The Lesser Kindred

II The Place of Exile

Hear now the words of the Eldest, the Keeper of Souls of the Greater Kindred. Here I commit my soul to the Winds and give you my name for truth-fasting: I am Hadretikantishikrar of the line of Issdra.

Hear now the truth of those times that changed the world.

I woke in darkness with a start and knew that something was wrong. I had been drowned deep in the healing Weh sleep, so that struggling back to awareness was not unusual in itself—but the air tingled and the ground felt strange beneath me. The Weh always leaves a feeling of new health and strength, especially in one as old as I, but this was different. My heart was pounding and fire grew within me, a reflection of what I could only think was fear. Why?

Then the noise that had wakened me struck my ears again, moments after I felt it—a low rumble that started below hearing, a vibration through the deep earth. Without thinking I was out of my chamber and had launched myself into the night before I realised what was happening. I called out in truespeech to the one living soul dearest to me.

"Kedra, my son, where are you?"

"Father? Blessed be the Winds! I called and you did not answer, I feared you still kept the Weh sleep. Are you healed?"

"Nearly, my son. Strong and well enough to fly, at any rate. Where are you, and did you feel the shaking of the ground?"

"I am aloft, my father, with Mirazhe." He sounded almost as if he laughed, and was a little out of breath. "Fear not, your grandson Sherok is in my arms. He is much grown since last you saw him, and this excitement is thrilling him. He has never flown before. Listen."

Sherok, Kedra's littling, was far too young yet to use full truespeech, but through K6dra I listened to his son. What I heard was closer to emotion than to speech or thought, but the littling was no more than a few months old—and he was full of pure delight. "How long have I kept the Weh?" I asked, calmed and pleased by this link with young Sher6k. I could just imagine him in my mind's eye—his tiny scales yet soft, his back ridge still forming and hardening, his stubby tail thrashing in delight. In colour he was a blend of Kedra's and my dark bronze and his mother Mirazhe's bright brassy hide. His soulgem was covered as yet, as was true of all younglings. Sometime in the next nine months the scale that protected it would fall away—but his eyes were golden, a rare colour among our people and most wonderfully beautiful. Not that I am biased, you understand; but grandsires know these things.

"Less than three moons, Father," he replied. "Are you but now roused?"

I tried to gather my scattered thoughts as I sought out the scant winds of the winter's night to help keep me aloft. My flight muscles were stiff, surely, and my shoulder ached from the wound the rakshadakh Marik had given me—ah, that was an evil memory!—but both were recovered enough to heal without further time spent in the Weh sleep.

"The ground has shaken twice?"

"Yes."

"Then the first woke me from deep sleep. It was the second that set me flying." I had been listening but had not heard that threatening rumble again.

A soft voice touched my mind. "Think you it safe to return to the ground yet, Eldest?" It was Erianss, a lady some centuries older than K6dra but still far younger than I, and she sounded annoyed. I stifled the laughter that came to my mind. "I know exactly as much as you do, Erianss. It has not been so many years since the last earthshake, surely you remember." Still, perhaps she had a point. I spoke in the broadest truespeech, that all might hear. "Let those who wish to speak of this meet at noon on the morrow at the Summer Field, away in the south. This is not a Council meeting. I make no demand of any."

"Then I will see you there, Father," said Kedra. "Where are you bound for the rest of this night?"

I had already begun climbing, pushing myself to rise in the cold night air. I would pay for this overexertion tomorrow, but now was the best time to investigate. The fires of the earth are more clearly seen in darkness. "I go north, Kedra, to see what Terash Vor is doing. I will let you know what I have seen."

"Good hunting, then. Mirazhe and the kitling and I will meet you at the Summer Field tomorrow. Mind you keep high and safe in the firewinds, my father."

I hissed my amusement, loud enough for Kedra to hear it in my truespeech. "So I shall, my son, and I thank you for your concern." I did not remind him who had taught him about downdrafts near the firefields, or how long ago. The experience of age can be so burdensome to the young. "Bear my love to Mirazhe."

"I will. Fare you well, Father," said K£dra, and his voice was gone from my mind as it was never absent from my heart. As I worked my way high and north, I thought for a passing moment of tiiose other two whose lives were so closely intertwined with Kedra's and mine—Varien Kantri-akhor, my soulfriend Akhor in his new self, and his lady La-nen Kaelar. I had meant to bespeak them the moment I woke from the Weh sleep, but for now this was me more important task. Still, I wondered how they fared, even as I flew through the cold winter's night towards Terash Vor, the Breathing Mountain, to see what the future held for us all.

Terash Vor is in the centre of the western half of the range of mountains that divide the north of the Dragon Isle from the south. The divide is abrupt where the gentle hills rise sharp and sudden into high peaks five times their height. From the shapes of the mountains it is clear that in the distant past they must all have been of the same kind. I remember hearing my father, Garesh, speak of other mountains in the range burning as well, from time to time.

My people, the Kantri, the Greater Kindred, whom the Gedri children call True Dragons, had lived on this island for nearly five generations—that is to say, as many thousand years—ever since our self-imposed exile from the four Kingdoms of Kolmar on the Day Without End, burned in the memory of our race forever. On that day one single child of the Gedri, the human known only as the Demonlord, arose in a great darkness, and in the space of only a few hours the world was changed.

In those times the Kantri and the Gedri lived together, short lives and long intertwined to the great benefit of each: the long lives of the Kantri gave a sense of time outside their own brief lives to the Gedri, the humans; the swift-living Gedri kept the Kantri from forgetting to live each passing moment for all the joy it held and would never hold again. However, on that dark day a young man, a healer, reached the final abyss of his discontent with the small gifts granted him by the Lady, the great mother-goddess Shia worshipped by the Gedri. He longed to be among the great of his people, but he was not granted that excellence by the Winds—or, the Gedri would say, by the hand of the Goddess that shaped him. In his fury and frustration he made a dreadful pact with the Rakshasa, the Demon-kind, third of the four original peoples (the fourth were the Trelli, all dead long ages since). In exchange for his soul, his very name was taken from him and from all the world for all time, and the Demonlord was granted a hideous power over the Kantri. He began by killing many of bis own people, moving with a speed beyond flight from one kingdom to the next, until he murdered Aidrishaan, one of the Kantri, and for some unknown reason stayed beside the body. Aidrishaan's death scream had reached his mate, Treshak, who told the rest of us instantly through traespeech—for the Kantri are blessed with the ability to speak mind to mind—and we rose, four hundred strong, to destroy this murderer or die in the process. It was not courage, for we have wings and claws, our armour and the fire that is in us and sacred to us: the Gedri are tiny, naked and defenseless before us. No, it was in no sense courage. It was anger. That one of the Gedri should dare to destroy one of the Kantri!

