Redeeming the Lost

VI The Fall of the College of Mages

Shikrar landed hard outside what I assumed was the College of Mages—it was the largest set of buildings and had its own walled courtyard—and he didn't so much release me as throw me to the ground. I rose to find him facing the gates. A large Gedri, heavily armed, took one look at Shikrar and ran silently and with great concentration into the night and away from anything he might have been guarding. Shikrar ignored him.

The gates of the College of Mages were astoundingly strong, as it proved. They withstood a blow from the Eldest of the Kantri without breaking, which was one blow more than I had thought it would take. When Shikrar hit them again—harder—the entire frame came away from the stone walls and the still-locked gates fell to the ground with a great crash.

There was a single human figure in the courtyard, barely visible in the dimness. He called out, "Jameth of Arinoc!" and ran towards me, thereby striking me as being very clever.

Shikrar rushed into the courtyard and looked around frantically, echoing my desperation. "Where, Akhor?" he cried. His voice boomed and echoed in the cobbled square.

I ran up to the shaking man and caught him by the shoulders. "Where is Jamie? Where is LanenP"

"I don't know," he said, and even in that darkness lit only by fitful glimpses of the moon I could see that his eyes were wide and staring. "Most likely there, you see those grates?"

He pointed to a row of small gratings to the right of the courtyard, maybe five feet above ground level. Light gleamed in one of them as we spoke.

"Shikrar! There, where the light shines, she is within!"

I struggled furiously against the holding spell, but I might as well have tried to dig a well with a fork. Lanen, away to my left, was swearing at the guards, who ignored her. When we were all inside the cell, Berys had his guards shut and lock the door while he cast a silence around us. "Don't bother yelling," said Marik smugly. "No sound can pass those barriers. In either direction."

Berys busied himself directing the guards, who drew stones from their packs and started building something while he started drawing things on the floor. I couldn't yet tell what it was going to be, but I was certain to my marrow that it held my death. They might want Lanen for something particular but I was of no use to them at all.

I had nothing to lose. Might as well enjoy myself.

"Bloody Marik of bloody Gundar," I spat. At least I might enjoy a litde Marik-baiting, if I could do nothing else. "Last I heard you were mindless and drooling."

"No change there, then," put in Lanen. Her face was white and drained, but her voice was steady as a rock.

Marik ignored her and came near to me, staring intently. "Who the devil are you to give a damn?" he asked, lifting a lantern and peering at me.

I glared back at him, unable to fight, unable to move a muscle. "I could have killed you stone dead back then," I spat. "Should have finished the job." A defiant smile touched my lips. "Though I hear you've been limping ever since. Some good comes of everything, seemingly."

"Who in all the Hells are you?" he asked again. "I don't remember you! No human gave me this limp, it was the demons when we made the—"

"Oh, no," I interrupted. "We gave you that limp right enough. Indirectly. And at the least, Maran broke a few of your ribs for you. I heard them go."

His eyes widened. "You bastard! You were the one who took on Berys while she knocked me out! You and that whore Maran ruined my life!" Marik cursed, throwing down his lantern. He grabbed the front of my tunic to steady himself and threw a punch at me with all his strength. I saw it coming and managed to turn my face away enough tp save my nose, but my jaw hurt like hell—and I could do nothing but wait for the next one.

"Your courage astounds me, Father," drawled Lanen sarcastically as Marik drew back for a worse blow. "Striking a helpless man. Such daring."

He stepped over to where she was held and slapped her, hard. "Mock while you can, Daughter," he snarled, turning the last word into a curse. "You're demon fodder."

"Leave off, Marik, I need that one," murmured Berys. "Come, it's time. You," he called to one of the guards, "bring her to the altar." It was only a few steps. No!

"Damn you, let her alone!" I shouted, stupidly.

It was come, then. My ending, or the start of some foul half-life I dared not even think on. I was still held by Berys's spell, which I could do nothing about. Terror gripped me, gut-wrenching, breath-stealing terror.

That was what did it, I think.

I have always gone straight from fear to anger, and the greater the fear, the deeper the anger. But what took me over was not anger, or not only anger. It was—it was most like that moment when you first become aware and leave childhood behind forever; or when you first had to deal with death and you realised that life is always too short. I felt the change in my breath, in my blood, in the very beating of my heart, and it happened between one instant and the next. My very vision changed—it was the difference between looking at rain through thick glass and stepping out into a thunderstorm, when you can not only see but feel and hear the downpour and smell every drop. And it was not vision only that was affected. I had always known Berys was evil but now I could see it, and worse yet I could smell it. He reeked, a stench like rotten meat but much worse, coming off him in waves. I was hard put to it not to retch. He was my death and he stood there smiling.

