Her golden-colored mare balked well short of the action. The animal tried to turn around and run the other way, and Cera struggled to reassert control.

"Get out of here!" Aoth croaked. Then he heard the flap of leathery wings and whirled back around.

A green abishai leaped at him. Holding his breath and squinting against the stinging haze that surrounded it, he ducked a sweep of its tail, drove his spear into its midsection, pulled it free, and scrambled back out of the cloud.

When he glanced back again, Cera was picking herself up off the ground. She didn't look hurt, but she didn't even have a weapon. Her mace was still slung on the saddle of the mare now racing away as fast as she could go.

"Run!" said Aoth. "You can't fight these things!"

"You don't need a fighter!" Cera said. "You need an exorcist!" She started to chant.

Apparently recognizing the power in her words, the abishais charged or flew at her. Draining his power to the dregs, Aoth created walls of flame and hovering, spinning blades between the priestess and her assailants. Anything to hold them back.

Or at least he did so during the fleeting moments when one or more abishais weren't trying to burn, blast, or stab him to death. The rest of the time he thrust the spear at what seemed an endless succession of snarling, clawing monstrosities. The weapon felt strangely heavy and dead in his hands, and not just because of his exhaustion. Because there was no magic left inside it anymore.

Then a glow flowered at his back and lit the street as bright as day. Some of the abishais charred away like dry leaves in a bonfire. The rest faltered, and when they came forward again, they appeared to struggle like swimmers fighting against a current. They seemed to grope and fumble too, as though they were half blind.

It helped. Aoth killed three more of them. But then he spotted a blue abishai that had gotten past him. Now it was soaring over Cera. Sparks jumped on its scaly hide as it prepared to hurl a lightningbolt.

Aoth rattled off words of power and hurled a ray of freezing cold from his outstretched hand. It was as powerful a ranged attack as he had left, and it wasn't enough. The devil-kin jerked and wobbled in flight but survived. Its body lit up from the inside- And then Jet swooped at it and drove his talons deep into its back. Its power discharged in a crackling flash that made Aoth wince, but when the griffon shook the lifeless body off its claws and flew onward, it was plain he'd survived the shock.

More griffons dived out of the night sky into Cera's light. The sellswords on their backs loosed arrow after arrow, and the abishais fell. Aoth had fought so hard and for what had felt like such a long time that there was something dreamlike about how quickly the battle ended.

It wouldn't have been as quick if there were still fresh abishais rushing out of the apartment house, but he now saw that at some point that had ended. Something-either the wyrmkeeper's death, Cera's exorcism, or simply the magic running out of power-had finally closed the opening to Tiamat's domain.

Smelling of singed feathers, Jet set down in the street. "Surely," he said, "there can't be too many enemies left hiding in Soolabax. Even if worst comes to worst, you can cope with however many remain."

Aoth snorted. "It sounded reasonable when I said it. You must have thought so too, the way you took your time getting back here."

"That was because humans are idiots. I don't know how many times I had to repeat myself to make the men understand you were well and needed-"

Cera's incantation cut off abruptly.

Aoth and Jet whirled in her direction. There were no abishais anywhere near her, and no blood on her person. But she was collapsing, and as she did, darkness reclaimed the street.

Aoth ran toward her. Jet started a heartbeat later, but outdistanced his master with his first prodigious bound.

The embrace of fire was as glorious as the touch of a mortal lover had always been vile. It filled Jhesrhi with ecstasy and the yearning to open herself even more completely.

She didn't know what would happen if she did. Maybe she'd simply burn to ash. Or perhaps her humanity would melt away like dross, leaving a being like an efreet, more truly a creature of flame than even a red dragon could ever be. Either possibility would be a blissful consummation.

But she was a wizard, with a wizard's trained intellect and will, and she refused to surrender wholly to mere sensation, no matter how pleasurable. She maintained her awareness of the other aspects of her nature-of earth, air, water, and spirit, or identity, memory, and purpose-even as she drew the rarified essence of flame from the Elemental Chaos, gathered it in her staff, and then hurled it forth into Tchazzar's body.

Strangely, the result reminded her of the action of water, specifically of the explosion of life that came when rainfall ended a drought. Glowing like a hot coal but without heat-every bit of that was turning into muscle-the dragon's form swelled, and new scales closed old sores. Head thrown back at the end of his long neck, he gasped and groaned. Perhaps his transformation hurt, but if so it was clearly a pain he welcomed.