Treshak arrived first, on the wings of fury, and she dove at the Demonlord, claws outstretched, fiery breath scorching the ground whereon he stood—but he was unharmed by her flames, and with a gesture and a single word, Treshak was changed. Even as she flew she dwindled to the size of a youngling, her blue soulgem blazing as she cried out in torment. She fell from the sky, for her wings would no longer bear her up, and as she fell her soulgem was ripped from her by a horde of the Rikti, the minor demons.

It would have been better had the rest of the Kantri stopped to consider what had happened, for clearly no Gedri had ever withstood our fire before, far less done so evil a thing.

We did not.

The fire that is life to us blazed out of control in our madness, and four hundred of the Kantri flew straight at the Demonlord, setting fire to the very air as they flew. The Demonlord spoke rapidly, the same word over and over, and full half of the Kantri fell from the sky and had their soul-gems torn from them.

He could not kill us all, even so. It is said he laughed as he died, as the Rikti around him disappeared in flame—they are the weaker of our life-enemies the Rakshasa and cannot withstand simple dragonfire—but whether he laughed from the heart of his madness at death and pain, or because some darkness in his soul believed even then that he would triumph in the end, we do not know. His body was trampled and torn until the youngest of us, Keakhor by name, called out, "He is dead, we cannot kill him more. For pity's sake look to the wounded."

The Kantri turned then to those who had been crippled by the Demonlord and his servants. We tried to speak to them, but in vain. The truespeech that allows us to speak with one another as we fly, where the rushing winds could not carry speech, also allows us to sense emotion as well as thought, but there was no reason, no trapped mind to touch—simple fear was the only response to our desperate attempts to speak with them. Among the ashes of the Demonlord were found the soulgems that had been ripped from our mates, our children, our parents—and even then the gems bore the taint of their demonic origin. In the course of nature, the soulgems of the dead resemble faceted jewels, and when the Kin-Summoning is performed by the Keeper of Souls they glow from within with a steady light. The summoner may then speak briefly with the dead. These soulgems gleamed— to this day they gleam—at all times from within with a flickering light.

We believe that the souls of our lost Kindred are trapped within, neither alive nor resting in death, and despite endless years of toil and trying they are yet bound.

The bodies of our brothers and sisters had become the bodies of beasts. We could not kill them, for old love, but we could not bear to see them either. They were first called on that day the Lesser Kindred, and it has become our only name for them. They breed now like beasts and live brief, solitary lives. Several among us try to contact the newly born every year but none have had any response. Never in all the long weary years since that time has there been even a shred of hope that one among them might have heard or tried to respond in any way.

We left Kolmar that very day, for already several innocent Gedri healers had been killed by Kantri wild with grief. Those who kept their heads in the midst of evil knew that the two peoples must be sundered until the Kantri who were left could see a human without needing to take swift and fatal revenge for the deeds of the Demonlord.

It has been almost five thousand years since that day, and mere are among the Kantri still those who cannot bear even the thought of the Gedri without a fury rising in them. It does not matter that there are now none left alive who were even the grandchildren of those who were witness to the deed: the cry that Treshak gave when her soul was ripped from her echoes down the aeons, its fury and despair as wrenching and poignant as if it had happened not a day since. The Kantri live for two thousand years, if disease or injury or accident do not intervene, and the great-grandsons and great-great-grandsons of those who were there know the story in the marrow of their bones. Forgiveness is difficult, especially now that—alas!—especially now that our race is failing.

My son Kedra's youngling Sher6k was born in the autumn—ah, he is a perfect littling, you should see his eyes!— but until his birth, the Kantri had gone five hundred years without issue. Our King and my soulfriend, Akhor, has long pondered our decline, but even he with wisdom beyond his years could not tell whence arose this barrenness, or why. We were grown desperate now, lest our race should die out entirely. I prayed to the Winds that Akhor's miraculous transformation might have some great purpose beyond that of uniting him with the soul he loved, that perhaps he might learn from the Gedri something that would succor his own people. If he did not, the black truth was that we were doomed, and Sherok would be the last of us.

I shook my head, breathing deeply of the night air, taking myself through the Discipline of Calm even as I flew, dispersing such darkness of heart. Such thoughts would catch no fish nor lift me a talon's breadth higher as I flew. I tried to concentrate on the problem at hand. I nearly succeeded.

Some have occasionally wondered if the murmuring ground might have anything to do with our present plight. The ground beneath our feet on the island was seldom quiet for long and we were accustomed to its shaking, but it had been growing more disturbed over the last several hundred years, and such violent movement as wakened me from my Weh sleep was rarer yet and demanded investigation. Never mind the fact that my own curiosity would have sent me to the same place, and as quickly—now that I stood in the stead of Akhor, our King who was among the Gedri, I had to think of all of my people. It was a curious feeling. I wondered as I flew whether Akhor had ever grown accustomed to this sense of bearing the Kantri on his wings and in his talons wherever he went, whatever he did.

The sky above the mountain was red and grew redder still as I approached. I had expected something of the sort. When I was still far distant, however, I found that I was not prepared for all. Terash Vor was sending its fiery breath high into the air, one vast stream of fire flowing upwards only to fall again to the ground, like a single burning feather from a bird the size of the sky. I kept my distance as I flew round about it, to learn if there was aught else to see. To my surprise, there were several smaller flows on the north side of the mountain, and a few distant red glows on others in the range showed that this was but the surface of a deep disturbance. I called upon Idai, an elder of the Kantri and an old and trusted friend.

"Idai, may I bespeak you?"

"Of course, Shikrar," came the familiar voice of her thoughts. " What troubles you ? "

"I am at Terash Vor and I would that you might see what I have seen. Will you come to me here ? I shall await you at the Grandfather."

