Redeeming the Lost

V Despair and Hope

I woke, groggy, with no idea what time it might be. There was no hint of moonlight, though whether that meant she was yet to rise or had passed me by, I didn't know.

I cursed to myself as I sat hunched on the hard bed, staring into the darkness and wondering with a kind of detached dread what Berys might have done while I slept. I felt no different, and to be honest, I suspected there was not a thing I could do about whatever it was at this stage. I ignored the possibilities as best I could, and quietly blessed my ignorance of demon matters. If something awful was going to happen that I couldn't do anything about, I'd rather not know.

I found, as my eyes adjusted to the low light, that there was a tray on the floor with food on it—bread, cheese, cold soup, and water. I was starving and ate every scrap. I knew absolutely that it wasn't poisoned. Berys would never be so kind.

For all that, I only just managed to keep it down. Thank the Lady, it wasn't the deadly sickness Vilkas had healed me of— sweet heaven, was it only a week past? a little less?—just the normal sickness most women have to put up with in pregnancy. It was quite a deal less bothersome today than it had been the last few days. I didn't know if that was because something was happening with my babes, or because after days of enforced fasting I'd had two meals this day, or if it was just the natural time for that kind of illness to end. I tried to remember what I knew of childbearing, but the little I could recall was that there seemed to be us ninny different reactions as there were women.

"Damn," I said out loud—at least, my lips and tongue moved, and my throat shaped the sounds, and air rushed through, but nothing came out.

Alone in silence. Again. Still.

At least now I knew how Berys had discovered that I could speak with the True Dragons, the Kantrishakrim, in their Language of Truth. Bloody Marik must have told him.

O blessed Shia. I turned cold in an instant, head to toe. Marik, who knew I was pregnant, and was only waiting for the advanta geous moment to tell Berys. O Mother of us All, I begged, blessed Mother, as one to another I beseech you, protect my babes. Let there be no good time for my unnatural father Marik to tell Berys what he has learned. Let Berys curse Marik six ways in a se'ennight if it will keep my babes from the evil one.

I couldn't even hear my prayer myself. Berys's spell was strong and solid—I had tested it day and night ever since I had been taken, but as far as I could tell I was still held silent on all levels.

I cannot imagine how he managed to silence the Language of Truth. Until a few months past I'd only ever heard of it in legends, and now I missed it as I'd have missed a lost arm. There on the Dragon Isle where I first heard my beloved's voice in my head, and replied without thinking, Varien had told me that I was the only human he had ever known who could use it.

At least until now. I had shouted in truespeech and Marik had heard me, curse him.

What a damnable twist of fate. Shikrar and Akor, attacking Marik's mind, had opened it to truespeech. Which had been taken from me just when it would have been bloody useful.

Something caught in my throat and I coughed, silent still. Hells take it. Somehow the fact that I couldn't even hear myself cough made me furious. I screamed aloud, just because I had to, for the sheer frustration of it.

Nothing.

I managed to stop myself this time, before I yelled my throat raw. I'd done that the first day of my captivity, after Berys had left with the marks of my hands on his misbegotten neck. Nothing had worked, and eventually I had grown weary of the effort. Anger is a wonderful tonic, but even anger could not let me forget that I was alive only through Berys s distraction with other matters, and only until he got around to accomplishing my damnation. At best it would only be a matter of hours.

And what in all the merry Hells had he meant by saying I was become precious to him? Obviously because of my changed blood, though what it might mean to him I could not imagine. Kantri and Gedri mixed—yes, that was what I had agreed to when Vilkas saved my life. My babes had been killing me, for their blood was Kantri and Gedri blended and they all unwitting fought for their lives nearly at the cost of my own. I would surely have died if not for Vilkas, that tall, dark, reserved lad with so great a well of kindness in him. Vilkas and his comrade Aral put forth more power than I knew existed, and with my consent changed me into a creature neither truly human nor truly dragon. I yet reeled from that deep change; I yet knew not what it might mean for me in the march of time; but to my heart it mattered not a whit. My babes were safe, my body was able to support them, and that would do for now.