And the soul's-fire I had discovered in that dry hopeless place exploded like a newborn star.

I threw back my head and cried aloud, words I didn't understand, and a great pulse of power blazed from me. The guard screamed and let go, Marik staggered backwards and fell, and I could feel Berys s will shatter and saw him reeling from the shock. I could move.

I often wonder what would have happened next if the wall hadn't disappeared.

I was trying still to master myself in the face of whatever the Hells the girl had done when I felt it, a rumble deeper than sound that shook my feet—there was no more warning than that, thanks to Berys's brilliant idea to keep us all from being distracted by sounds from outside—and my nightmare rose howling before me.

I could neither move nor act, I could not think, I could only stare and scream. I had dreamed this so many times, dreading it both mad and sane, seen it again and again—but this was not in some distant place, half legend, where dragons dwelt and anything might happen. This was not some light timber frame wall being torn away. The walls of the College were of shaped stone, three feet thick and centuries old, and that monster pulled down fifteen feet of wall at once. It was twice the size of the silver one, its head barely fit within the room, its vast bronze jaws agape and roaring, tearing down more of the wall to get at me.

I felt someone take me by the arm to throw me to it. I fought with all my strength, but that grip was iron. A brilliant fight flared before my eyes and I was tossed into it, whether I would or no.

A moment of nothing, a moment in which nor breath nor light existed, and I stumbled out onto a high platform under quiet stars. There were high mountains around about me with snow on their sharp summits, ghostly in the pale moonlight. It was peaceful, a good place, it almost looked familiar—so long ago—faint memories of years long past, coming to the top of this tower as a child, wrapped in a bear skin to keep warm, gazing with delight on the mountains in winter . .. bloody Hells.

I was home. Castle Gundar. Halfway across the world] Those were the East Mountains around my home. I knew them all by name, I'd spent years clambering among them—Old Woman, Cloud Catcher, Demons Tooth, the Needle, the Three Sisters— only—how the Hells was I come here?

I took a step, tripped over a loose stone, and fell against something—someone—

It was Berys, at my side. Looking pleased with himself.

As soon as Berys and Marik disappeared, Shikrar drew his head back out of the room—just as well, he didn't really fit. Jamie and I scrambled over the rubble of the wall. Shikrar for all his size was hard to see in the fitful moonlight, but there by his feet—a tiny figure—

Oh, dear Goddess.

Varien. Varien. Varien.

I ran towards him and we met with a thump, arms wrapped round one another, and held on as though we would never let go. I was swearing at him—"Damn you, Varien, where have you been, I couldn't hear you, I thought that bastard had killed you"—but I am not certain that he heard me. He was muttering much the same nonsense, after all, and we kept interrupting ourselves as we kissed frantically.

Of course, it couldn't last. He had just managed to control himself so far as to lean back within my arms and look at me, when with the loudest noise I had ever heard a great light burst into the dark sky, flames leaping high against the stars, and bits of masonry began to rain down upon us.

The College was burning.

"NO!" cried Rikard, sprinting towards the doors. I managed to catch him and haul him back just in time, for Shikrar would have trampled him as he hurried towards the fire. I only just noticed Kedra landing outside the College walls.

I had only seen Shikrar briefly in the fight in the High Field, burning off the little demons: I had been dealing with my own distractions when he took on the big Raksha. After that, despite his great size, he had impressed me mainly as being wise and calm as we spoke together on the way down from the mountains. True enough, his sheer size was a threat, but it was hard to know what kind of real power he could wield. I had just watched him tear apart stone walls with no apparent effort, but I still wasn't ready. He moved across the courtyard like a snake through water.

"For Shia's sake, let me go!" shouted Rikard, wrenching himself free. He ran like a man demented and began pounding uselessly at the doors of the burning building, unlocked but unmoving. "There are people trapped in there!"

Shikrar stood before the doors. "Stand away, Gedri," he said, that vast ancient voice deep and resonant in the courtyard.

I hadn't thought Rikard could move that fast. Just as well I was wrong.

Shikrar tore open the doors like a child tearing a leaf of grass, and flung them to the stones. Several dozen people rushed out, fire behind them, terror in their eyes. Some were shouting, some were screaming, some were wide-eyed and staring and looked as if they would never speak again. Vilkas and Aral, borne hither by Kedra, ran to help their comrades.

Magister Rikard did well then, drawing them all away to the far side of the courtyard, asking, listening, calming. In moments he returned and began to speak, his voice impossibly steady.

