PARRONE: THE DRAGONS
by
Jeffrey A. Carver

  PROLOGUE


"Now You all know-" the lanky ex-rigger paused to gulp from his 
al@hhhh!-"just how dangerous star travel can be."  He peered out across 
the spaceport bar, studying the faces looking back at him-mostly young 
star-riggers who thought they knew a lot more than they did.  "You all 
know that much, right?"  he asked rhetorically.  "Well, I'm tellin' 
you, it's a lot more dangerous than you ever imagined.

Swear t'God!"

He burped and made a sweeping gesture with his mug.

He reeled a little from the movement.  His unkempt hair fell across 
his eyes, and he swept it back in annoyance.  He had a story to tell, 
and the audience was volatile.  Mustn't keep them waiting.

"Y'see " "Just tell us the frickin' story, will you?"  a fat man 
complained, from across the room.

"I am tellin' ya, dammit!  " he said with a glare.  He ticked off on 
his fingers the events that had occurred seven years ago this month.

"One!  We flew into the mountain region, cocky as all hell, 
thinking-there ain't nothing that can hurt us.  We're two topflight, 
cream-of-the-crop, stay-out-of-our way, kick-ass riggers!  Right?

Besides, everyone knows there are no dragons really there."  He 
snorted at his own words.

He glanced up, and twitched as a rigger in the back of the bar, not a 
human but some kind of horse-headed Swert, inhaled something from a 
chrome cylinder and blew an enormous, billowing neon bubble into the 
air above the barroom patrons.

He continued quickly, before anyone could get distracted.  "Two!

It wasn't more'n ten minutes before a whole flight of dragons 
appeared-and I don't mean some kinda cute lizards.  I mean dragons.

Huge things!  We tried to make contact with them.  Friendly contact."

He barked out a bitter laugh, which seemed to have an odd effect on 
his audience.  Some looked cynical, others looked puzzled.  At least he 
was getting through to somebody.

A sword-wielding knight sprang up from the top of someone's head 
about three tables back and stabbed a few times with its blade, before 
winking out.  The ex-rigger glared at the kid with the bolo, a 
scrawny-looking, redhaired misfit who didn't even look old enough to be 
at a bar.  The kid snickered nervously.

"Three!"  the rigger roared, trying to overcome the interruption.

"The bastards set on us like a pack of Alsepian blood wolves!"

"A real dogfight, eh?"  someone called helpfully.

"It was a dogfight!"  the rigger snapped.  "Just like in prespace 
times.  Except there was just the two of us in our ship, and at least 
four of them, flyin' around like crazy, blowing fire and smoke and 
tryin' to knock us out of the sky!  You wouldn't've known we were in 
space, it looked so much like real mountains and sky.  Never seen 
anything so real in the Flux.  We couldn't do a thing to change the 
image, except turn our ship into a fighter-flyer and pray for the 
best."  He shook his head, lost in his own story.  "But our best wasn't 
much.  There we were, twistin' and tumin' in the air, tryin' to scoot 
away from 'em.  But-" and his voice caught as the fear rolled back up 
his spine, as though it had happened yesterday.

"They beat you, is that what you're trying to say?"  snickered the 
red-haired kid.

The rigger leveled a drunken gaze at his taunter, so cocky and naive. 
 Another bolo erupted from the kid's head@ cartoonish figure of a man 
reeling and spinning before falling over with a sword hilt sticking out 
of his stomach.  That evoked a few sardonic titters, which was clearly 
the reaction the kid wanted.  The older rigger shook his head.  He 
hated whiny, false bravado.

"Yeah, they beat us, you little punk.  Four dragons, each one the 
size of this room, beat us in combat.  Can you imagine that?  We musta 
been weaklings."

He was answered with a restless stirring, and he continued at once.  
"They didn't kill us right off, though.  They boxed us in and forced us 
down on a plateau.  Full-stop landing."  He paused for emphasis.  The 
Flux never stopped moving in its endless course among the stars; 
everyone knew that.  Only this time it had.

"They started looking' us over," he said more softly.

"Four fire-breathin' dragons, about to flame us to cinders right 
there in the net@d two scared-@piss riggers, I don't mind admittin' 
it."  He paused and gulped his ale.  "I didn't think I'd ever see home 
again.  And I wouldn't've, either, if it ' hadn't been for the iffit, I 
mean iring .  . . " He struggled with the memory, teetering, even with 
one elbow propped on the wooden bartop to support himself.  "If that 
thing hadn't've showed up and told the dragons-" A belch erupted 
without warning from his throat, interrupting him.

"Let me guess!  A prophecy?"  someone shouted.

He stared in the general direction of the shout.  He had at least 
some of them listening, even if they didn't want to admit it.  "Well, 
you're getting a little ahead of the story, but yes, it told them the 
proph-buurpl-ecy."  He put his fist over his mouth in embarrassment.

"Which of course you're going to tell us!"  called a whipbodied 
humanoid, who maybe didn't know human rules of etiquette, or maybe 
couldn't help speaking in such a sneering tone of voice.

"Unless you don't remember it!"  called a shrill-voiced woman.

Derisive laughter echoed after her.

"I remember it!"  he said hotly.  "Better than you remember your own 
name!  just give me a second to collect myself."  He was trying not to 
become angry.

"Canteen, we've given you too much time already!"

yelled a man just down the stand-up bar from him.  "Tell us another 
one, will you?  Of course " and the drinker guffawed-"we won't believe 
that one, either.  We don't even believe you when you're sober!"

"Oh, no?"  The rigger drew himself up in an effort to maintain some 
dignity.  "Well, this particular story happens to be true, you 
half-witted imbecile.  And my name is KanKon, if you don't mind."  He 
ignored the answering cackles and continued, heedless of the momentum 
that was clearly building against him.  "So you don't think I'm tellin' 
the truth?  Let me tell you somethings was out there flyin' the stars 
before most of you was in potty training, much less rigger training!

I'm telling you the dragons are out there, and they killed my 
shipmate and they damn near killed me!

You're all so smug here, you don't-" "The prophecy, Canton!"

"Tell us and be done with it!"

Kan-Kon took another gulp, slopping ale on his sleeve.

His fingers brushed uselessly at the spill.  "Gab!  Don't you know 
that stories-true stories-have to be savored like " "Kan-coon," shouted 
one of the veteran riggers, "either tell the damn story or shut up 
about it!  We can't even have a conversation over here, with everyone 
laughing at you!"

"All rigk, Whitie," KanKon said good-naturedly.

"You've paid your dues.  You've earned the right to nudge me a 
little, mebbe.  As for the rest of you@hhhhh."  He snorted and upended 
his mug, draining the last of the ale.

Gasping, he cried, "All right, then!  Here's what they told me after 
they killed my partner, and before they threw me and my spaceship back 
into civilized space."  He slammed the mug onto the bar with a crash 
that brought near silence to the barroom.  "Listen to the words!"

The only sound now was the whir of the drinks dispensers.  He gazed 
over the crowd and cleared his throat.  "From beyond life will come 
one!  From beyond ... ahh, hope ... will come one .  . ."  He 
hesitated.  "Let's see, now-" Someone slid a fresh mug of ale in front 
of him.

He nodded, frowning, then raised his voice again.  "Without friend 
will come one.  And the realm ... and the realm .  . . " And suddenly 
the words would not come.  The words that were practically branded on 
his heart.

"Come on, you can do it!  'And the realm'-?"

Kan-Kon sweated, trying to dispel the fog that was clouding his 
brain.  "And the realm shall tremble!"  he shouted.

The murmur from the crowd was not entirely sympathetic.

"Great!  Is that it?"  his encourager asked.

"No, there's more.  I have it right on the tip o' my tongue.

Speaking her name will come one-hey!"  Someone was jostling his arm.

"Hey, Rangoon!"

He turned.

"Come on, Can-can!"

Someone or something tripped him, and his legs went out from under 
him like rubber.  He crashed to the floor in a gush of ale.  The other 
riggers shouted and jumped out of the way.  "Jeer, I hope his dragons 
hold their ale better than he does!"  one of them cried.  "Hey, 
Ashcan," complained the whiny red-haired kid.  "I think one of your 
dragons just peed on me!  Can't you keep 'em on a leash?"  Brightly 
colored bolos danced in the air as someone helped KanKon to his feet.

"Sorry, there.  Just lost m@lost my-ah hell!"  Kan-Kon moaned, 
peering with chagrin into his now-empty mug.

"I think you've had a little too much to drink, old man," said the 
one who was supporting him.  "You tell enough of those stories, and 
sooner or later you're going to start believing them."

Kan-Kon grunted, wounded.  "Yeah, I guess so.  Hey, wait a minute!

Hey, what do you think you're doing'?"

The hand supporting him wasn't just holding him up; it was propelling 
him toward the exit.  A rising tide of hoots seemed to add impetus to 
the movement, and before he could fight back, he felt more hands 
pushing him toward the back door.

"Hey!  Listen, you miserable " he squawked, struggling to dig in his 
heels.  But there was no stopping the movement now.  The crowd surged 
and flowed like the currents of the Flux, making room for his passage.

"Good night, Tin Can!"  someone yelled as the door opened before him. 
 He felt a final shove at his back, and he stumbled out the door and 
fell to his hands and knees in the alleyway.

He raised his head and looked back indignantly.  The door slammed 
shut, muffling the sounds of laughter.  He hadn't exactly played the 
crowd tonight, had he?  The stupid drunken sots.  Didn't they know he 
was telling them the truth, and it was important?  Were they too blind 
to see?

He sighed and lowered his head again, praying that the spinning would 
stop.  Maybe he'd had a little too much to drink.  But so what?

He felt tears begin to well in his eyes, and the rest of the words 
rose suddenly, unbidden, in his throat, and he croaked them into the 
empty alleyway: "From that one comes a beginning!

From that one comes an ending!"


He raised his voice to a shout.


"And you can bet your ass the realm will tremble!"

Sighing in bitter triumph, he pushed himself back onto his feet and 
staggered away into the night.

Chapter 1

DRAGONS IN THE REALM LIGHTNING FLASHED in the sky like a demon's 
breath, splitting the night air with great jagged thrusts, hammering 
the vale with thunder.  It was unnatural, WingTouch thoughtthat 
lightning, driven by a power no dragon could comprehend.  All the 
dragons had felt its sting.  Those who confronted it directly were 
burned from the sky.  Those who lacked the courage, or perhaps the 
foolhardiness to stay in the battle, had already lied.

WingTouch fought to remain airborne in the tossing winds.  Even here 
at the edge of the skirmish, the very air had become an adversary, 
turned against them by the devilish power of the Enemy.  How could he 
fight a storm like this?  All he could do was tumble through the 
maelstrom of wind, ignoring all else but the need to destroy the 
creatures who were attacking the valley.

Something blacker than the night passed before him, and he 
instinctively flexed his wings in pursuit.  Gaining on the shadowy 
thing, he exhaled a lance of flame.  His aim was perfect.  The fire 
struck the fleeing creature, and he heard its wail of pain.  WingTouch 
roared in triumph, but his victory was fleeting.  The blackness rippled 
and veered and fled into the night.  He had hurt it, but it was still 
alive and now he had lost it.

So it had gone for half the night, since WingTouch's patrol had 
responded to a cry for help from the guardians of this grove.

WingTouch had watched strong and faithful dragons being driven back 
from the flashing storm clouds, back from these undragon drahls of the 
Enemy that filled the sky with their trills of laughter.  Dragon in 
shape, but not in substance, the drahls were the Enemy's most hated 
warriors, the leaders of his army of destruction, delusion, and fear.

But the drahls were not the only sorcery in the skies tonight.

The Enemy had turned the very elements of nature against them.

Amidst the lightning, it was hard even to see his fellow dragons.

There were many in the sky, but fewer than at the start of battle.

How many had died?  How many had fled?  WingTouch had felt death all 
around him, and dragons passing to the Final Dream Mountain, but mostly 
he had felt terror reigning in the sky.  The valley below, with its 
precious lumenis groves, was being pummeled by lightning; and the 
dragons themselves by withering attacks of freezing fire from the 
drahls.  So far, the dragons had held the defense in the air, and the 
guardian spells had held below.  But for how much longer?

As if in answer to his thought, an explosion of lightning and thunder 
rocked the air.  WingTouch shuddered, and felt something change in the 
air below.  He glimpsed a pair of drahls flickering like shadows low 
across the basin.  How had they gotten so low?  Had the guardian spells 
failed?  He thought he heard a roar of anger from the spell-wielding 
dragons on the ground.

Bucking the winds, Windrush do%e to give chase.  He passed harmlessly 
through the layer where he should have encountered a challenging 
spell-barrier.  He felt nothing; the spells of protection had failed.  
He bellowed his rage; he gathered fire in his throat.  But before he 
could catch the drahls he saw cold flames ripple across the ground 
ahead of him, pouring from the speeding creatures.  His heart cried 
out-and he cried out to his fellow dragons for help, but his cry was 
lost on the wind.  The others were occupied in battle high overhead.  
From the ground, he heard the wail of dying guardian dragons.

Speeding low over the valley, too far behind the drahis to stop them, 
WingTouch saw their freezing bursts of fire exploding in a long line, 
where the lumenis and the garden of power were being blasted into ruin. 
 Within moments, one more living garden was gone, one more source of 
strength against the darkness.  WingTouch beat his wings with impotent 
fury as he climbed back toward the others.

There was nothing left to fight for here.

"DRAGONS, GAThER!"  he thundered.  His voice was nearly lost in the 
crashing of the storm.  But some of the dragons heard, and they 
repeated his words in trumpeting cries.  Three dragons fell in beside 
him.  The rest gathered slowly, giving up the battle.  When he was 
satisfied that all who still lived had joined him, WingTouch bellowed, 
"DRAGONS, AWAY!"  and they banked away from the wind and fled eastward 
into the night.

As they crossed the Scarred Mount Ridge, WingTouch wondered what he 
could say to Windrush and to the others back at the camp.  With another 
lumenis grove lost to the Enemy, the outlook for the realm was bleaker 
than ever.

No, it would not make for a joyful report to his brother, the leader 
of the dragons.  He could only hope that Windrush had fared better 
tonight than had his own patrol.

 Chapter 2

Windrush THE WIND signed through the mountain pass like a restless 
spirit.  The tall, silver dragon Windrush felt like such a spirit 
himself, just now.  He smelled the wind and squinted into the fading 
sun.  It was cold on the outcropping where he was perched, but it 
wasn't the cold that troubled the dragon.  It was what he smelled, and 
didn't smell.

Windrush was probing not just the outer air, but also the air of the 
underrealm-the insubstantial world that lay beneath the one that his 
eyes beheld.  He was searching for clues to an invisible path, a path 
lost now for many seasons.

He was searching for the Dream Mountain, where the female dragons 
lived.  He grunted throatily to himself.  There was no sign, no hint at 
all.  The Dream Mountain, once a day's flight away, was now simply gone 
as though it had never existed.  The air blew cold and empty in his 
nostrils, except for the faint but ubiquitous smell of the Enemy, 
Tar-skel.  It was the same all through the realm-here in the south 
borderlands, as well as in the north where the male dragons lived.

Windrush would not admit discouragement.  He could not explain how 
the Dream Mountain could have vanished, or where it might have gone.

It all seemed so impossible.

But he had already flown far in search of it, and he would fly as far 
as he had to, to find the place where the draconae lived.  The 
draconae.  How he wished he had valued them properly when they'd still 
graced the realm with their singing and teaching!  But who could have 
guessed that they would vanish without a trace?

The sparks from Windrush's breath glowed briefly in the air.

Gazing out over the tumbled landscape, he felt a deep sorrow.

This was a changed place, even from a season ago.

The land here was called the Forest Mountains; but the forests, once 
green and dark and vibrant, were now brittle and lifeless.  The trees 
were stunted, the wild lumenis virtually nonexistent.  He sensed no 
small animals.  It was a part of the desolation that afflicted the 
whole realm.  Even near the dragon strongholds, the long-woven spells 
of protection were weakening, as if the land itself were being bled of 
life.  Bled by the sorcery of Tar-skel.

It had not always been so.  While Tar-skel's influence had been 
growing in the realm far longer than any of them liked to believe, 
Windrush remembered well the victory of just a few seasons ago, when 
the Enemy had been dealt the most serious defeat in the history of this 
generation of dragons.

It had been a magical moment: Jael, the outsider from another world, 
with her friends, riding on Windrush's back to the aid of his father 
Highwing.  Sentenced to death in the Black Peak, Highwing had been the 
one dragon to actively resist the rising tide of evil in the land.  The 
one dragon with courage, the one dragon to keep faith with the Words of 
Prophecy by befriending an outsider.  The one dragon ...

until, at Jael's urging, Windrush himself had flown against all hope 
to challenge the darkness, to free his father.

They had saved Highwing-Jael had, really-in an astonishing rescue, 
bringing him back from the brink of a fiery death in an alien realm.

They had not been able to save him from death itself, but they had 
allowed him to die with a dragon's honor and peace.  And with that act, 
they had broken the power of the Black Peak and freed many of their 
fellow dragons from the ensnarement of the Enemy.  For a time 
afterward, the realm had enjoyed a renewal of life, a renewal of hope.

But it had not brought back the Dream Mountain.  And now, in the face 
of new losses, that victory seemed long removed.

Windrush blinked, bringing his thoughts back to the present.

Southward, toward the Sawtoothed Ridge, which ran east and west 
dividing the Forest Mountains from the harsher Stone Peaks of the far 
south, he caught sight of an odd-looking, puckered cloud formation that 
was moving in a peculiar corkscrew fashion.  It was probably nothing; 
but still ... if Enemy sorceries were at work there, he probably ought 
to investigate.  He hesitated, because there were many old places of 
magic in the far south, and he had little knowledge of what he might 
find.  It would be wiser to travel in company.  But the nearest 
companions were far to the north.

Finally he launched himself into the south wind, wondering at his own 
decision.  It had been almost as if he had heard a voice whispering in 
the back of his mind, urging him on.  But if so, whose voice?  The 
spirit of Highwing, whose leadership he had assumed?  He didn't think 
so.  Perhaps it was one of those enigmatic ifflings who appeared at the 
oddest times, bearing news or counsel.  He shook his head, scanning the 
land below.

Windrush?

Startled, he glanced to his left and glimpsed a shimmer of light in 
the air.  A reflection off a distant peak, a trick of sunlight?  Now it 
was gone.  But he had heard a voice.  A moment later he caught another 
sparkle of light in the corner of his eye, and he looked again.

Flying alongside him was an airy being of light.  It seemed to have 
no substance; it expanded and contracted as it flew, like a slow-moving 
flame.  "Iffling!"  Windrush murmured.

The iffling made no response.  Windrush was accustomed to this 
behavior from ifflings, though he sometimes found it irritating.  He 
flew on, letting the iffling follow in formation.

When it finally spoke, he almost missed its whisper.

Where you are bound, dragon, you might well find one who can help.

Windrush rolled slightly toward the iffling, peering at its 
intangible form.  "Did you speak?"  he rumbled.

With a chime of laughter, the iffling transformed itself into a 
dragon-shaped flame.  Am I so difficult to hear?  You must listen to 
me, dragon-leader!

Windrush flicked his gaze ahead to his course.  "I am listening."

Very well.  Do you fly in search of the Drwm Mountain.?

"Of course!  What do you imagine!"

Then perhaps I can help.

"Indeed!"  Windrush whispered, with more frustration than relief.

"How often have I called out to you, asking the way?  But your kind 
would not come to tell me."

The iffling flickered as it glided alongside him.  It answered, sadly 
it seemed, It is not that we would not, dragon, but that we could not.  
Do we know the way?  Not any way that we could tell you.

Windrush let his anger erupt in spite of himself.  "You always act as 
if you know such things!"

Dragon!  Do we travel on the winds?  Do you travel as the ifflings 
do?  What good to spin images of airs and currents that you could never 
knou-that we cannot even travel ourselves?

Windrush flew in silence, absorbing the iffling's words.

"Perhaps," he muttered.  "But couldn't you have just said so7 Why 
must you always speak in riddles?"  He already regretted his outburst.

He had no quarrel with the iffling.

"Still," he sighed, beating his wings, "I suppose I would rather hear 
your riddles than nothing at all."

If the iffling had taken offense, it gave no sign.  You must search 
for a cavern, it murmured.

"A cavern?"

In the ridge ahead, in a place of forgotten magic.

Windrush cleared his great throat.

There you may find one like a demon, a changeling spirit.

The dragon coughed a small flame into the wind.  A demon?  A 
changeling spirit?  That sounded more like a drahl than a friend.

Still, his friend Jael had once been likened to a demon, and he would 
have given almost anything to see her again.  But his friend Jael was a 
human.

The iffling seemed to recognize his thought.  I doubt that it is 
anyone you know---m who will welcome you.  Nevertheless, if you speak 
to it with care, you may gain useful knowledge.

"Knowledge?"  Windrush asked.  "What sort of knowledge?"

The iffling did not answer.  Windrush beat his wings, scanning the 
peaks ahead.  That odd storm cloud had risen and dissipated.  Perhaps, 
he thought, it had merely been a coincidence of nature; or perhaps a 
perfectly ordinary cloud had passed close to a place of power.  When he 
glanced sideways again, his companion seemed to have disappeared.

"Iffling?"

Then he saw its twinkle in the air, a little behind him.  It was 
dropping away, and its words sounded tired, as though it were having 
trouble maintaining its presence here.  You must pass into the range.

Look for a cavern within.  Use all your senses to locate the 
entrance.

But beware of treachery!  And with that, the iffling vanished.

Windrush clenched and unclenched his talons, exhaling slowly as he 
soared onward.  Beware of treachery?  It seemed to him that advice from 
an i@g always carried some warning of danger.  But their advice also 
generally turned out to be perceptive and true, and he had never 
regretted following it.  And given his present need, what choice did he 
have?

He flew high over the range.  The sharp summits of the mountains 
passed beneath him, icy grey claws reaching toward the sky.  The wind 
currents felt hostile and unpredictable, lifting and buffeting him.  He 
felt a brooding presence in the air.  Beneath him were rock formations 
cracked and broken from some age-old convulsion of the land.  He 
searched, riding the treacherous air currents, feeling the fires of 
impatience in the back of his throat.  What had the iffling said?  You 
must pass into the range.  "Into," not "over."

Was there some passage hidden in the spine of the mountains?

He banked back toward the north side of the ridge and skimmed low 
over the slopes.  Soon he felt a faint tingle in his undersense.

Dropping close to the withered scrub, he spotted a thin line of 
shadow, a vertical crevice in the face of the slope.  He flared to a 
landing and peered into the opening.  It was too small for him to 
enter; but his undersense continued to tingle, and he thought he sensed 
a magic woven into the stone.  Possibly the crevice was open to anyone, 
of any size, who wished to enter.  Possibly it was also a trap.

Sniffing, he looked around.  The wind sighed, filling his nostrils 
with a tang of dust and barren stone.  Nothing else moved.  Muttering 
to himself, Windrush drew back and breathed a short tongue of flame 
along one side of the crevice.  The flame didn't touch the stone, but 
passed straight into it, undetected.  With a rumble of satisfaction, he 
thrust his head in and stepped through the stone wall.

Blinking his eyes as the entry spell quivered over him, he half 
expected to find himself standing in a cavern.  Instead he stood in a 
long passageway that looked exactly like the same crevice, but vastly 
enlarged.  It looked deep, but wide and high enough for him to fly in.

Spreading his wings, he glided cautiously down the pa@ sageway, 
slow-flying between its twisting walls.  There was a certain comfort in 
being surrounded by stone, even unfamiliar stone.  As deeply as he 
loved the wind and sky, he also loved the feeling of solid mountain 
around him.  It reminded him of his own cavern, with its weavings of 
protection.  But here, he knew, he must keep his senses sharp for 
danger.

The walls gradually closed inward and at last forced him to land.

Ahead, the dark passage constricted sharply and crooked to the left.

Windrush drew a slow breath, smelling for treachery.  There was a 
dank mustiness here, and a cobwebbing of old magic, but nothing he 
could identify as a danger.  The thought of squeezing through a tight 
passage did not much appeal to him, but if this was the passage the 
iffling had referred to, he saw little choice.

Still, he was vulnerable here; he could no longer fly away.

He sank his thoughts into the underweb of the world, probing to see 
if he could craft an escape spell if he had to.

What he found was an astonishing murkiness in the underrealm; he 
could not probe far at all.  But he felt a distinct tingle; he was 
approaching a change in the passage spell.  It felt like an old-magic 
spell, not specifically familiar to him.

But he suspected that it might lead him, through a twist of the 
underrealm, into a cavern deep within the mountain and thus, perhaps, 
to the one he was looking for, a demon who possessed knowledge of the 
Dream Mountain.

He crept forward into the constriction, his nails rasping on the 
stone.  As he craned his neck around the bend, he felt the new spell 
wrinkling open.  "Someone inviting me in?"  he rumbled aloud.  There 
was no answer.

He squeezed past the bend, and felt a shiver from head to tail as he 
pulled his massive body out of the constriction.

He blinked in confusion, gazing suddenly into a dazzling, 
unnatural-seeming yellow light.  With a hiss, he stepped forward.

"WELL, DRAGON," boomed a voice that seemed to reverberate from an 
enormous space.  "HAVE YOU COME BACK TO CHALLENGE AGAIN THE ONE YOU 
ABANDONED?"

Chapter 3

DEMON IN A CAVE BLINKING SLOWLY,Windrush tried to focus through the 
hazy glow.  Gradually he became able to discern the outlines of a large 
cavern.  He still could not identify the source of the light, or of the 
voice.  But the smell of magic was strong, ancient, and unmistakable.  
"To whom," he rumbled, 4 1might I be speaking?  Do I know you?"  What 
had the voice meant by, ". . - challenge the one you abandoned"?

He was answered by harsh, reverberating laughter, then a sound like a 
claw being drawn across stone.  Windrush squinted and saw movement.  
Something was dancing, just out of focus.  Something enormous.  Some 
great enemy warrior?  Or perhaps merely a shadow.

He shrugged.  He had not come here to be intimidated, and he didn't 
care if the thing outsized him.  He probed again in the underrealm and, 
to his surprise, found a recognizable tangle of a simple spell of 
obscuration.  He tugged the threads apart with his thoughts.

The haze of light abruptly shrank; and a small, glowing, 
crystal-faceted thing became visible, floating in the air directly in 
front of him.  It looked alive; it pulsed and changed shape with a 
fluid movement, growing tall and slender with only a few glowing 
facets, then collapsing and billowing out to the sides with a great 
many facets.  Inside it, a much smaller thing moved-a thing of dark, 
dancing fire.  Windrush thought he recognized that shadow-fire.  It 
looked exactly like the moving shape that, just moments ago, had 
appeared so huge and menacing.

"So.  You are not without powers."  The dark fire spoke in a smaller, 
but not friendlier, voice.  "To answer your question-you I might not 
know, but I know your kind well enough."

"I see," the dragon murmured.  He knew now what he was facing.  It 
was a spirit jar.  It was a cell containing a consciousness that had 
been stripped from its original body.  Dragons in past times had used 
them for the capture of demons, or those believed to be demons.  Though 
Wind, rush had never actually seen a spirit jar before, he recognized 
its appearance from tales told over the years.  It was not a physical 
vessel of any sort, but rather a powerful confinement spell.  He probed 
briefly, but could not make out the precise weaving in the underrealm; 
it was a highly complex crafting, far beyond his skills.  Probably it 
was beyond the skills of anyone left in the realm-anyone on the side of 
the true dragons, anyway.

How did one deal with a spirit in a jar?  He had no idea-nor did he 
know how dangerous it might be.  He didn't think he could free it by 
accident, but then again he wasn't sure.  He assumed there was a good 
reason for its imprisonment.

"Have you come to release me?"  the thing asked curtly, as though 
reading his thoughts.

"I hardly think so," Windrush answered.  "I don't know who you are, 
or why you are here.  Perhaps you would like to tell me."

The being hissed and danced violently in its squirming prison.

"Why should I tell you, dragon?"

Windrush cocked his head, blinking first one eye, then the other.

"You don't answer," the thing said.

"I won't answer," Windrush said, "until I have an answer to give."

The dragon peered again around the enormous cavern, which was lit 
only dimly now by the glow of the spirit jar.  It had the look of a 
dragon stronghold, but one musty and long abandoned.  There were many 
forgot.

ten holds scattered through the southern parts of the realm, but he 
had heard of none so large.  Windrush felt dwarfed by it, and that made 
him uneasy.

With a rumble, he asked the spirit, "Have you done some wrong, that 
you are imprisoned-?"

"I have done nothing wrong!"  the being cried, interrupting him.

"It is your kind that holds me here!  Imprisoning me and then 
abandoning me!"

Windrush deliberately opened one eye wider than the other.  "You have 
done nothing wrong?  You are an innocent captive?"

"That's what I just said!  If you wish to challenge me, then first 
free me!"

The dragon drew a silent breath and studied the demon.

"Allow me to pose a question.  I have been told that there is a 
creature living here who is possessed of ... certain knowledge and 
wisdom.  I was wondering if you might know of this creature."  "Who 
told you that?"

"A being of my acquaintance.  An iffling."

The spirit hissed.  "Iffling!  If that is supposed to be a 
recommendation, I hardly think-" It shuddered with rage, then suddenly 
calmed.  "Still.  A being of knowledge and wisdom?  It may be that I 
... could be described as such a one as you mention.  But you have not 
told me who you are.  ) 7

"That is true," Windrush said.  Nor did he have any intention of 
giving his name, at least not yet.  Sharing one's name was a risky 
proposition.  It could lead to a sharing of enormous trust , as he had 
learned once, when he'd shared his name with the human Jael.  But he 
had no reason to trust this being.  "It appears," Windrush noted, "that 
you have been alone here for some time.  And that you do not often have 
the benefit of civilized company."

"I have all the company I need," the spirit retorted bitterly.

"If your only purpose in coming here is to quote ifflings at me, then 
you can leave now, thank you very much."

Windrush wondered at the bitterness, and wondered if he didn't detect 
an air of false bravado in them.  "I would guess," he hazarded, "that 
my departure would leave you quite alone."

The being shivered.

"And I would guess that I could learn what I wish to know in other 
ways."

"Oh?  How is that?"

"By peering into the binding spell that holds you.  I would guess 
that your secrets cannot withstand my gaze."

The being danced nervously in its prison of light.

Windrush stepped closer to the glowing jar.  He cocked his head, 
searching for the best angle.  Within the shifting facets of the jar, 
he thought he might find doorways into the being's mind.  The jar's 
glow flickered as he narrowed his focus into one facet, exactly as if 
he were searching the gaze of another dragon.  The demon hissed with 
alarm.

Windrush searched the layers of the binding spell, and eased them 
apart just enough to touch the glinting threads of knowledge on the 
inside.

The demon reacted with blinding rage, waves of rage.

Heedless, Windrush continued to probe, seeking the memories of the 
being.  He soon realized that the rage was not a deliberate defense, 
but a rush of pent-up anger that had grown during long years of 
captivity in this cavern.

Windrush found himself moved almost to pity.  But he reminded 
himself: Is it so terrible to keep a demon in isolation, where it can't 
work evil upon the realm?

Certainly not.  If it is a demon of evil ...

Doubt rose in his mind like groundwaters in a subterranean cavern.

If it is a demon ...

The spirit lashed futilely, trying to resist his probes.

Beyond the pain and rage, in the misty reaches of the spirit's mind, 
images began to form: memories of long years of lonely emptiness, of 
humiliation, of hatred toward all things dragon.  Still they did not 
reveal who this being was.  Windrush probed deeper, further back in 
time.  The mists parted, and Windrush glimpsed movement, the quick 
movement of dragons in the air, the slower movement of something that 
glimmered silver and gold, large as a dragon, but undragonlike in form.

He heard the sounds of a challenge and knew that he had found the 
memory of a duel.

He recalled the rush of another's memories, shared seasons ago.

There was scant resemblance between his friend Jael and this wretched 
creature in the jar.  And yet ...

The outcome of the duel was clear.  Windrush ignored it and peered 
deeper.  It was difficult not to recoil from the touch of the alien 
thought, the touch of hostility and anguish.  But Windrush wanted to 
know the nature of this being.  He glimpsed fluttering memories that 
preceded the duel: boredom and careless flight into danger.  Threaded 
through these memories were others, dark and incomprehensible, which 
seemed to arise from hidden lusts and emotions.  Probing deeper, the 
dragon found a group of clearly focused images.

He was so stunned he almost broke the link with the creature's mind.

He saw it in its physical form.  He saw it in its own mind's eye, as 
it flew into the dragon realm.  The being was a rigger@ human!  The 
similarity of body shape was unmistakable, and so were the glimpses of 
the ship in which it flew.  Glimpses were all Windrush had ever gotten 
of his friend Jael's ship, but it was impossible not to see that the 
gleaming surfaces, the silvery sheen of the ghostly shapes, the sparkle 
of that magical thing that Jael had called a net, were very much like 
what he saw now in this being's memory.

This thing before him was a rigger-or had been, until its duel with 
the dragons.  Windrush tried to look again at the duel, to see what had 
happened, to see why the dragons had imprisoned the human's spirit; but 
those images had receded out of sight now.  Had the dragons considered 
the rigger an invading demon?  Many dragons would, but especially 
Tar-skel dragons.  Windrush could not discern any hostile intent in 
this rigger's memory; neither could he tell whether the dragons who had 
captured him had been true dragons or Tar-skel dragons.

But he did glimpse one thing that he hoped might help him coax the 
being into talking.  He caught, in a stray flash of memory, its name.

The spirit thrashed violently.  Get out!  it hissed.  You have no 
right!  It was trying frantically to close off its thought to him.

Windrush shrugged inwardly; with a wordless mutter, he released the 
spirit from his gaze.

The figure sputtered with rage in its jar of light, mouthing 
incomprehensible words.  Windrush regarded it silently.

After a few moments he murmured, "I note your anger.

But you would do well to control it, one named Hodakai."

The sounds of rage cut off, and the cavern was filled with silence.  
Then, softly: "So, you know my name.  What good do you think it will do 
you?  Your friends who imprisoned me knew my name, and I gave them 
nothing.  I will give nothing to you, either."  The voice was stiff 
with defiance.

"I know who you are," Windrush said.  "And I know the realm from 
which you come.  I know your people."  That last statement was an 
exaggeration to be sure.  He knew only three riggers, and only one of 
them human; but they were friends, and not just to him.  The entire 
realm owed them a debt beyond measure.  Without them and the breath of 
life and strength they had brought to this world, the realm would have 
fallen long ago.

Hodakai laughed flatly.  "You know my people, do you?

Do you think that they can't still come get me out?  Perhaps it's 
what you don't know that should worry you.  Do you think I did not see 
your thoughts, lizard?"

Windrush studied the shadow-in-light.  Quite possibly Hodakai had 
learned something of Windrush's thoughts while they were joined.  If 
the spirit knew enough to look, there was probably no avoiding it.

Hodakai chuckled.  "I know what you're looking for."

"Oh?  What do you think I am looking for?"

"Answers, answers .  the thing said in a crafty tone.

The dragon snorted.

"Keepers of the Words, and those who make the realm tremble," Hodakai 
said, dancing defiantly.

The dragon's blood chilled.  Keepers of the Words.  So Hodakai knew 
about the Dream Mountain.  And the draconae.  "Do not toy with me, one 
named Hodakai," he murmured softly.

The shadow capered in the light.  "You know my name, you think you 
own me.  But I am not yours.  I have not given you my name.  You may 
command my life, but not my thoughts."  Windrush exhaled steam.

Hodakai clearly understood much-and not just of spells.

Did he know and understand the ancient prophecies?  Windrush faced a 
delicate choice.

Whatever risks he might be taking with Hodakai, it could well be 
worth it.  But it was going to be difficult to gain the being's trust.

The spirit interrupted his thoughts.  "Dragon, I tire of your 
presence.  You are no longer welcome here."  The shadow seemed to leer 
at him out of its jar.  It made stabbing motions toward him.

Windrush exhaled smoke.  "I have come intending no harm.  But I might 
say that it would not hurt you to learn some respect, rigger-spirit.  I 
am many times your size and power."  Laughter echoed in a ring around 
the cavern.  "You might be many times my size on the outside but in 
here, all sizes are made equal, dragon.  Take a good look around."

Windrush glanced warily out of the corner of his eye.

Sizes made equal?  Certainly the cavern dwarfed both of them.

Several boulders stood nearby, and he realized that there was 
something unusual about them.  They were streaked with large veins of 
malinor crystal-stunningly large veins.  Unless those rocks weren't 
really the boulders they seemed.  Windrush touched them with his 
undersense and felt something odd.

"Note the lumenis branch to your right," Hodakai said.

The dragon shifted his gaze.  A large branch from a dead lumenis 
plant lay on the stone.  An enormous branch ...

unless it was actually a twig, as the size of the desiccated 
blossom-nub at its tip seemed to indicate.  Windrush recalled the entry 
spells that had brought him into this plac@the crack on the outside, 
and the way that the inner passage had seemed much larger, but 
otherwise identical.

Suppose the passageway had not been made larger.  Suppose he had been 
made smaller.

The shadow-spirit crowed and made little cackling sounds, delighting 
in the dragon's discomfiture.

Windrush tugged with his undersense, hoping to unravel any remaining 
spells of illusion.  Nothing changed that he could see: not his size, 
nor the size of the jar, nor the lumenis branch.  How could this have 
happened, without his even noticing it?  Had his wisdom fallen so far?  
The spell must have been left here by the departed guardians of this 
vault; and if so, its makers might return to discover whom they had 
ensnared.  And if they were Tar-skel dragons, or drahis, or other 
beings sympathetic to the Enemy ...

Windrush slowly scanned the area, trying not to betray his alarm.

Was someone else watching him?  The cavern walls were full of 
shadows, shifting in the light of the spirit jar.  For an instant he 
thought he spied a moving gleam in a far corner, and he swung his head, 
flame hot in his throat.

But he saw nothing.

"Feeling edgy, all of a sudden?"  the spirit asked.

The dragon checked an urge to flame the jar.

"Spiritnamed-Hodakai, you play a dangerous game, toying with matters 
that you little understand."

"Oh.  Tsk, tsk.  Do you intend to stop me?"

"I have no need to stop you.  But your life could perhaps be 
pleasanter if you chose your enemies more wisely-and your friends."

"Ah-you know so much of my life, then.  Perhaps you would have me 
choose a dragon as a friend.  You, perhaps?"

"I have no need of your friendship," Windrush answered coldly.  "I 
merely remind you of the difference between choosing well and choosing 
poorly."

He shifted his gaze.  There were clear signs of dragonwork here: 
faceted surfaces that spoke of artisan spells, and surfaces burnished 
by dragon fire or scarred by dragon claws.

Everywhere was the rubble and dust of long neglect.  Why had 
Hodakai's captors abandoned him here?  Had they planned to return, and 
forgotten?  Servants of the Enemy might well do such a thing.

"Perhaps indeed you were wronged," Windrush said offhandedly.

"Tell me, what do you know of the Keepers of the Words?  Were you 
imprisoned by their enemies?"

There was no answer.

The spirit's shadow was no longer visible in the jar.

Windrush cocked his head, puzzled.  It seemed unlikely that the 
spirit had escaped; more likely, it was busy sending a message out 
through the underrealm.

"Dragon!"  he heard-a soft, whispery voice, not at all like 
Hodakai's.  Where had that come from?

"Dragon!"

This time he glimpsed movement, in the gloom off to his left-just a 
shimmer in the air, like an iffling.  But he did not feel any sense of 
the presence of an iffling.  And yet something was nearby.  Perhaps a 
simple cavern sprite.

"It is a stubborn one that you speak to, dragon," whispered a 
different voice.  He glimpsed another shimmer.

Yes-sprites, he thought.  "There are others who seek to win him over, 
as well."  There was high, tinkling laughter, then a third voice.

"Of course, they won't give him what he wants, either."

Windrush asked softly: "Others?"

"Silence!"  shouted Hodakai, his shadow-form reappearing in the 
spirit jar, expanding and contracting angrily.

"You pests, you meddlers, you flies upon the earth!"  He was answered 
by tiny peals of laughter, which made him angrier still.

Windrush blinked slowly.  "So, Hodakai-what others do you speak to?  
Perhaps you are not so isolated here, after all!  Is this some 
treachery of yours, to make me think otherwise?"

Hodakai hissed.

Windrush angled his head, searching for the sprites as he called out 
to them.  "You say, creatures in the shadows, that there are others 
with whom I must contest?"

"Quiet!  Silence!"  shouted Hodakai, even more furiously than before.

Windrush heard more laughter, then silence.  He glanced back at 
Hodakai.  "Well now, it would seem that we both seek something.  Are 
you so certain that you wish to oppose met Would you not prefer 
civility between us?"  He recalled that the last time he and a rigger 
had met, it had been the rigger who had proposed civility.

Hodakai didn't answer; but Windrush felt something shifting in the 
underrealm.  He heard a rumbling sound and glimpsed flashes of light at 
the edges of his vision, just out of focus.  Deep in the underweb, some 
tightly wound sorcery had just been released.  Instinctively, he 
crouched in readiness;'a shiver passed through his body.

Hodakai cackled.

Windrush spat fire at the demon, but his own hot breath washed back 
at him.  The spirit jar was shrinking.  He couldn't tell what was 
happening in the confused twistings of this new sorcery.  But one thing 
was certa other trap was springing.  His muscles coiled for a leap.

He caught himself.  The ceiling loomed low over his head, much lower 
than before.  A leap would have sent him smashing into it.

Was the ceiling dropping?  N@ was growing!  He was about to be 
crushed against the rock.  To his left, a visual distortion was 
unkinking, and he glimpsed a much larger space there.  He lunged 
sideways, keeping his head low.  His wing pinions scraped the ceiling, 
but then the floor dropped away and the ceiling vanished-and he leaped 
out into a vast open space.  He landed with a roar and swung his head 
back and forth, shocked at the extent to which he had been deceived.

Surely these spells were the work of the Enemy!  He probed again at 
the underrealm, trying to shake free any further folds of illusion.

At the sound of laughter, he turned to face Hodakai.

The laughs came from a jar that was no larger than one of Windrush's 
foreclaws.  It sat in a small alcove carved into the side of the 
cavern.  It was in that space that the shrunken dragon had been 
standing-and nearly crushed-when the spell had been released.

Hodakai's laughs sounded thin and reedy now, as Windrush peered in at 
the jar.  "So!  Your true stature is shown!"  he muttered, wishing he 
could be more triumphant.  "I grant you your skill in the use of the 
spells, spirit@yen if you stole them."

"Stole them?"  Hodakai squawked.

"Come, these spells are hardly your working."

The spirit responded wordlessly and angrily.  The dragon felt a 
sudden draft in the underrealm, as though another opening spell had 
been triggered deep in the mountain.

Was some new power coming into the cavern?

He glimpsed a movement in the shadows to his left and jerked his 
head, catching the smell of drahls.  Fool!  he thought.  He should not 
have remained here so long, in a place where he was disadvantaged in a 
fight.  Now it was too late to slip away.

Three drahls abruptly appeared@ragonlike shadows, above and to either 
side of him.  Hot fire rose in his throat.

He raised his head and blew flame at the drahl overhead, then swung 
side to side, breathing fire at the other two.  The flames crackled and 
lit the cavern.  The drahls vanished in the fire, but reappeared a 
moment later, farther away.  They hissed in unison: "You are a 
trespasser here, and trespassers die!"

Windrush breathed fire again.  It passed through the drahls as they 
darted in and out of the shadows of the cavern.  Smoke and dust 
billowed, clouding everything.

The drahls were a deadly threat here, where he could not fly and 
fight properly.

The drahls flashed overhead, sputtering freezing fire.  He snapped at 
them, but they were fast, and hard to follow.  He felt a chill.

Where were they now?

Craning his neck, he spotted them close to the ceiling, their cold 
fire flickering over the stone.  That was puzzling; they seemed to have 
forgotten him.  "Hodakai!"  he hissed-but there was no answer from the 
spirit.  Keeping a wary eye on the drahls, he extended half his 
awareness into the underrealm, trying urgently to understand the 
sorcery he was facing.

He heard a crack of splintering stone, and suddenly understood.

A spell was unraveling: the spell that held the cavern intact!

Could drahls have such power?  He was in peril if they could destroy 
the cavern.  It would be one thing if he knew the weaving that bound it 
together, to defend it.

But he didn't, and there was no time now to explore it.  The cracking 
sounds were growing louder.

He had to get out.  He probed feverishly in the underweb, through the 
murk that the drahls had stirred up, searching out the entry and exit 
spells.  The way he had come in was closed, but there had to be other 
ways out of this dragon stronghold!

Rocks were falling deafeningly around him; he tried to ignore them as 
he traced pathways through the fog of the underweb.  He heard the 
drahls keening, preparing to attack, and he ignored even that.  And 
then he found it: a fold in the underweb where an opening was 
concealed.  It was all he needed.  Finding the thread that would pull 
it open, he exclaimed, "Qharkeei!"-and opened his eyes, spread his 
wings, and leaped toward the fracturing ceiling, past the startled 
drahls.

The way was clear.  But even as he passed into the spellopening, he 
glimpsed another spell collapsing-and the drahls flickering out of 
sight.  He heard raucous laughter.

His last glimpse behind was of a completely intact cavern, with no 
sign of drahls at all.

Before he could react, dizziness hit him, then a blast of cold.

His wings bit into a freezing nighttime air, and before he could even 
focus his eyes, he knew that he was high above the mountains in the 
dead of night.  And he knew, too, that something had just gone 
shockingly wrong.  The drahls had been works of illusion, smells and 
all, and so was the falling ceiling!  Only his own exit spell had 
collapsed the image.

He had been tricked by Hodakai-tricked into leaving.

Whether it was ancient dragon magic or the Enemy's sorcery that the 
spirit had commanded, he had used it diabolically well.

Windrush banked and turned, fuming.  An angry fire burned deep in his 
throat, and he vented it at the mountain he had just left.  The peak 
was a jagged, sullen presence in the night, and his flame an impotent 
protest.  He could probably force his way back in, but for what?  To 
take revenge for the humiliation?  No, the demon wielded surprising 
powers, and it would be pointless to engage in a contest with it now.  
When Windrush returned to speak with Hodakai, it would be on his own 
terms.

His pride stinging, he climbed higher in the night air to find his 
bearings for the long journey home.

 Chapter 4

RENT HODAKM LAUGHED long and hard.  He laughed until his laughter 
became hollow, his triumph cold and lifeless.  He had humiliated the 
intruder with his trickery, but that dragon was the first real visitor 
he had had in a very long time.  He hated dragons, to be sure.  But 
that one seemed less arrogant than his captors, even if it had refused 
to free him.  And now, it had fled to freedom while Hodakai remained 
trapped here in a demonic bath of light in the emptiness of the cavern.

He knew perfectly well that the dragon had merely been caught off 
guard by a sophisticated illusion.  If it returned bent on vengeance, 
there was little he could do to stop it.

Still, he knew something that the dragon wanted to know.  He had 
glimpsed the need in its mind.  Dream Mountain.  Hodakai didn't 
actually know the way to the place; but he knew how, or at least by 
whom, the way had been hidden.  And that knowledge was his only 
possible weapon against the despised race of creatures who had 
imprisoned him.

But the trouble with savoring any feeling of victory here was that 
the feeling never lasted.  The passage of time in this spirit-prison 
was something beyond his comprehension.

Moments of pleasure were like birds on wing, rare and fleeting; but 
the rest of his hours clung to him like a smoky pall, broken only by 
flights of fantasy, and memories of rigging.  Never until his capture 
by the dragons had he believed in an eternal life, but he was living 
one now.  He envied his shipmate, who had died in the duel with the 
dragons.

Still, he was not totally alone here.  He had company in the sprites 
that lived in the cavern, emerging from time to time to dance about and 
tease him.  He didn't really understand them, or their purpose in the 
scheme of this world.

They spoke intelligibly, but in other ways seemed more like pigeons 
in the rafters than meaningful companions.  They seemed to have no real 
understanding of him, or of his pain.  What did they know of the realm 
of the Flux, or the universe of humanity?

Come to that, what did Hodakai know of humanity anymore?  For all he 
knew, centuries had passed in his absence, sweeping away all that he 
had once been a part of Not that it mattered; he could never return.

He would forever regret his folly in venturing into the dragon realm 
in the first place, but regrets could not change what had happened.

He blinked, and for a moment slipped back into memory ... felt the 
streams of the galactic Flux moving past his fingers like golden rays 
of light as he piloted his ship in wondrous freedom ...

The image collapsed quickly.  Mustn't get lost in that now, he 
muttered to himself.  Too much to think about.  Can't keep this to 
myself.

He did have one other place to turn for conversation, one other 
person to share his thoughts with.  It wasn't someone he trusted, 
exactly, but it was someone who at least understood him-understood what 
it was like to be torn from his body and exiled from his own universe.

This someone knew the experience-and furthermore, claimed to have a 
way out, a way to something better.

Hodakai wasn't so sure about that last part, but he did have a 
feeling that Rent might be interested in hearing of the dragon's visit.

The trouble was that Rent was on the side of the drahls and the 
drahis' Master, and that made Hodakai most uneasy.  He had no interest 
in becoming embroiled in this world's conflict.  There were dragons on 
both sides, and things far worse than dragons, and Hodakai wanted no 
part of either side.  But there was one certain enticement that Rent 
kept dangling before him ...

Without actually being aware of making a decision, Hodakai murmured 
the words of the spell that Rent had left in place, that twisted space 
and opened the connection to Rent's hideaway.  Hodakai had no idea 
where, 'tn space, the other rigger-spirit was; but with this 
spell-weaving, his thoughts passed easily through the vastness of the 
underrealm, tracing their way along the wispy strands that led to 
Rent's inner sanctum.  Hodakai felt the guarding spells of the other's 
territory; he paused and gave a little hoot to let Rent know he was 
here.

The guarding spells shifted and opened.  Yes?  Why, my dear friend 
Hodakai-is that your voice I hear?  Let me look upon -your face!  cried 
the faraway spirit.

Why not?  Hodakai replied, with a flash of annoyance.  If they were 
such good friends, why wouldn't Rent reveal his real and full name?  
Hodakai had revealed his name to Rent early on, and he'd wondered ever 
since whether in doing so he had given Rent some subtle and indefinable 
power over him.

The only "face" he had to show was his dancing-shadow self.  Rent, on 
the other hand, appeared in full body, a human figure walking through 
the aura of light that was the underrealm connection between them.  
Rent was a tall and iron-featured man.  His expression was flinty and 
arrogant; he walked with a casual bluster and wore a smile that, far 
from being disarming, made Hodakai tighten his guard.

It is always so good to see you, Hodakai!  To what do I oqve the rare 
privilege?

Hodakai hesitated.  Now that he was here, he wasn't sure what he 
wanted to say.  I've been thinking, he said finally.

Rent cocked his head.  Dangerous habit.  Are you calling to ask my 
permission?

Hodakai twitched with anger.  All right, so it was Rent who had 
taught him all that he knew of underrealm magic-and for that matter, 
most of what he knew about the realm, period, from the fate of his 
shipmate to the concealment of the dragons' Dream Mountain.  But Rent 
had also withheld much, and it was clear that he would continue to do 
so until Hodakai accepted servanthood to him, and to the one whom Rent 
served.

Hodakai decided to ignore Rent's jibe.  I've been thinking about 
those flying serpents you call friends, he said finally.

Oh?  And what have you been thinking about them?  I presume it is 
true dragons you are speaking of, yes?  There was a pinch in the center 
of Rent's forehead, and it deepened as he spoke.

Well ... What Rent called "true" dragons were those loyal to Rent's 
Master-the one called Tar-skel, the "Nail of Strength."

Hodakai, frankly, didn't know i t..-Lere was much difference between 
the Tar-skel dragons and any others, except for their allegiance in the 
war.  But he knew this: it had been Tar-skel dragons who had captured 
him.

Hodakai, Hodakai!  Rent chided, apparently reading his mind.  Can you 
not be the master of your own outrage?  How can you be counted in the 
coming victory if you cling to your petty grudges?  Accept what has 
happened and move on!

Hodakai didn't answer.  This was Rent's way of asking what he never 
tired of asking, which was: when would Hodakai give up and declare his 
allegiance to Tar-skel, and of course, to Rent?  Not that Tar-skel 
himself gave a flying finger at the moon, Hodakai was sure.

Probably the Nail had never even heard of him.

But Hodakai's hatred of the Nail's dragons ran deep in his soul.

He couldn't understand why Rent didn't hate them equally.  Rent too 
was a rigger who had fallen prey to dragons in the Flux.  But unlike 
Hodakai, Rent had parlayed his captivity into power and influence, into 
both servanthood and mastery.  The trouble was, whether Hodakai liked 
him or not, Rent was the only human he was likely ever to see again in 
his life.

Are you planning to tell me what you've been thinking?  Rent asked 
sharply.  Or did you call just to announce to me that you had been 
thinking?  Some of us do that every day, you know.

Hodakai seethed at the sarcasm, but tried not to show it.

I called, actually, to tell you of an interesting visitor I've just 
sent away.

Rent's expression narrowed.  Visitor?  Why didn't you tell me that in 
the first place?

I was trying to.  Anyway, it was a dragon.

One of your captors, coming to see if you had decidedNo-not one of 
those.  One of the others.  One not ... aligned with you.

Rent's eyes shone with a fervor that made Hodakai nervous.  Do tell!  
And to what did you owe this visit from the enemy?

How would I know?  I'd never seen him or heard of him before.

And I sent him packing, if that's what you're driving at.

I should hope so.  But did you get any information out of him first?  
Every encounter with the enemy should be used to good purpose.

Your enemy, you mean@of mine.  Or no more than any other dragon.

Hodakai, Hodakai And I wish you'd stop doing that.

Doing what?

I think you know.  It was just one more way Rent had of pressuring 
him, by presuming that he and Hodakai had the same notion as to what 
constituted "the enemy."  Hodakai wished now that he hadn't told Rent 
about the dragon.

No, Hodakai.  What is it you want from me?

I want you to stop pushing me.  I don't like it when you push me.

I can make up my own mind.

Rent stared at him silently.  His eyes shone with a power that seemed 
to penetrate every facet of Hodakai's being.

You're taking a very long time to decide where you stand, my friend.

To that Hodakai had no answer, because it was true.

When he replied, he chose his words carefully.  I sent him away, 
telling him nothing that would help him.  But I suspect that he will be 
back.  He seemed very interested in me.  Seemed to want to offer some 
kind of .  . . dragon friendship.  Hodakai stared at Rent, leaving his 
words hanging.  It seemed just possible that, for the first time since 
he had become a captive in this land, he might actually have some 
bargaining power.  Though he was hardly interested in any sort of 
friendship with the dragon, it might not hurt to have Rent believe that 
someone else was offering him enticements.

And he had heard rumor of at least one other rigger who had formed 
such a friendship, so it was not a wholly empty threat.

It was impossible to judge the success of his tactic.  Rent smiled 
inscrutably.  Tell me, Hodakai.  Can this dragon, with its friendship, 
give you back your body?  Can this dragon let you walk as a man?

Rent's underrealm figure executed a little tap dance for Hodakai, to 
emphasize the point.

Hodakai could not answer.  In the end, it always came back to this.  
Rent, like Hodakai, had lost his physical body.

But Rent, who not only served Tar-skel but also wielded his sorcery, 
now walked again as a man.  Hodakai, Rent had promised, could do the 
same if only he would swear allegiance to the Nail of Strength.

If only.

If only Tar-skel didn't give him such a bad case of ...

he didn't know what, exactly, but just the mention of the invisible 
sorcerer's name made Hodakai tremble.  He couldn't say why.

He just had a feeling that there was nothing good about this being, 
who was not a human or a dragon or anything else he had ever heard of.

Still, he couldn't say that to Rent.  I was only telling you what 
happened.  I didn't say I was planning to throw in with the blasted 
dragon.

But Rent persisted.  He made a stabbing gesture with his finger.

Can the false dragons let you walk as a man, Hodakai?

Can they?

Hodakai shook his head; the gesture appeared as a slight tremor in 
his shadow.  No, he whispered.

I can't hear you, Hodakai!  Rent cupped a hand to his ear.

Can they?

No, he repeated, a little louder.

No, Rent agreed.  They can't.

And you of course can, Hodakai thought glumly.  Or could, if you 
wanted to.  But your price is high.  I wish I could end this 
conversation.

The burden is light, Hodakai, and the pleasures are many.

Think of that, before you do anything foolish.

I wasn't planning to do anything at all, Hodakai muttered.

I'm glad to hear that.  I truly am.  You will let me know if this 
dragon visits again?

Hodakai nodded reluctantly.

Splendid.  Then I must be tending to other business.  If there was 
nothing else-?  Rent held his hands out in question.

Hodakai made a slight bowing movement, not quite in supplication but 
acknowledging the dismissal.  He hated himself for doing it.

Then we shall speak later, Rent said and vanished, along with the 
window into his domain.  Hodakai was left holding open the threads of a 
nonexistent connection in the underrealm.

Hodakai let the nimbus of his own world close back around him.  He 
was trembling with anger and frustration.

It seemed that every conversation with Rent ended this way.

Around him he heard the chattering sounds of the sprites.  He didn't 
have it in him to engage in their banter, or even to tell them to shut 
up.  He couldn't keep his thoughts off Rent's offer; and he wept, as 
his world shimmered with the dark crimson heat of his trapped emotion.

Soon it was more than he could take.  Thoughts of the Flux opened up 
before him and he drifted back into memories of Hodakai the rigger, 
fingers and hands stretching the net, crossing the gulfs between the 
stars, slipping the surly bonds of human space and time....

But in time he found himself, to his own surprise, coming out of the 
memory and thinking again of the dragon that had come to see him.

Wishing that it would come again.

Wishing to hear the voice of the dragon.

Chapter 5

THE VALLEY OF FALLEN LIGHT "DREAM MOUNTAIN!  That is Windrush's 
obsession-not mine!"  hissed the black dragon SearSky.  His back was 
turned as Windrush landed in the main encampment.  "We should be going 
after the Enemy to destroy him!  Forget the underrealm!  Forget the 
Mountain!  Win back the lumenis, that's what I say!"  The powerful 
dragon snorted fire.

At least a dozen pairs of glowing, faceted dragon eyes turned to 
follow Windrush as he strode to the center of the gathering, where the 
complaining dragon held forth.

"SearSky!  You wish to command us to victory-is that it?"

Windrush asked.  His mood was dark; he was still stinging from his 
encounter with the rigger-s@irit.

SearSky turned, flared his nostrils, and fixed Windrush with a 
red-eyed stare.  "At least I would command us into battle, Windrush-not 
into some endless search for something that is gone, probably forever!

Why don't we take the fight where it belongs?  To the Enemy!"

For a moment, Windrush said nothing, but he let the flame in the back 
of his throat produce a small flurry of sparks with each outgoing 
breath.  "That is your wisdom, then?"  he said at last.

He was answered, not by SearSky, but by mutters from many of the 
others gathered around.  There was a good deal of sympathy for 
SearSky's opinion here.  And these were many of Windrush's best 
leaders.

"I expect you heard about the defeat in the Valley Between last 
night?"  SearSky said acidly.

Windrush swung his head in alarm, looking for his younger brother, 
WingTouch.  WingTouch had been the leader of that patrol.  He found the 
grey-green dragon standing among the others.  "Is this true?"  he 
asked.

WingTouch's eyes flickered the color of a sun,drenched sea, then 
darkened with sorrow.  He flexed his wings restlessly.  "We lost a 
lumenis grove and six dragons.  I am sorry, Windrush.  The Enemy's 
sorcery was stronger than ever."  Windrush exhaled a cold breath.

Another grove lost.

How many more could they lose?  The Enemy was destroying the grounds 
that fed the dragons' bodies, even as it destroyed their spirit by 
hiding the Dream Mountain, the very source of life and beauty in the 
realm.  "I see," Windrush said.

"Do you?"  asked SearSky.  "We are wasting time on this foolish 
search of yours, on your efforts to regain the past.

Let us move on and win the future!"

Windrush was weary beyond words, but as their leader he could not let 
this pass.  "You believe," he said, "that we are clinging to a 
forgotten past?  Have you forgotten what the Enemy has taken?"  He 
shifted his gaze from one dragon to another, letting the fire in his 
eyes speak his anger.

"Have you forgotten that without the Dream Mountain, this realm would 
not exist?  That our gardens would be lifeless valleys?  That lumenis 
would not grow?  Have you forgotten that without the draconae, there 
will be no more dragons?  Are you so blind that you have forgotten?"

He was answered by a muttering near silence.  He heard raspy 
breathing, and the movement of claws on stone.

Then a sullen voice Stonebinder's?-protested, "What of the dracona in 
the Grotto Garden?  There is an egg there!"

4 'One draconi, huddling in our protection!"  Windrush roared.

"An egg that will probably never hatch, away from the Mountain!

Do you think that is our future?"

SearSky, eyes glowing red, turned his craggy head.  "That has ever 
been your argument, Windrush.  But we have been following your way, and 
we are losing.  The Enemy seems to create life well enough without the 
Dream Mountain.

Perhaps it is not so vital as you think.  Perhaps you should think 
about another way.  Unless-you have come to tell us of some new victory 
in your travels, eh?"

Windrush thought of the humiliation he had suffered in the cavern 
earlier tonight.  "No," he said softly.  "No victory."  He vented 
sparks, trying to dredge some encouragement from his thoughts.  "No 
victory, but perhaps a hope.

Perhaps one who knows something of value to us."

He described to the others what he had found in the cavern, but he 
could see that most of them were only puzzled by it.  What was wrong 
with them?  he thought.

Could they not see the potential value of the knowledge they might 
gain from the captive spirit?  As he told how the episode had ended, he 
was answered with rumbles of disbelief.  He hissed sparks of 
frustration.

"Windrush!  We thought you were the master of underrealm skills!"

This was Stronghold, the tan dragon to his left.  "If you can't see 
through the Enemy's deceptions, how do you propose for us to defeat 
them?"

Windrush blinked slowly.  He hoped that this was not turning into a 
challenge to his leadership; if it was, it could not come at a worse 
time.  While they argued among themselves, the Enemy tightened his grip 
around their territory; and more importantly, around their hope and 
belief in themselves.  This encampment stank of anger and hopeles@ 
ness, and he had to answer it.

But he was having trouble focusing his gaze upon Stronghold, and he 
let out a breath of steam as he gathered his thoughts.  "I have some 
skills in the underrealm," he said, his voice rising in volume.  "But 
never have I claimed mastery of the arts of deception.  That is the 
work of the Enemy.  Those who admire such skills should give credit 
where it belongs-to their Master, the one who destroys!

SearSky, you spoke of the Enemy creating life.  Well, he might twist 
life to his purposes, but I do not believe that he can create it.

You almost sound as if you believe his lies!"

His words sent a murmur of displeasure through the assembly.

SearSky growled, "I have never believed the lies of the Enemy!"

Windrush glared back at him, and finally grunted in acknowledgment.  
It was true, SearSky had never been a servant of Tar-skel.  But many of 
those gathered here, including his own brothers, had once been under 
the Enemy's swa@until Jael's victory at the Black Peak had freed them.  
They knew Tar-skel's dark mastery firsthand, but it was not something 
of which any of them boasted.

Nevertheless, Windrush could not deny their right to question him.

He had been foolishly unwary, and his encounter with Hodakai had been 
a minor display of the Enemy's powers.

Fire burned uselessly in his throat as he regarded the unhappy 
dragons.  He was their leader, and somehow he had to find not just 
greater wisdom, but greater skill and cunning.  At this moment, though, 
his thoughts were like a slow landslide of stones in his head.

He heard the low sigh of Farsight, the younger of his two living 
brothers.  Farsight swung his head from side to side as he spoke, his 
silvery-clear eyes twinkling.  "My brother, your scales and your eyes 
are as dull as a moon behind a storm cloud.  When did you last take of 
lumenis?"

Windrush exhaled smoke.  "Well, I-" He felt a gentle shove on his 
right flank.  WingTouch was staring at him with eyes that glowed like 
lanterns in the sea.

Even in the face of defeat, WingTouch never seemed to tire or grow 
discouraged.  "Fly, brother-fly and feed, before you fade away.  We 
need you.  Do you hear?"

A rumble of agreement rose among the others.  Windrush realized 
suddenly how right his brothers were.  He had not fed in many days, and 
he needed the restorative power of lumenis before he could think 
clearly.  "Very well," he murmured.  He raised his voice.  "All who 
need lumenis, rise with me and fly!"

"Fly now!"  called Treetooth, a dark green dragon.

"Fly and feed!"  "Fly and feed!"  The cry rose quickly, even among 
those who had questioned him.  Most of the dragons present took to the 
air with a thunder of beating wings.

The Valley of Fallen Light lay eastward, just over the ridge from the 
main encampment.  It was the largest lume his reserve in the realm, and 
so far it had been kept safe from the Enemy.

As the dragons passed over the ridge, they encountered the guardian 
spell, one that would pass only dragons whose inner twists of true 
being, garkkon-rakh, matched its pattern.  The weary Windrush was a 
beat slow in preparing for it, and it struck him like an invisible 
sheet of flame.  Foe!  Foe!  it cried, as it wrapped its underweb 
sinews around him.  Stunned by the spell's hot flash, he reached out 
with dragon thought to trace the grooves and twists of the spell.  It 
required, not great skill, but an aware and true dragon presence.  He 
touched the fire with his thought, and the heat vanished and he passed 
unharmed.

Followed by his two brothers and the rest, Windrush flew past the 
watchful guard dragons who maintained the spell-barriers, and descended 
into the Valley of Fallen Light.  Even in darkness, the place glowed as 
though alive with fire.  It boasted not just lumenis, but plants of all 
kinds, nourished by the fire of the lumenis.  Even from the air, 
especially at night, the lumenis stems could be seen reaching skyward 
like silent branches of glittering, fiery ice.

Windrush dropped a wing and plummeted, murmuring under his breath the 
ancient words of beckoning: "Living fire, give breath to my wings!

To my heart!  To my eyes!"

A heartbeat later, he, glimpsed one branch of lumenis that seemed to 
rise up beckoning to him alone.  He felt its touch in the underweb, its 
energy flowing up to meet him.

He reached down with his talons, caught the branch, and swooped back 
upward, pulling it from the ground.  The plant sputtered with light as 
it broke free.  All around him he saw sparkles in the night as other 
dragons caught up branches.  Beating his wings, he climbed back into 
the sky before lifting the lumenis to his powerful jaws.

"Strength from fire!"  trumpeted a dragon.  The vale echoed with the 
sounds of dragons bellowing.

Windrush was too famished to celebrate.  With a silent thought of 
gratitude, he crushed the lumenis like glass.  The plant erupted 
between his teeth, melting into pure sunlight.

It streamed in all directions; it coursed through his body like an 
elixir, filling him until he began to feel himself glow from the inside 
out.  All around him, starbursts were exploding, and dragons were 
pulsing with inner light.

Fragments of lumenis flew across the sky like exploding embers, 
droplets of light raining down over the grove.

Where they fell onto soaring dragons, the particles vanished with a 
sparkle into the dragons' scales.  But fragments that fell to the 
ground exploded softly, each explosion the beginning of a new lumenis 
plant.

Windrush gladly let droplets of light spill from his mouth, seeding 
the grove.  Energy flowed into his body and his mind together, driving 
out fatigue and burning the fog from his thoughts.  Lumenis flame 
danced in his brain like an elemental; it had no thought, but it was 
the energy that fed life, fed all dragon thought and dragon being, all 
garkkon-rakh.  He felt strength flowing into his wings, his eyes, and 
his claws.  He might be untested, but he no longer felt weary.

Anyone who dared to attack him now would be destroyed by claw and 
flame.  He bellowed his fury into the night air, and heard his cry 
echoed.

He was not just feeding; he was growing intoxicated with the power of 
the lumenis.  He ground the remaining fragmentr, between his teeth, 
squeezing the light from them.  His spirits soared with every splash of 
light; he felt as though he could fly the breadth of the realm in the 
time it would take to shape the thought.  He felt an overpowering urge 
to fly higher than a dragon could fl@to soar to the uppermost limits of 
the realm, to challenge the emptiness, the winds and the darkness 
beyond.  His wings labored to carry him higher.

The cries of the others receded below him, an echo in his ears, a 
fading din.  The threads of the underweb began to glow in his thoughts, 
and he felt an impulse rising in his mind: Why not challenge Tar-skel 
directly?  Why not just reach out through all that was dragon and real 
and garkkondoh, and challenge the Enemy's magic, and defeat it once and 
forever?  It was a dizzying thought.  Enough wisdom remained in him to 
let it spin harmless into the night airbut the intoxication was still 
growing.  And something else was happening ...

A voice, somewhere, was calling out to him.  It was a silent voice, 
and yet it reminded him of a dracona singing to him as of old, singing 
out a story, a vision of the realm as it was, or as it might be.  
Someone calling to him ... but who?

Even in the euphoric glow, he recognized that something extraordinary 
was happening.  This was not the usual lumenis intoxication.  A power 
was coursing in his veins that he did not understand.  Through the 
dizziness and strangeness, he felt a connection opening in the 
underrealm, and it was not under his control.

The realm was changing.

The darkness of the night grew deeper, and the points of light in the 
sky gleamed with a strangely cold intensity.

They looked very far away.  And yet, as he watched them, it seemed 
that they were being transformed into something different-not warm, 
distant lights, but rather tiny points of ice.  And they were not 
isolated from each other, but were joined together by a pale, gossamer 
web that somehow stretched out of the underrealm into the outer world, 
and encircled the sky.

Windrush was so astonished that he stilled his wings and glided in 
the thin, high air, staring at the web.  He could still see the dark 
outline of the mountain range, but the strands of the web were growing 
brighter, and the mountains were receding.  What was this?  He felt 
that he was seeing illusion, and yet not illusion.  He smelled the 
power of an enchantment, but could not discern its nature, whether good 
or evil, nor could he tell its source.

Perhaps if he flew higher ...

He was far above the other dragons already, but still he beat the 
air, climbing toward the roof of the sky.  The valley, with its popping 
lumenis, dwindled below.  He was in danger of climbing out of the 
spells of protection; but still he climbed, hoping to make the vision 
come clear.

The web grew stark against the night sky.  It seemed a peculiarly 
geometric thing-like the underrealm with its strands and connections, 
and yet hard and cool; and he thought suddenly that it was a vision of 
the realm bound together in power, and he felt an electric excitement.

Was this a vision of dragon power-of the dragons' final victory, of 
the realm restored to unity?

No ...

He smelled a tang of steel-and the web suddenly began to shrink, its 
points of light growing inward like daggers of sharpened ice.  He felt 
his breath hissing, his link with the underrealm being choked off.

This was no weaving of beauty; it was a thing of malice, of 
imprisonment.

And yet he sensed movement beyond the web.  He heard the sound of 
chimes, the sounds of draconae, the sounds of the dreaming ones.  For 
an instant he thought he glimpsed the Dream Mountain itself, rosy and 
translucent, and hope sprang into his heart.  But it was locked far out 
of reach, beyond the web of ice.

Closer, in the web, he saw dragons caught, struggling; and the harder 
they struggled, the harder the ice became.

Some fought with each other, and that made the ice grow thicker.

It filled half the sky, closing around him.  And now, beyond the web, 
the sky began to shiver and crack ... and beyond that he glimpsed a 
different sky, the sky of another world.  The ice crystals stretched, 
like clawed fingers, out of this realm to take hold in the next.

He shuddered, circling helplessly in the center of the vision.  He 
glimpsed a new figure, not dragon yet glowing with dragon magic, 
climbing its way up the web.  And he heard words drifting through the 
air: From beyond hope will come one ...

Innocent of our ways will come one ...

The sound of the words faded, but not his memory of them.  They were 
the Words of the ancient prophecy, passed on through his father from 
his mother, the dracona SkyTouch.

As Windrush pondered the Words, the new figure be came clearer.

He could see its form now- neither dragon nor beast, it was human.

Rigger.  His breath rushed out in a silent exclamation.  Where the 
rigger touched it, the ice was melting.  The glow of the Dream Mountain 
began to shine through more strongly.

The human turned her head.  It was Jael.

But in that moment of recognition, she became transparent and 
disappeared.  The Dream Mountain faded, and the icicle prison walled 
him in on all sides.  It stretched out forever, through the fractured 
sky to the skies beyond.

Windrush could do nothing except circle angrily.  Finally he roared 
and flew straight toward the wall of ice, his hot breath boiling the 
air before him.  Better to die than to let this terrible work go 
unchallenged!  But when his fiery breath touched the wall, it vanished.

The shattered sky vanished, and the web; everything vanished except 
the night air whispering over his wings.  He cried in protest, but his 
voice faded on the wind.

He looked down at the other dragons, a swarm of fiery insects in the 
valley below.  He heard his name floating up on the air.  Without 
answering, he searched the night sky one more time, looking for the 
source of that vision.  Finally he gave up and spiraled downward.

As he rejoined the windmilling flight, he saw that the flush of the 
lumenis seemed to be wearing off most of the other dragons.  "Did you 
see what I saw?"  he rumbled.

"We saw you trying to fly to the summit of the world," answered 
Farsight.  "What else was there to see?"

"A vision," Windrush murmured.  "I'd hoped you might have seen it, 
too."

"A vision," crowed SearSky, flying up from behind.

"Another work of your trickster friend?"

Windrush waited until the other dragon came alongside.

"Whose work it was, I cannot say," he answered.  "It could have been 
a taunt from the Enemy@but I think not.  I believe it may have come 
from the Dream Mountain.  It had a smell of prophecy about it."

As his words carried on the wind, a murmur passed through the flight 
of dragons.  But SearSky was unimpressed.  His eyes blazed like coals 
of fire beneath his knobby brow.  "How can you judge it a work of the 
Dream Mountain, if you cannot tell a false vision from a true onellp 
Windrush snorted sparks, not dignifying the insult with an answer.  He 
peered around at all of the dragons.  "What I saw was a great web 
encircling the world!  A web of iceice as hard as stone, a trap of the 
Enemy.  It stank of despair.

I saw the Dream Mountain beyond it, out of reach.  And then .  .

."

He described what he had seen: the small human figure climbing and 
melting the web.  And the Words.  His voice became husky, rasping his 
own words into the air.  "It was ]sell" he said, breathing a soft, 
billowing flame.  "Jael, friend of Highwing, friend of the realm.  She 
was undoing the work of the Enemy, which the rest of us were powerless 
to fight."

His words hung on the night air for a dozen heartbeats, before he 
admitted that Jael had vanished before winning against the ice and 
darkness.

"We heard your outcry," Farsight whispered, his diamond eyes 
flashing.

"My rage broke the vision.  But it could not break what was in the 
vision.  It was a power greater than our own."  He let loose an angry 
flame and veered off into silence.

The others began to debate what he had told them, but Windrush stayed 
outside the circle.  The air was soon filled with questions, not just 
about the vision, but about the past, about the truth of the Words, 
about Jael.  "Do you doubt," Farsight said caustically to one 
questioner, "that Jael broke the Enemy's sorcery against Highwing?  And 
against us?"

"So we have heard," came a rumbling reply.  "We know that the 
enchantment was broken.  But by whom?  Who can say?"

Farsight snorted in disgust.

And on it went.  Windrush had come to expect it.  He had observed 
that few dragons seemed to remember sacrifices made on their behalf, 
unless they were direct witnesses to the acts.  There were many here 
whose spirits had been @ from the Enemy's influence-but perhaps not so 
completely as they would have liked.  Despair and discord were powerful 
weapons of the Enemy, and they were present in good measure here.

Windrush circled silently, until he heard SearSky again question the 
source of the vision.  SearSky was one who worried him.  A formidable 
warrior, SearSky commanded considerable respect among the dragons; but 
not all of his followers were clear thinkers, in Windrush's view.  It 
would be unwise, he thought, to let SearSky's words go unanswered.  He 
veered back into the circle.  "Whatever the source," he snapped, ' t 
the vision was real.  And surely it had a meaning, which we must try to 
understand."

"And what, Windrush, do you take its meaning to be?"

asked Longtail, cutting off a rejoinder from SearSky.

Windrush answered soberly.  "I do not know for certain.

Perhaps it was intended to frighten, or perhaps to warn.  But its 
roots lie deep in the underrealm, that I know."  He sighed and was 
suddenly aware of a great need for solitude, and for rest."  My 
brothers, I am weary-and so must many of you be.  We will speak more of 
this later.  But I will say this: What I have seen, I believe to be a 
thing of prophecy.

I believe it bears upon the meaning of the Words."

He could hear the unspoken questions hanging in the air.

Despite the terrible war with Tar-skel, few among the dragons spoke 
openly of the Words of the draconae-perhaps because the prophecy was so 
frighteningly ambiguous about the outcome of the struggle.

"And why should Windrush son of Highwing be granted a prophecy?"

SearSky asked.

"Perhaps because I am also Windrush friend of Jael the rigger," 
Windrush retorted, punctuating his words with a blast of fire.  "If you 
forgotten who broke the power of the Black Peak, I have not.  If I have 
received a prophecy, it is not because I asked for it.  Nevertheless, 
it was given; and if there is any wisdom left in this realm, we will 
consider it well."  He exhaled a long, steamy sigh.  "My brothers, I 
must take my leave.  Are the night patrols ready?"

WingTouch flew close, bobbing in the air.  "They are ready."

"Then farewell until the light of day."

Windrush soared away, departing the vale for the mountains to the 
north.  His thoughts were deeply troubled as he flew, and he had the 
feeling that they would grow no quieter before this night was over.

Chapter 6

BATTLE AND BETRAYAL ONCE HIS older brother was gone, WingTouch 
departed also-to the west, back to the main encampment.  These days, 
this was the most populous part of the realm.  The air seemed full of 
dragons flying in one direction or another, and yet the realm was far 
from normal.  The war had so overshadowed life that it was hard to 
remember what it had been like to fly freely in the night, seeking fast 
winds and adventure without wondering if the eye of the Enemy would 
fall upon you, or the wings of his drahls.  The jumbled slopes were a 
windswept remnant of a land that had once borne countless varieties of 
flora and fauna-life that had mattered, not because it was of any 
particular use to the dragons, but because it was a gift from the fires 
of the Dream Mountain.  Now, most of the life that had not been stolen 
or transformed by the Enemy was stunted or destroyed.

WingTouch was aware of this, but did not allow himself to dwell upon 
it as he flew.  He had a patrol to lead, and he was determined that the 
defeat of the previous night would not be repeated.

The camp came into view over the ridge, marked by scattered fires and 
embers.  WingTouch floated down through rising plumes of smoke and 
landed at the northern corner of the camp.  He tramped through the 
grounds, calling out for his night patrol.  As always, many dozens of 
dragons were asleep, or muttering in conversation around piles of 
blazing deadwood or burning draxis bushes, the poor cousin of lumenis.

Any number of dragons raised their craggy heads and peered at him 
with eyes glowing in the night like stars, but no one answered his 
call.  WingTouch sighed, knowing that his dragons were undoubtedly 
somewhere in the camp, lost in conversation.

Draconic discussions, especially when they turned upon the war and 
upon the powers and designs of the Enemy, could drone on throughout the 
night.  WingTouch regarded most such talk as foolishness, and had 
little patience with it.  Still, when he reached the far perimeter, he 
was not surprised to find two members of his patrol, Rocktooth and 
FireEye, perched on stone outcroppings, part of a small gathering 
absorbed in just such a conversation.

Rocktooth hailed him with a plume of smoke.  "WingTouch!  They are 
saying that the Enemy has been capturing shadow-cats from the valley 
and turning them into spirits that can move right through the earth!"

"Why not?"  cried another dragon, behind Rocktooth.

"If he can create drahls out of smoke, and cause the moon itself to 
spy upon us, I see no reason why he couldn't do that, too."

WingTouch answered with an impatient snort.  "If you believe every 
story about the Enemy's powers, you'll make a sorry excuse for a 
warrior!"

"Then tell us what you believe!"  said Rocktooth.

"Stonebinder said he saw a shadow-cat come right out of the ground!"

WingTouch inspected his talons, dismissing the story with his 
silence.  "What the Enemy is doing," he said finally, "I can't guess.

But what we're doing is flying a patrol.

Stretch out your wings and let's go."

Rocktooth grumbled, opening his jaws in a tooth-glittering yawn.

"All right-but if we don't think of these things now, we might wish 
we had, later."

"We might," WingTouch acknowledged.  "FireEye!  You too."

FireEye slowly stirred, as though waking from a stupor, and blinked 
his red eyes.  A stout dragon with thick, leathery wings, he was a good 
fighter-once aroused.  Another dragon, hunched down in front of him, 
muttered, "I've heard that some of the sweepers are not to be trusted, 
either.

knows about their sympathiest" FireEye, still only , cocked his head 
and blinked his ruby eyes again as though ready to join in.

WingTouch was determined to let this go no further.  He snapped, 
"FireEye-where are the others?  Where are Loudcry and LongNail?"

They're in the sleeping warrens," said the dragon who had spoken of 
the sweepers.

"Summon them," WingTouch commanded.  "It is time to take to the air." 
 As FireEye and Rocktooth rose to obey, WingTouch surveyed the camp, 
shaking his head.  Even his friend Loudcry was sleeping when he should 
have been ready to fly.  In a state of war, how could they be so 
unwatchful?  WingTouch flexed his wings and considered reproving the 
others here, but decided that it was not his place.  They were, after 
all, off duty.  Nonetheless, he was troubled by the idle chatter.  When 
the four of his patrol appeared, he breathed a few dark words about 
unpreparedness, then they took off and left the matter behind them.

The early hours of the patrol passed quietly, as they soared 
southward over the eastern face of the Scarred Mount Ridge.  Beyond the 
ridge, some distance to their right, lay a sparsely inhabited plain 
known as the Valley Between, where they had fought for and lost the 
wild lumenis grove the other night.  Neither the dragons nor the Enemy 
actively controlled the plain, but both flew there at times, and both 
claimed friends among the small winged flyers and shadow-cats that 
lived there.  The known strongholds of the Enemy were much farther to 
the west, across the Valley Between and over yet another range known as 
the Borderland Mountains.

The night was calm but cloudy, without a hint of trouble.

As it wore on, with endless gliding flight over dark, silent slopes, 
the temptation to relax grew almost irresistible.

WingTouch found himself wishing, on patrols like this, that he had 
Windrush's gift for undersensing.  He had at best a blurry awareness of 
the underrealm, and he had to depend upon sharp eyes and quick reflexes 
to detect and avoid danger.

Still, giftedness in the underrealm was a mixed blessing.

Their father Highwing had been so blessed, and even Farsight, to a 
lesser degree.  But none of them could have matched their youngest 
brother, FullSky-and that was warning enough.  FullSky's underrealm 
gifts had led him to foolish temptations, and ultimately to his 
succumbing to the Enemy's sorceries.  Even in that dark time when 
WingTouch and Farsight had lived shadow lives under the influence of 
Tar@skel, they had lost all track of FullSky.  He had vanished long 
before the victory at Black Peak, and by now, his brothers were certain 
that he was dead.

WingTouch knew that he himself was not much suited to thoughts of the 
underrealm.  Even now, he was sure, there were many dragons awake 
discussing Windrush's claim to a prophetic vision.  He himself had 
wasted little thought on the matter.  He had no idea what Windrush's 
vision meant, but he believed in it and was content to let others 
wrestle with the subtleties of its meaning.  His only duty right now 
was to remain alert until dawn and the end of his patrol.

It was only a little later, while winging over lowlands on I the 
flank of the ridge, that he caught sight of something a less alert 
dragon might have missed: just a movement of shadow upon shadow, low in 
the foothills, barely enough to catch his eye.  He swooped for a better 
view.  He didn't call out to the others, because he wasn't sure he had 
really seen anything.

An instant later, the shadow suddenly loomed before i him, with eyes 
and teeth.  WingTouch banked sharply, barely evading the thing's claws. 
 Turning, he spotted it fleeing to the west, close to the ground.  "FOE 
IN THE TERRITORY!"  he bellowed and dove after it.

The shadow was a drahl-fast and elusive, but not so fast that he 
couldn't catch it, WingTouch thought.  He gathered fire in his throat, 
prepared to dispatch the abomination.  @t But before he could do so, 
four more drahis climbed suddenly into the air to join the first.  They 
turned to attack.
 WingTouch swerved.  His own comrades suddenly


seemed far, far away.


Many mountains to the north, Farsight had just crossed a low ridge, 
winging his way homeward to his cavern.  Over the sigh of the night 
wind, he thought he heard voicesvoices that didn't quite sound as if 
they belonged in this area.  He was flying opposite to the direction 
his brother WingTouch's patrol had taken, a northwesterly course over 
the Scarred Mount Ridge.  Far ahead, the Black Peak glowed sullenly 
over the northwest horizon.  Listening carefully, Farsight veered into 
the west wind, scrutinizing the landscape below.  It was a patch of 
thin, bedraggled meadowland, where in a better time wild lumenis had 
grown.

Bordering it on the west was an undulating cliff where voices could 
easily echo for some distance.

Farsight swung his head from side to side, listening.

There was nothing now, except the wind on the cliff.  Could that have 
been what he had heard?  He didn't think so; there was a smell in the 
air, an undersense of a presence that didn't belong here.  Still, he 
couldn't quite identify itexcept that it had a vaguely malevolent 
quality, and he was unwilling to leave without investigating more 
closely.

Employing a trick that Windrush had taught him, he drew a simple 
spellweb of silence about himself.  He banked and glided, following the 
tingle in his awareness, until he felt the presence growing stronger.

He dropped low over the meadow and landed, hoping to lose himself in 
the gloom.  Then he gazed upward along the face of the cliff wall.

His ears found it before his eyes-voices whispering across the air.  
He peered up at an inky patch of shadow halfway up the face of the 
cliff.  It was probably a ledge, a perfect place for someone to hide in 
the night, a perfect place for a secret meeting.  Farsight realized 
suddenly that he heard both a dragon voice-and another, a voice at once 
husky and smooth, chillingly lilting, a voice shaped by magic.  Drahl.

A drahl and a dragon talking together, almost inaudibly.

He dared not move closer.  For all he knew, there was a small army 
hidden nearby, preparing for an attack.  Or had he stumbled across a 
pair of spies?  He strained to listen.

The drahl's voice drifted, forming half-connected words: .  .

finest lumenis ... those with courage.  . . " There was a rustling 
sound.  The dragon spoke inaudibly, and the drahl answered, ". . . for 
those, servitude... littletimeleft..."

The dragon's words were louder this time.  ". . . they talk and 
complain ... but haven't the courage to move .  . ."

The drahl answered...... no use ... let them serve us .  . . " The 
dragon pleaded, "Let me speak again ... close to persuading .  . ."

Farsight realized what he was hearing-a drahl seducing dragons to the 
Enemy's side.  He trembled with cold fury.

He knew how reasonable, how persuasive a drahl's voice could be!

Oh yes, he knew!  It was nothing more than a dragon's voice twisted 
by sorcery, evil and yet beguilingly beautiful.  He knew all too 
personally the power of the Enemy's seduction.  But that had been a 
long time ago, before the Enemy's true nature had been revealed, before 
the drahls had begun to wage war upon the realm-killing dragons, 
destroying gardens and lumenis groves, destroying the very source of 
life to dragons.  What was Tar-skel promising now, treasured lumenis 
for those who followed him?

If only he could identify that dragon's voice!  If only he had his 
brother's undersense!  Farsight strained, but the wind was rising 
again, rustling the grass of the meadow, carrying the voices away.

Finally he decided that he had to move against the two, whatever the 
risk.  He could not allow such treachery to go unchallenged.  He 
sprang, and beat the air silently, climbing in the shadow of the cliff.

He had nearly reached the height of the ledge when reason overcame 
his rage.  He was outnumbered.  It was senseless to die and lose the 
knowledge he had just gained.  He veered and glided back down into 
concealment, praying that he had not been seen.  His heart burned with 
shame.  It was ungarkkondoh to retreat from a battle that deserved to 
be fought.  But it was far better that he return to warn Windrush, to 
let him know of traitors in their midst.

The breeze over the meadow floor was dying down, and as he landed 
softly near the bottom of the cliff, the voice of the drahl reached him 
again: "Speak no more!  Someone is here!"  Then all was silent, except 
for the faint scratching of the dragon on the ledge.

Farsight kept utterly still, his eyes closed to slits.  He heard a 
rustle of wings.  Fire burned in the back of his throat.  Find me and 
die, he thought, even knowing the advantage that an airborne adversary 
would have.  It galled him to crouch like an animal in the grass.  He 
hoped that the knowledge he'd gained was worth the sacrifice of 
dignity.

A pair of dragon wings caught the air with a snap, in insolent 
disdain for silence.  He heard another flutter: the drahl taking 
flight.  He craned his neck to watch the sky.

He glimpsed a dragon's silhouette, flying southward, but the drahl he 
didn't see at all.  When the sounds had faded, he took to the air.

He flew in search of the dragon for a time, but it had already 
vanished into the night.  He thought of returning to the main camp to 
report, but instead finally turned northward again, back toward his own 
cavern.  He wanted to discuss this with Windrush.  His brother would be 
sleeping now, and badly needed the rest.  But at dawn's light, Farsight 
would seek his counsel.

As he flew, he listened to the wind over the mountains and thought: 
What you must have to tell, Wind, if only I could understand your 
voice.  And he thought of WingTouch on patrol, and hoped for the sake 
of the realm that his brother was having better luck tonight.

WingTouch had only an instant to decide whether to flee from the five 
drahis, or to fight.  His reflexes decided for him.  He banked right 
and climbed with powerful wing thrusts.  When he glanced back, he saw 
the treacherous shadows in pursuit.  The drahls were half a dozen 
lengths behind, and gaining.

Very well, he thought.  He was still strong from the feeding; perhaps 
it was time to unleash some of that power.  He climbed into the wind, 
faster and higher-then abruptly pitched up and over into inverted 
flight, and plummeted back upon the drahis.  The ground loomed crazily 
over his head as he dove, breathing crackling flame into the enemies' 
midst.  The drahls answered with freezing fire, but he scarcely felt 
the chill before they scattered from his mad assault.

He rolled upright and climbed again.  He glimpsed his patrol above 
him, their breaths flickering in the night.

"FOES BEHIND!"  he cried.  "FIVE DRAHLS, AT LEAST!"

He wheeled once more as his companions passed over him, and the five 
dragons joined in formation.  The odds were evened; it was time to do 
battle.

The drahls were climbing quickly toward the dragons.

They were not easy targets.  The dragons dived, exhaling fire.

The drahls wavered and darted, shadows in the darkness.  The 
movements of shadow and dragon intersected, and suddenly all was chaos.

The air reverberated with battle cries; the night flared with fire.

The dragons were stronger, the drahls more elusive.  The dragons 
cried warning after warning to each other as they wheeled in the air, 
glimpsing one drahl here and losing sight of another there.  WingTouch 
heard the sound of a drahl screeching in its death throes, but he could 
not tell who had made the kill.  The battle was spreading out over the 
foothills, and he was dodging an attacker of his own.  Shaking free of 
it finally, he turned back toward the others.

He spotted Loudcry grappling with a drahl-but above and behind 
Loudcry, another creature was dropping for a kill.  WingTouch thundered 
a warning and sped to intercept the attacker.  Before he could reach 
the drahl, he saw cold fire ripple along Loudcry's wings and heard the 
dragon bellow with pain.  Loudcry stalled in midair, caught squarely by 
the terrible cold of the drahl's breath.  The drahl he'd had in his 
grasp slipped away, as the one behind him billowed another freezing 
breath.  WingTouch shot toward them, trumpeting his outrage.  He dared 
not use his fire so close to Loudcry; instead, he caught the attacking 
drahl in his claws and, banking steeply, hauled the loathsome thing 
away from his friend.

The shadow squirmed in his grasp, trying to bite.  He sank his nails 
into its body.  At first, it felt like nothing but shadow; then it 
turned suddenly into a repulsive, shivering thing.  It continued to 
change, metamorphosing into the form of a dragon, an innocent 
fledgling.  WingTouch felt sickened, knowing that it had once been a 
fledgling.  He could not avoid a shiver of compassion and an urge to 
release it.  As it arched its neck, he caught a glimpse of glowing eyes 
and an imploring gaze.  But he knew its inner nature as it was now, no 
matter what it once had been.  It was a servant of the Enemy, and it 
killed dragons.  With a shudder, he drove his talons deep and ripped 
the thing's throat apart.  Its death cry was hideous, but brief.  It 
turned back into a shadow, a lifeless one.

WingTouch released it and looked for Loudcry.  His friend was below 
him, cartwheeling downward-alive, but unable to fly.  WingTouch dove 
after him.

The drahl that Loudcry had been grappling with earlier was slipping 
through the air toward him.  WingTouch called in warning, but again the 
drahl was too close to his friend.  Loudcry's eyes flashed as he spun, 
struggling to move his wings.  He cried out: "Ki.i,ill it for me-kill 
them all!  I'll be all ri-!"  His words were strangled off as another 
icy flame washed over him.  The dragon tumbled out of control, close to 
death.  He was beyond WingTouch's help, falling toward the rocks below.

It took WingTouch several heartbeats to reach the drahl as it turned 
upward, screaming in triumph.  It saw WingTouch in the instant the 
dragon's fiery breath enveloped it.

Its cry turned to a screech of agony.  It tried to squirm out of the 
flame, but WingTouch was upon it, and he caught its head and body with 
his claws and ripped it apart, flinging the pieces away in rage.

WingTouch looked frantically downward, where he had last seen Loudcry 
falling-and then up to where the rest of his patrol were fighting.  He 
saw Rocktooth and FireEye close together, and heard LongNail's shout.  
Reassured, he dove toward the spot where he had last seen Loudcry.  He 
boomed out a call, but there was no answering cry.

