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  “The Uriah in the swamplands were created during the Wizard Wars; they are close to being immortal,” commented Aralorn.

  Wolf nodded. “They don’t die unless they are killed. If he could get them just a bit more pretty, he’d probably turn himself into one.”

  Soberly, Myr said, “I don’t think that he ever intended to turn himself into a Uriah. I’ve known him for a long time, too. There is no way he would turn himself into something that by its very nature is a slave to its need for food—pretty or not. If a Uriah retains most of its personality, then it is possible that it also retains its ability to work magic. What if he wants to kill you, Wolf, and turn you into one of his Uriah, obedient to his command, but just as powerful as you have always been?”

  “Oh, isn’t that a lovely thought,” said Aralorn.

  Blank-faced, Wolf considered Myr’s comment. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll have to make sure that it doesn’t happen, hmm?”

  There was a heavy silence, then Aralorn said in a bright tone, “Speaking of Uriah, do you realize what a mess we are going to have to clean up when the ae’Magi is dead and we have several hundred masterless Uriah roaming the countryside? Sianim is going to be making good money off this.

  * * *

  Wolf worked at the spell for days, until he could direct it better, but the force of the spell varied widely. Wolf muttered and finally even went back to mixing the powders, but the spell still wouldn’t stabilize. He told Aralorn he needed to try a few different herbs that might refine the reaction. He didn’t have all that he needed, so he left to do some trading in the south.

  * * *

  The sun was drifting toward evening, turning the peaks of the mountains red. Aralorn shifted contentedly on her rock near the cave entrance. Several days ago someone found a huge patch of berries, and the whole camp had spent the better part of two days harvesting the find. Haris had been adding them into everything and today had managed to cook several pies. Given that the only thing that he had to cook on was a grate over a fire, it was probable that he’d used magic to do it, but no one was complaining.

  Licking her fingers clean of the last of the sweet stuff, Aralorn ran an idle gaze up the cliff face and caught something out of the corner of her eye. It was a shadow in the evening sky that was gone almost as soon as she saw it. She got to her feet and backed away from the cliff, trying to figure out just what it was that she saw, calling out an alarm as she did so.

  The four or five people who were out milling about doing various chores started for the entrance at a run. Stanis and Tobin were coming up the trail to the valley with a donkey cart laden with firewood. Although they heard the alert, too, they weren’t able to increase their pace much because of the donkey, and they weren’t about to abandon the results of their labors.

  Aralorn distractedly glanced at them, then looked back at the cliff, just in time to see the dragon launch itself. If she hadn’t caught the moment of launch, she probably wouldn’t have noticed it because it used magic to change the color of its scales until it blended into the evening sky. Aralorn headed for Stanis and Tobin as fast as she could. Seeing her, they abandoned the donkey and began running themselves. As she neared them, the shadow on the ground told her that the dragon was just overhead. She knocked both boys down in a wrestler’s tackle and felt the razor-sharp claws run almost gently across her back.

  The dragon gave a hiss that could have been either disappointment or amusement, and settled for the donkey, which it killed with a casual swipe of its tail. As it ate, it watched idly as Aralorn drove the two boys into the cave and stood guard at the entrance.

  Aralorn met its gaze and knew that her sword was pitifully inadequate for the task, even had she been a better swordswoman. She had some hope that the runes that had kept the Uriah at bay would do the same to the dragon, but dragons were supposed to be creatures of magic and fire.

  She heard the sounds of running footsteps behind her, then Myr’s exclamation when he saw the dragon. He drew his grandfather’s sword and held it in readiness. Aralorn noted with a touch of amusement that his larger sword looked to be a much more potent barrier than her own.

  “How big do you think that thing is?” asked Myr in a whisper.

  “Not as big as it looked when it was over top of me, but big enough that I don’t want to fight it,” murmured Aralorn in reply.

  The dragon paused in its eating to look over at them and smile, quite an impressive sight—easily as intimidating as Wolf’s.