It looked to Jhesrhi like he was nearly restored. Then nausea and vertigo stabbed through her, and her control over her magic wavered. The fire from beyond clutched at her, trying to claim her, and her treacherous staff rejoiced.

She couldn't bend the element to her will again. She could only break the flow. The roaring, twisting jet of flame went out, and Tchazzar roared as it suddenly stopped playing over his body.

His progress more like a manta ray swimming than a bat flying, shrouded in a cloud of dust, Sseelrigoth twisted and rippled down from the sky. Newly dead leaves whispered as they dropped from the trees adjacent to the hillside.

"By the Lady of Loss," said the blight dragon, "are all my slaves killed?" He sounded amused rather than upset. "We'll have to find a way for you to pay for that, wizard. Right after I eat this wonderful meal you provided."

"I was weak when you bound me to the earth," Tchazzar growled. "You kept me weak for all the years since. But I'm not weak anymore." He heaved, and the staples securing his limbs tore out of the ground.

Sseelrigoth's black eyes widened in shock, but he reacted quickly. A flick of the writhing membranes on his flanks backed him farther away from the red dragon. He opened his jaws and spewed a jet of grit.

Sick and spent as she was, Jhesrhi managed to lift her staff and ask the wind for help. It howled, swirled around her, and kept any of the dragon's breath from reaching her.

But it reached Tchazzar. Some of the particles scoured his hide like a sandstorm. Others stuck to him and burned.

Then Sseelrigoth snarled, and dust devils sprang up around Tchazzar's head, no doubt to blind and confuse him. The red wyrm whipped his head back and forth, but the whirling clouds moved with it. Meanwhile, Sseelrigoth sucked in air.

Jhesrhi focused past her grinding sickness and whispered words of command. The wind screamed and tore the dust devils apart.

Vision restored, Tchazzar lashed his gigantic wings and sprang into the air. The tip of his tail whirled in Jhesrhi's direction and she threw herself flat so it wouldn't hit her.

Tchazzar slammed into Sseelrigoth and assailed him with his jaws and the talons on all four feet. He whipped his tail around him like a python. The blight wyrm responded in kind.

So entangled, they couldn't fly. They crashed to earth and rolled toward Jhesrhi. She scrambled clear just in time to keep them from crushing her.

She scurried until she was well clear and, panting and trembling, simply leaned on her staff and watched thereafter. She was too ill and tired for more and doubted she could help Tchazzar any further even if she weren't. As long as the wyrms were entwined together, it would be difficult to cast elemental magic at one without hitting the other as well.

The struggle shook the ground, and the bits of the warren that her earthquake hadn't collapsed now caved in on themselves. Chunks of ripped flesh arced through the air. Flame leaped around the dragons' fangs as they snapped and bit. Tchazzar's fire was blue and bright gold. Sseelrigoth's was a murky red, the poisonous grit he'd spat before superheated by his rage.

For a time it looked like Tchazzar was gradually tearing his adversary apart. Then Sseelrigoth's eyes grew even blacker, and his shroud of dust darkened. Tchazzar bellowed and his wounds widened, rotting at the edges while the blight dragon's hurts began to close.

Finish it! Jhesrhi thought. Before he leeches away everything I gave you!

As if he'd heard her, Tchazzar strained with every limb to loosen Sseelrigoth's coils. Unequal to the pressure, a bone in his left wing snapped and a jagged end stabbed through the membrane. But then he broke free of his adversary's grip.

At once he opened his jaws wider than Jhesrhi would have imagined possible. Taking advantage of his regained mobility, he launched himself at Sseelrigoth fast as an arrow leaping from a bow. And she perceived for the first time just how much bigger he was than the other wyrm. Big enough for his fangs to crash shut on Sseelrigoth's head from the snout to just behind the eyes.

Tchazzar's jaw muscles bunched as he bit down with all his might and wrenched his head from side to side. Flexible as a serpent, Sseelrigoth whipped his coils around his foe and clawed. In some places, his talons sliced to the bone. Meanwhile, his tail whipped up and down, battering a section of Tchazzar's neck.

Jhesrhi held her breath. She couldn't imagine the battle lasting much longer. No one, not even a dragon, could endure such punishment for long. One of them was going to succumb.

It turned out be Sseelrigoth. A splintering crunch sounded from inside Tchazzar's jaws, and then the blight wyrm's neck lashed back and forth. Nothing was restraining it anymore. Blood sprayed from the jagged bowl that was all that remained of Sseelrigoth's head.