She replied simply, "I come. I shall be with you in the hour."

The Grandfather was the name of the mountain nearest the south, the first that rose dark above the quiet hills below. It was so called for that it had, in some lights, the seeming of a vast black dragon. There was a large ledge on the south side—what would have been part of a back, or a folded wing—where two could stand and speak together. It was often used as a meeting place. I used it on occasion but I never was comfortable there.

We of the Kantri are long-lived, as I have said, seeing as many as two thousand winters in the natural course of things. We are thus not inclined by our natures to take note of anything so short as an hour. However, time passes for us as it does for all creatures, and while I waited for Idai I decided to dare my wings again and take another quick look around the fire plain. By the time I returned to the Grandfather to await her I was deeply troubled.

I had often been to Terash Vor. It usually happened that some time in every kell—every hundred winters—the mountains took a deep shuddering breath and exhaled fire. Some of these episodes were more active and some less, but I had seen this level of fire only once before, when I was little more than a youngling myself. Thus this was the equal of the worst outbreak in living memory, for I am the Eldest of the Kantri. Not for sixteen kells had there been such unrest in the ground. I wondered what it might portend.

Idai bespoke me from a distance as she approached. "Shikrar, how fare you? I had thought you still kept the Weh sleep until I heard your call to the Summer Field on the morrow."

"The ground shook me awake, indeed, hut I am healed enough that the waking has been no hardship."

I heard her gasp of a sudden and felt the fear in her mind, and I knew she had seen the great plume of fire. "Name of the Winds, Shikrar! What has so blasted the very rock that it thus bums in anger?" She spoke aloud then as she landed beside me, her great wings almost fluttered as she came to earth. I had seldom seen her so agitated. "I have never seen such a thing."

"I have, but I was barely fledged the last time. Come aloft again with me, let us take as close a look as we may."

We leapt from the ledge, spreading wings wide, and took advantage of the fire-made updrafts to keep us high aloft. We investigated the patches of brightness on the other moun-lains and found little to comfort us. It was a great outbreak, and like drenching rain on hard-baked ground it had spread far and wide. The flows on the north of Terash Vor were a little unusual; the fact that three other peaks in the range were also gushing fire was cause for deep concern.

It seemed every bit as bad as the memory from my youth, and I well remembered that at the time there had been much debate about our future on the island. The necessity of having to leave had been seriously discussed. Only the dying of the mountains' fire had ended the debate. I could not, however, trust simply to memory for something so important.

As Idai and I turned away south again, towards our chambers and the Great Hall, I bespoke my son. "Kedra, are ye landed safe and well? "

His voice sounded strong and confident in my mind and below all ran a current of quiet delight like a strong river. "We are, Father, and Sherdk is already pleading to go aloft again! He seems to have quite a taste for it. What have you found?"

"Much, and none of it of comfort. I fear I must ask for your assistance. Is Mirazhe well enough to care for Sherok without you? I will require you for the Kin-Summoning at the next dark of the moon."

"She is, my father," he replied, instantly somber. "I will begin my preparations."

"You need not act quite so swiftly as that!" I replied, hissing my amusement even as I flew. "I must speak with as many as come to the Summer Field at noon, and we shall have more than a full moon before I am prepared for the Summoning. However, if you will meet with me in the Chamber of Souls at dusk of the coming day we can begin our preparations."

He agreed and bade me farewell. Idai and I flew in silence back to our several chambers, for we both had much to consider.

It is done! I have begun this record of my acts, on the eve of my flowering. For the price I have paid to the Rakshasa, the greater of the two races of the demons, my thoughts and actions will appear on these pages, for I wish to remember all but cannot spare the time to write at day's end when what I require is sleep. A minor making this, compared to others I have done and shall do, but well worth the time it will save. This book will be my secret and my truth, that when I am finally raised to my deserved eminence and all of Kolmar is at my feet for as long as I wish it, those I hold in thrall may read how they were defeated. Their despair will add greatly to my rejoicing.

Once the journal was accomplished, the time was come to summon back the demon I had sent to find Marik's daughter. A minor summoning with a binding woven in and it arrived, cords and all ready to my hand. I tightened my grip on the binding and the thing writhed.

"Speak and be freed," I said. "Where is she?"

"Followed the trace I have, foolish one, but find her I cannot," it hissed. "Release me and you sshall live."

"I have paid well for your services, little Rikti. Your threats are empty and your life or your service forfeit. Speak!"

"Shee isss hidden!" it cried.

I tugged hard on the binding and it screeched its pain, high and agonized. Good. "Do you tell me that you cannot lind her?" I spat. "Do you speak to me of your own death, worm?"

The Rikti hissed as I released the pressure to let it speak. "I bear no fault for that the one you sseek iss invisible. She hass been ssought throughout both worldss, but a veil iss about her and a fear liess on her name."

"A fear? What kind of fear can affect the Rikti?"

I knew the only possible answer even before it spoke, but I wanted to hear its version.

"Kantrissshakrim," it hissed. "She iss protected—there musst be one that iss ever at her sside. It would cosst my life to go nigh her," it said with a sneer, "and for that you have not paid."

"Your life is mine if you do not complete the pact," I

snarled. Its petty self-importance annoyed me and I tugged again at the binding charm. It screamed nicely until I released it again. "Now, filth, tell me where she is to be found. If there is a True Dragon in Kolmar it must burn in your sight like iron in the fire's heart. Where?"

"There are two, Masster, and I do not know which guardss the prey. Which would you hear of for your price?"

"Bom, creature, or you shall serve me a year for each drop of blood I have paid you."

It hissed and struggled to free itself, but it knew that I had the right to make the demand and the power to enforce it. Finally it stood on all of its legs and peered past my shoulder, several of its eyes staring intently at nothing. "The firsst liess in the high hills north of here, a sstrangeness in the high passess that reeks of drragon, that iss and isss not Kantris-shakrim. The ssecond is in the far north and west, between the great River and the Sea but ssouth of the wood and the hillss. Sssmaller than the firssst but sstronger, and iss and iss not Kantrisshakrim. More I cannot tell you, for more I do not know." A shiver passed along its body and I knew I would learn no more. "The pact iss concluded, all iss done, live in pain and die alone," it hissed as it disappeared, leaving only a stench of rotten eggs.