I tried to breathe deep, tried to relax, but it was no use. My heart began to race, my breathing quickened, as if I could hear the tramp of the guard through the thick blanket of silence that covered me. I think what bothered me most was that I could not rest. Every instant I expected the door to fly open, every moment that passed I waited for Berys to return and accomplish my damnation. Whatever that would feel like. Surely I would no longer be myself. A body without a soul, like a breathing doll, no volition, no intelligence... I shuddered again, from fear, from cold. The first gleam of moonlight had stolen through the high grating, reminding me of passing time. It couldn't be long now.

I forced myself to calm down and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. If I stopped to think about Berys and what was surely going to happen, I wouldn't have the courage to breathe at all.

Start small, Lanen. You're still alive, don't give up yet.

I had no idea how Berys had brought me to this place, but it had happened in the blink of an eye. As far as I could tell I had been imprisoned two, maybe three days. Maybe four. My beloved husband Varien and I, and the Healers Vilkas and Aral, had all been exhausted after we brought the Lesser Kindred to their new life. We all could barely stand from weariness and had taken a moment after that day and night of work to rest, when suddenly the air had turned thick with demons. I had been torn from Varien's side to be dropped at the feet of a man I'd never seen before, but whom I guessed from his association with demons must have been Berys. I had heard of him and knew that he was older than my mother, but this man looked barely older than me. He had grabbed me, stepped onto a small platform made of rock, and suddenly we were here.

It all seemed a great deal of trouble to go to. And why in the Hells was my peculiar blood so useful to Berys?

Back to that again, around and around my thoughts trudged like a dog turning a spit.

I shook myself, there in the cold darkness. Think of something else, girl!

Oh, yes. Something else. What will it be like to be a body walking about without a soul, once mine is stolen away. Where would I be? Tormented by demons for all time? Or somehow aware of my empty shell being put through its paces by Berys the Damned?

I shivered harder in the gathering cold. Goddess help me. Either one sounded terrible beyond belief.

Marik must hate me desperately, to hand me over to Berys.

Well, it was mutual now, and all the Hells mend him because

I surely wouldn't. He knew about my babes, and he would surely tell Berys eventually if he had not already. For that alone I would kill Marik if I had the chance. It occurred to me that I should feel some kind of guilt at having tried to murder my father, but to speak truth I felt only anger at myself for having failed.

I had spent most of my life blessedly ignorant of all of this. I had known nothing of my true father and had been abandoned by my mother after little more than a year. My dear friend and heart's father Jamie had raised me as best he could, but it seems that even he could not keep my fate from finding me. For reasons best known to himself, Marik had chosen last autumn to make good his promise to the Rakshasa, and had hounded me across the western sea to the Dragon Isle.

There he had received his due reward. The Kantri—the True Dragons, the great creatures of legend that can speak and reason— had broken his mind. The last time I had seen him ere this, he had not been able to walk unassisted and he could not speak. His Healer, Maikel, had held out no hope of Marik's ever being able to regain the power of conscious thought.

I shuddered to my bones. Perhaps that would be my fate, afterwards. At least I won't be there to know about it, I thought grimly.

Then, even more grimly, Probably.

Enough, girl, I told myself sternly. Think. The door was opened once. Maybe there will be another chance. When they come for you, perhaps?

It would help if I'd had any faint idea of where I was. Nothing looked even slightly familiar. The walls were thick and stone-built, but that could be anywhere. I shivered, mostly from the cold, and began to pace the tiny room—no more than two steps from wall to wall, but it kept me from freezing.

The most maddening thing was that I kept gazing, will I or nill I, at the little barred window high up on the wall. It faced towards the south so that I never saw direct light of sun or moon, only the scattered glow of either but sometimes I could catch a glimpse— I went to drag the chair over, but the chain pulled me up short.

Though perhaps—I stood on the chair where it was, standing on tiptoe—yes, there she was! The rising moon. She was just past the full, the Ancient Lady of the Moon, and she smiled at me, fair and comforting even in this dark and desperate place. I gazed as long as I could, but I could only perch like that for a very short , time. Eventually a wave of dizziness swept over me and I sat down, hard. I was in such a hurry to get down that my backside clipped the edge of the chair and I fell into a muddled heap, heedless now J of the cold, my anger gone and with it my strength. With my legs drawn up to my chest and my manacled arms wrapped around my legs, I rocked myself back and forth, small movements, as if I were terrified even to admit to myself how frightened I was. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine Jamie rocking me when I was a child, disturbed by an ill dream, but thinking of Jamie made things worse.