It came inside his mind-the sharp, final pain.  He saw a glimmer down 
on the rocks, a dragon turning to crystal glass in the instant of 
death, before vanishing from the realm.  Loudcry had just taken flight 
to the Final Dream Mountain.

WingTouch climbed back toward the remaining battle.

He heard a screech as another drahl died, and LongNail's trumpet of 
victory.  It gave him some consolation.  A good dragon and friend had 
died, but the enemy were almost all disposed of.  Just one more 
remained.

Perhaps it was the shock of Loudcry's death that dulled his 
alertness.  When he felt the stab of pain in the center of his back, he 
was stunned senseless.  He glanced back and saw the drahl's eyes 
gleaming over his shoulder in triumph.

He drew a breath to shout, and the pain lanced up through the crown 
of his head.  The drahl had slipped its claws between his scales and 
driven them deep between his wing joints.  Its breath was close on the 
back of his neck.  What was stopping it from freezing him?  It was not 
breathing fire, but soft, vicious laughter.

WingTouch jerked his head around to try to vent his own breath on the 
thing; but it was well positioned, out of reach.  It tightened its 
grip-and fire flashed through his body.  "Brothers-!"  he started to 
cry out, but he felt a freezing flame on his neck and heard, "Die now 
if you make a sound!"

He choked off his words, and tucked forward into a rolling dive, 
trying desperately to shake the thing loose.

The drahl's nails held tenaciously, and its whispered voice cut 
through the wind.  "Descend ... slowly ... and silently ... if YOU 
would live."

If you would live, WingTouch thought, the voice of the drahl chilling 
him as bitterly as its breath.  What was it intending?

Its nails had found a nerve that commanded excruciating pain.

Gasping, WingTouch descended in a glide, scarcely moving his wings at 
all.  The torment eased a little.  He hoped, with faint hope, that his 
fellows would see him and come to his aid.  He strained to call 
silently: Come.  Help.

Quickly.  But he felt no answering thought.  If he could just snap 
out a quick cry.  He began very slowly to draw a deeper breath-but the 
drahl's nail tightened on his nerve, driving the wind from him.  He 
wheezed, barely able to draw breath at all.

He heard the others calling in the night, for him and for Loudcry.

But Loudcry was dead, and now he was as good as dead, too.

"We may let you live, if you do as we say," the drahl whispered, 
behind his head.  "You who have killed so many of ours."  Its voice was 
soft and measured, almost a chuckle.

I will kill many more of you before I finish, WingTouch vowed 
furiously, irrationally.  The drahl laughed behind him.  Had it heard 
his thoughts, or had he spoken aloud?

Through the haze in his mind, WingTouch thought how his brothers 
would grieve, and how badly they needed his help.  The whole realm 
needed help, now more than ever.

It needed all dragons who could fly against the Enemy.

"Fly to those shadows at the base of the ridge," the drahl whispered. 
 WingTouch turned as he was told.  He could still hear his comrades 
calling.  Come, he thought.  Help.

Quickly.  Their voices were growing fainter.  They were flying in the 
wrong direction.  If Windrush were here, he would know better; he would 
use his undersense.  But Windrush was not here.

"Fly along the base of the hills, and turn west through the break.

Let us hope that you are strong, dragon.  You have a long journey 
ahead."  The drahl laughed cruelly.

Come.  Help.  Quickly.  The thought was dying in his heart.  The 
shouts of his comrades were distant now.  He was alone here, with a 
drahl who commanded his life and death.  Should he end it now and try 
to take the enemy with him?  That might be the better way.

But if he waited, there was always the chance that he would find an 
opening.  Always the chance to learn something useful.  Always the 
chance to escape.

It was a faint hope, but it was all the hope he had.

That last spark of hope died when he saw a new cluster of drahls rise 
from the shadows and climb to join them in westward flight.  In flight 
toward the home of the Enemy.

Chapter 7

TMCKS IN THE UNDERR@M BACK IN his cavern, Windrush found sleep 
eluding him.

The lumenis vision had left him far too restless.  He peered about 
the stone-and-spell confines of his cavern, noting that the sweepers 
had been busy in his absence, gathering up his fallen scales.  The tiny 
creatures had left the ledges around the cavern adorned with their 
jewellike sculptures, his fallen scales twisted together into silvery 
shapes that balanced and pointed in odd ways, glinting in the gloom.

Windrush had never attached any meaning to those decorations, and 
yet, in some way he could never quite fathom, they seemed tantalizingly 
suggestive of some deeper intent.

Tomorrow they would be gone, carried into the dim crevices of the 
cavern to line the sweepers' nests.

Sighing, he sharpened his nails, raking them on the stone floor.

It felt too cold in the cavern, too dark.  A few patches of 
luminescent moss provided the only light.  He peered into the hearth 
where a draxis bush stood and focused his thoughts there, until he had 
coaxed from the bush a burst of flames tinted with amber and ruby.  The 
flames pleased him; they were the colors of distant suns.

It was only after he had stared at it for a time that the dragon 
understood his desire for the flame.  A memory flashed through his 
mind: three small figures pacing before just such a fire, in this very 
spot.  The rigger Jael, with her friends At and Ed, had visited this 
cavern one eventful night, far too long ago.

Jael.  Human, rigger, friend.  It was his father who had first 
befriended her.  Highwing had recognized in a frightened young rigger 
the possible fulfillment of the Words-barely remembered by most male 
dragons, but held at the very heart's center of the song and history of 
the draconae.

"From beyond life will come one ... without friend will cmne one ... 
and surely the realm shall tremble."  Jael, an outsider, had accepted 
Highwing's friendship; and soon thereafter, the silent corruption of 
Tarskel had erupted into an open reign of terror.  In punishment for 
trusting an outsider, Highwing was sentenced to exile and death in the 
static realm.

It was on the morning following the night in this cavern-the night 
when Jael had questioned a reluctant Windrush until he thought he would 
go mad, questioned him until he changed his mind and agreed to 
challenge the darknes@that they had flown together to the Black Peak to 
save Highwing.  It stirred his blood to remember it-the trumpeting 
dragon cries, the fire and smoke, the flash of sorcery that hurled 
Highwing out of the realm with Jael in fast pursuit.  And then ... the 
anguish of waiting, fighting off Tar-skel's followers, until the 
riggers reappeared with the dying dragon.  In the end, Windrush bore 
his great father on his own back, giving Highwing the precious moments 
he needed to die in triumph, with peace and dignity....

The hearth fire danced before Windrush, throwing shadows about the 
cavern, shadows that jumped up to tower over him.  Windrush gazed into 
the flames, mesmerized.  He wished that the fire could help him unravel 
the knots of the day, or somehow transport him back to more fathomable 
times.  He recalled the strange little parrot rigger, Ed, who had 
accompanied Jael-and he wished he could laugh at the memory.  But 
laughter would not come to him, not from this fire.  The flames danced 
bright and warm, but they seemed only to replay the puzzles of the day.

What had it all meant: the demon, the vision?  Even an iffling's 
explanation would seem clear compared to today's bewildering events.

He was scarcely aware that he was drifting in and out of sleep.

It seemed as a dream to him when he first saw a small, silken-furred 
creature loping out of the cavern's shadows.

The creature sat up on its hindquarters, peering up at him with huge, 
dark eyes.  Windrush blinked, flexing his talons unconsciously as he 
tried to decide whether he was awake or asleep.

"Iffling?"

"Dragon," whispered the iffling.

Windrush drew his thoughts together.  "Did you hear me wish that you 
would come?"

The iffling blinked its dark eyes and shivered, its silvery fur 
rippling down its back.  "We felt a need."

Windrush exhaled steam.  "I hope you've come to explain the mysteries 
of the past day.  Were they your doing?"

The being cocked its head.  "My doing?  Dragon, you would give us 
powers that are not ours.  What is it that you wish to know?"

Windrush eyed the iffling.  "You have to ask?  I saw a vision 
tonight, a most disturbing vision.  I hoped you would know where it 
came from.  I also spoke with a demon who was once a rigger-and I 
wonder how I might gain its trust.

Or should I?  What can you tell me, iffling?"

The creature did not answer at once.  It cocked its head the other 
way, its eyes half closed as though it were listening to some distant 
voice.  It began to sway from side to side.  It seemed to have 
forgotten the dragon's presence.

Suddenly it spoke, very softly.  "I do not know all of the answers 
that you seek.  But I can show you something.

Follow me."  It sprang toward the hearth and vanished into the air.

Puzzled, Windrush searched with his eyes, then probed with his 
thoughts down into the underrealm.  He felt the quiver of an unfamiliar 
spell and was startled to discover that the underrealm surrounding the 
cavern had changed dramatically.  A glow filled the cavern, penetrating 
into corners that had long lain in darkness.  Where his own guard, ian 
spell had tightly closed the underweb against intruders, he now saw a 
doorway out of his cavern, leading to a place of sunshine.  Sitting in 
the doorway, silhouetted in the sunlight, was the kuutekka, or 
spirit-presence, of the iffling.

Behind the iffling was a vast green meadow.  What is this?

Windrush whispered, amazed.

The iffling's answer came soundlessly.  It is our memory of the place 
where the Dream Mountain stood before the Enemy stole it away.  I know 
your questio@ we cannot tell YOU where the dr have gone, or even if 
they have truly moved at all.  The Enemy obscures our sight of that 
place, and makes the way impossible to ri-and.  But ... there may be 
other ways to find it.

Windrush mutteredi If there were a way in the outer world, I would 
have found it by now!  If You know some other way, I would be grateful 
if you told me!  He narrowed his undersight, trying to see more clearly 
the meadow beyond the doorway.  He thought he heard faint singing, 
draconae singing.  It felt more like a memory than an actual sound.

The iffling flickered in the sunlight.  Dragon, I am sharing with you 
our own vision, our memory, as clearly as I can.  Unfortunately this is 
not a doorway through which you can pass.

Windrush scowled.  if you can, why not I?

Dragon, my undersight is not your undersight.  I walk where you 
cannot; and where you go with strength and pride, I may go with great 
peril.

The creature paused.  You must find your own way.  Not on wing, but 
in the undeTTealm.  But me comfort in what I have come to say: You have 
more friends than you know.

Windrush stared at the iffling, puzzled by its words.  He recalled 
the lumenis vision, in which the realm had been lost to the Enemy.  Who 
had created that vision!  Was it a warning from the ifflings?  A 
warning to act quickly?

You say I must search the underrealm, he replied at last.  I doubt 
that my skills are sufficient to the need.

Windrush, your skills are the greatest of any dragon flying free in 
the realm today.  And tonight, when you ate the lumenis, your skills 
grew.

Windrush b@ked.  If you mean the vision .  . . will you explain it to 
me?

it was not from us, but from another.  Know this: there is one who is 
trying to help.  You must seek,in the windows he has left you here.

Find him, before it is too late!  Start tonight!  With those words, 
the iffling suddenly turned and bounded through the doorway and was 
gone.

The doorway vanished as well.

Windrush stared after the being, blinking in bewilderment at its 
parting words.  What exactly did it want him to do?  As he peered again 
about his cavern, his bewilderment grew.  His haven was a changed 
place.  There were openings in the weave of the underrealm, passages 
out of his cavern that did not exist in the outer world, that had not 
existed here before.  Someone had cleverly penetrated his protective 
spells-someone who knew his mind and his thoughts.  This was truly 
rakhandroh-astonishing, and most unnerving.

The passages were dark; he could not guess where they led, or what 
lay beyond them.  But he sensed that they were windows onto other 
places in the underrealm.  Rakhandroh!  He caught hints of smells from 
them: salt and tree, sulfur and fire, wind and dust.  As he sat and 
studied this puzzle, he came to realize that the passages might open 
further in response to his active touch.

After a long hesitation, he stretched out his thought to one dark 
passage.  With a shimmer, the weave in the underrealm became an open 
window.  Peering through it he glimpsed a barren land, a sun low and 
red in its sky.  It looked remote, and oppressively empty and desolate.

He pulled back, uncertain what sort of spell this was.  Could his 
thoughts, his kuutekka, actually come and go through these windows?  It 
darkened as he drew away.

He touched the next one with his thought.  It opened to a view from a 
great aerie, high over a woodland.  Yellow sunlight glinted from the 
tops of the trees, and shone from within the forest.  He smelled a 
distant ocean, mingled with the forest smell.  It was not a place he 
recognized.  Most strange.  He let the window close.

The next opened onto darkness, a subterranean gloom lit by a red 
flicker of distant fire, volcanic fire, He could not see much, but he 
sensed a labyrinth of underground passageways.  He smelled sulfur; he 
sensed, though at a great distance, the presence of the enemy.  He 
pulled back with a shudder and made certain that the window drew itself 
tightly closed again.

The fourth window opened onto darkness, also.  But it was a kind of 
darkness he understood; it was the natural gloom of the underrealm.

He could see connecting threads rippling outward, twisting and 
joining and stretching off in various directions.  He was surprised by 
the clarity of the view.  One thread seemed particularly bright and 
promising, and he thought he heard a faint tinkle of laughter from it.

He sniffed cautiously-and thought he caught the smell of a 
demon-spirit.  He was startled to realize that he recognized the smell.

Start tonight, the iffling had said.  Find your way in the 
underrealm.

Sighing, he stretched his kuutekka cautiously outward through the 
window, into the underrealm beyond his cavern.  His thoughts ranged 
down the thread, searching and testing every knot he encountered, 
taking note of each change in direction.  The laughter grew louder, but 
came to sound more like crying than laughter.  In time, there was a 
faint yellow glow ahead, and the demon smell became stronger.  Windrush 
sniffed the underrealm for treachery.

He heard a faint metallic jangle of protection spells, but easily 
swept them aside.  A moment later, a lazily dancing figure of light 
came into view.  When he had last seen it, it had been a figure of 
shadow-fire, but there was no mistaking who it was.

Hodakai, he called.

There was no answer.  The figure seemed to be stretching its arms and 
turning about, as though pretending to be soaring-diving and banking 
and climbing.  He was muttering words that Windrush couldn't 
understand.  ". . . Vela Oasis off the port bow ... let's take her 
straight on through, and leave the spiral am behind ..."

Hodakai!  Windrush shouted.

Qaaahhh!  cried the demon, jumping and twisting around.  Who's there?

The dragon hesitated.  Surely Hodakai should have been able to see 
him-unless he was not manifesting his kuu@ tekka visibly here.  Do you 
not recognize the presence of a dragon?  he inquired.

Dragon-it's you!  Yes@f course I do!  Hodakai gulped.  I was 
just-ahhh, testing your honesty!

Ah, said Windrush.  That is a good thing to do ... Hodakai.

He repeated the demon's name deliberately-not that there was any real 
power in doing so.  The demon, after all, had not given his name, and 
it was the willingness to be known that gave a name actual power.

But there was no harm in reminding the spirit of how much he knew.

Hodakai seemed a little unnerved.  If you wish me to judge your 
honesty favorably, he grumbled, perhaps you wouldn't mind showing 
yourself.

Windrush wasn't sure why he was invisible, but he didn't want to say 
that.  He cleared his throat.  Considering your treatment of me when we 
last spoke, wouldn't you say-?

The spirit twisted in space.  You come here interrupting my peace 
with Your sorcery, and now you wish to discuss old grievances?  Let me 
tell you-!

I did NOT come to discuss old grievances!  Windrush snapped, cutting 
him off.

There was an uncomfortable silence.  Windrush didn't want Hodakai to 
regard him as a foe, if he could help it.

However much the rigger-spirit hated the dragons who had captured 
him, it was Windrush's impression that Hodakai was not a committed ally 
of Tar-skel.  Perhaps, he rumbled, we can agree that your little trick 
on me was very clever, if not very hospitable.

The figure of light danced, bending toward him.  So why have you 
returned to hide in the shadows harassing me?

Windrush sighed, allowing his breath to escape in a plume that 
materialized before him in the underweb.  The spirit pulled back, 
growling, Don't try sorcery on me, dragon!

" am not using sorcery on you, Windrush said in irritation.

He didn't remember the rigger being so jumpy the last time they'd 
met.  But if the plume of steam had become visible with his unconscious 
thought, then perhaps he could materialize an image of himself, as 
well.  He recalled his own face as it appeared to him in the surface of 
a still pool.  He felt his kuutekka become solid, a craggy, 
silver-scaled head with faceted green eyes, glowing nostrils, and 
enormous jaws.  There, he said.  Is that nonthreatening enough?

Hodakai twitched and danced wordlessly.

Can you see me all right now?

Is that supposed to be funny?  Hodakai snapped.

I would not presume to attempt humor with you, one called Hodakai.

From your reaction, I will assume that you can see me.

Okay, I can see you.  Why are you here?

I have come ... Windrush paused and thought a moment ... to ask 
whether you are in service to the one who is called Nail of Strength.

Hodakai snorted.  It sounded like a flame sputtering in the wind.

I am in service to no one.

But you are held captive by those who are in service to the Nail of 
Strength.

I am the captive of dragons!  Hodakai screamed.  Don't talk to me of 
the Nail of Strength!  I am imprisoned by dragons!  It was DRAGONS that 
took my body from me!

But-Windrush pointed out dragons in service to the Enemy, not to the 
realm.

It took a moment for Hodakai to calm down enough to reply.  So you 
say.  I only know that those who imprison or threaten me are my 
enemies.

Including me, I suppose?

What have you done to make me think otherwise?

Windrush thought about that for a moment.  He supposed what the 
spirit meant was that he hadn't set it free.

But in truth, he doubted that he could break the spell of the spirit 
jar even if he wanted to-and if he could, it would only end the 
spirit's miserable life.  Was that what Hodakai wanted?  I have learned 
your name, and not used it against you, Windrush pointed out.

You took my name.  I never offered it, nor did you offer me yours.

That was true enough.  It had briefly occurred to him to offer his 
name, but he had no reason to expect Hodakai to respond in friendship.

Still, something made him feel that Hodakai might be turned to the 
cause of the realm.  He needed to offer some gesture of peace.

He cleared his throat.  I'll not deny your words, spirit.  But 
remember-whatever the harm done you, it was done by those who are my 
enemies, as well.  If you would strike back at your captors, you could 
do so by joining those who stand with me.  You would not be the first 
... rigger ... to do so.

The spirit's flame turned reddish orange.  Help you?

You're mad, dragon!  Can you give me my body back?  Do you think I 
don't know what you want?  You search for your precious Dream Mountain, 
and you think when you have it you'll cast me aside.  But you'l I have 
no help from me!  Not for you or your kind!

Now, go away and leave me to my peace!

Is there nothing that would change your mind.?

Nothing, dragon.  Go away!

Windrush stared at the spirit, his weariness returning.

He was wasting time here.  Hodakai was too bitter.  And yet, he was 
sure that Hodakai could help them if he chose to.

Very well.  But perhaps, Hodakai, we will speak again.

The spirit flickered toward him, as though to issue a lashing retort. 
 But its voice sounded almost wistful.  Perhaps, dragon.  I do not 
foretell the future.  Now, good night.

Windrush nodded.  Hodakai, and then Windrush's own image, vanished as 
he drew away through the underrealm.

In the darkness of his cavern, Windrush gathered his thoughts.

Surely he had done enough today!  But he knew he would not be able to 
rest.  Three other windows beckoned.  And he remembered the urgency of 
the iffling.

He chose the window that had opened onto a barren wilderness.

Something there seemed to call to him, something beneath his 
conscious awareness.  Drawing a deep breath, he slipped his kuutekka 
through that window.

He tasted aridness.  Hot wind sighed over stone.  Heat clamped around 
him like a mantle, and he felt the grit of dust and the hardness of 
rock beneath him.  A sun was low and smoky red in the sky.  He was in 
the underrealm, but it felt like the outer world, though a place 
unfamiliar to him.  What had called him to this forsaken place?  He 
stretched out his senses for any track of friend or foe, any sign of 
magic or sorcery.  He felt nothing.

He moved cautiously through the broken landscape, shards of a land 
that felt as if it had once harbored life and abundance.  Was this 
another place that had been ruined by the Enemy?  Or was it simply a 
land where life had been spent and time had moved on?  It was 
impossible to tell.

He chose no particular direction, but allowed the land to lead him 
on.  It was a place of tumbled and carved stone, a maze of ravines that 
even a tracker-dragon would find confusing.  And yet, he felt that he 
might find treasure in this maze, if he followed the feelings that were 
coursing in his veins-as he had followed the urge that led to the 
lumenis vision.

He caught a hint of a memory-smell, the faintest whiff on the air.

Was it the beginning of a track?  Perhaps.  For some reason, he found 
himself imagining Highwing whispering silently to him from the Final 
Dream Mountain, urging him onward.  He shook his head.  There was too 
much peril here to be dreaming of those who had fallen before him.

The landscape deepened and began to seem like a terrain of thought, 
tunneled and carved, not by wind and water, but by years of pain.  
Once, he thought he heard angry laughter echoing over the tops of the 
ravines.  It faded, but later he thought he heard music, the music of 
the draconae, and this time he was sure that it was an echo from long 
ago, somehow carried on the wind.  That too faded.  Other whispering 
sounds of memory seemed to rise and fall, never quite catching hold in 
his thoughts.  He began to feel that he was creeping along beneath the 
winds of the past, the winds of time.

A little later, those winds brought him something new-a presence that 
felt, somehow, familiar.  It made him think again of Highwing.

Since his father's death, he had often thought that he'd felt his 
father's spirit with him, encouraging him in the struggle.  And yet 
this was different: it was as though his father, or someone who 
reminded him of his father, were actually nearby.

Are you there?  he whispered softly, not wanting to awaken the wrong 
presence.

In answer, he heard the sighing of the wind.  But the wind seemed to 
speak.  I am here, it whispered.  Trying ... And then the words faded 
back into a lifeless sigh.  Was that all it had been-the sound of the 
wind?  Windrush felt flame tingle in the back of his throat.

Trying?

The wind gusted suddenly, and a cloud of dust whirled up from the 
ravine ahead of him.  As the dust spun, the air slowly cleared and in 
the place of the dust he saw a face the face of a dragon.  He gasped in 
recognition.  It was a male face, but shimmering and near-crystalline, 
almost like a dracona's.  The eyes were dark, like wells of emptiness.

FullSky?  he whispered in shock.  FullSky?

It seemed an eternity ago that FullSky had vanished.

Windrush's heart trembled at the thought that his brother might still 
be alive.  He rushed forward, sure that the apparition must be unreal.

Stay!  the dragon's dark eyes seemed to warn.  Come no closer!

Is it you-my brother?  Windrush asked, barely able to contain his 
grief and wonder.  We thought you were dead.

The other dragon gazed at him with what seemed an expression of 
exquisite pain.  He shook his glassy head.  Not yet, his eyes said.

Not yet.

You're alive!  Windrush breathed.  But you cannot speak?

There was no answer, but the eyes agreed.  FullSky glanced 
meaningfully up into the sky.

Danger near?  Windrush drew a sharp breath.  Dream Mountain?  he 
whispered.  Can you help us find the Dream Mountain?  His brother 
nodded slightly.  Windrush felt dizzy with astonishment.  But he 
remembered as if it were yesterday-FullSky's powers of the underrealm 
were like no other living dragon's.  He thought suddenly of the lume, 
his feeding.  The vision!  Was that your doing?

His brother's eyes met his, but were unreadable now, and somehow 
unutterably distant.  With a pang, he realized how much he had missed 
that annoying trait in his brother.

He had never been able to tell what FullSky was thinking.

He would give anything to know now.  Was it a message from you?

he breathed.

His brother's kuutekka rose large before him, those dark, bottomless 
eyes seemingly focused in another realm entirely.  Yes, they seemed to 
say, he had had a hand in the creation of the vision.  Was it a 
message?  What did Windrush think?

Windrush remembered suddenly the iffling telling him of one who was 
trying to help.  Had it meant FullSky?

FullSky's eyes shifted and grew wide with alarm.  Go!  his gaze cried 
almost audibly in Windrush's mind.  You must seek help from beyond the 
realm!

Wait!  Windrush protested.  We have to find the Dream Mountain; we 
are lost without it!  Can you help?  Where are you?

How can I find you again?

His brother's gaze was like the fire of lumenis.  Go!  it cried.

Seek help!  Then, without any perceptible change in the underweb, he 
was gone.  The ravine was empty.

Windrush hissed in dismay.  He crept forward, looking for any 
remaining sign of his brother's presence.  But FullSky's kuutekka was 
gone without a trace.  Had he not actually seen FullSky, seen those 
eyes ... But Windrush had no doubt he had just seen his brother 
alive-no more than he'd doubted the lumenis vision.

Looking skyward, he saw a formation of dark clouds coiling strangely. 
 There was a terrifying sensation in the air now, the underrealm 
ringing soundlessly, as though a great change were coming, a power 
moving nearby, approaching from beyond the ravine.  Some servant of the 
Enemy@r perhaps the Enemy himself Windrush sensed that it was looking 
for him and knew that he was here, but perhaps did not yet know 
precisely where.  And perhaps it did not yet know his name.  FullSky's 
command echoed in his mind: Go!

Windr-ush turned and fled the way he had come, with the speed and 
silence of thought.  Within moments he had left that place behind-and 
the underrealm as well.  Emerging in the outer world, he stared in 
hissing astonishment at his own cavern, glowing redly about him in the 
light and silence of the hearth.

Chapter 8

CHILDREN OF THE iffling FOR A long time afterward, the dragon lay 
staring at the draxis burning in his hearth.  It seemed that the more 
he learned, the less he understood.  First the demon.  Then the vision.

Now the strange paths of the underrealm, and his lost brother.

FullSky!  Still alive!  But where was he, and what was he doing, and 
why?  Seek help from beyond.  Clearly FullSky was aware of the 
struggle, and was on the side of his brothers.  Had he created those 
pathways?

Windrush sensed footsteps nearby.  "Iffling," he murmured, shifting 
his eyes.  "Have you observed my efforts since we last spoke?"

"We know that you moved in the underrealm," the iffling answered.

"Did you learn anything helpful?"

Windrush rumbled thoughtfully.  "Helpful?  Who can say?  I met my 
brother FullSky, whom I had thought dead!

The lumenis vision was his work.  He seems to want to help us, but is 
hindered somehow."

"Ah," whispered the iffling, dark animal-eyes blinking.

"Indeed!"

"And he said that I must seek help."  The dragon hesitated.  "From 
beyond the realm."

The iffling seemed to tremble.

"That is what he said," Windrush repeated, suddenly thinking: From 
beyond life will come one.  Jael!

"Did you learn ... anything ... of the Dream Mountain?"  the iffling 
whispered.

Windrush shook his heavy head.  He dug with a foreclaw at the stone 
floor of his cavern.  He knew now whose help he must seek.  But he 
didn't know how.  The iffling swayed, waiting for him to speak.

Windrush drew a breath.  "I cannot tell you how terribly I miss my 
friend Jael@how often I have wished that she could return to aid us, as 
she aided my father!"

Windrush's breath whistled in and out as he jabbed at the unyielding 
stone with his talon.  "And now the vision, the Words, 
FullSky-everything says to me that she must return, if we are to have 
any hope.  Perhaps she can find the draconae, where we cannot.  Perhaps 
she could appeal to the rigger-spirit, Hodakai, to share his knowledge 
with us.  Perhaps," and his voice became husky, "she could unite us, as 
we cannot seem to unite ourselves."

When he looked at the iffling, he was surprised to see its dark, 
oversized eyes moist as though with grief.  It was blinking slowly and 
repeatedly, in apparent distress.

"Dragon Windrush... what you seek may be possible.  But we dared not 
try... without knowing."

Windrush cocked one eye down at the creature.  How much rakhandroh 
could he experience in one night?  "Iffling!

You know a way to reach Jael?  Why haven't you said this before?"

The iffling craned its neck to peer back up at him.

"Dragon, please-we seek the Dream Mountain as much as you do."

"That is not what I asked."

The iffling trembled.  "It is far from sure.  There are grave risks.  
I cannot say for certain.  I cannot say."

"Do not toy with me!"  the dragon roared.

The iffling flickered, losing its solidity for a moment.

Windrush flared his nostrils angrily.  The iffling seemed to regain 
its strength.  "There is one way that we might be able to reach out to 
her world.  But it could cost us dearly, dragon-more than you can know. 
 I must return to speak with the others."

Windrush squinted.  "What is this cost that you speak olp p@ The 
creature became transparent, then a thin flame dancing in the air.

"That," it whispered, "must be our concern alone.  Dragon, what we 
can do, we will.  But do not abandon your search!  It may yet be the 
thing that will save the realm!"

"But-" The flame was gone, before Windrush could complete his 
question.  He stared at the spot where the iffling had stood.

Rakhandroh!  But as exasperating as the ifflings were, he knew he 
would hate not to have them as allies.

At last he vented steam from his nostrils.  I hope the cost is not 
too great, he thought.  Farewell, iffling.

The draxis-fire was burning low.  This night had drawn on long 
already.  He closed his eyes, thinking of the underrealm windows that 
awaited him.  Before the thought was finished in his mind, he had 
drifted into an unquiet sleep.

The ifflings spoke softly but urgently together, their thoughts 
murmuring in the flickeringly luminous place that was their home in 
exile.  There was a great disturbance among them.  Whatever they 
decided, there must be no delay.

The path to the Dream Mountain must be found, or it would not be just 
the dragons who faced the choice of dwindling and dying, or being 
transformed by the Enemy into something ungarkkondoh.  The ifflings too 
would fade from existence if the Mountain were not found, if they did 
not rejoin the heartfires from which they had sprung.  But even if they 
succeeded, even if they brought the One of the prophecies back to the 
realm, the sacrifice required could threaten their own survival.  They 
had so little strength left before their own fires were exhausted!

And yet, if they refused, the future seemed clear.  The dragons were 
foundering in the struggle.  The dragons' strength, already failing, 
would die as their deeper vision and wisdom grew clouded, as the 
prophecies were lost.  Too many of the draconi had already forgotten 
their history and their knowledge of why the draconae were important, 
beyond reproduction of their kind.  And even for that last, many had 
already lost their concern.  They cared now only for some hollow notion 
of victory, as their numbers dwindled and lumenis was destroyed by the 
Enemy.  The draconae were their wisdom; without the draconae, they were 
missing the heart of what made them dragon, garkkondoh.

Even the ifflings missed the songs and tales of the draconae!

Nor was it just the dragons and ifflings who were endangered.

From the tiny cavern sweepers to the trees and shadow-cats and flyers 
of the forests, to the distant denizens of the seas, all creatures of 
the realm were falling under the shadow of the Nail-and not just the 
creatures, but the realm itself.  It could'survive without ifflings, 
maybe, but never without the dragons to defend it.  And if the realm 
fell, the Enemy would gain complete control of the underrealm-and more 
than that.  The ifflings had glimpsed the vast web of power that the 
Enemy was spinning, a web that could reach across the twists and layers 
and folds of reality into entirely different realms, perhaps even the 
static realm of Jael and her people.  That was what the ifflings had 
seen in Windrush's vision-FullSky's vision.  Not until this night had 
they truly understood the Enemy's avarice, or the reach of his claw.

It seemed that more of creation than they had imagined might be 
threatened by the one who called himself Tar-skel, the Nail of 
Strength.

Therefore, they must do what they must.  They might even die as a 
result-but if they did not die now, what would life under Tar-skel be, 
if not a living death?  Should they not therefore act as they could, in 
keeping with the Words, to bring life to the ancient prophecies?

The discussion seemed to go on for a very long time, flame mingling 
with flame, the glow flickering around them, brighter and dimmer.  As 
might have been measured by any others, the debate took hardly any time 
at all.  The voices whispered: -to touch the static realm with our 
thought-to be HEARD there@e must send the children-the LAST!@t only 
born into that place can they seek out and speak to the One, where she 
dwells-and if they fail, there will be no others, none to seek out the 
Dream Mountain-and without its fires, there can never be others-no 
other children -4ut if we do not send them, the Nail will triumph.  
Shall we save them, only to be the lag to search and smWIe in 
vaiyl?@hey must go-4ut first let us reach out with our thought to 
listen, to find the One!-we have listened@e sense her dreams and her 
@ngs for this pl"e@hen let us begin@ithout fear@o prepare the children 
for their perilous path@o send them out alone-if only there were a way 
to go with them, to protect and guide@here is none@e must teach them in 
their very conception, and then mat them@L-re is no other wayAnd in the 
end, they began the process, as they had feared all along that they 
would, turning inward the last of their strength toward the one great 
task still within their power ...

the creation of the last children who could ever be spawned, the last 
new ifflings-until the day came, if it ever did, when their life energy 
could be regenerated in the dreamfires of the Mountain.

The creation of the children was a thing of mystery, only partially 
under their control.  The forces of space and time responded to their 
urgings, twisting and curling and knitting together in new and 
sometimes unexpected ways, piercing through the layers and boundaries 
that separated realm from realm, underrealm from underrealm.  Only in 
this creation-act were the realms brought so close to one another, made 
so intimate, one to another.  As the i@gchildren took shape in that 
ephemeral boundary-realm, they were blessed-or burdened-by a gift of 
knowledge from their elders, an awareness and a terrible need impressed 
upon the very core of their being.

In the final moments of creation and birth, the ifflings, in an 
agonizing act of will, turned their children out@ispatching them not to 
a place of security where they might safely grow to fullness, but 
rather across a fleeting opening into the static realm, into the 
strange cold universe where the rigger Jael lived....

They were born like winks of light in a universe to which they were 
strangers, even in the deep memory of their heritage.  They were five 
in number, dancing and twinkling in the darkness of the void.  For a 
time there was no under@ standing among them- life came first, and then 
sight and hearing and thought, and only gradually memory and dawning 
consciousness, and finally an uncertain kind of understanding.

They grew and matured, floating in the darkness, drinking the 
radiance of the nearby (distant!) sun.  There was a cooler world close 
by, and in time they were drawn toward it as though toward home.  There 
was one they must find and meet there, one to whom they must speak, 
though they did not yet comprehend exactly what it was they would say.

They skated on space and time like water-skimmers over a pond.

They would find their way, and deliver their message.

Their message was crucial.  Nothing must stop them, nothing living or 
dead.

Accursed ifflings.
 Far across the realm and the underrealm, another felt the stirrings in 
the space-time boundaries, felt the sudden emergence of new life in the 
iffling-children, felt the ripples of their breakthrough into the 
static realm.  This one's heart and being were as closely tied to the 
fabric of the underrealm as the ifflings', and it knew instantly that 
it had just felt a shift in power, a shift that it recognized as the 
genesis of a profoundly important event.  It felt the stirring and 
rippling of the iffling-births as a movement toward the longawaited, 
long-dreaded fulfillment of the prophecies: From that one comes a 
beginning

 From that one comes an ending


And most surely the realm shall tremble.

No one knew better the Words as they had been born, ages ago, in a 
vision from the Dream Mountain.  No one had pondered more deeply upon 
their truth and ambiguity.

The one will fall as the battle is fought Upon her death is the 
ending u)rought.

No one had thought harder, with more fear or more hateful hope, upon 
the reappearance of the One from beyond the realm.  That reappearance 
was to be the crisis point about which the ending, for better or worse, 
would turn.  In no way did the Nail intend to leave the summoning and 
the arrival of the One in the care of iffling-children.

* Rent!  I require you!  * There were ways to take control of a 
situation even when it had passed out of the realm itself.  The 
ifflings were not the only creatures who could, at need, project their 
presence into the static realm.

As dragonlings had been twisted into drahls, so could other beings be 
transmuted to suit the needs of the one called the Nail.  It was time 
that the near-ifflings, the cavern sprites, be put to use in the life 
to which they had been born.  Rent could perform the actual work, under 
the Nail's supervision.  The sprites would be altered, strengthened, 
made shrewder and more cunning and ferocious.  They would be reborn 
into a life of long joume@a journey of pursuit, and deception, and if 
need be, destruction.  They would become false-ifflings, warriors of 
fire-transformed in the turbulence of the underrealm, molded by the one 
who would soon control not just the underrealm, but all of the realms.

They would follow the iffling-children, and the result would be most 
satis@.  The demon Jael would come, yes.

But not to the fulfillment of the Words as the dragons clung to them.

The Dream Mountain would be kept safe from the dragons and the 
ifflings.  And the realms would be his.

Rent, I reqwm your assistance NOW.

in the cold darkness of the void, the warriors of fire took form and 
grew quickly to the fullness of their strength.  Led by one called 
jarvorus, the strongest and shrewdest of them, the false-ifflings shone 
like icy diamonds in the dark as they drew their given memories from 
hidden places within, and searched for their direction in this strange 
realm into which they had been born.  They sensed somehow that they 
were different from their forebears, that their heritage had been 
changed for them; they were special creations under the command of one 
who was never to be challenged.  This was good and proper and right.

It was the destiny for which they had been born.

Casting their senses outward, they soon discovered the nearby others, 
the ones they were instructed to defeat.

They did not move against these others yet, but observed them, biding 
their time.  Like the iffling-children, the warriors would search for 
their quarry, the one about whom victory and defeat would soon dance 
like a spirit in a jar.

Shadowing the unsuspecting iffling-children, they learned the skills 
of movement with their bodies of light, and they dreamed of the new 
bodies into which they might transform themselves when the need arose.  
Skating on space and time, they followed the iffling-children, moving 
toward a world that floated blue and innocent against the eternal 
night.

It was sometime during the night-he was not sure precisely when@hat 
Windrush stirred in his sleep and felt a presence close by.

He opened one eye, without lifting his mind from the dreamland of 
sleep.

It came as a flame this time, and it flickered, as though in 
weariness.  It danced with a sense of urgency that caused him to awaken 
enough to speak.  "Iffling?"  he whispered.

Dragon.  It has been done, all that we can do.  She will come, or 
not.  We can only hope, and trust.  The iffling's flame dimmed, then 
flickered a little stronger.

Windrush regarded the being in silence.  "Will you not tell me what 
you have done?"  he murmured finally.  "Will you not tell me, so that I 
may hope?"

There was an almost imperceptible sound, a mournful sound.  The 
iffling shimmered, trying to become a soft, sleek animal; but it was 
unable to hold the form.  As a flame, it whispered, Messengers have 
been sent@t great cost, dragon.  If they succeed, value their work 
well!  Much has been sacrificed that they might do so.  And much will 
yet be sacrificed-and by none more than by your friend Jael.

Windrush peered at the iffling, uncertain how to respond.

Do you not know the Words!  the iffling asked, sensing his 
uncertainty.  ' 'The One will fall as the battle is fought; upon her 
death is the ending wrought."  Do you not know these words?

The iffling dimmed with the question.

Windrush stared at the iffling, dumb with horror.  If he had heard 
those Words, he had long ago forgotten them.

Had he called for his friend to come to their aid, only that she 
might die?  For an instant, as he stared at the iffling flame, he felt 
its spirit touch his with something like understanding, as though it 
were a dragon and their gazes had met.  He felt in the iffling a 
fathomless loss, and low keening grief, and a terrible fear for its own 
kind.  And yet, beneath all that, deep within the well of its soul, he 
glimpsed a ray of hope.

If the iffling could have hope, he thought, then so too could he.

The dragon drew a breath and the connection was broken.  He said very 
softly, "For the dragons, I thank you.

Go and rest, as will I. Iffling, farewell."

Farewell, Windrush.  The iffling darkened and was gone.

Windrush stared into the emptiness of the cavern where the creature 
had been, and despite his words, he knew he would have no more rest 
this night.

  PARTTWO

 THE RIGGERS

 II

 p

  PROLOGUE


IT WAs a memory that sparkled with life in the deeps of thmountain.  
The refrains rang like chimes as the draconae sang the ancient 
memories, keeping them strong and intact.

It was a memory of days long departed, of a time before their 
imprisonment.  Without such memories, the draconae would surely have 
withered and died.  The crafting of the images was their only remaining 
defense against the Enemy's sorceries, against the darkness that sought 
to control this place of power; and so the draconae sang the memories 
ceaselessly, preserving that which was beautiful and good in the 
history of the realm.

At this moment, a handful of draconae were gathered near the fire at 
the heart of the mountain.  They sang in a soft choir: Suns sunk low, 
moons risen high, The joining ones spiral in a deepening sky Creating 
fronds of living pearl, Living glass where dreams may swirl, In a 
barren vale where life ebbed low Until the mountain's breath might blow 
...

As the draconae sang, motionless except for the quivering of their 
wings of glass, the image formed like a perfect crystal in the air: Two 
dragons in flight-the dracona Clearsong, her wings shining of amber and 
sapphire and her eyes o go en flame, and her mate FlareTip, a male of 
pewter scales and red-tipped wings.  The memory caught them over a vale 
of stone and parched earth, under a sky of brooding twilight.

They sang and flew, surveying the vale that was soon to be 
transformed.

Their flight was a dance, their song a throaty hum.  Their voices 
floated in the wind, and the wind flowed over their wings, as they 
banked and soared in unison.  Their eyes shone golden and crimson, and 
their gazes joined as they flew, not touching and yet spiraling 
downward as one into the vale.  It was a dance of weaving, a 
crafting-dance upon the currents of the air, but reaching down into the 
underrealm, as well-a spinning of threads of power.

Below them, the land was changing.

Light glimmered through cracks in the rocks, a light that seemed to 
seep out as though a sun lay deep within the rock of the vale.  It was 
the light of the Dream Mountain, streaming out of the underrealm.

The dragons were creating, and yet not by their own power.

Wielding the power of the mountain, coaxed here through the 
underrealm, they were weaving the threads that would nurture a new 
creation.

The cracks in the rock widened and the light blossomed.

It grew in richness and color as it touched the barren rocks, 
splintering into hues of crimson and gold and emerald and amethyst.

Everywhere, it blurred the angularity of the surfaces, until shape 
itself slowly disappeared in the radiance.

Splinters of color burst into flame here, and pulsing beads of light 
there.  As the crafting grew, the light billowed upward until even the 
air overhead seemed shot through with living flame.

The dragons blew their own fire in joyful chorus.  Even in flight, 
they stroked at the threads of the underrealm.

They spun and wove, dancing in midair, wingtip-to-wingtip; and 
beneath them flowers and shrubs and lantern-trees emerged in the 
bathing light.

When it was done, the light faded away as quickly as it had come.

The dragons circled over the new garden and landed.  The light was 
receding into the rock; but it left behind a treasure trove of living 
color, plantlife sparkling and blushing.  Even the rock seemed alive, 
charged by the radiance of the underrealm.

The two dragons furled their wings and surveyed the crafting.

They found stout trees glimmering with fire-crystal, and translucent 
broadleafed bushes, and lantern,trees with slender arching branches 
tipped with the very first ruby-colored lanterns.  Here were tiny 
spikes of lumenis, and there shrubs made of gossamer, twinkling with 
starlight.  It was indeed a garden, truly garkkondoh, fully dragon, and 
alive with magic-a perfect place for their hearts to dwell, a place to 
bring the fledglings soon to hatch in the Dream Mountain....

And so created A garden of light A thing of life A gathering of stars 
Against the night ...

whispered the draconae choir, as the image grew still and garkkondoh, 
as it etched itself clear and shining in the memory of those who tended 
the Dream Mountain.  Clearsong and FlareTip were long gone from the 
outer world now-their spirits lofted in death to the soul fires of the 
Final Dream Mountain-but their song and their creation would never be 
gone.

Not as long as the draconae sang their creation and kept the memory 
alive.  Not as long as they denied the Enemy what he most wanted: power 
over their hearts and minds and souls.  Not as long as they remained 
faithful in their wielding of the Dream Mountain, whatever the cost 
might be, now and forever.

 Chapter 9

TALES RE70LD IN THE spaceport bar, the spectacle of a drunken 
ex-rigger proclaiming his duel with dragons was watched by a young 
woman seated as far from the shouting and jeering as one could be in 
the confines of the tavern.  Jael LeBrae rose from her seat-astonished, 
delighted, dismayed-unable to speak, and scarcely able to breathe.

Could she have just heard what she thought she'd heard?

"-hope his dragons hold their ale better than he does-" "think one of 
your dragons just peed on me " She craned her neck to get a better 
look, but there were too many people standing between her and the 
speakers at the bar.  At her table, the young man she'd been talking to 
was waving, trying to recapture her attention.  She squeezed out from 
her seat, past two other crowded tables.  Damn, she thought.

She hated these crowded bars; she didn't know why she even came to 
them.  Don't let that man get away!

"you okay?"  she heard the young rigger shout after her.

She glanced back.  "Excuse me I have to go!"  At that moment a space 
opened up and she pushed her way through the crowd, determined to reach 
that drunken man who had just been spouting nonsense to the whole room, 
nonsense about a world of dragons, a world that he claimed was as real 
as this one.

The bar crowd seemed to have swallowed him up.  By the time she 
reached the spot where he'd been, he was gone, and the people were 
laughing and jeering about something else altogether.  Only a puddle of 
beer where the man had fallen remained as evidence of the commotion he 
had created, and already a janitor was clicking and whirring its way 
through the crowd, coming to clean up the spill.  Jael rose up on her 
tiptoes and looked around to try to see where he had gone.  An elbow 
caught her in the side and she smacked it away in annoyance.  "Scuse 
me," someone grunted irritably.

Jael started to snap a reply, then shook off the impulse and instead 
asked a blue,tinted fellow whom she thought she'd seen near the 
storyteller, "Do you know where that guy went?"

The blue rigger peered at her over the top of his glass.

'Who?"

"The guy who was telling the story.  just now."

Blue took a swallow before lowering his glass.  "Rangoon?  They 
tossed him out the back door.  Why?"  He looked her up and down 
appraisingly.

Jael stretched up on her tiptoes again, trying to see over the crowd. 
 "Where's the back way?"  she demanded, ignoring his expression.

Blue hooked a thumb over his shoulder, past the end of the bar.

Jael squeezed urgently through the crowd.  She passed a doorway to a 
smoky hallucinogen room, then found the rear exit behind a knotted 
group of bar patrons.  Shoving past them, she stepped outside into the 
warm night air.

The back door opened onto an alley, which was lit with a shadowy 
twilight glow.  Jael peered left down the alley, then right.  She heard 
someone grumbling, and thought she heard the words, "From that one 
comes a beginning .  . ."

Her heart raced.  Where was that voice coming from?

The voice continued, more forcefully, "From that one comes an ending. 
 And you can bet your ass the realm will tremble!"  Then the voice 
broke into what sounded like tears.

At last she caught sight of a tall figure picking himself up out of 
the shadows close to the building.  He staggered down the alley away 
from her.  She ran after him, out onto the main street.  "Wait!  Hey, 
excuse me !"

The man turned, peering back at her through half-lidded eyes.

"Huh?  D'I know you?"  His brow was furrowed, and his long hair fell 
across his eyes.  He drew himself upright in an attempt to display some 
dignity, but the effort failed as he staggered sideways.

"My name is Jael," she said breathlessly.  "I heard you back there.  
Your story-" He pressed his lips together angrily.  "Now, what story 
would that be?"

"About the dragons."

His laugh was harsh and bitter as he rubbed his scraped elbows.

"I don' know nothin' about no dragons!  Now, leave me alone."  He 
hiccuped and started to turn away.

"Rangoon-wait!"  Jael cried.

The man drew himself up with a great effort.  "My name," he said, 
with great deliberation, "is Kan-Kon."

She blushed.  "I'm sorr@someone told me " She cut herself off with a 
gesture of agitation.  "Never mind that.  I have to talk to you about 
the dragons!"

"I told you."  Kan,Kon shook his head vigorously.

"Don' know nothin' about no dragons."

"That's not what you said back there."

"Ahhhhhh .  . . " He snorted, shifting his gaze away.  His face was 
illuminated by the strange twilight from the sky.

It was spillover light from an orbiting farm sat, an array of mirrors 
reflecting sunlight onto some round-the-clock farmlands not far outside 
the city.  He looked back.  "That was just storytellin'.  You can't go 
believin' what some old lush says in a bar, girl!  " Jael stared at 
him.  "You said it.  And you meant it."

His voice was harsh.  "Now, how would you-" "Because of this," she 
snapped.  She mimicked his voice: "'From beyond hope will come one.

Speaking her name will come one.  And the realm shall ... tremble.

' " Her voice started to quaver as memories of another time, another 
world, rushed back to her.  She forced herself to continue the familiar 
words of dragon prophecy."  'From this one comes a beginning.

From this one comes an ending.  And surely-' " "And surely the realm 
shall tremble!"

Kan-Kon hissed.  He squeezed his eyes shut and mouthed the words 
again, silently.  He opened his eyes slowly and stared at her with an 
anguished gaze.  "How do you know those words?"  he whispered.  "How do 
you know them?"  He stared at Jael as if he were standing in the 
presence of a ghost.

How do I know those words?  Jael's heart ached at the memory of those 
words, ached until she thought it would burst.

It was two years since she had heard that prophecy spoken-and not a 
day had passed that she hadn't thought of the realm, of the dragon 
Highwing, of his sons.  Of the struggle that she had left behind.  And 
just lately, hardly a night had passed without new and disturbing 
dreams ...

"Miss?"  the man whispered.  "Talk to me!"

She came back to the present with a start.  She had accosted a 
drunkard.  A drunkard who knew dragons.  A drunkard who knew the 
prophecy.  Never had she met another human who actually had set eyes 
upon the dragons, or would believe her if she said that she had.  "The 
words?"  she murmured, in a voice so low that the man leaned forward, 
his beery breath in her face as he cupped his ears to hear.  "How do I 
know the words?"  she repeated.

She shook her head, full of cobwebs-then suddenly blurted, "What are 
you doing?  Hey!  Stop that!  What are you doing?"

Kan-Kon had dropped to his knees, his head bowed.  He was shaking, 
clutching her leg.  As she struggled to pull away, she realized that he 
was weeping, sobs racking his body.  "Oh, miss@iss!"

"What?  What's wrong?"  Her hand went out hesitantly, but she drew it 
back without touching him.  She tried to tug her leg from his grasp.

"Don't be doing this to me!"  Kan-Kon moaned.  "Don't be lying to 
me!"

"I'm not lying to you!  Stand up, will you?  Will you let go of me?  
I'm not'lying to you!"

With painful slowness, Kan-Kon released her and sat back on his 
haunches, gazing up at her like a lost dog.

Embarrassed for him, she gestured to him to stand up.

With great clumsiness, he rose to his feet.  His cheeks were streaked 
with tears, and his lips were trembling.  "Have you ... been there?"  
he whispered.  "Have you?  Is that where you ... heard those words?"

Jael hesitated, then nodded dizzily.  She'd told no one of her 
experience, had talked of it with no one except her Clendornan friend 
and shipmate At.  And even At, though he'd gone through much of it with 
her, had put it behind him in a way that she'd found impossible.  And 
now here was someone literally crying to hear her story.  Someone who 
knew.

A drunkard, outside a bar.

No, she reminded herself-a rigger.  Former rigger, anyway.  He might 
be a drunkard, as well-but first he was a rigger.  And she could well 
understand how someone who had been with dragons, and been unable to 
make anyone believe it, might turn to drink.

He was still waiting, his eyes imploring her to speak.

"I-" she began, and choked on the words that would have followed.

She didn't know what to say.  Several people, walking by in the 
night, stared at them oddly.  She couldn't just spill out the whole 
story in public.  But as she hesitated, she could see the hope fading 
from Kan-Kon's eyes.  She had to tell him.  "I-I was there," she 
stammered, her voice rasping.  "Twice.  I know ... the realm.  I know 
what you heard.  I made friends with a-with a-" With Highwing!

Highwing, why did you have to die?  She gulped.  "With a dragon."

The man's eyes widened.  "Made friends?"  he croaked.

"Made friends?  They tried to kill me, they did!  Tried to kill me!  
But the ill-the ill-" His voice caught, as he struggled to shape the 
word.

"Iffling," she sighed.

"Yes!  Yes, the iffling!  That's what saved me.  Talked 'em out of 
it.  One of them, anyway.  Said I wasn't the one."  " He gulped, as 
though remembering his relief.  "Did you ... did you meet ... an 
iffling, too?"

Jael was dizzy with memories.  "Yes," she whispered.  It was an 
iffling who in the darkest hour of the night in Windrush's cavern had 
told her to go to Highwing, had told her of his impending sentence of 
exile, had urged her to try to save him.  And even before that, when 
she'd first met Highwing, it was an i@g who had appeared to Highwing 
and urged him to accept her, and not to kill her.

"Oh jeer ... oh jeezl" Kan-Kon wept again.  It took him a few 
moments, gasping, to compose himself enough to say anything more.

Finally he caught her arm and gazed straight at her and said, 
"Please, you must tell me of these things.

You must come with me and tell me!"  He began to propel her down the 
street.

"Wait!"  she protested.

"No, please-you must!"  His strength was astonishing, considering ho 
' much trouble he had in just standing.  He w would have none of her 
protests, and she wondered frantically if she would have to scream to 
avoid being forcibly abducted.

But he apparently had no such thing in mind.  He steered her to a 
bench on the edge of a small park, set back a little from pedestrian 
traffic on the street.  He begged her to sit with him.  She 
hesitated-but the park was well-enough lit by farmsat light spilling 
down through the trees, and his only interest seemed to be in hearing 
her story.

"Well, I-" She sighed, and thought of her agreement with At that they 
would not discuss the dragons with outsiders.  This was different, she 
thought.  They hadn't imagined actually meeting someone else who had 
encountered the dragons.  She tried again.  "I first flew into dragon 
space against the wishes of my ship's captain.  But that's really ... 
another story."  A terrifying story-.  of an abusive shipowner who had 
tried to enslave her psychologically, and failing that, to physically 
dominate and rape her.  She had killed him in self-defense ejected him 
from an airlock into the Flux of interstellar space.

"Yes, yes," Kan-Kon urged.  "When did you go there?"

"Two years ago, standard."

"Ah!"  His eyes burned.  "It was seven years ago for me.

But my God, it seems like yesterday!  I can't get it out of my mind!  
What an astonishing, terrifying place!  And dragons now make friends of 
riggers!"  he whispered in disbelief.

"Yes."  Jael cleared her throat.  "Or some do, I should say.  It is a 
realm at war.  Or was, when I left."

Kan-Kon shook his head.  "War.  Dragon against dragon?"  Jael nodded. 
 "Then not all dragons are.  . . " His expression darkened.

"There are dragons of greater kindness and honor than you would 
believe," Jael said, guessing at his thoughts.

The ex-rigger stared at her.  "The ones I met damn near killed me.

Ther-they did kill my shipmate."  He swallowed, clearly struggling to 
control old emotions.

Jael shuddered.  "How did they@o that?"  Heaven knew she had seen 
enough dragons that had wanted to kill her.

Kan-Kon's breath went out, and something seemed to release, and he 
said, "They reached right into the net.  Did something with his 
eyes-something terrible.  Took his spirit, they said."  Kan-Kon stopped 
and laboriously cleared his throat.  "But they just plain killed him, 
as far as I'm concerned.  Right through the net.  There was his, his 
I>body in the r-rigger-station, and-" Kan-Kon began trembling, and 
turned to gaze across the park.  This was a part of his story that he 
did not tell in the bars, apparently.

"They-they were going to do the same to me, too.  But this other 
thing came along and stopped them.  The iffling-" "Iffling," Jael 
corrected.

"Iffling, right.  It came and, and, and-" Jael touched his sleeve 
gently.  "What did it do?"

"It-it talked to them.  Didn't like what they were doing.

Said they shouldn't mess with beings from outside the ... realm.

Because of that prophecy.  The one I told you the one you know.

Except that no one believes me."

49I do."

He coughed and nodded, his chest rattling.  "Anyway, that seemed to 
scare them somehow@pooked 'em good.

So they let me go.  Told me never to come dueling again, or the next 
time they would kill me.  And I didn't-never went there again.

Quit rigging pretty soon after that, too."  He took a deep, 
shuddering breath.  "Damn those dragons.  But I just can't ... It was 
such a beautiful place, it ... haunts me.  And the ill, the iffling-it 
looked like-a flame, or an angel, or something.  It was just ...

wonderful ... like some kind of miracle."

Jael nodded.  "I know," she said huskily, remembering the shimmering 
being that had appeared, urging her to go to Highwing's aid.

It had spoken to her one last time-after she had saved Highwing from 
burning to death in a sun, only to see him die in the Flux-reassuring 
her that she had not failed.  A shiver went up her spine.  She knew 
that her dragon-friend had died well, and she felt that his spirit 
lived on even now in some way she didn't understand; and yet she could 
not stop mourning his death.

"You met them, the ifflings," Kan-Kon said.

Jael nodded and took a breath, and told him the whole story--how she 
had met the dragon, and instead of dueling him, had given him her name. 
 And how, in the end, he had befriended her and taken her to secret 
places and shown her things about herself that she had never known.  
And how she had returned later, with her new rigger-friend At and their 
parrot, Ed, only to find the realm a changed place, and Highwing a 
condemned dragon for what he had done.

Kan-Kon sat silent and astounded beside her, as she described how she 
had saved Highwing from exile, then lost him again, gaining in the 
process the friendship of his sons.

"I guess," she said, "a lot was changing in the realm.  I don't know 
that much about those prophecies, but it seemed as if they were 
starting to come true.  All those beautiful places, wrecked by this ...

Tar-sket."  Her voice trembled with that name, the name of the one 
who had killed Highwing.  "And when we left, there was going to be a 
terrible war-between those who were like Highwing and those who served 
... that other one.  I've ... been dreaming about it lately.  At night, 
I mean."

Kan-Kon opened his mouth.  He seemed to be staring at the trees 
across from the bench.  The light from the farmsat made his forehead 
glisten beneath the strands of sweaty hair.

Jael peered up through the treetops at the dazzling satellite that 
turned this port city's night into twilight.  Fifty kilometers to the 
west was the farm sector that was being lit almost as bright as day.

"I hate those things," she muttered.

"Why can't they let night be night?  That's how the world's supposed 
to be.  I don't see why they have to go and not let any of us have 
night here, just so they can grow a little more feed."

Kan-Kon squinted.  "Their all-night tribarley makes good ale," he 
said.

Jael frowned back at him@eeing him again for the pitifW mess of a 
human being that he was.  "Is that what made you ... drink like this?

You couldn't forget the dragons, so you just-'I He interrupted her 
with a fit of coughing.  "Don't you-" cough "-don't you go-" cough 
"-Iecturin' me about drinkin', young lady!"  He sounded more drunk than 
ever before.  "You try leavin' a dead shipmate in the Flux, then 
losin'yourwhole damn career!"  Cough.  "Youjus'try it an' see how good 
your life is!"

Jael sat back, suddenly ashamed of herself.  Who was she to judge?

"I'm sorry," she whispered.  "Was he a good friend, your shipmate?"

Kan-Kon grunted.  "What was his name?"

Kan-Kon grunted again.  "Hoddy."

"Hoddy," Jael repeated.

Kan-Kon nodded.  "I sometimes wonder if he really ... could still be 
alive there.  Somewhere.  I know it's crazy, but I can't help it."

Jael stared at him, then shrugged helplessly.

Kan-Kon sighed.  "You were the one, then," he murmured.

"What?"

"The One.  You were the one the prophecy talked about."  Kan-Kon's 
gaze suddenly seemed very sober, probing her face.  "You were, weren't 
you?"

Jael stared at him, unable to answer.

He pushed his cheek out with his tongue,"nodding slowly.  "That's all 
right.  You don't have to say it.  It's plain obvious.  You and that 
dragon and everything you just told me."  He sat back, crossing his 
arms.  "Well, I'll be damned.

I'll be damned."

They sat without talking for a while.  The crowd was dispersing 
noisily from the Green Tap, where chance had brought Jael and the 
ex-rigger together.  Finally Jael murmured that it was time for her to 
return to her quarters.

Kan-Kon raised his hand in farewell.  "Where do you stay?"

she asked.

Kan-Kon shrugged.  "Here and there.  Around."

She frowned.  "Well, where can I find you?"

He grinned, showing teeth.  "Why, right here," he said, hooking a 
thumb over his shoulder.  "At the Tap.  If you don't see me, just ask!"

Jael tried not to let her wince show.  She tried to smile as she 
said, "Good night, then.  I'll look for you here.  Take care, Kan-Kon.

" "Likewise, little lady."  The former rigger gave a showy wave and 
walked away, stumbling only a little, in the opposite direction.

Jael breathed deeply and hurried through the late, eternal twilight 
back to the rigger dorms.

 Chapter IO iffling DREAMS FOR THE iffling-children, the knowledge 
of their purpose emerged gradually, filtering up through their 
consciousness like deep memories in time, memories far older than their 
own being.  As they stretched out their undersenses to search the world 
that curved away before them, they knew, with an instinctive certainty, 
who it was they were searching for and what they were to say.  They 
were to find the One, a human named Jael, and they were to call her to 
return with them.  Their purpose in life, and the totality of their 
being, were dedicated to that task.  If anything came between it and 
them, their own existence was secondary.

As they swept downward into the misty atmosphere of their 
destination, they noted other beings bobbing and darting in space just 
like them, moving as they moved, perhaps even following in their wake.

But the iffling-children gave no thought to whether the beings might 
be friend or foe; the distinction never occurred to them.  They focused 
all of their thought upon the faint but brightening glow before them, 
the underglow that stood out from all the spirit-presences on this 
world, the glow of the one called Jael.  As they drew closer, the 
urgency of their mission buzzed ever louder in their souls, drowning 
out all else.

Dropping across space-time toward Jael, they were nearly close enough 
to call out.  And that was when the beings that so resembled them 
abruptly reappeared, speeding into their paths like blazing sparks of 
fire.  They had no time to think.

-Veer away!-But they are like us -No!The new beings swerved and flew 
at the iffling-children with a flaming fury that sent the ifflings 
reeling in shock and confusion.

What was happening?

-Flee!-Find safety!They flashed outward in retreat, circling to 
reunite.  But one of them was slow-and it was taken from behind by 
something that swooped and hissed and collided with the iffling with a 
blaze of orange fire.  As the two separated, the iffling-child cried 
out, once, then flickered and vanished into darkness.  The others 
called out: come back!-Do not-leave us!But it was gone.  Stunned, the 
ifflings fled from their attackers, from the ones that looked like 
ifflings but were not.  There were only four true-ifflings now.

Bewildered, they flickered with sorrow and fear and mourning.

They peered back at their goal, blocked from them by the cluster of 
false-ones.

-Killers!-Killers!-Killers!-Do not let them close-Keep sight of the 
OneAs they watched from afar, the false,ifflings seemed to forget them, 
turning instead to spiral inward toward the glow of the human, Jael.  
They too were seeking the One, then!  And they were calling out to her 
now, calling in voices that made the true-children tremble with fear as 
they listened-not quite able to distinguish the words of their 
adversaries, but hearing in the undertexture of the voices the untruth 
that was in them.

The ifflings cried ahead to the human, their undervoices wailing.

They tried to call to her from a safe distance, but they were too far 
away, and the false-ones had begun circling the One possessively.

The human's glow pulsed, as if she felt the false-ones' presence with 
her undersense, but only dimly, perhaps not consciously.  If she heard 
or recognized the true-ifflings' cry, she didn't answer.  They had to 
do something-but what?  One of them was gone, and their goal had been 
taken from them.

The need was clear.

-We must-Cannot retreat-Our duty-Our livesThey must risk everything 
to reach her, to fulfill their purpose.  They must challenge the 
false-ones, silence their lies ... perhaps even deny them life 
altogether.  Kill them.

The iffling-children barely knew how to grasp the thought of killing. 
 But they had just witnessed the extinguishing of one of their own, and 
it appeared that the same thing might have to happen to the 
false-ifflings.

The false@ones glowed hot and combative between them and the one 
called Jael.  They surrounded Jael, their light and energy turned in 
toward her, their voices whispering lies and betrayal: "Windrush ...

traitor to your work ... to your deeds.  . . . " The true,ones did 
not understand all of the words they heard, but they felt their rage 
grow.

The enemies were a daunting force, but the ifflings were not to be 
deterred.

They spun about one another, gathering energy and determination, 
until their presence burned even hotter and whiter than the flames of 
the false-ones.  They drew themselves together-and dove straight toward 
Jael.

Jael woke up rubbing her eyes.  The soft amber light of the clock 
told her that it was the middle of the night.  She heard a quiet 
snoring sound.  It was Ed the parrot, asleep in the holographic stondai 
plant in the center of a tiny rainforest bolo in the corner of the 
room.  The whole display had been turned down for the night, and glowed 
just brightly enough to be visible.

What had awakened her?  It was the damn nightmares.

Dreams of dragons, dreams of pain and need.  But why now, after so 
much time?  It felt almost as if a voice were calling to her.  She had 
dreamed often of the dragons since leaving their realm, and it had 
taken her a long time to accept that it was just her subconscious 
looking for excuses to return.  But lately, a new and somehow different 
sort of dream had been tormenting her.

She blinked in the darkness, remembering the man she had met just 
hours ago at the bar.  That conversation might explain tonight's 
dreams.  But it didn't explain the past week of them: dreams of strange 
beings dancing in the air, calling out to her, dreams filled with 
whispers of heartbreaking betrayal, and helpless need.

The details of tonight's nightmare were already vanishing into the 
murk of forgetfulness.  But she knew it had been more vivid, more 
violent than any before it-as if there were some kind of life-and-death 
struggle going on around her, and yet not around her at all.  It was 
extremely disturbing.  Worse, it had felt real to her in a way that no 
ordinary dream ever did.

She lay back in bed and stared at the ceiling, glowing faintly in the 
light of the holotrees.  A dream, real?  She knew better than to 
dismiss the possibility.

Some would have said that she plied her trade in a dreamland-and in a 
sense that was true.  The Flux that carried rigger-ships among the 
stars was a realm in which real topographies were mapped and given form 
by the imagination of the rigger-pilot.  It was dream and reality, 
woven inseparably into one.  But it was different from the dream of 
sleep; the rigger-dream had real form, and the power to physically 
transport its bearer, and the power to kill.

The nightmare from which she had just awakened had felt more like a 
stirring of the Flux than a construct of the subconscious.  It had felt 
like something with the power of reality.  But.  . . she was not in the 
Flux.  She was in a dorm room.  Without the rigger-net of the starship, 
there was no way for the dream-images of the Flux to become real.

So it was just a bad dream, after all.

She stared up into the gloom of the dorm room that for the past 
eleven weeks had been her home.  She listened to Ed's soft breathing 
and thought that in a way, Ed was just a dream, too; and yet, in 
another way, he was real as her hand in front of her face.

If only she had someone else to talk to about it!  If only At were 
here!  But At wouldn't be back for another week at best, if his flight 
stayed on schedule.  She almost wished she hadn't remained here on 
Cargeeling while he'd accompanied another rigger to Benree, Vela Oasis, 
and back.  But At had been restless to fly, and their employer, 
Mariella Flaire, had required someone she could trust to make the trip.

Jael had wanted some time off-from flying, and even from At.  In two 
years they had logged thousands of hours together in the net; and while 
it had been vastly rewarding, and she prized their friendship, they'd 
reached a point of needing a vacation from each other.  But now she 
missed him terribly.

Of course, if she hadn't stayed behind, she would never have met that 
strange and interesting man Kan-Kon.  She was burning to tell At about 
him.

She sighed deeply, desiring sleep most of all.  She gazed past the 
foot of her bed at the faintly glowing stondai, the holographic parrot 
perched motionless in one of its lower branches.  The bird's breathing 
was soothing, and Jael thought that what she ought to do was follow 
Ed's example.

She nodded to herself and closed her eyes.

Images flickered up at once in her mind-images of dragons and strange 
landscapes, and ifflings.  Please, she thought.

Please give me peace.

Her plea was not answered; but eventually she did drop off to sleep, 
with the images dancing vividly before her.

For Jarvorus, it was all happening so beautifully that success seemed 
certain.  The goal was close now; he could not conceive of failure.  
The iffling-children had been easy to sweep aside.  He was aware of 
them flitting about on the outside now, seeking a way past his 
warriors, but they were so meek as to pose no threat.  jarvorus himself 
was already within reach of the spirit-presence of "the One"-whispering 
his message, the words given to him by his master, the one whose voice 
had sent them all on their way.  jarvorus was delivering his master's 
message, the one that would transform the One into the 
One-Who-Would-Fall.

His voice whispered like the wind.  Windrush has abandoned ...

betrayed ... all that was good.  All that you e to accomplish ...

was in vain.

Was she hearing his words?

You have no friends in the realm ... all have failed ... will fail.

The glow of her presence flickered and trembled.  His words were 
slipping beneath the surface of her thoughts, causing ripples of 
disturbance.  He was confident that she would believe them.  Together 
with his fellow warriors, he had only to persevere, spiraling ever 
closer, murmuring, until a perfect fabric of disbelief was woven, a 
skein of distrust and despair.  And in that way, the warriors would 
gain the approval of their master.

The assault came as a swarm of fire, taking jarvorus completely by 
surprise.

The iffling-children blazed into the warriors' midst, scattering them 
and turning their whispers to cries of alarm.

Jarvorus cursed and veered away from the human, fearful of letting 
the delicate web of deception be ruined by a struggle with the 
iffling-children.  He swept back around to fight, calling upon his 
fellows to join him in battle.  But the ifflings shot past them, toward 
the human, crying out urgently.  They seemed not to care for subtlety 
or web@weaving.  Whatever deception they were planning, it was 
apparently so simpleminded that subtlety didn't matter.

Jarvorus arced across the slippery slope of space-time, pursuing the 
iffling-children toward their quarry.  He could not allow them to 
succeed.  His fire burned hot, as he called to the warriors to join 
him.

This time they would defeat the ifflings utterly.  This time the 
battle would be to the death.

Jael woke with a cry and sat up.  She felt a pain in her chest; her 
face was on fire; her vision swam and her ears rang.

Something terrible had awakened her, something more than just the 
pain.  Another nightmare.  She remembered a terrible feeling of 
despair.

She glimpsed a movement near the foot of her bed, near the 
holographic rainforest.  "Who's there?"  she cried.

Ed flapped awake in the stondai, sputtering as he hopped to a higher 
branch.  "Hawwwk!  What is it?  Hawwk!"

"I don't..... know, she meant to say, but her breath was cut off by a 
sudden glimmer of light near a tree at the edge of the forest.  It 
wasn't Ed, and it wasn't the tree bolo.

A malfunction in the projector?  Then why was she suddenly gasping 
again, unable to move her head or lift a hand to shield herself The 
dream ...

There had been a struggle, a terrible struggle between two glimmering 
forces, between hope and despair.

Through the blur of her confusion, she glimpsed something moving in 
the air-like a shadow, or a light-like neither, and both.  Ed was 
flapping his wings in alarm.  But she couldn't tell what she was 
seeing.

"Rawk!  Jayl!  What is it?"  The parrot's voice drew her to full 
consciousness.

She answered without taking her eyes off the moving forms.  "I don't 
know, Ed," she whispered.  "Do you see it?"  It was clearer now; it was 
like watching two ghosts of flame and shadow twisting around one 
another, in a tortuous ballet.  They shifted and interchanged, the 
movement too quick, too intense to follow.

The parrot's voice dropped to a low gargle.  Out of the corner of her 
eye, she was aware of the parrot hopping back and forth on the branch, 
clucking and muttering, "Urrr, see it ... but what ... what!"

Jael couldn't answer.  She was transfixed.  The ghostly dancers moved 
closer.  She heard voices, as though from a great distance.  She heard 
hissing, as of water touching flame.  She heard a groan, and a dim, 
distant screeching.  She leaned forward, straining to hear the voices, 
to hear any recognizable sound.  Who are you.7 she mouthed.

What do you want?  She could not force the words from her throat.

The air itself seemed to murmur, and she caught the words, 
"N-needs-s-s you-u-u .

What?  she mouthed.  Who?

There was a moan, and out of it, the words rose: "Go.@o to-o-o 
him@m-m."

"Go to whom?"  she whispered, barely making the words audible.

"W-wind-d-dd-rushhhh-" Her breath went out as though she'd been 
punched.

"n-needs-s-s youuuu .  . ."  And then the air stirred oddly, and she 
caught a sharp, familiar tang; and then the voices were lost in a 
cacophony of groans.  She thought she heard a cry, and the words, 
"Windrush-h betray-y-y-s.  . ."

and then the voice faded, and silence and darkness swallowed her, and 
she was alone in the gloom of her room.

She could not move or breathe.  It was as though, for an instant, the 
air before her had opened up, offering her a breath of another world, 
the smell of another world.  If she had not heard the name Windrush, 
she still would have recognized that tang in the air.

Dear God.1 she thought.  What just happened?

The darkness of her room surrounded her like a cloak, closing in upon 
her.  An instant later it seemed to open up with a great wrench, not a 
suffocating darkness, but a vast and endless space.  Her lungs were 
burning.  She took a sharp breath, panting in desperate lungfuls of 
air.  Had she really just seen ... and heard ... ?

Windrush needs you ...

She shuddered, feeling two years' grief and worry welling up in her.  
Was this another nightmare-or was Windrush really, somehow, calling out 
to her?  Could this be another astonishing dragon magic, her friend 
crying to her across the gulfs of time and space?

"Windrush!"  she whispered, clutching her bed sheet around her.

"Highwing!  Windrush!"

But where had those voices come from?  Had she really heard them, or 
had she dreamed the whole thing, in a terrible fever?  She was 
sweating, her heart pounding in her ears.  Could she have imagined it 
all?

But I heard it.  Windrush needs you ...

She was aware suddenly of Ed's voice, rasping across the room.

"Jayl-rawwk!-what was it?  What was it?

Rawwwwwwk ... jayyyl ... what's wronnnnng!"

Letting her breath out with a sigh, she turned to Ed.  The holoparrot 
was jumping from branch to branch in agitation, a flutter of scarlet 
and green.  Her voice came out as a dry croak as she said, "I don't 
know, Ed!  I don't know!"

The parrot folded his wings and settled down on a branch, listening 
to the air.  "No more, jayl.  It's gone.

Gone."

She nodded wearily.  Then, with a jolt, she realized what Ed had just 
said.  It was not her imagination.  He had heard it, too.  "Ed-" she 
whispered, "what exactly did you hear?"

"Awk?"

"What did you hear?  You heard it, didn't you?"

"Urr-something-" Jael patted the blanket beside her.  "Come here, 
Ed."  The ghostly parrot fluttered across to her, landing on her 
shoulder.  She patted the blanket more insistently.  With a mutter, Ed 
hopped down beside her.  "Listen, Ed, I need your help.  Now.  I need 
you to tell me exactly what you saw.  And what you heard."

"Urk!"  The bird cracked his beak, looking around.

"Saw-jayl sit up, not happy.  Saw-not sure, not sure."

He shook his head violently.

"But you saw-" "Something-rawwwwwk.  Not sure what."

"And you heard-" "Scrawwwww.  Voices.  Someone.  Urrk."  The parrot 
cocked his head, fixing Jael with a stare.  "Who, jayl?"

She drew a breath.  "I'm ... not sure.  Tell me everything you can 
remember, Ed."

"Rawk."  The bird pranced in agitation on the blanket.

"Did you hear ... any words?  Any words you recognized?"  She wanted 
to plead with him.  She wanted to grab him and shake him until he 
either confirmed what she had heard or told her she was crazy.

"Please, Ed?"

ird cocked his head one way, then the other, then for a moment.

"Not sure.  Thought I ... urk."  art pounded as he paused.

"Someone .

. . needs you.  Sounded like ... someone needs you.  Urk."  Ed shook 
his wing feathers.

Jael stared at him.  "What'd you just say?"

"Not sure," Ed croaked.  "Sounded like ... need.  Heard need, maybe.  
Not sure.  Go, they said.  Go to him."

Jael began to shake somewhere deep inside, and then to weep.  Ed 
hopped frantically beside her, cawing and murmuring, asking what was 
wrong.  She could not answer; she didn't even know if her tears came 
from sadness or joy, or both.  A terrible loneliness and pain was 
welling up inside her.  A friend needed her, and she was too far away 
to do anything except weep for his need.

Eventually, the tears subsided and she sat back, snuffling and 
telling Ed that it was okay, he could stop worrying.  She took a deep 
breath and began to review what had happened.  Windrush, somehow, had 
reached out to her.  How, she could not imagine-nor could she imagine 
the need that might impel the dragon to do that.  Even Highwing, 
imprisoned and facing death, had not reached into her universe to tell 
her.  She would never have dreamed that such a thing was possible.

And yet it had happened.

But what could she do about it?  What could she do?

She thought long and fruitlessly, and finally sighed.  At would be 
back in a week or two.  Perhaps he would have an idea.  Please, At!

The only way to go to Windrush was to get a ship.  And how could she 
possibly get a ship?  Hijack one to the mountain route, to the dragon 
realm?  Surely At would have a better idea.  Surely.

And just as surely, this was going to be the longest night of her 
life-the longest week of her life.


 Chapter 11


IN THt terrifying swirl of light and dark, the iffling-children tried 
to strike back at the false-ones, to hurl them away, to extinguish 
their flame; but the true-ones had no experience in killing, no 
knowledge of fighting.  In sheer desperation they had penetrated the 
false-ones' gauntlet and cried out their message to Jael.  One of the 
enemy had flickered out in the storm of their passage, a fortuitous 
accident that showed them how their foes might be killed.  But now the 
others boiled toward them in a rage.  They had to fight or flee.

-Escape!-Where?  Where?-The false-ones block us-Release your 
fire!Driven by stark terror, they caught one of the false-ones and 
burned it to silent darkness.  But an instant later another loomed 
blazing, and this time an iffling cried out and died.  The surviving 
ifflings, in a panic, surrounded the foe and crushed the fire from it 
before the rest of the false-ones could intervene.

-OPening-That way!The three ifflings darted away, fleeing across the 
underrealm.  The enemy gave chase.  The living flames, all of them, 
burned bright in this strange and underrealm.  But in the darkness 
behind them, the ifflings sensed the human alone once more, temporarily 
abandoned by the false-ones.

-Make contact again!-She must be led!The ifflings swept back in a 
great arc.  But the two remaining enemies flew quickly to block the 
way.  The ifflings veered.

Before the falseones could intercept them, they skated around the 
human and flanked it from the opposite side.  Now three true-ifflings 
and two false-ifflings surrounded the human.  The ifflings darted and 
jockeyed; but they could not approach closer without drawing a new 
Hovering in an uneasy truce, they waited and watched, calling out, 
hoping that even from a distance, the human might hear their voices and 
follow.

jarvorus watched his adversaries with gnawing apprehension.  No 
longer was he so certain of his ability to sweep them away!  Three of 
his fellows were gone, destroyed!  He had been too confident.  But no 
more.  He would not drop his vigil even for an instant.  And if the 
chance came, he would crush the ifflings once and for all.

At the same time, he felt drawn to the shimmering presence of the 
human.  Her awareness in the underrealm was a flickering and uncertain 
thing.  The ifflings had gotten through to her briefly; but now neither 
they nor he could get close enough to speak directly.  He would call 
out to her in the underrealm anyway@all from a distance.  That way 
might not be so subtle as he wished, but his message would be heard.

She would know: Windrush was a traitor who sought only to entrap her. 
 Jarvorus' mission was clear and he would see to it that he was heard.

Jael got no more sleep that night.  Voices seemed to keep calling to 
her in the night, voices that she could not quite make out, voices that 
would give her no peace.
 She spent the following day in solitude, overcome by feelings of deja 
vu.  She remembered her feelings two years ago, between her first 
encounter in the dragon realm-the trip that culminated in her killing 
her own captain in selfdefense-and her first meeting with At in the 
port of Lexis, a meeting that ultimately led her back to Highwing's 
mountains.  Then, as now, she'd been alone on a world that was


YOU .  . . attack.  The false-ones were equally wary.


'Windrush NEEDS not home, waiting and hoping the impossible hope, for 
circumstances that would permit her to return to those harsh, alien, 
beautiful mountains.

Now she could only await At's arrival.  She could not conceive of 
returning to the dragon realm without him.  In the meantime, she 
desperately wished she had someone she could talk to about it.  There 
was Ed, of course.  But Ed, her beloved cyberparrot, was not human and 
not what she needed now.  She felt terribly alone.

It helped a little to get out and walk around.  The port of Krakow on 
Cargeeling was more a town than a city, with a large park at its 
center, surrounding a lake.  She walked in the park in the afternoon, 
watching the birds and recording images of them for Ed, who accompanied 
her in a small memory-device hung on her neck chain.  She slowly began 
to be able to think.

How could she get a ship so that she might go to Windrush?  There was 
no doubt in her mind that she must go.

The question was how.  And how would she find the dragon, if he was 
in trouble?  She had an unsettling feeling that someone meant to lead 
her.

Her thoughts returned, as well, to last night and that strange man 
Kan-Kon.  He was a sad case, perhaps, but he knew of the dragons and 
believed in them.  That was more than anyone else here could offer.

That night she returned to the Green Tap, but to her disappointment, 
there was no sign of Kan,Kon.  She approached some people who had the 
look of regulars.  A polite query brought only shrugs, and a muttered 
deprecation about Kan-Kon.  Sitting down at a table, she sat drumming 
her fingers, wondering what time Kan@Kon was likely @At to come in.  
Finally she sought out the human manager and asked him.  He told her 
that Kan-Kon had been in the 'lucie 1

room earlier.  He hooked a thumb toward the rear of the bar.

Jael frowned and hesitated at the entrance to the 'lucie room, 
wrinkling her nose at the stale, smoky smells coming through the 
curtained doorway.  She took a deep breath of fresh air and ducked in.

It was a close, dim room, the air stifling with incense, tobacco, and 
God knew what other substances.  Colored lights and bolos danced in her 
eyes, making it hard to focus.  There was a grumbling undertone of 
music, leaking from the headsets worn by the half dozen or so patrons, 
all of whom were under 'lucie wires or tabs.

None of them, with the exception of a horse-headed Swert, paid her 
the slightest attention.  The Swert's large-eyed, penetrating gaze 
caused her to shiver and look away.

Kan-Kon was sitting cross-legged in the far corner, looking even more 
disheveled than he had the night before.

Synaptic auggie wires streamed from his head, and he was smoking a 
hookah from which a sweet, greenish white smoke curled into the already 
thick air.  She exhaled with a cough and took another dizzying lungful.

She picked her way past the other motionless bodies, stepping 
carefully over the bare stick-legs of a sallow-faced man who was 
puffing energetically in and out through a seemingly empty glass 
cylinder.  Jael didn't even want to know what he was doing.  She 
reached the ex-rigger and crouched in front of him.  "Hey," she said.

"Kan-Kon!"

He sighed, rocking his head from side to side.  He looked as though a 
deep fog lay about his brain.

"Kan-Kon!"  she said sharply.  She hesitated, then reached out, 
wondering if she could just remove the wires from his head.

"It is not permitted to touch the wires of another patron," said a 
voice from overhead.  "Please respect the privacy of others and do not 
disturb their sessions."

She craned her neck to look up.  The voice was coming from a speaker 
in the ceiling.  A long plastic robot arm, also attached to the 
ceiling, was shaking a finger at her.  She flushed, feeling foolish.

Was she going to argue with a robot?  She dropped her hands to her 
sides.

"Thank you, ma'am."

Kan-Kon was still oblivious to her presence.  Clearly she could give 
up on him tonight.  She turned away in distaste and fled from the room, 
trying not to breathe, until she escaped from the bar by the rear exit.

In the alley, panting to clear her lungs, she walked out toward the 
street and then into the park where she and Kan-Kon had sat last night. 
 She wanted both to cry and to scream.  Resting on a bench, she inhaled 
the night air, smelling the lake and the dark-cedars and 
spider-blossoms.  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, wishing 
she could blot the farmsat's light from the sky so that she could see 
the stars.

She felt a profound loneliness, and she wept silently for her friends 
who needed her, who were so far away.  Eventually she dozed off.  When 
she awoke, the town was quiet, the clubs were mostly dark, and she had 
a terrific neckache.

She trudged back to the dorm, got a sandwich from a dispenser, and 
returned to her room, where she ate one bite before falling into a deep 
and dreamless sleep.

She spent the next day in the rigger nay library, running sims of 
various routes to the mountain region of Aeregian space.  Later, she 
again went looking for Kan-Kon, hoping to find him before he could lose 
himself in drink, drugs, or wires.  But her search was fruitless; no 
one in any of the clubs had seen him all evening.  One woman told Jael 
that she'd seen him sitting in the park that morning and he'd looked 
... scared, she'd thought.  But where he'd gone, the woman had no idea.

Jael gave up.  On an impulse, she went to the depot and caught a 
night train out of Krakow to one of the small tourist towns out beyond 
the radius of the farmsat's light.

She took a room, but spent most of the night sitting out under the 
stars, watching the rotation of the sky until it brought the 
constellations of Aeregian space blazing high over the horizon.

Somewhere out there, among the stars scattered like motes of glowing 
dust in the sky, was the mountain route leading to the port of Lexis.

Somewhere in that region, dipping into the Flux, one could find the 
realm of dragons.  She gazed for a long time, and felt her hopes and 
fears rise and fall like an invisible tide.

The feeling persisted that someone, or some spirit, not of this 
world, lingered nearb@trying to speak to her across an unbreachable 
barrier.  When she finally slept that night, she dreamed of voices 
booming and rushing about her, like water in a stream pounding down a 
carved channel.  She dreamed that someone was calling Windrush a 
traitor to the realm.  She dreamed that Windrush was calling out to her 
in his sleep.  She dreamed of someone calling: They are trying to 
entrap you!  and she woke up with those words echoing in her mind.

Returning to Krakow, she renewed her search for KanKon.  No one 
seemed to think it unusual for him to drop out of sight.  Who could 
predict the habits of a rigger turned lush-and who cared, besides Jael?

She began to wonder if she had imagined her conversation with the 
man.

She checked with registry and verified that At had not yet returned.  
She fumed and went to the nay library and ran another sim.

She went to a holoshow and left in the middle.

Finally she went to a bar and, uncharacteristically, got stinking 
drunk, telling at least three potential suitors to drop dead.

The next morning, waking with ringing ears and a splitting headache, 
she could remember nothing of the previous night's dreams.

She decided that perhaps it would be smart to forget Kan-Kon, as 
well.

She spent the day in the park, thinking through various options for 
getting back into space.  The most obvious was to seek an assignment on 
an unaccompanied single-rigger to Lexis.  But her memories of begging 
work alone in the rigger halls were as vivid today as ever-and anyway, 
she didn't seriously intend to go anywhere without At.  And yet, she 
feared waiting too long.

They are trying to entrap you!  The words swirled in her mind.

Windrush needs you.

She reviewed her finances.  She was no longer poor, by the standards 
of her profession.  Flying with At, she had saved most of her earnings, 
and she could add to that the settlement she had received from the 
estate of her late former captain, Mogurn-not just flight pay, but 
damages for Mogurn's coercive abuse.  Still, that hardly put her in the 
category of being able to acquire a ship.  She thought of appealing 
directly to Mariella Flaire.  But it seemed absurd to think that Flaire 
would divert a starship for Jael's personal needs.

That only seemed to leave ... stealing Flaire's ship the next time 
she and At were sent out together.  And that was almost unthinkable.

And yet ...

What was she willing to do to help her friend?  She had already once 
risked Flaire's ship, and her own life and her shipmates' lives, to 
help Highwing when he was in need.

She had no regrets about that.  But that had not been a premeditated 
theft.

She rubbed her eyes, staring hopelessly.  The lake seemed almost 
incongruously peaceful as she gazed out over its waters, thinking.

9(Miss-" She started, and looked up into the craggy face of KanKon.

"I've I've forgotten your name," the man stammered.

"But you know-I have this feeling we talked some, a day or two ago."  
He scratched his stubbly chin.

Jael gulped and nodded, and gestured to the grass beside her.  The 
retired rigger eyed her for a moment, then carefully lowered himself to 
the ground, like some ungainly, spindly bird.

"I've been looking for you," she said.  "Where have you been?"

Kan-Kon shrugged.  "Here-there-no place special."

He was silent for a moment, then grunted.  "You were looking for me?"

Jael frowned.  She was sure that he remembered perfectly well what 
they had talked about the other night.  Why else would he be here?  "I 
wanted to talk to you about the ... dragons.  I thought maybe " His 
voice shook as he interrupted her.  "About-?"

"Dragons," Jael snapped.  "Remember them?"

"Well-" He swallowed and glanced away.  "No, I@on't think I really 
know anything about that, miss-" "Jael.  My name is Jael.  And yes you 
do."  She took a sharp breath.  "Are you telling me you don't remember 
losing your shipmate there@ And you don't remember the ifflings?  And 
their prophecy?  You don't remember-?"

"Okay!"  he hissed.  "Okay, miss-Jael.  You don't have to be " And he 
suddenly turned his back to her, and trembled as though crying.

Jael felt sorry for him, but not sorry enough to let go.

Kan@Kon," she said, hardening her voice.  Damn you, she thought, what 
are you afraid op "Kan-Kon, listen to me!  We may be the only two 
people on this planet who know the dragons are real.  And the ifflings.

"And it suddenly hit her, like a bolt-how could she not have seen it 
before?  The creatures who had spoken to her in the middle of the 
night-were they ifflings?

"Ifflin's," Kan-Kon whispered.  "Saved my life."  He slowly turned 
back to face her.

"I think-I saw some ifflings-e few nights ago," she said.  "They 
spoke to me.p' "It scared me," he said, seeming not to hear her 
words"talkin' to you and knowin' that you been there, too.  I 
been-Aryin' to forget, ever since."

"Why?  Because you lost your friend there?"

For a moment, she thought he was going to cry again.  His face 
tightened up, and twisted, and he nodded.  "I'm justalways 
wondering'-if he might be " He looked away, suddenly, and stared out 
over the water.

Then his chin jerked, and he gazed back at her.  "Did you just' say 
you saw ifflings-here?"

Jael nodded.

"Damn," he whispered.  "Damn.  I've been feelin' like I've been 
hearin' voices lately.  That same night we talked was the worst@idn't 
sleep a wink, not a damn wink.  1-1

just figgered it was the booze, the damn booze making' me hear 
things."

Jael strained toward him.  "You've heard them, too?

What did they say to you?"

Kan-Kon snorted.  "To me?  Nothing.  It was more like I dreamed they 
was there, hoverin' around, watchin' something that had nothing to do 
with me, and talkin' to each other."  He hesitated, stroking his chin." 
 Mebbe Imagined the whole thing.  I dunno."

Electrified, Jael stared at Kan-Kon.  But when she spoke, it was as 
much to herself as to him.  "I have to go back there," she said.

"They need me."

"Shuuuuu-WHAT?"

"I have to go back.  To help my friends."

Kan-Kon's eyebrows quivered in disbelief, or horror.

Jael looked away, remembering the iffling's words ...

remembering how much had gone before, to draw her and the dragons 
together in friendship.  It had not merely been her rescue of Highwing 
from a fiery exile, or even Highwing's help in freeing her from the 
bondage of the shipowner Mogurn.  Those acts had grown out of 
anotherHighwing's freeing her from the bondage of her own past, from 
the bondage of a lifetime of bitterness against her father.  That was 
what the dragon had done for her, which no human had been able to 
do-and it was not only because he had recognized in her the embodiment 
of an ancient dragon prophecy.  It was done, she believed, out of 
genuine friendship.  And that was why she would never abandon 
Highwing's son, any more than she would have abandoned Highwing 
himself.  She nodded, looking back at Kan-KonI don't have a ship yet.  
But I'll find a way.

Somehow."

Kan-Kon looked as though he would pop a vein in his forehead.

"You're going back," he whispered.

She nodded again.

"Ship.  You need a ship."  He was squinting now, as though every 
fiber of his body were concentrated in thought.

"Do you know where I can get one@" She didn't really expect an 
answer.

Kan-Kon angled his face up into the sun as though contemplating her 
question.  But when he looked down again, he merely shook his head.

"Mighty tough to get a ship, if you're aimin' to go that route."

She sighed and tugged at the tough, pliant grass between her knees.  
"Would you want to come with us?"  Only after the words were out did 
she realize what she had just said.

Kan-Kon's face went pale.  His eyes seemed to focus very far away, 
his lips trembled, and he began coughing.

"That's okay.  I didn't think you would," Jael said hastily.  She 
waited until his coughing subsided.  "Anyway, I'm hoping my partner, 
At, can help me come up with a way when he gets back."  She shrugged.

"If there's anything you remember that might help ... I mean, you 
never know what might be useful."

Kan-Kon's eyes were still focused elsewhere.  He seemed to be in 
shock over the very idea of going back to that place.

He sat still for what seemed a very long time; then, without warning, 
he stood up and brushed off his pants.  "I must be going," he said 
softly.  He began to stride away.

"Wait!"

Kan-Kon looked back.

"I'm staying at the rigger dorm!"  she yelled.  "Jael LeBrae.

Call if you think of anything, all right?"

Kan-Kon might have nodded, or it might just have been her 
imagination.  Then he walked off along the waters that lapped at the 
grassy shore.

jarvorus saw his opportunity and took it.  One of the ifflings was 
venturing closer to the human presence, a little apart from the others.

It was whispering, trying to send words of encouragement.

Jarvorus flashed across the gap and caught the iffling in his burning 
flame.  It took only a moment to focus his energies on the startled 
being; it took only a moment to send the thing on to oblivion.

Its fellows, reacting at once, dove toward him-but by then, he was 
already flying back to the company of his remaining fellow warrior.

The ifflings retreated, wailing.

Just two of them left, Jarvorus said to his companion.

Shall we strike now?

Wait.  The time will come.

The other warrior was eager, restless, sorry to have been so slow as 
to have missed out on the kill.  But Jarvorus, while rejoicing, was 
thoughtful.  He had caught a glimpse of the iffling-creature's thought 
as he had destroyed it.  And what he had seen puzzled him.