Not the information I wanted, but news indeed. I divested myself of my Summoning robes as I pondered it. Two Great Dragons in Kolmar! I had never imagined there could even be one without news of it spreading far and wide. And one protecting Marik's daughter, whom I desperately require.

It will not be a simple task to destroy one of the Great Dragons, though my apprentice Caderan managed it on the Dragon Isle itself before he was killed, and Marik may well have done as much using the Ring of Seven Circles, a powerful device I had prepared for him. I would have to make certain that this time I did not fail. If one was watching so closely over the girl—but it was nonsense! They are huge creatures, hardly to be kept hidden even in the depths of the great forest of the Trollingwood or amid the high stone teeth of the East Mountains! Still, the Rikti was bound and spoke truth as far as its limited understanding went. There was something that kept the Rikti from finding her. I must learn what it was.

The next morning Varien and I wandered to the kitchen to break our fast, delightful as it had been to linger in bed. We found Jamie warming himself before the cooking fire. "Good morning, you two," he said with a grin. "Or is it afternoon?"

"Nay, not yet, Master Jameth," said Varien, holding me close to his side. "Not while my dearling shines so bright in my eyes. Surely it is always morning where she is?"

Jamie snorted. "New-wedded idiot! Lady give me patience." He turned to me. "Or is he always like this?"

"I'll let you know," I replied, turning in Varien's arm until we faced one another. I could not get enough of the sight of him, or of the feel of him against me. "Are you always like this?"

He stroked my cheek with his palm, infinitely soft, and despite his human form I felt still the effect of immense strength under control. "As long as we live, my dearest Lanen Kaelar, I am thine and thou art the light of my days. But perhaps it is not fitting so to display our love before Jameth? For all his love of thee, he hath no mate to share his life."

My love for him burned fiercely then, growing even when I had thought it full-blown, and I kissed him lightly as I stepped away from him. "Quite right, my heart. Bless you for thinking of it. I am far too selfish." Aloud I said, "Hmm. Yes, Jamie, I suspect he is. We'll try to keep ourselves under control when we're in public."

"Just as well. There should be laws about such things," he said, shaking his head. Under his words his voice was rich with laughter. "I guessed you'd both be hungry, so I've had I ,ise come in from the village this morning to bring bread. She's been very kind about it since you left," he said, shooting me a wicked grin, "though her bread's nothing like yours."

I laughed. "Just as well! Honestly, Jamie, don't get Varien's hopes up, you know the bread I make can drive nails."

"True enoughs—though I tell you, Varien, I'd give a week's wages in silver for a goose roasted by the girl. It's the best thing she does. She's a good enough cook, even if she can't do something as simple as bake bread."

I looked around me, contented. Desperate as I had been to leave Hadronsstead the autumn before, it was home, and had been for all of my twenty-four years. In the winter morning a hundred memories came back to me, centred on the kitchen and on Jamie. "Are there any of me geese left that were destined for the pot this winter?"

Jamie smiled in earnest then. "A brace, on my word, none too young but not ancient either. Ah, Lanen, your kind heart has not deserted you! You'll make this old man happy yet."

I laughed at him, as he had intended. "You may hand over that week's wages in silver this evening when they're done," I declared, looking about me for an apron. "If I thought there were a chance of it, I'd get you to pluck them for me too."

A strong pair of arms took me prisoner from behind and turned me around. Varien looked deep into my eyes. "Dear-ling, before you begin this work that will occupy you until the evening, you must eat and so must I. Swiftly. Before I get a craving for man-flesh." His eyes flashed at me as he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it, then kissed my wrist, then drew back my sleeve and made as if to gnaw on my arm.

I batted him away. "Jamie, would you show this poor starveling creature where the bread and cheese are kept, or the oats if he wants porridge—oh, and is there anything left of that last batch of preserves I made?" I ducked into the little cold pantry off the kitchen. Plenty of onions, bunches of rosemary hanging from the rafters and sage still bravely silver-green in the garden, a little of the chopped pork from the pig butchered for the wedding feast—and for the moment I was content.

Make no mistake: had I thought that such a life was all that lay before me, I'd have left before dawn with Varien and been as many leagues hence as the fastest horse could carry me. I knew well, though, that this could be only a brief respite, and I even enjoyed washing the vegetables in the freezing well water. It was a familiar feeling, safe and cozy, and I knew it would not last long.

I had not forgotten the attempt on Rella's life, indeed I still didn't know if she was alive or dead, but from what Rella had told me while we were on the Dragon Isle together and what I had overheard of a conversation between Marik and his demon caller Caderan, I knew Marik had allied himself with a true demon master. I had heard the name, heard Caderan say it a few times, but I was thinking then of other things and couldn't remember it now. Caderan was dead, thank the Lady, but his unknown master lived and I did not wish to bring the wrath of demons down on Hadronsstead and those I loved. The last words Rella spoke before she collapsed in my arms charged me to find my mother, Maran Vena. I knew of only one place to look: the little town where she grew up, away north and east, a place near the Trollingwood called Beskin. On our way here, Varien and I had decided that as soon as we were rested we would go and seek her out.

Meanwhile, there was stuffing to be made and a brace of geese to be cooked. Looking back, I am delighted that I enjoyed it as I did at the time. Life runs by so quickly and it is so easy to be always looking to the morrow. The best times I have ever had in my life were when I was neither fearing the future nor fretting over the past, but simply enjoying where I was and what I was doing, be it as lowly a task as cooking food for those I loved. Life itself is change, and you never know when such pleasures will be taken from you without warning and without hope of recovery.

The three of us sat round the fire in the kitchen that night for a quiet cup of spiced wine after supper. I was proud of my cooking for once, for if I say it myself the geese had been roasted to perfection. Varien had enjoyed it nearly as much as Jamie.

The two youngest stableboys, Rab and Jon, had just finished washing the crockery through in the scullery while all the rest went about feeding and closing in the beasts for the night. There was a frost in the clear night air, bitter cold in the nose and threatening.

