A Journey of Dragons

The First Novel of Syraqua

Scott Robert Ladd



Version 2.1

© 2010 by Scott Robert Ladd. All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America.

The grey-and-purple dragon logo is a Trademark of Scott Robert Ladd.
All locations and characters in A Journey of Dragons are Trademarks of Scott Robert Ladd.

e-mail: scott@syraqua.net

A Journey of Dragons is reader-supported fiction.

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Remunerations can also be sent to the author at:

Scott Robert Ladd
2316 Americus Drive
Clearwater, FL 33763-4503


Dedication

For my parents, who supported my wildest dreams.
For the wife who loves me, no matter what.
For my children, who bring me joy and hope.


Act 1
Landfall

    Symurall frolicked along the fringes of ashen storms, swooping, diving, rolling, hour after hour, exploring thermals, skirting the edges of towering thunderheads, gliding on shifting winds. He relished the cool fluidity of the wind, the subtle movements of tail and wing.
    It was a good day to be a dragon.
    Earlier, he’d discovered young members of Kyazura’s brood, playing along the western edges of the clouds. Their gyrations slowed as he approached, awed that an elder was joining their games. Quick, blue, and nervous, the children silently drifted for a few moments, not knowing what to expect; then the sky rumbled with their laughter, as their sinuous green uncle performed pirouettes and spins and loops. He stayed with them for a while, teaching, encouraging – then he flew away, to the east, toward home, and wondered what they would tell their mother, his sisterdragon. Weaving slowly, Symurall watched as the sun painted orange, magenta, and purple against the horizon and across the waves. It reminded him of Kahshiki.
    A dark shape separated from the vast northern cloud bank.
    “Good evening,” Symurall said as he slowed, allowing the other dragon to turn alongside. He spoke a language constructed from subsonics and complex layers, its sounds and cadences a fitting accompaniment to the storms. The newcomer was Sytherek, a great dark grey beast, stocky, heavily muscled, his spine and head lined with spikes tipped in brilliant, glowing purple. Along his left side, the scales twisted chaotically beneath and around the wing, a long scar that ran deeper than flesh. Symurall was a lithe, smooth creature, his back adorned with bright blue frills, his scales ranging from dark emerald green to turquoise. It was not obvious that they were brothers, and their contrasts and similarities ran far deeper than appearances.
    “Greetings,” Sytherek rumbled. “The planet has done what we would not.” He spat a ball of smoke downward. “I flew over the greatest human cities, finding only corpses, mud and fire. Be happy, brother! You, of all dragon-kind, should rejoice in their demise. They are gone!”
    “Do not be presumptuous. They have surprised us before.”
    “I prefer optimism.” Sytherek laughed and banked away. “If you find any alive, eat them for me.” He disappeared into the eastern darkness. 
    Alone again, Symurall angled south, toward shore. Beneath him, waves broke violently across the rocky beach, dumping their cargo of random debris. Turning east, he followed the coast, dropping slowly in altitude. Weeks before, the ebb and flow of magnetic fields had warned him that something was changing in the structure of the world. Two days past, sonorous vibrations heralded massive, distant movements in the earth; the northern skies turned blood-red, and winds laden with sulfur and smoke had disturbed the ocean into great, rolling, mountainous waves. Thunderheads arose around the chaos, mixed with clouds of expelled and burnt earth; lightning split the sky; a rain of pumice filled the sea with hot floating stones. Symurall appreciated the majestic concert of natural forces; he considered himself one of them. He anticipated a pending visit from Norgrim and Tohkay, hoping for stimulating conversation and interesting snacks.
    Snacks. Symurall flicked his tongue, and sought the scent of something delicious, to tide him over for the next day; perhaps a beached whale or school of fish. Even a crunchy-chewy sea turtle or two would... he caught a whiff of something unexpected. Again and again, he tasted the air, and it always gave him the same answer.
    A man? The scent was most certainly there. So he went even lower, passing just above the beach, searching.

    I’m not dead was the first clear thought that formed in Kaylen’s foggy mind. The next was: I itch.
    He opened gritty eyes and tried wiping them clean, without success. Struggling to his knees, muscles complaining, coughing deeply, he felt water lapping around his bare feet. He rinsed his hands, cupped water and splashed it in his face.
    Kaylen forced his eyes open: burning, teary, discerning few details in the twilight. He saw a short stretch of beach running between outcrops of black, ragged rock. Waves crashed ashore, sending spray upward to catch the rays of the setting sun. Small brown piper-birds hunted dinner in the frothing surf. Flotsam choked the rolling waters – planks, scraps of canvas, barrels and unidentifiable items. Overhead and as far as he could see, thick clouds glowed dull red, lit from within by occasional lightning. Somewhere beyond the clouds lay home... but home wasn’t there anymore. Pushing the thought aside, he turned his eyes south, across an open, alien country where distant mountains rose darkly from forested hills. A few miles away, to the southeast, stood a solitary promontory, topped with a large structure. He saw no lights, no indication of active habitation. 
    Broken seashells and small rocks aggravated his bare feet. Kaylen remembered pulling off his boots after falling into the sea. Tossed among towering waves, he’d watched the Wayfarer break apart and vanish into the depths. Exhaustion had quickly taken him, waters closing overhead; he’d expected to join friends, family, and crew... so why was he alive? A useless question, he decided. Fate had never shown much consideration for his expectations before, and he didn’t think it would change old habits now.
    “Is anyone there?” he called. “Hello!” No one answered, except for his own voice echoing from the rocks. Walking inland, to the top of a dune, standing amid the stiff sea grass, he turned slowly, looking in all directions. He yelled, again and again, without hearing any reply. Moving back to the beach, he began working the stiffness out of his joints while searching for anything useful. Bits and pieces of wreckage, fragments of his world, were strewn among the seaweed and tidal pools. He nudged a varnished piece of wood with a foot; it was the same color as the deck of his ship. A bobbing chest contained nothing. A few tattered pieces of sailcloth littered rocks in the shallows, some attached to frayed strands of rope. He found a sodden shoe, but the sole was missing.
    A cloud of screaming white birds exploded from a nearby jetty of rocks. In the moonlight, Kaylen saw something pale move, a hundred yards away. 
    “Hey!” He stepped toward it.
    A nightmare creature reared on its hind legs, standing like a man and flailing chitinous arms toward him, huge, smooth eyes reflecting the sun’s twilight embers. Instinctively, Kaylen reached for his saber, and remembered that it had gone down with the Wayfarer.
    The creature buzzed, clicked, and skittered toward him.
    Kaylen ran.
    Over the dunes and toward the nearest trees, he barely noticed harsh things tearing at his naked feet. A backward glance told him the creature was gaining. Entering a copse of trees, he snatched a thick branch from the ground, spun, and struck. The wood shattered against the creature’s chest. Kaylen’s wrists tingled. His legs tangled in the brush, and he fell hard. Instantly, the beast straddled him, bringing its shield-shaped head close. The alien face lacked a visible nose; two curving antennae reached up from the back of its head, and several thick tendrils writhed where hair should have been. Kaylen felt the blank metallic eyes sucking him into their shiny depths... 
    A violent wind blew up, scattering leaves and dirt. With a resounding wet crackle, the monster lifted into the air, screaming and warping as mighty dark jaws crushed it. An impression of immensity overwhelmed the man, and he fell into darkness.
    
    Symurall enjoyed the kehklik’s crunchiness and then examined the unconscious man. He’d almost forgotten how fragile and small they were; for a moment, he considered following Sytherek’s advice. The man was a sad specimen, dressed in ruined clothes, his short black hair matted above a bearded, brown face. Certainly no threat without weapons or tools, the dragon thought, and perhaps an interesting source of information. Old hatred still simmered in the back of the dragon’s mind, but curiosity was stronger. Carefully grasping the man in one immense foot, Symurall lifted off. He circled once to gain altitude, and flew to his castle.

    Kaylen awoke and scrambled to his feet. It was daylight, pale, thick clouds overhead; no bug monster, just a courtyard surrounded by deteriorating, vine-covered stone walls. Amid ruins, unkempt grass competed with wild flowers and a few gnarled trees. One large, intact structure was wrapped in the coils of a very, very large dragon. Otherwise, it seemed to be a rather ordinary, run-down castle…
    Dragon. Recognition slowly crept into Kaylen’s mind, and he staggered back, staring. Deep teal dorsal scales darkened to black-green along the beast’s sides, and its belly was a mottled turquoise. Lichen-green wings folded back against its sides, while its head rested atop crossed front feet; two shimmering emerald eyes fixed him with a penetrating stare. A wild, blue, ragged frill ran along the beast’s spine from the top of its head. The tail ended with an array of backswept bony spikes.
    A hallucination, thought Kaylen. That’s it. Too much ale. I’m lying on a tavern floor...
    “Good morning,” the dragon intoned deeply.
    “Okay, so I’m not drunk,” said Kaylen. His throat was incredibly dry, and he started coughing.
    “I suggest use of the fountain,” said the dragon. Kaylen stumbled over and scooped water greedily into his mouth and over his face. It was cold and delicious.
    “My name is Symurallix-akora-dashakahn –” and the dragon’s tones trailed off into a series of rumbles and growls.
    “I don’t think I can pronounce all of that,” Kaylen rasped.
    “You may call me Symurall, as the dwarves do. And your name is?"
    The man took another drink. “Kaylen Thyr,” he replied, before dunking his entire head and shaking it. Dwarves? Soap and a towel would have been nice, but water alone went a long way toward making him feel alive again. It occurred to him that the dragon was speaking in Erashi, and he began to wonder if this dragon was not so strange, after all. All myths are based on something real, Kaylen thought. Wiping water from his eyes, he looked around. The dragon was still very much there, more than two hundred feet of it, looking vaguely familiar. Given that it hadn’t tried to eat him, Kaylen wondered what it wanted.
    “You present a mystery,” said Symurall.
    “Speak for yourself. We don’t have dragons in Tramora, at least not real ones.”
    “Tramora perished in fire, earth, wind and water.”
    “Yes,” Kaylen replied flatly. He knew he should feel something – despair or anger or fear, anything but the emotional void surrounding the knowledge that everyone he knew, every place he’d been, was probably gone.
    The dragon stretched, bringing its head closer to Kaylen. It seemed a pleasant-enough face for a dragon, almost friendly. The observation did little to comfort the man.
    “Your presence is a surprise,” Symurall said.
    “You’re rather surprising yourself.” The dragon’s inquisitive look urged Kaylen to continue, and he couldn’t think of any reason not to. “I’m a sailor, a captain, actually. My ship is… was… the Wayfarer, out of Vandoval.”  He sat heavily on the edge of the fountain. “Two nights ago, we saw a blinding flash and glow to the north; after that, it was storms and flaming hail until we sank. As for why I lived and others died… I don’t have an answer for either of us.” Lost faces came to mind, and he sent them away. “On the other hand, maybe I didn’t survive. I never paid much attention in temple, but you bear a remarkable resemblance to illustrations in some religious texts. Perhaps I’m in heaven or hell, where dragons are gatekeepers.”
    “You are in neither heaven nor hell,” said the dragon. “I am not a gatekeeper.”
    “I gathered that. Not enough demons or angels.” Kaylen laughed. “Well, I never believed the priests anyway. I always wanted beautiful women and limitless liquor in the afterlife, but that was probably asking too much. As for dragons… are you one of those the priests talked about?”
    “Perhaps others share your good fortune?” asked Symurall, pointedly ignoring Kaylen’s question.
    “Maybe. I hope so. The only creatures I’ve seen so far are you and that bug on the beach. But then, I haven’t had a chance to look for anyone else.” He drank deeply again. Trying to sound both casual and sincere, he added, “Thank you for saving my life. Now I don’t suppose you could point me toward the nearest town?”
    “There are no human towns here, only abandoned ruins. The men of these lands were extinguished long ago.” Symurall’s tone sent a chill up Kaylen’s spine.
    The man cleared his throat. “The priests of Rhysthyn preached that damnation lay in these lands.” Kaylen looked directly at Symurall. “So am I to be extinguished or damned?”
    The dragon chuckled, a rolling, resonant sound that dislodged a few stones from the top of the curtain wall. “Foolish and arrogant humans once lived here.” The dragon made a broad arc with one taloned foot. “From places like this, they waged war, creating doom for many. I will not see their like again.”
    “You didn’t exactly answer my question.”
    “You could be what they were.” Symurall stood, and straightened to his full and impressive length. “I will return by evening.”
    “So I’m free to go?”
    Symurall’s huge, almond-shaped eyes bore into Kaylen’s soul for a moment; then the vast creature leaped, spread his wings, and flew over the wall, leaving the man with dust devils and questions.

    Symurall swooped down along the bluff, over the treetops, following an old dirt road. He was a few miles from the castle when he found the two people he was expecting. Circling once, he landed in a clearing by the road.
    “We must talk,” Symurall said.
    “Hello!” Norgrim called out. “I’d have been at the castle in an hour or two.” He reached behind him to pat a blanket covering something. “Or were you impatient for a treat?”
    Tohkay raised his head, nodded toward the dragon, saying, “Good morning, Lord Symurall.”
    “Don’t be so obsequious,” Norgrim grumbled.
    “At least he shows proper respect,” Symurall said.
    Norgrim smiled. “And what shall we speak about, if it isn’t sausages?”
    “I have a human.”
    Norgrim stiffened, shifted in the saddle, and squinted at the dragon. “A human?”
    “Yes,” Symurall said. “Several days ago, catastrophe befell the islands far north of here. I found a sailor washed up on my shores last night. His name is Kaylen.”
    Norgrim relaxed, looked quickly at Tohkay, and then back at Symurall. “He?”
    “I rescued the man from a kehklik scout, and took him to the castle.”
    Norgrim stroked his beard. “Has he said anything?”
    “Nothing of great import.”
    “Is he alone?” Tohkay asked.
    “That is what I am going to ascertain,” Symurall replied. “He is the only one I’ve seen so far. I suspect there may be more.”
    “Won’t he run away?” Norgrim asked insistently. “What if he damages the library?”
    “Your locks should keep him out,” Tohkay stated. “Or do you doubt your own handiwork?”
    Norgrim snorted.
    “If he causes trouble, his scent is on my tongue,” Symurall said, stretching his wings and moved away from them. “Be careful, if you decide to see him. You should wait until I return.”
    “I’ll be fine,” Norgrim laughed. “We can hold our own against one man. And think of what –” Symurall left them in a cloud of dust and swirling dry grass. “I wish he wouldn’t do that.”
    “He didn’t find her,” Tohkay said. “We can take comfort in that.”
    “Yes, but she may have seen this man by now. I have no idea how she’ll react. Let’s hurry.”
    Tohkay nodded, and they urged their mounts onward.

    “Hello?” Kaylen called. A raven on a nearby wall squawked, his only answer. Not that he’d expected anything more.
    He was very hungry. Kaylen wondered, briefly, if grander concerns – escape? – should have been a higher priority. Starving to death won’t help anyone, he told himself. And his sore feet reminded him of their need for shoes.
    The courtyard held nothing remarkable. A few worn stone statues stood in various corners; some had toppled from their bases, lying broken in the dirt and long grass. Wooden structures had rotted into piles of mossy, mushroom covered refuse by the walls. No bones; no bits of armor or rusty weapons. Flat, bare, hard spots on the ground showed where the dragon liked to rest, but Kaylen found no sign of a hoard, shed scales, or even scat. In the center of the courtyard, surrounded by a few withered trees, was the fountain, a functional anachronism, still sending water skyward; it helped him realize that the keep was in better repair than he’d initially thought.
    He examined the two-story building’s main door. The latch and hinges looked recent, without corrosion; the wood was strong. And it was locked. He spent a few moments examining nearby rocks, finding a key beneath one, buried slightly in the soil. Slowly, he unlocked and opened the door. Nothing jumped out; he pocketed the key and went inside, finding himself in a wide central corridor. Doors on each side lead into rooms, most of which were empty, except for piles of debris that might once have been furniture. Near the end of the hall were a huge set of double doors; they were locked, and the mechanism matched the style of the front door. But the key was the wrong shape, and a brief search failed to find the hiding place of its smaller cousin.
    He continued exploring, and found a surprisingly clean and orderly kitchen. The cupboards contained moldy bread and small packages sealed in waxed paper. Sacks of onions, potatoes, and other dry vegetables hung overhead. Utensils and plates, slightly dusty, sat on one of the tables. And there were several flagons; he opened one, sniffed, and smelled something interesting. He poured a bit of the dark brown liquid into a mug, swirled it a bit, and drank. It was strong, both in flavor and alcohol – but it was beer!
    “A place with beer can’t be all bad,” he pronounced to no one in particular. Hoping for more miracles, he wiped a plate clean with a corner of his tattered shirt, and did the same to a fork and knife. Some of the bread was still edible; dry, but palatable when eaten with warm beer. The waxed packages protected a variety of dried meat. He took a bite: tough, dry, salty, but edible. Dragon’s don’t need locks and kitchens, he thought while finishing off the flagon. Symurall had pointedly referred to humans in the past tense, and Kaylen idly speculated as to who the non-draconic visitors might be. Someone was maintaining this building, with whatever secrets were behind the locked doors.
    Something made him look up and around the room. The silence was thick.
    “Who’s there?” he asked. He was certain someone had been watching him, perhaps from a narrow stairway that led up. Yet when he looked, he was greeted only by cobwebs and dust. 
    Climbing to the second floor, he found another hallway lined with doors. Some of the rooms were empty, but three were clearly used by someone at sometime. In one, a short canopy bed had neatly made sheets and a patchwork quilt of furry hides; in another room, a large mound of soft cloth lay in the middle of the room, where sunlight could enter through a conspicuously-clean window. A third room contained a larger bed with simple linen; the smell of the room suggested female. No spies to be seen, but the feeling of being watched persisted. Suddenly, he felt very confined, enclosed by walls. Disturbed by a sense of urgency, he did nothing to keep his feet from carrying him back downstairs and out of the keep. Kaylen relocked the door and returned the key to its hiding place.
    He had no distinct plan, beyond seeing the surrounding territory and working his way back to the coast, where other people might be found. While walking to the castle gates, he noticed something moving within the barbican. Hiding quickly behind a low stone wall, he watched three burros enter the courtyard. The donkeys bore several small crates, and one had objects draped over its hind-quarters. The lead mount carried a small, heavily-built man; Kaylen guessed he would stand only four feet high. With a braided grey beard, a wide-brimmed purple hat, and clothes in tan and brown, the fellow looked like one of the yard ornaments he’d seen in Yanesh. Symurall had said something about dwarves… Kaylen stood and brushed as much dirt from his clothes as he could.
    He was about to say “hello” when another rider entered through the gate. A large green lizard sprawled across the back of a broad, four-legged mammal. The reptile resembled an eight-foot long parody of the animals he’d seen many times in the trees of the southern isles; unlike the wild version, this creature’s skull was rounder, and it’s golden eyes were on the front of its face, not the sides. It wore small bits of jewelry, a pair of large pouches, and… perched on its nose sat a pair of eyeglasses, held in place by a chain looped over its neck.
    Kaylen noticed his mouth was hanging open, and closed it.
    “We’ve confused him,” the small man said.
    Kaylen had almost found words when the reptile said, “Perhaps he is hurt?” It cocked its head sideways, and regarded the man. The voice was melodic and complex, like a fairy orchestra.
    “Uh…” Kaylen muttered. Quickly, he cleared his throat, and laughed. “I got no clue what to say.”
    Norgrim laughed, too; Tohkay simply changed the angle of his head.
    “You must be Kaylen,” said the dwarf. “I’m Norgrim of Norokden.” Motioning toward the lizard, he added, “This is Tohkay Ahtok, from Wyvernrift.” He extended his arm, palm outward. Kaylen hesitated, and then touched the other man’s rough, ruddy hand – a hand with six fingers.
    “Was that right?” Kaylen asked. “You’re the least threatening creatures I’ve seen all day, and I’d hate to offend you.”
    “Wrong hand,” Norgrim said with a smile. “But you’re a stranger, so I’ll make allowances.” He tapped his heels against the side of the donkey, riding toward the keep. “Let’s go inside and get to know each other.”

    Symurall weaved along the coast, tasting the air. His thoughts wandered back to his mate, and their lost future. It had been a long time, a long time indeed, even by dragon-reckoning. Kahshiki... how he missed her, and what might have been. She would have known what to do.
    His tongue found the smell he didn’t want to find. A strong scent, with many flavors. In moments, Symurall located hundreds of people in a small cove, near two ships, the largest one wrecked on the shoreline, the other floating a short distance away, tattered sails hanging loosely from its masts. After a quick flyover at high altitude, he descended slowly. A few animals scattered in terror; people looked up, pointed, and yelled or screamed. Some ran to hide in and around the wrecked ship. Moving higher and continuing west, the dragon searched. He found more people, sometimes with intact ships, others scattered as if washed up on the shore like Kaylen. Not many, to be sure, and they were lost, frightened, in a foreign land. But they were humans.
    After several hours, he caught another, familiar, and much more pleasant scent. He found her atop a grey outcrop of stone, the rock jutting out over a beach. The other dragon was a glistening blue creature, heavier of body than Symurall, with glassy, translucent scales and a smooth back. Her wings were deep blue, their iridescence reminiscent of mountain lakes. She was Kyazura, his sister, younger than he and older than Sytherek. As he approached, she moved gracefully to a slightly lower perch, deferring the higher ground to her elder sibling. He settled onto the rocks. Below, a half-dozen humans huddled together.
    “They are afraid,” Kyazura said.
    “That is not surprising,” Symurall replied. “I sense their fear, like most of the ones I’ve seen today.”
    Kyazura blinked. “Most? You have seen humans who are not afraid?”
    “I took the first one I found to Drakcaern. A male named Kaylen Thyr. I rescued him from a kehklik.”
    “Indeed? I always had hope for you, brother.”
    The humans below had started a fire. One of them walked into the shallow water, bending over occasionally, gathering something into a fold of her skirt.
    “Several young ones in my brood told me about your acrobatics,” Kyazura said. “You impressed them.”
    “I also met Sytherek last night. Our brother went to the Tramoran islands, and reports them completely destroyed. He will be very disappointed to learn that so many humans survived.”
    “And you?”
    Symurall shook his great head slowly. “They are here, and we must deal with them. My opinion is irrelevant.”
    “Never lie to another dragon,” she admonished.
     They sat quietly for some time, watching the humans. The woman had returned to the group, and they were roasting some sort of mussel she’d collected.
    “Resourceful, are they not?” Kyazura said.
    “Resourceful humans once attacked us.”
    “And other humans ensured our presence on this world. Perhaps these events are the world’s way of restoring balance.”
    The humans below were making more noise. One of the smaller ones, perhaps a child, pointed toward Symurall and Kyazura, crying out. Abandoning the fire, they all ran away.
    “At least they flee toward more of their kind,” said Symurall. “I found one thousand, two hundred and fifteen of them while coming here. Including those below.”
    “They will not survive long if we do not help them,” Kyazura declared.
    “We tried helping them before. The results were disastrous.” Symurall stood, hovered, and then opened his wings. “I must go. Norgrim has likely reached Drakcaern by now. He might talk the fearless human to death.”
    “A council must be called,” Kyazura told him. “Any action will require a consensus.”
    “Agreed. We meet in Sanctagora, in two days. I leave the arrangements to you, my beautiful sister. Thank you.”
    Symurall flew toward his castle, moving faster than he had earlier, covering leagues in minutes. As he was about to turn inland, he noticed a commotion near the two ships he’d first found. Going down to investigate, the smell of kehklik reached him, accompanied by the scents of blood and fear. Several humans were gathered on one of the dunes; amid the grass and scrub lay a dead kehklik scout, beside the disemboweled corpse of a human. He changed course abruptly, heading south.
    The kehklik nest wasn’t difficult to find, its conical white mounds contrasting sharply with the low, brown-green foothills. Activity was obvious even from a distance. A few warriors were emerging from the nest to form neat ranks around their overseer-leaders. Fliers buzzed in the air. None bothered the dragon. They instinctively knew better. 
    Something else attracted his attention. Sytherek?
    No, the presence was gone.
    Symurall turned and flew toward Drakcaern.

    “Thank you,” Kaylen said, walking around the room, testing the boots Norgrim had given him. “They’re a bit big, but I’ll take that over bare feet.”
    “You’re welcome,” replied the dwarf, who was pouring more beer.
    The man sat down. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I never expected to see a living dwarf. I thought you were just characters in fairy tales." He decided against mentioning the Yaneshi lawn ornaments.
    Norgrim shrugged. “I never expected to see a human. Your kind went extinct before I was born.” He plunked two large mugs on the table, and added, with a grin, “Or so I was taught.”
    “At least I’ve heard of dwarves. But you…” Kaylen nodded toward the lizard. “I’ve never heard of anyone like you.”
    Tohkay lay atop a nearby bench, his purple forked tongue flicking in and out of a large bowl of water. “I am a See’ee’ah,” said the lizard, sharp clicks coming from his throat between the musical syllables. “My homeland is in the jungles of Wyvernrift, far to the south.”
    “And you’re both friendly with the dragon?”
    “Symurall?” Norgrim said. “He’s a good fellow, if a bit imperious. Living for thousands of years does that to a person, I guess.”
    Kaylen tore off another chunk of bread. “What was that creature that attacked me?”
    “A kehklik.”
    “More precisely, a kehklik scout,” added Tohkay. “Their hives breed different forms: scouts, foragers, warriors, breeders, as per the requirements of the hive. Most lack intelligence, and they appear to be directed by a special leader class, which we call overseers. Speculation is…”
    “Yes, yes!” Norgrim interrupted insistently. “Let’s save the lectures for later, shall we?”
    “Ignorance is suicidal,” Tohkay stated.
    Kaylen laughed, leaned back, and closed his eyes. “Suicide won’t be an option if Symurall eats me.”
    Norgrim chuckled. “You don’t look very appetizing. He’d rather have these.” He patted two extremely large sausages that they’d brought in from the burros. “Symurall has a weakness for the spicy stuff, though it gives him bad breath. Not that dragon breath is ever pleasant.”
    “Dragons require respect,” admonished Tohkay. “Certain dwarves forget that sometimes.”
    Norgrim grunted. “If Symurall hasn’t devoured me yet, he never will.”
    “Have you known the dragon long?” Kaylen asked.
    “For many, many years, since I was young dwarf. But that’s another long tale for another time. I need to get my animals unloaded. Care to lend a hand?”
    Kaylen stood and stretched. He was beginning to feel the effects of the beer. They went outside, and each brought in two of the small, heavy crates. Norgrim set his cargo in front of the locked double doors, produced a ring of keys, and opened the lock. Kaylen followed him inside.
    “Wow,” Kaylen said quietly, mesmerized.
    The room was two stories tall, illuminated by large skylights. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, filled with volumes of every shape and color. Around the edges of the room were map and scroll racks. In the center, three mismatched over-stuffed chairs clustered around a large low table made of dark wood.  Memories of his father’s book store washed over him, colored by fond remembrance and deep regret. Books implied something fundamental to Kaylen’s soul, and here, in one room, were more books than he’d ever seen in one place.
    “You’ll hurt your neck gawking like that,” Norgrim said. Kaylen snapped out of his reverie, and put down the crates. Norgrim lifted one onto the table; with a small crowbar, he pulled the top off. Inside, Kaylen saw more books, wrapped in shiny cloth and packed in straw.
    “So the dragon guards your library?”
    “It’s his library, too.” Norgrim began unloading the crate.
    “The dragon reads?”
    “Certainly!” Norgrim said contemptuously. “Of course, these are all too small for him to work with, so I read to him. It’s part of our arrangement.”
    “Arrangement?”
    “Yes. He lets me keep my library here, and I share it with him.”
    “This is not your personal library, Norgrim!” Tohkay had come into the room, snapping his tail like a whip. The sound echoed.
    Norgrim sighed, and grumbled, “I stand corrected. This library is a shared resource – though I am the person who started it.”
    “We all contribute,” said Tohkay. “Three of those crates came from my excavations in Roqat.”
    “Yes, yes, credit will be given where credit is due.”
    “So you aren’t the only people who come here?” Kaylen asked. “I felt like I was being watched earlier. Maybe one of your other friends is here, too?”
    Norgrim and Tohkay looked at each other, and the dwarf said, “We’re the only ones here.” 
    Kaylen decided not to press the issue. “Those shelves are amazing,” he said, changing the subject. “I don’t see a ladder. How do you get to the top…”
    Tohkay grabbed a pair of books with the end of his tail, and darted across the room, effortlessly scampering up the shelves. He inserted the two books near the rafters, and ran down.
    “He’s useful for something other than long-winded lessons,” Norgrim said. “We do have ladders, but they aren’t as much fun.”
    Kaylen shook his head and sat heavily in a large, overstuffed chair. A puff of dust arose and settled slowly, highlighting beams of pale light shafting in from above. “From chaos to wonders in a day – and I haven’t even scratched the surface.”
    “Are you certain your homeland is destroyed?” asked Tohkay. Kaylen had difficulty discerning emotion in the reptile’s musical voice, but thought he detected sincere concern.
    “If you’d been there, you wouldn’t doubt,” Kaylen said. He paused, staring absently at the dust motes hovering above him, hands tented in front of his face. “No, it’s gone. I can feel it.”
    Norgrim started separating books into piles, which Tohkay continued to shelve. “If you don’t mind my saying so,” the dwarf said. “You seem very comfortable for a man who’s been blown across the ocean and deposited on unknown shores.” Kaylen leaned forward, picked up one of the books, and was only mildly surprised to find it written in his native script. He fanned the pages, and noted that the language was similar to the oldest books in his father’s store. 
    “A long story of my own,” the man said. “It is what it is, as my father used to say. All things considered...” 
    The ground vibrated and the building shook.
    “Symurall must be back,” said Norgrim, rushing toward the door.
    “I’ll stay and get these books in order,” said Tohkay as the man and dwarf left the room. “You can tell me the interesting bits later.”
    Kaylen walked outside. Norgrim stood on the stairs, arms folded, regarding the great grey, black, and purple creature in the courtyard.
    “Wrong dragon,” said Norgrim.
    “A human!” the dragon exclaimed, fixing his blue-green gaze on the man. The voice was even deeper than Symurall’s, and sent shivers through Kaylen’s entire body. The dragon looked pointedly at Norgrim. “Did you bring this creature here? Does my brother know?”
    “Symurall knows,” Norgrim stated. “And what business do you have here, Sytherek?”
    “No business that concerns an impertinent dwarf.” Sytherek’s voice deepened and darkened. “Do not tempt me to break protocol. It has been several hours since my last meal.” The spines on the dragon’s back rippled restlessly.
    “You wouldn’t dare. I taste bad.”
    “We may test that theory someday.”
    “My name is Kaylen Thyr,” the man said, stepping forward. “Your brother saved my life last night.”
    “How interesting,” Sytherek said. “I advised my brother to eat any humans he found.” A few teeth showed around the edge of the dragon’s mouth, and Kaylen wasn’t certain if it was a smile or a threat. “Is he keeping you for a late night appetizer?”
    Kaylen laughed. Sytherek stepped back and pulled his head higher, staring down at the man with deliberate curiosity. “I do not understand.”
    “If you’re going to eat me,” Kaylen said, “I’d prefer to go out laughing.”
    Sytherek snorted and shook his head. “Consuming you would not be… polite.” The dragon stretched and yawned. “If more humans are nearby, I may still find a meal.”
    “You’d kill people who’ve done nothing to you?” Kaylen snapped. Norgrim placed a thick hand on the man’s arm.
    “Nothing!” the dragon roared, his eyes glowing brightly, the voice chilling. “See nothing, human!” Sytherek turned and raised his wing, displaying the massive scar. “Your race has committed crimes beyond atonement. Consider this: My brother’s losses were greater than mine. Much greater. I suggest you start swimming back to your ruined islands, if you want to live just a bit longer.” He launched violently into the air, nearly knocking his audience over with the wind of his wings.
    “I can’t tell if you’re brave or stupid,” Norgrim said as they watched the dragon vanish in the distance. “Let’s go back inside. There are many things you should know.”
    
    
    
    In a cove, near a small beached boat, a dozen humans huddled around a fire. Illuminated by flickering flame, they talked in short bursts, exhausted, lost and confused; none of them looked up, and if they had, they would not have seen the dark observer against a cloudy evening sky.
    High above, Sytherek contemplated them. Just a quick dive, a few bursts of energy, the satisfying crunch of his jaws on flesh – his deep hunger for vengeance urged him to act, yet he held his anger, watching, considering. Killing these few would accomplish nothing; hundreds of other humans littered the shores, more than he cared to count, more than his stomach could hold. Being in Symurall’s territory, he was also loath to breach protocol. No, he would need to use other, less direct means of dealing with the human problem. His decision made, he hurried away, south. Sytherek had not visited this kehklik nest in many years, and now regretted his laxity. As years had turned into decades and decades into centuries, he’d begun to believe that Symurall’s plan would work, that the inhabitants of Tramora would remain forever isolated by words and ocean. Sytherek chided himself for failing to keep his own plans in motion. Now that nature had dispelled the illusion of security, he hoped the nest was capable of fulfilling its intended destiny. As the kehklik mounds came into view, he sensed his brother nearby. Retreating into a cloud, Sytherek masked his presence and only approached the kehklik once Symurall had departed.
    Nothing was amiss, much to Sytherek’s relief. If anything, the Jozin’s Peak hive was remarkably healthy and unusually large, and the dragon felt a certain sense of pride that one of his establishments had thrived. He circled, noting the large number of conical white mounds and the intense activity around them. Workers gathering necessities from the surrounding forest; he envisioned the queen and her aides, deep underground, rapidly hatching eggs, making subtle changes in chemicals to produce the desired units. Fighting kehklik had already begun gathering into neat formations; elegant overseers walked among the growing army. The hive was reacting to the newly-arrived humans – better than he’d expected. After a moment’s consideration, Sytherek decided that earthquakes had put the hive on alert days earlier, before the first human had set foot on Syraqua’s shores. The attack would come very soon; the battle would heavily favor the kehklik. The humans were disorganized, unarmed, and scattered.
    He hovered, savoring the possibilities, wondering again why so few of his kind appreciated the elegance of the kehklik. He saw them as a remarkable work of nature, neither insect nor reptile nor mammal, but all of those, combined; one species, morphable into so many forms, more diverse even than dragons. Boney carapaces covered strong, warm-blooded, six-limbed bodies, and upon occasion, they showed glimmerings of true intelligence. Sytherek could not understand how others dismissed these incredible creatures as mindless insects.
    It will be over quickly, Sytherek concluded, almost with regret. 
    
    
    
    “I watched from the tower,” Tohkay said as Kaylen and Norgrim entered the library. “It is unwise to anger a dragon. That goes double, maybe triple, for Sytherek.”
    “Be thankful he still believes in protocol,” Norgrim said. “If that ever changes, we’re all in big trouble.”
    “Protocol?” Kaylen asked. 
    “Dragons live by a code of behavior,” Tohkay injected authoritatively. “Protocol is stronger than law and enforced by traditions older than any other race. A nearimmortal species needs such arrangements, I suspect. This castle belongs to Symurall, as do the surrounding lands. Even Sytherek will respect that.”
    “I hope you’re right. How many dragons are there?”
    “I’ve never counted!” said Norgrim. He started adding numbers out-loud.
    “Approximately four hundred,” Tohkay stated, interrupting the dwarf’s calculations. “In these lands, that is. I know of many more living on another landmass, but have no estimate of their numbers. Those, however, are almost never seen in Syraqua.”
    “Are all of them like the two I’ve seen?”
    Norgrim jumped in before Tohkay could answer. “Only a dozen or so are elders like Symurall. The rest vary in age and size, from newborns to young adults. A few ancients reside in remote places.”
    Kaylen paced for a moment, and then walked toward the door. “I need to go.”
    “Go?” Norgrim asked, following. “Where?”
    “To the coast. The other survivors –”
    Norgrim shook his head. “And do what?”
    Kaylen stopped and was thoughtful for a moment. “Someone needs to warn them about what they’re getting into,” he said finally. He pointed to a pair of swords mounted over the fireplace. “Do you mind if I borrow one of those?”
    Norgrim shrugged. “Maybe I’m an old fool, but I don’t think you’re a danger to us. Go ahead and take one.” Tohkay was motionless, except for his eyes, which followed the man’s steps across the room. Kaylen took down the swords and examined them. The blades were long and curved slightly, sharp on both edges, made from a mirror-like, milky-white metal. The hilt wasn’t the basket he was used to, but felt solid in his hand. In an empty corner of the room, he tested both weapons, and chose the one that was slightly larger.
    “Interesting blades,” he said. “I’ve never seen any metal quite like this.”
    “A dwarven alloy,” Norgrim stated proudly. “We traded a few weapons to humans, back in the day. You won’t ever need to sharpen it, and I can’t imagine that even Symurall could break the blade.”
    “Thank you,” Kaylen said, attaching the weapon to his belt; it fit, albeit imperfectly, in his old scabbard. “Now, about getting to the beach...”
     “Don’t be a fool!” Norgrim warned. “Do you plan to take on an entire army of kehklik by yourself? You don’t even know where you’re going exactly, or what might lie ahead. Tohkay said it before: Ignorance is suicidal. Go if you must, but your time is better spent here if you want humans to survive in Syraqua.”
    “Syraqua?”
    “My point exactly! You don’t even know the name of this land, and you certainly don’t know its history.” Norgrim motioned toward the overstuffed chair. “It’s your choice, but I think indulging Tohkay in his favorite pastime will be invaluable.”
    Kaylen weighed the possibilities for a moment, and sat down.
    
    I will keep this brief (said Tohkay, much to Norgrim’s obvious amusement).
    Humans once populated the great valley between the Stone Soul and Sanguine Mountains, from the Great North Sea to the edges of Wyvernrift in the south. They built many cities and towns, traded with dwarves, fought with kehklik and each other, and lived in tolerance with the great dragons. There are tales that humans came to this world in the company of dragons, millennia ago, from another place, as friends and companions. But over the centuries, humans changed, and their relationship with dragons changed as well.
    Three hundred years ago, humans began dabbling in magic. Ah! I see your reaction. Your people have no magic, and believe it to be a myth, do they not?
    (“Stay on topic,” Norgrim chided.)
    I’d love to get some questions answered before he gets himself killed.
    (“Just get on with it.”)
    Oh, very well. No one is quite certain how magic entered human society, but when it did, they became something different. At first, a very few humans used their arcane skills for minor tasks – growing more crops or curing minor ills. But as time passed, their mastery of the energies improved. Three great sorcerers emerged: Angaval, Sevren, and Eshohvah were their infamous names, and their benevolent guidance turned into despotic rule. Empires expanded…
    (“They even attacked us,” interjected Norgrim. “Dwarves were forced –”)
    Yes, we know, they fought with everyone, and did terrible things. But as you said, I need to stay on topic.
    Dragons intervened for the good of all Syraquans, and dictated an end to the humans’ squabbles. On the surface, it appeared to bring peace – yet, in truth, the wizards put aside their differences to conspire against the dragons, combining their knowledge, exploring deeper and darker aspects of their arts, going to great lengths to hide their activities. In time, the mages began coordinating toward a single end: the destruction of dragons. Amazing, no? Proof that magic corrupts everything it touches, driving its practitioners mad. My people have never taken much interest in such things. Even the dwarves restrain themselves, devoting their efforts to more mundane technologies – 
    (“Less moralizing and more history,” Norgrim grumbled.) 
    History is often woven around lost morals, my friend. That certainly is the case here, where human wizards formed an alliance of convenience, keeping their magical experiments secret while pretending to follow the will of the dragons. Symurall and his siblings, wise as they are, did not foresee the cunning plans being made against them. The sorcerers launched a surprise attack, corrupting the crystalline energies known to the dwarves, projecting titanic forces into the principle lairs of three great dragons. We do not know all of the details; we only know the results. The attack on Kyazura’s colony failed when the tonal engineer Shengrim – 
    (“My grandfather,” Norgrim interjected proudly.)
    – reversed the energies unleashed by Angaval, utterly destroying the wizard and most of the city of Roqat. A grand sacrifice that probably saved the dwarves from what came later. Your people benefit from Kyazura’s subsequent patronage, do they not?
    (Norgrim smiled grimly, and said nothing.)
    The other attacks were, sadly, more successful. Sytherek survived Sevren’s attack only by luck. Two of his mate’s siblings perished, great adult dragons who died protecting the rookery. Shielding his brood from the blast, Sytherek himself was grievously wounded, crippled, vast chunks of rock and crystal shattered into his flesh, leaving scars on both body and soul – and even so, his youngest offspring was injured badly. I understand why he feels as he does toward humankind. 
    As for Symurall… he suffered greater tragedy. He was visiting Kyazura when the attacks began. As his sister flew to aid their brother, Symurall rushed home, where his mate Kahshiki was preparing to birth their first young. Even dragons can only move so quickly, and he arrived too late, watching Eshohvah’s magic collapse the mountain over his caverns. Symurall lost Kahshiki and his unborn child. Can you imagine how a nearly immortal race views death? A treacherous death at that? Of a loved one? Of offspring? The madness of a dragon is something I hope never to see. Symurall gathered a mighty flight of dragons from many colonies; a day and night of thunder and flame shattered and melted the great castle of Eshohvah at his stronghold near the city of Tornaval. At the same time, Sytherek’s mate, Vallahnoka, led an assault that erased Sevren’s capitol of Qumasi from the face of the world with storms and sand tornadoes. Every military outpost, every center of learning, every army in the field – all elements of human power were utterly destroyed.
    
    Kaylen sat silently, leaning back in the chair, legs outstretched. The day had slipped into twilight, the room darkening. Norgrim started working in the fireplace, and soon he had a blaze going. Tohkay simply sat still, like a statue, staring at the human.
    “I don’t know what to think,” Kaylen finally said. “Why didn’t Symurall kill me, or let the bug do it for him? Why spare one man when you’ve ‘extinguished’ everyone else?”
    “Dragons did not destroy all the humans of Syraqua,” stated Tohkay.
    “You said that humans were ‘utterly destroyed.’”
    “Not quite.” Norgrim took a seat near the fire, which he started tending with a poker. “Symurall stopped the attacks once human magical and military forces were eliminated. Vallahnoka showed no mercy at Qumasi, but elsewhere the dragons spared most of the common folk.”
    “Then what killed everyone?”
    “Kehklik,” Tohkay said. “Within a few days of the dragons’ revenge, hordes of them stormed out of the eastern mountains, razing what remained of human civilization.”
    “So the dragons left people defenseless,” Kaylen said. “And watched them die.” 
    Norgrim sighed. “No. The kehklik attacks were uncannily swift. No one saw it coming. Symurall and others tried to stop the onslaught, but the kehklik attacked in uncountable waves, appearing without warning all over the region. The assault nearly overwhelmed my own people, in spite of our mountain and machine defenses. In the end, we held them off and forced them to retreat. Humans, I’m afraid, didn’t fare as well.”
    Kaylen shook his head. “There are always survivors. I’m proof of that. My people had links to the humans in Syraqua.”
    “How so?”
    Kaylen pushed a book across the table toward the dwarf. “I can read that. You speak Erashi, our language, just as the dragons can. And our religious texts contain tales of an ancestral homeland to the south from which we were expelled by dragons. Two of those dragons look an awful lot like Symurall and Sytherek.”
    The ground shook.
    “Let’s hope that’s Symurall this time,” said Norgrim. “I’ll grab one of the sausages. They always put him in a good mood.”
    Symurall faced the door of the keep, waiting. Norgrim came out and tossed the huge sausage, which the dragon snapped from mid-air. Kaylen had the disturbing revelation that he could have walked upright into the dragon’s gaping jaws.
    “Thank you,” said Symurall, running his forked tongue around the edge of his mouth. “It appears that you and the human are getting along.”
    “Of course!” Norgrim said. “Everybody likes me. Well, except for your brother.”
    “Sytherek was here?” the dragon asked, his eyes narrowing.
    “We exchanged the usual unpleasantries,” said Norgrim.
    “Sytherek claims to have seen more survivors from my country,” Kaylen said. “Did you find anyone?”
    “Yes,” Symurall replied. “I counted more than twelve hundred, scattered along a hundred leagues of coastline.” Kaylen whooped with joy. “I see that you armed him,” the dragon said, nodding toward the overjoyed man.
    “He armed himself, with my permission,” Norgrim replied. “You don’t expect him to survive in the wilderness without a weapon, do you? Or do you intend to fight off every kehklik that tries to eat him?”
    “I merely made an observation,” said Symurall, somewhat huffishly. “Giving him a weapon may have been wise, considering the situation. A group of humans has encountered the kehklik, and the nest is now producing an army.”
    “Jozin’s Peak?” Norgrim asked anxiously.
    “Yes. They will attack the beach within the week, if their past patterns of procreation are repeated.”
    “Why?” Kaylen asked.
    “Kehklik are extremely territorial,” Norgrim answered. “Even dwarves avoid their lands.”
    “The humans killed at least one scout,” Symurall added. "I smelled dead foragers as well. The hive will attack.”
    “How big is their army?”
    “Hundreds,” said the dragon.
    “What will you do about it?” Kaylen asked.
    “Why should I do anything?” Symurall replied. “Saving you did not obligate me protect all humans.”
    “More genocide by proxy!” Kaylen angrily slashing his sword at a nearby sapling, severing it cleanly. Symurall growled violently, slamming his tail against the ground, shaking everything, driving the three smaller beings away.
    “The tree did nothing, yet you destroy it!” the dragon bellowed, nearly knocking them over with the force of his voice. “How can you wonder why I am unwilling to rush to the defense of humans?”
    Kaylen steadied himself, facing the dragon, dropping the sword. As the weapon clattered to the ground, he said quietly, “I shouldn’t let anger make me stupid. I’m sorry.” He walked over to the tree, looking at it sadly. Silence hung in the air.
    “What did you say?” the dragon asked stonily.
    “I apologize.” Kaylen slowly reached down, picking up the sword. “That tree didn’t deserve to die. Neither do the survivors of Tramora.”
    The glow faded from Symurall’s eyes, and he said, “No human has ever apologized to me.”
    “So where do we go from here?” Norgrim asked. “When Sytherek told us about other humans, Kaylen nearly ran off. The only way we kept him here was to bore him into a stupor with one of Tohkay’s lessons.”
    “You disrespectful lump!” the lizard snapped.
    “I didn’t find his lesson boring,” said Kaylen. “At least I have a vague notion of where fate cast me.” Looking squarely at the dragon, he said, “My people have never harmed you. I’m willing to guess you know that, and maybe more. Help us. Please.”
    “Your words carry wisdom and humility,” said Symurall. “I did not expect that from a human. You are quite surprising.”
    “I think that was a compliment,” Norgrim quipped.
    “An admission of pleasant surprise,” the dragon declared. “I must think on matters. It will be several days before the kehklik can build their strength and reach the human encampment. I suggest that Kaylen stay here tonight, rest, and learn. In the morning, I will carry him to his kind.”
    “Carry?”
    “You’ll love it,” said Norgrim eagerly. “Quite the experience! I might just go with you. We seem to get along just fine, and I’d love to…”
    Kaylen interrupted with an upheld hand. “I’m no example of what most humans are like. I’ve spent my life actively looking for the unexpected and unusual. Other people might not be as open-minded.”
    “Weren’t you just trying to convince Symurall that people aren’t dangerous?”
    “I don’t know what they’ll think of all this,” Kaylen replied. “We don’t have any idea who’s washed up here.”
    “The population appears to be random,” Symurall interjected. “I detected many different ages, clothing styles, and accents.”
    “You can tell all that by just flying over?”
    “I am a dragon,” Symurall said smugly.
    Kaylen leaned his back against the wall and asked the dragon, “After you deliver me, what are your plans?”
    “I must meet with other dragons in a few days. Matters are not simple, human. I cannot take action alone. Protocol requires consultation with other dragon-kind.”
    “Saving lives requires a committee meeting?”
    “Rash actions are at the root of why humans were destroyed,” the dragon replied. “We will be finished with our deliberations before the kehklik attack.”
    “I guess that’s better than nothing,” Kaylen sighed.
    “Let’s go back inside and talk some more,” Norgrim said. “And we still have beer that needs to be drunk.”

    The dragon’s paw was unexpectedly soft, like fine leather, only thicker and covered with intricate scales. Kaylen lay belly down on an enormous finger, peering at the landscape passing rapidly below him: stony outcrops and rugged scrub forest, then grasslands and, after a few moments, sandy hills and beach.
    “Put me down out-of-sight from the camp,” Kaylen called to Symurall. The dragon nodded slightly and landed by a small group of trees on a ragged dune. Kaylen jumped free as the great toes opened. He swayed, and almost toppled face-first into the sand.
    “You do not look well,” Symurall said.
    Kaylen shook his head to clear the cobwebs, and discovered a nasty headache. “I think dwarven beer has more to do with it than your flying skills,” he said. “Thank you for the experience.”
    Symurall moved a short distance away, and stretched his wings. On the open beach, Kaylen saw just how massive the dragon was, and how utterly beautiful, the wavy blue frill contrasting with the deeper teals and greens of Symurall’s body.
    “I leave for Sanctagora,” the dragon announced. 
    “For what it’s worth,” Kaylen said. “I am sorry for what happened to your mate. Had it been my wife… I might have reacted the same way.”
    “Do you have a mate?”
    “No. I never found the right woman, or at least one who thought I was the right man. I have lost people I love, though.”
    “The perhaps we may understand each other.” Symurall walked a bit further down the beach, and flexed his wings. “Good luck, Kaylen Thyr. I hope we meet again.” He launched, rapidly vanishing in the distance.
    Kaylen walked out of the trees and began jogging along the beach. The exercise started to clear his head, and he began feeling more like himself, and less like a piece of flotsam battered about by waves. Volumes of information from many sources began collecting into theories, conjectures, and questions. As a puzzle, this new world was delicious; that realization brought with it a shower of guilt. He wondered what vile gods would decree such inequities, that many would die, while he would live to enjoy the challenge of survival.
    The sun was nearly at zenith when he saw the first ship from the top of a salt-grass dune – one of the gigantic inter-island ferries, lying at an angle, masts gone, gaping holes clearly visible in its hull. After walking a bit further, he saw another ship, a trading vessel much like his lost Wayfarer, floating in calm waters beyond the wrecked ferry. His heart lifted as he saw many people. Kaylen started jogging again, waving; the nearest person shouted, and pointed toward him. Within minutes, he was surrounded by dozens, engaged in handshakes and hugs, pummeled by questions, and thoroughly relieved by proof that he wasn’t the only human in the universe.
    “Let him breath!” a woman’s voice called out. “Don’t smother him.” The crowd separated, and a tall, muscular red-head strode forward. “Well I’ll be damned!” She looked him up and down. “Kaylen Thyr!”
    Kaylen laughed. “It’s good to see you, Jahsha. How’d the leg heal?”
    She reached down and pulled up her pant leg. A long pink scar ran down the side of the calf.
    “Not perfect,” Jahsha said. “But I’m not walking on stick, either.” She led him out of the crowd, chuckling. “At the moment, I’d rather be fighting pirates than dealing with this mess.” 
    “You and me both,” Kaylen nodded. “It’s been a long time.”
    “It has indeed.” She wounded a bit wistful. “Where’s your ship?”
    Kaylen’s enthusiasm died instantly. “Gone,” he said. The memory felt oddly old and disconnected. They walked quietly for a while, lost in memories. Near the wrecked ferry, they reached a fire pit surrounded by few makeshift chairs, crates, and bags. “My office, for the moment,” Jahsha said, with a wry smile.
    Kaylen sat on one of the crates. “So you’re in charge here?” he asked, pulling off one of his boots and emptying sand.
    “As much as anyone is in charge of anything,” she said with a shrug. “People are still in shock, trying to absorb what’s going on.” She sat across from Kaylen, leaning back and stretching her long legs out. “The Gull was blown south by the storms. Hell, I thought we were going under more than once. After reaching the coast and calmer waters, we sailed east, and found this mess. That was yesterday. The survivors were confused and lost. I’ve just been providing a bit of direction.”
    “What about the ferry’s crew?”
    “Most are missing, probably dead. They were swept overboard when the masts collapsed and the deckhouse blew away.”
    “What do you know about where we are?”
    “Not much. I was hoping you could tell me more.”
    Kaylen laughed. “Promise not to lock me up as a lunatic and I’ll tell you everything I know.” And he did.
    
    
    Symurall flew slowly over Drakcaern, circling the keep. He saw Tohkay on the tower’s parapet, stretched out, skin darkened to absorb the faint light. Norgrim was caring for the animals, emptying a bag of feed into a trough for the burros. The dragon landed in the center of courtyard.
    “I’m going to miss Kaylen,” said the dwarf, walking up the Symurall, pulling off his gloves. “Interesting fellow.”
    “He is now with his own kind,” said the dragon.
    “Have you decided what to do with ‘his kind’?”
    “That remains to be determined. I must eat, and then visit someone before going to Sanctagora.  You will not see me again until after the gathering.” He took off.
    “Give her my regards,” Norgrim called as leaves swirled in the dragon’s wake.
    Symurall went north, out over the sea, his eyes scanning, finding. Tucking wings tightly against his sides, the dragon swooped down, into the water, gliding beneath the waves like a great snake. He swept through a school of fat silver fish, boring a hole through the center of their mass, snatching as many as he could. With a twisting barrel roll, he reversed course, and made a second pass. Then he slowed, and floated through the depths, enjoying his catch.
    A large pod of dolphins approached and began feeding. Symurall had always liked this species, another import from an abandoned world. They didn’t fear him, and he never gave them reason to. He loved their songs, their stories, and wondered if they had interesting information. Their whistles spoke of hot waters, strange movements of sea-life, and… a man?
    “Greetings” Symurall said in their language. “What of this man?”
    “We carried him to shore near here,” said one of the dolphins, an elder. With a tinge of regret, it added, “So many died, we saved who we could.”
    “Men hunt you!”
    The dolphin cackled. “Humans do what they do. We do what we do.” He followed his fellows deep into the fish.
    Symurall rose to the surface, emerging from the water in a shower of brilliant droplets, flying south.
    