And what did not?

The unnatural silence rattled me. All that I did happened in a complete absence of sound, bar those few moments with my tormentors. It made everything feel like a dream. No, a nightmare. A nightmare that never ended, that on waking was as hopeless as in the depths of sleep. All I could look forward to was a painful death—or worse yet, a short life in agony, if there was anything left to feel agony after the soul had gone to the deepest Hells. Left in this cage, without hope, without sound, with nothing to comfort me and all I loved taken from me.

My body began to protest the compression and I let go my legs. I felt my belly quavering, a peculiar movement, and it struck , me—was that the first movement of my babes? Or only my stomach protesting the food I'd eaten?

Goddess, Mother, aid me, I thought, my heart pounding in my ears. I can't even be sure I've felt my poor babes move. I can't even take my own life and protect my children from Berys by killing them.

Damn Berys. Damn and blast him to all the Seven Hells, i demons take his liver and feet it to the dogs ...

My whole body was shaking now, fear and rage together leaving me unmanned, for I was furious with myself even as I trembled in every limb. Every time I tried to think my way out of this hole I came to this place of fear, of gut-tightening, muscle-cramping, uncontrollable terror. Dear Goddess, what evil have I done to merit this end? I cried in the depths of my soul, longing beyond reason for the ability to shout or scream if only to relieve my anger. And my poor children, my unborn babes—I had fought for them, poor little souls, fought already for all of our lives nearly at the cost of my own. I had consented to be changed to a creature not entirely human that they—that we—might live, and now my empty sacrifice mocked me to my bones. At the time I had blessed the Healers for saving my life. Now I wished I had simply died, and my littlings with me. At least then we might walk together in the High Fields of the Lady.

By now, whenever now was, Berys surely knew that I was with child. I drew my knees in again, gently, and wrapped my arms around my middle. It was the nearest I could come to embracing my poor childer.

I pray now only that we will all go down to death together, my sweetings, and I will protect you with all the fire of my soul until the Lady comes to gather Her innocents to Her breast.

I had no doubt that their lives would end in as much pain as possible once Berys learned of them.

I bowed my head as black despair washed over my soul, for I could see no escape even in death for us all three.

I realised as it crashed over me that I had never faced true despair before that moment. Sorrow, weariness, anger, fear—all of these are the common lot of humanity, but always before there had been hope somewhere behind all. Hope, for me, had always lain behind my days. Always there was a prospect of a brighter future, of a time when this ill would be past or that obstacle would be overcome: but now I could see the future, clear and sharp before me, and it held only pain and fear and horrific ending, and all too soon.

The wise say that it is only when hope deserts you that you find the underlying truth of your soul. Some find only a vast weariness that pulls them swiftly down to their ending: some admirable few discover true courage in some hidden corner of the self. At that moment, in that desert of the soul, in despair more profound than I had ever imagined, I was brought face-to-face with my own imminent death. In that cold dark place of stone my heart was as a lump of lead in my chest. I could barely force myself to breathe, as if my body wished to make an end to life on its own terms. I closed my eyes and longed for even the release of tears, but I tell you now, true despair is dry as the dust of ages.

And then, with my eyes tight closed, I saw in my mind a vision of a tiny flame far off, years distant from me but present. The faintest hint of fire, as when a single spark lands on dry tinder and sits for a brief instant, glowing red in the darkness.

Even as I sat there I drew in a breath, carefully, and breathed out slowly and gently, as though I blew in truth on a tiny physical spark to encourage it.

In my mind it glowed a little before it subsided.

I drew another breath in the silent darkness, and in that still- ness felt something within me flutter. My starving belly, poor thing, I thought, and physically blew again on that tiny mental spark. It glowed a little more this time, and when I next drew breath it did not fade. Again, and it grew as large as my little fingernail, and it seemed to have the shape of a woman.

My belly moved again and this time my eyes flew open. That was not hunger. I moved my hands to sit over the small roundness of my belly.

Butterfly movements from within. Barely noticeable, save that I had sat so still.

Sweet Goddess, it must be.

My babes were moving.

For one breathless moment I thought nothing, felt nothing, apart from a mad, delirious joy that they lived and thrived even now.