Jamie had spent the short daylight hours showing Varien around the stead. "Varien tells me he has never seen a stead before," said Jamie, bemused. "Though if all you say is true," he added wryly, "he'd have had little enough reason to do so."

"And still you doubt, Master Jameth," said Varien quietly. He seemed a little amused. "How shall I convince you, beyond my word and that of your own heart's daughter Lanen?"

Jamie held Varien's glance as long as he could, but had to look away. "You'll never convince me with words," he answered, somewhat subdued. Varien's eyes were the strongest argument he had. "It'll just take time. But I'll know truth when I see it." One corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile as he looked at Varien again. "You can't say you expected me to believe you right off? You have to admit, it's a little unlikely. You're a good man, Varien, on that I'd stake my life, even if your eyes are peculiar. You could be anything, I suppose—but come, tell me, have you anything left of your old people in you to prove it?"

"Beyond the memory of my life with my Kindred, I do not yet know," Varien replied. He seemed to be taking this all very calmly. "I have been in this body so short a time, only three moons, I believe." He grinned then, all sadness forgotten as he reached over to take my hand in his. "I have not been paying overmuch attention to the passage of time, or to what this new body can yet do that I could do before. So different, so wondrous—in truth I have been far more intrigued by the differences." He let go of my hand then and held up his own two hands, palms towards him, staring at them, then passed the fingers of one hand over the other. "These Gedri hands are so soft, so delicate, they can feel the passage even j of air. Yet withal they are so deft, so capable and strong, you can thread a needle one moment and haul on a rope the next." He was lost in thought, gazing at his hands. "These were the things I truly envied you, those long years when the ferrinshadik held me and I dreamed of such a moment."

"What does that mean—ferrin—whatever you said?" said Jamie.

"Ferrinshadik—it is a word in our tongue for the longing that touches many of us, to speak with another race, to hear the thoughts of another people who can speak and reason," said Varien, thoughtfully. "Some are spared, but many of us feel it as a longing to speak with the Gedrishakrim—with humans, whom we call in our language the Silent People. To some poor souls it is a deep and lasting sorrow for the passing of the Trelli, who in refusing the Powers of order and chaos sowed the seeds of their own ending."

Jamie looked at him, shaking his head. "Varien, your pardon, but what are you talking about? What powers?" he asked.

"Jamie!" I exclaimed. "Don't you know the Tale of Beginnings? Sweet Lady, even I know that!"

Jamie shrugged. "Never spent much time listening to bards."

Varien smiled at me and shifted slightly in his seat, sitting up straighter and facing both Jamie and me equally as best he could. I grinned back. "So—this is the human version of the Kantri Attitude of Teaching, is it?"

"It is indeed," he replied. "If you do not know the Tale of HeginningSi Jameth, it is time you learned. It speaks very well of your own people." He moved his neck slightly, brought his chin a little down—and I knew that he was in-stinctively moving Kantri muscles to arch his neck and face his students more directly. He spoke surely but slowly. I later learned that he was having to translate an old tale of the Kantri into human language even as he spoke.

"When Kolmar was young, there were four shakrim, four peoples, who lived here: the Trelli, the Rakshi, the Kantri and the Gedri. All possessed speech and reason when the Powers of order and chaos were revealed to them, and all four learned at the same time that in the life of all races there is a time when a choice must be made. Each chose differently.

The Kantri, the eldest of the four peoples, believed that al-though chaos is the beginning and the end of all dungs, it is order that decrees this, and thus they chose to serve order. For this they were granted long lives and a way to remember all that had gone before.

The Trelli, the troll-people, chose not to choose. They did not wish to accept either and denied both. In mat decision was the seed of their own ending, for to deny me Powers is to deny life itself.

The Rakshi were already of two kinds, me Rakshasa and . the smaller Rikti. Both chose chaos and thus balanced the Kantri—but pure chaos cannot exist in a world of order without the two destroying mat world between them. The Rakshi for their choice received length of days to rival me Kantri, and a world within me world for their own, with which they were never content.

The Gedri discovered after much debate mat they could not agree among memselves, but unlike me Trelli they did make a choice. Indeed, they chose Choice itself, that each soul might have the power to decide which to serve in its own time. Thus they acquired me ability to reach out to either Power and bend it to their own wishes, and almough both the Kantri and the Rakshi were creatures of greater strengm, it is the Gedri who have me world as their own."

Varien smiled, his recitation over. "Come, Jameth, do you ' tell me you have never heard this tale? Surely your bards remember it?"

I looked to Jamie, who said, "If they do, I have never heard mem sing it." His voice sounded strange, and I looked more closely at him. His expression was very peculiar. "Though I think, now, mat I heard something of the kind from my grandfather when I was very, very young." He looked up, and his voice took on a tinge of wonder. "How old are you, Varien?"

Varien ignored him for the moment, which I suspect was just as well. He had raised his hands as if to massage a stiff neck, but he looked terribly awkward; he had turned his J palms out and was trying to use me backs of his hands when 1 he stopped, looked up at me, and slowly turned his hands over. I gasped as I realised—no claws. He had been accustomed his life long to turn his great foot-long talons away from his own scales lest he injure himself. The smile that had lit his face turned to a grin as he used his fingertips to release the tight muscles in his neck, that had tried to hold up a man's head as a dragon would have. He laughed then and I with him. "Name of the Winds!" he cried, leaping to his feet, delight in his eyes and his voice deep with his joy.

He turned to Jamie, his eyes bright, his whole soul in his gaze. "This second life is a wonder beyond words, Master Jameth. Would that I could tell you how it feels! I stop a hundred times in a day simply to breathe, to feel the swift beat of my heart and the passage of air through my chest. I tell you, it is a dream I never dared admit even to myself, this deep longing for human form, for the hands of the Gedri children. This and walking on two legs!" And suddenly he laughed. "You have no idea how convenient it is, Jameth, not to have to carry wood in your mouth. It tastes terrible, believe me."

I was grinning, for I had seen him do just that, and spit fire afterwards to char away the splinters. This was all purest Akor, if Jamie could but know it.

"I tried for years to walk upright," said Varien, "but our legs simply are not shaped for it. My joints ached for days every time I tried, and I finally gave it up." He had calmed down a little and stood now before the fire, warming his hands.