    
    
    “I’ve told some wild stories in my day,” Jahsha said, “Yours beats all of mine.”
    “I don’t believe half of it myself,” Kaylen said. “Ever seen a blade like this one?” He showed her the white-metal sword. She examined it closely, running her fingers over the metal, and handed it back.
    “If I hadn’t seen dragons overhead, I’d have called you insane,” she said.
    “You wouldn’t be the first to question my sanity.” Kaylen took the weapon back. “We need to act quickly.” He stood, and scanned the crowd on the beach. “What sort of people do we have to work with?”
    Jahsha came to stand beside him and sighed. “Beyond my own crew of forty, we’ve got a random assortment of four hundred or so folk who accidentally survived the end of the world.” Her smile was grim. “Everything from families and merchants to a group of monks. There’s even one woman who picked a most inconvenient time to be very pregnant. Definitely not what I’d like to have for fighting waves of monsters.”
    Kaylen pointed toward the ferry. “The wreck might be a workable fortress. But we’ll need weapons.” He slapped his sword with a grin. “I don’t think I can kill all the bugs by myself.”
    Jahsha smirked. “We could dismount the arbalests from the Gull and put them aboard the ferry. I guess it’s time to go through the ferry’s cargo and see what tools we have.”
    As they walked toward the beached vessel, a ragged, older man ran up, waving his hands.
    “My first mate, Fennric,” Jahsha told Kaylen.
    “She’s having problems again, captain,” the man said breathlessly. “None of us know a damned thing about pregnant women.”
    Jahsha snorted. “Just because I’m female doesn’t mean I know anything about birthing babies.” She muttered under her breath. “But I’ll see what I can do.” Nodding toward Kaylen, she added. “This is Kaylen Thyr, captain of the late, great ship Wayfarer. He saved my life once.”
    “Glad to meet you, sir!” Fennric said enthusiastically, grabbing and pumping Kaylen’s hand. “Welcome to the madness!” Then he scampered back the way he’d come.
    “I know how to field-dress a sliced leg,” Kaylen said. “I won’t be much help with babies.”
    Jahsha led him toward some improvised tents. Several people were examining a pile of crates and boxes, looking through the contents, sorting. To one side, in a hammock, lay a young woman, maroon dress clinging wetly to her very round belly. Her eyes were closed, her face contorted with pain, covered in sweat.
    “Seedra,” Jahsha said, taking the young woman’s hand. “What’s wrong?”
    The woman opened her eyes, and forced a smile. “I’m sorry to be a bother,” she said. “I don’t know if anything is wrong, but the baby doesn’t feel right.”
    Jahsha turned to Kaylen. “Can you find those priests and see if they’re useful for anything? You’ll find them just beyond the wreck, unless they’ve wandered off. There must be something they can do besides pray.”
    “On my way,” Kaylen said as he turned and started trotting down the beach.
    Just past the bow of the ferry, he found four people in colorful hooded robes, three sitting, facing each other, the other standing in their midst. They were all droning softly, the words indecipherable. Kaylen waited a few moments, and then said loudly, “We need a doctor. Do any of you have experience dealing with pregnancies?”
    The chanting stopped, and the standing figure turned to face Kaylen. In the shade of the hood, a thin face with bright eyes peered at Kaylen, in a manner that was reminiscent of an angry grey-and-purple dragon.
    “I am Bishop Jennur Ott, Rector of Rhysthyn Academy,” a gravelly voice said from beneath the eyes. The man pulled back the hood, revealing a wrinkled, bearded face, a colorful triangle tattooed on his forehead. “We’re busy praying for guidance. Do not disturb us.”
    “We have a very pregnant woman who needs aid,” Kaylen stated. He addressed the seated monk in blue. “You’re part of the Kiran Order, right? Have you studied medicine?”
    The figure turned its face up, toward Kaylen, and the hood slipped back, revealing a young woman, her bright blue eyes framed in a freckled face and wavy brown hair.
    “Yes, I have,” she said, slowly standing.
    “Zarah, stay!” Jennur snapped.
    “I am not your pet,” the woman replied, with surprising force. 
    Jennur grabbed Zarah’s arm, pulling her violently toward him. “I’ve forgiven your insolence too many times, child. Defy me again, and I’ll drag you before a tribunal – ” He stopped with a guttural noise. Kaylen’s sword pressed against his throat.
    “Let her go,” Kaylen said in measured tones. “Your tribunal is dead. And I don’t have time for puhtahks who hurt women.”
    Slowly, the bishop released Zarah’s arm. She walked quietly and deliberately away, not looking at either man. Kaylen pulled his sword away from the bishop, but held it ready.
    “You will regret this,” Jennur spit, rubbing his neck. “How dare you threaten me! May Simer the Just have mercy on you.” His sharp eyes tried to burn a hole into the sailor.
    “He already has,” Kaylen smirked. Without waiting for a reply, he followed the retreating blue monk.
    “You shouldn’t have done that,” the woman said as Kaylen caught up with her. “The bishop is a vindictive man. I do appreciate your gallantry, though.” She extended a hand toward Kaylen. He was surprised at the strength of her grip. “And your name is?”
    “Kaylen. Thanks for helping, Zarah.”
    “Show me the woman in distress, and I’ll do what I can.” 

    “One problem solved,” Jahsha said, as she and Kaylen left Seedra’s resting place, leaving Zarah to work quickly and soothingly. The pair neared the ferry; Kaylen saw that it was in worse shape than he’d expected. One side of the hull had collapsed inward, flattened against the sand; the keel was obviously broken in several places, the decks canted and twisted at troublesome angles. Many people were working to remove the cargo, which had all tumbled into a chaotic jumble. In one compartment, a pudgy man defiantly stood by two tangled wagons, arms crossed, chasing away anyone who approached.
    “Leave!” the man ordered as Kaylen and Jahsha approached him. “These are my goods, and you’ll keep your hands off of them, thank you very much.”
    Jahsha ignored him, and walked to one of the damaged wagons, looking under its canvas covering. When the man moved to intercept her, Kaylen stepped between them.
    “I’ll report this to the highest authorities, you’ll see!” the man cried. “You can’t just poke about in a man’s possessions, you know. Not without consequences.”
    Jahsha whistled. “Jackpot,” she said. Reaching under the canvas, she pulled forth the stock of a crossbow. “Do you have all the parts for these? And quarrels?”
    “Put that back!” the man screeched.
    “Answer the question,” said Kaylen. “Mister…?”
    “Yohan Andus, if you must know,” was the reply. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Your friend has no authority here. None.”
    “Actually, I do have authority,” Jahsha said. “Under the Maritime Acts, a duly registered ship’s captain has the right to declare martial law for the protection of people and goods.”
    “That applies to pirates,” Yohan said indignantly. “I obviously am not a pirate.”
    Jahsha pulled a black metal cross arm from the wagon and fitted it to the stock. Sighting the weapon, she said. “No, you’re probably not a pirate, but I wonder who was going to buy these. I don’t see any tax stamps.” She lowered the weapon, and her smile was not friendly.
    “How dare you! I am a legitimate business man.”
    “With a load of weapons in boxes marked ‘kitchen utensils’.”
    Yohan stammered, “Those are… uh… they… uh… were second hand crates. I was just saving a bit of cash, you know, maximizing my profits. I saw no need to change the labels.”
    “Uh-huh,” said Kaylen. “And now you’re going to profit by donating these to the local defense.”
    “How will I profit from that?” Yohan asked sourly.
    “I won’t throw you to the incoming army of carnivorous bugs.”
    “Ah,” Yohan said. “I see your point.”
    
    
    
    The journey was not a long one, particularly for a dragon. He’d made this flight many times, more often than anyone other than a dragon could count. For more than a hundred thousand days, he’d come to this place, and he was determined to return every day for eternity. He would never be able to go home, but he would always remember it. On this day, the ravaged mountain side lay blanketed in late spring snow. Trees had grown in the talus, tall pines that looked black against the white and pale grey. Large black birds fluttered up and away as the dragon slowly circled. He finally perched on a flat piece of granite that angled up from one side of the ruin.
    “Hello, my love,” Symurall said. He knew there was no life beneath the rocks – his people had searched and dug and pawed through the rubble, in a vain hope of finding his beloved Kahshiki. Even though they could not feel her presence, they had tried, until Symurall himself had finally ended the search. Now only he and Kyazura came here; other dragons avoided the area, unwilling to face a reminder of their potential mortality.
     “Humans have come again,” Symurall said, in a soft voice he only used in this one place. “Cast on our shores by a disaster. Helpless.” He paused, and watched the clouds for a moment. “I am going to Sanctagora, to a gathering, to decide the fate of these newcomers. I wish you were here to guide me. The hatred still runs deep, dear one. Very deep.”
    He stretched out his feelings, his senses, and sought Kahshiki, knowing that he would not find her, just as he hadn’t found her uncounted times before. But he had to try. Giving up was not in his nature.
    “I know you would tell me to let go of the hate,” he said. “I do not know if I can.”
    After a while, he curled up, and went to sleep in the graveyard of his hopes and dreams.
    
    
    
    “Even with the weapons that louse was hiding, we’re in trouble,” Jahsha said. “I doubt most of these people have ever held a sword, let alone a crossbow.”
    “At least crossbows are simple,” Kaylen replied. “We can start training people tomorrow.”
    “We’ll have a panic as soon as we tell them about the kehklik.”
    “We can’t build a fort in secret.” 
    They walked to a nearby fire. With the arrival of dusk, people were gathering to cook fish. For a time, Kaylen stopped worrying about pending battles, and enjoyed casual conversation with strangers. As the evening darkened, his disquiet grew with each friendly person he met. These weren’t soldiers or adventurers – they were shopkeepers, farmers, merchants, and even members of a traveling orchestra. So many questions; he wondered where the answers would come from.
    He felt a pair of eyes regarding him. He’s noticed the eyes before, several times during the day, almond-shaped grey ones, belonging to a tall, slender, dark woman with wild black hair. Normally, he’d have taken her attention as a compliment, but something about her was unsettling. 
    “If you’re going to stare at me, at least say hello,” he finally said to her. The woman continued watching him, a slight movement of her eyes the only sign she’d heard him.
    “She can’t answer you,” Jahsha said. “She’s mute.” The woman held a hand over her throat, and nodded. “We found her just west of here, late last night, walking along the beach,” Jahsha continued. “She’s been a godsend, voice or no voice. The water collector over there was her idea; we’d have run out of fresh water without it.”
    “Thank you,” Kaylen said to the dark woman. She gave Kaylen a hard look before jumping up and disappearing into the darkness. Jahsha left moments later, called away by Fennric to deal with issues aboard her ship. Kaylen leaned back, wishing he could see the stars. Momentarily, he thought he saw a dragon-like form move across the near-black clouds. He wondered which dragon it was.
    
    
    
    Sunrise warmed Symurall, and he awoke to the squawking of black birds. He’d dreamt of Kahshiki, as he always did. After a stretch, he said good-bye to her, and flew southwest until he reached the wetlands of Dybwood. There he found a herd of large herbivores, several of which became his breakfast. After that, he slowly drifted south, coasting on strong thermals blowing down the great valley. Even at that leisurely pace, he would be early for the gathering, as intended. As the one who had called the meeting, it was his duty to thank the others for coming, and set the tone for their discussions.
    As he flew, blue-green swamp became lake country, which evolved into dry hills around a high, vast plateau. At the northern end of the heights lay the ruin of a city, still called Sanctagora by the dragons who now used it for their own purposes. Symurall had seen humans build the city; he had watched it grow, becoming a great center of learning, including the arts of magic. Then he’d burned it to the ground, utterly blasting the place into rubble, in an act of self-preservation and revenge. Soon after, the kehklik had come, wiping away the survivors… now the city was an empty memorial to rash actions, the nexus of protocol. In the great town square, surrounded by the rubble of their mistake, the dragons would meet and talk and decide.
    Symurall landed next to a magnificent – but dry – fountain. Nearby, an old yellow-white dragon rested atop the remains of a broken building. 
    “It is good to see you, Symurall,” said Voranytchi, an honored elder who was twice Symurall’s age. “I hear we have momentous events to discuss.” He chuckled deeply. “Later, maybe I can share my latest poem with you. I believe it rivals your father’s best work. Oh –someone is waiting for you.”
    “Indeed,” Symurall replied. He’d already sensed the other dragon.
    “I was on my way home,” Sytherek said as he emerged from behind a building. “One of Kyazura’s brood intercepted me, and told me of the meeting here. I should have anticipated the need for such a gathering. You and I have an opportunity to talk, before the others arrive.”
    Symurall shook his head. “No. We do not make such decisions alone, or even in pairs. We wait for the gathering.”
    “I disagree, brother,” Sytherek replied. “You and I suffered immeasurable losses at the hands of those fiends. The others do not understand.”
    Symurall’s eyes smoldered, his tail slowly swishing behind him like a giant, angry snake. “No, they cannot,” he said. “We will still wait for the others.”
    “As you wish,” Sytherek replied. 
    The grey-and-purple dragon curled up, appearing to sleep.  Symurall and Voranytchi watched, silent.
    
    
    
    Kaylen walked among dunes, accompanied by laughing birds. The morning had not gone well. After an early breakfast, the survivors had gathered to discuss what needed to be done. At Jahsha’s insistence, he’d told his story to the crowd, leaving out distracting details and focusing on the imminent kehklik threat. It was painfully obvious that many people did not believe the tale; others were frightened, and a few seemed indifferent, almost bored. In frustration, he’d simply walked away, until he could no longer hear raised voices. Unable to be aimless, he chose to explore the perimeter of the camp, studying the lay of the land. The line of sand hills was backed by open scrubland. Standing atop a fallen tree trunk, he scanned the area with satisfaction. The kehklik wouldn’t be able to move on the camp without being seen. At least he would know the enemy was coming.
    The world was quiet.
    Suddenly quiet. 
    The birds were gone.
    He spun, sword drawn, scanning for trouble.
    The log beneath him shifted slightly.
    Sand erupted with a shriek. Kaylen shielded his face while slashing wildly; his blade glanced off a hard object, then connected and dug into something substantial. Pulling his blade free, one eye clear, he aimed for what seemed to be its head. The kehklik collapsed and twitched in a pool of smelly orange blood. Catching his breath, Kaylen shook the rest of the sand from his face and examined his attacker. It was certainly a kehklik, with the same insane head as the one that haunted his nightmares – but this creature was different. It was smaller, with more legs, arrayed along the side its body. The overall shape was long and narrow, almost worm-like. Two huge pincers graced its face. Burrowers, he said to himself. Tohkay had mentioned them. He started back toward the encampment, focusing on the ground, looking for any movement. An odd noise, like the buzz of a bee, suggested that looking up might be a good idea. He did.
    Three shapes rapidly flew toward him. Pale shapes, difficult to see against the sky. They were not birds.
    Kaylen quickly sought any shelter, and saw none.
    “Damn you!” he called out, readying his blade. He hoped they would dive to attack him. If they could hit him from the air… he cursed himself for leaving camp without a crossbows.
    A flier bleated and spun into the ground, a long arrow protruding from its side. A second suffered a similar fate to the first. The remaining one dove at Kaylen, spitting. He jerked his head aside, and his cheek burned. A sweep of his blade severed one of the creature’s legs, but didn’t slow it down. Climbing, the kehklik turned to make another pass at Kaylen; again it spat, and a black, tarry glob splashed against his leg. The cloth smoldered. Before he could swing, the attacker flew up and circled away.
    “Get down!” a female voice called out.
    Kaylen dropped flat on his stomach as the kehklik came at him again.  He heard the twang of a bow, and barely had time to cover his face as the sand in front of him erupted. After a second, he opened his eyes, and saw a kehklik’s head only inches away, an arrow through one of the mirrored eyes. 
    “You can get up now,” the woman said. “They’re dead.”
    He slowly rose to his feet and saw the “mute” woman kneeling nearby, examining the body of a kehklik. She’d changed clothes since he’d last seen her, into brown leather and dark cloth, a large quiver on her back, a long, thin black bow in her hand, a short sword and knife hanging from her waist. 
    “You don’t have two or three days,” she said. Her pronunciation of Erashi was odd, the vowels too aspirated, the constants clipped sharply. “Tonight. They’ll be here tonight.” She looked at him. “The correct response to having your life saved is ‘thank you’, by the way.”
    The sand around her feet exploded. The jaws of a burrower clamped around her calf; Kaylen lodged his sword in its skull, pinning it to the ground. Its jaws sprang open. The woman pulled away, cursing loudly.
    “Now we’re even,” Kaylen said, twisting his blade, just to be certain it was dead. “So who are you, and why didn’t Norgrim tell me about you?”
    “My name is Alanora,” she said. She pulled an arrow from a dead kehklik and returned it to her quiver. “Norgrim is just keeping my secrets.”
    “Like your ability to speak?”
    “If I’d have spoken, people would have known I wasn’t one of you.”
    “You’re the one who was watching me at the dragon’s lair.”
    “Yes.” She searched the horizon. “We’ve just bumped into a probing party.”
    “Symurall said we had several more days before the kehklik attacked.”
    “Dragons are arrogant,” she said bitterly. “They just think they know everything.”
    “Symurall doesn’t know about you, does he?”
    She gave Kaylen a pointed look. “No, he doesn’t. I intend to keep it that way.” Her grim smile returned. “I was thinking about going home, to let my people know you’re here.”
    “So why help me?”
    She shrugged. “Habit, I guess. I hate seeing people die to these things.”
    “What now?”
    “I could go on my way,” Alanora said. “I know that’s what my father would want me to do.” A dark smile crossed her face. “Be thankful I’m not my father.”

    Tohkay scampered down the tower stairs and into the library. “A dragon is coming,” he said. “One of Kyazura’s brood.”
    Norgrim put down his book and pulled on his boots. “Can’t a dwarf get some peace for reading?” He sighed and stood up. “Well, let’s go see who it is.”
    A young blue dragon alighted in the courtyard, and took a long drink from the fountain. It looked at Norgrim with apparent amusement.
    “I stopped for refreshment,” the dragon said, in deep but lovely female tones. “My name is Arrokka, daughter of Kyazura and Karfegren. Unless I am mistaken, you are Norgrim and Tohkay. I have seen you in our caverns from time to time.”
    “In the flesh,” Norgrim said. “And to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”
    “I take news to my mother.” She stretched her wings.
    “What news?”
    The dragon pondered for a moment. “It likely does not affect you. The kehklik army is many miles from here, and appears interested only in the humans at the seashore.”
    “Kehklik army?” Norgrim and Tohkay asked in unison.
    “Yes. My mother tasked several of us with watching for unusual activity near the humans. The army…”
    Norgrim interrupted. “How many? Where?” 
    “You are quite impertinent. Several hundred kehklik, in four columns, ten leagues from the humans. I did not take time for an exact count.”
    “That makes no sense,” Tohkay stated. “The kehklik shouldn’t be ready to attack yet.”
    Norgrim started swearing loudly in Dwarven. “The volcanic eruptions! Earthquakes! The kehklik started hatching warriors the moment they felt the first tremors. They’ve got a three day head-start. Kaylen won’t be ready for this.”
     “I wish you good fortune,” Arrokka said. “I must hurry to my mother.”
    Norgrim growled something long, low, and definitely draconian. Arrokka stood still for a moment, then said, “Your pronunciation is somewhat lacking, but the message is clear. My mother taught you that?”
    “Yes she did. I’m collecting on a very old personal debt.”
    “Norgrim, what can you do?” Tohkay exclaimed. “One dwarf isn’t going to make any difference. The kehklik will overwhelm the humans. Perhaps Kaylen will escape…”
    Norgrim walked over to Arrokka. “I will do what one dwarf can do,” he said, stroking the dragon’s neck. “I don’t need a damned committee to tell me my morals. Tohkay! Bring me my staff. Then, my girl, I need a ride.”
    Moments later, Tohkay watched the young dragon lift up and away with her dwarven cargo.

    Kaylen wiped the sweat from his forehead, and looked across the deck of the ferry. Four hours before, the ship had slowly been pulled level with the ground, and stabilized by people shoveling sand under its broken keel. Now, a half-dozen huge crossbows – arbalests removed from Jahsha’s ship – pointed inland. As people adjusted the heavy weapons, others were cutting slots in the side of the ship, while people on the beach below practiced with crossbows. He watched Alanora coach the archers for a moment.
    “I’ve moved a hundred and sixty people to my ship,” Jahsha said. She looked at the people practicing. “Alanora’s doing a good job. I never thought these people would be able to hit the broad side of a mountain, but she’s actually getting them to the point where they might hit more bugs than people. I still don’t trust her, though.”
    “If it weren’t for her, I’d be dead,” Kaylen said, sitting on the deck and resting his back against the railing. “She could have left us all to die.”
    “But where are her people?” Jahsha asked. “I find it difficult to believe they’ve been hiding from dragons for three centuries.”
    Kaylen drank water from a nearby skin. “She’s protecting her people. I’d do the same in her position. We’re a big unknown. They’re not going to run out and greet us, if they’re smart.”
    “You may be right,” Jahsha admitted. “That fact that she’s attractive, smart, and exotic doesn’t influence your opinion, I’m sure.”
    “Me? Swayed by a woman like that? Never!” They both laughed at the inside joke.
    People around them started yelling and pointing. Kaylen and Jahsha hurried down and out of the ferry, and saw a dragon approaching, closer to the ground than any others that had come near the camp. The blue creature landed near the dunes.
    “It has two heads,” Jahsha said, holding a hand over her brow to shade her eyes.
    “No,” Kaylen replied. “It has a dwarf.” He started running. Jahsha hesitated, and followed. When they reached the dragon, Norgrim was dismounting from its back.
    “Find Symurall,” the dwarf was saying. “Find your mother. You know what to tell them.” He said something else, in the native speech of dragons. Arrokka arched her back and flew off, southward, quickly.
    As soon as the dragon was gone, Alanora was beside them. Nodding toward her, Norgrim said, “I see you’ve met my other traveling companion. She’s prettier than Tohkay.”
    “Also more likely to pummel an annoying dwarf,” she growled with a smile.
    Norgrim laughed. “If I were a hundred years younger, I’d accept that challenge,” he said. “But right now, we need to prepare, or we’ll all be corpses by dawn.”

    Six of seven great dragons had arrived by mid-morning. Symurall sat quietly, next to Kyazura, preparing his oratory. The most recent to join them had been Mahgrurra, a tan and red creature of the shifting dunes of a southern desert.  Directly across the square from his siblings, Sytherek stood alone. To one side, Voranytchi was deep in quiet conversation with another ancient dragon named Yvarrtasah, a mossy green beast of the deepest forest. Neither was likely, in Symurall’s estimation, to be interested in the humans. They were insular creatures, more interested in their poetry and songs than the events of the world.
    Movement caught Symurall’s eye. Wrapped in translucent scales of amber, yellow, and orange, Narrahnjarra landed delicately in the center of the group, neatly folding her brown wings. She quickly and politely did the social rounds, ending with Symurall. Then to the assembled group, she said, “Garthonnex sends his greetings and regrets. He is going to see his father in regard to the matter which has brought us here.” 
    “What do you and your mate know about these events?” Sytherek asked. “Have you seen any humans in the south?”
    “No,” Narrahnjarra said. “We felt their demise in the bones of the world, and strange energies emanated from their islands. Clouds now block the sun as far south as Wyvernrift, and great waves crashed ashore against islands north of Artorra.”
    “So the disaster is much bigger than a few refugees,” Mahgrurra said.
    “I am here to learn what you know,” said Narrahnjarra. She looked pointedly at Symurall.
    Taking that as his cue, the sea dragon moved to the center of the gathering. Six draconic heads swiveled to watch as he described the humans, how their homeland had been destroyed, and where the survivors were located the shores of Syraqua. In turn, Kyazura shared her observations, and Sytherek described the destruction of Tramora in vivid detail. The others listened, some thoughtful, others seemingly bored.
    “You suspect humans have complicity in the destruction of their homeland,” Symurall said, speaking to Narrahnjarra. He moved aside, relinquishing the center to the golden dragon.
    “That is possible,” she began. “A similar event from my own past may shed light on the matter. Twenty-nine hundred and eighteen years ago, before many of you came here, Garthonnex and I were surveying the sentient species of the galaxy. There are so few, and each is part of understanding ourselves and the universe itself…”
    “In your opinion,” Sytherek interrupted darkly.
    “Indeed,” drawled Yvarrtasah. “Yet I must caution against disrespecting your elders, Sytherekkor-oran-issikkar…” She rumbled his entire name; the grey-purple dragon bowed his head slightly, and was silent.
    “On one dream walk, I discovered the dwarves,” Narrahnjarra continued. “Living on a dying planet, they had moved their civilization underground, away from the searing light of their expanding star. Garthonnex determined that their time was almost at an end. We found a way to save them, by building harmonic gateways, such as our ancestors used to come to this world. At the time, my knowledge of crystalline dynamics was rudimentary. I could not have succeeded without the help of a dwarven woman named Istona; together, she and I constructed a dozen gateways and found their songs. On Syraqua, I opened the gateways in the mountains northeast of Wyvernrift, where I had an abundant supply of appropriate crystals.
    “As we began the music to test the gateways, the dwarven sun entered its final death-throes. I opened all the gates simultaneously.” She paused. “I had not compensated for the energies of a dying star. As the dwarves came to our world, Syraqua itself began to buckle and quake. I waited as long as I could, saving as many as possible, before ending the songs and collapsing the connections. We settled the surviving dwarves in the Valley of Darnok. In time, over centuries, the mountains quieted, but forever changed. We saved a sentient race at the cost of burning part of our own world.”
    There was silence for a time.
    “Do you think the humans repeated your mistake?” Sytherek asked. “I find it difficult to believe that such a race could understand these powers.”
    “What I sensed in the earth is not exactly what I felt three millennia ago,” Narrahnjarra said quietly. “But it was similar.”
    “Humans have proven themselves dangerous before,” Sytherek growled. “It is time to put an end to them.”
    “If you intend to destroy them, kill me as well!” Narrahnjarra growled. “If they made a mistake, how is it any worse than my own? Will you take your hatred to its logical conclusion?” Her eyes flared, and she spread her wings; a dissonant hum surrounded her. The other dragons tensed. Symurall stretched his legs, ready to leap into the air.
    Sytherek backed away; Narrahnjarra relaxed her pose, as did the others.
    “We waste time,” Voranytchi declared. “A rational decision is impossible without more information. At the moment, the humans are no threat; we should watch them closely, but leave them alone while we know more.”
    “I agree,” said Yvarrtasah.
    “What of the kehklik?” Symurall asked. “While we debate, many humans may die. If we are trying to avoid repeating mistakes, it would be wise to protect the refugees.”
    Yvarrtasah yawned. “We have no responsibility in this. Whether the humans live or die is not ours to choose. Countless creatures die every day, and we do not intervene to save them. Let nature take its course.”
    “We are part of nature, mother,” said Narrahnjarra. “As thinking beings, we make choices. Inaction is, itself, a choice.”
    “Inaction is sometimes the best remedy,” Yvarrtasah replied. “I see no reason to act now. If they survive, we will consider then how to deal with them.”
    “Yes,” Sytherek agreed. “I cannot imagine that I need to remind anyone here of how humans hunted us in the past.”
    “These people did not come to our shores to hunt us,” Symurall said sternly. “They are lost, weak, and in an alien land. They pose no threat. Do we simply stand by and watch them die?”
    “If that is what fate has in store for them,” Sytherek said. “It is unwise to intervene, and probably against our own best interests.”
    “Mercy is a trademark of the wise,” said young Mahgrurra, who had been sitting quietly by herself.
    Sytherek laughed loudly, his roar rattling through the ruins and across the mesa. “Mercy?” he said. “I will show them mercy, by giving them a quick death, before the kehklik rip them apart.”
    “Brutality and hatred gain us nothing,” old Voranytchi grumbled. “I agree with Yvarrtasah – we should neither harm nor aid the humans at this point in time. We could not stop their islands from being destroyed by earthquake and volcano, why should we now be responsible for saving them from the kehklik?”
    “You compare what was not possible with what can be done,” Kyazura stated. “Some humans rescued dragons from their home world. My brothers and I were born of those who were saved by Murffyd and his people.”
    “The blood of Murffyd no longer runs in their veins,” Sytherek declared angrily. “They are a corrupt and degenerate species.”
    “These humans are not the same ones who hurt us,” Kyazura responded. “We do not know if they are corrupt. Revenge is poor motivation, brother.”
    “I will not see us suffer again at their hands,” Sytherek growled.
    “In the past we have acted rashly,” Yvarrtasah said. “It is time to observe, and be careful before we make momentous decisions. Since the humans are in Symurall’s territory, he can keep an eye on them. Once we understand the entirety of the situation, we will make new decisions.”
    “No one ever knows the entirety of any situation,” Kyazura said. “Many humans will die while we wait for answers that may never come.”
    “Many could die, but probably not all,” Voranytchi said.
    Symurall growled, swished his tail, and walked a short distance away from the circle. “Genocide by proxy,” he said. “That is what one human called our past actions. Will we make the same mistakes again?” 
    The arguments rolled on.

    The sun began to set, a great red fuzziness behind blackened clouds. Two hundred and twenty-seven men and ninety-six women waited nervously, holed up in the broken remains of the ferry, crouched, their weapons pointed toward the dunes through slits in the side of the vessel. Kaylen held a crossbow. "I’m going up with the arbalests," he said. Climbing a ladder, he called back. "Good luck."
    Alanora simply nodded.
    Norgrim stood at the edge of the top deck, looking south, across the pale beach, toward the scrublands. In his hand, he held a thick metal staff, nearly as tall as himself.
    “You intend to fight with a fancy stick?” Kaylen asked.
    “If any kehklik get near us, you’ll see what my staff can do.”
    “You could be someplace safe.”
    “I’d just have to listen to another of Tohkay’s dissertations on the distribution of red flowers or some such,” said the dwarf. “An army of kehklik is preferable company sometimes.”

    Symurall and Narrahnjarra flew slowly in the cool twilight, not speaking, on their way to investigate the remains of Tramora. Words rolled in Symurall’s mind; no turn of phrase seemed quite right for explaining the decision made at Sanctagora, and why he was bound to it. He was a chief architect of protocol, and he could not understand how his vision of consensus had failed so miserably. His hatred still burned, the anger undimmed by time – yet, somehow, he felt the spirit of his beloved, and she urged him to see with different eyes.
    A young blue dragon approached, flying furiously.
    “Greetings, Arrokka,” Symurall said. “My companion is Narrahnjarra, mate of Garthonnex.”
    “I am honored, Uncle, Narrahnjarra,” Arrokka said. “I seek my mother. I thought she might be with you.”
    “Kyazura has gone south with Mahgrurra.”
    The young dragon sighed. “Then I will fly south. But first, Norgrim asked that I tell you my news.” She described the kehklik army, and how she’d taken Norgrim to the beach. “He was most insistent that I find you and my mother. Had he not invoked Shengrim’s Pact, I would have nipped him for his impertinence.”
    “Be glad you didn’t,” Symurall said. “Now fly swiftly to your mother! Go!”
    Arrokka dipped her head in deference, and flew away into the fading light.
    The two elder dragons hovered for a moment.
    “Go,” Narrahnjarra told Symurall. “Save your foolish dwarven friend. I will continue to Tramora. Join me later.”
    Symurall changed course, and increased his speed dramatically. 

    The dwarf pointed and shouted.
    A dozen kehklik fliers dove from the night sky toward the deck of the beached ferry. Farmers and merchants, laborers and clerks fired crossbows with great imprecision and remarkable luck; half the kehklik fell – while others swooped across the deck, decapitating two men and knocking others wildly aside. Some people panicked and ran; one fell from the deck to lie motionless on the sand below; another crawled into a corner, and began gibbering loudly. As the kehklik crossed the deck, Kaylen swung his blade, slicing the wing from one. It crashed; Norgrim shattered its skull with his staff.
    “Fire!” Kaylen yelled. A few of the archers found enough sense to use their weapons again, bringing down four more kehklik. The lone survivor flew away.
    “Damn it,” Kaylen growled. He moved quickly to the terrified man, and put a hand on his shoulder. “What in the hell do you think…” Kaylen saw that the man’s eyes were solid white, rolled up into his head.
    “They’re not soldiers,” said Norgrim. “A week ago, he might have been baking bread or sewing clothes. Now he’s lost in a strange land, where monsters are trying to rip off his head. Let him be.”
    Kaylen sat heavily on a nearby box. “A week ago, I was a sailor whose biggest concern was whether he’d get paid for his cargo, and if it would be enough to pay for beer and wenches.” He smiled a bit. “Alanora said they’d do hitandrun attacks for a while, looking for our weaknesses.”
    “I never doubt Alanora,” said Norgrim. “She may lack warmth at times, but she’s more reliable than sunrise.”
    “Fascinating woman. Under better circumstances, I’d ask her out on a date.”
    “I don’t think Alanora goes on dates.”
    Kaylen looked up. “We haven’t seen the sun for days. Damn these clouds.” Then, with a heavy sigh, he asked, “Symurall isn’t going to help us, is he?”
    Norgrim shrugged. “What he does depends on what other dragons think. He’ll be living here a thousand years after we’re dead and buried. So will the other great dragons. Their customs are based around that.” He paused, and shook his head. “No, I don’t think he’s going to save us. Even if his heart has softened with time, other dragons are less forgiving.”
    Kaylen looked into the distance. He called out “They’re coming across the beach!”
    A grey carpet rolled over the dunes. Someone loosed a bolt into the darkness without hitting anything.
    “One test showed them how weak we are,” Kaylen said heavily. Readying his weapon, he was surprised at how quiet people were, the only voice being Alanora, shouting instructions to her troops. Looking over his shoulder for a moment, he saw Jahsha’s ship moving away slowly, its sails only slightly filled by the light evening breeze.
    “At least she got some of us away,” he said. “Let’s hope they find safe harbor.”

    Symurall soared high above the coastline. His sharp eyes saw through the darkness to the wrecked ferry. People scurried about on its deck; he smelled blood, both kehklik and human. The sounds of battle drifted toward him; the twang of bows, the clash of metal against chitin, the bellowing of orders and the chittering of commands. For a split second, he saw Norgrim tending a wounded man, out of easy reach. Coasting away, over the sea, Symurall looked at the retreating ship. People covered its decks; he knew little about vessels, and wondered how it could stay afloat while carrying so many. He hoped that Kaylen was aboard, but knew that the man was probably ashore, in the midst of the fray, or maybe dead.
    A strong unique odor floated up from the ship below. Curious, the dragon spiraled downward. The cry of a newborn human baby arose in the night. He thought again of Kahshiki and the child that would never be.
    Symurall turned, up and away.

    “Did we survive?” Kaylen asked, wiping kehklik ichors from his face and sword. He’d moved down a deck in a moment of respite, to see how the archers were doing.
    “I wouldn’t know,” Norgrim replied. He sat on the floor, his back against the wall, left arm wrapped with a crude, blood-stained bandage. Surprised at his surprise, Kaylen noted that the dwarf’s blood was the same color as his own.
    “The kehklik are regrouping,” said Alanora, who arrived from below. She looked remarkably unscathed amid the carnage, though her blade glistened wet and dark. “That gives us a couple minutes to rest.” Scanning the area, she added, “We lost twenty fighters, and sent probably a hundred kehklik to hell at the same time.” She looked at Kaylen, her face softer than he’d come to expect. “Your people did well, Kaylen.”
    “But it’s not going to be good enough,” Kaylen said. “At best, we’ll hurt them enough they won’t feel like attacking other survivors.” He stood, and patted the dwarf on his good shoulder. “I’m going topside to see how they’re doing.”
    “I’ll come,” said Alanora, following him up the ladder.
    The deck was slippery with many different fluids. A few wounded were being cared for in the wreckage of the main cabin. Their faces were tired, some with blank looks, others staring into the distance, watching for more kehklik.
    “Mister Kaylen!” It was Fennric, Jahsha’s first mate, who had given up his berth on the Gull so that Seedra had a bed for her pregnancy. The old man appeared unhurt, though Kaylen had seen him in the thick of the fight all evening.
    “Look over there! We’ve got rain coming in.”
    Kaylen followed the pointing finger. Far away, he saw what looked like tendrils of lightning.
    “Rain might help,” Alanora said. “Kehklik don’t like it.”
    Kaylen strained his eyes. “If that’s a thunderstorm, it’s coming fast, against the wind.”
    The tendrils of electricity became more distinct, larger, forming a glittering pattern, wrapped around the shape of a dragon.
    “I don’t believe it,” Alanora said.
    “I do,” said Kaylen. “I do.”
    Symurall raced along the beach, body wreathed in lightning, spinal frill illuminated brilliantly, eyes afire. Passing over the kehklik horde, he snapped his wings wide, and a flash of light descended, spreading across the dunes, flowing through and across the creatures below, a brilliant fog. Kaylen instinctively threw an arm across his eyes; his ears heard rippling explosions and the screams of alien creatures. Every hair on his body stood on end as a blast of acrid air nearly knocked him down. Uncovering his eyes, Kaylen watched Symurall execute a steep, climbing turn. Above the smoldering ruin of the kehklik army, the dragon swept down, fewer charges wrapping his body, but his frill still bright with energy. As he crossed the kehklik lines, Symurall whipped his tail again and again; each time, a ball of lightning shot from its tip into a group below. Thunderous explosions rocked the night, and Kaylen had spots floating in front of his eyes.
    “Look…!” he heard Alanora yell.
    Something hit Kaylen in the back of the head, and the world went black.
    
    “He’s awake,” someone was saying. Kaylen opened his eyes. It was daylight; the sky, still grey, made him squint even so.
    “I have a really bad headache,” he said, propping up on his elbows. He lay on the deck of the ferry; all around him, he saw the wounded being cared for.
    “Be grateful you have a head,” Norgrim said. Kaylen focused on the dwarf, who wore a big grin.
    “I saved your attacker’s corpse, if you want a trophy,” said Alanora. 
    “No thanks,” Kaylen replied with a weak laugh. “I appreciate the thought, though.” Through a break in the ship’s wall, he saw not one, but three dragons on the far side of the beach. Beside the sea dragon were a blue creature of great beauty, and a smaller dragon, red and tan, with grey wings.
    “And to think I was happy with just one dragon,” he said, slowly rising to his feet.
    “The other two arrived at dawn,” Alanora said while steadying him.
    Kaylen twisted his neck, and heard it crack loudly. “I need to thank him.”
    “I’ll stay here,” Alanora said. “Norgrim can take care of you. I still have secrets to keep.” Kaylen nodded, and started to descend through the ship. Norgrim followed. Man and dwarf were joined by Jahsha as they walked across the beach.
    “It is good to see you alive,” Symurall said as they approached. “May I introduce my sister, Kyazura, and our friend, Mahgrurra.”
    Kaylen suddenly felt a burst of energy; he ran up to the great green dragon, and hugged its neck.
    “Please!” Symurall said, bemused.
    Kaylen released his grip and stepped back. “I have no idea how to thank you.”
    “I did what was necessary,” Symurall said. He smiled, and Jahsha stepped back from the long rows of teeth.  “I did what Kahshiki would have asked of me. To recover that part of me… is enough.” The dragon lay its head down in the sand. “I need sleep. Such exertions are very tiring.”
    “Good idea,” said Kaylen, who lay next to the dragon. He fell asleep almost instantly.

    Sytherek rode a thermal up and over Jozin’s Peak, leaving snowy dust devils in his wake. Home, Vallahnoka, and family beckoned, but curiosity drove him to see the progress of the kehklik nest. He smelled the pines, the new grass, lingering spring slush, the distant ocean – and the faint scent of kehklik reached him. Even in the starless darkness, he easily spied the white mounds near the tree line. The emerging army would have grown since his last visit; he was curious to see its composition and readiness.
    He found the unexpected.
    The army was gone. No burrowers, no infantry, no fliers. Just a few scouts wandering the periphery of the sleeping nest, on guard. Sytherek quickly surveyed the area, looking for signs of violence, and found none. Had the kehklik attacked before being ready? Or… had they been ready even sooner than he’d expected? Now he noticed the crushed plants leading north. He followed the path toward the sea.
    Far ahead, white and blue flickered and flashed. He could feel the energies unleashed in battle by another dragon. Symurall was fighting the kehklik. Saving the humans. Defying protocol. Curiosity struggled with anger as Sytherek gained altitude, careful to keep his distance, but drawing close enough to see the battle. Fliers swarmed around the large grounded ship, where humans shouted, screamed, and fought back. His brother roared over the dunes, a hellish fury of lightning. The smell of death and burnt flesh was strong.
    What was that? Sytherek moved a bit closer.
    Many kehklik fought viciously, some even launching futile attacks on the lightning-dragon; at first, he thought they had chosen suicide, when he noticed another group of kehklik retreating. Slipping through the darkest places between the dunes, a hundred warriors withdrew toward their hive under the silent direction of a single overseer. One group sacrificing itself to allow others to escape – what he saw defied his previous understanding of the kehklik. Sytherek memorized the scent of the retreating overseer; anger at his brother faded, replaced by contemplations of possibilities and implications.

    Kaylen stood on the steering deck of the Wayfarer, his knuckles white against the black wood of the wheel. His shoulders and back ached as waves hammered the ship, twisting it wildly. Dirty grey rain stung his cheeks and fouled his eyes; he could barely see the crew as they scrambled to keep the ship together. Lightning crawled across bilious clouds, and thunder echoed above the wind. He shouted orders no one heard. Men yelled; Kaylen heard a hideous, drawn out crack. The aft mast tilted toward him, crashing to the deck, ropes flailing like angry snakes, splinters flying.
    He was in the water. Cold, churning, foul-tasting water, foaming, in his ears, mouth, and eyes. Coughing, sputtering, he kicked off his boots. His sword slipped from its scabbard. He found a piece of flotsam and clung to it. Shaking water from his eyes, he peered into the maelstrom.
    The storm briefly illuminated the Wayfarer. She started riding up the inside of a growing wave; the deck buckled, and a black tear appeared at the waterline. Waves crashed across the ship, and she was gone. 
    Kaylen sank into the sea, following, surrounded by ghosts …
    
    He saw palms, grass, and grey sky.
    “You were having a nightmare,” said Jahsha, her hand on his shoulder.
    Kaylen shook his foggy head; the headache was now just a dull throb. He looked around, and noticed that he was still on the dune where he’d gone to sleep beside Symurall. The dragons were no longer nearby.
    “How long was I asleep?” he asked, slowly getting to his feet, brushing away clinging sand. 
    “Only a couple of hours,” Jahsha said. “It’s mid afternoon, though you certainly couldn’t tell with these clouds.”
    He saw Symurall further down the beach, with a few people nearby. There was no sign of the two female dragons.
    “Where…?”
    “The blue flew east,” Jahsha told him, “I’m not certain where the rusty-colored one is. We have some giant brown worms eating the kehklik corpses – oh, and Alanora seems to have wandered off. No one’s seen her in hours.”
    “She can take care of herself,” Kaylen said. “What’s Symurall doing? It looks like a meeting.”
    “He’s talking to those priests, and a few others whose curiosity out-weighs their fear. Most people are staying down by the water. I don’t think they’re comfortable with our rescuers yet. Can’t say that I blame them.”
    Kaylen shrugged. “We all need time to adjust. I’ll only get worried if we’re visited by a big grey one with purple spikes.”
    “How do you feel?”
    “Bruised. Stiff. Nothing’s broken. No more kehklik, I assume?”
    “I don’t know if your dragon killed them all, but we haven’t seen any.”
    “He’s not my dragon.”
    Jahsha laughed, and then hesitated. “We can’t stay here. Even without monsters, our food will run out, and soon. People need shelter, places to start putting their lives together…”
    Kaylen wearily held up a hand. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know,” he said. “Damn, I wish I had some answers.”
    “I suspect we’re going to be relying on your new friends,” she said. “The dwarf I like. I haven’t made my mind up about the dragons. Don’t tell anyone else, but they scare the piss out of me. I think a lot of other people agree. And then… well, one of my crew overheard Yohan talking to some others about going home.”
    “There is no home.”
    “They don’t want to believe that. I’m keeping most of my crew on the ship, in case Yohan and his friends do something annoying.”
    Kaylen shook his head, trying to clear cobwebs. “I need some time to think. Can you handle things?”
    With a chuckle, Jahsha said, “You’ve been unconscious for almost half a day; I think we can survive a bit longer without you.”
    “I didn’t mean…” Kaylen said quickly.
    “I know what you meant. Hell, we’d all be dead if it weren’t for you making friends with that dragon. ” She started walking toward the ferry. “We’re ship’s captains; we solve problems. It’s our job.” With a laugh, she added, “I’ll expect you to think up a brilliant solution to all our problems.”
    Kaylen noticed a spit of sand jutting into the sea, a good distance from everyone else, adorned with a single scraggly tree and some grass. At high tide, it was probably an island. A fitting place, he thought as he began walking.
    Away from the crowd, his back against the tree’s trunk, he cracked open a stray waternut, scraping out the soft inside with his knife. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was, or how much he wanted to be doing anything else but contemplating the fate of mankind.
    “Am I disturbing you?” 
    “No.” Kaylen didn’t turn; he smiled, and kept eating. Though he’d heard Symurall coming, it surprised him how quietly a dragon could move. “I expected you to look me up once you were done with the others.”
    Symurall laid his head on the sand next to Kaylen, looking out to sea. “I told them that I am not a god,” the dragon said, his tone clearly annoyed. “They invented a religion from our words of wisdom, and lost the meaning in their pursuit of reverence. I am uncertain what they think now. The one named Jennur seemed angry. I think he was too afraid to speak his mind, though.”
    “No surprise there.” Kaylen found another waternut, but it had gone rotten. He tossed it aside. “Food’s going to be a problem soon. These people need a place to rebuild. A home.”
    “Kyazura and I have already discussed this,” Symurall said. “We do not want to be presumptuous.”
    “Please, presume! It’s not like any of us have solutions.”
    “Twenty leagues from here lay the ruins of Tornaval,” the dragon stated. “It was once a great human city, and much of it remains relatively intact. The dwarves have an expedition there; my sister and I are known to them, and they are friends of Norgrim and Tohkay. The city is on a deep river with a port, and near arable land. It will not be difficult to persuade the dwarves to help your people settle there.”
    “And I assume there are no kehklik nearby?
    “No. You will be safer there.”
    “Safer?”
    “As safe as you will be anywhere in Syraqua.”
    Silence settled on them for a few minutes. “I worry that we’re depending on you for too much,” Kaylen finally said. At Symurall’s curious look, he quickly added, “I don’t see that we have much choice. I just know that some people aren’t going to be happy relying on your generosity. Quite a few people don’t believe that Tramora is gone. Some have even talked about taking Jahsha’s ship back home.”
    “Survival requires cooperation. They united for battle, did they not?”
    Kaylen laughed. “Humans unite when forced into it, and fight amongst themselves the rest of the time.”
    “Going to Tramora is foolish,” Symurall said stiffly. “My brother has already seen their destruction. Another of us has gone to independently evaluate the situation.”
    “Don’t take offense, but a lot of people aren’t going to believe what dragons say. They need to see things with their own eyes.”
    They sat for a while, watching the grey waves against a grey sky. 

    Alanora moved quickly, her breathing matched her steady footsteps, her thoughts calm and focused. So much to think about, and she needed to get home; time to do the former while letting the latter burn away the stress of recent days. Kaylen could certainly take care of himself. Thinking of the captain brought a smile to her lips. But she did not look back. 
    The dunes passed into sandy grassland and scrubby trees. Just to the west, Drakcaern stood dark against the grey sky. For a moment, she considered changing course; she hadn’t seen Tohkay for several months, and she missed the studious lizard’s company. He might even have insights into her dilemmas. But the urgency to get home drove her to continue south, toward her city in a mountain. She needed to reach home before her father learned of the newcomers. His reaction… she hoped she was wrong about her expectations.
    Lost in thought, she almost missed the huge shadow that passed nearby. Looking up, her blood froze. The dragon passed her, making a leisurely turn. Stopping, pulling the bow from her back, she nocked an arrow, and prepared to make at least one shot if it attacked. The dragon slowed; the delicacy of its landing surprised Alanora, and for a moment, she admired the grace of such an enormous beast. While not as large as Symurall, it was an impressive being, even beautiful, bright turquoise stripes set against rust and tan. The eyes stay fixed on the woman, not blinking, though the iris changed shape.
    “You are safe, Alanora Ortensa,” the dragon said. “My name is Mahgrurra.”
    “How…” Alanora lowered her aim for a moment, and then brought the weapon back to bear. “How do you know my name?”
    “I know much about you,” Mahgrurra stated calmly. “You are the daughter of Oric Ortensa, Lord of Caerelon. You were born twenty-seven years ago; your mother, Elsha, died of frostfever four years past. Since that time, you have traveled often and widely in the company of Norgrim the dwarf and the See’ee’ah named Tohkay Ahtok. Now please lower the weapon, so we might avoid any annoying accidents.”
    Alanora stepped back, still holding the weapon at ready. “Who betrayed me?”
    “No one betrayed you. I have never spoken to Tohkay or Norgrim at length. Nor does Symurall know about your origins, to my knowledge. For the moment, accept that I have friends among your people, and we have worked to keep your secrets.”
    Alanora shook her head. “No. That’s impossible.”
    Mahgrurra snorted and laughed. “Did you think it possible to hide forever behind camouflage and masked scents? If I were a threat, your people would have been obliterated long before your birth.”
    A jumble of racing thoughts refused to become anything coherent, and Alanora simply stared at the dragon. After a moment, she forcibly cleared her mind, returning the arrow to its quiver and shouldering the bow. 
    “What do you expect of me?” she asked calmly and deliberately. “I doubt this is a social call. You want something, so out with it.”
    Mahgrurra pulled her head up, cocked it to one side, and blinked. “Symurall described Kaylen to me, and now I find myself faced with another human who is fearless.”
    “Kaylen doesn’t know what he should fear,” Alanora said firmly. “I don’t let fear rule my life.”
    “Obviously not, or we would not be having this conversation.”
    “Again: What do you want?”
    “My colony has spent almost three centuries protecting your people.”
    “Why?”
    “Does it matter?”
    “Yes.”
    “It was the right thing to do.”
    Alanora laughed. “That’s it? Pardon me if I’m a bit skeptical.”
    “It is the only answer to give. I do not wish to see our efforts fail now. Even dragons cannot maintain secrets forever. The survivors of Tramora will find Caerelon. Your isolation will end. You must return home as quickly as possible, and keep your father from making a mistake.”
    “That’s what I was doing before you interrupted me. If you don’t mind, I have a long way to go.” Alanora started walking forward.
    A dragon’s paw was extended in front of her, its open palm upward.
    “You have got to be joking,” she said.
    “Time is of the essence,” Mahgrurra stated. “In a few hours, I can save you days of walking.”
    “I don’t think my father is going to be very happy if I’m hand-delivered by a dragon.”
    “That is not a problem. I will deliver you to trusted allies near Caerelon. You can travel the remaining distance on your own.” The scaly, clawed fingers wiggled a bit. “A few minutes ago, you could have sent an arrow into my eye. I trusted you to think before shooting. Please trust me now.”
    Alanora took a step forward, hesitated, unsure as to how to mount, finally deciding to straddle the middle finger, legs dangling, her back resting against the palm. The fingers enclosed her gently; the proximity of great black claws made her heart race. The dragon slowly lifted into the air. Alanora wondered what mechanism made it possible for such an enormous creature to float and fly.
    “Are you comfortable?” the dragon asked.
    “I guess so. The swaying is upsetting my stomach. Don’t be surprised if I get sick.”
    “Do not worry. I am washable.”
    The dragon flew southeast. Alanora couldn’t decide whether to fear for her life or be thrilled by the view, and settled for a cautious appreciation of her circumstances. From the rapidly-moving perch in Mahgrurra’s paw, she formed new perspectives on familiar places as they rushed by below: grasslands and forests, fallow fields and crumbling structures, rivers and abandoned roads. A herd of six-legged ekkah-beasts whisked past, warily watching the predator. Never in her life had she imagined being carried over the landscape by a dragon – or, at least, she’d never expected to do so outside its mouth. A world she’d traveled for years suddenly seemed much smaller. The reddish mountains of the Sanguine peaks loomed closer with each moment. Grassy plains were replaced by the familiar forests of her home valley. On a foothill of one mountain spur, she recognized a grey stone tower, its ragged demeanor designed to make it appear abandoned and dilapidated. Inside, however, were members of her people, on watch against any incursions of kehklik. Alanora nearly shrieked as Mahgrurra circled quickly behind granite peaks, and rapidly dove into a small valley. Before she knew what was happening, the dragon had stopped, and let her go.
    “That was… some ride,” Alanora said, wobbling and a bit dizzy.
    “At least you did not get sick.”
    “She wouldn’t. Not her,” came a gruff voice. A tall white-bearded man emerged from the trees, dressed in chainmail hauberk. “Good to see you, Mahgrurra. I must admit, I never expected to see Lord Oric’s daughter arriving in your company.”
    “Grehn!” Alanora said. “You know this dragon?”
    “Indeed I do,” he said, walking over to stroke the great reptile’s neck. “We’ve killed quite a few kehklik in our day, haven’t we, old friend? And shared some fine conversation, too, I might add.”
    “Yes we have,” said the dragon. “I must be going. You have much to tell each other, and my colony-mates should learn of recent events. The world grows more complicated with each passing moment.” The dragon fixed its attention on Alanora. “I hope you trust me now. Great events unfold, and we must take care to guide our destinies. If you need me, I will do what I can.” And the dragon flew away.
    Alanora shook her head, and stood quietly, looking in the direction where the dragon had gone.
    “My lady…” Grehn began.
    “Don’t call me that. You’ve known me since I was a toddler. At court, I’m happy to be Oric’s daughter; with you, we’re just old friends, okay?” She gave him a hug. “I’ve missed you.”
    “The feeling’s mutual,” said Grehn, smiling. “It’s been what? Six months this time?”
    “Almost,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long. You won’t believe what I’ve seen.”
    “In the very least, you’ve befriended a dragon who’s taken great pains to hide her involvement in our lives. I can’t imagine what else you’ve seen and done.”
    Alanora laughed. “No, Grehn, you can’t. The entire world has changed in ways I don’t fully understand.”
    “Then I’ll break out some good ale and a bit of mediocre food, and you can tell me all about it.” They walked up the hill, toward the old tower.

