I was home. Castle Gundar. Halfway across the world] Those were the East Mountains around my home. I knew them all by name, I'd spent years clambering among them—Old Woman, Cloud Catcher, Demons Tooth, the Needle, the Three Sisters— only—how the Hells was I come here?

I took a step, tripped over a loose stone, and fell against something—someone—

It was Berys, at my side. Looking pleased with himself.

As soon as Berys and Marik disappeared, Shikrar drew his head back out of the room—just as well, he didn't really fit. Jamie and I scrambled over the rubble of the wall. Shikrar for all his size was hard to see in the fitful moonlight, but there by his feet—a tiny figure—

Oh, dear Goddess.

Varien. Varien. Varien.

I ran towards him and we met with a thump, arms wrapped round one another, and held on as though we would never let go. I was swearing at him—"Damn you, Varien, where have you been, I couldn't hear you, I thought that bastard had killed you"—but I am not certain that he heard me. He was muttering much the same nonsense, after all, and we kept interrupting ourselves as we kissed frantically.

Of course, it couldn't last. He had just managed to control himself so far as to lean back within my arms and look at me, when with the loudest noise I had ever heard a great light burst into the dark sky, flames leaping high against the stars, and bits of masonry began to rain down upon us.

The College was burning.

"NO!" cried Rikard, sprinting towards the doors. I managed to catch him and haul him back just in time, for Shikrar would have trampled him as he hurried towards the fire. I only just noticed Kedra landing outside the College walls.

I had only seen Shikrar briefly in the fight in the High Field, burning off the little demons: I had been dealing with my own distractions when he took on the big Raksha. After that, despite his great size, he had impressed me mainly as being wise and calm as we spoke together on the way down from the mountains. True enough, his sheer size was a threat, but it was hard to know what kind of real power he could wield. I had just watched him tear apart stone walls with no apparent effort, but I still wasn't ready. He moved across the courtyard like a snake through water.

"For Shia's sake, let me go!" shouted Rikard, wrenching himself free. He ran like a man demented and began pounding uselessly at the doors of the burning building, unlocked but unmoving. "There are people trapped in there!"

Shikrar stood before the doors. "Stand away, Gedri," he said, that vast ancient voice deep and resonant in the courtyard.

I hadn't thought Rikard could move that fast. Just as well I was wrong.

Shikrar tore open the doors like a child tearing a leaf of grass, and flung them to the stones. Several dozen people rushed out, fire behind them, terror in their eyes. Some were shouting, some were screaming, some were wide-eyed and staring and looked as if they would never speak again. Vilkas and Aral, borne hither by Kedra, ran to help their comrades.

Magister Rikard did well then, drawing them all away to the far side of the courtyard, asking, listening, calming. In moments he returned and began to speak, his voice impossibly steady.

"Berys has murdered the Magistri with the help of a huge Rak-sha and a horde of the Rikti—and when the Magistri were gone, he set them loose on the students and left." Rikards voice cracked. "From what some of them said, he was dared to call on one of the Lords of Hell. These"—he gestured back at the little group huddled by the shattered gates—"only got out because the demons took Berys's guards along with everyone else. These folk were closer to the doors and they had the presence of mind to run. They—we—Shia save us," he shuddered, his voice cracking at last. "We are all that is left."

A huge voice laughed on the wind, a laugh that racked my body with one great shudder, so heavy it was with evil. We all turned to see the vast figure that rose up, surrounded by the flames that consumed the College, seeming to enjoy their heat. It was the size of Shikrar but more nearly human in form, though horned and fanged in a hideous mockery of the Kantri. "Soon not even you, little wizard," it cackled, and spat at Rikard. A ball of poisonous green fire burned towards where Rikard stood staring aghast. He raised the best shield of his Healer s aura that he could muster, but it looked pale and weak in the light of that obscene fire. I was too far away to help, too far away to do anything but watch him die—when the balefire was batted out of the air by a dark wing, striking the ground with a loud hiss and smoking poi-sonously on the cobbles.

Shikrar flew high, foulness spurning.

Fury fuelled him, fanned his anger, drove him upwards: urgent his desire, swiftly to deal death to the demon.

Words cannot do him justice. I had never seen him fly so brilliantly, never in all our long lives together. Lanen and I held each other and watched in awe. He spiralled high on the updraft from the flames, keeping out of his enemy's reach, gaming height, watching the demon's every move keenly.

There in the midst of burning stone, grown vast on its obscene feast of flesh, was the Lord of the Fifth Hell, a huge Rak-sha. It grew in its wrath, trying to make itself as large as Shikrar, but it was trapped—it seems even Berys had some sense left, and had not loosed it to rampage where it would. The thing was bound, likely to the building: if the building were destroyed, it might find itself untrammelled.

The flames, fanned by the wild wind, bothered it no more than they did Shikrar, but it seemed to take a passing pleasure in the destruction the fire was causing. It started to lean over towards us, but Shikrar swooped down and breathed Fire upon it as he passed—not the puny flames that humans know, but the true Fire that is part of our being. The distraction worked, though the demon managed to move out of the way of the flame. For the most part. We all saw the scorch mark on its upper arm.

It laughed. I knew about the Lords of Hell and was prepared, but several of the students were violently sick at the sound. So would Death itself laugh to see a world dying of plague.

"So, the great Kantri are reduced to this? A little firebrand to tickle me. Eat stone, dragon!" it cried, and wrenching off a great lump of stone, threw it at Shikrar.

With the merest flick of his wings Shikrar avoided the missile.

This seemed to amuse the creature, for it tore off larger and larger sections of wall to throw at him. None of them came very close, for Shikrar watched the Rakshas every move. When it stooped for a moment to break off more stone, he darted in and struck with fangs and claws, tearing a great hole in its shoulder, ripping gashes in its flesh as he passed swifdy out of reach again, away from the long arms and poisonous claws. He was forced to swerve again and again as the thing grabbed at him, but it was soon clear that he was wearing it down, flying in, biting and away before he could be touched, tearing holes in the foul flesh, darting away out of reach as its claws tried to score his armour and failed to find purchase.

At last, though, his boldness was his downfall. The Raksha, in real pain now, grabbed for him as he shot past a little too close. It caught the tip of his tail, throwing him off balance in the air before the edged scales cut deep into the demon's hand. It cried out but held on. Shikrar beat his wings furiously but he could not get free.

I was glad I had not eaten, for when my stomach heaved when the thing laughed, there was nothing to come up. Being so near to so evil a creature sickened me to my bones. Aral held my arm when I doubled over, and I swear I could feel her thought travel through her hand.