"How old were you then?" I asked, teasing him. "You told me you had practiced landing on two feet, but you never said I word about this."

He paused a moment, smiling at old folly. "I was past my majority, but not long past, when I first tried. I was in my sixth kell that first time, and just over a hundred years from my ceat when I admitted defeat." He turned and smiled at inc. "It was hard to surrender such a desire, my heart, but I was nearly my full size by then and hard-pressed to explain to Shikrar why I found it so difficult to walk for a month. It hurt terribly, I was an idiot to try."

"What's a ceat?" I asked.

"For that matter, what's a kell?" asked Jamie.

"A kell is a hundred winters," said Varien, gazing now at the flames, his voice calm and peaceful in the firelit darkness, "and a ceat is the halfway point in the lives of the Kantri, when we have lived twice the time of our majority and half the full span of our lives. It is a time for celebration, for noting the prime of one's life and rejoicing in it. A ceat is ten kells, a thousand winters. My own ceat passed just twelve—no, thirteen winters gone now."

Jamie swore vigorously, and though the firelight obscured his face I heard the strange note in his voice as he spoke. "Are you seriously trying to tell me you're more than a thousand years old?" I couldn't tell if it was fear or disbelief or anger, or some mixture of the three.

Varien, unmoved, said, "I speak only the truth in this, Jameth of Arinoc. I have seen a thousand and thirteen winters, and were I still of the Kantri I should hope to see yet a thousand more. We are a very long-lived people; if nothing hurries it, many of us can hope to see the turn of our second ceat ere death comes to claim us."

"Damnation!" cried Jamie. He could sit no longer; he sprang from his chair and began to pace the room—away from the fire and Varien—then all in a moment turned and , came straight to me, ignoring Varien altogether. He stood before me, his face to my amazement a mask of hurt. "La-nen, damn it, what has come over you? Why are you two doing this? You know there is nothing I would condemn, nothing I could ever deny you. Why invent so mad a tale? Do you not trust me to love you after all these years?" His voice thickened. "Have you gone so far from me, lass, in so short a time?"

I stood to face him, put my hands on his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. Well, looked down. I have been taller than Jamie since I was twelve, but suddenly he seemed small and fragile. That came as a shock.

"Jamie, my hand on my heart and my soul to the Lady, I swear, I give you my solemn oath this is not a tale. It is the exact truth," I said. The look of doubt and betrayal in his eyes was terrible to bear. "Do you think I don't know it sounds insane?" I said angrily. "I haven't gone mad, and you know me too well for me to ever try to lie to you. It's all true, Jamie. All of it. If I hadn't been there I wouldn't believe it either, but I swear on my soul it's true. I first met Varien when he was Akor, the Lord of the Kantri, the True Dragons. I loved him even then, knowing that nothing could ever come of such a love. I saw him fight a demon master and I saw the terrible wounds that tore him apart. Sweet Lady, I saw bone through one of them." I shuddered and passed my hand over my face, trying to dismiss the vision of Akor so horribly wounded by my own father, Marik. "Shikrar, Kedra and Idai carried him to his chambers, and there he—well, we thought he died, and with his friends I mourned him. I myself found Varien, as he is now, mere hours after the death of my beloved Akor, naked as a newborn and lying on the ashes of the dragon he had been. His soul is the same, his heart, his mind, his memories—it is only his body that has changed." Jamie stared at me, still hurt, still unbelieving. I turned away and sighed, then realised I couldn't help the half-grin that crossed my face as I sat down again with a thump. "Hell's teem, Jamie. I can't blame you. If I'd only heard the story, I'd think I was mad as well, or lying."

Jamie turned then to Varien, who stood silent, gazing still into the flames. "Well, Varien?" said Jamie, his hurt turned now to cold anger. "I will have it now, whatever it may be. Murderer, thief, demon master, penniless singer, mercenary, whatever you are—I charge you by your soul, by your hope of heaven, by your love of my daughter and as you hope to see the Lady's face on the day of your death, once and for all, tell me who and what you are."

"And why should you believe me this time?" asked Varien, beginning to grow angry in his turn.

"Because I will not ask again," said Jamie, staring straight into Varien's eyes.

To my surprise and Jamie's, Varien bowed low. "Very well, Jameth of Arinoc. My soul to the Winds, by all I hold sacred, by my love for Lanen and my hope of heaven, however different a heaven it may be from yours, I will tell you first and last who and what I am, so far as a little time will allow.

"My soul to the Winds, Jameth—and among my people that is a binding vow—I was born a thousand and thirteen winters past, the son of Ayarelinnerit the Wise and my father Karishtar, of the line of Loriakeris. I had a silver hide, like nothing that had ever been seen before among my people, and it was seen as an omen, though an omen of what none ever knew. My eyes and my soulgem were green, as they are yet, but that is not unusual among my people. I flew at the age of thirty winters, full twenty-five years before most oth- ers. I reached my majority at the turn of my fifth kell, as do all of the Kantri, and less than a kell later I was chosen as the new King when old Garesh, Shikrar's father, died. I first knew the fetrinshadik as a youngling, at the age of two hundred and forty, when I first saw the Gedri come onto our island. They had been lost at sea and some of our people took pity on them. We helped them repair their ship, though it was difficult, for our two peoples spoke very different languages. Still, we helped as we might. When they found lansip and discovered it helped to heal them, we allowed them to take away as many of the leaves as they liked, along with a dozen saplings. They left after a very short time, but I had watched them every waking moment and longed with a deep longing to speak with them. That had been forbidden. There was a Council called when they first arrived and it was decided that only the King would have direct contact with them, as many of the Kantri were still roused to fury by the very sight of the Gedri. When they left I had learned the meaning of a few—a very few—words of their tongue, and over the centuries I learned everything I could about them."

He looked to me. "When Lanen arrived I had almost given up hope that ever another ship would come for lansip, for it had been a long kell since any of the Gedri had stepped on our shores." He smiled, coming forward and taking my hand. "Ah, Lanen! Never as long as I breathe will I forget the sight and the sound of your first step on the island of my people! I saw you laugh with delight as you walked on the grass." His eyes locked with mine and die passion behind them lanced through me. "I watched you kneel down and smell the very earth on which you walked."