It was not the iffling's intelligence or knowledge or put, pose that 
disturbed him; it was something else.  He had sensed in it ... a 
willingness to sacrifice its life.  Not a lack of love for its life, 
but a willingness to give it up if required to.  He thought he sensed 
echoes of that same willingness in the human, as well-and he didn't 
understand it.

Who were these enemies, these strange beings, the ifflings?  The 
question troubled him.  He thought he might like to know more about 
them before he killed them all.

The days passed with excruciating slowness.  The voices never quite 
seemed to go away, but neither did their owners become visible again.  
Jael's dreams were like turbulent waters-troubled and restless, but 
never taking a clear course.

The next time she saw Kan-Kon, he was drunk; but he looked at her 
with frightened eyes that said he hadn't forgotten.  Mostly, she spent 
the time alone, hoping for word from At.

When he finally did arrive, she almost missed him.  She'd checked 
with the registry early in the morning; and unable to stand the thought 
of waiting around, had bought a ticket for a day trip out of town.  Her 
train was late, and tiring of the wait, she went to a corn booth in the 
depot and called the dispatch office one more time.

There was no word on the arrival of Corona, the ship At was supposed 
to be flying for Marielia Flaire.  But there was a node message from 
At: "Arriving 11 30 today on train from New Tilly.  Meet me?"

Jael's breath went out in a rush.  Arriving on the train from New 
Tilly?  That was a port halfway across the continent.  Had he been 
diverted?  Eleven-thirty: that was fifteen minutes ago!  She bolted out 
to see if the hi-speeder from New Tilly had come in.  It had-just-and 
was beginning to pull out again.  She watched the silver cars glide 
past on their magnetic cushion, accelerating, as she looked frantically 
up and down the platform.  "At!"  she shouted.  Most of the passengers 
were already on their way out of the depot.  She rushed back to the 
lobby.

"Jael!)' At was standing out front, waving.  His tall Clendornan form 
was impossible to miss: the nearly wedge-shaped head, flat on top with 
grey hair, the triangular face with silver-blue skin, the zigzag smile. 
 As she ran toward him, his crystal-orb eyes glowed, and he strode 
forward to meet her.  She threw her arms around him and hugged him 
ferociously . At laughed with a hiccuping sound.  They broke their 
embrace and held each other at arm's length.  At's face was cracked by 
his zigzag smile.  "It is good to see you, my partner," he said as he 
studied her.

Jael, ready to explode with words, could only grin.  She broke away 
from him and spun around in joyous relief.

"You received my message?"  At asked.

Jael shook her head helplessly.  "What happened?  Why did you come in 
on a train?"

"Well, I had to take a different ship back, with another crew."

And the way At said it, she knew that he had a story to tell.

She interrupted him.  "Did Mariella change your assignment?  Did you 
see her?  Oh, At, we have to talk!  We might have to ask Mariella to do 
us a huge favor.  Do you think she'd be willing?"

His eyes flickered with puzzlement, then dimmed.  His expression 
brought her words to a halt.  This time, At's tone was subdued.  "I 
doubt she'll be able to.  That's why I had to come back on another 
ship, Jael.  Mariella's company has gone bankrupt."

 Chapter 12

RIGGERS WITHOUT A SHIP IT TOOK Jael several heartbeats to regain her 
breath.  Marielia's company, out of business?  "At-that can't be!"

she gasped.

At cocked his head sympathetically.  "I'm sorry to drop it just like 
that.  I'd wanted to celebrate our reunion first."

Celebrate?  Jael could hardly find her voice.  "What are we going to 
do?"  she whispered.

The Clendornan made a purring sound.  "Don't worry, we'll find other 
people to fly for.  We have a good record, so it shouldn't be too 
hard."  He gave a rippling shrug and hefted his duffel.  They began 
walking toward the glideway that would take them to the rigger 
quarters.  "I feel worse for Mariella than I do for us.  She hit some 
tough economic conditions, and I think her partners made some bad 
decisions while she was traveling and out of contact."  At sighed.  "I 
guess we knew it couldn't last forever."

Jael's heart pounded in misery as they walked.  Everything she'd been 
bursting to - tell At was now sunk in a swamp of hopelessness.

What At was saying was true, of course.  Two years ago, Flaire had 
endured some hard times with her company.  But she had recovered, and 
continued employing them on a regular basis ever since.  But Jael, who 
as an adolescent had watched her father's business fail, should have 
known that no business was immune to bad luck@r bad judgment.

"That's my only news," At said, trying to sound a cheerful note.

"It is very good to see you again, Jael."

She nodded, not looking at him.  All of the joy of their reunion had 
been robbed from her.  She didn't know what to say.  They rode the 
glideway to the rigger dorm, and walked to At's quarters.  She perched 
on the end of his rigid, almost unpadded bunk while he unpacked some of 
his things.  "Do you want a little time alone?"  she murmured.

At's mouth crinkled in a smile.  "Perhaps ten minutes for a mist and 
a change?  Then would you like to go for a walk?

I haven't been outside much in a long time."

Jael's heart was heavy as she rose.  "Meet you downstairs.

By the time At rejoined her, she'd managed to get her thoughts in 
order.  As they walked toward the lake, she told him her news-first, 
about Kan-Kon and her decision to break their long silence about the 
dragons.  At listened thoughtfully.  "I hope this fellow isn't adding 
our story to his public exhibition," he remarked.  They sat down near 
the lake's rippling surface.  At began humming a dissonant tune, and 
Jael trembled at the sound.  At's predilection for off-key tunes had 
once nearly driven her to distraction; now it was comforting.

"I don't think so.  At-" "You have more to tell me?"

"Yes-" And she related, in stumbling words, what had happened one 
midnight, such a seemingly long time ago.

She told him what the ifflings@r voices, at any rate-had said to her. 
 Windrush needs you.  Go to him.  The words resonated out of her memory 
of that dark night, and when she actually spoke them aloud, she felt as 
though she were giving freedom to something that was alive.

Giving freedom so that the pain of keeping it in could stop.

Only the pain didn't stop.  Windrush was in trouble, and there seemed 
nothing she could do.  By the time she finished she was crying, rocking 
backward and forward, her eyes squeezed shut against the noonday sun.  
She could not stop shaking.

At laid a hand on her shoulder and made muttering sounds that she 
knew were supposed to soothe.  But really, nothing could soothe her 
except finding a way to go, a way to answer the ifflings' plea.  And 
she knew that At had no way to give her what she needed.

Back in her room, Jael flicked on the bolo projector.  "Ed!"

At boomed.  "How are you, my feathery friend?"

"Scrawwwww!"  The bird flashed his colors and took to wing from the 
stondai tree.  He batted about the room in jubilation before circling 
to land on At's shoulder.  "Back!

Rawk!  Back-you're back!  Scrawww!"

"I am indeed back, and I missed you.  I trust you've been keeping 
Jael good company," At said, making a tickling gesture under the 
parrot's holographic chin.

"Yep, yep.  Good company."  Ed sat back and cocked his head about the 
room.  He gazed at Jael and then at At.  "She tell you?  Awki She tell 
you?  Graggon-things here!  Haww!"

At gave him a crinkly smile, his eyes glowing purple at the parrot.  
"You mean the ifflings?"

"Ifftings, ifftings-haww!  That what they were?"

"Apparently so.  I guess she told you about them?"

"Rawwk!  Ed saw.  Ed saw!  Strange things, awk@alking.

Woke Ed up!  Scary-hraww!  Scared jayl, scared Ed!"  The bird 
fluttered his wings.

At cocked his head to peer at the bird.  "You saw it, too, Ed?

Are you sure?"

"Hawwwwk!  Ed sure, all right!  Scared Ed!"  The parrot launched 
himself from At's shoulder and whirred about the room before landing on 
At's knee.

Jael looked at At with a wry smile.  She remembered a time, a couple 
of years ago, when At had doubted her story of dragons in the Flux.  
"Did you think maybe this was another figment of my imagination?

Like Highwing?"

His silver-blue face darkened slightly.  "I did not doubt you, Jael.  
But it is helpful to have confirmation.  It could make our needs more 
... credible ... if we seek .  . ."  He paused to grope for words.

"Well.  It will not be easy for us to get back there, will it?

But it seems we must try."

Jael drew a sharp breath.  Until now, At hadn't come right out and 
said that he wanted to return with her.  Her pulse raced, and she gazed 
at him with gratitude.  They were no closer to having a ship, perhaps, 
but it felt to her as if the gulf between her and the dragon realm had 
just closed a little.  Maybe, just maybe she would sleep tonight 
without her dreams of anxiety, and with hope in her heart.

This fight jarvorus did not start.  He was content to watch and wait 
as the two ifflings bobbed in the distance, whispering their irritating 
encouragements to the human.  It was his fellow warrior who took the 
initiative stupidly, blindly hoping to destroy the ifflings in a 
display of boldness and strength.

Erupting with anger, the ifflings pounced back upon jarvorus' 
companion.  jarvorus watched in dismay, holding back for the sake of 
the mission, as the warrior was annihilated . He regretted losing his 
companion.  But the important thing, more important than aiding his 
fellow, was to remain vigilant for a chance to lead the human astray.  
It did not matter if the ifflings lived or died, only that their 
purpose be thwarted.

His fellow had destroyed one of the ifflings before being consumed in 
the fire himself.  Jarvorus briefly considered striking now, while the 
last iffling was weakened.  But what he saw emerging from the fire was 
not a weakened foe, but a blazing and indignant foe.

jarvorus silently thanked his late fellow for his foolishness and 
bravery; but he, Jarvorus, would wait.  Only he, now, could see to it 
that his mission was fulfilled.

By the next afternoon, they had been over every avenue they could 
think of to acquire a ship-from applying for grants from the 
rigger-space research institutes on various worlds, to buying a ship or 
stealing one.  The first seemed unlikely, and would certainly take far 
too long, and the last was hardly a serious consideration.  That left 
trying to buy one.

Ironically, Seneca, the ship they had flown for Mariella Flaire, was 
right here on Cargeeling, where it had been in the tanks for a refit 
for most of the last ten weeks.  That, in fact, was one reason Jael had 
stayed here while At had made his interim flight.  They had expected to 
return to service with Seneca when the ship itself returned to service. 
 But with Flaire's company going out of business, she wondered what 
would happen to the ship.

Could they, perhaps, afford to buy a ship at auction?

Between them, they had more assets than Jael had guessed.

But the cost of a rigger-ship remained far beyond them.

Could they get financing?  It seemed unlikely, without a persuasive 
business plan.

At was determined to devise a way.  Perhaps he could secure a loan on 
his home planet.  Perhaps Mariella could still help somehow.  At would 
check on the status of Seneca.

Jael's task was to compose a description of their intended use of the 
ship-aside from visiting dragons, of course.  She was to be truthful, 
but to make it sound as if they still had a grip on reality.

None of this afforded much hope.  But it was all the hope they had.

The passage of the days took on a surreal quality, as they worked and 
planned and saw no progress.  Jael found herself thinking of her late 
father.  Willie LeBrae had done a lot wrong in his life, and she had 
spent a good part of her own life hating him for it.  She had 
eventually managed to forgive him, but only after coming to a painful 
understanding that he really had cared for her, even if in a hopelessly 
flawed way.  It was he, after all, who had enabled her to attend rigger 
school and to learn the very profession that he had ultimately come to 
despise.

Willie LeBrae had been a shipper and shipowner-initially a legitimate 
one.  Later, when the tides had turned on his business fortunes, so too 
had his legitimacy.  In the end, he had abused many an innocent rigger, 
though hardly more than he had abused his own family.

Still ... Willie LeBrae would have known how to acquire a ship, even 
under the most difficult of circumstances.  Perhaps not a ship that one 
would personally want to fly; but that sort of concern had never 
stopped him.  Jael wished now that she had learned more of the business 
from her father.  It was perhaps the first time since she'd been a 
little girl that she had wished she could emulate anything of Willie 
LeBrae's life.

She wondered if it was too late to learn.

Five days after At's return, she was in the spaceport administration 
building, waiting for At, who was inquiring into the status of Seneca.  
It seemed that Seneca had been impounded by the shipyard that had 
overhauled its fluxpile and rigger-net systems.

Until the overhaul bill was paid, the ship could not be moved.  At 
was hoping to acquire the use of the ship from Flaire, if they could 
raise the money for its release.  Flaire, he thought, might be open to 
the idea; but she was on Vela Oasis, sifting through the ruins of her 
business, and fluxwave communications with Vela Oasis were erratic, and 
very expensive.  So far, he'd been unable to reach her.

Jael was standing in the hallway, studying the ships-forsale 
bulletins on a wall-screen, when she heard footsteps.

She glanced-then stared in amazement at the last person she expected 
to see here.  The ex-rigger was smooth-faced and neatly dressed, with 
his long hair molded into a tidy appearance.  "Kan-Kon?"

she whispered.

"Whaaat?"  Startled, he came to a halt.  "Miss ... Jael," he said, 
flashing a sudden sheepish grin.  "Mighty surprised to see you here."

He shifted from one foot to the other.

You're surprised to see me?  Jael couldn't quit staring at him.

She had never imagined him well groomed.  And she'd thought he had 
long since given up everything having to do with space.  "I-" Before 
she could think of what to say, she was rescued from her embarrassment 
by the sudden appearance of At at her side.  The tall Clendornan's lips 
were pressed into a thin line as he nodded to Kan@Kon.  "At ... this is 
. . ."  Jael gestured, trying to force out the name.

"Kan-Kon," said the ex-rigger in a husky voice.

At's eyebrows jumped.  "Rarberticandornan," he said, shaking hands.  
"Please call me At."

"At ... yes.  You are Miss Jael's rigging partner, then," Kan-Kon 
murmured, bowing slightly.  "Most pleased to meet you."

At bowed back.  "And you are ... the one who .  .

"Yes," Kan-Kon said quickly, glancing away self-consciously.  "I'm 
afraid I gave her a bit of a start just now.  I don't always-that is, I 
don't think ... well."  He smoothed down the front of his tunic.  "I 
think she was surprised to see me here.  But yes, I am the one who-" 
and he shrugged with a forced smile.  "Are you still trying to-find a 
ship to-') "Go back," Jael whispered.  "Yes."  She looked questioningly 
at At.  He shook his head.  Her breath went out in a sigh.

Kan-Kon's eyes darted from Jael to At and back again.

"Forgive me.  Am I-?"

Jael shook her head.  "No, it's all right.  It's just that ...

well, we've been trying to get the use of one particular ship, you 
see.

A long shot.  But so far Her gaze went back to At.

"No word from Mariella," At said.  He stroked the ridge over his 
temple, his eyes glimmering moodily.  "And the repair yard has already 
filed for the right to go to auction.

If they succeed, I don't think we can do much about it."  He glanced 
at Kan-Kon, who was studying his fingernails.

"Jael, I fear we are being rude.  May we invite your friend to join 
us for tea?"

Kan-Kon looked uncomfortable.  "Tea?"  he murmured, his voice 
cracking a little.  "I don't really-that is, I've finished my business 
here for the day.  How about .  . .

something a little stronger?"  At raised his eyebrows, and Jael 
shrugged, and they all walked down the corridor together.

Settled in a nearby lounge, Kan-Kon drew deeply on a draft of ale.

He sighed with noisy satisfaction, thumping his mug down onto the 
table.  Jael watched uneasily, wondering if he would be transformed 
before her eyes into the man she had met before.  As if reading her 
mind, Kan-Kon murmured, "I expect you're wondering .  He paused.

"Do you still, uh, do business, here at the spaceport7

Jael stammered, trying to fill the awkward silence.

Kan-Kon tipped his head noncommittally.  The question seemed to make 
him uncomfortable.  He grinned, drum@ ming his fingers on the tabletop. 
 "A little, here and there.

I keep my hand in."  He hoisted his mug again, hesitated, then 
laughed abruptly and took another great swallow.  He seemed to want to 
say more.  But he turned to stare out the window instead.

Jael glanced at At, whose expression was unreadable.

"Well," she said, "I guess At might like to hear about your 
experiences with-you know."

Kan-Kon tensed, still looking outside, tapping one fingernail on the 
table.  He finally nodded, and turned back to face them.  "I reckon you 
know what she means, At.  It was nearly seven years 'go, standard."

He cleared his throat noisily, and quit drumming on the table.  "I 
was flying a duel rigger with my friend Hoddy-up from the south toward 
Lexis.  Don't even remember which one of us it was got the idea.  But 
we thought, let's take a detour and see if those rumors're true about 
the dragons.  I mean, here we were, just like everyone else, avoiding 
the mountains.  And it seemed sort of foolish to us.  I was a pretty 
good rigger, back in those days.  Cocky, though.  We didn't really 
think it was true, about dragons.  So we went into the mountains."

"And?"  At asked.

Kan-Kon guffawed bitterly.  "Oh, it was true!  And it wasn't a very 
long detour, either, not once the dragons showed up.

Jael stroked her throat nervously as Kan-Kon told his story.

At displayed the same noncommittal politeness with which he had first 
heard her tell of meeting Highwing.  Kan-Kon, so far, had stuck mainly 
to the duel, which had ended with their capture.  He had not yet 
mentioned the one thing that had convinced her of the truth of his 
story.  She cleared her throat.  "Tell At how it was you heard the 
prophecy."

There was a sudden glimmer in At's eyes.  He took perhaps his third 
sip of ale since they had sat down.

Kan-Kon grunted.  "Right.  Well, they had us trappedcaught on a kind 
of rock plateau, surrounded by four of 'em.  Couldn't flee, couldn't 
fight.  They had us stuck in some kind of a spell, you'd almost say, as 
though our feet was glued to the rock.

But then-" He shook his head as if in puzzlement.  "They got to 
arguin' amongst themselves about whether we were some kind of demons or 
something.  About whether to just barbecue us, or turn us into lizards, 
or I don't know what.  There was some noise about a prophecy, but they 
didn't say anything I could make sense out of.  Not tiff the ill@e 
iffling-appeared."

"What did the iffling say?"  Jael asked, glancing at At.

Kan-Kon sighed.  "Said they was making a mistake.  It sort of sang - 
- - this prophecy to them.  But I swear, it seemed to be looking' right 
at me and Hoddy the whole time.  Mebbe that's why I remember what it 
said so well."

Kan@Kon shuddered, taking another swallow of ale.  He swayed a 
little, as though the power of the memory were too great to contain.

&'mid-it "A,h .  . ."  Kan-Kon slowly drew himself straighter.  He 
seemed a different man from the one who had stood before a crowded bar 
and shouted the words.  Now he spoke them softly.  "It went something' 
like this.  'From beyond life and hope will come one.  Friendless will 
come one.  And the realm shall tremble."  " He peered at Jael."

'Giving her name will come one.  Challenging darkness will come one.

And the realm shall tremble."  Something like that, anyway."  He drew 
a breath and continued, " 'From that one comes a beginning.  From that 
one comes an ending.  And you bet your-' er, that is, 'and surely the 
realm shall tremble."  " He cleared his throat and frowned down at the 
table.  He glanced up and took another drink, a long one.  His sobriety 
was fading visibly.

Jael felt her temples pulsing.  "And what did they do then?"

"Well, that's when Hoddy took it in his head to try to make a break.  
The spell somehow loosened, and he jumped.  And they grabbed him in an 
instant and-" KanKon's voice caught, then turned angry.
 "What they did was@" his voice cracked-"they tore him right out of 
his

 m


body.  Killed him there on the spot.  I don't know how-Or even why.  
They just' did it.  Somethin' happened in the Flux, like a big quaking, 
and then I saw his ... spirit, y'might say ... lift right out of the 
net.  And then somehow they just crushed the life out of him."

Kan-Kon stared at Jael, then jerked his gaze away.  "It was like 
watchin' a flame snuff out.  He was just gone.  But o'course, his body 
was still right there in the rigger-station.  And I had t@to take him 
out and put him in the ... freezer.  And bring him back."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then blinked them open and 
continued in a husky voice, "They cremated him here on Cargeeling.  Put 
it down as unexplained accident.  Flux abscess or some doodoo 
cowpuckeyshit like that.  He's still ... I mean, I go out every once in 
a while to the place where they ... where the marker is."  He drained 
his mug in a single long gulp and savagely punched the table pad for 
another, then stared in silence at the table.

Jao-l asked quietly, "Why didn't they do the same to you?"

Kan-Kon pressed his lips together to keep them from quivering.  "I 
... I guess the iffling .  . . finally got through to 'em.  All along, 
it was sayin', 'He's not the one.  He's not the one!  And even if he 
were, don't you think doing that to him would just make him stronger?"' 
Kan-Kon paused.

"That's what it said.  And I still, to this day, don't know what the 
damn thing meant by it.  But the dragons seemed to know.  At least-in 
the end, two of them made the others set me free."

He cocked his head at Jael.  "And I guess mebbe that's one reason I 
believe you-that not all dragons are bad, I mean.  But lemme tell you, 
I never-never-was so glad to leave a place in my life.  Still, you 
know, to this day ...

there's something about that place that just won't let me go.

I don't know why."  He shook his head, then bowed it, pressing his 
hands together prayerfully in front of his nose.

A thin line of tears was running down his cheek.

At stirred.  "Your words trouble me, Kan-Kon."  The ex-rigger 
snorted, as a robot delivered a fresh mug of ale to the table.  "But 
not, perhaps, for the reasons you think."

The backs of At's eyes glowed like coals.  Twilight was deepening 
outside the window of the lounge.  A starship, locked to a tow, rose 
from the field beyond the administration buildings.  The tow's space 
inductors glowed orange, rising and dwindling into the sky as the tow 
and ship accelerated away.

Kan-Kon grunted.  "So why, then?"

At stroked his temple ridges.  "It's more because ... well, I guess 
you heard our story from Jael already."  When Kan-Kon nodded, At said, 
"It's because, well, I believe that Jael .  . ."  At hesitated.

"She's the One, if that's what you're havin' trouble sayin'.

Hell, I know that already," Kan,Kon said.

At looked disconcerted.  He sat back, glancing at Jael.

"Did you-?"

"Naw," Kan-Kon said.  "I know what you're thinkin'.

That maybe she went around braggin'.  But she didn't, she just' told 
me what happened.  And the rest-hell, it was obvious.  And I guess 
that's why you need to go back.  Because there's something' there that 
you're destined for.  I can't tell you what, and I don't know if it's 
good or bad.  But I'm damn sure it'll be dangerous, and it might even-" 
He swallowed, and his voice softened suddenly.  "Well ... I thought I 
heard these words, too-when the dragons were babbling about the 
prophecy, not the iffling."  He cleared his throat, several times.

"From that one's death will .  . . something something .  . .

ending be wrought."  He stared at her.  "I don't know what it means@r 
if it means anything.  But ... well, if you're destined, then I guess 
you have to go.  But be careful!"  His eyes suddenly came afire, his 
hands in the air, waving.  "Get yourself a ship, Jael!  Don't let this 
thing stand in the way of your destiny!"

Jael felt a chill.  "What do you think we're trying to do!"

"Don't take no for an answer!  If it's money you needaahhhhh-" 
Kan-Kon groaned and abruptly looked away, glaring into space.

Jael watched him, waiting to see if he would finish his sentence.

Finally she whispered, "Do you know where we could get-?"

"Nahhh," Kan-Kon said, breaking the spell.  He shook his head, 
belched, and took another long pull from his mug.  "Well!"  he said, 
straightening up suddenly.  He was still avoiding Jael's eyes, and he 
looked acutely uncomfortable.  Clearly he had said something he wished 
he hadn't.

"Anyways," he blurted, "you shouldn't be listenin' to a washed-up old 
fart like me.  I guess I should be getting' along on my way here.  I 
wish you two ... luck..  . findin' a ship to go, and all.  I know how 
it is, when you got a call and you just' have to do something', 
someway, somehow."

Jael could only stare at him in bewilderment.

"I guess I'll maybe see you two good riggers again before you leave.  
Anyways, thanks for the ... tea."  Kan-Kon heaved himself up and 
walked, swaying, from the room.

 Chapter 13

A PARTNERSHIP FORGED THE posting; of the auction came with shocking 
speed.  The name Seneca appeared on the bulletins two days after the 
default on the bill at the repair yard.  There still was no word from 
Mariella Flaire, but apparently the management of the yard was either 
pessimistic about the chances of being paid or, more likely, eager to 
turn a profit on Flaire's misfortune.

"What are we going to do7" Jael asked, feeling what remained of her 
hope slipping away.

At was silent for a time as they stared at the bulletin.

"Either we triple our money in the next two days or we give up on 
Seneca-" "And find a cheaper ship."  Jael nodded dully.  She had been 
steeling herself for the inevitable.  But what kind of a wreck could 
they afford to buy?  Probably one that couldn't qualify for a 
spaceworthiness certificates At was clearly thinking the same thing.

just remember, she thought, Willie LeBrae made ships fly that had no 
business flying.  If he could do it, so can I.

But as they walked away from the boards, even At was slumping.

The auction was scheduled for two days later' The next day, Jael 
received a message on her room corn: "Miss LeBrae@e urgently request 
you call our office at Krakow Spaceport concerning a matter of great 
import to both of us.  Please call today.  Herbert Connolly, AAA 
Refitting and Resupply, Unlimited, Krakow."  Jael was puzzled, to say 
the least.  She'd never heard of the company, or of Herbert Connolly.

Finally she called the number.  The secretary who answered could tell 
her only that Mr.  Connolly wished her to visit the office as soon as 
possible.

At was off on a round of visits to finance companies and probably 
wouldn't be back for several hours.  After some thought, Jael decided 
to go alone.  The address turned out to be in a line of small offices 
at the edge of the spaceport.

The area was dreary, the buildings a dirty grey.  Only a faded number 
on the front distinguished the building at the address she'd been 
given.  Inside, she found dim hallways and doors with grimy windows.  
At the end of a long hall, she found AAA Refitting and Resupply.  It 
was only a little less depressing on the inside.  Behind the front desk 
were ancient bolos of three obsolete spaceships, all impossibly bright 
and shiny.  The pictures had a slight distortion-shimmet to them.  She 
was sure they were at least two decades old.  The side wall boasted 
last year's calendar.

A matronly seeming woman walked out of a back room.

Jael drew a breath.  "Is Mr.  Connolly here?  I'm Jael-" "LeBrae?

Yes."  The woman touched the corn.  "Ms.  LeBrae here to see you."

"Thank you, Mrs.  Murdock."

A wiry black man emerged from the back room and gestured her in.

He took a seat behind a plain, but immaculate, oak-topped desk.

He stared at her for a moment, without speaking.  Jael perched on the 
edge of an old wooden chair and returned his stare.  His eyes had no 
whites; they were entirely charcoal grey, except for the black pupils.

Against his ebony skin, his eyes seemed to recede into the distance.

Jael blinked, and started to say, You sent me a message, when she 
realized that he had just introduced himself.  "Meez Le-Brae," he 
continued, in carefully clipped syllables, his hands folded before 
him@and he hesitated, as though reluctant to continue, before giving a 
long, wistful sigh, "eet ees my understanding that you are in need of a 
sheep.  Eel I may ask .  . ."  He hesitated again, then shook his head 
and continued, in an accent which she did not recognize, "Is thees so?"

Jael hesitated, then nodded.  How did this man know?

Did rumor travel that fast here in Krakow?

"Well-1-1, then," he said, with a scowl, "it may bee that I can be of 
asseestance to you.  Or-I should say-one whom I represent wishes to 
hell-l-lp you."  He twitched his nose.  As she was about to ask, with 
considerable suspicion, what exactly he was talking about, he added 
emphatically, "This ees not my idea.  But .  . . we have heard of your 
eenterest in a sheep named Seneca-which is schedul-l-led to be 
auctioned.  Eel I may ask-is that correct?  You have flown this sheep 
before?"

Jael felt her brow furrow up as she forced her head to nod.  She felt 
paralyzed by bewilderment.  Who the hell was this man, and who was his 
friend?  Why should she speak to him?  She wanted to run, screaming, 
from the room.  She wanted to fall to her knees and beg him to say 
more.  What did it matter who he was?

"Ah-ha."  Connolly steepled his fingers on his desk, seemingly 
unaware of her -reaction to his question.  "Meez LeBrae, I may have a 
proposition of mutual interest."

He coughed delicately, as her breath caught in her throat.

"That is ... your friend, and my partner, Meester Gonzol-ll,es, has 
asked eel we might join with you in the purchase of the aforementioned 
sheep.  He has expressed his desire to share with you and your partner 
in the ownersheep of that sheep."  Connolly paused, puckering his 
mouth.  "If you would be inter-r-rested .  . ."  He sat back and stared 
at her, as though expecting her to take over the conversation.

When she didn't, he asked with some impatience, "Would that eenterest 
you, Meez LeBrae?"

Jael stared at him stupidly.

Connolly looked pained.  "Meez LeBrae, I am given to understand that 
time is somewhat of the essence in thees matter."  Jael struggled to 
reply.  Who the hell was Mr.  Gonzoles?

Someone At had talked to?  Had he already made it all the way down to 
this ... dump of an office, looking for help?

Tears began to well in her eyes, and she tried to make them stop.

"Meez LeBrae?"

Had this man just offered to help her buy Seneca?  Or was she 
hallucinating ... ?

"Meez LeBrae, you know who I'm talking about, yes?  If I may say, you 
1-1-look sl-l-lightly confused-" She shook her head, blinking.  "I 
don't know any Mr.

Gonzoles!"  she blurted finally.

The charcoal eyes stared.  "Meester Kan-Kon Gonzol-lies?  You don't 
know Kan-Kon Gonzoll-les?"

Kan-Kon?  she thought, certain she must have misheard.

Kan-Kon Gonzoles?  "Excuse me," she whispered.  She shook her head.  
"That's ridiculous.  Kan@Kon couldn't possibly b@I mean he's, he's-" A 
drunkard.  A failure.  A misfit.

"Yes," Connolly agreed, as though reading her thoughts.

"That ees true.  Nevertheless-" "Are you telling me," she demanded, 
"that Kan-Kon is in a position to help me buy a ship?"

Connolly looked disconsolate.  "Yesss, Meez LeBrae.  I'm afraid so.  
I assure you, thees idea is as unsettling to me as it is to you."

He hesitated.  "But shall we continue?"

Jael swallowed and stared at him in disbelief.  Connolly seemed to 
take that as assent, and went on to present the particulars of the 
proposed arrangement: a pooling of resources, a joint effort.  It all 
seemed more than a little hazy to Jael; she began to feel as if she 
were flying in the riggernet in some sort of syrupy landscape, unable 
to make her thoughts keep up with the events streaming by.  Connolly 
talked, and she answered, but with only scant comprehension of what she 
was saying.  Kan-Kon Gonzoles was going to help them buy the ship.

Kan-Kon.

Only after she had shaken hands with Mr.  Connolly and left the 
office, promising to return with At, did the feeling begin to 
dissipate.  Even then, her head seemed to be ringing so loudly she 
could scarcely hear a sound around her.  But by the time she returned 
to her quarters, she was beginning to believe it, and to become 
excited, filled with the strange conviction that things were at last 
starting to turn her way.

By the time At came back, it was well after the close of business 
hours.  Nevertheless, after she'd explained the situation to an 
incredulous At, she called Connolly, and he urged them to come right 
down.

It was now dark in the industrial park.  There was a nightglow 
billboard on the side of one of the buildings, spelling out a graphic 
enticement for an erotic-aid product, with glowing, billowing green 
images and words that seemed to rise out of the flat side of the 
building.  Jael was glad, as she walked past it with At, that it was 
too dark for him to see her flushing with indignation.

The hallway leading to Connolly's office was even gloomier than it 
had been in daylight, but the office itself was blazingly lit with 
ceiling panels.  Mrs.  Murdock was still there, along with Connolly and 
one other person.  Kan-Kon was half leaning, half sitting on the 
windowsill beside Con, nolly's desk, his head bowed, fingers stroking 
his chin in thought.  He looked sober, intensely so.  He didn't stir 
for a few seconds after Jael and At came in.  Then his eyes rose to 
meet Jael's, and at once darted away again, in embarrassment.  She 
thought she glimpsed a faint upturn of one cornet of his mouth.

"Now, then, do wee all-l-I know why wee're her-r-re?"

Connolly asked, in a tone of obvious sarcasm.  He looked from one to 
another with a gaze that seemed disapproving.

Jael suddenly had a feeling that Kan-Kon and Connolly had been 
arguing.

At waited for Jael to answer, but when she didn't, he murmured, 
"Well, as I understand it, we're here to discuss terms for the purchase 
of a ship."  He set his glowing eyes upon the silent ex-rigger.

"Kan-Kon.  Mr.  Gonzoles.  I am ... surprised.  I believe I speak for 
Jael, also."

There was an awkward pause.  Kan-Kon suddenly looked up and grinned 
broadly.  "Guess I never told you, when I quit riggin' I went into the 
shippin' business."

At shook his head, his lips crinkling ever so slightly.  "I believe 
you omitted that fact.  But then-" and he glanced at Jael-"I suppose we 
never asked, either."

Kan-Kon continued to grin.  "But I tol' you I kep' my hand in."

Jael flushed.  You did, she thought.  And we never asked because we 
thought you were a hopeless drunk.  We thought you slept in the street 
at night.  Go ahead and say it, At, it's true.

"I reckon it's understand'able," Kan-Kon admitted.

"After all, I don't 'exactly-well-that is, I do have my problems.

I'll be the first to admit it.  And I don't exactly run what you 
would call a high-class shippin' firm@o I, Herb?"

Jael found herself quaking with silent, astonished laughter.  "You 
mean, this is-" Her voice failed, and she gestured around.

"My outfit, more 'r less, yep."  KanKon cackled suddenly.  "Not that 
Herb here would let me brag much about my contribution to the 
day-to-day operation-would you, Herb?"

Connolly steepled his fingers on the desk, looking long, suffering 
but near the end of his patience.  "Eel I may sayweeth all respect-we 
do a pr-ofitabl-l-le enough business here.  That is-" and his gaze 
darkened even further4 1when we refr-r-rain from ... unwise purchases."

Kan-Kon suddenly became serious.  "Yep, we make a pretty good 
profit-thanks almost entirely to Herb Connolly, who don't drink near as 
much as I do.  An' if he owned any more of the company, he'd prob'ly 
kick me out on my rear, an' I couldn't much blame him.  And o'course, 
the whole place would fall apart without Mrs.  Murdockisn't that right, 
Mrs.  M?"  He glanced at the older woman, who merely sighed, shaking 
her head in disapproval.

"But you two don't give a dinglydamn about that.  You need a ship.

And mebbe I can help you."  He paused, while Jael and At looked at 
each other and back at Kan-Kon, who grinned again.  "Wouldn't you know, 
it happens that we've been known to buy a ship or two at auction.

Thing is, right just now, we don't have the capital to buy your ship, 
Seneca, right out.  But I thought just mebbe, if we put our heads 
together, we could become shared owners-Herb's quite proper 
reservations notwithstanding, you understand.  Then you could take that 
flight you been dreamin' about to certain regions of the civilized 
realm."  With a sidelong glance at Connolly, he winked at Jael.  She 
could not help trembling with hope.

"Eel I may say-" Connolly interjected.

"No, Herb, you may not," Kan-Kon barked, with sudden vehemence.

Connolly stiffened.  "I am onl-l-ly trying to prevent a terribl-l-e 
mistake.  Do you know what it could cost you to-'$ Kan-Kon shook his 
head.  "Sorry, Herb.  Yes, I do know.

But this time I'm pullin' rank on you."

"Then perhaps-s-s you should theenk about finding another operations 
manager-r-r."

Kan,Kon sighed.  "Herb, Her@on't take this so personal, will you?

You can go right back to runnin' the whole show and making' us lots 
of money, just as soon as these folks is on their way."

At spoke before Connolly could reply.  "May I ask ... why ...

you're offering to do this?  It's not that I'm unappreciative, but - 
."

Kan,Kon glanced at Connolly, who looked away-then suddenly leaned 
forward.  For a moment, he seemed to be gathering some inner strength.

He closed his eyes and said, "Yeah, I guess I can tell you.  Or try, 
anyways."  When he opened his eyes again, they were burning with 
intensity.

"There was a time, once, when I didn't do something' I should've 
done."  His voice caught.  "When I ran ... instead of standin' and 
doing' what a rigger might've done."

"You mean-" Jael began.

"I meant don't know what I coulda' done to save him, exactly, but I 
do know my partner's dead because I was too scared to try."  Kan-Kon 
drew his lips together, touching his chin with one hand, looking as if 
he were thinking of something that he was afraid to speak of, even now.

He shook his head slowly.  "At least, I'm pretty sure he's dead.

And if he's not ... oh holies, I bet he wishes he were."

Kan-Kon's breath whistled out in a nervous sigh, and his next words 
were whispered.  "Because I know from what the ills-ifflings-said, that 
there's something' dangerous out there.

Somethin' mighty big, and dangerous, and grow, in', and-well, I guess 
you know it as well as I do, you told me about it yourself.  You called 
it-what-?"

"Tar-skel," Jael whispered with a shudder.

"Right.  And that's really, I figure, what got Hoddy.  it scares me 
to think about it, even after seven years.  But ... mebbe I coulda done 
something about it then-for Hoddy, anyways-but I didn't.  And mebbe now 
I got an, other chance."

Connolly looked disgusted.  "Dangerous fantasies," he hissed.

"You run from fantasies, and now you dreenk and you won't take the 
treatment for it because " "Not fantasies!"  Kan-Kon shouted.  "Real."

His voice softened as he turned back to Jael and At.  "Real.  And 
maybe you two can do something' about it, in my place.  just maybe."

At stared at him for a few moments.  "What exactly are you 
proposing?"  he asked quietly.  "Seneca goes up for auction day after 
tomorrow."

"Don't y'know."  Kan-Kon drew himself up, and nodded as though 
dismissing his disagreement with Connolly.  "But what if we paid off 
her refit bill?  What if we stopped that old auction and bought her at 
a favored price from your old employer?  You think he might go for 
that?  Hell, at auction, he'd be lucky to cover his legal fees, 
anyway."

"She," Jael croaked.

"Beg your pardon.  She.  But she might just' do better, and we might 
do better, if we cut a deal on that ship and get her off that auction 
block before she gets on.  What do you say?

Can you reach her?"

"She's on Vela Oasis," At said.

Kan-Kon frowned.  "Long ways away.  If we can't reach her, I don't 
know if we could do it.  We could pay to spring the ship, but how do we 
know she'd honor the deal?"

"I'd trust her," At said slowly.  "But it would be better to have 
confirmation, certainly."

Kan-Kon pointed to the corn, finger tapping.  "Fluxwave is as close 
as your phone," he said cheerily.  "Class One 'gram, and you pay for 
it?"

Jael winced at the thought of the cost.  But Class One was the surest 
way to get through.  She swallowed and nodded to At.  He stirred, but 
before reaching for the corn, he asked one more question.

"Exactly how much were you looking for us to invest?"

Kan-Kon whooped and grinned at his unhappy partner.

"How much you got?"

Even after the answer came back from Flaire on Vela Oasis, approving 
the sale price, it was no easy matter to work out all of the details.  
Jael gratefully left most of that in At's hands while she completed her 
research on the fastest course from Cargeeling to the distant mountain 
realm.

When the dust had settled, Jael and At were listed as first and 
second in command, respectively.  Kan-Kon, or rather, AAA Refitting and 
Resupply, Unlimited, was listed as minority shareholder.  Kan-Kon could 
have demanded more, and they would have given it to him, but as he 
said, "Hell, you think I want it on my shippin' record that I ordered 
one of my ships to fly the mountain route?  It's outta my hands-outta 
my hands.  just pay me my share o' the profits."  There was some 
discussion about a cargo manifest for the trip-which might, after all, 
recover the costs of their voyage once they reached Lexis or another 
port.  Jael was reluctant to take on the responsibility for a cargo, 
but they finally settled on a small manifest of surplus optronics parts 
that AAA had purchased at auction some time ago and had been unable to 
get rid of.

There was one more thing that seemed to be on KanKon's mind, but he 
seemed to be having trouble getting around to saying it.  Jael thought 
perhaps she knew what it was.  "Would you .  . . Kan-Kon, are you 
changing your mind?  Would you like to come with us?"  She glanced at 
At, who merely looked puzzled.

Kan-Kon turned white.  "By the holies, no!"  he whispered.  "But-" 
and he hesitated and swallowed hard, and Jael realized that she had, 
perhaps inadvertently, touched upon what was bothering him.  "There is 
something' I want to say before you go," he murmured.  "And that's..."

He swallowed again.

"What is it, Kan@Kon.7" Jael asked softly.

"Well... it's about when I was there.  With Hoddy.

When I... when I let him ... die."  Kan@Kon's hands were moving inm 
Small circles around one another, wringing and clasping; Jael had never 
seen him look so nervous before.

"You didn't let him die," Jael whispered.  "You couldn't have stopped 
it."

"Couldn't It" Kan-Kon said plaintively.  "Couldn't I?

You don't know that-" "But the dragons!  What could you have done 
against the dragons?"

Kan-Kon nodded and wrung his hands some more.  "I don't ...

exactly know.  But Jael remember this!  You can change things in the 
Flux!  You can change things!"  He groaned, almost whimpering.  "I 
forgot, Jael.  I forgot that.

Don't let the same thing happen to you, okay?  Okay?"

Jael nodded.  "Okay."

He seemed to brighten, and looked from Jael to At and back again.

"Good, then.  Good!"  He picked up a hardprint from his desk and 
waved it in the air.  "Shall we go give our new ship a look-over?"

Jael jumped up without answering.  She didn't have to.  It was all 
she could do to keep from running across the space@ port field.

By the beginning of the second week following, Seneca was 
reregistered, fueled, provisioned, and waiting on a liftoff pad.  They 
would depart in the morning.

Jael could scarcely wait.  Tonight they would sleep aboard ship.

Tonight, she knew, she would sleep the rest@ less sleep of a soldier 
before battle.

 Chapter 14

INTO THE STREAMS OF THE FLUX SPACE!

Liftoff came precisely on time, at 0842 local.  The tow carried them 
swiftly into space and left them on an outbound course, rising out of 
the plane of the ecliptic of Cargeeling's sun.  After a check of the 
rigging systems, Jael took up her station in the starboard 
rigger@alcove.  Reclining in the couch, she took a deep breath.  Her 
vision of the console overhead darkened, and her senses sprang outward 
into the net, into the mists of the Flux.  She was floating in space, 
the ship invisible behind her.  There appeared to be a white layer of 
fog below her, a morning mist clinging to the surface of an infinitely 
deep sea.  It was a mist that no morning sun would ever burn away.

At joined her in the net like a swimmer slipping silently into the 
water.  They exchanged glances, and together they took the ship down, a 
gleaming silver submarine dropping beneath the waves into a world that 
knew no limits in time or space.  The Flux seemed at once quieter and 
vaster, and yet more alive, than the realm of normal-space.  Once they 
began moving, Jael became aware of the distant whisper of worlds moving 
through the currents of the water, far, far away.

Time passed, as they reacclimated themselves to the net and to the 
Flux.  For Jael, it was her first time rigging in fourteen weeks, and 
she felt like a swimmer whose muscles had tightened from disuse.  Even 
At had to reorient himself to the ship.  Not only had he just come from 
flying another ship; but Seneca's flux-pile systems had been completely 
overhauled, resulting in a different feel to this once-familiar net.

Together, they flew carefully, testing the ship's movements, until 
they were sure they were ready for the faster layers of the Flux.

Ed was another matter.  At favored waiting until they were well under 
way before bringing the parrot into the net, on the theory that the 
more smoothly they were flying, the easier it would be to merge his 
rigging personality with theirs.  Jael thought it better to sort out 
any problems now, while they were still in the easy waters.  Soon 
enough, they would be flying for all they were worth.  At conceded, and 
soon afterward Ed was flying around in the net, happily scrawwwwing and 
screeeeing as he exuberantly tested the limits of the bubble 
surrounding them, and pausing occasionally to pluck at the fruit of a 
tropical cybertree that Jael had introduced into the net for him.

They kept the submarine-bubble image for a while, extending large 
ghostly fins into the currents to carry them along.  The image was of 
their making, but the actual cutrents were objectively real, sensed by 
the rigger,net and transformed through their personal intuition into 
images that they could craft and control.  That was one characteristic 
which distinguished the mountain realm of the dragons from other 
regions of the Flux.  The landscape there was far less mutable, their 
control over it limited mostly to the altering of their own physical 
form.  Why this was true, she could only guess: perhaps it was because 
of the living beings there-the dragons, ifflings, and who knew what 
else.

She in truth knew little about life in the dragon realm, or the rules 
by which life was lived there.

In her rigger-school training, when the subject of the 
dragons-in-space legend was first raised, the instructors had spoken at 
length of the dangers of taking legend too seriously, of mistaking 
one's own prejudices and expectations for realities inherent to the 
Flux.  That was good wisdom; but those instructors, she guessed, would 
never have believed the truth of her experiences along the legendary 
((mountain route."

Just the thought was enough to remind her of the urgency of their 
mission.  Without a word, she began pushing herself harder.  The 
faster, deeper currents beckoned, and time was fleeing....

The surviving ifflmg--hfld nearly m@ its opportunity to follow the 
human rigger.  While keeping its distance from the dangerous 
false-iffling, it had been trying to save its strength, drawing energy 
from the distant light of this world's sun, while keeping a silent 
watch on the human rigger's spirit-presence.  It felt fairly confident 
that its message to her had been heard.  But it was shocked when it 
realized that the rigger-spirit was suddenly rising away from the 
surface of its world.  The iffling shot upward in pursuit.

Outside the atmosphere, the sunlight was stronger, giving it just 
enough strength to pursue and intercept the speeding vessel in which 
the rigger Jael had clothed herself.  Should it continue to follow at a 
distance?  the iffling wondered.  Or should it try to penetrate the 
conducting enclosure of the vessel?  Something odd was happening around 
it, some sort of disturbance in the flow of space and time.  What was 
the human doing?

As the iffling-child wondered, it saw the enemy-spirit appear, 
momentarily, from within the vessel.  The thing darted back into the 
ship, no doubt having spotted its adversary.  That left no question: 
the iffling streaked forward to catch the gleaming ship.  Wary of the 
enemy, it slipped in through an opening where energy pulsed, gaining a 
breath of strength as it did so.  It darted through the 
shadow-structure of the ship, seeking a place of safety from which to 
watch the human.

It found a spot near the focal point of the disturbance.

Hardly had the iffling settled into place when the disturbance 
deepened without warning.  Dizzily the iffling clung to the structure, 
aware of the enemy also watching from the far side of the vessel.  The 
web of space-time opened in the center of the disturbance, the threads 
separating from one another, the vessel sliding into the underrealm of 
this strange human reality.  The threads closed behind it as the vessel 
plunged deep into the underrealm.

The iffling was both terrified and relieved.  An instant later and it 
might have been left behind, alone in human space, the rigger out of 
its reach forever.  The iffling clung to its position ever more 
guardedly, watching the enemy, watching the human in its ship, waiting 
to see where it would go.

Home, perhaps.  Home.

Jael, do you want to rest awhile?

She glanced from the bow position, where the bubble was spearing 
through the fast-flowing waters, back toward At, who was sitting at the 
stern wielding a long,handled tiller.  The image was absurd: a 
submarine with a sailboat's tiller.  But it was working.  Their course 
was taking them over a rising and dipping bottom surface, following the 
contours of a strange abyssal plain as the light-years flowed around 
them.  Jael shook her head.  This is no place for one person to try to 
handle the ship, she answered, focusing her control on the steering 
planes at the prow of the ship.

We could ease off and drift higher for a while, At said.  We need to 
rest sometime, you know.

He was right, of course.  Nevertheless, she shook her head.  The 
current was moving in the precise direction she wanted, and she didn't 
want to lose any time because of something like a need for rest.  She 
knew she was being stubborn-but sometimes, she thought, stubborn is the 
right way to be.

At didn't ask again, though they had been flying for most of a 
shipday.  They both knew it was a question not only of how long it 
would take to get there, but how tired they wanted to be when they 
arrived.  Would they be flying into a fight?  Would they find Windrush 
on trial for his life, the way they had found Highwing-or would they 
find something they couldn't even imagine?  Whatever the answer, Jael 
knew this: she didn't want to mourn over fallen friends because she had 
answered the summons too late.  She could forgive herself for many 
failings, but not that.

They fell endlessly downward through an atmosphere of pastel clouds.  
It was their third day of flight, and the deep sea imagery was long 
behind them.  Seneca was dropping like a floating seed through an 
atmosphere reminiscent of a gas-giant planet.

In reality, they were crossing downward through the galactic plane, 
seeking new currents that would angle back upward from the south, 
toward Lexis and the other Aeregian worlds.  She had no interest in 
reaching those star systems; but somewhere below, coursing upward 
toward them, were currents that swept past a landscape filled with 
images of mountains.  Even farther to the south, and outward on the 
galactic radial, lay a small backwater planet named Gaston's Landing, 
where Jael had been born and raised.  She had not been back there since 
her fateful trip with Mogum.

Heads up, Ed!
 The parrot responded to At's call by banking left, then right, as a 
billowing cloud fled by them.  Ed was driving, leading the way now and 
doing a superb job of steering

 di


them through the patchwork of clouds.  But he had a tendency to be 
hypnotized by his own flying.  Arrk, he muttered, bringing them back on 
course.  Air so deep!  Rawk!  Hit i I bottom soon?

Jael had been wondering the same thing.  They had been dropping for a 
long time now, and it was hard to be sure of their progress.  The nay 
libraries were helpful, but only up to a point.  The currents and forms 
of the Flux changed constantly-as did the galaxy itself, of course but 
on a much faster time scale than the normal-space galaxy.

One took note of other riggers' flight reports, but one also expected 
to be surprised.

Jael was plagued by a recurring fear that her intuition about the 
Flux, and about their course, was not entirely clear, that she was 
being subtly influenced by ... she didn't know what ... momentary 
waking dreams, perhaps, or by her imagination of what might be 
happening in the realm in her absence.  There was a voice that seemed 
to speak to her in the silence of the net, telling her there was no 
reason to hurry, or to be going at all.  And yet at other times another 
voice seemed to whisper that the need had never been greater.

She wondered, sometimes, if she was descending into madness.  But she 
knew which way her heart spoke, and it made her want to fly faster than 
ever.

The bottom of the atmosphere came up like a fist, flat and massive 
and dark.  Ed saw it first and squawked, and Jael called at once for a 
new image.  At!  Aerobat!  she cried, extending her arms.

The ship sprouted the stubby lifting surfaces of an aero@ batic 
aircraft, and she began hauling up hard on the nose, taking care not to 
overstress the wings.  The net shuddered but held, as At and Ed joined 
her in the effort.

It was going to be close.  The ground rose to meet them.

Their dive slowly flattened out.  Hawunvk!  Hawwwk!  Ed cried, 
beating his wings fiercely in an effort to pull them into a climb.

At, hold it steady!  Jael cried, pitching the nose up still harder.

They were in level flight now, but a series of hills loomed up before 
them.  The wind screamed in her ears.  They began to climb, turning 
their speed back into altitude.  But the hills seemed to grow as they 
loomed closer.  She had only moments to decide: go around, or over?  In 
her instant of hesitation, she felt Ed give a powerful kick upward.

Grimacing, she held the wings level.  The hills rose ... and the ship 
rose just a little faster ... and the hilltops flashed beneath them 
with a whump!  of turbulence.

Then the hills were gone behind them, and a flat plain opened up 
below.  A powerful downdraft swept them down to the plain, and they 
sped along just above its surface, all three of them gasping, their 
momentum carrying them with astonishing speed toward a region of 
murkiness ahead.

jarvorus knew they were drawing closer to the home-web, to the realm 
that had spawned him.  He could not say how he knew, but there was a 
feeling deep in his being, a feeling that bore the name "home."

He knew, as well, that the time for completing his mission was 
growing short.  The human was returning to the realm, as foretold.  But 
to whose influence would she return?  His task was to take her to Rent, 
and ultimately to the Nail, to the one who had created him, who had 
taken a mere cavern sprite and transformed it into jarvorus the 
warrior.  He did not intend to fail in his task.

He kept his watch on the remaining iffling, and knew that it was 
watching him just as carefully for any sign of weakness or inattention.

But Jarvorus had the advantage.  He had only to draw the human just a 
little astray, to keep her clear of the dragons and lead her instead to 
his Master.  There she would serve the prophecies, but not in the way 
the enemy k expected.  She would die, yes, and the realm would tremble, 
yes-but with the victory of the True One, the True Power, the Nail of 
Strength.

jarvorus had only a dim knowledge of the prophecies and the lines of 
battle ahead.  But he trusted and believed his Masters; he could feel 
the coming victory already.

There was a change coming up in the underreatity, and jarvorus 
thought he sensed the power of the True One in that change.  He was 
glad of that; he would not be fighting alone much longer.

The murk turned into darkness, and soon they were underwater again, 
but this time moving like catfish, feeling their way through an almost 
impenetrable gloom.  It was apparently a boundary layer of some sort, 
and if they could just get through it, Jael hoped that they would 
emerge into a faster-moving layer, one that would transport them 
quickly toward the mountain realm.

She had her hands outstretched, moving over the bottom.  It was stony 
and slick, the current slow but steady.  It was almost too steady, and 
that made her nervous.  There ought to be at least a little turbulence. 
 It was almost as if some outside force were bracing the current, like 
a muddy river in a channel.  It was only a feeling, but she had learned 
long ago to trust her intuition in the Flux.  Should she trouble the 
others with her feeling?  she wondered.

She was just on the verge of voicing her unease when the murkiness 
vanished, like a curtain being torn away.  They were floating in clear, 
midnight-blue space, but the space was half filled by something that 
took her breath away.  it was an enormous, transparent ... creature?

... or structure?  It filled much of their view with a tracery of 
luminous webbing, like an enormous spiderweb.  Beads of light moved in 
and out along its radial strands, like liquid drops, and waves of light 
and shadow flickered along the arcs of the webbing.  It appeared 
hundreds of times the size of their ship, and they were moving directly 
toward it.

At?

I don't know what it is, either, Jael.

Ed fluttered up and down, and from one side of the net to the other.  
Rawk!  Too big!  Too big!  Make it small!  Hurry!

Make it small!

We can't, Ed, Jael said urgently.  Please settle down and help us try 
to understand it.  She stared at the thing, and shivered suddenly.

I feel a ... presence... here, At.  As if it's alive, andit knows 
we're here.  I feel a... She hesitated.  I feel danger.

I don't know why, or what kind.  She glanced back and could see At's 
eyes glowing in the darkness, and the faintest outline of his face.  Do 
you feel it?

At looked disturbed, but didn't answer.

The ship seemed to be moving inexorably toward the thing.  Whether 
her premonition of danger was correct or not, there was little they 
could do about it.  The current was growing stronger, and it flowed 
directly toward the web.  It occurred to Jael that if indeed it was 
alive, this might be how it fed itself, by seining whatever came along, 
like a whale filtering plankton with its baleen.  The idea was 
alarming.

Ed perched between the two humans and tried to make himself small.

He trembled with fear, and made clucking sounds under his breath.

Can we steer through the gaps?  At murmured.  I don't see any other 
way.

Jael nodded silently.  She saw no alternative, either.  But there 
remained that internal voice, warning of danger.

The thing grew visibly larger as they approached.  It stretched far 
to their right, and to their left, and above and below them, creating 
the illusion that it was wrapping itself slowly around them.

Or was it an illusion?  The threads of the web were close enough to 
see more clearly now; they looked like soft glass tubes, with liquid 
light streaking along their lengths.  The threads flexed slowly, and 
several strands were bending inward toward them, as though to entrap 
the ship in its mesh.

At, look out!  she cried.  Aim for the center-if we can maneuver at 
all!

At joined her in steering away from the strands.  The shape of the 
webbing became foreshortened like a halo around them as they sped 
toward its center.  The current was irresistible, and she felt a 
mounting sense of danger, a feeling that something malevolent was 
peering at them through this web.  Oddly, her fear of being trapped 
dwindled; instead, she began to feel that they were about to be flung 
onward-but in what direction?  They would have only an instant in which 
to determine their course.  The tiniest error could mean light-years of 
difference.

She was sure that this thing was alive.  We're not your enemy!

she cried out in desperation, in the instant before they flew into 
the plane of the web.

What happened next occurred in an eyeblink, yet seemed to take 
forever.

The ship flashed into the darkness of the gap.

It was like a circuit closing.  The rigger-net came alive with 
electricity.  Jael glimpsed Ed and At alight with fire, becoming 
transparent like the web; she glimpsed their thoughts and memories 
streaming out into the webbing like wildfire.  She knew she was as 
transparent as they; she felt her own thoughts pouring out, her hopes, 
dreams, fearsmost of all, her fears about failing her dragon 
friends@and glimpsed them being drawn into the web.

What if you fail to reach the realm?  What if you're destroyed here 
and now?  The fears seemed to rise up from the Flux itself.  She heard 
At calling out to her, but he sounded light-years away.

In this frozen instant, she knew that the web was alive, toying with 
them.  And now something was erupting from it-a face in their path, an 
enormous face outlined with the same light that rippled through the 
webbing.  It was a bearded, rheumy-eyed face, a face she knew and hated 
with all of her being.

Mogum!  You can't be alive!  she whispered.

Was it possible?  Could this webbing have caught her old captain's 
life energy from the Flux and preserved it, preserved him in all his 
evil?

No, no, no, no ... !

Another voice was crying frantically that it was not real, she was 
being deceived.  But Mogurn's presence was overwhelming: the 
malevolence that poured from him toward the one who had denied him, who 
had killed him.

Mogurn, damn you forever!  Get out of my way!  she cried.

She kicked the ship hard and slewed past him, and the face exploded 
into streams of light that ran back up into the web.

In the same instant the net blazed white around her, and all sound 
and thought were obliterated by the roar.  It was too much for the net 
to handle.  She was suddenly certain they were going to die; they were 
dying, she felt death moving through the net as synapses burned and 
evaporated.  She felt no panic, only regret.  She had no awareness at 
all now of her fellow riggers, and the thought flashed that she hoped 
she would know them beyond death.  Windrush, I'm sorry!  she whispered.

She felt a searing pain as the brightness became unbeara, able.

Then it was gone and everything was lost to blackness.

  PAr,u THREE


THE REALM 11
 a

  PROLOGUE


IN THE luminous spaces of the Dream Mountain, the choir of voices was 
soft but unceasing, even as individual draconae joined and left the 
choir, where the retelling of the words kept the memories alive in the 
heart of the Mountain.  Among them was a memory passed down through 
uncounted generations, from a time just after the dark one's earlier 
defeat in a terrible battle with dragonkind.  This memory was treasured 
above all.  This memory, was of the time when the prophetic visions had 
appeared....

In those days, reverberations of the first war with Tar-skel had not 
yet died down; but so weary were the draconae, and so preoccupied with 
tending the hatchlings and fledglings, that the watch on the dreamfires 
had, for a time, diminished.  Just one aging dracona named Sunfire was 
tending the Forge of Dreams at the heart of the Mountain, when the fire 
blinked@immed@d to her astonishment, produced a dark opening in its 
blazing light, where figures appeared to move and cry out.  Sunfire, 
half lost in her own dreams, came to alertness in fear and 
bewilderment.  At first she thought it an astounding glimpse of the 
Final Dream Mountain, where departed souls dwelled in the warmth and 
light of the fires.  But some inner sense told her that this was 
something different, something extraordinary; it was a glimpse into 
another world ... or another time.  She heard a voice whispering to her 
. . .

Before she could make sense of any of it, Sunfire fell into a trance, 
visions pouring into her mind like tongues of fire from the dream 
forge.  How long she lay that way, she didn't know; but she knew she 
was not wholly alone, she felt another there with her, a being of 
shadow and stealth, a being neither of the Mountain nor of the fire.

When she awoke, it was to the rustling of glassy wings, the cries of 
other draconae coming to her aid.  Were they the ones she had felt?

No-she recalled a sharp movement and a glimpse of the shadow darting 
away, down into the underrealm from which it had come.  Her cry of 
warning was too late; the servant of the Enemy was already gone, or 
hidden.  But perhaps it made no difference: the Enemy had already been 
defeated.  What harm could its servants do now?

As she opened her mouth to explain to the others, utterly different 
words rose unbidden in her throat.  Unable to stop or control them, she 
heard herself crying: The dark one returns Its spells to weave That 
those who forget Lose all they believe.

The realm will quake But little know The power that yet Remains to 
grow.

To tear from its midst The fires of being, That dragons may die, 
Unknowing, unseeing.

Sunfire gasped for breath, nearly overcome by astonishment at her own 
words.  She knew that they came not from her, but from the vision in 
the fire.  The draconae murmured and rustled, repeating her words as 
she spoke them.
 Her voice deepened as she sang: From beyond life will come one From 
beyond hope will come one

 Without friend will come one


And the realm shall tremble.
 Innocent of our ways will come one Challenging darkness will come one 
Speaking her name will come one


And the realm shall tremble.


The words poured from her throat in great waves, filling her with 
dread and wonder.  The old dracona nearly fainted as she sang, and 
finally groaned: The one will fall as the battle is fought UPon her 
death is the ending umought.
 From that one comes a beginning From that one comes an ending From 
that one all paths diverge


And surely the realm shall tremble.


As she gasped for weary breath, she glimpsed the shadow-thing again, 
fleeing through the underrealm, out of the Mountain@and she knew that 
it had heard it all, heard all that the other draconae were chorusing 
and repeating, committing to memory.  The others seemed to understand 
already what Sunfire was only hazily beginning to see, that these words 
were for the heart and soul of dragonkind.

They were not for the present but for the future, for the ages to 
come.

 Chapter 15

TR-@-ON AND TREACHERY Windrush BLINKED his eyes open.  He glimpsed 
several sweepers scurrying out of sight, carrying his night scales and 
puffs of dust toward their dens.  Was that what had awakened him?  He 
forced his thoughts up into the glare of true wakefulness.  He sensed 
that it was very early, -scarcely dawn on the outside.  He had hardly 
found sleep at all, and what he had found had been restless and 
unsatisfying.  It was not the sweepers but his own thoughts that had 
awakened him.

He thought of yesterday: the iffling, the demon, the vision.  And 
FullSky.  There was so much to think about, so much to be understood.

He vented a breath of steam.  He could not remember when he had felt 
so tired.  But he sensed that sleep was beyond him now; what he should 
do is fly to the camp and share his knowledge with those he could 
trust.

And Farsight and WingTouch needed to know that their brother FullSky 
still lived.

Crouching, he let his thoughts drift down into the under, web of his 
cavern's protective spells.  He leaped, tugging at the exit spell as he 
spread his wings and beat downward.

The cavern vanished from around him, and he was airborne over the 
mountains under a rose-and-violet dawn.

He flew south toward the main encampment.

When he arrived, he found considerable commotion in the camp.  The 
guard dragons greeted him somberly as he circled overhead, and when he 
landed, the dour figure of Rockclaw limped out toward him.  Rockclaw 
was too old and frail for battle, but he had the sharpest memory of all 
the draconi, and it was his duty to gather information and report it to 
the leaders.  Usually when he came to report to Windrush these days, it 
was with bad news.

"Rockclaw.  You are about early, today."

Rockclaw regarded him with dusty-seeming eyes.  "Yes, Windrush.

But not gladly.  Have you heard the news of your brother?"

Windrush exhaled a plume of steam.  FullSky?  Had the others learned, 
somehow, of FullSky?  That was impossible ...

"WingTouch did not return from last night's patrol," Rockclaw said, 
with a shake of his head.  "Nor did Loudcry."  The old grey dragon 
gazed moodily toward the south.

"His patrol was attacked by drahls.  Most of the drahls were 
destroyed-but those two have gone missing.  FireEye said he felt 
someone die."  Rockclaw sighed.  "A search has begun, but-" He shook 
his head and left the sentence unfinished.

Windrush's breath left him.  WingTouch, killed by drahls?  He could 
not have regained one brother in the night, only to lose another!

"No!"  he whispered.

"It is hard news," Rockclaw agreed.

"NO!"  Windrush thundered, ignoring the looks he drew from the camp.  
Turning from Rockclaw, he leaped into the air and beat his wings, 
climbing in anguish toward the target cliff at the south end of camp.  
"WingTouch!"  Gaining altitude above the cliff, he banked and dove 
toward the target wall.  "WingTouch!  LOUDCRY!"  He loosed a great 
flame onto the wall and veered away, climbing again with pounding 
wingstrokes, circling for another pass.  "Die, drahls!"  he cried, as 
he hurled himself toward the wall for another pass.  His flame scorched 
the rock.

By the time he had started his third pass, at least half a dozen 
others had taken to the air to join him, and more were bestirring 
themselves.  WingTouch and Loudcry had both had friends, and even those 
who did not know them as friends mourned them as brothers fallen in the 
war.

Soon there was a small army of dragons flying out their grief and 
anger against the target wall-and even after Windrush had spent his own 
immediate rage, the others continued their grief flight, targeting the 
wall with fire that they were helpless to turn upon the Enemy.

Windrush let out a long, flaming breath and spiraled down to land.

He felt spent, and utterly at a loss.  "Is Farsight about!"  he asked 
the nearest leader, Stronghold.

The tan dragon shook his head darkly, staring back at Windrush.

"What is it?"  Windrush asked, sensing that the other dragon had 
something to say.

Stronghold clenched his talons, and grumbled throatily.

"How much longer will you wait, Windrush?  How much longer?"

Windrush blinked and regarded the leathery, powerfully muscled 
dragon.  "What do you mean!"

"Strike at the Enemy!"  Stronghold said.  "Before we do it ourselves! 
 Do you not hear your brothers calling for action?  Will you wait until 
they challenge you for a new leader!  Act, Windrush!  Act!"

Windrush stared at the dragon in shock.  "Do you doubt my leadership? 
 My garkkondoh?  My honesty?"

Stronghold hissed furiously.  "No one doubts your honesty, Windrush!  
Certainly not I. But you are losing the will of your brothers.  You are 
so absorbed in your ...

underrealm-" and he puffed great clouds of steam, which almost hid 
from Windrush's sight the other dragon's amber-glowing eyes, and the 
faces of others who were gathering close to listen-"and your demons and 
your visions.

You test our patience, as we watch our brothers fall, and our lumenis 
vanish!"

Windrush was nearly speechless.  "How can you saydon't you 
understand-?"

He was drowned out by a rising grumble from the dragons gathered 
around.  "Take us to battle!"  a dragon behind him cried.  "Or someone 
else will!"

Windrush drew a long, deep breath and turned to see who was present.  
Many were simple warriors, some were leaders.  Their voices told him 
that Stronghold was telling the truth.  If he wanted to keep the 
dragons united behind him, he could delay no longer.  This was not the 
time to tell anyone about FullSky, or to speak of the ifflings, or of 
Jael.

He saw it in the eyes of the dragons gathered, and in those emerging 
from the sleeping warrens to learn what was happening, and in those 
just now landing from their grief flight.

These dragons were angry.  They wanted battle, not patience, and if 
they did not find the leadership in Windrush, they would find it in 
SearSky, or in another.  "I see," Win@ drush said at last.

"Do you-?"  began another dragon.

"Silence!"  Windrush roared.

The grumbling stopped.

Windrush hardened his gaze to a glare.  "Leaders!  To the Vale of 
Decision!  Now!"

Cries of triumph went up.  Windrush expelled a long plume of smoke, 
and ignoring the shouts, leaped into the air.  A dozen or more dragons 
followed, while others trumpeted their approval from the ground.  
Windrush flew southeast, over the target wall and over a low ridge of 
mountains, flanked by the flight of angry dragons.  He crested the 
north wall of the Vale of Decision and dropped toward the dry stream 
bed at the bottom of the rocky vale.

He landed on the flat command stone at the head of the valley and 
watched as the dragon leaders came in, soaring and blasting the air 
with fire.  Farsight was not among them; the meeting would have to go 
on without him.

" My brothers!"  he called, his voice thundering out over the vale.  
He, too, was being carried along by rage.  "It is said that the time 
has come to let our anger burn against the Enemy!  What is your voice?"

A rumble of approval went up, with smoke and fire.

"One at a time!  Give me your counsel!  Give me your thoughts!"

Another roar went up, as the dragons vented their rage.

He waited a few moments, then bellowed for silence.  When he had 
their attention, he called to the dragon sitting closest on his left, 
"Winterfall!  Your counsel!"

"Strike at the Black Peak!"  trumpeted the sandy-white dragon.

A fresh cry went up.  Windrush expelled a doubtful plume of smoke.

The Black Peak was a battle already fought.  It was true, they had 
not stretched their limited fighting power to hold the peak where Jael 
had won her victory.  And in the absence of spell-wielding guardian 
dragons, the peak was, for all practical purposes, under the Enemy's 
control again.  But its value at this point was unclear.

Windrush kept his doubts to himself.  "Hailfar!  Your counsel!"

"Strike at the Dark Vale!"  thundered Hailfar, next in the row.

A less animated roar went up.  Strike at the Enemy's heartland?

The seat of Tar-skel's sorcery and terror, and perhaps his own 
dwelling place?  If they could conceivably destroy the Enemy at the 
Dark Vale, the war would be won.  But the Dark Vale was heavily 
protected by drahls, by Tar-skel dragons, and most of all by sorcery.

Windrush knew perfectly well that his dragons could not win such a 
battle-not without far greater strength in the underrealm.

Not without the knowledge and power of the Dream Mountain.  Not 
without Jael.  To strike there would be brave and futile, and would 
probably mean the end of dragonkind.

Windrush nodded without replying.  "SearSky!  Your counsel!

To his surprise, the great black dragon hesitated.  "Strike at the 
east camp of the Enemy!"  SearSky finally called.

Windrush flared flame from his nostrils.  That, at least, was more 
sensible.  The Enemy's east camp was a large gathering place of drahls 
and Tar-skel dragons-no easy target, by any means.  But it was within a 
day's flight, and it was a target where they might have some hope of 
hurting the Enemy more than they would be hurt themselves.  At least, 
they might, if they flew with this kind of rage in their hearts, but 
kept clear thinking in their heads.

"Longtouch!"  Windrush called.  "Your counsel?"

"East camp of the Enemy!"

"Deepclaw!  Your counsel!"

"Black Peak!"

"Stronghold!  Your counsel!"

"East camp!"  thundered Stronghold.

"Stonebinder .

The roll call continued.  The greatest number, in the end, favored 
the east camp.  Certainly, it was the only place that Windrush could in 
conscience lead his dragons with even the slightest hope of meaningful 
victory.  When the roll call was finished, Windrush sat silent for a 
few moments as the other dragons fumed among themselves.  Finally he 
looked across the gathering and thundered, "Listen, then!  Gather in 
three flights, two watches before the next dawn, to strike the east 
camp of the Enemy!  Prepare, brothers-but do not speak of the target 
beyond this vale!  Gathering dismissed!"

A triumphant cry went up.  Even those dragons who had wanted the 
greater targets voiced their approval.  In truth, most of them did not 
care much about the target, only that they struck somewhere.

Windrush watched as the dragons flew from the vale.  His anger at 
WingTouch's death had not left his thoughts.  But he could only hope 
that the dragons' anger, and the recent feeding, would be enough to 
fuel their bold action tomorrow.

Upon his return to the main encampment, Windrush was told that 
Farsight was urgently looking for him.  He found his brother on a high 
outcropping, searching the camp with his silvery-clear eyes.  The 
younger dragon looked deeply disturbed, and Windrush assumed that he 
knew why.

"Farsight!"  he called, shouting up to his brother.

Farsight leaped down with half@furled wings.  "Windrush, we must 
speak!  Can you fly with me now?"

Windrush agreed, and the two took to the air at once.

Farsight urged them to fly northward, where they would be less likely 
to encounter others.  "I missed you at the leaders' meeting!"

Windrush said when they were alone in the sky.

"I heard about WingTouch," Farsight muttered, his voice heavy with 
grief.  "I'm afraid I have other distressing news, for your ears 
alone."

"More bad news!  First I must tell you-we fly against the east camp 
of the Enemy tonight.  I trust that WingTouch's spirit will go with us. 
 But I too have news that I have not yet spoken aloud.  It concerns 
FullSky and the ifflings, and it gives me hope."

"FullSky!"  Farsight's eyes flashed.  "You are full of surprises!

If you can offer hope, then I will be grateful indeed.

Because I must tell you what I overheard last night, in the darkness 
of the mountains.  Windrush, we have a traitor among us......

By the time the two dragons had shared all of their news with each 
other, they had flown well north of the main encampment.  Somber and 
silent, they circled back the way they had come.  Farsight was cheered 
to learn that FullSky lived and fought with them, and that the ifflings 
were reaching out to the static realm to find Jael.  But for Windrush, 
the news of a traitor was as troubling as the death of a brother.

If only they knew the traitor's name!  He did not criticize Farsight 
for avoiding a confrontation in the night-it had been the right thing 
to do, he was sure-but he desperately wished that he had been there 
himself.  Perhaps he could have sensed the dragon's identity through 
the underrealm.

Now they could only be watchful, and live in fear of betrayal.

"Do you think, Windrush, that we should call off tomorrow's attack?"  
Farsight asked finally, voicing the question that both were pondering.

Windrush beat the air with his wings.  "I'm afraid," he murmured, 
"that that might cause even more harm.  Our brothers are angry and 
impatient.  I may have erred in calling for an attack-and yet, if I had 
not, I doubt that my leadership would have survived this day, or the 
next.  The others have no understanding of the unseen battles; they 
only want to wage war with flame and wing."

Farsight's eyes reflected the morning sun, as he answered cautiously, 
"Many of our brothers are foolish.  But I think you may be right, 
Windrush."

Windrush accepted Farsight's appraisal with a hiss of steam.  "We 
will go on with the attack-but not speak of strategy until we are on 
wing.  That much we can do to thwart our spy, at least.  Farsight, we 
must keep this to ourselves.  It will do no good to have rumor flying, 
and false accusations.  But you and I must be alert."

"Shrewd as drahls and more silent," muttered Farsight.

Windrush glanced at him sharply.  "Perhaps that, yes.

What a way to put it, though.  Farsight, I think I would like to know 
more of what happened to WingTouch.  Shall we go speak with the 
survivors of his patrol?"

Farsight didn't answer.  But he began beating his wings harder, 
flying grimly back to the camp.

 Chapter 16

DRAGONS IN FLIGHT THE NIGHT was cool but not cold, as the dragons 
took to the air.  They flew with a fierce determination, and they flew 
as quietly as a flight of more than seventy dragons could fly.

They moved like a gust of wind over the valleys and ridges.

On Windrush's orders, they strove to disturb nothing, to be heard by 
neither wakeful nor sleeping creatures, to give no warning of their 
approach.  If a stirring animal, or a drahl, should have glanced upward 
toward the faint nighttime glow of the sky, it might have sensed the 
pattern of shadow against the clouds, or heard the muted fluttering of 
wings.  But if good fortune flew with the dragons, they would strike 
the enemy without warning.

If good fortune flew with them.  Windrush's thoughts were heavy with 
the report of WingTouch's patrol from last night, and the near 
certainty of WingTouch's death.  He was nagged by an undefinable sense 
that this attack was somehow a mistake.  But he kept his doubts to 
himself, so as not to infect anyone else with them.  He tried to think 
like Rocktooth and FireEye, who had eagerly joined this mission hoping 
to avenge WingTouch's death.

It would be a demanding flight for the dragons-not so much for the 
distance to the enemy camp as for the terrain they had to cross to 
reach it@specially the treacherous ridge of the Borderland Mountains, a 
jagged range which lay just beyond the Valley Between and which clearly 
demarcated the beginning of the Enemy's territory.  If they could cross 
the Borderland Mountains without incident, and without being detected, 
that in itself would be a great success.

It was not Windrush's plan to pass over the mountains in a single 
formation; rather, they would divide into three groups.  One, led by 
Stronghold, would veer far to the left to the Hermitage Pass and 
approach the enemy camp from the south, on the Enemy's side of the 
ridge.  Another, led by Farsight, would fly northward to the Pass of 
the Black Mountains, not far short of the Black Peak itself, where a 
glowering fire from the static realm still shone over the broken 
mountains.  Farsight's group would come upon the enemy from the north.

The main group, led by Windrush, would go straight west, over the 
summit of the Borderland Mountains.

That crossing lay ahead of them yet.  They had just completed their 
flight over the ragged slopes of the Scarred Mount Ridge, site of many 
small conflicts between dragons and their foes, including the one that 
had claimed WingTouch.  As that ridge receded behind them, they soared 
high over the dark plain of the Valley Between, flying west toward the 
Borderland Mountains.  The Valley Between was not a place where dragons 
dwelled now, but it was far from deserted.  Dragons of both sides 
patrolled here, and drahls were often spotted moving up and down the 
ridges in their missions of spying.  Numerous shadow-cats made their 
homes here, too, as well as small flyers and sprites and lesser 
animals.  Most of them had no role in the conflict, though a few did 
serve as sentinels for the dragons-and others, Windrush suspected, 
served as spies for the Enemy.  If any of those spies witnessed the 
dragons passing, he hoped that their reports to the Enemy would not 
arrive before the dragons themselves.

In a happier time, lumenis groves and draconic gardens had speckled 
this broad valley.  All were destroyed now, ravaged by the servants of 
Tar-skel, or by his sorcery.

Passing over these dark lands that had once borne such fruit, 
Windrush felt an ancient anger rising from deep within, raging against 
the one who had done this to the land.  He nurtured the anger; it would 
make him fight all the more fiercely.  He sensed that the others, 
flanking him, felt the same rage as they flew over the Enemy's 
desolation.

The night was wearing long as their flight brought them over the 
foothills of the Borderland Mountains.  Windrush spoke softly to the 
others, sending word back through the company that the north and south 
flanks were to split away now.  "Quietly," he urged them.  "Quietly!"

Glancing back, he saw the flanks separating, the glowing coals of 
myriad dragon eyes vanishing to the north and to the south.  Behind 
him, the center group continued strong.

Windrush faced into the west wind and picked up the pace of his 
wingbeats.  It was time to start gaining altitude, to climb for the 
crossing over the most difficult mountain range in the realm.

The air felt strange this high.  It had a different character, a 
different quality of presence, a different undersmell.  Perhaps it was 
the mountains more than the altitude; perhaps it was the nearness of 
Tar-skel magic.  Windrush knew that it was possible to fly higher-he 
had done so himself during the lumenis vision-but few dragons ever did, 
and even at this height, he had a sense of flying near the very edge of 
the realm.  Exactly what might happen if he flew beyond the limits of 
the realm, he didn't know; but he thought it would not be good to try.

Even now he felt a sense of separation between mind and body that 
reminded him of movement through the underrealm.

Ahead and below, the summits of the Borderland Mountains were dim, 
icy pyramids, rising up from the predawn mists as though to provide 
otherworldly perches for the dragons as they passed.  Even to dragon 
eyes they were dark shapes, though the faint skyglow from a 
cloud,covered moon cast enough light to make their outlines visible.

The dragons intended to stay as high above the peaks as their 
strength and skills could take them, not only to avoid the perilous 
downdrafts that could dash them onto the rocks, but also to remain 
inconspicuous to sentries.

Windrush felt excitement coursing through his body as he pumped the 
air, flanked by his fellows.  It was not yet the energy of 
battle-fever; that would come soon.  This was the rush of 
night-air-over-mountain, and it was one of the most powerful sensations 
that Windrush knew.  Battle-fever was shallow compared to this.  He 
trusted that the power would stay with him throughout the morning to 
come, giving him strength for the battle.

The sharp summits passed slowly beneath them.  The sky was already 
growing lighter with a cold, eerie predawn light.  It was a deceptive 
light, and it made the massive summits seem so perilously close that 
Windrush almost felt that he could reach down with a talon and touch 
the ice on their caps as they passed below.  But he knew from the 
stillness of the air that they were much higher above the peaks than 
appearances suggested.  He tried to use his un, dersense to seek out 
any enemy sentries, but he was flying too hard; it was impossible to 
focus deeply in the underweb while exerting himself so strenuously, and 
he dared not pause.  He would just have to use his eyes, ears, and nose 
to detect the enemy.  Soon they would be upon the foe and secrecy would 
no longer matter.

The mountains fell away into the darkness.  They were over the ridge, 
well into the Enemy's territory.  Attack or counterattack could come 
from any direction.  Windrush whispered a command to his flanking 
leaders: begin descending under the cover of darkness.

The final leg of the flight passed with dizzying swiftness.

Mist curled up from the ground as they dropped toward the valley of 
the enemy warriors.  It grew difficult to distinguish mountain from 
vapor.  Shadows among wisps of vapor looked like drahls, and more than 
once, the dragons quickened their wingbeats to catch an enemy who was 
not there.  Excitement burned through the dragons like the fire of 
lumenis; Windrush could sense talons twitching and fires rising in the 
backs of dragons' throats.  To his left, he could see SearSky's eyes 
glowing red with eagerness.  To his right, the dusty-white Winterfall 
nodded in readiness.  The minutes fled, like the mist beneath them.

Real dawn was breaking as they swept down into the hollow where the 
enemy encampment lay.  A rosily glowing, cottony vapor half concealed 
the land.  There was an eerie beauty in the dawn; how ironic that in 
moments this place would be a cauldron of battle.  How many of them 
would not live to return?  Windrush shook aside the thought.  His 
scales rippled as he prepared to attack.  He imagined that he was not 
alone, that the spirit of Highwing flew invisibly with him-and he 
thought, If you can see this, Highwing, we will fight to make you 
proud.

Emerging from the mist was the form of an amphitheater and the dark 
shadows of entrances to warrens.  "Spread out to attack," Windrush 
rumbled.  Any instant now, drahls and Tar-skel dragons would come 
boiling up to meet them.

Windrush glanced each way.  "NOW!"  he thundered.

"NOW!"  echoed the others.

Flanked by forty dragons, he dove with a roar into the encampment.

Flame billowed from his throat, chasing away the mist.  He scanned 
left, right, ahead, looking for the enemy warriors who would be rising 
to meet them.  Flame danced hot in the back of his throat.  "COME FACE 
US!"

he bellowed, his voice one in a chorus of dragon challenges.

The answer came in a great uproar and billowing up of shadows from 
the ground-below and behind the dragons.

"Drahls!"  came the cry, repeated many times at once.  The dragons 
wheeled and turned upon the enemy shadows, fire flashing from dragon 
after dragon.  "Die, drahls!"  SearSky boomed, stretching out his black 
claws to rake any drahls that evaded the flames.

Moments later, the shouting died away, replaced by silence-then 
rumbles of puzzlement.  The shadow-drahls were evaporating like the 
mist, even before the dragon fire touched them.  The dragons who dove 
after them were closing their claws upon thin air.  A deafening peal of 
laughter reverberated in the valley like the sound of a thunderstorm.

It was not a dragon laugh, but something unearthly, demonic.

The dragons rose again, peering about in confusion as they tried to 
pinpoint the source of the laughter.  It seemed to come from everywhere 
at once.  "Press the attack!"  Wind, rush cried, lifting his voice 
above the din.  "It is sorcery!  Do not be deceived by the Enemy's 
sorcery!"

Roaring in agreement, the dragons wheeled around to renew their 
assault.  They raked the ground with fire, challenging the enemy 
warriors to appear.

Their own cries echoed back to them as they overflew the central 
amphitheater, belching fire.  There was no answering cry, and the empty 
shadows of the warrens remained empty.  No one emerged to meet the 
challenge, no one rose into the air to flee.  The amphitheater, clearly 
visible now in the scattering mist, was deserted.

"SearSky and center dragons, make another pass!"  Wind, rush shouted, 
trying desperately to keep his vanishing hope from infecting his voice. 
 "Winterfall and flanks, search the heights!  Longtouch and scouts, 
climb and search the skies!  Call out what you find!  All others 
silent!"  As his words echoed back through the air, a haunting quiet 
came over the valley.

The beating of wings, and the occasional crackle of fire, were all 
that broke the stillness.  As the dragons split up according to his 
directions, Windrush climbed for a better view.  Had the camp been 
deserted all along?  No-here and there, firepits used by the enemy 
warriors were still smoking.

As SearSky's wing of dragons flew slower and lower over the 
encampment, sending flames into the warrens, they were met again by 
shadows boiling up from the ground.

The dragons attacked, and again found their targets vanishing before 
them into the air.  New cries of demonic laughter pealed through the 
valley.  The sound seemed to Windrush to echo from the hills and the 
warrens, to reverberate out of the underrealm itself.  It was Tar@skel, 
laughing through his sorcery at the bewilderment of the dragons.

From the greater height, Windrush could see more clearly that these 
shadows were as empty as those which had fooled him back in Hodakai's 
cavern.  His fellow dragons were being deceived by the same trickery of 
the Enemy.

Furious, he scanned the slopes on either side of the valley, looking 
for further signs of a trap.  It was clear that the Enemy had known 
they were coming.  Were drahls waiting to fall upon them as soon as 
their company disintegrated into chaos?  He dared not risk that.

"Keep your formations tig t!"  e called down.  "Beware of treachery!"

He had a feeling, though-a twisting of humiliation and rage deep in 
his gut-that the Enemy had already won this battle, had made fools of 
them by inviting them to attack an empty valley.  Where were the 
Enemy's servants now?

No doubt far out of reach, waiting for the dragons to abandon their 
effort.  Windrush leveled off high above the ground, trying to use his 
undersenses.  But there was too much commotion; he could not focus.

Reports were starting to echo back on the wind.  "No enemy here!"

"None on the north slopes!"  "None on the south slopes!"  "None in 
the warrens!"

Windrush cursed silently-cursed the air, and the Enemy and his 
tricks, and the spy who must have warned him that they were coming.

What should he do now?  Attempt to occupy the camp, to establish a 
foothold in the Enemy's territory?  Some of the dragons might call for 
that; but it would be impossible to hold this place for long, so far 
from home.  How many dragons would it cost them to try?

Windrush felt a stinging uncertainty.  They had come to punish the 
enemy warriors, and had met only frustration and treachery.  He had 
been a fool for pressing the attack after learning of the traitor in 
their midst.

"Who betrayed us?"  someone shouted from below, his words echoing 
Windrush's thoughts.  "What spy told them we were coming?"

The words were met with angry mutterings.  For a moment, Windrush 
felt tempted to shout down that one of their number was a spy-and the 
sooner they found him the better.  But he knew that an angry brawl 
among the dragons here would serve the Enemy's cause far better than 
their own.  It would take careful and determined effort to locate the 
traitor, the real traitor.

"Silence in the valley!"  he shouted at last.  His command 
reverberated across the empty camp, stilling the grumbling.

He called out for small parties to search the warrens, and for the 
rest to form a defensive circle about the camp.  "If the Enemy returns, 
let him be met with our fury!  Scouts, keep a watch on the sky.  Search 
for any sign and search for our arriving flanks."

They had not long to wait for the latter.  Before the scouts had even 
climbed back above the bordering slopes, Windrush felt the approach of 
new dragons.  An instant later a cry from a scout signaled the arrival 
of Farsight's flank, from the north.  Soon Stronghold's flank flew in 
from the south.  The leaders gathered around Windrush, circling in 
midair.

Brusquely, the dragon asked for reports.  Farsight's flank had 
noticed nothing unusual in their northern passage through the 
mountains.  Stronghold's, however, had been interrupted at one point by 
a call from ToweringTree, at the rear, that he had seen something 
moving in the Valley Between-just a glimpse of one or more shadows in 
the air, shortly before they had reached the southern pass.  But after 
a brief search had turned up nothing, Stronghold had ordered them to 
hurry on, so that they would arrive in time for the battle.

At Windrush's call, ToweringTree rose from the circling company and 
joined the leaders.  "The shadows you saw, back in the Valley 
Between-which way were they moving?)' ToweringTree's eyes flickered 
worriedly.  "To the east.

That was why I asked Stronghold to wait.  Windrush, if the drahis 
aren't here " "Then they might be attacking our land," Windrush said, 
voicing aloud the fear that they must all have been harboring.  The 
enemy could have moved as stealthily as the dragons-perhaps more 
stealthily.  The dragons had not left their land unprotected; but even 
so, a large part of their fighting strength was right here, circling 
uselessly in the air.

A cacophony of laughter rang across the valley, jarring him from his 
thoughts.  Was the Enemy listening to their words and thoughts even 
now?  He felt a bone-chilling cold rising out of the underrealm.  As 
the eyes of the dragon leaders flashed around him, he knew that they 
were all realizing the magnitude of their mistake.  "We must re turn!"

"Quickly!"  "The defense cannot hold-" The murmurs rose around him.

"Wait!"  Windrush commanded.  "We must return, yes!

But not thoughtlessly.  Gather your flanks and prepare to fly, but 
give me a few moments of silence, to see what I can learn."  Without 
waiting for any argument, he veered toward the south slope and landed 
on the nearest outcrop, ping.  He raised his head to smell the air-and 
let his thoughts sink into the underrealm.

What he found, once he had passed beneath the surface layers of the 
underweb, was a tangle of deception, overlaid with vapors of confusion 
and the smells of enemy sorceries.  It made him dizzy to try to follow 
the threads of the Enemy's treacheries, and he knew that he had neither 
the time nor the skill to sort it all out.  But the one thing he could 
search for was some hint of where the enemy warriors had gone, what 
their goal was.  They might have left some imprint of their paths in 
the underrealm.  But there was such a confusing welter of signs ...

And yet, there in the middle of it all, almost as though it had been 
left for him to find, was a thread leading away from this place, 
leading in a direction that was not exactly east or west, or north or 
south.  But it bore a clear direction of intent; it was almost as 
though the groves gleamed at the end of the thread, shining all the way 
back to where Windrush peered in horror.

If only he could send a blast of flame through the underrealm to 
destroy the enemy before they did their terrible work!

Emerging from the underrealm, Windrush leaped from the outcropping, 
wings thumping the air.  "Away!"  he thundered.  "Abandon this place!  
Return to the north and south groves!  The lumenis is in danger!"

Chapter 17

THE VALE OF TAR-Skel FOR THE captured WingTouch, the flight westward 
into the territory of the Enemy was a nightmare of pain and exhaustion. 
 The drahl said little, but kept its claws in the base of the dragon's 
neck as they flew.  The pain was no longer constant, but it returned 
instantly if he flagged in his speed or strayed from his course.  In 
the company of the drahls that had joined them in the Scarred Ridge, 
they had flown westward until long after night had given way to the 
morning.  WingTouch had seen the last familiar territory disappear 
behind him in the cold light of the early morning, and then they had 
begun the long climb over the Borderland Mountains.  From that point 
on, they were flying ever deeper into the Enemy's territory.

WingTouch's hopes that he might at least observe the Enemy's 
activities were cut short when, after the crossing of the mountains, 
the drahls wove a tight net of darkness about his head, blinding him to 
his surroundings.  He navigated by the whispered instructions of his 
captor, and by sharp jabs of pain when he got an instruction wrong he 
had plenty of time to think, at least.  He was sure that by now his 
dragon brothers must have concluded that he was dead.  He wished he 
could let them know that he was not.  Windrush, in his place, might 
have been able to call out, to communicate somehow through the 
underrealm.

But lacking such skills, WingTouch was wholly isolated.

Despair teased at the edges of his mind, but he was not one to give 
in easily to despair.  He didn't think much about why; he just knew 
that there was nothing to be gained by it, and one discipline he did 
have was the ability to shut out unhelpful thoughts.  Still, there was 
little enough in his situation to support hope.

He could not guess how long he had been pumping his wings, without 
even a gliding break.  He knew that he was deep in the land of 
Tar-skel.  The drahls laughed from time to time, apparently joking 
among themselves.  Their voices turned into rasping croaks as they 
veered close to taunt him.  Was that the natural timbre of their 
voices, when they dropped the sorcerous intonations of beauty?

On and on they flew, until WingTouch thought his wings would fail.

After an eternity, he heard a hoarse whisper: "Land now, dragon-if 
you have the skill!"

WingTouch felt a flush of anger.  He was supposed to land blind, 
then?  So be it.  He let himself lose altitude, straining to judge by 
the feel of the air when he was approaching the ground.  He ignored the 
laughter of the drahls and focused on new sounds, a murmur that sounded 
as though it might be rising from the ground.  There was a curious 
moment when he felt a sudden change in the texture of the air, a 
strange kind of thickness, and the sounds of the voices suddenly became 
more distant.  He was passing through a layer of sorcery, he was sure.

He felt a backwash from his wings.  As he flared to settle to the 
ground, the drahl tightened its claws in the back of his neck.  A lance 
of pain shot through his wingblades-just enough to cause him to spill 
air from one wing, then the other.  He hit the ground with a sideways 
skid, and tumbled over.  As the drahl tumbled with him, it clenched its 
claws in his neck, and a blinding pain obliterated all other sensation.

There was a sound of raucous laughter.  He struggled to rise.  The 
drahl let go and dismounted, but he could feel the throbbing wound it 
had left between his wingblades.  The drahls' laughter subsided, and 
one of them hissed: "Prepare, dragon, to meet the true source of power 
in the realm.

Prepare to beg for your life.  The Nail of Strength does not look 
kindly upon those who oppose his will."

Nail of Strength.  WingTouch subdued a rumble of deli ance in the 
back of his throat, as he fought to push himself upright.  He could 
guess how warmly he would be received by the one to whom he had once 
foolishly given his allegiance.  He shivered, turning his head blindly.

He felt a chill on the back of his neck-the breath of a drahl.

The next breath could easily kill.  "If you are fortunate, " murmured 
the drahl in a sonorously beautiful voice, I iyou will see the 
insignificance of your power, compared to the least of the Nail's 
servants.  Then perhaps you will understand .  . ."

The drahl left its words unfinished.  The darkness fell away from 
around WingTouch's head.  He blinked hard, and gasped out a long hiss 
of bewilderment as he turned his head one way and then another.

