I shared a late breakfast with Will of Rowanbeck. Nice lad. He told me what Lanen and her other half had done up in the High Field a few days since. I'd seen part of it in the Farseer, but I'd had no way of knowing what the true effect had been on the little dragons. The Lesser Kindred, he called them. He told me about raising Salera from a kit, and how he had loved her as a child even before she had been transformed. It was all intriguing, to say the least of it. I was looking forward to speaking with this creature.

Will didn't know when Salera would rejoin him, but said she had told him it would be this day sometime. He headed off to speak with Shikrar and Kedra. Dragon mad, that one. I excused myself and said I would join them later.

Once he was gone I sought out the nearest Servants of the Lady. It wasn't easy to find them; it seems that all the activity the night before had spooked nearly everyone. This pair, a husband and wife, were only a little better than useless. I was worried that such people could not truly pass on Mother Shia's forgiveness, but She is merciful and considers the intent rather than the messenger. I felt the usual deep-seated pain and then the release as the Raksha-trace was removed. I had never found anyone who could tell me why it hurt so much, despite making me feel a great deal better at a different level. I had begun to wonder if it were possible to—if perhaps I was losing a bit of my soul whenever I used the Farseer. It wouldn't surprise me anymore. I left a donation, said a fervent prayer, and went off to look for the others.

They weren't hard to find. They were in the centre of a circle of folk standing around a bloody great dragon sat in the ruins of what had been the College of Mages.

Well, whatever else happened, this was going to be worth seeing.

I keep hoping that people are going to surprise me. I don't know why I bother. Lanen is the only one in years who has managed to do so. Oh, and Jamie once or twice.

I had had a few hours' sleep, no more, when Hygel chapped at my door. "Mistress Relleda, you need to come. Now," he said quietly.

I knew that tone of voice, and in any case I'd slept in my clothes. When I opened the door and saw his expression I started moving. "Rouse Jamie if he's not wakened yet. Where do I need to be?"

"The College," replied Hygel. "I'll follow as soon as I may."

"Bring chelan!" I called as I headed out the door.

I ran down the deserted streets to find a large crowd gathering around Shikrar. Kedra was gone—-just as well, really. I wished yet again that the damn great things had facial expressions; those faceplates of theirs looked like concealing masks. On some, like young Salera, they were beautiful. On Shikrar, who was the colour of old bronze, it just looked—impassive. Unconcerned. Otherworldly. Other.

I fought my way through a half circle, several deep, of the curious and the disbelieving, giving way at the front to the angry.

Oh, Hells.

"By my name I give you my oath, I did as little damage as I could, but there was the Lord of the Fifth Hell to fight," said Shikrar, his voice calm and reasonable. He lay, seemingly at ease, amid the ruin of the courtyard, with no one to stand beside him. Where in all the Hells were Lanen and Varien?

"What was a demon doing here?" shouted an old woman. "This is a blessed place, or it was until you got here!"

"Daughter, I did not summon the creature," said Shikrar gently. I shivered. His voice at least was much in his favour, so musical, so expressive. 'The Rakshasa are our life-enemies, there is a hatred between us that goes deep in the blood. I fought and defeated it. Why do you aim your anger at me?"

"Goddess help us, the College is in ruins and all the Mages dead! Do you say that one demon did all that, with no help from you?" cried a large man at the front of the—well, yes, might as well call it a mob.

'They have not all perished," replied Shikrar. "One of the Magistri lives, and some score of younglings escaped as well."

"So where are they then? If you saved them, shouldn't they be here defending you?"

I had opened my mouth to speak when a loud voice behind me called out, "If you will seek them out at The Brewers Arms, I expect you'll find them fast asleep." Jamie strode through the crowd. "It was near dawn when all was done. If you will only hear truth from one of your own then seek out Magister Rikard. The only innkeeper with the courage not to bolt his doors was Hygel, and he took us all in last night. Or this morning, depending on how you look at it."

"Who are you, then?" asked a voice from the crowd.

"Nobody," Jamie replied, grinning like a wolf. It wasn't a comforting sight. "I just happened to be there when all the fighting was going on last night." He bared a few more teeth. "Oddly enough, I don't recall seeing any of you."

Jamie, you idiot, that's not going to help, I thought, wincing as a low growl seemed to wander of its own accord among the crowd.

"That damned dragon killed the Magistri and destroyed the College, and there it sits in the midst of its handiwork!" cried one, pointing at Shikrar. At those words, a murmur of assent ran through the mob, and it began to surge forward. What they thought they were going to do to a dragon I can't imagine, but when you get that many angry people together, good sense is the first thing to leave.

"Foolishness," said Shikrar, sounding slightly amused and seeming to ignore the movement towards him. He was still lying down. Well done, Shikrar, I thought, realising that he had chosen his position carefully. You're a touch less intimidating like that, and you look relaxed. Good thinking. "At least allow me to be bright enough to fly away, having caused such destruction, lest the good folk of the town come in the morning to avenge my evil deeds upon my hide."

"Nonsense!" cried a loud voice from the back, and "Make way for Magister Rikard!" This sparked a swift-rushing murmur of "It's a Magister, one of them survived, it's Rikard, he'll tell us the truth."

Ah, Hygel, you old fox, I thought. Small wonder you're one of my best agents. Good man, excellent man, as Shia hears me I'll see you promoted for this.

The crowd parted and a double column of bleary-eyed student mages marched towards Shikrar, Magister Rikard at the rear. When they reached the open space before the crowd, the little group divided itself, one column to either side, Magister Rikard remaining in the centre.

"It cheers my heart to see so many of you come to offer your thanks to our preserver," he said as loudly as he could. "Were it not for the dragon Shikrar here, we would be in even worse case this morning than we are."

"What happened, Magister?" called a voice, and all the others chimed in asking the same.

"It was Archimage Berys," said Rikard loudly, at which silence fell like a leaden blanket.

"He was killed?" cried the voice, dangerously angry now.

"No, mores the pity," said Rikard. "He was the cause of the destruction."

"You've always hated Berys," accused the same voice as a short powerful man with grey-shot brown hair stepped forward. He continued. "We've all known it for years. Why should we believe you?"

"Because it's bloody true!" shouted one of the students. He was tall and gangling in the way of young men, his close-clipped red hair blazing in the morning sun. He strode towards the loud objector, until Rikard motioned him to stop short. "Who are you, then?" asked the lad aggressively. "I didn't see you here last night, when we were damn nigh killed."

Oh, lad, don't take your lessons in tact from Jamie, I thought, cringing. You'll never make a friend again.

"I'm Tolmas, stonemason and builder," replied the man hotly, "and I've a family, young man. I kept them safe last night. Fighting demons is your work, not mine."