his face a mirror for the words.

"Oh, do shut up," I said, suddenly tired of the sound of his voice. I sent silence around him, as he had kept Lanen silent. He struggled to get away. I found it surprisingly easy to hold him still.

I gazed into his soul with my Healers sight. It was revolting. In among the swirls of bloodred and poisonous bile green and pus yellow there was a centre of solid black—no, a silvery black—oh! That wasn't him, it was something he carried. I ignored it and forced myself to look deeper. There! There were the shields, like overlapping armour wrapped around him. Like the layers of an onion gone soft and stinking.

I began to remove them. I worked slowly and carefully, for I did not know how closely these touched him and I was determined not to harm him with my power.

I had promised.

Sacred Fire rose within me as I flew from the Black Dragon, drawing it after me. I went to breathe my Fire onto the Winds, that this act might be consecrated—but when I opened my mouth no flame came forth. I felt the air currents change, a sudden headwind—no, my head was forced back. I tried turning my head to the left and breathed flame—a sudden gust forced me to the right.

My thoughts reeled. I lived in a body that could not be. Shikrar, turned to Akhor all in a moment—no flame, though I am a creature of fire, but the power of the Winds at my command.

I never wanted this.

There again, I didn't recall anyone asking what I wanted. The Wind of the Unknown blows hardest of all, it is said.

I turned to face the thing behind me, breathed the Winds at it, and flew faster. I felt its contempt, heard its unnatural laughter as it pursued me in my terrified attempt to escape. I heard it start to roar and swerved left. The edge of its solid flame caught my tail-tip and I screamed in agony.

Well, perhaps it didn't hurt quite that much, but it pleased the Black Dragon and stopped it thinking.

I veered right, it followed me close. It was flying much better than before, but it was still clumsy in the air, and so huge. So huge, so intimidating, so very... heavy.

Shikrar—oh, my soulfriend Shikrar—had made us all learn to fly carrying weights when we were young, that we might come to understand the changes that we would need to deal with as we grew older. We learned swiftly that with greater weight, we could achieve far greater speed; indeed, that was the first half of his lesson.

The second half is that with all that momentum it is very, very difficult to manoeuvre, and even harder to stop.

I put on a burst of speed, rejoicing in the midst of my fury at the feel of the Winds bearing me up, at the strength in these great wings, speeding me onward towards that great cloud of smoke. Some careless flame must have set fire to those trees. Oh dear, oh dear.

I concentrated, focussed my voice, and sent a sudden loud note to ring in that spot in my faceplate where it would resonate just... so... there.

The echo told me I was upon it. Heart racing, I flew into the cloud and instantly folded the greater part of my wings in close and, using just the tips, pulled up at the sharpest angle my body would bear, praying to the Winds that my speed and the updraft would allow me to change direction. I scraped the cliff with my belly and legs, and bashed my poor tail, but I did it. Flying straight up for a brief moment, then flipping over and rolling away left—I was right way up and heading back the way I had come when I heard the Black Dragon fly into the cliff at speed. It barely had time to scream before there was a terrible thump and a hiss, and black smoke made a thicker screen than the white.

I rode the updraft, spiralling into clear air. Always gain height, the advantage is always in height—I could hear Shikrar's voice in my head even after all these years. I was oddly untroubled by Rakshasa as I rode the winds, trying to see through the billowing smoke and learn what damage Idai and I had wrought.

A smaller thump, the sound of one taking to the skies—and the Black Dragon emerged.

It was half the size it had been. No, less—it had lost much of itself in its two dunkings, and only half of what was left now flew.

Straight towards Lanen.

We fought on, Maran and Rella, Lanen and I, beating away at the demons that beset us, aD the while watching Vilkas out of the corners of our eyes. Aral protected us as she could against the demons. At least she slowed them down to manageable numbers. We fought with all our strength, all of us, and the dragons did what they could, but there were just too many. Maran fought like a madwoman, her sword flashing in the sun, the graven runes upon it at least as deadly to the Raksha as the blade. Lanen kept cutting her arm and blooding her dagger—Goddess only knows what that was about, but it seemed to work. It was Rella and I who fared worst, for all our skills. Raksha are hard to kill.

The layers of enchantments surrounding Berys came off slowly, almost physical in their intensity of evil. Some made him writhe, some made him scream—but none made him weaker.

I stopped to think. He saw this as weakness and struck out at me, snarling now like an animal. It was a very powerful attack, as though he were the stronger for losing the enchantments I had removed. I had to work a little harder to fend it off, and it drew blood.

The fool. I was in the midst of my Healers vision even as he attacked. Perhaps I did not defend myself as well as I might, but now I could see where much of his power was coming from. The shape of it, the flow of it, jogged my memory—where had I seen that? I sought that shape, that particular spell, hidden as it was among the others, woven around with misdirection. He attacked more viciously, managing to stand, but I paid only passing attention to what he was doing. Where was it now, a flow, almost like a funnel—a soul's memory of the smell of burning hair—got it!

Rathen. It was the other end of the flow of power that had been draining Rathen, that had so devastated him when I closed it from the wrong end. Close it from this end, though, and all the other Rathens would be free.

Berys fought me, furious now, sweating heavily, drawing every drop of power he could pull into himself. He gestured and a cloud of Rikti surrounded me. I dispelled them with a wave of my hand. His mouth moved, still caught in silence, and even then a dozen of the Rakshasa converged on me. I drew a deep breath and felt the Lady's power flow through me, from the great Mother earth, from the Crone now hidden in daylight, from the Laughing Girl—a sudden flash of that morning by the waterfall—fanning the white-hot fires of my soul let free at last. I gestured and bathed the Rakshasa in Her power. Screaming, they disappeared back to the Hells, where by rights they belong.

