Aloud she replied only, "It is decided. If the Gedri will accept our offer, we will work together against the Rakshasa."

Rikard had mastered himself and said solemnly, 'Tour offer is a blessing beyond hope, Salera of the Aiala. We accept gratefully."

"The blessing of the Winds and the Lady go with you then, Salera," said Varien, his glorious voice balm and benison. "The Wind of Change has blown roughly across us all of late. I rejoice that you and the Aiala are called to be the Wind of Shaping. Good fortune attend you," he said, and in broadcast truespeech he added, "Remember that truespeech is not limited by distance, and that the Kantri for the most part will be near. Lanen and I will be among them. If ever you have need of us, you have only to call upon us."

She stared at him in surprise and responded in the same broadcast truespeech he had used. "Lord Varien, have you not seen? You and the Kantri, all save a few, journey east this very day with the whole people of the Dhrenagan."

Idea responded while the rest of us stood speechless. She hurried into the courtyard, pushing Shikrar aside in her haste. "What say you, youngling?" she demanded, agitation rattling her voice. "That was the true voice of vision, I know it. Whence comes this?"

Salera seemed confused. "Lady, it is—it is knowing. It is true. It lies ahead as surely as the sunset. Why do you question?" Faced by our blank expressions, realisation dawned on Salera. She blinked in surprise. "Do you tell me that this Sight is not known to the Kantri?"

"We live in ignorance of our future, Salera," replied Varien, masking his astonishment as best he could. "I gather from your words that you do not."

She was projecting confusion and uncertainty. "We thought—I thought—Lady Lanen, surely you of the Gedri can see as we do?"

"Not even slightly," I replied, trying to keep my voice light. Salera appeared to be deeply disturbed at this revelation. "I wouldn't mind a bit of warning, but we can't see ahead." I smiled at her. "To be honest, most of us have trouble enough seeing where we are, much less where we are going to be."

"This requires thought," she said, slowly. "We have made assumptions that do not appear to be true."

"Then think on it while we are gone," interjected Jamie rudely. 'Tour pardon, Mistress Salera, but this lot would talk the sun down. We must go."

"Jamie!"

"We are losing the daylight, Lanen," he said impatiently. He was practically dancing to be gone—and I had to admit he was right. "Did I hear that you're staying here?" he asked quietly.

"It seems the most sensible thing to do," I replied. "Varien will be with me."

"Thank the Goddess!" he responded fervently, hugging rne. "A battlefield is no place for you, with your babes to protect." He released me, and there was a curious look in his eyes. "Though I have never known you to be so sensible before. You're not growing wise, are you, my Lanen?"

"Surely not," I replied, smiling. "Perhaps I'm simply being forced to grow up, eh? It would be nice to think that I'm balancing the fact that I'm being forced to grow out as well."

Jamie grinned and turned to go. I caught him, hugged him again, and kissed his cheek. "Go you safe, Father, and keep you safe, and come safe home to me," I said softly, our traditional words of farewell.

"So I will, my girl," he said, and hurried off to join Shikrar.

I stood beside Salera while the Healers made their plans. We had begged the time from the dragons who had offered to carry us. I knew in my bones that I had to be with Aral, that she would need me soon, but oh! After all those years of missing her, I was loath to bid Salera farewell so soon. Even to leave her side was hard.

"I tell you, we can manage with one just one Healer with each of the little dragons," insisted Mile—he always hated being called Chalmik—to Vil and Aral as Jamie and Lanen were bidding each other farewell. 'Trust me, we all paid attention in Magister Pos-rik's classes. That's how we survived the first attack in the Great Hall." His voice grew lower and grimmer. 'Think of it as a test. Those of us still alive can deal with demons."

"And what about the times when you can't?" replied Vilkas sternly. "Not all the Rikti respond to the same restraints. And I am here to tell you that the creature that dwelt in Rathen was one of the Rakshasa. They are a different problem altogether, and we know not how many like him there may be."

"How would you know?" said Mik, stung by the implied criticism. "I'm sure you're well up on theory, Vil, and you did well enough today once the actual demon was gone"—Vilkas started to protest volubly, which Mik ignored—"but I haven't forgotten a thing about Posrik's classes," said Mik, sneering. "You turned white as a sheet the one time we dealt with a real demon. Damn near fainted."

I would have smiled if I dared. Mik and Vilkas always put on a great show of not being able to stand the other's presence. Idiots. And at such a time! Still, it made a kind of sense. The world they had known was literally lying in ruins at their feet. Their old rivalry was familiar, safe. Known.

Ah, and here came Aral, eyes snapping, to puncture the raucous pride of the young men's display. I was proud of her.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, can't you two give it a rest even now?" said Aral, exasperated, turning to Vilkas and frowning. "Vil, you know Mik's right, demons make you lose your reason. Don't snarl at Mik just because you—because you weren't thinking straight last night. He survived. That took skill." Then she turned to Chalmik, who was beginning to look rather smug.

Ai, I thought, cringing. Mik, you're an idiot. For Shia's sake, don't smile at Vil's discomfort! You ought to know Aral better than that.

"And don't you bloody well pick on Vilkas," she said, rounding on Mik and looking for all the world as if for two pins she'd slap his face for him. I swear, you'd never believe such concentrated defensive fury could exist in so small a frame.

"Leave it, Aral. I don't need your help," growled Vilkas. She ignored him.

"He's dealt with more demons in the last week than you've ever seen in your life, including last night. We've been working without cease since Berys murdered Magistra Erthik. Vil's done things people are going to write books about, if any of us get out alive. Back off." The two young lads exchanged a speaking look over her head, male commiseration over the peculiar habits of the female, but she reached out and took each of them by the arm. "No more classes, lads," she said, her voice low and solemn. "No more stupid rivalry. That world is gone. It's all too bloody real now. We need to stick together."

"It's not enough, Aral," replied Mik, more subdued now that she had forced him to let go his mask of scorn. "Vil's right. I know I can manage the little ones, but—I'm still learning to be a Healer. I'm not gifted like you two, I'm just one of the crowd. I learned last night that I can hold off demons, and I've a reasonable idea of how I managed it, but what if I have to face a Healer with twice my strength?"

"There are only two ways to get rid of a demon," said Vilkas, starting to grin. He could see over Mik's shoulder, of course. "Run or have a dragon handy."

"I can't run very bloody fast," grunted Mik.

"Then let us not depend on the strength of your legs, Master Chalmik," said a clear voice from close behind the young Healer. He jumped a foot, and Aral howled with laughter as Salera stepped forward.

"Forgive me, Master Chalmik," Salera said. "Magister Rikard said that I should speak with you regarding the partnerships we seek to create." She gazed into his eyes, her soulgem bright in the late afternoon sun. "He suggested that I should work with you, setting up teams, planning our—our strategy." She sounded proud, though whether that stemmed from remembering the word or being able to pronounce it, I was not certain. "I am willing if you are."