"Berys has murdered the Magistri with the help of a huge Rak-sha and a horde of the Rikti—and when the Magistri were gone, he set them loose on the students and left." Rikards voice cracked. "From what some of them said, he was dared to call on one of the Lords of Hell. These"—he gestured back at the little group huddled by the shattered gates—"only got out because the demons took Berys's guards along with everyone else. These folk were closer to the doors and they had the presence of mind to run. They—we—Shia save us," he shuddered, his voice cracking at last. "We are all that is left."

A huge voice laughed on the wind, a laugh that racked my body with one great shudder, so heavy it was with evil. We all turned to see the vast figure that rose up, surrounded by the flames that consumed the College, seeming to enjoy their heat. It was the size of Shikrar but more nearly human in form, though horned and fanged in a hideous mockery of the Kantri. "Soon not even you, little wizard," it cackled, and spat at Rikard. A ball of poisonous green fire burned towards where Rikard stood staring aghast. He raised the best shield of his Healer s aura that he could muster, but it looked pale and weak in the light of that obscene fire. I was too far away to help, too far away to do anything but watch him die—when the balefire was batted out of the air by a dark wing, striking the ground with a loud hiss and smoking poi-sonously on the cobbles.

Shikrar flew high, foulness spurning.

Fury fuelled him, fanned his anger, drove him upwards: urgent his desire, swiftly to deal death to the demon.

Words cannot do him justice. I had never seen him fly so brilliantly, never in all our long lives together. Lanen and I held each other and watched in awe. He spiralled high on the updraft from the flames, keeping out of his enemy's reach, gaming height, watching the demon's every move keenly.

There in the midst of burning stone, grown vast on its obscene feast of flesh, was the Lord of the Fifth Hell, a huge Rak-sha. It grew in its wrath, trying to make itself as large as Shikrar, but it was trapped—it seems even Berys had some sense left, and had not loosed it to rampage where it would. The thing was bound, likely to the building: if the building were destroyed, it might find itself untrammelled.

The flames, fanned by the wild wind, bothered it no more than they did Shikrar, but it seemed to take a passing pleasure in the destruction the fire was causing. It started to lean over towards us, but Shikrar swooped down and breathed Fire upon it as he passed—not the puny flames that humans know, but the true Fire that is part of our being. The distraction worked, though the demon managed to move out of the way of the flame. For the most part. We all saw the scorch mark on its upper arm.

It laughed. I knew about the Lords of Hell and was prepared, but several of the students were violently sick at the sound. So would Death itself laugh to see a world dying of plague.

"So, the great Kantri are reduced to this? A little firebrand to tickle me. Eat stone, dragon!" it cried, and wrenching off a great lump of stone, threw it at Shikrar.

With the merest flick of his wings Shikrar avoided the missile.

This seemed to amuse the creature, for it tore off larger and larger sections of wall to throw at him. None of them came very close, for Shikrar watched the Rakshas every move. When it stooped for a moment to break off more stone, he darted in and struck with fangs and claws, tearing a great hole in its shoulder, ripping gashes in its flesh as he passed swifdy out of reach again, away from the long arms and poisonous claws. He was forced to swerve again and again as the thing grabbed at him, but it was soon clear that he was wearing it down, flying in, biting and away before he could be touched, tearing holes in the foul flesh, darting away out of reach as its claws tried to score his armour and failed to find purchase.

At last, though, his boldness was his downfall. The Raksha, in real pain now, grabbed for him as he shot past a little too close. It caught the tip of his tail, throwing him off balance in the air before the edged scales cut deep into the demon's hand. It cried out but held on. Shikrar beat his wings furiously but he could not get free.

I was glad I had not eaten, for when my stomach heaved when the thing laughed, there was nothing to come up. Being so near to so evil a creature sickened me to my bones. Aral held my arm when I doubled over, and I swear I could feel her thought travel through her hand.

"I can't fight it, Aral!" I cried, shaking her off. "It's too big!"

"What does physical size have to do with anything in the realm of the soul?" she asked, far too reasonably for my liking. "Even if you can just distract it from Shikrar, that would be something!"

I grabbed her arm and drew her to me, so that our faces all but touched. "Damn it, woman, don't you understand?' I snarled, barely above a whisper. "It's all I can do not to fall to my knees. I'm shaking so badly I can barely stand. I'm afraid, Aral. I am by damn petrified and I can't do a sodding thing about it!"

She shook me off, her anger matching mine. "If you could direct just a fraction of that anger towards the right object, we'd be a damned sight better off." She turned towards the battle. I could see her aura glowing around her, bright and strong, but then she stopped. Swiftly she drew out of her tunic the pouch that hung around her neck. "Please, Lady," she said as she drew out the great ruby and held it to her heart with her left hand. "Hear me. Your kinsman has need of your aid."

