Nay! This cannot happen! I am S'rdonne, most powerful of all dragons. He felt for his ring. He would use the power of the ring. T'bor's ring. Its magic would save him!

But he felt nothing, no power, nothing. The ring was gone, lying somewhere on the forest floor, still on the talon of his severed wingtip. His power was gone for the first time since he had picked up the ring in the deep woods eons ago. It had fit him then, changed when he changed, given him magic, given him power. Without the ring, he was merely a five-hundred- year-old black dragon. He had no special powers, no special magic.

The glacial lightning hit him first. It tore deep into his chest, like his crystal dagger had torn into Tempest. It burrowed, spiraled, cut its way toward his heart as it tossed him higher into the air.

Then icy fire hit, numbing, flaming, penetrating his ma.s.sive body. Lightning and fire struck his evil heart simultaneously, burning, freezing, and killing, as he plummeted, screaming his death cry, to earth.

A tear slipped from the golden man's eye, followed quickly

by another as he watched the black dragon fall lifelessly to earth. He winced at the sound of the mighty dragon's body as it hit the ground. Dragons were so few, his heart broke at the death of one, at the loss of such strength and majesty. His mind opened. Memories flooded in. He remembered, knew what he was, knew what he had done.

The raven-haired woman sobbed. "He was mad,"

she cried, swiping at her tears. "He wanted revenge and power.

'Tis what all dragons want in the end." Then she too, remembered, remembered the past.

"He would have destroyed A'dryan."

"Aye. He would have."

"The ring," the man said quietly. "I remember the ring."

"You truly are T'bor," she said softly. "You are the Great Wyrm."

"I am," he agreed. "I killed his father in the great dragon wars. I did not realize... But which one? Which one was his father? I remember no blacks."

"I do not know, dearest. There were so many of them."

"Too many." He put his hands over his eyes. "The ring..."

he whispered.

"The ring made you human," she said, touching his golden head. "I found it and gave it to you."

"'Twas a gift from K'ronos," he recalled wearily. "I never knew exactly what it could do."

"S'rdonne knew. He knew of the magic. Mayhap 'twas that which made him mad."

"Nay. I do not believe that. 'Twas life-and death-which made him mad."

"And the loss of his mother and father," she added, as a tear trickled slowly down her cheek.

FORTY-THREE.

A'dryan settled heavily in the clearing, close to where Tempest stood. His huge body began to shimmer, grow smaller, and he began to change. As he turned human he fell, naked and bleeding, at her feet.

"Adrian?" She carefully turned him over. Small cuts and scratches covered his arms and legs, his chest was gouged and bleeding. There was blood everywhere-on her hands, seeping into her gown where it touched his body, staining the ground around him, too much blood for the wounds she could see. She tore a strip from her gown and gently swabbed his chest. Then she saw it. A long, jagged tear traveled from his ribs across his stomach to his groin. 'Twas the source of all the blood. She tore more strips from her already mutilated wedding gown and tried to stanch the flow. "Lysira," she screamed, "help me."

They quickly bound his wounds, but when they tried to move him into the cottage he cried out in pain, and his abdominal wound worsened.

"Tempest." Adrian weakly raised his hand to caress her cheek as she bent over him. "Do not move me," he gasped.

"I am dying. Let me die here, under the blue skies."

"Nay!" she exclaimed. "We will not let you die."

"'Tis time, little witch."

"Nay," Tempest whispered. She looked at Lysira. "You can heal him, Lysira. You have done so before."

"I can no longer heal him, Tempest," replied Lysira. "You are his mate. 'Tis within your power to heal him."

"But how? I know nothing of dragon healing."

"Look inside yourself. You will find the answer."

Tempest looked. She searched. She drew upon her witch's

power, pulling it from deep within her heart. Laying her hands carefully on his stomach, she tried to recall her healing knowledge. She tried to fuse power and healing. But nothing happened. His eyes were closed, his skin pale and waxen, his breathing labored as he gasped for air.

"I cannot do it," she wailed. "My healing power is gone.

'Twill not work."

"You must do it," Lysira urged.

"Nay," she moaned. "Adrian will die."

"Aye. Without your help he will die," Lysira exclaimed angrily. "Is this what you wish?"

"Never." Tempest yelled, growing angry. "If he dies, so shall I." She lifted her eyes and looked to the heavens.

"You shall not take him from me," she screamed, her clenched fist raised defiantly. "I will not let you take him. He is my love. My life."

She grew suddenly calmer as she raised her hands in supplication. "Take me instead," she whispered. "I give my life gladly for his." She lowered her head, waiting, praying.

A deep melodious voice filled her head, answering her.

Witch's tears and dragon's blood, Together they must flow.

A true love's heart , A prayer to G.o.ds The answer you shall know.

"Tempest?" Adrian's faint whisper brought her back. "Help me."