  Myr stiffened. “It understands us.”

  Aralorn nodded reluctantly. “Well, if you have to die, I guess a dragon is an impressive way to go; maybe even worth a song or two. Just think, we are the first people to see a dragon in generations.”

  “It is beautiful,” said Myr. As if in approval of his comment, a ripple of purple traveled through the blue of the dragon’s scales.

  “Watch that color shift,” said Aralorn. “Magic, I think. If it wants to, it can be nearly invisible. Would make it harder to fight.”

  “It makes you wonder why there aren’t more dragons, doesn’t it,” commented Myr.

  Finished with the donkey, the dragon rose and stretched. No longer completely blue, highlights of various colors danced in its scales. Only its teeth and the claws on its feet and the edges of its wings were an unchanging black. When it was done, it started almost casually toward the cave entrance.

  Myr stepped out from the meager protection of the entrance into the fading light, and Aralorn followed his lead. Something about Myr appeared to catch the dragon’s interest: It stopped and whipped its long, swanlike neck straight, shooting the elegant head forward. Brilliant, gem-like eyes glittered green, then gold. Without warning, it opened its mouth and spat flame at Myr with an aim so exact that Aralorn wasn’t even singed although she stood near enough to Myr to reach out and touch him.

  Myr, being immune to magic, was untouched (although the same could not be said about his clothes). The hand that held his sword was steady, though his grip was tighter than it needed to be. He was no coward, this King of Reth. Aralorn smiled in grim approval.

  The dragon drew its head back, and said, in Rethian that Aralorn felt as much as heard, “Dragon-blessed, this is far from your court. Why do you disturb me here?”

  Myr, clothed in little more than the tattered remnants of cloth and leather, somehow managed to look as regal and dignified as the dragon did. “My apologies if we are troubling you. Our quarrel is not with you.”

  The dragon made an amused sound. “I hardly thought that it was, princeling.”

  “King,” said Aralorn, deciding that the contempt that the dragon was exhibiting could get dangerous.

  “What?” said the dragon, its tone softening in a manner designed to send chills up weaker spines.

  “He is King of Reth and no princeling.” Aralorn kept her voice even and met the dragon’s look.

  It turned back to Myr, and said in an amused tone, “Apologies, lord King. It seems I have given offense.”

  Myr inclined his head. “Accepted, dragon. I believe we owe you thanks for driving away the Uriah, sent by my enemy.”

  The dragon raised its head with a hiss, and its eyes acquired crimson tones. “Your enemy is the ae’Magi?”

  “Yes,” answered Myr with a wariness Aralorn shared.

  The dragon stood silently, obviously thinking, then it said, “The debt dragonkind owes your blood is old and weak, even by dragon standards. Long and long ago, a human saved an egg that held a queen, a feat for which we were most grateful, as we were few even then. For this he and his blood were blessed that magic hold no terrors for them. For this deed of the past, I would have left you and your party alone.

  “Several hundred years ago, after the manner of my kind, I chose a cave to sleep—waiting for the coming of my mate. I chose a cave deep under the ae’Magi’s castle, where I was unlikely to be discovered. Dragons are magical in a way that no other creature is. We live and breathe magic, and witho
ut it, we cannot exist.

  “I was awakened by savage pain that drove me out of my cave and into the Northlands. The ae’Magi is twisting magic, binding it to him until there will be nothing left but that which is twisted and dark with the souls of the dead. The castle of the ae’Magi has protections that I cannot cross, and the power that he has over magic is such that if I were to attack him, it is possible that he could control me. That is a risk I cannot take. Except for the egg that lies hidden from all, I am the last of my kind. If I die, there will be no more dragons.” It stretched its wings restlessly.

  “King,” it said finally, “your sword is new, but the hilt is older than your kingdom, and token of our pledge to your line. If ever I can aid you, without directly confronting the ae’Magi, plunge the sword into the soil, run your hands over the ruby eyes of the dragon on the hilt, and say my name.”