    After a quick breakfast, Tohkay grabbed a scroll case and climbed to the top of the keep’s tower, hoping to warm himself. The days had grown cooler, and he wished for clear sunlight to warm his stomach. Still, being outside under grey skies was preferable to remaining within the dark keep. As he lay down in a comfortable section of the parapet wall, he noticed one of the reddish desert dragons nearby. It landed a few miles away and flew away a short time later, clutching something to its chest. Tohkay wondered what it was carrying, and if it was related to the battle on the beach. He was not entirely ignorant of events, having watched the Symurall’s lightning flashes on the horizon; the dragon’s intervention did not surprise him, and was, in fact, quite comforting. Earlier in the day, Kyazura had visited briefly, telling him of Norgrim’s survival. It pleased the lizard to know that the future held more arguments with the dwarf.
    From one of his pouches, Tohkay extracted his spectacles, looping the chain over his neck and settling the bridge across his broad snout. Much as events on the beach intrigued him, he was enjoying a chance to read his recently-obtained books without interruption. Especially this book. A See’ee’ah scroll, dark-green symbols claw-scrawled on yellowed paper. Retrieved by Tohkay himself, from deep beneath the layered ruins of Roqat, written before Symurall and his siblings had been born, preserved in a remarkable sealed vault. The author was G’kossa, a legendary scholar whose works had been thought lost to time. And for Tohkay, it was better than a warm shaft from the sun. It was history, written by someone who had lived it.
    Tohkay knew the Story of Deliverance, as it was taught, beginning when the kehklik had grown aggressive, invading the jungles of Wyvernrift, killing, destroying, leaving the See’ee’ah fearing for their very survival. Joah’tu, a brave and reckless See’ee’ah, rescued the enslaved wyvern Ethris, and together they’d flown across the Black Sea to the land of the First Colony on Artorra. Joah’tu alone survived the journey, and he returned on the back of a very young dragon prince named Garthonnex. Joining forces with his future mate, Narrahnjarra, Garthonnex had fought the enemy back to its home, ending the kehklik threat.
    Tohkay knew what the legend said, but he was much more interested in what it didn’t say. So many missing details, so many questions about where the kehklik had originated, why they had been peaceful for so long, and how the conflict had begun. The kinds of questions that Tohkay had once asked, and been told not to ask any more. He had come a long way from home to look for answers.
    He unrolled the scroll and began to read.

    Traveling east, Sytherek sang to himself; it was a composition he hadn’t worked on in decades, yet it flowed again. Serendipitous possibilities fed a dozen threads of thought, opening long-forgotten reflections and deliberations. The music was the pleasant result of interacting considerations, and it pleased the dragon.
    He let the song trail off as he spied an ancient human ruin – the city of Tornaval, sprawled across the bluffs overlooking the wide River Evvon. Sytherek remembered the city as it had once been, its streets filled with people, caravans moving on the cliff-side road between town and harbor, sounds of human industry and life drifting upward. Centuries after it had been assaulted, invaded, and abandoned, the human presence lingered in the rectangular shapes of roofless walls and the neat streets that curved up to the ruins of the central citadel. The observation fit well with the dragon’s ruminations; the depth of his thoughts almost masked the arrival of another.
    “Hello, brother,” said Kyazura, who slowed to hover beside him.
    “Greetings, sister,” he replied. He pointed downward with one great claw. “Your dwarves have a camp below. I smell a hundred of them at least. More explorations of the past?”
    “Yes. I am here to see them.”
    “The humans will be moving here, will they not?”
    “How did you know?” Her voice held an uncharacteristic tone of abject surprise.
    “I saw part of the battle. Our brother can be quite impressive when he unleashes his powers. And bringing them here is the obvious solution, if we do not simply eat them all.”
    “You are not angry?”
    “Hungry perhaps, but not angry. Did you expect me to be?” When she didn’t immediately reply, he continued. “Of course you did. It would never occur to you that I might find Symurall’s actions both commendable and illuminating. It is time that he realized how foolish the Sanctagora meetings are.” Kyazura remained silent as the two of them hovered above the ruins.
    Sytherek turned away and said, “I have not seen Vallahnoka and my family for many days. I am going home. Good fortune, sister. Tell Symurall he has my support.” 
    Sytherek quickly left sister and ruin behind him, crossing the river to fly over wide grasslands. Remnants of abandoned roads drew faint lines across the prairie; a few ragged structures stood like tombstones in remembrance of long-dead villages and farms.  He wondered how long it would take the new humans to rebuild – if they had the chance.
    A herd of horses galloped away at his approach; a quick hunt solved his hunger problem.
    The land beneath him was drier now, the soil brown, supporting only scattered scrub brush and stunted trees. Great pinnacles and plateaus of red and brown arose from the landscape, carved by constant winds. Sytherek soared, gliding, savoring every nuance of the air as he weaved between the monoliths.
    A bright spot on the horizon caught his eye, and soon resolved itself into a familiar form. The approaching dragon performed a barrel role, and then turned to parallel Sytherek’s course.
    “Tyreon!” Sytherek called with joy. “And what brings you out this way?”
    “I missed you,” the young metallic-lavender dragon said. “You were gone a long time. Mother sent me to look for you.”
    “Only so you would leave her in peace,” the father laughed.
    “Perhaps.”
    “I am glad you were a pest. Now show me how fast you are!”
    They raced toward distant mountains.
    
    Kyazura watched her brother recede in the distance. She then descended in circles toward Tornaval. The ruins lay neatly along the river’s bluff; in their center stood a hill, atop which lay the remains of a sprawling castle. She flew slowly around the curtain wall once, and settled into the courtyard. Around her, a few dozen dwarves were busy at tasks Kyazura only vaguely understood. A few stopped working for a moment to greet the dragon.
    “Lady Kyazura!” a gruff voice called. Two female dwarves approached from the direction of the largest structure. The older was dressed in a heavy leather apron covered in dirt and soot, her long grey hair held in multiple beaded braids that ran down her back. The other, much younger, with brilliant red hair, wore a deep blue dress of heavy denim. 
    “It is good to see you, Dorna,” Kyazura said, addressing the older woman. Nodding her head a bit, the dragon added. “Greetings to you as well, Kalinda. I did not know you had joined your mother this year.”
    “I couldn’t keep her away,” Dorna said with false exasperation and a grin. “Kalinda takes after her father. Stubborn.” Mother and daughter laughed in unison.
    “I bring news of your mate,” Kyazura said. “He is nearby, to the northwest.”
    “Now there’s no surprise. He and Tohkay are visiting that brother of yours, aren’t they?”
    “They were. Norgrim is now assisting human refugees along the coast.”
    “Human?” Kalinda asked. “Did you say human?”
    “I did.”
    Everyone in the courtyard fell silent.

    On the beach, Symurall raised his head. “My sister is coming.” Kyazura landed gently, in the surf, and walked slowly toward the man and her brother, water splashing high at her steps.
    “I spoke with Dorna at Tornaval,” Kyazura said. “She was curious, annoyed, and very understanding of the situation. They will help you.”
    “My wife never did like unexpected guests,” said Norgrim, who ambled up to the group. “Even if they are exotic.”
    “Exotic?” Kaylen laughed. “That’s one word no one has ever used to describe me. And what’s this about your wife?”
    “My lovely lady is Chief Archaeologist in the northlands.” Norgrim’s voice and posture displayed considerable pride.
     “Your daughter Kalinda is at Tornaval as well,” Kyazura continued. “They will prepare the river docks and assist in creation of shelters. Along the coast, we’ve seen a sufficient number of ships for carrying your people to the city.”
    “Possibly…” Kaylen said, starting to consider the logistics.
    “I have also met Sytherek,” Kyazura added. “Our brother observed your defense of the humans, and sends his support.”
    Symurall froze in place for a moment, his eyes growing slightly larger. A grumble started deep in his chest, and he opened his mouth; Kaylen and Norgrim jumped back. The sound was reminiscent of vast boulders bouncing down a hill, crashing into each other in a chaotic rumble.
    “I’ve never heard him laugh like that before!” Norgrim yelled as the sound subsided.
    “Few things amuse me this much,” said Symurall. “My brother can still pleasantly surprise me after thousands of years. Did he explain his reasoning?”
    “No,” Kyazura replied. “I am simply pleased to find us united on this matter. With Mahgrurra’s support, we will have a majority –”
    Loud and angry voices came from the direction of the main camp. Kaylen started running. Drawing closer, he slowed to a trot. A crowd had divided into two nearly-equal groups; Jahsha and Jennur stood in their midst, toe-to-toe.
    “…my ship!” Jahsha was bellowing as Kaylen came within earshot. “I’ll be in hell before you take her!”
    “You’ve no right to keep us here!” Jennur blustered back.
    The crowd grew silent; for a moment, Kaylen though they were reacting to him, when he realized that Symurall and Kyazura had followed. People backed tepidly away, quietly, leaving Jahsha and Jennur to stand their ground against each other.
    “We want to go home,” stated Jennur. He stabbed a long finger at Jahsha. “She refuses to let us use her ship!”
    “Home is gone!” she shot back. “Going to Tramora is a death sentence.”
    “You don’t know that! No one knows that!”
    “I know,” Symurall stated.
    “Surely you don’t expect me to trust false gods,” cried Jennur.
    “I am not a god!” the great reptile said darkly; Jennur backed up a step. “We came to your people with counsel, and it became religion. The error is yours.”
    As Jennur opened his mouth, Kaylen quickly said, “Without Symurall, you’d be dead. At least pretend to be grateful.” Jennur said nothing, crossing his arms defiantly.
    “This argument is a waste of time,” Jahsha stated. “If Tramora was destroyed, anyone would be stupid to go back, even briefly. We can’t take risks like that, not if we’re the only survivors.”
    “If!” shouted Yohan, the trader, from a distance. “You want us to believe our families and cities are gone. You’re in league with these creatures!”
    “Oh please!” Kaylen said, struggling to hold back laughter. “Do you honestly think we conjured those storms and flaming rocks? Look up at the sky!” He waved an arm. “Nothing but thick clouds as far as the eye can see. Explain how we arranged that!”
    “I have a solution,” the sea dragon said, his voice disturbingly calm and invasive.
    “Which is?” Jennur asked.
    “I will take someone to Tramora. A human can observe and report. I suggest Kaylen as your representative, since he has flown with me before.”
    “No!” Jennur said. “I don’t trust this ragged captain.” He sneered at Kaylen, who simply grinned in return. “He’s too friendly with you.”
    “Then I will take you instead.” Symurall stretched forth his claws. Jennur jumped away anxiously.
    “I don’t think…” the cleric stammered.
    “I’ll go!” shouted a young woman who was part of neither crowd. Kaylen recognized Zarah. “I’ve had no part in this argument. I just want to know the truth.” Looking at Jennur, she asked, “Do you trust me?”
    The bishop muttered something under his breath. “If you return, I will listen to what you say.” Then he marched stiffly away, supporters falling in behind him. Calling back, without turning, he said, “We will wait, but not forever.”
    “And then what?” Kaylen shouted. Jennur ignored him.
    “I do not understand humans,” said Kyazura, who had been quiet through the arguments. “Why would we lie?”
    “Jennur is frightened,” said Zarah. “They all are. Some people might trust dragons and dwarves, but you can’t expect everyone to be the same way.” She paused, clearly considering something. “I have one request. Before we leave, I’d appreciate talking with you. I’ve spent half my life following Kira the goddess. I’d like to know something about Kyazura the dragon.”
    “Come with me,” the blue dragon said in soft tones. The two of them walked inland.
    “Can you carry two?” Kaylen asked Symurall.
    “Of course,” the dragon replied. “I assumed you would be coming as well.”
    “I’ll find you some provisions,” Jahsha said, and she hurried off toward the wrecked ferry.

    Sharp mountains arose against the horizon, and Sytherek found great comfort in the sight of his home, Crythamar. Tyreon glided just below him, slightly ahead, sunlight reflecting from his pale metallic scales. The father smiled at the thought of an eldest son growing into adulthood. Eight hundred years had passed far too quickly.
    Soaring multi-colored mountains surrounded a great cirque; a long-extinct glacier had carved a great bowl in the top of a remarkable plateau. Dark pine forest sheltered clear lakes and streams filled with icy water melted from snowy peaks, their waters plunging from the open southern side of the valley into a misty lake far below. In singles and clusters, immense amethyst crystals punctuated the natural beauty; on a sunny day, they reflected purple lights across the valley. Yet even those wonders were nothing compared to the work of Vallahnoka: Monumental sculptures carved into the peaks, ridges, and spires, a collection of massive and intricate shapes – dragons, wild animals, and abstract images. It was a fitting home for an elder dragon and his family.
    Sytherek easily spied his mate to the west, clouds of dust arising as she worked on a new piece. “I will see your mother, and come to the lakes later,” father said to his son. Tyreon banked away.
    As Sytherek approached his mate, he slowed and hovered, watching her work. Around her lay large piles of material: fine sands, rough gravel, smooth pebbles. She floated a hundred feet above the valley floor; from below, a pile would rise and begin spinning, forming a blurry, faintly-humming disk. With a gesture of head and claw, Vallahnoka directed the disk against the mountain outcrop. A sharp whine, and another line would be cut, another curve refined.
    “What do you think?” she finally asked, without looking at Sytherek. Her carving disk settled onto the ground.
    “A seahorse?” he suggested.
    She smiled. “Indeed.”
    “I like it. Symurall will most certainly enjoy it when you are finished.”
    “Finishing can wait for another day. Let me clean away the dust.” She darted away, down, and through one of the falls. The water cascaded off her bright silver scales and copper-and-turquoise wings. A rainbow reflected briefly from scattered droplets.
    “Lovely as always,” said Sytherek as she returned to him, admiring her again as if for the first time. “My apologies for being gone so long, but momentous events are upon us.”
    “Tell me everything,” she said.

    Symurall glided across a colorless ocean under a bland sky, carrying two humans. Kaylen could not tell if Zarah was engrossed in the ride or petrified with terror. 
    “We approach the southernmost islands,” Symurall called out. “I will drop lower, to give you a better view.”
    Kaylen peered ahead. Dark shapes formed on the horizon, and his face felt the wind weaken as the dragon slowed. These were the Seaward Provinces, an archipelago known for its diverse fruits and white beaches. He’d sailed there often, bringing manufactured goods from the large northern islands and taking away crates of produce and local weavings. 
    These were not the islands he’d known. No white beaches, no towering green trees, no villages – just a dark landscape studded with frondless stalks. As Symurall circled one of the larger islands, Kaylen saw the shapes of sunken and capsized vessels near what might have been a long dock. Faint lines and clusters of collapsed wood and stone marked the remnants of homes. The flocks of scavenging birds were gone; dead fish floated in the water. The air smelled of fire and dust and sulfur.
    “North!” Kaylen called, as loudly as he could. “Vandoval should be thirty leagues from here.”
    They crossed a stretch of open sea, and reached a much larger island. Below limestone cliffs lay a wide beach. Two large ships stood there, and Kaylen’s heart jumped with anticipation, only to drop into despair as he saw that the vessels were grounded, one tilted precariously on a sandbar, the other broken on rocks. Symurall flew slowly over the wrecks. Kaylen’s eyes scoured them for any sign of life. He saw no one.
    The dragon soared up the cliff and skimmed across a land of fallen trees and ash. The pale trunks lay in neat formation, all oriented the same direction, smaller branches and leaves stripped away. An alien land, unrecognizable; Kaylen found his grief confused by a sense of unreality. Now he saw the outlines of buildings ahead. But not the proper shapes; these were jagged mockeries. He’d grown up around Vandoval; the Wayfarer was based there. The tall tiled government buildings, the downtown district with its red-stone stores, houses rich and poor – all were in ruins, broken, destroyed. And nowhere did he see any people. The port area of the city came into view. Something was different here; the smell was strange, sour. Piles of pale objects lay on the docks, the seashore, and the decks of ships silently moored. He thought, perhaps, these were bags of grain or supplies; then he realized they were bodies, hundreds of bodies, all crowded by the sea, the remains of people looking for an escape that had not come.  
    “We should land,” Symurall said. He coasted a short way up the coast, away from the carnage, and hovered just above the ground, allowing Kaylen and Zarah to unsteadily step away. No one said anything immediately. Kaylen’s lungs burned; a foul taste filled his nose. Zarah coughed, several times, hard. Kaylen noticed streaks in the grime on her cheeks, and wondered if his own tears had created a similar pattern.
    “We can go no farther north,” Symurall said. “The air will kill you, perhaps me as well. Even dragons are not immune to such poisons.”
    “What happened?” Zarah asked. “Everyone… it’s like something struck them down as they tried to escape.”
    Symurall nodded. “Undersea volcanoes can release clouds of poisonous fumes.”
    “I want to see more,” stated Zarah. “Maybe the islands to the east were spared.”
    “It’s possible,” Kaylen said. “But it’ll be getting dark in an hour. Let’s go back to the outer islands, where the air is better. We can set out again at first light.”
    Zarah nodded, and Symurall took them away.

    Norgrim stood on the beach next to Jahsha, watching her ship sail away to the west. “Shouldn’t you be going with them?” he asked. 
    “No,” she said. “If I’m still here, people will expect the Gull to return. My crew won’t abandon me.” She sighed. “Once we start gathering people, we’ll take a look at these ruins of yours.”
    “You sound doubtful,” Norgrim said.
    “Of course I have my doubts. We’re running from the ruin of our world to more ruins.” She laughed. “I never liked civilization all that much anyway, even when it wasn’t a pile of rubble.”
    “Don’t think of them as ruins,” Norgrim declared. “You’ll be reclaiming a piece of human heritage.”
    “I don’t want to reclaim anything. I don’t want to restore civilization. I want to go to sea, travel…” She let it trail off. “I can’t fault Kaylen for finding a way out of this mess, even for a day. Let’s hope your dragon-friend doesn’t get hungry.”
    Norgrim chuckled. “Symurall is the least of Kaylen’s problems.”

    Symurall coasted slowly south, toward cleaner air, then abruptly changed course, going east, quickening his pace. Foul smells bit at their lungs. A large island came into view, and Symurall descended, picking up speed, clearly urged forward by something only he could sense. Kaylen strained to see the world as it rushed past; then they were on the ground. Symurall released his passengers quickly before sprinting toward an enormous shape looming in the twilight.
    “That’s another dragon,” Zarah said, just as Kaylen came to the same conclusion.
    “Zarah!” Symurall bellowed from the distance. “Come!” The imperious tone of the dragon was tinged with – a sense of desperation? Kaylen followed the monk as they ran forward. A great golden dragon lay half in, half out of the sea, water washing over its tail, head resting at Symurall’s feet, eyes closed. Even in the gathering darkness, Kaylen could see that she was a beautiful creature, delicate in an enormous way.
    “Oh no…” Kaylen murmured.
    “She’s not dead,” Zarah said, stroking the dragon’s silent face. Its flanks moved very slowly, but rhythmically.
    “This is Narrahnjarra, mate of Garthonnex,” Symurall said, shifting nervously. “Zarah, what is wrong with her?”
    “I don’t know anything about dragons!”
    “You were a member of a faith created around Kyazura’s wisdom.”
    “I was taught medicine for people. Not dragons.”
    “I do not… need… aid,” the golden dragon said quietly. “Just rest.” She opened her large grey eyes.
    “You appear injured,” Symurall said, still sounding concerned.
    “I lacked caution,” Narrahnjarra replied. “Now let me sleep. We can speak of my errors in the morning.” Her eyes closed again.
    Symurall settled onto the sand, resting his head alongside hers.
    Kaylen turned to Zarah. “This appears to be our camping spot.” Gently, he removed a bundle strapped to one of Symurall’s legs, and began work on a shelter. As darkness enveloped them, Zarah managed to start a small, sputtering fire.
    “Even the fire doesn’t like being here,” she said, looking at its red flickers. Pulling her robe tighter, she wrapped her arms around her knees, rocking quietly. Kaylen offered her some food; she waved it away. The sailor sat on a piece of driftwood across from her, slowly eating one of the hard biscuits Jahsha had given them. He ate because it was something to do, a small ritual that took his mind away from what they’d seen.
    “If these lands can lay a dragon low, we have no hope of coming back,” he finally said. He handed Zarah a water-skin and she took a quick drink.
    She sighed. “Maybe I expected the dragons to be wrong, that everything would be just fine and we could go home. Now I want to cry. I should cry. I’m all cried out, I guess.”
    “Same here,” Kaylen said.
    “Now that’s not the right thing for a brave sailor to say!” Zarah laughed. The sound lifted Kaylen’s spirits. He shrugged, and found smiling a bit easier.
    “At least some of us will live on,” she continued.
    “So at the end of the world, you haven’t lost your faith?”
    “The world is still here. And as for my faith…” She paused, and relaxed her pose. “I talked with Kyazura before we came here. She’s a very gentle soul. I can see how her beliefs formed the basis for the Kiran Order.” Another pause. “No, I haven’t lost my faith, at least not the part of it that’s important. After all, my inspiration isn’t a mystical being – Kyazura is real. That’s something special.”
    Kaylen considered her words for a several moments, and said, “An interesting viewpoint. I assume Jennur doesn’t share your revelations?”
    “Jennur is scared,” she laughed. “He’s afraid that he’ll stop being important. I can see how people like him twisted the words of dragons into something that gave them power.”
    “People like Jennur are one reason I went to sea,” said Kaylen. He unrolled two blankets beneath the lean-to he’d built earlier. With a grin, he added, “I promise to be a gentleman.”
    She got up, walked over to the lean-to, and kneeled on one of the blankets.
    “I hope you’re not too much of a gentleman,” she said. At his befuddled look, she added, “Don’t get the wrong idea! I just want to feel another living human. The last thing I want tonight is to be alone.”
    He lay next to her, and found that simply holding her made sleeping much easier.

    “It’s growing dark,” Alanora said.
    Grehn stood and stretched. “I’ve got a spare cot upstairs, if you want to get some sleep.”
    “No. If I set out now, I should reach Caerelon by early morning. The sooner I talk to my father…” She let the sentence trail off. “You haven’t said much about what I’ve told you. Don’t get shy with your opinions now!”
    The old soldier shrugged. “I’m not sure my opinion is going to make much difference.” He stood next to a small window, and stared out at the forest beyond. “I always knew we couldn’t stay hidden forever. Hell, we weren’t hidden, not completely. It was an illusion, one I and the other Wardens helped maintain. Now it’s going to come crashing down around us.” He turned to look at Alanora. “Things have not been going well. Your father has grown more troubled.”
    “You mean suspicious.”
    “If we’re going to be blunt, I’ll add ‘paranoid’ and ‘mad’ to the list.”
    “I can’t believe it’s gotten that bad.”
    “It has. He’s been moving farmers into the caverns, and he’s questioning the motives and loyalty of people like me. Food is getting short inside the mountain. More and more people are frightened, or angry, or… well, I’ve been doing what I can, spending more time in Caerelon, trying to keep people from doing something stupid. If there’s going to be a revolt, I want it to be an effective one.” At her stunned look, he added, “If your father gets even a whiff of what’s going on, the executioner’s going to be very busy.”
    “I don’t like what you’re implying,” she said, annoyed. “You must trust me, or you wouldn’t have said anything at all.”
    He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Yes, I trust you. I’m hoping we can go even further. The timing of your return… it would have been better if we’d spoken sooner.”
    “Just get to the point.”
    “How directly will you oppose your father?”
    She silently regarded him for a moment. “That depends on how bad things are in Caerelon. I need to see for myself.”
    “And if you decide that something needs to be done?”
    “I’ll do whatever I must to protect the people of Caerelon,” she said. “Father is right about one thing: I’ve been gone too long and too often. I’m sorry… I should have been here.”
    “Don’t be! Without you, we’d be operating blind.”
    “Maybe I can still talk to him.”
    “I don’t know if talking to him will solve anything.” He scowled, and slammed a fist against the wall. “Alanora, his men destroyed a dozen farms in the greenwood a few days ago. He sent troops to raze the homes of people whose only crime was starting fires to keep warm in this infernal grey weather.” Grehn’s voice grew more insistent. “Your father accused them of ‘endangering Caerelon’, to use his favorite phrase these days. Prime Minister Kudric has said even worse about good folk. I’m not certain you’ll be safe now. I know I’m not.”
    “Kudric? He’s a minor bureaucrat. How did he become Prime Minister?”
    “I’d love to know, lass, I’d love to know. He feeds your father’s fears, and builds his own power. My rebels aren’t the only revolution within Caerelon’s walls.”
    Alanora sat quietly, stunned, wrapping her head around what she was hearing. Then she stood, collecting her gear. “If I start now, I’ll be home by morning.”
    “If you can’t talk sense to your father,” Grehn said, “You should know a few more things…”

     “Father! Humans! Lots of humans! With boats!”
    Sytherek opened one eye, keeping the other closed in hope of sleeping for another few hours. His view was filled with Tyreon, who hovered nearby. The day was going to start, whether he wanted it to or not.
    “Do not wake your mother!” Sytherek hissed. Tyreon nodded, still wearing an eager look. Sytherek moved slowly away from his mate, and jumped into the air.
    “Where are these humans?” he asked.
    “We were feasting on a beached whale,” Tyreon said hurriedly. “Voxx saw sails off the coast, many ships. Ashatha and Voxx wanted to chase the humans, but I told them to wait for you.”
    Father followed son over the mountains, then down toward the sea. The humans were not difficult to find; Sytherek counted five ships as he quickly approached. Four smaller vessels, hulls dark and sails red, surrounded the fifth, a large pale ship. The sound of angry, clashing metal and loud human voices drifted upward, along with the scent of fresh human blood. Shouts arose from the red-sailed vessels, and a huge shaft whistled past Sytherek’s tail. Howling with rage, he accelerated into a tight turn. 
    “Tyreon!” Sytherek commanded. “To shore!”
    The young dragon hesitated, still following his father. Two more bolts shot from the ships, one narrowly missing Tyreon’s head.
    “Now!” bellowed Sytherek. His son immediately climbed away.
    Sytherek's anger and energy built rapidly. Folding his wings back, the dragon dove, the air around him hissing; his spines glowing, he shot across the attacking ships, leaving bright balls of energetic purple mist in his wake. He heard yelling, screaming, the crackling of wood, the cacophonous clatter of uncountable metal objects colliding as they rushed into his magnetic clouds. His targets disintegrated in a spray of bloody splinters.
    The two remaining small ships turned away; panicked orders reached his ears. Sytherek focused, rapidly approaching the fleeing ships from astern. He extended his energies, picking a simpler force. A bright glow appeared amid both ships, erupting into fireballs. As Sytherek passed above the charred wreckage, he noted with satisfaction how carnivorous fish were already gathering amid the carnage, neatly solving the problems any survivors might pose.
    He turned his attention to the white ship. A few bodies lay scattered in red pools on its deck; wounded people moaned and called for aid. Rising for a better look, he noticed a woman on the deck; she held a white cloth, and was waving it vigorously. For a moment, he considered finishing what he’d started, yet her gesture invoked his curiosity. Circling the ship at a safe distance, he saw very few people moving, and nothing that appeared to be a weapon. Slowly, he descended, cautiously approaching the ship.
    “Lord dragon!” she called, speaking Erashi. “We are not your enemy!”
    The desperation in her voice was obvious. Several other people joined her, some shading their eyes to get a better look at the dragon. He considered that they might have been fighting enemies from the red-sailed ships. Sytherek decided it would be rude to kill them, at least for the moment. He hovered next to the ship.
    “I am Sytherekkor-oran-issikkar,” he declared. “I protect these waters and lands to the south. Who are you?”
    The woman stepped forward and said, “I am Danelle Rahnor, Magister of Korsovah.” She bowed her head. “We did not intend to intrude on your territory, Lord Sytherek.” The dragon found her tone of reverence both flattering and annoying.
    “There is no Korsovah,” Sytherek replied. “I have seen the blasted remains of your homeland.” He paused for a moment, contemplating the woman before him. “You are far from other survivors and fighting more of your kind. Explain.”
    “Survivors?” a man cried amid the murmur of the other humans.
    “Tramora is destroyed,” Sytherek said bluntly. “Some humans were found on the shores of my brother’s lands to the west.” He noticed the shocked looks, and sensed confused emotions. “Tell me what was happening here. Those vessels with red sails attacked me without provocation.”
    “Pirates, my lord,” Danelle said. “They are criminals who attack other people to steal and ransom. They came upon us this morning, and we were fighting for our lives. Your actions saved us from a terrible fate.”
    “Rescue was not my intent,” Sytherek said derisively. “I have no love for your species. Humans once tried to kill me.” The people on the deck shrank away, though Danelle held her ground, still looking directly at the dragon. He saw something intriguing and familiar in the blond woman’s bearing, her willingness to face him.
    “Go west,” he continued. “Stay near the coast, past the dry lands, until you find the mouth of the black river Evvon. A few leagues upriver lay the remains of an abandoned human city named Tornaval. The other survivors will gather there to rebuild, and you should join them. When you arrive, find a man named Kaylen Thyr, and tell him I sent you.”
    Without further word, Sytherek lifted up and away, smiling at his private little joke.

    Rolling thunder and collapsing mountains dragged Kaylen violently out of a deep sleep. He jumped to his feet, grabbed for his weapon, tangled with the lean-to, and fell backward in an awkward heap of sticks and cloth. Thrashing about, he heard Zarah giggling. Calming himself, he pulled aside part of the tarp to see three heads, one small, two very large, looking at him intently.
    “Is there a problem?” Symurall asked, sounding so serious that Kaylen started laughing himself. The dragons watched as Zarah helped untangle him.
    “You look good this morning,” the sailor said to Narrahnjarra. “Certainly better than I do!”
    “I am fine,” the golden dragon replied. He wondered what she looking like in bright sunlight, deciding it would be magnificent, and cursed the clouds again. It was as if the entire world was behind dirty glass; the dull colors seemed to be seeping into his skin and mind, leaving him feeling gritty and questioning if he would ever feel clean again.
    Narrahnjarra and Symurall walked down to the beach, and began speaking in their native tongue. Now Kaylen knew what had awakened him – the deep grumbles, growls, and tones of dragon-speech. He remembered Norgrim talking to Arrokka, and determined to learn the language of creatures that seemed to hold his destiny in their claws.
    “Ignorance is suicidal,” he said quietly.
    “What did you say?” Zarah asked.
    “Nothing important. Let’s see what the plan is.”
    “You cannot go north,” Narrahnjarra stated, switching to Erashi when the humans approached. “The air is foul with poisonous fumes, polluted by volcanoes that still erupt.” Her tone softened. “I am sorry. Tramora is ruined. I saw no one alive.”
    “Jennur and his fools aren’t going to believe us or your word,” Kaylen said.
    “Then let’s give him proof,” Zarah declared.
    “How?”
    “Rhysthyn is forty leagues east of here, and not much further north. If I bring Jennur a relic, something everyone can see and hold, maybe they will believe.”
    “I can take you there,” Symurall said. “I know the place from long ago.”
    “As for me, it is time to go home,” Narrahnjarra said. “Garthonnex should have returned from the First Colony, and we will know the extent of the disaster. On my way, I will pass along my observations to others.”
    “What observations?” Kaylen asked, trying to be politely pointed.
    “I can see why Symurall finds you so fascinating,” she said, her head snapping to look at him for a brief moment. Then she flew away without waiting for a response.
    “Uh-huh,” said Kaylen. “What does she think of your saving us?”
    “She was against intervention on your behalf,” said Symurall, who watched Narrahnjarra’s form recede in the distance. When he could no longer see her, he walked away from the man and woman, and without looking at them said, “She had good reasons to counsel against involving ourselves in your survival.”
    Kaylen was about to say something when he felt Zarah’s hand on his arm.
    “You’re right,” he told her before she could say anything. “Let’s pack up.”

    Alanora ran beside an old overgrown road, staying under the trees. She knew it was useless to hide, that the danger of discovery didn’t exist, but she was unwilling to break with habit. Also, the forest canopy comforted her by hiding the heavy, clouded skies. Every day, the clouds seemed lower and more oppressive.
    A black volcanic cone loomed before her, rising thousands of feet up above the valley floor. At its base, the ruins of an abandoned town lay beneath centuries of overgrowth. Far up the slope, on a plateau along the side of the mountain, stood a silent castle, carved directly from the basalt and obsidian. As a child, she’d often snuck outside to play in the empty buildings, picking flowers and collecting small animals to hide in her room. Simpler times, when a mother’s smile could calm a father’s dark moods, when sneaking outside would, at worst, result in a simple scolding. Those times were past, her mother gone.
    Skirting the edge of the town, she approached the base of the mountain, and found a metal door, disguised as rock and concealed by thick climbing vines. Standing where they could see her, she waited. A clunk, a rumbling sound, and the door slid to one side. She stepped in.
    “It’s good to see you, Lady Ortensa!” said a woman who stood to one side. “I do hope you’ll want to stay a while.” Alanora noticed an uncharacteristic nervousness in the woman’s bearing. “Your father’s always asking if we’ve seen you.”
    Alanora walked down a short hallway, entered the elevator, and rode up hundreds of feet to the living quarters. The lift had been built by dwarves, before the Reckoning, when they had carved the great castle on the mountain and the caverns within. They’d been instrumental in saving the human citizens of Caerelon from the wrath of the dragons. She wondered where the dwarves had gone, and why no one, not even Norgrim, could answer her questions on the matter. Unsolved mysteries bothered her.
    The elevator stopped with a slight shudder. She hurried into the city, avoiding other people deftly, not wanting to talk to anyone at length before finding her father. She managed to reach her private rooms quietly. Once inside, she sat heavily on her bed, trying to relax, realizing that she was breathing heavily. 
    She awoke to knocking on her door, not realizing she’d fallen asleep, or knowing how long she’d been unconscious.
    “Come in,” she said, sitting up.
    “Hello, my dear!” her father said, striding into the room. She was struck by how thin he’d become, clothes hanging loosely on his tall frame.
    “Father!” she said, embracing him. In her arms, she could feel his bones.
    “There’s no need to sneak into your own home,” he said, stepping back. “I hear you’ve been back for several hours, but haven’t spoken to anyone.”
    “I wanted to clean up,” she said. “I fell asleep, I guess.”
    “Understandable. I hate to think of the places you’ve slept and the company you’ve kept.” She gave him an annoyed look, and he held up both hands. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. A father does worry, though, when his daughter vanishes for months at a time.” His face contorted with disgust. “You don’t even look like one of us anymore. The sun has ruined the beautiful skin your mother gave you.”
    Indeed, she was several shades darker than her father, a sign of her life outside the mountain. Within Caerelon’s halls, lighting never dimmed or changed with the seasons; it provided no heat, only illumination. Alanora preferred the ever-changing natural light outside Caerelon, and the warmth of the sun on her skin. Those were things she could not explain to her father, so she didn’t try. Opening her closet, she was greeted by several fancy dresses that had not been there the last time she’d looked. She examined a couple of them, and wrinkled her nose.
    “Indulge your father,” Oric said. “Sometimes, I’d like to think you’ll turn into a lady. Like your mother.”
    “Mother is the one who let me play outside in the sunshine and get dirty,” Alanora replied, without looking at him. Considered what to wear, she chose to mollify her father with a simple brown dress. She laid it on her bed.
    “Your mother coddled your fascination with dangerous things. Now other people have started taking risks. You need to stay home and start taking your responsibilities seriously.”
    “That’s my intent. I’m more serious than you imagine.” She smiled pleasantly at him. “Let me change into clean clothes, and I’ll see what I can find to eat. Then we’ll talk.”
    “I’ve already ordered a private dinner for us both,” Oric said, opening the door to leave. “I’ll see you in a few minutes, in the family dining room. A maid will be up momentarily with water and such.”
    An hour later, Alanora was cleaner, well-fed, and feeling even more unsettled. Her father’s disapproving looks, his quiet stare during her description of events – she felt like a small child explaining why her school work wasn’t up to expectations. Choosing her words carefully, she wondered if he even heard most of what she said.
    “The Tramorans will find us,” she said. “It’s only a matter of time.”
    “You fulfill your own prophecy,” Oric growled. “By revealing yourself to them, they know there is something or someone to look for. Our salvation lies in their dependence on dragons. The monsters will kill them all, I expect, before they stumble into our back yard.”
    “I don’t think…”
    “No you don’t!” he yelled, leaping suddenly from his chair, waggling a finger at her. “For three centuries, we’ve thwarted the damnation brought down on us by those animals. Your adventures jeopardize everything.”
    “Hiding inside this mountain jeopardizes everything!” she snapped back. “The world has changed. It’s time our people stopped hiding. Caerelon will wither and die if we don’t stop living in fear.”
    “Foolishness!” he declared. “You sound like your grandfather. My sister, his daughter – your aunt – died because of his folly. His precious farms were fertilized with the blood of our people.”
    “We were dying from famine! The forest farms saved Caerelon. Now you’re undoing his work! How do you expect to feed everyone with what we grow inside?”
    “We will cope,” Oric scowled. He marched across the room, away from her, and started to pace. 
    “We can’t live in fear forever,” she said.
    “Do not confuse fear with wisdom.” Oric barked his words to the angry pace of his steps. “You forget your own people, and rush to aid aliens in the far corners of the world.”
    “The Tramorans are human beings, not aliens!”
    “They are not us,” Oric declared. “And now you will spend time with us, instead of wandering like a vagabond. I indulged your travels for too long, and may have let your corruption grow beyond salvation. No more!”
    “What?” 
    “The decision is already made. Weeks ago, I ordered the guards to alert me upon your return, and to keep you from leaving again. If you escape, as you did as a child, they will not let you come back.”
    “I won’t be a prisoner in my own home.” Alanora shot her father an icy look.
    Oric snorted derisively. “If you can’t be sensible, I will be sensible for you.” She started to talk, and he spoke over her protest, “Be quiet!  No more consorting with outsiders, no silly journeys. It’s time you settled into your role as my heir.” His anger abruptly changed to mirth, and with a big smile, he said, “You should have chosen one of the prettier dresses, but at least this is a start. The people need to see you in a respectable light.” Chuckling, he walked away.

    “I see them!” Jahsha called, pointing northeast. Norgrim peered intently, finally seeing the shape of a dragon against the clouds. It grew quickly; Symurall circled once overhead and dropped down, hovering above the beach, releasing Kaylen and Zarah. A group quickly gathered around them.
    “What did you find?” Jennur demanded.
    Kaylen held a hand up, taking a long swig from a water skin offered by Jahsha. Zarah simply sat in the sand, a large flat bundle cradled tightly under her left arm. When Kaylen handed her the water, she took a quick drink and gave it back to him.
    “We found no one alive,” Kaylen finally said. The crowd around him began talking excitedly.
    “You lie!” Jennur declared. 
    “I’ve seen too much death to put up with you,” said Kaylen with disgust. “Build a boat and go home! I’ll be damned if I’m going to try and save you from yourself.”
    “I brought something for you,” Zarah said quietly, the sound of her voice hushing the crowd. Carefully, she unwrapped her bundle and held out its contents. “You know what this is, don’t you?”
    “It’s…,” Jennur mumbled, the force suddenly gone from his voice. He reached gingerly for the object, and almost dropped it from the weight. The colorful glass was thick, deep greens and teals against light blue, pieces joined by fine metal work; one wing was broken off, but the artifact was distinctly a depiction of a green sea dragon, ascendant.
    “The Cathedral is in ruins,” Zarah said. “We found… bodies. People I knew. Friends…” She fell silent, breathing heavily.
    Kaylen continued for her. “She insisted on bringing proof that we’d reached Rhysthyn.” Jennur stood stunned, eyes empty. Murmurs from the crowd were the only sound for many minutes.
    “I’m going to Tornaval,” Kaylen finally said, quietly but firmly. Turning away from the crowd, he walked slowly, deliberately, toward the main camp. Zarah and Jahsha followed. In ones and twos, other people began doing the same, leaving Jennur alone to stare at his relic.

Act 2
Schisms

    Alanora walked quickly, her uncomfortable shoes making an annoying click-clack on the hard stone floor. Her father did not cope well with ‘late’. She’d blame the delay on a conversation with a minister; Oric would be pleased with his daughter’s apparent attention to government matters. The complete truth would not be palatable – that she and the Minister of Provisions were negotiating with agitated farmers, trying to ease more food shortages. No, her father didn’t want to hear about dissension and unrest and problems; that had become painfully clear in the days since her return to Caerelon. Had he known the extent and intensity of the problems, he might well have done something unfortunate… she didn’t want to think about it. She was almost glad that he’d been distant, sequestered in seemingly endless meetings.
    She hurried up another stairway, to the top-most level of the rotunda. Catching her heel on the edge of a carpet, Alanora fell against the bronze railing; vertigo took hold as she looked six stories down, to the crowds in the marketplace. Carved inside a vertical volcanic tube, invisible to the outside world, the hidden city of Caerelon was beautiful and dramatic; murals, patterns and fluting gave texture and character to the polished stone, limiting echoes, while polished metals in railings and fixtures provided accents. Above, skymoss coated the inside of the natural, rough tube leading outside, casting bright bluish light into the city, creating a perpetual ‘day’ punctuated by stark shadows.
    “Damnit,” she muttered angrily. This wasn’t the time for distractions.
    Alanora hurried on, turning into one corridor, then another, finally arriving at the heavy wooden doors of the dining room. Two guards stood outside. Both men straightened to attention as she approached. They opened the door and closed it behind her.
    The room was darker than the rotunda. A man stood at the opposite side, facing away from her.
    “Good evening, father,” she said, moving quickly to the table. 
    “I’m not your father,” the man said, turning around. She recognized Ezra, the only son of Prime Minister Kudric. Tall and thin, he did not look much like his pudgy father.
    “This is… a surprise,” Alanora said.
    Ezra smiled pleasantly. “Our fathers are busy and asked me to keep you company at dinner. I’m sorry if that doesn’t please you.”
    “I didn’t mean to be rude.” Alanora privately scolded herself for being obvious. “Please, sit down. Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”
    He sat across from her. They ate quickly, their conversation focused on minor matters of society and state. Ezra seemed pleasant-enough, acting nothing like his oily father – yet Alanora could not shake her annoyance with the obvious plot against her. She wondered about the young man’s complicity in it all.
    When they were done eating, Ezra tapped a bell at the end of the table. Two women entered from a side door, taking away the remnants of the meals, and leaving just as quickly.
    “Thank you for the company,” Alanora said politely. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get some rest.” She stood.
    “Please, stay,” he asked.
    “Why?” This was a game she did not want to play.
    “You’re no fool. And neither am I. We both know our fathers invented an excuse to bring us together.”
    She hesitated, and sat down again, her face stony.
    “This dinner wasn’t my idea,” Ezra continued.
    Alanora softened a bit. “Then why are you here?”
    “When I was asked to spend time with you, I jumped at the chance.”
    “Because I’m Oric’s daughter?”
    “No! Because you’ve seen the rest of the world! I’m dying to hear about anything that doesn’t involve quotas, security, or logistics.” He radiated an almost painful sincerity.
    It was quiet for a moment.
    “I’m truly sorry,” she finally said.
    “Don’t be. Given the intent of our being here…” He blushed. “You’re a lovely lady, Alanora. I mean that sincerely. Perhaps, if we got to know one another better, over time…” His words sped up. “…but honestly, my real interest is your travels.”
    “There isn’t much to tell.”
    “I’m not spying for anyone.”
    “I didn’t mean –”
    “Yes, you did. I don’t care about your secrets. I want to know what the land looks like, what sort of people live outside these walls, and… tell me anything. Anything at all.”
    Alanora wondered why he assumed that she had secrets. The thought did not keep her from smiling and beginning with, “Far to the south, a jungle stretches to the horizons. Living there is a species of intelligent reptiles, the See’ee’ah, who’ve built a network of cities in the trees…”

    “Kaylen! We need you.”
    He hated those words, even when uttered by Zarah.
    “Let me get dressed,” he called out.
    “Hurry!” was the urgent reply.
    Kaylen pulled on the closest pants and shirt, pushed his feet into boots, and grabbed his sword by the scabbard. Splashing water on his face and wiping it away with a corner of his shirt, he wondered if he’d ever wake to anything other than crisis, real or imagined. He’d hoped the small house, claimed in an odd corner of the city, would afford him some privacy – even if the roof was unfinished and the windows lacked glass. He knew that he’d brought this on himself; he could simply stop answering when people came looking for him, problems in hand. He liked being useful, but wished he could turn it off, even for just a few hours a day.
    Pulling aside the canvas that served as a makeshift door, he found a street filled with people looking skyward. Zarah stood nearby, also facing up. High above, he immediately saw the reason behind his early rise – a dragon, circling.
    “That isn’t Symurall or Kyazura, is it?” Zarah asked. “Could it be Syther-whatever?”
    “This might be someone new,” Kaylen said. The dragon’s shape was unfamiliar and suggested immensity. Black against the pale overcast, it could have been any dark color.
    “We shouldn’t be surprised,” he said. “Tohkay told me there were hundreds of dragons. Maybe it’s just curious.”
    “What should we do?” someone from the crowd yelled. He laughed at the sheer absurdity of the question. 
    “I know that dragon,” intoned a familiar voice.
    “Tohkay!” Kaylen exclaimed, seeing the lizard riding toward him on the back of his broad furry mount. The newcomer attracted almost as much attention as the dragon. Tohkay dismounted, and after giving the crowd a quick look, tilted back on his hind legs, raising his head, tail held stiffly behind him as a balance. The crowd gasped.
    “He’s a friend!” Kaylen called out. To his great relief, no one seemed inclined to anything dangerous.
    “Is this who I think it is?” Zarah asked, her voice tinged with awe.
    “May I present Tohkay Ahtok, wandering scholar and book collector.” The lizard nodded, and Zarah smiled.
    “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said. “Who’s this dragon?”
    “He is Garthonnex,” said Tohkay. “An elder from my distant homeland.”
    “I’ve heard that name,” said Kaylen. “The golden dragon, the one we met in the islands – her mate is named Garthonnex.” He whistled. “A big one, isn’t he?”
    Tohkay’s voice shifted into lecture mode. “All reptiles grow with age. Garthonnex is nearly an ancient of his species.”
    “Is he harmless?” Zarah asked.
    Tohkay cocked his head to one side for a moment. “In the current context, I see no reason to fear him.”
    “I am not comforted,” Kaylen said. “Let me know if the context changes, okay?”
    “If possible, I will.”
    The dragon flew away, heading west.
    “He’s going to see Symurall,” Kaylen noted. Cupping hands to his mouth, he yelled, “There’s nothing to worry about! It’s okay!” People slowly and quietly dispersed; a few stayed nearby, fascinated by Tohkay.
    “It is good to find you so quickly,” said the lizard. “I met dwarves on my way here, and they urged me to caution. Has there been trouble?”
    “We should talk elsewhere,” Kaylen suggested. “Have you seen Norgrim yet?”
    “No. Though I will be glad to see him, my purpose here involves his daughter.” He climbed back on his mount, sprawling across its back.
    Kaylen took Zarah’s arm. “Then it’s breakfast at the castle,” he said, leading them up the broad avenue.

    Thirty leagues away, the dragon known as Symurall felt the approach of a familiar presence. He moved to one side of his courtyard, leaving enough space for the larger dragon to land comfortably.
    “Greetings Garthonnex,” said Symurall. The midnight-blue dragon with silver highlights was a good fifty feet longer than the sea dragon. Tiny silver spots across his black wings imitated the night sky.
    “It is good to see you, old friend,” said Garthonnex. “Narrahnjarra has recovered. She sends her regards and thanks.”
    “I am relieved and honored. Will you be staying long?”
    “No.” Garthonnex stretched. “Recent events have required much travel, from Albrymar to Artorra, then to Tramora. From here, I look forward to going home.” He scanned the castle. “You have chosen an unusual dwelling.”
    “It suits me.”
    The night dragon tested the air. “I do not detect any of your small friends.”
    “They are all away. We can discuss them in private.”
    Garthonnex drank from the fountain and smiled. “You expected my visit?”
    “Yes. It was an obvious result of my conversations with Narrahnjarra in the islands.”
    “I flew over Tornaval before coming here,” Garthonnex stated. “They appear to be in chaos, but perhaps I misinterpret. Human behavior mystifies me. They have always lived far from my domain, and were never a matter for my detailed consideration.”
    “Humans do not understand themselves,” said Symurall. “Yet they have a certain charm. A few are even enlightened.”
    “I see. Help me understand your motivations for breaking a concord. You intervened on behalf of the humans, in defiance of a consensus reached with your peers at Sanctagora.”
    “Consensus does not imply wisdom.”
    “An interesting perspective. Explain.”
    Symurall chose his words carefully. “Humans killed my mate and child. For that, I exacted revenge, long ago. The Tramoran refugees on these shores had no part in crimes against any of us; they are survivors of a natural disaster. The presence of a newborn human child reminded me of my losses, and that I can save as well as kill. To quote my dwarven friend Norgrim, I followed my ‘gut’.”
    Garthonnex was clearly surprised. “You gain wisdom from the small ones?” 
    “Yes. I have learned to value their insights. Narrahnjarra taught me to consider the thoughts of other species.”
    “Well spoken. How will you proceed?”
    “With caution. Individuals comprise societies; the existence of honor and wisdom in an individual does not impart such qualities to others. I have found honor and friendship with specific humans; my fondness for them, however, does not blind me to the flaws in others.”
    “How have your siblings reacted?”
    “Both support me.”
    “Even Sytherek?”
    “Yes. I do not fully understand his change of heart, but welcome it. He and I have yet to speak on the matter in detail.”
    “Strange indeed.” Garthonnex slowly ascended. “I am satisfied. Shall we find food, and discuss matters less weighty?”

    Calling it a “castle” was, in Kaylen’s view, an act of extreme imagination. Perhaps once, centuries ago, the piles of rubble had formed buildings and walls; certainly, the broken stone only resembled a structure from high above, where it outlined shapes.  The ground was still burnt and scarred, the rocks charred and rounded by dragon flame and lightning; almost nothing grew atop the bluff, except for scraggly clumps of long brown grass. Amid the signs of destruction stood a dozen large, circular tent-buildings, brightly-colored anachronisms amid the desolation. At long wooden tables, Kaylen, a few other humans, and dozens of dwarves ate a breakfast of heavy breads, fruits, and fried meats. The drink was a stimulating black brew from dwarven country, and there was, of course, beer.
    “Are we expecting any more ships?” Kaylen asked Zarah. “We’re running out of decent housing. Hell, we’re short on indecent housing.”
    “I’ll tell you in a moment,” she said. A male dwarf swept away her dirty dishes, which she replaced with a thick sheath of papers. Shuffling through them, she continued, “No more ships, at least not ones we know of. The Potshard was the last one yesterday. The final people count is…” She mumbled numbers to herself. “…thirteen hundred and sixty-five.”
    “If I were guessing,” Jahsha said. “Two-thirds are males under the age of forty?”
    Zarah sighed. “You’re optimistic. We have fewer than three hundred women, and only a few dozen children. Most of the men are what you’d expect: sailors, traders, a few soldier-types.”
    “If my ass gets slapped again, someone is going be missing a hand,” Jahsha scowled. “I’m a ship’s captain, not some dockside whore.”
    Dorna said, “I’m a plump old dwarven lady, and some silly boy hauling wood got too friendly yesterday. He turned bright red and ran off when I told him he couldn’t keep up with me.”
    “She’s not lying,” Norgrim declared. “Most dwarves have only one child; we have three. My beard isn’t grey from age – it was caused by over-exertion.” His wife playfully smacked the back of his head.
    Kaylen leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, hands clasped behind his head. “Please – tell me we have some builders and farmers among the letches.”
    Zarah laughed darkly. “We should be so lucky. Oh, the Potshard did bring us a blacksmith! Torin Hanso. He certainly looks the part. Really big fellow, wild beard. His whole family is with him.”
    “Now that’s a dwarvish-sounding name!” Norgrim laughed.
    “He started talking the ears off your metalworkers the moment he saw their forges. We need more folk like that.”
    “I see only a few humans here,” Tohkay interjected. “You hinted at troubles earlier.”
    “Tension more than trouble,” said Kaylen. “A few minor altercations, some poor choices of words.”
    “I wish more humans would spend time with us,” said Dorna. “Even if a few of them lack manners.” She laid a number of stone pieces on the table in front of her, and began fitting them together like pieces from a giant puzzle.
    “We’re all getting used to a strange new world,” said Zarah, who was staring in fascination at Tohkay.
    “I am not threatening, am I?” Tohkay asked, blinking.
    “No, you are not,” said Kalinda, who had walked up behind the reptile. She planted a soft kiss on top of his head. “You are adorable.”
    Norgrim harrumphed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you two were up to something. Not that Tohkay would make a bad son-in-law.” He chuckled.
    “Father!” Kalinda’s tone was more playful than angry. “I’m sure there are plenty of lovely See’ee’ah ladies just waiting for Tohkay to come home.”
    “If such exist, they must wait a while longer,” said Tohkay. He rolled one of his eyes to look at Kalinda. “I need your help with a few manuscripts. Can we perhaps find some quiet time to discuss them?”
    “Come to my tent,” she said, walking away, the lizard behind her. With a big smile, she called out, “Don’t worry, father. I’ll be gentle with him!”
    Laughter filled the courtyard.
    The mirth stopped abruptly when Jahsha said, “We have company.” A tall, lean figure approached.
    “What does he want?” Kaylen said with disdain.
    “Be nice,” Zarah admonished. “He’s been reasonable since we left the beach.”
    Kaylen straightened in his chair.
    “Good day, all,” said Jennur as he approached. “Zarah, I would like to review your census.”
    “Why?” Kaylen asked.
    “I was speaking to Zarah,” the bishop growled. “If you must know, I’d like to open a school. First and foremost, I am a teacher.” Giving Kaylen a sharp look, he added, “Does that meet with your approval?”
    “I… It’s a good idea, Jennur. A very good idea.”
    The bishop smiled. “I’m not as useless or unreasonable as you think, captain. Please reconsider your prejudices.” He turned to Zarah. “I’d like to see how many children, and their ages.”
    “I’ll make you a list,” Zarah said. “Will you need any help with teaching?”
    “Not at the moment. To begin with, I simply want to provide order and focus. Once I have things established, we can expand the curriculum.”
    “Let us know if we can help,” Dorna offered.
    “If I need help from dwarves, you will know.” He walked stiffly away. “Zarah, I look forward to seeing that list.”
    When the bishop was out of earshot, Dorna said, “What is it? Do I smell bad?”
    Kaylen shook his head. “Don’t ask me. I don’t understand him any better than you do.” He stood. “Jahsha, let’s head down to the docks and help get the fishing boats ready. We may not have any farmers, but we’ll have plenty of seafood.” He looked at the heavy clouds above. “I’d give a week’s worth of food for clear skies.”
    After he and Jahsha were gone, the other humans drifted away, leaving only dwarves around the tables.
    “I smell trouble,” Dorna said to Norgrim. “There are only a hundred of us, my husband.”
    “I know that,” Norgrim replied. “Allies will be useful. Back home, we’re outnumbered far worse. Do you think those fools in the capitol will come their senses? Kaylen and Zarah are right: We need to give the humans time to adjust.”
    Dorna gave him a stern look. “That Jennur fellow doesn’t want to adjust. And he’s not the only one. Why do you trust them?”
    “I don’t trust them. I trust Kaylen. I trust Zarah. And I’ll take a half-dozen faithful friends over an infinity of theorists and politicians. My gut says we need these humans.”
    “Your gut makes mistakes. I’d be happier if Symurall would stay here for awhile.”
    “Symurall keeps an eye on us. Usually at twilight or dawn, around the edge of town. There’s no sense making people like Jennur more suspicious.”
    His wife started fiddling with her bits of stone again. “As if Jennur could be more suspicious.” After working for a moment, she asked, “What about Eshohvah’s Will?”
    Norgrim shrugged. “They won’t go looking for something they don’t know about.”
    Dorna laughed. “No, they’ll just trip over it when we go home. Or do you plan on staying here forever and guarding it?”
    Norgrim didn’t have an answer. For a long time, he was lost in thought.