I shivered. My most powerful memory of my first moment on me Dragon Isle was me smell of crashed grass. I had not known until this moment mat Akor was watching me then.

"The first night we met in secret." In my mind I heard him add, "And you called me brother, my Lanen, across so wide and deep a chasm of hurt and hatred. I loved you even then." "The next night we met under me eye of the eldest of us, my soulfriend Shikrar, who feared I was touched by demons or under the spell of a Gedri witch." He laughed. "He learned better in time! But he forbade our meeting again. And for me first time I, the King of my people and the most bound by our laws, I broke mat forbidding, for I could not bear to say farewell so soon. I bore Lanen to my chambers, far beyond the boundary established to separate our two kindreds, and our fate was sealed mat very night. For she loved me and I her, despite the barren future that must lie before us, despite the madness of Gedri and Kantri joining one to another. We Hew in spirit me Flight of the Devoted, a sacred ritual of my people, as real and as binding as me marriage vows we took not four days past. From that moment we were joined to one another."

Varien kissed my hand and released it, and stood once more before Jamie, pride and compassion warring in his glance. "That is the truth, Jameth. That is who I was, and who I am. You may believe it or not, as you choose, but all thereafter happened as Lanen has said. Her father Marik drew down demons, which we destroyed; he tried to sacrifice her and I rescued her; he tried to steal the soulgems of my people and Shikrar and I stopped him with Lanen's assistance; my old self died of the wounds, and beyond hope or understanding, beyond possibility, I woke as you see me now in the very ashes of my own body, with my soulgem clasped tightly in my hand." He smiled, more gently now, as he saw that Jamie was beginning to be persuaded. "What she did not tell you, however, is the part she had to play in changing my people. Kedra, the son of Shikrar, and his mate, Mirazhe, were expecting the first youngling to be born in five hundred years to my people—it was seen as a wondrous sign—but the birth was going badly, and we all feared that both Mirazhe and her youngling would die. Lanen it was who helped birth the son of Kedra, who saved mother and child, and who by that one action has changed the hearts of my people forever."

Varien bowed once more and took his seat by the fire.

Jamie was long silent. I could see him weighing it all in his mind, and a lifetime's study let me relax when I saw him accept—something. The spark came back to his eyes and he nodded to Varien. "Every bone in my body says this must be a lie, but I have known many men in my time and I know truth when I hear it. You may be mad, of course, but that you have told me the truth as far as you know it, that I most certainly believe. I suppose that great green gem set in gold that you wore for the wedding—is that your soulgem?"

"It is," said Varien. "Shikrar set it in khaadish for me before I faced my people as a man."

"Khaadish is what we call gold, yes?"

"It is. We—in time, the Kantri turn the ground they sleep upon to gold. We do not speak of it. Khaadish is a base metal, useful on occasion and reflective when polished, but of little or no value to us."

Jamie snorted. "Ha! That circlet of yours would buy this farm, the village and several more nearby, and that's just the gold. If you are ever short of cash, the gem alone would—"

I saw Varien bristle and interrupted. "Jamie, please, it's not like that. Would you sell your leg for what it would fetch?"

"It is so much a part of you?" Jamie asked, taken aback.

"More," snapped Varien. Jamie watched him but Varien stopped there. "Indeed," said Jamie finally. "Didn't mean to offend, lad. And as for you truly being a dragon—well, what's dark now's clear later, as they say, and I'll try not to close my mind to anything."

Varien nodded. "That is a rare gift in any kindred. I thank you."

One corner of Jamie's mouth lifted in a half-grin. "You're welcome. You've certainly the manner of a king, wherever you come from."

"My people would not say so," replied Varien, with just a hint of humour in his eyes. "They always claimed that I was too frivolous, too lighthearted, too quick to accept change for the sake of the novelty. And speaking of change—I understand that, among the many skills that I lack, there is one mat you have that I would welcome."

"What's that, then?" asked Jamie. He beat me to it by a short breath. Varien hadn't mentioned anything to me.

"As we are to be travelling in the wide world I shall have to learn to defend myself. I have never held a blade in my life. Lanen has told me that you are a master of that art. Might I prevail upon you to teach me as much as time allows?"

"As much as time allows?" asked Jamie. He sounded resigned, though, and I knew this was no surprise to him. Still, he deserved an explanation.

"Jamie, it's not just that I need to see the world," I said, and he raised an eyebrow. "Well," I said, laughing, "not only that I need to see the world. We're in trouble. I don't know if Marik is sane again, or if he ever can be, but if he recovers I don't suppose he's going to give up his sacrifice. I think he'll come after me, sooner or later, himself or some hired muscle."

"Nothing more likely," said Jamie, a gleam coming into his eye. "I thought the tale of your adventures ended too suddenly. There is no way to escape demon callers except by killing them. Trust me, I know."

"But Caderan's dead," I replied.

"From what you've said he was an underling. I know enough of the breed to know a real demon master wouldn't risk his precious neck on such a dangerous voyage. Did this Caderan never speak of a master?"

Suddenly I was on a path by the sea, hiding in a stand of fir trees, listening to Caderan and Marik talking about—"He said something about a Magister of the Sixth Circle. Does that help?"

"Hell's teeth, Lanen!" cried Jamie. "They don't come worse! A master of the sixth circle can summon and bind all but the greatest of demons." He paced the room swiftly, his agitation plain now. "Lady Shia's backside, Lanen, how in the name of all that's holy did you—tell me, did you hear a name? Did they mention a name?"

"I've been trying to remember," I said. "I'm afraid my mind was on other things. If they did speak a name I don't recall it."

"All the more reason, Master Jameth, for me to learn to handle a sword," said Varien.

Jamie winced. "Do you know, I wish I'd never told you that was my name. Call me Jamie, like everyone else. Of course I'll show you how to use a blade—but we will speak again about this demon master and what is to do about him."

He took an appraising look at Varien. "You look like you've some strength in those arms, but in a fight a blade grows heavy fast. Have you ever lifted a full-sized sword?"

Varien looked perplexed. "Is there more than one kind?"