But I was being distracted. I held Berys still—it took more strength to do that than I had hoped—but still I could search through the stinking morass of his soul—wait. Something blue flashed in my vision. Was that some vestige of Berys's, own native power? Some particle of soul still uncorrupted? Surely not...

I looked deeper. Ah. No, it wasn't Berys. It was foreign to him: the funnel that supplied him with the reserves he needed to command so many of the Rakshasa. Rathen had escaped at his end by renouncing the pact. I could see no way of closing that source. I tried all the obvious ways, but nothing touched that vast river of strength. I could not close it or stop it supplying him with ever-renewed power.

I released Berys, allowing him to move. Instantly he drew out a demonline I had not seen and opened it.

"No," I said, and reaching out, crushed it.

It closed. They can only be used once. It disappeared.

Berys screamed and threw himself at me physically. I had not considered that, and it was not a trivial attack—he had the body of a man in his prime, and he easily outweighed me two to one. It might even have succeeded if he had had two hands. As it was, I was able to wrest his dagger from him and throw it over the side of the hill.

That was enough of that. Ruthlessly I stripped away his remaining armour, all in a moment, until all that remained to him was that source of power. He shook as he stood there, trying to say something.

I removed the silence. I was shaking myself. The power that raged in me felt as if it would tear me apart. I promised I would not kill him. I swore it, I must not kill him with this power.

The restraint threatened to unman me.

"Let me live," he said instantly, going down on his knees.

I sighed. Honestly, how stupid does he think I am?

"I can give you more power even than you have now," he said. 'There is a spell—I can give you all my own power, I will go through the world blind and weak, but let me live!"

"Fool," I said, and my own voice surprised me—it was deeper and more resonant, it was grown huge. I felt as if I were growing physically, as if my body could not possibly contain it all. "Are you even now so blind? Behold," I said, and let him See me. The flame that I had held caged those long years roared now, searing what it touched, blending with the Lady's healing power and reinforcing it. A lick of blue flame snapped out, of its own accord, and struck Berys like a physical blow. He fell back, measuring bis length on the ground.

"Master," he said, as if in awe. "You are the greatest Mage that has ever lived. Let me serve you!" He scrabbled to his knees. "I have ways of learning that which is hidden, I can help you to your heart's desire, I can give you that which no other knows of..."

"Be silent!" I commanded, angry with myself that I could still not stop the flow of the corrupted Healers' power to him. "You could have nothing that I would ever desire."

He smiled and reached inside his robes. "Indeed? What of this?'

He drew out—Goddess, it was a human heart! No, no, it was only shaped like a heart, made of that stone the jewellers call bloodstone, that seems to bleed red when it is cut. It was incredibly detailed, for a carven stone ...

Berys's eyes gleamed when he saw my curiosity. I realised full well that he was regaining his strength as he played for time, but I was intrigued. I did not fear anything that Berys could do to me.

"The Distant Heart," he whispered. "It is the Distant Heart of the Demonlord. Say you will spare me and it is yours."

Berys was down. He had been down before, screaming even though Vilkas didn't touch him physically, but he'd gotten up again and gone to stab the lad. He failed at that, too.

I thought at first I was seeing a cruel streak in Vilkas, playing with Berys like that, but in the midst of trying to keep out of the reach of demons, and as Vilkas dragged things out, I realised— he's barely twenty. He doesn't know what to do now he's got Berys in his power. And he's a Healer, they can't kill intentionally without corrupting themselves forever.

I, on the other hand, owed Berys recompense for half a lifetime of wrongs. I owed him for teaching Maran what fear was; I owed him for the demons he sent that chased her away from my side and kept her from knowing her daughter; I owed him for all the ills that had beset my Lanen this last year, and finally, least but greatest, I owed him revenge for the life of the innocent, nameless babe he and Marik had sacrificed to make the Farseer, without a thought to its parents, without a care for its wasted life, a quarter of a century ago. To a fiend like Berys, life was a game, and it did not matter who was murdered or trampled underfoot, so long as he won.

Berys was on his knees now, but I'd seen Varien's sword cut him in two with no effect. There had to be some way to get to him—oh. Oh, that might work.

I reached over to Lanen, who was fighting still but growing weary even as I watched. I must be quick.

I sliced open her scrip and caught the soulgem Kedra had given her as it fell out. She didn't have time to notice.

Somehow I didn't think old Shikrar would mind helping one more time.

It was harder than it sounds to stab Berys to the heart and push the gleaming red soulgem into the wound before it could heal, but I managed it.

At first Vilkas cried out nearly as loud as Berys, the difference being that Berys kept on screaming.

I have never in all my years before or since taken joy in ending a life, but by all that's holy, I did that day.

The edges of the wound began to turn black and shrivel. Berys was still alive, still screaming, as he began to smoke: Suddenly Shikrar's soulgem was surrounded by flame.

Berys was burning. He had enough strength to try to heal himself for quite some time, but there was never any question what the outcome would be. He was too terrified to realise that he was prolonging his own agony.

I was rather surprised when Maran stepped forward and struck his head off.

But then, she always did have a soft heart.

I collected the head and put it on the body, where the flames burned most fiercely. No sense taking chances.

Free! We are free from the bindings put upon us, free to loose the legions of Hell on that cursed silver dragon that has so diminished us. I-Demonlord feel my old powers return with a shock, and we know that Berys is no more. I scream the words into the air, I sing them, I take joy in the chaos that will rule when all the Kantri are gone down into death and demons rule the world.

I-Marik reel. I did not agree to this. Kill the girl, kill the dragons, yes, but not demons to rule the world. Where would be the gain for me? I fight for control.