Suddenly her aura was twice as bright, and within the blue there shone a corona of red light clear as the noonday sun through finest stained glass.

The demon had hold of Shikrar's tail and was drawing him nearer, despite Shikrars desperate effort to get away. Aral lifted her right hand in a fist and sent her power to surround the Raksha s hand. Her arm shook, then her whole body—and her fingers began to open.

So did the demon's.

The red light from the soulgem twined around Aral's sending, pulsing, and the Raksha shook to that pulse as it fought. It reached across, trying to grip Shikrars tail with its other hand, claws grasping—Aral stood shaking as she used every ounce of her strength to hold the thing still, just for a moment.

It worked. Just for a moment, but it was enough. The demon, furious, could not move. Shikrar turned back and, using his rear claws, slashed deeply at the wrist of the hand that held him. Aral's strength failed and her aura winked out. The Raksha, suddenly able to move again, watched the sharp scales on Shikrars tail slice through the remains of its ruined hand. It screamed and spat balefire at Shikrar as he climbed. The green fire landed on Shikrar's back, searing, and it was Shikrars turn to cry out.

The Raksha's cry had been music to my heart. Shikrar's pain, I swear, screamed along my own back.

Shikrar, moving awkwardly now but out of reach, flamed his fangs and claws clean as he climbed. His fire appeared diminished, and he was favouring his injured shoulder.

He spoke then, and I truly feared for hirn: he sounded desperately weary, in pain and out of breath. "Be warned, creature. I am the Eldest of the Kantrishakrim. Quit this place and return to the Fifth Hell, or by my soul I swear you will know the True Death." And still he climbed.

It laughed again, despite its mangled hand. "As if you could deal it to me! I have been loosed among men, I have feasted on souls and flesh and fear this night. I will have a taste of dragon to season all, as none of my kind have known this long age past!"

It is very difficult to judge distances at night, especially if you are looking straight up. Shikrar had been beating his wings less and less often. When the creature began its speech, he seemed to reach the end of his strength and seemed to be falling. The demon laughed and opened its arms to crush and rend him.

But this was Teacher-Shikrar, who had instructed every Kantri youngling for the last thousand years in the art of flight, who had often boasted even to me that he had not taught us everything he knew. It is true, he was falling. Directly at the demon. Very, very fast.

The Raksha reached out with both arms, its ruined hand hanging loose, ready to grapple with Shikrar at last. The rows and rows of teeth in that distorted mouth gleamed in the light of the dancing fire. Shikrar was dropping like a stone, arrowing directly at its face, claws and wings held close as if he did not dare to attack— as if he were protecting himself—but—he held his furled wings close by his sides, not tucked over his back.

What in the name of sense is this, my friend? I wondered, but did not dare to use truespeech lest I distract him.

—and at the last instant he swerved and pulled up at what seemed an impossible angle, using just the tiniest bit of wingtip, arcing backwards and up and rolling as he went, along the line of his descent. He seemed to miss the demon entirely, except for his tail—which he struck deeply and embedded in the thing's torso as he passed. His momentum threw him around it at in- credible speed, but at a bizarre angle that it didn't seem able to anticipate. Shikrar's long supple body quickly wrapped around the Raksha, but it managed to get one arm free and raised it to strike.

Its ruined hand dangled useless from the raised arm, mocking it, as Shikrar s full length was thrown around the creature s torso faster and faster. His razor-sharp foreclaws sliced around its throat as he whipped around, and he used the last of his wild momentum to slam his upper fangs against its armoured head.

By the time the Lord of the Fifth Hell realised what was happening it was already dead.

Shikrar had managed to lock his foreclaws about its spurting throat and—he closed his hands. The deadly claws sliced that hideous flesh like so many swords, and at the last the sound of bone snapping was sharp in the night air. The thing collapsed. Shikrar unwrapped himself from it, threw it off him, and drew in a deep breath. I drew my own with him, nearly choking as I tried to force my human throat to breathe Fire. He seared the head first, to ashes; then the body, scorching the surrounding stones clean of every drop of Raksha blood, every trace of balefire.

The wild winds had died about the same time as the Lord of the Fifth Hell, but the fire that had destroyed the College burned on. As Rikard began to organise the survivors to put out the blaze, I moved near to my old friend.

"Shikrar, my friend, I owe you everything," I said. "Life, love, and all. And to think I used to consider myself a decent flyer! Never will I say that again, my word to the Winds, while yet you live."