    A knock at her cabin door brought Danelle’s eyes slowly open. She’d been contemplating, considering, waiting.
    “Come,” she said, straightening in her chair. A weathered, grey-haired man entered without a word. He closed the door carefully, and walked deliberately until he stood silently before her, his face an unreadable mask.
    “What is it, Captain Nogg?” she asked, looking him directly in the eye.
    His voice was deep and rough. “The lookouts have spied a wide river emerging from tall cliffs. Its waters are black. I believe we’re close to our destination.”
    “Excellent!” she said, smiling. “Our heading lays up-river, at best speed.”
    Nogg cleared his throat. “The oarsmen are exhausted, madam. We’ve been running against the wind for a week, under dark skies, in rough seas. The men need rest.”
    “Time enough for rest when we reach safe harbor, Captain. Another day isn’t going to kill anyone is it?”
    He shrugged. “No. It will stress a crew that is already restless.”
    “Will they do their duty?”
    He hesitated and said, “For another day, yes. But… not everyone is ready to believe the words of a beast.”
    “That was no beast. Sytherek the Dragon is the reality behind Therok the god. The similarities can’t be a coincidence. Even simple sailors should be able to see that. My intent is to follow the dragon’s instructions until I see a reason to do otherwise.” 
    “I hope you don’t include me among the ‘simple’.”
    “Other than being tired, how is the crew reacting?” she asked, leaving his question unanswered. 
    “Confused and fearful,” he said. “Most have no idea what else to do, so they do as they’re told. Some hold ceremonies during their rest hours, making thanks to Therok for saving us. Others mourn their losses.” He hesitated. “A few speak of trying to take the ship home.”
    “So not everyone believes in the end of the world,” she said musingly.
    “Do you believe Tramora is lost?”
    “Yes.”
    “You’re so certain?’
    “I see no reason to think otherwise.” She stood, and came around the desk, arms folded, her eyes focused on the captain. “If storms and fiery rain did not convince, the words of a dragon should hold some gravitas. Tell me, are we in danger of mutiny, or is it idle talk?”
    Nogg shook his head. “The men are loyal to you.”
    “Good. Stay your course captain. Let me know when we reach the black river. There, we look for the city and Kaylen Thyr.”
    “I know a Captain Thyr,” Nogg said.
    “Why haven’t you mentioned this before?” Her tone was cool, her eyes colder.
    “I didn’t remember him until just now,” Nogg said. “It’s been a while since I last heard the name.”
    “What do you suddenly recall?”
    “The Thyr I know operated an independent merchant clipper out of Vandoval. I heard that Thyr’s father was killed when pirates sacked the city. After that, he and his ship joined the Merchant Navy. How much do you know about the Battle of the Blue Isles?”
    “It broke the back of the pirate cartels. We won. I remember extra taxes levied to rebuild the fleet.”
    “We lost half the Exarch’s navy that day. I was first mate on the Indomitable. Brutal fighting. Many good sailors didn’t go home.”
    “So where does Kaylen Thyr figure in all of this?”
    “We were expecting an easy victory. It wasn’t. The pirates surprised us with new weapons, including a massive vessel that spewed liquid flame. Our ships burned like torches. Admiral Chevev’s flagship was singled out and destroyed early; smaller pirate ships out-maneuvered our heavy warships. In the midst of it all, three merchant vessels broke away from the support forces, charged the flame-ship, and captured it. That was the key to victory.”
    “Let me guess: Thyr captained one of the heroic merchant ships?”
    “Yes. The tales were… well, I’m sure they grew with the telling and time.”
    “How did you forget such a heroic figure?”
    “As I said, it’s been several years. After Thyr rejected a full naval commission, I heard nothing more about him. Career officers later claimed credit for Thyr’s actions. He never took issue with them.”
    “A hero who doesn’t profit from his fame?” she said. “Quite unusual.”
    “It may not be the same man.”
    “No, but such a man is likely to survive of the end of the world.” She sat back behind her desk. “Thank you for the information, Captain. Let me know when we’ve reached the city. A new reality awaits.”

    Kyazura lazily floated above Drakcaern, observing at a polite distance, waiting for the night dragon to leave. She did not want to be rude by intruding on two elders – and she was not fond of Garthonnex. It pleased her when he departed.
    “Was it a pleasant conversation?” she asked Symurall. He’d come to her, high above the castle mount.
    “He will not interfere with the humans,” her brother replied.
    “I do not trust the son of Volnathak,” Kyazura said. “Dragons from Artorra do not belong in Syraqua. This is our land.”
    “He came here before we were born.”
    “That does not change my analysis.”
    “You are presumptive.”
    “I am cautious.”
    Symurall suddenly did a barrel roll, his laughter echoing from the mountains. “When did we become so serious?” he asked.
    For a moment, they were younglings again, playing tag amid clouds and peaks. When their game ended, Symurall led her to a favorite meadow, its spring flowers in bloom. She rolled in the grass, an undignified pleasure she could only indulge in front of close family. Symurall watched her, and relaxed. Later, she lay with her nose near his, and said, “You need to speak to our parents. I feel a transformational moment, one that is not yet complete.”
    “Agreed,” said Symurall. “I will seek their advice. I have not been to Irramar in what seems like an age. Will you watch the humans for me?”
    “Yes. I will stay at Drakcaern, and keep my children on alert.”
    “Good.” Symurall yawned. They napped together.

    Ten large vessels and two dozen smaller craft crowded the Tornaval docks. Two great stone jetties, remnants of the original city, extended nearly a third of the way across the wide river, providing moorings for ships tied up bow to stern; people were moving, carrying, and repairing. Torches provided light, even during the day; the river was always dark, shielded from the sky by massive bluffs of brown stone. It was Kaylen’s favorite part of Tornaval: Something was being accomplished.
    “I’d give my left nut for some sail cloth,” Aorkus grumbled as Kaylen was rolling a barrel past.
    Kaylen stopped the barrel next to some stacked crates, set it upright, and leaned on it. “I have fresh water, some oddly tasty and nourishing dwarven foods, and splinters.” He pulled one of the latter from his palm. “Sail cloth might be a bit more difficult to come by, even with your generous offer of payment.”
    Aorkus laughed. “Well, I’m not going to catch many fish if I can’t steer. The Finseeker needs a jib and a foresail, and patches to the main. I’ve considered ordering everyone to donate their clothes. We can catch fish naked.”
    “That would be amusing, but unnecessary. Norgrim told me he can provide some old tents for heavy cloth.”
    “Generous,” Aorkus said thoughtfully. “So what do these dwarves want? I haven’t heard one of’em ask for any payment.”
    “I don’t know myself. From what I’m told, they don’t have a merchant economy. I haven’t seen them with money. And I can’t imagine what a ragged group like us can give them.”
    “They’ll want something eventually.”
    “Maybe.” Kaylen looked over Aorkus’ vessel, a high-stern craft from Kayzar. Crew repaired nets, adjusted rigging, and mended what sails they had. A couple of them worked on a bit of damaged railing.
    “You came through in fair shape,” Kaylen told the other captain. “How’s your crew holding up?”
    “Keeping busy with work,” Aorkus said. “Just like the rest of us.”
    Kaylen clapped the man’s back, and walked away, down the dock, toward the approaching figure of Jahsha. Her Gull was docked at the end of the other pier, looking too much like the Wayfarer for Kaylen’s comfort. The loss still gnawed at him. He knew he needed something to fill the emptiness, and didn’t know where to look.
    “How goes it?” Jahsha asked.
    “We need lumber and sailcloth. Some sealing pitch… aw hell, we need everything. Even so, I think we’ll have eight or more fishing boats out in a few days.”
    Jahsha looked thoughtful. “I suppose… the Gull isn’t much use when there’s only one port in the world.” She sighed hard. “If we’re desperate –”
    “No,” Kaylen stopped her. “The big ships are still important. We’ll find another way.” He looked up at the sky. “It’s getting late. Let’s head back to the castle, and see how the day’s gone for the others.”
    Jahsha’s attention was on something downriver. He followed her gaze.
    “Is that another ship?” he asked.
    “I think so,” she said. Pulling a small spyglass from her pocket, she put it to her eye; after a moment, she handed it to Kaylen.
    “I’ll be damned,” he said. “Looks like a government galley, maybe forty oars. I’d say Eastern Isles, Korsovah or Yanesh.”
    “That’s what I thought,” Jahsha said quietly.
    Kaylen shrugged. He looked thru the glass again. “She’s had a rough time. The paint is scarred, like she’s scraped against things. Forward mast is gone. I see damaged rails on both sides. Who knows – it could be anyone from tax collectors to pirates to the Exarch himself.”
    “In other words, scoundrels. The wind whispers caution.”
    “I thought it was Alanora’s job to be cynical.”
    “You bring her up every day. We haven’t seen her for weeks.”
    Kaylen ignored her comments. “Let’s greet that ship, and see how they fit into our little piece of paradise.”
    The white ship anchored and men jumped to the pier and tied the vessel off. An elegant blond woman appeared, accompanied by an older man in uniform. Kaylen and Jahsha hurried, and met her just as others began gathering.
    “My name is Danelle Rahnor, Magister of Korsovah,” the blond woman said, bowing slightly. “Not that titles matter now, of course.” She smiled. “I do hope we’ve found safe harbor.”
    “You have,” said Kaylen. Extending his hand, he continued, “My companion is Captain Jahsha Shadr. I’m Kaylen Thyr.”
    “I’m so relieved!” said Danelle. At his confused look, she added, “It may sound a bit… odd, but we were rescued from a pirate attack by a dragon. It told us to come here and look for you, by name.”
    Kaylen rolled his eyes. “I wish he wouldn’t do that. I guess Symurall has been keeping an eye out for other survivors.”
    “Who’s Symurall?” the magister asked.
    Kaylen looked at her. “You said a dragon saved you from pirates.”
    “Yes. His name was Sytherekor… oh, something long. I can’t remember it all.”
    “Sytherek?” he asked, exchanging confused looks with Jahsha. “Big, dark, a bit of purple, lots of teeth?”
    “Yes! Does that surprise you?”
    “A long story.” Kaylen barely stifled a laugh.
    Danelle’s face remained serious. “Before we get into detail, I’d like to ensure that my crew can find food and shelter. They’ve worked very hard to get us here. I’m sad to say I’ve been quite useless in our journey. Perhaps I can be more helpful here.” She looked up the cliffs toward the city. “Are you in charge, Kaylen?”
    “I hope not!” he said. “It’s a team effort at the moment. Jahsha manages the ships and harbor, we have a young monk who keeps track of folk, and…” A burly male dwarf walked past. Kaylen was pleased to see the open surprise on Danelle’s face. The first genuine emotion I’ve seen from her, he thought.
    “Interesting,” Danelle said quietly, after a moment of silence. Then she returned to her carefully crafted demeanor.

    Sytherek lay atop a mesa, head held high, motionless except for his searching eyes. His perch offered an exceptional view of two neighboring kehklik hives, one young, one old. Recent events had rekindled his interest in the creatures. He observed, contemplated, and formed hypotheses; later would come elegant experiments, in which humans might play an involuntary role. His goal, befitting his species, was nothing less than liberating the hidden potential of the kehklik. Brother Symurall could play with the silly humans who’d washed up on the beach; Sytherek’s grand plans involved the evolution of something new.
    The hives lay at the edge of kehklik territory; they were entirely separate, each with its own queen and distinct population. The older hive was the healthier and larger of the two. A lone proto-queen had established the younger hive, only twenty years earlier, without apparent assistance, extending her species’ domain. Across thousands of square leagues, hundreds of hives lay scattered. The distance between colonies was almost a constant: an hour, as measured by the relaxed flight of a dragon. It was as if no kehklik would travel more than a dozen leagues from its queen. When circumstances forced a kehklik outside its home territory, the likely result was confusion or even insanity. Behavior was universal; any kehklik colony could replace another, and the change would hardly be noticeable.
    That is, except for a remarkable exception: The hive at Jozin’s Peak.
    Sytherek once again rebuked himself for failing to monitor the kehklik hives along the coast. He’d never had faith in Symurall’s plan to isolate the humans of Tramora; however, rather than oppose his brother, Sytherek had implemented a private backup plan. Taking proto-queens and placing them along Syraqua’s northern shores, he’d created a defense against human incursion. As many years passed, his attention was drawn away by other concerns, and the hives had been left to their own devices. Only one guardian hive survived, near Jozin’s Peak. In a strange turn of fate, that lone colony had grown to unusual magnificence in isolation; it had even attempted to fulfill its intended destiny, thwarted only by Symurall’s intercession on behalf of Kaylen’s people. Yet in their defeat, the kehklik had demonstrated unexpected, original, strategic thought – proof that a key existed to unlock the sentience of the kehklik. Sytherek treasured that discovery, grudgingly admitting gratitude – rather than annoyance – for his brother’s actions. He would find a way to recreate that key, and apply it to other hives.
    Other mysteries lacked answers as well. The finale of The Reckoning, the unprecedented and unique kehklik assault on humanity – that, too, required an explanation, in case he had need of such power.
    Sytherek’s deep thoughts were pleasantly interrupted by the arrival Vallahnoka, who found a comfortable spot near him, saying nothing as she lay down, eyes closed.
    “Your silence suggests annoyance with me,” Sytherek said.
    “I did not want to disturb you,” she replied. “These insects must be fascinating if they keep you away from me.”
    His tail snaked over to touch hers.
    “It is not just the kehklik,” she continued. “You have been distracted for a long time, even before Symurall’s pets arrived.”
    “I do not understand why he is fond of some small people.” Wrapping his tail around hers, Sytherek added, “If I have neglected you, I regret doing so.”
    “Explain your obsession.”
    “The kehklik are on the verge of true awareness. Such things do not happen often in the universe.”
    She looked at him, clearly astonished. “Have you shared your thoughts with anyone else?”
    “No. I need a deeper understanding of kehklik history before I present my thesis to others. Assuming I tell anyone other than you, that is.” Before she could ask, he answered her obvious question. “I cannot predict how others of our kind will react to the concept. It is possible some may try to prevent the emergence of sentience.”
    “You care for the kehklik!” she said.
    “Yes I do.”
    “Then I will aid your research. On the conditions that you spend more time with me, and take Tyreon with you on your next journey.”
    “Tyreon is young.”
    “He is strong, like his father. Do not underestimate him. Shortly, he will demonstrate his powers, and join us as an adult.”
    “Your point is valid and I agree to your terms.” His tail squeezed hers. “What is your suggestion, my love?”
    “Visit the great turtles. Their leader, KhKhorrak, is ancient. He once lived far to the south, east of the See’ee’ah, on the delta islands where the kehklik originated.”
    “How do you know this? I have tried speaking to him before and it was not fruitful.”
    “I counsel patience,” she said. “I have conversed with him, though only briefly. He claims that you did not approach him with respect. KhKhorrak is much like an ancient dragon. Keep that in mind, and you may have more success.”
    “I will go. Thank you for the advice.”
    “When you finish with the turtle,” she said, “Come home, be with me, and think of how you can include your eldest son in your adventures.”

    At least Kudric could find spies with skill, Alanora thought, insulted by the ineptitude of the man following her; he was trying to blend in with other people in the market, and failing miserably. He’d been dogging her footsteps for hours, ever since lunch. In the days since their first meeting, she and Ezra had been getting together at mid-day; she’d come to enjoy the conversations, his almost puppy-like eagerness to learn more about the world, and his insights into Caerelon’s political web. She felt guilty using their conversations to glean an inside view of the Prime Minister’s machinations. Ezra was a good soul, she’d decided, and his company was pleasant. In spite of protests to the contrary, he was obviously smitten with her. Certainly, she liked him, but not in the way he wanted her to. As for stray thoughts she kept having about Kaylen… smirking, Alanora formulated a plan to escape her shadow. She explored the merchant’s produce, testing mushrooms for freshness, buying a moonapple and eating it while walking. Slowly, she moved away from the center of the market, toward an unlit area once used by a young girl during games of hide-and-seek. When people moved in front of the stalker, she darted into a side room. It held stacks of crates and barrels; she almost didn’t find the covert entrance. The pressure points still worked, much to her relief. The door slid inward and to one side. Jumping through, she pressed her body into the darkness, waiting for the entrance to automatically close.
    The original purpose of the secret passages was a mystery. Perhaps, she thought, it was simply a dwarven habit to build hidden ways through their dwellings. For the moment, she was grateful to have an escape from prying eyes. She followed the illuminated line in the center of the floor. It was green and brighter than the skymoss used in the main caverns; even so, the smooth walls of the tunnel seemed to absorb the light, and she moved slowly, cautiously. Dust puffed as she walked, and her dress was being ruined. The thought pleased her.
    The guide line ended.
    Alanora crouched; the floor was damp. The moss had died ahead of her. From memory, she guessed that a major junction was nearby, where a short tunnel that would lead to an exit. Slowly, her hand on the right wall, she moved ahead, relying on twenty-year-old memories. Alanora took one turn, then another, and found a dead-end. Back tracking, she expected to see the faint glow of the moss on the floor. After several turns, she cursed her own stupidity and moved on. Finally, a light ahead heralded an exit. She stepped into an unrecognized corridor, wide, with simple decoration.
    This has to be north of the market, she told herself. To the right, in the distance, a simple stone door waited at the far end of the passage. It was vaguely familiar; her internal compass suggested that it would lead somewhere familiar. In the other direction, closer, a pair of carved red-granite doors stood. The patterns were distinctly dwarven. Metal spikes, driven crudely around the sides and bottom of the door, kept something inside. Thick dust told her that the act of vandalism had occurred in the distant past.
    A sledge hammer lay carelessly in a corner, forgotten by whoever had sealed the door.
    Dark curiosity outweighed common sense. Alanora picked up the hammer, and knocked aside spikes, one by one, working out her frustrations with Caerelon’s other secrets. Some took several strikes before they loosened. She didn’t worry about anyone hearing her; if the other end of the corridor opened where she expected, there was no one nearby.
    The last spike removed, she set the tool aside, and pulled the handle again. Surprisingly quiet, the door swung toward her. Inside, a familiar white-blue light greeted her. When she saw the round room below layered balconies, she wondered if the door had opened into Caerelon. Several people sat on the floor by the door.
    She stifled a cry.
    The sunken eyes, tattered skin clinging closely to bone... these were corpses.
    Many of them.
    Alanora stepped back, steeled her nerves, and moved forward. A quick examination of the skeletons by the door sent shivers through her body. Stocky, thick-boned, too few ribs… it was a dwarf. They were all dwarves. Hundreds of them, scattered as far as she could see, alone or in piles large and small.
    Was that a child’s body in one collection?
    Looking back, she saw deep scars on the inside of the doors.
    Had the dwarves been unable to dig their way out of the trap? Who had locked them in… Alanora ran away, not in fear, but anger. She hurried to the opposite end of the corridor, through the stone door, slamming it behind her. Breathing heavily, another room of the dead greeted her. These, however, were her kin, former leaders of Caerelon, interred in neat sarcophagi, so incongruous with the casual murder she’d just discovered. “Which one of you gave the order?” she demanded, looking from one gilded coffin to the next. “Did you have the courage to lock them in yourself?”
    No one answered.
    Looking back, there was no obvious way to reopen the door she’d just passed through. That didn’t surprise her; as a child, she’d visited the tombs during her clandestine excursions, and the door had always been a mystery. Nearby, a winding stair had been her route to freedom and the castle outside. Down a long tunnel in the opposite direction, another door would open in a quiet family shrine near her chambers. She considered running away, going back to her travels with Norgrim and Tohkay, maybe even joining the refugees in Tornaval. A certain sailor was a strong, unexpected lure.
    Duty called her back to Caerelon.

    Sytherek had little trouble finding KhKhorrak. The great turtle, a hundred feet long and sixty wide, foraged openly among long plants growing in shallows between sandy islands. Six-legged, brown and deep blue, with teal highlights on his shell, his neck stretched so his elongated head could grab mouthfuls of vegetation, KhKhorrak was surrounded by many smaller versions of himself. Hoping he was being polite, Sytherek landed on a nearby sandbar, as close to the turtle as he could get without standing in the grassy water.
    “Greetings,” said the turtle in draconic, its voice low, pleasant. It did not look at the dragon, but continued pulling up clumps of grass and swallowing them.
    Sytherek lifted his head in surprise. “Greetings as well. I have tried to talk to you many times before, and you never replied. What is different now?”
    The turtle lifted its head to look directly at the dragon. He blinked.
    “Your mate is very nice,” the turtle said. “And you did not step in my food this time.”
    “Ah,” said Sytherek. “I shall be very careful in the future.”
    “You came with a question,” the turtle continued. “No one ever comes to KhKhorrak without a question. I like it that way.”
    “Please tell me about the kehklik.”
    The turtle was rock-still for a brief moment. When he spoke again, KhKhorrak’s voice had a sharper tone to it. “Only one other dragon has asked me about the kehklik, and he destroyed them.”
    “The kehklik are not destroyed,” Sytherek replied. “Thousands live –”
    “Something may be destroyed and still live!” KhKhorrak interrupted. Then, in calmer tones, he asked, “What has happened to the kehklik recently? One of the forest people was here sixty-eight days ago, also asking questions about them.”
    “Forest people?” Sytherek asked. “Do you mean See’ee’ah?”
    “Yes, a resident of the great rift jungle. His name was Tohkay Ahtok.”
    “Fascinating.”
    “If you say so. What is your interest in the kehklik?”
    “They are becoming sentient,” Sytherek said. “I wish to understand their origins, and perhaps help them.”
    The turtle rumbled in laughter. “The arrogance of dragons!” it said. “Yet you amuse me. Where should my telling start?”
    “How were the kehklik destroyed?”
    “They have been sentient before!” declared the turtle. “Three thousand, two hundred and seventy one years ago, another dragon destroyed their mind, turning them into simple creatures.”
    “Who?” Sytherek suspected he knew the answer.
    “His name was Garthonnex.”

    Jennur watched the children leave the classroom. The day had gone well, by most measures; in the few days since opening the school, he’d done little formal teaching. His focus had been on letting the children express their concerns and ask questions, providing the best answers he could. Jennur didn’t care if those answers would have annoyed Kaylen; the sailor and his friends paid little or no attention to children. He savored the irony: They had handed him the opportunity to mold young minds.
    “Bishop Ott?” a female voice asked. He looked up, and saw a middle-aged blond woman standing in the doorway.
    “I am he,” said Jennur. “Please come in, Magister Rahnor. I’d been told of your arrival. It’s good to meet you in person.”
    “Please, call me Danelle,” she said, striding into the room. She looked over the simple benches, the few supplies he’d managed to scrounge. “You’ve done well with limited resources, bishop.”
    “I do what I can under the circumstances,” Jennur said coolly. “I am surprised that you’re alone. The town is somewhat… unstable at times.”
    “I was escorted to your door,” said Danelle. “They will return in a few moments.”
    “And why did you want to see me in private, then?” asked Jennur suspiciously. “Please forgive me, but my time in this new country has not fostered trust in others.”
    “Your attitude is understandable. I just spent the day observing the people who think they are in charge.” Her voice contained a hint of humor.
    Jennur looked at her suspiciously. “Maybe you’re here to spy on me, or maybe we have common interests.” He bent to collect writing materials from where the children had been sitting.
    “Let me put your concerns at ease,” she said pleasantly. “Kaylen Thyr is an adventurer. So are his friends. For them, survival is a game. I have a more serious plan for the future, and seek allies who might help me. Since you and I are part of the same theocratic structure, we might have a great deal in common.”
    Jennur stood slowly, facing away from her, placed the pencils and papers in a small box. When he looked at her again, his eyes were intense. “We were part of a theocracy. In one fell moment, our beliefs and homes were swept away, dropping us into the laps of insidious creatures. I do not believe that our good captain was simply lucky when he befriended his strange allies. Nor am I convinced that the death of our homeland is entirely natural.” He noted the look in her eyes. “Think me paranoid if you wish. You were herded to Tornaval by a dragon, were you not?”
    “I hadn’t thought of it quite that way.”
    “It’s not just dragons,” Jennur continued. “In the castle, dwarves dig into our past, stealing our heritage! What are they hiding in the northern reaches of the courtyard? Kaylen and his friends haven’t asked, or won’t tell what they’ve learned. No, Magister, I am not the crazed old man of their imagination.”
    Danelle looked thoughtful for a moment. “It seems,” she said, “that we have much to discuss.”

    Symurall enjoyed the journey to Irramar, long as it was. He flew south, across his home mountains, into dwarven territory. He assumed Kyazura, long associated with dwarves, understood why the artificial constructs became more geometric with proximity to the capitol city of Darnok. Wild rivers from the mountains became straight canals; instead of going around hills, roads in the inner regions passed straight as arrows through neatly-flattened lands. Norgrim and the dwarves at Tornaval came from the wild and diverse frontier city of Norokden. The dragon wondered if he would like dwarves from the ordered regions. He’d never met any.
    His path crossed a vast lake; through the crystal-clear waters, he saw schools of colorful fish swimming amid huge crystals. To the south, he caught his first glimpse of jagged black mountains, spurring him to greater speed; he had plenty of reserve energy. Leaving behind dry hills and scrub forest, he entered a volcanic land; sharp glassy peaks and deep valleys had been created in a matter of days during the remarkable rescue of the dwarves. Three thousand years had not been enough time for nature to recover, even with help. The great rip in the world was home to his parents, ancient dragons who had chosen to spend their later years healing the wounds of Narrahnjarra’s generosity.
    Family found Symurall quickly, as siblings, nephews, nieces, and in-laws felt his arrival and came to hail him. They were typical dragons, those who stayed in a home range, never venturing far, living stable lives. He was the unusual one, a son who had gone away to make a separate life in the outer world. Irramar was his birthplace – but it was not truly his home anymore. Tossing stories and “hellos” to those he met, Symurall flew straight for the presence he sought.
    Morgrannon – his full name was hundreds of complex syllables long – rested at the edge of a caldera, working on an epic poem about another world. The volcano was only slightly active; the surrounding rock was warm, but not molten or violent; a steady breeze carried the few noxious fumes away. The perch provided both warmth and a view of the great scarlet dragon’s realm. Twice as big as Symurall, with remarkable black horns on his neck and back, he pulled his wings closer to leave room on the ledge for the visitor.
    “You have been gone too long,” said the ancient dragon.
    “It is good to see you, father,” said Symurall, landing lightly beside him. “Is mother nearby?”
    “She is not. Yssahjorna is three valleys south and west of here, watching a new forest grow. It was planted with seeds descended from the lost world. Oak, elm, and maple, among others.”
    “Her work has progressed so far?” Symurall said with surprise. “I have been gone for a long time.”
    “Twenty-three years, eighty-seven days,” Morgrannon intoned. “Not very long, really. Your sister comes more often, your brother less. It is not a matter for concern. Tell me what brought you to us.”
    “Humans.”
    “We are aware of the recent cataclysm. Since the people of Novalion are safe and healthy, I assume that you are talking about the residents of Tramora.”
    “Tramora was destroyed by vast eruptions, much like the ones that created this scar. In this case, the cause appears to be natural. Most of the humans were killed. Very few survived to land on the shores of my domain. That is where the complications begin. I am uncertain of how to proceed.”
    “I feel that your hatred for them has abated.”
    “It has. I wanted to know more about why you and mother have been so fond of humans over the years, and why you brought them to Syraqua.”
    The red dragon stretched. “They are a complex species, difficult to quantify. At its finest, humanity is magnificent. Such is not always evident; it is too easy to miss the good amid the bad. Through their bloody, mad history, humans have somehow progressed, becoming greater with each generation. Never underestimate humanity; never forget that, flawed as they are, the universe would be less for their passing.”
    Symurall was quiet for a moment, contemplating. “I have seen glimmerings of what you say,” he said. “I now must decide how to involve myself in human affairs.”
    Morgrannon nodded. “Your entire story will take much time, I assume?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then I will stop working on my poem, and listen. If you have come to me, the situation must be troubling.”
    Symurall arched an eyebrow. “Is this the poem about the human home planet? Where you once lived? Didn’t you start writing it before I was born?”
    “And I will be working on it when this mountain is cold,” Morgrannon said. He shifted his great bulk into a very comfortable position. “Now, tell me everything, including how your sister and brother are doing.”

    Another week had passed, and Kaylen almost let himself hope that people would survive its own idiosyncrasies. The fishing fleet was at sea; the docks were prepared to receive the catch when they returned. Jennur’s school seemed to be a success. More houses had roofs, and more building materials would soon be trickling into town.
    On this afternoon, Kaylen rode a horse slowly toward the castle. He’d spent the past two days helping with the quarry and lumber mill run by Torin Hanso. The blacksmith seemed to have inexhaustible energy and knowledge of practical matters, from the construction of a water-powered saw to demonstrating the art of splitting limestone. Letting dozens of people live ten leagues from the safety of the city had seemed risky; after seeing Torin in action, Kaylen decided that any kehklik would regret inconveniencing the smith.
    The horse was one of only a dozen that had survived from Tramora. It was a big animal, probably a light draft horse in its former life. It had taken to him immediately, and he named it Borrus. Kaylen wondered if naming the animal had been a mistake; he hated to think of it as his horse. In idle moments, he formulated plans to tame the wild horses on the nearby plains. It sounded like an interesting challenge. Of course, dragons thought of horses as tasty meals – he would need to work that out with Symurall.
    He entered the castle courtyard, dismounted, and handed Borrus’ reigns to a man who took the horse toward makeshift stables.
    “So there you are!” Zarah called out. “I missed you!”
    She ran toward him, and he experienced mixed feelings. Zarah was pretty, smart, hard-working – and much too young. He found her exuberance and resilience refreshing; she’d handled stress better than almost anyone from Tramora. But sometimes, she obviously wanted more than respect from him, and he simply couldn’t see her that way. When he thought of her as a woman, it was as a sister. As for his continuing interest in Alanora… he chided himself for thinking of someone he barely knew, and who he might never see again. Absence makes the lust grow stronger, he joked privately.
    Zarah gave him a big hug. He tried to relax, and kissed her on the cheek.
    “Anything exciting happen while I was gone?” he asked as they walked toward the dwarven tents.
    “Another ship arrived!” she said. “A big trading ship, just like Jahsha’s. It’s in rough shape, too.”
    “How many people?”
    “Twenty-three. All men.” He noted the resignation in her voice.
    “Any useful cargo?”
    “Cloth!” she said, suddenly excited. “Bolts and bolts of expensive stuff from Orriko. I guess we’ll all have pretty dresses!”
    Kaylen laughed. “I think I’ll pass. I’m more worried about people keeping warm. The damned clouds and rain aren’t making me feel better about fall and winter.”
    “Bah! Practical, practical, practical.”
    He noticed something new: A large tent stood to one side, constructed in the semi-permanent style of the dwarves, with a raised wooden floor and conical roof. The walls looked taller than their dwarven counterparts, and the cloth was plain and unpainted.
    “Is this Danelle’s idea?” he asked Zarah. The tent annoyed him; it wasted cloth needed elsewhere.
    “Yes,” she said enthusiastically. “It was a good idea. Every city needs a town hall.”
    They walked up a short ramp and went inside. Kaylen immediately noticed how neat and tidy everything looked. Misgivings aside, he had to admit that Danelle was skilled at turning chaos into order. He noted that she’d brought many of her things up from the galley, and it seemed rather incongruous to see fine varnished furniture in a tent.
    “I hope your trip went well,” said Danelle as Kaylen entered. 
    “It did,” he replied. “I hear we have new recruits.”
    “Indeed we do.” Danelle sat at her desk, and looked through papers until she found one in particular. “The Shadowrider. From…”
    “Vandoval!” Kaylen exclaimed. “The Shadowrider is a sister to my Wayfarer. I know the captain, Jock Abern.” He also knew several people in Jock’s crew; a few had even worked the Wayfarer.
    Zarah put a hand on his arm. “Kaylen, Captain Abern wasn’t on the ship. Several members of his crew were lost as well.”
    “I’m surprised it made port,” added Jahsha’s voice from the entrance. “The aft mast is gone, steerage torn away. Big dent in her hull to port, and she shipped a lot of water. The first mate rigged a crude rudder and the crew kept her afloat. I’m sure they’ll want to see you, Kaylen. Oh – and welcome back.”
    “Excuse me,” said a man’s voice from behind Jahsha. She moved to one side, and Captain Nogg entered. Rigid as always, he approached Danelle directly, hardly taking note of anyone else.
    “Magister,” he said with a slight bow. Kaylen rolled his eyes at Jahsha, who looked grim.
    “Your report?” Danelle asked.
    “I’ve recruited more than forty sentinels,” Nogg stated. “In three shifts, we can keep four around the docks, and twice that many patrolling in town.”
    “Sentinels?” Kaylen asked. “Like the police in Korsovah? When did this happen?”
    “Just yesterday, while you were gone,” said Jahsha. “People in the dockyard are annoyed, to put it very politely. We don’t have any problems that police can solve.”
    “Making the harbor work is easy,” Danelle declared. “It’s populated by sailors who are doing exactly what they’ve always done. In town, things haven’t been as easy. And we’ve had several dangerous altercations with dwarves. People asked for security, so I asked Captain Nogg to organize a few men.”
    “Why police the dockyard?” Kaylen asked. “This should’ve been discussed. Hell, I might have even agreed with you. But this isn’t Korsovah. This is everyone’s town, not just yours, Danelle.”
    “Very well,” Danelle said, clearly exasperated. “Captain Nogg, there will be no need to patrol the harbor. That gives you more men for town.” He nodded. She continued, looking at Jahsha. “I’ll leave security around the ships to you. Is that acceptable?”
    “I can live with it,” said Jahsha, who left immediately.
    “I don’t like the way this is going, Danelle,” said Kaylen. “Dwarves and humans shouldn’t be fighting.”
    “I don’t have the time to sort out who’s at fault,” she said. “My concern is making people feel safe, so they can get on with their work – which brings us to the subject of your recent visit to Torin and his mills. How is it going?”
    He disliked her imperious attitude, and was going to object when he noticed the unhappy look on Zarah’s face. He decided to fight the battle another day. For the next hour they talked about trees and rocks, water wheels and winches. Danelle was attentive and complimentary; nothing she said was unreasonable. Once they were finished, he excused himself, claiming fatigue from his trip. Zarah followed him out of the tent.
    “You should be nicer to Danelle,” she said as he started looking for something to eat. “She’s only trying to make things work, like the rest of us.”
    “Danelle is trying to make things work for her,” Kaylen said. “She was once very powerful. If we don’t keep an eye on her, she’ll make herself a new kingdom.”
    Zarah started to say something; they were interrupted by a gust of wind and a loud noise. Sytherek settled to the ground in an unused part of the courtyard. The dwarves looked annoyed; many of the humans found a sudden need to be elsewhere.
    “Kaylen Thyr!” the dragon said. “I hope this meeting will go better than our first.”
    “I’m glad you’re here,” Kaylen said. “Thanks for supporting Symurall.” He bowed slightly.
    The dragon raised his head, rippled the brilliant purple spikes along his spine, and arched his eyebrows. “You have developed manners. Perhaps I made the right decision.”
    “What decision was that?”
    “I didn’t eat you when we first met.” The dragon showed a row of very long, sharp teeth. “I am here to see Tohkay Ahtok.”
    “You have found him,” stated the See’ee’ah, who approached with Norgrim and Kalinda.
     “I do not know the young lady,” Sytherek said.
    “Kalinda,” she said. “I’m Norgrim’s daughter.”
    “I am truly amazed that any dwarven woman could stand your father long enough to procreate with him.” Kaylen tried to stifle laughter. Norgrim simply looked annoyed.
    “Are you Symurall’s brother?” Zarah asked. Unlike the others, she seemed more fascinated than frightened of the great beast.
    “Indeed I am,” said Sytherek. “I am not familiar with you, either.”
    “I’m Zarah. I rode with your brother and Kaylen to Tramora and back.”
    “Ah. You are the feisty young woman that so impressed him! Kyazura also speaks kindly of you.” He dipped his head in salute.
    “Can we get on with why you’re here?” asked Norgrim impatiently.
    “If you insist. First, I will invite my eldest offspring to join us.” Sytherek pointed his nose at the sky, and made a sound that make everyone’s ears tingle. Moments later, a smaller metallic lavender dragon landed. “I present my son, Tyreon.”
    “Greetings,” said the other dragon.
    “We are going on an expedition that will greatly interest Tohkay Ahtok,” Sytherek said. The dragon began singing, and it took a moment for Kaylen to recognize the See’ee’ah’s musical native tongue. Tohkay sang back.
    “I will go with Sytherek,” Tohkay stated when the concert ended. “Kalinda, can you care for E’ethess for a while? I shall not need a mount.”
    “You’re just going with them?” Norgrim asked. “Where?”
    “I do not want to say. Sytherek offers me a rare opportunity. If it is productive, you will learn all about it.”
    “Tohkay –” Kalinda started.
    “There is little or no danger involved,” said the reptile. “I will only be gone a week or two, at most. Unless, of course, I find something of particular interest. I won’t know until I see the site.”
    “Are they going to carry you?” Norgrim asked.
    “I have traveled by dragon before.”
    “When?”
    “When you were not around. Kalinda, I’ll need a full forensic kit, a drawing set, notebooks and extra bags – oh, and sample cases.” He and the young dwarf woman walked away, still talking.
    “You bring him back in one piece,” Norgrim ordered, shaking a finger at the big dragon.
    “Were you not the one who counseled Kaylen against getting angry at a dragon?” asked Sytherek. “Very well: I will protect Tohkay with my life. You have my word. Is that sufficient?”
    Norgrim glared for a moment, and then stalked away after his daughter and friend.
    “Is this the human you told me about?” Tyreon asked, motioned toward Kaylen with a claw.
    “I assume it was all complimentary,” said Kaylen.
    Sytherek snorted. “I speak better of you than I do of Norgrim.” He pointed toward Danelle as she emerged from the town hall. “That is the woman from the white ship.”
    “Thank you for your assistance,” she said. “You charity is much appreciated.”
    “Charity?” Sytherek asked, clearly amused. “An interesting viewpoint.” Danelle looked confused, but did not pursue an explanation.
    For a while, the courtyard was quiet. Kaylen watched Tyreon, seeing how the younger dragon eagerly absorbed the sights and sounds of human and dwarf. The pale blue-purple metallic scales looked like glass-coated metal. He wondered why father and son had such different coloration, and considered that Sytherek looked nothing like his siblings.
    “I am ready,” said Tohkay, who had returned with less jewelry and more pouches on his person. Kalinda and Norgrim had a number of bundles with them, which they wrapped in a net at the feet of the dragons.
    “I will take Tohkay,” said Sytherek. “Tyreon, please carry his equipment.”
    Tohkay noted all the concerned faces around him. “If I do not return,” he said, “It will not be the fault of anyone named Tyreon or Sytherek.”
    Moments later, wildly gyrating dust remained where the dragons had been.
    “If Tohkay gets hurt…” Norgrim grumbled.
    “He’ll be fine,” said Kalinda. She sounded more hopeful than she felt.

    Alanora relaxed in the main library. In her hand was a volume about ships. The open page showed a diagram of a sailing vessel much like the one Jahsha commanded. Had Kaylen had found a new ship? Again, she wondered why a sailor she’d barely met was still on her mind. 
    “Alanora! Do you have a moment for me?”
    It was her father. Alanora hadn’t seen him for days. The library was one of the best-lit rooms in the city, and the brightness brought out the lines in her father’s face; he looked very old and pale. Yet his eyes were bright and alive.
    “Coming,” she said shelving the book.
    He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and took her arm.
    “I’ve been neglecting you,” he said. “Would you walk with me for a while?”
    “Of course,” she said. “You look tired. You’ve been working too hard.”
    They went down two levels to the main floor, and through the market. It was busy and noisy, as usual – until Oric was recognized. His passage created a circle of quiet as he led his daughter toward one of the larger tunnels.
    “Are we going to the farms?” she asked.
    “To a special farm,” he said. “It is quite lovely.”
    The pair walked a long way, slowly going downward. Alanora noticed many soldiers standing by the side paths to farms; there were patrols in the main tunnel, quiet men who saluted her father as they passed. She noted their black tabards, denoting membership in the Watch, a security force loyal to Prime Minister Kudric. They were the ones who’d invaded the forest, dragging recalcitrant farmers into the recesses of the mountain. She saw a few workers, but they were quiet and didn’t look in her direction, even the ones she knew. The ominous silence was only broken by the distant sounds of people working in the orchards or tending the mushroom gardens. The path flattened out; they entered an area she didn’t recognize.
    “When were these caverns dug?” she asked. Few extensions to Caerelon had been made in her lifetime. Her contacts in the resistance had told her about the new caverns, where farmers from the forest were taken and held prisoner. She had assumed it was some sort of detention center.
    “While you were on your adventures,” Oric said. “This is what happens when you ignore our people – you miss changes. That is, I think, the root of your problem.”
    “What problem is that?”
    “I worry about you. As my daughter, people will try to influence you, even lie to gain your sympathy. I would hate for you to get hurt.”
    “I’m careful,” she said. Was he simply being paranoid, or did he know what she’d been doing while he was absent?
    They turned into one of the well-lit side caverns. A myriad of mushrooms coated the floor: blue fogwort, kasteenia, and everglow. She noted strange, unknown fungi: tall spindly red ones, and short, broad brown ones with oddly-shaped bumps. The cacophony of natural luminescence created a stunning display.
    “What is this?” she asked.
    “Our last line of defense,” he said. “Maintained by people who threatened our safety. Poetic, don’t you think?” He mistook her disturbed look for curiosity. “Should dragons or dwarves or anyone else attack, we will be ready for them. Caerelon will not fall.”
    Alanora knew about poisonous mushrooms; every child in Caerelon could identify hazardous fungi from an early age. How did Oric expect to feed toxins to a dragon? The forest farmers had become slaves in an impossible plan to ‘protect’ Caerelon. She searched for words to end her father’s plunge into madness, and found none, remaining silent.
    “Aren’t they gorgeous?” her father was saying. “To think that some of our people resist my efforts… it saddens me.” He sighed deeply. “I don’t know what I would do without the Prime Minister. He’s working so hard to maintain order. We must maintain order.”
    Alanora shivered, even though it wasn’t cold.
    
    Later, in her room, she tried to sleep and failed miserably. Someone knocked.
    “Who is it?” she called.
    “Grehn,” came a hoarse whisper.
    She jumped from bed, tossed on a robe, cinching it as she opened the door. The old warden slipped inside, and closed it behind him.
    “It’s good to see you,” Alanora said. “But the hour…”
    “…is late,” he said.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Orders just came from the Prime Minister’s office to seal all exits,” he said, sitting heavily in a chair, looking older than when she’d seen him just a few days before. “The only ones being left open are being used by Watchers to bring in any remaining resisters.” 
    Alanora cursed. “Be a gentleman and turn your back while I get dressed.”
    She put on her traveling clothes quickly. Grehn told her tales of terror from the countryside, of children being taken to force parents to surrender, of resisters being beaten and killed. Silently listening, she retrieved her weapons from their hiding place; she hadn’t worn them since coming home.
    “I can’t just leave,” Alanora finally said, adjusting her quiver. “I’ll go to the forests, help warn people…”
    “There aren’t many people left in the forest,” said Grehn, turning to face her. “You’re not safe here anymore. One of my insiders overheard Kudric talking about you. They know what you’ve been doing.” He sighed. “You’re the only person with outside resources. You need to find help.”
    “Isn’t that what I’m being accused of?” she asked. “Conspiring with aliens?”
    A knock. Grehn hid behind a tapestry as Alanora opened the door.
    “Ezra!”
    “Is Grehn here?” he asked.
    She yanked him into the room, pulled a dagger, and held it to his throat.
    “Let him be!” Grehn yelled. “He works for me.”
    She stepped back and lowered her weapon.
    “He’s your inside source?” she asked. Grehn nodded.
    “Watchers may already be on their way,” Ezra said urgently. “Goddro, the Minister of Provisions, was brought in this evening. Tortured. He implicated you and others.”
    “Father would never sign an order for my arrest.”
    “He already has. I swear upon my mother’s soul. You need to leave.”
    Alanora hesitated, angry at her own confusion.
    “Mahgrurra’s people,” said Grehn. “Remember the horn I told you about? I know you have special ways of getting outside.”
    “Through the family crypt,” she said. Her mind was set, a plan formed.
    “You’ll need a distraction,” Grehn said. “I’ll create one, in the market. Give me a few minutes. You’ll know when to run.” He left.
    “I’m coming with you,” Ezra said.
    “I don’t think so.”
    “If Oric is willing to condemn his own daughter, I’m not far from death myself.”
    She sighed, and they waited. After a few moments, a commotion arose outside. Peeking, seeing no one on the balcony, she stepped to the edge, and looked down. A fire burned brightly among the wagons below. People shouted; guards scurried.
    “Time to go,” she said. Ezra followed her out of the room.
    They ran down two levels, over to one side, and into her family’s shrine. Small statues, bracketed by candles, depicted the great leaders of Caerelon’s past. Turning one of the statuettes opened a door.
    “There she is!” a voice yelled.
    She and Ezra ducked inside; the door closed behind them.
    “So much for Grehn’s distraction. Did they see how you opened it?”
    “If not, they’ll figure it out,” she said, already running.
    They passed through the burial chamber and up the stairs. Alanora opened another door; they stood in on a balcony at one end of a large building. Daylight flooded in from gaping holes in the ceiling, illuminating only dusty emptiness. As they reached the door leading outside, someone shouted behind them. Not looking back, they ran into a large, barren courtyard. Alanora pointed toward a tall tower a short distance away. Inside, they rushed up a spiral stairway. Half-way to the top, Ezra screamed and dropped to his knees. An arrow protruded from his calf. Below, a man with a bow looked up, and he was quickly joined by others.
    Alanora tried to reach Ezra, but stepped back as a pair of arrows whooshed past and clattered into the wall.
    “Go!” Ezra ordered.
    She tossed him her short sword and ran without looking back. Climbing the stairs, she threw open the hatch and scrambling out. Sounds – a series of thumps, yells, the clanging of steel, and a sharp cry – told her everything she needed to know.
    “Damn you all!” she yelled, slamming the hatch closed. She rolled a crenellation stone off the edge of the tower and over the entrance. The metal horn was exactly where Grehn had said it would be. She blew into it; there was little obvious sound, but she felt a strong, deep vibration. Blowing again, she hoped.