He was in daylight again-but it was a daylight unlike anything he had 
ever seen.  There was a swirling, shimmering, unnatural quality to it, 
as though a darkness existed within the light, as though the light were 
somehow subordinate to the darkness.  For a moment, he could not focus 
upon anything physical at all.  The air and light took all of his 
attention.  He could only think of them, together, as a 
strangeness-something not of this realm.  Was this a naked sorcery of 
Tar-skel?  If so, the Enemy had grown far bolder in his displays in the 
time since WingTouch had so blindly and stupidly served in his shadow.

* Are you surprised, dragon-called-WingTouch?

whispered a powerful, but silken, voice that seemed to come from 
within the strangeness itself WingTouch shivered at the familiar sound 
of that voice.

He'd never thought of it as being the voice of Tar-skel, not during 
the time when it had so beguiled and commanded him.  Then it had seemed 
the voice of a near-equal, perhaps just a touch wiser and more 
worldly-offering him choice and power.  In the end, of course, it had 
given him neither, only blindness and fear.

"I have not offered you my name," WingTouch protested, trying not to 
let his voice tremble.

* Oh, but you have-long ago, * sighed the voice.  * As did your 
brother Farsight.  * The voice suddenly hardened, as WingTouch narrowed 
his gaze.  * But your other brother, Windrush, never learned.  And 
you-you forgot my teachings.  You abandoned me.  Do you not remember?

* WingTouch did not answer.  Of course he remembered.

Yes, he had given his name to that one.  But it had never given its 
name in return.  WingTouch had made his escape when Jael had shown him 
the way out.  At least he'd tried to, or wanted to.  He wondered now: 
was it ever really possible to escape?

The Enemy seemed to understand his thoughts.  It laughed softly.

* You thought you could run away.  * Its laughter ended on a hard 
note.

* Do you think, once you've given your name, you can ever take it 
away?  * WingTouch trembled, remaining silent.  The light and air 
suddenly changed, and he became aware of shape and form around him.  It 
was no less strange than the formless light of sorcery.  The drahls 
flanking him looked like pure shadow-not at all like creatures that 
once had been dragon, before Tar-skel had altered them.  They were 
jagged, threatening shadows, and though he could not quite see it, he 
felt that there was a pale light flickering within each of them, the 
light of their living spirit, perhaps even the spirit of the 
dragonlings that they had once been.  The sight made him shudder and 
turn his gaze away.

In front of him, something altogether different, and 
incomprehensible, had appeared.  It was a floating geometric pattern: a 
series of hollow, nested, angular shapes, each closed inward like a 
ring, but with four or five straight sides of unequal length.  At first 
he thought that they were floating one inside another; then he realized 
that one floated behind another.  He was staring down a sort of tunnel, 
down a profound emptiness that ran through the center of the figures as 
they diminished into the distance.  The strangeness of light and air 
seemed to originate here, within this thing, a power of sorcery that 
flowed like a river from a source hidden in that tunnel.

The sight was so disturbing, so alien, that WingTouch was almost 
hypnotized by it.  At last he shifted his gaze.  The drahls were still 
present, floating threateningly around him.

Behind them was a landscape-not of ground, but of streaming, coiling 
clouds.  It was as though they were all still in the sky; and yet he 
knew, the muscles and sinews of his wings and feet had told him, that 
he had landed on the ground.  A watery sort of light shone down upon 
the clouds, which glimmered darkly from within, with flashes of red and 
purple fire, like eerily tortured storm clouds.

Rising out of those mists, he saw several narrow, spindly peaks-more 
like needles than mountains.  Spots of shadow circled around the tips 
of the peaks, orbiting in regular rhythm, with none of the dipping and 
swaying that any flying creature would display.  What were those spots, 
and those peaks?

WingTouch glanced higher, and was startled to see that the sky itself 
shimmered, though not with the light of a sun.

There was a fine tracery of webbing that seemed to enclose the sky, 
and it shimmered, and something about it was familiar.  It took 
WingTouch a moment to remember his brother's vision.  Windrush had 
described a great, treacherous web encircling the realm.

Binding the realm.

Crushing the realm.

* You see.  But do you understand?

The voice jarred him back to the present.  He had been allowed to 
look at all of these sights, to absorb the mystery, to wonder at the 
power.  But for what purpose?  To plunge him into despair?  WingTouch 
turned his gaze back to that strange geometric structure and trembled, 
remembering how he had once done the bidding of the one behind it.  He 
opened his mouth to speak, then blew a wisp of steam instead.  He 
wasn't ready to give in to despair.

The voice chastised him.  * You would be wise, young WingTouch, to 
understand the nature of the power you challenge.  Perhaps you should 
search again for that wisdom which seems to have deserted you.  * 
WingTouch blinked.  This time he found words.  "I recall only one time 
when wisdom wholly deserted me.  That was when I abandoned my father 
and gave my allegiance to a power that wanted to destroy the realm 
where I dwell."

He subdued the flame that rose in his throat, and vented smoke from 
his nostrils instead.  "But that was before you let your true nature be 
known.

Before you began attacking our groves.  Before you took away the 
Mountain."

He was answered by soft laughter, rising against the stillness, and 
echoed by the croaking laughter of drahls.  The strangeness seemed to 
deepen, the geometric shapes to distort in a way that confounded his 
eyes.  "What have you done with the Dream Mountain?"  he demanded, 
angered by the laughter.  "Are you afraid to tell me?"

The drahl-shadows began to converge upon him, then stopped, hissing.

WingTouch blinked slowly.  "What could it harm you to tell me?"

* I tell, * whispered the voice, so deadly and soft that he had to 
strain to hear, * those whom I wish to tell.

"Are you afraid to tell?"

* Do not test wits with me, impudent fool!  * There was a pause.

* You will lose-now, and every time.  * WingTouch glanced at the 
drahls which he knew were awaiting the command to kill him, or torture 
him.

But he had already decided: he would not allow despair.  "High, wing 
was right.  You deal in fear, and yet you yourself are afraid."

Soft laughter once more.  * Afraid?

Drawing a breath, WingTouch said, "Yes.  Afraid of the prophecy-" His 
words were cut off by a clap of thunder.  It seemed to rock from one 
side of him to the other.  The swirling clouds flickered with 
lightning.  A bolt snapped up out of the clouds and across, striking 
him in the chest.  He gasped, could not gasp, as the shock paralyzed 
him, blinding him with pain.  He could not speak, but he could hear.

The next words seemed to reverberate from the clouds, like the 
thunder.

* Do not speak to me of prophecy, or you will suffer ... suffer ...

suffer ... no matter how long you might plead, or how pitifully you 
might beg.  Is this under@ stood?  * WingTouch gasped, could not speak.

* IS THIS UNDERSTOOD?  * Another bolt hit him, and he blacked out.

It was only an instant, it seemed.  But when his eyes blinked open, 
and his vision returned, he focused on something new, something that 
had appeared over the clouds, over the slender peaks that spiked upward 
out of the flashing mists.  There was an enormous shape floating 
there-a mountain peak, broad and sloping and translucent.  A dazzling 
light seemed to glimmer in it and through it, as though barely 
contained by it.  The sight made him tremble in awe.

It was true, then.  The Enemy controlled the Dream Mountain, held it 
captive by what sorcery he could not imagine.

There was no visible point of connection between it and the other 
peaks, or even the clouds.  It seemed to rise out of a nearly invisible 
mist high in the sky.  How could it be?  he wondered helplessly.  The 
thought of a power that could do such a thing sent shudders of fear 
through him.

The Enemy controlled the Dream Mountain, as the dragons controlled 
their tiny patch of territory and their tiny lumenis groves.

As he watched, the mountain faded from the sky.  But the image 
persisted in his mind like the lightning that flashed in the clouds.

Without warning, a third bolt flashed out of the clouds and struck 
him and in the blast of pain t e ragon ost consciousness altogether.

WingTouch awoke to darkness, and to the sound of murmuring voices.

Tar-skel's voice?  No-these were voices of torment and despair.

He couldn't even tell if they were dragon voices.  "Who is there?"

WingTouch murmured, but he heard no answer.

A short time later, he heard the sound of footsteps.  They were not 
the footsteps of a dragon.  He squinted into the darkness, where he was 
now able to discern some shapes.

He seemed to be imprisoned in a large open area, some sort of crater, 
surrounded by dark, jagged shapes of stone, just at the edge of 
visibility.  He tried to move, but his legs were frozen in place.  The 
effort to move sent shudders of pain through his body.  The wound at 
the back of his neck throbbed.  He peered down at his feet and saw that 
they were embedded in solid stone.

Enraged and humiliated, he could only vent steam.

A figure came into sight before him, nearly obscured by his breath.  
WingTouch grunted in surprise.  It was not a dragon, nor any other 
creature of the realm.  But it was a kind of creature he knew.

It was a human-a human like the rigger Jael.  Only not like 
Jael-taller, more muscular, darker in demeanor.  But, surely, a rigger.

His mind was clouded with confusion.  A rigger.  What was a rigger 
doing here, in the Enemy's camp!  Was this ... could it be ... a rigger 
of the prophecy?

The human walked around an angular boulder and stood before him.

It stared at him for a time, then said, "You have gazed upon the 
Dream Mountain."  Its voice rippled like dragon scales, smooth and yet 
threatening.

WingTouch stared back at him, trying to decide what to make of this 
being.

"Do you begin to understand how useless your struggle is?"  the human 
asked.

WingTouch drew a slow, difficult breath.  After knowing Jael, if only 
for a short time, he had come to think of humans as allies, as forces 
for good from a realm beyond the realm.  But he suddenly recalled 
Windrush's report of the human@spirit he had met in the abandoned 
warren to the south.  WingTouch didn't remember that one's name, but it 
had seemed clear enough that it had counted itself no friend of 
dragons.  WingTouch decided, staring at this one, that perhaps it was 
of the same order as the being his brother had met.

"Are you a spirit?"  he asked the human.

The rigger drew itself up, in surprise.  It did not appear pleased by 
the question.  "Do I look like a spirit?"  it barked.

"You are exceedingly impudent for one who has no hope, 
dragon-named-WingTouch!"

WingTouch closed his eyes for a moment.  That was certainly true.

He had no hope left for himself, and he didn't know why he persisted 
in taunting the Enemy and his servants with his own ... yes, impudence. 
 Except that ... he refused to admit despair into his thinking.  Even 
now.

He blinked his eyes open.  "You have me at a disadvantage, human-or 
human-spirit, as the case may be.  You know my name, but I do not know 
yours."  But I have not given you my name, remember that, he thought.

The human laughed.  It was an ugly sound.  "I have you at a 
disadvantage in many ways, dragon.  But for the sake of convenience, 
since I harbor some expectation that you and I will become colleagues, 
you may call me Rent."  His tone of voice made it clear that he was 
giving a form of address only, and not his true, full name.  Not his 
garkkon-rakh, not the key to his inner being.

"Rent," the dragon murmured.  It was, he thought, not nearly so 
attractive a name as Jael.  It was, however, a suitable form of address 
for a servant of the Enemy.

Rent nodded, and strode around the dragon with his hands on his hips, 
studying the captive.  "Now, if these questions are out of the way-" 
"Not yet!"  WingTouch said, wheezing with pain.  "You haven't told me-" 
and he paused, breathing slowly"whether you are a spirit or a true 
human."

Rent returned, scowling, to face the dragon.  "You are most 
persistent, WingTouch.  Headstrong, I should say.

That could be to the good-if coupled with common sense and wisdom."

"You evade " WingTouch began-and cried out as a sharp new pain 
clamped onto the back of his neck.  Rent waved his hand, and the pain 
vanished, but left him shuddering.

"Let that be a lesson.  Do not ever speak disrespectfully to me."

WingTouch vented silent steam.

Rent smiled.  "But I will answer your question-because in doing so, I 
may help you to understand something important."  He waited for a 
reaction from WingTouch, and nodded when the dragon remained silent.

"Good.  You're learning.  Now, then.  I am a spirit, yes-a spirit 
from an, other realm.  You know the meaning of that, I believe?"  He 
paused.  "But perhaps you don't know this.  It is with the power of the 
Nail of Strength that I walk in the form that you see.  I was once 
bereft of my form, through the viciousness of your own kind.  But now I 
have my form once again, and it is far greater and stronger than ever 
before."  He studied the dragon.  "Do you understand what I am telling 
you?"

WingTouch considered before answering.  "I understand.  Your form, as 
I see it, is not yours at all.  It is a sorcery-thing, a trick of the 
underweb, a-" The pain this time was blinding, and it lasted for a 
longer time than he could measure; it lasted nearly forever.

When it did finally stop, he was reeling.  He needed desperately to 
shift his stance, to lie down-but with his feet embedded in the stone, 
he could not move at all, he could only wobble in pain.

Shuddering, he knew that the torment was only beginning.  The 
suffering of being trapped immobile like this could alone drive him 
mad, if it lasted long enough.

Rent was watching the dragon from atop a nearby boulder, where he was 
sitting with one leg drawn up and his hands clasped around his knee.  
"Had enough?"  he asked.

WingTouch contained his anger.  His legs ached fiercely, and were 
shaking.  He tried to flex his claws, but they were locked solidly 
inside the stone.

"My point, dragon,WingTouch, since you seem unwilling to perceive it 
for yourself, is that your allegiance to this side-to the side of 
Strength, to the side of the Nail-will serve you far better than your 
meaningless persistence in your present frame of mind."  The human 
leaned forward, gazing at him.  "It is not, after all, as if we would 
ask you to fight in any way that is wrongful or unnatural.  Is that 
what you fear?"

WingTouch felt his weight shifting dangerously.  His leg muscles 
trembled on the verge of spasm.  He did not answer the demon-spirit.

"You're suffering.  Allow me to help you."  Rent stretched out a hand 
toward the struggling dragon.  The stone softened and melted away from 
WingTouch's feet, freeing him.  He sank down in shuddering relief, 
letting the weight off his legs.  "You see, we are not without 
understanding," Rent said.

WingTouch breathed quickly, gulping air.  He struggled not to act on 
his greatest desire right now, which was to incinerate the demon with 
his breath.

"Now, then.  What we are asking for is really just some information," 
Rent said, rising to his feet.  "Your brother Windrush is the leader of 
all the dragons-we know that.

He has sent for the demon Jael to help him-we know that.

The battle has not much longer to run before we are the victors-we 
know that.  But He paused, stroking his chin.  "We wish not to prolong 
the suffering.  And so we would like merely to know certain aspects of 
your brother's plans-" WingTouch could not hold back a snort.

Rent raised one human eyebrow, and continued with apparent patience.  
"So that we might quicken the endend the suffering, and quicken the 
release of the Dream Mountain for the benefit of all."  His gaze 
sharpened.  "We would like to know, for example, if the demon Jael has 
reappeared in the realm."

This time WingTouch kept control.  He made no sound, no response to 
the human's ridiculous claim.  No response to the question.  He had no 
knowledge of it, in any case but he was not going to tell the human 
that.

"If you are wise, you may share in the pleasure and the rewards of 
the victory," Rent pointed out.  "Just as, for example, your brother 
FullSky has chosen to cooperate with us-" WingTouch lurched to his 
feet.  FullSky!

"Oh-you didn't know?"  Rent asked mildly.  "Why, yes-your brother has 
long been a part of our effort' " "FullSky ... is ... alive?"

WingTouch whispered, not wanting the human to hear the anguish in his 
voice, but unable to keep his silence.

"Why, yes.  Yes, indeed.  And being a wise and strong member of your 
race, he is doing all that he can to help us-,) "You are lying, demon!"

"Watch your tongue, dragon!"

WingTouch swayed on his feet, drawing himself into a crouch.  He felt 
fire tingling at the back of his throat.  What if the human wasn't 
lying?  He and Farsight had once been that foolish.  Suppose FullSky 
was alive-and still a traitor?

WingTouch did not think he could stand to know that, even if it were 
true.  He would rather die now.

"FullSky is a noble dragon of the Nail," Rent said.  As he spoke, he 
suddenly began growing in size before the dragon.  "He will see the 
Dream Mountain freed, even if your other foolish brothers do not.  They 
with their stupid attacks!  Even now we are turning more of their 
precious lumenis groves to ashes."

WingTouch could stand it no longer.  He loosed a breath of fire upon 
the loathsome human, drenching him with flame.  "Die, demon-liar!"

he cried.

The flame crackled harmlessly through the human, who did not move a 
muscle until it had passed.  WingTouch drew breath for another blast of 
flame, but his breath froze in his chest as Rent raised a hand and 
waggled a finger at him.

Molten stone rose to swallow his feet in agonizing beatand hardened 
in an instant, locking him into a trembling crouch.

"You are a great fool," Rent said, and turned and walked away.

WingTouch bellowed and bellowed in helpless rage.

Chapter 18

SECRETSIN THE DARK THE WATCHER floated silently past the dragon 
FullSky's kuutekka-a ghostly jailer in the underrealm passing over the 
ghostly spirit of its prisoner.  Suddenly the Watcher struck downward, 
flashing with fire and shadow at a movement in the adjoining, lower 
cavern, where a great chasm seemed to drop out of the bottom of the 
underrealm.

FullSky froze in mid,movement.  He had been slipping carefully along 
the walls of the prison, probing tirelessly at the spell-weave that had 
held him for what seemed a lifetime.

But the last thing he wanted to do was provoke the Watcher, or 
attract attention of any sort.  After a moment, when the Watcher had 
not reappeared, he stretched his kuutekka forward to the lip of the 
opening between the coalfire-walled cavern where he was imprisoned, to 
peer down into the larger, darker cavern where the murmuring voices and 
flickering lights of imprisoned, bodiless spirits never stopped 
floating up from depths of the underrealm.

FullSky caught a glimpse of fire erupting from the chasm.

The angry shape of the Watcher flew back up toward him.

He retreated hastily; but even so, the Watcher shot a flare of 
punishment in his direction, a blue flame that crackled around him in 
quick, hot circles, darting and biting at his kuutekka before finally 
expending itself.  FullSky gasped, and tried not to shudder in the 
underrealm as he recovered from the casually administered punishment.

One corner of his mind felt his body shake and tremble in the outer 
world, where it was chained to the rocks of Tar-skel's dungeon.

He strove to disassociate himself from the pain that burned through 
his body.  Though he could not wholly ignore the pain, his effort to do 
so gave him just enough relief to retain some semblance of endurance, 
of purpose in his underrealm consciousness.

Eventually he found the strength to peer back into the glowing 
labyrinth of the Enemy's underrealm.  The Watcher, the fire-serpent, 
the creature of the Enemy@ whatever the terrible thing was-was gone for 
the moment.

Gone elsewhere, tormenting other imprisoned spirits, no doubt.

This was probably a good opportunity to creep out again into the 
glowering light, to seek other pathways, other windows in the underweb 
that might conceivably be of benefit.  Escape, of course, was out of 
the question.  His physical body remained chained here, and the Watcher 
would certainly notice if he tried to reach out of this lace p with his 
thought for more than a few minutes at a time.  But it was those 
breathless minutes, snatched when the Watcher wasn't looking, that were 
as precious to him as life itself.

Cautiously now, he began to stretch his kuutekka out again from his 
body, probing the hazy underrealm walls of the dungeon.  Something 
didn't feel right.  He paused, concealing his presence against a wall.

An instant later, he felt a quivering in the underweb, and the 
Watcher flashed back across the cavern, answering some new movement, 
punishing some feeble challenge to its authority as jailer.

FullSky slipped back into his body, so quietly as to make no 
disturbance in the underrealm at all.  He had worked very hard at 
learning to move stealthily in the underrealm; but there were times 
when it was best to wait, and clearly this was one of them.

There would be opportunities later to try to reach Windrush.

There would always be opportunities.  He had to believe that, or he 
would lose hope altogether.

Time, to FullSky, had become something that shifted and moved in his 
mind with little connection to the world beyond.  Pain had come to seem 
eternal in his body, imprisoned and broken by the Enemy's spells of 
cold and darkness.  His imprisonment and his pain were something he was 
determined, not just to endure, but to turn to good purpose.  He knew 
now he could not do that without help-though, for what had seemed an 
eternity, he had tried.  But that had been before he had learned to 
open silent, secret passages in the underrealm-before he had learned to 
reach out, even in imprisonment, to his brothers on the other side of 
the realm.

It had not happened quickly.  For many seasons on the outside, he had 
raged uselessly against himself for falling prey to the Enemy-for his 
own foolishness in toying with the Enemy's sorceries, so long ago.

In those days, the Enemy had not yet revealed his true identity, but 
surely there had been enough warnings-from his father, from the 
ifflings, from his own inner heart.  Still, he had succumbed to his own 
pride in his underrealm skills.  Naive in his innocence, he had 
challenged the master of deceits-and the Enemy had trapped him neatly 
in his web.  His ensnarement in the underrealm had quickly led to his 
physical imprisonment as well.  It had taken him a long time even to 
begin to forgive himself.

It had taken him longer still to realize that he was not altogether 
crippled, or blind.  From his spell-prison, he had been permitted to 
watch the imprisonment of his father Highwing in the Black Peak, and 
the sentence of exile.  But he had also glimpsed Jael's triumph and the 
humiliating defeat of Tar-skel at the Black Peak, and the subsequent 
release from bondage of many hapless dragons who served unwittingly 
under the dark one's shadow.  Jael had bought freedom for many, 
including two of FullSky's brothersbut not, unfortunately, for FullSky 
or any of the other physical prisoners of the Enemy.

Nevertheless, FullSky had rejoiced in the outcome of that battle.

His rejoicing earned him a lifetime of the drahls' brutality-but the 
Enemy, having more urgent treacheries to weave, displayed no further 
personal interest in him.

FullSky was tortured by servant-jailers, yes-but his mind remained 
free, and he retained some ability to peer out of this dungeon of 
power, through the underrealm.  As the realm was torn by open warfare, 
and the number of prisoners grew, the watcher-spirits who guarded the 
dungeon's underrealm seemed almost to encourage his awareness of the 
suffering of others-indeed, it fed his despair.

Over time, though, the watch over him grew lax, and he discovered 
that he could peer out through numerous small openings in the 
spell-weave of the prison, and even observe the comings and goings of 
the Enemy's servants, and on occasion overhear fragments of their 
conversation.  With care and stealth, he was able to explore nearby 
areas of the underrealm, beyond the limits of the prison, without 
drawing his jailers' notice.

Eventually he decided that perhaps his role in this world was not yet 
ended, though he could not clearly foresee what he might do.  He was 
learning much about the Enemy's plans.  He caught glimpses of the 
sorcery that blocked the way to the Dream Mountain-not a clear view, 
but far more so than was likely possible from the outside world, or for 
any of the free dragons.  Though he did not fully understand the 
sorcery, or know how to defeat it, a tiny flame of hope grew in his 
heart that he might learn useful secrets and somehow pass them out to 
the faithful dragons of the realm.

He grew more bold in his explorations of the underrealm.  It seemed 
that as long as he made no effort to create spells of escape or power, 
he could move relatively undisturbed.  He discovered that it was 
possible, with care, to stretch his thought outward for a considerable 
distance.  He found himself in a game of testing and trying, feinting 
and retreating-risking discovery to gain more knowledge of the Enemy's 
actions and plans, or to whisper to ifflings that he thought he sensed 
passing just beyond reach.  At times, he imagined that he felt the 
touch of his father Highwing's spirit, reaching out to encourage him 
from the heartfires of the Final Dream Mountain.  In the dungeon where 
he lay broken and crippled, his drahl,jailers subjected him to 
continuing abuse; but in the underrealm, his skills seemed to grow in 
proportion to the cruelty inflicted upon his body.

It was only a matter of time before he sensed the distant movements 
in the underrealm of his brother Windrushand sensed, as well, 
Windrush's terrible need and the need of all the realm.  It was out of 
that desperate need that FullSky finally risked crafting the terrifying 
vision that he cast across the underrealm into his brother's 
lumenisheightened awareness.  It was out of that need that he risked 
exposure in the underrealm, opening passages that could help Windrush 
find him, speak to him, and hear his need.

His final reach outward, touching Windrush's thoughts in that place 
of wilderness and desolation, had unfortunately drawn the attention of 
the Watcher-and ended in a blinding pain that made the warning clear.  
He was fairly sure that neither the Watcher nor its Master knew 
precisely what he had done, but now the Watcher seemed to appear much 
faster when he stretched out beyond his body.  If only it would leave 
him untended, just a little longer!

As if in mocking answer to his thoughts, the Watcher swept back into 
the cavern and floated one way and then another, scanning prisoners.  
Finally it hovered directly over the point where FullSky's kuutekka 
huddled within his broken body.  The Watcher was silent as always, 
watching him with whatever terrible undersenses it commanded.

FullSky did not move, or make any acknowledgment of the Watcher's 
threatening presence.  But he felt it pulsing hatred like waves of 
heat, and he could not help feeling that the Watcher meant to taunt 
him, perhaps daring him to challenge it to a duel of power that he 
could not hope to win.

Once, he might have been tempted to take up such a duel.  But he knew 
that his hope lay not in foolish challenges.  For all of his 
hard-learned skills, he had little real strength left, and it was well 
within the Watcher's powers to destroy him, if it chose to do so.

The standoff lasted for what seemed a very long time, but was 
probably only a few heartbeats in the outer world.  The Watcher spat a 
contemptuous gob of fire in his direction and moved off to the other 
side of the cavern, where it hovered, flickering with light and shadow.

FullSky was not even certain exactly what the Watcher was.  It was 
like, and yet unlike, a drahl.  It had the power to punish and to 
terrify, and it spent its power lavishly upon both the bodied and 
disembodied spirits trapped in this place.  It was probably itself a 
trapped spirit, transformed and made terrible by the Enemy.

What its original form had been, FullSky could not even guess.  He 
had watched it take various forms, using whatever power was most 
frightening to those it opposed.  It used fire, it used darkness, most 
of all it used fear.  It became these thingseven the power of fear 
itself, and he had seen no one resist it, especially not these defeated 
spirits, kept alive here for the dark purposes of the Enemy's 
sorceries.

Even from where he huddled now, FullSky could sense distantly the 
crepuscular web of sorcery that Tar-skel was drawing about the realm.

He did not know how, but he knew that all of these trapped 
spirits-including, he feared, his own-were lending power to that 
sorcery through their pain, through their fear and their despair.  The 
web was growing stronger, growing with the despair of the dragons and 
the ifflings and all those who lived in the realm-and perhaps even 
those beyond the realm, where the Nail of Strength sought to cast his 
influence.  The completion of Tar-skel's web of power would be the 
final undoing of all who stood against him.

So long as it remained uncompleted, the sorcery could still be 
broken.  But it would take more than the strength of dragons to break 
it.  This, he was certain, was the time which the prophecies of the 
draconae had foretold.  The rigger Jael was the One spoken of, the One 
for whom the realm would tremble.  It would take Jael's help to break 
the sorcery, and the help of the ifflings, and of all those who knew 
the Enemy and were willing to risk everything to defeat him.

And if he, FullSky, were to have any hope of playing his part, he 
would have to act soon.  It meant risking his silent life in the 
underrealm, in a brazen try for freedom.  He could not do it alone.

The Watcher was too powerful.  But if he could just reach out once 
more to his brother Windrush....

As if in answer to his prayer, the Watcher flickered suddenly and 
floated out of sight on some other errand.

FullSky waited a little longer, to be sure.  Then he slipped his 
kuutekka through an almost invisible opening near the end of the 
underrealm cavern, where the floor fell away and where, not far beyond, 
the abyss of spirits yawned.  He moved quickly, but with desperate 
care, hoping that he could pick up a trace of his brother's presence 
near one of the concealed windows that he had left in the underweb of 
Windrush's cavern.

FullSky's hope was that the Watcher's own powers could be turned to 
its disadvantage, and bring him his freedom.  His fear was that the 
failure of his plan could make his brother a captive here alongside 
him-or worse, in the chasm of spirits.

Without hope, FullSky could not live.  This was a tern, able risk, 
but it was one he had to take.  He hoped Windrush would be willing to 
take it, as well.  Not for his sake alone, but for the sake of the 
realm.

 Chapter 19

TRAITOR SEARCH THE COMPANY of dragons entered their final, exhausted 
glide from the crest of the Scarred Mount Ridge, swooping down into the 
small lumenis grove that lay between the ridge and the main dragon 
camp.  Windrush had not allowed any respite in the flight back over the 
mountains from the Enemy's land.  Even so, he saw at once that they had 
arrived too late.

The lumenis groves were a smoking ruin, and a brief probe of the 
protective spells showed them shattered by a far greater sorcery.  The 
dragons who had remained to guard the groves were nowhere to be seen.

They had either fled or died.  Windrush raged helplessly at the 
Enemy, and at himself for spending so much of their strength on a 
mission driven by anger and frustration, rather than by wisdom.

The dragons would miss these groves sorely.  Windrush wondered if 
other groves had been attacked, as well.  It seemed likely.  But how 
many others?

"Scouts!"  he called I banking back toward the other dragons wheeling 
in the air.  "Fly ahead to the Valley of Fallen Light!  Return at once 
if they need help there!"  Four scout dragons, already bone-weary, 
soared away at once to the east, toward the most precious lumenis grove 
in the held land.

Windrush's thoughts were interrupted by a call from the guard 
warrens, below.

"Survivors!"

Windrush landed immediately.  Emerging from the stone shelters, 
moving with great difficulty, were two badly injured dragons.  One was 
dragging a broken wing; the other bore terrible open wounds from the 
talons of enemy warriors.  They squinted into the sun, croaking 
helplessly to their too-late rescuers.

Windrush approached, venting black smoke at such atrocities 
perpetrated upon his land.

One of the injured was groaning, "We tried ... tried to defend .

. ."

"Of course," Windrush rumbled reassuringly, moved by the anguish in 
the dragons' eyes.  "The others-were they all killed?"

The guard dragon nodded.  "All that we saw.  Except us.

Help came ... from the camp ... too late.  We sent them ... where 
they might still do some good ... hid ourselves to report .  . ."  The 
dragon wheezed for breath.

Windrush sighed.  "Rightly done.  What happened?"

The story was exactly as he had feared.  Hordes of drahls had 
appeared just before dawn, hurling themselves into a frenzied attack up 
on the grove.  At the same moment that the dragons were attacking an 
empty valley, the drahls were inflicting terrible damage here.  The 
defenders held as long as they could, struggling to keep the guarding 
spells knit against the invasion.  But the drahls, working the Enemy's 
sorceries, overwhelmed them.  Once the guarding spells were broken, the 
defenders, vastly outnumbered, had no chance at all.

Windrush listened, trembling with anger.  At last, he turned away, 
leaving others to get the final details.  He feared for the Valley of 
Fallen Light.  If the scouts he'd sent out had found the enemy still 
there, they would need help, and quickly.  Calling together the 
leaders, he gave new instructions.  Half of Stronghold's dragons would 
remain here.  All the rest would fly on with him to see if drahls were 
still abroad in the realm.

With growing despair, he left the ruins of the grove behind.

The flight took them over the main camp, where a few dragons on 
sentry duty rose to give their report.  Moments later, the scouts he 
had sent ahead earlier returned to meet them in the air.  And on this 
day filled with such crushing humiliation, Windrush at last heard good 
news.  The Valley of Fallen Light was safe-the approach spells intact, 
the guard dragons unharmed, the valley undisturbed.  The enemy warriors 
had attacked two other smaller groves along the flanks of the Scarred 
Mount Ridge, but had not struck this far to the east.

Apparently the Enemy's purpose was to harass the dragons, to wear 
away at their reserves, to weaken them without confronting their 
greatest strength directly.  Though the Enemy's attack today had been 
less than the final deathblow Windrush had feared, Tar-skel must surely 
have reveled in his chance to turn the dragons' angry offensive into a 
costly humiliation.

Now, Windrush knew, he had to find a way to turn despair back into 
hope.  If he could not, who would?  This morning, the dragons' unity of 
purpose had been over, whelming.  Now it was shattered.  Already he had 
overheard some grumbling about Windrush's decisions, Windrush's 
mistakes, Windrush's failure to find the murderous traitor.

And perhaps the complaints were not wholly without justification.

But recriminations could only turn this defeat into an even greater 
catastrophe.  Bad enough that they'd lost lumenis.  If he lost the 
dragons' support, the struggle was as good as over.

That meant he must regain the confidence of his followers-and he knew 
what had to be done.  The traitor must be found, and there must be no 
mistake.  He summoned Farsight to speak privately at the edge of the 
main camp.  "We must eliminate the treachery from within-and I see only 
one way."  Farsight stared at him dazedly.  "How, Windrush?  I've 
already heard more rumors than you could imagine dragons accused of 
dropping out of formation to consort with drahls, dragons accused of 
speaking to the Enemy through the underrealm, dragons accused of being 
drahls.  I think there are more suspects than dragons."

"That," Windrush said, "is what worries me more, even, than the 
actual treachery.  It is the effect of this rage and suspicion on all 
of us.  No good can come of the innocent being accused with the 
guilty!"

Farsight's clear eyes focused upon his.  "What do you propose?"

Windrush drew a long breath.  "To demand a private union of 
garkkon-rakh with every leader.  Every leader in turn-and then with 
every follower.  I must see for myself who is truly garkkondoh, and who 
is a betrayer of dragons.

It is the only way."

Farsight's eyes glowed with astonishment.  "Every dragon?

Windrush, you cannot demand such a thing!"

"What choice do I have?"

Farsight blew a cloud of steam.  "They will never agree!

Their trust is already shaken.  To propose such a thing-it has never 
been done!  Not union with every dragon!"

"It has been done in ages past," Windrush snapped.  "It can be done 
again."  He said it with greater assurance than he felt.  All he really 
knew of past ages was fragments of draconae stories remembered from his 
days as a fledgling.

But he knew this: there had been a time once when dragons had far 
more readily shared their innermost thoughts with each other, 
especially in time of need.

Farsight spoke in a low sigh, turning his head from side to side, as 
though afraid that someone might be overhearing.  "Ages past?  This is 
another time, Windrush!  I do not know even close companions among us 
who bind in union except under the most extreme circumstances."

"What could be more extreme than this?"  Windrush asked.  "If our 
brothers cannot agree, then I doubt we will find the traitor-and if we 
cannot eliminate this poison from our midst, then I doubt that the 
realm can be saved."

Windrush drew a deep breath of mountain air.  His resolve had become 
clear in his mind, even as he'd spoken of it with Farsight.

Farsight's eyes glowed and he breathed sparks.  "Very well.  But for 
you to examine each and every dragon?  Not even you could endure that 
much, my brother.  Why not call upon a group of us to do this?

What of Winterfall, and Longtouch, and Stronghold?  They are well 
trusted."  Far sight hesitated, blinking soberly.  "To be honest 
Windrush, I think there are many who would choose' if they must submit 
to this-to be judged by one of them, rather than by you.  This is a 
most awkward time in your leadership.  There is no point in denying the 
truth."

Windrush glared, but realized that Farsight was right.  "If the four 
of you are willing-very well.  But I will join with each of you before 
you begin.  There must be no suspicion.

There will be no dragon who is not tested by anotherincluding me."

Farsight blew a flame of approval.  "Perhaps, then, you should begin 
with me-and move on to the others."

Windrush peered around at the scattered and demoralized company of 
dragons.  "Yes.  We should do it in the presence of the others."  He 
drew a deep breath and bellowed into the air: "ALL LEADERS, GATHER IN 
THE VALE OF DECISION!  GATHER NOW!"

His cry echoed throughout the camp.  Other members of the dragon 
company began to stir again-some looking eager, some sullen, some 
puzzled and angry.  Windrush nodded to Farsight, and together they took 
once more to the air, leading the way to the Vale of Decision.

After murmuring privately with the dragons that Farsight had named, 
Windrush addressed the company from the command stone.

"Dragons, you all know that the Enemy learned of our plans before we 
took to the air last night.

You all suspect that we have been betrayed by one of our own.

Well, it is true.  A traitor was overheard, in the night, conspiring 
with a drahl!"  A loud murmur rose; he called for silence.

"BUT-we do not know the identity of the traitor.  I propose to 
undertake now to find the one, who could be among us right here in this 
vale."

Another mutter went up, and several names were rasped out by bitter 
voices.  "Enough!"  Windrush cried angrily.

"There will be judgment!  But by the realm, it will be a fair 
judgment.  I will not have brother turn against brother.  If any of you 
has evidence against another, he may speak now.

If you have no evidence, be silent!"

He paused for a minute to see if any dragon would come forward.

Few of the assembled would even meet his gaze.

It was impossible to guess whether there might be a dragon out there 
attempting to conceal his guilt.  "Very well, then-this is my command!  
There must be a test of each one of us, by someone else known to be 
true.  We must each submit to a union of garkkon-rakh to garkkon-rakh!" 
 There was an immediate rumble of protest, and he raised his voice to 
the volume of a battle command.  "THERE WILL BE NO ONE EXCEPTED!  I 
will be tested first of all!  Each of you will be tested!

And each in your companies, and every dragon still out on patrol will 
be tested!  Qarkkon-rakh to garkkon,rakh!"

The rumbling grew louder.  He shot a crackling flame skyward until he 
had their attention.  "We will begin at one@with me!  I will link with 
Farsight-in your presence and after Farsight, Stronghold-and then 
Winterfall-and Longtouch.  They will each test me and I will test them.

If we are found loyal, those four will examine all of you gathered 
here.  None will be excused!  I know you are weary-but we must, and we 
will find the traitor!"

An uncertain mutter of approval answered him.  He expected no better 
than that.  Many of them, he imagined, were too shocked by his command 
to know how to answer.

But he knew-they all knew-that they would be here, gathered in this 
vale, for a long and grueling time to come.

He hoped he could keep them from rebelling until they were done.

Windrush's gaze locked with his brother's.  Farsight's clear, 
silvery-faceted eyes glimmered with a concealed inner fire.

It was in that fire that he held his most closely guarded thoughts 
and memories; it was that fire which held, and would soon reveal, the 
dragon's soul.  Windrush's gaze passed inward through the deepest 
facets of his brother's eyes; he felt his brother's gaze passing into 
his eyes.  Even as brothers, he and Farsight had only joined this way 
once previously as grown dragons, and that was long ago, before their 
father's death.  He felt a moment of profound hesitation, and then a 
shudder of release, as Farsight dropped the barriers surrounding his 
privacy and secret selffiood, like a veil falling away.

Flame blossomed around Windrush's vision, and his spirit, as 
Farsight's thoughts and memories bubbled up to join his ...

His brother was even angrier about today's treachery than he was-and 
beneath the anger burned the memory, the infuriating memory of the 
voice of a dragon plotting treachery with a drahl.  (If only I could 
recognize it ... if only I could recognize it ... 1) Farsight's inner 
mind murmured over and over.  Windrush shared the churning memory and 
the frustration.  He strained to identify that voice in his brother's 
memory, to recognize what Farsight could not.  It was so tantalizing 
... and yet finally impossible.  There were a dozen dragons whose voice 
it might have been.

Farsight felt his frustration, as well, and together they let go of 
the memory, as so many other images rushed up to displace it.  There 
were memories of their father, Highwing, teaching them to fly and to 
duel; bright memories.  And long-ago memories of their mother, 
SkyTouch, of her chiming voice and her lenslike beauty, wings and body 
of glass, flying against the sun like a thousand jewels.  It was she, 
in the beginning, who had taught them of the Words, and the histories 
that were the domain of the draconae and the puzzlement of the draconi.

Once grown out of fledgling, hood, they saw her rarely, living as she 
did in the Dream Mountain; but when she flew to them, she was like a 
living sunset.  And then one horrifying day, Highwing came and told 
them of her brutal death: a singing jewel, knocked from the sky by 
young dragons who were already under the influence of the unseen, 
unrevealed Tar-skel.  Highwing had destroyed those fledglings, then 
helplessly watched her die.

SkyTouch's death changed their father.  Though the brothers had seen 
it in different ways, they both knew of her words to him at the end, 
Words of the prophecy.

Highwing believed that, like it or not, he had become a part of the 
enactment of those Words when the rigger Jael came into the realm, 
changing the course of dragon history.

Darker images welled up in the link then-images of Farsight's and 
WingTouch's time of blackness, of their seduction by the Enemy's claims 
and promises of power, and their desertion of their father when the 
dragons of the realm attacked him for befriending an outsider.  It was 
a shameful and humiliating memory, but Farsight made no effort to 
conceal it.  They both knew that it was down there, among the very 
darkest of the memories, that Windrush must especially search, to see 
if any loyalty to the Enemy lingered, to see if there was any chance 
that Farsight himself was culpable as a traitor.

And search Windrush did, without apologies.  At the same time, 
Farsight was searching his memories@f his contact with FullSky, and of 
his times of weakness, when he had doubted his own leadership, and of a 
time earlier, when he too had been afraid to defend Highwing, until 
shamed into it by an outsider named Jael.  There were failures enough 
to go around.

But in Farsight, though he found a deep shame for the past, Windrush 
found no trace of disloyalty since.

(You musn't doubt it, either of You.) Windrush started.  He thought 
he had heard a voice whisper those words, a voice that was neither of 
theirs, and yet was so familiar that it caught his attention at once 
and Farsight's, as well.

(You mustn't give up.) (Farsight?) Windrush whispered.

(Windrush?) whispered Farsight.

Their locked souls burned like lumenis.  (Highwing?) Windrush did not 
mean to voice the question into the bonding, but of course there was no 
way not to.  And he realized that Farsight had thought, and spoken, the 
same question at the same time.

There was no clear answer, but he thought he heard the voice again, 
growing fainter.  (Seek out the one who cries, "Friend of Highwing!"  
Without her, you are lost.... ) The final words were so faint that 
Windrush was scarcely certain he had not imagined them.  So often 
before, he had thought that he had felt the silent, invisible presence 
of his father's spirit, perhaps reaching out from the heartfires of the 
Final Dream Mountain-but never had he heard his father's voice in 
words.

He gazed into the soul of Farsight, and knew that his brother, too, 
had recognized the presence of Highwing.

And Farsight, too, was unsure what to think or say.

(I do not doubt you, Farsight,) Windrush said at last.

(I do not doubt you, Windrush,) answered his brother.

And they dissolved the link, and Windrush let a long, slow sigh 
escape from his throat.  The fire between them flickered and went out, 
and he blinked and widened his gaze.  Surrounded by the waiting 
dragons, his brother was staring back at him, with a tiny ray of new 
hope gleaming in his eyes.

When he entered into union with Stronghold, his thoughts were already 
ringing with deep memories, with hopes and regrets.  Amber flame 
blossomed within Stronghold's eyes, and he felt the memory of his link 
with Farsight bubbling up at once.  It could not be helped.

Stronghold shared those memories with surprise and interest, and gave 
as well as he received.

There was so much to be seen, so much to learn.  With astonishment, 
Stronghold discovered the depth of Windrush's memories of Jael-and of 
his recent contact with FullSky.  From Stronghold, there were the 
memories of the practice of battle as a young dragon, and the lure of 
the duels, and the promises of dragons gathering to destroy any from 
the outside who would come to change their world.

Stronghold, too, had been fooled by the unseen spirit of Tar-skel, 
ensnared by a promise of glory, trapped by a subtle sorcery from which 
he was freed by the victory at the Black Peak.

Windrush searched Stronghold's heart carefully@and he found there 
much discouragement and frustration, and indeed, more than a little 
dissatisfaction with Windrush's abilities as a leader.  He examined 
that dissatisfaction closely, and with considerable discomfort.  But 
Stronghold's trust in Windrush's character and garkkondoh remained 
steadfast, and whatever his concerns about means and strategies, he 
showed not a hint of disloyalty.  Above all, he bore a burning desire 
for the defeat of the Enemy who had once enslaved him.

(I do not doubt you, Stronghold.) (Nor I you, Windrush.) Spilling 
over with memories and reflections that he wished he could spend a 
season studying and understanding, Windrush opened his gaze to 
Winterfall's.  Their memories fell together like a swirling snowstorm.

Winterfall had never trusted the Enemy, never been swayed or seduced, 
never wanted anything but to rid the realm of anything that echoed of 
the Nail of Strength.

Winterfall was a cautious dragon, who loved to fly more than he loved 
to fight.  Like Windrush, he had gone into hiding during the times of 
subtle treachery when Tar-skel's hidden influence had darkened the 
realm, twisting the behavior of dragons who did not even suspect that 
the Enemy of legend lived.

After the Black Peak, Winterfall had emerged to assert his 
strength-and had called vocally for Windrush's leadership in the 
struggle.  Now, in his deepest soul, he harbored terrible doubts about 
whether the dragons could prevail.  But he would rather die than betray 
those doubtsor his own people-to the Enemy.

Heady with exhaustion, Windrush joined with Longtouch-a dragon whose 
clarity of inner sit and whose focus of thought were so keen that 
Windrush felt his own inner maelstrom settling and calming in the 
other's presence.  Windrush had never joined with Longtouch before, and 
he was amazed at the silent wisdom that he found.

Longtouch had no idea who the traitor was, but his mind blazed in 
search of clues.  Here, Windrush realized, was one in whom he should 
place far greater trust.  When he ended the union, he felt as though he 
were leaving the presence of a dazzling fire.

Four unions in a row was enough.  Windrush's mind was ringing, but he 
was satisfied.  "Leaders!"  he called out.  "I leave these four to 
continue the search for the traitor.  I trust them completely."

"As we trust Windrush," called Stronghold, echoed by the other three.

The gathered dragons rumbled restlessly, but Windrush continued 
without pause.  "I must now search elsewhere for knowledge that may be 
vital to us."  Weary though he was, he felt an urgent need to continue 
his search of the underrealm.

Farsight's gaze touched Windrush's just enough to murmur silently, 
(If you find FullSky again, tell him of our need.) (I think he knows 
already, better than we do,) Windrush said.

With a throaty rumble, he left the gathering and took to the air at 
once for the mountains north of the camp, and his cavern.

 Chapter 20


WORDS IN THE underrealm FLOATING IN the dark, the troubled 
rigger-spirit was going crazy with the taunting of the cavern sprites.

They seemed to be everywhere around him, plaguing him for no apparent 
reason.

"Can't make up his mind, he can't."

"Poor Hodakai."  Giggle.

"Poor, poor Hodakai."

"Shut uP!"  he screeched, which only made them laugh and giggle all 
the harder.

They knew just how to get to him.  Hodakai had been obsessed, lately, 
with trying to decide what to do about Rent, and the dragon.

Rent was becoming increasingly hard-edged about trying to get him to 
join up with Tar,skel.

The last time they had talked, Rent had warned him that if he did not 
agree to help soon, he might be cast from his present isolation into a 
spirit-dungeon that would be far worse.

That had made him angry.  Angry and frightened and confused.

He didn't know what he was going to do.

In particular, Rent had been trying to convince him to entrap the 
dragon the next time the serpent made contact.

Hodakai wasn't at all sure that this was something he wanted to do.  
It wasn't that he was feeling any particular affection for the dragon, 
but he didn't like the risk.  He wasn't much of a risk taker, 
really-never had been-notwithstanding the one, eternally regretted time 
when he and his partner had stupidly gone looking for dragons.

Furthermore, there was something the dragon had reminded him of last 
time that had stuck in his mind: that it was the Tar-skel dragons who 
had imprisoned him here, then abandoned him.  And the Tar-skel dragons 
were on the same side as Rent.

Tar-skel controlled the power that could allow Hodakai to walk as a 
man again, as Rent was so fond of reminding him.  But it was Tar-skel, 
really, who had stripped him of his body in the first place.

It was Tar-skel who had the power to enslave.

The power to free from slavery.

The power to embrace the entire realm in a web of sorcery that might 
never be broken, if the ambitions that Hodakai had heard trumpeted were 
true.

These were powers that Hodakai had once found fascinating, in a 
morbid sort of way.  But upon deeper reflection, he now found them 
terrifying.  They certainly didn't make him want to trust Tar-skel.

Hodakai scarcely knew what he wanted anymore.  His feelings were 
increasingly at odds with everything he thought he had decided in the 
past.  He found himself almost wishing that the dragon would visit him 
again, just so that he would be forced to make a decision one way or 
another.

"Hodakai, Hodakai!"

"You sprites, SHUT UP!  SHUT UP!  SHUT UP!"  he bellowed, dancing 
furiously in his prison.  He could not wait for the dragon to visit 
again.

It would be good to know at last what his decision was going to be.

Windrush's cavern seemed a place of cold silence, removed from the 
dangers of treachery and war.  He knew, of course, that this could be a 
deadly illusion.  His safeguards had already been breached, after a 
fashion, by the ifflings and by FullSky.  A sufficiently sorcerous 
enemy, if it knew or cared about where to find Windrush, could probably 
defeat his guarding spells.  Windrush watched two of the sweepers 
scurrying across the floor with his fallen scales, and he felt a 
momentary suspicion.  Could these small creatures be spies of the 
Enemy?  He smelled carefully in their direction, and found nothing but 
the smell of innocence.  What did the sweepers care about the matters 
of the larger world?

Their highest cares were about the shapes of the tiny scalesculptures 
that they left about the cavern.  Windrush noted a new one, a slender, 
bent-tipped pyramid of gleaming silver, in the corner.

Settling down, the dragon turned his attention inward.

His mind was afire with images and worries, hopes and cares.

Sleep was impossible.  He let his thoughts sink deeper.

The underrealm was like a quiet, hissing ocean, after the distress of 
the outer world.  The windows, all but one, remained exactly as he had 
last seen them, surrounding his cavern with opportunities to mystery 
and danger.  The one exception was the passage that had led him into 
the wilderness with FullSky.  That one was now missing, as if it had 
never existed.

He thought of the ifflings, and wondered if they had succeeded in 
reaching Jael.  Whether they had or not, he knew he had to continue his 
search as best he could.  Today Tar-skel had defeated them, badly.  He 
had done so by knowing in advance what the dragons were doing, while 
the Windrush to learn sooner of his adversary's intended actions.

There just had to be.

Windrush turned, somewhat doubtfully, to the window that led to 
Hodakai.

The imprisoned spirit seemed even more agitated than usual when 
Windrush made contact.  The dragon allowed his kuutekka to take form 
within sight of the rigger-spiritwhich seemed only to alarm it.

One called Hodakai, why are you so nervous?  Windrush asked, 
attempting to sound solicitous.

Ah, dragon-it is you, Hodakai said, twitching uneasily.

It is I. Windrush waited, hoping the spirit would settle down.

Have you given any more thought to our last discussion?

The figure of light danced, becoming even more agitated.

What are you talking about?

"Rent will be so ... so ... angry ... dragons struggled in ignorance. 
 There had to be a way for Windrush shook his head at the creature's 
excitability.

About the wisdom of choosing the right friends.  Don't you remember?  
I believe I pointed out to you that your present friends were unlikely 
to be trustworthy in the long run.

The spirit-flame became almost still.  I do recall something of the 
sort, I suppose.

Windrush waited for the invective that would surely follow.  When 
none did, he said, I perceive that you have a certain sense of honor, 
Hodakai.  It's a worthy quality.

If you think to flatterNot at all.  Why would you need it?

Then what-?

I was simply wondering if you'd become disillusioned yet with the 
other side.  You see, they have no sense of honor.

Hodakai hmmphed for a moment.  His spiritpresence seemed to bend in 
thought.  Tell me something, dragon.

Yes?

What is it you want from me?  I'll tell you right now that I can't 
help you find your precious Dream Mountain.

Windrush considered that assertion.  It might be truth, or might not. 
 But there was no good in trying to argue the point.  That is not the 
only thing we need, he said finally.

What else, then?

The dragon took his time in answering.  It would certainly help us 
... to know more about the Enemy and his plans for battle.

Hodakai laughed.  You don't want much, do you?

Well ... perhaps it is a lot.  Windrush let a small plume of steam 
spiral up from the nostrils of his underrealm image.  But anything we 
can learn increases our chances of ridding the realm of him and his 
terror.

The spirit-flame shivered.  I see.  And, of course, you have in mind 
some benefit that I will see from helping you?

Windrush rumbled with impatience.  You will benefit the same as the 
rest of us.  I cannot promise you any reward, Hodakai.  I cannot even 
promise you freedom from your spirit jarexcept, possibly, for your 
flight to the Final Dream Mountain.

The other says that he can let me walk again as a man, Hodakai 
sniffed.

So you have told me.  And as you have pointed out, I cannot do that.  
Windrush paused.  ButWhat?

Think of the price you might pay for choosing the other side.

The spirit snorted, but did not seem altogether certain of itself.

What price, pray tell?

Your garkkon-rakh, Hodakai.  Your soul.

Hah.  So you say!

Windrush hissed at the spirit, silencing him.  I note, he said, that 
you have not chosen the other's side, in all this time.

I think you know that I am right.  As I said, you do have a sense of 
honor.  I will be truthful: on our side, it is possible you will lose 
your life.  But at least if you fly to the Final Dream Mountain, you 
will do so with honor.

Hodakai twitched, bending and straightening.  He did not speak for a 
long time.  Windrush, sensing that the spirit was deep in thought, did 
not interfere.  Suddenly Hodakai made a stabbing movement toward him.  
I can tell you this, he hissed.  The danger is greater than you think.  
Far greater.

Windrush exhaled silently.  What do you mean?

Hodakai's voice grew stronger and harsher.  You are concerned about 
your petty realm here.  But to Tar-skel, your realm is just one little 
stepping-stone to a much greater sorcery.  Each victory here takes him 
a step closer to ruling space itself.  You think of weavings in the 
underweb; I speak of great edifices of power being shaped-all so that 
he can reach out of this realm, out of the Flux, even into what you 
call the static realm.  His ambitions are terrifying, dragon!  You and 
your people are only pebbles to be ground underfoot.  I don't think you 
can stop him.

But if you're going to try, you'd better do it soon.  Once his web is 
complete, you will never break it.

The rigger-spirit fell silent, but his words seemed to ring on in the 
emptiness of the underrealm.  Windrush's thoughts reverberated with 
memories of the lumenis vision, and warnings made by FullSky and by the 
ifflings.  He did not doubt Hodakai's words.

And you are right about one other thing, Hodakai continued, in a 
softer voice.  Without the Dream Mountain, you have no hope.  That is 
why he has hidden it from you.  You must find it-before he becomes its 
master.

Before?  Windrush asked in surprise.  Does he not control it now?

Hodakai hesitated, then shook his fiery head.  I don't think so, no.  
He holds it.  But he is not its master.  Not yet.  At least, that is my 
impression.  He seems to want something f from it that he can't have.

Windrush studied the rigger-spirit with no small astonishment.

Will you not help us find it?  he asked softly.

I told you.  I do not know the way.  I do not have the answers you 
want.  Hodakai was starting to sound wary again, as though for a few 
moments he had mustered his courage, and now was losing it again.

Perhaps not.  But you could watch.  You could listen.  You could tell 
us what you hear of the Enemy's plans.  In that way, you could help us 
defeat him.

The spirit flickered.  I ... perhaps, yes.  But how would I ...

that is, you have not even told me your my name is Windrush, son of 
Highwing, the dragon said abruptly@and in afterthought, added, That you 
may call me, and to that I will answer.  He wondered if the spirit 
understood by his qualifying statement that he was not granting him 
full exchange of trust, but just the first step toward trusting one 
another.  I give you the sound of my name, Hodakai, though not yet the 
fullness of my being.  We are now equal, in that respect.

Windrush, the spirit repeated suspiciously.  Windrush.

And how might I reach you?

It is not safe for you to try.  I will reach you.  The dragon was 
suddenly aware of something shifting in the underweb around him-and of 
Hodakai becoming nervous.

Begone, dragon, the spirit hissed.  At once!  As Windrush cautiously 
began to withdraw his kuutekka, Hodakai screamed, BEGONE, DRAGON!  I 
WILL HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU!  BEGONE, YOU DEVIL, YOU FOUL WORM!

Windrush retreated hastily, breaking the contact.  The underrealm 
seemed to swirl around him even as he pulled back from the connection.

Something was approaching Hodakai from another direction, but he 
could no longer sense it.  Was it the Enemy, or one of his servants?

Windrush drew himself back into his own lair, pausing at the under 
realm window.  Nothing seemed to be pursuing.

Had he escaped without revealing his presence?  Could he trust 
Hodakai to keep the visit to himself.?

There were no guarantees, none at all.

Windrush secured the opening to the best of his ability.

He sighed, trying to make sense of what he had learned.

The Enemy did not yet control Dream Mountain.  He knew he should 
rejoice but his mind was too full of cares, and too tired.  Perhaps he 
ought to get some sleep.

Unless an iffling showed up in the next few moments to distract him, 
that was what he was going to do.  The moments passed, and no one, 
iffling or otherwise, came visiting.

Very well, then.  He closed his eyes-and he listened, as time 
stretched around him, to his own heartbeat.  It seemed only to grow 
louder with each passing moment, and the cares dancing in his thoughts 
more urgent.


 Chapter 21


AWAKENING HER AWARENESS wavered about her like a bolo going out of 
focus, its dimensional integrity flickering and holding for a fraction 
of a second, then disintegrating again.  Jael was struggling to return 
to consciousness.  But her efforts seemed disconnected from reality, 
somehow, divorced from her own mind.  She felt herself gently rocked by 
aftershocks, distant gongs and pings, echoing through whatever ...

awareness .  . . or reality ... surrounded her.  They were, she knew 
in some dim recess of her mind, aftershocks of the force that had 
hurled them to ... wherever she was now.  She felt the shock waves, but 
was separated from them... and from her companions.  There was a 
boundary layer...

She felt that she was clawing her way upward through an endless sea, 
holding her breath, praying that she could reach the surface before her 
lungs burst.  The surface shimmered out of reach, but she kept swimming 
toward it, trying to cry out, but unable to make a sound.

She wanted to weep, not knowing where in this ocean she was, or if 
she was alone, or if she was even really alive.  She was aware of pain, 
but it too was separated from her.

She heard someone calling her name, calling ...

And then it all began to slip away.  The voice faded.  She felt 
herself sinking back into unawareness, into the quiet tidepool of the 
unconscious from which she had risen.

jarvorus' recovery from the shock of passage came slowly.

The stunned feeling of bewilderment was gradually fading.

Whatever that enormous thing was that had hurled the human vessel 
across several layers of space and time, it had done so with an 
astounding force.  Despite jarvorus' abilities to skate across 
space-time boundaries, he was nonetheless amazed to find himself 
unharmed, and still securely ensconced near the vessel's power source.

As he regained his faculties, the warrior looked around for the 
others.  The iffling was still there.  It looked as though it too had 
been stunned, but was now awakening.  He thought briefly of attacking, 
but he himself was hardly prepared for a fight just now.  In any case, 
he felt a curious reluctance.  He recalled his earlier feeling that 
there was something about this creature that he liked .  . . that he 
wanted to understand.  As long as the iffling did not interfere with 
his mission to lead the One where she was supposed to go, its continued 
life would not be a problem.

The human and her shipmate were glowing with life, as well, but not 
moving.  They appeared not to be conscious.

There was also that strange, cold light that flickered and rasped, 
the thing that seemed in a way almost alive, but not quite like any of 
the others.  It was making odd hacking concussions now, which conveyed 
no meaning to jarvorus.

Jarvorus turned his attention to the real question, which was, where 
were they?

He peered past the shimmering layers of energy that protected the 
vessel from the surrounding medium, and was startled to see a landscape 
full of sharp craggy rises and deep dips, and a multicolored sky.  The 
ship was lodged against the side of one of those crags.  Strong winds 
outside were making the ship shudder.  There was something about the 
sight .  . . something in the air that made him ache strangely, that 
made him shudder as well, that had nothing to do with the force of the 
wind.  There was a sharp, challenging smell in the air that seemed to 
urge him to leave this vessel, to fly free.  He felt, for a moment, 
almost as if he remembered this place.  An image rose unbidden in his 
thoughts of an enclosed place of rock, a cavern-life winking in the 
crevices, most unwarriorlike beings chattering and singing.  The image 
puzzled him.

Was this home?  He scarcely remembered his life prior to his time as 
a warrior.  Had they arrived back in the realm of his origin, the realm 
he had been remade and reborn to protect?

jarvorus studied the landscape with wonderment, pausing only for an 
instant to glance in the direction of the iffling.  It was glimmering 
with energy, apparently taking stock of its own situation.

Was it reacting in the same way he was?  Did it have memories of a 
past life here?  He couldn't tell.

He knew that his mission was the opposite of the iffling's, and that 
troubled him.  They had been together for so long, even as adversaries, 
that he could not help thinking of the iffling-and even Jael 
herself-almost as comrades of a sort.

They had all just been through a great trauma together.  He knew he 
should not be thinking such thoughts, but it was difficult not to.

 In any case, his concern now was not with the iffling.  He


had other needs, and he was bursting with desire to explore this 
strangely wondrous and familiar world.  And yet ... he must consider 
his mission.  If the riggers awakened, he had to be ready.  Except that 
he was a little unclear about what he was supposed to do next.  Even if 
they were in the home realm, he had no idea where in the realm he was, 
or for that matter, where exactly he was supposed to lead the riggers.

Had he somehow forgotten-or was it a missing part of his 
instructions?  He needed to discover his next course of action.

He was suddenly aware of an almost overwhelming urge to explore 
beneath the surface of the observable world.

Perhaps this was no coincidence; perhaps that was where he would find 
his answers.  If he could keep just a corner of his attention upon the 
iffling and the human, he could let the rest of his senses sink down 
into the body of this land, to search out the land beneath the land.

Even as he thought it, he felt it happening, as though it were 
something he was born to do.  A whole new world opened up to him.  It 
was not a world of open space like the wind and the rocks, but rather a 
vast, gloomy network of threads and passageways that seemed to lead in 
all directions.  As he peered down one, then another, he glimpsed 
distant lights of life, winking in caverns.  He trembled with a sudden 
desire to reach out, to discover who those lights belonged to.  One of 
them was different from the others, more distant but far stronger, and 
now it seemed to pulse and beckon almost irresistibly.

Perhaps, without losing his present position, he could just reach out 
to it ... make contact ...

Jarvorus was startled to find himself suddenly, wholly, in the 
presence of that light.  He had not meant to jump, only to reach-but it 
was as if the light had opened the pathway completely, and swept him in 
an instant into its presence.

He felt a stab of panic.  Would he be able to find his way back?

Welcome, my helper-warrior!  cried the light, driving away his alarm. 
 I thought I felt your return to the realm!

Jarvorus quivered with amazement and uncertainty.  He felt that he 
ought to know this being, but he could not quite grasp the memory.

The light coalesced into an almost solid shape that, strangely, 
reminded Jarvorus somehow of the human rigger.  In no way would he have 
mistaken it for Jael, but he could not help wondering if there was some 
sort of similarity between them.  The light spoke again.  Do you 
remember who I am?

Jarvorus struggled.  I think I ... Are you the one who ... ?

Made you?  Yes.  Indeed, I am pleased that you remember, said the 
being.  I am the one who created you, made you over.  With, it added 
quickly, the wisdom and power of the Nail of Strength.

You sent me on my mission, Jarvorus ventured.

I oversaw your creation from the simple being that I found floating 
uselessly in a cavern, and I gave you your mission, and Prepared you 
for your journey.  You called me Master Rent, before you were born into 
that other world.

Fragments of memory drifted up into jarvorus' awed mind.  He recalled 
awakening in the other realm.  And before that ... he found vague 
memories of life in a cavern, with others of his kind, a gentler and 
less perilous life.

Sometime in between, he'd experienced a time of terrifying 
transformation, when he'd been changed somehow, and imbued with 
specific knowledge and instruction and abilities, which had awakened in 
him upon his rebirth as a warrior.  And that must have been when he'd 
learned of the Nail, and the treachery of the dragons.  And now he was 
again in the presence of his creator and master!

What report do you have for me, brave warrior?  asked Master Rent, 
studying him closely.  How have you and the other warriors fared?  Do 
the others guard the human rigger now, while you report?

jarvorus was suddenly overwhelmed by shame and fear.

Master Rent, he confessed, I am the only survivor of the warriors.

The others ... fell to the ifflings.

To the ifflings!

Only one iffling now remains, jarvorus whispered.  The human rigger 
is ... in the realm, but not conscious.

The figure of light and shadow approached him, its voice deepening 
and becoming hypnotic.  Show me what has happened, jarvorus.

The warrior felt an electric touch between them.  His memories from 
the other realm stirred in him, rising and flowing out to the one who 
made him.  He did not speak, nor did he need to.

I see, Rent said, after a few moments.

The warrior-elemental could not tell if his master was pleased or 
displeased.  Should I have done something differently?  he asked 
timidly.

Rent seemed to consider.  I might wish that you had not let the 
iffling live.  But even that could have its uses.  I perceive that you 
struggled bravely, and you kept the mission paramount in your thoughts.

No, it seems you did well, warrior.  But@our work is not yet over.

The voice became harder.  Much remains for you to do.

I am ready to serve, jarvorus murmured, though a part of him wanted 
to cry out that he was tired, and surely he'd done enough already.

He sensed a great pulsing activity within the figure of Master Rent.  
He sensed that the master was thinking, and perhaps speaking to others, 
even as he was present here with Jarvorus.  Was he planning the next 
assignment?  jar, vorus felt a nervous anticipation-and a growing 
urgency to return to the vessel carrying the rigger Jael.  The iffling 
was still there, and she should not be left unmatched for long.

You are going to lead the rigger Jael to a place where she may not 
wish to go, Rent said suddenly.  I will give you everything you need to 
do that.  But I have something else for you to do first.

Dare I leave the rigger alone any longer?  jarvorus asked weakly.

Do not question my orders!  Rent snapped.  I will send others to 
guard the rigger-and when you return to her, you may command them.  But 
first I require you to perform an errand elsewhere.  I wish you to take 
the form of an iffling when you do so.  Can you manage?  You seem to 
have had ample opportunity to observe the ifflings.

Take the form of an iffling?  That would be easy enough, as long as 
only the outward form mattered.  Jarvorus bowed in acknowledgment.

As he did so@ his master flared momentarily, and he felt the sudden, 
electric touch of Rent delivering words into his mind-a message to be 
delivered, along with a tiny spell of persuasion.  He felt implicitly 
the instruction that the content of that message was none of his 
business.  Shall I bring the rigger Jael to you afterward?  he asked, 
meaning to acknowledge the instruction.

Rent darkened with anger.  You will not!  You will do pre, ct .

sely as I say!  Is that understood?

Jarvorus bowed again.

Now then, snapped Rent, I will explain what you are to do with the 
rigger.  Pay attention!  You will take her to a place I have selected, 
safe from the dragons.  There she will be bound, so that her sorcery 
cannot ... interfere ... with our work.  Until the time comes-Rent 
paused.  There was a certain breathless urgency in his instruction, 
which surprised jarvorus.

Forgive me, Jarvorus said.  But surely you're not afraid that the 
rigger could hurt us.

Rent's image flared, darkened, flared again.  What are you implying, 
warrior?

Nothing, Master-nothing!  Forgive me!

A bolt of lightning flashed through jarvorus, stunning him more than 
hurting him.  Forgive you?  growled Rent.  In time, I may.  But now, 
curb your insolence, or I shall return you to the life of a powerless 
sprite from which you came.

jarvorus waited fearfully.

The rigger Joel is a powerful sorceress.  Until the proper times 
comes, she must be kept far from the powers and workings of the Nail.

Is that understood?  Furthermore, she must not be permitted to see or 
to speak with a dragon, or her powers may become magnified.  Rent 
focused a stern gaze upon the warrior.  And you will keep her FAR FROM 
THIS PLACE, at all times!

Then where-?

SILENCE!  You are a clever and ambitious warrior, and that is to your 
credit-and mine.  But you will listen in silence!

jarvorus listened in silence.

There is a place prepared for her, a place known as the Pool of 
Visions.  It is an ancient place of power, a place long forgotten by 
the dragons.  It is a place where we will begin to take control of the 
rigger's ambitions and powers, and turn them at last to the final 
destruction of the dragon threat.

jarvorus listened in growing awe.

Open yourself now and I will give you all of your instructions.

I will teach you to change shape, to become as one more pleasing to 
her eye, to gain her trust.  And I will grant you a power reserved for 
the most special of my servants.  I will bestow upon you the 4

1power of eyes"-a power never before granted to one of your kind.

Open yourself, my warrior, and receive.

jarvorus obeyed.  Fearfully, excitedly, he bowed to receive the 
direct thoughts of his master.

It was a very long contact.  When it ended, Rent seemed to become 
large before jarvorus, and yet to draw back.  You are released to go.

Those warriors who will serve under you have been dispatched.  You 
may go to deliver your message.  You know the way.

For an instant jarvorus thought to speak, then thought better of it.  
He felt light and dizzy with new thoughts.  He bowed his flame in 
acquiescence and backed away from his master and creator.

Rent disappeared behind a veil of fog.  Behind Jarvorus, the darkness 
of a passage opened, and he felt himself turning and jumping outward 
through the realm beneath the realm.

Hodakai was as nervous as a sprite keeping a secret.  Ever since he'd 
talked to that dragon Windrush, he'd been out of his mind with anxiety. 
 He had tried to escape into fantasies of rigging, but found it 
impossible.  Here, he'd as good as promised Windrush that he would 
serve as a spy, but now he was anything but certain that he wanted to 
go through with it.

It hadn't helped to have the dragon's visit interrupted by Rent.

It was positively demonic, the way Rent seemed able to sense when 
Hodakai was feeling anxious.  He didn't think Rent had actually seen 
the dragon; but Hodakai was a poor liar, and knew it.  Rent hadn't 
stayed long, had said he merely wanted to see how Hodakai was doing, 
and to offer him a little more time to make his decision.  Hodakai was 
virtually certain that Rent had some other purpose in mind, but if so, 
he had gone away without revealing it.

Now, just a little later, Hodakai felt the underweb trembling with 
another visitor arriving.  For an instant, he thought it was the dragon 
returning.  But to his astonishment, what appeared was neither the 
dragon nor Rent; it was an iffling.  An iffling?

The being floated in his presence like a sprite but more than a 
sprite.  It was more somber, and clearly more intelligent, than a 
sprite.  It spoke his name softly, even in the quiet of the cavern, 
though there was no one else around to hear.  Hodakai, it said.

Hodakai could not imagine why an iffling would visit him.  He hardly 
knew what to say.  Finally he just said: Iffling?

The thing floated closer.  Something about it seemed a little odd, 
but he could not say what.  The truth was that he had seen very few 
ifflings in his life, and for all he knew, they came in as many shapes 
and styles as humans in his own universe.  This one glimmered with a 
particular intensity.  Hodakai, we must speak.  Though its voice was 
soft, it commanded attention.

About what?  Hodakai murmured.

About your relationships with certain dragons, whispered the iffling.

D-dragons?  Hodakai, though he had no body, nevertheless felt a 
breath-holding reflex take over.  He pulsed with self-consciousness.

Wh-what dragons?

Come, Hodakai.  We both know about it.  Why deny it?

Hodakai was stunned.  How many people in this wretched land knew 
about it when he talked with Wind, rush?  I guess I have had some 
conversations, he said finally.

But what of it?  It was dragons who captured me.  Why shouldn't I 
have conversations with them?

The iffling glimmered.  I do not say that you shouldn't, Hodakai.

Far from it.  But the question is, do you understand how they are 
planning to deceive you?  That's what I came to warn you about.

What do you mean?

For a moment or two, the iffling remained silent.  It floated before 
him, making him very nervous.  He had no great love for ifflings, but 
when it came down to it, the one thing he'd always heard about them was 
that they were truthful.  Irksome, yes.  Capricious, yes.  A nuisance, 
yes.

But truthful.

Hodakai, are you aware that the dragons have summoned another human 
to this realm?

What?

And that they have done so for the sole purpose of cementing their 
private stranglehold on this world?

You mean the Tar-skel dragons?

Listen to me, Hodakai!  I'm talking about the dragons who oppose the 
Nail!

Hodakai fell silent before the flamelike iffling.  He was stunned, 
and bewildered.  If this creature was speaking the truth, then he had 
just been made a fool of by Windrush.

Don't you see that they're planning to betray you?

Who?

The dragons who have been visiting you!  They're trying to enlist 
your help against the other side, aren't they?

But I thought- He hesitated.  WellThe iffling pulsed.

Hodakai felt as though a cottony web were closing around him.  I 
suppose, yes, they are, he said dully.  Not that I've listened to them.

Of course not, because you are perceptive.  You sensed that their 
purpose in seeking your trust, in appealing to your better nature as a 
human, is to further enslave you.

I ... Hodakai struggled to find words.  It was Rent who was trying to 
enslave him, not the dragons-wasn't it?  Or was it the other way 
around?  Why couldn't he think?

Hodakai, we ifflings are a peaceful folk.  But one thing that makes 
us angry is untruthfulness!  These dragons claim to fight for freedom.  
And yet, they seek to enslave an innocent person I ike you!

Hodakai bobbed in confusion.  It was true that the dragons had always 
made him suspicious.  They always seemed to want something, but never 
could he remember them offering anything in return.  They controlled 
his life and his death.  Except for a few pitiful spells they had left 
in the cavern, he was helpless here.

Unless, of course, he joined up with the other side.

Hodakai-you must not be without hope.

What do you mean?  Can you free me?

Not I. You.  You can free yourself, replied the iffling.  Free 
yourself from bondage.  Defeat them at their own game.  Join with those 
who would never betray you!

Hodakai felt his soul churning.  Who was he to believe?

I always thought you ifflings and dragons were friends!  Why are you 
coming and telling me this, if you're friends?  I don't get it.

The iffling floated backward for a moment.  Hodakai felt an odd 
rustling in the underweb, and for just an instant felt a breath of 
clarity.  A moment later, the iffling floated toward him again, and 
that cottony feeling returned.  You must understand.  To us, right and 
truth are more important than passing friendships.  The iffling's voice 
sounded aggrieved.  It is true that we have had friendships with 
dragons.  But when those same dragons abandoned truth, in favor of 
their own selfish wants ...

Almost against his will, Hodakai found his own anger returning-a very 
old anger.  Anger against those who had trapped him in this universe 
and killed his only shipmate.

He remembered all the times that dragons had lied to him, promising 
to set him free, and humiliated him, before leaving him here alone to 
rot with the cavern sprites.  And to think that he'd almost decided to 
trust one of them!  That worm Windrush-if that was even his real name!

If you're wondering what you could doYes!  he cried.

The iffling drew close.  If you have their trust already, there are 
many ways to deal with betrayal.  May I suggest that you treat them as 
they treated you.

They're liars, Hodakai whispered.

Indeed.  And I suggest that you reflect their own lies back upon 
them.  My guess, Hodakai, is that they have asked you to serve as their 
spy.

Hodakai acknowledged with an embarrassed flicker that that was true.

Then you hold a potent weapon in your hands, rigger-spirit.

When they come to you for information, give them misdirection 
instead.  What better way to help us end this struggle!

I don't care a damn about the struggle, Hodakai said.  I'll tell you 
that right now.

Nor do we.  Except to end it.

Hodakai was startled.  Well, if that Windrush tries any, thing ...

The iffling brightened at the sound of the dragon's name.

You are wise, rigger.  Most wise.  If I may be so bold as to make an 
offer ...

Of course.

We would be pleased to provide you with misdirection to thwart the 
dragons' efforts.  Would you like us to do this?

Yes.  Thank you, he whispered.

You are welcome.  I trust you would not mind if, on occasion, we 
passed this information to you through an intermediary?  Such as your 
friend Rent?

Rent?  he thought in amazement.  Rent?  But I-I don'tBe assured that 
you may trust Rent implicitly.

I- His words choked off, leaving him speechless.  Rent?

He was going to have to trust Rent?  Perhaps he had misjudged the 
man.  Was it possible that the iffling knew more about Rent than he 
did?

Is that agreeable?  the iffling asked.

Hodakai, feeling slightly ... stunned ... finally flickered his 
assent.

Thank you.  And now, Hodakai, I must go.  You will hear from us again 
soon.

So long, Hodakai whispered, as the iffling slowly faded into the 
underrealm.  He stared after it for a long time, before turning his 
thoughts inward.  As he remembered Windrush, his thoughts burned with 
humiliation.  He had come so close to agreeing to help the dragon.

Well, he would show it.  Yes, he would.  Truth and justice, not 
dragons, would prevail if he had anything to do with it.

jarvorus slipped through the underrealm like a breath of wind, 
returning by an instinct he didn't even know he had, directly to the 
place where he had left the riggers unconscious in their cocoons of 
energy.  He was mystified, but pleased, by his successful mission on 
behalf of Master Rent.  In his guise as an iffling, the words had come 
to him as needed, welling up out of his unconscious like waters from an 
underground stream.  Rent, exactly as he had promised, had provided him 
with everything he had needed to deliver the message to that terribly 
strange riggerbeing, Hodakai-along with the ludicrously simple spell of 
persuasion.

If he didn't precisely understand the reasons for that mission, he 
put the question out of his thoughts now.  He had his primary mission 
to think of, and that was to lead Jael to the Pool of Visions.

Emerging from the underrealm near the spaceship, he found all as he 
had left it@except for the presence, gum mering in the hills on all 
sides of the ship, of the new warrior-sprites sent here by Rent.  They 
were watching, doing nothing.

Excellent.

jarvorus moved past them to take charge once more.

Chapter 22

A BATTLE IN THE DARK IT SEEMED as though half the night had passed, 
by the time Windrush gave up on sleep and blinked his eyes open to the 
dark form of the draxis in the cold hearth.  He sighed.

It was useless.  There was too much to do, too much to learn.  Too 
many duties weighing on his mind, including the many dragon guardian 
holds he knew he ought to inspect as leader.  He thought of the minor 
lumenis groves throughout the held land, each with loyal dragons 
standing watch; and the Grotto Garden of the Forest Mountains, to the 
south, perhaps the only surviving dragon garden in the realm; and the 
Deep Caverns, far to the east, where powerful, ancient spell-weavings 
were now only a memory, but a potent memory ...

And yet with all these places to visit, he knew that the place he had 
to start was right here in his own cavern.  There were two more 
underrealm windows that he had not yet explored.

He stretched, unkinking his neck.  He let a breath of steam rise 
toward the ceiling, then blew a flame into it, warming the cavern.

Finally he sank back into the underrealm and smelled about for spies 
or intruders.  Satisfied that he was alone, he considered his next 
action.

Of the two windows, he was tempted by the one that smelled of 
woodland and salt sea.  But something seemed to tell him that it was 
not yet time to look that way; there was something he needed to see 
first.  He felt himself drawn toward the window of glowering 
underground fire.  He didn't know why.  But he sensed that someone, or 
something, was calling him from that dark place.

He smelled the sulfur, even before his kuutekka was fully formed in 
the window.  Stretching his thought out through the weave of the 
underweb, he found himself entering what seemed a labyrinth of 
underground pathways, a maze that seemed to increase in complexity as 
his thought ranged out, trying to find an underlying pattern.  It was a 
place of darkness, and somewhere in the distance, a place of fire.  He 
smelled danger.  It made him think of the Enemy, but he did not think 
that this place was a creation of the Enemy.

Perhaps, he thought, it was a natural feature of the underrealm that 
now bore the mark of the Enemy's passage and use.

Windrush felt more than a little anxious as he probed down one 
pathway, then another.  Would there be drahls?  r, Would he find 
Tar-skel, waiting to draw him in to his death?  He fought to clear his 
thoughts of such questions, to keep from radiating his apprehension 
like a beacon through the underrealm.  He wished he knew what he was 
looking for, or which direction to look.

After a time, he returned in discouragement to a point 6

near where he had entered, and he rested in silence awhile, I 
listening.  Eventually he heard sounds he had not noticed before, 
sounds such as might be heard deep in the earth, traveling from great 
distances.  He heard groans, as of stone rubbing ponderously against 
stone.  He heard trickles of running water.  He heard voices, so soft 
that he could not even distinguish whether they were dragon voices or 
something else.  He heard footsteps, tiny running footsteps and slower 
walking footsteps.  They might have been the steps of innocent sweepers 
underground, or of the Enemy's heaviest servants; the distance so 
confounded his hearing that it was impossible to tell.  None of them 
seemed to be drawing near.  He sensed distant threads being drawn 
through the underrealm, and knew that somewhere magic spells were being 
crafted.  By friend?  By foe?  It could be either.  It could be both.

After a time he began to grow restless, but something in the back of 
his mind told him to remain still and be patient.
 And so he remained, listening to the sounds as they came

 and went.  All were almost impossibly faint, and it was only


through his utter silence that he was able to hear them at all.

In time he heard a new sound, a voice that he recognized as 
distinctly dragon.  Windrush.  He remained still, listening.

A trap?  Or a friend?  Windrush.  He tensed, but again held his 
silence.

He felt a sudden stirring of air around him, and detected a sharp new 
breath of sulfur.  The voice, the third time, was louder-Windrush!-and 
he recognized it with a gasp of relief.

Here, he whispered at last.  Where are you, FullSky?  He strained to 
distinguish from which of the various passages the voice was coming.

Follow that one, FullSky whispered, when his gaze brushed a twisting 
pathway from which the faintest red fire seemed to glimmer.

Move carefully, and keep a guard about you.

Mindful of the enemy presence that had intruded upon his previous 
encounter with FullSky, Windrush moved silently down the passageway, 
his kuutekka stalking like a cat along the cold wall of the passage.

The passage turned and twisted, and descended.  It descended a very 
long way, it seemed, and Windrush paused twice to peer back uneasily in 
the direction he had come, listening carefully.  The only thing he 
heard was, twice, FullSky's whispering voice urging him on.

He lost track of time, moving like a spirit-being through the 
meandering passageway, lost track of the turns, and of the distance he 
had descended.  He was startled to realize that the faint reddish 
illumination had grown brighter, to become a dull, ever-present glow 
suffusing the air before him.  It seemed angry, threatening.  Beneath 
the smell of sulfur and smoke, there was an undersmell that made him 
hesitate, made him want to turn and flee.  It was the smell of the 
Enemy.  He hesitated.

Just a little farther.  Please.  I cannot help you if you don't come 
the rest of the way.  It was FullSky's voice, quiet, urgent.

Windrush took a slow breath.  He floated forward and rounded one last 
bend in the path.  His breath escaped in a gasp.  He had expected to be 
surprised, and even frightened-but he had never dreamed of the sight 
that faced him now.

The passageway opened into a great cavern.  The floor of the cavern 
was split by a tremendous, gaping fissure that glowed and flickered as 
though from a deep subterranean fire.  The air seemed to rise in 
shimmering waves.

Windrush, I need your help.

Startled, the dragon lifted his gaze to peer through the shimmer of 
the air, to the far side of the crevasse.  There he saw FullSky's 
kuutekka, wavering almost as dizzyingly as the air.  He looked only 
half solid, and yet his presence was terrifyingly real.  It was his 
familiar, almost-glass face, with dark hollows where his eyes should 
have been.  It was a haunted-looking face, a face that seemed almost 
beyond pain.  It seemed that FullSky's kuutekka emerged from an opening 
in the cavern wall.  Windrush could only glimpse his brother's 
hindquarters and tail, but it appeared that he was being crushed under 
a heavy slab of stone.  Did his kuutekka reflect his condition in the 
outer world?  The dark emptiness of his eyes seemed to be focused 
directly upon Windrush's, but the waves of heat made them appear to 
dance and veer.

FullSky, Windrush whispered, what is this place?  What are you doing 
here?

His brother's great, glassy head swung back and forth, as if he were 
struggling to get a clear line of sight-or as if he were ducking from 
something.  Windrush caught sight of a tendril of fire whipping around 
FullSky, lashing him as he moved.  Windrush crouched instinctively, 
making his kuutekka ready to spring.  But which direction?  He couldn't 
tell if the whipping fire was holding FullSky where he was, or 
punishing him.  After a moment, it seemed to burn itself out, leaving 
the younger dragon gasping in pain.  Please help me!  FullSky 
whispered.  I am trapped here!

Windrush hissed into the dancing air.  Though that thing of fire was 
gone, he felt danger jangling all around him.

There was powerful sorcery at work here, without question.  A sorcery 
of Tar-skel?  How could he hope to fight that?  How can I help you?  he 
hissed, voicing the doubts that swirled in his thoughts.

Where are we?  What am I seeing?

The air steadied for an instant, and he saw clearly the pain etched 
into FullSky's face.  Dark Vale!  FullSky gasped.

The Enemy's dungeons.  A Watcher holds me.  If you coulddefeat it-I 
might yet-!

Before he could finish, an arm of fire erupted from an opening in the 
cavern wall and whipped around his head and neck, blazing bright and 
choking off his words.  This time the fire did not fade, but instead 
grew, until Windrush realized that he was looking at an entire living 
being-a creature of fire-one moment a single, flowing serpentine shape 
coiling about the dragon's head, and the next a lacing of fiery 
strands, each one sprouting a head, and biting and lashing at FullSky's 
kuutekka.

Instinctively, Windrush shrank into a defensive posture.

What was this thing?  The Watcher?  The name fire-drahl sprang into 
Windrush's mind; he had a sudden vision of a natural being of the 
underrealm, altered and twisted by the Enemy.  If it wasn't aware of 
Windrush yet, it would be soon.  It was clearly punishing FullSky; it 
was enraged, driving him back toward the cavern wall, back from the 
crevasse, and back from Windrush.

Help me!  came FullSky's almost silent cry.

Windrush drew a difficult breath.  What could he possibly do?

FullSky's skills were far greater here than his own.

He felt fire building at the back of his throat, but he had never 
felt so helpless.  What powers could he control in the underweb to 
defeat a thing of fire?  He could project an image of fiery breath-but 
could a being of fire be hurt by fire?

He groaned with uncertainty as he crouched, separated from his 
brother and the Enemy's servant by the gulf of subterranean fire.

FullSky was struggling, no longer crying out.  Was he trying to keep 
the Watcher from noticing Windrush, so that Windrush could strike?

But how?  If he made the wrong move, if he misjudged the Watcher's 
powers .

. . Windrush imagined himself like his brother, his kuutekka 
imprisoned here while his body struggled in vain to bring back its 
spirit.  And if he were imprisoned or destroyed here, how would he be 
helping dragonkind, or the realm?

Windrush, please!  his brother gasped suddenly, breaking free only 
for an instant before a new whippet of fire lashed him.

If it was his brother, and not a trap.  Windrush felt a sudden, 
shuddering doubt.  He had been deceived by the Enemy's sorcery before 
...

Help me!  the dragon-kuutekka pleaded.  Free me to act-!

Windrush rumbled.  For his brother, he should risk anything ...

He strained to catch FullSky's gaze through the wavering air, but 
there was too much heat in the air-or perhaps a sorcery of obscurity.

Bringing himself to the brink of the chasm, he drew a weaving in the 
underrealm with his thoughts, trying to create a transparency in the 
air.  It worked: he felt a change in the underweb as the air turned 
clear.  The other dragon seemed to harden into solidity, and its gaze, 
glowing out of the dark hollows of its eyes, glowing fiercely across 
the chasm, linked directly with Windrush's.

Windrush felt the sudden rush of the other's thoughts into his, felt 
his mind spiraling madly into the maze of pain, searching for the heart 
of the mind, the garkkon,rakh.  He found it, found his brother FullSky 
crying desperately, (Windrush, hurry!) Windrush's mind was filled with 
images caught from FullSky, but there was no time to look at them.  The 
Watcher was rising, turning, expanding toward him, its fire 
brightening.  It had felt the change in the underweb, too, and if it 
hadn't seen Windrush before, it did now.  Its rage crackled in the air, 
violet-red fire lashing toward its new enemy.  Windrush leaped low and 
hard over the chasm toward FullSky, his kuutekka floating weightless.  
Fire flashed over his back, and into his vision, blinding him and more 
than blinding him.

Everything seemed to change in that instant.  It was as though he had 
passed into a new level of the underrealmwhere he was blinded, and yet 
he saw, by a kind of ghostly spirit-illumination.  The fiery chasm 
below had come alive with luminous, writhing figures-living spirits 
cry-ng out from where they were held captive.  Windrush was aware, too, 
of another living spirit-the Watcher, encircling him with great arcing 
tentacles of blazing power, around and above and another coming up from 
below.  In another heartbeat, it would have him tightly in its grip.

Instinctively, Windrush dov@ownward into the chasm, darting past the 
arm sweeping upward.  He made it past, but as he dodged away, peering 
in horror at the writhing spirits imprisoned far below, he felt the 
lash of flames on his back.  He fled sideways, and up-and as he sought 
escape, he heard a wordless, crackling anger that made him shudder.  He 
turned and saw the face of the Watcher, a hole of darkness surrounded 
by fire; he knew that it was a devouring spirit, and he was the one it 
meant to devour.

A snake of fire flashed above him, and he dodged downward again.

He was being forced back down into the abyss, toward the other 
prisoners.  He was growing dizzy, and was having trouble controlling 
his movements.  Where was FullSky now?  He felt as if his kuutekka were 
being pulled from its anchor.  He must resist!  FullSky!  he cried.

What is it doing?  How can I fight it?

Above him finally he glimpsed the presence of his brother, imprisoned 
in arms of cold lightning, unable to move but able to see, to call out. 
 Windrush, change your form!  Change!

What?  Change his form?  His kuutekka?

Keep that which is you, Windrush!  Guard your garkkonrakh!  Don't let 
it distract you!

But how-?

You must outwit it, you must out-believe it!

Even as FullSky spoke, Windrush could see the Watcher begin to change 
its form.  It was becoming a great meshwork of fury and fire, 
coalescing into the shape of a many-headed serpent, lashing its head 
one way and then another, cutting off Windrush's avenues of escape.

Its feet were rising from below, fiery talons glittering.

Windrush felt his fear tightening.  Keep that which is you ...

what did FullSky mean?

No time to think.  Windrush imagined himself smaller, imagined the 
shrinking spell that the demon Hodakai had once used on him.  He dove 
away from the Watcher's firespitting head, and an image came to him, 
and without even thinking about it he transformed his kuutekka into a 
small, fast flyer called a bat.  He shot past the whipping head of the 
Watcher, easily evading it, then swooped back up, high above the fires 
of the abyss, and circled, warily eyeing the specter that had attempted 
to trap him.  He suddenly real@ ired where the image had come from: it 
was from his memory of the rigger Jael's thoughts.

He had just done an astonishing thing, turning his kuutekka into the 
shape of another being!  He had done as a rigger did, changing his form 
in the underrealm!  He did not even know what this animal was, except 
that he had once seen Jael imagining and taking on the form of one.  
The Watcher raged and hissed at him as he dodged its flame.

Windrush veered left and right, up and down, streaking to the top of 
the cavern and diving back toward the abyss, evading the Watcher with a 
great zigzagging swoop.  He felt a rush of joy in his success.

The joy evaporated a moment later.  Overhead, the Watcher had turned 
itself into a huge, fine-meshed net, a living web of flowing silver, 
with no openings large enough even for a bat to fly through.

He fled to one side and along the edge of the flaming chasm, 
desperately searching for an opening, and finding none.  He dropped 
lower, toward the imprisoned spirits.  The net fell after him, dropping 
closer and closer.  Furious with himself, he sped back up to meet the 
net of the enemy.  If he couldn't escape it, he might at least hurt it.

Another Jael-image surfaced in his mind: a sleek, silver, water 
creature with a long, sharpened beak.

He became the image, and as he met the net, climbing, he lashed his 
beak ferociously back and forth, slashing at the mesh.

Fire exploded around him, and he felt an intense flash of pain.

The cavern and the abyss flashed dark and bright, and his vision went 
black for a terrifying moment, then re@ r turned to that strange, 
ghostly light of battle with the Watcher.  He tried to ignore the pain 
as he fought against the net-until he realized that he was already 
through ithe had sliced an opening and was careening back toward the 
ceiling.  The pain was gone.

The danger was not.  A great blanket of blackness was swarming upward 
to meet him.  It was not just something black that was stopping light; 
it was a being that was devouring light, and he could almost feel the 
coal-red glow of the abyss being swallowed by it.

He circled warily, watching the creature rise.  How could he fight 
something that destroyed light itself.?

He flitted from side to side, despair rising in his heart.

How great was this thing's power?  If he changed his form again, the 
Watcher would do likewise.  Didn't it ever tire?

He glai-iced across the cavern and saw his brother FullSky, forgotten 
by the Watcher, etched in a cold, hollow light, struggling to rise from 
the place where the Watcher's fire had chained him.  Another image 
sprang into Windrush's mind.

As the black emptiness rose to meet him, Windrush became a 
fire-elemental.  He felt himself burning into flame, like an iffling, 
sacrificing all bodily form.  He struggled not to panic, not to think: 
The Watcher is already winning.

Then the panic vanished as he felt strength rising in the heat of his 
flame, like the strength of a dragon who has just eaten of lumenis.

This was the strength of pure fire, the strength of hope ...

For an instant, he even believed that this was not just his strength 
alone, but someone else's combined with his.  A power reaching to him 
through the underrealm .  . .

FullSky's?  His father's?

The thought fled as the blackness rose and engulfed him.

The cavern vanished, and his brother with it.  His hope vanished, 
too, and as darkness swarmed around him, he felt the bone-biting cold 
of despair.  The heat of his fire was gone.  From the numbing silence 
of the blackness, he heard a harsh laughter, ringing in his 
consciousness.  Then his consciousness began to fade.

Keep that which is you!

The memory of FullSky's words brought him back from the abyss of 
utter, eternal darkness.  Keep that which is you.

He remembered how, moments ago, he had been burning with blazing 
fire, the light and heat of his strength, his hope.

The blackness had swallowed the fire, made him forget it ...

distracted him ... but had not quite extinguished it.  He reached 
within, found a flickering spark within the darkness of his soul, and 
determinedly blew it back to life: a flicker of light, a tiny flame 
against the devouring darkness.

Laughter screeched again through his mind, deafening him and filling 
him with dread.  The flame flickered and guttered.

Do not let it distract you.

NO.  I burn with flame.