  Aralorn heard nothing but the rushing of the wind as the dragon spoke its name for Myr. Then, in the deepening light of the evening, it reared back on its hind legs and fanned its wings, changing its color to an orange-gold that gave off its own light. Soundlessly, it took flight, disappearing long before it should have been out of sight.

  “Beautiful, isn’t he?” Wolf’s familiar hoarse voice emanated from somewhere behind and between Aralorn and Myr. It comforted Aralorn that Myr jumped, too.

  * * *

  The herbs that Wolf brought back did work better. Once he got the spell just as he wanted it, he began working it without the props until he could direct it effortlessly. When he could drop the ensorcelled rocks in any pattern he chose, he spoke to Myr over dinner.

  “I have what I need to face the ae’Magi. I will leave tomorrow for his castle.”

  “You aren’t going alone,” said Myr. “This is my battle as well. He killed my parents to further his plans. You will need someone at your back.”

  Wolf shook his head. “You are too valuable to your people to risk yourself in such a way. If you are killed, then there is no one to rule Reth. If I am killed, your immunity to magic may be the only weapon left against the ae’Magi.”

  “Wolf’s right,” agreed Aralorn, “but so is Myr. Wolf, the ae’Magi is not the only thing that you will have to face. He has quite an assortment of pets in the Uriah. They will tire you out before you even reach the ae’Magi.”

  Wolf frowned at her. “I know how to avoid most of the monsters. The ae’Magi will see that none of them kill me. Even if he wants me dead, he wants to kill me himself. If there is someone else with me that I have to worry about and guard, they will be more of a liability than an asset. I’ll leave at first light.” He turned on one heel and walked away, leaving the remnants of his dinner behind—without giving anyone a chance to argue further.

  Aralorn finished her roll thoughtfully. If he thought she’d give up so easily, he hadn’t been paying attention.

  * * *

  That night, as Aralorn half dozed on the library couch—she couldn’t sleep without the risk of missing Wolf—she heard an unfamiliar woman’s voice speaking from somewhere nearby.

  “I’m worried,” the stranger said. “There are too many things that can go wrong with what they’re planning. I wish that they’d paid attention.”

  “I did what I could.” Aralorn recognized the voice of the Old Man. He sounded a little petulant.

  “It is up to them.” The woman’s soft voice soothed agreeably. “She’s healed him enough that he might be able to carry it off. Can’t you give them a clearer hint, though?”

  “No. It isn’t our concern. As long as he leaves you alone, I don’t care what the ae’Magi does.” There was something off about his voice; he sounded more like a child than an adult.

  “Of course you do, dear heart.” The woman might have been shaking a finger at him from the tone of her voice. “Who was it that brought that young wolf to shelter here? Who gathered all of the people to hide from the human Archmage’s wrath? It wasn’t I.”

  “I’ve interfered too much.” The old shapeshifter’s voice sounded completely rational for the moment. “My time is past. I should have died with you, Lys. It is not right to be a ghost and not be dead. If I tell them what to do, it might cause more harm than good. I fear that I have let you talk me into too much.” There was a pause, then he said in a resigned tone, “Ah well, once more, then. She’s listening, isn’t she?”

  “You know me too well, love,” she said. “Yes.”

  The Old Man’s next words were so close to Aralorn’s ear that she could feel his breath. “Then daughter of my brother’s line, you must go with him to the ae’Magi’s castle and take what is yours with you.” Aralorn felt a hand on her cheek, then she heard the rush of air that signaled the shapeshifter’s exit.

  Once they’d left her, she sat up and waved on the lights. “Hearing voices now?” she said. “It is sad to say, Aralorn, but you have definitely lost whatever touch of sanity you once had. That bodes well for the coming adventure though—only an insane person would go to the ae’Magi’s castle three times. Once was enough, twice was too many, but my little voices tell me that I’m going to make it three.”

  She shook her head in mock disgust. Knowing that she wasn’t going to get any more sleep, she got up, strapped on her knives, and began stretching. By the time she had warmed up, she knew how she was going to arrange to accompany Wolf.