I-Demonlord effortlessly thrust that mind away and take the body for myself. At last, I can do that which I have longed to do, all down the centuries of darkness. Berys had summoned many of the Rakshasa. Time to bring in the rest.

"Let the gates of all the Hells be flung open! Come ye great Lords of Hell, come great and small, Raksha and Rikti, come feast on your life-enemies—behold, I, the Demonlord, summon you all here to me!"

There was a soundless clap. The air shook, for all I know the ground shook, and all in a moment the sky, the ground, the very waters of the lake, were full of the screaming hordes of all the Seven Hells. The noise was immense, the numbers uncountable. I laughed with delight.

The Kantri fight, desperately, outnumbered a hundred to one. And there upon that little hill hard by, about to die among a cluster of her companions, stands the one creature I need most desperately to kill.

I start to fly towards her—she is so close!—when that huge silver beast rises before me. It tries to scorch me, fool, but it has no flame. Just then a great gust of wind throws me nearly on my back in midair. I have to fall away and glide for a moment before I recover. The silver one follows me, choking out its hatred from a dry belly, spitting nothing at me—and before I can make any headway towards the girl the wind turns against me again, blowing a gale from my left forward quarter. I yell my frustration, flying as hard as I can against the wind. I am battered by gusts from all sides, forcing me ever down. I cannot react quickly enough to recover, I happen to look up—

—and see the silver dragon circling above me, its mouth wide, spitting nothing at me but hot air. Air, winds, air, the damn thing is controlling the winds with its breath!

"That one!" I cry to the nearest demons. "Kill me that silver one!"

Nothing happens. The Rakshasa do not move. I look around— none of them are moving. Damnation!

I ignore all else, I must reach that hill. The silver dragon flies better than I do, it gets ahead of me, the wind slams me back and down, again and again. I am moving forward, but so slowly, so horribly slowly. I roar my frustration. It is exhausting, and several times I nearly fall out of the sky—but she was not that far away to begin with.

I am near enough to the hill.

I draw in a deep breath, ready to pour the molten stone in my gullet over the bowed and bloodied girl, for her death is my freedom forever.

Wait—no—NO!

The sky turned black. For an instant I thought a sudden storm was come up out of nowhere, but then it began to spread out. The Kantri were going frantic, fighting—oh, dear Lady.

For all that I had been through up until that moment, I give you my word, I was never so certain that I was going to die as at that moment. The Rakshasa filled the air like a plague of insects, biting and clawing the Kantri and the Dhrenagan, who fought back with vast courage in the face of impossible odds.

It seemed to be raining blood.

And there was a large contingent of Rakshasa coming our way. I drew my dagger lightly over my arm one last time, committed my soul to the Lady, and waited for death to claim me. I had cut myself so often there was blood all over my hands, but I swear I didn't feel it.

They never reached us.

It was Vilkas, of course. I had watched in amazement as he brushed off a legion of Rikti, a dozen of the Rakshasa—but when Jamie had stepped forward and killed Berys, Vilkas seemed to go into a kind of shock. Aral tried to help him, but then the Demon-lord unleashed the Hells and he snapped back into focus, after a fashion. He put up a barrier between us and the demons just before they reached us.

And he did nothing more.

Outside the barrier, the Kantri began to fall from the sky, bloodied, dying, mobbed by demons.

I did not know which would break first, my heart or my mind. "Vilkas, do something!" I shouted. "You cannot leave the Kantri to die like that!" Every muscle in my body was tense as a bowstring. "Goddess, you're the only one who can help them!"

"You don't understand, if I start—" he began.

"They will all die!" I screamed, my heart in my throat. "In the name of the Lady, stop them!"

He raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Very well," he said. He raised his arms above his head and made a gesture as of throwing something away—

And every demon stopped moving, apart from the Demonlord. It was madly fighting Akor to reach us, that was clear enough.

But why?

"What do you think that damn thing wants?" asked Rella. Her voice was ragged with weariness, and when I glanced at her I realised that her voice was likely the strongest thing about her.

Maran was—eh?

Maran had put down her sword and taken off her pack, and now she was drawing out the Farseer. Her movements were careful but swift. I think we all knew there was not much time.

What in the world does she want that thing for now? I wondered.

She knelt, the globe before her on the ground, and said clearly, "Show me what the Demonlord fears."

Damn my mother was a bright woman.

She looked up at me. "Everyone, here, come look," she snapped. We all hurried over.

There in the murky globe was a picture of me holding something in my hand. But what the Hells—

"Ah," said Vilkas. He was trembling as he reached into his scrip and drew forth a shiny black stone. "You'll be wanting this, then."

"What in all the Hells?" I wondered aloud. "It looks like ..."

"It is the Demonlords heart," said Vilkas. "The Distant Heart. The reason he didn't die all those centuries ago when the dragons burned him to a cinder."

There was a roar from the skies. I looked up. The Black

Dragon, for all that Akor was throwing it about the skies, was nearly upon us.

I took the Distant Heart from Vilkas. The blood on my hands, from all the shallow cuts on my arms, began to smoke when I touched the thing, a great cloud of acrid smoke that I batted away with my free hand. There was something happening—

I swore loudly and profanely and nearly dropped the thing.

It was beating.

No longer stone, no longer dead now but flesh and blood, it beat steadily in my palm, almost like a bird fluttering.

The Black Dragon, near enough now that I could see its blazing sulphur-yellow eyes, cried out, a great NO! that rang in the mountains.

I raised my hand, that it might see better.

"Die, you bastard," I snarled, and crushed the heart to a pulp.

The Black Dragon fell from the sky and landed in a heap. True, a moment later it was aloft again—but this time it was flying away.

I spoke to all the demons at once. 'The creature that called you here is gone," I cried. "Return to that place granted you by the Powers and I will allow you to go in peace."