    The Shadowrider had weathered the storm, but only barely. Even from a distance, Kaylen could see the damage: she was riding low in the water, the bowsprit missing, no masts aft of midship. He hoped Jock knew his ship had come through, wherever the spirits of dead sailors went.
    “I heard about the Wayfarer…” Tedd Gan started to say when they met.
    Kaylen held up a hand. “Let’s focus on the living. I’ve heard miracles ascribed to your seamanship.”
    Tedd shrugged. “Eh, I did what came to mind. If it weren’t for the dolphins…”
    “Is every critter on the planet keeping an eye on us?” Kaylen laughed. “First dragons, now dolphins.”
    “Dragons?”
    “Later. Tell me about the dolphins.”
    “Once the storm abated, we had no idea where to go,” Tedd said. “Old Sandmore kept babbling about dolphins, but we ignored him at first, figuring it was rum talking. I finally decided to pay more attention, and sure enough, there was a whole pod of ‘em, lined up like an arrow. I didn’t have any ideas of my own, so I followed them, right up this river. If I had fish, I’d toss them a few.”
    The two men went aboard the ship. Below, people operated manual pumps, barely staying ahead of the leaks. Kaylen took over the work in one hold; the exertion felt good, even while standing in cold brackish water up to his knees. After an hour, he passed the job to another man, washed up, and went back to the main deck, where Tedd was directing the removal of wreckage.
    “Jahsha suggested taking the ship up river, beaching it on a sandbar,” Kaylen said. “We should be able to do the hull work there.” His voice became a bit wistful. “I think Jock would be glad to know you’re keeping the Shadowrider in business.”
    Tedd rubbed his scruffy chin. “I never had much interest in being a captain. Too much paperwork.” He smiled. “I was your second mate before I was Jock’s first. The crew would be happy to serve under you.” Kaylen’s shock was quite evident. Before he could find words, Tedd continued, “If you’re the man I once worked for, herding landies can’t be sitting well with you. You need a ship, and we need a captain.”
    “I smell Jahsha’s hand in this,” said Kaylen.
    People were shouting, pointing.
    “Is that a dragon?” Tedd asked. 
    “Yes, that’s a dragon,” said Kaylen. “Third of the day, too.” He started walking across the gang-plank. He called back to Tedd, “If the crew wants me, they can have me.”
    He didn’t have far to run. The dragon soared down the canyon, and somehow managed to land delicately on the crowded dock without knocking anyone or thing into the river. Kaylen recognized it as the rusty-colored drake that had helped defend the human beach camp, what seemed like ages before.
    “Hello, Mahgrurra,” he said. “It’s good to see you again. Uh, no offense, but this might not be the best place for a dragon.”
    “She insisted on being delivered directly to you,” said the dragon as it unfolded the foot held to its chest.
    “Alanora?” he asked, incredulous.
    “You remember me,” she said, stepping clear, and looking around.
    Without thinking, he hugged her, stepping back quickly upon realizing what he’d done. “I’d hoped you’d come back, from wherever you went.”
    “I went home,” she said.
    He knew something was very wrong – the dirt on her face and clothes, the empty scabbard at her hip. At his quizzical look, she added, “It’s complicated.” She looked down at herself. “A clean outfit, some food, and an idea of what’s happened to you… then I promise you’ll know everything.”
    “Your opinion of dragons seems to have changed radically,” he said, looking from Alanora to Mahgrurra and back again.
    “My opinion of this dragon is quite high.” For a moment, Alanora was unsure; reaching out, she stroked the dragon’s nose. Mahgrurra surprised them both by purring.
    “Am I in the way?” the dragon asked, as people started to gather on the dock.
    “Unfortunately, yes,” said Kaylen. 
    “I will move to that sandbar, and rest. By morning, my energies will be refreshed.” Mahgrurra flew to the island, leaving an astonished crowd behind. She curled up like an enormous cat, and closed her eyes. 
    “I’ll take you to Jahsha’s ship,” Kaylen said, leading Alanora toward the Gull. “She should have clothes that’ll fit you.”
    At the ship, Jahsha greeted Alanora warmly. The two women disappeared inside. They were gone longer than Kaylen expected; finally, Jahsha came out, alone.
    “Something bad happened when she went home,” Jahsha said as they stood on the deck, waiting. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s a bit desperate.”
    “I can’t imagine why she came to us for help,” Kaylen said, “We can barely help ourselves.”
    Jahsha laughed. “You need a better imagination. I don’t think she came looking for us, if you get my drift.”
    Before Kaylen could respond, the door opened, and Alanora emerged onto the deck. Her face was clean, her hair freed from the braid and flowing loose over her shoulders. She wore a long dark red dress trimmed in tan lace; the front was cut low, in the style of aristocratic women in Vandoval. It had never occurred to him that Jahsha owned such finery or that Alanora would wear something so…
    “He approves,” smirked Jahsha.
    Kaylen realized that his mouth was hanging open. He saw amusement on both women’s faces and felt his face flush.
    “It looks… it looks very nice,” he said, trying to regain his composure.
    “It will do,” said Alanora with a small smile. “Thank you, Jahsha. I’d hate to introduce myself to someone like Danelle in my traveling clothes.”
    “You told her about Danelle?” Kaylen asked.
    “Just the basics,” Jahsha replied. “I didn’t want her walking into things blind.”
    It was close to the communal dinner time, and Kaylen walked both women up the hill to the dwarven compound. One fo the first people to see them was Norgrim.
    “I saw the dragon land below,” said the dwarf. “I never expected it to be delivering you, though. I thought you hated dragons.”
    “I adapt,” Alanora said. Looking around, she asked, “Is Tohkay still at Drakcaern?”
    “You just missed him,” said Norgrim. “He left a few hours ago with Sytherek.” At Alanora’s look of concern, he added, “Our little scholar was eager to go. My guess is the big nasty dragon needs a small smart person, though neither said where they were going.”
    As they approached the tables, Danelle emerged from the large tent. “So this is the native woman I’ve heard about,” the magister said. Her eyes critically assessed Alanora, who responded with a probing gaze of her own. The staring contest lasted only a moment, and left an uncomfortable silence in its wake.
    Alanora was first to speak. “You must be Danelle. Your title is Magister, I was told.”
    Danelle looked uncertain. “Yes,” she finally said. “In Korsovah, I was…”
    “…an ecclesiastical governor,” Alanora completed the sentence. “Of course, I’m assuming Tramoran titles follow historical meanings. We haven’t had a religious authority in a long time.” She extended a hand.  “I am Lady Alanora Ortensa, daughter of Count Oric, Lord of Caerelon.” With an enigmatic smile, Alanora continued, “I’m not fond of formal titles, though I hope they help us understand one another.”
    Her confident presence dispelled Danelle’s initial skepticism; the magister recognized a peer, at least in terms of hierarchy, and switched to a friendlier guise “Dinner is being laid out,” she said. “Please join us.” The group started walking toward the tables.
    Kaylen looked at Norgrim, who simply shrugged and looked puzzled. Pulling the dwarf aside, he whispered, “Did you know any of that?”
    “Nope,” Norgrim replied. “I didn’t even know the name of her city.”
    As they hurried to catch up with the two women, Kaylen sorted his thoughts. She’d always seemed to be more than a mere adventurer; he reflect on comments she’d made during their first meeting, and her sense of purpose and command while organizing a defense against the kehklik. Clearly he’d underestimated her, and his carnal thoughts seemed ill-suited to the woman just revealed.
     Once they reached the tables, Kaylen was about to sit near Alanora; he hesitated, and she looked at him with slight amusement and invitation on her face. As others were getting organized, she leaned over and whispered, “We’ll talk later.” Her breath on his ear sent chills down his spine. 
    As they ate, the conversation centered on recent events in Tornaval. Alanora asked small, pointed questions, saying little and listening carefully, sorting through different viewpoints, revising and refining her own plans. She quickly realized that Tornaval was not what she’d hoped for; tensions were self-evident, just by looking at seating arrangements and hearing how people interacted. 
    “I’d like to hear more about this Caerelon,” Danelle said, pointedly looking at Alanora. “One might think you were here simply to spy on us.”
    “There’s no need to be rude,” Kaylen snapped. Alanora put her hand on his, and he found the sensation remarkably pleasant.
    “The Magister’s concern is valid,” she said. “Forgive my reticence, but I needed to understand your situation before making a proposal.”
    “Which is?” Danelle asked.
    “Our city has been isolated for centuries,” Alanora said. “Caerelon would benefit from trade and an exchange of ideas. We have craftsmen and farmers who could help you rebuild.” It was not the truth, but it would suffice for what she needed to accomplish.
    Something didn’t feel right to Kaylen; her stress upon arriving didn’t fit with a simple diplomatic mission. She squeezed his hand, reacting to his unsaid questions.
    “Where is Caerelon?” Norgrim asked. “I have my suspicions… could it be –”
    “A hundred and sixty leagues to the south-south west,” she said. “I’m sure you know where that is.”
    Norgrim looked confused, before realization dawned on him. “Of course! Now that’s an isolated spot. It’s no wonder we never found it before.”
    Danelle looked thoughtful. “What you suggest would benefit both our peoples, and reduce our dependence on the dwarves as well. Much as their help has been invaluable, I hate to think of how we’ve inconvenienced them.” Norgrim nearly choked on his beer.
    “I think we all agree it’s a good idea,” said Kaylen. No one objected to his assessment, so he continued, “How do you want to proceed?”
    “My duties require that I return to Caerelon soon,” said Alanora. “I’d like to take an ambassador with me, someone who could open discussions with my father.” She smiled. “I’d prefer someone with whom I’ve worked before. Kaylen would be my first choice.”
    “I’m no diplomat!” he protested.
    “Don’t be modest,” Danelle said. “You’ve shown a talent for making friends in Syraqua. I can’t think of anyone who could represent us better.”
    “We’ll be traveling by air,” Alanora said. “Do you know any human who knows more about dragons than you do?”
    “I could go,” Zarah said. “I’m not any sort of diplomat, but I’d love to see your city.”
    Kaylen felt Alanora’s foot nudge him. “Not this time,” he told Zarah, who looked very disappointed. “We’ve only enough room for a couple of people.” Kaylen felt like an actor in an unfinished play, improvising lines on the fly.
    “I can take two,” Alanora said. “I’d like Norgrim to come, if he’s willing. We have some issues that need to be looked at by a Loreseeker.”
    “Of course!” Norgrim said enthusiastically.
    The dinner broke up shortly thereafter. Danelle took several people into the town hall, including Zarah; others drifted away, leaving just a few people at the table.
    “So what’s really going on?” Dorna asked grumpily. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal.
    “Not here,” Alanora said. “And not everyone at once. First, I’ll talk to Dorna and Norgrim. Kaylen, I’ll catch up with you a later.” She and the two dwarves went to a nearby tent, leaving Kaylen alone with Jahsha.
    “Don’t look at me,” Kaylen said, speaking quietly, responding to Jahsha’s inquisitive look. “I have no idea what’s going on. She wanted me to know this whole diplomatic mission was a farce from the outset.”
    “How so?”
    “Norgrim’s shown me plenty of maps. Alanora placed Caerelon right on top of his home town of Norokden. I don’t think the dwarves missed an entire city of humans in their midst. She wanted Norgrim, and maybe me, to know the location was a lie.”
    “Which still leaves us wondering what’s going on,” Jahsha said. “I did enjoy her little power play with Danelle. Doesn’t a future Countess outrank a mere Magister?” She clearly thought the idea was humorous.
    “I can never keep that stuff straight,” Kaylen replied.
    “Damn it, I almost forgot – did you get a chance to speak with Tedd Gan?”
    “I took the job. Thanks for dropping hints in the right places.”
    “Good – now I know you’ll be coming back,” she said with a grin. “After this escapade, we’ll put to sea.”
    “And sail where?” he asked. “As you’ve said, there’s only one port.”
    “I talked to Norgrim earlier. He suggested an eastern route, around the horn and down the coastal a city named Daranadok. We might open a trade route. If nothing else, we’ll get a chance to explore new territory.”
    Kaylen was lost in thought for a few moments. “That’s a long trip. We’d take the three trading clippers, I suppose. Any idea what sort of goods we might load? I’d hate to show up with an empty hold and empty purses. We’re traders, not beggars.”
    “I’m working on that,” she said.
    Norgrim ambled up. Looking for Alanora, Kaylen saw her by the dwarven tents, talking to Dorna and Kalinda.
    “I’m going back to the docks,” Jahsha said. “Have fun figuring it all out.”
    “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Kaylen asked the dwarf as they watched her leave.
    Norgrim shrugged. “I’ll leave that to Alanora. She told me enough for now. I think she’ll tell you a lot more.”
    For a while, Kaylen talked to Norgrim about what they needed to take, and speculated about what they might find. He kept expecting Alanora to join the conversation.
    “What’s taking her so long?” Kaylen pondered out loud.
    “She said I wouldn’t see her again until morning,” Norgrim said. “Maybe she’s just tired; I heard Kalinda offer her a place to stay.” He patted Kaylen on the back. “Put the curiosity away, and get some sleep. That’s what I’m going to do.”
    Kaylen didn’t want to wait, but he also needed time to think. He started walking toward town, telling his rampant questions to be quiet.
    “Wait up!” Alanora’s voice called. She was running to catch up with him, still wearing the red dress. Even without her weapons, she inspired dangerous thoughts; his questions ran and hid. Suddenly, he felt very grungy, wishing he’d taken another bath after a day of pumping bilge water.
    “Did you think I’d forgotten you?” she asked.
    There was an awkward silence. His gaze drifted to her cleavage… he slapped himself mentally.
    “Norgrim thought you were heading to bed,” he said, starting to walk again. “I figured we’d go into details tomorrow morning. The real details.”
    She laughed lightly. “Dancing around the truth has become a habit. I hope you understand why I said what I did earlier.” She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I don’t lie to my friends. That’s why I’m here; I want you to know the truth. I need your help.”
    “Are you actually a Countess?”
    She laughed again. “It’s an old title, granted by a wizard-king who’s been dead for centuries. We don’t use it in Caerelon anymore. With people like Danelle, titles hold meaning. As do clothes.” She spun, the dress fanning out around her. “I’m not very fond of dresses, but they have their uses.”
    He cleared his throat. “I can’t argue with that. You look… quite lovely.”
    “Thank you. And now for the truth…” They walked slowly as she talked; sometimes, she was quiet while other people passed them on the street. Alanora told him about Caerelon, her father’s paranoia, and his enslavement of the farmers; from Ezra and clandestine meetings to Kudric’s thugs and her escape, she held nothing back, grateful for the chance to release the secrets of her life. Kaylen drank it all in, asking few questions. When she was done, he spent a few moments thinking.
    “So you came here, looking for help,” he said. “If we could help rescue your people, Tornaval would give them a safe home. We’d gain people with useful skills, and your people would be safer.”
    “Not quite,” she said. “I have no intention of abandoning Caerelon. It’s my home, Kaylen, and my people don’t deserve to become refugees any more than yours did.”
    “They can’t stay in Caerelon, can they?”
    “No. They can live outside Caerelon. Many of them already did. With Mahgrurra’s dragons providing protection, they’d be safe and free. Then I could deal with my father.”
    “He doesn’t sound like the reasonable type.”
    “I wasn’t planning on reasoning with him. His madness grows every day; he’ll find some way to harm even those who want to stay inside the mountain.” She paused, weighing what to say. “My friend Grehn has been building a resistance force.” She laughed sadly. “It’s funny. My father wants me to be a leader, to focus on the people. He’s going to get what he wants.” She could see Kaylen realizing the implications of her words. “If he won’t see reason, I’ll depose my father. I see no other way. You’re the only person I’ve told all of this. Even Norgrim doesn’t know everything. Not yet.”
    “I’m not sure what to think,” Kaylen said. “And I’m still not clear why you need me – or Norgrim, for that matter.”
    “Norgrim knows dwarven architecture; he can find passages from the inner city to the outside world. You… impressed me during our first days together, when we fought the kehklik. What I propose isn’t going to be easy, and I can’t do it alone. Norgrim isn’t enough. I need another partner, someone who cares about people and thinks quickly.” She paused again. “I’m not asking you to repay a debt – I want your help because I know what kind of man you are.”
    “I’m not even sure what kind of man I am,” Kaylen said with a wry smile. “Yes, I’ll go with you; after those compliments, how could I refuse?”
    Kaylen realized that they now stood in front of his house. In recent days, it had gained a complete roof and a working door, but still no glass in the windows. He looked at her, and found her more attractive than ever.
    “I’m glad you’re here, even if the circumstances aren’t ideal.” Kaylen rubbed the back of his neck. He opened the door, and looked for words to end the evening.
    “Do you want company?” she asked, before he could get his sentences crafted.
    “Beg your pardon?”
    “I need a place to stay tonight,” she said. “Kalinda offered me a cot. I’d rather stay with you.”
    “Uh…” He stumbled for words. She was no tavern trollop or casual acquaintance. What he wanted to do, that he knew. What he should do was less obvious. He couldn’t ignore a glint in her eye, a small smile on her lips. Was she trying to manipulate him? No; she wasn’t that kind of woman, either. Kaylen let out a deep breath, and rambled. “Um… aw hell. We barely know each other. It’s not that… well, I’m interested, but…”
    Alanora laughed loudly. “You’ve befriended dragons, fought armies of monsters, and one woman leaves you at a loss for words?”
    “I’m trying to be a gentleman,” he said. He looked down at his messy clothes. “My condition isn’t the best tonight, either.”
    “Do you have soap and water inside?”
    He took one of her hands. “I’ve thought about you, often.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. The embrace lingered and deepened.

    “She isn’t telling us the truth,” said Danelle, pouring a drink for Jennur. “Oh, she’s very good, I’ll grant her that.” The two of them were in her house, a bigger one than Kaylen’s, located in a side district once populated by merchants.
    “She wanted Kaylen,” sneered Jennur.
    “Let her have him. I don’t care why, as long as she keeps him away from Tornaval.” Danelle moved to a window, and looked out at the flickering lights below. “Of course, I already had a plan in place for Kaylen. He’s accepted the captaincy of the Shadowrider, I hear. It was a simple matter to plant the germ of an idea with Jahsha. Once we’ve put Tornaval in order, the pretentious sailors will run away, like they always have.”
    “He may return from this Caerelon with supporters,” Jennur suggested. “I find the entire matter suspicious. I wouldn’t be surprised if he met with her in recent days, while inspecting the mills. They arranged this little charade for your benefit.”
    “I doubt it,” she replied. “This Alanora is a very savvy woman. I’m inclined to believe her claims of nobility. Kaylen is simply taking advantage of the situation, whatever it may be. If anything, I worry more about her than I do him.”
    “She could help Kaylen gain power here.”
    “He doesn’t want power,” she said, downing her drink and pouring more. “None of them do, and that’s why we have troubles. Kaylen and his friends won’t make people do what is required, because they themselves refuse to be directed. Placing the survival of civilization in such hands is a frightening thought.”
    “Perhaps.” Jennur sounded dubious. “In any case, opportunity knocks for us. Jahsha is putting to sea tomorrow; we will have a few days free of interference. Have you decided to put Zarah in my hands?”
    “She is a nice girl,” Danelle said. “I think she likes me. I regret using her this way.”
    “Zarah was disloyal to me,” Jennur growled. “She will side with Kaylen against you, if it comes to that.” The bishop chuckled darkly. “Leave her to me. Once she’s helped remove the dwarves, I will find out what they’ve been hiding from us.” He stood, placing his empty glass on a nearby table, joining Danelle at the window. “Do you have enough men to handle any complications?”
    “The sentinels are in place,” she said. “If Tornaval has an abundance of anything, it’s men who have too much time and energy on their hands. Captain Nogg easily recruited a force for our needs.”
    “I assume Kaylen objected?”
    “Of course.” She smiled. “If we’re lucky, he won’t come back from this adventure.”
    “Kaylen has a habit of defying the odds.”
    “His luck will run out eventually.”
    “We can only hope it does.” Jennur picked up and donned his cloak. “I must be going. It wouldn’t be seemly for a bishop to be seen leaving the house of a lady after dark.” He opened the door. “Good night, Magister.”
    She watched him walk slowly up the street. The future had potential, though she was not entirely certain of her ally. Jennur was too angry, too interested in his personal agenda. She would need to do something about that, eventually.

    Kaylen stood at the front door, watching people go about their early morning business. He heard movement behind him, and turned around to find Alanora getting dressed.
    “I overslept,” she said. “You should have gotten me up.”
    “It’s still early.” He closed the door and went back inside.
    “You’re very quiet.” With a slight grin, she added, “I thought last night went rather well.”
    “It did,” he said. “I’m honored, by the way.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “Tell you what?”
    “That this was your first time.”
     She leaned back on a table, arms behind for support. “It wasn’t important.”
    “Most women think it is.”
    “I’m not most women. You might have noticed.”
    “Oh, I noticed.” He hesitated. “Why me?”
    “Because it does matter to you,” she said. “You’ve been with other women, haven’t you?”
    “Yes. A few.”
    She laughed. “Don’t give me false modesty. I may have been a virgin until last night, but I’m not naïve. Was there anyone in Tramora waiting for you?”
    “No.”
    “So… is this going to be difficult?”
    He sighed. “I don’t know. There wasn’t anyone waiting for me because I never found anyone. Maybe I don’t know how. Given what’s going on...”
    “If not now, when?” she insisted. “We’re surrounded by conspiracies. The real question is: Do we trust each other? I didn’t sleep with you to create an obligation; I chose you because I like who you are. Because more than sex, I need someone I can trust, and who trusts me.”
    He put his hands on her waist and kissed her lightly. “Do you trust an impetuous sailor who you’ve only know a short time?”
    “Do you trust a woman who is as likely to get you into trouble as out of it?”

    “Would you please stop mothering me?” Norgrim growled at his wife. “Go pester our daughter in the next tent over. I know how to pack my own things.”
    “It’s done,” said Dorna sternly. “I may not approve of this expedition, but I’ll be damned sure you start it off right.”
    Norgrim walked out of his tent, a bundle under each arm. To one side, he saw Mahgrurra with her wings spread wide, catching what light there was under overcast skies. At one of the long tables, he saw Jahsha and Kalinda. He joined them, dropping his bags in a heap and then piling food on a plate.
    “Where is Kaylen?” he asked. “Mahgrurra will be ready soon.”
    “I expect him to be a bit late this morning,” said Jahsha.
    “This isn’t the day to be late,” he said, fitting his words between bites. “Which brings up a similar question: Where is Alanora?”
    The two women gave each other knowing looks. Norgrim’s forehead wrinkled in annoyance. “Kalinda, didn’t she stay with you?”
    “I offered,” his daughter said. “She had other plans.”
    “What other plans?” he asked. “Where else… oh no. No. They didn’t.”
    “One of my crew was walking through town late last night,” said Jahsha. “He passed Kaylen’s place. We need to get that man some windows.”
    The table erupted into laughter.
    “What’s so funny?” Zarah approached the table and sat next to Kalinda.
    “We were making fun of Kaylen,” said Jahsha. “That’s what happens to people who’re late for breakfast.”
    Norgrim brushed crumbs from his beard, and reached for another helping. “It complicates matters, that’s what it does. Something must be wrong with Alanora. She’s always had a level head. You’d think Kaylen would have some sense, too.”
    “I’m lost,” said Zarah. “Did something happen to Kaylen and Alanora?”
    “You could say that,” said Jahsha. “It looks like Alanora spent the night at Kaylen’s house.”
    “Oh…” said Zarah quietly and slowly. “I see.”
    “Here they come,” said Kalinda. Their heads turned as one, following Kaylen and Alanora as they walked into camp.
    “We might want to find another table,” Kaylen whispered to Alanora.
    “We’ve been talking about you,” said Jahsha, as the pair began putting food on their plates. “Crude jokes, innuendo, that sort of thing.”
    Kaylen chuckled. “I expect nothing less from my friends.”
    “Why?” Zarah snapped, loudly, startling everyone at the table. She’d been sitting quietly for the last few moments. Her eyes glared at Alanora.
    “Excuse me?” Alanora asked.
    “Why?” Zarah demanded again. “Is that how you convinced him to go with you?”
    Kaylen felt a flush of anger. “That’s enough, Zarah,” in a tone he’d never used with her before.
    Jumping up, Zarah ran away. Swearing, Kaylen started to follow. Jahsha put a hand on his arm; he hesitated, and sat down next to Alanora.
    “Talking to her won’t help,” said Jahsha. “Give her some time alone. She’s been working hard on that crush of hers.”
    “I never gave her encouragement,” Kaylen stated darkly. “None.”
    “She didn’t need any,” said Jahsha.
    “Maybe I should talk to her,” said Alanora. “I didn’t know.”
    “There was nothing to know,” said Kaylen. “We haven’t done anything wrong, and neither of us needs to feel guilty. She invented something that didn’t exist.”
    “I’ll keep an eye on her,” said Jahsha. “I promise.”
    Kaylen looked at Norgrim. “You haven’t said much.”
    “There’s not much to say,” replied the dwarf gruffly. “So let’s start thinking of our little trip. I’ve packed some things I need, and few items I’ll want. What about the two of you?”
    “You know I don’t carry much,” said Alanora. Sad memories reminded her of a specific need. “My sword… I need to find another blade.”
    Norgrim pushed his plate back and stood. “I’ll be right back.” He hurried to his tent, and returned with a long bundle. “I was going to give this to Kaylen. It matches the one he already has.” He unfolded the cloth, and held the contents out, hilt first. “It seems appropriate that I give it to you instead.”
    Alanora stood, reached across the table, and took the milky-white blade. “From the mantelpiece at Drakcaern?” She backed away, into an open area, and made several test swings, jabs, and cuts. “Are you sure about this?”
    “I’ll find something new for the fireplace,” Norgrim said. “It looked funny with only one sword. I figured the two blades had been together for a long time, and they should stay that way.” He looked at Kaylen and Alanora in turn. “If you two start together, stay together. Otherwise, I’m going to be a very cranky dwarf.”

    Oric waited patiently. He’d always liked the library. The bright light was, at times, annoying, but the books had always comforted him. But not on this day.
    The door behind him opened and closed. He did not turn around.
    “What news, Prime Minister?”
    Kudric cleared his throat. “My son is dead, Lord. The blood loss was too much.” His voice quavered. “Had I foreseen the events of today, I would have taken a different path.”
    Oric appeared oblivious to the other man’s grief. “Did he regain consciousness? Could he tell us my daughter’s plans?”
    “No.”
    “I understand your loss,” Oric said, though his tone was clinical and detached. “We’ve both lost children today.” 
    The following silence was only broken by the sound of Oric’s footsteps as he moved to a nearby shelf. His face was an unreadable mask. He pulled down a book and opened it, flipping idly through the pages. Turning, he handed Kudric the book, still open. The page contained a picture of a sailing ship.
    “She was reading that before she left us,” said Oric. “My daughter has gone to her alien friends, who invade from across the sea. I’ve lost her, as assuredly as you’ve lost your son.”
    Kudric stared at the page for a moment. “What now?”
    Oric smiled. “We prepare. We must be ready for her return.”

    Kaylen watched Mahgrurra fly away, shouldered his pack, and followed Alanora and Norgrim into the forest. Dropped off in the early afternoon, they walked under a canopy of trees Kaylen didn’t know, filled with small lizards and colorful birds; the humidity was high, and for once, Kaylen was glad for the cloudiness.
    They’d gone a few leagues, now walking along a rise, when Alanora stopped, put a finger to her lips, and crouched. Kaylen half-kneeled beside her, and Norgrim became close friends with thick tree trunk.
    “Watchers,” she whispered, pointing.
    Kaylen peeked over the foliage. Below them, four armored men walked in a diamond formation, about twenty feet apart, not talking. 
    “They’re looking for someone,” he whispered.
    “Not us,” she said. “Farmers.”
    Kaylen motioned with his hand, and they moved quickly away, at a right angle from the patrol. A half hour later, they found a secluded stream, and stopped for a quick rest.
    “Could some rebels still be out here?” Norgrim asked.
    “Possibly,” she said. “A few die-hards. There can’t be many if we only saw four Watchers.”
    “Isn’t your friend Grehn a Watcher?”
    She laughed. “No! Grehn is a Warden; my grandfather created their order to protect people outside Caerelon’s walls. The Watchers are something recent; they work for Kudric, enforcing my father’s edicts.”
    “What about kehklik?” Kaylen asked.
    “The bugs are east and north of Caerelon,” she said. “We don’t see them often these days, but it wouldn’t surprise me to find one or two.”
    Norgrim splashed water on his face. Big drops running down his beard, he asked, “Why is anyone outside the mountain? Aren’t you folk supposed to be hiding?”
    “Sixty years ago, we started running short on food,” she said. “A fungus attacked the shroom plantations inside the mountain. To solve the crisis, my grandfather established farms in the forest, under the trees. If we find one, I can show you how they mix crops with forest plants. Their houses were covered in turf. From above, dragons wouldn’t have seen anything, and they’re so big they don’t spend much time in dense forests. Oh – and dragons are lousy at noticing small details.”
    “They can smell you,” said Kaylen. “Symurall talks about ‘scents’ all the time.”
    “Caerelon has excellent chemists,” she replied. “We need them. Our resources are limited, so we rely on synthesis.” She dug into a pouch on her belt and handed Kaylen a small brown sphere. “This was an accidental discovery; it was supposed to be a treat for children.”
    “Chocolate?” he asked.
    “Just the coating,” she smiled. “Eat it, and your natural scent will be different. It depends on the person. Most people end up smelling like an arbok.” 
    “I’ve been accused of worse,” he said, handing it back to her.
    She returned it to her pouch. “People outside the mountain grow everything to make it themselves.”
    They continued their hike. Just before twilight, they stopped the edge of the forest, on a slight rise. Below lay the remnants of a human city, overgrown with vegetation reclaiming its own. To the east, a jagged formation of dark rock stood against a background of distant, snow-capped mountains. It was an ancient volcanic core, eroded by the valley’s winds and rain, dramatic and ominous.
    “Caerelon,” said Alanora.
    “Impressive.” Kaylen pointed. “Is that the castle? All I see is an outline.”
    “It was never finished,” she said. “There’s a curtain wall, a few towers, and several large building shells. It was under construction when the dragons and kehklik came.”
    They moved to a secluded spot, making camp where a small ridge of rock stood between them and the castle.
    “No fire,” grumbled Norgrim.
    “I’ll eat anything cooked or not,” Kaylen said. He began breaking out rations, which included squares of dwarven arken. As he chewed on one, Kaylen couldn’t decide if it was a cookie, a cake of dried meat, or some mixture of the two. It was filling. For a moment, he considered asking Norgrim about the ingredients, but decided ignorance was a better choice.
    “How do we get in?” Kaylen asked as they were cleaning up.
    “It’s too dark to see now,” Alanora told him. “There’s a road leading up to the castle. Once there, we look for dwarven tunnels.”
    “Wouldn’t they be guarded now? That’s how you escaped.”
    “I assume that dwarves made more than one exit from the human quarter. That’s what we’ll be looking for.”
    “I’d like to know more about those dwarves,” said Norgrim. “We thought they were all killed by kehklik.” When Alanora didn’t answer immediately, he continued. “I take it you have unhappy news.”
    “They died a long time ago,” she said. “The kehklik didn’t kill them – one of my ancestors did.” She continued, describing what she’d seen in the dwarven area. Norgrim’s face was grim, and he said nothing, poking at the fire with a stick as she talked.
    “They must have had other exits,” Kaylen said. “I don’t understand why they didn’t escape. Starvation isn’t quick.”
    “They didn’t starve,” said Norgrim. His voice was deep, the words slower than usual. “Lass, tell me about those ‘useless’ mushrooms again, the ones your father is so proud of.” She listed what she’d seen, and the dwarf uttered a dark curse. “The red fungus is bloodvein. And the bumpy ones sound like coalflower. Poisonous. Just like some of those other pretty shrooms. Those poisons killed Caerelon’s dwarves.”
    Alanora shook her head. “How could anyone feed poisonous mushrooms to all those dwarves?”
    Norgrim tossed his stick on top of the fire. “Each of those poisons is dangerous, but not deadly, at least not for dwarves. We have antidotes. But: Mix bloodvein with fogwort and everglow to make a toxin; add kasteenia and coalflower at the right moments in processing, and you get a gas.” Norgrim’s voice was solemn. “Kahnokta kills quickly, but it’s also very light and doesn’t work well in open warfare. The wind might carry it to your side, or disperse it. However, put it in the intakes of a ventilation system, and it spreads through one of our underground cities in minutes. It’s what killed the dwarves in your mountain.”
    “I don’t understand,” Alanora said. “How does this stuff protect Caerelon?”
    Norgrim hesitated. “Your father will protect Caerelon by killing it.”
    She went rigid.
    “He can’t be that mad,” Kaylen said.
    “Yes he can,” Norgrim insisted. “Dead people can’t be conquered. In his twisted mind, he wins.”
    “He’d need chemists to make it for him. Why would anyone help him? Is he ready to carry this out?”
    Norgrim shook his head. “We don’t know.”
    “The ventilation system,” said Alanora quietly. Her voice gained strength. “Before we try to get people out, before we call any dragons, we need to remove any poison from the ventilation system.” She didn’t move, except for her piercing gaze, which landed on the dwarf. “Tell me you know where to look.”
    Norgrim stroked his beard. “I don’t have schematics.”
    “Oric does,” said Kaylen. “They probably tell us exactly where he put the poison.”
    Norgrim laughed. “So we walk in, and politely asked her father for a quick look at his suicide plan. Easy.”
    Kaylen felt Alanora relax, slightly. “There is a way,” she said.

    Jahsha stood in a dark corner of the courtyard, looking up at the nighttime clouds. She noticed another presence.
    “I wish I could see the moons and stars,” the captain said, extending her hand. “I think Sellus is the slightly brighter spot to the northeast. Might even be both moons together. That would match the tides we’re having.”
    Dorna stood beside her, looking up. “I’ve never been much of an astronomer. Kalinda has a telescope back home. She spends hours gazing at the heavens.”
    “I grew up with stars,” Jahsha said. “On my mother’s plantation, we’d spend nights counting them, guessing what they were, and if anyone out there was looking back. I was a navigator when I went to sea, keeping course by the night sky.”
    “Aren’t you sailing out tomorrow?”
    Jahsha smiled grimly. “I was. We need to take the Gull out for a shake-down cruise, test the new sails, keep the crew in practice. But with Kaylen gone, it can wait a day or two.” She sighed. “I should get down to my ship, even so.”
    As the captain turned away, Dorna said, “I worry about Zarah.”
    “She needs to work this out on her own.”
    “I don’t understand human relationships. A dwarven courtship might last decades. What happened this morning with Zarah, Kaylen, and Alanora? It seemed… so fast.”
    “Zarah’s life changed a lot in a short time,” said Jahsha. “She wanted something to cling to, and chose the wrong man as her anchor. With time, she’ll find another anchor, one that comes from within, I hope.”
    “Are all ship’s captains so philosophical?”
    Jahsha chuckled. “Maybe. I spend a lot of my time giving advice, bandaging wounds, and ending arguments. The difference between running a ship and being a mother is that I get to use a sword.” They both laughed. “As for Kaylen, he and I crossed paths many years ago, at a time when we were both trying to get killed. Someday, I’ll tell you about the Battle of the Blue Isles; we sailed where angels fear to fly, and lived.” She smiled. “I was badly wounded, Kaylen doctored me, and… we spent a few days of personal time together. Then we went our separate ways, and hadn’t seen each other for years, not until this mess began.”
    Dorna looked quizzical. “Kaylen and Alanora – that doesn’t bother you like it does Zarah?”
    “He and I were never lovers in the romantic sense. He’s a lucky man. I’m happy for him. He might have found a kindred spirit, a rare thing. I could see something special five minutes after they started working together, getting us ready to fight the kehklik. I’ve rarely seen that kind of dynamic between two people.” 
    “Maybe I understand now,” Dorna said. “People often think that Norgrim and I do nothing but argue, but it just looks that way. Arguing is how we play! We’ve been partners for over a hundred years; I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
    “What sort of partners? Don’t the two of you spend a lot of time apart?”
    Dorna beamed. “His wanderlust finds interesting places, and I explore and study his discoveries.”
    “An interesting relationship,” said Jahsha. “Is that why you’re here in Tornaval? You found something interesting?”
    The dwarf didn’t answer, deep in consideration for a moment. “I suppose I need to show someone,” she finally said. “Follow me.”
    Dorna and her colleagues were always deliberately vague about their work. Exactly what the dwarves were up to had been the subject of much idle speculation. Jahsha found a mundane reality: several big, square holes in the ground. 
    “You’re unearthing the basement?” Jahsha looked into several rectangular pits, seeing tools and tables laden with an assortment of objects. Excavated walls emerged from the tan soil; she recognized what had been doorways, halls, and fireplaces.
    “Actually, we’re exploring under the keep,” said Dorna. “The human presence here dates back over fifteen hundred years. It arose, fell, and grew again, falling once more with the Reckoning. We’re here looking for history, trying to understand what humans were like in the past. The most recent castle was built on the remnants of prior construction.” She pointed. “The building below is over seven hundred years old.”
    “I never was much for ancient history,” said Jahsha. “Is this what the secrecy is all about? You didn’t want us to interfere in your studies?”
    “Not quite. We found… something.”
    Down a wooden ladder, she led Jahsha through the site to a wall covered by heavy canvas. Dorna moved the barrier aside.
    “It’s beautiful,” said Jahsha, a tinge of awe in her voice, eyes wide. Green and yellow lights rippled, flowing around patterns and lettering carved into the white stone. “And this is seven hundred years old?”
    “Three hundred,” Dorna said. “That’s part of the mystery. It dates from the time of the Reckoning. This castle was home to Eshohvah, the wizard who killed Symurall’s mate.”
    “I remember Kaylen saying that.”
    “Can you read the lettering?”
    “No. The script is familiar, but I can’t make anything of it.”
    Dorna pointed to a series of characters. “The language is Old Erashi, which few people read now. It identifies the slab as Eshohvah’s Will, and describes his vision for the future – no dwarves, no dragons, no kehklik, just humans. Maybe it’s only a decoration, but I can’t fathom why you’d create such a thing underground, in a dead-end hallway, inside a buried ruin.”
    The patterns of light began to make Jahsha uncomfortable, although she didn’t know why.
    Who do you serve?
    “Did you say something?” Jahsha asked. The voice had been faint, like a whisper.
    “No.”
    Who do you serve?
    “I serve no one,” Jahsha said, clearly annoyed.
    “Are you talking to me?” asked Dorna.
    “I heard a voice.” Jahsha’s uncomfortable feeling went away, and she didn’t hear the whispers again. “Sorry, I must be imagining things.” She walked away, quickly. “Whatever this thing is, I don’t like it. I see why you’ve been hiding it.”
    Dorna followed, more concerned than ever.

    Kaylen explored the abandoned house. It was made from sod and stone, covered in grass and ferns; there were no windows, and the door was solid wood, but hanging loosely now from one hinge, the latch broken. Tacked to the frame was a big red sign, ordering everyone to surrender to the Watchers. Inside, the table was surrounded by spilled dishes. The closet contained two sets of outfits, male and female. He changed his pants and shirt, hiding his own clothes in a dark recess.
    Back outside, Kaylen went to a nearby bean plot, waiting to be arrested. It didn’t take long. He poked tentatively at a plant, trying to decide if it was weed, when he heard a shout. Looking up, he saw four men running toward him, brandishing weapons. He pretended to run away, and deliberately tripped, landing face-first in the damp dirt. Someone grabbed him by the back of his shirt, pulling him up.
    “I thought we cleaned out this mud hole,” said the man holding Kaylen.
    “That’s why we’re doing sweeps,” another person said. The man talking had moved in front of Kaylen now. “I am Sergeant Sonak. What’s your name?”
     “Urka,” Kaylen said, his words faint and raspy.
    “What’s wrong with your voice?” the Sergeant demanded. Kaylen pointed to a brown streak across his neck, and made a cutting notion. 
    “At least this one will be quiet. Bring him along.”
    “We’re done with this pass,” said one of the other men. “We only found five.”
    “That’s enough to take home. Let’s hope we’re done collecting trash.”
    They dragged Kaylen through the brush. When he tried to walk, they found ways of making sure he lost his footing. His attempts at resistance were met with punches and kicks; eventually, he just went limp, letting them drag him. After what seemed like hours, they arrived at a spot where several people were chained to trees. The Watchers released the prisoners one-by-one, reattaching them to others, creating a human train. Kaylen was at the back of the line, his arms locked together in front of him, attached by a short chain to the man in front of him.
    “Get ’em moving,” the Sergeant ordered. “I want to be home for supper. And if the prisoners make noise, gag them.”
     The march to Caerelon’s entrance ended mid-afternoon. When they arrived, a door opened in the side of the mountain.
    “Hello, Hecta,” said Sonak.
    “Is this the last batch?” the middle-aged woman asked. “I hear Lord Oric is getting anxious.”
    “He’s not the only one. These five were all we found in two days out there.” Sonak ushered the prisoners inside. “I’m sure there aren’t any more. Let’s hope the Lord and Minister agree.” To the other Watchers, the Sergeant ordered. “Get them to the caverns quickly. I want a decent dinner tonight.”
    Kaylen had never seen anything like the elevator, a round platform that carried them up so quickly, he thought his stomach was in his shoes. When it stopped, he staggered a bit.
    “You two, go in front,” Sonak ordered. “Make sure we have a clear path around the market.” They walked out down a short corridor, and into a place of wonder. Kaylen had never seen anything like it; the city’s central core, its rotunda, was over two hundred feet across, and his eyes wandered from the finely inlaid floors to the activity around the booths, from the ornate overhead balconies and wall carvings to the bright light far above.
    Someone pushed him in the back, hard.
    Sonak laughed mockingly. “The mute’s been outside so long, he’s staring at everything. The browner was probably born in a mud hut.” The other men laughed.
    The prisoners were taken around the edge of the market and into a large tunnel leading downward. The walls were rough, though the floor was smooth and flat. To the sides, Kaylen could see large caverns containing orchards with brightly-colored, glowing fruit; others held collections of mushrooms, some of which had bright patterns. He tried to keep his eyes on the person he was chained to, but the sights were hard to ignore. They reached a point where the cavern was even rougher in shape. A table stood to one side, flanked by guards. An older man sat behind the table, looking very serious.
    “This should be the last batch,” said Sonak.
    “Indeed,” the man named Grehn said dryly. “You’ll be out of work soon, I guess.” Sonak did not look happy. “I’m sure we can find new duties for you. The waste treatment plant is short-handed, I’m told.”
     “Don’t get surly with me, Warden,” Sonak snapped. “We work for Prime Minister –”
    “I know who you work for,” Grehn stated. “Your boss works for mine. I’ll take charge of the prisoners, thank you.” Sonak waved to his men, and they left quickly, disappeared back up the tunnel without saying more.
    The chained people stood in line before the table. Grehn asked the first one several questions, filled out a piece of paper, and motioned to a guard; the prisoner was unlocked from the train, and lead away. The process continued one prisoner at a time, until it reached Kaylen.
    “Name?” Grehn asked.
    “Urka,” Kaylen rasped.
    Grehn shifted in his chair.
    “Speak up. I couldn’t hear you. What was that name again?”
    “Urka. Throat.” He twisted his head to one side, exposing the brown ‘scar’ to the warden.
    “I see,” was Grehn’s only obvious reaction. He continued asking questions, and Kaylen gave made-up answers about his age and experience. When they were done, the warden slid a piece of paper in front of Kaylen.
    “Is this correct?” Grehn asked. “I had a hard time hearing you.” He pointed to a corner of the paper, where the words “Hit me” were written in faint pencil.
    Kaylen put his foot against the side of the table, flipping it toward the warden. Grehn’s chair toppled, sending him crashing to the floor. As the Warden scrambled to his feet, he somehow knocked the paper into a candle, setting it afire. One of the guards hit Kaylen on the jaw; he reeled, fell, and was dragged to his feet. Before the guards could launch another punch, Grehn yelled “Stop! That’s enough.” He stood face to face with Kaylen.
    “Just what I thought,” the warden growled, “Another agitator.” Grabbing Kaylen’s arm, he continued, “We’re done for today. I’ll take this one to my office and make him answer some questions, find out who his friends are. Escort us, and then head home for the night. I can handle the interrogation.” The other men nodded knowingly; several rebels had gone into the warden’s office in recent days, and most had not come out. They took Kaylen a short distance to a heavy wooden door. Grehn unlocked it and brought Kaylen inside, wishing his men a good evening before closing it. Seating Kaylen in a wooden chair, Grehn settled himself behind a rough desk stacked with papers and books.
    “So who are you?” the warden asked. “You have a very suspicious name.”
    “ ‘Urka’ is the name of Alanora’s favorite childhood toy,” Kaylen said, in his normal voice and accent. “It’s a stuffed blue obwa, which makes a croaking sound when squeezed. As for you: She would sneak off to play outside, and you’d be sent to find her. Instead of yelling, you’d find a quiet corner and tell her stories. Is that good enough?”
    Grehn looked surprised, then very amused. “Good enough,” he said, with a quick nod. He reached over, and unlocked Kaylen’s cuffs. “That scar was a smart move. Your accent would have given you away in an instant.”
    “My real name is Kaylen.” He rubbed his sore wrists. “The ‘scar’ was Alanora’s suggestion. She used a similar trick when spying on us. Oh, and thanks for letting them punch me only once. It’s been a rough day.”
    “So it would seem. How is my girl?”
    “Good. We have another companion, a dwarf named Norgrim.” 
    “I knew she’d be back, just not this quick. She’s spoken of this Norgrim – and a bit about you, too, I might add. You weren’t the one I expected to see first.”
    Kaylen shrugged; it hurt slightly from the bruises on his back and arms. “Alanora would have been recognized easily. A dwarf is pretty obvious, too. I could blend in with all the new folk from the forest. She knew you were processing the ‘rebels’, and hoped you’d recognize the name. I’m just lucky you were on duty when I came in; otherwise, it might have been days before we crossed paths.”
    “Maybe that’s a good sign. What am I supposed to do with you, though? Why are you here?”
    Kaylen launched into the story of Alanora’s visits to the survivors of Tramora, her plan to rescue the people of Caerelon, and what Norgrim suspected about Oric’s plans. The warden sat through it all, looking very thoughtful, nodding at times; as Kaylen detailed the plot to poison Caerelon, Grehn became very quiet.
    “It could just be speculation,” Kaylen said as he ended his tale. “But we couldn’t ignore the possibility. So here I am, getting punched and kicked in the name of espionage.”
    Grehn shook his head. “When Oric talks to people, he’s fatalistic, the optimism of something better beyond the grave.”
    “Is Ezra okay?”
    “Ah, she told you about him, did she?” Grehn looked sad. “There wasn’t an ounce of warrior in that boy, but he took out three men before they gutted him. He lived a day after that. Kudric’s men killed his own son, but they blamed it all on Alanora, claiming that she’d been ‘corrupted’ by folk like you.” He scratched behind one of his ears, stalling a bit before asking, “I suppose Alanora is more than just ‘fond’ of you. Am I right?”
    Kaylen felt his cheeks flush a bit; Alanora had described Grehn as a surrogate father. “Let’s just say that she and I are in this together.”
    “Ah,” said the old guard. “Only someone in love would be foolish enough to get beaten and imprisoned for his lady. Good! I know what kind of man I’m dealing with. Now we just need to find those schematics. And keep you alive.”

    Alanora climbed down from her perch, jumping off the lowest branch, landing next to Norgrim.
    “He’s inside,” she said. “Let’s hope he finds Grehn quickly.”
    “This plan is foolish,” the dwarf stated.
    She laughed. “How is that different than anything else we do?” She shouldered her pack, which was now heavier, containing some of Kaylen’s gear as well as her own. “Time to go.”
    They wended their way through the abandoned village. The houses had been wooden; most had disintegrated into piles of compost, little hills supporting small trees and bushes. A few stone buildings remained, covered in flowering vines and sheltering small furtive animals. The buzzing of annoying insects combined with the croaking of mating obwa to complete the ambience.
    “Someday, people will rebuild this,” Alanora said. “It’s time to stop hiding.”
    They reached the base of the mountain, and looked up the long, narrow path to the castle above.
    “I am not enthused,” said Norgrim. “Couldn’t your people build castles closer to the ground?”
    “Don’t be such a baby. And it was built by dwarves, though I doubt they were as lazy as you are.”
    Norgrim snorted, and they started the long climb. Two switchbacks and an hour later, they approached the entrance. There were no gates or doors; a simple gap in the wall opened into a barren courtyard. For a long time, Alanora crouched, listening, looking, while Norgrim sat to one side, bored.
    Caerelon castle was uninhabited, yet it had a presence; even as a child, playing in and around the unfinished buildings, she’d sensed something. Perhaps it was the mountain itself, which rose above them on three sides, jagged peaks black against the overcast. The starkness didn’t bother her, and she’d never felt lonely amid the empty buildings; in many ways it was more comfortable than the inner city. Like the village below, she wanted to make the castle what it should be.
    Norgrim stopped for a moment, running his hands over the smooth walls built from close-fitted blocks of smooth basalt and granite.
    “This is the finest stonework I’ve seen in years,” he said, craning his neck to look at the surrounding buildings, drinking in the architecture. “Whoever designed this place was an artist. That three story building with the arches and domes is the main keep, isn’t it? See how they –”
    “Admire things later,” she interrupted. “We have work to do. And Kaylen might need our help.” Staying behind brush and other cover, she walked toward the tall tower on their right.
    Norgrim followed. “Like I said, you’ve complicated matters. I like Kaylen and all, but if he gets into trouble, you’ll do something stupid. Why’d you have to do… well, do that with him? You barely know the man.”
    “You wouldn’t understand,” she said. “It’s not something I want to talk about. Accept it.” She cautiously stepped inside the tower. Red-brown stains showed where precious fluids had flowed down the stairs and collected on the dirty floor. She hesitated, and put angry thoughts out of her head; someone would pay for Ezra’s death, of that she was certain.
    Looking up, she pointed. “Through that hatch is where we’ll find Mahgrurra’s horn. I dropped a chunk of the wall on the door. The horn should still be there.” She started up the stairs. At the top, she put a shoulder against the trap door and pushed. It didn’t move. Norgrim joined her; the door moved up only slightly.
    “You might have mentioned this sooner,” said Norgrim. “We can’t call a dragon with a horn we can’t reach.”
    “It slipped my mind,” she said.
    “See?” said Norgrim. “You’re getting sloppy. That’s why I don’t bring Dorna on these expeditions.”
    “If you brought Dorna,” Alanora replied, “I’d end up killing you both after the arguing drove me insane.” She chuckled. “Come to think about it: Is there anyone you don’t argue with?”
    Norgrim ignored her question, and started back down. She followed him. Outside, dusk had turned the courtyard into an impossible maze of dark shapes.
    “We camp,” Alanora said. “Let’s find someplace secluded.”

    As another evening fell, Zarah sat on the floor, legs cross, lost in thought. Her sanctum was an old chapel in an ancient graveyard, in the lowest part of the city, far from everyone else. Superstition kept other people away; few wanted to be alone with the unknown dead. Zarah found comfort in the solitude. There were no ghosts, just people with no one to come and visit their graves.
    How could Kaylen do this to me? What is wrong with me? Why did he want that woman? Didn’t anyone understand? The people at the castle had treated Zarah like an equal, even though she was younger than any of them. Then she’d suddenly felt like a little girl, with all-knowing adults staring at her, laughing at the child who didn’t understand the ways of the world. No, none of them had actually laughed; still, Zarah felt as if she’d missed an obvious joke. She remembered Kaylen holding her on the shores of a ruined island, with two dragons asleep nearby, as the end of her old world had come crashing down. He was always ready with a hug or praise; he’d taught others to respect her. Then, without warning he’d chosen a stranger as his partner. It made no sense. Maybe she should have been more physical; the idea had scared her, and Kaylen had always avoided the subject with her, even while he made crude jokes with Jahsha or even Dorna. She alternated between crying and thinking it was all, somehow, terribly funny.
    The sounds of footsteps startled her. She jumped, and saw two pale robed figures moving toward her. At first, Zarah thought she’d been wrong about ghosts. Then she recognized her two fellow acolytes, Lorka and Jessup. They’d been distant toward her since the battle on the beach.
    “Why are you here?” she asked them. “I want to be alone.”
    “We wanted to see how you were doing,” said Jessup. The men stood close to her; she moved, and they followed.
    “Your friends have abandoned you,” said Lorka. He moved behind her.
    “No they haven’t,” she said nervously.
    Jessup snickered. “Kaylen has run off with his whore. You’re all alone.” Without warning, Lorka pinned her arms painfully behind her back. When she protested, Jessup stuffed something into her mouth.
    “Jennur wants you dead,” Lorka whispered in her ear, twisting her arms until she squeaked through the gag. “We decided to have a little fun first.”
    Jessup started touching her. She tried to scream.
    
    A faint glow on the eastern horizon suggested a coming sunrise. Jahsha ran as fast as she could, cursing the distance from the docks to the castle. Speed was of the essence.
    In spite of the early hour, the courtyard was very busy. Near the ‘town hall’ tent, many people had gathered. She heard loud voices. The dwarves and humans were grouped racially on the other side of the compound, talking excitedly. Jahsha cursed, going straight to the gathered dwarves.
    “Dorna, I need you,” she said, pulling the dwarven woman aside.
    “It’s not a good time,” Dorna insisted. Her voice grew dark, angry. “Zarah’s missing. They found her bloody clothes in that old graveyard. They’re saying she was killed by dwarves. Preposterous.” She spit the final word.
    Before Jahsha could respond, Danelle emerged from the town hall, followed by many men. Jahsha recognized some of them as sailors from the magister’s galley. They were armed, some holding their weapons openly. Jennur stood behind them, arms crossed, with two other men in robes.
    “Where is she?” demanded Danelle, approaching the dwarves. “What have you done with Zarah?”
    “We did nothing,” said Dorna, moving to the front.
    “Then why did we find these?” Danelle tossing two objects on the ground between them. One was a bloody six-fingered glove, the other a metal belt buckle ornamented with angular runes.
    “Where did you find those?” Dorna demanded.
    “With shreds of her clothing,” said Danelle. 
    The shouting grew louder.
    
    Symurall flew around the edge of Tornaval. He’d returned from Irramar that morning, and spent most of the day talking to Kyazura. Now he wanted to see how the humans were doing; the twilight allowed him to observe discretely. The city was unusually active, especially atop the bluff where the dwarven camp was located. Symurall had always wondered why the dwarves were fascinated with piles of rubble. He’d been the primary force in creating the wreckage; he remembered the castle as it had once been, tall, dark, and housing the man who had killed his beloved Kahshiki. A few moments of thunder and lightning had destroyed that evil. What the dwarves found interesting about the place mystified him.
    He saw two crowds of people below, dwarves and humans, involved in some sort of dispute. The words being yelled were indistinct, though clearly angry. He tested the air; he smelled Dorna and Jahsha; Kalinda was there too. Worried that his presence might exacerbate the conflict, he turned toward the docks, hoping to find Kaylen or Norgrim. The harbor was busy, too. He knew nothing about how ships worked, but guessed that several small vessels were planning to leave soon, given the number of people working on them. Spying Jahsha’s ship, he flew over, and found a familiar scent; not Kaylen’s, but nearly as friendly. He hovered beside the ship, extending his head and neck over the deck. The ship looked deserted; he knew people were there, somewhere. A door open, and a thin man emerged and jumped.
    “Don’t scare me like that!” Fennric demanded, breathing hard. “It’s been a scary enough night as it is.”
    “I know you,” said Symurall. “You are a friend of Jahsha”
    “That’s one way of putting it.”
    “I am looking for Zarah.”
    “That… well, she’s not…” Fennric stumbled over his words.
    “She is here,” the dragon stated. After Fennric did not say anything in response, Symurall added, “Something is wrong.”
    “You’re a damned sensible dragon,” Fennric said. “A whole helluva lot is wrong right now.”
    The door opened again. A figure stood unsteadily in the bright light from below.
    “Miss, you should be resting,” Fennric insisted. “The captain should be here right quick with someone to doctor you.”
    Zarah stepped slowly onto the deck. She was wrapped in a colorful robe that was much too big for her. One of her arms was in a sling; her hair was matted and Symurall could smell sea water and blood on her person. Her face didn’t look quite right, he thought, with one eye open, the other lost in the blackness of a bruise.
    “You are injured,” said Symurall. “What happened?”
    “I need…” Zarah spoke softly, barely audible. “I need your help.”
    
    “Why would we hurt Zarah?” Dorna demanded. The opposing crowds were growing angrier; now some of the dwarves had armed themselves. They were outnumbered as more humans arrived.
    “I don’t know,” said Danelle. “I don’t understand dwarves, and I don’t care to.”
    “It’s a lovely riot you’ve put together,” Jahsha called to Danelle. “You play your part well.”
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Danelle replied.
    “I’m sick of these liars,” the captain seethed. “Zarah isn’t dead.”
    “What?” asked Dorna.
    “A sailor found her in the river.” Jahsha spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “A few more minutes, and she’d have floated past the harbor and out to sea. That’s why I came up here, to get Dorna. Zarah’s on my ship. Badly hurt, but alive.”
    A wind from above distracted everyone. An enormous blue-green dragon alighted gently.
    “Cowards!” Jennur yelled. “Again, you call your pets!”
    “I am no one’s pet,” Symurall declared. “They did not summon me.” He slowly opened a fist, gently placing Zarah beside Jahsha. Silence dropped at the sight of the battered woman.
    “It almost worked,” Zarah said, speaking slowly and steadily. “I didn’t die so easily, did I, Jennur?” Zarah spewed curses at him, vile words she pulled from a dark corner of her anger. “You sent your puhtahks to do the dirty work. Nice trick, putting dwarven scraps with my bloody clothes. I heard Lorka and Jessup talking about it, as they stood over me, thinking I was already dead. Do you know what they did to me, you pious piece of shit?” Anger grew among the dwarves.
    Danelle looked nervous. “We need to sort this out,” she said. “I’ll place Jennur under arrest. Zarah needs –”
    “She needs justice!” shouted Jahsha. “Don’t pretend, Danelle. You’re part of this.” The magister looked indignant and started to say something; the captain talked over her. “Lies won’t do you much good. You wanted a pretense to get rid of the dwarves. Kaylen is gone and you thought I‘d be gone, too, didn’t you? As for Jennur… no one thinks you’ll hold him accountable.” She fired; the bolt thunked into a tent stake near the bishop’s head. Jennur jumped behind his followers. Jahsha reloaded.
    “You killed an innocent girl tonight,” Zarah declared. “But I’m still here! Kaylen taught me to never give up. I’ll be damned if you won’t pay for what you did.” Shaking, she felt Dorna’s hand on her arm.
    “No,” Dorna said. “We don’t want to be like them.”
    “Do something!” Jennur screamed. The armed men around him seemed uncertain, and looked from Danelle to the bishop and back again. A few began readying their weapons.
    Almost everyone jumped when the dragon suddenly glittered, small arcs of electricity coursing over his body. Eyes glowing, Symurall said, “I have killed thousands of humans. That is part of my past. Perhaps the time has come to explore old habits.” The air around him crackled, and charges ran down the frill on his back. An acrid smell filled the air. “You cannot harm me. You will not hurt the people I protect.”
    “Leave,” ordered Dorna, standing below Symurall’s chin, her grey braids dancing wildly in the currents. “We won’t hear more of your lies. Go down to the city, and stay there.” Behind her, the other dwarves stood silent, weapons out. Jahsha was beside them, crossbow in hand, aiming at Danelle.
    The magister and bishop hesitated, and then scurried away with their supporters.
    Zarah collapsed. Jahsha caught her.

    Grehn walked across the market, heading to his post. Someone called his name. To one side, Prime Minister Kudric stood, apparently alone, smiling. Grehn wondered which of the people nearby belonged to Kudric’s secret body guard.
    “Hello, Minister,” said Grehn.
    “Greetings, Warden.” Kudric wore a big smile. “Do you have time to talk?”
    “I’m on the way to my station.”
    “That’s fine,” said the minister. “I’m willing to talk on the way.”
    The two men entered the downward tunnel. Four people separated from the crowds and followed them at a distance.
    “I know you were fond of Oric’s daughter,” said Kudric. “It is regrettable she made the choices she did. You knew my son, did you not?”
    “A fine young man,” Grehn said, sincerely. “He didn’t deserve to die. Those responsible should pay for the crime.”
    “Justice requires the presence of the guilty. Can you speculate on where Alanora might be?”
    “If I knew where she was. I’d tell you. The security of Caerelon outweighs old friendships.”
    “A commendable attitude. I was hoping you might be able to give me insights into her thinking.”
    Grehn stopped, and looked at the Prime Minister. “She’s not the young girl I once knew. Her excursions to the outside girl have changed her into something different. I don’t know her anymore.”
    “It was worth asking,” the Prime Minister said. “Oh, I hear that a rebel caused some trouble last night.”
    Grehn smiled grimly. “He won’t be giving anyone trouble from now on. I showed him the error of his ways.”
    “As I understand it, several rebellious farmers have – how shall I say? – disappeared while in custody.”
    “Is that a problem?”
    “No! I’m curious, though. Is it too bold to ask where you dispose of them?”
    “Compost heap.” Grehn chuckled. “I run them through the mulcher. They make excellent fertilizer. They end their lives being useful to the city.”
    Kudric reach out, clasped the warden’s hand, and smiled broadly. “Good work. We need more like men you. I’ll mention your loyalty to Lord Oric when I see him.”
    Grehn watched the prime minister walk away; the four man escort followed the plump figure toward the light of the market. After a few moments, the warden continued toward his post, considering uncomfortable thoughts.

