Mik blinked. Knowing him, he was too touched to speak. I knew only a little of his history, but from what I could recall there was precious little of kindness in it, and less respect. You've caught him on the hop, Salera, you clever soul, I thought. Well done, lass!

"She's the leader of her people, Mik. You won't get a better offer this year," said Aral, gently teasing.

"I've a feeling you may be right, Aral," declared Mik, finally allowing a slow grin to cross his face. "I'd be honoured, Mistress Salera. Though I still think we need another Healer. I'm damned new at this."

"I have seen your heart, Chalmik of Durrum," she replied, "and others have told me of your kindness. You are not nearly so limited as you choose to believe."

Mik's grin widened. "Very well, then," he said, raising his hand, palm out. Salera touched her palm with his. "As long as you stop calling me Chalmik. That's my dad's name, it sounds like you're talking to my father. I'm just Mik."

"Very well, Chustmik," replied Salera as she let out a great hiss. Mik jumped back several feet.

"It means she's amused, lad," I reassured him as he caught his breath and let his heart slow back to normal.

Mik turned to me, annoyed. "And that's another thing. How in all the Hells do you know what that means?"

I ignored him, for the others were preparing to leave. The time was come.

"Salera, my lass," I began, but she was already moving towards me. Despite the lack of expression on her bright face, the young Healers all turned away. Salera did not speak at first and nor did I, we simply gazed at one another for a moment—and then she bowed her head, like any daughter wanting the kiss of benison from her father at parting. I leaned in and touched my lips briefly to her brilliant blue soulgem, then threw my arms about her great long neck.

"It'll all come right, littling," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, the strange, spicy smell of her hide awakening a hundred memories from when she was a kitling. "We've found each other after all this time, haven't we? We'll manage it again when this is over." She did not reply, just rested her head against my back for a moment. "Your life is all before you, and a great work awaits. I know you will do all things well," I said softly. "I trust—I know all will be—" I faltered for a moment, then moved a little away and gazed deep into her eyes. "Salera, my heart's daughter. I am so very proud of you."

There was a moment of utter stillness between us, when we did not breathe and I'd swear our hearts didn't beat, and for that timeless moment there were only the two of us in all the world.

But time still flows, and we stood back from one another—and the dratted creature got in the last word. "She does not know, my father, but have patience," she whispered to me. "Aral is very clever. She will see you in time."

She dropped her jaw and grinned at me, then turned to walk slowly away with Chalmik.

It was time to go.

Before I could question Salera further about this astounding ability the Lesser Kindred seemed to possess, Idai glanced up and said, "Shikrar, behold, one comes from the west." She sounded puzzled. "But it flies in from the sea. Surely we are all here? It cannot be Nikis!"

"I cannot tell from—this range—" I replied as my words began to falter. I felt a cold wind rising. That distant form cast a shadow over my heart.

"May all the Winds preserve us," whispered Idai. I felt the shiver that trembled through her. "Shikrar, it cannot be!"

The shape was right for one of us, but this creature was too high up and too far off and moved—oddly. It flew stupidly, impossibly, vast black wings flapping like a crow even at that height, where it should soar on the kindly winds. It looked to be twice my size and black as night, and when it passed between me and the lowering sun I shivered from horns to talons, and for that moment I felt as though my heart were turned to stone and would never beat again. In that desolate silence one of the oldest legends of our people whispered through my heart like the hiss of falling snow.

"When the Black Dragon comes, when the Eldest of the Kantri falls from the sky, then will come the ending of the world."

"May all the Winds preserve us," repeated Idai, shuddering, as the thing flew eastward out of sight. "This is an evil day."

"Shikrar!" cried two hundred voices in my mind.

I was about to reply when a wave of sheer hatred crashed over my mind, followed by a cry from voices I did not yet know. A single word, shouted in fury by hundreds of minds and throats, as a mere ten miles away the great cloud of the Restored rose into the air to give chase.

Demonlord!

A terrible shudder rippled across every soul there in Timeths field when that vast black shape passed over. We had lost the only home we had ever known, we had flown across the Great Sea for our very survival, beyond hope the Lost were restored to themselves and to life the very day we returned—and now when even we, even the Kantrishakrim, required rest and time to think, the shadow of our ending swept over our heads a bare day after we had arrived in Kolmar.

I saw Treshak look up when the shadow passed over; saw her flick in an instant from the Attitude of Calm, which had finally graced her after many long hours of talk and food and rest, into Fury. I watched in amazement as she went in a single fluid movement from being at rest to being airborne.

"Demonlord!" she screamed, aloud and in truespeech, and a second and worse shudder took us all—but we who had returned from the Isle of Exile watched in amazement as all the Dhrena-gan echoed that cry and, rising up in a great cloud, flew after Treshak towards the distant black figure.

And behind them, but gaining fast, my father Shikrar.

Treshak was insane. She it was whose name was most remembered of the Lost, for she was the first to be changed by the De-monlord. Her fury, like a furnace when he murdered her mate Aidrishaan, had made her first in the attack. This had happened five thousand winters and more ago.

To Treshak, it was a raw wound made but two days since.

Her grief, her fury, were unabated, and she flew on her new-made wings straight towards Death. I shouted to her, sending truespeech that could be heard halfway around the world, but she would not listen. I cried out then to the rest of the Restored, commanding that none should take away Treshak's honour of the first attack. I knew my thoughts were full of my fear of her death and I did nothing to conceal it. Perhaps that would convince them where mere sense had no sway. It seemed to work, for they broke off the pursuit and circled high, a great column rising in a spiral, all eyes fixed below on Treshak.

As I bespoke them, I used every advantage of size and strength I possessed to try to catch up with Treshak, but there was not enough time. The Black Dragon was too near to her and I too far away. I had barely passed the great mass of the Restored when she had come level with the thing and dove at it from on high, screaming wordless defiance, talons outstretched and mouth agape, to rend, to kill with a single strike.

It heard and turned its head over its shoulder. It opened its jaws and a terrible sound came out, short unconnected bursts of noise, as Treshak fell upon it. Just before she could strike, it changed its flight angle, rolling and pulling up to face her, and spoke a single word as it rose. The sound was sickening, and it was clearly in the language of the Rakshasa. Dread took me. If this was in truth the Demonlord, had it just uttered the word that created the Lost in the first place?

Were we all doomed?

Treshak flinched but was otherwise unaffected, and hit the Black Dragon at an angle.