I was trembling harder now. Every part of me, heart, body, and soul, longed to destroy them all. I held myself back with a terrible effort. Aral, Aral, you cannot know, I have let loose the fire and it threatens to burn the world.. .

"Stupid mortal!" cried one of the greater demons. A lesser prince, perhaps Lord of the Second Hell? "We are free here at last, with no strictures to bind us! Tremble and die!"

It threw itself at me. I brushed it away. I longed to swat it to the ground like an annoying wasp, crush it, hear it scream ...

T give you all one final warning," I said, my voice shaking with the effort of restraint. "If you stay here, I give you my word, by the Lady's grace, I will destroy every living soul among you. Go now. I cannot hold back forever."

"We fear no mortal!" came a chorus of voices. "This world is ours, we are come to kill and then to rule!"

That was it. I cared no more that I might do a great wrong. I knew only that I was all that stood between the demons and the death of the world of men. Not much of a decision.

I let go. Of everything. All restraint, all self-control, burned away like straw as I became the flame that raged within me.

I struck out at the princes first. They were dust and ashes in that first moment. Then I began with the ones that harried the Kantri. I burned them in swathes, like scything a field, brushing them off the fallen Kantri like flies. They died in their tens, in their hundreds, and it was good.

No. I lie.

It was wonderful.

It was better than cool water in the desert. It was better than sleep to the exhausted. It was better than food to one dying of hunger, better than sex, better than the dawn—my body, my mind, my heart and soul, all working together seamlessly, all using the vast power that had been forced into hiding all my life, finally set free.

I have never known such incredible, transcendent joy.

I killed hundreds. Thousands. I was not banishing them back to their place in the Hells. No. It was the True Death. 1 was the True Death.

I laughed as I beheld my dream come true.

Eventually they realised what was happening and many fled back to the Hells. They were the clever ones. I would pursue them later. For now, I slaughtered those that were stupid enough not to run away. I laughed again as I slew them, I rejoiced in their deaths. I was Death, and it was good.

I wake as from sleep, find myself on the ground, leap aloft and try to fly away. The Demonlord has forced me into darkness. I have no idea what has happened since he and his servants declared war on the world—except that the world seems still to be here, the Demonlord is gone and the demons are dying in droves. I am now in sole possession of this body.

I wonder if there is any chance of me getting my old one back? Especially since I don't know how long this one is going to last without demon-strength to support it. Already it begins to cool, to stiffen, around the edges.

Death soon, then. Real death this time. Release at last.

I shall fly into the mountains. They do look beautiful, so welcoming, so calm. There aren't very many of those big dragons around to stop me, either—except for that damned silver one. Again!

I flap harder, trying desperately to get away.

I threw the horrible thing from me. It burst into searing flame the instant it left my hand, and was dust before it could fall to the ground. My hand was scorched. It was a small price to pay.

I looked around. Vilkas was yelling something, briefly, but I think the demons proved how stupid they were and defied him. In any case, they weren't bothering us anymore. I think they were too busy dying.

And the Black Dragon, still alive somehow, was flying away. Akor flew in pursuit of the creature, but I did not fear for him.

Goddess. It was over.

By all the Hells, my poor battered heart ached as if its pain would never cease.

He was a dragon again. My love. My husband. The father of my children.

A detached part of my mind watched his graceful flight. He was a glorious creature, gleaming silver in the late afternoon sun—how had it come to be so late?—and he seemed to be borne aloft like a leaf in a breeze. He was so huge. Shikrar's size. Akor would have grown that large in the fullness of time, as one of the Kantri, but not for hundreds of years yet. He was—he was—

I ignored the rage, ignored the despair that pressed against my heart. Ignored my lonely future, though a scurrying thought danced past the vision of that vast dragon faced with children half the length of one of his talons. He was himself always, no matter his form. Varien kadreshi na-Lanen. My beloved. With a strength that came from I knew not where, I drew myself up and began to sing. Aloud.

I sang—very badly—the wordless song of love that we had made between us on the Dragon Isle. I sang to remind him, to remind me, of that love that does not change save to grow deeper and stronger with the passing of the years, no matter what else might happen. I let the music echo in my mind as weil, and felt it when the bond of truespeech locked between us. The song had changed yet again and was awash with sorrow, but it held the truth of love as well.

Akor managed to get in front of the Black Dragon and turn it, or the Winds were blowing it back in this direction. When he turned to me, I realised Akor was singing too. He joined me in the song of our making, adding to it the Tale of Lanen and Akor that he had composed for our wedding as my bride-gift. As I watched, those of both houses of the Kantri who still could fly joined him in the air, melding their voices with his, weaving harmonies around and about the song. It grew wilder, deeper, higher, until there was a sudden shift—from one moment to the next it changed, from a wild symphony built around a story of two lovers into the pain and truth and deep joy of love itself, and the sheer power of the music thrust me to my knees.

The music took on a life of its own then. There were yet echoes of the Tale of Lanen and Akor but other voices wove a wondrous tapestry of sound about it now. I heard the jangling chords of the Lost, rattling against the music, until in a blazing chord they were resolved. Restored. And they joined in the vast sound, so many-layered it was hard to make out the melody— but—but it still wasn't right. Something was missing, some vital part of the tale untold.

The Black Dragon tried to escape the music, charging Akor time and again, but Akor floated light as a bird's feather and danced away from it on the air with barely the flick of a wingtip. They all moved with Akor, the Restored singing now their lives rediscovered, their suffering redeemed with the death of the De-monlord. It was wondrous, but it lacked something—something—

Away in the far distance a sound arose, so faint as to seem more like a memory. It came from the west, where the sun sank slowly towards the distant sea—for a moment, it almost seemed as though the Sun itself were adding his voice to the music. I squinted, trying to see around the edges of the blazing light. Was that a flock of crows flying swiftly towards us?—no, it must be eagles surely, moving so swiftly— Ah. No. Not eagles. Brighter than eagles, gleaming in the light, copper and steel and bronze and golden, their soulgems scattering light of ruby and emerald and sapphire as the sun caught them.