    Kaylen bumped his head, and cursed the shortness of dwarves that lead to low ceilings. He’d spent most of the last hour crouched, moving from one tunnel to the next, following his guide, completely lost. When they finally entered a room where he could stand, stretching was one of the best sensations he’d ever felt.
    “Thanks,” he said to the young man who had led him through the maze.
    “You don’t have far to go,” his escort said. “Down the corridor, take the first left. Go on until you find a wall plate like the ones I’ve shown you. That should be Oric’s office. Be very careful, the door has a vent plate above. You can hear anyone inside; we’ve used it to spy on Oric. They might hear you, too.”
    “The combination is up-up-down-left?” Kaylen asked.
    “Yes. I’ll wait here until you get back.”
    Kaylen followed the directions, finding the secret door. Sitting uncomfortably on his haunches, he listened to the conversation in the room beyond.
    “…were seen late last night. They don’t appear to be aware of the Watchers yet.” The voice was soft and nasal.
    Kaylen’s ears picked up.
    “Only two?” This speaker had a deep voice.
    “The Watchers report a woman and a short man, maybe a dwarf. The woman has long dark hair, pulled back in a single braid. They explored the south tower last night.”
    “So my daughter has returned,” said the deep-voiced man. Oric, Kaylen concluded. He guessed that the other man was Kudric. “It didn’t take her long. She’s accompanied by only one dwarf? Are they certain?”
    “Yes.”
    “I didn’t expect this.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    Oric’s voice held great annoyance. “You found her footprints among the bodies in the Dwarven Quarter. She knows what happened to Caerelon’s dwarves. She must have used that knowledge to recruit dwarves to her cause. An army, perhaps.”
    “It’s only one dwarf, not an army.”
    “One dwarf that we see,” insisted Oric. “Thousands could be digging through the mountain as we speak! Hidden, plotting, gathering strength. How would you react if you were a dwarf, and knew that hundreds of your kin lay dead inside this mountain?” 
    “Should I bring her in?”
    “Yes, and the dwarf, alive if at all possible. Interrogate them. Find out what we face.”
    “I can’t torture your daughter!”
    “We need information.” Oric’s voice was stressed. “Alanora is dead. The person in her body is something else. I care not what you do with her now.” His voice cracked. “It’s my fault, you know. I indulged her wanderings, hoping she’d outgrow them. The foolishness of a loving father led us to the precipice.” He chuckled.
    “We are not lost yet.”
    “Caerelon will never fall,” Oric said emphatically. “I’ve ensured that. When the time comes, everything is in place. Oh, you may want to bring the chemist Isadora in for questioning. She tried to deceive me. Fortunately, I found someone to replace her.”
    “I don’t understand.” Kudric sounded anxious.
    “I will handle our ultimate defense, Prime Minister. You have other duties. Find Alanora and her allies.” A door opened and closed; a lock clicked. The room was silent.
    Kaylen used the combination he’d memorized; the panel slid into the floor. He stepped into the room, and the secret door became a seamless part of the wall again.  Hanging tapestries depicted a wide forest scene, complete with deer and hunters; an odd decorating choice, Kaylen thought, for a man like Oric who hated the outside world. Searching the ornate desk and its neat stacks of paper, he found nothing. A chest against the wall held large sheets of rolled-up paper, none of which looked like the design of a ventilation system. Frustrated, under pressure, he examined the room again. One of the tapestries was very slightly askew from the others. Looking behind it, he discovered papers hanging on its back side: Schematics, drawn in white ink on a dark blue background, with recent-looking marks in yellow and red. He detached the sheets, folded them quickly, and moved to where the secret door was.
    He couldn’t find any pressure points.
    “It’s never easy,” he grumbled under his breath. He considered the alternatives, and formed a new plan. Carefully, he went to the main door, and listened; nothing. A mechanical switch released the lock; he opened the door a crack and looked out. The mezzanine appeared deserted. Slipping outside, closing the door behind, he wished for some way to relock it.
    Finding a shadow to hide in was easy; figuring out where he was took a bit more time. When Kaylen struck out, it was clockwise, moving slowly. Counting doors, he came to the one he sought as a landmark. For a moment, he was tempted to go inside, and thought better of it. He looked for a stairwell nearby, and found it – because voices were coming closer from that direction. Quickly, he slipped through the door he’d been reluctant to open, closing it as quietly as possible.
    A large canopy bed stood in one corner; the far side of the room contained an open closet. A robe lay jumbled on the floor in a corner. Shelves held books – and toys. Kaylen had somehow never thought of Alanora playing – or sleeping in a bed with fringe and a pretty quilt. A worn obwa toy sat on the messy bed; it was blue, and he suspected it would make a noise if he squeezed it. Looking in the closet, he found dresses, most looking as if they’d never been worn. He realized how little he knew about the woman he loved, and that he’d never actually said those words to her.
    The door latch clicked. He stashed the schematics in the first place he thought of, and moved to the center of the room.
    “Hold!” shouted the man, who wore a black tabard. Over his shoulder, the Watcher yelled, “I found…” The sentence was never finished as Kaylen tackled him. Driving forward, he slammed the man into a thick stone column. Stepping free of the collapsing body, two pairs of arms grabbed him. A fist hit him in the gut, then another. As he fell, the last thing he saw was a boot approaching his face.

    “We’re being watched,” said Alanora as she drank water, washing down her breakfast of arken.
    “And you’re being so polite,” said Norgrim. “By eating slowly, you’re giving them plenty of time to catch us.”
    “No,” she said. “I don’t want them to know I’ve seen them. And I’m not going to point them out to you either.” She capped her canteen, attached it to her pack, and lifted it onto her shoulders. “If they wanted to catch us, they would have come for us last night. At worst, they’re still waiting for orders from Kudric to move. They don’t take a piss without permission.”
    “How do you know anyone is out there?”
    “I have my ways.” She pointed, but not at a hidden enemy. “We should investigate the big building. Might be interesting.”
    “Interesting,” Norgrim said, adjusting his load. “That’s your codeword for ‘trouble’.”
    “Such a pessimist. Come on.” She headed across the courtyard, Norgrim a few steps behind. They walked through the opening where a door should have been, and entered the dark interior. Shafts of light angled down from rectangular openings in the roof.
    “I’ll bet the smaller ones should have stained glass in them,” Norgrim mused, looking up. “Tell me you have plans for this place, so I can find craftsmen to finish it!”
    “I’m telling you to find a private place to sit for a bit.” Going into a dark corner, she emerged moments later without her pack and wearing her bow, quiver, sword, and two daggers.
    She mounted the stone stairway and disappeared into the gloom above, heading to the third floor. An open window on the north side looked over tall rocks, some of which were quite close. Alanora secured her gear one last time, stood on the window frame, and jumped. Small rocks rolled away when she landed, but they fell in a direction that didn’t worry her. Carefully, she worked her way around the periphery of the castle, until she was above a man wearing a black tabard. The Watcher was in a small natural nest in the rocks. Holding a dagger in her teeth, she gauged the distance, dropped down, and slit the man’s throat before he knew she was there.
    “Impressive.”
    Alanora spun on her heel, white sword in one hand, bloody dagger in the other.
    Grehn casually leaned against a nearby rock, smiling.
    “Pretty blade. Where’d you get it?”
    She relaxed. “A gift.” She searched the corpse for anything useful. “Did you meet Kaylen?” she asked.
    “He’s stealing the schematics,” said Grehn. “I like him.”
    “What are you doing here?”
    “Kudric asked me the wrong questions this morning,” he said. “I decided to skip the joys of torture. Oh – no need to look for the other two Watchers. One had an unfortunate fall, and the other suffered heart failure due to dagger insertion.”
    “Thanks,” she said. “Let’s go get Norgrim.”
    “I’m curious,” he said. “Your teachers and I taught you many things. I don’t remember a course in cutting throats and rock jumping. Where did you learn to do all this?”
    “Trial and error. Someday, I’ll show you my scars.”
    “If we live through this, we need to find a quiet place so you can tell me stories.”
    They found Norgrim where she’d left him. He was reading. Alanora took a quick peek at the pages, and couldn’t make sense of the pictographs.
    “Good book?” she asked.
    “Excellent,” Norgrim replied. He stuffed it in his pack, and noticed Grehn standing nearby. “So – instead of killing one, you brought him back?”
    “This is Grehn,” she said. “I think he’s guessed who you are.”
    “Pleased to meet you, Grehn,” said the dwarf. “If you’re out here, I suppose Kaylen is still in there.”
    “The schematics were in your father’s office,” the warden said. “Getting them should be easy.”
    “You didn’t send him through the secret entrance, did you?” She sounded anxious and annoyed.
    “He couldn’t walk through the front door.”
    “Leave your pack, Norgrim,” she said resignedly. “Take what you can carry easily. I want to move fast.” She began rifling through her own stuff.
    “What’s wrong?” Grehn asked.
    “Kaylen is in trouble. That secret door only opens from the outside. Once he’s in Oric’s office, he’ll have to leave through the front door, into the family area.” Grehn cursed. “Yup. I have the same opinion,” she said, pocketing several small items. “I told Kaylen how to find the tunnels near my room. If we’re lucky, he got away. If not, we rescue him.” Norgrim opened his mouth, and she said, “Don’t. If I hear one word about how love makes a mess of things, I’ll cut your tongue out. Dorna will thank me.”
    “A month ago, you didn’t know Kaylen existed,” said Norgrim, ignoring her threat. “Now you’re willing to die for him?” She gave him a look that nearly froze his soul. In all their time together, Norgrim had never feared Alanora, until that moment.
     “Dying isn’t my plan,” she said, the look fading quickly, her voice icy calm. “You’re a dear friend, Norgrim, but sometimes, you’re a pain in the ass.” She stood up. “Grehn, are you ready?”
    “As always.”
    The two humans walked away. Norgrim watched for a moment, then quickly followed.
    “I was wrong,” Norgrim said as he caught up with them. “I once told Kaylen that I never doubted you. This isn’t the time to start.”
    “Why did you bring that satchel?” she asked. “I said pack light.”
    “I don’t go anywhere without my tools,” he stated. “My gut says we’ll need ‘em.”
    Alanora led them to the steepled building; a stairway at the back took them to a wide balcony.  She opened the secret door, and drew her sword, holding it to the chest of the man crouched on the other side. Kudric’s eyes were wide white circles on his dirty plump face. Dust coated his fine maroon robe.
    “Don’t kill me!” he squeaked. 
    “Why not?” Alanora asked, prodding him with the weapon.
    “Your father is mad!”
    “Tell me something I don’t know.”
    “Spit him and be done with it,” Norgrim said. “We’re wasting time.”
    “He might be a useful coward,” said Grehn. “He’s tortured a lot of people for information. I say we return the favor.”
    “No! Don’t!” The squeaking reached a higher pitch. “Oric wants to poison everyone! I tried to stop him. No! I really did! He did it anyway! He’ll set the poison off when your army arrives.”
    Alanora laughed. “What army? The three of us?”
    “You don’t have thousands of dwarves tunneling into the mountain?” he asked, incredulous.
    “Oh, for the love of beer,” said Norgrim. “Why in hell would we do that?”
    Something made an unexpected noise behind them. Alanora turned, and saw a large black bird, perched at the edge of the balcony, looking at them quizzically. Its eyes were an odd color of green, something she’d never seen before.
    Kudric jumped to his feet, shoving her aside, running to the stairway. On the first step, his feet tangled in his robe; wide eyed, he wobbled and fell. His pudgy form bounced wildly down the stairs; he flailed and howled and yelped as his body hit each step; the noise ended abruptly when his head hit the floor at the bottom with a sickening crunch. A pool of dark liquid slowly grew around his splayed form.
    “Is he dead?” Norgrim asked.
    “Isn’t it rather obvious?” Alanora said.
    Grehn ran down the stairs, touched Kudric’s neck, and came back. “Definitely dead,” he announced. “I’m disappointed. I was looking forward to hurting him.”
    Alanora disappeared into the tunnel. The two men followed.

    Jahsha paced nervously outside Dorna’s tent. The surrounding courtyard was unusually quiet, the loudest sounds coming from dwarves packing up their tents and equipment. That, and the snoring of a dragon.
    Dorna emerged from the tent, rubbing her hands on a towel. “She’s asleep. Kalinda is watching her.”
    “How is she?” Jahsha asked.
    “It could have been worse,” said Dorna. “Human anatomy is a bit of mystery, but I can cope. Her right arm was broken and she had a dislocated left shoulder. I’ve set the bones and put everything back where I think it belongs. Lots of bruises, cuts, minor problems. I won’t go into details about her other injuries.” She put down the towel. “She’ll heal. Physically. Other healing is going to take a long time, I’m afraid.”
    “Thank you,” said Jahsha. She watched the activity around them. “I can retreat to my ship; the dockyard will defend itself, and Danelle needs us. I’m worried about Zarah, and you.”
    “We have Symurall,” the dwarf replied. “I haven’t spent much time with dragons, not until recently.” She looked at the sleeping sea dragon. “I wish they were all like this one.”
    “I’m starting to like a few dragons myself,” said Jahsha. “Zarah… she’s like a sister to Kaylen. His reaction to all this won’t be good.” She paused and cursed loudly.
    Dorna sighed. “We’ll cross that river when we reach it.”
    
    Below, in the city proper, Danelle stood near her house, looking up at the flickering lights atop the bluff. She’d just finished speaking to Captain Nogg, sending him away with a new story to spread. It was a twisted tale, a reversal of the original plot, now claiming that dragons and dwarves had staged a false attack on Zarah, using it to discredit the Magister. It was a tenuous explanation, to be certain; even reliable Nogg seemed distinctly uncomfortable with it. Still, it was the best she could do on short notice; people’s fears, she hoped, would blind them to faulty details. She intently disliked being forced to perform damage control – it implied incompetence.
    For the thousandth time, Danelle damned herself for listening to Jennur. His plan had sounded so simple: Murder the beloved and expendable Zarah, provide evidence to implicate the dwarves, and drive people away from Kaylen’s allies into her sphere of control. It might have worked – if Jennur’s acolytes had done their job right. She damned male stupidity for the girl’s rape and survival; couldn’t they at least have had the sense to ensure their victim was dead before throwing her in the river? She shook her head in disbelief and frustration.
    She heard footsteps, and looked up to see the mad cleric approaching.
    “I have no words for you,” Danelle said.
    “Then you will listen,” said Jennur. She shot him an angry look, and started to say something, but he continued talking. “I’ve heard the rationalization you invented. In support, I began spreading the opinion that Zarah is corrupted by our enemies. That is the truth, and has been for weeks – she and other human traitors have sided with those who would enslave us.” He looked remarkably smug for a man who had been cowering only an hour before. “We will succeed, Magister. Our goal is righteous.”
    Danelle laughed. “Righteous or not, that dragon will destroy us.”
    “I have faith,” stated Jennur firmly.
    “Faith in what?”
    He didn’t answer immediately; she saw a chaotic variety of emotions wander quickly across his face.
    “I feel… impending enlightenment,” Jennur said. “Whatever the dwarves are hiding, therein lies our salvation.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “I know what I know. It comes to me in dreams, in snatches of long lost conversation floating in the air.” He noticed Danelle’s alarmed look, and chuckled. “Spiritual people are often considered foolish, my dear Magister. It has always been so.”
    He walked away, leaving Danelle alone with her new-found fears.

    Kaylen awoke in a bad place.
    The first thing he noticed was the pain in his neck and back. The air smelled of mold and human waste. As he opened his eyes and sat up, he heard and felt the wet movement of the dirty straw. The dim light made it nearly impossible to see, and it was several moments before he could discern anything other than a blur. Focusing on the brightest patch of light, it soon resolved into a small grated window, set in a metal-shod wooden door. Kaylen tried to stand; his head swam wildly, and he sat down again, leaning against the exit.
    “Why are we waiting?” said a muddy voice he didn’t know, from beyond the door.
    “They’re looking for the Prime Minister,” said a hazy voice. “I hear this one needs a special interrogation. He broke into the Lord’s office and stole something.”
    Kaylen heard footsteps.
    “New orders from the Lord himself,” a raspy voice said. “He’s moving everyone into the agricultural caverns.”
    “Everyone?” the muddy voice asked. “Who’s ‘everyone’?”
    “It means everyone,” said the raspy one. “Oric wants the entire population down below as a safety precaution. Something about an army of dwarves.”
    “What about the prisoner?”
    “Leave him. He’s not going anywhere.”
    “But –”
    “Get moving! That’s an order.” A flurry of noise preceded an ominous silence.
    Staring into darkness of his cell, Kaylen could see very little: no windows, no vents, only a bare pile of straw, and a bucket. A coughing fit brought dizziness and made his head ache worse. Closing his eyes, he fell toward a great sea, far below. Voices drifted up from figures waving arms, reaching toward him. Wraith-like faces laughed at him; they wanted tear him apart… he hit bottom, opened his eyes, and looked up at Alanora’s face.
    “Where’s that water?” She reached a hand under his head, and brought something to his lips. Nothing had ever tasted better than warm water from a tin cup.
    “Where is everyone?” Grehn asked. He poked his head out of the room for a moment. “We shouldn’t be able to walk in and out like this.”
    Kaylen grunted, and tried to stand, unsuccessfully. He wanted to say something, but all that came out was a hoarse, useless whisper.
    “Give him this,” said Norgrim.
    “What is it?”
    “Gwach. Yeah, it sounds like I’m coughing up phlegm. Just give it to him.”
    Alanora handed Kaylen another cup; as the liquid touched his tongue, he tasted something sweet-bitter, like an over-ripe orange. It left a warm sensation as it flowed into his stomach. Strength and clarity began returning almost immediately.
    “Good phlegm,” Kaylen said. He gently pushed Alanora away, almost fell, and steadied himself. She tried to help him; he resisted.
    “You can’t carry me everywhere,” he said. Testing his body, it seemed as if nothing was broken, just bruised and sore. Atop a bench near the door, Kaylen saw his milky sword; willing himself to move, he walked over and took it in hand.
    “We need those schematics,” said Grehn. “Are they still in Oric’s office?”
    “No,” Kaylen replied. With each passing moment, he felt stronger. “I hid them before I was captured.”
    “Where?”
    “In Alanora’s room.”
    “You went into my room?”
    “I followed your directions, heard people coming, and it was the closest door.” Seeing the look on her face, he added. “I wasn’t snooping.” 
    “So where did you hide the plans?” Grehn asked.
    “Inside a pink dress.”
    “How did you find the dress if you weren’t snooping?” Alanora asked. 
    “I was in the room for five whole minutes!” said Kaylen. “Someone was at the door, the closet was open, there was the dress. I stuffed the schematics in the sleeves.”
    “I hate that dress,” she seethed.
    “I’d say something,” said Norgrim. “But she’d cut my tongue out.”
    “Much as I enjoy the comedy,” said Grehn, “Can we move along?”
    A rising stairway ended at a windowless closed door. Grehn and Alanora both listened, shrugged at each other, and pushed the door open, darting inside, weapons ready. They were greeted by a rat sitting on a table, sniffing a half-eaten bowl of some sort of soup; knocking the spoon from the bowl, the rat scampered past Kaylen, down the stairs toward the cells. On the table, a knife protruded from a fat brown mushroom; a heavy metal stein sat near a large jug. The rest of the room held empty chairs, a broom, and other odds-and-ends.
    “Poison doesn’t make people vanish,” said Grehn.
    “Everyone is down in the farms,” Kaylen told them.
    “How do you know that?”
    “A conversation I overhead.” Kaylen rubbed his temples. “At least I think I heard it. The guards were called away because Oric was ordering everyone into the caverns. Something about a dwarf army.”
    “What’s with this army?” Norgrim asked. “Am I that impressive?”
    “No, you’re not,” Alanora said. “If father is going to use the poison, why send everyone to the lowest levels?”
    She opened a door opposite where they had come from, and took a quick glance outside. “The hallway looks clear. If we go left, it should take us to the market near a stairwell.” Her eyes moved to Kaylen. “How are you doing?”
    He picked up the jug, gulping the contents; wine was tastier than Norgrim’s gwach. “I can keep up,” he said.
    Alanora led them quickly toward the brightness at the end of the deserted hallway. The heavy air was silent. She scouted ahead, and motioned for them to stop; she inched forward, and looked into the room beyond. She waved them over.
    “Kaylen’s right,” she said. “They’re all gone.” The market was devoid of life. “The air is wrong. Stale.”
    Norgrim put a finger in his mouth, and then held it up in various directions. “The air is coming from above. Not much of it either. The intakes are closed.”
    “I’ve always felt a steady upward breeze in the market,” she said. “It’s one reason I hate dresses.”
    “I’m assuming this is a standard design,” said the dwarf. “Intake pipes radiate out from this level, opening on the side of the mountain. Air naturally rushes in and flows out the top of the rotunda. If you close the intakes, air slowly settles in from outside through the main shaft, but not quickly. If I had some paper, I could work out the dynamics…”
    “Forget the math,” Kaylen said. “Is Oric trying to suffocate everyone?”
    “Maybe, over a very long period of time,” said Norgrim. “With kahnokta, he’d use open intakes to suck the gas into the lowest chamber, letting it flow naturally up into the chambers above. The caverns would be the safest place for people to be.” The dwarf scratched his beard.
    “Think about it while we get to my room,” said Alanora. “The schematics might tell us what he’s up to.”
    They found a stair well, and started climbing. On the sixth floor, they quickly found her room. She surveyed the mess inside.
    “It wasn’t me!” Kaylen said.
    “Of course not. They were searching for the schematics.” She opened the closet, pulled out the pink dress, and violently ripped apart the sleeves. Blue papers fell out.
    “That wasn’t necessary,” Kaylen said.
    “Yes it was,” she said, tossing aside the ruined outfit. “I really hate that dress.”
    As Norgrim stooped to retrieve the schematics, Alanora’s eyes wandered somewhere else. She reached down, picked up the stuffed toy from where it lay on the floor, and squeezed it. It emitted a faint kree-uhk. “You be good,” she told it as she placed it on the bed. “I’ll come back for you later.”
    “I didn’t invade your privacy,” Kaylen insisted.
    “I know.”
    Norgrim sat on the floor, legs crossed, papers laid out around him.
    “Good design,” he said. “It’s similar to one of the towers under Norokden, but with modifications for Caerelon’s location above ground. This is fascinating! There’s an aerodrome off the Dwarven quarter. And… wow…” 
    “Stay focused,” Alanora said. “Where did he put the poison?”
    “I see marks in and around the maintenance rooms for the ventilation system. Now why does he have all these marks by the cisterns?”
    “The water supply?” Grehn asked.
    “He wouldn’t poison that, at least not with kahnokta. It could be…” Norgrim stabbed a finger at the drawing. “There’s a maintenance structure up there, with a small balcony overlooking the rotunda. See how he marked this elevator?”
    “Let’s go back to his office,” said Kaylen. “Maybe I missed something.”  Norgrim folded the schematics and stuffed them inside his shirt. Leaving Alanora’s room, they ran around the mezzanine to Oric’s office. The door was locked. Kaylen slammed his shoulder into the door, and it didn’t budge. He winced.
    “Let me try,” said Norgrim. From his satchel he extracted a couple small metal tools; inserting them into the lock, he fidgeted for a few moments before they heard a loud click. Norgrim pushed it open; no one was inside.
    “That wasn’t here before,” Kaylen said. On one side of the desk stood a glass bottle, its narrow neck sealed with a cork and wax. Norgrim picked it up gingerly, tilted it, looking at how the thick fluid flowed. 
    “This isn’t kahnokta,” the dwarf stated. “Oh, it’s similar – kahnokta is stored as a liquid, and turns to gas instantly upon contact with air. This stuff is the wrong consistency. The color is off, too.”
    “How do you know so much about an ancient weapon?” asked Grehn.
    “You’d be surprised what I learn in my travels.” Norgrim abruptly stiffened, stroking his beard. “This is something new. I’ll bet it’s a heavy gas when activated.” He swore in his native tongue. “That’s why Oric turned off the intakes. He doesn’t want the poison to flow up, he wants it to sink. The downdraft, slight as it is, will help push a heavy gas into the caverns. And it will block people leaving.” He put the bottle back on the desk.
    “Why didn’t he drop them right outside of here, and be done with it?” Kaylen asked.
    “One bottle wouldn’t be anywhere near enough to kill everyone,” Norgrim stated. “He’d need… oh, I don’t know the precise properties, but I’d guess a hundred bottles this size. It takes a lot of shrooms to make one jar, and processing is only done in small batches. He must have a hiding place, where no one would stumble over them while he accumulated what was needed.”
    “The water system,” said Alanora. “Hide the poison by the cisterns, drop it from the balcony over the rotunda.”
    “Over a year ago, your father started doing some maintenance himself,” said Grehn. “I think the cisterns were one of the things he worked on.”
    “That explains his long absences,” said Alanora. “They told me he was in meetings, but no one knew with who or where.”
    “So we go after him,” Kaylen said.
    “No we don’t,” countered Norgrim. “There is one elevator. The only other way up there is climbing the mountain, outside. He’s crazy, not stupid. I doubt he sent the elevator back down for our convenience.”
    “Would reopening the intakes help?” asked Kaylen.
    “I doubt it. Not enough time, anyway.”
    “We need to get people out of the mountain,” said Grehn.
    “The schematics show me where passages are. Grehn, let me show you.” Norgrim pulled out the schematics, rifled through them, laying one flat on the desk. “Here – this is Alanora’s escape route.” He rummaged in his satchel, and pulled out a green pen. “I’ll mark other passages to the castle. There looks to be a big passage over here, but I don’t know if we can open it in time.”
    “We’ve got thousands of people to evacuate,” said Grehn. “We’ll have to fight our way clear of the Watchers, then move women, children, old folk… it won’t be fast.” Grehn went to the door. “I have a small force that’s been waiting for an opportunity. Go after Oric. I’ll put down the thugs and get people out.” Grehn turned to Kaylen. “She’ll hate me for saying this, but take care of my girl.” He winked at Alanora, and then was gone.
    “No one ever says ‘Take care of the dwarf’,” grumbled Norgrim. Tucking the papers in his shirt again, he went back to the balcony. When the humans caught up with him, he pointed down. “He hasn’t dropped the poison yet. We’ll see a yellowish cloud if he does.”
    “So why hasn’t he?”
    “I don’t know,” said Alanora. “Do we go for Mahgrurra’s horn? She could fly us to him, but he’ll drop the poison the moment he sees a dragon. And that assumes we can get to the horn in the first place. Maybe the three of us can open the door on top of the tower and reach the horn.”
    “Or maybe not,” said Norgrim. “Do either of you gamble?”
    “What does that have to with anything?” Alanora said, exasperated.
    “When your back is to a wall, sometimes you have to gamble, even at long odds.”

    Alanora led her companions through hidden passages, retracing her route from the market to the dwarven rotunda. Time passed far too quickly for her liking. She was relieved to find the right corridor, where one of the reddish dwarven doors was still slightly ajar. She was not surprised to find more than just her footprints in the dust.
    “Norgrim…” she started to say.
    “Dead bodies don’t bother me,” said Norgrim. “Not even my own kind.”
    They crossed the open floor, stepping carefully around the dwarven remains.
    “Why didn’t the poison seep into the rest of Caerelon?” Kaylen asked, fascinated by a massacre amid the splendor of the dwarven abode.
    “Separate ventilation systems,” Norgrim replied. “They closed the intakes here, leaving the vents in Caerelon open, creating positive pressure, and the gas didn’t flow out of here.” Norgrim took the lead, taking them up a broad spiral ramp leading away into another section of the mountain. “If this gas is anything like kahnokta, it degrades in a matter of days, which is why we’re not writhing on the floor.”
    “Why didn’t they use your mysterious escape route?”
    “We’ll find out through here,” said the dwarf, who walked through a large open doorway at the end of the ramp. “Almost there.”
    The pathway broadened into a large open cavern; in the distance, Kaylen noticed grey daylight. What captured his attention, though, was a circle of great yellow, bright, pulsing crystals, dominating one side of the room. The pale light cast moving, indistinct shadows across the grey cavern walls, and the air was filled with a faint and undecipherable melody.
    “It shouldn’t be charged,” said Norgrim.
    “Is that a portal?” Alanora asked. Kaylen continued to stare, hypnotized by the lights.
    “A harmonic gateway,” the dwarf declared, taking the satchel from his shoulder and placing it on the ground. “I assumed it was inoperative, since my people didn’t use it to escape. Apparently, I was wrong.” He took unrolled his leather satchel on the floor, and started examining the metal objects inside. Noting Kaylen’s rapture with the crystals, he said, “My ancestors – and yours – came to Syraqua via something like this. Tohkay thinks dragons arrived the same way.” He leaned back, closed his eyes, and started humming different sounds.
    “What are you doing?” Alanora asked.
    “Listening,” he said. “Be quiet, please.” After a few moments, Norgrim opened his eyes and laughed, long and hearty, breaking Kaylen’s trance. He chose four of the forked metal objects from the case.
    “To answer your question,” Norgrim said. “I’m figuring out the proper chords.”
    Thinking clearly again, Kaylen explored across the room. He found several dwarven skeletons near a large number of stacked barrels. Short ropes were tied to four huge eyebolts in the floor; he noted the quality of the knots, and that the ropes had been cut cleanly. For a moment, he furrowed his brow, and then looked up.
    “What the hell is that?” he asked in awe.
    “An airship,” Norgrim announced. “A big one, too. First things first, though.” He tucked the metal forks into his belt and picked up small hammer. “Once I release the charges, we’ll see who shows up.”
    “I don’t understand,” said Alanora impatiently, standing to one side, arms crossed.
    “I’m a master tonal engineer, trained by Kyazura herself,” said the dwarf proudly, setting the forks upright into pedestals that surrounded the crystals. “This gateway is charged. Normally, energy is released when the traveler or cargo reaches its destination. If something goes wrong, things get stuck. I’m going to let out whoever’s trapped.” The forks in place, he tapped one with the hammer. A pure note sounded in the chamber, and the crystal lights changed patterns. “Some of my people must have tried to escape, and something went wrong.” Norgrim struck another fork, then another, and with each new tone, the pattern of lights flickered more rapidly. The hum increased in volume, now nearly deafening.
    “Are we sure this is a good idea?” Kaylen called out, but his companions couldn’t hear him.
    Striking the fourth fork raised the volume yet again. The brightness grew rapidly. Kaylen’s skull felt strange; he couldn’t decide if the tone was beautiful or painful. With a tremendous tone, the crystals’ sound and light faded. He could barely see anything at all, his eyes still adjusting to the gloom, dust from the ceiling slowly floating down, obscuring things even more.
    As his eyes adjusted, he saw the dragon. The long red head, adorned with swept back horns of magenta and violet, lay almost at Norgrim’s feet. It was a smaller creature than Symurall, but much larger the Mahgrurra. The eyes were closed.
    “Is it alive?” he asked, moving to Alanora’s side.
    Norgrim mumbled, transfixed.
    “You might want to move,” Alanora suggested, pulling Kaylen toward the exit.
    The dragon’s eyes snapped opened. The iris moved, black amid crystal blue, finally focusing on the dwarf. The immense body stirred, but only slightly. It grumbled, deeply.
    “Something… is… wrong,” said the dragon, its voice a lovely, complex contralto. “I am weak. Name yourself and tell me where I am.”
    “I am Norgrim,” said the dwarf. “You are in the caverns beneath Ehrgathaden. I am pleased to meet you, Kahshiki.”
    “Symurall’s mate?” Kaylen said, incredulous. A dragon eye snapped to point at him.
    “Two humans,” the dragon said, voice colored with suspicion.
    “We’re all friends of Symurall,” said Norgrim hastily.
    “I do not remember my mate befriending a dwarf, and he certainly does not trust humans.” Her tongue flicked. “I do not recognize your scent.” Her tongue tested the air again. “Memories return. The crystals in our lair sang with strange, powerful energies. Fearing for my unborn child, I escaped through our gateway. My weakness… something went wrong. The gateway in our lair was destroyed, was it not?”
    “We thought you were dead,” said Norgrim.
    “The air smells different,” she said. “I can feel ages that have rolled past; the planet’s energies are different now. How long was I trapped?”
    After a moment’s hesitation, Norgrim said “Two hundred and eighty-five years.”
    The dragon’s eyes closed and opened again.
    “My mate still lives?”
    “Yes he does,” Norgrim said. His voice cracked. “He has looked for you every day.”
    “Did you come here to find me?”
    “No. This is… a happy accident.”
    “I really hate to interrupt,” said Alanora. “We still have my father to deal with. You know, the whole killing everyone problem.”
    “I require rest,” Kahshiki said, closing her eyes again. “Do not let me keep you from your concerns.”
    Norgrim walked to Kaylen and Alanora.
    “You said we had a way of getting to cisterns from here,” Alanora said impatiently.
    Norgrim looked very unhappy. “I did.” He pointed to the enormous sausage-shaped machine hovering above. “My plan involved finding an airship, and we found one. I’d rather hoped it was tied down, though. And smaller.”
    “Great,” Alanora said with disgust. “We need to fly to get to a flying machine. Even if we could reach it, you have no idea if it still works. That thing must be centuries old.”
    “I told you it was a gamble.” Norgrim examined the metal loops embedded in the floor, and the skeletons nearby. “I wonder who cut these mooring lines? I can’t imagine it was these poor sots.”
    Alanora cursed. “Mahgrurra’s horn is our only option.”
    “Do you know Mahgrurra?” the dragon asked, her eyes still closed. “She is my sister. I did not know she was also befriending small ones.”
    “Things have changed since your were lost,” said Kaylen. “Humans and dragons aren’t always enemies. I owe my life to Symurall, and Mahgrurra has been our friend.”
    Alanora started walking away. Without looking back, she called out, “I’m heading to the tower and the horn. Unless you have a way to reach your airship, Norgrim.”
    Kahshiki stirred, and lifted her head. “I cannot fly,” she said. “However, I do have enough energy to levitate some of you to the device above.”
    Alanora stopped walking. “Norgrim?” she asked. “Can you make that thing work?”
    “I’ll bet my beard on it,” said the dwarf. With a big grin, he asked, “Kaylen, are you ready to fly? I’ll need help up there.”
    “Please reduce your weight,” Kahshiki requested. “I have limited energy. My child is beginning to stir.”
    “Child?” Alanora asked. “Is she going to lay an egg?”
    The dragon rumbled. “We give live birth,” she said. “My son will be here soon. I feel it.”
    “Alanora, you’ve been promoted to midwife,” said Norgrim. “We’ll handle the airship.”
    “I don’t know anything about birthing dragons!” Alanora declared. “Has it occurred to you that women aren’t born knowing about this kind of thing?”
    “Jahsha once said the same thing,” Kaylen said. “Do you want to go with Norgrim? I can stay here with Kahshiki.”
    “No!” Alanora stated emphatically. “Have fun.”
    “We’re ready,” Norgrim called to the dragon. Kahshiki’s eyes opened wide, and brightened.
    The sensation was... Kaylen couldn’t find words. It was if a giant, invisible pillow had wrapped itself around him, dragging him upward. The airship itself was a cylinder with rounded conical ends; on its belly was a long building-like construct, lined with windows. Several large bladed objects were attached to the cabin, and in the side was an opening, toward which they floated. Kaylen arrived first. Released from the dragon’s mystical grip, he set his feet on the floor, feeling the vessel rock slowly with his arrival. It moved again when Norgrim was delivered next to him.
    “Fun!” said Norgrim. “The buoyancy is remarkable! I was worried it might sink to the floor with our weight. The helium tanks are still intact, it seems.”
    “What do we do?” asked Kaylen. His years on ships helped him balance as the dirigible rocked in response to their movements.
    “There are two decks,” said Norgrim. “We’re on the engineering level. Back that way –” he pointed “– is where the manual power stations are. They’re designed so a dozen dwarves can operate the engines with pedals, in an emergency. We’re only two, and those long legs of yours won’t fit. So that leaves getting the steam engine running. I should be able to fly her if we don’t do anything fancy.”
    Norgrim went to the back of the ship with Kaylen. While the dwarf puttered about, Kaylen admired the complex pipes, gauges, and unidentifiable gadgets.
    “This is amazing,” Kaylen said.
    “It won’t be amazing without water,” said Norgrim. “The tank is dry. I should have thought of that. Damnit. Well, maybe…”
    “Where are we going to get water up here?” Kaylen asked.
    It took him a moment to recognize the sound made by a stream of liquid hitting something metal.
    “When did you last pee?” Norgrim asked. The sound stopped.
    Kaylen burst out laughing.
    “Seriously!” the dwarf said. “It might be enough water to get her started. We don’t need a lot of water, just enough to build a bit of steam pressure, so the engines generate a little thrust to push us down. There’s water in our packs below.”
    “Fine,” said Kaylen. It had been awhile since he’d drunk the entire jug of wine. “Where?”
    “This funnel.”
    After Kaylen finished, Norgrim was tapping a dial with one finger. It moved to the one-third point of the gauge, at the edge of a section highlighted in red.
    “Barely,” said Norgrim. “You should have had more wine.” He opened another hatch, and laughed. “Some luck! The crystals look good.” Using his little hammer, he started a chord. Kaylen saw a glow.
    “We’re in business,” Norgrim declared, closing the hatch. “I’ll let her build pressure, and we can start the fans.” It wasn’t long before dormant gauges came to life, and the machinery began to make noises the Kaylen found worrisome.
    “Don’t look that way!” Norgrim chortled. “Of course, the seals might have dried out and cracked. We might get scalded to death with our own piss.”
    “Oh joy,” said Kaylen.
    Norgrim moved to a complicated-looking panel. “Let’s see now.” He moved four sliding controls; the machinery made odd noises in new places, but, much to Kaylen’s relief, nothing exploded. Norgrim slowly moved a lever; the airship shuddered, and from outside, Kaylen heard a mechanical, vibrating noise. With the turn of a dial, Norgrim started them on a slow descent.
    “See?” the dwarf said with obvious joy. “I may keep this ship!”
    Soon, they were close to the ground. Kaylen went to the door, and found Alanora standing there, looking perturbed.
    “He’s going to be insufferable now,” she said. “I hate it when he finds a new toy.”
    “I like this machine,” said Kaylen. He held out his hand. “Will you accompany us? Is the dragon doing fine?”
    “She seems fine,” Alanora said as he helped her onboard. Norgrim collected the water skins she’d brought, and added their contents to the holding tanks. The airship shuddered and started to rise. “I’d ask if this thing is safe, but I already know the answer,” said Alanora as they walked to the front of the ship, where Norgrim now stood, watching instruments and guiding their flight. The view was spectacular as they sailed from the mouth of the cave and turned back toward the mountain.
    “I’ll bring her in between those two peaks,” Norgrim told them, pointing. The airship shuddered again. “She’s a bit balky. Probably needs oil and grease in various places. I don’t want to leave the controls; you two deal with Oric.”
    Great brown and black spires passed uncomfortably close to the ship. The wind was louder; the airship wobbled and bounced. In spite of that, Kaylen and Alanora stood by an open door, holding tightly to metal loops bolted to the wall, looking down at a ring of smaller peaks around a wide opening; the distant glow of skymoss gave the illusion of a lake deep inside the shaft. Real water filled bowl-shaped depressions amid the peaks; a small, metallic building jutted out from the rock. Around its side was a balcony made of metal mesh; it extended over the gaping mouth of stone above the hidden city. Several crates sat at the edge of the balcony. A man in white looked up and studied them for a moment; he went inside and returned, making motions they could not see clearly.
    “He’s seen us,” said Kaylen. “Why hasn’t he used the poison yet?”
    “Maybe he’s come to his senses,” suggested Alanora hopefully. Now the man stood still in the middle of the platform, his head bowed, as if in prayer. For once, she sounded indecisive, saying, “Kaylen, I don’t want to kill him.”
    “We’ll do our best,” said Kaylen. Long before, he’d decided to do the deed himself; as evil as Oric had become, he would not allow Alanora to kill her own father.
    “We jump on both sides of Oric, keeping him between us.” He went forward, explained the plan to Norgrim, and returned. “The pessimistic dwarf reminds me that the impact of two people might break the balcony.”
    “I’ll go first,” said Alanora.
    Kaylen cupped his hands to his mouth, and yelled, “Hurry, Norgrim!”
    “What the hell do you think I’m doing?” The dwarf cursed, fiddled, and desperately wished he could grow an extra arm or two. He somehow maneuvered the vessel over the balcony. The man in white looked up again, watching Alanora leap. The platform shuddered slightly as she alighted, bow in hand. Instantly, she had an arrow ready, and pointed it at him.
    “Father!” Alanora called. “Stop this!” For the first time, she noticed a thin rope tied to his wrist; taut, it looped around the rail in front of him, and went back inside the building.
    Oric looked at her. The balcony shuddered again, and he knew someone was behind him without looking. Smiling, he ordered, “Stay back! This balcony was designed to fold down. If I release this rope, or if you kill me, we all plunge to our destiny.” He laughed. “I told Kudric that Caerelon stood upon a precipice. A good joke, yes?”
    Kaylen wondered if he could lunge and grab the rope. He inched forward, hoping Alanora could keep her father’s attention.
    “I’m not the enemy,” Alanora said. “You don’t want to kill them, or me. You’ve had plenty of time already, and haven’t done it. End this for the greater good.” 
    “Whose greater good?” asked her father sharply. “Aliens? Dwarves? Dragons? I will not let them kill us!”
    “Your fear killed mother!” she said, eyes flashing angrily. “Dwarves have a cure for frostfever! They have a cure, damnit!” Her weapon did not waver. “What you’re doing is wrong. Don’t let fear kill more of us.”
    He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Us,” he said thoughtfully. “You have been gone from Caerelon often. What are you trying to protect?”
    “Those I love,” she replied.
    “Does that include the people of Caerelon? Even if it means harming your own father?”
    “Yes.”
    Oric turned to look at Kaylen. “You keep getting closer. Do you want me to release the rope?”
    “Don’t,” said Kaylen. “Please, don’t. I don’t want her to die. I don’t want either of us to kill you.”
    Oric looked from Kaylen to his daughter, and back. “I see now,” he said. “It is obvious why you are here, young man. A strange courtship.” Slowly, carefully, keeping it taut, he took the rope off his wrist and tied it to the railing. The balcony shifted slightly, but stayed in place. To Alanora, he cried, “I am done!”
    “Thank you,” she said lowering her weapon. Kaylen relaxed slightly.
    “It is beautiful, even from here,” said Oric, staring down. Turning to Alanora, his face softened; for a moment, she thought he looked both older and younger. “The time for change is here. Think what you will of me, but the choices I made were for the people of Caerelon.” He paused. “Perhaps you will make better choices. I am proud of you. I love you.” He jumped up and over the railing; they rushed to the edge, and saw his body plummet into the blueness below.
    Alanora buried herself in Kaylen’s arms. He carefully pulled her inside the building. For what seemed like an eternity, he held her, saying nothing.

    “Hello.”
    Jahsha had been talking to Dorna, and turned around. Zarah stood in the opening of a tent, being steadied by Kalinda. Her arm was in a cast; the bruise on her face had faded a bit.
    “She won’t stay in bed,” Kalinda said.
    Zarah walked slowly. “Thank you, all of you.”
    The dragon stirred. Its eyes opened. “I am glad you survived,” Symurall said.
    Zarah walked slowly to the dragon’s side, and kissed it on the cheek. Symurall’s eyes grew bigger. “An odd custom, and strangely pleasant,” the dragon said. Zarah laughed for the first time since her assault.
    Symurall flicked his tongue several times. “Mahgrurra took Kaylen and Norgrim away,” he said. “I can smell where their scents end together in time. There is another faint human scent, one that I do not recognize. If they are with Mahgrurra, they will be safe. What was their destination?”
    “We’re don’t exactly know,” Jahsha said. “They should be back in a few days, we hope.”
    Zarah sat on a bench near the other women, and watched what was going on around her for a time. “The dwarves are packing up,” she said.
    Dorna squeezed Zarah’s hand. “You can come with us.”
    “I won’t leave everyone else.”
    Jahsha smiled. “I have my ship.”
    “We aren’t the only people who want to get away,” Zarah stated. “There may not be many, but others will want to leave. Can you fit them all on your ship? Where would you take them?”
    Symurall lifted his head quickly, then stood abruptly.
    “What’s wrong?” asked Jahsha.
    “Something has happened,” the dragon said, an strange quality in his voice.
    “What?” Dorna asked.
    “The impossible. I dare not hope.” He lifted snout to the sky, and emitted low, melodic tones.
    “They are coming,” the dragon told them. He stretched, his great green wings filling half the courtyard. “I must fly fast.”
    “Who’s coming?” Jahsha asked. “Where are you going?”
    “My sister’s children. Where my heart takes me.”
    Two blue dragons emerged from the clouds and spiraled down toward them. They were much smaller than Symurall, yet still enormous. The two did not land, but hovered just above the ground, flapping very slowly.
    “Hassakkor, defend the top of this bluff,” the sea dragon ordered. “Follow the instructions of the red-haired woman called Jahsha and the dwarf named Dorna, and a man named Kaylen if he returns. Arrokka, find your mother at Drakcaern and inform her of my departure.”
    “You’re leaving us?”
    “I must investigate a potential miracle,” said Symurall. He launched, quickly disappearing to the southeast. The smaller blue dragon also flew away, westward. The remaining beast settled to the ground where his uncle had slept moments before.
    “What just happened?” Dorna asked. “Why did Symurall go?”
    “I have no idea,” said Jahsha, eyeing Hassakkor, worrying.

    “Hovering will not speed my analysis,” Tohkay told the dark dragon over his head. Nearby, Tyreon slept, still recovering from their long flight.
    “I am only one See’ee’ah,” Tohkay continued. “We have been here one day. Bring me one of Norgrim’s expeditions and the process will move more quickly.
    Sytherek moved up and to one side. “I did not mean to be impatient,” he said. “It would be unwise to bring many people here until we have more information.”
    “Agreed,” said Tohkay. He carefully placed several small fragments of metal in the padded interior of a wooden box. “Still, a dwarven metallurgist would be able to tell me about these alloys. This place was not natural.” 
    “The kehklik do not build or create.”
    “The kehklik do not build or create now,” Tohkay corrected. “G’kossa’s manuscripts, the ones I found at Roqat, contain his observations of kehklik using obvious artificial devices. That was one of my first solid clues to Garthonnex’s crime.”
    Sytherek looked philosophical, turned his body, and brought his snout around in front of the See’ee’ah. “The kehklik were killing your race, yet you just accused Garthonnex of saving you with an immoral act. I do not understand.”
    Tohkay closed the case. “We should have discussed this sooner. The flight was long, and conversation difficult.” He began puttering with strange bits of colorful debris dug from the vicinity. “I would be more comfortable telling you my conjectures if I could prove that these items are artificial.” Fondling a piece of light-weight, golden metal, he looked across the area at the numerous small holes he’d dug. “Three millennia have buried the evidence deep. Just knowing the shape of what lies beneath us would help me draw conclusions.”
    The piece of metal flew from Tohkay’s hand, and into Sytherek’s paw.
    “It reacts to magnetism,” said the big dragon. 
    “Please warn me in the future,” Tohkay said indignantly. “Some of these items are sharp. I am very fond of my fingers.”
    “I shall be more cautious in the future.” Sytherek began to rise. “Please stand to the side. I will attempt to grant your wish.”
    The dragon focused, sending specific energies into the ground. A purple light grew, like ghostly plants, stronger in some places than others.
    “I do not see how this helps,” Tohkay said.
    “You need to gain altitude.” Sytherek picked up the lizard, and centered himself fifty feet above the glow. “The stronger the light indicates a greater concentration of magnetic metals. I do not believe that I have harmed anything with this demonstration.”
    “I am impressed!” Tohkay enthused, hanging from Sytherek’s claws. “Nature does not create perfect circles and straight lines; the internal pattern suggests rooms, corridors, and other constructs. Please put me down! I must sketch what I’ve seen.”
    Sytherek set him down. Tohkay rushed to grab his materials, and began drawing furiously.
    “We need to know how this place was destroyed,” said Sytherek. 
    “I have already determined that,” said Tohkay. “Look at the cross-section I cut into the dirt over there.” He pointed. “Notice the parabolic patterns in the layers. Those are ancient impact craters, filled over time by new soil. The soil shows no signed of burning, but much compaction.”
    “I do not understand,” said Sytherek.
    “Garthonnex uses intense sounds as his primary weapon. The impact of high energy, narrow-beam sound would create a parabolic crater without chemically altering the soil. In addition, the fragments I’ve found suggest that this place was destroyed by multiple impacts, not fire. Mixed with the other materials are pieces of kehklik bone and carapace. This is where Garthonnex stopped the kehklik from killing my people.”
    “By artificial, do you mean that this was a building?” Sytherek asked. “I have never seen a kehklik create anything more sophisticated than their domes, which are built with sprayed fibers and liquids.”
    “Again, G’kossa’s papers describe the kehklik as having strange devices,” said Tohkay. “Once, they made many things.”
    “What was this place for?”
    “This was a synthetic queen.” Tohkay continued to draw. “Your own observations suggest that kehklik are tied to the biological queen that birthed them, and her range of communication is only a dozen leagues. Given the descriptions given by G’kossa, the kehklik of old traveled hundreds of miles away from this place. I believe the old kehklik required a synthetic queen, which allowed them to maintain their mutual communication over great distances. When Garthonnex destroyed this place, the kehklik were suddenly disconnected from each other. Those who did not die reverted to the more primitive form we see today. I cannot prove my conjecture yet, but it fits all of the evidence.”
    Sytherek landed nearby. “You believe the kehklik enhanced themselves with technology, like the dwarves build airships, or humans cross oceans in ships.”
    “Not quite. The current condition of the kehklik suggests that their sentiency required a synthetic queen. KhKhorrak was correct: When Garthonnex destroyed this place, he robbed the kehklik of their sentience.” Tohkay placed his sketch in a special container, designed to keep it unwrinkled and dry. “This is all educated speculation and conjecture, of course. What I seek is proof of Garthonnex’s crime.”
    “Why?”
    “Like Kaylen Thyr, I wish to save my people. Garthonnex protected us from the kehklik only to slowly destroy the See’ee’ah with his domination. At his direction, ritual has replaced growth; stagnation is valued over evolution.” He looked at Sytherek pointedly. “I left the comfort of my favorite branch to find a way to free my people from the midnight dragon. I am close to my goal.”
    “You are a remarkable and audacious creature, Tohkay Ahtok,” the dragon said.
    “Such compliments are appreciated, but will only matter if I succeed,” said the lizard-scholar.

    Kaylen blew on the horn again, feeling the tower vibrate. Four times should be enough, he thought. Looking over the edge of the tower, he noted the growing crowd with satisfaction. Alanora’s presence was obvious, as people orbited around her; coping with her father’s death involved throwing herself into the care of Caerelon’s people. Smiling, he wondered why it all seemed so natural, so easy to go down roads he’d never considered before.
    Mahgrurra was not long in coming. He waved to catch her attention; for a moment, he thought she was going to fly past. She slowed, hesitated, and returned to where he stood, hovering nearby. An anxious murmur arose from below; Kaylen worried about Alanora if a panic started.
    “I sense my sister!” said the dragon.
    “Kahshiki is in the cavern on the east side of the mountain,” he said. Mahgrurra turned to fly away, and he urgently added, “Wait, please!” She looked at him. “We’ve got a nervous crowd down there. It would help if dragons were… not obvious.”
    “I understand,” said the dragon before arcing around and behind the mountain.
    A block of stone lay where Alanora had placed it a few days before, during her escape. He moved it aside, opened the trap door, and descended. Norgrim’s airship was moored to the ground nearby, where it had landed after dropping him off. The dwarf sat on his pack, looking – again – at the schematics for Caerelon’s inner world.
    “I’ve pinpointed where Oric did his dirty work,” said Norgrim as Kaylen approached. “Alanora’s finding engineers. I’ll go inside with them, and see what we can do to fix things.”
    “Last I heard, the air was getting nasty down there,” said Kaylen.
    “We’ll be fine if we take it slow.”
    Kaylen looked at the throng, noticing how people moved, their reactions. “I’d wager that most of these people have never seen open sky.” He looked up. “Who knows… these damned clouds may actually help them cope.”
    “They’re moving the frightened ones into buildings,” said Norgrim. “Three thousand scared, confused people, and Alanora’s holding them together.” He put down his papers and stretched. “Three years of tramping across the continent with her, and I never even suspected any of this. That’s one hell of a woman you’ve got there, my friend.”
    “You don’t need to convince me,” Kaylen said. “Things won’t stay this simple. Some of Kudric’s Watchers are still around – and there’s the whole mess in Tornaval. I wish I had Alanora’s people skills.”
    “You’ve got plenty of skills,” Norgrim grinned. “You’ve got friends, and you’ve got her. It’ll work out. As for this place, most people will go back inside the mountain; others will rebuild the village, and some will work the farms. Dwarves can finish this castle. Someday, Caerelon will be a wonder to behold, in and out of the mountain.”
    “You’d bring dwarves here?”
    “Why not? Continuing their work would be a fitting memorial.”
    Kaylen slapped the dwarf on the knee. “I should go help my lady.” He walked into the milling crowd. A few people paid him close attention; he became aware that he was much taller than most, his skin obviously darker, a golden brown amongst their off-white. While working his way to Alanora’s side, he wondered if he, like the dragons, needed to stay out of sight.
    “Grehn is bringing the last group up now,” she said upon seeing him.
    “I’m glad Mahgrurra didn’t start a panic,” he said. “She’s with Kahshiki.”
    “People may be too tired to panic. If we get through tonight, I think we’ll be okay.”
    To one side, several men and women stood separate from the rest; Alanora spoke to them, and they moved as a group to where Norgrim sat.
    “Engineers?” Kaylen asked.
    “As many as I could find,” she said. “If we’re lucky, the only trouble they’ll have is repairing my father’s sabotage.”
    “Should I go with them?”
    “No. I need you here.”
    “None of them are armed, except for Norgrim. I doubt your father did everything alone; somebody made those gas bombs for him. Kudric’s thugs…”
    “Are you referring to me?” said a new voice. A short, stocky man stood next to them, arms crossed; he wore a Watcher’s black tabard.
    “The name’s Beynor,” the man said. “Lieutenant Beynor Waht, ranking surviving officer of the Watch, it appears. I want to know what happened to the Prime Minister. I haven’t been able to find him.”
    “Kudric’s dead,” said Alanora. 
    “Did you kill him?” Beynor’s face was stony.
    “No.”
    “What happened to him?”
    “He tripped and fell. Silly as it sounds.” His expression did not change; she continued, “I don’t have time to make up stupid lies. Believe me or not.”
    Beynor shifted his stance. “And your father?”
    “That’s even more complicated. He’s dead, too. No, we didn’t kill him either.”
    The man shook his head. “Not good enough. You came in here with your allies and turned everything upside down. Now our leaders are dead, the city’s a mess, and you had something to do with it. You’re standing on dangerous ground.”
    Kaylen put a hand on his blade; she touched his arm, saying, “If he wants a fight, it’s with me.” To Beynor, she said, “I didn’t kidnap people from their homes. I didn’t turn our city into a prison.” She spoke momentarily with an older woman who couldn’t find her husband. “I’ll talk to everyone in the morning, telling them what happened. At the moment, I’m busy getting everyone settled for the night. Help me set things right, stand aside, or let’s have it out now.”
    The Watcher scratched his stubbly chin. “You’d accept my help? I thought I was a thug.”
    “Poorly-chosen words,” said Kaylen.
    Beynor examined the other man carefully. “You’re one of the farmers Sonak brought in yesterday. But you’re no farmer, are you?”
    “No I’m not.”
    “Well, I’m not a thug. People like Sonak… I won’t defend them. He’s dead, anyway, so I hear.”
    “I can’t say I’m sorry.”
    “Neither am I. But many Watchers joined up because we thought it was the right thing to do. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. Time will tell.” Looking at Alanora, he continued, “If you want help, I’ll go with the engineers, and avoid misunderstandings with anyone still inside. Good enough?” 
    “Thank you,” said Alanora. “We need to start mending rifts.”
    “Don’t make more out of this than it is,” Beynor said as he walked away. “If we’re both patriots, it will end well. If not…” He didn’t finish the sentence.
    “It’s a start,” Alanora said, responding to Kaylen’s concerned face.
    For no reason in particular, Kaylen looked at the sky. “Incoming dragon,” he said, pointing. A black blob rapidly resolved into Symurall’s familiar shape. People shouted and talked excitedly.
    “He’s a friend!” Kaylen called out. One day, he hoped he wouldn’t have to say that whenever strangers met.
    Symurall flew across the town, knowing instantly that his small friends were there and alive. He was curious about the numerous humans around the old castle, but his mission did not concern them. The dragon’s flight curved around the west side of the mountain, to a huge cave entrance.
    “Hello, Symurall,” said Kahshiki. “It has been a long time for you, but moments for me.”
    Alighting next to his beloved, he said, “I never gave up hope.”
    “Your small friends are special.”
    “Our child?” he asked anxiously.
    She lifted a wing. A tiny tan dragon lay curled up, sleeping.
    “Dorrakorix-alakaynor is the beginning of a good name,” she said.
    “Indeed,” replied Symurall, flicking his tongue around his offspring, imprinting the scent forever.
    He noticed another presence for the first time.
    “Greetings, Mahgrurra,” he said. “I apologize for ignoring you.”
    “It is understandable,” she said. “He is a fine child.”
    “Your help is required, sister,” said the new mother. “I need to feel wind under my wings, and greet my mate properly. Will you watch Dorrakor for me?”
    “Enjoy yourself,” said Mahgrurra, who exchanged places with Kahshiki. “Kaylen asked that we…” Before she could finish, the mated dragons flew outside, into open air.
    Soaring high overhead, Kahshiki and Symurall performed an erotic dance in and out of the clouds, four wings beating as one, tails writhing, intertwined, a rumbling of great beasts. On the mountain below, people watched the spectacle in awe. 
    Kaylen was among the entranced. Alanora kissed him gently on the cheek, and he broke from watching the display of dragon passion.
    “What was that for?” he asked.
    “Think about it,” she said. “We have a lot to do, and it’s not nice to stare.” Hand in hand, they went back to work.
 