  Before first light hit the mountainside, she snuck out on four feet, following the tracking spell she’d set into the bottom of his left boot a couple of weeks past. It led her to a small cave Wolf occupied. She had never been in it and was distracted from her intended goal by the opportunity to see a different side to her mysterious magician. He kept a small magelight glowing to keep the room from the total darkness that was natural to the cave. Wolf himself was lying with his back to her on a cot against the far end of the room.

  Although it was spartan and immaculate, she could tell by the smell that Wolf had occupied it for a long time—longer than the few months Myr had been hiding in the Northlands. Being a mouse had its advantages.

  Fascinated, she wandered around, noticing that for all of its surface plainness, there were touches that showed an appreciation of beauty in small things: A small knob of rock reaching up from the floor was polished to a high gloss. A large clear glass vessel was placed in a secure nook; the tiny fractures that spiderwebbed the glass glittered even in the dim light.

  Wolf moved restlessly on the bed. Aralorn waited to make sure that he was still sleeping before she crept into the pack that lay out of place near the entrance, trusting that its position signified that it was something he was going to take with him.

  She made a place for herself among the various items and sat very still. She didn’t have to wait long. Although he had announced that he would leave at first light, she wasn’t at all surprised that he was leaving well before that. It had been obvious that neither she nor Myr had been particularly happy with his decision to go and face the ae’Magi alone.

  To her relief, he swung the pack up and carried it with him when he departed. She hadn’t quite figured out what she would have done if he’d left it.

  She felt the roar of dizziness that signaled the magical leap from one place to another. When the sensation passed, she scrambled for a secure position in which the shuffling contents, which seemed to consist of nothing but hard angular objects, were not as likely to squish her. Even in human form, it seemed that Wolf’s favorite gait was a ground-eating run.

  Apparently he had arrived at a point several miles from the castle, as he ran for a long time. Battered and bruised, Aralorn was beginning to wish she’d figured out a better way to accompany him.

  * * *

  When Wolf opened the pack, the first thing that he saw was a bedraggled gray mouse, who looked at him with reproachful eyes, and said, “Would it have hurt to pack something soft, like a shirt or something?”

  He should have been surprised. Or angry. He found himself, instead, absurdly grateful.

  He p
icked her up out of the bag and held her at eye level in the palm of his hand. “When one comes along without being invited, one cannot complain about the accommodations.”

  “Oh dear,” said the mouse, in a shocked voice. “I hope I am not intruding.”

  He took off the silver mask, and sat cross-legged on the ground—careful not to knock her off her perch on the palm of his hand. “I don’t suppose that you would go back, would you? I trust it has occurred to you that it would be very easy for the ae’Magi to use you against me.”

  She ran up his arm and poised for an instant on his shoulder.

  “Yes,” she replied, cleaning her whiskers, “but it also occurred to me that my wolf was going off alone to kill his father. Granted that he is not the typical father, but—I don’t think this is as easy for you as you’d like everyone to believe.”

  She hesitated for a minute before she continued. “I know how he is. How he can twist things until black seems white. His power is frightening, but it is not as dangerous as his ability to manipulate thoughts with words. I was only there for a short time; you were raised by him. It doesn’t seem to me that exposure would make you immune to everyone; the opposite, I think. Perhaps having someone with you might make it easier.”

  Wolf was still. He didn’t want to do this alone, but he wanted even less to have her hurt—or worse. Aralorn abruptly jumped to the ground.

  “I couldn’t have lived with myself if something happened to you and I was not with you.” She shrugged and twitched her whiskers. “Besides, why should you have all the fun? He will see only a mouse, if he looks.”

  He wanted to send her away, not just for her safety, but because he didn’t want her to know what he’d been before, even though he’d done his best to tell her himself. The feelings that she brought out in him were so painful and confusing. It was easier when he had felt nothing, no pain—no guilt. No desire.