The Aialakantri. The Lesser Kindred.

They soared in, singing, joining the complex pattern of flight as though they were joining a dance; and the music grew, made full, made bright and sparkling with the higher voices of the smaller creatures.

Made whole.

I probably should have stopped singing, but I could not. They were now most truly my people as well. My voice could not be heard by any save Akor, but I sang with all the peoples of the Kantri in a wild rejoicing.

The Black Dragon was confused by the music, stiffening even as I watched, trying to find a thermal to rise upon, trying to find a way out—but the music grew and grew, until the very stones echoed with it, until the mountains joined in the song and the Kantri wove even the echoes into the full glory of that sound. My throat closed in the face of more beauty than I could bear. I fell silent as the great mass of dragons, all three Kindreds united, surrounded the Black Dragon in an ever-moving spiral. Their unearthly music, so full and triumphant, woven of voices silent for long ages of the world and voices new-come to life, danced until it came to a single chord, complex beyond imagining—and there it locked, shining, all but visible. I heard notes that not even the Kantri could possibly sing ringing in the air, right at the edge of hearing, and in the lowest range I finally heard the voice I knew to be Akor's adding the deepest note of all. I felt it through the soles of my feet, I felt my babes resonate to it in my belly, I felt it in my deepest heart. That chord shook the earth. That chord the creator sang when the world was brought into being replete with joy.

And as I watched, the Black Dragon, caught up in that unimaginable music, caged, surrounded by music, began to shake. Every separate mote of the creature, every bit of ash and speck of sulphur, every drop of molten stone, quivered in the grip of that sound until, between one breath and another, it gave one last cry that faded upon the instant to a terrible sibilant hiss as it disintegrated. A great cloud of dust rained softly down upon the earth, and it was gone.

All that remained was the music.

I am not sure when the Kantri stopped singing, for to speak sooth that chord has never left my heart, down all the years. I became a struck bell, resonating forever to the truth of it. No matter what else may distract me, what life may throw my way—in my deepest being, that living glory of music rings ever within my soul to remind me of beauty and creation and the fundamental wonder of life.

There was only one distraction, as the sound echoed is the mountains, dancing between hills alive with joy. I would swear that in the silence behind the music, I heard my father Marik's mindvoice one last time. It was less than a whisper in my mind, the merest ghost of a breath.

"Thank you," it said, and disappeared.

And the Kantri, rising in a vast spiral, opened their throats again and began their lament for the dead. I should have realized that they would sing their first farewell to him whose loss they most would feel. The music was solemn, composed of equal parts of sorrow and hope inextricably entwined. It would break your heart even if you knew not for whom they sang. And it was Kedra's voice that led them, with Akor's in the second line.

"May the Winds bear you up, Hadretikantishikrar, Keeper of Souls, Eldest, soulfriend, Father, to where the sun gleams ever warm and bright. May your soul find its rest in the heart of light. May you join your voice to the Great Song of Time, and may those you love, who have flown before, meet you and welcome you into the Star Home, the Wind Home, the Place of All Songs, where all is well, and all is joy, and all is clear at last."

He has found his Yrais again at last, I thought, and bowed my head, and wept.

I watched Vil as he changed. Sweet Shia. I know I urged him to use his full power, but—heaven keep us, it was terrifying. He had dealt with a demon prince, then held Berys at bay and stripped his works from him (I reminded myself to thank Jamie from the bottom of my heart). But now... now he was killing without let or hindrance, and the expression on his face was terrible to behold.

He was in bliss.

I had heard his exchange with the demons and given thanks then for his strength, that wildfire that raged in him—but now— now he was pursuing the demons that fled. He was even stopping those that tried to return to the Hells. It was wrong.

Never mind that they were demons. This was genocide.

Damn.

I strode to his side. "Vilkas!"

He never twitched.

"Vilkas, damn it, man, you have to stop!"

He laughed. Goddess, what a horrible sound.

"Vilkas, you listen to me, you have to stop right now! This isn't right!"

He turned to face me, his eyes blazing that incredible blue, his raven hair blowing in a wind I didn't feel. "Aral, you were right! I should have done this long since! Look, they cannot stand against me!" He gestured again, and another score of demons died screaming.

"They are trying to get away, Vil, you have to stopl"

"Stop? Why should I stop? You were the one who said I needed to let go." Another gesture. More screaming, more death, and the smile on his face was becoming a terrible rictus.

I shook him. "Stop, Vil! Listen to me! You're not killing them to protect anything now, you're killing them for the joy of it!"

"Yes, isn't it wonderful?" He grinned.

I struck him across the face, once, hard. "Vilkas, stop it!"

He turned to face me then, holding me motionless along with all those demons, gazing at me as though he'd never seen me before. The power running through him made my hair stand on end even from two feet away. "Why? Why should I stop? They are demons, they don't deserve to live."

"Vilkas ta-Geryn," I said quietly, "you listen to me. They deserve life as much as we do, as long as they stay in their own world. They're trying to get back there. Let them go."

He looked at me for a moment, considering. "No," he said, dropping me to the ground and turning back to the demons. More screaming.

I raised my power about me, stood directly in front of him, and put my hands on his shoulders. He did not react. Damn it.

I reached up and grabbed his hair, tugging it down hard, forcing him to look at me. He was taken by surprise and actually looked into my eyes. I let go his hair, I barely knew what I said. I would have said anything to stop him.