Act 3
Transformations

    Sytherek snapped awake. He did not know exactly what had happened, but he knew to whom and, in general, where. Dawn had not yet arrived, though the faint light did not prevent him from looking around the camp. He saw Tohkay puttering near one of the excavations, and wondered if the little green lizard ever slept. Nearby, Tyreon yawned while scratching his scaly back against a group of rocks.
    “I must leave,” said Sytherek. “Something has happened to Symurall. He is no longer in Tornaval. He is now near the abandoned dwarven fortress of Ehrgathaden. I cannot fathom why he would abandon his favored humans… yet I feel… joy from him.”
    “How can you sense him from this far?” Tohkay asked, looking up from his work.
    “The intensity of his feelings reached out to me. Only one thing could cause such an emotion, and it is impossible.” Sytherek stretched. “I will go to him.”
    “Much as I am sympathetic,” said Tohkay, “I do not wish to leave my work.”
    “You need not.” The great dragon remembered his mate’s wisdom, and turned to his son. “Tyreon, watch over Tohkay, and protect him. I should not be gone long, and there is no evident danger here.”
    “Good flight, father,” Tyreon said, smiling.
    Sytherek went to find his brother, at his fastest speed.
 
    Alanora awoke, rolled over, and found Kaylen missing. Sitting up, she looked around, and saw him standing near the keep’s entrance, silhouetted in the pale light of dawn. She stepped carefully over other sleeping forms; Caerelon’s people were packed into every nook and cranny, most having nowhere to sleep but the ground or a floor. She guessed there were several hundred people in and around the keep itself, and many times that number outside or in other buildings. One large group had moved to the overgrown town, and some had returned to their homes in the forest. Most Caerelians had never been outside, never seen an open sky; they were frightened, and Grehn’s Wardens had spent much of the night simply comforting people.
    A difficult day loomed, putting everything back together.
    “It’s early,” she said, walking up behind Kaylen. When he didn’t answer immediately, she looked closely at his face, seeing many emotions. “What’s wrong?”
    For a moment, he didn’t move.
    “I couldn’t sleep, so I spoke with Symurall a while ago. Things have gone badly in Tornaval. Zarah’s been hurt badly. Raped.” His words grew quieter, darker. “The puhtahks dumped her body in the river, and tried to frame the dwarves for her disappearance. But she didn’t die.” He paused; Alanora held one of his hands as he continued. “According to Symurall, she faced down Danelle and her minions, accusing Jennur of planning the attack.” He swore violently. “I should have been there, damnit. The people I care about get hurt when I leave them behind.”
    “This isn’t your fault,” Alanora said gently. “Is everyone safe now?”
    “Zarah’s being cared for by Norgrim’s family. Symurall chased Danelle and her minions back into town. The city’s divided, with the port and dwarven camp protected by two of Kyazura’s dragons.” He sighed. “I don’t know what I should do.”
    “I do,” she said. “Bring them here.” At his look of surprise, she added, “It won’t be easy, I know that. But unlike your people, mine have a home, and there’s room here for more. We’ll make it work.”
    He leaned over and kissed her. “I love you.”
    “Now that’s a new word.”
    “Oh.”
    “I love you, too. Now we’re even, okay?”
    “Not everyone will come,” he said. “And Danelle won’t let go of her little kingdom easily.”
    “We have a very grateful dragon on our side,” she said. “Plus a dwarf with a really big flying machine. When do we leave?”
    “I’ll go. You’re needed here.” Kaylen looked her in the eyes. “You are Lady of Caerelon now. I can handle Danelle and bring people here – you need to ensure they have a safe place to settle.”
    “You’re right,” she said. “Which brings up another topic. It’s probably not a good time, but there won’t be a good time. So… this is your last chance to change your mind.”
    “About what?”
    “About me. About us.” She looked into the distance. “In a few minutes, I'll be on that balcony, speaking to the crowd. Most are frightened and confused; rumors are running rampant and growing by the minute. I need to tell them the truth, and let people choose their own future. You deserve the same choice.”
    “I don't understand the problem.”
    “You have a ship and crew waiting for you in Tornaval.” She smiled at his evident surprise. “The Shadowrider. Jahsha told me.” She paused. “I can't go to sea with you, Kaylen. My life is here, with these people. Even if, at the end of the day, they decide to follow someone else, I belong to this life.” Her eyes were misty. “I won't tell anyone how to live, especially not you.”
    Kaylen put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “I made my choice. The Shadowrider can find another captain.” He kissed her on the forehead. “It’s time for a career change anyway.”
    She laughed. “You don’t even know what the career is. I haven’t had time to explain who we are, our customs, what we eat, how our government works. I didn’t expected this to end where it has, with three thousand people camped on a barren mountain side, and my father… well, as you said, I’m the Lady of Caerelon, at least for now. It's my responsibility to set things right. And by tradition and law, that responsibility is shared with my husband.”
    When Kaylen didn’t say anything immediately, she continued. “In a few minutes, I need to tell everyone who you are and why you’re here. If you want, I can say that you’re an ambassador for refugees, and that you’re looking to join us. People don’t need to know there’s been more between us.”
    “We’ve been busy,” Kaylen said. “I must have missed the ceremony. I’m sure there was one.” She looked him in the eyes, and he smiled. “Tell them I’m your husband. This is your world; I’ll follow your lead.”
    “What about your life at sea?”
    He paused, thinking. “When I lost my ship, I lost a piece of myself. There was a void in my life. I thought I needed another ship – but what I needed was a purpose. And someone to share it with.”
    The crowd noise outside had grown slowly as they talked.
    “You just missed your chance to get away,” she said. “Wait here. I’ll call when I need you.”
    Alone on the balcony, she looked at the gathered throng. Slowly, quiet spread through the crowd, the weight of her choices growing with each face that looked at her. She wondered where they had all slept, whether they had eaten – and if they were ready for a new age.
    “Good morning,” she began. “We’ve passed through an uncomfortable time, not just a single evening, but months and years of troubles, stress, and conflict. The most important information is this: You will be able to go home soon. The immediate danger is past.
    “Many myths must be dispelled. To begin with, there is no dwarven army. Caerelon was originally built by dwarves. My dwarven friend, Norgrim, was instrumental in saving our city, and he toils now with our engineers to repair the mountain’s air flow, so you will sleep in your own beds soon. He and his people harbor no hatred toward us. They wish to be our allies.
    “We’ve hidden in fear for nearly three hundred years. During that time, kindly dragons guarded our borders, working with Wardens to keep the kehklik at bay. In a cavern nearby, a newborn dragon is the result of a miracle that heals an ancient rift; hatred toward humans has been replaced by gratitude and friendship. Caerelon was not threatened from outside, but from within, by dread of the unknown.
    “I did not murder my father, as is rumored. Know that Lord Oric died in the service of Caerelon. In coming days, we will discuss what happened, finding ways to avoid repeating past mistakes. We will remember my father as an honorable man who lost his way, and found it again in our hour of greatest need.
    “In recent years, I’ve wandered far and wide, often staying away from Caerelon for months at a time. My heart was always here, with you, as my feet carried me into the wider world. Along the way, I’ve made friends, many of whom may seem strange at first sight. I’ve learned that the goodness of one’s soul does not come from the shape of your body or the color of your skin, but from the truths you hold dear.
    “Not all of my new friends come in unexpected shapes. For a long time, we believed ourselves to be the last stronghold of humanity. We were wrong.” She called softly to Kaylen, who stepped onto the balcony. Seeing the gathered throng, he felt the reality of it all wash over him.
    “Kaylen Thyr is from the distant island nation of Tramora. The clouds above are just one sign of a great disaster that destroyed his homeland – not dragon fire, not kehklik hordes, but volcanoes and earthquakes. Very few Tramorans survived the cataclysm and they are now refugees along the northern seaboard of Syraqua. I ask you to offer them a new home here. We are different in many ways, but we are all human. Accepting others will help us grow into something greater.
    “I met a Tramoran man named Kaylen, when the kehklik were about to destroy his people. I fought them at his side. When Caerelon faced great troubles, he came to help us, risking his life for people he did not know, because his love for me and sense of duty would let him do no less. He is my husband, and in all things my partner and equal. As such, Kaylen will be the Lord of Caerelon – but only if you decide that I should continue as Lady. I will not force myself upon you; the time for dictators must end, now.”
    A murmur arose, and she let it die down.
    “People should always choose their leaders,” she finally said. “I will not tell anyone where or how to live. I do not demand your loyalty simply because of the blood in my veins. The chaos we’ve experienced marks the end of an era, and the beginning of something new. I will share the future with you, as Lady or as a normal citizen, according to your wishes.”
    For a moment, the only sound was the low murmur of many conversations reaching her ears. Then, slowly but with gathering strength, a chant arose, her name and title repeated, an enthusiastic vote of confidence and support than she’d not dreamed possible. No, not everyone was part of the chorus, but the neutral, angry, and suspicious faces were a notable minority.
    “Thank you,” she said as the approbation subsided. “We will try to be worthy of your faith. To those who doubt me, I only ask for a short time to prove myself. We will make mistakes; everyone does. Your patience and support is the greatest gift you could give us.”
    She continued. “Once the current crisis is past, we will return to an earlier tradition, when Ministers were elected, not appointed; they will work together, in your name. Those of you who wish to live outside can rebuild the town below and tend the farms beyond. The city within will always remain a home for people who find comfort in its halls. Norgrim has offered to bring more dwarves here, to fix and improve the rotunda. Together, his people and ours will finish this castle as the crown of a greater Caerelon. Humanity may be small in numbers, but the world will know us as a wonder of perseverance, beauty, and principle.
    “Caerelon is not destroyed, only wounded. We will repair; we will heal – and we will become more than we have been. I know most of you were not looking for a bold new future, but it has come anyway, and Caerelon will meet the challenges ahead. We will do more than survive, we will thrive. Caerelon is not a mountain or a city – it is us.”

    Jahsha stood to one side of the dwarven compound, watching Hassakkor thoughtfully. The dragon watched her, too, seemingly as curious about the auburn-haired woman as she was about the blue reptile. She heard someone walk up behind her; when she turned away, Hassakkor closed his eyes.
    “We’re making progress,” said Dorna as she walked up. “We should have the artifact buried by sometime tomorrow.” The dwarven woman was dressed, as usual, in a worn leather apron over a stained white shirt and dark blue pants. Jahsha wondered if Dorna owned any other clothes.
    “Good,” stated Jahsha. “That thing gives me the creeps.”
    A high-pitched scream ripped through the air. Hassakkor raised his head sharply, and began scanning the area; Jahsha spun on her heel and ran toward the tents. Dwarves – and a few humans – came running from the direction of the dig site. Dorna moved quicker than her short legs seemed capable of, diving into the largest of the tents.  Jahsha reached the entrance and looked in. Zarah sat up in bed, head buried in her hands, shaking and leaning against Kalinda. Stepping away, Jahsha told people that everything was under control. After a few moments, Dorna emerged, and led Jahsha quietly away, until they were out of earshot of the weeping girl. This took them close to the sleeping blue dragon.
    “There’s not much more I can do for her,” said Dorna, her voice tired. “Medically, she’ll be fine. The physical wounds I can heal… I just don’t know what else to do for her.”
    “I’ve known women who’ve been raped,” said Jahsha solemnly. “I’m not sure they ever recover; I think they just learn to cope. Different women cope in different ways.” They were quiet for a moment, before Jahsha added, “At least Kalinda gives her comfort.”
    “Aye, my daughter has taken a liking to the girl.”
    “It can’t help that Zarah’s trapped atop this hill. She needs to be somewhere safe.”
    “She may not feel safe anywhere,” said Dorna. From the tent, the sound of crying had finally died down.
    “Okay, then someplace safer,” said Jahsha, exasperated. “The tension on this hilltop is thick. My ship wouldn’t be much better.”
    “Kyazura, my mother, is at Drakcaern,” said Hassakkor, his complex, deep voice startling the two women. “She is a healer of great renown.”
    “Not a bad idea,” said Jahsha musingly.
    “Kalinda was thinking about moving her research to Drakcaern,” added Dorna. “She’s studying human history. Zarah’s linguistic skills and knowledge would be invaluable assets. She’d have something to do, away from all this chaos.”
    The dragon stirred, making a low sonic sound. From high above, a similar sound replied. Moments later, another blue dragon alighted – Arrokka, his half-sister. The two reptiles spoke briefly in their native language.
    “My mother is fond of Zarah,” said Arrokka, switching to Erashi. “I can take both women to Drakcaern, report to mother on events here, and return within a few hours. I’m certain Hassakkor can manage without me for a short time.” She grinned toothily, and her brother grumbled something draconic before smiling himself.
    “When you get back,” Jahsha said. “I could use… oh hell, I never expected to ask for this. I need a ride, too.”

    As Sytherek flew, he tried to make sense of his destination. Ehrgathaden had always been a mystery, an unfinished dwarven fortress ignored by dragons during the Reckoning. It lay within Mahgrurra’s domain; he himself had rarely come within a hundred leagues of the silent black mountain. Now it loomed directly ahead; his brother’s presence was stronger than ever, and he could feel other dragons – including one who could not be there. And now he sensed… humans. He tasted the odor of thousands, in the forests, around the base of the mountain, and filling the courtyard of the unfinished castle. It made no sense… the Tramorans couldn’t have moved south so fast, and in such great numbers.
    The urgency of his mission was stronger than his curiosity. Flying high, he suddenly swooped between two high peaks, diving, turning, sailing into the cave, landing quickly. His brother stood near a glorious, beautiful red dragon-lady. A small tan newborn lay between them. Sytherek’s eyes widened with surprise.
    “It is good to see you, Sytherek,” said Kahshiki. “Meet our firstborn, Dorrakorix-alakaynor.”
    “How?” asked Sytherek, wonder in his voice, approaching the baby. It had been so long since the birth of Voxx, his youngest; he’d almost forgotten how small they could be.
    “I owe my life to the small ones named Norgrim, Kaylen, and Alanora,” Kahshiki said. “They freed me from this cavern’s harmonic gateway, where I was trapped for so long.”
    “How did the humans get here from the north?” Sytherek asked. Dorrak wrestled with one of his uncle’s fingers.
    “They did not,” replied Symurall. “The people outside lived inside this mountain until recently. They were hiding from us – with assistance from Mahgrurra.” The rusty dragon, who lay resting nearby, smiled slightly. “To my knowledge, Kaylen is the only Tramoran here.”
    Sytherek shook his head. “I am not certain what to think. Perhaps I will need to be more polite to Norgrim… but who is Alanora?”
    “She is, as I understand it, the leader of these people,” said Symurall. “Which reminds me: I have business with her. Stay with your new nephew for a while, and talk with Kahshiki. The details of recent events are quite fascinating. I shall return shortly.”
    
    A large shadow passed overhead, and Alanora’s eyes followed it to a vacant area near the airship, where Symurall landed. People nervously backed away, chattering or staring glassy-eyed. Borrowing a phrase from Kaylen, she called out “He’s a friend!” while running to the dragon’s side.
    “I apologize for causing a disturbance,” the dragon said. “We must speak, Alanora Ortensa.”
    “Call me Alanora Thyr,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
    “I understood that the second human name provided a familial identification,” said Symurall. “You and Kaylen are not related.”
    “We’re ‘related’ now.”
    “I see.” His tongue flicked. “Ah… I did not know the two of you were now mated.”
    She laughed. “If you must be so blunt, then yes. Now – do you need something?”
    “I owe you a great debt for restoring my Kahshiki.”
    “Thank Norgrim. He freed her from the portal.”
    “Norgrim is here because of you. All events are chained into the past and future. My good fortune is the result of your actions. Now I must ask you an additional favor.”
    “What can I possibly do for you?”
    He motioned with a foot. “Drakcaern is no longer adequate as a lair. Would it be acceptable if my family lived in the gateway cavern for now?”
    Alanora was stunned, then she laughed again, this time much harder.
    “Is my request humorous?”
    “Having you live here would be interesting,” she said. “But why ask me? It’s not like you can’t live anywhere you want.”
    “Caerelon is now your domain.”
    She wrinkled up her face. “I guess it is, I just hadn’t thought of it that way.”
    “Will our presence be a problem for others? My experience with Tornaval suggests the need for caution.”
    “If I can learn to like dragons, anyone can. How’s the new baby?”
    “Beautiful,” said Symurall. He lifted off the ground. “Your generosity is appreciated.” He flew away.
    Alanora started walking toward the crowd when the ground vibrated; a deep groan filled the air. People pointed and shouted – the side of the mountain was moving. “Get people back!” she yelled. Just what they needed – an avalanche… then she saw the rock face split neatly along a clean vertical line, pale blue light visible in the slowly-expanding crack. As it widened, silhouetted figures emerged at its base, a dwarf and a dozen men. As Norgrim came closer, she saw a huge grin on his face.
    “Cancel the emergency!” she called. To the dwarf, she added, “I’d tan your miserable hide if I weren’t so glad to see you.”
    “Now is that any way to thank the fellow who found a way to open your front door?” he laughed.  Looking around quickly, he asked, “Where’s Kaylen?”
    “Down in the village,” she said. “He’s seeing what they have to work with. A couple hundred people have gone there already. As for the rest of them – how quickly can we start moving folk back inside?”
    “Right now,” he said. “We’ve got three intakes working, and the rest should be done by nightfall. Having the front door open will make a big difference, too. By the way, I’m impressed by Caerelon’s engineers. Damned fine group, they are.”
    “Alanora!” It was Grehn’s voice. The old warden trotted over, two human engineers right behind him.
    “Norgrim already filled me in,” she said. “Let’s start getting people back home. I think one night sleeping on rocks is enough for everyone.”
    Grehn nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.” He turned away, but Norgrim put a hand on his arm.
    “We need to talk,” Norgrim said. “Just the three of us.”
    “Can we still send people in?”
    “I don’t see why not,” said the dwarf. “But there is something you need to know.” The serious tone of his voice worried Alanora. She and Grehn passed a few quick orders to several wardens; as the crowd began to shift and organize, she, Grehn, and Norgrim found a quiet place alone.
    “What’s wrong?” Alanora asked.
    Norgrim hesitated. “Right after we got inside the rotunda, I went looking for your father’s body. I figured it might be a good idea to… well… that was quite a fall, and folk’ve had enough of a scare…” His voice trailed off.
    Alanora put a hand on his shoulder, and leaned down to look into his face. “It’s okay, Norgrim. I knew it wouldn’t be pleasant.”
    The dwarf sighed. “Oh, it’s not pleasant, that’s for sure. I couldn’t find him.”
    She straightened. “What?”
    “Did he land on a balcony?” Grehn asked.
    Norgrim shook his head. “I found where he landed, so to speak, in the market area. Broken tiles, stained grout. Just no body.”
    Grehn cursed violently; Alanora stood silent, face stony.
    “Interesting,” said another voice. Beynor strode toward them from around the corner of a building.
    Alanora turned quickly to face him. “I don’t like spies.”
    “You only dislike spies who aren’t part of your little club,” said Beynor grimly. Grehn scowled.
    “How much did you hear?” Alanora asked.
    “Enough,” he said. “Enough to begin believing some of what you told me earlier. As to your father’s disappearance, I’d guess that someone – probably several ‘someones’ – stayed inside the mountain. You showed them the secret passages; they just didn’t follow you all the way out.” He laughed. “Who knows? They could claim that Oric is still alive, or kidnapped… the possibilities are endless for mischief.” Beynor was smiling broadly.
    “You seem to find all of this very amusing,” Grehn grumbled.
    “It is amusing,” Beynor said. “I’ll be even more amused watching you get out of this mess.”

    As Symurall flew back to the gateway cavern, he detected another presence, approaching from high above.  For a several minutes, he orbited, expected the newcomer to come down. When that didn’t happen, Symurall climbed into the thick clouds, bursting through their gritty dampness into sky above. Beneath him, a plane of grey-tinted white stretched to the horizons, completely hiding the world below. Symurall enjoyed the warmth of direct sunlight, and the freshness of cold, thin air.
    “This is an unexpected surprise,” said Symurall as the other dragon came into view. “When we last spoke, you were going home to Wyvernrift.”
    “Exceptional events require my attention,” Garthonnex replied. “Can you explain the presence of your long-lost mate below? Or why thousands of humans are here? Enlighten me, please.”
    Garthonnex spoke as master to student; Symurall found the imperious tone disturbing, bordering on rude. For a moment, he considered countering with his own questions, and decided against it, instead giving a succinct description of recent days.
    “Uncontrolled events surround us,” Garthonnex said when Symurall finished. “How did the dwarf Norgrim learn to manipulate harmonic energies?” His tone bordered on accusatory.
    “Kyazura trained him,” said Symurall. “Few of the small folk have a talent for such things, and those that do seek her knowledge and counsel.”
    “Your sister is reckless,” stated Garthonnex harshly. “So was Mahgrurra, by hiding these humans from the rest of us. Your intervention in human politics is also disappointing.”
    “You overstep the bounds of friendship and protocol!” Symurall snapped. He backed away from the other dragon, spreading his wings, complex emotions conflicting. For several moments, there was almost silence as they eyed each other intently. “What right do you have to judge us?” Symurall continued. “Have you forgotten that your mate ripped the fabric of this planet to rescue the dwarven race? By comparison, what we have done is benign. My sister watches and advises the dwarves; my brother studies the kehklik, and Mahgrurra protected the humans below as they cowered in fear of us. As for those I favor in Tornaval, one of them was instrumental in saving my mate and child. Your suspicions are unfounded. I begin to understand why some do not trust you.”
    Garthonnex appeared surprised, and bowed his head slightly. “Perhaps I misspoke,” he said. “The recovery of your family, Symurall, is a wondrous event. I do not wish to diminish that.”
    “As my elder and mentor, your counsel is appreciated.” Symurall relaxed his pose. “Your sermons and accusations are not.”
    “I will choose my words more carefully in the future.” Garthonnex was thoughtful for a moment. “I did not know your brother had taken an interest in the kehklik.”
    “Sytherek has long been fascinated with the kehklik, since their mounds are common in his territory. He believes new behavior has emerged in a group of kehklik that fought the human refugees. You will find him below; perhaps you could pass on what you’ve learned over the years.”
    “Another time,” said Garthonnex. “I miss my Narrahnjarra, and recent exertions have rendered me tired and impolite. I will assume that you have matters in hand, and return home.”
    “Good flight,” said Symurall as the midnight dragon flew away. He went down, through the clouds, and alighted in the cavern near his mate and child. Mahgrurra and Sytherek lay nearby, apparently asleep.
    “We will remain here,” Symurall said to Kahshiki. “Alanora granted my request for use of these caverns.”
    “The humans will expect your gratitude and protection,” stated Sytherek, opening his eyes and raising his head. “Your family was restored by happenstance, not intent. Do not obligate yourself to yet another group of humans – instead, reconsider my offer. Come to Crythamar. We have more than enough room for you, and Vallahnoka will love little Dorrakor. She may even stop pestering me about another child of our own.” He grinned.
    “Your offer is generous and self-serving,” said Symurall, amused. “We will remain here. Keeping watch will be easier if humans think I am an indebted ally.”
    “Keeping watch?” Kahshiki asked. “Is there danger? You do not trust my rescuers?”
    “I trust a select few,” said Symurall. “Events suggest that extending such trust would be a mistake.”
    “Then you are not blinded by the good acts of a few,” stated Sytherek.
    Mahgrurra stirred. “For three centuries, I have watched and befriended humans from within this mountain. I have seen nothing to fear.”
    Symurall gestured toward the end of the cavern that adjoined the underground city; his voice deepened, and took on a sharper tone. “Beyond that door lie a thousand dwarven corpses, murdered during your watch, by humans.” Mahgrurra looked distressed. “Sytherek is correct: Alanora and Kaylen did not come here to save my family; they were coping with an internal human conflict. I do not know the precise nature of the crisis, and it has not been fully resolved. Uncertainty will increase with the imminent arrival of Tramorans.”
    Sytherek perked up. “Kaylen’s people? They are moving here?”
    “Some, at least.” Symurall told them of events in Tornaval, of the attack on Zarah, of divisions in the humans and his involvement. “I expect Kaylen to assist his friends, bringing them here, where he is aligned with Alanora. Given the troubles, Norgrim’s dwarves will abandon their explorations, leaving Kaylen’s enemies in control of Tornaval.”
    “I do not understand humans,” said Kahshiki. “Forcing sexual activity on an unwilling female… is the species truly that degenerate? Why cause trouble with the dwarves, who were helping them?”
    Sytherek grumbled. “Perhaps a very few of humans have been enlightened, but most of their species continues to be beyond redemption. As an example, I should have killed the woman named Danelle Rahnor when I first encountered her.”
    “You know this Danelle?” Symurall asked.
    “Weeks ago, I found her ship under attack by other humans; I destroyed the aggressors, and directed her to Tornaval.”
    “An act of mercy?” Mahgrurra asked.
    Sytherek laughed. “A joke. Danelle appeared to be someone who would make Kaylen’s life more interesting. I did not wish or expect such an atrocity.”
    “The humans were divided when they first arrived,” said Symurall. “One named Jennur was part of a religion built on the belief that dragons were gods.” The disgust was clear in his voice. “Faced with the truth, he grew angry and threatening, gathering followers, opposing Kaylen and his allies. They attack anything that is not human.”
    Kahshiki shifted uneasily. “For me, it was only yesterday when humans attacked us. I do not know what to think.”
    “My thoughts on the matter are clear,” stated Sytherek. “Voxx, my youngest, has never regained his ability to speak. Two of my mate’s relations died protecting our rookery. For fifteen years, I was crippled. I will not allow that to happen again.” The last words rolled out to shake the mountain; Sytherek hoped the people outside could feel his hatred in their bones.
    “We will not blame all for the sins of a few,” declared Symurall.
    “Nor should we assume the good of all, based on the virtues of a few,” Sytherek replied.
    For a moment, the dragons were quiet, lost in individual thought. Sytherek let the anger abate as he formulated a new plan. A better plan, he thought, one that would perhaps help his kehklik. 
    “I have a proposal,” said Sytherek, in carefully measured tones and select words. “Brother, gather the humans you favor at this mountain, under your vigilance, where we can safely contain them if trouble arises. As for those who remain in Tornaval, give them what they want: No dragons. No dwarves. No help or protection. We will not openly harm them unless they turn against us or those we care for.”
    “An interesting concept,” said Symurall thoughtfully. The two female dragons rumbled their agreement.
    Symurall stood and stretched. “Much as I would like to stay, obligations call me elsewhere.” He rubbed Kahshiki’s tail with his, and nuzzled the newborn. “Kyazura’s children protect Norgrim’s dwarves and Kaylen’s allies in my absence. I must relieve them of a responsibility that is mine.”
    Sytherek moved between his brother and the cavern mouth. “Your place is here, brother. In part, I am responsible for the troubles in Tornaval, and Danelle’s actions reflect poorly on me. I should be the one to deal with her.” He spread his wings.
    “Thank you,” Symurall said gratefully. “Please speak with Kaylen before you leave. He is expecting me to bear him to Tornaval. Also – it would be wise to avoid excessive force against his opponents.”
    Sytherek chuckled. “My actions will be measured and calculated, dear brother.” 
    Without waiting for a response, Sytherek launched, banking toward the castle, making no effort to hide his presence as he observed the humans below. He was disappointed that so few remained. He noted the immense door opened in the side of the mountain, light streaming out; the figures of people moved inside. Flying around the mountain, he saw hundreds of people in the overgrown village. Swooping low over the largest group, he felt somewhat slighted when only a few screamed or ran. Still considering various ways of impressing the humans, he ascended to the unfinished castle, and spied the dirigible. Blue-silver with a copper superstructure, it reminded him of his lovely Vallahnoka. The vessel fascinated him – he’d seen a few airships before, in dwarven lands, but never one this large or so close. He admired the ingenuity that allowed the small people to transcend their limitations – though he certainly would never admit it to any of them, especially Norgrim. 
    The dwarf lay on the ground, in the shade under one end of the craft. As quietly as possible, Sytherek settled to the ground beside the dwarf.
    “Good evening,” the dragon said, louder than necessary, his head only a few yards from the sleeping dwarf.
    Norgrim scrambled to his feet, swearing profusely.
    “Did I disturb you?” Sytherek asked, overly-politely.
    “You overgrown snake,” growled Norgrim. “Some dragons need to learn manners.”
    “Indeed? I merely wanted to say hello, and thank you for helping Kahshiki. You should be pleased to know that I no longer regret letting you live.”
    “Oh joy.” Norgrim found his boots, sat on a crate, and pulled them on. “So what have you done with Tohkay? Where is he?”
    “Tohkay is digging holes. He finds the activity very enjoyable, and it helps address one of my own curiosities.”
    “Where is he digging these holes?”
     “In a place I will not identify as yet. Suffice it to say that he and I have a common interest. Are you satisfied? I expect not.”
    “No, I am not. Did you leave him alone?”
    “My son Tyreon is with him.” Sytherek felt Alanora and Kaylen approaching, and sensed their tension. “You know as much as you will know for now. My business is actually with Kaylen.”
    “It is?” the man said. “I don’t have time to be eaten today.”
    Sytherek rumbled a dragon-laugh. “I am not hungry. And your new mate might take exception.” He bowed his head slightly toward Alanora. “I do not believe we have been properly introduced, Lady Alanora. I am Sytherekkor-oran-issikkar, brother of Symurall. Our family owes you a debt.” Enjoying the obvious surprise of his audience, the dragon continued, “I appreciate what you have done for Kahshiki. Symurall told me of events in Tornaval, of what has happened to your friend. The concept of such a crime is disturbing. By sending this Danelle to you, I gave the impression that I endorse her. I would like to rectify that perception and my error.”
    “Does this involve eating Danelle?” Alanora asked. “I hope you have room for two. She has an accomplice named Jennur. They won’t taste good, and – just as a word of warning – and you might get indigestion.”
    “A risk I’m willing to take,” Sytherek grinned. “My brother needs time with his family, so I will be taking his place as your champion.” He looked terribly pleased with himself.
    “Your offer is… generous,” said Kaylen. “Revenge sounds pretty good right now. But…”
    “But what?” Alanora asked. “They raped and almost murdered Zarah. If Sytherek wants to kill them –”
    “– it won’t solve our problems,” Kaylen interrupted. “Danelle and Jennur are devils we know. If they die, we’ve no clue what might happen. We don’t want to make the situation worse.”
    “Very well,” said Sytherek, sounding slightly disappointed. “I will convince her to cooperate with you. I can be very persuasive.” He grinned, showing many of his long, sharp persuaders.
    Kaylen looked thoughtful for a moment. “That might work.”
    “You’re going to trust this purple monstrosity?” Norgrim asked incredulously.
    “I am largely grey, and my highlights are a lovely shade of purple,” Sytherek said, somewhat indignantly.
    “I’ll also need to talk to everyone,” Kaylen said. “There may be people in Danelle’s camp who want out. I need a chance to explain Caerelon and what we plan. She’ll need to let people come with me, if they want.”
    “What you ask is overly complicated,” sighed Sytherek. “I will, however, acquiesce to your wishes, as per my brother’s instructions. I am inclined to kill the man named Jennur, even though I have never met him. His false religion is an insult to my species. However, I will spare his life, if you so desire.”
    “I’m surprised at how helpful you’re being. A month ago, you were threatening to eat me.”
    “Are you still alive?”
    “Of course I am!”
    “Consider that when speculating about my future actions. My hatreds run deep, but I am also a rational being. Killing you would have accomplished nothing beyond momentary pleasure. Threats, however, taught you caution and gave me an opportunity for evaluation.”
    “I see,” said Kaylen, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the dragon’s viewpoint. “Don’t take this wrong, I still don’t know if I can completely trust you.”
    “There is one way to find out,” said Sytherek. He held out a front paw. “Symurall said you wished transport to Tornaval. We can leave when you’re ready.”
    “How stupid do you think Kaylen is?” asked Norgrim. Sytherek said nothing, looking vaguely amused.
    Kaylen was lost in thought for a moment; then he asked, “Norgrim, when can your airship be ready for the journey?”
    Norgrim scratched his head. “I haven’t had a chance to look everything over, but I know she needs some welding, replacement seals, lubrication…” The sentence trailed off, and the dwarf lost himself in technical musings.
    “What’s the problem?” asked Kaylen. “It flew well earlier.”
    “Our little flight put a lot of stress on the old girl. She spent almost three hundred years sitting in a cave, and you want her to safely carry people across the continent without proper maintenance. Even if I had a proper crew, it will several days to get her in shape.” When Kaylen muttered under his breath, Norgrim added, “I hesitate to bring up another problem.”
    “Which is?”
    “On foot, we’re hundreds of leagues from Tornaval. You’re thinking of bringing people here in my airship, am I right?”
    “That was my first idea.”
    “It won’t work. The old girl only carries fifty or so folk at a time; the dwarves in Tornaval number over a hundred by themselves. If you have dozens or hundreds of humans to bring here… well, and then there’s the whole issue of whether humans will want to go flying in my contraption.”
    Kaylen tried to force his tired brain to think.
    “The river,” Alanora said. “Before the Reckoning, Caerelon traded with cities on the coast. I’ve read about it. Some books have drawings of boats docked near the village below.”
    Kaylen rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I noticed stonework along the banks of the river. These waters flow into the big river that leads to Tornaval, right?”
    “Alanora’s books are correct,” stated Sytherek. “I remember human boats plying the River Evvon and its tributaries. The total distance is about two hundred leagues by your reckoning.”
    “It makes sense,” said Kaylen. “The prevailing wind is from the north or northwest, pushing ships upstream; to go back, they just ride the current.” He was quiet for a moment, lost in consideration. “I know at least four or five vessels at Tornaval that should be able to navigate the river.” He smiled. “We have a plan.”
    “It could work,” Alanora said. “In a few days, we’ll send the airship your way, just in case you need it. Caerelon has excellent chemists and engineers who can help Norgrim with repairs.”
    “Of course!” Norgrim declared. “I’ll need to explain the chemicals we use, and I’ll bet my braids there’s a shroom we can use for new pressure seals. Oh bother, I haven’t any reference books with me. Maybe I can scribble down some formulas…” He began puttering around in his pack.
    “Even so, I want to go as soon as possible,” said Kaylen. “Sytherek can have me in Tornaval by morning, if he’s willing to fly tonight.”
    “You need sleep,” Alanora insisted. “Does one night make a difference?”
    “It might.”
    The dragon nodded in assent. “I, too, do not wish to delay,” he said. “Given the work Tohkay is doing, I would like to get to Tornaval and resolve matters quickly. We can leave immediately, if you’d like. Perhaps you’ll even sleep along the way.”
    “I don’t think so,” Kaylen laughed. “Give me a few minutes to put together what I’ll need, and we can go.” He looked at Alanora. “I hate to leave you in the middle of everything.”
    She shrugged. “I’ll be fine. I have Grehn and plenty of supporters. Go get your friends, and bring them home.”
    “And the missing body?”
    “We have our own very clever plan,” she said. “You deal with your fanatics, and I’ll deal with mine.” She kissed him.

    Dawn over Tornaval found Danelle finishing her breakfast, alone in her home. A commotion outside drew her into the street. Following the gazes of others, she looked south. A dragon approached at low altitude, very dark with slightly paler belly. This one seemed no different than other’s she’d seen. It mattered little which dragon it was; they were an irritant, a force beyond her control, a limitation on her ambitions. Like dwarves. And Jennur.
    The mad cleric was another wild card; it was if fate had allowed her to survive just so it could torment her with him. Danelle wondered, briefly, if she should have sided with Kaylen and his friends. Fortune certainly seemed to be on their side.
    The dragon landed at the top of the bluff, and she went back inside.
    
    “It’s good to see you,” said Dorna, giving Kaylen a hearty hug. “What are you doing with him?” Her derision was clearly aimed at Sytherek.
    “Must all dwarves be difficult?” asked the dragon. “Kaylen Thyr, you have been safely delivered. I will now attend to related business.” He flew away without waiting for a response, descending toward the city.
    “Where is my husband?” Dorna asked. “You didn’t lose him, did you?”
    “Norgrim’s fine,” Kaylen laughed. “He’ll be along in a few days, once he’s fixed his new airship.”
    “Now we’re in trouble!” she exclaimed. “I hate it when he gets a new toy.”
    “Alanora said the same thing.” Kaylen looked around the camp. “Symurall told me about Zarah. Where is she?”
    “She went to Drakcaern with Kalinda.”
    “What?”
    “Kyazura’s with them, helping Zarah heal.” Seeing his worried look, Dorna added, “Zarah wanted to help Kalinda with some research. The two of them have become good friends, and the work will get her mind off what happened.”
    Kaylen sighed. “I wanted to talk to her. The way we parted… I don’t want her to think I abandoned her.” 
    “You didn’t. She knows that.” Dorna gave him a reassuring hug. “She told me it’s okay, that she understands about Alanora. You’ve nothing to feel guilty about. It’s those zekts who hurt her… they’re the ones who should pay.” Taking his hand, she led him toward the main encampment. “Now, let’s sit down, and catch up on everything. Let’s see – where should I start? Hmmm… Jahsha went down to the docks late yesterday, on a dragon, no less…”
    
    Sytherek flew low over the city, such as it was. Nearly all of the houses were still empty shells; the streets were overgrown and strewn with old debris. The people he saw ran at his close approach, diving for hiding places as his shadow passed over them. Near a large public square, he spied several well-repaired, larger houses. He settled to the ground in the center of the square and surveyed the area. No people were visible, but he could smell hundreds of them, including the ones he was most interested in addressing.
    “I am Sytherek!” he bellowed, shaking the ground. “I bring a message, a warning, and a promise. Where is Danelle?”
    A door in one of the houses opened, and Danelle stepped out, walking defiantly toward him. From another house, Jennur emerged, accompanied by two men, one wearing purple robes, the other in dark green.
    “Greetings, Lord Sytherek,” the Magister said, bowing slightly. “What brings you to our humble home?”
    “Spare me the empty pleasantries,” Sytherek sneered. “Sweet words once convinced me to spare your life, a mistake I should rectify. Kaylen insists otherwise. Know this: He has earned the respect of dragons. You have not. Kaylen and his companions performed a great service for my brother. You have cast aspersions on my character through selfish acts of violence.” He looked pointedly at Jennur, quickly returning his gaze to Danelle. “First, my message: Kaylen intends to leave this city for other environs, along with dwarves and his friends. You will allow them to depart in peace. In addition, Kaylen will be given an opportunity to address all residents of Tornaval. He will explain where he is going, and offer others the chance to accompany him. Proceed, soon, to the hilltop, and make arrangements with him.”
    “As you say,” Danelle said calmly.
    “You can’t be serious!” Jennur erupted at Danelle. “Are you going to let these lying beasts dictate our lives?” She almost laughed at his stupidity, stepping away from both cleric and dragon.
    “Be quiet!” Sytherek snapped, taking a step toward the cleric. “Liar! Fabricator of false beliefs! Kaylen’s misguided mercy is all that keeps you from my wrath.” Sytherek flicked his tongue several times, toward different people, checking scents and finding what he was looking for. “Even so, some actions require a response.” Lightning-quick, Sytherek lunged, grabbing Jennur’s two companions, one in each front foot. Rearing back and resting on his haunches, the dragon casually examined the two squirming, screaming men. He remembered Zarah’s scent and both captives stank of it. A sickening crunch filled the square; the dragon tossed Jessup’s purple-clad corpse at Jennur’s feet. The body rolled like a rag doll, lying face up in front of the bishop, staring from bulging, dead eyes; the bishop jumped away with a shriek. As the crowd’s screams subsided and people ran, the dragon set Lorka down – roughly, but alive and gibbering.
    “That was the warning,” said Sytherek. “I leave you with a promise: We grant your wish to be free from us. Once Kaylen and his party have gone to their new home, dragons withdraw their protection of the people remaining in Tornaval. We will defend the place known as Caerelon, as well as my brother’s castle called Drakcaern, and our lands elsewhere. Do not anger us further, or I will return. You will not like that.”
    And without waiting for a response, he flew away.
    
    Kaylen sat on a low section of wall; it had once been much higher, centuries before; the rubble of its former magnificence lay around him, scattered blocks of stone decorated with moss, lichen, and grass. Some edges of the stones were smooth and glassy, a reminder of how these walls had been broken, and by whom. He was watching an author of such destruction; Kaylen couldn’t make out the dragon’s words, though they shook the ground. The situation seemed calm – until the dragon began a flurry of action. Screams drifted up to Kaylen’s perch. Moments later, Sytherek lifted and flew toward the place where the man waited.
    Dorna stood behind Kaylen, quiet. The man had been silent since they’d talked about events of recent days; he was different from the sailor she’d first met a few weeks before – harder, a steady anger boiling under the surface, his smiles fewer. As Sytherek landed nearby, she considered how man and dragon had more similarities than either would admit.
    Kaylen jumped to the ground and approached the dragon.
    “Danelle will allow safe passage for you and anyone who wants to go with you,” said Sytherek.
    “Who did you kill?” Kaylen asked evenly, darkly.
    The dragon’s eyebrows arched. “I slew one of the men who assaulted your lady-friend. He was not on your list of people to preserve, and considering his crime, he made an effective demonstration.” Kaylen scowled. “You require our power and protection. Power means nothing if you are unwilling to use it. By my actions, Danelle recognizes that you are backed by a strength that she cannot defeat.”
    “It’s not your place to decide who lives and dies,” Kaylen growled.
    The dragon laughed. “Do not lecture me on morality, human. Would you have killed the criminal, had you been given the chance? I think so. How many died at Caerelon these recent days? The dead include your mate’s father, I am told. You decided that certain people needed to die in order for your loved ones to live. The dead will argue with your choices.” Kaylen looked away from the dragon, saying nothing, arms crossed, brow furrowed. Sytherek continued. “Both of us defend our friends and family, at any cost. When human treachery maimed and killed dragons, gentle Kyazura and philosophical Symurall crushed this city and destroyed its wickedness. Thousands of your kind died that day. Do you think my siblings are evil, even when they now use their power to aid you? Today, I killed a single man whose guilt was written on him in the scent of an injured woman. I used a moment of justice to reinforce the safety of those you care for. You should be thanking me.”
    Kaylen remained silent.
    Dorna spoke up. “You did fine, Sytherek. I’ll thank you. Except next time, kill both guilty zekts. I would have.”
    “You don’t look the killing type,” Kaylen said.
    “Neither do you,” she replied.
    “By the way, what’s a zekt?”
    “A sewer-worm.”
    Kaylen turned to the dragon. “You did the necessary thing. I’m grateful. Maybe I’m just tired of being angry, tired of being forced to do what is necessary, even when it feels wrong.”
    The dragon’s pupils narrowed slightly. “You are a fascinating person, Kaylen Thyr.” Looking across the courtyard at the two younger blue dragons, he added, “I must speak to my sister’s children. Then I shall rest. You should do the same.”
    Hassakkor and Arrokka greeted their uncle deferentially. For several minutes, thunderous dragon-speech filled the hilltop. The conversation ended; Arrokka flew away. Sytherek settled himself near Hassakkor and closed his eyes.
    Kaylen went in search of much-needed sleep.
    
    Jennur stood over Jessup’s body, saying a prayer Danelle couldn’t make out. She wondered why he was praying, since their religion had been proven invalid. He’d grown more pious in recent days, as if he’d found a new faith.
    At the cleric’s direction, two sentinels picked up the corpse, and carried it down the hill toward the graveyard. He turned to look at her.
    “Don’t alarm yourself,” Jennur said, seeing the severe look on her face. “Everything is working out as I’d hoped.”
    “Hoped? You wanted someone else to die?”
    Jennur shook his head slowly. “There is no need to be irrational, Magister. Jessup paid a price for his errors. It is a good lesson for Lorka and others.” He stared at the blood on the pavement. “You should be pleased. We have what we want, if the dragon spoke true. They will leave us in a few days. Then we can begin to write a new future for humanity.” His cold eyes lifted to look at her. “Please follow the dragon’s instructions, and speak with Kaylen soon. I see no reason to delay their departure.”
    Danelle struggled to hide a flash of anger and confusion. This was not the bitter, troubled man she’d met when arriving in Tornaval; Jennur had changed in ways she could not directly identify or understand. The balance of power was shifting, and not in her favor.
    “I won’t let people leave,” she stated, trying to regain control of the conversation. “I can’t send them to the slaughter like animals.”
    “Those who wish to leave are already lost,” Jennur said evenly. “Let them go. Their absence will free us of the unworthy. Those who remain will be the foundation of our salvation.” At Danelle’s stunned expression, he smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m told you have an important role to play, still.”
    Danelle found no words. She simply turned her back on him, and went into her house, where she spent many hours worrying, planning.

    Zarah stood atop the keep’s tower, looking down at Kyazura. The brilliant blue dragon slept, body wrapped around the building. A strong breeze fluttered the young woman’s unkempt brown hair; the cool air felt good against her bruised body. She looked at the cast on her arm, knowing that the physical wounds would heal; the dragon and Kalinda would see to that. As for darker terrors… she wondered where Kaylen was, and if he was all right.
    “Am I bothering you?”
    The voice was Kalinda’s. The red-haired dwarven woman stood at the top of the descending stairs, holding a large, odd-looking book.
    “Not at all,” Zarah replied. “I was just admiring Kyazura’s scales, and wishing we had sunlight to brighten them. She’s a remarkably beautiful creature.”
    “I’ll agree with that,” Kalinda replied. She placed the book on a low spot on the wall, where part of the crenellation had broken away. The stone was very smooth, and she suspected it was a favorite place of repose for a certain lizard scholar. Where was Tohkay? she worried.
    “Are these the ones you were talking about at breakfast?” Zarah asked.
    “Indeed.” Kalinda flipped the book open. The pages were thick, made from the dried, flattened stalks of a plant; complex black symbols adorned the red-brown wood.
    “Wow,” said Zarah, lightly running her fingers across a line of characters. “Are you certain this was made by humans? It looks more like the Dwarven pictographs you’ve shown me, only less geometric.”
    Kalinda liked the glitter in her friend’s eyes. “It’s not Dwarven or See’ee’ah. I almost thought it was some sort of dragon-script, but Kyazura insists that they don’t have a written language. Here’s the interesting part.” She turned pages, finding one with an exquisite drawing.
    “A white dragon!” Zarah exclaimed. “Without wings!”
    Kalinda nodded. “Indeed. I showed it to Kyazura. She said it resembles her mother. So you haven’t seen a book like this before?”
    “No. How old is it?”
    “Tohkay excavated it from a sealed vault in the ruins of Roqat. He dated the vault at over two thousand years old.”
    “These books can’t be that old. And this doesn’t look human writing to me.”
    “I trust Tohkay; he’s very meticulous. He found this text in a collection of documents written in other human languages.”
    “I don’t know where to begin translating it. I’m certain these are words or word collections, not individual letters.” Zarah pointed to the symbol 龍. “This one is repeated several times near the dragon. If we had more picture-books, or maybe even a document with both this script and another we know, a translation might be possible.” She sighed, but it was a good sigh. “There’s so much to do!”
    “Why would humans have so many different languages long ago, and only one now?” Kalinda asked. “I’ve identified fifteen so far, and this one that looks nothing like any of the others. Tohkay tells me there are hundreds of books in that vault, some hand-drawn, others mechanically printed. What did he find?”
    “I don’t know,” Zarah replied absently, lost deep in thought.
    A small blue dragon appeared in the east. The two women recognized it as Arrokka. The newcomer circled once before landing near her mother. Kyazura stirred, and spoke at length with Arrokka in their native language.
    “Come to me,” Kyazura called, looking toward the tower top. Zarah and Kalinda hurried down.
    “Sytherek has come to Tornaval with wondrous news!” Kyazura said. “At a human city known as Caerelon, dear Symurall’s lost family has been recovered. His mate lives, and his firstborn is with us, by the actions of Kaylen and his friends.”
    Zarah felt a swell of pride, and again regretted her earlier anger toward Kaylen. Her outburst against his relationship with Alanora – it seemed like a distant memory, even if had occurred only days before. She wondered if the girl rescued from the river was the same one who had been thrown in.
    “Is Kaylen okay?” she asked anxiously.
    “Your friend has returned to Tornaval, on the wings of my brother. He wishes to see you.”
    Zarah hesitated. “No… not yet.”
    “You should go see him,” Kalinda advised.
    “No,” Zarah repeated, more firmly than before. “He’s a good man, and he has work to do. I need time to… to figure out who I am, and where I belong.”
    “You may never answer those questions,” Kyazura told her. “Such mysteries elude even those of us who live for millennia. Now – let me work more healing on your arm.”
    “Aren’t you going to fly to Symurall and his family?”
    “Not now,” the dragon replied. “Much as I wish to see my newborn nephew, guarding this place – and you – is more important at the moment. Once events in Tornaval have settled, it will be time for journeys and introductions.”