"Adrian." Her fingers trailed across his brow, down his cheek. "My love." Her tears began to form, tiny tears, witch's tears, blood-red tears. She sobbed. The tears flowed faster, harder, until they were large drops, cascading from her eyes, bathing his face, pooling on his chest, overflowing onto his wounds. Into his wounds they flowed, healing, closing, giving him strength.

Tempest could not see, could not speak, but she felt his hand on her face, gently wiping away her tears.

"Are these tears for me, little witch?" he asked. "Witches do not cry, remember?"

"I guess they do," she sobbed, "when tears are truly needed."

"Do not weep for me, Tempest." He sat up and took her into his strong arms. "I do not believe I like seeing you cry. It makes me feel all funny inside."

She laughed and sobbed as she planted tiny, loving kisses all over his face. "I love you, my wonderful golden dragon. I love you so much it hurts." Her heart felt like it would burst with joy as she snuggled into his arms. She inhaled deeply, drew his spicy sandalwood scent deep into herself and sighed happily.

"Tempest?" he wondered. "Do you realize what happened to you?"

"Of course," she answered, wrapping her arms around him.

"Sardon stabbed me, you healed me, you killed Sardon and I cried. 'Twas what the voice in my head told me to do." She hesitated. "I think."

"No, little dragon," he said slowly. He knew he needed to tell her, needed to explain. He had felt the difference when he took her in his arms. He had seen the beginning when she joined with him, when they used mindspeak. But how? How do you tell the one you love that her life was completely changed?

Now and forever.

"Little dragon?" she teased. "What happened to 'little witch'?"

"You died, Tempest. When Sardon stabbed you, the dagger pierced your heart, and you died."

"Nay. I am alive, Adrian. See?" She moved her arm, patted him gently on the cheek. "I move, I breathe. I am alive."

We are joined now. We are dragon. He used dragon mindspeak.

"We have always been joined, dearest," she answered, unaware of how he had spoken to her. "You are dragon. I am simply human. Nothing more." She looked into his blue eyes, trying to make him understand. This was difficult. Was he mad from the battle? From his wounds? She sat up and leaned back,

laying her hand on his head. 'Twas cool to the touch. He was not feverish.

Adrian moved her hand from his head, turned it over and kissed her palm. He uncurled his long length from the ground and stood, reaching to help her up.

Look at me Tempest, he mindspoke, tilting her chin to lift her head. Can you understand what I am saying? Remember, my darling.

Tempest was confused. She heard what he had said, but his lips had not moved. How? 'Twas not possible. She shook her head. "Nay," she stammered, trying to ignore what she had seen, what she had heard. "I cannot." But she did remember past times when they had called out to each other when danger was near. Why had she not noticed it then? And why were his words so clear now, so much like spoken words?

You hear me, Tempest. Admit it.

"Nay." She tried to pull away from him, but he would not release her. "I will not. I know not of what you speak." She could not accept this. 'Twas simply not possible.

Tempest.

"Adrian. Please," she pleaded. "Do not make me do this. I am frightened. 'Tis wrong. I am human, not dragon."

Mindspeak, Tempest.

I cannot. I am not dragon. Her hand flew to her lips as she realized what she had done. A'dryan?

He smiled and kissed her. Fly with me, my love. Soar the heavens as my true mate. Be T'mpest.

But how can I be dragon? How did this happen?

"The G.o.ds hold dragonkind in a special place in their hearts," Lysira spoke quietly. "They watched your blood and A'dryan's meld and, they gave you new life. 'Tis great love they hold for you."

Adrian and Tempest had forgotten her presence, and they turned to her now for advice.

"What do we do now?" asked Tempest. "Can I truly become dragon? Will I be a golden dragon like Adrian?"

"You can and you will, Tempest. What the G.o.ds ordain must be."

"Try it," said Adrian, stepping back and waiting expectantly.

Tempest closed her eyes and concentrated. She tried, but she could not picture herself growing so huge, growing large teeth and horns...Her eyes flew open and met Adrian's. "I cannot. I will be so ugly," she cried.

Adrian smiled. "Do you think me ugly, Tempest?"

"Nay, oh nay," she replied, feeling the heat flow into her cheeks with embarra.s.sment. "You are beautiful, Adrian. I love you. You are more beautiful than anyone has a right to be."

"Even when I am A'dryan?"

"Aye. Even more so." She reached out her hand. "But I have never been a dragon. I cannot imagine how it feels. Help me, Adrian. Please."

He took her hand. "Close your eyes," he said, "feel with your heart. Be T'mpest."

Tempest tried again. She pictured Adrian, saw him change, grow larger, become A'dryan. Then she saw herself beside him, saw herself grow, change.

It felt strange. Her body became heavy, ponderous, then cold, then warm, then hot. She was frightened and tried to stop the change.

T'mpest. You are my mate. You are my love. 'Tis your right to take to the skies with me, to fly to distant lands, to become a golden dragon.

A'dryan, help me!