What would I ever do without you?"

With Miriam's help, Tempest dressed in record time and was soon fairly flying down the tower steps to the great hall.

The fair was all any girl could hope for, and Tempest was enjoying herself thoroughly. The aroma of freshly baked bread

and meat pies wafted from the various booths as she pa.s.sed.

There were ribbons of every color displayed on tables, and at the jeweler's booth her mother was trying to decide which gems would suit her newest ball gown. Tempest did not stop to admire the jewelry with her mother and the other ladies; she had never been interested in decorating herself. She was more interested in herbs and healing.

A small, drab tent set a short distance from the rest caught her attention and she walked toward it. There were no people near and nothing to disclose what it contained. Tempest lifted the flap and peered into the small tent. As she stepped into the doorway, she seemed to enter an entirely new world. The sounds of the venders hawking their wares faded into the distance; the luscious smells of baking bread and meat pies seemed to dissolve like snow hitting a sun-warmed stone. Instead, she became aware of a soft silence, a gentle breeze and the sweet smell of spring violets which enveloped her, lulling her into an almost hypnotic trance.

The tent's interior was as bright as daylight, although she could see no candles burning. The walls, so different from those of the outside, were soft, muted pastels and seemed to glow with a life of their own. There was a small, round table in the center of the room covered with an indigo cloth. A woman sat beside the table, holding a large deck of cards in her hands.

She looked up at Tempest and smiled.

The woman seemed familiar, and Tempest tried to recall where they had met. Then memories returned in a flood. She remembered sitting by the creek the day of her thirteenth birthday. The woman, Lysira, had come to her at a time when she needed comfort, and she had never forgotten what she had been told: "You can be no more and no less than the G.o.ds wish." Words upon which she had come to base her life.

"Lysira?"

"Aye, Tempest. How swiftly time has pa.s.sed; now you are a woman of eighteen years. You have become as beautiful as I expected. Have you come to me to have your future told? Sit, please." She motioned to the chair in front of Tempest.

"I have no coins with which to pay." Tempest turned to

leave. "But I can find my father and get some-"

"Tempest. This is the day of your birth. This will be my gift to you. Coins are not important, but you must know what you will soon face so you can prepare yourself. Please sit."

"I have never done this before. I do not know what to do.

Is this witchery?" Tempest was nervous as she sat on the hard wooden chair. "I am not afraid, but I would not want you to get into trouble. The people here are against anything that seems to be witchcraft. Just recently my father had to banish an old woman because-"

"Tempest. Do not babble." Lysira laid the cards in front of her. "Take the cards and shuffle them three times. Next, cut them three times to the left, with your left hand. There will be no trouble for me from reading the cards for you. Calmly now, sweet child, calmly." She spoke soothingly, and Tempest felt her heart slow and her blood calm as she picked up the cards and did as she had been instructed.

Lysira had held back one card from the deck. This she laid in the center of the table. Tempest saw a picture of a young man in a bright blue coat and red pants. He held his hat in one hand and carried a large goblet in the other.

"This card is the significator," Lysira told her. "It shows your youth and innocence." Taking up the shuffled deck, she laid another card over it, a card showing eight swords curved around one large, central sword.

"There has been much talk about your strangeness. It has not been good talk, and you fear it." Lysira laid the next five cards down quickly, placing them in a circle around the two central cards with the first card lying across the nine of swords.

One card seemed to draw Tempest. On it was pictured a tower. A bolt of lightning shot from the dark sky, striking the tower, making stones fly into the air. There were people falling, others lying dead upon the ground. She could almost hear the chaos in this picture, smell death in the air, taste the terror of the falling people.

"That card..." Tempest pointed a trembling finger at it. "Is there going to be a war? Will our castle be destroyed? My family... Are we all going to die? I do not..." she rose to leave

the tent.

"Tempest!" Lysira's sharp voice stopped her. "The pictures of the Tarot have much deeper meanings than what you see.

Sit. Let us finish what we have begun."

Tempest sat. She could not have moved if a sword had been swinging at her head. "Tell me," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"This card describes the chaos in your life. It tells of being forced into something abhorrent, something you must resist with all your being or you will be destroyed like this tower. Do not resist the wisdom of your heart, Tempest. You will know what is right for you.

"See this card?" She pointed to the topmost card. "This is the Lovers. Love will soon come into your life. You must accept no other but the one destined for you. Your heart will tell you true."

"They look so happy. So much in love. She looks a little like me, except she does not have my ugly red hair." Tempest felt calmer.

Lysira laid three more cards to the right side of the others.

"You will feel pulled in every direction, and with good reason.

What you face will not be easy, for there is much evil to combat, but you are a strong woman and you must not shrink from what you will encounter. Your strength will see you through."

Lysira touched the next card on the tarot deck. "This card is the end result. This card will tell your future." She laid the card face up on the table.

An icy wind pervaded the tent. The air became stale and heavy, stifling. Tempest saw the card as if from a great distance.

On the card was a figure dressed in a dark robe, a b.l.o.o.d.y scythe in his hand, the land around him was desolate. A skeleton lay at his feet. It was a card of death.

An unearthly scream rent the air, jerking Tempest to her feet like a marionette. She turned and fled the tent, running into the adjacent field. A crowd of people stood nearby, their heads raised, staring into the pale autumn sky. An old woman pointed into the air, screaming wordlessly.

The man and woman stared into the crystal ball.

"Why is Lysira there?" the woman demanded, her low voice filled with anger. "Was this your doing?"

"Nay," the man replied quietly. "I wonder..."

"Well, do not wonder. Do something. She cannot be allowed to interfere. The child must not know the future."

"What is done is done." He sighed, leaned back in his ornate chair and put his feet up on the chess board, scattering the pieces. "This changes things considerably. Plans must be made. Cover the crystal, m'dear. We must talk."