His spark shot up hot and bright against the darkness.  He felt it 
lock in mortal combat with the darkness, the living darkness of the 
Watcher's malice.  If there was to be a victory, it must be a victory 
of light against dark.  Flame against darkness.

His flame blossomed.

The cold of the darkness fought back; it was a living breathing 
hating darkness, a knowing and raging darkness, and it was determined 
to strangle the flame, to kill it.  The darkness had the power to 
imprison countless souls; it was the darkness of death.  How could he 
possibly overcome death?

With a sudden intensity-as if someone had just passed the memory to 
him-he remembered Jael's fierce determination when she'd flown into the 
static realm to rescue Highwing.  It was an impossible mission with no 
hope of success, with only death awaiting her and her friends.  But 
she'd won nevertheless, she'd saved his father, allowed him to die 
bravely, allowed his spirit to pass to the Final Dream Mountain.  You 
must outbelieve it.  As Jael had outbelieved the odds.

No, hissed the darkness.

Yes.

Windrush drew his strength from somewhere, and not from himself 
alone; he knew, unshakably, that his flame could burn brighter and 
hotter than the strength of any darkness.

The flame of his kuutekka, of his garkkon-rakh, of the soul of his 
very being, welled up and burned with a fierce white heat.  He felt the 
darkness recoil from it, felt it recognize a power that it suddenly 
realized it could not withstand.  An image flashed in his mind, and he 
knew now that this was how more than one iffling had stood against the 
darkness.  He burned hotter, brighter; he believed that his light would 
prevail.  He knew he was no longer alone.

The blackness screamed in anguish and shrank away.

The Watcher's soul was in the blackness; it had never imagined that 
its power of terror could fail.  Windrush pursued it, growing even 
brighter.  He knew that he alone could not be burning so brightly; and 
if the help was coming from his brother, or from his father in the soul 
fires of the Dream Mountain, or from the ifflings, he didn't know or 
care.  The light was blinding now, filling every corner of the cavern.

The underweb burned with the strength of his light.  The Watcher, 
locked into its blackness, coiled inward upon itself.  It flickered 
madly.  With a last convulsion, it shrank and vanished before the 
light.

Windrush's power faded in intensity.  With considerable effort, he 
drew himself painfully back into the ordinary form of his kuutekka.

The ghostly light that the Watcher had cast over the scene of the 
battle was gone.

The darkness was gone.  The lines of fire that had encircled his 
brother were gone.  But FullSky was still etched in light, glowing 
against the far side of the cavern.  My brother, thank you, whispered 
the dragon of light.  He no longer seemed paralyzed or crippled, not 
here in the underrealm at least.

FullSky rose from the stone floor and floated toward Windrush.

The far wall was visible through him.  I can join you now in the 
battle.

Can you escape?  Windrush asked, barely able to speak.

Not in the outer world.  My body will never leave Tar,skel's dungeon. 
 But here in the underrealm, I will fight as I can.  You may not see me 
again, but we will be struggling together, and we will be together 
again in the Final Dream Mountain.  The glowing being that was his 
brother seemed to breathe upon him then, to touch him with its light.

Windrush shivered as a thousand images cascaded into his thoughts 
from FullSky's mind, then disappeared into his unconscious like a 
basket of stones dropped into a pool.  He shivered, unable to make any 
sense of the images; but he knew he would need them before this 
struggle was over.  He felt FullSky draw away.

You must flee now.

Windrush struggled for breath.  FullSky, wait!

There is no time.  You must flee, before you are found.  The dragon 
of light that was his brother drew back across the abyss and gazed at 
him just once more, before fading away through the cavern wall.  The 
cavern suddenly seemed very empty, except for the glowering abyss of 
spirits.  And from that chasm, Windrush heard a rising murmur, like a 
rushing of wings, the sounds of spirits freed, flying away through the 
underrealm to whatever Final Dream Mountain awaited them.

He suddenly realized that he had prevailed not just for his brother, 
but for all of those others, whoever they were.  He had a feeling that 
they were about to erupt before him like flames from a forest fire.

You must flee now.

A deep thrumming sound was growing to fill the cavern, a rumbling 
from some distant place.  A hot wind seemed to be rising, blowing in 
his face.  Something or someone was coming to investigate the source of 
the disturbance in the underrealm.

Windrush departed with the speed of thought his kuutekka shrinking to 
a tiny spark of light, bright b@t fleeting in the gloom of the 
passageway as he fled from that place forever.

Chapter 23

VOICES IN THE WILDERNESS AGAIN SHE heard someone calling her name ...

Jayyyl ... Jayyylllll ... Jayyyllll ...

There was something very familiar about that voice, but she couldn't 
quite awaken enough to make the connection.

She was in an ocean, swimming, struggling toward the surface ...

jayyll, awwwk-are you there?  Wake up, Jayl!

The dancing-mirror surface drew near, at last.  She strained, kicked, 
lungs burning bursting struggling not to expire, reaching up, arms and 
fingers stretching ...

She touched the surface and it shattered in liquid silence.

The boundary opened then, and a cacophony of sound exploded.  A 
parrot was screaming, hurling itself back and forth in a damaged 
rigger-net, trying to bite and claw its way out.  E d ... Ed ... its 
name was Ed.

She suddenly remembered ...

The web .  . . ship out of control .  had to regain ...

impossible ... !  She remembered now the slamming force of the thing 
that had launched them, ejected them across space and time, and she'd 
thought she was dying.

Even now she wasn't certain that she had not died.

She could not seem to move or talk.

Is this what death feels like?

At-was At alive?  Or was he with her ... in death?

Nothing seemed quite right here.  Ed was flying around violently, 
trying to reach her.  She could almost touch him.

They were so close now ... and yet she could not.  The rigger-net 
seemed to be torn somehow, keeping them apart.

She could not see At, or hear him, or tell if he was alive.

JAYL ... ?

jayl... ?

Jayl... ?

The parrot's cries echoed down through several layers of separation 
in the net.  As she probed, she finally heard the parrot's voice 
directly.  Jayyyl!

Ed!  she croaked.

The parrot screamed and flew straight toward her, growing larger and 
larger and finally imploding into her vision.

(jayl!) he cried, within her mind.  (Ed!) she whispered joyfully.

She felt his thoughts swarming around hers, felt him looking out 
through her eyes.

She blinked, suddenly aware that there was an outside reality.

Where were they?

She focused her eyes on a mountain landscape.  The ship had come to 
rest on a steep slope, nestled against a crag of some sort.  They were 
motionless, except for vibrations from the wind.  She could not be 
sure, but it certainly looked like the mountains of the dragon realm.

As she craned her neck to look around, she half expected dragons to 
appear out of the clouds.  But she saw nothing moving except snow, 
swirling in the wind.

She remembered At's reaction the first time they had arrived in the 
realm together and been dumped on a snowy slope not too unlike this 
one.  He wasn't going to be much happier now.  But where was he?  Had 
he left the net?

She couldn't tell with any certainty, but there was a weightiness to 
the net that made her think he was still here with them.  The net felt 
fragmented, in a way she had never experienced before.  It occurred to 
her that perhaps she should withdraw and regroup with her shipmates 
outside the net.  But first she wanted to learn all she could.

She took a deep breath and called: all?

There was no answer.

She felt Ed, still trapped inside her mind, frantic with joy that she 
was alive and in terror over what was happening.

Having gotten into her head, he seemed unable to get back out.

Perhaps if she withdrew from the net, he would be freed-and she could 
begin to make sense of things.

Her first effort to withdraw told her at once that some thing was 
wrong.  The net quivered, but did not yield.  The way out was blocked 
somehow.  She tried again, and the net trembled but did not yield.  She 
couldn't see what the problem was, but it frightened her.  This 
shouldn't be happening.  At?  she whispered.  all?

Rarberticandornan?

The only sound was a low rumble in the background, a neural 
interference that suggested something wrong in the physical projection 
of the net itself.  She couldn't identify its source, but she sensed 
that she might not be able to exit the net until it was corrected.  She 
fought back a fresh surge of fear.  What if they were all trapped here?

Stop it!  she thought sternly.  There were many possibilities-and one 
was that At was already on the outside, trying to help her.

(Ed, can you hear me?) she whispered.

She felt the parrot fluttering in her thoughts.  (Awwk,) he croaked, 
in a voice taut with fright.  She glimpsed images of his fear-memories 
rushing up of a time when he had been trapped in the wild, imprisoned 
in a cage, drained into a data nodule.  His fear resounded like the 
tapping of a snare drum.  (Awwwk-k,k.  What hap-p-pened?  Jayl?) (I 
don't know,) she murmured.  She found the situation nearly 
incomprehensible.  But she remembered that Ed had bridged some sort of 
barrier in coming to her.  Maybe he could do that again.  (Ed?  I need 
your help.) (Aw-w-w-wk.  Y-yes-s-s.) (Look for At for me.  I can't see 
him-but he may be in the net somewhere, trying to reach us.  Can you 
move around at all?  Can you reach outside of where I can se@and tell 
me if you hear him, or see him?) (C-c-can't, Jayl.) She shuddered at 
his feeling of helplessness.  (Try, Edplease?  We're hurt.  I don't 
know how badly, yet.  But I can't see At, and maybe you can reach into 
areas where I can't.  Please!) (Urk-k.) She sensed the parrot cocking 
his gaze about uneasily, trying to spot openings that his human 
riggermate could not.  It all looked rather foreboding.  But now there 
was a shadow, way off to one side.  Could that be At, in another part 
of the net?  She felt Ed moving his thoughts that way; then she felt a 
sudden, fluttering release.  Ed had found a way to stretch beyond the 
limits of her thoughts.  Good!

She decided to let him do what she'd asked, while she looked 
elsewhere.

Her gaze went back to the mountain wilderness outside the net.

There was something in the air that she could almost smell, that told 
her that this was dragon country.

But whether it was friendly dragon country was another question 
altogether.

There was one way to find out, of course.  "Cry, 'Friend of 
Highwing!"  and I will hear you, though all the mountains lie between 
us," Highwing had once told her.  Highwing was gone now, but his son 
Windrush had renewed the vow.

Did she dare?  She was helpless, if hostile dragons came along.

But she was helpless anyway.

She took a shallow breath, and barely whispered the words: Friend of 
Highwing ... friend of Windrush ... Her voice caught.  She swallowed 
hard and forced her voice to rise to a croaking cry.  I am ... Jael ...

friend of Highwing ... and Windrush!

The landscape sighed with emptiness.  If there was anyone out there 
to hear her, she couldn't tell.  Even if there had been, she could 
hardly expect her pathetic cry to carry far.  She drew a ragged breath, 
determined to shout this time.

Before she could make a sound, a voice hissed: Do not cry out again!  
It is not safe!

She choked in astonishment.  It was not At's voice, but it was 
familiar.  She thought it was the voice of ...

The creature materialized in front of her before she could complete 
the thought.  It was a creature made of fire, gathered into a vaguely 
dragonlike shape.  It floated in the air just above the boulder against 
which the ship tested.  It had an ethereal and magical appearance, and 
yet it pulsed with an urgency that seemed personal and immediate.

When it spoke again, its voice seemed to float like a whisper of wind 
in the night.  You must not reveal yourself yet.  We will show you the 
way.

Jael hesitated.  Who are you?  she asked, though she thought she knew 
already.  She thought it was an iffling, though it did not look quite 
like any she had seen before.

Did ifflings take on dragonlike form?

You know who I am, said the being.

Jael frowned.  Are you the ... iffling ... who told me to come here?  
Are you the one who visited me in the other ... in the static realm?

Of course.  And I have been with you ever since.  But now we must see 
that you continue your journey, without being led astray.

Am I in time?  she wanted to cry.  If it was not safe to call out 
openly, did that mean that her friends were in hiding against danger?

Her voice trembled as she asked, Can you tell me, iffling, what is 
happening here?  How are the dragons faring against ... Tar-skel?  How 
are Windrush and his brothers?

The iffling seemed to flicker for an instant.  Your questions will be 
answered soon.  But right now you must follow me!  We are in great 
danger!

I Jael didn't know if it was even possible for her to move.

She couldn't tell much about the state of the rigger-net, except that 
it was damaged.  And she wasn't even sure that she herself was in any 
condition to fly.  I don't know if I can move.

You must!  hissed the iffling.  Without delay!

Jael shivered.  She supposed she hadn't come this far just to give up 
because they'd gotten banged around a little.  Ed, she called softly, 
if you can hear me, keep trying to get through to At.  I'm going to see 
if I can get us moving again.  She felt a flutter of acknowledgment.

Drawing upon some inner strength she barely knew she had, she reached 
out through the net to touch the rocks beneath her.  They felt solid 
and icy cold.  The ship, behind her, was a massive extension of her own 
body.  She nudged it hesitantly, to see how difficult it would be to 
move.  To her surprise, it did move it felt like a great, empty 
balloonlike container behind her, nearly weightless, but with great 
bulk and inertia.  She thought a moment, then began to change the image 
of the ship, shrinking it down behind her.  At least she still had that 
much control.

Hurry!  urged the iffling.

Jael frowned and gave another experimental push.  The ship felt 
heavier-probably an illusion caused by its greater compactness.  She 
refined the image: the ship became a backpack, strapped to her 
shoulders and waist.  She would try to walk ... and carry it.  Taking a 
deep breath, mindful of the iffling's impatience, she took a tottering 
step forward.  She felt traction on the rocks under her feet, felt the 
movement of the ship's mass behind her.  She stepped carefully, 
descending to a more level stretch of rock-not quite a path, perhaps, 
but passable.

Ahead of her the iffling floated, bobbing and glimmering, beckoning.

The iffling-child struggled to revive itself.  Whatever had hurled 
the ship into this place had nearly destroyed the iffling in the 
process.  But now all seemed quiet.  This was the realm of the dragons, 
the iffling felt, though it could not have said how it knew.  It had, 
after all, been born into life in the realm of the humans.  And yet ...

there was something here that touched its mind and said: Home is 
nearby.

But where, exactly?  The iffling was having trouble perceiving space 
clearly, as though there were splintered layers of underrealm obscuring 
its vision.  It sensed the human rigger, still alive, but the iffling 
was separated from her by one of the layers of brokenness.  The other, 
nonhuman rigger was present and alive, too, and somewhat closer to the 
iffling; but that one had not yet returned to full consciousness.  The 
ship, nevertheless, was moving-under Jael's shaky control.  And Jael 
appeared to be following someone ... someone whom she took to be an 
iffling.

She was following the enemy, the false-iffling.

You must not, you are being misled!  the iffling cried out, but it 
knew that its words had not carried far enough to be heard.  It was 
certain that the false-iffling was leading Jael astray, taking her in a 
direction that was intended to thwart her true purpose.  What exactly 
the enemy was up to, the iffling couldn't tell.  But it was not taking 
her to Windrush, that was clear.

The iffling called out again, but there was no indication that it was 
heard, much less understood.

If it couldn't reach Jael, could it do something about the enemy, the 
falsifier of truth?  Probably not.  The iffling was too weak to 
fight-and now it glimpsed more distant pulses of light outside the 
ship.  More false-ifflings, joining the other?  If so, the true-iffling 
would have to be even more careful.  But the false-one seemed 
unconcerned about fighting, or about the true-iffling at all.  It 
seemed concerned only that Jael follow it.

Follow it in its lies.

There seemed little the iffling could do.  It wondered if there were 
others of its own kind here, others who could help.  Perhaps so-but it 
dared not leave Jael to look for them.  That left the other rigger, the 
one called At.  Perhaps it could make contact with that one.  Rigger, 
awaken!  it called softly, reaching out.  Rigger At you are needed!

There was a stirring in the rigger's mind.  The iffling felt a spark 
of hope.  Rigger At, you must awaken!  You must speak with Jael!

There was a fluttering of wakening thoughts.  What?

Who's there?  Jael?

The iffling's hope brightened a little.  Jael cannot hear you.

You must listen, rigger!  Listen carefully ...

At had awakened to a nightmare.  He was alone-where?  He felt no 
physical sensations.  His mind was awash with images of serpents and 
fire-beings and moving mountainsand the distant, frantic squawking of a 
bird-and now a voice calling in a whisper out of the darkness of the 
void.

He was enclosed by darkness, and by a web ...

You must listen, rigger!

He was abruptly conscious, the image of the web and the darkness 
gone.  A voice was calling to him.  Where was he?

He was encased in a kind of layered translucency, the remnants of the 
rigger-net, separated by prismatic fracture zones, which seemed to 
enclose him like a cocoon.  He could not see very far, or move at all.

Off to his right, through the translucent barrier, he saw a shadow 
moving.

He thought it might be Jael-but it looked like a figure walking.

That made no sense.  He called out to Jael, but there was no answer.

There was that squawking again.  Ed?  At looked in all directions, 
but couldn't see the parrot.

Rigger, there is danger!  You must help me speak with Jael!

The voice again.  I cannot speak to her, At whispered back, his words 
full of a deep sadness that he had not even been conscious of until 
now.  I cannot reach her.  I do not know why.

The voice answered, It seems there has been a ... splintering ...

around you.

Splintering?  Like cracking ice?  Once, years ago, they had 
intentionally caused such an effect outside the net, breaking through 
an icelike boundary layer in the Flux.  But now the net itself seemed 
to be splintered.  This was an alarming realization.  Their 
once-gleaming, newly tuned rigger-net was in ruins.

Worse, he discovered, he could not leave the net to analyze and 
correct the problem.  His presence and Jael's, and perhaps even Ed's, 
were blocking the way out from each other, like shards of broken glass 
choking a drain.

And yet..  . the ship was in motion.  He could see a snowy landscape 
outside, moving past with painful slowness.  He could tell that 
someone, no doubt Jael, was guiding the movement.  But where was she 
going?  Were they in the dragon realm?

She is being led astray, whispered the voice.

At blinked.  He was still in something of a state of shock, and it 
had only just hit him that he seemed to be speaking to a ghost.  Who 
are you?  he demanded.

Iffling, he heard, and in the same instant he caught sight of a tiny 
flame through one of the spidery fracture patterns that enclosed him.  
The bit of fire flickered, as though in weariness.  He wondered if it 
was trapped, too.

Jael?  he asked.

Alive ... but I cannot reach her.

At nodded.  Are you trying ... to get us to Windrush?  He remembered 
that Jael had spoken of other voices, confusing and conflicting voices.

Windrush, yes.

Then who is leading her now?

A false-one.  False-iffling.  The creature flared for a moment.

You must reach her!  Warn her!

False-iffling?  At let out a weary breath and set about to see if 
there was some way he could reach Jael.  The damage to the net was 
profound, and it would take a great deal of work, and probably luck, to 
repair.  He hoped it was possible; he hoped he could do it before it 
was too late.

Past another fracture-layer in the shattered prism, he glimpsed a 
shadow of a bird fluttering its wings.  He heard again a distant crying 
and screeing.  Perhaps he could make a connection that way, and work 
onward to Jael@.  Ed!  he called.  Ed, if you can hear me-fly this way!

He couldn't tell whether the parrot heard him or not.  But the damage 
in that direction seemed less intractable.  He began tugging at nearby 
folds of the net, attempting the impossible task of fusing the shreds 
back together again.

The wind swept a haze of snow across the landscape, like blinding 
sand.  Jael had been picking her way along a winding, descending trail.

She paused on a level patch to heft the ship on her shoulders.  It 
felt extremely odd to be carrying the ship like this.  She still had no 
idea where in the realm they were, or where they were going.  She tried 
to scan the landscape; but the obscuration of the snow shifted, moment 
to -moment, giving her only fleeting glimpses of the wider land.  She 
really had no choice but to follow her guide and hope that, sooner or 
later, the view would clear.

She felt Ed moving about, trying to contact At.  She felt sure that 
the Clendornan was here, that it was just a technical problem keeping 
them apart.  What was that?  An echo of At's voice?  Perhaps ... but 
now it was gone again.

The iffling reappeared through the snow, glowing and pulsing 
urgently.  Follow, it whispered.  Follow quickly.  We must hurry.

She sihed and followed.  The snow parted to reveal the ground at her 
feet, then closed again, leaving her to walk in blindness.

Stay back!  Jarvorus commanded.  Do not interfere with the ship!

The sprite-warrior flickered and moved away from the shimmering form 
of the human ship's manifestation.  The rigger herself was visible at 
its prow as a complex interplay of light and shadow.  Deeper within the 
ship, half concealed by veils of light, were the large nonhuman rigger 
and the small one, and the iffling.  Something had happened to the 
weave of space, causing it to entrap them in its tangled shreds.  A 
fold of space seemed to have emerged from the underrealm, intruding 
itself into the curious structure of their net, keeping them apart.

jarvorus had not planned such a thing-it was an unexpected result of 
their violent entry into this realm-but he found it useful.

jarvorus had decidedly strange feelings as he led this procession.

Several times now, he had had to warn his helpers away from the ship.

He did not want the human, or any of the others, injured.  The 
sprite-warriors were hastily altered cave sprites who had little of 
jarvorus' knowledge and wits.  It was good that they followed his 
command; he could imagine the havoc that they might wreak otherwise.

But he was determined to conduct his charges safely.

He ducked close to the ship.  Follow!  he urged the human.

He sensed her hesitation as she tried to renew contact with her 
fellows.  Hurry!

The image of the rigger flickered and shifted and stretched into 
motion, the ship floating over her.  He began leading the way again.

It was not that much farther, he thought.  Not much farther at all to 
the Pool of Visions, and to the trap that awaited.

Chapter 24

FREE IN THE underrealm As FullSky had hoped, it was the Watcher's 
strength that became its undoing-transforming itself into a living 
darkness, a thing that swallowed hope and turned it to despair.

But its darkness could not stand against a dragon transformed into 
light.  In the moment of the Watcher's death, FullSky felt a tremendous 
release.  His body might remain crippled and chained by the Enemy, but 
his spirit, his kuutekka, was freed from the oppression of the 
Watcher's power.

The weaving he had prepared in secret came together now, threads of 
the underweb whirling and tightening.  His heart leaped for joy, as the 
physical pain of his body was bound out of the weaving of his kuutekka. 
 He couldn't abandon his body altogether, but he could stretch out from 
it.  He rose from the floor of the cavern, his senses yearning to reach 
out into the pathways of the underrealm beyond.

He crossed over the chasm of spirits to where Windrush, stunned, was 
struggling to understand what he had done.

FullSky touched his brother's kuutekka, and Windrush's thoughts 
reached out to him in bewilderment and joy.

Could FullSky escape and join the others?  he wanted to know.

FullSky wished he could answer yes-but that was impossible.  His role 
in the struggle lay elsewhere.  There was much he might yet do, but 
only if he moved quickly, before the Enemy knew that he was free.

He was skilled at crafting spells in the underrealm, but his power 
was no match for the Enemy's, if that one came after him directly.  And 
if his body were destroyed?  He had no idea how long he could survive 
then.  Perhaps not at all.

Windrush, I do not know if you will see me again.  But I will be 
fighting alongside you.  We will be together again in the Final Dream 
Mountain.

FullSky-!

Realizing how hopelessly slow words would be, and how fleeting their 
safety here, FullSky probed directly into his brother's thoughts.

He saw there the hope for Jael's appearance; and he saw also the 
bitter disappointment of the dragons' failed attack, and the 
frightening destruction of the lumenis.  And he saw Windrush's futile 
efforts to find the Dream Mountain.

He would give Windrush such hope as he could-in images that he knew 
might not reach Windrush's awareness at once, but would surface in 
their own time.  He showed his brother the blow he had just struck 
against Tar-skel's web of power-freeing many spirits along with 
FullSky, and thereby breaking one small strand in the Enemy's web.  It 
would perhaps set the Enemy back only a little, but every hope was 
precious.  Even small setbacks could delay the completion of the web.

Windrush, you are not alone, he sang softly.  I'm sorry to have put 
you at risk@ut believe me, you are not alone.  And now you must flee!

He pulled back from his brother's kuutekka.  Flee now!

Flee before you are found here!

Windrush gazed at him in amazement.  FullSky blinked once, and 
departed back across the chasm of spirits.  He peered back as Windrush 
turned away, up the pathway though which he had come.  FullSky tugged 
at the weave that had kept that pathway open.  There was a shifting of 
the underweb, and the path vanished as though it had never existed.

Another similar opening appeared in its place, leading to another 
part of the realm altogether.  If the Enemy came searching, FullSky 
hoped that that detour might, for a little while, lead him astray.

In the chasm, the spirits of the captured dead were swarming out of 
their imprisonment, perhaps in flight to the Final Dream Mountain, 
perhaps elsewhere.  They were making a considerable disturbance in the 
underrealm.  This was good, FullSky thought.  The distraction might 
give bin the cover he needed.

Passing out of that place, he hurried back to his ancho point and the 
beginning of his own journey.

FullSky did not leave the Enemy's lair at once.  He wanted to learn 
what he could of the Enemy's activities nearby, an(i this might be his 
only chance.

He was floating in the dungeons of the Dark Vale.  In the( outer 
world, he knew it was a blasted landscape, filled with craters and 
honeycombed with spaces into which captive@ were crowded, half embedded 
in stone.  Here in the under realm it was a place of brooding powers, 
throbbing with glowering light.  There were few shadows in which to 
hide.

He would have to move about like a luminous ghost in a place that 
reeked of poisonous fires.  Fortunately, the( Enemy and his servants 
were preoccupied with their owl sorceries, and they probably never 
imagined that a spirit o the opposition might be moving freely through 
the underweb of their dungeon.  If they sensed his movement, he hoped 
they would dismiss him as one of the harmless dead, freed from the 
chasm.

In this level of the underrealm, the dungeons were a vast, open 
network of caverns and cells, separated by slender pillars and archways 
and glowing, fragmentary walls of melted-looking stone.  The captives 
floated like trapped, luminous fire-beings, anchored in their bodies.

Most had no evident awareness in the underrealm, though a few, seemed 
to peer dully at FullSky as he floated past.  Some of the captives were 
dragons caught in battle; others were dragons who had voluntarily 
joined with Tar-skel, only to) learn too late that their standing in 
his realm was not what they had hoped.  Many were not dragons at all, 
but shadowcats and sprites and slope-climbers, and other beings that he 
did not recognize.

Guardian spirits moved among them like drifting Ianterns-brighter, 
but often no steadier, than those they guarded.  These guardians were 
witless and slow, compared to the slain Watcher, but still quite 
capable of sounding an alarm.  FullSky moved with care, keeping his 
radiant presence close to the glowing walls.  Since he could hardly 
float into the underrealm presence of the Nail himself and ask what was 
happening, he wanted to see if he could decipher anything of the 
Enemy's plans from the spells that were woven here.

It was risky.  The Enemy would soon realize that a part of his web 
had come unraveled, that some of the strength stolen from captive 
spirits was gone.  And in time, FullSky's kuutekka would be noticed.

But he didn't intend to remain long.

Drifting along the walls, he memorized the shapes of the threads and 
lines and seams of the sorceries that held this place together.  He had 
no specific idea what he might do with the information, but any 
knowledge was potentially useful.  Indeed, if he learned enough, he 
might eventually find a way to free some of his fellow captives.  But 
he dared not try that now.  It was the Enemy's larger spells that he 
wanted to decipher.  Most of all, he wanted to pursue threads he had 
glimpsed before-threads that might, however indirectly, connect to the 
Dream Mountain.

Still, he could not resist an urge to skim close to the nearest 
captives, wondering if he might recognize anyone.

He did not-at first, anyway.  But wherever he could do so without 
attracting attention, he brushed the thoughts of the captives and 
offered a silent whisper of defiance and hope against the pain.

He had nearly reached the end of the caverns when he caught the first 
undersense of something, or someone, familiar.  It took him a few 
moments to locate it, on the extreme far end of this last cell: a 
flickering spin t that somehow seemed to shine with greater 
stubbornness than most.  It must, he thought, be a dragon recently 
capturedsomeone still hoping against all odds for escape.

FullSky drifted across the bottom of the cell toward it.

Several outerrealm guardians, likely drahls, were clustered around 
the captive; but they displayed little or no awareness in the underweb. 
 Perhaps he could move just close enough to probe the captive with a 
tendril of thought.  It was indeed a dragon, he realized.  He gently 
touched it-and almost cried out with surprise.  WingTouch!

He fought to maintain his equilibrium.  WingTouch back in the Enemy's 
grip?  Both WingTouch and Farsight had been freed by the breaking of 
the Black Peak sorcery.  How had WingTouch been recaptured?

Hovering perilously close to the guardians, FullSky struggled to 
think.  Had his brother been seduced back?  There were no threads of 
entanglement or deceit around him.  WingTouch was throbbing with pain 
and anger.  He had been captured, then@aptured fighting.  FullSky 
touched his brother's throbbing mind and felt it shudder with 
confusion.  WingTouch felt his presence, but didn't yet know who he 
was.

WingTouch had indeed been taken in battle, but the Enemy was trying 
now to persuade him to become a traitor.

That was the source of the dragon's anger, and of much of his pain.  
He burned, even now, with defiance.

That, at least, was good.  Very good.

But did he dare identify himself to WingTouch?  It might bring him 
hope.  But it could also be dangerous, if WingTouch were closely 
questioned by the Enemy.  FullSky moved cautiously about his brother's 
presence.  WingTouch had little skill in undersensing.  How strong a 
contact would it take?  He dared not make too large a disturbance.  He 
approached closely enough to feel a growing turbulence in WingTouch's 
thoughts.

The anger was intense.

The pain was terrifying.

He could not leave his brother without speaking, no matter the risk.  
He called, softly, WingTouch.

The dragon's mind jerked, startled.

FullSky watched for any reaction on the part of guardians, and 
remained ready to flee.

Who is it?  WingTouch peered around helplessly in the outerrealm, but 
kept his cry of pain to himself.

FullSky drew closer still and whispered, Do not speak aloud.  It is 
FullSky.  I am here with you.

A tide of rage and anguish exploded from WingTouch's mind.

FullSky!  I do not believe that you are a traitor!  he hissed, barely 
containing his words.  But if I learn that you are, I will kill you 
myself!

FullSky was stunned.  Why would WingTouch think him a traitor?  He 
drew back to watch for ripples in the underweb.  When there was no sign 
of awareness by the guardians, he slipped back in, probing WingTouch's 
memories.  In a few moments, he found the Enemy's false accusations.

He answered: The Enemy is lying.  Never doubt that.

He gave WingTouch an image: a dragon bound in stone, its head held 
high, fire flaring from its throat.  He meant it as a symbol of his own 
adamance against the foe, but also as an encouragement to WingTouch, 
fellow prisoner of Tar-skel.  His brother stirred uneasily at the 
image.

I cannot help you now-but I will try later, if I can find a way, 
FullSky whispered.

WingTouch struggled in his bonds, with a startling ferocity.

FullSky, like most of the others, had been broken and crippled 
physically soon after his capture.  But as he probed in WingTouch's 
thoughts, he guessed that the Enemy was saving him, apparently hoping 
to seduce him back, or to intimidate him into betraying the rest of 
dragonkind.  But why was the Enemy bothering?

Could it be that Tar-skel was more insecure about his victory than he 
would have had others believe?  Was Tar-skel afraid of the ancient 
prophecy, even now?

In WingTouch's heart, FullSky saw a strong defiance but also 
something else, something that had not existed in his brother's heart 
before, but was just beginning to take root: a tiny grain of despair.

It was hardly surprising.  FullSky remembered how long it had taken 
him to grow out of his own despair in captivity.  But time now was 
short.  His brother might not have the luxury of growing out of his 
despair.  WingTouch knew the state of the dragon companies, and much of 
the thought of their leader.  The Enemy would not permit him to remain 
defiantly silent for long.

Still, the Enemy's insecurity was cause for hope.  And FullSky had to 
convey that hope to WingTouch-to extinguish that grain of despair 
before it could grow larger.

The enemy is lying, he whispered.  His victory is not yet assured.

There is still hope-always hope!

His words drifted into WingTouch's mind, but if they were having any 
effect, he could not tell.  The guardians suddenly moved closer, 
flickering with a more intensive attention.  He was forced to pull away 
at last, leaving his brother behind.

He would return later, if he could.  Perhaps he could find a way to 
help his brother; but in the meantime, he could only trust that the 
seeds of hope he had planted would grow-that WingTouch would survive, 
somehow, intact.

The underweb trembled with the approach of more drahls.  Perhaps they 
were coming to torment WingTouch, or to question him.  FullSky longed 
to stay with his brother.

But there was nothing he could do with so many of the Enemy's 
servants about.  And the most important thing now was to survive, 
himself, and to learn all that he could.

To learn, if possible, of the Dream Mountain.

It was time to move on.

He floated regretfully away.  But it was not long before he glimpsed, 
through an opening in the glowering cavern, the very thing he had been 
looking for.  It was a meandering thread, apparently vanishing into the 
mists of the underrealm.  But just above it, a presence shone through 
the mist, like a diffuse beam of light.  It was not an actual image, 
but he was sure that he recognized it.  He had glimpsed it before, from 
the dungeon-but now he saw, for the first time, the faint pathway that 
might lead there.  That thread, he was sure, led to the sorcery that 
kept the secret of the Dream Mountain.

He hesitated only an instant; he had been lingering here long enough 
already.  Gathering himself, FullSky caught that path and fled from the 
cavern like a spark into the night.

 Chapter 25

READINESS FOR BATTLE Windrush AWOKE to the sight of several sweepers 
scurrying away from the latest of their creations-a tiny sculpture at 
the edge of his hearth.  He squinted as the little creatures vanished 
into the hidden crevices of the cavern.  Muttering to himself, he 
studied their handiwork.  Made entirely from his own fallen scales, it 
featured a small, conical, mountainlike shape raised above a flat, 
horizontal surface by a slender arm fashioned from pinched dragon 
scales.  The flat surface was dull and rough, the color of dead, faded 
scales; but the object shaped like a peak had been polished to a bright 
silver.

Windrush puzzled over the structure for a few moments, trying to draw 
some meaning from it.  Were his diminutive houseguests making these 
structures with some intent directed at him.  Did they somehow sense 
his search for the Dream Mountain?  Was this supposed to be a 
representation of the Mountain?  If so, he could not decipher what he 
was to learn from it.

He felt a rush of weary annoyance, and drew a breath to blow the 
thing away, so as not to be plagued by such questions.  Before he could 
do so, he heard a sudden rustling, and a squeak.  One of the sweepers, 
a tiny creature with oversized eyes and ears, and a long tail, crept 
out of the shadows and pushed the sculpture along the ledge, toward 
Windrush-almost as though offering a gift.  Wind, rush held his breath, 
then finally let it out softly.  Very well.

The sculpture could remain.

"Creature, do you wish to speak to me?"  he murmured softly.  The 
thing squeaked just once, then darted quickly out of sight.  He could 
have sworn that the squeak had been a sound of approval.

Because he had saved its handiwork?  There seemed no way to know.

Windrush stretched, as other questions crowded the matter out of his 
mind: the memories of last night, when he had enlisted Hodakai as an 
ally, when he had fought in the underrealm to free his brother FullSky. 
 It was rushing back to him like a dream.  But it had been no dream: 
one of the four windows in the underrealm was now gone.  He was greatly 
cheered to think that, whatever else had happened, he and FullSky had 
struck a blow against the Enemy-and FullSky, in some way he did not 
understand, was now free.

FullSky had touched him, in the dizzying aftermath of the underrealm 
fight-but to impart what?  Windrush's memories of those moments were 
confused; he thought FullSky had been more intent upon communicating 
hope than information.  And yet, beyond the hope had been an 
uneasiness.  Was Tar-skel preparing another attack?

Windrush could not recall anything specific, except an awareness that 
the Enemy was gathering his power and momentum.  And this: that the 
dragons must be prepared for dark days to come, and must guard against 
fear.

He could not do that alone.  It was time to rejoin the others.  He 
had been fighting in silence and privacy long enough this day.

The sky was striated blue and pale green, and crisp with morning 
chill.  Windrush swallowed airborne particles of lumenis that glittered 
on the wind, as he soared southward toward the dragon camp.  It was, he 
thought, a good day for replenishing, for building hope.

At one point, as he snatched at the glowing bits of lumenis, he 
thought he heard a voice whisper in his mind, calling to him.  Another 
lumenis magic?  When he listened again, it was gone.  He could not say 
whose voice it was, but it made him think of Jael.  Was she returning 
at last?  He longed to hear the answer yes, but there was no answer in 
the air.

He flew hard to the camp, and arrived to find the grounds quiet in 
the morning stillness.  But Rockclaw was up and out, and he hailed 
Windrush with grim urgency.  Windrush strode across the grounds to 
speak with the gnarled dragon.

"Did they find the traitor?"

"Stonebinder," Rockclaw barked, as though he'd been waiting all night 
to pass on the information, Windrush vented his breath in a hiss.

"Stonebinder?"

That was disturbing news indeed.  Stonebinder was one of the leaders 
of the guardian-spell dragons-a friend of SearSky, but one who had 
served well enough, though to be sure he had been heard to complain 
from time to time of the Enemy's superiority.  "Who found him?"

Rockclaw spat sparks onto the ground.  "He betrayed himself.  Fled 
when it was getting close to his turn."  The recorder dragon looked 
furious.  Windrush had never seen him so angry.

"And was he stopped?"

"No!"

Windrush drew half a breath.

"He waited until there was a commotion over the testing of 
SearSky-the fool-" "SearSky?"

"He objected to the testing, said that-forgive me, Windrush-that you 
and your leaders were full of yourselves, and you had no right to test 
dissenters-" "We tested everyone," Windrush rumbled.

"Of course.  We all knew that.  But SearSky made a disturbance about 
it, and that was when Stonebinder escaped."  Rockclaw gouged the earth 
with his front nails, as if he might somehow draw Stonebinder back 
through sheer force of will.  His eyes glowed with anger.  "Many gave 
chase, of course.  But he was quick with a spell, and eluded them."  
Rockclaw drew a raspy breath.  "Windrush, I am sorry to present you 
with bad news again."

Windrush scowled about him at the sight of the camp: the harsh cliffs 
with dark warrens in which warrior-dragons slept, the charred face of 
the target wall, the shreds of cloud drifting overhead.  This was 
hardly a fit place for dragons to live; it looked more like something 
the Enemy would ere ate.  But for many who had joined in the war from 
the east and the south, or who had fled from the land taken by the 
Enemy, or whose caverns had been destroyed, this was home.  And now 
even this place was threatened-by a traitor who could share the secrets 
of the defenses with an enemy who already held the advantage in the 
war.  "He carries the spells that protect the lumenis, " Windrush 
murmured, so low in his throat that Rockclaw could hardly have heard 
him.

Nevertheless, the old grey dragon nodded.

"Is that all?"

"So far.  Farsight can tell you more, perhaps, when he returns."

"Returns?"

"He led a search party to the Scarred Ridge, in case Stonebinder hid 
instead of flying all the way to the Enemy.

I have little hope of that, myself."  Rockclaw stamped the ground and 
glared about the camp.

"And what of SearSky?"  Windrush asked sharply.

Rockclaw peered at him with dusty eyes.

"Are we certain that SearSky did not create a distraction so that 
Stonebinder could flee?  Was SearSky actually tested?

Rockclaw's gaze sharpened.  "I do not know, Windrush.

But SearSky was among those who joined in the search."

Windrush grunted.  It did not prove SearSky's innocence that he had 
flown with the searchers.  He could as well have been trying to protect 
his friend, the traitor.  But Windrush had no proof of that, either.  
He did not much like SearSky, but that didn't make the arrogant fool a 
traitor.

"Farsight called for another meeting tonight at dusk," Rockclaw 
added.

Windrush nodded and turned away.

"Where will you be?"  Rockclaw called.

Windrush paused in thought.  "I intend to visit some of the guardian 
holds.  I'll be back for the gathering tonight."

He was tempted to inform Rockclaw of the battle he had fought for the 
freedom of FullSky; he saw the hunger in the old dragon's eyes for any 
good news.  But, he thought, Farsight ought to be present for the first 
telling of that .  (41

t believe a new attack may be coming," he said finally.  "But all is 
not dark.  You must keep hope, Rockclaw.  Be my ears and my eyes here.

If there is news or rumor, bring it to me.

Can I count on you?"

Rockclaw's eyes flared.  "When have you doubted me?"

Windrush nodded.  "Then good-bye for now."  He spread his wings and 
flew into the air as one driven by silent need.

Windrush traveled far that day, dropping down to speak with dragons 
on the ground, even in the smallest encampments and groves.

Twice he flew for a time with patrols that he met in the air.  He 
flew southward along the Scarred Mount Ridge, to a patrol camp near the 
south border of the held land, and asked for news of Jael, or of 
drahls, or of any stirrings of the Enemy.  There was no news, only 
dread; but he did what he could to provide encouragement to the dragons 
there.

If only he could linger a while longer in these places!  He was aware 
of a profound sadness for what could be lost in this war; and at the 
same time, an unreasoning hope was growing within him, and an 
admiration for all of the dragons who remained ready to fight and 
perhaps die for the realm.

Flying on to the east, he wished that he could visit the whole of the 
realm today.  It was impossible, of course.

Some strongholds were too far away for one day's efforts.

From a promontory at the edge of the Forest Mountains, he gazed south 
toward the Sawtoothed Ridge, just a jagged shadow on the horizon.

It was deep in that desolation that he had found Hodakai alone in his 
prison.  Windrush could not help thinking wistfully of the places of 
abandoned magic that lay that way-places once frequented by dragons, 
but now too remote to be guarded.  In the Streams of Song, fast-moving 
brooks made music in the ground; and there, in times past, draconae had 
gathered to share son .  g and history.  And at the Pool of Visions, 
dragons in a i:)revious age had joined garkkon-rakh to garkkon-rakh, 
drawing power of the pool as they sought upon the soul-shaping wisdom 
from one another.  In the Moon Sea, to the south and west, the moons 
could at times be viewed passing beneath the realm.  It troubled him to 
leave such places undefended, but what choice did they have?

There was one place of lost magic that the dragons did hold yet-the 
Deep Caverns, far to the northeast, at the extreme edge of the realm.  
There the currents of the underrealm had once run deep and strong, the 
strongest outside of the Dream Mountain itself.  There, wielders of 
magic once created innumerable works of beauty.  But the Deep Caverns' 
significance, too, lay in the past.  Most thought that the power had 
gone out of the place; others believed that the dragons simply had lost 
the skill to use the power that was there.

But in Windrush's heart, the Deep Caverns held a place like that of 
his father's magical garden: a wistful memory of something that had 
been beautiful and precious.  He'd insisted upon their defense; yet he 
could not defend them heavily, not with vital lumenis groves to guard, 
and so few dragons to guard them.  He doubted that the Enemy would 
trouble himself with an attack there, unless maybe after all else was 
won.  Nevertheless, he thought, the dragons guarding the caverns 
deserved encouragement as much as any.

Perhaps tomorrow, he would visit there.

But this day was wearing on, and he had one more important stop 
before returning to the main encampment.  He flew northeastward over 
the Forest Mountains, toward the Grotto Garden and the last known 
dragon egg.

The Grotto Garden was a deep, wedge-shaped vale, well hidden in the 
northern flanks of the Forest range.  Banking inward, he was challenged 
by two guard dragons.  Recognizing him at once, they escorted him to a 
landing near the upper ridge of the vale.  "Windrush!

I was beginning to doubt that I would ever set eyes upon you again!"

cried Greystone, the leader of the guards, a dragon whose seagreen 
eyes always reminded Windrush of his brother WingTouch's.  "Have you 
come with news, or with need?"

"I have come to see how you are holding out," Wind, rush answered.

"And to look in upon Treegrower, if she will see me."

"Hah!"  Greystone snorted.  "Do you think she is so feeble she would 
turn away the leader of the draconi?"

Windrush blew a breath of steam.  "I hope not.  How is she?  And how 
are you, my friend?"

Greystone arched his wings, then shrugged them downward.  "How am I? 
Not as well as I used to be, when we flew for the joy of it and thought 
the lumenis would never end!

But I guess I'm better off than most of you battling the Enemy 
head-on."

"You guess?"  asked Windrush, with a fleeting wistfulness for the 
carefree days when he and Greystone had flown together with other 
fledglings to hear the teachings of the draconae.  If they had known 
then what they knew now, how much more they would have valued those 
times!  But Greystone, more than most, had taken the teachings to 
heart.  He had never been much interested in fighting, though he 
believed passionately in guarding such beauty in the realm as he could.

"Well, it is awfully quiet here, Windrush.  Not that I'm 
complaining!"  Greystone led the way down into the garden, pointing his 
head one way and another, as though to ensure that Windrush would see 
how well the place was being preserved.

It was, indeed, a reassuring sight.  Windrush stopped to peer at a 
cluster of bushes with purplish, upturned cups for leaves.  The cups 
held a clear liquid which drew floating insects and several small, 
colorful flyers that hovered, sip, ping the nectar.  The flyers 
reminded Windrush of Jael's rigger-friend Ed.  He watched them 
thoughtfully, aching to know what had become of Ed, and At, and most of 
all, Jael.

After a moment, he blinked and turned to follow Greystone.

Passing a swirling pool in a rock basin, and a row of lantern-trees, 
Greystone continued downward into the vale.  He nudged a shadow-cat out 
of the way with a goodnatured swing of his snout and continued down the 
path toward the carved-rock grotto at its bottom.

Windrush paused a moment, as the shadow-cat peered out at him from 
beneath the low-hanging threads of a curtain-tree.  The cat was 
practically invisible, but its eyes blinked alternately like stars 
winking on and off.  Windrush returned the creature's gaze, and for an 
instant, felt a linkage.  The cat, too, felt the encroachment of 
darkness over the land, and Windrush sensed a plain and poignant desire 
in its simple heart for the dragons to make the darkness go away.  We 
will try, he answered silently.  We will try.  The eyes brightened for 
an instant, then vanished under the tree.

Greystone swung is great ad around to peer questioningly, and 
Windrush strode after him.

The grotto at the bottom of the vale was a graceful series of 
openings in water-carved stone.  It held within its breadth a cluster 
of arching, cavelike spaces.  The dracona Treegrower was resting inside 
the third of those spaces.  Her glassy head was raised, gazing at the 
two draconi as they approached.  "It seems to me you are always 
complaining," she said to Greystone in a softly chiming voice.

"Hah!"  rumbled the dragon.  "Are you eavesdropping on my 
conversations again?"

The dracona's golden eyes turned to Windrush.  "Certainly not.

I've no wish to die of boredom."  She sighed deeply.  "Windrush."

"Treegrower," he answered, bowing his head.

"You never come anymore."

Windrush felt a flash of regret, though he knew her remark was half 
teasing.  "I'm sorry.  I try, but-" "Nonsense.  Too busy fighting to 
worry about draconae and eggs.  Do you come with news?"

Windrush studied the dracona, her eyes luminous gold, but dimmed with 
age, and cloudy.  A few rays of the afternoon sun penetrated the cave 
to refract through her gem, like scales, but there was a dusty look to 
her.  She looked older and weaker every time he saw her.  If she were 
not the only living dracona outside the Dream Mountain, and therefore 
fiercely determined to survive, he was sure she would have given up and 
fled to the Final Dream Mountain ages ago.

But Treegrower was the caretaker of the last egg, laid not by her, 
but by the dying dracona Moonglass, shortly after the disappearance of 
the Dream Mountain.  Moonglass had not lived, but Treegrower had-and 
she'd vowed that this egg would survive, despite the fact that it could 
only grow and hatch in the Dream Mountain.  Were there other eggs in 
the Mountain?  Perhaps-but no one outside the Mountain knew for sure.

"Not news, perhaps, but encouragement," Windrush said.  His gaze 
dropped at last from Treegrower's eyes to the polished silver sphere 
she held protected between her front legs, a sphere about the size of 
her nose.  So small-and so vital to all of the hopes of the realm!  How 
long had she protected that egg, and how much longer could she do so?

He tried to dispel doubt from his voice as he spoke.  "I come with 
hope," he said at last.  "I have felt my father's presence, more than 
once, from the Final Dream Mountain.  And I have found hope in the 
underrealm.  And ...

Jael ... may be coming."

Treegrower studied him.  "May be coming?"  Her eyes blinked and 
shifted to peer longingly out of the cave.  She was so weak now, 
Windrush realized with a pang, that she would find it hard even to 
leave the cave.  "I labor within, to keep hope alive," she whispered, 
as though to herself.

Under her breath, he heard her murmuring words, probably of prophecy. 
 Her gaze shifted back to Windrush.

"Hope in the underrealm, you say?"  she asked, her voice cracking.

"Can you tell me ?"

-before I die, hopeless?  he seemed to hear, under her voice.

At that moment, he forgot his resolution to tell Farsight before 
anyone else.  Cautioning both Greystone and Treegrower to silence, he 
told them of his battle in the underrealm, and of FullSky's freedom.

"I don't know what it means, really," he said-and stopped trying to 
explain.  His words suddenly seemed unimportant, because Treegrower's 
eyes had indeed come alight with hope, genuine hope.  He glanced at 
Greystone, who seemed more guardedly encouraged.

"Thank you, Windrush," the dracona sighed, her voice chiming more 
clearly than it had since his arrival.  She blinked her eyes and nodded 
slightly, and he sensed that it was time to let her rest.

"Be well, Treegrower," he said, taking his leave.  Speaking to 
Greystone on his way out, he warned the guardleader about the danger of 
Stonebinder's defection, then said, "Keep her well, my friend.

Whatever else you do, keep Treegrower well to see the return of the 
Dream Mountain."

Greystone's sea-green eyes flickered, and he exhaled a flame in 
reply.

Windrush returned to the encampment late in the day and found that 
the search parties had come in without any news of Stonebinder.

Apparently the traitor-dragon had fled to join his Master.

Farsight was organizing the night's patrols, and it was a while 
before Windrush could speak privately with his brother.  When he did, 
he questioned Farsight about the events of last ni lit.  His brother's 
silver-bright 9

eyes darkened as he recounted the confusion of Stonebinder's escape.  
"Winterfall had linked only briefly with SearSky, but he believes that 
SearSky is loyal.  I would like him to be more fully examined," 
Farsight said.

"How many others have not been tested?"

"Enough to keep us busy for tonight, at least."  As Farsight slumped, 
head low, Windrush realized just how tired his brother was.

"I have some news that will brighten your eyes," Wind@ rush said, and 
told Farsight of FullSky's release.  "I think," Windrush added, "we 
should not speak openly of this.

There may yet be traitorous ears among us, and it would not be well 
for the Enemy to know of FullSky's activity."

Farsight angled his head and nodded.  "Bad enough that Stonebinder is 
undoubtedly betraying our spell-secrets.

We must be more vigilant than ever."  He glanced up, where numerous 
dragons were circling in the sky.  "It is time, Windrush."

The dragons were gathering toward the Vale of Decision.

This meeting was the most rancorous yet.  The air itself seemed aboil 
with anger at Stonebinder for fleeing-and at those known to be his 
friends, or even suspected of being his friends.  Windrush called for 
the testing to continue, to learn if there was more than one traitor; 
and Farsight, risking open hostility, proposed that the renewed testing 
begin with those whose examinations were interrupted by Stonebinder's 
flight-namely, SearSky, Sharpclaw, and Thunderwall.

SearSky objected violently, claiming that he had been subjected to 
enough examination already.  Not so, asserted Farsight.  The testing 
had been interrupted, and it was crucial to confirm the loyalty of all 
dragons.  SearSky refused, until Windrush rumbled, "No one flies with 
us who has not shown himself trustworthy, garkkon-rakh to garkkonrakh.

SearSky, I have never doubted your loyalty-but you make me wonder.

What do you have to fear?  Will you be tested?"

SearSky shot him an angry glance, red-flame eyes blazing out of a 
craggy black head.  For an instant, Windrush feared that SearSky, too, 
would fly away-to be pursued and brought down by his fellows.  Finally 
SearSky belched a flame into the air.  "I will not have my loyalty 
doubted!"

His voice crackled.  "Do your worst to me for what pleasure it will 
bring you!"  He glared at Windrush.  "Bring on your deputies--if you 
are afraid to test me yourself!"

"I have no such fear," Windrush answered coldly.  "But I do have 
other tasks that call me.  If you show yourself loyal to any of these " 
and he nodded at Farsight, Winterfall, Stronghold, and Longtouch-"I 
will gladly fight at your side."

SearSky snorted, but protested no further.

Windrush drew Farsight away to speak privately.  "Again I must leave 
you in charge.  Warn the others to be alert for new attacks, and 
organize the patrols well.  I will rejoin you tonight, if I can."

"Be swift, and be careful," Farsight said.

"You as well," Windrush replied.

The underrealm passage to Hodakai's prison seemed eerily quiet.

It was not that Windrush expected the presence of any other being in 
the passage; but there was a stillness that was disturbing-as though a 
certain background murmur of life were missing.  The dragon paused as 
he approached the rigger-spirit's presence.

The spirit was dancing about nervously.  Windrush waited for Hodakai 
to settle down.  Rigger-spirit, he said in greeting.

Dragon, answered Hodakai.  Windrush, I presume7 There was a sarcastic 
taunt to his voice.

Indeed.  How are you, Hodakai?

The spirit pulsed, not answering his question.  Have you come ...

for the reasons that we discussed earlier?

The dragon gazed at him, puzzled by the spirit's demeanor, but unable 
to discern the creature's thoughts or feelings.  You have not had cause 
to change your mind, have you?

N@f course not.

That is good.  Because I hope you can help us.

Of course, of course.

You seem nervous, Hodakai.

Well ... I suppose I am.  I'm taking a big risk, you know.

We all are, Windrush said.  But I do appreciate the risk to you, as 
well.  Do you have anything to pass on to me?

Hodakai was silent for a moment.  What .  . . exactly ... did you 
want to know?

Windrush drew a slow breath.  What are the Enemy's plans?  I have 
reason to expect a new attack.  Have you heard rumor?  Have you heard 
where he plans to strike?

For an instant, Windrush wondered if he ought to have asked so 
directly.  But the words were out-and they didn't seem to have taken 
the rigger-spirit by surprise.

Hodakai swayed in his jar for a moment, but when he spoke, his words 
seemed confident.  Yes, Windrush-I have heard.

He paused, as the dragon waited.  There have been rumors, indeed.

Rumors that one of your number has fled, and taken with him secrets 
to the safety of your@hat do you call them?-Iumenis groves.

Places that you value highly, in any case.  Hodakai paused again.

If I were you, Windrush, I'd put everything I had into defending 
those groves.

The dragon gazed at the spirit's kuutekka.  Do you know exactly where 
they're planning to attack?  Or when?

Hodakai seemed to stare him right in the eye.  I do not, dragon.

Not exactly.  But I would guard your most preciouswhat do you call 
it-the Valley of Light?  The Nail, I think, would have great pleasure 
in taking that place from you.

A direct assault upon the dragons' main strength?  The Enemy might 
well be feeling that confident, after his recent victory.  Windrush 
growled inwardly.  Tell me something else, Hodakai.  What do you know 
of the Enemy's web of power?

The spirit pulsed.  What would you like me to know of it?

How close is it to completion?  Windrush asked sharply.

This is important!  Not just to us, but to the realms beyond, as 
well!

Hodakai seemed reluctant to answer.  He danced silently, until 
Windrush grew impatient.  At last he said, I don't know, dragon.  But I 
don't ... think you have much time.

Windrush stared at him.

Anything else?  the spirit asked.

Windrush drew up his kuutekka to depart.  No.  But if you learn more, 
tell me.  Hodakai-you've been very helpful.  We won't forget it.

I'll bet you won't, Hodakai thought as the dragon vanished into the 
underrealm.  I'll bet you won't.  Not when you pick yourself up from 
the ruins.  You'll remember for a long time what happens when you try 
to double,cross me.

You'll remember, all right.

He danced with excitement; the danger made his spirit quiver and 
soar.  The question about the web of power had almost thrown 
him-especially the business about its endangering his own realm.  But 
he remembered the iffling's words, warning him of the dragons' 
treachery, and his mind was made up.  It all seemed so clear now.

There was only one person he would serve, and that was Hodakai the 
rigger.

And now it was time to call Rent and tell him what had happened.

just as soon as he had spent a little time recovering his 
equilibrium.

just as soon as he had flown a bit in the rigger-net of his mind, 
diving and soaring and reveling in the ultimate freedom of the Flux....

 JR


 Chapter 26

FIST OF TAR-Skel FullSky FOLLOWED the underrealm thread as it wound 
away from the Dark Vale and climbed toward a glowering, truculent sky.  
It was an extremely fine, silvery thread, only intermittently visible.  
To most eyes it would not have been visible at all, but FullSky's long 
experience in the underrealm had taught him to perceive trails that 
others missed.

just for an instant, before starting along this path, he had glimpsed 
at its other end the presence of something he was willing to risk his 
life to reach-the Dream Mountain.

What he was doing now was extraordinarily dangerous.

Having slipped away from the fire and shadow of Tar-skel's dungeons 
and the camouflaging commotion of the Enemy's lesser servants, he was 
venturing into an open sky where watchful eyes might notice him more 
easily.  He was still tied by a thin wisp of his kuutekka to his 
physical body in the dungeon, but he could think of no way to protect 
that lifeline, except by trying not to be seen.  He assumed that there 
would be guardians somewhere along this thread, and he did not wish to 
lose his newfound freedom through carelessness.

The path had not been easy to follow, but once he'd felt his way past 
the upturn in the spidery thread, and risen out 'of the murky confusion 
of the dungeon's underrealm, the rest of the Mountain-concealing 
sorcery had come into focus quickly enough.  It was as if he had 
climbed up and out of a foggy soup which kept the rest of dragonkind 
from seeing what he saw now: the layers and encircling arcs of power 
that cradled and shrouded the Mountain.  The appearance here in the 
underrealm was of a mountain somehow floating high above the land that 
the dragons inhabited.

It was not that Tar-skel had in reality moved the Dream Mountain; 
rather, he had encircled it with spell-weavings that kept the draconi 
from reaching it or even seeing it.  So cleverly had he coiled layers 
of the underrealm around the Dream Mountain that it was as effectively 
removed from the realm as if he had physically uprooted it.  No dragon 
could penetrate that shroud, except through the underrealm-and even in 
the underrealm, it probably could only be reached by starting where 
FullSky had--in the heart of the Dark Vale.

He rode close to the silvery thread now as it spun upward through a 
clear-sky underweb.  The clarity lasted only for a few moments.  Then 
the thread took him into smoky layers of sorcery that made him think of 
storm clouds over volcanic fire.  It seemed to him that the sorceries 
flashing around him did more than just isolate the Dream Mountain from 
the rest of the realm; they were a part of the underpinnings of the 
great web of Tar-skel, the weaving that seemed to reach outward from 
the underrealm toward the boundary layers that kept this world apart 
from all others.  FullSky noted this, but tried not to be distracted by 
the larger implications.  He tried to focus solely upon threading his 
way along the path to the Mountain.  The storm layers flowed downward 
past him like layers of smoke, as he rose.  A low, bass thrumming 
filled his mind.

Abruptly, the clouds fell away and the thread streaked upward into a 
new layer of clear sky.  FullSky paused, with a sudden fearful feeling 
that this was too risky; he was too likely to be seen.  He caught sight 
of a branching path, winding cff sideways along the top of the cloud 
layer from which he had just emerged.  Hesitating for only an instant, 
he took the detour.  It looked as though it might later twist back up 
toward the same destination as the main thread; but it was the 
deference between a fine, clear mountain passage and a thin, perilous, 
twisty one bound in fog.  He hoped he could ri,-id his way through the 
fog.

He had scarcely made the detour when he heard voices behind him, 
harsh crackling voices.  A blanket of cloud caught him, then flashed 
away again, leaving him exposed.

The larger silvery thread was still visible behind him, climbing into 
the sky.  Two figures of jagged, pulsating fire watchers, perhaps-were 
streaking up the thread that he had just abandoned.  He continued his 
own movement without changing rhythm, hoping to be less conspicuous in 
steady motion than he might be if he stopped and tried to hide.

The two watchers vanished, flickering, up the thread.

How many more of those would there be?  he wondered, his relief mixed 
with worry.  Would he find the Dream Mountain guarded by them?

If so, how could he hope to get through?

No matter; he was committed.  He flew through the patchwork of fog, 
following the side trail, peering through every opening in the shroud 
for a glimpse of the ultimate direction of this path.  He prayed that 
he had not been misled in following it, that the mist would not part to 
reveal guardians in his path.

The clouds began to darken and grow turbulent.  Looking up through 
breaks in the cover, he saw layers of storm cloud overhead, in fast 
motion against the sky.  Something in the movement was dizzying, and it 
took him a moment to realize that it was a circular motion.  Before he 
could think more about it, the thread bent abruptly upward-and he flew 
from the concealing layers straight up into a great, storming 
whirlwind.

As he clung to the thread, he found to his relief that it passed into 
the relatively calm center of the maelstrom.  But he was astounded by 
the power and momentum carried by those clouds, now racing in a vast 
circle around him and above him.  Lightning flashed within the cloud 
walls, and the layers churned as they spun around, as though each wisp 
of cloud were vying for the inside position.  The sheer power was 
terrifying enough; but more than that, he had the impression that there 
was a purposefulness in the movements within the cloud wall, as though 
there were a strength and intelligence there, not just in the crafting 
behind the storm, but dwelling in the storm's power itself.

Almost as though ... it were alive ...

As though ... it were not just a creation of Tar-skel, but an actual 
coiling of the Enemy's own personality through the underweb.

And if that was true ...

FullSky had a sudden, terrible feeling that the Enemy himself might 
be breathing within those clouds, and looking out through them.

FullSky had never actually met the Enemy face-to-face; but this dark, 
endlessly spinning mass was making him quake with fear.

He slowed, but did not stop.  He tried to draw his kuu, tekka close 
about him, making his presence as small as it could be.  Around him, 
the great walls of cloud were turning, racing in the sky.  The pale 
thread continued upward through the eye, but edged frighteningly close 
to the cloud wall.

Something new began to happen now.  A great fist of cloud erupted 
from the far side of the storm, pushing out into the stillness in the 
center, then turning upward, moving with agonizing slowness-and yet, 
for a cloud, with shocking speed.  FullSky felt faint at the power he 
sensed in that fist ... or was it a Nail?  ... pushing into the sky.

He shivered, and fought to keep his fear from shining out through his 
kuutekka.  There was an overwhelming presence inside that cloud; it was 
a presence he had contested once, and lost to, and did not want to 
battle again.  FullSky felt a tremendously oppressive dread in his 
heart; he was sure now that it was Tar-skel he was seeing, the Enemy's 
kuutekka manifest in the underrealm, the Enemy looking out upon the 
face of the realm that he was claiming for his own.

A current of air was rising beneath FullSky, carrying him upward, 
closer and closer to that great, swelling fist.  He could not turn back 
now if he wanted to, not without battling the current, not without 
drawing attention to himself.  How small could he make himself he 
wondered desperately.  As surely as if he were physically here, he felt 
himself holding his breath, riding the updraft as a fleck of dust or a 
droplet of water, riding it wherever the winds would take him, 
spiraling and spinning about the path thread, but drawn inexorably 
toward the eruption of the Nail's presence.

The fist seemed to be closing around the thread-path, as though to 
clutch it.  FullSky was flying headlong into its grip.  He felt a 
rushing despair as he rose, helplessly, ever closer to the impossibly 
dense cloud.  He became aware of tiny, churning microstorms on its 
surface, and imagined that those tiny disturbances were eyes, peering 
out into the g sky.  Peering ...

He was certain that that was Tar-skel's gaze shifting to and fro, 
taking in the sight of his underrealm.  How could that gaze miss the 
kuutekka of a dragon rising alongside it?

As he struggled to reduce himself to an invisible speck, he thought 
of his physical body, captive in the dungeons of the Dark Vale; and he 
knew that if Tar-skel recognized him, no matter what evasions he might 
try here in the underrealm, his body could be destroyed within a moment 
of the Nail's command.  The only mountain he would reach then would be 
the Final Dream Mountain, the SoulFire of death.

Lightning seared the air around him; and as the thunder rumbled, he 
saw not just the lightning glowing against the clouds, but the Nail's 
web of power, as well-a fine woven outline visible through the clouds.  
The lightning flashed, illuminating the fist of Tar-skel with great 
jumping sheets of light and shadow; and the web seemed to burn 
brighter.  It was not finished-there were strands incomplete and 
missing-but it was strong, and growing stronger.

FullSky, spun by the winds, streaked ever faster upward toward a grey 
ceiling of sky that loomed overhead.  He was level with the fist of 
cloud, practically surrounded by its massive bulk, still mushrooming 
outward.  It was impossible that he would not be seen!  Each flash of 
lightning illuminated more to the Enemy's gaze, and surely that gaze 
was circling around toward him.  FullSky's fear and hope were knotted 
tightly in his heart.  His fear must be blazing out like a beacon in 
the night!

And yet, perhaps not.  As he watched, the stormy eyes seemed to slide 
past him.  With each flash brighter than the one before, he felt the 
power in the Enemy's gaze drawn outward toward the vastness of the web. 
 The Nail was admiring his own handiwork, and missing altogether the 
puny presence of a dragon's kuutekka rising through its center.

FullSky heard a rumbling voice, a voice of anger and satisfaction, of 
arrogant pride; and he knew that the voice was reveling in the 
lightning and thunder, in the dreadful structure beyond.  And though 
FullSky could practically have reached out and touched the surface of 
Tar-skel's fist, he remained absolutely still and shot upward and away 
from it in terror, a scrap of leaf on the wind.

A heartbeat later, he was above the storm, untouched.

He felt as small as a grain of sand; he could hardly remem, her what 
it was like to fly as a dragon.  He caught his breath, and tearing his 
gaze from the Enemy's terrible presence, gazed upward again.

Directly overhead was a thinning in the cloud ceiling, and a frail 
thread,path twisting up through that opening.  Far off to the side, 
almost lost in the wall of the great storm below, FullSky glimpsed the 
larger main thread that he had left earlier, and saw that it turned 
away from where he wanted to go.  He had chosen correctly, in leaving 
that path.

From above, Tar-skel's fist looked a little less dark now, a little 
less ominous.  He was not by any means out of range of the Enemy's 
sight, but he began to feel hope again.  The roiling of the Enemy's 
presence seemed turned away from him, and he was rising faster and 
faster away from it.  The grey ceiling overhead was dropping upon him 
like a blanket.  It was wispy thin, right here in this one place above 
the Enemy's gaze, but before he could even think about it, the fog 
whipped closed around him and cut off the sight of Tar-skel's storm.

A few seconds later, the fog layer fell away below.  Looking up, 
FullSky trembled in wonder.  There were twists and turns in the path 
yet, but above him as he rose was the astonishing sight of a vast, 
magnificent, translucent mountain.

Dream Mountain: a sharp-featured peak of glass, glowing from within.  
FullSky, after the first heart-stopping moment, recovered his 
concentration and reached out his presence toward it.

There were no further barriers of the Enemy.  Apparently Tar-skel was 
so confident of his grand sorcery that he did not trouble to station 
any of his lesser servants here.

FullSky followed the thread-path without difficulty to the base of 
the Mountain, and there he felt familiar draconic spells of entry; and 
with a shudder of pleasure, he tugged at those threads and found 
himself inside the Mountain.

The transformation was instantaneous.  He was in a place bathed with 
sunshine, so bright he could see nothing else, and he heard the voices 
before he saw their source.  They were like chimes ringing in a 
shifting breeze, like glass singing in a fire, like a stream chortling 
in a carved channel.

They were surely the voices of the draconae, and FullSky for a moment 
could not move or breathe or utter a sound to make his presence known.  
Nor did he have to.

You who have entered, said a voice floating toward him.

You are different from those who have tried before.

Indeed, FullSky whispered.  I am a friend.  I cannot see you.

But if you are the draconae, the dreaming, the singing onesWe 
areThen-and he paused, barely glimpsing the presence of the others, 
fluttering in the Dream Mountain's underrealm-then know that I am 
FullSky, son of Highwing andr SkyTouch, and I am reaching out to you in 
desperate hope, from the dungeons of the Dark Vale.

There was a sound of rushing wind, and another change, not quite 
instantaneous, more like an eyeblink.  He was wafted into a darkness, 
but a warm darkness-and he felt something stirring near him, the 
flutter of fragile wings.  He felt a breath close, and he glimpsed the 
movement of pale luminous figures, almost too dim to be seen.  Wait, he 
heard.

Chapter 27

THE POOL OF VISIONS THE SWIRLINGsnow was finally abating, the air 
clearing to reveal a landscape that took Jael's breath away, even 
through the distortion of the fractured rigger-net.  The mountain trail 
was winding down out of the barren heights toward a glen of some sort; 
she glimpsed trees rising from the shadows.  In the distance an oblate 
red sun shone over a majestic range of mountains, peaks gleaming with 
ice and snow, the lower flanks jutting angles of maroon and brown rock.

As she descended, ship on her back, she saw clusters of trees below, 
with burnished purple and gold leaves.  She glimpsed a stream tumbling 
down from a cliff face.  Ahead of her, floating down into the glen, was 
the hazy and ethereal iffling, in the shape of a dragon.

Jael felt her spirits lifting.  This looked like the sort of place 
where dragons might gather, and perhaps share word with her of the 
struggle.  But as more of the glen drew into sight, she searched in 
vain for any sign of dragons, or any animate life other than the 
iffling.  Her spirits sank again.

She felt terribly lonely.  Ed had not returned from his search for 
At.  Once, she thought she had actually heard At's voice, calling 
out-not to her, but to Ed-but only once, and then the voice was lost 
again in the cottony interstices of the damaged net.  Jael knew she had 
to forget At and Ed and put the most urgent tasks before her, and not 
give in to fear, But her heart ached for the company of her friends.

She was terrified that she had damaged the net irreparably, and that 
this was where they would all die, uselessly.  Words had come back to 
her from a conversation with Kan-Kon, words she'd not paid much 
attention to at the time, distracted as she'd been by other thoughts.

"From that one's death .  . . will the ending be wrought .  .

."-words that he seemed not to have understood particularly, but 
which now made her sick with fear.  She longed for Windrush.  He could 
make sense of all this.  She desperately wanted to believe that he had 
heard her call, or somehow sensed her presence.

The trail twisted to the left, dropped steeply for a few steps, then 
bent back the other way and sloped more gently down into the glen.

The iffling, ahead of her, was pulsing.

It seemed to want her to hurry.

She wondered again if she really ought to trust it.  But what choice 
did she have?  There had been a time, long ago it seemed now, when she 
had decided to trust a dragon.  She hadn't known him well, either.  But 
she had decided to trust him; and in the end, that decision had led her 
not only to a friendship with Highwing and his sons, but also to a 
deeper healing in her own heart.  Did wisdom call, then, for her to 
trust this being, as she had once trusted Highwing?

The iffling floated back toward her, a glimmering dragon of light.

We will stop here, for now.  You have many questions.

In this place, we may find some answers.

Jael blinked, wondering if the iffling had read her thoughts.

What is this place?  she asked.  Is it a place of dragon magic?

She remembered Highwing's garden of -powers, which he had shown her 
during her first visit to the realm, and she wondered if this would be 
something similar.  Will we meet dragons here?  Can we call to 
Windrush?

The iffling dimmed, flickering as though with uncertainty.  Then it 
brightened again.  It is indeed a place of Powers-though not, 
precisely, of dragon magic.  The Pool of Visions, this place is called.

It is possible to see .  . . much .  . . and learn much, here.

And perhaps .  . . to call out to Windrush.  Much will depend upon 
how much you trust ... me.

For here we must seal ... our trust.

Jael wondered at its words.  It was not that she did not trust the 
ifflings; indeed, she had trusted them in returning to the realm in the 
first place.  And yet ... she remembered that at least one among them 
was false.  How could she know which was which?  Windrushi Where are 
you?  Or Highwing!  Lord, how she missed Highwing!  He would have 
guided her faithfully through such questions.

You remain uncertain, the iffling observed, its wings of light 
trembling.

Yes, she acknowledged.

The iffling's wings fluttered.  Come, then, and you will see.

It turned and floated down into the glen, without waiting for a 
response.

Jael trudged after it, until she suddenly realized that they were 
surrounded by trees.  She paused to look around.  The glen was not 
quite as it had seemed from a distance.  The trees, which she had 
imagined as beautifully delicate creations arching up from the ground, 
were in fact and,looking bushes that might have been standing here for 
centuries.

Their leaves, so luminous from above, were a dull rust, color on the 
undersides.  They rustled stiffly in the wind.

Over here!  the iffling called.  It was hovering at the edge of a 
pool where a water-carved basin caught the mountain spring she had 
glimpsed earlier, streaming over a cliff face.

A few strides from where the water splashed into the pool, it 
overflowed into a twisting ravine that carried it out of the glen and 
down the mountain.

Jael stood by the iffling, gazing into the pool.  The water was clear 
and dark, and curiously unrippled by the splashing inflow.

Flashing down from above, the water seemed to be made of light, 
rather than substance.  But in the pool, it became hard and almost 
mercurial.

It appeared as though everything in this spot had to be tough rather 
than delicate, as though fragility had no place here.  There was a 
beauty in this starkness, but it was nothing like the exquisite 
fairyland beauty of Highwing's garden of powers.  But that place was 
gone, destroyed by the Enemy.  Perhaps, in these times, this stark sort 
of beauty was the only kind that survived.

The Pool of Visions, murmured the iffling.  As Jael looked up again 
it said, Here, rigger, I invite you to share a draft of water with an 
iffling.  Here, where knowledge is revealed through the underrealm, I 
invite you to join your thoughts with mine, and to share in the 
visions.

Jael blinked in puzzlement.

The iffling pulsed, continuing.  What visions?  Visions of the realm, 
of the dragons, of the powers and principalities.  Can you not see 
glimmerings of them in the water, even now?

Jael bent and peered into the water again.  She saw her own 
reflection, and the reflections of the sky and the cliff.

She shook her head.

The iffling dimmed slightly.  None?  Then, it is all the more 
imperative that you join with me.  It is the only way.

Jael frowned.

I perceive your uncertainty, your apprehension, murmured the iffling. 
 Perhaps I can help.  It suddenly began to change shape.  It settled to 
the ground, and quickly became more solid and less luminous-and shrank 
out of its dragonlike shape.  Seconds later, it had transformed itself 
into an animal-a cross between a mountain cat and a lemur, with plush, 
tan fur and bright green eyes.

Jael stared, astonished@and remembered the iffling that had visited 
her in Windrush's cavern, two years ago.  That one had taken on an 
animal form, too, though a more delicate one.

This is my other form, said the creature.  I thought perhaps you 
would find it less frightening.  It turned to gaze at the water, 
smelling it delicately.  Looking up again, it cocked its head, as 
though a thought had just occurred to it.  The sharing of water.  Is 
this not an ancient ritual among your people?

Jael blinked.  What would an iffling know about human rituals?  I ... 
suppose it is, she murmured.

Yes, said the cat/lemur.  It is a most sacred exchange of life.

Its eyes shone, gazing at her.  But here, at the Pool of Visions, it 
is more than sacred.  When we share water here, it has the power to 
bind us together in heart and thought.  Then, together, we may study 
the visions of the pool, and learn the fate of your friends, But it 
does require that you ... trust me.  The iffling sat back on its 
haunches, gazing straight into her eyes.

Jael was unable to answer.  She didn't know if what the creature 
proposed was even possible.  How could she consume something that 
existed outside the net?  Nothing in the Flux was supposed to be 
substance at all-though the reality of the dragon world disproved that.

Nevertheless, it must be a very different kind of substance.  How 
could she draw it from the Flux into the net, much less dare to drink 
it?  The idea seemed crazy.

And yet ... the i@g's green@eyed gaze was a powerful magnet, drawing 
her toward the pool, making her want to believe its words.  She felt 
almost hypnotized by those eyes.

Something felt wrong to her, but she couldn't identify what.  In the 
back of her mind, she knew there was a profound urgency.  Windrush and 
the others were in need.

Whom could she trust but this being, to help her find her friends?

Would it make a difference, the itfling murmured, slowly blinking its 
cat/lemur eyes, if, first, I shared with you my name?

Jael drew a breath.  Exchange name@s she had with her dragon friends? 
 When she had first met Highwing, she had blurted her name to him, 
without thought@and he had taken it as a profound token of trust and 
innocence.  His sons, likewise, had accepted her name with great 
solerrmity, as something by which they would be bound for life.  She 
didn't fully understand the power of names here, but she knew it was a 
power to respect.  if, she said uncertainly, it is a way for us to know 
each other's hearts ...

That, said the creature, and more.

Jael let out her breath, and nodded.

The creature's eyes widened and darkened to pools.  My name ... is 
Jarvorus.

Jael felt a sudden lightheartedness.  Jarvorus, she whispered back.  
As she gazed at the large-eyed creature, she felt a compulsion to give 
her name in exchange.  I am ... Jael.

As she spoke her name, she felt a power going out of her-not a great 
power, but noticeable, a flush in her heart.

She imagined it reverberating in the pool of water beside her.

She blinked, and shook her head.  She thought she had seen circles of 
light rippling through the water, in its depths.  She realized that her 
vision through the rigger-net had suddenly grown clearer.

Does this mean-?  She stopped.  Had she just heard something?

jarvorus watched her in puzzlement.

Jael's head was ringing, and she was no longer sure what was touching 
her from the inside or the outside.  She felt a sudden thump, then 
parrot wings fluttering inside her head.

Ed was back in her thoughts!  She couldn't see him, but she felt him 
peering out through her eyes.  (Ed!) she cried, dizzy with relief.

What is it?  the iffling whispered urgently, its gaze sharpening.

(jayyyyl!) she heard.  (Found At!  Found At!) (What?) Jael was almost 
overcome by the dizziness.  And Ed was so overjoyed at having found his 
way back to her that it took him a few moments to calm down.

Finally Jael found her voice to ask, (Is he all right?  Can you lead 
me to him-?) The iffling interrupted, urgently.  Jael, we must not 
delay!

What is the matter?

It couldn't see Ed, apparently.  No matter; she could explain later.  
She felt the parrot scowling in concentration.

(Caw!  Found, yes!  Oka@wwk!  But lost him again!  Couldn't get to 
him!  Almost-awk-couldn't get back!) Jael struggled to think clearly.

(Did you talk with him?

Does he know we're alive?) The iffling's intense, puzzled stare was 
making it even harder to focus.

(Rawwk-yes.  Danger, Jael!  DANGER!  Must find graggons!) Jael felt 
Ed spreading his wings abruptly, between her temples.  He looked about, 
with abrupt movements.

(Scrawww!  What's that?  What's that?) Jael's breath caught.  She 
tried to calm herself.  (That's ... Jarvorus.  His name's Jarvorus, and 
he's an iffling.  He's trying to help me ... find Windrush.) The parrot 
shifted his head nervously back and forth inside Jael's eyes, staring 
out at the waiting iffling-animal.

(Danger,) whispered Ed.  (Find graggons.  Quickly!) (Yes.  That's 
what we're hoping to do.) Jael blinked, realizing that Jarvorus was 
growing quite impatient.

What are you doing?  it whispered.  To whom are you speaking?

My shipmate, Jael murmured.  We have been separated.

Our ship is damaged.

Yes, yes.  That is why you do not see clearly.  But have you not 
noticed, your vision is clearer now?

The iffling's words were true; especially since their exchange of 
names, her ability to see out of the net had improved.  It was as 
though the boundary layer between her and the Flux had stretched 
thinner, and grown more trans, parent.  She wished that the same could 
be said of her thinking; she could barely focus at all now.

Jarvorus spoke again.  Jael, the urgency grows.  We must let the pool 
show us your friends, if it will!  Surely the ... dragons ... are 
waiting!

Jael nodded foggily.  In her head, she sensed Ed rumbling with 
unease, but felt his urgency, as well.  He was desper, lately eager to 
find Windrush, to put an end to all this uncertainty.  Yes, she 
whispered.

The cat/lemur sighed in satisfaction.  Yes, it said, and stepped to 
the edge of the pool.  Bowing, it delicately touched its tongue to the 
water.  Raising its head, it commanded, You, now.  You need only touch 
it to your lips.

Jael drew a breath, not moving.  Her head was swimming, but she could 
not make herself step to the pool's edge.

You must-if you would find Your friends!  Jarvorus hissed.

Jael let her breath out in a rush.  She could almost feel a force 
propelling her forward, toward the water.  She couldn't tell if it was 
her own volition or something else, but neither could she resist it, or 
even want to.  She would not actually drink the water; how could it 
harm her?  She wanted to overcome her fear, to join with the iffling 
and share in its visions of the realm!  She stepped forward and knelt 
at the water's edge, taking care not to overbalance the spaceship on 
her back.

Yes, yes!  hissed the iffling, close beside her.

Jael drew a final, nervous breath, and dipped her hand down.  The 
water quivered oddly, and her cupped hand filled with clear, glittering 
silver.  She raised it to her mouth, and hesitated one last time.  Then 
she touched it to her lips ...

(Jayl, na-stop-hawwwuwk!-he's not-!) She felt a flash of ice as the 
water touched her, and the ground seemed to shift beneath her.  For an 
instant, she thought she would topple into the water; then she felt a 
great rushing sensation, as though she would float away.  Ed was 
flapping wildly in her mind, screaming in anguish.  But she didn't 
quite understand why-until her eyes focused on the pool's surface, 
where the burning water was spilling from her hand.  She saw jarvorus' 
reflection grinning at her.

Iffling?  No!  she realized at once.  He was no ifflin@he was the 
false-one, and his razorlike teeth were showing in his grin, and his 
eyes were ablaze with triumph.

In that instant her gaze and jarvorus', reflected in the water, came 
together.  Something changed deep in the net, or in the realm around 
her, and she felt jarvorus' thoughts plunge into hers like a burning 
knife into butter.  She saw his spirit now, revealed in all of its 
falsehood.  But it was too late to stop the process; the sorcery was 
unfolding exactly as jarvorus had intended ...

Windrush!  Help me please-!  she struggled to shout.

Deep in her mind, Ed was screaming in her defense, lashing and biting 
at the invading presence of the false iffling's thoughts.  But his 
efforts were futile.  She felt Jarvorus' thoughts turning to strike in 
anger at Ed.  She panicked as she saw it poised to kill, to stab and 
strangle.

(No!) she cried, and enveloped Ed's presence in her own thoughts, 
shielding him from the attack.  Ed was saved for the moment, but it was 
all the opening jarvorus needed to whirl his threads of sorcery around 
Jael's innermost being.

She fought to repel him, but uselessly; she could feel the spell 
tightening around her like a noose.  (You're no iffling!) she hissed in 
futile rage.

(No.  Not an iffling.) (rhen what are you?) she gasped.

She felt a rumble of triumph.  (I am a warrior in service to Rent, 
and to the Nail of Strength@he one against whom the dragons war in 
vain.) Tar-skel.

Jael felt ice water flowing in her veins as she realized the 
magnitude of her blunder.  She wanted to scream in rage, to physically 
hurl this being from her thoughts.  She could not even muster a whimper 
of protest.

(Your power is our power now,) whispered the being.

Jael's gaze fell helplessly on the Pool of Visions, and she no longer 
saw only her reflection and the false-iffling's; something new was 
shimmering into focus, deep in the waters.  It was an image of dragons 
on wing ... dragons tumbling through the air ... dragons dying in 
battle, in great numbers.  She glimpsed a coiling darkness, and felt a 
terrifying surge of malice toward her, and an incontestable power; and 
surrounding everything, enveloping all the mountains of the realm, she 
saw a fine, glowing spiderweb of sorcery ... and she saw herself, dying 
in battle, and the web of sorcery blossoming in power.

(The prophecy fulfilled,) crooned the false-iffling, in a voice that 
sounded almost drunk with triumph.

Jael felt a crushing despair.  She didn't wholly understand the 
vision, but she didn't have to.  The vision revealed death and defeat, 
not just for her, but for all the realm.  She became aware that her 
hand was immersed in the icy waters of the pool, and she drew it out.

Her arm moved as though trapped in molasses.  As her hand slowly came 
up and out of the water, the vision disappeared.  She held her hand 
before her face, watching the silvery drops fall away, in slow motion.

(What have you done to me?) she cried silently.

javorus' thoughts rose within her own.  For a disbelieving moment, 
she imagined that she glimpsed sympathy in the warrior's thoughts, and 
a heartbeat of hesitation.  Then a new resolve swept all that away, and 
the Enemy's creature said, (I wish you no liar?n.  But I have sealed 
you into our power, and now I must bear you away to a place where you 
will be safe.) (Jayllll!) Ed wailed, his voice distant and ineffectual.

(Safe?) Jael repeated dully, her hope utterly broken.

(Yes-safe-so that at the proper time, the prophecies will be 
fulfilled,) answered the creature named Jarvorus.

Jael felt herself rising to her feet.  jarvorus had turned back into 
a being of fire, but no longer did he assume a dragonlike shape.

(Come,) he said, his voice frighteningly melodious in her thoughts.  
(It is not too much farther.) She might have tried to resist, but she 
was unable.  She could not turn away or refuse to move.

Jarvorus controlled her will now.

They left the Pool of Visions, and the glen, and set their feet upon 
a new path back into the mountains.

In a distant corner of her mind, she felt the net crinkling, and she 
heard a voice calling, as if across a vast distance.  It was At's 
voice, reaching her at last.  He was calling out a desperate warning: 
Do not trust... the false-one ... false iffling ... beware of 
treachery... !

But the warning was far too late.

Chapter 28

THE DRACONAE TilE DRACONAE entered FullSky's mind so swiftly he had 
no warning at all.  He instinctively reacted to close his thoughts-then 
realized what he was doing and ceased resisting.  This was what he had 
come here for.  But his mind was bubbling with questions, and he 
couldn't get them out.

It was a strange and astonishing contact.  The draconae revealed 
nothing of themselves, even as they laid open with remarkable clarity 
his memories and thoughts.  His battles in the underrealm and his 
contacts with Windrush rose like great gleaming bubbles in water, 
expanding and turning for the draconae's inspection.

(Is he true-?) (Is he alive and true-?) (The Words speak of hope from 
beyond death-) (But he has not died-) (He has come from a place more 
inescapable-) (Does he bring news of the One-?) (Only the hope-the 
promise-) (But his brother-) (Windrush tries to reach us, but the 
barriers of the Enemy are too strong-) The questions and observations 
swirled around him in a tempest.  But the draconae knew and understood 
far more than he did.  He had to get his questions out, while there was 
still time!

(Patience-) (Our son, we know of your needs and your questions-) (We 
all share these needs-) He was beginning to feel disoriented, as in a 
lumenis feeding, full of fevered passions and sensations bubbling up 
out of the deep places of the mind.  Was it because of the draconae's 
probing, or was this the way of the Dream Mountain, to be a place of 
confusion, of beautiful sounds and dizzy wonderment?  Or was it, he 
thought fearfully, the beginning of his kuutekka's losing contact with 
his physical body, the beginning of death?  He couldn't tell.

(Enough-) (He is true-garkkondoh-) (Let us show ourselves-) There was 
another change, another eyeblink.  He was bathed again with sunlight, 
and surrounded by movement.

His kuutekka blossomed back around him as he had not felt it in a 
long time.  He felt like a dragon again, instead of a dying spirit; his 
thoughts were once more his own.  He heard the sounds of water tumbling 
and splashing in a pool.

He turned his head one way and another; all around him was the 
fluttering of gossamer wings, and the flashing of glassy dragon 
faces-but confusingly, as though everything were broken into a myriad 
of facets.

He had not seen the Dream Mountain since his departure from the outer 
slopes as a youngling, a time he remembered only in fleeting images.  
He had never seen the inside of the Mountain at all, much less from the 
underrealm.

This was the province of the females-not just now, but throughout 
most of dragon history.  The inside was for singing, and remembering, 
and dreaming; it was for the draconae.  It was for the tending of the 
Forge of Dreams, the fire at the heart of the Mountain, which brought 
life to the realm.  It was not for the male dragons to tend those 
fires; their hearts were in the skies, and in the deeps of the external 
mountains.  FullSky realized that even he, whose heart was the closest 
to a dracona's heart of any male dragon, knew precious little of the 
real powers of the dreamfires.

But now he was inside the Mountain, peering out through the 
shimmering lens of the underrealm.  He saw the sun drenching the outer 
slopes, pouring into the Mountain through refracting surfaces of clear 
and translucent stone.

He was in a hollow, rocky glade, surrounded by noisily splashing 
streams and by trees and by the musing ones, the females, the draconae.

The draconae!  There were dozens of them surrounding him: creatures 
of glowing jewel and glass, with wings that seemed made of crystallized 
air, their eyes flashing like shards of erupting lumenis.

Some of the draconae were shimmeringly reflective, others glowing and 
transparent, some round and smooth, and others all angles and probing 
facets.  Each dracona presented him with a different face of mystery as 
he peered into one gaze, then another.  Their kuutekkas were faces of 
spirit and song: they seemed to dance and waver, as though he were 
seeing them through rising thermals, or a pool of water.

Am I seeing your outer-world appearances?  he whispered in 
wonderment.

You see us as we are, as nearly as your underrealm vision will allow, 
murmured a faceted emerald dracona, her voice like wind piping through 
hollowed stone.  We had to see you clearly, though perhaps too abruptly 
for your comfort.  But our needs were great.

I understand.

But now we wish to answer your questions.  And to help, if we can.

Yes.  He hesitated.  All of his deeper questions had fled from his 
mind, driven out by astonishment.  But ... who are you?  What are your 
names?

There was a sound of laughter, a chuckling stream.  There was a 
sadness that reverberated in the sound like distant waves.

I am Deeplife, said the first, the emerald-glass dracona.

Gentlesong, said a creature of smoothly polished curves.

Lavafire, rang a resonant voice, from a dracona who glowed within 
like fiery embers.

CoolTouch, said another, with mirrored scales.

Starchime, sang one who made him see blazing, impossibly concentric 
circles of fire.

SeaTouch, whispered a voice like water hissing on sand ...

And the names continued, one after another, dizzyingly, until he 
could scarcely keep the names and the draconae straight.  But he 
rejoiced to meet them all, knowing that these draconae held the 
prophecies in their hearts, and held the knowledge of how the realm 
might be saved.  So many questions rose in his mind that he could not 
even begin to sort them out.

You want to know, chimed the emerald Deeplife, whose eyes were 
unfathomable gems, whether the One has returnedJael, he said, and heard 
a murmur of agreement.  And-?

Several draconae fluttered their wings.  We had hoped you would know, 
answered ... Starchime,"was it?  The ifflings sent their last children 
to her.  But whether they can bring her safety here, we do not know.  
Nor do we know exactly what she is to do here@ whether sufficient time 
remains.  The Enemy's power grows steadily stronger.

But, murmured CoolTouch, the Words seem to promise that no victory 
can be won without herWe cannot be certain, said another, and there was 
a quick, rippling discussion before Deeplife called for silence.

FullSky reached for words.  How can you know ... so much of what is 
happening in the realm?  Are you not trapped here by the Enemy?

Indeed, but the EnemyIn his confidenceHis arrogance!

-permits us to see many things, finished Deeplife, hushing the 
others.  He wishes to persuade us of his invincibility.  He wishes us 
to despair, to surrender our Mountain to him.

But .  . . he already controls the Mountain, FullSky thought.

His words, though not spoken, were heard.  Deeplife replied firmly.  
He has imprisoned the Mountain.  But he does not control it@ us, though 
he may hold the Power of life and death over us.

He can destroy you.  He can destroy all of us.

Deeplife nodded, glittering.  But he cannot command us.  He needs us 
yet, to control the Forge of Dreams.  He needs the despair of the 
dragons to strengthen his sorcery.  But in time, if his web grows 
strong enough, he may find his own way to control the powers that 
emanate from this Mountain.

FullSky listened carefully, gazing at the fragile beings who 
surrounded him.  He remembered Highwing's story of how SkyTouch, his 
own mother, had died at the hands of fledgling dragons whose hearts had 
been ruined by Tarskel.  And he thought: How easily these draconae 
could be destroyed, in the same way!

You think truly, FullSky.  If the Enemy no longer believes he needs 
us, he will destroy us.

And when-FullSky hesitated@hen might he no longer need you?  How 
strong must he become?

The draconae stirred.  There was a long pause before Deeplife said, 
Who knows what Tar-skel, in his Pride, will believe@ when?  But the 
Words say that an ending will come, and a new beginning, when the One 
falls in battle.

Hearing those words, FullSky brooded silently.

Another dracona-the glowing Lavafire-spoke up, in a resonant voice.  
On that last matter, there is disagreement, even among us.

You mean ... as to whether it's true?

No, we are certain it is true.  The Words came, after all, from the 
dream forge itself, through an opening in time, we believe.

An opening into the future@ future that in our age has become the 
present.  But whether the ending that is foretold will favor the Enemy, 
or the realm, no one trulyBefore she could finish her thought, she was 
interrupted by a sudden disturbance.  Several of the draconae turned 
away, rustling and murmuring in agitation.  Lavafire queried in 
rumbling tones, then announced, We have seen something in the Dark 
Vale.  Please wait.

FullSky waited-terrified that the Enemy had discovered his connection 
with the draconae.  He felt a movement, not in the outer reality of the 
Mountain, but in the underrealm.

The light around him faded, and he realized that the draconae were 
flanking him in an underrealm window, a place of near-darkness.

A vision was coming into focus: a vision of dark, winged creatures 
taking flight against a deepening evening sky.  The sight made him 
shiver; it was a legion of the Enemy both drahls and Tar-skel dragons, 
gathering in the air.  Gathering for battle.

The strength of Tar,skel rises, murmured a dracona who evidently had 
been among the first to see the vision.  I heard their leaders 
speaking.  They are bound for the Deep Caverns.

That set off a great commotion.  The Deep Caverns are scarcely 
protected, one of them said.  Windrush strengthens the defense 
elsewhere, said another.

FullSky listened with alarm.  Why the Deep Caverns?