His decapitated body raked and bashed Tchazzar another time or two. Then, the spurts of gore abating, his neck flopped to the ground and his limbs went limp as well.

Tchazzar spat out several pieces of Sseelrigoth's head. Jhesrhi took note of the short horns that encrusted them, realized the inside of the red dragon's mouth must now be a mass of sores, and winced. Still employing every bit of his strength and speed, Tchazzar kept clawing his foe's corpse.

Jhesrhi frowned. Surely Tchazzar realized Sseelrigoth was dead. But he looked like he didn't mean to stop until he'd reduced the blight dragon to tiny specks of flesh and bone.

And that wouldn't do. Gaedynn needed them now.

She stepped forward. "My lord!" she called.

Eyes blazing, flame leaping from between his fangs, Tchazzar whirled in her direction. A shock of terror jolted her as she sensed he had no idea who she was. He crouched to spring- And then he evidently remembered her. She was no expert at reading the features of dragons, but even so she saw some of the radiant fury go out of his eyes.

He straightened up into a less threatening posture. He started to speak, grimaced, spat out a mix of blood and flame, and then tried again. "My daughter."

"My comrade Gaedynn," she said. "The shadar-kai are hunting him."

"Yes. I saw the chase begin."

"If we don't help him soon, it will be too late."

Tchazzar turned and dipped a wing to touch the ground.

She realized she was supposed to climb it like a ramp. Thinking of the broken bone and all his other wounds, she asked, "Can you still fly?"

He laughed. "I could fly to the stars for a chance to burn those maggots."

So Jhesrhi scrambled up the wing into a smell compounded of combustion, blood, decay, and a sort of dry reptilian musk. The act of climbing didn't repulse her. Though intelligent, Tchazzar was so different in form from a giant or a man that she could touch him as easily as a griffon.

She seated herself between two of the dorsal frills at the base of his neck. At once he lunged forward, lashed his wings, and carried her into the sky.

As they hurtled along, she studied the hills below. All she saw was earth and trees. She asked the wind for news of the pursuit, but this was one of those occasions when it hadn't taken any notice of the doings of creatures of flesh and blood.

Then Tchazzar dived lower, and she spotted the living flame she'd conjured shining in a depression among the hills. Shadar-kai flickered down the slopes toward the lure at the bottom. One of them fell. She couldn't actually see the arrow that had pierced him, but she was sure it was there, and she smiled.

Tchazzar didn't roar to announce his coming. He swooped at the dark men like an owl descending on a mouse. The first ones didn't know he was there until a plume of his fiery breath seared them from existence.

He wheeled and burned a second group. By the time he made a third pass, the rest were ready to fight, but it didn't matter. Their javelins and arrows couldn't stop a creature that had survived Sseelrigoth's fangs and claws. Most of the weapons glanced off Tchazzar's scales, and, all but berserk with the joy of vengeance, he didn't even seem to notice the ones that stuck.

To Jhesrhi's surprise, she felt a pang of pity. Run, she thought. Some of you might get away.

But none of them tried. And when the last of them was dead, and Tchazzar set down on the ground, Gaedynn limped out of the stand of gnarled spruces where he'd taken cover. Gray-faced, his hair plastered down with sweat, he grinned and said, "That went better than I expected."

E.

P.

I.

L.

O.

G.

U.

E.

13 MIRTUL, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR).

Khouryn knew at a glance that the army less camped than huddled on the shore of Ash Lake had suffered a serious defeat. It wasn't just the presence of the wounded slumped on the ground, some moaning or calling out for help, although there were plenty of them. It was the absence of straight lines and organization, and the paucity of tents and baggage carts. It was the almost palpable air of misery.

Khouryn sighed with a sorrow of his own. I won't get home this season, he realized. Most likely not this year. He touched his truesilver betrothal ring through his steel and leather gauntlet.

"Those are the Lance Defenders down there," Medrash said.

"Yes," Khouryn said. "I figured that out."

"Well," Balasar said, "at least nobody's going to pay much attention to the fact that our band of Daardendriens lost its own little battle."

Medrash turned his head to glare. "This is really not funny."

"I agree," Nala said, swaying ever so slightly from side to side in the saddle. "It's a sacred moment. The turning of the tide."

"What do you mean?" Khouryn asked.