"If I'd flown a little better the damned thing would have missed me altogether," he said, his wings drooping in the Attitude of Pain and his voice strained.

"So you are not yet without flaw? Even after all this time?" I chided him gendy.

It raised a tiny hiss of amusement. "It seems not," he replied, and his voice quavered a little.

"Shock, I expect," said a deep voice behind me, and the Healer Vilkas strode forward, pale in the firelight that still flared in the ruins of the College. "Or reaction. Or loss of blood. Most likely all three. Do you permit, Lord Shikrar?" asked Vilkas, drawing his power to him.

"As swiftly as you may, Mage Vilkas," said Shikrar, his voice shaking plainly now with pain and exhaustion.

"Aral?" said Vilkas softly. That lovely young woman moved to join him, the soulgem still clutched in her left hand, but before she could summon her aura once again Shikrar swiftly moved his huge head very close to her. I was proud of her, for she hardly flinched at all.

"Lady Aral," he said softly, "I had lost that fight ere I had well begun, were it not for your aid. I am in your debt."

She did not speak, but reached out her right hand, tentatively, and touched his mask. He bowed to her touch. I turned my face away.

Vilkas was glowing brightly. He led Aral around to the wound I on Shikrar s back and right flank.

I would not have believed it if I had not seen it. Perhaps it was the strength of the soulgem, perhaps it was the response of Aral's soul to Shikrar's kindness, and perhaps it was simply that Vilkas, frustrated at being of no service in the struggle, was intent on proving his worth. They did not cover over the wound, as we would have done with khaadish. They healed it from the inside I out: Raksha-trace washed away with Healer's fire, bone-scorch soothed and burnt muscle renewed, blistered flesh eased, torn and melted scale made whole before my eyes. It took them the 1 better part of an hour, but they healed Shikrar as we watched. 1 When their task was done, the only indication that he had been wounded was the outline of new scale, lighter than the rest, where that terrible burn had been.

"You who have not flown before, be warned," Kedra had said, flexing his wings as we climbed into his hands. "It is a wild night for flying. The air is full of sudden drops and cross-currents this night. It will be rough aloft."

That was when I learned that dragons are liars. It wasn't rough aloft, it was bloody terrifying aloft. Still, K6dra got us there alive, so I was inclined to forgive him. I did wish at the time that it hadn't been so dark, or so frightening, because I didn't expect to have the chance to fly again.

He landed outside the wall just as Shikrar released the survivors from the Great Hall. Vil and Aral went to join their friends; the rest of us milled about, helpless, but not willing to leave.

My eye was drawn first to a pair of observers—actually, they stood so close together it was hard to make out that they were two people. As it should be.

Once I knew that Lanen was free and safe in her husband's arms, I found a quiet corner from which to watch the proceedings. It was obvious that greater folk than I were needed, and they all rose to the challenge. When the students were taken to The Brewer's Arms I followed, and managed to get a room to myself. To be honest, I didn't want anyone around who might smell Raksha-trace on me and overreact.

Maran, you're at it again.

To be honest, I wanted to be by myself to think things over. I had seen Lanen in the wild firelight. Truth to tell, my eyes had not left her. She had stood, her arms around Varien, all through the battle. If she'd been in pain, injured, tortured, she could not have done so. In fact she hardly let go her husband all through the battle, all through the aftermath—and he held her every bit as tight.

What did she need me for? What would she gain by seeing me? At this stage, surely I would only remind her of unhappiness. I could leave tomorrow, while the rest of them were busy making whatever plans were to be made. Just slip away, unnoticed. No one would miss me, least of all the daughter I'd never known.

Aye, Maran. You've been saying the same thing for the last twenty years, but you're here now. You've come the width of Kol-mar to get here and got the blisters to prove it. Goddess, you're a coward.

I shuddered. Truth is awful. I am a coward. That night, at that moment, I could no more walk up to my daughter and greet her than flap my arms and fly.

Weariness saved me, in the end. I was too damned tired to wake early and leave. As I laid my head on the pillow, my last coherent thought was, Perhaps it will look different in the morning. Goddess be my aid, let it look different in the morning.

VRikard turned to me in amazement when Vilkas and Aral set to work. "Sweet Lady Shia! I'd no idea we could heal those creatures!"

"I'm not sure anyone else could," I said. I was well impressed. "I know young Vilkas is capable of astounding work with people, but this ..."

"Do you have any food for them?" asked Rikard suddenly. "Healing a human is hard enough on the body. They're going to be starving."

"Hells. No," I said. I'd forgotten that Healers need food and drink and a great deal of rest after working. As do their patients.