    Alanora awoke alone.
    She couldn’t decide which bothered her more – the fact that Kaylen wasn’t there, or the fact that she was even bothered in the first place. Her life had been solitary since her mother’s death. She’d spent weeks alone in the wilderness, often hundreds of leagues from the nearest human. Even when home, she’d had few close friends, and certainly no lovers. Life as the daughter of Oric Ortensa had been very lonely; she just hadn’t realized it until Kaylen had come along. Now she felt the absence of something she hadn’t known she needed.
    Looking around her room, Alanora realized it wouldn’t work for a couple. She considered her father’s multi-room chambers. The notion was practical and logical, but uncomfortable.
    One problem at a time, she told herself.
    Slipping out of her room, she walked to the family’s private showers, a luxury she dearly loved. As the water cascaded over her, she wondered if the village or castle had running water or sewage systems – yet more things to consider on a list the kept growing. She’d always done most things for herself; now, the needs of the entire city required a different approach – which is what the new day was going to address.
    Back in her room, Alanora selected a dark blue dress that balanced comfort with formality. Outside, the great clock chimed the Hour of Professions, giving her an hour before her meeting with the ministers. So she went looking for breakfast in the family dining area. Some of the retainers were friendly and talkative; others were more distant, and a few barely managed to control their disdain for her. As she started to eat, her hand hesitated, a fork-full of vegetables wavering in front of her mouth. Beynor had made a joke about needing a taste-tester to ensure that someone wasn’t trying to poison her. As the food slid down her throat, she wondered when – and if – she would ever feel comfortable in her own home.
    Alanora shrugged and ate quickly.
    After finishing, she went to the family commons, a large room serving as the hub for offices and living space in the Lord’s Quarter. She’d been using the commons for her usual work, given its accessibility and her desire to be open. Sitting at the desk, going over paperwork, talking to people who needed her attention, she’d realized the room would also be more appropriate than the Grand Auditorium for the meeting. Her current resources could hardly be called “grand” – only six ministers would attend, as they were the only ones in existence. Once, two dozen ministers had managed Caerelon’s affairs; Oric had reduced that number, replacing elected representatives with hand-selected officials. That would change, if she had any say in matters. 
    Much as Alanora wanted Kaylen near, perhaps it was better to have him away, just in case… No, she told emphatically herself. There was no sense going into the meeting even considering the option of failure. She thought of those who had died… her father, Ezra, Goddro... they all deserved better than for her to question herself now. The die was cast, the wager made.
    A few retainers were still in the room, cleaning, organizing, adjusting seating. She’d chosen the arrangement as a balance between formality and comfort.
    A woman scampered along the side of the room, chasing something.
    “Caught you – gah!” the woman said, clearly agitated.
    “Do you need help, Odarra?” Alanora asked.
    “There’s a damned cat under the benches,” the janitor said. “It must be a stray from the farms. I’ve got it cornered, but the beast isn’t interested in being picked up.”
    “Let me take a look,” said Alanora. 
    Odarra shook her head. “It’s a feral creature, Lady. Maybe I should just call a guard.”
    “Nonsense.” Getting down on her hands and knees, Alanora cautiously looked under the bench. A pair of bright yellow-green eyes looked back, looking remarkably like smaller versions of Symurall’s dragon-eyes. For several minutes, Alanora coaxed. Finally, the brown-and-tan-mottled animal emerged. The big cat settled into her arms as if it belonged there.
    “Lady Ortensa?” Fornaldo, the Minister of Mechanics, had just entered the other end of the room. “Is there a problem?”
    “Not anymore,” Alanora smiled. His use of her old family name was going to be a tricky issue; someone named Ortensa had governed the city for over a century. It was one tradition she wanted to change, to reflect the new future and her reality. But it wasn’t a change she would force on anyone, particularly with Kaylen away. Once he’d settled in as her partner – and she fervently hoped he would – it would be easier for people to accept her new name. At the moment, greater issues required settlement.
    Holding the cat carefully in one arm, she brushed dust from her dress. She walked across the room to sit in a large padded chair behind an ornate desk, set on a small platform at one end of the room. Couches and chairs faced toward her, and they soon held a half-dozen middle-aged and elderly men and women. She held the cat in her lap, almost idly, scratching it behind the ears. It purred.
    “Thank you for coming,” Alanora said as they found seats nearby. She could read little into their solemn faces. They reminded her of teachers waiting to hear a dissertation by a student of unknown ability. Undaunted, she launched into a quick summary of her goals, both short-term and for the more distant future. When she finished, there was a moment of determined silence.
    “Very ambitious.” The quiet was broken by Ezmelda Jovo, the Minister of Merchants. Alanora had expected this woman to be one of her harshest critics. “Do you think Caerelon is ready for so much change, so quickly? An expanded council, settlements outside the city, foreigners and dwarves moving here? Given the troubles of recent weeks, perhaps it is better to take things slowly, giving people time to adjust.”
    “I agree with Ezmelda,” Minister Kreggor declared. His purview was civil administration. “People are barely settled back in their homes after the crisis. A crisis, I might add, that you precipitated. You’ve turned their lives upside down, and now you want to throw more changes at them.” He cleared his throat. “If you expect acceptance and forgiveness –”
    “Forgiveness?” Fornaldo interrupted. “Have you any idea what Lord Oric did to this city? My engineers spent the last day-and-a-half making the place livable again.” His voice grew more strident. “Why don’t you visit the Prime Minister’s torture chamber? Goddro’s blood is still fresh on the floor!”
    “Don’t take that tone with me,” Kreggor growled, jumping to his feet. “Goddro was my cousin! But whatever Oric or Kudric may have done, it doesn’t give this browner –” He indicated Alanora with a shaking, angry finger. “– any right to destroy our society!”
    The room erupted into a shouting match. The cat squirmed; Alanora had almost forgotten the feline and let it jump out of her lap. Then she stood, picked up a large book from the desk in front of her, and slammed it down. The sound echoed, followed by a dead silence.
    “Quit wasting time!” she shouted as six faces turned to look at her. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to referee a fight. Change is coming. It was coming months ago, with or without me. Cope with it, or get the hell out!” Seeing that her audience paying attention, she continued. “Keep your prejudices in your private chambers. If you don’t like ‘browners’, I have bad news: Several hundred of our citizens want to live outside. They are doing so now. One of them is your youngest daughter, Minister Kreggor. When the sun comes out again, she’ll turn as brown as I am!”
    Kreggor hung his head for a moment, and said, “What do you expect me to say? That I approve of her fantasies?”
    “I expect you to treat her choices with respect,” Alanora stated. “I don’t demand miracles. Bigotry won’t disappear overnight. That doesn’t mean we should act like savages. We will be one people if I have to use rope and glue, damnit.”
    Kreggor looked her in the eyes, but his face had softened. “Perhaps my… phrasing was inappropriate.”
    Slowly, carefully, Alanora coaxed them into conversation, taking her agenda point by point. It was a frustrating task; she was at the edge of her patience. After an hour, she could finally see progress – nothing dramatic, but enough to give her hope that maybe, just maybe, something would actually be accomplished.
    Hisssss. The cat made a noise like a hot kettle, back arched, perfectly still, staring at the floor under Alanora’s chair. The platform under her feet emitted a strange noise and vibrated slightly. The cat hissed again, arching its back.
    Alanora’s instincts took control.
    “Get out! Now!” she yelled. Scooping up the cat, she ran.
    The force of the explosion drove her forward; she hit something hard with the side of her face; a sharp pain spread across her upper back. Struggling to her feet, she leaned on a nearby railing for support. Somehow, she was on the balcony overlooking the rotunda. Dust swirled; the crackle of fire mixed with shouting; she heard cries and groans, but they were distant. Her head felt mushy.
    Alanora looked for the cat, couldn’t find it, and collapsed.
    
    The room was very bright. Alanora closed her eyes, and looked again, finding an old face looking intently down at her. She started to sit up. The dwarf put a hand gently on her shoulder.
    “Take it easy, lass,” Norgrim said. Her thoughts were foggy; it was easier to lay back than to argue; at the moment, she was feeling lazy. Fighting for clarity, she looked to the sides and finally recognized Caerelon’s hospital. At the far end of the ward, Doctor Hasawa was talking to Grehn; two nurses were moving among other patients.
    “Why does my back feel numb?” she asked.
    “Anesthetic. You’ll be fine, they tell me. Nothing time won’t heal.”
    She brought a hand to her face, touching bandages on her check and neck, wincing. 
    “You’ll have a few scars,” Norgrim said. “But that’s probably the worst of it. You’re damned lucky, as always.”
    She lay quiet for a while, staring at the ceiling. “How many?”
    “How many what?”
    “How many?” she insisted, almost angrily.
    Norgrim cleared his throat. “Seven dead, including three ministers. A dozen injured, ranging from cuts and bruises to... worse.” One of his thick, heavy hands rested on hers. 
    “How long was I unconscious?”
    “Half a day. It’s late evening.”
    Pulling her hand from beneath his, she pushed against the bed with her elbows, sitting up. Her vision spun for a moment. The sheet fell down, and it dawned on her that she was naked, except for bandages wrapped over one shoulder and below her breasts. Norgrim seemed oblivious as she pulled the sheet up.
    “Grehn!” she called, her voice stronger. The old warden and Doctor Hasawa almost ran to her side.
    “You should be resting,” the doctor admonished.
    “That’s what I’ve been telling her,” Norgrim declared.
    “Coddle me when people aren’t setting off bombs,” Alanora stated. “Find me some clothes, or I’ll walk back to my room without them.”
    “You don’t have a room,” Grehn said. “Not one that’s usable, anyway.” He placed a blue stuffed toy in her lap; it was dirty, but otherwise undamaged. Alanora squeezed it lightly, and it made a croaking noise. “At least Urka survived,” Grehn added with a small smile. 
    “Caerelon’s walls are carved from solid rock,” Norgrim explained. “The explosion went where it could, through doors and passages. That’s why so many were hurt; the energy just bounced off the walls, smashing everything. It blew you through a door, which probably saved your life.”
    She wanted to ask about the cat, and decided it could wait. “What do we know about the bomb?” she asked.
    “They’re still looking for anyone trapped in the mess. No one’s had a chance to investigate.”
    “Alanora?” The voice was faint and female, from another bed some distance away.
    Pulling the sheet around herself like a toga, carrying the stuffed toy in one hand, Alanora put her bare feet on the cool floor and stood. Wobbly at first, she told herself to walk, and did, albeit slowly, followed by the three men. She passed several sleeping or quiet forms, recognizing members of her household staff. In one bed, Odarra laid sleeping, bruises across her face. A wave of guilt washed over Alanora.
    She reached the person who had called to her; a moment passed before she recognized Ezmelda. The minister’s head was heavily bandaged on one side, the right eye covered. Under the sheet, Alanora saw the bulge of a cast on one of the woman’s legs.
    “Kreggor was terribly burned,” Ezmelda said quietly. “I don’t know where he is.”
    “We have him in a special room,” Doctor Hasawa said. “We’re optimistic about his chances.”
     “Optimistic?” Ezmelda said with a very weak laugh. “I guess he might live, then.” She coughed. “Fornaldo and Havvar… there’s no point in optimism for them, is there? I saw…” Her voice faded away.
    “I am so sorry,” Alanora said. 
    Ezmelda’s open eye widened. “What are you apologizing for?” she said sternly, sudden fire in her voice. “I didn’t ask for an apology.” She reached out a hand and grabbed Alanora’s arm with surprising strength. “End this.” The hand lost its grip; the woman’s eye closed; her chest fell and rose slowly, but steadily.

    Kaylen felt many emotions as he walked onto the docks – nostalgia, satisfaction, and a tinge of regret. This was where he expected to find himself; he wondered where the old Kaylen had gone. Putting introspection aside, he simply observed for a while. Unlike the dour city and the quiet dwarven encampment, the dockyard was bustling with activity. Along one side of the wharf, new buildings were going up, a wild collection created by sailors and fishermen who coordinated everything except style and color. Ships plied the river, a few heading to sea, others unloading a catch of fish or cargos of lumber and tools. It was a living, breathing community, and its presence comforted Kaylen.
    Jahsha strode toward him, laughing, arms held wide. “And here I thought a dragon had eaten you,” she said, embracing him.
    “He wasn’t hungry,” Kaylen laughed. “I missed you too.” He looked around again. “It doesn’t look you need me for anything.”
    She led him toward her ship, berthed nearby. “Danelle needs us more than we need her,” she said as they ascended the gangplank. “I told Hassakkor and his sister we could fend for ourselves. Besides, I scare Danelle as much as any dragon.”
    Jahsha called for food, taking Kaylen to her cabin, where they ate and talked for hours. She explained how the dockyard had made arrangements with the blacksmith Torin and his people at the mills upriver, trading seafood for materials, bypassing Danelle completely. He told her about events in Caerelon, and of his plans for moving people by river to their new home.
    “We can put together a small flotilla,” Jahsha told him. “I’ll commandeer Danelle’s old ship. It’s has oars, with a shallow draft, and our dear Magister hasn’t been near it since the day she came ashore.” She swallowed hard from a glass of strong wine. “We’ll open a line of trade up and down the river. It’s a start on civilization, at least.”
    “So you plan to keep the docks independent?”
    “Damned right,” she replied. “We’ve got a wonderfully chaotic combination of democracy and dictatorship going. We’ll start trading with the dwarves, maybe even send an expedition back to the islands, to see if anyone survived.” At his questioning look, she held up a hand. “No, I haven’t been bewitched by Jennur. A ship arrived yesterday, and we learned that some of the far northwestern isles may still be habitable. We need to check it out. But if you’re worried about seeing me again – this port is my home now.”
    “I’m glad to hear that.”
    She leaned back, and looked at him for a moment. “So you’re set on staying with Alanora and her city?”
    Kaylen grinned. “My mind is made up. There’s a whole new world to explore out there, and I want to see it.”
    “Ted’s out scouting the coastline with the Shadowrider,” Jahsha said. “I think he’ll actually like being captain of his own ship.”
    “Then we’re good,” Kaylen declared. “Let’s go look at some ships.”

    Zarah awoke to a world that looked brighter than it had in weeks; she wondered if her impression was wishful thinking, or if the ashen overcast was finally thinning. Choosing to be optimistic, she rolled out of bed and went to the dresser. It and the bed were the only furniture in the room. The drawers were largely empty; what few clothes she had were borrowed from people with very different body shapes. The blue smock she chose belonged to much-shorter Kalinda; the fabric had faded, but the design was still pretty, and it fit easily over her injured arm. Donning it, she was instantly self-conscious; the dress was very baggy and the hem barely reached her knees. Zarah had spent most of her life in heavier, full-length clerical robes, and for a moment, she debated wearing something else. Still, the light cloth felt good on her still-aching body. She found the belt from her robes, wrapped it around her waist, and decided the outfit was workable. After all, the only people who would see her were a dwarf and a dragon, and neither was likely to be concerned with her bare legs. With a wry smile, she slipped on a pair of sandals, and went downstairs to the kitchen.
    She stopped at the kitchen door. Kalinda was on the opposite side of the room, working at the counter. Pleasant smells drifted to Zarah’s nose – onions, potatoes, some strange red vegetables she’d come to like, in spite of their spiciness. For a while, she quietly watched her host. Kalinda’s hands worked quickly, with four human-like fingers between two opposable thumbs. She idly wondered if dwarves had six toes, and how else they differed from humans. The similarities were so many, she often forgot that Kalinda belonged to another species.
    “I hear you breathing,” Kalinda said.
    Startled, Zarah found a chair at the heavy wooden table. “I didn’t want to disturb you,” she said after some hesitation.
    “You didn’t.” Kalinda brought a bowl filled with all sorts of leaves and sliced vegetables. “I found these this morning at one end of the courtyard. I think there might have been a garden there a long time ago.”
    “How old is this castle?” Zarah asked, rising to grab plates and utensils from a cabinet.
    “Father thinks the current building was constructed about four hundred years ago. There’s some evidence that humans first occupied this hilltop over a millennium ago.  Dragons probably know more.” She went back to cooking. Zarah nibbled a few vegetables absently, watching her new friend. 
    Over a layer of loose hair, Kalinda wore a complex array of thick and thin braids, each interwoven with colorful beads. Zarah succumbed to curiosity. “If you don’t mind my asking, do dwarves ever let their hair down? Don’t the braids get uncomfortable?”
    “No!” Kalinda exclaimed. “Our braids mean things. This one for example…” She took one of the thickest, longest ones in hand, fingering its ceramic beads. “Another dwarf can look at this braid, and see which clan I belong to and who my parents and brothers are.” She picked a different strand, and displayed it for Zarah.  “Here’s a history of my studies in Astronomy, and describes an honor I received for my work on orbital dynamics.”
    “I’m not even sure what that means,” Zarah replied, clearly self-conscious. “So your entire life story is told in your hair? I suppose your father’s beard serves the same purpose?”
    “It does. How do humans keep track of such things?”
    “On paper.” Zarah fell silent for a moment. “Have you studied anything else?”
    “I’ve earned advanced writs in Mathematics, Astronomy, Optical Physics, and Analytic History.” With a small laugh, Kalinda added, “I don’t mean to brag! My mother had six writs by the time she was my age.”
    “How old are you?” Zarah blurted out. Her face flushed. “I’m didn’t mean to be nosey. I… I’m a bit jealous, if you don’t mind my saying so. I’ve always thought of myself as an educated person… how can you be so young, and have learned so much?”
    Kalinda shrugged. “We celebrated my fifty-first birthday a few months ago.”
    “I don’t believe it!”
    “How old are you?” Kalinda asked.
    “I’m, uh, twenty.”
    Kalinda smiled. “Then we’re the same age, species-wise. Dwarves live much longer than humans, according to what I’ve read.” She sat at the table. “Don’t let it bother you. Your linguistic skills have been invaluable! Once life has settled a bit, I’ll take you to the Academy in Norokden. I’d wager you can pick up a few writs of your own. Maybe we can put a braids in your hair.” She reached toward a strand of Zarah’s hair. The young woman jumped up and away, her chair falling over with a clatter.
    “I’m sorry!” Kalinda said, standing. “I didn’t –”
    Zarah was shaking and breathing heavily. “It’s… no, I’m okay. I... I don’t know why I jumped.” She laughed nervously. 
    Activity outside the keep attracted their attention, much to Kalinda’s relief. Through the windows, they saw Kyazura moving. By the time they reached the front door, the blue dragon was lifting into the sky, moving quickly away. Arrokka stood at the far end of the courtyard, wings open, clearly on alert. The two women walked to the fountain, and stood by it, staring at the point in the clouds where the dragon had disappeared. Soon, they heard a deep rumble and groan, like the beginnings of a thunderstorm.
    “Another dragon?” Zarah asked.
    “Must be,” Kalinda replied. “One that doesn’t want us to see it.”
    “Sytherek?”
    “Probably not. I don’t know as much about dragons as father, but I think Kyazura was agitated.”
    Zarah’s brow wrinkled. “Dragons don’t fight each other, do they?”
    “That is an interesting question,” Kalinda said. “Talk to Tohkay about it some time.”
    It wasn’t long before the ominous sounds stopped, and Kyazura emerged from the clouds. She settled into the courtyard beside them.
    “I must send word to Tornaval,” the blue dragon said. “It would be best if the two of you stayed inside the keep, until I understand what is going on.”
    “Why?” Kalinda asked. “Who were you talking to?”
    “The situation is complicated,” Kyazura replied. “The visitor was Garthonnex, who asked disturbing questions.” She spoke Draconic to Arrokka. Her daughter jumped into the air, and vanished swiftly to the east.
    “What’s wrong?” Kalinda asked suspiciously.
    “Again, I cannot explain the complexities quickly. I will know more once I have seen my brother.” She was clearly agitated. “I believe you are safe, though it does not hurt to be cautious.”
    “Who is Garthonnex likely to harm?” Kalinda asked, arms crossed.
    “Others.”
    
    Sytherek was bored. Very bored. And anxious. It was not a good combination. He paced around the dwarven encampment, being careful not to step on anyone. The dwarves were starting to leave, carrying bundles down to the ships. He contemplated a mound of rubble, stones piled on fresh dirt in the center of a ruined building, wondering at the madness of small people. What had they buried, and why? He could sense something, a faint, unrecognizable presence. It bothered him, but he did not understand why, which only agitated him more.
    Two days had passed since he’d come to Tornaval with Kaylen. For the most part, time had passed quietly. Danelle, in particular, had been exceptionally polite since his little demonstration. However, there had been unintended side-effects of his actions; the incident had frightened many people who were simply observers. Sytherek suspected Jennur of magnifying those fears – but what bothered the dragon most was that he actually felt bad about terrorizing innocents. For most of his life, he’d scorned humans, discounting them as lesser beings incapable of honor. Recent events had called his broad prejudices into question. Those feelings had led the dragon to participate in an “event” organized by Kaylen. While he lay in an open area outside the city, Kaylen and friends had tried to coax people into “meeting the dragon.” At first, few people were willing to approach the monster. In a moment of inspiration, Sytherek had begun to sing, starting softly, building to a powerful series of pieces. Like his language, the dragon’s songs were composed of layered harmonies and counterpoints, complex rhythms and soaring melodies. Kyazura, he admitted, had superior musical skill – yet, like all dragons, his remarkable vocal apparatus produced amazing sounds. As his songs rolled across the landscape, people began emerging from the city. They gathered nearby, listening, amazed at the beauty emanating from the monster. Upon seeing children, he’d switched to pieces he’d written for his own offspring. It seemed to surprise the humans that he could produce soothing melodies; to the obvious distress of their parents, some of the young ones had clambered over his toes, stroking his horns, braver than their elders.
    An unknown man had come near. Sytherek judged him to be an older human, with a bald head. The man carried a large object, one large end mounted on a stalk, thin cords running the length of the apparatus. At first, Sytherek could make no sense of it; the device was clearly not a weapon. Only when the newcomer sat on a nearby stump did the purpose of the object begun clear – the man used it make music of his own. After a few tentative attempts, the human was able to match the dragon’s song; the situation quickly grew more complicated, as other people from the city joined, until a dozen humans were participating in the impromptu concert. When evening came and it was time to go, Sytherek regretted that the event had ended. More of his hatred had faded – not all of it – but the experience had affected him, nonetheless.
    The dragon was quite satisfied with the outcome: Over two hundred people had eventually decided to accompany Kaylen to Caerelon, mostly women and children. At the current moment, they were gathering with the dwarves by the river, getting ready to leave Tornaval. Sytherek hoped they would begin moving soon; he desperately wanted to return to Tohkay and Tyreon.
    From above, he felt the imminent arrival of Arrokka. Her urgency was palpable even as she landed next to him; Hassakkor joined them. Their conversation was quick and dense. 
    “Hassakkor, bring Kaylen here. You will find him by the boats on the river.” The younger dragon left on his errand, and returned a few moments later with Kaylen, placing the man at Sytherek’s feet.
    “That was… exhilarating,” Kaylen laughed. “For a moment, I thought Hassakkor was grabbing me for lunch. He snatched me right off the dock!”
    “I meant no offense,” said the young blue dragon. “My uncle was quite insistent that I bring you as quickly as possible.”
    “Why?”
    “I must leave,” said Sytherek.
    “Is something wrong?”
    “Garthonnex is nearby.”
    “Isn’t Garthonnex Symurall’s friend?”
    “The answer depends on who you ask,” said Sytherek. “Since you ask me, I will answer no. Garthonnex is the son of Volnathak, an ancient dragon who rules the lands of Artorra, across the southwestern seas. Such dragons do not belong in Syraqua.”
    “So it’s a territorial dispute?”
    “If only it were that simple. Know this: Tohkay and I have learned to distrust – and even fear – Garthonnex.” At first, Kaylen thought Sytherek was joking. Yet in the dragon’s great blue eyes, he saw something he’d never seen before, a darkness that verified the word ‘fear’. The man wondered what could possibly frighten a creature such as Sytherek. “For all our sakes, I must discover why Garthonnex is here and what he wants.”
    Kaylen was distinctly uncomfortable, remembering a conversation from a week past. “Tohkay told me that Garthonnex could be dangerous in certain ‘contexts’.”
    “His assessment is wise,” the purple dragon replied. “I do not mean to abandon you. Perhaps there is no reason for concern. I doubt we are that lucky.”
    Kaylen nodded. “Hassakkor and his sister can handle any problems here. I’ll trust your instincts. All I ask: Tell me what you find out.”
    “If we meet again, you will hear the tale,” said Sytherek. He slowly lifted into the air, drifting away from the group. Suddenly, with a great sweep of his wings, the dragon flew rapidly away.
    Sytherek reached Drakcaern in minutes; he was relieved to see nothing obviously amiss. Kyazura’s great blue form lay around the castle keep, her head near the doorway, apparently talking to someone inside the building. He smelled the living scents of human and dwarf women. He slowed to hover near his sister. 
    “It is good to see you, brother,” Kyazura said.
    “I wish the circumstances were better,” Sytherek declared. “Your children protect our Kaylen’s people at Tornaval. The humans are almost ready to leave on their journey up the river.”
    “How is Kaylen?” Zarah asked from the doorway of the keep.
    “He is well.”
    “Is my father safe?” Kalinda asked anxiously.
    “An interesting question,” Sytherek replied. “When I last saw him, his was as annoying as always. However, he has come into possession of an airship. I have my doubts about the safety of such a device.”
    “What have you done with Tohkay?” the dwarf asked, sounding even more concerned.
    “I carried him to distant places. The See’ee’ah scholar is in good health, under the protection of my son, Tyreon. Those short reports will have to satisfy you for the moment. I must speak to my sister of urgent matters.” Draconic words emanated from his throat, quickly giving his sister greater details on many events, and asking about Garthonnex.
    “He was here this morning,” Kyazura rumbled in reply. “His questions regarded Symurall’s battle with the kehklik; he was most insistent, almost threatening. I frustrated him with a lack of answers, and he finally flew away, eastward.”
    “Which direction did he arrive from?”
    “The west.”
    Sytherek lifted his head, spewing a violent set of curses toward the clouds. The two women moved further into the house; even without understanding dragon-speech, they knew black anger when they saw it.
    “I know where he has been!” Sytherek declared. He gained altitude and turned west.
    “Go safely, my brother,” the blue dragon said.
    Sytherek flew toward disaster.
    Approaching the slopes of Jozin’s peak, he sought the familiar mounds of the kehklik hive. What he found were death and destruction: pulverized mounds, scattered dead kehklik, and shallow craters pounded into the mountain side. The scene reminded him of the dig site at Ey’asen, a contemporary reflection of Tohkay’s interpretations of past destruction. Three thousand years before, Garthonnex had destroyed the center of kehklik society in order to save the See’ee’ah; that, Sytherek could understand and accept. But this? The Jozin’s Peak kehklik were isolated from others of their species; just as they were emerging from a long night of chaos into sentience, Garthonnex had…  Sytherek bellowed, his cry of frustration and anger echoing from the mountains, over forests and through valleys.
    Even through his emotions, a familiar scent caught his attention. He flicked his tongue rapidly. Not Garthonnex. A kehklik? That kehklik? Hoping beyond hope, Sytherek followed the trail. A dozen miles from the ruined hive, his eyes confirmed his sense of smell – in an isolated corner of the mountain, inside a natural cave, he noted several kehklik: a queen, several of her attendants, a few workers, and the overseer who had once saved his troops from the wrath of Symurall. The dragon could feel their fear; quietly, he hovered nearby, calming his own emotions, finding warm thoughts; the kehklik relaxed, exactly as he’d hoped. They were empathic, reacting to his emotional state. A jumble of theories and speculations argued in Sytherek’s mind.
    The overseer came out of the cave, and looked at the dragon with huge silver eyes.
    “I am sorry!” declared Sytherek. “Hide. Be safe. I will protect you. I promise.” The overseer moved its head from side to side, and then walked back into the cave, where its queen waited.
    Sytherek scouted the area, guarding the surviving kehklik until night fell. Then he positioned himself outside the cave, sleeping lightly, all senses on alert. 
    
    The dragon awoke to a pale dawn. Inside the cave, the workers had begun making structures for the queen. After reassuring the overseer one last time, he flew to Drakcaern. Kyazura was awake, clearly waiting for him. They began speaking in Draconic.
    “Speak a language we all understand!” Zarah demanded from the top of the tower, where she’d watched his arrival. Kalinda arrived on the roof, and stood beside Zarah. She almost put an arm around her human friend, but stopped at the last second.
    “Excuse me?” Sytherek asked.
    “Don’t talk as if we’re not here,” Zarah said. “This affects us too, doesn’t it? Tell us what’s happening!”
    “Kaylen has obviously influenced you,” Sytherek replied. “Very well, since you insist: Garthonnex tried to destroy the kehklik colony at Jozin’s Peak. I am pleased to say that he was not entirely successful.”
    “Pleased?” Zarah’s voice rose in volume and pitch, her body quivering. “The kehklik tried to kill us! Let them burn!”
    “This is why I spoke in private,” Sytherek said. “You lack facts. I lack time to educate you.”
    “A moment of explanation may be valuable,” Kyazura gently chided.
    “Then you must to be their educator,” Sytherek stated. “My research with Tohkay leads to conclusions of a most disturbing nature.” He looked at Zarah. “The kehklik may not be Garthonnex’s only target. I will know more once I find him. If he went east from here, he may be going to Crythamar. I do not like the thought of him near my family.” And with that, he was gone again.
    “If Garthonnex wants to kill kehklik, why should anyone stop him?” Zarah asked, ragged frustration in her voice.
    “Garthonnex may have other targets,” Kyazura replied.

    Danelle watched as Kaylen’s ships sailed slowly up the river. Their decks held two hundred and sixteen people who should not have been there. She’d tried, almost begged, explaining the risk they were taking going to foreign lands controlled by dangerous beasts. Her entreaties had fallen on unwilling ears. Even most of the musicians were going; she couldn’t undo the ensorcellment of dragon song. Two of the beasts, both blue, flew guard over the flotilla, and she damned them under her breath.
    “They are gone,” said Jennur, who stood next to her. “We will now look to the future.”
    “What future?” Danelle asked sourly. “Have you looked at who remains? We have over six hundred men, and fewer than a hundred women. Only a handful of children.”
    “I’m disappointed as well,” said Jennur nonchalantly. “Have you considered what to do with the dockyard and the mills?”
    Danelle laughed. “Jahsha and I have an agreement – she keeps her filthy criminals out of our city, and we let her run her little enterprise. She’s agreed to supply us with fish and other support. For now, we need her cooperation to survive. If the future provides opportunity, I’ll revisit the arrangement.”
    “What about Torin’s establishment? Is he aligned with us or Kaylen? Those mills, not to mention Torin’s skills, are a vital resource.”
    “I have an emissary on his way there now,” she said. “Kaylen’s boats move slowly; by the time he reaches the mills, my people will have had a chance to deliver a message.”
    Jennur smiled. “Then you have things well in hand. I will be on top of the bluff, seeing what we were not supposed to see.”
    Danelle was glad to see him leave, with his remaining acolyte, Lorka, and four other men; they carried tools and bundles of food. Whatever he thought the dwarves were hiding, she cared very little about what it was, or even if it existed – so long as it kept Jennur busy for a few days. She needed time to work.
    
    Jennur followed vague whispers in his mind, until he stood atop a pile of rubble within the ruined keep. The voices seemed more insistent, yet indistinct.
    “Here,” he said.
    “Why here?” Lorka asked. “The dwarves had this entire area dug up. There are easier places we can start.”
    “We dig here because this is where I will find what I seek,” said Jennur, patiently annoyed.
    “What are we looking for?” Lorka asked. The other men began digging.
    “A legacy,” said Jennur. “Someone left us a gift. Now – put another shovel to good use.” Lorka opened his mouth to protest. Seeing the piercing look in the bishop’s eyes, he thought better of it, and began to dig.

    Norgrim puttered about inside the airship, now christened the Cloudwalker. He was making one last check of every system, testing valves and switches and controls, watching the crystal furnace for unusual oscillations. He couldn’t fault the quick work of Caerelon’s technical staff, but the ship was very old, and the repairs very quick. At least he wouldn’t be alone on the journey – two humans were going with him on the trip, Tohmalla and Vorkor, an engineer and chemist, respectively.
    “How’s it looking?” The voice was Alanora’s. Her head poked inside the airship’s cabin.
    “The ship looks fine,” Norgrim said. The bandages on her face gave him pause. “However, the dwarf does not think he should be going away just now. You need me.”
    “I can cope without you for a few days,” she said. “You need to find your wife and daughter. I need Kaylen to come home safe.”
    Norgrim grunted. “He doesn’t want to come home to your corpse.”
    “He won’t.” She stepped inside the ship. “I’ve taken care of myself before, you know.  Grehn will watch my back.”
    Norgrim fidgeted with an adjustment, looking away from her. “If you get yourself killed, Kaylen will never let me hear the end of it,” he said. “I’ll be a very cranky dwarf.”
    “And that would be different how?” she said with a smirk.
    Twenty minutes later, she watched the Cloudwalker lift slowly above the castle. It rotated majestically and went northwest, following the river. Grehn stood beside her.
    “You aren’t very talkative,” Alanora said.
    “There isn’t much to say,” he replied gruffly.
    “You’re still annoyed about Beynor, aren’t you?”
    His brow furrowed. “You shouldn’t have put him in charge of investigating the explosion. Giving him that much autonomy… it’s asking for trouble. I should be the one looking for our terrorists.”
    Alanora shook her head. “I need you to help me keep this city running. I don’t have many resources, as you’re fond of telling me.”
    “Beynor was second in command of Kudric’s watch,” Grehn said emphatically. “I don’t trust him.”
    “I don’t think we have much choice,” she replied.
    
    Beynor walked across Caerelon’s markets at the base of the great rotunda. It was the Hour of Beginnings, before dawn in the outside world. The merchants were preparing their shops and wares. People were quieter than usual; he caught snippets of conversation, fragments of debate, all focused on the explosion the day before. He discerned a sense of fear and uncertainty, which did not surprise him in the least. Conspiracy theories abounded, from the ridiculous to the barely possible. Smiling, Beynor speculated on Alanora’s chances of bring any sanity and stability to Caerelon.
    His path took him into one of the smaller passages leading down. The door he was looking for was painted blue, with the green triangular symbol of the Chemist’s Guild. Beynor didn’t knock; he simply opened the door, and walked in. He entered a large room, filled with rows of shelves upon which boxes, books, and bottles resided, all carefully labeled. Against the far wall, a long table held an apparatus of bubbling beakers and glass tubes filled with colored liquids, surrounded by cut shrooms and mineral samples. None of it made sense to Beynor; he’d long ago given up any hope of understanding the jargon and complexities of chemistry. His talents lay elsewhere, and his focus was on the short woman hunched over the table, clearly oblivious to his presence.
    “Hello, Isadora,” Beynor said. The woman jumped, dropping a glass container. It shattered; a thick pink liquid slowly spread near her feet.
    “Damnit!” Isadora yelled. “That could have been acid, or –”
    “Explosive?” Beynor suggested.
    Isadora looked like a cornered mouse for a moment. She abruptly grabbed a large cloth from a nearby rack and knelt to clean the mess, avoiding Beynor’s gaze.
    “I was surprised when my inquiries led to you,” Beynor said, casually leaning against the wall, watching her feverishly work. “You don’t strike me as the type.”
    “What type?” she asked. Standing, she threw her rags in a trash can with more force than necessary.
    “Murderer,” he said. “The morgue has been rather busy these last day or so. Let’s see now…” He started counting out loud. “That makes thirty-seven people who died in the evacuation riots, including a few of my friends. Seven more were killed yesterday, maybe eight or nine if some of the injured don’t recover. Quite a death toll.”
    “I haven’t killed anyone!” Isadora said sharply. “Even if I had anything to do with this, you can’t prove anything.”
    “Can’t I? Maybe a farmer or two remembers your interest in certain shrooms – or someone saw you talking to Lord Oric at odd hours in remote places. Caerelon is a small place, and you weren’t very careful.” He crossed his arms. “Ever hear of fingerprints? The oils on your hands adhere to glass, and images of your skin can be seen by someone who knows how to reveal them. I wonder if your fingers match what I found on the vial of poison in Lord Oric’s office?”
    She grabbed a tool – something long, metal, with a pointed end – and charged at Beynor. He sidestepped the attack, tripping her. As Isadora hit the floor, he straddled her back, pulling her right arm around, twisting it until she dropped the makeshift weapon. For several minutes she struggled; he quietly held her until she stopped moving.
    “I tried to save this damned city, you idiot!”
    He eased the pressure on her arms. “Explain.”
    “I was working on a pesticide. One of my discoveries had unexpected properties, and almost killed me. So I forgot about it. Oric found my discovery report, and asked me to make more. Much more.”
    “So you did. I’ve seen it.”
    “Well, that’s not my fault. I tried to give him fake poison.”
    Beynor got off her back. “That doesn’t make sense.”
    “It does if you know what’s going on,” she stated, sitting cross-legged on the floor, rubbing her aching arms. “Oric didn’t say what he wanted to poison for, and he demanded secrecy, promising me a promotion in the guild if I helped him. I was a loyal little fool at first – who am I to challenge the city’s Lord? When I delivered the first vial, I saw the city plans on his desk. I asked him, again, what was going on, and he started ranting about protecting the city. He said if I didn’t help him, he’d have me arrested for treason.”
    “A nice story,” said Beynor.
    “It’s not a story, it’s the truth!” she snapped. “I was scared, damn you. Finally, I went to the Prime Minister. He promised to protect me, and asked me to give Oric fake poison.”
    Beynor frowned. “Go on.”
    “Kudric wanted to bring traditions back to Caerelon. So did I, and others too. We liked what Kudric promised, but we couldn’t just accuse the Lord of trying to kill the city – no one would have believed us. So we encouraged his madness, feeding it, waiting for him to try something so terrible, people would welcome Kudric’s takeover. Using fake poison, there wasn’t any real danger.”
    Beynor laughed. “Then Alanora showed up with her dwarf and alien husband, confirming her father’s worst fears. He acted before you were ready, didn’t he?”
    “Kudric wanted Alanora to marry his son, Ezra. That would have solidified his family’s right to the Lordship. We didn’t know she’d be so effective in organizing resistance, or that Ezra would betray his father, or that she’d find some outside freak to marry.”
    “If the poison wasn’t real, why did Kudric flee?”
    “Oric found out I was tricking him. Maybe he tested a bottle. Who knows? He got real poison from someone else.” Her voice became heavy with disgust. “When Oric decided to kill everyone, Kudric ran for it, the coward.”
    “Who planted the bomb? You?”
    “It wasn’t me!” she insisted. “Find a man named Vorkor, a chemistry student. He made Oric’s poisons and the bomb. We found out what he was doing, after the explosion.” She slumped. “You might as well consider me guilty. I want Alanora dead too. Just turn me in, and be done with it.”
    “Turning you in won’t me what I want.”
    “Which is?”
    “I want to meet the other people in your little conspiracy.”
    “So you can arrest them too?”
    “No, so I can make them a proposition.”
    
    Alanora worked in a side room of the Great Auditorium, one normally used by clerks. It had only one door, and Grehn had two men stationed outside, on guard. She felt like a caged animal. But there were maintenance schedules to organize, and food to be distributed, and… as Grehn had said, she’d never get anything done if people kept trying to kill her. A smooth-running Caerelon had a chance at peace – and if guards were required, she’d live with them.
    When Beynor arrived, she was between meetings, relaxing with a drink and a pile of documents about food supplies.
    “I have a tale of conspiracy, irony, and incompetence to tell you,” he said. “I also know more about your father.”
    She sat back, and called to the guards. “We’ll be in private session. I’ll call if he tries to assassinate me.” Beynor laughed and closed the door.

    Sytherek was past Tornaval, nearing the edge of the red mesa country, when he saw another dragon rapidly approaching from ahead. Even in the subdued light of a cloudy afternoon, she was magnificent – bright magenta highlights against polished copper, his eldest daughter, Myradda.
    “Father!” she exclaimed.
    “Your mother is always sending people to find me!” Sytherek laughed. “Do I get lost so easily?”
    “We had a visitor at Crythamar,” Myradda said as she aligned her flight beside his.
    “I am not surprised. Tell me everything.”
    “A big blue-black dragon named Garthonnex arrived this morning, asking mother many questions. I don’t think she likes him, and he wasn’t happy with the answers she gave. So he left.”
    “Where did he go afterward?”
    “Mother said you’d ask that question! Garthonnex went to visit someone named KhKhorrak.”
    Sytherek turned south quickly. “Return to your mother, and inform her that I will not be coming home yet. Tyreon is at risk.”
    “Why?” his daughter asked urgently.
    “KhKhorrak will tell Garthonnex about his recent conversation with me. Garthonnex will also learn from the turtle that Tohkay Ahtok has been investigating the kehklik. The See’ee’ah is in danger, because he knows too much about what Garthonnex has done.”
    “How is Tyreon in trouble?”
    “I told Tyreon to protect Tohkay, in a place where I saw no danger. Your brother is the product of my upbringing. He will protect Tohkay. Tyreon is too young to fight an elder such as Garthonnex, but he will try.”
    “Would Garthonnex hurt or kill Tyreon?”
    “He might,” Sytherek said. “It is time you went home.”
    “I am coming,” Myradda said defiantly.
    “You are?” he asked, slightly amused. 
    “Tyreon is my brother,” she said. “Mother told me to stay with you until you returned home.” She winked.
    Sytherek laughed. “Then let’s fly like we’ve never flown before. Today, you will learn something useful.”
    “What is that, father?”
    “That we can exceed our limitations. Come!”

    The Cloudwalker followed the river northwest. Dark, wild broadleaf forest bracketed the green waters; mountains lay to the northeast and east. The flight had been exceptionally smooth; Norgrim was more relaxed than he’d been in weeks, enjoying the view. A flock of large white birds passed in front of the airship.
    His hat bumped against an overhead control, flipping a toggle. Swearing, he reached up and fixed it, keeping the left-front propeller from shutting down. It was not his normal hat; his favorite purple one was at Drakcaern, left behind in the flurry of events. In Caerelon’s library, he’d found a temporary replacement: A very nice brown hat with a tilted brim and a large black feather, perched on the bust of some fellow named Corleus. As a rule, people in Caerelon didn’t wear hats; the one in the library was an anachronism, worn by the first Warden to have gone outside the mountain. When Alanora offered it to him, Norgrim was honored and didn’t hesitate. He liked hats.
    An unusual thud reached his ears from the main cabin.
    “Is everything all right back there?” he called out. There was no answer. He locked the controls, and strolled toward the back of the gondola.
    Between the rows of seats, someone lay on the floor. He rushed over, gently rolling the body face up. Tohmalla. Blood trickled from a bruise on her forehead. She was still breathing. Ripping a piece from his shirt, he folded it and applied it to the wound, holding it in place.
    “Vorkor!” he yelled. “Tohmalla’s been hurt. She must have fallen –” He heard footsteps, looked up, and saw the male human standing a dozen yards away, holding something in one hand, smiling. With an almost casual move, Vorkor threw the object toward Norgrim.
    Norgrim, stood, pulled off his hat, and used it to snag the bottle from the air. Taking a look, he saw that it was a glass bottle, split into two sections containing different-colored liquids.
    “I was a flyball champion in my youth, you zekt!” Norgrim growled.
    Vorkor fumbled with a pouch on his belt, pulling out another bottle.
    “Oh no you don’t!” Norgrim took the bottle out of his hat and threw it at the man. Vorkor tried to catch it, failed, and burst into flames as the bottle shattered against his chest. Flames spread across the cabin floor.
    “Your army will never take Caerelon!” Vorkor yelled. He started to run around the deck, spreading the flames.
    “Oh for the love of beer!” Norgrim said. He ran to the front of the cabin, pushing a blue button. Nothing. He pushed it again. Still nothing. Cursing himself for not checking the fire extinguishers, he pressed a different button, releasing one of the cabin doors. The airship wobbled slightly; air rushed into the gondola, fanning the flames. Vorkor laughed as he burned.
    Norgrim charged, ramming his shoulder into the man’s midriff, knocking the chemist toward the open door. Vorkor teetered on the edge for a second, almost falling, yet grabbing the inside of the frame, cackling madly. The dwarf attacked, punctuating each word by driving a fist into Vorkor’s body.
    “There… is… no… dwarven… army!” With the final word, Norgrim slammed his head against the other man. Vorkor went backward, lost his grip, and fell toward the forested hills below. Norgrim quickly patted out small flames in his beard.
    “What’s… going on?” Tohmalla’s unsteady voice said.
    “Vorkor tried to kill us,” said Norgrim. “No time! The control room! If you can!” He ran to the front of the ship. Tohmalla joined him, a bit wobbly.
    “We’re on fire,” she said dreamily.
    “No kidding,” Norgrim said. He started flipping switches right and left, turning dials. The Cloudwalker nosed down.
    “Are we crashing?” she asked.
    “No, we’re saving our asses.” He took one of her hands, putting it on a large red lever. “Lass, pull this when I say so. I need to manage the flight controls. When I say! Not before!”
    “What does it do?”
    “It opens all the doors in the main cabin. Hang on.” He pulled a knob, and the exits from the control room slammed shut. “We’re sealed in here now, lass. I apologize in advance if we die.”
    Norgrim brought the Cloudwalker over the river, and saw a long, wide stretch. The airship skimmed the water. “Now!” he yelled. Tohmalla pulled the red lever; the ship shuddered and bucked as Norgrim dropped the gondola into the river. Water sprayed across the windows, roaring; everything shook, and Norgrim worried that Tohmalla would lose her balance. She didn’t. 
    “Now for the tricky part,” Norgrim said. He pushed the engines to full power; the furnace hummed violently. He turned the fans almost horizontal to the ground.
    With a dramatic shudder, the Cloudwalker lifted from the river, leaving a spray of water in its wake.
    As soon as the flight was stable, Norgrim opened the control room, and looked into the main cabin. Water sloshed around the room; a cool wind flowed in from the open doors. Black stains marked the walls and floor; the woodwork was damaged, probably beyond simple repair. The fires were out.
    “I’m too old for this much crazy,” Norgrim said. 

    The six boats moved too slowly for Kaylen’s comfort. Nothing could be done for it, of course; they sailed against the current, and the wind only blew so hard. He knew the logic, the math, and that knowledge did nothing to calm his impatience. An unbidden internal clock told him time was running out, but not for what.
    “If you keep pacing like that,” Jahsha said. “You’ll wear a hole in the deck. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll still be there when you get to Caerelon.”
    He chuckled. “I’m not worried about Alanora. Well, I am, but that’s not what’s making me twitchy. How close are we to the mills?”
    “Look.” She pointed.
    The tall shape of the mill and its water wheel was visible in the distance along the west bank. Kaylen was still amazed at how quickly Torin and his people had built facilities. The blacksmith had no love for Danelle’s heavy-handed tactics; Kaylen hoped Torin and his people would come to Caerelon and help rebuild the village. If not, he at least wanted them to know what had transpired in recent days.
    “That’s odd,” Jahsha said. She was using her spyglass. “I don’t see anyone moving around. Looks quiet as a tomb. I don’t see any smoke from the smithy, either.”
    “Torin never turns off those forges,” said Kaylen. He whistled loudly. Hassakkor arrived from above, matching speed with the boat, hovering beside him.
    “Can you make a quick fly-over those buildings?” Kaylen asked. “Let me know how many people there are, and where.”
    The dragon nodded, and flew away. They watched him circle over the buildings a few times, and return.
    “I see no one in the open,” said Hassakkor. “I smell forty-seven, all in the tall building. Two armed men stand at the door.”
    “Thank you,” said Kaylen, before cursing. “That’s a dozen people too many. How did they catch Torin off guard?”
    Jahsha shrugged. “I’ll bet they grabbed a kid or two. Easy enough, when no one’s expecting trouble. Once you’ve got a man’s family, you own him.
    Kaylen nodded. “Torin won’t risk their safety – and neither will we.”
    “I smelled one man that is familiar,” the dragon said. “I do not know his name, but he often accompanies the woman named Danelle.”
    “Her favorite boot-lick, Nogg,” said Jahsha with disgust.
    “We’re approaching the docks,” called a sailor. “I see someone coming to meet us.”
    “Signal the other ships to keep moving,” Kaylen ordered. “We’ll stop and see what’s going on. Hassakkor, please, stay with the others.”
    The white ship slowed, and edged to the end of dock. Kaylen and Jahsha jumped off. Piles of cut lumber and stone sat nearby, under tarps, ready for transport. A figure came toward them from the direction of the mill. It was Omada, Torin’s wife. She walked quickly, casting glances toward the mill.
    “Hello!” Kaylen called.
    “It’s… it’s good to see you both,” she said, hesitantly
    “What’s wrong?” Jahsha asked. “Where is everyone?”
    “They’re fine. Just fine.” She looked again at the mill. “Uh… well, is there any reason you’ve stopped by? They’re… we’re very busy at the moment. I really should be getting back myself, you know.”
    Kaylen and Jahsha exchanged knowing glances. Omada was one of the most hospitable people they knew, always ready to chat or feed whoever came by.
    “There’ve been some unusual developments in Tornaval,” said Kaylen “We thought you might want to know what’s going on.”
    Omada shifted her feet nervously. “Oh! That. We know all about it Kaylen. Danelle has been so good to us… we don’t want to get involved. It would be best if you just moved on. Torin wants to keep things peaceful-like.”
    Jahsha was about the protest; Kaylen put a hand on her arm, and said, “That’s fine. Omada. We can talk later. Tell Torin I said hello, and that I understand.” Omada made her good-byes and hurried away.
    “They’re holding everyone, adults and children, in one place,” Kaylen said as they returned to the ship. “If we hit them too hard, who knows what might happen. It’s too tight to risk using the dragons. Nogg knows that.” He sighed. “Damnit, it’s time we solved our own problems anyway.”
    Jahsha nodded. “So we get as many armed people as we can –”
    “No. A frontal assault will get hostages killed.”
    “Then what? We just leave them?”
    “No. I have a stupid plan.”
    
    A half hour later, Kaylen walked, alone, toward the mill, in the fading light of the day. He moved quickly, without hiding his presence. Sneaking wasn’t his plan. Of course, the plan he did have was somewhat… improvisational. And it relied on pissing someone off.
    Kaylen entered the circle of buildings, calling for Torin. He knew they didn’t have any crossbows; Jahsha had taken all of those to the dockyard, days before. Still, she might have missed one, or someone might throw a knife, or several people could charge him…
    “Torin isn’t available at the moment.” The voice was Nogg’s, who now appeared in the doorway of the mill, flanked by two others. “Go away, Kaylen. Your dragons can’t help you here.”
    “Who needs dragons?” Kaylen said. “I sent them away. It’s just me.”
    Nogg smiled. “I don’t believe you.”
    “Let these people go, Nogg. You know this is wrong.”
    “‘Wrong’ is selling out your race to monsters,” Nogg stated. “I’m here to keep you from taking what’s ours. Go away.”
    Kaylen brought his white sword to the ready. “You’re threatening unarmed adults and children. Come on, Nogg, you’re old Navy! Surely there must be some honor left in you. Or has Danelle whipped it all out of you?”
    Nogg stiffly walked down the steps of the mill toward Kaylen. The other two men followed him.
    Kaylen just smiled. “Under section seven of the Maritime Acts, I demand that this dispute will be resolved by duel. You win, you’re rid of me. I win, your men agree to leave without hurting anyone.”
    Nogg shook his head. “Those laws died with Tramora.”
    “Laws are ideals we put on paper,” Kaylen replied. “What are your ideals? Are you an officer of the Navy, or one of Danelle’s toadies?” He saw the fire rise in Nogg’s eyes.
    The older man pulled his own sword, a long straight blade. “Let it be, then.” He looked back at the mill. “Sentinels! Should I die, release the prisoners unharmed and go back to Tornaval.” He turned his attention to Kaylen. “I always wondered what it would be like to fight the bashful hero of the Blue Isles.”
    “I’m no hero,” Kaylen said. “I never wanted to be one. I’m just doing what I have to do.”
    “As am I,” Nogg replied.
    White metal met grey steel. Night had come, and they fought in the light of two torches mounted on the front of the mill, casting long shadows. After a few moments, Kaylen had to admit that Nogg had greater technical skill – and a propensity for orthodox, text-book moves, perfectly executed, and very predictable. For several minutes, Kaylen played to Nogg’s comfort zone, looking for an opportunity to do something surprising. He misjudged one of Nogg’s feints, turned the wrong way, and received a cut across his left thigh. It staggered him for a moment; he managed a parry, and fell back.
    “You’re getting weak,” Nogg said, wiping sweat from his face with a sleeve.
    Kaylen wobbled as blood ran down his leg. The tip of his sword dipped, wavering. Nogg charged; Kaylen spun at the last second, ducking under Nogg’s broad swing, spinning to slash his opponent hard, across the lower back. Nogg collapsed against a pile of logs, rolled, dropping his sword.
    “This wasn’t necessary,” Kaylen said, walking slowly toward the prone man.
    “Yes it was,” Nogg said as he died. 
    Hearing movement, Kaylen looked to see several of Nogg’s men eyeing him.
    “He’s dead,” Kaylen said. “You heard him. Leave. Go home.”
    “I don’t think so,” said the biggest man. “This just means his job is open. Danelle will appreciate whoever brings you down, traitor.”
    “I’m so sick of that word,” Kaylen said.
    “So am I.” Jahsha stepped into the light, long knives in each hand. She was joined by two dozen others, dwarves and humans.
    “Unlike Kaylen, I don’t give a rat’s ass about rules,” she said. “If you hurt anyone else, I’ll personally make sure you each die very slowly, chewing on your own severed genitals. I suggest a hasty retreat.”
    The sentinels looked at each, and hurriedly disappeared up the road toward Tornaval.
    Kaylen’s leg gave out; he fell, heavily. 
    “That was a stupid plan,” Jahsha said, rushing to his side.
    “It worked,” Kaylen groaned. “That’s all that matters.”
    People emerged from the mill. A huge man and Omada ran to Kaylen.
    “You didn’t get killed on my account, now did you?” asked Torin, kneeling beside the injured man.
    “Nope,” Kaylen replied. “I’m afraid I’ll live to do more stupid things.”
    Omada examined the cut on his leg, and bound it with her apron. “We’re going to need to put stitches in that,” she said, kissing him on the forehead.
    
    The next morning, Kaylen sat on the mill’s front porch, his injured leg stretched out. Dorna had come from the ships, bringing her collection of ointments and poultices, but they seemed only to convert pain to itching. At the moment, she sat next to him, along with Omada.
    “Why does it always have to be so hard?” Torin asked. He stood in the doorway, towering over everyone.
    “Hell if I know,” Kaylen said. “Maybe it gets easier someday.”
    Torin sighed. “We worked hard to build this place, damnit. I don’t want to give it up.”
    “We’ll make sure your next place is permanent.”
    Several children ran past, chasing colorful insects. Their laughter put smiles on everyone’s faces.
    “What’s that?” Omada asked, pointing upward.
    “Norgrim?” Dorna asked eagerly. A great grey lozenge rode the sky to the south.
    “He’s a friend.” Kaylen said to Omada; the three words didn’t feel as tired as they had in the past. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and hoped it was all over.

    Alanora stood, as she had for many minutes, in a cool, dry room, vaguely lit in blue, looking at her father. The cold room had once stored food for construction workers and dwarves as they carved Caerelon from the volcanic core. Now, the body of the city’s fallen Lord lay on top of a simple table, wrapped in an ornate cloth, only his head open to view. She found it comforting that his face had not been damaged by the long fall. She wanted the eyes to open, the mouth to speak comforting words, to be the man she’d known as a small child. This was not what she’d hoped for… the tears flowed, unbidden.
    “Alanora?” came Beynor’s voice. He’d left her alone for what felt like hours. “They’re here.”
    Turning away from her father, wiping her face dry, she saw a dozen people in the doorway, almost like ghosts in the off-color, pale light. They were men and women; she recognized some, and not others.
    “Tears?” one of them, a tall, balding man asked. She recognized him as Sonak, a former officer in the Watch, the man who had arrested and beaten Kaylen. Reports of his death in the riots had obviously been wrong.
    “He is my father,” Alanora said quietly and firmly.
    “You killed him.”
    “He killed himself.”
    “I love a good debate,” said Beynor. “Please, continue.”
    “What is there to discuss?” Alanora asked. “This isn’t about my father’s death, it’s about what all of you didn’t gain from it. Kudric would have rewarded you all when he seized power. Only it didn’t happen that way, did it? Kudric died a coward’s death, and now none of you have anything.” Many in her audience looked uncomfortable, casting quick glances at each oth