And the next moment I laughed harshly into the silence. In that instant, to my astonishment, the tiny flame within had grown from distant star to brilliant sun, and it raged now within me, all-consuming. I did not recognise it but I surely welcomed it, for that fire was strength and home and love and all, it warmed my body and set my soul ablaze. I did not need hope. I had nowhere else to turn, and turning inward I found—myself afire. All those I loved were there, within me—my beloved Varien, our babes so tiny but alive and growing despite all, my heart's father Jamie, were the nearest, but there were others: soulfriend Shikrar, his son Kedra, Mirazhe, their tiny son Sherok gazing newborn into my eyes, Idai in despite of her pain a strength and a companion.

The only way to be certain that you will lose is to surrender.

Determination without hope. It is a dry and strange place in the soul, and I do not recommend it, but it is full of power.

I stood then, breathing deep into my gut where my littlings lay. It was a strange fire indeed that I had found. I was ready to fight or flee, ready for battle in a bare cell, but there was nothing to do but watch the slow departure of the moon's gleam as the Ancient Mother's stately dance took even the reflection of her light from me.

I needed to act, to do something that would force an action, that would get me out of this Hells-be-damned cell.

I had never spent much time in the service of the Lady, not in the way of those dedicated to Her. They beseech Her on their knees for all sorts and lands of things—but somehow it always seemed to me that kneeling was unnecessary. It might be that, having no mother around me, I took the Mother of us All into my heart more completely than most. Greatest need brings greatest faith, they say. I stood, braced, and spoke my invocation, though not even I could hear it.

"Ancient Lady of the moon, rising in the east, who hast brought light to this dark place; Mother of the earth beneath my feet, in the very stones that surround me, whose fire rageth in my heart; Laughing Girl"—I faltered for a moment there, for laughter and water seemed both too distant from me—ah—"Laughing Girl of the Waters, who surrounds my babes within me—a boon I beg of thee, blessed Goddess! Do not leave me in this cold place of death." I began to shiver, whether from the deepening cold or from anger I could not tell. "Come fire, come battle, come rage to warm me! Shia, Goddess, in the name of all that is precious to you, do not leave me here!"

If there were poetry in life, my words would have echoed from the stone walls and given me heart—and perhaps been heard by a passing soul who might have been of some use to me. As it was, my throat was raw from shouting and neither I nor any other creature in the world had heard a thing.

I stood motionless, waiting, fire in my heart yet trapped in cold silence, for death to come and claim me and mine, when a light spilled into the room. But it was not the moon.

The light came from under the door.

I found the stair swiftly, and the four identical oaken doors. I was delighted, in a strange way, to also find a huge guard pacing the corridor in the pitch-black dark.

He was sharp and well armed and he came for me the instant he saw me. Good eyes, I thought as I avoided his first blow. With some difficulty, it must be said. It s bloody dark down here. Well, well, well, and I just happened to have a lighted dark lantern in my hands.

I threw open the panel of the dark lantern and shone the light straight in his eyes. He swore and backed off. And dropped his guard.

I had no wish to murder him, the poor sod, but I had no choice. I could not rely on a deep wound, not here in the midst of the enemy. I despatched him as painlessly as I could, and when he stopped twitching I dragged him along the corridor out of my way. I searched the body for keys. No such luck.

I took a closer look at the doors. They were not particularly close-fitting, for they had been made chiefly to keep drunken louts out of the way for a night. Still, if you've nothing but your fingernails and you can't be heard, a door of thick oak will do as well as one of iron. No light shone under any of them.

She can't hear you. You can't hear her.

There was no one anywhere near; obviously Berys had trusted in that poor bastard I'd had to kill. I lifted the catch again and opened the dark lantern. Light blazed in that dark corridor. I stood before the first door, keeping the lantern on the ground that as much light as possible might shine underneath. I knelt there only a few moments, hoping with all my soul that she was awake, or that the unaccustomed light would waken her, but I didn't dare wait too long at any one door. Every nerve in my body jangled like shaken harp strings, out of tune, wrong. I desperately wanted to call out to her, if only for the relief of some kind of sound, but Rikard had warned me. The corridor would not appear unusual, sounds would behave as normal—they would just stop at the door. She could be no more than the thickness of oaken planks from me and I'd never know it.

