"Gair, you idiot, they only bloody well landed in your field!" I said, laughing openly now. "Damn near two hundred of them, not half a mile away—oh, no—I suppose it's nearer four hundred now."

"What!" I could see the white all around his eyes.

"Oh, don't worry, they're not breeding that fast," I said, snorting. "No, no. It was quite a show, but one of the big ones and two of the folk out there managed to—oh, never mind, it's too long a tale. But be told. They are here, they're as big as legend makes them, they're brighter than you or I will ever be, and they're— they're good folk, Gair. As long as you tell them the truth. They can spot a he a league off."

Gair didn't speak. I don't think he could. I was casting about for some way to reassure him when Rella came to the door. "Have you run out of ale, landlord?" she asked brightly.

"D-d-d-dragons!" Gair yelled. "Dragons! It's the end of the world!"

"Don't be stupid, man. It's a new start, and you're one of the first to know about it," she said. That seemed to get through, a little. At least he was breathing again.

"A new—a new start?" he asked. "How? How can we fight something like that?"

"Goddess, man, there's no need to fight them! They're creatures of Order. Trade with them! They are new-come to this place, they have no food, no shelter." She grinned then, moved close to him, and murmured conspiratorially, "You do know what they say about dragons, don't you? Think, man! What do they sleep on, hmmm?"

At least he knew his children's tales. "Every fool knows they sleep on beds of go—" The transformation was nearly magical. Where a moment before horror had reigned, now greed opened his eyes wider and brought a mad smile to his face. I'd seen that smile earlier in the day, when I told Timeth of his great good fortune. Rella grinned. "Good lad," she said cheerily. I nodded to him and took the ale to where the others sat.

I woke suddenly in darkness and was just starting to curse Hygel for a liar when there came a knock at the door.

"Master, are you waked?" said a young voice. "There's a man to see you i' the common room. Will ye come?"

"Aye. Come and light my candle, lad, I can't even find the door latch it's that dark in here," I replied. The voice proved to belong to a young lad of maybe ten years, who wandered in, lit the candle by the door from the candle he carried, and disappeared. I went to the basin and splashed my face with cold water, for I was still muzzy from sleep. It helped a bit.

The common room was lit by several lamps as well as by the fire, but despite that—or perhaps because of it—there was a generous helping of shadowy corners. Hygel came over to me, shook his head, and muttering something about what the cat dragged in, led me to a dimly fit alcove where sat a man of about my own age. He looked nothing special, short dark hair well salted with grey, a trim beard with more grey than dark, a nondescript cloak thrown around his shoulders against the cold nights of early spring. When he stood, though, his eyes gleamed in the firelight, and I saw the mind behind them awake and on guard.

"Magister Rikard, this is the man I told you of." Hygel glanced at me, muttered, "Good luck," and left us to it.

"I don't believe in wasting time, sir," said Rikard, swiftly seating himself. All his movements were quick and precise like his speech, and his eyes were sharp and bright. "I have known Hygel for years, and if he vouches for you, I am willing to at least begin with you, but he says you have impugned the Archimage. How do you dare to speak ill of so good a man?"

"I've known him longer than you, if not as well," I replied cautiously. "Though to say truth, I would not so corrupt the word 'good' as to speak it in the same breath."

"I have had concerns myself," he said, equally cautious. "If you have a complaint to make against the Archimage, I pray you, tell me. He surely would not be pleased to know that there were those who felt ill-used by him."

I said nothing.

"Well? What's wrong?" he snapped.

"I don't know you, Magister. I barely know Hygel, and neither of you knows me from Fanner Jon's off ox. And none of us can afford to be wrong."

"Goddess knows, that's true enough," he said. "Though a legitimate complaint would have to be investigated. We healers are not ruled by the Archimage, but led by him. Even he is answerable to the Council of Mages assembled."

"Would the word of one man, unknown to any of you, have any weight in that Council?" I asked wearily.

"It might, if you have proof, or another witness," he replied. "Have you?"

'The proof of my own eyes and those of half a dozen others, of spiriting a"—I took a deep breath, and pitched my voice low that it might not crack—"of spiriting my daughter away from me and from her husband some four days since. But I don't know where he is. I need help."

To my surprise Rikard closed his eyes, as if in pain. "Shia keep you, Master Jamie," he said, wincing. When he looked up again, those sharp eyes were more gentle. "I really am a Healer, you know," he said quietly. "I've been doing this for forty years, I don't need to summon power to see your pain. The merest glance— very well. Let us start again. I am Magister Rikard, of the College of Mages. How may I help save your daughter? Is she ill?"

"No. She's in the power of the bastard you serve, and I fear with every breath I take that he'll murder her soon if he hasn't already."

Rikard caught his breath, and his eyes widened. "Why has he taken her?" he asked urgently.

"I have no idea, though I think it might be to put her in the power of Marik of Gundar." Her father, as it happens, but you don't need to know that. "What I don't know is where he has taken her. Is Berys here at the College?"

"I spoke with him not half an hour gone."

I felt a great weight lift from off my shoulders. "Blessed be Shia. If he's here, she's here." \

"How can you be certain?" asked Rikard quietly.

"I can't, not entirely," I said quietly. "He might have murdered her by now; but if she lives he'll have her close. Likely in one of those old detention cells, if you don't know different. I know not what he needs her for, but certain sure he's not stolen her away for her health."

"May the Goddess bless you forever, Master Jamie," said Rikard, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. "I've been trying to get hard evidence against him for years." Suddenly he drew back. "Though I warn you, if you are lying, Healer or no I'll have it out of your hide."

"He really is a twisty bastard, isn't he?" I chuckled. "Goddess. If you're looking for treachery everywhere—no wonder he's grown so strong."

Rikard sat back. "It's true. Though I have no real reason to trust you." His gaze never left mine, and after a while he added wearily, "Right now, I don't even care. I'm sick unto death of it all. If you're working for him, so be it. I'd rather have an open fight than creep about suspicious of everyone for the rest of my life." His eyes began to gleam again in the firelight. "And if you speak truth—Goddess, I've been looking for proof against him for years now."

"You haven't been looking in the right places," I snorted. "Hells, I saw him murder a poor babe near twenty-five years gone, making a Farseer. He was a demon-master then. Lady Shia only knows what he is now."

"Will you denounce him in public?" asked Rikard. The change in him was amazing—he looked now like a drawn sword ready to strike. "Will you dare repeat such things to the assembled Council of Mages?"

"I'll cry it in the town square if you like, but first"—I grabbed a fistful of his robe and pulled him close to me—"first I get my daughter out of his hands."

"Agreed," he said calmly. "Let go of me, please, and listen carefully. The passwords you will need are very simple."