'Everyone's terrified of the dragon.'

Kheda looked at the youth thoughtfully for a moment before cracking the seal on Itrac's note and scanning the contents. 'All seems well enough on Esabir,' he mused.

Apart from the fact that we've nearly emptied the treasury of gems to save the palm huts and sailer granaries of Boal's threadbare hill villages. And we wont be replacing such wealth any time soon, with not so much as a single trading galley venturing into Chazen waters since Janne Daish went home. Is that her doing? Would she need to do anything, with a dragon overflying our sea lanes? At least there's no other cause for alarm in Itrac's news.

Kheda refolded the paper and took out a second missive. His heartbeat accelerated as he recognised Risala's writing on the outside. He tugged at the cord around his neck and pulled the emerald and silver ring that was the key to Shek Kul's cipher out from beneath his tunic. It was the work of a moment to make sense of the few brief lines of flowing script. He looked up at Ridu with a smile before calling across the gully. 'Zicre, there's something of an end in view. Risala, the poet I sent as my envoy to the north, she's on her way back. She left at the crossing of the moons.'

Is that any kind of sign? Where were the stars and heavenly jewels when the last fading arc of the Greater Moon was matching the first renascent arc of the Lesser?

He looked up at the blue sky bleaching towards early evening, soiled with the dust of the dry season hanging heavy in the air. It took a distinct effort to picture the arcs of the unseen night sky.

Both moons are talisman against dragons, presumably because, as we now know, the beasts scorn both pearls and opals. I wonder if this magewoman of Dev's will know why. So it must be a good sign that the Greater Moon was in the arc of life, along with the Mirror Bird that turns aside magic. The Lesser Moon rode in the arc of duty alongside the Horned Fish, another sign of renewal.

Was there anything significant opposite either moon, where the ancient sages said the dragon's tail trailed? Opposite the Lesser, we had the Amethyst that warns against arrogance and the Canthira Tree that's reborn through fire in the arc of foes. As it happens, that's beside the arc of life. So with the Diamond beside the Pearl in the arc of children, along with the Net that offers support for us now and in the future opposite the Greater Moon, we have positive omens in twin opposition across the compass.

And the Ruby that's talisman against fire was shining among the stars of the Spear in the arc of death.

'The compass of the heavens when she set out must surely presage the dragon's fate coming from the north.' He looked from Zicre to Ridu and back again with a broad smile, though he found it strangely difficult to summon up excitement over such signs. The thought of seeing Risala again was enough to drive everything else out of his mind.

That's what's really putting the smile on your face.

He looked down at the paper again, reluctant to put away even this insubstantial contact with her.

There must be some way we can escape everyone else's eyes and find a little peace in each other's arms.

I'm doing my duty by Itrac, aren't I?

'My lord.' Ridu cleared his throat. 'May I speak freely?'

'About what?' Kheda looked up sharply. 'I mean, yes, but we'll have some privacy, Zicre.' He shot a stern glance at the erstwhile hunter.

'I'll keep watch over there.' The lean man shrugged and took himself off down the gully.

Kheda looked at Ridu. 'What is it?'

'I stopped in the villages for food, as you instructed.' The young warrior gripped his sword hilts so hard his knuckles whitened. He stared down at the ground. 'I heard talk.'

'Go on.' Kheda forced himself to speak calmly. 'Talk about what?'

'About the dragon.' Ridu looked up, face muddy with apprehension. 'About why it's hunting us in the hills like this. Every village spokesman is asking his seer and any travelling augur if there are any signs to explain it.''And what do these fortune-tellers say?' Kheda kept his face pleasantly interested.

Ridu swallowed and glanced towards the cave entrance. 'They are wondering - just wondering, my lord,'

he qualified hastily, 'if the beast is hunting your barbarian.'

Kheda froze with shock. 'Why would it be doing that?' Blood pulsed in his throat.

Ridu looked at Dev with naked suspicion. 'It started out hunting down the wild men. They weren't wizards but they came with them, tainted by their magic. Barbarians live surrounded by magic. They think nothing of it.'