FOUR.

The huge, golden dragon circled the field, the curve of his flight narrowing as he flew. When he was directly over Tempest, he slowly began his descent. Fear a.s.sailed her as she watched the beautiful dragon gliding ever nearer-then a feeling of wonder, then peace, as she stood rooted to the ground. All noise faded into the background as, transfixed, she watched the silent dragon spiral toward her.

Mist-blue dragon eyes met moss-green human eyes and locked.

A dragon-scream ripped through the air. The dragon's eyes flashed gold and seemed to blaze brighter than the sun overhead.

A roar came from the huge beast as his eyes turned skyward.

High above circled another dragon, this one a deep claret.

Hovering, the challenger bellowed a cry to battle. The golden dragon catapulted upward to meet his foe, an answering cry ringing out as he flew to meet the challenge.

Tempest watched in horror as the two mighty opponents clashed in midair, their claws and teeth ripping at each other with deadly force. Screams of hatred, then of pain as they collided-then grim silence as they fought their deadly battle.

The red dragon was the larger of the two and, at first, seemed to be winning, but the gold was younger and more nimble. He hit the red with sudden slashes from his talons and tore out chunks of flesh with his teeth. Blood and dragon scales showered the earth around Tempest in a crimson rain of death.

The red fought mightily but was rapidly losing ground as the two dragons neared the earth, each growing weaker from the other's powerful blows. Suddenly the gold pulled back from

the red and loosed a great burst of flame. The red shrieked in agony, his death cry growing more shrill and discordant, until the people watching from below could stand no more, and they covered their ears, fleeing in terror from the scene of battle.

Tempest alone remained paralyzed in her fear for the beautiful golden dragon, as the two beasts plummeted toward her. The red dragon was quickly becoming a ma.s.sive ball of flame and would soon fall upon her, but still she was frozen.

Suddenly the golden dragon grasped her in his huge claws and carefully lifted her into the air. He flew, with the girl clutched gently in immense, wicked talons, to the edge of the nearby woods and set her lightly upon the ground. He alit uneasily beside her.

Tempest, unafraid, reached out and touched the wounded beast. She had never seen a dragon before, but somehow she knew this one would never harm her. She felt inexplicably drawn to him. She had just witnessed a battle to the death between two of the most dreaded creatures on earth, but still she had no fear. The dragon watched her silently.

"You are wounded," she stated, touching one of his huge claws. "Let me help. I am a healer." She reached for the bag of herbs she always carried.

You cannot help me, little witch. The words, deep and melodious, rumbled in her head. Only dragon magic can heal a dragon.

"You speak," Tempest blurted with surprise. "I did not realize dragons could talk. How do you do it? I am not a witch,"

she quickly added. "And my name is Tempest. What may I call you?"

Aye, little Tempest, our kind speaks with mindspeak, and you are most certainly a witch. You may call me Adrian, which is not my dragon name. 'Tis what my father calls me. You certainly do talk a lot.

"I talk a lot when I am nervous," she retorted.

Do you fear me?

"Nay."

Then tell me why you are nervous.

"You said I talk too much."

Is that why you are nervous?

"How would you feel if you had just met a dragon for the first time?" Tempest was defensive. "You are ten times bigger than me. You have these gigantic claws which could rip me to shreds. You just killed another dragon even bigger than you, and you are hurt and will not even let me help you. So, just you tell me how would you feel, Sir Dragon? Would you not be nervous? And do not call me a witch! Do you want to have me burned at the stake?" She sputtered, her face growing red, making her freckles stand out vividly.

The dragon watched, fascinated. Your anger brings out those little red dots across your nose, he observed. I like them. They are cute on that tiny, turned-up nose. Would you like to come home with me? Her red hair reminded him of a warm fire on a cold winter's night, and he suddenly felt protective toward the tiny human standing bravely before him.

Being a fairly young dragon, he had experienced very little discourse with humans and the ones he had met had all run from him in fear.

"Nay. I have a home. I would not go with you if you were the last dragon on Earth." Tempest was beginning to enjoy this majestic creature and wanted this particular discussion to continue. She had never had an experience like this before, and the huge beast fascinated her.

I am not, you know. The voice was in her head again. She did not know if dragons could smile, but she could sense the laughter behind his words.

"You are not what?"

The last dragon on Earth.

There definitely was laughter this time, very strange dragon laughter as his delight grew with her nonsensical badinage.

"I did not mean that you were." Tempest was not sure how to explain to this huge beast the strange absurdities of the human language.

Abruptly, the world intruded upon them. Loud voices calling her name came from the road. 'Twas her father and Tristan.

I must leave, the dragon told her reluctantly. People

fear dragons-unless they are brave little witches with dots on their noses. As he spread his translucent wings, droplets of blood landed on Tempest's hand.

"Nay, you must let me try to help you. You are injured. I will not let them hurt you. Please," she pleaded, but to no avail.

The dragon rose slowly and painfully into the air.

Farewell, little Tempest. I shall not soon forget you. Where he had rested was a large pool of blood. Tempest knew he was badly injured and wondered how he had managed to stay by her for so long...How he had managed to lift his huge body into the sky...If she would ever see him again.

"Farewell, my beautiful golden dragon. Be well." A large lump formed in her throat as she watched the dragon soar slowly into the heavens. "Be safe," she whispered in his wake.

"They will be greatly disturbed at the destruction of the red," the woman commented as she moved her queen over the board, taking the man's bishop.

"They will soon forget this small battle," the man predicted, frowning at the chessboard. "Besides, that red was completely mad and would have caused too much trouble.

Never could stand red dragons anyway."

"Will he live?" she wondered as she gazed intently into the crystal.

"'Tis the plan, is it not?" He looked up from the board.