I called to her in the silence of my heart, as you do to loved ones in peril—do you live, my daughter? Are you here, so near I might touch you? Was the guard a distraction, and are you a thousand leagues hence in some dread prison? Does your body lie rotting already in a shallow grave, my soul's child, my bright Lanen?

I held back a sob and mentally shook myself. Cold, cold as revenge, cold as the depths of evil, lest your fears unman you.

There was no response. Time was rushing past like a gale, bearing all my hopes into bleak darkness.

The next door. I was acutely aware that every moment made discovery more likely. I waited, my light gleaming unnoticed into silent darkness, where only dust was illumined, where she slept unheeding or crouched wounded, where she was held chained to the far wall being driven mad with needing to get to the door.

Then the next door. The one Hygel had said led to the cell ruined long since. The door was like all the others. Blessed Lady, I prayed in the depths of my cold heart, Ancient One, riding serene above us all in your pale chariot, 1 beg you, if she sleeps waken her.

I had never prayed half so fervently, for I had never before been so unable to do anything of use myself.

Let her see the light, let her notice, let it be that she can move so far—let him not have blinded her. Lady, Goddess, Mother of us All, I am helpless and I hate it and I cannot change it. Don't let her die in silent darkness, Shia, Have mercy on your daughter. On my daughter. On the only child I will ever have.

Somehow I managed to spill a little of the oil onto my foot, which made me look down. At the fresh bloodstains on the stone outside this particular door.

My heart was a deep drum, pounding out the seconds. I lifted the lantern and shone the light onto the keyhole. My hands were shaking as I drew out the lockpicks I'd borrowed from Hygel. My short sword was loose in its sheath, for I fully expected to have to deal with as many demons as Berys could spare. I knew fine that Berys was too bright to leave her protected only by a single guard, a paltry spell, and an oaken door, and I was prepared for everything I could think of.

I was certainly not ready for nothing.

Behold the advantages of long-term planning. Marik and I have been preparing for years, building up a legion of our own particular Healers. In exchange for a doubling of their inherent abilities, they have allowed us to link them to a spell. Oh, of course it would only be used in event of an emergency, of course. And most of them have been told that the purpose of the link would be to summon vast power from every corner of Kolmar to protect us all from some great evil.

Ha! If I could find a way to do that, I would not need the De-monlord to rid myself of the dragons!

The beauty of it is that all the work of activation, apart from the final ritual, has been done long since. Though I really must arrange to replace Durstan, it is awkward getting dressed with one hand. It has been easy enough to draw the double circle on the floor in my hidden chamber, and scribing the symbols is simple—but preparing the cauldron takes twice as long as it did.

I have only just finished crushing the leaves and pouring in the oil. Now to light the candles around the altar, so; tie my rope wards about my waist, damn, it's tricky, I really must replace Durstan. Now let me ensure—yes, I did remember to put the globe inside the circle. Check the wards one last time—ah, yes, renew that smudged one, my robes must have trailed over it—all is done.

"Come, ye servants," I said, fighting the oil-soaked fire under the cauldron where it sits to one side of the central altar. It bursts into flame even as three of the Rikti appear.

'Tremble, mortal!" the largest hisses.

"Foolish imp," I said, twisting the binding and making it writhe. "Do not waste my time. You are bound to me already, if you refuse I'll have your soul for a year and a day, and I am a Master of the Sixth Circle. I can inflict the True Death on you if I choose."

They all hissed, but were silent.

"Good," I said, and pointed at the largest. "You, go find the Demonlord who ensouls the Black Dragon. It flies over the Great Sea towards Kolmar. Bring me back word of when it will arrive here."

The first vanished.

"You, where are the Kantri and what are they doing?"

"Masster, need more help," it said, not moving. "Too many places, too many dragons for this one. You want old ones, found ones, little ones, what? All scattered."

"Find the largest group of them and watch for an hour, then come and tell me what they are doing and where they are. Go now," I commanded. It too disappeared.

"You," I said to the smallest. "A simple task. lift that globe," I said, pointing, "and hold it above the cauldron."

The globe was made of glass, a large round vessel twice the size of my head, with a small opening in the top stopped with a cork. It was nearly full now of little locks of human hair, black to brown to red to gold to grey, all jumbled together. A few nail clippings from the bald ones.