"By the Lady, Vilkas, I charge you—by the friendship between us, by the power of the Goddess that rages within you, I beg you to stop this slaughter. You are not dreaming this time, Vilkas. This is real. If you kill all the demons you will be the Death of the World in truth. Remember the balance! If all the demons die at your hand, what will come to take their place? Balance in all things, Vil! You have used your power to save us all, the whole world owes you its life. Thus far you are the Sky God, Vil." I seemed to be weeping. "Do not do this. Stop with the Sky God." A mad giggle fought to escape me. "You can be the Death of the World some other time."

There was a faint flicker, I could see it deep inside him. A moment of hesitation, a moment of his real self.

Oh, Hells. Oh, Goddess. I had no choice.

I threw all restraint aside and spoke the words I had sworn I would never say, knowing as I did so what it would do. To both of us.

I conjure you, by Mother Shia, by all we have been to each other, by every moment of friendship—oh, Vilkas—oh, Hells—" I had to push so hard to say the words aloud that I practically shouted it. "I love you, Vilkas ta-Geryn. I love you with all my heart and soul, I always will. And now, here, this moment, by the endless love I bear you that you cannot return, by that pain I must bear every day of my life for love of you, I require you. Stop this. Now."

It was like stabbing him with so many daggers. I watched him wince, watched his mind reappear in his eyes. Watched as that unutterable joy drained out of him and left him desolate.

He turned to the demons and growled, "Return to the Hells that spawned you or die the True Death." He gestured them free, and in the instant every single one disappeared back to their own rightful place.

He turned back to me. Oh, Hells, here it comes, and I bloody deserve it...

"1 do not love you. I have never loved you and you know it, but it's not my fault." He shuddered. "Damn you. You had no right to do that. How could you throw that in my face? I trusted you, Aral!"

He came right close to me, he took my chin in his hand, his face a thundercloud. Goddess, what is he doing? I wondered, even as a stupid, traitor part of me that had nothing to do with my mind prayed that he was about to kiss me.

Far from it. He was returning the favour. He forced me to look at his eyes, and as both of us were still in the depths of our healing power, I saw him.

No. No, you don't understand. I saw him. We merged as we always did when we were working together, and I felt it: felt for an instant that incredible delight, that transcendent bliss that had been his for so fleeting a moment, felt it tear through me like a hundred swords, so sharp was the joy—and then I felt it stop. Ten thousand swords, ail poisoned, ripping me apart. Ten thousand thousand demons wrenching me from that pinnacle and throwing me down, twisted and broken, mourning, into a dark pit.

I was sobbing so hard I couldn't see his face when he turned away, but I heard him.

"You have only ever been second-best and you know it. I could never love you. You have used me, used our friendship, and I have paid the price. Why should I ever speak to you again?'

Someone put their arms around me and held me as I mourned. I think it must have been Will.

That was my mistake, of course. I wept. Not tears seeping out for the beauty of the dragon-song, but true weeping, for Shikrar's passing, for Varien lost forever—for too many things. The only problem was that I couldn't stop.

Akor, the Lord of the Kantri now again in truth, came spiralling down to land as soon as the lament for Shikrar was done, but I could not look at him. The others sang for their own dead. I heard them, but I heard nothing, I felt nothing beyond myself My world encompassed only my own body, and my own pain, and a sorrow beyond words. Beyond living. Even then some part of me, some last rational voice, reminded me that he was changed, not dead, but at that moment I could see no difference. I knelt there on the cold ground, my arms wrapped around my chest, rocking back and forth in a vain search for comfort, my body forcing me to breathe, great ragged breaths rattling painfully into my chest.

Gone, gone, knelled my ravaged heart. He is gone beyond any hope of returning. I will never hold him in my arms again, our children will be alien to him forever. He is lost to me forever. Unbound our vows, unbound our future, the pain I have borne, the children yet in my womb fatherless.

I am told that I screamed. I must believe it, for my throat was raw.

And as suddenly I found myself on my feet, and it wasn't only my throat that was sore. My right cheek blazed pain at me. My eyes flew open, and there before me, her right fist closed about a thick fold of my tunic, her eyes locked on my face, her left arm drawing back to strike again, stood my mother Maran Vena.

I threw up my right arm to stop her hand. She loosed me instantly.

I shouted and threw a punch back at her. She avoided it neatly and caught my hand. Damn she was fast, and strong as iron. "What in all the Hells are you doing?" I screeched. "Leave me alone!"

"No, I think you've had long enough," she said, letting go my hand as she calmly looked me over and obviously found me wanting. "I've seen this sort of thing before. If I let you indulge yourself it will only get worse."

"Damn you!" I cried, furious. "My future just disappeared before my eyes!" I wrapped my arms around myself again, cold at the thought, and my anger left all in the instant. "He's gone, Maran. He's gone. Mother. He's gone from me forever," I said, my eyes stinging with yet more tears.

She took me by the shoulders and shook me. "How dare you?" she said, her eyes lighting with anger. "He is here, idiot child! He stands before you, whole and unhurt," she said, gesturing towards Akor, who stood yet some way off, his face turned away from me. "Unhurt save for your words, that are like to kill him more surely than any demon ever spawned," she added. She put her hands on either side of my face and forced me to meet her gaze.

"Lanen, since the moment you took your first breath I have known your warrior soul," she said sternly. "You have been my shining daughter all these years, you have borne more than I could ever have done. Do not fail now, here at the bitter test." Her eyes blazed. "Goddess knows, I have failed in every kind of love, but you are better than that."