Kheda tried to work out if Zicre was close enough to hear this. 'Dev's lived in the Archipelago for more than half his life,' he lied steadily. 'He's not been hunted by a dragon before.' He regretted those words as soon as they left his mouth.

'There hasn't been a dragon to hunt him before,' Ridu retorted.

Undeniably true.

Kheda pursed his lips. 'I would need some more definite sign before I wanted to believe such a thing.'

'The dragon never comes after any of us who go to find food or to carry dispatches,' Ridu pointed out with growing boldness. 'Would it be a sign if we sent Dev off alone and waited to see if the beast followed him?'

'I'll bear it in mind.' Kheda realised he had crushed Risala's letter in his hand. 'But I won't do any such thing until we've found out what lore the Green Turtle's brought back from the north.'

'A lot of the soothsayers are seeing no very hopeful signs that barbarian lore can help us.' Ridu looked at him, honest doubt in his eyes.

'We'll have to wait and see.' A noise in the scorched trees above the gully made Kheda look up. 'Zicre, what's that?'

'Loals.' The former huntsman came back down the gully. 'I suppose that could be a sign of sorts, my lord.'

Kheda decided to ignore the insolence and watched the black-furred creatures picking their way along the edge of the gully, chittering with what sounded like displeasure at the ash stirred up by their steps. At this distance, when they stood upright to see their path more clearly, the animals looked oddly human, only betrayed by their strange rocking gait. The group paused some distance downwind above one of the larger pools left by the subdued river.

The biggest loal looked suspiciously at the three motionless men and barked a challenge, lips curling back to better display its impressively pointed eyeteeth. Its dark eyes were whiteless, shining points of light above its long, black-furred muzzle. It sprang down into the gully, poised on all fours, long tail lashing as it sniffed the air and barked again.

'Are they always this bold?' Kheda asked quietly.

'One that size is entitled to be bold, my lord,' Zicre replied with a grin, tension momentarily leaving his lean face. 'He could rip your arm off and club you senseless with it.'

'Let's allow him and his family their evening drink, then,' said Kheda dryly. 'You go and get something to eat. I'll be a moment or so.'

The biggest loal watched warily as the two men picked their way carefully over to the cave. Sniffing the air again, it sneezed, scrubbing at its muzzle with its strangely human hands. Evidently deciding that Kheda was no immediate threat, it turned to chitter up to the rest of the group who climbed cautiously down into the gully. The half-grown infants released their grip on their mothers' fur to drop down and lap at the puddles. Kheda watched with amusement as the first ones to quench their thirst began flicking mud at each other while the adults turned to foraging under stones for grubs and worms.

They all froze with barks of alarm and Kheda jumped. Then he realised that all the loals were looking at Dev who had got up from his uncomfortable bed across the cave entrance. He glanced incuriously at the creatures and walked over to join Kheda on his boulder.

'So you're going to throw me to the dragon if Yelindre doesn't come up with the goods?' he asked with something of his old combativeness.'What else was I supposed to say?' Kheda hissed. 'I won't let it come to that. I owe you better and you know it.'

'I'm not sure I'd mind if it did catch up with me.' Dev hung his head, hands dangling loose between his knees. 'I sure as curses don't want to live like this much longer.'

'You put it behind you before,' Kheda began cautiously.

'Last time you gave me half a pinch of that cursed powder in a bottle of wine and that stifled my wizardry for a day or so,' spat Dev furiously. 'It feels as if you've poisoned every mageborn instinct in me this time.

You might as well have cut off my stones and made a real zamorin of me.'

'It's keeping you alive,' countered Kheda resolutely.

'I'm starting to think I'd rather be dead,' Dev muttered with passion. 'You've no idea what this is like.'

I had no idea it would make you this vulnerable and wretched.

'No,' Kheda agreed with reluctant pity. 'I'm still sorry for it, though I'd do it again-'

'So the dragon couldn't eat your handy decoy.' Dev's face twisted with bitterness.