Jamie laughed. "A hundred kinds, man! But I have one in mind for you to practice with." He rose and went to a long low box beneath the stair, drawing from its depths a great lump of a sword that I recognised as Hadron's. I had seen my stepfather take the blade from its hiding place once every year, when he set out on the road to Illara for the Great Fair at the start of autumn. He carried it with him for protection on the road, and as far as I knew had never drawn it in anger. It was the right length for Varien, but looked far too heavy for his slim frame. I sighed as I realised that Jamie was taking Varien's measure. Again.

"Here, see how it fits your hand," he called, and, lifting the point straight up, threw the sword across to Varien—

—who plucked it without thinking out of the air with his right hand, then stared astonished at his arm holding the sword. "How in the name of the Winds did I do that?" he asked, looking to me.

"Very quickly," I said. I was as surprised as he, and quite pleased. He was fast. "You certainly didn't have time to think about it."

"That's often the key," said Jamie. "If all your instincts are that good you might be halfway decent after a few years. How's the weight of it?"

Varien, still holding the heavy sword rock-steady at arm's length, replied, "I do not understand your question. What should it weigh? I do not find it a burden, if that is what you ask." He casually swung it about him, and that great chunky blade danced in the air like a butterfly at midsummer.

Jamie would never have let it show, but I had grown up with him and didn't need truespeech to know he was swearing inside. I knew that look. "Yes, that's what I was wondering. I think it'll do fine as a practice blade." He was watching Varien even more closely now.

Varien lowered the blade. "I thank you, Master Jameth. Now that you are assured that I can lift this weapon, when shall we begin my training? And what have I to offer you in return?"

Jamie bowed ever so slightly. "Only your diligence. Catch." He threw the scabbard to Varien, who again caught it easily. "We begin tomorrow. I'll need a little time to set up the pell—I'll come fetch you at midmorning, after the beasts are cared for, and we'll make a start."

"I thank you." Varien sheathed the sword and laid it carefully by the hearth.

"Mind if I join you?" I asked, teasing. "Maybe it'll take hotter this time—at least I'll be awake, for a change. You must admit, Jamie, I did the best I could at midnight and after."

I got the grin I had hoped for. "Aye, so you did, and worked hard too—but as dearly as I love you, my lass, you've just not got the speed. That's not something that can

be taught, I'm afraid. Oh, you're good enough to save your skin, granted, but whatever you are to do in this life it'll not be as a swordswoman."

I know he didn't mean it as a slap in the face but that's what it felt like. I was surprised at how painful those words were. I'd always known I wasn't very good with a blade, but I had held on to the hope that it was just a matter of practice, that someday I would be a fearsome warrior. I used to love the tales of the Warrior Women of Arlis and I think I had always hoped that my height and my strength would somehow be enough. I knew I had the soul of a warrior and I believed I could kill if I had to. I had so often been forced to restrain my strength when I was furious: surely that kind of rage would be useful if it were directed along a sword's edge!

The worst of it was that I knew the truth when I heard it, and it struck deep. Damn. Not a hearth-tender, not a warrior—what was to become of me? What in all the wide world would I ever be fit for?

My grief must have shown in my face, for Jamie leaned over to kiss my brow. "I'm sorry to be so blunt, and I know you're not happy to hear it, my girl, but I'm glad it's so." He gazed deep into my eyes and a strange passion took his voice. "Lanen, I've known women who were as good as I with a sword, and some who were better. They were strong and fast and hard of body and of mind, and they were suited to their lives and well content with them. And many of them died young, and some of them died badly, and I mourned more for each of them than I did for all the men who died beside them. Daft, perhaps, but true." He gently stroked my cheek in his callused hand and smiled. "I'd rather see you live to a good old age, my girl, and talk with every dragon who ever drew breath. It's a better life, believe me." He grinned then, and winked at me as he stood straight. "And for you, certainly a longer one. Nothing worse than trying to be something you're not. It's a good way to get yourself killed. Use the gifts you have and you'll change the world."

I yawned then, suddenly tired. "Right I'll do that. But do you mind if I start tomorrow morning? It's been a long day."

I stood and stretched as Jamie and Varien both laughed, and Varien came to me and with one swift movement picked me up in his arms.

I don't expect that sounds too strange; the idea of a man sweeping a girl up into his arms is nothing new. However, most girls that happens to aren't near six feet tall and broad of shoulder. At first I was astounded, and he took advantage of the fact to lean over and kiss me.

Then I got mad. Really mad, really fast. I struggled to get loose but his hold was solid as iron and just as likely to give out. "Put me down," I said, between my teeth.

He stopped smiling and let me down. I heard the door close and realised Jamie was leaving us to it. Wise man.

"What in the hells made you do that?" I asked him, walking away from him towards the door, shaking with anger. "I hate that feeling." I clenched my fist, turned my back to the door and hit it as hard as I could, putting my body into the blow. I just about noticed something splinter but I didn't care. "I hated it when I was a child and I hate it even more now. How would you like to be caught and held helpless by one stronger than you?"

"Forgive me, dearling," he said quietly. "I see now that it was ill-judged. I thought—" He stopped.

"You thought what?" I asked sourly, rubbing my hand. "Stupid bloody thing to do."

One corner of his mouth lifted. "As I was walking with Jamie around the stead today, one of the—hands, you call them? The men who work with the horses—I saw one of the workers do so with his lady when she brought him his midday meal. She laughed and seemed to enjoy it." I never thought I'd see such a thing, but it looked to me like Varien was blushing. "Jamie told me then that they were new-wed, just this month past. I thought perhaps this was a Gedri custom—"

I laughed then, my anger gone as fast as it had come, and held him tight. "You idiot," I murmured to his hair. His body was warm and strong against mine, and his arms encompassed me like every promise of home I had ever longed for.

"Please don't try to be like a human, my heart. Just be what you are. You are the one soul I love most in all the world. We'll find our own way." I drew back just long enough to look in his eyes. "I appreciate you trying, my dear one, but Jamie's right. There is nothing worse than trying to be something you aren't."

"Very well, then, I shall be what I am," he said with a smile, his hands moving sensuously across my back. "I am your beloved and your new-made husband. You are weary and I must think ever of your welfare. Come to bed with me, my dear one, my heart's own, and I shall see if I can banish your weariness for a while." He kissed me then, hard, his passion swift as fire awakening mine.

We only just made it to the bedroom.