"I'll arrange something, for all of them," said Rikard. He turned to go, then paused and turned back. "Ah—do you know what— er—dragons eat?'

I blinked. "I haven't the faintest notion. Cattle, perhaps?" I considered the creatures' teeth. "You'd think they'd need a great deal of whatever it is. Fresh meat surely never hurt anything with teeth like that."

Rikard went off muttering, but in the end he was saved the effort. Rella had more sense than the rest of us. She had held back during the fight—or at least, I hadn't seen her—but she appeared now, leading a cow with a rope, while Rikard was still trying to gather those students who were capable of movement. Behind her came Hygel, bearing bread and ale and a promise of beds, or at least a roof and a blanket, for those who required them.

Rikard very kindly obliged by looking after the rest of us— Lanens infected demon wounds, my aching jaw and demon scratches. As for the others, when the last scale was restored, when they at last released their combined power, Vilkas and Aral drew a deep breath, drank each a full pint of ale without pause, and proceeded to eat enough for four men between them, along with another pint each. When at last they were replete, Rella, Will, and I helped them stagger after Rikard and the meagre remnants of the College of Mages towards The Brewer's Arms. They just about managed to stay awake long enough to fall into their beds. Rella and I left them there.

Shikrar and the one I learned was his son spoke at length, Ke-dra having a good long look at his father's now-healed wound. He did not linger once his father started to eat, but took off again, flying northward. Shikrar finished eating, gave a great sigh, laid his head on his forearms there in the courtyard of the ruined College, bade us good night, and slept.

Varien and Lanen were nowhere to be seen.

I was weary as well, but my heart and head churned too much to allow for sleep just then. I had started pacing and thinking when I heard a small sigh. Lifting my head, I found Rella leaning against the wreck of a wall, watching me. Her face had a glow about it that at first I put down to being too near the remains of the fire; then I blinked and realised that it was the first hint of morning.

The opening of another day, this one more full of hope than I had dared trust to since that terrible morning Lanen was stolen away. She was safe now—I had found her and got her out of that ghastly place—though truth to tell, I wanted very much to know what in all the Hells that was that happened when she yelled at Berys. I think that was the first time it truly struck me that we might not have found her in time. That she might have died at Berys s hands before we could reach her. I hadn't let myself even consider that before, not for a moment.

Rella came up to me and silently put her hands on my shoulders. I closed my eyes and clasped her to me with all my strength, like a drowning man clutching at his last hope of air. "Goddess, Rella," I choked, my lips against her hair, my voice fighting its way past a throat closing, stupidly, at the thought of what might have been.

"Not yet, heart, but I'm working on it," she said lightly.

"Rella, she could have died. What if he had murdered her, eh? What if I had been too late? It was near as a toucher, my girl," I said, starting to tremble. "Berys had us. He had me, Rella, and I couldn't do a damn thing."

Her arms tightened around me, strong but gentle. "I know, heart. I know."

"This is stupid!" I cried, evoking a whiffle from the sleeping Shikrar. "She is safe now, we are all still alive, all is well—"

"Jamie—"

"Goddess, Rella," I said, my voice barely a whisper, "I nearly lost her!"

I wept then, at last, bitterly, loosing the tears that I had locked away to make my anger serve me. Rella held me until the storm passed, then stood a little back and smoothed my hair from my eyes. "What happened?" she asked.

I told her and found that the telling eased my heart. Rella's staunch sense steadied me, kept me to the point, until I came to the last of the tale. When I told her of Lanen's outburst—"And I swear, Rella, she glowed like a fire for a moment there"—and what it had done to Berys, though, Rella drew in a sharp breath and made me go over everything in great detail.

"You have no idea what she said?" she asked, her eyes piercing.

"I've told you, I didn't even recognise the language."

And once again, Rella astounded me.

"Did it sound like this?" she asked, and proceeded to say the same thing Lanen had come out with, as best I could tell. This time, though, there was no pulse of light, no shattering of something I couldn't see, no yelling demon-master. Thank the Lady.

"Hells take it, Rella!" I breathed. "That's it, or near it as damn it. What in all the world?"

Rella shivered and looked away. "Goddess, Jamie. That's—I thought only Her Servants ever did that."

She fell silent until I prodded, "Did what? Rella, what did she do?"

Still staring at nothing, she replied, "Servants of the Lady for years and years, dear to Her, deep in Her Service, are sometimes known to overcome some dreadful peril through the gift of the Voice of the Goddess."

"Which is?"

"It's what it says it is, Jamie," she said, finally looking into my eyes. "Mother Shia blesses those individuals, just for a moment, an instant, and says those words through them. Nobody knows what they mean, but nothing can stand against them."