'I wanted to save your life. I didn't know it would still be able to follow you. At least it has no more than a vague idea where you are now.' Kheda went to unfold Risala's letter. 'You just have to keep taking the drug until Velindre gets here. It shouldn't be too much longer-'

'What happens then?' Dev sat upright, horror on his drawn, dirty face. 'What happens when the dragon gets a sniff of Velindre's power?'

'I don't know.' Kheda looked to make sure there were no curious faces at the cave mouth.

But she'll surely be a far more tempting morsel than Dev in this sorry state.

'I won't be able to do a thing to save her.' Dev stared at him, distraught.

'Risala says she has the secrets we need.' Kheda raised the crumpled paper slowly. 'Won't she be able to save herself?'

Won't she be able to save both of them, and the boat they're on and all its crew? What will the domain make of the dragon destroying the vessel I've been telling everyone all our hopes are riding in?

'My lord.' Ridu appeared at the mouth of the cave, cold baked fish wrapped in lilla leaves in his hands.

'You must eat, both of you.'

Kheda nodded and got to his feet. 'You have to try, Dev,' he insisted in an undertone.

'I don't see much point,' muttered the mage miserably. 'I probably won't keep it down.'

'There must be crush-root growing somewhere.' Kheda looked at Dev with growing concern. 'That could help.' He caught Dev's arm as the wizard stumbled over a rock. The sharp sound startled the loals. The whole group fled in moments, leaving nothing behind but damp overturned rocks and the echo of their shrill cries.

What kind of a sign might that be? I don't know and I'm starting to think I don't really care.

He took more of the wizard's weight on his arm and they made their way to the darkness of the cave.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

JThe harsh Aldabreshin tongue was the first thing Velindre heard as her senses returned. Slowly she realised that the darkness was no longer complete. There was light beyond her eyelids. She was lying somewhere, on her side. There was something soft beneath her but no coverlet.

Velindre tried to open her eyes but found her lashes sticky and crusted. She tried to raise a hand to rub at then but her movements were clumsy and awkward. She rolled on to her back but any further movement was beyond her. The air was stale and stifling, unexpected heat oppressive.

Someone caught her hand and placed it carefully on her midriff. 'All right, don't fret.' She felt a hand on her neck, checking her heartbeat.

She recognised that voice. It was the girl who had drugged her. Velindre tried to twist away but her body wouldn't obey her.

'Lie still,' soothed the girl.

Risala, that was her name, Velindre remembered. Further recollection fled at the shock of a cool, dampcloth on her forehead. The magewoman could do nothing but submit as her eyes were gently cleansed.

She lay rigid with growing anger as memory returned. She had been here for some unfathomable length of time. She recalled struggling to wake, time and again, tormented by thirst. The water she had been given to drink had thrust her back into the abyss of unconsciousness.

'There you are,' concluded Risala with satisfaction.

Velindre blinked and squinted, her blurred vision clearing to reveal that she was lying in a cramped, window-less room. Bright sunlight edging through a narrow door fell on the wooden walls and floor. She did her best to scowl at Risala, who was kneeling beside her.

'What did you do to me?' Her accusation was a harsh whisper. Her mouth was dry and foul.

'I'm sorry.' Risala's apology was perfunctory. 'We couldn't afford any more delay - still less risk you refusing to come at all. Not when we knew you had the lore we need.' She slipped an arm behind Velindre's shoulders to raise her up, bringing a wooden cup to her lips.

Velindre found some strength returning to her nerveless arms but not enough to resist. Not enough to slap this bitch's face. She resolved to bide her time and sipped at the liquid in the cup. Citrus juice cut through the stale-ness in her mouth and she licked at her rough, dry lips. 'So you enslaved me?' She would have said more but a fit of coughing seized her, leaving a burning ache in her chest. 'Not exactly.' That seemed to amuse the girl, to Velindre's impotent fury. Risala tugged at a cushion to prop the magewoman's head up and sat back on her heels. 'Don't worry. The soporific will soon wear off Velindre looked down towards her feet, wondering when she would be able to move. Then she would be gone from here as soon as she could find some breath of air to work with. She looked at her legs, distracted by the realisation that she was now dressed like her captor. Both of them wore loose trousers of undyed cotton reaching to mid-shin and sleeveless tunics in faded red. Velindre's skin was startlingly pale compared to the Aldabreshin girl's rich brown complexion.