Were they more important than the dragons had realized?

Has anyone felt the contact of an iffling?  Deeplife asked the others 
urgently.  Can we send warning that way?

The ifflings are failing, whispered the hushed voice of SeaTouch.

Their strength is nearly gone.  They cannot reach us now.

Deeplife spoke to FullSky.  Have you any way to reach Windrush, 
quickly?  N Not now, FullSky whispered, with a breath of steam.

Then we can only watch.

That is why we are being allowed to see this, Deeplife said softly.  
So that we might watch, and despair.

FullSky hissed quietly to @himself, but said nothing.  He knew that 
despair was the Enemy's greatest weapon, and if the draconae succumbed, 
there would be little hope indeed.

The drahls and dragons gathered, rising over the harsh twilit peaks 
of the Enemy's territory.  Instead of taking flight to the east, 
however, they flew in formation in a great, spinning circle.  Gradually 
they closed their orbits inward until they were turning dizzyingly 
fast, like the storm clouds FullSky had braved in reaching the Dream 
Mountain.  He sensed that threads of the underrealm were being 
stretched and altered, even as he watched.  The empty air in the center 
of the formation shimmered and opened somehow, and the drahls banked 
and fell inward through the distorted air, and vanished.

FullSky blinked, feeling a disturbance in the underrealm.

The Enemy, he knew, had just released a potent sorcery, sending his 
legions through some astonishing shortcut to their target.  FullSky 
stared at the image of empty sky over the Dark Vale and felt more 
helpless than ever.

Leaving the darkened window, three of the draconae Deeplife, 
Starchime, and Gentlesong-remained close to FullSky in the underrealm, 
but drew him to a place where they could speak quietly.  They all knew 
that the dragons, back in the held land, must even now be fighting for 
their lives.  But there was nothing any of them could do about it, and 
they had agreed that FullSky should learn all he could while he was 
among them, in hopes that he might take some useful knowledge back 
through the underrealm with him.

They seemed to be perched on a ledge overlooking a place of silent 
but intense draconae activity.  They were Granting him a glimpse of the 
Forge of Dreams, a place where draconae skilled in the powers of the 
Mountain labored to maintain the defense of the dreamfires, and through 
them the integrity of the entire realm and the underrealm, and 
everything that lived there.  From where FullSky sat, the view seemed 
to shimmer between a darkened cavern with draconae gathered around a 
glowing hearth-and a breathtaking and impossible-to-grasp view of an 
all-enveloping darkness full of stars, and a blazing source of light 
and heat that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere in that darkness, all 
at once.  The underrealm itself seemed to pulse and breathe around the 
power that flowed from that source.

There are not many to whom we would show this, Deeplife said.  But 
even now, we must keep from you any greater knowledge of the dreamfire.

Though it saddens us, you may be vulnerable to the Enemy.

FullSky nodded.  He was grateful to be seeing this much.

You took a great risk, venturing past the Enemy to come here.

Your presence encourages us, murmured Gentlesong.

In the underrealm, she presented a kuutekka of graceful arcs of 
light, somehow coming together in the shape of a dragon.

My risk increases, the longer I remain.  There is so much that I 
would like to know!

We will share with you But, said FullSky, I hardly know where to 
begin!  I wonder what can help us to prevail!

Deeplife spread her wings.  They flared with multiple colors, as 
though sunlight were passing through them.  Her eyes seemed infinitely 
deep, one facet leading into another, and another ...

She sang softly: A word names the nameless And light dawns from dread 
To the heart of darkness Are the fearful ones led.
 And she was echoed by the other two, who sang, like repeating 
chimes:


And the realm shall tremble ...


Raising her voice slightly, Deeplife sang: Challenging darkness will 
come one Speaking her name will come one From that one comes a 
beginning From that one comes an ending From that one all paths 
diverge.

And the other two echoed: And surely the realm shall tremble.

FullSky was silent.

Those, said Deeplife, are the Words that have been foremost in our 
hearts lately.  They sustain us in both our hope and our fear.

Words, FullSky thought.  He feared them, and longed to know their 
secrets.  But could words defeat the Enemy?

The Enemy knows those Words as well as we do, Deeplife said.  And 
make no mistal-he fears them.

FullSky gazed at her in puzzlement.

Starchime coruscated with radiating circles of light.  He fears them 
because he does not understand them.  He knows there will be an ending, 
and a new beginning.  But he does not know what kind of ending, or 
beginning.  Nor do we.

FullSky admitted, I hardly know, myself, whether to draw hope from 
them, or fear.

The draconae made chiming sounds of assent.  That is their nature.

But we choose to draw hope.

Hope, FullSky thought.  How difficult it was to feel hope when the 
Enemy was so powerful, and so ... unknowable.

For all of his encounters with the Nail of Strength, he still 
scarcely knew what or who Tar-skel was.

None of us knows for sure, whispered Gentlesong.  But much has been 
handed down in wisdom from of old.

Legends, he whispered back.

More than legends.  Told through legends sometimes, but real 
nonetheless.  Open your thoughts to us, FullSky, and learn of our foe.

FullSky stared at the dracona, and at last met her gaze.

He felt her thoughts slipping deep into his ...

The images stirred melancholy memories.  As a youngling he had been 
taught much that he had since lost to the dimness of time.  Like most 
draconi, FullSky had not really wanted to remember such things, not 
when he was a youthful dragon, eager and invincible.  These were dark 
memories , the memories of Tar-skel.

(Indeed,) whispered Gentlesong.  (But the time has come to face them, 
and to learn.) The Enemy entered the realm in a time before even the 
draconae's memory (Gentlesong murmured).  His life before that was 
known only through his boastings, recalled and passed on by his 
servants and foes alike.  He came from another realm altogether, where 
he had been an influential being in a race of immortals or 
near-immortals.  There he had been an artist of some sort, a 
shaper-crafter of wondrous powers and great renown-but not, it seemed, 
renown enough.  His pride grew with his work; and with that pride came 
a darkening of his spirit, as his fellows granted him too little 
praise, too little understanding, too little bowing to his wisdom and 
his power.

(Was he driven by jealousy?) FullSky asked wonderingly.

(By jealousy, pride ... and in the end, madness,) answered 
Gentlesong.

The seeds of madness, perhaps, were present from the beginning.

But the rise in fame of another shaper, whose work overshadowed his, 
brought about a final eruption of envy, and a lust for mastery and 
revenge.  What truly happened then, no one except Tar-skel himself 
could say now.

But somehow he found the power to destroy that realm and all who 
lived in it, and he fled with his own life.  And as he did so, he 
called himself Nail of Strength, his anger and pride burning hot as a 
sun.

Over the eons, his anger cooled somewhat, but never went out.

After unknown wanderings, he came in time to the dragon realm.  He 
arrived quietly, and studied the realm carefully, before gathering his 
power here.

(Was he known to the dragons then?) FullSky wondered, trying to 
recall his own earliest times of learning.

(They knew of his Presence, but not yet his nature,) murmured 
Gentlesong.  (Our ancestors were not as wise as they might have been.

Many followed him without knowing that they did so.) (Then little has 
changed,) FullSky noted, and Gentlesong could only agree, as she 
continued conveying the images to him.

Tar-skel's sorceries in the underrealm were unparalleled, but that 
explained only a part of his success.  He drew a growing following of 
dragons under his sway, through a@ peals to greed, to power-lust, and 
to fear.  He seduced many with promises of great magics, and he offered 
overproud dragons a chance to rule over others who were more fearful, 
weak, or timid.  These were the early times of dragon civilization, and 
the dragons had little tradition of history and order.  Even the 
draconae were only just learning the Powers of memory and word, and the 
quiet taming of the dreamfires.  But they knew enough, even then, to 
guard control of the Forge of Dreams from this one.

Across the ages, numerous wars erupted between those who served him 
and those who hated the turmoil he had brought to the realm.

Dragons died in those wars, but Tar-skel did not.

(And yet he was defeated,) FullSky recalled.

(Yes, in the greatest of those wars, he lost most of his followers, 
and his sorceries were broken,) said Gentlesong.  (Some thought that he 
was dead.  But in fact, he only slept, leaving the realm untroubled for 
a time.) As Tar-skel slept, stories and legend grew up around his name, 
keeping his true nature from burning too deeply into the dragon 
conscience, sparing dragonkind the pain of remembering its own 
failures.  He was portrayed as a spirit that punished wicked 
dragonlings, or draconi whose courage failed.  He became a tragic 
figure, a dragon whose ambitions outstretched his abilities-a character 
whose story revealed the price of becoming powerful, but not powerful 
enough.  Many said that he never lived at all, that his was just a name 
given to an ill wind that blew in the hearts of some dragons-a name 
given to an impersonal evil, to render it less terrifying.

Thus the true history diminished in dragon memory.

The reasons for past wars vanished in a murk of discarded guilt and 
shame.  As the draconi forgot their own misdeeds, the fictions became 
so entangled with reality that even by the draconae, the truths were 
sometimes misremembered.

And so the Enemy was reduced to a fable who had no true life, no true 
name, no true power.

But though silent for many generations of dragons, Tarskel indeed had 
life, had a name, had power.

FullSky, remembering his recent brush with the Enemy, knew well that 
one's power.  Gentlesong paused, sensing his unease, but FullSky urged 
her to continue sharing ...

Quietly, while the draconi were forgetting that he had ever lived, 
the Nail of Strength gathered his resources, his forces, his legions of 
twisted and altered beings.  If from time to time a young fledgling 
vanished from the slopes of the Dream Mountain, the draconi preferred 
to believe that accidents were to blame, fledglings who tried to fly 
before they were ready, or caretaking draconae who were inattentive to 
their charges.  But the singing ones knew, and perhaps even a few of 
the male dragons suspected: the invisible one was stealing fledglings, 
stealing them and twisting them into something terrible and deadly, and 
calling them drahls, servants of the Nail.  But of the draconi who flew 
and dueled and maintained (or so they believed) the strength of the 
realm, most refused to recognize the truth.

Once again, Tar-skel grew strong, cloaked in silence and 
invisibility.  His darkest works were performed in secrecy; his 
influences were whispers in the darkness to those who did not even know 
whose voice they were hearing.  If he did speak audibly, it was in a 
voice of unworldly beauty.  Some, like FullSky, were drawn in to 
challenge his magics, and were captured.  His presence was concealed by 
senseless disputes among the draconi, by brooding distrust of 
outsiders, by a growing belief that anyone or anything not-dragon@uch 
as a rigger, or even an iffling-must be demon.

And this time, his silence lasted ... until one such outsider was 
befriended by a dragon, mirroring the ancient prophecy ... until his 
sorcery, to his fury, was defeated by that same rigger.

(Jael,) thought FullSky.  (The One.) (So we have believed,) 
Gentlesong sighed.

Tar-skel's malice, if anything, flourished following that 
humiliation.  He had already quietly concealed the way to Dream 
Mountain from dragons who were too absorbed in their duels and disputes 
to notice.  He was determined to complete his ultimate weaving of 
power, a web that would draw not just this world, but all those beyond, 
into his grasp.  But he was angry, as well; and if he could avenge 
himself against the rigger in his moment of success, so much sweeter 
would be the victory that he had long craved-the mastery of all worlds.

(But what of the prophecies?) FullSky whispered, awed and terrified 
by the recounting of their foe's staggering power.

(The Words came to us in the days following the last great war,) said 
Gentlesong.  (And not just to us, but to a surviving servant of the 
Enemy.) An aging dracona, Sunfire, standing watch over the Forge of 
Dreams, had witnessed the vision and spoken the Words aloud.  And the 
rest of the draconae had remembered them, through song and verse and 
vision, for the ages to come.

And the Enemy's servant had fled, bearing the knowledge of the same 
Words to its master.

And over the generations, the draconae-and, it was believed, the 
Enemy as well-had been striving to understand those Words.  Friend and 
foe alike now, all were waiting, waiting for the final story to unfold.

Even as Gentlesong poured the images into FullSky's thoughts, much of 
it echoed back from his deepest mein, ones of early teachings.  But 
even hearing it, and seeing it in his mind, he felt an unreasoning 
desire not to believe that they, today, could be facing this same, 
legendary Enemy.  He seemed too powerful, too terrible, too .  . .

immortal.

(Can he really be so ancient?) FullSky hissed, barely able to speak 
even in the privacy of his own mind.

(More ancient than our memory,) said Gentlesong.

A wisp of steam curled up slowly from FullSky's kuutekka as he 
reflected upon his Enemy's, and his own peo@ pie's, history.  He was 
grieved by the tragedy of the dragons' failure to remember their past, 
and grateful for the draconae's preservation of the truth against the 
erosion of the ages.
 He all but forgot his own precariousness in the under, realm as he 
whispered to the dracona, (Tell me, pleasewhat can I do?)

 il


Chapter 29

MTTLE FOR THE DEEP CAVERNS WORD OF attack came in the night, not from 
the Valley of Fallen Light, or from the outposts to the south, but out 
of the darkness to the east.  Windrush had been flying vigil with the 
guardians of Fallen Light, and left Farsight in charge of continuous 
patrols out along the western border and the Scarred Mount Ridge.  The 
border seemed secure.

Nevertheless, Windrush felt a vague but growing suspicion that 
something was wrong; and several times, had landed so that he could 
probe the underrealm for any signs.  But it never did any good; he felt 
that something was stirring, somewhere, but until it broke out into the 
open, he could not tell what it was.

And so, despite all of their preparedness, it came as a shock when a 
flame-bihowing messenger appeared out of the east, shrieking: "Attack!  
The Enemy has attacked!  Send help to the Deep Caverns!  Send dragons 
to the Deep caverns!  " The dragon did not even slow down, but 
trumpeted his warning as he passed the Valley of Fallen Light on his 
way to the main encampment.  Windrush rose to intercept him and flew 
alongside toward the camp.  "Report!"  Windrush called.  "Your name!

How many of the enemy?  What have they done?"

The messenger's angry flame flashed in the night.  "Skypiercer, 
Windrush!  More drahis than we could count-and enemy dragons, too!  It 
was sorcery-they appeared out of nowhere!  They are destroying our 
guard, and the caverns as well.  If we don't have help, the caverns 
will be lost!"

Windrush was dumb with astonishment.  Why the Deep Caverns?  Did some 
power remain there, after all?  He beat the air furiously.  "Tell 
Farsight, in the camp!"  he commanded Skypiercer.  "Gather all that can 
be spared!  I will take some from the valley and fly ahead!"

"Enter at the Amethyst Cliffs!  The guard there is still holding.

But hurry!"  Skypiercer cried.

Windrush broke away and sped back toward the Valley of Fallen Light.  
As he approached the valley, he called out to those on guard.

"I need six to fly with me against the Enemy!  The rest of you stay, 
and be more vigilant than ever!  Who will come?"

Within moments, he had his six: LongNail and Rocktooth, formerly of 
WingTouch's patrol, HardScale and FlyForever, two lanky dragons from 
the south, plus WindSpear and-to his surprise SearSky.  Farsight had 
probed SearSky and pronounced him as cantankerous and illnatured as 
ever, but utterly loyal to the realm-land not just ready to do battle, 
but eager.

"We'll fly fast and hard, and be outnumbered when we arrive," 
Windrush warned, as the seven climbed away, eastward, from the lumenis 
grove.

"The better to show the Enemy who is stronger!"

SearSky growled, from the left flank.  "It's time we did some 
fighting!"

His cry was echoed by the others, and Windrush nodded.  He was not 
one to feel easy readiness for battle, but he knew that a fighting 
spirit was exactly what they needed now.

As they flew eastward into the dark of night, Windrush tried, but 
could think of no specific target that would draw the Enemy to the Deep 
Caverns.  Their past powers diminished, the caverns were now hauntingly 
empty, a place where even a dragon could feel an oppressive loneliness.

Windrush had maintained their defense, but sparingly.  He wondered 
now if he would regret that.  If the caverns were so useless, why had 
the Enemy mustered the sorcery to attack them, all the way on the far 
side of the dragon-held land?  Did Tar-skel know something about the 
Deep Caverns that the dragons should have known?

"Who would have thought?"  he heard Rocktooth mutter aloud.  "Why the 
Deep Caverns and not the groves?"

Windrush said nothing, but as he worked his wings tirelessly in the 
night, he thought of a certain demon named Hodakai to whom he intended 
to put some harsh que@ tions.  Defend the lumenis!  said Hodakai, and 
Windrush had believed him.  Not that defending the lumenis wasn't a 
prudent thing to do.  But not a hint had Hodakai given him of the real 
target.

Windrush smelled the air ahead, filled with scattered storm clouds, 
and he smelled the underweb stretching out toward their distant goal.  
He smelled the Enemy.  He smelled destruction.

The Amethyst Cliffs emerged from darkness with starlight glimmering 
through them, so that they seemed insubstantial, a great ghostly wall 
in the night sky.  The dragons approached the cliffs at their 
westernmost, and narrowest, point.  From there the wall stretched 
eastward for a short distance, before bending to the northeast.  The 
farther along the wall they flew, the greater its height; but at its 
base, it dropped away into nothingness.  A pair of dragons appeared out 
of the darkness and met the seven.  It was the sentry patrol, and the 
two urged Windrush and his companions to hurry.

"I can fly faster, if the rest of you can," SearSky growled from 
behind Windrush's left wing.

Windrush replied, "We will all fly faster now.  Prepare to dive, 
brothers!  Downward, to meet the Enemy!"

The dragons behind him echoed his cry as one.  In tight formation, 
they pitched over and dove, seeking the bottom of the Amethyst Cliffs.

To many dragons, the Amethyst Cliffs marked the edge of the realm as 
they knew it-a place where the bottom dropped out of the world.  And 
that was very nearly the truth.  Windrush and his fellows were diving 
off the edge, into another world-into inky darkness, an abyss of 
emptiness like the night sky turned upside down.  It was a long dive, 
an endless dive.  In the near-darkness, it was hard not to fear that 
they had lost their way, and were falling into an emptiness from which 
they would never return.

"Where are we?"  murmured FlyForever, probably the youngest dragon 
among them.  It was an understandable question: their only point of 
reference was the vertical cliff wall, which in the faint starlight 
seemed to recede from the eye, to vanish into the night.

"Where are we?"  SearSky laughed, spilling air from his wings to fall 
faster.  "On our way to the darkest hole in the realm.  Do you want to 
challenge drahls in the utterest darkness?  This is the place to do 
it."  Laughing again, he blew a tongue of fire downward into the abyss. 
 Like a torch in the night, his flame vanished into darkness, but not 
before it momentarily illumined a small section of the wall.

The fire was refracted back out of the faceted-gem surface, like a 
gleam of light in a dragon's eye.  For the briefest instant, one could 
see how, in the morning sun, the cliffs might blaze with blue fire.

When the flame went out, the dragons dropped in a darkness that 
seemed more enveloping than ever.  "No more fire," Windrush warned, 
trying to steer a true course downward, parallel to the cliff wall.

"Save it for the battle, SearSky.  If any of the enemy were looking 
this way, you just announced our approach.  Let's try to surprise them, 
and maybe we'll stay alive long enough to do some good."

SearSky snorted.  But from then on, the wind was the only sound as 
they dropped into the endless bottom of the night.

The first hint of the Deep Caverns was a feeling that the cliff was 
steadily curving from them, no matter how hard they tried to stay even 
with it.  For a moment, Windrush feared that he was losing his 
orientation, leading the others into the great void beyond.  Then he 
saw the first sprinkling of stars through an opening in the wall to his 
left.

That was the opening to the Deep Caverns, and to the stars that shone 
through from their extreme opposite end.

When they passed through that opening, they would pass beneath the 
realm, beneath the mountains, beneath the earth.  And those were the 
stars of the sky beneath-similar in appearance to, but different from, 
the stars they knew above the realm.

His heart pounding with excitement and fear, Windrush pulled out of 
his dive and led the other six in a long, curving flight through the 
opening to the caverns.  It was difficult to make out the forms in the 
dark, but the cliffs were above him now, a ceiling rather than a wall.

He knew that stalactites and columns extended down from that ceiling, 
and they had to fly with caution to avoid a collision.

And where, in all of this darkness, was the enemy?  And where were 
the dragons defending against them?

The caverns were vast, and stretched out in many directions.  Were 
there no remaining sentries who could lead them to the battle?  The 
enemy could be almost anywhere.

But they must have come in search of the power that had once emanated 
from the underrealm here.  Windrush recalled a place in one of the 
caverns called the Flowing Springs-a focal point, long ago, for a great 
potential in the underrealm.  It seemed as likely a place as any.

He sniffed the underrealm as he flew, wishing that he could land to 
concentrate properly.  But there was no place to land, and no time!

The drahls might already have won their victory here.  Windrush felt 
anger powering his wingstrokes, and flame building in the back of his 
throat.

Behind him, SearSky grumbled, "Where are they?  Have they done their 
filthy work and left this useless place?"

"Don't be so sure the place is useless," Windrush answered.  "The 
Enemy wouldn't waste his time here unless he thought he would find 
something of value."

"Drahls!"  SearSky muttered.  "That's what I want to find!  Drahls to 
kill!"

Windrush spotted a faint nimbus of light, far off to his right.

He banked that way.  "You may get your chance."

Now he saw a flicker of fire: dragon flames.  "Battle ahead!"

he called softly.  "Be sharp!  And stay quiet!"

Cavern-shadows flowed past them as they picked up speed.  Windrush 
scanned ahead, trying to discern the shapes of dragons, of drahls, of 
anything that moved.  He saw several more flashes of flame, and then 
they sped through a great dark archway.  A pale moon came into view 
beneath the inverted horizon, shining up into the caverns from below.

Its ghostly illumination was enough to let Windrush make out the 
outlines of the ceiling and walls.

He strained to pick out, at last, the shapes of the dragons and the 
enemy.

It was a chamber called the Cavern of Clouds Below, roofed above with 
vaulting stone ceilings and floored with sky-and far below, a layer of 
cottony white, ever-present cloud.  Windrush knew this place a little.  
The clouds below were a place where dragons never went, but up here in 
the cavern, dragons had once gathered in great numbers, perching on 
hollowed-out ledges and crooks of stone.  Beyond this cavern, on the 
far side, was the place called the Flowing Springs.

Whether the enemy was there or not, Windrush couldn't tell-because 
the Cavern of Clouds Below was swarming with drahls, and with a much 
smaller number of dragons who were trying to drive them away.  It was 
clear that the dragons were in desperate need of help!

Guided by the flickering of fire-hot, yellow flames of dragons, and 
ice-blue flames of drahls-Windrush and the six arrowed straight for the 
center of the battle.  Soon they could see the banking, climbing, 
diving shapes of the combatants, and they began to pick out dragons who 
most needed help.  In the noise and turbulence, no one seemed to have 
noticed their arrival.  Windrush thundered out a battle cry: "DRAGON 
BROTHERS, HELP HAS ARRIVED!"

The six behind him echoed the cry, and for an instant the battle 
seemed to pause while everyone registered their presence.

The beleaguered dragons cried out, and hisses filled the chamber as 
the drahls realized that they faced fresh opponents.  Windrush wasted 
no time: he dove upon the nearest drahl and blasted it until it 
tumbled, burning, toward the clouds.  He turned instantly to climb 
again for a new target-and to avoid several drahis who were wheeling 
toward him.  He heard the shrieks of several other drahls dying, and 
knew that his companions had joined him in taking advantage of their 
surprise.

The advantage did not last long.  The dragons who had been defending 
this place were tired, and hurt, and reduced in numbers.

They had lasted this long by darting in and out from sheltered places 
in the upper reaches of the cavern, but a look revealed that many of 
those shelters had been blasted away by the attacking drahls.

These dragons would not have survived much longer.  Windrush did not 
want to think how many the realm had lost already tonight.  They were 
still outnumbered, but with the addition of his seven, they could 
certainly fight back.  "TURN THE TIDE!"  he called out.  "TURN THE 
TIDE"' He felt the chill of drahl fire on his right wing, and dropped 
and twisted sharply, glimpsing a drahl over his shoulder.  He turned 
beneath the enemy.  It could not follow quickly enough, and Windrush 
climbed steeply and twisted again to come back upon it.  He saw a flame 
and heard a scream, and the drahl was falling, incinerated by SearSky.

The other dragon's eyes gleamed as he passed close to Windrush.

There was no time for thanks or gloating.  Three more drahis were 
upon them, and the two dragons blew flame and beat the air, and moments 
later were separated again.

Windrush caught one of the drahls and raked it with his claws, and 
felt it shudder as it tumbled away from his grasp, out of the battle.

He had no time to follow it for the kill.

Another flew across his path, trying to evade the pursuit of 
FlyForever.  Windrush blew flame and killed the drahlbut a flame from 
another direction caught FlyForever at the same moment, following his 
movement.  Windrush came about hard, and cursed at the sight of 
FlyForever burning, spinning in agony-burned, not by a drahl, but by 
another dragon!  The Tar-skel dragon, eyes afire, was diving away 
toward Rocktooth, who was just shaking loose a pair of drahls.

"Rocktooth!  Enemy dragon!"  Windrush bellowed.

Rocktooth veered again and blew a breath of flame, but missed the 
Tar-skel dragon.  Windrush shot a last, agonized glance at FlyForever, 
now falling out of reach, out of the cavern@and dove in pursuit of the 
enemy.  He wouldn't have caught it, except that FlyForever's friend 
HardScale thundered in from the right to join the pursuit and drove the 
enemy dragon upward and left, giving Windrush the chance to cut it off.

"You murder your brothers, traitor!"  he shouted, blasting a tongue 
of flame that caught the dragon on the left wing.  The dragon spun 
around, eyes flashing with hatred, and belched fire at Windrush as it 
seemed to hang in the air, before falling tailfirst.

The blast hit Windrush in the face and neck, but he passed through it 
quickly.  The enemy dragon had evaded him momentarily, but it was more 
badly hurt.  Windrush banked over to come at the dragon again.

But HardScale was already upon the traitor, enveloping him in a 
withering flame, bellowing, "FlyForever!  This is for you!"

Windrush felt sick rather than triumphant, as he watched the Tar-skel 
dragon fall to its death.  An enemy gone, but one that never should 
have been an enemy.  And a good warrior, FlyForever, gone before he'd 
fairly had a chance to fight.

"Windrush, dive!"  he heard.  He obeyed instantly, and saw a drahl 
shoot past.  Rocktooth had shouted the warning, and it was a good 
message: Don't think!  just fly and fight!  He turned back for another 
target.

The battle continued in the moonlit darkness for what seemed an 
eternity.  The loyal dragons were still outnumbered, and were steadily 
being worn down.  The fight was beginning to seem hopeless .  .

. until a new battle cry pierced the night.  A dozen new dragons flew 
into the fray, sent by Farsight from the main encampment.

Windrush greeted them with a grateful blast.  The original 
dragondefenders were exhausted, and several had fallen since Windrush's 
arrival.

"Burn the ones we saved for you!"  SearSky trumpeted, cartwheeling 
across the vast cavern in pursuit of a frantically dodging drahl.  He 
actually seemed to be enjoying himself.  Windrush followed SearSky with 
his eyes, stunned by the dragon's fierce joy in the pursuit and the 
kill.  He would not have wanted SearSky fighting against him; 
nevertheless, he shuddered at the bloodiust that burned in that dragon.

He had no time to think about SearSky, though.  With the arrival of 
help, he realized that they might have a chance of clearing the drahls 
from this place.  But even so, they were only fighting a rearguard 
action, in one cavern among many.  What mischief was Tar-skel working, 
while the dragons and drahls battled endlessly here in the Cavern of 
Clouds Below?

"Two to fly with me!"  he thundered, as soon as the new arrivals had 
joined the battle.

"With you, Windrush!  " called Rocktooth, rising to join IM.

"Where to, Windrush?"  asked SearSky, cackling as he flew alongside.  
It wasn't clear if he was joining or taunting.

"If we're to learn what the Enemy is doing here, we must fly now, 
while the tide is with us," Windrush said.  "Yes or no.  I have no time 
for foolishness."

SearSky glanced around.  "They need me here."  The black dragon's 
teeth flashed, and his eyes glowed fiery red.

"But you'll need me more, if you're thinking to fly deeper.

Lead on."

Windrush flew high, passing above the battle.  None of the drahls 
seemed to notice their departure.  Windrush aimed toward the distant 
moon, then banked right.  Ahead now, growing quickly, was another great 
archway.  They sped through it.

Suddenly they had rock beneath them; they were flying through a 
halfenclosed tunnel, open on the right.  A small shadow ahead grew, 
then turned away with a screech.  It died in SearSky's flame before it 
could flee the way it had come.  The dragons thundered past the drahl's 
body, falling to the floor of the tunnel.

The formation opened out into a new chamber, this one with a partial 
floor of stone.  It was open on the right side; but to the left, a wall 
curved up and arched overhead.

Perhaps a third of the cavern was open to the stars, directly ahead 
and to the right.  Drahls were wheeling in the air, some distance away. 
 They seemed preoccupied and did not immediately notice the dragons.  
The wall on the left looked damaged-as though a part of it had split 
away, perhaps falling out of the cavern and away into infinity.  A 
stream of water was cascading down the broken section of the wall.

The water glistened in the moonlight-and in the light of something 
else, as well.

"Halt here!"  Windrush whispered urgently, braking to land.  The 
other two complied, SearSky more slowly than Rocktooth.  They muttered 
uneasily as they landed near him.

There was a strong undersmell of sorcery, but Windrush didn't need 
his undersense to reveal the Enemy's work here.  He gazed in dismay at 
a glowing pattern of fine, ghostly light that stretched across the open 
sky ahead and to the right.  It was a web of light, exactly like the 
Enemy's web of power that he had seen in the lumenis vision.  It took 
him a moment to focus and realize that several strands of the web 
actually narrowed and entered the cavern.  They ended near the 
waterfall, hanging in midair, glimmering.

Windrush's undersense was on fire.  Power was flowing from that 
stream-he could not see it, but he could feel it-power such as had not 
flowed here in many generations of dragons.

"I must go into the underrealm," he whispered.  "I must discover what 
is happening here."

"Those drahls will be upon us if we remain," SearSky said.

"Then you must protect me," Windrush answered, wondering if he could 
trust SearSky to guard him.

The black dragon shrugged his wings insolently.  "Do what you must.  
But do it fast."

Windrush nodded, fearing what he was going to find in the underrealm 
more than he feared those drahls.  With a last glance around, he closed 
his eyes and sank his thoughts into the underweb.

At first sight, the shape of the underrealm was little different from 
that of the outer world.  But it was charged with different hues of 
light, as though the moonlight illuminating the cavern had turned to an 
eerie blue-green.  The spring that tumbled down the wall was backlit by 
the sepulchral glow, and the sky off to the right was hazy with a faint 
blue airglow.  But shining out of that sky was the luminous green web 
of the Enemy, which here in the underrealm seemed to breathe and throb 
with energy.

Windrush was flanked by two great, dark, still statues on his right 
and left-the two dragons guarding him.  Their presence provided a 
silent reassurance.  He knew they could do little to protect him 
against the greatest of the dangers here, but he hoped they could keep 
him safe from the other things casting their shadows in the underrealm, 
the shadows that were the drahls.

The real danger, of course, was the power revealed in that light.

It was not a dragon light, nor a Dream Mountain light.  It was a 
light of sorcery, a work of the Enemy.  And yet, there was more to it 
than that.  There was a natural power here: he could feel it flowing in 
the spring of water.

It was a bitter realization; Tar-skel had found the power the dragons 
had thought long vanished.  Was his knowledge of the underrealm so much 
greater@r had he learned secrets from the captive draconae?

And what was his purpose?

Windrush gazed out at the web, remembering the vision of FullSky.

He could imagine the Enemy's web reaching out, binding this place to 
similar places in other realms, in other skies.  Did this web touch the 
static realm?  he wondered.  Did it touch realms that not even an 
outsider like Jael could imagine?  Each strand seemed to pulse like a 
living fiber, breathing and growing, stretching from the Flowing Spring 
out into the infinity of the sky.  In the outer world, the web seemed 
not to have touched the waterfall; but here he saw a pale ribbon of 
light connecting the two, and he could feel the power streaming out 
through that connection.

The dragon stared at the joining, wondering if he could interrupt it; 
but the sorcery-weavings appeared strong there.  Moving up and down 
those nearer strands of the web were figures of light and shadow, so 
faint he had not noticed them at first-figures that vaguely reminded 
him of the guardian that had kept FullSky prisoner in the underrealm.

Were they keepers of the spell?  Whether they were or not, Windrush 
saw no hope of interfering directly here.

If this was the object of the Enemy's invasion of the Deep Caverns, 
then the battle was over.  He could gather his brothers to fight the 
drahls, but he had none who could stand with him here in the 
underrealm.

He knew that he should leave before he was noticed.  But something 
made him delay a moment longer.  If this battle were not to have been 
in vain, he had to understand everything he could about the Enemy's 
work here.  He peered at the web shimmering against the sky.  It 
appeared solid, and yet ethereal; it was hard to see what it was 
exactly.  And yet, as he gazed at it, he began to see more of its 
larger structure.

One part of it coiled into the Deep Caverns, binding this place into 
the web.  Another part dwindled into the infinity of the sky-binding 
this realm, perhaps, with othersthough he could not tell how complete 
that binding was.

Still another part seemed to coil around ... something else in the 
sky.  It was coiled around a strange emptiness.  A place without stars, 
web, or airglow.

Windrush froze.  Emptiness?  A hole in the sky?  Or in the web?

With a sudden, unreasoning certainty, he knew that that place around 
which the web coiled was something far more than nothing.  Was it the 
Dream Mountain, caught up in the Enemy's web?  He could not see that it 
was; and yet something told him yes.  His heart nearly broke as he 
gazed at that empty space.  What chance was there of reaching the Dream 
Mountain, if it was caught in the Enemy's web?

And yet ...

Though there was power flowing from this spot into the underrealm, 
and though it was under the Enemy's control right now, it still did not 
belong to the Enemy, any more than the power of the Dream Mountain 
belonged to him.

The web looked ominously strong, and yet he could see that it was not 
altogether complete.  Gaps remained, places where not all the strands 
had been drawn together.  It was not yet finished.  If only they could 
keep it that way!  He wondered if that emptiness around which the web 
coiled wasn't in fact a weakness in the Enemy's plans.

Still, even as he sat here, power was flowing out of the Deep 
Caverns, bringing the sorcery closer and closer to completion.  The 
time in which to act was growing short.

He sensed a movement nearby.  It wasn't the guardians from along the 
web; it was something closer, a shadow.  He tried to focus, then 
realized that he heard a dragon voice calling to him, urgently.

He wrenched himself out of the underrealm with dizzying abruptness.  
SearSky was growling furiously: "Come OUT of there, Windrush-come out 
NOW!"

Windrush grunted and blinked in the moonlit gloom, and glimpsed a 
flight of drahls flocking toward them where they were perched at the 
edge of the cavern.  He struggled to react.  "I'm here!"  he gasped.

Rocktooth and SearSky sprang away instantly, toward the drahls.

Windrush took a sharp breath and commanded his limbs to move.

Swaying, he leaped and flew after his companions.

He wanted to call them back to fly with him out of this place of the 
Enemy-but the two were already on the at, tack.  He could only leave 
them, or join them.  Wearily, summoning his reserves of strength, he 
pounded the air until his wings screamed in protest; then he beat 
harder still, gaining more speed.

The drahls swept in a great arc to meet them.  First SearSky, then 
Rocktooth bellowed out great tongues of fire.  The drahls veered, 
scattering-but quickly circled back to surround the two dragons.  They 
seemed not to have noticed Windrush following.  Windrush let the fire 
rise hot in his throat as he sped upward.  But before he could close 
the range, SearSky climbed in an abrupt spiral.

His maneuver startled the drahls and caused them to turn awkwardly, 
trying to stay with him.  SearSky pitched up sharply, then fell 
sideways into a spinning dive, his dark scales flashing in the 
moonlight.  At least five drahls fluttered after him, breathing cold 
blue fire.  Windrush crested his climb, above them now.  He saw 
Rocktooth veening'm front of a second wave of drahis, drawing them 
away.

Windrush pitched down and dove after the drahls chasing the spinning 
SearSky.  His breath blazed out ahead of him, and he raked two drahls 
with searing flame before the others darted away.  SearSky pulled out 
of his spin in a sweeping turn and glanced back in surprise at the 
tumbling, burning drahls.  "Well done, Windrush," he remarked, eyes 
aglow.

Windrush began to reply, but was interrupted by a cry of distress.

He looked around for Rocktooth.

The third dragon had succeeded too well in drawing the other drahls 
away.  "Help, I-!"  Rocktooth cried.  His words were cut off by the 
freezing breaths of two drahis, crossing over him from either side.

"Rocktooth!"  Windrush shouted, pounding the air to climb to his aid.

"Windntsh, watch out!"  rumbled SearSky, climbing past him on the 
right, belching flame.

Two more drahls broke off an attack that Windrush had not even seen 
coming.  He caught his breath, looking for other attackers; then 
frantically tried to locate Rocktooth again.  His heart stopped as he 
saw the young dragon with two drahls on his back, falling.  Rocktooth's 
expression was locked in pain; the light was fading from his eyes.  The 
drahls released him as he turned transparent as glass, and vanished in 
midair.  "You murdering hellspawn!"  Windrush cried, blowing fire, but 
too late to help Rocktooth.

"How could he be so stupid?"  SearSky snarled, circling back.

"Let's kill the rest of these " "No!"  Windrush cut off SearSky's 
turn toward the drahls.  "Rocktooth may have saved both our lives!

Let's go!  There are too many!"

"Too many for you, maybe!"  SearSky snapped.  But demi spite his 
words, he sent a single blast of fire to deflect the nearest drahls, 
then joined Windrush in speeding toward the cavern's exit.

They reached the tunnel and shot into it.  They were outflying the 
drahls, but the air behind them was dark with fluttering pursuers.

Windrush bellowed out a warning to the other dragons as they 
reemerged into the Cavern of Clouds Below.  "Drahls following!"

"Windrush is back!"  someone shouted over the sounds of battle, and 
the cry echoed across the cavern.  "Windrush!"  shouted another.

"What did you find?"

He thundered back, "The Flowing Springs are taken by the Enemy!

Withdraw, dragons!  There is nothing more to fight for here!"

His cry reverberated through the cavern, and was answered by shouts 
of dismay.  He repeated the command to retreat, determined not to lose 
more dragons in a futile battle.  The Deep Caverns were lost.

"We've learned what we need to know!"  he bellowed.  "Leave the 
caverns!  This battle is lost, but the war can still be ours!"

"The war will be ours!"  shouted a dragon, and that cry was echoed by 
others.

As Windrush swept through the cavern, helping dragons to break free 
of the enemy, he saw SearSky taking on several more drahls, raking them 
savagely from the air before continuing on with the rest of the 
dragons.  As they sped out into the night beneath the vast, brooding 
Amethyst Cliffs, Windrush wondered silently whether he had spoken the 
truth.

Had he learned what he needed to know?  Did they still have a chance 
of winning this war?  Would Jael ever appear?

He had to believe that the answer was yes.  Nevertheless, he kept his 
thoughts to himself as, with his flight of weary and wounded dragons, 
he began the long climb upward along the face of the Amethyst Cliffs, 
toward the top of the world and the realm that they knew as home.

  PARTFOUR

 TH E BATTLE

 i i


 PROLOGUE STANDING wATcH over the Forge of Dreams, the draconae 
crafted their guarding spells ceaselessly, wrapping threads of the 
underrealm around that one place that was everywhere and nowhere, a 
part of the realm and yet not a part of it.  No fewer than seven 
draconae watched over the fires at all times, weaving their spells of 
protection, of creation, of preservation ... and one other spell, held 
carefully in reserve.

The draconae were ever aware of the Enemy's desire to control the 
dreamfires, the powers from beyond the realm that nourished and 
sustained life and creation in all the realm.  It was the one thing 
that might grant him final mastery, and it was the one thing that the 
draconae were utterly determined to deny him.  The Enemy might imprison 
the Mountain, and he might bring an end to all dragon life and all i@g 
life in the realm; but he could not make the dreamfires do his bidding.

Not yet, anyway.  Not without the help of the draconae.

But what if, against all hope, he learned to use the fires himself 
They could not forget the haunting Words: ... To tear from its midst 
The fires of being, That dragons may die, Unknowing, unseeing.

If Tar-skel seized the dreamfires, did they have any remaining 
defense?  Perhaps just one.  They held in reserve a difficult and 
terrifying spell, woven in the sinews of the underrealm, to be used 
only in direst of need-a crafting that would release the bindings that 
held the dreamfires, a catastrophic release of all the bindings and all 
the power they contained.  It would almost certainly destroy the 
realm-and with it the lives, not just of those in the realm now, but 
perhaps even those departed, those who lived beyond the realm in the 
SoulFire of the Final Dream Mountain.  That spell could sacrifice, not 
just the realm's future, but its living past, as well.

But if the alternative was Tar-skel's victory?  Better to lose the 
realm.

And yet ...

A word names the nameless And light dawns from dread To the heart of 
the darkness Are the fearful ones led ...

Even now, the draconae were not without hope.  Those working at the 
Forge of Dreams wrapped their songs and words of protection not just 
around the fires, but around all the unborn dragons, the unhatched eggs 
that remained alive, but frozen in time, on the outer slopes of the 
Dream Mountain ... just as the once-vibrant groves and streams where 
the draconae raised their young were now frozen, static, chrysalized in 
layer upon layer of binding energy.

Those eggs, and those groves of life, were as much captive of 
Tar-skel's sorcery as the draconae on the inside of the mountain.

Light dawns from dread.

More than anything, they held hope for a release into life for those 
unhatched draconae and draconi of the future.

Chapter 30 THE VOICE STONE RENT STRODE through the chasms of the Dark 
Vale with a pride that would have been beyond him just days ago.

But everything that had happened in that time had been so 
perfect-just as his own body was perfect now, and his very existence.

Around him the hardened shapes of a blasted land spoke eloquently of 
the power of his master, the Nail of Strength.  Around him flickered 
the shadowy, and sometimes iridescent, shapes of the drahls as they 
moved about their master's business.  Around him murmured the dragons 
who had entered the service of the Nail.  Around him rose the groans of 
the captives, embedded in the stone prisons where the Nail's magic had 
sealed them-a magic that Rent himself had often wielded in the name of 
Tarskel.

Rent felt a deep satisfaction in the knowledge that everything was 
now falling into place for the final victory, the victory of Tar-skel, 
and of a rigger-spirit named Rent, who had helped make the triumph 
possible.  There was a confident power in his stride as he walked the 
sculpted paths of the Dark Vale, a power that he had never dreamed of 
as a mere human.  If there was pleasure in walking in a human body, how 
much better it was to walk in a body shaped by Tar-skel, a body formed 
in a crucible of underrealm magic, a body that could be donned like a 
cloak or set aside at the pleasure of its owner!  It was a body that 
could shape magic as no human being ever could.  What man wouldn't give 
up his feeble, ordinary form, in exchange for such power?

Rent paused, resting one foot on a sharp volcanic outcropping, and 
surveyed the wondrous desolation of the Vale.  He had had no small part 
in the forming of this place, with its maze of ravines and caverns, and 
the wondrous girding of underrealm spells that kept it intact.  Life, 
he thought, was full of things to be proud of.

It had not always been so for Brenton Maskill, human rigger, human in 
another life.  A past life the from another time, another universe.

It was a life of hatred and misery that he had left behind: hatred 
for a mother who had unwittingly exposed her child to an incurable and 
crippling alien diseas@hatred for the other children, who had teased 
him, then pitied him, and finally shunned him-and hatred for his fellow 
adult riggers, whom he had utterly reviled, not giving them the chance 
to revile him first.  He remembered being a rigger, and a skilled one.

But what was the artistry of rigging, compared to this?

In that miserable life, rigging had provided the only outlet for a 
brilliant mind held captive in a ruined body.  The time inevitably had 
come when stealing a ship seemed a more appealing prospect than working 
for shipowners who pitied and despised him.  Killing his riggermates 
and his ship's master had been easier than he'd dreamed, and more 
satisfying.  And once in possession of a ship, he had set out for the 
reputed dragon route, questing@with the insolence of blind and angry 
conceit-for a fight worthy of his skills.

Never had he imagined that the dragons would prove to be real, living 
inhabitants of the Flux.  Never had he imagined how easily they would 
defeat him in battle, stripping him of his life and his form.

And never had he dreamed that a silent, hidden power with a name like 
Tar-skel would witness the event and raise him up to a spirit-existence 
in the realm-and not only that, but would restore him to human form, a 
perfect human form, so that he could walk as he never had walked as an 
adult human.  He not only walked, he strutted and worked his own 
mastery over the very dragons who had defeated him-a defeat that was to 
be his last.

Rent thought of Hodakai and laughed, shaking his head.

Hodakai lusted for what Rent had.  But they could not have been more 
unlike, either as human riggers or as spirits in the realm.

Hodakai was simply unwilling to make the sacri rices that were 
required to become a favored one of Tarskel.  It was pitiable, but it 
was Hodakai's loss, not Rent's.

Hodakai was one of those thoughtless riggers-not very bright, just 
bright enough to get himself into trouble.  He was pathetically easy to 
manipulate; he'd not even questioned Rent's casual lie to him that his 
shipmate had been destroyed by the dragons.  It was absurdly easy to 
maneuver Hodakai into doing what was needed; he was a perfect 
illustration of the price of weakness.

No such weakness for Rent.  For him, and for the Nail of Strength, 
there was no longer any possibility of failure.

There was only the long savoring, the anticipation of victory.

With the conquest of the Deep Caverns, and the tapping of the power 
that had lain buried there, Tar-skel had brought almost to full 
strength the web of magic that was binding this realm to his will.  It 
was true that the ultimate fulcrum of his power, the control of the 
singularity within the Dream Mountain, was not yet in his grasp; but 
that too was drawing closer with each passing day.

The dragons were enfeebled with despair, and yet the one thing they 
still did not comprehend was how perfectly their despair fitted into 
the Nail's sorcery.  Tar-skel wielded despair, letting the dragons 
watch as their realm crumbled, piece by piece.  Despair was his yeast, 
worked through his plan with infinite care, causing it to live and 
grow.  Tar-skel thrived on the dragons' despair, and he was using it to 
create a work of such power, such sorcery, such magnificence and 
artistry, that Rent practically wept at the thought of it-and the 
thought of his own participation in it.

One day Rent would walk with his Master in bodily form on the 
world-surfaces of other realms, other universes.  Perhaps he would even 
assist in the rule of the universe he had once called home.

* Rent.  * He blinked, his reverie interrupted.  He thought he had 
heard a voice, deep in his mind.  He wasn't certain; but it would not 
do to take chances.  Turning from the view, he started up the long 
ascending path that zigzagged up one wall of the vale, toward the Voice 
Stone.  He moved expeditiously, but without betraying haste.  The land 
below him was broken and sectored like a great, shattered moon, where a 
blast of sorcery had fragmented the crust into the chasms that provided 
quarters for the servants of the Nail, and for the captives.  He 
glimpsed a few of the latter stirring at his passage, and he smiled.

At the top of the path, he stepped onto a ledge that had been carved 
there, a platform edged by a low parapet overlooking the vale.

A single guardian drahl waited there, cloaked in shadow.  The dmW 
bobbed its head at Rent's arrival and withdrew into concealment.

Rent paused before the Voice Stone.  It was a massive, finely 
polished slab of obsidian, embedded in the base of a towering wall.  It 
was pierced by a star-shaped opening, as though a tremendous bolt of 
lightning had punched a hole into its heart.  Far from looking burned, 
however, the inside of the hole was polished to a black-mirror sheen.

It bored unfathomably deep into the stone, into the bedrock, into 
some place that was not here.  From somewhere in the remote reaches of 
the underrealm, there flickered the glow of a distant and powerful 
fire.

Rent knelt before the stone.  He dropped his gaze for a moment, 
drawing a slow and measured breath.  Then he raised his eyes and peered 
down into the hole, staring deep, toward the distant fire.  He could 
not focus upon the fire; it would not allow his eyes to focus.  Slowly 
he released control of his sight, and with great deliberation, emptied 
his thoughts.

His mind filled quickly, but not from his own thoughts.

The underrealm shimmered around him as he sank toward what had been a 
fire, but was now the invisible center of a cyclone.  He was drawn to a 
point of focus that he could not see, yet which he knew instinctively 
was the presence of Tar-skel.  He never knew what form the Nail's 
presence would take.  Darkness swirled around him, enclosing him in the 
eye of the storm.  As he was about to speak, to acknowledge the call 
that had brought him here, there was a sudden flash of lightning in the 
clouds.  The storm van ilshed and he was floating among stars, 
surrounded by the vast, rotating disk of a blazing spiral galaxy.  And 
out of the galaxy, he heard the voice of the Nail.

* Servant, there is much to do.  The time approaches when the realm 
will tremble!  Tremble!  * Rent could not speak, even in his thoughts.  
His breath was caught, frozen.

There is fear in the hearts of the winged serpents.

Fear!  But not yet enough fear.  * Rent struggled to swallow, to 
think.  But, he whispered, how could their fear be greater?  Their 
groves are vanishing, they suffer dissension and betrayal, they have 
lost a spring of power that they were too dull even to realize they 
owned, they have lost many of their own number* Are you reporting to me 
that which I already know?  * I-n@of at all!

* Have you forgotten the promise of the words of vision, which even 
the female serpents acknowledge?

When the realm trembles, when the one falls in battle, then will come 
the ending.  And the beginning.

Ex"tly as we have hoped-as you have planned.

The majestic galaxy seemed to turn with greater speed, as though 
driven by an enormous urgency.  * Yes.  But we must be certain.  Their 
despair grows, but not quickly enough!  They must not even dream that 
they might prevail.  We must cause their fear to mount until the very 
end, when the hope of even the female serpents will be crushed.  Only 
when their hope is gone will we command them, and the power of their 
mountain.  * Rent was silent.  It was true that although the pieces 
were now in place, the final victory had not yet been won.  But he 
could not understand the concern over the prophecy.

The "one" was in the hands of Rent's servants at this very moment.

What could possibly interrupt the plan?  The rigger Jael would be 
brought forth to die, in a final battle with the dragons-and there 
would die the dragons' last conceivable hope: the rigger whom they 
believed would set them free.  Jael was powerless in his hands.  And 
her death would seal Tar-skel's web of power forever.

The words of his master intruded.

* Servant, I perceive your thoughts.

Yes, he whispered.

* Stop thinking-and do something for me.

Of course.  By your command.  Though puzzled, Rent was not 
displeased.  It had occurred to him, in moments of doubt, that in the 
instant of victory the Nail might be so satisfied with his own 
achievement that he would not fully recall the assistance that his 
servant, Rent, had provided.

Rent would be happy to do whatever he could to reinforce his worth in 
his master's eyes.

Create more terror for me.

Rent smiled inwardly as he listened to his master's wishes.  His 
kuutekka flickered and twisted, revealing his smile in the underrealm.

* Walk among the captives.  Enrage them.  They despair now.  See that 
they despair more.

Yes, Rent whispered.

Shadows flashed and surged in the coiling galaxy.  * One thing more.

Yes?

* Bring me ASSURANCE that the one ... the rigger ... has been 
secured.  Then let the serpents know.  Use that pathetic excuse for a 
spiritHodakai?

* Hodakai.  Through that one, remind the serpents of how hopeless is 
their cause.  * Rent found himself hesitating.  I'm not sure ... it 
might just make them fight ... all the more desperately.

* It matters not how desperately they fight.  It matters not how many 
drahls they kill.  Drahis are nothing; let them die.  I wish only the 
serpents' hopelessness.  I wish their rage, and their fear, and their 
despair.  Can you do that for me, servant?  IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?  * 
The will of the Nail swept over him like a pounding surf.

No, of course not!  he whispered.  I will do s@t once!  It would not 
trouble him to deliver new instructions to Hoda kai, the vacillating 
weakling, who would be terrified to receive them.  All the better.  Let 
Hodakai's terror be contagious; let him pass the news of defeat on to 
the next dragon who came snooping.  I will do so with delight, he 
whispered again to his Master.

But this time he was talking to himself The great glowing span of the 
galaxy had vanished, and he was staring alone into the flickering fire 
of the Voice Stone.

 Chapter 31

A FINAL REGROUPING UPON THEIR return from the Deep Caverns, Windrush 
watched the others in the camp fly their grief flight for those just 
fallen, venting their sorrow against the target wall.

Windrush was weary, and had no energy to spare for futile anger.

As for those who had fought in the Deep Caverns, he sent them off 
with such encouragement as he could, to a well-earned rest.

SearSky, to his surprise, offered encouragement to him.

"Don't fret over the Deep Caverns, Windrush.  So the Enemy has 
another useless acquisition.  It is the lumenis we should worry about."

Windrush accepted the spirit of the black dragon's words, but he was 
under no illusions about the Deep caverns.  Their loss was a serious 
blow.  And he was worried about the lumenis, too.  The fact that none 
had been lost tonight was scant reassurance; a new attack could come at 
any time.

"In fact," SearSky added, "it is the young warriors I worry about 
most.  Will they have the heart for fighting, at the end?  It's not 
going to get easier, you know."

"I have to agree," said Farsight.  "Many of them are becoming 
discouraged.  I don't know how much longer they can keep the will to 
fight."  Farsight's half-silvered eyes seemed to rotate in distress.

"Even now, I don't know if they truly recognize the Enemy for what he 
is.  They stand by us out of loyalty-but they may waver and fall away, 
if we don't act decisively."

Windrush nodded, reluctantly.  "I fear we must begin to prepare for 
the decisive battle.  We may have to strike the Enemy openly, at his 
heart, whatever the cost.  There may be no other way."

"Now you're talking sense!"  SearSky growled, his nostrils flaring 
with red fire.  "Strike at the Enemy's heart!

Enough of this nonsense about mystical answers!  Leave that to the 
Enemy!  What good will his sorcery do him if he's on his own walk to 
the Final Dream Mountain, eh?"

SearSky shook his craggy head with barely contained battle lust, and 
turned to Stronghold, who was nodding nearby.

Windrush had no answer.  He was continually amazed by SearSky's 
simplistic view of the world; and yet, at the moment, he wondered if 
SearSky might not be right.  Perhaps they should just attack the Enemy, 
and when it was over, either the Enemy would be dead or the dragons 
would be.

"The young warriors fought bravely tonight," he muttered, thinking 
aloud.  "Especially Rocktooth."

SearSky's eyes darkened as he turned back to Windrush.  "They fought 
well enough for the Deep Caverns, maybe.  But if we're to fly against 
the Dark Vale, they'll have to fight better.  Smarter, faster, fiercer. 
 And the sooner the better."

Windrush studied the warrior dragon for a moment.  "In that case, 
perhaps you should train them, SearSky."

The black dragon's eyes flickered with suspicion.  Behind him, 
Stronghold's amber eyes glowed with amusement.

Windrush cocked his head, nodding.  "I watched you fight tonight@and 
no one in the realm fights better.  You could teach the younger ones.  
Sharpen their skills, make them hunger for victory."

"There is no time for training!"  SearSky spat.  "The time has come 
to fight!"

"Indeed, you may be right.  The time may be close though there remain 
questions to which I need answers first.  But-if you are right-then all 
the more important that you teach quickly, and well.

Teach the young ones to fight as you fight."

"It is not their skill or their strength that I question," SearSky 
growled.  "It is their will.  Their courage."

"Then give them will.  Give them courage.  There is great need and 
little time.  Best you start without delay."  Windrush paused, raising 
his head.  "Unless you need to rest first-" Behind SearSky, Stronghold 
coughed.  A wreath of smoke betrayed his amusement.

Windrush caught the black warrior-dragon's gaze again.

He could see that SearSky had planned to rest, but, was changing his 
mind.  "Good.  I'm counting on you."  He turned to Farsight.

"Assign your weakest patrols to train with SearSky when they are not 
flying.  But be ready.  We may set out with little warning."

"Where are you going?"  SearSky protested as Windrush turned away.

"In search of answers," Windrush said without looking back.

Windrush knew, as he entered the underrealm in his cavern, that what 
he had said to SearSky was accurate, and yet incomplete.  The dragons 
did need to fight with absolute ferocity when the time came.

But unless he found some new hope, he knew that a face-to-face battle 
with the Enemy was almost certainly doomed to failure.

Where are you, Jael?  he whispered to the darkness.  Why have you not 
come to us?

And where were the ifflings?  They had spent their strength trying to 
reach Jael.  Were they gone now?  Gone forever?

As he passed through the veil of the underrealm window, those 
questions were dispelled by the more immediate memory of what had 
happened in the Deep Caverns tonight.  He felt his anger rising again 
as he broke into the demon-rigger's presence.  HODAKAI!  he shouted.

Ah-Windrush!  the spirit answered, dancing nervouslytoo nervously, 
almost as if he had been expecting the dragon to appear.

Windrush glared at him.  He had a feeling, suddenly, that he had 
interrupted another conversation-or at least, that Hodakai had very 
recently been talking to the enemy.  He didn't sense the presence of 
anyone else here now; but there was, he thought, the lingering 
undersmell of a servant of the Enemy.  Hodakai, you lied to me.

I did?  the spirit squeaked.

You did, Windrush growled.  You told me to expect the next attack on 
the lumenis.

The spirit writhed before his anger.  Wasn't it?  Did I get it wrong? 
 There was a tittering quality to his voice that made Windrush certain 
that someone on the other side had succeeded in intimidating the 
rigger.

The attack was not on the lumenis.  It was on the Deep caverns-as I 
expect you know.  Why did you lie, Hodakai?  Is that what a rigger's 
word is worth?  A lie?  Windrush allowed his kuutekka to grow larger.

The rigger suddenly seemed to be gasping for breath.  You have no 
hope!  he rasped wildly.  No hope at all!  Give it up, Windrush!  Give 
it up!

The dragon stared very hard at the spirit, until it twitched and grew 
still.  It did not seem to be entirely in its right mind.  What do you 
mean?  Windrush asked, with a low threat in his voice.

Hodakai twitched again.  I ... mean ... you can only fool someone for 
so long, So you gave me your name!  And you-you think you can trick me 
with it, but I won't be tricked.

What are you talking about?

You lied to ME, Windrush!  the rigger squawked.  You brought another 
rigger here to be your slave-and you thought you could enslave me, too! 
 Well, it won't work, Windrush!  It won't work!

Windrush was so stunned, he hardly knew how to answer.  Enslave?

You fool-if I wanted to enslave you, I would not have given you my 
name, you drahl-baiting cavern sprite, you-!  Windrush suddenly 
interrupted himself What did you say?  Did you say another rigger has 
entered the realm?

Hodakai laughed, his voice a desperate cackle.  Did you think I could 
not see past your lies?  Yes, your rigger is here.

But you'll never see her.  Rent and the ifflings are making sure of 
that!

You're so arrogant!  You think you canSILENCE!  Windrush bellowed.

He glared at the spirit.

I'll say this once, Hodakai.  I did not lie to you, and I have no 
intention of enslaving you, or anyone else.  He glared so deeply at the 
spirit that, for an instant, he caught the other's gaze and glimpsed a 
thread of his thoughts-and an astonishing network of lies that overlay 
his thoughts, held in place by a spell of persuasion.  It appeared to 
be a simple spell, one that would probably only work on one as confused 
as Hodakai.  Many of the lies appeared to come from another rigger-a 
Tar-skel rigger!-named Rent.  Windrush grunted, understanding at last.

This wretched creature truly had no idea what to believe.

Windrush tugged at a thread of the persuasion spell, trying to loosen 
it.  He couldn't tell if he had succeeded or not.  You are misled by 
the lies of others, Windrush growled into the creature's thoughts.  A 
rigger in league with Tar-skel!

No wonder you're confused!  And you believe that the ifflings are in 
league with the Enemy?  Never!

Hodakai pulled back indignantly, trying to gain release from 
Windrush's gaze.

What do you know of this new rigger?  Windrush asked.

Where is she?

That brought a snarl from the spirit.  Then as the iffling said, you 
do intend toShe is a FRIEND!  Windrush roared.  A friend to the realm!

Whoever told you differently was no iffling!  It was the ifflings who 
brought her here!  Do you understand?  They risked everything to bring 
her to the realm!

Eh?  The spirit seemed completely bewildered now.

Windrush tried once more to loosen the spell, then released the 
spirit from his gaze.  Hodakai gasped and shuddered.  But it told 
me-Who told you?

It said it was an iffling!

Windrush nearly exploded with frustration.  It was not an iffling!

Have you ever heard of ifflings siding with Tar-skel?

Have you, rigger?

I Well ... no ... The rigger flickered.

No-never!  You have been listening to lies!  Hodakai!  Where is she?  
Where is the rigger?

Hodakai flared with uncertainty.  Windrush couldn't tell if he was 
thinking for himself again or not.  How would I know?  he whispered 
plaintively.

You know she's here!  What else do you know?

Well, 1-ies, butWindrush rose enormous in the underrealm window.

Hodakai, do not test me further!  If you intend to stand against me, 
say so!

The rigger-spirit quailed.  I-NO!  I don't know!  That isThat sounded 
more like the old Hodakai.  Windrush sighed wearily.  Tell me what you 
know, he growled.

Hodakai was almost cowering.  Very little!  Really!

Tell me what you know.

Well, 1-just that she's been captured.

Captured!  Windrush tried to disguise his anguish.  Tell me where!

How would I know?  You tell me one thing, Rent tells me another!

Rent said she was coming to enslave me.

Rent!  Windrush cried.  Whoever he is, he's a liar!  Think about it!  
Think!  Why would a rigger come here just to enslave you?

l@ell-it's not that-I mean, Rent is a rigger too.  Of course, he .

. . I ... Hodakai's voice choked off into inaudibility.

Windrush was so angry that he reflexively vented flame over the 
spirit jar-meaning it not so much for Hodakai as for this Rent, Whoever 
he was.  The flame-image passed harmlessly over Hodakai's kuutekka, but 
startled him nonetheless.  Windrush asked tightly, Where is the rigger 
now?  Where has she been captured?

Hodakai struggled to put words together.  She arrivedsomewhere in the 
south mountains-that's all I know.  That's really-all I know!

Windrush stared at the spirit-flame.  If that was true-if Jael had 
arrived in the southern mountains, if there was even the slightest 
chance that Hodakai was telling the truth-then he should send every 
dragon he could spare, to look for her.  Except, how could he spare 
any?  For an aimless search through the southern mountains?

Hodakai sniffed.  So you got it out of me.  What you do with it is 
your problem.  But you should also know ...

Windrush waited.

You should know ... Hodakai said slowly, but as though he were 
winding up to something.  Suddenly he burst out, Your cause is 
hopeless!  Hopeless!  The Nail has everything he needs to complete his 
plan.  The Words will be fulfilled, and you will never see your Dream 
Mountain again.  Unless ...

Unless what?  Windrush growled.

Hodakai's flame quieted.  Unless you surrender now.

Windrush stared at the spirit.

Hodakai spoke again, his voice like a chant: No hope.

Unless you surrender.  Unless you give it up.

The dragon hissed.  Who told you to say that?  Rent?

Hodakai became agitated, but didn't answer.

What else do you know that you're not saying?

I- The spirit-flame trembled violently in his jar.  I've said too 
much already!  I CAN'T STAND THIS ANY LONGER!

I've told you what I was supposed to!  Now, get out of here, 
dragon-before they come!

Windrush glared at the spirit, trying to understand what Hodakai was 
really saying.  He didn't think anyone was coming; but someone, not 
Hodakai, had wanted him to hear the words he had just heard.  Well-he'd 
heard them.

If they find you here, they'll kill me!  Hodakai screeched, jittering 
madly in his jar.  Go!  GO!

Windrush nodded slowly.  He would get nothing further from Hodakai 
now.  He drew away; but before leaving the spirit's space, he rumbled, 
Don't deceive me again, Hodakai.

If you hear word of that rigger, I expect you to tell me!

Without waiting for an answer, he departed.  But his last impression 
was of a spirit who was sorely, sorely troubled.

Windrush stared at the last underrealm window, knowing that he must 
look there tonight.  But suppose it led him to another battle in the 
underrealm!  He was already so weary!

Before he risked that, he desperately needed to rest.

Before he could even make his decision, he dropped off into a deep, 
dreamless sleep.  But at some point, probably before dawn, he awoke 
with a start.  An iffling was floating before him, little more than a 
flicker of luminosity in the air.

Windrush blinked groggily.  "I wondered if I would ever see you 
again," he murmured.

We have not forgotten you, Windrush, whispered the iffling.

But our strength is failing.  It is difficult.

"Do you have news of Jael?"  Windrush heard his own voice strain into 
near inaudibility.

We know only that something ... has gone uprong.

Windrush remembered with a shudder his conversation with Hodakai.

"Has the Enemy captured her?"

The flame flickered.  We are unsure.  We have sensed tre"hery ...

a false-one.

"A false@iffling?"  Windrush nodded slightly.  "I have heard of it."

Then you know, perhaps, as much as we.  The i@g seemed to have to 
struggle to remain visible.  One child of ours ... lives.  We feel it.

But we can do nothing to help it.

"Do you know where?"  Windrush asked quickly.

To the south ... we think.  We cannot be sure.  We can only ...

trust in our last ... child.  And in Jael herself.

The dragon's breath escaped in a rush.  "What have you come to tell 
me, then?  Is there anything I can do?"

Search, if you can.  The iffling almost went dark, then brightened a 
little.  And the last window.  Do not forget it.  Have not the sweepers 
been trying to tell you?

Windrush blinked, startled.  The sweepers?  He glanced and saw a new 
scale@sculpture perched on the hearth.  It looked like ... a misshapen 
tree, he thought.  He had no idea what it meant.  "I have not forgotten 
the window," he said at last.  "I was about to try it.  Do you think it 
will offer guidance to finding Jael?"

We cannot say.  Perhaps not.  We only believe ... that FullSky meant 
this for you ... for a purpose.  The iffling faded, and for a moment 
Windrush thought it was gone.  But it flickered back into visibility 
just for a moment, in the cavern gloom.

Windrush, we must hope together.

And as if that last whisper had exhausted the iffling's strength, it 
vanished for good.

Windrush stared uncertainly at the spot where the iffling had been.  
Then, with a last, puzzled glance at the sweeper's sculpture, he closed 
his eyes and sank again into the underrealm.

Perhaps because it was the last thing he'd looked at in the outer 
world, the sculpture's presence was the first thing he saw in the 
underweb.  It was very small; he wondered if these things had been here 
all along.  It looked only a little different here, more shadowy and 
asymmetrical.  One branch of its "tree" made him think of a pointing 
claw.

When he followed the direction in which it was pointing, he was 
startled to see it aimed directly at the fourth and last window.

Amazed, he turned and entered the window.

He encountered, at once, a smell that made him think of the sea-the 
tang of salt.  Then sunlight filled his eyes, and his kuutekka 
materialized on wing, high over hills and woods and lowlands.  Without 
understanding why, he found himself flying fast, toward the sun, over a 
metallic band of river that wound through the lowlands, and on through 
wetlands, toward a sunset glow at the horizon.  The tang of the sea 
grew stronger.  What was it that was drawing him on?  He whispered 
FullSky's name, but heard no answer.  It seemed that he was alone here.

Ahead of him now was a vast gleaming expanse of water, a pool that 
stretched out as far as he could see, to the sunset.  It was the sea.

But there was ... something more than that, too.

He wasn't sure why he felt that, until the shoreline passed beneath 
him.  And then something materialized in midair, high above the sea .  
. . something massive and magnificent.  He knew at once that it was the 
Dream Mountain, high in the air, floating on a wispy layer of cloud.  
It looked as though it were made of glass, and within it, a bright 
white fire burned.  He ached to fly to it.  But he already felt 
something deflecting him from it, even before he could draw closer.

The spells of the Enemy, he thought.

Why had FullSky brought him here?  To give him hope?

It broke his heart to see the Dream Mountain, and to know that it was 
beyond reach.  But something else was tugging at him, a feeling that 
there was something missing here.  Not the Dream Mountain, but 
something else--a feeling that the window was not yet ready for him to 
see all that it had to show him.

FullSky?  he whispered, but still there was no answer.

He banked and circled, uncertain what to do.

As he tried to decide, he realized that the sea and sky and mountain 
were dissolving around him.  He felt the window gently closing, the 
underrealm darkening around him.  The time was not yet right, it seemed 
to be saying.  He felt a stab of disappointment that it had not helped 
him to find Jaelbut also a hint of reassurance, as though the 
underrealm itself were saying, there will be more to come.

But what?  he wondered wearily.  And when?

Back in his cavern, he was about to emerge from the underweb 
altogether, when he heard his name.  The voice sounded very distant, 
and urgent.  Farsight?  he called back.

Was his brother trying to reach him from the main encampment?

campmen .

Windrush ... at once if you ... come at once ... !  Farsight's 
undervoice sounded like the hissing of water on sand, and faded like a 
retreating wave.

Windrush called out an answer, but he sensed that Farsight was 
already gone from the underweb.  His brother had no stamina for 
underspeaking; he must have just managed to shout out across the 
distance.  Sighing, Windrush opened his eyes to the gloom of his 
cavern.  His interrupted rest would have to wait a little longer.

He tugged at the exit spells and launched himself into the dawn sky.

"There was no warning-just an eruption of turbulence and dense storm 
clouds," Farsight said, swinging his head one way and then another, his 
diamond eyes flashing angrily, as though by force of will he would see 
to the ends of the realm.  All around them in the camp, dragons were 
muttering in bewilderment and fury.  Three lumenis groves had been 
attacked-but by sorcery, rather than by drahls.

The groves had simply vanished into the Enemy's storms, and with them 
the dragons who had been inside them maintaining the guardian spells.  
Of those posted outside the groves, Farsight said, "When it was over, 
they just couldn't find the groves anymore.  It was as if they had 
never existed."

Windrush fumed in frustration.  "Was there no sign of them?  Have you 
sent others to look?"

"Of course.  But n@yen the land that the groves grew on has vanished, 
and the realm has closed up around the empty spaces.  And Windrush-the 
Grotto Garden, too!

Treegrower, the egg, Greystone all gone!"

Windrush drew a painful breath.  Those groves were vital to the 
realm's survival.  And the Grotto Garden!  The last egg outside the 
Dream Mountain!  His heart burned with the loss.  What better way for 
the Enemy to strike at the dragon soul?  He thought he knew what had 
happened.  The Enemy had seized the groves just as he had seized Dream 
Mountain, probably using the power that Windrush had observed him 
tapping in the Deep Caverns.  Windrush had imagined that they would pay 
for that loss eventually.  But so soon?

As he peered around the encampment, he was beginning to realize that 
the time he had long feared was at last upon them.  Too many lumenis 
groves were gone now.  No longer could they continue to hold on, and 
hope.  No longer could they search in vain for the Dream Mountain, or 
wait for Jael to appear-Words or no Words.  He would send a patrol to 
search the south mountains, but the dragons could wait for Jael no 
longer.  Too few groves remained to sustain them.  They faced 
starvation and certain death if they did not fly against the Enemy.

"The time has come, hasn't it?"  he murmured, gazing westward, toward 
the mountains and plains that lay between the held land and the Dark 
Vale.  "We must gather our strength@and fight, this time to the end."

He sensed Farsight nodding, but he also heard another rasping breath, 
and he turned to see SearSky, eyes and nostrils glowing.

"You've not given me much time for training," the black dragon 
rumbled.

"Did I not say that we should worry about the lumenis, rather than 
your places of magic?"

Windrush vented smoke.  "It is no accident, SearSky, that we lost 
these groves after we lost the Deep Caverns.

The Enemy's power has grown with his victory there."

SearSky snorted.  "Then let us destroy him while we still have the 
strength to fly!  Or would you rather we wasted away?"

"I agree," Windrush said, cutting him off.  "We need your help now, 
more than ever.  We will all feed, upon whatever lumenis remains.

We will need all of our strength.  Those who have gone the longest 
without lumenis will feed first."

SearSky seemed surprised to hear Windrush agree with him.  "When do 
we fly?"

"Upon my command."

"Do you think they will still follow you?"

"Let us hope so."  Windrush glanced at Farsight, and back at SearSky. 
 "When this battle is done, they may follow whomever they wish."

"If any are still alive."

"If any are still alive," Windrush agreed.  His voice hardened.

"Until then, we fly on my command!  We will take this battle to the 
Enemy!  SearSky, are you with me?"

SearSky growled flame into the sky.  "Can you doubt it?

Take the battle to the Enemy!"

"To the Enemy!"  Farsight agreed, matching gazes with his brother.

"Then call the leaders," Windrush said.  And he added silently, to 
himself, Let us hope we find Jael before we all take flight to the 
Final Dream Mountain.


Chapter 32


IN THE CAVERN OF SPIRITS Jael'S MOVEMENTS, even the smallest 
gestures, felt ponderous as she floated with the false-i@g through the 
moun, tams, like a seed on the wind.  She didn't know where they were 
going, and almost didn't care anymore.  It wasn't just the exhaustion 
of being in the net so long; she was drugged by the spell in which 
Jarvorus had ensnared her.  The false iffling was always present now, 
stirring in her thoughts, and peering out through her eyes, much as Ed 
had done earlier.

At times it was difficult to distinguish her own intentions from 
Jarvorus'.

Once or twice, she had tried to penetrate further into the 
false-iffling's thoughts, to learn what exactly it wanted, and why, and 
even what kind of a being it was.  But its thoughts were slippery, like 
ice; she could find no purchase or place to penetrate and gain 
understanding.  Sometimes she almost thought she detected a glint of 
sympathy in its thoughts; but every time she looked for it again, it 
was gone.

They were coming up on a small valley tucked in the midst of a 
seemingly endless parade of bleak, icy mountain peaks.  Before she 
could gather her slow-moving thoughts to ask, she realized that they 
were drifting downward toward it.  She wondered what was there.

jarvorus' voice drifted through her mind.  (A place where you will be 
safe, until your time comes.) She accepted that statement dimly.  With 
the presence of this creature in her mind, she felt more helpless and 
alone than ever.  She knew that her shipmates were still here, in the 
splintered net, but the confining bands of javorus' spell kept them 
isolated from her.  At times, she could hear At's voice faintly, but 
she felt restrained from answering him.

Ed, too, had been barred from her presence.  After several futile 
attempts to bite and claw through the binding, the parrot had given up 
in weary discouragement.  Now he was huddled, despondently waiting for 
something to happen.

It seemed clear that her shipmates would be unable to help.  But 
there was, at the outermost edge of her hearing, one other voice-like 
Jarvorus', and yet different.  It was the true@iffling, she believed.

Its words were hard to make out, but it seemed to be saying, Remember 
...

Remember what?  she wondered.

As persistently, and quietly, jarvorus seemed to be telling her to 
forget.  But she did remember, foggily.  She remembered who she was, 
and her mission.  She remembered Windrush and his need.

(The need is for the struggle to end) murmured her captor.

(That is the destiny for which you have come.  Windrush is nothing.  
What matters is the new beginning.  It is the only thing ....

) Did she detect the faintest trembling of doubt in his voice?

Jael felt adrift in her confusion.  She knew there was some truth to 
the words of the false@iffling.  The Words spoke of a new beginning.

She had no idea how she was supposed to achieve that.  Upon that 
one's death is the ending wrought.  A layer of fear settled around her, 
like molasses.

Was it possible, as Jarvorus said, that her friends here did not 
matter so much as the ultimate need to bring the realm's struggle to an 
end?

She would do anything for her friends.

Including die for them?

For her friends ... perhaps ... as she had been willing to die for 
Highwing, when he'd been cast out of the realm.

But just to bring the struggle to an end?  Even if it meant the other 
side winning?  No, she whispered to herself.  That made no sense.

Somewhere in the net she felt that At was listening, and she clung to 
a hope that somehow, somehow, he would find a way to help her come to 
the right understanding.

Remember.  whispered a distant, lonely, voice.  Remember....

(Forget) commanded jarvorus.

Jael and the spaceship settled into the valley.

What now?  Jael breathed.  She was on foot again, with the ship on 
her back.  She stood before a dark opening in the side of a mountain, 
and jarvorus apparently intended for her to walk in.

Her feet moved, in wordless answer to her question.

Soon they were inside a narrow, twisty passage that seemed to lead 
deep into the mountain.  just a few rays of light filtered in from 
above.  She felt an oppressive and dizzying weight towering over her.

As she walked farther into the gloom, the passage suddenly opened up 
into a great, vaulting space.  It was an enormous cave, something like 
Windrush's cavern, but larger and starker, and more coldly unfriendly.

There was a yellowish light glowing from off to her right, near the 
wall, and she walked toward it, across the stone floor.  As she drew 
close, she saw, perched on a recessed ledge, a strangely shaped vessel 
that appeared to be filled with a glowing liquid.

(This,) Jarvorus murmured, (is the cavern of Spirits.  You will be 
safe here, with one of your fellow riggers.  Like you, he has been 
deceived and exploited by the dragons.) (Whw?) Jael peered around in 
the gloom for some sign of a "fellow rigger."  The place appeared 
utterly deserted.

(What do you mean?  Have you captured someone else with your lying 
tricks?) (I did not capture him,) Jarvorus answered.  (The dragons did.

He is right there in front of you.  His name is Hodakai.  Ask him how 
trustworthy the dragons are!) Jael suddenly realized what jarvorus 
meant: the glowing vessel.  Stepping closer, she saw that it looked 
like a large, multifaceted crystal, glowing from the inside.  It looked 
alive; it was slowly changing shape, with a writhing kind of movement 
that made its facets shift like living mirrors.

Peering carefully within, she saw a small figure of shadow moving 
somewhat more energetically, inside the glowing light.  There was 
something striking about that shadow; it had a flickering, firelike 
presence-as if it were not shadow, but a flame of darkness.  (What in 
the world?) she murmured.

WHO'S THERE?  A harsh-sounding voice echoed all around her.

Startled, she glanced around.  The shadowflame danced and pointed a 
dark limb in her direction.

What's going on?  shouted the voice.

Before Jael could answer, jarvorus spoke aloud.  I've brought you 
company, Hodakai!  A rigger!  Someone to talk to.

The shadow-flame contorted and squirmed.  Its voice sounded a little 
less harsh, a little more ... human.  A rigger?

What rigger?

A rigger and her ship!  said Jarvorus.  Look, Hodakai!  Look!

It took a moment for the twitching shadow to settle into a stable 
shape.  Jael realized suddenly that it looked like an abstract figure 
of a man.  It seemed to be staring at her, and past her.  She was aware 
of her ship glimmering faintly behind her.  My name is Jael, she found 
herself saying aloud, and her words seemed lost in a cottony haze even 
as she spoke.  Are you human?  Are you really a rigger?

The figure jutted forward and seemed to grow in size.

Oh, my-!  It jabbed at her with a shape that was vaguely like a hand. 
 I'll be damned!  You're the one, aren't you?  The one they've all been 
talking aboutJael, she repeated.

Yes-Jael.  I'm surprised you told me.  Everyone thinks names are very 
important around here.  How'd you get caught?  You're Windrush's ... 
friend ... aren't you?  I knew it.  Don't tell me this iffling is your 
it's not an iffling, it's a fake!  Jael tried to cry, but couldn't 
quite.

The creature didn't seem to be listening, anyway.  I'm stuck here 
thanks to the dragons, myself, so I'm not exactly what you would call a 
"friend" of any of them.  They didn't even give me a fighting 
chance@and they killed my buddy, too.  But youyou got caught by an 
iffling!

It's NOT an iffling ... !  Jael managed to say, through the molasses 
of the spell.

(Jael, don't-!) jarvorus whispered urgently, in a preoccupied voice 
from somewhat farther away.  Whatever he was doing, he wasn't 
controlling her actions quite as closely as before.

What?  Hodakai suddenly became still.  What do you mean?

Jael forced the words out.  It's a false-iffling!  It did something 
to the real iffling, and tricked me.

The shadow-flame peered at her, and she heard astonishment in his 
voice.  That's ... very strange.  That's exactly what Windrush said!

But I wasn't sure if I should believe him.  I Wonder Windrush!

Jael cried, suddenly realizing that he had mentioned the dragon's 
name twice now.  You know Windrush?  Her heart leaped, even in the 
binding of the spell.

Have you talked to him?  Where is he?  She fought to get the words 
out.  WHERE IS HE?  PLEASE!

Hodakai pulled back, startled.  Well, hey-yeah.  I meant know him 
after a fashion.  He talks to me from a distance once in a while.

Hodakai seemed to angle a nervous glance one way, then another, as 
though afraid someone might be listening.  I expect he's pretty busy 
right n@with the war and all.  Lot of fighting going on.  But he's sure 
been heated up about looking for you, I'll tell you.

Looking for me?

Hodakai seemed to shiver.  Well, he knew you were coming, apparently. 
 But they haven't been doing too well-not that I feel much sympathy for 
them, mind you.  He's been after me to help, but I .  . .

I didn't want to get into it, really-and anyway, this-whatever this 
iffling-thing @ It's not an iffling!  Jael repeated.

Right-I got that, you don't have to keep saying it.  Anyway, I 
thought it was an iffling, and it said that Windrush was going to make 
a slave of you, and me.

That's crazy!  Jael cried.

Okay, but I believed it at first, Hodakai said defensively.

How was I to know?  Of course, it also said I should listen to Rent.  
Now, Windrush says Rent is a goddamn liar, which I admit is certainly 
possible.  So I don't know anymore what toWait, you're not making 
any-what are you talking about?

Hodakai fell silent.  He twitched, and seemed to be looking past 
Jael.  She glanced backward.  For an instant, she thought she saw the 
glimmering form of a sharp-fanged animal, the shape that Jarvorus had 
taken at the Pool of Visions.  Its eyes flickered briefly; then it 
flowed back into a blur of light, then vanished.  But she had a strange 
feeling of a force shifting around her; it had done something to the 
binding spell.  But Jarvorus was no longer occupying her thoughts; this 
might be her only chance.  Jael turned back to Hodakai.  Tell me how I 
can reach Windrush!  she hissed urgently.

Even as she spoke, she felt a sudden, creeping chill, like a physical 
illness violating her from within.  She shivered, and realized that the 
invisible molasses in which she was trapped was hardening around her.  
An image came to her mind, irresistibly, as though drawn by the power 
of jarvorus' binding spell: an image of glacial ice forming to encase 
her in a clear, hard, impenetrable cell.  As the image formed in her 
mind, a great mass of ice appeared physically, in the time it took to 
complete the thought@rystallizing out of nowhere to surround her in the 
cavern, encapsulating her in the Flux.

Scrawwwww-Jayl!  wailed the thin, distant voice of Ed, barely 
reaching her through the barrier.  His cry was echoed by At's, even 
more remote.

Hodakai's shadow-flame shook in astonishment.  Icel That's 
incredible!  What were those voices?  Do you have shipmates?  What 
happened to your net?  Why can't I see it?

Damaged, Jael whispered, too shocked to say more.  Jarvorus, what 
have you-?  At?  Ed?  Can you hear me?  Their voices were gone now.

She was completely encased in the ice: Jarvorus' binding spell made 
solid and tangible.  To Hodakai, she cried desperately, Please!

Help me reach Windrush!

The crystal,shape that held Hodakai altered shape in slow surges, and 
he flickered within it.  Reach Windrwh?  You can't reach him!  Look at 
yourself!  You're a prisoner here-just like me!

Jael stared at him through the thick layer of ice.  She could not so 
much as gesture with a hand.  It was as if the very currents of the 
Flux had frozen around her.  Prisoner ... she murmured.  Of course.

Had she supposed that jarvorus would let her go?  He seemed to be 
gone now, but she had no hope of escaping.  Only her thoughts were 
free.

I'm not saying that Windrush couldn't come here, of course, Hodakai 
continued.  Probably not in body, though.

What do you mean?

Well, he does seem to get around pretty well through the unde7Tealm.

Jael struggled to comprehend.

Hodakai flexed in his vessel.  The underrealm.  You know it?

It's-hard to explain.  You might think of it as the next level down 
in the Flux, below the ordinary reach of your net.  That's the best I 
can explain it.  It's where the dragons and ... others ... do their 
magic.  Where they draw the power for spells.  They can travel in it, 
to&-in spirit, I mean.

You mean-in thought?  Can you do that?

Well@ostly just to talk to Rent, Hodakai admitted.  I'm imprisoned 
here in this jar.  I might be a spirit, but ... I'm pretty well stuck 
here for eternity, as far as I can see.

Jael stared at Hodakai, and his vessel.  Do you mean, she whispered, 
that you are only spirit now?  You have no physical ... Her words 
trailed off.

Hodakai trembled in his jar.

Jael was shocked into silence.  She thought of his words, and finally 
asked, Who's ... Rent?

Hodakai guffawed unhappily.  Rent?  He's a rigger, too.  Do you 
believe it?

Rigger?  Jael asked dumbly.

Or was.  He's a mean son-of-a-bitch, though.  He's not ... like this, 
either.  He has a body, courtesy of Tar-skel.  I expect you'll be 
meeting him soon enough.

Jael shuddered.

Don't ask me what they're planning, though, Hodakai added.  I have no 
idea.

They-?

Rent.  Tar-skel.  The drahls.  The .  . . false-ifflings, I guess.

They're all in this together.
 Jael closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of

 everything that had gone wrong.  She was not just over


whelmed, she was angry, she was furious ... about Jarvorus and her 
captivity, about bringing At and Ed into this, about letting Windrush 
down .  . . and the rest of the dragons, even if she had no idea what 
it was they needed of her ...

And I guess you could say I've been stuck in the middle of it, too, 
ever since Kan-Kon and I hit the Flux thinking, Hey!-let's try 
something a little different this timeIf only she could talk to At, or 
Ed!  She ached for their presence.  She could just barely sense Ed, 
outside the ice, staring in at her ...

-and damn-diddly, was that a mistakeAnd now she thought she sensed 
At, farther away, whispering frantically.  To her!  She remembered the 
Pool of Visions, when he'd gotten a cry through to her, too late.

She strained to listen, and thought she heard the words, Pay 
attention .  . . !  But now Hodakai was drowning him out again.

-had us completely helpless, lambs to the slaughter, and then some 
ifflings came and prattled on about prophecy, but a lot of good that 
did us-they grabbed me and I didn't even see them kill Kan-Kon.  But 
Rent said they did.

Something clicked in her mind.  WHAT did you just say?

she cried.

The shadow-flame twitched.  What do you mean?  When?

Just now!  Who did you say you were with?

The dragons?  My partner?

Your partner!

Kan-Kon was his name.  You wouldn't know him.  That was a long time 
ago, and he got killed by the dragons-not even saved here like 
me@which, mind you, is probably just as uKAN-KON?  Your partner was 
KAN-KON?

Yes, you wouldn't- Hodakai broke off suddenly, and his flickering 
form leaned toward her, causing the shape of his prison to distort.

Wait a minute!  What are you saying?

Jael heard a rushing like a waterfall in her head.  Is your nameShe 
groped helplessly ;in her memory, before retrieving Kan-Kon's partner's 
name.  Hoddy?  Is that your name?  Hoddy?

The spirit flinched as though stung.  How do you-how do you know-?

Of course!  she thought.  Hodakai.  Besides, how many captured 
riggers could there be in the dragon realm?  If only Kan-Kon had known 
that his friend was not dead!

You KNOW him?  You know Kan-Kon?  You mean, he made it out ALIVE?

Hodakai made a series of little squeaking sounds.  But Rent said he 
was dead!  Rent said the dragons killed him!  How can this@h my God-!

The dragons let Kan-Kongo!  Jael cried.  But HE thought they killed 
you!

But they did Rent said.  Hodakai seemed utterly beside himself, 
bewildered and overjoyed.  How do YOU know him?  Is he coming to get 
me-?

He thinks you're dead!  Don't you understand?  He told us the whole 
story!  He had no idea you'd survived!  Jael hesitated, unsure what to 
make of Hodakai's weeping sounds.  I'm sorry.  I'm sure he would have 
come, if he'd known.  He ... he doesn't rig anymore.  But he got us a 
ship to come here.

But where-?  Hodakai gasped.  Hou-?

Jael caught her breath.  He ... runs a shipping company.  On 
Cargeeling.

Cargeeling!  Hodakai wept.  That's my home!  That's where I came 
from!  Oh gods-that's where I wanted to be buried!

Jael reeled, remembering what Kan-Kon had said, that Hoddy's ashes 
were, in fact, buried on Cargeeling.  But she couldn't bring herself to 
say that.

Hodakai seemed lost in his own thoughts now, overcome by bitter 
tears.  His words were muffled, but he was crying, Rent!  You lied to 
me!  You lied, you miserable son-of a-bitch ... !

As she listened to Hodakai weeping, she found herself wondering if 
any of this really mattered now, anyway.  And where had jarvorus gone?

Hodakai suddenly began laughing to himself And I believed him!

Oh, you fool, Hodd you damn fool!

Jael broke in.  She needed this man's help.  She had no one else to 
turn to.  Hodakai!  Hoddy-please!

The spirit slowly quieted to a mournful silence.

Hodakai-I came to help a friend, she said urgently.  A friend who 
needs m@ho helped me@hose father helped me!

The dragoil?  You mean Windrush?

Yes, Windrush.

I've never heard of a dragon helping anyone ...

They let Kan-Kongo, when the iffling asked them to.  I'm sorry they 
didn't let you go, too.  Pleas@ill you help me?  As a friend of 
Kan-Kon's?

Kan-Kon, Hodakai whispered.

Jael pressed desperately.  As a fellow .  . . human?  You remember, 
don't you, what it was like to be-?

I remember, damn you!  Ask the DRAGONS about it!  Hodakai hissed.

Jael was stunned by Hodakai's outburst.  But of course, he had good 
reason.  Look, I don't know exactly what-some dragons have done to you, 
or why, she stammered.  But I'll bet they were under the ...

Enemy.  Tar-skel.

Hodakai shook.  That's what Windrush said ...

Believe him!  Believe ME!  she begged.  There are dragons here you 
can trust, and Windrush is one of them!

Hodakai snorted, but with a certain hesitancy.

Jael realized that there was probably no way to convince him, except 
by telling him her whole story, as she had told it to Kan-Kon.

It would take precious time.  But what else could she do?  What could 
she accomplish as a prisoner here!  If she had any hope at all, it was 
to persuade Hodakai to be on her side.  Shall I tell you why?

she whispered.  Will you give me a chance to make you believe?

Yes!  she heard, a distant whisper.  Was that At?

The shadow-flame gave a quivering shrug.

Jael stared at him.  I'll take that as a yes.  I'll tell, and you 
decide.

Tell, sighed Hodakai.

All right.  Here it is, then.  Jael drew a breath.  I don't know 
about you, but when I wandered into the mountain realm, I didn't 
actually expect to find dragons.

Neither did I!  Hodakai whimpered.

Jael nodded.  Well, I was lucky.  The dragon I met was one named 
Highwing.  She closed her eyes, feeling a rush of sorrow, and 
adrenaline, as she remembered.  And that, she murmured, was when I 
learned, not just that dragons are real, but that there are dragons who 
are to be trusted... who are friends ...

whom it's worth risking your life for....

It took a long time to tell the whole story: Highwing's offer of 
friendship, over her own objections, and his help in casting out her 
own inner demons; her horror in returning to the realm and finding him 
condemned to death for befriending her; and Windrush's and the 
ifflings' cooperation in helping her to save him.  By the time she 
reached the end of her story-her terrifying rescue of Highwing from a 
fiery death in normal-space, and his subsequent death here in this 
realm, she was completely drained by the storm of longing and joy and 
grief that the memories brought back to her.

She was barely aware of her listener, his shadowy head cocked toward 
her.  When he spoke, his voice was slow and troubled.  Is all this 
true?  he asked plaintively, but somehow with a clearer voice than she 
had heard before.

She nodded.  Her own voice was scarcely audible, even to her.

Will you help me?

I don't really know if I can, he said slowly.  He hesitated, as 
though drawing a breath.  But if I can ... I guess I will.

For Kan-Kon?  she whispered.

He sounded as if he were going to cry.  For ... Kan-Kon, yes.  And 
for ... you ... and your friends.

 Chapter 33

PRISONER OF MAGIC all COULD find no way to break through the barrier 
to Jael.

Even before that demonic imposter of an iffling had enveloped her in 
a cocoon of energy, he'd been able to manage only glimpses of her 
presence in the net.  And then he'd been dragged along, helpless to 
intervene, as she and the false-iffling had carried them to this 
cavern, apparently a prison for captured rigger-spirits.  No one had 
paid much attention to him, or to Ed-and probably for good reason.

They seemed unable to take any action whatever to help Jael.  He had 
no idea what had become of the true-iffling.

Now he could only gaze in horror at his shipmate, encased in a block 
of ice.  Ironically, he could see her more clearly now, though the 
barrier between them was stronger than ever.  If only he could at least 
take some action to move the ship.  But in the fragmented net, it 
seemed that Jael effectively had ship-control; and she was now 
completely immobilized, apparently unable even to see him.  Could she 
hear him, though?  At had tried to get a shout through-to alert her to 
what this being, Hodakai, was saying-that he was the former shipmate of 
Kan-Kon.  What a terrible irony: that they had found a potential friend 
here, and he was a prisoner too!

Never in his life had At felt so frustrated.  He kept pushing and 
tugging at his end of the net, trying to jostle the ship loose, trying 
to alter the image.  But the Flux resisted his every effort; the trap 
was too strong.

The only hope he could find-and he was determined to find hope, no 
matter what-was in the chance that this Hodakai could help them, 
perhaps by calling Windrush or other dragons.  It would require winning 
Hodakai to their side, and Hodakai clearly disliked the dragons a great 
deal.

At could well empathize-he remembered the terror of the Tar-skel 
dragons-but Hodakai needed to be shown that not all dragons were like 
that.

Shall I tell you?  Jael was asking.

