"No," he barked, stepping away, waving his arms. "We lost good people here, friends and family." He stalked up to Qindra and looked up into her face. She had a full head on him, but he was not beneath her in any way. "Will that make Deidre wake up? Or fix Sarah's arm?"

I looked down. My arm was wrapped in a blanket, strapped to my abdomen. "What's wrong with my arm?"

"My mistress is not unjust," Qindra said, drawing a thin willow wand from inside her cloak. The tip glowed with a pearlescent blue light. "I am not without power of my own."

She stepped forward and Stuart stepped in front of her.

"Your kind have caused enough pain and suffering," he said, his voice barely above a growl. "I watched you put Yvonne to sleep."

Qindra sighed. "She was beyond restoring. I stopped her pain."

"You killed her," he barked, his voice suddenly loud.

She paused, staring into his face. "And you showed a similar mercy to those fallen on the field."

His back stiffened but he did not budge.

"I have a bit of leeway here," she said, her voice softening with each word. "She does not begrudge me a few acts of independence."

"Let her pass," Katie said. "You promise to help her, right?"

There had been several moments when she had helped us. She dispelled the illusion of the enemy, showed us their true forms. And she stilled the berserker in me. Gave me some control of that killing fury.

"Stuart," Katie said, placing her hand on his shoulder, "if she can help save her arm."

"If you hurt her any more than she has already suffered," he said, "I'll kill you myself."

Qindra did not smile, nor mock him in any way. She just nodded. "You have my word."

He relented, finally, stepping aside like a door opening, allowing her to pass.

Katie pulled the blanket back, and I looked down at my arm. I'd held the shield with this arm, kept the dragon fire from turning me into toast.

The hand was a twisted claw, the skin a mottle of black and red. Bone showed through at the wrist. It was not until the elbow did I see anything remotely like healthy flesh.

I lifted my arm, the pain in my shoulder a small price to pay. My arm looked like something from a zombie movie. "Oh . . ." I gulped as the urge to vomit swept through me. ". . . oh, God."

"Dragon fire," Qindra said, touching the tip of the wand to my forehead.

The nausea vanished, and a peace radiated outward from that touch. I laid my head back, taking in long, even breaths.

The wand traced down my neck, over my shoulder, down to my elbow, and stopped.

Qindra staggered, nearly falling if not for Katie.

"This is worse than I thought," she whispered. "I need whiskey."

"Right," Stuart said. He sprinted into the house and returned with a bottle of Jimmy's favorite Kentucky bourbon.

She took the bottle and tilted it to my lips, just barely letting the brown liquid wet them. The taste was strong and burned its way down my throat.

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea, with all the painkillers she's on," Katie said.

Qindra shrugged. "Whiskey is life." She took a swig, bent over, and puffed out her cheeks. A thin stream of whiskey sprayed from her mouth, down the blackened parts of my arm. Deadened nerves erupted to life, overloading my brain with conflicting signals. The whiskey rolled down my arm like fire.

The wand followed behind, touching each spot where the whiskey touched, changing the burning to a spot of cold that spread out in concentric circles. Three times she drank, and three times she used the whiskey and the wand to change my arm.

In the end, she handed the bottle back to Stuart and turned away, vomiting into the yard. "Bring water here," she said, pointing to the smoking, putrid mess that lay on the ground at her feet. "Wash this into the earth, before it begins to burn." She turned back, wiping a cloth across her lips and dropping it as it burst into flame. "That is all I can do."

Katie cried, and Stuart just stared at my arm. Pink flesh shone from elbow to wrist. I couldn't see the bone. The last two fingers were fused together, but I knew I wouldn't lose the hand.

"Thank you," I said as Qindra walked away. Whether she heard me or not, I couldn't know.

When Melanie returned, she nearly fainted. Katie pulled her aside and talked to her in hushed tones as the ambulance crew began to load me in their truck.

"Where are we going?" I asked the EMT.

He didn't answer right away, but checked my vitals and changed out my IV. When he was done, he pulled an oxygen mask over my face.

"Burn unit over at Harborview," he said. "They got the best docs there."

I let my head fall back, breathing in the clean, antiseptic smell of the oxygen mask. "I think Melanie Danvers is pretty damn good."

He shrugged. "ER docs are aces in my book," he said. "Doesn't hurt she's a hottie."

Yes, I thought as I drifted. Hottie.

"Helluva accident," he said. "Dena said a gas line blew. That how you got the burns?"

I blinked at him, feeling the onrush of exhaustion.

"Crying shame," he said. "I didn't even know they were doing a movie shoot out here. Bet this jacks the insurance rates."

Movie shoot? Is that what they were told? What about Jean-Paul? His body is nowhere near some pretend gas main explosion.

Qindra concocted that story, no doubt. Another in a list of calm, calculated cover-ups. I bet the fire at the smithy will be classified the same. Earthquake just last week. Bad lines all over the place.

I slipped off, letting the beeping of the heart monitor lull me to sleep.

Sixty-five.

THE MOSAIC OF LIGHTS HUNG BELOW FREDERICK AS HE SOARED over Portland. It had been a long time since he'd shifted so completely. Decades since he'd felt the wind flowing along his body, pushed along by the beat of his mighty wings.

Moments like these brought back the rush of his younger days in the motherland-times when man lived in scattered villages and there was no need to watch for airliners and news copters.