The Rikti held the globe high above the cauldron. I raised my hand and my left arm, moving the stump in a pattern to match my whole hand, reciting the words. I have had so much practice with the major demons, these minor deeds hardly challenge me at all anymore. The demons involved yelled and tried to distract me, as ever, but I can ignore them easily now. When the last word was spoken, the oil in the cauldron burst into flame.

"Drop it!" I shouted, and the Rikti let go of the glass globe, hissed and disappeared. The glass shattered in the cauldron, while the hair and nails crisped in the flaming oil. The air was rank with the stench of burning hair and I felt slivers of glass in my hand. No matter.

I spoke the final word of the spell. As befits the final word of a great making, it had many syllables and grew harder to pronounce. The familiar sensation of a thick tongue—I ignored it, knowing it for distraction, pronouncing each syllable carefully—now, here, the last—

The spectre of the Demonlord appeared in the smoke, grinning hugely. "Boo."

I am not a Master of the Sixth Hell by accident. If I could not ignore such things I would have died long since. I spoke the final syllable, loud and strong, and the flaming oil was quenched as I spoke. The stench of burnt hair filled the room now but I barely noticed it. I started to shake, then to laugh, as the power of hundreds of Healers flowed through my veins. I fairly crackled with it, Healer blue shot with purest black.

I turned to the apparition, which to my surprise had persisted. "What do you want?" I asked, grinning back at it.

"You wanted a report. I will pass over the western shore of the South Kingdom in less than a day. I cannot tell more exactly than that."

"It is near enough. And I have a gift all prepared for you when you arrive, my servant."

"You keep thinking I'm a demon. I'm not," it said. "You are bound to me as surely as I to you. But no matter. What is my gift? If I like it I may try to fly faster."

"The Kantri," I replied, smug. "You recall those whom you turned into beasts? You will be pleased to learn that they have suffered ever since, but this very day before sunset they were restored."

The thing spat an obscenity. "And you give me the gift of having to do the work over again, do you? It cost me my life last time!" It blinked. "Well, nearly."

"Ah," I said, "behold the beauty of the pattern. The body you wear is made of molten rock, ash, and sulphur. You are living stone and the best weapon they possess is fire. How should they kill you now?"

And the Demonlord smiled and saw that it was good, and departed.

How strange. I am shaking as I don my robes for the assembly. Not the insipid blue robes of the Archimage: that time is past. My name as a demon-master I must keep secret from others, as would any who did not desire death from any number of curses, but at the least I will appear before my erstwhile companions as a Master of the Sixth Hell. The black and silver robes of my achievement fit well on my young-again shoulders. It is good.

Fear? No, I feel no fear at all. Anticipation, yes, and excitement from the power pulsing through me. And desire. Oh, yes, desire. To see so many faces pass through shock and disbelief, to despair before they die—ah, I shall savour this evening. If all goes as I plan, I should have enough bodies dead by my hand, the souls shocked and betrayed at the end, to feed even the Lord of the Fifth Hell to bursting point. Just as well, for I shall summon it to assist me—it will, I doubt not, make short work of my fellow Magistri, and give them something to think about apart from me when I decide to leave. It will be a mutual work, I think: food and exercise for one of the most powerful Lords of the Hells, the end of this weary College for me.

Underlying all, of course, there is the undeniable pleasure in knowing I have Marik of Gundar's blood and bone in my grasp. With the power now at my disposal, I do not need her to fulfill some foolish prophecy. I will still grant her soul to the Rakshasa, if only to shut Marik up, but her body I shall keep for another purpose. I need her blood, after all.

I do not yet understand what forces cluster around her, this strange creature. I have had any number of incredible reports, chief among which is that the Kantri have taken to her. They flew her out to the Merchant ship after it had left the Dragon Isle. They talk with her constantly if Marik is to be believed. The very first of them to arrive in Kolmar, weary and wounded, nevertheless came immediately to her assistance. It will be useful to have her in my power when I leave this place, lest the dragons are too cowardly to deal with my Black Dragon without encouragement.

Of course, I now have no further need for Marik himself.