"That I can well believe," I said, frowning. "Berys was thrown and no mistake."

Rella shook her head. "It's not that easy, Jamie," she sighed. "The balance, remember? The great Powers always find balance."

"And what form does that balance take?" I asked solemnly.

"Death, usually. Oh, not the Servant, unless they are very old," she said quickly, "but—Jamie, every single time someone has been granted the Voice of the Lady, someone close to the Servant, someone they value dearly, has died within a se'ennight."

Her eyes brimmed with tears—she, my rock, who was strong and held herself distant from such displays, had tears in her eyes.

I took her by both shoulders and gazed into her eyes. "Rella, what will happen will happen. She is safe. Lanen my daughter is safe. I'm not worried about what happens to me now."

"Damn you," she snarled, shaking my hands off and dashing the tears from her eyes, "I am! Don't you dare die on me now, Jamefh of Arinoc, I'll never forgive you!"

I reached out again and drew her to me, held her so close I could feel her heart beating against mine. We stood there, comforting one another in silence, until false dawn gave way at last to true and a shaft of brilliant sunlight suddenly blazed across us both. I shivered.

She drew away from me gently and shook her head. "Besides, that girl seems to break all the rules. Maybe she'll break this one as well," she said quietly, blinking in the brightness of dawn. "And you've never asked what happened while you were being a hero here in Verfaren. You missed a lot by leaving the rest of us early."

"I saw them land," I said, smiling.

"More than that, Jamie. Beyond belief more than that."

I waited.

"The Lost have been restored," she said quietly. "It was amazing, remind me to tell you all about it when I'm awake. That's why we took so long to get here. There were nearly two hundred of them. It was Shikrar who did it, and Varien, and"—her voice fell to almost nothing—"and Maran."

"What!" I cried.

"Yes, she's here," she said, her voice still calm and soft. "And with her, by chance or Fate or the Goddess Herself, has come our best hope of finding Berys again, if you're still determined to do so now Lanen is safe. There's a good chance we can learn where he is this very day."

Oh. Of course. "Maran's brought that Hells-be-damned Farseer, hasn't she?" I growled.

Rella sighed. "Yes. Still, I'm not disposed to object too strongly. Demon-made as it is, we can make it serve us. In fact it already has, that's how the Lost were restored. All three of them touching the Farseer." She turned her head away for a moment. "It wasn't like the little ones, the Lesser Kindred. There was precious little joy in any of them, and—Goddess—some of them had been aware the whole time. Five thousand years." She shuddered and looked back to me. "Those were the ones that killed themselves."

"Hells," I muttered. "What of the rest?"

"They seem to be doing well enough, for now. I don't think we'll really know how they are until they've all had food and sleep. They all went away to a quiet place a friend of Will's is providing. For a consideration," she said, managing a smile. "Salera's with them for now as well, though I don't think she'll stay away from Will for long. Or leave Varien and Lanen unattended. She and all her people practically think those two are gods, after all." She snorted. "The Lo—oh, no, they want to be called the Restored—they could barely stand to look at either Varien or Maran, despite what they'd done, and they studiously ignored the rest of us." Rella sighed. "I think that was the best they could do. Then-hatred of humans runs awfully deep."

"Maran," I said, shaking my head, which was now filled with the most amazing visions, and smiling despite myself. "Helping dragons restore the Lost. And before today I'd wager my life she'd never seen one before. Took them in her stride, did she?"

Rella nodded, her own smile more strained now.

"How in all the Hells did she end up here, anyway?" I asked. "Unless she was—ah." I faded to a halt. "She came looking for Lanen, didn't she?"

Rella nodded.

I turned away, a mad mixture of relief, delight, anger, and hope fighting for first place in my heart. "Why now, after all this time?" I muttered, mostly to myself, but Rella's hearing is excellent.

"Seems she saw what was happening to us all and decided she had to—I don't know—make her peace. Help her daughter. Do something." Rella's tone of voice was decidedly dry. "Just don't ask me why she didn't damn weD do this years ago. I've tried to persuade her to it since I met her."

"She's not an easy one to persuade into doing anything, as I'm sure you've discovered," I said wryly, evoking a muffled "ha!" of agreement. I turned back to face Rella. The sunrise had brought a flush of youth to her face, mantling her cheeks for that brief moment with the gentle rose of dawn—but the marks of old pain and a hard life were etched in her skin. They gave her a singular character, showed a deep inner strength that simple youth could never hold a candle to. "You look well in the light, you know," I said, reaching out to stroke her cheek.