Yes!  At cried frantically.  Whether Jael heard or not, he couldn't 
tell, but in any event, she began to tell her story.

As he listened, it seemed to At that Hodakai was coming around.

But that still left the question: What could be done from here?

Was there anything that he hadn't yet thought of, At wondered, 
anything that he and Ed could do?  It seemed hopeless; and yet he 
remembered a time, years ago, en route to Vela Oasis, when he and Jael 
had been off course, kept from their proper heading by a barrier of 
ice; and it was Ed who had found the solution, Ed who had broken 
through.  Ed!  he whispered, trying to reach the parrot without 
interrupting the rapport that was growing between Jael and Hodakai.

Ed!

Urrn-rawk!  muttered the parrot, from another fragment of the net.

He looked crumpled and discouraged.

Ed@ you have any ideas?  Any at all?

The parrot rustled listlessly, with a flutter of scarlet and green.  
At imagined he could hear the bird's thoughts grinding like a spinning 
wheel, trying to generate hope.  But in this case, Ed seemed to have no 
answer, and no hope.

jarvorus listened, entranced by Jael's story.

... I didn't think we could hold Highwing in the air, he was so weak 
from almost falling into that sun-but Windrush took the weight and 
slowed him-and gave him a chance to fly one last time, and speak to us 
before he died.  And when he died, he seemed to be rejoicing, Hodakai!

He was back in his own realm, among his own people!  He turned to 
blazing glass in the sun, and vanished, and his voice was like a chime, 
laughter on the air....

jarvorus wept at the end, moved by the unexpected beauty of her tale, 
and stunned by the emotion it stirred in him.  He'd not intended to 
listen; in fact, he'd been on the verge of leaving to report to his 
master.  But he'd been drawn back by her words, by the power of her 
memory.

He'd found himself touching her thoughts again, not to control them 
but to marvel at her daring, risking her life to save her friend.

Jarvorus felt her joy in the rescue, and the grief that followed as 
her friend passed from the realm.

jarvorus was astonished and overwhelmed by this notion of friendship, 
by the willingness to raise friendship over self.  He knew, even as he 
reacted to it, that he should not be moved by this, that it had nothing 
to do with his mission; and yet, he found its power irresistible.  He 
felt drawn to her story and her feelings as a cavern sprite to an 
upwelling of warm, nourishing heat from the underrealm.

It was irrational; it was foolish; it contradicted the training of 
his master.  And Jael, he reminded himself, was his prisoner.

But what, in his training by Rent, had prepared him for emotions of 
such power?

He had told himself that by listening to her story, he could more 
clearly identify and excise that troubling knot of sympathy that had 
grown in him for her.  But instead, he found himself saddened and 
moved, and liking Jael, and even her friends.  There were qualities 
about them that he was discovering he admired: compassion; mercy.  Had 
he known those qualities before, in another time?  He saw a few sprites 
floating about this Cavern of Spirits, and he felt a trembling 
knowledge that he had once been one of them ...

A hazy memory was surfacing from the dimly recollected past ... of a 
fellow cavern sprite dying, when it put itself in the path of an 
underrealm snare, one of Master Rent's weavings, which was about to 
engulf several young sprites.

At the time, Jarvorus hadn't thought much about it; if anything, he'd 
thought it a foolish thing to do.  Now, though, he wondered.

He started back from the memory, shaken a little.  He thought perhaps 
he liked those sprites more than he liked the creatures made from them, 
the aggressive warrior-spirits hovering around under his own command.  
He even felt a grudging respect for the iffling, which in spite of 
everything, still remained hunkered in the shards of the rigger net, 
trying to encourage Jael.  It was a pity that they had to be 
adversaries.  Rightly or wrongly, he felt a little ashamed for having 
caught Jael in this trap ... even if his cause had been the right one.

It didn't matter, of course.  Nothing could change what he had don@r 
had yet to do.  He'd bound and sealed the One, using the powers that 
Rent had bestowed upon him.

His presence and attention were no longer needed to hold her; in 
fact, he couldn't free her now even if he wanted to.

In a while, her purpose would be fulfilled.  That was a destiny that 
couldn't be changed.

But perhaps her understanding of it could be.  Perhaps he could give 
her that much-as a gift-an understanding of what was to come.  An 
understanding of the necessity, and the beauty.

He moved closer, to speak with her again.  He noted the two riggers 
that shared her net, and satisfied himself that they were well secured 
by the spell-weaving and could cause no difficulties.  Then he slipped 
back into the rigger's thoughts.

(Jael,) he whispered, (I perceive that you are troubled.  But do you 
not understand your part in the struggle?  If you could escape and join 
with the dragons, you could do no good!  You could only endanger the 
greatest work of power in all the universe!) (What ... ?) She sounded 
fatigued, and confused.

jarvorus spoke softly, aware of the Hodakai spirit watching Jael, and 
not wanting him to hear.  He perceived that the grip of his persuasion 
spell on Hodakai had loosened, and he didn't want to involve Hodakai in 
this.  He whispered to Jael, (Don't you know what is being made here?  
You are a part of it!) She seemed to be returning to alertness.  (What 
... thing ... being made?) The warrior-spirit hesitated.  He wanted to 
share with her the vision he had been given by his master, but he 
wasn't sure how to do it.  (Look,) he said, at last.

(I will try to show you.) And he did something he had never tried 
before: he touched the net that surrounded her and wove an image there 
for her to see.

Jael gasped in surprise.

He slowly drew it into focus: a great web stretching across the sky, 
enveloping mountain and sky and space.

(You saw this at the Pool of Visions, but there was no time then to 
explain it.  This is the work of my masters.  It is the greatest work 
of power since the beginning of creation!  It will bring the realms 
together, all of the realms.  And this is how it will grow.) He drew 
the web reaching deep into the darkness of the sky, penetrating the 
very stuff that formed the foundations of the sky, of other realms, of 
other universes.  He showed it flashing with deep, violent power, 
reaching out to em@ brace Jael's own universe with its strength and its 
beauty.

(NOOOOOOOO-!) (What?  Jael-?) Her inner voice had failed, but she was 
shaking with grief-and rage, upwelling like a volcano.  Her fear 
reverberated like a drum in the binding spell.  He tried to draw the 
image clearer, but that just made her cry out again, softly: (No ... no 
... never!  ... I swear, never ... !) jarvorus could not comprehend her 
reaction.  Why did this not move her to joy?  She seemed appalled by 
the violent forces that flickered through the web, giving it 
strength-the strength of pain and death.  She remembered the vision 
from the pool, of dragons dying in battle.  And it was true: violent 
deaths would pass before the structure was complete.  But wasn't that 
life on tests separating the strong from the weak?  And even the weak 
were given their part: the intensity of their emotion, their despair 
and their shame, was woven into the very fiber of the work.  Without 
the violence and the despair, none of the beauty was possible.

(Never!) she whispered.  (I will not be a part-!) (But there is no 
other way!) He realized, as he spoke, that the other riggers in the net 
were able to see the image, as well; and they were as frightened by it 
as Jael.  What was wrong, that he could not persuade them of the beauty 
and the truth?

(You have imprisoned me for THIS?) she cried, her thoughts aflame 
with anger and hatred.  (For this abomination?) He fell back from her 
in dismay, stunned by her anger.

He'd thought that she would see.  (I have imprisoned you for what 
must be,) he whispered sadly.  (And now that it is done, there really 
is no other way out for you.) No way out, he thought silently, as she 
wept inwardly.

No way except death.  You have been trapped by Rent's magic, and 
unless the Master himself frees you, nothing but death can release you 
from this prison.  I grieve for you, Jael, my captive.

The thought of the Master brought him back to the present with a 
start.  It was time he reported back to Rent on his success.  Gathering 
himself silently, and regretfully, he sank into the underrealm away 
from the Cavern of Spirits.

Once the false-iffling was gone, the true-iffling stirred from its 
hiding place.  There were still servants of the Enemy around, but they 
appeared to be keeping watch from a distance.  The iffling didn't know 
what, if anything, it could do.  It could not release Jael; the weaving 
had solidified around her like rock-hard ice.  Obviously, though the 
spell had been triggered by the false-one, it was the work of someone 
far more powerful.  That was hardly surprising; both the iffling and 
the false-one were servants of greater powers.  But what was that 
uncertainty that the iffling had observed in the false-one, just before 
its departure?  It almost looked like doubt.

The false-one was gone now, probably to visit its master.

But where, the true one wondered, were its masters, its 
iffling-parents?  Was it alone in the world, alone in the realm?  The 
iffling probed outward from the cavern, stretching its senses along 
certain layers of the underrealm where perhaps only ifflings could 
reach.  It felt something .  . . a distant glimmer of life.  That touch 
sent a shiver of recognition through the iffling.  Was someone out 
there?  Someone who would recognize an iffling, and welcome it home?

With the false-one gone, perhaps it was time to seek help-for Jael, 
and for itself.  It had not dared to try earlier, both for fear of the 
false-one and for fear of losing Jael.  But Jael was bound now, and 
would not be moving.

The iffling gently touched the glowing surface of Jael's mind, and 
found her agitated and despairing.  (Remet4erit whispered.

(Remember.  And keep hope.  Always keep hope.) (How can I hope?) Jael 
cried back to it, perhaps recognizing it and perhaps not.

The iffling probed helplessly at the sorcery that bound her-and found 
no weakness, no hope.  But the false-one had leaked one thought, one 
possibility, one inkling of a way in which Jael's cry for freedom might 
be fulfilled.  The iffling didn't dare voice the possibility; it was 
too drastic, too uncertain.  But it might be the only way.

To Jael, it said, (You must.  The realm needs you.) And in 
afterthought, it added, (Your friend needs you.  Windrush.) It was 
aware of Jael's sharp intake of breath, but there was nothing more that 
it could say.  It drew apart from her.

The sorcery could hold the riggers-but not the iffling.  It was time.

The iffling slipped out of the riggers' presence, slipped away down 
the long, rippling silence of the place where only its kind might tread 
... slipped away, whispering and crying for anyone who might know its 
voice, and answer in kind.  For anyone who might help.


Chapter 34


GATHERING STORM LUMENIS CRACKLED and exploded, raining light through 
the night sky.  The dragons thundered, their fever for battle rising 
like boiling clouds of steam.  Windrush watched from one end of the 
Valley of Fallen Light, as the last of the lumenis disappeared into the 
jaws of his fellow dragons.

Like many of the others, he had not fed, and would not.

Those dragons feeding now were the ones who had gone hungry the 
longest.  He would feed in flight, as best he could, if there was any 
lumenis dust left in the air.

Windrush had far more on his mind now than feeding.

The challenge before them was so difficult, the odds so staggering, 
that he had to steel himself against a mood of desperation.

He trusted his leaders to lead well; but when the battle came, they 
must all be driven by instinct and by fierce, blinding determination.

By tomorrow, the dragon realm could be restored to freedom and 
majesty ... or it could be gone.

SearSky had bullied the younger warriors through dozens of mock 
duels, almost to the point of exhaustion, before Windrush had called 
for a rest.  They had perhaps not rested enough, but SearSky had 
assured him that the warriors were braver now and more determined for 
his bullying.  Farsight had organized all of the patrols into large 
attack groups.  All the dragons were flying, even the wounded; there 
was nothing left to protect here.  They would fly when the feeding was 
done.  The Enemy, he assumed, knew very well how desperate their 
situation was; but Windrush hoped to surprise him with the sheer 
audacity of their attack.  The dragons would be at their peak after the 
feeding; and if they were wild from the lumenis intoxication, perhaps 
that would make them fight all the more ferociously.  He remembered how 
SearSky had fought in the Deep Caverns, and imagined an entire army of 
lumenisdrunk dragons fighting like that.

Windrush thought of his cavern, which he might never see again, and 
of the iffling's last visit, and of the sweepers' tiny but valiant 
effort to point the way for him.  He still didn't understand the 
meaning of that last underrealm win@ dow, but he knew this: whatever 
help he had hoped to receive from the ifflings he now had to put out of 
his mind.

He could not delay the attack any longer.  He could not spend any 
more time searching the underrealm.  He wanted to hope that Jael, 
somehow, would have a role to play, but w it was hard to see how.  His 
search parties to the south had found nothing.  If she was a captive of 
the Enemy, his only hope was that some unimagined magic might free her 
for the coming battle.  It was a faint hope, indeed.

Several dozen dragons thundered and hooted and blasted the air in 
front of him.  Only tiny shards of lumenis remained on the ground, 
glinting in the starlight-seed for the future.  The hungry dragons were 
snatching up even those fragments of seed.

"Enough!"  Windrush bellowed, launching himself into the air.

"Leave the seed!  Leave the seed!  Gather now for flight!"

Cries of protest reached his ears, but he had no time for it.

Some of them would have to fight hungry.  He would have to fight 
hungry.  "ENOUGH!"  he thundered.  "Gather behind me!  Prevail against 
the Enemy, and we'll have all the lumenis we desire!"

A rumble of assent rose around him like the sound of an approaching 
storm, followed by the dragons themselves, orbiting around him, their 
cries echoing in a great roar.

Windrush vented a flame into the air and cried, "Fly, now!

Fly to the camp and gather the others!  Fly!"

Like a frenzied armada, the flight of dragons abandoned the Valley of 
Fallen Light and churned through the night sky to join the rest of the 
patrols, already waiting at the encampment.  Those who had fed were 
bright with fire, and lusting for battle; the unfed flew just as fast, 
hardened by hunger and anger.

As they passed over the encampment, Farsight rose to join them, 
followed by wave after wave of dragons, roaring and fuming, until it 
seemed that the sky could hold no more.  Even Rockciaw came, and 
Windrush called out to him, "Are you ready to fly so far?"  The gnarled 
dragon, pumping his wings, called back, "You lead, and I'll get there!

Someone has to remember this properly for the next younglings!"

Windrush chuckled, his spirits lifted despite his worries.  "For the 
draconae!  " he bellowed to the growing force.

The responses echoed in the sky: "For the lumenis!"

"Fcrr Treegrower and the egg!"

"For the fallen!"

"For the realm!"

Soon, with over a hundred dragons circling in the air, several dozen 
more came in from the north and south, from the smaller camps.

The night air was alight with the flicker of dragon flames, despite 
Windrush's warnings to save their fire for the fight.

"TO BATTLE!"  he thundered at last.

"TO BATTLE!  TO THE ENEMY!"  came the answering cry, reverberating 
from the mountainsides.

Windrush flew westward, climbing to crest the Scarred Mount Ridge.

Following him were nearly two hundred dragons, their eyes afire with 
battle fever.  Almost a hundred more had set out earlier under 
Stronghold and Longtouch, splitting far to the south and north to enter 
the Enemy's realm from flanking directions.  Windrush's flight would 
not divide; they were crossing the Valley Between as one, and all going 
over the top of the Borderland Mountains together.  It was a dangerous 
approach, and it would take them close to the Enemy's east camp; but 
Windrush hoped that the core of his flight would make it through to 
strike at the Enemy's heart in the Dark Vale, far to the west.

What would happen then, only tomorrow would tell.

Windrush's blood burned hotter as they flew; he burned with a growing 
lust to meet the Enemy and destroy him.

High and fast the dragons flew, and if those who had not fed were 
laboring harder than those who had, it didn't show when Windrush 
glanced back.  All he saw in the sky behind him was a night full of 
fiery, battlehungry eyes.  He nodded in approval and pounded the air 
harder than ever before.

The realm shall tremble when dragons assemble to strike out of fear, 
with hope nowhere near.

The One comes, the end comes, and who shall prevail?

Who knows where a friend Shall be found close and dear?

The Words reverberated in FullSky's mind.

His presence in the Dream Mountain was becoming more strained, as 
forces in the underrealm shifted about with growing turbulence.  Powers 
were gathering everywhere.  FullSky knew he could not remain here much 
longer.  But surely his role had not yet ended!  The draconae were busy 
strengthening their defenses against the Enemy's inevitable assault 
upon the dreamfires, upon the binding and creative force that sustained 
all the life in the realm.

But what was he to do?

With the draconae, FullSky had watched helplessly as the Enemy had 
stolen the power of the Deep Caverns; as he'd snatched the remaining 
lumenis-and the Grotto Garden, with Treegrower and the egg; as he'd 
captured Jael at the Pool of Visions.  Now they watched as the dragons 
launched their desperate attack@n attack with no hope of success, 
against a foe who was now aware of every move that they made.

The Enemy must have delighted in letting the draconae witness his 
victories.  FullSky knew, as did the draconae, that their despair only 
fed the Enemy's dark sorcery; but being aware of it was not enough to 
save them from it.  Jael's capture had discouraged them most of all.

Even they, with their prophecy, hadn't expected her to fall to the 
Enemy before the final battle had even begun.

It's not over yet, he'd told them.  But his words had seemed hollow 
even to him.

FullSky felt the underrealm quiver with the approach of battle, and 
he drew his kuutekka close about him.  Even if his presence here went 
unnoticed by the Enemy, he had very little time left in which to do 
anything useful.  His strength was already drawn thin.  His body, 
imprisoned in the Dark Vale, was battered and tortured beyond healing; 
and while he could draw some strength here from the draconae's power, 
he could not be wholly divorced from the state of his physical body.

He had never expected to emerge from this struggle alive.  But as 
long as he still had some power to act, he was determined to make his 
presence count for something.

Jael.  He felt certain that his actions were meant to involve her.

But how?  It did not seem that he could do anything more for 
Windrush.

His last underrealm window for his brother had been a failed attempt 
to show how the Dream Mountain had been captured, and how it might be 
freed.  But who had been missing from that picture?  Jael.

And she was beyond help now.

Except, perhaps, through the underrealm ...

Bending his thought toward the draconae's underrealm window, FullSky 
probed delicately, quietly, toward the place where he thought the 
rigger had been taken.  If he was to do anything for her at all, he 
would have to be watchful and shrewd indeed.

And he would have to be ready to give up to her the very last of his 
own strength....

For WingTouch, in captivity, the pain was a constant, a sheet of fire 
within his body.  He had learned, to some extent, to ignore it; but he 
could not do so altogether.  The servants of the Enemy saw to that.  At 
irregular intervals, they came and taunted him, or changed the binding 
spell in some new and devilish way.  They did not have to increase the 
pain, only to alter it, to make it fresh and new as it blazed up his 
nerves.

His feet remained entombed in stone, and his inability to move or 
stretch was driving him mad.  His legs were fearsomely cramped, and the 
immobility weighed terribly upon his spirit.  Not content with that, 
the drahls had attacked his eyes with their freezing fire, so that he 
could see only dimly now; they had torn away at his scales, and pierced 
him with sharpened stones; they had starved him, and denied him a view 
of the sky and the sun.

In his heart, he tried to believe that the pain was meaning@ less, 
that the suffering was worthwhile if only he could remain adamant in 
his resistance to the Enemy.  In truth, he probably would have 
succumbed to despair by now, if it had not been for the dreamlike 
memory of his brother's voice, speaking somehow into his mind, urging 
him to keep hope.  The Enemy is lying, FullSky had said.  I will help 
You if I can.

Maybe it was only a dream.  But if a dream was all that he had to 
cling to, then that was what he would do.

Someone, or something, was walking toward him.  He felt, and heard, 
the human's footsteps and voice before the creature came into his 
shadowy sight.

"I pity you, dragon," Rent said, his footsteps a clink of steel on 
stone as he approached.  "You won't even see it happen, in the end.

You'll just feel it-as the world closes in around you.  As everyone 
you know dies."

to.  "Away from me, demon!"  WingTouch hissed, or tried "There's 
nothing that can change it now," Rent continued, with feigned sympathy.

"But it's a shame you won't even be able to watch those pitiful 
brothers of yours die."

He laughed mockingly.  "Or perhaps I could arrange for you to watch 
it-to feel it, as they suffer."

WingTouch trembled, from both weakness and rage.  He longed to step 
out of this stone prison, to destroy this being, but that power was not 
his.  There was no power that was his anymore.  He knew it, and his 
captors knew it@and they knew how deeply it frustrated and infuriated 
him to have to stand here and listen to his tormentor, without hope of 
escape.  But as he heard the wretched creature's words, he realized 
something-and he felt an abrupt, astonishing burst of joy.

He barked laughter into the face of the monster Rent.

The human drew back, stuttering with anger.  "You laugh at the deaths 
of your brothers?"  he hissed.

No, WingTouch thought, shuddering with the physical pain caused by 
his own laughter.  No, I don't laugh at their deaths.  I laugh to hear 
that they are alive, that in all this time you have not been able to 
kill them!  I laugh that, even now, they still fight you!

To Rent, he said nothing.  The blush of hope passed quickly enough, 
and Rent seemed to sense that.  The human danced before him, howling 
with mockery, "Laugh if you can, because soon you will laugh no more.  
There will be nothing more in your life to amuse you.  Nothing!"

He paused and stabbed a finger in WingTouch's direction, his eyes 
full of hatred.  "And I guarantee you this: I will keep you alive long 
enough to suffer to the end.  I'm going to leave you now-I'm going to 
walk away!  But I will be back, WingTouch!  I will be back to watch you 
suffer, as all of your brothers and all of the dragons die!"

Rent placed his hands on his midsection and bounced from foot to 
foot, and capered wildly, undoubtedly to remind WingTouch of his own 
immobility.  As if he needed reminding.  The pain in his legs was 
excruciating; and yet he dared not give in to it.  If he lost his 
balance and fell sideways, it could break his legs-and that might kill 
him, or might just magnify the pain.

There is always hope, FullSky@r FullSky's spirit-had said.  Was 
FullSky really still alive somewhere, somehow?

Rent had not spoken of him lately, and Rent had been quite gleeful 
once in proclaiming FullSky a traitor.  Was it possible that FullSky 
had escaped?  Or was it all in his imagination?

WingTouch could answer none of his own questions.

But the more Rent gloated, the more determined he was to resist to 
the end.  He might despair inwardly, as the pain shimmered around him.

But never would he let this demon know.  This was his only remaining 
weapon: to not let this miserable human prevail.

There is always hope.

Thank you, FullSky, he thought as he laughed out loud at the 
departing human.  And when he saw the human tighten in fury, he laughed 
again-heedless of the pain, the meaningless pain.

Chapter 35

FRIEND OR FOE?

THE WARRIOR-SPIRIT had to wait an unusually long time for Rent to 
appear.  It was unnerving to hover alone at the edge of Rent's 
underrealm abode, waiting to report to his master.  jarvorus was 
jittery, without quite knowing why.  Perhaps it was because he didn't 
know precisely what instructions his master would have for him next.

He knew that his capture of the rigger was a crucial milestone, and 
that he ought to be proud of it.  He knew that much was at stake in 
what happened to Jael.

And in that, he was troubled.  He was disturbed by what he had 
experienced with Jael and her companions, in the Cavern of Spirits.  He 
found himself brooding about the way in which his master was going to 
lead Jael to her death-an important and significant event.  He couldn't 
keep from dwelling upon it.  Perhaps it was just as well that Rent 
wasn't here now, because Jarvorus had some thinking to do-and he knew 
that his feelings on the matter had changed, significantly.  How was 
this possible?

It had started with a grudging respect for his adversary, and a trace 
of sympathy for what she must suffer.  For all that, she was still the 
target, the enemy, the One.  But now he had shared her thoughts and her 
feelings, now he knew what she had been through in this realm, what she 
had experienced, and done.  The trouble was, jarvorus knew now that he 
liked Jael far better than he liked his own master.

It might mean nothing in the end, and yet it was a staggering 
thought, one that charged him with fear.  His master was brimming with 
power and cruelty, qualities that Jarvorus had once admired, and even 
emulated.  But they were qualities that seemed absent in Jael, and he 
found now that he admired their absence more than their presence.  He'd 
once thought that Jael wasn't strong, because she was not the master 
over others, like Rent.

But that glimpse into her soul had shown him another sort of 
strength, and he was beginning to wonder if maybe Jael wasn't the 
strongerstrong enough to risk her life for someone else's.  jarvorus 
wondered if Rent would do that.  He recalled her vision of the dragon 
Windrush risking his life to save Highwing, and he wondered if Rent 
would do that.

He recalled his own memory of the cavern sprite dying, saving several 
younger sprites, and he found himself wondering-what if he had been 
among those who had been saved?

He was aware, as he waited for his master, that none of this meant 
that anything would change.  It was too late for that.  Nevertheless, 
he could not help quivering with unease.

Rent's cavern, in the underrealm, was a glowing place of shimmering 
heat and pulsing energy.  It was a place that spoke of power.  Unlike 
Hodakai's spirit jar, this cave of the spirit was no prison, but rather 
a base from which Rent sallied forth in his work for the Ultimate 
Master.  The powers that throbbed in this cave filled Jarvorus with a 
fear of Rent-and an even greater awe of the power of the Ultimate 
Master, if the power of Rent, a lesser one, gave any measure.

He caught his own thought, and trembled at the possibility of Rent 
hearing himself referred to as less than anyone even the Ultimate 
Master.  Such thoughts would not be pleasing to Master Rent.

Jarvorus floated at the edge of the cave, trying to gather himself 
into a calmer state.  It would not do to be found this way.  He started 
suddenly, sensing movement in the underrealm.  There was a flicker, 
then a sharp brightening of the glow in the walls.  A shadowy black 
figure strode through the walls, and stood, hands on hips, glaring 
around the cave, radiating waves of indignation.  jarvorus drew himself 
into a smaller flame.

STATE YOUR BUSINESS!  thundered the owner of the cave, pointing an 
angry finger at the warrior-spirit.

jarvorus found himself trembling with fear-and a certain shock of 
recognition.  Rent's form was human, just like Jael's.  Had he seen 
this before?  He guessed he had-but not so starkly.  Never had he 
really stopped to think that, perhaps, Rent was a human, like Jael.

JARVORUS?  SPEAK UP!  Rent commanded.  I can see it is you.  Why do 
you hang there in silence?

I ... have come to report on ... the rigger Jael, jarvorus stammered. 
 Had he done anything to deserve his master's anger?  He didn't think 
so.

Rent's human figure dissolved into a bright flame of light, far 
brighter than his cavern.  The fire of his presence flew rapidly around 
the cave, circling along the wall, almost too fast for Jarvorus to 
follow.  Report, then!  And quickly!  I have just come from dealing 
with dragons who were slow to obey!

If you want gentler treatment, I had better not catch you resting!

It was clear that he was furious about something.  jarvorus wondered 
what the dragons had done to make him so angry.

jarvorus could not help hesitating, before delivering his report.

I have taken the rigger ... to the Cavern of Spirits.  I have encased 
her in the spell-shroud.  As you commanded.

Rent's fire slowed and drifted to the center of the cavern.

Jarvorus felt himself the object of a penetrating gaze.  He was 
starting to feel angry in turn.  Rent had no right to be cruel to him; 
he had done exactly as ordered.  jarvorus kept his anger concealed, as 
best he could.

Rent spoke in a measured tone.  Very well.  Now, tell me: have they 
admitted defeat yet?  Does the rigger know that she has reached her 
end?  And what of Hodakai?  Does he remain bound to our side?

jarvorus hesitated again.  A multitude of possible answers rose in 
his mind, and it took him a moment to choose among them.  When he 
spoke, he was not aware of a conscious decision to lie to his master.  
Nevertheless, he did, saying, Yes.  They have admitted defeat.  They 
are ours.

Ours?  hissed Rent.  Ours?

Yes, jarvorus whispered.  They are ours.

Rent erupted like a volcano.  OURS?  he thundered.  You presumptuous 
sprite!  Do you know how I deal with servants who make presumptions?  A 
flower of light erupted from somewhere, blazed into Jarvorus, and 
knocked him senseless.

It took him a few moments to realize that he was still alive.

jarvorus struggled back to full consciousness, struggled to regain 
his dignity.  That blow had almost killed him.

Ours?  he thought.  How could he have been so stupid?  They are ... 
yours!  he whispered contritely.  Yours.  Yes.  You need not worry 
about what they might do.  They are quite secure.

There was another burst of light, but this one only flashed through 
him and made him tremble a little.  Very good, Jarvorus, Rent crooned.  
You required a little reminder; that's all.  Remember that it was I who 
gave you the breath of life.

It would be a shame if you forgot.  Rent's voice was soft, 
threatening.

Jarvorus made himself as small as he could.  He wasn't sure why he 
had lied to Rent; it was a stupid and foolish thing to do.  But now he 
had just heard Rent lie to him in return: "It was I who gave you the 
breath of life."  But Rent had not given jarvorus life.  jarvorus might 
have believed so, before some of those memories had returned.  Rent had 
changed him from a sprite, but that was not the same as creating him.

The master lying to his servant.  Though jarvorus didn't know what to 
do about it, he knew that he no longer trusted Rent.  He preferred his 
prisoners to his master.  And that was a perilous situation.

Did Rent still trust him?  Had Rent ever really trusted him?

Is that all you have to report?  the master asked, his voice still 
silkily threatening.

Jarvorus dimmed and brightened deferentially.  Yes.

Then why do you remain?  Tend to your prisoners!

Yes, master, jarvorus whispered.

Good, Rent answered darkly.  I will come soon to see this one in 
person, and deal with her myself.  The end approaches, even now.  A 
great battle is beginning.  See that you keep her secure until I come.

Now, begone with you!

jarvorus dimmed and slipped back out of Rent's cave, leaving his 
master muttering to himself.  Jarvorus did not pause to listen.  But he 
was thinking furiously, and making a decision, as he sped back through 
the underrealm to his captives.

He found them quiet and gloomy in Hodakai's cavern.

They seemed to understand instinctively just how close they were to 
the time when Jael must fall to her enemy.

jarvorus shared their mournfulness, observing from a distance.

He delayed making contact while he considered how to proceed.

Jael was going to die anyway, and her death would be the final link 
in the Ultimate Master's plan, Tar-skel's web of sorcery.

jarvorus no longer found that plan such a beautiful thing as he had 
so recently believed it.  Jael did not find it beautiful; she abhorred 
it.

And Jael had never lied to him, or deceived him, unlike his master.

And if he no longer believed in his masters, why should he believe in 
their plan?

He preferred Jael's way.  And he wished that he could do something 
about it.  He wished that he could undo the spell in which he had 
captured her; he wished he could send her to her friend the dragon.

But Jarvorus did not have that power.

But there was one way in which he might free her.  It would require 
Jael's agreement and cooperation, and perhaps that of her friends.  And 
he would have to act quickly, before Rent came to stop him.

Rent, he knew, would be very angry-far angrier than he had been just 
now.  If Jarvorus did what he was contemplating, Rent would surely kill 
him.  That thought made him hesitate.  But he remembered what Jael had 
done, which was the very thing that so made him want to take her side.  
She had shown herself willing to give her life.  And he would be asking 
her to do it again.

Before he could reconsider again, jarvorus ordered all of the 
warrior-sprites to retreat to the outside of the cavern, and to remain 
quiet, and not to interfere.  Then he slipped through the seal of 
sorcery and into his captive's mind.

(There is one way you might yet have a chanced he said, without 
preamble.  A sense of urgency was upon him.  He noted that the iffling 
was gone, which was just as well.  He didn't need to contest for Jael's 
attention.

She burst back with indignation, (GET OUT OF MY MIND!) Her resentment 
boiled around him with fierce heat.

Perhaps he had been too abrupt, he realized, pulling away hastily.

He studied Jael, her underrealm presence shimmering darkly.  How 
could he do this?  Finally, he allowed himself to become visible again 
in the cavern, in his animal form-so that all of them, including 
Hodakai and the other riggers, could see and hear him.  He hoped this 
appearance would seem less threatening.  He padded across the cavern 
floor to Jael, who was peering out of her cell of ice in lonely 
desperation.

Her spaceship glimmered, half visible, behind her; and nearby, in the 
fractured rigger-net, Jarvorus could just make out the forms of the 
tall rigger, At, and the strange little green rigger that was called 
Ed.

He raised his head to meet Jael's eyes.  I've changed my intentions, 
he murmured.  I'm ... on your side now.  Ignoring her sputtering of 
disbelief and the outcries from all of them, he continued quickly, You 
must believe me.  Time is very short.

Believe you?  Jael answered.  Never!

Jarvorus hissed and shook his head.  You must!  My master plans to 
kill you-and not just that, but to do it in the presence of the 
dragons.  That will complete the prophe@and the sorcery.  But I think I 
can help you.

Help?  She laughed bitterly.  Are you going to save me?

I-I can't stop you from dying, Jael.  But ... if You would choose 
another time, and another way, I can help you do that.

It would be better for you@and for your side!

Jael was unmoved.  You want me to step into another of your traps!

Even as she made her sarcastic reply, jarvorus was wondering when 
Rent would be coming.  If he did not convince her and perform the deed 
before Rent came, he could do nothing.  Instead of answering her 
sarcasm, he plunged ahead to explain.

You are the key, Jael-key to the Master's final victory.  The dragons 
are to be kept from reuniting with the Dream Mountain and their dracona 
and the despair of the dragons is his most powerful weapon.

The one you call the Nail knows that the dragons'only hope is your 
appearance, as the One of the prophecy.

Jael whispered, Then, damn you, why don't you let me go to help them?

I wish I could!  jarvorus cried.  But this spell is not my spell.

I haven't the power to unlock it.  The Words say that you must fall, 
and the Master has already planned how that will happen-in a great 
battle that is even now taking shape.  A battle which the dragons 
cannot hope to win without you.

Jael stared at him in silence, and so did Hodakai and the other 
riggers.  The small green rigger was making futile rasping sounds.

They all seemed equally incredulous.

He continued nevertheless.  When the dragons see you die in battle, 
they will lose all hope.  They know the Words: "The One will fall as 
the battle is fought .  . ."

And Jael whispered, finishing the words for him: "Upon her death is 
the ending urrought."  Yes, Jarvorus answered.  And then the dragons 
and the Dream Mountain will be severed forever.  They will die.

The ifflings will die.  And neither the Dream Mountain not the 
draconae will be able to stop the completion of the Master's web of 
power.

Touching the rigger-net, he again showed Jael, and her shipmates, a 
visible image of what would happen.  He showed them the despair of the 
dragons and draconae transforming the living energy of the Dream 
Mountain so that it would strengthen, rather than oppose, the Nail's 
sorcery.  And then he said, as the riggers began to protest, I cannot 
free you in your present for?n.  But I think I can free you from your 
life.  That startled them into silence.  He added quickly, I can free 
you from your part in the sorcery.

There was a moment's hesitation-and then the rigger At answered 
furiously, What do you mean, you can free her from her life?  Do you 
mean, KILL her?

jarvorus paused.  That's right, he said softly.

The hatred that poured out from At was an almost physical force.

From Jael, there was still a puzzled, angry silence she might not 
have been able to hear At's words.

jarvorus spoke again.  You would have to help me .  . . by allowing 
it.  If you choose to die, it may be that you can thwart the sorcery.  
The Words do not say how the One is to die.  But my Master's plan calls 
for your unwilling death, for your defeat.

If you give yourself, at a time of your choosing, you may not be 
defeated.  I do not know what the prophecies say about this, but ... He 
hesitated.  There was much he did not know.  He was making many 
guesses, and hoping that Jael would agree with them, and that they 
would be right.

He continued haltingly, It may even be that ... you can be saved, in 
death.  If you can reach out ... if you can find Dream Mountain as the 
ifflings once found it, as the dragons find the Final Dream Mountain... 
perhaps you will be able to reach your friends the dragons... then.

Perhaps?  hissed At.  Perhaps?

Jarvorus walked slowly around the imprisoned riggers, gazing at Jael 
in her cell; and studying At, half concealed within the net, along with 
the fluttering green rigger; and turning at last to Hodakai.  I did not 
speak truth to you, when first we met, he said to Hodakai.

Especially regarding myself, and Rent.  The rigger-spirit flickered 
in his jar, but said nothing.  He turned back to Jael and said, Here is 
truth.  I can promise nothing-except freedom.

Death, said At; and from the spark in Jael's eye, it seemed that 
she'd heard him.

Death, jarvorus agreed.  But perhaps not in vain.  jarvorus paused.  
Jael... it is because I have shared in your thoughts, and known you... 
that I have decided to offer this.  You have shown me a way I did not 
know before.  He peered into Jael's thoughts.  He saw fear there, and 
distrust.  But also a willingness to listen.

I do not blame you for distrusting me.  But there is no other escape 
from what Rent and the Nail have planned.

At interrupted, his voice echoing strangely.  jarvorus shifted the 
underweb slightly so that At could be heard more easily.  -you say not 
in vain.  You offer vague promises.

Why should we believe you?

Because you have no other hope.  I offer no promises, except freedom 
for Jael.  It may be the final release-the final death.

Jarvorus hesitated, trying to find certainty among all the 
uncertainties in what he was suggesting.  The Masters, the Nail and 
Rent, will kill her anyway.  That is certain.  But her death now, at 
her choosing, not theirs, will strike a blow against their plans.

Against their sorcery.  As, I believe, you struck a blow once before.

The others stared at him.

They have not forgotten the Black Peak!  Not at all.  Yes, I heard 
you tell of it.  And I wish to help you defeat them again.

Why?  Jael whispered.

jarvorus sat up, gazing at her.  He said, in a deep, throaty voice, I 
do not like them.  I do not like what they do.  I wish to ...

hurt them.

At answered in slow, soft words.  By deceiving her, as you deceived 
her once already?  How do we know this isn't precisely the way the 
Enemy plans to kill her?

jarvorus pondered that.  He looked at Hodakai, whose nervous dance 
had stopped.  He looked at At, who was studying him with fierce, 
purplish eyes.  He looked at the small green rigger, who had quieted 
and was peering intently back at him.  And he looked at Jael, who was 
not looking at him at all, but staring into space.  And he said, 
Hodakai, you know something of the Nail's plans.  You know that they 
plan to take her into battle, and to kill her there, against her will.

He paused, but Hodakai was silent.

He turned back to Jael and pressed his paws to the ice, gazing in at 
her.  I will open my thoughts to you.  All there is to see.  Study me, 
and judge.

Jael, behind her prison wall of ice, slowly turned her eyes to his.

 Chapter 36

BATTLE AND HOPE IT WAs already going wrong.  Windrush realized it 
from the time the dragons crossed over the towering, icy summits of the 
Borderland Mountains, into the Enemy's territory.  The air had been 
empty of lumenis dust.  There was a silence all about the land, a 
darkness that belied the dawn that was growing behind the dragons.  Far 
off to the right, beyond the end of the Borderland range, the Black 
Peak flickered-its open wound, where the Enemy's sorcery had once been 
broken, glaring across the distance with an angry red fire.

Everything Windrush saw made him feel that they were about to be met 
by an Enemy who not only expected them, but had prepared a special 
sorcery in their honor.

The Nail of Strength did not disappoint him.  By the time they had 
drawn abreast of the Enemy's eastern camps-the one they had attacked 
before was a dirty smudge to the south, and a smaller one was just out 
of sight to the norththey had not met a single enemy warrior.  But 
ominous cloud formations were gathering around and behind them, darkly 
coiling clouds looming over the shadowy landscape; and Windrush knew 
that once more the Enemy had commandeered the very elements to his 
side.  From the camps of drahls, there was no sign of activity, which 
Windrush found unsettling.  It was not that he wanted drahls to appear 
; but the absence of opposition was another sign of Tar-skel's 
treachery lying in wait.  It was possible, of course, that the drahls 
were busy laying waste the territory the dragons had left behind, but 
Windrush doubted it; more likely, he thought, the Enemy was hoping to 
gather in all the dragons and destroy them in a single, crushing blow.

But what form would the blow take?

Farsight drew in close from the right, murmuring, "I think there are 
drahls in those clouds, Windrush.  They'll be shadowing us until we're 
hemmed in on all sides.  That's my guess.  Be prepared for attack all 
around."  SearSky sped in from the left and muttered his opinion.

"They're all gathered ahead of us, Windrush.  They know our strength, 
and they're gathered like cowards over the Dark Vale.  We can sweep 
them from the sky.  Maybe we'll get that traitor, Stonebinder, while 
we're at it."  He glanced with approval back at the skyful of dragons 
following them.

Windrush acknowledged both opinions, but made no pronouncement.

He suspected that neither guess was altogether correct.  The Enemy 
had gone to much trouble to prepare a welcome, he thought, and he 
doubted that the drahls were overly fearful of their approach.  The 
towering storm clouds that were chasing and flanking them seemed 
utterly opaque, and yet now they were beginning to flash with pulses of 
purple and green lightning.  Ahead, a reddish glow that did not seem of 
the dawn beckoned them onward toward the Dark Vale.  He guessed that 
the Nail was planning something more dramatic than merely engulfing 
them in swarms of drahls.  But as to what that might be, his undersense 
gave no clue.  No ifflings had appeared in midair to mutter enigmatic 
advice, and no rigger had arrived, flying her silver ship.

Windrush waited until Farsight and SearSky were back at the heads of 
their flights; then he drew a deep breath of cold dawn air and urged 
the dragons on with greater speed than ever.  They would learn the 
answers soon.

The Dark Vale appeared ahead of them in the grey dawn like a vast 
crater cloaked in shadow.  No detail was visible.

The red glow that had been beckoning them was now glaring down from 
clouds high overhead, reflected from some invisible source.

Windrush scanned the area.  Even as they drew close to the vale, its 
details remained hidden beneath an eye-twisting interplay of erupting 
fires and light-snatching shadow, almost as if a blanket of sorcery lay 
across its top.  Around the dragons and behind them, the storm clouds 
were crowding inward like marching columns of smoke, funneling the 
dragons into the vale.  Windrush thought he glimpsed, and cries from 
the flank-scouts con@ firmed, the dark flecks of Stronghold's and 
Longtouch's flights approaching from south and north.

Those flights, too, looked as though they were being driven by the 
storms.

Enough of being driven!

"Dragons!"  Windrush called, with a long breath of flame.

"Downward, into the vale of the Enemy!  Beware treachery!  But strike 
boldly, for the life of the realm!"  And with a final thought that he 
should somehow have been more stirring in his cry, he banked into a 
steep dive.  "FOR THE REALM!"  he screamed into the wind as he sliced 
downward through the air, followed by two hundred bellowing dragons.

The Dark Vale loomed beneath him, light and shadow flickering.

Suddenly the curtain of sorcery parted, revealing the land below.

But what he saw lit by the overhead fire was not a valley swarming 
with enemy warriors, but instead a great, dark abyss.  There was no 
land at all, but only dense, grey cloud, parting to form the vast shaft 
of a chasm.  The dragons above him rumbled in confusion and dismay, but 
there was nothing to be done; they were already diving into the gaping 
emptiness where they had expected to find the Enemy's fortress.  "Stay 
behind me!"  he shouted to those who began to surge ahead, and though 
his words seemed swallowed up by the cottony greyness all around, the 
other dragons slowed, as though instinctively understanding the need to 
stay together.

What was this treachery?  A camouflage surrounding Tar@ skel's 
fortress?  Or a fantastic maw in the land itself, about to swallow the 
entire dragon armada in a single gulp?  Was this the path to the Final 
Dream Mountain?

"Windrush!  Where are we going?"  shouted SearSky, from his left.

He didn't answer.  Slowing his descent, he began a sweeping turn, 
looking for anything solid.  The others followed, but the formation was 
now stretching out above him in a ragged spiral shape.  It was 
impossible to maintain tight grouping in the crowded space between the 
clouds.  Battle cries were giving way to rumbles of alarm, and the 
beating of wings, as fear and uncertainty gripped the dragons.

Windrush glanced around for Farsight and the other leaders.

SearSky was veering away from the formation and flying perilously 
close to the walls of the shaft, blowing long tongues of flame into the 
cloud.  His flames seemed at first to pass through without effect.

Then there was a flicker of light coming back-and a high, keening 
cry.

The sweep of his turn had taken Windrush away from the spot, and he 
had to crane his neck to look back at what SearSky had discovered.

But he needn't have turned.  That first piercing cry was echoed@nce, 
a dozen, a hundred times-until the very walls of cloud shrieked inward 
upon the dragons.  Windrush felt a sudden, wrenching change in the air, 
a shudder of sorcery passing through the sky, and an instant later, it 
seemed that the whole world had turned into a maze of broken lenses, 
making it impossible to see clearly.

But above and below and all around, Windrush heard the screams of 
drahls and enemy dragons closing for battle.

The iffling felt the presence of the others before it saw them.

It had nearly abandoned hope, but had continued streaking on through 
the silence in desperate determination to find someone who could help.

The underrealm here was a great rarefied hollowness of distant mists 
and light, and strange tricks of perception that made the iffling 
wonder if it had left the realm of iffling and dragon altogether.

Could it even find its way back to Jael now, if it tried?  It didn't 
dare look to see.

And then there came that feeling again across the emptiness, drawing 
it on with a sudden new hope.  There was someone, yes-and now the 
iffling began to sense a flickering light-no, a series of lights, and 
beyond the flickers, nearly obscured by mists, the dim glow of a much 
greater, but distant fire.  The iffiing sped recklessly, heedlessly, 
joyfully toward the lights and toward the source of the feeling.

What it felt was the unmistakable pull of familiarity, of family.

It shouted and pleaded to the emptiness, and it heard faintly the 
answering cry: -Our child@eturned at last!-4ut the need grows!@o not 
stop@e long to see you, to speak-4ut do not stop!-fly onward-to one 
reaching out from the mountain-one reaching toward you The iffling was 
bewildered by the cries, but propelled by their urgency.  The voices 
sounded so tired ... and yet they were the voices of its own kind, 
perhaps the very ones who had given it life.  As it drew closer to the 
flames, it perceived that they were weak indeed, like tiny candles 
flickering in a wind.  The iffling called out to them: -1 have come 
home!

I need help, and quickly!The iffling wanted desperately to fly to 
them, but a force like a wind seemed to deflect it away, and it heard a 
single voice commanding: -Fly onward!So great was its desire to unite 
with its parents that instinctively it fought the change in direction; 
but the memory of Jael, waiting to die, was enough to send it onward in 
obedience.  As it passed the flickering ones, the iffling sensed a 
great longing carried on the wind; and it realized that those tiny 
flames were joined to the distant fire ahead, or should have been.

They wanted to be joined to it again.  Instead of being able to give 
their child the help it needed, they were saying to it: Your work is 
not yet done.

The iffling sped onward.

It seemed to take forever ... but in time the iffling felt something 
new reaching out to it, something that was unlike any presence it had 
ever felt before.  And yet, it seemed to resonate within the iffling, 
as though it were a kind of presence that it had long been prepared to 
meet.  For an instant, it feared: Was it the Enemy?

The presence coiled around the iffling like a tiny whirlwind, and 
touched the iffling's thoughts with a remarkable gentleness and what 
seemed fear and astonishment.  And the iffling heard a voice in its 
thoughts that it somehow recognized as dragon.

My name is FullSky, the dragon whispered urgently.  Can you help me?

For the dragon, reaching with dwindling strength toward the region 
where he hoped Jael might be, the appearance of the iffling-child was a 
breathtaking surprise.  He had felt some force drawing him that way, 
but it wasn't until he touched the tiny, frightened being that he 
recognized it for what it was.

The iffling was even more surprised than he was, but the need in its 
thoughts was so clear that there was no time to lose.  FullSky opened 
his thoughts to it, crying out for news of Jael.  The iffling shared 
its knowledge in a bewildering cascade, and then he knew with 
terrifying certainty what the task was for which he had been guarding 
his last strength.

He already felt unutterably weary.  His kuutekka was stretched out 
through the underrealm, from his tortured body to the Dream Mountain, 
and then out to this strange plane where the iffling-child wandered.

It seemed impossible for him to accomplish what had been given to him 
to do.  But he already felt the realm groaning with battle in the Dark 
Vale, and he heard, as though across a vast sea, the cries of the 
outnumbered and terrified dragons; and he knew that he had no choice at 
all.

Help me, draconae, if you have any strength to lend!  he cried 
silently back along the thread, not imagining that anyone might hear.

And he cried aloud to the iffling: Take me to her!  Show me the way 
to Jael!


 Chapter 37


A CHOICE OF DEATH FACING JARVORUSthe animal, Jael was almost afraid 
to look into his thoughts.  Afraid that he might be telling the truth.

His words were terrifying, so terrifying she could hardly think 
straight.  And yet ... she had been willing to die once before, for 
Highwing.  Why not now-for Windrush, for the realm?

In truth, death no longer seemed as horrifying a prospect as it once 
might have.  She felt no other hope.  She was imprisoned, paralyzed, 
and unable to help herself or her friends.  Could death be any worse?

She felt the creature's thoughts touching hers, and she shrank from 
it-but she could no more avoid the touch now than before.  There was a 
difference this time, though.

jarvorus was allowing her to see beneath the rippling surface, to the 
hidden labyrinth of thoughts deeper within.

jarvorus was allowing her to see him as he really was.

It was an astounding revelation.  She was peering into the heart of a 
warrior-spirit, an iffling-imitator who had embarked upon a mission of 
blind obedience.  It owed its allegiance to the one who had created it, 
or claimed to have-who had transformed it from a sprite and instilled 
in it intelligence and a warrior's instinct, through the sorcery of 
Tar-skel.  But the sorcery had been administered by the one called 
Rent.  Jael was horrified to realize how completely Rent, a former 
rigger, had succumbed to the seductive power of the Nail.

Jael saw jarvorus' flickering memories of his past life as a simple 
sprite, and his capture and transformation in Rent's forge of sorcery.  
She saw him awakening in the static realm, where he had been sent to 
subvert the ifflings' plan to bring the One back to the realm.

She saw battle with the iffling,children, and shuddered as she saw 
them extinguished, all but one.  She saw jarvorus taking control in the 
dragon realm-and she felt a fresh wave of hopelessness, and anger, as 
she relived the springing of the trap.

And then ... she saw jarvorus changing, against his own will.  He 
began both to understand and to empathize with his adversaries.  She 
felt his confusion as he listened-first casually, then more closely-to 
her story, told in quiet desperation to Hodakai.  Jarvorus found 
himself unexpectedly moved by her words and her memories-moved by her 
friendship with a dragon, a friendship that would lead her to risk her 
life for him.  And Jael glimpsed, with astonishment, jarvorus' 
impulsive lie to his master, and his decision to set her free.

She felt his tension, his urgency.  jarvorus feared that he would not 
have the courage to take Jael's life, even if she offered it; he feared 
that Rent would come to take her before he could set her free.

Jael's heart tightened, as she glimpsed Rent's plan to take her and 
destroy her in the presence of the dragons.

With a shiver, she felt the link with Jarvorus dissolve.

She stared once more through the wall of her icy cell into the eyes 
of the strange animal form that Jarvorus had taken on-an awkward 
imitation of the ifflings' animal form, a creature with large eyes and 
sleek grey fur, and powerful jaws.  The form was more frightening than 
reassuring; this was the creature who had betrayed her, tricked her 
into a spell that could not be broken except by the Enemy, or by death.

She was stunned to realize that she believed him-believed that he was 
trying to offer her a way out that was better.  But was it, really!

It was clear that it had to be done quickly, if at all.

Through the fragmented net, she heard At muttering darkly-and nearby, 
she heard Ed rustling his wings and whispering incomprehensibly to 
himself.  Outside the net, Hodakai was flickering, apparently trying to 
decide what he thought about it all.  No one seemed certain, except 
jarvorus.

And ... perhaps ... her.

I believe you, she whispered to Jarvorus.  But what you ask is hard.

Yes.  But it is the only way.

But the way to do what?  You spoke of the Dream Mountainof meeting 
the dragons@ut you do not say how.  She imagined herself leaving her 
body, dead but not dead, and floating out over the mountains, lost 
forever.  She remembered Mogurn's death, when she had forced him out 
the airlock into the Flux, and she shuddered.

The creature bowed its head.  I cannot tell you, or show you.

You are human, I am not.  I do not know what is possible.  You must 
be ready for the final death.  But be certain-there is no life for you 
here.  Not any longer.

She nodded, frowning.  She wanted to turn again to At and Ed for 
help-but forced herself not to.  If she thought too hard about her 
friends, she would never be able to say yes, even if it was the right 
thing to say.

Rigger Jael, whispered jarvorus.  Time grows short.  Rent is coming.  
And I believe that the battle with the dragons may be commencing, even 
now.  If you wish to choose your own time and place, and not the Nail's 
...

Jael did not listen to the rest of his words.  She closed her eyes, 
remembering something Kan-Kon had said to her: "You're a rigger!

You can change things!"  She realized that she was weeping-for 
Kan-Kon, for her friends, for herself.

She forced herself to stop trembling.  Can you guarantee, she 
whispered, that it will be a blow against the enemies of Windrush@yen 
if I die the final death?

Jarvorus bobbed his head.  He seemed to grin joylessly.

I guarantee that it will make them very, very angry.

Jael stared at him and laughed out loud, through her tears.  All 
right, she murmured, her voice trembling.  Then tell me what you want 
me to do.  How are you going to get me out of this ice?

No-!

At's shout echoed and faded into the labyrinth of the twisted 
rerrmants of the net.  If Jael heard him, she didn't answer.  He wasn't 
sure it would have mattered.  When she made up her mind to do 
something, he didn't know any way of stopping her.  But he couldn't 
just let her agree to die.

Jael!  His voice sharpened to a tight, metallic shriek.  Don't let 
him do it!  Please!

I have to, she whispered.  There's no other way.

Her voice filled him with dread.  You don't know that!  he pleaded, 
but already she had turned her attention elsewhere.  Jael!

Several heartbeats passed, and he heard another voice floating to 
him, trying urgently to get his attention.  It was Hodakai.  You@hat's 
your name?-At!  Can you hear me?

Yes!  he answered.

The spirit was dancing urgently.  You must listen.  Listen carefully. 
 She is right-it may be the only way.

Not you too!  I don't believe it!

You do not know these weavings of power as I do.  Jarvorus is right-I 
see no way out of the spell except to interrupt it at its source.  And 
that source is her life.  It is woven into the very fabric of the 
spell.

But SOMEONE could stop it!  What about this Rent?

Hodakai's voice was low and bitter.  Don't be a fool!

They're keeping her alive for one reason, and that is to wilt the 
hearts of the dragons in the final battle.  She is-forgive me, Jael, 
friend of Kan-Kon!-she is as dead to your world now as I am.

At struggled for words.

And if you want her death to mean anything, to give any hopeNo, no, 
he wanted to cry.  He didn't care about hope or meaning.  He just 
wanted his friend to be free!  And alive!

He became aware of the voice of the only one who had not spoken.

Scrawwwww-Arrr-must do it@just give her the chance!

Ed, please don't-not you, too!

Melt the ice, rawwww!  It's the only way, scrawwk-k-k, it can work!

His confusion was turning to anger.  How do you know it can?

The parrot fluttered his wings violently.  We're riggers!

Rig-g-g-gers!  Melt the ice!  Hawwwwk-k-k!  Must give her the 
chanc@elt the ice!

Yes, that's it!  Hodakai cried.  Maybe we can do that for her!

Jarvorus!

The false-iffling's head flashed one way, then another.

Suddenly it rose up on its hind legs.  Yes!  it hissed.  I must have 
your help!  We must remove the ice barrier!  You must soften it, to let 
me in!  Use your powers!  Are you willing, Jael?

Through the twisted -net, At could see Jael staring wideeyed, and 
nodding her head, and speaking so softly that he could not hear.  But 
her lips seemed to be saying, Yes, you must ...

At could not speak.  Everyone else was set upon this insane course.  
But perhaps if he went along with them ... if they could soften the 
barrier ... melt the ice ...

Perhaps they could free her.  Not for death, but for life.

Surround her with heat, Hodakai said, glowing brighter.

At studied the effects of their efforts so far.  We haven't the 
strength for that.  But if we focus heat on the weak points, on the 
fracture lines ...

Jael, on the inside, looked frightened but determined.

There was a brief interplay between Hodakai's shadowfigure and the 
inner glow of his spirit jar, then a thin beam of light shot out, 
striking the surface of the ice.  Hodakai retained his rigger's ability 
to craft images-but was it enough to help?

Jael, you must try to melt it from within, At whispered, formulating 
his own image-a fine plane of fire cutting like a scalpel at a flaw in 
the ice.  But it was hard to distinguish the ice of the binding from 
the fracture zones in the net.

Carefully, he thought.  Carefully!

His words were punctuated by the sound of Ed tapping with his beak, 
testing other points in the ice.  Ruck-k-k ... ruck-k-k ...

The false-iffling scurried around the barrier, hissing, as it watched 
their efforts.  It was growing frantic.  You must hurry!

Rent will be coming!  More heat!  You must melt it all!  Use your 
anger!  Use your anger for heat!

Suddenly At understood what Jarvorus was talking about.  He was full 
of anger-rage at Tar-skel, who had threatened the realm in the first 
place and rage at jarvorus, who had tricked Jael into a death sentenc@d 
rage at himself, for allowing it to happen!

A sullen glow radiated from his fragment of the net, fueled by his 
anger.  Outside the net, he could see jarvorus prompting Hodakai, until 
a similar glow emerged from the captured rigger-spirit.  Damn you!  he 
whispered to himself Melt@amn you!  If he had to burn out the 
rigger-net to free her, that's what he would do.

It's working!  jarvorus hissed, dancing close.  The ice was 
shrinking, growing thinner around Jael.  The false-iffling was 
quivering with excitement.  It's working!

Jael-if you can, spring, when we've melted through!  he whispered 
silently.  Be ready, Jael!  She was peering out at jarvorus now, eyes 
wide with fear.  Be ready!  At cried inwardly, not wanting to say it 
aloud, not wanting jarvorus to know that he was hoping to free her 
alive.

Almost, jarvorus whispered.  The ice flashed and evaporated from her 
face and head.

More!  she gasped.  I'm almost out!

At couldn't contain himself any longer.  The ice broke away from her 
shoulders and arms with great clouds of steam.  Jael!  he screamed.

BE READY TO BREAK OUT!

BE READY TO FLY!

He could see her struggling to move; but her arms, though free of 
ice, moved as though she were caught in a thick liquid.  I can't, At!

Don't try--please!  Just let me-!

She cannot!  cried the false-iffling, seeing what At was intending.  
She will be caught by Rent!  You must let me-ah, there!

The last of the ice vanished with a sudden sparkle of heat.  But 
there remained a glimmering light surrounding her like a force field, 
and At realized with a shock that they had only broken through one 
outer barrier.  She remained bound in the spell; her eyes caught his, 
and in them he saw her despair and her desperation.  She could move her 
limbs only a little; she could not flee, or move the ship at all.

That's enough, jarvorus said throatily.  For a moment, his form 
seemed to flicker, now an animal, now an ifflingflame.  Jael, it is 
time ... if you would have me do this!

At felt his breath explode in helpless protest: NO-!

As the last of the ice melted, doubt suddenly rose up like a towering 
wave in jarvorus' mind.  He heard Rent's voice, with the force of a 
howling typhoon.  KEEP THIS ONE UNTIL I ARRIVE!  It felt as though his 
master's hand were pressing down upon him, forcing him to abide by his 
instructions.  But he no longer wanted to please Rent.  He had already 
decided.  I have made up my mind.  I will not do what Rent wants.  I 
cannot.  I must not ...

Only one thing enabled him to persevere, and that was the sight of 
Jael, the ice barrier gone, her eyes filled with fear and with a 
longing for freedom.  jarvorus pressed his thoughts to hers, felt her 
quiet desperation, and her doubt.

It was killing her to wait, while her friends cried out their grief 
... and she was starting to wonder: Was At right?

Could she escape?

jarvorus grieved for her.  Jael, he whispered, Rent is surely on his 
way.  You cannot move, you cannot escape him any other way.

The heat of At's and Hodakai's efforts flashed around him, sheets of 
fire on his body.  He instinctively began slipping back into 
nonphysical form, but he needed the animal form to do what he must do.

He flickered between the two forms, as he bounded through the 
softening protective layer of the binding.  At was trying to free her 
physically, but there was no hope of that, and Jarvorus had no time to 
expain.

At last he faced Jael within the glimmering confines of the inner 
spell.  It is time, he whispered, from his solid form.

Are you ready?  She nodded, and her eyes seemed terribly bright as 
she turned her head, presenting her neck to him.

I will be quick.  Farewell, my new friend!  he hissed.

Baring his teeth, he sprang.

The world was on fire.  Jael could make out nothing, except the heat 
pummeling the icy prison that held her.  At had come to agree with her 
after all, then-and Ed, and Hodakai.  She was nearly overcome with 
terror-she did not want to die-but even in the midst of the fire, she 
knew it was the only way.  Hurry!  she thought to the others.  Before I 
lose my courage!  Oh, Windrush-At-Ed-!

As the ice vanished, she felt an instant of hop@then felt the 
molasses resistance of the spell, and heard Jarvorus' words: Rent is 
coming!  And she knew there was no other hope.  She heard the others 
calling out to each other, but her ears were pounding and she could 
scarcely make out a word.  Jarvorus' shadowy animal shape was bounding 
through the barrier.  It was shimmering, now shadow now flame now 
shadow.  And its voice was whispering in her thoughts ...

Bow your head ... I will be quick ...

The tears came even as she obeyed.  She averted her eyes so that she 
would not have to see him strike.  She felt another sudden movement, 
and a rustling presence ballooning into her mind, crying out urgently, 
Jayyyyyyyllll, awwwwk, come with youuuu ... !  She could do nothing to 
stop Ed's sudden flashing movement, joining himself to her, and she 
couldn't help weeping with joy ... and with grief for At ...

His voice rang through the net, a terrible cry: JaelNOOO!

She felt a moment of terrible doubt.  Ed was wailing softly within 
her ...

jarvorus sprang, and she glimpsed a flash of shadow-fire: jarvorus' 
fangs, as they plunged into her throat.  The pain was instantaneous, a 
searing fire-and the realization that it was don@then a shock of ice, 
and a great wave of dizziness.  After the first moment, she no longer 
felt pain, but only the dizziness of consciousness beginning to slip 
away.

There were voices calling to her, but failing ... growing inaudible.  
The binding spell was dissolving, fading against the sky like stars 
against a dawn; the ship slung to her back was falling away, drifting 
free; the tortured and fractured net no longer surrounded her.

She was drifting away ... the pain was gone, but so were her friends 
... she cried out to them, but they were receding ...

She thought dimly that there must be something more to it than this 
... some way to reach to her friends Windrush!

some way to help At!  some way to help, some way not to die!

... but now she could no longer even see the cavern, it was not so 
much like rising, as she had always imagined it, but rather expanding, 
growing thinner, thinner ... so this was what it was like to die, 
whispered a voice like a faint breath of wind.

There was a vague sense of mountains around her, and beneath her, and 
above her, and nowhere to go, nothing and no one to save her....

Chapter 38

DEATH AND FREEDOM THE LIFE-MONITOR alarms clamored in the net.

At watched jarvorus strike-felt Jael's passing, like a flame through 
his heart.  He screamed, NOOO!  But it was too late.  In his effort to 
free her, he had only opened the way to her death.

As the binding spell dissolved, she began to grow transparent in the 
net.  At cried out, helpless to stop what was happening.  She wavered 
and vanished from the net.  For an instant, she seemed to take form 
again on the outside, adrift in the Flux; then she flickered like a 
ghost, and was gone.

Jael ... Jael ... Jael ... !  When he finally managed to stop 
shouting her name, not just aloud, but in his mind, he knew that it was 
over.  Had he heard her crying out to him at the end?  He wasn't sure.

An internal indicator flared red in the net, warning of critical 
life-signs in rigger-station number two.  Auto-resuF, citation had 
switched on, but was cycling without effect.  At cursed the alarm and 
shut it off.  He couldn't get out of the net to go to her physical aid, 
even if he knew of anything he could do that the auto-unit couldn't.

He was helpless.

He had no chance to think about it further.  The tensions in the net 
were shifting drastically.  Jael's side of the net fluttered and closed 
down, like a bubble collapsing.  At's side expanded abruptly into the 
space; he gasped with the sudden power rushing into the net, and 
realized that he had been frozen in various vectors of movement, like a 
wrestler caught in mid-struggle, a dozen muscles pulling in different 
directions.  With the sudden release of power, the ship began spinning 
and tumbling, and he had to act frantically to neutralize his control 
inputs and damp down the movements.

He had control of the ship again, at least-however damaged the net.  
The interference between his station and Jael's was now gone, along 
with Jael herself.  He recognized the cause of his new freedom, and 
shuddered with grief, which rocked the ship yet again.  He knew he had 
to control his thoughts, and discover what forces were acting upon the 
ship, and understand them.

He stretched his hands into the Flux and felt the air shaking 
violently.  It was not just his internal struggle, then; the whole 
cavern was shaking, and Hodakai had contracted in his jar to a tiny, 
dark shadow.  At could no longer see the false-iffling.  Ed, are you 
with me?  Hodakai?  Jarvorus?

WHAT'S HAPPENING?

It was all he could do to keep the ship from careening sideways into 
the cavern walls.  There seemed to be an earthquake shaking the 
mountain, and he had no idea how to protect himself and the ship.  He 
didn't know how to get out of the cavern, and anyway, he was loath to 
leave the place where Jael had vanished.  How could he be sure she was 
gone for good?  How could he know she was ... dead?

Enough!  he snapped aloud.  You have a ship to bring incontrol your 
thoughts!  And his voice caught, because what did he care about 
bringing in the ship, if it meant leaving his friend behind?

STOP-THINKINCI-!  he shouted to himself, until his voice echoed from 
the walls of the cavern.

Against the din, he at last heard a small voice calling out to him: 
At!  At, friend of Jael!  The realm trembles!  The One has come, and 
given her life!  The sorcery has been shaken!  Can You feel it?

Who was that?  Jarvorus?  At scanned the area and finally saw the 
false-iffling, crouching low in its animal form.  Its eyes were wild 
with fear and excitement.

Is this what you intended?  At shouted.

It has begun!  cried the false-iffling.  She has torn the sorcery!

Even the Nail of Strength cannot undo it now.  But the danger is not 
passed!

Flee!  cried another voice, quaking with fright.  Warn the people!

Go home!  It was Hodakai, dashing violently from one side of his 
containment to the other.  Take word!  Take warning!  Go!

At stared at him.  Take warning?  To whom?  How?  But there was no 
waiting for an answer, because at that moment a tremendous crack 
appeared in the cavern walls, forward and back, and through the floor.

My sacred word, At whispered.  The cavern was splitting open like an 
eggshell, and through the opening he could see only a roiling darkness.

Hodakail do you know what's happening-?

But he had no chance to finish, because he and his ship were suddenly 
falling....

Hodakai watched in astonishment as the rigger-ship, a distorted 
silvery shadow with the ghostly shape of a Clendornan at its prow, 
tumbled through the crevasse that gaped open in his cavern.  It 
vanished, twinkling, into the abyss.

The realm was shaking and he feared for his own survival, oh yes-but 
somehow the thing that hurt the worst was watching the only rigger-ship 
that he had seen in half a lifetime vanish from sight.

Where was it falling to?  Back to the static realm?  Or to somewhere 
else in the Flux?  It hardly mattered.  At and the ship were gone.

And so was Jael.  He had seen her spirit gather and vanish like 
smoke, and whether her role was done now, he couldn't guess, but one 
thing he knew, and that was that Rent was going to be angry.  Oh yes, 
he would be angry.

And for once, Hodakai felt no ambivalence about it.  He was 
thrilled-and terrified, yes, but ecstatic that they had subverted the 
Enemy's plan.  Yes, t Enemy.  is enemy.

There was no going back on that now.

He wished that Windrush would come, so that he could tell the dragon 
what he had done.  But of course that was impossible.  The dragons were 
battling for their lives at this very moment, and the fact that he and 
Jael and the others had just double-crossed Tar-skel here didn't mean 
that the dragons were going to prevail.  They were all still very much 
in danger.

Jarvmw!  he called across the shaking cavern, across the abyss, 
looking for the false-iffling.  Jarvorus, what do you see?

Have we struck a good blow?  Is she-?

And there his voice failed him, because he could not bring himself to 
say the words, to ask, is she dead?

The false-iffling didn't answer, anyway.

Turning restlessly, Hodakai probed a short way into the underrealm, 
looking for any sign of Jael.  The only thing he could really do was to 
reach out to Rent, and to crow about what they'd done here.  But though 
he was exultant, he was not that exultant.  He would keep his triumph 
to himself just a little longer.

And anyway, things were shaking terribly down in the underrealm: the 
familiar channels and pathways were buried or swept away by earthquake, 
wind and storm, and fire.

He pulled out, gasping, and clung to his existence in the spirit jar, 
in the cavern.  It was like clinging to the surface of an avalanche; 
the spell that kept him alive here was holding, but for how much 
longer?

Jarvorus, talk to me!  he cried, searching the cavern with his gaze.

But Jarvorus seemed to have vanished.

The warrior-spirit huddled in a pocket of the underrealm, stunned by 
the cataclysm that they seemed to have unleashed.  Were the Words so 
powerful?  He knew, of course, that they were something that caused his 
former masters both tremendous hope and tremendous fear.  But were they 
so deeply woven into the sorcery that they could cause all this to 
happen?

Jarvorus knew that he had tampered with powers greater than he could 
ever understand.  Rent would be here soon, was almost certainly on his 
way here at this instant; and if jarvorus was lucky, if he was very 
lucky, his death would be quick.  He was not sorry, he did not think 
that he was sorry, but he was very, very frightened.  The 
sprite-warriors that he commanded had all fled in terror.  He wasn't 
sure why he stayed himself, except that he had nowhere to go.

This cavern was the closest thing he had to a home-here, where he had 
shared in Jael's momentous death.  And here he would live or die in 
consequence of that act.

These forces shaking the cavern were, he perceived, only echoes of 
far greater powers that were cascading through the distant reaches of 
the underrealm.  He hoped he would be able to detect Rent coming, in 
the confusion.

Not that it mattered in the end.  He had done what he had been born 
to do, and that was what mattered.

As Seneca tumbled through the violently shifting currents in the 
Flux, At fought to regain control.  Was he alone now?

Was Ed gone, too?  He couldn't see where he was going, and had no 
outside references; but it felt as though something was pulling the 
ship onward, something that was disturbing the whole fabric of the Flux 
here.  More of Tar-skel's sorcery?

Even as he fought back spatial disorientation, his mind was wheeling 
through useless lines of thought.  Hodakai had urged him to go warn the 
home universe.  What was he supposed to do?  Return to Cargeeling and 
announce that the universe was in peril from a terrible, invisible evil 
somewhere in the Flux?

Please, he whispered to the darkness, this cannot be real, cannot be 
happening.  Jael, speak to me!  Ed!  But he had sensed Ed diving into 
Jael's consciousness, just before she had died.  Could he have 
survived?

He felt the answer before he heard it, a nudge at the front of the 
net, a snapping of wings.  Ed!  he gasped.  He tried to bring light 
into the net, just a faint instrument-glow of light, so as not to 
dazzle himself against the darkness outside.

The parrot was flying to and fro, almost drunkenly.  He was trying to 
orient himself, trying to find up and down.

His green feathers gleamed in the light At had created.  Ed, At 
whispered.  I thought I felt you go over to Jael!  I thought you went 
with her!

The rasp of the parrot's voice was a balm to his spirit.

Rrrrawk.  Did go.  Did.  Ed wheeled and flew straight into At's gaze. 
 He could feel the parrot's thoughts collide with his, then spin away, 
trying to help him wrestle the ship back under control.  Ed split.  
Hawuwwkment both ways!  Ed dizzy.  What happening, Arrr?

What-t-t-t?

At took a sharp breath.  Ed had split?  But of course, he was a 
cyberparrot, all pattern and artificial intelligence.  Of course he 
could duplicate himself.

Fly, At-awwwk!  What happening?

I don't know, At murmured.  Jael's gone, Ed-gone!  We killed her, 
Jarvorus killed her.  He tried to find purchase in the currents with a 
set of short, stubby wings.  There was something ahead ... something 
drawing them closer ... something that made him fearful.

Hau,wwwk-k!  Gone yes!  Ed squawked, joining him in the effort.

Maybe not killed!  Maybe not!  Scrawwww!

Ed, it won't help to deny it.  At saw something ahead now, a dull 
reddish glow in the far distance.  He was regaining control over the 
ship, at least enough to ride through the shuddering changes in the 
flow; and that glowing thing, whatever it was, gave him a reference to 
fix upon.  Jael, where are you?  he cried, deep in his heart, amazed 
that a Clendornan could so hurt for a human.  Where have you gone?  Did 
you find Windrush before you died?  Did we kill you for anything good?

Don't know she died, Ed insisted, chopping his beak in At's 
direction.

Ed, there's just no way-4ook at the monitors in the riggerstations.  
His voice caught as he looked himself Life-signs in her station have 
ceased, he whispered.  And he realized that he had just pronounced the 
evidence against any remaining hope he might have had.

Aawwrrrrr, Ed growled, gargling.  Does Ed live?  DOES HE?  Ed taken 
from his body!  And Ed WENT with Jayyyl!

Flapping his wings angrily, Ed shot back to the front of the net and 
stretched it as far as it would go, scanning ahead toward the red thing 
that was drawing them on.

At stared dumbly at the parrot.  Ed lived in the net with him, 
through cyberchip technology, though his body was long since gone.

Could Jael have somehow survived?  And Ed had sent his memories and 
personality with Jael.  At wondered if Ed was so angry right now 
because he wasn't with her-this half of him wasn't with her.  Ed, do 
you really think she ... could have survived, somehow?

Hawwwww, don't ... KNOW Ed wailed, flapping from side to side ahead 
of him.

Then hope, Ed!  At thought silently.  And help me hope.

The thing ahead of them was beginning to loom like object of 
substantial mass and size.  It appeared that this waans the object that 
was drawing them forward.  It was a sullen red thing, surrounded by a 
spiraling veil of gas and dust.

Sacred word, Ed-is that a black hole ahead of us?  At whispered in 
shock, realizing that he should have recognized the danger long ago.

Rawk-k-k?  Hawww?  Ed asked, casting a frightened glance back at him.

Ed clearly did not know what a black hole was, and At didn't have 
time to explain.  If that's what it was, he needed or they would be 
following Jael in death a lot to act at once, sooner than he'd thought.

There was a very strong current carrying them, and up to now, he had 
not tried to steer out of it.  He was completely lost, navigationally, 
and wasn't even sure that they were in a charted layer of the Flux.

But a quick check of the instruments revealed that, indeed, the 
object out there was distorting space on a cosmic scale.  it was a 
singularity of some sort, and though he couldn't be sure that it was a 
normal@space black hole, the readings indicated that they were fast 
approaching the epicenter of a cataclysmic disturbance.

Ed, shear off!  If we fall into that thing ahead, we'll be crushed!  
At made a fast judgment as to which direction offered them the best 
hope of veering free-and kicking the ship over sharply on its stubby 
wings, he began a slow crawl across the main current.

The parrot saw what he was doing, and bent his wings to help him.

It was like crossing a turbulent sea on a raft, fighting their way 
across a water roiling with cross-chop.  At tried, for the sake of 
clarity, to remake the image that way; but either the net was too badly 
damaged or At was too exhausted from his uninterrupted time in the net, 
because his efforts were futile.  The current was dark and invisible, 
and they had to fight ceaselessly to keep the ship from tumbling out of 
control.

At realized, as he stared at the glowing thing, just how weary he 
was.  But he could not let up, he could not even pause to mourn his 
lost friend and shipmate, he could only fight to cross the increasingly 
powerful currents, fight to save his ship.  And not just that, he 
realized with a flash of horror.  Once they escaped this-if they 
escaped it-they needed to discover if this terrible thing was the 
beginning of Tar-skel's breakthrough into the static realm, into At's 
own universe.

With a glance at Ed, laboring in his small way to help steer the 
ship, At realized that he had to keep hoping, had to do whatever he 
could to ensure that Jael had not given her life in vain.

The singularity before them glowed ever brighter as they drew closer 
to it.  Gradually its light, scattering through the gas and dust around 
them, began to illuminate the actual currents-and At began to hope, for 
the first time, that he might indeed be able to fly his way out.

Chapter 39

TO THE DREAM MOUNTAIN IT WAS the most difficult challenge of his 
life.  As FullSky stretched farther and farther into the underrealm, 
following the speeding iffling, he felt that at any moment he would 
stretch past the limit, and his kuutekka would part from his body 
forever, and this was where he would die.  The underrealm here seemed a 
hollow void; but he felt the chaos of battle in the Dark Vale booming 
like a distant drum.  He knew that time was growing short.

Somehow he did not reach the limit of his strength.  As the small, 
fiery iffling vanished into a nest of underrealm spells deep within a 
mountain, FullSky felt a sudden renewal of his energy, and he knew that 
somehow the draconae were lending him strength through the underrealm 
connection.  He plunged into the mountain, and found himself peering 
with astonishment at a place he recognized-Hodakai's cavern.

Floating in the cavern near the spirit jar was a strange gathering of 
beings: the iffling, a false-iffling, and several unfamiliar creatures 
existing within a gleaming vessel that he imagined to be a rigger-ship. 
 He realized at once that one of them, caught in a web of sorcery, was 
Jael.  The iffling streaked back to him, whispering, Hurry, dragon-if 
you can do anything to help!

It took FullSky a long heartbeat to understand what was happening.

And by then, Jael was dying.  Suddenly FullSky knew that a staggering 
betrayal had just occurred-not against the riggers, but against the 
Enemy.  The cavern had begun to shake, and many of the spells woven 
around it were unraveling.

But Jael was dying.  Had he come only to watch her pass to the Final 
Dream Mountain?

HELP HER!  screamed the iffling, its voice a torn whistle of wind.

It took FullSky a fraction of an instant, which was almost longer 
than he had, to come to his senses and begin crafting a weaving through 
the threads of the underrealm.  It was his fastest and most perilous 
weaving yet; he cast it breathlessly around the dying spirit of the 
rigger.  Her kuutekka was already expanding, stretching, thinning, 
searching in desperation for that which she could not see or find ...

Not yet, Jael!  FullSky whispered, pouring his remaining strength 
into the spell.  I will not let you go to the Final Dream The tides of 
space and time seemed to sway her this way and that in the fuzzy 
strangeness that was death.  She knew she was no longer a part of the 
world, that she was caught up and carried by forces beyond her 
reckoning; but the strangest thing, as she came to be aware of it, was 
that she was aware of anything at all.

I have died.

I am not dead.

Nor am I alive.

Is this the life that lies beyond life?

There was a murmuring presence around her, and she thought she heard 
a voice answer, No, you are not going to the Final Dream Mountain, not 
yet.  But before she could even wonder what that meant, she felt 
threads of power coming out of nowhere to gather around her-and she 
felt a surge, then a whistling, dizzying movement, spinning her like a 
whirlwind in the net.  But she was not in the net; she was not 
anywhere; she felt no awareness of body, or sight or sound, or smell or 
taste or touch.

And yet ...

She felt herself riding a fantastic, invisible thread of power 
through a sky that had no height or depth or substance.  There was a 
booming presence of life around her, but distant; and closer to her was 
another presence, and something about it spoke the word dragon in her 
heart.

We are almost there, whispered the voice she had heard before.

And there we shall be gathered in, and perhaps you can find again the 
life you have lost ...

And then the voice, once more, was lost on the wind.

But she knew now that it had been a dragon voice-not Windrush, but 
perhaps someone close to him.  It all felt exceedingly odd to her, and 
again she said, I have died, haven't I?  Is this where dragons go when 
they die?

There was no answer, but only that rushing sensation that was neither 
sound-sense nor touch-sense, but something deeper within her.

And then she felt everything slowhave died, and yet not died.

There is little time to explain.  We need you more urgently now than 
ever.

And another, more melodious, voice said, Welcome, Jael, to the Dream 
Mountain.

Her sense of sight came slowly back to her, though she had no idea 
how.  She found she could only gaze in amazement and wonder.  This was 
the Dream Mountain, of which Windrush had spoken so long ago?  It was 
like a great cathedral of translucent glass ... and in its center, a 
darkness, within which burned a fire like a hot forge.  The fire was 
enclosed by powerfully woven threads of underrealm magic, which she 
could see but not comprehend.  The fire, the magic, and the darkness 
were all contained within the Mountain, the outlines of which were 
sketched by a vast shadow-presence of stone.

It took her a little while to realize that she was inhabiting several 
layers of the Flux at once.  She was inside a mountain, but in the 
underrealm; and in this place there was a sharp boundary point in the 
continuum, and that boundary was something extraordinary to behold.

There is much to make clear, sang a low voice which she at once knew 
was a female dragon.

Mountain.  Not yet.  We need you too much here ... resting, and 
regathering ... and she suddenly felt an astounding sense of safety and 
enclosure.  And then the voice said, You But we cannot take the time, 
or the Forge of Dreams may fall to the Enemy, cried another.

The voices were a distraction.  She was fascinated by that ghostly 
fire in the center; it created in her a strange and irrational mix of 
fear and wonderment.  The fire, she perceived, did not exist just in 
one particular layer of the Flux; it penetrated through the layers, and 
within its woven enclosure, it seemed to warp and twist the space that 
immedi@ lately surrounded it.  It gave off tremendous energy, which was 
somehow being channeled by the draconae's weaving of magic here in the 
Dream Mountain.

It was, she realized, a space-time singularity.  At the heart of the 
Dream Mountain.  The Forge of Dreams.

Even as she considered the name of the singularity-fire, she realized 
that she was connected to it now; it was the powers of the dreamfire 
that gave her life.

Her thoughts and memories were expanding into the darkness like 
little puffs of air into a vacuum.  She saw memories gleaming around 
her like raindrops in the sun: memories of her father, helping her and 
cursing her; of her mother, trying and failing to shield her from the 
darkly mercurial person her father had become; of friends in rigger 
,school who could never quite gain her trust; of Mogurn, who enslaved 
her; of Highwing, who freed her; of At, who befriended her; of Ed ...

In this strange realm of energy and darkness, surrounded by voices 
that were trying to gain her attention, she wept silently for all those 
people who had been a part of her life.

Especially, she wept for At, and for Ed.

It was Ed's voice that brought her back, away from those glittering 
memories: (Hawwww, Jayyyl ... very, scrawunv, interes-s-s-s-ting place 
here, awwwwk?  How do you like-k-ke being f-f-f-freee like a bird-d-d, 
hawwww?) (Ed?) she whispered in astonishment.  And then she remembered, 
Ed had joined himself to her in her passage to ... death, or whatever 
this was, if not death.  How did she like being free?  She remembered a 
memory of Ed's she had witnessed once, when she had "rescued" him from 
a recreational cyberbank: the parrot's own recollection of being 
captured, his memories and personality being siphoned out of his 
physical body.  Now she understood what a terrible shock it must have 
been to him.

(Hawwww, yes ... ) But Ed was not the only one speaking.  The 
draconae were becoming more insistent.

You have come, and the realm is trembling.

But it may yet fall.

Help us, Jael, friend of Highwing ...

With a great rush, the urgency of the struggle closed back in upon 
her, and she was aware now not just of voices, but of the quick, 
shimmering movements of glassy beings within this mountain.  What she 
saw were the ghostly presences of the draconae in the underrealm.  They 
were singing desperately, Will you trust us, friend of Highwing?

And at last she managed to answer, I trust any friend of Highwing.

Is he ... here among you?

She felt a surge of energy, as though by speaking she had somehow 
loosed a reservoir of powers.  His spirit lives in the Final Dream 
Mountain, sighed one of the voices.  But not precisely among us, though 
we have often felt his presence.

Jael tried not to show her disappointment.  Are you his friends?

I am ... Jael, friend of Highwing.

The answer was a rippling choir of voices.

Lavafire, friend of HighwingCoolTouch, friend of Highwin@ Gentlesong, 
friend of HighwingStarchime, friend of HighwingStrongthought, friend of 
HighwingStarfire, friend of HighwingDeeprock, friend of HighwingThe 
names streamed by in a torrent, more than she could count.  With each 
one she glimpsed the sparkling presence of a dracona, and felt the 
surge of a fiery soul.  Finally she heard a different voice, the one 
that had come with her from the Cavern of Spirits.  I am FullSky, 
brother of Windrush, it whispered, speaking with difficulty.  Highwing 
was my father.  And she felt something different about that one, not 
just that he was a male, one of the draconi, but that he was present 
here in a more tenuous and perilous fashion.

She recognized great pain and weariness in him, and glimpsed the 
sacrifice of strength that he had made to bring her here.  And even 
now, he was laboring, crafting a final spell for her.

That realization made her tremble.  But she knew that, whatever it 
was he was preparing, it was something she could not refuse.

Then, my friends, she whispered, tell me what it is you want me to 
do.

Chapter 40 WINDOW IN THE BATTLE IN THE smoke and confusion of battle, 
Windrush dropped away from a trio of drahls that were pursuing him-or 
seemed to be.  The Enemy's sorcery was endlessly confusing, not just to 
him, but to all of the dragons.  The air was full of smoke and mirrors; 
everything was twisted and doubled and tripled, and nothing was as it 
seemed.  Drahls and Tar-skel dragons had attacked in great numbers.  
But sometimes they were where they seemed to be, and sometimes they 
weren't.  Many true dragons had already fallen, demi feated as much by 
confusion as by the invincibility of the foe.

The dragon flights were in disarray, and Windrush could smell the 
discouragement in the air.  The leaders shouted orders and 
encouragement, but their words were lost in the tumult.  The dragons 
were losing confidence, and the illusion spells cast by the Enemy were 
growing stronger.

Windrush blew angry fire as he dove, and a cluster of drahls below 
him scattered in alarm.  But above him, four others were still bearing 
down.  Windrush veered and climbed sharply, then fell sideways into 
another dive.  That seemed to shake the drahls; but he was even deeper 
now in the abyss of smoke, and it felt as if he would never climb out.

Help us!  he cried silently to the emptiness of the world, to the 
father who was gone, to the rigger who had not gotten through.

An instant later, he felt a violent shudder like a wind shear pass 
through the air, and he thought he heard a voice cry out to him.  He 
nearly succumbed to a sudden dizziness and an unaccountable grief 
welling up out of his heart.  He felt certain that a great power had 
just passed through the underrealm.  The air was still shaking.  But 
far from feeling like a Tar-skel sorcery, it felt like a sorcery coming 
unwoven.

He felt a great rush of wind, and the smoke that had coiled 
everywhere, enclosing the world, was suddenly torn away like a great 
curtain, revealing the land below.  Windrush pulled up with a startled 
gasp; he was very low in the Dark Vale, speeding perilously close to 
dark pinnacles of stone and sharp-edged rock walls.  The air overhead 
was filled with the swarming figures of dragons and drahls, vapor and 
flames, cries and screams.  For the first time since the battle had 
begun, he could see his enemies clearly.  And there were many of them, 
but not so many as he had thought.

He climbed to rejoin the fight; but even as he did so, he found 
himself distracted.  Whatever had just happened, he knew that someone 
or something had touched him in that moment, touched his heart as it 
fled through the underrealm.  But what-or who?  Keeping a wary eye on 
the fight, he focused back on the sensation.  What he had felt was a 
whisper of death, the passing of someone to the Final Dream Mountain.

Farsight?  he thought, with a sudden dread.  But no, no dragon's 
death would have shaken the underrealm so.  But whose death would?

Jael!  he whispered silently to the air.  Jael, no!

He had heard the fleeting cry, but not recognized it.  And now it was 
gone, and so was the presence that had touched him.  He felt a new and 
burning emptiness in his soul.  As surely as he rode the winds of 
battle in the Dark Vale, he knew that Jael had just died.  And if Jael 
was gone, so was any hope for the realm.

He drew a breath and thundered his rage and anguish into the air: 
"NOOOOOOOO-!"  So loud was his cry that a group of drahls scattered, 
and several dragons veered in mid-maneuver.  "NOOOOOOO!  "he cried 
again.  "JAEE-E-L-L-L-L!  " His cry echoed back from the floor of the 
Dark Vale, reverberating from one wall to the other.  It seemed to 
still the battle for a moment.  Windrush realized, too late, that it 
had been a cry of despair, and that it had been heard by all of the 
other dragons.  He knew he should bellow something, some encouragement, 
to keep his brothers from losing heart, but he found no words of hope 
in him as he climbed to rejoin the battle.

A shriek rose in the air from the drahis-a sound of triumph, as if 
they too had sensed the passing of Jael.  But it was a confused and 
wavering call, as if they were a little unsure of their triumph.

Nevertheless, they wheeled in the air and attacked with renewed fury.

Windrush fought alongside his companions, but his fighting spirit was 
gone.  He glanced down into the shadows of the vale, wondering if Jael 
had died in that grim place; and he wondered where down there the real 
Enemy, Tarskel, was hiding.  It hardly mattered now.  This battle was 
the last for dragonkind.

Angry and sullen, he lashed out against a Tar-skel dragon, raking it 
spinning through the air.  But his vigor gave out quickly.  A blast of 
freezing drahl fire caught the top of his left wing, and he swooped 
dizzyingly and knocked the drahl from the sky even as he reeled from 
the pain.  At the same time, he saw two of his brothers, set upon by 
traitor-dragons, tumble out of the air and vanish.

The true-dragon force was dwindling.  Windrush veered and swooped, 
weeping inwardly at the approaching end of his kind.

He was roused from his misery by an angry outcry: "STONEBINDER!

YOU LYING TRAITOR!"  Startled, Windrush banked and flew toward the 
source of the shout.

He saw SearSky ahead, circling in a tight dueling orbit with the 
dragon who had betrayed them all, before their failed attack on the 
east camp.  Even from a distance, Windrush could see the fury in 
SearSky's eyes, and the fear in Stonebinder's.  "I hope you're ready to 
die, you betrayer of friends!"  SearSky snarled.

Stonebinder squawked unsteadily, fire hissing from his mouth, "You're 
already beaten, SearSky!  Can't you see it?

It's hopeless!"

The two circled, glaring at each other.

Windrush saw two drahls dropping toward the black warrior's back.

"SearSky!  Drahls behind!"  he shouted, increasing his speed.

SearSky turned sharply, raking Stonebinder with flame; then he 
pitched up and over to meet the drahls.  One was fast, and caught him 
with freezing flame on the right wing.

SearSky faltered for an instant, then burned the other drahl from the 
sky.  The first was almost back upon him, when Hailfar swept down past 
it, knocking it away with an angry shout.

Stonebinder emerged from SearSky's flame and saw the diversion that 
the drahls had given him.  Before any other dragon could intervene, 
Stonebinder shot past SearSky and clawed him, once, before fleeing.  
That was Stonebinder's final mistake.  SearSky roared in pursuit, with 
Windrush finally pulling up to flank him.

The cries of other dragons filled the air as they plunged through the 
tumult of the battle.  "STONEBINDERTRAITOR!"  "KILL HIM, SEARSKY!"

"FOR THE LUMENS!"  No one got in the way as SearSky caught the 
traitor's wingtip, spun him in the air, and seized him with both hind 
and foreclaws.  They began falling, together.

SearSky bellowed his rage into Stonebinder's face, then blasted him 
with the full force of his fire.  Stonebinder writhed helplessly as 
they fell through the air.  Then he turned to glass in SearSky's grip 
and vanished.  SearSky broke out of the fall, favoring his right wing, 
but rumbling in satisfaction.

"Well done, SearSky!"  Windrush called, then turned, sweeping the 
area, in momentary respite from the battle.  In that instant, he felt 
something new in his undersense.  What now?  he whispered, dizzy with 
exhaustion.

Come see ... she lives ... he thought he heard.

What?  he cried silently, afraid that he was going mad.

Jael lives ... a voice called, from very far away.

Windrush felt hope and rage burn together in his heart.

Who was this, calling to him in the heat of battle?

The voice struggled to be heard.  It is FullSky!  There is no time to 
lose!  Let me show you, in the under-realm!

Stunned, Windrush broke farther from the battle, seeking a place of 
relative quiet.  There was a fractured pinnacle rising up below him.

He spiraled down and landed, aware of the risk he was taking.  But he 
had no choice.  Farsight!  he hissed in his undervoice, not wanting to 
draw attention to himself.  I am landing to seek FullSky in the 
underrealm.  Guard me if you can!

Without waiting for an answer, he closed his eyes and sank into the 
underweb of the world.

He passed at once into a window of silence.  He felt FullSky's 
presence, invisibly accompanying him.  My brother!  he thought, but had 
no time for more.  He was drawn instantly down a fine-stranded 
connection, and his kuutekka materialized in a place he had visited 
once before-flying fast and low over verdant lowlands, toward a sunset 
over the sea.  And high over the sea, floating on a cloud, was the 
Dream Mountain, a white fire blazing within its glass vastness.

I have already seen this, he rumbled impatiently, wondering why it 
mattered now.

We haven't much time!  See what has happened!  Speak with her!

Stunned, Windrush flew higher in the underrealm, trying to reach the 
floating Mountain.  Speak with-?

With Jael!  Look!  She has struck a magnificent blow!  FullSky cried, 
and his voice sounded as if he were nearing the last of his strength.  
Look in the Mountain, Windrush!

He peered, straining to see.  Though he was still far from the 
Mountain, he could just make out the figure of one who seemed to move 
through the Mountain like rippling light.

He was suddenly weak with joy.  Jael!  he cried, his voice tearing.  
Can you hear me?  Is she alive, FullSky?

FullSky's voice sighed like a fading wind.  She has diedand yet she 
lives!  In the Dream Mountain, Windrush!  She is WITH us ... she has 
given her life ... and struck a great blow against the sorcery!

Windrush struggled to comprehend.  Struck a blow-by dying?

Look at the Enemy's web, FullSky whispered.

Behind the Mountain, Windrush saw the web of power glowing against 
the sky.  It had grown stronger than everbut it also had loose strands 
fluttering, in the beginning of what looked like a tear in the web.

And the light that glowed from it was flickering with a slight 
unsteadiness.

How was this possible?

Don't let this be in vain.  FullSky's voice was fading.  She needs 
your help!

Windrush gazed at Jael, and cried out in his heart to her.