I do not plan to use him this night. No, he will be worth a great deal to me when the Demonlord comes. Betrayal, despair, perhaps even fury; a tasty banquet for whatever it is that inhabits the Black Dragon. I will enjoy putting an end to his whining and his endless requests for assistance—let him live pain-free for one night. His despair will be all the more delightful when it comes.

Ah, but enough of such pleasant musing. I go now to claim my birthright. And when the Demonlord arrives and all the Kantri are dead, and with the help of the fool King Gorlak of the East Mountains and his armies, I have control of all of Kolmar, I will give to the Rakshasa a home for themselves in this world, that they may serve me more readily.

The time approaches. After I have released the Lord of the Fifth Hell to feed on my erstwhile colleagues and any students he can catch, I shall take Marik with me to collect his daughter. Let Marik feel himself fully healed for a day or so before I sacrifice him. He will have so much more to regret that way.

Ah, life is sweet.

It had been too long since I'd had to use lockpicks, and I was as rusty as the lock. It didn't help that every instant I was anticipating the sharp claws of the Rikti in my back. I must have been there a full minute—it felt like forever—when I felt the lock go and I pulled open the door, shining the lantern into the darkness. Lanen stood there, eyes blazing, manacled and chained to the wall. For all that, she stood holding a chair by its back, the legs aimed at whoever was coming in. I was proud of her, being prepared for an enemy despite everything. She caught sight of my face and threw the chair from her. I winced, waiting for the clatter, but of course it made no noise at all.

I was inside in a moment, lantern in hand, setting the delicate lockpicks against those rough manacles to release her from her chains. There!

And suddenly she was free and in my arms, my girl, my own Lanen. I stole enough time from our peril to hold her to me for a breath—forever—then I took her arm and pulled her with me. Every bone in my body was screaming at me to run.

The moment I reached the road I called out in truespeech. "Shikrar, my friend," I cried, striding as swiftly as I might towards Verfaren, holding my fist to the stitch in my side. "How fare you?"

"I have eaten a little, and rested," he replied. "I am still hungry, but that may be addressed in time."

"There is no time, Shikrar, do you hear me ? 1 am filled with the most terrible foreboding. I beseech you, my friend—my wings are gone forever, I must needs borrow yours. When will you be able to fly?"

My head ached instantly from using truespeech, my side was worse, and I noticed as I walked that the wind was rising. From the south, of course. I was headed directly into it.

There was the merest hint of a sigh from Shikrar. "I am at your service, my friend. I have eaten but little, I am yet wing-light."

"Then come now!" I cried, breaking into a run for a moment, despite the pain, ere I was forced to walk again. My heart pounded in my chest like a great river over rapids, and of a sudden I found I was terrified. I could not stop shaking, and I feared in my marrow that Lanen's death was near her. "Come swiftly, soulfriend, find me on the road. I will not stop to wait for you."

Even as I bespoke him, I felt the fear of death enter me. "Shikrar, swiftly, to me!"

The moment we stepped outside the cell several things happened at once.

First and most obviously, we sprang Berys s trap, for more of the Rikti appeared and began attacking us—though they seemed to concentrate on Jamie. I fought them off as best I could.

The second thing that happened was that, to my infinite delight, I could hear again, and I could speak.

"Varien!" I cried, as loudly as I could in truespeech. "Come swiftly, my heart!" Then I realised—I had no idea where I was.

"Where the devil are we, Jamie?" I asked, beating off Rikti as I spoke.

" Verfaren, where else would you find half the Hells in the corridors," he grunted, between slashes at the Rikti and swerves to avoid being injured. "Come on, the farther away we can get the better. Run!"

We pelted down the corridor and I called out to Varien as we ran—

"We Jamie and I are in Verfaren the College of Mages attacked by Rikti but I am free ..."

—and met Berys and Marik turning the corner not five feet in front of it.

"Oft, Hells, it's Berys!"

I heard only "We come Lanen! Shik—" before Berys waved his hand and the beloved voice in my mind was silenced yet again.

I was getting truly sick of that trick of his.

I felt the activation of the Rikti on the prison door and hurried Marik down with me, along with two of my favoured guards who bore lanterns and the makings of the small altar that was needed to work the demonline. There was very little reason for either of us to stay in the Great Hall any longer, after all. The Lord of the Fifth Hell was doing a fine job on its own.

