Naikenna it was who thought to use smoke to our advantage. She was saddened by the deaths of her people, but the Dhrenagan as a whole had given themselves up to the single purpose of destroying the Demonlord.

I found it both frightening and deeply distressing. They would not be swayed by reason. I had never seen that in our people before. They would not keep close company with us that night either, because of the Gedri among us. I saw the hatred in some minds, the barely controlled longing to destroy any human merely for the crime of being of the same race as the Demonlord had been. It did not bode well for our future in this place. I spoke to Lanen, and we ensured that all of the Gedri slept within the protection of at least one of the Kantri, lest any of the Dhrenagan be moved to seek revenge in the night.

When at last all was done that could be done, I joined my father and Idai, Gyrentikh and Alikirikh. The four of them watched over the Gedri most dear to me—Varien and his Lady, Lanen Kaelar, who had saved my beloved and my son. The humans had talked long into the night, but now they all slept near the fire. There was Vilkas Fire-soul and Aral the Vahant, who together had saved my father; there the Lady Rella and her dear one, Lanen's Jamie; and there a little apart, Maran Irongrip and Will the Golden.

The night was growing old. The stars in their ordered dance wheeled steadily above us, to the music of the nearby waterfall. There was a bird that sang as well that night, all the night long. I had never heard a night bird or its lovely, liquid song before, but it soothed my spirit as much as anything could. There was no more to be done but wait until the morning. Gyrentikh and Alikfrikh were obviously using truespeech so as not to wake die Gedri.

My father, though, was restless. He could not settle after the work was done. I knew how he felt. The morrow held battle, something only the Dhrenagan had known. The prospect of severe injury, of death, of maiming, was very much in my mind no matter what I did to ignore it.

Finally he stood and left the circle of firelight. I followed him, a little way down the valley. The sky was still bright with moonlight, though she would set very soon.

"Will it ease your heart to speak, my father?" I asked quiedy.

"Ah, Kedra," he replied wearily. 'This night is as long as years." He stood in Sorrow, and his eyes were solemn. He did not say more but, to my astonishment, came near to me and gendy twined his neck with mine.

It is a family gesture, parent to child. He had not touched me so since my mother Yrais went to sleep on the Winds. I was deeply moved. The gesture brought back a hundred memories, of the time when my mother still lived, of a time when my greatest concern was how soon he would teach me to fly. A hundred Midwinter fires blazed in my heart, when in the way of our people we sang togedier a song of home and family, of a love deeper than time that would never fail, love stronger than death.

It was at that moment I knew. He was saying good-bye.

"No, Father!" I cried, pulling away. "No, you can't believe a legend! It's foolishness." I tried to keep my wings from rattling with my agitation. "Why should you not prevail with all of us, Kantri and Dhrenagan, to fight beside you?"

"Kedra," he said softly, "this has nought to do with the legend." His Attitude softened. "As it happens, I think it very likely that we may prevail tomorrow, if the Winds are blowing our way, and the Gedri may well prove the turning point. Akhor's folly, that brought us Lanen and those around her, may prove our salvation." He sighed. "Alas, my son, I have seen this place in my Weh dreams."

"No," I breathed, stricken.

"Time and again, Kedra. Four times, and each ends in much the same way. I know what awaits me."

My heart dropped like a stone. I could only shake my head. No no no no no.

"I do not know all that will happen tomorrow, and by all the Winds I will fight with every drop of my strength, but"—he gazed then upon me with such naked love in his glance that I could hardly bear it—"it is in my heart, my dear son, you whom I love most in all the world, that I am going to die tomorrow. I would not leave without saying farewell."

I could hardly breathe. I knew somehow, deep in my heart I knew that he spoke bitter truth. I tried to deny it, I longed to deny it, but the words would not come.

"You know that you have been the light of my soul since the day you were born, Kedra," he said gently. 'That has never changed, nor the fight ever dimmed. Know that, remember it, and know that no matter what happens to me, a fathers love never dies. I simply go before you to sleep on the Winds, and when after long years your time here is done I will be there to greet you in the Star Home, the Wind's Home, the place of all Songs, with your mother at my side."

"Father," I choked out, through a throat painfully tight. "Must this be?"

"It will be," he said gravely. "I know not precisely how it will come to pass, but—it is battle. I may not be able to speak with you when the time comes."

And at last his calm resolve cracked, and he bowed his head, and I saw that he was weeping.

We are creatures of fire. Tears are agony to us. We only weep when our hearts are wrung beyond bearing.

In a moment he looked up again, gazing into my eyes, his voice barely a whisper. "I say farewell to you now, my dearest son. I pray you, give me your farewell in return, that I may know you have heard the truth I tell you."

I could not, just then. My heart was too full. "Not yet," I whispered. "Not yet, I beg you, while night covers us."

He nodded. "Until dawn, then."

While darkness lasted we lay close together, my father curled around me for comfort, as around a youngling. We spoke of so many things: of memories, of hopes, of sorrow and of delight. Of fife and death. Time seemed to spin around us, unheeding, as my heart begged it to slow, to stop, just for one more moment.

At last, away to the east, fight began to creep silently into the darkness. It spread like water, slowly washing away the night, until false dawn filled the sky. For the first and only time in my life, I cursed the dawn.

We both fell silent, and my father looked to me. Waiting.

I would have given my wings to deny the truth of what he had said. I longed for him to be mistaken, for him to live long years yet with me—but I knew that my father was the truest creature I had ever known. To deny his truth was to deny him, and that I could not do.

"Farewell, my father," I whispered, barely able to speak. "May the Winds bear you up."

He touched his soulgem to mine and we stood thus in communion for a long moment while day grew broad about us. Then he drew back, nodded to me, and turned to rejoin the others, who were rousing with the dawn.

That moment has remained with me all the days of my life.

Even now, as I stand here removed by so many years, I can feel his soulgem against mine, a benison beyond words. These moments shape our lives.

I am glad I had the chance to say good-bye.

"Vil?"

"Mmm?"

"Vil, you can't ignore it. Tomorrow."

"Oh, yes I can," he replied, both eyes still tight shut.

"What will you do, Vilkas?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral. "When the demons come?"

"I'll be able to decide then, because I will have had some sleep," he growled. "Not much, but some. Please, do shut up."

I said no more and he feigned sleep for ages, until at last exhaustion claimed him.

I would not have had his dreams for all the world.

The Wind of the Unknown

Marik arrived just after dawn, nicely annoyed.