He thought he could sense her answering the cry; but she seemed 
terribly, terribly intent upon something.

Her voice seemed to whisper across the gulf of space: Windrush, my 
friend@e ready for me!  Be ready to fly!  Above all, believe!  The 
Enemy can still be broken!

Jael@hat can I do?

Her voice, answering, was drowned out by a much louder cry echoing 
from the emptiness around him.  It was a cry of alarm filtering in from 
the outer world-a scream of urgency, calling him back.  With a gasped, 
I'll be ready!

Call for me!  he blinked backward through FullSky's window and 
emerged from the underrealm.

Around him was chaos: dragon wings beating, flames thundering, and 
the chilling breath of drahls in the air.  Windrush looked around in 
confusion.  He was under attack-still perched on a pinnacle of rock!

Half a dozen dragons had come to his defense, but the air was filled 
with enemy warriors.  A cluster of drahls had just evaded his guardians 
and were diving straight toward him.

With an explosion of energy, Windrush leaped from the pinnacle and 
dove under the attacking drahls, forcing them to turn in a tight, fast 
bank.  Windrush doubled back and beat upward, gaining altitude.  "SHE 
LIVES!"  he bellowed to the other dragons.  "Jael HAS REACHED THE DREAM 
MOUNTAIN!  SHE LIVES TO FIGHT THE ENEMY!"

From the dragons rose a murmur of confusion.  As a few of the dragons 
repeated his cry, the encouragement spread in a slow ripple.

But the shout had cost Windrush energy that might have gone into 
speed-and now t e r s were hard on his tail, moving fast.  Two shot 
past him, ching their chill fire; and though he managed to veer away 
from those two, he could not evade two others who caught him from 
behind, one landing on his shoulders and the other seizing his 
hindquarters.  He roared out as their talons gripped him.  He knew in 
an instant that he was caught, and he could feel their claws probing 
for entry.  "Damn you!"

he hissed, shaking violently@and through the pain, he bellowed out: 
"FOLLOW Jael WHEN SHE CALLS!  YOU MUST BELIEVE-!"  and then his breath 
gasped out as the drahls' talons found a nerve.

He heard a shattering battle cry, and a wave of heat hit him from 
above.  He nearly lost consciousness as dragon flame billowed over his 
head.  But the two drahls fell away, burning, and as he veered to 
freedom, he struggled to clear his mind from the pain and heat, and he 
peered back up through the smoke to see who had saved him.  "SearSky-!"

he cried raggedly, seeing the black dragon emerge from a ring of 
fire.

Windrush tried to cry out his thanks, but he could scarcely breathe.

He realized with sudden horror that SearSky was battling for his own 
life now, with a cluster of drahls fastened to his back.  SearSky must 
have dived straight through those drahls to save Windrush.  Now he 
bellowed with pain, his flame crackling uselessly, unable to reach the 
drahls.

"SearSky ... help SearSky!  Needs ... help!"  Windrush gasped, trying 
to wheel and climb to the warrior's aid.  But he could not move fast 
enough; he was still afire with pain.

SearSky's coal-red eyes blazed through the flurry of wings and 
freezing fire, and he roared out, his voice razorsharp with agony, 
"Windrush, you cannot you must-lead the others!  Find-your friend 
Jael@and-!"

Two other dragons had broken to SearSky's aid-but they were too late, 
all of them.  The light in SearSky's eyes flickered and went out, and 
the black dragon fell from among the drahls, turning from obsidian to 
clear glass and vanishing before he hit the rocks below.  "SearSky!"

Windrush cried hoarsely, circling in disbelief "Windrush, talk to 
me!"

he heard, as another dragon sped to his side, silver eyes gleaming.

"Farsight!  SearSky just saved-" "I saw!  I could not come in time."  
Farsight's eyes blazed with regret.  "What did you say about Jael?  We 
heard you cry out!"

Windrush exhaled a sharp-tongued flame as he felt a rush of hope 
again.  "She lives!"  he gasped.  "In the Dream Mountain!  Let all the 
dragons know-we are not alone we are not fighting alone!"

Farsight's cry was a trumpet blast that echoed across the vale.

"DRAGONS!  THE RIQCJER Jael LIVES AND FIGHTS IN THE DREAM MOUNTAIN!

DO NOT DESERT HER, OR THE DRACONAE!  PRESS THE BATTLE!  " The effect 
of his cry was like a bolt of lightning.  The dragons who had not heard 
earlier shouted out with a clamor that rose above the sound of battle.

"And now, brother," Farsight said, his clear-faceted eyes blazing 
into Windrush's, "you must tell me what we are to do to help Jael!"

Windrush's breath went out in a great sigh of bewilderment.  "We must 
hold against the Enemy until she reaches out to us!  That's all I know, 
Farsight-that's all we can do!"

Chapter 41

A TEAR IN THE DARK WEB RENT WAS just casting a thread of sorcery out 
toward the Cavern of Spirits, to gather in his prisoner, when he felt 
the quake in the underrealm.  For an instant, he believed he was 
imagining it.  After all, it could not be ... no, it was just that he 
was still upset over that cursed dragon's defiance.  And then he felt 
it, without question-not just a background trembling in the underrealm, 
but something far more profound.

He did not at first realize that he felt a life passing.  But even at 
this distance, he felt the sorcery of binding dissolving like smoke 
through his fingers.  And the only thing that could break that binding 
was the death of the one it held.

The rigger Jael.

Rent felt it like a stab through his heart.

Jarvorus!  he shrieked, speeding down the pathway to the cavern.

What he found was a place that had been torn apart by an earthquake 
in the underrealm.  An abyss yawned in the cavern floor, emptying into 
space.  The impregnable weaving he had spun around his prisoner lay 
empty.  The prisoner, the rigger, the One, was nowhere to be found.

Nor was his servant jarvorus, nor the ship in which the riggers had 
traveled.  Only Hodakai was visible, quailing like a moth in his spirit 
jar.

With a rage such as he had not felt in a lifetime of rage, Rent flew 
like a flashing sun around the cavern.  He hovered over the rift in the 
floor and glared down into the darkness of the abyss, and there, almost 
out of sight, he glimpsed the rigger-ship tumbling away into the 
distance.  He felt a hotblooded urge to pursue it, to destroy it.  But 
it didn't hold the one he wanted; there was no presence of Jael on the 
ship.

Of course not-he had just felt her die.

Jarvorus!  he screamed.  He sensed that the sprite was around 
somewhere, but there was no answer.

He spun again, a spinning flame in midair, and hurled his anger at 
Hodakai.  What has happened here, traitor?  Tell me what has happened, 
before I destroy you!

Hodakai flickered once, twice, then suddenly burned bright in the 
underrealm presence of his spirit jar.  His voice was low and 
trembling, but there was a shocking passion in it.  Do you think that 
you have the only power in this world?  She is gone, Rent.  She has 
died@y HER choice, not by yours!

Though Hodakai did not actually laugh, he sounded as though he wanted 
to.

Rent burned with fury.  Fool!  Traitor!  His fury burned inwardly at 
himself, as well as at Hodakai.  He had been far too complacent!  He 
had trusted the sorcery!  He groped for a way to express the magnitude 
of his rage.

Before he could find the words, he was interrupted by another 
voic@the that only he could hear.  It was a voice that whispered 
through the underrealm, and thundered in his heart.

* Rent, I would have words with you.

If the mountain itself had seized Rent and spoken to him, it could 
not have shaken him more.  There was no question why his master was 
calling.  Rent's anger vanished, in the face of terrifying guilt.  Yes, 
he whispered.  Of course.

* Leave that place and come to me.  * But I must- Rent hesitated.

Yes-of course.  At once.  With a last, venomous glance at Hodakai, he 
sped away.

He sank through the underrealm, stunned by the turbulence he met, 
even in places that had been made strong and fast by the workings of 
the Nail.  Rent grew increasingly fearful as he slipped through the 
weavings of power that lay between him and his master.  He passed 
through a region of smoke and fire, and felt the underpinnings of the 
Nail's power shaking, like tremendous concrete pillars, deep in the 
underrealm of the Dark Vale.  Rent came at last to a darkened place, 
and hovered over a pool of something resembling molten steel afire.

Its surface shone like a mirror, blazing with a reflection of his 
kuutekka, a shadowfigure in the shape of a man.

Rent tried, trembling, to draw himself into full human form, but 
found he could not.  At last he gave up and called out: I am here, Nail 
of Strength.

The pool grew still-then quivered and collapsed into a shaft of fire, 
opening deep into the underrealm.  A voice spoke from the shaft, deep 
and reverberating.  * You have failed me, Rent.  Do you not hear the 
battle rage in my vale?  The time for the final victory is upon us, and 
you have failed me.

But IThe voice thundered, * Why did you allow her to die?  * I 
didn't, I* Do you not feel the realm trembling with her passing?  * But 
I-Rent choked@as on my way to see to her, when she* What?  What did she 
do?

Rent struggled to find words.  She-took her own life.

Somehow.  I am not certain how.  But I believe I was-betrayed by 
Jarvorus@and by HodakaiHis words strangled off into silence.  Prolonged 
silence.

He did not sense in the silence any forgiveness.  When the next words 
came from his Master, it was in a voice that he had to strain to hear, 
though it seemed to shake the realm as deeply as the thundering of a 
few moments ago.

I * She has not died, you fool.  She has passed to the Mountain of 
Fire.  Everything has changed now.  Everything.  And you, my failed 
servant, must atone for your failure.  * Yes, he whispered.  Of course 
whatever.  Go to my vale.  As a man.  Walk among the dragons.

See for yourself the fire and struggle.  SEE FOR YOURSELF THE SPIRIT 
OF THE DRAGONS!

The-spirit-?

"See for yourself how they rejoice!  THEY KNOW THAT SHE LIVES!  * The 
dragons know?  Rent thought in astonishment.  But how?

* I will destroy those who betrayed me to do this.  But you will 
FINISH the job I gave you to do in the Vale!

You will CRUSH the spirit of the dragons.  CRUSH the captives.  * 
Rent bobbed in acquiescence.  He struggled to speak.  The ...

victory... remains certain, does it not?  The preparations, and the 
One... He gasped, struggling to form his plea for reassurance.  She has 
fallen, as the Words say ... even if ... early.  Is that not ...

now?

There was another silence, and this time he felt first a profoundly 
deep chill, and then the sudden fierce heat of the Nail's anger.  * Do 
not question me, servant!  You have your instructional * Yes, Rent 
whispered, as the shaft of fire abruptly closed, restoring the 
reflective molten pool.  Yes, he thought.  I will do that.  I will make 
the dragons suffer, and despair.

I will not despair.

Jael was caught between joy at the fleeting touch of Windrush's 
presence, and fearful concentration as she tried to understand what 
FullSky was saying.  Must fly-join Windrush-probe the Nail's strengths, 
find his weaknessBut how?  she whispered, from the fluttering curtains 
of dracona-light.

Not sure.  I@ahhhhh-!  FullSky's words choked off, turning to a 
throaty cry of distress.  Jael was stunned to realize that his 
presence, his kuutekka, was wavering and growing insubstantial.

FullSky!  murmured the dracona Lavafire, from the shadows.  What is 
it?

Under-attack, FullSky groaned, billowing a ghostly flame.  Cannot 
stay!

Wait!  Jael cried.  I don't know what to do!  I need your help!

Cannot stay!  FullSky gasped.  Jael@o what you must!

Never doubt!  He was less dragon than a formless light now.

Dracona-you must help her!  he whispered.  Then he was gone.

FullSky!  Jael cried.  You can't!  Not after-!  Not after saving my 
life, bringing me here ... but to do what?  she whispered desperately, 
in the silence of her heart.

There was no answer.

But from the draconae there came a loud murmuring, and she found her 
mind filled with an image of FullSky's underrealm presence: stretched 
like a spiderweb thread from the Enemy's dungeon to the Dream Mountain, 
and she understood suddenly his shocking vulnerability, and the risk he 
had taken in reaching out to the Mountain, much less to the place where 
he had found her.  The draconae had given him strength where they 
could, but they were helpless to protect him at his source, the body 
from which his kuutekka had sprung.

And yet the draconae kept hope, and their hope was in Jael.  Why me?  
she whispered silently.  And she knew that it was because of the Words, 
because she was the outsider who had come and befriended a dragon.  And 
now her life was in their hands, and theirs in hers.

(Urrrk ... fly, Jael?  Fly?) (I don't know, Ed-I just don't know.) 
Jael felt a curtain of fear closing around her, and struggled to resist 
it.  She focused upon her own kuutekka, and made herself as real, and 
yet as insubstantial, as if she were still in a rigger-net.  Only now 
she was standing in the draconae's cavern of translucent glass, parrot 
on her shoulder, staring at the almost apparitional sight of the Forge 
of Dreams, where the draconae labored to draw their skeins of 
protective magic about the fire.  She heard them sing a fragment of the 
Words: The One will fall and the realm shall tremble.

And the fires will flicker and bend...

And she suddenly understood something... that perhaps the way to save 
the dreamfire was not to protect it, but to use it.  If the Enemy had 
his weaknesses, Jael thought she knew what one of them might be.

Tar-skel's greatest sorcery was the web of power that was strangling 
the realm, holding the Dream Mountain and the lumenis groves captive.

She had torn the web a little, with her death.

But she needed to tear it a lot more, and she thought she knew where 
she might do that-in a place where a rigger had once before defeated 
the Nail of Strength.

(Awwwk, yes-try, Jael-try!) (We can't do it alone, Edd she murmured, 
but she was already making her plan.  Help me reach out!  she whispered 
to the draconae.  And she felt the helping, strengthening touch of 
Deeplife, and Waterflow, and Starchime, showing her the way through the 
underrealm.

(Scrawwwww, yes!  Now!) cried Ed in the back of her thoughts.  And 
she nodded, and human and parrot together, they slipped into the 
underrealm and reached out toward the Black Peak.

Rent strode through the chasms of the Dark Vale, heedless of the 
battle raging overhead.  His form was human-but what human had ever 
wielded such barehanded power?

Lightning flashed from his fingertips@started and blazed and drew 
screams of agony from the imprisoned dragons.

Rent had been given the one task that could restore his own pride to 
him: make the dragons suffer, make them despair.

He held at least a hundred captives in his power-not just dragons, 
but shadow-cats and sprites, and guardianspirits, pressed into his 
service.  From all of them came the stink of fear-fear of the carnage 
in the air, and fear of a human demigod bringing his wrath upon them.

He wasn't trying to kill them, not yet; but if some died, he would 
hardly worry.  The death of a few would be a fine stimulus to despair.

Rent flicked a spike of flame at a young dragon impaled upon a lance 
of stone, and he crowed to himself as the creature writhed.

Hearing a groan of outrage, he whirled upon a larger dragon, an old 
and nearly broken beast.  With a scornful toss of his hands, he flung 
fresh bolts of pain at the groaning creature.

"You will die, demon!"  the dragon gasped angrily, and vented a 
failing breath of flame at him.

Rent jumped back, startled by the blast of heat as the flame singed 
his face.  He'd felt pain.  What was this!  He probed back through the 
sorcery that formed his body, and discovered that it had been altered 
at its source.  He was no longer wearing his human form like a cloak; 
his life and breath and kuutekka were now contained within his human 
form.  He felt a clammy chill of fear.  He was vulnerable now, just 
like the others.  He had never been vulnerable, as the Nail's most 
powerful servant.  He felt a tingle around him at the thought, and he 
wondered in horror, was even his fear being tapped into the web of 
power?

Just the thought made him tremble; he felt a sudden weakness in his 
stomach and groin.

He felt the tingle about him grow stronger.

Tar-skel, he thought desperately, you aren't leaving me to the fate 
of your prisoners!  No!

Though he heard no audible answer, he imagined the voice of the Nail 
thundering in the back of his mind: * If you prove your worth, all of 
the power you can ask for will be yours.  But if you do not- * As he 
stood before the old dragon, battling his own fear, the dragon hissed 
at him through the pain that Rent had inflicted.  "You will not live, 
demon!  You can kill us, but you cannot defeat us!"

"SILENCE!"  Rent screamed.  He drew forth a new bolt of fire, and a 
second, and held the crackling thunderbolts aloft on his fingertips.

Then he hurled them one after another into the dragon's eyes.

Fire erupted from the dragon's head, and it screamed, and a moment 
later crumpled to the ground.  As Rent stood triumphant over it, the 
dragon turned transparent and vanished.

"DOES ANYONE ELSE HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY?"  he bellowed as he strode 
through the blasted maze of the dungeons.  He passed one broken 
prisoner after an other, but none answered his challenge.  He didn't 
expect them to.

But there was one dragon whom he thought might talk back to him.

He had been saving this one for last, but perhaps now was the time.

Perhaps now he would make the thing suffer and suffer, and finally 
die.

"WingTouch, I am coming to you!"  he snarled, as he strode across the 
blackened floor of the Dark Vale.

The attack had come as a sharp spasm of pain, deep in his kuutekka.  
FullSky knew at once that he had been discovered.  It was all he could 
do to hold fast to the Dream Mountain long enough to cry out a 
farewell; then he let go and fell back through the underrealm, a spark 
fleeing from a fire into darkness.

The underrealm was a thunderstorm exploding with battling furies of 
wind and fire, blackness and light.  He glimpsed the eye of Tar-skel in 
the storm and streaked past it, a speck driven by the wind.  The eye 
was flashing in every direction, and FullSky felt the razor-sharpness 
of its vision, taking in all of the world.  FullSky felt a burst of 
hope, because the Enemy's angry searching spoke not just of arrogance 
and power, but of worry, and@ould it be?@f fear.

And then the eye flashed upon him, and FullSky knew that the Enemy 
had identified him as the one who had saved Jael, who had transported 
her to the Dream Mountain, out of reach.  You!  that flash of 
recognition seemed to cry.  Yes!  he whispered back, fleeing even 
faster down the thread of the underrealm.  For a terrifying moment, he 
thought that the eye would strike him down right here in the midst of 
the storm.  Instead, he felt the eye suddenly shift away drawn perhaps 
by something more urgent.  The Enemy had greater concerns than a single 
dragon kuutekka, even one who had angered him.  Jael, perhaps?  Was she 
doing as FullSky had urged?

He was not free of the Enemy's wrath, however.  The underrealm was 
full of the Nail's servants, and FullSky felt a searing blast following 
him down the thread.  A watcher, probably summoned by the Nail, was in 
pursuit.  He dodged frantically, jumping from one thread to another.

As he approached the lower clouds, he saw two other watchers speeding 
across the clouds to intercept him.  A heartbeat later he reached the 
clouds, and skipped across two threads, shifting through the pathways 
of the web, fleeing for his life through the turbulent concealment of 
the clouds.  He knew he could not escape for long, but for the moment, 
he was still free.

FullSky streaked inward toward his own body, lying broken in the 
dungeons of the Dark Vale.

Fire erupted around him as he reentered the underwebbing of the 
dungeons.  The place reverberated with the screams of aroused 
prisoners, and he darted frantically through the glowing caverns of 
fire, hoping for just a little more time, struggling against the inner 
pull drawing him inexorably back to his body.  Nothing awaited him 
there except pain and death, but perhaps there was yet something he 
could do here.

Though weary beyond belief, he continued through the undercaverns, 
searching for his brother.  Everything looked different now; fires 
blazed in all directions, and he sensed a growing intensity in the 
torment, and he sensed the presence of the human enemy, Rent.  There 
was terrible suffering her@yen more terrible than before.  He felt the 
captives' desperation and pain feeding the flames of the sorcery.  He 
felt their awareness of the battle in the sky, and of the appalling 
losses of the dragons.

If only he could bring them hope!

But perhaps he could.  How many of them knew that Jael] was alive and 
powerful, and that the Enemy had suffered his own losses today?  He 
prayed that there was one being still alive who had kept the spark of 
hope burning even here.

WingTouch!  he called.  WingTouch!  Are you alive?

If only his brother had even a speck of underhearing!

And then he heard the answer, crying out through pain: FullSky?

Is it you?

He spun and saw him-a shadow-thing flashing and shuddering.  His 
brother was so close, he could almost reach out and touch him now; and 
yet, without that answering cry he might have missed him altogether, so 
chaotic was this place of fire and misery.  WingTouch!  he cried, and 
then realized that his brother was not alone.  The underweb around his 
brother shook with flashes of rage, and that rage wasn't from a dragon, 
but from a human.  Rent was attacking his brother!

FullSky darted close, hoping that Rent's attention was drawn away 
from the underrealm.  He examined the binding spell that held his 
brother cruelly captive-twists in the very earth, holding him immobile.

But FullSky saw that the weavings were somewhat weakened, as the 
great web had been weakened.  FullSky had little strength left, but it 
was enough to reach into the weaving and loosen the bonds holding his 
brother prisoner.  The spell seared his kuutekka, and he knew that a 
cry of alarm was going up somewhere as his efforts were felt.

WingTouch, you are almost free!  Be ready to leap!

FullSky?  whispered his brother.

Jael lives in the Dream Mountain!  Jael lives!  Tell the captives!

Tell them they must hope!  FullSky gasped, the fire in the binding 
nearly killing him.  And then it was torn loose, spinning away from 
WingTouch with its flaring heat.  WingTouch, go!  You are free!

WingTouch had been shaking with such rage at his tormentor that he 
could not even speak.  Even the earth was quaking.  Rent's hands 
wielded lightning like a whip, lashing it across WingTouch's back.  He 
shuddered each time, yet each blow strengthened his resolve not to 
surrender.  He knew he could not survive much more of this.  Above him, 
the dragons battled drahis and sorcery.  Before him, Rent shrieked with 
laughter as he hurled lightning, crying, "They die, dragon!  Your 
brothers die!"  Crack-k-k!  "All of them, one after another, they die!"

Crack-k-k!  "There is no hope for any of them now!  Their efforts are 
useless, futile, stupid!"  Crack-k-k!

So desperately did WingTouch want to be free and at his brothers' 
side, even if in death, that he almost did not hear the voice that 
cried out from within his own mind.  It was the voice of his other 
brother, the voice of FullSky!  WingTouch, you are almost free 
Crack-k-k!

It seemed impossible that this was anything but a nightmare-and yet 
when he heard FullSky cry out again, Jael lives!  and Go!  You are 
free!  he felt an astonishing release that almost made him forget the 
agony of Rent's punishment.

The rock had melted away from his feet, and the sudden freedom was 
almost more painful than the imprisonmentand he sagged for a moment, 
unable to move.  He glared up at Rent, who was prancing about on the 
rim of the chasm, and he hoped that Rent would not notice his release.

He was astounded to see the human spin away with a shout of anger.

Trembling, WingTouch bent and stretched his legsslowly, to avoid 
attracting notice-and then flexed his wings a little.  Every fiber of 
his body screamed with pain; but if FullSky had freed him, he could not 
let mere pain keep him here.  And where was FullSky?  He tried to reach 
down into the underrealm to search for his brother, but it was beyond 
him; all he could make out was a hazily glowing place full of shadows.

FullSky?  he whispered.  There was no answer.

FullSky felt his brother's astonished disbelief, and the shuddering 
movement of WingTouch stirring from his shackles.  Then a blast of fire 
hit him, knocking him brutally away from his brother.  FullSky felt a 
moment of triumph, even in the pain and disorientation.  A guardian 
appeared before him, striking furiously, then another.  He was 
surrounded by fire.  He felt his kuutekka slip back into his broken 
body, his strength gone at last.

But he had freed his brother ...

The underrealm shimmered and faded, and he opened his eyes with a 
gasp of pain.  He peered up blurrily from the scorched crater in which 
he was chained-into the eyes of two drahls who were hissing their 
freezing breath at him, who had already torn and bludgeoned his body 
near to the  Chapter 42

DRAGON RIGGER The one shall fall and the realm shall treinbk.

And the beginning begins anew.

But the beginning would be, must be, for the Nail of Strength.

In the place where darkness coiled about itself in patterns of 
masterful deception and power, he who was called Nail of Strength noted 
the passing of his servant Rent.  The human had been useful enough; but 
his pride had grown too great-and his desire, not just to serve, but to 
be the Nail of Strength, had become all too evident.  And still he had 
failed in the task to which he'd been entrusted.  And so the Nail had 
changed the terms of his gift of body to his servant, and withdrawn the 
shield of invulnerability that Rent had grown to take for granted.

The manner of Rent's death was left to chance, and chance had wasted 
no time.  Rent's terror, and the pain of his passing, were as useful as 
any dragon's in fueling the fire of the web-sorcery.

And the web was growing.

The web was strong.

The web would pierce the boundaries between the worlds and draw them 
all, all of the universes, into the power of the one called the Nail.

The darkness coiled about its center of power, and brooded.  The 
darkness, even in its certainty, felt fear.

There was still the problem of "the one."

How often had the Nail tried to convince himself that the prophecy 
was meaningless!  But he knew; he had seen the ancient vision himself, 
through the eyes of a servant; he knew the window into space-time that 
the draconae had seen.  He knew the truthfulness of the vision and the 
words that had sprung from it.  And he knew, most of all, how 
diabolically ambiguous those words were!  And so he had woven his web 
of power carefully, with exquisite care, around such portions of the 
vision as could be clearly understood.

And yet, even now, as the Words unfolded, so much was unclear.

Plotting in his place of strength, the one called Strength had built 
his plan around the fall of the rigger.  But by giving her life rather 
than having it struck from her, she had sidestepped his plan.

And for all that, she yet lived, reborn in the Dream Mountain, thanks 
to the infuriating treachery of the dragons!  But the Nail of Strength 
remained the Nail of Strength, and the dragons fought their losing 
battle, isolated from their sustenance of lumenis, and from their mates 
in the Mountain of Fire.  The prophecy might be muddied, but the 
victory would still be his.

Now, however, the plan must be changed.  It angered him not to wield 
the power of the Mountain of Fire; but since the draconae, with their 
petty defenses, continued to resist, he would crush them.  The power of 
the Deep Caverns ran strong in him now; and once he had reached out 
beyond this realm, there would be no limits to the new sources of 
power.

He had been pleased to use the dragons' despair to strengthen his 
plan.  But that time was past, and a new time had come.  Time not just 
to humiliate the dragons, but to destroy them.

As Jael reached out from the Dream Mountain, she felt perilously 
exposed, even with the power of the draconae helping to keep her 
kuutekka tight and strong.  She felt as if she were stepping off into 
space from a dizzyingly high mountain, with untested wings.  She could 
see the structure of the Enemy's web with greater clarity than ever-a 
vast glistening spiderweb enclosing the sky.  She could see its power 
surging from the Dark Vale where the Enemy kept his prisoners and 
servants in thrall, and from another place called the Deep Caverns.

It was hard to envision how such power could be defeated.  And yet, 
in places, it was somewhat weakenedeven in the Dark Vale, where the 
dragons' spirit had been bolstered by the news that she was here.

Her very presence strengthened the dragons and weakened the sorcery!

She felt awed and humbled; she could only trust that she could find a 
way to complete the task.  She had unraveled a small part of the 
Enemy's skein of sorcery; she must somehow unravel the rest of it.

In the Dark Vale, the dragons continued to fight a desperate battle; 
and yet, perhaps not so desperate as they believed.  Could the dragons 
see what she did-that the Enemy's illusions made his forces seem far 
greater than they were?  They could still be defeated; but first she 
must collapse the illusion of invincibility in Tar-skel's sorcery.

First she must join together the power of the draconi and the 
draconae.

Riggers can change things, Kan-Kon had reminded her.

And who knew it better than she who had defeated Tar-skel once 
before, at the Black Peak-where she had undone the Nail's plans to hurl 
Highwing to his death in the static realm, where she had broken his 
terror by joining rigger and dragon together?  Even now, that tear in 
the sorcery remained unrepaired.  She meant to strike there, at the 
Enemy's weakness; she meant to join once more with a dragon.

(Hawww, yessss!) hissed Ed, urging her on.

Come to meet me, Windrush!  Come to the Black Peak!  she whispered 
again and again into the winds of the underrealm, as she flew toward 
that place of smoldering magic.

Surprise twisted through the center of the darkness like a draft of 
cold air, fanning the inner flame to a dark, angry heat.  * She dares, 
then, to challenge me where she fancies she won a great victory!

Let her do so.  Let her flaunt her pride and her arrogance.  The 
victory is mine.  It is already mine.

The Dark Vale was a place of chaos and noise and the stink of death.  
The dragons fought with renewed spirit and determination, but always 
the Enemy seemed to have the greater numbers and strength, as though he 
had a limitless army of drahis to expend in the killing of dragons.  
Still, the fury of battle did not keep Windrush's heart from leaping 
when he heard Jael's voice in his underthoughts.  Come to the Black 
Peak!  Join me there, with all the dragons you can bring!

He was astonished and overjoyed-and dismayed, as well.  How could he 
take dragons from the battle now, to fly all the way to the Black Peak? 
 The air was shaking with currents that threatened to knock all of them 
out of the sky.  He himself was weary and wounded, though he'd been 
fighting as though he were neither.

But he dared not fail her.  Whatever else he lost today, he must not 
fail Jael, when she needed him.

He blew a crackling flame and called out: "Windrush FLIGHT!

Windrush FLIGHT!  TO THE BLACK PEAK!  FARSIGHT, TAKE COMMAND HERE!"  
He circled tightly and watched as those in his wing, the alarmingly few 
left who could answer him, broke from the battle to join him.  "TO THE 
BLACK PEAK, TO JOIN Jael!"  he cried.

Somewhere, he heard Farsight's call of acknowledgment, taking over 
leadership of the main battle group.  Then he broke away and flew 
northward and eastward, out over the desolate plains of the Enemy's 
realm.

He flew as though consumed by madness-with Jael's voice echoing in 
his thoughts.  The warriors of his wing, confused and uncertain, had 
nevertheless fallen in behind him.  Together, battle weary and yet 
putting aside their need for rest, they flew.  They flew as though time 
and distance had no meaning.  They crossed back over the desolation of 
the Enemy's realm, and flew northward to the end of the Black Mountain 
range and the tallest of all the mountains, the Black Peak.

The red glare of the peak drew them on.  Windrush half expected to 
find another battle raging,.or an army of drahls waiting to assail 
them.  Instead, he found the place deserted, as though all of the 
Enemy's forces had been drawn to the Dark Vale.  Nonetheless, it was a 
brooding and frightening place, perhaps even more frightening in its 
emptiness enormous mountain shrouded in thunderclouds, with the 
blood-red light of another world's sun glaring out through its upper 
slopes.  It was a vast and terrible tower riddled on the inside with 
old and sorcerous caverns of the Enemy.

Here his father had been imprisoned through treachery and betrayal, 
and sentenced to exile.  And here Jael had challenged the Enemy and 
won, and brought Highwing back; and the smoldering wound in the 
mountain's side remained as a testament to that victory.

Remember that victory, he whispered through the haze of fatigue.

It is certain that the Enemy remembers.  And that thought gave him 
renewed strength.  And for a moment, he thought he felt his father's 
spirit touching and supporting him, even here, even now.

But to do what?  With his flight of dragons, he soared around the 
grim peak, searching for signs of either Jael or Tar-skel.  He smelled 
the Enemy's presence, and there was a strong and troubling turbulence 
in the air.  Jael?  he whi@ pered, trying to find some sign with his 
undersenses.  Jael, are you here?  He heard no answer, and wondered, 
had he imagined her call?  Had he been deceived by the Enemy, at last?

Had he brought his brothers here for nothing?

Finally he called out to the others, "You must guard me once more, 
while I search the underrealm!  Whatever happens, my life is yours!"

Overhead, the sky flashed and shook.  But Windrush ignored that and 
found a place to land, high on the slopes of the peak.  And with only a 
glance back at his circling companions, he sank into the shadowy world 
of the underrealm.

It was no easy stretch to the Black Peak for Jael.  The underrealm 
was a place of shifting and treacherous winds.  But FullSky had given 
her skills and shown her the path well enough, and Ed murmured and 
encouraged her the whole way.

What she found was a gaping wound in the underrealm, surrounded by a 
frayed fabric of sorcery.  She knew what the place looked like in the 
outer world: the image of the towering black mountain, its summit 
erupting with the light of a red sun, was emblazoned in her memory.  In 
the underrealm, though, it was a net of spun sorcery torn and half 
patched, with the light of the distant sun leaking through like a 
sunbeam slanting into a dusty attic.

It looked like a good place to make a stand, she thought.

At that instant, she felt two new forces burst into the underrealm 
around her.  One was the Enemy's power, exploding through the torn web 
like electricity through a splintered cable, sparks shooting off to 
form tendrils of new sorcery.  Tar-skel knew she was here.  The other 
was Windrush, his presence a shadow whispering through the gloom.

Windrush!  she cried.  Join with me and show me how to be a dragon!  
Join with me now!

From the dragon she heard a gasp of astonishment and joy, and then 
the shadow,ghost of the dragon's presence turned and swooped to 
approach her.  Jael!  he cried.  Jael, is it really you?  He seemed to 
grow stronger and more solid as he drew close, searching for her.

Yes, Windrush!  Jael found the strength to make her kuutekka more 
visible, flying toward his, until at last she materialized, astride the 
dragon's neck.  Her heart leaped as she felt Windrush become solid in 
this strange place, or at least as solid as if he were a partner in the 
rigger-net.  Windrush-Yes!  she cried, hugging his neck fiercely.  I'm 
her and I need your help!  As she spoke, the underrealm was flashing 
like the heart of a thunderstorm.

Jael!  Windrush blew a great flame of greeting.  My help is yours!

But what can we do?  The Enemy is strong here!

Not as strong as we can be!  she shouted, realizing how foolish that 
sounded, her small voice defiant in the storm.

She was only a human rigger, and he was only a dragon.  But she felt 
the strength of the draconae moving within her, as they flew among the 
strands of the Enemy's webbing, and she cried out: I am a rigger!

WE are riggers!

(Hawww@es!  Draggon riggers!) cried Ed.

Yes!  she thought.  Who could better take hold of the Flux and shape 
it than a rigger?  A dragon rigger.  She must become more than a 
rigger, and Windrush more than a dragon.  And Ed had shown her the 
way-Ed, who was more than parrot and more than rigger.  I am Jael, 
friend of Highwing, friend of Windrush!  she whispered, and she hiked 
her kuutekka-self up over Windrush's shoulder and peered into his 
spirit-eyes.  She peered through those glowing facets and sank spinning 
into the depths of his eyes, of his soul.

She shuddered with the power and joy of the union, and her mind 
overflowed with dragon hopes and griefs and questions, and she was 
almost swept away on the stream of the dragon's innermost thoughts.

But she forced herself to hold aloft the image she wanted, sharing it 
with Windrush-an image of riggers transforming the underrealm together, 
transforming themselves-and she felt the underrealm tremble as she 
merged with her friend's kuutekka and became one body with him, dragon 
rigger.

(Hawww, yes!  Draggon!) (Yes, Ed!  Dragon!) They were dragon, three 
joined as one.

She felt her wings beat the air with dragon strength, astonishing 
strength, even through the terrible fatigue.  She clenched her talons, 
sharp and hard and strong.  And she felt Windrush marveling, as she 
marveled, at the unionand she felt an almost overpowering desire to 
soar and wheel and plunge through the air for the pure joy of dragon 
flight.  It seemed impossible that such joy could be interrupted by the 
darkness of a war.

But the shuddering power of the Enemy quaked around her, an angry 
power, and she knew there was no time for rejoicing.  (See the 
webbing!) she murmured to her other selves, and even as she spoke, they 
banked and turned toward the fiery, arcing web of the Enemy.  (That is 
the source of the storm, and the illusions.) And she reached out their 
claws and hurtled straight for the place where it was torn.

Hawwwwwwwwwwwww!  screeched the parrot.

FOR THE REALM!  thundered Windrush in amazement, flying with all of 
his strength.

For all the friends of Highwing!  whispered Jael.

They struck the web and it exploded with lightning and fire, hurling 
them back with stunning force.  The concussion from the blast echoed 
from the Black Peak like hideous laughter.  But heedless of the 
laughter, heedless of the pain, they turned and dove again-and it was 
like attacking a high-voltage wire, but this time, through the 
billowing sparks and fire, they caught the webbing in their dragon 
claws.  And they didn't let go, but tore at the web and dove and tore 
and dove, Jael and Windrush and Ed screaming with determination.

And through the madness of fire and electricity and earthquake, the 
web began to stretch, to give, to tear.  But they needed more strength; 
they needed more help.  And Jael knew where it had to come from.

Deeplife, Waterflow, Starchime!  she cried back through the 
underrealm.  DRACONAE, HELP US!

 Chapter 43

THE WORDS MADE REAL FROM The Dream Mountain, whiskers of strength 
flashed this way and that, as the draconae strove to help the One in 
whom all hope rested.  From the heart of the mountain, Lavafire and all 
the others poured as much light into the One's kuutekka as it could 
stand.  Without the strength of the dreamfire coursing into that one's 
being, she could not have lasted even this long.  And yet it was not 
enough.

Starchime sent out a sunburst of thought in the opposite direction.  
Riggers!  If you can hear us, we need you!  Jael needs you!

Ed, it's no good!  We can't control it!  The current is too strong!

At's cry came out as a gasp in the midst of his labors.  No matter 
how they tried to steer or skate the ship away from the singularity, it 
kept turning and tumbling, pulled by forces At could not see clearly 
enough to understand or counter.  The singularity blazed diamond-white 
before them, drawing them inward along its throbbing currents.

What, rawk, that?  gasped the parrot.

What's what-?  And then At saw it: a tiny thread of fire twisting out 
across the Flux, toward them.  He instinctively looked for a way to 
evade it; then he realized that it seemed to be seeking them, and 
instead of evading, he braced for its arrival.

It grew, brightened, and flashed into the net.  At trembled as he 
felt a connection open suddenly-and a thought touched his, and it was 
an alien touch.  Who-?  he whispered.

Draggon!  croaked Ed, suddenly fluttering from side to side.  What 
graggon here, hawww?

I don't know, At whispered.  He shivered as he recalled the 
connection he had once shared with Windrush, when they'd met for the 
first time and the dragon had searched his thoughts.  But this was 
different.  There was something lyrical and musical and ... female ...

about this one.

The alien touch slowly shaped itself into words.  We need you ...

Jael needs you ...

In utter astonishment, At felt the connection altering, expanding, 
telescoping outward in a way that he could sense but not comprehend.

And then he felt a new presence touch him, and this one was 
different; it was a raging dragon crying out in battle.  Windrush?  At 
whispered, stunned.

At, help me ... !  cried a voice that was torn by pain and need-and 
it took him a heartbeat, two heartbeats, to believe who was calling to 
him.

Jael!  he screamed.

Jayyyylllllll!

Over the parrot's cry, and the echoing cry of a second parrot, and 
the thunder of a dragon's rage, he realized that he was touching not 
just one being, but three.  But it was Jael, most of all, who cried out 
to him, and her cry was laden with desperation and hope.  Jael!  Jael, 
what can I do?

he cried out, heedless now of the starship's headlong fall toward the 
singularity.

In answer, he did not so much hear her voice as feel her thought, and 
her need.  Ed shrieked in surprise d he realized that an image had 
appeared in the net-far ahead of them, in the very heart of the 
singularity.  A tiny window had opened there, and within it he saw the 
figure of a dragon-and he knew that it was not just Windrush, but Jael 
and Ed, as well.  A terrible fire flashed around the dragon, and he 
struggled to make out what it was.  The dragon was tearing at a blazing 
web, stretching it and trying to destroy it, and the web was flashing 
back with killing fire.

Help me, At!  Help me, Ed!  Jael gasped.

What ... how?

Come through from the other side .  . . come through the Dream 
Mountain!  Break a path, At, break a path!

Hawww, yes!  Break a path!  shrieked one Ed.

Break a path!  shrieked the other.

At stared in fear and awe at the singularity.  Is THAT the Dream 
Mountain YES, At, come!  cried Jael, her voice thinning.

With a clap of thunder, the window closed.  At sensed that the Enemy 
had done that, and that he had only moments to react before the ship 
itself would be under attack.

An explosive wave flashed out from the singularity.  Frightened, At 
shrank the net.  Hold tight, Ed!  The shock wave hit the ship like a 
hammer, shaking the net with terrible power.

But it held.  Ed-straight in!  With everything we've got!  At 
bellowed in fury.

Hawwww!  Straight through, straight through!  screamed the parrot, 
rocketing to the front of the net and helping At stretch them out like 
a long, shiny needle plunging straight for the blazing singularity that 
was the Dream Mountain.

Another wave hit them, but At was no longer afraid of that, and they 
flashed through it with only a single hard thump, and the fire of the 
singularity grew and brightened and blossomed before them.  And if he 
had taken the time to think about it, he might have been terrified; but 
he felt a tremendous and unreasoning hope burning in his veins now, as 
they approached the singularity that by all rights ought to destroy 
them.

Damn the torpedoes, hawwwwwwwwwwwww!  shouted Ed.

And At changed their shape from a needle to a force field scalpel as 
the singularity exploded around them.

It was Lavafire who first understood, but even then it took a choir 
of draconae voices to persuade her to take the terrible risk.

The Forge of Dreams was secured in a weaving of protection that even 
the Enemy could not break through@r if he did, all of that power would 
be released in a conflagration that would destroy the realm with the 
Dream Mountain itself.

But with all of their foresight, they had never imagined the One 
doing something like this.  With Jael attacking the web at the Black 
Peak, and At diving headlong through the underrealm in a terrifying 
plunge that would take him straight through the dream forge, they had 
no choice if Jael was to succeed, if At was to survive.

Loose the bonds-!

Open the fires-!

Let him not die for our fear-!

Our last hop@!

-came the cascade of voices, and with that affirmation, Lavafire and 
the others bent all of their thought to undoing everything they had 
just done.

The weaving came loose, was stripped away ...

And the heart of the Dream Mountain lay open to all who had the power 
to reach it.

The darkness coiled with outrage at the forces rising against it-far 
more than it had expected.  But it did not for an instant consider 
drawing back.  Though its web was under attack, it still had the 
dragons in a state of disarray.  As long as the Mountain of Fire was 
kept from their sight, they could never regain their full measure of 
strength.

The Nail's attention was divided now.  Part was focused on the Vale 
of Darkness, maintaining the sorcery, where the last of the dragon 
strength battled a foe that was half illusion.  The Nail's servants 
were fewer now than before.

He didn't mind the deaths of the drahls and Tar-skel dragons, but the 
loss of numbers hampered the illusion-sorcery that kept the dragons 
afraid.  Another part of his attention was on the Black Peak, where the 
rigger-spirit had some, how bound itself to a dragon, and where its 
attack against the web was more troublesome than expected.  Still, with 
the power from the Deep caverns, the web could withstand the attack 
there.

And now the draconae had brought forth another irritation, calling 
the fleeing riggers in their rigger-ship toward the Mountain of Fire.

It wasn't clear why they wanted the riggers, but as the Nail peered 
through the underrealm at the imprisoned Mountain, he laughed with 
sudden, pure, naked delight as he saw the foolish draconae make their 
fatal mistake.

* The time has come!  Time for the promised ending!

The keepers of the Mountain had opened their defenses, and the time 
had come to claim control of that place, as the Words had promised.  No 
longer was there any reason to hold his power in reserve.

The flame and the darkness coiled, and the Nail of Strength laughed 
with infinite satisfaction as he prepared his final blow.

The Nail drew together all of his power-from the Deep Caverns, from 
the vale, from his own inner reservoirsand funneled it into the grand 
weaving.  It was a torrent of power, a tidal wave, a tsunami-all of it 
directed toward seizing the Mountain of Fire.  And once it had those 
fires of creation, it would flower outward without pause-leaving this 
realm a cinder perhaps, but flowering outward, with unstoppable force, 
into the universes beyond.

Jael, plunging through the web with all of the strength of a 
dragon-spirit, was blasted back by a stupendous arc of lightning.  She 
felt Ed and Windrush both shuddering and gasping from the blow.  (What 
was that?) she whispered.

(What has Tar-skel done?) The web crackled, and waves of energy 
flashed from somewhere behind her, across the web, toward the Dream 
Mountain.  She saw the peril that she had created: the draconae had 
opened the heart of the Dream Mountain for At to pass through ... and 
opened it to the Enemy, as well.

In a terrible, sudden insight, she realized that if the Enemy 
succeeded, he could have his victory and move on, though the realm 
would lie in smoking ruins behind him.

HE MUST NOT!  she screamed, her voice the voice of Windrush and Ed 
and Jael, and she hurled herself again at the web, and again and again, 
each time clawing harder at the binding force that held it together, 
each time knowing that she could not break through it alone.

HELP US!  she screamed into the tumult of the underrealm.  HELP 
US-ANYONE-PLEASE-!

In the Cavern of Spirits, the underrealm rang like a tremendous bell 
gonging in the depths of an infinite sea.  Hodakai listened, wondering, 
wishing he could see what was happening.  All of the ordinary paths of 
vision were obscured.

At one point, he'd felt a sharp twinge, and thought of Rent, and 
wondered why he'd thought of death at the same time.

He was dizzy with everything that had happened; but he felt bereft 
now, and alone.  Even the cavern sprites seemed to have left him.

Jarvorus!  he cried into the gloom of the cavern where the rift 
yawned.  Why have you left me alone here?

To his astonishment, he heard an answering whisper: I've not left 
you, Hodakai.  The false-iffling slipped like a flame out of a fold in 
the underrealm and murmured, He is gone now, isn't he?  I think he has 
died.

Hodakai danced with relief at having someone here for company.

Who has died?  Rent?  Maybe so!  But who cares?

Jarvorus, isn't @e something we can DO?

At that moment, the ringing in the underrealm changed suddenly.

There was a strange kind of silence, and then a voice echoed 
distantly out of the rift.  Rigger, we need you!

Jael needs you!

Hodakai stared at Jarvorus, frozen in astonishment.  Was that a 
dracona voice?  Calling to him?  Or to At?

A few moments later, from another part of the underrealm, he heard 
another voice.  Help us anyone-!

Hodakai cried out silently, recognizing that voice.  Jael!

he cried weakly.

He heard jarvorus whisper in amazement, She lives!

Maybe we can do something, maybe we can!  We must try!

Hodakai, I must find the ifflings!  And you must find a way to help!  
Use every spell you knoqv!

And then Jarvorus was gone, leaving Hodakai staring in disbelief.

The iffling-child was the first to hear the cry of the false iffling, 
and there was something in its voice that made the iffling-child 
listen, and believe, and finally carry the cry back to the flickering, 
dying powers of the iffling-parents.

Hearing, they seemed to burn just a little brighter, a little 
stronger.

-When the One breaks through -The change will come-For the Enemy-Or 
for us-And when the Mountain is opened@omes our time-Our hope-The 
lastAnd thus began the journey of the flames through the underrealm-a 
slow parade of guttering candle-flames, moving toward the place where 
they hoped the Dream Mountain would appear, and where at last they 
would die, if it did not.

Hodakai began, hesitantly at first, to probe outward with the spells 
of communication that he had never used to reach anyone except Rent.  
But he was a rigger, by God; he could do this!  The underrealm was a 
place of frightful chaos, but he found that he could, in fact, probe 
open small pathways.  With increasing boldness, he searched farther and 
farther from the Cavern of Spirits, to see if he could find a window, a 
way to see, to call, to hear news, to find out what Jael was doing.

He heard Jael, but could not see her.  But one thing he did see, 
opening up to his view as if through a long telescope lens, was the 
vale where the dragons were battling.  He listened to the cries and 
chaos of battle, and was appalled to realize that the dragons were 
being deceived by the same spells of illusion that he had used right 
here!

If he could shout loudly enough to make himself heard, perhaps he 
could help just a little, after all.

In the Dark Vale, Farsight paused in his struggle against the 
airborne enemies, too many of which had turned out to be ghostly 
apparitions, rather than living drahls.  He thought he had heard a 
shout, through the noise of battle a shout that had a peculiar 
familiarity to it, a cry for help.  A ...

human voice ... in his undersense.  Jael?

He listened intently, to see if he could catch it again, thinking how 
very odd it was to be underhearing a voice that was not his brother 
Windrush's.  He didn't hear Jael's voice again; but a short time later, 
he heard a different voice-also human!-a little louder.  You are being 
deceived!

Go below and free the others!  You are wasting time!  Go into the 
dungeons!

Farsight was dumbstruck by the voice.  Go below, to the dungeons?

Wasting time?  Who was saying that?  And he suddenly realized, with 
the terrifying power of a revelation, how right the voice was.

They had become so entangled in their fight here in the sky that they 
had forgotten the purpose of their attack: to strike at the Enemy's 
heart.

"You three!"  he cried to a trio of dragons who had just burst 
through an exploding illusion of enemy warriors.

"Fly with me!  Downward to the dungeons!"

They were not that far above the ground to begin with, but Farsight 
realized, as he leveled off over the chasms, that in the crevasses of 
the vale right below him, creatures were stirring in the shadows.  Many 
of them were dragons!

Yes!  called the voice at the edges of his thought.  You can free 
them!  The bindings are weakening!  You can break them!

"Spread out!  Search the dungeons for our brothers!"

Farsight shouted to the three flying with him.  He slowed, peering 
and listening over the chasms.  He heard a dragon cry, off to his 
left-a familiar cry.  He drew a breath of astonishment and turned to 
find its source.

He heard the voice again, bellowing: "SHE LIVES!  THE ONE LIVES IN 
THE DREAM MOUNTAIN!"  And at last he spotted a grey-green dragon 
laboring to fly low over the dungeons, shouting down to the captives.

Farsight was so astonished that he could not speak until he had flown 
to the other's side and gazed at him in disbelief.  His brother looked 
terrible battered and wounded, and struggling just to stay airborne.  
"WingTouch!"

Farsight roared.  "YOU'RE ALIVE!"

His younger brother wheeled in the air and regarded him with equal 
amazement.  Against the smoke and the gloom, WingTouch's sea-green eyes 
glowed, tired but undimmed.

However badly hurt, WingTouch was more triumphant than beaten, by 
far.  "Welcome to the dungeons of the Enemy!"  WingTouch cried, 
wobbling as he swerved to i@ avoid a wall.

"You're wounded!  Are you able to fight@" "Fight?"  WingTouch 
muttered.  "I AM fighting!  We have lost FullSk@but he freed me before 
he died, and I have slain his killer!  Come, help me free the others!

The bindings of fear are breaking!"  The battered dragon beckoned 
Farsight downward into the gloom of the dungeons.

Indeed, Farsight thought.  The Enemy had been stalling them overhead, 
distracting them from their purpose!  What better way to strike at the 
Enemy than to free his prisoners?

"Wait, WingTouch!"  he cried, and turned his voice skyward, booming, 
"ALL DRAGONS-DOWN TO THE DUNGEONS!  OUR BROTHERS LIVE!

WingTouch LIVES!  LEAVE THE SKY TO THE GHOSTS AND COME FREE THE 
PRISONERS!"

Following WingTouch, he plunged downward into the chasms, bellowing a 
cry of freedom to his imprisoned brothers.

Jael felt the change from the dungeons like a whisper of cool air 
reviving her in the heat of battle.  Though she couldn't see what was 
happening in the Dark Vale, she could feel the dragons' defiance and 
joy, and could see its effects on the web.  The Enemy's explosion of 
power was mutating, in a way she didn't think the Enemy had intended.

She and Ed and Windrush continued to attack the web, but not alone.  
Rippling waves of shadow were passing through the fiery network, each 
wave a burst of defiance or hope or freedom somewhere in the realm.  
Each wave weakened the web just a little, and the next a little more.  
The Enemy had channeled all of his power toward the Dream Mountain, 
thinking he no longer needed it elsewhere but the web that carried it 
was weakening with every defeat he suffered, in the underrealm or the 
outer world.  The web, incandescent with power, was brightening and 
stretching where it had once been strongest, like a filament about to 
burst.

Now was the time ...

(Windrush, Ed-DRACONAE!-all of your strengthNOW!) Jael cried.

Their answer came in the heady rush of adrenaline to her limbs, the 
strength to her wings, and she turned and hurtled with suicidal abandon 
toward the most blazingly bright strands of the overburdened web.

This time, when her claws connected, she felt not just the explosion 
of fire, she felt the strands stretch and then tearin a great long rip, 
as the web parted from its own inner stresses, spewing incandescent 
fire into the deep darkness beyond.

And the dragon rigger flew headlong toward the distant, hazy form of 
the Dream Mountain, the filaments of power bursting against her claws 
like shears tearing through fabric-in a long, exploding stream of fire.

*TREACHERY!TREACHERY!* The center of darkness was shocked into 
disbelief that such defiance and irrational hope could be springing 
forth from every corner of the realm@hallenging his structure of 
power!-surging into the tiniest tears in his web!-ripping at its 
fiber!-draining its unquenchable strength-!

* This cannot be!  * Exploding with bottomless fury, the Nail erupted 
with every ounce of his strength toward the Mountain of Fire, focusing 
only on channeling his power into the web that streamed toward those 
fires of creation.

He barely even noticed his own rising desperation.  He was too 
preoccupied to swat at the dragon rigger that was hurtling through his 
web.

It will be mine!  It will be!

Yawwwwuwwwwww!  screamed Ed as the spaceship plunged, shimmering and 
twisting, through the singularity.

The parrot's voice quavered and turned deep and then booming-bass and 
then shrill as the abrupt spatial-transformation flashed through the 
net.  It sounded as if there were two voices screaming at once, and At 
realized that one of them was his.

He had been shaking, and now he bellowed with joy as the singularity 
flashed away behind them, and their scalpelprowed ship plunged into a 
new layer of the Flux, plunged into the underrealm, into the 
outstretched web,structure of Tar-skel, parting it in their wake like 
so many fraying strands of thread.  It exploded around them with a 
terrifying electrical discharge, but they were moving like light itself 
now; and as they flew, it almost seemed that the web was tearing open 
before them, spilling its energy in a great cascade of fire.

Something ponderous was giving way in the web.  Before he could begin 
to understand it, there was a tremendous shaking convulsion in the 
Flux, as though the bottom had just dropped out of a vast ocean.

The web was disintegrating before them.  It was dumping an incredible 
fountain of power into a yawning emptiness, an even deeper layer in the 
Flux.

Eeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiii!  At screamed to Ed, to Jael if she could 
hear, to the universe.  He didn't even know why; it was a scream that 
just erupted, an exhilaration out of nowhere, an explosion of such joy 
that he almost didn't see what was ahead of them in their path-until 
Ed's frantic cry, Lookk-k!  Hawwwwwwww!  Look-k-k!  made him squint 
ahead through the exploding light.

It was the distant, silvery shape of a dragon, raking open the web in 
a plume of fire as it hurtled toward them.

Impossible!  It cannot be happening!

The error was too great, too profound.  He could not have made such 
an error!  Somehow it had all turned wrong, wrong, in his stroke of 
triumph.  His final blast of power was destroying the very structure 
that it was supposed to be completing.

This was not how it was supposed to happen!

In the Dark Vale, the prisoners' bonds were falling away.

His own servants were weakening, his hold on them slipping; some of 
them were blinking through newly opened eyes, turning and freeing the 
very ones they'd been holding prisoner!

This was not how it was supposed to end ...

The Mountain of Fire was slipping out of his grasp, and all of the 
power in his sorcery was pouring into a great emptiness, streaming 
away, dissipating into nothingness ...

* NO-O.O.O.O.O.O.0-0-0.0-!  * He was losing it all ... but he would 
not lose without taking the Damned One with him!

At first, all she could see was the explosion racing before them, the 
web spilling its power with tremendous, jarring bursts of energy.

But it was not just the web they were tearing; the web was interwoven 
with the fabric of the underrealm itself, and it was impossible to tear 
one without the other.  A bottomless blackness was yawning open beneath 
them, and it was into that abyss that the lightning-fire of the web was 
emptying.

(My God, where is it going, where is all that power going?) she 
breathed.

From Windrush she sensed amazement and bewilderment.  (Out of the 
realm,) the dragon whispered.  (Out of the realm.  Jael!  Look!) 
(Hawwww!) Above the abyss, a curious tableau was forming, as though 
focused through a very strange lens.  Ahead, the Dream Mountain was 
emerging from a mist, radiant in its translucence, a diamond-white fire 
burning in its center, with a shimmering speck streaking out of it.

Something made Jael glance behind her at the Black Peak.  The wound 
in the Flux there was closing, the glowering sun vanishing.

Between the two mountains, illuminated in a strange dawnlike light, 
was a vision of a blasted valley that could only have been the Dark 
Vale.

Above it, Jael saw tiny tongues of dragon fire and heard shouts of 
hope and joy.

And farther beyond, across a distant plain that seemed to lie in 
another realm altogether, she glimpsed marching toward the Dream 
Mountain a tiny parade of flickering flames, which looked as though the 
slightest breeze might extinguish them.  (Ifflings,) she whispered.

But in the heart of the Dark Vale, something was happening that made 
her clench with fear.  Something was spiraling open in the fabric of 
the underrealm, a window opening, and through it she glimpsed darkness 
and flames.  This was not the nothingness of the abyss below, but a 
writhing, coiling darkness filled with a living malevolence.  She felt 
a moment of stark revulsion as she glimpsed that thing; but the 
darkness and flame were Battening and twisting, and coiling out into 
the web ... coiling out into the rift and the nothingness beyond.

She began to feel a rising wave of relief.  In a moment, it would be 
gone, forever.  She raised her sights to the Dream Mountain.

(Jael!) The dragon's voice shocked Jael alert with terror.

(What-?) (Uu@uk-k-k-k-) Above the rift, the flaming darkness had 
suddenly turned and snaked out a whip of light-devouring fire.  It was 
streaking through the underrealm, coiling toward Jael.  She could not 
speak or act.  She could only watch, frozen, as it sped toward her, 
curling out in a great arc to ensnare her, and Windrush, and Ed.

If she was paralyzed, the dragon within her was not.  They banked and 
dove, fleeing.

* You cannot flee.  * The voice thundered deafeningly, soundlessly, 
in her heart.

* You are mine.  The One is damned.  The One shall die.  * Windrush 
sped through the underrealm, but the whip of dark fire was faster, and 
it arched up and around and behind them and spiraled with dizzying 
speed, spinning a coil of itself around them, a coil of darkness that 
blocked off the rest of the underrealm.  (Windrush?) she whispered.  
(Turn, Windrush, we must turn!) They swept in a frantic turn-and Jael 
screamed.

An enormous face filled the darkness before them, and it was the face 
of Mogurn, and the face of her father, and the face of a young 
terrified rigger who had no hope in the world, no hope at all.  No!

she whispered to the face.  That's all in my past!  It's all over!

The captain who had terrorized her was dead, her father was dead, she 
herself was dead.

The mouth of Mogurn opened, and through rotting teeth he boomed out a 
laughter of triumph.  His hand reached toward her, with his cursed 
pallisp to enslave her.

YOU CAN'T!  she screamed.  I broke it!  It's gone!

The coil of dark fire was tightening around her like a noose, and at 
the other end of it, she could see it still streaming into the abyss, 
and she could feel it pulling her toward the abyss now.  She raked her 
talons at the face of Mogurn, and she blew flame at him, but that just 
made him laugh all the harder; and her father sneered with disgust at 
his weakling daughter.

(jaylll, awwwk-k-k-) she heard, but it was a distant, plaintive cry, 
and it couldn't help her.

(Jael, remember who you are,) she heard, and it was a soft voice, 
dragon she thought, but she couldn't quite tell anymore who was who.

(Jael, remember!) insisted the voice.

(Believe and remember!) Who was that, Highwing?  But Highwing was 
dead.  Tar-skel had killed him, as he was about to kill her.  She 
couldn't quite think anymore.

(You must believe-!) urged the fading voice.  There were a host of 
voices clamoring around her, and within her, and she could understand 
none of them now.  She was icy cold, with fear.

The snake of devouring fire was tightening around her neck now, and 
it was pulling her faster toward the abyss, down, downward toward 
blackness ... there was no way to escape from it now.

And then something made it jerk suddenly .  . . and loosen just a 
little ...

Jael, we're here!  We see it!  IT CAN'T HURT YOU IF YOU DON'T LET IT! 
 A voice was reverberating through the darkness.  You're a rigger, Jael 
remember!  You're a rigger!

The coil lurched as it lashed angrily at the offending source of the 
voice.  A spaceship, silver and ghostly, flashed through the flame, 
flashed across in front of her.

Jayyyyylll-hawwwww!  screamed a voice from the ship.

The distraction was enough to give her a moment to remember.  She was 
a rigger.  She had defeated Mogurn, she had forgiven her father, she 
had grown out of that weakling, and she had helped to defeat Tar-skel.  
(Believe,) she heard again, and that time it was a chiming dracona 
voice.

She glimpsed the distant light of the Dream Mountain, and felt the 
power of the Mountain flowing through her, and remembered that that was 
where she lived now, and the power of the Mountain was greater than the 
power of a defeated enemy.

She shifted her gaze to the whipping dark flame, the devouring flame 
that had flailed ineffectually at the spaceship and was now turning 
back for a final strike at her.  She remembered that she was unafraid, 
remembered that she had already defeated it.

No!  she said to it.  She said it coldly and clearly.  But she was 
not cold on the inside anymore, she was burning bright and hot with 
dreamfire, and with dragon blood, and the fearless anger of a parrot, 
and most of all with the certainty that she was Jael and she lived in 
the dreamfire, and that fire was forever denied this dark one.

No!  she said, and she punctuated the word with a short blast of 
dragon flame.  She raised her head and gazed back at the coil of 
darkness, and she knew that she had defeated a creature like this once 
before, but as dragon, not woman; and she felt her dragon eyes blazing 
with the light of the dreamfires, blazing bright, brighter, her entire 
dragon body blazing with light.

The snake of darkness rose against the light-and fell back from it 
with a wail.  The underrealm was visible again, and Jael saw now that 
the web of sorcery was in tatters, and the last of the flaming darkness 
was streaming out of the window of the Dark Vale into the rift of 
emptiness.  A voice groaned from the darkness, unutterably deep and 
angry.  It spoke no words she could understand, but it shook the 
underrealm with its hatred.  Jael shuddered at the voice, but Windrush 
kept them flying, blazing, streaking like a beam of light toward the 
Dream Mountain.  The voice suddenly cut off into silence, and the last 
of the flame of darkness vanished into the rift in the underrealm, and 
the silence of its parting shook the realm and the underrealm with a 
tremendous, soundless, shattering earthquake.

The concussion reverberated for a long time.  As it slowly subsided, 
the window in the Dark Vale faded, leaving only the valley in which it 
had appeared.  The last remaining shreds of the web fell like.feathery 
ashes into the abyss of emptiness.

Something was flying toward Jael and Windrush and Ed.

At!  she cried.  At, you came!  You made it through!  And after a 
moment, she added tearfully, And you saved me, you saved my life!

The answering cry was just as triumphant: Jael, I can't believe 
you're alive, you're alive!

In the curious ringing space of the underrealm, before the Dream 
Mountain, they spun into a dizzying orbit around one another, the 
dragon and the spaceship; and then with a shriek, two parrot shapes 
flickered out into space, one from the dragon and one from the 
spaceship, and they danced in space around one another, not quite able 
to join and not willing to be parted.

 Chapter 44

RIGGERS IN THE REALM BEFORE THE two Eds, or Jael and At, could say 
another word, they were stunned into silence by what was happening 
around them.

The underrealm space was shimmering and changing colors, first 
reddening, then shifting up through the spectrum: orange, yellow, 
green, blue, violet-and finally turning clear.  The cloud upon which 
the Dream Mountain was floating slowly dissolved, and the Mountain 
emerged, now rising solidly from the ground, some distance beyond the 
Dark Vale.  The fire in its heart seemed brighter, steadier, and the 
voices of the draconae could be heard ringing out like distant chimes.

Jael's center was still with the draconae, of course; but her 
presence was stretched halfway across the underrealm and back, and she 
could hear their choir of joy from both sides of her being.

Do you hear them, At?  Do you hear the draconae?  she whispered.

Cawwu-graggons!

Yes, Jael-it's beautiful!

Cjraggons, glizzards, all around Ed, auwwwk!

I'm with the draconae, At.  I'm a part of them-or they're a part of 
me@and the MountainThe spaceship floated closer, At's ghostly 
wedge-headed countenance just visible on its prow.  His eyes glittered 
purple.  I thought you were with Windrush, Jael.  For a moment, I 
thought I saw you on his back.  Now, I can't quite tell.

I am with Windrush, At.  My kuutekka is joined with hisfrom the Dream 
Mountain.  It's hard to explain.

But Jael, I thoughtAr's words were interrupted as great shafts of 
light burst out of the Mountain and fanned slowly over the landscape of 
the underrealm, illuminating places that had been lost in shadow.  The 
Dark Vale was caught in a prolonged light, and it seemed to flicker, 
until it began to shine as though with its own inner source.  Dragon 
flames were still visible there, but they seemed to be flames of 
jubilation, not battle.

Though she could not quite discern what was happening, Jael sensed 
that the struggle in that place was ending.  She could make out the 
movements of hundreds of tiny shapes, rising from the floor of the 
vale.  At, the prisoners are rising from the Dark Vale!  Look!

At was staring in wonder.  Did he understand that this was a 
different view from what they'd been accustomed to, that this was the 
world of the underrealm?  What did it look like on the outside?  Jael 
wondered, and wished that she could see.

She was about to ask Windrush, when another sight caught her eye, out 
beyond the Dark Vale: the procession of tiny flames that she had 
glimpsed before, bobbing across a distant plain like hand torches borne 
by invisible marchers.  Her breath escaped-or was it Windrush's?  The 
dragon's voice rumbled, almost reverently: It is the ifflings, 
returning to the Dream Mountain!

Returning home?  she whispered.

Returning home, answered the dragon.

And that, At said slowly, is where we shall have to be bound before 
much longer.  We are tired, and our ship is damaged.  Jael is there no 
way that you can return to the ship-to us?  Even as he said it, his 
tone made clear that he knew the answer.

My friend At, she sighed-and with an effort, she separated her 
kuutekka from its direct union with Windrush's, parting with a 
shudder-and made herself visible again on the dragon's back.  I have no 
life in that realm anymore, At.

I've passed through that door.  I don't even know how long I can live 
on like this in the Dream Mountain.  Do you know, Windrush?

Jael, rumbled the dragon, I am astonished and overjoyed to have you 
here at all!  It is truly rakhandroh!  Who knows what the power of the 
draconae can do?  It is beyond my knowledge.  But Jael, I too must 
return to the outer world!  I must see it with my own eyes!  And I hear 
the call of those who guard me!  I must return!

Jael felt a rush of sadness.  She reached back in thought to the 
draconae, wondering if it was possible for her to accompany the dragon 
into the outer world.  She heard murmurs of regret, and knew that this 
was beyond the power of the draconae; she could be with Windrush in the 
underrealm, and only there.  Windrush, she said softly, I must leave 
you when you go.  But you may find me in the Dream Mountain, and I will 
be calling your name in the underrealm.

The dragon answered, I wish you could remain with me, Jael.  But look 
for me soon, in the Dream Mountain!  He bobbed his great, ghostly head 
at At.  Perhaps you can steer your ship up through the undertealm with 
me, and join us in flight to the Dark Vale, to see our victory?

At hesitated.  We will try, he said.  But we have suffered damage.

I don't know how well we can manage.

Then let us fly back through the underrealm, and I will lead you and 
help, as in the past, said Windrush.  He turned in a great sweep.

One Ed scrambled to rejoin Jael, and the other fluttered back to the 
prow of the ship; and Windrush, with Jael still on his back, sent his 
kuutekka fleeing back toward the Black Peak, where his dragon 
companions were calling for his return.  Jael glanced backward and saw 
the silver starship trailing behind, trying to keep up.

The Black Peak was dark and silent now.  The shadows of Windrush's 
flight of dragons were clustered there, waiting.

Jael-farewell for now!  Windrush cried softly.  At-follow me, if you 
can!

Jael, will I see you again?  called At.

Fly to the Dream Mountain.  I will be waiting, Jael answered.

Let Windrush bring you.  Come soon-!  Her words were interrupted by a 
series of squawks as the two parrots spun around one another a last 
time, then separated.

Awwwk-Ed!

Ed@awwwwk!

Q'bye-!

Q'bye-!

And Jael's Ed soared back into her eyes and landed fluttering among 
her thoughts, while the other Ed circled At 'in the ship's net.

Everything shrank then, and her friends vanished, and Jael felt her 
kuutekka moving with dizzying speed back through the underrealm.

In an eyeblink she felt the reassuring presence of the Dream Mountain 
surrounding her again; and her thoughts were filled with the chiming 
choir of the draconae, sharing with her the joy of victory.

Windrush emerged, lighthearted, from the underrealm to find his 
fellow dragons clustered on the slope around him rumbling with 
questions.  "It is astonishing!"  he cried: blinking and twisting his 
head about.

"Windrush, what happened@" "Tell us!"

"We felt the air shaking-" "The Enemy has fallen!"  Windrush cried.  
"Tar-skel has fallen!"

"Windrush, are you all right?  WHAT HAPPENED?"

It took him a few moments to catch his breath and look around to see 
that the other dragons and he were alone here.  The Black Peak was dark 
and silent; the glowing window from Tar-skel's old sorcery was gone.  
"My brothers," he began.  "It is not easy to say-" "Windrush!

What is that?"  cried Fleetwing, to his left.

Windrush turned his head.  A silver spaceship was shimmering into 
view in the air, and he blew a tongue of flame in greeting.  "Welcome, 
At-and Ed-friends of Jael, of Windrush, and Highwing!"  he called.  To 
the bewildered dragons, he explained, "They came to help us defeat the 
Enemy-in the underrealm, with Jael!  Riggers, if you would, come ride 
on my back."

Windrush launched himself from the mountain slope.

The other dragons murmured with amazement as the spaceship approached 
Windrush, then disappeared, as a humanlike rigger and a parrot 
materialized upon the dragon's shoulders.

"Awwwk!  Again we ride!"  squawked the parrot.

"Indeed," said Windrush.  "And now, my friends, let us return to the 
Dark Vale and join the others!  I must see with my own eyes what has 
happened!  Quickly, now-quickly as the wind, let us fly!"

And as they gathered and sped from the Black Peak toward the Dark 
Vale, Windrush blew joyous tongues of flame and realized that he hardly 
felt weary at all.

"Rakhandroh!"  the dragon whispered, over and over, as they 
approached the Dark Vale.  It was not just the sight of the vale itself 
that was astonishing-the air filled with shouting, triumphant dragons, 
and the floor below swarming with dragons, flyers, and shadow-cats who 
were staggering up from craters, caverns, and crevices, blinking at 
their newfound freedom.  Looming over that sight was something even 
more astonishing, more rakhandroh, rising above the horizon far beyond 
the vale: it was a great, shimmering glass mountain, freed at last from 
the sorcery that had kept it hidden.  The Dream Mountain!

All of the dragons wheeling in the air were drawn to the sight, 
gazing at it with great curiosity and desire.

Windrush bellowed out his joy.  He called out to his leaders to 
report.  He was answered instead by shouted questions: "Windrush, what 
happened?"  "What did you do?"  "The sorceries have vanished!"  "How 
did you bring back the Dream Mountain?"

"I?  I did nothing!"  Windrush rumbled, laughing.  He tried to 
explain, but his words came out in a hopeless jumble, and made no sense 
even to him.  "Just say this!"  he cried at last.  "Tar-skel has 
fallen!  He is gone from the realm!

The riggers Jael and At and Ed and the ifflings and FullSky and all 
of you helped to defeat him!"

"Windrush!"  cried a familiar voice.  Farsight was climbing from 
below to greet him, and another dragon was limping behind him.  "Don't 
forget WingTouch!"

"WingTouch!"  cried Windrush in amazement, spiraling down to join the 
two in a dance of joy.  "You're alive, WingTouch, you're still with 
us!"

"Indeed, thanks to FullSky," answered his youngest brother.  "May he 
live long in the Final Dream Mountain!

I had the privilege of destroying his killer."

"FullSky!"  sighed Windrush at the reminder of who was not among 
them, at the reminder that many brave dragons had fallen here today, 
and one of them was their brother who had done so much to bring them 
this victory.  "May an our dragon brothers live long in the Final Dream 
Mountain, " he said finally.  And for a moment, he felt an urge to fly 
a flight of grief for those they had lost.  But now was not the time; 
they could grieve later.

Farsight and WingTouch greeted At and Ed on Windrush's back; then the 
dragons exchanged reports.  "After you were gone, there was a great 
upheaval that shook both the sky and the earth," Farsight said.  "When 
it passed, I felt that a great power had gone out of the realm.  The 
sky and the earth became quiet.  The drahls lost all spirit for battle.

They began to take their own lives, or to surrender, or to flee.

The prisons fell open.  And the Dream Mountainreappearing, like a 
ghost, out of the air!  Truly rakhandroh!

And there have already been reports of lumenis groves sighted out 
beyond the vale!"

"Indeed," said Windrush, and on his shoulder the small, noisy 
parrot-rigger hooted and cawed in loud approval.

"When we have restored some order here-and perhaps when we have 
fed-some of us must fly on to the Dream Mountain.  There the spirit of 
Jael awaits us."

Those words sent ripples of excitement through the dragons flying 
nearby.  "To the Dream Mountain," they whispered and rumbled.  And 
slowly the rumble grew to a chant that filled the air.  "To the Dream 
Mountain!  To the Dream Mountain ...

 Chapter 45

THE REALM RETURNS FOR THE ifflings, it was a return to their source 
of being.

Born of the dreamfire, they at last saw a true path out of their 
exile, a true path home.  The Mountain beckoned, calling them in across 
the gulf that had divided them.

One iffling-child accompanied them, the one who might have been the 
last.  And one other came with them: a strange one, a changeling 
sprite, who had once been their foe and now insisted upon being their 
friend.  They ac, accepted that one with a kind of weary puzzlement, as 
they made the long march home across the underrealm.

-Draconae!-We glimpse You!-Open your hearth!-Give us your 
fire!Visions of strength, of new iffling-children, of freedom to wander 
the realm, to visit the draconi, to grow and blossom .  . .the visions 
loomed before them like mirages on a desert, but mirages that now could 
grow into reality.  The vision gave hope, and in that hope they found 
the strength to move forward across the bleak plain where at last their 
underrealm met that of the dragons.

A chasm broke the plain, a black rift in the underrealm where the 
power of the Enemy had fallen, and had streamed away out of the realm.

When the ifflings reached that place, they floated across it as 
though riding on a warm updraft of air.  At first it seemed as though 
the air currents would snuff them out like so many dying candle-flames; 
but across the emptiness a beacon flared and then paused, its beam 
touching them and strengthening their fires.  It was the touch of the 
draconae-tended dreamfire, and it drew them onward in a rippling 
coruscation, across the chasm and the plain, in a great cascade of 
light flashing in circlets over them, pulling them, drawing them in.

And then the Mountain was around them, and the chiming voices of the 
draconae greeted them, and the regenerative fire of the Forge of Dreams 
in which they had been born blazed forth with a white heat that filled 
them, and consumed them in a welcoming embrace ...

-And in this place -All things begin-AneuIn the gloom and the 
emptiness, after the reverberations had passed and the distant cries 
had faded to a background mutter in the underrealm, Hodakai drew 
himself down into a small, silent bundle in the cavern of Spirits.  He 
felt lonelier than he had felt in a long, long time.  He missed 
Jarvorus.  He missed At and Ed.  He missed Windrush, and even, in a 
way, he missed Rent.  Most of all, he missed Jael.

He knew now that she had survived her death, and not only that, but 
had, astonishingly, toppled the vast empire of power that belonged to 
Tar-skel.  Hodakai was glad of that, really he was.  But just now in 
the silence and emptiness of this warren, he was finding it a little 
hard to enjoy the victory.

Sprites!  he sighed.  Won't even you come out to keep me company.

? Where are you all?  But there was no answer, no taunt, no teasing, 
from the hidden corners of the cavern.  It seemed that even the sprites 
had gone away.  Perhaps they too had fled to the Dream Mountain, as the 
ifflings had.  As Jael had.  As the dragons all probably wanted to do.

For a while there, he had felt useful.  It wasn't that he had done 
much-he'd just shouted some helpful encouragement through the 
underrealm to the Dark Vale but it was a lot more than he had ever 
dared to do before.  And maybe it really had helped in the battle.

Kan-Kon, he thought wistfully, peering out of his silent jar into the 
cold silence of the cavern, I think you would have been proud of me at 
the end.  I hope that fellow At makes it back to tell you about it.

Truthfully, there didn't seem much else to do, think, or say.

There was just the silence.  He had thought briefly of his rigger 
fantasies; but whatever escape they might offer now seemed empty and 
meaningless against the memory of what he had just been through.  He 
supposed he could try to reach out again through the underrealm, but it 
was all changed now, all stirred up like a lake after a storm, and he 
didn't have the skill to see through it.

He huddled, and waited-but for what, he didn't know.

When it came, he was so absorbed in the silence that he didn't really 
even notice at first.  It was a voice, calling softly.  But from where? 
 Outside the cavern, that was for sure.  Perhaps it was drifting up 
through the crack in the floor that marked where the rift had gaped, 
before the shaking of the realm had closed it again.  It seemed to be 
calling his name.

Hello?  he whispered, his voice quavering.  He was half afraid that 
he was talking to himself.

Hodakai?  Can you hear me?

Yes, he whispered, even more softly.  Was that the voice of-?

There you are!  said Jael, her voice growing stronger.  Suddenly her 
kuutekka appeared in the underrealm beside his spirit jar.  It was just 
her face but how good it was to see a human face!  I've been trying to 
find you!  she said.  I wanted to see if you're all right.

Hodakai laughed convulsively, with churning emotions.

See if I'M all right?  YOU'RE the one we killed, don't you remember?

Jael laughed with him, but she seemed to have noticed the melancholy 
tone underlying his answer.  I remember, all right.

Hodakai, a lot has happened since then.  I don't know how much you 
were able to see or hear ...

Well, I ... I saw some.  I felt it happen, in the end.  I know you 
won.  Congratulations.

Don't just congratulate me, Hodakai.  I understand you were helping 
out at the end, too.  And you helped me get to where I am now.

Er@es, Hodakai said, And you are, I assumeHer voice seemed full of 
music as she said, In the Dream Mountain, Hodakai, the Dream Mountain.

And the joy in her voice sent a spike of sadness through him, 
sharpening his loneliness-until she added, I've been trying to think if 
there's some way I might be able to help you, Hodakai.  Some way to 
bring you here.

Hawwww!  said a parrot, its tiny head visible in the pupil of her 
eye.  Yessss!

If you'd like to come, I mean ...

Hodakai seemed to go blind and deaf as her words echoed like gongs in 
his mind; and she had to call out to him again, before he finally was 
able to stammer, Yes ... I ... I think I might like that.  Since you 
ask.  If it's not too much trouble.  But only if it's not too much 
trouble-!

And when she went on to explain that he might have to wait a little 
while before she could work out a way to do it, he hardly heard, hardly 
cared.  He could wait as long as she wanted him to.  He could wait very 
nearly forever, as long as he knew that he was not forgotten, as long 
as his time in this lonely cavern was at last coming to an end.

The ship's bridge was terribly silent, as At rose at last from his 
rigger-station.  Even Ed was gone, sleeping in the datamemory until he 
returned, or perhaps holopresent in the ship's commons.  At had never 
in his life felt such physical exhaustion; he had no idea how long he 
had been in the net, but it was many times longer than his longest 
previous stint.  He could scarcely focus his eyes, and every muscle and 
joint in his Clendornan body seemed on the verge of spasm.  But he was 
alive, freed at last from the net by the collapse of Jael's section.

Never in his life had he felt such grief, and such joy.  He stood for 
a few moments beside the second rigger-station, gazing down at the 
still form that had been his crewmate and friend.  No, he reminded 
himself sternly, that body was not my friend.  My friend is alive 
still, alive ... out there ...

But he could not complete the thought.  Instead, he broke down at 
last, kneeling and raising his face to the ceiling, crying out his 
grief with open, shuddering gasps of pain.

The ceiling sparkled with scintillations of grief-light from the 
backs of his eyes.  He remained in that posture until the explosions of 
light in his eyes faded, and his cries gave out, and then he was silent 
for a time in the gloom of the bridge, mourning the sight of his friend 
who had given her life for the dragons.

At last he rose and opened Jael's rigger-station.  There was, he 
thought, an expression of peace on her face.  Slipping his arms under 
her, he lifted her from the station and bore her at last from the 
bridge.  She would complete her journey in a stasis box, cold and 
silent, until he could bring her to a final resting place.  Which ought 
to be ...

He had no idea, he realized.  He would have to ask her when he saw 
her.

At went to the galley and ate, not even noticing the taste of his 
food.  Reluctantly, he went to his quarters and lay down to rest.  But 
he knew he could not sleep, not thinking about Jael.  Besides, he 
needed to perform a thorough check on the ship's systems, without much 
more delay.  And in truth, he wanted to return to the net as soon as 
possible.

Windrush was looking after their safety on the outside, but it would 
not do to be away too long.

The dragons would soon be flying to the Dream Mountain, and he didn't 
want to miss a moment of it.

The process of healing had already begun, Windrush noted as he gazed 
over the land from the air.  Even here, in this devastated land that 
had been the stronghold of the Enemy, the effects of Tar-skel's 
sorceries were fading.  Trees and lumenis had returned to view, and the 
dragons had wasted no time in feeding on the latter.  It was the first 
lumenis feeding in a long time that was full of joy and not 
desperation.  Quite a number of drahls and other altered beings had 
been found, struggling to adjust to the crippled bodies that were left 
when Tar-skel's spells of distortion had fallen away.  They were being 
gathered together, their fate to be determined in due time.

In one respect, the land had been sharply altered by the final 
battle, and as Windrush flew over it, flanked by his brothers and 
bearing the ghostly rigger-ship on his back, he thought that the change 
looked permanent.  The rift in the underrealm through which Tar-skel 
had disappeared was mirrored in the outer world, a long dark chasm that 
was somehow impossible to look into with a probing eye.  It deflected 
the gaze somehow, or drew it away to a confused nothingness.

Windrush felt, looking down upon it and perceiving only blackness and 
depth, that it was not a simple physical abyss like the drop-off of the 
Amethyst Cliffs, staggering though that drop was.  This seemed more 
like an opening from this realm to some other, to some lightless place 
that might be another universe, or might be something else altogether.

He wondered if Tar-skel lived, still, somewhere beyond that empty 
darkness.  Windrush shivered at the thought, and hoped that the answer 
was no.

Maybe someone, someday, would explore the depths of that rift to 
assure them that Tar-skel was gone forever.  But he didn't think it 
would be dragons.  That was not a dragon place.  It smelled alien, cold 
and distant.

He had ordered a guard along the length of the rift, and thought that 
they would be wise to keep it guarded forever, or for as long as the 
race of dragons lived, anyway.  Who knew what might come up through 
this opening in the weave of their realm, one day?  He had an 
unsettling feeling that the dragons might never again be quite so 
isolated in their own realm as they once had been.

He kept these thoughts to himself, for now.  The others had enough to 
think about already.  As they flew on toward the Mountain, leaving the 
rift behind, he felt his heart lightening.  At that moment, At and Ed 
rematerialized on his shoulders.  You were not gone long, he said to 
At, noting that the parrot was asleep on At's shoulder.  Are you sure 
you would not like to rest a little more, while you can?  Were you not 
very tired?

The tall rigger's eyes glinted with purple light.  Perhaps I will, 
after we've reached the Dream Mountain, Windrush.  Perhaps I'll be able 
to rest then.  Just now I don't think I can.  I don't want to miss a 
thing.  And I- His voice broke sharply, and he seemed unable to finish 
his thought.

You long to speak with Jael again?  Windrush murmured.

The rigger nodded.

Yes, said the dragon.  Yes, he whispered again, to himself.

And he found himself flying just a little faster, without meaning to, 
just a little higher and faster toward the vast, translucent peak that 
was steadily growing before them.

In the continuing musical presence of the draconae, Jael found a kind 
of silence, a solitude of peace among those who bore so much knowledge 
and so much passion.  She wasn't sure yet what she thought of life in 
the Dream Mountain; it would take a long time to explore it fully.  She 
hoped that the weavings of power that gave her life here would give her 
the time to do so.

With the final fulfillment of the Words, the tone of the draconae's 
music had changed-had become not just joyous and uplifting, but filled 
with a fury of creative energy.

The Forge of Dreams had been opened to the realm once more, by 
Lavafire and the others.  But now, instead of being tightly woven into 
protective magic, the light and power were being spun out into the 
realm, restoring and healing the land.  Somewhere within that forge, 
the ifflings were finding renewal, and were preparing to create another 
generation of iffling-children, ifflings who would know a freedom of 
the realm that had almost been forgotten by the present generation.

And within the slopes of the Mountain, dragon eggs once held frozen 
by the Enemy's sorcery, neither living nor dead, were again pulsing and 
glowing with life.

A flight of draconi was en route to the Mountain now, led by 
Windrush.  Many of the draconae were clustered on the outer slopes, 
eagerly awaiting their arrival.  How long had it been since they had 
flown freely together, fearlessly in communion, flying the skies, 
powerful dragons soaring and glassy draconae blazing in the sun?  It 
seemed an age ago.

Many of the draconae had not flown in so long, they were reluctant to 
venture far at all from the slopes of the Mountain, though Starchime 
had expressed her hope that that feeling would change, once the draconi 
had joined them.

Jael was eager for the arrival of the dragons.  But more than 
anything else, she awaited the arrival of At.

(Rawwk!  And Ed!) (And Ed,) she mused, jostling the parrot 
affectionately in her thoughts.  (Yes, indeed.  It's going to be hard 
to say good-bye to them, in the end@hen they go, and we stay.) 
(QwarTTkk.  Ed knows.  They'll come back, thoughawwwwk, yes?) Will 
they?  Jael thought.  She hoped so, certainly, but there was no way to 
know.  There was also no point in worrying now about the future.  They 
had not even said good-bye yet.  There would be time enough for those 
worries later.

A chiming voice caught her attention, from the outside of the 
Mountain.  Dragons!  Draconil Crossing the plain!

And soon someone else called, Welcome Windrush!  Welcome Windrush and 
the draconi!

The cry was echoed, until it rang over and over throughout the 
Mountain.  But Jael had her own cry as she formed her kuutekka in the 
underrealm fires, At, are you there?  Ed?

Windrush-?

Rawwwwk-!

Come quickly!

 Epilogue: NEW BEGINNINGS THE ACTIVITY in the Mountain seemed 
unceasing, was un, ceasing.  It was not just the draconae flying out 
across the realm with their new freedom, or the draconi flying with 
them, asking them endless questions, courting them, renewing 
relationships long forgotten.  It was also the ifflings appearing at 
intervals from the dreamfires, each time looking brighter and more 
numerous.  And it was the long talks with At, his spaceship parked on 
the outer slopes, Jael speaking through the underrealm to his 
shimmering presence.

And it was the dragon eggs, glowing back to life in the inner slopes 
of the Mountain-the next generation of dragons!-bathed on one side by 
the radiance of the sun shining through the glass slopes of the 
Mountain, and on the other by the warmth of the Mountain itself, 
flowing out from the Forge of Dreams.  It seemed that there were always 
glasswinged draconae fluttering over them now, sheltering and nurturing 
them-and even a few curious draconi, spending an unusual amount of time 
watching and listening to the unborn dragons.

Nor had they forgotten the egg in the Grotto Gardenwhich, like much 
of the lumenis, had been imprisoned by Tar-skel, but not destroyed.  
Sheltered against the long darkness by Treegrower, that solitary egg 
had survived.

And so had the aging dracona, refusing to admit of any possibility of 
flight to the Final Dream Mountain until she saw that egg hatched.

At first, the talk had been of bringing them both to the Dream 
Mountain; but the egg was fragile and thin-shelled, and the draconae 
had decided to weave their spells of growing, and to release the power 
of the Mountain directly to the Grotto Garden itself.

Who would that young dragonling be?  Jael wonderedthat lone 
dragon-to-be, protected against the Enemy for so long, and cherished by 
a dying dracona to be raised in a new day?  She was as eager as any of 
the draconae to meet the dragon when it hatched.

So much was happening in the realm, and in the Mountain, that time 
had almost ceased to have meaning for her.

To Jael, it was not so much that time was flying by, as that it was 
standing still.  She wasn't sure, really, what time meant, in this 
existence, so different from anything she had known before.  She 
wondered if this was a taste of what it felt like to live in the soul 
fires of the Final Dream Mountain.  Would she have a chance to speak 
again with Highwing, when she had passed through that last door?

More than once, she had thought that she had heard his voice 
whispering to her, in the near silence of secluded moments in the 
Mountain.  Was it real?  Almost anything seemed possible in the 
dreamfires, in that strange and marvelous singularity that lay at the 
heart of the Mountain.

She had already asked Lavafire if the singularity could be focused 
somehow, to help At and Ed and the damaged spaceship Seneca find safe 
passage out of the realm to a starport in the static realm.  It was an 
idea that fascinated the draconae, and they were working on it.

But it was an idea that saddened her, as well.  It was a reminder 
that At and his Ed would soon have to leave.  To Jael, it seemed as if 
they had just arrived, but they had been here on the Mountain now for 
many shipdays of their time.

They could not linger here forever; they still had a mission contract 
to fulfill, and news to take back to Kan-Kon, and in truth she thought 
it was hard on At to see her here as a ... living ghost, probably, from 
his perspective.  The friend he had known, as he'd known her, was gone. 
 No longer could they relax in the ship's commons, around the stondai 
tree, with Ed flitting about.  He could talk to her only through the 
net, and then only to her kuutekka-presence, because that was all she 
had now.  She knew he didn't find it easy.

One way or another, we will return, At assured her, for at least the 
twentieth time, stretching out his hands from the ghostly prow of the 
ship.  It was parked in the outer world, but he and Ed had their heads 
stuck into the underrealm, as though peering underwater, to speak with 
her.  But who can say how long it will take@ what that will turn out to 
be in your time?  We do have to earn a living.  And I'm not sure how 
many clients will want us to be passing this way.

Awwwwwwk@k-k.  Safe now!  crowed Ed, Jael's Ed, fluttering out from 
her kuutekka.  Mountain realm safe!

At chuckled.  Maybe so.  But I can't help noticing that every time we 
come this way, we end up limping back home to the repair docks.

Ed cackled.  Good for business-hawwww!

Jael smiled, knowing that there was no real answer to At's concerns.  
Maybe you can persuade Kan-Kon to visit.

Starchime tells me that they're almost ready to bring Hodakai here-as 
soon as they tighten the transport spell just a little more.

They're being very careful.

More careful than FullSky was when he brought you here, it sounds 
like, said At.

Jael nodded.  Of course, the situation was different now; they could 
take all the time they needed.  And the truth was that even the 
draconae were astonished at some of the things that FullSky had managed 
to do, all while a prisoner in Tar-skel's dungeon.  Is Windrush going 
to help you fly out, when the time comes?

Haww, yes!  cried the parrot in the ship's net.

He said he'd fly us right up to the singularity and fling us through, 
if that was what we wanted, At said.  Not exactly in those words, I 
guess.  But yes-he'll see us off.  Here he is now.

At pointed off into the shimmering, glassy distance of the 
underrealm.

The dragon was approaching, his kuutekka glowing silver.

Windrush!  Jael called.  How is the new garden coming?

The dragon emitted a happy tongue of fire that shone like a dancing 
ghost in the underweb of the Mountain.  I've found a spot, and 
Starchime is almost ready to sing it into being with me.  It will be a 
good place to raise ... younglings, I think.

I may have to ask the ifflings to ask the sweepers if they would come 
create some sculptures for me.

Highwing's spot?  Jael asked softly.

The dragon's eyes glowed brightly.  Just downstream it.  I wanted to 
leave his old garden alone for now-the spot where it was, I mean.  I 
don't want to intrude.  After all, it wouldn't surprise me if his 
spirit still visited there from time to time.  Windrush paused 
thoughtfully.  Even now, I often feel as though he is still with me, 
somehow.

Perhaps it was Jael's imagination, or perhaps it was just the 
fluttering of Ed in her thoughts, but she could have sworn she felt a 
silent whispering presence pass by her, like a breeze stirring a 
curtain in a window.  And a moment later, she was absolutely certain 
she heard a voice say, very softly, (Of course I am with you@ll of You.

I have never left, and never will.) And she felt the presence moving 
again, and realized that Ed-her Ed-had cocked his head at her, as 
though listening for something.

Well, she said to Windrush, and saw a similar expression on his face. 
 His eyes, even in their kuutekka form, glowed bright and emerald and 
deep as a clearcrystal sea, and she knew that he had heard the same 
voice.

Somehow I don't think you have to worry about intruding, she said to 
Windrush.  With a wink at At, she added, Why don't you go sing that 
garden into being, and take At with you to see it happen?

Windrush nodded and puffed another bright flame.  I would be Pleased 
if you would come join us, he said.  AndEd!  squawked At's parrot.  
Don't forget Edi Not in an age!  the dragon chuckled.  And we'll see 
that the draconae don't forget you, either.  Would you like to be 
remembered in a song, my rigger-friend?

The parrot cocked his head, but before he could speak, the question 
seemed to be answered for him by a soft, distant choir of draconae 
voices, chiming in the heart of the Dream Mountain.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Jeffrey A. Carver is the author of a number of thought.

provoking, popular science fiction novels, including The Infinity 
Link and The Rapture Effect.  His books combine hard-SF concepts, 
deeply humanistic concerns, and a sense of humor, making them both 
compellingly suspenseful and emotionally satisfying.

Carver first wrote in his "star-rigger" universe that is the setting 
for Dragon Rigger in the novels Star Rigger's Way (1978) and Panglor 
(1980), both of which will be reissued soon in Tor Books editions, and 
more recently Dragons in the Stars, published in 1992.

He currently lives with his family in the Boston area.

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