Her thoughts wandered. She'd never worn anything red, not since she'd been a child. Her parents had dressed her in neutral colours until their acute observation might determine the nature of any inborn affinity she might possess.

She dismissed the irrelevance angrily. She must still be half-stupefied. No matter. She'd be gone from this inadequate prison just as soon as she could gather her wits and her strength. Her stomach gurgled noisily.

'I'm hungry,' she said with as much dignity as she could muster. 'Am I to be starved as well as enslaved?'

Risala smiled with that infuriating amusement again. 'I'll get you some food.' She disappeared through the open door.

Velindre looked after her, trying to make sense of the noises beyond. With a jolt that was half-surprise and half-fear, she identified the slap of water against a ship's hull and the creak of oars and ropes. A pipe was sounding out a regular rhythm somewhere in the pattern of light and shade beyond the door and she could half-hear, half-feel the rush of the sea running beneath the wooden floor of her prison. Idle conversation floated over the boards above her head.

With a further shiver she realised that she had no way of knowing what was being said. She might be fluent in every tongue spoken from the polite debates of Toremal's enlightenment to the haphazard archives of Solura's robust feudalism, but that would do her little good here. She'd never had cause to learn anything of Aldabreshin languages or dialects. These uncouth barbarians had never produced any scholarship worth noting. Nor would they, as long as they persisted in their superstitious fear of magic.

That superstitious fear would be the death of her, if she didn't get away.

Velindre realised that more than disquiet was coursing through her. With an unpleasant crawling sensation, warmth was replacing the numbness in her legs. Bracing her hands against the flower-embroidered quilt beneath her, she managed to sit upright against the planking. She froze at the abrupt realisation of another violation, far worse than the loss of her clothes: her hair had been cropped so short it barely covered the nape of her neck. She ran a shaking hand over her head, unbidden tears starting to her eyes.

Risala reappeared in the doorway, a covered bowl in her hands. 'Weep if you want to,' she invited with sympathy. 'It's the soporific. It distresses some people.'

'I'm not distressed, I'm angry,' Velindre said with shaky accusation. 'You cut my hair.''I did,' the Aldabreshin girl admitted with more genuine remorse than she'd shown thus far. 'I've kept it for you. I'm sorry, but it had to be done.'

'Why?' snapped Velindre, scrubbing the tears clumsily from her cheeks.

'Eat this, slowly.' Risala knelt to place the bowl between Velindre's hands. Once she was satisfied that the wizard woman had secure hold of it, she lifted the lid. 'I'll explain what I can.'

The bowl was warm between Velindre's hands and against her cotton-clad thighs. A savoury scent rose and her stomach growled again. Swollen golden grain was sinking slowly in a clear broth along with chunks of pale fish. Resentful, she picked up the long, shallow spoon of unadorned silver and began to eat. The sooner she regained her strength, the sooner she would be gone.

'I'm sorry we had to take you like this.' Satisfied with the magewoman's apparent compliance, Risala sat on a folded quilt by the door. 'But the lives of hundreds depend on the lore that you promised, and much more besides. We must be rid of this dragon.'

The concoction in the bowl was delicious. Velindre forced herself to pause in her eating. 'What has any of that to do with cutting my hair?' she asked coldly.

Risala considered her for a moment, blue eyes opaque. 'You do know what happens to those who use magic in the Archipelago?'

'Yes,' said Velindre curtly, shoving the spoon viciously into the delicately poached fish and aromatic grain.

'Then you appreciate the necessity for some disguise.' Sarcasm coloured Risala's tone. 'We've a long way to travel and there are plenty of domains who've suffered at barbarian hands. More than one warlord prefers killing any unexplained traveller with pale skin or yellow hair over risking further theft or insult. Travelling openly as a northern barbarian would draw every curious eye towards you, never mind risking inevitable suspicion that you might be a mage.'

'And you have the gall to call us barbarians,' Velindre muttered, returning to her food. 'So what's my part in this masquerade? Slave?'