I was tempted to linger. The pleasure of seeing those colleagues I had despised for so many years dying in pain, confounded by a powerful demon—for they had never truly considered the possibility of such a battle, leaving such studies to me—ah, it was balm to my soul. Deeply satisfying. Still, there was no more for me to do, and I did not wish to lose my new treasure.

I expected to find the hunchbacked woman or possibly the proud student Vilkas in a foolhardy raid being savaged by Rikti; instead we ran full into the prisoner herself barely at arm's length, with some servant behind her and the Rikti nowhere to be seen. I threw up a barrier and just managed to stop them barrelling into us and escaping; they were held motionless. It was as well I was so powerful at that moment, for they struggled wildly, but my will was implacable and my power ascendant. I grinned and with a gesture stopped her from using Farspeech as well.

"How very kind," I said lightly. "Now I have two sacrifices, and you have even unlocked the door for me. Very considerate."

The guards handed off their lanterns to Marik and bore the prisoners unceremoniously into the cell they had just left.

In the event, Shikrar was nearly upon me when at last I heard my beloveds mindvoice.

"Shikrar, I have heard her! She is in Verfaren and faces Berys—in the name of the Winds, come quickly!"

"I am aloft. Where are you, Akhorr" asked Shikrar. His mind's serene voice restored in me a tiny measure of calm, at least enough to answer.

"On the road heading south of the field where we welcomed our people," I shouted, running as fast as I could. I told him what little she had said even as I ran, and heard his distant roar through the darkness. It was balm to my heart, as was the sound of his wings above me. I cried out to him in truespeech and saw him looking back and forth.

"I can't see, drat these clouds—grace of the Winds, there is the moonlight—and there you are, all of you. I come!"

All of us?

I turned around. The wind had been in my face, I had not heard the others behind me. Aral and Vilkas were on foot, Rella, Will, and Maran were mounted. Just for an instant I blushed in the darkness. At least someone had thought of horses.

Although I was proved the shrewder in the event.

The poor creatures had objected strongly to Salera when she had first arrived at the Dragons Head—was it ten, twelve days since? It seemed a lifetime—and even more strongly to Shikrar when he joined us up on the High Field, in the mountains. They were still not at ease around him, but they hadn't bolted. Or they hadn't bolted when Shikrar was walking sedately alongside them as we all came down the mountain. When he appeared suddenly from the night sky and landed with a thump right in front of them they did a spinbolt and disappeared into the windy darkness, leaving Rella, Will, and Maran to rise up and brush the dust from their clothes.

"Well, it was a nice idea," said Rella, grimacing.

"I cannot stay," I told them, as Shikrar gathered me in his hands. "I will see you in Verfaren."

"Don't leave me here!" cried Rella. "Please—Jamie—"

"I have bespoken Kedra, he comes for you," said Shikrar, and took to the wild sky. We were barely aloft when he let forth a huge hiss of pure fury, stretched his wings, and flew at the utmost of his strength. I could feel it even as he held me, I knew that bone-deep change between flight that is important and flight on which life depends.

"Raksha!" Shikrar cried in truespeech as he flew. The wind was fierce against us. "Akhor, it is a Lord of one of the Deep Hells, some kairtach has summoned a major demon!"

The wind might have come directly from the Hells that night. It blew in huge gusts, catching him on the upswing, throwing me backwards as he tumbled. The gale fought him, swiped at him, almost seemed to be trying to knock him out of the sky, but he laughed fiercely at the challenge and rode the tempest.

My heart soared. No matter that we rode on the treacherous wings of storm—it was Hadreshikrar who held me safe, who for more than my lifetime had taught every youngling of the Kantri how to fly. He was not the teacher of flight because he enjoyed the company of younglings, or because he had endless patience with them, although those were truths as well—no, he had earned his position. Every year. Only the best flyer, the one with the most experience and the greatest proven skills, was allowed to teach. He had been the best longer than I had been alive. I felt it when he caught the feel of the winds, felt him begin to move with them, anticipating the gusts by some weather-sense I envied desperately even as the blankness at my back ached for what was not there.

And suddenly there below was Verfaren. Ten miles was not so far on those great wings, thank the Winds and the Lady. The lights in the town shone on winding streets, and lights in the windows gleamed in the darkness, but the College on the hill was dark as death.