"I am weary of being better, Maran!" I cried, and in my extreme of passion I let slip the childish cry of my heart. "It's not fair] I've been alone all my life, with none but Jamie to care if I lived or died, until I met Akor. I nearly died a dozen times on that island, and then he changed, and—I thought we would have our whole lives together!" I was weeping again. "It hasn't been the half of a year! Is that all the happiness I am to know in life? One half of one year? Goddess, what have I done to deserve so little?"

"Life is not fair, Lanen," she said quietly. "That is no argument for a woman grown. Did you expect life, or love, to be perfect? Or easy? In my experience it is seldom either. Only in bards' tales does anyone live happily ever after. You have had a whole six moons of happiness. Some never even know that much."

"Hells, even you and Jamie had three years!" I cried.

"That is enough, Lanen," said Maran. She stood square before me, her anger plain. 'Think you that you are the only one whose heart is riven by this? Listen to him!" she said, pointing to Akor. "Hells, girl, I don't have truespeech and even I can hear his heart breaking."

"So is mine, damn it!" I cried.

"You cannot give up now," she said, implacable. "Broken or no, your heart must yet beat. You bear his children under your heart. They need you. You cannot fail them. You must not."

And suddenly she stepped in and held me tight, her arms strong about me, her words softer than I expected in my ear. "Lanen, for all that you have done, you must yet do one more thing. One last thing, dear one, dear daughter, and all is done." She held me again at arm's length. "You must forgive him."

I burst into sobs, my whole body shaking, out of my control. T can't! I can't bear it, I can't face him, I beg you, no ..."

"You can and you will," she said firmly, and dragged me bodily to the place where Akor lay upon the ground. He still faced away from me, his head held at its natural level, far, far above my own.

'Turn around, damn you!" shouted Maran, making a fist and striking as hard as she could at the nearest bit of him she could reach.

Akor ignored her and kept his face firmly turned from me.

"You Hells-be-damned coward, you will face the mother of your children or you'll answer to me!" cried Maran, as loud as she could.

He turned then and looked down. He still did not speak, but his eyes, deep as the sea, old as time and wild with all regret, were locked on mine.

Maran left us to it.

His soulgem gleamed a little in the last rays of the dying sun, and his vast silver faceplate shone with tears.

Tears. From a creature of fire.

It was as if a human were to weep blood.

The sight shook me as nothing else could have. Gready daring, I attempted truespeech.

"Akor?" I said, tentatively. No response. "Akor my heart?" I said. Nothing.

Aloud, then.

"Akor?" I said, my traitor voice cracking.

"I am here, little sister," he answered, finally. His own voice shook me. It was much deeper than it had been when last he wore his natural shape, and with my new perception I heard far more than his words. By speaking at all he laid his heart naked before me, and I saw in it all that roiled in my own—hurt, anger, weary sorrow, longing. Despair. And over and around all, through the pain and behind it, love.

Little sister. So he had called me when first we met on the Dragon Isle.

"And still you leak seawater," he said, bringing his great head down to my level. His soulgem was dark, now, and somehow that touched me more than ahnost anything. "I wished long ago that all your tears might be tears of joy. Alas, that I have been the means—" And the last of his control broke, and he bowed his head. "Lanen, kadreshi, my own heart, I am as confounded as you. I know not how this has happened. Some cruel trick of the Winds, some price perhaps required for the death of that terrible beast—Lanen, by my soul, it was never my wish that this might happen, but I know not how I might undo what has been done. I hear your anger, I share it, but I can do nothing—" And then, the true cry from his heart, "I beg you, Lanen, my wife, do not turn from me." He lifted his great eyes again and I felt the touch of his soul, my husband, my lover, and felt his despair sweep through to meet mine. "My only soulfriend in all the world is gone to sleep on the Winds this day, my Lanen, and I am severed from your arms forever. Do not leave me alone here in this desert, lest I run mad, or die of sere loneliness and sorrow."

Maran was wrong. Forgiveness was not enough.

I could not think how to answer him for a moment, when the words of our marriage vows rose up in my mind. I take you as my husband and my mate for as long as life endures. Well, life still endured in us both. He had not broken faith with me. He was changed, it is true—and, Lanen, what if he had been merely human, and returned from some terrible battle alive but unable to move without help? Would you leave him then? Abandon him to his fate because he could not hold your children?

Goddess, I cannot bear this! I cried silently. I looked away, closed my eyes to shut out the vision of him just for a moment, and at last paid attention to what else was happening around about me.

The earth trembled yet, resonating to the glory of the music of the Kantri. The great Mother Shia who bore us upon all Her broad back was shaken with wonder. Glancing below the lip of the hill, I saw the Laughing Girl of the Waters whispering up to us in a mist, rising from the lake into the twilight. I glanced behind me—and yes, there, just rising over the mountains, rode the Crone, the full moon in ail her glory. The first rays of her loving light bathed us both in brilliance and struck gleams from Akor's soulgem. The Goddess in all Her aspects breathed in me, I was filled with Her presence, and I heard again—in my mind? in my soul? in my memory?—the words I had heard when Akor and I sought to understand why we had been so drawn to one another against all reason.

Daughter, have no fear. Let not this strangeness concern you. All will be well. All will be well. Follow your heart and all will be well.

No word of "he will be changed." No word of "you will know his love for only six moons, then be parted forever." No. All will be well.

All will be well.

Akor spoke again, his own eyes closed, his voice now soft with grief. "Lanen?"

I reached out to him, the same gesture I had used half a life and six moons ago, and touched his warm faceplate. His eyes flew open, wild with hope, and I swear I could hear his heart beating as though he had run a race. "The Winds and the Lady aid me, Akor. I am lost as you are lost," I said. The words, too, were an echo, and to my astonishment a tiny smile touched my lips. "We might as well be lost together, eh, my love?"