He missed the olden days before man had risen so high. Maybe his kind were to blame, allowing them to progress so far and so fast. But he loved it as well. He had more money, more power than any of his kind in the old country. While they squabbled over scraps, he had his own kingdom here in this new country.

There were those who clung to the old ways, but not he. He'd embraced the burgeoning civilization, rode it like a lover until he reigned supreme.

Nidhogg might object, but he saw her frailty as weakness that would not long survive. Once he solidified his base with Seattle and Vancouver, he would have the largest holdings in the world.

Jean-Paul's death was a fluke, brought on by his inability to control the beast. Frederick did not lose his senses in their true form. He even retained the ability to speak. Jean-Paul fell to the fury and rage, and good riddance to him.

He rode the thermals for a bit, breathing in the dreams of his people. They had such hope here in this city of green. Nothing was impossible to the children of the west.

That smith intrigued him, titillated him in ways he'd not been thrilled in years. Here was an adversary worthy of his time. If Jean-Paul had not been so arrogant, so foolhardy, he'd be alive today, crushing Vancouver under his tainted claws. Now his world was ripe for Frederick to take.

The girl, this smith . . . he would watch her and wait. Let her be a thorn in the side of Nidhogg a while longer. It made no never mind to him. The wheel turned, the fires burned. Let the dead lie and the living bring him the tribute worthy of his greatness.

Frederick climbed higher to where the wind buffeted his body-cold and strong. He turned toward Mount Hood, craving the frigid stillness that reminded him of his early years.

Sixty-six.

KATIE DIDN'T NORMALLY SNORE, BUT THAT'S WHAT WOKE ME. I cracked my eyes open, like opening a vault, and the dim light of the hospital room pierced my brain. I had no idea how long I'd been unconscious, but I know I was not tired. Sore, yes. God, I hurt everywhere.

The soft beep of the heart monitor and the ambient smell of disinfectant were beginning to be familiar. Not sure I liked that.

I watched her for a long time. She sat in one of those square padded chairs with the little kick-out foot rest that the hospitals provided for loved ones. You could sleep in it, if you loved visiting your chiropractor on a regular basis.

Her lap was full of pictures, finger paintings mostly, and some line drawings. They were from her class. The splash of primary colors contrasted well with the earth tones of her skirt.

I didn't mean to wake her. She looked wiped out. My body said it was time to be awake, regardless. Of course, I couldn't see a clock. But I wanted to sit up and I wanted to get some of the tubes and such removed. I couldn't see the catheter but I could feel it. Not the most pleasant experience, let me tell you.

On the table beside my bed was a tray with a water pitcher and small plastic cups. Just looking at it made me so thirsty I coughed.

Katie sat bolt upright, scattering pictures across the floor. "Sarah?" she said, not really awake.

"Sor . . ." I tried to clear my throat. "Sorry," I managed.

She stood up, leaning against the chair, and rubbed her face. "You're awake?"

Not like her, that's for sure. I grinned and the skin on my face felt too tight.

I brought my left hand up, exploring my face with light touches. "What time is it?"

"Tuesday."

"Oh. Wait . . . What happened to Sunday?"

"Let me get the nurse," she said, scampering out of the room.

The nurse gave me the once-over, and okayed me for a glass of water. Katie chattered about the three days I'd been in and out of consciousness while she picked up the papers. Her voice was strained from more than sleep deprivation.

"How is everyone?" I asked when the nurse left.

She shrugged, dropping her hands in front of her waist. "Gunther is in a cast from hip to knee. He's grumpy as hell." She smiled at this. "Stuart had some stitches and is already back to work."

"And the others?"

"Bad." She sat down on the side of the bed, putting the pictures on the tray table. "They've got Deidre in a medically induced coma."

"Jimmy doing okay?"

"Ha." She croaked. "Spends his time blaming himself, you, and damn near everyone else."

I sighed, lifted my left arm carefully so as not to tangle the IV. I couldn't reach her, but I tried. She leaned forward and took my hand. "He loves her."

"Melanie says there's a good chance she'll never walk again."

Crap. I let go of her hand. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

She looked at me sternly. "You are not to blame here," she said.

"I'm sorry this got out of hand," I said, holding my hand out to stop her protest. "How could any rational person believe in dragons and dwarves?"

She half smiled. "Thanks."

Oy, stepped into that one.

"Okay, besides you."

"My father told me stories," she said with a shrug. "It always bugged Jimmy that I believed all of it. Up until the time they were killed. Jimmy found some things, did some snooping."

They knew? "Dragons and witches?"

"Is it any harder to believe than neuroscience or quantum physics?"

Ha . . . I was an English major. It wasn't exactly gibberish, but I had nowhere near enough math. "Apples and oranges," I said.

The thing was, they'd always been open about things. Jimmy had offered me a place in his group on the condition I'd be willing to fight when the need arose. I'd always assumed he meant the SCA skirmishes and wars they playacted in every year. How was I to know he meant it for real. And there was something funny about the way he took the weapons, after all that.

"Where's Gram?" I asked. Suddenly the sword's whereabouts was the most important thing in my life. Maybe more important than breathing.

"Stuart put them in the vault," she said. "Where Jimmy keeps the relics and talismans."

What relics? Talismans? How old was Black Briar? Where did they get these items? Nothing made sense in any way I'd thought of the world before. It was like a fairy tale, only instead of a knight in shining armor you got a blacksmith who needed therapy.