She moved away from my touch. "You know that Maran has loved no one but you all her life," she said, locking her gaze on me. "It's very powerful, that kind of thing." She lifted her chin. "Seductive." When I didn't rise to the bait, she sighed and just looked at me. "What are you going to tell her, Jamie?"

"What is it you fear, my heart?" I asked, quietly. "That I will race back into her arms and forget all about you?" I frowned. This wasn't simple jealousy, which I might have expected. I should have known, nothing about Rella has ever been simple. It had the same tang to it, indeed, but it was something else.

Rella held her head high. "Lanen's the very image of her, Jamie. The years have been kind. She's tall and strong yet, she hardly looks her age—"

"Rella, what is this?" I interrupted.

She ignored me. "And her back is straight, and she's a good soul, and I have never seen anything but sheer adoration in her eyes when she speaks of you."

Rella, you wonderful idiot, I've got you now, I thought, for I realised now exactly what was troubling her. Goddess, I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it. "And she doesn't have your sharp edges, and really any man with eyes could only make one choice, is that it?" I said sharply, challenging her. Rella, risen to prominence in the demanding ranks of the Silent Service, a warrior with a brilliant mind and enough character for any three people, had no confidence at all in herself as a woman.

"That's it," she said stiffly.

I stared at her for a moment. "The dawn light really is lovely on your skin, you know," I said, touching her cheek gently. She sobbed and made to turn away, but I drew her to me and held her close with all my strength. "Do you think I'd let you go now I've found you?" I muttered into her hair. "And here I thought you J were meant to be bright."

"Bright enough to know when trouble's coming," she said softly.

"No, my heart. At least, there's no trouble coming between the three of us." I loosed her enough to look into her eyes again. "I'm yours, Rella, as long as you want me," I said. "I won't pretend Maran isn't dear to me, of course she is. Lanen is my daughter in every way that matters, and Maran is her mother. I can't escape that connection, nor would I want to." I kissed her gently. "Maran walked out of my life more than twenty years gone without a word of farewell. It took me years to forgive her, but you may take my word upon it that I do not harbour any visions of lost love for her." I smiled. "At least I don't want to punch her anymore." Rella answered my smile with a rather more mischievous one. 'The honest truth is that you fill my heart, Rella. There is room there for friendship, there is room for Lanen, but as for my heart's own—that room is taken by you alone."

After a rather longer and more intense kiss, I sighed.

"What now, dear?" she asked, comfortable in my arms.

"It has occurred to me that I may well have to introduce Maran to her daughter."

"Ow," said Rella, wincing.

"Indeed. I don't expect it to be a particularly loving meeting."

Rella grinned wickedly. "I do admire your capacity for understatement. I expect they'll hear them in Elimar."

I grinned back at her. "Well, in the end it's their headache, not ours. Still, it strikes me as strange. She must have left Beskin months ago. How could she know what was going to happen?"

Rella gazed at me. "It's not so very odd. I know Maran well, Jamie, better in some ways than you, now." She drew back, her arms still around my waist. "She has a damned strange way of showing it, but she has always loved her daughter fiercely."

"Just as well. Lanen deserves it," I said. "And 'fierce' is a good quality to have just now. I was so damned helpless, Rella. I thought I could fight any man or woman in the world, but Berys is pouring out his own power like water and using demons like a mad general uses conscripts—throwing them heedlessly into the front of any battle to disrupt the enemy. Us."

"We don't have to go after him, you know," she said. "He's gotten away..."

"Yes, that's the problem," I growled. "He's just killed who knows how many Magistri, and nearly the whole of the next generation of young Healers, and he's gotten away. Again. If I can track him down, I will, but I'll need help."

She grinned. "You know Vilkas was out for his blood before. This night won't have soothed his feelings at all. The good news is, we've got some damned fine help on our side. And by the Goddess, we've got the demons' natural enemies as well—three full by-our-Lady races of them! We'll just have to think of a way to work together."

I held her close again, not speaking. I had forgotten how much simple human comfort there was in the touch of one you love. And Rella, who knew me far too well even then, said into my ear, "Lanen's safe and well, Jamie, and if it means so much to you, we'll find that bastard and make him pay. I swear it by my back."

I straightened, moved a little away to look at her. 'Tour back?"

"It's the one real, true thing I can count on in this world," she said, one side of her mouth raised in a wry smile. "It may be crooked and it may not work overwell, but when I hear the creaks and feel the pains from it I never have any illusions about what's true and what isn't."

"I've given up my illusions," I said, holding her tight.

"Good, my heart," she whispered. "Truth is always better."