I stroked the smooth bone below his soulgem. "Damn and blast them all, my love. We're caught in this together. Shia forbid I should leave you now, when things are darkest." I stretched up and embraced as much of his neck, at the thin point behind the faceplate, as I could manage.

With that touch he opened his mind to me, unleashed a great flood. I could hear his thoughts as though a multitude spoke, a thousand voices at once, a thousand thoughts but each of them barely audible, as though he were shouting through a stone wall.

Lansen, I never meant this I my heart is broken even as yours I I feel your heart in my own breast its beating is all that keeps me on live I beloved, those who sought our death are defeated beyond recall I the Black Dragon is dust and ashes and the Kantri still live/ Shikrar, Shikrar, soulfriend, my life is changed forever with your passing, sleep on the Winds, O friend of my heart/ beloved, for all that has passed we yet live, our babes yet live/ our future will not be what we expected but at least we are both here to have a future/ was I not this shape when we first pledged ourselves to one another?/1 will never hold our babes O ye Winds, have pity, have mercy/ my heart breaks anew/ Lanen Kaelar, Lanen, kadreshi, can you bear it? Can I bear it? By every Wind that ever blew, how in all the world are we to survive this parting? I for all that is, for all that will be, you are my love.

At that last, he drew back and fought for control of his voice. It took him a moment, for which I was deeply grateful, as I fought for speech as well.

"Lanen," he said, his voice far deeper than it had ever been, "Lanen, how shall we bear it?"

"One day at a time, kadreshi," I replied. Perhaps it was the Lady, perhaps I had touched again that strength of fire I had found when I believed I faced death in my cell in Verfaren. "If necessary, one breath at a time. It will not be easy, but—one breath at a time, I can do this thing."

He raised one great hand and wrapped it around my shoulders, as gently as he could manage. "One breath at a time, then. It is well." And then the great idiot added, "At the least, you know that I am not changed towards you."

Damned dragon. How could he say that with a straight face?

I felt one corner of my mouth turn up, then the other, then I snorted, and then I let loose with a great laugh, right from my toes. I felt his shock at my reaction, felt him hear the wild inanity of his own words, and watched as a column of flame shot into the darkening sky. A dragon's belly laugh. Goddess help us all.

By the time I finally wiped my eyes and he had regained some measure of composure, the worst of our souls' darkness had passed, at least for that time. I grinned at him. "Well, we did promise each other the spiky truth, didn't we?" I said. "Damn it, Akor, I didn't mean it literally!"

He hissed his gende amusement, but was soon solemn again. He gazed into my eyes, far calmer now, thank the Lady. "I bless you for your loyalty, kadreshi. One breath at a time it is." He sighed. "Name of the Winds, Lanen Kaelar. What have we done that we must ever be faced with such ungentle choices?"

"Shia alone knows, and she's not telling," I said, sighing. "True enough, we have neither of us chosen the easy path in this life."

He cocked his head at an angle. 'There is an easy path?' he asked.

"So I hear," I replied dryly. "I hope for their sakes our childer are blessed with better fortune. Or possibly better sense."

He hissed a little. "Hear us, ye Winds, and protect our babes from our ill fortuner

"I hope they're listening," I said, my voice trembling. I was starting to shiver, for now the sun was down it was growing cold. Away on the far side of the hill a small fire began to gleam. "I'm getting bloody cold, Akor," I added. "And I'm tired and hungry and I could drink that lake dry, I think."

He hissed. "Some things have not changed. It is well. Shall we go to join the others? I believe many of our companions have moved down to the shore."

"Not all of us," said a voice, and my mother Maran came to join us in the moonlight. "There's a fire closer than that."

"Have you been here the whole time?" I asked, suddenly angry, afraid that she had overheard all we said.

"Not near enough to hear anything, Daughter," she said, "so you can save your anger for those who need it. Though I'm glad you're up to anger," she said wryly. "It's an improvement."

She turned to Akor, as if to learn how he fared. He raised up his head enough to look down at her.

"Lady Maran, I seem to recall—did you threaten me just now?" he asked.

I didn't think Maran would hear the slight teasing note under his scold, but she did.

"Don't be absurd," she said, her smile gleaming in the moonlight. "I may be daft, but I'm not stupid enough to threaten anyone whose head is larger than I am."

"Of course not. How foolish of me," he replied.

"And if I ever do it again, you'd best listen," she muttered, shrugging her pack from her back.

"Listen to what?" asked Akor innocently.

"Good lad," she said, pulling out a familiar cloth-covered shape. "I do have one request to make of you, if you have a moment."

"Of course, Lady," he replied with a little bow.

I couldn't resist. "Goddess, you're stuffy now you're back in that shape," I said out of the corner of my mouth, pleased and surprised to find that I had yet some remnant of humour within me.

"Silence, Gedri. You will show the proper respect for the Lord of the Kantri," he teased, mock-solemn, until Maran unwrapped the Farseer. "What would you of me, Lady?" he asked cautiously. "I wish to have as little to do with that globe as possible."

"I couldn't agree more," she said, holding it out. "It's a kindness, really. I thought I'd give you the honour of doing what I've longed to do for years." She smiled. "Destroy this for me, will you, my son?"

Akor took the Farseer, which looked absurdly small in his great claws, and tried to crush it. I thought it would instantly be powder, but it was too small.

He looked about at the green sward on which we stood and handed the globe back to her. "Come," he said, and flowed over to a large outcropping of rock. He moved astoundingly fast for something so huge.

We followed. Maran handed the Farseer to him once again and we stood back. He drew himself to his proper height, lifted his arm high, and brought the demon-haunted thing down with all his strength against the native stone of the mountains. It shattered with a splintering crash.

Maran gave a great sigh, as of one who has toiled long and hard come at last to rest, and fell senseless to the ground.